“Le Revenant” is in three parts.
Part I. is a query as to what would happen if Jesus Christ should come back, and introduces a summary of the principal events of his career and a strikingly original appreciation of his personality and character. He is the “man of the beautiful eyes and the beautiful dreams, whose heart was larger than life.” But he is also “the anarchist,” the “Galilean tramp,” the “carpenter on a strike,” the “boon companion of thieves,” the “quack hated by the doctors,” the “duffer who wore another cross than that of the Legion of Honour, who boxed the bourgeois shop-keepers, and who wasn’t over-polite to the muffs of his time,”—phrases through whose vulgar, uncouth, seemingly sacrilegious envelope are plainly visible intense love and admiration, and which accurately represent the religious attitude of the submerged, who, proverbially, applaud the name of Christ while they hiss the barest mention of his professed followers and his church.
In Part II. Jesus Christ suddenly appears on a corner of one of the exterior boulevards. The surprised poet greets him with bluff good-nature, laments drolly his inability to do the proper thing by him in the matter of drinks, and overwhelms him with eager, naïve questions. Then, touched to the heart by his dazed look and apparent helplessness, he assumes a kindly superiority, taking him under his protection, as he might a lost infant, warning him against many things, especially against the police, who will be certain to arrest him as a vagabond if he falls within their view. Finally, he discovers that the figure he has taken to be that of the Christ is his own figure mirrored in the window of the wine-shop before which he has been standing.
Part III. is the after-thought, what the poet would most wish to have said to Jesus Christ if he really had returned and he had been the first to greet him. Necessarily a repetition at many points of Parts I. and II., its excuse is the following declaration of faith:—
“Chacun a la Beauté en lui, Chacun a la Justice en lui, Chacun a la Force en lui-même. L’Homme est tout seul dans l’Univers. Oh! oui, ben seul, et c’est sa gloire, Car y n’a qu’ deux yeux pour tout voir. “Le Ciel, la Terre, et les Etoiles Sont prisonniers d’ ses cils en pleurs. Y’ n’ peut donc compter qu’ sur lui-même, J’ m’en vas m’ remuer qu’ chacun m’imite, C’est là qu’est la clef du Problème. L’Homme doit êt’ son Maître et son Dieu.”
and the following threat:—
“Donnez-nous tous les jours l’ brich’ ton (pain) régulier, Autrement nous tâch’rons d’ le prendre.”
It was probably this downright and direct threat that led Jules Claretie, writing for Le Temps, to say: “The poetry of the lean Jehan Rictus is the Fronde of to-day. Far better that it mutter in the cabaret than in the street.” The majority of the press critics, ignoring this single unequivocal threat and numerous indirect but slightly veiled anathemas, have pronounced his work “gentle and refined.” Both interpretations are, in a measure, right.