Bel Ami; Or, The History of a Scoundrel: A Novel

by Guy de Maupassant

  CHAPTER III.

  FIRST ATTEMPTS

  When Georges Duroy reached the street, he hesitated as to what heshould do. He felt inclined to stroll along, dreaming of the future andinhaling the soft night air; but the thought of the series of articlesordered by M. Walter occurred to him, and he decided to return home atonce and begin work. He walked rapidly along until he came to RueBoursault. The tenement in which he lived was occupied by twentyfamilies--families of workingmen--and as he mounted the staircase heexperienced a sensation of disgust and a desire to live as wealthy mendo. Duroy's room was on the fifth floor. He entered it, opened hiswindow, and looked out: the view was anything but prepossessing.

  He turned away, thinking: "This won't do. I must go to work." So heplaced his light upon the table and began to write. He dipped his peninto the ink and wrote at the head of his paper in a bold hand:"Souvenirs of a Soldier in Africa." Then he cast about for the firstphrase. He rested his head upon his hand and stared at the blank sheetbefore him. What should he say? Suddenly he thought: "I must begin withmy departure," and he wrote: "In 1874, about the fifteenth of May, whenexhausted France was recruiting after the catastrophe of the terribleyears--" Here he stopped short, not knowing how to introduce hissubject. After a few minutes' reflection, he decided to lay aside thatpage until the following day, and to write a description of Algiers. Hebegan: "Algiers is a very clean city--" but he could not continue.After an effort he added: "It is inhabited partly by Arabs." Then hethrew his pen upon the table and arose. He glanced around his miserableroom; mentally he rebelled against his poverty and resolved to leavethe next day.

  Suddenly the desire to work came on him, and he tried to begin thearticle again; he had vague ideas of what he wanted to say, but hecould not express his thoughts in words. Convinced of his inability hearose once more, his blood coursing rapidly through his veins. Heturned to the window just as the train was coming out of the tunnel,and his thoughts reverted to his parents. He saw their tiny home on theheights overlooking Rouen and the valley of the Seine. His father andmother kept an inn, La Belle-Vue, at which the citizens of thefaubourgs took their lunches on Sundays. They had wished to make a"gentleman" of their son and had sent him to college. His studiescompleted, he had entered the army with the intention of becoming anofficer, a colonel, or a general. But becoming disgusted with militarylife, he determined to try his fortune in Paris. When his time ofservice had expired, he went thither, with what results we have seen.He awoke from his reflections as the locomotive whistled shrilly,closed his window, and began to disrobe, muttering: "Bah, I shall beable to work better to-morrow morning. My brain is not clear to-night.I have drunk a little too much. I can't work well under suchcircumstances." He extinguished his light and fell asleep.

  He awoke early, and, rising, opened his window to inhale the fresh air.In a few moments he seated himself at his table, dipped his pen in theink, rested his head upon his hand and thought--but in vain! However,he was not discouraged, but in thought reassured himself: "Bah, I amnot accustomed to it! It is a profession that must be learned like allprofessions. Some one must help me the first time. I'll go toForestier. He'll start my article for me in ten minutes."

  When he reached the street, Duroy decided that it was rather early topresent himself at his friend's house, so he strolled along under thetrees on one of the boulevards for a time. On arriving at Forestier'sdoor, he found his friend going out.

  "You here--at this hour! Can I do anything for you?"

  Duroy stammered in confusion: "I--I--cannot write that article onAlgeria that M. Walter wants. It is not very surprising, seeing that Ihave never written anything. It requires practice. I could write veryrapidly, I am sure, if I could make a beginning. I have the ideas but Icannot express them." He paused and hesitated.

  Forestier smiled maliciously: "I understand that."

  Duroy continued: "Yes, anyone is liable to have that trouble at thebeginning; and, well--I have come to ask you to help me. In ten minutesyou can set me right. You can give me a lesson in style; without you Ican do nothing."

  The other smiled gaily. He patted his companion's arm and said to him:"Go to my wife; she will help you better than I can. I have trained herfor that work. I have not time this morning or I would do it willingly."

  But Duroy hesitated: "At this hour I cannot inquire for her."

  "Oh, yes, you can; she has risen. You will find her in my study."

  "I will go, but I shall tell her you sent me!"

  Forestier walked away, and Duroy slowly ascended the stairs, wonderingwhat he should say and what kind of a reception he would receive.

  The servant who opened the door said: "Monsieur has gone out."

  Duroy replied: "Ask Mme. Forestier if she will see me, and tell herthat M. Forestier, whom I met on the street, sent me."

  The lackey soon returned and ushered Duroy into Madame's presence. Shewas seated at a table and extended her hand to him.

  "So soon?" said she. It was not a reproach, but a simple question.

  He stammered: "I did not want to come up, Madame, but your husband,whom I met below, insisted--I dare scarcely tell you my errand--Iworked late last night and early this morning, to write the article onAlgeria which M. Walter wants--and I did not succeed--I destroyed allmy attempts--I am not accustomed to the work--and I came to askForestier to assist me--his once."

  She interrupted with a laugh: "And he sent you to me?"

  "Yes, Madame. He said you could help me better than he--but--I darednot--I did not like to."

  She rose.

  "It will be delightful to work together that way. I am charmed withyour idea. Wait, take my chair, for they know my handwriting on thepaper--we will write a successful article."

  She took a cigarette from the mantelpiece and lighted it. "I cannotwork without smoking," she said; "what are you going to say?"

  He looked at her in astonishment. "I do not know; I came here to findthat out."

  She replied: "I will manage it all right. I will make the sauce but Imust have the dish." She questioned him in detail and finally said:

  "Now, we will begin. First of all we will suppose that you areaddressing a friend, which will allow us scope for remarks of allkinds. Begin this way: 'My dear Henry, you wish to know something aboutAlgeria; you shall.'"

  Then followed a brilliantly worded description of Algeria and of theport of Algiers, an excursion to the province of Oran, a visit toSaida, and an adventure with a pretty Spanish maid employed in afactory.

  When the article was concluded, he could find no words of thanks; hewas happy to be near her, grateful for and delighted with their growingintimacy. It seemed to him that everything about him was a part of her,even to the books upon the shelves. The chairs, the furniture, theair--all were permeated with that delightful fragrance peculiar to her.

  She asked bluntly: "What do you think of my friend Mme. de Marelle?"

  "I think her very fascinating," he said; and he would have liked toadd: "But not as much so as you." He had not the courage to do so.

  She continued: "If you only knew how comical, original, and intelligentshe is! She is a true Bohemian. It is for that reason that her husbandno longer loves her. He only sees her defects and none of her goodqualities."

  Duroy was surprised to hear that Mme. de Marelle was married.

  "What," he asked, "is she married? What does her husband do?"

  Mme. Forestier shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, he is superintendent of arailroad. He is in Paris a week out of each month. His wife calls it'Holy Week.' or 'The week of duty.' When you get better acquainted withher, you will see how witty she is! Come here and see her some day."

  As she spoke, the door opened noiselessly, and a gentleman enteredunannounced. He halted on seeing a man. For a moment Mme. Forestierseemed confused; then she said in a natural voice, though her cheekswere tinged with a blush:

  "Come in, my dear sir; allow me to present to you an old comrade ofCharles, M. Georges Duroy, a future journalist." Th
en in a differenttone, she said: "Our best and dearest friend, Count de Vaudrec."

  The two men bowed, gazed into one another's eyes, and then Duroy tookhis leave. Neither tried to detain him.

  On reaching the street he felt sad and uncomfortable. Count deVaudrec's face was constantly before him. It seemed to him that the manwas displeased at finding him tete-a-tete with Mme. Forestier, thoughwhy he should be, he could not divine.

  To while away the time until three o'clock, he lunched at Duval's, andthen lounged along the boulevard. When the clock chimed the hour of hisappointment, he climbed the stairs leading to the office of "La VieFrancaise."

  Duroy asked: "Is M. Walter in?"

  "M. Walter is engaged," was the reply. "Will you please take a seat?"

  Duroy waited twenty minutes, then he turned to the clerk and said: "M.Walter had an appointment with me at three o'clock. At any rate, see ifmy friend M. Forestier is here."

  He was conducted along a corridor and ushered into a large room inwhich four men were writing at a table. Forestier was standing beforethe fireplace, smoking a cigarette. After listening to Duroy's story hesaid:

  "Come with me; I will take you to M. Walter, or else you might remainhere until seven o'clock."

  They entered the manager's room. Norbert de Varenne was writing anarticle, seated in an easychair; Jacques Rival, stretched upon a divan,was smoking a cigar. The room had the peculiar odor familiar to alljournalists. When they approached M. Walter, Forestier said: "Here ismy friend Duroy."

  The manager looked keenly at the young man and asked:

  "Have you brought my article?"

  Duroy drew the sheets of manuscript from his pocket.

  "Here they are, Monsieur."

  The manager seemed delighted and said with a smile: "Very good. You area man of your word. Need I look over it, Forestier?"

  But Forestier hastened to reply: "It is not necessary, M. Walter; Ihelped him in order to initiate him into the profession. It is verygood." Then bending toward him, he whispered: "You know you promised toengage Duroy to replace Marambot. Will you allow me to retain him onthe same terms?"

  "Certainly."

  Taking his friend's arm, the journalist drew him away, while M. Walterreturned to the game of ecarte he had been engaged in when theyentered. Forestier and Duroy returned to the room in which Georges hadfound his friend. The latter said to his new reporter:

  "You must come here every day at three o'clock, and I will tell youwhat places to go to. First of all, I shall give you a letter ofintroduction to the chief of the police, who will in turn introduce youto one of his employees. You can arrange with him for all importantnews, official and semiofficial. For details you can apply toSaint-Potin, who is posted; you will see him to-morrow. Above all, youmust learn to make your way everywhere in spite of closed doors. Youwill receive two hundred francs a months, two sous a line for originalmatter, and two sous a line for articles you are ordered to write ondifferent subjects."

  "What shall I do to-day?" asked Duroy.

  "I have no work for you to-day; you can go if you wish to."

  "And our--our article?"

  "Oh, do not worry about it; I will correct the proofs. Do the restto-morrow and come here at three o'clock as you did to-day."

  And after shaking hands, Duroy descended the staircase with a lightheart.