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
