On the days when her child did not engross attention Nana would again sink back into the noisy monotony of her existence, with its drives in the Bois, first nights at the theater, dinners and suppers at the Maison-d’Or or the Café Anglais, not to mention all the places of public resort, all the spectacles to which crowds rushed—Mabille, the reviews, the races. But whatever happened she still felt that stupid, idle void, which caused her, as it were, to suffer internal cramps. Despite the incessant infatuations that possessed her heart, she would stretch out her arms with a gesture of immense weariness the moment she was left alone. Solitude rendered her low spirited at once, for it brought her face to face with the emptiness and boredom within her. Extremely gay by nature and profession, she became dismal in solitude and would sum up her life in the following ejaculation, which recurred incessantly between her yawns:
“Oh, how the men bother me!”
One afternoon as she was returning home from a concert, Nana, on the sidewalk in the Rue Montmartre, noticed a woman trotting along in down-at-the-heel boots, dirty petticoats and a hat utterly ruined by the rain. She recognized her suddenly.
“Stop, Charles!” she shouted to the coachman and began calling: “Satin, Satin!”
Passers-by turned their heads; the whole street stared. Satin had drawn near and was still further soiling herself against the carriage wheels.
“Do get in, my dear girl,” said Nana tranquilly, disdaining the onlookers.
And with that she picked her up and carried her off, though she was in disgusting contrast to her light blue landau and her dress of pearl-gray silk trimmed with Chantilly, while the street smiled at the coachman’s loftily dignified demeanor.
From that day forth Nana had a passion to occupy her thoughts. Satin became her vicious foible. Washed and dressed and duly installed in the house in the Avenue de Villiers, during three days the girl talked of Saint-Lazare and the annoyances the sisters had caused her and how those dirty police people had put her down on the official list. Nana grew indignant and comforted her and vowed she would get her name taken off, even though she herself should have to go and find out the minister of the interior. Meanwhile there was no sort of hurry: nobody would come and search for her at Nana’s—that was certain. And thereupon the two women began to pass tender afternoons together, making numberless endearing little speeches and mingling their kisses with laughter. The same little sport, which the arrival of the plainclothes men had interrupted in the Rue de Laval, was beginning again in a jocular sort of spirit. One fine evening, however, it became serious, and Nana, who had been so disgusted at Laure’s, now understood what it meant. She was upset and enraged by it, the more so because Satin disappeared on the morning of the fourth day. No one had seen her go our. She had, indeed, slipped away in her new dress, seized by a longing for air, full of sentimental regret for her old street existence.
That day there was such a terrible storm in the house that all the servants hung their heads in sheepish silence. Nana had come near beating François for not throwing himself across the door through which Satin escaped. She did her best, however, to control herself, and talked of Satin as a dirty swine. Oh, it would teach her to pick filthy things like that out of the gutter!
When Madame shut herself up in her room in the afternoon Zoé heard her sobbing. In the evening she suddenly asked for her carriage and had herself driven to Laure’s. It had occurred to her that she would find Satin at the table d’hôte in the Rue des Martyrs. She was not going there for the sake of seeing her again but in order to catch her one in the face! As a matter of fact Satin was dining at a little table with Mme Robert. Seeing Nana, she began to laugh, but the former, though wounded to the quick, did not make a scene. On the contrary, she was very sweet and very compliant. She paid for champagne made five or six tablefuls tipsy and then carried off Satin when Mme Robert was in the closets. Not till they were in the carriage did she make a mordant attack on her, threatening to kill her if she did it again.
After that day the same little business began again continually. On twenty different occasions Nana, tragically furious, as only a jilted woman can be ran off in pursuit of this sluttish creature, whose flights were prompted by the boredom she suffered amid the comforts of her new home. Nana began to talk of boxing Mme Robert’s ears; one day she even meditated a duel; there was one woman too many, she said.
In these latter times, whenever she dined at Laure’s, she donned her diamonds and occasionally brought with her Louise Violaine, Maria Blond and Tatan Néné, all of them ablaze with finery; and while the sordid feast was progressing in the three saloons and the yellow gaslight flared overhead, these four resplendent ladies would demean themselves with a vengeance, for it was their delight to dazzle the little local courtesans and to carry them off when dinner was over. On days such as these Laure, sleek and tight-laced as ever would kiss everyone with an air of expanded maternity. Yet notwithstanding all these circumstances Satin’s blue eyes and pure virginal face remained as calm as heretofore; torn, beaten and pestered by the two women, she would simply remark that it was a funny business, and they would have done far better to make it up at once. It did no good to slap her; she couldn’t cut herself in two, however much she wanted to be nice to everybody. It was Nana who finally carried her off in triumph, so assiduously had she loaded Satin with kindnesses and presents. In order to be revenged, however, Mme Robert wrote abominable, anonymous letters to her rival’s lovers.
For some time past Count Muffat had appeared suspicious, and one morning, with considerable show of feeling, he laid before Nana an anonymous letter, where in the very first sentences she read that she was accused of deceiving the count with Vandeuvres and the young Hugons.
“It’s false! It’s false!” she loudly exclaimed in accents of extraordinary candor.
“You swear?” asked Muffat, already willing to be comforted.
“I’ll swear by whatever you like—yes, by the head of my child!”
But the letter was long. Soon her connection with Satin was described in the broadest and most ignoble terms. When she had done reading she smiled.
“Now I know who it comes from,” she remarked simply.
And as Muffat wanted her denial to the charges therein contained, she resumed quietly enough:
“That’s a matter which doesn’t concern you, dear old pet. How can it hurt you?”
She did not deny anything. He used some horrified expressions. Thereupon she shrugged her shoulders. Where had he been all this time? Why, it was done everywhere! And she mentioned her friends and swore that fashionable ladies went in for it. In fact, to hear her speak, nothing could be commoner or more natural. But a lie was a lie, and so a moment ago he had seen how angry she grew in the matter of Vandeuvres and the young Hugons! Oh, if that had been true he would have been justified in throttling her! But what was the good of lying to him about a matter of no consequence? And with that she repeated her previous expression:
“Come now, how can it hurt you?”
Then as the scene still continued, she closed it with a rough speech:
“Besides, dear boy, if the thing doesn’t suit you it’s very simple: the house door’s open! There now, you must take me as you find me!”
He hung his head, for the young woman’s vows of fidelity made him happy at bottom. She, however, now knew her power over him and ceased to consider his feelings. And from that time forth Satin was openly installed in the house on the same footing as the gentlemen. Vandeuvres had not needed anonymous letters in order to understand how matters stood, and accordingly he joked and tried to pick jealous quarrels with Satin. Philippe and Georges, on their parts, treated her like a jolly good fellow, shaking hands with her and cracking the riskiest jokes imaginable.
Nana had an adventure one evening when this slut of a girl had given her the go-by and she had gone to dine in the Rue des Martyrs without being ab
le to catch her. While she was dining by herself Daguenet had appeared on the scene, for although he had reformed, he still occasionally dropped in under the influence of his old vicious inclinations. He hoped of course that no one would meet him in these black recesses, dedicated to the town’s lowest depravity. Accordingly even Nana’s presence seemed to embarrass him at the outset. But he was not the man to run away and, coming forward with a smile, he asked if Madame would be so kind as to allow him to dine at her table. Noticing his jocular tone, Nana assumed her magnificently frigid demeanor and icily replied:
“Sit down where you please, sir. We are in a public place.”
Thus begun, the conversation proved amusing. But at dessert Nana, bored and burning for a triumph, put her elbows on the table and began in the old familiar way:
“Well, what about your marriage, my lad? Is it getting on all right?”
“Not much,” Daguenet averred.
As a matter of fact, just when he was about to venture on his request at the Muffats’, he had met with such a cold reception from the count that he had prudently refrained. The business struck him as a failure. Nana fixed her clear eyes on him; she was sitting, leaning her chin on her hand, and there was an ironical curve about her lips.
“Oh yes! I’m a baggage,” she resumed slowly. “Oh yes, the future father-in-law will have to be dragged from between my claws! Dear me, dear me, for a fellow with nous, you’re jolly stupid! What! D’you mean to say you’re going to tell your tales to a man who adores me and tells me everything? Now just listen: you shall marry if I wish it, my little man!”
For a minute or two he had felt the truth of this, and now he began scheming out a method of submission. Nevertheless, he still talked jokingly, not wishing the matter to grow serious, and after he had put on his gloves he demanded the hand of Mlle Estelle de Beuville in the strict regulation manner. Nana ended by laughing, as though she had been tickled. Oh, that Mimi! It was impossible to bear him a grudge! Daguenet’s great successes with ladies of her class were due to the sweetness of his voice, a voice of such musical purity and pliancy as to have won him among courtesans the sobriquet of “Velvet-Mouth.” Every woman would give way to him when he lulled her with his sonorous caresses. He knew this power and rocked Nana to sleep with endless words, telling her all kinds of idiotic anecdotes. When they left the table d’hôte she was blushing rosy-red; she trembled as she hung on his arm; he had re-conquered her. As it was very fine, she sent her carriage away and walked with him as far as his own place, where she went upstairs with him naturally enough. Two hours later, as she was dressing again, she said:
“So you hold to this marriage of yours, Mimi?”
“Egad,” he muttered, “it’s the best thing I could possibly do after all! You know I’m stony broke.”
She summoned him to button her boots, and after a pause:
“Good heavens! I’ve no objection. I’ll shove you on! She’s as dry as a lath, is that little thing, but since it suits your game—oh, I’m agreeable: I’ll run the thing through for you.”
Then with bosom still uncovered, she began laughing:
“Only what will you give me?”
He had caught her in his arms and was kissing her on the shoulders in a perfect access of gratitude while she quivered with excitement and struggled merrily and threw herself backward in her efforts to be free.
“Oh, I know,” she cried, excited by the contest. “Listen to what I want in the way of commission. On your wedding day you shall make me a present of your innocence. Before your wife, d’you understand?”
“That’s it! That’s it!” he said, laughing even louder than Nana.
The bargain amused them—they thought the whole business very good, indeed.
Now as it happened, there was a dinner at Nana’s next day. For the matter of that, it was the customary Thursday dinner, and Muffat, Vandeuvres, the young Hugons and Satin were present. The count arrived early. He stood in need of eighty thousand francs wherewith to free the young woman from two or three debts and to give her a set of sapphires she was dying to possess. As he had already seriously lessened his capital, he was in search of a lender, for he did not dare to sell another property. With the advice of Nana herself he had addressed himself to Labordette, but the latter, deeming it too heavy an undertaking, had mentioned it to the hairdresser Francis, who willingly busied himself in such affairs in order to oblige his lady clients. The count put himself into the hands of these gentlemen but expressed a formal desire not to appear in the matter, and they both undertook to keep in hand the bill for a hundred thousand francs which he was to sign, excusing themselves at the same time for charging a matter of twenty thousand francs interest and loudly denouncing the blackguard usurers to whom, they declared, it had been necessary to have recourse. When Muffat had himself announced, Francis was putting the last touches to Nana’s coiffure. Labordette also was sitting familiarly in the dressing room, as became a friend of no consequence. Seeing the count, he discreetly placed a thick bundle of bank notes among the powders and pomades, and the bill was signed on the marble-topped dressing table. Nana was anxious to keep Labordette to dinner, but he declined—he was taking a rich foreigner about Paris. Muffat, however, led him aside and begged him to go to Becker, the jeweler, and bring him back thence the set of sapphires, which he wanted to present the young woman by way of surprise that very evening. Labordette willingly undertook the commission, and half an hour later Julien handed the jewel case mysteriously to the count.
During dinnertime Nana was nervous. The sight of the eighty thousand francs had excited her. To think all that money was to go to tradespeople! It was a disgusting thought. After soup had been served she grew sentimental, and in the splendid dining room, glittering with plate and glass, she talked of the bliss of poverty. The men were in evening dress, Nana in a gown of white embroidered satin, while Satin made a more modest appearance in black silk with a simple gold heart at her throat, which was a present from her kind friend. Julien and François waited behind the guests and were assisted in this by Zoé. All three looked most dignified.
“It’s certain I had far greater fun when I hadn’t a cent!” Nana repeated.
She had placed Muffat on her right hand and Vandeuvres on her left, but she scarcely looked at them, so taken up was she with Satin, who sat in state between Philippe and Georges on the opposite side of the table.
“Eh, duckie?” she kept saying at every turn. “How we did use to laugh in those days when we went to Mother Josse’s school in the Rue Polonceau!”
When the roast was being served the two women plunged into a world of reminiscences. They used to have regular chattering fits of this kind when a sudden desire to stir the muddy depths of their childhood would possess them. These fits always occurred when men were present: it was as though they had given way to a burning desire to treat them to the dunghill on which they had grown to woman’s estate. The gentlemen paled visibly and looked embarrassed. The young Hugons did their best to laugh, while Vandeuvres nervously toyed with his beard and Muffat redoubled his gravity.
“You remember Victor?” said Nana. “There was a wicked little fellow for you! Why, he used to take the little girls into cellars!”
“I remember him perfectly,” replied Satin. “I recollect the big courtyard at your place very well. There was a portress there with a broom!”
“Mother Boche—she’s dead.”
“And I can still picture your shop. Your mother was a great fatty. One evening when we were playing your father came in drunk. Oh, so drunk!”
At this point Vandeuvres tried to intercept the ladies’ reminiscences and to effect a diversion,
“I say, my dear, I should be very glad to have some more truffles. They’re simply perfect. Yesterday I had some at the house of the Duc de Corbreuse, which did not come up to them at all.”
“The truff
les, Julien!” said Nana roughly.
Then returning to the subject:
“By Jove, yes, Dad hadn’t any sense! And then what a smash there was! You should have seen it—down, down, down we went, starving away all the time. I can tell you I’ve had to bear pretty well everything and it’s a miracle I didn’t kick the bucket over it, like Daddy and Mamma.”
This time Muffat, who was playing with his knife in a state of infinite exasperation, made so bold as to intervene.
“What you’re telling us isn’t very cheerful.”
“Eh, what? Not cheerful!” she cried with a withering glance. “I believe you; it isn’t cheerful! Somebody had to earn a living for us dear boy. Oh yes, you know, I’m the right sort; I don’t mince matters. Mamma was a laundress; Daddy used to get drunk, and he died of it! There! If it doesn’t suit you—if you’re ashamed of my family—”
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