Jean-Christophe, vol 1 by Romain Rolland (fb2 epub reader .txt) 📕

Minna would get up from her bed, and stand by

the window, drowsy and feverish. And in the afternoon, when he was not

there, she would sit in a swing, and dream, with a book on her knees,

her eyes half closed, sleepy and lazily happy, mind and body hovering

in the spring air. She would spend hours at the piano, with a patience

exasperating to others, going over and over again scales and passages which

made her turn pale and cold with emotion. She would weep when she heard

Schumann’s music. She felt full of pity and kindness for all creatures, and

so did he. They would give money stealthily to poor people whom they met in

the street, and would then exchange glances of compassion; they were happy

in their kindness.

 

To tell the truth, they were kind only by fits and starts. Minna suddenly

discovered how sad was the humble life of devotion of old Frida, who had

been a servant in the house since her mother’s childhood, and at once she

ran and hugged her, to the great astonishment of the good old creature, who

was busy mending the linen in the kitchen. But that did not keep her from

speaking harshly to her a few hours later, when Frida did not come at once

on the sound of the bell. And Jean-Christophe, who was consumed with love

for all humanity, and would turn aside so as not to crush an insect, was

entirely indifferent to his own family. By a strange reaction he was

colder and more curt with them the more affectionate he was to all other

creatures; he hardly gave thought to them; he spoke abruptly to them, and

found no interest in seeing them. Both in Jean-Christophe and Minna their

kindness was only a surfeit of tenderness which overflowed at intervals to

the benefit of the first comer. Except for these overflowings they were

more egoistic than ever, for their minds were filled only with the one

thought, and everything was brought back to that.

 

How much of Jean-Christophe’s life was filled with the girl’s face! What

emotion was in him when he saw her white frock in the distance, when he was

looking for her in the garden; when at the theater, sitting a few yards

away from their empty places, he heard the door of their box open, and the

mocking voice that he knew so well; when in some outside conversation the

dear name of Kerich cropped up! He would go pale and blush; for a moment or

two he would see and hear nothing. And then there would be a rush of blood

over all his body, the assault of unknown forces.

 

The little German girl, naïve and sensual, had odd little tricks. She would

place her ring on a little pile of flour, and he would have to get it again

and again with his teeth without whitening his nose. Or she would pass a

thread through a biscuit, and put one end of it in her mouth and one in

his, and then they had to nibble the thread to see who could get to the

biscuit first. Their faces would come together; they would feel each

other’s breathing; their lips would touch, and they would laugh forcedly,

while their hands would turn to ice. Jean-Christophe would feel a desire to

bite, to hurt; he would fling back, and she would go on laughing forcedly.

They would turn away, pretend indifference, and steal glances at each

other.

 

These disturbing games had a disquieting attraction for them; they wanted

to play them, and yet avoided them. Jean-Christophe was fearful of them,

and preferred even the constraint of the meetings when Frau von Kerich or

some one else was present. So outside presence could break in upon the

converse of their loving hearts; constraint only made their love sweeter

and more intense. Everything gained infinitely in value; a word, a

movement of the lips, a glance were enough to make the rich new treasure

of their inner life shine through the dull veil of ordinary existence.

They alone could see it, or so they thought, and smiled, happy in their

little mysteries. Their words were no more than those of a drawing-room

conversation about trivial matters; to them they were an unending song of

love. They read the most fleeting changes in their faces and voices as in

an open book; they could have read as well with their eyes closed, for they

had only to listen to their hearts to hear in them the echo of the heart

of the beloved. They were full of confidence in life, in happiness, in

themselves. Their hopes were boundless. They loved, they were loved, happy,

without a shadow, without a doubt, without a fear of the future. Wonderful

serenity of those days of spring! Not a cloud in the sky. A faith so fresh

that it seems that nothing can ever tarnish it. A joy so abounding that

nothing can ever exhaust it. Are they living? Are they dreaming? Doubtless

they are dreaming. There is nothing in common between life and their

dream—nothing, except in that moment of magic: they are but a dream

themselves; their being has melted away at the touch of love.

 

*

 

It was not long before Frau von Kerich perceived their little intrigue,

which they thought very subtly managed, though it was very clumsy. Minna

had suspected it from the moment when her mother had entered suddenly one

day when she was talking to Jean-Christophe, and standing as near to him as

she could, and on the click of the door they had darted apart as quickly

as possible, covered with confusion. Frau von Kerich had pretended to see

nothing. Minna was almost sorry. She would have liked a tussle with her

mother; it would have been more romantic.

 

Her mother took care to give her no opportunity for it; she was too clever

to be anxious, or to make any remark about it. But to Minna she talked

ironically about Jean-Christophe, and made merciless fun of his foibles;

she demolished him in a few words. She did not do it deliberately; she

acted upon instinct, with the treachery natural to a woman who is defending

her own. It was useless for Minna to resist, and sulk, and be impertinent,

and go on denying the truth of her remarks; there was only too much

justification for them, and Frau von Kerich had a cruel skill in flicking

the raw spot. The largeness of Jean-Christophe’s boots, the ugliness of his

clothes, his ill-brushed hat, his provincial accent, his ridiculous way of

bowing, the vulgarity of his loud-voicedness, nothing was forgotten which

might sting Minna’s vanity. Such remarks were always simple and made by the

way; they never took the form of a set speech, and when Minna, irritated,

got upon her high horse to reply, Frau von Kerich would innocently be off

on another subject. But the blow struck home, and Minna was sore under it.

 

She began to look at Jean-Christophe with a less indulgent eye. He was

vaguely conscious of it, and uneasily asked her:

 

“Why do you look at me like that?”

 

And she answered:

 

“Oh, nothing!”

 

But a moment after, when he was merry, she would harshly reproach him for

laughing so loudly. He was abashed; he never would have thought that he

would have to take care not to laugh too loudly with her: all his gaiety

was spoiled. Or when he was talking absolutely at his ease, she would

absently interrupt him to make some unpleasant remark about his clothes,

or she would take exception to his common expressions with pedantic

aggressiveness. Then he would lose all desire to talk, and sometimes would

be cross. Then he would persuade himself that these ways which so irritated

him were a proof of Minna’s interest in him, and she would persuade herself

also that it was so. He would try humbly to do better. But she was never

much pleased with him, for he hardly ever succeeded.

 

But he had no time—nor had Minna—to perceive the change that was taking

place in her. Easter came, and Minna had to go with her mother to stay with

some relations near Weimar.

 

During the last week before the separation they returned to the intimacy of

the first days. Except for little outbursts of impatience Minna was more

affectionate than ever. On the eve of her departure they went for a long

walk in the park; she led Jean-Christophe mysteriously to the arbor, and

put about his neck a little scented bag, in which she had placed a lock of

her hair; they renewed their eternal vows, and swore to write to each other

every day; and they chose a star out of the sky, and arranged to look at it

every evening at the same time.

 

The fatal day arrived. Ten times during the night he had asked himself,

“Where will she be to-morrow?” and now he thought, “It is to-day. This

morning she is still here; to-night she will be here no longer.” He went

to her house before eight o’clock. She was not up; he set out to walk in

the park; he could not; he returned. The passages were full of boxes and

parcels; he sat down in a corner of the room listening for the creaking of

doors and floors, and recognizing the footsteps on the floor above him.

Frau von Kerich passed, smiled as she saw him and, without stopping, threw

him a mocking good-day. Minna came at last; she was pale, her eyelids were

swollen; she had not slept any more than he during the night. She gave

orders busily to the servants; she held out her hand to Jean-Christophe,

and went on talking to old Frida. She was ready to go. Frau von Kerich came

back. They argued about a hat-box. Minna seemed to pay no attention to

Jean-Christophe, who was standing, forgotten and unhappy, by the piano. She

went out with her mother, then came back; from the door she called out to

Frau von Kerich. She closed the door. They were alone. She ran to him, took

his hand, and dragged him into the little room next door; its shutters were

closed. Then she put her face up to Jean-Christophe’s and kissed him

wildly. With tears in her eyes she said:

 

“You promise—you promise that you will love me always?”

 

They sobbed quietly, and made convulsive efforts to choke their sobs down

so as not to be heard. They broke apart as they heard footsteps

approaching. Minna dried her eyes, and resumed her busy air with the

servants, but her voice trembled.

 

He succeeded in snatching her handkerchief, which she had let fall—her

little dirty handkerchief, crumpled and wet with her tears.

 

He went to the station with his friends in their carriage. Sitting opposite

each other Jean-Christophe and Minna hardly dared look at each other for

fear of bursting into tears. Their hands sought each other, and clasped

until they hurt. Frau von Kerich watched them with quizzical good-humor,

and seemed not to see anything. The time arrived. Jean-Christophe was

standing by the door of the train when it began to move, and he ran

alongside the carriage, not looking where he was going, jostling against

porters, his eyes fixed on Minna’s eyes, until the train was gone. He went

on running until it was lost from sight. Then he stopped, out of breath,

and found himself on the station platform among people of no importance. He

went home, and, fortunately, his family were all out, and all through the

morning he wept.

 

*

 

For the first time he knew the