Bel Ami (A Ladies' Man), Page 2

  II

  "Monsieur Forestier, if you please?"

  "Third floor, the door on the left," the concierge had replied, in avoice the amiable tone of which betokened a certain consideration forthe tenant, and George Duroy ascended the stairs.

  He felt somewhat abashed, awkward, and ill at ease. He was wearing adress suit for the first time in his life, and was uneasy about thegeneral effect of his toilet. He felt it was altogether defective, fromhis boots, which were not of patent leather, though neat, for he wasnaturally smart about his foot-gear, to his shirt, which he had boughtthat very morning for four franc fifty centimes at the Masgasin duLouvre, and the limp front of which was already rumpled. His everydayshirts were all more or less damaged, so that he had not been able tomake use of even the least worn of them.

  His trousers, rather too loose, set off his leg badly, seeming to flapabout the calf with that creased appearance which second-hand clothespresent. The coat alone did not look bad, being by chance almost aperfect fit.

  He was slowly ascending the stairs with beating heart and anxious mind,tortured above all by the fear of appearing ridiculous, when suddenly hesaw in front of him a gentleman in full dress looking at him. They wereso close to one another that Duroy took a step back and then remainedstupefied; it was himself, reflected by a tall mirror on the first-floorlanding. A thrill of pleasure shot through him to find himself so muchmore presentable than he had imagined.

  Only having a small shaving-glass in his room, he had not been able tosee himself all at once, and as he had only an imperfect glimpse of thevarious items of his improvised toilet, he had mentally exaggerated itsimperfections, and harped to himself on the idea of appearing grotesque.

  But on suddenly coming upon his reflection in the mirror, he had noteven recognized himself; he had taken himself for someone else, for agentleman whom at the first glance he had thought very well dressed andfashionable looking. And now, looking at himself carefully, herecognized that really the general effect was satisfactory.

  He studied himself as actors do when learning their parts. He smiled,held out his hand, made gestures, expressed sentiments of astonishment,pleasure, and approbation, and essayed smiles and glances, with a viewof displaying his gallantry towards the ladies, and making themunderstand that they were admired and desired.

  A door opened somewhere. He was afraid of being caught, and hurriedupstairs, filled with the fear of having been seen grimacing thus by oneof his friend's guests.

  On reaching the second story he noticed another mirror, and slackenedhis pace to view himself in it as he went by. His bearing seemed to himreally graceful. He walked well. And now he was filled with an unboundedconfidence in himself. Certainly he must be successful with such anappearance, his wish to succeed, his native resolution, and hisindependence of mind. He wanted to run, to jump, as he ascended the lastflight of stairs. He stopped in front of the third mirror, twirled hismoustache as he had a trick of doing, took off his hat to run hisfingers through his hair, and muttered half-aloud as he often did: "Whata capital notion." Then raising his hand to the bell handle, he rang.

  The door opened almost at once, and he found himself face to face with aman-servant out of livery, serious, clean-shaven, and so perfect in hisget-up that Duroy became uneasy again without understanding the reasonof his vague emotion, due, perhaps, to an unwitting comparison of thecut of their respective garments. The man-servant, who hadpatent-leather shoes, asked, as he took the overcoat which Duroy hadcarried on his arm, to avoid exposing the stains on it: "Whom shall Iannounce?"

  And he announced the name through a door with a looped-back drapingleading into a drawing-room.

  But Duroy, suddenly losing his assurance, felt himself breathless andparalyzed by terror. He was about to take his first step in the world hehad looked forward to and longed for. He advanced, nevertheless. A fairyoung woman, quite alone, was standing awaiting him in a large room,well lit up and full of plants as a greenhouse.

  He stopped short, quite disconcerted. Who was this lady who was smilingat him? Then he remembered that Forestier was married, and the thoughtthat this pretty and elegant blonde must be his friend's wife completedhis alarm.

  He stammered: "Madame, I am--"

  She held out her hand, saying: "I know, sir; Charles has told me of yourmeeting last evening, and I am very pleased that he had the idea ofasking you to dine with us to-day."

  He blushed up to his ears, not knowing what to say, and felt himselfexamined from head to foot, reckoned up, and judged.

  He longed to excuse himself, to invent some pretext for explaining thedeficiencies of his toilet, but he could not think of one, and did notdare touch on this difficult subject.

  He sat down on an armchair she pointed out to him, and as he felt thesoft and springy velvet-covered seat yield beneath his weight, as hefelt himself, as it were, supported and clasped by the padded back andarms, it seemed to him that he was entering upon a new and enchantinglife, that he was taking possession of something delightful, that he wasbecoming somebody, that he was saved, and he looked at Madame Forestier,whose eyes had not quitted him.

  She was attired in a dress of pale blue cashmere, which set off theoutline of her slender waist and full bust. Her arms and neck issuedfrom a cloud of white lace, with which the bodice and short sleeves weretrimmed, and her fair hair, dressed high, left a fringe of tiny curls atthe nape of her neck.

  Duroy recovered his assurance beneath her glance, which reminded him,without his knowing why, of that of the girl met overnight at the FoliesBergere. She had gray eyes, of a bluish gray, which imparted to them astrange expression; a thin nose, full lips, a rather fleshy chin, andirregular but inviting features, full of archness and charm. It was oneof those faces, every trait of which reveals a special grace, and seemsto have its meaning--every movement to say or to hide something. After abrief silence she asked: "Have you been long in Paris?"

  He replied slowly, recovering his self-possession: "A few months only,Madame. I have a berth in one of the railway companies, but Forestierholds out the hope that I may, thanks to him, enter journalism."

  She smiled more plainly and kindly, and murmured, lowering her voice:"Yes, I know."

  The bell had rung again. The servant announced "Madame de Marelle."

  This was a little brunette, who entered briskly, and seemed to beoutlined--modeled, as it were--from head to foot in a dark dress madequite plainly. A red rose placed in her black hair caught the eye atonce, and seemed to stamp her physiognomy, accentuate her character, andstrike the sharp and lively note needed.

  A little girl in short frocks followed her.

  Madame Forestier darted forward, exclaiming: "Good evening, Clotilde."

  "Good evening, Madeleine." They kissed one another, and then the childoffered her forehead, with the assurance of a grown-up person, saying:"Good evening, cousin."

  Madame Forestier kissed her, and then introduced them, saying: "MonsieurGeorge Duroy, an old friend of Charles; Madame de Marelle, my friend,and in some degree my relation." She added: "You know we have noceremonious affectation here. You quite understand, eh?"

  The young man bowed.

  The door opened again, and a short, stout gentleman appeared, having onhis arm a tall, handsome woman, much younger than himself, and ofdistinguished appearance and grave bearing. They were Monsieur Walter, aJew from the South of France, deputy, financier, capitalist, and managerof the _Vie Francaise_, and his wife, the daughter of MonsieurBasile-Ravalau, the banker.

  Then came, one immediately after the other, Jacques Rival, veryelegantly got up, and Norbert de Varenne, whose coat collar shonesomewhat from the friction of the long locks falling on his shouldersand scattering over them a few specks of white scurf. His badly-tiedcravat looked as if it had already done duty. He advanced with the airand graces of an old beau, and taking Madame Forestier's hand, printed akiss on her wrist. As he bent forward his long hair spread like waterover her bare arm.

  Forestier entered in his
turn, offering excuses for being late. He hadbeen detained at the office of the paper by the Morel affair. MonsieurMorel, a Radical deputy, had just addressed a question to the Ministryrespecting a vote of credit for the colonization of Algeria.

  The servant announced: "Dinner is served, Madame," and they passed intothe dining-room.

  Duroy found himself seated between Madame de Marelle and her daughter.He again felt ill at ease, being afraid of making some mistake in theconventional handling of forks, spoons, and glasses. There were four ofthese, one of a faint blue tint. What could be meant to be drunk out ofthat?

  Nothing was said while the soup was being consumed, and then Norbert deVarenne asked: "Have you read the Gauthier case? What a funny businessit is."

  After a discussion on this case of adultery, complicated withblackmailing, followed. They did not speak of it as the events recordedin newspapers are spoken of in private families, but as a disease isspoken of among doctors, or vegetables among market gardeners. They wereneither shocked nor astonished at the facts, but sought out their hiddenand secret motives with professional curiosity, and an utterindifference for the crime itself. They sought to clearly explain theorigin of certain acts, to determine all the cerebral phenomena whichhad given birth to the drama, the scientific result due to an especialcondition of mind. The women, too, were interested in thisinvestigation. And other recent events were examined, commented upon,turned so as to show every side of them, and weighed correctly, with thepractical glance, and from the especial standpoint of dealers in news,and vendors of the drama of life at so much a line, just as articlesdestined for sale are examined, turned over, and weighed by tradesmen.

  Then it was a question of a duel, and Jacques Rival spoke. This was hisbusiness; no one else could handle it.

  Duroy dared not put in a word. He glanced from time to time at hisneighbor, whose full bosom captivated him. A diamond, suspended by athread of gold, dangled from her ear like a drop of water that hadrolled down it. From time to time she made an observation which alwaysbrought a smile to her hearers' lips. She had a quaint, pleasant wit,that of an experienced tomboy who views things with indifference andjudges them with frivolous and benevolent skepticism.

  Duroy sought in vain for some compliment to pay her, and, not findingone, occupied himself with her daughter, filling her glass, holding herplate, and helping her. The child, graver than her mother, thanked himin a serious tone and with a slight bow, saying: "You are very good,sir," and listened to her elders with an air of reflection.

  The dinner was very good, and everyone was enraptured. Monsieur Walterate like an ogre, hardly spoke, and glanced obliquely under his glassesat the dishes offered to him. Norbert de Varenne kept him company, andfrom time to time let drops of gravy fall on his shirt front. Forestier,silent and serious, watched everything, exchanging glances ofintelligence with his wife, like confederates engaged together on adifficult task which is going on swimmingly.

  Faces grew red, and voices rose, as from time to time the man-servantmurmured in the guests' ears: "Corton or Chateau-Laroze."

  Duroy had found the Corton to his liking, and let his glass be filledevery time. A delicious liveliness stole over him, a warm cheerfulness,that mounted from the stomach to the head, flowed through his limbs andpenetrated him throughout. He felt himself wrapped in perfect comfort oflife and thought, body and soul.

  A longing to speak assailed him, to bring himself into notice, to beappreciated like these men, whose slightest words were relished.

  But the conversation, which had been going on unchecked, linking ideasone to another, jumping from one topic to another at a chance word, amere trifle, and skimming over a thousand matters, turned again on thegreat question put by Monsieur Morel in the Chamber respecting thecolonization of Algeria.

  Monsieur Walter, between two courses, made a few jests, for his wit wasskeptical and broad. Forestier recited his next day's leader. JacquesRival insisted on a military government with land grants to all officersafter thirty years of colonial service.

  "By this plan," he said, "you will create an energetic class ofcolonists, who will have already learned to love and understand thecountry, and will be acquainted with its language, and with all thosegrave local questions against which new-comers invariably run theirheads."

  Norbert de Varenne interrupted him with: "Yes; they will be acquaintedwith everything except agriculture. They will speak Arabic, but theywill be ignorant how beet-root is planted out and wheat sown. They willbe good at fencing, but very shaky as regards manures. On the contrary,this new land should be thrown entirely open to everyone. Intelligentmen will achieve a position there; the others will go under. It is thesocial law."

  A brief silence followed, and the listeners smiled at one another.

  George Duroy opened his mouth, and said, feeling as much surprised atthe sound of his own voice as if he had never heard himself speak: "Whatis most lacking there is good land. The really fertile estates cost asmuch as in France, and are bought up as investments by rich Parisians.The real colonists, the poor fellows who leave home for lack of bread,are forced into the desert, where nothing will grow for want of water."

  Everyone looked at him, and he felt himself blushing.

  Monsieur Walter asked: "Do you know Algeria, sir?"

  George replied: "Yes, sir; I was there nearly two years and a half, andI was quartered in all three provinces."

  Suddenly unmindful of the Morel question, Norbert de Varenneinterrogated him respecting a detail of manners and customs of which hehad been informed by an officer. It was with respect to the Mzab, thatstrange little Arab republic sprung up in the midst of the Sahara, inthe driest part of that burning region.

  Duroy had twice visited the Mzab, and he narrated some of the customs ofthis singular country, where drops of water are valued as gold; whereevery inhabitant is bound to discharge all public duties; and wherecommercial honesty is carried further than among civilized nations.

  He spoke with a certain raciness excited by the wine and the desire toplease, and told regimental yarns, incidents of Arab life and militaryadventure. He even hit on some telling phrases to depict these bare andyellow lands, eternally laid waste by the devouring fire of the sun.

  All the women had their eyes turned upon him, and Madame Walter said, inher deliberate tones: "You could make a charming series of articles outof your recollections."

  Then Walter looked at the young fellow over the glasses of hisspectacles, as was his custom when he wanted to see anyone's facedistinctly. He looked at the dishes underneath them.

  Forestier seized the opportunity. "My dear sir, I had already spoken toyou about Monsieur George Duroy, asking you to let me have him for myassistant in gleaning political topics. Since Marambot left us, I haveno one to send in quest of urgent and confidential information, and thepaper suffers from it."

  Daddy Walter became serious, and pushed his spectacles upon hisforehead, in order to look Duroy well in the face. Then he said: "It istrue that Monsieur Duroy has evidently an original turn of thought. Ifhe will come and have a chat with us to-morrow at three o'clock, we willsettle the matter." Then, after a short silence, turning right roundtowards George, he added: "But write us a little fancy series ofarticles on Algeria at once. Relate your experiences, and mix up thecolonization question with them as you did just now. They are facts,genuine facts, and I am sure they will greatly please our readers. Butbe quick. I must have the first article to-morrow or the day after,while the subject is being discussed in the Chamber, in order to catchthe public."

  Madame Walter added, with that serious grace which characterizedeverything she did, and which lent an air of favor to her words: "Andyou have a charming title, 'Recollections of a Chasseur d'Afrique.' Isit not so, Monsieur Norbert?"

  The old poet, who had worn renown late in life, feared and hatednew-comers. He replied dryly: "Yes, excellent, provided that the keynotebe followed, for that is the great difficulty; the exact note, what inmusic is called the pitch."
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  Madame Forestier cast on Duroy a smiling and protective glance, theglance of a connoisseur, which seemed to say: "Yes, you will get on."Madame de Marelle had turned towards him several times, and the diamondin her ear quivered incessantly as though the drop of water was about tofall.

  The little girl remained quiet and serious, her head bent over herplate.

  But the servant passed round the table, filling the blue glasses withJohannisberg, and Forestier proposed a toast, drinking with a bow toMonsieur Walter: "Prosperity to the _Vie Francaise_."

  Everyone bowed towards the proprietor, who smiled, and Duroy,intoxicated with success, emptied his glass at a draught. He would haveemptied a whole barrel after the same fashion; it seemed to him that hecould have eaten a bullock or strangled a lion. He felt a superhumanstrength in his limbs, unconquerable resolution and unbounded hope inhis mind. He was now at home among these people; he had just taken hisposition, won his place. His glance rested on their faces with anew-born assurance, and he ventured for the first time to address hisneighbor. "You have the prettiest earrings I have ever seen, Madame."

  She turned towards him with a smile. "It was an idea of my own to havethe diamonds hung like that, just at the end of a thread. They reallylook like dew-drops, do they not?"

  He murmured, ashamed of his own daring, and afraid of making a fool ofhimself:

  "It is charming; but the ear, too, helps to set it off."

  She thanked him with a look, one of those woman's looks that go straightto the heart. And as he turned his head he again met Madame Forestier'seye, always kindly, but now he thought sparkling with a livelier mirth,an archness, an encouragement.

  All the men were now talking at once with gesticulations and raisedvoices. They were discussing the great project of the metropolitanrailway. The subject was not exhausted till dessert was finished,everyone having a deal to say about the slowness of the methods ofcommunication in Paris, the inconvenience of the tramway, the delays ofomnibus traveling, and the rudeness of cabmen.

  Then they left the dining-room to take coffee. Duroy, in jest, offeredhis arm to the little girl. She gravely thanked him, and rose on tiptoein order to rest her hand on it.

  On returning to the drawing-room he again experienced the sensation ofentering a greenhouse. In each of the four corners of the room tallpalms unfolded their elegantly shaped leaves, rising to the ceiling, andthere spreading fountain-wise.

  On each side of the fireplace were india-rubber plants like roundcolumns, with their dark green leaves tapering one above the other; andon the piano two unknown shrubs covered with flowers, those of one allcrimson and those of the other all white, had the appearance ofartificial plants, looking too beautiful to be real.

  The air was cool, and laden with a soft, vague perfume that couldscarcely be defined. The young fellow, now more himself, considered theroom more attentively. It was not large; nothing attracted attentionwith the exception of the shrubs, no bright color struck one, but onefelt at one's ease in it; one felt soothed and refreshed, and, as itwere, caressed by one's surroundings. The walls were covered with anold-fashioned stuff of faded violet, spotted with little flowers inyellow silk about the size of flies. Hangings of grayish-blue cloth,embroidered here and there with crimson poppies, draped the doorways,and the chairs of all shapes and sizes, scattered about the room,lounging chairs, easy chairs, ottomans, and stools, were upholstered inLouise Seize silk or Utrecht velvet, with a crimson pattern on acream-colored ground.

  "Do you take coffee, Monsieur Duroy?" and Madame Forestier held out acup towards him with that smile which never left her lips.

  "Thank you, Madame." He took the cup, and as he bent forward to take alump of sugar from the sugar-basin carried by the little girl, MadameForestier said to him in a low voice: "Pay attention to Madame Walter."

  Then she drew back before he had time to answer a word.

  He first drank off his coffee, which he was afraid of dropping onto thecarpet; then, his mind more at ease, he sought for some excuse toapproach the wife of his new governor, and begin a conversation. All atonce he noticed that she was holding an empty cup in her hand, and asshe was at some distance from a table, did not know where to put it. Hedarted forward with, "Allow me, Madame?"

  "Thank you, sir."

  He took away the cup and then returned.

  "If you knew, Madame," he began, "the happy hours the _Vie Francaise_helped me to pass when I was away in the desert. It is really the onlypaper that is readable out of France, for it is more literary, wittier,and less monotonous than the others. There is something of everything init."

  She smiled with amiable indifference, and answered, seriously:

  "Monsieur Walter has had a great deal of trouble to create a type ofnewspaper supplying the want of the day."

  And they began to chat. He had an easy flow of commonplace conversation,a charm in his voice and look, and an irresistible seductiveness abouthis moustache. It curled coquettishly about his lips, reddish brown,with a paler tint about the ends. They chatted about Paris, its suburbs,the banks of the Seine, watering places, summer amusements, all thecurrent topics on which one can prate to infinity without wearyingoneself.

  Then as Monsieur Norbert de Varenne approached with a liqueur glass inhis hand, Duroy discreetly withdrew.

  Madame de Marelle, who had been speaking with Madame Forestier, summonedhim.

  "Well, sir," she said, abruptly, "so you want to try your hand atjournalism?"

  He spoke vaguely of his prospects, and there recommenced with her theconversation he had just had with Madame Walter, but as he was now abetter master of his subject, he showed his superiority in it, repeatingas his own the things he had just heard. And he continually looked hiscompanion in the eyes, as though to give deep meaning to what he wassaying.

  She, in her turn, related anecdotes with the easy flow of spirits of awoman who knows she is witty, and is always seeking to appear so, andbecoming familiar, she laid her hand from time to time on his arm, andlowered her voice to make trifling remarks which thus assumed acharacter of intimacy. He was inwardly excited by her contact. He wouldhave liked to have shown his devotion for her on the spot, to havedefended her, shown her what he was worth, and his delay in his repliesto her showed the preoccupation of his mind.

  But suddenly, without any reason, Madame de Marelle called, "Laurine!"and the little girl came.

  "Sit down here, child; you will catch cold near the window."

  Duroy was seized with a wild longing to kiss the child. It was as thoughsome part of the kiss would reach the mother.

  He asked in a gallant, and at the same time fatherly, tone: "Will youallow me to kiss you, Mademoiselle?"

  The child looked up at him in surprise.

  "Answer, my dear," said Madame de Marelle, laughingly.

  "Yes, sir, this time; but it will not do always."

  Duroy, sitting down, lifted Laurine onto his knees and brushed the finecurly hair above her forehead with his lips.

  Her mother was surprised. "What! she has not run away; it is astounding.Usually she will only let ladies kiss her. You are irresistible,Monsieur Duroy."

  He blushed without answering, and gently jogged the little girl on hisknee.

  Madame Forestier drew near, and exclaimed, with astonishment: "What,Laurine tamed! What a miracle!"

  Jacques Rival also came up, cigar in mouth, and Duroy rose to takeleave, afraid of spoiling, by some unlucky remark, the work done, histask of conquest begun.

  He bowed, softly pressed the little outstretched hands of the women, andthen heartily shook those of the men. He noted that the hand of JacquesRival, warm and dry, answered cordially to his grip; that of Norbert deVarenne, damp and cold, slipped through his fingers; that of DaddyWalter, cold and flabby, was without expression or energy; and that ofForestier was plump and moist. His friend said to him in a low tone,"To-morrow, at three o'clock; do not forget."

  "Oh! no; don't be afraid of that."

  When he found himself
once more on the stairs he felt a longing to rundown them, so great was his joy, and he darted forward, going down twosteps at a time, but suddenly he caught sight in a large mirror on thesecond-floor landing of a gentleman in a hurry, who was advancingbriskly to meet him, and he stopped short, ashamed, as if he had beencaught tripping. Then he looked at himself in the glass for some time,astonished at being really such a handsome fellow, smiled complacently,and taking leave of his reflection, bowed low to it as one bows to apersonage of importance.