Chapter 47 Part 1 (1)

I have a friend now! …to find a soul to lean on in your troubles, a tender and safe place to rest, to breathe a little when your mind is still shaking: how sweet that is!No more loneliness, no more vigilance day and night, blindfolded, and finally exhausted and taken over by the enemy!Get a confidant, entrust your whole life to him--and he entrusts his whole life to you.Finally able to rest: when you fall asleep, he guards for you, and when he sleeps, you guard for him.Wouldn't it be happy to protect those you love and trust you like a child!What is happier is to promise each other wholeheartedly, to show each other with confidence, and to give the whole thing to friends to control.When you are old, tired, and tired of the burden of many years of life, you can regenerate in your friend, restore your youth and vigor, use his eyes to experience the new world of Vientiane, use his senses to grasp Live in the fleeting beauty, use his heart to appreciate the magnificence of life... Even if he suffers, suffer with him! ……what!As long as life and death can be shared, even pain becomes joy!

I have a friend now!He is so far away from me, yet so close, and will always be in my heart.I possessed him, he possessed me.My friends love me. "Love" merged our two souls into one. After attending the evening party at the Roussin's, when Christophe woke up the next day, his first thought was Olivier Jeannin.He immediately wanted to say goodbye to him.Before eight o'clock, he had already gone out.The morning was warm and somewhat depressing.It was an early summer day in April: a wisp of moisture brewing for a shower floated over the city of Paris. Olivier lived in a side street below the Mont Saint-Genevieve, near the botanical garden.The house is situated on the narrowest part of the street.The stairs ended in a dark courtyard with all kinds of bad smells.The steps turned very steeply, and the walls sloped slightly, and the walls were badly painted.On the third floor, a woman with shaggy hair opened her blouse, heard the sound of footsteps going upstairs, and opened the door. Seeing that it was Christophe, she immediately closed the door roughly.There are several apartments on each floor, and through the cracked doors you can hear the children shouting.It was a group of filthy and very ordinary people, crowded in a low house, with only one heinous yard outside.Jean-Christophe, disgusted, wondered what these people had been tempted to lose in a country where at least there was air to breathe, and what good they could gain by going to Paris and living in this tomb-like place.

He climbed to the floor where Olivier lived.The doorbell handle is a knotted string.Christophe pulled it hard, and when the bell rang, several houses opened their doors.Olivier also came out and opened the door.His simple and neat dress surprised Christophe; on other occasions, Christophe would never have noticed it, but here he felt an unexpected pleasure; Olivier Cleanliness and cleanliness make people feel happy and healthy in this dirty environment. The impression I felt when I saw Olivier's clear eyes the night before immediately returned to me.He reached out to him.Olivier mumbled in a panic:

"Why, you, you come here! . . . " Christophe wanted to grasp this lovely heart that was flustered for a moment, and he smiled at Olivier's question without answering.He pushed Olivier forward and entered the unique bedroom-study room.There was a small iron bed against the wall near the window; Christophe saw a large pile of pillows on it.Three chairs, a black-lacquered table, a baby piano, and several shelves of books filled a room.The room is narrow, low, and dark; but the master's clear eyes seem to have a kind of reflection in the room.Everything is clean and tidy, as if it was done by a woman; there are a few roses in the water bottle, adding a bit of spring to the room, and there are some pictures of old Florentine paintings hanging on the walls.

"Oh, are you here...to see me?" Olivier said sincerely. "Oh, I must come," Christophe replied. "You, you won't come to see me." "You think I can't?" Olivier followed up and said: "Yes, you are right. It's not that I don't want to go." "Then what hinders you?" "I miss you so much." "What a wonderful reason!" "Yes, don't laugh at me. I'm afraid you don't want to see me very much." "I, I don't worry about it! I want to see you, so I'm here. If you don't like it, I'll see."

"Then you must have a good eye." They looked at each other and smiled. Olivier added: "Yesterday was stupid. I'm afraid you'll hate it. My timidity is such a disease that I can't even say a word." "Stop complaining. There are too many talkative people in your country; it's nice to meet someone who doesn't speak aloud, even for the sake of cowardice." Christophe smiled, proud of his playfulness. "Then you came to see me for my silence?" "Yes, for your silence, for the advantages of your silence. There are many kinds of silence... I like your kind, isn't it finished?"

"You only met me once, how could you have a good impression of me?" "That's my business. I don't need to spend too much time choosing friends. As long as I see a face I like, I will make a decision immediately, and I will go to him immediately, and I must find him." "You never get it wrong when you pursue friends like this?" "That's what happens all the time." "Maybe you're wrong again this time." "Let's take a look." "Oh! I'll be in trouble then. You'll give me a cold heart, and I'll be terrified just to think that you're watching me."

Christophe was curious and affectionate, watching the impulsive face turn red and turn pale.Emotions were reflected on his face as clouds are reflected in water. "What a nervous child! It's almost like a woman." Christophe thought to himself, touching his knee lightly. "Come on, do you think I'm armed against you? What I hate most is that people use friends as psychological experiments. What I want is that both people should be free-spirited, open and honest, without unnecessary shyness and forever dull talk In your heart, you don’t have to be afraid of your own inconsistencies—you don’t have to like what you like today, but you don’t have to like it tomorrow. Isn’t this more manly and aboveboard?”

Olivier looked at him solemnly and replied: "No problem, it is more manly. You are strong, I am not." "I dare to conclude that you are also a strong person, but in another way. And I am here to help you become a strong person, if you want. I have already stated it, and now I can make it up more frankly. One sentence,——(but not guaranteeing the future),——I like you.” Olivier blushed from his face to his ears, unable to move in embarrassment, and could not answer a word. Christophe glanced at the house: "The place where you live is terrible. Is there no other house?"

"There's also a small room where things are piled up." "Hey! I can't breathe. How can you live here?" "Slowly you will get used to it." "I'll never get used to it." Christophe unbuttoned his vest and breathed desperately. Olivier went and opened the window fully. "It must be uncomfortable for you to live in the city, Mr. Kraft. I don't suffer from excess energy. I just need a little air, and I can live anywhere. But in the summer, some nights even I I can't take it. I'm afraid to see that day coming. I sit on the bed as if I'm going to die."

Christophe looked at the pile of pillows on the bed, and at Olivier's tired face, as if he saw him struggling in the dark. "Get out of here, then," he said. "Why do you want to live here?" Olivier shrugged his shoulders and replied indifferently: "Oh! Here and there, it's all the same anyway!..." Then they heard heavy footsteps overhead, and a high-pitched quarrel on the floor below.The walls trembled every minute from the vibrations of the streetcars. "This kind of room!" Christophe went on. "How can you step in at night in a house that's dirty, smelly, hot and stuffy, and sees nothing but wretched misery? Aren't you discouraged? I wouldn't be able to live here, and I'd rather sleep under a bridge." of." "At first, I also felt painful, and I hated this environment just like you. I remember going for walks with adults when I was a child. As long as I walked through dirty civilian areas, I felt evil in my heart, and sometimes there were some ridiculous horrors that I dare not speak out. I think : If there is an earthquake at this moment, I will die here and stay here forever; and this is what I fear most. At that time, I never imagined that one day I would live willingly in such a place, and maybe I would die here. Of course I can't be too picky, but my heart is always disgusted, and I can only try not to think about it. When I went upstairs, I closed my eyes, ears, nose, and all senses from the outside world. And, you see, from Looking out from that roof, there is a saponin tree. I sit in the corner here, so that I can see nothing but the tree; the wind blowing the tree in the evening makes me feel that I am far outside Paris. and the swaying of these toothed leaves is sometimes more beautiful than the sound of the wind and waves in the forest." "Yes," said Christophe, "I know you are always dreaming; but isn't it a waste that you don't use your fantasies to create other lives, but to deal with the troubles of life?" "Such is the fate of most men. Haven't you yourself wasted energy in anger and struggle?" "It's different with me. I was born for fighting. Look at my arms and hands. Seeing people fight means I'm healthy. You don't have much strength, man. I can see that right away." Olivier looked at his slender wrist lightly: "Yes, I am very weak, and I have always been like this. What can I do? I have to live." "What do you do for a living?" "Teaching." "Teach what?" "Teaches everything. Tutors Latin, Greek, history. Just prepares for Baccalaureate. I also teach a moral class at the municipal school." "what class?" "Ethics lesson." "Damn it! Do you teach morality in your school?" "Of course," said Olivier, laughing. "What can you say in class for more than ten minutes?" "I have twelve hours a week." "Then you taught them to do bad things?" "why?" "Because it doesn't take much effort to let people know what kindness is." "Then it's better not to talk about it?" "That's right, it's better not to talk about it. If you don't know good and evil, you can't be good. Goodness is not a kind of knowledge, but a kind of behavior. Only ordinary people with nervous breakdowns can talk about morality endlessly. But the most important thing about morality The rule is no nervous breakdown. Those pedantic fellows! They're like a cripple trying to teach me how to walk." "That's not for you. You already know; but there are many who don't!" "Then let them crawl like little dolls, and let them learn to walk by themselves. But it doesn't matter whether they use hands and feet together or not, the first thing is that they can walk." He strode around the room, covering the entire room in less than four steps.Walking to the front of the piano, he stopped, lifted the cover of the piano, casually flipped through the music score, fiddled with the keyboard for a while, and said, "Play some tunes for me." Olivier was taken aback: "Want me to play? What a weird idea!" "Mrs. Rosson says you're a good musician. Come, come, play." "Playing in front of you? Oh! That would make me die of shame." This innocent voice from the bottom of his heart made Christophe laugh, and Olivier himself smiled embarrassedly. "Is that a reason for a Frenchman?" Olivier always declined: "But why? Why should I play it?" "I'll tell you later. You play first." "What are you playing?" "whatever." Olivier sighed, sat down in front of the piano, and obediently obeyed this autocratic friend who automatically picked him.After hesitating for a long time, he began to play Mozart's Adagio in B minor. At first, his fingers trembled, and he didn't even have the strength to press the keys; then he became bolder, thinking that he was just repeating Mozart's words, but unconsciously His own mind revealed.Music is the easiest way to reveal a person's thoughts and leak the most secret thoughts.Under the great Mozart piece, Christophe discovered the true face of this new friend: he felt the desolate and lofty mood, and the shy and gentle smile showed that he was nervous, pure, sentimental, and easily moved. blushing person.Towards the end, when the phrase expressing painful love reached its climax and burst suddenly, Olivier was restrained by an irresistible chaste emotion; his fingers trembled, there was no sound, Putting down his hand, he said, "I can't play anymore..." Christophe, who was standing behind, bent down, finished the interrupted phrase, and said, "Now I can hear your heart." He took his hands and looked at him for a while: " How strange! ... I seem to have seen you ... as if I have known you for so long and so clearly." Olivier's lips trembled, and he was about to say it, but in the end he didn't say a word. Christophe looked at him for a while, then smiled quietly, and left. He walked down the stairs happily, and met two ugly children in the middle, one was holding bread, the other was holding a bottle of gasoline.He twisted their cheeks affectionately.The concierge had a sullen face, but he smiled at him.He walked down the street singing softly, and soon entered the Luxembourg Gardens, picked up a stool in the shade, lay down, and closed his eyes.There is no wind and few tourists.The sound of the fountain was louder and softer.There are occasional rustling sounds on the road paved with fine sand.Christophe was lazy, like a lizard basking in the sun; the shadow under the tree moved away; but he didn't even have the energy to struggle.His thoughts were spinning, but he made no attempt to fix them; they were all in the light of happiness.The big clock of the Luxembourg Palace rang, but he ignored it; after a while, he realized that it was twelve o'clock just now, so he immediately got up. It turned out that he had been loitering for two hours, and missed the appointment of Eddie. The morning was a mess.Laughing, he whistled home, composing a rondo to the tune of a peddler's shout.Even the melancholy melody carried a breath of joy in his heart.Passing by the laundry on the street where he lived, he took a look as usual: the girl with dark brown hair, dull skin, and flushed face from the heat was ironing clothes, her slender arms were exposed to her shoulders, and her chest was open. He looked at him presumptuously as usual: for the first time, Christophe was not angry.He is still laughing.When I entered the house, I couldn't find any of the things I left behind.He tossed his hat, coat, vest, back and forth, side to side for a while, and then went to work with a vigor that seemed to conquer the world.He picked up the music manuscripts here and there, but his mind was not here, only his eyes were watching.After a few minutes, he felt at ease again, as in the Luxembourg Gardens.He woke up two or three times, trying to pull himself together, but it was no use.He scolded himself jokingly, stood up and soaked his head in the cold water for a while, then he regained consciousness, and sat down at the table again, without saying a word, with a faint smile on his face, thinking: "What does this have to do with love?" What about parting?" He only dared to think quietly, as if he was a little shy.He shrugged his shoulders and thought again: "There are no two ways to love... Oh, no, there are indeed two ways: one is to love others with the whole body and mind, and the other is to love only a part of yourself." Lover. May I never suffer from this miserliness of the soul!" He didn't dare to think about it anymore, he just smiled at the dream in his heart for a long time.He sings in his heart: You are mine, I am the whole me... He picked up a piece of paper and quietly wrote down what he sang in his heart. The two of them decided to share an apartment.Christophe meant to move immediately, regardless of the remaining half of the lease term and the loss of a rent.Although Olivier, who is more cautious, is willing to move immediately, he can be advised to wait until the lease period of both parties expires.Christophe did not understand this calculation; like many people who have no money, he would not care about losing a little money.He thought that Olivier was more embarrassed than him.One day he was taken aback by seeing his friend's poverty, so he ran out immediately, and came back two hours later, proudly placing on the table the few five francs he had advanced from Etchet.Olivier blushed and refused to accept.In a fit of anger, Christophe wanted to throw the money to an Italian who played the piano in the yard downstairs and was begging for food, but was stopped by Olivier.Christophe left pretending to be angry. In fact, he hated his clumsiness and couldn't make Olivier accept it.As a result, a friend sent a letter to comfort him.All that Olivier did not dare to express verbally, he expressed in his letter: he told how happy he was to know Christophe, and how touched he was by Christophe's kindness.Christophe replied with a fanatical letter, like the one he wrote to his friend Otto at the age of fifteen, full of enthusiasm and silly words, making various puns in French, German, and even music. . They finally got their place settled.In the Montparnasse district, near Place Don Fant, on the sixth floor of an old house, they found an apartment with three pavilions and a kitchen; Small garden.On their floor, looking over a lower wall opposite, one could see the large flower bouquet of a convent, of which there are many in Paris, hidden away and unknown.There was no one on the desolate walkway in the garden.The taller and denser old trees than in the Luxembourg Gardens sway slightly in the sun; flocks of birds are singing; you can hear the flute of the mountain crow at dawn, followed by the noisy and rhythmic chorus of sparrows.In the evening of summer, the frenzy of chaffinches passes through the twilight and circles in the sky.On a moonlit night, there are also toads screaming like rolling balls, like air bubbles floating to the surface of a pond.You would never have thought of living in Paris if the old house hadn't been constantly shaken by the heavy traffic, as if the earth were shaking with heat. One room was bigger and better than the other two, so the two friends gave it to each other, and it was agreed to draw lots.Christophe, who was the first to make this proposal, used a clever trick that he never thought he would do, so that he didn't get the good room. And so began a period of complete bliss for them.It is not by one thing alone, but by all things at the same time: all their actions and thoughts are immersed in happiness, and happiness is not separated from them for a moment. In this honeymoon of friendship, only those who "get a confidant" can experience those deep and silent joys.They seldom talk, and they don't dare to speak; as long as they can feel that they are with each other, they can exchange a look, a word, to prove that although they have been silent for a long time, their thoughts are still on the same road.They don't need to ask each other, don't even have to look at each other, they can see each other's image at any time.People who fall in love unknowingly take the lover's soul as their own model, wholeheartedly want not to offend their lover, and want to teach themselves to be completely one with the other person, so he relies on a mysterious, sudden intuition, You can see the subtle movements of your lover's heart.Friends see friends transparently; they exchange lives with each other.The voices and smiles of the two sides imitated each other there, and their hearts imitated each other there-until that deep force, the nature of that nation, suddenly raised its head one day and severed the bond of their friendship. Shows cracks. Christophe lowered his voice and walked lightly, so as not to disturb the quiet Olivier in the next room; friendship changed him: he had a happy, trusting, youthful expression that he had never had before.He hurt Olivier.Olivier would be able to bully his friends, if he didn't feel that he was not worthy of such love and blush: because he thought he was not as good as Christophe, but he didn't know that Christophe was as humble as him.This kind of humility on both sides comes from friendship, which adds a kind of sweetness to them.A person who feels that he occupies such an important place in the hearts of friends, even if he thinks he is not qualified, is the happiest.So they were both very touched and grateful. Olivier put his collection of books together in Christophe's, regardless of each other.When he mentioned a certain volume, he did not say "my book" but "our book".There were only a few things that he kept out of public property: things that belonged to his sister, or related to her past.Christophe, sharpened by love, soon noticed this, without knowing why.He never dared to ask Olivier about other family members, he only knew that all of Olivier's relatives had passed away; in addition to a little haughty feeling that made him unwilling to pry into his friend's private affairs, he was afraid of touching his friend's past grief .He was too shy to even look carefully at the photographs on Olivier's desk, although he wished so much.In that photo, there is a gentleman sitting upright, a wife, and a girl of twelve or thirteen years old, with a big long-haired dog sitting under their feet. After living in the new place for two or three months, Olivier suddenly caught some cold and lay on the bed.Christophe was moved with affection like a mother, and nursed him tenderly and anxiously; the doctor heard that Olivier's lung apex was a little inflamed, and asked Christophe to rub the patient's back with iodine.When Christophe was doing this work solemnly, he saw a holy tablet hanging around Olivier's neck.He knew that Olivier was more free from all religious beliefs than he was, so he expressed his strangeness at the moment.Olivier blushed, and said: "It is a souvenir, which my poor Antoinette took with her when she was dying." Christophe shuddered.The name Antoinette made him suddenly light up. "Andonard?" he asked. "Yes, she is my sister." Christophe repeated: "Antoinette...Antoinette Jeann...is she your sister?..." he said, looking at the photos on the table, "she is not very Did you die when you were young?" Olivier smiled lightly: "This is a picture of my childhood. I have nothing else... She was twenty-five years old when she died." "Ah!" Christophe said excitedly. "Has she ever been to Germany?" Olivier nodded. Christophe took Olivier's hand: "Then I know her!" "I know," Olivier replied. He hooked Christophe's neck. "Poor girl! Poor girl!" Christophe repeated. They both cried together. Christophe suddenly thought of Olivier's illness, so he tried to comfort him, asking him to put his arms under the bed, cover his shoulders with the blanket for him, wipe his tears for him like a mother, and sit on the head of the bed and look at him. with. "That's right, that's right," said Christophe, "that's why I knew you already, even on the first night." (I don't know whether he said it to the friend in front of him, or to the dead friend.) "But you," he continued after a pause, "if you already knew, why didn't you tell me?" Antoinette replied secretly through Olivier's eyes: "I can't tell. You should tell." The two were silent for a while; then, in the quiet night, Olivier lay motionless on the bed, and whispered the life of Antoinette to Christophe who held his hand;--but The part that should not be said, the secret that even she kept silent, did not say--but perhaps Christophe already knew it. Since then, both of them have been wrapped in the spirit of Andonard.When they were together, she was with them.They didn't even have to think of her: both thought of her thoughts.Her love is where their two hearts meet. Olivier often recalled her image: scattered memories, short anecdotes, which made her shy and lovely behavior, young and dignified smile, thoughtful and charming, like a gleam of light. revealed.Christophe listened in silence, completely overwhelmed by the brilliance of this invisible friend.Because he is naturally easier to absorb life than others, he can sometimes hear deep echoes in Olivier's speech, which Olivier himself cannot hear; able to absorb. By Olivier's side, he unknowingly took her place; the clumsy German would be as attentive and careful as Andonard, and make many considerate and thoughtful arrangements, which is moving.Sometimes he couldn't tell whether he loved Antoinette for the love of Olivier, or Olivier for the love of Antoinette.Inspired by tenderness, he quietly went to Antoinette's tomb to offer some flowers and plants.Olivier never knew it until he found flowers on the tomb one day, but it was not easy to be sure that Christophe had been there.He raised the question timidly, but Christophe broke the conversation in a rough voice.He didn't want Olivier to know; but one day they met in the cemetery. On the other hand, Olivier wrote to Christophe's mother in private, telling her about Christophe's recent situation, saying how much he respected and admired Christophe.Louisa replied awkwardly and humblely, expressing her gratitude; she kept referring to her son as if she were a child. After a period of quietness like lovers—after a period of "sweet tranquility, inexplicable joy"—the two tongues loosened.They grope for hours to discover something new in their friend's heart. They are so different in temperament, but their essence is so pure.They love each other because they are so different and so much alike. Olivier was weak, thin, and unable to wrestle with the hardships of life.When encountering obstacles, he shrinks back, not because of fear, but because of cowardice, and because he refuses to use violent and vulgar means to overcome difficulties. He relies on tutoring for others, writing some literary books As a rule, those who come to support themselves are paid very little.He also occasionally wrote magazine articles, but he was never free to express his opinions, and had to discuss issues that did not interest him:—the subjects that interested him were not asked him to write; he was a poet, but he was taught to write reviews; He knows music, but people want him to talk about painting.He knew that he could only say commonplace on these matters: and that was what was popular; he had to say to ordinary people what they could understand.Later, he hated it so much that he didn't want to write any more, and only wrote for some small magazines.Although those publications do not receive any royalties, they have freedom of speech, so they are truly cherished by many young people.Only in such places can he publish what he deserves to preserve. He was gentle and courteous, patient on the surface, but very sensitive in reality.A word too far would make his blood run wild; he would be horrified at the sight of injustice; he would suffer for others besides his own.Some ugly historical facts hundreds of years ago made him feel sad, as if he was the one who was ravaged at that time.He turned pale, trembled, and wretched at the thought of the sufferings of those unfortunates whom he sympathized with centuries separated him.If he saw such atrocities with his own eyes, he trembled with anger, and sometimes he fell ill and couldn't sleep.His external composure is because he knows that if he gets angry, he will go too far and say things that others cannot forgive.At that time, people hated him more than Christophe, who had always been violent, because Olivier seemed to reveal his secret thoughts more easily than Christophe under impulse.And that's nice.His critics, neither the blind exaggeration of Christophe nor the wishful fantasy of his, saw things very clearly.This is the most unforgivable place for ordinary people.Therefore, he kept silent, knowing that it was useless to argue, and avoided arguing.This suppression made him miserable.But what is more painful to him is his own timidity: because of his timidity, he sometimes has to violate his own thoughts, or dare not stick to the end, or has to apologize to others, just like the time he talked to Lucien in order to discuss Christophe. The situation of the Levi-Ge quarrel.He can't make up his mind about others or himself, and he is often depressed because of this.In the more sexual youth, he was either extremely excited or extremely depressed, and the way of switching was also very abrupt.When he was the happiest, he already felt that sorrow was waiting for him beside him.Sure enough, he didn't see how the sorrow came from at all, and he was caught by it unexpectedly.At that time, he was not only troubled, but also complained about his own troubles, doubted his own words, behaviors, and honesty, and attacked himself from the standpoint of others.His heart was beating wildly in his chest, struggling pitifully, almost suffocating. —Since the death of Antoinette, perhaps by her death, by that comforting light that shines like the twilight of dawn on some dear dead As if illuminating the patient's eyes and mind, Olivier could not completely get rid of these disturbances, but at least he could bear them and control them.Few people can imagine such an inner struggle, and he kept this humiliating secret in his heart: on the one hand, a weak and restless body, and on the other, an unencumbered, clear and quiet intellect, although it cannot fully control it. The turmoil, but it will not be harmed by it, -- "in the heart of the turmoil, there is always a peace."This wisdom surprised Christophe.That was what he saw in Olivier's eyes.Olivier had a part of intuition, part of a broad-minded and keen curiosity, all-encompassing, all-encompassing, hating nothing, looking at the world with broad sympathy: this fresh daylight is the most precious gift, It enables him to experience the endless phenomena in the universe with an eternally innocent heart.In this inner world, he feels that he is unhindered, vast and boundless, and can dominate everything; only then does he forget his own defects and physical pain.If you look at this fragile body with a humorous and sympathetic attitude from a distance, it will indeed have a different flavor.In such cases, one is by no means attached to one's own life, but is even more ardently attached to life in general.Olivier poured all the energies he was unwilling to expend in action into love and wisdom.He does not have sufficient vitality to survive alone.He is a vine and needs someone to lean on.His life is at its fullest when he gives his whole body and mind to others.That's the female soul, with an everlasting need to love and be loved.He was born to be with Christophe.In history, there are generally noble and lovely friends who serve as guards for great artists, and at the same time thrive on the strength of the great artist's heart: for example, Bertrafevre was to Leonardo da Vinci, and Calvary was to Michelle. Guerangelo; Umber's countryman to the young Raphael; El van Kiert's loyalty to the old and down-and-out Rembrandt.They had not the greatness of the masters; but all that was noble and pure in the masters seemed to be more perfected in those friends.They are the ideal companions of geniuses. Their friendship is good for both.With friends, life can show its full value; a person lives for friends; keeping his life intact, free from the erosion of time, is also for friends. They enrich each other.Olivier had a clear mind and a weak body.Christophe was full of energy and mental turmoil.One is blind and the other is paralyzed.Together, they are very complete.Under the influence of Christophe, Olivier became interested in the sun again; because Christophe is full of vitality, healthy in body and mind, even in pain, suffering, and hatred, he can still maintain an optimistic tendency; They all instilled a part in Olivier.But Christophe owed much more to Olivier than that.As is the rule of the common genius, though he gives, he always takes in love more than he gives, because he is a genius, and half a genius is because he absorbs all the greatness around him and makes himself stronger. great.As the saying goes, wealth follows the rich.Similarly, strength follows the strong.克利斯朵夫吸收了奥里维的思想来滋养自己，感染到他超然物外，洒脱自如的精神，和那种远大的目光，——静静的体验一切而控制一切的目光。但朋友的这些德性一朝移植到他这块更肥沃的土地上时，它们的发荣滋长变得格外有力了。 他们在对方的心灵中发掘出这些境界，对之赞叹不已。每个人贡献出无穷的富源，那是至此为止各人从来没意识到的全民族的精神财宝；奥里维所贡献的是法国人广博的修养，和参透心理的本领；克利斯朵夫所贡献的是德国人那种内在的音乐与体会自然的直觉。 克利斯朵夫不能了解奥里维怎么会是法国人。这位朋友跟他所见到的法国人多么不同！没有遇见他之前，克利斯朵夫几乎把吕西安·雷维—葛看做现代法兰西精神的典型，不知他实际上只是一幅漫画。看到了奥里维，他才发觉巴黎还有比吕西安·雷维—葛思想更自由，而仍不失其纯洁狷介的人。克利斯朵夫拚命跟奥里维辩，说他和他的姊姊不完全是法国人。 “可怜的朋友，"奥里维回答，“关于法国，你知道些什么呢？” 克利斯朵夫拿他从前为了要认识法国而耗费的精力作为辩论的根据；他把在史丹芬与罗孙家中碰到的法国人一个一个的背出来，都是些犹太人，比利时人，卢森堡人，美国人，俄国人，甚至也有几个真正的法国人。 “我早料到了，"奥里维回答。“你连一个法国人都没见到。你只看到一个堕落的社会，一些享乐的禽兽，根本不是法国人，仅仅是批浪子，政客，废物，他们所有的骚动只在法国的表面上飘过，跟法国连接触都没接触到。你只看见成千成万的黄蜂，被美丽的秋天与丰盛的果园吸引来的。你没注意到忙碌的蜂房，工作的都城，研究的热情。” “对不起，"克利斯朵夫说，"我也见过你们优秀的知识阶级。” “什么？两三打文人吗？那才妙呢！在这个时代，科学与行动变得这样重要，文学只能代表一个民族的最浮表的思想。何况以文学而论，你也只看到些戏剧，所谓高级的娱乐，替国际饭店的有钱的主顾定制的国际烹调。巴黎那些戏院吗？一个真正工作的人根本不知道里面是怎么回事。巴斯德一生也没看过十次戏！象所有的外国人一样，你太重视我们的小说，太重视大街上的戏院，太重视我们那般政客的掀风作浪了……要是你愿意，我可以让你看到一般从来不看小说的女人，从来不上戏院的巴黎姑娘，从来不关心政治的男子，——而这些全是知识分子呢。你既没看到我们的学者，也没看到我们的诗人。你既没看到我们没世无闻的孤高的艺术家，也没看到我们革命志士的热烈的火焰。最伟大的信徒，你一个没见过，最伟大的自由思想者，你也一个没见过。至于平民阶级更不必谈了！除了那个看护过你的可怜的女人，你对法国的平民又知道些什么？你哪儿看得到呢？住在二三层楼以上的巴黎人，你认识几个？你要是不认识那般人，你就不认识①法兰西。在可怜的公寓中，在巴黎的顶楼下，在静悄悄的内地，有的是善良，真诚的人，庸庸碌碌的过着一辈子，老抓着一些严肃的思想，每天都作着自我牺牲。——法国无论哪个时代都有这小小的一群人，数量是不足道的，精神是伟大的，差不多没人知道，没有一点儿表面的行动，然而的确是法兰西的力量，默默无声而持久的力量。至于自命为优秀的阶级却在那里不断的腐烂，不断的新陈代谢……你一朝看到一个法国人不是为了追求幸福，不是为了以任何代价追求幸福而活着，而是为了完成或是效忠于他的信仰而活着，你便觉得奇怪。可是有成千成万的人，象我这样，比我更有价值，更虔诚，更谦卑，鞠躬尽瘁，死而后已的为了一个没有回音的上帝服务，为了一个理想而服务。你不认识那些卑微的人，省吃俭用，按部就班，勤劳不倦，安安静静的，心中却藏着一朵没有燃烧起来的火焰，——这是为了保卫乡土，跟自私的贵族抗争而牺牲的民众，是蓝眼睛的老伏朋一流的人。你②既不认识平民，也不认识优秀阶级。象我们忠实的朋友一样，象支持我们的伴侣一样的书，你有没有看过一本？你根本不知道，我们以多少的忠诚与信心培植着一批年轻的刊物。你可想到有些正人君子是我们的太阳，它的光华使无赖小人畏惧吗？他们不敢正面相搏，只有对它低头，以便用手段去暗算它。无赖小人是奴隶，而所谓奴隶倒是主人。你只认识奴才，没认识主人……你看着我们的斗争，以为是胡闹，因为你不了解它的意义。你只看见太阳的反光和影子，可没看见内在的太阳，没看见我们几百年的灵魂。你有没有想法去认识它？有没有窥见我们英勇的行为，巴黎公社时代的十字军？有没有把握到法兰西精神的悲壮的气息？有没有对巴斯加心中的深渊探着身子看过一眼？对于一个一千年来始终在活动在创造的民族，把它哥特式的艺术、十七世纪的文化、大革命的巨潮、传遍全世界的民族，——一个经过几十次磨练而从来没死灭、而复活了几十次的民族，怎么能横加诬蔑呢？你们都是一样的。你所有的同胞，到这儿来都只看见腐蚀我们的寄生虫，文坛、政界、金融界的冒险者和他们的供应商，他们的顾客，他们的起妓：你们把这批吞噬法兰西的坏蛋作为批判法兰西的根据。你们之中一个都没想到被压制的真正的法国，藏在内地的那个生命的储藏库，那些埋头工作的民众，根本不理会眼前的主人怎么喧闹……你们对这些情形一无所知也是挺自然的，我不怪怨你们：你们怎么会知道呢？连法国人自己都不大认识法国。我们之中最优秀的都给封锁在我们自己的土地上。人家永远不会知道我们的痛苦：我们顰E而不舍的抓着我们的民族精神，把从它那儿得到的光明当作神圣的宝物一般储存在心中，竭尽心力保护它不让狂风吹熄；——我们孤零零的，觉得周围尽是那些异族散布出来的乌烟漳气，象一群苍蝇似的压在我们的思想上，留下可恶的蛆虫侵蚀我们的理智，污辱我们的心灵；——而应当负责保卫我们的人反而欺骗我们；我们的向导，我们的非愚即怯的批评家，只知道谄媚敌人，求敌人原谅他们生为我们的族类；——民众也遗弃我们，既不表示关切，甚至也不认识我们……我们有什么方法使民众认识呢？简直没法跟他们接近。what!这才是最受不了的！我们明知道法国有成千累万的人思想都和我们的一样，明知道我们是代表他们说话，而竟没法教他们听见！敌人把什么都霸占了：报纸，杂志，戏院……报纸躲避思想，要不然就只接受那些为享乐作工具，为党派作武器的思想。党派社团把所有的路封锁了，只许自甘堕落的人通过。贫穷和过度的劳作把我们的精力消磨尽了。忙着搞钱的政客只关心那批能够收买的无产阶级。而冷酷自私的布尔乔亚又眼睁睁的看着我们死。我们的民众不知道我们：凡是和我们一样斗争的人，也象我们一样被静默包围着，不知道有我们，而我们也不知道有他们……可怕的巴黎！固然巴黎也做了些好事，把法兰西思想所有的力量都集中在一处。可是它作的坏事至少不亚于它作的好事；而且在我们这样的时代，便是善也会变成恶的。只要一个冒充的优秀阶级占据了巴黎，借了舆论大吹特吹，法国的声音就给压下去了。何况法国人自己还分辨不清；他们噤若寒蝉，怯生生的把自己的思想藏起去……从前我为此非常痛苦。现在，克利斯朵夫，我可是安心了。我明白了我的力量，明白了我民族的力量。我们只要等洪水退下去。法兰西的质地细致的花岗石决不会因之剥落的。在洪水带来的污泥之下，我可以教你摸到它。眼前，东一处西一处已经有些岩石的峰尖透到水面上来了。 " -------- ①巴黎公寓的房租层次愈低愈贵，愈高愈便宜：故平民多住在二三层楼以上。二十世纪三十年代以前，巴黎房屋普通都只有五六层。 ②伏朋（１６３３—１７０７）为法国平民出身元帅与军事工程家，以防御战著称。晚年发表宣言，主张贵族应与平民平等纳税，以此失欢于路易十四。 克利斯朵夫发见了理想主义那股气势伟大的力；当时法国的诗人，音乐家，学者，都受着这股力鼓动，当令的人尽管喧呼扰攘，宣传他们鄙俗的享乐主义，把法国思想界的呼声压倒，可是法国的思想界为了自己的身分，不屑跟市井无赖的叫嚣去对抗，只为着自己，为着它的上帝，继续唱它的热烈而含蓄的歌。它甚至为了躲避外界的喧扰，直退隐到它高塔上最深藏的地方。 诗人这个美丽的名词，久已被报纸与学会滥用，称呼那般追求名利的多嘴的家伙。但真正的诗人瞧不起鄙俗的辞藻与拘泥的写实主义，认为那只能浮光掠影的触及事物的表面而碰不到核心；他们守在灵魂的中心，耽溺着一种神秘的意境，那是形象与思想所向往的，它们象一道倾泻在湖内的急流，染上那内心生活的色彩。但这种为了另造一个世界而特别深藏的理想主义，大众是无法接受的。克利斯朵夫最初也不能领会。在叫嚣喧呼的节场以后，这情形未免太突兀了。好比在刺目的阳光底下经过了一番骚扰，忽然来了一平静悄悄的黑暗。他耳朵里乱响，什么都无从分辨。他先因为热爱生命，看了这对比非常不快。外边是热情的巨潮在震撼法国，震撼人类。而在艺术中间，初看竟没有一点骚乱的痕迹。克利斯朵夫问奥里维： “你们为德莱弗斯事件闹得天翻地覆；但经历过这旋涡①的诗人在哪儿？有宗教情绪的人，此刻心中正作着几百年来最壮烈的斗争，教会的威权与良心的自由正在冲突。哪见有个诗人反映这种悲痛的？劳工阶级预备作战；有些民族灭亡了，有些民族再生了，亚美尼亚人遭受屠杀，亚洲在千年长梦中醒来，把欧洲的掌钥人，莫斯科巨人推倒了；土耳其象亚当般睁眼见了天日；空间被人类征服了；古老的土地在我们脚下裂开，把整个民族吞下了……所有二十年来的奇迹，尽够写二十部史诗的材料，你们诗人的作品中，可有这些大火的痕迹？现实的诗歌，难道就只有他们没看见吗？” -------- ①德莱弗斯事件为一八九四至一九○六年间轰动法国的大狱。德莱弗斯少校被诬通敌叛国，卒获平反。 “你耐性一点，朋友，"奥里维回答。"别说话，你先听着……” 世界的车轴声慢慢的隐没了；行动的巨轮在街上震撼的声音去远了。静寂的神妙的歌声清晰可辨了： 蜜蜂的声音，菩提树的香味…… 风用它黄金般的嘴唇吹着大地…… 柔和的雨声挟着蔷薇的幽香。 我们听见诗人的刀斧在柱头上雕出"最朴素的事物的庄严的姿态"；"用他的黄金笛，用他的紫檀箫"表现严肃与欢乐的生活；又为"一切阴影都是光明"的心灵，唱出它们宗教的喜悦与信仰的甘美……还有那抚慰你，向你微笑的酣畅的痛苦，"在它严峻的脸上，射出一道他世界的光芒……"以及那"睁着温柔的大眼的，清明恬静的死亡"。 这交响曲是许多纯粹的声音合起来的。其中没有一个可以跟高乃依与雨果的音响宏大的小号相比；但它们的合奏更深刻，层次更复杂。那是现代欧罗巴最丰富的音乐。