by Emile Zola
Her great diversion was to go to Batignolles to see her little Louis at her aunt’s. For fifteen days together she would forget him entirely. Then she would be seized with a rage to see him, and hurry there on foot, full of the modesty and tenderness of a good mother, bringing all sorts of presents, as though for an invalid—snuff for the aunt, oranges and sweeties for the child; or else she would call in her laudau on her return from the Bois, attired in such loud dresses that they would upset the whole street. Ever since her niece had become such a grand lady, Madame Lerat had been puffed up with vanity. She called but rarely at the Avenue de Villiers, pretending that it was not her place; but she triumphed in her own street, happy when the young woman arrived in dresses costing four or five thousand francs, and occupied all the morrow in showing her presents, and quoting figures which amazed her neighbours. Generally, Nana reserved Sunday for her family, and on that day, if Muffat asked her to go anywhere, she refused, smiling like a young house-wife. It was not possible, she was going to dine with her aunt, she was going to see her baby. With all that, poor little Louis was always ill. He was nearly three years old, and was getting quite a big fellow; but he had had an attack of eczema on the back of his neck, and now he had deposits in his ears, which made them fear a caries of the bones of the cranium. When she saw him looking so pale, with his poor blood, and his soft flesh spotted with yellow, she became very serious, and above all she was greatly surprised. What could be the matter with the love for him to sicken like that? She, his mother, was always so well!
The days when her child did not engage her attention, Nana relapsed into the noisy monotony of her existence—drives in the Bois, first nights at theatres, dinners and suppers at the Maison Dorée or the Café Anglais; then all the public resorts, all the sights where the crowds flocked—Mabille,ax reviews, races. But she still retained that empty feeling of stupid idleness, which gave her pains in her inside. In spite of the constant infatuations in which her heart indulged, she would stretch her arms the moment she was alone, with a gesture of immense fatigue. Solitude made her sad at once, for she found herself again with the empty feeling, and the tedium of her own society. Very gay by profession and by nature, she would then become lugubrious, and would constantly sum up her life in this cry, between two yawns,
“Oh! how men bore me!”
One afternoon, as she was returning home from a concert, Nana noticed a woman passing along the Rue Montmartre, with boots trodden down at heel, dirty skirts, and a bonnet that had evidently been frequently soaked with rain. All of a sudden, she recognised her.
“Stop, Charles!” cried she to the coachman, and then called, “Satin! Satin!”
The passers-by turned their heads; the whole street looked on. Satin drew near, and dirtied herself still more against the wheels of the carriage.
“Jump in, my girl,” said Nana coolly, not caring a straw for what the world would say.
And thus she picked her up and took her off, disgustingly filthy as she was, in the light blue landau, and by the side of her pearl grey silk dress trimmed with Chantilly lace; whilst every one smiled at the highly dignified air of the coachman.
From that time Nana had a passion which occupied her. Satin became her vice. Installed in the mansion of the Avenue de Villiers, cleaned and clothed, for three days she gave her experiences of Saint-Lazare—all the troubles she had had with the nuns, and those dirty policemen who had put her on their list. Nana became very indignant, consoled her, and swore to get her out of the mess, even though she had to see the minister of police herself. For the moment, however, there was no hurry; they would certainly not come and seek her there. And afternoons full of tenderness commenced between the two women—caressing words were heard, and kisses broken with suppressed laughter. It was the little game, interrupted by the arrival of the policemen at the Rue de Laval, which had started again in the way of joke. Then one night it became serious. Nana, who was so disgusted at Laure’s, now began to understand. She was quite upset and greatly enraged; the more so as, on the morning of the fourth day, Satin disappeared. No one had seen her go out. She had bolted with her new dress, seized with a longing for the open air, with a nostalgia for her favourite pavements.
That day there was such a storm in the house that all the servants hung down their heads without daring to say a word. Nana had almost beaten François for not having stood in front of the door. She tried, however, to restrain herself, and referred to Satin as a dirty strumpet. It would teach her not to pick such filth out of the gutter another time. That afternoon madame shut herself in, and Zoé heard her sobbing. Then in the evening she suddenly ordered her carriage and drove to Laure’s. The idea had occurred to her that she might find Satin at the dining-place of the Rue des Martyrs. It was not to get her back again, but merely to slap her face. And it happened that Satin was dining at one of the little tables with Madame Robert. Seeing Nana, she laughed. The latter, struck to the heart, did not create a disturbance; but on the contrary kept very quiet and amiable. She stood champagne, and made a number of women tipsy, and then carried off Satin, while Madame Robert had left the room for a moment; but when she had got her in the carriage, she bit her, and threatened to kill her if she ran away again.
And then the same thing kept continually occurring. Twenty times Nana, tragical in her fury of a deceived woman, hastened after the hussy, who flew off simply for a fad, bored with the comfort of the grand establishment. She talked of smacking Madame Robert’s face; one day she even had the idea of a duel, there was one too many. Now, whenever she went to dine at Laure’s, she put on her diamonds, and was sometimes accompanied by Louis Violaine, Maria Blond, or Tatan Néné, all looking very gorgeous, and, beneath the yellow gas-light, in the smell of eatables which pervaded the three rooms, these ladies displayed their luxury in very questionable company, delighted at astonishing the girls of the neighbourhood, whom they carried off with them when the meal was over. On those days, Laure, laced-up and shining, kissed all her customers with a more maternal air than ever. Satin, however, in the midst of all this, preserved her calmness, with her blue eyes and her pure virgin-like face; bitten, beaten, pulled about by the two women, she merely said that it was funny, and that they would have done far better to have come to some understanding with each other. It was no use slapping her; she could not cut herself in two in spite of her wish to please every one. At last Nana carried the day, having bestowed on Satin the most love and presents; and, by way of revenge, Madame Robert wrote some most abominable anonymous letters to her rival’s lovers.
For some little time past, Count Muffat had seemed uneasy. One morning, in a very agitated state, he placed under Nana’s eyes an anonymous letter, in which she saw, in the first few lines, that she was accused of being unfaithful to the count with Vandeuvres and the two Hugons.
“It’s false! it’s false!” she exclaimed energetically, with an extraordinary accent of truthfulness.
“You swear it?” asked Muffat, already relieved.
“Oh! on what you like—on my child’s head!”
But the letter was long. Afterwards it went on to recount her connection with Satin in the most ignoble terms. When she reached the end she smiled.
“Now I know where it comes from,” said she, simply.
And as Muffat wished for a denial of the latter part, she resumed coolly, “That, my dear, is a thing which does not concern you. What can it matter to you?”
She did not deny it. His words showed his disgust. Then she shrugged her shoulders. Where did he spring from? That sort of thing happened everywhere, and she named her friends; she even swore that ladies in the best positions were no strangers to it. In short, to hear her, there was nothing more common or more natural. What was not true, was not true; he had seen, just before, how indignant she was about Vandeuvres and the two Hugons. Ah! had that been true he would have done right in strangling her. But what was the use of telling him a lie about a matter of no consequence? And she kept repeating,
; “Come now, what can it matter to you?”
Then as he continued to complain, she silenced him, saying in a rough voice,
“Well, my friend, if it doesn’t please you, you have a very simple remedy. The doors are all open. You must either take me as I am, or leave me alone!”
He bowed his head. In his heart he was pleased with the young woman’s protestations. She, seeing her power, no longer hesitated employing it; and from that time Satin was openly installed as part of the establishment, on the same footing as the gentlemen. Vandeuvres had not required the anonymous letter to understand what was going on. He joked about it, and had little quarrels of jealousy with Satin; whilst Philippe and George treated her as a comrade, shaking hands with her and saying some very equivocal things.
Nana had an adventure. One night, having been abandoned by the hussy, she had gone to dine in the Rue des Martyrs, without being able to come across her. While she was eating alone, Daguenet made his appearance. Though he had settled down, he came there occasionally—his old vices getting the better of him—trusting not to meet any of his friends in those dark corners of Parisian abomination. Consequently, Nana’s presence seemed rather to put him out at first; but he was not the man to beat a retreat. He advanced smiling. He asked if madame would permit him to dine at her table. Seeing him inclined to joke, Nana put on her grand cold air, and sharply replied,
“Seat yourself wherever you please, sir. We are in a public place.”
Commenced in this style, the conversation became very funny; but when the dessert was served, Nana, feeling bored, and burning to triumph, put her elbows on the table, and then resumed her old familiar way.
“Well, and your marriage, my boy; how is it getting on?”
“Not very well,” admitted Daguenet.
As a matter of fact, when about to venture to ask for the young lady’s hand, he had encountered such a coldness on the count’s part that he had prudently abstained from doing so. It seemed to him that it was all up. Nana looked him straight in the face with her bright eyes, her chin in her hand, an ironic smile on her lips.
“Ah! so I’m a hussy!” she resumed slowly. “Ah! so you must deliver the future father-in-law from my clutches. Well, really! for an intelligent fellow, you’re a damned fool! What! you go and say a lot of nasty things to a man who adores me and who tells me everything! Listen; your marriage will come off if I choose, my boy.”
For a few minutes he had been of the same opinion; a project of complete submission was forming in his mind. However, he continued to joke, not wishing to let the matter become a serious one; and after putting on his gloves, he asked her, in the most correct manner, for the hand of Mademoiselle Estelle de Beuville. She ended by laughing, as though being tickled. Oh! that Mimi! it was impossible to be angry with him. Daguenet’s great successes with the ladies were due to the softness of his voice—a voice of a musical purity and suppleness, which had caused him to be nicknamed among the gay women Velvet Mouth. All yielded beneath the sonorous caress with which he enveloped them. He knew his power, so he lulled her with an endless string of words, telling her all sorts of stupid stories. When they quitted the table she was quite rosy, trembling on his arm, reconquered. As the day was very fine, she dismissed her carriage, and accompanied him on foot as far as his lodging; then naturally she went in with him. Two hours later she said, as she was putting on her things again,
“So, Mimi, you want this marriage to come off?”
“Well,” he murmured, “it’s the best thing I can do. You know I’m quite stumped.”
After a short silence she resumed, “All right, I’m willing; I’ll help you. You know she’s as dry as a faggot; but never mind, as you’re all agreeable. Oh! I’m obliging; I’ll settle it for you.” Then, bursting out laughing, her bosom still uncovered, she added, “Only what will you give me?”
He had seized hold of her, and was kissing her shoulders in a transport of gratitude. She, very gay, quivering, struggled and threw herself back.
“Ah! I know,” she exclaimed, excited by this play. “Listen! This is what I must have for my commission. On your wedding-day you must bring me the handselay of your innocence, you understand! ”
“That’s it! that’s it!” said he, laughing even more than she did. The bargain amused them. They thought it very funny.
It so happened that on the morrow there was a dinner party at Nana’s, that is, the usual Thursday gathering—Muffat, Vandeuvres, the two Hugons, and Satin. The count arrived early. He was in want of eighty thousand francs to rid the young woman of two or three debts, and to present her with a set of sapphires for which she had a great longing. As he had already eaten considerably into his fortune, he wished to meet with a money-lender, not yet daring to sell a portion of his estates. So, by Nana’s advice, he had applied to Labordette; but the latter, considering it too big a matter for himself, had desired to speak of it to the hairdresser, Francis, who was always willing to be useful to his customers. The count placed himself in the hands of these gentlemen, merely requesting that his name should not be mentioned. They both agreed to keep his acceptance for one hundred thousand francs in their possession, and they excused themselves for the twenty thousand francs of interest by railing against the swindling usurers, to whom, as they said, they had been forced to apply. When Muffat was ushered in, Francis was just finishing Nana’s head-dress. Labordette was also in the dressing-room, in his familiar fashion of a friend of no consequence. On seeing the count he discreetly placed a heavy bundle of bank-notes among the powders and the pomades, and the bill was accepted on a corner of the marble dressing-table. Nana wished Labordette to remain to dinner, but he declined, as he was showing a rich foreigner about Paris. However, Muffat having taken him on one side to beg him to go to Becker’s, the jeweller, and bring him back the set of sapphires, which he wished to have as a surprise for the young woman that very night, Labordette willingly undertook the commission. Half an hour later, Julien privately handed the count the case of jewels.
During dinner Nana was very nervous. The sight of the eighty thousand francs had upset her. To think that all that money was going to be paid away to tradespeople! It annoyed her immensely. As soon as the soup was served in that superb dining-room, illuminated with the reflection of the silver plate and the crystal ware, she became sentimental, and began to praise the joys of poverty. The men were in evening dress. She herself, wore a dress of embroidered white satin, whilst Satin, more modest, and in black silk, had merely a golden heart—a present from her darling friend—at her throat; and behind the guests Julien and François waited, assisted by Zoé, all three looking very dignified.
“I certainly amused myself a great deal more when I was without a sou,” Nana kept repeating.
She had Muffat on her right and Vandeuvres on her left but she scarcely looked at them, being entirely occupied with Satin, enthroned in front of her between Philippe and George.
“Eh, my love?” she said at each phrase. “Didn’t we use to laugh at that time, when we went to old mother Josse’s school, in the Rue Polonceau?”
They were then serving the roast. The two women launched forth into recollections of their young days. They every now and then had a longing for gossip, a sudden desire to stir up all the mud of their youth; and it was invariably when men were present, as though yielding to a mania for making them acquainted with the dungheap whence they sprouted. The gentlemen turned pale, and glanced about in an embarrassed manner. The two Hugons tried to laugh, whilst Vandeuvres nervously twirled his beard, and Muffat looked more solemn than ever.
“Do you remember Victor?” asked Nana. “He was a depraved youngster; he used to take little girls into the cellars!”
“I remember,” replied Satin. “And I remember, too, the big courtyard at your place. There was a doorkeeper with a broom—”
“Mother Boche; she is dead.”
“And I can still see your shop. Your mother was awfully stout. One night when we were playing, your fathe
r came home drunk, oh! so drunk!”
At this moment Vandeuvres essayed a diversion, by interrupting the ladies in the midst of their reminiscences.
“I say, my dear, I should like some more truSles—they are excellent. I had some yesterday at the Duke de Corbreuse’s, which were not to be compared to these.”
“Julien, hand the truffles!” said Nana roughly. Then she resumed. “Ah, yes! papa was very foolish. What a tumble-down! Ah! if you had only seen it—a regular plunge, such misery! I can well say that I have tasted of all sorts, and it’s a miracle I didn’t leave my carcass there, the same as papa and mamma.”
This time Muffat, who had been nervously playing with a knife, ventured to interfere.
“It is not a very amusing subject you are talking about.”
“Eh? what? not amusing?” exclaimed she, crushing him with a look. “I don’t suppose it is amusing! You should have sent us some bread, my dear. Oh! as you know I’m a true-hearted girl, I say what I think. Mamma was a washerwoman, papa used to get drunk, and he died from it. There! if that doesn’t suit you, if you’re ashamed of my family—”
They all protested. What was she thinking of? They respected her family. But she continued:
“If you’re ashamed of my family, well, leave me; for I’m not one of those women who disown their father and mother. You must take me with them, do you hear?”
They took her—they accepted the father and the mother, the past, everything she wished. With their eyes fixed on the table-cloth, they all four now made themselves small, whilst she kept them beneath her muddy old shoes, of the Rue de la Goutte d’Or, with the passion of her all-powerful will. And she was slow to lay down her arms. They might bring her no end of fortunes, build her innumerable palaces, still she would ever regret the time when she used to chew apples with the peel on. It was a fraud, that idiotic money! it was only invented for tradespeople. Then her outburst ended in a sentimental longing for a simple way of living, with one’s heart in one’s hand, in the midst of a universal benevolence.