by Emile Zola
“You know that the Prince of Scotland has already had a stage-box booked for him to see the ‘Blonde Venus,’ when he comes for the Exhibition.”
“I hope all the princes will come and see it,” said Bordenave, with his mouth full.
“The Shah of Persia is expected on Sunday,” observed Lucy Stewart.
Then Rose Mignon talked of the Shah’s diamonds. He wore a tunic which was quite covered with precious stones, it was a marvel, a blazing star, and was worth millions; and all the ladies, with pale faces and eyes glaring with covetousness, stretched their necks as they mentioned the other kings and emperors who were expected. They were all thinking of some caprice of royalty, of a fortune made in a night.
“I say, my dear,” asked Caroline Héquet, leaning towards Vandeuvres, “how old is the Emperor of Russia?”
“Oh! he’s no age,” replied the count, laughing. “You’ve no chance in that quarter, I assure you.”
Nana pretended to be very much offended. The conversation was becoming too coarse, many protested by a murmur; but Blanche started giving some information about the King of Italy, whom she had seen once at Milan. He was not very handsome, but that did not prevent him from being very successful with the women; and she seemed quite disappointed when Fauchery stated that Victor-Emmanuel would not be able to come. Louise Violaine and Léa preferred the Emperor of Austria. All of a sudden little Maria Blond was heard to say, “What a dry old stick the King of Prussia is! I was at Baden last year. I was constantly meeting him with Count Bismarck.”
“Ah! Bismarck,” interrupted Simone. “I used to know him. He is a charming fellow.”
“That’s just what I was saying yesterday,” exclaimed Vandeuvres, “and no one would believe me.”
And just the same as at Countess Sabine’s, they talked for a long while about Count Bismarck. Vandeuvres repeated the same phrases he had used before. For a moment one seemed to be again in the Muffats’ drawing-room; the women, only, were changed. In just the same way, too, the conversation turned on music. Then, Foucarmont having dropped a word about the taking of the veil which all Paris was talking of, Nana became interested and insisted on hearing all about Mademoiselle de Fougeray. Oh! poor little thing, to go and bury herself alive in that way! However, it was her own wish! The women round the table were all deeply affected. George, tired of hearing the same things over again, was questioning Daguenet respecting Nana’s private habits, when the conversation fatally returned to Count Bismarck. Tatan Néné, leaning towards Labordette and whispering in his ear, asked him who was that Bismarck, whom she had never heard of. Then, Labordette coolly told her some of the most awful lies imaginable: Bismarck fed on raw meat; whenever he encountered a woman near his stronghold, he carried her off on his back; though only forty years old, he had already had thirty-two children.
“Only forty years old, and thirty-two children!” exclaimed Tatan Néné, quite astounded, but convinced. “He must be awfully worn out for his age.” Then as every one burst into a laugh, she saw it was at her, so she hastened to add: “How stupid you are! How am I to know when you are only joking?”
Gaga, however, had continued talking of the Exhibition. Like all the other ladies, she was rejoicing and making her preparations. It would be a good season, with all the provincials and the foreigners rushing to Paris. Then, perhaps, after the Exhibition, if everything went well, she could retire to Juvisy, to a little house she had had her eye upon for a long time.
“What would you?” said she to La Faloise, “one never has any prospects. If one were only loved!”
Gaga was going in for a little tenderness, because she had felt the young man’s knee touch her own. He was very red in the face. She, lisping all the while, weighed him with a glance. A little gentleman, not very wealthy; but, then, she was no longer hard to please. La Faloise obtained her address.
“Look,” murmured Vandeuvres to Clarisse, “I fancy that Gaga is robbing you of your Hector.”
“Oh! I don’t care a fig!” replied the actress. “The fellow’s a fool. I have already turned him out of my place three times. But, you know, when youngsters go in for the old ones, it disgusts me.”
She interrupted herself to draw his attention, with a slight nod, to Blanche, who, ever since the early part of the supper, had been leaning in a very uncomfortable position, looking very proud, but wishing to display her shoulders to the distinguished old gentleman, who was seated only three places from her.
“You are being abandoned also, my boy,” resumed Clarisse.
Vandeuvres smiled shrewdly, with a gesture of indifference. He, certainly, wouldn’t stand in the way of poor Blanche making a conquest. He was far more interested in the exhibition Steiner was making of himself. The banker was well known for his numerous love affairs. The terrible German Jew, the great hatcher of businesses whose hands founded millions, became quite a fool whenever he had a hankering after a woman; and he wanted them all. One could never appear at a theatre but he secured her, no matter at what price. The most incredible amounts were mentioned. Twice during his life had his furious appetite for the fair sex ruined him. As Vandeuvres said, the women avenged morality in emptying his coffers. A grand transaction in shares of the saltworks of the Landes having restored him his position on the Bourse,ag the Mignons, for six weeks past, had been having a rare nibble at the profits. But now bets were freely made that it wouldn’t be the Mignons who would finish them, for Nana was showing her white teeth. Once again Steiner was hooked, and so securely that, seated beside Nana, he looked quite dumbfounded, eating without the least appetite, his under lip hanging down, and his face a mass of blotches. She had only to fix a sum. Yet she did not hurry herself, but played with him, blowing little laughs into his hairy ear, and amusing herself with the sight of the spasms which now and again passed over his fat face. It would be quite time enough to land him, if really that uncivil beast Count Muffat was going to play at being joseph.ah
“Léoville or Chambertin?”ai murmured a waiter, thrusting his head in between Nana and Steiner, just as the latter was whispering to the young woman.
“Eh! what!” he stammered, quite bewildered. “What you like, I don’t care.”
Vandeuvres nudged Lucy Stewart, who was noted for saying unpleasant things, and having a most fiendish temper whenever put out about anything; and Mignon’s behaviour all the evening had quite exasperated her.
“You know he would even go and hold the candle,” said she to the count. “He hopes to do the same as he did with young Jonquier. You recollect Jonquier, who was with Rose, and who took a fancy to tall Laure. Mignon went and arranged everything with Laure for Jonquier, and then he brought him back, arm-in-arm, to Rose, like a husband who had been allowed to go on a spree. But this time it won’t do. Nana is not one to return the men who are lent her.”
“Whatever is Mignon looking at his wife in that angry way for?” asked Vandeuvres.
He leant forward a little, and noticed that Rose was getting very sweet on Fauchery. That explained to him why his neighbour had spoken in such a spiteful manner. He resumed with a laugh, “The devil! are you jealous?”
“Jealous!” repeated Lucy, furious. “Ah, well! if Rose wants Léon, I give him to her freely. He isn’t worth much! One bouquet a week, and that not always! Look you, my boy, all those theatre-girls are the same. Rose wept with rage when she read Léon’s article on Nana, I know it for certain. So, you see, she also must have an article, and she’s earning it. As for me, I’ll kick Léon out of my place, you bet!” She stopped to tell a waiter standing behind her with his two bottles, “Léoville,” then, lowering her voice, she resumed, “I’m not going to kick up a fuss, it’s not my way; but she’s a dirty hussy all the same. If I were her husband, I’d lead her a fine dance. Oh! this won’t bring her any luck. She doesn’t know my Fauchery, a dirty fellow, he too, who sticks to a woman simply to improve his position in the world. They’re a fine lot!”
Vandeuvres tried to calm her. Bordenave, abando
ned by Rose and by Lucy, was fast losing his temper, and kept calling out that every one was letting papa die of hunger and thirst. This caused a happy diversion. The supper was becoming interminable ; almost every one had left off eating, but the champagne, that many of the guests had been drinking ever since the soup, was gradually animating them with a nervous intoxication. They began to be more free in their behaviour; the women put their elbows on the table, now all in disorder, the men, to breathe more at ease, leant back in their chairs, and the black coats mingled in still closer proximity with the gay-coloured dresses, whilst naked shoulders, turned sideways to the light, had a gloss like silk. It was a great deal too warm, the light from the candles became yellower still, and the atmosphere was loaded with the fumes rising from the table. Now and then, when a head bent forward beneath a shower of curls, the flash from some diamond ornament illuminated the high chignon. The increasing merriment inflamed all, putting laughter into the eyes and displaying pearl white teeth in smiles, whilst the reflection of the candelabra caused the glasses of champagne to sparkle again. Broad jokes were uttered aloud, and every one was gesticulating in the midst of unanswered questions and remarks sent from one end of the room to the other. But the waiters made the most noise of all, as though thinking themselves in their restaurant—pushing up against each other as they served the ices and dessert, giving vent to guttural exclamations the while.
“My children!” shouted Bordenave, “don’t forget that we have a performance to-morrow. Take care! beware of the champagne! ”
“Oh,” said Foucarmont, “I have drunk of every kind of wine made in the world—some of the most extraordinary liquids, alcohols capable of killing a man right off. Well! they never affected me in the least. I can’t get drunk. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”
He looked very pale and cool, as he leant back in his chair and continued drinking.
“All the same,” murmured Louise Violaine, “leave off, you’ve had enough. It will be very amusing if I have to nurse you for the rest of the night.”
A slight intoxication coloured Lucy Stewart’s cheeks with a consumptive-looking flush, whilst Rose Mignon, her eyes moist with a desire to cry, had become quite tender-hearted. Tatan Néné, dizzy with having eaten too much, laughed vaguely at her own stupidity. The others, Blanche, Caroline, Simone, Maria, were all talking together, telling each other their private affairs—a dispute with a coachman, a contemplated trip into the country, and some complicated stories of lovers stolen and returned; but a young man near George, having tried to kiss Léa de Horn, received a slap with an, “I say, you! just leave me alone!” full of the most virtuous indignation; and George, who was very drunk and excited by the sight of Nana, hesitated before putting into execution an idea he had been nursing, which was to crawl under the table, and curl himself up at her feet like a little dog. No one would have seen him, and he would have kept very quiet. Then, Daguenet having, at Léa’s desire, told the young man to behave himself, George, all of a sudden, felt quite sad, as though he had just been scolded himself ; it was stupid, it was dull, there was nothing left worth living for. Daguenet, however, joked with him, and made him drink a tumblerful of water, asking him at the same time what he would do if he found himself alone with a woman, as three glasses of champagne were too much for him.
“For instance,” resumed Foucarmont, “in Havana they make a spirit out of some wild berry; it’s just like swallowing fire. Well! one night I drank nearly two pints of it, and it had no effect on me whatever. But I can tell you more than that; another time, when on the coast of Coromandel, some savages brought us a mixture that tasted like pepper and vitriol, and it had no effect on me. I can’t get drunk.”
For some little time past he had taken an aversion to La Faloise who was sitting in front of him. He kept sneering and saying most unpleasant things. La Faloise, who was becoming rather light-headed, moved about a good deal, keeping at the same time as close as possible to Gaga. But a great anxiety increased his restlessness—some one had taken his handkerchief; he kept asking for it in a drunken obstinate mood, questioning his neighbours, and stooping down to look under their chairs and amongst their feet. Then, as Gaga tried to quiet him: “It’s absurd,” he murmured, “there are my initials and my crest in the corner. It may compromise me.”
“I say, M. Falamoise, Lamafoise, Mafaloise!” cried Foucarmont, who thought it very witty to thus disfigure the young man’s name.
But La Faloise got angry. He stutteringly spoke of his ancestors. He threatened to pitch a decanter at Foucarmont’s head. Count de Vandeuvres had to interfere and assure him that Foucarmont was very funny. Indeed, every one laughed. That upset the bewildered young man’s determination, so he quietly sat down; and he went on eating as obediently as a child, when his cousin told him to do so in an angry tone of voice. Gaga kept him close to her again; only, every now and then, he glanced furtively and anxiously at the others, in search of his handkerchief. Then, Foucarmont, in his witty mood, attacked Labordette, right across the table. Louise Violaine tried to make him keep quiet, because, said she, whenever he got quarrelsome like that with others, it always ended badly for her. He thought it very funny to call Labordette “madame;” it seemed to amuse him immensely, for he kept on doing so, whilst Labordette coolly shrugged his shoulders, saying each time, “Keep quiet, my boy; don’t be a fool.”
But as Foucarmont continued, and even became insulting, without any one knowing why, Labordette left off answering him, and addressed himself to the Count de Vandeuvres. “Have the goodness to make your friend keep quiet, sir. I do not wish to lose my temper.”
He had fought in two duels—he was admitted and welcomed everywhere; so there was a general rising against Foucarmont. Every one was amused, thinking him very funny; but that was no reason for upsetting the harmony of the evening. Vandeuvres, whose fine face wore a dark look, insisted on his restoring Labordette his sex. The other men, Mignon, Steiner, Bordenave, all very far gone, interfered also, shouting so as to drown his voice; and the old gentleman, who was quite forgotten in his seat beside Nana, alone preserved his distinguished look, his quiet, weary smile, as he watched with his pale eyes the tumult around him.
“My little duck, suppose we have our coffee here,” said Bordenave. “We are all very comfortable.”
Nana did not answer at once. Ever since the commencement of the supper, she had not seemed to be in her own home. She felt quite lost among all these people, who almost stunned her with their loud talk and their calls for the waiters, and who were all thoroughly at their ease, as though in a restaurant. She, too, began to forget her duties as mistress of the house, occupying herself solely with stout old Steiner, who was almost bursting with apoplexy beside her. She listened to him, shaking her head the while, and laughing in the provoking way of a plump blonde. The champagne she had drunk had heightened her colour and moistened her lips, and given an extra sparkle to her eyes; and the banker offered more at every cajoling movement of her shoulders, at each slight though voluptuous heaving of her neck when she turned her head. He noticed, near her ear, a dainty little spot, a velvety skin which almost drove him mad. Now and then Nana recollected her guests, and tried to do the amiable, to show that she knew how to entertain. Towards the end of the supper she became quite tipsy. That vexed her very much. Champagne always got into her head at once. Then an idea seized upon her that thoroughly exasperated her. It was a dirty trick the other women were playing her, by behaving badly in her rooms. Oh! she saw through it well enough! Lucy winked her eye to stimulate Foucarmont against Labordette; whilst Rose, Caroline, and the others excited the gentlemen. Now, the row they kicked up was so great that it was impossible to hear oneself speak—just to show that they could all do as they liked when supping at Nana’s. Well! they would see. Though she was tipsy, she was still the best looking and the best behaved of the lot.
“My little duck,” repeated Bordenave, “tell them to serve the coffee in here. I should prefer it, on account of my leg.”
But Nana roughly jumped up from her seat, murmuring to Steiner and the old gentleman, who were lost in astonishment, “It serves me right; it will teach me not to invite such a low set another time.” Then, pointing to the dining-room door, she added aloud, “You know, if you want any coffee, there’s some in there.”
Every one rose from the table, and hurried towards the dining-room, without noticing Nana’s anger. And soon no one was left in the drawing-room but Bordenave, who was holding on to the walls and advancing cautiously, swearing all the time against those confounded women, who didn’t care a damn for papa, now that their bellies were full. Behind him, the waiters were already removing the cloth, under the directions of their chief, who shouted out his orders. They hurried themselves, shoving up against one another, making the table disappear like the scenery of a fairy play on the signal of the head scene-shifter. The ladies and gentlemen were to return to the drawing-room after taking their coffee.
“Thank goodness! it isn’t so warm in here,” said Gaga, with a slight shiver, as she entered the dining-room.
The window had been left open. Two lamps lighted up the table, on which the coffee was served with some liqueurs. There were no chairs, so they all took their coffee standing; whilst the noise caused by the waiters in the next room increased. Nana had disappeared; but no one was troubled about her absence. They got on very well without her, helping themselves, searching in the sideboard drawers for the spoons they wanted. Several groups were formed—those who had been separated during the supper rejoining one another, and exchanging looks, significant smiles, or a few words which summed up the situation.
“I say, Augustus,” said Rose Mignon, “ought not M. Fauchery to come and lunch with us one of these days?”
Mignon, who was playing with his watch chain, looked at the journalist severely for a second. Rose, he thought, was mad. As a good manager, he would put a stop to all such waste. For an article, well and good; but after that no admittance. However, as he knew that his wife would sometimes have her own way, and that he made a rule of paternally allowing her to commit a folly whenever he could not prevent it, he replied in his most amiable manner, “Certainly, I shall be delighted. Why not come to-morrow, then, M. Fauchery?”
