Jean-Christophe, vol 1, Romain Rolland [book club recommendations .txt] 📗
- Author: Romain Rolland
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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
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