Chapter 18 Part II Sapina (2)

Suddenly the sky was covered with clouds, the fog rose from the grassland, the river was steaming, and the sun was blocked.Sapina shivered and wrapped her head and shoulders tightly in a small black shawl.She seemed tired.As the boat slipped along the bank under the weeping willows, she closed her eyes, her little face turned pale, her mouth was pursed, and she remained motionless, as if in pain—as if she had suffered and died.Christophe felt sad and leaned towards her.When she opened her eyes, she saw that Christophe was looking at her worriedly and questioning her, so she smiled at him.It was a ray of sunshine to him.He asked in a low voice:

"Are you sick?" She shook her head and said, "I feel cold." The two men put their coats on her together, covering her feet, legs, and knees, like a child sleeping on a bed.She was at his mercy and thanked her only with her eyes.A little cold rain began to fall.They took their oars and hurried back.Thick clouds darkened the sky.Black waves rolled up in the river.In the fields, here and there, houses were lit with lights.When we got back to the mill, it was raining heavily, and Sapina was soaked. There was a very angry fire in the kitchen, and everyone waited for the shower to pass.But the rain is getting heavier, and the wind is helping.They had to travel more than ten miles to get into the city.The miller said that Sapina would never be allowed to leave in such weather, and advised them both to spend the night on the Chuang Tzu.Christophe dared not agree, and wanted to see her performance in Sapina's eyes; but her eyes were always fixed on the fire in the stove, as if she was afraid of affecting Christophe's decision.But as soon as Christophe agreed, she turned her red face—(was it because of the firelight?)—to him, and he saw that she was very happy.

What a night...it was raining hard outside.The fire sends clusters of gold stars into the smoke.They sat in a circle, and strange figures danced on the wall.The flour maker taught Sapina's children to watch him make shadows with his hands.The child smiled, but he was not at ease.Sapina bent over to the fire, fiddled with a heavy iron rod; she was a little tired, smiling and thinking wildly; her sister-in-law talked to her about home affairs, she only nodded, but didn't listen.Christophe sat in the shadow, close to the flour maker, gently pulling the child's hair, looking at Sapina's smile.She knew he was looking at her.He knew she was smiling at him.They hadn't spoken a word or looked in the face all evening; and they had no desire to.

They parted early in the evening.The bedrooms of the two are connected, and there is a door connecting them.Christophe accidentally looked at the door and knew that it was locked on the Sapina side.He went to bed and tried to sleep.The rain was beating on the window, and the wind was whistling in the chimney.Upstairs there is a door that babbles in there.A poplar outside the window was rattling by the strong wind.Christophe could not sleep.He thought of himself next to her, under a roof, separated only by a wall.He heard no sound from Sapina's room, but thinking he saw her, he got up on the bed, called her in a low voice through the wall, and said many tender and warm words to her.He seemed to hear the beloved voice answering him, speaking the same words as him, calling him softly; he couldn't figure out whether it was asking himself an answer, or if she was really talking.There was a louder cry, and he could not bear it any longer, and jumped out of bed at once, and went to the door in the dark; he did not want to open it, and felt relieved that it was locked.But as soon as he grasped the knob, the door opened...

He froze for a moment, closed the door gently, then pushed it open, and closed it again.Wasn't it locked just now?Yes, it was obviously locked.So who opened it? ...He was suffocating with a beating heart, leaned on the bed, sat down to catch his breath.Lust trapped him, trembling all over, unable to move.The joy that he had been looking forward to for several months, but which he had never experienced before, was now in front of him, and there were no obstacles, but he became afraid instead.This violent, love-controlled young man suddenly feels fear and disgust at the fulfillment of his desire.He felt ashamed of those desires, ashamed of what he wanted to do.He loves so much that he doesn't even dare to enjoy what he loves. Instead, he is afraid and wants to avoid happiness desperately.Love, love, is it possible to get love only by ruining the one you love? ...

He was back at the door again, trembling with love and fear, clutching the knob, unable to make up his mind. On the other side of the door, with bare feet on the floor tiles, shivering from the cold, Sapina was also standing there. How long have they been hesitating like this?minutes?How many hours? ... They don't know they're all standing there; but they know it in their hearts.They stretched out their arms to each other—he was overwhelmed by such a strong love that he didn't have the courage to go in—she called him and waited for him, but she was afraid that he would really go in...and when he decided to go in , she just made up her mind to lock the door.

So he thought he was crazy.He pushed the door hard, put his mouth on the keyhole and begged: "Let's go!" He called Sapina softly; she could hear him panting.She stood by the door, motionless, her whole body was cold, her teeth were chattering, she had neither the strength to open the door, nor the strength to retreat to the bed... The strong wind continued to beat the trees, and the door of the house was slammed... They each returned to their beds, dragging their tired bodies, and their hearts were full of depression.The rooster hissed and sang.Some glimmers of the east's first movement appeared on the windows covered with mist.Dim, pale, dawn drowned by incessant rain...

Christophe got up as soon as he could, and went to chat with people in the kitchen.He was anxious to leave, afraid of seeing Sapina alone.The housewife said that Sapina was ill, had caught a cold outside yesterday, and could not leave today: he was almost relieved to hear that. The journey home was bleak.He didn't want to take the car, so he walked back alone.The fields were soaked, and the yellow mist covered the land, trees, and cottages like a shroud.Life was extinguished like the sun.Everything is like a ghost.He himself was like a ghost. He went back and saw anger on everyone's face.He and Sapina spent the night outside, God knows where: everyone was very angry about it.He shut himself in his room and buried himself in his work.When Sapina came back the next day, he also hid at home.They took precautions to avoid seeing each other.It was cold and raining constantly: neither of them went out.They only see each other through the closed glass windows.Sapina wrapped up a lot of clothes, roasting the fire and thinking wildly.Christophe got into his pile of papers.The two nodded coldly through the window.They don't quite understand what they feel in their hearts, they just hate each other, themselves, and everything.The events of that night on the farm were forgotten: they blushed at the thought, but did not know whether they were blushing from their lust, or that they had not yielded to it.They found it very painful to meet each other, because they had to think of things they didn't want to think of, so they decided to hide in their rooms, hoping to forget each other.But that couldn't be done, and they were saddened by the hostility hidden in their hearts.Christophe could never get rid of the resentment expressed on Sapina's cold face once he saw it.She also suffered from these thoughts, and wanted to suppress them, deny them, but no, she couldn't get rid of them no matter what.There is also an element of shame in it, because Christophe guessed her thoughts, and because she wanted to give it to someone but she didn't.

Christophe was asked to give several recitals in Cologne and Düsseldorf, and he immediately accepted.He would love to be away for two or three weeks.In order to prepare for the concert and have to compose a new piece to perform there, Christophe took all his energy out and forgot those embarrassing memories.Sapina also returned to her usual trance life, and the past gradually faded away.When two people think of each other, they can even be indifferent.Did they really love each other?I have some doubts.Christophe was about to leave, but he did not say goodbye to Sapina at all. The day before departure, they somehow got another chance to get close.It was a Sunday afternoon when the whole family was away.Christophe also went out in preparation for the trip.Sapina was sitting in the small garden basking in the sun.Christophe returned home in a hurry, and when he saw her nodding, he wanted to leave.But just as he was about to pass by, he stopped for some reason: because of Sapina's pale face, or because of some unspeakable emotion: remorse, fear, tenderness? ... He turned around, leaned against the barbed wire and said hello to Sapina.She didn't say a word, just held out her hand to him.Her smile was very gentle—he had never seen her so gentle.She held out her hand as if to say, "Let's make it up..." He caught her hand on the wire and bent down to kiss it.She didn't want to shrink back.He really wanted to throw himself at her feet and say to her: "I love you"...the two looked at each other silently, but they didn't explain anything.After a while, she broke free and turned her head away.He also turned his head away, hiding the panic in his heart.Then, they looked at each other again, and their eyes seemed stable.The sun was setting.The sunset glow turns orange yellow, blue purple, and various delicate colors in the clear and cold sky.Using her usual posture, she wrapped the shawl tightly tightly.

"How are you?" he asked. She pursed her lips slightly, as if there was no need to answer such words.They were still looking at each other there, very happy: as if the two had been separated for a while, and only met again this time... Finally he broke the silence and said, "I'm leaving tomorrow." Sapina was taken aback: "Are you gone?" He hastened to add: "Oh! Only two or three weeks." "Two or three weeks!" She was a little lost. He said he was going to hold a concert, and when he came back, he would not go out for the whole winter.

"Winter," she said, "that's a long way off..." "Oh! Isn't that a blink of an eye?" She looked away, shook her head, and said after a while, "When can we meet again?" He didn't quite understand this question, hadn't he already answered it? "We can meet when we come back, but it's only half a month, twenty days at most." Her expression was still so gloomy.He wanted to tell her a joke: "You don't think it's going to be too long, don't you have to sleep?" "yes." She tried to laugh, but her lips were trembling. "Christophe! . . . " She suddenly raised herself up to him and called out. There was a sad tone between her words, as if to say: "Stay at home! Don't go! . . . " He held her hand, looked at her, and didn't understand why she valued the half-month trip so much; but as soon as she asked him not to go, he would immediately reply: "Okay, I don't want to leave." Walk……" She was about to speak when the gates in the street opened and Rosa returned.Sapina broke free from Christophe's hand and hurried back into the house.At the door she looked back at him again--and disappeared. Christophe was going to meet her again in the evening.But the Fuqier family nailed him, his mother followed him everywhere, and his luggage was not packed as usual, so he couldn't find time to sneak out of the house. The next day, he set off early in the morning.Passing Sapina's door, he longed to go in and knock on her window, and felt very sorry to leave without saying goodbye to her; -- yesterday he was distracted by Rosa before he could say goodbye.But it occurred to him that she was still asleep at this moment, and that waking her must displease her.And what did you say when you met?It was too late to cancel the trip now; and what if she asked him to cancel it? ... At last, subconsciously, he felt that it would not be bad to try his magic on her—even to make her suffer a little if necessary.He did not take seriously the pain of Sapina's parting from him; he only thought that perhaps she really had feelings for him, and that this brief separation might increase her affection. He runs to the station.In any case, he always felt a little guilty.But when the car moved, I forgot everything.He felt alive.The roofs and bell towers in the ancient city were dyed pink by the morning sun. He said goodbye to them happily, and with the carefree mind of a person who went out, he said goodbye to all those who stayed, and then threw them away. opened. During his stay in Cologne and Düsseldorf, he never thought of Sapina.Busy with prerecitals, concerts, dinners, and conversations from morning to night, he only pays attention to countless new things. The success of the performance makes him very proud, and he has no time to think about the past.Only once, on the fifth night after leaving home, he had a nightmare and woke up suddenly, and found that he was thinking of her in his sleep, and he woke up because of thinking of her, but he couldn't remember how he thought of her of.He was mournful and agitated.That was no surprise: in the evening he performed at a concert, and after the meeting was invited out for a supper and a few glasses of champagne.Since he couldn't sleep, he got up.There is always a piece of music entangled in my mind.He thought that the restless sleep was for this reason, so he wrote down the music thought.After reading it again after finishing writing, he found that there was a sad mood in it, and he couldn't help being very surprised.He wasn't sad when he wrote it, at least he didn't think so.But a few times when he was really sad, he could only write happy music to teach himself to be angry.So he didn't think much about it at this time.Although he is inexplicable about this kind of unexpected behavior in his heart, he is already used to it.He immediately fell asleep again, and the next morning, he forgot everything. His trip was extended by three or four days.It was his momentary pleasure, for he knew he could go back as soon as he wanted; but he was in no hurry.He didn't think of Sapina again until he got on the carriage on his way home.He didn't write to her, and was so indifferent that he didn't even bother to go to the post office to ask if there was any letter from him.He felt secretly happy about his attitude of not hearing from him, because he knew that there was someone waiting for him, someone who loved him...someone loved him?She had never told him that, and he had never told her.No problem, both of them knew it, there was no need to talk about it.But what is more precious than hearing each other's wishes?Why did they take so long to tell?Every time they were about to confide, something accidental or unsatisfactory always distracted them.why?why?What time they wasted! ... He couldn't wait to hear those beloved words from that beloved mouth.He couldn't wait to tell her those words.In the empty compartment, he said it loudly several times.The closer he got to home, the more anxious he became, and it turned into a kind of sad depression... Hurry up!Come quickly!oh!Within an hour he could see her! It was half past six in the morning when he got home.No one got up.Sapina's window was closed.He walked across the yard on tiptoe so she wouldn't hear him.He couldn't help laughing at the thought of surprising her unexpectedly.He ran upstairs while his mother was still asleep.He washed his face silently; he was very hungry, and he went to the cupboard to find something, but he was afraid of waking his mother.He heard footsteps in the yard, so he quietly opened the window, and saw Rosa, who was the first to make the bed as usual, sweeping the floor.He called her softly.As soon as she saw it, she made a gesture of surprise and joy, and then she solemnly lowered her face again.He thought she was still angry with him; but he was in good spirits, and went downstairs to her: "Losa, Rosa," he said in a cheerful voice, "give me something to eat, or I'll eat you! I'm starving to death!" Rosa smiled and took him downstairs to the kitchen, where she poured him a bowl of milk and couldn't help asking a lot of questions about his travels and concerts.He was very happy to answer, because he felt very happy at home, and almost liked hearing Rosa's chatter; but Rosa suddenly stopped in the middle of asking questions, her face was drawn, and her eyes looked away, as if she had something on her mind.Then she went on again; but she seemed to complain of her own talkativeness, and stopped suddenly.At last he noticed, and asked: "What's the matter with you, Rosa? Are you still angry with me?" She shook her head desperately in denial, then, turning to him, with her sudden habit, suddenly grasping his arm with both hands, said: "Oh! Christophe!" He was taken aback and dropped the bread in his hand to the ground: "What! What's the matter?" She added: "Oh! Christophe! . . . What a disaster! . . . " He pushed the table and stammered, "Here?" She pointed to the house across the courtyard. "Oh! Sapina!" he cried. Rosa cried, "She's dead." Christophe could see nothing.He stood up, feeling like he was going to stumble, grabbed the table and overturned everything on it, trying to scream.He felt excruciating pain and finally vomited. Rosa was terrified, rushed forward, held his head, and cried. When he could speak, he said, "That can never be true!" He knew it was true, but he wanted to deny the fact, that what had happened hadn't happened.As soon as he saw Rosa's tears streaming down his cheeks, he no longer doubted, and wept loudly. Rosa raised her head and called: "Christophe!" He lay face down on the table.She leaned towards him: "Christophe!... Mother is here!..." Christophe stood up: "Oh! No, I don't want her to see me." He staggered, his eyes blinded by tears; she took him by the hand and led him into a woodshed by the yard.She closed the door and it was all dark inside.He sat on a random tree root for chopping wood, and she sat on the woodpile.The outside voices could no longer be heard here; he could yell as much as he wanted without fear of being heard.He burst into tears.Rosa had never seen him cry, or even imagined that he would cry; she only knew that girls like herself shed tears, and that a man's despair filled her with horror and pity.She has a love for Christophe; and this love has no selfish meaning at all, but is wholeheartedly willing to sacrifice for him, suffer for him, and suffer for him.She put her arms around him like a mother, and said: "Good Christophe, don't cry!" Christophe turned his head and replied: "I would like to die!" Rosa put her hands together: "Don't say that, Christophe!" "I am willing to die. I can't live anymore...I can't live anymore...What's the point of living?" "Christophe, my little Christophe! You are not alone. There are others who love you..." "What does that have to do with me? I don't love anything anymore. It doesn't matter whether others live or die. I don't love anything. I only love her, only her!" He buried his head in his hands and cried louder.Rosa had nothing more to say.Christophe's love is so selfish, she is heartbroken.When she thought she was the closest to him, she unexpectedly became more lonely and pitiful.Instead of bringing them closer, the pain separated them further.She was crying sadly. After a while, Christophe stopped crying and asked: "But what's the matter? What's the matter?..." Rosa understood what he meant, and replied: "She caught the flu the night you left, and that's it..." "My God! . . . Why don't you write to me?" he asked, twitching. "I wrote, but I don't know your address: you didn't tell us. I asked at the theater, and no one knew." He knew she was shy, and it must be difficult for her to go to the theater. "But...but she asked you to write it?" he asked again. She shook her head: "No. But I think..." There was a little gratitude in his eyes, and Rosa's heart melted: "Poor...poor Christophe!" She hugged his neck with tears in her eyes.Christophe felt how precious this pure feeling was.He needed comfort so much, so he hugged her: "You are so kind, then do you like her too, you?" She broke free, looked at him enthusiastically, and cried without answering a word. This glance brightened his heart, and it was equivalent to saying: "I don't love her..." What Christophe hadn't known for months - what he didn't want to see, finally saw: she loved him. "Shh! Someone called me." They heard Amalia's voice. "Would you like to go home?" Rosa asked. "No, I can't go back yet, I can't talk to my mother... I'll see you later..." "Then you stay here, and I will come when I go." He stayed in the dark woodshed, only a ray of sunlight leaked in through the little cobwebbed windhole.There was the sound of women hawking in the street, and in the stable next door a horse was panting and kicking its hooves against the wall.Christophe was not happy to find out what was going on in Rosa's mind, but he was distracted for a while.What he didn't understand before, he now understands.Countless little things that I never paid attention to, all appear simple and clear in retrospect.He wondered how he could think of this, and felt that it was wrong to put his suffering away from his heart, even for a minute.However, this suffering was too cruel, and the instinct to defend life was stronger than his love, forcing him to look elsewhere and think about Rosa's problem; Things, let yourself support on the water for a while.And because he is suffering at the moment, he can feel the suffering of another person—suffering for him.He understood the tears she shed just now.He felt sorry for Rosa, and thought of how cruel he had been to her in the past——he would continue to be cruel in the future.Because he doesn't love her.What was the use of him loving her?Poor little girl! ...He said to himself in vain that she had a good heart (she had already proved it to him just now), but what did her good heart have to do with him?What had her life to do with him? ... He thought, "Why didn't she die but the other one?" He thought again: "She is alive, she loves me, she loves me, she can say it to me today, tomorrow, and all my life; - but the other one, the only one I love , she died without telling her that she loved me, and I didn't tell her that I loved her, I will never listen to her, and she will never hear me..." The scene of the last night came to mind again: he remembered that when they were about to talk, they were distracted by Rosa.So he hated Rosa. The firewood door opened.Rosa called Christophe in a low voice, and looked for him in the dark.She grabs his hand.He felt a kind of repulsion when he touched it: he complained that he shouldn't be like this, but it was no use; it was almost involuntary. Rosa was speechless.Her deep sympathy actually taught her silence.Christophe was glad that she did not disturb his sorrow with idle words.But he wanted to know . . . only with her could he speak of her.He asked in a low voice: "When did she...?" (He dared not say the word death.) "Exactly eight days to last Saturday." Suddenly something from the past flashed through his mind."Is it at night?" he asked. Rosa looked at him in surprise: "Yes, at two or three o'clock at night." That desolate tune sounded in his heart again. "Has she been in severe pain?" he asked tremblingly. "No, no, thank God; I tell you, good Christophe, she has hardly any pain, she is so weak, she has no struggle at all. We saw at once that she was over." "It can be seen that she, does she feel that way?" "I don't know. I believe..." "Did she say anything?" "No, not a word. She just complained like a child." "Were you there then?" "Yes, for the first two days before her brother came, I was there alone." In gratitude, he held her hand tightly: "Thank you." She felt her blood flow back in her heart. After being silent for a while, he stammered out the words that were always on his mind: "She didn't leave anything... for me?" She shook her head sadly.She really wanted to be able to say what he was expecting in her heart, but she hated herself for not being able to tell a lie.She comforted him by saying, "She's lost her mind." "Does she talk?" "We couldn't hear well. She spoke softly." "Where did the girl go?" "Bring it to the countryside for uncle." "What about her?" "She's over there too, from here last Monday." They both cried again. Outside, Mrs. Vochel's voice was calling Rosa again.Christophe warmed those days after death alone in the woodshed.eight days!It's been eight days... oh!God!How has she become?How much rain has fallen in eight days! ...and during this period he was laughing and happy. He came across a paper bag in his pocket, which was a pair of silver buttons for shoes, which he bought to give to her.He remembered his hand on her shoeless foot that night.Where is that tiny foot now?It must be very cold! ... He thought again that that warm feeling was the only memory he had of this beloved body.He never dared to touch her body with his hands and hold it in his arms.Now she was gone, still a stranger to him.He knew nothing of her body or soul.Her appearance, her life, her love, he didn't get a little remembrance... Her love? ... What proof does he have?Not a letter, not a relic,—nothing.Where to catch her love?Is it in his own heart, or outside of him? ……Ugh!There is nothing but nothingness!Apart from his love for her, apart from himself, what was left of her? . . . But in any case, he tried to rescue her from destruction, to deny death: this passionate desire made him hold on to the last remnant under the impulse of passionate conviction. : "...I did not die, I only changed my residence; I am always in your heart, you who cry when you see me. The beloved becomes the soul of the lover. " He never read these great quotes; but they did lie in his heart.Each has his turn to ascend the perpetual mount of suffering.Everyone has to experience eternal pain and hold hope without hope.Everyone has to follow the man who has resisted death, denied death, and finally has to die. He hid in the house and closed the shutters all day long so as not to see the opposite window. He avoided the people of Fuqier's family, and only thought they were annoying.He had nothing to reproach them: they were so faithful and pious that they would never speak of their feelings for the dead again.They knew Christophe's pain, and no matter what they thought in their hearts, they always respected his pain on the face, and took care not to mention Sapina's name in front of him.But they were her enemies in life, and that was what made Christophe their enemy after Sapina's death. Moreover, their clamoring style has not changed; even if their sympathy was sincere and short-lived, they were visibly unaffected by the misfortune,—(isn't that natural?)—even I secretly feel that it is hard to say that the thorn in my side has been removed.At least that's what Christophe guessed.Because he has now seen through the Fuqier family's intentions for him, it is easier for him to exaggerate.In fact, they didn't care about him, but he took himself very seriously.He believed that since Sapina's death had removed an obstacle to the plans of the landlords, they must have felt hopeful for Rosa.So he hated Rosa.As long as someone else—(whether it is the Vuchels, Louisa, Rosa)—is secretly dominating him, he will, no matter what the situation, be estranged from the person he is forced to love.Whenever his most inviolable liberty seemed to be violated, he jumped up.And this time it wasn't just about him.Others wishing to make decisions for him not only damaged his rights, but also damaged the rights of the deceased with whom he loved each other.So he strives to defend them, though no one attacks those rights.He doubted Rosa's good intentions, because she watched him suffer and suffer, and often knocked on his door, trying to comfort him and talk to him about the dead.He didn't refuse. He needed to mention Sapina to someone who knew Sapina and inquire about the details of her illness.But he didn't appreciate Rosa because of it, thinking that her kindness was effective.Would her family, Amalia included, have allowed her to come and have a long conversation, and would Amalia have promised Rosa that it would be no good for herself?Didn't Luosa also have a tacit understanding with the family?He could not believe that her sympathy was entirely sincere and disinterested. Of course she can't be selfless.Rosa's pity for Christophe is true; she tries hard to see Sapina through Christophe's eyes, wants to love Sapina from Christophe; He has a bad feeling for the dead, and even asks Sapina for forgiveness in his night prayers.But she, she is alive, she sees Christophe every day, every moment, she loves him, she has no need to be afraid of the other, the other has disappeared, and even the impression she left on people will disappear in the future, now only She is alone, maybe one day... Can Rosa not think about these thoughts?It is true that her friend's pain is her pain, but in her pain, can she suppress the sudden joy and unreasonable hope?Then she immediately blamed herself.And those thoughts were but a flash like lightning.But it was enough, Christophe had seen it.When he stared, she felt a chill, seeing his hatred; that was why he hated her when Sapina was dead and she was alive. The flour miller drove up to move Sapina's furniture.When Christophe came back from teaching, he saw a bed, a cupboard, quilts, clothes, and all the things she had left piled up in front of the door and in the street.He felt very uncomfortable seeing it, so he hurried over, but he bumped into Beldo in the doorway and was stopped by him: "Ah! my dear sir," he excitedly shook Christophe's hand, "how could we have imagined it when we were together that day? We were so happy! But she was really ill after that damned river cruise." Yes. Oh, stop talking, there's no use complaining! Now she's dead. It's our turn. This is called life... How are you? Me, I'm fine, please God Blessing!" His face was flushed, dripping with juice, and smelled of alcohol.Christophe felt embarrassed to think that he was her brother and could mention her at will.The miller was glad to have a friend who could talk about Sapina; he did not understand Christophe's indifference.As soon as he appeared, he reminded people suddenly of that day on the farm, and he boldly mentioned the happy past, while talking and kicking Sapina's poor relic: how much would these situations remind Christophe? Pain is something that a flour maker never imagined.As soon as he mentioned Sapina's name, Christophe's heart broke.He wanted to find an opportunity to teach Bell to shut up more.He set foot on the stairs, but the miller pinned him down, blocking his chatter on the steps.Some people, especially country people, have a fondness for talking about sickness; that's the temper of the flour miller, who described Sapina's illness in such detail that Christophe could bear it no longer (he braced himself to force himself) not to cry out in pain), honestly interrupted Berdo's words, and said coldly: "I'm sorry, please stay with me." He left without saying anything else. This ruthlessness enraged the miller.It was not that he hadn't guessed that the girl was secretly in love with Christophe.And Christophe actually said that such innocence made him feel like a beast, thinking that Christophe had no heart. Christophe fled into the room, out of breath.During the time of moving, he dared not go out again, and was determined not to look out the window, but he had to look; he hid in a corner, behind the curtain, and watched his lover's bits and pieces of clothes being taken away.Then he wanted to run into the street and shout, "Hey! Hey! Leave it to me! Don't take it away!" He wanted to beg that at least one thing be left for him, just one thing, and not take her whole. take away.But how dare he ask the flour miller?He has no status at all in front of her brother.Even she herself didn't know about his love: how dare he expose it to others?And even if he opens his mouth, as long as he utters a word, he can't help crying... No, no, I can't say it, I can only see her completely wiped out, sinking into the bottom of the sea, and there is no way to rescue a half of her. milli... When the work was done, the whole house was emptied, the door was closed, the wheels shook the glass, and he went away slowly and could no longer hear him, so he lay on the ground without a single tear, not even the thought of pain or struggle. Nothing, just the whole body is cold, as if dead. There was a knock at his door, and he lay still.Then a few more knocks.他忘了把门上锁：洛莎开进来了，看见他躺在地板上，不由得惊叫了一声，站住了。克利斯朵夫怒气冲冲的抬起头来说： “什么事？你要什么？别来打搅我！” 她迟疑不决的靠在门上，嘴里再三叫着：“克利斯朵夫！……” 他一声不响的爬起来，觉得被她看到这情形很难为情。他拍着身上的灰尘，恶狠狠的问：“哦，你要什么？” 洛莎怯生生的说：“对不起……克利斯朵夫……我来……我给你拿……” 他看见她手里拿着一件东西。 “你瞧，"她向他伸出手来。“我问贝尔多要了一件纪念品。我想你也许会喜欢……” 那是一面手袋里用的银的小镜子，她生前并非为了卖弄风情而是为了慵懒而几小时照着的镜子。克利斯朵夫马上抓住了，也抓住了拿着镜子的手： “噢！好洛莎！……” 他被她的好意感动了，也为了自己对她的不公平非常难过。他一阵冲动，向她跪了下来，吻着她的手：“对不起……对不起……” 洛莎先是不明白，随后却是太明白了；她脸一红，哭了出来。她懂得他的意思是说： “对不起，要是我不公平……对不起，要是我不爱你…… 对不起，要是我不能……不能爱你，要是我永远不爱你！ ..." 她并不把手缩回来：她知道他所亲吻的并不是她。他把脸偎着洛莎的手，热泪交流：一方面知道她窥破了他的心事，一方面因为不能爱她，因为使她难过而十分悲苦。 两人便这样的在傍晚昏暗的房中哭着。 终于她挣脱了手。他还在喃喃的说：“对不起！……” 她把手轻轻的放在他的头上。他站起身子。两人不声不响的拥抱着，嘴里都有些眼泪的酸涩的味道。 “我们永远是好朋友，"他低声的说。 她点了点头，走了，伤心得一句话都说不上来。 他们都觉得世界没有安排好。爱人家的得不到人家的爱。被人家爱的岂不爱人家。彼此相爱的又早晚得分离。……你自己痛苦。你也教人痛苦。而最不幸的人倒还不一定是自己痛苦的人。 克利斯朵夫又开始往外逃了。他没法再在家里过活，不能看到对面没有窗帘的窗，空无一人的屋子。 更难受的是，老于莱不久就把底层重新出租了。有一天，克利斯朵夫看见萨皮纳的房里有些陌生面孔。新人把旧人的最后一点儿遗迹也给抹掉了。 他简直不能待在家里，成天在外边闲荡，直到夜里什么都看不见了才回来。他到乡下去乱跑，而走来走去总走向贝尔多的农庄。可是他不进去，也不敢走近，只远远的绕着圈子。他在一个山岗上发见一个地点，正好临着庄子，平原，与河流；他就把这地方作为日常散步的目的地。从这儿，他的目光跟着蜷曲的河流望去，直望到柳树荫下，那是他在萨皮纳脸上看到死神的影子的地方。他也认出他们俩终宵不寐的两间房的窗子：在那边，两人比邻而居，咫尺，天涯，被一扇门，一扇永恒的门，分隔着。他也能在山岗上俯瞰公墓，可踌躇着不敢进去：从小他就厌恶这些霉烂的土地，从来不愿意把他心爱的人的影子跟它连在一起。但从高处远处看，这墓园并没阴森的气象，而是非常恬静，在阳光底下睡着……睡着！ ……哦，她多喜欢睡啊！ ……这儿什么也不会来打搅她了。田野里鸡声相应。庄子上传来磨子的隆隆声，鸡鸭的聒噪声，孩子们玩耍的呼号声。他看见萨皮纳的女孩子，还能分辨出她的笑声呢。有一回，靠近庄子的大门，他躲在围墙四周凹下去的小路上，等她跑过便把她拦住了，尽量的亲吻。女孩子吓得哭了，差不多认不得他了。he asks: “你在这儿快活吗？” “快活……” “你不愿意回去吗？” "No!" 他把她松了手。小孩子的满不在乎使他很难过。可怜的萨皮纳！……但孩子的确就是她，有点儿是她……虽然是那么一点儿！孩子不象母亲，她明明是从母腹中经过的，但那神秘的勾留只给她淡淡的留下一点儿母亲的气息，留下一点儿声音的抑扬顿挫，吊起嘴唇、侧着脑袋的模样。其余的部分全是另外一个人；而这另外一个和萨皮纳混合起来的人，使克利斯朵夫非常厌恶，虽然他没有明白承认。 克利斯朵夫只有在自己心中才能找到萨皮纳。她到处跟着他；但他只有在孤独的时候才真正觉得和她在一起。她和他最接近的地方莫过于那个山岗，远离着闲人，就在她的本乡，到处都有她往事的遗迹。他不惜赶了多少里路到这儿来，一边奔着一边心跳的爬上岗去，好象赴什么约会似的；那的确可以算是个约会。他一到便躺在地下，——那是她曾经躺过的；他闭上眼睛，就被她的印象包围了。他不看见她的面貌，不听见她的声音，他不需要这些；她进到他心里，把他抓住了，他也把她占有了。在这种热情冲动的幻觉中，除了和她同在以外，什么知觉都没有了。 而这种境界也是不长久的。——实在说来，自然而然来的幻觉只经验到一次；第二天便是他有意追求的了。而以后虽然克利斯朵夫尽力要它再现也没用。那时他方始想起要把萨皮纳真切的形象唤引起来；以前他可是没有这个念头的。有时他居然成功了，象几道电光似的一闪，使他心中一亮。但那是要几小时的等待，熬着几小时的黑暗才能得到的。 “可怜的萨皮纳！"他想道。"他们都把你忘了，只有我爱着你，永远把你存在心里，噢！我的宝贝！我占有你，抓着你，决不让你逃掉的！……” 他这样说着，因为她已经逃掉了：她在他的思想里隐去，好似水在手里漏掉一样。他老是回到那里去赴她的约会。他要想念她，便闭上眼睛。过了半小时，一小时，甚至两小时，他发觉自己一无所思。山谷里的声响，闸口下面潺潺的水声，在坡上啮草的两头山羊的铃声，在他头上的小树间的风声，一切都渗进他软绵绵的思想，好似浸透一块海绵那样。他对着自己的思想发气，硬要它服从意志，钉住那个死者的形象；但过了一忽，他疲倦不堪，叹了口气，又让思想被外来的感觉催眠了。 他振作精神，在田野里跑来跑去，寻访萨皮纳的印象。他到镜子里去找，那是映射过她的笑容的。他到河边去找，那是她的手曾经在水中浸过的。但镜子和水只反射出他自己的影子。走路的刺激，清新的空气，奔腾活跃的血，唤起了他心中的音乐。他想既然找不到她，就换个方向吧。 “唉！萨皮纳！……"他叹了一声。 他把这些歌曲题赠给她，努力要使他的爱情与苦恼在其中再现……可是没用：爱情与苦恼固然是重现了，可完全没有萨皮纳的分。爱情与痛苦是望着前面而不是回顾以往的。克利斯朵夫没法抵抗他的青春。生命的元气又挟着新的威势在他胸中迸发了。他的悲伤，他的悔恨，他的贞洁的火炽的爱情，他压在心里的肉欲，把他的狂热煽动起来了。虽然哀痛，他的心却是跳得那么轻快激昂，兴奋的歌曲按着如醉如狂的韵律响亮起来；一切都在庆祝生命，连悲哀也带着庆祝的意味。克利斯朵夫太坦白了，不能老是凭着自己；他承认自己并不在想念爱人，就瞧不起自己。可是生命在那里鼓动他；精神上充满着死气而肉体充满着生气，他只能很悲哀的听凭那再生的精力，和生活的盲目的狂欢把他摆布；痛苦，怜悯，绝望，无可补救的损失的创伤，一切关于死的苦闷，对于强者无异是猛烈的鞭挞，把求生的力量刺激得更活泼了。 克利斯朵夫也知道，在他心灵深处有一个不受攻击的隐秘的地方，牢牢的保存着萨皮纳的影子。那是生命的狂流冲不掉的。每个人的心底都有一座埋藏爱人的坟墓。他们在其中成年累月的睡着，什么也不来惊醒他们。可是早晚有一天，——我们知道的，——墓穴会重新打开。死者会从坟墓里出来，用她褪色的嘴唇向爱人微笑；她们原来潜伏在爱人胸中，象儿童睡在母腹里一样。