Part 8

--Countess asparagus purée, Deslignac consommé, murmured the waiters, carrying full plates behind the guests.

Bordenave was loudly recommending the consommé, when a cry arose. They were protesting, they were getting angry. The door had opened, three latecomers, a woman and two men, had just entered. Ah! no, those were too many! Nana, however, without leaving her seat, narrowed her eyes, trying to see if she knew them. The woman was Louise Violaine. But she had never seen the men.

--My dear, said Vandeuvres, this gentleman is a naval officer, a friend of mine, Monsieur de Foucarmont, whom I invited.

Foucarmont bowed, very much at ease, adding:

--And I took the liberty of bringing along a friend of mine.

--Ah! perfect, perfect, said Nana. Sit down... Let's see, Clarisse, move over a bit. You've plenty of room over there... There, with a little good will...

They squeezed up again; Foucarmont and Louise obtained a small corner of the table for the two of them; but the friend had to remain at a distance from his place setting; he ate, his arms stretched out between the shoulders of his neighbors. The waiters cleared away the soup plates, and crepinettes of rabbit with truffles and niokys with parmesan were going around. Bordenave stirred up the whole table, recounting how for an instant he had had the idea of bringing Prullière, Fontan and old Bosc. Nana had become dignified; she said dryly that she would have received them nicely. If she had wanted her comrades, she would have taken care of inviting them herself. No, no, no actors. Old Bosc was always drunk; Prullière thought too much of himself; as for Fontan, he made himself insufferable in society, with his loud outbursts and his stupidities. Then, you see, actors were always out of place, when they found themselves among these gentlemen.

--Yes, yes, that's true, declared Mignon.

Around the table, these gentlemen, in evening dress and white ties, were very proper, with their pale faces, a distinction further refined by fatigue. The old gentleman had slow gestures, a fine smile, as if he were presiding over a congress of diplomats. Vandeuvres seemed to be at the Countess Muffat's, of an exquisite politeness toward his neighbors. Only that morning, Nana was telling her aunt: as men, you couldn't do better; all noble or all rich; in short, stylish men. And as for the ladies, they behaved very well. A few of them, Blanche, Léa, Louise, had come décolleté; only Gaga perhaps showed a little too much, all the more since at her age she would have done better not to show any at all. Now that they were finally managing to fit in, the laughter and the joking died down. Georges was thinking that he had been to gayer dinners, at bourgeois homes in Orléans. They hardly spoke, the men who did not know each other looked at one another, the women stayed quiet; and that above all was Georges's great astonishment. He found them "tame"; he had thought they would start kissing right away.

They were serving the removes, a Rhine carp à la Chambord and a saddle of venison English style, when Blanche said aloud:

--Lucy, my dear, I ran into your Ollivier on Sunday... How he has grown!

--Good Lord! he's eighteen, answered Lucy; that doesn't make me any younger... He left again yesterday for his school.

Her son Ollivier, of whom she spoke with pride, was a student at the naval school. Then they talked about children. All these ladies grew tender. Nana told of her great joys: her baby, little Louis, was now at his aunt's, who brought him every morning around eleven; and she took him into her bed, where he played with Lulu, her griffon. It was enough to die laughing to see the two of them burrow under the covers, at the bottom. You wouldn't believe how sharp little Louiset already was.

--Oh! yesterday, what a day I had! Rose Mignon in turn recounted. Just imagine, I had gone to fetch Charles and Henri from their boarding school; and I simply had to take them to the theater that evening... They were jumping, clapping their little hands: "We're going to see Mama act! we're going to see Mama act!..." Oh! what a racket, what a racket!

Mignon smiled complaisantly, his eyes moist with paternal tenderness.

--And, at the performance, he continued, they were so funny, serious as men, devouring Rose with their eyes, asking me why Mama had her legs bare like that...

The whole table burst out laughing. Mignon triumphed, flattered in his pride as a father. He adored the little ones; his only concern was to increase their fortune by administering, with the rigidity of a faithful steward, the money Rose earned at the theater and elsewhere. When he had married her, a conductor in the café-concert where she sang, they were passionately in love. Today, they remained good friends. It was settled between them: she worked as much as she could, with all her talent and all her beauty; he had given up his violin to better watch over her successes as artist and as woman. You wouldn't find a more bourgeois or more united household.

--How old is the eldest? asked Vandeuvres.

--Henri is nine, answered Mignon. Oh! but he's a fine lad!

Then he teased Steiner, who did not like children; and he said to him, with an air of calm boldness, that if he were a father, he would waste his fortune less foolishly. While speaking, he watched the banker over Blanche's shoulders, to see if things were progressing with Nana. But, for a few minutes, Rose and Fauchery, who were talking very close together, had been annoying him. Rose, perhaps, was not going to waste her time on such a silliness. In cases like that, indeed, he put himself in the way. And, his hands beautiful, a diamond on his little finger, he finished off a slice of venison.

Besides, the conversation about children continued. La Faloise, filled with confusion by Gaga's proximity, asked her for news of her daughter, whom he had had the pleasure of glimpsing with her at the Variétés. Lili was well, but she was still such a young thing! He remained surprised to learn that Lili was entering her nineteenth year. Gaga became more imposing in his eyes. And, as he tried to find out why she had not brought Lili:

--Oh! no, no, never! she said with a pinched air. It's not three months since she absolutely wanted to leave boarding school... I was dreaming of marrying her off right away... But she loves me so, I had to take her back, ah! much against my will.

Her bluish eyelids, her burnt lashes, flickered, while she spoke of settling her young lady. If, at her age, she had not put a penny aside, still working, still having men, especially very young ones, of whom she could be the grandmother, it was truly that a good marriage was worth more. She leaned toward La Faloise, who reddened under the enormous naked, plastered shoulder with which she crushed him.

--You know, she murmured, if she goes astray, it won't be my fault... But one is so silly, when one is young!

A great movement was taking place around the table. The waiters hurried. After the removes, the entrées were appearing: marshaled pullets, sole fillets with ravigote sauce and goose liver escalopes. The head waiter, who had been pouring Meursault up to then, was offering Chambertin and Léoville. In the slight hubbub of the change of service, Georges, more and more astonished, asked Daguenet if all these ladies had children like that; and the latter, amused by this question, gave him details. Lucy Stewart was the daughter of a greaser of English origin, employed at the Gare du Nord; thirty-nine years old, a horse face, but adorable, phthisical and never dying; the most stylish of these ladies, three princes and a duke. Caroline Héquet, born in Bordeaux, of a small clerk dead of shame, had the good luck to possess as mother a woman of sense, who, after cursing her, had made up with her, at the end of a year of reflection, wanting at least to save her a fortune; the daughter, aged twenty-five, very cold, passed for one of the most beautiful women one could have, at a price that did not vary; the mother, full of order, kept the books, a strict accounting of receipts and expenses, ran the whole house from the narrow lodgings she occupied two floors above, and where she had installed a workshop of seamstresses, for dresses and linen. As for Blanche de Sivry, her real name Jacqueline Baudu, she came from a village near Amiens; a magnificent person, stupid and lying, claiming to be the granddaughter of a general and not admitting her thirty-two years; much appreciated by the Russians, because of her plumpness. Then, rapidly, Daguenet added a word on the others: Clarisse Besnus, brought back as a maid from Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer by a lady whose husband had launched her; Simonne Cabiroche, daughter of a furniture dealer of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, raised in a large boarding school to be a teacher; and Maria Blond, and Louise Violaine, and Léa de Horn, all sprung from the Parisian pavement, not counting Tatan Néné, who had tended cows until twenty, in the lousy Champagne. Georges listened, looking at these ladies, dizzy and excited by this brutal unpacking, crudely spoken into his ear; while, behind him, the waiters repeated, in a respectful voice:

--Marshaled pullets... Sole fillets with ravigote sauce...

--My dear, said Daguenet, who imposed his experience on him, don't take any fish, it's no good at this hour... And content yourself with the Léoville, it's less treacherous.

A heat rose from the candelabra, from the carried dishes, from the whole table where thirty-eight persons were stifling; and the waiters, forgetting themselves, ran on the carpet, which was staining with grease. Yet the supper was hardly enlivening. These ladies picked at their food, leaving half the meats. Tatan Néné alone ate of everything, greedily. At this late hour of the night, there were only nervous hungers there, whims of disordered stomachs. Near Nana, the old gentleman refused all the dishes presented to him; he had only taken a spoonful of soup; and, silent before his empty plate, he looked. They yawned with discretion. At moments, eyelids closed, faces turned earthy; it was killing, as always, according to Vandeuvres's word. Those suppers, to be funny, were not supposed to be proper. Otherwise, if one did it with virtue, with good form, one might as well eat in society, where one was not more bored. Without Bordenave who always bellowed, they would have fallen asleep. That animal Bordenave, his leg well stretched out, let himself be served with the airs of a sultan by his neighbors, Lucy and Rose. They were occupied only with him, caring for him, pampering him, watching his glass and his plate; which did not prevent him from complaining.

--Who's going to cut my meat for me?... I can't, the table is a league away.

Every instant, Simonne got up, stood behind his back, to cut his meat and bread. All the women were interested in what he ate. They called the waiters back, they stuffed him to suffocation. Simonne having wiped his mouth, while Rose and Lucy changed his place setting, he found that very nice; and, deigning at last to show himself content:

--There! You're right, my girl... A woman is made only for that.

They woke up a little, the conversation became general. They were finishing mandarin sorbets. The hot roast was a truffle fillet, and the cold roast, a galantine of guinea fowl in jelly. Nana, whom the lack of spirit of her guests annoyed, had begun to speak very loud.

--You know the Prince of Scotland has already had a box reserved to see the Blonde Venus, when he comes to visit the Exhibition.

--I surely hope all the princes will go, declared Bordenave, his mouth full.

--They're expecting the Shah of Persia Sunday, said Lucy Stewart.

Then Rose Mignon spoke of the Shah's diamonds. He wore a tunic entirely covered with precious stones, a marvel, a flaming star, which represented millions. And these ladies, pale, their eyes shining with covetousness, stretched out their necks, cited the other kings, the other emperors they were expecting. All dreamed of some royal caprice, a night paid for a fortune.

--Say, my dear, asked Caroline Héquet of Vandeuvres, leaning over, how old is the Emperor of Russia?

--Oh! he has no age, answered the count, who laughed. Nothing to be done, I warn you.

Nana affected to seem wounded. The word seemed too harsh, they protested with a murmur. But Blanche gave details on the King of Italy, whom she had seen once in Milan; he was not very handsome, which did not prevent him from having all the women; and she remained annoyed, when Fauchery assured that Victor-Emmanuel could not come. Louise Violaine and Léa were for the Emperor of Austria. Suddenly, they heard little Maria Blond saying:

--There's an old geezer, the King of Prussia!... I was at Baden, last year. You always met him with Count Bismarck.

--Well! Bismarck, interrupted Simonne, I knew him, me... A charming man.

--That's what I was saying yesterday, cried Vandeuvres; they wouldn't believe me.

And, as at the Countess Sabine's, they occupied themselves at length with Count Bismarck. Vandeuvres repeated the same phrases. For an instant, they were again in the Muffat salon; only, the ladies were changed. Just then, they moved on to music. Then, Foucarmont having let slip a word about the taking of the veil of which Paris was talking, Nana, interested, absolutely wanted details on Mademoiselle de Fougeray. Oh! the poor little thing, to bury herself alive like that! Well, when vocation had spoken! Around the table, the women were very touched. And Georges, bored to hear these things a second time, was questioning Daguenet on Nana's intimate habits, when the conversation fell fatally back on Count Bismarck. Tatan Néné leaned to Labordette's ear to ask who this Bismarck was, whom she did not know. Then Labordette, coldly, told her enormous stories: this Bismarck ate raw meat; when he met a woman near his lair, he carried her off on his back; he already had, in this manner, thirty-two children, at forty years.

--At forty, thirty-two children! cried Tatan Néné, stupefied and convinced. He must be terribly tired for his age.

They burst out laughing, she understood they were making fun of her.

--How stupid you are! How should I know, if you're joking!

Meanwhile, Gaga had stayed with the Exhibition. Like all these ladies, she rejoiced, she was preparing. A good season, the provinces and foreign lands rushing into Paris. Finally, perhaps, after the Exhibition, if business had gone well, she could retire to Juvisy, to a little house she had been eyeing for a long time.

--What would you have? she said to La Faloise, one gets nowhere... If one were still loved!

Gaga turned tender because she had felt the young man's knee settle against hers. He was very red. She, while lisping, weighed him with a glance. A little lightweight monsieur; but she was no longer difficult. La Faloise obtained her address.

--Look, murmured Vandeuvres to Clarisse, I believe Gaga is making your Hector.

--I couldn't care less! answered the actress. He's an idiot, that boy... I've already thrown him out three times... Me, you know, when the kids go for old women, it disgusts me.

She broke off to indicate with a slight sign Blanche, who, since the beginning of dinner, held herself bent in a very uncomfortable position, puffing herself up, wanting to show her shoulders to the distinguished old gentleman, seated three places away.

--She's dropping you too, my dear, she resumed.

Vandeuvres smiled finely, with a gesture of indifference. Certainly, it was not he who would have prevented poor Blanche from having a success. The spectacle Steiner gave the whole table interested him more. The banker was known for his infatuations; this terrible German Jew, this dealer in affairs whose hands melted millions, became imbecilic, when he took a fancy to a woman; and he wanted them all, he could not see one appear at the theater, without buying her, however expensive she was. They cited sums. Twice, his furious appetite for girls had ruined him. As Vandeuvres said, the girls avenged morality, by cleaning out his cashbox. A large operation on the Landes Saltworks having restored his power at the Bourse, the Mignons, for six weeks, had been biting hard into the Saltworks. But bets were opening, it would not be the Mignons who finished the piece, Nana was showing her white teeth. Once again, Steiner was taken, and so roughly that, near Nana, he remained as if stunned, eating without hunger, his lip hanging, his face marbled with spots. She had only to name a figure. Yet, she did not hurry, playing with him, blowing laughs into his hairy ear, amused by the shivers passing over his thick face. There would be time enough to settle that, if decidedly that ninny Count Muffat played his Joseph.

--Léoville or Chambertin? murmured a waiter, stretching his head between Nana and Steiner, at the moment when the latter was speaking low to the young woman.

--Eh? what? he stammered, his head lost. Whatever you want, it's all the same to me.

Vandeuvres lightly elbowed Lucy Stewart, a very malicious tongue, of a ferocious wit, when she got going. Mignon, that evening, exasperated her.

--You know he would hold the candle, she said to the count. He hopes to repeat the little Jonquier trick... You remember, Jonquier, who was with Rose and had a crush on big Laure... Mignon procured Laure for Jonquier, then he brought him back arm in arm to Rose, like a husband just allowed a prank... But this time, it'll fail. Nana isn't supposed to give back the men lent to her.

--What's the matter with Mignon, looking severely at his wife? asked Vandeuvres.

He leaned over, he caught sight of Rose who was becoming quite tender toward Fauchery. That explained his neighbor's anger. He resumed, laughing:

--The devil! are you jealous?

--Jealous! said Lucy furiously. Ah well! if Rose wants Léon, I give him to her willingly. For what he's worth!... A bouquet a week, and barely!... You see, my dear, these theater girls are all the same. Rose cried with rage reading Léon's article on Nana; I know it. So, you understand, she needs an article too, and she's earning it... Me, I'm going to throw Léon out the door, you'll see that!

She stopped to say to the waiter standing behind her, with his two bottles:

--Léoville.

Then she started again, lowering her voice:

--I don't want to shout, that's not my style... But she's a fine slut all the same. In her husband's place, I'd give her a famous beating... Oh! it won't bring her luck. She doesn't know my Fauchery, a dirty gentleman too, that one, who sticks to women, to make his position... Pretty company!

Vandeuvres tried to calm her. Bordenave, abandoned by Rose and by Lucy, was getting angry, crying that they were letting papa die of hunger and thirst. That produced a happy diversion. The supper dragged, no one ate anymore; they wasted in the plates some Italian mushrooms and Pompadour pineapple croustades. But the champagne, which they had been drinking since the soup, was little by little animating the guests with a nervous intoxication. They ended by behaving less well. The women leaned on their elbows facing the disorder of the place setting; the men, to breathe, pushed back their chairs; and black coats sank between light bodices, naked shoulders half turned took on a silken sheen. It was too hot, the light of the candles yellowed still, thickened, above the table. At instants, when a gilded nape bent under a rain of curls, the fires of a diamond clasp lit up a high chignon. Gaieties threw a flame, laughing eyes, white teeth glimpsed, the reflection of the candelabra burning in a glass of champagne. They joked very loud, they gesticulated, amid questions left unanswered, calls thrown from one end of the room to the other. But it was the waiters who made the most noise, believing themselves in the corridors of their restaurant, jostling each other, serving the ices and the dessert with guttural exclamations.

--Children, cried Bordenave, you know we play tomorrow... Beware! not too much champagne!

--Me, said Foucarmont, I have drunk all the wines imaginable in the five parts of the world... Oh! extraordinary liquids, alcohols to kill a man stone dead... Well! it never did anything to me. I can't get drunk. I've tried, I can't.

He was very pale, very cold, thrown back against the back of his chair, and drinking always.

--Anyway, murmured Louise Violaine, finish, you've had enough... It would be funny, if I had to look after you the rest of the night.

An intoxication put on Lucy Stewart's cheeks the red flames of consumptives, while Rose Mignon turned tender, her eyes moist. Tatan Néné, dizzy from having eaten too much, laughed vaguely at her stupidity. The others, Blanche, Caroline, Simonne, Maria, all spoke at once, recounting their affairs, a dispute with their coachman, a plan for a trip to the country, complicated stories of lovers stolen and returned. But a young man, near Georges, having wanted to kiss Léa de Horn, received a slap with a: "Say, you! let go of me!" full of fine indignation; and Georges, very drunk, very excited by the sight of Nana, hesitated before an idea he was gravely maturing, that of getting on all fours, under the table, and going to curl up at her feet, like a little dog. No one would have seen him, he would have stayed very good. Then, at Léa's request, Daguenet having told the young man to behave, Georges, all at once, felt a great sadness, as if he himself had just been scolded; it was stupid, it was sad, there was nothing good left. Daguenet nevertheless joked, forced him to swallow a large glass of water, asking him what he would do, if he found himself alone with a woman, since three glasses of champagne knocked him flat.

--See, Foucarmont resumed, at Havana, they make an eau-de-vie with a wild berry; you'd think you were swallowing fire... Well! I drank more than a liter of it one evening. It did nothing to me... Stronger than that, another day, on the coasts of Coromandel, savages gave us some mixture of pepper and vitriol; it did nothing to me... I can't get drunk.

For an instant, the face of La Faloise, opposite, had displeased him. He sneered, he flung unpleasant words. La Faloise, whose head was spinning, moved a lot, pressing against Gaga. But a worry had finished agitating him: someone had just taken his handkerchief, he was claiming his handkerchief with the obstinacy of drunkenness, questioning his neighbors, bending down to look under the seats and under the feet. And, as Gaga tried to calm him:

--It's stupid, he murmured; there are, at the corner, my initials and my crown... It could compromise me.

--Say, Monsieur Falamoise, Lamafoise, Mafaloise! cried Foucarmont, who found it very witty to thus deform to infinity the young man's name.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”