Jean Christophe: In Paris | Page 7

Parisian manners. He was not lying in expressing his surprise: a visit from Christophe was the last thing in the world that he expected: and if he was too worldly-wise not to know that the visit was of set material purpose, he took it as a reason the more for welcoming him, as it was, in fact, a tribute to his power.
"And you have come from Germany? How is your mother?" he asked, with a familiarity which at any other time would have annoyed Christophe, but now gave him comfort in the strange city.
"But how was it," asked Christophe, who was still inclined to be suspicious, "that they told me just now that Herr Kohn did not belong here?"
"Herr Kohn doesn't belong here," said Sylvain Kohn, laughing. "My name isn't Kohn now. My name is Hamilton."
He broke off.
"Excuse me," he said.
He went and shook hands with a lady who was passing and smiled grimacingly. Then he came back. He explained that the lady was a writer famous for her voluptuous and passionate novels. The modern Sappho had a purple ribbon on her bosom, a full figure, bright golden hair round a painted face; she made a few pretentious remarks in a mannish fashion with the accent of Franche-Comté.
Kohn plied Christophe with questions. He asked about all the people at home, and what had become of so-and-so, pluming himself on the fact that he remembered everybody. Christophe had forgotten his antipathy; he replied cordially and gratefully, giving a mass of detail about which Kohn cared nothing at all, and presently he broke off again.
"Excuse me," he said.
And he went to greet another lady who had come in.
"Dear me!" said Christophe. "Are there only women writers in France?"
Kohn began to laugh, and said fatuously:
"France is a woman, my dear fellow. If you want to succeed, make up to the women."
Christophe did not listen to the explanation, and went on with his own story. To put a stop to it, Kohn asked:
"But how the devil do you come here?"
"Ah!" thought Christophe, "he doesn't know. That is why he was so amiable. He'll be different when he knows."
He made it a point of honor to tell everything against himself: the brawl with the soldiers, the warrant out against him, his flight from the country.
Kohn rocked with laughter.
"Bravo!" he cried. "Bravo! That's a good story!"
He shook Christophe's hand warmly. He was delighted by any smack in the eye of authority: and the story tickled him the more as he knew the heroes of it: he saw the funny side of it.
"I say," he said, "it is past twelve. Will you give me the pleasure ...? Lunch with me?"
Christophe accepted gratefully. He thought:
"This is a good fellow--decidedly a good fellow. I was mistaken."
They went out together. On the way Christophe put forward his request:
"You see how I am placed. I came here to look for work--music lessons--until I can make my name. Could you speak for me?"
"Certainly," said Kohn. "To any one you like. I know everybody here. I'm at your service."
He was glad to be able to show how important he was.
Christophe covered him with expressions of gratitude. He felt that he was relieved of a great weight of anxiety.
At lunch he gorged with the appetite of a man who has not broken fast for two days. He tucked his napkin round his neck, and ate with his knife. Kohn-Hamilton was horribly shocked by his voracity and his peasant manners. And he was, hurt, too, by the small amount of attention that his guest gave to his bragging. He tried to dazzle him by telling of his fine connections and his prosperity: but it was no good: Christophe did not listen, and bluntly interrupted him. His tongue was loosed, and he became familiar. His heart was full, and he overwhelmed Kohn with his simple confidences of his plans for the future. Above all, he exasperated him by insisting on taking his hand across the table and pressing it effusively. And he brought him to the pitch of irritation at last by wanting to clink glasses in the German fashion, and, with sentimental speeches, to drink to those at home and to Vater Rhein. Kohn saw, to his horror, that he was on the point of singing. The people at the next table were casting ironic glances in their direction. Kohn made some excuse on the score of pressing business, and got up. Christophe clung to him: he wanted to know when he could have a letter of introduction, and go and see some one, and begin giving lessons.
"I'll see about it. To-day--this evening," said Kohn. "I'll talk about you at once. You can be easy on that score."
Christophe insisted.
"When shall I know?"
"To-morrow ... to-morrow ... or the day after."
"Very well. I'll come back to-morrow."
"No, no!"