Jean-Christophe, Vol. I

through with it." He could not formulate any opinion. He turned over the leaves idly for hours without knowing what he was reading. H

hing in their own country and praised their adversaries. Michelet praised Frederick II, Lanfrey the English of Trafalgar, Charras the Prussia of 1813. No enemy of Napoleon had ever dared to speak of him so harshly. Nothing was too greatly respected to escape their disparagement. Even under the great King the previous poets had had their freedom of speech. Molière spared nothing, La Fontaine laughed at everything. Even Boileau gibed at the nobles. Voltaire derided war, flogged religion, scoffed at his country. Moralists, satirists, pamphleteers, comic writers, they all vied one with another in gay or somber audacity

nything but poison. Y

der and discipline. And he was led astray by the way of the French; he took certain things too seriously; and other things which were implacable denials seemed to him to be amusing paradoxes. No matter! Surprised or shocked he was drawn on little by little. He gave up trying to classify his

istophe appeared, pale, in his nightgown, with a candle and a book in his hand, making strange, solemn, and grotesque gestures. Louisa was in terror and got up in her bed, thinking that he was mad. He began to laugh, and, waving h

is it? Go to bed.... My poor boy,

began

t listen

o the beginning again. He seemed to see Corinne; he heard

catch cold. How tiresome y

hter; and he asked his mother if she did not think it wonderful. Louisa turned

ve me a

the act, and asked her, without eliciting any reply, if she did not think what he had read interesting, he ben

*

found a use for it in his reading. Even in second-rate works there were sentences and pages which had the effect on him of a gust of fresh air. He exaggerated the effect, especially when he was talking to Frau Reinhart, who always went a little better th

s, much gesticulation, exaggerated speech, and pornography. There were not words strong enough for the denunciation--of Latin Immorality; and for want of a better he always came back to frivolity, which for him, as for the majority of his compatriots, had a particularly unpleasant meaning. And he would end with the usual couplet in praise of the noble German people,-the moral people ("By that," Herder has said, "it is distinguished from all o

ey would all shout. They did not get on the less for it.

own greediness. She paid him all sorts of sentimental and culinary attentions. For Christophe's birthday she made a cake, on which were twenty candles and in the middle a little wax figure in Greek cos

pzig and Berlin, with which he had dealings through his classbooks. For the moment at least their touching enterprise, of which Christophe knew nothing, bore no fruit. The Lieder which had been scattered broadcast seemed to miss fire; nobody talked of them; and the Reinharts, who were hurt by this indifference, were glad they had not told Christophe about what they had done, for it

or Christophe. It was warm, ceremonious, enthusiastic, old-fashioned in form, and came from a l

ad left lying in his pocket for two days. They read it together. Reinhart made signs to his wife which Christophe did not n

do you stop

d the fam

the letter on t

too much!

at

ea

and went and su

he letter, and could find in

" he said in

taking the letter and thrusting it in his face. "Ca

iced that in one sent

d Christophe's Lieder

ophe m

at last!... And I have hardly f

m from committing any further absurdity. They succeeded in making him write a letter of thanks. But the letter, written reluctantly, was cold and constrained. The enthusiasm of Peter Schulz was not shaken by it. He sent two or three more letters, brimming, over with affe

*

After spending the day alone in concentration he had a physical need of talking, of saying everything that was in hi

e violently moved sometimes even to tears, and that seemed silly to him. The rest of the time he felt nothing; it was just music to him. That was the general rule. He was never moved except by the least good passages of a composition-absolutely insignificant passages. Both of them persuaded themselves that they understood Christophe, and Christophe tried to pretend that it was so. Every now and then he would be seized by a wicked desire to make fun of them. He would lay traps

; but he would laugh so good-humoredly that they would laugh with him. They did not pretend to be infallible. And as they had no leg to stand on, Lili Reinhart wo

he ill that they had heard spoken of him had rather disposed them in his favor. Like him, they were rather oppressed by the atmosphere of the little town; like

nd he stood in such sore need of it, that he was infinitely grateful to them for wanting to like him a little. He had learned wisdom in his experiences of the last year; he no longer thought he had the right to be overwise. Two years earli

mness and resolution with which one of these great souls-the greatest of all, the heroic Schutz-had striven, as unshakably he went on his way in the midst of wars and burning towns, and provinces ravaged by the plague, with his country invaded, trampled underfoot by the hordes of all Europe, and-worst of all-broken, worn out, degraded by misfortune, making no fight, indifferent to everything, longing only for rest. He thought: "With such as example, what right has any man to complain? They had no audience, they had no future; they wrote for themselves and God. What they wrote one day would perhaps be destroyed by the

is good friends the Reinharts the more for them. He ha

*

for their want of occupation. He was beaten without a doubt; but he was bold enough not to seem crushed. He did not bother anybody, but then he did not bother about anybody. He asked nothing. They were impotent against him. He was happy with his new friends and indifferent to anything that was said or thought of him. That was intolerable.-Frau Reinh

in prudence when they went out together, or even at home in the evening, when they leaned over the balcony talking and

with her. He was too honest. He had a Puritanical horror of adultery. The very idea of such a dirty sharing gave him a physical and moral feeling of nausea. To take the wife of a friend would have been a crime in his

her and dared not move or speak, and they just talked nonsense. If Lili Reinhart's natural carelessness took the ascendant for a moment, or if she began to laugh and talk wildly, suddenly a look from her husband or Christoph

each other and tried to go on

ad not the strength to burn them unopened. They opened them with trembling hands, and as they unfolded the letters their hearts would sink; and when they read what they feared to read, with some new variation

letters. Such utter malignance appalled them. Frau Reinhart had no doubt that the whole town was in the secret. Instead of helping each other, they only undermined each other's fortitude. They did not know what to do. Christophe talked of breaking somebody's head. But whose? And besides, that would be to justify the calumny!... Inform the police of the letters?-That would make their insinuations public...-Pretend to i

gh he was never anywhere near showing any such feeling for her, she thought she must defend herself, not by referring directly to it, but by clumsy precautions, which Christophe did not understand at first, though, when he did understand, he was beside himself.

nning to think that if she held out against being loved by him it was because she was secretly on the point of

esides, Lili Reinhart, who, in spite of her brave words, had no strength of character, lost her head

Reinhart was busy.... They wer

sked by chance, which seemed to ta

as more fran

friends. We are n

t they were happier wh

alone. It had robbed him of his last breath of air:-the a