Nana: By Emile Zola - Illustrated Page 12

  “Work, ah! yes, work,” he at length stammered out. “Always plenty of work.”

  He was becoming himself again. He straightened his bent frame, passing his hand in a way familiar with him over his white hair, the scanty locks of which were brushed behind his ears.

  “What is it you work at so late?” asked Madame du Joncquoy “I thought you were at the reception held by the Minister of Finance?”

  But the countess interposed, “My father had to study some parliamentary bill.”

  “Yes, a parliamentary bill,” said he, “a bill, exactly. I shut myself in. It was in respect to factories. I wish them to be closed on Sundays. It is really shameful that the government does not display more energy in the matter. The churches are now scarcely frequented; it will all end in a great catastrophe.”

  Vandeuvres glanced at Fauchery. They were both behind the Marquis, and they kept near him. When Vandeuvres was able to take him on one side, to ask him about the charming person whom he was in the habit of taking into the country, the old man affected great surprise. Perhaps they had seen him with Baroness Decker, at whose house at Viroflay he sometimes spent a few days. Vandeuvres, for revenge, asked him suddenly, “I say, wherever have you been? Your elbow is all covered with cobwebs and plaster.”

  “My elbow,” he murmured, slightly troubled. “Why, so it is! A little dirt. I must have got that somehow as I came here.”

  Several persons were leaving. It was close upon midnight. Two footmen silently removed the empty cups and the plates of cake. The ladies were still sitting in front of the fire, though in a smaller circle than before, conversing more freely in the languor of the end of an evening. Even the room itself seemed overcome with drowsiness, and heavy shadows lingered about the walls. Then Fauchery talked of retiring. However, his eyes once more sought Countess Sabine. Having seen to her guests, she was now resting in her accustomed seat, saying nothing, her glance fixed on a log that was gradually burning away, and her face so white and impenetrable, that his doubts returned to him. The little black hairs on the mark she had near the corner of her mouth seemed quite golden in the fire-light—exactly the same as Nana’s even to the colour. He could not resist whispering to Vandeuvres about it. It was really quite true, he had never noticed it before; and they continued the parallel between Nana and the countess. They discovered a vague resemblance about the chin and the mouth; but the eyes were not at all alike. There Nana looked thoroughly kind-hearted and good-natured; whilst the countess was altogether doubtful—one would have said a cat asleep, with her claws hidden away, and her paws only slightly agitated with a nervous tremble.

  “All the same she’s a fine woman,” declared Fauchery.

  Vandeuvres seemed to unrobe her with a glance. “Yes, all the same,” said he. “But, you know, I have great doubts as to her thighs. She hasn’t any worth speaking of, I’ll bet!”

  He stopped as Fauchery sharply nudged his elbow, and directed his attention to Estelle, who was seated on her stool in front of them. They had raised their voices without noticing her, and she had most likely overheard them. However, she remained upright and immovable, with her skinny neck of a girl growing too fast, and on which not the smallest hair had turned. So they moved away a few steps, and Vandeuvres expressed his opinion that the countess was a most virtuous woman.

  At this moment, the ladies seated round the fire having raised their voices, Madame du Joncquoy was heard to say, “I have admitted that Count Bismarck may possess some wit. However, if you pretend he has genius—” They had once more returned to their first subject of conversation.

  “What! Bismarck again!” murmured Fauchery. “Well, this time I will indeed be off.”

  “Wait a minute” said Vandeuvres. “We must have a final ‘no’ from the count.”

  Count Muffat was conversing with his father-in-law and a few serious-looking men. Vandeuvres took him to one side, and repeated the invitation more pressingly, saying that he himself was going to the supper. A man could go anywhere. No one would think of seeing harm where, at the most, there was only a little curiosity. The count listened to these arguments with downcast eyes and immovable features. Vandeuvres noticed that he seemed to hesitate, when the Marquis de Chouard joined them, with a look of interrogation on his face; and when the latter was made acquainted with the subject under discussion, when Fauchery invited him also, he glanced furtively at his son-in-law. There was a moment of silence and embarrassment; but they encouraged each other, and they would no doubt have ended by accepting, if Count Muffat had not noticed that M. Venot was watching him fixedly. The little old man no longer smiled, his face bore a cadaverous expression, his eyes were sharp and piercing like gimlets.

  “No,” replied the count at once, in such a decided tone of voice that there was nothing more to be said.

  Then the marquis declined more sternly still. He talked of morality. The upper classes ought to set an example. Fauchery smiled, and shook hands with Vandeuvres. He would not wait for him, but went off at once, as he had to look in at the office of his paper.

  “At Nana’s at midnight, don’t forget.”

  La Faloise was leaving also, and Steiner had just taken leave of the countess. Other men were following them, and the same words were whispered on all sides, each one repeating, “At Nana’s at midnight,” as he put on his overcoat in the anteroom. George, who was waiting for his mother, stood in the doorway, and gave them all the correct address—the third floor, the door on the left hand side. Before retiring, Fauchery gave one last look round. Vandeuvres had resumed his place in the midst of the ladies, and was jesting with Léonide de Chezelles. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard were joining in the conversation, whilst worthy Madame Hugon was going to sleep with her eyes open. Behind the ladies’ petticoats, M. Venot, making himself scarce again, had recovered his smile, and in the big, solemn room the clock slowly struck midnight.

  “What! what!” Madame du Joncquoy was exclaiming, “you think that Count Bismarck will declare war against us, and that he will beat us? Oh! that’s too much!”

  They were, in fact, all laughing at Madame Chantereau, who had just made the statement, which she had heard in Alsace, where her husband owned a factory.

  “The Emperor is watching, thank goodness,” said Count Muffat, with official solemnity.

  These were the last words that Fauchery heard. He closed the door, after looking once more at Countess Sabine. She was calmly conversing with the head of the department, and seemed interested in the talk of the stout man. Most certainly he must have been mistaken, there was no flaw. It was a pity.

  “Well, aren’t you coming?” called La Faloise to him from the hall.

  And outside, on the pavement, as they bid each other good night, they both again repeated, “To-morrow, at Nana’s.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Ever since the morning, Zoé had given up the entire apartment to a person who had arrived from Brébant’s with quite a staff of waiters and other assistants. Brébant was to furnish everything—the supper, the glass and crockery, the table-linen, flowers, and even seats and stools. Nana would not have found a dozen napkins if she had ransacked all her cupboards, and, not having as yet had time to set herself up in everything since her new start in life, disdaining to go to a restaurant, she had preferred to make the restaurant come to her. It was more the thing. She wished to celebrate her great success as an actress by a supper which would be the talk of every one. As the dining-room was too small, they had set up the table in the drawing-room—a table on which places for twenty-five had been laid rather close together.

  “Is everything ready?” asked Nana, on returning home at midnight.

  “Oh! I don’t know,” roughly replied Zoé, who seemed altogether out of sorts. “Thank goodness! I have nothing to do with it. They are smashing everything in the kitchen and all over the place! With all that, I’ve had another row. The other two have been again. Upon my word, I chucked them out of the place.”

  She was spe
aking of madame’s two ex-gentlemen—the tradesman and the Wallachian—whom Nana had decided to dismiss; for, being now certain as to the future, she wished to turn over a new leaf, as she called it.

  “What an abominable nuisance they are!” she murmured. “If they come again, threaten them with the commissary of police.”

  Then she called Daguenet and George, who had remained in the anteroom, hanging up their overcoats. They had met at the stage-door in the Passage des Panoramas, and she had brought them in her cab. As no one else had then arrived, she called to them to come into the dressing-room whilst Zoé got her ready. In haste, and without changing her things, she had her hair done up, and placed some white roses in it and some others in her dress. The dressing-room was all encumbered with the furniture of the drawing-room, which had been placed there—a lot of little round tables, sofas, and arm-chairs, one on the top of the other—and she was quite ready, when her skirt caught on one of the castors and tore. Then, in her fury; she swore and cursed. Such accidents only happened to her. She tugged at her dress with rage, and pulled it off. It was made of a soft white silk, so simple, so supple, and so fine, that it enveloped her like a long chemise. But, not finding another dress to her taste, she put it on again at once, almost crying, and saying she would look like a rag-picker. Daguenet and George fastened up the tear with pins, whilst Zoé tidied her hair once more. All three busied themselves round about her, the youngster especially, who was on his knees on the floor, his hands buried in her skirt. She at length became calmer, when Daguenet assured her it could not be more than a quarter past midnight, for she had so hurried the last act of the “Blonde Venus,” scamping the cues, and skipping entire verses.

  “It was, anyhow, quite good enough for all those fools,” said she. “Did you notice? they were a rum-looking lot to-night! Zoé, my girl, you will have to wait here. Don’t go to bed, as I may perhaps want you. By jingo! just in time. Here’s some one.

  She hastened out of the room, leaving George on the floor, his coat tails sweeping the carpet. He blushed as he noticed Daguenet watching him. However, they had begun to feel a certain affection for each other. They re-arranged their neck-ties in front of the big looking-glass, and gave one another a brush, to get rid of the white powder that hung about their clothes from their contact with Nana.

  “It’s just like sugar,” murmured George, with a laugh of a greedy baby.

  A footman, hired for the night, ushered the guests into the parlour—a narrow room, in which four easy-chairs only had been left, so as to leave more space for the people. From the drawing-room close by could be heard a noise of crockery and plate being moved about; whilst a bright light shone under the door. Nana, on entering, found Clarisse Besnus, whom La Faloise had brought, already seated in one of the chairs.

  “What! you are the first!” said Nana, who treated her familiarly since her own success.

  “Well! it’s his fault,” replied Clarisse. “He is always afraid of being too late. If I had listened to him, I should not even have waited to take my wig and my make-up off.”

  The young man, who met Nana for the first time, bowed and complimented her, spoke of his cousin, and sought to hide his confusion under an excess of politeness. But Nana, without listening to him, without even knowing who he was, shook his hand, and hastened to receive Rose Mignon. She became, at once, most ladylike.

  “Ah! dear madame, how kind of you! I longed so much to have you with us!”

  “It is I who am charmed, I assure you,” said Rose, equally amiable.

  “Pray sit down. Do you require anything?”

  “No, thank you. Ah! I have forgotten my fan in my pelisse.ae See, Steiner, in the right hand pocket.”

  Steiner and Mignon had entered behind Rose. The banker went out and returned with the fan; whilst Mignon fraternally embraced Nana, and made Rose kiss her too. Were they not all of the same family, they of the theatre? Then he winked his eye, as though to encourage Steiner; but the latter, disconcerted by Rose’s fixed look, did not venture to do more than kiss Nana’s hand. Just then the Count de Vandeuvres arrived with Blanche de Sivry. There was a great deal of bowing and curtseying. Nana most ceremoniously led Blanche to a chair. Vandeuvres laughingly related that Fauchery was having a row below, because the concierge would not allow Lucy Stewart’s carriage to enter the courtyard. They could hear Lucy Stewart in the anteroom speaking of the concierge as a dirty blackguard. But when the footman opened the door, she advanced graceful and smiling, pronounced her name herself, and took hold of both Nana’s hands, saying she loved her as soon as ever she saw her, and that she thought she had a wonderful talent. Nana, all proud of her position as mistress of the house, but greatly confused, murmured her thanks. She seemed, too, to be rather pre-occupied ever since Fauchery’s arrival. As soon as she was able to get near him, she asked in a low voice. “Will he come?”

  “No, he declined,” roughly replied the journalist, taken unawares, although he had prepared a long rigmarole to explain Count Muffat’s refusal. He at once saw his stupidity as he noticed how the young woman paled, and he tried to modify what he had said. “He was not able to come; he has to take the countess to-night to the ball at the Ministry of the Interior.”

  “All right,” murmured Nana, who suspected he had not troubled himself in the matter, “I’ll make you smart for that, my boy.”

  “Look here!” he returned, indignant at the menace, “I don’t care for such errands. Another time give them to Labordette.”

  They were both quite angry and turned their backs on each other. At that moment Mignon pushed Steiner up against Nana. When she was alone he said to her in a low voice, with the good-natured cynicism of a pal wishing to oblige a friend, “You know, he’s dying for love of you. Only, he’s afraid of my wife. You’ll protect him, won’t you?”

  Nana pretended not to understand. She smiled, and looked at Rose, her husband, and the banker; then she said to the latter, “M. Steiner, you will sit next to me.”

  But sounds of laughter were heard coming from the anteroom, there were whisperings, and then quite a hubbub of gay voices all speaking at once, as though a whole convent full of girls had been let loose there. Suddenly Labordette appeared, dragging five women behind him—his school, as Lucy Stewart maliciously termed them. There was Gaga, looking very majestic in a blue velvet dress that was a great deal too tight for her, Caroline Héquet, always in black Flemish silk trimmed with Chantilly lace, then Léa de Horn, most slovenly dressed as usual, plump Tatan Néné, a jolly fair girl with the breast of a wet-nurse, whom every one made fun of, and finally little Maria Blond, a girl of fifteen, as thin and as wicked as a street-arab, and who was becoming quite the fashion ever since her first appearance at the Folies-Dramatiques Theatre. Labordette had brought them all in the same cab; and they were still laughing at the recollection of how they had been squeezed together, with Maria Blond on the others’ knees. But they composed themselves, shaking hands and bowing all round, like the most respectable people. Gaga acted quite childishly; and even stuttered in her attempts to behave well. Tatan Néné, however, who had been told coming along that six naked blacks would wait on them during Nana’s supper, became very uneasy at not seeing them. Labordette called her a goose, and told her to hold her tongue.

  “And Bordenave?” inquired Fauchery.

  “Oh! I am really quite upset,” cried Nana, “he will not be able to join us.”

  “Yes,” said Rose Mignon, “his foot caught in a trap-door and he has sprained his ankle most abominably. If you had only heard him swear, with his leg all tied up and stretched out on a chair! ”

  Then, they all expressed their regret. No one ever gave a good supper without Bordenave. However, they must try to do without him. And they were already talking of something else, when the sound of a loud voice reached them—

  “What next! what next! so that’s the way I’m buried and forgotten!”

  There was a shout, and all the heads were turned in the direction of the d
oor. It was Bordenave—enormous in size and very red, his leg stretched out straight—who appeared leaning on Simone Cabiroche’s shoulder. For the time being, Simone was the lady of his affections. The child, who had received a good education, being able to play the piano and speak English, was fair and very pretty, but so delicate that she quite bent beneath Bordenave’s heavy weight, though smiling and submissive all the time. He stood still for a few seconds, conscious that they made quite a picture.

  “Well! what do you say? just see how I love you,” he continued. “The truth is, I was afraid I should feel deuced dull, so I said to myself, ‘I shall go.’ ” But he interrupted himself with an oath, “Damnation!”

  Simone had made a step rather too quickly, and his foot had touched the ground. He abused and shook her. She, without ceasing her smile, held down her pretty face like an animal that is afraid of being beaten, supporting him with all the strength of a plump little blonde. However, in the midst of his exclamation, the others hastened to assist him. Nana and Rose Mignon wheeled forward an arm-chair, into which Bordenave allowed himself to be placed, whilst the other women slipped another chair beneath his injured leg; and all the actresses, who were there, kissed him as a matter of course. He groaned, he sighed.

  “Confound it! confound it! Anyhow, the stomach’s all right, as you’ll soon see.”

  Other guests had arrived, and one could scarcely move about in the room. The noise of the plate and the crockery had ceased; but now the sound of a quarrel came from the drawing-room, where the head-waiter was speaking in a furious tone of voice. Nana was becoming very impatient, for, not expecting any one else, she was surprised the supper was not served. She had sent George off to see what the waiters were about, when, to her great surprise, some more people, both men and women, entered the room. These last comers she did not know at all. Then, scarcely knowing what to think, she questioned Bordenave, Mignon, Labordette. But they were not acquainted with them either. When she spoke to the Count de Vandeuvres, he suddenly recollected; they were the young men that he had got hold of at Count Muffat’s. Nana thanked him. It was all right, all right. Only they would have to sit very close together; and she asked Labordette to have seven more places laid. He had scarcely left the room, when the footman ushered in three more persons. Oh! this time it was becoming too ridiculous; there would never be room for every one. Nana, who was beginning to lose her temper, said in her grandest style that it was scarcely proper. But, seeing two more arrive, she burst out laughing, she thought it altogether too funny. So much the worse! they would have to make room for each other the best way they could. They were all standing up except Gaga and Rose Mignon, and Bordenave who monopolized to himself two of the four chairs. There was a regular hum of voices, they talked low and now and again suppressed some slight yawns.