CHAPTER X
Then Nana became a woman of fashion, a marchioness of the streets frequented by the upper ten, living on the stupidity and the depravity of the male sex. It was a sudden and definitive start in a new career, a rapid rise in the celebrity of gallantry, in the full light of the follies of wealth and of the wasteful effronteries of beauty. She reigned at once among all that was most costly. Her photographs were in all the windows, her name was mentioned in the newspapers. When she passed along the Boulevards in her carriage, the crowd turned to look at her, and uttered her name with the emotion of a people saluting its sovereign; whilst she, quite at her ease, reclined in her wavy costumes, and smiled gaily beneath the shower of little golden curls which half hid the blue circle round her eyes and the carmine on her lips. And the marvel was that this big girl, who was so awkward on the stage, so ludicrous the moment she tried to act the respectable woman, charmed every one about town without an effort. Adorned with a deshabille as artful and exquisitely elegant as it was ostensibly unintentional, she combined the suppleness of the adder with the nervous distinction of a thorough-bred cat, like an aristocracy of vice, superb and rebellious, treading Paris under foot in the manner of an all-powerful mistress. She set the fashion, and great ladies followed it.
Nana’s mansion was in the Avenue de Villiers, at the corner of the Rue Cardinet, in that quarter of luxury which had sprung up in the midst of the empty expanse, formerly the plain of Monceau. Erected by a young painter intoxicated by a first success, and who had been forced to sell it when the plaster was scarcely dry, it was built in the renaissance style, with the air of a palace, a certain fantastical internal arrangement, and modern conveniences within a space rather restricted for such a display of originality. Count Muffat had purchased the place furnished, full of a host of knick-knacks, of beautiful Eastern hangings, of old credences, and big arm-chairs of the time of Louis XIII.; and Nana had thus fallen into a stock of the choicest artistic furniture selected from the productions of centuries. But as the studio which occupied the centre of the building could be of no use to her, she had pulled the different floors to pieces, leaving on the ground floor a conservatory, a drawing-room, and a dining-room, and arranging a parlour on the first floor close to her bed-room and dressing-room. She surprised the architect by the ideas she gave him, showing herself at once at home in all the refinements of luxury, like the Paris street-girl who has the instinct of elegance. In short, she did not spoil the mansion over much—she even added to the richness of its furniture—with the exception of a few traces of tender stupidity and gaudy splendour, typical of the former artificial flower-maker who had dreamily gazed into the shop windows of the Passages.
A carpet was laid up the steps in the courtyard beneath the grand verandah; and from the vestibule there came an odour of violets, a warm atmosphere confined by heavy hangings. A yellow and rose-coloured glass window, of the paleness of flesh, lighted the wide staircase, at the foot of which stood the figure of a negro, in sculptured wood, holding a silver salver full of visiting cards. Four women in white marble, with bare breasts, supported some elegant lamps, whilst bronzes and Chinese vases filled with flowers, sofas covered with the products of ancient Persian looms, and easy-chairs with old tapestries furnished the vestibule, adorned the landings, turning the one on the first floor into a kind of ante-room, in which men’s coats and hats were always to be seen lying about. The carpets deadened all sound, and such a peacefulness hung about that one might have imagined oneself entering a chapel traversed by some pious tremor, and the silence of which hid a mystery behind the closed doors.
Nana only opened the drawing-room, which was in the Louis XVI. style, and rather overdone, on gala-nights when she entertained persons from the Tuileries, or distinguished foreigners. Usually, she was only downstairs at meal times, feeling, moreover, rather lost on the days when she lunched alone in the lofty dining-room, which was decorated with Gobelin tapestry, and a monumental credence, and enlivened with old china, and marvellous specimens of ancient silver ware. She would return upstairs as soon as the meal was over; for she lived, so to say, in the three rooms on the first floor—the bedroom, the dressing-room and the parlour. She had twice changed the decorations of the bedroom: the first time she had had it hung in mauve satin, the second in white lace on blue silk; but she was not satisfied, she thought it looked dull, and tried to think of some improvement, but without success. Over the well-padded bedstead, which was as low as a sofa, there was twenty thousand francs worth of Venetian lace. The furniture was in blue and white lacquer, inlaid with fillets of silver ; whilst white bearskins were everywhere spread in such profusion, that they covered the carpet. This was one of Nana’s caprices, she having been unable to get rid of the habit of sitting down on the floor to take her stockings off. Next to the bed-room, the parlour offered an amusing medley, and a most artistic one. Against the pale rose-coloured silk hangings—a faded Turkey rose, stitched with gold—stood out a multitude of objects of all countries, and of all styles—Italian cabinets, Spanish and Portuguese coffers, Chinese pagodas, a Japanese screen of the most precious workmanship, then china and bronzes, embroidered silks, and the finest tapestries; whilst easy-chairs as big as beds, and sofas as deep as alcoves, gave to the whole the lazy, drowsy appearance of a seraglio. The room preserved a tone of old gold, blended with green and red, without anything indicating too much the abode of a gay woman, excepting perhaps the voluptuousness of the seats: two small porcelain figures, a woman in her chemise catching fleas, and another perfectly naked walking on her hands, with her legs in the air, alone sufficed to sully the apartment with a stain of eccentric stupidity. And by a door almost always open, one caught sight of the dressing-room, all in marble and mirrors, with the white basin of its bath, its silver bowls and ewers, its furnishings of crystal and ivory. A closed curtain maintained a faint light, and gave the room a sleepy look, as though oppressed with an odour of violets, that exciting perfume of Nana’s, with which the whole house and even the courtyard was penetrated.
The great matter was to secure servants for the establishment. Nana still had Zoé, that girl who was so devoted to her fortune, and who for months past, confident in her instinct, had been quietly awaiting this new start in life. Now, Zoé triumphed—mistress of the household, and feathering her own nest, yet looking after madame’s interests as honestly as possible. But a lady’s maid was not sufficient. A butler, a coachman, a concierge, a cook, were required; besides which, it was necessary to furnish the stables. Then Labordette made himself very useful, in undertaking any commissions that bothered the count. He bargained for the horses, went to the coachbuilders, and assisted the young woman, who was continually met with on his arm at the different dealers, in her selections. Labordette even engaged the servants—Charles, a tall coachman who had been in the service of the Duke de Corbreuse; Julien, a little butler with curly hair and always smiling; and a married couple, of whom the woman, Victorine, was cook, while the man, François, acted as concierge and footman. The latter, with powdered hair and knee breeches, and wearing Nana’s livery, light blue and silver lace, received the visitors in the vestibule. Everything was done in princely style.
By the second month all was in working order. The expenses were at the rate of three hundred thousand francs a year. There were eight horses in the stables, and five carriages in the coach-houses. There was one especially—a landau with silver ornaments—which for a time occupied all Paris. And Nana, in the midst of this fortune, gradually settled down. She had left the theatre after the second performance of the “Little Duchess,” leaving Bordenave to struggle as best he could against threatened bankruptcy, in spite of the count’s money. All the same, she bitterly felt her failure. It added to the lesson Fontan had given her—a dirty trick for which she held all the men responsible. She now considered herself proof against all fads and infatuations; but her thoughts of vengeance did not remain for long in her flighty brain. What did remain there, however, outside her moments of anger, was an ever keen appetite for squandering money, a natural disdain for the man who paid, a perpetual caprice for devouring and destroying, a pride in the ruin of her lovers.
Nana commenced by putting the count on a satisfactory footing. She settled clearly the programme of their relations. He gave twelve thousand francs a month, without counting presents, and only asked in return an absolute fidelity. She swore to be faithful; but she insisted on being treated with deference, on enjoying entire liberty as mistress of the household, and on having all her wishes respected. For instance, she would receive her friends every day; he himself should only come at stated hours—in short, he should trust her implicitly in everything. And when he hesitated, seized by a jealous anxiety, she became very dignified, threatening to return him everything, or else swearing fidelity on the head of her little Louis. That ought to be sufficient. There could be no love where there was no esteem. At the end of the first month, Muffat respected her.
But she desired and she obtained more. She soon influenced him in a good-natured sort of way. When he arrived in a moody state of mind, she enlivened him, then advised him, after confessing him. Little by little she busied herself with his family cares—his wife, his daughter, all matters connected with his heart and his money; and she did so in a very reasonable manner, full of justice and honesty. Once only did she let herself be carried away by passion—the day when he told her that he thought Daguenet was about to ask him for his daughter’s hand. Ever since the count had been openly protecting Nana, Daguenet had thought it a clever move to break off all connection with her, to treat her as a hussy, and to swear to deliver his future father-in-law from the creature’s clutches. So she abused her old friend Mimi in a fine way. He was a dissipated rascal who had squandered his fortune with the most abominable women. Now, he had no decency about him. He did not exactly make them give him money, but he profited by what others gave them, merely going himself to the expense of an occasional bouquet or dinner; and as the count seemed to excuse these weaknesses, she told him coarsely that she had been Daguenet’s mistress, and furnished him with some salacious details. Muffat became very pale, and did not again speak of the young man. It would teach the latter to be ungrateful.
The mansion, however, was scarcely furnished, when Nana, one night that she had been most energetically swearing everlasting fidelity to Muffat, retained Count Xavier de Vandeuvres, who, for a fortnight past, had been paying court to her most assiduously, by means of visits and flowers. She gave way not through any infatuation, but rather to prove to herself that she was at liberty to do as she pleased. The interested motive came afterwards, when Vandeuvres, on the morrow, helped her to settle an account, that she would rather not mention to the other one. She would be able to get out of him about eight or ten thousand francs a month, which would be very useful by way of pocket money. He was just then finishing up his fortune in a violent fit of fever. His horses and Lucy had cost him three farms, and Nana was about to devour his last château, near Amiens, in a single mouthful. He seemed in a hurry to sweep off everything—even to the remains of the old castle, built by a Vandeuvres in the reign of Philip Augustusav—with a maddening appetite for ruins, and thinking it a fine thing to leave the last gold bezantsaw of his coat-of-arms in the hands of that girl whom all Paris desired. He also accepted Nana’s conditions—entire liberty and love at fixed times—without even being so passionately simple as to exact oaths. Muffat suspected nothing. As for Vandeuvres, he knew perfectly all that was going on; but he never made the slightest allusion. He affected ignorance, with the cunning smile of a sceptical man about town who does not expect impossibilities, so long as he has his own particular time, and that Paris knows it.
Then Nana’s establishment was indeed complete. Nothing was wanting, either in the stables, the kitchen, or the bedroom. Zoé, who had the general management, found means of escape out of the most difficult entanglements. There was a kind of machinery in everything, as at a theatre. All was regulated as in a government office, and it worked with such precision, that for some months there was no hitch—nothing got out of gear. Only madame gave Zoé an immense deal of trouble, through her imprudence, her fads, and her foolish bravados. So the maid ended by being less careful, seeing that she made a far larger profit when anything had gone wrong—whenever madame had committed some new piece of stupidity that needed being set right. Then it rained presents, and she hooked louis in the troubled waters.
One morning, when Muffat was still in the bed-room, Zoé ushered a gentleman, all in a tremble, into the dressing-room, where Nana was changing her under-garments.
“Why! Zizi! said the young woman, in amazement.
It was indeed George. But seeing her in her chemise, with her golden hair hanging over her naked shoulders, he seized hold of her, put his arms round her neck, and smothered her with kisses. She struggled, greatly frightened, saying, in a suppressed voice,
“Leave off—do, he’s in there! It’s stupid of you! And you, Zoé, are you mad? Take him away! Keep him downstairs; I’ll try and come there.”
Zoé had to push him before her. Downstairs in the dining-room, when Nana was able to rejoin them, she scolded them both. Zoé bit her lips, and went off looking very vexed, saying that she thought to have gratified madame in doing as she did. George looked at Nana with so much pleasure at seeing her again, that his beautiful eyes filled with tears. Now the evil days had gone by, his mother thought he had got over his infatuation, and had allowed him to leave Les Fondettes; but on reaching the Paris terminus, he had hastened in a cab to kiss his darling sweetheart as quickly as possible. He talked of living by her side for the future, the same as in the country, when he used to wait with bare feet in the bed-room at La Mignotte; and, as he told his story, he thrust out his fingers, through a longing to touch her after that year of cruel separation. He seized hold of her hands, felt up the wide sleeves of her dressing-gown, even as high as her shoulders.
“You still love your baby?” he asked, in his child-like voice.
“Of course I do!” replied Nana, who abruptly disengaged herself; “but you arrive here without a word of warning. You know, my little boy, I’m not free. You must be good.”
George, who alighted from his cab dazzled by a long desire on the point of being satisfied, had not bestowed a glance on the place he entered. But now he was conscious of a great change around him. He examined the rich dining-room, with its lofty gilded ceiling, its Gobelin tapestry, and its sideboard shining with silver plate.
“Ah, yes!” said he sadly.
And she gave him to understand that he must never call in the morning. The afternoon, if he liked, between four and six o’clock, which was the time when she received company. Then, as he gazed at her with a supplicating look of interrogation, but without asking for anything, she kissed him on the forehead, in a very kind good-natured way.
“Be very good, and I will do my best,” she murmured.
But the truth was she no longer felt as she did in regard to him. She thought George very nice, she would have liked to have had him for a companion, but nothing more. However, when he came every day at four o’clock, he seemed so sad, that she often again yielded, permitted him to hide in her cupboards, and continually to pick up the crumbs of her beauty. In time, he scarcely ever left the house, where he was as much at home as the little dog Bijou, both of them among the mistress’s skirts, having a little of her, even when she was with another, and catching windfalls of sugar and caresses, in the hours of weary solitude.
No doubt Madame Hugon heard of her boy’s new fall into the power of that bad woman, for she hurried to Paris and sought the assistance of her other son, Lieutenant Philippe, who was then in garrison at Vincennes. George, who had been hiding from the elder brother, was seized with despair, fearing the employment of force; and as he could keep nothing to himself, in the nervous expansion of his tender-heartedness, he soon talked to Nana, continually, of his big brother—a strong fellow who would dare anything.
“You see,” he explained, “mamma will not come here herself, but she can very well send my brother. I’m sure she will send Philippe to fetch me.”
The first time he mentioned this, Nana was greatly offended. She said sharply,
“I should just like to see him do it! In spite of his being a lieutenant, François will very quickly send him to the right about! ”
Then, the youngster constantly alluding to his brother, she ended by thinking a little of Philippe. When a week had gone by, she knew him from the hair of his head to the tips of his toes—very tall, very strong, lively and rather rough; and with all that, some more minute details, certain hairs on his arm, a mole on his shoulder. So that one day, full of the image of this man, whom she was to send off a little quicker than he came, she exclaimed,
“I say, Zizi, it doesn’t seem as if your brother was coming. He must be a coward!”
On the morrow, as George was alone with Nana, François came and asked if madame would receive Lieutenant Philippe Hugon. The youngster turned quite pale, and murmured,
“I was expecting it; mamma spoke to me this morning.”
And he implored the young woman to send word that she was engaged. But she had already risen and said, greatly incensed,
“Why, pray? he’ll think I’m afraid. Ah, well! we’ll have a good laugh. François, let the gentleman wait a quarter of an hour in the drawing-room, and then bring him to me.”
She did not sit down again but walked feverishly about, going from the looking-glass over the mantlepiece to a Venetian mirror hanging above a little Italian casket, and each time she gave a glance or essayed a smile, whilst George, lying on a sofa without an atom of strength left in him, trembled at the idea of the scene which was preparing. As she walked about she kept uttering short phrases:
“It will calm the fellow to keep him waiting a quarter of an hour. And then, if he thinks he’s come to a nobody’s, the drawing-room will astonish him. Yes, yes, take a good look at everything, my friend; it’s all genuine. It’ll teach you to respect the mistress. It’s the only thing men can understand—respect. Is the quarter of an hour gone yet? No, scarcely ten minutes. Oh! we’ve plenty of time.”
She could not keep still. When the quarter was up she sent George away, after making him swear not to listen at the doors, for it would look very bad if the servants were to see him. As he went into the bed-room, Zizi ventured to say in a choking voice,
“You know, it’s my brother—”
“Don’t be afraid,” said she with dignity; “if he’s polite, I’ll be polite.”
François ushered in Philippe Hugon, who was attired in an overcoat. At first George moved across the bed-room on the tips of his toes, so as not to listen, as the young woman had told him; but, hearing the voices, he stopped, hesitating, and so full of anguish that his legs yielded beneath him. He was fancying all manner of things—catastrophes, slaps, something abominable that would sever him for ever from Nana; so much so that he could not resist retracing his footsteps and putting his ear to the key-hole. He heard very indistinctly, as the thickness of the hangings deadened the sound. Yet he was able to catch a few words uttered by Philippe, harsh phrases in which occurred such expressions as “child, family, honour.” In his anxiety to hear what his darling would reply, his heart beat wildly, almost stunning him with its confused hum. No doubt she would retaliate with a “stupid fool!” or a “go to the deuce, I’m in my own house!” But nothing came from her, not even the sound of breathing ; it seemed as though Nana was dead in there. Soon, too, his brother’s voice became softer. He could no longer understand anything, when suddenly a strange noise completed his amazement. It was Nana sobbing. For an instant contrary feelings struggled within him. He felt impelled to run away—to rush in at Philippe. But just at that moment Zoé entered the bed-room, and he withdrew from the door, ashamed at having been caught.
She quietly put some linen away in a cupboard, whilst he, dumb and immovable, and a prey to uncertainty, pressed his forehead against a window-pane. After a short silence, she asked:
“Is it your brother who’s with madame?”
“Yes,” replied he, in a choking voice.
“And are you uneasy about it, Monsieur George?” she inquired after another silence.
“Yes,” he repeated with the same painful difficulty.
Zoé did not hurry herself. She folded up some lace, and then said slowly,
“You should not be. Madame will settle everything all right.”
And that was all. They did not speak again; but she did not leave the room. For another quarter of an hour she moved about, without noticing the exasperation of the youth, who grew pale with constraint and doubt. He gave side glances in the direction of the drawing-room. What could they be doing all that while? Perhaps Nana was still crying. The ruffian must have slapped her. So when Zoé at length went off, he ran back to the door, and again held his ear to the key-hole; and he was quite bewildered, his brain in a whirl, for he heard a sudden burst of gaiety, tender voices whispering, and the smothered laughter of a woman being tickled. But almost immediately Nana conducted Philippe to the staircase, with an interchange of cordial and familiar expressions. When George at length ventured into the parlour, the young woman was standing in front of the mirror, looking at herself.
“Well?” he asked, scarcely able to say a word.
“Well, what?” said she, without turning round. Then she negligently added, “What were you saying? He’s a very nice fellow, your brother!”
“Then it’s all settled?”
“Of course, it’s settled. Really! what’s the matter with you? Did you think we were going to fight?”
But still George did not understand. “I thought I heard—” he stammered out. “Have you not been crying?”
“Crying? I?” she exclaimed, looking him straight in the face. “You were dreaming! Whatever did you think I had to cry about?”
And the youngster got still more confused when she scolded him for having been disobedient and listened at the key-hole, spying upon her. As she continued cross with him, he resumed, very submissively and coaxingly, wishing to know,
“Then my brother?”
“Your brother saw at once where he was. You see I might have been some low common girl, and then he would have been right to interfere, on account of your age and the family honour. Oh! I understand those feelings. But a glance was sufficient for him; he behaved like a man of the world. So don’t be uneasy—it’s all over; he will ease your mother’s mind.” And she continued with a laugh, “Besides, you’ll see your brother here. I’ve invited him, and he’ll come.”
“Ah! he’s coming again,” said the youngster, turning pale.
He said nothing more, and they no longer talked of Philippe. She was dressing to go out, and he watched her with his big sad eyes. No doubt he was pleased that matter had been arranged, for he would have preferred death to not seeing Nana again; but in his heart there was a silent anguish, a deep pain, which he had never felt before, and which he did not dare to mention. He never knew how Philippe had quieted their mother’s anxiety. Three days later she returned to Les Fondettes, seeming quite satisfied. That same night, at Nana’s, he started when François announced the lieutenant. The latter gaily chaffed him, treated him as a boy whose escapade he had winked at, as it was of no consequence. George, feeling sick at heart, not daring to move, blushed like a girl at the least word. He had lived but little with Philippe, who was ten years older than he. He feared him as a father, from whom one hides one’s little adventures with women; and he felt an uneasy shame on seeing him so free with Nana, laughing very loud, full of health, and thoroughly enjoying himself. However, as his brother soon called every day, George began to get used to his presence. Nana was radiant with joy. It was a last change of residence in the full fling of a courtesan’s life—a house-warming insolently given in a mansion overflowing with men and furniture.
One afternoon, when the two Hugons were there, Count Muffat called outside his regular hours; but Zoé having told him that madame was with some friends, he went away again, without seeing her, in the discreet style of a gallant gentleman. When he came back in the evening, Nana received him in the cold, angry way of an insulted woman.
“Sir,” said she, “I have given you no reason for insulting me. Understand that when I am at home you are to enter like every one else!”
The count stood with his mouth wide open. “But, my dear—” he attempted to explain.
“Because I had visitors perhaps! Yes, there were some men here. And what, pray, do you think I do with them? It causes a woman to be talked about, affecting those airs of a discreet lover, and I do not wish to be talked about!”
He had great difficulty in obtaining forgiveness. At heart he was delighted. It was by similar scenes to this that she kept him obedient and convinced of her fidelity. For some time past she had made him submit to George’s presence—a youngster who amused her, so she said. She got him to dine with Philippe, and the count was very amiable. On leaving the table, he took the young man on one side, and asked him for news of his mother. From that time the Hugons, Vandeuvres, and Muffat, openly belonged to the establishment, where they met together as intimate friends. It was more convenient. Muffat alone still discreetly timed his visits so as not to call too often, and invariably affected the ceremonious air of a stranger. At night-time, when Nana, seated on the floor on her bear-skins, pulled off her stockings, he talked in a friendly way of the other gentlemen, of Philippe especially, who was loyalty itself.
“That’s true, they’re all very nice,” said Nana, still seated on the ground and changing her chemise. “Only, you know, they see who I am. Should they for a moment forget themselves, I would have them turned out of the house at once!”
Yet, in the midst of her luxury, in the midst of that court, Nana was bored to death. She had men with her every minute of the night, and money everywhere, even in the drawers of her dressing-table amongst her combs and brushes; but that no longer satisfied her, she felt a void somewhere, a vacancy that made her yawn. Her life rolled on unoccupied, bringing each day the same monotonous hours. The morrow did not exist for her. She lived like a bird, sure of eating, ready to sleep on the first branch she came across. This certainty of being fed left her stretched out the whole day, without an effort, asleep in the midst of that idleness and that convent-like submission, as though quite hemmed in in her profession of courtesan. Going out only in a carriage, she began to lose the use of her legs. She returned to the amusements of her childhood, kissing Bijou from morning to night, killing time with the silliest pleasures in her unique expectation of the man whom she put up with in a complaisant and weary sort of way; and, in the midst of this abandonment of herself, the only anxiety she had was for her beauty. She was continually examining, washing, and perfuming herself all over, with the pride of being able to appear naked before anyone and at any moment, without feeling ashamed.
Nana rose every morning at ten o‘clock. Bijou, the Scotch terrier, woke her by licking her face; and then she would play with him for five minutes, as he jumped about over her arms and legs, and even onto the count. Bijou was the first of whom he was jealous. It was not proper that an animal should thrust his nose under the bed-clothes in that way. Towards eleven o’clock, Francis came to do up her hair, preparatory to the complicated head-dress of the evening. At lunch, as she detested eating alone, she generally had Madame Maloir, who arrived in the morning from no one knew where, with her extraordinary bonnets, and returned at night to the mystery of her life without anybody troubling themselves about it. But the worst time was the two or three hours between luncheon and the evening toilet. Ordinarily she proposed a game at bezique to her old friend; sometimes she read the “Figaro,” the theatrical and fashionable news in which interested her; she even occasionally opened a book, for she prided herself on her taste for literature. Her toilet occupied her until nearly five o’clock. Then only she seemed to awake from her long somnolence, going out in her carriage or receiving a host of men at home, often dining-out, going to bed very late, and rising the next morning with the same fatigue, and beginning a fresh day to pass it in a similar manner.
Her great diversion was to go to Batignolles to see her little Louis at her aunt’s. For fifteen days together she would forget him entirely. Then she would be seized with a rage to see him, and hurry there on foot, full of the modesty and tenderness of a good mother, bringing all sorts of presents, as though for an invalid—snuff for the aunt, oranges and sweeties for the child; or else she would call in her laudau on her return from the Bois, attired in such loud dresses that they would upset the whole street. Ever since her niece had become such a grand lady, Madame Lerat had been puffed up with vanity. She called but rarely at the Avenue de Villiers, pretending that it was not her place; but she triumphed in her own street, happy when the young woman arrived in dresses costing four or five thousand francs, and occupied all the morrow in showing her presents, and quoting figures which amazed her neighbours. Generally, Nana reserved Sunday for her family, and on that day, if Muffat asked her to go anywhere, she refused, smiling like a young house-wife. It was not possible, she was going to dine with her aunt, she was going to see her baby. With all that, poor little Louis was always ill. He was nearly three years old, and was getting quite a big fellow; but he had had an attack of eczema on the back of his neck, and now he had deposits in his ears, which made them fear a caries of the bones of the cranium. When she saw him looking so pale, with his poor blood, and his soft flesh spotted with yellow, she became very serious, and above all she was greatly surprised. What could be the matter with the love for him to sicken like that? She, his mother, was always so well!
The days when her child did not engage her attention, Nana relapsed into the noisy monotony of her existence—drives in the Bois, first nights at theatres, dinners and suppers at the Maison Dorée or the Café Anglais; then all the public resorts, all the sights where the crowds flocked—Mabille,ax reviews, races. But she still retained that empty feeling of stupid idleness, which gave her pains in her inside. In spite of the constant infatuations in which her heart indulged, she would stretch her arms the moment she was alone, with a gesture of immense fatigue. Solitude made her sad at once, for she found herself again with the empty feeling, and the tedium of her own society. Very gay by profession and by nature, she would then become lugubrious, and would constantly sum up her life in this cry, between two yawns,
“Oh! how men bore me!”
One afternoon, as she was returning home from a concert, Nana noticed a woman passing along the Rue Montmartre, with boots trodden down at heel, dirty skirts, and a bonnet that had evidently been frequently soaked with rain. All of a sudden, she recognised her.
“Stop, Charles!” cried she to the coachman, and then called, “Satin! Satin!”
The passers-by turned their heads; the whole street looked on. Satin drew near, and dirtied herself still more against the wheels of the carriage.
“Jump in, my girl,” said Nana coolly, not caring a straw for what the world would say.
And thus she picked her up and took her off, disgustingly filthy as she was, in the light blue landau, and by the side of her pearl grey silk dress trimmed with Chantilly lace; whilst every one smiled at the highly dignified air of the coachman.
From that time Nana had a passion which occupied her. Satin became her vice. Installed in the mansion of the Avenue de Villiers, cleaned and clothed, for three days she gave her experiences of Saint-Lazare—all the troubles she had had with the nuns, and those dirty policemen who had put her on their list. Nana became very indignant, consoled her, and swore to get her out of the mess, even though she had to see the minister of police herself. For the moment, however, there was no hurry; they would certainly not come and seek her there. And afternoons full of tenderness commenced between the two women—caressing words were heard, and kisses broken with suppressed laughter. It was the little game, interrupted by the arrival of the policemen at the Rue de Laval, which had started again in the way of joke. Then one night it became serious. Nana, who was so disgusted at Laure’s, now began to understand. She was quite upset and greatly enraged; the more so as, on the morning of the fourth day, Satin disappeared. No one had seen her go out. She had bolted with her new dress, seized with a longing for the open air, with a nostalgia for her favourite pavements.
That day there was such a storm in the house that all the servants hung down their heads without daring to say a word. Nana had almost beaten François for not having stood in front of the door. She tried, however, to restrain herself, and referred to Satin as a dirty strumpet. It would teach her not to pick such filth out of the gutter another time. That afternoon madame shut herself in, and Zoé heard her sobbing. Then in the evening she suddenly ordered her carriage and drove to Laure’s. The idea had occurred to her that she might find Satin at the dining-place of the Rue des Martyrs. It was not to get her back again, but merely to slap her face. And it happened that Satin was dining at one of the little tables with Madame Robert. Seeing Nana, she laughed. The latter, struck to the heart, did not create a disturbance; but on the contrary kept very quiet and amiable. She stood champagne, and made a number of women tipsy, and then carried off Satin, while Madame Robert had left the room for a moment; but when she had got her in the carriage, she bit her, and threatened to kill her if she ran away again.
And then the same thing kept continually occurring. Twenty times Nana, tragical in her fury of a deceived woman, hastened after the hussy, who flew off simply for a fad, bored with the comfort of the grand establishment. She talked of smacking Madame Robert’s face; one day she even had the idea of a duel, there was one too many. Now, whenever she went to dine at Laure’s, she put on her diamonds, and was sometimes accompanied by Louis Violaine, Maria Blond, or Tatan Néné, all looking very gorgeous, and, beneath the yellow gas-light, in the smell of eatables which pervaded the three rooms, these ladies displayed their luxury in very questionable company, delighted at astonishing the girls of the neighbourhood, whom they carried off with them when the meal was over. On those days, Laure, laced-up and shining, kissed all her customers with a more maternal air than ever. Satin, however, in the midst of all this, preserved her calmness, with her blue eyes and her pure virgin-like face; bitten, beaten, pulled about by the two women, she merely said that it was funny, and that they would have done far better to have come to some understanding with each other. It was no use slapping her; she could not cut herself in two in spite of her wish to please every one. At last Nana carried the day, having bestowed on Satin the most love and presents; and, by way of revenge, Madame Robert wrote some most abominable anonymous letters to her rival’s lovers.
For some little time past, Count Muffat had seemed uneasy. One morning, in a very agitated state, he placed under Nana’s eyes an anonymous letter, in which she saw, in the first few lines, that she was accused of being unfaithful to the count with Vandeuvres and the two Hugons.
“It’s false! it’s false!” she exclaimed energetically, with an extraordinary accent of truthfulness.
“You swear it?” asked Muffat, already relieved.
“Oh! on what you like—on my child’s head!”
But the letter was long. Afterwards it went on to recount her connection with Satin in the most ignoble terms. When she reached the end she smiled.
“Now I know where it comes from,” said she, simply.
And as Muffat wished for a denial of the latter part, she resumed coolly, “That, my dear, is a thing which does not concern you. What can it matter to you?”
She did not deny it. His words showed his disgust. Then she shrugged her shoulders. Where did he spring from? That sort of thing happened everywhere, and she named her friends; she even swore that ladies in the best positions were no strangers to it. In short, to hear her, there was nothing more common or more natural. What was not true, was not true; he had seen, just before, how indignant she was about Vandeuvres and the two Hugons. Ah! had that been true he would have done right in strangling her. But what was the use of telling him a lie about a matter of no consequence? And she kept repeating,
“Come now, what can it matter to you?”
Then as he continued to complain, she silenced him, saying in a rough voice,
“Well, my friend, if it doesn’t please you, you have a very simple remedy. The doors are all open. You must either take me as I am, or leave me alone!”
He bowed his head. In his heart he was pleased with the young woman’s protestations. She, seeing her power, no longer hesitated employing it; and from that time Satin was openly installed as part of the establishment, on the same footing as the gentlemen. Vandeuvres had not required the anonymous letter to understand what was going on. He joked about it, and had little quarrels of jealousy with Satin; whilst Philippe and George treated her as a comrade, shaking hands with her and saying some very equivocal things.
Nana had an adventure. One night, having been abandoned by the hussy, she had gone to dine in the Rue des Martyrs, without being able to come across her. While she was eating alone, Daguenet made his appearance. Though he had settled down, he came there occasionally—his old vices getting the better of him—trusting not to meet any of his friends in those dark corners of Parisian abomination. Consequently, Nana’s presence seemed rather to put him out at first; but he was not the man to beat a retreat. He advanced smiling. He asked if madame would permit him to dine at her table. Seeing him inclined to joke, Nana put on her grand cold air, and sharply replied,
“Seat yourself wherever you please, sir. We are in a public place.”
Commenced in this style, the conversation became very funny; but when the dessert was served, Nana, feeling bored, and burning to triumph, put her elbows on the table, and then resumed her old familiar way.
“Well, and your marriage, my boy; how is it getting on?”
“Not very well,” admitted Daguenet.
As a matter of fact, when about to venture to ask for the young lady’s hand, he had encountered such a coldness on the count’s part that he had prudently abstained from doing so. It seemed to him that it was all up. Nana looked him straight in the face with her bright eyes, her chin in her hand, an ironic smile on her lips.
“Ah! so I’m a hussy!” she resumed slowly. “Ah! so you must deliver the future father-in-law from my clutches. Well, really! for an intelligent fellow, you’re a damned fool! What! you go and say a lot of nasty things to a man who adores me and who tells me everything! Listen; your marriage will come off if I choose, my boy.”
For a few minutes he had been of the same opinion; a project of complete submission was forming in his mind. However, he continued to joke, not wishing to let the matter become a serious one; and after putting on his gloves, he asked her, in the most correct manner, for the hand of Mademoiselle Estelle de Beuville. She ended by laughing, as though being tickled. Oh! that Mimi! it was impossible to be angry with him. Daguenet’s great successes with the ladies were due to the softness of his voice—a voice of a musical purity and suppleness, which had caused him to be nicknamed among the gay women Velvet Mouth. All yielded beneath the sonorous caress with which he enveloped them. He knew his power, so he lulled her with an endless string of words, telling her all sorts of stupid stories. When they quitted the table she was quite rosy, trembling on his arm, reconquered. As the day was very fine, she dismissed her carriage, and accompanied him on foot as far as his lodging; then naturally she went in with him. Two hours later she said, as she was putting on her things again,
“So, Mimi, you want this marriage to come off?”
“Well,” he murmured, “it’s the best thing I can do. You know I’m quite stumped.”
After a short silence she resumed, “All right, I’m willing; I’ll help you. You know she’s as dry as a faggot; but never mind, as you’re all agreeable. Oh! I’m obliging; I’ll settle it for you.” Then, bursting out laughing, her bosom still uncovered, she added, “Only what will you give me?”
He had seized hold of her, and was kissing her shoulders in a transport of gratitude. She, very gay, quivering, struggled and threw herself back.
“Ah! I know,” she exclaimed, excited by this play. “Listen! This is what I must have for my commission. On your wedding-day you must bring me the handselay of your innocence, you understand! ”
“That’s it! that’s it!” said he, laughing even more than she did. The bargain amused them. They thought it very funny.
It so happened that on the morrow there was a dinner party at Nana’s, that is, the usual Thursday gathering—Muffat, Vandeuvres, the two Hugons, and Satin. The count arrived early. He was in want of eighty thousand francs to rid the young woman of two or three debts, and to present her with a set of sapphires for which she had a great longing. As he had already eaten considerably into his fortune, he wished to meet with a money-lender, not yet daring to sell a portion of his estates. So, by Nana’s advice, he had applied to Labordette; but the latter, considering it too big a matter for himself, had desired to speak of it to the hairdresser, Francis, who was always willing to be useful to his customers. The count placed himself in the hands of these gentlemen, merely requesting that his name should not be mentioned. They both agreed to keep his acceptance for one hundred thousand francs in their possession, and they excused themselves for the twenty thousand francs of interest by railing against the swindling usurers, to whom, as they said, they had been forced to apply. When Muffat was ushered in, Francis was just finishing Nana’s head-dress. Labordette was also in the dressing-room, in his familiar fashion of a friend of no consequence. On seeing the count he discreetly placed a heavy bundle of bank-notes among the powders and the pomades, and the bill was accepted on a corner of the marble dressing-table. Nana wished Labordette to remain to dinner, but he declined, as he was showing a rich foreigner about Paris. However, Muffat having taken him on one side to beg him to go to Becker’s, the jeweller, and bring him back the set of sapphires, which he wished to have as a surprise for the young woman that very night, Labordette willingly undertook the commission. Half an hour later, Julien privately handed the count the case of jewels.
During dinner Nana was very nervous. The sight of the eighty thousand francs had upset her. To think that all that money was going to be paid away to tradespeople! It annoyed her immensely. As soon as the soup was served in that superb dining-room, illuminated with the reflection of the silver plate and the crystal ware, she became sentimental, and began to praise the joys of poverty. The men were in evening dress. She herself, wore a dress of embroidered white satin, whilst Satin, more modest, and in black silk, had merely a golden heart—a present from her darling friend—at her throat; and behind the guests Julien and François waited, assisted by Zoé, all three looking very dignified.
“I certainly amused myself a great deal more when I was without a sou,” Nana kept repeating.
She had Muffat on her right and Vandeuvres on her left but she scarcely looked at them, being entirely occupied with Satin, enthroned in front of her between Philippe and George.
“Eh, my love?” she said at each phrase. “Didn’t we use to laugh at that time, when we went to old mother Josse’s school, in the Rue Polonceau?”
They were then serving the roast. The two women launched forth into recollections of their young days. They every now and then had a longing for gossip, a sudden desire to stir up all the mud of their youth; and it was invariably when men were present, as though yielding to a mania for making them acquainted with the dungheap whence they sprouted. The gentlemen turned pale, and glanced about in an embarrassed manner. The two Hugons tried to laugh, whilst Vandeuvres nervously twirled his beard, and Muffat looked more solemn than ever.
“Do you remember Victor?” asked Nana. “He was a depraved youngster; he used to take little girls into the cellars!”
“I remember,” replied Satin. “And I remember, too, the big courtyard at your place. There was a doorkeeper with a broom—”
“Mother Boche; she is dead.”
“And I can still see your shop. Your mother was awfully stout. One night when we were playing, your father came home drunk, oh! so drunk!”
At this moment Vandeuvres essayed a diversion, by interrupting the ladies in the midst of their reminiscences.
“I say, my dear, I should like some more truSles—they are excellent. I had some yesterday at the Duke de Corbreuse’s, which were not to be compared to these.”
“Julien, hand the truffles!” said Nana roughly. Then she resumed. “Ah, yes! papa was very foolish. What a tumble-down! Ah! if you had only seen it—a regular plunge, such misery! I can well say that I have tasted of all sorts, and it’s a miracle I didn’t leave my carcass there, the same as papa and mamma.”
This time Muffat, who had been nervously playing with a knife, ventured to interfere.
“It is not a very amusing subject you are talking about.”
“Eh? what? not amusing?” exclaimed she, crushing him with a look. “I don’t suppose it is amusing! You should have sent us some bread, my dear. Oh! as you know I’m a true-hearted girl, I say what I think. Mamma was a washerwoman, papa used to get drunk, and he died from it. There! if that doesn’t suit you, if you’re ashamed of my family—”
They all protested. What was she thinking of? They respected her family. But she continued:
“If you’re ashamed of my family, well, leave me; for I’m not one of those women who disown their father and mother. You must take me with them, do you hear?”
They took her—they accepted the father and the mother, the past, everything she wished. With their eyes fixed on the table-cloth, they all four now made themselves small, whilst she kept them beneath her muddy old shoes, of the Rue de la Goutte d’Or, with the passion of her all-powerful will. And she was slow to lay down her arms. They might bring her no end of fortunes, build her innumerable palaces, still she would ever regret the time when she used to chew apples with the peel on. It was a fraud, that idiotic money! it was only invented for tradespeople. Then her outburst ended in a sentimental longing for a simple way of living, with one’s heart in one’s hand, in the midst of a universal benevolence.
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 against 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,
“Well! all the same, one is right in availing oneself of every opportunity when one is young!”
But Satin was already rolling about on the bear-skins of the bed-room and calling her.
“Come quick! come quick!”
Nana undressed herself in the dressing-room. To be ready quicker, she took her thick light hair in both hands, and shook it over the silver basin, whilst a shower of long hair-pins fell from it, ringing a chime on the shining metal.