Two Friends

Two Friends  by Alexander Kielland

No-one could understand where he got his money from. But the person who was most surprised at Alphonse’s luxurious life was the man who had been his friend and partner.

After their partnership ended, most of the customers passed slowly but steadily to Charles's firm. This was not because he tried to cheat his old partner; it was simply because Charles was more capable. And as Alphonse now had to work on his own, it was soon clear to everyone who watched him closely that, in spite of his friendliness and charming appearance, he was not suitable as the head of a business.

And there was one person who did watch him closely. Charles followed everything he did with his sharp eyes; every mistake, every loss – he knew them all, and he wondered how Alphonse could keep going so long.

They had almost grown up together. Their mothers were cousins; the families had lived near each other in the same street and in a city as large as Paris being near to someone is as important in making friendships as your relationship with him. And then the boys went to the same school.

From then on, as they grew up, they were always together. The great differences which originally marked their characters changed until, at last, their characters fitted each other like pieces in the jigsaw puzzles of their childhood.

The relationship between them was really a beautiful and unusual one for two young men because they did not understand friendship as forcing one to accept the ideas of the other, but seemed to compete with each other in thoughtfulness.

If, however, Alphonse showed any consideration to Charles, he was not aware of it. As life seemed to him very simple, the idea that his friendship should tie him down was the last thing that could enter his head. It seemed to him as natural that Charles was his best friend as that he himself rode best, shot best, and that the whole world was arranged to his way of thinking. Alphonse was a spoilt child; he got everything without effort but he was so friendly that people forgot to be jealous of him.

And then he was so handsome. He was tall and slim, with brown hair and big open eyes. His skin was clear and smooth and his teeth shone when he laughed. He knew very well that he was handsome, but he was also a cheerful man. He was extremely fond of his friend. He enjoyed himself by making fun of him; but he knew Charles's face so well that he saw at once when the joke was going too far. Then he would use his natural, kind tone, until he made the serious and sad Charles laugh till he cried.

From his boyhood Charles had admired Alphonse. He himself was small, quiet and shy. His friend's brilliant qualities made him look good as well, and gave meaning to his life. His mother often said: "This friendship is a real gift for my poor Charles, or he would certainly have been a very lonely boy."

When everyone preferred Alphonse to him, Charles was happy; he was proud of his friend. He did his homework, cheated for him in exams, and fought for him with the boys. At business college, it was the same story. Charles worked for Alphonse, and Alphonse rewarded him with his unfailing friendliness.

When, later, they were placed in the same banker's office, it happened one day that the Director said to Charles: "From the first of May, I will raise your salary."

"Thank-you," answered Charles, "both for myself and my friend."

"Mr. Alphonse's salary remains unchanged," replied the chief and went on writing.

Charles never forgot that morning. It was the first time he was preferred over his friend. And it was his business sense that had done it; and it was the head of the firm, a great financier, who had recognised his ability. The experience was so strange that it seemed unfair to his friend. He told Alphonse nothing; in fact, he suggested that they should apply for two vacant places in the Credit Lyonnais Bank.

Alphonse was ready, for he loved change, and the new bank seemed to him more attractive than his dark offices. So they moved to the Credit Lyonnais on 1 May. But as they were in the chief's office saying goodbye, the old banker said to Charles, when Alphonse had gone out, "Emotion doesn’t suit a business man."

From that day, there was a change in Charles. He not only worked as hard as before, but developed so much energy that he attracted the attention of his bosses. He was far ahead of his friend in business skills and it was soon obvious; but every time he received a new reward he had a struggle with himself. For a long time, every promotion brought pangs of conscience; and yet he worked on.

One day Alphonse said, in his light, frank way: "You are really smart, Charlie! You're getting ahead of everybody, young and old – not to mention me. I'm so proud of you."

Charles felt ashamed. He had thought that Alphonse must be hurt at Charles getting promoted so often, and now he learnt that his friend did not mind his advancement, and was even proud of him.

But if he was more capable, why was he so ignored in society, while Alphonse remained everybody's favourite? The promotions made him dry and business-like, while everyone, from the directors to messengers, had a friendly word for Alphonse. In the different offices of the bank they tried to get Mr. Alphonse to work with them because a breath of life and freshness followed his handsome face and happy nature. Charles, on the other hand, had often noticed that his colleagues regarded him as some one who thought only of business and of himself. The truth was that he was unusually sensitive, but had no skill for expressing it.

Charles was one of those small, black Frenchmen whose beard begins right under the eyes; his skin was yellowish and his hair dull. His eyes did not grow bigger when he was pleased. When he laughed, the corners of his mouth turned upwards and, when his heart was full of happiness, he had seen people half-frightened by him. Only Alphonse knew him so well that he never saw his ugliness; everyone else misunderstood him. He began to wonder why he should never get what he most wanted — a close friend who would return the warmth in him? Why should everyone smile at Alphonse, while he must be happy with cold glances?

Alphonse knew nothing of all this. He was healthy, charmed with life and happy with his daily work. He was in the easiest and most interesting branch of the business and, with his quick brain and by making himself agreeable, he got on well. For a time Charles accompanied Alphonse when he went out, until he felt that he was only invited because he was Alphonse’s friend.

When Charles suggested they should set up a business together, Alphonse had answered: "It’s too good of you to choose me. You could easily find a much better partner."

Charles imagined that their partnership at work would push Alphonse away from the friends Charles now hated, and make them closer. He was frightened of losing his friend. He did not know himself whether he was jealous of all the people around Alphonse, or whether he envied his friend's popularity.

They began their business wisely and energetically and got on well. Charles was the solid half of the business, while the handsome and elegant Alphonse gave a shine to it, which was also of great value. Everyone who came into the office at once noticed his handsome face, and it seemed quite natural that everyone should speak to him first. Charles bent over his work and let Alphonse be spokesman. When Alphonse asked him about anything, he answered shortly and quietly without looking up. So, most people thought that Charles was a clerk, while Alphonse was the real head of the business.

If Charles had kept close watch over himself he would have realised strange thoughts were moving within him. He was not aware that sometime an explosion must come. But one day it came. It was already after business hours; the clerks had all left and only the managers remained behind. Charles was busily writing a letter he wanted to finish before he left. Alphonse had put on his coat, brushed his hair and now he was walking up and down, looking at Charles's letter every time he passed the desk. They used to spend an hour every day before dinner in one café and Alphonse was impatient for his newspapers.

"Will you never finish that letter?" he said, angrily.

Charles was silent a second or two, then he jumped up so that his chair fell over: "Perhaps Alphonse imagined that he could do it better? Didn’t he know which of them was really the man of business?" And now the ugly words rushed out of Charles’ mouth. In the end, he ran 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 hot with words. Alphonse recalled them one by one, as he stood motionless beside the desk.

"Didn’t he know which was the better businessman?" Yes, he never denied that Charles was better.

"He must not think that he would succeed in winning everything for himself with his beautiful face."

And finally: "I will break this partnership once and for all!"

Alphonse did not understand it at all. He left the office and walked moodily through the streets. When he reached home, late at night, he found a letter from Charles. He opened it but it contained, instead of the apology he had expected, only a coldly-worded request to Mr. Alphonse to arrive at the office early the next morning "so that the end of the partnership might happen as fast as possible."

Now, for the first time, Alphonse began to understand that the scene in the office had been more than a passing mood, but this only made everything more confusing. And the longer he thought it over, the more clearly he felt that Charles had been unfair to him. He had never been angry with his friend, nor was he angry even now. But as he repeated to himself all the insults, his good-natured heart hardened and the next morning he took his seat in the office 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 hard. There they sat, each on his side of the desk; they spoke only the most urgent 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 until twelve o'clock, their usual lunchtime.

This was their favourite time. They always had it in their office, and when the old housekeeper said that lunch was ready, they would both get up at once, even in the middle of a sentence or an account. They used to eat standing by the fireplace, or walking up and down in the warm, comfortable office. Alphonse had always some funny stories to tell and Charles laughed at them. These were his pleasantest hours.

But that day, when the housekeeper said lunch was ready, 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 and began to eat. But as he stood there eating, with his plate 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 make their lives bitter because of one argument, the situation appeared so ridiculous that he started laughing.

"Look here, Charles," he said, in the half-serious, half-joking tone which always used to make Charles laugh, "this is really mad."

"I’ve been thinking," interrupted Charles, quietly, "that we will say we both wanted to end the partnership.”

Alphonse laughed no more. The food tasted bitter in his mouth. He understood that friendship was dead between them, he could not tell why, but he thought that Charles was hard and unfair to him. He was now colder than the other. They worked together until the partnership was finished and then they parted.

Quite a long time passed, and the two old friends each worked in his own area of Paris. They 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 to do it on his own. It is true that now and then he did good business, but the habit of hard work he had learned from Charles was soon forgotten. He began to neglect his office, and lost many good customers.

He had always had a taste for luxurious living, but careful Charles had controlled this. Now, his life became less and less routine. He made new friends and was more popular than ever, but Charles kept an eye on his growing debts.

He had Alphonse watched as closely as possible, and estimated the other's earnings quite well. His expenses were even easier, and he was soon sure that Alphonse was in debt. He went to 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 thought how easy it would be to bankrupt Alphonse. But it was unfair to suppose that Charles thought about doing it himself. It was only an idea he was fond of; he was in love with Alphonse's debts.

But things went slowly, and Charles became pale while he watched and waited. He was longing for the time when the people who had always looked down on him should have their eyes opened and see how little the brilliant Alphonse was really good at. He wanted to see him lonely and poor; and then ...! After that he really did not like to think because at this point feelings moved in him which he would not accept. He would hate his old friend. He would have revenge for all the coldness in his life and every time he had the smallest warm thought about Alphonse he pushed it aside and said, like the old banker, "Emotion won't do for a business man."

One day he went to his tailor's; he bought more clothes these days than he needed.

The little man at once ran to meet him: "See, here is the material for you. Mr. Alphonse has had a whole suit made of it, and Mr. Alphonse is a gentleman who knows how to dress."

"I did not think that Mr. Alphonse was one of your favourite customers," said Charles.

"You mean because I have once or twice mentioned that Mr. Alphonse owed me a few thousand francs. It was very stupid of me to say that. Mr. Alphonse has not only paid me the little he owed, but I know that he has also paid a number of other creditors. I have done him wrong."

Charles was not listening to the tailor. He soon left the shop, concentrated on the thought that Alphonse had paid. He thought how stupid it was to wait for the other's ruin. How easily Alphonse could find brilliant business and make plenty of money without news reaching Charles! Perhaps, he was getting on well. Perhaps people would say, "See, at last Alphonse shows what he is good at, now that he is free of his old partner!"

Charles went slowly up the street. Many people pushed him, but he paid no attention. His life seemed so meaningless, as if he had lost all he had ever owned — or had he thrown it away? Just then someone ran into him. He looked up. It was a friend from when he and Alphonse had been in the Credit Lyonnais.

"Ah, good-day, Mr. Charles!" he said, "It’s been a long time since we met. Strange that I should meet you today. I was just thinking of you this morning."

"Why, may I ask?" said Charles, absently.

"Well, you see, only today I saw a bill for thirty or forty thousand francs at the bank – with both your name and Mr. Alphonse’s. It surprised me because I thought that you two had finished with each other."

"No, we haven’t exactly finished with each other," said Charles slowly.

He struggled to keep his face calm and asked, in a natural way, "When must I pay the bill? I don't remember."

"Tomorrow or the day after, I think," answered the other, who was a hard-working business man, and was already in a hurry to leave.

"Could you let me pay the bill tomorrow? It’s a favour I want to do."

"With pleasure. Tell your messenger to ask for me personally at the bank tomorrow afternoon. I will arrange it; nothing easier. Excuse me. I'm in a hurry. Good-bye!" and with that he ran off.

Next day Charles sat in his office waiting for the messenger who had gone to the bank for Alphonse's bill. At last a clerk entered, laid a folded blue paper by his employer's side, and went out again. When the door was closed, Charles looked at the bill. 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. Before he was aware of it, a big tear fell on the paper.

He looked around, took out his handkerchief and carefully dried the wet place on the bill. What did it matter that Alphonse's weak character had led him to crime, and what had he lost? Nothing! Didn’t he hate his old friend? No-one could say it was his fault Alphonse was ruined – he had never harmed him.

He looked at his watch. It was half past four. Charles knew the café where he would find Alphonse at this time; he pocketed the bill. But on the way he would call at a police station and give it to a detective, who would suddenly move into the middle of the café where Alphonse was always surrounded by his friends, and say loudly so that everyone should hear:

"Mr. Alphonse, you are charged with forgery."

It was raining in Paris. The day had been foggy and cold; and in the afternoon it had begun to rain. Although it was early in the autumn it was already dark at five o'clock. The cafés were really crowded; regular customers could not find places to sit, and the waiters ran into each other in their hurry. There was a constant ring of the bell; it was the manager calling a waiter, while his calm eyes kept a watch on the whole café. Over at the windows it was still light enough to read the papers; a couple of young men were enjoying themselves. Seen through the wide café windows, the busy figures hurrying past one another in the thick, wet air looked like fish in an aquarium. Further back in the café over the billiard tables, Alphonse was playing with a couple of friends.

Now and then the door opened and a new guest came in. Most said to the manager: "What horrible weather!"

When Charles entered, he took a seat in the corner beside the fireplace. Alphonse looked towards the door every time anyone came in and when Charles appeared, he missed his ball.

Soon afterwards, a strange gentleman came in. Charles looked up from his paper and nodded slightly. The stranger raised his eyebrows a little and looked at Alphonse, who dropped his billiard cue on the floor.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I'm not in the mood for billiards today," he said, “Waiter, bring me a bottle of sparkling water and a spoon – I must take my medicine."

"You should not take medicine, Mr. Alphonse, but keep a sensible diet," said the doctor, who sat playing chess.

Alphonse laughed, and seated himself at the newspaper-table. A little circle quickly gathered round him and his funny stories never stopped coming. While he talked, he poured out a glass of sparkling water and took his medicine from his pocket. He shook the powder into the glass. There was a little cigar-ash on his chair; he cleaned it off with his handkerchief and then took his glass.

At that moment he felt a hand on his arm. Charles had got up and hurried across the room. He now bent over Alphonse, who turned his head towards him so that no-one except Charles could see his face. He let his eyes move over his old friend; then he looked up, and, gazing straight at Charles, he said, half aloud, "Charlie!"

It was a very long time since Charles had heard that old pet name. He gazed into the well-known face and now for the first time saw how it had changed recently. It seemed like reading a tragic story about himself.

They remained like that for a second or two and Alphonse's face had a look of helplessness which Charles knew so well from school-days, when he came running in at the last moment and wanted his essay written.

"Have you finished with the paper?" asked Charles, his words sounding thick.

"Yes; please take it," answered Alphonse, hurriedly. He handed him the paper, and at the same time got hold of Charles's hand. He pressed it and whispered, "Thanks," then finished the glass.

Charles went over to the stranger who sat by the door: "Give me the bill."

"You don't need our help, then?"

"No, thanks."

"So much the better," said the stranger, handing Charles a folded blue paper. Then he went.

The manager suddenly got up with a shout: "Alphonse! Oh! Mr. Alphonse is ill."

He fell off his chair; his shoulders went up and his head fell on one side. He remained sitting on the floor, with his back against the chair. There was movement among those people near him. The doctor rushed over and sat beside him. When he looked in Alphonse's face he seemed surprised. He took his hand to feel his pulse, and at the same time bent over the glass which stood on the edge of the table. With a movement of the arm he gave it a slight push, so that it fell on the floor and smashed. Then he laid down the dead man's hand.

The others only then understood what had happened. "Dead? Is he dead, doctor? Monsieur Alphonse dead?"

"Heart disease," answered the doctor.

Among the laughter and noise, the balls could be heard on the billiard table.

"Quiet!" someone whispered. "Quiet!" and the silence spread in wider and wider circles round the corpse, until everything was quite still.

The dead man was lifted up; they laid him on a sofa in a corner, and the nearest lamps were put out. Most of the guests went away in silence. A couple of young men entered noisily from the street; a waiter ran towards them and said a few words. They glanced over and went out again into the fog.

The half-darkened cafe was soon empty; only some of Alphonse's closest friends stood in a group and whispered. One of the waiters cleaned up the pieces of the glass. He did his work as quietly as he could; but he still made too much noise.

Charles looked at the dead man. He slowly tore the folded paper to pieces, while he thought of his friend.