Chapter 5 Part 2 - Nana, by Zola

"You sang your rondeau marvellously well," observed the prince. Then the conversation was established, but only in short phrases, broken by numerous pauses. Nana could not always be answer- ing. After spreading some cold cream over her face and arms with her hand, she laid on the white paint with the corner of a towel. For an instant she ceased looking at herself in the glass, and smiled as she glanced at the prince, without, however, laying down the towel and the paint. "Your Highness is spoiling me," she murmured. The making-up was a most complicated business, which the Marquis de Chouard followed with extreme delight. He, also, ventured an observation. "Could not the orchestra," he asked, "accompany you more softly? It drowns your voice, and that is an unpardonable crime." This time Nana did not turn round. She had taken the hare's foot, and was passing it very lightly and carefully over her face, leaning so forward over the dressing-table as to cause the rounded portion of her white drawers to swell out, the corner of her chemise still protruding. To show that she was sensible of the old gentleman's compliment, she slightly moved her hips. A pause ensued. Madame Jules had observed a rent in the drawers. She took one of the pins stuck over her heart, and remained kneel- ing for a moment on the ground, occupied about Nana's leg; whilst the young woman, without appearing to know that she was there, was covering herself with powder, being careful, however, not to lay any on the upper part of her cheeks. When the prince remarked that, if she came to sing in London, all England would want to applaud her, she laughed pleasantly, and turned herself round for a second, her left cheek very white in the midst of a cloud of powder. Then she suddenly became very serious: she was about to put on the rouge. Once more, standing with her face close to the glass, she dipped her finger in a pot, and applied the rouge under her eyes, spreading it gently up to the temples. The gentlemen maintained a respectful silence. Count Muff at had scarcely said a word: he was immersed in thoughts of his youth. The room he had when a child had been very cold. Later on, when sixteen years old, he used to kiss his mother every night, and would then feel, even in his sleep, the icy coldness of her embrace. One day, as he passed a half-closed door, he caught a glimpse of a maid-servant washing herself; and that was the only reminiscence that had troubled him from the age of puberty to the day of his marriage. Then he had en- countered in his wife a strict observance of conjugal duties; he himself experienced a sort of devout repugnance. He grew up, he grew old, ignorant of the ways of the flesh, bent to rigid religious practices, having regulated his life according to precepts and laws; and suddenly he found himself deposited in this actress's dressing- room, in company of this almost naked girl. He who had never even seen Countess Muff at put on her garters was now assisting at the most secret details of a woman's toilet, in the midst of that fascinating and powerful odour, surrounded by all those pots and basins. His whole being revolted; the slow possession that Nana had taken of him for some little time past terrified him, as it recalled to his mind the pious stories he had read in his childhood of persons possessed by devils. He believed in the devil. In his confused state of mind, Nana, with her smiles and her body full of vice, was the devil in person. But he would be strong; he would know how to defend himself. "Then that is settled," the prince was saying, as he took his ease on the sofa. " Next year you come to London, and you will receive such a welcome that you will never return to France. Ah! my dear count, you do not value your pretty women sufficiently. We shall take them all from you." "He will not miss them," maliciously murmured the Marquis de Chouard, who threw off his mask on such occasions as the present. "The count is virtue itself." Hearing the count's virtue spoken of, Nana looked at him in so peculiar a manner that Muffat felt greatly annoyed. Then he was surprised at having given way to the feeling, and became angry with himself. Why should the fact of his being virtuous embarrass him in the presence of that girl? He could have beaten her. But Nana, reaching over for a hair pencil, let it fall; and as she stooped to pick it up, he hastened to anticipate her. Their breaths mingled, and Venus's golden locks fell over his hands. It was a pleasure alloyed with remorse one of those pleasures of Catholics whom the fear of hell is perpetually goading when in sin. Just then old Barillot's voice was heard outside. "Madame, may I give the signal? The audience is becoming very im- patient." "Presently," replied Nana, without hurrying herself. She had dipped the hair pencil into a pot of black; then, her nose almost touching the looking-glass, her left eye closed, she delicately painted the lashes. Muffat stood behind her, looking on. He saw her in the glass, with her plump shoulders and her neck drowned in a roseate shadow; and he could not, in spite of his efforts, withdraw his gaze from that face rendered so provoking by the closed eye, and full of dimples, as though transported with desires. When she shut her right eye, and applied the pencil, he felt that he belonged to her wholly. "Madame," again cried the panting voice of the old call-boy, "they are stamping their feet; they will end by smashing the seats. May I give the signal?" "Oh! damn 'em!" said Nana angrily. "Give the signal; I don't care! If I'm not ready, well! they'll have to wait for me." Suddenly calming herself, she turned towards the gentlemen, and added with a smile, " It's true; one can't even have a few minutes' quiet conversation." She had now finished her face and arms. She added, with her finger, two broad streaks of carmine to her lips. Count Muffat felt more agitated still, bewitched by the perversion of the pow- ders and the pigments, seized with an inordinate desire for that painted beauty, with her mouth too red and her face too white, her eyes enlarged, ardent and circled with black, as though wounded by love. However, Nana passed behind the curtain for a moment to get into Venus's tights, after taking off her drawers. Then, without the least shame, she doffed her chemisette, and held out her arms to Madame Jules, who slipped on the short sleeves of the tunic. "Now, let me dress you quick, as they are making a distur- bance!" murmured the old woman. The prince, with half closed eyes, examined the symmetry of her neck and chest with the eye of a connoisseur, whilst the Mar- quis de Chouard wagged his head involuntarily. Muffat, in order that he might see no more, gazed down at the carpet. Venus was now ready, as that gauze drapery was all that she wore over her shoulders. Madame Jules hovered round her, looking like an old woman carved out of wood, with clear, expressionless eyes, and every now and then she kept taking pins from the inexhaustible cushion over her heart to pin Venus's tunic, passing her bony hands over those next to naked rolls of fat, without their awaken- ing in her mind a single recollection, and with the greatest indif- ference for her sex. "There!" said the young woman, as she gave a last look at herself in the glass. Bordenave came back, very anxious, saying that the third act had commenced. "Well! I am ready," resumed she. "What a fuss to make! I always have to wait for the others." The gentlemen left the dressing-room, but they did not say good-bye, the prince having a desire to witness the third act from the wings. Left alone, Nana looked about her with surprise. "Wherever has she got to?" asked she. She was seeking Satin. When she at length found her behind the curtain, sitting waiting on the trunk, Satin quietly said, "I certainly didn't intend to be in your way there, with all those men!" And she added that she would now go off. But Nana stopped her. She must be cracked to think of such a thing, when Bordenave had consented to engage her! They could settle the matter after the performance. Satin hesitated. It was alto- gether such a queer place, nothing like anything she had been used to. In spite of all this, however, she remained. As the prince descended the little wooden staircase, a strange noise, a mixture of stifled oaths and stampings of feet as of men struggling, reached him from the other side of the theatre. It was caused by an occurrence that quite scared the actors and actresses awaiting their cues. For some little while Mignon had been amusing himself again by overwhelming Fauchery with deli- cate attentions. He had just imagined a little game, which con- sisted in every now and then snapping his fingers close to the journalistic nose, to keep the flies off, as he said. This little busi- ness naturally amused the onlookers immensely. But suddenly, Mignon, carried away by his success, taking a greater interest in the performance, gave the journalist what was really a blow, and a good hard blow too. This time he had gone too far. Fauchery could not, in the presence of the others, smilingly receive such a punch on the nose. And the two men, putting an end to the comedy, their faces livid and full of hate, had sprung at each others' throats. They rolled about the stage, behind one of the side-scenes, calling each other the vilest names imaginable. "M. Bordenave! M. Bordenave!" cried the terrified stage- manager, panting for breath. Bordenave followed him, after having begged to be excused by the prince. When he recognised Fauchery and Mignon on the ground, he made a gesture implying that he was very much put out. Really, they chose a nice time, with His Highness on the other side of the scenery, and all the audience, who could overhear them! To complete his annoyance, Rose Mignon arrived, all out of breath, and at the moment she had to go on the stage. Vulcan gave her her cue, but Rose remained as though petrified, as she caught sight of her husband and her lover lying at her feet, strang- ling each other, struggling together, their hair all in disorder, their clothes covered with dust. She was unable to pass them, and one of the scene-shifters only just succeeded in catching hold of Fau- chery's hat as it was rolling into view of the audience. Vulcan, who had meanwhile interpolated a string of gag to amuse the audience, again gave Rose her cue. But she stood watching the two men, without moving. "Don't look at them!" angrily whispered Bordenave behind her. "Go on! go on! It's nothing to do with you! You're miss- ing your cue!" And, pushed forward by him, Rose stepped over the prostrate bodies, and found herself before the audience in the glare of the footlights. She had not understood why they were on the ground fighting together. All in a tremble, and with a buzzing in her ears, she walked towards the conductor with the bewitching smile of an amorous Diana, and gave the first line of her duo in so warm a voice, that she received quite an ovation. But she could still hear the two men pommelling each other at the side. They had now rolled to within a few steps of the footlights. Fortunately the noise of the band prevented the sound of the blows reaching the audience. "Damnation!" exclaimed Bordenave, exasperated, when he had at length succeeded in separating the pair, "couldn't you go and fight it out in your own place? You know very well I don't like this sort of thing. You, Mignon, you will do me the pleasure of remaining here, on the prompt side; and you, Fauchery, I'll kick you out of the theatre if you dare to leave the o.p. side. Now, that's understood, eh? Prompt side and o.p. side, or else I'll for- bid Rose to bring you here again." When he returned to the prince, the latter asked what had been the matter. "Oh! nothing at all," he calmly mur- mured. Nana, wrapped in a fur cloak, stood talking to the gentlemen while she waited for her cue. As Count Muffat advanced to obtain a view of the stage between two side scenes, he understood from a sign of the stage-manager that he must tread softly. All was quiet up above. In the wings, which were most brilliantly lighted up, a few persons were standing talking in whispers, or moving off on tiptoe. The gas-man was at his post, close to the complicated collection of taps; a fireman, leaning against one of the supports, was stretching his neck trying to get a glimpse of the performance; whilst the man who manoeuvred the curtain was waiting on his seat up aloft, with a resigned look on his countenance, quite ignor- ing the piece and merely listening for the bell which directed his movements. And, in the midst of this stifling atmosphere and the faint noise caused by the light footsteps and the low whispers, the sound of the voices of the actors on the stage seemed strange and hushed, and surprisingly out of tune. Then, farther off, beyond the din of the orchestra, there was the audience breathing as with one immense respiration, which now and again swelled as it broke out in murmurs, laughter, and applause. One could feel the public without seeing it, even when it was silent. "There is something open," said Nana suddenly, drawing her fur cloak closer around her. "Look and see, Barillot. I'm sure some one has opened a window. Really, the place will be the death of me!" Barillot swore that he had shut everything himself. Perhaps there was a broken window somewhere. Actors were always com- plaining of draughts. In the oppressive heat of the gas, one of those currents of cold air, productive of inflammation of the lungs, as Fontan said, might frequently be felt. " I should like to see you have to stand here with hardly any- thing on you," continued Nana, who was getting angry. "Hush!" muttered Bordenave. On the stage, Rose had thrown so much expression into a phrase of her duo that the applause quite drowned the music. Nana left off talking, and looked very serious. On the count advancing too far along one of the wings, Barillot stopped him, saying that he might be seen. He caught sight of the reverse of the side- scenes slantwise, with the backs of the frames consolidated by a thick layer of old posters, and a portion of the further drop, representing the silver cavern of Mount Etna, with Vulcan's forge in the background. The floats that had been lowered cast a glare of light on the daubs of metallic paint representing the silver. Some red and blue glass judiciously intermingled imitated the flames of a furnace; whilst midway up the stage a number of flaring gas-jets running along the floor lit up a row of black rocks. And behind these, reclining on a gently sloping boulder, surrounded by all the lights, which looked like so many Chinese lanterns among the grass on a day of illuminations, old Madame Drouard who played Juno, and was half blinded by the glitter, drowsily awaited the moment to make her appearance. Just then there was a slight commotion. Simone, who was listening to a story of Clarisse's, exclaimed, "Halloa! there's old Tricon!”

It was, indeed, old Tricon, with her long curls and her air of a countess consulting her solicitor. As soon as she caught sight of Nana, she went straight up to her. "No," said the latter, after a rapid exchange of words. "Not this time." The old lady looked very solemn. PruIIiere shook hands with her, as he passed by. Two little chorus girls gazed on her with emotion. For a moment she seemed to hesitate; then she beckoned to Simone, and another rapid exchange of words took place. "Yes," said Simone, at last. " In half an hour." But, as she went up to her dressing-room, Madame Bron, who was again distributing some letters, handed her one. Bordenave, in a low tone of voice, began abusing the doorkeeper for having let old Tricon into the theatre. That woman in the place when His Highness was there! it was disgusting! Madame Bron, who had been thirty years in the theatre, replied in a surly tone of voice : How was she to know? Madame Tricon transacted business with all the ladies. M. Bordenave had seen her there dozens of times without ever saying a word; and whilst the manager muttered a string of oaths, old Tricon coolly examined the prince, staring him straight in the face, like a woman who weighs a man with a glance. A smile lighted up her yellow countenance. Then she slowly re- tired in the midst of the little women, who respectfully made way for her to pass. "As soon as possible; now don't forget," said she, turning towards Simone. Simone seemed very much worried. The letter was from a young man whom she had promised to meet that evening. She gave Madame Bron a note she had hastily scribbled, "Not to- night, ducky; I'm engaged." But she remained very anxious; the young man might wait for her all the same. As she was not in the third act, she wished to get away at once, so she asked Clarisse to go and see. The latter had nothing to do until almost the end of the piece. She went down stairs, whilst Simone re- turned for a minute to the dressing-room they shared together. There was no one in Madame Bron's little bar below but a super, dressed in a red and gold costume, who personated Pluto. The door-keeper's little business had evidently gone well, for the recess under the stairs was quite damp from the rinsings of the glasses. Clarisse gathered up the skirts of her robe, which dragged on the greasy steps; but she prudently stopped when she got to where the staircase turned, and, stretching out her neck, took a peep into the room. She was well inspired, for that idiot La Faloise was still waiting there, on the same chair, between the table and the stove! He had pretended to go off when Simone had spoken to him, and returned directly after. The room, too, was still full of gentlemen in evening dress, with light kid gloves, and looking submissive and patient. They were all waiting, gravely eyeing one another. On the table there only remained the dirty plates, Madame Bron having just distributed the last bouquets; a rose alone, fallen from one of them, was lying half faded, close to the old cat, who had curled herself up and gone to sleep, whilst the kittens were madly careering between the gentlemen's legs. For a moment Clarisse thought of having La Faloise turned out. The fool didn't like animals; that showed what sort of a person he was. He kept his arms close to his sides for fear of touching the old cat, asleep on the table by him. "Take care! he'll catch you," said Pluto, a funny fellow, as he went upstairs wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Then Clarisse gave up the idea of having a row with La Faloise. She had seen Madame Bron hand Simone's letter to the young man, who went and read it under the gas-jet in the passage: "Not to-night, ducky; I'm engaged"; and, no doubt used to the phrase, he quietly went off. He, at least, knew how to behave! He wasn't like the others, who obstinately sat waiting there on Madame Bron's old worn-out cane chairs, in that lantern-like glass box, which was as hot as an oven, and which didn't smell particularly nice. What dirty beasts men were! Clarisse returned upstairs, thoroughly disgusted. She passed at the back of the stage, and ran up the three flights of stairs leading to her dressing- room to let Simone know that the young man had gone off. At the wings, the prince had drawn Nana on one side and was con- versing with her. He had remained with her all the time, glancing tenderly at her with his half closed eyes. Nana, without looking at him, smilingly said " yes," with a nod of her head. But suddenly Count Muffat obeyed an invincible feeling within him. He quitted Bordenave, who was giving him some information respecting the manoeuvring of the windlasses and the drums, and advanced to interrupt their conversation. Nana raised her eyes and smiled at him, the same as she smiled at His Highness. She was, how- ever, listening all the while for her cue.