Nana, Émile Zola [reading list txt] 📗

his being able to explain how it came

about he found himself with his face pressed close against the gate

at the end of the Passage des Panoramas and his two hands grasping

the bars. He did not shake them but, his whole heart swelling with

emotion, he simply tried to look into the passage. But he could

make nothing out clearly, for shadows flooded the whole length of

the deserted gallery, and the wind, blowing hard down the Rue Saint-Marc, puffed in his face with the damp breath of a cellar. For a

time he tried doggedly to see into the place, and then, awakening

from his dream, he was filled with astonishment and asked himself

what he could possibly be seeking for at that hour and in that

position, for he had pressed against the railings so fiercely that

they had left their mark on his face. Then he went on tramp once

more. He was hopeless, and his heart was full of infinite sorrow,

for he felt, amid all those shadows, that he was evermore betrayed

and alone.

 

Day broke at last. It was the murky dawn that follows winter nights

and looks so melancholy from muddy Paris pavements. Muffat had

returned into the wide streets, which were then in course of

construction on either side of the new opera house. Soaked by the

rain and cut up by cart wheels, the chalky soil had become a lake of

liquid mire. But he never looked to see where he was stepping and

walked on and on, slipping and regaining his footing as he went.

The awakening of Paris, with its gangs of sweepers and early workmen

trooping to their destinations, added to his troubles as day

brightened. People stared at him in surprise as he went by with

scared look and soaked hat and muddy clothes. For a long while he

sought refuge against palings and among scaffoldings, his desolate

brain haunted by the single remaining thought that he was very

miserable.

 

Then he thought of God. The sudden idea of divine help, of

superhuman consolation, surprised him, as though it were something

unforeseen and extraordinary. The image of M. Venot was evoked

thereby, and he saw his little plump face and ruined teeth.

Assuredly M. Venot, whom for months he had been avoiding and thereby

rendering miserable, would be delighted were he to go and knock at

his door and fall weeping into his arms. In the old days God had

been always so merciful toward him. At the least sorrow, the

slightest obstacle on the path of life, he had been wont to enter a

church, where, kneeling down, he would humble his littleness in the

presence of Omnipotence. And he had been used to go forth thence,

fortified by prayer, fully prepared to give up the good things of

this world, possessed by the single yearning for eternal salvation.

But at present he only practiced by fits and starts, when the terror

of hell came upon him. All kinds of weak inclinations had overcome

him, and the thought of Nana disturbed his devotions. And now the

thought of God astonished him. Why had he not thought of God

before, in the hour of that terrible agony when his feeble humanity

was breaking up in ruin?

 

Meanwhile with slow and painful steps he sought for a church. But

he had lost his bearings; the early hour had changed the face of the

streets. Soon, however, as he turned the corner of the Rue de la

Chausseed’Antin, he noticed a tower looming vaguely in the fog at

the end of the Trinite Church. The white statues overlooking the

bare garden seemed like so many chilly Venuses among the yellow

foliage of a park. Under the porch he stood and panted a little,

for the ascent of the wide steps had tired him. Then he went in.

The church was very cold, for its heating apparatus had been

fireless since the previous evening, and its lofty, vaulted aisles

were full of a fine damp vapor which had come filtering through the

windows. The aisles were deep in shadow; not a soul was in the

church, and the only sound audible amid the unlovely darkness was

that made by the old shoes of some verger or other who was dragging

himself about in sulky semiwakefulness. Muffat, however, after

knocking forlornly against an untidy collection of chairs, sank on

his knees with bursting heart and propped himself against the rails

in front of a little chapel close by a font. He clasped his hands

and began searching within himself for suitable prayers, while his

whole being yearned toward a transport. But only his lips kept

stammering empty words; his heart and brain were far away, and with

them he returned to the outer world and began his long, unresting

march through the streets, as though lashed forward by implacable

necessity. And he kept repeating, “O my God, come to my assistance!

O my God, abandon not Thy creature, who delivers himself up to Thy

justice! O my God, I adore Thee: Thou wilt not leave me to perish

under the buffetings of mine enemies!” Nothing answered: the

shadows and the cold weighed upon him, and the noise of the old

shoes continued in the distance and prevented him praying. Nothing,

indeed, save that tiresome noise was audible in the deserted church,

where the matutinal sweeping was unknown before the early masses had

somewhat warmed the air of the place. After that he rose to his

feet with the help of a chair, his knees cracking under him as he

did so. God was not yet there. And why should he weep in M.

Venot’s arms? The man could do nothing.

 

And then mechanically he returned to Nana’s house. Outside he

slipped, and he felt the tears welling to his eyes again, but he was

not angry with his lot—he was only feeble and ill. Yes, he was too

tired; the rain had wet him too much; he was nipped with cold, but

the idea of going back to his great dark house in the Rue Miromesnil

froze his heart. The house door at Nana’s was not open as yet, and

he had to wait till the porter made his appearance. He smiled as he

went upstairs, for he already felt penetrated by the soft warmth of

that cozy retreat, where he would be able to stretch his limbs and

go to sleep.

 

When Zoe opened the door to him she gave a start of most uneasy

astonishment. Madame had been taken ill with an atrocious sick

headache, and she hadn’t closed her eyes all night. Still, she

could quite go and see whether Madame had gone to sleep for good.

And with that she slipped into the bedroom while he sank back into

one of the armchairs in the drawing room. But almost at that very

moment Nana appeared. She had jumped out of bed and had scarce had

time to slip on a petticoat. Her feet were bare, her hair in wild

disorder, her nightgown all crumpled.

 

“What! You here again?” she cried with a red flush on her cheeks.

 

Up she rushed, stung by sudden indignation, in order herself to

thrust him out of doors. But when she saw him in such sorry plight—

nay, so utterly done for—she felt infinite pity.

 

“Well, you are a pretty sight, my dear fellow!” she continued more

gently. “But what’s the matter? You’ve spotted them, eh? And it’s

given you the hump?”

 

He did not answer; he looked like a broken-down animal.

Nevertheless, she came to the conclusion that he still lacked

proofs, and to hearten him up the said:

 

“You see now? I was on the wrong tack. Your wife’s an honest

woman, on my word of honor! And now, my little friend, you must go

home to bed. You want it badly.”

 

He did not stir.

 

“Now then, be off! I can’t keep you here. But perhaps you won’t

presume to stay at such a time as this?”

 

“Yes, let’s go to bed,” he stammered.

 

She repressed a violent gesture, for her patience was deserting her.

Was the man going crazy?

 

“Come, be off!” she repeated.

 

“No.”

 

But she flared up in exasperation, in utter rebellion.

 

“It’s sickening! Don’t you understand I’m jolly tired of your

company? Go and find your wife, who’s making a cuckold of you.

Yes, she’s making a cuckold of you. I say so—yes, I do now.

There, you’ve got the sack! Will you leave me or will you not?”

 

Muffat’s eyes filled with tears. He clasped his hands together.

 

“Oh, let’s go to bed!”

 

At this Nana suddenly lost all control over herself and was choked

by nervous sobs. She was being taken advaatage of when all was said

and done! What had these stories to do with her? She certainly had

used all manner of delicate methods in order to teach him his lesson

gently. And now he was for making her pay the damages! No, thank

you! She was kindhearted, but not to that extent.

 

“The devil, but I’ve had enough of this!” she swore, bringing her

fist down on the furniture. “Yes, yes, I wanted to be faithful—it

was all I could do to be that! Yet if I spoke the word I could be

rich tomorrow, my dear fellow!”

 

He looked up in surprise. Never once had he thought of the monetary

question. If she only expressed a desire he would realize it at

once; his whole fortune was at her service.

 

“No, it’s too late now,” she replied furiously. “I like men who

give without being asked. No, if you were to offer me a million for

a single interview I should say no! It’s over between us; I’ve got

other fish to fry there! So be off or I shan’t answer for the

consequences. I shall do something dreadful!”

 

She advanced threateningly toward him, and while she was raving, as

became a good courtesan who, though driven to desperation, was yet

firmly convinced of her rights and her superiority over tiresome,

honest folks, the door opened suddenly and Steiner presented

himself. That proved the finishing touch. She shrieked aloud:

 

“Well, I never. Here’s the other one!”

 

Bewildered by her piercing outcry, Steiner stopped short. Muffat’s

unexpected presence annoyed him, for he feared an explanation and

had been doing his best to avoid it these three months past. With

blinking eyes he stood first on one leg, then on the other, looking

embarrassed the while and avoiding the count’s gaze. He was out of

breath, and as became a man who had rushed across Paris with good

news, only to find himself involved in unforeseen trouble, his face

was flushed and distorted.

 

“Que veux-tu, toi?” asked Nana roughly, using the second person

singular in open mockery of the count.

 

“What—what do I—” he stammered. “I’ve got it for you—you know

what.”

 

“Eh?”

 

He hesitated. The day before yesterday she had given him to

understand that if he could not find her a thousand francs to pay a

bill with she would not receive him any more. For two days he had

been loafing about the town in quest of the money and had at last

made the sum up that very morning.

 

“The thousand francs!” he ended by declaring as he drew an envelope

from his pocket.

 

Nana had not remembered.

 

“The thousand francs!” she cried. “D’you think I’m begging alms?

Now look here, that’s what I value your thousand francs at!”

 

And snatching the envelope, she threw it full in his face. As

became a prudent Hebrew, he picked it up slowly and painfully and

then looked at the young woman with