Chapter 5 Part 1 - Nana, by Zola

CHAPTER V

THE "Blonde Venus" was being performed for the thirty- fourth time at the Variety Theatre. The first act had just ended. Simone, got up as a washerwoman, was in the green-room, standing before a mirror placed between the two doors that opened on to the passage leading to the dressing-rooms. She was all alone, and, lighted by the naked flames of the gas-jets on either side, was occupied in improving her make-up by passing a finger under her eyes. "Do you know if he's arrived yet?" asked PruIIiere, who entered in his costume of a Swiss admiral, with his long sword, his high boots, and his immense plume. "Whom do you mean?" said Simone, without disturbing her- self, and laughing at the glass so as to see her lips. "The prince." " I don't know, I'm going down. Ah! so he's coming. He comes, then, every day!" PruIIiere walked up to the fire-place, which faced the mirror, and in which a coke fire was burning; two gas-jets were flaring away on either side. He raised his eyes and looked at the clock and the barometer, placed to the right and the left, and accom- panied by gilded sphinxes in the style of the Empire. Then he buried himself in a vast high-backed arm-chair, the green velvet of which, worn and soiled by four generations of actors, had here and there turned to a yellowish hue, and he remained there im- movable, his eyes vaguely gazing into space, in the weary and resigned attitude of actors accustomed to the "waits" between their cues. Old Bosc had just made his appearance, coughing and shuffling his feet, and wrapped in an old yellow box-coat, which had slipped off one shoulder and displayed King Dagobert's laminated golden cassock. For an instant, after having placed his crown on the piano, without saying a word, he angrily stamped his feet, looking all the while, however, a thoroughly good-natured fellow, with his hands slightly shaking from an over-abuse of alcohol, whilst a long white beard gave a venerable appearance to his inflamed tippling-looking face. Then, as the silence was broken by a shower of rain and hail striking against the panes of the large square window which looked on to the court-yard, he made a gesture of disgust. "What beastly weather!" he grunted. Neither Simone nor PruIIiere moved. On the walls four or five pictures, landscapes, and a portrait of Vernet the actor, were gradually turning yellow through the heat of the gas. On the shaft of a column a bust of Potier, one of the old glories of the Variety Theatre, looked on with its empty eyes. But there sud- denly arose the sounds of a voice. It was Fontan, in his second act dress, that of a stylish young man, clothed all in yellow, and with yellow gloves on his hands. "I say!" he cried, gesticulating, "don't you know? it's my saint's-day to-day." "Is it now, really?" asked Simone, going up to him with a smile, as though attracted by his long nose and his big comical mouth. "Were you, then, christened Achilles?" "Exactly! And I'm going to tell Madame Bron to bring up some champagne, after the second act." For a moment past a bell had been heard tingling in the distance. The prolonged sound died away and then returned; and, when the bell finally left off ringing, a cry resounded which went up and down the staircase and was lost in the passages: "The overture's on for the second act! The overture's on for the second act!" This cry at length approached the green-room, and a pale little man passed before the doors shouting at the top of his shrill voice: "The overture's on for the second act!" "The deuce! champagne!" said PruIIiere, without seeming to have noticed the row. "You are going it fine." "Were I you, I'd have it sent in from the cafe," slowly observed old Bosc, who had seated himself on a bench covered with green velvet, his head resting against the wall. But Simone said they ought not to forget Madame Bron's little profit. She clapped her hands, delighted, devouring Fontan with her eyes, whilst his goat-like face kept moving with a con- tinual play of the eyes, nose, and mouth. "Oh! that Fontan!" she murmured; "there is nobody like him, there is nobody like him!”

The two doors were wide open, showing the passage leading to the dressing-rooms; and along the yellow wall, vividly lighted up by an unseen gas-lamp, shadows were rapidly passing of men in various costumes, women half-naked, wrapped in shawls, all the chorus of the second act, with the masqueraders of the "Boule Noire "; and from the end of the passage one could hear the sound of their feet stamping on the five wooden steps which led on to the stage. As tall Clarisse rapidly passed by, Simone called to her; but she answered that she would be back in a minute. And, in fact, she returned shortly afterwards, shivering in the thin tunic and sash which formed Iris's costume. "By Jove!" said she, "it isn't very warm; and I've been and left my fur-cloak in my dressing-room!" Then, standing before the fire, warming her legs, the tights covering which showed the colour of the flesh beneath, she continued, "The prince has arrived." "Ah!" exclaimed the others inquisitively. "Yes; I went to ascertain; I wanted to see. He is in the first stage-box on the right, the same as on Thursday. Well! it's the third time he's been in a week. Isn't she lucky, Nana? I had bet that he wouldn't come again." Simone opened her mouth, but her words were drowned by a fresh cry, which burst out close to the green-room. The shrill voice of the old call-boy shouted along the passage, "The curtain is going up!" "Three times! Well, it's becoming something surprising," said Simone, as soon as she could be heard. "You know, he won't go to her place; he takes her to his. And it seems it costs him a pretty penny." "Why, of course! one must pay for one's enjoyments!" mali- ciously observed PruIIiere, rising to glance into the glass at his well-formed figure, which created such havoc among the occu- pants of the boxes. "The curtain's rising! the curtain's rising!" repeated the old call-boy in the distance, as he hurried along the different passages. Then Fontan, who knew what had taken place the first time between the prince and Nana, related the story to the two women who were squeezing up against him, and laughed very loud each time he stooped to give them certain details. Old Bosc, full of indifference, hadn't moved. Such tales as that didn't interest him.

He was stroking a big tortoise-shell cat curled up asleep on the bench; and he ended by taking it in his arms with the tender simplicity of a crazy king. The cat arched its back; then, after sniffing a considerable while at his long white beard, disgusted, apparently, by the smell of the gum, it returned to the bench, where, curling itself up, it soon fell asleep. Bosc remained solemn and thoughtful. "All the same, if I were you, I would 'have the champagne from the cafe; it will be much better," said he suddenly to Fontan, as the latter finished his story. "The curtain's up!" drawlingly exclaimed the old call-boy in a cracked tone of voice. "The curtain's up! the curtain's up." The cry lasted for an instant, and then died away. There was a sound of scurrying footsteps; then the sudden opening of the door at the end of the passage admitted a blast of music, a distant hubbub, and the door closed again with a dull thud. Once more a heavy quiet reigned in the green-room, as though it were a hundred miles away from the crowded audience that was applauding vocif- erously. Simone and Clarisse were still talking of Nana. She never hurried herself! only the night before she missed her entrance cue. But they stopped speaking as a tall girl thrust her head in at the door, then, seeing she had made a mistake, hurried off to the end of the passage. It was Satin, wearing a bonnet and veil, and looking like a lady out visiting. "A pretty piece of goods!" murmured PruIIiere, who had constantly been in the habit of seeing her for a year past at the Cafe des Varietes. And Simone related how Nana, having come across Satin, an old school-fel- low of hers, had taken a great fancy to her, and was bothering Bordenave to bring her out. "Hallo! good evening," said Fontan, shaking hands with Fau- chery and Mignon who just then entered. Even old Bosc held out a finger, whilst the two women embraced Mignon. "Is there a good house to-night?" inquired Fauchery. "Oh ! superb ! " answered PruIIiere. " You should see how they're all taking it in!" "I say, my children," remarked Mignon, "it's time for you to go on, isn't it?" "Yes, shortly." They did not appear till the fourth scene. Bosc alone rose, with the instinct of an old veteran of the boards who scents his cue from afar. And at that moment the old call- boy appeared at the door. "Monsieur Bosc! Mademoiselle Simone ! " he cried. Simone quickly threw a fur cloak over her shoulders, and hastened out. Bosc, without hurrying himself, fetched his crown and banged it on his head. Then, dragging his mantle after him, he went off, unsteady on his legs, grunting, and with the annoyed look of a man who has been disturbed. "You said some very kind things in your last article," remarked Fontan to Fauchery. "Only why did you state that comedians are vain?" "Yes, young 'un, why did you say that?" exclaimed Mignon, bringing his enormous hands down on the journalist's slender shoulders so roughly that the latter sank beneath the shock. PruIIiere and Clarisse with difficulty refrained from laughing. For some time past the members of the company had been highly amused by a comedy that was being performed behind the scenes. Mignon, rendered furious by his wife's infatuation, disgusted at seeing that Fauchery never contributed towards their expenses anything more than a questionable publicity, had conceived the brilliant idea of avenging himself by overwhelming the journalist with various proofs of his friendship. Every evening, when he met him behind the scenes, he quite belaboured him with blows, as though carried away by an excess of affection; and Fauchery, looking most puny beside this colossus, was obliged to submit, smiling the while in a constrained manner, so as not to quarrel with Rose's husband. "Ah! my fine fellow, so you insult Fontan!" resumed Mignon, continuing the farce. "Attention ! One, two, and full in the chest !" He had struck out and hit the young man so severe a blow that the latter remained for an instant very pale and quite speechless. But, with a wink of her eye, Clarisse drew the others' attention to Rose Mignon, who was standing in the doorway. Rose had seen all that had passed. She went straight up to the journalist, as though unaware of her husband's presence, and standing on tiptoe, her arms bare, and in her baby costume, she offered her forehead to him with a childish pout. "Good evening, baby," said Fauchery, familiarly kissing her. That was his reward. Mignon pretended not to notice the embrace; every one kissed his wife at the theatre. But he laughed as he cast a rapid glance at the journalist. The latter would certainly pay dearly for Rose's temerity. The door of the passage opened and shut, admitting the sound of tempestuous applause into the green-room. Simone had returned after going through her scene. "Oh! old Rose made such a hit!" cried she. "The prince was wriggling with laughter, and he applauded just like the others as though he had been paid to do so. I say, do you know the tall gentleman who is sitting beside the prince, in the stage-box? A handsome man, looking most dignified, and he's got such lovely whiskers." " It's Count Muffat," replied Fauchery. " I know that the day before yesterday, at the Empress's, the prince invited him to dinner for this evening. He probably prevailed upon him to come here afterwards." "Count Muffat! why we know his father-in-law, don't we, Augustus?" asked Rose of Mignon. "You know the Marquis de Chouard, at whose house I went to sing? He is also here to-night. I noticed him at the back of a box. He's an old " PruIIiere, who had just placed the hat with the enormous plume on his head, turned round and called to her, "Hi! Rose, look sharp!" She hurried after him, without finishing her sentence. At this moment the doorkeeper of the theatre, Madame Bron, passed by, carrying an enormous bouquet. Simone jokingly asked if it was for her; but the old woman, without answering, indicated with her chin the door of Nana's dressing-room at the end of the passage. That Nana! how they covered her with flowers. Then, as she returned, Madame Bron handed a letter to Clarisse, who muttered an oath beneath her breath. Again that confounded La Faloise! there was a fellow who wouldn't leave her alone! And when she heard that the gentleman was waiting in the doorkeeper's room, she exclaimed, "Tell him I'll come down when the act is over. I mean to smack his face." Fontan rushed forward, shouting, " Madame Bron, listen now listen, Madame Bron. After the act bring up six bottles of champagne." But the old call-boy reappeared, quite out of breath, repeating in a singsong voice, "Every one on the stage! every one on the stage! Be quick, M. Fontan! Be quick! be quick!”

"Yes, yes, I'm going, old Barillot," replied Fontan, quite be- wildered; and, running after Madame Bron, he continued, "Now you understand? Six bottles of champagne, in the green-room, after the act. It's my saint's-day; I'm going to stand treat." Simone and Clarisse had gone off, making a great noise with their skirts. When they had all left, and the door at the end of the passage was once more closed, one could hear in the silence of the green-room the sound of a fresh shower striking against the window panes. Barillot, a little pale old man, who had been call- boy at the theatre for thirty years past, went familiarly up to Mignon and offered him his snuff-box. This pinch of snuff offered and accepted procured him a minute's rest in his continual running up and down the stairs and passages. There was still, to be sure, Madame Nana, as he called her; but she only did as she chose, and never cared a fig for the fines. When she chose to miss her cue, she missed it. He stopped suddenly, murmuring in astonish- ment: "Why! here she is; she's actually ready! She must know that the prince is there." Nana had, indeed, appeared in the passage, dressed as a fisher- woman, her arms and face all white, excepting two dabs of colour under her eyes. She did not enter the green-room, but simply nodded to Mignon and Fauchery. "Good-day, how are you?" Mignon alone shook the hand she held out; and Nana con- tinued on her way in queenly style, followed by her dresser, who, as she trod close on her heels, bent down to give a finishing touch to the folds of her skirt. Then, behind the dresser, bringing up the rear of the procession, came Satin, trying to look very lady- like, and really feeling bored to death. "And Steiner?" suddenly queried Mignon. "Monsieur Steiner left yesterday for the Loiret," said Barillot, who was returning to the stage. " I believe he is going to purchase a country residence there." "Ah! yes, I know; an estate for Nana." Mignon became very grave. That Steiner had once promised Rose a mansion! Well, it was of no use quarrelling with anybody; it was an opportunity which he had lost, and which he must regain. Full of thought, but still quite master of himself, Mignon walked up and down from the fire-place to the mirror. There were only he and Fauchery left in the green-room. The journalist, feeling tired, had just stretched himself out in the easy-chair; and he kept very quiet, his eyes half closed, beneath the glances which the other gave him as he passed to and fro. When they were alone, Mignon disdained to pommel him. What would have been the use? as no one would have been there to enjoy the fun. He cared too little about the matter to find any amusement for himself in play- ing the bantering husband. Fauchery, thankful for this short respite, was languidly stretching his legs out before the fire, as his eyes wandered from the barometer to the clock. Mignon interrupted his walk for a moment, and stood before the bust of Potier, which he looked at without seeing. Then he went and placed himself at the window opening on to the dark court-yard beneath. It had left off raining, and a profound silence had suc- ceeded, whilst the atmosphere had become closer through the heat of the coke fire and the flaring of the gas-jets. Not a sound could be heard from the stage. The staircase and the passages were as still as the tomb. It was the hushed peacefulness occasioned by the end of an act, when all the company are on the stage joining in the deafening uproar of some finale, whilst the empty green-room is under the influence of asphyxia. "Oh! the strumpets!" suddenly exclaimed Bordenave, in a hoarse voice. He had only just arrived, and he was already bellowing at two of his chorus-girls, who had almost fallen down on the stage through playing the fool. When he saw Mignon and Fauchery he called them to him to show them something: the prince had just requested permission to compliment Nana in her dressing-room, between the acts. But as he was taking them on to the stage, the stage-manager passed. "Just fine those hussies, Fernande and Maria!" shouted Bor- denave, furiously. Then calming himself, and trying to look dignified like a father and a nobleman, after passing his handker- chief over his face, he added, " I will go and receive His Highness." The curtain fell amidst thunders of applause. Immediately there was a regular stampede in the semi-obscurity of the stage, no longer under the glare of the foot-lights; the actors and the supers were hastening to reach their dressing-rooms, whilst the car- penters were rapidly changing the scenery. Simone and Clarisse, however, remained at the back of the stage, whispering together.

During the last scene, between two of their lines, they had just arranged a little affair. Clarisse, after thinking the matter over, preferred not to see La Faloise, who no longer wished to leave her to go with Gaga. It would be better for Simone quietly to explain to him that it was not the thing to stick to a woman to that extent. In short, she was to send him about his business. Then Simone, dressed as a washerwoman in a comic opera, with her fur cape thrown over her shoulders, descended the narrow winding staircase, with its greasy stairs and its damp walls, which led to the doorkeeper's room. This room, situated between the actors' and manager's staircases, shut in on the right and the left by some glass partitioning, was like a huge transparent lantern, inside which two gas-jets were flaring high. A set of pigeon-holes was crammed full of letters and newspapers. On the table bou- quets of flowers were lying beside forgotten dirty plates and an old bodice, the button-holes of which the doorkeeper was occupied in mending. And, in the midst of all this disorder, similar to the confusion of a lumber-room, some fashionable gentlemen, stylishly dressed and wearing light kid gloves, occupied the four old rush- bottomed chairs, with patient and submissive looks, and quickly turning their heads each time Madame Bron returned from the interior of the theatre with answers for them. She had just handed a note to a young man, who hastened to open it beneath the gas- jet in the hall, and who turned slightly pale as his eyes encountered this classic phrase, which he had so often read before in the same place, "Not to-night, ducky; I'm engaged." La Faloise was on one of the chairs at the end of the room, between the table and stove. He seemed ready to pass the evening there, looking rather anxious though, and keeping his long legs under his chair because a litter of little black kittens were gambolling around him, whilst the mother sat staring at him with her yellow eyes. "What! you here, Mademoiselle Simone? Whatever do you want?" asked the doorkeeper.