Part 26

Just then, the next day, there was a dinner at Nana's; moreover, the usual Thursday dinner, Muffat, Vandeuvres, the Hugon sons and Satin. The count arrived early. He needed eighty thousand francs to free the young woman from two or three debts and give her a sapphire parure she was dying to have. As he had already heavily encroached upon his fortune, he was looking for a lender, not yet daring to sell an estate. On Nana's own advice, he had therefore applied to Labordette; but the latter, finding the affair too weighty, had wanted to speak to the hairdresser Francis, who willingly busied himself with obliging his clients. The count was placing himself in the hands of these gentlemen, out of a formal desire to appear in no way involved; both undertook to keep in their portfolio the hundred-thousand-franc note that he would sign; and they apologized for those twenty thousand francs of interest, crying out against the blackguard usurers where they had, they said, been forced to knock.

When Muffat was announced, Francis was finishing doing Nana's hair. Labordette was also in the dressing room, with his familiarity of a harmless friend. On seeing the count, he discreetly laid a thick packet of banknotes among the powders and pomades; and the note was signed on the marble of the dressing table. Nana wanted to keep Labordette for dinner; he refused, he was showing a rich foreigner around Paris. However, Muffat having taken him aside to beg him to run to Becker, the jeweler, and bring back the sapphire parure, with which he wanted to surprise the young woman that very evening, Labordette willingly charged himself with the errand. Half an hour later, Julien handed the case to the count, mysteriously.

During dinner, Nana was nervous. The sight of the eighty thousand francs had agitated her. To think that all that money was going to pass to tradespeople! It disgusted her. From the soup onward, in that superb dining room, lit by the reflection of the silver and crystal, she turned sentimental, celebrating the happiness of poverty. The men were in evening dress, she herself wore a dress of embroidered white satin, while Satin, more modest, in black silk, simply had a gold heart at her neck, a gift from her good friend. And, behind the guests, Julien and François served, aided by Zoé, all three very dignified.

—Sure enough, I had more fun when I hadn't a sou, Nana repeated.

She had placed Muffat on her right and Vandeuvres on her left; but she scarcely looked at them, occupied with Satin, who enthroned opposite her, between Philippe and Georges.

—Isn't that so, my cat? she said at every phrase. Did we laugh, back then, when we went to Mother Josse's boarding house, on the rue Polonceau!

The roast was being served. The two women launched into their memories. They were seized by talkative fits; they had a sudden need to stir up the mud of their youth; and it was always when there were men there, as if they yielded to a rage to impose upon them the dungheap where they had grown up. The gentlemen paled, with embarrassed glances. The Hugon sons tried to laugh, while Vandeuvres nervously twirled his beard and Muffat redoubled in gravity.

—Do you remember Victor? said Nana. There was a vicious boy, who led the little girls into the cellars!

—Perfectly, replied Satin. I remember the big courtyard at your place very well. There was a concierge, with a broom...

—Mother Boche; she's dead.

—And I still see your shop... Your mother was a big woman. One evening when we were playing, your father came home drunk, but drunk!

At this moment, Vandeuvres attempted a diversion, throwing himself across these ladies' memories.

—I say, my dear, I would gladly take some more truffles... They are exquisite. I ate some yesterday at the Duke de Corbreuse's that were not as good.

—Julien, the truffles! said Nana brusquely.

Then, coming back:

—Ah! well, father was hardly reasonable... So, what a downfall! If you had seen it, a plunge, a destitution!... I can say I endured every color of it, and it's a miracle if I didn't leave my skin there, like father and mother.

This time, Muffat, who was playing with a knife, unnerved, permitted himself to intervene.

—That isn't gay, what you're telling there.

—Eh? what? not gay! she cried, striking him with a look. I should think it's not gay!... He should have brought us bread, my dear... Oh! me, you know, I'm a good girl, I say things as they are. Mother was a laundress, father got drunk, and he died of it. There! If that doesn't suit you, if you're ashamed of my family...

All protested. What was she getting at! they respected her family. But she continued:

—If you're ashamed of my family, well! leave me, because I'm not one of those women who disown their father and mother... You have to take me with them, do you hear!

They took her, they accepted the father, the mother, the past, whatever she wanted. Eyes on the table, all four now made themselves small, while she held them under her old muddy clogs from the rue de la Goutte-d'Or, with the vehemence of her omnipotence. And she did not disarm yet: they might bring her fortunes, build her palaces, she would always regret the time when she crunched apples. A joke, that idiot money! it was made for the tradespeople. Then, her fit ended in a sentimental desire for a simple life, heart in hand, amid a universal kindness.

But, at that moment, she noticed Julien, arms hanging, who was waiting.

—Well! what? serve the champagne, she said. What are you staring at me for like a goose?

During the scene, the servants had not smiled once. They seemed not to hear, more majestic as madame let herself go further. Julien, without flinching, began to pour the champagne. Unfortunately, François, who was presenting the fruit, tilted the compote dish too far, and the apples, pears, and grapes rolled onto the table.

—Clumsy oaf! cried Nana.

The valet made the mistake of wanting to explain that the fruit was not mounted solidly. Zoé had shaken it, taking some oranges.

—So, said Nana, it's Zoé who is a goose.

—But, madame..., murmured the hurt lady's maid.

Thereupon, madame rose, and in a curt voice, with a gesture of royal authority:

—Enough, isn't it?... All of you out!... We have no further need of you.

This execution calmed her. She showed herself at once very gentle, very amiable. Dessert was charming, these gentlemen amused themselves serving one another. But Satin, who had peeled a pear, came to eat it behind her darling, leaning on her shoulders, saying things in her neck, at which they laughed very loud; then, she wanted to share her last bit of pear, she offered it between her teeth; and both nibbled each other's lips, finishing the fruit in a kiss. Then, it was a comic protest on the part of these gentlemen. Philippe shouted at them to make themselves at home. Vandeuvres asked if he should leave. Georges had come to take Satin by the waist and brought her back to her place.

—Are you silly! said Nana, you're making her blush, the poor dear... Go on, my girl, let them tease. Those are our little affairs.

And, turned toward Muffat, who was looking on, with his serious air:

—Isn't that so, my friend?

—Yes, certainly, he murmured, approving with a slow nod of the head.

He had no further protest. Amid these gentlemen, these great names, these old courtesies, the two women, face to face, exchanging a tender glance, imposed themselves and reigned, with the tranquil abuse of their sex and their avowed contempt for man. They applauded.

They went up to take coffee in the small salon. Two lamps lit with a soft glow the pink hangings, the knickknacks in tones of lacquer and old gold. It was, at that hour of night, amid the chests, bronzes, and faience, a discreet play of light kindling an inlay of silver or ivory, detaching the sheen of a carved rod, moiréing a panel with a reflection of silk. The afternoon fire was dying into embers, it was very warm, a languid heat, under the curtains and portières. And, in this room full of Nana's intimate life, where her gloves trailed, a dropped handkerchief, an open book, one found her again in dishabille, with her smell of violet, her good-girl disorder, of a charming effect amid these riches; while the armchairs wide as beds and the sofas deep as alcoves invited to forgetful-of-the-hour dozings, to laughing tendernesses, whispered in the shadow of the corners.

Satin went to stretch near the fireplace, in the depths of a sofa. She had lit a cigarette. But Vandeuvres amused himself making her an atrocious scene of jealousy, threatening to send her seconds if she again turned Nana from her duties. Philippe and Georges joined in, teasing her, pinching her so hard that she ended up crying:

—Darling! darling! do make them keep still! They're at me again.

—Come now, leave her alone, said Nana seriously. I won't have her tormented, you know that well... And you, my cat, why do you always thrust yourself with them, since they're so unreasonable?

Satin, all red, tongue out, went into the dressing room, whose wide-open door let one see the pallor of the marbles, lit by the milky light of a frosted globe, where a gas flame burned. Then, Nana chatted with the four men, a charming hostess. She had read that day a novel causing a great stir, the story of a girl; and she was indignant, she said it was all false, moreover testifying an indignant repugnance against that filthy literature, whose pretension was to render nature; as if one could show everything! as if a novel should not be written to pass an agreeable hour! In matters of books and dramas, Nana had very fixed opinions: she wanted tender and noble works, things to make her dream and enlarge her soul. Then, the conversation having fallen upon the troubles agitating Paris, incendiary articles, beginnings of riot following calls to arms, launched each evening in public meetings, she flew into a rage against the republicans. What did those dirty people who never washed want, then? Was one not happy, had not the emperor done everything for the people? A pretty filth, the people! She knew it, she could speak of it; and, forgetting the respects she had just demanded at table for her little world of the rue de la Goutte-d'Or, she knocked her own with the disgusts and fears of an arrived woman. That very afternoon, she had read in the Figaro the account of a public meeting session, pushed to the comic, at which she was still laughing, because of the slang words and the dirty face of a drunkard who had got himself expelled.

—Oh! those drunkards! she said with a repugnant air. No, you see, it would be a great misfortune for everyone, their republic... Ah! may God preserve the emperor for us as long as possible!

—God will hear you, my dear, Muffat answered gravely. Come, the emperor is solid.

He liked to see her with these good sentiments. The two understood each other in politics. Vandeuvres and Captain Hugon, they too, never ran dry in jests against "the hoodlums," bawlers who beat it, as soon as they caught sight of a bayonet. Georges, that evening, stayed pale, somber-looking.

—What's the matter with him, the baby? asked Nana, noticing his unease.

—Me, nothing, I'm listening, he murmured.

But he suffered. On leaving the table, he had heard Philippe joking with the young woman; and, now, it was Philippe, it was not he who found himself near her. All his chest swelled and burst, without his knowing why. He could not tolerate them one near the other, such vile ideas gripped his throat that he felt a shame, in his anguish. He, who laughed at Satin, who had accepted Steiner, then Muffat, then all the others, he revolted, he saw red, at the thought that Philippe might one day touch that woman.

—Look! take Bijou, she said to console him, passing him the little dog asleep on her skirt.

And Georges became gay again, holding something of hers, that beast all warm from her knees.

The conversation had fallen upon a considerable loss, suffered by Vandeuvres the day before, at the Cercle Impérial. Muffat was not a gambler and was astonished. But Vandeuvres, smiling, made an allusion to his imminent ruin, of which Paris already spoke: the kind of death mattered little, the whole was to die well. For some time, Nana saw him nervous, with a broken fold of the mouth and flickering gleams in the depths of his clear eyes. He kept his aristocratic height, the fine elegance of his impoverished race; and it was still, at moments, only a short vertigo turning under that skull, emptied by play and women. One night, lying near her, he had frightened her telling her an atrocious story: he dreamed of locking himself in his stable and having himself burned with his horses, when he had eaten everything. His sole hope, at that hour, was in a horse, Lusignan, whom he was preparing for the Prix de Paris. He lived on this horse, which carried his shaken credit. At each of Nana's demands, he put her off to the month of June, if Lusignan won.

—Bah! she said jokingly, he can well lose, since he's going to clean them all out at the races.

He contented himself with answering with a thin mysterious smile. Then, lightly:

—By the way, I permitted myself to give your name to my outsider, a filly... Nana, Nana, it sounds well. You're not angry?

—Angry, why? she said, secretly delighted.

The chat continued, they spoke of an impending capital execution where the young woman burned to go, when Satin appeared at the dressing-room door, calling her in a tone of entreaty. She rose at once, she left these gentlemen loosely stretched, finishing their cigar, discussing a grave question, the share of responsibility in a murderer afflicted with chronic alcoholism. In the dressing room, Zoé, fallen on a chair, wept hot tears, while Satin vainly tried to console her.

—What is it? asked Nana surprised.

—Oh! darling, speak to her, said Satin. For twenty minutes I've been trying to make her see reason... She's crying because you called her a goose.

—Yes, madame..., it's very hard..., it's very hard..., stammered Zoé, strangled by a new fit of sobs.

Thereupon, this spectacle softened the young woman. She had kind words. And, as the other did not calm, she squatted before her, took her around the waist, in a gesture of affectionate familiarity.

—But, silly, I said goose like I'd have said something else. How should I know! I was angry... There, I was wrong, calm down.

—Me who loves madame so..., Zoé babbled. After all I've done for madame...

Then, Nana kissed the lady's maid. Then, wanting to show she was not angry, she gave her a dress she had worn three times. Their quarrels always ended in gifts. Zoé dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. She carried the dress off on her arm, she said again that it was very sad in the kitchen, that Julien and François had not been able to eat, so much did madame's anger cut their appetite. And madame sent them a louis, as a pledge of reconciliation. The sorrow around her made her suffer too much.

Nana was returning to the salon, happy to have arranged this quarrel which secretly worried her for the morrow, when Satin spoke to her quickly in the ear. She complained, she threatened to leave, if those men teased her further; and she demanded that her darling throw them all out the door, that night. It would teach them. Then, it would be so nice to stay alone, the two of them! Nana, seized again with worry, swore it was not possible. Then, the other rudely treated her as a violent child, imposing her authority.

—I want it, do you hear!... Send them off or it's me who's leaving!

And she went back into the salon, she stretched in the depths of a divan, apart, near the window, silent and as if dead, her big eyes fixed on Nana, waiting.

These gentlemen were concluding against the new criminalist theories; with this fine invention of irresponsibility in certain pathological cases, there were no longer criminals, there were only sick people. The young woman, who approved with her head, sought by what means she would dismiss the count. The others were going to leave; but he would surely dig in. Indeed, when Philippe rose to retire, Georges followed at once; his only worry was to leave his brother behind him. Vandeuvres stayed some minutes more; he felt the ground, he waited to know if, by chance, an affair would not oblige Muffat to yield him the place; then, when he saw him squarely install himself for the night, he did not insist, he took leave as a man of tact. But, as he directed himself toward the door, he caught sight of Satin, with her fixed gaze; and, understanding no doubt, amused, he came to shake her hand.

—Eh? we're not angry? he murmured. Forgive me... You're the finest, word of honor!

Satin disdained to answer. She did not leave her eyes off Nana and the count left alone. No longer minding, Muffat had come to place himself near the young woman, and had taken her fingers, which he kissed. Then, she, seeking a transition, asked if his daughter Estelle was better. The evening before, he had complained of the sadness of that child; he could not live a happy day at home, with his wife always out and his daughter locked in a glacial silence. Nana, for these family affairs, always showed herself full of good advice. And, as Muffat, abandoning himself, flesh and spirit unstrung, began again his laments.

—If you married her off? she said, remembering the promise she had made.

At once, she dared speak of Daguenet. The count, at that name, had a revolt. Never, after what she had told him!

She feigned surprise, then burst out laughing; and taking him by the neck:

—Oh! the jealous one, if possible!... Reason a little. Someone had spoken ill of me to you, I was furious... Today, I would be desolated...

But, over Muffat's shoulder, she met Satin's gaze. Uneasy, she let him go, she continued gravely:

—My friend, this marriage must happen, I won't prevent your daughter's happiness... This young man is very well, you couldn't find better.

And she launched into an extraordinary praise of Daguenet. The count had taken her hands again; he no longer said no, he would see, they would talk of that. Then, as he spoke of going to bed, she lowered her voice, she gave reasons. Impossible, she was indisposed; if he loved her a little, he would not insist. Yet, he dug in, he refused to leave, and she was weakening, when again she met Satin's gaze. Then, she was inflexible. No, it could not be. The count, very moved, suffering-looking, had risen and was seeking his hat. But, at the door, he remembered the sapphire parure, whose case he felt in his pocket; he wanted to hide it at the bottom of the bed so she would find it with her legs, on getting in first; a great-child surprise he had meditated since dinner. And, in his trouble, in his anguish at being sent off thus, he abruptly handed her the case.

—What is it? she asked. Why! sapphires... Ah! yes, this parure. How kind you are!... I say, my dear, do you think it's the same? In the window, it made more of an effect.

That was all her thanks, she let him go. He had just caught sight of Satin, stretched in her silent waiting. Then, he looked at the two women; and, insisting no more, submitting, he went down. The vestibule door was not yet closed, when Satin seized Nana around the waist, danced, sang. Then, running to the window:

—Got to see the face he has on the sidewalk!

In the shadow of the curtains, the two women leaned on the wrought-iron railing. One o'clock was striking. The avenue de Villiers, deserted, lengthened the double file of its gas jets, in the depths of this humid March night, swept by great gusts of wind charged with rain. Vacant lots made holes of darkness; hotels under construction raised their scaffolding under the black sky. And they had a fit of mad laughter, seeing the round back of Muffat, who went away along the wet sidewalk, with the tearful reflection of his shadow, across that glacial and empty plain of the new Paris. But Nana silenced Satin.

—Take care, the police sergeants!

Then, they stifled their laughs, looking with a dull fear, on the other side of the avenue, at two black figures who marched with a cadenced step. Nana, in her luxury, in her royalty of an obeyed woman, had kept a fright of the police, not liking to hear it spoken of, no more than of death. She felt a discomfort, when a police sergeant lifted his eyes on her hotel. One never knew with those people. They could very well take them for girls, if they heard them laugh, at this hour of night. Satin had pressed against Nana, in a little shiver. Yet, they stayed, interested by the approach of a lantern, dancing amid the puddles of the roadway. It was an old ragpicker who was searching the gutters. Satin recognized her.

—Why! she said, Queen Pomaré with her wicker cashmere!

And, while a gust of wind whipped a dust of water in their faces, she told her darling the story of Queen Pomaré. Oh! a superb girl formerly, who occupied all Paris with her beauty; and a dog, and a nerve, the men led like beasts, great personages weeping in her stairway! Now, she got drunk, the women of the quarter, to laugh a little, made her drink absinthe; then, on the sidewalks, the street urchins chased her with stones. In short, a real downfall, a queen fallen in the muck! Nana listened, all cold.

—You'll see, added Satin.

She whistled like a man. The ragpicker, who was beneath the window, raised her head and showed herself, in the yellow gleam of her lantern. It was, in that bundle of rags, under a tattered shawl, a bluish face, seamed, with the toothless hole of the mouth and the inflamed bruises of the eyes. And, Nana, before that frightful old age of a girl drowned in wine, had a sudden memory, saw pass in the depths of the darkness the vision of Chamont, that Irma d'Anglars, that former slut abounding in years and honors, mounting the perron of her château amid a prostrate village. Then, as Satin whistled again, laughing at the old woman who did not see her:

—Do finish, the police sergeants! she murmured in a changed voice. Let's go in quickly, my cat.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”