Thereupon Nana became a smart woman,
mistress of all that is foolish and filthy in man,
marquise in the ranks of her calling. It was a
sudden but decisive start, a plunge into the garish
day of gallant notoriety and mad expenditure and that
daredevil wastefulness peculiar to beauty. She
at once became queen among the most expensive of her
kind. Her photographs were displayed in shopwindows,
and she was mentioned in the papers. When she
drove in her carriage along the boulevards the people
would turn and tell one another who that was with all
the unction of a nation saluting its sovereign, while
the object of their adoration lolled easily back in
her diaphanous dresses and smiled gaily under the
rain of little golden curls which ran riot above the
blue of her made-up eyes and the red of her painted
lips. And the wonder of wonders was that the
great creature, who was so awkward on the stage, so
very absurd the moment she sought to act the chaste
woman, was able without effort to assume the rôle
of an enchantress in the outer world. Her movements
were lithe as a serpent’s, and the studied and
yet seemingly involuntary carelessness with which
she dressed was really exquisite in its elegance.
There was a nervous distinction in all she did which
suggested a wellborn Persian cat; she was an aristocrat
in vice and proudly and rebelliously trampled upon
a prostrate Paris like a sovereign whom none dare
disobey. She set the fashion, and great ladies
imitated her.
Nana’s fine house was situated
at the corner of the Rue Cardinet, in the Avenue de
Villiers. The avenue was part of the luxurious
quarter at that time springing up in the vague district
which had once been the Plaine Monceau.
The house had been built by a young painter, who was
intoxicated by a first success, and had been perforce
resold almost as soon as it was habitable. It
was in the palatial Renaissance manner and had fantastic
interior arrangements which consisted of modern conveniences
framed in a setting of somewhat artificial originality.
Count Muffat had bought the house ready furnished and
full of hosts of beautiful objects lovely
Eastern hangings, old crédences, huge chairs
of the Louis XIII epoch. And thus Nana had come
into artistic surroundings of the choicest kind and
of the most extravagantly various dates. But
since the studio, which occupied the central portion
of the house, could not be of any use to her, she
had upset existing arrangements, establishing a small
drawing room on the first floor, next to her bedroom
and dressing room, and leaving a conservatory, a large
drawing room and a dining room to look after themselves
underneath. She astonished the architect with
her ideas, for, as became a Parisian workgirl who
understands the elegancies of life by instinct, she
had suddenly developed a very pretty taste for every
species of luxurious refinement. Indeed, she
did not spoil her house overmuch; nay, she even added
to the richness of the furniture, save here and there,
where certain traces of tender foolishness and vulgar
magnificence betrayed the ex-flower seller who had
been wont to dream in front of shopwindows in the
arcades.
A carpet was spread on the steps beneath
the great awning over the front door in the court,
and the moment you entered the hall you were greeted
by a perfume as of violets and a soft, warm atmosphere
which thick hangings helped to produce. A window,
whose yellow-and rose-colored panes suggested the
warm pallor of human flesh, gave light to the wide
staircase, at the foot of which a Negro in carved wood
held out a silver tray full of visiting cards and
four white marble women, with bosoms displayed, raised
lamps in their uplifted hands. Bronzes and Chinese
vases full of flowers, divans covered with old Persian
rugs, armchairs upholstered in old tapestry, furnished
the entrance hall, adorned the stairheads and gave
the first-floor landing the appearance of an anteroom.
Here men’s overcoats and hats were always in
evidence, and there were thick hangings which deadened
every sound. It seemed a place apart: on
entering it you might have fancied yourself in a chapel,
whose very air was thrilling with devotion, whose
very silence and seclusion were fraught with mystery.
Nana only opened the large and somewhat
too-sumptuous Louis XVI drawing room on those gala
nights when she received society from the Tuileries
or strangers of distinction. Ordinarily she only
came downstairs at mealtimes, and she would feel rather
lost on such days as she lunched by herself in the
lofty dining room with its Gobelin tapestry and its
monumental sideboard, adorned with old porcelain and
marvelous pieces of ancient plate. She used to
go upstairs again as quickly as possible, for her
home was on the first floor, in the three rooms, the
bed, dressing and small drawing room above described.
Twice already she had done the bedchamber up anew:
on the first occasion in mauve satin, on the second
in blue silk under lace. But she had not been
satisfied with this; it had struck her as “nohowish,”
and she was still unsuccessfully seeking for new colors
and designs. On the elaborately upholstered bed,
which was as low as a sofa, there were twenty thousand
francs’ worth of point de Venise
lace. The furniture was lacquered blue and white
under designs in silver filigree, and everywhere lay
such numbers of white bearskins that they hid the
carpet. This was a luxurious caprice on Nana’s
part, she having never been able to break herself
of the habit of sitting on the floor to take her stockings
off. Next door to the bedroom the little saloon
was full of an amusing medley of exquisitely artistic
objects. Against the hangings of pale rose-colored
silk a faded Turkish rose color, embroidered
with gold thread a whole world of them stood
sharply outlined. They were from every land and
in every possible style. There were Italian cabinets,
Spanish and Portuguese coffers, models of Chinese
pagodas, a Japanese screen of precious workmanship,
besides china, bronzes, embroidered silks, hangings
of the finest needlework. Armchairs wide as beds
and sofas deep as alcoves suggested voluptuous idleness
and the somnolent life of the seraglio. The prevailing
tone of the room was old gold blended with green and
red, and nothing it contained too forcibly indicated
the presence of the courtesan save the luxuriousness
of the seats. Only two “biscuit” statuettes,
a woman in her shift, hunting for fleas, and another
with nothing at all on, walking on her hands and waving
her feet in the air, sufficed to sully the room with
a note of stupid originality.
Through a door, which was nearly always
ajar, the dressing room was visible. It was all
in marble and glass with a white bath, silver jugs
and basins and crystal and ivory appointments.
A drawn curtain filled the place with a clear twilight
which seemed to slumber in the warm scent of violets,
that suggestive perfume peculiar to Nana wherewith
the whole house, from the roof to the very courtyard,
was penetrated.
The furnishing of the house was a
most important undertaking. Nana certainly had
Zoe with her, that girl so devoted to her fortunes.
For months she had been tranquilly awaiting this abrupt,
new departure, as became a woman who was certain of
her powers of prescience, and now she was triumphant;
she was mistress of the house and was putting by a
round sum while serving Madame as honestly as possible.
But a solitary lady’s maid was no longer sufficient.
A butler, a coachman, a porter and a cook were wanted.
Besides, it was necessary to fill the stables.
It was then that Labordette made himself most useful.
He undertook to perform all sorts of errands which
bored the count; he made a comfortable job of the
purchase of horses; he visited the coachbuilders; he
guided the young woman in her choice of things.
She was to be met with at the shops, leaning on his
arm. Labordette even got in the servants Charles,
a great, tall coachman, who had been in service with
the Duc de Corbreuse; Julien, a little,
smiling, much-becurled butler, and a married couple,
of whom the wife Victorine became cook while the husband
Francois was taken on as porter and footman.
The last mentioned in powder and breeches wore Nana’s
livery, which was a sky-blue one adorned with silver
lace, and he received visitors in the hall. The
whole thing was princely in the correctness of its
style.
At the end of two months the house
was set going. The cost had been more than three
hundred thousand francs. There were eight horses
in the stables, and five carriages in the coach houses,
and of these five one was a landau with silver embellishments,
which for the moment occupied the attention of all
Paris. And amid this great wealth Nana began
settling down and making her nest. After the third
representation of the Petite Duchesse she
had quitted the theater, leaving Bordenave to struggle
on against a bankruptcy which, despite the count’s
money, was imminent. Nevertheless, she was still
bitter about her failure. It added to that other
bitterness, the lesson Fontan had given her, a shameful
lesson for which she held all men responsible.
Accordingly she now declared herself very firm and
quite proof against sudden infatuations, but thoughts
of vengeance took no hold of her volatile brain.
What did maintain a hold on it in the hours when she
was not indignant was an ever-wakeful lust of expenditure,
added to a natural contempt for the man who paid and
to a perpetual passion for consumption and waste, which
took pride in the ruin of her lovers.
At starting Nana put the count on
a proper footing and clearly mapped out the conditions
of their relationship. The count gave twelve thousand
francs monthly, presents excepted, and demanded nothing
in return save absolute fidelity. She swore fidelity
but insisted also on being treated with the utmost
consideration, on enjoying complete liberty as mistress
of the house and on having her every wish respected.
For instance, she was to receive her friends every
day, and he was to come only at stated times.
In a word, he was to repose a blind confidence in her
in everything. And when he was seized with jealous
anxiety and hesitated to grant what she wanted, she
stood on her dignity and threatened to give him back
all he had given or even swore by little Louiset to
perform what she promised. This was to suffice
him. There was no love where mutual esteem was
wanting. At the end of the first month Muffat
respected her.
But she desired and obtained still
more. Soon she began to influence him, as became
a good-natured courtesan. When he came to her
in a moody condition she cheered him up, confessed
him and then gave him good advice. Little by
little she interested herself in the annoyances of
his home life, in his wife, in his daughter, in his
love affairs and financial difficulties; she was very
sensible, very fair and right-minded. On one
occasion only did she let anger get the better of
her, and that was when he confided to her that doubtless
Daguenet was going to ask for his daughter Estelle
in marriage. When the count began making himself
notorious Daguenet had thought it a wise move to break
off with Nana. He had treated her like a base
hussy and had sworn to snatch his future father-in-law
out of the creature’s clutches. In return
Nana abused her old Mimi in a charming fashion.
He was a renegade who had devoured his fortune in
the company of vile women; he had no moral sense.
True, he did not let them pay him money, but he profited
by that of others and only repaid them at rare intervals
with a bouquet or a dinner. And when the count
seemed inclined to find excuses for these failings
she bluntly informed him that Daguenet had enjoyed
her favors, and she added disgusting particulars.
Muffat had grown ashen-pale. There was no question
of the young man now. This would teach him to
be lacking in gratitude!
Meanwhile the house had not been entirely
furnished, when one evening after she had lavished
the most energetic promises of fidelity on Muffat
Nana kept the Count Xavier de Vandeuvres for the night.
For the last fortnight he had been paying her assiduous
court, visiting her and sending presents of flowers,
and now she gave way not so much out of sudden infatuation
as to prove that she was a free woman. The idea
of gain followed later when, the day after, Vandeuvres
helped her to pay a bill which she did not wish to
mention to the other man. From Vandeuvres she
would certainly derive from eight to ten thousand francs
a month, and this would prove very useful as pocket
money. In those days he was finishing the last
of his fortune in an access of burning, feverish folly.
His horses and Lucy had devoured three of his farms,
and at one gulp Nana was going to swallow his last
chateau, near Amiens. He seemed in a hurry to
sweep everything away, down to the ruins of the old
tower built by a Vandeuvres under Philip Augustus.
He was mad for ruin and thought it a great thing to
leave the last golden bezants of his coat of arms
in the grasp of this courtesan, whom the world of Paris
desired. He, too, accepted Nana’s conditions,
leaving her entire freedom of action and claiming
her caresses only on certain days. He was not
even naively impassioned enough to require her to
make vows. Muffat suspected nothing. As
to Vandeuvres, he knew things would take place for
a certainty, but he never made the least allusion
to them and pretended total ignorance, while his lips
wore the subtle smile of the skeptical man of pleasure
who does not seek the impossible, provided he can have
his day and that Paris is aware of it.
From that time forth Nana’s
house was really properly appointed. The staff
of servants was complete in the stable, in the kitchen
and in my lady’s chamber. Zoe organized
everything and passed successfully through the most
unforeseen difficulties. The household moved as
easily as the scenery in a theater and was regulated
like a grand administrative concern. Indeed,
it worked with such precision that during the early
months there were no jars and no dérangements.
Madame, however, pained Zoe extremely with her imprudent
acts, her sudden fits of unwisdom, her mad bravado.
Still the lady’s maid grew gradually lenient,
for she had noticed that she made increased profits
in seasons of wanton waste when Madame had committed
a folly which must be made up for. It was then
that the presents began raining on her, and she fished
up many a louis out of the troubled waters.
One morning when Muffat had not yet
left the bedroom Zoe ushered a gentleman into the
dressing room, where Nana was changing her underwear.
He was trembling violently.
“Good gracious! It’s
Zizi!” said the young woman in great astonishment.
It was, indeed, Georges. But
when he saw her in her shift, with her golden hair
over her bare shoulders, he threw his arms round her
neck and round her waist and kissed her in all directions.
She began struggling to get free, for she was frightened,
and in smothered tones she stammered:
“Do leave off! He’s
there! Oh, it’s silly of you! And you,
Zoe, are you out of your senses? Take him away
and keep him downstairs; I’ll try and come down.”
Zoe had to push him in front of her.
When Nana was able to rejoin them in the drawing room
downstairs she scolded them both, and Zoe pursed up
her lips and took her departure with a vexed expression,
remarking that she had only been anxious to give Madame
a pleasure. Georges was so glad to see Nana again
and gazed at her with such delight that his fine eyes
began filling with tears. The miserable days were
over now; his mother believed him to have grown reasonable
and had allowed him to leave Les Fondettes. Accordingly,
the moment he had reached the terminus, he had got
a conveyance in order the more quickly to come and
kiss his sweet darling. He spoke of living at
her side in future, as he used to do down in the country
when he waited for her, barefooted, in the bedroom
at La Mignotte. And as he told her about himself,
he let his fingers creep forward, for he longed to
touch her after that cruel year of separation.
Then he got possession of her hands, felt about the
wide sleeves of her dressing jacket, traveled up as
far as her shoulders.
“You still love your baby?” he asked in
his child voice.
“Oh, I certainly love him!”
answered Nana, briskly getting out of his clutches.
“But you come popping in without warning.
You know, my little man, I’m not my own mistress;
you must be good!”
Georges, when he got out of his cab,
had been so dizzy with the feeling that his long desire
was at last about to be satisfied that he had not
even noticed what sort of house he was entering.
But now he became conscious of a change in the things
around him. He examined the sumptuous dining
room with its lofty decorated ceiling, its Gobelin
hangings, its buffet blazing with plate.
“Yes, yes!” he remarked sadly.
And with that she made him understand
that he was never to come in the mornings but between
four and six in the afternoon, if he cared to.
That was her reception time. Then as he looked
at her with suppliant, questioning eyes and craved
no boon at all, she, in her turn, kissed him on the
forehead in the most amiable way.
“Be very good,” she whispered. “I’ll
do all I can.”
But the truth was that this remark
now meant nothing. She thought Georges very nice
and would have liked him as a companion, but as nothing
else. Nevertheless, when he arrived daily at four
o’clock he seemed so wretched that she was often
fain to be as compliant as of old and would hide him
in cupboards and constantly allow him to pick up the
crumbs from Beauty’s table. He hardly ever
left the house now and became as much one of its inmates
as the little dog Bijou. Together they nestled
among Mistress’s skirts and enjoyed a little
of her at a time, even when she was with another man,
while doles of sugar and stray caresses not seldom
fell to their share in her hours of loneliness and
boredom.
Doubtless Mme Hugon found out that
the lad had again returned to that wicked woman’s
arms, for she hurried up to Paris and came and sought
aid from her other son, the Lieutenant Philippe, who
was then in garrison at Vincennes. Georges, who
was hiding from his elder brother, was seized with
despairing apprehension, for he feared the latter might
adopt violent tactics, and as his tenderness for Nana
was so nervously expansive that he could not keep
anything from her, he soon began talking of nothing
but his big brother, a great, strong fellow, who was
capable of all kinds of things.
“You know,” he explained,
“Mamma won’t come to you while she can
send my brother. Oh, she’ll certainly send
Philippe to fetch me.”
The first time he said this Nana was
deeply wounded. She said frigidly:
“Gracious me, I should like
to see him come! For all that he’s a lieutenant
in the army, Francois will chuck him out in double-quick
time!”
Soon, as the lad kept returning to
the subject of his brother, she ended by taking a
certain interest in Philippe, and in a week’s
time she knew him from head to foot knew
him as very tall and very strong and merry and somewhat
rough. She learned intimate details, too, and
found out that he had hair on his arms and a birthmark
on his shoulder. So thoroughly did she learn
her lesson that one day, when she was full of the
image of the man who was to be turned out of doors
by her orders, she cried out:
“I say, Zizi, your brother’s
not coming. He’s a base deserter!”
The next day, when Georges and Nana
were alone together, Francois came upstairs to ask
whether Madame would receive Lieutenant Philippe Hugon.
Georges grew extremely white and murmured:
“I suspected it; Mamma was talking
about it this morning.”
And he besought the young woman to
send down word that she could not see visitors.
But she was already on her feet and seemed all aflame
as she said:
“Why should I not see him?
He would think me afraid. Dear me, we’ll
have a good laugh! Just leave the gentleman in
the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, Francois;
afterward bring him up to me.”
She did not sit down again but began
pacing feverishly to and fro between the fireplace
and a Venetian mirror hanging above an Italian chest.
And each time she reached the latter she glanced at
the glass and tried the effect of a smile, while Georges
sat nervously on a sofa, trembling at the thought
of the coming scene. As she walked up and down
she kept jerking out such little phrases as:
“It will calm the fellow down
if he has to wait a quarter of an hour. Besides,
if he thinks he’s calling on a tottie the drawing
room will stun him! Yes, yes, have a good look
at everything, my fine fellow! It isn’t
imitation, and it’ll teach you to respect the
lady who owns it. Respect’s what men need
to feel! The quarter of an hour’s gone by,
eh? No? Only ten minutes? Oh, we’ve
got plenty of time.”
She did not stay where she was, however.
At the end of the quarter of an hour she sent Georges
away after making him solemnly promise not to listen
at the door, as such conduct would scarcely look proper
in case the servants saw him. As he went into
her bedroom Zizi ventured in a choking sort of way
to remark:
“It’s my brother, you know ”
“Don’t you fear,”
she said with much dignity; “if he’s polite
I’ll be polite.”
Francois ushered in Philippe Hugon,
who wore morning dress. Georges began crossing
on tiptoe on the other side of the room, for he was
anxious to obey the young woman. But the sound
of voices retained him, and he hesitated in such anguish
of mind that his knees gave way under him. He
began imagining that a dread catastrophe would befall,
that blows would be struck, that something abominable
would happen, which would make Nana everlastingly
odious to him. And so he could not withstand
the temptation to come back and put his ear against
the door. He heard very ill, for the thick portieres
deadened every sound, but he managed to catch certain
words spoken by Philippe, stern phrases in which such
terms as “mere child,” “family,”
“honor,” were distinctly audible.
He was so anxious about his darling’s possible
answers that his heart beat violently and filled his
head with a confused, buzzing noise. She was
sure to give vent to a “Dirty blackguard!”
or to a “Leave me bloody well alone! I’m
in my own house!” But nothing happened not
a breath came from her direction. Nana seemed
dead in there! Soon even his brother’s
voice grew gentler, and he could not make it out at
all, when a strange murmuring sound finally stupefied
him. Nana was sobbing! For a moment or two
he was the prey of contending feelings and knew not
whether to run away or to fall upon Philippe.
But just then Zoe came into the room, and he withdrew
from the door, ashamed at being thus surprised.
She began quietly to put some linen
away in a cupboard while he stood mute and motionless,
pressing his forehead against a windowpane. He
was tortured by uncertainty. After a short silence
the woman asked:
“It’s your brother that’s with Madame?”
“Yes,” replied the lad in a choking voice.
There was a fresh silence.
“And it makes you anxious, doesn’t it,
Monsieur Georges?”
“Yes,” he rejoined in the same painful,
suffering tone.
Zoe was in no hurry. She folded up some lace
and said slowly:
“You’re wrong; Madame will manage it all.”
And then the conversation ended; they
said not another word. Still she did not leave
the room. A long quarter of an hour passed, and
she turned round again without seeming to notice the
look of exasperation overspreading the lad’s
face, which was already white with the effects of
uncertainty and constraint. He was casting sidelong
glances in the direction of the drawing room.
Maybe Nana was still crying.
The other must have grown savage and have dealt her
blows. Thus when Zoe finally took her departure
he ran to the door and once more pressed his ear against
it. He was thunderstruck; his head swam, for
he heard a brisk outburst of gaiety, tender, whispering
voices and the smothered giggles of a woman who is
being tickled. Besides, almost directly afterward,
Nana conducted Philippe to the head of the stairs,
and there was an exchange of cordial and familiar
phrases.
When Georges again ventured into the
drawing room the young woman was standing before the
mirror, looking at herself.
“Well?” he asked in utter bewilderment.
“Well, what?” she said without turning
round. Then negligently:
“What did you mean? He’s very nice,
is your brother!”
“So it’s all right, is it?”
“Oh, certainly it’s all
right! Goodness me, what’s come over you?
One would have thought we were going to fight!”
Georges still failed to understand.
“I thought I heard that is, you didn’t
cry?” he stammered out.
“Me cry!” she exclaimed,
looking fixedly at him. “Why, you’re
dreaming! What makes you think I cried?”
Thereupon the lad was treated to a
distressing scene for having disobeyed and played
Paul Pry behind the door. She sulked, and he
returned with coaxing submissiveness to the old subject,
for he wished to know all about it.
“And my brother then?”
“Your brother saw where he was
at once. You know, I might have been a tottie,
in which case his interference would have been accounted
for by your age and the family honor! Oh yes,
I understand those kinds of feelings! But a single
glance was enough for him, and he behaved like a well-bred
man at once. So don’t be anxious any longer.
It’s all over he’s gone to
quiet your mamma!”
And she went on laughingly:
“For that matter, you’ll
see your brother here. I’ve invited him,
and he’s going to return.”
“Oh, he’s going to return,”
said the lad, growing white. He added nothing,
and they ceased talking of Philippe. She began
dressing to go out, and he watched her with his great,
sad eyes. Doubtless he was very glad that matters
had got settled, for he would have preferred death
to a rupture of their connection, but deep down in
his heart there was a silent anguish, a profound sense
of pain, which he had no experience of and dared not
talk about. How Philippe quieted their mother’s
fears he never knew, but three days later she returned
to Les Fondettes, apparently satisfied. On the
evening of her return, at Nana’s house, he trembled
when Francois announced the lieutenant, but the latter
jested gaily and treated him like a young rascal,
whose escapade he had favored as something not likely
to have any consequences. The lad’s heart
was sore within him; he scarcely dared move and blushed
girlishly at the least word that was spoken to him.
He had not lived much in Philippe’s society;
he was ten years his junior, and he feared him as he
would a father, from whom stories about women are
concealed. Accordingly he experienced an uneasy
sense of shame when he saw him so free in Nana’s
company and heard him laugh uproariously, as became
a man who was plunging into a life of pleasure with
the gusto born of magnificent health. Nevertheless,
when his brother shortly began to present himself
every day, Georges ended by getting somewhat used to
it all. Nana was radiant.
This, her latest installation, had
been involving all the riotous waste attendant on
the life of gallantry, and now her housewarming was
being defiantly celebrated in a grand mansion positively
overflowing with males and with furniture.
One afternoon when the Hugons were
there Count Muffat arrived out of hours. But
when Zoe told him that Madame was with friends he refused
to come in and took his departure discreetly, as became
a gallant gentleman. When he made his appearance
again in the evening Nana received him with the frigid
indignation of a grossly affronted woman.
“Sir,” she said, “I
have given you no cause why you should insult me.
You must understand this: when I am at home to
visitors, I beg you to make your appearance just like
other people.”
The count simply gaped in astonishment.
“But, my dear ” he endeavored
to explain.
“Perhaps it was because I had
visitors! Yes, there were men here, but what
d’you suppose I was doing with those men?
You only advertise a woman’s affairs when you
act the discreet lover, and I don’t want to be
advertised; I don’t!”
He obtained his pardon with difficulty,
but at bottom he was enchanted. It was with scenes
such as these that she kept him in unquestioning and
docile submission. She had long since succeeded
in imposing Georges on him as a young vagabond who,
she declared, amused her. She made him dine with
Philippe, and the count behaved with great amiability.
When they rose from table he took the young man on
one side and asked news of his mother. From that
time forth the young Hugons, Vandeuvres and Muffat
were openly about the house and shook hands as guests
and intimates might have done. It was a more
convenient arrangement than the previous one.
Muffat alone still abstained discreetly from too-frequent
visits, thus adhering to the ceremonious policy of
an ordinary strange caller. At night when Nana
was sitting on her bearskins drawing off her stockings,
he would talk amicably about the other three gentlemen
and lay especial stress on Philippe, who was loyalty
itself.
“It’s very true; they’re
nice,” Nana would say as she lingered on the
floor to change her shift. “Only, you know,
they see what I am. One word about it and I should
chuck ’em all out of doors for you!”
Nevertheless, despite her luxurious
life and her group of courtiers, Nana was nearly bored
to death. She had men for every minute of the
night, and money overflowed even among the brushes
and combs in the drawers of her dressing table.
But all this had ceased to satisfy her; she felt that
there was a void somewhere or other, an empty place
provocative of yawns. Her life dragged on, devoid
of occupation, and successive days only brought back
the same monotonous hours. Tomorrow had ceased
to be; she lived like a bird: sure of her food
and ready to perch and roost on any branch which she
came to. This certainty of food and drink left
her lolling effortless for whole days, lulled her to
sleep in conventual idleness and submission as though
she were the prisoner of her trade. Never going
out except to drive, she was losing her walking powers.
She reverted to low childish tastes, would kiss Bijou
from morning to night and kill time with stupid pleasures
while waiting for the man whose caresses she tolerated
with an appearance of complaisant lassitude.
Amid this species of self-abandonment she now took
no thought about anything save her personal beauty;
her sole care was to look after herself, to wash and
to perfume her limbs, as became one who was proud
of being able to undress at any moment and in face
of anybody without having to blush for her imperfections.
At ten in the morning Nana would get
up. Bijou, the Scotch griffon dog,
used to lick her face and wake her, and then would
ensue a game of play lasting some five minutes, during
which the dog would race about over her arms and legs
and cause Count Muffat much distress. Bijou was
the first little male he had ever been jealous of.
It was not at all proper, he thought, that an animal
should go poking its nose under the bedclothes like
that! After this Nana would proceed to her dressing
room, where she took a bath. Toward eleven o’clock
Francois would come and do up her hair before beginning
the elaborate manipulations of the afternoon.
At breakfast, as she hated feeding
alone, she nearly always had Mme Maloir at table with
her. This lady would arrive from unknown regions
in the morning, wearing her extravagantly quaint hats,
and would return at night to that mysterious existence
of hers, about which no one ever troubled. But
the hardest to bear were the two or three hours between
lunch and the toilet. On ordinary occasions she
proposed a game of bezique to her old friend; on others
she would read the Figaro, in which the theatrical
echoes and the fashionable news interested her.
Sometimes she even opened a book, for she fancied
herself in literary matters. Her toilet kept
her till close on five o’clock, and then only
she would wake from her daylong drowse and drive out
or receive a whole mob of men at her own house.
She would often dine abroad and always go to bed very
late, only to rise again on the morrow with the same
languor as before and to begin another day, differing
in nothing from its predecessor.
The great distraction was to go to
the Batignolles and see her little Louis at her aunt’s.
For a fortnight at a time she forgot all about him,
and then would follow an access of maternal love, and
she would hurry off on foot with all the modesty and
tenderness becoming a good mother. On such occasions
she would be the bearer of snuff for her aunt and of
oranges and biscuits for the child, the kind of presents
one takes to a hospital. Or again she would drive
up in her landau on her return from the Bois, decked
in costumes, the resplendence of which greatly excited
the dwellers in the solitary street. Since her
niece’s magnificent elevation Mme Lerat had
been puffed up with vanity. She rarely presented
herself in the Avenue de Villiers, for she was pleased
to remark that it wasn’t her place to do so,
but she enjoyed triumphs in her own street. She
was delighted when the young woman arrived in dresses
that had cost four or five thousand francs and would
be occupied during the whole of the next day in showing
off her presents and in citing prices which quite
stupefied the neighbors. As often as not, Nana
kept Sunday free for the sake of “her family,”
and on such occasions, if Muffat invited her, she
would refuse with the smile of a good little shopwoman.
It was impossible, she would answer; she was dining
at her aunt’s; she was going to see Baby.
Moreover, that poor little man Louiset was always
ill. He was almost three years old, growing quite
a great boy! But he had had an eczema on the
back of his neck, and now concrétions were forming
in his ears, which pointed, it was feared, to decay
of the bones of the skull. When she saw how pale
he looked, with his spoiled blood and his flabby flesh
all out in yellow patches, she would become serious,
but her principal feeling would be one of astonishment.
What could be the matter with the little love that
he should grow so weakly? She, his mother, was
so strong and well!
On the days when her child did not
engross attention Nana would again sink back into
the noisy monotony of her existence, with its drives
in the Bois, first nights at the theater, dinners and
suppers at the Maison-d’Or or the Cafe Anglais,
not to mention all the places of public resort, all
the spectacles to which crowds rushed Mabille,
the reviews, the races. But whatever happened
she still felt that stupid, idle void, which caused
her, as it were, to suffer internal cramps. Despite
the incessant infatuations that possessed her heart,
she would stretch out her arms with a gesture of immense
weariness the moment she was left alone. Solitude
rendered her low spirited at once, for it brought her
face to face with the emptiness and boredom within
her. Extremely gay by nature and profession,
she became dismal in solitude and would sum up her
life in the following ejaculation, which recurred incessantly
between her yawns:
“Oh, how the men bother me!”
One afternoon as she was returning
home from a concert, Nana, on the sidewalk in the
Rue Montmartre, noticed a woman trotting along in
down-at-the-heel boots, dirty petticoats and a hat
utterly ruined by the rain. She recognized her
suddenly.
“Stop, Charles!” she shouted
to the coachman and began calling: “Satin,
Satin!”
Passers-by turned their heads; the
whole street stared. Satin had drawn near and
was still further soiling herself against the carriage
wheels.
“Do get in, my dear girl,”
said Nana tranquilly, disdaining the onlookers.
And with that she picked her up and
carried her off, though she was in disgusting contrast
to her light blue landau and her dress of pearl-gray
silk trimmed with Chantilly, while the street smiled
at the coachman’s loftily dignified demeanor.
From that day forth Nana had a passion
to occupy her thoughts. Satin became her vicious
foible. Washed and dressed and duly installed
in the house in the Avenue de Villiers, during three
days the girl talked of Saint-Lazare and the annoyances
the sisters had caused her and how those dirty police
people had put her down on the official list.
Nana grew indignant and comforted her and vowed she
would get her name taken off, even though she herself
should have to go and find out the minister of the
interior. Meanwhile there was no sort of hurry:
nobody would come and search for her at Nana’s that
was certain. And thereupon the two women began
to pass tender afternoons together, making numberless
endearing little speeches and mingling their kisses
with laughter. The same little sport, which the
arrival of the plainclothes men had interrupted in
the Rue de Laval, was beginning again in a jocular
sort of spirit. One fine evening, however, it
became serious, and Nana, who had been so disgusted
at Laure’s, now understood what it meant.
She was upset and enraged by it, the more so because
Satin disappeared on the morning of the fourth day.
No one had seen her go out. She had, indeed,
slipped away in her new dress, seized by a longing
for air, full of sentimental regret for her old street
existence.
That day there was such a terrible
storm in the house that all the servants hung their
heads in sheepish silence. Nana had come near
beating Francois for not throwing himself across the
door through which Satin escaped. She did her
best, however, to control herself, and talked of Satin
as a dirty swine. Oh, it would teach her to pick
filthy things like that out of the gutter!
When Madame shut herself up in her
room in the afternoon Zoe heard her sobbing.
In the evening she suddenly asked for her carriage
and had herself driven to Laure’s. It had
occurred to her that she would find Satin at the table
d’hote in the Rue des Martyrs.
She was not going there for the sake of seeing her
again but in order to catch her one in the face!
As a matter of fact Satin was dining at a little table
with Mme Robert. Seeing Nana, she began to laugh,
but the former, though wounded to the quick, did not
make a scene. On the contrary, she was very sweet
and very compliant. She paid for champagne made
five or six tablefuls tipsy and then carried off Satin
when Mme Robert was in the closets. Not till
they were in the carriage did she make a mordant attack
on her, threatening to kill her if she did it again.
After that day the same little business
began again continually. On twenty different
occasions Nana, tragically furious, as only a jilted
woman can be ran off in pursuit of this sluttish creature,
whose flights were prompted by the boredom she suffered
amid the comforts of her new home. Nana began
to talk of boxing Mme Robert’s ears; one day
she even meditated a duel; there was one woman too
many, she said.
In these latter times, whenever she
dined at Laure’s, she donned her diamonds and
occasionally brought with her Louise Violaine, Maria
Blond and Tatan Nene, all of them ablaze with finery;
and while the sordid feast was progressing in the
three saloons and the yellow gaslight flared overhead,
these four resplendent ladies would demean themselves
with a vengeance, for it was their delight to dazzle
the little local courtesans and to carry them off
when dinner was over. On days such as these Laure,
sleek and tight-laced as ever would kiss everyone with
an air of expanded maternity. Yet notwithstanding
all these circumstances Satin’s blue eyes and
pure virginal face remained as calm as heretofore;
torn, beaten and pestered by the two women, she would
simply remark that it was a funny business, and they
would have done far better to make it up at once.
It did no good to slap her; she couldn’t cut
herself in two, however much she wanted to be nice
to everybody. It was Nana who finally carried
her off in triumph, so assiduously had she loaded Satin
with kindnesses and presents. In order to be
revenged, however, Mme Robert wrote abominable, anonymous
letters to her rival’s lovers.
For some time past Count Muffat had
appeared suspicious, and one morning, with considerable
show of feeling, he laid before Nana an anonymous
letter, where in the very first sentences she read
that she was accused of deceiving the count with Vandeuvres
and the young Hugons.
“It’s false! It’s
false!” she loudly exclaimed in accents of extraordinary
candor.
“You swear?” asked Muffat,
already willing to be comforted.
“I’ll swear by whatever
you like yes, by the head of my child!”
But the letter was long. Soon
her connection with Satin was described in the broadest
and most ignoble terms. When she had done reading
she smiled.
“Now I know who it comes from,” she remarked
simply.
And as Muffat wanted her denial to
the charges therein contained, she resumed quietly
enough:
“That’s a matter which
doesn’t concern you, dear old pet. How can
it hurt you?”
She did not deny anything. He
used some horrified expressions. Thereupon she
shrugged her shoulders. Where had he been all
this time? Why, it was done everywhere!
And she mentioned her friends and swore that fashionable
ladies went in for it. In fact, to hear her speak,
nothing could be commoner or more natural. But
a lie was a lie, and so a moment ago he had seen how
angry she grew in the matter of Vandeuvres and the
young Hugons! Oh, if that had been true he would
have been justified in throttling her! But what
was the good of lying to him about a matter of no
consequence? And with that she repeated her previous
expression:
“Come now, how can it hurt you?”
Then as the scene still continued, she closed it with
a rough speech:
“Besides, dear boy, if the thing
doesn’t suit you it’s very simple:
the house door’s open! There now, you must
take me as you find me!”
He hung his head, for the young woman’s
vows of fidelity made him happy at bottom. She,
however, now knew her power over him and ceased to
consider his feelings. And from that time forth
Satin was openly installed in the house on the same
footing as the gentlemen. Vandeuvres had not
needed anonymous letters in order to understand how
matters stood, and accordingly he joked and tried
to pick jealous quarrels with Satin. Philippe
and Georges, on their parts, treated her like a jolly
good fellow, shaking hands with her and cracking the
riskiest jokes imaginable.
Nana had an adventure one evening
when this slut of a girl had given her the go-by and
she had gone to dine in the Rue des Martyrs
without being able to catch her. While she was
dining by herself Daguenet had appeared on the scene,
for although he had reformed, he still occasionally
dropped in under the influence of his old vicious inclinations.
He hoped of course that no one would meet him in these
black recesses, dedicated to the town’s lowest
depravity. Accordingly even Nana’s presence
seemed to embarrass him at the outset. But he
was not the man to run away and, coming forward with
a smile, he asked if Madame would be so kind as to
allow him to dine at her table. Noticing his jocular
tone, Nana assumed her magnificently frigid demeanor
and icily replied:
“Sit down where you please,
sir. We are in a public place.”
Thus begun, the conversation proved
amusing. But at dessert Nana, bored and burning
for a triumph, put her elbows on the table and began
in the old familiar way:
“Well, what about your marriage,
my lad? Is it getting on all right?”
“Not much,” Daguenet averred.
As a matter of fact, just when he
was about to venture on his request at the Muffats’,
he had met with such a cold reception from the count
that he had prudently refrained. The business
struck him as a failure. Nana fixed her clear
eyes on him; she was sitting, leaning her chin on her
hand, and there was an ironical curve about her lips.
“Oh yes! I’m a baggage,”
she resumed slowly. “Oh yes, the future
father-in-law will have to be dragged from between
my claws! Dear me, dear me, for a fellow with
nous, you’re jolly stupid! What!
D’you mean to say you’re going to tell
your tales to a man who adores me and tells me everything?
Now just listen: you shall marry if I wish it,
my little man!”
For a minute or two he had felt the
truth of this, and now he began scheming out a method
of submission. Nevertheless, he still talked
jokingly, not wishing the matter to grow serious, and
after he had put on his gloves he demanded the hand
of Mlle Estelle de Beuville in the strict regulation
manner. Nana ended by laughing, as though she
had been tickled. Oh, that Mimi! It was
impossible to bear him a grudge! Daguenet’s
great successes with ladies of her class were due to
the sweetness of his voice, a voice of such musical
purity and pliancy as to have won him among courtesans
the sobriquet of “Velvet-Mouth.”
Every woman would give way to him when he lulled her
with his sonorous caresses. He knew this power
and rocked Nana to sleep with endless words, telling
her all kinds of idiotic anecdotes. When they
left the table d’hote she was blushing rosy-red;
she trembled as she hung on his arm; he had reconquered
her. As it was very fine, she sent her carriage
away and walked with him as far as his own place, where
she went upstairs with him naturally enough.
Two hours later, as she was dressing again, she said:
“So you hold to this marriage of yours, Mimi?”
“Egad,” he muttered, “it’s
the best thing I could possibly do after all!
You know I’m stony broke.”
She summoned him to button her boots, and after a
pause:
“Good heavens! I’ve
no objection. I’ll shove you on! She’s
as dry as a lath, is that little thing, but since
it suits your game oh, I’m agreeable:
I’ll run the thing through for you.”
Then with bosom still uncovered, she began laughing:
“Only what will you give me?”
He had caught her in his arms and
was kissing her on the shoulders in a perfect access
of gratitude while she quivered with excitement and
struggled merrily and threw herself backward in her
efforts to be free.
“Oh, I know,” she cried,
excited by the contest. “Listen to what
I want in the way of commission. On your wedding
day you shall make me a present of your innocence.
Before your wife, d’you understand?”
“That’s it! That’s
it!” he said, laughing even louder than Nana.
The bargain amused them they
thought the whole business very good, indeed.
Now as it happened, there was a dinner
at Nana’s next day. For the matter of that,
it was the customary Thursday dinner, and Muffat,
Vandeuvres, the young Hugons and Satin were present.
The count arrived early. He stood in need of
eighty thousand francs wherewith to free the young
woman from two or three debts and to give her a set
of sapphires she was dying to possess. As he
had already seriously lessened his capital, he was
in search of a lender, for he did not dare to sell
another property. With the advice of Nana herself
he had addressed himself to Labordette, but the latter,
deeming it too heavy an undertaking, had mentioned
it to the hairdresser Francis, who willingly busied
himself in such affairs in order to oblige his lady
clients. The count put himself into the hands
of these gentlemen but expressed a formal desire not
to appear in the matter, and they both undertook to
keep in hand the bill for a hundred thousand francs
which he was to sign, excusing themselves at the same
time for charging a matter of twenty thousand francs
interest and loudly denouncing the blackguard usurers
to whom, they declared, it had been necessary to have
recourse. When Muffat had himself announced,
Francis was putting the last touches to Nana’s
coiffure. Labordette also was sitting familiarly
in the dressing room, as became a friend of no consequence.
Seeing the count, he discreetly placed a thick bundle
of bank notes among the powders and pomades, and the
bill was signed on the marble-topped dressing table.
Nana was anxious to keep Labordette to dinner, but
he declined he was taking a rich foreigner
about Paris. Muffat, however, led him aside and
begged him to go to Becker, the jeweler, and bring
him back thence the set of sapphires, which he wanted
to present the young woman by way of surprise that
very evening. Labordette willingly undertook the
commission, and half an hour later Julien handed the
jewel case mysteriously to the count.
During dinnertime Nana was nervous.
The sight of the eighty thousand francs had excited
her. To think all that money was to go to tradespeople!
It was a disgusting thought. After soup had been
served she grew sentimental, and in the splendid dining
room, glittering with plate and glass, she talked
of the bliss of poverty. The men were in evening
dress, Nana in a gown of white embroidered satin, while
Satin made a more modest appearance in black silk
with a simple gold heart at her throat, which was
a present from her kind friend. Julien and Francois
waited behind the guests and were assisted in this
by Zoe. All three looked most dignified.
“It’s certain I had far
greater fun when I hadn’t a cent!” Nana
repeated.
She had placed Muffat on her right
hand and Vandeuvres on her left, but she scarcely
looked at them, so taken up was she with Satin, who
sat in state between Philippe and Georges on the opposite
side of the table.
“Eh, duckie?” she kept
saying at every turn. “How we did use to
laugh in those days when we went to Mother Josse’s
school in the Rue Polonceau!”
When the roast was being served the
two women plunged into a world of reminiscences.
They used to have regular chattering fits of this kind
when a sudden desire to stir the muddy depths of their
childhood would possess them. These fits always
occurred when men were present: it was as though
they had given way to a burning desire to treat them
to the dunghill on which they had grown to woman’s
estate. The gentlemen paled visibly and looked
embarrassed. The young Hugons did their best to
laugh, while Vandeuvres nervously toyed with his beard
and Muffat redoubled his gravity.
“You remember Victor?”
said Nana. “There was a wicked little fellow
for you! Why, he used to take the little girls
into cellars!”
“I remember him perfectly,”
replied Satin. “I recollect the big courtyard
at your place very well. There was a portress
there with a broom!”
“Mother Boche she’s dead.”
“And I can still picture your
shop. Your mother was a great fatty. One
evening when we were playing your father came in drunk.
Oh, so drunk!”
At this point Vandeuvres tried to
intercept the ladies’ reminiscences and to effect
a diversion,
“I say, my dear, I should be
very glad to have some more truffles. They’re
simply perfect. Yesterday I had some at the house
of the Duc de Corbreuse, which did not come
up to them at all.”
“The truffles, Julien!” said Nana roughly.
Then returning to the subject:
“By Jove, yes, Dad hadn’t
any sense! And then what a smash there was!
You should have seen it down, down, down
we went, starving away all the time. I can tell
you I’ve had to bear pretty well everything and
it’s a miracle I didn’t kick the bucket
over it, like Daddy and Mamma.”
This time Muffat, who was playing
with his knife in a state of infinite exasperation,
made so bold as to intervene.
“What you’re telling us isn’t very
cheerful.”
“Eh, what? Not cheerful!”
she cried with a withering glance. “I believe
you; it isn’t cheerful! Somebody had to
earn a living for us dear boy. Oh yes, you know,
I’m the right sort; I don’t mince matters.
Mamma was a laundress; Daddy used to get drunk, and
he died of it! There! If it doesn’t
suit you if you’re ashamed of my family ”
They all protested. What was
she after now? They had every sort of respect
for her family! But she went on:
“If you’re ashamed of
my family you’ll please leave me, because I’m
not one of those women who deny their father and mother.
You must take me and them together, d’you understand?”
They took her as required; they accepted
the dad, the mamma, the past; in fact, whatever she
chose. With their eyes fixed on the tablecloth,
the four now sat shrinking and insignificant while
Nana, in a transport of omnipotence, trampled on them
in the old muddy boots worn long since in the Rue
de la Goutte-d’Or. She was determined not
to lay down the cudgels just yet. It was all
very fine to bring her fortunes, to build her palaces;
she would never leave off regretting the time when
she munched apples! Oh, what bosh that stupid
thing money was! It was made for the tradespeople!
Finally her outburst ended in a sentimentally expressed
desire for a simple, openhearted existence, to be passed
in an atmosphere of universal benevolence.
When she got to this point she noticed
Julien waiting idly by.
“Well, what’s the matter?
Hand the champagne then!” she said. “Why
d’you stand staring at me like a goose?”
During this scene the servants had
never once smiled. They apparently heard nothing,
and the more their mistress let herself down, the more
majestic they became. Julien set to work to pour
out the champagne and did so without mishap, but Francois,
who was handing round the fruit, was so unfortunate
as to tilt the fruit dish too low, and the apples,
the pears and the grapes rolled on the table.
“You bloody clumsy lot!” cried Nana.
The footman was mistaken enough to
try and explain that the fruit had not been firmly
piled up. Zoe had disarranged it by taking out
some oranges.
“Then it’s Zoe that’s the goose!”
said Nana.
“Madame ” murmured the lady’s
maid in an injured tone.
Straightway Madame rose to her feet,
and in a sharp voice and with royally authoritative
gesture:
“We’ve had enough of this,
haven’t we? Leave the room, all of you!
We don’t want you any longer!”
This summary procedure calmed her
down, and she was forthwith all sweetness and amiability.
The dessert proved charming, and the gentlemen grew
quite merry waiting on themselves. But Satin,
having peeled a pear, came and ate it behind her darling,
leaning on her shoulder the while and whispering sundry
little remarks in her ear, at which they both laughed
very loudly. By and by she wanted to share her
last piece of pear with Nana and presented it to her
between her teeth. Whereupon there was a great
nibbling of lips, and the pear was finished amid kisses.
At this there was a burst of comic protest from the
gentlemen, Philippe shouting to them to take it easy
and Vandeuvres asking if one ought to leave the room.
Georges, meanwhile, had come and put his arm round
Satin’s waist and had brought her back to her
seat.
“How silly of you!” said
Nana. “You’re making her blush, the
poor, darling duck. Never mind, dear girl, let
them chaff. It’s our own little private
affair.”
And turning to Muffat, who was watching
them with his serious expression:
“Isn’t it, my friend?”
“Yes, certainly,” he murmured with a slow
nod of approval.
He no longer protested now. And
so amid that company of gentlemen with the great names
and the old, upright traditions, the two women sat
face to face, exchanging tender glances, conquering,
reigning, in tranquil defiance of the laws of sex,
in open contempt for the male portion of the community.
The gentlemen burst into applause.
The company went upstairs to take
coffee in the little drawing room, where a couple
of lamps cast a soft glow over the rosy hangings and
the lacquer and old gold of the knickknacks.
At that hour of the evening the light played discreetly
over coffers, bronzes and china, lighting up silver
or ivory inlaid work, bringing into view the polished
contours of a carved stick and gleaming over a panel
with glossy silky reflections. The fire, which
had been burning since the afternoon, was dying out
in glowing embers. It was very warm the
air behind the curtains and hangings was languid with
warmth. The room was full of Nana’s intimate
existence: a pair of gloves, a fallen handkerchief,
an open book, lay scattered about, and their owner
seemed present in careless attire with that well-known
odor of violets and that species of untidiness which
became her in her character of good-natured courtesan
and had such a charming effect among all those rich
surroundings. The very armchairs, which were
as wide as beds, and the sofas, which were as deep
as alcoves, invited to slumber oblivious of the flight
of time and to tender whispers in shadowy corners.
Satin went and lolled back in the
depths of a sofa near the fireplace. She had
lit a cigarette, but Vandeuvres began amusing himself
by pretending to be ferociously jealous. Nay,
he even threatened to send her his seconds if she
still persisted in keeping Nana from her duty.
Philippe and Georges joined him and teased her and
badgered her so mercilessly that at last she shouted
out:
“Darling! Darling!
Do make ’em keep quiet! They’re still
after me!”
“Now then, let her be,”
said Nana seriously. “I won’t have
her tormented; you know that quite well. And
you, my pet, why d’you always go 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 Goutte-d’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 give
in when she met Satin’s eyes once more.
Then she grew inflexible. No, the thing was out
of the question! The count, deeply moved and
with a look of suffering, had risen and was going in
quest of his hat. But in the doorway he remembered
the set of sapphires; he could feel the case in his
pocket. He had been wanting to hide it at the
bottom of the bed so that when she entered it before
him she should feel it against her legs. Since
dinnertime he had been meditating this little surprise
like a schoolboy, and now, in trouble and anguish of
heart at being thus dismissed, he gave her the case
without further ceremony.
“What is it?” she queried.
“Sapphires? Dear me! Oh yes, it’s
that set. How sweet you are! But I say,
my darling, d’you believe it’s the same
one? In the shopwindow it made a much greater
show.”
That was all the thanks he got, and
she let him go away. He noticed Satin stretched
out silent and expectant, and with that he gazed at
both women and without further insistence submitted
to his fate and went downstairs. The hall door
had not yet closed when Satin caught Nana round the
waist and danced and sang. Then she ran to the
window.
“Oh, just look at the figure
he cuts down in the street!” The two women leaned
upon the wrought-iron window rail in the shadow of
the curtains. One o’clock struck.
The Avenue de Villiers was deserted, and its double
file of gas lamps stretched away into the darkness
of the damp March night through which great gusts
of wind kept sweeping, laden with rain. There
were vague stretches of land on either side of the
road which looked like gulfs of shadow, while scaffoldings
round mansions in process of construction loomed upward
under the dark sky. They laughed uncontrollably
as they watched Muffat’s rounded back and glistening
shadow disappearing along the wet sidewalk into the
glacial, desolate plains of new Paris. But Nana
silenced Satin.
“Take care; there are the police!”
Thereupon they smothered their laughter
and gazed in secret fear at two dark figures walking
with measured tread on the opposite side of the avenue.
Amid all her luxurious surroundings, amid all the royal
splendors of the woman whom all must obey, Nana still
stood in horror of the police and did not like to
hear them mentioned any oftener than death. She
felt distinctly unwell when a policeman looked up at
her house. One never knew what such people might
do! They might easily take them for loose women
if they heard them laughing at that hour of the night.
Satin, with a little shudder, had squeezed herself
up against Nana. Nevertheless, the pair stayed
where they were and were soon interested in the approach
of a lantern, the light of which danced over the puddles
in the road. It was an old ragpicker woman who
was busy raking in the gutters. Satin recognized
her.
“Dear me,” she exclaimed,
“it’s Queen Pomare with her wickerwork
shawl!”
And while a gust of wind lashed the
fine rain in their faces she told her beloved the
story of Queen Pomare. Oh, she had been a splendid
girl once upon a time: all Paris had talked of
her beauty. And such devilish go and such cheek!
Why, she led the men about like dogs, and great people
stood blubbering on her stairs! Now she was in
the habit of getting tipsy, and the women round about
would make her drink absinthe for the sake of a laugh,
after which the street boys would throw stones at
her and chase her. In fact, it was a regular smashup;
the queen had tumbled into the mud! Nana listened,
feeling cold all over.
“You shall see,” added Satin.
She whistled a man’s whistle,
and the ragpicker, who was then below the window,
lifted her head and showed herself by the yellow flare
of her lantern. Framed among rags, a perfect
bundle of them, a face looked out from under a tattered
kerchief a blue, seamed face with a toothless,
cavernous mouth and fiery bruises where the eyes should
be. And Nana, seeing the frightful old woman,
the wanton drowned in drink, had a sudden fit of recollection
and saw far back amid the shadows of consciousness
the vision of Chamont Irma d’Anglars,
the old harlot crowned with years and honors, ascending
the steps in front of her chateau amid abjectly reverential
villagers. Then as Satin whistled again, making
game of the old hag, who could not see her:
“Do leave off; there are the
police!” she murmured in changed tones.
“In with us, quick, my pet!”
The measured steps were returning,
and they shut the window. Turning round again,
shivering, and with the damp of night on her hair,
Nana was momentarily astounded at sight of her drawing
room. It seemed as though she had forgotten it
and were entering an unknown chamber. So warm,
so full of perfume, was the air she encountered that
she experienced a sense of delighted surprise.
The heaped-up wealth of the place, the Old World furniture,
the fabrics of silk and gold, the ivory, the bronzes,
were slumbering in the rosy light of the lamps, while
from the whole of the silent house a rich feeling
of great luxury ascended, the luxury of the solemn
reception rooms, of the comfortable, ample dining room,
of the vast retired staircase, with their soft carpets
and seats. Her individuality, with its longing
for domination and enjoyment and its desire to possess
everything that she might destroy everything, was
suddenly increased. Never before had she felt
so profoundly the puissance of her sex. She gazed
slowly round and remarked with an expression of grave
philosophy:
“Ah well, all the same, one’s
jolly well right to profit by things when one’s
young!”
But now Satin was rolling on the bearskins
in the bedroom and calling her.
“Oh, do come! Do come!”
Nana undressed in the dressing room,
and in order to be quicker about it she took her thick
fell of blonde hair in both hands and began shaking
it above the silver wash hand basin, while a downward
hail of long hairpins rang a little chime on the shining
metal.