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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8149-8.txt b/8149-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6ee059e --- /dev/null +++ b/8149-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16484 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jean Christophe: In Paris, by Romain Rolland + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Jean Christophe: In Paris + The Market-Place, Antoinette, The House + +Author: Romain Rolland + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8149] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on June 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEAN CHRISTOPHE: IN PARIS *** + + + + +Produced by Distributed Proofreaders. + + + + +JEAN-CHRISTOPHE + +In Paris + +The Market-Place, Antoinette, The House + +by Romain Rolland + +Translated by Gilbert Cannan + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE MARKET-PLACE + +ANTOINETTE + +THE HOUSE + + + + +THE MARKET-PLACE + + + + +I + + +Disorder in order. Untidy officials offhanded in manner. Travelers +protesting against the rules and regulations, to which they submitted all +the same. Christophe was in France. After having satisfied the curiosity of +the customs, he took his seat again in the train for Paris. Night was over +the fields that were soaked with the rain. The hard lights of the stations +accentuated the sadness of the interminable plain buried in darkness. +The trains, more and more numerous, that passed, rent the air with their +shrieking whistles, which broke upon the torpor of the sleeping passengers. +The train was nearing Paris. + +Christophe was ready to get out an hour before they ran in; he had jammed +his hat down on his head; he had buttoned his coat up to his neck for fear +of the robbers, with whom he had been told Paris was infested; twenty times +he had got up and sat down; twenty times he had moved his bag from the +rack to the seat, from the seat to the rack, to the exasperation of his +fellow-passengers, against whom he knocked, every time with his usual +clumsiness. + +Just as they were about to run into the station the train suddenly stopped +in the darkness. Christophe flattened his nose against the window and tried +vainly to look out. He turned towards his fellow-travelers, hoping to find +a friendly glance which would encourage him to ask where they were. But +they were all asleep or pretending to be so: they were bored and scowling: +not one of them made any attempt to discover why they had stopped. +Christophe was surprised by their indifference: these stiff, somnolent +creatures were so utterly unlike the French of his imagination! At last he +sat down, discouraged, on his bag, rocking with every jolt of the train, +and in his turn he was just dozing off when he was roused by the noise of +the doors being opened.... Paris!... His fellow-travelers were already +getting out. + +Jostling and jostled, he walked towards the exit of the station, refusing +the porter who offered to carry his bag. With a peasant's suspiciousness he +thought every one was going to rob him. He lifted his precious bag on to +his shoulder and walked straight ahead, indifferent to the curses of the +people as he forced his way through them. At last he found himself in the +greasy streets of Paris. + +He was too much taken up with the business in hand, the finding of +lodgings, and too weary of the whirl of carriages into which he was swept, +to think of looking at anything. The first thing was to look for a room. +There was no lack of hotels: the station was surrounded with them on all +sides: their names were flaring in gas letters. Christophe wanted to find +a less dazzling place than any of these: none of them seemed to him to +be humble enough for his purse. At last in a side street he saw a dirty +inn with a cheap eating-house on the ground floor. It was called _Hôtel +de la Civilisation_. A fat man in his shirt-sleeves was sitting smoking +at a table: he hurried forward as he saw Christophe enter. He could not +understand a word of his jargon: but at the first glance he marked and +judged the awkward childish German, who refused to let his bag out of his +hands, and struggled hard to make himself understood in an incredible +language. He took him up an evil-smelling staircase to an airless room +which opened on to a closed court. He vaunted the quietness of the room, to +which no noise from outside could penetrate: and he asked a good price for +it. Christophe only half understood him; knowing nothing of the conditions +of life in Paris, and with his shoulder aching with the weight of his +bag, he accepted everything: he was, eager to be alone. But hardly was he +left alone when he was struck by the dirtiness of it all: and to avoid +succumbing to the melancholy which was creeping over him, he went out again +very soon after having dipped his face in the dusty water, which was greasy +to the touch. He tried hard not to see and not to feel, so as to escape +disgust. + +He went down into the street. The October mist was thick and keenly cold: +it had that stale Parisian smell, in which are mingled the exhalations of +the factories of the outskirts and the heavy breath of the town. He could +not see ten yards in front of him. The light of the gas-jets flickered like +a candle on the point of going out. In the semi-darkness there were crowds +of people moving in all directions. Carriages moved in front of each other, +collided, obstructed the road, stemming the flood of people like a dam. The +oaths of the drivers, the horns and bells of the trams, made a deafening +noise. The roar, the clamor, the smell of it all, struck fearfully on the +mind and heart of Christophe. He stopped for a moment, but was at once +swept on by the people behind him and borne on by the current. He went down +the _Boulevard de Strasbourg_, seeing nothing, bumping awkwardly into the +passers-by. He had eaten nothing since morning. The cafés, which he found +at every turn, abashed and revolted him, for they were all so crowded. He +applied to a policeman; but he was so slow in finding words that the man +did not even take the trouble to hear him out, and turned his back on him +in the middle of a sentence and shrugged his shoulders. He went on walking +mechanically. There was a small crowd in front of a shop-window. He +stopped mechanically. It was a photograph and picture-postcard shop: there +were pictures of girls in chemises, or without them: illustrated papers +displayed obscene jests. Children and young girls were looking at them +calmly. There was a slim girl with red hair who saw Christophe lost in +contemplation and accosted him. He looked at her and did not understand. +She took his arm with a silly smile. He shook her off, and rushed away, +blushing angrily. There were rows of café concerts: outside the doors were +displayed grotesque pictures of the comedians. The crowd grew thicker and +thicker. Christophe was struck by the number of vicious faces, prowling +rascals, vile beggars, painted women sickeningly scented. He was frozen by +it all. Weariness, weakness, and the horrible feeling of nausea, which more +and more came over him, turned him sick and giddy. He set his teeth and +walked on more quickly. The fog grew denser as he approached the Seine. +The whirl of carriages became bewildering. A horse slipped and fell on its +side: the driver flogged it to make it get up: the wretched beast, held +down by its harness, struggled and fell down again, and lay still as though +it were dead. The sight of it--common enough--was the last drop that +made the wretchedness that filled the soul of Christophe flow over. The +miserable struggles of the poor beast, surrounded by indifferent and +careless faces, made him feel bitterly his own insignificance among these +thousands of men and women--the feeling of revulsion, which for the last +hour had been choking him, his disgust with all these human beasts, with +the unclean atmosphere, with the morally repugnant people, burst forth in +him with such violence that he could not breathe. He burst into tears. The +passers-by looked in amazement at the tall young man whose face was twisted +with grief. He strode along with the tears running down his cheeks, and +made no attempt to dry them. People stopped to look at him for a moment: +and if he had been able to read the soul of the mob, which seemed to him +to be so hostile, perhaps in some of them he might have seen--mingled, no +doubt, with a little of the ironic feeling of the Parisians for any sorrow +so simple and ridiculous as to show itself--pity and brotherhood. But he +saw nothing: his tears blinded him. + +He found himself in a square, near a large fountain. He bathed his hands +and dipped his face in it. A little news-vendor watched him curiously and +passed comment on him, waggishly though not maliciously: and he picked up +his hat for him--Christophe had let it fall. The icy coldness of the water +revived Christophe. He plucked up courage again. He retraced his steps, but +did not look about him: he did not even think of eating: it would have been +impossible for him to speak to anybody: it needed the merest trifle to set +him off weeping again. He was worn out. He lost his way, and wandered about +aimlessly until he found himself in front of his hotel, just when he had +made up his mind that he was lost. He had forgotten even the name of the +street in which he lodged. + +He went up to his horrible room. He was empty, and his eyes were burning: +he was aching body and soul as he sank down into a chair in the corner of +the room: he stayed like that for a couple of hours and could not stir. At +last he wrenched himself out of his apathy and went to bed. He fell into +a fevered slumber, from which he awoke every few minutes, feeling that he +had been asleep for hours. The room was stifling: he was burning from head +to foot: he was horribly thirsty: he suffered from ridiculous nightmares, +which clung to him even after he had opened his eyes: sharp pains thudded +in him like the blows of a hammer. In the middle of the night he awoke, +overwhelmed by despair, so profound that he all but cried out: he stuffed +the bedclothes into his mouth so as not to be heard: he felt that he was +going mad. He sat up in bed, and struck a light. He was bathed in sweat. He +got up, opened his bag to look for a handkerchief. He laid his hand on an +old Bible, which his mother had hidden in his linen. Christophe had never +read much of the Book: but it was a comfort beyond words for him to find +it at that moment. The Bible had belonged to his grandfather and to his +grandfather's father. The heads of the family had inscribed on a blank page +at the end their names and the important dates of their lives--births, +marriages, deaths. His grandfather had written in pencil, in his large +hand, the dates when he had read and re-read each chapter: the Book was +full of tags of yellowed paper, on which the old man had jotted down his +simple thoughts. The Book used to rest on a shelf above his bed, and he +used often to take it down during the long, sleepless nights and hold +converse with it rather than read it. It had been with him to the hour +of his death, as it had been with his father. A century of the joys and +sorrows of the family was breathed forth from the pages of the Book. +Holding it in his hands, Christophe felt less lonely. + +He opened it at the most somber words of all: + +_Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? Are not his days also +like the days of an hireling? + +When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise and the night be gone? and I am +full of tossings to and fro unto the dawn of the day. + +When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint, +then Thou searest me with dreams and terrifiest me through visions.... How +long wilt Thou not depart from me, nor let me alone till I swallow down my +spittle? I have sinned; what shall I do unto Thee, O Thou preserver of men? + +Though He slay me yet will I trust in Him._ + +All greatness is good, and the height of sorrow tops deliverance. What +casts down and overwhelms and blasts the soul beyond all hope is mediocrity +in sorrow and joy, selfish and niggardly suffering that has not the +strength to be rid of the lost pleasure, and in secret lends itself to +every sort of degradation to steal pleasure anew. Christophe was braced up +by the bitter savor that he found in the old Book: the wind of Sinai coming +from vast and lonely spaces and the mighty sea to sweep away the steamy +vapors. The fever in Christophe subsided. He was calm again, and lay down +and slept peacefully until the morrow. When he opened his eyes again it was +day. More acutely than ever he was conscious of the horror of his room: he +felt his loneliness and wretchedness: but he faced them. He was no longer +disheartened: he was left only with a sturdy melancholy. He read over now +the words of Job: + +_Even though God slay me yet would I trust in Him._ + +He got up. He was ready calmly to face the fight. + +He made up his mind there and then to set to work. He knew only two people +in Paris: two young fellow-countrymen: his old friend Otto Diener, who was +in the office of his uncle, a cloth merchant in the _Mail_ quarter: and a +young Jew from Mainz, Sylvain Kohn, who had a post in a great publishing +house, the address of which Christophe did not know. + +He had been very intimate with Diener when he was fourteen or fifteen. +He had had for him one of those childish friendships which precede love, +and are themselves a sort of love. [Footnote: See _Jean-Christophe_--I: +"The Morning."] Diener had loved him too. The shy, reserved boy had been +attracted by Christophe's gusty independence: he had tried hard to imitate +him, quite ridiculously: that had both irritated and flattered Christophe. +Then they had made plans for the overturning of the world. In the end +Diener had gone abroad for his education in business, and they did not see +each other again: but Christophe had news of him from time to time from the +people in the town with whom Diener remained on friendly terms. + +As for Sylvain Kohn, his relation with Christophe had been of another kind +altogether. They had been at school together, where the young monkey had +played many pranks on Christophe, who thrashed him for it when he saw +the trap into which he had fallen. Kohn did not put up a fight: he let +Christophe knock him down and rub his face in the dust, while he howled; +but he would begin again at once with a malice that never tired--until the +day when he became really afraid, Christophe having seriously threatened to +kill him. + +Christophe went out early. He stopped to breakfast at a café. In spite +of his self-consciousness, he forced himself to lose no opportunity of +speaking French. Since he had to live in Paris, perhaps for years, he had +better adapt himself as quickly as possible to the conditions of life +there, and overcome his repugnance. So he forced himself, although he +suffered horribly, to take no notice of the sly looks of the waiter as +he listened to his horrible lingo. He was not discouraged, and went on +obstinately constructing ponderous, formless sentences and repeating them +until he was understood. + +He set out to look for Diener. As usual, when he had an idea in his head, +he saw nothing of what was going on about him. During that first walk his +only impression of Paris was that of an old and ill-kept town. Christophe +was accustomed to the towns of the new German Empire, that were both very +old and very young, towns in which there is expressed a new birth of pride: +and he was unpleasantly surprised by the shabby streets, the muddy roads, +the hustling people, the confused traffic--vehicles of every sort and +shape: venerable horse omnibuses, steam trams, electric trams, all sorts +of trams--booths on the pavements, merry-go-rounds of wooden horses (or +monsters and gargoyles) in the squares that were choked up with statues of +gentlemen in frock-coats: all sorts of relics of a town of the Middle Ages +endowed with the privilege of universal suffrage, but quite incapable of +breaking free from its old vagabond existence. The fog of the preceding day +had turned to a light, soaking rain. In many of the shops the gas was lit, +although it was past ten o'clock. + +Christophe lost his way in the labyrinth of streets round the _Place des +Victoires_, but eventually found the shop he was looking for in the _Rue +de la Banque_. As he entered he thought he saw Diener at the back of the +long, dark shop, arranging packages of goods, together with some of the +assistants. But he was a little short-sighted, and could not trust his +eyes, although it was very rarely that they deceived him. There was a +general movement among the people at the back of the shop when Christophe +gave his name to the clerk who approached him: and after a confabulation a +young man stepped forward from the group, and said in German: + +"Herr Diener is out." + +"Out? For long?" + +"I think so. He has just gone." + +Christophe thought for a moment; then he said: + +"Very well. I will wait." + +The clerk was taken aback, and hastened to add: + +"But he won't be back before two or three." + +"Oh! That's nothing," replied Christophe calmly. "I haven't anything to do +in Paris. I can wait all day if need be." + +The young man looked at him in amazement, and thought he was joking. But +Christophe had forgotten him already. He sat down quietly in a corner, with +his back turned towards the street: and it looked as though he intended to +stay there. + +The clerk went back to the end of the shop and whispered to his colleagues: +they were most comically distressed, and cast about for some means of +getting rid of the insistent Christophe. + +After a few uneasy moments, the door of the office was opened and Herr +Diener appeared. He had a large red face, marked with a purple scar down +his cheek and chin, a fair mustache, smooth hair, parted on one side, a +gold-rimmed eyeglass, gold studs in his shirt-front, and rings on his +fat fingers. He had his hat and an umbrella in his hands. He came up to +Christophe in a nonchalant manner. Christophe, who was dreaming as he sat, +started with surprise. He seized Diener's hands, and shouted with a noisy +heartiness that made the assistants titter and Diener blush. That majestic +personage had his reasons for not wishing to resume his former relationship +with Christophe: and he had made up his mind from the first to keep him at +a distance by a haughty manner. But he had no sooner come face to face with +Christophe than he felt like a little boy again in his presence: he was +furious and ashamed. He muttered hurriedly: + +"In my office.... We shall be able to talk better there." + +Christophe recognized Diener's habitual prudence. + +But when they were in the office and the door was shut, Diener showed no +eagerness to offer him a chair. He remained standing, making clumsy +explanations: + +"Very glad.... I was just going out.... They thought I had gone.... But I +must go ... I have only a minute ... a pressing appointment...." + +Christophe understood that the clerk had lied to him, and that the lie +had been arranged by Diener to get rid of him. His blood boiled: but he +controlled himself, and said dryly: + +"There is no hurry." + +Diener drew himself up. He was shocked by such off-handedness. + +"What!" he said. "No hurry! In business..." Christophe looked him in the +face. + +"No." + +Diener looked away. He hated Christophe for having so put him to shame. He +murmured irritably. Christophe cut him short: + +"Come," he said. "You know..." + +(He used the "_Du_," which maddened Diener, who from the first had been +vainly trying to set up between Christophe and himself the barrier of the +"_Sie_") + +"You know why I am here?" + +"Yes," said Diener. "I know." + +(He had heard of Christophe's escapade, and the warrant out against him, +from his friends.) + +"Then," Christophe went on, "you know that I am not here for fun. I have +had to fly. I have nothing. I must live." + +Diener was waiting for that, for the request. He took it with a mixture of +satisfaction--(for it made it possible for him to feel his superiority over +Christophe)--and embarrassment--(for he dared not make Christophe feel his +superiority as much as he would have liked). + +"Ah!" he said pompously. "It is very tiresome, very tiresome. Life here +is hard. Everything is so dear. We have enormous expenses. And all these +assistants..." + +Christophe cut him short contemptuously: + +"I am not asking you for money." + +Diener was abashed. Christophe went on: + +"Is your business doing well? Have you many customers?" + +"Yes. Yes. Not bad, thank God!..." said Diener cautiously. (He was on his +guard.) + +Christophe darted a look of fury at him, and went on: + +"You know many people in the German colony?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well: speak for me. They must be musical. They have children. I will +give them lessons." + +Diener was embarrassed at that. + +"What is it?" asked Christophe. "Do you think I'm not competent to do the +work?" + +He was asking a service as though it were he who was rendering it. Diener, +who would not have done a thing for Christophe except for the sake of +putting him under an obligation, was resolved not to stir a finger for him. + +"It isn't that. You're a thousand times too good for it. Only..." + +"What, then?" + +"Well, you see, it's very difficult--very difficult--on account of your +position." + +"My position?" + +"Yes.... You see, that affair, the warrant.... If that were to be known.... +It is difficult for me. It might do me harm." + +He stopped as he saw Christophe's face go hot with anger: and he added +quickly: + +"Not on my own account.... I'm not afraid.... Ah! If I were alone!... But +my uncle ... you know, the business is his. I can do nothing without +him...." + +He grew more and more alarmed at Christophe's expression, and at the +thought of the gathering explosion he said hurriedly--(he was not a bad +fellow at bottom: avarice and vanity were struggling in him: he would have +liked to help Christophe, at a price): + +"Can I lend you fifty francs?" + +Christophe went crimson. He went up to Diener, who stepped back hurriedly +to the door and opened it, and held himself in readiness to call for help, +if necessary. But Christophe only thrust his face near his and bawled: + +"You swine!" + +And he flung him aside and walked out through the little throng of +assistants. At the door he spat in disgust. + + * * * * * + +He strode along down the street. He was blind with fury. The rain sobered +him. Where was he going? He did not know. He did not know a soul. He +stopped to think outside a book-shop, and he stared stupidly at the rows +of books. He was struck by the name of a publisher on the cover of one of +them. He wondered why. Then he remembered that it was the name of the house +in which Sylvain Kohn was employed. He made a note of the address.... But +what was the good? He would not go.... Why should he not go?... If that +scoundrel Diener, who had been his friend, had given him such a welcome, +what had he to expect from a rascal whom he had handled roughly, who had +good cause to hate him? Vain humiliations! His blood boiled at the thought. +But his native pessimism, derived perhaps from his Christian education, +urged him on to probe to the depths of human baseness. + +"I have no right to stand on ceremony. I must try everything before I give +in." + +And an inward voice added: + +"And I shall not give in." + +He made sure of the address, and went to hunt up Kohn He made up his mind +to hit him in the eye at the first show of impertinence. + +The publishing house was in the neighborhood of the Madeleine. Christophe +went up to a room on the second floor, and asked for Sylvain Kohn. A man in +livery told him that "Kohn was not known." Christophe was taken aback, and +thought his pronunciation must be at fault, and he repeated his question: +but the man listened attentively, and repeated that no one of that name was +known in the place. Quite out of countenance, Christophe begged pardon, and +was turning to go when a door at the end of the corridor opened, and he saw +Kohn himself showing a lady out. Still suffering from the affront put upon +him by Diener, he was inclined to think that everybody was having a joke at +his expense. His first thought was that Kohn had seen him, and had given +orders to the man to say that he was not there. His gorge rose at the +impudence of it. He was on the point of going in a huff, when he heard his +name: Kohn, with his sharp eyes, had recognized him: and he ran up to him, +with a smile on his lips, and his hands held out with every mark of +extraordinary delight. + +Sylvain Kohn was short, thick-set, clean-shaven, like an American; his +complexion was too red, his hair too black; he had a heavy, massive face, +coarse-featured; little darting, wrinkled eyes, a rather crooked mouth, +a heavy, cunning smile. He was modishly dressed, trying to cover up the +defects of his figure, high shoulders, and wide hips. That was the only +thing that touched his vanity: he would gladly have put up with any insult +if only he could have been a few inches taller and of a better figure. +For the rest, he was very well pleased with himself: he thought himself +irresistible, as indeed he was. The little German Jew, clod as he was, had +made himself the chronicler and arbiter of Parisian fashion and smartness. +He wrote insipid society paragraphs and articles in a delicately involved +manner. He was the champion of French style, French smartness, French +gallantry, French wit--Regency, red heels, Lauzun. People laughed at him: +but that did not prevent his success. Those who say that in Paris ridicule +kills do not know Paris: so far from dying of it, there are people who live +on it: in Paris ridicule leads to everything, even to fame and fortune. +Sylvain Kohn was far beyond any need to reckon the good-will that every day +accumulated to him through his Frankfortian affectations. + +He spoke with a thick accent through his nose. + +"Ah! What a surprise!" he cried gaily, taking Christophe's hands in his +own clumsy paws, with their stubby fingers that looked as though they were +crammed into too tight a skin. He could not let go of Christophe's hands. +It was as though, he were encountering his best friend. Christophe was so +staggered that he wondered again if Kohn was not making fun of him. But +Kohn was doing nothing of the kind--or, rather, if he was joking, it was +no more than usual. There was no rancor about Kohn: he was too clever for +that. He had long ago forgotten the rough treatment he had suffered at +Christophe's hands: and if ever he did remember it, it did not worry him. +He was delighted to have the opportunity of showing his old schoolfellow +his importance and his new duties, and the elegance of his Parisian +manners. He was not lying in expressing his surprise: a visit from +Christophe was the last thing in the world that he expected: and if he was +too worldly-wise not to know that the visit was of set material purpose, +he took it as a reason the more for welcoming him, as it was, in fact, a +tribute to his power. + +"And you have come from Germany? How is your mother?" he asked, with a +familiarity which at any other time would have annoyed Christophe, but now +gave him comfort in the strange city. + +"But how was it," asked Christophe, who was still inclined to be +suspicious, "that they told me just now that Herr Kohn did not belong +here?" + +"Herr Kohn doesn't belong here," said Sylvain Kohn, laughing. "My name +isn't Kohn now. My name is Hamilton." + +He broke off. + +"Excuse me," he said. + +He went and shook hands with a lady who was passing and smiled grimacingly. +Then he came back. He explained that the lady was a writer famous for her +voluptuous and passionate novels. The modern Sappho had a purple ribbon +on her bosom, a full figure, bright golden hair round a painted face; she +made a few pretentious remarks in a mannish fashion with the accent of +Franche-Comté. + +Kohn plied Christophe with questions. He asked about all the people at +home, and what had become of so-and-so, pluming himself on the fact that he +remembered everybody. Christophe had forgotten his antipathy; he replied +cordially and gratefully, giving a mass of detail about which Kohn cared +nothing at all, and presently he broke off again. + +"Excuse me," he said. + +And he went to greet another lady who had come in. + +"Dear me!" said Christophe. "Are there only women writers in France?" + +Kohn began to laugh, and said fatuously: + +"France is a woman, my dear fellow. If you want to succeed, make up to the +women." + +Christophe did not listen to the explanation, and went on with his own +story. To put a stop to it, Kohn asked: + +"But how the devil do you come here?" + +"Ah!" thought Christophe, "he doesn't know. That is why he was so amiable. +He'll be different when he knows." + +He made it a point of honor to tell everything against himself: the brawl +with the soldiers, the warrant out against him, his flight from the +country. + +Kohn rocked with laughter. + +"Bravo!" he cried. "Bravo! That's a good story!" + +He shook Christophe's hand warmly. He was delighted by any smack in the eye +of authority: and the story tickled him the more as he knew the heroes of +it: he saw the funny side of it. + +"I say," he said, "it is past twelve. Will you give me the pleasure ...? +Lunch with me?" + +Christophe accepted gratefully. He thought: + +"This is a good fellow--decidedly a good fellow. I was mistaken." + +They went out together. On the way Christophe put forward his request: + +"You see how I am placed. I came here to look for work--music +lessons--until I can make my name. Could you speak for me?" + +"Certainly," said Kohn. "To any one you like. I know everybody here. I'm at +your service." + +He was glad to be able to show how important he was. + +Christophe covered him with expressions of gratitude. He felt that he was +relieved of a great weight of anxiety. + +At lunch he gorged with the appetite of a man who has not broken fast for +two days. He tucked his napkin round his neck, and ate with his knife. +Kohn-Hamilton was horribly shocked by his voracity and his peasant manners. +And he was, hurt, too, by the small amount of attention that his guest gave +to his bragging. He tried to dazzle him by telling of his fine connections +and his prosperity: but it was no good: Christophe did not listen, and +bluntly interrupted him. His tongue was loosed, and he became familiar. His +heart was full, and he overwhelmed Kohn with his simple confidences of his +plans for the future. Above all, he exasperated him by insisting on taking +his hand across the table and pressing it effusively. And he brought him to +the pitch of irritation at last by wanting to clink glasses in the German +fashion, and, with sentimental speeches, to drink to those at home and +to _Vater Rhein_. Kohn saw, to his horror, that he was on the point of +singing. The people at the next table were casting ironic glances in their +direction. Kohn made some excuse on the score of pressing business, and got +up. Christophe clung to him: he wanted to know when he could have a letter +of introduction, and go and see some one, and begin giving lessons. + +"I'll see about it. To-day--this evening," said Kohn. "I'll talk about you +at once. You can be easy on that score." + +Christophe insisted. + +"When shall I know?" + +"To-morrow ... to-morrow ... or the day after." + +"Very well. I'll come back to-morrow." + +"No, no!" said Kohn quickly. "I'll let you know. Don't you worry." + +"Oh! it's no trouble. Quite the contrary. Eh? I've nothing else to do in +Paris in the meanwhile." + +"Good God!" thought Kohn.... "No," he said aloud. "But I would rather write +to you. You wouldn't find me the next few days. Give me your address." + +Christophe dictated it. + +"Good. I'll write you to-morrow." + +"To-morrow?" + +"To-morrow. You can count on it" + +He cut short Christophe's hand-shaking and escaped. + +"Ugh!" he thought. "What a bore!" + +As he went into his office he told the boy that he would not be in when +"the German" came to see him. Ten minutes later he had forgotten him. + +Christophe went back to his lair. He was full of gentle thoughts. + +"What a good fellow! What a good fellow!" he thought. "How unjust I was +about him. And he bears me no ill-will!" + +He was remorseful, and he was on the point of writing to tell Kohn how +sorry he was to have misjudged him, and to beg his forgiveness for all the +harm he had done him. The tears came to his eyes as he thought of it. But +it was harder for him to write a letter than a score of music: and after he +had cursed and cursed the pen and ink of the hotel--which were, in fact, +horrible--after he had blotted, criss-crossed, and torn up five or six +sheets of paper, he lost patience and dropped it. + +The rest of the day dragged wearily: but Christophe was so worn out by his +sleepless night and his excursions in the morning that at length he dozed +off in his chair. He only woke up in the evening, and then he went to bed: +and he slept for twelve hours on end. + + * * * * * + +Next day from eight o'clock on he sat waiting for the promised letter. He +had no doubt of Kohn's sincerity. He did not go out, telling himself that +perhaps Kohn would come round by the hotel on his way to his office. So as +not to be out, about midday he had his lunch sent up from the eating-house +downstairs. Then he sat waiting again. He was sure Kohn would come on his +way back from lunch. He paced up and down his room, sat down, paced up and +down again, opened his door whenever he heard footsteps on the stairs. +He had no desire to go walking about Paris to stay his anxiety. He lay +down on his bed. His thoughts went back and back to his old mother, who +was thinking of him too--she alone thought of him. He had an infinite +tenderness for her, and he was remorseful at having left her. But he did +not write to her. He was waiting until he could tell her that he had found +work. In spite of the love they had for each other, it would never have +occurred to either of them to write just to tell their love: letters were +for things more definite than that. He lay on the bed with his hands locked +behind his head, and dreamed. Although his room was away from the street, +the roar of Paris invaded the silence: the house shook. Night came again, +and brought no letter. + +Came another day like unto the last. + +On the third day, exasperated by his voluntary seclusion, Christophe +decided to go out. But from the impression of his first evening he was +instinctively in revolt against Paris. He had no desire to see anything: +no curiosity: he was too much taken up with the problem of his own life +to take any pleasure in watching the lives of others: and the memories of +lives past, the monuments of a city, had always left him cold. And so, +hardly had he set foot out of doors, than, although he had made up his mind +not to go near Kohn for a week, he went straight to his office. + +The boy obeyed his orders, and said that M. Hamilton had left Paris on +business. It was a blow to Christophe. He gasped and asked when M. Hamilton +would return. The boy replied at random: + +"In ten days." + +Christophe went back utterly downcast, and buried himself in his room +during the following days. He found it impossible to work. His heart sank +as he saw that his small supply of money--the little sum that his mother +had sent him, carefully wrapped up in a handkerchief at the bottom of his +bag--was rapidly decreasing. He imposed a severe régime on himself. He +only went down in the evening to dinner in the little pot-house, where +he quickly became known to the frequenters of it as the "Prussian" or +"Sauerkraut." With frightful effort, he wrote two or three letters to +French musicians whose names he knew hazily. One of them had been dead +for ten years. He asked them to be so kind as to give him a hearing. His +spelling was wild, and his style was complicated by those long inversions +and ceremonious formulæ which are the custom in Germany. He addressed his +letters: "To the Palace of the Academy of France." The only man to read his +gave it to his friends as a joke. + +After a week Christophe went once more to the publisher's office. This time +he was in luck. He met Sylvain Kohn going out, on the doorstep. Kohn made a +face as he saw that he was caught: but Christophe was so happy that he did +not see that. He took his hands in his usual uncouth way, and asked gaily: + +"You've been away? Did you have a good time?" + +Kohn said that he had had a very good time, but he did not unbend. +Christophe went on: + +"I came, you know.... They told you, I suppose?... Well, any news? You +mentioned my name? What did they say?" + +Kohn looked blank. Christophe was amazed at his frigid manner: he was not +the same man. + +"I mentioned you," said Kohn: "but I haven't heard yet. I haven't had time. +I have been very busy since I saw you--up to my ears in business. I don't +know how I can get through. It is appalling. I shall be ill with it all." + +"Aren't you well?" asked Christophe anxiously and solicitously. + +Kohn looked at him slyly, and replied: + +"Not at all well. I don't know what is the matter, the last few days. I'm +very unwell." + +"I'm so sorry," said Christophe, taking his arm. "Do be careful. You must +rest. I'm so sorry to have been a bother to you. You should have told me. +What is the matter with you, really?" + +He took Kohn's sham excuses so seriously that the little Jew was hard put +to it to hide his amusement, and disarmed by his funny simplicity. Irony is +so dear a pleasure to the Jews--(and a number of Christians in Paris are +Jewish in this respect)--that they are indulgent with bores, and even with +their enemies, if they give them the opportunity of tasting it at their +expense. Besides, Kohn was touched by Christophe's interest in himself. He +felt inclined to help him. + +"I've got an idea," he said. "While you are waiting for lessons, would you +care to do some work for a music publisher?" + +Christophe accepted eagerly. + +"I've got the very thing," said Kohn. "I know one of the partners in a big +firm of music publishers--Daniel Hecht. I'll introduce you. You'll see what +there is to do. I don't know anything about it, you know. But Hecht is a +real musician. You'll get on with him all right." + +They parted until the following day. Kohn was not sorry to be rid of +Christophe by doing him this service. + + * * * * * + +Next day Christophe fetched Kohn at his office. On his advice, he had +brought several of his compositions to show to Hecht. They found him in his +music-shop near the Opéra. Hecht did not put himself out when they went +in: he coldly held out two fingers to take Kohn's hand, did not reply to +Christophe's ceremonious bow, and at Kohn's request he took them into the +next room. He did not ask them to sit down. He stood with his back to the +empty chimney-place, and stared at the wall. + +Daniel Hecht was a man of forty, tall, cold, correctly dressed, a marked +Phenician type; he looked clever and disagreeable: there was a scowl on his +face: he had black hair and a beard like that of an Assyrian King, long +and square-cut. He hardly ever looked straight forward, and he had an +icy brutal way of talking which sounded insulting even when he only said +"Good-day." His insolence was more apparent than real. No doubt it emanated +from a contemptuous strain in his character: but really it was more a part +of the automatic and formal element in him. Jews of that sort are quite +common: opinion is not kind towards them: that hard stiffness of theirs is +looked upon as arrogance, while it is often in reality the outcome of an +incurable boorishness in body and soul. + +Sylvain Kohn introduced his protégé, in a bantering, pretentious voice, +with exaggerated praises. Christophe was abashed by his reception, and +stood shifting from one foot to the other, holding his manuscripts and his +hat in his hand. When Kohn had finished, Hecht, who up to then had seemed +to be unaware of Christophe's existence, turned towards him disdainfully, +and, without looking at him, said: + +"Krafft ... Christophe Krafft.... Never heard the name." + +To Christophe it was as though he had been struck, full in the chest. The +blood rushed to his cheeks. He replied angrily: + +"You'll hear it later on." + +Hecht took no notice, and went on imperturbably, as though Christophe did +not exist: + +"Krafft ... no, never heard it." + +He was one of those people for whom not to be known to them is a mark +against a man. + +He went on in German: + +"And you come from the _Rhine-land_?... It's wonderful how many people +there are there who dabble in music! But I don't think there is a man among +them who has any claim to be a musician." + +He meant it as a joke, not as an insult: but Christophe did not take it so. +He would have replied in kind if Kohn had not anticipated him. + +"Oh, come, come!" he said to Hecht. "You must do me the justice to admit +that I know nothing at all about it." + +"That's to your credit," replied Hecht. + +"If I am to be no musician in order to please you," said Christophe dryly, +"I am sorry, but I'm not that." + +Hecht, still looking aside, went on, as indifferently as ever. + +"You have written music? What have you written? _Lieder_, I suppose?" + +"_Lieder_, two symphonies, symphonic poems, quartets, piano suites, theater +music," said Christophe, boiling. + +"People write a great deal in Germany," said Hecht, with scornful +politeness. + +It made him all the more suspicious of the newcomer to think that he had +written so many works, and that he, Daniel Hecht, had not heard of them. + +"Well," he said, "I might perhaps find work for you as you are recommended +by my friend Hamilton. At present we are making a collection, a 'Library +for Young People,' in which we are publishing some easy pianoforte pieces. +Could you 'simplify' the _Carnival_ of Schumann, and arrange it for six and +eight hands?" + +Christophe was staggered. + +"And you offer that to me, to me--me...?" + +His naïve "Me" delighted Kohn: but Hecht was offended. + +"I don't see that there is anything surprising in that," he said. "It is +not such easy work as all that! If you think it too easy, so much the +better. We'll see about that later on. You tell me you are a good musician. +I must believe you. But I've never heard of you." + +He thought to himself: + +"If one were to believe all these young sparks, they would knock the +stuffing out of Johannes Brahms himself." + +Christophe made no reply--(for he had vowed to hold himself in +check)--clapped his hat on his head, and turned towards the door. Kohn +stopped him, laughing: + +"Wait, wait!" he said. And he turned to Hecht: "He has brought some of his +work to give you an idea." + +"Ah!" said Hecht warily. "Very well, then: let us see them." + +Without a word Christophe held out his manuscripts. Hecht cast his eyes +over them carelessly. + +"What's this? A _suite for piano_ ... (reading): _A Day_.... Ah! Always +program music!..." + +In spite of his apparent indifference he was reading carefully. He was an +excellent musician, and knew his job: he knew nothing outside it: with the +first bar or two he gauged his man. He was silent as he turned over the +pages with a scornful air: he was struck by the talent revealed in them: +but his natural reserve and his vanity, piqued by Christophe's manner, kept +him from showing anything. He went on to the end in silence, not missing a +note. + +"Yes," he said, in a patronizing tone of voice, "they're well enough." + +Violent criticism would have hurt Christophe less. + +"I don't need to be told that," he said irritably. + +"I fancy," said Hecht, "that you showed me them for me to say what I +thought." + +"Not at all." + +"Then," said Hecht coldly, "I fail to see what you have come for." + +"I came to ask for work, and nothing else." + +"I have nothing to offer you for the time being, except what I told you. +And I'm not sure of that. I said it was possible, that's all." + +"And you have no other work to offer a musician like myself?" + +"A musician like you?" said Hecht ironically and cuttingly. "Other +musicians at least as good as yourself have not thought the work beneath +their dignity. There are men whose names I could give you, men who are now +very well known in Paris, have been very grateful to me for it." + +"Then they must have been--swine!" bellowed Christophe.--(He had already +learned certain of the most useful words in the French language)--"You are +wrong if you think you have to do with a man of that kidney. Do you think +you can take me in with looking anywhere but at me, and clipping your +words? You didn't even deign to acknowledge my bow when I came in.... But +what the hell are you to treat me like that? Are you even a musician? Have +you ever written anything?... And you pretend to teach me how to write--me, +to whom writing is life!... And you can find nothing better to offer me, +when you have read my music, than a hashing up of great musicians, a filthy +scrabbling over their works to turn them into parlor tricks for little +girls!... You go to your Parisians who are rotten enough to be taught their +work by you! I'd rather die first!" + +It was impossible to stem the torrent of his words. + +Hecht said icily: + +"Take it or leave it." + +Christophe went out and slammed the doors. Hecht shrugged, and said to +Sylvain Kohn, who was laughing: + +"He will come to it like the rest." + +At heart he valued Christophe. He was clever enough to feel not only the +worth of a piece of work, but also the worth of a man. Behind Christophe's +outburst he had marked a force. And he knew its rarity--in the world of +art more than anywhere else. But his vanity was ruffled by it: nothing +would ever induce him to admit himself in the wrong. He desired loyally +to be just to Christophe, but he could not do it unless Christophe came +and groveled to him. He expected Christophe to return: his melancholy +skepticism and his experience of men had told him how inevitably the will +is weakened and worn down by poverty. + + * * * * * + +Christophe went home. Anger had given place to despair. He felt that he +was lost. The frail prop on which he had counted had failed him. He had no +doubt but that he had made a deadly enemy, not only of Hecht, but of Kohn, +who had introduced him. He was in absolute solitude in a hostile city. +Outside Diener and Kohn he knew no one. His friend Corinne, the beautiful +actress whom he had met in Germany, was not in Paris: she was still touring +abroad, in America, this time on her own account: the papers published +clamatory descriptions of her travels. As for the little French governess +whom he had unwittingly robbed of her situation,--the thought of her had +long filled him with remorse--how often had he vowed that he would find +her when he reached Paris. [Footnote: See _Jean-Christophe_--I: "Revolt."] +But now that he was in Paris he found that he had forgotten one important +thing: her name. He could not remember it. He could only recollect her +Christian name: Antoinette. And then, even if he remembered, how was he to +find a poor little governess in that ant-heap of human beings? + +He had to set to work as soon as possible to find a livelihood. He had five +francs left. In spite of his dislike of him, he forced himself to ask the +innkeeper if he did not know of anybody in the neighborhood to whom he +could give music-lessons. The innkeeper, who had no great opinion of a +lodger who only ate once a day and spoke German, lost what respect he had +for him when he heard that he was only a musician. He was a Frenchman of +the old school, and music was to him an idler's job. He scoffed: + +"The piano!... I don't know. You strum the piano! Congratulations!... But +'tis a queer thing to take to that trade as a matter of taste! When I hear +music, it's just for all the world like listening to the rain.... But +perhaps you might teach me. What do you say, you fellows?" he cried, +turning to some fellows who were drinking. + +They laughed loudly. + +"It's a fine trade," said one of them. "Not dirty work. And the ladies like +it." + +Christophe did not rightly understand the French or the jest: he floundered +for his words: he did not know whether to be angry or not. The innkeeper's +wife took pity on him: + +"Come, come, Philippe, you're not serious," she said to her husband. "All +the same," she went on, turning to Christophe, "there is some one who might +do for you." + +"Who?" asked her husband. + +"The Grasset girl. You know, they've bought a piano." + +"Ah! Those stuck-up folk! So they have." + +They told Christophe that the girl in question was the daughter of a +butcher: her parents were trying to make a lady of her; they would perhaps +like her to have lessons, if only for the sake of making people talk. The +innkeeper's wife promised to see to it. + +Next day she told Christophe that the butcher's wife would like to see him. +He went to her house, and found her in the shop, surrounded with great +pieces of meat. She was a pretty, rather florid woman, and she smiled +sweetly, but stood on her dignity when she heard why he had come. Quite +abruptly she came to the question of payment, and said quickly that she did +not wish to give much, because the piano is quite an agreeable thing, but +not necessary: she offered him fifty centimes an hour. In any case, she +would not pay more than four francs a week. After that she asked Christophe +a little doubtfully if he knew much about music. She was reassured, and +became more amiable when he told her that not only did he know about music, +but wrote it into the bargain: that flattered her vanity: it would be a +good thing to spread about the neighborhood that her daughter was taking +lessons with a composer. + +Next day, when Christophe found himself sitting by the piano--a horrible +instrument, bought second-hand, which sounded like a guitar--with the +butcher's little daughter, whose short, stubby fingers fumbled with the +keys; who was unable to tell one note from another; who was bored to tears; +who began at once to yawn in his face; and he had to submit to the mother's +superintendence, and to her conversation, and to her ideas on music and the +teaching of music--then he felt so miserable, so wretchedly humiliated, +that he had not even the strength to be angry about it. He relapsed into a +state of despair: there were evenings when he could not eat. If in a few +weeks he had fallen so low, where would he end? What good was it to have +rebelled against Hecht's offer? The thing to which he had submitted was +even more degrading. + +One evening, as he sat in his room, he could not restrain his tears: he +flung himself on his knees by his bed and prayed.... To whom did he pray? +To whom could he pray? He did not believe in God; he believed that there +was no God.... But he had to pray--he had to pray within his soul. Only +the mean of spirit never need to pray. They never know the need that comes +to the strong in spirit of taking refuge within the inner sanctuary of +themselves. As he left behind him the humiliations of the day, in the vivid +silence of his heart Christophe felt the presence of his eternal Being, of +his God. The waters of his wretched life stirred and shifted above Him and +never touched Him: what was there in common between that and Him? All the +sorrows of the world rushing on to destruction dashed against that rock. +Christophe heard the blood beating in his veins, beating like an inward +voice, crying: + +"Eternal ... I am ... I am...." + +Well did he know that voice: as long as he could remember he had heard +it. Sometimes he forgot it: often for months together he would lose +consciousness of its mighty monotonous rhythm: but he knew that it was +there, that it never ceased, like the ocean roaring in the night. In the +music of it he found once more the same energy that he gained from it +whenever he bathed in its waters. He rose to his feet. He was fortified. +No: the hard life that he led contained nothing of which he need be +ashamed: he could eat the bread he earned, and never blush for it: it was +for those who made him earn it at such a price to blush and be ashamed. +Patience! Patience! The time would come.... + +But next day he began to lose patience again: and, in spite of all his +efforts, he did at last explode angrily, one day during a lesson, at the +silly little ninny, who had been maddeningly impertinent and laughed at his +accent, and had taken a malicious delight in doing exactly the opposite +of what he told her. The girl screamed in response to Christophe's angry +shouts. She was frightened and enraged at a man whom she paid daring to +show her no respect. She declared that he had struck her--(Christophe had +shaken her arm rather roughly). Her mother bounced in on them like a Fury, +and covered her daughter with kisses and Christophe with abuse. The butcher +also appeared, and declared that he would not suffer any infernal Prussian +to take upon himself to touch his daughter. Furious, pale with rage, +itching to choke the life out of the butcher and his wife and daughter, +Christophe rushed away. His host and hostess, seeing him come in in an +abject condition, had no difficulty in worming the story out of him: and it +fed the malevolence with which they regarded their neighbors. But by the +evening the whole neighborhood was saying that the German was a brute and a +child-beater. + + * * * * * + +Christophe made fresh advances to the music-vendors: but in vain. He found +the French lacking in cordiality: and the whirl and confusion of their +perpetual agitation crushed him. They seemed to him to live in a state of +anarchy, directed by a cunning and despotic bureaucracy. + +One evening, he was wandering along the boulevards, discouraged by the +futility of his efforts, when he saw Sylvain Kohn coming from the opposite +direction. He was convinced that they had quarreled irrevocably and looked +away and tried to pass unnoticed. But Kohn called to him: + +"What became of you after that great day?" he asked with a laugh. "I've +been wanting to look you up, but I lost your address.... Good Lord, my dear +fellow, I didn't know you! You were epic: that's what you were, epic!" + +Christophe stared at him. He was surprised and a little ashamed. + +"You're not angry with me?" + +"Angry? What an idea!" + +So far from being angry, he had been delighted with the way in which +Christophe had trounced Hecht: it had been a treat to him. It really +mattered nothing to him whether Christophe or Hecht was right: he only +regarded people as source of entertainment: and he saw in Christophe a +spring of high comedy, which he intended to exploit to the full. + +"You should have come to see me," he went on. "I was expecting you. What +are you doing this evening? Come to dinner. I won't let you off. Quite +informal: just a few artists: we meet once a fortnight. You should know +these people. Come. I'll introduce you." + +In vain did Christophe beg to be excused on the score of his clothes. +Sylvain Kohn carried him off. + +They entered a restaurant on one of the boulevards, and went up to the +second floor. Christophe found himself among about thirty young men, whose +ages ranged from twenty to thirty-five, and they were all engaged in +animated discussion. Kohn introduced him as a man who had just escaped +from a German prison. They paid no attention to him and did not stop their +passionate discussion, and Kohn plunged into it at once. + +Christophe was shy in this select company, and said nothing: but he was +all ears. He could not grasp--he had great difficulty in following the +volubility of the French--what great artistic interests were in dispute. +He listened attentively, but he could only make out words like "trust," +"monopoly," "fall in prices," "receipts," mixed up with phrases like "the +dignity of art," and the "rights of the author." And at last he saw that +they were talking business. A certain number of authors, it appeared, +belonged to a syndicate and were angry about certain attempts which had +been made to float a rival concern, which, according to them, would dispute +their monopoly of exploitation. The defection of certain of their members +who had found it to their advantage to go over bag and baggage to the rival +house had roused them, to the wildest fury. They talked of decapitation. +"... Burked.... Treachery.... Shame.... Sold...." + +Others did not worry about the living: they were incensed against the dead, +whose sales without royalties choked up the market. It appeared that the +works of De Musset had just become public property, and were selling far +too well. And so they demanded that the State should give them rigorous +protection, and heavily tax the masterpieces of the past so as to check +their circulation at reduced prices, which, they declared, was unfair +competition with the work of living artists. + +They stopped each other to hear the takings of such and such a theater on +the preceding evening. They all went into ecstasies over the fortune of +a veteran dramatist, famous in two continents--a man whom they despised, +though they envied him even more. From the incomes of authors they passed +to those of the critics. They talked of the sum--(pure calumny, no +doubt)--received by one of their colleagues for every first performance +at one of the theaters on the boulevards, the consideration being that he +should speak well of it. He was an honest man: having made his bargain he +stuck to it: but his great secret lay--(so they said)--in so eulogizing the +piece that it would be taken off as quickly as possible so that there might +be many new plays. The tale--(or the account)--caused laughter, but nobody +was surprised. + +And mingled with all that talk they threw out fine phrases: they talked of +"poetry" and "art for art's sake." But through it all there rang "art for +money's sake"; and this jobbing spirit, newly come into French literature, +scandalized Christophe. As he understood nothing at all about their talk of +money he had given it up. But then they began to talk of letters, or rather +of men of letters.--Christophe pricked up his ears as he heard the name of +Victor Hugo. + +They were debating whether he had been cuckolded: they argued at length +about the love of Sainte-Beuve and Madame Hugo. And then they turned to +the lovers of George Sand and their respective merits. That was the chief +occupation of criticism just then: when they had ransacked the houses of +great men, rummaged through the closets, turned out the drawers, ransacked +the cupboards, they burrowed down to their inmost lives. The attitude +of Monsieur de Lauzun lying flat under the bed of the King and Madame +de Montespan was the attitude of criticism in its cult of history and +truth--(everybody just then, of course, made a cult of truth). These young +men were subscribers to the cult: no detail was too small for them in their +search for truth. They applied it to the art of the present as well as to +that of the past: and they analyzed the private life of certain of the more +notorious of their contemporaries with the same passion for exactness. +It was a queer thing that they were possessed of the smallest details of +scenes which are usually enacted without witnesses. It was really as though +the persons concerned had been the first to give exact information to the +public out of their great devotion to the truth. + +Christophe was more and more embarrassed and tried to talk to his neighbors +of something else; but nobody listened to him. At first they asked him +a few vague questions about Germany--questions which, to his amazement, +displayed the almost complete ignorance of these distinguished and +apparently cultured young men concerning the most elementary things of +their work--literature and art--outside Paris; at most they had heard of a +few great names: Hauptmann, Sudermann, Liebermann, Strauss (David, Johann, +Richard), and they picked their way gingerly among them for fear of getting +mixed. If they had questioned Christophe it was from politeness rather than +from curiosity: they had no curiosity: they hardly seemed to notice his +replies: and they hurried back at once to the Parisian topics which were +regaling the rest of the company. + +Christophe timidly tried to talk of music. Not one of these men of letters +was a musician. At heart they considered music an inferior art. But the +growing success of music during the last few years had made them secretly +uneasy: and since it was the fashion they pretended to be interested in it. +They frothed especially about a new opera and declared that music dated +from its performance, or at least the new era in music. This idea made +things easy for their ignorance and snobbishness, for it relieved them +of the necessity of knowing anything else. The author of the opera, a +Parisian, whose name Christophe heard for the first time, had, said some, +made a clean sweep of all that had gone before him, cleaned up, renovated, +and recreated music. Christophe started at that. He asked nothing better +than to believe in genius. But such a genius as that, a genius who had at +one swoop wiped out the past.... Good heavens! He must be a lusty lad: how +the devil had he done it? He asked for particulars. The others, who would +have been hard put to it to give any explanation and were disconcerted by +Christophe, referred him to the musician of the company, Théophile Goujart, +the great musical critic, who began at once to talk of sevenths and ninths. +Goujart knew music much as Sganarelle knew Latin.... + +"_... You don't know Latin?_" + +"_No._" + +_(With enthusiasm) "Cabricias, arci thuram, catalamus, singulariter ... +bonus, bona, bonum."_ + +Finding himself with a man who "understood Latin" he prudently took refuge +in the chatter of esthetics. From that impregnable fortress he began to +bombard Beethoven, Wagner, and classical art, which was not before the +house (but in France it is impossible to praise an artist without making +as an offering a holocaust of all those who are unlike him). He announced +the advent of a new art which trampled under foot the conventions of the +past. He spoke of a new musical language which had been discovered by the +Christopher Columbus of Parisian music, and he said it made an end of the +language of the classics: that was a dead language. + +Christophe reserved his opinion of this reforming genius to wait until +he had seen his work before he said anything: but in spite of himself he +felt an instinctive distrust of this musical Baal to whom all music was +sacrificed. He was scandalized to hear the Masters so spoken of: and he +forgot that he had said much the same sort of thing in Germany. He who at +home had thought himself a revolutionary in art, he who had scandalized +others by the boldness of his judgments and the frankness of his +expressions, felt, as soon as he heard these words spoken in France, that +he was at heart a conservative. He tried to argue, and was tactless enough +to speak, not like a man of culture, who advances arguments without +exposition, but as a professional, bringing out disconcerting facts. He did +not hesitate to plunge into technical explanations: and his voice, as he +talked, struck a note which was well calculated to offend the ears of a +company of superior persons to whom his arguments and the vigor with which +he supported them were alike ridiculous. The critic tried to demolish +him with an attempt at wit, and to end the discussion which had shown +Christophe to his stupefaction that he had to deal with a man who did +not in the least know what he was talking about. And so they came to +the opinion that the German was pedantic and superannuated: and without +knowing anything about it they decided that his music was detestable. But +Christophe's bizarre personality had made an impression on the company of +young men, and with their quickness in seizing on the ridiculous they had +marked the awkward, violent gestures of his thin arms with their enormous +hands, and the furious glances that darted from his eyes as his voice rose +to a falsetto. Sylvain Kohn saw to it that his friends were kept amused. + +Conversation had deserted literature in favor of women. As a matter of +fact they were only two aspects of the same subject: for their literature +was concerned with nothing but women, and their women were concerned with +nothing but literature, they were so much taken up with the affairs and men +of letters. + +They spoke of one good lady, well known in Parisian society, who had, it +was said, just married her lover to her daughter, the better to keep him. +Christophe squirmed in his chair, and tactlessly made a face of disgust. +Kohn saw it, and nudged his neighbor and pointed out that the subject +seemed to excite the German--that no doubt he was longing to know the lady. +Christophe blushed, muttered angrily, and finally said hotly that such +women ought to be whipped. His proposition was received with a shout of +Homeric laughter: and Sylvain Kohn cooingly protested that no man should +touch a woman, even with a flower, etc., etc. (In Paris he was the very +Knight of Love.) Christophe replied that a woman of that sort was neither +more nor less than a bitch, and that there was only one remedy for vicious +dogs: the whip. They roared at him. Christophe said that their gallantry +was hypocritical, and that those who talked most of their respect for women +were those who possessed the least of it: and he protested against these +scandalous tales. They replied that there was no scandal in it, and that it +was only natural: and they were all agreed that the heroine of the story +was not only a charming woman, but _the_ Woman, _par excellence_. The +German waxed indignant. Sylvain Kohn asked him slyly what he thought Woman +was like. Christophe felt that they were pulling his leg and laying a trap +for him: but he fell straight into it in the violent expression of his +convictions. He began to explain his ideas on love to these bantering +Parisians. He could not find his words, floundered about after them, and +finally fished up from the phrases he remembered such impossible words, +such enormities, that he had all his hearers rocking with laughter, while +all the time he was perfectly and admirably serious, never bothered about +them, and was touchingly impervious to their ridicule: for he could not +help seeing that they were making fun of him. At last he tied himself up +in a sentence, could not extricate himself, brought his fist down on the +table, and was silent. + +They tried to bring him back into the discussion: he scowled and did not +flinch, but sat with his elbows on the table, ashamed and irritated. He +did not open his lips again, except to eat and drink, until the dinner was +over. He drank enormously, unlike the Frenchmen, who only sipped their +wine. His neighbor wickedly encouraged him, and went on filling his glass, +which he emptied absently. But, although he was not used to these excesses, +especially after the weeks of privation through which he had passed, he +took his liquor well, and did not cut so ridiculous a figure as the others +hoped. He sat there lost in thought: they paid no attention to him: they +thought he was made drowsy by the wine. He was exhausted by the effort of +following the conversation in French, and tired of hearing about nothing +but literature--actors, authors, publishers, the chatter of the _coulisses_ +and literary life: everything seemed to be reduced to that. Amid all these +new faces and the buzz of words he could not fix a single face, nor a +single thought. His short-sighted eyes, dim and dreamy, wandered slowly +round the table, and they rested on one man after another without seeming +to see them. And yet he saw them better than any one, though he himself was +not conscious of it. He did not, like these Jews and Frenchmen, peck at +the things he saw and dissect them, tear them to rags, and leave them in +tiny, tiny pieces. Slowly, like a sponge, he sucked up the essence of men +and women, and bore away their image in his soul. He seemed to have seen +nothing and to remember nothing. It was only long afterwards--hours, often +days--when he was alone, gazing in upon himself, that he saw that he had +borne away a whole impression. + +But for the moment he seemed to be just a German boor, stuffing himself +with food, concerned only with not missing a mouthful. And he heard nothing +clearly, except when he heard the others calling each other by name, and +then, with a silly drunken insistency, he wondered why so many Frenchmen +have foreign names: Flemish, German, Jewish, Levantine, Anglo- or +Spanish-American. + +He did not notice when they got up from the table. He went on sitting +alone: and he dreamed of the Rhenish hills, the great woods, the tilled +fields, the meadows by the waterside, his old mother. Most of the others +had gone. At last he thought of going, and got up, too, without looking +at anybody, and went and took down his hat and cloak, which were hanging +by the door. When he had put them on he was turning away without saying +good-night, when through a half-open door he saw an object which fascinated +him: a piano. He had not touched a musical instrument for weeks. He went in +and lovingly touched the keys, sat down just as he was, with his hat on his +head and his cloak on his shoulders, and began to play. He had altogether +forgotten where he was. He did not notice that two men crept into the room +to listen to him. One was Sylvain Kohn, a passionate lover of music--God +knows why! for he knew nothing at all about it, and he liked bad music +just as well as good. The other was the musical critic, Théophile Goujart. +He--it simplifies matters so much--neither understood nor loved music: but +that did not keep him from talking about it. On the contrary: nobody is so +free in mind as the man who knows nothing of what he is talking about: for +to such a man it does not matter whether he says one thing more than +another. + +Théophile Goujart was tall, strong, and muscular: he had a black beard, +thick curls on his forehead, which was lined with deep inexpressive +wrinkles, short arms, short legs, a big chest: a type of woodman or porter +of the Auvergne. He had common manners and an arrogant way of speaking. He +had gone into music through politics, at that time the only road to success +in France. He had attached himself to the fortunes of a Minister to whom he +had discovered that he was distantly related--a son "of the bastard of his +apothecary." Ministers are not eternal, and when it seemed that the day of +his Minister was over Théophile Goujart deserted the ship, taking with him +all that he could lay his hands on, notably several orders: for he loved +glory. Tired of politics, in which for some time past he had received +various snubs, both on his own account and on that of his patron, he +looked out for a shelter from the storm, a restful position in which he +could annoy others without being himself annoyed. Everything pointed to +criticism. Just at that moment there fell vacant the post of musical critic +to one of the great Parisian papers. The previous holder of the post, a +young and talented composer, had been dismissed because he insisted on +saying what he thought of the authors and their work. Goujart had never +taken any interest in music, and knew nothing at all about it: he was +chosen without a moment's hesitation. They had had enough of competent +critics: with Goujart there was at least nothing to fear: he did not attach +an absurd importance to his opinions: he was always at the editor's orders, +and ready to comply with a slashing article or enthusiastic approbation. +That he was no musician was a secondary consideration. Everybody in +France knows a little about music. Goujart quickly acquired the requisite +knowledge. His method was quite simple: it consisted in sitting at every +concert next to some good musician, a composer if possible, and getting him +to say what he thought of the works performed. At the end of a few months +of this apprenticeship, he knew his job: the fledgling could fly. He did +not, it is true, soar like an eagle: and God knows what howlers Goujart +committed with the greatest show of authority in his paper! He listened and +read haphazard, stirred the mixture up well in his sluggish brains, and +arrogantly laid down the law for others; he wrote in a pretentious style, +interlarded with puns, and plastered over with an aggressive pedantry: he +had the mind of a schoolmaster. Sometimes, every now and then, he drew down +on himself cruel replies: then he shammed dead, and took good care not to +answer them. He was a mixture of cunning and thick-headedness, insolent or +groveling as circumstances demanded. He cringed to the masters who had an +official position or an established fame (he had no other means of judging +merit in music). He scorned everybody else, and exploited writers who were +starving. He was no fool. + +In spite of his reputation and the authority he had acquired, he knew in +his heart of hearts that he knew nothing about music: and he recognized +that Christophe knew a great deal about it. Nothing would have induced him +to say so: but it was borne in upon him. And now he heard Christophe play: +and he made great efforts to understand him, looking absorbed, profound, +without a thought in his head: he could not see a yard ahead of him through +the fog of sound, and he wagged his head solemnly as one who knew and +adjusted the outward and visible signs of his approval to the fluttering of +the eyelids of Sylvain Kohn, who found it hard to stand still. + +At last Christophe, emerging to consciousness from the fumes of wine and +music, became dimly aware of the pantomime going on behind his back: he +turned and saw the two amateurs of music. They rushed at him and violently +shook hands with him--Sylvain Kohn gurgling that he had played like a god, +Goujart declaring solemnly that he had the left hand of Rubinstein and the +right hand of Paderewski (or it might be the other way round). Both agreed +that such talent ought not to be hid under a bushel, and they pledged +themselves to reveal it. And, incidentally, they were both resolved to +extract from it as much honor and profit as possible. + +From that day on Sylvain Kohn took to inviting Christophe to his rooms, +and put at his disposal his excellent piano, which he never used himself. +Christophe, who was bursting with suppressed music, did not need to be +urged, and accepted: and for a time he made good use of the invitation. + +At first all went well. Christophe was only too happy to play: and +Sylvain Kohn was tactful enough to leave him to play in peace. He enjoyed +it thoroughly himself. By one of those queer phenomena which must be +in everybody's observation, the man, who was no musician, no artist, +cold-hearted and devoid of all poetic feeling and real kindness, was +enslaved sensually by Christophe's music, which he did not understand, +though he found in it a strongly voluptuous pleasure. Unfortunately, he +could not hold his tongue. He had to talk, loudly, while Christophe was +playing. He had to underline the music with affected exclamations, like a +concert snob, or else he passed ridiculous comment on it. Then Christophe +would thump the piano, and declare that he could not go on like that. Kohn +would try hard to be silent: but he could not do it: at once he would +begin again to sniffle, sigh, whistle, beat time, hum, imitate the various +instruments. And when the piece was ended he would have burst if he had not +given Christophe the benefit of his inept comment. + +He was a queer mixture of German sentimentality, Parisian humbug, and +intolerable fatuousness. Sometimes he expressed second-hand precious +opinions; sometimes he made extravagant comparisons; and then he would +make dirty, obscene remarks, or propound some insane nonsense. By way of +praising Beethoven, he would point out some trickery, or read a lascivious +sensuality into his music. The _Quartet in C Minor_ seemed to him jolly +spicy. The sublime _Adagio of the Ninth Symphony_ made him think of +Cherubino. After the three crashing chords at the opening of the _Symphony +in C Minor_, he called out: "Don't come in! I've some one here." He admired +the Battle of _Heldenleben_ because he pretended that it was like the noise +of a motor-car. And always he had some image to explain each piece, a +puerile incongruous image. Really, it seemed impossible that he could have +any love for music. However, there was no doubt about it: he really did +love it: at certain passages to which he attached the most ridiculous +meanings the tears would come into his eyes. But after having been moved by +a scene from Wagner, he would strum out a gallop of Offenbach, or sing some +music-hall ditty after the _Ode to Joy_. Then Christophe would bob about +and roar with rage. But the worst of all to bear was not when Sylvain Kohn +was absurd so much as when he was trying to be profound and subtle, when he +was trying to impress Christophe, when it was Hamilton speaking, and not +Sylvain Kohn. Then Christophe would scowl blackly at him, and squash him +with cold contempt, which hurt Hamilton's vanity: very often these musical +evenings would end in a quarrel. But Kohn would forget it next day, and +Christophe, sorry for his rudeness, would make a point of going back. + +That would not have mattered much if Kohn had been able to refrain from +inviting his friends to hear Christophe. But he could not help wanting to +show off his musician. The first time Christophe found in Kohn's rooms +three or four little Jews and Kohn's mistress--a large florid woman, all +paint and powder, who repeated idiotic jokes and talked about her food, and +thought herself a musician because she showed her legs every evening in the +Revue of the Variétés--Christophe looked black. Next time he told Sylvain +Kohn curtly that he would never again play in his rooms. Sylvain Kohn swore +by all his gods that he would not invite anybody again. But he did so by +stealth, and hid his guests in the next room. Naturally, Christophe found +that out, and went away in a fury, and this time did not return. + +And yet he had to accommodate Kohn, who had introduced him to various +cosmopolitan families, and found him pupils. + + * * * * * + +A few days after Théophile Goujart hunted Christophe up in his lair. He did +not seem to mind his being in such a horrible place. On the contrary, he +was charming. He said: + +"I thought perhaps you would like to hear a little music from time to time: +and as I have tickets for everything, I came to ask if you would care to +come with me." + +Christophe was delighted. He was glad of the kindly attention, and thanked +him effusively. Goujart was a different man from what he had been at their +first meeting. He had dropped his conceit, and, man to man, he was timid, +docile, anxious to learn. It was only when they were with others that he +resumed his superior manner and his blatant tone of voice. His eagerness to +learn had a practical side to it. He had no curiosity about anything that +was not actual. He wanted to know what Christophe thought of a score he had +received which he would have been hard put to it to write about, for he +could hardly read a note. + +They went to a symphony concert. They had to go in by the entrance to a +music-hall. They went down a winding passage to an ill-ventilated hall: +the air was stifling: the seats were very narrow, and placed too close +together: part of the audience was standing and blocking up every way +out:--the uncomfortable French. A man who looked as though he were +hopelessly bored was racing through a Beethoven symphony as though he +were in a hurry to get to the end of it. The voluptuous strains of a +stomach-dance coming from the music-hall next door were mingled with the +funeral march of the _Eroica_. People kept coming in and taking their +seats, and turning their glasses on the audience. As soon as the last +person had arrived, they began to go out again. Christophe strained every +nerve to try and follow the thread of the symphony through the babel; +and he did manage to wrest some pleasure from it--(for the orchestra was +skilful, and Christophe had been deprived of symphony music for a long +time)--and then Goujart took his arm and, in the middle of the concert, +said: + +"Now let us go. We'll go to another concert." + +Christophe frowned: but he made no reply and followed his guide. They went +half across Paris, and then reached another hall, that smelled of stables, +in which at other times fairy plays and popular pieces were given--(in +Paris music is like those poor workingmen who share a lodging: when one +of them leaves the bed, the other creeps into the warm sheets). No air, +of course: since the reign of Louis XIV the French have considered air +unhealthy: and the ventilation of the theaters, like that of old at +Versailles, makes it impossible for people to breathe. A noble old man, +waving his arms like a lion-tamer, was letting loose an act of Wagner: the +wretched beast--the act--was like the lions of a menagerie, dazzled and +cowed by the footlights, so that they have to be whipped to be reminded +that they are lions. The audience consisted of female Pharisees and foolish +women, smiling inanely. After the lion had gone through its performance, +and the tamer had bowed, and they had both been rewarded by the applause of +the audience, Goujart suggested that they should go to yet another concert. +But this time Christophe gripped the arms of his stall, and declared that +he would not budge: he had had enough of running from concert to concert, +picking up the crumbs of a symphony and scraps of a concert on the way. +In vain did Goujart try to explain to him that musical criticism in Paris +was a trade in which it was more important to see than to hear. Christophe +protested that music was not written to be heard in a cab, and needed more +concentration. Such a hotch-potch of concerts was sickening to him: one at +a time was enough for him. + +He was much surprised at the extraordinary number of concerts in Paris. +Like most Germans, he thought that music held a subordinate place in +France: and he expected that it would be served up in small delicate +portions. By way of a beginning, he was given fifteen concerts in seven +days. There was one for every evening in the week, and often two or three +an evening at the same time in different quarters of the city. On Sundays +there were four, all at the same time. Christophe marveled at this appetite +for music. And he was no less amazed at the length of the programs. Till +then he had thought that his fellow-countrymen had a monopoly of these +orgies of sound which had more than once disgusted him in Germany. He +saw now that the Parisians could have given them points in the matter of +gluttony. They were given full measure: two symphonies, a concerto, one +or two overtures, an act from an opera. And they came from all sources: +German, Russian, Scandinavian, French--beer, champagne, orgeat, wine--they +gulped down everything without winking. Christophe was amazed that these +indolent Parisians should have had such capacious stomachs. They did not +suffer for it at all. It was the cask of the Danaïdes. It held nothing. + +It was not long before Christophe perceived that this mass of music +amounted to very little really. He saw the same faces and heard the +same pieces at every concert. Their copious programs moved in a circle. +Practically nothing earlier than Beethoven. Practically nothing later than +Wagner. And what gaps between them! It seemed as though music were reduced +to five or six great German names, three or four French names, and, since +the Franco-Russian alliance, half a dozen Muscovites. None of the old +French Masters. None of the great Italians. None of the German giants of +the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. No contemporary German music, +with the single exception of Richard Strauss, who was more acute than the +rest, and came once a year to plant his new works on the Parisian public. +No Belgian music. No Tschek music. But, most surprising of all, practically +no contemporary French music. And yet everybody was talking about it +mysteriously as a thing that would revolutionize the world. Christophe was +yearning for an opportunity of hearing it: he was very curious about it, +and absolutely without prejudice: he was longing to hear new music, and to +admire the works of genius. But he never succeeded in hearing any of it: +for he did not count a few short pieces, quite cleverly written, but cold +and brain-spun, to which he had not listened very attentively. + + * * * * * + +While he was waiting to form an opinion, Christophe tried to find out +something about it from musical criticism. + +That was not easy. It was like the Court of King Pétaud. Not only did +the various papers lightly contradict each other: but they contradicted +themselves in different articles--almost on different pages. To read +them all was enough to drive a man crazy. Fortunately, the critics only +read their own articles, and the public did not read any of them. But +Christophe, who wanted to gain a clear idea about French musicians, labored +hard to omit nothing: and he marveled at the agility of the critics, who +darted about in a sea of contradictions like fish in water. + +But amid all these divergent opinions one thing struck him: the pedantic +manner of most of the critics. Who was it said that the French were amiable +fantastics who believed in nothing? Those whom Christophe saw were more +hag-ridden by the science of music--even when they knew nothing--than all +the critics on the other side of the Rhine. + +At that time the French musical critics had set about learning what music +was. There were even a few who knew something about it: they were men of +original thought, who had taken the trouble to think about their art, and +to think for themselves. Naturally, they were not very well known: they +were shelved in their little reviews: with only one or two exceptions, +the newspapers were not for them. They were honest men--intelligent, +interesting, sometimes driven by their isolation to paradox and the habit +of thinking aloud, intolerance, and garrulity. The rest had hastily learned +the rudiments of harmony: and they stood gaping in wonder at their newly +acquired knowledge. Like Monsieur Jourdain when he learned the rules of +grammar, they marvelled at their knowledge: + +"_D, a, Da; F, a, Fa; R, a, Ra.... Ah! How fine it is!... Ah! How splendid +it is to know something!..._" + +They only babbled of theme and counter-theme, of harmonies and resultant +sounds, of consecutive ninths and tierce major. When they had labeled the +succeeding harmonies which made up a page of music, they proudly mopped +their brows: they thought they had explained the music, and almost believed +that they had written it. As a matter of fact, they had only repeated it +in school language, like a boy making a grammatical analysis of a page of +Cicero. But it was so difficult for the best of them to conceive music as +a natural language of the soul that, when they did not make it an adjunct +to painting, they dragged it into the outskirts of science, and reduced it +to the level of a problem in harmonic construction. Some who were learned +enough took upon themselves to show a thing or two to past musicians. They +found fault with Beethoven, and rapped Wagner over the knuckles. They +laughed openly at Berlioz and Gluck. Nothing existed for them just then but +Johann Sebastian Bach, and Claude Debussy. And Bach, who had lately been +roundly abused, was beginning to seem pedantic, a periwig, and in fine, a +hack. Quite distinguished men extolled Rameau in mysterious terms--Rameau +and Couperin, called the Great. + +There were tremendous conflicts waged between these learned men. They were +all musicians: but as they all affected different styles, each of them +claimed that his was the only true style, and cried "Raca!" to that of +their colleagues. They accused each other of sham writing and sham culture, +and hurled at each other's heads the words "idealism" and "materialism," +"symbolism" and "verism," "subjectivism" and "objectivism." Christophe +thought it was hardly worth while leaving Germany to find the squabbles +of the Germans in Paris. Instead of being grateful for having good music +presented in so many different fashions, they would only tolerate their own +particular fashion: and a new _Lutrin_, a fierce war, divided musicians +into two hostile camps, the camp of counterpoint and the camp of harmony. +Like the _Gros-boutiens_ and the _Petits-boutiens_, one side maintained +with acrimony that music should be read horizontally, and the other that +it should be read vertically. One party would only hear of full-sounding +chords, melting concatenations, succulent harmonies: they spoke of music as +though it were a confectioner's shop. The other party would not hear of the +ear, that trumpery organ, being considered: music was for them a lecture, +a Parliamentary assembly, in which all the orators spoke at once without +bothering about their neighbors, and went on talking until they had done: +if people could not hear, so much the worse for them! They could read their +speeches next day in the _Official Journal_: music was made to be read, and +not to be heard. When Christophe first heard of this quarrel between the +_Horizontalists_ and the _Verticalists_, he thought they were all mad. When +he was summoned to join in the fight between the army of _Succession_ and +the army of _Superposition_, he replied, with his usual formula, which was +very different from that of Sosia: + +"Gentlemen, I am everybody's enemy." + +And when they insisted, saying: + +"Which matters most in music, harmony or counterpoint?" + +He replied: + +"Music. Show me what you have done." + +They were all agreed about their own music. These intrepid warriors who, +when they were not pummeling each other, were whacking away at some dead +Master whose fame had endured too long, were reconciled by the one passion +which was common to them all: an ardent musical patriotism. France was to +them _the_ great musical nation. They were perpetually proclaiming the +decay of Germany. That did not hurt Christophe. He had declared so himself, +and therefore was not in a position to contradict them. But he was a little +surprised to hear of the supremacy of French music: there was, in fact, +very little trace of it in the past. And yet French musicians maintained +that their art had been admirable from the earliest period. By way of +glorifying French music, they set to work to throw ridicule on the famous +men of the last century, with the exception of one Master, who was very +good and very pure--and a Belgian. Having done that amount of slaughter, +they were free to admire the archaic Masters, who had been forgotten, while +a certain number of them were absolutely unknown. Unlike the lay schools +of France which date the world from the French Revolution, the musicians +regarded it as a chain of mighty mountains, to be scaled before it could +be possible to look back on the Golden Age of music, the Eldorado of art. +After a long eclipse the Golden Age was to emerge again: the hard wall +was to crumble away: a magician of sound was to call forth in full flower +a marvelous spring: the old tree of music was to put forth young green +leaves: in the bed of harmony thousands of flowers were to open their +smiling eyes upon the new dawn: and silvery trickling springs were to +bubble forth with the vernal sweet song of streams--a very idyl. + +Christophe was delighted. But when he looked at the bills of the Parisian +theaters, he saw the names of Meyerbeer, Gounod, Massenet, and Mascagni and +Leoncavallo--names with which he was only too familiar: and he asked his +friends if all this brazen music, with its girlish rapture, its artificial +flowers, like nothing so much as a perfumery shop, was the garden of Armide +that they had promised him. They were hurt and protested: if they were to +be believed, these things were the last vestiges of a moribund age: no +one attached any value to them. But the fact remained that _Cavalleria +Rusticana_ flourished at the Opéra Comique, and _Pagliacci_ at the Opéra: +Massenet and Gounod were more frequently performed than anybody else, and +the musical trinity--_Mignon_, _Les Huguenots_, and _Faust_--had safely +crossed the bar of the thousandth performance. But these were only trivial +accidents: there was no need to go and see them. When some untoward fact +upsets a theory, nothing is more simple than to ignore it. The French +critics shut their eyes to these blatant works and to the public which +applauded them: and only a very little more was needed to make them ignore +the whole music-theater in France. The music-theater was to them a literary +form, and therefore impure. (Being all literary men, they set a ban on +literature.) Any music that was expressive, descriptive, suggestive--in +short, any music with any meaning--was condemned as impure. In every +Frenchman there is a Robespierre. He must be for ever chopping the head +off something or somebody to purify it. The great French critics only +recognized pure music: the rest they left to the rabble. + +Christophe was rather mortified when he thought how vulgar his taste must +be. But he found some comfort in the discovery that all these musicians who +despised the theater spent their time in writing for it: there was not one +of them who did not compose operas. But no doubt that was also a trivial +accident. They were to be judged, as they desired, by their pure music. +Christophe looked about for their pure music. + + * * * * * + +Théophile Goujart took him to the concerts of a Society dedicated to +the national art. There the new glories of French music were elaborated +and carefully hatched. It was a club, a little church, with several +side-chapels. Each chapel had its saint, each saint his devotees, who +blackguarded the saint in the next chapel. It was some time before +Christophe could differentiate between the various saints. Naturally +enough, being accustomed to a very different sort of art, he was at first +baffled by the new music, and the more he thought he understood it, the +farther was he from a real understanding. + +It all seemed to him to be bathed in a perpetual twilight. It was a dull +gray ground on which were drawn lines, shading off and blurring into +each other, sometimes starting from the mist, and then sinking back into +it again. Among all these lines there were stiff, crabbed, and cramped +designs, as though they were drawn with a set-square--patterns with sharp +corners, like the elbow of a skinny woman. There were patterns in curves +floating and curling like the smoke of a cigar. But they were all enveloped +in the gray light. Did the sun never shine in France? Christophe had only +had rain and fog since his arrival, and was inclined to believe so; but +it is the artist's business to create sunshine when the sun fails. These +men lit up their little lanterns, it is true: but they were like the +glow-worm's lamp, giving no warmth and very little light. The titles of +their works were changed: they dealt with Spring, the South, Love, the Joy +of Living, Country Walks; but the music never changed: it was uniformly +soft, pale, enervated, anemic, wasting away. It was then the mode in +France, among the fastidious, to whisper in music. And they were quite +right: for as soon as they tried to talk aloud they shouted: there was no +mean. There was no alternative but distinguished somnolence and +melodramatic declamation. + +Christophe shook off the drowsiness that was creeping over him, and looked +at his program; and he was surprised to read that the little puffs of cloud +floating across the gray sky claimed to represent certain definite things. +For, in spite of theory, all their pure music was almost always program +music, or at least music descriptive of a certain subject. It was in vain +that they denounced literature: they needed the support of a literary +crutch. Strange crutches they were, too, as a rule! Christophe observed +the odd puerility of the subjects which they labored to depict--orchards, +kitchen-gardens, farmyards, musical menageries, a whole Zoo. Some musicians +transposed for orchestra or piano the pictures in the Louvre, or the +frescoes of the Opéra: they turned into music Cuyp, Baudry, and Paul +Potter: explanatory notes helped the hearer to recognize the apple of +Paris, a Dutch inn, or the crupper of a white horse. To Christophe it was +like the production of children obsessed by images, who, not knowing how to +draw, scribble down in their exercise-books anything that comes into their +heads, and naïvely write down under it in large letters an inscription to +the effect that it is a house or a tree. + +But besides these blind image-fanciers who saw with their ears, there were +the philosophers: they discussed metaphysical problems in music: their +symphonies were composed of the struggle between abstract principles and +stated symbols or religions. And in their operas they affected to study the +judicial and social questions of the day: the Declaration of the Rights of +Woman and the Citizen, elaborated by the metaphysicians of the Butte and +the Palais-Bourbon. They did not shrink from bringing the question of +divorce on to the platform together with the inquiry into the birth-rate +and the separation of the Church and State. Among them were to be found +lay symbolists and clerical symbolists. They introduced philosophic +rag-pickers, sociological grisettes, prophetic bakers, and apostolic +fishermen to the stage. Goethe spoke of the artists of his day, "who +reproduced the ideas of Kant in allegorical pictures." The artists of +Christophe's day wrote sociology in semi-quavers. Zola, Nietzsche, +Maeterlinck, Barrès, Jaurès, Mendès, the Gospel, and the Moulin Rouge, all +fed the cistern whence the writers of operas and symphonies drew their +ideas. Many of them, intoxicated by the example of Wagner, cried: "And I, +too, am a poet!" And with perfect assurance they tacked on to their music +verses in rhyme, or unrhymed, written in the style of an elementary school +or a decadent feuilleton. + +All these thinkers and poets were partisans of pure music. But they +preferred talking about it to writing it. And yet they did sometimes manage +to write it. Then they wrote music that was not intended to say anything. +Unfortunately, they often succeeded: their music was meaningless--at least, +to Christophe. It is only fair to say that he had not the key to it. + +In order to understand the music of a foreign nation a man must take the +trouble to learn the language, and not make up his mind beforehand that he +knows it. Christophe, like every good German, thought he knew it. That was +excusable. Many Frenchmen did not understand it any more than he. Like the +Germans of the time of Louis XIV, who tried so hard to speak French that +in the end they forgot their own language, the French musicians of the +nineteenth century had taken so much pains to unlearn their language that +their music had become a foreign lingo. It was only of recent years that a +movement had sprung up to speak French in France. They did not all succeed: +the force of habit was very strong: and with a few exceptions their French +was Belgian, or still smacked faintly of Germany. It was quite natural, +therefore, that a German should be mistaken, and declare, with his usual +assurance, that it was very bad German, and meant nothing, since he could +make nothing of it. + +Christophe was in exactly that case. The symphonies of the French seemed +to him to be abstract, dialectic, and musical themes were opposed and +superposed arithmetically in them: their combinations and permutations +might just as well have been expressed in figures or the letters of the +alphabet. One man would construct a symphony on the progressive development +of a sonorous formula which did not seem to be complete until the last page +of the last movement, so that for nine-tenths of the work it never advanced +beyond the grub stage of its existence. Another would erect variations on a +theme which was not stated until the end, so that the symphony gradually +descended from the complex to the simple. They were very clever toys. But a +man would need to be both very old and very young to be able to enjoy them. +They had cost their inventors untold effort. They took years to write a +fantasy. They worried their hair white in the search for new combinations +of chords--to express ...? No matter! New expressions. As the organ creates +the need, they say, so the expression must in the end create the idea: the +chief thing is that the expression should be novel. Novelty at all costs! +They had a morbid horror of anything that "had been said." The best of them +were paralyzed by it all. They seemed always to be keeping a fearful guard +on themselves, and crossing out what they had written, wondering: "Good +Lord! Where did I read that?" ... There are some musicians--especially in +Germany--who spend their time in piecing together other people's music. The +musicians of France were always looking out at every bar to see that they +had not included in their catalogues melodies that had already been used by +others, and erasing, erasing, changing the shape of the note until it was +like no known note, and even ceased to be like a note at all. + +But they did not take Christophe in: in vain did they muffle themselves +up in a complicated language, and make superhuman and prodigious efforts, +go into orchestral fits, or cultivate inorganic harmonies, an obsessing +monotony, declamations à la Sarah Bernhardt, beginning in a minor key, and +going on for hours plodding along like mules, half asleep, along the edge +of the slippery slope--always under the mask Christophe found the souls of +these men, cold, weary, horribly scented, like Gounod and Massenet, but +even less natural. And he repeated the unjust comment on the French of +Gluck: + +"Let them be: they always go back to their giddy-go-round." + +Only they did try so hard to be learned. They took popular songs as themes +for learned symphonies, like dissertations for the Sorbonne. That was the +great game at the time. All sorts and kinds of popular songs, songs of all +nations, were pressed into the service. And they worked them up into things +like the _Ninth Symphony_ and the _Quartet_ of César Franck, only much more +difficult. A musician would conceive quite a simple air. At once he would +mix it up with another, which meant nothing at all, though it jarred +hideously with the first. And all these people were obviously so calm, so +perfectly balanced!... + +And there was a young conductor, properly haggard and dressed for the part, +who produced these works: he flung himself about, darted lightnings, made +Michael Angelesque gestures as though he were summoning up the armies of +Beethoven or Wagner. The audience, which was composed of society people, +was bored to tears, though nothing would have induced them to renounce the +honor of paying a high price for such glorious boredom: and there were +young tyros who were only too glad to bring their school knowledge into +play as they picked up the threads of the music, and they applauded with +an enthusiasm as frantic as the gestures of the conductor, and the fearful +noise of the music.... + +"What rot!" said Christopher. (For he was well up in Parisian slang by +now.) + + * * * * * + +But it is easier to penetrate the mystery of Parisian slang than the +mystery of Parisian music. Christophe judged it with the passion which he +brought to bear on everything, and the native incapacity of the Germans to +understand French art. At least, he was sincere, and only asked to be put +right if he was mistaken. And he did not regard himself as bound by his +judgment, but left it open to any new impression that might alter it. + +As matters stood, he readily admitted that there was much talent in the +music he heard, interesting stuff, certain odd happy rhythms and harmonies, +an assortment of fine materials, mellow and brilliant, glittering colors, +a perpetual outpouring of invention and cleverness. Christophe was +entertained by it, and learned a thing or two. All these small masters had +infinitely more freedom of thought than the musicians of Germany: they +bravely left the highroad and plunged through the woods. They did their +best to lose themselves. But they were so clever that they could not manage +it. Some of them found themselves on the road again in twenty yards. Others +tired at once, and stopped wherever they might be. There were a few who +almost discovered new paths, but instead of following them up they sat down +at the edge of the wood and fell to musing under a tree. What they most +lacked was will-power, force: they had all the gifts save one--vigor and +life. And all their multifarious efforts were confusedly directed, and were +lost on the road. It was only rarely that these artists became conscious of +the nature of their efforts, and could join forces to a common and a given +end. It was the usual result of French anarchy, which wastes the enormous +wealth of talent and good intentions through the paralyzing influence of +its uncertainty and contradictions. With hardly an exception, all the great +French musicians, like Berlioz and Saint-Saens--to mention only the most +recent--have been hopelessly muddled, self-destructive, and forsworn, for +want of energy, want of faith, and, above all, for want of an inward guide. + +Christophe, with the insolence and disdain of the latter-day German, +thought: + +"The French do no more than fritter away their energy in inventing things +which they are incapable of using. They need a master of another race, a +Gluck or a Napoleon, to turn their Revolutions to any account." + +And he smiled at the notion of an Eighteenth of Brumaire. + + * * * * * + +And yet, in the midst of all this anarchy, there was a group striving to +restore order and discipline to the minds of artists and public. By way +of a beginning, they had taken a Latin name reminiscent of a clerical +institution which had flourished thirteen or fourteen centuries ago at the +time of the great Invasion of the Goths and Vandals. Christophe was rather +surprised at their going back so far. It was a good thing, certainly, to +dominate one's generation. But it looked as though a watch-tower fourteen +centuries high might be, a little inconvenient, and more suitable perhaps +for observing the movements of the stars than those of the men of the +present day. But Christophe was soon reassured when he saw that the sons of +St. Gregory spent very little time on their tower: they only went up it to +ring the bells, and spent the rest of their time in the church below. It +was some time before Christophe, who attended some of their services, saw +that it was a Catholic cult: he had been sure at the outset that their +rites were those of some little Protestant sect. The audience groveled: the +disciples were pious, intolerant, aggressive on the smallest provocation: +at their head was a man of a cold sort of purity, rather childish and +wilful, maintaining the integrity of his doctrine, religious, moral, and +artistic, explaining in abstract terms the Gospel of music to the small +number of the Elect, and calmly damning Pride and Heresy. To these two +states of mind he attributed every defect in art and every vice of +humanity: the Renaissance, the Reformation, and present-day Judaism, which +he lumped together in one category. The Jews of music were burned in +effigy after being ignominiously dressed. The colossal Handel was soundly +trounced. Only Johann Sebastian Bach attained salvation by the grace of the +Lord, who recognized that he had been a Protestant by mistake. + +The temple of the _Rue Saint-Jacques_ fulfilled an apostolic function: +souls and music found salvation there. The rules of genius were taught +there most methodically. Laborious pupils applied the formulas with +infinite pains and absolute certainty. It looked as though by their pious +labors they were trying to regain the criminal levity of their ancestors: +the Aubers, the Adams, and the trebly damned, the diabolical Berlioz, the +devil himself, _diabolus in musica_. With laudable ardor and a sincere +piety they spread the cult of the acknowledged masters. In ten years the +work they had to show was considerable: French music was transformed. Not +only the French critics, but the musicians themselves had learned something +about music. There were now composers, and even virtuosi, who were +acquainted with the works of Bach. And that was not so common even in +Germany! But, above all, a great effort had been made to combat the +stay-at-home spirit of the French, who will shut themselves up in their +homes, and cannot be induced to go out. So their music lacks air: it is +sealed-chamber music, sofa music, music with no sort of vigor. Think +of Beethoven composing as he strode across country, rushing down the +hillsides, swinging along through sun and rain, terrifying the cattle with +his wild shouts and gestures! There was no danger of the musicians of Paris +upsetting their neighbors with the noise of their inspiration, like the +bear of Bonn. When they composed they muted the strings of their thought: +and the heavy hangings of their rooms prevented any sound from outside +breaking in upon them. + +The _Schola_ had tried to let in fresh air, and had opened the windows upon +the past. But only on the past. The windows were opened upon a courtyard, +not into the street. And it was not much use. Hardly had they opened the +windows than they closed the shutters, like old women afraid of catching +cold. And there came up a gust or two of the Middle Ages, Bach, Palestrina, +popular songs. But what was the good of that? The room still smelt of stale +air. But really that suited them very well: they were afraid of the great +modern draughts of air. And if they knew more than other people, they also +denied more in art. Their music took on a doctrinal character: there was no +relaxation: their concerts were history lectures, or a string of edifying +examples. Advanced ideas became academic. The great Bach, he whose music is +like a torrent, was received into the bosom of the Church and then tamed. +His music was submitted to a transformation in the minds of the _Schola_ +very like the transformation to which the savagely sensual Bible has been +submitted in the minds of the English. As for modern music, the doctrine +promulgated was aristocratic and eclectic, an attempt to compound the +distinctive characteristics of the three or four great periods of music +from the sixth to the twentieth century. If it had been possible to carry +it out, the resulting music would have been like those hybrid structures +raised by a Viceroy of India on his return from his travels, with rare +materials collected in every corner of the earth. But the good sense of +the French saved them from any such barbarically erudite excesses: they +carefully avoided any application of their theories: they treated them as +Molière treated his doctors: they took their prescriptions, but did not +carry them out. The best of them went their own way. The rest of them +contented themselves in practice with very intricate and difficult +exercises in counterpoint: they called them sonatas, quartets, and +symphonies.... "Sonata, what do you desire of me?" The poor thing desired +nothing at all except to be a sonata. The idea behind it was abstract +and anonymous, heavy and joyless. So might a lawyer conceive an art. +Christophe, who had at first been by way of being pleased with the French +for not liking Brahms, now thought that there were many, many little +Brahms in France. These laborious, conscientious, honest journeymen had +many qualities and virtues. Christophe left them edified, but bored to +distraction. It was all very good, very good.... + +How fine it was outside! + + * * * * * + +And yet there were a few independent musicians in Paris, men belonging to +no school; They alone were interesting to Christophe. It was only through +them that he could gauge the vitality of the art. Schools and coteries only +express some superficial fashion or manufactured theory. But the +independent men who stand apart have more chance of really discovering the +ideas of their race and time. It is true that that makes them all the more +difficult for a foreigner to understand. + +That was, in fact, what happened when Christophe first heard the famous +work which the French had so extravagantly praised, while some of them were +announcing the coming of the greatest musical revolution of the last ten +centuries. (It was easy for them to talk about centuries: they knew hardly +anything of any except their own.) + +Théophile Goujart and Sylvain Kohn took Christophe to the Opéra Comique +to hear _Pelleas and Melisande_. They were proud to display the opera +to him--as proud as though they had written it themselves. They gave +Christophe to understand that it would be the road to Damascus for him. And +they went on eulogizing it even after the piece had begun. Christophe shut +them up and listened intently. After the first act he turned to Sylvain +Kohn, who asked him, with glittering eyes: + +"Well, old man, what do you think of it?" + +And he said: + +"Is it like that all through?" + +"Yes." + +"But it's nothing." + +Kohn protested loudly, and called him a Philistine. + +"Nothing at all," said Christophe. "No music. No development. No sequence. +No cohesion. Very nice harmony. Quite good orchestral effects, quite good. +But it's nothing--nothing at all...." + +He listened through the second act. Little by little the lantern gathered +light and glowed: and he began to perceive something through the twilight. +Yes: he could understand the sober-minded rebellion against the Wagnerian +ideal which swamped the drama with floods of music; but he wondered a +little ironically if the ideal of sacrifice did not mean the sacrifice of +something which one does not happen to possess. He felt the easy fluency +of the opera, the production of an effect with the minimum of trouble, the +indolent renunciation of the sturdy effort shown in the vigorous Wagnerian +structures. And he was quite struck by the unity of it, the simple, modest, +rather dragging declamation, although it seemed monotonous to him, and, to +his German ears, it sounded false:--(and it even seemed to him that the +more it aimed at truth the more it showed how little the French language +was suited to music: it is too logical, too precise, too definite,--a world +perfect in itself, but hermetically sealed).--However, the attempt was +interesting, and Christophe gladly sympathized with the spirit of revolt +and reaction against the over-emphasis and violence of Wagnerian art. +The French composer seemed to have devoted his attention discreetly and +ironically to all the things that sentiment and passion only whisper. He +showed love and death inarticulate. It was only by the imperceptible +throbbing of a melody, a little thrill from the orchestra that was no more +than a quivering of the corners of the lips, that the drama passing through +the souls of the characters was brought home to the audience. It was as +though the artist were fearful of letting himself go. He had the genius of +taste--except at certain moments when the Massenet slumbering in the heart +of every Frenchman awoke and waxed lyrical. Then there showed hair that was +too golden, lips that were too red--the Lot's wife of the Third Republic +playing the lover. But such moments were the exception: they were a +relaxation of the writer's self-imposed restraint: throughout the rest of +the opera there reigned a delicate simplicity, a simplicity which was not +so very simple, a deliberate simplicity, the subtle flower of an ancient +society. That young Barbarian, Christophe, only half liked it. The whole +scheme of the play, the poem, worried him. He saw a middle-aged Parisienne +posing childishly and having fairy-tales told to her. It was not the +Wagnerian sickliness, sentimental and clumsy, like a girl from the Rhine +provinces. But the Franco-Belgian sickliness was not much better, with +its simpering parlor-tricks:--"the hair," "the little father," "the +doves,"--and the whole trick of mystery for the delectation of society +women. The soul of the Parisienne was mirrored in the little piece, which, +like a flattering picture, showed the languid fatalism, the boudoir +Nirvana, the soft, sweet melancholy. Nowhere a trace of will-power. No one +knew what he wanted. No one knew what he was doing. + +"It is not my fault! It is not my fault!" these grown-up children groaned. +All through the five acts, which took place in a perpetual +half-light--forests, caves, cellars, death-chambers--little sea-birds +struggled: hardly even that. Poor little birds! Pretty birds, soft, pretty +birds.... They were so afraid of too much light, of the brutality of deeds, +words, passions--life! Life is not soft and pretty. Life is no kid-glove +matter.... + +Christophe could hear in the distance the rumbling of cannon, coming to +batter down that worn-out civilization, that perishing little Greece. + +Was it that proud feeling of melancholy and pity that made him in spite of +all sympathize with the opera? It interested him more than he would admit. +Although he went on telling Sylvain Kohn, as they left the theater, that it +was "very fine, very fine, but lacking in _Schwung_ (impulse), and did not +contain enough music for him," he was careful not to confound _Pelleas_ +with the other music of the French. He was attracted by the lamp shining +through the fog. And then he saw other lights, vivid and fantastic, +flickering round it. His attention was caught by these will-o'-the-wisps: +he would have liked to go near them to find out how it was that they +shone: but they were not easy to catch. These independent musicians, whom +Christophe did not understand, were not very approachable. They seemed to +lack that great need of sympathy which possessed Christophe. With a few +exceptions they seemed to read very little, know very little, desire very +little. They almost all lived in retirement, some outside Paris, others in +Paris, but isolated, by circumstances or purposely, shut up in a narrow +circle--from pride, shyness, disgust, or apathy. There were very few of +them, but they were split up into rival groups, and could not tolerate +each other. They were extremely susceptible, and could not bear with their +enemies, or their rivals, or even their friends, when they dared to admire +any other musician than themselves, or when they admired too coldly, +or too fervently, or in too commonplace or too eccentric a manner. It +was extremely difficult to please them. Every one of them had actually +sanctioned a critic, armed with letters patent, who kept a jealous watch +at the foot of the statue. Visitors were requested not to touch. They did +not gain any greater understanding from being understood only by their own +little groups. They were deformed by the adulation and the opinion that +their partisans and they themselves held of their work, and they lost +grip of their art and their genius. Men with a pleasing fantasy thought +themselves reformers, and Alexandrine artists posed as rivals of Wagner. +They were almost all the victims of competition. Every day they had to leap +a little higher than the day before, and, especially, higher than their +rivals, These exercises in high jumping were not always successful, and +were certainly not attractive except to professionals. They took no account +of the public, and the public never bothered about them. Their art was +out of touch with the people, music which was only fed from music. Now, +Christophe was under the impression, rightly or wrongly, that there was no +music that had a greater need of outside support than French music. That +supple climbing plant needed a prop: it could not do without literature, +but did not find in it enough of the breath of life. French music was +breathless, bloodless, will-less. It was like a woman languishing for her +lover. But, like a Byzantine Empress, slender and feeble in body, laden +with precious stones, it was surrounded with eunuchs: snobs, esthetes, +and critics. The nation was not musical: and the craze, so much talked of +during the last twenty years, for Wagner, Beethoven, Bach, or Debussy, +never reached farther than a certain class. The enormous increase in the +number of concerts, the flowing tide of music at all costs, found no real +response in the development of public taste. It was just a fashionable +craze confined to the few, and leading them astray. There was only a +handful of people who really loved music, and these were not the people +who were most occupied with it, composers and critics. There are so few +musicians in France who really love music! + +So thought Christophe: but it did not occur to him that it is the same +everywhere, that even in Germany there are not many more real musicians, +and that the people who matter in art are not the thousands who understand +nothing about it, but the few who love it and serve it in proud humility. +Had he ever set eyes on them in France? Creators and critics--the best of +them were working in silence, far from the racket, as César Franck had +done, and the most gifted composers of the day were doing, and a number of +artists who would live out their lives in obscurity, so that some day in +the future some journalist might have the glory of discovering them and +posing as their friend--and the little army of industrious and obscure men +of learning who, without ambition and careless of their fame, were building +stone by stone the greatness of the past history of France, or, being vowed +to the musical education of the country, were preparing the greatness of +the France of the future. There were minds there whose wealth and liberty +and world-wide curiosity would have attracted Christophe if he had been +able to discover them! But at most he only caught a cursory glimpse of +two or three of them: he only made their acquaintance in the villainous +caricatures of their ideas. He saw only their defects copied and +exaggerated by the apish mimics of art and the bagmen of the Press. + +But what most disgusted him with these vulgarians of music was their +formalism. They never seemed to consider anything but form. Feeling, +character, life--never a word of these! It never seemed to occur to them +that every real musician lives in a world of sound, as other men live in a +visible world, and that his days are lived in and borne onward by a flood +of music. Music is the air he breathes, the sky above him. Nature wakes +answering music in his soul. His soul itself is music: music is in all that +it loves, hates, suffers, fears, hopes. And when the soul of a musician +loves a beautiful body, it sees music in that, too. The beloved eyes are +not blue, or brown, or gray: they are music: their tenderness is like +caressing, notes, like a delicious chord. That inward music is a thousand +times more rich than the music that finds expression, and the instrument +is inferior to the player. Genius is measured by the power of life, by the +power of evoking life through the imperfect instrument of art. But to how +many men in France does that ever occur? To these chemists music seems to +be no more than the art of resolving sounds. They mistake the alphabet +for a book. Christophe shrugged his shoulders when he heard them say +complacently that to understand art it must be abstracted from the man. +They were extraordinarily pleased with this paradox: for by it they fancied +they were proving their own musical quality. And even Goujart subscribed +to it--Goujart, the idiot who had never been able to understand how people +managed to learn by heart a piece of music--(he had tried to get Christophe +to explain the mystery to him)--and had tried to prove to him that +Beethoven's greatness of soul and Wagner's sensuality had no more to do +with their music than a painter's model has to do with his portraits. + +Christophe lost patience with him, and said: + +"That only proves that a beautiful body is of no more artistic value to +you than a great passion. Poor fellow!... You have no notion of the beauty +given to a portrait by the beauty of a perfect face, or of the glow of +beauty given to music by the beauty of the great soul which is mirrored in +it?... Poor fellow!... You are interested only in the handiwork? So long +as it is well done you are not concerned with the meaning of a piece of +work.... Poor fellow!... You are like those people who do not listen to +what an orator says, but only to the sound of his voice, and watch his +gestures without understanding them, and then say he speaks devilish +well.... Poor fellow! Poor wretch!... Oh, you rotten swine!" + +But it was not only a particular theory that irritated Christophe; it was +all their theories. He was appalled by their unending arguments, their +Byzantine discussions, the everlasting talk, talk, talk, of musicians +about music, and nothing else. It was enough to make the best of musicians +heartily sick of music. Like Moussorgski, Christophe thought that it would +be as well for musicians every now and then to leave their counterpoint and +harmony in favor of books or experience of life. Music is not enough for a +present-day musician; not thus will he dominate his age and raise his head +above the stream of time.... Life! All life! To see everything, to know +everything, to feel everything. To love, to seek, to grasp Truth--the +lovely Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, whose teeth bite in answer to a +kiss! + +Away with your musical discussion-societies, away with your +chord-factories! Not all the twaddle of the harmonic kitchens would ever +help him to find a new harmony that was alive, alive, and not a monstrous +birth. + +He turned his back on these Doctor Wagners, brooding on their alembics to +hatch out some homunculus in bottle: and, running away from French music, +he sought to enter literary circles and Parisian society. Like many +millions of people in France, Christophe made his first acquaintance +with modern French literature through the newspapers. He wanted to get +the measure of Parisian thought as quickly as possible, and at the same +time to perfect his knowledge of the language. And so he set himself +conscientiously to read the papers which he was told were most Parisian. On +the first day after a horrific chronicle of events, which filled several +pages with paragraphs and snapshots, he read a story about a father and a +daughter, a girl of fifteen: it was narrated as though it were a matter +of course, and even rather moving. Next day, in the same paper, he read a +story about a father and a son, a boy of twelve, and the girl was mixed up +in it again. On the following day he read a story about a brother and a +sister. Next day, the story was about two sisters. On the fifth day.... On +the fifth day he hurled the paper away with a shudder, and said to Sylvain +Kohn: + +"But what's the matter with you all? Are you ill?" + +Sylvain Kohn began to laugh, and said: + +"That is art." + +Christophe shrugged his shoulders: + +"You're pulling my leg." + +Kohn laughed once more: + +"Not at all. Read a little more." + +And he pointed to the report of a recent inquiry into Art and Morality, +which set out that "Love sanctified everything," that "Sensuality was +the leaven of Art," that "Art could not be Immoral," that "Morality was +a convention of Jesuit education," and that nothing mattered except "the +greatness of Desire." A number of letters from literary men witnessed +the artistic purity of a novel depicting the life of bawds. Some of the +signatories were among the greatest names in contemporary literature, or +the most austere of critics. A domestic poet, _bourgeois_ and a Catholic, +gave his blessing as an artist to a detailed description of the decadence +of the Greeks. There were enthusiastic praises of novels in which the +course of Lewdness was followed through the ages: Rome, Alexandria, +Byzantium, the Italian and French Renaissance, the Age of Greatness ... +Nothing was omitted. Another cycle of studies was devoted to the various +countries of the world: conscientious writers had devoted their energies, +with a monkish patience, to the study of the low quarters of the five +continents. And it was no matter for surprise to discover among these +geographers and historians of Pleasure distinguished poets and very +excellent writers. They were only marked out from the rest by their +erudition. In their most impeccable style they told archaic stories, highly +spiced. + +But what was most alarming was to see honest men and real artists, men who +rightly enjoyed a high place in French literature, struggling in such a +traffic, for which they were not at all suited. Some of them with great +travail wrote, like the rest, the sort of trash that the newspapers +serialize. They had to produce it by a fixed time, once or twice a week: +and it had been going on for years. They went on producing and producing, +long after they had ceased to have anything to say, racking their brains to +find something new, something more sensational, more bizarre: for the +public was surfeited and sick of everything, and soon wearied of even the +most wanton imaginary pleasures: they had always to go one better--better +than the rest, better than their own best--and they squeezed out their very +life-blood, they squeezed out their guts: it was a pitiable sight, a +grotesque spectacle. + +Christophe, who did not know the ins and outs of that melancholy traffic, +and if he had known them would not have been more indulgent; for in his +eyes nothing in the world could excuse an artist for selling his art for +thirty pieces of silver.... + +(Not even to assure the well-being of those whom he loves? + +Not even then. + +That is not human. + +It is not a question of being human; it is a question of being a man.... +Human!... May God have mercy on your white-livered humanitarianism, it is +so bloodless!... No man loves twenty things at once, no man can serve many +gods!...) + +... Christophe, who, in his hard-working life, had hardly yet seen beyond +the limits of his little German town, could have no idea that this artistic +degradation, which showed so rawly in Paris, was common to nearly all the +great towns: and the hereditary prejudices of chaste Germany against Latin +immorality awoke in him once more. And yet Sylvain Kohn might easily have +pointed to what was going on by the banks of the Spree, and the impurity +of Imperial Germany, where brutality made shame and degradation even more +repulsive. But Sylvain Kohn never thought of it: he was no more shocked by +that than by the life of Paris. He thought ironically: "Every nation has +its little ways," and the ways of the world in which he lived seemed so +natural to him that Christophe could be excused for thinking it was in the +nature of the people. And so, like so many of his compatriots, he saw in +the secret sore which is eating away the intellectual aristocracies of +Europe the vice proper to French art, and the bankruptcy of the Latin +races. + +Christophe was hurt by his first encounter with French literature, and it +took him some time to get over it. And yet there were plenty of books which +were not solely occupied with what one of these writers has nobly called +"the taste for fundamental entertainments." But he never laid hands on +the best and finest of them. Such books were not written, for the like of +Sylvain Kohn and his friends: they did not bother about them, and certainly +Kohn and the rest never bothered about the better class of books: they +ignored each other. Sylvain Kohn would never have thought of mentioning +them to Christophe. He was quite sincerely convinced that his friends +and himself were the incarnation of French Art, and thought there was no +talent, no art, no France outside the men who had been consecrated as great +by their opinion and the press of the boulevards. Christophe knew nothing +about the poets who were the glory of French literature, the very crown of +France. Very few of the novelists reached him, or emerged from the ocean of +mediocre writers: a few books of Barrès and Anatole France. But he was not +sufficiently familiar with the language to be able to enjoy the universal +dilettantism, and erudition, and irony of the one, or the unequal but +superior art of the other. He spent some time in watching the little +orange-trees in tubs growing in the hothouse of Anatole France, and the +delicate, perfect flowers clambering over the gravelike soul of Barrès. He +stayed for a moment or two before the genius, part sublime, part silly, of +Maeterlinck: from that there issued a polite mysticism, monotonous, numbing +like some vague sorrow. He shook himself, and plunged into the heavy, +sluggish stream, the muddy romanticism of Zola, with whom he was already +acquainted, and when he emerged from that it was to sink back and drown in +a deluge of literature. + +The submerged lands exhaled an _odor di femina_. The literature of the day +teemed with effeminate men and women. It is well that women should write if +they are sincere enough to describe what no man has yet seen: the depths +of the soul of a woman. But only very few dared do that: most of them only +wrote to attract the men: they were as untruthful in their books as in +their drawing-rooms: they jockeyed their facts and flirted with the reader. +Since they were no longer religious, and had no confessor to whom to tell +their little lapses, they told them to the public. There was a perfect +shower of novels, almost all scabrous, all affected, written in a sort of +lisping style, a style scented with flowers and fine perfumes--sometimes +too fine--sometimes not fine at all--and the eternal stale, warm, sweetish +smell. Their books reeked of it. Christophe thought, like Goethe: "Let +women do what they like with poetry and writing: but men must not write +like women! That I cannot stand." He could not help being disgusted by +their tricks, their sly coquetry, their sentimentality, which seemed to +expend itself by preference upon creatures hardly worthy of interest, +their style crammed with metaphor, their love-making and sensuality, their +hotch-potch of subtlety and brutality. + +But Christophe was ready to admit that he was not in a position to judge. +He was deafened by the row of this babel of words. It was impossible to +hear the little fluting sounds that were drowned in it all. For even among +such books as these there were some, from the pages of which, behind all +the nonsense, there shone the limpid sky and the harmonious outline of the +hills of Attica--so much talent, so much grace, a sweet breath of life, and +charm of style, a thought like the voluptuous women or the languid boys of +Perugino and the young Raphael, smiling, with half-closed eyes, at their +dream of love. But Christophe was blind to that. Nothing could reveal +to him the dominant tendencies, the currents of public opinion. Even a +Frenchman would have been hard put to it to see them. And the only definite +impression that he had at this time was that of a flood of writing which +looked like a national disaster. It seemed as though everybody wrote: men, +women, children, officers, actors, society people, blackguards. It was an +epidemic. + +For the time being Christophe gave it up. He felt that such a guide as +Sylvain Kohn must lead him hopelessly astray. His experience of a literary +coterie in Germany gave him very properly a profound distrust of the people +whom he met: it was impossible to know whether or no they only represented +the opinion of a few hundred idle people, or even, in certain cases, +whether or no the author was his own public. The theater gave a more exact +idea of the society of Paris. It played an enormous part in the daily life +of the city. It was an enormous kitchen, a Pantagruelesque restaurant, +which could not cope with the appetite of the two million inhabitants. +There were thirty leading theaters, without counting the local houses, café +concerts, all sorts of shows--a hundred halls, all giving performances +every evening, and, every evening, almost all full. A whole nation of +actors and officials. Vast sums were swallowed up in the gulf. The four +State-aided theaters gave work to three thousand people, and cost the +country ten million francs. The whole of Paris re-echoed with the glory +of the play-actors. It was impossible to go anywhere without seeing +innumerable photographs, drawings, caricatures, reproducing their features +and mannerisms, gramophones reproducing their voices, and the newspapers +their opinions on art and politics. They had special newspapers devoted +to them. They published their heroic and domestic Memoirs. These big +self-conscious children, who spent their time in aping each other, these +wonderful apes reigned and held sway over the Parisians: and the dramatic +authors were their chief ministers. Christophe asked Sylvain Kohn to +conduct him into the kingdom of shadows and reflections. + + * * * * * + +But Sylvain Kohn was no safer as a guide in that world than in the world +of books, and, thanks to him, Christophe's first impression was almost as +repulsive as that of his first essay in literature. It seemed that there +was everywhere the same spirit of mental prostitution. + +The pleasure-mongers were divided into two schools. On the one hand there +was the good old way, the national way, of providing a coarse and unclean +pleasure, quite frankly; a delight in ugliness, strong meat, physical +deformities, a show of drawers, barrack-room jests, risky stories, red +pepper, high game, private rooms--"a manly frankness," as those people +say who try to reconcile looseness and morality by pointing out that, +after four acts of dubious fun, order is restored and the Code triumphs +by the fact that the wife is really with the husband whom she thinks +she is deceiving--(so long as the law is observed, then virtue is all +right):--that vicious sort of virtue which defends marriage by endowing it +with all the charm of lewdness:--the Gallic way. + +The other school was in the modern style. It was much more subtle and much +more disgusting. The Parisianized Jews and the Judaicized Christians who +frequented the theater had introduced into it the usual hash of sentiment +which is the distinctive feature of a degenerate cosmopolitanism. Those +sons who blushed for their fathers set themselves to abnegate their racial +conscience: and they succeeded only too well. Having plucked out the soul +that was their birthright, all that was left them was a mixture of the +moral and intellectual values of other races: they made a _macédoine_ of +them, an _olla podrida_: it was their way of taking possession of them. +The men who who were at that time in control of the theaters in Paris were +extraordinarily skilful at beating up filth and sentiment, and giving +virtue a flavoring of vice, vice a flavoring of virtue, and turning upside +down every human relation of age, sex, the family, and the affections. +Their art, therefore, had an odor _sui generis_, which smelt both good and +bad at once--that is to say, it smelled very bad indeed: they called it +"amoralism." + +One of their favorite heroes at that time was the amorous old man. Their +theaters presented a rich gallery of portraits of the type: and in painting +it they introduced a thousand pretty touches. Sometimes the sexagenarian +hero would take his daughter into his confidence, and talk to her about +his mistress: and she would talk about her lovers: and they would give +each other friendly advice: the kindly father would aid his daughter in +her indiscretions: and the precious daughter would intervene with the +unfaithful mistress, beg her to return, and bring her back to the fold. +Sometimes the good old man would listen to the confidences of his +mistress: he would talk to her about her lovers, or, if nothing better +was forthcoming, he would listen to the tale of her gallantries, and even +take a delight in them. And there were portraits of lovers, distinguished +gentlemen, who presided in the houses of their former mistresses, and +helped them in their nefarious business. Society women were thieves. The +men were bawds, the girls were Lesbian. And all these things happened in +the highest society: the society of rich people--the only society that +mattered. For that made it possible to offer the patrons of the theater +damaged goods under cover of the delights of luxury. So tricked out, it was +displayed in the market, to the joy of old gentlemen and young women. And +it all reeked of death and the seraglio. + +Their style was not less mixed than their sentiments. They had invented a +composite jargon of expressions from all classes of society and every +country under the sun--pedantic, slangy, classical, lyrical, precious, +prurient, and low--a mixture of bawdy jests, affectations, coarseness, and +wit, all of which seemed to have a foreign accent. Ironical, and gifted +with a certain clownish humor, they had not much natural wit: but they were +clever enough, and they manufactured their goods in imitation of Paris. If +the stone was not always of the first water, and if the setting was always +strange and overdone, at least it shone in artificial light, and that was +all it was meant to do. They were intelligent, keen, though short-sighted +observers--their eyes had been dulled by centuries of the life of the +counting-house--turning the magnifying-glass on human sentiments, enlarging +small things, not seeing big things. With a marked predilection for finery, +they were incapable of depicting anything but what seemed to their upstart +snobbishness the ideal of polite society: a little group of worn-out rakes +and adventurers, who quarreled among themselves for the possession of +certain stolen moneys and a few virtueless females. + +And yet upon occasion the real nature of these Jewish writers would +suddenly awake, come to the surface from the depths of their being, in +response to some mysterious echo called forth by some vivid word or +sensation. Then there appeared a strange hotch-potch of ages and races, a +breath of wind from the Desert, bringing over the seas to their Parisian +rooms the musty smell of a Turkish bazaar, the dazzling shimmer of the +sands, the mirage, blind sensuality, savage invective, nervous disorder +only a hair's-breadth away from epilepsy, a destructive frenzy--Samson, +suddenly rising like a lion--after ages of squatting in the shade--and +savagely tearing down the columns of the Temple, which comes crashing down +on himself and on his enemies. + +Christophe blew his nose and said to Sylvain Kohn: + +"There's power in it: but it stinks. That's enough! Let's go and see +something else." + +"What?" asked Sylvain Kohn. + +"France." + +"That's it!" said Kohn. + +"Can't be," replied Christophe. "France isn't like that." + +"It's France, and Germany, too." + +"I don't believe it. A nation that was anything like that wouldn't last for +twenty years: why, it's decomposing already. There must be something else." + +"There's nothing better." + +"There must be something else," insisted Christophe. + +"Oh, yes," said Sylvain Kohn. "We have fine people, of course, and theaters +for them, too. Is that what you want? We can give you that." + +He took Christophe to the Théâtre Français. + + * * * * * + +That evening they happened to be playing a modern comedy, in prose, dealing +with some legal problem. + +From the very beginning Christophe was baffled to make out in what sort of +world the action was taking place. The voices of the actors were out of all +reason, full, solemn, slow, formal: they rounded every syllable as though +they were giving a lesson in elocution, and they seemed always to be +scanning Alexandrines with tragic pauses. Their gestures were solemn and +almost hieratic. The heroine, who wore her gown as though it were a Greek +peplus, with arm uplifted, and head lowered, was nothing else but Antigone, +and she smiled with a smile of eternal sacrifice, carefully modulating +the lower notes of her beautiful contralto voice. The heavy father +walked about like a fencing-master, with automatic gestures, a funereal +dignity,--romanticism in a frock-coat. The juvenile lead gulped and gasped +and squeezed out a sob or two. The piece was written in the style of a +tragic serial story: abstract phrases, bureaucratic epithets, academic +periphrases. No movement, not a sound unrehearsed. From beginning to end it +was clockwork, a set problem, a scenario, the skeleton of a play, with not +a scrap of flesh, only literary phrases. Timid ideas lay behind discussions +that were meant to be bold: the whole spirit of the thing was hopelessly +middle-class and respectable. + +The heroine had divorced an unworthy husband, by whom she had had a child, +and she had married a good man whom she loved. The point was, that even in +such a case as this divorce was condemned by Nature, as it is by prejudice. +Nothing could be easier than to prove it: the author contrived that the +woman should be surprised, for one occasion only, into yielding to the +first husband. After that, instead of a perfectly natural remorse, perhaps +a profound sense of shame, together with a greater desire to love and +honor the second and good husband, the author trotted out an heroic case +of conscience, altogether beyond Nature. French writers never seem to be +on good terms with virtue: they always force the note when they talk of +it: they make it quite incredible. They always seem to be dealing with +the heroes of Corneille, and tragedy Kings. And are they not Kings and +Queens, these millionaire heroes, and these heroines who would not be +interesting unless they had at least a mansion in Paris and two or three +country-houses? For such writers and such a public wealth itself is a +beauty, and almost a virtue. + +The audience was even more amazing than the play. They were never bored +by all the tiresomely repeated improbabilities. They laughed at the good +points, when the actors said things that were _meant_ to be laughed at: it +was made obvious that they were coming, so that the audience could be ready +to laugh. They mopped their eyes and coughed, and were deeply moved when +the puppets gasped, and gulped, and roared, and fainted away in accordance +with the hallowed tragic ritual. + +"And people say the French are gay!" exclaimed Christophe as they left the +theater. + +"There's a time for everything," said Sylvain Kohn chaffingly. "You wanted +virtue. You see, there's still virtue in France." + +"But that's not virtue!" cried Christophe. "That's rhetoric!" + +"In France," said Sylvain Kohn. "Virtue in the theater is always +rhetorical." + +"A pretorium virtue," said Christophe, "and the prize goes to the best +talker. I hate lawyers. Have you no poets in France?" + +Sylvain Kohn took him to the poetic drama. + + * * * * * + +There were poets in France. There were even great poets. But the theater +was not for them. It was for the versifiers. The theater is to poetry what +the opera is to music. As Berlioz said: _Sicut amori lupanar._ + +Christophe saw Princesses who were virtuously promiscuous, who prostituted +themselves for their honor, who were compared with Christ ascending +Calvary:--friends who deceived their friends out of devotion to +them:--glorified triangular relations:--heroic cuckoldry: (the cuckold, +like the blessed prostitute, had become a European commodity: the example +of King Mark had turned the heads of the poets: like the stag of Saint +Hubert, the cuckold never appeared without a halo.) And Christophe saw +also lovely damsels torn between passion and duty: their passion bade them +follow a new lover: duty bade them stay with the old one, an old man who +gave them money and was deceived by them. And in the end they plumped +heroically for Duty. Christophe could not see how Duty differed from sordid +interest: but the public was satisfied. The word Duty was enough for them: +they did not insist on having the thing itself; they took the author's word +for it. + +The summit of art was reached and the greatest pleasure was given when, +most paradoxically, sexual immorality and Corneillian heroics could be +combined. In that way every need of the Parisian public was satisfied: +mind, senses, rhetoric. But it is only just to say that the public was +fonder even of words than of lewdness. Eloquence could send it into +ecstasies. It would have suffered anything for a fine tirade. Virtue or +vice, heroics hobnobbing with the basest prurience, there was no pill that +it would not swallow if it were gilded with sonorous rhymes and redundant +words. Anything that came to hand was ground into couplets, antitheses, +arguments: love, suffering, death. And when that was done, they thought +they had felt love, suffering, and death. Nothing but phrases. It was all +a game. When Hugo brought thunder on to the stage, at once (as one of +his disciples said) he muted it so as not to frighten even a child. (The +disciple fancied he was paying him a compliment.) It was never possible to +feel any of the forces of Nature in their art. They made everything polite. +Just as in music--and even more than in music, which was a younger art +in France, and therefore relatively more simple--they were terrified of +anything that had been "already said." The most gifted of them coldly +devoted themselves to working contrariwise. The process was childishly +simple: they pitched on some beautiful legend or fairy-story, and turned +it upside down. Thus, Bluebeard was beaten by his wives, or Polyphemus +was kind enough to pluck out his eye by way of sacrificing himself to the +happiness of Acis and Galatea. And they thought of nothing but form. And +once more it seemed to Christophe (though he was not a good judge) that +these masters of form were rather coxcombs and imitators than great writers +creating their own style and giving breadth and depth to their work. + +They played at being artists. They played at being poets. Nowhere was the +poetic lie more insolently reared than in the heroic drama. They put up a +burlesque conception of a hero: + + "_The great thing is to have a soul magnificent. + An eagel's eye; broad brow like portico; present + An air of strength, grave mien, most touchingly to show + A heart that throbs, eyes full of dreams of worlds they know._" + +Verses like that were taken seriously. Behind the hocus-pocus of such +fine-sounding words, the bombast, the theatrical clash and clang of the +swords and pasteboard helmets, there was always the incurable futility of a +Sardou, the intrepid vaudevillist, playing Punch and Judy with history. +When in the world was the like of the heroism of Cyrano ever to be found? +These writers moved heaven and earth; they summoned from their tombs the +Emperor and his legions, the bandits of the Ligue, the _condottieri_ of +the Renaissance, called up the human cyclones that once devastated the +universe:--just to display a puppet, standing unmoved through frightful +massacres, surrounded by armies, soldiers, and whole hosts of captive +women, dying of a silly calfish love for a woman whom he had seen ten or +fifteen years before--or King Henri IV submitting to assassination because +his mistress no longer loved him. + +So, and no otherwise, did these good people present their parlor Kings, +and _condottieri_, and heroic passion. They were worthy scions of the +illustrious nincompoops of the days of _Grand Cyrus_, those Gascons of the +ideal--Scudéry, La Calprenède--an everlasting brood, the songsters of sham +heroism, impossible heroism, which is the enemy of truth. Christophe +observed to his amazement that the French, who are said to be so clever, +had no sense of the ridiculous. + +He was lucky when religion was not dragged in to fit the fashion! Then, +during Lent, certain actors read the sermons of Bossuet at the Gaîté +to the accompaniment of an organ. Jewish authors wrote tragedies about +Saint Theresa for Jewish actresses. The _Way of the Cross_ was acted at +the Bodinière, the _Child Jesus_ at the Ambigu, the _Passion_ at the +Porte-Saint-Martin, _Jesus_ at the Odéon, orchestral suites on the subject +of _Christ_ at the Botanical Gardens. And a certain brilliant talker--a +poet who wrote passionate love-songs--gave a lecture on the _Redemption_ +at the Châtelet. And, of course, the passages of the Gospel that were most +carefully preserved by these people were those relating to Pilate and +Mary Magdalene:--"_What is truth_?" and the story of the blessed foolish +virgin.--And their boulevard Christs were horribly loquacious and well up +in all the latest tricks of worldly casuistry. + +Christophe said: + +"That is the worst yet. It is untruth incarnate. I'm stifling. Let's get +out." + +And yet there was a great classic art that held its ground among all these +modern industries, like the ruins of the splendid ancient temples among all +the pretentious buildings of modern Rome. But, outside Molière, Christophe +was not yet able to appreciate it. He was not yet familiar enough with the +language, and, therefore, could not grasp the genius of the race. Nothing +baffled him so much as the tragedy of the seventeenth century--one of the +least accessible provinces of French art to foreigners, precisely because +it lies at the very heart of France. It bored him horribly; he found it +cold, dry, and revolting in its tricks and pedantry. The action was thin or +forced, the characters were rhetorical abstractions or as insipid as the +conversation of society women. They were caricatures of the ancient legends +and heroes: a display of reason, arguments, quibbling, and antiquated +psychology and archeology. Speeches, speeches, speeches; the eternal +loquacity of the French. Christophe ironically refused to say whether it +was beautiful or not: there was nothing to interest him in it: whatever the +arguments put forward in turn by the orators of _Cinna_, he did not care a +rap which of the talking-machines won in the end. + +However, he had to admit that the French audience was not of his way of +thinking, and that they did applaud these plays that bored him. But that +did not help to dissipate his confusion: he saw the plays through the +audience: and he recognized in the modern French certain of the features, +distorted, of the classics. So might a critical eye see in the faded charms +of an old coquette the clear, pure features of her daughter:--(such a +discovery is not calculated to foster the illusion of love). Like the +members of a family who are used to seeing each other, the French could not +see the resemblance. But Christophe was struck by it, and exaggerated it: +he could see nothing else. Every work of art he saw seemed to him to be +full of old-fashioned caricatures of the great ancestors of the French; +and he saw these same great ancestors also in caricature. He could not see +any difference between Corneille and the long line of his followers, those +rhetorical poets whose mania it was to present nothing but sublime and +ridiculous cases of conscience. And Racine he confounded with his offspring +of pretentiously introspective Parisian psychologists. + +None of these people had really broken free from the classics. The critics +were for ever discussing _Tartuffe_ and _Phèdre_. They never wearied of +hearing the same plays over and over again. They delighted in the same old +words, and when they were old men they laughed at the same jokes which had +been their joy when they were children. And so it would be while the French +nation endured. No country in the world has so firmly rooted a cult of its +great-great-grandfathers. The rest of the universe did not interest them. +There were many, many men and women, even intelligent men and women, who +had never read anything, and never wanted to read anything outside the +works that had been written in France under the Great King! Their theaters +presented neither Goethe, nor Schiller, nor Kleist, nor Grillparzer, +nor Hebbel, nor any of the great dramatists of other nations, with the +exception of the ancient Greeks, whose heirs they declared themselves to +be--(like every other nation in Europe). Every now and then they felt they +ought to include Shakespeare. That was the touchstone. There were two +schools of Shakespearean interpreters: the one played _King Lear_, with +a commonplace realism, like a comedy of Emile Augier: the other turned +_Hamlet_ into an opera, with bravura airs and vocal exercises à la Victor +Hugo. It never occurred to them that reality could be poetic or that poetry +was the spontaneous language of hearts bursting with life. Shakespeare +seemed false. They very quickly went back to Rostand. + +And yet, during the last twenty years, there had been sturdy efforts made +to vitalize the theater: the narrow circle of subjects drawn from Parisian +literature had been widened: the theater laid hands on everything with a +show of audacity. Two or three times even the outer world, public life, had +torn down the curtain of convention. But the theatrists made haste to piece +it together again. They lived in blinkers, and were afraid of seeing things +as they are. A sort of clannishness, a classical tradition, a routine +of form and spirit, and a lack of real seriousness, held them back from +pushing their audacity to its logical extremity. They turned the acutest +problems into ingenious games: and they always came back to the problem of +women--women of a certain class. And what a sorry figure did the phantoms +of great men cut on their boards: the heroic Anarchy of Ibsen, the Gospel +of Tolstoy, the Superman of Nietzsche!... + +The literary men of Paris took a great deal of trouble to seem to be +advanced thinkers. But at heart they were all conservative. There was no +literature in Europe in which the past, the old, the "eternal yesterday," +held a completer and more unconscious sway: in the great reviews, in the +great newspapers, in the State-aided theaters, in the Academy, Paris +was in literature what London was in Politics: the check on the mind of +Europe. The French Academy was a House of Lords. A certain number of the +institutions of the _Ancien Régime_ forced the spirit of the old days on +the new society. Every revolutionary element was rejected or promptly +assimilated. They asked nothing better. In vain did the Government pretend +to a socialistic polity. In art it truckled under to the Academies and the +Academic Schools. Against the Academies there was no opposition save from +a few coteries, and they put up a very poor fight. For as soon as a member +of a coterie could, he fell into line with an Academy, and became more +academic than the rest. And even if a writer were in the advance guard or +in the van of the army, he was almost always trammeled by his group and the +ideas of his group. Some of them were hidebound by their academic _Credo_, +others by their revolutionary _Credo_: and, when all was done, they both +amounted to the same thing. + + * * * * * + +By way of rousing Christophe, on whom academic art had acted as a +soporific, Sylvain Kohn proposed to take him to certain eclectic +theaters,--the very latest thing. There they saw murder, rape, madness, +torture, eyes plucked out, bellies gutted--anything to thrill the nerves, +and satisfy the barbarism lurking beneath a too civilized section of +the people. It had a great attraction for pretty women and men of the +world--the people who would go and spend whole afternoons in the stuffy +courts of the Palais de Justice, listening to scandalous cases, laughing, +talking, and eating chocolates. But Christophe indignantly refused. The +more closely he examined that sort of art, the more acutely he became +aware of the odor that from the very first he had detected, faintly in the +beginning, then more strongly, and finally it was suffocating: the odor of +death. + +Death: it was everywhere beneath all the luxury and uproar. Christophe +discovered the explanation of the feeling of repugnance with which certain +French plays had filled him. It was not their immorality that shocked him. +Morality, immorality, amorality,--all these words mean nothing. Christophe +had never invented any moral theory: he loved the great poets and great +musicians of the past, and they were no saints: when he came across a great +artist he did not inquire into his morality: he asked him rather: + +"Are you healthy?" + +To be healthy was the great thing. "If the poet is ill, let him first of +all cure himself," as Goethe says. "When he is cured, he will write." + +The writers of Paris were unhealthy: or if one of them happened to be +healthy, the chances were that he was ashamed of it: he disguised it, and +did his best to catch some disease. Their sickness was not shown in any +particular feature of their art:--the love of pleasure, the extreme license +of mind, or the universal trick of criticism which examined and dissected +every idea that was expressed. All these things could be--and were, as the +case might be--healthy or unhealthy. If death was there, it did not come +from the material, but from the use that these people made of it; it was +in the people themselves. And Christophe himself loved pleasure. He, too, +loved liberty. He had drawn down upon himself the displeasure of his little +German town by his frankness in defending many things, which he found here, +promulgated by these Parisians, in such a way as to disgust him. And yet +they were the same things. But nothing sounded the same to the Parisians +and to himself. When Christophe impatiently shook off the yoke of the +great Masters of the past, when he waged war against the esthetics and the +morality of the Pharisees, it was not a game to him as it was to these men +of intellect: and his revolt was directed only towards life, the life of +fruitfulness, big with the centuries to come. With these people all tended +to sterile enjoyment. Sterile, Sterile, Sterile. That was the key to the +enigma. Mind and senses were fruitlessly debauched. A brilliant art, full +of wit and cleverness--a lovely form, in truth, a tradition of beauty, +impregnably seated, in spite of foreign alluvial deposits--a theater which +was a theater, a style which was a style, authors who knew their business, +writers who could write, the fine skeleton of an art, and a thought that +had been great. But a skeleton. Sonorous words, ringing phrases, the +metallic clang of ideas hurtling down the void, witticisms, minds haunted +by sensuality, and senses numbed with thought. It was all useless, save +for the sport of egoism. It led to death. It was a phenomenon analogous +to the frightful decline in the birth-rate of France, which Europe was +observing--and reckoning--in silence. So much wit, so much cleverness, so +many acute senses, all wasted and wasting in a sort of shameful onanism! +They had no notion of it, and wished to have none. They laughed. That was +the only thing that comforted Christophe a little: these people could still +laugh: all was not lost. He liked them even less when they tried to take +themselves seriously: and nothing hurt him more than to see writers, who +regarded art as no more than an instrument of pleasure, giving themselves +airs as priests of a disinterested religion: + +"We are artists," said Sylvain Kohn once more complacently. "We follow art +for art's sake. Art is always pure: everything in art is chaste. We explore +life as tourists, who find everything amusing. We are amateurs of rare +sensations, lovers of beauty." + +"You are hypocrites," replied Christophe bluntly. "Excuse my saying so. I +used to think my own country had a monopoly. In Germany our hypocrisy +consists in always talking about idealism while we think of nothing but +our interests, and we even believe that we are idealists while we think +of nothing but ourselves. But you are much worse: you cover your national +lewdness with the names of Art and Beauty (with capitals)--when you do not +shield your Moral Pilatism behind the names of Truth, Science, Intellectual +Duty, and you wash your hands of the possible consequences of your haughty +inquiry. Art for art's sake!... That's a fine faith! But it is the faith +of the strong. Art! To grasp life, as the eagle claws its prey, to bear it +up into the air, to rise with it into the serenity of space!... For that +you need talons, great wings, and a strong heart. But you are nothing but +sparrows who, when they find a piece of carrion, rend it here and there, +squabbling for it, and twittering ... Art for art's sake!... Oh! wretched +men! Art is no common ground for the feet of all who pass it by. Why, it is +a pleasure, it is the most intoxicating of all. But it is a pleasure which +is only won at the cost of a strenuous fight: it is the laurel-wreath that +crowns the victory of the strong. Art is life tamed. Art is the Emperor +of life. To be Cæsar a man must have the soul of Cæsar. But you are +only limelight Kings: you are playing a part, and do not even deceive +yourselves. And, like those actors, who turn to profit their deformities, +you manufacture literature out of your own deformities and those of your +public. Lovingly do you cultivate the diseases of your people, their fear +of effort, their love of pleasure, their sensual minds, their chimerical +humanitarianism, everything in them that drugs the will, everything in them +that saps their power for action. You deaden their minds with the fumes +of opium. Behind it all is death: you know it: but you will not admit it. +Well, I tell you: Where death is, there art is not. Art is the spring of +life. But even the most honest of your writers are so cowardly that even +when the bandage is removed from their eyes they pretend not to see: they +have the effrontery to say: + +"'It is dangerous, I admit: it is poisonous: but it is full of talent.' + +"It is as if a judge, sentencing a hooligan, were to say: + +"'He's a blackguard, certainly: but he has so much talent!...'" + + * * * * * + +Christophe wondered what was the use of French criticism. There was no lack +of critics: they swarmed all over and about French art. It was impossible +to see the work of the artists: they were swamped by the critics. + +Christophe was not indulgent towards criticism in general. He found it +difficult to admit the utility of these thousands of artists who formed a +Fourth or Fifth Estate in the modern community: he read in it the signs of +a worn-out generation which relegates to others the business of regarding +life--feeling vicariously. And, to go farther, it seemed to him not a +little shameful that they could not even see with their own eyes the +reflection of life, but must have yet more intermediaries, reflections +of the reflection--the critics. At least, they ought to have seen to it +that the reflections were true. But the critics reflected nothing but the +uncertainty of the mob that moved round them. They were like those trick +mirrors which reflect again and again the faces of the sightseers who gaze +into them against a painted background. + +There had been a time when the critics had enjoyed a tremendous authority +in France. The public bowed down to their decrees: and they were not +far from regarding them as superior to the artists, as artists with +intelligence:--(apparently the two words do not go together naturally). +Then they had multiplied too rapidly: there were too many oracles: that +spoiled the trade. When there are so many people, each of whom declares +that he is the sole repository of truth, it is impossible to believe them: +and in the end they cease to believe it themselves. They were discouraged: +in the passage from night to day, according to the French custom, they +passed from one extreme to the other. Where they had before professed +to know everything, they now professed to know nothing. It was a point +of honor with them, quite fatuously. Renan had taught those milksop +generations that it is not correct to affirm anything without denying it at +once, or at least casting a doubt on it. He was one of those men of whom +St. Paul speaks: "For whom there is always Yes, Yes, and then No, No." All +the superior persons in France had wildly embraced this amphibious _Credo_. +It exactly suited their indolence of mind and weakness of character. They +no longer said of a work of art that it was good or bad, true or false, +intelligent or idiotic. They said: + +"It may be so.... Nothing is impossible.... I don't know.... I wash my +hands of it." + +If some objectionable piece were put up, they did not say: + +"That is nasty rubbish!" + +They said: + +"Sir Sganarelle, please do not talk like that. Our philosophy bids us talk +of everything open-mindedly: and therefore you ought not to say: 'That is +nasty rubbish!' but: 'It seems to me that that is nasty rubbish.... But it +is not certain that it is so. It may be a masterpiece. Who can say that it +is not?'" + +There was no danger of their being accused of tyranny over the arts. +Schiller once taught them a lesson when he reminded the petty tyrants of +the Press of his time of what he called bluntly: + +"_The Duty of Servants. + +"First, the house must be clean that the Queen is to enter. Bustle about, +then! Sweep the rooms. That is what you are there for, gentlemen! + +"But as soon as She appears, out you go! Let not the serving-wench sit in +her lady's chair!_" + +But, to be just to the critics of that time, it must be said that they +never did sit in their lady's chair. It was ordered that they should be +servants: and servants they were. But bad servants: they never took a broom +in their hands: the room was thick with dust. Instead of cleaning and +tidying, they folded their arms, and left the work to be done by the +master, the divinity of the day:--Universal Suffrage. + +In fact, there had been for some time a wave of reaction passing through +the popular conscience. A few people had set out--feebly enough--on a +campaign of public health: but Christophe could see no sign of it among the +people with whom he lived. They gained no hearing, and were laughed at. +When every now and then some honest man did raise a protest against unclean +art, the authors replied haughtily that they were in the right, since the +public was satisfied. That was enough to silence every objection. The +public had spoken: that was the supreme law of art! It never occurred to +anybody to impeach the evidence of a debauched public in favor of those +who had debauched them, or that it was the artist's business to lead the +public, not the public the artist. A numerical religion--the number of the +audience, and the sum total of the receipts--dominated the artistic thought +of that commercialized democracy. Following the authors, the critics +docilely declared that the essential function of a work of art was to +please. Success is law: and when success endures, there is nothing to be +done but to bow to it. And so they devoted their energies to anticipating +the fluctuations of the Exchange of pleasure, in trying to find out what +the public thought of the various plays. The joke of it was that the public +was always trying frantically to find out what the critics thought. And so +there they were, looking at each, other: and in each other's eyes they saw +nothing but their own indecision. + +And yet never had there been such crying need of a fearless critic. In an +anarchical Republic, fashion, which is all-powerful in art, very rarely +looks backward, as it does in a conservative State: it goes onwards always: +and there is a perpetual competition of libertinism which hardly anybody +dare resist. The mob is incapable of forming an opinion: at heart it is +shocked: but nobody dares to say what everybody secretly feels. If the +critics were strong, if they dared to be strong, what a power they would +have! A vigorous critic would in a few years become the Napoleon of public +taste, and sweep away all the diseases of art. But there is no Napoleon in +France, All the critics live in that vitiated atmosphere, and do not notice +it. And they dare not speak. They all know each other. They are a more or +less close company, and they have to consider each other: not one of them +is independent. To be so, they would have to renounce their social life, +and even their friendships. Who is there that would have the courage, in +such a knock-kneed time, when even the best critics doubt whether a just +notice is worth the annoyance it may cause to the writer and the object of +it? Who is there so devoted to duty that he would condemn himself to such a +hell on earth: dare to stand out against opinion, fight the imbecility of +the public, expose the mediocrity of the successes of the day, defend the +unknown artist who is alone and at the mercy of the beasts of prey, and +subject the minds of those who were born to obey to the dominion of the +master-mind? Christophe actually heard the critics at a first night in the +vestibule of the theater say: "H'm! Pretty bad, isn't it? Utter rot!" And +next day in their notices they talked of masterpieces, Shakespeare, the +wings of genius beating above their heads. + +"It is not so much talent that your art lacks as character," said +Christophe to Sylvain Kohn. "You need a great critic, a Lessing, a ..." + +"A Boileau?" said Sylvain quizzically. + +"A Boileau, perhaps, more than these artists of genius." + +"If we had a Boileau," said Sylvain Kohn, "no one would listen to him." + +"If they did not listen to him," replied Christophe, "he would not be +a Boileau. I bet you that if I set out and told you the truth about +yourselves, quite bluntly, however clumsy I might be, you would have to +gulp it down." + +"My dear good fellow!" laughed Sylvain Kohn. + +That was all the reply he made. + +He was so cocksure and so satisfied with the general flabbiness of the +French that suddenly it occurred to Christophe that Kohn was a thousand +times more of a foreigner in France than himself: and there was a catch at +his heart. + +"It is impossible," he said once more, as he had said that evening when he +had left the theater on the boulevards in disgust. "There must be something +else." + +"What more do you want?" asked Sylvain Kohn. + +"France." + +"We are France," said Sylvain Kohn, gurgling with laughter. + +Christophe stared hard at him for a moment, then shook his head, and said +once more: + +"There must be something else." + +"Well, old man, you'd better look for it," said Sylvain Kohn, laughing +louder than ever. + +Christophe had to look for it. It was well hidden. + + + + +II + + +The more clearly Christophe saw into the vat of ideas in which Parisian art +was fermenting, the more strongly he was impressed by the supremacy of +women in that cosmopolitan community. They had an absurdly disproportionate +importance. It was not enough for woman to be the helpmeet of man. It was +not even enough for her to be his equal. Her pleasure must be law both +for herself and for man. And man truckled to it. When a nation is growing +old, it renounces its will, its faith, the whole essence of its being, +in favor of the giver of pleasure. Men make works of art: but women make +men,--(except when they tamper with the work of the men, as happened in +France at that time):--and it would be more just to say that they unmake +what they make. No doubt the Eternal Feminine has been an uplifting +influence on the best of men: but for the ordinary men, in ages of +weariness and fatigue, there is, as some one has said, another Feminine, +just as eternal, who drags them down. This other Feminine was the mistress +of Parisian thought, the Queen of the Republic. + + * * * * * + +Christophe closely observed the Parisian women at the houses at which +Sylvain Kohn's introduction or his own skill at the piano had made him +welcome. Like most foreigners, he generalized freely and unsparingly about +French women from the two or three types he had met: young women, not very +tall, and not at all fresh, with neat figures, dyed hair, large hats on +their pretty heads that were a little too large for their bodies: they had +trim features, but their faces were just a little too fleshy: good noses, +vulgar sometimes, characterless always: quick eyes without any great depth, +which they tried to make as brilliant and large as possible: well-cut lips +that were perfectly under control: plump little chins; and the lower part +of their faces revealed their utter materialism; they were elegant little +creatures who, amid all their preoccupations with love and intrigue, never +lost sight of public opinion and their domestic affairs. They were pretty, +but they belonged to no race. In all these polite ladies there was the +savor of the respectable woman perverted, or wanting to be so, together +with all the traditions of her class; prudence, economy, coldness, +practical common sense, egoism. A poor sort of life. A desire for pleasure +emanating rather from a cerebral curiosity than from a need of the senses. +Their will was mediocre in quality, but firm. They were very well dressed, +and had little automatic gestures. They were always patting their hair +or their gowns with the backs or the palms of their hands, with little +delicate movements. And they always managed to sit so that they could +admire themselves--and watch other women--in a mirror, near or far, not to +mention, at tea or dinner, the spoons, knives, silver coffee-pots, polished +and shining, in which they always peeped at the reflections of their faces, +which were more interesting to them than anything or anybody else. At meals +they dieted sternly: drinking water and depriving themselves altogether of +any food that might stand in the way of their ideal of a complexion of a +floury whiteness. + +There was a fairly large proportion of Jewesses among Christophe's +acquaintance: and he was always attracted by them, although, since his +encounter with Judith Mannheim, he had hardly any illusions about them. +Sylvain Kohn had introduced him to several Jewish houses where he was +received with the usual intelligence of the race, which loves intelligence. +Christophe met financiers there, engineers, newspaper proprietors, +international brokers, slave-dealers of a sort from Algiers--the men of +affairs of the Republic. They were clear-headed and energetic, indifferent +to other people, smiling, affable, and secretive. Christophe felt sometimes +that behind their hard faces was the knowledge of crime in the past, and +the future, of these men gathered round the sumptuous table laden with +food, flowers, and wine. They were almost all ugly. But the women, taken +as a whole, were quite brilliant, though it did not do to look at them too +closely: in most of them there was a want of subtlety in their coloring. +But brilliance there was, and a fair show of material life, beautiful +shoulders generously exposed to view, and a genius for making their beauty +and even their ugliness a lure for the men. An artist would have recognized +in some of them the old Roman type, the women of the time of Nero, down +to the time of Hadrian. And there were Palmaesque faces, with a sensual +expression, heavy chins solidly modeled with the neck, and not without a +certain bestial beauty. Some of them had thick curly hair, and bold, fiery +eyes: they seemed to be subtle, incisive, ready for everything, more virile +than other women. And also more feminine. Here and there a more spiritual +profile would stand out. Those pure features came from beyond Rome, from +the East, the country of Laban: there was expressed in them the poetry of +silence, of the Desert. But when Christophe went nearer, and listened to +the conversations between Rebecca and Faustina the Roman, or Saint Barbe +the Venetian, he found her to be just a Parisian Jewess, just like the +others, even more Parisian than the Parisian women, more artificial and +sophisticated, talking quietly, and maliciously stripping the assembled +company, body and soul, with her Madonna's eyes. + +Christophe wandered from group to group, but could identify himself with +none of them. The men talked savagely of hunting, brutally of love, and +only of money with any sort of real appreciation. And that was cold and +cunning. They talked business in the smoking-room. Christophe heard some +one say of a certain fop who was sauntering from one lady to another, with +a buttonhole in his coat, oozing heavy compliments: + +"So! He is free again?" + +In a corner of the room two ladies were talking of the love-affairs of a +young actress and a society woman. There was occasional music. Christophe +was asked to play. Large women, breathless and heavily perspiring, +declaimed in an apocalyptic tone verses of Sully-Prudhomme or Auguste +Dorchain. A famous actor solemnly recited a _Mystic Ballad_ to the +accompaniment of an American organ. Words and music were so stupid that +they turned Christophe sick. But the Roman women were delighted, and +laughed heartily to show their magnificent teeth. Scenes from Ibsen were +performed. It was a fine epilogue to the struggle of a great man against +the Pillars of Society that it should be used for their diversion! + +And then they all began, of course, to prattle about art. That was +horrible. The women especially began to talk of Ibsen, Wagner, Tolstoy, +flirtatiously, politely, boredly, or idiotically. Once the conversation had +started, there was no stopping it. The disease was contagious. Christophe +had to listen to the ideas of bankers, brokers, and slave-dealers on art. +In vain did he refuse to speak or try to turn the conversation: they +insisted on talking about music and poetry. As Berlioz said: "Such people +use the words quite coolly: just as though they were talking of wine, +women, or some such trash." An alienist physician recognized one of his +patients in an Ibsen heroine, though to his way of thinking she was +infinitely more silly. An engineer quite sincerely declared that the +husband was the sympathetic character in the _Doll's House_. The famous +actor--a well-known Comedian--brayed his profound ideas on Nietzsche +and Carlyle: he assured Christophe that he could not see a picture of +Velasquez--(the idol of the hour)--"without the tears coursing down his +cheeks." And he confided--still to Christophe's private ear--that, though +he esteemed art very highly, yet he esteemed still more highly the art of +living, acting, and that if he were asked to choose what part he would +play, it would be that of Bismarck.... Sometimes there would be of the +company a professed wit, but the level of the conversation was not +appreciably higher for that. Generally they said nothing; they confined +themselves to a jerky remark or an enigmatic smile: they lived on their +reputations, and were saved further trouble. But there were a few +professional talkers, generally from the South. They talked about anything +and everything. They had no sense of proportion: everything came alike +to them. One was a Shakespeare. Another a Molière. Another a Pascal, if +not a Jesus Christ. They compared Ibsen with Dumas _fils_, Tolstoy with +George Sand: and the gist of it all was that everything came from France. +Generally they were ignorant of foreign languages. But that did not disturb +them. It mattered so little to their audience whether they told the truth +or not! What did matter was that they should say amusing things, things as +flattering as possible to national vanity. Foreigners had to put up with +a good deal--with the exception of the idol of the hour: for there was +always a fashionable idol: Grieg, or Wagner, or Nietzsche, or Gorki, or +D'Annunzio. It never lasted long, and the idol was certain one fine morning +to be thrown on to the rubbish-heap. + +For the moment the idol was Beethoven. Beethoven--save the mark!--was in +the fashion: at least, among literary and polite persons: for musicians had +dropped him at once, in accordance with the see-saw system which is one of +the laws of artistic taste in France. A Frenchman needs to know what his +neighbor thinks before he knows what he thinks himself, so that he can +think the same thing or the opposite. Thus, when they saw Beethoven in +popular favor, the most distinguished musicians began to discover that he +was not distinguished enough for them: they claimed to lead opinion, not to +follow it: and rather than be in agreement with it they turned their backs +on it. They began to regard Beethoven as a man afflicted with deafness, +crying in a voice of bitterness: and some of them declared that he might be +an excellent moralist, but that he was certainly overpraised as a musician. +That sort of joke was not at all to Christophe's taste. Still less did he +like the enthusiasm of polite society. If Beethoven had come to Paris just +then, he would have been the lion of the hour: it was such a pity that he +had been dead for more than a century. His vogue grew not so much out of +his music as out of the more or less romantic circumstances of his life +which had been popularized by sentimental and virtuous biographies. His +rugged face and lion's mane had become a romantic figure. Ladies wept +for him: they hinted that if they had known him he should not have been +so unhappy: and in their greatness of heart they were the more ready to +sacrifice all for him, in that there was no danger of Beethoven taking them +at their word: the old fellow was beyond all need of anything. That was why +the virtuosi, the conductors, and the _impresarii_ bowed down in pious +worship before him: and, as the representatives of Beethoven, they gathered +the homage destined for him. There were sumptuous festivals at exorbitant +prices, which afforded society people an opportunity of showing their +generosity--and incidentally also of discovering Beethoven's symphonies. +There were committees of actors, men of the world, Bohemians, and +politicians, appointed by the Republic to preside over the destinies of +art, and they informed the world of their intention to erect a monument to +Beethoven: and on these committees, together with a few honest men whose +names guaranteed the rest, were all the riffraff who would have stoned +Beethoven if he had been alive, if Beethoven had not crushed the life out +of them. Christophe watched and listened. He ground his teeth to keep +himself from saying anything outrageous. He was on tenterhooks the whole +evening. He could not talk, nor could he keep silent. It seemed to him +humiliating and shameful to talk neither for pleasure nor from necessity, +but out of politeness, because he had to talk. He was not allowed to say +what he thought, and it was impossible for him to make conversation. And +he did not even know how to be polite without talking. If he looked at +anybody, he glared too fixedly and intently: in spite of himself he studied +that person, and that person was offended. If he spoke at all, he believed +too much in what he was saying; and that was disturbing for everybody, and +even for himself. He quite admitted that he was out of his element: and, as +he was clever enough to sound the general note of the company, in which his +presence was a discord, he was as upset by his manners as his hosts. He was +angry with himself and with them. + +When, at last he stood in the street once more, very late at night, he was +so worn out with the boredom of it all that he could hardly drag himself +home: he wanted to lie down just where he was, in the street, as he had +done many times when he was returning as a boy from his performances at the +Palace of the Grand Duke. Although he had only five or six francs to take +him to the end of the week, he spent two of them on a cab. He flung himself +into it the more quickly to escape: and as he drove along he groaned aloud +from sheer exhaustion. When he reached home and got to bed, he groaned in +his sleep.... And then, suddenly, he roared with laughter as he remembered +some ridiculous saying. He woke up repeating it, and imitating the features +of the speaker. Next day, and for several days after, as he walked about, +he would suddenly bellow like a bull.... Why did he visit these people? +Why did he go on visiting them? Why force himself to gesticulate and make +faces, like the rest, and pretend to be interested in things that did not +appeal to him in the very least? Was it true that he was not in the least +interested? A year ago he would not have been able to put up with them for +a moment. Now, at heart, he was amused by it all, while at the same time it +exasperated him. Was a little of the indifference of the Parisians creeping +over him? He would sometimes wonder fearfully whether he had lost strength. +But, in truth, he had gained in strength. He was more free in mind in +strange surroundings. In spite of himself, his eyes were opened to the +great Comedy of the world. + +Besides, whether he liked it or not, he had to go on with it if he wanted +his art to be recognized by Parisian society, which is only interested in +art in so far as it knows the artist. And he had to make himself known if +he were to find among these Philistines the pupils necessary to keep him +alive. + +And, then, Christophe had a heart: his heart must have affection: wherever +he might be, there he would find food for his affections: without it he +could not live. + + * * * * * + +Among the few girls of that class of society--few enough--whom Christophe +taught, was the daughter of a rich motor-car manufacturer, Colette +Stevens. Her father was a Belgian, a naturalized Frenchman, the son +of an Anglo-American settled at Antwerp, and a Dutchwoman. Her mother +was an Italian. A regular Parisian family. To Christophe--and to many +others--Colette Stevens was the type of French girl. + +She was eighteen, and had velvety, soft black eyes, which she used +skilfully upon young men--regular Spanish eyes, with enormous pupils; a +rather long and fantastic nose, which wrinkled up and moved at the tip as +she talked, with little fractious pouts and shrugs; rebellious hair; a +pretty little face, rather sallow complexion, dabbed with powder; heavy, +rather thick features: altogether she was like a plump kitten. + +She was slight, very well dressed, attractive, provoking: she had sly, +affected, rather silly manners: her pose was that of a little girl, and she +would sit rocking her chair for hours at a time, and giving little +exclamations like: "No? Impossible...." + +At meals she would clap her hands when there was a dish she loved: in the +drawing-room she would smoke cigarette after cigarette, and, when there +were men present, display an exuberant affection for her girl-friends, +flinging her arms round their necks, kissing their hands, whispering +in their ears, making ingenuous and naughty remarks, doing it most +brilliantly, in a soft, twittering voice; and in the lightest possible way +she would say improper things, without seeming to do more than hint at +them, and was even more skilful in provoking them from others; she had the +ingenuous air of a little girl, who knows perfectly well what she is about, +with her large brilliant eyes, slyly and voluptuously looking sidelong, +maliciously taking in all the gossip, and catching at all the dubious +remarks of the conversation, and all the time angling for hearts. + +All these tricks and shows, and her sophisticated ingenuity, were not at +all to Christophe's liking. He had better things to do than to lend himself +to the practices of an artful little girl, and did not even care to look +on at them for his amusement. He had to earn his living, to keep his life +and ideas from death. He had no interest in these drawing-room parakeets +beyond the gaining of a livelihood. In return for their money, he gave them +lessons, conscientiously concentrating all his energies on the task, to +keep the boredom of it from mastering him, and his attention from being +distracted by the tricks of his pupils when they were coquettes, like +Colette Stevens. He paid no more attention to her than to Colette's little +cousin, a child of twelve, shy and silent, whom the Stevens had adopted, to +whom also Christophe gave lessons on the piano. + +But Colette was too clever not to feel that all her charms were lost on +Christophe, and too adroit not to adapt herself at once to his character. +She did not even need to do so deliberately. It was a natural instinct with +her. She was a woman. She was like water, formless. The soul of every man +she met was a vessel, whose form she took immediately out of curiosity. It +was a law of her existence that she should always be some one else. Her +whole personality was for ever shifting. She was for ever changing her +vessel. + +Christophe attracted her for many reasons, the chief of which was that he +was not attracted by her. He attracted her also because he was different +from all the young men of her acquaintance: she had never tried to pour +herself into a vessel of such a rugged form. And, finally, he attracted +her, because, being naturally and by inheritance expert in the valuation at +the first glance of men and vessels, she knew perfectly well that what he +lacked in polish Christophe made up in a solidity of character which none +of her smart young Parisians could offer her. + +She played as well and as badly as most idle young women. She played a +great deal and very little--that is to say, that she was always working at +it, but knew nothing at all about it. She strummed on her piano all day +long, for want of anything else to do, or from affectation, or because it +gave her pleasure. Sometimes she rattled along mechanically. Sometimes she +would play well, very well, with taste and soul--(it was almost as though +she had a soul: but, as a matter of fact, she only borrowed one). Before +she knew Christophe, she was capable of liking Massenet, Grieg, Thomé. But +after she met Christophe she ceased to like them. Then she played Bach and +Beethoven very correctly--(which is not very high praise): but the great +thing was that she loved them. At bottom it was not Beethoven, nor Thomé, +nor Bach, nor Grieg that she loved, but the notes, the sounds, the fingers +running over the keys, the thrills she got from the chords which tickled +her nerves and made her wriggle with pleasure. + +In the drawing-room of the great house, decorated with faded tapestry, and +on an easel in the middle room, a portrait of the stout Madame Stevens by +a fashionable painter who had represented her in a languishing attitude, +like a flower dying for want of water, with a die-away expression in her +eyes, and her body draped in impossible curves, by way of expressing the +rare quality of her millionaire soul--in the great drawing-room, with +its bow-windows looking on to a clump of old trees powdered with snow, +Christophe would find Colette sitting at her piano, repeating the +same passage over and over again, delighting her ear with mellifluous +dissonance. + +"Ah!" Christophe would say as he entered, "the cat is still purring!" + +"How wicked of you!" she would laugh.... (And she would hold out her soft +little hand.) + +"... Listen. Isn't it pretty?" + +"Very pretty," he would say indifferently. + +"You aren't listening!... Will you please listen?" + +"I am listening.... It's the same thing over and over again." + +"Ah! you are no musician," she would say pettishly. + +"As if that were music or anything like it!" + +"What! Not music!... What is it, then, if you please?" + +"You know quite well: I won't tell you, because it would not be polite." + +"All the more reason why you should say it." + +"You want me to?... So much the worse for you!... Well, do you know what +you are doing with your piano?... You are flirting with it." + +"Indeed!" + +"Certainly. You say to it: 'Dear piano, dear piano, say pretty things to +me; kiss me; give me just one little kiss!'" + +"You need not say any more," said Colette, half vexed, half laughing. "You +haven't the least idea of respect." + +"Not the least." + +"You are impertinent.... And then, even if it were so, isn't that the right +way to love music?" + +"Oh, come, don't mix music up with that." + +"But that is music! A beautiful chord is a kiss." + +"I never told you that." + +"But isn't it true?... Why do you shrug your shoulders and make faces?" + +"Because it annoys me." + +"So much the better." + +"It annoys me to hear music spoken of as though it were a sort of +indulgence.... Oh, it isn't your fault. It's the fault of the world you +live in. The stale society in which you live regards music as a sort of +legitimate vice.... Come, sit down! Play me your sonata." + +"No. Let us talk a little longer." + +"I'm not here to talk. I'm here to teach you the piano.... Come, play +away!" + +"You're so rude!" said Colette, rather vexed--but at heart delighted to be +handled so roughly. + +She played her piece carefully: and, as she was clever, she succeeded +fairly well, and sometimes even very well. Christophe, who was not +deceived, laughed inwardly at the skill "of the little beast, who played +as though she felt what she was playing, while really she felt nothing +at all." And yet he had a sort of amused sympathy for her. Colette, on +her part, seized every excuse for going on with the conversation, which +interested her much more than her lesson. It was no good Christophe drawing +back on the excuse that he could not say what he thought without hurting +her feelings: she always wheedled it out of him: and the more insulting it +was, the less she was hurt by it: it was an amusement for her. But, as she +was quick enough to see that Christophe liked nothing so much as sincerity, +she would contradict him flatly, and argue tenaciously They would part very +good friends. + +However, Christophe would never have had the least illusion about their +friendship, and there would never have been the smallest intimacy between +them, had not Colette one day taken it into her head, out of sheer +instinctive coquetry, to confide in him. + +The evening before her parents had given an At Home. She had laughed, +chattered, flirted outrageously: but next morning, when Christophe came for +her lesson, she was worn out, drawn-looking, gray-faced, and haggard. She +hardly spoke: she seemed utterly depressed. She sat at the piano, played +softly, made mistakes, tried to correct them, made them again, stopped +short, and said: + +"I can't.... Please forgive me.... Please wait a little...." + +He asked if she were unwell. She said: "No.... She was out of sorts.... She +had bouts of it.... It was absurd, but he must not mind." + +He proposed to go away and come again another day: but she insisted on his +staying: + +"Just a moment.... I shall be all right presently.... It's silly of me, +isn't it?" + +He felt that she was not her usual self: but he did not question her: and, +to turn the conversation, he said: + +"That's what comes of having been so brilliant last night. You took too +much out of yourself." + +She smiled a little ironically. + +"One can't say the same of you," she replied. + +He laughed. + +"I don't believe you said a word," she went on. + +"Not a word." + +"But there were interesting people there." + +"Oh yes. All sorts of lights and famous people, all talking at once. But +I'm lost among all your boneless Frenchmen who understand everything, and +explain everything, and excuse everything--and feel nothing at all. People +who talk for hours together about art and love! Isn't it revolting?" + +"But you ought to be interested in art if not in love." + +"One doesn't talk about these things: one does them." + +"But when one cannot do them?" said Colette, pouting. + +Christophe replied with a laugh: + +"Well, leave it to others. Everybody is not fit for art." + +"Nor for love?" + +"Nor for love." + +"How awful! What is left for us?" + +"Housekeeping." + +"Thanks," said Colette, rather annoyed. She turned to the piano and began +again, made mistakes, thumped the keyboard, and moaned: + +"I can't!... I'm no good at all. I believe you are right. Women aren't any +good." + +"It's something to be able to say so," said Christophe genially. + +She looked at him rather sheepishly, like a little girl who has been +scolded, and said: + +"Don't be so hard." + +"I'm not saying anything hard about good women," replied Christophe gaily. +"A good woman is Paradise on earth. Only, Paradise on earth...." + +"I know. No one has ever seen it." + +"I'm not so pessimistic. I say only that I have never seen it: but that's +no reason why it should not exist. I'm determined to find it, if it does +exist. But it is not easy. A good woman and a man of genius are equally +rare." + +"And all the other men and women don't count?" + +"On the contrary, it is only they who count--for the world." + +"But for you?" + +"For me, they don't exist." + +"You _are_ hard," repeated Colette. + +"A little. Somebody has to be hard, if only in the interest of the +others!... If there weren't a few pebbles here and there in the world, the +whole thing would go to pulp." + +"Yes. You are right. It is a good thing for you that you are strong," said +Colette sadly. "But you must not be too hard on men,--and especially on +women who aren't strong.... You don't know how terrible our weakness is to +us. Because you see us flirting, and laughing, and doing silly things, you +think we never dream of anything else, and you despise us. Ah! if you could +see all that goes on in the minds of the girls of from fifteen to eighteen +as they go out into society, and have the sort of success that comes +to their youth and freshness--when they have danced, and talked smart +nonsense, and said bitter things at which people laugh because they laugh, +when they have given themselves to imbeciles, and sought in vain in their +eyes the light that is nowhere to be found,--if you could see them in their +rooms at night, in silence, alone, kneeling in agony to pray!..." + +"Is it possible?" said Christophe, altogether amazed. "What! you, too, have +suffered?" + +Colette did not reply: but tears came to her eyes. She tried to smile and +held out her hand to Christophe: he grasped it warmly. + +"What would you have us do? There is nothing to do. You men can free +yourselves and do what you like. But we are bound for ever and ever within +the narrow circle of the duties and pleasures of society: we cannot break +free." + +"There is nothing to prevent your freeing yourselves, finding some work you +like, and winning your independence just as we do." + +"As you do? Poor Monsieur Krafft! Your work is not so very certain!... But +at least you like your work. But what sort of work can we do? There isn't +any that we could find interesting--for, I know, we dabble in all sorts +of things, and pretend to be interested in a heap of things that do not +concern us: we do so want to be interested in something! I do what the +others do. I do charitable work and sit on social work committees. I go +to lectures at the Sorbonne by Bergson and Jules Lemaître, historical +concerts, classical matinées, and I take notes and notes.... I never know +what I am writing!... and I try to persuade myself that I am absorbed by +it, or at least that it is useful. Ah! but I know that it is not true. +I know that I don't care a bit, and that I am bored by it all!... Don't +despise me because I tell you frankly what everybody thinks in secret I'm +no sillier than the rest. But what use are philosophy, history, and science +to me? As for art,--you see,--I strum and daub and make messy little +water-color sketches;--but is that enough to fill a woman's life? There is +only one end to our life: marriage. But do you think there is much fun in +marrying this or that young man whom I know as well as you do? I see them +as they are. I am not fortunate enough to be like your German Gretchens, +who can always create an illusion for themselves.... That is terrible, +isn't it? To look around and see girls who have married and their husbands, +and to think that one will have to do as they have done, be cramped in body +and mind, and become dull like them!... One needs to be stoical, I tell +you, to accept such a life with such obligations. All women are not capable +of it.... And time passes, the years go by, youth fades: and yet there were +lovely things and good things in us--all useless, for day by day they die, +and one has to surrender them to the fools and people whom one despises, +people who will despise oneself!... And nobody understands! One would +think that we were sphinxes. One can forgive the men who find us dull and +strange! But the women ought to understand us! They have been like us: they +have only to look back and remember.... But no. There is no help from them. +Even our mothers ignore us, and actually try not to know what we are. They +only try to get us married. For the rest, they say, live, die, do as you +like! Society absolutely abandons us." + +"Don't lose heart," said Christophe. "Every one has to face the experience +of life all over again. If you are brave, it will be all right. Look +outside your own circle. There must be a few honest men in France." + +"There are. I know. But they are so tedious!... And then, I tell you, I +detest the circle in which I live: but I don't think I could live outside +it, now. It has become a habit. I need a certain degree of comfort, certain +refinements of luxury and comfort, which, no doubt, money alone cannot +provide, though it is an indispensable factor. That sounds pretty poor, I +know. But I know myself: I am weak.... Please, please, don't draw away from +me because I tell you of my cowardice. Be kind and listen to me. It helps +me so to talk to you! I feel that you are strong and sound: I have such +confidence in you. Will you be my friend?" + +"Gladly," said Christophe. "But what can I do?" + +"Listen to me, advise me, give me courage. I am often so depressed! And +then I don't know what to do. I say to myself: 'What is the good of +fighting? What's the good of tormenting myself? One way or the other, what +does it matter? Nothing and nobody matters!' That is a dreadful condition +to be in. I don't want to get like that. Help me. Help me." + +She looked utterly downcast; she looked older by ten years: she looked at +Christophe with abject, imploring eyes. He promised what she asked. Then +she revived, smiled, and was gay once more. + +And in the evening she was laughing and flirting as usual. + + * * * * * + +Thereafter they had many intimate conversations. They were alone together: +she confided in him: he tried hard to understand and advise her: she +listened to his advice, or, if necessary, to his remonstrances, gravely, +attentively, like a good little girl: it was a distraction, an interest, +even a support for her: she thanked him coquettishly with a depth of +feeling in her eyes.--But her life was changed in nothing: it was only a +distraction the more. + +Her day was passed in a succession of metamorphoses. She got up very late, +about midday, after a sleepless night: for she rarely went to sleep before +dawn. All day long she did nothing. She would vaguely call to mind a poem, +an idea, a scrap of an idea, or a face that had pleased her. She was never +quite awake until about four or five in the afternoon. Till then her +eyelids were heavy, her face was puffy, and she was sulky and sleepy. She +would revive on the arrival of a few girl-friends as talkative as herself, +and all sharing the same interest in the gossip of Paris. They chattered +endlessly about love. The psychology of love: that was the unfailing topic, +mixed up with dress, the indiscretions of others, and scandal. She had also +a circle of idle young men to whom it was necessary to spend three hours a +day among skirts: they ought to have worn them really, for they had the +souls and the conversation of girls. Christophe had his hour as her +confessor. At once Colette would become serious and intense. She was like +the young Frenchwoman, of whom Bodley speaks, who, at the confessional, +"developed a calmly prepared essay, a model of clarity and order, in +which everything that was to be said was properly arranged in distinct +categories."--And after that she flung herself once more into the business +of amusement. As the day went on she grew younger. In the evening she went +to the theater: and there was the eternal pleasure of recognizing the same +eternal faces in the audience:--her pleasure lay not in the play that was +performed, but in the actors whom she knew, whose familiar mannerisms she +remarked once more. And she exchanged spiteful remarks with the people who +came to see her in her box about the people in the other boxes and about +the actresses. The _ingénue_ was said to have a thin voice "like sour +mayonnaise," or the great comédienne was dressed "like a lampshade."--Or +else she went out to a party: and there the pleasure, for a pretty girl +like Colette, lay in being seen:--(but there were bad days: nothing is +more capricious than good looks in Paris):--and she renewed her store of +criticisms of people, and their dresses, and their physical defects. There +was no conversation.--She would go home late, and take her time about going +to bed (that was the time when she was most awake). She would dawdle about +her dressing-table: skim through a book: laugh to herself at the memory of +something said or done. She was bored and very unhappy. She could not go to +sleep, and in the night there would come frightful moments of despair. + +Christophe, who only saw Colette for a few hours at intervals, and could +only be present at a few of these transformations, found it difficult to +understand her at all. He wondered when she was sincere,--or if she were +always sincere--or if she were never sincere. Colette herself could not +have told him. Like most girls who are idle and circumscribed in their +desires, she was in darkness. She did not know what she was, because she +did not know what she wanted, because she could not know what she wanted +without having tried it. She would try it, after her fashion, with the +maximum of liberty and the minimum of risk, trying to copy the people about +her and to take their moral measure. She was in no hurry to choose. She +would have liked to try everything, and turn everything to account. + +But that did not work with a friend like Christophe. He was perfectly +willing to allow her to prefer people whom he did not admire, even people +whom he despised: but he would not suffer her to put him on the same level +with them. Everybody to his own taste: but at least let everybody have his +own taste. + +He was the less inclined to be patient with Colette, as she seemed to take +a delight in gathering round herself all the young men who were most likely +to exasperate Christophe: disgusting little snobs, most of them wealthy, +all of them idle, or jobbed into a sinecure in some government +office--which amounts to the same thing. They all wrote--or pretended to +write. That was an itch of the Third Republic. It was a sort of indolent +vanity,--intellectual work being the hardest of all to control, and most +easily lending itself to the game of bluff. They never gave more than a +discreet, though respectful hint, of their great labors. They seemed to be +convinced of the importance of their work, staggering under the weight of +it. At first Christophe was a little embarrassed by the fact that he had +never heard of them or their works. He tried bashfully to ask about them: +he was especially anxious to know what one of them had written, a young +man who was declared by the others to be a master of the theater. He was +surprised to hear that this great dramatist had written a one-act play +taken from a novel, which had been pieced together from a number of short +stories, or, rather, sketches, which he had published in one of the +Reviews during the past ten years. The baggage of the others was not more +considerable: a few one-act plays, a few short stories, a few verses. Some +of them had won fame with an article, others with a book "which they were +going to write." They professed scorn for long-winded books. They seemed +to attach extreme importance to the handling of words. And yet the word +"thought" frequently occurred in their conversation: but it did not seem +to have the same meaning as is usually given to it: they applied it to the +details of style. However, there were among them great thinkers, and great +ironists, who, when they wrote, printed their subtle and profound remarks +in _italics_, so that there might be no mistake. + +They all had the cult of the letter _I_: it was the only cult they had. +They tried to proselytize. But, unfortunately, other people were +subscribers to the cult. They were always conscious of their audience in +their way of speaking, walking, smoking, reading a paper, carrying their +heads, looking, bowing to each other.--Such players' tricks are natural to +young people, and the more insignificant--that is to say, unoccupied--they +are, the stronger hold do they have on them. They are more especially +paraded before women: for they covet women, and long--even more--to be +coveted by them. But even on a chance meeting they will trot out their bag +of tricks: even for a passer-by from whom they can expect only a glance of +amazement. Christophe often came across these young strutting peacocks: +budding painters, and musicians, art-students who modeled their appearance +on some famous portrait: Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Velasquez, Beethoven; or +fitted it to the parts they wish to play: painter, musician, workman, the +profound thinker, the jolly fellow, the Danubian peasant, the natural +man.... They were always on the lookout to see if they were attracting +attention. When Christophe met them in the street he took a malicious +pleasure in looking the other way and ignoring them. But their discomfiture +never lasted long: a yard or so farther on they would start strutting for +the next comer.--But the young men of Colette's little circle were rather +more subtle: their coxcombry was mental: they had two or three models, who +were not themselves original. Or else they would mimic an idea: Force, Joy, +Pity, Solidarity, Socialism, Anarchism, Faith, Liberty: all these were +parts for their playing. They were horribly clever in making the dearest +and rarest thoughts mere literary stuff, and in degrading the most heroic +impulses of the human soul to the level of drawing-room commodities, +fashionable neckties. + +But in love they were altogether in their element: that was their special +province. The casuistry of pleasure had no secrets for them: they were +so clever that they could invent new problems so as to have the honor +of solving them. That has always been the occupation of people who have +nothing else to do: in default of love, they "make love": above all, they +explain it. Their notes took up far more room than their text, which, as +a matter of fact, was very short. Sociology gave a relish to the most +scabrous thoughts: everything was sheltered beneath the flag of sociology: +though they might have had pleasure in indulging their vices, there would +have been something lacking if they had not persuaded themselves that they +were laboring in the cause of the new world. That was an eminently Parisian +sort of socialism: erotic socialism. + +Among the problems that were then exercising the little Court of Love was +the equality of men and women in marriage, and their respective rights +in love. There had been young men, honest, protestant, and rather +ridiculous,--Scandinavians and Swiss--who had based equality on virtue: +saying that men should come to marriage as chaste as women. The Parisian +casuists looked for another sort of equality, an equality based on loss +of virtue, saying that women should come to marriage as besmirched as +men,--the right to take lovers. The Parisians had carried adultery, in +imagination and practice, to such a pitch that they were beginning to find +it rather insipid: and in the world of letters attempts were being made to +support it by a new invention: the prostitution of young girls,--I mean +regularized, universal, virtuous, decent, domestic, and, above all, social +prostitution.--There had just appeared a book on the question, full of +talent, which apparently said all there was to be said: through four +hundred pages of playful pedantry, "strictly in accordance with the rules +of the Baconian method," it dealt with the "best method of controlling +the relations of the sexes." It was a lecture on free love, full of talk +about manners, propriety, good taste, nobility, beauty, truth, modesty, +morality,--a regular Berquin for young girls who wanted to go wrong.--It +was, for the moment, the Gospel in which Colette's little court rejoiced, +while they paraphrased it. It goes without saying, that, like all +disciples, they discarded all the justice, observation, and even humanity +that lay behind the paradox, and only retained the evil in it. They +plucked all the most poisonous flowers from the little bed of sweetened +blossoms,--aphorisms of this sort: "The taste for pleasure can only sharpen +the taste for work":--"It is monstrous that a girl should become a mother +before she has tasted the sweets of life."--"To have had the love of a +worthy and pure-souled man as a girl is the natural preparation of a woman +for a wise and considered motherhood":--"Mothers," said this author, +"should organize the lives of their daughters with the same delicacy and +decency with which they control the liberty of their sons."--"The time +would come when girls would return as naturally from their lovers as now +they return from a walk or from taking tea with a friend." + +Colette laughingly declared that such teaching was very reasonable. + +Christophe had a horror of it. He exaggerated its importance and the evil +that it might do. The French are too clever to bring their literature into +practice. These Diderots in miniature are, in ordinary life, like the +genial Panurge of the encyclopedia, honest citizens, not really a whit less +timorous than the rest. It is precisely because they are so timid in action +that they amuse themselves with carrying action (in thought) to the limit +of possibility. It is a game without any risk. + +But Christophe was not a French dilettante. + + * * * * * + +Among the young men of Colette's circle, there was one whom she seemed to +prefer, and, of course, he was the most objectionable of all to Christophe. + +He was one of those young parvenus of the second generation who form an +aristocracy of letters, and are the patricians of the Third Republic. His +name was Lucien Lévy-Coeur. He had quick eyes, set wide apart, an aquiline +nose, a fair Van Dyck beard clipped to a point: he was prematurely bald, +which did not become him: and he had a silky voice, elegant manners, and +fine soft hands, which he was always rubbing together. He always affected +an excessive politeness, an exaggerated courtesy, even with people he did +not like, and even when he was bent on snubbing them. + +Christophe had met him before at the literary dinner, to which he was taken +by Sylvain Kohn: and though they had not spoken to each other, the sound of +Lévy-Coeur's voice had been enough to rouse a dislike which he could not +explain, and he was not to discover the reason for it until much later. +There are sudden outbursts of love; and so there are of hate,--or--(to +avoid hurting those tender souls who are afraid of the word as of every +passion)--let us call it the instinct of health scenting the enemy, and +mounting guard against him. + +Lévy-Coeur was exactly the opposite of Christophe, and represented the +spirit of irony and decay which fastened gently, politely, inexorably, +on all the great things that were left of the dying society: the family, +marriage, religion, patriotism: in art, on everything that was manly, pure, +healthy, of the people: faith in ideas, feelings, great men, in Man. Behind +that mode of thought there was only the mechanical pleasure of analysis, +analysis pushed to extremes, a sort of animal desire to nibble at thought, +the instinct of a worm. And side by side with that ideal of intellectual +nibbling was a girlish sensuality, the sensuality of a blue-stocking: for +to Lévy-Coeur everything became literature. Everything was literary copy +to him: his own adventures, his vices and the vices of his friends. He had +written novels and plays in which, with much talent, he described the +private life of his relations, and their most intimate adventures, and +those of his friends, his own, his _liaisons_, among others one with the +wife of his best friend: the portraits were well-drawn: everybody praised +them, the public, the wife, and his friend. It was impossible for him to +gain the confidence or the favors of a woman without putting them into a +book.--One would have thought that his indiscretions would have produced +strained relations with his "friends." But there Was nothing of the kind; +they were hardly more than a little embarrassed: they protested as a matter +of form: but at heart they were delighted at being held up to the public +gaze, _en déshabille_: so long as their faces were masked, their modesty +was undisturbed. But there was never any spirit of vengeance, or even of +scandal, in his tale-telling. He was no worse a man or lover than the +majority. In the very chapters in which he exposed his father and mother +and his mistress, he would write of them with a poetic tenderness and +charm. He was really extremely affectionate: but he was one of those men +who have no need to respect when they love: quite the contrary: they rather +love those whom they can despise a little: that makes the object of their +affection seem nearer to them and more human. Such men are of all the +least capable of understanding heroism and purity. They are not far from +considering them lies or weakness of mind. It goes without saying that such +men are convinced that they understand better than anybody else the heroes +of art whom they judge with a patronizing familiarity. + +He got on excellently well with the young women of the rich, idle +middle-class. He was a companion for them, a sort of depraved servant, only +more free and confidential, who gave them instruction and roused their +envy. They had hardly any constraint with him: and, with the lamp of Psyche +in their hands, they made a careful study of the hermaphrodite, and he +suffered them. + +Christophe could not understand how a girl like Colette, who seemed to have +so refined a nature and a touching eagerness to escape from the degrading +round of her life, could find pleasure in such company. Christophe was +no psychologist. Lucien Lévy-Coeur could easily beat him on that score. +Christophe was Colette's confidant: but Colette was the confidante of +Lucien Lévy-Coeur. That gave him a great advantage. It is very pleasant to +a woman to feel that she has to deal with a man weaker than herself. She +finds food in it at once for her lower and higher instincts: her maternal +instinct is touched by it. Lucien Lévy-Coeur knew that perfectly: one of +the surest means of touching a woman's heart is to sound that mysterious +chord. But in addition, Colette felt that she was weak, and cowardly, and +possessed of instincts of which she was not proud, though she was not +inclined to deny them. It pleased her to allow herself to be persuaded by +the audacious and nicely calculated confessions of her friend that others +were just the same, and that human nature must be taken for what it is. And +so she gave herself the satisfaction of not resisting inclinations that +she found very agreeable, and the luxury of saying that it must be so, +and that it was wise not to rebel and to be indulgent with what one could +not--"alas!"--prevent. There was a wisdom in that, the practice of which +contained no element of pain. + +For any one who can envisage life with serenity, there is a peculiar relish +in remarking the perpetual contrast which exists in the very bosom of +society between the extreme refinement of apparent civilization and its +fundamental animalism. In every gathering that does not consist only of +fossils and petrified souls, there are, as it were, two conversational +strata, one above the other: one--which everybody can hear--between mind +and mind: the other--of which very few are conscious, though it is the +greater of the two--between instinct and instinct, the beast in man and +woman. Often these two strata of conversation are contradictory. While mind +and mind are passing the small change of convention, body and body say: +Desire, Aversion, or, more often: Curiosity, Boredom, Disgust. The beast in +man and woman, though tamed by centuries of civilization, and as cowed as +the wretched lions in the tamer's cage, is always thinking of its food. + +But Christophe had not yet reached that disinterestedness which comes only +with age and the death of the passions. He had taken himself very seriously +as adviser to Colette. She had asked for his help: and he saw her in the +lightness of her heart exposed to danger. So he made no effort to conceal +his dislike of Lucien Lévy-Coeur, At first that gentleman maintained +towards Christophe an irreproachable and ironical politeness. He, too, +scented the enemy: but he thought he had nothing to fear from him: he made +fun of him without seeming to do so. If only he could have had Christophe's +admiration he would have been on quite good terms with him, but that he +never could obtain: he saw that clearly, for Christophe had not the art of +disguising his feelings. And so Lucien Lévy-Coeur passed insensibly from +an abstract intellectual antagonism to a little, carefully veiled, war, of +which Colette was to be the prize. + +She held the balance evenly between her two friends. She appreciated +Christophe's talent and moral superiority: but she also appreciated Lucien +Lévy-Coeur's amusing immorality and wit: and, at bottom, she found more +pleasure in it. Christophe did not mince his protestations: she listened +to him with a touching humility which disarmed him. She was quite a good +creature, but she lacked frankness, partly from weakness, partly from +her very kindness. She was half play-acting: she pretended to think with +Christophe. As a matter of fact, she knew the worth of such a friend; but +she was not ready to make any sacrifice for a friendship: she was not +ready to sacrifice anything for anybody: she just wanted everything to go +smoothly and pleasantly, And so she concealed from Christophe the fact that +she went on receiving Lucien Lévy-Coeur: she lied with the easy charm of +the young women of her class who, from their childhood, are expert in the +practice which is so necessary for those who wish to keep their friends +and please everybody. She excused herself by pretending that she wished to +avoid hurting Christophe: but in reality it was because she knew that he +was right and wanted to go on doing as she liked without quarreling with +him. Sometimes Christophe suspected her tricks: then he would scold her, +and wax indignant. She would go on playing the contrite little girl, and be +affectionate and sorry: and she would look tenderly at him--_feminæ ultima +ratio_.--And really it did distress her to think of losing Christophe's +friendship: she would be charmingly serious and in that way succeed in +disarming Christophe for a little while longer. But sooner or later there +had to be an explosion. Christophe's irritation was fed unconsciously by a +little jealousy. And into Colette's coaxing tricks there crept a little, a +very little, love, all of which made the rupture only the more violent. + +One day when Christophe had caught Colette out in a flagrant lie he gave +her a definite alternative: she must choose between Lucien Lévy-Coeur and +himself. She tried to dodge the question: and, finally, she vindicated her +right to have whatever friends she liked. She was perfectly right: and +Christophe admitted that he had been absurd: but he knew also that he had +not been exacting from egoism: he had a sincere affection for Colette: he +wanted to save her even against her will. He insisted awkwardly. She +refused to answer. He said: + +"Colette, do you want us not to be friends any more?" + +She replied: + +"No, no. I should be sorry if you ceased to be my friend." + +"But you will not sacrifice the smallest thing for our friendship." + +"Sacrifice! What a silly word!" she said. "Why should one always be +sacrificing one thing for another? It's just a stupid Christian idea. +You're nothing but an old parson at heart." + +"Maybe," he said. "I want one thing or another. I allow nothing between +good and evil, not so much as the breadth of a hair." + +"Yes, I know," she said. "That is why I love you. For I do love you: +but...." + +"But you love the other fellow too?" + +She laughed, and said, with a soft look in her eyes and a tender note in +her voice: + +"Stay!" + +He was just about to give in once more when Lucien Lévy-Coeur came in: and +he was welcomed with the same soft look in her eyes and the same tender +note in her voice. Christophe sat for some time in silence watching Colette +at her tricks: then he went away, having made up his mind to break with +her. He was sick and sorry at heart. It was so stupid to grow so fond, +always to be falling into the trap! + +When he reached home he toyed with his books, and idly opened his Bible and +read: + +"... _The Lord saith, Because the daughters of Zion are haughty and walk +with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, +and making a tinkling with their feet, + +"Therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the head of the +daughters of Zion, and the Lord will discover their secret parts_ ..." + +He burst out laughing as he thought of Colette's little tricks: and he went +to bed well pleased with himself. Then he thought that he too must have +become tainted with the corruption of Paris for the Bible to have become a +humorous work to him. But he did not stop saying over and over again the +judgment of the great judiciary humorist: and he tried to imagine its +effect on the head of his young friend. He went to sleep laughing like a +child. He had lost all thought of his new sorrow. One more or less.... He +was getting used to it. + + * * * * * + +He did not give up Colette's music-lessons: but he refused to take the +opportunities she gave him of continuing their intimate conversations. It +was no use her being sorry about it or offended, and trying all sorts of +tricks: he stuck to his guns: they were rude to each other: of her own +accord she took to finding excuses for missing the lessons: and he also +made excuses for declining the Stevens' invitations. + +He had had enough of Parisian society: he could not bear the emptiness +of it, the idleness, the moral impotence, the neurasthenia, its aimless, +pointless, self-devouring hypercriticism. He wondered how people could +live in such a stagnant atmosphere of art for art's sake and pleasure for +pleasure's sake. And yet the French did live in it: they had beep, a great +nation, and they still cut something of a figure in the world: at least, +they seemed to do so to the outside spectator. But where were the springs +of their life? They believed in nothing, nothing but pleasure.... + +Just as Christophe reached this point in his reflections, he ran into a +crowd of young men and women, all shouting at the tops of their voices, +dragging a carriage in which was sitting an old priest casting blessings +right and left. A little farther on he found some French soldiers battering +down the doors of a church with axes, and there were men attacking them +with chairs. He saw that the French did still believe in something--though +he could not understand in what. He was told that the State and the Church +were separated after a century of living together, and that as the Church +had refused to go with a good grace, standing on its rights and its power, +it was being evicted. To Christophe the proceeding seemed ungallant; but +he was so sick of the anarchical dilettantism of the Parisian artists that +he was delighted to find men ready to have their heads broken for a cause, +however foolish it might be. + +It was not long before he discovered that there were many such people in +France. The political journals plunged into the fight like the Homeric +heroes: they published daily calls to civil war. It is true that it got +no farther than words, and that they very rarely came to blows. But there +was no lack of simple souls to put into action what the others declared in +words. Strange things happened: departments threatened to break away from +France, regiments deserted, prefectures were burned, tax-collectors were on +horseback at the head of a company of gendarmes, peasants were armed with +scythes, and put their kettles on to boil to defend the churches, which the +Free Thinkers were demolishing in the name of liberty: there were popular +redeemers who climbed trees to address the provinces of Wine, that had +risen against the provinces of Alcohol. Everywhere there were millions of +men shaking hands, all red in the face from shouting, and in the end all +going for each other. The Republic flattered the people: and then turned +arms against them. The people on their side broke the heads of a few of +their own young men--officers and soldiers.--And so every one proved to +everybody else the excellence of his cause and his fists. Looked at from +a distance, through the newspapers, it was as though the country had +gone back a few centuries, Christophe discovered that France--skeptical +France--was a nation of fanatics. But it was impossible for him to find out +the meaning of their fanaticism. For or against religion? For or against +Reason? For or against the country?--They were for and against everything. +They were fanatics for the pleasure of it. + + * * * * * + +He spoke about it one evening to a Socialist deputy whom he met sometimes +at the Stevens'. Although he had spoken to him before, he had no idea what +sort of man he was: till then they had only talked about music. Christophe +was very surprised to learn that this man of the world was the leader of a +violent party. + +Achille Roussin was a handsome man, with a fair beard, a burring way of +talking, a florid complexion, affable manners, a certain polish on his +fundamental vulgarity, certain peasant tricks which from time to time he +used in spite of himself:--a way of paring his nails in public, a vulgar +habit of catching hold of the coat of the man he was talking to, or +gripping him by the arm:--he was a great eater, a heavy drinker, a high +liver with a gift of laughter, and the appetite of a man of the people +pushing his way into power: he was adaptable, quick to alter his manners to +sort with his surroundings and the person he was talking to, full of ideas, +and reasonable in expounding them, able to listen, and to assimilate at +once everything he heard: for the rest he was sympathetic, intelligent, +interested in everything, naturally, or as a matter of acquired habit, or +merely out of vanity: he was honest so far as was compatible with his +interests, or when it was dangerous not to be so. + +He had quite a pretty wife, tall, well made, and well set up, with a +charming figure which was a little too much shown off by her tight dresses, +which accentuated and exaggerated the rounded curves of her anatomy: her +face was framed in curly black hair: she had big black eyes, a long, +pointed chin: her face was big, but quite charming in its general effect, +though it was spoiled by the twitch of her short-sighted eyes, and her +silly little pursed-up mouth. She had an affected precise manner, like +a bird, and a simpering way of talking: but she was kindly and amiable. +She came of a rich shopkeeping family, broad-minded and virtuous, and she +was devoted to the countless duties of society, as to a religion, not to +mention the duties, social and artistic, which she imposed on herself: +she had her _salon_, dabbled in University Extension movements, and was +busy with philanthropic undertakings and researches into the psychology +of childhood,--all without any enthusiasm or profound interest,--from a +mixture of natural kindness, snobbishness, and the harmless pedantry of a +young woman of education, who always seems to be repeating a lesson, and +taking a pride in showing that she has learned it well. She needed to be +busy, but she did not need to be interested in what she was doing. It +was like the feverish industry of those women who always have a piece of +knitting in their hands, and never stop clicking their needles, as though +the salvation of the world depended on their work, which they themselves +do not know what to do with. And then there was in her--as in women who +knit--the vanity of the good woman who sets an example to other women. + +The Deputy had an affectionate contempt for her. He had chosen well both as +regards his pleasure and his peace of mind. He enjoyed her beauty and asked +no more of her: and she asked no more of him. He loved her and deceived +her. She put up with that, provided she had her share of his attention. +Perhaps also it gave her a sort of pleasure. She was placid and sensual. +She had the attitude of mind of a woman of the harem. + +They had two fine children of four and five years old, whom she looked +after, like a good mother, with the same amiable, cold attentiveness with +which she followed her husband's political career, and the latest fashions +in dress and art. And it produced in her the most odd mixture of advanced +ideas, ultra-decadent art, polite restlessness, and bourgeois sentiment. + +They invited Christophe to go and see them. Madame Roussin was a good +musician, and played the piano charmingly: she had a delicate, firm touch: +with her little head bowed over the keyboard, and her hands poised above +it and darting down, she was like a pecking hen. She was talented and knew +more about music than most Frenchwomen, but she was as insensible as a fish +to the deeper meaning of music: to her it was only a succession of notes, +rhythms, and degrees of sound, to which she listened or reproduced +carefully: she never looked for the soul in it, having no use for it +herself. This amiable, intelligent, simple woman, who was always ready +to do any one a kindness, gave Christophe the graceful welcome which she +extended to everybody. Christophe was not particularly grateful to her +for it: he was not much in sympathy with her: she hardly existed for him. +Perhaps it was that unconsciously he could not forgive her acquiescence in +her husband's infidelities, of which she was by no means ignorant. Passive +acceptance was of all the vices that which he could least excuse. + +He was more intimate with Achille Roussin. Roussin loved music, as he loved +the other arts, crudely but sincerely. When he liked a symphony, it became +a thing that he could take into his arms. He had a superficial culture and +turned it to good account: his wife had been useful to him there. He was +interested in Christophe because he saw in him a vigorous vulgarian such +as he was himself. And he found it absorbing to study an original of his +stamp--(he was unwearying in his observation of humanity)--and to discover +his impressions of Paris. The frankness and rudeness of Christophe's +remarks amused him. He was skeptic enough to admit their truth. He was +not put out by the fact that Christophe was a German. On the contrary: he +prided himself on being above national prejudice. And, when all was said +and done, he was sincerely "human"--(that was his chief quality);--he +sympathized with everything human. But that did not prevent his being quite +convinced of the superiority of the French--an old race, and an old +civilization--over the Germans, and making fun of the Germans. + + * * * * * + +At Achille Roussin's Christophe met other politicians, the Ministers of +yesterday, and the Ministers of to-morrow. He would have been only too glad +to talk to each of them individually, if these illustrious persons had +thought him worthy. In spite of the generally accepted opinion he found +them much more interesting than the other Frenchmen of his acquaintance. +They were more alive mentally, more open to the passions and the great +interests of humanity. They were brilliant talkers, mostly men from the +South, and they were amazingly dilettante: individually they were almost +as much so as the men of letters. Of course, they were very ignorant about +art, and especially about foreign art: but they all pretended more or +less to some knowledge of it: and often they really loved it. There were +Councils which were very like the coterie of some little Review. One of +them would be a playwright: another would scrape on the violin; another +would be a besotted Wagnerian. And they all collected Impressionist +pictures, read decadent books, and prided themselves on a taste for some +ultra-aristocratic art, which was almost always in direct opposition +to their ideas. It puzzled Christophe to find these Socialist or +Radical-Socialist Ministers, these apostles of the poor and down-trodden, +posing as connoisseurs of eclectic art. No doubt they had a perfect right +to do so: but it seemed to him rather disloyal. + +But the odd thing was when these men who in private conversation were +skeptics, sensualists, Nihilists, and anarchists, came to action: at once +they became fanatics. Even the most dilettante of them when they came into +power became like Oriental despots: they had a mania for ordering +everything, and let nothing alone: they were skeptical in mind and +tyrannical in temper. The temptation to use the machinery of administrative +centralization created by the greatest of despots was too great, and it was +difficult not to abuse it. The result was a sort of republican imperialism +on to which there had latterly been grafted an atheistic catholicism. + +For some time past the politicians had made no claim to do anything but +control the body--that is to say, money:--they hardly troubled the soul +at all, since the soul could not be converted into money. Their own souls +were not concerned with politics: they passed above or below politics, +which in France are thought of as a branch--a lucrative, though not very +exalted branch--of commerce and industry: the intellectuals despised the +politicians, the politicians despised the intellectuals.--But lately there +had been a closer understanding, then an alliance, between the politicians +and the lowest class of intellectuals. A new power had appeared upon the +scene, which had arrogated to itself the absolute government of ideas: the +Free Thinkers. They had thrown in their lot with the other power, which had +seen in them the perfect machinery of political despotism. They were trying +not so much to destroy the Church as to supplant it: and, in fact, they +created a Church of Free Thought which had its catechisms, and ceremonies, +its baptisms, its confirmations, its marriages, its regional councils, +if not its ecumenicals at Rome. It was most pitifully comic to see these +thousands of poor wretches having to band themselves together in order to +be able to "think freely." True, their freedom of thought consisted in +setting a ban on the thought of others in the name of Reason: for they +believed in Reason as the Catholics believed in the Blessed Virgin without +ever dreaming for a moment that Reason, like the Virgin, was in itself +nothing, or that the real thing lay behind it. And, just as the Catholic +Church had its armies of monks and its congregations stealthily creeping +through the veins of the nation, propagating its views and destroying every +other sort of vitality, so the Anti-Catholic Church had its Free Masons, +whose chief Lodge, the Grand-Orient, kept a faithful record of all the +secret reports with which their pious informers in all quarters of France +supplied them. The Republican State secretly encouraged the sacred +espionage of these mendicant friars and Jesuits of Reason, who terrorized +the army, the University, and every branch of the State: and it was never +noticed that while they pretended to serve the State, they were all the +time aiming at supplanting it, and that the country was slowly moving +towards an atheistic theocracy; very little, if anything, different from +that of the Jesuits of Paraguay. + +Christophe met some of these gentry at Roussin's. They were all blind +fetish-worshippers. At that time they were rejoicing at having removed +Christ from the Courts of Law. They thought they had destroyed religion +because they had destroyed a few pieces of wood and ivory. Others were +concentrating on Joan of Arc and her banner of the Virgin, which they had +just wrested from the Catholics. One of the Fathers of the new Church, +a general who was waging war on the French of the old Church, had just +given utterance to an anti-clerical speech in honor of Vercingetorix: he +proclaimed the ancient Gaul, to whom Free Thought had erected a statue, +to be a son of the people, and the first champion against (the Church +of) Rome. The Ministers of the Marine, by way of purifying the fleet and +showing their horror of war, called their cruisers _Descartes_ and _Ernest +Renan_. Other Free Thinkers had set themselves to purify art. They +expurgated the classics of the seventeenth century, and did not allow the +name of God to sully the _Fables_ of La Fontaine. They did not allow it +in music either: and Christophe heard one of them, an old radical,--("_To +be a radical in old age_," says Goethe, "_is the height of folly_")--wax +indignant at the religious _Lieder_ of Beethoven having been given at a +popular concert. He demanded that other words should be used instead of +"God." + +"What?" asked Christophe in exasperation. "The Republic?" + +Others who were even more radical would accept no compromise and wanted +purely and simply to suppress all religious music and all schools in which +it was taught. In vain did a director of the University of Fine Arts, who +was considered an Athenian in that Boeotia, try to explain that musicians +must be taught music: for, as he said, with great loftiness of thought, +"when you send a soldier to the barracks, you teach him how to use a gun +and then how to shoot. And so it is with a young composer: his head is +buzzing with ideas: but he has not yet learned to put them in order." And, +being a little scared by his own courage, he protested with every sentence: +"I am an old Free Thinker.... I am an old Republican..." and he declared +audaciously that "he did not care much whether the compositions of +Pergolese were operas or Masses: all that he wanted to know was, were they +human works of art?"--But his adversary with implacable logic answered "the +old Free Thinker and Republican" that "there were two sorts of music: that +which was sung in churches and that which was sung in other places." The +first sort was the enemy of Reason and the State: and the Reason of the +State ought to suppress it. + +All these silly people would have been more ridiculous than dangerous if +behind them there had not been men of real worth, supporting them, who +were, like them--and perhaps even, more--fanatics of Reason. Tolstoy +speaks somewhere of those "epidemic influences" which prevail in religion, +philosophy, politics, art, and science, "insensate influences, the folly of +which only becomes apparent to men when they are clear of them, while as +long as they are under their dominion they seem so true to them that they +think them beyond all argument." Instances are the craze for tulips, belief +in sorcery, and the aberrations of literary fashions.--The religion of +Reason was such a craze. It was common to the most ignorant and the most +cultured, to the "sub-veterinaries" of the Chamber, and certain of the +keenest intellects of the University. It was even more dangerous in the +latter than in the former: for with the latter it was mixed up with a +credulous and stupid optimism, which sapped its energy: while with the +others it was fortified and given a keener edge by a fanatical pessimism +which was under no illusion as to the fundamental antagonism of Nature and +Reason, and they were only the more desperately resolved to wage the war of +abstract Liberty, abstract Justice, abstract Truth, against the malevolence +of Nature. There was behind it all the idealism of the Calvinists, the +Jansenists, and the Jacobins, the old belief in the fundamental perversity +of mankind, which can and must be broken by the implacable pride of the +Elect inspired by the breath of Reason,--the Spirit of God. It was a very +French type, the type of intelligent Frenchman, who is not at all "human." +A pebble as hard as iron: nothing can penetrate it: it breaks everything +that it touches. + +Christophe was appalled by the conversations that he had at Achille +Roussin's with some of these fanatics. It upset all his ideas about France. +He had thought, like so many people, that the French were a well-balanced, +sociable, tolerant, liberty-loving people. And he found them lunatics with +their abstract ideas, their diseased logic, ready to sacrifice themselves +and everybody else for one of their syllogisms. They were always talking of +liberty, but there never were men less able to understand it or to stand +it. Nowhere in the world were there characters more coldly and atrociously +despotic in their passion for intellect or their passion for always being +in the right. + +And it was not only true of one party. Every party was the same. They +could not--they would not--see anything above or beyond their political or +religious formula, or their country, their province, their group, or their +own narrow minds. There were anti-Semites who expended all the forces of +their being in a blind, impotent hatred of all the privileges of wealth: +for they hated all Jews, and called those whom they hated "Jews." There +were nationalists who hated--(when they were kinder they stopped short +at despising)--every other nation, and even among their own people, they +called everybody who did not agree with them foreigners, or renegades, or +traitors. There were anti-protestants who persuaded themselves that all +Protestants were English or Germans, and would have them all expelled from +France. There were men of the West who denied the existence of anything +east of the Rhine: men of the North who denied the existence of everything +south of the Loire: men of the South who called all those who lived north +of the Loire Barbarians: and there were men who boasted of being of Gallic +descent: and, craziest of all, there were "Romans" who prided themselves on +the defeat of their ancestors: and Bretons, and Lorrainians, and Félibres, +and Albigeois; and men from Carpentras, and Pontoise, and Quimper-Corentin: +they all thought only of themselves, the fact of being themselves was +sufficient patent of nobility, and they wild not put up with the idea of +people being anything else. There is nothing to be done with such people: +they will not listen to argument from any other point of view: they must +burn everybody else at the stake, or be burned themselves. + +Christophe thought that it was lucky that such people should live under a +Republic: for all these little despots did at least annihilate each other. +But if any one of them had become Emperor or King, it would have been the +end of him. + +He did not know that there is one virtue left to work the salvation of +people of that temper of mind:--inconsequence. + +The French politicians were no exception. Their despotism was tempered +with anarchy: they were for ever swinging between two poles. On one hand +they relied on the fanatics of thought, on the other they relied on the +anarchists of thought. Mixed up with them was a whole rabble of dilettante +Socialists, mere opportunists, who held back from taking any part in the +fight until it was won, though they followed in the wake of the army of +Free Thought, and, after every battle won, they swooped down on the spoils. +These champions of Reason did not labor in the cause of Reason.... _Sic +vos non vobis_ ... but in the cause of the Citizens of the World, who with +glad shouts trampled under foot the traditions of the country, and had no +intention of destroying one Faith in order to set up another, but in order +to set themselves up and break away from all restraint. + +There Christophe marked the likeness of Lucien Lévy-Coeur. He was not +surprised to learn that Lucien Lévy-Coeur was a Socialist. He only thought +that Socialists must be fairly on the road to success to have enrolled +Lucien Lévy-Coeur. But he did not know that Lucien Lévy-Coeur had also +contrived to figure in the opposite camp, where he had succeeded in allying +himself with men of the most anti-Liberal opinions, if not anti-Semite, in +politics and art, He asked Achille Roussin: + +"How can you put up with such men?" + +Roussin replied: + +"He is so clever! And he is working for us; he is destroying the old +world." + +"He is doing that all right," said Christophe. "He is destroying it so +thoroughly that I don't see what is going to be left for you to build up +again. Do you think there'll be timber enough left for your new house? And +are you even sure that the worms have not crept into your building-yard?" + +Lucien Lévy-Coeur was not the only nibbler at Socialism. The Socialist +papers were staffed by these petty men of letters, with their art for art's +sake, these licentious anarchists who had fastened on all the roads that +might lead to success. They barred the way to others, and filled the +papers, which styled themselves the organs of the people, with their +dilettante decadence and their _struggle for life_. They were not content +with being jobbed into positions: they wanted fame. Never had there been a +time when there were so many premature Statues, or so many speeches +delivered at the unveiling of them. But queerest of all were the banquets +that were periodically offered to one or other of the great men of the +fraternity by the sycophants of fame, not in celebration of any of their +deeds, but in celebration of some honor given to them: for those were the +things that most appealed to them. Esthetes, supermen, Socialist Ministers, +they were all agreed when it was a question of feasting to celebrate some +promotion in the Legion of Honor founded by the Corsican officer. + +Roussin laughed at Christophe's amazement. He did not think the German far +out in his estimation of the supporters of his party. When they were alone +together he would handle them severely himself. He knew their stupidity +and their knavery better than any one: but that did not keep him from +supporting them in order to retain their support. And if in private he +never hesitated to speak of the people in terms of contempt, on the +platform he was a different man. Then he would assume a high-pitched voice, +shrill, nasal, labored, solemn tones, a tremolo, a bleat, wide, sweeping, +fluttering gestures like the beating of wings: exactly like Mounet-Sully. + +Christophe tried hard to discover exactly how far Roussin believed in his +Socialism. It was obvious that at heart he did not believe in it at all: +he was too skeptical. And yet he did believe in it, to a certain extent; +and though he knew perfectly well that it was only a part of his mind that +believed in it--(perhaps the most important part)--he had arranged his +life and conduct in accordance with it, because it suited him best. It +was not only his practical interest that was served by it, but also his +vital interests, the foundations of his being and all his actions. His +Socialistic Faith was to him a sort of State religion.--Most people live +like that. Their lives are based on religious, moral, social, or purely +practical beliefs,--(belief in their profession, in their work, in the +utility of the part they play in life)--in which they do not, at heart, +believe. But they do not wish to know it: for they must have this apparent +faith, this "State religion," of which every man is priest, to live. + + * * * * * + +Roussin was not one of the worst. There were many, many others who called +themselves Socialists and Radicals, from--it can hardly be called ambition, +for their ambition was so short-sighted, and did not go beyond immediate +plunder and their re-election! They pretended to believe in a new order of +society. Perhaps there was a time when they believed in it: and they went +on pretending to do so: but, in fact, they had no idea beyond living on the +spoils of the dying order of society. This predatory Nihilism was saved +by a short-sighted opportunism. The great interests of the future were +sacrificed to the egoism of the present. They cut down the army; they would +have dislocated the country to please the electors. They were not lacking +in cleverness: they knew perfectly well what they ought to have done: but +they did not do it, because it would have cost them too much effort, and +they were incapable of effort. They wanted to arrange their own lives +and the life of the nation with the least possible amount of trouble and +sacrifice. All down the scale the point was to get the maximum of pleasure +with the minimum of effort. That was their morality, immoral enough, but it +was the only guide in the political muddle, in which the leaders set the +example of anarchy, and the disordered pack of politicians were chasing +ten hares at once, and letting them all escape one after the other, and +an aggressive Foreign Office was yoked with a pacific War Office, and +Ministers of War were cutting down the army in order to purify it, Naval +Ministers were inciting the workmen in the arsenals, military instructors +were preaching the horrors of war, and all the officials, judges, +revolutionaries, and patriots were dilettante. The political demoralization +was universal. Every man was expecting the State to provide him with +office, honors, pensions, indemnities: and the Government did, as a matter +of fact, feed the appetite of its supporters: honors and pensions were made +the quarry of the sons, nephews, grand-nephews, and valets of those in +power: the deputies were always voting an increase in their own salaries: +revenues, posts, titles, all the possessions of the State, were being +blindly squandered.--And, like a sinister echo of the example of the upper +classes, the lower classes were always on the verge of a strike: they had +men teaching contempt of authority and revolt against the established +order; post-office employés burned letters and despatches, workers in +factories threw sand or emery-powder into the gears of the machines, men +working in the arsenals sacked them, ships were burned, and artisans +deliberately made a horrible mess of their work,--the destruction not of +riches, but of the wealth of the world. + +And to crown it all the intellectuals amused themselves by discovering that +this national suicide was based on reason and right, in the sacred right +of every human being to be happy. There was a morbid humanitarianism +which broke down the distinction between Good and Evil, and developed a +sentimental pity for the "sacred and irresponsible human" in the criminal, +the doting sentimentality of an old man:--it was a capitulation to crime, +the surrender of society to its mercies. + +Christophe thought: + +"France is drunk with liberty. When she has raved and screamed, she will +fall down dead-drunk. And when she wakes up she will find herself in +prison." + + * * * * * + +What hurt Christophe most in this demagogy was to see the most violent +political measures coldly carried through by these men whose fundamental +instability he knew perfectly well. The disproportion between the +shiftiness of these men and the rigorous Acts that they passed or +authorized was too scandalous. It was as though there were in them two +contradictory things: an inconsistent character, believing in nothing, +and discursive Reason, intent on truncating, mowing down, and crushing +life, without regard for anything. Christophe wondered why the peaceful +middle-class, the Catholics, the officials who were harassed in every +conceivable way, did not throw them all out by the window. He dared not +tell Roussin what he thought: but, as he was incapable of concealing +anything, Roussin had no difficulty in guessing it. He laughed and said: + +"No doubt that is what you or I would do. But there is no danger of them +doing it. They are just a set of poor devils who haven't the energy: +they can't do much more than grumble. They're just the fag end of +an aristocracy, idiotic, stultified by their clubs and their sport, +prostituted by the Americans and the Jews, and, by way of showing how up to +date they are, they play the degraded parts allotted to them in fashionable +plays, and support those who have degraded them. They're an apathetic and +surly middle-class: they read nothing, understand nothing, don't want +to understand anything; they only know how to vilify, vilify, vaguely, +bitterly, futilely--and they have only one passion: sleep, to lie huddled +in sleep on their moneybags, hating anybody who disturbs them, and even +anybody whose tastes differ from theirs, for it does upset them to think of +other people working while they are snoozing! If you knew them you would +sympathize with us." + +But Christophe could find nothing but disgust with both: for he did not +hold that the baseness of the oppressed was any excuse for that of the +oppressor. Only too frequently had he met at the Stevens' types of the rich +dull middle-class that Roussin described, + + "... _L'anime triste di coloro, + Che visser senza infamia esenza lodo_,..." + +He saw only too clearly the reason why Roussin and his friends were sure +not only of their power over these people, but of their right to abuse it. +They had to hand all the instruments of tyranny. Thousands of officials, +who had renounced their will and every vestige of personality, and obeyed +blindly. A loose, vulgar way of living, a Republic without Republicans: +Socialist papers and Socialist leaders groveling before Royalties when they +visited Paris: the souls of servants gaping at titles, and gold lace, and +orders: they could be kept quiet by just having a bone to gnaw, or the +Legion of Honor flung at them. If the Kings had ennobled all the citizens +of France, all the citizens of France would have been Royalist. + +The politicians were having a fine time. Of the Three Estates of '89 the +first was extinct: the second was proscribed, suspect, or had emigrated: +the third was gorged by its victory and slept. And, as for the Fourth +Estate, which had come into existence at a later date, and had become a +public menace in its jealousy, there was no difficulty about squaring that. +The decadent Republic treated it as decadent Rome treated the barbarian +hordes, that she no longer had the power to drive from her frontiers; +she assimilated them, and they quickly became her best watch-dogs. The +Ministers of the middle-class called themselves Socialists, lured away +and annexed to their own party the most intelligent and vigorous of the +working-class: they robbed the proletariat of their leaders, infused +their new blood into their own system, and, in return, gorged them with +indigestible science and middle-class culture. + + * * * * * + +One of the most curious features of these attempts at distraint by the +middle-class on the people were the Popular Universities. They were little +jumble-sales of scraps of knowledge of every period and every country. As +one syllabus declared, they set out to teach "every branch of physical, +biological, and sociological science: astronomy, cosmology, anthropology, +ethnology, physiology, psychology, psychiatry, geography, languages, +esthetics, logic, etc." Enough to split the skull of Pico della Mirandola. + +In truth there had been originally, and still was in some of them, a +certain grand idealism, a keen desire to bring truth, beauty, and morality +within the reach of all, which was a very fine thing. It was wonderful and +touching to see workmen, after a hard day's toil, crowding into narrow, +stuffy lecture-rooms, impelled by a thirst for knowledge that was stronger +than fatigue and hunger. But how the poor fellows had been tricked! +There were a few real apostles, intelligent human beings, a few upright +warm-hearted men, with more good intentions than skill to accomplish them; +but, as against them, there were hundreds of fools, idiots, schemers, +unsuccessful authors, orators, professors, parsons, speakers, pianists, +critics, anarchists, who deluged the people with their productions. Every +man jack of them was trying to unload his stock-in-trade. The most thriving +of them were naturally the nostrum-mongers, the philosophical lecturers +who ladled out general ideas, leavened with a few facts, a scientific +smattering, and cosmological conclusions. + +The Popular Universities were also an outlet for the ultra-aristocratic +works of art: decadent etchings, poetry, and music. The aim was the +elevation of the people for the rejuvenation of thought and the +regeneration of the race. They began by inoculating them with all the fads +and cranks of the middle-class. They gulped them down greedily, not because +they liked them, but because they were middle-class. Christophe, who was +taken to one of these Popular Universities by Madame Roussin, heard her +play Debussy to the people between _la Bonne Chanson_ of Gabriel Fauré and +one of the later quartets of Beethoven. He who had only begun to grasp the +meaning of the later works of Beethoven after many years, and long weary +labor, asked some one who sat near him pityingly: + +"Do you understand it?" + +The man drew himself up like an angry cock, and said: + +"Certainly. Why shouldn't I understand it as well as you?" + +And by way of showing that he understood it he encored a fugue, glaring +defiantly at Christophe. + +Christophe went away. He was amazed. He said to himself that the swine had +succeeded in poisoning even the living wells of the nation: the People had +ceased to be--"People yourselves!" as a working-man said to one of the +would-be founders of the Theaters of the People. "I am as much of the +middle-class as you." + + * * * * * + +One fine evening when above the darkening town the soft sky was like an +Oriental carpet, rich in warm faded colors, Christophe walked along by the +river from Notre Dame to the Invalides. In the dim fading light the tower +of the cathedral rose like the arms of Moses held up during the battle. +The carved golden spire of the Sainte-Chapelle, the flowering Holy Thorn, +flashed out of the labyrinth of houses. On the other side of the water +stretched the royal front of the Louvre, and its windows were like weary +eyes lit up with the last living rays of the setting sun. At the back of +the great square of the Invalides behind its trenches and proud walls, +majestic, solitary, floated the dull gold dome, like a symphony of bygone +victories. And at the top of the hill there stood the Arc de Triomphe, +bestriding the hill with the giant stride of the Imperial legions. + +And suddenly Christophe thought of it all as of a dead giant lying prone +upon the plain. The terror of it clutched at his heart; he stopped to gaze +at the gigantic fossils of a fabulous race, long since extinct, that in its +life had made the whole earth ring with the tramp of its armies,--the race +whose helmet was the dome of the Invalides, whose girdle was the Louvre, +the thousand arms of whose cathedrals had clutched at the heavens, who +traversed the whole world with the triumphant stride of the Arch of +Napoleon, under whose heel there now swarmed Lilliput. + + + + +III + + +Without any deliberate effort on his part, Christophe had gained a certain +celebrity in the Parisian circles to which he had been introduced by +Sylvain Kohn and Goujart. He was seen everywhere with one or other of his +friends at first nights, and at concerts, and his extraordinary face, his +ugliness, the absurdity of his figure and costume, his brusque, awkward +manners, the paradoxical opinions to which he gave vent from time to +time, his undeveloped, but large and healthy intellect, and the romantic +stories spread by Sylvain Kohn about his escapades in Germany, and his +complications with the police and flight to France, had marked him out for +the idle, restless curiosity of the great cosmopolitan hotel drawing-room +that Paris has become. As long as he held himself in check, observing, +listening, and trying to understand before expressing any opinion, as +long as nothing was known of his work or what he really thought, he was +tolerated. The French were pleased with him for having been unable to +stay in Germany. And the French musicians especially were delighted with +Christophe's unjust pronouncements on German music, and took them all +as homage to themselves:--(as a matter of fact, they heard only his old +youthful opinions, to many of which he would no longer have subscribed: +a few articles published in a German Review which had been amplified and +circulated by Sylvain Kohn).--Christophe was interesting and did not +interfere with anybody: there was no danger of his supplanting anybody. +He needed only to become the great man of a coterie. He needed only not +to write anything, or as little as possible, and not to have anything +performed, and to supply Goujart and his like with ideas, Goujart and the +whole set of men whose motto is the famous quip--adapted a little: + +_"My glass is small: but I drink ... the wine of others."_ + +A strong personality sheds its rays especially on young people who are more +concerned with feeling than with action. There were plenty of young people +about Christophe. They were for the most part idle, will-less, aimless, +purposeless. Young men, living in dread of work, fearful of being left +alone with themselves, who sought an armchair immortality, wandering from +café to theater, from theater to café, finding all sorts of excuses for not +going home, to avoid coming face to face with themselves. They came and +stayed for hours, dawdling, talking, making aimless conversation, and going +away empty, aching, disgusted, satiated, and yet famishing, forced to go +on with it in spite of loathing. They surrounded Christophe, like Goethe's +water-spaniel, the "lurking specters," that lie in wait and seize upon a +soul and fasten upon its vitality. A vain fool would have found pleasure +in such a circle of parasites. But Christophe had no taste for pedestals. +He was revolted by the idiotic subtlety of his admirers, who read into +anything he did all sorts of absurd meanings, Renanian, Nietzschean, +hermaphroditic. He kicked them out. He was not made for passivity. +Everything in him cried aloud for action. He observed so as to understand: +he wished to understand so as to act. He was free of the constraint of +any school, and of any prejudice, and he inquired into everything, read +everything, and studied all the forms of thought and the resources of the +expression of other countries and other ages in his art. He seized on all +those which seemed to him effective and true. Unlike the French artists +whom he studied, who were ingenious inventors of new forms, and wore +themselves out in the unceasing effort of invention, and gave up the +struggle half-way, he endeavored not so much to invent a new musical +language as to speak the authentic language of music with more energy: his +aim was not to be particular, but to be strong. His, passion for strength +was the very opposite of the French genius of subtlety and moderation. He +scorned style for the sake of style and art for art's sake. The best French +artists seemed to him to be no more than pleasure-mongers. One of the +most perfect poets in Paris had amused himself with drawing up a "list +of the workers in contemporary French poetry, with their talents, their +productions, and their earnings": and he enumerated "the crystals, the +Oriental fabrics, the gold and bronze medals, the lace for dowagers, the +polychromatic sculpture, the painted porcelain," which had been produced in +the workshops of his various colleagues. He pictured himself "in the corner +of a vast factory of letters, mending old tapestry, or polishing up rusty +halberds."--Such a conception of the artist as a good workman, thinking +only of the perfection of his craft, was not without an element of +greatness. But it did not satisfy Christophe: and while he admitted in it +a certain professional dignity, he had a contempt for the poor quality of +life which most often it disguised. He could not understand writing for the +sake of writing, or talking for the sake of talking. He never said words; +he said--or wanted to say--the things themselves. + +_"Ei dice cose, e voi dite parole...."_ + +After a long period of rest, during which he had been entirely occupied +with taking in a new world, Christophe suddenly became conscious of an +imperious need for creation. The antagonism which he felt between himself +and Paris called up all his reserve of force by its challenge of his +personality. All his passions were brimming in him, and imperiously +demanding expression. They were of every kind: and they were all equally +insistent. He tried to create, to fashion music, into which to turn the +love and hatred that were swelling in his heart, and the will and the +renunciation, and all the daimons struggling within him, all of whom +had an equal right to live. Hardly had he assuaged one passion in +music,--(sometimes he hardly had the patience to finish it)--than he hurled +himself at the opposite passion. But the contradiction was only apparent: +if they were always changing, they were in truth always the same. He +beat out roads in music, roads that led to the same goal: his soul was a +mountain: he tried every pathway up it; on some he wound easily, dallying +in the shade: on others he mounted toilsomely with the hot sun beating up +from the dry, sandy track: they all led to God enthroned on the summit. +Love, hatred, evil, renunciation, all the forces of humanity at their +highest pitch, touched eternity, and were a part of it. For every man the +gateway to eternity is in himself: for the believer as for the atheist, for +him who sees life everywhere as for him who everywhere denies it, and for +him who doubts both life and the denial of it,--and for Christophe in whose +soul there met all these opposing views of life. All the opposites become +one in eternal Force. For Christophe the chief thing was to wake that Force +within himself and in others, to fling armfuls of wood upon the fire, to +feed the flames of Eternity, and make them roar and flicker. Through the +voluptuous night of Paris a great flame darted in his heart. He thought +himself free of Faith, and he was a living torch of Faith. + +Nothing was more calculated to outrage the French spirit of irony. Faith is +one of the feelings which a too civilized society can least forgive: for +it has lost it and hates others to possess it. In the blind or mocking +hostility of the majority of men towards the dreams of youth there is for +many the bitter thought that they themselves were once even as they, and +had ambitions and never realized them. All those who have denied their +souls, all those who had the seed of work within them, and have not brought +it forth rather to accept the security of an easy, honorable life, think: + +"Since I could not do the thing I dreamed, why should they do the things +they dream? I will not have them do it." + +How many Hedda Gablers are there among men! What a relentless struggle +is there to crush out strength in its new freedom, with what skill is it +killed by silence, irony, wear and tear, discouragement,--and, at the +crucial moment, betrayed by some treacherous seductive art!... + +The type is of all nations. Christophe knew it, for he had met it in +Germany. Against such people he was armed. His method of defense was +simple: he was the first to attack; pounced on the first move, and declared +war on them: he forced these dangerous friends to become his enemies. +But if such a policy of frankness was an excellent safeguard for his +personality, it was not calculated to advance his career as an artist. Once +more Christophe began his German tactics. It was too strong for him. Only +one thing was altered: his temper: he was in fine fettle. + +Lightheartedly, for the benefit of anybody who cared to listen, he +expressed his unmeasured criticism of French artists: and so he made many +enemies. He did not take the precaution, as a wise man would have done, +of surrounding himself with a little coterie. He would have found no +difficulty in gathering about him a number of artists who would gladly +have admired him if he had admired them. There were some who admired him +in advance, investing admiration as it were. They considered any man +they praised as a debtor, of whom, at a given moment, they could demand +repayment. But it was a good investment.--But Christophe was a very bad +investment. He never paid back. Worse than that, he was barefaced enough to +consider poor the works of men who thought his good. Unavowedly they were +rancorous, and engaged themselves on the next opportunity to pay him back +in kind. + +Among his other indiscretions Christophe was foolish enough to declare war +on Lucien Lévy-Coeur. He found him in the way, everywhere, and he could not +conceal an extraordinary antipathy for the gentle, polite creature who was +doing no apparent harm, and even seemed to be kinder than himself, and was, +at any rate, far more moderate. He provoked him into argument: and, however +insignificant the subject of it might be, Christophe always brought into +it a sudden heat and bitterness which surprised their hearers. It was as +though Christophe were seizing every opportunity of battering at Lucien +Lévy-Coeur, head down: but he could never reach him. His enemy had an +extraordinary skill, even when he was most obviously in the wrong, in +carrying it off well: he would defend himself with a courtesy which showed +up Christophe's bad manners. Christophe still spoke French very badly, +interlarding it with slang, and often with very coarse expressions which +he had picked up, and, like many foreigners, used wrongly, and he was +incapable of outwitting the tactics of Lucien Lévy-Coeur and he raged +furiously against his gentle irony. Everybody thought him in the wrong, +for they could not see what Christophe vaguely felt: the hypocrisy of that +gentleness, which when it was brought up against a force which it could not +hold in check, tried quietly to stifle it by silence. He was in no hurry, +for, like Christophe, he counted on time, not, as Christophe did, to build, +but to destroy. He had no difficulty in detaching Sylvain Kohn and Goujart +from Christophe, just as he had gradually forced him out of the Stevens' +circle. He was isolating Christophe. + +Christophe himself helped him. He pleased nobody, for he would not join any +party, but was rather against all parties. He did not like the Jews: but he +liked the anti-Semites even less. He was revolted by the cowardice of the +masses stirred up against a powerful minority, not because it was bad, +but because it was powerful, and by the appeal to the basest instincts of +jealousy and hatred. The Jews came to regard him as an anti-Semite, and +the anti-Semites looked on him as a Jew. As for the artists, they felt his +hostility. Instinctively Christophe made himself more German than he was, +in art. Revolting against the voluptuous ataraxia of a certain class of +Parisian music, he set up, with violence, a manly, healthy pessimism. When +joy appeared in his music, it was with a want of taste, a vulgar ardor, +which were well calculated to disgust even the aristocratic patrons of +popular art. An erudite, crude form. In his reaction he was not far from +affecting an apparent carelessness in style and a disregard of external +originality, which were bound to be offensive to the French musicians. And +so those of them, to whom he sent some of his work, without any careful +consideration, visited on it the contempt they had for the belated +Wagnerism of the contemporary German school. Christophe did not care: he +laughed inwardly, and repeated the lines of a charming musician of the +French Renaissance--adapted to his own case: + + * * * * * + _"Come, come, don't worry about those who will say: + 'Christophe has not the counterpoint of A, + And he has not such harmony as Monsieur B.' + I have something else which they never will see."_ + +But when he tried to have some of his music performed, he found the doors +shut against him. They had quite enough to do to play--or not to play--the +works of young French musicians, and could not bother about those of an +unknown German. + +Christophe did not go on trying. He shut himself up in his room and went on +writing. He did not much care whether the people of Paris heard him or not. +He wrote for his own pleasure and not for success. The true artist is not +concerned with the future of his work. He is like those painters of the +Renaissance who joyously painted mural decorations, knowing full well that +in ten years nothing would be left of them. So Christophe worked on in +peace, quite good-humoredly resigned to waiting for better times, when help +would come to him from some unexpected source. + + * * * * * + +Christophe was then attracted by the dramatic form. He dared not yet +surrender freely to the flood of his own lyrical impulse. He had to run it +into definite channels. And, no doubt, it is a good thing for a young man +of genius, who is not yet master of himself, and does not even know exactly +what he is, to set voluntary bounds upon himself, and to confine therein +the soul of which he has so little hold. They are the dikes and sluices +which allow the course of thought to be directed. Unfortunately Christophe +had not a poet: he had himself to fashion his subjects out of legend and +history. + +Among the visions which had been floating before his mind for some months +past were certain figures from the Bible.--That Bible, which his mother had +given him as a companion in his exile, had been a source of dreams to him. +Although he did not read it in any religious spirit, the moral, or, rather, +vital energy of that Hebraic Iliad had been to him a spring in which, in +the evenings, he washed his naked soul of the smoke and mud of Paris. He +was concerned with the sacred meaning of the book: but it was not the +less a sacred book to him, for the breath of savage nature and primitive +individualities that he found in its pages. He drew in its hymns of the +earth, consumed with faith, quivering mountains, exultant skies, and human +lions. + +One of the characters in the book for whom he had an especial tenderness +was the young David. He did not give him the ironic smile of the Florentine +boy, or the tragic intensity of the sublime works of Michael Angelo and +Verrochio: he knew them not. His David was a young shepherd-poet, with +a virgin soul, in which heroism slumbered, a Siegfried of the South, of +a finer race, and more beautiful, and of greater harmony in mind and +body.--For his revolt against the Latin spirit was in vain: unconsciously +he had been permeated by that spirit. Not only art influences art, not +only mind and thought, but everything about the artist:--people, things, +gestures, movements, lines, the light of each town. The atmosphere of Paris +is very powerful: it molds even the most rebellious souls. And the soul of +a German is less capable than any other of resisting it: in vain does he +gird himself in his national pride: of all Europeans the German is the most +easily denationalized. Unwittingly the soul of Christophe had already begun +to assimilate from Latin art a clarity, a sobriety, an understanding of the +emotions, and even, up to a point, a plastic beauty, which otherwise it +never would have had. His _David_ was the proof of it. + +He had endeavored to recreate certain episodes of the youth of David: the +meeting with Saul, the fight with Goliath: and he had written the first +scene. He had conceived it as a symphonic picture with two characters. + +On a deserted plateau, on a moor covered with heather in bloom, the young +shepherd lay dreaming in the sun. The serene light, the hum and buzz of +tiny creatures, the sweet whispering of the waving grass, the silvery +tinkling of the grazing sheep, the mighty beat and rhythm of the earth sang +through the dreaming boy unconscious of his divine destiny. Drowsing, his +voice and the notes of his flute joined the harmonious silence: and his +song was so calmly, so limpidly joyous, that, hearing it, there could be no +thought of joy or sorrow, only the feeling that it must be so and could not +be otherwise.--Suddenly over the moor reached great shadows: the air was +still: life seemed to withdraw into the veins of the earth. Only the music +of the flute went on calmly. Saul, with his crazy thoughts, passed. The mad +King, racked by his fancy, burned like a flame, devouring itself, flung +this way and that by the wind. He breathed prayers and violent abuse, +hurling defiance at the void about him, the void within himself. And when +he could speak no more and fell breathless to the ground, there rang +through the silence the smiling peace of the song of the young shepherd, +who had never ceased. Then, with a furious beating in his heart, came Saul +in silence up to where the boy lay in the heather: in silence he gazed at +him: he sat down by his side and placed his fevered hand on the cool brows +of the shepherd. Untroubled, David turned, and smiled, and looked at the +King. He laid his hand on Saul's knees, and went on singing and playing his +flute. Evening came: David went to sleep in the middle of his song, and +Saul wept. And through the starry night there rose once more the serene +joyous hymn of nature refreshed, the song of thanksgiving of the soul +relieved of its burden. + +When he wrote the scene, Christophe had thought of nothing but his own joy: +he had never given a thought to the manner of its performance: and it had +certainly never occurred to him that it might be produced on the stage. He +meant it to be sung at a concert at such time as the concert-halls should +be open to him. + +One evening he spoke of it to Achille Roussin, and when, by request, he had +tried to give him an idea of it on the piano, he was amazed to see Roussin +burst into enthusiasm, and declare that it must at all costs be produced at +one of the theaters, and that he would see to it. He was even more amazed +when, a few days later, he saw that Roussin was perfectly serious: and his +amazement grew to stupefaction when he heard that Sylvain Kohn, Goujart, +and Lucien Lévy-Coeur were taking it up. He had to admit that their +personal animosity had yielded to their love of art: and he was much +surprised. The only man who was not eager to see his work produced was +himself. It was not suited to the theater: it was nonsense, and almost +hurtful to stage it. But Roussin was so insistent, Sylvain Kohn so +persuasive, and Goujart so positive, that Christophe yielded to the +temptation. He was weak. He was so longing to hear his music! + +It was quite easy for Roussin. Manager and artist rushed to please him. +It happened that a newspaper was organizing a benefit matinee for some +charity. It was arranged that the _David_ should be produced. A good +orchestra was got together. As for the singers, Roussin claimed that he had +found the ideal representative of David. + +The rehearsals were begun. The orchestra came through the first reading +fairly well, although, as usual in France, there was not much discipline +about it. Saul had a good, though rather tired, voice: and he knew his +business. The David was a handsome, tall, plump, solid lady with a +sentimental vulgar voice which she used heavily, with a melodramatic +tremolo and all the café-concert tricks. Christophe scowled. As soon as +she began to sing it was obvious that she could not be allowed to play the +part. After the first pause in the rehearsal he went to the impresario, who +had charge of the business side of the undertaking, and was present, with +Sylvain Kohn, at the rehearsal. The impresario beamed and said: + +"Well, are you satisfied?" + +"Yes," said Christophe. "I think it can be made all right There's only one +thing that won't do: the singer. She must be changed. Tell her as gently +as you can: you're used to it.... It will be quite easy for you to find me +another." + +The impresario looked disgruntled: he looked at Christophe as though he +could not believe that he was serious; and he said: + +"But that's impossible!" + +"Why is it impossible?" asked Christophe. + +The impresario looked cunningly at Sylvain Kohn, and replied: + +"But she has so much talent!" + +"Not a spark," said Christophe. + +"What!... She has a fine voice!" + +"Not a bit of it." + +"And she is beautiful." + +"I don't care a damn." + +"That won't hurt the part," said Sylvain Kohn, laughing. + +"I want a David, a David who can sing: I don't want Helen of Troy," said +Christophe. + +The impresario rubbed his nose uneasily. + +"It's a pity, a great pity ..." he said. "She is an excellent artist.... I +give you my word for it! Perhaps she is not at her best to-day. You must +give her another trial." + +"All right," said Christophe. "But it is a waste of time." + +He went on with the rehearsal. It was worse than ever. He found it hard to +go on to the end: it got on his nerves: his remarks to the singer, from +cold and polite, became dry and cutting, in spite of the obvious pains she +was taking to satisfy him, and the way she ogled him by way of winning his +favor. The impresario prudently stopped the rehearsal just when it seemed +to be hopeless. By way of softening the bad effect of Christophe's remarks, +he bustled up to the singer and paid her heavy compliments. Christophe, +who was standing by, made no attempt to conceal his impatience, called the +impresario, and said: + +"There's no room for argument. I won't have the woman. It's unpleasant, I +know: but I did not choose her. Do what you can to arrange the matter." + +The impresario bowed frigidly, and said coldly: + +"I can't do anything. You must see M. Roussin." + +"What has it got to do with M. Roussin? I don't want to bother him with +this business," said Christophe. + +"That won't bother him," said Sylvain Kohn ironically. + +And he pointed to Roussin, who had just come in. + +Christophe went up to him. Roussin was in high good humor, and cried: + +"What! Finished already? I was hoping to hear a bit of it. Well, maestro, +what do you say? Are you satisfied?" + +"It's going quite well," said Christophe. "I don't know how to thank +you...." + +"Not at all! Not at all!" + +"There is only one thing wrong." + +"What is it? We'll put it right. I am determined to satisfy you." + +"Well ... the singer. Between ourselves she is detestable." + +The beaming smile on Roussin's face froze suddenly. He said, with some +asperity: + +"You surprise me, my dear fellow." + +"She is useless, absolutely useless," Christophe went on. "She has no +voice, no taste, no knowledge of her work, no talent. You're lucky not to +have heard her!..." + +Roussin grew more and more acid. He cut Christophe short, and said +cuttingly: + +"I know Mlle. de Sainte-Ygraine. She is a very talented artiste. I have +the greatest admiration for her. Every man of taste in Paris shares my +opinion." + +And he turned his back on Christophe, who saw him offer his arm to the +actress and go out with her. He was dumfounded, and Sylvain Kohn, who had +watched the scene delightedly, took his arm and laughed, and said as they +went down the stairs of the theater:-- + +"Didn't you know that she was his mistress?" + +Christophe understood. So it was for her sake and not for his own that his +piece was to be produced! That explained Roussin's enthusiasm, the money +he had laid out, and the eagerness of his sycophants. He listened while +Sylvain Kohn told him the story of the Sainte-Ygraine: a music-hall singer, +who, after various successes in the little vaudeville theaters, had, like +so many of her kind, been fired with the ambition to be heard on a stage +more worthy of her talent. She counted on Roussin to procure her an +engagement at the Opéra or the Opéra-Comique: and Roussin, who asked +nothing better, had seen in the performance of _David_ an opportunity of +revealing to the Parisian public at no very great risk the lyrical gifts +of the new tragedienne, in a part which called for no particular dramatic +acting, and gave her an excellent opportunity of displaying the elegance of +her figure. + +Christophe heard the story through to the end: then he shook off Sylvain +Kohn and burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed. When he had done, he +said: + +"You disgust me. You all disgust me. Art is nothing to you. It's always +women, nothing but women. An opera is put on for a dancer, or a singer, for +the mistress of M. So-and-So, or Madame Thingummy. You think of nothing but +your dirty little intrigues. Bless you, I'm not angry with you: you are +like that: very well then, be so and wallow in your mire. But we must part +company: we weren't made to live together. Good-night." + +He left him, and when he reached home, wrote to Roussin, saying that he +withdrew the piece, and did not disguise his reasons for doing so. + +It meant a breach with Roussin and all his gang. The consequences were +felt at once. The newspapers had made a certain amount of talk about the +forthcoming piece, and the story of the quarrel between the composer and +the singer appeared in due course. A certain conductor was adventurous +enough to play the piece at a Sunday afternoon concert. His good fortune +was disastrous for Christophe. The _David_ was played--and hissed. All +the singer's friends had passed the word to teach the insolent musician a +lesson: and the outside public, who had been bored by the symphonic poem, +added their voices to the verdict of the critics. To crown his misfortunes, +Christophe was ill-advised enough to accept the invitation to display his +talents as a pianist at the same concert by giving a _Fantasia_ for piano +and orchestra. The unkindly disposition of the audience, which had been to +a certain extent restrained during the performance of the _David_, out of +consideration for the interpreters, broke loose, when they found themselves +face to face with the composer,--whose playing was not all that it might +have been. Christophe was unnerved by the noise in the hall, and stopped +suddenly half-way through a movement: and he looked jeeringly at the +audience, who were startled into silence, and played _Malbrouck s'en +va-t-en guerre_!--and said insolently: + +"That is all you are fit for." + +Then he got up and went away. + +There was a terrific row. The audience shouted that he had insulted them, +and that he must come and apologize. Next day the papers unanimously +slaughtered the grotesque German to whom justice had been meted out by the +good taste of Paris. + +And then once more he was left in absolute isolation. Once more Christophe +found himself alone, more solitary than ever, in that great, hostile, +stranger city. He did not worry about it. He began to think that he was +fated to be so, and would be so all his life. + +He did not know that a great soul is never alone, that, however Fortune may +cheat him of friendship, in the end a great soul creates friends by the +radiance of the love with which it is filled, and that even in that hour, +when he thought himself for ever isolated, he was more rich in love than +the happiest men and women in the world. + + * * * * * + +Living with the Stevens was a little girl of thirteen or fourteen, to whom +Christophe had given lessons at the same time as Colette. She was a distant +cousin of Colette's, and her name was Grazia Buontempi. She was a little +girl with a golden-brown complexion, with cheeks delicately tinged with +red: healthy-looking: she had a little aquiline nose, a large well-shaped +mouth, always half-open, a round chin, very white, calm clear eyes, softly +smiling, a round forehead framed in masses of long, silky hair, which fell +in long, waving locks loosely down to her shoulders. She was like a little +Virgin of Andrea del Sarto, with her wide face and serenely gazing eyes. + +She was Italian. Her parents lived almost all the year round in the country +on an estate in the North of Italy: plains, fields, little canals. From the +loggia on the housetop they looked down on golden vines, from which here +and there the black spikes of the cypress-trees emerged. Beyond them were +fields, and again fields. Silence. The lowing of the oxen returning from +the fields, and the shrill cries of the peasants at the plow were to be +heard: + +_"Ihi!... Fat innanz'!..."_ + +Grasshoppers chirruped in the trees, frogs croaked by the waterside. And at +night there was infinite silence under the silver beams of the moon. In the +distance, from time to time, the watchers by the crops, sleeping in huts of +branches, fired their guns by way of warning thieves that they were awake. +To those who heard them drowsily, these noises meant no more than the +chiming of a dull clock in the distance, marking the hours of the night. +And silence closed again, like a soft cloak, about the soul. + +Round little Grazia life seemed asleep. Her people did not give her much +attention. In the calmness and beauty that was all about her she grew up +peacefully without haste, without fever. She was lazy, and loved to dawdle +and to sleep. For hours together she would lie in the garden. She would let +herself be borne onward by the silence like a fly on a summer stream. And +sometimes, suddenly, for no reason, she would begin to run. She would run +like a little animal, head and shoulders a little leaning to the right, +moving easily and supply. She was like a kid climbing and slithering among +the stones for the sheer joy of leaping about. She would talk to the dogs, +the frogs, the grass, the trees, the peasants, and the beasts in the +farmyard. She adored all the creatures about her, great and small: but she +was less at her ease with the great. She saw very few people. The estate +was isolated and far from any town. Very rarely there came along the dusty +road some trudging, solemn peasant, or lovely country woman, with bright +eyes and sunburnt face, walking with a slow rhythm, head high and chest +well out. For days together Grazia lived alone in the silence of the +garden: she saw no one: she was never bored: she was afraid of nothing. + +One day a tramp came, stealing fowls. He stopped dead when he saw the +little girl lying on the grass, eating a piece of bread and butter and +humming to herself. She looked up at him calmly, and asked him what he +waited. He said: + +"Give me something, or I'll hurt you." + +She held out her piece of bread and butter and smiled, and said: + +"You must not do harm." + +Then he went away. + +Her mother died. Her father, a kind, weak man, was an old Italian of a good +family, robust, jovial, affectionate, but rather childish, and he was quite +incapable of bringing up his child. Old Buontempi's sister, Madame Stevens, +came to the funeral, and was struck by the loneliness of the child, and +decided to take her back to Paris for a while, to distract her from her +grief. Grazia and her father wept: but when Madame Stevens had made up her +mind to anything, there was nothing for it but to give in: nobody could +stand out against her. She had the brains of the family: and, in her house +in Paris, she directed everything, dominated everybody: her husband, +her daughter, her lovers:--for she had not denied herself in the matter +of love: she went straight at her duties, and her pleasures: she was a +practical woman and a passionate--very worldly and very restless. + +Transplanted to Paris, Grazia adored her pretty cousin Colette, whom she +amused. The pretty little savage was taken out into society and to the +theater. They treated her as a child, and she regarded herself as a child, +although she was a child no longer. She had feelings which she hid away, +for she was fearful of them: accesses of tenderness for some person or +thing. She was secretly in love with Colette, and would steal a ribbon +or a handkerchief that belonged to her: often in her presence, she could +not speak a word: and when she expected her, when she knew that she was +going to see her, she would tremble with impatience and happiness. At the +theater when she saw her pretty cousin, in evening dress, come into the +box and attract general attention, she would smile humbly, affectionately, +lovingly: and her heart would leap when Colette spoke to her. Dressed in +white, with her beautiful black hair loose and hanging over her shoulders, +biting the fingers of her long white cotton gloves, and idly poking her +fingers through the holes,--every other minute during the play she would +turn towards Colette in the hope of meeting a friendly look, to share the +pleasure she was feeling, and to say with her clear brown eyes: + +"I love you." + +When they were out together in the Bois, outside Paris, she would walk in +Colette's shadow, sit at her feet; run in front of her, break off branches +that might be in her way, place stones in the mud for her to walk on. And +one evening in the garden, when Colette shivered and asked for her shawl, +she gave a little cry of delight--she was at once ashamed of it--to think +that her beloved would be wrapped in something of hers, and would give it +back to her presently filled with the scent of her body. + +There were books, certain passages in the poets, which she read in +secret--(for she was still given children's books)--which gave her +delicious thrills. And there were more even in certain passages in music, +although she was told that she could not understand them: and she persuaded +herself that she did not understand them:--but she would turn pale and cold +with emotion. No one knew what was happening within her at such moments. + +Outside that she was just a docile little girl, dreamy, lazy, greedy, +blushing on the slightest provocation, now silent for hours together, now +talking volubly, easily touched to tears and laughter, breaking suddenly +into fits of sobbing or childish laughter. She loved to laugh, and silly +little things would amuse her. She never tried to be grown up. She remained +a child. She was, above all, kind and could not bear to hurt anybody, and +she was hurt by the least angry word addressed to herself. She was very +modest and retiring, ready to love and admire anything that seemed good and +beautiful to her, and so she attributed to others qualities which they did +not possess. + +She was being educated, for she was very backward. And that was how she +came to be taught music by Christophe. + +She saw him for the first time at a crowded party in her aunt's house. +Christophe, who was incapable of adapting himself to his audience, played +an interminable _adagio_ which made everybody yawn: when it seemed to be +over he began again: and everybody wondered if it was ever going to end. +Madame Stevens was boiling with impatience: Colette was highly amused: she +was enjoying the absurdity of it, and rather pleased with Christophe for +being so insensible of it: she felt that he was a force, and she liked +that: but it was comic too: and she would have been the last person to +defend him. Grazia alone was moved to tears by the music. She hid herself +away in a corner of the room. When it was over she went away, so that no +one should see her emotion, and also because she could not bear to see +people making fun of Christophe. + +A few days later, at dinner, Madame Stevens in her presence spoke of her +having music-lessons from Christophe. Grazia was so upset that she let her +spoon drop into her soup-plate, and splashed herself and her neighbor. +Colette said she ought first to have lessons in table-manners. Madame +Stevens added that Christophe was not the person to go to for that. Grazia +was glad to be scolded in Christophe's company. + +Christophe began to teach her. She was stiff and frozen, and held her arms +close to her sides, and could not stir: and when Christophe placed his +hand on hers, to correct the position of her fingers, and stretched them +over the keys, she nearly fainted. She was fearful of playing badly for +him; but in vain did she practise until she nearly made herself ill, and +evoked impatient protests from her cousin: she always played vilely when +Christophe was present: she was breathless, and her fingers were as stiff +as pieces of wood, or as flabby as cotton: she struck the wrong notes and +gave the emphasis all wrong: Christophe would lose his temper, scold her, +and go away: then she would long to die. + +He paid no attention to her, and thought only of Colette. Grazia was +envious of her cousin's intimacy with Christophe: but, although it hurt +her, in her heart she was glad both for Colette and for Christophe. She +thought Colette so superior to herself that it seemed natural to her that +she should monopolize attention.--It was only when she had to choose +between her cousin and Christophe that she felt her heart turn against +Colette. With her girlish intuition she saw that Christophe was made to +suffer by Colette's coquetry, and the persistent courtship of her by Lucien +Lévy-Coeur. Instinctively she disliked Lévy-Coeur, and she detested him as +soon as she knew that Christophe detested him. She could not understand +how Colette could admit him as a rival to Christophe. She began secretly +to judge him harshly. She discovered certain of his small hypocrisies, and +suddenly changed her manner towards him. Colette saw it, but did not guess +the cause: she pretended to ascribe it to a little girl's caprice. But it +was very certain that she had lost her power over Grazia: as was shown by +a trifling incident. One evening, when they were walking together in the +garden, a gentle rain came on, and Colette, tenderly, though coquettishly, +offered Grazia the shelter of her cloak: Grazia, for whom, a few weeks +before, it would have been happiness ineffable to be held close to her +beloved cousin, moved away coldly, and walked on in silence at a distance +of some yards. And when Colette said that she thought a piece of music that +Grazia was playing was ugly, Grazia was not kept from playing and loving +it. + +She was only concerned with Christophe. She had the insight of her +tenderness, and saw that he was suffering, without his saying a word. She +exaggerated it in her childish, uneasy regard for him. She thought that +Christophe was in love with Colette, when he had really no more than an +exacting friendship. She thought he was unhappy, and she was unhappy for +him, and she had little reward for her anxiety. She paid for it when +Colette had infuriated Christophe: then he was surly and avenged himself on +his pupil, waxing wrathful with her mistakes. One morning when Colette had +exasperated him more than usual, he sat down by the piano so savagely that +Grazia lost the little nerve she had: she floundered: he angrily scolded +her for her mistakes: then she lost her head altogether: he fumed, wrung +his hands, declared that she would never do anything properly, and that she +had better occupy herself with cooking, sewing, anything she liked, only, +in Heaven's name, she must not go on with her music! It was not worth the +trouble of torturing people with her mistakes. With that he left her in the +middle of her lesson. He was furious. And poor Grazia wept, not so much for +the humiliation of anything he had said to her, as for despair at not being +able to please Christophe, when she longed to do so, and could only succeed +in adding to his sufferings. The greatest grief was when Christophe ceased +to go to the Stevens' house. Then she longed to go home. The poor child, so +healthy, even in her dreams, in whom there was much of the sweet peace of +the country, felt ill at ease in the town, among the neurasthenic, restless +women of Paris. She never dared say anything, but she had come to a fairly +accurate estimation of the people about her. But she was shy, and, like her +father, weak, from kindness, modesty, distrust of herself. She submitted +to the authority of her domineering aunt and her cousin, who was used to +tyrannizing over everybody. She dared not write to her father, to whom she +wrote regularly long, affectionate letters: + +"Please, please, take me home!" + +And her father dared not take her home, in spite of his own longing: for +Madame Stevens had answered his timid advances by saying that Grazia was +very well off where she was, much better off than she would be with him, +and that she must stay for the sake of her education. + +But there came a time when her exile was too hard for the little southern +creature, a time when she had to fly back towards the light.--That was +after Christophe's concert. She went to it with the Stevens: and she +was tortured by the hideous sight of the rabble amusing themselves with +insulting an artist.... An artist? The man who, in Grazia's eyes, was the +very type of art, the personification of all that was divine in life! She +was on the point of tears; she longed to get away. She had to listen to +all the caterwauling, the hisses, the howls, and, when they reached home, +to the laughter of Colette as she exchanged pitying remarks with Lucien +Lévy-Coeur. She escaped to her room, and through part of the night she +sobbed: she spoke to Christophe, and consoled him: she would gladly have +given her life for him, and she despaired of ever being able to do anything +to make him happy. It was impossible for her to stay in Paris any longer. +She begged her father to take her away, saying: + +"I cannot live here any longer; I cannot: I shall die if you leave me here +any longer." + +Her father came at once, and though it was very painful to them both to +stand up to her terrible aunt, they screwed up their courage for it by a +desperate effort of will. + +Grazia returned to the sleepy old estate. She was glad to get back to +Nature and the creatures that she loved. Every day she gathered comfort +for her sorrow, but in her heart there remained a little of the melancholy +of the North, like a veil of mist, that very slowly melted away before +the sun. Sometimes she thought of Christophe's wretchedness. Lying on the +grass, listening to the familiar frogs and grasshoppers, or sitting at her +piano, which now she played more often than before, she would dream of the +friend her heart had chosen: she would talk to him, in whispers, for hours +together, and it seemed not impossible to her that one day he would open +the door and come in to her. She wrote to him, and, after long hesitation, +she sent the letter, unsigned, which, one day, with beating heart, she went +secretly and dropped into the box in the village two miles away, beyond the +long plowed fields,--a kind, good, touching letter, in which she told him +that he was not alone, that he must not be discouraged, that there was +one who thought of him, and loved him, and prayed to God for him,--a poor +little letter, which was lost in the post, so that he never received it. + +Then the serene, monotonous days succeeded each other in the life of his +distant friend. And the Italian peace, the genius of tranquillity, calm +happiness, silent contemplation, once more took possession of that chaste +and silent heart, in whose depths there still burned, like a little +constant flame, the memory of Christophe. + + * * * * * + +But Christophe never knew of the simple love that watched over him from +afar, and was later to fill so great a room in his life. Nor did he know +that at that same concert, where he had been insulted, there sat the woman +who was to be the beloved, the dear companion, destined to walk by his +side, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. + +He was alone. He thought himself alone. But he did not suffer overmuch. He +did not feel that bitter anguish that had given him such great agony in +Germany. He was stronger, riper: he knew that it must be so. His illusions +about Paris were destroyed: men were everywhere the same: he must be a law +unto himself, and not waste strength in a childish struggle with the world: +he must be himself, calmly, tranquilly. As Beethoven had said, "If we +surrender the forces of our lives to life, what, then, will be left for the +noblest and highest?" He had firmly grasped a knowledge of his nature and +the temper of his race, which formerly he had so harshly judged. The more +he was oppressed by the atmosphere of Paris, the more keenly did he feel +the need of taking refuge in his own country, in the arms of the poets and +musicians, in whom the best of Germany is garnered and preserved. As soon +as he opened their books his room was filled with the sound of the sunlit +Rhine and lit by the loving smiles of old friends new found. + +How ungrateful he had been to them! How was it he had failed to feel the +treasure of their goodness and honesty? He remembered with shame all the +unjust, outrageous things he had said of them when he was in Germany. Then +he saw only their defects, their awkward ceremonious manners, their tearful +idealism, their little mental hypocrisies, their cowardice. Ah! How small +were all these things compared with their great virtues! How could he have +been so hard upon their weaknesses, which now made them even more moving in +his eyes: for they were more human for them! In his reaction he was the +more attracted to those of them to whom he had been most unjust. What +things he had said about Schubert and Bach! And now he felt so near to +them. Now it was as though these noble souls, whose foibles he had so +scorned, leaned over him, now that he was in exile and far from his own +people, and smiled kindly and said: + +"Brother, we are here! Courage! We too have had more than our share of +misery ... Bah! one wins through it...." + +He heard the soul of Johann Sebastian Bach roaring like the sea: +hurricanes, winds howling, the clouds of life scudding,--men and women +drunk with joy, sorrow, fury, and the Christ, all meekness, the Prince of +Peace, hovering above them,--towns awakened by the cries of the watchmen, +running with glad shouts, to meet the divine Bridegroom, whose footsteps +shake the earth,--the vast store of thoughts, passions, musical forms, +heroic life, Shakespearean hallucinations, Savonarolaesque prophecies, +pastoral, epic, apocalyptic visions, all contained in the stunted body of +the little Thuringian _cantor_, with his double chin, and little shining +eyes under the wrinkled lids and the raised eyebrows ...--he could see him +so clearly! somber, jovial, a little absurd, with his head stuffed full of +allegories and symbols, Gothic and rococo, choleric, obstinate, serene, +with a passion for life, and a great longing for death ...--he saw him +in his school, a genial pedant, surrounded by his pupils, dirty, coarse, +vagabond, ragged, with hoarse voices, the ragamuffins with whom he +squabbled, and sometimes fought like a navvy, one of whom once gave him +a mighty thrashing ...--he saw him with his family, surrounded by his +twenty-one children, of whom thirteen died before him, and one was an +idiot, and the rest were good musicians who gave little concerts.... +Sickness, burial, bitter disputes, want, his genius misunderstood:--and +through and above it all, his music, his faith, deliverance and light, joy +half seen, felt, desired, grasped,--God, the breath of God kindling his +bones, thrilling through his flesh, thundering from his lips.... O Force! +Force! Thrice joyful thunder of Force!... + +Christophe took great draughts of that force. He felt the blessing of that +power of music which issues from the depths of the German soul. Often +mediocre, and even coarse, what does it matter? The great thing is that +it is so, and that it flows plenteously. In France music is gathered +carefully, drop by drop, and passed through Pasteur filters into bottles, +and then corked. And the drinkers of stale water are disgusted by the +rivers of German music! They examine minutely the defects of the German men +of genius! + +"Poor little things!"--thought Christophe, forgetting that he himself had +once been just as absurd--"they find fault with Wagner and Beethoven! They +must have faultless men of genius!... As though, when the tempest rages, it +would take care not to upset the existing order of things!..." + +He strode about Paris rejoicing in his strength. If he were misunderstood, +so much the better! He would be all the freer. To create, as genius must, a +whole world, organically constituted according to his own inward laws, the +artist must live in it altogether. An artist can never be too much alone. +What is terrible is to see his ideas reflected in a mirror which deforms +and stunts them. He must say nothing to others of what he is doing until he +has done it: otherwise he would never have the courage to go on to the end: +for it would no longer be his idea, but the miserable idea of others that +would live in him. + +Now that there was nothing to disturb his dreams, they bubbled forth like +springs from all the corners of his soul, and from every stone of the roads +by which he walked. He was living in a visionary state. Everything he saw +and heard called forth in him creatures and things different from those he +saw and heard. He had only to live to find everywhere about him the life +of his heroes. Their sensations came to him of their own accord. The eyes +of the passers-by, the sound of a voice borne by the wind, the light on +a lawn, the birds singing in the trees of the Luxembourg, a convent-bell +ringing so far away, the pale sky, the little patch of sky seen from his +room, the sounds and shades of sound of the different hours of the day, all +these were not in himself, but in the creatures of his dreams.--Christophe +was happy. + +But his material position was worse than ever. He had lost his few pupils, +his only resource. It was September, and rich people were out of town, and +it was difficult to find new pupils. The only one he had was an engineer, a +crazy, clever fellow, who had taken it into his head, at forty, to become a +great violinist. Christophe did not play the violin very well: but he knew +more about it than his pupil: and for some time he gave him three hours a +week at two francs an hour. But at the end of six weeks the engineer got +tired of it, and suddenly discovered that painting was his vocation.--When +he imparted his discovery to Christophe, Christophe laughed heartily: but, +when he had done laughing, he reckoned up his finances, and found that he +had in hand the twelve francs which his pupil had just paid him for his +last lessons. That did not worry him: he only said to himself that he must +certainly set about finding some other means of living, and start once more +going from publisher to publisher. That was not very pleasant.... Pff!... +It was useless to torment himself in advance. It was a jolly day. He went +to Meudon. + +He had a sudden longing for a walk. As he walked there rose in him scraps +of music. He was as full of it as a hive of honey: and he laughed aloud at +the golden buzzing of his bees. For the most part it was changing music. +And lively leaping rhythms, insistent, haunting.... Much good it is to +create and fashion music buried within four walls! There you can only make +combinations of subtle, hard, unyielding harmonies, like the Parisians! + +When he was weary he lay down in the woods. The trees were half in leaf, +the sky was periwinkle blue. Christophe dozed off dreamily, and in his +dreams there was the color of the sweet light falling from October clouds. +His blood throbbed. He listened to the rushing flood of his ideas. They +came from all corners of the earth: worlds, young and old, at war, rags and +tatters of dead souls, guests and parasites that once had dwelled within +him, as in a city. The words that Gottfried had spoken by the grave of +Melchior returned to him: he was a living tomb, filled with the dead, +striving in him,--all his unknown forefathers. He listened to those +countless lives, it delighted him to set the organ roaring, the roaring of +that age-old forest, full of monsters, like the forest of Dante. He was +no longer fearful of them as he had been in his youth. For the master was +there: his will. It was a great joy to him to crack his whip and make the +beasts howl, and feel the wealth of living creatures in himself. He was +not alone. There was no danger of his ever being alone. He was a host in +himself. Ages of Kraffts, healthy and rejoicing in their health. Against +hostile Paris, against a hostile people, he could set a whole people: the +fight was equal. + + * * * * * + +He had left the modest room--it was too expensive--which he occupied and +taken an attic in the Montrouge district. It was well aired, though it +had no other advantage. There was a continual draught. But he wanted to +breathe. From his window he had a wide view over the chimneys of Paris to +Montmartre in the background. It had not taken him long to move: a handcart +was enough: Christophe pushed it himself. Of all his possessions the most +precious to him, after his old bag, was one of those casts, which have +lately become so popular, of the death-mask of Beethoven. He packed it with +as much care as though it were a priceless work of art. He never let it out +of his sight. It was an oasis in the midst of the desert of Paris. And also +it served him as a moral thermometer. The death-mask indicated more clearly +than his own conscience the temperature of his soul, the character of his +most secret thoughts: now a cloudy sky, now the gusty wind of the passions, +now fine calm weather. + +He had to be sparing with his food. He only ate once a day, at one in the +afternoon. He bought a large sausage, and hung it up in his window: a thick +slice of it, a hunk of bread, and a cup of coffee that he made himself were +a feast for the gods. He would have preferred two such feasts. He was angry +with himself for having such a good appetite. He called himself to task, +and thought himself a glutton, thinking only of his stomach. He lost flesh: +he was leaner than a famished dog. But he was solidly built, he had an iron +constitution, and his head was clear. + +He did not worry about the morrow, though he had good reason for doing so. +As long as he had in hand money enough for the day he never bothered about +it. When he came to the end of his money he made up his mind to go the +round of the publishers once more. He found no work. He was on his way +home, empty, when, happening to pass the music-shop where he had been +introduced to Daniel Hecht by Sylvain Kohn, he went in without remembering +that he had already been there under not very pleasant circumstances. The +first person he saw was Hecht. He was on the point of turning tail: but he +was too late: Hecht had seen him. Christophe did not wish to seem to be +avoiding him: he went up to Hecht, not knowing what to say to him, and +fully prepared to stand up to him as arrogantly as need be: for he was +convinced that Hecht would be unsparingly insolent. But he was nothing +of the kind. Hecht coldly held out his hand, muttered some conventional +inquiry after his health, and, without waiting for any request from +Christophe, he pointed to the door of his office, and stepped aside to let +him pass. He was secretly glad of the visit, which he had foreseen, though +he had given up expecting it. Without seeming to do so, he had carefully +followed Christophe's doings: he had missed no opportunity of hearing his +music: he had been at the famous performance of the _David_: and, despising +the public, he had not been greatly surprised at its hostile reception, +since he himself had felt the beauty of the work. There were probably not +two people in Paris more capable than Hecht of appreciating Christophe's +artistic originality. But he took care not to say anything about it, not +only because his vanity was hurt by Christophe's attitude towards himself, +but because it was impossible for him to be amiable: it was the peculiarly +ungracious quality of his nature. He was sincerely desirous of helping +Christophe: but he would not have stirred a finger to do so: he was waiting +for Christophe to come and ask it of him. And now that Christophe had +come,--instead of generously seizing the opportunity of wiping out the +memory of their previous misunderstanding by sparing his visitor any +humiliation, he gave himself the satisfaction of hearing him make his +request at length: and he even went so far as to offer Christophe, at least +for the time being, the work which he had formerly refused. He gave him +fifty pages of music to transpose for mandoline and guitar by the next +day. After which, being satisfied that he had made him truckle down, he +found him less distasteful work, but always so ungraciously that it was +impossible to be grateful to him for it: Christophe had to be ground +down by necessity before he would ever go to Hecht again. In any case he +preferred to earn his money by such work, however irritating it might +be, than accept it as a gift from Hecht, as it was once more offered to +him:--and, indeed, Hecht meant it kindly: but Christophe had been conscious +of Hecht's original intention to humiliate him: he was forced to accept +his conditions, but nothing would induce him to accept any favor from +him: he was willing to work for him:--by giving and giving he squared the +account:--but he would not be under any obligation to him. Unlike Wagner, +that impudent mendicant where his art was concerned, he did not place his +art above himself: the bread that he had not earned himself would have +choked him.--One day, when he brought some work that he had sat up all +night to finish, he found Hecht at table. Hecht, remarking his pallor and +the hungry glances that involuntarily he cast at the dishes, felt sure that +he had not eaten that day, and invited him to lunch. He meant kindly, but +he made it so apparent that he had noticed Christophe's straits that his +invitation looked like charity: Christophe would have died of hunger rather +than accept. He could not refuse to sit down at the table--(Hecht said he +wanted to talk to him):--but he did not touch a morsel: he pretended that +he had just had lunch. His stomach was aching with hunger. + +Christophe would gladly have done without Hecht: but the other publishers +were even worse.--There were also wealthy amateurs who had conceived some +scrap of a musical idea, and could not even write it down. They would send +for Christophe, hum over their lucubrations, and say: + +"Isn't it fine?" + +Then they would give them to him for elaboration,--(to be written):--and +then they would appear under their own names through some great publishing +house. They were quite convinced that they had composed them themselves. +Christophe knew such a one, a distinguished nobleman, a strange, restless +creature, who would suddenly call him "Dear friend," grasp him by the +arm, and burst into a torrent of enthusiastic demonstrations, talking and +giggling, babbling and telling funny stories, interlarded with cries of +ecstatic laughter: Beethoven, Verlaine, Fauré, Yvette Guilbert.... He made +him work, and failed to pay. He worked it out in invitations to lunch and +handshakes. Finally he sent Christophe twenty francs, which Christophe gave +himself the foolish luxury of returning. That day he had not twenty sous +in the world: and he had to buy a twenty-five centimes stamp for a letter +to his mother. It was Louisa's birthday, and Christophe would not for the +world have failed her: the poor old creature counted on her son's letter, +and could not have endured disappointment. For some weeks past she had been +writing to him more frequently, in spite of the pain it caused her. She +was suffering from her loneliness. But she could not bring herself to +join Christophe in Paris: she was too timid, too much attached to her own +little town, to her church, her house, and she was afraid of traveling. And +besides, if she had wanted to come, Christophe had not enough money: he had +not always enough for himself. + +He had been given a great deal of pleasure once by receiving a letter from +Lorchen, the peasant girl for whose sake he had plunged into the brawl with +the Prussian soldiers:[Footnote: See _Jean-Christophe_--I, "Revolt."] she +wrote to tell him that she was going to be married: she gave him news of +his mother, and sent him a basket of apples and a piece of cake to eat in +her honor. They came in the nick of time. That evening with Christophe was +a fast, Ember Days, Lent: only the butt end of the sausage hanging by the +window was left. Christophe compared himself to the anchorite saints fed by +a crow among the rocks. But no doubt the crow was hard put to it to feed +all the anchorites, for he never came again. + +In spite of all his difficulties Christophe kept his end up. He washed his +linen in his basin, and cleaned his boots, whistling like a blackbird. He +consoled himself with the saying of Berlioz: "Let us raise our heads above +the miseries of life, and let us blithely sing the familiar gay refrain, +_Dies iræ_...."--He used to sing it sometimes, to the dismay of his +neighbors, who were amazed and shocked to hear him break off in the middle +and shout with laughter. + +He led a life of stern chastity. As Berlioz remarked: "The lover's life is +a life for the idle and the rich." Christophe's poverty, his daily hunt +for bread, his excessive sobriety, and his creative fever left him neither +the time nor the taste for any thought of pleasure. He was more than +indifferent about it: in his reaction against Paris he had plunged into a +sort of moral asceticism. He had a passionate need of purity, a horror of +any sort of dirtiness. It was not that he was rid of his passions. At other +times he had been swept headlong by them. But his passions remained chaste +even when he yielded to them: for he never sought pleasure through them but +the absolute giving of himself and fulness of being. And when he saw that +he had been deceived he flung them furiously from him. Lust was not to +him a sin like any other. It was the great Sin, that which poisons the +very springs of life. All those in whom the old Christian belief has not +been crusted over with strange conceptions, all those who still feel in +themselves the vigor and life of the races, which through the strengthening +of an heroic discipline have built up Western civilization, will have +no difficulty in understanding him. Christophe despised cosmopolitan +society, whose only aim and creed was pleasure.--In truth it is good to +seek pleasure, to desire pleasure for all men, to combat the cramping +pessimistic beliefs, that have come to weigh upon humanity through twenty +centuries of Gothic Christianity. But that can only be upon condition +that it is a generous faith, earnestly desirous of the good of others. +But instead of that, what happens? The most pitiful egoism. A handful of +loose-living men and women trying to give their senses the maximum of +pleasure with the minimum of risk, while they take good care that the rest +shall drudge for it.--Yes, no doubt, they have their parlor Socialism!... +But they know perfectly well that their doctrine of pleasure is only +practicable for "well-fed" people, for a select pampered few, that it is +poison to the poor.... + +"The life of pleasure is a rich man's life." + + * * * * * + +Christophe was neither rich nor likely to become so. When he made a little +money he spent it at once on music: he went without food to go to concerts. +He would take cheap seats in the gallery of the _Théâtre du Châtelet_: and +he would steep himself in music: he found both food and love in it. He had +such a hunger for happiness and so great a power of enjoying it that the +imperfections of the orchestra never worried him: he would stay for two or +three hours, drowsy and beatific, and wrong notes or defective taste never +provoked in him more than an indulgent smile: he left his critical faculty +outside: he was there to love, not to judge. Around him the audience sat +motionless, with eyes half closed, letting itself be borne on by the great +torrent of dreams. Christophe fancied them as a mass of people curled up +in the shade, like an enormous cat, weaving fantastic dreams of lust and +carnage. In the deep golden shadows certain faces stood out, and their +strange charm and silent ecstasy drew Christophe's eyes and heart: he loved +them: he listened through them: he became them, body and soul. One woman in +the audience became aware of it, and between her and Christophe during the +concert there was woven one of those obscure sympathies, which touch the +very depths, though never by one word are they translated into the region +of consciousness, while, when the concert is over and the thread that binds +soul to soul is snapped, nothing is left of it. It is a state familiar +to lovers of music, especially when they are young and do most wholly +surrender: the essence of music is so completely love, that the full savor +of it is not won unless it be enjoyed through another, and so it is that, +at a concert, we instinctively seek among the throng for friendly eyes, for +a friend with whom to share a joy too great for ourselves alone. + +Among such friends, the friends of one brief hour, whom Christophe marked +out for choice of love, the better to taste the sweetness of the music, he +was attracted by one face which he saw again and again, at every concert. +It was the face of a little grisette who seemed to adore music without +understanding it at all. She had an odd little profile, a short, straight +nose, almost in line with her slightly pouting lips and delicately molded +chin, fine arched eyebrows, and clear eyes: one of those pretty little +faces behind the veil of which one feels joy and laughter concealed by calm +indifference. It is perhaps in such light-hearted girls, little creatures +working for their living, that one finds most the old serenity that is no +more, the serenity of the antique statues and the faces of Raphael. There +is but one moment in their lives, the first awakening of pleasure: all too +soon their lives are sullied. But at least they have lived for one lovely +hour. + +It gave Christophe an exquisite pleasure to look at her: a pretty face +would always warm his heart: he could enjoy without desire: he found joy in +it, force, comfort,--almost virtue. It goes without saying that she quickly +became aware that he was watching her: and, unconsciously, there was set up +between them a magnetic current. And as they met at almost every concert, +almost always in the same places, they quickly learned each other's likes +and dislikes. At certain passages they would exchange meaning glances: when +she particularly liked some melody she would just put out her tongue as +though to lick her lips: or, to show that she did not think much of it, she +would disdainfully wrinkle up her pretty nose. In these little tricks of +hers there was a little of that innocent posing of which hardly any one +can be free when he knows that he is being watched. During serious music +she would sometimes try to look grave and serious: and she would turn her +profile towards him, and look absorbed, and smile to herself, and look +out of the corner of her eye to see if he were watching. They had become +very good friends, without exchanging a word, and even without having +attempted--at least Christophe did not--to meet outside. + +At last by chance at an evening concert they found themselves sitting +next each other. After a moment of smiling hesitation they began to talk +amicably. She had a charming voice and said many stupid things about music: +for she knew nothing about it and wanted to seem as if she knew: but she +loved it passionately. She loved the worst and the best, Massenet and +Wagner: only the mediocre bored her. Music was a physical pleasure to her: +she drank it in through all the pores of her skin as Danaë did the golden +rain. The prelude of _Tristan_ made her blood run cold: and she loved +feeling herself being carried away, like some warrior's prey, by the +_Symphonia Eroica_. She told Christophe that Beethoven was deaf and dumb, +and that, in spite of it all, if she had known him, she would have loved +him, although he was precious ugly. Christophe protested that Beethoven +was not so very ugly: then they argued about beauty and ugliness: and she +agreed that it was a matter of taste: what was beautiful for one person was +not so for another: "We're not golden louis and can't please every one." He +preferred her when she did not talk: he understood her better. During the +death of Isolde she held out her hand to him: her hand was warm and moist: +he held it in his until the end of the piece: they could feel life coursing +through the veins of their clasped hands. + +They went out together: it was near midnight. They walked back to the Latin +Quarter talking eagerly: she had taken his arm and he took her home: but +when they reached the door, and she seemed to suggest that he should go +up and see her room, he disregarded her smile and the friendliness in her +eyes and left her. At first she was amazed, then furious: then she laughed +aloud at the thought of his stupidity: and then, when she had reached her +room and began to undress, she felt hurt and angry, and finally wept in +silence. When next she met him at a concert she tried to be dignified and +indifferent and crushing. But he was so kind to her that she could not hold +to her resolution. They began to talk once more: only now she was a little +reserved with him. He talked to her warmly but very politely and always +about serious things, and the music to which they were listening and what +it meant to him. She listened attentively and tried to think as he did. The +meaning of his words often escaped her: but she believed him all the same. +She was grateful to Christophe and had a respect for him which she hardly +showed. By tacit agreement they only spoke to each other at concerts. +He met her once surrounded with students. They bowed gravely. She never +talked about him to any one. In the depths of her soul there was a little +sanctuary, a quality of beauty, purity, consolation. + +And so Christophe, by his presence, by the mere fact of his existence, +exercised an influence that brought strength and solace. Wherever he passed +he unconsciously left behind the traces of his inward light. He was the +last to have any notion of it. Near him, in the house where he lived, there +were people whom he had never seen, people who, without themselves +suspecting it, gradually came under the spell of his beneficent radiance. + +For several weeks Christophe had no money for concerts even by fasting: and +in his attic under the roof, now that winter was coming in, he was numbed +with the cold: he could not sit still at his table. Then he would get +up and walk about Paris, trying to warm himself. He had the faculty of +forgetting the seething town about him, and slipping away into space and +the infinite. It was enough for him to see above the noisy street the +dead, frozen moon, hung there in the abysm of the sky, or the sun, like a +disc, rolling through the white mist; then Paris would sink down into the +boundless void and all the life of it would seem to be no more than the +phantom of a life that had been once, long, long ago ... ages ago ... The +smallest tiny sign, imperceptible to the common lot of men, of the great +wild life of Nature, so sparsely covered with the livery of civilization, +was enough to make it all come rushing mightily up before his gaze. The +grass growing between the stones of the streets, the budding of a tree +strangled by its cast-iron cage, airless, earthless, on some bleak +boulevard: a dog, a passing bird, the last relics of the beasts and +birds that thronged the primeval world, which man has since destroyed: a +whirling cloud of flies: the mysterious epidemic that raged through a whole +district:--these were enough in the thick air of that human hothouse to +bring the breath of the Spirit of the Earth up to slap his cheeks and whip +his energy to action. + +During those long walks, when he was often starving, and often had +not spoken to a soul for days together, his wealth of dreams seemed +inexhaustible. Privation and silence had aggravated his morbid heated +condition. At night he slept feverishly, and had exhausting dreams: he saw +once more and never ceased to see the old house and the room in which he +had lived as a child: he was haunted by musical obsessions. By day he +talked and never ceased to talk to the creatures within himself and the +beings whom he loved, the absent and the dead. + +One cold afternoon in December, when the grass was covered with frost, and +the roofs of the houses and the great domes were glistening through the +fog, and the trees, with their cold, twisted, naked branches, groping +through the mist that hung about them, looked like great weeds at the +bottom of the sea,--Christophe, who had been shivering all day and could +not get warm again, went into the Louvre, which he hardly knew at all. + +Till then painting had never moved him much. He was too much absorbed by +the world within himself to grasp the world of color and form. They only +acted on him through their music and rhythm, which only brought him an +indistinguishable echo of their truth. No doubt his instinct did obscurely +divine the selfsame laws that rule the harmony of visible form, as of the +form of sounds, and the deep waters of the soul, from which spring the two +rivers of color and sound, to flow down the two sides of the mountain of +life. But he only knew one side of the mountain, and he was lost in the +kingdom of the eye, which was not his. And so he missed the secret of the +most exquisite, and perhaps the most natural charm of clear-eyed France, +the queen of the world of light. + +Even had he been interested in painting, Christophe was too German to +adapt himself to so widely different a vision of things. He was not one of +those up-to-date Germans who decry the German way of feeling, and persuade +themselves that they admire and love French Impressionism or the artists of +the eighteenth century,--except when they go farther and are convinced that +they understand them better than the French. Christophe was a barbarian, +perhaps: but he was frank about it. The pink flesh of Boucher, the fat +chins of Watteau, the bored shepherds and plump, tight-laced shepherdesses, +the whipped-cream souls, the virtuous oglings of Greuze, the tucked shirts +of Fragonard, all that bare-legged poesy interested him no more than a +fashionable, rather spicy newspaper. He did not see its rich and brilliant +harmony; the voluptuous and sometimes melancholy dreams of that old +civilization, the highest in Europe, were foreign to him. As for the French +school of the seventeenth century, he liked neither its devout ceremony nor +its pompous portraits: the cold reserve of the gravest of the masters, a +certain grayness of soul that clouded the proud works of Nicolas Poussin +and the pale faces of Philippe de Champaigne, repelled Christophe from +old French art. And, once more, he knew nothing about it. If he had known +anything about it he would have misunderstood it. The only modern painter +whose fascination he had felt at all in Germany, Boecklin of Basle, had not +prepared him much for Latin art. Christophe remembered the shock of his +impact with that brutal genius, which smacked of earth and the musty smell +of the heroic beasts that it had summoned forth. His eyes, seared by the +raw light, used to the frantic motley of that drunken savage, could hardly +adapt themselves to the half-tints, the dainty and mellifluous harmonies of +French art. + +But no man with impunity can live in a foreign land. Unknown to him it sets +its seal upon him. In vain does he withdraw into himself: upon a day he +must wake up to find that something has changed. + +There was a change in Christophe on that evening when he wandered through +the rooms of the Louvre. He was tired, cold, hungry; he was alone. Around +him darkness was descending upon the empty galleries, and sleeping forms +awoke. Christophe was very cold as he walked in silence among Egyptian +sphinxes, Assyrian monsters, bulls of Persepolis, gleaming snakes from +Palissy. He seemed to have passed into a magic world: and in his heart +there was a strange, mysterious emotion. The dream of humanity wrapped him +about,--the strange flowers of the soul.... + +In the misty gilded light of the picture-galleries, and the gardens of +rich brilliant hues, and painted airless fields, Christophe, in a state +of fever, on the very brink of illness, was visited by a miracle.--He +was walking, numbed by hunger, by the coldness of the galleries, by the +bewildering mass of pictures: his head was whirling. When he reached the +end of the gallery that looks on to the river, he stood before the _Good +Samaritan_ of Rembrandt, and leaned on the rail in front of the pictures to +keep himself from falling: he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened +them on the picture in front of him--he was quite close to it--and he was +held spellbound.... + +Day was spent. Day was already far gone; it was already dead. The invisible +sun was sinking down into the night. It was the magic hour when dreams and +visions come mounting from the soul, saddened by the labors of the day, +still, musing drowsily. All is silent, only the beating of the heart is +heard. In the body there is hardly the strength to move, hardly to breathe; +sadness; resignation; only an immense longing to fall into the arms of +a friend, a hunger for some miracle, a feeling that some miracle must +come.... It comes! A flood of golden light flames through the twilight, is +cast upon the walls of the hovel, on the shoulder of the stranger bearing +the dying man, touches with its warmth those humble objects, and those poor +creatures, and the whole takes on a new gentleness, a divine glory. It is +the very God, clasping in his terrible, tender arms the poor wretches, +weak, ugly, poor, unclean, the poor down-at-heel rascal, the miserable +creatures, with twisted haggard faces, thronging outside the window, the +apathetic, silent creatures standing in mortal terror,--all the pitiful +human beings of Rembrandt, the herd of obscure broken creatures who know +nothing, can do nothing, only wait, tremble, weep, and pray.--But the +Master is there. He will come: it is known that He will come. Not He +Himself is seen: only the light that goes before, and the shadow of the +light which He casts upon all men.... + +Christophe left the Louvre, staggering and tottering. His head ached. He +could not see. In the street it was raining, but he hardly noticed the +puddles between the flags and the water trickling down from his shoes. +Over the Seine the yellowish sky was lit up, as the day waned, by an +inward flame--like the light of a lamp. Still Christophe was spellbound, +hypnotized. It seemed as though nothing existed: not the carriages rattling +over the stones with a pitiless noise: the passers-by were not banging into +him with their wet umbrellas: he was not walking in the street: perhaps he +was sitting at home and dreaming: perhaps he had ceased to exist.... And +suddenly,--(he was so weak!)--he turned giddy and felt himself falling +heavily forward.... It was only for the flash of a second: he clenched his +fists, hurled himself backward, and recovered his balance. + +At that very moment when he emerged into consciousness his eyes met the +eyes of a woman standing on the other side of the street, who seemed to +be looking for recognition. He stopped dead, trying to remember when he +had seen her before. It was only after a moment or two that he could place +those sad, soft eyes: it was the little French governess whom, unwittingly, +he had had dismissed in Germany, for whom he had been looking for so long +to beg her to forgive him. She had stopped, too, in the busy throng, and +was looking at him. Suddenly he saw her try to cross through the crowd of +people and step down into the road to come to him. He rushed to meet her: +but they were separated by a block in the traffic: he saw her again for a +moment struggling on the other side of that living wall: he tried to force +his way through, was knocked over by a horse, slipped and fell on the +slippery asphalt, and was all but run over. When he got up, covered with +mud, and succeeded in reaching the other side of the street, she had +disappeared. + +He tried to follow her, but he had another attack of giddiness, and he had +to give it up. Illness was close upon him: he felt that, but he would not +submit to it. He set his teeth, and would not go straight home, but went +far out of his way. It was just a useless torment to him: he had to admit +that he was beaten: his legs ached, he dragged along, and only reached home +with frightful difficulty. Half-way up the stairs he choked, and had to sit +down. When he got to his icy room he refused to go to bed: he sat in his +chair, wet through; his head was heavy and he could hardly breathe, and he +drugged himself with music as broken as himself. He heard a few fugitive +bars of the _Unfinished Symphony_ of Schubert. Poor Schubert! He, too, was +alone when he wrote that, feverish, somnolent, in that semitorpid condition +which precedes the last great sleep: he sat dreaming by the fireside: all +round him were heavy drowsy melodies, like stagnant water: he dwelt on +them, like a child half-asleep delighting in some self-told story, and +repeating some passage in it twenty times: so sleep comes, then death.... +And Christophe heard fleetingly that other music, with burning hands, +closed eyes, a little weary smile, heart big with sighs, dreaming of the +deliverance of death:--the first chorus in the Cantata of J. S. Bach: +"_Dear God, when shall I die?_"... It was sweet to sink back into the soft +melodies slowly floating by, to hear the distant, muffled clangor of the +bells.... To die, to pass into the peace of earth!... _Und dann selber Erde +werden_.... "And then himself to become earth...." + +Christophe shook off these morbid thoughts, the murderous smile of the +siren who lies in wait for the hours of weakness of the soul. He got up, +and tried to walk about his room: but he could not stand. He was shaking +and shivering with fever. He had to go to bed. He felt that it was serious +this time: but he did not lay down his arms: he never was of those who, +when they are ill, yield utterly to their illness: he struggled, he refused +to be ill, and, above all, he was absolutely determined not to die. He had +his poor mother waiting for him in Germany. And he had his work to do: he +would not yield to death. He clenched his chattering teeth, and firmly +grasped his will that was oozing away: he was like a sturdy swimmer +battling with the waves dashing over him. At every moment, down he plunged: +his mind wandered, endless fancies haunted him, memories of Germany and of +Parisian society: he was obsessed by rhythms and scraps of melody which +went round, and round, and round, like horses in a circus: the sudden shock +of the golden light of the _Good Samaritan_: the tense, stricken faces in +the shadow: and then, dark nothingness and night. Then up he would come +once more, wrenching away the grimacing mists, clenching his fists, and +setting his jaw. He clung to all those whom he loved in the present and the +past, to the face of the friend he had just seen in the street, his dear +mother, and to the indestructible life within himself, that he felt was +like a rock, impervious to death. But once more the rock was covered by the +tide: the waves dashed over it, and tore his soul away from its hold upon +it: it was borne headlong and dashed by the foam. And Christophe struggled +in delirium, babbling strangely, conducting and playing an imaginary +orchestra: trombones, horns, cymbals, timbals, bassoons, double-bass,... +he scraped, blew, beat the drum, frantically. The poor wretch was bubbling +over with suppressed music. For weeks he had been unable to hear or play +any music, and he was like a boiler at high pressure, near bursting-point. +Certain insistent phrases bored into his brain like gimlets, pierced his +skull, and made him scream with agony. After these attacks he would fall +back on his pillow, dead tired, wet through, utterly weak, breathless, +choking. He had placed his water-jug by his bedside, and he took great +draughts of it. The various noises of the adjoining rooms, the banging of +the attic doors, made him start. He was filled with a delirious disgust for +the creatures swarming round him. But his will fought on, sounded a warlike +clarion-note, declaring battle on all devils.... "_Und wenn die Welt voll +Teufel wär, und wollten uns verschlingen, so fürchten wir uns nicht so +sehr_...." ("And even though the world were full of devils, all seeking to +devour us, we should not be afraid...."). + +And over the sea of scalding shadows that dashed over him, there came a +sudden calm, glimpses of light, a gentle murmuring of violins and viols, +the clear triumphant notes of trumpets and horns, while, almost motionless, +like a great wall, there rose from the sick man's soul an indomitable song, +like a choral of J.S. Bach. + + * * * * * + +While he was fighting against the phantoms of fever and the choking in +his lungs, he was dimly aware that some one had opened the door, and that +a woman entered with a candle in her hand. He thought it was another +hallucination. He tried to speak, but could not, and fell back on his +pillow. When, every now and then, he was brought for a moment back to +consciousness, he felt that his pillow had been raised, that his feet had +been wrapped up, that there was something burning his back, or he would see +the woman, whose face was not altogether unfamiliar, sitting at the foot of +his bed. Then he saw another face, that of a doctor using a stethoscope. +Christophe could not hear what they were saying, but he gathered that they +were talking of sending him to the hospital. He tried to protest, to cry +out that he would not go, that he would die where he was, alone: but he +could only frame incomprehensible sounds. But the woman understood him: for +she took his part, and reassured him. He tried hard to find out who she +was. As soon as he could, with frightful effort, frame a sentence, he asked +her. She replied that she lived in the next attic and had heard him moaning +through the wall, and had taken the liberty of coming in, thinking that +he wanted help. She begged him respectfully not to wear himself out with +talking. He obeyed her. He was worn out with the effort he had made: he lay +still and said nothing: but his brain went on working, painfully gathering +together its scattered memories. Where had he seen her?... At last he +remembered: yes, he had met her on the attic landing: she was a servant, +and her name was Sidonie. + +He watched her with half-closed eyes, so that she could not see him. She +was little, and had a grave face, a wide forehead, hair drawn back, so that +her temples were exposed; her cheeks were pale and high-boned; she had a +short nose, pale blue eyes, with a soft, steady look in them, thick lips +tightly pressed together, an anemic complexion, a humble, deliberate, and +rather stiff manner. She looked after Christophe with busy silent devotion, +without a spark of familiarity, and without ever breaking down the reserve +of a servant who never forgets class differences. + +However, little by little, when he was better and could talk to her, +Christophe's affectionate cordiality made Sidonie talk to him a little +more freely: but she was always on her guard: there were obviously certain +things which she would not tell. She was a mixture of humility and pride. +Christophe learned that she came from Brittany, where she had left her +father, of whom she spoke very discreetly: but Christophe gathered that he +did nothing but drink, have a good time, and live on his daughter: she put +up with it, without saying anything, from pride: and she never failed to +send him part of her month's wages: but she was not taken in. She had also +a younger sister who was preparing for a teacher's examination, and she was +very proud of her. She was paying almost all the expenses of her education. +She worked frightfully hard, with grim determination. + +"Have you a good situation?" asked Christophe. + +"Yes. But I am thinking of leaving." + +"Why? Aren't they good to you?" + +"Oh! no. They're very good to me." + +"Don't they pay you enough?" + +"Yes...." + +He did not quite understand: he tried to understand, and encouraged her to +talk. She had nothing to tell him but the monotony of her life, and the +difficulty of earning a living: she did not lay any stress on it: she was +not afraid of work: it was a necessity to her, almost a pleasure. She never +spoke of the thing that tried her most: boredom. He guessed it. Little by +little, with the intuition of perfect sympathy, he saw that her suffering +was increasing, and it was made more acute for him by the memory of the +trials supported by his own mother in a similar existence. He saw, as +though he had lived it, the drab, unhealthy, unnatural existence--the +ordinary existence imposed on servants by the middle-classes:--employers +who were not so much unkind as indifferent sometimes leaving her for days +together without speaking a word outside her work. The hours and hours +spent in the stuffy kitchen, the one small window, blocked up by a meat +safe, looking out on to a white wall. And her only pleasure was when she +was told carelessly that her sauce was good or the meat well cooked. A +cramped airless life with no prospect, with no ray of desire or hope, +without interest of any kind.--The worst time of all for her was when her +employers went away to the country. They economized by not taking her with +them: they paid her wages for the month, but not enough to take her home: +they gave her permission to go at her own expense. She would not, she could +not do that. And so she was left alone in the deserted house. She had no +desire to go out, and did not even talk to other servants, whose coarseness +and immorality she despised. She never went out in search of amusement: she +was naturally serious, economical, and afraid of misadventure. She sat in +her kitchen, or in her room, from whence across the chimneys she could see +the top of a tree in the garden of a hospital. She did not read, but tried +to work listlessly: she would sit there dreaming, bored, bored to tears: +she had a singular and infinite capacity for weeping: it was her only +pleasure. But when her boredom weighed too heavily on her she could not +even weep: she was frozen, sick at heart, and dead. Then she would pull +herself together: or life would return of its own accord. She would think +of her sister, listen to a barrel-organ in the distance, and dream, and +slowly count the days until she had gained such and such a sum of money: +she would be out in her reckoning, and begin to count all over again: she +would fall asleep. So the days passed.... + +The fits of depression alternated with outbursts of childish chatter and +laughter. She would make fun of herself and other people. She watched and +judged her employers, and their anxieties fed by their want of occupation, +and her mistress's moods and melancholy, and the so-called interests of +these so-called people of culture, how they patronized a picture, or a +piece of music, or a book of verse. With her rude common sense, as far +removed from the snobbishness of the very Parisian servants as from the +crass stupidity of the very provincial girls, who only admire what they do +not understand, she had a respectful contempt for their dabbling in music, +their pointless chatter, and all those perfectly useless and tiresome +intellectual smatterings which play so large a part in such hypocritical +existences. She could not help silently comparing the real life, with which +she grappled, with the imaginary pains and pleasures of that cushioned +life, in which everything seems to be the product of boredom. She was +not in revolt against it. Things were so: things were so. She accepted +everything, knaves and fools alike. She said: + +"It takes all sorts to make a world." + +Christophe imagined that she was borne up by her religion: but one day she +said, speaking of others who were richer and more happy: + +"But in the end we shall all be equal." + +"When?" asked Christophe. "After the social revolution?" + +"The revolution?" said she. "Oh, there'll be much water flowing under +bridges before that. I don't believe that stuff. Things will always be the +same." + +"When shall we all be equal, then?" + +"When we're dead, of course! That's the end of everybody." + +He was surprised by her calm materialism. He dared not say to her: + +"Isn't it a frightful thing, in that case, if there is only one life, that +it should be the like of yours, while there are so many others who are +happy?" + +But she seemed to have guessed his thought: she went on phlegmatically, +resignedly, and a little ironically: + +"One has to put up with it. Everybody cannot draw a prize. I've drawn a +blank: so much the worse!" + +She never even thought of looking for a more profitable place outside +France. (She had once been offered a situation in America.) The idea of +leaving the country never entered her head. She said: + +"Stones are hard everywhere." + +There was in her a profound, skeptical, and mocking fatalism. She was +of the stock that has little or no faith, few considered reasons for +living, and yet a tremendous vitality--the stock of the French peasantry, +industrious and apathetic, riotous and submissive, who have no great love +of life, but cling to it, and have no need of artificial stimulants to keep +up their courage. + +Christophe, who had not yet come across them, was astonished to find in the +girl an absence of all faith: he marveled at her tenacious hold on life, +without pleasure or purpose, and most of all he admired her sturdy moral +sense that had no need of prop or support. Till then he had only seen +the French people through naturalistic novels, and the theories of the +mannikins of contemporary literature, who, reacting from the art of the +century of pastoral scenes and the Revolution, loved to present natural man +as a vicious brute, in order to sanctify their own vices.... He was amazed +when he discovered Sidonie's uncompromising honesty. It was not a matter of +morality but of instinct and pride. She had her aristocratic pride. For it +is foolish to imagine that everybody belonging to the people is "popular." +The people have their aristocrats just as the upper classes have their +vulgarians. The aristocrats are those creatures whose instincts, and +perhaps whose blood, are purer than those of the others: those who know and +are conscious of what they are, and must be true to themselves. They are in +the minority: but, even when they are forced to live apart, the others know +that they are the salt of the earth: and the fact of their existence is a +check upon the others, who are forced to model themselves upon them, or +to pretend to do so. Every province, every village, every congregation of +men, is, to a certain degree, what its aristocrats are: and public opinion +varies accordingly, and is, in one place, severe, in another, lax. The +present anarchy and upheaval of the majority will not change the unvoiced +power of the minority. It is more dangerous for them to be uprooted from +their native soil and scattered far and wide in the great cities. But +even so, lost amid strange surroundings, living in isolation, yet the +individualities of the good stock persist and never mix with those about +them.--Sidonie knew nothing, wished to know nothing, of all that Christophe +had seen in Paris. She was no more interested in the sentimental and +unclean literature of the newspapers than in the political news. She did +not even know that there were Popular Universities: and, if she had known, +it is probable that she would have put herself out as little to go to them +as she did to hear a sermon. She did her work, and thought for herself: she +was not concerned with what other people thought. Christophe congratulated +her. + +"Why is that surprising?" she asked. "I am like everybody else. You haven't +met any French people." + +"I've been living among them for a year," said Christophe, "and I haven't +met a single one who thought of anything but amusing himself or of aping +those who amuse him." + +"That's true," said Sidonie. "You have only seen rich people. The rich are +the same everywhere. You've seen nothing at all." + +"That's true," said Christophe. "I'm beginning." + +For the first time he caught a glimpse of the people of France, men and +women who seem to be built for eternity, who are one with the earth, who, +like the earth, have seen so many conquering races, so many masters of a +day, pass away, while they themselves endure and do not pass. + + * * * * * + +When he was getting better and was allowed to get up for a little, the +first thing he thought of was to pay Sidonie back for the expenses she +had incurred during his illness. It was impossible for him to go about +Paris looking for work, and he had to bring himself to write to Hecht: +he asked him for an advance on account of future work. With his amazing +combination of indifference and kindliness Hecht made him wait a fortnight +for a reply--a fortnight during which Christophe tormented himself and +practically refused to touch any of the food Sidonie brought him, and would +only accept a little bread and milk, which she forced him to take, and then +he grumbled and was angry with himself because he had not earned it: then, +without a word, Hecht sent him the sum he asked: and not once during the +months of Christophe's illness did Hecht make any inquiry after him. He had +a genius for making himself disliked even when he was doing a kindness. +Even in his kindness Hecht could not be generous. + +Sidonie came every day in the afternoon and again in the evening. She +cooked Christophe's dinner for him. She made no noise, but went quietly +about her business: and when she saw the dilapidated condition of his +clothes she took them away to mend them. Insensibly there had crept an +element of affection into their relation. Christophe talked at length about +his mother: and that touched Sidonie: she would put herself in Louisa's +place, alone in Germany: and she had a maternal feeling for Christophe, and +when he talked to her he tried to trick his need of mothering and love, +from which a man suffers most when he is weak and ill. He felt nearer +Louisa with Sidonie than with anybody else. Sometimes he would confide his +artistic troubles to her. She would pity him gently, though she seemed to +regard such sorrows of the intellect ironically. That, too, reminded him of +his mother and comforted him. + +He tried to get her to confide in him: but she was much less open than he. +He asked her jokingly why she did not get married. And she would reply in +her usual tone of mocking resignation that "it was not allowed for servants +to marry: it complicates things too much. Besides, she was sure to make a +bad choice, and that is not pleasant. Men are sordid creatures. They come +courting when a woman has money, squeeze it out of her, and then leave her +in the lurch. She had seen too many cases of that and was not inclined to +do the same."--She did not tell him of her own unfortunate experience: +her future husband had left her when he found that she was giving all +her earnings to her family.--Christophe used to see her in the courtyard +mothering the children of a family living in the house. When she met +them alone on the stairs she would sometimes embrace them passionately. +Christophe would fancy her occupying the place of a lady of his +acquaintance: she was not a fool, and she was no plainer than many another +woman: he declared that in the lady's place she would have been the better +woman of the two. There are so many splendid lives hidden in the world, +unknown and unsuspected! And, on the other hand, the hosts of the living +dead, who encumber the earth, and take up the room and the happiness of +others in the light of the sun!... + +Christophe had no ulterior thought. He was fond, too fond of her: he let +her coddle him like a child. + +Some days Sidonie would be queer and depressed: but he attributed that to +her work. Once when they were talking she got up suddenly and left him, +making some excuse about her work. Finally, after a day when Christophe had +been more confidential than usual, she broke off her visits for a time: and +when she came back she would only talk to him constrainedly. He wondered +what he could have done to offend her. He asked her. She replied quickly +that he had not offended her: but she stayed away again. A few days later +she told him that she was going away: she had given up her situation and +was leaving the house. Coldly and reservedly she thanked him for all +his kindness, told him she hoped he would soon recover, and that his +mother would remain in good health, and then she said good-by. He was so +astonished at her abrupt departure that he did not know what to say: he +tried to discover her reasons: she replied evasively. He asked her where +she was going: she did not reply, and, to cut short his questions, she got +up to go. As she reached the door he held out his hand: she grasped it +warmly: but her face did not betray her, and to the end she maintained her +stiff, cold manner. She went away. + +He never understood why. + + * * * * * + +He dragged through the winter--a wet, misty, muddy winter. Weeks on end +without sun. Although Christophe was better he was by no means recovered. +He still had a little pain in his lungs, a lesion which healed slowly, and +fits of coughing which kept him from sleeping at night. The doctor had +forbidden him to go out. He might just as well have ordered him to go to +the Riviera or the Canary Islands. He had to go out! If he did not go out +to look for his dinner, his dinner would certainly not come to look for +him.--And he was ordered medicines which he could not afford. And so he +gave up consulting doctors: it was a waste of money: and besides he was +always ill at ease with them: they could not understand each other: they +lived in separate worlds. They had an ironical and rather contemptuous pity +for the poor devil of an artist who claimed to be a world to himself, and +was swept along like a straw by the river of life. He was humiliated by +being examined, and prodded, and handled by these men. He was ashamed of +his sick body, and thought: + +"How glad I shall be when _it_ is dead!" + +In spite of loneliness, illness, poverty, and so many other causes of +suffering, Christophe bore his lot patiently. He had never been so patient. +He was surprised at himself. Illness is often a blessing. By ravaging the +body it frees the soul and purifies it: during the nights and days of +forced inaction thoughts arise which are fearful of the raw light of day, +and are scorched by the sun of health. No man who has never been ill can +have a thorough knowledge of himself. + +His illness had, in a queer way, soothed Christophe. It had purged him of +the coarser elements of his nature. Through his most subtle nerves he felt +the world of mysterious forces which dwell in each of us, though the tumult +of life prevents our hearing them. Since his visit to the Louvre, in his +hours of fever, the smallest memories of which were graven upon his mind, +he had lived in an atmosphere like that of the Rembrandt picture, warm, +soft, profound. He too felt in his heart the magic beams of an invisible +sun. And although he did not believe, he knew that he was not alone: a God +was holding him by the hand, and leading him to the predestined goal of his +endeavors. He trusted in Him like a little child. + +For the first time for years he felt that he must rest. The lassitude of +his convalescence was in itself a rest for him after the extraordinary +tension of mind that had gone before his illness and had left him still +exhausted. Christophe, who for many months had been continually on the +alert and strained upon his guard, felt the fixity of his gaze slowly +relax. He was not less strong for it: he was more human. The great though +rather monstrous quality of life of the man of genius had passed into the +background: he found himself a man like the rest, purged of the fanaticism +of his mind, and all the hardness and mercilessness of his actions. He +hated nothing: he gave no thought to things that exasperated him, or, if +he did, he shrugged them off: he thought less of his own troubles and more +of the troubles of others. Since Sidonie had reminded him of the silent +suffering of the lowly, fighting on without complaint, all over the world, +he forgot himself in them. He who was not usually sentimental now had +periods of that mystic tenderness which is the flower of weakness and +sickness. In the evening, as he sat with his elbows on the window-sill, +gazing down into the courtyard and listening to all the mysterious noises +of the night,... a voice singing in a house near by, made moving by the +distance, or a little girl artlessly strumming Mozart,... he thought: + +"All you whom I love though I know you not! You whom life has not sullied; +you, who dream of great things, that you know to be impossible, while you +fight for them against the envious world,--may you be happy--it is so good +to be happy!... Oh, my friends, I know that you are there, and I hold +my arms out to you.... There is a wall between us. Stone by stone I am +breaking it down, but I am myself broken in the labor of it. Shall we ever +be together? Shall I reach you before another wall is raised up between us: +the wall of death?... No matter! Though all my life I am alone, so only I +may work for you, do you good, and you may love me a little, later on, when +I am dead!..." + + * * * * * + +So the convalescent Christophe was nursed by those two good foster-mothers +"_Liebe und Noth_" (Love and Poverty). + + * * * * * + +While his will was thus in abeyance Christophe felt a longing to be with +people. And, although he was still very weak, and it was a very foolish +thing to do, he used to go out early in the morning when the stream of +people poured out of the residential streets on their way to their work, +or in the evening, when they were returning. His desire was to plunge into +the refreshing bath of human sympathy. Not that he spoke to a soul. He did +not even try to do so. It was enough for him to watch the people pass, and +guess what they were, and love them. With fond pity he used to watch the +workers hurrying along, all, as it were, already worn out by the business +of the day,--young men and girls, with pale faces, worn expressions, and +strange smiles,--thin, eager faces beneath which there passed desires and +anxieties, all with a changing irony,--all so intelligent, too intelligent, +a little morbid, the dwellers in a great city. They all hurried along, the +men reading the papers, the women nibbling and munching. Christophe would +have given a month of his life to let one poor girl, whose eyes were +swollen with sleep, who passed near him with a little nervous, mincing +walk, sleep on for a few hours more. Oh! how she would have jumped at it, +if she had been offered the chance! He would have loved to pluck all the +idle rich people out of their rooms, hermetically sealed at that hour, +where they were so ungratefully lying at their ease, and replace them in +their beds, in their comfortable existence, with all these eager, weary +bodies, these fresh souls, not abounding with life, but alive and greedy +of life. In that hour he was full of kindness towards them: and he smiled +at their alert, thin little faces, in which there were cunning and +ingenuousness, a bold and simple desire for pleasure, and, behind all, +honest little souls, true and industrious. And he was not hurt when some +of the girls laughed in his face, or nudged each other to point out the +strange young man staring at them so hard. + +And he would lounge about the riverside, lost in dreams. That was his +favorite walk. It did a little satisfy his longing for the great river that +had sung the lullaby of his childhood. Ah! it was not _Vater Rhein_! It had +none of his all-puissant might: none of the wide horizons, vast plains over +which the mind soars and is lost. A river with gray eyes, gowned in pale +green, with finely drawn, correct features, a graceful river, with supple +movements, wearing with sparkling nonchalance the sumptuous and sober garb +of her city, the bracelets of its bridges, the necklets of its monuments, +and smiling at her own prettiness, like a lovely woman strolling through +the town.... The delicious light of Paris! That was the first thing that +Christophe had loved in the city: it filled his being sweetly, sweetly: and +imperceptibly, slowly, it changed his heart. It was to him the most lovely +music, the only music in Paris. He would spend hours in the evening walking +by the river, or in the gardens of old France, tasting the harmonies +of the light of day touching the tall trees bathed in purple mist, the +gray statues and ruins, the worn stones of the royal monuments which had +absorbed the light of centuries,--that smooth atmosphere, made of pale +sunshine and milky vapor, in which, on a cloud of silvery dust, there +floats the laughing spirit of the race. + +One evening he was leaning over the parapet near the Saint-Michel Bridge, +and looking at the water and absently turning over the books in one of the +little boxes. He chanced upon a battered old volume of Michelet and opened +it at random. He had already read a certain amount of that historian, and +had been put off by his Gallic boasting, his trick of making himself drunk +with words, and his halting style. But that evening he was held from the +very first words: he had lighted on the trial of Joan of Arc. He knew the +Maid of Orleans through Schiller: but hitherto she had only been a romantic +heroine who had been endowed with an imaginary life by a great poet. +Suddenly the reality was presented to him and gripped his attention. He +read on and on, his heart aching for the tragic horror of the glorious +story: and when he came to the moment when Joan learns that she is to die +that evening and faints from fear, his hands began to tremble, tears came +into his eyes, and he had to stop. He was weak from his illness: he had +become absurdly sensitive, and was himself exasperated by it.--When he +turned once more to the book it was late and the bookseller was shutting up +his boxes. He decided to buy the book and hunted through his pockets: he +had exactly six sous. Such scantiness was not rare and did not bother him: +he had paid for his dinner, and counted on getting some money out of Hecht +next day for some copying he had done. But it was hard to have to wait a +day! Why had he spent all he had on his dinner? Ah! if only he could offer +the bookseller the bread and sausages that were in his pockets, in payment! + +Next morning, very early, he went to Hecht's to get his money: but as +he was passing the bridge which bears the name of the archangel of +battle--"the brother in Paradise" of Joan of Arc--he could not help +stopping. He found the precious book once more in the bookseller's box, and +read it right through: he stayed reading it for nearly two hours and missed +his appointment with Hecht: and he wasted the whole day waiting to see him. +At last he managed to get his new commission and the money for the old. At +once he rushed back to buy the book, although he had read it. He was afraid +it might have been sold to another purchaser. No doubt that would not have +mattered much: it was quite easy to get another copy: but Christophe did +not know whether the book was rare or not: and besides, he wanted that +particular book and no other. Those who love books easily become fetish +worshipers. The pages from which the well of dreams springs forth are +sacred to them, even when they are dirty and spotted. + +In the silence of the night, in his room, Christophe read once more the +Gospel of the Passion of Joan of Arc: and now there was nothing to make +him restrain his emotion. He was filled with tenderness, pity, infinite +sorrow for the poor little shepherdess in her coarse peasant clothes, +tall, shy, soft-voiced, dreaming to the sound of bells--(she loved them as +he did)--with her lovely smile, full of understanding and kindness, and +her tears, that flowed so readily--tears of love, tears of pity, tears of +weakness: for she was at once so manlike and so much a woman, the pure and +valiant girl, who tamed the savage lusts of an army of bandits, and calmly, +with her intrepid sound good sense, her woman's subtlety, and her gentle +persistency, alone, betrayed on all hands, for months together foiled the +threats and hypocritical tricks of a gang of churchmen and lawyers,--wolves +and foxes with bloody eyes and fangs--who closed a ring about her. + +What touched Christophe most nearly was her kindness, her tenderness of +heart,--weeping after her victories, weeping over her dead enemies, over +those who had insulted her, giving them consolation when they were wounded, +aiding them in death, knowing no bitterness against those who sold her, +and even at the stake, when the flames roared about her, thinking not of +herself, thinking only of the monk who exorcised her, and compelling him +to depart. She was "gentle in the most bitter fight, good even amongst +the most evil, peaceful even in war. Into war, the triumph of Satan, she +brought the very Spirit of God." + +And Christophe, thinking of himself, said: + +"And into my fight I have not brought enough of the Spirit of God." + +He read the fine words of the evangelist of Joan of Arc: + +"Be kind, and seek always to be kinder, amid all the injustice of men and +the hardships of Fate.... Be gentle and of a good countenance even in +bitter quarrels, win through experience, and never let it harm that inward +treasure...." + +And he said within himself: + +"I have sinned. I have not been kind. I have not shown good-will towards +men. I have been too hard.--Forgive me. Do not think me your enemy, you +against whom I wage war! For you too I seek to do good.... But you must be +kept from doing evil...." + +And, as he was no saint, the thought of them was enough to kindle his anger +again. What he could least forgive them was that when he saw them, and saw +France, through them, he found it impossible to conceive such a flower of +purity and poetic heroism ever springing from such a soil. And yet it was +so. Who could say that such a flower would not spring from it a second +time? The France of to-day could not be worse than that of Charles VII, the +debauched and prostituted nation from which the Maid sprang. The temple was +empty, fouled, half in ruins. No matter! God had spoken in it. + +Christophe was seeking a Frenchman whom he could love for the love of +France. + +It was about the end of March. For months Christophe had not spoken to a +soul nor had a single letter, except every now and then a few lines from +his mother, who did not know that he was ill and did not tell him that she +herself was ill. His relation with the outside world was confined to his +journeys to the music shop to take or bring away his work. He arranged to +go there at times when he knew that Hecht would be out--to avoid having +to talk to him. The precaution was superfluous, for the only time he met +Hecht, he hardly did more than ask him a few indifferent questions about +his health. + +He was immured in a prison of silence when, one morning, he received an +invitation from Madame Roussin to a musical _soirée_: a famous quartet was +to play. The letter was very friendly in tone, and Roussin had added a few +cordial lines. He was not very proud of his quarrel with Christophe: the +less so as he had since quarreled with the singer and now condemned her in +no sparing terms. He was a good fellow: he never bore those whom he had +wronged any grudge. And he would have thought it preposterous for any of +his victims to be more thin-skinned than himself. And so, when he had the +pleasure of seeing them again, he never hesitated about holding out his +hand. + +Christophe's first impulse was to shrug his shoulders and vow that he +would not go. But he wavered as the day of the concert came nearer. He was +stifling from never hearing a human voice or a note of music. But he vowed +again that he would never set foot inside the Roussins' house. But when the +day came he went, raging against his own cowardice. + +He was ill rewarded. Hardly did he find himself once more in the gathering +of politicians and snobs than he was filled with an aversion for them more +violent than ever: for during his months of solitude he had lost the trick +of such people. It was impossible to hear the music: it was a profanation; +Christophe made up his mind to go as soon as the first piece was over. + +He glanced round among the faces of those people who were even physically +so antipathetic to him. At the other end of the room he saw a face, the +face of a young man, looking at him, and then he turned away at once. +There was in the face a strange quality of candor which among such bored, +indifferent people was most striking. The eyes were timid, but dear and +direct. French eyes, which, once they marked a man, went on looking at +him with absolute truth, hiding nothing of the soul behind them, missing +nothing of the soul of the man at whom they gazed. They were familiar to +Christophe. And yet he did not know the face. It was that of a young man +between twenty and twenty-five, short, slightly stooping, delicate-looking, +beardless, and melancholy, with chestnut hair, irregular features, though +fine, a certain crookedness which gave it an expression not so much of +uneasiness as of bashfulness, which was not without charm, and seemed to +contradict the tranquillity of the eyes. He was standing in an open door: +and nobody was paying any attention to him. Once more Christophe looked +at him: and once more he met his eyes, which turned away timidly with a +delightful awkwardness: once more he "recognized" them: it seemed to him +that he had seen them in another face. + +Christophe, as usual, was incapable of concealing what he felt, and moved +towards the young man: but as he made his way he wondered what he should +say to him: and he hesitated and stood still looking to right and left, as +though he were moving without any fixed object. But the young man was not +taken in, and saw that Christophe was moving towards himself: he was so +nervous at the thought of speaking to him that he tried to slip into the +next room: but he was glued to his place by his very bashfulness. So they +came face to face. It was some moments before they could find anything to +say. And as they went on standing like that each thought the other must +think him absurd. At last Christophe looked straight at the young man, and +said with a smile, in a gruff voice: + +"You're not a Parisian?" + +In spite of his embarrassment the young man smiled at this unexpected +question, and replied in the negative. His light voice, with its hint of a +musical quality, was like some delicate instrument. + +"I thought not," said Christophe. And, as he saw that he was a little +confused by the singular remark, he added: + +"It is no reproach." + +But the young man's embarrassment was only increased. + +There was another silence. The young man made an effort to speak: his lips +trembled: it seemed that he had a sentence on the tip of his tongue, but he +could not bring himself to speak it. Christophe eagerly studied his mobile +face, the muscles of which he could see twitching under the clear skin: +he did not seem to be of the same clay as the people all about him in the +room, with their heavy, coarse faces, which were only a continuation of +their necks, part and parcel of their bodies. In the young man's face the +soul shone forth: in every part of it there was a spiritual life. + +He could not bring himself to speak. Christophe went on genially: + +"What are you doing among all these people?" + +He spoke out loud with that strange freedom of manner which made him hated. +His friend blushed and could not help looking round to see if he had been +heard: and Christophe disliked the movement. Then, instead of answering, he +asked with a shy, sweet smile: + +"And you?" + +Christophe began to laugh as usual, rather loudly. + +"Yes. And I," he said delightedly. + +The young man at last summoned up his courage. + +"I love your music so much!" he said, in a choking voice. + +Then he stopped and tried once more, vainly, to get the better of his +shyness. He was blushing, and knew it: and he blushed the more, up to his +temples and round to his ears. Christophe looked at him with a smile, and +longed to take him in his arms. The young man looked at him timidly. + +"No," he said. "Of course, I can't ... I can't talk about that ... not +here...." + +Christophe took his hand with a grin. He felt the stranger's thin fingers +tremble in his great paw and press it with an involuntary tenderness: and +the young man felt Christophe's paw affectionately crush his hand. They +ceased to hear the chatter of the people round them. They were alone +together and they knew that they were friends. + +It was only for a second, for then Madame Roussin touched Christophe on the +arm with her fan and said: + +"I see that you have introduced yourselves and don't need me to do so. The +boy came on purpose to meet you this evening." + +Then, rather awkwardly, they parted. + +Christophe asked Madame Roussin: + +"Who is he?" + +"What?" said she. "You don't know him? He is a young poet and writes very +prettily. One of your admirers. He is a good musician and plays the piano +quite nicely. It is no good discussing you in his presence: he is mad +about you. The other day he all but came to blows about you with Lucien +Lévy-Coeur." + +"Oh! Bless him for that!" said Christophe. + +"Yes, I know you are unjust to poor Lucien. And yet he too loves your +work." + +"Ah! don't tell me that! I should hate myself." + +"It is so, I assure you." + +"Never! never! I will not have it. I forbid him to do so." + +"Just what your admirer said. You are both mad. Lucien was just explaining +one of your compositions to us. The shy boy you met just now got up, +trembling with anger, and forbade him to mention your name. Think of it!... +Fortunately I was there. I laughed it off: Lucien did the same: and the +boy was utterly confused and relapsed into silence: and in the end he +apologized." + +"Poor boy!" said Christophe. + +He was touched by it. + +"Where did he go?" he asked, without listening to Madame Roussin, who had +already begun to talk about something else. + +He went to look for him. But his unknown friend had disappeared. Christophe +returned to Madame Roussin: + +"Tell me, what is his name?" + +"Who?" she asked. + +"The boy you were talking about just now." + +"Your young poet?" she said. "His name is Olivier Jeannin." + +The name rang in Christophe's ears like some familiar melody. The shadowy +figure of a girl floated for a moment before his eyes. But the new image, +the image of his friend blotted it out at once. + + * * * * * + +Christophe went home. He strode through the streets of Paris mingling with +the throng. He saw nothing, heard nothing; he was insensible to everything +about him. He was like a lake cut off from the rest of the world by a ring +of mountains. Not a breath stirred, not a sound was heard, all was still. +Peace. He said to himself over and over again: + +"I have a friend." + + + + +ANTOINETTE + + + + +I + + +The Jeannins were one of those old French families who have remained +stationary for centuries in the same little corner of a province, and have +kept themselves pure from any infusion of foreign blood. There are more +of them than one would think in France, in spite of all the changes in +the social order: it would need a great upheaval to uproot them from +the soil to which they are held by so many ties, the profound nature of +which is unknown to them. Reason counts for nothing in their devotion to +the soil, and interest for very little: and as for sentimental historic +memories, they only hold good for a few literary men. What does bind them +irresistibly is the obscure though very strong feeling, common to the dull +and the intelligent alike, of having been for centuries past a parcel of +the land, of living in its life, breathing the same air, hearing the heart +of it beating against their own, like the heart of the beloved, feeling its +slightest tremor, the changing hours and seasons and days, bright or dull, +and hearing the voices and the silence of all things in Nature. It is not +always the most beautiful country, nor that which has the greatest charm of +life, that most strongly grips the affections, but rather it is the region +where the earth seems simplest and most humble, nearest man, speaking to +him in a familiar friendly tongue. + +Such was the country in the center of France where the Jeannins lived. +A flat, damp country, an old sleepy little town, wearily gazing at its +reflection in the dull waters of a still canal: round about it were +monotonous fields, plowed fields, meadows, little rivers, woods, and again +monotonous fields.... No scenery, no monuments, no memories. Nothing +attractive. It is all dull and oppressive. In its drowsy torpor is a hidden +force. The soul tasting it for the first time suffers and revolts against +it. But those who have lived with it for generations cannot break free: +it eats into their very bones: and the stillness of it, the harmonious +dullness, the monotony, have a charm for them and a sweet savor which they +cannot analyze, which they malign, love, and can never forget. + + * * * * * + +The Jeannins had always lived there. The family could be traced back to +the sixteenth century, living in the town or its neighborhood: for of +course they had a great-uncle who had devoted his life to drawing up the +genealogical tree of their obscure line of humble, industrious people: +peasants, farmers, artisans, then clerks, country notaries, working in +the subprefecture of the district, where Augustus Jeannin, the father of +the present head of the house, had successfully established himself as a +banker: he was a clever man, with a peasant's cunning and obstinacy, but +honest as men go, not over-scrupulous, a great worker, and a good liver: +he had made himself respected and feared everywhere by his genial malice, +his bluntness of speech, and his wealth. Short, thick-set, vigorous, with +little sharp eyes set in a big red face, pitted with smallpox, he had been +known as a petticoat-hunter: and he had not altogether lost his taste for +it. He loved a spicy yarn and good eating. It was a sight to see him at +meals, with his son Antoine sitting opposite him, with a few old friends +of their kidney: the district judge, the notary, the Archdeacon of the +Cathedral:--(old Jeannin loved stuffing the priest: but also he could stuff +with the priest, if the priest were good at it):--hearty old fellows built +on the same Rabelaisian lines. There was a running fire of terrific stories +to the accompaniment of thumps on the table and roars of laughter, and +the row they made could be heard by the servants in the kitchen and the +neighbors in the street. + +Then old Augustus caught a chill, which turned to pneumonia, through going +down into his cellars one hot summer's day in his shirt-sleeves to bottle +his wine. In less than twenty-four hours he had departed this life for the +next world, in which he hardly believed, properly equipped with all the +Sacraments of the Church, having, like a good Voltairian provincial, +submitted to it at the last moment in order to pacify his women, and also +because it did not matter one way or the other.... And then, one never +knows.... + +His son Antoine succeeded him in business. He was a fat little man, +rubicund and expansive, clean-shaven, except for his mutton-chop whiskers, +and he spoke quickly and with a slight stutter, in a loud voice, +accompanying his remarks with little quick, curt gestures. He had not his +father's grasp of finance: but he was quite a good manager. He had only +to look after the established undertakings, which went on developing day +by day, by the mere fact of their existence. He had the advantage of a +business reputation in the district, although he had very little to do +with the success of the firm's ventures. He only contributed method and +industry. For the rest he was absolutely honorable, and was everywhere +deservedly esteemed. His pleasant unctuous manners, though perhaps a little +too familiar for some people, a little too expansive, and just a little +common, had won him a very genuine popularity in the little town and +the surrounding country. He was more lavish with his sympathy than with +his money: tears came readily to his eyes: and the sight of poverty so +sincerely moved him that the victim of it could not fail to be touched +by it. + +Like most men living in small towns, his thoughts were much occupied with +politics. He was an ardent moderate Republican, an intolerant Liberal, a +patriot, and, like his father, extremely anti-clerical. He was a member of +the Municipal Council: and, like the rest of his colleagues, he delighted +in playing tricks on the _curé_ of the parish, or on the Lent preacher, +who roused so much enthusiasm in the ladies of the town. It must not be +forgotten that the anti-clericalism of the little towns in France is +always, more or less, an episode in domestic warfare, and is a subtle form +of that silent, bitter struggle between husbands and wives, which goes on +in almost every house. + +Antoine Jeannin had also some literary pretensions. Like all provincials of +his generation, he had been brought up on the Latin Classics, many pages of +which he knew by heart, and also a mass of proverbs, and on La Fontaine and +Boileau,--the Boileau of _L'Art Poétique_, and, above all, of _Lutrin_,--on +the author of _La Pucelle_, and the _poetæ minores_ of the eighteenth +century, in whose manner he squeezed out a certain number of poems. He was +not the only man of his acquaintance possessed by that particular mania, +and his reputation gained by it. His rhyming jests, his quatrains, +couplets, acrostics, epigrams, and songs, which were sometimes rather +risky, though they had a certain coarsely witty quality, were often quoted. +He was wont to sing the mysteries of digestion: the Muse of the Loire +districts is fain to blow her trumpet like the famous devil of Dante: + +"... _Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta._" + +This sturdy, jovial, active little man had taken to wife a woman of a +very different character,--the daughter of a country magistrate, Lucie de +Villiers. The De Villiers--or rather Devilliers, for their name had split +in its passage through time, like a stone which cracks in two as it goes +hurtling down a hillside--were magistrates from father to son; they were of +that old parliamentary race of Frenchmen who had a lofty idea of the law, +and duty, the social conventions, their personal, and especially their +professional, dignity, which was fortified by perfect honesty, tempered +with a certain conscious uprightness. During the preceding century they had +been infected by nonconformist Jansenism, which had given them a grumbling +pessimistic quality, as well as a contempt for the Jesuit attitude of mind. +They did not see life as beautiful: and, rather than smooth away life's +difficulties, they preferred to exaggerate them so as to have good reason +to complain. Lucie de Villiers had certain of these characteristics, which +were so directly opposed to the not very refined optimism of her husband. +She was tall--taller than he by a head--slender, well made; she dressed +well and elegantly, though in a rather sober fashion, which made her +seem--perhaps designedly--older than she was: she was of a high moral +quality: but she was hard on other people; she would countenance no fault, +and hardly even a caprice: she was thought cold and disdainful. She was +very pious, and that gave rise to perpetual disputes with her husband. +For the rest, they were very fond of each other: and, in spite of their +frequent disagreements, they could not have lived without each other. They +were both rather unpractical: he from want of perception--(he was always +in danger of being taken in by good looks and fine words),--she from her +absolute inexperience of business--(she knew nothing about it: and having +always been kept outside it, she took no interest in it). + + * * * * * + +They had two children: a girl, Antoinette, the elder by five years; and a +boy, Olivier. + +Antoinette was a pretty dark-haired child, with a charming, honest face of +the French type, round, with sharp eyes, a round forehead, a fine chin, +a little straight nose--"one of those very pretty, fine, noble noses" (as +an old French portrait-painter says so charmingly) "in which there was +a certain imperceptible play of expression, which animated the face, +and revealed the subtlety of the workings of her mind as she talked or +listened." She had her father's gaiety and carelessness. + +Olivier was a delicate fair boy, short, like his father, but very different +in character. His health had been undermined by one illness after another +when he was a child: and although, as a result, he was petted by his +family, his physical weakness had made him a melancholy, dreamy little boy, +who was afraid of death and very poorly equipped for life. He was shy, and +preferred to be alone: he avoided the society of other children: he was +ill at ease with them: he hated their games and quarrels: their brutality +filled him with horror. He let them strike him, not from want of courage, +but from timidity, because he was afraid to defend himself, afraid of +hurting them: they would have bullied the life out of him, but for the +safeguard of his father's position. He was tender-hearted and morbidly +sensitive: a word, a sign of sympathy, a reproach, were enough to make him +burst into tears. His sister was much sturdier, and laughed at him, and +called him a "little fountain." + +The two children were devoted to each other: but they were too different +to live together. They went their own ways and lived in their own dreams. +As Antoinette grew up, she became prettier: people told her so, and she +was well aware of it: it made her happy, and she wove romances about the +future. Olivier, in his sickly melancholy, was always rubbed up the wrong +way by contact with the outer world: and he withdrew into the circle of his +own absurd little brain: and he told himself stories. He had a burning, +almost feminine, longing to love and be loved: and, living alone, away from +boys of his own age, he had invented two or three imaginary friends: one +was called Jean, another Étienne, another François: he was always with +them. He never slept well, and he was always dreaming. In the morning, when +he was lifted out of bed, he would forget himself, and sit with his bare +legs dangling down, or sometimes with two stockings on one leg. He would go +off into a dream with his hands in the basin. He would forget himself at +his desk in the middle of writing or learning a lesson: he would dream for +hours on end: and then he would suddenly wake up, horrified to find that he +had learned nothing. At dinner he was abashed if any one spoke to him: he +would reply two minutes after he had been spoken to: he would forget what +he was going to say in the middle of a sentence. He would doze off to the +murmuring of his thoughts and the familiar sensations of the monotonous +provincial days that marched so slowly by: the great half-empty house, only +part of which they occupied: the vast and dreadful barns and cellars: the +mysterious closed rooms, the fastened shutters, the covered furniture, +veiled mirrors, and the chandeliers wrapped up: the old family portraits +with their haunting smiles: the Empire engravings, with their virtuous, +suave heroism: _Alcibiades and Socrates in the House of the Courtezan_, +_Antiochus and Stratonice_, _The Story of Epaminondas_, _Belisarius +Begging_.... Outside, the sound of the smith shoeing horses in the smithy +opposite, the uneven clink of the hammers on the anvil, the snorting of +the broken-winded horses, the smell of the scorched hoofs, the slapping of +the pats of the washerwomen kneeling by the water, the heavy thuds of the +butcher's chopper next door, the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the stones +of the street, the creaking of a pump, or the drawbridge over the canal, +the heavy barges laden with blocks of wood, slowly passing at the end +of the garden, drawn along by a rope: the little tiled courtyard, with +a square patch of earth, in which two lilac-trees grew, in the middle +of a clump of geraniums and petunias: the tubs of laurel and flowering +pomegranate on the terrace above the canal: sometimes the noise of a fair +in the square hard by, with peasants in bright blue smocks, and grunting +pigs.... And on Sunday, at church, the precentor, who sang out of tune, and +the old priest, who went to sleep as he was saying Mass: the family walk +along the station road, where all the time he had to take off his hat +politely to other wretched beings, who were under the same impression of +the necessity of going for a walk all together,--until at last they reached +the sunny fields, above which larks soared invisible,--or along by the +still mirror of the canal, on both sides of which were poplars rustling in +line.... And then there was the great provincial Sunday dinner, when they +went on and on eating and talking about food learnedly and with gusto: for +everybody was a connoisseur: and, in the provinces, eating is the chief +occupation, the first of all the arts. And they would talk business, +and tell spicy yarns, and every now and then discuss their neighbors' +illnesses, going into endless detail.... And the little boy, sitting in his +corner, would make no more noise than a little mouse, pick at his food, eat +hardly anything, and listen with all his ears. Nothing escaped him: and +when he did not understand, his imagination supplied the deficiency. He had +that singular gift, which is often to be remarked in the children of old +families and an old stock, on which the imprint of the ages is too strongly +marked, of divining thoughts, which have never passed through their minds +before, and are hardly comprehensible to them.--Then there was the kitchen, +where bloody and succulent mysteries were concocted: and the old servant +who used to tell him frightful and droll stories.... At last came evening, +the silent flitting of the bats, the terror of the monstrous creatures +that were known to swarm in the dark depths of the old house: huge rats, +enormous hairy spiders: and he would say his prayers, kneeling at the, foot +of his bed, and hardly know what he was saying: the little cracked bell of +the convent hard by would sound the bed-time of the nuns;--and so to bed, +the Island of Dreams.... + +The best times of the year were those that they spent in spring and autumn +at their country house some miles away from the town. There he could dream +at his ease: he saw nobody. Like most of the children of their class, the +little Jeannins were kept apart from the common children: the children +of servants and farmers, who inspired them with fear and disgust. They +inherited from their mother an aristocratic--or, rather, essentially +middle-class--disdain for all who worked with their hands. Olivier would +spend the day perched up in the branches of an ash reading marvelous +stories: delightful folklore, the _Tales_ of Musæus, or Madame d'Aulnoy, +or the _Arabian Nights_, or stories of travel. For he had that strange +longing for distant lands, "those oceanic dreams," which sometimes possess +the minds of boys in the little provincial towns of France. A thicket lay +between the house and himself, and he could fancy himself very far away. +But he knew that he was really near home, and was quite happy: for he did +not like straying too far alone: he felt lost with Nature. Round him the +wind whispered through the trees. Through the leaves that hid his nest +he could see the yellowing vines in the distance, and the meadows where +the straked cows were at pasture, filling the silence of the sleeping +country-side with their plaintive long-drawn lowing. The strident cocks +crowed to each other from farm to farm. There came up the irregular beat of +the flails in the barns. The fevered life of myriads of creatures swelled +and flowed through the peace of inanimate Nature. Uneasily Olivier would +watch the ever hurrying columns of the ants, and the bees big with their +booty, buzzing like organ-pipes, and the superb and stupid wasps who know +not what they want--the whole world of busy little creatures, all seemingly +devoured by the desire to reach their destination.... Where is it? They +do not know. No matter where! Somewhere.... Olivier was fearful amid that +blind and hostile world. He would start, like a young hare, at the sound of +a pine-cone falling, or the breaking of a rotten branch.... He would find +his courage again when he heard the rattling of the chains of the swing at +the other end of the garden, where Antoinette would be madly swinging to +and fro. + +She, too, would dream: but in her own fashion. She would spend the day +prowling round the garden, eating, watching, laughing, picking at the +grapes on the vines like a thrush, secretly plucking a peach from the +trellis, climbing a plum-tree, or giving it a little surreptitious shake as +she passed to bring down a rain of the golden mirabelles which melt in the +mouth like scented honey. Or she would pick the flowers, although that was +forbidden: quickly she would pluck a rose that she had been coveting all +day, and run away with it to the arbor at the end of the garden. Then she +would bury her little nose in the delicious scented flower, and kiss it, +and bite it, and suck it: and then she would conceal her booty, and hide it +in her bosom between her little breasts, at the wonder of whose coming she +would gaze in eager fondness.... And there was an exquisite forbidden joy +in taking off her shoes and stockings, and walking bare-foot on the cool +sand of the paths, and on the dewy turf, and on the stones, cold in the +shadow, burning in the sun, and in the little stream that ran along the +outskirts of the wood, and kissing with her feet, and legs, and knees, +water, earth, and light. Lying in the shadow of the pines, she would hold +her hands up to the sun, and watch the light play through them, and she +would press her lips upon the soft satin skin of her pretty rounded arms. +She would make herself crowns and necklets and gowns of ivy-leaves and +oak-leaves: and she would deck them with the blue thistles, and barberry +and little pine-branches, with their green fruit: and then she looked like +a little savage Princess. And she would dance for her own delight round and +round the fountain; and, with arms outstretched, she would turn and turn +until her head whirled, and she would slip down on the lawn and bury her +face in the grass, and shout with laughter for minutes on end, unable to +stop herself, without knowing why. + +So the days slipped by for the two children, within hail of each other, +though neither ever gave a thought to the other,--except when it would +suddenly occur to Antoinette to play a prank on her brother, and throw +a handful of pine-needles in his face, or shake the tree in which he +was sitting, threatening to make him fall, or frighten him by springing +suddenly out upon him and yelling: + +"Ooh! Ooh!..." + +Sometimes she would be seized by a desire to tease him. She would make him +come down from his tree by pretending that her mother was calling him. +Then, when he had climbed down, she would take his place and refuse to +budge. Then Olivier would whine and threaten to tell. But there was no +danger of Antoinette staying in the tree for long: she could not keep still +for two minutes. When she had done with taunting Olivier from the top of +his tree, when she had thoroughly infuriated him and brought him almost to +tears, then she would slip down, fling her arms round him, shake him, and +laugh, and call him a "little muff," and roll him on the ground, and rub +his face with handfuls of grass. He would try to struggle: but he was +not strong enough. Then he would lie still, flat on his black, like a +cockchafer, with his thin arms pinned to the ground by Antoinette's strong +little hands: and he would look piteous and resigned. Antoinette could +not resist that: she would look at her vanquished prisoner, and burst out +laughing and kiss him suddenly, and let him go--not without the parting +attention of a little gag of fresh grass in his mouth: and that he detested +most of all, because it made him sick. And he would spit and wipe his +mouth, and storm at her, while she ran away as hard as she could, pealing +with laughter. She was always laughing. Even when she was asleep she +laughed. Olivier, lying awake in the next room, would suddenly start up in +the middle of the stories he was telling himself, at the sound of the wild +laughter and the muttered words which she would speak in the silence of the +night. Outside, the trees would creak with the wind, an owl would hoot, in +the distant villages and the farms in the heart of the woods dogs would +bark. In the dim phosphorescence of the night Olivier would see the dark, +heavy branches of the pines moving like ghosts outside his window: and +Antoinette's laughter would comfort him. + + * * * * * + +The two children were very religious, especially Olivier. Their father used +to scandalize them with his anti-clerical professions of faith, but he did +not interfere with them: and, at heart, like so many men of his class who +are unbelievers, he was not sorry that his family should believe for him: +for it is always good to have allies in the opposing camp, and one is never +sure which way Fortune will turn. He was a Deist, and he reserved the right +to summon a priest when the time came, as his father had done: even if it +did no good, it could do no harm: one insures against fire, even if one has +no reason to believe that the house will be burned down. + +Olivier was morbidly inclined towards mysticism. There were times when he +doubted whether he existed. He was credulous and soft-hearted, and needed +a prop: he took a sorrowful delight in confession, in the comfort of +confiding in the invisible Friend, whose arms are always open to you, to +whom you can tell everything, who understands and forgives everything: he +tasted the sweetness of the waters of humility and love, from which the +soul issues pure, cleansed, and comforted. It was so natural to him to +believe, that he could not understand how any one could doubt: he thought +people did so from wickedness, and that God would punish them. He used to +pray secretly that his father might find grace: and he was delighted when, +one day, as they went into a little country church, he saw his father +mechanically make the sign of the cross. The stories of the Gospel were +mixed up in his mind with the marvelous tales of Rübezahl, and Gracieuse +and Percinet, and the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. When he was a little boy he +no more doubted the truth of the one than the other. And just as he was not +sure that he did not know Shacabac of the cleft lips, and the loquacious +barber, and the little hunchback of Casgar, just as when he was out walking +he used to look about for the black woodpecker which bears in its beak the +magic root of the treasure-seeker, so Canaan and the Promised Land became +in his childish imagination certain regions in Burgundy or Berrichon. A +round hill in the country, with a little tree, like a shabby old feather, +at the summit, seemed to him to be like the mountain where Abraham had +built his pyre. A large dead bush by the edge of a field was the Burning +Bush, which the ages had put out. Even when he was older, and his critical +faculty had been awakened, he loved to feed on the popular legends which +enshrined his faith: and they gave him so much pleasure, though he no +longer accepted them implicitly, that he would amuse himself by pretending +to do so. So for a long time on Easter Saturday he would look out for the +return of the Easter bells, which went away to Rome on the Thursday before, +and would come floating through the air with little streamers. He did +finally admit that it was not true: but he did not give up looking skywards +when he heard them ringing: and once--though he knew perfectly well that it +could not be--he fancied he saw one of them disappearing over the house +with blue ribbons. + +It was vitally necessary for him to steep himself in the world of legend +and faith. He avoided life. He avoided himself. Thin, pale, puny, he +suffered from being so, and could not bear its being talked about. He was +naturally pessimistic, no doubt inheriting it from his mother, and his +pessimism was fed by his morbidity. He did not know it: thought everybody +must be like himself: and the queer little boy of ten, instead of romping +in the gardens during his play-time, used to shut himself up in his room, +and, carefully picking his words, wrote his will. + +He used to write a great deal. Every evening he used laboriously and +secretly to write his diary--he did not know why, for he had nothing to +say, and he said nothing worth saying. Writing was an inherited mania with +him, the age-old itch of the French provincial--the old indestructible +stock--who every day, until the day of his death, with an idiotic patience +which is almost heroic, writes down in detail what he has seen, said, done, +heard, eaten, and drunk. For his own pleasure, entirely. It is not for +other eyes. No one will ever read it: he knows that: he never reads it +again himself. + + * * * * * + +Music, like religion, was for Olivier a shelter from the too vivid light of +day. Both brother and sister were born musicians,--especially Olivier, who +had inherited the gift from his mother. Their taste, as it needed to be, +was excellent. There was no one capable of forming it in the province, +where no music was ever heard but that of the local band, which played +nothing but marches, or--on its good days--selections from Adolphe Adam, +and the church organist who played romanzas, and the exercises of the young +ladies of the town who strummed a few valses and polkas, the overture +to the _Caliph of Bagdad_, _la Chasse du Jeune Henri_, and two or three +sonatas of Mozart, always the same, and always with the same mistakes, on +instruments that were sadly out of tune. These things were invariably +included in the evening's program at parties. After dinner, those who had +talent were asked to display it: at first they would blush and refuse, but +then they would yield to the entreaties of the assembled company: and they +would play their stock pieces without their music. Every one would then +admire the artist's memory and her beautiful touch. + +The ceremony was repeated at almost every party, and the thought of it +would altogether spoil the children's dinner. When they had to play the +_Voyage en Chine_ of Bazin, or their pieces of Weber as a duet, they gave +each other confidence, and were not very much afraid. But it was torture +to them to have to play alone. Antoinette, as usual, was the braver of the +two. Although it bored her dreadfully,--as she knew that there was no way +out of it, she would go through with it, sit at the piano with a determined +air, and gallop through her _rondo_ at breakneck speed, stumbling over +certain passages, make a hash of others, break off, turn her head, and say, +with a smile: + +"Oh! I can't remember...." + +Then she would start off again a few bars farther on, and go on to the end. +And she would make no attempt to conceal her pleasure at having finished: +and when she returned to her chair, amid the general chorus of praise, she +would laugh and say: + +"I made such a lot of mistakes." + +But Olivier was not so easy to handle. He could not bear making a show of +himself in public, and being "the observed of all observers." It was bad +enough for him to have to speak in company. But to have to play, especially +for people who did not like music--(that was obvious to him)--for people +whom music actually bored, people who only asked him to play as a matter of +habit, seemed to him to be neither more nor less than tyranny, and he tried +vainly to revolt against it. He would refuse obstinately. Sometimes he +would escape and go and hide in a dark room, in a passage, or even in the +barn, in spite of his horror of spiders. His refusal would make the guests +only insist the more, and they would quiz him: and his parents would +sternly order him to play, and even slap him when he was too impudently +rebellious. And in the end he always had to play,--of course unwillingly +and sulkily. And then he would suffer agonies all night because he had +played so badly, partly from vanity, and partly from his very genuine love +for music. + +The taste of the little town had not always been so banal. There had been a +time when there were quite good chamber concerts at several houses. Madame +Jeannin used often to speak of her grandfather, who adored the violoncello, +and used to sing airs of Gluck, and Dalayrac, and Berton. There was a large +volume of them in the house, and a pile of Italian songs. For the old +gentleman was like M. Andrieux, of whom Berlioz said: "He _loved_ Gluck." +And he added bitterly: "He also _loved_ Piccinni."--Perhaps of the two +he preferred Piccinni. At all events, the Italian songs were in a large +majority in her grandfather's collection. They had been Olivier's first +musical nourishment. Not a very substantial diet, rather like those +sweetmeats with which provincial children are stuffed: they corrupt the +palate, destroy the tissues of the stomach, and there is always a danger of +their killing the appetite for more solid nutriment. But Olivier could not +be accused of greediness. He was never offered any more solid food. Having +no bread, he was forced to eat cake. And so, by force of circumstance, it +came about that Cimarosa, Paesiello, and Rossini fed the mystic, melancholy +little boy, who was more than a little intoxicated by his draughts of the +_Asti spumante_ poured out for him, instead of milk, by these bacchanalian +Satyrs, and the two lively, ingenuously, lasciviously smiling Bacchante of +Naples and Catania--Pergolesi and Bellini. + +He played a great deal to himself, for his own pleasure. He was saturated +with music. He did not try to understand what he was playing, but gave +himself up to it. Nobody ever thought of teaching him harmony, and it never +occurred to him to learn it. Science and the scientific mind were foreign +to the nature of his family, especially on his mother's side. All the +lawyers, wits, and humanists of the De Villiers were baffled by any sort +of problem. It was told of a member of the family--a distant cousin--as a +remarkable thing that he had found a post in the _Bureau des Longitudes_. +And it was further told how he had gone mad. The old provincial +middle-classes, robust and positive in temper, but dull and sleepy as a +result of their gigantic meals and the monotony of their lives, are very +proud of their common sense: they have so much faith in it that they boast +that there is no difficulty which cannot be resolved by it: and they are +never very far from considering men of science as artists of a sort, more +useful than the others, but less exalted, because at least artists serve +no useful purpose, and there is a sort of distinction about their lounging +existence.--(Besides, every business man flatters himself that he might +have been an artist if he had cared about it.)--While scientists are not +far from being manual laborers,--(which is degrading),--just master-workmen +with more education, though they are a little cracked: they are mighty fine +on paper: but outside their arithmetic factories they're nobody. They would +not be much use without the guidance of common-sense people who have some +experience of life and business. + +Unfortunately, it is not proven that their experience of life and business +goes so far as these people like to think. It is only a routine, ringing +the changes on a few easy cases. If any unforeseen position arises, +in which they have to decide quickly and vigorously, they are always +disgruntled. + +Antoine Jeannin was that sort of man. Everything was so nicely adjusted, +and his business jogged along so comfortably in its place in the life of +the province, that he had never encountered any serious difficulty. He had +succeeded to his father's position without having any special aptitude for +the business: and, as everything had gone well, he attributed it to his +own brilliant talents. He loved to say that it was enough to be honest, +methodical, and to have common sense: and he intended handing down his +business to his son, without any more regard for the boy's tastes than +his father had had for his own. He did not do anything to prepare him for +it. He let his children grow up as they liked, so long as they were good, +and, above all, happy: for he adored them. And so the two children were +as little prepared for the struggle of life as possible: they were like +hothouse flowers. But, surely, they would always live like that? In the +soft provincial atmosphere, in the bosom of their wealthy, influential +family, with a kindly, gay, jovial father, surrounded by friends, one of +the leading men of the district, life was so easy, so bright and smiling. + + * * * * * + +Antoinette was sixteen. Olivier was about to be confirmed. His mind was +filled with all kinds of mystic dreams. In her heart Antoinette heard +the sweet song of new-born hope soaring, like the lark in April, in the +springtime of her life. It was a joy to her to feel the flowering of her +body and soul, to know that she was pretty, and to be told so. Her father's +immoderate praises were enough to turn her head. + +He was in ecstasies over her: he delighted in her little coquetries, to see +her eying herself in her mirror, to watch her little innocent tricks. He +would take her on his knees, and tease her about her childish love-affairs, +and the conquests she had made, and the suitors that he pretended had come +to him a-wooing: he would tell her their names: respectable citizens, each +more old and ugly than the last. And she would cry out in horror, and break +into rippling laughter, and put her arms about her father's neck, and press +her cheek close to his. And he would ask which was the happy man of her +choice: was it the District Attorney, who, the Jeannins' old maid used to +say, was as ugly as the seven deadly sins? Or was it the fat notary? And +she would slap him playfully to make him cease, or hold her hand over his +mouth. He would kiss her little hands, and jump her up and down on his +knees, and sing the old song + + "What would you, pretty maid? + An ugly husband, eh?" + +And she would giggle and tie his whiskers under his chin, and reply with +the refrain: + + "A handsome husband I, + No ugly man, madame." + +She would declare her intention of choosing for herself. She knew that she +was, or would be, very rich,--(her father used to tell her so at every +turn)--she was a "fine catch." The sons of the distinguished families of +the country were already courting her, setting a wide white net of flattery +and cunning snares to catch the little silver fish. But it looked as though +the fish would elude them all: for Antoinette saw all their tricks, and +laughed at them: she was quite ready to be caught, but not against her +will. She had already made up her mind to marry. + +The noble family of the district--(there is generally one noble family to +every district, claiming descent from the ancient lords of the province, +though generally its origin goes no farther back than some purchaser of +the national estates, some commissary of the eighteenth century, or some +Napoleonic army-contractor)--the Bonnivets, who lived some few miles +away from the town, in a castle with tall towers with gleaming slates, +surrounded by vast woods, in which were innumerable fish-ponds, themselves +proposed for the hand of Mademoiselle Jeannin. Young Bonnivet was very +assiduous in his courtship of Antoinette. He was a handsome boy, rather +stout and heavy for his age, who did nothing but hunt and eat, and drink +and sleep: he could ride, dance, had charming manners, and was not more +stupid than other young men. He would ride into the town, or drive in his +buggy and call on the banker, on some business pretext: and sometimes he +would bring some game or a bouquet of flowers for the ladies. He would +seize the opportunity to pay court to Antoinette. They would walk in the +garden together. He would pay her lumbering compliments, and pull his +mustache, and make jokes, and make his spurs clatter on the tiles of the +terrace. Antoinette thought him charming. Her pride and her affections were +both tickled. She would swim in those first sweet hours of young love. +Olivier detested the young squire, because he was strong, heavy, brutal, +had a loud laugh, and hands that gripped like a vise, and a disdainful +trick of always calling him: "Boy ..." and pinching his cheeks. He detested +him above all,--without knowing it,--because he dared to love his sister: +... his sister, his very own, his, and she could not belong to any one +else!... + + * * * * * + +Disaster came. Sooner or later there must come a crisis in the lives of the +old middle-class families which for centuries have vegetated in the same +little corner of the earth, and have sucked it dry. They sleep in peace, +and think themselves as eternal as the earth that bears them. But the soil +beneath them is dry and dead, their roots are sapped: just the blow of +an ax, and down they come. Then they talk of accidents and unforeseen +misfortunes. There would have been no accident if there had been more +strength in the tree: or, at least, would have been no more than a sudden +storm, wrenching away a few branches, but never shaking the tree. + +Antoine Jeannin was weak, trustful, and a little vain. He loved to throw +dust in people's eyes, and easily confounded "seeming" and "being." He +spent recklessly, though his extravagance, moderated by fits of remorse as +the result of the age-old habit of economy--(he would fling away pounds, +and haggle over a farthing)--never seriously impaired his capital. He was +not very cautious in business either. He never refused to lend money to his +friends: and it was not difficult to be a friend of his. He did not always +trouble to ask for a receipt: he kept a rough account of what was owing to +him, and never asked for payment before it was offered him. He believed +in the good faith of other men, and supposed that they would believe in +his own. He was much more timid than his jocular, easy-going manners led +people to suppose. He would never have dared to refuse certain importunate +borrowers, or to let his doubts of their solvency appear. That arose from a +mixture of kindness and pusillanimity. He did not wish to offend anybody, +and he was afraid of being insulted. So he was always giving way. And, by +way of carrying it off, he would lend with alacrity, as though his debtors +were doing him a service by borrowing his money. And he was not far from +believing it; his vanity and optimism had no difficulty in persuading him +that every business he touched was good business. + +Such ways of dealing were not calculated to alienate the sympathies of his +debtors: he was adored by the peasants, who knew that they could always +count on his good nature, and never hesitated to resort to him. But the +gratitude of men--even of honest men--is a fruit that must be gathered in +good season. If it is left too long upon the tree, it quickly rots. After +a few months M. Jeannin's debtors would begin to think that his assistance +was their right: and they were even inclined to think that, as M. Jeannin +had been so glad to help them, it must have been to his interest to do so. +The best of them considered themselves discharged--if not of the debt, at +least of the obligation of gratitude--by the present of a hare they had +killed, or a basket of eggs from their fowlyard, which they would come and +offer to the banker on the day of the great fair of the year. + +As hitherto only small sums had been lent, and M. Jeannin had only had to +do with fairly honest people, there were no very awkward consequences: the +loss of money--of which the banker never breathed a word to a soul--was +very small. But it was a very different matter when M. Jeannin knocked up +against a certain company promoter who was launching a great industrial +concern, and had got wind of the banker's easy-going ways and financial +resources. This gentleman, who wore the ribbon of the Legion of Honor, +and pretended to be intimate with two or three Ministers, an Archbishop, +an assortment of senators, and various celebrities of the literary and +financial world, and to be in touch with an omnipotent newspaper, had a +very imposing manner, and most adroitly assumed the authoritative and +familiar tone most calculated to impress his man. By way of introduction +and recommendation, with a clumsiness which would have aroused the +suspicions of a quicker man than M. Jeannin, he produced certain ordinary +complimentary letters which he had received from the illustrious persons of +his acquaintance, asking him to dinner, or thanking him for some invitation +they had received: for it is well known that the French are never niggardly +with such epistolary small change, nor particularly chary of shaking hands +with, and accepting invitations from, an individual whom they have only +known for an hour--provided only that he amuses them and does not ask them +for money: and even as regards that, there are many who would not refuse to +lend their new friend money so long as others did the same. And it would +be a poor lookout for a clever man bent on relieving his neighbor of his +superfluous money if he could not find a sheep who could be induced to jump +the fence so that all the rest would follow.--If other sheep had not taken +the fence before him, M. Jeannin would have been the first. He was of the +woolly tribe which is made to be fleeced. He was seduced by his visitor's +exalted connections, his fluency and his trick of flattery, and also by the +first fine results of his advice. He only risked a little at first, and +won: then he risked much: finally he risked all: not only his own money, +but that of his clients as well. He did not tell them about it: he was sure +he would win: he wanted to overwhelm them with the great thing he had done +for them. + +The venture collapsed. He heard of it indirectly through one of his +Parisian correspondents who happened to mention the new crash, without ever +dreaming that Jeannin was one of the victims: for the banker had not said +a word to anybody: with incredible irresponsibility, he had not taken the +trouble--even avoided--asking the advice of men who were in a position +to give him information: he had done the whole thing secretly, in the +infatuated belief in his infallible common sense, and he had been satisfied +with the vaguest knowledge of what he was doing. There are such moments +of aberration in life: moments, it would seem, when a man is marked out +for ruin, when he is fearful lest any one should come to his aid, when he +avoids all advice that might save him, hides away, and rushes headlong, +madly, shaking himself free for the fatal plunge. + +M. Jeannin rushed to the station, utterly sick at heart, and took train for +Paris. He went to look for his man. He flattered himself with the hope that +the news might be false, or, at least, exaggerated. Naturally he did not +find the fellow, and received further news of the collapse, which was as +complete as possible. He returned distracted, and said nothing. No one +had any idea of it yet. He tried to gain a few weeks, a few days. In his +incurable optimism, he tried hard to believe that he would find a way to +make good, if not his own losses, at least those of his clients. He tried +various expedients, with a clumsy haste which would have removed any +chance of succeeding that he might have had. He tried to borrow, but was +everywhere refused. In his despair, he staked the little he had left on +wildly speculative ventures, and lost it all. From that moment there was +a complete change in his character. He relapsed into an alarming state of +terror: still he said nothing: but he was bitter, violent, harsh, horribly +sad. But still, when he was with strangers, he affected his old gaiety; +but no one could fail to see the change in him: it was attributed to his +health. With his family he was less guarded: and they saw at once that +he was concealing some serious trouble. They hardly knew him. Sometimes +he would burst into a room and ransack a desk, flinging all the papers +higgledy-piggledy on to the floor, and flying into a frenzy because he +could not find what he was looking for, or because some one offered to help +him. Then he would stand stock still in the middle of it all, and when they +asked him what he was looking for, he did not know himself. He seemed to +have lost all interest in his family: or he would kiss them with tears in +his eyes. He could not sleep. He could not eat. + +Madame Jeannin saw that they were on the eve of a catastrophe: but she had +never taken any part in her husband's affairs, and did not understand them. +She questioned him: he repulsed her brutally: and, hurt in her pride, she +did not persist. But she trembled, without knowing why. + +The children could have no suspicion of the impending disaster. Antoinette, +no doubt, was too intelligent not, like her mother, to have a presentiment +of some misfortune: but she was absorbed in the delight of her budding +love: she refused to think of unpleasant things: she persuaded herself that +the clouds would pass--or that it would be time enough to see them when it +was impossible to disregard them. + +Of the three, the boy Olivier was perhaps the nearest to understanding +what was going on in his unhappy father's soul. He felt that his father +was suffering, and he suffered with him in secret. But he dared not say +anything: naturally he could do nothing, and he was helpless. And then he, +too, thrust back the thought of sad things, the nature of which he could +not grasp: like his mother and sister, he was superstitiously inclined to +believe that perhaps misfortune, the approach of which he did not wish to +see, would not come. Those poor wretches who feel the imminence of danger +do readily play the ostrich: they hide their heads behind a stone, and +pretend that Misfortune will not see them. + + * * * * * + +Disturbing rumors began to fly. It was said that the bank's credit was +impaired. In vain did the banker assure his clients that it was perfectly +all right, on one pretext or another the more suspicious of them demanded +their money. M. Jeannin felt that he was lost: he defended himself +desperately, assuming a tone of indignation, and complaining loftily and +bitterly of their suspicions of himself: he even went so far as to be +violent and angry with some of his old clients, but that only let him down +finally. Demands for payment came in a rush. On his beam-ends, at bay, he +completely lost his head. He went away for a few days to gamble with his +last few banknotes at a neighboring watering-place, was cleaned out in a +quarter of an hour, and returned home. His sudden departure set the little +town by the ears, and it was said that he had cleared out: and Madame +Jeannin had had great difficulty in coping with the wild, anxious inquiries +of the people: she begged them to be patient, and swore that her husband +would return. They did not believe her, although they would have been only +too glad to do so. And so, when it was known that he had returned, there +was a general sigh of relief: there were many who almost believed that +their fears had been baseless, and that the Jeannins were much too shrewd +not to get out of a hole by admitting that they had fallen into it. The +banker's attitude confirmed that impression. Now that he no longer had any +doubt as to what he must do, he seemed to be weary, but quite calm. He +chatted quietly to a few friends whom he met in the station road on his way +home, talking about the drought and the country not having had any water +for weeks, and the superb condition of the vines, and the fall of the +Ministry, announced in the evening papers. + +When he reached home he pretended not to notice his wife's excitement, who +had run to meet him when she heard him come in, and told him volubly and +confusedly what had happened during his absence. She scanned his features +to try and see whether he had succeeded in averting the unknown danger: +but, from pride, she did not ask him anything: she was waiting for him to +speak first. But he did not say a word about the thing that was tormenting +them both. He silently disregarded her desire to confide in him, and to get +him to confide in her. He spoke of the heat, and of how tired he was, and +complained of a racking headache: and they sat down to dinner as usual. + +He talked little, and was dull, lost in thought, and his brows were knit: +he drummed with his fingers on the table: he forced himself to eat, knowing +that they were watching him, and looked with vague, unseeing eyes at his +children, who were intimidated by the silence, and at his wife, who sat +stiffly nursing her injured vanity, and, without looking at him, marking +his every movement. Towards the end of dinner he seemed to wake up: he +tried to talk to Antoinette and Olivier, and asked them what they had been +doing during his absence: but he did not listen to their replies, and +heard only the sound of their voices: and although he was staring at them, +his gaze was elsewhere. Olivier felt it: he stopped in the middle of his +prattle, and had no desire to go on. But, after a moment's embarrassment, +Antoinette recovered her gaiety: she chattered merrily, like a magpie, laid +her head on her father's shoulder, or tugged his sleeve to make him listen +to what she was saying. M. Jeannin said nothing: his eyes wandered from +Antoinette to Olivier, and the crease in his forehead grew deeper and +deeper. In the middle of one of his daughter's stories he could bear it no +longer, and got up and went and looked out of the window to conceal his +emotion. The children folded their napkins, and got up too. Madame Jeannin +told them to go and play in the garden: in a moment or two they could be +heard chasing each other down the paths and screaming. Madame Jeannin +looked at her husband, whose back was turned towards her, and she walked +round the table as though to arrange something. Suddenly she went up to +him, and, in a voice hushed by her fear of being overheard by the servants +and by the agony that was in her, she said: + +"Tell me, Antoine, what is the matter? There is something the matter ... +You are hiding something ... Has something dreadful happened? Are you ill?" + +But once more M. Jeannin put her off, and shrugged his shoulders, and said +harshly: + +"No! No, I tell you! Let me be!" + +She was angry, and went away: in her fury, she declared that, no matter +what happened to her husband, she would not bother about it any more. + +M. Jeannin went down into the garden. Antoinette was still larking about, +and tugging at her brother to make him run. But the boy declared suddenly +that he was not going to play any more: and he leaned against the wall of +the terrace a few yards away from his father. Antoinette tried to go on +teasing him: but he drove her away and sulked: then she called him names: +and when she found she could get no more fun out of him, she went in and +began to play the piano. + +M. Jeannin and Olivier were left alone. + +"What's the matter with you, boy? Why won't you play?" asked the father +gently. + +"I'm tired, father." + +"Well, let us sit here on this seat for a little." + +They sat down. It was a lovely September night. A dark, clear sky. +The sweet scent of the petunias was mingled with the stale and rather +unwholesome smell of the canal sleeping darkly below the terrace wall. +Great moths, pale and sphinx-like, fluttered about the flowers, with a +little whirring sound. The even voices of the neighbors sitting at their +doors on the other side of the canal rang through the silent air. In the +house Antoinette was playing a florid Italian cavatina. M. Jeannin held +Olivier's hand in his. He was smoking. Through the darkness behind which +his father's face was slowly disappearing the boy could see the red glow of +the pipe, which gleamed, died away, gleamed again, and finally went out. +Neither spoke. Then Olivier asked the names of the stars. M. Jeannin, like +almost all men of his class, knew nothing of the things of Nature, and +could not tell him the names of any save the great constellations, which +are known to everyone: but he pretended that the boy was asking their +names, and told him. Olivier made no objection: it always pleased him to +hear their beautiful mysterious names, and to repeat them in a whisper. +Besides, he was not so much wanting to know their names as instinctively to +come closer to his father. They said nothing more. Olivier looked at the +stars, with his head thrown back and his mouth open: he was lost in drowsy +thoughts: he could feel through all his veins the warmth of his father's +hand. Suddenly the hand began to tremble. That seemed funny to Olivier, and +he laughed and said sleepily: + +"Oh, how your hand is trembling, father!" + +M. Jeannin removed his hand. + +After a moment Olivier, still busy with his own thoughts, said: + +"Are you tired, too, father?" + +"Yes, my boy." + +The boy replied affectionately: + +"You must not tire yourself out so much, father." + +M. Jeannin drew Olivier towards him, and held him to his breast and +murmured: + +"My poor boy!..." + +But already Olivier's thoughts had flown off on another tack. The church +clock chimed eight o'clock. He broke away, and said: + +"I'm going to read." + +On Thursdays he was allowed to read for an hour after dinner, until +bedtime: it was his greatest joy: and nothing in the world could induce him +to sacrifice a minute of it. + +M. Jeannin let him go. He walked up and down the terrace for a little in +the dark. Then he, too, went in. + +In the room his wife and the two children were sitting round the lamp. +Antoinette was sewing a ribbon on to a blouse, talking and humming the +while, to Olivier's obvious discomfort, for he was stopping his ears with +his fists so as not to hear, while he pored over his book with knitted +brows, and his elbows on the table. Madame Jeannin was mending stockings +and talking to the old nurse, who was standing by her side and giving an +account of her day's expenditure, and seizing the opportunity for a little +gossip: she always had some amusing tale to tell in her extraordinary +lingo, which used to make them roar with laughter, while Antoinette would +try to imitate her. M. Jeannin watched them silently. No one noticed him. +He wavered for a moment, sat down, took up a book, opened it at random, +shut it again, got up: he could not sit still. He lit a candle and said +good-night. He went up to the children and kissed them fondly: they +returned his kiss absently without looking up at him,--Antoinette being +absorbed in her work, and Olivier in his book. Olivier did not even +take his hands from his ears, and grunted "Good-night," and went on +reading:--(when he was reading even if one of his family had fallen into +the fire, he would not have looked up).--M. Jeannin left the room. He +lingered in the next room, for a moment. His wife came out soon, the old +nurse having gone to arrange the linen-cupboard. She pretended not to see +him. He hesitated, then came up to her, and said: + +"I beg your pardon. I was rather rude just now." + +She longed to say to him: + +"My dear, my dear, that is nothing: but, tell me, what is the matter with +you? Tell me, what is hurting you so?" + +But she jumped at the opportunity of taking her revenge, and said: + +"Let me be! You have been behaving odiously. You treat me worse than you +would a servant." + +And she went on in that strain, setting forth all her grievances volubly, +shrilly, rancorously. + +He raised his hands wearily, smiled bitterly, and left her. + + * * * * * + +No one heard the report of the revolver. Only, next day, when it was known +what had happened, a few of the neighbors remembered that, in the middle of +the night, when the streets were quiet, they had noticed a sharp noise like +the cracking of a whip. They did not pay any attention to it. The silence +of the night fell once more upon the town, wrapping both living and dead +about with its mystery. + +Madame Jeannin was asleep, but woke up an hour or two later. Not seeing her +husband by her side she got up and went anxiously through all the rooms, +and downstairs to the offices of the bank, which were in an annex of the +house: and there, sitting in his chair in his office, she found M. Jeannin +huddled forward on his desk in a pool of blood, which was still dripping +down on to the floor. She gave a scream, dropped her candle, and fainted. +She was heard in the house. The servants came running, picked her up, took +care of her, and laid the body of M. Jeannin on a bed. The door of the +children's room was locked. Antoinette was sleeping happily. Olivier heard +the sound of voices and footsteps: he wanted to go and see what it was all +about: but he was afraid of waking his sister, and presently he went to +sleep again. + +Next morning the news was all over the town before they knew anything. +Their old nurse came sobbing and told them. Their mother was incapable of +thinking of anything: her condition was critical. The two children were +left alone in the presence of death. At first they were more fearful than +sorrowful. And they were not allowed to weep in peace. The cruel legal +formalities were begun the first thing in the morning. Antoinette hid +away in her room, and with all the force of her youthful egoism clung +to the only idea which could help her to thrust back the horror of the +overwhelming reality: the thought of her lover: all day long she waited for +him to come. Never had he been more ardent than the last time she had seen +him, and she had no doubt that, as soon as he heard of the catastrophe, he +would hasten to share her grief.--But nobody came, or wrote, or gave one +sign of sympathy. As soon as the news of the suicide was out, people who +had intrusted their money to the banker rushed to the Jeannins' house, +forced their way in, and, with merciless cruelty, stormed and screamed at +the widow and the two children. + +In a few days they were faced with their utter ruin: the loss of a dear +one, the loss of their fortune, their position, their public esteem, and +the desertion of their friends. A total wreck. Nothing was left to provide +for them. They had all three an uncompromising feeling for moral purity, +which made their suffering all the greater from the dishonor of which they +were innocent. Of the three Antoinette was the most distraught by their +sorrow, because she had never really known suffering. Madame Jeannin +and Olivier, though they were racked by it, were more inured to it. +Instinctively pessimistic, they were overwhelmed but not surprised. The +idea of death had always been a refuge to them, as it was now, more than +ever: they longed for death. It is pitiful to be so resigned, but not so +terrible as the revolt of a young creature, confident and happy, loving +every moment of her life, who suddenly finds herself face to face with such +unfathomable, irremediable sorrow, and death which is horrible to her.... + +Antoinette discovered the ugliness of the world in a flash. Her eyes were +opened: she saw life and human beings as they are: she judged her father, +her mother, and her brother. While Olivier and Madame Jeannin wept +together, in her grief she drew into herself. Desperately she pondered the +past, the present, and the future: and she saw that there was nothing left +for her, no hope, nothing to support her: she could count on no one. + +The funeral took place, grimly, shamefully. The Church refused to receive +the body of the suicide. The widow and orphans were deserted by the +cowardice of their former friends. One or two of them came for a moment: +and their embarrassment was even harder to bear than the absence of the +rest. They seemed to make a favor of it, and their silence was big with +reproach and pitying contempt. It was even worse with their relations: +not only did they receive no single word of sympathy, but they were +visited with bitter reproaches. The banker's suicide, far from removing +ill-feeling, seemed to be hardly less criminal than his failure. +Respectable people cannot forgive those who kill themselves. It seems to +them monstrous that a man should prefer death to life with dishonor: and +they would fain call down all the rigor of the law on him who seems to say: + +"There is no misery so great as that of living with you." + +The greatest cowards are not the least ready to accuse him of cowardice. +And when, in addition, the suicide, by ending his life, touches their +interests and their revenge, they lose all control.--Not for one moment did +they think of all that the wretched Jeannin must have suffered to come to +it. They would have had him suffer a thousand times more. And as he had +escaped them, they transferred their fury to his family. They did not admit +it to themselves: for they knew they were unjust. But they did it all the +same, for they needed a victim. + +Madame Jeannin, who seemed to be able to do nothing but weep and moan, +recovered her energy when her husband was attacked. She discovered then how +much she had loved him: and she and her two children, who had no idea what +would become of them in the future, all agreed to renounce their claim to +her dowry, and to their own personal estate, in order, as far as possible, +to meet M. Jeannin's debts. And, since it had become impossible for them to +stay in the little town, they decided to go to Paris. + + * * * * * + +Their departure was something in the nature of a flight. + +On the evening of the day before,--(a melancholy evening towards the end +of September: the fields were disappearing behind the white veil of mist, +out of which, as they walked along the road, on either side the fantastic +shapes of the dripping, shivering bushes started forth, looking like the +plants in an aquarium),--they went together to say farewell to the grave +where he lay. They all three knelt on the narrow curbstone which surrounded +the freshly turned patch of earth. They wept in silence; Olivier sobbed. +Madame Jeannin mopped her eyes mournfully. She augmented her grief and +tortured herself by saying to herself over and over again the words she had +spoken to her husband the last time she had seen him alive. Olivier thought +of that last conversation on the seat on the terrace. Antoinette wondered +dreamily what would become of them. None of them ever dreamed of +reproaching the wretched man who had dragged them down in his own ruin. But +Antoinette thought: + +"Ah! dear father, how we shall suffer!" + +The mist grew more dense, the cold damp pierced through to their bones. But +Madame Jeannin could not bring herself to go. Antoinette saw that Olivier +was shivering and she said to her mother: + +"I am cold." + +They got up. Just as they were going, Madame Jeannin turned once more +towards the grave, gazed at it for the last time, and said: + +"My dear, my dear!" + +They left the cemetery as night was falling. Antoinette held Olivier's icy +hand in hers. + +They went back to the old house. It was their last night under the +roof-tree where they had always slept, where their lives and the lives of +their parents had been lived--the walls, the hearth, the little patch of +earth were so indissolubly linked with the family's joys and sorrows, as +almost themselves to be part of the family, part of their life, which they +could only leave to die. + +Their boxes were packed. They were to take the first train next day before +the shops were opened: they wanted to escape their neighbors' curiosity and +malicious remarks.--They longed to cling to each other and stay together: +but they went instinctively to their rooms and stayed there: there they +remained standing, never moving, not even taking off their hats and cloaks, +touching the walls, the furniture, all the things they were going to leave, +pressing their faces against the window-panes, trying to take away with +them in memory the contact of the things they loved. At last they made an +effort to shake free from the absorption of their sorrowful thoughts and +met in Madame Jeannin's room,--the family room, with a great recess at the +back, where, in old days, they always used to foregather in the evening, +after dinner, when there were no visitors. In old days!... How far off they +seemed now!--They sat silently round the meager fire: then they all knelt +by the bed and said their prayers: and they went to bed very early, for +they had to be up before dawn. But it was long before they slept. + +About four o'clock in the morning Madame Jeannin, who had looked at her +watch every hour or so to see whether it was not time to get ready, lit her +candle and got up. Antoinette, who had hardly slept at all, heard her and +got up too. Olivier was fast asleep. Madame Jeannin gazed at him tenderly +and could not bring herself to wake him. She stole away on tiptoe and said +to Antoinette: + +"Don't make any noise: let the poor boy enjoy his last moments here!" + +The two women dressed and finished their packing. About the house hovered +the profound silence of the cold night, such a night as makes all living +things, men and beasts, cower away for warmth into the depths of sleep. +Antoinette's teeth were chattering: she was frozen body and soul. + +The front door creaked upon the frozen air. The old nurse, who had the key +of the house, came for the last time to serve her employers. She was short +and fat, short-winded, and slow-moving from her portliness, but she was +remarkably active for her age: she appeared with her jolly face muffled +up, and her nose was red, and her eyes were wet with tears. She was +heart-broken when she saw that Madame Jeannin had got up without waiting +for her, and had herself lit the kitchen fire.--Olivier woke up as she came +in. His first impulse was to close his eyes, turn over, and go to sleep +again. Antoinette came and laid her hand gently on her brother's shoulder, +and she said in a low voice: + +"Olivier, dear, it is time to get up." + +He sighed, opened his eyes, saw his sister's face leaning over him: she +smiled sadly and caressed his face with her hand. She said: + +"Come!" + +He got up. + +They crept out of the house, noiselessly, like thieves. They all had +parcels in their hands. The old nurse went in front of them trundling their +boxes in a wheelbarrow. They left behind almost all their possessions, and +took away, so to speak, only what they had on their backs and a change +of clothes. A few things for remembrance were to be sent after them by +goods-train: a few books, portraits, the old grandfather's clock, whose +tick-tock seemed to them to be the beating of their hearts.--The air was +keen. No one was stirring in the town: the shutters were closed and the +streets empty. They said nothing: only the old servant spoke. Madame +Jeannin was striving to fix in her memory all the images which told her of +all her past life. + +At the station, out of vanity, Madame Jeannin took second-class tickets, +although she had vowed to travel third: but she had not the courage to face +the humiliation in the presence of the railway clerks who knew her. She +hurried into an empty compartment with her two children and shut the door. +Hiding behind the curtains they trembled lest they should see any one they +knew. But no one appeared: the town was hardly awake by the time they +left: the train was empty: there were only a few peasants traveling by +it, and some oxen, who hung their heads out of their trucks and bellowed +mournfully. After a long wait the engine gave a slow whistle, and the train +moved on through the mist. The fugitives drew the curtains and pressed +their faces against the windows to take a last long look at the little +town, with its Gothic tower just appearing through the mist, and the hill +covered with stubby fields, and the meadows white and steaming with the +frost; already it was a distant dream-landscape, fading out of existence. +And when the train turned a bend and passed into a cutting, and they could +no longer see it, and were sure there was no one to see them, they gave way +to their emotion. With her handkerchief pressed to her lips Madame Jeannin +sobbed. Olivier flung himself into her arms and with his head on her knees +he covered her hands with tears and kisses. Antoinette sat at the other end +of the compartment and looked out of the window and wept in silence. They +did not all weep for the same reason. Madame Jeannin and Olivier were +thinking only of what they had left behind them. Antoinette was thinking +rather of what they were going to meet: she was angry with herself: she, +too, would gladly have been absorbed in her memories....--She was right to +think of the future: she had a truer vision of the world than her mother +and brother. They were weaving dreams about Paris. Antoinette herself had +little notion of what awaited them there. They had never been there. Madame +Jeannin imagined that, though their position would be sad enough, there +would be no reason for anxiety. She had a sister in Paris, the wife of a +wealthy magistrate: and she counted on her assistance. She was convinced +also that with the education her children had received and their natural +gifts, which, like all mothers, she overestimated, they would have no +difficulty in earning an honest living. + + * * * * * + +Their first impressions were gloomy enough. As they left the station they +were bewildered by the jostling crowd of people in the luggage-room and the +confused uproar of the carriages outside. It was raining. They could not +find a cab, and had to walk a long way with their arms aching with their +heavy parcels, so that they had to stop every now and then in the middle +of the street at the risk of being run over or splashed by the carriages. +They could not make a single driver pay any attention to them. At last +they managed to stop a man who was driving an old and disgustingly dirty +barouche. As they were handing in the parcels they let a bundle of rugs +fall into the mud. The porter who carried the trunk and the cabman +traded on their ignorance, and made them pay double. Madame Jeannin gave +the address of one of those second-rate expensive hotels patronized by +provincials who go on going to them, in spite of their discomfort, because +their grandfathers went to them thirty years ago. They were fleeced there. +They were told that the hotel was full, and they were accommodated with one +small room for which they were charged the price of three. For dinner they +tried to economize by avoiding the table d'hôte: they ordered a modest +meal, which cost them just as much and left them famishing. Their illusions +concerning Paris had come toppling down as soon as they arrived. And, +during that first night in the hotel, when they were squeezed into one +little, ill-ventilated room, they could not sleep: they were hot and cold +by turns, and could not breathe, and started at every footstep in the +corridor, and the banging of the doors, and the furious ringing of the +electric bells: and their heads throbbed with the incessant roar of the +carriages and heavy drays: and altogether they felt terrified of the +monstrous city into which they had plunged to their utter bewilderment. + +Next day Madame Jeannin went to see her sister, who lived in a luxurious +flat in the _Boulevard Hausmann_. She hoped, though she did not say so, +that they would be invited to stay there until they had found their feet. +The welcome she received was enough to undeceive her. The Poyet-Delormes +were furious at their relative's failure: especially Madame Delorme, who +was afraid that it would be set against her, and might injure her husband's +career, and she thought it shameless of the ruined family to come and +cling to them, and compromise them even more. The magistrate was of the +same opinion: but he was a kindly man: he would have been more inclined +to help, but for his wife's intervention--to which he knuckled under. +Madame Poyet-Delorme received her sister with icy coldness. It cut Madame +Jeannin to the heart: but she swallowed down her pride: she hinted at the +difficulty of her position and the assistance she hoped to receive from the +Poyets. Her sister pretended not to understand, and did not even ask her to +stay to dinner: they were ceremoniously invited to dine at the end of the +week. The invitation did not come from Madame Poyet either, but from the +magistrate, who was a little put out at his wife's treatment of her sister, +and tried to make amends for her curtness: he posed as the good-natured +man: but it was obvious that it did not come easily to him and that he was +really very selfish. The unhappy Jeannins returned to their hotel without +daring to say what they thought of their first visit. + +They spent the following days in wandering about Paris, looking for a fiat: +they were worn out with going up stairs, and disheartened by the sight of +the great barracks crammed full of people, and the dirty stairs, and the +dark rooms, that seemed so depressing to them after their own big house in +the country. They grew more and more depressed. And they were always shy +and timid in the streets, and shops, and restaurants, so that they were +cheated at every turn. Everything they asked for cost an exorbitant sum: it +was as though they had the faculty of turning everything they touched into +gold: only, it was they who had to pay out the gold. They were incredibly +simple and absolutely incapable of looking after themselves. + +Though there was little left to hope for from Madame Jeannin's sister, the +poor lady wove illusions about the dinner to which they were invited. They +dressed for it with fluttering hearts. They were received as guests, and +not as relations--though nothing more was expended on the dinner than the +ceremonious manner. The children met their cousins, who were almost the +same age as themselves, but they were not much more cordial than their +father and mother. The girl was very smart and coquettish, and spoke to +them with a lisp and a politely superior air, with affectedly honeyed +manners which disconcerted them. The boy was bored by this duty-dinner with +their poor relations: and he was as surly as could be. Madame Poyet-Delorme +sat up stiffly in her chair, and, even when she handed her a dish, seemed +to be reading her sister a lesson. Madame Poyet-Delorme talked trivialities +to keep the conversation from becoming serious. They never got beyond +talking of what they were eating for fear of touching upon any intimate +and dangerous topic. Madame Jeannin made an effort to bring them round to +the subject next her heart: Madame Poyet-Delorme cut her short with some +pointless remark, and she had not the courage to try again. + +After dinner she made her daughter play the piano by way of showing off her +talents. The poor girl was embarrassed and unhappy and played execrably. +The Poyets were bored and anxious for her to finish. Madame Poyet exchanged +glances with her daughter, with an ironic curl of her lips: and as the +music went on too long she began to talk to Madame Jeannin about nothing in +particular. At last Antoinette, who had quite lost her place, and saw to +her horror that, instead of going on, she had begun again at the beginning, +and that there was no reason why she should ever stop, broke off suddenly, +and ended with two inaccurate chords and a third which was absolutely +dissonant. Monsieur Poyet said: + +"Bravo!" + +And he asked for coffee. + +Madame Poyet said that her daughter was taking lessons with Pugno: and the +young lady "who was taking lessons with Pugno" said: + +"Charming, my dear...." + +And asked where Antoinette had studied. + +The conversation dropped. They had exhausted the knick-knacks in the +drawing-room and the dresses of Madame and Mademoiselle Poyet. Madame +Jeannin said to herself: + +"I must speak now. I must...." + +And she fidgeted. Just as she had pulled herself together to begin, Madame +Poyet mentioned casually, without any attempt at an apology, that they were +very sorry but they had to go out at half-past nine: they had an invitation +which they had been unable to decline. The Jeannins were at a loss, and +got up at once to go. The Poyets made some show of detaining them. But +a quarter of an hour later there was a ring at the door: the footman +announced some friends of the Poyets, neighbors of theirs, who lived in the +flat below. Poyet and his wife exchanged glances, and there were hurried +whisperings with the servants. Poyet stammered some excuse, and hurried +the Jeannins into the next room. (He was trying to hide from his friends +the existence, and the presence in his house, of the compromising family.) +The Jeannins were left alone in a room without a fire. The children were +furious at the affront. Antoinette had tears in her eyes and insisted on +their going. Her mother resisted for a little: but then, after they had +waited for some time, she agreed. They went out. In the hall they were +caught by Poyet, who had been told by a servant, and he muttered excuses: +he pretended that he wanted them to stay: but it was obvious that he was +only eager for them to go. He helped them on with their cloaks, and hurried +them to the door with smiles and handshakes and whispered pleasantries, and +closed the door on them. When they reached their hotel the children burst +into angry tears. Antoinette stamped her foot, and swore that she would +never enter their house again. + +Madame Jeannin took a flat on the fourth floor near the _Jardin des +Plantes_. The bedrooms looked on to the filthy walls of a gloomy courtyard: +the dining-room and the drawing-room--(for Madame Jeannin insisted on +having a drawing-room)--on to a busy street. All day long steam-trams went +by and hearses crawling along to the Ivry Cemetery. Filthy Italians, with a +horde of children, loafed about on the seats, or spent their time in shrill +argument. The noise made it impossible to have the windows open: and in the +evening, on their way home, they had to force their way through crowds of +bustling, evil-smelling people, cross the thronged and muddy streets, pass +a horrible pothouse, that was on the ground floor of the next house, in +the door of which there were always fat, frowsy women with yellow hair and +painted faces, eying the passers-by. + +Their small supply of money soon gave out. Every evening with sinking +hearts they took stock of the widening hole in their purse. They tried +to stint themselves: but they did not know how to set about it: that is +a science which can only be learned by years of experimenting, unless it +has been practised from childhood. Those who are not naturally economical +merely waste their time in trying to be so: as soon as a fresh opportunity +of spending money crops up, they succumb to the temptation: they are always +going to economize next time: and when they do happen to make a little +money, or to think they have made it, they rush out and spend ten times the +amount on the strength of it. + +At the end of a few weeks the Jeannins' resources were exhausted. Madame +Jeannin had to gulp down what was left of her pride, and, unknown to her +children, she went and asked Poyet for money. She contrived to see him +alone at his office, and begged him to advance her a small sum until they +had found work to keep them alive. Poyet, who was weak and human enough, +tried at first to postpone the matter, but finally acceded to her request. +He gave her two hundred francs in a moment of emotion, which mastered him, +and he repented of it immediately afterwards,--when he had to make his +peace with Madame Poyet, who was furious with her husband's weakness, and +her sister's slyness. + + * * * * * + +All day and every day the Jeannins were out and about in Paris, looking +for work. Madame Jeannin, true to the prejudices of her class, would not +hear of their engaging in any other profession than those which are called +"liberal"--no doubt because they leave their devotees free to starve. She +would even have gone so far as to forbid her daughter to take a post as +a family governess. Only the official professions, in the service of the +State, were not degrading in her eyes. They had to discover a means of +letting Olivier finish his education so that he might become a teacher. As +for Antoinette, Madame Jeannin's idea was that she should go to a school +to teach, or to the Conservatoire to win the prize for piano playing. But +the schools at which she applied already had teachers enough, who were +much better qualified than her daughter with her poor little elementary +certificate: and, as for music, she had to recognize that Antoinette's +talent was quite ordinary compared with that of so many others who did not +get on at all. They came face to face with the terrible struggle for life, +and the blind waste of talent, great and small, for which Paris can find no +use. + +The two children lost heart and exaggerated their uselessness: they +believed that they were mediocre, and did their best to convince themselves +and their mother that it was so. Olivier, who had had no difficulty in +shining at his provincial school, was crushed by his various rebuffs: he +seemed to have lost possession of all his gifts. At the school for which he +won a scholarship, the results of his first examinations were so disastrous +that his scholarship was taken away from him. He thought himself utterly +stupid. At the same time he had a horror of Paris, and its swarming +inhabitants, and the disgusting immorality of his schoolfellows, and their +shameful conversation, and the bestiality of a few of them who did not +spare him from their abominable proposals. He was not even strong enough to +show his contempt for them. He felt degraded by the mere thought of their +degradation. With his mother and sister, he took refuge in the heartfelt +prayers which they used to say every evening after the day of deceptions +and private humiliations, which to their innocence seemed to be a taint, +of which they dared not tell each other. But, in contact with the latent +spirit of atheism which is in the air of Paris, Olivier's faith was +beginning to crumble away, without his knowledge, like whitewash trickling +down a wall under the beating of the rain. He went on believing: but all +about him God was dying. + +His mother and sister pursued their futile quest. Madame Jeannin turned +once more to the Poyets, who were anxious to be quit of them, and offered +them work. Madame Jeannin was to go as reader to an old lady who was +spending the winter in the South of France. A post was found for Antoinette +as governess in a family in the West, who lived all the year round in the +country. The terms were not bad, but Madame Jeannin refused. It was not +so much for herself that she objected to a menial position, but she was +determined that Antoinette should not be reduced to it, and unwilling +to part with her. However unhappy they might be, just because they were +unhappy, they wished to be together.--Madame Poyet took it very badly. She +said that people who had no means of living had no business to be proud. +Madame Jeannin could not refrain from crying out upon her heartlessness. +Madame Poyet spoke bitterly of the bankruptcy and of the money that Madame +Jeannin owed her. They parted, and the breach between them was final. All +relationship between them was broken off. Madame Jeannin had only one +desire left: to pay back the money she had borrowed. But she was unable to +do that. + +They resumed their vain search for work. Madame Jeannin went to see the +deputy and the senator of her department, men whom Monsieur Jeannin had +often helped. Everywhere she was brought face to face with ingratitude +and selfishness. The deputy did not even answer her letters, and when she +called on him he sent down word that he was out. The senator commiserated +her ponderously on her unhappy position, which he attributed to "the +wretched Jeannin," whose suicide he stigmatized harshly. Madame Jeannin +defended her husband. The senator said that of course he knew that the +banker had acted, not from dishonesty, but from stupidity, and that he was +a fool, a poor gull, who knew nothing, and would go his own way without +asking anybody's advice or taking a warning from any one. If he had only +ruined himself, there would have been nothing to say: that would have +been his own affair. But--not to mention the ruin that he had brought on +others,--that he should have reduced his wife and children to poverty and +deserted them and left them to get out of it as best they could ... it was +Madame Jeannin's own business if she chose to forgive him, if she were a +saint, but for his part, he, the senator, not being a saint--(s, a, i, n, +t),--but, he flattered himself, just a plain man--(s, a, i, n),--a plain, +sensible, reasonable human being,--he could find no reason for forgiveness: +a man who, in such circumstances, could kill himself, was a wretch. The +only extenuating circumstance he could find in Jeannin's case was that he +was not responsible for his actions. With that he begged Madame Jeannin's +pardon for having expressed himself a little emphatically about her +husband: he pleaded the sympathy that he felt for her: and he opened his +drawer and offered her a fifty-franc note,--charity--which she refused. + +She applied for a post in the offices of a great Government department. She +set about it clumsily and inconsequently, and all her courage oozed out at +the first attempt. She returned home so demoralized that for several days +she could not stir. And, when she resumed her efforts, it was too late. She +did not find help either with the church-people, either because they saw +there was nothing to gain by it, or because they took no interest in a +ruined family, the head of which had been notoriously anti-clerical. After +days and days of hunting for work Madame Jeannin could find nothing better +than a post as music-teacher in a convent--an ungrateful task, ridiculously +ill-paid. To eke out her earnings she copied music in the evenings for an +agency. They were very hard on her. She was severely called to task for +omitting words and whole lines, as she did in spite of her application, +for she was always thinking of so many other things and her wits were +wool-gathering. And so, after she had stayed up through the night till +her eyes and her back ached, her copy was rejected. She would return home +utterly downcast. She would spend days together moaning, unable to stir +a finger. For a long time she had been suffering from heart trouble, +which had been aggravated by her hard struggles, and filled her with dark +forebodings. Sometimes she would have pains, and difficulty in breathing +as though she were on the point of death. She never went out without her +name and address written on a piece of paper in her pocket in case she +should collapse in the street. What would happen if she were to disappear? +Antoinette comforted her as best she could by affecting a confidence which +she did not possess: she begged her to be careful and to let her go and +work in her stead. But the little that was left of Madame Jeannin's pride +stirred in her, and she vowed that at least her daughter should not know +the humiliation she had to undergo. + +In vain did she wear herself out and cut down their expenses: what she +earned was not enough to keep them alive. They had to sell the few jewels +which they had kept. And the worst blow of all came when the money, of +which they were in such sore need, was stolen from Madame Jeannin the very +day it came into her hands. The poor flustered creature took it into her +head while she was out to go into the _Bon Marché_, which was on her way: +it was Antoinette's birthday next day, and she wanted to give her a little +present. She was carrying her purse in her hand so as not to lose it. She +put it down mechanically on the counter for a moment while she looked at +something. When she put out her hand for it the purse was gone. It was the +last blow for her. + +A few days later, on a stifling evening at the end of August,--a hot +steaming mist hung over the town,--Madame Jeannin came in from her copying +agency, whither she had been to deliver a piece of work that was wanted in +a hurry. She was late for dinner, and had saved her three sous' bus fare +by hurrying home on foot to prevent her children being anxious. When she +reached the fourth floor she could neither speak nor breathe. It was not +the first time she had returned home in that condition: the children took +no notice of it. She forced herself to sit down at table with them. They +were both suffering from the heat and did not eat anything: they had to +make an effort to gulp down a few morsels of food, and a sip or two of +stale water. To give their mother time to recover they did not talk--(they +had no desire to talk)--and looked out of the window. + +Suddenly Madame Jeannin waved her hands in the air, clutched at the table, +looked at her children, moaned, and collapsed. Antoinette and Olivier +sprang to their feet just in time to catch her in their arms. They were +beside themselves, and screamed and cried to her: + +"Mother! Mother! Dear, dear mother!" + +But she made no sound. They were at their wit's end. Antoinette clung +wildly to her mother's body, kissed her, called to her. Olivier ran to the +door of the flat and yelled: + +"Help! Help!" + +The housekeeper came running upstairs, and when she saw what had happened +she ran for a doctor. But when the doctor arrived, he could only say that +the end had come. Death had been instantaneous--happily for Madame +Jeannin--although it was impossible to know what thoughts might have been +hers during the last moments when she knew that she was dying and leaving +her children alone in such misery. + +They were alone to bear the horror of the catastrophe, alone to weep, alone +to perform the dreadful duties that follow upon death. The porter's wife, a +kindly soul, helped them a little: and people came from the convent where +Madame Jeannin had taught: but they were given no real sympathy. + +The first moments brought inexpressible despair. The only thing that saved +them was the very excess of that despair, which made Olivier really ill. +Antoinette's thoughts were distracted from her own suffering, and her one +idea was to save her brother: and her great, deep love filled Olivier and +plucked him back from the violent torment of his grief. Locked in her arms, +near the bed where their mother was lying in the glimmer of a candle, +Olivier said over and over again that they must die, that they must both +die, at once: and he pointed to the window. In Antoinette, too, there was +the dark desire: but she fought it down: she wished to live.... + +"Why? Why?" + +"For her sake," said Antoinette--(she pointed to her mother).--"She is +still with us. Think ... after all that she has suffered for our sake, we +must spare her the crowning sorrow, that of seeing us die in misery.... +Ah!" (she went on emphatically).... "And then, we must not give way. I will +not! I refuse to give in. You must, you shall be happy, some day!" + +"Never!" + +"Yes. You shall be happy. We have had too much unhappiness. A change will +come: it must. You shall live your life. You shall have children, you shall +be happy, you shall, you shall!" + +"How are we to live? We cannot do it...." + +"We can. What is it, after all? We have to live somehow until you can earn +your living. I will see to that. You will see: I'll do it. Ah! If only +mother had let me do it, as I could have done...." + +"What will you do? I will not have you degrading yourself. You could not do +it." + +"I can.... And there is nothing humiliating in working for one's +living--provided it be honest work. Don't you worry about it, please. You +will see, everything will come right. You shall be happy, we shall be +happy: dear Olivier, _she_ will be happy through us...." + +The two children were the only mourners at their mother's grave. By common +consent they agreed not to tell the Poyets: the Poyets had ceased to exist +for them: they had been too cruel to their mother: they had helped her +to her death. And, when the housekeeper asked them if they had no other +relations, they replied: + +"No. Nobody." + +By the bare grave they prayed hand in hand. They set their teeth in +desperate resolve and pride and preferred their solitude to the presence of +their callous and hypocritical relations.--They returned on foot through +the throng of people who were strangers to their grief, strangers to their +thoughts, strangers to their lives, and shared nothing with them but their +common language. Antoinette had to support Olivier. + +They took a tiny flat in the same house on the top floor--two little +attics, a narrow hall, which had to serve as a dining-room, and a kitchen +that was more like a cupboard. They could have found better rooms in +another neighborhood: but it seemed to them that they were still with their +mother in that house. The housekeeper took an interest in them for a time: +but she was soon absorbed in her own affairs and nobody bothered about +them. They did not know a single one of the other tenants: and they did not +even know who lived next door. + +Antoinette obtained her mother's post as music-teacher at the convent. She +procured other pupils. She had only one idea: to educate her brother until +he was ready for the _École Normale_. It was her own idea, and she had +decided upon it after mature reflection: she had studied the syllabus and +asked about it, and had also tried to find out what Olivier thought:--but +he had no ideas, and she chose for him. Once at the _École Normale_ he +would be sure of a living for the rest of his life, and his future would +be assured. He must get in, somehow; whatever it cost, they would have to +keep alive till then. It meant five or six terrible years: they would win +through. The idea possessed Antoinette, absorbed her whole life. The poor +solitary existence which she must lead, which she saw clearly mapped out +in front of her, was only made bearable through the passionate exaltation +which filled her, her determination, by all means in her power, to save her +brother and make him happy. The light-hearted, gentle girl of seventeen or +eighteen was transfigured by her heroic resolution: there was in her an +ardent quality of devotion, a pride of battle, which no one had suspected, +herself least of all. In that critical period of a woman's life, during +the first fevered days of spring, when love fills all her being, and like +a hidden stream murmuring beneath the earth, laves her soul, envelops +it, floods it with tenderness, and fills it with sweet obsessions, love +appears in divers shapes: demanding that she should give herself, and +yield herself up to be its prey: for love the least excuse is enough, and +for its profound yet innocent sensuality any sacrifice is easy. Love made +Antoinette the prey of sisterly devotion. + +Her brother was less passionate and had no such stay. Besides, the +sacrifice was made for him, it was not he who was sacrificed--which is so +much easier and sweeter when one loves. He was weighed down with remorse at +seeing his sister wearing herself out for him. He would tell her so, and +she would reply: + +"Ah! My dear!... But don't you see that that is what keeps me going? +Without you to trouble me, what should I have to live for?" + +He understood. He, too, in Antoinette's position, would have been jealous +of the trouble he caused her: but to be the cause of it!... That hurt his +pride and his affection. And what a burden it was for so weak a creature to +bear such a responsibility, to be bound to succeed, since on his success +his sister had staked her whole life! The thought of it was intolerable to +him, and, instead of spurring him on, there were times when it robbed him +of all energy. And yet she forced him to struggle on, to work, to live, as +he never would have done without her aid and insistence. He had a natural +predisposition towards depression,--perhaps even towards suicide:--perhaps +he would have succumbed to it had not his sister wished him to be ambitious +and happy. He suffered from the contradiction of his nature: and yet it +worked his salvation. He, too, was passing through a critical age, that +fearful period when thousands of young men succumb, and give themselves up +to the aberrations of their minds and senses, and for two or three years' +folly spoil their lives beyond repair. If he had had time to yield to his +thoughts he would have fallen into discouragement or perhaps taken to +dissipation: always when he turned in upon himself he became a prey to his +morbid dreams, and disgust with life, and Paris, and the impure +fermentation of all those millions of human beings mingling and rotting +together. But the sight of his sister's face was enough to dispel the +nightmare: and since she was living only that he might live, he would live, +yes, he would be happy, in spite of himself. + +So their lives were built on an ardent faith fashioned of stoicism, +religion, and noble ambition. All their endeavor was directed towards the +one end: Olivier's success. Antoinette accepted every kind of work, every +humiliation that was offered her: she went as a governess to houses where +she was treated almost as a servant: she had to take her pupils out for +walks, like a nurse, wandering about the streets with them for hours +together under pretext of teaching them German. In her love for her brother +and her pride she found pleasure even in such moral suffering and +weariness. + +She would return home worn out to look after Olivier, who was a day-boarder +at his school and only came home in the evening. She would cook their +dinner--a wretched dinner--on the gas-stove or over a spirit-lamp. Olivier +had never any appetite and everything disgusted him, and his gorge would +rise at the food: and she would have to force him to eat, or cudgel her +brains to invent some dish that would catch his fancy, and poor Antoinette +was by no means a good cook. And when she had taken a great deal of +trouble she would have the mortification of hearing him declare that +her cooking was uneatable. It was only after moments of despair at her +cooking-stove,--those moments of silent despair which come to inexperienced +young housekeepers and poison their lives and sometimes their sleep, +unknown to everybody--that she began to understand it a little. + +After dinner, when she had washed up the dishes--(he would offer to help +her, but she would never let him),--she would take a motherly interest in +her brother's work. She would hear him his lessons, read his exercises, and +even look up certain words in the dictionary for him, always taking care +not to ruffle up his sensitive little soul. They would spend the evening at +their one table at which they had both to eat and write. He would do his +homework, she would sew or do some copying. When he had gone to bed she +would sit mending his clothes or doing some work of her own. + +Although they had difficulty in making both ends meet, they were both +agreed that every penny they could put by should be used in the first place +to settle the debt which their mother owed to the Poyets. It was not that +the Poyets were importunate creditors: they had given no sign of life: they +never gave a thought to the money, which they counted as lost: they thought +themselves very lucky to have got rid of their undesirable relatives so +cheaply. But it hurt the pride and filial piety of the young Jeannins to +think that their mother should have owed anything to these people whom they +despised. They pinched and scraped: they economized on their amusements, on +their clothes, on their food, in order to amass the two hundred francs--an +enormous sum for them. Antoinette would have liked to have done the saving +by herself. But when her brother found out what she was up to, nothing +could keep him from doing likewise. They wore themselves out in the effort, +and were delighted when they could set aside a few sous a day. + +In three years, by screwing and scraping, sou by sou, they had succeeded in +getting the sum together. It was a great joy to them. Antoinette went to +the Poyets one evening. She was coldly received, for they thought she had +come to ask for help. They thought it advisable to take the initiative: and +reproached her for not letting them have any news of them: and not having +even told them of the death of her mother, and not coming to them when +she wanted help. She cut them short calmly by telling them that she had +no intention of incommoding them: she had come merely to return the money +which had been borrowed from them: and she laid two banknotes on the table +and asked for a receipt. They changed their tone at once, and pretended to +be unwilling to accept it: they were feeling for her that sudden affection +which comes to the creditor for the debtor, who, after many years, returns +the loan which he had ceased to reckon upon. They inquired where she was +living with her brother, and how they lived. She did not reply, asked once +more for the receipt, said that she was in a hurry, bowed coldly, and went +away. The Poyets were horrified at the girl's ingratitude. + +Then, when she was rid of that obsession, Antoinette went on with the same +sparing existence, but now it was entirely for her brother's sake. Only she +concealed it more to prevent his knowing it: she economized on her clothes +and sometimes on her food, to keep her brother well-dressed and amused, +and to make his life pleasanter and gayer, and to let him go every now and +then to a concert, or to the opera, which was Olivier's greatest joy. He +was unwilling to go without her, but she would always make excuses for not +going so that he should feel no remorse: she would pretend that she was too +tired and did not want to go out: she would even go so far as to say that +music bored her. Her fond quibbles would not deceive him: but his boyish +selfishness would be too strong for him. He would go to the theater: once +inside, he would be filled with remorse, and it would haunt him all through +the piece, and spoil his pleasure. One Sunday, when she had packed him +off to the _Châtelet_ concert, he returned half an hour later, and told +Antoinette that when he reached the Saint Michel Bridge he had not the +heart to go any farther: the concert did not interest him: it hurt him too +much to have any pleasure without her. Nothing was sweeter to Antoinette, +although she was sorry that her brother should be deprived of his Sunday +entertainment because of her. But Olivier never regretted it: when he saw +the joy that lit up his sister's face as he came in, a joy that she tried +in vain to conceal, he felt happier than the most lovely music in the world +could ever have made him. They spent the afternoon sitting together by the +window, he with a book in his hand, she with her work, hardly reading at +all, hardly sewing at all, talking idly of things that interested neither +of them. Never had they had so delightful a Sunday. They agreed that they +would never go alone to a concert again: they could never enjoy anything +alone. + +She managed secretly to save enough money to surprise and delight Olivier +with a hired piano, which, on the hire-purchase system became their +property at the end of a certain number of months. The payments for it were +a heavy burden for her to shoulder! It often haunted her dreams, and she +ruined her health in screwing together the necessary money. But, folly as +it was, it did assure them both so much happiness. Music was their Paradise +in their hard life. It filled an enormous place in their existence. They +steeped themselves in music so as to forget the rest of the world. There +was danger in it too. Music is one of the great modern dissolvents. Its +languorous warmth, like the heat of a stove, or the enervating air of +autumn, excites the senses and destroys the will. But it was a relaxation +for a creature forced into excessive, joyless activity as was Antoinette. +The Sunday concert was the only ray of light that shone through the week of +unceasing toil. They lived in the memory of the last concert and the eager +anticipation of the next, in those few hours spent outside Paris and out of +the vile weather. After a long wait outside in the rain, or the snow, or +the wind and the cold, clinging together, and trembling lest all the places +should be taken, they would pass into the theater, where they were lost in +the throng, and sit on dark uncomfortable benches. They were crushed and +stifling, and often on the point of fainting from the heat and discomfort +of it all:--but they were happy, happy in their own and in each other's +pleasure, happy to feel coursing through their veins the flood of kindness, +light, and strength, that surged forth from the great souls of Beethoven +and Wagner, happy, each of them, to see the dear, dear face light up--the +poor, pale face worn by suffering and premature anxieties. Antoinette would +feel so tired and as though loving arms were about her, holding her to a +motherly breast! She would nestle in its softness and warmth: and she would +weep quietly. Olivier would press her hand. No one noticed them in the +dimness of the vast hall, where they were not the only suffering souls +taking refuge under the motherly wing of Music. + +Antoinette had her religion to support her. She was very pious, and every +day never missed saying her prayers fervently and at length, and every +Sunday she never missed going to Mass. Even in the injustice of her +wretched life she could not help believing in the love of the divine +Friend, who suffers with you, and, some day, will console you. Even more +than with God, she was in close communion with the beloved dead, and she +used secretly to share all her trials with them. But she was of an +independent spirit and a clear intelligence: she stood apart from other +Catholics, who did not regard her altogether favorably: they thought her +possessed of an evil spirit: they were not far from regarding her as a Free +Thinker, or on the way to it, because, like the honest little Frenchwoman +she was, she had no intention of renouncing her own independent judgment: +she believed not from obedience, like the base rabble, but from love. + +Olivier no longer believed. The slow disintegration of his faith, which +had set in during his first months in Paris, had ended in its complete +destruction. He had suffered cruelly: for he was not of those who are +strong enough or commonplace enough to dispense with faith: and so he had +passed through crises of mental agony. But he was at heart a mystic: and, +though he had lost his belief, yet no ideas could be closer to his own than +those of his sister. They both lived in a religious atmosphere. When they +came home in the evening after the day's parting their little flat was to +them a haven, an inviolable refuge, poor, bitterly cold, but pure. How far +removed they felt there from the noise and the corrupt thoughts of +Paris!... + +They never talked much of their doings: for when one comes home tired one +has hardly the heart to revive the memory of a painful day by the tale of +its happenings. Instinctively they set themselves to forget it. Especially +during the first hour when they met again for dinner they avoided questions +of all kinds. They would greet each other with their eyes: and sometimes +they would not speak a word all through the meal. Antoinette would look at +her brother as he sat dreaming, just as he used to do when he was a little +boy. She would gently touch his hand: + +"Come!" she would say, with a smile. "Courage!" + +He would smile too and go on eating. So dinner would pass without their +trying to talk. They were hungry for silence. Only when they had done would +their tongues be loosed a little, when they felt rested, and when each of +them in the comfort of the understanding love of the other had wiped out +the impure traces of the day. + +Olivier would sit down at the piano. Antoinette was out of practice from +letting him play always: for it was the only relaxation that he had: and he +would give himself up to it wholeheartedly. He had a fine temperament for +music: his feminine nature, more suited to love than to action, with loving +sympathy could catch the thoughts of the musicians whose works he played, +and merge itself in them and with passionate fidelity render the finest +shades,--at least, within the limitations of his physical strength, which +gave out before the Titanic effort of _Tristan_, or the later sonatas of +Beethoven. He loved best to take refuge in Mozart or Gluck, and theirs was +the music that Antoinette preferred. + +Sometimes she would sing too, but only very simple songs, old melodies. She +had a light mezzo voice, plaintive and delicate. She was so shy that she +could never sing in company, and hardly even before Olivier: her throat +used to contract. There was an air of Beethoven set to some Scotch words, +of which she was particularly fond: _Faithful Johnnie_: it was calm, so +calm ... and with what a depth of tenderness!... It was like herself. +Olivier could never hear her sing it without the tears coming to his eyes. + +But she preferred listening to her brother. She would hurry through her +housework and leave the door of the kitchen open the better to hear +Olivier: but in spite of all her care he would complain impatiently of the +noise she made with her pots and pans. Then she would close the door; and, +when she had finished, she would come and sit in a low chair, not near the +piano--(for he could not bear any one near him when he was playing),--but +near the fireplace: and there she would sit curled up like a cat, with her +back to the piano, and her eyes fixed on the golden eyes of the fire, in +which a lump of coal was smoldering, and muse over her memories of the +past. When nine o'clock rang she would have to pull herself together to +remind Olivier that it was time to stop. It would be hard to drag him, and +to drag herself, away from dreams: but Olivier would still have some work +to do. And he must not go to bed too late. He would not obey her at once: +he always needed a certain time in which to shake free of the music before +he could apply himself seriously to his work. His thoughts would be off +wandering. Often it would be half-past nine before he could shake free of +his misty dreams. Antoinette, bending over her work at the other side of +the table, would know that he was doing nothing: but she dared not look +in his direction too often for fear of irritating him by seeming to be +watching him. + +He was at the ungrateful age--the happy age--when a boy saunters dreamily +through his days. He had a clear forehead, girlish eyes, deep and trustful, +often with dark circles round them, a wide mouth with rather thick pouting +lips, a rather crooked smile, vague, absent, taking: he wore his hair long +so that it hung down almost to his eyes, and made a great bunch at the back +of his neck, while one rebellious lock stuck up at the back: a neckerchief +loosely tied round his neck--(his sister used to tie it carefully in a bow +every morning):--a waistcoat which was always buttonless, although she was +for ever sewing them on: no cuffs: large hands with bony wrists. He had a +heavy, sleepy, bantering expression, and he was always wool-gathering. His +eyes would blink and wander round Antoinette's room:--(his work-table was +in her room):--they would light on the little iron bed, above which hung an +ivory crucifix, with a sprig of box,--on the portraits of his father and +mother,--on an old photograph of the little provincial town with its tower +mirrored in its waters. And when they reached his sister's pallid face, +bending in silence over her work, he would be filled with an immense pity +for her and his own indolence: and he would work furiously to make up for +lost time. + +He spent his holidays in reading. They would read together each with a +separate book. In spite of their love for each other they could not read +aloud. That hurt them as an offense against modesty. A fine book was to +them as a secret which should only be murmured in the silence of the heart. +When a passage delighted them, instead of reading it aloud, they would hand +the book over, with a finger marking the place: and they would say: + +"Read that." + +Then, while the other was reading, the one who had already read would with +shining eyes gaze into the dear face to see what emotions were roused and +to share the enjoyment of it. + +But often with their books open in front of them they would not read: they +would talk. Especially towards the end of the evening they would feel +the need of opening their hearts, and they would have less difficulty +in talking. Olivier had sad thoughts: and in his weakness he had to rid +himself of all that tortured him by pouring out his troubles to some one +else. He was a prey to doubt. Antoinette had to give him courage, to defend +him against himself: it was an unceasing struggle, which began anew each +day. Olivier would say bitter, gloomy things: and when he had said them he +would be relieved: but he never troubled to think how they might hurt his +sister. Only very late in the day did he see how he was exhausting her: he +was sapping her strength and infecting her with his own doubts. Antoinette +never let it appear how she suffered. She was by nature valiant and gay, +and she forced herself to maintain a show of gaiety, even when that +gracious quality was long since dead in her. She had moments of utter +weariness, and revolt against the life of perpetual sacrifice to which she +had pledged herself. But she condemned such thoughts and would not analyze +them: they came to her in spite of herself, and she would not accept +them. She found help in prayer, except when her heart could not pray--(as +sometimes happens)--when it was, as it were, withered and dry. Then she +could only wait in silence, feverish and ashamed, for the return of grace. +Olivier never had the least suspicion of the agony she suffered. At such +times Antoinette would make some excuse and go away and lock herself in her +room: and she would not appear again until the crisis was over: then she +would be smiling, sorrowful, more tender than ever, and, as it were, +remorseful for having suffered. + +Their rooms were adjoining. Their beds were placed on either side of the +same wall: they could talk to each other through it in whispers: and when +they could not sleep they would tap gently on the wall to say: + +"Are you asleep? I can't sleep." + +The partition was so thin that it was almost as though they shared the same +room. But the door between their rooms was always locked at night, in +obedience to an instinctive and profound modesty,--a sacred feeling:--it +was only left open when Olivier was ill, as too often happened. + +He did not gain in health. Rather he seemed to grow weaker. He was always +ailing: throat, chest, head or heart: if he caught the slightest cold there +was always the danger of its turning to bronchitis: he caught scarlatina +and almost died of it: but even when he was not ill he would betray strange +symptoms of serious illnesses, which fortunately did not come to anything: +he would have pains in his lungs or his heart. One day the doctor who +examined him diagnosed pericarditis, or peripneumonia, and the great +specialist who was then consulted confirmed his fears. But it came to +nothing. It was his nerves that were wrong, and it is common knowledge that +disorders of the nerves take the most unaccountable shapes: they are got +rid of at the cost of days of anxiety. But such days were terrible for +Antoinette, and they gave her sleepless nights. She would lie in a state of +terror in her bed, getting up every now and then to listen to her brother's +breathing. She would think that perhaps he was dying, she would feel sure, +convinced of it: she would get up, trembling, and clasp her hands, and hold +them fast against her lips to keep herself from crying out. + +"Oh! God! Oh! God!" she would moan. "Take him not from me! Not that ... not +that. You have no right!... Not that, oh! God, I beg!... Oh, mother, +mother! Come to my aid! Save him: let him live!..." + +She would lie at full stretch. + +"Ah! To die by the way, when so much has been done, when we were nearly +there, when he was going to be happy ... no: that could not be: it would be +too cruel!..." + + * * * * * + +It was not long before Olivier gave her other reasons for anxiety. + +He was profoundly honest, like herself, but he was weak of will and too +open-minded and too complex not to be uneasy, skeptical, indulgent towards +what he knew to be evil, and attracted by pleasure. Antoinette was so pure +that it was some time before she understood what was going on in her +brother's mind. She discovered it suddenly, one day. + +Olivier thought she was out. She usually had a lesson at that hour: but at +the last moment she had received word from her pupil, telling her that she +could not have her that day. She was secretly pleased, although it meant +a few francs less in that week's earnings: but she was very tired and she +lay down on her bed: she was very glad to be able to rest for once without +reproaching herself. Olivier came in from school bringing another boy with +him. They sat down in the next room and began to talk. She could hear +everything they said: they thought they were alone and did not restrain +themselves. Antoinette smiled as she heard her brother's merry voice. But +soon she ceased to smile, and her blood ran cold. They were talking of +dirty things with an abominable crudity of expression: they seemed to revel +in it. She heard Olivier, her boy Olivier, laughing: and from his lips, +which she had thought so innocent, there came words so obscene that the +horror of it chilled her. Keen anguish stabbed her to the heart. It went on +and on: they could not stop talking, and she could not help listening. At +last they went out, and Antoinette was left alone. Then she wept: something +had died in her: the ideal image that she had fashioned of her brother--of +her boy--was plastered with mud: it was a mortal agony to her. She did not +say anything to him when they met again in the evening. He saw that she had +been weeping and he could not think why. He could not understand why she +had changed her manner towards him. It was some time before she was able to +recover herself. + +But the worst blow of all for her was one evening when he did not come +home. She did not go to bed, but sat up waiting for him. It was not only +her moral purity that was hurt: her suffering went down to the most +mysterious inner depths of her heart--those same depths where there lurked +the most awful feelings of the human heart, feelings over which she cast a +veil, to hide them from her sight. + +Olivier's first aim had been the declaration of his independence. He +returned in the morning, casting about for the proper attitude and quite +prepared to fling some insolent remark at his sister if she had said +anything to him. He stole into the flat on tiptoe so as not to waken her. +But when he saw her standing there, waiting for him, pale, red-eyed from +weeping, when he saw that, instead of making any effort to reproach him, +she only set about silently cooking his breakfast, before he left for +school, and that she had nothing to say to him, but was overwhelmed, so +that she was, in herself, a living reproach, he could hold out no longer: +he flung himself down before her, buried his face in her lap, and they both +wept. He was ashamed of himself, sick at the thought of what he had done: +he felt degraded. He tried to speak, but she would not let him and laid +her hand on his lips: and he kissed her hand. They said no more: they +understood each other. Olivier vowed that he would never again do anything +to hurt Antoinette, and that he would be in all things what she wanted him +to be. But though she tried bravely she could not so easily forget so sharp +a wound: she recovered from it slowly. There was a certain awkwardness +between them. Her love for him was just the same: but in her brother's soul +she had seen something that was foreign to herself, and she was fearful of +it. + + * * * * * + +She was the more overwhelmed by the glimpse she had had into Olivier's +inmost heart, in that, about the same time, she had to put up with the +unwelcome attentions of certain men. When she came home in the evening at +nightfall, and especially when she had to go out after dinner to take or +fetch her copying, she suffered agonies from her fear of being accosted, +and followed (as sometimes happened) and forced to listen to insulting +advances. She took her brother with her whenever she could under pretext of +making him take a walk: but he only consented grudgingly and she dared not +insist: she did not like to interrupt his work. She was so provincial and +so pure that she could not get used to such ways. Paris at night was to +her like a dark forest in which she felt that she was being tracked by +dreadful, savage beasts: and she was afraid to leave the house. But she had +to go out. She would put off going out as long as possible: she was always +fearful. And when she thought that her Olivier would be--was perhaps--like +one of those men who pursued her, she could hardly hold out her hand to him +when she came in. He could not think what he had done to change her so, and +she was angry with herself. + +She was not very pretty, but she had charm, and attracted attention though +she did nothing to do so. She was always very simply dressed, almost always +in black: she was not very tall, graceful, frail-looking; she rarely spoke: +she tripped quietly through the crowded streets, avoiding attention, +which, however, she attracted in spite of herself by the sweetness of the +expression of her tired eyes and her pure young lips. Sometimes she saw +that she had attracted notice: and though it put her to confusion she was +pleased all the same. Who can say what gentle and chaste pleasure in itself +there may be in so innocent a creature at feeling herself in sympathy +with others? All that she felt was shown in a slight awkwardness in her +movements, a timid, sidelong glance: and it was sweet to see and very +touching. And her uneasiness added to her attraction. She excited interest, +and, as she was a poor girl, with none to protect her, men did not hesitate +to tell her so. + +Sometimes she used to go to the house of some rich Jews, the Nathans, who +took an interest in her because they had met her at the house of some +friends of theirs where she gave lessons: and, in spite of her shyness, +she had not been able to avoid accepting invitations to their parties. +M. Alfred Nathan was a well-known professor in Paris, a distinguished +scientist, and at the same time he was very fond of society, with that +strange mixture of learning and frivolity which is so common among the +Jews. Madame Nathan was a mixture in equal proportions of real kindliness +and excessive worldliness. They were both generous, with loud-voiced, +sincere, but intermittent sympathy for Antoinette.--Generally speaking +Antoinette had found more kindness among the Jews than among the +members of her own sect. They have many faults: but they have one great +quality--perhaps the greatest of all: they are alive, and human: nothing +human is foreign to them and they are interested in every living being. +Even when they lack real, warm sympathy they feel a perpetual curiosity +which makes them seek out men and ideas that are of worth, however +different from themselves they may be. Not that, generally speaking, they +do anything much to help them, for they are interested in too many things +at once and much more a prey to the vanities of the world than other +people, while they pretend to be immune from them. But at least they +do something: and that is saying a great deal in the present apathetic +condition of society. They are an active balm in society, the very leaven +of life.--Antoinette who, among the Catholics, had been brought sharp up +against a wall of icy indifference, was keenly alive to the worth of the +interest, however superficial it might be, which the Nathans took in her. +Madame Nathan had marked Antoinette's life of devoted sacrifice: she was +sensible of her physical and moral charm: and she made a show of taking her +under her protection. She had no children: but she loved young people and +often had gatherings of them in her house: and she insisted on Antoinette's +coming also, and breaking away from her solitude, and having some amusement +in her life. And as she had no difficulty in guessing that Antoinette's +shyness was in part the result of her poverty, she even went so far as to +offer to give her a pretty frock or two, which Antoinette refused proudly: +but her kindly patroness found a way of forcing her to accept a few of +those little presents which are so dear to a woman's innocent vanity. +Antoinette was both grateful and embarrassed. She forced herself to go to +Madame Nathan's parties from time to time: and being young she managed to +enjoy herself in spite of everything. + +But in that rather mixed society of all sorts of young people Madame +Nathan's protégée, being poor and pretty, became at once the mark of two or +three young gentlemen, who with perfect confidence in themselves picked her +out for their attentions. They calculated how far her timidity would go: +they even made bets about her. + +One day she received certain anonymous letters--or rather letters signed +with a noble pseudonym--which conveyed a declaration of love: at first +they were love-letters, flattering, ardent, appointing a rendezvous: then +they quickly became bolder, threatening, and soon insulting and basely +slanderous: they stripped her, exposed her, besmirched her with their +coarse expressions of desire: they tried to play upon Antoinette's +simplicity by making her fearful of a public insult if she did not go to +the appointed rendezvous. She wept bitterly at the thought of having called +down on herself such base proposals: and these insults scorched her pride. +She did not know what to do. She did not like to speak to her brother about +it: she knew that he would feel it too keenly and that he would make the +affair even more serious than it was. She had no friends. The police? She +would not do that for fear of scandal. But somehow she had to make an end +of it. She felt that her silence would not sufficiently defend her, that +the blackguard who was pursuing her would hold to the chase and that he +would go on until to go farther would be dangerous. + +He had just sent her a sort of ultimatum commanding her to meet him next +day at the Luxembourg. She went.--By racking her brains she had come to the +conclusion that her persecutor must have met her at Madame Nathan's. In one +of his letters he had alluded to something which could only have happened +there. She begged Madame Nathan to do her a great favor and to drive her to +the door of the gallery and to wait for her outside. She went in. In front +of the appointed picture her tormentor accosted her triumphantly and began +to talk to her with affected politeness. She stared straight at him without +a word. When he had finished his remark he asked her jokingly why she was +staring at him. She replied: + +"You are a coward." + +He was not put out by such a trifle as that, and became familiar in his +manner. She said: + +"You have tried to threaten me with a scandal. Very well, I have come to +give you your scandal. You have asked for it!" + +She was trembling all over, and she spoke in a loud voice to show him that +she was quite equal to attracting attention to themselves. People had +already begun to watch them. He felt that she would stick at nothing. He +lowered his voice. She said once more, for the last time: + +"You are a coward," and turned her back on him. + +Not wishing to seem to have given in he followed her. She left the gallery +with the fellow following hard on her heels. She walked straight to the +carriage waiting there, wrenched the door open, and her pursuer found +himself face to face with Madame Nathan, who recognized him and greeted him +by name. His face fell and he bolted. + +Antoinette had to tell the whole story to her companion. She was unwilling +to do so, and only hinted roughly at the facts. It was painful to her to +reveal to a stranger the intimate secrets of her life, and the sufferings +of her injured modesty. Madame Nathan scolded her for not having told her +before. Antoinette begged her not to tell anybody. That was the end of it: +and Madame Nathan did not even need to strike the fellow off her visiting +list: for he was careful not to appear again. + +About the same time another sorrow of a very different kind came to +Antoinette. + +At the Nathans' she met a man of forty, a very good fellow, who was in +the Consular service in the Far East, and had come home on a few months' +leave. He fell in love with her. The meeting had been planned unknown to +Antoinette, by Madame Nathan, who had taken it into her head that she must +find a husband for her little friend. He was a Jew. He was not good-looking +and he was no longer young. He was rather bald, and round-shouldered: but +he had kind eyes, an affectionate way with him, and he could feel for and +understand suffering, for he had suffered himself. Antoinette was no longer +the romantic girl, the spoiled child, dreaming of life as a lovely day's +walk on her lover's arm: now she saw the hard struggle of life, which began +again, every day, allowing no time for rest, or, if rest were taken, it +might be to lose in one moment all the ground that had been gained, inch +by inch, through years of striving: and she thought it would be very sweet +to be able to lean on the arm of a friend, and share his sorrows with him, +and be able to close her eyes for a little, while he watched over her. She +knew that it was a dream: but she had not had the courage to renounce her +dream altogether. In her heart she knew quite well that a dowerless girl +had nothing to hope for in the world in which she lived. The old French +middle-classes are known throughout the world for the spirit of sordid +interest in which they conduct their marriages. The Jews are far less +grasping with money. Among the Jews it is no uncommon thing for a rich +young man to choose a poor girl, or a young woman of fortune to set herself +passionately to win a man of intellect. But in the French middle-classes, +Catholic and provincial in their outlook, almost always money woos money. +And to what end? Poor wretches, they have none but dull commonplace +desires: they can do nothing but eat, yawn, sleep--save. Antoinette knew +them. She had observed their ways from her childhood on. She had seen them +with the eyes of wealth and the eyes of poverty. She had no illusions left +about them, nor about the treatment she had to expect from them. And so the +attentions of this man who had asked her to marry him came as an unhoped +for treasure in her life. At first she did not think of him as a lover, but +gradually she was filled with gratitude and tenderness towards him. She +would have accepted his proposal if it had not meant following him to the +colonies and consequently leaving her brother. She refused: and though her +lover understood the magnanimity of her reason for doing so, he could not +forgive her: love is so selfish, that the lover will not hear of being +sacrificed even to those virtues which are dearest to him in the beloved. +He gave up seeing her: when he went away he never wrote: she had no news +of him at all until, five or six months later, she received a printed +intimation, addressed in his hand, that he had married another woman. + +Antoinette felt it deeply. She was broken-hearted, and she offered up her +suffering to God: she tried to persuade herself that she was justly +punished for having for one moment lost sight of her one duty, to devote +herself to her brother: and she grew more and more wrapped up in it. + +She withdrew from the world altogether. She even dropped going to the +Nathans', for they were a little cold towards her after she refused +the marriage which they had arranged for her: they too refused to see +any justification for her. Madame Nathan had decided that the marriage +should take place, and her vanity was hurt at its missing fire through +Antoinette's fault. She thought her scruples certainly quite praiseworthy, +but exaggerated and sentimental: and thereafter she lost interest in the +silly little goose. It was necessary for her always to be helping people, +with or without their consent, and she quickly found another protégée to +absorb, for the time being, all the interest and devotion which she had to +expend. + +Olivier knew nothing of his sister's sad little romance. He was a +sentimental, irresponsible boy, living in his dreams and fancies. It was +impossible to depend on him in spite of his intelligence and charm and +his very real tenderheartedness. Often he would fling away the results of +months of work by his irresponsibility, or in a fit of discouragement, or +by some boyish freak, or some fancied love affair, in which he would waste +all his time and energy. He would fall in love with a pretty face, that +he had seen once, with coquettish little girls, whom perhaps he once met +out somewhere, though they never paid any attention to him. He would be +infatuated with something he had read, a poet, or a musician: he would +steep himself in their works for months together, to the exclusion of +everything else and the detriment of his studies. He had to be watched +always, though great care had to be taken that he did not know it, for he +was easily wounded. There was always a danger of a seizure. He had the +feverish excitement, the want of balance, the uneasy trepidation, that are +often found in those who have a consumptive tendency. The doctor had not +concealed the danger from Antoinette. The sickly plant, transplanted from +the provinces to Paris, needed fresh air and light. Antoinette could not +provide them. They had not enough money to be able to go away from Paris +during the holidays. All the rest of their year every day in the week was +full, and on Sundays they were so tired that they never wanted to go out, +except to a concert. + +There were Sundays in the summer when Antoinette would make an effort and +drag Olivier off to the woods outside Paris, near Chaville or Saint-Cloud. +But the woods were full of noisy couples, singing music-hall songs, and +littering the place with greasy bits of paper: they did not find the divine +solitude which purifies and gives rest. And in the evening when they turned +homewards they had to suffer the roar and clatter of the trains, the dirty, +crowded, low, narrow, dark carriages of the suburban lines, the coarseness +of certain things they saw, the noisy, singing, shouting, smelly +people, and the reek of tobacco smoke. Neither Antoinette nor Olivier +could understand the people, and they would return home disgusted and +demoralized. Olivier would beg Antoinette not to go for Sunday walks again; +and for some time Antoinette would not have the heart to go again. And +then she would insist, though it was even more disagreeable to her than to +Olivier: but she thought it necessary for her brother's health. She would +force him to go out once more. But their new experience would be no better +than the last, and Olivier would protest bitterly. So they stayed shut up +in the stifling town, and, in their prison-yard, they sighed for the open +fields. + + * * * * * + +Olivier had reached the end of his schooldays. The examinations for the +_École Normale_ were over. It was quite time. Antoinette was very tired. +She was counting on his success: her brother had everything in his favor. +At school he was regarded as one of the best pupils: and all his masters +were agreed in praising his industry and intelligence, except for a certain +want of mental discipline which made it difficult for him to bend to any +sort of plan. But the responsibility of it weighed on Olivier so heavily +that he lost his head as the examination came near. He was worn out, and +paralyzed by the fear of failure, and a morbid shyness that crept over him. +He trembled at the thought of appearing before the examiners in public. He +had always suffered from shyness: in class he would blush and choke when he +had to speak: at first he could hardly do more than answer his name. And it +was much more easy for him to reply impromptu than when he knew that he was +going to be questioned: the thought of it made him ill: his mind rushed +ahead picturing every detail of the ordeal as it would happen: and the +longer he had to wait, the more he was obsessed by it. It might be said +that he passed every examination at least twice: for he passed it in his +dreams on the night before and expended all his energy, so that he had none +left for the real examination. + +But he did not even reach the _viva voce_, the very thought of which had +sent him into a cold sweat the night before. In the written examination on +a philosophical subject, which at any ordinary time would have sent him +flying off, he could not even manage to squeeze out a couple of pages in +six hours. For the first few hours his brain was empty; he could think of +nothing, nothing. It was like a blank wall against which he hurled himself +in vain. Then, an hour before the end, the wall was rent and a few rays of +light shone through the crevices. He wrote an excellent short essay, but it +was not enough to place him. When Antoinette saw the despair on his face as +he came out, she foresaw the inevitable blow, and she was as despairing as +he: but she did not show it. Even in the most desperate situations she had +always an inexhaustible capacity for hope. + +Olivier was rejected. + +He was crushed by it. Antoinette pretended to smile as though it were +nothing of any importance: but her lips trembled. She consoled her brother, +and told him that it was an easily remedied misfortune, and that he would +be certain to pass next year, and win a better place. She did not tell +him how vital it was to her that he should have passed, that year, or how +utterly worn out she felt in soul and body, or how uneasy she felt about +fighting through another year like that. But she had to go on. If she were +to go away before Olivier had passed he would never have the courage to go +on fighting alone: he would succumb. + +She concealed her weariness from him, and even redoubled her efforts. +She wore herself to skin and bone to let him have amusement and change +during the holidays so that he might resume work with greater energy and +confidence. But at the very outset her small savings had to be broken into, +and, to make matters worse, she lost some of her most profitable pupils. + +Another year!... Within sight of the final ordeal they were almost at +breaking-point. Above all, they had to live, and discover some other means +of scraping along. Antoinette accepted a situation as a governess in +Germany which had been offered her through the Nathans. It was the very +last thing she would have thought of, but nothing else offered at the time, +and she could not wait. She had never left her brother for a single day +during the last six years: and she could not imagine what life would be +like without seeing and hearing him from day to day. Olivier was terrified +when he thought of it: but he dared not say anything: it was he who had +brought it about: if he had passed Antoinette would not have been reduced +to such an extremity: he had no right to say anything, or to take into +account his own grief at the parting: it was for her to decide. + +They spent the last days together in dumb anguish, as though one of them +were about to die: they hid away from each other when their sorrow was too +much for them. Antoinette gazed into Olivier's eyes for counsel. If he had +said to her: "Don't go!" she would have stayed, although she had to go. Up +to the very last moment, in the cab in which they drove to the station, +she was prepared to break her resolution: she felt that she could never go +through with it. At a word from him one word!... But he said nothing. Like +her, he set his teeth and would not budge.--She made him promise to write +to her every day, and to conceal nothing from her, and to send for her if +he were ever in the least danger. + + * * * * * + +They parted. While Olivier returned with a heavy heart to his school, where +it had been agreed that he should board, the train carried Antoinette, +crushed and sorrowful, towards Germany. Lying awake and staring through the +night they felt the minutes dragging them farther and farther apart, and +they called to each other in whispering voices. + +Antoinette was fearful of the new world to which she was going. She had +changed much in six years. She who had once been so bold and afraid of +nothing had grown so used to silence and isolation that it hurt her to +go out into the world again. The laughing, gay, chattering Antoinette of +the old happy times had passed away with them. Unhappiness had made her +sensitive and shy. No doubt living with Olivier had infected her with his +timidity. She had had hardly anybody to talk to except her brother. She was +scared by the least little thing, and was really in a panic when she had to +pay a call. And so it was a nervous torture to her to think that she was +now going to live among strangers, to have to talk to them, to be always +with them. The poor girl had no more real vocation for teaching than her +brother: she did her work conscientiously, but her heart was not in it, and +she had not the support of feeling that there was any use in it. She was +made to love and not to teach. And no one cared for her love. + + * * * * * + +Nowhere was her capacity for love less in demand than in her new situation +in Germany. The Grünebaums, whose children she was engaged to teach French, +took not the slightest interest in her. They were haughty and familiar, +indifferent and indiscreet: they paid fairly well: and, as a result, they +regarded everybody in their payment as being under an obligation to them, +and thought they could do just as they liked. They treated Antoinette as a +superior sort of servant and allowed her hardly any liberty. She did not +even have a room to herself: she slept in a room adjoining that of the +children and had to leave the door open all night. She was never alone. +They had no respect for her need of taking refuge every now and then +within herself--the sacred right of every human being to preserve an inner +sanctuary of solitude. The only happiness she had lay in correspondence and +communion with her brother: she made use of every moment of liberty she +could snatch. But even that was encroached upon. As soon as she began to +write they would prowl about in her room and ask her what she was writing. +When she was reading a letter they would ask her what was in it: by their +persistent impertinent curiosity they found out about her "little brother." +She had to hide from them. Too shameful sometimes were the expedients to +which she had to resort, and the holes and crannies in which she had to +hide, in order to be able to read Olivier's letters unobserved. If she left +a letter lying in her room she was sure it would be read: and as she had +nothing she could lock except her box, she had to carry any papers she did +not want to have read about with her: they were always prying into her +business and her intimate affairs, and they were always fishing for her +secret thoughts. It was not that the Grünebaums were really interested in +her, only they thought that, as they paid her, she was their property. They +were not malicious about it: indiscretion was with them an incurable habit: +they were never offended with each other. + +Nothing could have been more intolerable to Antoinette than such espionage, +such a lack of moral modesty, which made it impossible for her to escape +even for an hour a day from their curiosity. The Grünebaums were hurt by +the haughty reserve with which she treated them. Naturally they found +highly moral reasons to justify their vulgar curiosity, and to condemn +Antoinette's desire to be immune from it. + +"It was their duty," they thought, "to know the private life of a girl +living under their roof, as a member of their household, to whom they +had intrusted the education of their children: they were responsible for +her."--(That is the sort of thing that so many mistresses say of their +servants, mistresses whose "responsibility" does not go so far as to +spare the unhappy girls any fatigue or work that must revolt them, but +is entirely limited to denying them every sort of pleasure.)--"And that +Antoinette should refuse to acknowledge that duty, imposed on them by +conscience, could only show," they concluded, "that she was conscious +of being not altogether beyond reproach: an honest girl has nothing to +conceal." + +So Antoinette lived under a perpetual persecution, against which she was +always on her guard, so that it made her seem even more cold and reserved +than she was. + +Every day her brother wrote her a twelve-page letter: and she contrived to +write to him every day even if it were only a few lines. Olivier tried hard +to be brave and not to show his grief too clearly. But he was bored and +dull. His life had always been so bound up with his sister's that, now that +she was torn from him, he seemed to have lost part of himself: he could +not use his arms, or his legs, or his brains, he could not walk, or play +the piano, or work, or do anything, not even dream--except through her. He +slaved away at his books from morning to night: but it was no good: his +thoughts were elsewhere: he would be suffering, or thinking of her, or of +the morrow's letter: he would sit staring at the clock, waiting for the +day's letter: and when it arrived his fingers would tremble with joy--with +fear, too--as he tore open the envelope. Never did lover tremble with more +tenderness and anxiety at a letter from his mistress. He would hide away, +like Antoinette, to read his letters: he would carry them about with him: +and at night he always had the last letter under his pillow, and he would +touch it from time to time to make sure that it was still there, during +the long, sleepless nights when he lay awake dreaming of his dear sister. +How far removed from her he felt! He felt that most dreadfully when +Antoinette's letters were delayed by the post and came a day late. Two +days, two nights, between them!... He exaggerated the time and the distance +because he had never traveled. His imagination would take fire: + +"Heavens! If she were to fall ill! There would be time for her to die +before he could see her ... Why had she not written to him, just a line or +two, the day before?... Was she ill?... Yes. She was surely ill ..." He +would choke.--More often still he would be terrified of dying away from +her, dying alone, among people who did not care, in the horrible school, +in grim, gray Paris. He would make himself ill with the thought of it.... +"Should he write and tell her to come back?"--But then he would be ashamed +of his cowardice. Besides, as soon as he began to write to her it gave him +such joy to be in communion with her that for a moment he would forget +his suffering. It seemed to him that he could see her, hear her voice: he +would tell her everything: never had he spoken to her so intimately, so +passionately, when they had been together: he would call her "my true, +brave, dear, kind, beloved, little sister," and say, "I love you so." +Indeed they were real love-letters. + +Their tenderness was sweet and comforting to Antoinette: they were all the +air she had to breathe. If they did not come in the morning at the usual +time she would be miserable. Once or twice it happened that the Grünebaums, +from carelessness, or--who knows?--from a wicked desire to tease, forgot to +give them to her until the evening, and once even until the next morning: +and she worked herself into a fever.--On New Year's Day they had the same +idea, without telling each other: they planned a surprise, and each sent a +long telegram--(at vast expense)--and their messages arrived at the same +time.--Olivier always consulted Antoinette about his work and his troubles: +Antoinette gave him advice, and encouragement, and fortified him with her +strength, though indeed she had not really enough for herself. + +She was stifled in the foreign country, where she knew nobody, and nobody +was interested in her, except the wife of a professor, lately come to +the town, who also felt out of her element. The good creature was kind +and motherly, and sympathetic with the brother and sister who loved each +other so and had to live apart--(for she had dragged part of her story +out of Antoinette):--but she was so noisy, so commonplace, she was so +lacking--though quite innocently--in tact and discretion that aristocratic +little Antoinette was irritated and drew back. She had no one in whom she +could confide and so all her troubles were pent up, and weighed heavily +upon her: sometimes she thought she must give way under them: but she set +her teeth and struggled on. Her health suffered: she grew very thin. Her +brother's letters became more and more downhearted. In a fit of depression +he wrote: + +"Come back, come back, come back!..." + +But he had hardly sent the letter off than he was ashamed of it and wrote +another begging Antoinette to tear up the first and give no further thought +to it. He even pretended to be in good spirits and not to be wanting his +sister. It hurt his umbrageous vanity to think that he might seem incapable +of doing without her. + +Antoinette was not deceived: she read his every thought: but she did not +know what to do. One day she almost went to him: she went to the station to +find out what time the train left for Paris. And then she said to herself +that it was madness: the money she was earning was enough to pay for +Olivier's board: they must hold on as long as they could. She was not +strong enough to make up her mind: in the morning her courage would spring +forth again: but as the day dragged towards evening her strength would fail +her and she would think of flying to him. She was homesick,--longing for +the country that had treated her so hardly, the country that enshrined all +the relics of her past life,--and she was aching to hear the language that +her brother spoke, the language in which she told her love for him. + +Then it was that a company of French actors passed through the little +German town. Antoinette, who rarely visited the theater--(she had neither +time nor taste for it)--was seized with an irresistible longing to hear her +own language spoken, to take refuge in France. + +The rest is known.[Footnote: See _Jean-Christophe_--I, "Revolt."] + +There were no seats left in the theater: she met the young musician, +Jean-Christophe, whom she did not know, and he, seeing her disappointment, +offered to share with her a box which he had to give away: in her confusion +she accepted. Her presence with Christophe set tongues wagging in the +little town: and the malicious rumors came at once to the ears of the +Grünebaums, who, being already inclined to believe anything ill of the +young Frenchwoman, and furious with Christophe as a result of certain +events which have been narrated elsewhere, dismissed Antoinette without +more ado. + +She, who was so chaste and modest, she, whose whole life had been absorbed +by her love for her brother and never yet had been besmirched with one +thought of evil, nearly died of shame, when she understood the nature +of the charge against her. Not for one moment was she resentful against +Christophe. She knew that he was as innocent as she, and that, if he had +injured her, he had meant only to be kind: she was grateful to him. She +knew nothing of him, save that he was a musician, and that he was much +maligned: but, in her ignorance of life and men, she had a natural +intuition about people, which unhappiness had sharpened, and in her queer, +boorish companion she had recognized a quality of candor equal to her own, +and a sturdy kindness, the mere memory of which was comforting and good +to think on. The evil she had heard of him did not at all affect the +confidence which Christophe had inspired in her. Being herself a victim she +had no doubt that he was in the same plight, suffering, as she did, though +for a longer time, from the malevolence of the townspeople who insulted +him. And as she always forgot herself in the thought of others the idea of +what Christophe must have suffered distracted her mind a little from her +own torment. Nothing in the world could have induced her to try to see him +again, or to write to him: her modesty and pride forbade it. She told +herself that he did not know the harm he had done, and, in her gentleness, +she hoped that he would never know it. + +She left Germany. An hour away from the town it chanced that the train in +which she was traveling passed the train by which Christophe was returning +from a neighboring town where he had been spending the day. + +For a few minutes their carriages stopped opposite each other, and in the +silence of the night they saw each other, but did not speak. What could +they have said save a few trivial words? That would have been a profanation +of the indefinable feeling of common pity and mysterious sympathy which +had sprung up in them, and was based on nothing save the sureness of their +inward vision. During those last moments, when, still strangers, they +gazed into each other's eyes, they saw in each other things which never +had appeared to any other soul among the people with whom they lived. +Everything must pass: the memory of words, kisses, passionate embraces: but +the contact of souls, which have once met and hailed each other and the +throng of passing shapes, that never can be blotted out. Antoinette bore +it with her in the innermost recesses of her heart--that poor heart, so +swathed about with sorrow and sad thoughts, from out the midst of which +there smiled a misty light, which seemed to steal sweetly from the earth, a +pale and tender light like that which floods the Elysian Shades of Gluck. + + * * * * * + +She returned to Olivier. It was high time she returned to him. He had just +fallen ill: and the poor, nervous, unhappy little creature who trembled, at +the thought of illness before it came--now that he was really ill, refused +to write to his sister for fear of upsetting her. But he called to her, +prayed for her coming as for a miracle. + +When the miracle happened he was lying in the school infirmary, feverish +and wandering. When he saw her he made no sound. How often had he seen her +enter in his fevered fancy!... He sat up in bed, gaping, and trembling lest +it should be once more only an illusion. And when she sat down on the bed +by his side, when she took him in her arms and he had taken her in his, +when he felt her soft cheek against his lips, and her hands still cold from +traveling by night in his, when he was quite, quite sure that it was his +dear sister he began to weep. He could do nothing else: he was still the +"little cry-baby" that he had been when he was a child. He clung to her and +held her close for fear she should go away from him again. How changed they +were! How sad they looked!... No matter! They were together once more: +everything was lit up, the infirmary, the school, the gloomy day: they +clung to each other, they would never let each other go. Before she had +said a word he made her swear that she would not go away again. He had no +need to make her swear: no, she would never go away again: they had been +too unhappy away from each other: their mother was right: anything was +better than being parted. Even poverty, even death, so only they were +together. + +They took rooms. They wanted to take their old little flat, horrible though +it was: but it was occupied. Their new rooms also looked out on to a yard: +but above a wall they could see the top of a little acacia and grew fond of +it at once, as a friend from the country, a prisoner like themselves, in +the paved wilderness of the city. Olivier quickly recovered his health, or +rather, what he was pleased to call his health:--(for what was health to +him would have been illness to a stronger boy).--Antoinette's unhappy stay +in Germany had helped her to save a little money: and she made some more by +the translation of a German book which a publisher accepted. For a time, +then, they were free of financial anxiety: and all would be well if Olivier +passed his examination at the end of the year.--But if he did not pass? + +No sooner had they settled down to the happiness of being together again +than they were once more obsessed by the prospect of the examination. They +tried hard not to think about it, but in vain, they were always coming back +to it. The fixed idea haunted them, even when they were seeking distraction +from their thoughts: at concerts it would suddenly leap out at them in the +middle of the performance: at night when they woke up it would lie there +like a yawning gulf before them. In addition to his eagerness to please his +sister and repay her for the sacrifice of her youth that she had made for +his sake, Olivier lived in terror of his military service which he could +not escape if he were rejected:--(at that time admission to the great +schools was still admitted as an exemption from service).--He had an +invincible disgust for the physical and moral promiscuity, the kind +of intellectual degradation, which, rightly or wrongly, he saw in +barrack-life. Every pure and aristocratic quality in him revolted from such +compulsion, and it seemed to him that death would be preferable. In these +days it is permitted to make light of such feelings, and even to decry +them in the name of a social morality which, for the moment, has become +a religion: but they are blind who deny it: there is no more profound +suffering than that of the violation of moral solitude by the coarse +liberal Communism of the present day. + +The examinations began. Olivier was almost incapable of going in: he was +unwell, and he was so fearful of the torment he would have to undergo, +whether he passed or not, that he almost longed to be taken seriously ill. +He did quite well in the written examination. But he had a cruel time +waiting to hear the results. Following the immemorial custom of the country +of Revolutions, which is the worst country in the world for red-tape and +routine, the examinations were held in July during the hottest days of the +year, as though it were deliberately intended to finish off the luckless +candidates, who were already staggering under the weight of cramming a +monstrous list of subjects, of which even the examiners did not know a +tenth part. The written examinations were held on the day after the holiday +of the 14th July, when the whole city was upside down, and making merry, to +the undoing of the young men who were by no means inclined to be merry, and +asked for nothing but silence. In the square outside the house booths were +set up, rifles cracked at the miniature ranges, merry-go-rounds creaked +and grunted, and hideous steam organs roared from morning till night. The +idiotic noise went on for a week. Then a President of the Republic, by way +of maintaining his popularity, granted the rowdy merry-makers another three +days' holiday. It cost him nothing: he did not hear the row. But Olivier +and Antoinette were distracted and appalled by the noise, and had to keep +their windows shut, so that their rooms were stifling, and stop their ears, +trying vainly to escape the shrill, insistent, idiotic tunes which were +ground out from morning till night and stabbed through their brains like +daggers, so that they were reduced to a pitiful condition. + +The _viva voce_ examination began immediately after the publication of +the first results. Olivier begged Antoinette not to go. She waited at the +door,--much more anxious than he. Of course he never told her what he +thought of his performance. He tormented her by telling her what he had +said and what he had not said. + +At last the final results were published. The names of the candidates were +posted in the courtyard of the Sorbonne. Antoinette would not let Olivier +go alone. As they left the house, they thought, though they did not say it, +that when they came back they would _know_, and perhaps they would regret +their present fears, when at least there was still hope. When they came +in sight of the Sorbonne they felt their legs give way under them. Brave +little Antoinette said to her brother: + +"Please not so fast...." + +Olivier looked at his sister, and she forced a smile. He said: + +"Shall we sit down for a moment on the seat here?" + +He would gladly have gone no further. But, after a moment, she pressed his +hand and said: + +"It's nothing, dear. Let us go on." + +They could not find the list at first. They read several others in which +the name of Jeannin did not appear. When at last they saw it, they did not +take it in at first: they read it several times and could not believe it. +Then when they were quite sure that it was true that Jeannin was Olivier, +that Jeannin had passed, they could say nothing: they hurried home: she +took his arm, and held his wrist, and leaned her weight on him: they almost +ran, and saw nothing of what was going on about them: as they crossed the +boulevard they were almost run over. They said over and over again: + +"Dear ... Darling ... Dear ... Dear...." + +They tore upstairs to their rooms and then they flung their arms round each +other. Antoinette took her brother's hand and led him to the photographs of +their father and mother, which hung on the wall near her bed, in a corner +of her room, which was a sort of sanctuary to her: they knelt down before +them: and with tears in their eyes they prayed. + +Antoinette ordered a jolly little dinner: but they could not eat a morsel: +they were not hungry. They spent the evening, Olivier kneeling by his +sister's side while she petted him like a child. They hardly spoke at all. +They could not even be happy, for they were too worn out. They went to bed +before nine o'clock and slept the sleep of the just. + +Next day Antoinette had a frightful headache, but there was such a load +taken from her heart! Olivier felt, for the first time in his life, that +he could breathe freely. He was saved, she was saved, she had accomplished +her task: and he had shown himself to be not unworthy of his sister's +expectations!... For the first time for years and years they allowed +themselves a little laziness. They stayed in bed till twelve talking +through the wall, with the door between their rooms open: when they looked +in the mirror they saw their faces happy and tired-looking: they smiled, +and threw kisses to each other, and dozed off again, and watched each +other's sleep, and lay weary and worn with hardly the strength to do more +than mutter tender little scraps of words. + + * * * * * + +Antoinette had always put by a little money, sou by sou, so as to have some +small reserve in case of illness. She did not tell her brother the surprise +she had in store for him. The day after his success she told him that they +were going to spend a month in Switzerland to make up for all their years +of trouble and hardship. Now that Olivier was assured of three years at the +_École Normale_ at the expense of the State, and then, when he left the +_École_, of finding a post, they could be extravagant and spend all their +savings. Olivier shouted for joy when she told him. Antoinette was even +more happy than he,--happy in her brother's happiness,--happy to think that +she was going to see the country once more: she had so longed for it. + +It took them some time to get ready for the journey, but the work of +preparation was an unending joy. It was well on in August when they set +out. They were not used to traveling. Olivier did not sleep the night +before. And he did not sleep in the train. The whole day they had been +fearful of missing the train. They were in a feverish hurry, they had been +jostled about at the station, and finally huddled into a second-class +carriage, where they could not even lean back to go to sleep:--(that is +one of the privileges of which the eminently democratic French companies +deprive poor travelers, so that rich travelers may have the pleasure of +thinking that they have a monopoly of it).--Olivier did not sleep a wink: +he was not sure that they were in the right train, and he looked out for +the name of every station. Antoinette slept lightly and woke up very +frequently: the jolting of the train made her head bob. Olivier watched her +by the light of the funereal lamp, which shone at the top of the moving +sarcophagus: and he was suddenly struck by the change in her face. Her eyes +were hollow: her childish lips were half-open from sheer weariness: her +skin was sallow, and there were little wrinkles on her cheeks, the marks +of the sad years of sorrow and disillusion. She looked old and ill.--And, +indeed, she was so tired! If she had dared she would have postponed their +journey. But she did not like to spoil her brother's pleasure: she tried to +persuade herself that she was only tired, and that the country would make +her well again. She was fearful lest she should fall ill on the way.--She +felt that he was looking at her: and she suddenly flung off the drowsiness +that was creeping over her, and opened her eyes,--eyes still young, +still clear and limpid, across which, from time to time, there passed an +involuntary look of pain, like shadows on a little lake. He asked her in +a whisper, anxiously and tenderly, how she was: she pressed his hand and +assured him that she was well. A word of love revived her. + +Then, when the rosy dawn tinged the pale country between Dôle and +Pontarlier, the sight of the waking fields, and the gay sun rising from the +earth,--the sun, who, like themselves, had escaped from the prison of the +streets, and the grimy houses, and the thick smoke of Paris:--the waving +fields wrapped in the light mist of their milk-white breath: the little +things they passed: a little village belfry, a glimpse of a winding stream, +a blue line of hills hovering on the far horizon: the tinkling, moving +sound of the angelus borne from afar on the wind, when the train stopped +in the midst of the sleeping country: the solemn shapes of a herd of cows +browsing on a slope above the railway,--all absorbed Antoinette and her +brother, to whom it all seemed new. They were like parched trees, drinking +in ecstasy the rain from heaven. + +Then, in the early morning, they reached the Swiss Customs, where they had +to get out. A little station in a bare country-side. They were almost worn +out by their sleepless night, and the cold, dewy freshness of the dawn made +them shiver: but it was calm, and the sky was clear, and the fragrant air +of the fields was about them, upon their lips, on their tongues, down their +throats, flowing down into their lungs like a cooling stream: and they +stood by a table, out in the open air, and drank comforting hot coffee with +creamy milk, heavenly sweet, and tasting of the grass and the flowers of +the fields. + +They climbed up into the Swiss carriage, the novel arrangement of which +gave them a childish pleasure. But Antoinette was so tired! She could not +understand why she should feel so ill. Why was everything about her so +beautiful, so absorbing, when she could take so little pleasure in it? +Was it not all just what she had been dreaming for years: a journey with +her brother, with all anxiety for the future left behind, dear mother +Nature?... What was the matter with her? She was annoyed with herself, and +forced herself to admire and share her brother's naïve delight. + +They stopped at Thun. They were to go up into the mountains next day. But +that night in the hotel, Antoinette was stricken with a fever, and violent +illness, and pains in her head. Olivier was at his wits' ends, and spent a +night of frightful anxiety. He had to send for a doctor in the morning--(an +unforeseen expense which was no light tax on their slender purse).--The +doctor could find nothing immediately serious, but said that she was run +down, and that her constitution was undermined. There could be no question +of their going on. The doctor forbade Antoinette to get up all day; and +he thought they would perhaps have to stay at Thun for some time. They +were very downcast--though very glad to have got off so cheaply after all +their fears. But it was hard to have come so far to be shut up in a nasty +hotel-room into which the sunlight poured so that it was like a hothouse. +Antoinette insisted on her brother going out. He went a few yards from the +hotel, saw the beautiful green Aar, and, hovering in the distance against +the sky, a white peak: he bubbled over with joy: but he could not keep it +to himself. He rushed back to his sister's room, and told her excitedly +what he had just seen: and when she expressed her surprise at his coming +back so soon and made him promise to go out again, he said, as once before +he had said when he came back from the _Châtelet_ concert: + +"No, no. It is too beautiful: it hurts me to see it without you." + +That feeling was not new to them: they knew that they had to be together to +enjoy anything wholly. But they always loved to hear it said. His tender +words did Antoinette more good than any medicine. She smiled now, +languidly, happily.--And after a good night, although it was not very wise +to go on so soon, she decided that they would get away very early, without +telling the doctor, who would only want to keep them back. The pure air and +the joy of seeing so much beauty made her stronger, so that she did not +have to pay for her rashness, and without any further misadventure they +reached the end of their journey--a mountain village, high above the lake, +some distance away from Spiez. + +There they spent three or four weeks in a little hotel. Antoinette did not +have any further attack of fever, but she never got really well. She still +felt a heaviness, an intolerable weight, in her head, and she was always +unwell. Olivier often asked her about her health: he longed to see her +grow less pale: but he was intoxicated by the beauty of the country, and +instinctively avoided all melancholy thoughts: when she assured him that +she was really quite well, he tried to believe that it was true,--although +he knew perfectly well that it was not so. And she enjoyed to the full her +brother's exuberance and the fine air, and the all-pervading peace. How +good it was to rest at last after those terrible years! + +Olivier tried to induce her to go for walks with him: she would have been +happy to join him: but on several occasions when she had bravely set out, +she had been forced to stop after twenty minutes, to regain her breath, and +rest her heart. So he went out alone,--climbing the safe peaks, though they +filled her with terror until he came home again. Or they would go for +little walks together: she would lean on his arm, and walk slowly, and they +would talk, and he would suddenly begin to chatter, and laugh, and discuss +his plans, and make quips and jests. From the road on the hillside above +the valley they would watch the white clouds reflected in the still lake, +and the boats moving like insects on the surface of a pond: they would +drink in the warm air and the music of the goat-bells, borne on the gusty +wind, and the smell of the new-mown hay and the warm resin. And they would +dream together of the past and the future, and the present which seemed to +them to be the most unreal and intoxicating of dreams. Sometimes Antoinette +would be infected with her brother's jolly childlike humor: they would +chase each other and roll about on the grass. And one day he saw her +laughing as she used to do when they were children, madly, carelessly, +laughter clear and bubbling as a spring, such as he had not heard for many +years. + +But, most often, Olivier could not resist the pleasure of going for long +walks. He would be sorry for it at once, and later he had bitterly to +regret that he had not made enough of those dear days with his sister. Even +in the hotel he would often leave her alone. There was a party of young +men and girls in the hotel, from whom they had at first kept apart. Then +Olivier was attracted by them, and shyly joined their circle. He had been +starved of friendship: outside his sister he had hardly known any one but +his rough schoolfellows and their girls, who repelled him. It was very +sweet to him to be among well-mannered, charming, merry boys and girls of +his own age. Although he was very shy, he was naïvely curious, sentimental, +and affectionate, and easily bewitched by the little burning, flickering +fires that shine in a woman's eyes. And in spite of his shyness, women +liked him. His frank longing to love and be loved gave him, unknown to +himself, a youthful charm, and made him find words and gestures and +affectionate little attentions, the very awkwardness of which made them all +the more attractive. He had the gift of sympathy. Although in his isolation +his intelligence had taken on an ironical tinge which made him see the +vulgarity of people and their defects which he often loathed,--yet in +their presence he saw nothing but their eyes, in which he would see the +expression of a living being, who one day would die, a being who had only +one life, even as he, and, even as he, would lose it all too soon, then of +that creature he would involuntarily be fond: in that moment nothing in the +world could make him do anything to hurt: whether he liked it or not, he +had to be kind and amiable. He was weak: and, in being so, he was sure to +please the "world" which pardons every vice, and even every virtue,--except +one: force, on which all the rest depend. + +Antoinette did not join them. Her health, her tiredness, her apparently +causeless moral collapse, paralyzed her. Through the long years of anxiety +and ceaseless toil, exhausting body and soul, the positions of the brother +and sister had been inverted: now it was she who felt far removed from the +world, far from everything and everybody, so far!... She could not break +down the wall between them: all their chatter, their noise, their laughter, +their little interests, bored her, wearied her, almost hurt her. It hurt +her to be so: she would have loved to go with the other girls, to share +their interests and laugh with them ... But she could not!... Her heart +ached; she seemed to be as one dead. In the evening she would shut herself +up in her room; and often she would not even turn on the light: she would +sit there in the dark, while downstairs Olivier would be amusing himself, +surrendering to the current of one of those romantic little love affairs to +which he so easily succumbed. She would only shake off her torpor when she +heard him coming upstairs, laughing and talking to the girls, hanging about +saying good-night outside their rooms, being unable to tear himself away. +Then in the darkness Antoinette would smile, and get up to turn on the +light. The sound of her brother's laughter revived her. + +Autumn was setting in. The sun was dying down. Nature was a-weary. Under +the thick mists and clouds of October the colors were fading fast; snow +fell on the mountains: mists descended upon the plains. The visitors went +away one by one, and then several at a time. And it was sad to see even the +friends of a little while going away, but sadder still to see the passing +of the summer, the time of peace and happiness which had been an oasis in +their lives. They went for a last walk together, on a cloudy autumn day, +through the forest on the mountain-side. They did not speak: they mused +sadly, as they walked along with the collars of their cloaks turned up, +clinging close together: their hands were locked. There was silence in the +wet woods, and in silence the trees wept. From the depths there came the +sweet plaintive cry of a solitary bird who felt the coming of winter. +Through the mist came the clear tinkling of the goat-bells, far away, so +faint they could hardly hear it, so faint it was as though it came up from +their inmost hearts.... + +They returned to Paris. They were both sad. Antoinette was no better. + + * * * * * + +They had to set to work to prepare Olivier's wardrobe for the _École_. +Antoinette spent the last of her little store of money, and even sold some +of her jewels. What did it matter? He would repay her later on. And then, +she would need so little when he was gone from her!... She tried not to +think of what it would be like when he was gone: she worked away at his +clothes, and put into the work all the tenderness she had for her brother, +and she had a presentiment that it would be the last thing she would do for +him. + +During the last days together they were never apart: they were fearful of +wasting the tiniest moment. On their last evening they sat up very late by +the fireside, Antoinette occupying the only armchair, and Olivier a stool +at her feet, and she made a fuss of him like the spoiled child he was. He +was dreading--though he was curious about it, too--the new life upon which +he was to enter. Antoinette thought only that it was the end of their dear +life together, and wondered fearfully what would become of her. As though +he were trying to make the thought even more bitter for her, he was more +tender than ever he had been, with the innocent instinctive coquetry of +those who always wait until they are just going to show themselves at their +best and most charming. He went to the piano and played her their favorite +passages from Mozart and Gluck--those visions of tender happiness and +serene sorrow with which so much of their past life was bound up. + +When the time came for them to part, Antoinette accompanied Olivier as far +as the gates of the _École_. Then she returned. Once more she was alone. +But now it was not, as when she had gone away to Germany, a separation +which she could bring to an end at will when she could bear it no longer +How it was she who remained behind, he who went away: it was he who had +gone away, for a long, long time--perhaps for life. And yet her love for +him was so maternal that at first she thought less of herself than of him: +she thought only of how different the first few days would be for him, of +the strict rules of the _École_, and was preoccupied with those harmless +little worries which so easily assume alarming proportions in the minds of +people who live alone and are always tormenting themselves about those whom +they love. Her anxiety did at least have this advantage, that it distracted +her thoughts from her own loneliness. She had already begun to think of the +half-hour when she would be able to see him next day in the visitors' room. +She arrived a quarter of an hour too soon. He was very nice to her, but he +was altogether taken up with all the new things he had seen. And during the +following days, when she went to see him, full of the most tender anxiety, +the contrast between what those meetings meant for her and what they meant +for him was more and more marked. For her they were her whole life. For +Olivier--no doubt he loved Antoinette dearly: but it was too much to expect +him to think only of her, as she thought of him. Once or twice he came down +late to the visitors' room. One day, when she asked him if he were at all +unhappy, he said that he was nothing of the kind. Such little things as +that stabbed Antoinette to the heart.--She was angry with herself for being +so sensitive, and accused herself of selfishness: she knew quite well that +it would be absurd, even wrong and unnatural, for him to be unable to do +without her, and for her to be unable to do without him, and to have no +other object in life. Yes: she knew all that. But what was the good of her +knowing it? She could not help it if for the past ten years her whole life +had been bound up in that one idea: her brother. Now that the one interest +of her life had been torn from her, she had nothing left. + +She tried bravely to keep herself occupied and to take up her music and +read her beloved books ... But alas! how empty were Shakespeare and +Beethoven without Olivier! + +...--Yes: no doubt they were beautiful.... But Olivier was not there. What +is the good of beautiful things if the eyes of the beloved are not there to +see them? What is the use of beauty, what is the use even of joy, if they +cannot be won through the heart of the beloved? + +If she had been stronger she would have tried to build up her life anew, +and give it another object. But she was at the end of her tether. Now that +there was nothing to force her to hold on, at all costs, the effort of will +to which she had subjected herself snapped: she collapsed. The illness, +which had been gaining grip on her for over a year, during which she had +fought it down by force of will, was now left to take its course. + +She spent her evenings alone in her room, by the spent fire, a prey to her +thoughts: she had neither the courage to light the fire again, nor the +strength to go to bed: she would sit there far into the night, dozing, +dreaming, shivering. She would live through her life again, and summon up +the beloved dead and her lost illusions: and she would be terribly sad at +the thought of her lost youth, without love or hope of love. A dumb, aching +sorrow, obscure, unconfessed ... A child laughed in the street: its little +feet pattered up to the floor below ... Its little feet trampled on her +heart ... She would be beset with doubts and evil thoughts; her soul in +its weakness would be contaminated by the soul of that city of selfish +pleasure.--She would fight down her regrets, and burn with shame at certain +longings which she thought, evil and wicked: she could not understand what +it was that hurt her so, and attributed it to her evil instincts. Poor +little Ophelia, devoured by a mysterious evil, she felt with horror dark +and uneasy desires mounting from the depths of her being, from the very pit +of life. She could not work, and she had given up most of her pupils: she, +who was so plucky, and had always risen so early, now lay in bed sometimes +until the afternoon: she had no more reason for getting up than for going +to bed: she ate little or nothing. Only on her brother's holidays--Thursday +afternoons and Sundays--she would make an effort to be her old self with +him. + +He saw nothing. He was too much taken up with his new life to notice his +sister much. He was at that period of boyhood when it was difficult for +him to be communicative, and he always seemed to be indifferent to things +outside himself which would only be his concern in later days.--People of +riper years sometimes seem to be more open to impressions, and to take a +simpler delight in life and Nature, than young people between twenty and +thirty. And so it is often said that young people are not so young in +heart as they were, and have lost all sense of enjoyment. That is often a +mistaken idea. It is not because they have no sense of enjoyment that they +seem less sensitive. It is because their whole being is often absorbed by +passion, ambition, desire, some fixed idea. When the body is worn and has +no more to expect from life, then the emotions become disinterested and +fall into their place; and then once more the source of childish tears is +reopened.--Olivier was preoccupied with a thousand little things, the most +outstanding of which was an absurd little passion,--(he was always a victim +to them),--which so obsessed him as to make him blind and indifferent +to everything else.--Antoinette did not know what was happening to her +brother: she only saw that he was drawing away from her. That was not +altogether Olivier's fault. Sometimes when he came he would be glad to see +her and start talking. He would come in. Then all of a sudden he would dry +up. Her affectionate anxiety, the eagerness with which she clung to him, +and drank in his words, and overwhelmed him with little attentions,--all +her excess of tenderness and querulous devotion would deprive him utterly +of any desire to be warm and open with her. He might have seen that +Antoinette was not in a normal condition. Nothing could be farther from her +usual tact and discretion. But he never gave a thought to it. He would +reply to her questions with a curt "Yes" or "No." He would grow more stiff +and surly, the more she tried to win him over: sometimes even he would hurt +her by some brusque reply. Then she would be crushed and silent. Their day +together would slip by, wasted. But hardly had he set foot outside the +house on his way back to the _École_ than he would be heartily ashamed of +his treatment of her. He would torture himself all night as he lay awake +thinking of the pain he had caused her. Sometimes even, as soon as he +reached the _École_, he would write an effusive letter to his sister.--But +next morning, when he read it through, he would tear it up. And Antoinette +would know nothing at all about it. She would go on thinking that he had +ceased to love her. + + * * * * * + +She had--if not one last joy--one last flutter of tenderness and youth, +when her heart beat strongly once more; one last awakening of love in her, +and hope of happiness, hope of life. It was quite ridiculous, so utterly +unlike her tranquil nature! It could never have been but for her abnormal +condition, the state of fear and over-excitement which was the precursor of +illness. + +She went to a concert at the _Châtelet_ with her brother. As he had just +been appointed musical critic to a little Review, they were in better +places than those they occupied in old days, but the people among whom they +sat were much more apathetic. They had stalls near the stage. Christophe +Krafft was to play. Neither of them had ever heard of the German musician. +When she saw him come on, the blood rushed to her heart. Although her tired +eyes could only see him through a mist, she had no doubt when he appeared: +he was the unknown young man of her unhappy days in Germany. She had +never mentioned him to her brother: and she had hardly even admitted his +existence to her thoughts: she had been entirely absorbed by the anxieties +of her life since then. Besides, she was a reasonable little Frenchwoman, +and refused to admit the existence of an obscure feeling which she could +not trace to its source, while it seemed to lead nowhere. There was in her +a whole region of the soul, of unsuspected depths, wherein there slept many +other feelings which she would have been ashamed to behold: she knew that +they were there: but she looked away from them in a sort of religious +terror of that Being within herself which lies beyond the mind's control. + +When she had recovered a little, she borrowed her brothers glasses to look +at Christophe: she saw him in profile at the conductor's stand, and she +recognized his expression of forceful concentration. He was wearing a +shabby old coat which fitted him very badly.--Antoinette sat in silent +agony through the vagaries of that lamentable concert when Christophe +joined issue with the unconcealed hostility of his audience, who were +at the time ill-disposed towards German artists, and actively bored +by his music. And when he appeared, after a symphony which had seemed +unconscionably long, to play some piano music, he was received with +cat-calls which left no room for doubt as to their displeasure at having to +put up with him again. However, he began to play in the face of the bored +resignation of his audience: but the uncomplimentary remarks exchanged in a +loud voice by two men in the gallery went on, to the great delight of the +rest of the audience. Then he broke off: and in a childish fit of temper +he played _Malbrouck s'en va t'en guerre_ with one finger, got up from the +piano, faced the audience, and said: + +"That is all you are fit for." + +The audience were for a moment so taken aback that they did not quite take +in what the musician meant. Then there was an outburst of angry protests. +Followed a terrible uproar. They hissed and shouted: + +"Apologize! Make him apologize!" + +They were all red in the face with anger, and they blew out their +fury--tried to persuade themselves that they were really enraged: as +perhaps they were, but the chief thing was that they were delighted to +have a chance of making a row, and letting themselves go: they were like +schoolboys after a few hours in school. + +Antoinette could not move: she was petrified: she sat still tugging at +one of her gloves. Ever since the last bars of the symphony she had had a +growing presentiment of what would happen: she felt the blind hostility +of the audience, felt it growing: she read Christophe's thoughts, and she +was sure he would not go through to the end without an explosion: she sat +waiting for the explosion while agony grew in her: she stretched every +nerve to try to prevent it; and when at last it came, it was so exactly +what she had foreseen that she was overwhelmed by it, as by some fatal +catastrophe against which there was nothing to be done. And as she gazed +at Christophe, who was staring insolently at the howling audience, their +eyes met. Christophe's eyes recognized her, greeted her, for the space of +perhaps a second: but he was in such a state of excitement that his mind +did not recognize her (he had not thought of her for long enough). He +disappeared while the audience yelled and hissed. + +She longed to cry out: to say or do something: but she was bound hand and +foot, and could not stir; it was like a nightmare. It was some comfort to +her to hear her brother at her side, and to know that, without having any +idea of what was happening to her, he had shared her agony and indignation. +Olivier was a thorough musician, and he had an independence of taste +which nothing could encroach upon: when he liked a thing, he would have +maintained his liking in the face of the whole world. With the very first +bars of the symphony, he had felt that he was in the presence of something +big, something the like of which he had never in his life come across. He +went on muttering to himself with heartfelt enthusiasm: + +"That's fine! That's beautiful! Beautiful!" while his sister instinctively +pressed close to him, gratefully. After the symphony he applauded loudly by +way of protest against the ironic indifference of the rest of the audience. +When it came to the great fiasco, he was beside himself: he stood up, +shouted that Christophe was right, abused the booers, and offered to fight +them: it was impossible to recognize the timid Olivier. His voice was +drowned in the uproar: he was told to shut up: he was called a "snotty +little kid," and told to go to bed. Antoinette saw the futility of standing +up to them, and took his arm and said: + +"Stop! Stop! I implore you! Stop!" + +He sat down in despair, and went on muttering: + +"It's shameful! Shameful! The swine!..." + +She said nothing and bore her suffering in silence: he thought she was +insensible to the music, and said: + +"Antoinette, don't _you_ think it beautiful?" + +She nodded. She was frozen, and could not recover herself. But when the +orchestra began another piece, she suddenly got up, and whispered to her +brother in a tone of savage hatred: + +"Come, come! I can't bear the sight of these people!" + +They hurried out. They walked along arm-in-arm, and Olivier went on talking +excitedly. Antoinette said nothing. + + * * * * * + +All that day and the days following she sat alone in her room, and a +feeling crept over her which at first she refused to face: but then it went +on and took possession of her thoughts, like the furious throbbing of the +blood in her aching temples. + +Some time afterwards Olivier brought her Christophe's collection of songs, +which he had just found at a publisher's. She opened it at random. On +the first page on which her eyes fell she read in front of a song this +dedication in German: + +"_To my poor dear little victim_," together with a date. + +She knew the date well.--She was so upset that she could read no farther. +She put the book down and asked her brother to play, and went and shut +herself up in her room. Olivier, full of his delight in the new music, +began to play without remarking his sister's emotion. Antoinette sat in the +adjoining room, striving to repress the beating of her heart. Suddenly she +got up and looked through a cupboard for a little account-book in which was +written the date of her departure from Germany, and the mysterious date. +She knew it already: yes, it was the evening of the performance at the +theater to which she had been with Christophe. She lay down on her bed and +closed her eyes, blushing, with her hands folded on her breast, while she +listened to the dear music. Her heart was overflowing with gratitude ... +Ah! Why did her head hurt her so? + +When Olivier saw that his sister had not come back, he went into her room +after he had done playing, and found her lying there. He asked her if she +were ill. She said she was rather tired, and got up to keep him company. +They talked: but she did not answer his questions at once: her thoughts +seemed to be far away: she smiled, and blushed, and said, by way of excuse, +that her headache was making her stupid. At last Olivier went away. She had +asked him to leave the book of songs. She sat up late reading them at the +piano, without playing, just lightly touching a note here and there, for +fear of annoying her neighbors. But for the most part she did not even +read: she sat dreaming: she was carried away by a feeling of tenderness and +gratitude towards the man who had pitied her, and had read her mind and +soul with the mysterious intuition of true kindness. She could not fix her +thoughts. She was happy and sad--sad!... Ah! How her head ached! + +She spent the night in sweet and painful dreams, a crushing melancholy. +During the day she tried to go out for a little to shake off her +drowsiness. Although her head was still aching, to give herself something +to do, she went and made a few purchases at a great shop. She hardly gave +a thought to what she was doing. Her thoughts were always with Christophe, +though she did not admit it to herself. As she came out, worried and +mortally sad, through the crowd of people she saw Christophe go by on +the other side of the street. He saw her, too, at the same moment. At +once,--(suddenly and without thinking), she held out her hands towards +him. Christophe stopped: this time he recognized her. He sprang forward +to cross the road to Antoinette: and Antoinette tried to go to meet him. +But the insensate current of the passing throng carried her along like +a windlestraw, while the horse of an omnibus, falling on the slippery +asphalt, made a sort of dyke in front of Christophe, by which the opposing +streams of carriages were dammed, so that for a few moments there was an +impassable barrier. Christophe tried to force his way through in spite of +everything: but he was trapped in the middle of the traffic, and could not +move either way. When at last he did extricate himself and managed to reach +the place where he had seen Antoinette, she was gone: she had struggled +vainly against the human torrent that carried her along: then she yielded +to it--gave up the struggle. She felt that she was dogged by some fatality +which forbade the possibility of her ever meeting Christophe: against Fate +there was nothing to be done. And when she did succeed in escaping from the +crowd, she made no attempt to go back: she was suddenly ashamed: what could +she dare to say to him? What had she done? What must he have thought of +her? She fled away home. + +She did not regain assurance until she reached her room. Then she sat by +the table in the dark, and had not even the strength to take off her hat or +her gloves. She was miserable at having been unable to speak to him: and at +the same time there glowed a new light in her heart: she was unconscious of +the darkness, and unconscious of the illness that was upon her. She went on +and on turning over and over every detail of the scene in the street: and +she changed it about and imagined what would have happened if certain +things had turned out differently. She saw herself holding out her arms to +Christophe, and Christophe's expression of joy as he recognized her, and +she laughed and blushed. She blushed: and then in the darkness of her room, +where there was no one to see her, and she could hardly see herself, once +more she held out her arms to him. Her need was too strong for her: she +felt that she was losing ground, and instinctively she sought to clutch at +the strong vivid life that passed so near her, and gazed so kindly at her. +Her heart was full of tenderness and anguish, and through the night she +cried: + +"Help me! Save me!" + +All in a fever she got up and lit the lamp, and took pen and paper. She +wrote to Christophe. Her illness was full upon her, or she would never even +have thought of writing to him, so proud she was and timid. She did not +know what she wrote. She was no longer mistress of herself. She called to +him, and told him that she loved him ... In the middle of her letter she +stopped, appalled. She tried to write it all over again: but her impulse +was gone: her mind was a blank, and her head was aching: she had a horrible +difficulty in finding words: she was utterly worn out. She was ashamed ... +What was the good of it all? She knew perfectly well that she was trying to +trick herself, and that she would never send the letter ... Even if she had +wished to do so, how could she? She did not know Christophe's address ... +Poor Christophe! And what could he do for her? Even if he knew all and were +kind to her, what could he do?... It was too late! No, no: it was all in +vain, the last dying struggle of a bird, blindly, desperately beating its +wings. She must be resigned to it.... + +So for a long time she sat there by the table, lost in thought, unable +to move hand or foot. It was past midnight when she struggled to her +feet--bravely. Mechanically she placed the loose sheets of her letter in +one of her few books, for she had the strength neither to put them in order +nor to tear them up. Then she went to bed, shivering and shaking with +fever. The key to the riddle lay near at hand: she felt that the will of +God was to be fulfilled.--And a great peace came upon her. + +On Sunday morning when Olivier came he found Antoinette in bed, delirious. +A doctor was called in. He said it was acute consumption. + +Antoinette had known how serious her condition was: she had discovered the +cause of the moral turmoil in herself which had so alarmed her. She had +been dreadfully ashamed, and it was some consolation to her to think that +not she herself but her illness was the cause of it. She had managed to +take a few precautions and to burn her papers and to write a letter to +Madame Nathan: she appealed to her kindness to look after her brother +during the first few weeks after her "death"--(she dared not write the +word).... + +The doctor could do nothing: the disease was too far gone, and Antoinette's +constitution had been wrecked by the years of hardship and unceasing toil. + +Antoinette was quite calm. Since she had known that there was no hope her +agony and torment had left her. She lay turning over in her mind all the +trials and tribulations through which she had passed: she saw that her work +was done and her dear Olivier saved: and she was filled with unutterable +joy. She said to herself: + +"I have achieved that." + +And then she turned in shame from her pride and said: + +"I could have done nothing alone. God has given me His aid." + +And she thanked God that He had granted her life until she had accomplished +her task. There was a catch at her heart as she thought that now she had to +lay down her life: but she dared not complain: that would have been to feel +ingratitude towards God, who might have called her away sooner. And what +would have happened if she had passed away a year sooner?--She sighed, and +humbled herself in gratitude. + +In spite of her weakness and oppression she did not complain,--except when +she was sleeping heavily, when every now and then she moaned like a little +child. She watched things and people with a calm smile of resignation. It +was always a joy to her to see Olivier. She would move her lips to call +him, though she made no sound: she would want to hold his hand in hers: she +would bid him lay his head on the pillow near hers, and then, gazing into +his eyes, she would go on looking at him in silence. At last she would +raise herself up and hold his face in her hands and say: + +"Ah! Olivier!... Olivier!..." + +She took the medal that she wore round her neck, and hung it on her +brother's. She commended her beloved Olivier to the care of her confessor, +her doctor, everybody. It seemed as though she was to live henceforth in +him, that, on the point of death, she was taking refuge in his life, as +upon some island in uncharted seas. Sometimes she seemed to be uplifted by +a mystic exaltation of tenderness and faith, and she forgot her illness, +and sadness changed to joy in her,--a joy divine indeed that shone upon her +lips and in her eyes. Over and over again she said: + +"I am happy...." + +Her senses grew dim. In her last moments of consciousness her lips moved +and it seemed that she was repeating something to herself. Olivier went to +her bedside and bent down over her. She recognized him once more and smiled +feebly up at him: her lips went on moving and her eyes were filled with +tears. They could not make out what she was trying to say.... But faintly +Olivier heard her breathe the words of the dear old song they used to love +so much, the song she was always singing: + +"_I will come again, my sweet and bonny, I will come again._" + +Then she relapsed into unconsciousness. So she passed away. + + * * * * * + +Unconsciously she had aroused a profound sympathy in many people whom she +did not even know: in the house in which she lived she did not even know +the names of the other tenants. Olivier received expressions of sympathy +from people who were strangers to him. Antoinette was not taken to her +grave unattended as her mother had been. Her body was followed to the +cemetery by friends and schoolfellows of her brother, and members of the +families whose children she had taught, and people whom she had met without +saying a word of her own life or hearing a word from them, though they +admired her secretly, knowing her devotion, and many of the poor, and the +housekeeper who had helped her, and even many of the small tradesmen of the +neighborhood. Madame Nathan had taken Olivier under her wing on the day of +his sister's death, and she had carried him off in spite of himself, and +done her best to turn his thoughts away from his grief. + +If it had come later in his life he could never have borne up against such +a catastrophe,--but now it was impossible for him to succumb absolutely to +his despair. He had just begun a new life; he was living in a community, +and had to live the common life whatever he might be feeling. The full busy +life of the _École_, the intellectual pressure, the examinations, the +struggle for life, all kept him from withdrawing into himself: he could not +be alone. He suffered, but it proved his salvation. A year earlier, or a +few years earlier, he must have succumbed. + +And yet he did as far as possible retire into isolation in the memory of +his sister. It was a great sorrow to him that he could not keep the rooms +where they had lived together: but he had no money. He hoped that the +people who seemed to be interested in him would understand his distress at +not being able to keep the things that had been hers. But nobody seemed +to understand. He borrowed some money and made a little more by private +tuition and took an attic in which he stored all that he could preserve +of his sister's furniture: her bed, her table, and her armchair. He made +it the sanctuary of her memory. He took refuge there whenever he was +depressed. His friends thought he was carrying on an intrigue. He would +stay there for hours dreaming of her with his face buried in his hands: +unhappily he had no portrait of her except a little photograph, taken when +she was a child, of the two of them together. He would talk to her and +weep ... Where was she? Ah! if she had been at the other end of the world, +wherever she might be and however inaccessible the spot,--with what great +joy and invincible ardor he would have rushed forth in search of her, +though a thousand sufferings lay in wait for him, though he had to go +barefoot, though he had to wander for hundreds of years, if only it might +be that every step would bring him nearer to her!... Yes, even though there +were only one chance in a thousand of his ever finding her ... But there +was nothing ... Nowhere to go ... No way of ever finding her again ... How +utterly lonely he was now! Now that she was no longer there to love and +counsel and console him, inexperienced and childish as he was, he was +flung into the waters of life, to sink or swim!... He who has once had the +happiness of perfect intimacy and boundless friendship with another human +being has known the divinest of all joys,--a joy that will make him +miserable for the remainder of his life.... + +_Nessun maggior dolore che ricordarsi del tempo felice nella miseria_.... + +For a weak and tender soul it is the greatest of misfortunes ever to have +known the greatest happiness. + +But though it is sad indeed to lose the beloved at the beginning of life, +it is even more terrible later on when the springs of life are running dry. +Olivier was young: and, in spite of his inborn pessimism, in spite of his +misfortune, he had to live his life. As often seems to happen after the +loss of those dear to us, it was as though when Antoinette passed away she +had breathed part of her soul into her brother's life. And he believed it +was so. Though he had not such faith as hers, yet he did arrive at a vague +conviction that his sister was not dead, but lived on in him, as she had +promised. There is a Breton superstition that those who die young are not +dead, but stay and hover over the places where they lived until they have +fulfilled the normal span of their existence.--So Antoinette lived out her +life in Olivier. + +He read through the papers he had found in her room. Unhappily she had +burned most of them. Besides, she was not the sort of woman to keep notes +and tallies of her inner life. She was too modest to uncloak her inmost +thoughts in morbid babbling indiscretion. She only kept a little notebook +which was almost unintelligible to anybody else--a bare record in which she +had written down without remark certain dates, and certain small events in +her daily life, which had given her joys and emotions, which she had no +need to write down in detail to keep alive. Almost all these dates were +connected with some event in Olivier's life. She had kept every letter +he had ever written to her, without exception.--Alas! He had not been so +careful: he had lost almost all the letters she had written to him. What +need had he of letters? He thought he would have his sister always with +him: that dear fount of tenderness seemed inexhaustible: he thought that he +would always be able to quench his thirst of lips and heart at it: he had +most prodigally squandered the love he had received, and now he was eager +to gather up the smallest drops.... What was his emotion when, as he +skimmed through one of Antoinette's books, he found these words written in +pencil on a scrap of paper: + +"Olivier, my dear Olivier!..." + +He almost swooned. He sobbed and kissed the invisible lips that so spoke +to him from the grave.--Thereafter he took down all her books and hunted +through them page by page to see if she had not left some other words of +him. He found the fragment of the letter to Christophe, and discovered the +unspoken romance which had sprung to life in her: so for the first time he +happed upon her emotional life, that he had never known in her and never +tried to know: he lived through the last passionate days, when, deserted +by himself, she had held out her arms to the unknown friend. She had +never told him that she had seen Christophe before. Certain words in her +letter revealed the fact that they had met in Germany. He understood that +Christophe had been kind to Antoinette, in circumstances the details of +which were unknown to him, and that Antoinette's feeling for the musician +dated from that day, though she had kept her secret to the end. + +Christophe, whom he loved already for the beauty of his art, now became +unutterably dear to him. She had loved him: it seemed to Olivier that it +was she whom he loved in Christophe. He moved heaven and earth to meet him. +It was not an easy matter to trace him. After his rebuff Christophe had +been lost in the wilderness of Paris: he had shunned all society and no +one gave a thought to him.--After many months it chanced that Olivier met +Christophe in the street: he was pale and sunken from the illness from +which he had only just recovered. But Olivier had not the courage to stop +him. He followed him home at a distance. He wanted to write to him, but +could not screw himself up to it. What was there to say? Olivier was not +alone: Antoinette was with him: her love, her modesty had become a part of +him: the thought that his sister had loved Christophe made him as bashful +in Christophe's presence as though he had been Antoinette. And yet how he +longed to talk to him of her!--But he could not. Her secret was a seal upon +his lips. + +He tried to meet Christophe again. He went everywhere where he thought +Christophe might be. He was longing to shake hands with him. And when he +saw him he tried to hide so that Christophe should not see him. + + * * * * * + +At last Christophe saw him at the house of some mutual friends where they +both happened to be one evening. Olivier stood far away from him and said +nothing: but he watched him. And no doubt the spirit of Antoinette was +hovering near Olivier that night: for Christophe saw her in Olivier's eyes: +and it was her image, so suddenly evoked, that made him cross the room and +go towards the unknown messenger, who, like a young Hermes, brought him the +melancholy greeting of the blessed dead. + + + + +THE HOUSE + + + + +I + + +I have a friend!... Oh! The delight of having found a kindred soul to which +to cling in the midst of torment, a tender and sure refuge in which to +breathe again while the fluttering heart beats slower! No longer to be +alone, no longer never to unarm, no longer to stay on guard with straining, +burning eyes, until from sheer fatigue he should fall into the hands of his +enemies! To have a dear companion into whose hands all his life should be +delivered--the friend whose life was delivered into his! At last to taste +the sweetness of repose, to sleep while the friend watches, watch while the +friend sleeps. To know the joy of protecting a beloved creature who should +trust in him like a little child. To know the greater joy of absolute +surrender to that friend, to feel that he is in possession of all secrets, +and has power over life and death. Aging, worn out, weary of the burden of +life through so many years, to find new birth and fresh youth in the body +of the friend, through his eyes to see the world renewed, through his +senses to catch the fleeting loveliness of all things by the way, through +his heart to enjoy the splendor of living.... Even to suffer in his +suffering.... Ah! Even suffering is joy if it be shared! + +I have a friend!... Away from me, near me, in me always. I have my friend, +and I am his. My friend loves me. I am my friend's, the friend of my +friend. Of our two souls love has fashioned one. + + * * * * * + +Christophe's first thought, when he awoke the day after the Roussins' +party, was for Olivier Jeannin. At once he felt an irresistible longing to +see him again. He got up and went out. It was not yet eight o'clock. It was +a heavy and rather oppressive morning. An April day before its time: stormy +clouds were hovering over Paris. + +Olivier lived below the hill of Sainte-Geneviève, in a little street +near the _Jardin des Plantes_. The house stood in the narrowest part of +the street. The staircase led out of a dark yard, and was full of divers +unpleasant smells. The stairs wound steeply up and sloped down towards the +wall, which was disfigured with scribblings in pencil. On the third floor a +woman, with gray hair hanging down, and in petticoat-bodice, gaping at the +neck, opened the door when she heard footsteps on the stairs, and slammed +it to when she saw Christophe. There were several flats on each landing, +and through the ill-fitting doors Christophe could hear children romping +and squalling. The place was a swarming heap of dull base creatures, living +as it were on shelves, one above the other, in that low-storied house, +built round a narrow, evil-smelling yard. Christophe was disgusted, and +wondered what lusts and covetous desires could have drawn so many creatures +to this place, far from the fields, where at least there is air enough for +all, and what it could profit them in the end to be in the city of Paris, +where all their lives they were condemned to live in such a sepulcher. + +He reached Olivier's landing. A knotted piece of string was his bell-pull. +Christophe tugged at it so mightily that at the noise several doors on the +staircase were half opened. Olivier came to the door. Christophe was struck +by the careful simplicity of his dress: and the neatness of it, which at +any other time would have been little to his liking, was in that place an +agreeable surprise: in such an atmosphere of foulness there was something +charming and healthy about it. And at once he felt just as he had done the +night before when he gazed into Olivier's clear, honest eyes. He held out +his hand: but Olivier was overcome with shyness, and murmured: + +"You.... You here!" + +Christophe was engrossed in catching at the lovable quality of the man as +it was revealed to him in that fleeting moment of embarrassment, and he +only smiled in answer. He moved forward and forced Olivier backward, and +entered the one room in which he both slept and worked. An iron bedstead +stood against the wall near the window; Christophe noticed the pillows +heaped up on the bolster. There were three chairs, a black-painted table, a +small piano, bookshelves and books, and that was all. The room was cramped, +low, ill-lighted: and yet there was in it a ray of the pure light that +shone in the eyes of its owner. Everything was clean and tidy, as though +a woman's hands had dealt with it: and a few roses in a vase brought +spring-time into the room, the walls of which were decorated with +photographs of old Florentine pictures. + +"So.... You.... You have come to see me?" said Olivier warmly. + +"Good Lord, I had to!" said Christophe. "You would never have come to me?" + +"You think not?" replied Olivier. + +Then, quickly: + +"Yes, you are right. But it would not be for want of thinking of it." + +"What would have stopped you?" + +"Wanting to too much." + +"That's a fine reason!" + +"Yes. Don't laugh. I was afraid you would not want it as much as I." + +"A lot that's worried me! I wanted to see you, and here I am. If it bores +you, I shall know at once." + +"You will have to have good eyes." + +They smiled at each other. + +Olivier went on: + +"I was an ass last night. I was afraid I might have offended you. My +shyness is absolutely a disease: I can't get a word out." + +"I shouldn't worry about that. There are plenty of talkers in your country: +one is only too glad to meet a man who is silent occasionally, even though +it be only from shyness and in spite of himself." + +Christophe laughed and chuckled over his own gibe. + +"Then you have come to see me because I can be silent?" + +"Yes. For your silence, the sort of silence that is yours. There are all +sorts: and I like yours, and that's all there is to say." + +"But how could you sympathize with me? You hardly saw me." + +"That's my affair. It doesn't take me long to make up my mind. When I see a +face that I like in the crowd, I know what to do: I go after it; I simply +have to know the owner of it." + +"And don't you ever make mistakes when you go after them?" + +"Often." + +"Perhaps you have made a mistake this time." + +"We shall see." + +"Ah! In that case I'm done! You terrify me. If I think you are watching me, +I shall lose what little wits I have." + +With fond and eager curiosity Christophe watched the sensitive, mobile +face, which blushed and went pale by turns. Emotion showed fleeting across +it like the shadows of clouds on a lake. + +"What a nervous youngster it is!" he thought. "He is like a woman." + +He touched his knee. + +"Come, come!" he said. "Do you think I should come to you with weapons +concealed about me? I have a horror of people who practise their psychology +on their friends. I only ask that we should both be open and sincere, and +frankly and without shame, and without being afraid of committing ourselves +finally to anything or of any sort of contradiction, be true to what we +feel. I ask only the right to love now, and next minute, if needs must, to +be out of love. There's loyalty and manliness in that, isn't there?" + +Olivier gazed at him with serious eyes, and replied: + +"No doubt. It is the more manly part, and you are strong enough. But I +don't think I am." + +"I'm sure you are," said Christophe; "but in a different way. And then, +I've come just to help you to be strong, if you want to be so. For what I +have just said gives me leave to go on and say, with more frankness than I +should otherwise have had, that--without prejudice for to-morrow--I love +you." + +Olivier blushed hotly. He was struck dumb with embarrassment, and could not +speak. + +Christophe glanced round the room. + +"It's a poor place you live in. Haven't you another room?" + +"Only a lumber-room." + +"Ugh! I can't breathe. How do you manage to live here?" + +"One does it somehow." + +"I couldn't--never." + +Christophe unbuttoned his waistcoat and took a long breath. + +Olivier went and opened the window wide. + +"You must be very unhappy in a town, M. Krafft. But there's no danger of +my suffering from too much vitality. I breathe so little that I can live +anywhere. And yet there are nights in summer when even I am hard put to it +to get through. I'm terrified when I see them coming. Then I stay sitting +up in bed, and I'm almost stifled." + +Christophe looked at the heap of pillows on the bed, and from them to +Olivier's worn face: and he could see him struggling there in the darkness. + +"Leave it," he said. "Why do you stay?" + +Olivier shrugged his shoulders and replied carelessly: + +"It doesn't matter where I live." + +Heavy footsteps padded across the floor above them. In the room below a +shrill argument was toward. And always, without ceasing, the walls were +shaken by the rumbling of the buses in the street. + +"And the house!" Christophe went on. "The house reeking of filth, the hot +dirtiness of it all, the shameful poverty--how can you bring yourself to +come back to it night after night? Don't you lose heart with it all? I +couldn't live in it for a moment. I'd rather sleep under an arch." + +"Yes. I felt all that at first, and suffered. I was just as disgusted as +you are. When I went for walks as a boy, the mere sight of some of the +crowded dirty streets made me ill. They gave me all sorts of fantastic +horrors, which I dared not speak of. I used to think: 'If there were an +earthquake now, I should be dead, and stay here for ever and ever'; and +that seemed to me the most appalling thing that could happen. I never +thought that one day I should live in one of them of my own free-will, and +that in all probability I shall die there. And then it became easier to put +up with: it had to. It still revolts me: but I try not to think of it. When +I climb the stairs I close my eyes, and stop my ears, and hold my nose, and +shut off all my senses and withdraw utterly into myself. And then, over the +roof there, I can see the tops of the branches of an acacia. I sit here in +this corner so that I don't see anything else: and in the evening when the +wind rustles through them I fancy that I am far away from Paris: and the +mighty roar of a forest has never seemed so sweet to me as the gentle +murmuring of those few frail leaves at certain moments." + +"Yes," said Christophe. "I've no doubt that you are always dreaming; but +it's all wrong to waste your fancy in such a struggle against the sordid +things of life, when you might be using it in the creation of other lives." + +"Isn't it the common lot? Don't you yourself waste energy in anger and +bitter struggles?" + +"That's not the same thing. It's natural to me: what I was born for. Look +at my arms and hands! Fighting is the breath of life to me. But you haven't +any too much strength: that's obvious." + +Olivier looked sadly down at his thin wrists, and said: + +"Yes. I am weak: I always have been. But what can I do? One must live?" + +"How do you make your living?" + +"I teach." + +"Teach what?" + +"Everything--Latin, Greek, history. I coach for degrees. And I lecture on +Moral Philosophy at the Municipal School." + +"Lecture on what?" + +"Moral Philosophy." + +"What in thunder is that? Do they teach morality in French schools?" + +Olivier smiled: + +"Of course." + +"Is there enough in it to keep you talking for ten minutes?" + +"I have to lecture for twelve hours a week." + +"Do you teach them to do evil, then?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"There's no need for so much talk to find out what good is." + +"Or to leave it undiscovered either." + +"Good gracious, yes! Leave it undiscovered. There are worse ways of doing +good than knowing nothing about it. Good isn't a matter of knowledge: it's +a matter of action. It's only your neurasthenics who go haggling about +morality: and the first of all moral laws is not to be neurasthenic. Rotten +pedants! They are like cripples teaching people how to walk." + +"But they don't do their talking for such as you. You _know_: but there are +so many who do not know!" + +"Well, let them crawl like children until they learn how to walk by +themselves. But whether they go on two legs or on all fours, the first +thing, the only thing you can ask is that they should walk somehow." + +He was prowling round and round and up and down the room, though less than +four strides took him across it. He stopped in front of the piano, opened +it, turned over the pages of some music, touched the keys, and said: + +"Play me something." + +Olivier started. + +"I!" he said. "What an idea!" + +"Madame Roussin told me you were a good musician. Come: play me something." + +"With you listening? Oh!" he said, "I should die." + +The sincerity and simplicity with which he spoke made Christophe laugh: +Olivier, too, though rather bashfully. + +"Well," said Christophe, "is that a reason for a Frenchman?" + +Olivier still drew back. + +"But why? Why do you want me to?" + +"I'll tell you presently. Play!" + +"What?" + +"Anything you like." + +Olivier sat down at the piano with a sigh, and, obedient to the imperious +will of the friend who had sought him out, he began to play the beautiful +_Adagio in B Minor_ of Mozart. At first his fingers trembled so that he +could hardly make them press down the keys: but he regained courage little +by little: and, while he thought he was but repeating Mozart's utterance, +he unwittingly revealed his inmost heart. Music is an indiscreet confidant: +it betrays the most secret thoughts of its lovers to those who love it. +Through the godlike scheme of the _Adagio_ of Mozart Christophe could +perceive the invisible lines of the character, not of Mozart, but of his +new friend sitting there by the piano: the serene melancholy, the timid, +tender smile of the boy, so nervous, so pure, so full of love, so ready +to blush. But he had hardly reached the end of the air, the topmost point +where the melody of sorrowful love ascends and snaps, when a sudden +irrepressible feeling of shame and modesty overcame Olivier, so that he +could not go on: his fingers would not move, and his voice failed him. His +hands fell by his side, and he said: + +"I can't play any more...." + +Christophe was standing behind him, and he stooped and reached over him and +finished the broken melody: then he said: + +"Now I know the music of your soul." + +He held his hands, and stayed for a long time gazing into his face. At last +he said: + +"How queer it is!... I have seen you before.... I know you so well, and I +have known you so long!..." + +Olivier's lips trembled: he was on the point of speaking. But he said +nothing. + +Christophe went on gazing at him for a moment or two longer. Then he smiled +and said no more, and went away. + + * * * * * + +He went down the stairs with his heart filled with joy. He passed two ugly +children going up, one with bread, the other with a bottle of oil. He +pinched their cheeks jovially. He smiled at the scowling porter. When he +reached the street he walked along humming to himself until he came to the +Luxembourg. He lay down on a seat in the shade, and closed his eyes. The +air was still and heavy: there were only a few passers-by. Very faintly he +could hear the irregular trickling of the fountain, and every now and then +the scrunching of the gravel as footsteps passed him by. Christophe was +overcome with drowsiness, and he lay basking like a lizard in the sun: his +face had been out of the shadow of the trees for some time: but he could +not bring himself to stir. His thoughts wound about and about: he made +no attempt to hold and fix them: they were all steeped in the light of +happiness. The Luxembourg clock struck: he did not listen to it: but, a +moment later, he thought it must have been striking twelve. He jumped up +to realize that he had been lounging for a couple of hours, had missed an +appointment with Hecht, and wasted the whole morning. He laughed, and went +home whistling. He composed a _Rondo_ in canon on the cry of a peddler. +Even sad melodies now took on the charm of the gladness that was in him. As +he passed the laundry in his street, as usual, he glanced into the shop, +and saw the little red-haired girl, with her dull complexion flushed with +the heat, and she was ironing with her thin arms bare to the shoulder and +her bodice open at the neck: and, as usual, she ogled him brazenly: for the +first time he was not irritated by her eyes meeting his. He laughed once +more. When he reached his room he was free of all the obsessions from which +he had suffered. He flung his hat, coat, and vest in different directions, +and sat down to work with an all-conquering zest. He gathered together all +his scattered scraps of music, which were lying all over the room, but his +mind was not in his work: he only read the script with his eyes: and a few +minutes later he fell back into the happy somnolence that had been upon him +in the Luxembourg Gardens; his head buzzed, and he could not think. Twice +or thrice he became aware of his condition, and tried to shake it off: but +in vain. He swore light-heartedly, got up, and dipped his head in a basin +of cold water. That sobered him a little. He sat down at the table again, +sat in silence, and smiled dreamily. He was wondering: + +"What is the difference between that and love?" + +Instinctively he had begun to think in whispers, as though he were ashamed. +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"There are not two ways of loving.... Or, rather, yes, there are two ways: +there is the way of those who love with every fiber of their being, and the +way of those who only give to love a part of their superfluous energy. God +keep me from such cowardice of heart!" + +He stopped in his thought, from a sort of shame and dread of following it +any farther. He sat for a long time smiling at his inward dreams. His heart +sang through the silence: + +_Du bist mein, und nun ist das Meine Meiner als jemals..._ ("Thou art mine, +and now I am mine, more mine than I have ever been....") + +He took a sheet of paper, and with tranquil ease wrote down the song that +was in his heart. + + * * * * * + +They decided to take rooms together. Christophe wanted to take possession +at once without worrying about the waste of half a quarter. Olivier was +more prudent, though not less ardent in their friendship, and thought it +better to wait until their respective tenancies had expired. Christophe +could not understand such parsimony. Like many people who have no money, he +never worried about losing it. He imagined that Olivier was even worse off +than himself. One day when his friend's poverty had been brought home to +him he left him suddenly and returned a few hours later in triumph with a +few francs which he had squeezed in advance out of Hecht. Olivier blushed +and refused. Christophe was put out and made to throw them to an Italian +who was playing in the yard. Olivier withheld him. Christophe went away, +apparently offended, but really furious with his own clumsiness to which he +attributed Olivier's refusal. A letter from his friend brought balm to his +wounds. Olivier could write what he could not express by word of mouth: +he could tell of his happiness in knowing him and how touched he was by +Christophe's offer of assistance. Christophe replied with a crazy, wild +letter, rather like those which he wrote when he was fifteen to his friend +Otto: it was full of _Gemüth_ and blundering jokes: he made puns in French +and German, and even translated them into music. + +At last they went into their rooms. In the Montparnasse quarter, near the +_Place Denfert_, on the fifth floor of an old house they had found a flat +of three rooms and a kitchen, all very small, and looking on to a tiny +garden inclosed by four high walls. From their windows they looked out over +the opposite wall, which was lower than the rest, on to one of those large +convent gardens which are still to be found in Paris, hidden and unknown. +Not a soul was to be seen in the deserted avenues. The old trees, taller +and more leafy than those in the Luxembourg Gardens, trembled in the +sunlight: troops of birds sang: in the early dawn the blackbirds fluted, +and then there came the riotously rhythmic chorus of the sparrows: and +in summer in the evening the rapturous cries of the swifts cleaving the +luminous air and skimming through the heavens. And at night, under the +moon, like bubbles of air mounting to the surface of a pond, there came +up the pearly notes of the toads. Almost they might have forgotten the +surrounding presence of Paris but that the old house was perpetually +shaken by the heavy vehicles rumbling by, as though the earth beneath were +shivering in a fever. + +One of the rooms was larger and finer than the rest, and there was a +struggle between the friends as to who should not have it. They had to toss +for it: and Christophe, who had made the suggestion, contrived not to win +with a dexterity of which he found it hard to believe himself capable. + + * * * * * + +Then for the two of them there began a period of absolute happiness. Their +happiness lay not in any one thing, but in all things at once: their every +thought, their every act, were steeped in it, and it never left them for a +moment. + +During this honeymoon of their friendship, the first days of deep and +silent rejoicing, known only to him "who in all the universe can call +one soul his own" ... _Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele sein nennt auf dem +Erdenrund_... they hardly spoke to each other, they dared hardly breathe a +word; it was enough for them to feel each other's nearness, to exchange a +look, a word in token that their thoughts, after long periods of silence, +still ran in the same channel. Without probing or inquiring, without +even looking at each other, yet unceasingly they watched each other. +Unconsciously the lover takes for model the soul of the beloved: so +great is his desire to give no hurt, to be in all things as the beloved, +that with mysterious and sudden intuition he marks the imp...erceptible +movements in the depths of his soul. One friend to another is +crystal-clear: they exchange entities. Their features are assimilated. Soul +imitates soul,--until that day comes when deep-moving force, the spirit of +the race, bursts his bonds and rends asunder the web of love in which he is +held captive. + +Christophe spoke in low tones, walked softly, tried hard to make no +noise in his room, which was next to that of the silent Olivier: he +was transfigured by his friendship: he had an expression of happiness, +confidence, youth, such as he had never worn before. He adored Olivier. +It would have been easy for the boy to abuse his power if he had not been +so timorous in feeling that it was a happiness undeserved: for he thought +himself much inferior to Christophe, who in his turn was no less humble. +This mutual humility, the product of their great love for each other, +was an added joy. It was a pure delight--even with the consciousness of +unworthiness--for each to feel that he filled so great a room in the heart +of his friend. Each to other they were tender and filled with gratitude. + +Olivier had mixed his books with Christophe's: they made no distinction. +When he spoke of them he did not say "_my_ book," but "_our_ book." He kept +back only a few things from the common stock: those which had belonged to +his sister or were bound up with her memory. With the quick perception of +love Christophe was not slow to notice this: but he did not know the reason +of it. He had never dared to ask Olivier about his family: he only knew +that Olivier had lost his parents: and to the somewhat proud reserve of his +affection, which forbade his prying into his friend's secrets, there was +added a fear of calling to life in him the sorrows of the past. Though he +might long to do so, yet he was strangely timid and never dared to look +closely at the photographs on Olivier's desk, portraits of a lady and a +gentleman stiffly posed, and a little girl of twelve with a great spaniel +at her feet. + +A few months after they had taken up their quarters Olivier caught cold and +had to stay in bed. Christophe, who had become quite motherly, nursed him +with fond anxiety: and the doctor, who, on examining Olivier, had found +a little inflammation at the top of the lungs, told Christophe to smear +the invalid's chest with tincture of iodine. As Christophe was gravely +acquitting himself of the task he saw a confirmation medal hanging from +Olivier's neck. He was familiar enough with Olivier to know that he was +even more emancipated in matters of religion than himself. He could not +refrain from showing his surprise. Olivier colored and said: + +"It is a souvenir. My poor sister Antoinette was wearing it when she died." + +Christophe trembled. The name of Antoinette struck him like a flash of +lightning. + +"Antoinette?" he said. + +"My sister," said Olivier. + +Christophe repeated: + +"Antoinette ... Antoinette Jeannin.... She was your sister?... But," he +said, as he looked at the photograph on the desk, "she was quite a child +when you lost her?" + +Olivier smiled sadly. + +"It is a photograph of her as a child," he said. "Alas! I have no other.... +She was twenty-five when she left me." + +"Ah!" said Christophe, who was greatly moved. "And she was in Germany, was +she not?" + +Olivier nodded. + +Christophe took Olivier's hands in his. + +"I knew her," he said. + +"Yes, I know," replied Olivier. + +And he flung his arms round Christophe's neck. + +"Poor girl! Poor girl!" said Christophe over and over again. + +They were both in tears. + +Christophe remembered then that Olivier was ill. He tried to calm him, and +made him keep his arms inside the bed, and tucked the clothes up round his +shoulders, and dried his eyes for him, and then sat down by the bedside and +looked long at him. + +"You see," he said, "that is how I knew you. I recognized you at once, that +first evening." + +(It were hard to tell whether he was speaking of the present or the absent +friend.) + +"But," he went on a moment later, "you knew?... Why didn't you tell me?" + +And through Olivier's eyes Antoinette replied: + +"I could not tell you. You had to see it for yourself." + +They said nothing for some time: then, in the silence of the night, +Olivier, lying still in bed, in a low voice told Christophe, who held +his hand, poor Antoinette's story:--but he did not tell him what he had +no right to tell; the secret that she had kept locked,--the secret that +perhaps Christophe knew already without needing to be told. + +From, that time on the soul of Antoinette was ever near them. When they +were together she was with them. They had no need to think of her: every +thought they shared was shared with her too. Her love was the meeting-place +wherein their two hearts were united. + +Often Olivier would conjure up the image of her: scraps of memory and brief +anecdotes. In their fleeting light they gave a glimpse of her shy, gracious +gestures, her grave, young smile, the pensive, wistful grace that was so +natural to her. Christophe would listen without a word and let the light of +the unseen friend pierce to his very soul. In obedience to the law of his +own nature, which everywhere and always drank in life more greedily than +any other, he would sometimes hear in Olivier's words depths of sound which +Olivier himself could not hear: and more than Olivier he would assimilate +the essence of the girl who was dead. + +Instinctively he supplied her place in Olivier's life: and it was a +touching sight to see the awkward German hap unwittingly on certain of the +delicate attentions and little mothering ways of Antoinette. Sometimes +he could not tell whether it was Olivier that he loved in Antoinette or +Antoinette in Olivier. Sometimes on a tender impulse, without saying +anything, he would go and visit Antoinette's grave and lay flowers on it. +It was some time before Olivier had any idea of it. He did not discover it +until one day when he found fresh flowers on the grave: but he had some +difficulty in proving that it was Christophe who had laid them there. When +he tried bashfully to speak about it Christophe cut him short roughly and +abruptly. He did not want Olivier to know: and he stuck to it until one day +when they met in the cemetery at Ivry. + +Olivier, on his part, used to write to Christophe's mother without letting +him know. He gave Louisa news of her son, and told her how fond he was +of him and how he admired him. Louisa would send Olivier awkward, humble +letters in which she thanked him profusely: she used always to write of her +son as though he were a little boy. + +After a period of fond semi-silence--"a delicious time of peace and +enjoyment without knowing why,"--their tongues were loosed. They spent +hours in voyages of discovery, each in the other's soul. + +They were very different, but they were both pure metal. They loved each +other because they were so different though so much the same. + +Olivier was weak, delicate, incapable of fighting against difficulties. +When he came up against an obstacle he drew back, not from fear, but +something from timidity, and more from disgust with the brutal and coarse +means he would have to employ to overcome it. He earned his living by +giving classes, and writing art-books, shamefully underpaid, as usual, and +occasionally articles for reviews, in which he never had a free hand and +had to deal with subjects in which he was not greatly interested:--there +was no demand for the things that did interest him: he was never asked +for the sort of thing he could do best: he was a poet and was asked +for criticism: he knew something about music and he had to write about +painting: he knew quite well that he could only say mediocre things, which +was just what people liked, for there he could speak to mediocre minds in a +language which they could understand. He grew disgusted with it all and +refused to write. He had no pleasure except in writing for certain obscure +periodicals, which never paid anything, and, like so many other young men, +he devoted his talents to them because they left him a free hand. Only in +their pages could he publish what was worthy of publicity. + +He was gentle, well-mannered, seemingly patient, though he was excessively +sensitive. A harsh word drew blood: injustice overwhelmed him: he suffered +both on his own account and for others. Certain crimes, committed ages ago, +still had the power to rend him as though he himself had been their victim. +He would go pale, and shudder, and be utterly miserable as he thought how +wretched he must have been who suffered them, and how many ages cut him off +from his sympathy. When any unjust deed was done before his eyes he would +be wild with indignation and tremble all over, and sometimes become quite +ill and lose his sleep. It was because he knew his weakness that he drew on +his mask of calmness: for when he was angry he knew that he went beyond all +limits and was apt to say unpardonable things. People were more resentful +with him than with Christophe, who was always violent, because it seemed +that in moments of anger Olivier, much more than Christophe, expressed +exactly what he thought: and that was true. He judged men and women without +Christophe's blind exaggeration, but lucidly and without his illusions. And +that is precisely what people do pardon the least readily. In such cases +he would say nothing and avoid discussion, knowing its futility. He had +suffered from this restraint. He had suffered more from his timidity, which +sometimes led him to betray his thoughts, or deprived him of the courage to +defend his thoughts conclusively, and even to apologize for them, as had +happened in the argument with Lucien Lévy-Coeur about Christophe. He had +passed through many crises of despair before he had been able to strike +a compromise between himself and the rest of the world. In his youth and +budding manhood, when his nerves were not hopelessly out of order, he +lived in a perpetual alternation of periods of exaltation and periods of +depression which came and went with horrible suddenness. Just when he was +feeling most at his ease and even happy he was very certain that sorrow was +lying in wait for him. And suddenly it would lay him low without giving +any warning of its coming. And it was not enough for him to be unhappy: he +had to blame himself for his unhappiness, and hold an inquisition into his +every word and deed, and his honesty, and take the side of other people +against himself. His heart would throb in his bosom, he would struggle +miserably, and he would scarcely be able to breathe.--Since the death of +Antoinette, and perhaps thanks to her, thanks to the peace-giving light +that issues from the beloved dead, as the light of dawn brings refreshment +to the eyes and soul of those who are sick, Olivier had contrived, if +not to break away from these difficulties, at least to be resigned to +them and to master them. Very few had any idea of his inward struggles. +The humiliating secret was locked up in his breast, all the immoderate +excitement of a weak, tormented body, surveyed serenely by a free and keen +intelligence which could not master it, though it was never touched by +it,--"_the central peace which endures amid the endless agitation of the +heart_." + +Christophe marked it. This it was that he saw in Olivier's eyes. Olivier +had an intuitive perception of the souls of men, and a mind of a wide, +subtle curiosity that was open to everything, denied nothing, hated +nothing, and contemplated the world and things with generous sympathy: that +freshness of outlook, which is a priceless gift, granting the power to +taste with a heart that is always new the eternal renewal and re-birth. In +that inward universe, wherein he knew himself to be free, vast, sovereign, +he could forget his physical weakness and agony. There was even a certain +pleasure in watching from a great height, with ironic pity, that poor +suffering body which seemed always so near the point of death. So there was +no danger of his clinging to _his_ life, and only the more passionately did +he hug life itself. Olivier translated into the region of love and mind all +the forces which in action he had abdicated. He had not enough vital sap to +live by his own substance. He was as ivy: it was needful for him to cling. +He was never so rich as when he gave himself. His was a womanish soul with +its eternal need of loving and being loved. He was born for Christophe, and +Christophe for him. Such are the aristocratic and charming friends who are +the escorts of the great artists and seem to have come to flower in the +lives of their mighty souls: Beltraffio, the friend of Leonardo: Cavalliere +of Michael Angelo: the gentle Umbrians, the comrades of young Raphael: Aërt +van Gelder, who remained faithful to Rembrandt in his poor old age. They +have not the greatness of the masters: but it is as though all the purity +and nobility of the masters in their friends were raised to a yet higher +spiritual power. They are the ideal companions for men of genius. + +Their friendship was profitable to both of them. Love lends wings to the +soul. The presence of the beloved friend gives all its worth to life: a man +lives for his friend and for his sake defends his soul's integrity against +the wearing force of time. + +Each enriched the other's nature. Olivier had serenity of mind and a sickly +body. Christophe had mighty strength and a stormy soul. They were in some +sort like a blind man and a cripple. Now that they were together they felt +sound and strong. Living in the shadow of Christophe Olivier recovered his +joy in the light: Christophe transmitted to him something of his abounding +vitality, his physical and moral robustness, which, even in sorrow, even in +injustice, even in hate, inclined to optimism. He took much more than he +gave, in obedience to the law of genius, which gives in vain, but in love +always takes more than it gives, _quia nominor leo_, because it is genius, +and genius half consists in the instinctive absorption of all that is great +in its surroundings and making it greater still. The vulgar saying has it +that riches go to the rich. Strength goes to the strong. Christophe fed on +Olivier's ideas: he impregnated himself with his intellectual calmness and +mental detachment, his lofty outlook, his silent understanding and mastery +of things. But when they were transplanted into him, the richer soil, the +virtues of his friend grew with a new and other energy. + +They both marveled at the things they discovered in each other. There were +so many things to share! Each brought vast treasures of which till then he +had never been conscious: the moral treasure of his nation: Olivier the +wide culture and the psychological genius of France: Christophe the innate +music of Germany and his intuitive knowledge of nature. + +Christophe could not understand how Olivier could be a Frenchman. His +friend was so little like all the Frenchmen he had met! Before he found +Olivier he had not been far from taking Lucien Lévy-Coeur as the type of +the modern French mind, Lévy-Coeur who was no more than the caricature of +it. And now through Olivier he saw that there might be in Paris minds just +as free, more free indeed than that of Lucien Lévy-Coeur, men who remained +as pure and stoical as any in Europe. Christophe tried to prove to Olivier +that he and his sister could not be altogether French. + +"My poor dear fellow," said Olivier, "what do you know of France?" + +Christophe avowed the trouble he had taken to gain some knowledge of the +country: he drew up a list of all the Frenchmen he had met in the circle +of the Stevens and the Roussins: Jews, Belgians, Luxemburgers, Americans, +Russians, Levantines, and here and there a few authentic Frenchmen. + +"Just what I was saying," replied Olivier. "You haven't seen a single +Frenchman. A group of debauchees, a few beasts of pleasure, who are not +even French, men-about-town, politicians, useless creatures, all the fuss +and flummery which passes over and above the life of the nation without +even touching it. You have only seen the swarms of wasps attracted by a +fine autumn and the rich meadows. You haven't noticed the busy hives, the +industrious city, the thirst for knowledge." + +"I beg pardon," said Christophe, "I've come across your intellectual élite +as well." + +"What? A few dozen men of letters? They're a fine lot! Nowadays when +science and action play so great a part literature has become superficial, +no more than the bed where the thought of the people sleeps. And in +literature you have only come across the theater, the theater of luxury, +an international kitchen where dishes are turned out for the wealthy +customers of the cosmopolitan hotels. The theaters of Paris? Do you think +a working-man even knows what is being done in them? Pasteur did not go +to them ten times in all his life! Like all foreigners you attach an +exaggerated importance to our novels, and our boulevard plays, and the +intrigues of our politicians.... If you like I will show you women who +never read novels, girls in Paris who have never been to the theater, +men who have never bothered their heads about politics,--yes, even among +our intellectuals. You have not come across either our men of science or +our poets. You have not discovered the solitary artists who languish in +silence, nor the burning flame of our revolutionaries. You have not seen +a single great believer, or a single great skeptic. As for the people, we +won't talk of them. Outside the poor woman who looked after you, what do +you know of them? Where have you had a chance of seeing them? How many +Parisians have you met who have lived higher than the second or third +floor? If you do not know these people, you do not know France. You +know nothing of the brave true hearts, the men and women living in poor +lodgings, in the garrets of Paris, in the dumb provinces, men' and women +who, through a dull, drab life, think grave thoughts, and live in daily +sacrifice,--the little Church, which has always existed in France--small in +numbers, great in spirit, almost unknown, having no outward or apparent +force of action, though it is the very force of France, that might which +endures in silence, while the so-called élite rots away and springs to life +again unceasingly.... You are amazed when you find a Frenchman who lives +not for the sake of happiness, happiness at all costs, but to accomplish or +to serve his faith? There are thousands of men like myself, men more worthy +than myself, more pious, more humble, men who to their dying day live +unfailingly to serve an ideal, a God, who vouchsafes them no reply. You +know nothing of the thrifty, methodical, industrious, tranquil middle-class +living with a quenchless dormant flame in their hearts--the people betrayed +and sacrificed who in old days defended 'my country' against the selfish +arrogance of the great, the blue-eyed ancient race of Vauban. You do not +know the people, you do not know the élite. Have you read a single one of +the books which are our faithful friends, the companions who support us in +our lives? Do you even know of the existence of our young reviews in which +such great faith and devotion are expressed? Have you any idea of the men +of moral might and worth who are as the sun to us, the sun whose voiceless +light strikes terror to the army of the hypocrites? They dare not make +a frontal attack: they bow before them, the better to betray them. The +hypocrite is a slave, and there is no slave but he has a master. You know +only the slaves: you know nothing of the masters.... You have watched our +struggles and they have seemed to you brutish and unmeaning because you +have not understood their aim. You see the shadow, the reflected light of +day: you have never seen the inward day, our age-old immemorial spirit. +Have you ever tried to perceive it? Have you ever heard of our heroic deeds +from the Crusades to the Commune? Have you ever seen and felt the tragedy +of the French spirit? Have you ever stood at the brink of the abyss of +Pascal? How dare you slander a people who for more than a thousand years +have been living in action and creation, a people that has graven the world +in its own image through Gothic art, and the seventeenth century, and the +Revolution,--a people that has twenty times passed through the ordeal of +fire, and plunged into it again, and twenty times has come to life again +and never yet has perished!...--You are all the same. All your countrymen +who come among us see only the parasites who suck our blood, literary, +political, and financial adventurers, with their minions and their +hangers-on and their harlots: and they judge France by these wretched +creatures who prey on her. Not one of you has any idea of the real France +living under oppression, or of the reserve of vitality in the French +provinces, or of the great mass of the people who go on working heedless of +the uproar and pother made by their masters of a day.... Yes: it is only +natural that you should know nothing of all this: I do not blame you: how +could you? Why, France is hardly at all known to the French. The best of +us are bound down and held captive to our native soil.... No one will ever +know all that we have suffered, we who have guarded as a sacred charge the +light in our hearts which we have received from the genius of our race, to +which we cling with all our might, desperately defending it against the +hostile winds that strive blusteringly to snuff it out;--we are alone and +in our nostrils stinks the pestilential atmosphere of these harpies who +have swarmed about our genius like a thick cloud of flies, whose hideous +grubs gnaw at our minds and defile our hearts:--we are betrayed by those +whose duty it is to defend us, our leaders, our idiotic and cowardly +critics, who fawn upon the enemy, to win pardon for being of our race:--we +are deserted by the people who give no thought to us and do not even know +of our existence.... By what means can we make ourselves known to them? We +cannot reach them.... Ah! that is the hardest thing of all! We know that +there are thousands of men in France who all think as we do, we know that +we speak in their name, and we cannot gain a hearing! Everything is in the +hands of the enemy: newspapers, reviews, theaters.... The Press scurries +away from ideas or admits them only as an instrument of pleasure or a party +weapon. The cliques and coteries will only suffer us to break through on +condition that we degrade ourselves. We are crushed by poverty and +overwork. The politicians, pursuing nothing but wealth, are only interested +in that section of the public which they can buy. The middle-class is +selfish and indifferent, and unmoved sees us perish. The people know +nothing of our existence: even those who are fighting the same fight like +us are cut off by silence and do not know that we exist, and we do not know +that they exist.... Ill-omened Paris! No doubt good also has come of it--by +gathering together all the forces of the French mind and genius. But the +evil it has done is at least equal to the good: and in a time like the +present the good quickly turns to evil. A pseudo-élite fastens on Paris +and blows the loud trumpet of publicity and the voices of all the rest of +France are drowned. More than that: France herself is deceived by it: she +is scared and silent and fearfully locks away her own ideas.... There was a +time when it hurt me dreadfully. But now, Christophe, I can bear it calmly. +I know and understand my own strength and the might of my people. We must +wait until the flood dies down. It cannot touch or change the bed-rock of +France. I will make you feel that bed-rock under the mud that is borne +onward by the flood. And even now, here and there, there are lofty peaks +appearing above the waters...." + +Christophe discovered the mighty power of idealism which animated the +French poets, musicians, and men of science of his time. While the +temporary masters of the country with their coarse sensuality drowned the +voice of the French genius, it showed itself too aristocratic to vie with +the presumptuous shouts of the rabble and sang on with burning ardor in +its own praise and the praise of its God. It was as though in its desire +to escape the revolting uproar of the outer world it had withdrawn to the +farthest refuge in the innermost depths of its castle-keep. + +The poets--that is, those only who were worthy of that splendid name, so +bandied by the Press and the Academies and doled out to divers windbags +greedy of money and flattery--the poets, despising impudent rhetoric +and that slavish realism which nibbles at the surface of things without +penetrating to reality, had intrenched themselves in the very center of +the soul, in a mystic vision into which was drawn the universe of form +and idea, like a torrent falling into a lake, there to take on the color +of the inward life. The very intensity of this idealism, which withdrew +into itself to recreate the universe, made it inaccessible to the mob. +Christophe himself did not understand it at first. The transition was +too abrupt after the market-place. It was as though he had passed from a +furious rush and scramble in the hot sunlight into silence and the night. +His ears buzzed. He could see nothing. At first, with his ardent love of +life, he was shocked by the contrast. Outside was the roaring of the +rushing streams of passion overturning France and stirring all humanity. +And at the first glance there was not a trace of it in this art of theirs. +Christophe asked Olivier: + +"You have been lifted to the stars and hurled down to the depths of hell by +your Dreyfus affair. Where is the poet in whose soul the height and depth +of it were felt? Now, at this very moment, in the souls of your religious +men and women there is the mightiest struggle there has been for centuries +between the authority of the Church and the rights of conscience. Where is +the poet in whose soul this sacred agony is reflected? The working classes +are preparing for war, nations are dying, nations are springing to new +life, the Armenians are massacred, Asia, awaking from its sleep of a +thousand years, hurls down the Muscovite colossus, the keeper of the keys +of Europe: Turkey, like Adam, opens its eyes on the light of day: the air +is conquered by man: the old earth cracks under our feet and opens: it +devours a whole people.... All these prodigies, accomplished in twenty +years, enough to supply material for twenty _Iliads_: but where are they, +where shall their fiery traces be found in the books of your poets? Are +they of all men unable to see the poetry of the world?" + +"Patience, my friend, patience!" replied Olivier. "Be silent, say nothing, +listen...." + +Slowly the creaking of the axle-tree of the world died away and the +rumbling over the stones of the heavy car of action was lost in the +distance. And there arose the divine song of silence.... + + _The hum of bees, and the perfume of the limes.... + The wind, + With his golden lips kissing the earth of the plains... + The soft sound of the rain and the scent of the roses._ + +There rang out the hammer and chisel of the poets carving the sides of a +vase with + + _The fine majesty of simple things,_ + +solemn, joyous life, + + _With its flutes of gold and flutes of ebony,_ + +religious joy, faith welling up like a fountain of souls + + _For whom the very darkness is clear,..._ + +and great sweet sorrow, giving comfort and smiling, + + _With her austere face from which there shines + A clearness beyond nature,..._ + +and + + _Death serene with her great, soft eyes._ + +A symphony of harmonious and pure voices. Not one of them had the full +sonorousness of such national trumpets as were Corneille and Hugo: but how +much deeper and more subtle in expression was their music! The richest +music in Europe of to-day. + +Olivier said to Christophe, who was silent: + +"Do you understand now?" + +Christophe in his turn bade him be silent. In spite of himself, and +although he preferred more manly music, yet he drank in the murmuring of +the woods and fountains of the soul which came whispering to his ears. Amid +the passing struggles of the nations they sang the eternal youth of the +world, the + + _Sweet goodness of Beauty._ + +While humanity, + + _Screaming with terror and yelping its complaint + Marched round and round a barren gloomy field,_ + +while millions of men and women wore themselves out in wrangling for the +bloody rags of liberty, the fountains and the woods sang on: + + "Free!... Free!... _Sanctus, Sanctus...._" + +And yet they slept not in any dream selfishly serene. In the choir of the +poets there were not wanting tragic voices: voices of pride, voices of +love, voices of agony. + +A blind hurricane, mad, intoxicated + + _With its own rough force or gentleness profound,_ + +tumultuous forces, the epic of the illusions of those who sing the wild +fever of the crowd, the conflicts of human gods, the breathless toilers, + + _Faces inky black and golden peering through darkness and mist, + Muscular backs stretching, or suddenly crouching + Round mighty furnaces and gigantic anvils..._ + +forging the City of the Future. + +In the flickering light and shadow falling on the glaciers of the mind +there was the heroic bitterness of those solitary souls which devour +themselves with desperate joy. + + * * * * * + +Many of the characteristics of these idealists seemed to the German more +German than French. But all of them had the love for the "fine speech of +France" and the sap of the myths of Greece ran through their poetry. Scenes +of France and daily life were by some hidden magic transformed in their +eyes into visions of Attica. It was as though antique souls had come to +life again in these twentieth-century Frenchmen, and longed to fling off +their modern garments to appear again in their lovely nakedness. + +Their poetry as a whole gave out the perfume of a rich civilization that +has ripened through the ages, a perfume such as could not be found anywhere +else in Europe. It were impossible to forget it once it had been breathed. +It attracted foreign artists from every country in the world. They became +French poets, almost bigotedly French: and French classical art had no more +fervent disciples than these Anglo-Saxons and Flemings and Greeks. + +Christophe, under Olivier's guidance, was impregnated with the pensive +beauty of the Muse of France, while in his heart he found the aristocratic +lady a little too intellectual for his liking, and preferred a pretty girl +of the people, simple, healthy, robust, who thinks and argues less, but is +more concerned with love. + + * * * * * + +The same _odor di bellezza_ arose from all French art, as the scent of ripe +strawberries and raspberries ascends from autumn woods warmed by the sun. +French music was like one of those little strawberry plants, hidden in +the grass, the scent of which sweetens all the air of the woods. At first +Christophe had passed it by without seeing it, for in his own country +he had been used to whole thickets of music, much fuller and bearing +more brilliant fruits. But now the delicate perfume made him turn: with +Olivier's help among the stones and brambles and dead leaves which usurped +the name of music, he discovered the subtle and ingenuous art of a handful +of musicians. Amid the marshy fields and the factory chimneys of democracy, +in the heart of the Plaine-Saint-Denis, in a little magic wood fauns were +dancing blithely. Christophe was amazed to hear the ironic and serene notes +of their flutes which were like nothing he had ever heard: + + "_A little reed sufficed for me + To make the tall grass quiver, + And all the meadow, + The willows sweet. + And the singing stream also: + A little reed sufficed, for me + To make the forest sing._" + +Beneath the careless grace and the seeming dilettantism of their little +piano pieces, and songs, and French chamber-music, which German art +never deigned to notice, while Christophe himself had hitherto failed to +see the poetic accomplishment of it all, he now began to see the fever +of renovation, and the uneasiness,--unknown on the other side of the +Rhine,--with which French musicians were seeking in the unfilled fields +of their art the germs from which the future might grow. While German +musicians sat stolidly in the encampments of their forebears, and +arrogantly claimed to stay the evolution of the world at the barrier of +their past victories, the world was moving onwards: and in the van the +French plunged onward to discovery: they explored the distant realms of +art, dead suns and suns lit up once more, and vanished Greece, and the Far +East, after its age-long slumber, once more opening its slanting eyes, full +of vasty dreams, upon the light of day. In the music of the West, run off +into channels by the genius of order and classic reason, they opened up the +sluices of the ancient fashions: into their Versailles pools they turned +all the waters of the universe: popular melodies and rhythms, exotic and +antique scales, new or old beats and intervals. Just as, before them, the +impressionist painters had opened up a new world to the eyes,--Christopher +Columbuses of light,--so the musicians were rushing on to the conquest of +the world of Sound; they pressed on into mysterious recesses of the world +of Hearing: they discovered new lands in that inward ocean. It was more +than probable that they would do nothing with their conquests. As usual the +French were the harbingers of the world. + +Christophe admired the initiative of their music born of yesterday and +already marching in the van of art. What valiance there was in the elegant +tiny little creature! He found indulgence for the follies that he had +lately seen in her. Only those who attempt nothing never make mistakes. +But error struggling on towards the living truth is more fruitful and more +blessed than dead truth. + +Whatever the results, the effort was amazing. Olivier showed Christophe the +work done in the last thirty-five years, and the amount of energy expended +in raising French music from the void in which it had slumbered before +1870: no symphonic school, no profound culture, no traditions, no masters, +no public: the whole reduced to poor Berlioz, who died of suffocation and +weariness. And now Christophe felt a great respect for those who had been +the laborers in the national revival: he had no desire now to jeer at their +esthetic narrowness or their lack of genius. They had created something +much greater than music: a musical people. Among all the great toilers who +had forged the new French music one man was especially dear to him: César +Franck, who died without seeing the victory for which he had paved the way, +and yet, like old Schütz, through the darkest years of French art, had +preserved intact the treasure of his faith and the genius of his race. It +was a moving thing to see: amid pleasure-seeking Paris, the angelic master, +the saint of music, in a life of poverty and work despised, preserving the +unimpeachable serenity of his patient soul, whose smile of resignation lit +up his music in which is such great goodness. + + * * * * * + +To Christophe, knowing nothing of the depths of the life of France, this +great artist, adhering to his faith in the midst of a country of atheists, +was a phenomenon, almost a miracle. + +But Olivier would gently shrug his shoulders and ask if any other country +in Europe could show a painter so wholly steeped in the spirit of the Bible +as François Millet;--a man of science more filled with burning faith and +humility than the clear-sighted Pasteur, bowing down before the idea of the +infinite, and, when that idea possessed his mind, "in bitter agony"--as he +himself has said--"praying that his reason might be spared, so near it was +to toppling over into the sublime madness of Pascal." Their deep-rooted +Catholicism was no more a bar in the way of the heroic realism of the first +of these two men, than of the passionate reason of the other, who, sure of +foot and not deviating by one step, went his way through "the circles of +elementary nature, the great night of the infinitely little, the ultimate +abysses of creation, in which life is born." It was among the people of the +provinces, from which they sprang, that they had found this faith, which is +for ever brooding on the soil of France, while in vain do windy demagogues +struggle to deny it. Olivier knew well that faith: it had lived in his own +heart and mind. + +He revealed to Christophe the magnificent movement towards a Catholic +revival, which had been going on for the last twenty-five years, the mighty +effort of the Christian idea in France to wed reason, liberty, and life: +the splendid priests who had the courage, as one of their number said, "to +have themselves baptized as men," and were claiming for Catholicism the +right to understand everything and to join in every honest idea: for "every +honest idea, even when it is mistaken, is sacred and divine": the thousands +of young Catholics banded by the generous vow to build a Christian +Republic, free, pure, in brotherhood, open to all men of good-will: and, in +spite of the odious attacks, the accusations of heresy, the treachery on +all sides, right and left,--(especially on the right),--which these great +Christians had to suffer, the intrepid little legion advancing towards the +rugged defile which leads to the future, serene of front, resigned to all +trials and tribulations, knowing that no enduring edifice can be built, +except it be welded together with tears and blood. + +The same breath of living idealism and passionate liberalism brought new +life to the other religions in France. The vast slumbering bodies of +Protestantism and Judaism were thrilling with new life. All in generous +emulation had set themselves to create the religion of a free humanity +which should sacrifice neither its power for reason, nor its power for +enthusiasm. + +This religious exaltation was not the privilege of the religious: it +was the very soul of the revolutionary movement. There it assumed a +tragic character. Till now Christophe had only seen the lowest form of +socialism,--that of the politicians who dangled in front of the eyes of +their famished constituents the coarse and childish dreams of Happiness, +or, to be frank, of universal Pleasure, which Science in the hands of +Power could, according to them, procure. Against such revolting optimism +Christophe saw the furious mystic reaction of the élite arise to lead the +Syndicates of the working-classes on to battle. It was a summons to "war, +which engenders the sublime," to heroic war "which alone can give the dying +worlds a goal, an aim, an ideal." These great Revolutionaries, spitting +out such "bourgeois, peddling, peace-mongering, English" socialism, set up +against it a tragic conception of the universe, "whose law is antagonism," +since it lives by sacrifice, perpetual sacrifice, eternally renewed.--If +there was reason to doubt that the army, which these leaders urged on to +the assault upon the old world, could understand such warlike mysticism, +which applied both Kant and Nietzsche to violent action, nevertheless it +was a stirring sight to see the revolutionary aristocracy, whose blind +pessimism, and furious desire for heroic life, and exalted faith in war and +sacrifice, were like the militant religious ideal of some Teutonic Order or +the Japanese Samurai. + +And yet they were all Frenchmen: they were of a French stock whose +characteristics have endured unchanged for centuries. Seeing with +Olivier's eyes Christophe marked them in the tribunes and proconsuls of +the Convention, in certain of the thinkers and men of action and French +reformers of the _Ancien Régime_. Calvinists, Jansenists, Jacobins, +Syndicalists, in all there was the same spirit of pessimistic idealism, +struggling against nature, without illusions and without loss of +courage:--the iron bands which uphold the nation. + +Christophe drank in the breath of these mystic struggles, and he began to +understand the greatness of that fanaticism, into which France brought +uncompromising faith and honesty, such as were absolutely unknown to +other nations more familiar with _combinazioni_. Like all foreigners +it had pleased him at first to be flippant about the only too obvious +contradiction between the despotic temper of the French and the magic +formula which their Republic wrote up on the walls of their buildings. Now +for the first time he began to grasp the meaning of the bellicose Liberty +which they adored as the terrible sword of Reason. No: it was not for +them, as he had thought, mere sounding rhetoric and vague ideology. Among +a people for whom the demands of reason transcend all others the fight for +reason dominated every other. What did it matter whether the fight appeared +absurd to nations who called themselves practical? To eyes that see deeply +it is no less vain to fight for empire, or money, or the conquest of the +world: in a million years there will be nothing left of any of these +things. But if it is the fierceness of the fight that gives its worth to +life, and uplifts all the living forces to the point of sacrifice to a +superior Being, then there are few struggles that do more honor life than +the eternal battle waged in France for or against reason. And for those who +have tasted the bitter savor of it the much-vaunted apathetic tolerance +of the Anglo-Saxons is dull and unmanly. The Anglo-Saxons paid for it by +finding elsewhere an outlet for their energy. Their energy is not in their +tolerance, which is only great when, between factions, it becomes heroism. +In Europe of to-day it is most often indifference, want of faith, want of +vitality. The English, adapting a saying of Voltaire, are fain to boast +that "diversity of belief has produced more tolerance in England" than the +Revolution has done in France.--The reason is that there is more faith in +the France of the Revolution than in all the creeds of England. + + * * * * * + +From the circle of brass of militant idealism and the battles of +Reason,--like Virgil leading Dante, Olivier led Christophe by the hand to +the summit of the mountain where, silent and serene, dwelt the small band +of the elect of France who were really free. + +Nowhere in the world are there men more free. They have the serenity of a +bird soaring in the still air. On such a height the air was so pure and +rarefied that Christophe could hardly breathe. There he met artists who +claimed the absolute and limitless liberty of dreams,--men of unbridled +subjectivity, like Flaubert, despising "the poor beasts who believe in +the reality of things":--thinkers, who, with supple and many-sided minds, +emulating the endless flow of moving things, went on "ceaselessly trickling +and flowing," staying nowhere, nowhere coming in contact with stubborn +earth or rock, and "depicted not the essence of life, but the _passage_," +as Montaigne said, "the eternal passage, from day to day, from minute to +minute";--men of science who knew the emptiness and void of the universe, +wherein man has builded his idea, his God, his art, his science, and went +on creating the world and its laws, that vivid day's dream. They did not +demand of science either rest, or happiness, or even truth:--for they +doubted whether it were attainable: they loved it for itself, because it +was beautiful, because it alone was beautiful, and it alone was real. +On the topmost pinnacles of thought these men of science, passionately +Pyrrhonistic, indifferent to all suffering, all deceit, almost indifferent +to reality, listened, with closed eyes, to the silent music of souls, +the delicate and grand harmony of numbers and forms. These great +mathematicians, these free philosophers,--the most rigorous and positive +minds in the world,--had reached the uttermost limit of mystic ecstasy: +they created a void about themselves, they hung over the abyss, they were +drunk with its dizzy depths: into the boundless night with joy sublime they +flashed the lightnings of thought. + +Christophe leaned forward and tried to look over as they did: and his head +swam. He who thought himself free because he had broken away from all laws +save those of his own conscience, now became fearfully conscious of how +little he was free compared with these Frenchmen who were emancipated from +every absolute law of mind, from every categorical imperative, from every +reason for living. Why, then, did they live? + +"For the joy of being free," replied Olivier. + +But Christophe, who was unsteadied by such liberty, thought regretfully of +the mighty spirit of discipline and German authoritarianism: and he said: + +"Your joy is a snare, the dream of an opium-smoker. You make yourselves +drunk with liberty, and forget life. Absolute liberty means madness to the +mind, anarchy to the State ... Liberty! What man is free in this world? +What man in your Republic is free?--Only the knaves. You, the best of the +nation, are stilled. You can do nothing but dream. Soon you will not be +able even to dream." + +"No matter!" said Olivier. "My poor dear Christophe, you cannot know the +delight of being free. It is worth while paying for it with so much danger, +and suffering, and even death. To be free, to feel that every mind about +you--yes, even the knave's--is free, is a delicious pleasure which it is +impossible to express: it is as though your soul were soaring through +the infinite air. It could not live otherwise. What should I do with the +security you offer me, and your order and your impeccable discipline, +locked up in the four walls of your Imperial barracks? I should die of +suffocation. Air! give me air, more and more of it! Liberty, more and more +of that!" + +"There must be law in the world," replied Christophe. "Sooner or later the +master cometh." + +But Olivier laughed and reminded Christophe of the saying of old Pierre de +l'Estoile: + + _It is as little in the power of all the + dominions of the earth to curb the French + liberty of speech, as + to bury the sun in the earth + or to shut it up + inside a + hole._ + + * * * * * + +Gradually Christophe grew accustomed to the air of boundless liberty. From +the lofty heights of French thought, where those minds dream that are all +light, he looked down upon the slopes of the mountain at his feet, where +the heroic elect, fighting for a living faith, whatever faith it be, +struggle eternally to reach the summit:--those who wage the holy war +against ignorance, disease, and poverty: the fever of invention, the mental +delirium of the modern Prometheus and Icarus conquering the light and +marking out roads in the air: the Titanic struggle between Science and +Nature, being tamed;--lower down, the little silent band, the men and women +of good faith, those brave and humble hearts, who, after a thousand +efforts, have climbed half-way, and can climb no farther, being held bound +in a dull and difficult existence, while in secret they burn away in +obscure devotion:--lower still, at the foot of the mountain, in a narrow +gorge between rocky crags, the endless battle, the fanatics of abstract +ideas and blind instincts, fiercely wrestling, with never a suspicion that +there may be something beyond, above the wall of rocks which hems them +in:--still lower, swamps and brutish beasts wallowing in the mire.--And +everywhere, scattered about the sides of the mountain, the fresh flowers of +art, the scented strawberry-plants of music, the song of the streams and +the poet birds. + +And Christophe asked Olivier: + +"Where are your people? I see only the elect, all sorts, good and bad." + +Olivier replied: + +"The people? They are tending their gardens. They never bother about us. +Every group and faction among the elect strives to engage their attention. +They pay no heed to any one. There was a time when it amused them to listen +to the humbug of the political mountebanks. But now they never worry about +it. There are several millions who do not even make use of their rights as +electors. The parties may break each other's heads as much as they like, +and the people don't care one way or another so long as they don't trample +the crops in their wrangling: if that happens then they lose their tempers, +and smash the parties indiscriminately. They do not act: they react in one +way or another against all the exaggerations which disturb their work and +their rest. Kings, Emperors, republics, priests, Freemasons, Socialists, +whatever their leaders may be, all that they ask of them is to be protected +against the great common dangers: war, riots, epidemics,--and, for the +rest, to be allowed to go on tending their gardens. When all is said and +done they think: + +"'Why won't these people leave us in peace?' + +"But the politicians are so stupid that they worry the people, and won't +leave off until they are pitched out with a fork,--as will happen some day +to our members of Parliament. There was a time when the people were +embarked upon great enterprises. Perhaps that will happen again, although +they sowed their wild oats long ago: in any case their embarkations are +never for long: very soon they return to their age-old companion: the +earth. It is the soil which binds the French to France, much more than the +French. There are so many different races who for centuries have been +tilling that brave soil side by side, that it is the soil which unites +them, the soil which is their love. Through good times and bad they +cultivate it unceasingly: and it is all good to them, even the smallest +scrap of ground." + +Christophe looked down. As far as he could see, along the road, around the +swamps, on the slopes of rocky hills, over the battlefields and ruins of +action, over the mountains and plains of France, all was cultivated and +richly bearing: it was the great garden of European civilization. Its +incomparable charm lay no less in the good fruitful soil than in the blind +labors of an indefatigable people, who for centuries have never ceased to +till and sow and make the land ever more beautiful. + +A strange people! They are always called inconstant: but nothing in them +changes. Olivier, looking backward, saw in Gothic statuary all the types of +the provinces of to-day: and so in the drawings of a Clouet and a +Dumoustier, the weary ironical faces of worldly men and intellectuals: or +in the work of a Lenain the clear eyes of the laborers and peasants of +Île-de-France or Picardy. And the thoughts of the men of old days lived in +the minds of the present day. The mind of Pascal was alive, not only in the +elect of reason and religion, but in the brains of obscure citizens or +revolutionary Syndicalists. The art of Corneille and Racine was living for +the people even more than for the elect, for they were less attainted by +foreign influences: a humble clerk in Paris would feel more sympathy with a +tragedy of the time of Louis XIV than with a novel of Tolstoi or a drama of +Ibsen. The chants of the Middle Ages, the old French _Tristan_, would be +more akin to the modern French than the _Tristan_ of Wagner. The flowers of +thought, which since the twelfth century have never ceased to blossom in +French soil, however different they may be, were yet kin one to another, +though utterly different from all the flowers about them. + +Christophe knew too little of France to be able to grasp how these +characteristics had endured. What struck him most of all in all the wide +expanse of country was the extremely small divisions of the earth. As +Olivier said, every man had his garden: and each garden, each plot of land, +was separated from the rest by walls, and quickset hedges, and inclosures +of all sorts. At most there were only a few woods and fields in common, and +sometimes the dwellers on one side of a river were forced to live nearer to +each other than to the dwellers on the other. Every man shut himself up in +his own house: and it seemed that this jealous individualism, instead of +growing weaker after centuries of neighborhood, was stronger than ever. +Christophe thought: + +"How lonely they all are!" + + * * * * * + +In that sense nothing could have been more characteristic than the house in +which Christophe and Olivier lodged. It was a world in miniature, a little +France, honest and industrious, without any bond which could unite its +divers elements. A five-storied house, a shaky house, leaning over to one +side, with creaking floors and crumbling ceilings. The rain came through +into the rooms under the roof in which Christophe and Olivier lived: they +had had to have the workmen in to botch up the roof as best they could: +Christophe could hear them working and talking overhead. There was one man +in particular who amused and exasperated him: he never stopped talking to +himself, and laughing, and singing, and babbling nonsense, and whistling +inane tunes, and holding long conversations with himself all the time he +was working: he was incapable of doing anything without proclaiming exactly +what it was: + +"I'm going to put in another nail. Where's my hammer? I'm putting in a +nail, two nails. One more blow with the hammer! There, old lady, that's +it...." + +When Christophe was playing he would stop for a moment and listen, and then +go on whistling louder than ever: during a stirring passage he would beat +time with his hammer on the roof. At last Christophe was so exasperated +that he climbed on a chair, and poked his head through the skylight of the +attic to rate the man. But when he saw him sitting astride the roof, with +his jolly face and his cheek stuffed out with nails, he burst out laughing, +and the man joined in. And not until they had done laughing did he remember +why he had come to the window: + +"By the way," he said, "I wanted to ask you: my playing doesn't interfere +with your work?" + +The man said it did not: but he asked Christophe to play something faster, +because, as he worked in time to the music, slow tunes kept him back. They +parted very good friends. In a quarter of an hour they had exchanged more +words than in six months Christophe had spoken to the other inhabitants of +the house. + +There were two flats on each floor, one of three rooms, the other of only +two. There were no servants' rooms: each household did its own housework, +except for the tenants of the ground floor and the first floor, who +occupied the two flats thrown into one. + +On the fifth floor Christophe and Olivier's next-door neighbor was the Abbé +Corneille, a priest of some forty years old, a learned man, an independent +thinker, broad-minded, formerly a professor of exegesis in a great +seminary, who had recently been censured by Rome for his modernist +tendency. He had accepted the censure without submitting to it, in silence: +he made no attempt to dispute it and refused every opportunity offered to +him of publishing his doctrine: he shrank from a noisy publicity and would +rather put up with the ruin of his ideas than figure in a scandal. +Christophe could not understand that sort of revolt in resignation. He had +tried to talk to the priest, who, however, was coldly polite and would not +speak of the things which most interested him, and seemed to prefer as a +matter of dignity to remain buried alive. + + * * * * * + +On the floor below in the flat corresponding to that of the two friends +there lived a family of the name of Elie Elsberger: an engineer, his wife, +and their two little girls, seven and ten years old: superior and +sympathetic people who kept themselves very much to themselves, chiefly +from a sort of false shame of their straitened means. The young woman who +kept her house most pluckily was humiliated by it: she would have put up +with twice the amount of worry and exhaustion if she could have prevented +anybody knowing their condition: and that too was a feeling which +Christophe could not understand. They belonged to a Protestant family and +came from the East of France. Both man and wife, a few years before, had +been bowled over by the storm of the Dreyfus affair: both of them had taken +the affair passionately to heart, and, like thousands of French people, +they had suffered from the frenzy brought on by the turbulent wind of that +exalted fit of hysteria which lasted for seven years. They had sacrificed +everything to it, rest, position, relations: they had broken off many dear +friendships through it: they had almost ruined their health. For months at +a time they did not sleep nor act, but went on bringing forward the same +arguments over and over again with the monotonous insistence of the insane: +they screwed each other up to a pitch of excitement: in spite of their +timidity and their dread of ridicule, they had taken part in demonstrations +and spoken at meetings, from which they returned with minds bewildered and +aching hearts, and they would weep together through the night. In the +struggle they had expended so much enthusiasm and passion that when at last +victory was theirs they had not enough of either to rejoice: it left them +dry of energy and broken for life. Their hopes had been so high, their +eagerness for sacrifice had been so pure, that triumph when it came had +seemed a mockery compared with what they had dreamed. To such single-minded +creatures for whom there could exist but one truth, the bargaining of +politics, the compromises of their heroes had been a bitter disappointment. +They had seen their comrades in arms, men whom they had thought inspired +with the same single passion for justice,--once the enemy was overcome, +swarming about the loot, catching at power, carrying off honors and +positions, and, in their turn, trampling justice underfoot. Only a mere +handful of men held steadfast to their faith, and, in poverty and +isolation, rejected by every party, rejecting every party, they remained in +obscurity, cut off one from the other, a prey to sorrow and neurasthenia, +left hopeless and disgusted with men and utterly weary of life. The +engineer and his wife were among these wretched victims. + +They made no noise in the house: they were morbidly afraid of disturbing +their neighbors, the more so as they suffered from their neighbors' noises, +and they were too proud to complain. Christophe was sorry for the two +little girls, whose outbursts of merriment, and natural need of shouting, +jumping about and laughing, were continually being suppressed. He adored +children, and he made friendly advances to his little neighbors when he met +them on the stairs. The little girls were shy at first, but were soon on +good terms with Christophe, who always had some funny story to tell them or +sweetmeats in his pockets: they told their parents about him: and, though +at first they had been inclined to look askance at his advances, they were +won over by the frank open manners of their noisy neighbor, whose +piano-playing and terrific disturbance overhead had often made them +curse:--(for Christophe used to feel stifled in his room and take to pacing +up and down like a caged bear).--They did not find it easy to talk to him. +Christophe's rather boorish and abrupt manners sometimes made Elie +Elsberger shudder. But it was all in vain for the engineer to try to keep +up the wall of reserve, behind which he had taken shelter, between himself +and the German: it was impossible to resist the impetuous good humor of the +man whose eyes were so honest and affectionate and so free from any +ulterior motive. Every now and then Christophe managed to squeeze a little +confidence out of his neighbor. Elsberger was a queer man, full of courage, +yet apathetic, sorrowful, and yet resigned. He had energy enough to bear a +life of difficulty with dignity, but not enough to change it. It was as +though he took a delight in justifying his own pessimism. Just at that time +he had been offered a post in Brazil as manager of an undertaking: but he +had refused as he was afraid of the climate and fearful of the health of +his wife and children. + +"Well, leave them," said Christophe. "Go alone and make their fortune." + +"Leave them!" cried the engineer. "It's easy to see that you have no +children." + +"I assure you that, if I had, I should be of the same opinion." + +"Never! Never!... Leave the country!... No. I would rather suffer here." + +To Christophe it seemed an odd way of loving one's country and one's wife +and children to sit down and vegetate with them. Olivier understood. + +"Just think," he said, "of the risk of dying out there, in a strange +unknown country, far away from those you love! Anything is better than the +horror of that. Besides, it isn't worth while taking so much trouble for +the few remaining years of life!..." + +"As though one had always to be thinking of death!" said Christophe with a +shrug. "And even if that does happen, isn't it better to die fighting for +the happiness of those one loves than to flicker out in apathy?" + + * * * * * + +On the same landing in the smaller flat on the fourth floor lived a +journeyman electrician named Aubert.--If he lived entirely apart from the +other inhabitants of the house it was not altogether his fault. He had +risen from the lower class and had a passionate desire not to sink back +into it. He was small and weakly-looking; he had a harsh face, and his +forehead bulged over his eyes, which were keen and sharp and bored into you +like a gimlet: he had a fair mustache, a satirical mouth, a sibilant way of +speaking, a husky voice, a scarf round his neck, and he had always +something the matter with his throat, in which irritation was set up by his +perpetual habit of smoking: he was always feverishly active and had the +consumptive temperament. He was a mixture of conceit, irony, and +bitterness, cloaking a mind that was enthusiastic, bombastic, and naïve, +while it was always being taken in by life. He was the bastard of some +burgess whom he had never known, and was brought up by a mother whom it was +impossible to respect, so that in his childhood he had seen much that was +sad and degrading. He had plied all sorts of trades and had traveled much +in France. He had an admirable desire for education, and had taught himself +with frightful toil and labor: he read everything: history, philosophy, +decadent poets: he was up-to-date in everything: theaters, exhibitions, +concerts: he had a touching veneration for art, literature, and +middle-class ideas: they fascinated him. He had imbibed the vague and +ardent ideology which intoxicated the middle-classes in the first days of +the Revolution. He had a definite belief in the infallibility of reason, in +boundless progress,--_quo non ascendam?_--in the near advent of happiness +on earth, in the omnipotence of science, in Divine Humanity, and in France, +the eldest daughter of Humanity. He had an enthusiastic and credulous sort +of anti-clericalism which made him lump together religion--especially +Catholicism--and obscurantism, and see in priests the natural foe of light. +Socialism, individualism, Chauvinism jostled each other in his brain. He +was a humanitarian in mind, despotic in temperament, and an anarchist in +fact. He was proud and knew the gaps in his education, and, in +conversation, he was very cautious: he turned to account everything that +was said in his presence, but he would never ask advice: that humiliated +him; now, though he had intelligence and cleverness, these things could not +altogether supply the defects of his education. He had taken it into his +head to write. Like so many men in France who have not been taught, he had +the gift of style, and a clear vision: but he was a confused thinker. He +had shown a few pages of his productions to a successful journalist in whom +he believed, and the man made fun of him. He was profoundly humiliated, and +from that time on never told a soul what he was doing. But he went on +writing: it fed his need of expansion and gave him pride and delight. In +his heart he was immensely pleased with his eloquent passages and +philosophic ideas, which were not worth a brass farthing. And he set no +store by his observation of real life, which was excellent. It was his +crank to fancy himself as a philosopher, and he wished to write +sociological plays and novels of ideas. He had no difficulty in solving all +sorts of insoluble questions, and at every turn he discovered America. When +in due course he found that America was already discovered, he was +disappointed, humiliated, and rather bitter: he was never far from scenting +injustice and intrigue. He was consumed by a thirst for fame and a burning +capacity for devotion which suffered from finding no means or direction of +employment: he would have loved to be a great man of letters, a member of +that literary élite, who in his eyes were adorned with a supernatural +prestige. In spite of his longing to deceive himself he had too much good +sense and was too ironical not to know that there was no chance of its +coming to pass. But he would at least have hiked to live in that atmosphere +of art and middle-class ideas which at a distance seemed to him so +brilliant and pure and chastened of mediocrity. This innocent longing had +the unfortunate result of making the society of the people with whom his +condition in life forced him to live intolerable to him. And as the +middle-class society which he wished to enter closed its doors to him, the +result was that he never saw anybody. And so Christophe had no difficulty +in making his acquaintance. On the contrary he had very soon to bolt and +bar against him: otherwise Aubert would more often have been in +Christophe's rooms, than Christophe in his. He was only too happy to find +an artist to whom he could talk about music, plays, etc. But, as one would +imagine, Christophe did not find them so interesting: he would rather have +discussed the people with a man who was of the people. But that was just +what Aubert would not and could not discuss. + +In proportion as he went lower in the house relations between Christophe +and the other tenants became naturally more distant. Besides, some secret +magic, some _Open Sesame_, would have been necessary for him to reach the +inhabitants of the third floor.--In the one flat there lived two ladies who +were under the self-hypnotism of grief for a loss that was already some +years old: Madame Germain, a woman of thirty-five who had lost her husband +and daughter, and lived in seclusion with her aged and devout +mother-in-law.--On the other side of the landing there dwelt a mysterious +character of uncertain age, anything between fifty and sixty, with a little +girl of ten. He was bald, with a handsome, well-trimmed beard, a soft way +of speaking, distinguished manners, and aristocratic hands. He was called +M. Watelet. He was said to be an anarchist, a revolutionary, a foreigner, +from what country was not known, Russia or Belgium. As a matter of fact he +was a Northern Frenchman and was hardly at all revolutionary: but he was +living on his past reputation. He had been mixed up with the Commune of '71 +and condemned to death: he had escaped, how he did not know: and for ten +years he had lived for a short time in every country in Europe. He had seen +so many ill-deeds during the upheaval in Paris, and afterwards, and also in +exile, and also since his return, ill-deeds done by his former comrades now +that they were in power, and also by men in every rank of the revolutionary +parties, that he had broken with them, peacefully keeping his convictions +to himself useless and untarnished. He read much, wrote a few mildly +incendiary books, pulled--(so it was said)--the wires of anarchist +movements in distant places, in India or the Far East, busied himself with +the universal revolution, and, at the same time, with researches no less +universal but of a more genial aspect, namely with a universal language, a +new method of popular instruction in music. He never came in contact with +anybody in the house: when he met any of its inmates he did no more than +bow to them with exaggerated politeness. However, he condescended to tell +Christophe a little about his musical method. Christophe was not the least +interested in it: the symbols of his ideas mattered very little to him: in +any language he would have managed somehow to express them. But Watelet was +not to be put off, and went on explaining his system gently but firmly: +Christophe could not find out anything about the rest of his life. And so +he gave up stopping when he met him on the stairs and only looked at the +little girl who was always with him: she was fair, pale, anemic: she had +blue eyes, rather a sharp profile, a thin little figure--she was always +very neatly dressed--and she looked sickly and her face was not very +expressive. Like everybody else he thought she was Watelet's daughter. She +was an orphan, the daughter of poor parents, whom Watelet had adopted when +she was four or five, after the death of her father and mother in an +epidemic. He had an almost boundless love for the poor, especially for poor +children. It was a sort of mystic tenderness with him as with Vincent de +Paul. He distrusted official charity, and knew exactly what philanthropic +institutions were worth, and therefore he set about doing charity alone: he +did it by stealth, and took a secret joy in it. He had learned medicine so +as to be of some use in the world. One day when he went to the house of a +working-man in the district and found sickness there, he turned to and +nursed the invalids: he had some medical knowledge and turned it to +account. He could not bear to see a child suffer: it broke his heart. But, +on the other hand, what a joy it was when he had succeeded in tearing one +of these poor little creatures from the clutches of sickness, and the first +pale smile appeared on the little pinched face! Then Watelet's heart would +melt. Those were his moments of Paradise. They made him forget the trouble +he often had with his protégés: for they very rarely showed him much +gratitude. And the housekeeper was furious at seeing so many people with +dirty boots going up her stairs, and she would complain bitterly. And the +proprietor would watch uneasily these meetings of anarchists, and make +remarks. Watelet would contemplate leaving his flat: but that hurt him: he +had his little whimsies: he was gentle and obstinate, and he put up with +the proprietor's observations. + +Christophe won his confidence up to a certain point by the love he showed +for children. That was their common bond. Christophe never met the little +girl without a catch at his heart: for, though he did not know why, by one +of those mysterious similarities in outline, which the instinct perceives +immediately and subconsciously, the child reminded him of Sabine's little +girl. Sabine, his first love, now so far away, the silent grace of whose +fleeting shadow had never faded from his heart. And so he took an interest +in the pale-faced little girl whom he never saw romping, or running, whose +voice he hardly ever heard, who had no little friend of her own age, who +was always alone, mum, quietly amusing herself with lifeless toys, a doll +or a block of wood, while her lips moved as she whispered some story to +herself. She was affectionate and a little offhanded in manner: there was a +foreign and uneasy quality in her, but her adopted father never saw it: he +loved her too much. Alas! Does not that foreign and uneasy quality exist +even in the children of our own flesh and blood?... Christophe tried to +make the solitary little girl friends with the engineer's children. But +with both Elsberger and Watelet he met with a polite but categorical +refusal. These people seemed to make it a point of honor to bury themselves +alive, each in his own mausoleum. If it came to a point each would have +been ready to help the other: but each was afraid of it being thought that +he himself was in need of help: and as they were both equally proud and +vain,--and the means of both were equally precarious,--there was no hope of +either of them being the first to hold out his hand to the other. + +The larger flat on the second floor was almost always empty. The proprietor +of the house reserved it for his own use: and he was never there. He was a +retired merchant who had closed down his business as soon as he had made a +certain fortune, the figure of which he had fixed for himself. He spent the +greater part of the year in some hotel on the Riviera, and the summer at +some watering-place in Normandy, living as a gentleman with private means +who enjoys the illusion of luxury cheaply by watching the luxury of others, +and, like them, leading a useless existence. + + * * * * * + +The smaller flat was let to a childless couple: M. and Madame Arnaud. The +husband, a man of between forty and forty-five, was a master at a school. +He was so overworked with lectures, and correcting exercises, and giving +classes, that he had never been able to find time to write his thesis: and +at last he had given it up altogether. The wife was ten years younger, +pretty, and very shy. They were both intelligent, well read, in love with +each other: they knew nobody, and never went out. The husband had no time +for it. The wife had too much time: but she was a brave little creature, +who fought down her fits of depression when they came over her, and hid +them, by occupying herself as best she could, trying to learn, taking notes +for her husband, copying out her husband's notes, mending her husband's +clothes, making frocks and hats for herself. She would have liked to go to +the theater from time to time: but Arnaud did not care about it: he was too +tired in the evening. And she resigned herself to it. + +Their great Joy was music. They both adored it. He could not play, and she +dared not although she could: when she played before anybody, even before +her husband, it was like a child strumming. However, that was good enough +for them: and Gluck, Mozart, Beethoven, whom they stammered out, were as +friends to them: they knew their lives in detail, and their sufferings +filled them with love and pity. Books, too, beautiful, fine books, which +they read together, gave them happiness. But there are few such books in +the literature of to-day: authors do not worry about those people who can +bring them neither reputation, nor pleasure, nor money, such humble readers +who are never seen in society, and do not write in any journal, and can +only love and say nothing. The silent light of art, which in their upright +and religious hearts assumed almost a supernatural character, and their +mutual affection, were enough to make them live in peace, happy enough, +though a little sad--(there is no gainsaying that),--very lonely, a little +bruised in spirit. They were both much superior to their position in life. +M. Arnaud was full of ideas: but he had neither the time nor enough courage +left to write them down. It meant such a lot of trouble to get articles and +books published: it was not worth it: futile vanity! Anything he could do +was so small in comparison with the thinkers he loved! He had too true a +love for the great works of art to want to produce art himself: it would +have seemed to him pretentious, impertinent, and ridiculous. It seemed to +be his lot to spread their influence. He gave his pupils the benefit of his +ideas: they would turn them into books later on,--without mentioning his +name of course.--Nobody spent more money than he in subscribing to various +publications. The poor are always the most generous: they do buy their +books: the rich would take it as a slur upon themselves if they did not +somehow manage to get them for nothing. Arnaud ruined himself in buying +books: it was his weakness--his vice. He was ashamed of it, and concealed +it from his wife. But she did not blame him for it: she would have spent +just as much.--And with it all they were always making fine plans for +saving, with a view to going to Italy some day--though, as they knew quite +well, they never would go: and they were the first to laugh at their +incapacity for keeping money. Arnaud would console himself. His dear wife +was enough for him, and his life of work and inward joys. Was it not also +enough for her?--She said it was. She dared not say how dear it would have +been to her if her husband could have some reputation, which would in some +sort be reflected upon herself, and brighten her life, and give her ease +and comfort: inward joys are beautiful: but a little ray of light from +without shining in from time to time is sweet, and does so much good!... +But she never said anything, because she was timid: and besides, she knew +that even if he wished to make a reputation it was by no means certain that +he would succeed: it was too late!... Their greatest sorrow was that they +had no children. Each hid that sorrow from the other: and they were only +the more tender with each other: it was as though the poor creatures were +striving to win one another's forgiveness. Madame Arnaud was kind and +affectionate: she would gladly have been friends with Madame Elsberger. But +she dared not: she was never approached. As for Christophe, husband and +wife would have asked nothing better than to know him: they were fascinated +by the music that they could hear faintly when he was playing. But nothing +in the world could have induced them to make the first move: they would +have thought it indiscreet. + + * * * * * + +The whole of the first floor was occupied by M. and Madame Félix Weil. They +were rich Jews, and had no children, and they spent six months of the year +in the country near Paris. Although they had lived in the house for twenty +years--(they stayed there as a matter of habit, although they could easily +have found a flat more in keeping with their fortune)--they were always +like passing strangers. They had never spoken a word to any of their +neighbors, and no one knew any more about them than on the day of their +arrival. But that was no reason why the other tenants should not pass +judgment on them: on the contrary. They were not liked. And no doubt they +did nothing to win popularity. And yet they were worthy of more +acquaintance: they were both excellent people and remarkably intelligent. +The husband, a man of sixty, was an Assyriologist, well known through his +famous excavations in Central Asia: like most of his race he was +open-minded and curious, and did not confine himself to his special +studies: he was interested in an infinite number of things: the arts, +social questions, every manifestation of contemporary thought. But these +were not enough to occupy his mind: for they all amused him, and none of +them roused passionate interest. He was very intelligent, too intelligent, +too much emancipated from all ties, always ready to destroy with one hand +what he had constructed with the other: for he was constructive, always +producing books and theories: he was a great worker: as a matter of habit +and spiritual health he was always patiently plowing his deep furrow in the +field of knowledge, without having any belief in the utility of what he was +doing. He had always had the misfortune to be rich, so that he had never +had the interest of the struggle for life, and, since his explorations in +the East, of which he had grown tired after a few years, he had not +accepted any official position. Outside his own personal work, however, he +busied himself with clairvoyance, contemporary problems, social reforms of +a practical and pressing nature, the reorganization of public education in +France: he flung out ideas and created lines of thought: he would set great +intellectual machines working, and would immediately grow disgusted with +them. More than once he had scandalized people, who had been converted to a +cause by his arguments, by producing the most incisive and discouraging +criticisms of the cause itself. He did not do it deliberately: it was a +natural necessity for him: he was very nervous and ironical in temper, and +found it hard to bear with the foibles of things and people which he saw +with the most disconcerting clarity. And, as there is no good cause, nor +any good man, who, seen at a certain angle or with a certain distortion, +does not present a ridiculous aspect, there was nothing that, with his +ironic disposition, he could go on respecting for long. All this was not +calculated to make him friends. And yet he was always well-disposed towards +people, and inclined to do good: he did much good: but no one was ever +grateful to him: even those whom he had helped could not in their hearts +forgive him, because they had seen that they were ridiculous in his eyes. +It was necessary for him not to see too much of men if he were to love +them. Not that he was a misanthrope. He was not sure enough of himself to +be that. Face to face with the world at which he mocked, he was timid and +bashful: at heart he was not at all sure that the world was not right and +himself wrong: he endeavored not to appear too different from other people, +and strove to base his manners and apparent opinions on theirs. But he +strove in vain: he could not help judging them: he was keenly sensible of +any sort of exaggeration and anything that was not simple: and he could +never conceal his irritation. He was especially sensible of the foibles of +the Jews, because he knew them best: and as, in spite of his intellectual +freedom, which did not admit of barriers between races, he was often +brought up sharp against those barriers which men of other races raised +against him,--as, in spite of himself, he was out of his element among +Christian ideas, he retired with dignity into his ironic labors and the +profound affection he had for his wife. + +Worst of all, his wife was not secure against his irony. She was a kindly, +busy woman, anxious to be useful, and always taken up with various +charitable works. Her nature was much less complex than that of her +husband, and she was cramped by her moral benevolence and the rather +rigidly intellectual, though lofty, idea of duty that she had begotten. Her +whole life, which was sad enough, without children, with no great joy nor +great love, was based on this moral belief of hers, which was more than +anything else the will to believe. Her husband's irony had, of course, +seized on the element of voluntary self-deception in her faith, and--(it +was too strong for him)--he had made much fun at her expense. He was a mass +of contradictions. He had a feeling for duty no less lofty than his wife's, +and, at the same time, a merciless desire to analyze, to criticize, and to +avoid deception, which made him dismember and take to pieces his moral +imperative. He could not see that he was digging away the ground from under +his wife's feet: he used cruelly to discourage her. When he realized that +he had done so, he suffered even more than she: but the harm was done. It +did not keep them from loving each other faithfully, and working and doing +good. But the cold dignity of the wife was not more kindly judged than the +irony of the husband: and as they were too proud to publish abroad the good +they did, or their desire to do good, their reserve was regarded as +indifference, and their isolation as selfishness. And the more conscious +they became of the opinion that was held of them, the more careful were +they to do nothing to dispute it. Reacting against the coarse indiscretion +of so many of their race they were the victims of an excessive reserve +which covered a vast deal of pride. + + * * * * * + +As for the ground floor, which was a few steps higher than the little +garden, it was occupied by Commandant Chabran, a retired officer of the +Colonial Artillery: he was still young, a man of great vigor, who had +fought brilliantly in the Soudan and Madagascar: then suddenly, he had +thrown the whole thing up, and buried himself there: he did not even want +to hear the army mentioned, and spent his time in digging his flower-beds, +and practising the flute without making any progress, and growling about +politics, and scolding his daughter, whom he adored: she was a young woman +of thirty, not very pretty, but quite charming, who devoted herself to him, +and had not married so as not to leave him. Christophe used often to see +them leaning out of the window: and, naturally, he paid more attention to +the daughter than the father. She used to spend part of the afternoon in +the garden, sewing, dreaming, digging, always in high good humor with her +grumbling old father. Christophe could hear her soft clear voice laughingly +replying to the growling tones of the Commandant, whose footsteps ground +and scrunched on the gravel-paths: then he would go in, and she would stay +sitting on a seat in the garden, and sew for hours together, never +stirring, never speaking, smiling vaguely, while inside the house the bored +old soldier played flourishes on his shrill flute, or, by way of a change, +made a broken-winded old harmonium squeal and groan, much to Christophe's +amusement--or exasperation--(which, depended on the day and his mood). + + * * * * * + +All these people went on living side by side in that house with its +walled-in garden sheltered from all the buffets of the world, hermetically +sealed even against each other. Only Christophe, with his need of expansion +and his great fullness of life, unknown to them, wrapped them about with +his vast sympathy, blind, yet all-seeing. He could not understand them. He +had no means of understanding them. He lacked Olivier's psychological +insight and quickness. But he loved them. Instinctively he put himself in +their place. Slowly, mysteriously, there crept through him a dim +consciousness of these lives so near him and yet so far removed, the +stupefying sorrow of the mourning woman, the stoic silence of all their +proud thoughts, the priest, the Jew, the engineer, the revolutionary: the +pale and gentle flame of tenderness and faith which burned in silence in +the hearts of the two Arnauds: the naïve aspirations towards the light of +the man of the people: the suppressed revolt and fertile activity which +were stifled in the bosom of the old soldier: and the calm resignation of +the girl dreaming in the shade of the lilac. But only Christophe could +perceive and hear the silent music of their souls: they heard it not: they +were all absorbed in their sorrow and their dreams. + +They all worked hard, the skeptical old scientist, the pessimistic +engineer, the priest, the anarchist, and all these proud or dispirited +creatures. And on the roof the mason sang. + + * * * * * + +In the district round the house among the best of the people Christophe +found the same moral solitude--even when the people were banded together. + +Olivier had brought him in touch with a little review for which he wrote. +It was called _Ésope_, and had taken for its motto this quotation from +Montaigne: + +"_Æsop was put up for sale with two other staves. The purchaser inquired of +the first what he could do; and he, to put a price upon himself, described +all sorts of marvels; the second said as much for himself, or more. When it +came to Æsop's turn, and he was asked what he could do:--Nothing, he said, +for these two have taken everything: they can do everything._" + +Their attitude was that of pure reaction against "the impudence," as +Montaigne says, "of those who profess knowledge and their overweening +presumption!" The self-styled skeptics of the _Ésope_ review were at heart +men of the firmest faith. But their mask of irony and haughty ignorance, +naturally enough, had small attraction for the public: rather it repelled. +The people are only with a writer when he brings them words of simple, +clear, vigorous, and assured life. They prefer a sturdy lie to an anemic +truth. Skepticism is only to their liking when it is the covering of lusty +naturalism or Christian idolatry. The scornful Pyrrhonism in which the +_Ésope_ clothed itself could only be acceptable to a few minds--"_aeme +sdegnose_,"--who knew the solid worth beneath it. It was force absolutely +lost upon action and life. + +There was no help for it. The more democratic France became, the more +aristocratic did her ideas, her art, her science seem to grow. Science +securely lodged behind its special languages, in the depths of its +sanctuary, wrapped about with a triple veil, which only the initiate had +the power to draw, was less accessible than at the time of Buffon and the +Encyclopedists. Art,--that art at least which had some respect for itself +and the worship of beauty,--was no less hermetically sealed: it despised +the people. Even among writers who cared less for beauty than for action, +among those who gave moral ideas precedence over esthetic ideas, there was +often a strange dominance of the aristocratic spirit. They seemed to be +more intent upon preserving the purity of their inward flame than to +communicate its warmth to others. It was as though they desired not to make +their ideas prevail but only to affirm them. + +And yet among these writers there were some who applied themselves to +popular art. Among the most sincere some hurled into their writings +destructive anarchical ideas, truths of the distant future, which might be +beneficent in a century or so, but, for the time being, corroded and +scorched the soul: others wrote bitter or ironical plays, robbed of all +illusion, sad to the last degree. Christophe was left in a state of +collapse, ham-strung, for a day or two after he read them. + +"And you give that sort of thing to the people?" he would ask, feeling +sorry for the poor audiences who had come to forget their troubles for a +few hours, only to be presented with these lugubrious entertainments. "It's +enough to make them all go and drown themselves!" + +"You may be quite easy on that score," said Olivier, laughing. "The people +don't go." + +"And a jolly good thing too! You're mad. Are you trying to rob them of +every scrap of courage to live?" + +"Why? Isn't it right to teach them to see the sadness of things, as we do, +and yet to go on and do their duty without flinching?" + +"Without flinching? I doubt that. But it's very certain that they'll do it +without pleasure. And you don't go very far when you've destroyed a man's +pleasure in living." + +"What else can one do? One has no right to falsify the truth." + +"Nor have you any right to tell the whole truth to everybody." + +"_You_ say that? You who are always shouting the truth aloud, you who +pretend to love truth more than anything in the world!" + +"Yes: truth for myself and those whose backs are strong enough to bear it +But it is cruel and stupid to tell it to the rest. Yes. I see that now. At +home that would never have occurred to me: in Germany people are not so +morbid about the truth as they are here: they're too much taken up with +living: very wisely they see only what they wish to see. I love you for not +being like that: you are honest and go straight ahead. But you are inhuman. +When you think you have unearthed a truth, you let it loose upon the world, +without stopping to think whether, like the foxes in the Bible with their +burning tails, it will not set fire to the world. I think it is fine of you +to prefer truth to your happiness. But when it comes to the happiness of +other people.... Then I say, 'Stop!' You are taking too much upon +yourselves. Thou shalt love truth, more than thyself, but thy neighbor more +than truth." + +"Is one to lie to one's neighbor?" + +Christophe replied with the words of Goethe: + +"We should only express those of the highest truths which will be to the +good of the world. The rest we must keep to ourselves: like the soft rays +of a hidden sun, they will shed their light upon all our actions." + +But they were not moved by these scruples. They never stopped to think +whether the bow in their hands shot "_ideas or death_," or both together. +They were too intellectual. They lacked love. When a Frenchman has ideas he +tries to impose them on others. He tries to do the same thing when he has +none. And when he sees that he cannot do it he loses interest in other +people, he loses interest in action. That was the chief reason why this +particular group took so little interest in politics, save to moan and +groan. Each of them was shut up in his faith, or want of faith. + +Many attempts had been made to break down their individualism and to form +groups of these men: but the majority of these groups had immediately +resolved themselves into literary clubs, or split up into absurd factions. +The best of them were mutually destructive. There were among them some +first-rate men of force and faith, men well fitted to rally and guide those +of weaker will. But each man had his following, and would not consent to +merging it with that of other men. So they were split up into a number of +reviews, unions, associations, which had all the moral virtues, save one: +self-denial; for not one of them would give way to the others: and, while +they wrangled over the crumbs that fell from an honest and well-meaning +public, small in numbers and poor in purse, they vegetated for a short +time, starved and languished, and at last collapsed never to rise again, +not under the assault of the enemy, but--(most pitiful!)--under the weight +of their own quarrels.--The various professions,--men of letters, dramatic +authors, poets, prose writers, professors, members of the Institute, +journalists--were divided up into a number of little castes, which they +themselves split up again into smaller castes, each one of which closed its +doors against the rest. There was no sort of mutual interchange. There was +no unanimity on any subject in France, except at those very rare moments +when unanimity assumed an epidemic character, and, as a rule, was in the +wrong: for it was morbid. A crazy individualism predominated in every kind +of French activity: in scientific research as well as in commerce, in which +it prevented business men from combining and organizing working agreements. +This individualism was not that of a rich and bustling vitality, but that +of obstinacy and self-repression. To be alone, to owe nothing to others, +not to mix with others for fear of feeling their inferiority in their +company, not to disturb the tranquillity of their haughty isolation: these +were the secret thoughts of almost all these men who founded "outside" +reviews, "outside" theaters, "outside" groups: reviews, theaters, groups, +all most often had no other reason for existing than the desire not to be +with the general herd, and an incapacity for joining with other people in a +common idea or course of action, distrust of other people, or, at the very +worst, party hostility, setting one against the other the very men who were +most fitted to understand each other. + +Even when men who thought highly of each other were united in some common +task, like Olivier and his colleagues on the _Ésope_ review, they always +seemed to be on their guard with each other: they had nothing of that +open-handed geniality so common in Germany, where it is apt to become a +nuisance. Among these young men there was one especially who attracted +Christophe because he divined him to be a man of exceptional force: he was +a writer of inflexible logic and will, with a passion for moral ideas, in +the service of which he was absolutely uncompromising and ready in their +cause to sacrifice the whole world and himself: he had founded and +conducted almost unaided a review in which to uphold them: he had sworn to +impose on Europe and on France the idea of a pure, heroic, and free France: +he firmly believed that the world would one day recognize that he was +responsible for one of the boldest pages in the history of French +thought:--and he was not mistaken. Christophe would have been only too glad +to know him better and to be his friend. But there was no way of bringing +it about. Although Olivier had a good deal to do with him they saw very +little of each other except on business: they never discussed any intimate +matter, and never got any farther than the exchange of a few abstract +ideas: or rather--(for, to be exact, there was no exchange, and each +adhered to his own ideas)--they soliloquized in each other's company in +turn. However, they were comrades in arms and knew their worth. + +There were innumerable reasons for this reservedness, reasons difficult to +discern, even for their own eyes. The first reason was a too great critical +faculty, which saw too clearly the unalterable differences between one mind +and another, backed by an excessive intellectualism which attached too much +importance to those differences: they lacked that puissant and naïve +sympathy whose vital need is of love, the need of giving out its +overflowing love. Then, too, perhaps overwork, the struggle for existence, +the fever of thought, which so taxes strength that by the evening there is +none left for friendly intercourse, had a great deal to do with it. And +there was that terrible feeling, which every Frenchman is afraid to admit, +though too often it is stirring in his heart, the feeling of _not being of +one race_, the feeling that the nation consists of different races +established at different epochs on the soil of France, who, though all +bound together, have few ideas in common, and therefore ought not, in the +common interest, to ponder them too much. But above all the reason was to +seek in the intoxicating and dangerous passion for liberty, to which, when +a man has once tasted it, there is nothing that he will not sacrifice. Such +solitary freedom is all the more precious for having been bought by years +of tribulation. The select few have taken refuge in it to escape the +slavishness of the mediocre. It is a reaction against the tyranny of the +political and religious masses, the terrific crushing weight which +overbears the individual in France: the family, public opinion, the State, +secret societies, parties, coteries, schools. Imagine a prisoner who, to +escape, has to scale twenty great walls hemming him in. If he manages to +clear them all without breaking his neck, and, above all, without losing +heart, he must be strong indeed. A rough schooling for free-will! But those +who have gone through it bear the marks of it all their life in the mania +for independence, and the impossibility of their ever living in the lives +of others. + +Side by side with this loneliness of pride, there was the loneliness of +renunciation. There were many, many good men in France whose goodness and +pride and affection came to nothing in withdrawal from life! A thousand +reasons, good and bad, stood in the way of action for them. With some it +was obedience, timidity, force of habit. With others human respect, fear of +ridicule, fear of being conspicuous, of being a mark for the comments of +the gallery, of meddling with things that did not concern them, of having +their disinterested actions attributed to motives of interest. There were +men who would not take part in any political or social struggle, women who +declined to undertake any philanthropic work, because there were too many +people engaged in these things who lacked conscience and even common sense, +and because they were afraid of the taint of these charlatans and fools. In +almost all such people there are disgust, weariness, dread of action, +suffering, ugliness, stupidity, risks, responsibilities: the terrible +"What's the use?" which destroys the good-will of so many of the French of +to-day. They are too intelligent,--(their intelligence has no wide sweep of +the wings),--they are too intent upon reasons for and against. They lack +force. They lack vitality. When a man's life beats strongly he never +wonders why he goes on living: he lives for the sake of living,--because it +is a splendid thing to be alive! + +In fine, the best of them were a mixture of sympathetic and average +qualities: a modicum of philosophy, moderate desires, fond attachment to +the family, the earth, moral custom; discretion, dread of intruding, of +being a nuisance to other people: modesty of feeling, unbending reserve. +All these amiable and charming qualities could, in certain cases, be +brought into line with serenity, courage, and inward joy; but at bottom +there was a certain connection between them and poverty in the blood, the +progressive ebb of French vitality. + +The pretty garden, beneath the house in which Christophe and Olivier lived, +tucked away between the four walls, was symbolical of that part of the life +of France. It was a little patch of green earth shut off from the outer +world. Only now and then did the mighty wind of the outer air, whirling +down, bring to the girl dreaming there the breath of the distant fields and +the vast earth. + + * * * * * + +Now that Christophe was beginning to perceive the hidden resources of +France he was furious that she should suffer the oppression of the rabble. +The half-light, in which the select and silent few were huddled away, +stifled him. Stoicism is a fine thing for those whose teeth are gone. But +he needed the open air, the great public, the sunshine of glory, the love +of thousands of men and women: he needed to hold close to him those whom he +loved, to pulverize his enemies, to fight and to conquer. + +"You can," said Olivier. "You are strong. You were born to conquer through +your faults--(forgive me!)--as well as through your qualities. You are +lucky enough not to belong to a race and a nation which are too +aristocratic. Action does not repel you. If need be you could even become a +politician.--Besides, you have the inestimable good fortune to write music. +Nobody understands you, and so you can say anything and everything. If +people had any idea of the contempt for themselves which you put into your +music, and your faith in what they deny, and your perpetual hymn in praise +of what they are always trying to kill, they would never forgive you, and +you would be so fettered, and persecuted, and harassed, that you would +waste most of your strength in fighting them: when you had beaten them back +you would have no breath left for going on with your work: your life would +be finished. The great men who triumph have the good luck to be +misunderstood. They are admired for the very opposite of what they are." + +"Pooh!" said Christophe. "You don't understand how cowardly your masters +are. At first I thought you were alone, and I used to find excuses for your +inaction. But, as a matter of fact, there's a whole army of you all of the +same mind. You are a hundred times stronger than your oppressors, you are a +thousand times more worthy, and you let them impose on you with their +effrontery! I don't understand you. You live in a most beautiful country, +you are gifted with the finest intelligence and the most human quality of +mind, and with it all you do nothing: you allow yourselves to be overborne +and outraged and trampled underfoot by a parcel of fools. Good Lord! Be +yourselves! Don't wait for Heaven or a Napoleon to come to your aid! Arise, +band yourselves together! Get to work, all of you! Sweep out your house!" + +But Olivier shrugged his shoulders, and said, wearily and ironically: + +"Grapple with them? No. That is not our game: we have better things to do. +Violence disgusts me. I know only too well what would happen. All the old +embittered failures, the young Royalist idiots, the odious apostles of +brutality and hatred, would seize on anything I did and bring it to +dishonor. Do you want me to adopt the old device of hate: _Fuori Barbari_, +or: _France for the French_?" + +"Why not?" asked Christophe. + +"No. Such a device is not for the French. Any attempt to propagate it among +our people under cover of patriotism must fail. It is good enough for +barbarian countries! But our country has no use for hatred. Our genius +never yet asserted itself by denying or destroying the genius of other +countries, but by absorbing them. Let the troublous North and the +loquacious South come to us...." + +"And the poisonous East?" + +"And the poisonous East: we will absorb it with the rest: we have absorbed +many others! I just laugh at the air of triumph they assume, and the +pusillanimity of some of my fellow-countrymen. They think they have +conquered us, they strut about our boulevards, and in our newspapers and +reviews, and in our theaters and in the political arena. Idiots! It is they +who are conquered! They will be assimilated after having fed us. Gaul has a +strong stomach: in these twenty centuries she has digested more than one +civilization. We are proof against poison.... It is meet that you Germans +should be afraid! You must be pure or impure. But with us it is not a +matter of purity but of universality. You have an Emperor: Great Britain +calls herself an Empire: but, in fact, it is our Latin Genius that is +Imperial. We are the citizens of the City of the Universe. _Urbis, Orbis_." + +"That is all very well," said Christophe, "as long as the nation is healthy +and in the flower of its manhood. But there will come a day when its energy +declines: and then there is a danger of its being submerged by the influx +of foreigners. Between ourselves, does it not seem as though that day had +arrived?" + +"People have been saying that for ages. Again and again our history has +given the lie to such fears. We have passed through many different trials +since the days of the Maid of Orleans, when Paris was deserted, and bands +of wolves prowled through the streets. Neither in the prevalent immorality, +nor the pursuit of pleasure, nor the laxness, nor the anarchy of the +present day, do I see any cause for fear. Patience! Those who wish to live +must endure in patience. I am sure that presently there will be a moral +reaction,--which will not be much better, and will probably lead to an +equal degree of folly; those who are now living on the corruptness of +public life will not be the least clamorous in the reaction!... But what +does that matter to us? All these movements do not touch the real people of +France. Rotten fruit does not corrupt the tree. It falls. Besides, all +these people are such a small part of the nation! What does it matter to us +whether they live or die? Why should I bother to organize leagues and +revolutions against them? The existing evil is not the work of any form of +government. It is the leprosy of luxury, a contagion spread by the +parasites of intellectual and material wealth. Such parasites will perish." + +"After they have sapped your vitality." + +"It is impossible to despair of such a race. There is in it such hidden +virtue, such a power of light and practical idealism, that they creep into +the veins even of those who are exploiting and ruining the nation. Even the +grasping, self-seeking politicians succumb to its fascination. Even the +most mediocre of men when they are in power are gripped by the greatness of +its Destiny: it lifts them out of themselves: the torch is passed on from +hand to hand among them: one after another they resume the holy war against +darkness. They are drawn onward by the genius of the people: willy-nilly +they fulfil the law of the God whom they deny, _Gesta Dei per Francos_.... +O my beloved country, I will never lose my faith in thee! And though in thy +trials thou didst perish, yet would I find in that only a reason the more +for my proud belief, even to the bitter end, in our mission in the world. I +will not have my beloved France fearfully shutting herself up in a +sickroom, and closing every inlet to the outer air. I have no mind to +prolong a sickly existence. When a nation has been so great as we have +been, then it were far better to die rather than to sink from greatness. +Therefore let the ideas of the world rush into the channels of our minds! I +am not afraid. The floor will go down of its own accord after it has +enriched the soil of France with its ooze." + +"My poor dear fellow," said Christophe, "but it's a grim prospect in the +meanwhile. Where will you be when your France emerges from the Nile? Don't +you think it would be better to fight against it? You wouldn't risk +anything except defeat, and you seem inclined to impose that on yourself as +long as you like." + +"I should be risking much more than defeat," said Olivier. "I should be +running the risk of losing my peace of mind, which I prize far more than +victory. I will not be a party to hatred. I will be just to all my enemies. +In the midst of passion I wish to preserve the clarity of my vision, to +understand and love everything." + + * * * * * + +But Christophe, to whom this love of life, detached from life, seemed to be +very little different from resignation and acceptance of death, felt in his +heart, as in Empedocles of old, the stirring of a hymn to Hatred and to +Love, the brother of Hate, fruitful Love, tilling and sowing good seed in +the earth. He did not share Olivier's calm fatalism: he had no such +confidence in the continuance of a race which did not defend itself, and +his desire was to appeal to all the healthy forces of the nation, to call +forth and band together all the honest men in the whole of France. + + * * * * * + +Just as it is possible to learn more of a human being in one minute of love +than in months of observation, so Christophe had learned more about France +in a week of intimacy with Olivier, hardly ever leaving the house, than +during a whole year of blind wandering through Paris, and standing at +attention at various intellectual and political gatherings. Amid the +universal anarchy in which he had been floundering, a soul like that of his +friend seemed to him veritably to be the "_Île de France_"--the island of +reason and serenity in the midst of the ocean. The inward peace which was +in Olivier was all the more striking, inasmuch as it had no intellectual +support,--as it existed amid unhappy circumstances,--(in poverty and +solitude, while the country of its birth was decadent),--and as its body +was weak, sickly, and nerve-ridden. That serenity was apparently not the +fruit of any effort of will striving to realize it,--(Olivier had little +will);--it came from the depths of his being and his race. In many of the +men of Olivier's acquaintance Christophe perceived the distant light of +that [Greek: sophrosynae],--"the silent calm of the motionless sea";--and +he, who knew, none better, the stormy, troublous depths of his own soul, +and how he had to stretch his will-power to the utmost to maintain the +balance in his lusty nature, marveled at its veiled harmony. + +What he had seen of the inner France had upset all his preconceived ideas +about the character of the French. Instead of a gay, sociable, careless, +brilliant people, he saw men of a headstrong and close temper, living in +isolation, wrapped about with a seeming optimism, like a gleaming mist, +while they were in fact steeped in a deep-rooted and serene pessimism, +possessed by fixed ideas, intellectual passions, indomitable souls, which +it would have been easier to destroy than to alter. No doubt these men were +only the select few among the French: but Christophe wondered where they +could have come by their stoicism and their faith. Olivier told him: + +"In defeat. It is you, my dear Christophe, who have forged us anew. Ah! But +we suffered for it, too. You can have no idea of the darkness in which we +grew up in a France humiliated and sore, which had come face to face with +death, and still felt the heavy weight of the murderous menace of force. +Our life, our genius, our French civilization, the greatness of a thousand +years,--we were conscious that France was in the hands of a brutal +conqueror who did not understand her, and hated her in his heart, and at +any moment might crush the life out of her for ever. And we had to live for +that and no other destiny! Have you ever thought of the French children +born in houses of death in the shadow of defeat, fed with ideas of +discouragement, trained to strike for a bloody, fatal, and perhaps futile +revenge: for even as babies, the first thing they learned was that there +was no justice, there was no justice in the world: might prevailed against +right! For a child to open its eyes upon such things is for its soul to be +degraded or uplifted for ever. Many succumbed: they said: 'Since it is so, +why struggle against it? Why do anything? Everything is nothing. We'll not +think of it. Let us enjoy ourselves.'--But those who stood out against it +are proof against fire: no disillusion can touch their faith: for from +their earliest childhood they have known that their road could never lead +them near the road to happiness, and that they had no choice but to follow +it, else they would suffocate. Such assurance is not come by all at once. +It is not to be expected of boys of fifteen. There is bitter agony before +it is attained, and many tears are shed. But it is well that it should be +so. It must be so.... + +"_O Faith, virgin of steel...._ + +"Dig deep with thy lance into the downtrodden hearts of the peoples! +peoples!..." + +In silence Christophe pressed Olivier's hand. + +"Dear Christophe," said Olivier, "your Germany has made us suffer indeed." + +And Christophe begged for forgiveness almost as though he had been +responsible for it. + +"There's nothing for you to worry about," said Olivier, smiling. "The good +it has unintentionally done us far outweighs the ill. You have rekindled +our idealism, you have revived in us the keen desire for knowledge and +faith, you have filled our France with schools, you have raised to the +highest pitch the creative powers of a Pasteur, whose discoveries are alone +worth more than your indemnity of two hundred million; you have given new +life to our poetry, our painting, our music: to you we owe the new +awakening of the consciousness of our race. We have reward enough for the +effort needed to learn to set our faith before our happiness: for, in doing +so, we have come by a feeling of such moral force, that, amid the apathy of +the world, we have no doubt, even of victory in the end. Though we are few +in number, my dear Christophe, though we seem so weak,--a drop of water in +the ocean of German power--we believe that the drop of water will in the +end color the whole ocean. The Macedonian phalanx will destroy the mighty +armies of the plebs of Europe." + +Christophe looked down at the puny Olivier, in whose eyes there shone the +light of faith, and he said: + +"Poor weakly little Frenchmen! You are stronger than we are." + +"O beneficent defeat," Olivier went on. "Blessed be that disaster! We will +no more deny it! We are its children." + + + + +II + + +Defeat new-forges the chosen among men: it sorts out the people: it winnows +out those who are purest and strongest, and makes them purer and stronger. +But it hastens the downfall of the rest, or cuts short their flight. In +that way it separates the mass of the people, who slumber or fall by the +way, from the chosen few who go marching on. The chosen few know it and +suffer: even in the most valiant there is a secret melancholy, a feeling of +their own impotence and isolation. Worst of all,--cut off from the great +mass of their people, they are also cut off from each other. Each must +fight for his own hand. The strong among them think only of +self-preservation. _O man, help thyself!_... They never dream that the +sturdy saying means: _O men, help yourselves!_ In all there is a want of +confidence, they lack free-flowing sympathy, and do not feel the need of +common action which makes a race victorious, the feeling of overflowing +strength, of reaching upward to the zenith. + +Christophe and Olivier knew something of all this. In Paris, full of men +and women who could have understood them, in the house peopled with unknown +friends, they were as solitary as in a desert of Asia. + + * * * * * + +They were very poor. Their resources were almost nil. Christophe had only +the copying and transcriptions of music given him by Hecht. Olivier had +very unwisely thrown up his post at the University during the period of +depression following on his sister's death, which had been accentuated by +an unhappy love affair with a young lady he had met at Madame +Nathan's:--(he had never mentioned it to Christophe, for he was modest +about his troubles: part of his charm lay in the little air of mystery +which he always preserved about his private affairs, even with his friend, +from whom, however, he made no attempt to conceal anything).--In his +depressed condition when he had longed for silence his work as a lecturer +became intolerable to him. He had never cared for the profession, which +necessitates a certain amount of showing off, and thinking aloud, while it +gives a man no time to himself. If teaching in a school is to be at all a +noble thing it must be a matter of a sort of apostolic vocation, and that +Olivier did not possess in the slightest degree: and lecturing for any of +the Faculties means being perpetually in contact with the public, which is +a grim fate for a man, like Olivier, with a desire for solitude. On several +occasions he had had to speak in public: it gave him a singular feeling of +humiliation. At first he loathed being exhibited on a platform. He _saw_ +the audience, felt it, as with antennæ, and knew that for the most part it +was composed of idle people who were there only for the sake of having +something to do: and the role of official entertainer was not at all to his +liking. Worst of all, speaking from a platform is almost bound to distort +ideas: if the speaker does not take care there is a danger of his passing +gradually from a certain theatricality in gesture, diction, attitude, and +the form in which he presents his ideas--to mental trickery. A lecture is a +thing hovering in the balance between tiresome comedy and polite pedantry. +For an artist who is rather bashful and proud, a lecture, which is a +monologue shouted in the presence of a few hundred unknown, silent people, +a ready-made garment warranted to fit all sizes, though it actually fits no +one, is a thing intolerably false. Olivier, being more and more under the +necessity of withdrawing into himself and saying nothing which was not +wholly the expression of his thought, gave up the profession of teaching, +which he had had so much difficulty in entering: and, as he no longer had +his sister to check him in his tendency to dream, he began to write. He was +naïve enough to believe that his undoubted worth as an artist could not +fail to be recognized without his doing anything to procure recognition. + +He was quickly undeceived. He found it impossible to get anything +published. He had a jealous love of liberty, which gave him a horror of +everything that might impinge on it, and made him live apart, like a poor +starved plant, among the solid masses of the political churches whose +baleful associations divided the country and the Press between them. He was +just as much cut off from all the literary coteries and rejected by them. +He had not, nor could he have, a single friend among them. He was repelled +by the hardness, the dryness, the egoism of the intellectuals--(except for +the very few who were following a real vocation, or were absorbed by a +passionate enthusiasm for scientific research). That man is a sorry +creature who has let his heart atrophy for the sake of his mind--when his +mind is small. In such a man there is no kindness, only a brain like a +dagger in a sheath: there is no knowing but it will one day cut your +throat. Against such a man it is necessary to be always armed. Friendship +is only possible with honest men, who love fine things for their own sake, +and not for what they can make out of them,--those who live outside their +art. The majority of men cannot breathe the atmosphere of art. Only the +very great can live in it without loss of love, which is the source of +life. + +Olivier could only count on himself. And that was a very precarious +support. Any fresh step was a matter of extreme difficulty to him. He was +not disposed to accept humiliation for the sake of his work. He went hot +with shame at the base and obsequious homage which young authors forced +themselves to pay to a well-known theater manager, who took advantage of +their cowardice, and treated them as he would never dare to treat his +servants. Olivier could never have done that to save his life. He just sent +his manuscripts by post, or left them at the offices of the theaters or the +reviews, where they lay for months unread. However, one day by chance he +met one of his old schoolfellows, an amiable loafer, who had still a sort +of grateful admiration for him for the ease and readiness with which +Olivier had done his exercises: he knew nothing at all about literature: +but he knew several literary men, which was much better: he was rich and in +society, something of a snob, and so he let them, discreetly, exploit him. +He put in a word for Olivier with the editor of an important review in +which he was a shareholder: and at once one of his forgotten manuscripts +was disinterred and read: and, after much temporization,--(for, if the +article seemed to be worth something, the author's name, being unknown, was +valueless),--they decided to accept it. When he heard the good news Olivier +thought his troubles were over. They were only just beginning. + +It is comparatively easy to have an article accepted in Paris: but getting +it published is quite a different matter. The unhappy writer has to wait +and wait, for months, if need be for life, if he has not acquired the trick +of flattering people, or bullying them, and showing himself from time to +time at the receptions of these petty monarchs, and reminding them of his +existence, and making it clear that he means to go on being a nuisance to +them as long as they make it necessary. Olivier just stayed at home, and +wore himself out with waiting. At best he would write a letter or two which +were never answered. He would lose heart, and be unable to work. It was +quite absurd, but there was nothing to be done. He would wait for post +after post, sitting at his desk, with his mind blanketed by all sorts of +vague injuries: then he would get up and go downstairs to the porter's +room, and look hopefully in his letter-box, only to meet with +disappointment: he would walk blindly about with no thought in his head but +to go back and look again: and when the last post had gone, when the +silence of his room was broken only by the heavy footsteps of the people in +the room above, he would feel strangled by the cruel indifference of it +all. Only a word of reply, only a word! Could that be refused him if only +in charity? And yet those who refused him that had no idea of the hurt they +were dealing him. Every man sees the world in his own image. Those who have +no life in their hearts see the universe as withered and dry: and they +never dream of the anguish of expectation, hope, and suffering which rends +the hearts of the young: or if they give it a thought, they judge them +coldly, with the weary, ponderous irony of those who are surfeited and +beyond the freshness of life. + +At last the article appeared. Olivier had waited so long that it gave him +no pleasure: the thing was dead for him. And yet he hoped desperately that +it would be a living thing for others. There were flashes of poetry and +intelligence in it which could not pass unnoticed. It fell upon absolute +silence.--He made two or three more attempts. Being attached to no clique +he met with silence or hostility everywhere. He could not understand it. He +had thought simply that everybody must be naturally well-disposed towards +the work of a new man, even if it was not very good. It always represents +such an amount of work, and surely people would be grateful to a man who +has tried to give others a little beauty, a little force, a little joy. But +he only met with indifference or disparagement. And yet he knew that he +could not be alone in feeling what he had written, and that it must be in +the minds of other good men. He did not know that such good men did not +read him, and had nothing to do with literary opinion, or with anything, or +with anything. If here and there there were a few men whom his words had +reached, men who sympathized with him, they would never tell him so: they +remained immured in their unnatural silence. Just as they refrained from +voting, so they took no share in art: they did not read books, which +shocked them: they did not go to the theater, which disgusted them: but +they let their enemies vote, elect their enemies, engineer a scandalous +success and a vulgar celebrity for books and plays and ideas which only +represented an impudent minority of the people of France. + +Since Olivier could not count on those who were mentally akin to himself, +as they did not read, he was delivered up to the hosts of the enemy, to the +mercy of men of letters, who were for the most part hostile to his ideas, +and the critics who were at their beck and call. + +His first bouts with them left him bleeding. He was as sensitive to +criticism as old Bruchner, who could not bear to have his work performed, +because he had suffered so much from the malevolence of the Press. He did +not even win the support of his former colleagues at the University, who, +thanks to their profession, did preserve a certain sense of the +intellectual traditions of France, and might have understood him. But for +the most part these excellent young men, cramped by discipline, absorbed in +their work, often rather embittered by their thankless duties, could not +forgive Olivier for trying to break away and do something else Like good +little officials, many of them were inclined only to admit the superiority +of talent when it was consonant with hierarchic superiority. + +In such a position three courses were open to him: to break down resistance +by force: to submit to humiliating compromises: or to make up his mind to +write only for himself. Olivier was incapable of the two first: he +surrendered to the third. To make a living he went through the drudgery of +teaching and went on writing, and as there was no possibility of his work +attaining full growth in publicity, it became more and more involved, +chimerical, and unreal. + +Christophe dropped like a thunderbolt into the midst of his dim crepuscular +life. He was furious at the wickedness of people and Olivier's patience. + +"Have you no blood in your veins?" he would say. "How can you stand such a +life? You know your own superiority to these swine, and yet you let them +squeeze the life out of you without a murmur!" + +"What can I do?" Olivier would say. "I can't defend myself. It revolts me +to fight with people I despise: I know that they can use every weapon +against me: and I can't. Not only should I loathe to stoop to use the means +they employ, but I should be afraid of hurting them. When I was a boy I +used to let my schoolfellows beat me as much as they liked. They used to +think me a coward, and that I was afraid of being hit. I was more afraid of +hitting than of being hit. I remember some one saying to me one day, when +one of my tormentors was bullying me: 'Why don't you stop it once and for +all, and give him a kick in the stomach?' That filled me with horror. I +would much rather be thrashed." + +"There's no blood in your veins," said Christophe. "And on top of that, all +sorts of Christian ideas!... Your religious education in France is reduced +to the Catechism: the emasculate Gospel, the tame, boneless New +Testament.... Humanitarian clap-trap, always tearful.... And the +Revolution, Jean-Jacques, Robespierre, '48, and, on top of that, the +Jews!... Take a dose of the full-blooded Old Testament every morning." + +Olivier protested. He had a natural antipathy for the Old Testament, a +feeling which dated back to his childhood, when he used secretly to pore +over an illustrated Bible, which had been in the library at home, where it +was never read, and the children were even forbidden to open it. The +prohibition was useless! Olivier could never keep the book open for long. +He used quickly to grow irritated and saddened by it, and then he would +close it: and he would find consolation in plunging into the _Iliad_, or +the _Odyssey_, or the _Arabian Nights_. + +"The gods of the _Iliad_ are men, beautiful, mighty, vicious: I can +understand them," said Olivier. "I like them or dislike them: even when I +dislike them I still love them: I am in love with them. More than once, +with Patroclus, I have kissed the lovely feet of Achilles as he lay +bleeding. But the God of the Bible is an old Jew, a maniac, a monomaniac, a +raging madman, who spends his time in growling and hurling threats, and +howling like an angry wolf, raving to himself in the confinement of that +cloud of his. I don't understand him. I don't love him; his perpetual +curses make my head ache, and his savagery fills me with horror: + + "_The burden of Moab...._ + + "_The burden of Damascus...._ + + "_The burden of Babylon...._ + + "_The burden of Egypt...._ + + "_The burden of the desert of the sea...._ + + "_The burden of the valley of vision...._ + +"He is a lunatic who thinks himself judge, public prosecutor, and +executioner rolled into one, and, even in the courtyard of his prison, he +pronounces sentence of death on the flowers and the pebbles. One is +stupefied by the tenacity of his hatred, which fills the book with bloody +cries ...--'a cry of destruction,... the cry is gone round about the +borders of Moab: the howling thereof unto Eglaim, and the howling thereof +unto Beerelim....' + +"Every now and then he takes a rest, and looks round on his massacres, and +the little children done to death, and the women outraged and butchered: +and he laughs like one of the captains of Joshua, feasting after the sack +of a town: + +"'_And the Lord of hosts shall make unto all people a feast of fat things; +a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the +lees well refined.... The sword of the Lord is filled with blood, it is +made fat with fatness, with the fat of the kidneys of rams...._' + +"But worst of all is the perfidy with which this God sends his prophet to +make men blind, so that in due course he may have a reason for making them +suffer: + +"'_Make the heart of this people fat, and make their ears heavy and shut +their eyes: lest they see with their eyes and hear with their ears and +understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed.--Lord, how +long?--Until the cities be wasted without inhabitants, and the houses +without men, and the land be utterly desolate...._' Oh! I have never found +a man so evil as that!... + +"I'm not so foolish as to deny the force of the language. But I cannot +separate thought and form: and if I do occasionally admire this Hebrew God, +it is with the same sort of admiration that I feel for a viper, or a +...--(I'm trying in vain to find a Shakespearean monster as an example: I +can't find one: even Shakespeare never begat such a hero of Hatred--saintly +and virtuous Hatred). Such a book is a terrible thing. Madness is always +contagious. And that particular madness is all the more dangerous inasmuch +as it sets up its own murderous pride as an instrument of purification. +England makes me shudder when I think that her people have for centuries +been nourished on no other fare.... I'm glad to think that there is the +dike of the Channel between them and me. I shall never believe that a +nation is altogether civilized as long as the Bible is its staple food." + +"In that case," said Christophe, "you will have to be just as much afraid +of me, for I get drunk on it. It is the very marrow of a race of lions. +Stout hearts are those which feed on it. Without the antidote of the Old +Testament the Gospel is tasteless and unwholesome fare. The Bible is the +bone and sinew of nations with the will to live. A man must fight, and he +must hate." + +"I hate hatred," said Olivier. + +"I only wish you did!" retorted Christophe. + +"You're right. I'm too weak even for that. What would you? I can't help +seeing the arguments in favor of my enemies. And I say to myself over and +over again, like Chardin: 'Gentleness! Gentleness!'...." + +"What a silly sheep you are!" said Christophe. "But whether you like it or +not, I'm going to make you leap the ditch you're shying at, and I'm going +to drag you on and beat the big drum for you." + + * * * * * + +In the upshot he took Olivier's affairs in hand and set out to do battle +for him. His first efforts were not very successful. He lost his temper at +the very outset, and did his friend much harm by pleading his cause: he +recognized what he had done very quickly, and was in despair at his own +clumsiness. + +Olivier did not stand idly by. He went and fought for Christophe. In spite +of his fear and dislike of fighting, in spite of his lucid and ironical +mind, which scorned any sort of exaggeration in word and deed, when it came +to defending Christophe he was far more violent than anybody else, and even +than Christophe himself. He lost his head. Love makes a man irrational, and +Olivier was no exception to the rule.--However, he was cleverer than +Christophe. Though he was uncompromising and clumsy in handling his own +affairs, when it came to promoting Christophe's success he was politic and +even tricky: he displayed an energy and ingenuity well calculated to win +support: he succeeded in interesting various musical critics and Mæcenases +in Christophe, though he would have been utterly ashamed to approach them +with his own work. + +In spite of everything they found it very difficult to better their lot. +Their love for each other made them do many stupid things. Christophe got +into debt over getting a volume of Olivier's poems published secretly, and +not a single copy was sold. Olivier induced Christophe to give a concert, +and hardly anybody came to it. Faced with the empty hall, Christophe +consoled himself bravely with Handel's quip: "Splendid! My music will sound +all the better...." But these bold attempts did not repay the money they +cost: and they would go back to their rooms full of indignation at the +indifference of the world. + + * * * * * + +In their difficulties the only man who came to their aid was a Jew, a man +of forty, named Taddée Mooch. He kept an art-photograph shop: but although +he was interested in his trade and brought much taste and skill to bear on +it, he was interested in so many things outside it that he was apt to +neglect his business for them. When he did attend to his business he was +chiefly engaged in perfecting technical devices, and he would lose his head +over new reproduction processes, which, in spite of their ingenuity, hardly +ever succeeded, and always cost him a great deal of money. He was a +voracious reader, and was always hard on the heels of every new idea in +philosophy, art, science, and politics: he had an amazing knack of finding +out men of originality and independence of character: it was as though he +answered to their magnetism. He was a sort of connecting-link between +Olivier's friends, who were all as isolated as himself, and all working in +their several directions. He used to go from one to the other, and through +him there was established between them a complete circuit of ideas, though +neither he nor they had any notion of it. + +When Olivier first proposed to introduce him to Christophe, Christophe +refused: he was sick of his experiences with the tribe of Israel. Olivier +laughed and insisted on it, saying that he knew no more of the Jews than he +did of France. At last Christophe consented, but when he saw Taddée Mooch +he made a face. In appearance Mooch was extraordinarily Jewish: he was the +Jew as he is drawn by those who dislike the race: short, bald, badly built, +with a greasy nose and heavy eyes goggling behind large spectacles: his +face was hidden by a rough, black, scrubby beard: he had hairy hands, long +arms, and short bandy legs: a little Syrian Baal. But he had such a kindly +expression that Christophe was touched by it. Above all, he was very +simple, and never talked too much. He never paid exaggerated compliments, +but just dropped the right word, pat. He was very eager to be of service, +and before any kindness was asked of him it would be done. He came often, +too often; and he almost always brought good news: work for one or other of +them, a commission for an article or a lecture for Olivier, or +music-lessons for Christophe. He never stayed long. It was a sort of +affectation with him never to intrude. Perhaps he saw Christophe's +irritation, for his first impulse was always towards an ejaculation of +impatience when he saw the bearded face of the Carthaginian idol,--(he used +to call him "Moloch")--appear round the door: but the next moment it would +be gone, and he would feel nothing but gratitude for his perfect kindness. + +Kindness is not a rare quality with the Jews: of all the virtues it is the +most readily admitted among them, even when they do not practise it. +Indeed, in most of them it remains negative or neutral: indulgence, +indifference, dislike for hurting anybody, ironic tolerance. With Mooch it +was an active passion. He was always ready to devote himself to some cause +or person: to his poor co-religionists, to the Russian refugees, to the +oppressed of every nation, to unfortunate artists, to the alleviation of +every kind of misfortune, to every generous cause. His purse was always +open: and however thinly lined it might be, he could always manage to +squeeze a mite out of it: when it was empty he would squeeze the mite out +of some one else's purse: if he could do any one a service no pains were +too great for him to take, no distance was too far for him to go. He did it +simply--with exaggerated simplicity. He was a little apt to talk too much +about his simplicity and sincerity: but the great thing was that he was +both simple and sincere. + +Christophe was torn between irritation and sympathy with Mooch, and one day +he said an innocently cruel thing, though he said it with the air of a +spoiled child. Mooch's kindness had touched him, and he took his hands +affectionately and said: + +"What a pity!... What a pity it is that you are a Jew!" + +Olivier started and blushed, as though the shaft had been leveled at +himself. He was most unhappy, and tried to heal the wound his friend had +dealt. + +Mooch smiled, with sad irony, and replied calmly: + +"It is an even greater misfortune to be a man." + +To Christophe the remark was nothing but the whim of a moment. But its +pessimism cut deeper than he imagined: and Olivier, with his subtle +perception, felt it intuitively. Beneath the Mooch of their acquaintance +there was another different Mooch, who was in many ways exactly the +opposite. His apparent nature was the result of a long struggle with his +real nature. Though he was apparently so simple he had a distorted mind: +when he gave way to it he was forced to complicate simple things and to +endow his most genuine feelings with a deliberately ironical character. +Though he was apparently modest and, if anything, too humble, at heart he +was proud, and knew it, and strove desperately to whip it out of himself. +His smiling optimism, his incessant activity, his perpetual business in +helping others, were the mask of a profound nihilism, a deadly despondency +which dared not see itself face to face. Mooch made a show of immense faith +in all sorts of things: in the progress of humanity, in the future of the +pure Jewish spirit, in the destiny of France, the soldier of the new +spirit--(he was apt to identify the three causes). Olivier was not taken in +by it, and used to say to Christophe: + +"At heart he believes in nothing." + +With all his ironical common sense and calmness Mooch was a neurasthenic +who dared not look upon the void within himself. He had terrible moments +when he felt his nothingness: sometimes he would wake suddenly in the +middle of the night screaming with terror. And he would cast about for +things to do, like a drowning man clinging to a life-buoy. + +It is a costly privilege to be a member of a race which is exceeding old. +It means the bearing of a frightful burden of the past, trials and +tribulations, weary experience, disillusion of mind and heart,--all the +ferment of immemorial life, at the bottom of which is a bitter deposit of +irony and boredom.... Boredom, the immense boredom of the Semites, which +has nothing in common with our Aryan boredom, though that, too, makes us +suffer; while it is at least traceable to definite causes, and vanishes +when those causes cease to exist: for in most cases it is only the result +of regret that we cannot have what we want. But in some of the Jews the +very source of joy and life is tainted with a deadly poison. They have no +desire, no interest in anything: no ambition, no love, no pleasure. Only +one thing continues to exist, not intact, but morbid and fine-drawn, in +these men uprooted from the East, worn out by the amount of energy they +have had to give out for centuries, longing for quietude, without having +the power to attain it: thought, endless analysis, which forbids the +possibility of enjoyment, and leaves them no courage for action. The most +energetic among them set themselves parts to play, and play them, rather +than act on their own account. It is a strange thing that in many of +them--and not in the least intelligent or the least seriously minded--this +lack of interest in life prompts the impulse, or the unavowed desire, to +act a part, to play at life,--the only means they know of living! + +Mooch was an actor after his fashion. He rushed about to try to deaden his +senses. But whereas most people only bestir themselves for selfish reasons, +he was restlessly active in procuring the happiness of others. His devotion +to Christophe was both touching and a bore. Christophe would snub him and +then immediately be sorry for it. But Mooch never bore him any ill-will. +Nothing abashed him. Not that he had any ardent affection for Christophe. +It was devotion that he loved rather than the men to whom he devoted +himself. They were only an excuse for doing good, for living. + +He labored to such effect that he managed to induce Hecht to publish +Christophe's _David_ and some other compositions. Hecht appreciated +Christophe's talent, but he was in no hurry to reveal it to the world. It +was not until he saw that Mooch was on the point of arranging the +publication at his own expense with another firm that he took the +initiative out of vanity. + +And on another occasion, when things were very serious and Olivier was ill +and they had no money, Mooch thought of going to Félix Weil, the rich +archeologist, who lived in the same house. Mooch and Weil were acquainted, +but had little sympathy with one another. They were too different: Mooch's +restlessness and mysticism and revolutionary ideas and "vulgar" manners, +which, perhaps, he exaggerated, were an incentive to the irony of Félix +Weil, with his calm, mocking temper, his distinguished manners and +conservative mind. They had only one thing in common: they were both +equally lacking in any profound interest in action: and if they did indulge +in action, it was not from faith, but from their tenacious and mechanical +vitality. But neither was prepared to admit it: they preferred to give +their minds to the parts they were playing, and their different parts had +very little in common. And so Mooch was quite coldly received by Weil: when +he tried to interest him in the artistic projects of Olivier and +Christophe, he was brought up sharp against a mocking skepticism. Mooch's +perpetual embarkations for one Utopia or another were a standing joke in +Jewish society, where he was regarded as a dangerous visionary. But on this +occasion, as on so many others, he was not put out: and he went on speaking +about the friendship of Christophe and Olivier until he roused Weil's +interest. He saw that and went on. + +He had touched a responsive chord. The friendless solitary old man +worshiped friendship: the one great love of his life had been a friendship +which he had left behind him: it was his inward treasure: when he thought +of it he felt a better man. He had founded institutions in his friend's +name, and had dedicated his books to his memory. He was touched by what +Mooch told him of the mutual tenderness of Christophe and Olivier. His own +story had been something like it. His lost friend had been a sort of elder +brother to him, a comrade of youth, a guide whom he had idolized. That +friend had been one of those young Jews, burning with intelligence and +generous ardor, who suffer from the hardness of their surroundings, and set +themselves to uplift their race, and, through their race, the world, and +burn hotly into flame, and, like a torch of resin, flare for a few hours +and then die. The flame of his life had kindled the apathy of young Weil. +He had raised him from the earth. While his friend was alive Weil had +marched by his side in the shining light of his stoical faith,--faith in +science, in the power of the spirit, in a future happiness,--the rays of +which were shed upon everything with which that messianic soul came in +contact. When he was left alone, in his weakness and irony, Weil fell from +the heights of that idealism into the sands of that Book of Ecclesiastes, +which exists in the mind of every Jew and saps his spiritual vitality. But +he had never forgotten the hours spent in the light with his friend: +jealously he guarded its clarity, now almost entirely faded. He had never +spoken of him to a soul, not even to his wife, whom he loved: it was a +sacred thing. And the old man, who was considered prosaic and dry of heart, +and nearing the end of his life, used to say to himself the bitter and +tender words of a Brahmin of ancient India: + +"_The poisoned tree of the world puts forth two fruits sweeter than the +waters of the fountain of life: one is poetry, the other, friendship._" + +From that time on he took an interest in Christophe and Olivier. He knew +how proud they were, and got Mooch, without saying anything, to send him +Olivier's volume of poems, which had just been published: and, without the +two friends having anything to do with it, without their having even the +smallest idea of what he was up to, he managed to get the Academy to award +the book a prize, which came in the nick of time to help them in their +difficulty. + +When Christophe discovered that such unlooked-for assistance came from a +man of whom he was inclined to think ill, he regretted all the unkind +things he had said or thought of him: he gulped down his dislike of +calling, and went and thanked him. His good intentions met with no reward. +Old Weil's irony was excited by Christophe's young enthusiasm, although he +tried hard to conceal it from him, and they did not get on at all well. + +That very day, when Christophe returned, irritated, though still grateful, +to his attic, after his interview with Weil, he found Mooch there, doing +Olivier some fresh act of service, and also a review containing a +disparaging article on his music by Lucien Lévy-Coeur;--it was not written +in a vein of frank criticism, but took the insultingly kindly line of +chaffing him and banteringly considering him alongside certain third-rate +and fourth-rate musicians whom he loathed. + +"You see," said Christophe to Olivier, after Mooch had gone, "we always +have to deal with Jews, nothing but Jews! Perhaps we're Jews ourselves? Do +tell me that we're not. We seem to attract them. We're always knocking up +against them, both friends and foes." + +"The reason is," said Olivier, "that they are more intelligent than the +rest. The Jews are almost the only people in France to whom a free man can +talk of new and vital things. The rest are stuck fast in the past among +dead things. Unfortunately the past does not exist for the Jews, or at +least it is not the same for them as for us. With them we can only talk +about the things of to-day: with our fellow-countrymen we can only discuss +the things of yesterday. Look at the activity of the Jews in every kind of +way: commerce, industry, education, science, philanthropy, art...." + +"Don't let's talk about art," said Christophe. + +"I don't say that I am always in sympathy with what they do: very often I +detest it. But at least they are alive, and can understand men who are +alive. It is all very well for us to criticise and make fun of the Jews, +and speak ill of them. We can't do without them." + +"Don't exaggerate," said Christophe jokingly. "I could do without them +perfectly." + +"You might go on living perhaps. But what good would that be to you if your +life and your work remained unknown, as they probably would without the +Jews? Would the members of your own religion come to your assistance? The +Catholic Church lets the best of its members perish without raising a hand +to help them. Men who are religious from the very bottom of their hearts, +men who give their lives in the defense of God,--if they have dared to +break away from Catholic dominion and shake off the authority of Rome,--at +once find the unworthy mob who call themselves Catholic not only +indifferent, but hostile: they condemn them to silence, and abandon them to +the mercy of the common enemy. If a man of independent spirit, be he never +so great and Christian at heart, is not a Christian as a matter of +obedience, it is nothing to the Catholics that in him is incarnate all that +is most pure and most truly divine in their faith. He is not of the pack, +the blind and deaf sect which refuses to think for itself. He is cast out, +and the rest rejoice to see him suffering alone, torn to pieces by the +enemy, and crying for help to those who are his brothers, for whose faith +he is done to death. In the Catholicism of to-day there is a horrible, +death-dealing power of inertia. It would find it far easier to forgive its +enemies than those who wish to awake it and restore it to life.... My dear +Christophe, where should we be, and what should we do--we, who are +Catholics by birth, we, who have shaken free, without the little band of +free Protestants and Jews? The Jews in Europe of to-day are the most active +and living agents of good and evil. They carry hither and thither the +pollen of thought. Have not your worst enemies and your friends from the +very beginning been Jews?" + +"That's true," said Christophe. "They have given me encouragement and help, +and said things to me which have given me new life for the struggle, by +showing me that I was understood. No doubt very few of my friends have +remained faithful to me: their friendship was but a fire of straw. No +matter! That fleeting light is a great thing in darkness. You are right: we +mustn't be ungrateful." + +"We must not be stupid, either," replied Olivier. "We must not mutilate our +already diseased civilization by lopping off some of its most living +branches. If we were so unfortunate as to have the Jews driven from Europe, +we should be left so poor in intelligence and power for action that we +should be in danger of utter bankruptcy. In France especially, in the +present condition of French vitality, their expulsion would mean a more +deadly drain on the blood of the nation than the expulsion of the +Protestants in the seventeenth century.--No doubt, for the time being, they +do occupy a position out of all proportion to their true merit. They do +take advantage of the present moral and political anarchy, which in no +small degree they help to aggravate, because it suits them, and because it +is natural to them to do so. The best of them, like our friend Mooch, make +the mistake, in all sincerity, of identifying the destiny of France with +their Jewish dreams, which are often more dangerous than useful. But you +can't blame them for wanting to build France in their own image: it means +that they love the country. If their love becomes a public danger, all we +have to do is to defend ourselves and keep them in their place, which, in +France, is the second. Not that I think their race inferior to ours:--(all +these questions of the supremacy of races are idiotic and disgusting).--But +we cannot admit that a foreign race which has not yet been fused into our +own, can possibly know better than we do what suits us. The Jews are well +off in France: I am glad of it: but they must not think of turning France +into Judea! An intelligent and strong Government which was able to keep the +Jews in their place would make them one of the most useful instruments for +the building of the greatness of France: and it would be doing both them +and us a great service. These hypernervous, restless, and unsettled +creatures need the restraint of law and the firm hand of a just master, in +whom there is no weakness, to curb them. The Jews are like women: admirable +when they are reined in; but, with the Jews as with women, their use of +mastery is an abomination, and those who submit to it present a pitiful and +absurd spectacle." + + * * * * * + +In spite of their love for each other, and the intuitive knowledge that +came with it, there were many things which Christophe and Olivier could not +understand in each other, things, too, which shocked them. In the beginning +of their friendship, when each tried instinctively only to suffer the +existence of those qualities in himself which were most like the qualities +of his friend, they never remarked them. It was only gradually that the +different aspects of their two nationalities appeared on the surface again, +more sharply defined than before: for being in contrast, each showed the +other up. There were moments of difficulty, moments when they clashed, +which, with all their fond indulgence, they could not altogether avoid. + +Sometimes they misunderstood each other. Olivier's mind was a mixture of +faith, liberty, passion, irony, and universal doubt, for which Christophe +could not find any working formula. + +Olivier, on his part, was distressed by Christophe's lack of psychology: +being of an old intellectual stock, and therefore aristocratic, he was +moved to smile at the awkwardness of such, a vigorous, though lumbering and +single mind, which had no power of self-analysis, and was always being +taken in by others and by itself. Christophe's sentimentality, his noisy +outbursts, his facile emotions, used sometimes to exasperate Olivier, to +whom they seemed absurd. Not to speak of a certain worship of force, the +German conviction of the excellence of fist-morality, _Faustrecht_, to +which Olivier and his countrymen had good reason for not subscribing. + +And Christophe could not bear Olivier's irony, which used sometimes to make +him furious with exasperation: he could not bear his mania for arguing, his +perpetual analysis, and the curious intellectual immorality, which was +surprising in a man who set so much store by moral purity as Olivier, and +arose from the very breadth of his mind, to which every kind of negation +was detestable,--so that he took a delight in the contemplation of ideas +the opposite of his own. Olivier's outlook on things was in some sort +historical and panoramic: it was so necessary for him to understand +everything that he always saw reasons both for and against, and supported +each in turn, according as the opposite thesis was put forward: and so amid +such contradictions he lost his way. He would leave Christophe hopelessly +perplexed. It was not that he had any desire to contradict or any taste for +paradox: it was an imperious need in him for justice and common sense: he +was exasperated by the stupidity of any assumption, and he had to react +against it. The crudeness with which Christophe judged immoral men and +actions, by seeing everything as much coarser and more brutal than it +really was, distressed Olivier, who was just as moral, but was not of the +same unbending steel; he allowed himself to be tempted, colored, and molded +by outside influences. He would protest against Christophe's exaggerations +and fly off into exaggeration in the opposite direction. Almost every day +this perverseness of mind would make him take up the cudgels for his +adversaries against his friends. Christophe would lose his temper. He would +cry out upon Olivier's sophistry and his indulgence of hateful things and +people. Olivier would smile: he knew the utter absence of illusion that lay +behind his indulgence: he knew that Christophe believed in many more things +than he did, and had a greater power of acceptance! But Christophe would +look neither to the right hand nor the left, but went straight ahead. He +was especially angry with Parisian "kindness." + +"Their great argument, of which they are so proud, in favor of 'pardoning' +rascals, is," he would say, "that all rascals are sufficiently unhappy in +their wickedness, or that they are irresponsible or diseased.... In the +first place, it is not true that those who do evil are unhappy. That's a +moral idea in action, a silly melodramatic idea, stupid, empty optimism, +such as you find in Scribe and Capus,--(Scribe and Capus, your Parisian +great men, artists of whom your pleasure-seeking, vulgar society is worthy, +childish hypocrites, too cowardly to face their own ugliness).--It is quite +possible for a rascal to be a happy man. He has every chance of being so. +And as for his irresponsibility, that is an idiotic idea. Do have the +courage to face the fact that Nature does not care a rap about good and +evil, and is so far malevolent that a man may easily be a criminal and yet +perfectly sound in mind and body. Virtue is not a natural thing. It is the +work of man. It is his duty to defend it. Human society has been built up +by a few men who were stronger and greater than the rest. It is their duty +to see that the work of so many ages of frightful struggles is not spoiled +by the cowardly rabble." + +At bottom there was no great difference between these ideas and Olivier's: +but, by a secret instinct for balance and proportion, he was never so +dilettante as when he heard provocative words thrown out. + +"Don't get so excited, my friend," he would say to Christophe. "Let the +world hug its vices. Like the friends in the 'Decameron,' let us breathe in +peace the balmy air of the gardens of thought, while under the cypress-hill +and the tall, shady pines, twined about with roses, Florence is devastated +by the black plague." + +He would amuse himself for days together by pulling to pieces art, science, +philosophy, to find their hidden wheels: so he came by a sort of +Pyrrhonism, in which everything that was became only a figment of the mind, +a castle in the air, which had not even the excuse of the geometric +symbols, of being necessary to the mind. Christophe would rage against his +pulling the machine to pieces: + +"It was going quite well: you'll probably break it. Then how will you be +better off? What are you trying to prove? That nothing is nothing? Good +Lord! I know that. It is because nothingness creeps in upon us from every +side that we fight. Nothing exists? I exist. There's no reason for doing +anything? I'm doing what I can. If people like death, let them die! For my +part, I'm alive, and I'm going to live. My life is in one scale of the +balance, my mind and thought in the other.... To hell with thought!" + +He would fly off with his usual violence, and in their argument he would +say things that hurt. Hardly had he said them than he was sorry. He would +long to withdraw them: but the harm was done. Olivier was very sensitive: +his skin was easily barked: a harsh word, especially if it came from some +one he loved, hurt him terribly. He was too proud to say anything, and +would retire into himself. And he would see in his friend those sudden +flashes of unconscious egoism which appear in every great artist. Sometimes +he would feel that his life was no great thing to Christophe compared with +a beautiful piece of music:--(Christophe hardly troubled to disguise the +fact).--He would understand and see that Christophe was right: but it made +him sad. + +And then there were in Christophe's nature all sorts of disordered elements +which eluded Olivier and made him uneasy. He used to have sudden fits of a +freakish and terrible humor. For days together he would not speak: or he +would break out in diabolically malicious moods and try deliberately to +hurt. Sometimes he would disappear altogether and be seen no more for the +rest of the day and part of the night. Once he stayed away for two whole +days. God knows what he was up to! He was not very clear about it +himself.... The truth was that his powerful nature, shut up in that narrow +life, and those small rooms, as in a hen-coop, every now and then reached +bursting-point. His friend's calmness maddened him: then he would long to +hurt him, to hurt some one. He would have to rush away, and wear himself +out. He would go striding through the streets of Paris and the outskirts in +the vague quest of adventure, which sometimes he found: and he would not +have been sorry to meet with some rough encounter which would have given +him the opportunity of expending some of his superfluous energy in a +brawl.... It was hard for Olivier, with his poor health and weakness of +body, to understand. Christophe was not much nearer understanding it. He +would wake up from his aberrations as from an exhausting dream,--a little +uneasy and ashamed of what he had been doing and might yet do. But when the +fit of madness was over he would feel like a great sky washed by the storm, +purged of every taint, serene, and sovereign of his soul. He would be more +tender than ever with Olivier, and bitterly sorry for having hurt him. He +would give up trying to account for their little quarrels. The wrong was +not always on his side: but he would take all the blame upon himself, and +put it down to his unjust passion for being right; and he would think it +better to be wrong with his friend than to be right, if right were not on +his side. + +Their misunderstandings were especially grievous when they occurred in the +evening, so that the two friends had to spend the night in disunion, which +meant that both of them were morally upset. Christophe would get up and +scribble a note and slip it under Olivier's door: and next day as soon as +he woke up he would beg his pardon. Sometimes, even, he would knock at his +door in the middle of the night: he could not bear to wait for the day to +come before he humbled himself. As a rule, Olivier would be just as unable +to sleep. He knew that Christophe loved him, and had not wished to hurt +him: but he wanted to hear him say so. Christophe would say so, and then +the whole thing would be forgotten. Then they would be pacified. Delightful +state! How well they would sleep for the rest of the night! + +"Ah!" Olivier would sigh. "How difficult it is to understand each other!" + +"But is it necessary always to understand each other?" Christophe would +ask. "I give it up. We only need love each other." + +All these petty quarrels which, with anxious tenderness, they would at once +find ways of mending, made them almost dearer to each other than before. +When they were hotly arguing Antoinette would appear in Olivier's eyes. The +two friends would pay each other womanish attentions. Christophe never let +Olivier's birthday go by without celebrating it by dedicating a composition +to him, or by the gift of flowers, or a cake, or a little present, bought +Heaven knows how!--(for they often had no money in the house)--Olivier +would tire his eyes out with copying out Christophe's scores at night and +by stealth. + +Misunderstandings between friends are never very serious so long as a third +party does not come between them.--But that was bound to happen: there are +too many people in this world ready to meddle in the affairs of others and +make mischief between them. + + * * * * * + +Olivier knew the Stevens, whom Christophe rarely visited, and he too had +been attracted by Colette. The reason why Christophe had not met him in the +girl's little court was that just at that time Olivier was suffering from +his sister's death, and had shut himself up with his grief and saw no one. +Colette, on her part, did not go out of her way to see him: she liked +Olivier, but she did not like unhappy people: she used to declare that she +was so sensitive that she could not bear the sight of sorrow: she waited +until Olivier's sorrow was over before she remembered his existence. When +she heard that he seemed to be himself again, and that there was no danger +of infection, she made bold to beckon him to her. Olivier did not need much +inducement to go. He was shy but he liked society, and he was easily led: +and he had a weakness for Colette. When he told Christophe of his intention +of going back to her, Christophe, who had too much respect for his friend's +liberty to express any adverse opinion, just shrugged his shoulders and +said jokingly: + +"Go, dear boy, if it amuses you." + +But nothing would have induced him to follow his example. He had made up +his mind to have nothing more to do with a coquette like Colette or the +world she lived in. Not that he was a misogynist: far from it. He had a +very tender feeling for all the young women who worked for their living, +the factory-hands, and typists, and Government clerks, who are to be seen +every morning, half awake, always a little late, hurrying to their +workshops and offices. It seemed to him that a woman was only in possession +of all her senses when she was working and struggling for her own +individual existence, by earning her daily bread and her independence. And +it seemed to him that only then did she possess all her charm, her alert +suppleness of movement, the awakening of all her senses, her integrity of +life and will. He detested the idle, pleasure-seeking woman, who seemed to +him to be only an overfed animal, perpetually in the act of digestion, +bored, browsing over unwholesome dreams. Olivier, on the contrary, adored +the _far niente_ of women, their charm, like the charm of flowers, living +only to be beautiful and to perfume the air about them. He was more of an +artist: Christophe was more human. Unlike Colette, Christophe loved other +people in proportion as they shared in the suffering of the world. So, +between him and them there was a bond of brotherly compassion. + +Colette was particularly anxious to see Olivier again, after she heard of +his friendship with Christophe: for she was curious to hear the details. +She was rather angry with Christophe for the disdainful manner in which he +seemed to have forgotten her: and, though she had no desire for +revenge,--(it was not worth the trouble: and revenge does mean a certain +amount of trouble),--she would have been very glad to pay him out. She was +like a cat that bites the hand that strokes it. She had an ingratiating way +with her, and she had no difficulty in getting Olivier to talk. Nobody +could be more clear-sighted than he, or less easily taken in by people, +when he was away from them: but nobody could be more naïvely confiding than +he when he was with a woman whose eyes smiled kindly at him. Colette +displayed so genuine an interest in his friendship with Christophe that he +went so far as to tell her the whole story, and even about certain of their +amicable misunderstandings, which, at a distance, seemed amusing, and he +took the whole blame for them on himself. He also confided to Colette +Christophe's artistic projects, and also some of his opinions--which were +not altogether flattering--concerning France and the French. Nothing that +he told her was of any great importance in itself, but Colette repeated it +all at once, and adapted it partly to make the story more spicy, and partly +to satisfy her secret feeling of malice against Christophe. And as the +first person to receive her confidence was naturally her inseparable Lucien +Lévy-Coeur, who had no reason for keeping it secret, the story went the +rounds, and was embellished by the way: a note of ironic pity for Olivier, +who was represented as a victim, was introduced, and he cut rather a sorry +figure. It seemed unlikely that the story could be very interesting to +anybody, since the heroes of it were very little known: but a Parisian +takes an interest in everything that does not concern him. So much so, that +one day Christophe heard the story from the lips of Madame Roussin. She met +him one day at a concert, and asked him if it were true that he had +quarreled with that poor Olivier Jeannin: and she asked about his work, and +alluded to things which he believed were known only to himself and Olivier. +And when he asked her how she had come by her information, she said she had +had it from Lucien Lévy-Coeur, who had had it direct from Olivier. + +The blow overwhelmed Christophe. Violent and uncritical as he was, it never +occurred to him to think how utterly fantastic the story was: he only saw +one thing: his secrets which he had confided to Olivier had been +betrayed--betrayed to Lucien Lévy-Coeur. He could not stay to the end of +the concert: he left the hall at once. Around him all was blank and dark. +In the street he narrowly escaped being run over. He said to himself over +and over again: "My friend has betrayed me!..." + +Olivier was with Colette. Christophe locked the door of his room, so that +when Olivier came in he could not have his usual talk with him. He heard +him come in a few moments later and try to open the door, and whisper +"Good-night" through the keyhole: he did not stir. He was sitting on his +bed in the dark, holding his head in his hands, and saying over and over +again: "My friend has betrayed me!...": and he stayed like that half +through the night. Then he felt how dearly he loved Olivier: for he was not +angry with him for having betrayed him: he only suffered. Those whom we +love have absolute rights over us, even the right to cease loving us. We +cannot bear them any ill-will; we can only be angry with ourselves for +being so unworthy of love that it must desert us. There is mortal anguish +in such a state of mind--anguish which destroys the will to live. + +Next morning, when he saw Olivier, he did not tell him anything: he so +detested the idea of reproaching him,--reproaching him for having abused +his confidence and flung his secrets into the enemy's maw,--that he could +not find a single word to say to him. But his face said what he could not +speak: his expression was icy and hostile. Olivier was struck dumb: he +could not understand it. He tried timidly to discover what Christophe had +against him. Christophe turned away from him brutally, and made no reply. +Olivier was hurt in his turn, and said no more, and gulped down his +distress in silence. They did not see each other again that day. + +Even if Olivier had made him suffer a thousand times more, Christophe would +never have done anything to avenge himself, and he would have done hardly +anything to defend himself: Olivier was sacred to him. But it was necessary +that the indignation he felt should be expended upon some one: and since +that some one could not be Olivier, it was Lucien Lévy-Coeur. With his +usual passionate injustice he put upon him the responsibility for the +ill-doing which he attributed to Olivier: and he suffered intolerable pangs +of jealousy in the thought that such a man as that could have robbed him of +his friend's affection, just as he had previously ousted him from his +friendship with Colette Stevens. To bring his exasperation to a head, that +very day he happened to see an article by Lucien Lévy-Coeur on a +performance of _Fidelio_. In it he spoke of Beethoven in a bantering way, +and poked fun at his heroine. Christophe was as alive as anybody to the +absurdities of the opera, and even to certain mistakes in the music. He had +not always displayed an exaggerated respect for the acknowledged master +himself. But he set no store by always agreeing with his own opinions, nor +had he any desire to be Frenchily logical. He was one of those men who are +quite ready to admit the faults of their friends, but cannot bear anybody +else to do so. And, besides, it was one thing to criticise a great artist, +however bitterly, from a passionate faith in art, and even--(one may +say)--from an uncompromising love for his fame and intolerance of anything +mediocre in his work,--and another thing, as Lucien Lévy-Coeur did, only to +use such criticism to flatter the baseness of the public, and to make the +gallery laugh, by an exhibition of wit at the expense of a great man. +Again, free though Christophe was in his judgments, there had always been a +certain sort of music which he had tacitly left alone and shielded: music +which was not to be tampered with: that music, which was higher and better +than music, the music of an absolutely pure soul, a great health-giving +soul, to which a man could turn for consolation, strength, and hope. +Beethoven's music was in the category. To see a puppy like Lévy-Coeur +insulting Beethoven made him blind with anger. It was no longer a question +of art, but a question of honor; everything that makes life rare, love, +heroism, passionate virtue, the good human longing for self-sacrifice, was +at stake. The Godhead itself was imperiled! There was no room for argument +It is as impossible to suffer that to be besmirched as to hear the woman +you respect and love insulted: there is but one thing to do, to hate and +kill.... What is there to say when the insulting blackguard was, of all +men, the one whom Christophe most despised? + +And, as luck would have it, that very evening the two men came face to +face. + + * * * * * + +To avoid being left alone with Olivier, contrary to his habit, Christophe +went to an At Home at the Roussins'. He was asked to play. He consented +unwillingly. However, after a moment or two he became absorbed in the music +he was playing, until, glancing up, he saw Lucien Lévy-Coeur standing in a +little group, watching him with an ironical stare. He stopped short, in the +middle of a bar: he got up and turned away from the piano. There was an +awkward silence. Madame Roussin came up to Christophe in her surprise and +smiled forcedly; and, very cautiously,--for she was not sure whether the +piece was finished or not,--she asked him: + +"Won't you go on, Monsieur Krafft?" + +"I've finished," he replied curtly. + +He had hardly said it than he became conscious of his rudeness; but, +instead of making him more restrained, it only excited him the more. He +paid no heed to the amused attention of his auditors, but went and sat +in a corner of the room from which he could follow Lucien Lévy-Coeur's +movements. His neighbor, an old general, with a pinkish, sleepy face, +light-blue eyes, and a childish expression, thought it incumbent on him to +compliment him on the originality of his music. Christophe bowed irritably, +and growled out a few inarticulate sounds. The general went on talking +with effusive politeness and a gentle, meaningless smile: and he wanted +Christophe to explain how he could play such a long piece of music from +memory. Christophe fidgeted impatiently, and thought wildly of knocking the +old gentleman off the sofa. He wanted to hear what Lucien Lévy-Coeur was +saying: he was waiting for an excuse for attacking him. For some moments +past he had been conscious that he was going to make a fool of himself: but +no power on earth could have kept him from it.--Lucien Lévy-Coeur, in his +high falsetto voice, was explaining the aims and secret thoughts of great +artists to a circle of ladies. During a moment of silence Christophe heard +him talking about the friendship of Wagner and King Ludwig, with all sorts +of nasty innuendoes. + +"Stop!" he shouted, bringing his fist down on the table by his side. + +Everybody turned in amazement. Lucien Lévy-Coeur met Christophe's eyes and +paled a little, and said: + +"Were you speaking to me?" + +"You hound!... Yes," said Christophe. + +He sprang to his feet. + +"You soil and sully everything that is great in the world," he went on +furiously. "There's the door! Get out, you cur, or I'll fling you through +the window!" + +He moved towards him. The ladies moved aside screaming. There was a moment +of general confusion. Christophe was surrounded at once. Lucien Lévy-Coeur +had half risen to his feet: then he resumed his careless attitude in his +chair. He called a servant who was passing and gave him a card: and he went +on with his remarks as though nothing had happened: but his eyelids were +twitching nervously, and his eyes blinked as he looked this way and that +to see how people had taken it. Roussin had taken his stand in front of +Christophe, and he took him by the lapel of his coat and urged him in the +direction of the door. Christophe hung his head in his anger and shame, +and his eyes saw nothing but the wide expanse of shirt-front, and kept on +counting the diamond studs: and he could feel the big man's breath on his +cheek. + +"Come, come, my dear fellow!" said Roussin. "What's the matter with you? +Where are your manners? Control yourself! Do you know where you are? Come, +come, are you mad?" + +"I'm damned if I ever set foot in your house again!" said Christophe, +breaking free: and he reached the door. + +The people prudently made way for him. In the cloak-room a servant held +out a salver. It contained Lucien Lévy-Coeur's card. He took it without +understanding what it meant, and read it aloud: then, suddenly, snorting +with rage, he fumbled in his pockets: mixed up with a varied assortment of +things, he pulled out three or four crumpled dirty cards: + +"There! There!" he said, flinging them on the salver so violently that one +of them fell to the ground. + +He left the house. + + * * * * * + +Olivier knew nothing about it. Christophe chose as his witnesses the first +men of his acquaintance who turned up, the musical critic, Théophile +Goujart, and a German, Doctor Barth, an honorary lecturer in a Swiss +University, whom he had met one night in a café; he had made friends with +him, though they had little in common: but they could talk to each other +about Germany. After conferring with Lucien Lévy-Coeur's witnesses, pistols +were chosen. Christophe was absolutely ignorant about the use of arms, and +Goujart told him it would not be a bad thing for him to go and have a few +lessons: but Christophe refused, and while he was waiting for the day to +come went on with his work. + +But his mind was distracted. He had a fixed idea, of which he was dimly +conscious, while it kept buzzing in his head like a bad dream.... "It was +unpleasant, yes, very unpleasant.... What was unpleasant?--Oh! the duel +to-morrow.... Just a joke! Nobody is ever hurt.... But it was possible.... +Well, then, afterwards?... Afterwards, that was it, afterwards.... A cock +of the finger by that swine who hates me may wipe out my life.... So be +it!...--Yes, to-morrow, in a day or two, I may be lying in the loathsome +soil of Paris....--Bah! Here or anywhere, what does it matter!... Oh! Lord: +I'm not going to play the coward!--No, but it would be monstrous to waste +the mighty world of ideas that I feel springing to life in me for a +moment's folly.... What rot it is, these modern duels in which they try to +equalize the chances of the two opponents! That's a fine sort of equality +that sets the same value on the life of a mountebank as on mine! Why don't +they let us go for each other with fists and cudgels? There'd be some +pleasure in that. But this cold-blooded shooting!... And, of course, he +knows how to shoot, and I have never had a pistol in my hand.... They are +right: I must learn.... He'll try to kill me. I'll kill him." + +He went out. There was a range a few yards away from the house. Christophe +asked for a pistol, and had it explained how he ought to hold it. With his +first shot he almost killed his instructor: he went on with a second and a +third, and fared no better: he lost patience, and went from bad to worse. A +few young men were standing by watching and laughing. He paid no heed to +them. With his German persistency he went on trying, and was so indifferent +to their laughter and so determined to succeed that, as always happens, +his blundering patience roused interest, and one of the spectators gave +him advice. In spite of his usual violence he listened to everything with +childlike docility; he managed to control his nerves, which were making +his hand tremble: he stiffened himself and knit his brows: the sweat was +pouring down his cheeks: he said not a word: but every now and then he +would give way to a gust of anger, and then go on shooting. He stayed there +for a couple of hours. At the end of that time he hit the bull's-eye. Few +things could have been more absorbing than the sight of such a power of +will mastering an awkward and rebellious body. It inspired respect. Some of +those who had scoffed at the outset had gone, and the others were silenced +one by one, and had not been able to tear themselves away. They took off +their hats to Christophe when he went away. + +When he reached home Christophe found his friend Mooch waiting anxiously. +Mooch had heard of the quarrel, and had come at once: he wanted to know +how it had originated. In spite of Christophe's reticence and desire +not to attach any blame to Olivier, he guessed the reason. He was very +cool-headed, and knew both the friends, and had no doubt of Olivier's +innocence of the treachery ascribed to him. He looked into the matter, and +had no difficulty in finding out that the whole trouble arose from the +scandal-mongering of Colette and Lucien Lévy-Coeur. He rushed back with +his evidence to Christophe, thinking that he could in that way prevent +the duel. But the result was exactly the opposite of what he expected: +Christophe was only the more rancorous against Lévy-Coeur when he learned +that it was through him that he had come to doubt his friend. To get rid of +Mooch, who kept on imploring him not to fight, he promised him everything +he asked. But he had made up his mind. He was quite happy now: he was going +to fight for Olivier, not for himself! + +A remark made by one of the seconds as the carriage was going along a road +through the woods suddenly caught Christophe's attention. He tried to find +out what they were thinking, and saw how little they really cared about +him. Professor Barth was wondering when the affair would be over, and +whether he would be back in time to finish a piece of work he had begun +on the manuscripts in the _Bibliothèque Nationale_. Of Christophe's three +companions, he was the most interested in the result of the encounter as +a matter of German national pride. Goujart paid no attention either to +Christophe or the other German, but discussed certain scabrous subjects +in connection with the coarser branches of physiology with Dr. Jullien, a +young physician from Toulouse, who had recently come to live next door to +Christophe, and occasionally borrowed his spirit-lamp, or his umbrella, or +his coffee-cups, which he invariably returned broken. In return he gave him +free consultations, tried medicines on him, and laughed at his simplicity. +Under his impassive manner, that would have well become a Castilian +hidalgo, there was a perpetual love of teasing. He was highly delighted +with the adventure of the duel, which struck him as sheer burlesque: and +he was amusing himself with fancying the mess that Christophe would make +of it. He thought it a great joke to be driving through the woods at the +expense of good old Krafft.--That, clearly, was what was in the minds of +the trio: they regarded it as a jolly excursion which cost them nothing. +Not one of them attached the least importance to the duel. But, on the +other hand, they were just as calmly prepared for anything that might come +of it. + +They reached the appointed spot before the others. It was a little inn in +the heart of the forest. It was a pleasure-resort, more or less unclean, to +which Parisians used to resort to cleanse their honor when the dirt on it +became too apparent. The hedges were bright with the pure flowers of the +eglantine. In the shade of the bronze-leaved oak-trees there were rows +of little tables. At one of these tables were seated three bicyclists: +a painted woman, in knickerbockers, with black socks: and two men in +flannels, who were stupefied by the heat, and every now and then gave out +growls and grunts as though they had forgotten how to speak. + +The arrival of the carriage produced a little buzz of excitement in the +inn. Goujart, who knew the house and the people of old, declared that he +would look after everything. Barth dragged Christophe into an arbor and +ordered beer. The air was deliciously warm and soft, and resounding with +the buzzing of bees. Christophe forgot why he had come. Barth emptied the +bottle, and said, after a short silence: + +"I know what I'll do." + +He drank and went on: + +"I shall have plenty of time: I'll go on to Versailles when it's all over." + +Goujart was heard haggling with the landlady over the price of the +dueling-ground. Jullien had not been wasting his time: as he passed near +the bicyclists he broke into noisy and ecstatic comment on the woman's bare +legs: and there was exchanged a perfect deluge of filthy epithets in which +Jullien did not come off worst. Barth said in a whisper: + +"The French are a low-minded lot. Brother, I drink to your victory." + +He clinked his glass against Christophe's. Christophe was dreaming: scraps +of music were floating in his mind, mingled with the harmonious humming of +insects. He was very sleepy. + +The wheels of another carriage crunched over the gravel of the drive. +Christophe saw Lucien Lévy-Coeur's pale face, with its inevitable smile: +and his anger leaped up in him. He got up, and Barth followed him. + +Lévy-Coeur, with his neck swathed in a high stock, was dressed with a +scrupulous care which was strikingly in contrast with his adversary's +untidiness. He was followed by Count Bloch, a sportsman well known for +his mistresses, his collection of old pyxes, and his ultra-Royalist +opinions,--Léon Mouey, another man of fashion, who had reached his position +as Deputy through literature, and was a writer from political ambition: he +was young, bald, clean-shaven, with a lean bilious face: he had a long +nose, round eyes, and a head like a bird's,--and Dr. Emmanuel, a fine type +of Semite, well-meaning and cold, a member of the Academy of Medicine, a +chief-surgeon in a hospital, famous for a number of scientific books, and +the medical skepticism which made him listen with ironic pity to the +plaints of his patients without making the least attempt to cure them. + +The newcomers saluted the other three courteously. Christophe barely +responded, but was annoyed by the eagerness and the exaggerated politeness +with which they treated Lévy-Coeur's seconds. Jullien knew Emmanuel, and +Goujart knew Mouey, and they approached them obsequiously smiling. Mouey +greeted them with cold politeness and Emmanuel jocularly and without +ceremony. As for Count Bloch, he stayed by Lévy-Coeur, and with a rapid +glance he took in the condition of the clothes and linen of the three men +of the opposing camp, and, hardly opening his lips, passed abrupt humorous +comment on them with, his friend,--and both of them stood calm and correct. + +Lucien Lévy-Coeur stood at his ease waiting for Count Bloch, who had the +ordering of the duel, to give the signal. He regarded the affair as a mere +formality. He was an excellent shot, and was fully aware of his adversary's +want of skill. He would not be foolish enough to make use of his advantage +and hit him, always supposing, as was not very probable, that the seconds +did not take good care that no harm came of the encounter: for he knew that +nothing is so stupid as to let an enemy appear to be a victim, when a much +surer and better method is to wipe him out of existence without any fuss +being made. But Christophe stood waiting, stripped to his shirt, which was +open to reveal his thick neck, while his sleeves were rolled up to show his +strong wrists, head down, with his eyes glaring at Lévy-Coeur: he stood +taut, with murder written implacably on every feature: and Count Bloch, who +watched him carefully, thought what a good thing it was that civilization +had as far as possible suppressed the risks of fighting. + +After both men had fired, of course without result, the seconds hurried +forward and congratulated the adversaries. Honor was satisfied.--Not so +Christophe. He stayed there, pistol in hand, unable to believe that it was +all over. He was quite ready to repeat his performance at the range the +evening before, and go on shooting until one or other of them had hit the +target. When he heard Goujart proposing that he should shake hands with his +adversary, who advanced chivalrously towards him with his perpetual smile, +he was exasperated by the pretense of the whole thing. Angrily he hurled +his pistol away, pushed Goujart aside, and flung himself upon Lucien +Lévy-Coeur. They were hard put to it to keep him from going on with the +fight with his fists. + +The seconds intervened while Lévy-Coeur escaped. Christophe broke away from +them, and, without listening to their laughing expostulation, he strode +along in the direction of the forest, talking loudly and gesticulating +wildly. He did not even notice that he had left his hat and coat on the +dueling-ground. He plunged into the woods. He heard his seconds laughing +and calling him: then they tired of it, and did not worry about him any +more. Very soon he heard the wheels of the carriages rumbling away and +away, and knew that they had gone. He was left alone among the silent +trees. His fury had subsided. He flung himself down on the ground and +sprawled on the grass. + +Shortly afterwards Mooch arrived at the inn. He had been pursuing +Christophe since the early morning. He was told that his friend was in the +woods, and went to look for him. He beat all the thickets, and awoke all +the echoes, and was going away in despair when he heard him singing: he +found his way by the voice, and at last came upon him in a little clearing +with his arms and legs in the air, rolling about like a young calf. When +Christophe saw him he shouted merrily, called him "dear old Moloch," and +told him how he had shot his adversary full of holes until he was like a +sieve: he made him tuck in his tuppenny, and then join him in a game of +leap-frog: and when he jumped over him he gave him a terrific thump. +Mooch was not very good at it, but he enjoyed the game almost as much as +Christophe.--They returned to the inn arm-in-arm, and caught the train +back to Paris at the nearest station. + +Olivier knew nothing of what had happened. He was surprised at Christophe's +tenderness: he could not understand his sudden change. It was not until +the next day, when he saw the newspapers, that he knew that Christophe +had fought a duel. It made him almost ill to think of the danger that +Christophe had run. He wanted to know why the duel had been fought. +Christophe refused to tell him anything. When he was pressed he said with +a laugh: + +"It was for you." + +Olivier could not get a word more out of him. Mooch told him all about it. +Olivier was horrified, quarreled with Colette, and begged Christophe to +forgive his imprudence. Christophe was incorrigible, and quoted for his +benefit an old French saying, which he adapted so as to infuriate poor +Mooch, who was present to share in the happiness of the friends: + +"My dear boy, let this teach you to be careful.... + + "_From an idle chattering girl, + From a wheedling, hypocritical Jew, + From a painted friend, + From a familiar foe, + And from flat wine, + Libera Nos, Domine!_" + +Their friendship was re-established. The danger of losing it, which had +come so near, made it only the more dear. Their small misunderstandings +had vanished: the very differences between them made them more attractive +to each other. In his own soul Christophe embraced the souls of the two +countries, harmoniously united. He felt that his heart was rich and full: +and, as usual with him, his abundant happiness expressed itself in a flow +of music. + +Olivier marveled at it. Being too critical in mind, he was never far from +believing that music, which he adored, had said its last word. He was +haunted by the morbid idea that decadence must inevitably succeed a certain +degree of progress: and he trembled lest the lovely art, which made him +love life, should stop short, and dry up, and disappear into the ground. +Christophe would scoff at such pusillanimous ideas. In a spirit of +contradiction he would pretend that nothing had been done before he +appeared on the scene, and that everything remained to be done. Olivier +would instance French music, which seemed to have reached a point of +perfection and ultimate civilization beyond which there could not possibly +be anything. Christophe would shrug his shoulders: + +"French music?... There has never been any.... And yet you have such fine +things to do in the world! You can't really be musicians, or you would have +discovered that. Ah! if only I were a Frenchman!..." + +And he would set out all the things that a Frenchman might turn into music: + +"You involve yourselves in forms which do not suit you, and you do nothing +at all with those which are admirably fitted for your use. You are a +people of elegance, polite poetry, beautiful gestures, beautiful walking +movements, beautiful attitudes, fashion, clothes, and you never write +ballets nowadays, though you ought to be able to create an inimitable art +of poetic dancing....--You are a people of laughter and comedy, and you +never write comic operas, or else you leave it to minor musicians, the +confectioners of music. Ah! if I were a Frenchman I would set Rabelais to +music, I would write comic epics....--You are a people of story-tellers, +and you never write novels in music: (for I don't count the feuilletons +of Ghistave Charpentier). You make no use of your gift of psychological +analysis, your insight into character. Ah! if I were a Frenchman I would +give you portraits in music.... (Would you like me to sketch the girl +sitting in the garden under the lilac?).... I would write you Stendhal for +a string quartet....--You are the greatest democracy in Europe, and you +have no theater for the people, no music for the people. Ah! if I were a +Frenchman, I would set your Revolution to music: the 14th July, the 10th +August, Valmy, the Federation, I would express the people in music! Not +in the false form of Wagnerian declamation. I want symphonies, choruses, +dances. Not speeches! I'm sick of them. There's no reason why people +should always be talking in a music drama! Bother the words! Paint in bold +strokes, in vast symphonies with choruses, immense landscapes in music, +Homeric and Biblical epics, fire, earth, water, and sky, all bright and +shining, the fever which makes hearts burn, the stirring of the instincts +and destinies of a race, the triumph of Rhythm, the emperor of the world, +who enslaves thousands of men, and hurls armies down to death.... Music +everywhere, music in everything! If you were musicians you would have +music for every one of your public holidays, for your official ceremonies, +for the trades unions, for the student associations, for your family +festivals.... But, above all, above all, if you were musicians, you would +make pure music, music which has no definite meaning, music which has no +definite use, save only to give warmth, and air, and life. Make sunlight +for yourselves! _Sat prata_.... (What is that in Latin?).... There has been +rain enough. Your music gives me a cold. One can't see in it: light your +lanterns.... You complain of the Italian _porcherie_, who invade your +theaters and conquer the public, and turn you out of your own house? +It is your own fault! The public are sick of your crepuscular art, your +harmonized neurasthenia, your contrapuntal pedantry. The public goes where +it can find life, however coarse and gross. Why do you run away from life? +Your Debussy is a bad man, however great he may be as an artist. He aids +and abets you in your torpor. You want roughly waking up." + +"What about Strauss?" + +"No better. Strauss would finish you off. You need the digestion of my +fellow-countrymen to be able to bear such immoderate drinking. And even +they cannot bear it.... Strauss's _Salome_!... A masterpiece.... I should +not like to have written it.... I think of my old grandfather and uncle +Gottfried, and with what respect and loving tenderness they used to talk +to me about the lovely art of sound!... But to have the handling of such +divine powers, and to turn them to such uses!... A flaming, consuming +meteor! An Isolde, who is a Jewish prostitute. Bestial and mournful lust. +The frenzy of murder, pillage, incest, and untrammeled instincts which is +stirring in the depths of German decadence.... And, on the other hand, +the spasm of a voluptuous and melancholy suicide, the death-rattle which +sounds through your French decadence.... On the one hand, the beast: on the +other, the prey. Where is man?... Your Debussy is the genius of good taste: +Strauss is the genius of bad taste. Debussy is rather insipid. But Strauss +is very unpleasant. One is a silvery thread of stagnant water, losing +itself in the reeds, and giving off an unhealthy aroma. The other is a +mighty muddy flood.... Ah! the musty base Italianism and neo-Meyerbeerism, +the filthy masses of sentiment which are borne on by the torrent!... An +odious masterpiece!... Salome, the daughter of Ysolde.... And whose mother +will Salome be in her turn?" + +"Yes," said Olivier, "I wish we could jump fifty years. This headlong +gallop towards the precipice must end one way or another: either the horse +must stop or fall. Then we shall breathe again. Thank Heaven, the earth +will not cease to flower, nor the sky to give light, with or without music! +What have we to do with an art so inhuman!... The West is burning away.... +Soon.... Very soon.... I see other stars arising in the furthest depths of +the East." + +"Bother the East!" said Christophe. "The West has not said its last word +yet. Do you think I am going to abdicate? I have enough to say to keep +you going for centuries. Hurrah for life! Hurrah for joy! Hurrah for the +courage which drives us on to struggle with our destiny! Hurrah for love +which maketh the heart big! Hurrah for friendship which rekindles our +faith,--friendship, a sweeter thing than love! Hurrah for the day! Hurrah +for the night! Glory be to the sun! _Laus Deo_, the God of joy, the God of +dreams and actions, the God who created music! Hosannah!..." + +With that he sat down at his desk and wrote down everything that was in his +head, without another thought for what he had been saying. + + * * * * * + +At that time Christophe was in a condition in which all the elements of his +life were perfectly balanced. He did not bother his head with esthetic +discussions as to the value of this or that musical form, nor with reasoned +attempts to create a new form: he did not even have to cast about for +subjects for translation into music. One thing was as good as another. The +flood of music welled forth without Christophe knowing exactly what feeling +he was expressing. He was happy: that was all: happy in expanding, happy in +having expanded, happy in feeling within himself the pulse of universal +life. + +His fullness of joy was communicated to those about him. + +The house with its closed garden was too small for him. He had the view out +over the garden of the neighboring convent with the solitude of its great +avenues and century-old trees: but it was too good to last. In front of +Christophe's windows they were building a six-story house, which shut out +the view and completely hemmed him in. In addition, he had the pleasure of +hearing the creaking of pulleys, the chipping of stones, the hammering of +nails, all day long from morning to night. Among the workmen he found his +old friend the slater, whose acquaintance he had made on the roof. They +made signs to each other, and once, when he met him in the street, he took +the man to a wineshop, and they drank together, much to the surprise of +Olivier, who was a little scandalized. He found the man's drollery and +unfailing good-humor very entertaining, but did not curse him any the less, +with his troop of workmen and stupid idiots who were raising a barricade +in front of the house and robbing him of air and light. Olivier did not +complain much: he could quite easily adapt himself to a limited horizon: +he was like the stove of Descartes, from which the suppressed ideas darted +upward to the free sky. But Christophe needed more air. Shut up in that +confined space, he avenged himself by expanding into the lives of those +about him. He drank in their inmost life, and turned it into music. Olivier +used to tell him that he looked like a lover. + +"If I were in love," Christophe would reply, "I should see nothing, love +nothing, be interested in nothing outside my love." + +"What is the matter with you, then?" + +"I'm very well. I'm hungry." + +"Lucky Christophe!" Olivier would sigh. "I wish you could hand a little of +your appetite over to us." + +Health, like sickness, is contagious. The first to feel the benefit of +Christophe's vitality was naturally Olivier. Vitality was what he most +lacked. He retired from the world because its vulgarity revolted him. +Brilliantly clever though he was, and in spite of his exceptional artistic +gifts, he was too delicate to be a great artist. Great artists do not feel +disgust: the first law for every healthy being is to live: and that law +is even more imperative for a man of genius: for such a man lives more. +Olivier fled from life: he drifted along in a world of poetic fictions that +had no body, no flesh and blood, no relation to reality. He was one of +those literary men who, in quest of beauty, have to go outside time, into +the days that are no more, or the days that have never been. As though the +wine of life were not as intoxicating, and its vintages as rich nowadays as +ever they were! But men who are weary in soul recoil from direct contact +with life: they can only bear to see it through the veil of visions spun +by the backward movement of time, and hear it in the echo which sends back +and distorts the dead words of those who were once alive.--Christophe's +friendship gradually dragged Olivier out of this Limbo of art. The sun's +rays pierced through to the innermost recesses of his soul in which he was +languishing. + + * * * * * + +Elsberger, the engineer, also succumbed to Christophe's contagious +optimism. It was not shown in any change in his habits: they were too +inveterate: and it was too much to expect him to become enterprising enough +to leave France and go and seek his fortune elsewhere. But he was shaken +out of his apathy: he recovered his taste for research, and reading, and +the scientific work which he had long neglected. He would have been much +astonished had he been told that Christophe had something to do with +his new interest in his work: and certainly no one would have been more +surprised than Christophe. + + * * * * * + +But of all the inhabitants of the house, Christophe was the soonest +intimate with the little couple on the second floor. More than once as he +passed their door he had stopped to listen to the sound of the piano which +Madame Arnaud used to play quite well when she was alone. Then he gave them +tickets for his concert, for which they thanked him effusively. And after +that he used to go and sit with them occasionally in the evening. He +had never heard Madame Arnaud playing again: she was too shy to play in +company: and even when she was alone, now that she knew she could be heard +on the stairs, she kept the soft pedal down. But Christophe used to play to +them, and they would talk about it for hours together. The Arnauds used to +speak of music with such eagerness and freshness of feeling that he was +enchanted with them. He had not thought it possible for French people to +care so much for music. + +"That," Olivier would say, "is because you have only come across +musicians." + +"I'm perfectly aware," Christophe would reply, "that professed musicians +are the very people who care least for music: but you can't make me believe +that there are many people like you in France." + +"A few thousands at any rate." + +"I suppose it's an epidemic, the latest fashion." + +"It is not a matter of fashion," said Arnaud. "_He who does not rejoice to +hear a sweet accord of instruments, or the sweetness of the natural voice, +and is not moved by it, and does not tremble from head to foot with its +sweet ravishment, and is not taken completely out of himself, does thereby +show himself to have a twisted, vicious, and depraved soul, and of such an +one we should beware as of a man ill-born...._" + +"I know that," said Christophe. "It is my friend Shakespeare." + +"No," said Arnaud gently. "It is a Frenchman who lived before him, Ronsard. +That will show you that, if it is the fashion in France to care for music, +it is no new thing." + +But what astonished Christophe was not so much that people in France should +care for music, as that almost without exception they cared for the same +music as the people in Germany. In the world of Parisian snobs and artists, +in which he had moved at first, it had been the mode to treat the German +masters as distinguished foreigners, by all means to be admired, but to be +kept at a distance: they were always ready to poke fun at the dullness of a +Gluck, and the barbarity of a Wagner: against them they set up the subtlety +of the French composers. And in the end Christophe had begun to wonder +whether a Frenchman could have the least understanding of German music, to +judge by the way it was rendered in France. Only a short time before he had +come away perfectly scandalized from a performance of an opera of Gluck's: +the ingenious Parisians had taken it into their heads to deck the old +fellow up, and cover him with ribbons, and pad out his rhythms, and bedizen +his music with, impressionistic settings, and charming little dancing +girls, forward and wanton.... Poor Gluck! There was nothing left of his +eloquent and sublime feeling, his moral purity, his naked sorrow. Was it +that the French could not understand these things?--And now Christophe +could see how deeply and tenderly his new friends loved the very inmost +quality of the Germanic spirit, and the old German _lieder_, and the German +classics. And he asked them if it was not the fact that the great Germans +were as foreigners to them, and that a Frenchman could only really love the +artists of his own nationality. + +"Not at all!" they protested. "It is only the critics who take upon +themselves to speak for us. They always follow the fashion, and they want +us to follow it too. But we don't worry about them any more than they worry +about us. They're funny little people, trying to teach us what is and is +not French--us, who are French of the old stock of France!... They come and +tell us that our France is in Rameau,--or Racine,--and nowhere else. As +though we did not know,--(and thousands like us in the provinces, and in +Paris). How often Beethoven, Mozart, and Gluck, have sat with us by the +fireside, and watched with us by the bedside of those we love, and shared +our troubles, and revived our hopes, and been one of ourselves! If we +dared say exactly what we thought, it is much more likely that the French +artists, who are set up on a pedestal by our Parisian critics, are +strangers among us." + +"The truth is," said Olivier, "that if there are frontiers in art, they are +not so much barriers between races as barriers between classes. I'm not so +sure that there is a French art or a German art: but there is certainly +one art for the rich and another for the poor. Gluck was a great man of +the middle-classes: he belongs to our class. A certain French artist, +whose name I won't mention, is not of our class: though he was of the +middle-class by birth, he is ashamed of us, and denies us: and we deny +him." + +What Olivier said was true. The better Christophe got to know the French, +the more he was struck by the resemblance between the honest men of France +and the honest men of Germany. The Arnauds reminded him of dear old Schulz +with his pure, disinterested love of art, his forgetfulness of self, his +devotion to beauty. And he loved them in memory of Schulz. + + * * * * * + +At the same time as he realized the absurdity of moral frontiers between +the honest men of different nationalities, Christophe began to see the +absurdity of the frontiers that lay between the different ideas of honest +men of the same nationality. Thanks to him, though without any deliberate +effort on his part, the Abbé Corneille and M. Watelet, two men who seemed +very far indeed from understanding each other, made friends. + +Christophe used to borrow books from both of them and, with a want of +ceremony which shocked Olivier, he used to lend their books in turn to the +other. The Abbé Corneille was not at all scandalized: he had an intuitive +perception of the quality of a man: and, without seeming to do so, he had +marked the generous and even unconsciously religious nature of his young +neighbor. A book by Kropotkin, which had been borrowed from M. Watelet, and +for different reasons had given great pleasure to all three of them, began +the process of bringing them together. It chanced one evening that they met +in Christophe's room. At first Christophe was afraid that they might be +rude to each other: but, on the contrary, they were perfectly polite, They +discussed various sage subjects: their travels, and their experience of +men. And they discovered in each other a fund of gentleness and the spirit +of the Gospels, and chimerical hopes, in spite of the many reasons that +each had for despair, They discovered a mutual sympathy, mingled with a +little irony. Their sympathy was of a very discreet nature. They never +revealed their fundamental beliefs. They rarely met and did not try to +meet: but when they did so they were glad to see each other. + +Of the two men the Abbé Corneille was not the least independent of mind, +though Christophe would never have thought it. He gradually came to +perceive the greatness of the religious and yet free ideas, the immense, +serene, and unfevered mysticism which permeated the priest's whole mind, +the every action of his daily life, and his whole outlook on the +world,--leading him to live in Christ, as he believed that Christ had lived +in God. + +He denied nothing, no single element of life. To him the whole of +Scripture, ancient and modern, lay and religious, from Moses to Berthelot, +was certain, divine, the very expression of God. Holy Writ was to him only +its richest example, just as the Church was the highest company of men +united in the brotherhood of God: but in neither of them was the spirit +confined in any fixed, unchanging truth. Christianity was the living +Christ. The history of the world was only the history of the perpetual +advance of the idea of God. The fall of the Jewish Temple, the ruin of the +pagan world, the repulse of the Crusades, the humiliation of Boniface VIII, +Galileo flinging the world back into giddy space, the infinitely little +becoming more mighty than the great, the downfall of kingdoms, and the end +of the Concordats, all these for a time threw the minds of men out of their +reckoning. Some clung desperately to the passing order: some caught at a +plank and drifted. The Abbé Corneille only asked: "Where do we stand as +men? Where is that which makes us live?" For he believed: "Where life is, +there is God."--And that was why he was in sympathy with Christophe. + +For his part, Christophe was glad once more to hear the splendid music of a +great religious soul. It awoke in him echoes distant and profound. Through +the feeling of perpetual reaction, which is in vigorous natures a vital +instinct, the instinct of self-preservation, the stroke which preserves +the quivering balance of the boat, and gives it a new drive onward,--his +surfeit of doubts and his disgust with Parisian sensuality had for the last +two years been slowly restoring God to his place in Christophe's heart. Not +that he believed in God. He denied God. But he was filled with the spirit +of God. The Abbé Corneille used to tell him with a smile, that like his +namesake, the sainted giant, he bore God on his shoulders without knowing +it. + +"How is it that I don't see it then?" Christophe would ask. + +"You are like thousands of others: you see God every day, and never know +that it is He. God reveals Himself to all, in every shape,--to some He +appears in their daily life, as He did to Saint Peter in Galilee,--to +others (like your friend M. Watelet), as He did to Saint Thomas, in wounds +and suffering that call for healing,--to you in the dignity of your ideal: +_Noli me tangere_.... Some day you will know it." + +"I will never surrender," said Christophe. "I am free. Free I shall +remain." + +"Only the more will you live in God," replied the priest calmly. + +But Christophe would not submit to being made out a Christian against his +will. He defended himself ardently and simply, as though it mattered in the +least whether one label more than another was plastered on to his ideas. +The Abbé Corneille would listen with a faint ecclesiastical irony, that was +hardly perceptible, while it was altogether kindly. He had an inexhaustible +fund of patience, based on his habit of faith. It had been tempered by the +trials to which the existing Church had exposed him: while it had made him +profoundly melancholy, and had even dragged him through terrible moral +crises, he had not really been touched by it all. It was cruel to suffer +the oppression of his superiors, to have his every action spied upon by +the Bishops, and watched by the free-thinkers, who were endeavoring to +exploit his ideas, to use him as a weapon against his own faith, and to +be misunderstood and attacked both by his co-religionists and the enemies +of his religion. It was impossible for him to offer any resistance: for +submission was enforced upon him. It was impossible for him to submit in +his heart: for he knew that the authorities were wrong. It was agony for +him to hold his peace. It was agony for him to speak and to be wrongly +interpreted. Not to mention the soul for which he was responsible, he had +to think of those, who looked to him for counsel and help, while he had to +stand by and see them suffer.... The Abbé Corneille suffered both for them +and for himself, but he was resigned. He knew how small a thing were the +days of trial in the long history of the Church.--Only, by dint of being +turned in upon himself in his silent resignation, slowly he lost heart, and +became timid and afraid to speak, so that it became more and more difficult +for him to do anything, and little by little the torpor of silence crept +over him. Meeting Christophe had given him new courage. His neighbor's +youthful ardor and the affectionate and simple interest which he took in +his doings, his sometimes indiscreet questions, did him a great deal of +good. Christophe forced him to mix once more with living men and women. + +Aubert, the journeyman electrician, once met him in Christophe's room. He +started back when he saw the priest, and found it hard to conceal his +feeling of dislike. Even when he had overcome his first inclination, he was +uncomfortable and oddly embarrassed at finding himself in the company of a +man in a cassock, a creature to whom he could attach no exact definition. +However, his sociable instincts and the pleasure he always found in talking +to educated men were stronger than his anti-clericalism. He was surprised +by the pleasant relations existing between M. Watelet and the Abbé +Corneille: he was no less surprised to find a priest who was a democrat, +and a revolutionary who was an aristocrat: it upset all his preconceived +ideas. He tried vainly to classify them in any social category: for he +always had to classify people before he could begin to understand them. It +was not easy to find a pigeon-hole for the peaceful freedom of mind of a +priest who had read Anatole France and Renan, and was prepared to discuss +them calmly, justly, and with some knowledge. In matters of science the +Abbé Corneille's way was to accept the guidance of those who knew, rather +than of those who laid down the law. He respected authority, but in his +eyes it stood lower than knowledge. The flesh, the spirit, and charity: +the three orders, the three rungs of the divine ladder, the ladder of +Jacob.--Of course, honest Aubert was far, indeed, from understanding, or +even from dreaming, of the possibility of such a state of mind. The Abbé +Corneille used to tell Christophe that Aubert reminded him of certain +French peasants whom he had seen one day. A young Englishwoman had asked +them the way, in English. They listened solemnly, but did not understand. +Then they spoke in French. She did not understand. Then they looked at each +other pityingly, and wagged their heads, and went on with their work, and +said: + +"What a pity! What a pity! Such a pretty girl, too!..." + +As though they had thought her deaf, or dumb, or soft in the head.... + +At first Aubert was abashed by the knowledge and distinguished manners of +the priest and M. Watelet, and sat mum, listening intently to what they +said. Then, little by little, he joined in the conversation, giving way to +the naïve pleasure that he found in hearing himself speak. He paraded his +generous store of rather vague ideas. The other two would listen politely, +and smile inwardly. Aubert was delighted, and could not hold himself in: +he took advantage of, and presently abused, the inexhaustible patience of +the Abbé Corneille. He read his literary productions to him. The priest +listened resignedly; and it did not bore him overmuch, for he listened not +so much to the words as to the man. And then he would reply to Christophe's +commiseration: + +"Bah! I hear so many of them!" + +Aubert was grateful to M. Watelet and the Abbé Corneille: and, without +taking much trouble to understand each other's ideas, or even to find out +what they were, the three of them became very good friends without exactly +knowing why. They were very surprised to find themselves so intimate. They +would never have thought it.--Christophe was the bond between them. + +He had other innocent allies in the three children, the two little +Elsbergers and M. Watelet's adopted daughter. He was great friends with +them: they adored him. He told each of them about the other, and gave them +an irresistible longing to know each other. They used to make signs to each +other from the windows, and spoke to each other furtively on the stairs. +Aided and abetted by Christophe, they even managed to get permission +sometimes to meet in the Luxembourg Gardens. Christophe was delighted with +the success of his guile, and went to see them there the first time they +were together: they were shy and embarrassed, and hardly knew what to make +of their new happiness. He broke down their reserve in a moment, and +invented games for them, and races, and played hide-and-seek: he joined in +as keenly as though he were a child of ten: the passers-by cast amused and +quizzical glances at the great big fellow, running and shouting and dodging +round trees, with three little girls after him. And as their parents were +still suspicious of each other, and showed no great readiness to let these +excursions to the Luxembourg Gardens occur very often--(because it kept +them too far out of sight)--Christophe managed to get Commandant Chabran, +who lived on the ground floor, to invite the children to play in the garden +belonging to the house. + +Chance had thrown Christophe and the old soldier together:--(chance always +singles out those who can turn it to account).--Christophe's writing-table +was near his window. One day the wind blew a few sheets of music down into +the garden. Christophe rushed down, bareheaded and disheveled, just as he +was, without even taking the trouble to brush his hair. He thought he would +only have to see a servant. However, the daughter opened the door to him. +He was rather taken aback, but told her what he had come for. She smiled +and let him in: they went into the garden. When he had picked up his papers +he was for hurrying away, and she was taking him to the door, when they met +the old soldier. The Commandant gazed at his odd visitor in some surprise. +His daughter laughed, and introduced him. + +"Ah! So you are the musician?" said the old soldier. "We are comrades." + +They shook hands. They talked in a friendly, bantering tone of the concerts +they gave together, Christophe with his piano, the Commandant with his +flute. Christophe tried to go, but the old man would not let him: and he +plunged blindly into a disquisition on music. Suddenly he stopped short, +and said: + +"Come and see my canons." + +Christophe followed him, wondering how anybody could be interested in +anything he might think about French artillery. The old man showed him in +triumph a number of musical canons, amazing productions, compositions that +might just as well be read upside down, or played as duets, one person +playing the right-hand page, and the other the left. The Commandant was an +old pupil of the Polytechnic, and had always had a taste for music: but +what he loved most of all in it was the mathematical problem: it seemed +to him--(as up to a point it is)--a magnificent mental gymnastic: and +he racked his brains in the invention and solution of puzzles in the +construction of music, each more useless and extravagant than the last. Of +course, his military career had not left him much time for the development +of his mania: but since his retirement he had thrown himself into it with +enthusiasm: he expended on it all the energy and ingenuity which he had +previously employed in pursuing the hordes of negro kings through the +deserts of Africa, or avoiding their traps. Christophe found his puzzles +quite amusing, and set him a more complicated one to solve. The old soldier +was delighted: they vied with one another: they produced a perfect shower +of musical riddles. After they had been playing the game for some time, +Christophe went upstairs to his own room. But the very next morning his +neighbor sent him a new problem, a regular teaser, at which the Commandant +had been working half the night: he replied with another: and the duel went +on until Christophe, who was getting tired of it, declared himself beaten: +at which the old soldier was perfectly delighted. He regarded his success +as a retaliation on Germany. He invited Christophe to lunch. Christophe's +frankness in telling the old soldier that he detested his musical +compositions, and shouting in protest when Chabran began to murder an +_andante_ of Haydn on his harmonium, completed the conquest. From that time +on they often met to talk. But not about music. Christophe could not summon +up any great interest in his neighbor's crotchety notions about it, and +much preferred getting him to talk about military subjects. The Commandant +asked nothing better: music was only a forced amusement for the unhappy +man: in reality, he was fretting his life out. + +He was easily led on to yarn about his African campaigns. Gigantic +adventures worthy of the tales of a Pizarro and a Cortez! Christophe was +delighted with the vivid narrative of that marvelous and barbaric epic, of +which he knew nothing, and almost every Frenchman is ignorant: the tale of +the twenty years during which the heroism, and courage, and inventiveness, +and superhuman energy of a conquering handful of Frenchmen were spent far +away in the depths of the Black Continent, where they were surrounded +by armies of negroes, where they were deprived of the most rudimentary +arms of war, and yet, in the face of public opinion and a panic-stricken +Government, in spite of France, conquered for France an empire greater than +France itself. There was the flavor of a mighty joy, a flavor of blood in +the tale, from which, in Christophe's mind's eye, there sprang the figures +of modern _condottieri_, heroic adventurers, unlooked for in the France of +to-day, whom the France of to-day is ashamed to own, so that she modestly +draws a veil over them. The Commandant's voice would ring out bravely +as he recalled it all: and he would jovially recount, with learned +descriptions--(oddly interpolated in his epic narrative)--of the geological +structure of the country, in cold, precise terms, the story of the +tremendous marches, and the charges at full gallop, and the man-hunts, in +which he had been hunter and quarry, turn and turn about, in a struggle to +the death.--Christophe would listen and watch his face, and feel a great +pity for such a splendid human animal, condemned to inaction, and forced to +spend his time in playing ridiculous games. He wondered how he could ever +have become resigned to such a lot. He asked the old man how he had done +it. The Commandant was at first not at all inclined to let a stranger +into his confidence as to his grievances. But the French are naturally +loquacious, especially when they have a chance of pitching into each other: + +"What on earth should I do," he said, "in the army as it is to-day? The +marines write books. The infantry study sociology. They do everything but +make war. They don't even prepare for it: they prepare never to go to war +again: they study the philosophy of war.... The philosophy of war! That's +a game for beasts of burden wondering how much thrashing they are going to +get!... Discussing, philosophizing, no, that's not my work. Much better +stay at home and go on with my canons!" + +He was too much ashamed to air the most serious of his grievances: the +suspicion created among the officers by the appeal to informers, the +humiliation of having to submit to the insolent orders of certain crass and +mischievous politicians, the army's disgust at being put to base police +duty, taking inventories of the churches, putting down industrial strikes, +at the bidding of capital and the spite of the party in power--the petty +burgess radicals and anti-clericals--against the rest of the country. Not +to speak of the old African's disgust with the new Colonial Army, which was +for the most part recruited from the lowest elements of the nation, by way +of pandering to the egoism and cowardice of the rest, who refuse to share +in the honor and the risks of securing the defense of "greater +France"--France beyond the seas. + +Christophe was not concerned with these French quarrels: they were no +affair of his: but he sympathized with the old soldier. Whatever he might +think of war, it seemed to him that an army was meant to produce soldiers, +as an apple-tree to produce apples, and that it was a strange perversion to +graft on to it politicians, esthetes, and sociologists. And yet he could +not understand how a man of such vigor could give way to his adversaries. +It is to be his own worst enemy for a man not to fight his enemies. In +all French people of any worth at all there was a spirit of surrender, a +strange temper of renunciation.--To Christophe it was even more profound, +and even more touching as it existed in the old soldier's daughter. + +Her name was Céline. She had beautiful hair, plaited and braided so as +to set off her high, round forehead and her rather pointed ears, her +thin cheeks, and her pretty chin: she was like a country girl, with fine +intelligent dark eyes, very trustful, very soft, rather short-sighted: her +nose was a little too large, and she had a tiny mole on her upper lip by +the corner of her mouth, and she had a quiet smile which made her pout +prettily and thrust out her lower lip, which was a little protruding. She +was kind, active, clever, but she had no curiosity of mind. She read very +little, and never any of the newest books, never went to the theater, never +traveled,--(for traveling bored her father, who had had too much of it +in the old days),--never had anything to do with any polite charitable +work,--(her father used to condemn all such things),--made no attempt to +study,--(he used to make fun of blue stockings),--hardly ever left her +little patch of garden inclosed by its four high walls, so that it was like +being at the bottom of a deep well. And yet she was not really bored. She +occupied her time as best she could, and was good-tempered and resigned. +About her and about the setting which every woman unconsciously creates +for herself wherever she may be, there was a Chardinesque atmosphere: the +same soft silence, the same tranquil expression, the same attitude of +absorption--(a little drowsy and languid)--in the common task: the poetry +of the daily round, of the accustomed way of life, with its fixed thoughts +and actions, falling into exactly the same place at exactly the same +time--thoughts and actions which are cherished none the less with an +all-pervading tranquil gentleness: the serene mediocrity of the fine-souled +women of the middle-class: honest, conscientious, truthful, calm--calm in +their pleasures, unruffled in their labors, and yet poetic in all their +qualities. They are healthy and neat and tidy, clean in body and mind: all +their lives are sweetened with the scent of good bread, and lavender, and +integrity, and kindness. There is peace in all that they are and do, the +peace of old houses and smiling souls.... + +Christophe, whose affectionate trustfulness invited trust, had become very +friendly with her: they used to talk quite frankly: and he even went so far +as to ask her certain questions, which she was surprised to find herself +answering: she would tell him things which she had not told anybody, even +her most intimate friends. + +"You see," Christophe would say, "you're not afraid of me. There's no +danger of our falling in love with each other: we're too good friends for +that." + +"You're very polite!" she would answer with a laugh. + +Her healthy nature recoiled as much as Christophe's from philandering +friendship, that form of sentimentality dear to equivocal men and women, +who are always juggling with their emotions. They were just comrades one to +another. + +He asked her one day what she was doing in the afternoons, when he saw her +sitting in the garden with her work on her knees, never touching it, and +not stirring for hours together. She blushed, and protested that it was not +a matter of hours, but only a matter of a few minutes, perhaps a quarter of +an hour, during which she "went on with her story." + +"What story?" + +"The story I am always telling myself." + +"You tell yourself stories? Oh, tell them to me!" + +She told him that he was too curious. She would only go so far as to +intimate that they were stories of which she was not the heroine. + +He was surprised at that: + +"If you are going to tell yourself stories, it seems to me that it would be +more natural if you told your own story with embellishments, and lived in a +happier dream-life." + +"I couldn't," she said. "If I did that, I should become desperate." + +She blushed again at having revealed even so much of her inmost thoughts: +and she went on: + +"Besides, when I am in the garden and a gust of wind reaches me, I am +happy. Then the garden becomes alive for me. And when the wind blusters and +comes from a great distance, he tells me so many things!" + +In spite of her reserve, Christophe could see the hidden depths of +melancholy that lay behind her good-humor, and the restless activity which, +as she knew perfectly well, led nowhere. Why did she not try to break away +from her condition and emancipate herself? She would have been so well +fitted for a useful and active life!--But she alleged her affection for her +father, who would not hear of her leaving him. In vain did Christophe tell +her that the old soldier was perfectly vigorous and energetic, and had no +need of her, and that a man of his stamp could quite well be left alone, +and had no right to make a sacrifice of her. She would begin to defend her +father: by a pious fiction she would pretend that it was not her father +who was forcing her to stay, but she herself who could not bear to leave +him.--And, up to a point, what she said was true. It seemed to have been +accepted from time immemorial by herself, and her fatter, and all their +friends that their life had to be thus and thus, and not otherwise. She +had a married brother, who thought it quite natural that she should devote +her life to their father in his stead. He was entirely wrapped up in his +children. He loved them jealously, and left them no will of their own. His +love for his children was to him, and especially to his wife, a voluntary +bondage which weighed heavily on their life, and cramped all their +movements: his idea seemed to be that as soon as a man has children, his +own life comes to an end, and he has to stop short in his own development: +he was still young, active, and intelligent, and there he was reckoning up +the years he would have still to work before he could retire.--Christophe +saw how these good people were weighed down by the atmosphere of family +affection, which is so deep-rooted in France--deep-rooted, but stifling and +destructive of vitality. And it has become all the more oppressive since +families in France have been reduced to the minimum: father, mother, one +or two children, and here and there, perhaps, an uncle or an aunt. It is +a cowardly, fearful love, turned in upon itself, like a miser clinging +tightly to his hoard of gold. + +A fortuitous circumstance gave Christophe a yet greater interest in the +girl, and showed him the full extent of the suppression of the emotions +of the French, their fear of life, of letting themselves go, and claiming +their birthright. + +Elsberger, the engineer, had a brother ten years younger than himself, +likewise an engineer. He was a very good fellow, like thousands of others, +of the middle-class, and he had artistic aspirations: he was one of those +people who would like to practise an art, but are afraid of compromising +their reputation and position. As a matter of fact, it is not a very +difficult problem, and most of the artists of to-day have solved it +without any great danger to themselves. But it needs a certain amount of +will-power: and not everybody is capable of even that much expenditure of +energy: such people are not sure enough of wanting what they really want: +and as their position in life grows more assured, they submit and drift +along, without any show of revolt or protest. They cannot be blamed if they +become good citizens instead of bad artists. But their disappointment too +often leaves behind it a secret discontent, a _qualis artifex pereo_, which +as best it can assumes a crust of what is usually called philosophy, and +spoils their lives, until the wear and tear of daily life and new anxieties +have erased all trace of the old bitterness. Such was the case of André +Elsberger. He would have liked to be a writer: but his brother, who was +very self-willed, had made him follow in his footsteps and enter upon a +scientific career. André was clever, and quite well equipped for scientific +work--or for literature, for that matter: he was not sure enough of +being an artist, and he was too sure that he was middle-class: and so, +provisionally at first,--(one knows what that means)--he had bowed to his +brother's wishes: he entered the _Centrale_, high up in the list, and +passed out equally high, and since then he had practised his profession as +an engineer conscientiously, but without being interested in it. Of course, +he had lost the little artistic quality that he had possessed, and he never +spoke of it except ironically. + +"And then," he used to say--(Christophe recognized Olivier's pessimistic +tendency in his arguments)--"life is not good enough to make one worry +about a spoiled career. What does a bad poet more or less matter!..." + +The brothers were fond of one another: they were of the same stamp morally: +but they did not get on well together. They had both been Dreyfus-mad. But +André was attracted by syndicalism, and was an anti-militarist: and Elie +was a patriot. + +From time to time André would visit Christophe without going to see his +brother: and that astonished Christophe: for there was no great sympathy +between himself and André, who used hardly ever to open his mouth except +to gird at something or somebody,--which was very tiresome: and when +Christophe said anything, André would not listen. Christophe made no effort +to conceal the fact that he found his visits a nuisance: but André did not +mind, and seemed not to notice it. At last Christophe found the key to the +riddle one day when he found his visitor leaning out of the window, and +paying much more attention to what was happening in the garden below than +to what he was saying. He remarked upon it, and André was not reluctant to +admit that he knew Mademoiselle Chabran, and that she had something to do +with his visits to Christophe. And, his tongue being, loosed, he confessed +that he had long been attached to the girl, and perhaps something more than +that: the Elsbergers had long ago been in close touch with the Chabrans: +but, though they had been very intimate, politics and recent events +had separated them: and thereafter they saw very little of each other. +Christophe did not disguise his opinion that it was an idiotic state of +things. Was it impossible for people to think differently, and yet to +retain their mutual esteem? André said he thought it was, and protested +that he was very broad-minded: but he would not admit the possibility of +tolerance in certain questions, concerning which, he said, he could not +admit any opinion different from his own: and he instanced the famous +Affair. On that, as usual, he became wild. Christophe knew the sort of +thing that happened in that connection, and made no attempt to argue: but +he; asked whether the Affair was never going to come to an end, or whether +its curse was to go on and on to the end of time, descending even unto the +third and fourth generation. André began to laugh: and without answering +Christophe, he fell to tender praise of Céline Chabran, and protested +against her father's selfishness, who thought it quite natural that she +should be sacrificed to him. + +"Why don't you marry her," asked Christophe, "if you love her and she loves +you?" + +André said mournfully that Céline was clerical. Christophe asked what he +meant by that. André replied that he meant that she was religious, and had +vowed a sort of feudal service to God and His bonzes. + +"But how does that affect you?" + +"I don't want to share my wife with any one." + +"What! You are jealous even of your wife's ideas? Why, you're more selfish +even than the Commandant!" + +"It's all very well for you to talk: would you take a woman who did not +love music?" + +"I have done so." + +"How can a man and a woman live together if they don't think the same?" + +"Don't you worry about what you think! Ah! my dear fellow, ideas count for +so little when one loves. What does it matter to me whether the woman I +love cares for music as much as I do? She herself is music to me! When a +man has the luck, as you have, to find a dear girl whom he loves, and she +loves him, she must believe what she likes, and he must believe what he +likes! When all is said and done, what do your ideas amount to? There is +only one truth in the world, there is only one God: love." + +"You speak like a poet. You don't see life as it is. I know only too many +marriages which have suffered from such a want of union in thought." + +"Those husbands and wives did not love each other enough. You have to know +what you want." + +"Wanting does not do everything in life. Even if I wanted to marry +Mademoiselle Chabran, I couldn't." + +"I'd like to know why." + +André spoke of his scruples: his position was not assured: he had no +fortune and no great health. He was wondering whether he had the right to +marry in such circumstances. It was a great responsibility. Was there not a +great risk of bringing unhappiness on the woman he loved, and himself,--not +to mention any children there might be?... It was better to wait--or give +up the idea. + +Christophe shrugged his shoulders. + +"That's a fine sort of love! If she loves you, she will be happy in her +devotion to you. And as for the children, you French people are absurd. You +would like only to bring them into the world when you are sure of turning +them out with comfortable private means, so that they will have nothing to +suffer and nothing to fear.... Good Lord! That's nothing to do with you: +your business is only to give them life, love of life, and courage to +defend it. The rest ... whether they live or die ... is the common lot. Is +it better to give up living than to take the risks of life?" + +The sturdy confidence which emanated from Christophe affected André, but +did not change his mind. He said: + +"Yes, perhaps, that is true...." + +But he stopped at that. Like all the rest, his will and power of action +seemed to be paralyzed. + + * * * * * + +Christophe had set himself to fight the inertia which he found In most +of his French friends, oddly coupled with laborious and often feverish +activity. Almost all the people he met in the various middle-class houses +which he visited were discontented. They had almost all the same disgust +with the demagogues and their corrupt ideas. In almost all there was the +same sorrowful and proud consciousness of the betrayal of the genius of +their race. And it was by no means the result of any personal rancor nor +the bitterness of men and classes beaten and thrust out of power and active +life, or discharged officials, or unemployed energy, nor that of an old +aristocracy which has returned to its estates, there to die in hiding like +a wounded lion. It was a feeling of moral revolt, mute, profound, general: +it was to be found everywhere, in a greater or less degree, in the army, in +the magistracy, in the University, in the officers, and in every vital +branch of the machinery of government. But they took no active measures. +They were discouraged in advance: they kept on saying: + +"There is nothing to be done:" + +or + +"Let us try not to think of it." + +Fearfully they dodged anything sad in their thoughts and conversation: and +they took refuge in their home life. + +If they had been content to refrain only from political action! But even +in their daily lives these good people had no interest in doing anything +definite. They put up with the degrading, haphazard contact with horrible +people whom they despised, because they could not take the trouble to fight +against them, thinking that any such revolt must of necessity be useless. +Why, for instance, should artists, and, in particular, the musicians +with whom Christophe was most in touch, unprotestingly put up with the +effrontery of the scaramouches of the Press, who laid down the law for +them? There were absolute idiots among them, whose ignorance _in omni re +scibili_ was proverbial, though they were none the less invested with +a sovereign authority _in omni re scibili_. They did not even take the +trouble to write their articles and books: they had secretaries, poor +starving creatures, who would have sold their souls, if they had had such +things, for bread or women. There was no secret about it in Paris. And +yet they went on riding their high horse and patronizing the artists. +Christophe used to roar with anger sometimes when he read their articles. + +"They have no heart!" he would say. "Oh! the cowards!" + +"Who are you screaming at?" Olivier would ask. "The idiots of the +market-place?" + +"No. The honest men. These rascals are plying their trade: they lie, they +steal, they rob and murder. But it is the others--those who despise them +and yet let them go on--that I despise a thousand times more. If their +colleagues on the Press, if honest, cultured critics, and the artists on +whose backs these harlequins strut and poise themselves, did not put up +with it, in silence, from shyness or fear of compromising themselves, or +from some shameful anticipation of mutual service, a sort of secret pact +made with the enemy so that they may be immune from their attacks,--if they +did not let them preen themselves in their patronage and friendship, their +upstart power would soon be killed by ridicule. There's the same weakness +in everything, everywhere. I've met twenty honest men who have said to me +of so-and-so: 'He is a scoundrel.' But there is not one of them who would +not refer to him as his 'dear colleague,' and, if he met him, shake hands +with him.--'There are too many of them!' they say.--Too many cowards. Too +many flabby honest men." + +"Eh! What do you want them to do?" + +"Be every man his own policeman! What are you waiting for? For Heaven to +take your affairs in hand? Look you, at this very moment. It is three days +now since the snow fell. Your streets are thick with it, and your Paris is +like a sewer of mud. What do you do? You protest against your Municipal +Council for leaving you in such a state of filth. But do you yourselves do +anything to clear it away? Not a bit of it! You sit with your arms folded. +Not one of you has energy enough even to clean the pavement in front of +his house. Nobody does his duty, neither the State nor the members of the +State: each man thinks he has done as much as is expected of him by laying +the blame on some one else. You have become so used, through centuries of +monarchical training, to doing nothing for yourselves that you all seem to +spend your time in star-gazing and waiting for a miracle to happen. The +only miracle that could happen would be if you all suddenly made up your +minds to do something. My dear Olivier, you French people have plenty of +brains and plenty of good qualities: but you lack blood. You most of all. +There's nothing the matter with your mind or your heart. It's your life +that's all wrong. You're sputtering out." + +"What can we do? We can only wait for life to return to us." + +"You must want life to return to you. You must want to be cured. You must +_want_, use your will! And if you are to do that you must first let in some +pure air into your houses. If you won't go out of doors, then at least +you must keep your houses healthy. You have let the air be poisoned by +the unwholesome vapors of the market-place. Your art and your ideas are +two-thirds adulterated. And you are so dispirited that it hardly occasions +you any surprise, and rouses you to no sort of indignation. Some of these +good people--(it is pitiful to see)--are so cowed that they actually +persuade themselves that they are wrong and the charlatans are right. +Why--even on your _Ésope_ review, in which you profess not to be taken in +by anything,--I have found unhappy young men persuading themselves that +they love an art and ideas for which they have not a vestige of love. They +get drunk on it, without any sort of pleasure, simply because they are told +to do so: and they are dying of boredom--boredom with the monstrous lie of +the whole thing!" + + * * * * * + +Christophe passed through these wavering and dispirited creatures like a +wind shaking the slumbering trees. He made no attempt to force them to his +way of thinking: he breathed into them energy enough to make them think for +themselves. He used to say: + +"You are too humble. The grand enemy is neurasthenia, doubt. A man can and +must be tolerant and human. But no man may doubt what he believes to be +good and true. A man must believe in what he thinks. And he should maintain +what he believes. Whatever our powers may be, we have no right to forswear +them. The smallest creature in the world, like the greatest, has his duty. +And--(though he is not sufficiently conscious of it)--he has also a power. +Why should you think that your revolt will carry so little weight? A sturdy +upright conscience which dares assert itself is a mighty thing. More than +once during the last few years you have seen the State and public opinion +forced to reckon with the views of an honest man, who had no other weapons +but his own moral force, which, with constant courage and tenacity, he had +dared publicly to assert.... + +"And if you must go on asking what's the good of taking so much trouble, +what's the good of fighting, _what's the good of it all?_... Then, I will +tell you:--Because France is dying, because Europe is perishing--because, +if we did not fight, our civilization, the edifice so splendidly +constructed, at the cost of centuries of labor, by our humanity, would +crumble away. These are not idle words. The country is in danger, our +European mother-country,--and more than any, yours, your own native +country, France. Your apathy is killing her. Your silence is killing her. +Each of your energies as it dies, each of your ideas as it accepts and +surrenders, each of your good intentions as it ends in sterility, every +drop of your blood as it dries up, unused, in your veins, means death to +her.... Up! up! You must live! Or, if you must die, then you must die +fighting like men!" + + * * * * * + +But the chief difficulty lay not in getting them to do something, but in +getting them to act together. There they were quite unmanageable. The best +of them were the most obstinate, as Christophe found in dealing with the +tenants in his own house: M. Félix Weil, Elsberger, the engineer, and +Commandant Chabran, lived on terms of polite and silent hostility. And yet, +though Christophe knew very little of them, he could see that, underneath +their party and racial labels, they all wanted the same thing. + +There were many reasons particularly why M. Weil and the Commandant should +have understood each other. By one of those contrasts common to thoughtful +men, M. Weil, who never left his books and lived only in the life of the +mind, had a passion for all things military. "_We are all cranks_," said +the half-Jew Montaigne, applying to mankind in general what is perfectly +true of certain types of minds, like the type of which M. Weil was an +example. The old intellectual had the craze for Napoleon. He collected +books and relics which brought to life in him the terrible dream of the +Imperial epic. Like many Frenchmen of that crepuscular epoch, he was +dazzled by the distant rays of that glorious sun. He used to go through the +campaigns, fight the battles all over again, and discuss operations: he +was one of those chamber-strategists who swarm in the Academies and the +Universities, who explain Austerlitz and declare how Waterloo should have +been fought. He was the first to make fun of the "Napoleonite" in himself: +it tickled his irony: but none the less he went on reading the splendid +stories with the wild enthusiasm of a child playing a game: he would weep +over certain episodes: and when he realized that he had been weak enough to +shed tears, he would roar with laughter, and call himself an old fool. As a +matter of fact, he was a Napoleonite not so much from patriotism as from +a romantic interest and a platonic love of action. However, he was a good +patriot, and much more attached to France than many an actual Frenchman. +The French anti-Semites are stupid and actively mischievous in casting +their insulting suspicions on the feeling for France of the Jews who have +settled in the country. Outside the reasons by which any family does of +necessity, after a generation or two, become attached to the land of its +adoption, where the blood of the soil has become its own, the Jews have +especial reason to love the nation which in the West stands for the most +advanced ideas of intellectual and moral liberty. They love it because +for a hundred years they have helped to make it so, and its liberty is in +part their work. How, then, should they not defend it against every menace +of feudal reaction? To try--as a handful of unscrupulous politicians and +a herd of wrong-headed people would like--to break the bonds which bind +these Frenchmen by adoption to France, is to play into the hands of that +reaction. + +Commandant Chabran was one of those wrong-headed old Frenchmen who are +roused to fury by the newspapers, which make out that every immigrant +into France is a secret enemy, and, in a human, hospitable spirit, force +themselves to suspect and hate and revile them, and deny the brave destiny +of the race, which is the conflux of all the races. Therefore, he thought +it incumbent on him not to know the tenant of the first floor, although he +would have been glad to have his acquaintance. As for M. Weil, he would +have been very glad to talk to the old soldier: but he knew him for a +nationalist, and regarded him with mild contempt. + +Christophe had much less reason than the Commandant for being interested in +M. Weil. But he could not bear to hear ill spoken of anybody unjustly. And +he broke many a lance in defence of M. Weil when he was attacked in his +presence. + +One day, when the Commandant, as usual, was railing against the prevailing +state of things, Christophe said to him: + +"It is your own fault. You all shut yourselves up inside yourselves. When +things in France are not going well, to your way of thinking, you submit to +it and send in your resignation. One would think it was a point of honor +with you to admit yourselves beaten. I've never seen anybody lose a cause +with such absolute delight. Come, Commandant, you have made war; is that +fighting, or anything like it?" + +"It is not a question of fighting," replied the Commandant. "We don't fight +against France. In such struggles as these we have to argue, and vote, and +mix with all sorts of knaves and low blackguards: and I don't like it." + +"You seem to be profoundly disgusted! I suppose you had to do with knaves +and low blackguards in Africa!" + +"On my honor, that did not disgust me nearly so much. Out there one could +always knock them down! Besides, if it's a question of fighting, you need +soldiers. I had my sharpshooters out there. Here I am all alone." + +"It isn't that there is any lack of good men." + +"Where are they?" + +"Everywhere. All round us." + +"Well: what are they doing?" + +"Just what you're doing. Nothing. They say there's nothing to be done." + +"Give me an instance." + +"Three, if you like, in this very house." + +Christophe mentioned M. Weil,--(the Commandant gave an exclamation),--and +the Elsbergers,--(he jumped in his seat): + +"That Jew? Those Dreyfusards?" + +"Dreyfusards?" said Christophe. "Well: what does that matter?" + +"It is they who have ruined France." + +"They love France as much as you do." + +"They're mad, mischievous lunatics." + +"Can't you be just to your adversaries?" + +"I can get on quite well with loyal adversaries who use the same weapons. +The proof of that is that I am here talking to you, Monsieur German. I can +think well of the Germans, although some day I hope to give them back with +interest the thrashing we got from them. But it is not the same thing with +our enemies at home: they use underhand weapons, sophistry, and unsound +ideas, and a poisonous humanitarianism...." + +"Yes. You are in the same state of mind as that of the knights of the +Middle Ages, when, for the first time, they found themselves faced with +gunpowder. What do you want? There is evolution in war too." + +"So be it. But then, let us be frank, and say that war is war." + +"Suppose a common enemy were to threaten Europe, wouldn't you throw in your +lot with the Germans?" + +"We did so, in China." + +"Very well, then: look about you. Don't you see that the heroic idealism +of your country and every other country in Europe is actually threatened? +Don't you see that they are all, more or less, a prey to the adventurers of +every class of society? To fight that common enemy, don't you think you +should join with those of your adversaries who are of some worth and moral +vigor? How can a man like you set so little store by the realities of life? +Here are people who uphold an ideal which is different from your own! An +ideal is a force, you cannot deny it: in the struggle in which you were +recently engaged, it was your adversaries' ideal which defeated you. +Instead of wasting your strength in fighting against it, why not make use +of it, side by side with your own, against the enemies of all ideals, the +men who are exploiting your country and your wealth of ideas, the men who +are bringing European civilization to rottenness?" + +"For whose sake? One must know where one is. To make our adversaries +triumph?" + +"When you were in Africa, you never stopped to think whether you were +fighting for the King or the Republic. I fancy that not many of you ever +gave a thought to the Republic." + +"They didn't care a rap." + +"Good! And that was well for France. You conquered for her, as well as for +yourselves, and for the honor and the joy of it. Why not do the same here? +Why not widen the scope of the fight? Don't go haggling over differences in +politics and religion. These things are utterly futile. What does it matter +whether your nation is the eldest daughter of the Church or the eldest +daughter of Reason? The only thing that does matter is that it should +live! Everything that exalts life is good. There is only one enemy, +pleasure-seeking egoism, which fouls the sources of life and dries them up. +Exalt force, exalt the light, exalt fruitful love, the joy of sacrifice, +action, and give up expecting other people to act for you. Do, act, +combine! Come!..." + +And he laughed and began to bang out the first bars of the march in _B +minor_ from the _Choral Symphony_. + +"Do you know," he said, breaking off, "that if I were one of your +musicians, say Charpentier or Bruneau (devil take the two of them!), +I would combine in a choral symphony _Aux armes, citoyens!_, +_l'Internationale_, _Vive Henri IV_, and _Dieu Protège la France!_,--(You +see, something like this.)--I would make you a soup so hot that it would +burn your mouth! It would be unpleasant,--(no worse in any case than what +you are doing now):--but I vow it would warm your vitals, and that you +would have to set out on the march!" + +And he roared with laughter. + +The Commandant laughed too: + +"You're a fine fellow, Monsieur Krafft. What a pity you're not one of us!" + +"But I am one of you! The fight is the same everywhere. Let us close up the +ranks!" + +The Commandant quite agreed: but there he stayed. Then Christophe pressed +his point and brought the conversation back to M. Weil and the Elsbergers. +And the old soldier no less obstinately went back to his eternal arguments +against Jews and Dreyfusards, and nothing that Christophe had said seemed +to have had the slightest effect on him. + +Christophe grew despondent. Olivier said to him: + +"Don't you worry about it. One man cannot all of a sudden change the whole +state of mind of a nation. That's too much to expect! But you have done a +good deal without knowing it." + +"What have I done?" said Christophe. + +"You are Christophe." + +"What good is that to other people?" + +"A great deal. Just go on being what you are, my dear Christophe. Don't you +worry about us." + +But Christophe could not surrender. He went on arguing with Commandant +Chabran, sometimes with great vehemence. It amused Céline. She was +generally present at their discussions, sitting and working in silence. She +took no part in the argument: but it seemed to make her more lively: and +quite a different expression would come into her eyes: it was as though it +gave her more breathing-space. She began to read, and went out a little +more, and found more things to interest her. And one day, when Christophe +was battling with her father about the Elsbergers, the Commandant saw her +smile: he asked her what she was thinking, and she replied calmly: + +"I think M. Krafft is right." + +The Commandant was taken aback, and said: + +"You ... you surprise me!... However, right or wrong, we are what we are. +And there's no reason why we should know these people. Isn't it so, my +dear?" + +"No, father," she replied. "I would like to know them." + +The Commandant said nothing, and pretended that he had not heard. He +himself was much less insensible of Christophe's influence than he cared to +appear. His vehemence and narrow-mindedness did not prevent his having a +proper sense of justice and very generous feelings. He loved Christophe, he +loved his frankness and his moral soundness, and he used often bitterly to +regret that Christophe was a German. Although he always lost his temper in +these discussions, he was always eager for more, and Christophe's arguments +did produce an effect on him though he would never have been willing to +admit it. But one day Christophe found him absorbed in reading a book which +he would not let him see. And when Céline took Christophe to the door and +found herself alone with him, she said: + +"Do you know what he was reading? One of M. Weil's books." + +Christophe was delighted. + +"What does he say about it?" + +"He says: 'Beast!'... But he can't put it down." + +Christophe made no allusion to the fact with the Commandant. It was he who +asked: + +"Why have you stopped hurling that blessed Jew at my head?" + +"Because I don't think there's any need to," said Christophe. "Why?" asked +the Commandant aggressively. + +Christophe made no reply, and went away laughing. + + * * * * * + +Olivier was right. It is not through words that a man can influence other +men: but through his life. There are people who irradiate an atmosphere +of peace from their eyes, and in their gestures, and through the silent +contact with the serenity of their souls. Christophe irradiated life. +Softly, softly, like the moist air of spring, it penetrated the walls and +the closed windows of the somnolent old house: it gave new life to the +hearts of men and women, whom sorrow, weakness, and isolation had for years +been consuming, so that they were withered and like dead creatures. What +a power there is in one soul over another! Those who wield that power and +those who feel it are alike ignorant of its working. And yet the life of +the world is in the ebb and flow controlled by that mysterious power of +attraction. + +On the second floor, below Christophe and Olivier's room, there lived, +as we have seen, a young woman of thirty-five, a Madame Germain, a widow +of two years' standing, who, the year before, had lost her little girl, +a child of seven. She lived with her mother-in-law, and they never saw +anybody. Of all the tenants of the house, they had the least to do with +Christophe. They had hardly met, and they had never spoken to each other. + +She was a tall woman, thin, but with a good figure; she had fine brown +eyes, dull and rather inexpressive, though every now and then there glowed +in them a hard, mournful light. Her face was sallow and her complexion +waxy: her cheeks were hollow and her lips were tightly compressed. The +elder Madame Germain was a devout lady, and spent all her time at church. +The younger woman lived in jealous isolation in her grief. She took no +interest in anything or anybody. She surrounded herself with portraits and +pictures of her little girl, and by dint of staring at them she had ceased +to see her as she was: the photographs and dead presentments had killed the +living image of the child. She had ceased to see her as she was, but she +clung to it: she was determined to think of nothing but the child: and so, +in the end, she reached a point at which she could not even think of her: +she had completed the work of death. There she stopped, frozen, with her +heart turned to stone, with no tears to shed, with her life withered. +Religion was no aid to her. She went through the formalities, but her heart +was not in them, and therefore she had no living faith: she gave money for +Masses, but she took no active part in any of the work of the Church: her +whole religion was centered in the one thought of seeing her child again. +What did the rest matter? God? What had she to do with God? To see her +child again, only to see her again.... And she was by no means sure that +she would do so. She wished to believe it, willed it hardly, desperately: +but she was in doubt.... She could not bear to see other children, and used +to think: + +"Why are they not dead too?" + +In the neighborhood there was a little girl who in figure and manner was +like her own. When she saw her from behind, with her little pigtails down +her back, she used to tremble. She would follow her, and, when the child +turned round and she saw that it was not _she_, she would long to strangle +her. She used to complain that the Elsberger children made a noise +below her, though they were very quiet, and even very subdued by their +up-bringing: and when the unhappy children began to play about their +room, she would send her maid to ask her neighbors to make them be quiet. +Christophe met her once as he was coming in with the little girls, and was +hurt and horrified by the hard way in which she looked at them. + +One summer evening when the poor woman was sitting in the dark in the +self-hypnotized condition of the utter emptiness of her living death, she +heard Christophe playing. It was his habit to sit at the piano in the +half-light, musing and improvising. His music irritated her, for it +disturbed the empty torpor into which she had sunk. She shut the window +angrily. The music penetrated through to her room. Madame Germain was +filled with a sort of hatred for it. She would have been glad to stop +Christophe, but she had no right to do so. Thereafter, every day at the +same time she sat waiting impatiently and irritably for the music to begin: +and when it was later than usual her irritation was only the more acute. In +spite of herself, she had to follow the music through to the end, and when +it was over she found it hard to sink back into her usual apathy.--And one +evening, when she was curled up in a corner of her dark room, and, through +the walls and the closed window, the distant music reached her, that +light-giving music ... she felt a thrill run through her, and once more +tears came to her eyes. She went and opened the window, and stood there +listening and weeping. The music was like rain drop by drop falling upon +her poor withered heart, and giving it new life. Once more she could see +the sky, the stars, the summer night: within herself she felt the dawning +of a new interest in life, as yet only a poor, pale light, vague and +sorrowful sympathy for others. And that night, for the first time for many +months, the image of her little girl came to her in her dreams.--For the +surest road to bring us near the beloved dead, the best means of seeing +them again, is not to go with them into death, but to live. They live in +our lives, and die with us. + +She made no attempt to meet Christophe. Bather she avoided him. But she +used to hear him go by on the stairs with the children: and she would stand +in hiding behind her door to listen to their babyish prattle, which so +moved her heart. + +One day, as she was going out, she heard their little padding footsteps +coming down the stairs, rather more noisily than usual, and the voice of +one of the children saying to her sister: + +"Don't make so much noise, Lucette. Christophe says you mustn't because of +the sorrowful lady." + +And the other child began to walk more quietly and to talk in a whisper. +Then Madame Germain could not restrain herself: she opened the door, and +took the children in her arms, and hugged them fiercely. They were afraid: +one of the children began to cry. She let them go, and went back into her +own room. + +After that, whenever she met them, she used to try to smile at them, a poor +withered smile,--(for she had grown unused to smiling);--she would speak to +them awkwardly and affectionately, and the children would reply shyly in +timid, bashful whispers. They were still afraid of the sorrowful lady, more +afraid than ever: and now, whenever they passed the door, they used to run +lest she should come out and catch them. She used to hide to catch sight +of them as they passed. She would have been ashamed to be seen talking to +the children. She was ashamed in her own eyes. It seemed to her that she +was robbing her own dead child of some of the love to which she only was +entitled. She would kneel down and pray for her forgiveness. But now that +the instinct for life and love was newly awakened in her, she could not +resist it: it was stronger than herself. + +One evening, as Christophe came in, he saw that there was an unusual +commotion in the house. He met a tradesman, who told him that the tenant +of the third floor, M. Watelet, had just died suddenly of angina pectoris. +Christophe was filled with pity, not so much for his unhappy neighbor as +for the child who was left alone in the world. M. Watelet was not known to +have any relations, and there was every reason to believe that he had left +the girl almost entirely unprovided for. Christophe raced upstairs, and +went into the flat on the third floor, the door of which was open. He +found the Abbé Corneille with the body, and the child in tears, crying +to her father: the housekeeper was making clumsy efforts to console her. +Christophe took the child in his arms and spoke to her tenderly. She clung +to him desperately: he could not think of leaving her: he wanted to take +her away, but she would not let him. He stayed with her. He sat near the +window in the dying light of day, and went on rocking her in his arms and +speaking to her softly. The child gradually grew calmer, and went to sleep, +still sobbing. Christophe laid her on her bed, and tried awkwardly to +undress her and undo the laces of her little shoes. It was nightfall. The +door of the flat had been left open. A shadow entered with a rustling of +skirts. In the fading light Christophe recognized the fevered eyes of the +sorrowful lady. He was amazed. She stood by the door, and said thickly: + +"I came.... Will you ... will you let me take her?" + +Christophe took her hand and pressed it. Madame Germain was in tears. Then +she sat by the bedside. And, a moment later, she said: + +"Let me stay with her...." + +Christophe went up to his own room with the Abbé Corneille. The priest was +a little embarrassed, and begged Ms pardon for coming up. He hoped, he +said, humbly, that the dead man would have nothing to reproach him with: he +had gone, not as a priest, but as a friend. Christophe was too much moved +to speak, and left him with an affectionate shake of the hand. + +Next morning, when Christophe went down, he found the child with her arms +round Madame Germain's neck, with the naïve confidence which makes children +surrender absolutely to those who have won their affection. She was glad to +go with her new friend.... Alas! she had soon forgotten her adopted father. +She showed just the same affection for her new mother. That was not very +comforting. Did Madame Germain, in the egoism of her love, see it?... +Perhaps. But what did it matter? The thing is to love. That way lies +happiness.... + +A few weeks after the funeral Madame Germain took the child into the +country, far away from Paris. Christophe and Olivier saw them off. The +woman had an expression of contentment and secret joy which they had never +known in her before. She paid no attention to them. However, just as they +were going, she noticed Christophe, and held out her hand, and said: + +"It was you who saved me." + +"What's the matter with the woman?" asked Christophe in amazement, as they +were going upstairs after her departure. + +A few days later the post brought him a photograph of a little girl whom he +did not know, sitting on a stool, with her little hands sagely folded in +her lap, while she looked up at him with clear, sad eyes. Beneath it were +written these words: + +"With thanks from my dear, dead child." + + * * * * * + +Thus it was that the breath of life passed into all these people. In the +attic on the fifth floor was a great and mighty flame of humanity, the +warmth and light of which were slowly filtered through the house. + +But Christophe saw it not. To him the process was very slow. + +"Ah!" he would sigh, "if one could only bring these good people together, +all these people of all classes and every kind of belief, who refuse to +know each other! Can't it be done?" + +"What do you want?" said Olivier. "You would need to have mutual tolerance +and a power of sympathy which can only come from inward joy,--the joy of a +healthy, normal, harmonious existence,--the joy of having a useful outlet +for one's activity, of feeling that one's efforts are not wasted, and that +one is serving some great purpose. You would need to have a prosperous +country, a nation at the height of greatness, or--(better still)--on the +road to greatness. And you must also have--(the two things go together)--a +power which could employ all the nation's energies, an intelligent and +strong power, which would be above party. Now, there is no power above +party save that which finds its strength in itself--not in the multitude, +that power which seeks not the support of anarchical majorities,--as it +does nowadays when it is no more than a well-trained dog in the hands +of second-rate men, and bends all to its will by service rendered: the +victorious general, the dictatorship of Public Safety, the supremacy of the +intelligence... what you will. It does not depend on us. You must have the +opportunity and the men capable of seizing it: you must have happiness and +genius. Let us wait and hope! The forces are there: the forces of faith, +knowledge, work, old France and new France, and the greater France.... What +an upheaval it would be, if the word were spoken, the magic word which +should let loose these forces all together! Of course, neither you nor I +can say the word. Who will say it? Victory? Glory?... Patience! The chief +thing is for the strength of the nation to be gathered together, and not +to rust away, and not to lose heart before the time comes. Happiness and +genius only come to those peoples who have earned them by ages of stoic +patience, and labor, and faith." + +"Who knows?" said Christophe. "They often come sooner than we think--just +when we expect them least. You are counting too much on the work of ages. +Make ready. Gird your loins. Always be prepared with your shoes on your +feet and your staff in your hand.... For you do not know that the Lord will +not pass your doors this very night." + + * * * * * + +The Lord came very near that night. His shadow fell upon the threshold of +the house. + + * * * * * + +Following on a sequence of apparently insignificant events, relations +between France and Germany suddenly became strained: and, in a few days, +the usual neighborly attitude of banal courtesy passed into the provocative +mood which precedes war. There was nothing surprising in this, except to +those who were living under the illusion that the world is governed by +reason. But there were many such in France: and numbers of people were +amazed from day to day to see the vehement Gallophobia of the German +Press becoming rampant with the usual quasi-unanimity. Certain of those +newspapers which, in the two countries, arrogate to themselves a monopoly +of patriotism, and speak in the nation's name, and dictate to the State, +sometimes with the secret complicity of the State, the policy it should +follow, launched forth insulting ultimatums to France. There was a dispute +between Germany and England; and Germany did not admit the right of France +not to interfere: the insolent newspapers called upon her to declare for +Germany, or else threatened to make her pay the chief expenses of the war: +they presumed that they could wrest alliance from her fears, and already +regarded her as a conquered and contented vassal,--to be frank, like +Austria. It only showed the insane vanity of German Imperialism, drunk with +victory, and the absolute incapacity of German statesmen to understand +other races, so that they were always applying the simple common measure +which was law for themselves: Force, the supreme reason. Naturally, such a +brutal demand, made of an ancient nation, rich in its past ages of a glory +and a supremacy in Europe, such as Germany had never known, had had exactly +the opposite effect to that which Germany expected. It had provoked their +slumbering pride; France was shaken from top to base; and even the most +diffident of the French roared with anger. + +The great mass of the German people had nothing at all to do with the +provocation: they were shocked by it: the honest men of every country +ask only to be allowed to live in peace: and the people of Germany are +particularly peaceful, affectionate, anxious to be on good terms with +everybody, and much more inclined to admire and emulate other nations than +to go to war with them. But the honest men of a nation are not asked for +their opinion: and they are not bold enough to give it. Those who are not +virile enough to take public action are inevitably condemned to be its +pawns. They are the magnificent and unthinking echo which casts back the +snarling cries of the Press and the defiance of their leaders, and swells +them into the _Marseillaise_, or the _Wacht am Rhein_. + +It was a terrible blow to Christophe and Olivier. They were so used to +living in mutual love that they could not understand why their countries +did not do the same. Neither of them could grasp the reasons for the +persistent hostility, which was now so suddenly brought to the surface, +especially Christophe, who, being a German, had no sort of ground for +ill-feeling against the people whom his own people had conquered. +Although he himself was shocked by the intolerable vanity of some of his +fellow-countrymen, and, up to a certain point, was entirely with the French +against such a high-handed Brunswicker demand, he could not understand +why France should, after all, be unwilling to enter into an alliance with +Germany. The two countries seemed to him to have so many deep-seated +reasons for being united, so many ideas in common, and such great tasks to +accomplish together, that it annoyed him to see them persisting in their +wasteful, sterile ill-feeling. Like all Germans, he regarded France as the +most to blame for the misunderstanding: for, though he was quite ready to +admit that it was painful for her to sit still under the memory of her +defeat, yet that was, after all, only a matter of vanity, which should be +set aside in the higher interests of civilization and of France herself. +He had never taken the trouble to think out the problem of Alsace and +Lorraine. At school he had been taught to regard the annexation of those +countries as an act of justice, by which, after centuries of foreign +subjection, a German province had been restored to the German flag. And so, +he was brought down with a run, and he discovered that his friend regarded +the annexation as a crime. He had never even spoken to him about these +things, so convinced was he that they were of the same opinion: and now he +found Olivier, of whose good faith and broad-mindedness he was certain, +telling him, dispassionately, without anger and with profound sadness, that +it was possible for a great people to renounce the thought of vengeance for +such a crime, but quite impossible for them to subscribe to it without +dishonor. + +They had great difficulty in understanding each other. Olivier's historical +argument, alleging the right of France to claim Alsace as a Latin country, +made no impression on Christophe: there were just as good arguments to the +contrary: history can provide politics with every sort of argument in every +sort of cause. Christophe was much more accessible to the human, and not +only French, aspect of the problem. Whether the Alsatians were or were not +Germans was not the question. They did not wish to be Germans: and that +was all that mattered. What nation has the right to say: "These people are +mine: for they are my brothers"? If the brothers in question renounce that +nation, though they be a thousand times in the wrong, the consequences of +the breach must always be borne by the party who has failed to win the +love of the other, and therefore has lost the right to presume to bind the +other's fortunes up with his own. After forty years of strained relations, +vexations, patent or disguised, and even of real advantage gained from the +exact and intelligent administration of Germany, the Alsatians persist in +their refusal to become Germans: and, though they might give in from sheer +exhaustion, nothing could ever wipe out the memory of the sufferings of the +generations, forced to live in exile from their native land, or, what is +even more pitiful, unable to leave it, and compelled to bend under a yoke +which was hateful to them, and to submit to the seizure of their country +and the slavery of their people. + +Christophe naïvely confessed that he had never seen the matter in that +light: and he was considerably perturbed by it. And honest Germans always +bring to a discussion an integrity which does not always go with the +passionate self-esteem of a Latin, however sincere he may be. It never +occurred to Christophe to support his argument by the citation of similar +crimes perpetrated by all nations all through the history of the world. He +was too proud to fall back upon any such humiliating excuse: he knew that, +as humanity advances, its crimes become more odious, for they stand in a +clearer light. But he knew also that if France were victorious in her turn +she would be no more moderate in the hour of victory than Germany had been, +and that yet another link would be added to the chain of the crimes of the +nations. So the tragic conflict would drag on for ever, in which the best +elements of European civilization were in danger of being lost. + +Though the subject was terribly painful for Christophe, it was even more so +for Olivier. It meant for him, not only the sorrow of a great fratricidal +struggle between the two nations best fitted for alliance together. In +France the nation was divided, and one faction was preparing to fight the +other. For years pacific and anti-militarist doctrines had been spread and +propagated both by the noblest and the vilest elements of the nation. The +Government had for a long time held aloof, with the weak-kneed dilettantism +with which it handled everything which did not concern the immediate +interests of the politicians: and it never occurred to it that it might +be less dangerous frankly to maintain the most dangerous doctrines than +to leave them free to creep into the veins of the people and ruin their +capacity for war, while armaments were being prepared. These doctrines +appealed to the Free Thinkers who were dreaming of founding a European +brotherhood, working all together to make the world more just and human. +They appealed also to the selfish cowardice of the rabble, who were +unwilling to endanger their skins for anything or anybody.--These ideas had +been taken up by Olivier and many of his friends. Once or twice, in his +rooms, Christophe had been present at discussions which had amazed him. His +friend Mooch, who was stuffed full of humanitarian illusions, used to say, +with eyes blazing, quite calmly, that war must be abolished, and that the +best way of setting about it was to incite the soldiers to mutiny, and, if +necessary, to shoot down their leaders: and he would insist that it was +bound to succeed. Elie Elsberger would reply, coldly and vehemently, that, +if war were to break out, he and his friends would not set out for the +frontier before they had settled their account with the enemy at home. +André Elsberger would take Mooch's part.... One day Christophe came in for +a terrible scene between the two brothers. They threatened to shoot each +other. Although their bloodthirsty words were spoken in a bantering tone, +he had a feeling that neither of them had uttered a single threat which he +was not prepared to put into action. Christophe was amazed when he thought +of a race of men so absurd as to be always ready to commit suicide for the +sake of ideas.... Madmen. Crazy logicians. And yet they are good men. Each +man sees only his own ideas, and wishes to follow them through to the end, +without turning aside by a hair's breadth. And it is all quite useless: for +they crush each other out of existence. The humanitarians wage war on the +patriots. The patriots wage war on the humanitarians. And meanwhile the +enemy comes and destroys both country and humanity in one swoop. + +"But tell me," Christophe would ask André Elsberger, "are you in touch with +the proletarians of the rest of the nations?" + +"Some one has to begin. And we are the people to do it. We have always been +the first. It is for us to give the signal!" + +"And suppose the others won't follow!" + +"They will." + +"Have you made treaties, and drawn up a plan?" + +"What's the good of treaties? Our force is superior to diplomacy." + +"It is not a question of ideas: it's a question of strategy. If you are +going to destroy war, you must borrow the methods of war. Draw up your plan +of campaign in the two countries. Arrange that on such and such a date in +France and Germany your allied troops shall take such and such a step. But, +if you go to work without a plan, how can you expect any good to come of +it? With chance on the one hand, and tremendous organized forces on the +other--the result would never be in doubt: you would be crushed out of +existence." + +André Elsberger did not listen. He shrugged his shoulders and took refuge +in vague threats: a handful of sand, he said, was enough to smash the whole +machine, if it were dropped into the right place in the gears. + +But it is one thing to discuss at leisure, theoretically, and quite another +to have to put one's ideas into practice, especially when one has to make +up one's mind quickly.... Those are frightful moments when the great tide +surges through the depths of the hearts of men! They thought they were free +and masters of their thoughts! But now, in spite of themselves, they are +conscious of being dragged onwards, onwards.... An obscure power of will is +set against their will. Then they discover that it is not they who exist +in reality, not they, but that unknown Force, whose laws govern the whole +ocean of humanity.... + +Men of the firmest intelligence, men the most secure in their faith, now +saw it dissolve at the first puff of reality, and stood turning this way +and that, not daring to make up their minds, and often, to their immense +surprise, deciding upon a course of action entirely different from any +that they had foreseen. Some of the most eager to abolish war suddenly +felt a vigorous passionate pride in their country leap into being in their +hearts. Christophe found Socialists, and even revolutionary syndicalists, +absolutely bowled over by their passionate pride in a duty utterly foreign +to their temper. At the very beginning of the upheaval, when as yet +he hardly believed that the affair could be serious, he said to André +Elsberger, with his usual German want of tact, that now was the moment to +apply his theories, unless he wanted Germany to take France. André fumed, +and replied angrily: + +"Just you try!... Swine, you haven't even guts enough to muzzle your +Emperor and shake off the yoke, in spite of your thrice-blessed Socialist +Party, with its four hundred thousand members and its three million +electors. We'll do it for you! Take us? We'll take you...." + +And as they were held on and on in suspense, they grew restless and +feverish. André was in torment. He knew that his faith was true, and yet +he could not defend it! He felt that he was infected by the moral epidemic +which spreads among the people of a nation the collective insanity of their +ideas, the terrible spirit of war! It attacked everybody about Christophe, +and even Christophe himself. They were no longer on speaking terms, and +kept themselves to themselves. + +But it was impossible to endure such suspense for long. The wind of action +willy-nilly sifted the waverers into one group or another. And one day, +when it seemed that they must be on the eve of the ultimatum,--when, in +both countries, the springs of action were taut, ready for slaughter, +Christophe saw that everybody, including the people in his own house, had +made up their minds. Every kind of party was instinctively rallied round +the detested or despised Government which represented France. Not only +the honest men of the various parties: but the esthetes, the masters of +depraved art, took to interpolating professions of patriotic faith in their +work. The Jews were talking of defending the soil of their ancestors. At +the mere mention of the flag tears came to Hamilton's eyes. And they were +all sincere: they were all victims of the contagion. André Elsberger and +his syndicalist friends, just as much as the rest, and even more: for, +being crushed by necessity and pledged to a party that they detested, they +submitted with a grim fury and a stormy pessimism which made them crazy for +action. Aubert, the artisan, torn between his cultivated humanitarianism +and his instinctive chauvinism, was almost beside himself. After many +sleepless nights he had at last found a formula which could accommodate +everything: that France was synonymous with Humanity. Thereafter he never +spoke to Christophe. Almost all the people in the house had closed their +doors to him. Even the good Arnauds never invited him. They went on playing +music and surrounding themselves with art; they tried to forget the general +obsession. But they could not help thinking of it. When either of them +alone happened to meet Christophe alone, he or she would shake hands +warmly, but hurriedly and furtively. And if, the very same day, Christophe +met them together, they would pass him by with a frigid bow. On the +other hand, people who had not spoken to each other for years now rushed +together. One evening Olivier beckoned to Christophe to go near the window, +and, without a word, he pointed to the Elsbergers talking to Commandant +Chabran in the garden below. + +Christophe had no time to be surprised at such a revolution in the minds of +his friends. He was too much occupied with his own mind, in which there had +been an upheaval, the consequences of which he could not master. Olivier +was much calmer than he, though he had much more reason to be upset. Of +all Christophe's acquaintance, he seemed to be the only one to escape the +contagion. Though he was oppressed by the anxious waiting for the outbreak +of war, and the dread of schism at home, which he saw must happen in spite +of everything, he knew the greatness of the two hostile faiths which sooner +or later would come to grips: he knew also that it is the part of France to +be the experimental ground in human progress, and that all new ideas need +to be watered with her blood before they can come to flower. For his own +part, he refused to take part in the skirmish. While the civilized nations +were cutting each other's throats he was fain to repeat the device of +Antigone: "_I am made for love, and not for hate_."--For love and for +understanding, which is another form of love. His fondness for Christophe +was enough to make his duty plain to him. At a time when millions of human +beings were on the brink of hatred, he felt that the duty and happiness of +friends like himself and Christophe was to love each other, and to keep +their reason uncontaminated by the general upheaval. He remembered how +Goethe had refused to associate himself with the liberation movement of +1813, when hatred sent Germany to march out against France. + +Christophe felt the same: and yet he was not easy in his mind. He who in a +way had deserted Germany, and could not return thither, he who had been fed +with the European ideas of the great Germans of the eighteenth century, so +dear to his old friend Schulz, and detested the militarist and commercial +spirit of New Germany, now found himself the prey of gusty passions: and he +did not know whither they would lead him. He did not tell Olivier, but he +spent his days in agony, longing for news. Secretly he put his affairs in +order and packed his trunk. He did not reason the thing out. It was too +strong for him. Olivier watched him anxiously, and guessed the struggle +which was going on in his friend's mind: and he dared not question him. +They felt that they were impelled to draw closer to each other than ever, +and they loved each other more: but they were afraid to speak: they +trembled lest they should discover some difference of thought which might +come between them and divide them, as their old misunderstanding had done. +Often their eyes would meet with an expression of tender anxiety, as +though they were on the eve of parting for ever. And they were silent and +oppressed. + + * * * * * + +But still on the roof of the house that was being built on the other side +of the yard, all through those days of gloom, with the rain beating down on +them, the workmen were putting the finishing touches: and Christophe's +friend, the loquacious slater, laughed and shouted across: + +"There! The house is finished!" + + * * * * * + +Happily, the storm passed as quickly as it had come. The chancelleries +published bulletins announcing the return of fair weather, barometrically +as it were. The howling dogs of the Press were despatched to their kennels. +In a few hours the tension was relieved. It was a summer evening, and +Christophe had rushed in breathless to convey the good news to Olivier. He +was happy, and could breathe again. Olivier looked at him with a little sad +smile. And he dared not ask him the question that lay next his heart. He +said: + +"Well: you have seen them all united, all these people who could not +understand each other." + +"Yes," said Christophe good-humoredly, "I have seen them united. You're +such humbugs! You all cry out upon each other, but at bottom you're all of +the same mind." + +"You seem to be glad of it," remarked Olivier. + +"Why not? Because they were united at my expense?... Bah! I'm strong enough +for that ... Besides, it's a fine thing to feel the mighty torrent rushing +you along, and the demons that were let loose in your hearts...." + +"They terrify me," said Olivier. "I would rather have eternal solitude than +have my people united at such a cost." + +They relapsed into silence: and neither of them dared approach the subject +which was troubling them. At last Olivier pulled himself together, and, in +a choking voice, said: + +"Tell me frankly, Christophe: you were going away?" + +Christophe replied: + +"Yes." + +Olivier was sure that he would say it. And yet his heart ached for it. He +said: + +"Tell me, Christophe: could you ... could you ...?" + +Christophe drew his hand over his forehead and said: + +"Don't let's talk of it. I don't like to think of it." + +Olivier went on sorrowfully: + +"You would have fought against us?" + +"I don't know. I never thought about it." + +"But, in your heart, you had decided?" + +Christophe said: + +"Yes." + +"Against me?" + +"Never against you. You are mine. Where I am, you are too." + +"But against my country?" + +"For my country." + +"It is a terrible thing," said Olivier. "I love my country, as you do. I +love France: but could I slay my soul for her? Could I betray my conscience +for her? That would be to betray her. How could I hate, having no hatred, +or, without being guilty of a lie, assume a hatred that I did not feel? The +modern State was guilty of a monstrous crime--a crime which will prove its +undoing--when it presumed to impose its brazen laws on the free Church of +those spirits the very essence of whose being is to love and understand. +Let Cæsar be Cæsar, but let him not assume the Godhead! Let him take our +money and our lives: over our souls he has no rights: he shall not stain +them with blood. We are in this world to give it light, not to darken it: +let each man fulfil his duty! If Cæsar desires war, then let Cæsar have +armies for that purpose, armies as they were in olden times, armies of +men whose trade is war! I am not so foolish as to waste my time in vainly +moaning and groaning in protest against force. But I am not a soldier in +the army of force. I am a soldier in the army of the spirit: with thousands +of other men who are my brothers-in-arms I represent France in that army. +Let Cæsar conquer the world if he will! We march to the conquest of truth." + +"To conquer," said Christophe, "you must vanquish, you must live. Truth is +no hard dogma, secreted by the brain, like a stalactite by the walls of +a cave. Truth is life. It is not to be found in your own head, but to be +sought for in the hearts of others. Attach yourself to them, be one with +them. Think as much as you like, but do you every day take a bath of +humanity. You must live in the life of others and love and bow to destiny." + +"It is our fate to be what we are. It does not depend on us whether we +shall or shall not think certain things, even though they be dangerous. We +have reached such a pitch of civilization that we cannot turn back." + +"Yes, you have reached the farthest limit of the plateau of civilization, +that dizzy height to which no nation can climb without feeling an +irresistible desire to fling itself down. Religion and instinct are +weakened in you. You have nothing left but intelligence. You are machines +grinding out philosophy. Death comes rushing in upon you." + +"Death comes to every nation: it is a matter of centuries." + +"Have done with your centuries! The whole of life is a matter of days and +hours. If you weren't such an infernally metaphysical lot, you'd never +go shuffling over into the absolute, instead of seizing and holding the +passing moment." + +"What do you want? The flame burns the torch away. You can't both live and +have lived, my dear Christophe." + +"You must live." + +"It is a great thing to have been great." + +"It is only a great thing when there are still men who are alive enough and +great enough to appreciate it." + +"Wouldn't you much rather have been the Greeks, who are dead, than any of +the people who are vegetating nowadays?" + +"I'd much rather be myself, Christophe, and very much alive." + +Olivier gave up the argument. It was not that he was without an answer. +But it did not interest him. All through the discussion he had only been +thinking of Christophe. He said, with a sigh: + +"You love me less than I love you." + +Christophe took his hand and pressed it tenderly: + +"Dear Olivier," he said, "I love you more than my life. But you must +forgive me if I do not love you more than Life, the sun of our two races. I +have a horror of the night into which your false progress drags me. All +your sentiments of renunciation are only the covering of the same Buddhist +Nirvana. Only action is living, even when it brings death. In this world +we can only choose between the devouring flame and night. In spite of the +sad sweetness of dreams in the hour of twilight, I have no desire for that +peace which is the forerunner of death. The silence of infinite space +terrifies me. Heap more fagots upon the fire! More! And yet more! Myself +too, if needs must. I will not let the fire dwindle. If it dies down, there +is an end of us, an end of everything." + +"What you say is old," said Olivier; "it comes from the depths of the +barbarous past." + +He took down from his shelves a book of Hindoo poetry, and read the sublime +apostrophe of the God Krishna: + +"_Arise, and fight with a resolute heart. Setting no store by pleasure or +pain, or gain or loss, or victory or defeat, fight with all thy might...._" + +Christophe snatched the book from his hands and read: + +"_... I have nothing in the world to bid me toil: there is nothing that is +not mine: and yet I cease not from my labor. If I did not act, without a +truce and without relief, setting an example for men to follow, all men +would perish. If for a moment I were to cease from my labors, I should +plunge the world in chaos, and I should he the destroyer of life._" + +"Life," repeated Olivier,--"what is life?" + +"A tragedy," said Christophe. "Hurrah!" + + * * * * * + +The panic died down. Every one hastened to forget, with a hidden fear in +their hearts. No one seemed to remember what had happened. And yet it was +plain that it was still in their thoughts, from the joy with which they +resumed their lives, the pleasant life from day to day, which is never +truly valued until it is endangered. As usual when danger is past, they +gulped it down with renewed avidity. + +Christophe flung himself into creative work with tenfold vigor. He dragged +Olivier after him. In reaction against their recent gloomy thoughts they +had begun to collaborate in a Rabelaisian epic. It was colored by that +broad materialism which follows on periods of moral stress. To the +legendary heroes--Gargantua, Friar John, Panurge--Olivier had added, on +Christophe's inspiration, a new character, a peasant, Jacques Patience, +simple, cunning, sly, resigned, who was the butt of the others, putting up +with it when he was thrashed and robbed,--putting up with it when they made +love to his wife, and laid waste his fields,--tirelessly putting his house +in order and cultivating his land,--forced to follow the others to war, +bearing the burden of the baggage, coming in for all the kicks, and still +putting up with it,--waiting, laughing at the exploits of his masters and +the thrashings they gave him, and saying, "They can't go on for ever," +foreseeing their ultimate downfall, looking out for it out of the corner of +his eye, and silently laughing at the thought of it, with his great mouth +agape. One fine day it turned out that Gargantua and Friar John were +drowned while they were away on a crusade. Patience honestly regretted +their loss, merrily took heart of grace, saved Panurge, who was drowning +also, and said: + +"I know that you will go on playing your tricks on me: you don't take me +in: but I can't do without you: you drive away the spleen, and make me +laugh." + +Christophe set the poem to music with great symphonic pictures, with soli +and chorus, mock-heroic battles, riotous country fairs, vocal buffooneries, +madrigals à la Jannequin, with tremendous childlike glee, a storm at sea, +the Island of Bells, and, finally, a pastoral symphony, full of the air +of the fields, and the blithe serenity of the flutes and oboes, and the +clean-souled folk-songs of Old France.--The friends worked away with +boundless delight. The weakly Olivier, with his pale cheeks, found new +health in Christophe's health. Gusts of wind blew through their garret. The +very intoxication of Joy! To be working together, heart to heart with one's +friend! The embrace of two lovers is not sweeter or more ardent than such +a yoking together of two kindred souls. They were so near in sympathy +that often the same ideas would flash upon them at the same moment. Or +Christophe would write the music for a scene for which Olivier would +immediately find words. Christophe impetuously dragged Olivier along in his +wake. His mind swamped that of his friend, and made it fruitful. + +The joy of creation was enhanced by that of success. Hecht had just made up +his mind to publish the _David_: and the score, well launched, had had an +instantaneous success abroad. A great Wagnerian _Kapellmeister_, a friend +of Hecht's, who had settled in England, was enthusiastic about it: he had +given it at several of his concerts with considerable success, which, +with the _Kapellmeister's_ enthusiasm, had carried it over to Germany, +where also the _David_ had been played. The _Kapellmeister_ had entered +into correspondence with Christophe, and had asked him for more of his +compositions, offered to do anything he could to help him, and was engaged +in ardent propaganda in his cause. In Germany, the _Iphigenia_, which +had originally been hissed, was unearthed, and it was hailed as a work +of genius. Certain facts in Christophe's life, being of a romantic +nature, contributed not a little to the spurring of public interest. The +_Frankfurter Zeitung_ was the first to publish an enthusiastic article. +Others followed. Then, in France, a few people began to be aware that they +had a great musician in their midst. One of the Parisian conductors asked +Christophe for his Rabelaisian epic before it was finished: and Goujart, +perceiving his approaching fame, began to speak mysteriously of a friend +of his who was a genius, and had been discovered by himself. He wrote a +laudatory article about the admirable _David_,--entirely forgetting that +only the year before he had decried it in a short notice of a few lines. +Nobody else remembered it either or seemed to be in the least astonished +at his sudden change. There are so many people in Paris who are now loud +in their praises of Wagner and César Franck, where formerly they roundly +abused them, and actually use the fame of these men to crush those new +artists whom to-morrow they will be lauding to the skies! + +Christophe did not set any great store on his success. He knew that he +would one day win through: but he had not thought that the day could be so +near at hand: and he was distrustful of so rapid a triumph. He shrugged +his shoulders, and said that he wanted to be left alone. He could have +understood people applauding the _David_ the year before, when he wrote it: +but now he was so far beyond it; he had climbed higher. He was inclined to +say to the people who came and talked about his old work: + +"Don't worry me with that stuff. It disgusts me. So do you." And he plunged +into his new work again, rather annoyed at having been disturbed. However, +he did feel a certain secret satisfaction. The first rays of the light of +fame are very sweet. It is good, it is healthy, to conquer. It is like +the open window and the first sweet scents of the spring coming into a +house.--Christophe's contempt for his old work was of no avail, especially +with regard to the _Iphigenia_: there was a certain amount of atonement for +him in seeing that unhappy production, which had originally brought him +only humiliation, belauded by the German critics, and in great request +with the theaters, as he learned from a letter from Dresden, in which the +directors stated that they would be glad to produce the piece during their +next season. + + * * * * * + +The very day when Christophe received the news, which, after years of +struggling, at last opened up a calmer horizon, with victory in the +distance, he had another letter from Germany. + +It was in the afternoon. He was washing his face and talking gaily to +Olivier in the next room, when the housekeeper slipped an envelope under +the door. His mother's writing.... He had been just on the point of writing +to her, and was happy at the thought of being able to tell her of his +success, which would give her so much pleasure. He opened the letter. There +were only a few lines. How shaky the writing was! + + _"My dear boy, I am not very well. If it were possible, I + should like to see you again. Love. + "MOTHER."_ + +Christophe gave a groan. Olivier, who was working in the next room, ran to +him in alarm. Christophe could not speak, and pointed to the letter on the +table. He went on groaning, and did not listen to what Olivier said, who +took in the letter at a glance, and tried to comfort him. He rushed to his +bed, where he had laid his coat, dressed hurriedly, and without waiting to +fasten his collar,--(his hands were trembling too much)--went out. Olivier +caught him up on the stairs: what was he going to do? Go by the first +train? There wasn't one until the evening. It was much better to wait there +than at the station. Had he enough money?--They rummaged through their +pockets, and when they counted all that they possessed between them, it +only amounted to thirty francs. It was September. Hecht, the Arnauds, all +their friends, were out of Paris. They had no one to turn to. Christophe +was beside himself, and talked of going part of the way on foot. Olivier +begged him to wait for an hour, and promised to procure the money somehow. +Christophe submitted: he was incapable of a single idea himself. Olivier +ran to the pawnshop: it was the first time he had been there: for his own +sake, he would much rather have been left with nothing than pledge any of +his possessions, which were all associated with some precious memory: but +it was for Christophe, and there was no time to lose. He pawned his watch, +for which he was advanced a sum much smaller than he had expected. He +had to go home again and fetch some of his books, and take them to a +bookseller. It was a great grief to him, but at the time he hardly thought +of it: his mind could grasp nothing but Christophe's trouble. He returned, +and found Christophe just where he had left him, sitting by his desk, in +a state of collapse. With their thirty francs the sum that Olivier had +collected was more than enough. Christophe was too upset to think of asking +his friend how he had come by it, or whether he had kept enough to live +on during his absence. Olivier did not think of it either: he had given +Christophe all he possessed. He had to look after Christophe, just like a +child, until it was time for him to go. He took him to the station, and +never left him until the train began to move. + +In the darkness into which he was rushing Christophe sat wide-eyed, staring +straight in front of him and thinking: + +"Shall I be in time?" + +He knew that his mother must have been unable to wait for her to write to +him. And in his fevered anxiety he was impatient of the jolting speed of +the express. He reproached himself bitterly for having left Louisa. And +at the same time he felt how vain were his reproaches: he had no power to +change the course of events. + +However, the monotonous rocking of the wheels and springs of the carriage +soothed him gradually, and took possession of his mind, like tossing waves +of music dammed back by a mighty rhythm. He lived through all his past +life again from the far-distant days of his childhood: loves, hopes, +disillusion, sorrows,--and that exultant force, that intoxication of +suffering, enjoying, and creating, that delight in blotting out the light +of life and its sublime shadows, which was the soul of his soul, the living +breath of the God within him. Now as he looked back on it all was clear. +His tumultuous desires, his uneasy thoughts, his faults, mistakes, and +headlong struggles, now seemed to him to be the eddy and swirl borne on +by the great current of life towards its eternal goal. He discovered the +profound meaning of those years of trial: each test was a barrier which was +burst by the gathering waters of the river, a passage from a narrow to a +wider valley, which the river would soon fill: always he came to a wider +view and a freer air. Between the rising ground of France and the German +plain the river had carved its way, not without many a struggle, flooding +the meadows, eating away the base of the hills, gathering and absorbing +all the waters of the two countries. So it flowed between them, not to +divide, but to unite them: in it they were wedded. And for the first time +Christophe became conscious of his destiny, which was to carry through the +hostile peoples, like an artery, all the forces of life of the two sides of +the river.--A strange serenity, a sudden calm and clarity, came over him, +as sometimes happens in the darkest hours.... Then the vision faded, and he +saw nothing but the tender, sorrowful face of his old mother. + +It was hardly dawn when he reached the little German town. He had to take +care not to be recognized, for there was still a warrant of arrest out +against him. But nobody at the station took any notice of him: the town was +asleep: the houses were shut up and the streets deserted: it was the gray +hour when the lights of the night are put out and the light of day is not +yet come,--the hour when sleep is sweetest and dreams are lit with the pale +light of the east. A little servant-girl was taking down the shutters of +a shop and singing an old German folk-song. Christophe almost choked with +emotion. O Fatherland! Beloved!... He was fain to kiss the earth as he +heard the humble song that set his heart aching in his breast; he felt how +unhappy he had been away from his country, and how much he loved it.... He +walked on, holding his breath. When he saw his old house he was obliged +to stop and put his hand to his lips to keep himself from crying out. How +would he find his mother, his mother whom he had deserted?... He took a +long breath and almost ran to the door. It was ajar. He pushed it open. No +one there ... The old wooden staircase creaked under his footsteps. He went +up to the top floor. The house seemed to be empty. The door of his mother's +room was shut. + +Christophe's heart thumped as he laid his hand on the doorknob. And he had +not the strength to open it.... + + * * * * * + +Louisa was alone, in bed, feeling that the end was near. Of her two other +sons, Rodolphe, the business man, had settled in Hamburg, the other, +Ernest, had emigrated to America, and no one knew what had become of him. +There was no one to attend to her except a woman in the house, who came +twice a day to see if Louisa wanted anything, stayed for a few minutes, and +then went about her business: she was not very punctual, and was often late +in coming. To Louisa it seemed quite natural that she should be forgotten, +as it seemed to her quite natural to be ill. She was used to suffering, and +was as patient as an angel. She had heart disease and palpitations, during +which she would think she was going to die: she would lie with her eyes +wide open, and her hands clutching the bedclothes, and the sweat dripping +down her face. She never complained. She knew that it must be so. She was +ready: she had already received the sacrament. She had only one anxiety: +lest God should find her unworthy to enter into Paradise. She endured +everything else in patience. + +In a dark corner of her little room, near her pillow, on the wall of the +recess, she had made a little shrine for her relics and trophies: she had +collected the portraits of those who were dear to her: her three children, +her husband, for whose memory she had always preserved her love in its +first freshness, the old grandfather, and her brother, Gottfried: she was +touchingly devoted to all those who had been kind to her, though it were +never so little. On her coverlet, close to her eyes, she had pinned the +last photograph of himself that Christophe had sent her: and his last +letters were under her pillow. She had a love of neatness and scrupulous +tidiness, and it hurt her to know that everything was not perfectly in +order in her room. She listened for the little noises outside which marked +the different moments of the day for her. It was so long since she had +first heard them! All her life had been spent in that narrow space.... She +thought of her dear Christophe. How she longed for him to be there, near +her, just then! And yet she was resigned even to his absence. She was sure +that she would see him again on high. She had only to close her eyes to see +him. She spent days and days, half-unconscious, living in the past.... + +She would see once more the old house on the banks of the Rhine.... A +holiday.... A superb summer day. The window was open: the white road lay +gleaming under the sun. They could hear the birds singing. Melchior and the +old grandfather were sitting by the front-door smoking, and chatting and +laughing uproariously. Louisa could not see them: but she was glad that +her husband was at home that day, and that grandfather was in such a good +temper. She was in the basement, cooking the dinner: an excellent dinner: +she watched over it as the apple of her eye: there was a surprise: a +chestnut cake: already she could hear the boy's shout of delight.... The +boy, where was he? Upstairs: she could hear him practising at the piano. +She could not make out what he was playing, but she was glad to hear the +familiar tinkling sounds, and to know that he was sitting there with his +grave face.... What a lovely day! The merry jingling bells of a carriage +went by on the road.... Oh! good heavens! The joint! Perhaps it had +been burned while she was looking out of the window! She trembled lest +grandfather, of whom she was so fond, though she was afraid of him, +should be dissatisfied, and scold her.... Thank Heaven! there was no harm +done. There, everything was ready, and the table was laid. She called +Melchior and grandfather. They replied eagerly. And the boy?... He had +stopped playing. His music had ceased a moment ago without her noticing +it....--"Christophe!"... What was he doing? There was not a sound to be +heard. He was always forgetting to come down to dinner: father was going +to scold him. She ran upstairs....--"Christophe!"... He made no sound. +She opened the door of the room where he was practising. No one there. +The room was empty, and the piano was closed.... Louisa was seized with +a sudden panic. What had become of him? The window was open. Oh, Heaven! +Perhaps he had fallen out! Louisa's heart stops. She leans out and looks +down....--"Christophe!"... He is nowhere to be found. She rushes all over +the house. Downstairs grandfather shouts to her: "Come along; don't worry; +he'll come back." She will not go down: she knows that he is there: that +he is hiding for fun, to tease her. Oh, naughty, naughty boy!... Yes, she +is sure of it now: she heard the floor creak: he is behind the door. She +tries to open the door. But the key is gone. The key! She rummages through +a drawer, looking for it in a heap of keys. This one, that.... No, not +that....Ah, that's it!... She cannot fit it into the lock, her hand is +trembling so. She is in such haste: she must be quick. Why? She does not +know, but she knows that she must be quick, and that if she doesn't hurry +she will be too late. She hears Christophe breathing on the other side of +the door.... Oh, bother the key!... At last! The door is opened. A cry of +joy. It is he. He flings his arms round her neck.... Oh, naughty, naughty, +good, darling boy!... + +She has opened her eyes. He is there, standing by her. + +For some time he had been standing looking at her; so changed she was, with +her face both drawn and swollen, and her mute suffering made her smile of +recognition so infinitely touching: and the silence, and her utter +loneliness.... It rent his heart.... + +She saw him. She was not surprised. She smiled all that she could not say, +a smile of boundless tenderness. She could not hold out her arms to him, +nor utter a single word. He flung his arms round her neck and kissed her, +and she kissed him: great tears were trickling down her cheeks. She said in +a whisper: + +"Wait...." + +He saw that she could not breathe. + +Neither stirred. She stroked his head with her hands, and her tears went on +trickling down her cheeks. He kissed her hands and sobbed, with his face +hidden in the coverlet. + +When her attack had passed she tried to speak. But she could not find +words: she floundered, and he could hardly understand her. But what did +it matter? They loved each other, and were together, and could touch each +other: that was the main thing.--He asked indignantly why she was left +alone. She made excuses for her nurse: + +"She cannot always be here: she has her work to do...." + +In a faint, broken voice,--she could hardly pronounce her words,--she made +a little hurried request about her burial. She told Christophe to give her +love to her two other sons who had forgotten her. And she seat a message +to Olivier, knowing his love for Christophe. She begged Christophe to tell +him that she sent him her blessing--(and then, timidly, she recollected +herself, and made use of a more humble expression),--"her affectionate +respects...." + +Once more she choked. He helped her to sit up in her bed. The sweat dripped +down her face. She forced herself to smile. She told herself that she had +nothing more to wish for in the world, now that she had her son's hand +clasped in hers. + +And suddenly Christophe felt her hand stiffen in his. Louisa opened her +lips. She looked at her son with infinite tenderness:--so the end came. + + + + +III + + +In the evening of the same day Olivier arrived. He had been unable to bear +the thought of leaving Christophe alone in those tragic hours of which he +had had only too much experience. He was fearful also of the risks his +friend was running in returning to Germany. He wanted to be with him, to +look after him. But he had no money for the journey. When he returned from +seeing Christophe off he made up his mind to sell the few family jewels +that he had left: and as the pawnshop was closed at that hour, and he +wanted to go by the next train, he was just going out to look for a +broker's shop in the neighborhood when he met Mooch on the stairs. When the +little Jew heard what he was about he was genuinely sorry that Olivier had +not come to him: he would not let Olivier go to the broker's, and made him +accept the necessary money from himself. He was really hurt to think that +Olivier had pawned his watch and sold his books to pay Christophe's fare, +when he would have been only too glad to help them. In his zeal for doing +them a service he even proposed to accompany Olivier to Christophe's home, +and Olivier had great difficulty in dissuading him. + +Olivier's arrival was a great boon to Christophe. He had spent the day, +prostrated with grief, alone by his mother's body. The nurse had come, +performed certain offices, and then had gone away and had never come back. +The hours had passed in the stillness of death. Christophe sat there, +as still as the body: he never took his eyes from his mother's face: he +did not weep, he did not think, he was himself as one dead.--Olivier's +wonderful act of friendship brought him back to tears and life. + + "_Getrost! Es ist der Schmerzen werth dies haben, + So lang ... mit uns ein treues Auge weint._" + +("Courage! Life; is worth all its suffering as long as there are faithful +friends to weep with us.") + + * * * * * + +They clasped each other in a long embrace, and then sat by the dead woman's +side and talked in whispers. Night had fallen. Christophe, with his arms on +the foot of the bed, told random tales of his childhood's memories, in +which his mother's image ever recurred. He would pause every now and then +for a few minutes, and then go on again, until there came a pause when he +stopped altogether, and his face dropped into his hands: he was utterly +worn out: and when Olivier went up to him, he saw that he was asleep. Then +he kept watch alone. And presently he, too, was overcome by sleep, with his +head leaning against the back of the bed. There was a soft smile on +Louisa's face, and she seemed happy to be watching over her two children. + + * * * * * + +In the early hours of the morning they were awakened by a knocking at the +door. Christophe opened it. It was a neighbor, a joiner, who had come to +warn Christophe that his presence in the town had been denounced, and +that he must go, if he did not wish to be arrested. Christophe refused to +fly: he would not leave his mother before he had taken her to her last +resting-place. But Olivier begged him to go, and promised that he would +faithfully watch over her in his stead: he induced him to leave the house: +and, to make sure of his not going back on his decision, went with him to +the station. Christophe refused point-blank to go without having a sight +of the great river, by which he had spent his childhood, the mighty echo +of which was preserved for ever within his soul as in a sea-shell. Though +it was dangerous for him to be seen in the town, yet for his whim he +disregarded it. They walked along the steep bank of the Rhine, which +was rushing along in its mighty peace, between its low banks, on to its +mysterious death in the sands of the North. A great iron bridge, looming +in the mist, plunged its two arches, like the halves of the wheels of a +colossal chariot, into the gray waters. In the distance, fading into the +mist, were ships sailing through the meadows along the river's windings. It +was like a dream, and Christophe was lost in it. Olivier brought him back +to his senses, and, taking his arm, led him back to the station. Christophe +submitted: he was like a man walking in his sleep. Olivier put him into the +train as it was just starting, and they arranged to meet next day at the +first French station, so that Christophe should not have to go back to +Paris alone. + +The train went, and Olivier returned to the house, where he found two +policemen stationed at the door, waiting for Christophe to come back. They +took Olivier for him, and Olivier did not hurry to explain a mistake so +favorable to Christophe's chances of escape. On the other hand, the police +were not in the least discomfited by their blunder, and showed no great +zest in pursuing the fugitive, and Olivier had an inkling that at bottom +they were not at all sorry that Christophe had gone. + +Olivier stayed until the next morning, when Louisa was buried. Christophe's +brother, Rodolphe, the business man, came by one train and left by the +next. That important personage followed the funeral very correctly, and +went immediately it was over, without addressing a single word to Olivier, +either to ask him for news of his brother or to thank him for what he had +done for their mother. Olivier spent a few hours more in the town, where he +did not know a soul, though it was peopled for him with so many familiar +shadows: the boy Christophe, those whom he had loved, and those who had +made him suffer;--and dear Antoinette.... What was there left of all those +human beings, who had lived in the town, the family of the Kraffts, that +now had ceased to be? Only the love for them that lived in the heart of a +stranger. + + * * * * * + +In the afternoon Olivier met Christophe at the frontier station as they had +arranged. It was a village nestling among wooded hills. Instead of waiting +for the next train to Paris, they decided to go part of the way on foot, as +far as the nearest town. They wanted to be alone. They set out through the +silent woods, through which from a distance there resounded the dull thud +of an ax. They reached a clearing at the top of a hill. Below them, in a +narrow valley, in German territory, there lay the red roof of a forester's +house, and a little meadow like a green lake amid the trees. All around +there stretched the dark-blue sea of the forest wrapped in cloud. Mists +hovered and drifted among the branches of the pines. A transparent veil +softened the lines and blurred the colors of the trees. All was still. +Neither footsteps nor voices were to be heard. A few drops of rain rang +out on the golden copper leaves of the beeches, which had turned to autumn +tints. A little stream ran tinkling over the stones. Christophe and Olivier +stood still and did not stir. Each was dreaming of those whom he had lost. +Olivier was thinking: + +"Antoinette, where are you?" + +And Christophe: + +"What is success to me, now that she is dead?" + +But each heard the comforting words of the dead: + +"Beloved, weep not for us. Think, not of us. Think of Him...." + +They looked at each other, and each ceased to feel his own sorrow, and was +conscious only of that of his friend. They clasped their hands. In both +there was sad serenity. Gently, while no wind stirred, the misty veil was +raised: the blue sky shone forth again. The melting sweetness of the earth +after rain.... So near to us, so tender!... The earth takes us in her arms, +clasps us to her bosom with a lovely loving smile, and says to us: + +"Rest. All is well...." + +The ache in Christophe's heart was gone. He was like a little child. +For two days he had been living wholly in the memory of his mother, the +atmosphere of her soul: he had lived over again her humble life, with its +days one like unto another, solitary, all spent in the silence of the +childless house, in the thought of the children who had left her: the poor +old woman, infirm but valiant in her tranquil faith, her sweetness of +temper, her smiling resignation, her complete lack of selfishness.... And +Christophe thought also of all the humble creatures he had known. How near +to them he felt in that moment! After all the years of exhausting struggle +in the burning heat of Paris, where ideas and men jostle in the whirl +of confusion, after those tragic days when there had passed over them +the wind of the madness which hurls the nations, cozened by their own +hallucinations, murderously against each other, Christophe felt utterly +weary of the fevered, sterile world, the conflict between egoisms and +ideas, the little groups of human beings deeming themselves above humanity, +the ambitious, the thinkers, the artists who think themselves the brain of +the world, and are no more than a haunting evil dream. And all his love +went out to those thousands of simple souls, of every nation, whose lives +burn away in silence, pure flames of kindness, faith, and sacrifice,--the +heart of the world. + +"Yes," he thought, "I know you; once more I have come to you; you are blood +of my blood; you are mine. Like the prodigal son, I left you to pursue the +shadows that passed by the wayside. But I have come back to you; give me +welcome. We are one; one life is ours, both the living and the dead; where +I am there are you also. Now I bear you in my soul, O mother, who bore me. +You, too, Gottfried, and you Schulz, and Sabine, and Antoinette, you are +all in me, part of me, mine. You are my riches, my joy. We will take the +road together. I will never more leave you. I will be your voice. We will +join forces: so we shall attain the goal." + +A ray of sunlight shot through the dripping branches of the trees. From the +little field down below there came up the voices of children singing an Old +German folk-song, frank and moving: the singers were three little girls +dancing round the house: and from afar the west wind brought the chiming of +the bells of France, like a perfume of roses.... + +"O peace, Divine harmony, serene music of the soul set free, wherein are +mingled joy and sorrow, death and life, the nations at war, and the nations +in brotherhood. I love you, I long for you, I shall win you...." + + * * * * * + +"The night drew down her veil. Starting from his dream, Christophe saw the +faithful face of his friend by his side. He smiled at him and embraced him. +Then they walked on through the forest in silence: and Christophe showed +Olivier the way. + + "_Taciti, soli e senza compagnia, + N'andavan I' un dinnanzi, e I' altro dopo, + Come i frati minor vanno per via...._" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Jean Christophe: In Paris, by Romain Rolland + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JEAN CHRISTOPHE: IN PARIS *** + +This file should be named 8149-8.txt or 8149-8.zip + +Produced by William Flis and Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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