Stories by Foreign Authors
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And there was one person who DID observe him closely. Charles
followed him step by step with his sharp eyes; every blunder,
every extravagance, every loss--he knew all to a nicety, and he
wondered that Alphonse could keep going so long.
They had as good as grown up together. Their mothers were cousins;
the families had lived near each other in the same street; and in
a city like Paris proximity is as important as relationship in
promoting close intercourse. Moreover, the boys went to the same
school.
Thenceforth, as they grew up to manhood, they were inseparable.
Mutual adaptation overcame the great differences which originally
marked their characters, until at last their idiosyncrasies fitted
into each other like the artfully-carved pieces of wood which
compose the picture-puzzles of our childhood.
The relation between them was really a beautiful one, such as does
not often arise between two young men; for they did not understand
friendship as binding the one to bear everything at the hands of
the other, but seemed rather to vie with each other in mutual
considerateness.
If, however, Alphonse in his relation to Charles showed any high
degree of considerateness, he himself was ignorant of it; and if
any one had told him of it he would doubtless have laughed loudly
at such a mistaken compliment.
For as life on the whole appeared to him very simple and
straightforward, the idea that his friendship should in any way
fetter him was the last thing that could enter his head. That
Charles was his best friend seemed to him as entirely natural as
that he himself danced best, rode best, was the best shot, and
that the whole world was ordered entirely to his mind.
Alphonse was in the highest degree a spoilt child of fortune; he
acquired everything without effort; existence fitted him like an
elegant dress, and he wore it with such unconstrained amiability
that people forgot to envy him.
And then he was so handsome. He was tall and slim, with brown hair
and big open eyes; his complexion was clear and smooth, and his
teeth shone when he laughed. He was quite conscious of his beauty,
but, as everybody had petted him from his earliest days, his
vanity was of a cheerful, good-natured sort, which, after all, was
not so offensive. He was exceedingly fond of his friend. He amused
himself and sometimes others by teasing him and making fun of him;
but he knew Charles's face so thoroughly that he saw at once when
the jest was going too far. Then he would resume his natural,
kindly tone, until he made the serious and somewhat melancholy
Charles laugh till he was ill.
From his boyhood Charles had admired Alphonse beyond measure. He
himself was small and insignificant, quiet and shy. His friend's
brilliant qualities cast a lustre over him as well, and gave a
certain impetus to his life.
His mother often said: "This friendship between the boys is a real
blessing for my poor Charles, for without it he would certainly
have been a melancholy creature."
When Alphonse was on all occasions preferred to him, Charles
rejoiced; he was proud of his friend. He wrote his exercises,
prompted him at examination, pleaded his cause with the masters,
and fought for him with the boys.
At the commercial academy it was the same story. Charles worked
for Alphonse, and Alphonse rewarded him with his inexhaustible
amiability and unfailing good-humor.
When subsequently, as quite young men, they were placed in the
same banker's office, it happened one day that the principal said
to Charles: "From the first of May I will raise your salary."
"I thank you," answered Charles, "both on my own and on my
friend's behalf."
"Monsieur Alphonse's salary remains unaltered," replied the chief,
and went on writing.
Charles never forgot that morning. It was the first time he had
been preferred or distinguished before his friend. And it was his
commercial capacity, the quality which, as a young man of
business, he valued most, that had procured him this preference;
and it was the head of the firm, the great financier, who had
himself accorded him such recognition.
The experience was so strange to him that it seemed like an
injustice to his friend. He told Alphonse nothing of the
occurrence; on the contrary, he proposed that they should apply
for two vacant places in the Credit Lyonnais.
Alphonse was quite willing, for he loved change, and the splendid
new banking establishment on the Boulevard seemed to him far more
attractive than the dark offices in the Rue Bergere. So they
removed to the Credit Lyonnais on the first of May. But as they
were in the chief's office taking their leave, the old banker said
to Charles, when Alphonse had gone out (Alphonse always took
precedence of Charles), "Sentiment won't do for a business man."
From that day forward a change went on in Charles. He not only
worked as industriously and conscientiously as before, but
developed such energy and such an amazing faculty for labor as
soon attracted to him the attention of his superiors. That he was
far ahead of his friend in business capacity was soon manifest;
but every time he received a new mark of recognition he had a
struggle with himself. For a long time, every advancement brought
with it a certain qualm of conscience; and yet he worked on with
restless ardor.
One day Alphonse said, in his light, frank way: "You are really a
smart fellow, Charlie! You're getting ahead of everybody, young
and old--not to mention me. I'm quite proud of you."
Charles felt ashamed. He had been thinking that Alphonse must feel
wounded at being left on one side, and now he learned that his
friend not only did not grudge him his advancement, but was even
proud of him. By degrees his conscience was lulled to rest, and
his solid worth was more and more appreciated.
But if he was in reality the more capable, how came it that he was
so entirely ignored in society, while Alphonse remained
everybody's darling? The very promotions and marks of appreciation
which he had won for himself by hard work were accorded him in a
dry, business manner; while every one, from the directors to the
messengers, had a friendly word or a merry greeting for Alphonse.
In the different offices and departments of the bank they
intrigued to obtain possession of Monsieur Alphonse; for a breath
of life and freshness followed ever in the wake of his handsome
person and joyous nature. Charles, on the other hand, had often
remarked that his colleagues regarded him as a dry person, who
thought only of business and of himself.
The truth was that he had a heart of rare sensitiveness, with no
faculty for giving it expression.
Charles was one of those small, black Frenchmen whose beard begins
right under the eyes; his complexion was yellowish and his hair
stiff and splintery. His eyes did not dilate when he was pleased
and animated, but they flashed around and glittered.
When he laughed the corners of his mouth turned upward, and many a
time, when his heart was full of joy and good-will, he had seen
people draw back, half-frightened by his forbidding exterior.
Alphonse alone knew him so well that he never seemed to see his
ugliness; every one else misunderstood him. He became suspicious,
and retired more and more within himself.
In an insensible crescendo the thought grew in him: Why should he
never attain anything of that which he most longed for--intimate
and cordial intercourse and friendliness which should answer to
the warmth pent up within him? Why should every one smile to
Alphonse with out-stretched hands, while he must content himself
with stiff bows and cold glances?
Alphonse knew nothing of all this. He was joyous and healthy,
charmed with life and content with his daily work. He had been
placed in the easiest and most interesting branch of the business,
and, with his quick brain and his knack of making himself
agreeable, he filled his place satisfactorily.
His social circle was very large--every one set store by his
acquaintance, and he was at least as popular among women as among
men.
For a time Charles accompanied Alphonse into society, until he was
seized by a misgiving that he was invited for his friend's sake
alone, when he at once drew back.
When Charles proposed that they should set up in business
together, Alphonse had answered: "It is too good of you to choose
me. You could easily find a much better partner."
Charles had imagined that their altered relations and closer
association in work would draw Alphonse out of the circles which
Charles could not now endure, and unite them more closely. For he
had conceived a vague dread of losing his friend.
He did not himself know, nor would it have been easy to decide,
whether he was jealous of all the people who flocked around
Alphonse and drew him to them, or whether he envied his friend's
popularity.
They began their business prudently and energetically, and got on
well.
It was generally held that each formed an admirable complement to
the other. Charles represented the solid, confidence-inspiring
element, while the handsome and elegant Alphonse imparted to the
firm a certain lustre which was far from being without value.
Every one who came into the counting-house at once remarked his
handsome figure, and thus it seemed quite natural that all should
address themselves to him.
Charles meanwhile bent over his work and let Alphonse be
spokesman. When Alphonse asked him about anything, he
answered shortly and quietly without looking up.
Thus most people thought that Charles was a confidential clerk,
while Alphonse was the real head of the house.
As Frenchmen, they thought little about marrying, but as young
Parisians they led a life into which erotics entered largely.
Alphonse was never really in his element except when in female
society. Then all his exhilarating amiability came into play, and
when he leaned back at supper and held out his shallow champagne-
glass to be refilled, he was as beautiful as a happy god.
He had a neck of the kind which women long to caress, and his
soft, half-curling hair looked as if it were negligently arranged,
or carefully disarranged, by a woman's coquettish hand.
Indeed, many slim white fingers had passed through those locks;
for Alphonse had not only the gift of being loved by women, but
also the yet rarer gift of being forgiven by them.
When the friends were together at gay supper-parties, Alphonse
paid no particular heed to Charles. He kept no account of his own
love-affairs, far less of those of his friend. So it might easily
happen that a beauty on whom Charles had cast a longing eye fell
into the hands of Alphonse.
Charles was used to seeing his friend preferred in life; but there
are certain things to which men can scarcely accustom themselves.
He seldom went with Alphonse to his suppers, and it was always
long before the wine and the general exhilaration could bring him
into a convivial humor.
But then, when the champagne and the bright eyes had gone to his
head, he would often be the wildest of all; he would sing loudly
with his harsh voice, laugh and gesticulate so that his stiff
black hair fell over his forehead; and then the merry ladies
shrank from him, and called him the "chimney-sweep."
--As the sentry paces up and down in the beleaguered fortress, he
sometimes hears a strange sound in the silent night, as if
something were rustling under his feet. It is the enemy, who has
undermined the outworks, and to-night or to-morrow night there
will be a hollow explosion, and armed men will storm in through
the breach.
If Charles had kept close watch over himself he would have heard
strange thoughts rustling within him. But he would not hear--he
had only a dim foreboding that sometime there must come an
explosion.
--And one day it came.
It was already after business hours; the clerks had all left the
outer office, and only the principals remained behind.
Charles was busily writing a letter which he wished to
finish before he left.
Alphonse had drawn on both his gloves and buttoned them. Then he
had brushed his hat until it shone, and now he was walking up and
down and peeping into Charles's letter every time he passed the
desk.
They used to spend an hour every day before dinner in a cafe on
the great Boulevard, and Alphonse was getting impatient for his
newspapers.
"Will you never have finished that letter?" he said, rather
irritably.
Charles was silent a second or two, then he sprang up so that his
chair fell over: "Perhaps Alphonse imagined that he could do it
better? Did he not know which of them was really the man of
business?" And now the words streamed out with that incredible
rapidity of which the French language is capable when it is used
in fiery passion.
But it was a turbid stream, carrying with it many ugly
expressions, upbraidings, and recriminations; and through the
whole there sounded something like a suppressed sob.
As he strode up and down the room, with clenched hands and
dishevelled hair, Charles looked like a little wiry-haired terrier
barking at an elegant Italian grayhound. At last he seized his hat
and rushed out.
Alphonse had stood looking at him with great wondering eyes. When
he was gone, and there was once more silence in the room, it
seemed as though the air was still quivering with the hot words.
Alphonse recalled them one by one, as he stood motionless beside
the desk.
"Did he not know which was the abler of the two?" Yes, assuredly!
he had never denied that Charles was by far his superior.
"He must not think that he would succeed in winning everything to
himself with his smooth face." Alphonse was not conscious of ever
having deprived his friend of anything.
"I don't care for your cocottes" Charles had said.
Could he really have been interested in the little Spanish dancer?
If Alphonse had only had the faintest suspicion of such a thing he
would never have looked at her. But that was nothing to get so
wild about; there were plenty of women in Paris.
And at last: "As sure as to-morrow comes, I will dissolve
partnership!"
Alphonse did not understand it at all. He left the counting-house
and walked moodily through the streets until he met an
acquaintance. That put other thoughts into his head; but all day
he had a feeling as if something gloomy and uncomfortable lay in
wait, ready to seize him so soon as he was alone.
When he reached home, late at night, he found a letter from
Charles. He opened it hastily; but it contained, instead of the
apology he had expected, only a coldly-worded request to M.
Alphonse to attend at the counting-house early the next morning
"in order that the contemplated dissolution of partnership might
be effected as quickly as possible."
Now, for the first time, did Alphonse begin to understand that the
scene in the counting-house had been more than a passing outburst
of passion; but this only made the affair more inexplicable.
And the longer he thought it over, the more clearly did he feel
that Charles had been unjust to him. He had never been angry with
his friend, nor was he precisely angry even now. But as he
repeated to himself all the insults Charles had heaped upon him,
his good-natured heart hardened; and the next morning he took his
place in silence, after a cold "Good morning."
Although he arrived a whole hour earlier than usual, he could see
that Charles had been working long and industriously. There they
sat, each on his side of the desk; they spoke only the most
indispensable words; now and then a paper passed from hand to
hand, but they never looked each other in the face.
In this way they both worked--each more busily than the other--
until twelve o'clock, their usual luncheon-time.
This hour of dejeuner was the favorite time of both. Their custom
was to have it served in their office, and when the old
housekeeper announced that lunch was ready, they would both rise
at once, even if they were in the midst of a sentence or of an
account.
They used to eat standing by the fireplace, or walking up and down
in the warm, comfortable office. Alphonse had always some piquant
stories to tell, and Charles laughed at them. These were his
pleasantest hours.
But that day, when madame said her friendly "Messieurs, on a
servi" they both remained sitting. She opened her eyes wide, and
repeated the words as she went out, but neither moved.
At last Alphonse felt hungry, went to the table, poured out a
glass of wine and began to eat his cutlet. But as he stood there
eating, with his glass in his hand, and looked round the dear old
office where they had spent so many pleasant hours, and then
thought that they were to lose all this and imbitter their lives
for a whim, a sudden burst of passion, the whole situation
appeared to him so preposterous that he almost burst out laughing.
"Look here, Charles," he said, in the half-earnest, half-joking
tone which always used to make Charles laugh, "it will really be
too absurd to advertise: 'According to an amicable agreement, from
such and such a date the firm of--'"
"I have been thinking," interrupted Charles, quietly, "that we
will put: 'According to MUTUAL agreement.'"
Alphonse laughed no more; he put down his glass, and the cutlet
tasted bitter in his mouth.
He understood that friendship was dead between them, why or
wherefore he could not tell; but he thought that Charles was hard
and unjust to him. He was now stiffer and colder than the other.
They worked together until the business of dissolution was
finished; then they parted.
A considerable time passed, and the two quondam friends worked
each in his own quarter in the great Paris. They met at the
Bourse, but never did business with each other. Charles never
worked against Alphonse; he did not wish to ruin him; he wished
Alphonse to ruin himself.
And Alphonse seemed likely enough to meet his friend's wishes in
this respect. It is true that now and then he did a good stroke of
business, but the steady industry he had learned from Charles he
soon forgot. He began to neglect his office, and lost many good
connections.
He had always had a taste for dainty and luxurious living, but his
association with the frugal Charles had hitherto held his
extravagances in check. Now, on the contrary, his life became more
and more dissipated. He made fresh acquaintances on every hand,
and was more than ever the brilliant and popular Monsieur
Alphonse; but Charles kept an eye on his growing debts.
He had Alphonse watched as closely as possible, and, as their
business was of the same kind, could form a pretty good estimate
of the other's earnings. His expenses were even easier to
ascertain, and he soon assured himself of the fact that Alphonse
was beginning to run into debt in several quarters.
He cultivated some acquaintances about whom he otherwise cared
nothing, merely because through them he got an insight into
Alphonse's expensive mode of life and rash prodigality. He sought
the same cafes and restaurants as Alphonse, but at different
times; he even had his clothes made by the same tailor, because
the talkative little man entertained him with complaints that
Monsieur Alphonse never paid his bills.
Charles often thought how easy it would be to buy up a part of
Alphonse's liabilities and let them fall into the hands of a
grasping usurer. But it would be a great injustice to suppose that
Charles for a moment contemplated doing such a thing himself. It
was only an idea he was fond of dwelling upon; he was, as it were,
in love with Alphonse's debts.
But things went slowly, and Charles became pale and sallow while
he watched and waited.
He was longing for the time when the people who had always looked
down upon him should have their eyes opened, and see how little
the brilliant and idolized Alphonse was really fit for. He wanted
to see him humbled, abandoned by his friends, lonely and poor; and
then--!
Beyond that he really did not like to speculate; for at this point
feelings stirred within him which he would not acknowledge.
He WOULD hate his former friend; he WOULD have revenge for all the
coldness and neglect which had been his own lot in life; and every
time the least thought in defence of Alphonse arose in his mind he
pushed it aside, and said, like the old banker, "Sentiment won't
do for a business man."
One day he went to his tailor's; he bought more clothes in these
days than he absolutely needed.
The nimble little man at once ran to meet turn with a roll of
cloth: "See, here is the very stuff for you. Monsieur Alphonse has
had a whole suit made of it, and Monsieur Alphonse is a gentleman
who knows how to dress."
"I did not think that Monsieur Alphonse was one of your favorite
customers," said Charles, rather taken by surprise.
"Oh, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the little tailor, "you mean because I
have once or twice mentioned that Monsieur Alphonse owed me a few
thousand francs. It was very stupid of me to speak so. Monsieur
Alphonse has not only paid me the trifle he was owing, but I know
that he has also satisfied a number of other creditors. I have
done ce cher beau monsieur great injustice, and I beg you never to
give him a hint of my stupidity."
Charles was no longer listening to the chatter of the garrulous
tailor. He soon left the shop, and went up the street, quite
absorbed in the one thought that Alphonse had paid.
He thought how foolish it really was of him to wait and wait for
the other's ruin. How easily might not the adroit and lucky
Alphonse come across many a brilliant business opening, and make
plenty of money without a word of it reaching Charles's ears.
Perhaps, after all, he was getting on well. Perhaps it would end
in people saying, "See, at last Monsieur Alphonse shows what he is
fit for, now that he is quit of his dull and crabbed partner!"
Charles went slowly up the street with his head bent. Many people
jostled him, but he heeded not. His life seemed to him so
meaningless, as if he had lost all that he had ever possessed--or
had he himself cast it from him? Just then some one ran against
him with more than usual violence. He looked up. It was an
acquaintance from the time when he and Alphonse had been in the
Credit Lyonnais.
"Ah, good-day, Monsieur Charles!" cried he, "It is long since we
met. Odd, too, that I should meet you to-day. I was just thinking
of you this morning."
"Why, may I ask?" said Charles, half absently.
"Well, you see, only to-day I saw up at the bank a paper--a bill
for thirty or forty thousand francs--bearing both your name and
that of Monsieur Alphonse. It astonished me, for I thought that
you two--hm!--had done with each other."
"No, we have not quite done with each other yet," said Charles
slowly.
He struggled with all his might to keep his face calm, and asked,
in as natural a tone as he could command, "When does the bill fall
due? I don't quite recollect."
"To-morrow or the day after, I think," answered the other, who was
a hard-worked business man, and was already in a hurry to be off.
"It was accepted by Monsieur Alphonse."
"I know that," said Charles; "but could you not manage to let ME
redeem the bill to-morrow? It is a courtesy--a favor I am anxious
to do."
"With pleasure. Tell your messenger to ask for me personally at
the bank to-morrow afternoon. I will arrange it; nothing easier.
Excuse me; I'm in a hurry. Good-bye!" and with that he ran on.
Next day Charles sat in his counting-house waiting for the
messenger who had gone up to the bank to redeem Alphonse's bill.
At last a clerk entered, laid a folded blue paper by his
principal's side, and went out again.
Not until the door was closed did Charles seize the draft, look
swiftly round the room, and open it. He stared for a second or two
at his name, then lay back in his chair and drew a deep breath. It
was as he had expected--the signature was a forgery.
He bent over it again. For long he sat, gazing at his own name,
and observing how badly it was counterfeited.
While his sharp eyes followed every line in the letters of his
name, he scarcely thought. His mind was so disturbed, and his
feelings so strangely conflicting, that it was some time before he
became conscious how much they betrayed--these bungling strokes on
the blue paper.
He felt a strange lump in his throat, his nose began to tickle a
little, and, before he was aware of it, a big tear fell on the
paper.
He looked hastily around, took out his pocket-handkerchief, and
carefully wiped the wet place on the bill. He thought again of the
old banker in the Rue Bergere.
What did it matter to him that Alphonse's weak character had at
last led him to crime, and what had he lost? Nothing, for did he
not hate his former friend? No one could say it was his fault that
Alphonse was ruined--he had shared with him honestly, and never
harmed him.
Then his thoughts tamed to Alphonse. He knew him well enough to be
sure that when the refined, delicate Alphonse had sunk so low, he
must have come to a jutting headland in life, and he prepared to
leap out of it rather than let disgrace reach him.
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