Part 19

In the bedroom, he forced the note of friendliness still further. Usually, he called women camels, and the idea that a man could burden himself with one of those filthy beasts aroused in him the only indignation of which he was capable, in the drunken scorn with which he enveloped the world.

—Ah! the rascals, he went on, blinking his eyes, they did that on the sly... Well! truly, you were right. It will be charming, and we'll come and see you, goddamn it!

But as Louiset arrived, straddling a broomstick, Prullière said with a malicious laugh:

—Well, look! is this baby already yours?

That seemed very funny. Madame Lerat and Madame Maloir doubled up with laughter. Nana, far from getting angry, gave a tender little laugh, saying no, unfortunately; she would have liked it, for the child's sake and for hers; but perhaps one would come all the same. Fontan, playing the good fellow, took Louiset in his arms, jesting, lisping.

—That doesn't prevent it, one loves one's little father... Call me papa, you scoundrel!

—Papa... papa..., the child stammered.

Everyone smothered him with caresses. Bosc, bored, talked of sitting down to table; that was the only serious thing. Nana asked permission to seat Louiset beside her. The dinner was very gay. Bosc, however, suffered from the child's proximity, having to defend his plate against him. Madame Lerat bothered him too. She grew sentimental, whispered mysterious things to him, stories of very respectable gentlemen who still pursued her; and twice he had to move his knee away, for she was encroaching on him, with drowned eyes. Prullière behaved like a scoundrel toward Madame Maloir, whom he did not serve once. He was occupied exclusively with Nana, looking vexed to see her with Fontan. Besides, the lovebirds ended by being annoying, so much did they kiss. Against all rules, they had insisted on placing themselves next to each other.

—What the devil! eat, you have time enough! repeated Bosc, his mouth full. Wait till we're no longer here.

But Nana could not behave. She was in a rapture of love, all rosy like a virgin, with laughs and glances steeped in tenderness. Her eyes fixed on Fontan, she overwhelmed him with little names: my dog, my wolf, my cat; and when he passed her water or salt, she leaned over, kissed him at random on the lips, on the eyes, on the nose, on an ear; then, if she was scolded, it was with knowing tactics, humilities and supple ways of a beaten kitten, that she came back, secretly taking his hand to keep it and kiss it again. She had to touch something of his. Fontan played the sulking cat and let himself be adored, full of condescension. His big nose moved with a wholly sensual joy. His goat's snout, his ugliness of a grotesque monster, displayed itself in the devout adoration of that superb girl, so white and so plump. At moments, he returned a kiss, as a man who has all the pleasure but wants to seem nice.

—At last, you're exasperating! cried Prullière. Get away from there, you!

And he sent Fontan off, he changed the place setting to take his seat next to Nana. There were exclamations, applause, very stiff words. Fontan mimed despair, with his funny airs of a Vulcan weeping for Venus. Immediately, Prullière showed himself gallant; but Nana, whose foot he sought under the table, gave him a kick, to make him keep quiet. No, certainly, she would not sleep with him. Last month, she had had a beginning of a crush, because of his pretty face. Now, she detested him. If he pinched her again, pretending to pick up his napkin, she would throw her glass in his face.

Meanwhile, the evening passed well. They had naturally come to talking about the Variétés. Would that scoundrel Bordenave never die? His filthy illnesses were coming back and made him suffer so much that he was no longer fit to be taken with tongs. The day before, during rehearsal, he had bellowed the whole time at Simonne. There was one the artists would scarcely weep for! Nana said that if he asked her for a part, she would send him packing nicely; besides, she talked of no longer acting, the theatre was not worth her own home. Fontan, who was in neither the new play nor the one being rehearsed, also exaggerated the happiness of having his full freedom, of spending the evenings with his little cat, feet before the fire. And the others exclaimed, calling them lucky fellows, affecting to envy their happiness.

They had drawn the Kings' cake. The bean had fallen to Madame Lerat, who put it in Bosc's glass. Then there were cries: "The king drinks! the king drinks!" Nana took advantage of this burst of gaiety to go take Fontan by the neck again, kissing him, saying things in his ear. But Prullière, with his vexed laugh of a pretty boy, cried that it was not fair play. Louiset was sleeping on two chairs. Finally, the party did not separate until around one o'clock. They shouted goodbyes to each other across the staircase.

And, for three weeks, the life of the two lovers was really pleasant. Nana thought she was going back to her beginnings, when her first silk dress had given her such great pleasure. She went out little, playing at solitude and simplicity. One morning, very early, as she went down to buy fish herself at the La Rochefoucauld market, she stood quite startled at finding herself nose to nose with Francis, her former hairdresser. He had his usual correctness, fine linen, irreproachable frock coat; and she felt ashamed to be seen by him in the street, in a dressing gown, disheveled, dragging slippers. But he had the tact to exaggerate his politeness still more. He permitted himself no question, he affected to believe that madame was traveling. Ah! madame had made many unhappy, in deciding to travel! It was a loss for everyone. The young woman, however, ended by questioning him, seized with a curiosity that made her forget her first embarrassment. As the crowd jostled them, she pushed him under a doorway, where she stood before him, her little basket in hand. What was said of her flight? Good Lord! the ladies he went to said this, said that; in short, an enormous rumor, a real success. And Steiner? Monsieur Steiner was very low; it would end badly if he did not find some new operation. And Daguenet? Oh! that one was getting on perfectly; Monsieur Daguenet was arranging his life. Nana, excited by her memories, opened her mouth to question him further; but she felt a constraint in pronouncing Muffat's name. Then Francis, smiling, spoke first. As for the count, it was a pity, so much had he suffered, after madame's departure; he seemed a soul in torment, he was seen everywhere madame might have been. Finally, Monsieur Mignon, meeting him, had taken him home. This news made Nana laugh a great deal, but with a forced laugh.

—Ah! he's with Rose now, she said. Well! you know, Francis, I don't care!... See here, that creep! He gets habits, he can't fast even eight days! And he who swore to me he'd have no woman after me!

At bottom, she was furious.

—That's the limit, she went on, a fine cockerel Rose has treated herself to there! Oh! I understand, she wanted to avenge herself for my taking that brute Steiner from her... How clever to draw into her house a man I'd thrown out!

—Monsieur Mignon does not tell things that way, said the hairdresser. According to him, it's the count who would have thrown you out... Yes, and in a disgusting way too, with his foot in your behind.

At that, Nana turned quite pale.

—Eh? what? she cried, his foot in my behind?... That's too much, that one! But, my little man, it's me who threw that cuckold down the stairs! for he is a cuckold, you must know that; his countess makes him a cuckold with everyone, even with that scoundrel Fauchery... And that Mignon who beats the pavement for his she-monkey of a wife, whom no one wants, she's so thin!... What a filthy world! what a filthy world!

She was choking. She caught her breath.

—Ah! they say that... Well! my little Francis, I'm going to go find them, me... Do you want us to go there right away together?... Yes, I'll go, and we'll see if they'll have the nerve to talk still of kicks in the behind... Kicks! but I never tolerated any from anyone. And no one will ever beat me, see, because I would eat the man who touched me.

Yet she calmed down. After all, they could say what they wanted, she considered them no more than the mud on her shoes. It would have soiled her, to concern herself with those people. She had her conscience with her. And Francis, grown familiar, seeing her thus give herself away in her housekeeper's dressing gown, permitted himself, on leaving, to give her advice. She was wrong to sacrifice everything to a whim; whims spoiled existence. She listened, head lowered, while he spoke in a pained air, as a connoisseur who suffered to see so beautiful a girl spoil herself thus.

—That, that's my business, she ended by saying. Thanks all the same, my dear.

She shook his hand, which was always a bit greasy, despite his perfect bearing; then, she went down to buy her fish. During the day, this story of the kick in the behind occupied her. She even spoke of it to Fontan, she posed again as a strong woman who would not tolerate a flick. Fontan, as a superior spirit, declared that all gentlemen were boors and that one should despise them. Nana, from then on, was full of a real disdain.

Precisely, that evening, they went to the Bouffes to see debut, in a role of ten lines, a little woman Fontan knew. It was near one o'clock when they regained on foot the heights of Montmartre. On the Rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin, they had bought a cake, a mocha; and they ate it in the bed, because it was not warm and it was not worth lighting a fire. Seated on their seats, side by side, the coverlet over their bellies, the pillows crushed behind their backs, they supped, talking of the little woman. Nana found her ugly and without style. Fontan, lying toward the front, passed the pieces of cake, placed at the edge of the night table, between the candle and the matches. But they ended by quarreling.

—Oh! if one can say so! cried Nana. She has eyes like auger holes and hair the color of tow.

—Be quiet! repeated Fontan. A superb head of hair, glances full of fire... Is it funny that you always bite each other among women!

He looked vexed.

—Come, that's enough! he said finally in a brutal voice. You know, I don't like to be bothered... Let's sleep, or it'll turn ugly.

And he blew out the candle. Nana, furious, continued: she would not be spoken to in that tone, she was used to being respected. As he no longer answered, she had to be silent. But she could not fall asleep, she turned, turned again.

—Goddamn! have you finished moving? he cried all at once, with a sudden start.

—It's not my fault if there are crumbs, she said dryly.

Indeed, there were crumbs. She felt them even under her thighs, she was eaten everywhere. A single crumb burned her, made her scratch to blood. Besides, when one eats a cake, doesn't one always shake the coverlet? Fontan, in a cold rage, had relit the candle. Both got up; and barefoot, in their shirts, uncovering the bed, they swept the crumbs on the sheet, with their hands. He, who was shivering, lay down again, sending her to the devil, because she was recommending him to wipe his feet well. Finally, she took her place again; but, hardly stretched out, she danced. There were still some.

—Of course! it was sure, she repeated. You pushed them up with your feet... I can't, me! I tell you I can't!

And she made as if to straddle him, to jump to the floor. Then, pushed to the limit, wanting to sleep, Fontan let fly a slap at her, with full swing. The slap was so strong, that, at once, Nana found herself lying down, head on the pillow. She remained stunned.

—Oh! she said simply, with a big child's sigh.

For an instant, he threatened her with another smack, asking her if she would move again. Then, having blown out the light, he settled squarely on his back, he snored immediately. She, nose in the pillow, wept in little sobs. It was cowardly to abuse his strength. But she had had a real fear, so terrible had Fontan's funny mask become. And her anger went away, as if the slap had calmed her. She respected him, she glued herself against the wall of the bed, to leave him all the room. Even she ended by falling asleep, cheek hot, eyes full of tears, in a delicious overwhelm, in so weary a submission, that she no longer felt the crumbs. In the morning, when she woke, she held Fontan between her bare arms, pressed against her breast, very tight. Wasn't it? he would never begin again, never more? She loved him too much; from him, it was still good, to be slapped.

Then, it was a new life. For a yes, for a no, Fontan let loose slaps at her. She, accustomed, pocketed that. Sometimes, she cried, threatened; but he cornered her against the wall, talking of strangling her, which made her supple. Most often, fallen on a chair, she sobbed five minutes. Then, she forgot, very gay, with songs and laughs, runs that filled the lodging with the flight of her skirts. The worst was that, now, Fontan disappeared all day and never came in before midnight; he went to cafés, where he found comrades. Nana tolerated everything, trembling, caressing, with the only fear of no longer seeing him return, if she addressed him a reproach. But certain days, when she had neither Madame Maloir, nor her aunt with Louiset, she was mortally bored. Also, one Sunday, as she was at the La Rochefoucauld market haggling over pigeons, she was enchanted to meet Satin, who was buying a bunch of radishes. Since the evening when the prince had drunk Fontan's champagne, they had lost sight of each other.

—How! it's you, you're of the neighborhood? said Satin, stupefied to see her in slippers in the street, at that hour. Ah! my poor girl, there's a breakdown then!

Nana silenced her with a frown, because other women were there, in dressing gowns, without linen, hair fallen and white with fluff. In the morning, all the girls of the neighborhood, hardly the man of the night before shown the door, came to do their shopping, eyes big with sleep, dragging slippers in the ill humor and fatigue of a night of bothers. From each street of the crossing, they came down toward the market, very pale, still young, charming in abandon, frightful, old and bloated, letting go their skin, not caring to be seen thus, outside working hours; while, on the sidewalks, passersby turned around, without one deigning to smile, all busy, with disdainful airs of housekeepers for whom men no longer existed. Precisely, as Satin paid for her bunch of radishes, a young man, some lingering clerk, threw her a "Good morning, darling" as he passed. At that, she straightened up, she had a dignity of an offended queen, saying:

—What's got into that pig?

Then, she thought she recognized him. Three days before, toward midnight, coming back alone from the boulevard, she had spoken to him near half an hour, at the corner of the Rue La Bruyère, to decide him. But that only revolted her the more.

—Are they boorish enough to shout things at you in broad daylight, she went on. When one goes about one's business, isn't it? it's so one will be respected.

Nana had ended by buying her pigeons, though she doubted their freshness. Then, Satin wanted to show her her door; she lived nearby, Rue La Rochefoucauld. And, as soon as they were alone, Nana told of her passion for Fontan. Arrived before her door, the little one had planted herself, her radishes under her arm, lit up by a last detail the other was giving, lying in her turn, swearing that it was she who had thrown Count Muffat out, with great kicks in the behind.

—Oh! very chic! repeated Satin, very chic, kicks! And he said nothing, didn't he? It's so cowardly! I'd have liked to be there to see his face... My dear, you're right. And damn the change! Me, when I have a crush, I let myself be killed by it... Eh? come see me, you promise me. Door on the left. Knock three times, because there's a heap of bothers.

From then on, when Nana was too bored, she went down to see Satin. She was always sure to find her, the latter never going out before six o'clock. Satin occupied two rooms, which a pharmacist had furnished for her to save her from the police; but, in less than thirteen months, she had broken the furniture, smashed the seats, soiled the curtains, in such a rage of filth and disorder, that the lodging seemed inhabited by a band of mad cats. The mornings when, disgusted herself, she bethought herself to want to clean, there remained in her hands chair rungs and shreds of hangings, from fighting so in there with the grime. Those days, it was dirtier, one could no longer enter, because there were things fallen across the doors. Also she ended by abandoning her housekeeping. By lamp light, the mirror wardrobe, the clock and what remained of the curtains, still made illusion for the men. Besides, for six months, her landlord had threatened to evict her. Then, for whom would she have kept up her furniture? for him perhaps, more often! And when she got up in good humor, she cried: "Gee up then!" lengthening great kicks in the sides of the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, which cracked.

Nana, almost always, found her in bed. Even the days when Satin went down for her errands, she was so weary on coming up, that she fell asleep again, thrown at the edge of the bed. In the daytime, she dragged herself, dozed on the chairs, coming out of this languor only toward evening, at the hour of the gas. And Nana felt very well at her place, seated doing nothing, in the middle of the unmade bed, the basins that trailed on the floor, the petticoats mudded from the eve, staining the armchairs with mud. There were chatters, endless confidences, while Satin, in her shirt, sprawled and feet higher than the head, listened to her smoking cigarettes. Sometimes, they treated themselves to absinthe, the afternoons when they had sorrows, to forget, they said; without going down, without even putting on a petticoat, Satin went to lean above the railing and cried the order to the little concierge girl, a child of ten who, in bringing the absinthe in a glass, cast glances at the naked legs of the lady. All conversations ended at the filth of men. Nana was unbearable with her Fontan; she could not put ten words without falling back into rehashes of what he said, of what he did. But Satin, a good girl, listened without boredom to these eternal stories of waits at the window, of quarrels over a burnt stew, of make-ups in bed, after hours of mute sulking. By a need to talk of that, Nana had come to tell her all the slaps she received; last week, he had made her eye swell; the day before still, over her slippers that he could not find, he had thrown her with a cuff into the night table; and the other was not astonished, blowing the smoke of her cigarette, interrupting herself only to say that, she, always ducked, which sent the gentleman and his slap packing. Both sank into these stories of blows, happy, dizzy from the same imbecile facts repeated a hundred times, yielding to the soft and warm weariness of the unworthy tumbles they spoke of. It was that joy of chewing over Fontan's slaps, of explaining Fontan even in his way of taking off his boots, that brought Nana back each day, all the more that Satin ended by sympathizing: she cited stronger facts, a pastry cook who left her on the ground, dead, and whom she loved all the same. Then, came the days when Nana wept, declaring that it could not go on. Satin accompanied her to her door, stayed an hour in the street, to see if he was not assassinating her. And, the next day, the two women enjoyed all the afternoon the reconciliation, preferring however, without saying so, the days when there were beatings in the air, because that passionate them more.

They became inseparable. Yet, Satin never went to Nana's, Fontan having declared he wanted no tramp in the house. They went out together, and it is thus that Satin led one day her friend to a woman's, precisely that Madame Robert who preoccupied Nana and caused her a certain respect, since she had refused to come to her supper. Madame Robert lived on the Rue Mosnier, a new and silent street of the Europe quarter, without a shop, whose beautiful houses, with narrow little apartments, are peopled with ladies. It was five o'clock; along the deserted sidewalks, in the aristocratic peace of the tall white houses, coupés of stockbrokers and merchants stood, while men slipped quickly, raising their eyes toward the windows, where women in dressing gowns seemed to wait. Nana first refused to go up, saying in a pinched air that she did not know that lady. But Satin insisted. One could always well lead a friend with one. She simply wanted to make a visit of politeness; Madame Robert, whom she had met the eve in a restaurant, had shown herself very nice, making her swear to come see her. And Nana ended by yielding. Upstairs, a little sleeping maid told them madame had not come in. Yet, she agreed to show them into the salon, where she left them.

—Good Lord! it's chic! murmured Satin.

It was a severe and bourgeois apartment, hung with dark stuffs, with the propriety of a Parisian shopkeeper, retired after fortune made. Nana, impressed, wanted to joke. But Satin grew angry, answered for the virtue of Madame Robert. One met her always in company of elderly and serious men, who gave her the arm. For the moment, she had an old chocolate maker, a grave spirit. When he came, charmed with the good order of the house, he had himself announced and called her my child.

—But look, there she is! went on Satin, showing a photograph placed before the clock.

Nana studied the portrait an instant. It represented a very dark woman, with an elongated face, the lips pinched in a discreet smile. One would have said quite a lady of the world, with more restraint.

—It's funny, she murmured finally, I have certainly seen that head somewhere. Where? I no longer know. But it could not have been in a clean place... Oh! no, surely, it was not a clean place.

And she added, turning toward her friend:

—So, she made you promise to come see her. What does she want of you?

—What she wants of me? Why! talk no doubt, stay a while together... It's politeness.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”