Nana, Émile Zola [reading list txt] 📗

mixing yourself up with them when they’ve got so little

sense?”

 

Satin, blushing all over and putting out her tongue, went into the

dressing room, through the widely open door of which you caught a

glimpse of pale marbles gleaming in the milky light of a gas flame

in a globe of rough glass. After that Nana talked to the four men

as charmingly as hostess could. During the day she had read a novel

which was at that time making a good deal of noise. It was the

history of a courtesan, and Nana was very indignant, declaring the

whole thing to be untrue and expressing angry dislike to that kind

of monstrous literature which pretends to paint from nature. “Just

as though one could describe everything,” she said. Just as though

a novel ought not to be written so that the reader may while away an

hour pleasantly! In the matter of books and of plays Nana had very

decided opinions: she wanted tender and noble productions, things

that would set her dreaming and would elevate her soul. Then

allusion being made in the course of conversation to the troubles

agitating Paris, the incendiary articles in the papers, the

incipient popular disturbances which followed the calls to arms

nightly raised at public meetings, she waxed wroth with the

Republicans. What on earth did those dirty people who never washed

really want? Were folks not happy? Had not the emperor done

everything for the people? A nice filthy lot of people! She knew

‘em; she could talk about ‘em, and, quite forgetting the respect

which at dinner she had just been insisting should be paid to her

humble circle in the Rue de la Goutted’Or, she began blackguarding

her own class with all the terror and disgust peculiar to a woman

who had risen successfully above it. That very afternoon she had

read in the Figaro an account of the proceedings at a public meeting

which had verged on the comic. Owing to the slang words that had

been used and to the piggish behavior of a drunken man who had got

himself chucked, she was laughing at those proceedings still.

 

“Oh, those drunkards!” she said with a disgusted air. “No, look you

here, their republic would be a great misfortune for everybody! Oh,

may God preserve us the emperor as long as possible!”

 

“God will hear your prayer, my dear,” Muffat replied gravely. “To

be sure, the emperor stands firm.”

 

He liked her to express such excellent views. Both, indeed,

understood one another in political matters. Vandeuvres and

Philippe Hugon likewise indulged in endless jokes against the

“cads,” the quarrelsome set who scuttled off the moment they clapped

eyes on a bayonet. But Georges that evening remained pale and

somber.

 

“What can be the matter with that baby?” asked Nana, noticing his

troubled appearance.

 

“With me? Nothing—I am listening,” he muttered.

 

But he was really suffering. On rising from table he had heard

Philippe joking with the young woman, and now it was Philippe, and

not himself, who sat beside her. His heart, he knew not why,

swelled to bursting. He could not bear to see them so close

together; such vile thoughts oppressed him that shame mingled with

his anguish. He who laughed at Satin, who had accepted Steiner and

Muffat and all the rest, felt outraged and murderous at the thought

that Philippe might someday touch that woman.

 

“Here, take Bijou,” she said to comfort him, and she passed him the

little dog which had gone to sleep on her dress.

 

And with that Georges grew happy again, for with the beast still

warm from her lap in his arms, he held, as it were, part of her.

 

Allusion had been made to a considerable loss which Vandeuvres had

last night sustained at the Imperial Club. Muffat, who did not

play, expressed great astonishment, but Vandeuvres smilingly alluded

to his imminent ruin, about which Paris was already talking. The

kind of death you chose did not much matter, he averred; the great

thing was to die handsomely. For some time past Nana had noticed

that he was nervous and had a sharp downward droop of the mouth and

a fitful gleam in the depths of his clear eyes. But he retained his

haughty aristocratic manner and the delicate elegance of his

impoverished race, and as yet these strange manifestations were

only, so to speak, momentary fits of vertigo overcoming a brain

already sapped by play and by debauchery. One night as he lay

beside her he had frightened her with a dreadful story. He had told

her he contemplated shutting himself up in his stable and setting

fire to himself and his horses at such time as he should have

devoured all his substance. His only hope at that period was a

horse, Lusignan by name, which he was training for the Prix de

Paris. He was living on this horse, which was the sole stay of his

shaken credit, and whenever Nana grew exacting he would put her off

till June and to the probability of Lusignan’s winning.

 

“Bah! He may very likely lose,” she said merrily, “since he’s going

to clear them all out at the races.”

 

By way of reply he contented himself by smiling a thin, mysterious

smile. Then carelessly:

 

“By the by, I’ve taken the liberty of giving your name to my

outsider, the filly. Nana, Nana—that sounds well. You’re not

vexed?”

 

“Vexed, why?” she said in a state of inward ecstasy.

 

The conversation continued, and same mention was made of an

execution shortly to take place. The young woman said she was

burning to go to it when Satin appeared at the dressing-room door

and called her in tones of entreaty. She got up at once and left

the gentlemen lolling lazily about, while they finished their cigars

and discussed the grave question as to how far a murderer subject to

chronic alcoholism is responsible for his act. In the dressing room

Zoe sat helpless on a chair, crying her heart out, while Satin

vainly endeavored to console her.

 

“What’s the matter?” said Nana in surprise.

 

“Oh, darling, do speak to her!” said Satin. “I’ve been trying to

make her listen to reason for the last twenty minutes. She’s crying

because you called her a goose.”

 

“Yes, madame, it’s very hard—very hard,” stuttered Zoe, choked by a

fresh fit of sobbing.

 

This sad sight melted the young woman’s heart at once. She spoke

kindly, and when the other woman still refused to grow calm she sank

down in front of her and took her round the waist with truly cordial

familiarity:

 

“But, you silly, I said ‘goose’ just as I might have said anything

else. How shall I explain? I was in a passion—it was wrong of me;

now calm down.”

 

“I who love Madame so,” stuttered Zoe; “after all I’ve done for

Madame.”

 

Thereupon Nana kissed the lady’s maid and, wishing to show her she

wasn’t vexed, gave her a dress she had worn three times. Their

quarrels always ended up in the giving of presents! Zoe plugged her

handkerchief into her eyes. She carried the dress off over her arm

and added before leaving that they were very sad in the kitchen and

that Julien and Francois had been unable to eat, so entirely had

Madame’s anger taken away their appetites. Thereupon Madame sent

them a louis as a pledge of reconciliation. She suffered too much

if people around her were sorrowful.

 

Nana was returning to the drawing room, happy in the thought that

she had patched up a disagreement which was rendering her quietly

apprehensive of the morrow, when Satin came and whispered vehemently

in her ear. She was full of complaint, threatened to be off if

those men still went on teasing her and kept insisting that her

darling should turn them all out of doors for that night, at any

rate. It would be a lesson to them. And then it would be so nice

to be alone, both of them! Nana, with a return of anxiety, declared

it to be impossible. Thereupon the other shouted at her like a

violent child and tried hard to overrule her.

 

“I wish it, d’you see? Send ‘em away or I’m off!”

 

And she went back into the drawing room, stretched herself out in

the recesses of a divan, which stood in the background near the

window, and lay waiting, silent and deathlike, with her great eyes

fixed upon Nana.

 

The gentlemen were deciding against the new criminological theories.

Granted that lovely invention of irresponsibility in certain

pathological cases, and criminals ceased to exist and sick people

alone remained. The young woman, expressing approval with an

occasional nod, was busy considering how best to dismiss the count.

The others would soon be going, but he would assuredly prove

obstinate. In fact, when Philippe got up to withdraw, Georges

followed him at once—he seemed only anxious not to leave his

brother behind. Vandeuvres lingered some minutes longer, feeling

his way, as it were, and waiting to find out if, by any chance, some

important business would oblige Muffat to cede him his place. Soon,

however, when he saw the count deliberately taking up his quarters

for the night, he desisted from his purpose and said good-by, as

became a man of tact. But on his way to the door, he noticed Satin

staring fixedly at Nana, as usual. Doubtless he understood what

this meant, for he seemed amused and came and shook hands with her.

 

“We’re not angry, eh?” he whispered. “Pray pardon me. You’re the

nicer attraction of the two, on my honor!”

 

Satin deigned no reply. Nor did she take her eyes off Nana and the

count, who were now alone. Muffat, ceasing to be ceremonious, had

come to sit beside the young woman. He took her fingers and began

kissing them. Whereupon Nana, seeking to change the current of his

thoughts, asked him if his daughter Estelle were better. The

previous night he had been complaining of the child’s melancholy

behavior—he could not even spend a day happily at his own house,

with his wife always out and his daughter icily silent.

 

In family matters of this kind Nana was always full of good advice,

and when Muffat abandoned all his usual self-control under the

influence of mental and physical relaxation and once more launched

out into his former plaints, she remembered the promise she had

made.

 

“Suppose you were to marry her?” she said. And with that she

ventured to talk of Daguenet. At the mere mention of the name the

count was filled with disgust. “Never,” he said after what she had

told him!

 

She pretended great surprise and then burst out laughing and put her

arm round his neck.

 

“Oh, the jealous man! To think of it! Just argue it out a little.

Why, they slandered me to you—I was furious. At present I should

be ever so sorry if—”

 

But over Muffat’s shoulder she met Satin’s gaze. And she left him

anxiously and in a grave voice continued:

 

“This marriage must come off, my friend; I don’t want to prevent

your daughter’s happiness. The young man’s most charming; you could

not possibly find a better sort.”

 

And she launched into extraordinary praise of Daguenet. The count

had again taken her hands; he no longer refused now; he would see

about it, he said, they would talk the matter over. By and by, when

he spoke of going to bed, she sank her voice and excused herself.

It was impossible; she was not well. If he loved her at all he

would not insist! Nevertheless, he was obstinate; he refused to go

away, and she was beginning to