beautiful friend

Chapter 1

Georges Duroy handed the cashier a hundred-sou coin, took the change and walked out of the restaurant.

He looks talented, plus he was a cadet, and he has a unique military temperament.He straightened his chest, twitched the two beards at the corners of his mouth with the skillful movements of a soldier, and then quickly swept all the customers who were still dining with the unique eyes of a handsome boy like casting a net.

The female customers all looked up at him, including three young female workers, two wives who came to eat with their husbands, and a middle-aged music teacher.The governess had disheveled hair, a dusty hat and was always wearing a crumpled dress.They are all regulars at this low-end restaurant.

Duroy stepped onto the sidewalk and paused for a moment, wondering what to do next.Today was June 28th, and he had to spend the month with the three francs and forty sous he had.This means that for the next two days, he either chooses to eat only lunch or only dinner.Twenty-two sous for a dinner, he thought, thirty sous for a supper.If he only eats lunch, he can save one franc and twenty sous. With this money, he can not only buy a piece of bread with enema every night to satisfy his hunger, but also drink a glass of beer on the street.For him, drinking beer is a big expense and the biggest pleasure of his night.As he thought, he walked towards the Avenue Notre-Dame de Lorette.

Duroy walked as if he was wearing a cavalry uniform, with his chest high and his legs slightly apart, as if he had just jumped off a horse.He rampages through the bustling streets, bumping into people's shoulders and roughly pushing people who stand in his way.He pressed the faded top hat on his head to one side, and his heels made a crisp sound on the stone pavement.He always put on such a posture that he can't get along with anyone, like a burly and handsome soldier who has just retired and returned to the city, and he doesn't like the pedestrians, houses and even the whole city around him.

Although the clothes on his body cost only sixty francs, Duroy's handsome appearance was still very eye-catching.There is nothing special about this kind of beauty, but it is real. He is tall and handsome, with reddish golden curly hair parted from the center of his head, and the two mustaches at the corners of his mouth are slightly upturned, like two balls of foam blowing from his mouth , a pair of blue eyes are clear and transparent, but the pupils are small.His appearance is somewhat similar to those "bad guys" described in popular novels.

On a summer night in Paris, the air is sultry and the whole city is like a huge steam bath.The stench of the granite sewer spewed out, and the stale smell of leftovers and dishwater wafted from the windows of the basement kitchen close to the road, making people sick.

The gatekeeper of the air-raid shelter on the street took off his coat, smoked a pipe, and sat on a chair covered with straw mats by the gate to cool off.Pedestrians on the road also took off their hats and held them in their hands, all of them exhausted.

Georges Duroy walked up the boulevard and stopped again, still uncertain where he should go next.Now he really wants to go to the Champs-Elysées and Boulogne Gardens to cool off under the big trees, but there is another desire hidden in his heart, that is, the hope of having an affair.

As for when the Aventure will appear, he has no way of knowing.But for three months, he has been looking forward to it all the time.During this period, with his handsome appearance and elegant demeanor, he also captured the hearts of some women, but none of them were ideal.He always looks forward to meeting a better one.

Although his pockets were empty, his heart was full of desire.He was fascinated when a whore prowling a street corner whispered to him, "Pretty boy, do you want to see me?"But he dared not go with them, because he couldn't afford the money, and what he expected was another, less vulgar kiss.

However, he really likes to go to dance halls, cafes and streets where prostitutes gather, and likes to spend time with them, smell their strong perfume, chat with them, and call them "you" affectionately.Because they are women after all, women who can be caressed and ecstasy.Unlike those rich men, he has a natural contempt for them.

Duroy turned a corner and followed the people who were exhausted by the heat wave towards the Madeleine Church.The cafés were packed and even the sidewalks were filled with tables.Customers drink and merry under street lights and in front of brightly lit shop windows.Before them, on square or round tables, were wine glasses filled with wines of various colors, red, yellow, green, and brown; floating cylinders in flasks. The ice cubes glistened in the light.

Duroy involuntarily slowed down his pace, at this moment he felt parched.

It was unbearable to have this thirst on a midsummer night.How pleasant it would be to have a sip of cold drink!However, as long as he drinks two glasses of beer tonight, he won't be able to eat even the simplest sausage on bread tomorrow night.Every month at the end of the month, he often encounters this situation. He knows how uncomfortable it feels to be hungry, but Duroy thought to himself: "In any case, I have to wait until ten o'clock to go to the 'American Café' to drink." Have a drink. Damn it, I'm so thirsty now!" He looked at the customers who were drinking at the small table by the side of the road, and then walked briskly, pretending to be nonchalant, from the front of the cafes Walking by, and looking at the demeanor and clothes of the guests from time to time, guessing how much money they will bring with them.At this time, a surge of anger ignited in his heart: the men sitting on the chairs in front of them, tasting wine leisurely, all had gold or silver coins in their pockets, and each had at least two louis on average.Each café has hundreds of customers, and one hundred multiplied by two louis equals four thousand francs! "Bastard!" he cursed in a low voice, still walking gracefully and unsteadily forward.If he were allowed to run into one of them in the dark corner of the street at this time, he would definitely wring his neck mercilessly, just like he did to the farmer's chickens and ducks during the military exercise.

At this moment, Duroy thought of the two years he had spent in Africa and how he had blackmailed the Arabs while stationed in southern Africa.Once, he and some companions sneaked out from the army camp, killed three men of the Uled-Arana tribe, and robbed twenty hens, three sheep and some gold, which made him and his The partners had fun for half a year.Thinking back now, he still can't help showing a cruel and smug smile.

They were never caught, and never pursued; Arabs being ransacked by soldiers was not uncommon.

But in Paris, everything was different.It is impossible for soldiers with sabers on their belts and short guns to get away with robbing the common people without hesitation.Duroy felt that there was still hidden in him the nature of the junior cadets who could do whatever they wanted in a conquered country.Therefore, he can't help but miss the two years of military life in the desert.What a shame not to be able to stay there forever!But in fact, he didn't think so back then. At that time, he had fantasized about his life after coming back very beautifully.But now... hey, everything sucks!

Duroy twirled his tongue in his mouth and made a slight "click" sound, as if to prove whether his throat was really dry.

Pedestrians passed by him, all listless and walking slowly.He cursed in his heart: "These idiots have money in their pockets!" So he shouldered the passers-by, and then whistled lightly with satisfaction.The men who got hit turned their heads and murmured, and the women would say, "Unrefined fellow." He walked past the Burlesque, and stopped across from the Café America, wondering if he should go in for a drink. A glass, because he was so thirsty.Before making a final decision, he looked at the bright clocks standing on the street, and the time was a quarter past nine.He understands that when a full glass of beer is placed in front of him, he will drink it all in one gulp.If so, how did he pass the time before eleven o'clock?
Duroy continued walking.As he walked, he said to himself: "It's better to go to the Madeleine Church first, and then slowly turn back."

When he came to the corner of the opera square, a fat young man passed him.Duroy vaguely remembered where he had seen this person before.

So he followed, and while trying to remember, he kept muttering: "Damn! Where did I see him?"

He tried desperately to remember, but couldn't remember.At this moment, his eyes suddenly lit up, and a familiar figure appeared in front of him: this person was wearing a cavalry uniform, thinner and younger than now.Duroy exclaimed: "Hi, Forestier!" striding up and patting the man on the shoulder.The man turned his head, looked at him suspiciously, and asked:

"What's the matter, sir?"

Duroy said with a smile:

"Don't you know me?"

"do not know."

"I am Georges Duroy of the Sixth Cavalry Battalion."

Forestier stretched out his hands:
"So it's you! Old friend! How are you doing?"

"Good, How about you?"

"I'm not well. You know, my lungs are so bad that I cough for half the year. The year I returned to Paris, I got bronchitis in Bougival, and it hasn't been cured for four years."

"Really? But you look pretty fit."

Holding the arm of his old friend, Forestier told him about his condition, including his experience of seeing a doctor, the doctor's opinions and suggestions, and that in his current situation, he could not follow the doctor's advice at all.Doctors had advised him to go to the Mediterranean for the winter, but he couldn't go anywhere.After all, he is married and a reporter, so he has finally achieved something.

"I'm now in charge of the political column of Les Zouins, and I write about the Senate for Salvation, and sometimes in the literary column of Les Planets. You see, I've accomplished something."

Duroy looked at Forestier in surprise.Now he has changed a lot and he has matured.He is well-dressed, confident, and imposing. Judging from his big belly, he must have a good diet on weekdays.Back then, he was as thin as a bamboo pole, but he was quite clever, but he often lost things, liked to make trouble, and chatted non-stop all day long, looking like he never tired of it.After staying in Paris for three years, he seemed to have been completely reborn. Not only was his body fat, but his conversation was steady; although he was not yet 27 years old, he already had a little gray hair on his temples.

Forestier asked:
"Where are you going?"

Duroy replied: "I'm not going anywhere, just wandering around before going home."

"Would you like to go with me to La Vie, then? I have some proofs to look at. How about we go somewhere for a drink or two?"

"no problem."

They walked forward arm in arm, the kind of intimacy only between old classmates or old comrades in arms.

"What are you doing in Paris?" Forestier asked.

Duroy shrugged: "I'm almost too poor to eat. After finishing my military service, I came here to... try my luck, or to live in Paris. Six months ago, I was in the North There's a job at the railway bureau, with a salary of fifteen hundred francs a year, and nothing else."

Forestier exclaimed: "My God, how can this little money be enough!"

"You're right. But, what can I do? I have no relatives or reasons here, I don't know anyone, and I don't have anyone to recommend for me. It's not that I don't want to achieve a career, it's just that I have no connections!"

His friend looked him over from head to toe, like a practical man evaluating something, and said in a tone of absolute certainty: "You don't understand, brother, here, Everything depends on your own efforts. As long as a person is a little clever, he can become a minister or something, not just a section chief. You must learn to recommend yourself and go for it yourself, rather than waiting for others to introduce you. Like How can a person like you not find a better job than the Northern Railway Bureau?"

Duroy continued:
"I have searched everywhere, but have found nothing. But things have recently turned around, and the Pellerin Studs have offered me to be a riding instructor. There, I can earn at least three thousand francs a year."

Forestier stopped suddenly and said: "Even if you can earn ten thousand francs, don't do such a foolish thing. You will only destroy your future if you do it. At least no one will work in an office." I know you. When you are well-connected and capable, you can still come out and make great achievements. But once you become a riding instructor, you are finished. It is no different from being a head waiter in a restaurant that all Parisians patronize. You Give riding lessons to rich people or their kids, and they'll never see you as an equal again."

Forestier paused, thought for a while, and then asked:

"Did you pass your Baccalaureate?"

"No, I failed both times."

"Never mind, anyway, you've learned all your lessons. If someone talks about Cicero or Thibbel, can you say a word?"

"Yes, I can say a few words."

"That's good. Except for twenty or so nerds who lack common sense in life and only know how to study books, everyone knows only a rough idea about these two people. It is not difficult to make others think you are very knowledgeable. The important thing is that you don't Let people discover your ignorance on the spot. You must learn to use tricks to bypass difficult problems. Of course, sometimes you can use a dictionary to quote and make people retreat. In fact, everyone is ignorant."

Forestier talked eloquently, with an all-knowing tone, while smiling at the passers-by.But at this time, he suddenly coughed violently, so he had to stop.When the cough was over, he said to his friend with some despondency:

"Isn't this damn disease annoying? It's midsummer now, and I'm going to Menton this winter for treatment. There's no way, the body is always the most important thing."

They came to Boissonia Avenue and stopped in front of a huge glass door.There was an open newspaper pasted behind the door, and the three stood there reading it.

Above the glass door is a row of "French Life" in large characters formed by the flames of gas lamps.When pedestrians pass by the place illuminated by these words, it is like entering daylight, and the whole body is clearly visible, and then returns to darkness.

Forestier opened the door and said, "Come in." Duroy went in and climbed the stairs visible from the street.The stairs were well decorated, but dirty.As they passed the hall, Forestier was greeted by two novices.Finally, they came to a room that looked like a waiting room, which was shabby and dusty everywhere. The green imitation velvet curtains were yellowing and stained, and there were holes in many places, as if they had been eaten by mice.

"You sit here for a while," Forestier said, "I'll be back in five minutes."

There were three doors in this room, and he quickly walked out of one of them.

There was an indescribable special smell in the room that only the editing room had.Duroy sat motionless, a little timid in his heart, but at the same time full of curiosity about everything around him.From time to time someone passed by him, entered through one door, and ran out through another before he could see clearly.

Some of these people are young people, looking like they are in a hurry, and the scraps of paper in their hands are trembling slightly because of running; shirt collars, and good-quality woolen trousers, such as are worn by the upper classes, carefully holding stacks of freshly printed newspapers or freshly ink-dried proofs; The gentleman is very stylishly dressed, the waist of the dress is very tight, the trousers are very narrow and tightly wrapped around the legs, and he is wearing a pair of pointed leather shoes. It is obvious that he has just collected news from a high society party Returning reporter.

In addition to them, some people have come in.They have serious expressions and extraordinary bearing, and they wear tall top hats on their heads, as if they want to use this outfit to show that they are different.

After a while, Forestier came in with a tall and thin gentleman on his arm. He was about 40 to [-] years old, wearing a black suit and a white tie, with reddish-brown hair and a high beard at the corner of his mouth. A self-righteous arrogance.

Forestier said to him: "Good-bye, my dear sir."

The other party shook his hand: "Goodbye, dear." After speaking, he hung his cane on his forearm, whistled and went downstairs.

Duroy asked: "Who is he?"

"Jacques Rival, the famous columnist and dueling expert. He has just read the proofs. He and Garland Montel are the three best columnists in Paris at the moment. He writes two articles a week for our paper, Thirty thousand francs a year."

When they were about to leave, a short and fat gentleman with long hair and disheveled clothes came up from downstairs, panting.

Forestier greeted him and said in a low voice:
"His name is Noble de Wallen, and he is a poet. "The Dead Sun" is his work. He is also a well-paid man, three hundred francs for each short essay, which is the last It's only two hundred lines long. Let's go to the Café Naples and have a drink, I'm dying of thirst."

When the two sat down at the café table, Forestier called out, "Two glasses of beer!" and drank the beer as soon as it arrived.But Duroy was sipping sips, letting the beer flow down his throat slowly, as if he was tasting some fine nectar.

Forestier didn't speak, as if he was thinking about something, and then asked suddenly:
"Why don't you try being a reporter?"

Startled, Duroy looked at his friend and said:

(End of this chapter)