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

not let him go on, and Ernest

would content himself with showing his gratitude in his eyes humbly and

affectionately. He would argue with the advice that Christophe gave him:

and he would seem disposed to change his way of living and to work

seriously as soon as he was well again.

 

He recovered: but had a long convalescence. The doctor declared that his

health, which he had abused, needed to be fostered. So he stayed on in his

mother’s house, sharing Christophe’s bed, eating heartily the bread that

his brother earned, and the little dainty dishes that Louisa prepared, for

him. He never spoke of going. Louisa and Christophe never mentioned it

either. They were too happy to have found again the son and the brother

they loved.

 

Little by little in the long evenings that he spent with Ernest Christophe

began to talk intimately to him. He needed to confide in somebody. Ernest

was clever: he had a quick mind and understood—or seemed to understand—on

a hint only. There was pleasure in talking to him. And yet Christophe dared

not tell him about what lay nearest to his heart: his love. He was kept

back by a sort of modesty. Ernest, who knew all about it, never let it

appear that he knew.

 

One day when Ernest was quite well again he went in the sunny afternoon and

lounged along the Rhine. As he passed a noisy inn a little way out of the

town, where there were drinking and dancing on Sundays, he saw Christophe

sitting with Ada and Myrrha, who were making a great noise. Christophe saw

him too, and blushed. Ernest was discreet and passed on without

acknowledging him.

 

Christophe was much embarrassed by the encounter: it made him more keenly

conscious of the company in which he was: it hurt him that his brother

should have seen him then: not only because it made him lose the right of

judging Ernest’s conduct, but because he had a very lofty, very naïve, and

rather archaic notion of his duties as an elder brother which would have

seemed absurd to many people: he thought that in failing in that duty, as

he was doing, he was lowered in his own eyes.

 

In the evening when they were together in their room, he waited for Ernest

to allude to what had happened. But Ernest prudently said nothing and

waited also. Then while they were undressing Christophe decided to speak

about his love. He was so ill at ease that he dared not look at Ernest: and

in his shyness he assumed a gruff way of speaking. Ernest did not help him

out: he was silent and did not look at him, though he watched him all the

same: and he missed none of the humor of Christophe’s awkwardness and

clumsy words. Christophe hardly dared pronounce Ada’s name: and the

portrait that he drew of her would have done just as well for any woman who

was loved. But he spoke of his love: little by little he was carried away

by the flood of tenderness that filled his heart: he said how good it was

to love, how wretched he had been before he had found that light in the

darkness, and that life was nothing without a dear, deep-seated love. His

brother listened gravely: he replied tactfully, and asked no questions: but

a warm handshake showed that he was of Christophe’s way of thinking. They

exchanged ideas concerning love and life. Christophe was happy at being so

well understood. They exchanged a brotherly embrace before they went to

sleep.

 

Christophe grew accustomed to confiding his love to Ernest, though always

shyly and reservedly. Ernest’s discretion reassured him. He let him know

his uneasiness about Ada: but he never blamed her: he blamed himself: and

with tears in his eyes he would declare that he could not live if he were

to lose her.

 

He did not forget to tell Ada about Ernest: he praised his wit and his good

looks.

 

Ernest never approached Christophe with a request to be introduced to Ada:

but he would shut himself up in his room and sadly refuse to go out, saying

that he did not know anybody. Christophe would think ill of himself on

Sundays for going on his excursions with Ada, while his brother stayed at

home. And yet he hated not to be alone with his beloved: he accused himself

of selfishness and proposed that Ernest should come with them.

 

The introduction took place at Ada’s door, on the landing. Ernest and Ada

bowed politely. Ada came out, followed by her inseparable Myrrha, who when

she saw Ernest gave a little cry of surprise. Ernest smiled, went up to

Myrrha, and kissed her: she seemed to take it as a matter of course.

 

“What! You know each other?” asked Christophe in astonishment.

 

“Why, yes!” said Myrrha, laughing.

 

“Since when?”

 

“Oh, a long time!”

 

“And you knew?” asked Christophe, turning to Ada. “Why, did you not tell

me?”

 

“Do you think I know all Myrrha’s lovers?” said Ada, shrugging her

shoulders.

 

Myrrha took up the word and pretended in fun to be angry. Christophe could

not find out any more about it. He was depressed. It seemed to him that

Ernest and Myrrha and Ada had been lacking in honesty, although indeed he

could not have brought any lie up against them: but it was difficult to

believe that Myrrha, who had no secrets from Ada, had made a mystery of

this, and that Ernest and Ada were not already acquainted with each other.

He watched them. But they only exchanged a few trivial words and Ernest

only paid attention to Myrrha all the rest of the day. Ada only spoke to

Christophe: and she was much more amiable to him than usual.

 

From that time on Ernest always joined them. Christophe could have done

without him: but he dared not say so. He had no other motive for wanting to

leave his brother out than his shame in having him for boon companion. He

had no suspicion of him. Ernest gave him no cause for it: he seemed to be

in love with Myrrha and was always reserved and polite with Ada, and even

affected to avoid her in a way that was a little out of place: it was as

though he wished to show his brother’s mistress a little of the respect he

showed to himself. Ada was not surprised by it and was none the less

careful.

 

They went on long excursions together. The two brothers would walk on in

front. Ada and Myrrha, laughing and whispering, would follow a few yards

behind. They would stop in the middle of the road and talk. Christophe and

Ernest would stop and wait for them. Christophe would lose patience and go

on: but soon he would turn back annoyed and irritated, by hearing Ernest

talking and laughing with the two young women. He would want to know what

they were saying: but when they came up with him their conversation would

stop.

 

“What are you three always plotting together?” he would ask.

 

They would reply with some joke. They had a secret understanding like

thieves at a fair.

 

*

 

Christophe had a sharp quarrel with Ada. They had been cross with each

other all day. Strange to say, Ada had not assumed her air of offended

dignity, to which she usually resorted in such cases, so as to avenge

herself, by making herself as intolerably tiresome as usual. Now she simply

pretended to ignore Christophe’s existence and she was in excellent spirits

with the other two. It was as though in her heart she was not put out at

all by the quarrel.

 

Christophe, on the other hand, longed to make peace: he was more in love

than ever. His tenderness was now mingled with a feeling of gratitude for

all the good things love had brought him, and regret for the hours he had

wasted in stupid argument and angry thoughts—and the unreasoning fear, the

mysterious idea that their love was nearing its end. Sadly he looked at

Ada’s pretty face and she pretended not to see him while she was laughing

with the others: and the sight of her woke in him so many dear memories, of

great love, of sincere intimacy.—Her face had sometimes—it had now—so

much goodness in it, a smile so pure, that Christophe asked himself why

things were not better between them, why they spoiled their happiness with

their whimsies, why she would insist on forgetting their bright hours, and

denying and combating all that was good and honest in her—what strange

satisfaction she could find in spoiling, and smudging, if only in thought,

the purity of their love. He was conscious of an immense need of believing

in the object of his love, and he tried once more to bring back his

illusions. He accused himself of injustice: he was remorseful for the

thoughts that he attributed to her, and of his lack of charity.

 

He went to, her and tried to talk to her; she answered him with a few curt

words: she had no desire for a reconciliation with him. He insisted: he

begged her to listen to him for a moment away from the others. She followed

him ungraciously. When they were a few yards away so that neither Myrrha

nor Ernest could see them, he took her hands and begged her pardon, and

knelt at her feet in the dead leaves of the wood. He told her that he could

not go on living so at loggerheads with her: that he found no pleasure in

the walk, or the fine day: that he could enjoy nothing, and could not even

breathe, knowing that she detested him: he needed her love. Yes: he was

often unjust, violent, disagreeable: he begged her to forgive him: it was

the fault of his love, he could not bear anything second-rate in her,

nothing that was altogether unworthy of her and their memories of their

dear past. He reminded her of it all, of their first meeting, their first

days together: he said that he loved her just as much, that he would always

love her, that she should not go away from him! She was everything to

him….

 

Ada listened to him, smiling, uneasy, almost softened. She looked at him

with kind eyes, eyes that said that they loved each other, and that she

was no longer angry. They kissed, and holding each other close they went

into the leafless woods. She thought Christophe good and gentle, and was

grateful to him for his tender words: but she did not relinquish the

naughty whims that were in her mind. But she hesitated, she did not cling

to them so tightly: and yet she did not abandon what she had planned to do.

Why? Who can say?… Because she had vowed what she would do?—Who knows?

Perhaps she thought it more entertaining to deceive her lover that day, to

prove to him, to prove to herself her freedom. She had no thought of losing

him: she did not wish for that. She thought herself more sure of him than

ever.

 

They reached a clearing in the forest. There were two paths. Christophe

took one. Ernest declared that the other led more quickly to the top of the

hill whither they were going. Ada agreed with him. Christophe, who knew the

way, having often been there, maintained that they were wrong. They did not

yield. Then they agreed to try it: and each wagered that he would arrive

first. Ada went with Ernest. Myrrha accompanied Christophe: she pretended

that she was sure that he was right: and she added,