Bel-Ami (Oxford World's Classics) Page 7

  Hydak, M. G, ‘Mars, Venus and Maupassant’s Bel-Ami’, Romance Notes, 18 (1977), 178–82; shows how classical allusion within M. Walter’s tapestry is a subtle parallel to several episodes in the novel.

  —— ‘Door-imagery in Maupassant’s Bel-Ami, French Review, 49 (1979), 337–41.

  Lloyd, Christopher, Maupassant. ‘Bel-Ami (London, Grant & Cutler, 1988); the best critical introduction, in any language, to the novel.

  Prince, Gerald, ‘Bel-Ami and Narrative as Antagonist’, French Forum, 11 (1986), 217–26; challenging essay, arguing that the text is haunted self-reflexively by Maupassant’s opposition to the conventional ordering of narrative.

  White, Nicholas, ‘Bel-Ami: Fantasies of Seduction and Colonization’, in his The Family in Crisis in Late Nineteenth-Century French Fiction (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999), 73–97.

  Historical Background

  Bancquart, Marie-Claire, Images littéraires de Paris fin-de-siècle (Paris, Éditions de la différence, 1979); particularly acute social geography elaborated from fictional lives, notably those in Bel-Ami (pp. 127–55).

  Maupassant, Guy de, A Selection of Political Journalism, ed. Adrian Ritchie (Berne, P. Lang, 1999).

  Vie et histoire du IXe arrondissement, ed. J. Van Deputte (Paris, Hervas, 1986); the volume of this Hervas series devoted to the Parisian setting of Bel-Ami, and an invaluable source of reference for its streets, cafés, churches, etc.

  Zeldin, Theodore, Ambition, Love and Politics, vol. i of his France 1848–1945, 2 vols. (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1973–77).

  Further Reading in Oxford World’s Classics

  Maupassant, Guy de, A Day in the Country and Other Stories, trans, and ed. David Coward (1990).

  —— Mademoiselle Fifi and Other Stories, trans, and ed. David Coward (1993).

  —— A Life, trans, and ed. Roger Pearson (1999).

  A CHRONOLOGY OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT

  1850

  5 August: Birth of Henry René Albert Guy de Maupassant, probably at Fécamp on the coast of Normandy, the first child of Gustave de Maupassant and Laure Le Poittevin.

  1851–4

  Comfortably off, the Maupassants live in a number of places in the Normandy area (Rouen, Fécamp, Étretat) before moving into the Château de Grainville-Ymauville near Goderville in the vicinity of Le Havre.

  1856

  Birth of Guy’s brother, Hervé.

  1859

  Financial problems lead Gustave de Maupassant to enter employment with the Banque Stolz in Paris. Family move to Passy. October: Guy enters the Lycée Napoléon (now the Lycée Henri IV), where he remains for the academic year.

  1860

  Failure of the marriage between Gustave and Laure. Gustave remains in Paris, where he works for the Banque Évrard for the next twenty-five years. Laure and her two sons move to Étretat, where Laure has bought a house, Les Verguies.

  1863

  Legal separation of Gustave and Laure (divorce not being legalized until 1884). October: Guy becomes boarder at a Catholic school in Yvetot. Begins writing verse.

  1863–8

  Schooling at Yvetot, holidays swimming and boating at Étretat. On one occasion swims to the assistance of the poet Swinburne, who has got into difficulties. Following expulsion from school for some lewd verse, Maupassant is sent as a boarder to the Lycée Corneille in Rouen. His correspondant (a friend of the family chosen by parents of boarders to act as guardian) is Louis Bouilhet (b. 1821), the writer, city librarian, and close friend of Flaubert. Bouilhet and Flaubert encourage and advise him in his writing.

  1869

  18 July: death of Louis Bouilhet. 27 July: passes his baccalauréat (‘mention passable’). August: meets the painter Gustave Courbet (1819–77). October: enrols as a law-student in Paris, and lives in the same apartment block as his father.

  1870

  15 July: France declares war on Germany. Maupassant is called. up and, after training, posted as a clerk to Rouen, 1 September: French defeat at Sedan.

  This Chronology is based on that provided by Louis Forestier in his edition of Maupassant’s Contes et nouvelles in the Bibliotheque de la Pléïade.

  1871

  28 January: Armistice signed. September: leaves the army.

  1872

  Applies to join the Ministry for the Navy and the Colonies as a civil servant. Application refused, then Maupassant offered an unpaid position pending a vacancy. Begins to be a frequent summer visitor to Argenteuil on the Seine, where boating and female company occupy his time.

  1873

  1 February: appointed to a position on a monthly salary of 125 francs, plus an annual bonus of 150 francs. Continues to spend time at Argenteuil when he can.

  1874

  25 March: confirmed in his post at the Ministry and salary increased. Continues to enjoy life at Argenteuil, and to write verse, stories, and plays.

  1875

  February: his first short story to be published, ‘La Main d’écorché’, appears under the pseudonym Joseph Prunier.

  1876

  Now fully involved in Parisian literary life (Flaubert, Mallarmé, Zola, Huysmans, Mendès, Turgenev). Consults doctor about chest pains.

  1877

  2 March: aware of having contracted syphilis. August: obtains two months’ sick leave. Suffering from hair-loss, headaches, eye problems, stomach pains. December: tells Flaubert of his plans for a novel (A Life).

  1878

  Transfers to the Ministry of Education. Working on A Life. Leaves it to one side to concentrate on a long poem (La Vénus rustique) and some short stories. 10–13 October: invites Flaubert to his mother’s house at Étretat and shows him his unfinished novel. Maupassant is now earning 2,000 francs a year, and receiving an annual allowance from his father of 600 francs.

  1879

  19 February: first night of his play L’Histoire du vieux temps, which is well received.

  1880

  January–February: accused of publishing an obscene poem (‘Une fille’). A letter in his defence from Flaubert contributes to the case being dropped. Further health problems, including an eye lesion and renewed hair-loss. 16 April: Zola publishes the anthology of Naturalist writing Les Soirées de Médan, stories about the Franco-Prussian War including Maupassant’s ‘Boule de Suif’, which Flaubert hails as a masterpiece. 8 May: sudden death of Flaubert. 1 June: obtains first of several periods of sick leave until he ceases work in 1882. September–October: visits Corsica with his mother.

  1881

  May: publication of La Maison Tellier, the first of his many collections of short stories. Resumes work on A Life. July–August: visits Algeria and writes commissioned newspaper articles. On his return continues work on A Life.

  1882

  1 October: a fragment from the beginning of A Life published in the review Panurge.

  1883

  27 February: birth of Lucien Litzelmann, son of Josephine Litzelmann and thought to be Maupassant’s child. On the same day A Life begins to appear in serialized form in the magazine Gil Bias. The last instalment appears on 6 April. Maupassant’s first novel is then published by Havard. Health problems continue, which his eye specialist relates to syphilis.

  1884

  Summer: starts work on Bel-Ami, his second novel.

  1885

  6 April–30 May: Bel-Ami appears in Gil Bias and is published by Havard on 22 May.

  1886

  19 January: marriage of Hervé. 1–15 August: visit to England. Stays with Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild at Waddesdon Manor, near Oxford. Visits Oxford, then London. 23 December: first instalment of Mont-Oriol, his third novel, appears in Gil Bias.

  1887

  January: Mont-Oriol published in book form.

  1888

  9 January: publication of Pierre et Jean, his fourth novel, together with an essay, ‘Le Roman’, by way of a preface. June: publication of Sur l’eau, his second travel book.

  1889

  May: publication by Ollendorf
f of Fort comme la mort, his fifth novel. August: takes brother to an asylum in Lyons. 13 November: death of Hervé.

  1890

  6–24 January: publication of La Vie errante, his third travel book, in series of articles in L’Écho de Paris, before its publication in book form in March. 15 May: his final completed novel, Notre cœur, begins to appear in the Revue des deux mondes: published in book form in June. His health is now giving serious cause for concern.

  1891

  January–March: begins another novel, L’Angélus. 4 March: first performance of his play Musotte.

  1892

  After visiting his mother on New Year’s Day, he returns home (at Cannes); tries to kill himself that night by slitting his throat with a paper-knife. 8 January: taken to the clinic of Dr Blanche in Passy (now part of Paris) and diagnosed as suffering from paresis (or general paralysis), the tertiary stage of syphilis.

  1893

  6 July: death of Maupassant. 8 July: burial in the cemetery of Montparnasse. Zola gives the funeral oration.

  1903

  8 December: death of Laure de Maupassant in Nice at the age of 82.

  BEL-AMI

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  When the cashier had handed him the change from his five-franc piece,* Georges Duroy left the restaurant.

  Nature had given him a fine presence, enhanced by his bearing as a former NCO,* and he thrust out his chest, mechanically twirling his moustache in soldierly fashion, as he cast a rapid, sweeping glance over the remaining diners, the all-encompassing, predatory glance of a young and handsome man.

  The women had raised their heads to look at him: three little seamstresses, an untidy, dowdy, middle-aged music teacher, wearing the inevitable frowzy hat and badly fitting dress, and a couple of middle-class housewives with their husbands, regular customers of this cheap little restaurant with its set meal.

  Outside on the pavement, he stood still for a moment, wondering what to do. It was the 28th of June,* and he had left in his pocket exactly three francs forty to last the rest of the month. That meant two dinners but no lunches, or two lunches but no dinners, whichever he preferred. Since a midday meal cost twenty-two sous,* rather than the thirty which was the price for dinner, he would, by making do with just lunch, have one franc twenty centimes left over, sufficient to buy him two lots of bread and sausage and two beers, on the boulevard.* These were his main expense and the greatest pleasure of his evenings. And so he set off down the Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette. *

  He walked exactly as he had walked when wearing the uniform of the hussars,* his chest out, his legs slightly straddled as if he had just got off his horse; and he thrust his way roughly down the crowded street, bumping into shoulders and jostling people, rather than deviate from his course. His rather shabby top hat was tilted slightly over one ear, and he clicked his heels sharply on the pavement as he strode along. With his cocky air* of a handsome soldier turned civilian, he seemed to be constantly challenging someone, the passers-by, the houses, the entire city.

  Despite his sixty-franc outfit,* he still retained a certain flashy elegance, a trifle common, but genuine nevertheless. Tall and well built, he parted his naturally curly hair–dark blond faintly tinged with auburn–in the centre. With his curled-up moustache, which seemed to froth over his lip, and his clear blue eyes pierced by tiny pupils, he closely resembled the ‘ne’er-do-well’ of popular novels.*

  It was one of those summer evenings when Paris is completely airless. The city, hot as an oven, seemed to swelter in the stifling night atmosphere. The stench of sewage rose up from the granite mouths of the drains, and through the low windows of basement kitchens the foul vapours of dishwater and stale sauces belched into the street.

  Under arched carriage entrances, shirt-sleeved concierges sat astride straw-bottomed chairs, smoking pipes, while exhausted passers-by plodded along, bare-headed, carrying their hats.

  When Georges Duroy reached the boulevard, he stopped once again, undecided what to do next. He felt tempted to make for the Champs-Élysées and the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, where he might find a little fresh air under the trees, but he was tormented also by another desire, the urge to meet a woman.

  How would this happen? He had no idea, but for three months now he had been waiting for it day and night. Sometimes, however, thanks to his handsome face and dashing air, he had managed to get a bit of love here and there for free, but he was always hoping for something more, for something better.

  His pockets empty, his blood seething, he was excited by the whispers of the whores on the street-corners: ‘Coming back with me, handsome?’ Unable to pay, he dared not follow them; and also he was waiting for something different, for other, less common embraces.

  Nevertheless he liked the places where prostitutes congregate, their dance-halls, their cafés, their streets; he liked rubbing shoulders with them, talking and chatting familiarly with them, sniffing their pungent scents, feeling them around him. They were women, after all, women meant for love. He did not feel for them any of the family man’s innate contempt.

  He turned towards the Madeleine* and followed the stream of people moving along, exhausted by the heat. The big cafés were crammed, overflowing onto the pavements, their customers drinking in the brilliant, harsh glare from the brightly lit facades. Before them, on little round or square tables, stood glasses of liquids in every shade of red, yellow, green, and brown; and in the carafes you could see the big transparent cylinders of ice shining, as they cooled the lovely clear water.

  Duroy slowed down, his throat parched with longing for a drink. A burning thirst, the thirst you feel on a summer night, gripped him, and his thoughts lingered on the delicious sensation of chilled liquids slipping down his throat. But if he were to drink even two beers during the evening, it would mean kissing goodbye to tomorrow’s meagre supper. And he knew only too well what it was like to go hungry at the end of the month.

  He told himself: ‘I must wait ’til ten, then I’ll have my beer at L’Américain.* But, Hell! I’m so damn thirsty!’ And he gazed at all those men sitting drinking at their tables, all those men able to satisfy their thirst to their heart’s content. He walked boldly and jauntily past the cafés, assessing, with a single glance at a face or a coat, how much money each customer had on him.

  And he was filled with rage at these men, sitting there so calmly. If you felt in their pockets you’d find gold and silver* and small change. Every one of them must have, on average, at least forty francs; there must be about a hundred customers per café; a hundred times forty was four thousand francs! He muttered: ‘The swine!’ as he swung stylishly past. Had he been able to grab hold of one of them in a nice dark corner of a street, he would have wrung his neck without a second thought, by God he would, just the way he used to wring the necks of the peasants’ chickens, when he was out on army manœuvres.

  And he remembered his two years in Africa, how he used to prey on the Arabs in the little outposts in the South.* And his mouth curled in a cruel, gleeful smile at the recollection of an escapade which had cost three Ouled-Alane tribesmen their lives,* and had netted, for him and his friends, twenty hens, two sheep, and some gold, not to mention something to laugh about for six months.

  They had never found those responsible, indeed they had made very little effort to do so, Arabs being considered more or less fair game for soldiers.

  In Paris, it was another matter entirely. You couldn’t set off on a nice little looting expedition, with your sabre at your side and your revolver in your hand, safe from the arm of the law. In his heart he still had all the instincts of an NCO let loose in a conquered land. No question but that he missed them, those two years of his in the desert. Too bad he hadn’t stayed over there! But there it was, he had expected something better when he came back. And now!… Oh yes, now he was in a fine mess! As he rolled his tongue round his mouth, it gave little clicks, as if to confirm how parched his palate was.

  The crowd, exhausted and
slow, flowed round him, as he thought to himself, ‘What a bunch! All these half-wits have cash in their pockets!’ He bumped into people, shouldering his way through as he whistled snatches of catchy tunes. Men he had jostled turned round, grumbling; women muttered: ‘What an animal!’

  He went past the front of the Vaudeville* and stopped opposite the Café Américain, wondering whether he shouldn’t have his beer, his thirst was so agonizing. Before deciding, he looked to see what time it was by the illuminated clocks in the middle of the road. It was a quarter past nine. He knew himself: the moment the glass of beer was in front of him, he would gulp it down. Then what would he do until eleven?

  He walked on; ‘I’ll go as far as the Madeleine,’ he said to himself, ‘and then I’ll walk back very slowly.’ As he reached the corner of the Place de l’Opéra, he passed a heavy young man, whose face he vaguely recalled having seen somewhere. He set off in pursuit, searching his memory and repeating under his breath: ‘Where the devil have I met that chap before?’

  He was digging about in his mind without managing to recall who he was; then, all of a sudden, by an extraordinary freak of memory, the same man appeared in his mind’s eye, younger, not so heavy, wearing the uniform of a hussar. He exclaimed aloud: ‘Goodness, it’s Forestier!’ and, lengthening his stride, he went and tapped the walker on the shoulder. The man turned round, looked at him, then said: ‘What is it, Monsieur?’

  Duroy began to laugh: ‘Don’t you recognize me?’

  ‘No.’