Part 24

For some moments, Mignon had been prowling in the corridor. At Bordenave's first words, speaking of modifying their contract, he flew into a rage; it was an infamy, they wanted to break his wife's future, he would sue. However, Bordenave, very calm, gave his reasons: the role did not seem worthy of Rose to him, he preferred to keep her for an operetta that would follow La Petite Duchesse. But, as the husband kept shouting, he abruptly offered to cancel the contract, mentioning the offers made to the singer by the Folies-Dramatiques. Then Mignon, momentarily disconcerted, without denying these offers, put on a great disdain for money; his wife had been engaged to play the Duchess Hélène, she would play it, even if he, Mignon, had to lose his fortune; it was a matter of dignity, of honor. Once engaged on this ground, the discussion was interminable. The director kept coming back to this argument: since the Folies were offering Rose three hundred francs per evening for a hundred performances, when she only received a hundred and fifty at his theater, that was fifteen thousand francs of gain for her, from the moment he let her go. The husband also would not leave the ground of art: what would people say, if they saw the role taken from his wife? that she was not good enough, that they had had to replace her; from this a considerable wrong, a diminution for the artist. No, no, never! glory before riches! And, all at once, he suggested a compromise: Rose, by her contract, had to pay a forfeit of ten thousand francs, if she withdrew; well! let them give her ten thousand francs, and she would go to the Folies-Dramatiques. Bordenave remained stunned, while Mignon, who had not taken his eyes off the count, waited tranquilly.

-- So, all is settled, murmured Muffat, relieved; we can come to an understanding.

-- Ah! no, indeed! that would be too stupid! cried Bordenave, carried away by his instincts as a man of business. Ten thousand francs to let Rose go! people would laugh at me!

But the count ordered him to accept, multiplying signs with his head. He hesitated still. At last, grumbling, regretting the ten thousand francs, though they were not to come out of his pocket, he resumed with brutality:

-- After all, I agree. At least, I'll be rid of you.

For a quarter of an hour, Fontan had been listening in the courtyard. Very intrigued, he had come down to post himself there. When he understood, he went back up and gave himself the treat of warning Rose. Ah, indeed! they were making a fuss about her, she was fed up. Rose ran to the prop room. They all fell silent. She looked at the four men. Muffat lowered his head, Fauchery replied with a shrug of despair to the look with which she questioned him. As for Mignon, he was discussing the terms of the contract with Bordenave.

-- What is it? she asked in a short voice.

-- Nothing, said her husband. It's Bordenave who is giving ten thousand francs to get your role back.

She trembled, very pale, her little fists clenched. For a moment, she stared at him, in a revolt of her whole being, she who usually abandoned herself docilely, for business matters, leaving him the signing of contracts with her directors and her lovers. And she found only this cry, with which she lashed his face like a whip:

-- Ah! look! you are too cowardly!

Then, she ran off. Mignon, stupefied, ran after her. What now? was she going mad? He explained to her in a half-voice that ten thousand francs on one side and fifteen thousand on the other made twenty-five thousand. A superb deal! In any case, Muffat was dropping her; it was a pretty feat of strength, to have pulled this last feather from his wing. But Rose did not answer, enraged. Then Mignon, disdainful, left her to her woman's spite. He said to Bordenave, who was coming back onto the stage with Fauchery and Muffat:

-- We will sign tomorrow morning. Have the money ready.

Just then, Nana, warned by Labordette, came down, triumphant. She played the honest woman, with airs of distinction, to astound her world and prove to those idiots that, when she wanted, not one of them had her style. But she nearly compromised herself. Rose, on seeing her, had thrown herself upon her, choking, stammering:

-- You, I'll find you again... This has to end between us, do you hear!

Nana, forgetting herself at this sudden attack, was about to put her fists on her hips and call her a slut. She restrained herself, she exaggerated the fluted tone of her voice, with a gesture of a marchioness who is about to step on an orange peel.

-- Eh? what? she said. You are mad, my dear!

Then, she continued her graces, while Rose left, followed by Mignon, who no longer recognized her. Clarisse, delighted, had just obtained the role of Géraldine from Bordenave. Fauchery, very gloomy, stamped his feet, unable to decide to leave the theater; his play was done for, he was seeking how to salvage it. But Nana came to seize him by the wrists, brought him very close to her, asking if he found her so atrocious. She would not eat his play; and she made him laugh, she let it be understood that he would be stupid to quarrel with her, in her position at the Muffats'. If she lacked memory, she would take a prompter; they would fill the house; besides, he was mistaken about her, he would see how she would burn up the boards. Then, it was agreed that the author would rework the role of the duchess a little, to give more to Prullière. The latter was delighted. In this joy that Nana naturally brought with her, only Fontan remained cold. Planted in the middle of the yellow shaft of light from the servant's lamp, he sprawled, outlining the sharp ridge of his goat-like profile, affecting an abandoned pose. And Nana, tranquilly, approached, gave him a handshake.

-- You're well?

-- Why yes, not bad. And you?

-- Very well, thank you.

That was all. They seemed to have parted the evening before, at the theater door. However, the actors were waiting; but Bordenave said they would not rehearse the third act. Exact by chance, old Bosc went off grumbling: they were kept for no reason, they were made to lose whole afternoons. Everyone left. Below, on the pavement, they blinked, blinded by the full daylight, with the bewilderment of people who have spent three hours at the bottom of a cellar, quarreling, in a continuous tension of the nerves. The count, his muscles broken, his head empty, got into his carriage with Nana, while Labordette took away Fauchery, whom he was comforting.

A month later, the first performance of La Petite Duchesse was, for Nana, a great disaster. She showed herself atrociously bad, she had pretensions to high comedy, which put the public in good humor. They did not hiss, so much were they amused. In a stage box, Rose Mignon greeted each entrance of her rival with a shrill laugh, thus lighting up the entire house. It was a first revenge. Also, when Nana, in the evening, found herself alone with Muffat, very saddened, she said to him furiously:

-- Eh! what a cabal! All that is jealousy... Ah! if they knew how I don't care! Do I need them, now!... Look! a hundred louis that all those who laughed, I'll bring them here, to lick the ground before me!... Yes, I'm going to show them what a great lady is, your Paris!

X

Then Nana became a smart woman, a rentier of the stupidity and filth of males, a marchioness of the high sidewalks. It was a sudden and definitive launching, a rise into the celebrity of gallantry, into the full daylight of the follies of money and the spoiling audacities of beauty. She reigned at once among the most expensive. Her photographs spread across the shop windows, she was cited in the newspapers. When she passed in a carriage on the boulevards, the crowd turned and named her, with the emotion of a people saluting their sovereign; while, familiar, stretched out in her flowing dresses, she smiled with a gay air, under the rain of little blond curls, which drowned the dark-circled blue of her eyes and the painted red of her lips. And the marvel was that this big girl, so awkward on stage, so funny as soon as she wanted to play the honest woman, played in society the roles of charmer, without an effort. There were supple movements of a grass snake, a learned undress, as if involuntary, exquisite in elegance, a nervous distinction of a thoroughbred cat, an aristocracy of vice, superb, rebellious, setting her foot on Paris, as an all-powerful mistress. She set the tone, great ladies imitated her.

Nana's hotel was on the avenue de Villiers, at the corner of the rue Cardinet, in this luxury quarter, springing up amid the vacant lots of the old plaine Monceau. Built by a young painter, drunk on a first success and who had had to resell it, barely the plaster dried, it was in the Renaissance style, with an air of a palace, a fantasy of interior distribution, modern conveniences in a frame of somewhat affected originality. Count Muffat had bought the hotel fully furnished, filled with a world of knickknacks, very beautiful Oriental hangings, old credences, large Louis XIII armchairs; and Nana had thus fallen upon a stock of artistic furniture, of very fine choice, in the tohu-bohu of epochs. But, as the studio, which occupied the center of the house, could not serve her, she had overturned the floors, leaving on the ground floor a conservatory, a large salon and the dining room, establishing on the first floor a small salon, near her bedroom and her dressing room. She astonished the architect with the ideas she gave him, born at a stroke to the refinements of luxury, as a girl of the Paris pavement having instinctively all the elegances. Finally, she did not spoil the hotel too much, she even added to the riches of the furniture, except for some traces of tender foolishness and glaring splendor, where one found again the former florist who had dreamed before the shop windows of the passages.

In the courtyard, under the great marquise, a carpet climbed the steps; and it was, from the vestibule, an odor of violet, a tepid air enclosed in thick hangings. A stained glass with yellow and pink panes, of a blonde fleshly pallor, lit the wide staircase. Below, a carved wooden negro held out a silver tray, full of visiting cards; four white marble women, their breasts bare, raised lamp stands; while Chinese bronzes and cloisonnés filled with flowers, divans covered with old Persian carpets, armchairs with old tapestries furnished the vestibule, garnished the landings, made on the first floor like an antechamber, where men's overcoats and hats always trailed. The fabrics stifled noises, a recollection fell, one would have thought oneself in a chapel crossed by a devout shiver, and whose silence, behind closed doors, kept a mystery.

Nana only opened the large salon, of too rich Louis XVI, on gala evenings, when she received the world of the Tuileries or foreign personages. Usually, she simply came down at meal hours, a bit lost on days when she lunched alone in the dining room, very high, garnished with Gobelins, with a monumental credence, brightened with old faience and marvelous pieces of antique silverware. She went back up quickly, she lived on the first floor, in her three rooms, the bedroom, the dressing room and the small salon. Twice already, she had redone the bedroom, the first in mauve satin, the second in lace appliqué on blue silk; and she was not satisfied, she found it bland, still seeking, without being able to find. There was twenty thousand francs of point de Venise on the padded bed, low like a sofa. The furniture was of white and blue lacquer, inlaid with silver threads; everywhere, white bear skins trailed, so numerous, that they covered the carpet; a caprice, a refinement of Nana, who had not been able to unaccustom herself from sitting on the ground to take off her stockings. Next to the bedroom, the small salon offered an amusing pêle-mêle, of an exquisite art; against the hangings of pale pink silk, a faded Turkish rose, brocaded with gold threads, stood out a world of objects from all countries and all styles, Italian cabinets, Spanish and Portuguese chests, Chinese pagodas, a Japanese screen of precious finish, then faience, bronzes, embroidered silks, tapestries in small point; while armchairs wide as beds, and canapés deep as alcoves, put there a soft laziness, a somnolent life of a seraglio. The room kept the tone of old gold, melted with green and red, without anything marking too much the girl, outside the voluptuousness of the seats; alone, two biscuit statuettes, a woman in a shift seeking her fleas, and another absolutely naked, walking on her hands, legs in the air, sufficed to soil the salon with a stain of original foolishness. And, by a nearly always open door, one glimpsed the dressing room, all in marble and glass, with the white basin of its bathtub, its pots and its silver basins, its crystal and ivory fittings. A closed curtain made there a little white light, which seemed to sleep, as heated with a perfume of violet, this troubling perfume of Nana of which the entire hotel, up to the courtyard, was penetrated.

The big affair was to set up the house. Nana well had Zoé, this girl devoted to her fortune, who for months had calmly awaited this sudden launching, certain of her flair. Now, Zoé triumphed, mistress of the hotel, making her ball, all while serving madame as honestly as possible. But one chambermaid was no longer enough. There was needed a butler, a coachman, a concierge, a cook. On the other hand it was a matter of installing the stables. Then Labordette rendered himself very useful, by taking charge of the errands which bored the count. He horse-traded the purchase of horses, he ran to the carriage-makers, guided the choices of the young woman, whom one met on his arm at the suppliers. Even Labordette brought the domestics: Charles, a big coachman fellow, who came from the Duke of Corbreuse's; Julien, a little butler all curled, smiling air; and a couple, whose wife, Victorine, was cook, and whose husband, François, was taken as concierge and footman. The latter, in short breeches, powdered, wearing Nana's livery, light blue and silver braid, received visitors in the vestibule. It was of a princely bearing and correctness.

From the second month, the house was set up. The establishment exceeded three hundred thousand francs. There were eight horses in the stables, and five carriages in the coach houses, among them a landau trimmed with silver, which occupied all Paris for an instant. And Nana, in the middle of this fortune, settled in, made her hole. She had left the theater, from the third performance of La Petite Duchesse, leaving Bordenave to struggle under a threat of bankruptcy, despite the count's money. Yet, she kept a bitterness from her failure. That added itself to Fontan's lesson, a dirty trick for which she held all men responsible. Also, now, she said herself very strong, proof against whims. But the ideas of vengeance held little, with her bird's brain. What remained, outside the hours of anger, was, in her, an appetite for spending always awake, a natural disdain for the man who paid, a continual caprice of a waster and spoiler, proud of the ruin of her lovers.

At first, Nana put the count on a good footing. She clearly established the program of their relations. He, gave twelve thousand francs per month, not counting gifts, and asked in return only an absolute fidelity. She, swore fidelity. But she exacted respects, an entire liberty of mistress of the house, a complete respect of her wills. Thus, she would receive all her friends every day; he would come only at set hours; finally, on all things, he would have a blind faith in her. And, when he hesitated, taken with a jealous unease, she made dignity, threatening to give him everything back, or else she swore on the head of little Louis. That should suffice. There was no love where there was no esteem. At the end of the first month, Muffat respected her.

But she wanted and obtained more. Soon she took over him an influence of a good girl. When he arrived sulky, she cheered him, then advised him, after having confessed him. Little by little, she occupied herself with the worries of his interior, his wife, his daughter, his affairs of heart and money, very reasonable, full of justice and honesty. Only once, she let herself be carried away by passion, the day he confided to her that Daguenet would probably ask for his daughter Estelle in marriage. Since the count was showing himself, Daguenet had thought it clever to break, to treat her as a coquine, swearing to tear his future father-in-law from the claws of this creature. Also she dressed up her former Mimi in a pretty way: he was a runner who had eaten his fortune with ugly women; he lacked moral sense, he did not have himself given money, but he profited from the money of others, paying only from time to time a bouquet or a dinner; and, as the count seemed to excuse these weaknesses, she crudely taught him that Daguenet had had her, she gave disgusting details. Muffat had become very pale. The young man was no longer spoken of. That would teach him to lack gratitude.

However, the hotel was not entirely furnished, when Nana, one evening where she had prodigally given Muffat the most energetic oaths of fidelity, detained Count Xavier de Vandeuvres, who, for a fortnight, had been paying her an assiduous court of visits and flowers. She yielded, not by whim, rather to prove to herself that she was free. The idea of interest came afterwards, when Vandeuvres, the next day, helped her pay a bill, which she did not want to speak of to the other. She would well draw eight to ten thousand francs per month from him; that would be very useful pocket money. He was then finishing his fortune in a hot fever fit. His horses and Lucy had eaten three farms, Nana was going to swallow in one bite his last castle, near Amiens; and he had like a hurry to sweep everything away, up to the rubble of the old tower built by a Vandeuvres under Philippe Auguste, enraged with an appetite for ruins, finding it beautiful to leave the last gold bezants of his blazon in the hands of this girl, whom Paris desired. He too accepted Nana's conditions, an entire liberty, tendresses on fixed days, without even having the passionate naivety of exacting oaths. Muffat suspected nothing. As for Vandeuvres, he surely knew; but never did he make the least allusion, he affected to ignore, with his fine smile of a skeptical man of the world, who does not ask the impossible, provided he has his hour and that Paris knows it.

From then on, Nana really had her house set up. The personnel was complete, at the stable, at the office and in madame's bedroom. Zoé organized everything, got out of the most unforeseen complications; it was machined like a theater, regulated like a great administration; and that functioned with such a precision, that, during the first months, there was not a hitch nor a breakdown. Only, madame gave too much trouble to Zoé, by imprudences, fits of head, mad bravadoes. Also the chambermaid gradually relaxed, having moreover remarked that she drew bigger profits from the hours of mess, when madame had made a foolishness that had to be repaired. Then, gifts rained, she fished louis in troubled waters.

One morning, as Muffat was not yet out of the bedroom, Zoé introduced a gentleman all trembling into the dressing room, where Nana was changing her linen.

-- Why! Zizi! said the young woman stupefied.

It was Georges, indeed. But, on seeing her in her shift, with her gold hair on her bare shoulders, he had thrown himself on her neck, had taken her and kissed her everywhere. She struggled, frightened, stifling her voice, stammering:

-- Finish then, he is there! It's stupid... And you, Zoé, are you mad? Take him away! Keep him below, I'll try to come down.

Zoé had to push him before her. Below, in the dining room, when Nana could join them, she scolded them both. Zoé pinched her lips; and she withdrew, the air vexed, saying that she had thought to please madame. Georges looked at Nana with such happiness to see her again, that his beautiful eyes filled with tears. Now, the bad days were past, his mother believed him reasonable and had permitted him to leave the Fondettes; also, on arriving at the station, he had just taken a carriage to embrace his dear darling faster. He spoke of living henceforth near her, as over there, when he awaited her barefoot, in the Mignotte's room. And, while telling his story, he advanced his fingers, by a need to touch her, after this cruel year of separation; he seized her hands, dug in the wide sleeves of the dressing gown, went back up to the shoulders.

-- You still love your baby? he asked in his child's voice.

-- Sure I love him! answered Nana, who disengaged herself with a abrupt movement. But you fall without warning... You know, my little one, I am not free. You must be good.

Georges, got down from the carriage in the dazzlement of a long desire finally contented, had not even seen the places where he entered. Then, he had consciousness of a change around him. He examined the rich dining room, with its high decorated ceiling, its Gobelins, its dazzling dresser of silverware.

-- Ah! yes, he said sadly.

And she made him understand that he must never come in the morning. In the afternoon, if he wished, from four to six; it was the hour when she received. Then, as he looked at her with a supplicating air of interrogation, without asking anything, she kissed him in turn on the forehead, showing herself very good.

-- Be very good, I will do my possible, she murmured.

But the truth was that it no longer said anything to her. She found Georges very nice, she would have liked to have him for a comrade, no more. However, when he arrived every day at four o'clock, he seemed so unhappy, that she often yielded still, kept him in her wardrobes, let him continually gather the crumbs of her beauty. He no longer left the hotel, familiar like the little dog Bijou, the one and the other in mistress's skirts, having a bit of her, even when she was with another, catching windfalls of sugar and caresses, in the hours of solitary boredom.

No doubt Madame Hugon learned the relapse of the little one in the arms of this bad woman, for she ran to Paris, she came to claim the help of her other son, Lieutenant Philippe, then in garrison at Vincennes. Georges, who hid from his elder brother, was seized with despair, fearing some violent measure; and, as he could keep nothing, in the nervous expansion of his tenderness, he soon spoke to Nana of nothing but his big brother, a solid fellow who would dare anything.

-- You understand, he explained, maman won't come to your place, while she can send my brother... Sure, she is going to send Philippe to fetch me.

The first time, Nana was very offended. She said dryly:

-- I'd like to see that, indeed! He may be a lieutenant, François will fling him to the door, and stiffly!

Then, the little one always coming back to his brother, she ended by occupying herself with Philippe. At the end of a week, she knew him from head to foot, very tall, very strong, gay, a bit brutal; and, with that, intimate details, hairs on the arms, a mark on the shoulder. So well that one day, all full of the image of this man whom she was to have thrown to the door, she cried:

-- Say, Zizi, your brother isn't coming... He's a quitter then!

“Stories of the world, in your language.”