Nana: By Emile Zola - Illustrated

by Emile Zola

  But at that moment she caught sight of Julien standing with his arms hanging by his sides, and doing nothing.

  “Well! what? Pour out the champagne,” said she. “Why are you looking at me like a silly gander?”

  During the row the servants had not even smiled. They seemed not to hear, becoming more majestic the more madame forgot herself. Julien poured out the champagne without flinching. Unfortunately, François, who was handing round the fruit, held the dish too much on one side, and the apples, the pears, the grapes, rolled all over the table.

  “Stupid fool!” cried Nana.

  The footman made the mistake of trying to explain that the fruit was not placed securely on the dish. Zoé had disturbed it in removing some oranges.

  “Then,” said Nana, “Zoé’s a fool.”

  “But, madame—” murmured the maid, very much hurt.

  At this madame rose, and with a gesture of royal authority said curtly, “That’s enough, I think! Leave the room, all of you! We no longer require you.”

  This execution calmed her. She at once became very quiet and very amiable. The dessert passed off most pleasantly; and gentlemen were greatly amused at having to help themselves. But Satin, who had peeled a pear, went to eat it standing up behind her darling, leaning against her shoulders, and whispering things in her ear which made them both laugh very much; then she wished to share her last piece of pear, and held it out to Nana between her teeth, and their lips touched as they finished the fruit in a kiss. This produced a comical protest from the gentlemen. Philippe called to them not to stand on ceremony. Vandeuvres asked if they would like him to leave the room. George went and took hold of Satin round the waist and led her back to her seat.

  “How silly you are!” said Nana, “you make the little darling blush. Never mind, my love, don’t take any notice of them. That’s our business.” And, turning towards Muffat, who was looking on in his solemn way, she added, “Isn’t it, dear?”

  “Yes, certainly,” murmured he, slowly nodding his head.

  There were no more protests. In the midst of these gentlemen, of these great names, these ancient integrities, the two women, seated in front of each other, exchanging tender glances, imposed themselves, and reigned with the cool abuse of their sex and their avowed contempt for man. They applauded.

  The coffee was served upstairs in the parlour. Two lamps lighted up with their feeble light the rose-colour hangings, the lacquer and old gold knick-knacks. There was at this hour of the night, in the midst of the caskets, the bronzes, the china a discreet glimmer which illumined the gold and ivory incrustations, shone on the gloss of some carved wand, and watered a panel with a silky reflex. The afternoon fire had burnt low, it was very warm, a debilitating heat was confined by the heavy curtains and hangings. And in this room, all full of Nana’s private life, where her gloves, a handkerchief, an open book, lay scattered about, one met her free from all ceremony, with her odour of violets, her jolly-girl kind of disorder, creating a charming effect amongst all that wealth; whilst the easy-chairs as big as beds, and the sofas as deep as alcoves, seemed to invite to somnolence, forgetful of the flight of time, to sweet words whispered in the shadows of their corners.

  Satin went and stretched herself out on a sofa near the fireplace. She lit a cigarette; but Vandeuvres amused himself with pretending to be awfully jealous of her, and threatened to challenge her if she again turned Nana from her duties. Philippe and George joined in, teased her, and pinched her so hard, that she ended by crying out,

  “Darling! darling! do make them leave off! They’re annoying me again.”

  “Come, leave her alone,” said Nana seriously. “You know I won’t have her teased; and you, my deary, why do you always go with them, when you know they are so foolish?”

  Satin, very red in the face, and putting out her tongue, went into the dressing-room, the open door of which showed the pale marble lighted up by the subdued flame of a gas-jet enclosed in a ground-glass globe. Then Nana conversed with the four men, with the charm pertaining to the mistress of a household. She had been reading during the day a novel that had created a great sensation—the history of a courtesan; and she was disgusted. She said that it was all false, showing, besides, an indignant repugnance for such filthy literature, which had the pretension of being true to nature, as though one could describe everything, as though a novel ought not to be written just to while away a pleasant hour! Regarding books and plays, Nana had very fixed opinions. She wished for noble and tender works—things to set her thinking and to elevate her soul. Then the conversation having turned on the troubles that were agitating Paris—on the incendiary newspaper articles, the attempts at riot following the calls to arms enunciated every night at public meetings—she vented her wrath on the Republicans. Whatever did they want, those dirty fellows who never washed themselves? Wasn’t every one happy? Hadn’t the Emperor done everything for the people? A lot of swine, these people! She knew them—she could speak of them; and forgetting the respect she had just exacted at the dinner-table for her little world of the Rue de la Goutte d’Or, she assailed her relations and friends of bygone days with all the disgust and the horror of a woman arrived at the top of the tree. It so happened that very afternoon she had read in the “Figaro” the report of a public meeting written in a most comical style, and the recollection of which still made her laugh, on account of the slang words used, and the description of a disgusting drunkard who had been turned out.

  “Oh! those drunkards!” said she with an air of repugnance. “No, really now, their Republic would be a great misfortune for every one. Ah! may God preserve the Emperor as long as possible!” 3

  “God will hear you, my dear,” solemnly replied Muffat. “But never fear—the Emperor is strong.”

  He liked to see that she had such good feelings. They were both of the same opinion in politics. Vandeuvres and Lieutenant Hugon were also full of jokes about the “roughs”—braying asses who bolted at the sight of a bayonet. George that night remained pale and gloomy.

  “What’s the matter with the baby?” asked Nana, noticing how quiet he was.

  “Nothing, I’m listening,” murmured he.

  But he was suffering. On leaving the dining-room he had overheard Philippe joking with the young woman, and now it was Philippe and not he who was seated beside her. His chest heaved and seemed ready to burst, without his knowing why. He could not bear them to be together. He had such wicked thoughts that a lump rose in his throat, and he felt ashamed in spite of his anguish. He, who laughed about Satin, who had endured Steiner, then Muffat, then all the others, revolted, and became enraged at the idea that Philippe might one day become that woman’s lover.

  “Here! take Bijou,” said she to console him, passing him the little dog, which was sleeping on her lap. And George became quite lively again, holding something belonging to her—that animal full of the warmth of her knees.

  The conversation had fallen on a run of bad luck Vandeuvres had had the night before at the Cercle Imperial. Muffat, who was no player, expressed his surprise; but Vandeuvres, smiling, alluded to his approaching ruin, of which Paris already had begun to talk. It did not matter much how the end came, the thing was to end well. For some time past Nana had noticed he was nervous, with wrinkles at the corners of his mouth, and a vacillating look in his bright eyes. He retained his aristocratic haughtiness, the refined elegance of his impoverished race; and, as yet, it was only a slight vertigo at times, beneath that cranium emptied by women and play. One night that he passed with her he had frightened her with some atrocious idea. He was thinking of shutting himself up in his stable with his horses and setting fire to the place, when he had reached the end of his tether. At this time his only hope was in a horse named Lusignan, which was in training for the Grand Prize of Paris. He lived on this horse, which sustained his damaged credit. Every time Nana wanted money, he put her off till the month of June, if Lusignan won.

  “Bah!” said she, jokingly, “he can afford to
lose, as he is going to clear every one out at the races.”

  He merely replied with a mysterious little smile, then added lightly, “By the way, I have taken the liberty of naming a filly of mine, only an outsider, after you. Nana, Nana; it sounds very well. You are not annoyed?”

  “Annoyed—why?” said she, in reality greatly delighted.

  The conversation continued. They were talking of an execution shortly to take place, and which the young woman wanted to see, when Satin appeared at the dressing-room door, and called Nana in a supplicating voice. The latter rose at once and left the gentlemen, who were taking their ease, puffing their cigars, and discussing a very grave question, as to how far a murderer in a chronic state of alcoholism is responsible for his actions. In the dressing-room Zoé was seated on a chair, crying bitterly, whilst Satin was vainly endeavouring to console her.

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

  “Oh, darling! speak to her,” said Satin. “For the last twenty minutes I’ve been trying to reason with her. She’s crying because you called her a fool.”

  “Yes, madame—it’s very hard—it’s very hard—” stuttered Zoé, almost choked by a fresh fit of sobbing.

  This sight moved the young woman. She said some kind words; and as the other did not become calmer, she sat down before her, and put her arm round her waist, with a gesture of affectionate familiarity.

  “But, you silly girl! I said ‘fool’ just the same as I should have said something else! I didn’t mean it! I was in a passion. There! I was wrong. Now do leave off crying.”

  “I love madame so much,” stammered Zoé. “After all that I have done for madame.”

  Then Nana kissed the maid. After which, wishing to show that she was not angry, she gave her a dress that she had worn only three times. Their quarrels always ended in presents. Zoé wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and before carrying the dress off on her arm, she said that they were all very sad down in the kitchen, that Julien and Francois had not been able to eat any dinner, as madame’s anger had taken away all their appetite. And madame sent them a louis as a pledge of reconciliation. She could not bear to see any one unhappy.

  Nana returned to the drawing-room, happy at having put an end to the tiff, which was causing her some anxiety for the morrow, when Satin whispered quickly in her ear. She complained, she threatened to go away, if those men teased her again; and she insisted on her darling sending them all off that night. It would be a lesson for them. And then it would be so nice to be alone together! Nana, again becoming anxious, swore that it was not possible. Then the other spoke harshly to her, like a passionate child insisting on having her way.

  “I insist on it, do you hear? Send them away, or else I’ll go!” And she returned into the drawing-room, and lay down on a sofa, away from the others and near a window, where she remained quite silent and as though dead, waiting with her large eyes fixed on Nana.

  The gentlemen were drawing their conclusions against the new theories of the writers on criminal law; with that wonderful proposition as to irresponsibility in certain pathological cases, there threatened to be no more criminals, but only invalids. The young woman, who kept nodding her approval, was trying to think of a means of getting rid of the count. The others would soon be going, but he would be sure to remain behind. And so it happened, when Philippe rose to leave, George followed him at once, his only anxiety was not to leave his brother behind him. Vandeuvres remained a few minutes longer; he sounded the ground; he waited to see if by chance some matter did not oblige Muffat to leave him in possession, but when he saw him evidently making himself comfortable for the rest of the evening, he did not persist, but took his leave like a man of tact. But as he moved towards the door he noticed Satin, with her fixed look; and understanding no doubt, and rather amused, he went and shook her hand.

  “Well, we’re not angry, are we?” murmured he. “Forgive me. On my word, you’re the best of us after all!”

  Satin disdained to reply. She did not take her eyes off Nana and the count, who were now left to themselves. Being no longer under any restraint, Muffat had gone and seated himself beside the young woman, and had taken hold of her fingers, which he was kissing. Then she, to create a diversion, asked him if his daughter Estelle was better. The night before he had complained that the child seemed very melancholy; he could never spend a happy day in his own home, with his wife always out and his daughter wrapped up in an icy silence. Nana was always full of good advice respecting these family matters. And as Muffat, his mind and his body upset, began again giving way to his lamentations,

  “Why don’t you get her married?” asked she, recollecting her promise.

  And she at once ventured to speak of Daguenet. But, at the mention of the name, the count showed his disgust. Never, after what she had told him! She pretended to be greatly surprised, then burst out laughing, and putting her arms round his neck, said,

  “Oh! how can you be so jealous? Do be reasonable. He had been talking to you against me, and I was furious. To-day I am really sorry—” But over Muffat’s shoulder she encountered Satin’s fixed gaze. Feeling uneasy, she let go of him, and continued in a serious tone, “My friend, this marriage must take place; I don’t wish to prevent your daughter’s happiness. He’s really a very nice young man, you couldn’t find a better one.”

  And she launched forth into unbounded praise of Daguenet. The count had taken hold of her hands again; he no longer said, “no,” he would see, they could talk of it another time. Then as he spoke of going to bed, she lowered her voice and made objections. It was impossible, she was not well; if he loved her a little he would not insist. However, he was obstinate, he would not leave, and she was already giving in when she again encountered Satin’s fixed look. Then she became inflexible. No, it could not be. The count, much affected, and looking far from well, had risen and was seeking his hat. But at the door he recollected the set of sapphires, the case containing which he felt in his pocket. He had intended hiding it at the bottom of the bed, so that her legs might come in contact with it when she first got in; it was a big child’s surprise, which he had been planning ever since dinner. And, in his confusion, in his anguish at being thus dismissed, he abruptly handed her the jewels.

  “What is it?” asked she. “Why! sapphires. Ah! yes, that set we saw. How kind of you! But, I say, darling, do you think it’s the same one? It looked better in the window!”

  Those were all the thanks he had; she let him go. He had just caught sight of Satin waiting in silence on the sofa. Then he looked at the two women; and, no longer persisting, he submissively went off. The house door was scarcely closed when Satin seized hold of Nana round the waist, and danced and sang. Then, running to the window, she exclaimed:

  “Let’s see what a fool he looks outside!”

  In the shadow of the curtains, the two women leant on the iron rail. One o’clock struck. The Avenue de Villiers, now deserted, stretched far in the distance, with its double row of gas-lamps, in the midst of that damp darkness of March, swept by great gusts of wind full of rain. Patches of unoccupied ground appeared as masses of shadow; houses in course of construction displayed their tall scaffoldings beneath the black sky. And a mad fit of laughter seized the two girls as they caught sight of Muffat’s round back moving along the wet pavement, with the mournful reflection of his shadow, across that icy, empty plain of a new Paris. But Nana made Satin leave off.

  “Take care—the police!”

  Then they smothered their laughter, watching with a dumb fear two black figures walking in step on the other side of the Avenue. Nana, in all her luxury—in her royalty of a woman whom every one obeyed—had preserved a dread of the police, not liking to hear them spoken of any more than she did death. She felt uneasy whenever she saw a policeman look up at her house. One never knew what to expect from such people. They might very well take them for some low gay women, if they heard them laughing at that time of the night. Satin tremblingly pressed close up ag
ainst Nana. Yet they remained there, interested by the approach of a light dancing in the midst of the puddles on the pavement. It was the lantern of an old female rag-picker who was searching the gutters. Satin recognised her.

  “Why! said she, ”it’s Queen Pomaré with her wicker cashmere!”

  And whilst the wind beat the fine rain in their faces, she told her darling Queen Pomaré’s history. Oh! she was a superb woman once, and drove all Paris mad with her beauty. She had such go, such cheek, used the men like animals, and often had grand personages weeping on her stairs! Now, she had taken to drink, the women of the neighbourhood amused themselves by giving her absinthe; and in the streets the urchins followed her, throwing stones—in short, a regular smash-up—a queen fallen into the mire! Nana listened, feeling very cold.

  “You’ll just see,” added Satin.

  She whistled like a man. The rag-picker, who was under the window, raised her head and showed herself in the yellow light of her lantern. There appeared in that bundle of rags, beneath a big handkerchief in tatters, a scarred, bluish face, with the toothless aperture of the mouth and the flaming loopholes of the eyes; and Nana, in front of this frightful old age of a courtesan drowned in alcohol, beheld in the darkness the vision of Chamont—that Irma d’Anglars, the retired prostitute loaded with years and with honours, ascending the steps of her château, surrounded by a prostrate crowd of villagers. Then as Satin whistled again, amused at the old hag who could not see her, she murmured in an altered tone of voice,

  “Leave off—the police again! Let’s go away, quick, my darling.”

  The sound of footsteps returned. They closed the window. On turning round, Nana, shivering and with her hair all wet, on beholding the room, remained, as it were, struck with astonishment, as though she had never seen it before and had entered some unknown place. She found the atmosphere so warm, so perfumed, that she experienced a pleasant surprise. The wealth piled up around the ancient furniture, the gold and silk stuffs, the ivory, the bronzes, all seemed reposing in the rosy light of the lamps; whilst from the now hushed house there arose the sensation of a great luxury—the solemnity of the grand drawing-room, the comfortable amplitude of the dining-room, the peacefulness of the vast staircase, with the softness of the seats and carpets. It was like an abrupt expansion of herself, of her requirements of domination and enjoyment, of her wish to possess everything merely to destroy it. Never before had she felt so strongly the power of her sex. She glanced slowly around her, and then said with an air of grave philosophy,