Jean-Christophe, vol 1 | Page 8

faces, the actions, the movement, the noise, which make round
about him an unending turmoil!... He is weary; his eyes close; he goes
to sleep. That sweet deep sleep that overcomes him suddenly at any
time, and wherever he may be--on his mother's lap, or under the table,
where he loves to hide!... It is good. All is good....
These first days come buzzing up in his mind like a field of corn or a
wood stirred by the wind, and cast in shadow by the great fleeting
clouds....
* * * * *
The shadows pass; the sun penetrates the forest. Jean-Christophe begins
to find his way through the labyrinth of the day.
It is morning. His parents are asleep. He is in his little bed, lying on his
back. He looks at the rays of light dancing on the ceiling. There is
infinite amusement in it. Now he laughs out loud with one of those
jolly children's laughs which stir the hearts of those that hear them. His
mother leans out of her bed towards him, and says: "What is it, then,
little mad thing?" Then he laughs again, and perhaps he makes an effort
to laugh because he has an audience. His mamma looks severe, and
lays a finger on her lips to warn him lest he should wake his father: but
her weary eyes smile in spite of herself. They whisper together. Then
there is a furious growl from his father. Both tremble. His mother
hastily turns her back on him, like a naughty little girl: she pretends to
be asleep. Jean-Christophe buries himself in his bed, and holds his
breath.... Dead silence.
After some time the little face hidden under the clothes comes to the
surface again. On the roof the weathercock creaks. The rain-pipe

gurgles; the Angelus sounds. When the wind comes from the east, the
distant bells of the villages on the other bank of the river give answer.
The sparrows foregathered in the ivy-clad wall make a deafening noise,
from which three or four voices, always the same, ring out more shrilly
than the others, just as in the games of a band of children. A pigeon
coos at the top of a chimney. The child abandons himself to the lullaby
of these sounds. He hums to himself softly, then a little more loudly,
then quite loudly, then very loudly, until once more his father cries out
in exasperation: "That little donkey never will be quiet! Wait a little,
and I'll pull your ears!" Then Jean-Christophe buries himself in the
bedclothes again, and does not know whether to laugh or cry. He is
terrified and humiliated; and at the same time the idea of the donkey
with which his father has compared him makes him burst out laughing.
From the depths of his bed he imitates its braying. This time he is
whipped. He sheds every tear that is in him. What has he done? He
wanted so much to laugh and to get up! And he is forbidden to budge.
How do people sleep forever? When will they get up?...
One day he could not contain himself. He heard a cat and a dog and
something queer in the street. He slipped out of bed, and, creeping
awkwardly with his bare feet on the tiles, he tried to go down the stairs
to see what it was; but the door was shut. To open it, he climbed on to a
chair; the whole thing collapsed, and he hurt himself and howled. And
once more at the top of the stairs he was whipped. He is always being
whipped!...
* * * * *
He is in church with his grandfather. He is bored. He is not very
comfortable. He is forbidden to stir, and all the people are saying all
together words that he does not understand. They all look solemn and
gloomy. It is not their usual way of looking. He looks at them, half
frightened. Old Lena, their neighbor, who is sitting next to him, looks
very cross; there are moments when he does not recognize even his
grandfather. He is afraid a little. Then he grows used to it, and tries to
find relief from boredom by every means at his disposal. He balances
on one leg, twists his neck to look at the ceiling, makes faces, pulls his

grandfather's coat, investigates the straws in his chair, tries to make a
hole in them with his finger, listens to the singing of birds, and yawns
so that he is like to dislocate his jaw.
Suddenly there is a deluge of sound; the organ is played. A thrill goes
down his spine. He turns and stands with his chin resting on the back of
his chair, and he looks very wise.