Jean Christophe: In Paris | Page 4

his loneliness and
wretchedness: but he faced them. He was no longer disheartened: he
was left only with a sturdy melancholy. He read over now the words of
Job:
Even though God slay me yet would I trust in Him.
He got up. He was ready calmly to face the fight.
He made up his mind there and then to set to work. He knew only two
people in Paris: two young fellow-countrymen: his old friend Otto
Diener, who was in the office of his uncle, a cloth merchant in the Mail
quarter: and a young Jew from Mainz, Sylvain Kohn, who had a post in
a great publishing house, the address of which Christophe did not
know.
He had been very intimate with Diener when he was fourteen or fifteen.
He had had for him one of those childish friendships which precede
love, and are themselves a sort of love. [Footnote: See
Jean-Christophe--I: "The Morning."] Diener had loved him too. The
shy, reserved boy had been attracted by Christophe's gusty
independence: he had tried hard to imitate him, quite ridiculously: that
had both irritated and flattered Christophe. Then they had made plans
for the overturning of the world. In the end Diener had gone abroad for
his education in business, and they did not see each other again: but
Christophe had news of him from time to time from the people in the
town with whom Diener remained on friendly terms.
As for Sylvain Kohn, his relation with Christophe had been of another
kind altogether. They had been at school together, where the young
monkey had played many pranks on Christophe, who thrashed him for
it when he saw the trap into which he had fallen. Kohn did not put up a
fight: he let Christophe knock him down and rub his face in the dust,
while he howled; but he would begin again at once with a malice that

never tired--until the day when he became really afraid, Christophe
having seriously threatened to kill him.
Christophe went out early. He stopped to breakfast at a café. In spite of
his self-consciousness, he forced himself to lose no opportunity of
speaking French. Since he had to live in Paris, perhaps for years, he had
better adapt himself as quickly as possible to the conditions of life there,
and overcome his repugnance. So he forced himself, although he
suffered horribly, to take no notice of the sly looks of the waiter as he
listened to his horrible lingo. He was not discouraged, and went on
obstinately constructing ponderous, formless sentences and repeating
them until he was understood.
He set out to look for Diener. As usual, when he had an idea in his head,
he saw nothing of what was going on about him. During that first walk
his only impression of Paris was that of an old and ill-kept town.
Christophe was accustomed to the towns of the new German Empire,
that were both very old and very young, towns in which there is
expressed a new birth of pride: and he was unpleasantly surprised by
the shabby streets, the muddy roads, the hustling people, the confused
traffic--vehicles of every sort and shape: venerable horse omnibuses,
steam trams, electric trams, all sorts of trams--booths on the pavements,
merry-go-rounds of wooden horses (or monsters and gargoyles) in the
squares that were choked up with statues of gentlemen in frock-coats:
all sorts of relics of a town of the Middle Ages endowed with the
privilege of universal suffrage, but quite incapable of breaking free
from its old vagabond existence. The fog of the preceding day had
turned to a light, soaking rain. In many of the shops the gas was lit,
although it was past ten o'clock.
Christophe lost his way in the labyrinth of streets round the Place des
Victoires, but eventually found the shop he was looking for in the Rue
de la Banque. As he entered he thought he saw Diener at the back of
the long, dark shop, arranging packages of goods, together with some
of the assistants. But he was a little short-sighted, and could not trust
his eyes, although it was very rarely that they deceived him. There was
a general movement among the people at the back of the shop when

Christophe gave his name to the clerk who approached him: and after a
confabulation a young man stepped forward from the group, and said in
German:
"Herr Diener is out."
"Out? For long?"
"I think so. He has just gone."
Christophe thought for a moment; then he said:
"Very well. I will wait."
The clerk was taken aback, and hastened to add:
"But he won't be back before two or three."
"Oh! That's nothing," replied Christophe calmly. "I haven't anything to
do in Paris. I