Nana, Émile Zola [reading list txt] 📗

barely half-past two, and with

many loud oaths roughly settled himself on a bench in the hall. The

young woman listened to him from the first floor. She was pale, and

it caused her especial pain to hear the servants’ secret rejoicings

swelling up louder and louder till they even reached her ears. Down

in the kitchen they were dying of laughter. The coachman was

staring across from the other side of the court; Francois was

crossing the hall without any apparent reason. Then he hurried off

to report progress, after sneering knowingly at the baker. They

didn’t care a damn for Madame; the walls were echoing to their

laughter, and she felt that she was deserted on all hands and

despised by the servants’ hall, the inmates of which were watching

her every movement and liberally bespattering her with the filthiest

of chaff. Thereupon she abandoned the intention of borrowing the

hundred and thirty-three francs from Zoe; she already owed the maid

money, and she was too proud to risk a refusal now. Such a burst of

feeling stirred her that she went back into her room, loudly

remarking:

 

“Come, come, my girl, don’t count on anyone but yourself. Your

body’s your own property, and it’s better to make use of it than to

let yourself be insulted.”

 

And without even summoning Zoe she dressed herself with feverish

haste in order to run round to the Tricon’s. In hours of great

embarrassment this was her last resource. Much sought after and

constantly solicited by the old lady, she would refuse or resign

herself according to her needs, and on these increasingly frequent

occasions when both ends would not meet in her royally conducted

establishment, she was sure to find twenty-five louis awaiting her

at the other’s house. She used to betake herself to the Tricon’s

with the ease born of use, just as the poor go to the pawnshop.

 

But as she left her own chamber Nana came suddenly upon Georges

standing in the middle of the drawing room. Not noticing his waxen

pallor and the somber fire in his wide eyes, she gave a sigh of

relief.

 

“Ah, you’ve come from your brother.”

 

“No,” said the lad, growing yet paler.

 

At this she gave a despairing shrug. What did he want? Why was he

barring her way? She was in a hurry—yes, she was. Then returning

to where he stood:

 

“You’ve no money, have you?”

 

“No.”

 

“That’s true. How silly of me! Never a stiver; not even their

omnibus fares Mamma doesn’t wish it! Oh, what a set of men!”

 

And she escaped. But he held her back; he wanted to speak to her.

She was fairly under way and again declared she had no time, but he

stopped her with a word.

 

“Listen, I know you’re going to marry my brother.”

 

Gracious! The thing was too funny! And she let herself down into a

chair in order to laugh at her ease.

 

“Yes,” continued the lad, “and I don’t wish it. It’s I you’re going

to marry. That’s why I’ve come.”

 

“Eh, what? You too?” she cried. “Why, it’s a family disease, is

it? No, never! What a fancy, to be sure! Have I ever asked you to

do anything so nasty? Neither one nor t’other of you! No, never!”

 

The lad’s face brightened. Perhaps he had been deceiving himself!

He continued:

 

“Then swear to me that you don’t go to bed with my brother.”

 

“Oh, you’re beginning to bore me now!” said Nana, who had risen with

renewed impatience. “It’s amusing for a little while, but when I

tell you I’m in a hurry—I go to bed with your brother if it pleases

me. Are you keeping me—are you paymaster here that you insist on

my making a report? Yes, I go to bed with your brother.”

 

He had caught hold of her arm and squeezed it hard enough to break

it as he stuttered:

 

“Don’t say that! Don’t say that!”

 

With a slight blow she disengaged herself from his grasp.

 

“He’s maltreating me now! Here’s a young ruffian for you! My

chicken, you’ll leave this jolly sharp. I used to keep you about

out of niceness. Yes, I did! You may stare! Did you think I was

going to be your mamma till I died? I’ve got better things to do

than to bring up brats.”

 

He listened to her stark with anguish, yet in utter submission. Her

every word cut him to the heart so sharply that he felt he should

die. She did not so much as notice his suffering and continued

delightedly to revenge herself on him for the annoyance of the

morning.

 

“It’s like your brother; he’s another pretty Johnny, he is! He

promised me two hundred francs. Oh, dear me; yes, I can wait for

‘em. It isn’t his money I care for! I’ve not got enough to pay for

hair oil. Yes, he’s leaving me in a jolly fix! Look here, d’you

want to know how matters stand? Here goes then: it’s all owing to

your brother that I’m going out to earn twenty-five louis with

another man.”

 

At these words his head spun, and he barred her egress. He cried;

he besought her not to go, clasping his hands together and blurting

out:

 

“Oh no! Oh no!”

 

“I want to, I do,” she said. “Have you the money?”

 

No, he had not got the money. He would have given his life to have

the money! Never before had he felt so miserable, so useless, so

very childish. All his wretched being was shaken with weeping and

gave proof of such heavy suffering that at last she noticed it and

grew kind. She pushed him away softly.

 

“Come, my pet, let me pass; I must. Be reasonable. You’re a baby

boy, and it was very nice for a week, but nowadays I must look after

my own affairs. Just think it over a bit. Now your brother’s a

man; what I’m saying doesn’t apply to him. Oh, please do me a

favor; it’s no good telling him all this. He needn’t know where I’m

going. I always let out too much when I’m in a rage.”

 

She began laughing. Then taking him in her arms and kissing him on

the forehead:

 

“Good-by, baby,” she said; “it’s over, quite over between us; d’you

understand? And now I’m off!”

 

And she left him, and he stood in the middle of the drawing room.

Her last words rang like the knell of a tocsin in his ears: “It’s

over, quite over!” And he thought the ground was opening beneath

his feet. There was a void in his brain from which the man awaiting

Nana had disappeared. Philippe alone remained there in the young

woman’s bare embrace forever and ever. She did not deny it: she

loved him, since she wanted to spare him the pain of her infidelity.

It was over, quite over. He breathed heavily and gazed round the

room, suffocating beneath a crushing weight. Memories kept

recurring to him one after the other—memories of merry nights at La

Mignotte, of amorous hours during which he had fancied himself her

child, of pleasures stolen in this very room. And now these things

would never, never recur! He was too small; he had not grown up

quickly enough; Philippe was supplanting him because he was a

bearded man. So then this was the end; he could not go on living.

His vicious passion had become transformed into an infinite

tenderness, a sensual adoration, in which his whole being was

merged. Then, too, how was he to forget it all if his brother

remained—his brother, blood of his blood, a second self, whose

enjoyment drove him mad with jealousy? It was the end of all

things; he wanted to die.

 

All the doors remained open, as the servants noisily scattered over

the house after seeing Madame make her exit on foot. Downstairs on

the bench in the hall the baker was laughing with Charles and

Francois. Zoe came running across the drawing room and seemed

surprised at sight of Georges. She asked him if he were waiting for

Madame. Yes, he was waiting for her; he had forgotten to give her

an answer to a question. And when he was alone he set to work and

searched. Finding nothing else to suit his purpose, he took up in

the dressing room a pair of very sharply pointed scissors with which

Nana had a mania for ceaselessly trimming herself, either by

polishing her skin or cutting off little hairs. Then for a whole

hour he waited patiently, his hand in his pocket and his fingers

tightly clasped round the scissors.

 

“Here’s Madame,” said Zoe, returning. She must have espied her

through the bedroom window.

 

There was a sound of people racing through the house, and laughter

died away and doors were shut. Georges heard Nana paying the baker

and speaking in the curtest way. Then she came upstairs.

 

“What, you’re here still!” she said as she noticed him. “Aha!

We’re going to grow angry, my good man!”

 

He followed her as she walked toward her bedroom.

 

“Nana, will you marry me?”

 

She shrugged her shoulders. It was too stupid; she refused to

answer any more and conceived the idea of slamming the door in his

face.

 

“Nana, will you marry me?”

 

She slammed the door. He opened it with one hand while he brought

the other and the scissors out of his pocket. And with one great

stab he simply buried them in his breast.

 

Nana, meanwhile, had felt conscious that something dreadful would

happen, and she had turned round. When she saw him stab himself she

was seized with indignation.

 

“Oh, what a fool he is! What a fool! And with my scissors! Will

you leave off, you naughty little rogue? Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

 

She was scared. Sinking on his knees, the boy had just given

himself a second stab, which sent him down at full length on the

carpet. He blocked the threshold of the bedroom. With that Nana

lost her head utterly and screamed with all her might, for she dared

not step over his body, which shut her in and prevented her from

running to seek assistance.

 

“Zoe! Zoe! Come at once. Make him leave off. It’s getting

stupid—a child like that! He’s killing himself now! And in my

place too! Did you ever see the like of it?”

 

He was frightening her. He was all white, and his eyes were shut.

There was scarcely any bleeding—only a little blood, a tiny stain

which was oozing down into his waistcoat. She was making up her

mind to step over the body when an apparition sent her starting

back. An old lady was advancing through the drawing-room door,

which remained wide open opposite. And in her terror she recognized

Mme Hugon but could not explain her presence. Still wearing her

gloves and hat, Nana kept edging backward, and her terror grew so

great that she sought to defend herself, and in a shaky voice:

 

“Madame,” she cried, “it isn’t I; I swear to you it isn’t. He

wanted to marry me, and I said no, and he’s killed himself!”

 

Slowly Mme Hugon drew near—she was in black, and her face showed

pale under her white hair. In the carriage, as she drove thither,

the thought of Georges had vanished and that of Philippe’s misdoing

had again taken complete possession of her. It might be that this

woman could afford explanations to the judges which would touch

them, and so she conceived the project of begging her to bear

witness in her