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Updated: June 8, 2025
I'd rather die first!" It was impossible to stem the torrent of his words. Hecht said icily: "Take it or leave it." Christophe went out and slammed the doors. Hecht shrugged, and said to Sylvain Kohn, who was laughing: "He will come to it like the rest." At heart he valued Christophe. He was clever enough to feel not only the worth of a piece of work, but also the worth of a man.
If the books are good for anything, they must be considerably improved, by having seen so much of the world; but, as I believe they are English books, perhaps they may, like English travelers, have seen nobody, but the several bankers to whom they were consigned: be that as it will, I think you had best deliver them to Monsieur Hecht, the Prussian Minister at Hamburg, to forward to her Royal Highness, with a respectful compliment from you, which you will, no doubt, turn in the best manner, and 'selon le bon ton de la parfaitement bonne compagnie'.
Evelyn Scott in The Narrow House and Ben Hecht in Erik Dorn attempted, as Waldo Frank had already done in The Dark Mother and as some others now did less notably, to find a more elastic, a more impressionistic technique, breaking up the "gray paragraph" and quickening the tempo of their narratives.
'Oh, Willie's rare an' Willie's fair An' Willie's wondrous bonny; An' Willie's hecht to marry me Gin e'er he marries ony. 'O gentle wind that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a word from his dear mouth, An' tell me how he fareth."
Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson. Copyright, 1916, by Ben Hecht. The sun was shining in the dirty street. Old women with shapeless bodies waddled along on their way to market. Bearded old men who looked like the fathers of Jerusalem walked flatfooted, nodding back and forth.
"And you have no other work to offer a musician like myself?" "A musician like you?" said Hecht ironically and cuttingly. "Other musicians at least as good as yourself have not thought the work beneath their dignity. There are men whose names I could give you, men who are now very well known in Paris, have been very grateful to me for it." "Then they must have been swine!" bellowed Christophe.
Hecht cast his eyes over them carelessly. "What's this? Always program music!..." In spite of his apparent indifference he was reading carefully. He was an excellent musician, and knew his job: he knew nothing outside it: with the first bar or two he gauged his man.
He said: "I have been reading books by Sherwood Anderson, Waldo Frank and Ben Hecht and Konrad Bercovici and Joseph Hergesheimer, and I can see that they are important books, but I feel that the essential point to which all this newly awakened literary consciousness is tending has somehow subtly eluded me.
The Luxembourg clock struck: he did not listen to it: but, a moment later, he thought it must have been striking twelve. He jumped up to realize that he had been lounging for a couple of hours, had missed an appointment with Hecht, and wasted the whole morning. He laughed, and went home whistling. He composed a Rondo in canon on the cry of a peddler.
He had a genius for making himself disliked even when he was doing a kindness. Even in his kindness Hecht could not be generous. Sidonie came every day in the afternoon and again in the evening. She cooked Christophe's dinner for him. She made no noise, but went quietly about her business: and when she saw the dilapidated condition of his clothes she took them away to mend them.
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