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Jean Christophe, Vol. I

R >> Romain Rolland >> Jean Christophe, Vol. I




The peasants, left masters of the field, returned to the inn; they were
exultant; it was a revenge for all the outrages they had suffered for so
long. They had as yet no thought of the consequences of the affray. They
all talked at once and boasted of their prowess. They fraternized with
Christophe, who was delighted to feel in touch with them. Lorchen came and
took his hand and held it for a moment in her rough paw while she giggled
at him. She did not think him ridiculous for the moment.

They looked to the wounded. Among the villagers there were only a few teeth
knocked out, a few ribs broken and a few slight bruises and scars. But it
was very different with the soldiers. They were seriously injured: the
giant whose eyes had been burned had had his shoulder half cut off with a
hatchet; the man whose belly had been pierced was dying; and there was the
officer who had been knocked down by Christophe. They were laid out by the
hearth. The officer, who was the least injured of the three, had just
opened his eyes. He took a long look at the ring of peasants leaning over
him, a look filled with hatred. Hardly had he regained consciousness of
what had happened than he began to abuse them. He swore that he would be
avenged and would settle their hash, the whole lot of them; he choked with
rage; it was palpable that if he could he would exterminate them. They
tried to laugh, but their laughter was forced. A young peasant shouted to
the wounded man:

"Hold your gab or I'll kill you."

The officer tried to get up, and he glared at the man who had just spoken
to him with blood-shot eyes:

"Swine!" he said. "Kill me! They'll cut your heads off."

He went on shouting. The man who had been ripped up screamed like a
bleeding pig. The third was stiff and still like a dead man. A crushing
terror came over the peasants. Lorchen and some women carried the wounded
men to another room. The shouts of the officer and the screams of the dying
man died away. The peasants were silent; they stood fixed in the circle as
though the three bodies were still lying at their feet; they dared not
budge and looked at each other in panic. At last Lorchen's father said:

"You have done a fine piece of work!"

There was an agonized murmuring; their throats were dry. Then they began
all to talk at once. At first they whispered as though they were afraid of
eavesdroppers, but soon they raised their voices and became more vehement;
they accused each other; they blamed each other for the blows they had
struck. The dispute became acrid; they seemed to be on the point of going
for each other. Lorchen's father brought them to unanimity. With his arms
folded he turned towards Christophe and jerked his chin at him:

"And," he said, "what business had this fellow here?"

The wrath of the rabble was turned on Christophe:

"True! True!" they cried. "He began it! But for him nothing would have
happened."

Christophe was amazed. He tried to reply:

"You know perfectly that what I did was for you, not for myself."

But they replied furiously:

"Aren't we capable of defending ourselves? Do you think we need a gentleman
from the town to tell us what we should do? Who asked your advice? And
besides who asked you to come? Couldn't you stay at home?"

Christophe shrugged his shoulders and turned towards the door. But
Lorchen's father barred the way, screaming:

"That's it! That's it!" he shouted. "He would like to cut away now after
getting us all into a scrape. He shan't go!"

The peasants roared:

"He shan't go! He's the cause of it all. He shall pay for it all!"

They surrounded him and shook their fists at him. Christophe saw the circle
of threatening faces closing in upon him; fear had infuriated them. He said
nothing, made a face of disgust, threw his hat on the table, went and sat
at the end of the room, and turned his back on them.

But Lorchen was angry and flung herself at the peasants. Her pretty face
was red and scowling with rage. She pushed back the people who were
crowding round Christophe:

"Cowards! Brute beasts!" she cried. "Aren't you ashamed? You want to
pretend that he brought it all on you! As if they did not see you all! As
if there was a single one of you who had not hit out his hand as he
could!... If there had been a man who had stayed with his arms folded while
the others were fighting I would spit in his face and call him: Coward!
Coward!..."

The peasants, surprised by this unexpected outburst, stayed for a moment in
silence; they began to shout again:

"He began it! Nothing would have happened but for him."

In vain did Lorchen's father make signs to his daughter. She went on:

"Yes. He did begin it! That is nothing for you to boast about. But for him
you would have let them insult you. You would have let them insult you. You
cowards! You funks!"

She abused her partner:

"And you, you said nothing. Your heart was in your mouth; you held out your
bottom to be kicked. You would have thanked them for it! Aren't you
ashamed?... Aren't you all ashamed? You are not men! You're as brave as
sheep with your noses to the ground all the time! He had to give you an
example!--And now you want to make him bear everything?... Well, I tell
you, that shan't happen! He fought for us. Either you save him or you'll
suffer along with him. I give you my word for it!"

Lorchen's father caught her arm. He was beside himself and shouted:

"Shut up! Shut up!... Will you shut up, you bitch!"

But she thrust him away and went on again. The peasants yelled. She shouted
louder than they in a shrill, piercing scream:

"What have you to say to it all? Do you think I did not see you just now
kicking the man who is lying half dead in the next room? And you, show me
your hands!... There's blood on them. Do you think I did not see you with
your knife? I shall tell everything I saw if you do the least thing against
him. I will have you all condemned."

The infuriated peasants thrust their faces into Lorchen's and bawled at
her. One of them made as though to box her ears, but Lorchen's lover seized
him by the scruff of the neck and they jostled each other and were on the
point of coming to blows. An old man said to Lorchen:

"If we are condemned, you will be too."

"I shall be too," she said, "I am not so cowardly as you."

And she burst out again.

They did not know what to do. They turned to her father:

"Can't you make her be silent?"

The old man had understood that it was not wise to push Lorchen too far. He
signed to them to be calm. Silence came. Lorchen went on talking alone;
then as she found no response, like a fire without fuel, she stopped. After
a moment her father coughed and said:

"Well, then, what do you want? You don't want to ruin us."

She said:

"I want him to be saved."

They began to think. Christophe had not moved from where he sat; he was
stiff and proud and seemed not to understand that they were discussing him;
but he was touched by Lorchen's intervention. Lorchen seemed not to be
aware of his presence; she was leaning against the table by which he was
sitting, and glaring defiantly at the peasants, who were smoking and
looking down at the ground. At last her father chewed his pipe for a little
and said:

"Whether we say anything or not,--if he stays he is done for. The sergeant
major recognized him; he won't spare him. There is only one thing for him
to do--to get away at once to the other side of the frontier."

He had come to the conclusion it would be better for them all If Christophe
escaped; in that way he would admit his guilt, and when he was no longer
there to defend himself it would not be difficult to put upon him the
burden of the affair. The others agreed. They understood each other
perfectly.--Now that they had come to a decision they were all in a hurry
for Christophe to go. Without being in the least embarrassed by what they
had been saying a moment before they came up to him and pretended to be
deeply interested in his welfare.

"There is not a moment to lose, sir," said Lorchen's father. "They will
come back. Half an hour to go to the fortress. Half an hour to come
back.... There is only just time to slip away."

Christophe had risen. He too had been thinking. He knew that if he stayed
he was lost. But to go, to go without seeing his mother?... No. It was
impossible. He said that he would first go back to the town and would still
have time to go during the night and cross the frontier. But they protested
loudly. They had barred the door just before to prevent his going; now they
wanted to prevent his not going. If he went back to the town he was certain
to be caught; they would know at the fortress before he got there; they
would await him at home.--He insisted. Lorchen had understood him:

"You want to see your mother?... I will go instead of you."

"When?"

"To-night."

"Really! You will do that?"

"I will go."

She took her shawl and put it round her head.

"Write a letter. I will take it to her. Come with me. I will give you some
ink."

She took him into the inner room. At the door she turned, and addressing
her lover:

"And do you get ready," she said. "You must take him. You must not leave
him until you have seen him over the frontier."

He was as eager as anybody to see Christophe over into France and farther
if possible.

Lorchen went into the next room with Christophe. He was still hesitating.
He was torn by grief at the thought that he would not be able to embrace
his mother. When would he see her again? She was so old, so worn out, so
lonely! This fresh blow would be too much for her. What would become of her
without him?... But what would become of him if he stayed and were
condemned and put in prison for years? Would not that even more certainly
mean destitution and misery for her? If he were free, though far away, he
could always help her, or she could come to him.--He had not time to see
clearly in his mind. Lorchen took his hands--she stood near him and looked
at him; their faces were almost touching; she threw her arms round his neck
and kissed his mouth:

"Quick! Quick!" she whispered, pointing to the table, He gave up trying to
think. He sat down. She tore a sheet of squared paper with red lines from
an account book.

He wrote:

"My DEAR MOTHER: Forgive me. I am going to hurt you much. I cannot do
otherwise. I have done nothing wrong. But now I must fly and leave the
country. The girl who brings you this letter will tell you everything. I
wanted to say good-bye to you. They will not let me. They say that I should
be arrested. I am so unhappy that I have no will left. I am going over the
frontier but I shall stay near it until you have written to me; the girl
who brings you my letter will bring me your reply. Tell me what to do. I
will do whatever you say. Do you want me to come back? Tell me to come
back! I cannot bear the idea of leaving you alone. What will you do to
live? Forgive me! Forgive me! I love you and I kiss you...."

"Be quick, sir, or we shall be too late," said Lorchen's swain, pushing the
door open.

Christophe wrote his name hurriedly and gave the letter to Lorchen.

"You will give it to her yourself?"

"I am going," she said.

She was already ready to go.

"To-morrow," she went on, "I will bring you her reply; you must wait for me
at Leiden,--(the first station beyond the German frontier)--on the
platform."

(She had read Christophe's letter over his shoulder as he wrote.)

"You will tell me everything and how she bore the blow and everything she
says to you? You will not keep anything from me?" said Christophe
beseechingly.

"I will tell you everything."

They were not so free to talk now, for the young man was at the door
watching them:

"And then, Herr Christophe," said Lorchen, "I will go and see her sometimes
and I will send you news of her; do not be anxious."

She shook hands with him vigorously like a man.

"Let us go!" said the peasant.

"Let us go!" said Christophe.

All three went out. On the road they parted. Lorchen went one way and
Christophe, with his guide, the other. They did not speak. The crescent
moon veiled in mists was disappearing behind the woods. A pale light
hovered over the fields. In the hollows the mists had risen thick and milky
white. The shivering trees were bathed in the moisture of the air.--They
were not more than a few minutes gone from the village when the peasant
flung back sharply and signed to Christophe to stop. They listened. On the
road in front of them they heard the regular tramp of a troop of soldiers
coming towards them. The peasant climbed the hedge into the fields.
Christophe followed him. They walked away across the plowed fields. They
heard the soldiers go by on the road. In the darkness the peasant shook his
fist at them. Christophe's heart stopped like a hunted animal that hears
the baying of the hounds. They returned to the road again, avoiding the
villages and isolated farms where the barking of the dogs betrayed them to
the countryside. On the slope of a wooded hill they saw in the distance the
red lights of the railway. They took the direction of the signals and
decided to go to the first station. It was not easy. As they came down into
the valley they plunged into the fog. They had to jump a few streams. Soon
they found themselves in immense fields of beetroot and plowed land; they
thought they would never be through. The plain was uneven; there were
little rises and hollows into which they were always in danger of falling.
At last after walking blindly through the fog they saw suddenly a few yards
away the signal light of the railway at the top of an embankment. They
climbed the bank. At the risk of being run over they followed the rails
until they were within a hundred yards of the station; then they took to
the road again. They reached the station twenty minutes before the train
went. In spite of Lorchen's orders the peasant left Christophe; he was in a
hurry to go back to see what had happened to the others and to his own
property.

Christophe took a ticket for Leiden and waited alone in the empty
third-class waiting room. An official who was asleep on a seat came and
looked at Christophe's ticket and opened the door for him when the train
came in. There was nobody in the carriage. Everybody in the train was
asleep. In the fields all was asleep. Only Christophe did not sleep in
spite of his weariness. As the heavy iron wheels approached the frontier he
felt a fearful longing to be out of reach. In an hour he would be free. But
till then a word would be enough to have him arrested.... Arrested! His
whole being revolted at the word. To be stifled by odious force!... He
could not breathe. His mother, his country, that he was leaving, were no
longer in his thoughts. In the egoism of his threatened liberty he thought
only of that liberty of his life which he wished to save. Whatever it might
cost! Even at the cost of crime. He was bitterly sorry that he had taken
the train instead of continuing the journey to the frontier on foot. He had
wanted to gain a few hours. A fine gain! He was throwing himself into the
jaws of the wolf. Surely they were waiting for him at the frontier station;
orders must have been given; he would be arrested.... He thought for a
moment of leaving the train while it was moving, before it reached the
station; he even opened the door of the carriage, but it was too late; the
train was at the station. It stopped. Fire minutes. An eternity. Christophe
withdrew to the end of the compartment and hid behind the curtain and
anxiously watched the platform on which a gendarme was standing motionless.
The station master came out of his office with a telegram in his hand and
went hurriedly up to the gendarme. Christophe had no doubt that it was
about himself. He looked for a weapon. He had only a strong knife with two
blades. He opened it in his pocket. An official with a lamp on his chest
had passed the station master and was running along the train. Christophe
saw him coming. His fist closed on the handle of the knife in his pocket
and he thought:

"I am lost."

He was in such a state of excitement that he would have been capable of
plunging the knife into the man's breast if he had been unfortunate enough
to come straight to him and open his compartment. But the official stopped
at the next carriage to look at the ticket of a passenger who had just
taken his seat. The train moved on again. Christophe repressed the
throbbing of his heart. He did not stir. He dared hardly say to himself
that he was saved. He would not say it until he had crossed the
frontier.... Day was beginning to dawn. The silhouettes of the trees were
starting out of the night. A carriage was passing on the road like a
fantastic shadow with a jingle of bells and a winking eye.... With his face
close pressed to the window Christophe tried to see the post with the
imperial arms which marked the bounds of his servitude. He was still
looking for it in the growing light when the train whistled to announce its
arrival at the first Belgian station.

He got up, opened the door wide, and drank in the icy air. Free! His whole
life before him! The joy of life!... And at once there came upon him
suddenly all the sadness of what he was leaving, all the sadness of what he
was going to meet; and he was overwhelmed by the fatigue of that night of
emotion. He sank down on the seat. He had hardly been in the station a
minute. When a minute later an official opened the door of the carriage he
found Christophe asleep. Christophe awoke, dazed, thinking he had been
asleep an hour; he got out heavily and dragged himself to the customs, and
when he was definitely accepted on foreign territory, having no more to
defend himself, he lay down along a seat in the waiting room and dropped
off and slept like a log.

* * * * *

He awoke about noon. Lorchen could hardly come before two or three o'clock.
While he was waiting for the trains he walked up and down the platform of
the little station. Then he went straight on into the middle of the fields;
It was a gray and joyless day giving warning of the approach of winter. The
light was dim. The plaintive whistle of a train stopping was all that broke
the melancholy silence. Christophe stopped a few yards away from the
frontier in the deserted country. Before him was a little pond, a clear
pool of water, in which the gloomy sky was reflected. It was inclosed by a
fence and two trees grew by its side. On the right, a poplar with leafless
trembling top. Behind, a great walnut tree with black naked branches like a
monstrous polypus. The black fruit of it swung heavily on it. The last
withered leaves were decaying and falling one by one upon the still
pond....

It seemed to him that he had already seen them, the two trees, the pond
...--and suddenly he had one of those moments of giddiness which open great
distances in the plain of life. A chasm in Time. He knew not where he was,
who he was, in what age he lived, through how many ages he had been so.
Christophe had a feeling that it had already been, that what was, now, was
not, now, but in some other time. He was no longer himself. He was able to
see himself from outside, from a great distance, as though it were some one
else standing there in that place. He heard the buzzing of memory and of an
unknown creature within himself; the blood boiled in his veins and roared:

"Thus ... Thus .. Thus ..."

The centuries whirled through him.... Many other Kraffts had passed through
the experiences which were his on that day, and had tasted the wretchedness
of the last hour on their native soil. A wandering race, banished
everywhere for their independence and disturbing qualities. A race always
the prey of an inner demon that never let it settle anywhere. A race
attached to the soil from which it was torn, and never, never ceasing to
love it.

Christophe in his turn was passing through these same sorrowful
experiences; and he was finding on the way the footsteps of those who had
gone before him. With tears in his eyes he watched his native land
disappear in the mist, his country to which he had to say farewell.--Had he
not ardently desired to leave it?--Yes; but now that he was actually
leaving it he felt himself racked by anguish. Only a brutish heart can part
without emotion from the motherland. Happy or unhappy he had lived with
her; she was his mother and his comrade; he had slept in her, he had slept
on her bosom, he was impregnated with her; in her bosom she held the
treasure of his dreams, all his past life, the sacred dust of those whom he
had loved. Christophe saw now in review the days of his life, and the dear
men and women whom he was leaving on that soil or beneath it. His
sufferings were not less dear to him than his joys. Minna, Sabine, Ada, his
grandfather, Uncle Gottfried, old Schulz--all passed before him in the
space of a few minutes. He could not tear himself away from the dead--(for
he counted Ada also among the dead)--the idea of his mother whom he was
leaving, the only living creature of all those whom he loved, among these
phantoms was intolerable to him.

He was almost on the point of crossing the frontier again, so cowardly did
his flight seem to him. He made up his mind that if the answer Lorchen was
to bring him from his mother betrayed too great grief he would return at
all costs. But if he received nothing? If Lorchen had not been able to
reach Louisa, or to bring back the answer? Well, he would go back.

He returned to the station. After a grim time of waiting the train at last
appeared. Christophe expected to see Lorchen's bold face in the train; for
he was sure she would keep her promise; but she did not appear. He ran
anxiously from one compartment to another; he said to himself that if she
had been in the train she would have been one of the first to get out. As
he was plunging through the stream of passengers coming from the opposite
direction he saw a face which he seemed to know. It was the face of a
little girl of thirteen or fourteen, chubby, dimpled, and ruddy as an
apple, with a little turned-up nose and a large mouth, and a thick plait
coiled around her head. As he looked more closely at her he saw that she
had in her hand an old valise very much like his own. She was watching him
too like a sparrow; and when she saw that he was looking at her she came
towards him; but she stood firmly in front of Christophe and stared at him
with her little mouse-like eyes, without speaking a word. Christophe knew
her; she was a little milkmaid at Lorchen's farm. Pointing to the valise he
said:

"That is mine, isn't it?"

The girl did not move and replied cunningly:

"I'm not sure. Where do you come from, first of all?"

"Buir."

"And who sent it you?"

"Lorchen. Come. Give it me."

The little girl held out the valise.

"There it is."

And she added:

"Oh! But I knew you at once!"

"What were you waiting for then?"

"I was waiting for you to tell me that it was you."

"And Lorchen?" asked Christophe. "Why didn't she come?"

The girl did not reply. Christophe understood that she did not want to say
anything among all the people. They had first to pass through the customs.
When that was done Christophe took the girl to the end of the platform:

"The police came," said the girl, now very talkative. "They came almost
as soon as you had gone. They went into all the houses. They questioned
everybody, and they arrested big Sami and Christian and old Kaspar. And
also Mélanie and Gertrude, though they declared they had done nothing, and
they wept; and Gertrude scratched the gendarmes. It was not any good then
saying that you had done it all."

"I?" exclaimed Christophe.

"Oh! yes," said the girl quietly. "It was no good as you had gone. Then
they looked for you everywhere and hunted for you in every direction."

"And Lorchen?"

"Lorchen was not there. She came back afterwards after she had been to the
town."

"Did she see my mother?"

"Yes. Here is the letter. And she wanted to come herself, but she was
arrested too."

"How did you manage to come?"

"Well, she came back to the village without being seen by the police, and
she was going to set out again. But Irmina, Gertrude's sister, denounced
her. They came to arrest her. Then when she saw the gendarmes coming she
went up to her room and shouted that she would come down in a minute, that
she was dressing. I was in the vineyard behind the house; she called to me
from the window: 'Lydia! Lydia!' I went to her; she threw down your valise
and the letter which your mother had given her, and she explained where I
should find you. I ran, and here I am."

"Didn't she say anything more?"

"Yes. She told me to give you this shawl to show you that I came from her."

Christophe recognized the white shawl with red spots and embroidered
flowers which Lorchen had tied round her head when she left him on the
night before. The naïve improbability of the excuse she had made for
sending him such a love-token did not make him smile.

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