Part 37

And, with a smile, she completed her thought. Tatan Néné and Louise Violaine were of this opinion; the former recounted that she had had weddings to beat all with military men; oh! good fellows, who would have committed the hundred and nineteen deeds for women. But these ladies having raised their voices too much, Rose Mignon, still on the chest before the bed, silenced them with a lightly breathed hush! They remained startled, with a sidelong glance toward the dead woman, as if this prayer for silence had come from the very shadow of the curtains; and, in the heavy peace that fell, that peace of nothingness where they felt the rigidity of the corpse stretched near them, the cries of the crowd burst forth:

-- To Berlin! to Berlin! to Berlin!

But soon they forgot again. Léa de Horn, who kept a political salon where former ministers of Louis-Philippe indulged in subtle epigrams, resumed very low, shrugging her shoulders:

-- What a mistake, this war! what bloody stupidity!

Then, at once, Lucy took up the defense of the empire. She had slept with a prince of the imperial house; it was a family matter for her.

-- Leave off, my dear, we could not let ourselves be insulted any further; this war is the honor of France... Oh! you know, I'm not saying that because of the prince. He was a stingy rat! Just imagine, in the evening when going to bed he hid his louis in his boots, and when we played bezique he used beans for stakes, because one day I'd played the trick of pouncing on the pot... But that doesn't stop me from being fair. The emperor was right.

Léa shook her head with an air of superiority, like a woman repeating the opinion of important personages. And, raising her voice:

-- This is the end. They are mad, at the Tuileries. Yesterday, you see, France should rather have driven them out...

All violently interrupted her. What was the matter with that madwoman, against the emperor? Wasn't the world happy? weren't things going well? Never would Paris amuse itself so much.

Gaga grew angry, awakened, indignant.

-- Be quiet! it's idiotic, you don't know what you're saying!... I, I saw Louis-Philippe, an era of paupers and misers, my dear. And then came forty-eight. Ah! a fine thing, a disgusting business, their Republic! After February, I starved, I who am speaking to you!... But if you had known all that, you would fall on your knees before the emperor, for he was our father, yes, our father...

She had to be calmed. She resumed, in a religious outburst:

-- O my God, try to let the emperor have victory. Preserve the empire for us!

All repeated this vow. Blanche confessed that she burned candles for the emperor. Caroline, smitten with a crush, had walked for two months along his route, without being able to attract his attention. And the others burst into furious words against the republicans, spoke of exterminating them at the frontier, so that Napoleon III, after beating the enemy, might reign in peace, amid universal enjoyment.

-- That filthy Bismarck, there's another scoundrel! remarked Maria Blond.

-- To think I knew him! cried Simonne. If I had known, it's I who would have put some drug in his glass.

But Blanche, still smarting over the expulsion of her Prussian, dared to defend Bismarck. He was perhaps not wicked. Every man his trade. She added:

-- You know he adores women.

-- What's that to us! said Clarisse. We're not inclined to do him, perhaps!

-- Men like that, there are always too many of them, declared Louise Violaine gravely. It would be better to do without them, than to have dealings with such monsters.

And the discussion continued. They undressed Bismarck, each gave him a kick, in her Bonapartist zeal; while Tatan Néné repeated with a vexed air:

-- Bismarck! how that one made me furious!... Oh! I bear him a grudge!... I, I didn't know this Bismarck! One can't know everybody.

-- No matter, said Léa de Horn to conclude, this Bismarck is going to give us a fine thrashing...

She could not continue. These ladies threw themselves upon her. Eh? what? a thrashing! It was Bismarck who was going to be sent home, with blows of the musket-butt in his back. Had that bad Frenchwoman finished!

-- Hush! breathed Rose Mignon, wounded by such a racket.

The cold of the corpse seized them again; they all stopped at once, embarrassed, brought back face to face with death, with the dull fear of evil. On the boulevard, the cry passed, hoarse, torn:

-- To Berlin! to Berlin! to Berlin!

Then, as they were deciding to leave, a voice called from the corridor:

-- Rose! Rose!

Surprised, Gaga opened the door, disappeared for a moment. Then, when she came back:

-- My dear, it's Fauchery who is down there, at the end... He won't come forward, he's beside himself, because you stay near that body.

Mignon had finally pushed the journalist forward. Lucy, still at the window, leaned out; and she caught sight of the gentlemen on the sidewalk, faces upturned, making big signs to her. Mignon, exasperated, shook his fists. Steiner, Fontan, Bordenave and the others opened their arms, with an air of uneasiness and reproach; while Daguenet, so as not to compromise himself, simply smoked his cigar, hands behind his back.

-- It's true, my dear, said Lucy, leaving the window open, I had promised to get you to come down... They are all calling us.

Rose painfully left the wood chest. She murmured:

-- I'm coming down, I'm coming down... Sure enough, she no longer needs me... They'll put a nun...

And she turned about, unable to find her hat and shawl. Mechanically, on the washstand, she had filled a basin with water; she washed her hands and face, continuing:

-- I don't know, it gave me a great shock... We hadn't been very kind to each other. Well! you see, I'm a fool about it... Oh! all sorts of ideas, a wish to go myself, the end of the world... Yes, I need air.

The corpse was beginning to poison the room. It was a panic, after a long carelessness.

-- Let's flee, let's flee, my little pussies, repeated Gaga. It isn't healthy.

They went out quickly, throwing a glance at the bed. But, as Lucy, Blanche and Caroline were still there, Rose gave a last look to leave the room in order. She drew a curtain before the window; then, she thought that this lamp was not proper, a candle was needed; and, after lighting one of the brass candlesticks of the mantelpiece, she placed it on the night-table, beside the body. A vivid light suddenly illuminated the face of the dead woman. It was a horror. All shuddered and fled.

-- Ah! she is changed, she is changed, murmured Rose Mignon, who remained last.

She left, she closed the door. Nana remained alone, face upward, in the glow of the candle. It was a charnel-house, a heap of humors and blood, a shovelful of corrupted flesh, thrown there on a pillow. The pustules had invaded the entire face, one spot touching another; and, withered, sunken, of a greyish aspect like mud, they already seemed a mouldering of the earth, upon that shapeless pulp where one could no longer recognize the features. One eye, the left, had completely sunk in the bubbling of the pus; the other, half open, sank in, like a black and spoiled hole. The nose still suppurated. A whole reddish crust started from a cheek, invaded the mouth, which it drew into an abominable laugh. And, upon that horrible and grotesque mask of nothingness, the hair, the beautiful hair, keeping its blaze of sunlight, flowed in a streaming of gold. Venus was decomposing. It seemed that the virus taken by her in the gutters, upon tolerated carrion, that ferment with which she had poisoned a people, had just risen to her face and rotted her.

The room was empty. A great despairing gust rose from the boulevard and swelled the curtain.

-- To Berlin! to Berlin! to Berlin!

“Stories of the world, in your language.”