Nana, Émile Zola [reading list txt] 📗

to bring a liqueur glass of anisette, doing so with

as much coolness as if he had been master of the house. Melanie was

thus compelled to sit down between the captain and Laguitte, who

exclaimed aggressively: “I WILL have ladies respected. We are

French officers! Let us drink Madame’s health!”

 

Burle, with his eyes fixed on his glass, smiled in an embarrassed

way. The two officers, shocked at the proceedings, had already

tried to get off. Fortunately the cafe was deserted, save that the

domino players were having their afternoon game. At every fresh

oath which came from the major they glanced around, scandalized by

such an unusual accession of customers and ready to threaten Melanie

that they would leave her for the Cafe de la Gare if the soldiery

was going to invade her place like flies that buzzed about,

attracted by the stickiness of the tables which Phrosine scoured

only on Saturdays. She was now reclining behind the counter,

already reading a novel again.

 

“How’s this—you are not drinking with Madame?” roughly said the

major to Burle. “Be civil at least!”

 

Then as Doucet and Morandot were again preparing to leave, he

stopped them.

 

“Why can’t you wait? We’ll go together. It is only this brute who

never knows how to behave himself.”

 

The two officers looked surprised at the major’s sudden bad temper.

Melanie attempted to restore peace and with a light laugh placed her

hands on the arms of both men. However, Laguitte disengaged

himself.

 

“No,” he roared, “leave me alone. Why does he refuse to chink

glasses with you? I shall not allow you to be insulted—do you

hear? 1 am quite sick of him.”

 

Burle, paling under the insult, turned slightly and said to

Morandot, “What does this mean? He calls me in here to insult me.

Is he drunk?”

 

With a wild oath the major rose on his trembling legs and struck the

captain’s cheek with his open hand. Melanie dived and thus escaped

one half of the smack. An appalling uproar ensued. Phrosine

screamed behind the counter as if she herself had received the blow;

the domino players also entrenched themselves behind their table in

fear lest the soldiers should draw their swords and massacre them.

However, Doucet and Morandot pinioned the captain to prevent him

from springing at the major’s throat and forcibly let him to the

door. When they got him outside they succeeded in quieting him a

little by repeating that Laguitte was quite in the wrong. They

would lay the affair before the colonel, having witnessed it, and

the colonel would give his decision. As soon as they had got Burle

away they returned to the cafe where they found Laguitte in reality

greatly disturbed, with tears in his eyes but affecting stolid

indifference and slowly finishing his beer.

 

“Listen, Major,” began Morandot, “that was very wrong on your part.

The captain is your inferior in rank, and you know that he won’t be

allowed to fight you.”

 

“That remains to be seen,” answered the major.

 

“But how has he offended you? He never uttered a word. Two old

cornrades too; it is absurd.”

 

The major made a vague gesture. “No matter. He annoyed me.”

 

He could never be made to say anything else. Nothing more as to his

motive was ever known. All the same, the scandal was a terrible

one. The regiment was inclined to believe that Melanie, incensed by

the captain’s defection, had contrived to entrap the major, telling

him some aboininable stories and prevailing upon him to insult and

strike Burle publicly. Who would have thought it of that old fogy

Laguitte, who professed to be a woman hater? they said. So he, too,

had been caught at last. Despite the general indignation against

Melanie, this adventure made her very conspicuous, and her

establishment soon drove a flourishing business.

 

On the following day the colonel summoned the major and the captain

into his presence. He censured them sternly, accusing them of

disgracing their uniform by frequenting unseemly haunts. What

resolution had they come to, he asked, as he could not authorize

them to fight? This same question had occupied the whole regiment

for the last twenty-four hours. Apologies were unacceptable on

account of the blow, but as Laguitte was almost unable to stand, it

was hoped that, should the colonel insist upon it, some

reconciliation might be patched up.

 

“Come,” said the colonel, “will you accept me as arbitrator?”

 

“I beg your pardon, Colonel,” interrupted the major; “I have brought

you my resignation. Here it is. That settles everything. Please

name the day for the duel.”

 

Burle looked at Laguitte in amazement, and the colonel thought it

his duty to protest.

 

“This is a most serious step, Major,” he began. “Two years more and

you would be entitled to your full pension.”

 

But again did Laguitte cut him short, saying gruffly, “That is my

own affair.”

 

“Oh, certainly! Well, I will send in your resignation, and as soon

as it is accepted I will fix a day for the duel.”

 

The unexpected turn that events had taken startled the regiment.

What possessed that lunatic major to persist in cutting the throat

of his old comrade Burle? The officers again discussed Melanie;

they even began to dream of her. There must surely be something

wonderful about her since she had completely fascinated two such

tough old veterans and brought them to a deadly feud. Morandot,

having met Laguitte, did not disguise his concern. If he—the

major—was not killed, what would he live upon? He had no fortune,

and the pension to which his cross of the Legion of Honor entitled

him, with the half of a full regimental pension which he would

obtain on resigning, would barely find him in bread. While Morandot

was thus speaking Laguitte simply stared before him with his round

eyes, persevering in the dumb obstinacy born of his narrow mind; and

when his companion tried to question him regarding his hatred for

Burle, he simply made the same vague gesture as before and once

again repeated:

 

“He annoyed me; so much the worse.”

 

Every morning at mess and at the canteen the first words were: “Has

the acceptance of the major’s resignation arrived?” The duel was

impatiently expected and ardently discussed. The majority believed

that Laguitte would be run through the body in three seconds, for it

was madness for a man to fight with a paralyzed leg which did not

even allow him to stand upright. A few, however, shook their heads.

Laguitte had never been a marvel of intellect, that was true; for

the last twenty years, indeed, he had been held up as an example of

stupidity, but there had been a time when he was known as the best

fencer of the regiment, and although he had begun as a drummer he

had won his epaulets as the commander of a battalion by the sanguine

bravery of a man who is quite unconscious of danger. On the other

hand, Burle fenced indifferently and passed for a poltroon.

However, they would soon know what to think.

 

Meanwhile the excitement became more and more intense as the

acceptance of Laguitte’s resignation was so long in coming. The

major was unmistakably the most anxious and upset of everybody. A

week had passed by, and the general inspection would commence two

days later. Nothing, however, had come as yet. He shuddered at the

thought that he had, perhaps, struck his old friend and sent in his

resignation all in vain, without delaying the exposure for a single

minute. He had in reality reasoned thus: If he himself were killed

he would not have the worry of witnessing the scandal, and if he

killed Burle, as he expected to do, the affair would undoubtedly be

hushed up. Thus he would save the honor of the army, and the little

chap would be able to get in at Saint-Cyr. Ah, why wouldn’t those

wretched scribblers at the War Office hurry up a bit? The major

could not keep still but was forever wandering about before the post

office, stopping the estafettes and questioning the colonel’s

orderly to find out if the acceptance had arrived. He lost his

sleep and, careless as to people’s remarks, he leaned more and more

heavily on his stick, hobbling about with no attempt to steady his

gait.

 

On the day before that fixed for the inspection he was, as usual, on

his way to the colonel’s quarters when he paused, startled, to see

Mme Burle (who was taking Charles to school) a few paces ahead of

him. He had not met her since the scene at the Cafe de Paris, for

she had remained in seclusion at home. Unmanned at thus meeting

her, he stepped down to leave the whole sidewalk free. Neither he

nor the old lady bowed, and the little boy lifted his large

inquisitive eyes in mute surprise. Mme Burle, cold and erect,

brushed past the major without the least sign of emotion or

recognition. When she had passed he looked after her with an

expression of stupefied compassion.

 

“Confound it, I am no longer a man,” he growled, dashing away a

tear.

 

When he arrived at the colonel’s quarters a captain in attendance

greeted him with the words: “It’s all right at last. The papers

have come.”

 

“Ah!” murmured Laguitte, growing very pale.

 

And again he beheld the old lady walking on, relentlessly rigid and

holding the little boy’s hand. What! He had longed so eagerly for

those papers for eight days past, and now when the scraps had come

he felt his brain on fire and his heart lacerated.

 

The duel took place on the morrow, in the barrack yard behind a low

wall. The air was keen, the sun shining brightly. Laguitte had

almost to be carried to the ground; one of his seconds supported him

on one side, while on the other he leaned heavily, on his stick.

Burle looked half asleep; his face was puffy with unhealthy fat, as

if he had spent a night of debauchery. Not a word was spoken. They

were all anxious to have it over.

 

Captain Doucet crossed the swords of the two adversaries and then

drew back, saying: “Set to, gentlemen.”

 

Burle was the first to attack; he wanted to test Laguitte’s strength

and ascertain what he had to expect. For the last ten days the

encounter had seemed to him a ghastly nightmare which he could not

fathom. At times a hideous suspicion assailed him, but he put it

aside with terror, for it meant death, and he refused to believe

that a friend could play him such a trick, even to set things right.

Besides, Laguitte’s leg reasssured him; he would prick the major on

the shoulder, and then all would be over.

 

During well-nigh a couple of minutes the swords clashed, and then

the captain lunged, but the major, recovering his old suppleness of

wrist, parried in a masterly style, and if he had returned the

attack Burle would have been pierced through. The captain now fell

back; he was livid, for he felt that he was at the mercy of the man

who had just spared him. At last he understood that this was an

execution.

 

Laguitte, squarely poised on his infirm legs and seemingly turned to

stone, stood waiting. The two men looked at each other fixedly. In

Burle’s blurred eyes there arose a supplication—a prayer for

pardon. He knew why he was going to die, and like a child he

promised not to transgress again. But the major’s eyes remained

implacable; honor had spoken, and he silenced his emotion and his

pity.

 

“Let it end,” he muttered between his teeth.