Chapter 9 Volume 2 Early Morning Part 1 The Death of Johan Michel (1)

three years have past.Christophe was almost eleven years old.He continued his musical education.He took harmony lessons with Florian Haucai, the organist of St. Martin's Abbey, who was a friend of his grandfather and very learned.The teacher told him that any chords that he likes most, he can't help but shiver when he hears the chords are bad and cannot be used.When the child asked the reason, the teacher said that was the case, and the rules of harmony were like this.But because of his stubborn nature, he prefers those harmonies.He would be happiest to find examples of this kind in the works of great musicians whom everyone admires, and to show them to his grandfather or teacher.The grandfather replied that it was great for a great musician, but nothing against Beethoven or Bach.The teacher wasn't so accommodating, and he got angry and said, rather grumpily, that it wasn't the best thing they had done.

Now Christophe could go to concerts and theaters as he pleased; at the same time he was learning a little of every instrument, and he was already very good at playing the violin, and his father wanted to find him a place in the orchestra.He practiced for several months, and he was very competent, so he was officially appointed as the second violinist of the Court Music Federation.In this way he began to earn money; and this was just in time, because the situation at home was getting worse every day.Melchior's alcoholism was worse, and his grandfather was older. -------- ① There are two kinds of music about the violin in the music score, and the violin music in the bass part is played by the second violin.

Knowing the miserable situation at home, Christophe took on an air of maturity and preoccupation.He braced himself for his errands, though he felt no interest, and dozed off in the band at night.The theater no longer elicits the same emotions as I did when I was a child.At that time—four years ago,—his greatest ambition was to climb to where he is now.But most of the music he was asked to play he didn't like; although he didn't dare to say it, he secretly thought it was boring; His favorite piece turned out to be as annoying as his colleagues in the band: they gasped behind the curtain, scratched their itch, then wiped their sweat with a smile, and talked nonsense on and off, as if they had only been doing it for an hour fitness exercise.His former favorite, the blond, barefoot showgirl, was now seen up close; he often encountered her in the dining room during intermissions.She knew he had liked her as a child, and she would have liked to embrace him; but he was not at all pleased: her make-up, her smell, her thick arms, her voracious appetite, all repelled him; now he simply hated her.

The Grand Duke did not forget his pianist: this does not mean that a small monthly salary due to the pianist's name will be paid, which will always be demanded; but Christophe is often called into the palace, Either because some distinguished guest had arrived, or because the lords were eager to hear him play, almost always in the evening, when Christophe wanted to be alone for a while.Then you have to drop everything and hurry.Sometimes he was taught to wait in the hall because there was no end to dinner.In order to see him often, the servants spoke to him casually.Then he was led into a brightly lit living room with many mirrors, and the drunken and well fed people looked at him with rude and curious eyes.He had to walk across the oiled floor to kiss the hands of the lords; he grew clumsier because he thought himself ridiculous and hurt his pride.

Then he sat on the piano and had to play for the idiots (who he thought were idiots).Sometimes the indifference of others was so overwhelming that he almost stopped.He lacked air and seemed to be suffocating.After the performance, everyone praised him casually for a while, and introduced him to meet this and that.He felt treated as a queer animal, like the exotic animals in the Prince's Menagerie, and most of the compliments were addressed to his master rather than to him.He thought himself humiliated, and his paranoia became almost morbid, and his pain was all the more painful because he dared not show it.Even the most inadvertent actions of others, he can see that there is an element of insult: if someone laughs in a corner of the living room, it must be laughing at him, but he doesn't know what to laugh at him, whether he is laughing at his behavior, or at his clothes, or at his clothes. The face is still laughing at his siblings.Everything humiliated him: he was humiliated when he was not talked to, he was humiliated when he was talked to, and sweets were given to him like a child, and if the Grand Duke behaved like a nobleman, he would be humiliated. Give him a gold dollar and send him away, he is especially embarrassed.He was troubled by being poor, by being seen as poor.Returning home one night, the money in his hand made him so sad that he threw it in the wind tunnel in the cellar.But after a while, he had to suppress his pride to pick it up, because the family owed the butcher shop for several months.

His parents didn't expect these pains for self-esteem, but they were very happy because he was treated by the prince instead.Honest Louisa could think of nothing better for her son to spend his evenings at the palace with the pretty people.As for Melchior, it was something that he often boasted to his friends.But the happiest is the old grandfather.On the surface, he pretends to be a loner, speaks without taboo, and despises titles and status, but in his heart, he is quite naive and admires money, power, honor, and prestige; seeing his grandson get close to those rich and powerful people, he is very proud It seemed that the child's glory could be directly reflected on himself; although he pretended to be nonchalant, he couldn't hide the brilliance on his face.Whenever Christophe was in the palace, old Jean Michel was obliged to stay with his daughter-in-law.He was waiting impatiently for his grandson to come back like a child.As soon as Christophe came home, he pretended to be indifferent and asked some insignificant questions, such as:

"Well, didn't you play badly today?" Or a hint of affection, such as: "Oh, our little Christophe is back, and there must be some news for us." Or flatter him with a clever compliment: "My lord, we are being polite here!" But Christophe replied grimly, with a sullen face and a bad mood. "Hello", just go and sit aside and get angry.The old man continued to ask, and mentioned some more practical things, and the child's answer was only yes and no.Other members of the family also intervened to ask questions: Christophe frowned more and more, almost every word was forced out of his mouth, and finally Jean Michel lost his temper and said something ugly. .Christophe pushed back unceremoniously, and ended up breaking up badly.The old man slammed the door shut and left.Christophe ruined all the fun of these poor creatures, and they didn't understand his bad mood at all.Their slavish spirit is not their fault!It never occurred to them that there was another way of being a human being.

So Christophe became hidden; although he could not judge his family, he always felt that he was separated from them by a gulf.Of course, he also exaggerated the situation of this estrangement; because even if he thought differently, if he could talk to them from the bottom of his heart, they would not necessarily not understand him.However, it is extremely difficult for parents and children to have a complete heart-to-heart relationship, even if they love each other very much: on the one hand, respect prevents children from fully revealing their hearts; False notions of age and experience intervene, and cause parents to despise the moods of their children, which are sometimes as noticeable, and almost always more real, than those of adults.

The guests Christophe saw at home and the conversations he heard separated him even further from his family. Melchior's friends came to their house, mostly musicians in bands, bachelors who liked to drink, not bad, but vulgar; their laughter and the sound of their feet made the house vibrate.They love music, but the nonsense they talk about music is annoying.The child's feelings are reserved, and the grown-ups' gleeful, vulgar displays hurt him.When they praised his favorite music in this way, he seemed to be insulted himself, and he stiffened, turned pale with anger, and pretended to be cold, as if he had no interest in music; Maybe, he was going to hate music.Melchior said of him:

"This guy has no heart, no feelings. I don't know who his character looks like." Sometimes they sang four-part Germanic songs together, with very flat harmonies, very slow, heavy, and serious, like the singers.Christophe hid in the farthest room and cursed at the wall. Grandpa had his friends, too: the organist, the rugmaker, the clockmaker, the double bass player, all talkative old men, always telling the same jokes, endlessly discussing art, politics, or the family tree of a local family. ,—they are not interested in the topic they are talking about, as long as they can talk, they will be happy if they can find an opponent to talk to.

As for Louisa, she only hangs out with a few women in the neighborhood and listens to the gossip of the neighbors; every now and then, some "well-meaning ladies" come to invite her to the next banquet, saying they care about her. At the same time, he also stepped in and took care of the children's religious education. Of all the guests, Christophe hated Uncle Dan Otau the most.He was the son of the ex-husband of Johan Mihir's ex-wife, Clara's grandmother, with whom he co-founded a firm trading in Africa and the Far East.He can be said to be a typical example of the new Germans: on the one hand, he sneered at the ancient idealism of the nation, and on the other hand, because the country won the war, he worshiped power and success in particular, and that kind of worship showed that they were outbursts. As an accountant, I have only recently tasted the taste of power and success.But it is impossible to change the national character of hundreds of years, so the suppressed idealism will be revealed at any time in words, actions, moral habits, and quotes from Goethe in daily life.It was a curious mixture of conscience and interest, and a curious attempt to reconcile the old German middle-class morality with the new businessman's indiscretion: a mixture always tinged with unreliable hypocrisy. because it ended up taking German power, greed, and interests as symbols of all rights, all justice, and all truths. Christophe's straightforward nature could not bear this.He could not judge whether his uncle was right; but he despised others, and considered him an enemy.Grandfather didn't like that idea either, and opposed the theories; but he was refuted in a few words, for Dan Otau's articulate, magnanimous innocence of the old man would immediately become childish in his mouth.In the end, Johann Michel was ashamed of his kindness; he even imitated Dan Otau's tone of voice, to show that he was not as old-fashioned as people thought, but he never spoke in the right way, Even I feel awkward.But no matter what he thought in his heart, Dan Otao was very powerful after all; and the old man always respected a person who was capable in practical affairs, especially because he had absolutely no such talent, so he was even more envious.He longed for one of his grandchildren to climb to that position.Melchior had the same idea, and was determined to make Lotoff follow his uncle's path.So the whole family flattered the rich relative, hoping that he would help in the future.He knew that he was indispensable to others, so he took this opportunity to put on airs: he had to intervene in everything, criticize everything, and he made no secret of his contempt for art and artists, and even deliberately put it on his face to humiliate his relatives who were musicians.He was unscrupulously mean to them, and they actually laughed with him cheekily. Christophe in particular was made the object of ridicule by his uncle; he could not bear it.He didn't say a word, gritted his teeth, and looked sullen.Uncle joked again about his quiet anger.One day Dan Otto tortured him so badly at the dinner table that Christophe couldn't help feeling angry and spat on his face.That was an appalling thing.Uncle was taken aback for a moment, and then cursed aggressively.Christophe, too, was so frightened by his behavior that he did not even feel the rain of fists on him; but when they tried to pull him to kneel before his uncle, he struggled desperately, pushed his mother away, and fled outside the house. went.He scuttled across the fields, running until he was out of breath before stopping.He heard a voice calling him in the distance; he decided in his mind: Since he couldn't throw the enemy into the river, should he jump into it by himself.He slept in the field all night.At dawn, he knocked on his grandfather's door.The old man was so anxious about Christophe's disappearance that he didn't close his eyes all night, and he didn't have the courage to complain about him.He sent him home; everyone saw that he was so nervous, so they never mentioned what happened yesterday; and they had to give him a perfunctory, because he was going to play the piano at the palace in the evening.But Melchior nagged for weeks, without specifying anyone, and only complaining that he hoped those worthless people who would disgrace you would see good examples of good conduct and law-abiding and be resigned. Consciousness is really too difficult.As for Uncle Danotal, when he met Christophe in the street, he turned his head and covered his nose, expressing his grief. Since he didn't get much sympathy at home, he tried not to stay at home as much as possible.The restraints that were constantly imposed on him made him very painful: there were too many people and things that he had to respect, and he was not allowed to ask why; Christophe was born without fear.The more people want him to be tame, to be a regular little German bourgeois, the more he feels the need to break free.In the band or at the palace, the prudish, bored enough of the sin, he just wants to roll in the grass like a pony, don't care about the new shorts, and slide down the grassy hillside, Or throw stones into fights with wild kids in the neighborhood.He didn't play like this often, not because he was afraid of being scolded or beaten, but because he had no companions.He was always at odds with the other boys, and even the wild kids in the street didn't like to play with him because he took the game too seriously and played too hard.And he was used to being alone, keeping himself at a distance from other children of his age; he was ashamed of his lack of game and dared not join their company.So he pretended not to be interested, although he wished desperately that he would be invited.But no one said a word to him, so he pretended to be indifferent and walked away sadly. -------- ①Bourgeois is the transliteration of the French bourgeoisie (bourgeoisie). In this book, it mostly refers to the middle class or the bourgeoisie. His only consolation was to hang out with Uncle Gottfried when he came.He was getting closer and closer to him, thinking that his uncle's solitary character was right.Gottfried was now fully aware of the joy of wandering about and not wanting to settle down.The two of them often went for a walk in the fields at dusk, aimlessly, just looking forward, because Gottfried always wanted to lose time, and always returned late, complaining to his family.The happiest thing is to sneak out at night when everyone is fast asleep.Gottfried knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help Christophe pleading, and he himself was reluctant to give up this kind of fun.Around midnight, he went to the front of the house and blew a whistle according to the agreed signal.Christophe, who was asleep in his clothes, got out of bed secretly, holding his shoes in his hand, and holding his breath, he crawled skillfully under the kitchen window facing the street like a savage.He climbed onto the table; his uncle shouldered him outside.So they set off, as happy as schoolboys. Sometimes they also went to find the fisherman Jilemy, a friend of Gottfried's, and they swung out slowly in his boat under the moon.The drops of water dripping from the oars resemble an arpeggio, or a succession of chromatic scales.A layer of milky vapor quivered over the river.The stars shivered in the sky.The cries of chickens on both sides of the bank echoed from a distance; sometimes the trembling song of larks was heard in mid-air. They misunderstood the moonlight and flew up from the ground.Everyone was relatively speechless.Gottfried sang softly.Jeremy told strange stories about the lives of animals; short enigmatic words made things seem more mysterious.The moon was hidden behind the woods.The boat sailed under a range of dark hills.The black sky light and the black water color are combined together.There is not a ripple on the river.All sounds but silence.The boat is rippling in the dark night.It was impossible to tell whether it was rippling, floating, or standing still. ... The reeds are swaying, looking around, and the sound is like the friction of silk.They docked quietly, got off the ground, and walked back.Sometimes I don't come home until dawn.They walked along the river.A school of silver-white Ablanders, green as ears of wheat, and blue as jewels, swarmed in the twilight of morning; they thronged like snakes on the head of Medusa, Desperately chasing the bread thrown by others, while circling, watching the water sink, and then suddenly disappeared like a flash of light.The river water tinted the reflections pink and sunflower hues.The birds woke up one by one.They hurried back.With the same care as when going out, the child crawled into the stale bedroom, climbed into his bed, and fell asleep at once, carrying the fresh fragrance of the fields on his body. -------- ①Medusa is a Gorgon in Greek mythology, who was forced to turn his eyes into stone. He went out like this, came back, nothing happened, and he could never be found out, if his little brother Ernest came forward to inform him one day: since then, this kind of thing has been banned, and Christophe has also been watched. .But he still managed to slip out.He doesn't look up to anyone, but likes to hang out with this uncle who is a peddler and his friends.The people in the family looked very annoyed.Melchior said he was obscene.Old Jean Michel was jealous of Christophe's affection for Gottfried; he blamed the boy for having the opportunity to be close to the upper class and serve the nobles, instead of condescending to the poor people.Everyone thinks that Christophe doesn't care about his status. Although Melchior's drunkenness and idleness made the family's finances more and more difficult, Jean Michel's life was manageable.In the first place, he was the only one who had any influence over Melchior, and made him feel more or less scruples on his indulgent ascents.Moreover, the reputation of the old man makes people forget the incompetence of the drunk.Also, when the family lacked money, he always tried his best to help.He had a small stipend by virtue of his qualifications as a former orchestra conductor, and besides he continued to take in students, tuned other people's pianos, and earned pocket change.Most of these proceeds are given to the daughter-in-law.Although she used various methods to hide it, he could still see that she was in a tight spot.Lu Yisha felt very sorry for the others who suffered for them.The old man's life has always been quite comfortable, and he desperately needs to enjoy it, so his frugality is especially commendable.There were times when his daily sacrifices were not enough; for example, in order to pay an urgent debt, Jean Mihir had to secretly sell a piece of furniture, or a book, or a souvenir that he loved.When Melchior found out that his father was secretly giving Louisa money, he often robbed it.As soon as the old man found out about this—not from Louisa, for her pain was never known to him, but from any grandson—he was furious, and there was great rage between father and son. A quarrel made people tremble when they saw it.Both of them had unusually violent tempers, and they were uttering vicious words and threatening each other in a short while, almost ready to use force.But Melchior, even in his most impulsive moments, could not shake off that deep-seated respect; and no matter how drunk he was, he finally bowed his head to the humiliation of his father's yelling and cursing.However, next time he has a chance, he will come again.Jean Michel's heart shuddered at the thought of the future. "Poor children," he said to Louisa, "I'm dead, what do you do? . when!" But his calculations were wrong: he had reached the end of his life.Of course no one thought of this.People in their eighties have not lost their hair yet, some tufts of gray hair are still gray in the middle, and some of their bushy beards are all black.Although there are only a dozen or so teeth left, they are quite strong when chewing.It's interesting to see how he eats.He had a good appetite, and although he accused Melchior of drinking, he drank quite a lot himself.He particularly likes the white wines from the Moselle region.As for wine, beer, cider, everything delicious that God has created, he appreciates it.He is never so confused that he drops reason into the wine glass, he is temperate.Of course, if his magnanimous standards were exchanged for a relatively fragile rationality, he would have to die miserably in a wine glass.He has good eyesight and strong feet, and he is not afraid of getting tired when he is busy.Get up at six, wash and wash very well: because he attaches great importance to rules and status.He lives at home by himself, does everything by himself, and never wants his wife to meddle in his business; he cleans the bedroom, makes coffee, sews buttons, knocks, glues, repairs; he walks up and down the house wearing only a shirt Next, the loud bass voice sang non-stop, with some operatic gestures. —and then he went out, whatever the weather.When he goes to do his business, he never forgets a single thing, but he is rarely punctual: either chatting with acquaintances in the streets or alleys, or joking with the neighbor's wife whom he suddenly remembered his face: because he likes old friends, I also like the young and beautiful face.He stays here for a while, and stays for a while, never knowing the time.But he never missed a meal: he ate everywhere without being invited.He didn't go back until it was dark at night and he had finished watching his grandchildren.He lay in bed, and read a page from his battered Bible before he closed his eyes; Old books: No matter what history, theology, literature, or science, he can read a few pages wherever he turns, no matter whether it is interesting or not; he does not quite understand the meaning of the book, but he will not let go of a word until he falls asleep again .On Sundays he went to church for mass, took the children for walks, and played a game of bowls. —he was never ill, except when some gout in his toes made him swear a little at night when he read his Bible in bed.It seemed that he could live to a hundred years in this way, and he saw no reason why he should not exceed a hundred years; people said that he must die at a hundred years old in the future, and he could think that there should be no limit to the grace of God.Only his tearfulness and growing bad temper showed his old age.At the slightest impatience, he would fly into a rage: his red face and short neck turned purple; he roared angrily, and did not stop until he was out of breath.The family doctor, an old friend of his, advised him to take good care of his body and control his temper and appetite.But he was as stubborn as all old people, and in order to show his fearlessness, he became more indulgent; he laughed at medicine and doctors.He said that he didn't take death seriously at all, and he boasted blindly when he spoke, proving that he was absolutely not afraid of death.One very hot summer day, after drinking a lot of wine and arguing with others, he returned home and worked in the garden.Usually he likes to turn mud.That day, he was bald, basking in the sun, and the anger of the argument had not subsided, and he dug the ground angrily.Christophe was sitting under the shade with a book in his hand, but he was not reading; he listened to the sleep-inducing chirping of crickets, and watched his grandfather's movements absently.With his back to him, the old man was bending over to pull weeds.Christophe suddenly saw him standing up, twitching his arms for a while, and then fell to the ground like a stone.He wanted to laugh at that time, but seeing the old man lying still, he called him and ran over to shake him vigorously.Slowly he became afraid.He squatted down, trying to pick up his big head that had fallen to the ground.But it was so heavy, and the child was trembling all over, that it was impossible to move.Later, when he saw the pale, bloody eyes turned upside down, he was so frightened that his body became cold, and he yelled loudly, dropped his grandfather's head as soon as he let go, stood up in a daze, and ran away, looking out. Shouting and crying.A passer-by stopped the child, and Christophe, unable to speak a word, only pointed to the house, and the man went through the gate, followed by the child.Those who lived nearby heard the shout and came too.In an instant the garden was full of people.Everyone stepped on the flowers and plants, bent over the old man and rushed to talk.Two or three men lifted him from the ground.Christophe stood at the door of the house, facing the wall, covering his face with his hands. He was afraid of seeing, but couldn't help but want to see; when the crowd carried his grandfather past, he saw through his fingers that the old man's huge body was like a heap. Something limp: one arm hangs on the ground; the head rests on the knee of a lifter, and when the lifter takes a step, the head jumps; the face is swollen, covered with mud, bleeding, the mouth is open, and the eyes are straight horrible.The child saw it and yelled again, and fled.He rushed to his home in one breath, as if someone was chasing him.He let out a stern voice at the top of his throat and rushed into the kitchen.Mother is peeling and washing vegetables.He rushed forward, hugged her desperately and begged her for help, wept loudly, his face was contorted, and he couldn't speak.But as soon as he opened his mouth, his mother understood, and immediately turned pale, let everything in her hand drop to the ground, and ran out without saying a word. Christophe was leaning against the cabinet alone, crying endlessly.The little brothers are playing.He didn't quite understand what happened just now, and he didn't think about his grandfather, but only about those terrible scenes, lest he be asked to go back and see again. Sure enough, in the evening, when the two little brothers had had enough of being naughty in the house, they were tired of shouting and playing, and when they were hungry, Louisa hurried home and took them to their grandfather's house.She walked quickly; Ernst and Lotoff muttered as usual; but their mother shouted so fiercely that they dared not speak.They instinctively felt a kind of horror: they cried together when they entered the door.It was not quite dark yet; the last twilight of the setting sun shone in the house, on the door knobs, on the mirror, and on the violin hanging on the half-dark wall outside, making a strange reflection.A candle was burning in the old man's bedroom; the shadows of the room were all the more suffocating between the flickering flames and the dismal twilight.Melchior sat by the window and wept aloud.The doctor bent over and stood in front of the bed, covering the people on the bed.Christophe's heart was about to burst.Louisa taught the children to kneel by the bed.Christophe cast a bold glance.After the afternoon's scene, he was prepared to see something more terrifying, so he was almost relieved in a huff.Grandpa remained motionless as if sleeping there.The child thought for a moment that his grandfather had recovered from his illness.But when he heard the rapid breathing, and looked closely, he saw a purple scar on the swollen face, and realized that his grandfather was dying, and he began to tremble again.While he was praying according to his mother's instructions, he hoped that his grandfather would recover from his illness, but at the same time he prayed silently, if his grandfather could not recover, then he hoped that he would be considered as dead now.He was terrified of what was to come. The old man has lost consciousness since the fall.He was sober only for a moment, and that moment was just enough to make him understand his situation: and it was terrible.The priest had come to say his last prayers.The old man was helped up and leaned against the pillow; he managed to open his eyes that did not obey orders, exhaled loudly, and stared at the firelight and the faces of the people inexplicably; then suddenly an indescribable horror appeared on his face, He opened his mouth and stammered: "Oh, then...so, am I going to die?..." The painful tone pierced Christophe's heart, and he will never forget it.The old man stopped talking and just hummed like a child.Then he passed out again, but his breathing was more difficult; he groaned and moved his hands as if resisting the sleep that would keep him awake forever.In a half-comatose, half-awake state, he called out: "Mother!" What a pain!Like Christophe, the old man would call his mother, the mother he had never mentioned: isn't this the most useless appeal to the greatest horror? ... He seemed to be quiet for a while, and a gleam of light flashed in his heart.The iridescence seemed to have dissipated in the double eyes, and when they met the child's stunned eyes, they suddenly lit up.The old man struggled to laugh, to speak.Louisa pulled Christophe closer to the bed.Jean Mihir pursed his lips and tried to touch the boy's head.But he immediately fell into a coma, and it was over. The children were herded into the next room, and everyone was so busy that there was no time to take care of them.Christophe, feeling more and more frightened and eager to see, stood at the half-closed door and peeked, and saw that miserable face lying on the pillow, as if being tightly strangled by a cruel force. ...the flesh on the face is shrinking more and more...Life is gradually sinking into nothingness, as if it was sucked away by a pump...The sound of phlegm makes one's hair stand on end, and the mechanical breathing seems to be broken on the surface of the water. The air bubbles scattered, these last few breaths indicate that the soul has flown away and the body still wants to hold on to live. ——Then I slid my head to look at the pillow, and there was no sound at all. Not until a few minutes later, amidst the turmoil of wailing, prayers, and death, did Louise catch a glimpse of Christophe, blue-faced, with a twitching mouth, and wide-open eyes, clutching the doorknob, standing there. convulsions.She ran over, and he immediately fainted in her arms.She took him away.He lost consciousness.When he woke up, he found himself lying on the bed. Because the person accompanying him walked away for a while, he screamed in fright, fell ill again, passed out, and had a fever that night and the next day.At last he calmed down, and fell asleep the next night, and slept until the afternoon of the third.He felt that someone was walking in the room, and his mother Qi was hugging him on the bed; it also seemed that there were soft bells in the distance.But he would not move; he seemed to be in a dream. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Uncle Gottfried sitting by the bed.He was so tired that he couldn't think of anything.But after a while, the memory returned and he cried.Gottfried came and hugged him. "What's the matter, boy? What's the matter?" he said softly. "Ouch! Uncle, uncle!" The child leaned against him tightly, humming non-stop. "Cry," said the uncle, "you cry!" He also cried. Christophe cried with relief, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his uncle.The uncle knew what he was going to ask, so he put his finger to his mouth and said, "Don't ask, don't talk. It's good for you to cry. It's not good to talk." Children must ask. "It's no use asking," replied the uncle. "Just ask one thing, and one is enough!  …" "what?" Christophe hesitated for a while, then said: "Well, uncle, where is he now?" "Son, he's with God." But that was not what Christophe asked. "No, you don't understand me. I mean, where is he?" (He means flesh.) He asked again in a trembling voice: "Is he still in the house?" "It was buried this morning, our dear," replied Gottfried. "Didn't you hear the bell?" Christophe breathed a sigh of relief.But later, when he thought that he would never see his dear grandfather again, he cried very sadly. "Poor boy!" Gottfried looked at him sympathetically. Christophe waited for his uncle to comfort him; but the uncle did nothing, and he felt that the comfort was useless. "Uncle," asked the boy, "aren't you afraid of that, you?" (He really hoped his uncle wasn't, and told him how to!) But Gottfried seemed worried. "Hush!" His voice also changed a little... "Why aren't you afraid?" He paused for a while and said again. "But what can be done? That's the way it is. Just bear it." Christophe shook his head in disapproval. "Just bear it, boy," repeated Gottfried, "he will do what he wills. You will like what he likes." "I hate him!" Christopher said angrily, shaking his fist at the sky. Gottfried was startled and told him to shut up.Christophe himself was afraid of what he had just said, and prayed with his uncle.But he was full of anger in his heart, although he murmured and said humble words, he secretly hated the terrible thing and the demon-like master who caused it, and just wanted to resist. So many days passed, so many rainy nights passed: under the freshly turned earth poor old Jean Michel lay alone.At that time, Melchior cried loudly several times, but within a week, Christophe heard him laughing happily again.人家提到死者的名字，他立刻哭丧着脸，但过了一会，又指手划脚的说起话来，挺有精神了。他的悲伤是真的，但不可能教自己的心绪老是那么抑郁。 懦弱隐忍的鲁意莎，对什么都是逆来顺受的，就一声不响的接受了这桩不幸。她在每天的祷告中加了一段祷告，按着时候去打扫墓地，仿佛照顾坟墓也是她家务中的一部分。 高脱弗烈特对于老人长眠的那一小方地的关心，真教人感动。他要来的话，总带一件纪念物，不是亲手做的十字架，便是约翰·米希尔生前喜欢的什么花。这种事他从来不忘记，而且老是瞒着人去做的。 鲁意莎有时带着克利斯朵夫一同上公墓。那块肥沃的土地，阴森森的点缀着花草树木，在阳光中发出一股浓烈的气味，和萧萧哀吟的柏树的气息混在一起。克利斯朵夫厌恶那块地，厌恶那些气味，可是不敢承认，因为他觉得这表示自己怕死，同时对死者不敬。他非常苦闷。祖父的死老压在他心上。好久以前他就知道什么叫做死，久已想过死，也久已害怕死，但还没有见过死的面目。而一个人对于死直要亲眼目睹之后，才会明白自己原来一无所知，既不知所谓死，亦不知所谓生。一切都突然动摇了；理智也毫无用处。你自以为活着，自以为有了些人生经验；这一下可发觉自己什么都没知道，什么都没看见：原来你是在一个自欺其人的幕后面过生活，而那个幕是你的精神编织起来，遮掉可怕的现实的。痛苦的观念，和一个人真正的流血受苦毫不相千。死的观念，和一路挣扎一路死去的灵肉的抽搐也毫不相干。人类所有的语言，所有的智慧，和现实的狰狞可怖相比之下，只是些木偶的把戏；而所谓人也只是行尸走肉，花尽心机想固定他的生命，其实这生命每分钟都在腐烂。 克利斯朵夫日夜想着这个问题。祖父临终的景象老是在他的记忆中，他还听到那可怕的呼吸。整个的天地都改变了，仿佛布满着一片冰雾。在他周围，不论转向哪一边，总觉得那盲目的野兽有股血腥气吹在他脸上；他知道有种毁灭一切的力威胁着他，而他一无办法。但这些念头非但压不倒他，反而激其他的愤怒与憎恨。他没有一点儿听天由命的性格，只知道低着头向"不可能"直撞过去。虽然撞得头破血流，虽然眼看自己不比敌人高强，他还是不断的反抗痛苦。尔今尔后，他的生活就是对命运的残酷作着长期的斗争，因为他不愿意忍受那个命运。 正当他被死的念头缠绕不休的时候，生活的艰难可把他的思想转移了目标。家庭的衰落一向被老祖父挡着，他不在之后就一发不可收拾了。克拉夫脱一家最大的财源与老人同归于尽；贫穷的苦难进到家里来了。 而曼希沃还要火上添油。他非但不加紧工作，并且因为摆脱了唯一的管束，反而加深了嗜好。他几乎每天晚上都喝得烂醉，挣的钱也从来不带一个回家。教课的差事差不多已经完全丢了。有一次，他酩酊大醉的到一个女学生那里去上课：从此就没有一家再要他上门。至于乐队的差事，人家只为了看在他故世的父亲面上，才勉强让他保留着；但鲁意莎担心他随时可能出点乱子，给人撵走。而且人家已经把开差的话警告过他了，因为有几晚他在戏快完场的时候才赶到，还有两三次他完全忘了，根本没去。再说，他有时发啤酒疯来，心痒难熬的只想说些傻话或做些傻事。那时他什么事都做得出。有一晚台上正演着《女武神》，他竟想拉起小提琴协奏①曲来！大家好容易才把他拦住了。而在台上演戏的时候，为了戏文里的，或是为了脑筋里忽然想起的好玩事儿，他居然哈哈大笑。他教周围的同事乐死了。大家看他会闹笑话，许多地方都原谅他。但这种优容比严厉的责备更难受。克利斯朵夫看了简直置身无地。 -------- ①《女武神》为瓦格纳所作《尼勃龙根的指环》四部曲中的第二出歌剧。