Jean-Christophe, vol 1 - Romain Rolland (best books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📗

of what he was doing. Mad with rage, the officer turned and drew his

saber. Before he could make use of it Christophe felled him with a stool.

The whole thing had been So sudden that none of the spectators had time to

think of interfering. The other soldiers ran to Christophe drawing their

sabers. The peasants flung themselves at them. The uproar became general.

Mugs flew across the room; the tables were overturned. The peasants woke

up; they had old scores to pay off. The men rolled about on the ground and

bit each other savagely. Lorchen’s partner, a stolid farm-hand, had caught

hold of the head of the soldier who had just insulted him and was banging

it furiously against the wall. Lorchen, armed with a cudgel, was striking

out blindly. The other girls ran away screaming, except for a few wantons

who joined in heartily. One of them—a fat little fair girl—seeing a

gigantic soldier—the same who had sat at Christophe’s table—crushing in

the chest of his prostrate adversary with his boot, ran to the fire, came

back, dragged the brute’s head backwards and flung a handful of burning

ashes into his eyes. The man bellowed. The girl gloated, abused the

disarmed enemy, whom the peasants now thwacked at their ease. At last the

soldiers finding themselves on the losing side rushed away leaving two of

their number on the floor. The fight went on in the village street. They

burst into the houses crying murder, and trying to smash everything. The

peasants followed them with forks, and set their savage dogs on them. A

third soldier fell with his belly cleft by a fork. The others had to fly

and were hunted out of the village, and from a distance they shouted as

they ran across the fields that they would fetch their comrades and come

back immediately.

 

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