Madame Roustan, for Jan was as yet very young to
feel grief for an ageing man who had been his teacher.
His depression deepened; it became like a mist that
was blurring his mental and spiritual vision, and he
dreaded these moods of despondency which of late
had begun to obsess him so often; for these moods
were always allied with fear — the fear of one day
becoming too lonely.
Then — and who can explain the workings of the
mind, or fathom the depths from which thoughts
assail us? — he suddenly remembered Christophe's
eyes in which there was so much wisdom and kindness.
'Why am I thinking about Ghristophe's eyes? I am
growing childish/ he told himself sternly.
But now he seemed unable to avoid those eyes:
wherever he looked he fancied that he saw them, and
when he covered his face with his hands they were
there, still seen by some inward vision. He got up
and began to pace the room, for he felt an irresistible
restlessness which was less of the body than of the
spirit. Pausing in front of his crucifix he stared at the
clumsily moulded Christ — so grotesque, so lacking
in dignity, a machine-made thing devoid of all
feeling. And because he perceived its unworthiness,
he was filled with a sense of deep shame and pity.
Then he spoke to his Lord: 'Once they fashioned
You gently from the wood upon which You purchased
our salvation; very gravely and gently they worked
with their hands, lest they err in depicting Your
sacred body; or they carved You from flawless ivory;
or they moulded You out of the purest gold, which to
them seemed too base and impure a metal. But this
is a callous and idle .age in which I have surely been
the most callous. And idle I have been, sitting down in
the sun, neglecting Your work and forgetting Your
mission, content to consider myself a wise man because
of my books, whereas I know nothing. But listen; I
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