Part 20

Nana stared fixedly at Satin; then she gave a slight click of the tongue. Well, it was all the same to her. But, since that lady was having them pose, she declared she would wait no longer; and the two of them left.

The next day, Fontan having warned Nana that he would not be home for dinner, she went down early to fetch Satin, to treat her to a meal at a restaurant. The choice of restaurant was a serious matter. Satin suggested beer halls that Nana found disgusting. At last, she persuaded her to eat at Laure's. It was a table d'hôte, on the rue des Martyrs, where dinner cost three francs.

Bored with waiting for the hour, not knowing what to do on the sidewalks, they went up to Laure's twenty minutes too early. The three salons were still empty. They took a table, in the very salon where Laure Piedefer held court, on the high bench of a counter. This Laure was a lady of fifty, with overflowing forms, laced into belts and corsets. Women arrived in a file, raised themselves above the saucers, and kissed Laure on the mouth, with a tender familiarity; while this monster, her eyes moist, tried, in dividing herself, not to make any of them jealous. The maid, on the contrary, was a tall, thin, ravaged woman, who served these ladies, her eyelids black, her glances flaming with a dark fire. Rapidly, the three salons filled up. There were about a hundred customers there, mixed haphazard at the tables, most of them nearing forty, enormous, with fleshy accretions, puffinesses of vice drowning their soft mouths; and, amid these balloonings of bosoms and bellies, there appeared a few pretty slender girls, still looking ingenuous beneath the effrontery of their gestures, beginners picked up in a dance hall and brought by a customer to Laure's, where the populace of fat women, put in a glow by the smell of their youth, jostled, paid them treats, and made around them the court of anxious old bachelors. As for the men, they were few in number, ten or fifteen at most, their attitude humble beneath the invading flood of skirts, except for four fellows who joked, very much at ease, come to see the show.

—Isn't it? said Satin, it's very good, their stew.

Nana nodded, satisfied. It was the old solid dinner of a provincial hotel: vol-au-vent financière, fricassee chicken with rice, beans in gravy, vanilla ice cream with caramel. These ladies fell particularly upon the chicken with rice, bursting out of their bodices, wiping their lips with a slow hand. At first, Nana had been afraid of meeting old friends who would have asked her silly questions; but she reassured herself, she saw no familiar face, amid this very mixed crowd, where faded dresses, lamentable hats were spread next to rich outfits in the brotherhood of the same perversions. For a moment, she was interested by a young man, with short curly hair, an insolent face, holding without breathing, hanging on his slightest whims, a whole table of girls who were bursting with fat. But, as the young man laughed, his chest swelled.

—Why, it's a woman! she let escape in a slight cry.

Satin, who was stuffing herself with chicken, lifted her head murmuring:

—Ah! yes, I know her... Very chic! they fight over her.

Nana made a disgusted pout. She did not yet understand that. Yet, she said, in her reasonable voice, that one should not argue about tastes and colors, for one never knew what one might love one day. So she ate her ice cream with an air of philosophy, perfectly noticing that Satin was causing a revolution at the neighboring tables, with her big blue virgin's eyes. There was especially near her a strong blonde person, very kindly; she was glowing, she was pushing herself forward, so much so that Nana was on the point of intervening.

But, at that moment, a woman who entered caused her surprise. She had recognized Madame Robert. The latter, with her pretty brown-mouse look, gave a familiar nod to the tall thin maid, then came to lean on Laure's counter. And the two kissed each other, longly. Nana found that caress very funny on the part of such a distinguished woman; all the more so as Madame Robert did not at all have her modest air, on the contrary. She threw glances into the salon, talking in a low voice. Laure had just sat down again, hunched once more, with the majesty of an old idol of vice, her face worn and varnished by the kisses of the faithful; and, above the full plates, she reigned over her clientele of bloated fat women, monstrous beside the biggest, enthroned in that fortune of a hotel-keeper which rewarded forty years of practice.

But Madame Robert had caught sight of Satin. She let go of Laure, ran over, showed herself charming, saying how much she regretted not having been at home the day before; and as Satin, seduced, absolutely wanted to make a little room for her, she swore she had dined. She had simply come up to see. While talking, standing behind her new friend, she leaned on her shoulders, smiling and caressing, repeating:

—Come now, when shall I see you? If you were free...

Nana, unfortunately, could not hear any more of it. This conversation vexed her, she burned to tell a few home truths to that honest woman. But the sight of a group arriving paralyzed her. They were stylish women, in full dress, with their diamonds. They came partly to Laure's, whom they all addressed as tu, taken again by a perverse taste, parading a hundred thousand francs of jewels on their skin, to dine there, at three francs a head, in the jealous astonishment of the poor dirty girls. When they had entered, with high voices, clear laughter, bringing in from outside like a burst of sunshine, Nana had sharply turned her head, very annoyed to recognize among them Lucy Stewart and Maria Blond. For nearly five minutes, all the time those ladies talked with Laure, before passing into the next salon, she kept her nose down, looking very busy rolling bread crumbs on the tablecloth. Then, when she could finally turn around, she remained stupefied: the chair near her was empty. Satin had disappeared.

—Well! where is she then? she let escape aloud.

The strong blonde person, who had lavished attentions on Satin, gave a laugh, in her bad humor; and as Nana, irritated by this laugh, looked at her with a threatening eye, she said languidly, her voice drawling:

—It's not me, of course, it's the other one who made off with her.

Then, Nana, understanding that they would mock her, added nothing. She even remained seated a moment, not wanting to show her anger. At the back of the next salon, she heard the outbursts of Lucy Stewart who was treating a whole table of little girls, come down from the balls of Montmartre and La Chapelle. It was very warm, the maid was clearing piles of dirty plates, in the strong smell of the chicken with rice; while the four gentlemen had ended by pouring fine wine for a half-dozen of couples, dreaming of getting them drunk, to hear some stiff ones. Now, what exasperated Nana, was to pay for Satin's dinner. There was a slut who let herself be treated and who slipped away with the first capped dog, without saying thank you! No doubt, it was only three francs, but it seemed hard to her all the same, the manner was too disgusting. She paid nevertheless, she threw her six francs at Laure, whom she despised at that hour more than the mud of the gutters.

In the rue des Martyrs, Nana felt her rancor grow still more. Surely, she was not going to run after Satin; a pretty piece of filth, to go stick her nose in it! But her evening was spoiled, and she went back slowly toward Montmartre, enraged above all against Madame Robert. That one, for instance, had a famous nerve, to play the distinguished woman; yes, distinguished in the scrap-heap corner! Now, she was certain of having met her at the Papillon, a filthy dance hall on the rue des Poissonniers, where men picked her up for thirty sous. And she took in bureau chiefs with modest airs, and refused suppers to which one did her the honor of inviting her, just to pose as a virtue! Truly, they might stuff her with virtue! It was always those prudes who gave themselves to bursting, in ignoble holes that no one knew.

Meanwhile, Nana, turning these things over, had arrived home, on the rue Véron. She was quite shaken to see a light. Fontan was coming home sullen, dropped himself also by the friend who had paid for his dinner. He listened with a cold air to the explanations she gave, fearing slaps, bewildered to find him there, when she did not expect him before one in the morning; she lied, she admitted having spent six francs, but with Madame Maloir. Then, he remained dignified, he handed her a letter addressed to her, which he had quietly opened. It was a letter from Georges, still shut up at the Fondettes, relieving himself each week in burning pages. Nana adored being written to, especially great phrases of love, with oaths. She read that to everyone. Fontan knew Georges's style and appreciated it. But, that evening, she so dreaded a scene, that she affected indifference; she ran through the letter with a sullen air and threw it aside at once. Fontan had begun to beat a retreat on a windowpane, annoyed to go to bed so early, not knowing anymore how to occupy his evening. Suddenly, he turned.

—Suppose we answered this kid right away, said he.

Usually, it was he who wrote. He vied in style. Then, he was happy, when Nana, enthusiastic at the reading of his letter, done aloud, kissed him crying that there was only him for finding such things. That ended by exciting them, and they adored each other.

—As you wish, she answered. I am going to make tea. We will go to bed afterward.

Then, Fontan installed himself at the table, with a great display of pen, ink, and paper. He rounded his arms, lengthened his chin.

—"My heart", he began aloud.

And, for more than an hour, he applied himself, reflecting sometimes on a phrase, his head between his hands, refining, laughing to himself, when he had found a tender expression. Nana, silently, had already taken two cups of tea. At last, he read the letter, as one reads at the theater, with a blank voice, indicating a few gestures. He spoke therein, in five pages, of the "delicious hours passed at the Mignotte, those hours whose memory remained like subtle perfumes", he swore an "eternal fidelity to this springtime of love", and finished by declaring that his only desire was "to begin again this happiness, if happiness can begin again".

—You know, he explained, I say all that out of politeness. Since it's for fun... Huh! I think that one's touched, that letter!

He triumphed. But Nana, awkward, always suspicious, committed the fault of not jumping at his neck exclaiming. She found the letter good, no more. Then, he was very vexed. If his letter did not please her, she could write another; and, instead of kissing, as usual, after stirring up phrases of love, they remained cold on the two sides of the table. Yet, she had poured him a cup of tea.

—What a filthy thing! he cried, dipping his lips in it. Did you put salt in it, then!

Nana had the misfortune to shrug her shoulders. He became furious.

—Ah! things are going badly tonight!

And the quarrel started from there. The clock only struck ten, it was a way of killing time. He whipped himself up, he threw in Nana's face, in a flood of insults, all sorts of accusations, one on top of the other, without letting her defend herself. She was dirty, she was stupid, she had rolled everywhere. Then, he harped on the question of money. Did he spend six francs, him, when he dined out? someone paid for his dinner, otherwise he would have eaten his pot-au-feu. And for that old bawd of a Maloir again, a scold he would fling out the door tomorrow! Ah well! they would go far, if every day, him and her, threw six francs like that into the street!

—First of all, I want an accounting! he cried. Come, give the money; where are we?

All his instincts of sordid avarice burst out. Nana, dominated, bewildered, hastened to take from the secretary the money that remained to them, and to bring it before him. Until then, the key stayed on the common box, they drew from it freely.

—How! he said after having counted, there remains barely seven thousand francs out of seventeen thousand, and we have been together only three months... It's not possible.

He himself leapt up, upset the secretary, brought the drawer to rummage it under the lamp. But there were indeed only six thousand eight hundred and some francs. Then, it was a tempest.

—Ten thousand francs in three months! he bellowed. Goddamn! what have you done with it? Huh? answer!... All that goes to your aunt's carcass, huh? or you treat men, it's clear... Will you answer!

—Ah! if you get angry! said Nana. The calculation is easy to make... You don't count the furniture; then, I had to buy linen. It goes fast, when one sets up house.

But, while demanding explanations, he did not want to hear them.

—Yes, it goes too fast, he resumed more calmly; and, you see, my little one, I've had enough of this communal kitchen... You know those seven thousand francs are mine. Well! since I hold them, I keep them... Lord! since you're a waster, I've no mind to be ruined. To each his own.

And, magisterially, he put the money in his pocket. Nana looked at him, stupefied. He, continued with complacency:

—You understand, I'm not stupid enough to keep aunts and children who aren't mine... It pleased you to spend your money, that's your business; but mine, it's sacred!... When you cook a leg of lamb, I'll pay half. In the evening, we'll settle up, that's all!

Thereupon, Nana was revolted. She could not hold back this cry:

—Say, you've surely eaten my ten thousand francs... That's swineish, that!

But he did not linger to discuss further. Over the table, with full swing, he gave her a slap, saying:

—Say that again!

She said it again, despite the smack, and he fell upon her, with kicks and punches. Soon, he had put her in such a state, that she ended, as usual, by undressing and going to bed crying. He, was puffing. He was going to bed in his turn, when he noticed, on the table, the letter he had written to Georges. Then, he folded it carefully, turned toward the bed, saying in a threatening air:

—It's very good, I'll put it in the post myself, because I don't like caprices... And moan no more, you're getting on my nerves.

Nana, who was crying in little sighs, held her breath. When he was in bed, she suffocated, she threw herself on his chest sobbing. Their battles always ended like that; she trembled to lose him, she had a cowardly need to know him hers, despite everything. Twice, he pushed her away with a superb gesture. But the warm embrace of this woman who begged him, with her big eyes moist like a faithful beast, heated him with desire. And he played the good prince, without however lowering himself to any advance; he let himself be caressed and taken by force, as a man whose pardon is worth the trouble of being won. Then he was seized with an uneasiness, he feared that Nana was playing a comedy to get back the key of the box. The candle was out, when he felt the need to maintain his will.

—You know, my girl, it's very serious, I keep the money.

Nana, who was falling asleep on his neck, found a sublime word.

—Yes, don't be afraid... I'll work.

But, from that evening on, life between them became more and more difficult. From one end of the week to the other, there was a noise of slaps, a real tick-tock of a clock, which seemed to regulate their existence. Nana, from being beaten so much, took on a suppleness of fine linen; and that made her delicate of skin, rosy and white of complexion, so soft to the touch, so clear to the eye, that she had grown even more beautiful. So Prullière raged after her skirts, coming when Fontan was not there, pushing her into corners to kiss her. But she struggled, indignant at once, with blushes of shame; she found it disgusting that he wanted to betray a friend. Then, Prullière sneered in a vexed air. Truly, she was becoming damn stupid! How could she attach herself to such a monkey? for, after all, Fontan was a real monkey, with his big nose always in motion. An ugly mug! And a man who still overwhelmed her!

—Maybe, I love him like that, she answered one day, with the calm air of a woman confessing an abominable taste.

Bosc contented himself with dining as often as possible. He shrugged his shoulders behind Prullière; a pretty boy, but a boy not serious. He, several times, had assisted at scenes in the household; at dessert, when Fontan slapped Nana, he continued to chew gravely, finding it natural. To pay for his dinner, he always extolled their happiness. He proclaimed himself a philosopher, he had renounced everything, even glory. Prullière and Fontan, sometimes, thrown back on their chairs, forgot themselves before the cleared table, told each other their successes until two in the morning, with their gestures and their theater voices; while he, absorbed, letting fall from time to time only a little breath of disdain, silently finished the bottle of cognac. What was left of Talma? Nothing, so long as they left him in peace, it was too stupid!

One evening, he found Nana in tears. She took off her camisole to show her back and arms black with blows. He looked at her skin, without being tempted to take advantage of the situation, as that imbecile Prullière would have done. Then, sententiously:

—My girl, where there are women, there are slaps. It's Napoleon who said that, I believe... Wash yourself with salt water. Excellent, salt water, for those hurts. Go on, you'll get others, and don't complain, so long as you have nothing broken... You know, I'm inviting myself, I saw a leg of lamb.

But Madame Lerat had not that philosophy. Each time Nana showed her a new bruise on her white skin, she raised loud cries. They were killing her niece, that could not last. In truth, Fontan had thrown Madame Lerat out the door, saying he did not want to meet her at his place anymore; and, since that day, when she was there and he came home, she had to leave by the kitchen, which humiliated her horribly. So she never stopped against that boorish personage. She reproached him above all with being ill-bred, with the airs of a proper woman, to whom no one could give lessons on good education.

—Oh! it shows right away, she said to Nana, he has no sense of the least proprieties. His mother must have been common; don't say no, it's felt!... I'm not speaking for myself, though a person of my age is entitled to respect... But you, really, how do you manage to endure his bad manners; for, without flattering myself, I always taught you to behave, and you received the best advice at home. Huh? we were all very well in the family.

Nana did not protest, listened with her head down.

—Then, continued the aunt, you have known only distinguished persons... Precisely, we were talking of that, yesterday evening, with Zoé, at my place. She doesn't understand either. "How," she said, "madame who led monsieur the count, a man so perfect, by the finger and the eye,—for, between us, it seems you made a fool of him,—how can madame let herself be massacred by this clown?" Me, I added that blows, that could still be borne, but that never would I have suffered the lack of respect... In short, he has nothing for him. I wouldn't want him in my room even in a painting. And you ruin yourself for such a bird; yes, you ruin yourself, my dear, you tongue hanging out, when there are so many, and the richest, and government personages... Enough! it's not me who should say these things. But, at the first dirty trick, I'd plant him there, with a: "Monsieur, whom do you take me for?" you know, with your grand air, that would cut him arms and legs.

Then, Nana burst into sobs, stammering:

—Oh! aunt, I love him.

The truth was that Madame Lerat felt uneasy, seeing her niece give her with difficulty twenty-sou pieces from time to time, to pay the board of little Louis. No doubt, she would devote herself, she would keep the child anyway and wait for better times. But the idea that Fontan prevented her, the kid, and his mother, from swimming in gold, enraged her to the point of making her deny the love. So she concluded with these severe words:

—Listen, the day he has taken the skin off your belly, you'll come knock at my door, and I'll open to you.

Soon money became the great worry of Nana. Fontan had made the seven thousand francs disappear; no doubt, they were in a safe place, and never would she have dared question him, for she showed pudeurs with that bird, as Madame Lerat called him. She trembled lest he might believe her capable of caring for him for his few sous. He had well promised to provide for the needs of the household. The first days, every morning, he gave three francs. But those were the demands of a man who pays; with his three francs, he wanted everything, butter, meat, early vegetables; and, if she risked observations, if she insinuated that one could not have the Halles for three francs, he flew into a rage, he treated her as good-for-nothing, waster, damned fool that the merchants cheated, always ready besides to threaten to take board elsewhere. Then, at the end of a month, certain mornings, he had forgotten to put the three francs on the commode. She had allowed herself to ask for them, timidly, in a roundabout way. Then, there had been such quarrels, he made life so hard for her under the first pretext come, that she preferred no longer to count on him. On the contrary, when he had not left the three pieces of twenty sous, and he found something to eat anyway, he was gay as a lark, gallant, kissing Nana, waltzing with the chairs. And she, all happy, came to wish to find nothing on the commode, despite the trouble she had making ends meet. One day even, she gave him back his three francs, telling a story, saying she still had the money from the day before. As he had not given any the day before, he remained a moment hesitant, for fear of a lesson. But she looked at him with her eyes of love, she kissed him in an absolute gift of all her person; and he repocketed the pieces, with the little convulsive trembling of a miser who recovers a compromised sum. From that day on, he no longer worried, never asking where the change came from, his face gray when there were potatoes, laughing his jaws loose before turkeys and legs of lamb, not without prejudice however to a few slaps that he dealt Nana, even in his happiness, to keep his hand in.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”