Nana by Émile Zola (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕

of white

teeth, in the reflection of the candelabra on the surface of a glass

of champagne. The company joked at the tops of their voices,

gesticulated, asked questions which no one answered and called to

one another across the whole length of the room. But the loudest

din was made by the waiters; they fancied themselves at home in the

corridors of their parent restaurant; they jostled one another and

served the ices and the dessert to an accompaniment of guttural

exclamations.

 

“My children,” shouted Bordenave, “you know we’re playing tomorrow.

Be careful! Not too much champagne!”

 

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Foucarmont, “I’ve drunk every

imaginable kind of wine in all the four quarters of the globe.

Extraordinary liquors some of ‘em, containing alcohol enough to kill

a corpse! Well, and what d’you think? Why, it never hurt me a bit.

I can’t make myself drunk. I’ve tried and I can’t.”

 

He was very pale, very calm and collected, and he lolled back in his

chair, drinking without cessation.

 

“Never mind that,” murmured Louise Violaine. “Leave off; you’ve had

enough. It would be a funny business if I had to look after you the

rest of the night.”

 

Such was her state of exaltation that Lucy Stewart’s cheeks were

assuming a red, consumptive flush, while Rose Mignon with moist

eyelids was growing excessively melting. Tatan Nene, greatly

astonished at the thought that she had overeaten herself, was

laughing vaguely over her own stupidity. The others, such as

Blanche, Caroline, Simonne and Maria, were all talking at once and

telling each other about their private affairs—about a dispute with

a coachman, a projected picnic and innumerable complex stories of

lovers stolen or restored. Meanwhile a young man near Georges,

having evinced a desire to kiss Lea de Horn, received a sharp rap,

accompanied by a “Look here, you, let me go!” which was spoken in a

tone of fine indignation; and Georges, who was now very tipsy and

greatly excited by the sight of Nana, hesitated about carrying out a

project which he had been gravely maturing. He had been planning,

indeed, to get under the table on all fours and to go and crouch at

Nana’s feet like a little dog. Nobody would have seen him, and he

would have stayed there in the quietest way. But when at Lea’s

urgent request Daguenet had told the young man to sit still, Georges

all at once felt grievously chagrined, as though the reproof had

just been leveled at him. Oh, it was all silly and slow, and there

was nothing worth living for! Daguenet, nevertheless, began

chaffing and obliged him to swallow a big glassful of water, asking

him at the same time what he would do if he were to find himself

alone with a woman, seeing that three glasses of champagne were able

to bowl him over.

 

“Why, in Havana,” resumed Foucarmont, “they make a spirit with a

certain wild berry; you think you’re swallowing fire! Well now, one

evening I drank more than a liter of it, and it didn’t hurt me one

bit. Better than that, another time when we were on the coast of

Coromandel some savages gave us I don’t know what sort of a mixture

of pepper and vitriol, and that didn’t hurt me one bit. I can’t

make myself drunk.”

 

For some moments past La Faloise’s face opposite had excited his

displeasure. He began sneering and giving vent to disagreeable

witticisms. La Faloise, whose brain was in a whirl, was behaving

very restlessly and squeezing up against Gaga. But at length he

became the victim of anxiety; somebody had just taken his

handkerchief, and with drunken obstinacy he demanded it back again,

asked his neighbors about it, stooped down in order to look under

the chairs and the guests’ feet. And when Gaga did her best to

quiet him:

 

“It’s a nuisance,” he murmured, “my initials and my coronet are

worked in the corner. They may compromise me.”

 

“I say, Monsieur Falamoise, Lamafoise, Mafaloise!” shouted

Foucarmont, who thought it exceedingly witty thus to disfigure the

young man’s name ad infinitum.

 

But La Faloise grew wroth and talked with a stutter about his

ancestry. He threatened to send a water bottle at Foucarmont’s

head, and Count de Vandeuvres had to interfere in order to assure

him that Foucarmont was a great joker. Indeed, everybody was

laughing. This did for the already flurried young man, who was very

glad to resume his seat and to begin eating with childlike

submissiveness when in a loud voice his cousin ordered him to feed.

Gaga had taken him back to her ample side; only from time to time he

cast sly and anxious glances at the guests, for he ceased not to

search for his handkerchief.

 

Then Foucarmont, being now in his witty vein, attacked Labordette

right at the other end of the table. Louise Violaine strove to make

him hold his tongue, for, she said, “when he goes nagging at other

people like that it always ends in mischief for me.” He had

discovered a witticism which consisted in addressing Labordette as

“Madame,” and it must have amused him greatly, for he kept on

repeating it while Labordette tranquilly shrugged his shoulders and

as constantly replied:

 

“Pray hold your tongue, my dear fellow; it’s stupid.”

 

But as Foucarmont failed to desist and even became insulting without

his neighbors knowing why, he left off answering him and appealed to

Count Vandeuvres.

 

“Make your friend hold his tongue, monsieur. I don’t wish to become

angry.”

 

Foucarmont had twice fought duels, and he was in consequence most

politely treated and admitted into every circle. But there was now

a general uprising against him. The table grew merry at his

sallies, for they thought him very witty, but that was no reason why

the evening should be spoiled. Vandeuvres, whose subtle countenance

was darkening visibly, insisted on his restoring Labordette his sex.

The other men—Mignon, Steiner and Bordenave—who were by this time

much exalted, also intervened with shouts which drowned his voice.

Only the old gentleman sitting forgotten next to Nana retained his

stately demeanor and, still smiling in his tired, silent way,

watched with lackluster eyes the untoward finish of the dessert.

 

“What do you say to our taking coffee in here, duckie?” said

Bordenave. “We’re very comfortable.”

 

Nana did not give an immediate reply. Since the beginning of supper

she had seemed no longer in her own house. All this company had

overwhelmed and bewildered her with their shouts to the waiters, the

loudness of their voices and the way in which they put themselves at

their ease, just as though they were in a restaurant. Forgetting

her role of hostess, she busied herself exclusively with bulky

Steiner, who was verging on apoplexy beside her. She was listening

to his proposals and continually refusing them with shakes of the

head and that temptress’s laughter which is peculiar to a voluptuous

blonde. The champagne she had been drinking had flushed her a rosy-red; her lips were moist; her eyes sparkled, and the banker’s offers

rose with every kittenish movement of her shoulders, with every

little voluptuous lift and fall of her throat, which occurred when

she turned her head. Close by her ear he kept espying a sweet

little satiny corner which drove him crazy. Occasionally Nana was

interrupted, and then, remembering her guests, she would try and be

as pleased as possible in order to show that she knew how to

receive. Toward the end of the supper she was very tipsy. It made

her miserable to think of it, but champagne had a way of

intoxicating her almost directly! Then an exasperating notion

struck her. In behaving thus improperly at her table, these ladies

were showing themselves anxious to do her an ugly turn. Oh yes, she

could see it all distinctly. Lucy had given Foucarmont a wink in

order to egg him on against Labordette, while Rose, Caroline and the

others were doing all they could to stir up the men. Now there was

such a din you couldn’t hear your neighbor speak, and so the story

would get about that you might allow yourself every kind of liberty

when you supped at Nana’s. Very well then! They should see! She

might be tipsy, if you like, but she was still the smartest and most

ladylike woman there.

 

“Do tell them to serve the coffee here, duckie,” resumed Bordenave.

“I prefer it here because of my leg.”

 

But Nana had sprung savagely to her feet after whispering into the

astonished ears of Steiner and the old gentleman:

 

“It’s quite right; it’ll teach me to go and invite a dirty lot like

that.”

 

Then she pointed to the door of the dining room and added at the top

of her voice:

 

“If you want coffee it’s there, you know.”

 

The company left the table and crowded toward the dining room

without noticing Nana’s indignant outburst. And soon no one was

left in the drawing room save Bordenave, who advanced cautiously,

supporting himself against the wall and cursing away at the

confounded women who chucked Papa the moment they were chock-full.

The waiters behind him were already busy removing the plates and

dishes in obedience to the loudly voiced orders of the manager.

They rushed to and fro, jostled one another, caused the whole table

to vanish, as a pantomime property might at the sound of the chief

sceneshifter’s whistle. The ladies and gentlemen were to return to

the drawing room after drinking their coffee.

 

“By gum, it’s less hot here,” said Gaga with a slight shiver as she

entered the dining room.

 

The window here had remained open. Two lamps illuminated the table,

where coffee and liqueurs were set out. There were no chairs, and

the guests drank their coffee standing, while the hubbub the waiters

were making in the next room grew louder and louder. Nana had

disappeared, but nobody fretted about her absence. They did without

her excellently well, and everybody helped himself and rummaged in

the drawers of the sideboard in search of teaspoons, which were

lacking. Several groups were formed; people separated during supper

rejoined each other, and there was an interchange of glances, of

meaning laughter and of phrases which summed up recent situations.

 

“Ought not Monsieur Fauchery to come and lunch with us one of these

days, Auguste?” said Rose Mignon.

 

Mignon, who was toying with his watch chain, eyed the journalist for

a second or two with his severe glance. Rose was out of her senses.

As became a good manager, he would put a stop to such spendthrift

courses. In return for a notice, well and good, but afterward,

decidedly not. Nevertheless, as he was fully aware of his wife’s

wrongheadedness and as he made it a rule to wink paternally at a

folly now and again, when such was necessary, he answered amiably

enough:

 

“Certainly, I shall be most happy. Pray come tomorrow, Monsieur

Fauchery.”

 

Lucy Stewart heard this invitation given while she was talking with

Steiner and Blanche and, raising her voice, she remarked to the

banker:

 

“It’s a mania they’ve all of them got. One of them even went so far

as to steal my dog. Now, dear boy, am I to blame if you chuck her?”

 

Rose turned round. She was very pale and gazed fixedly at Steiner

as she sipped her coffee. And then all the concentrated anger she

felt at his abandonment of her flamed out in her eyes. She saw more

clearly than Mignon; it was stupid in him to have wished to begin

the Jonquier ruse a second time—those dodgers never succeeded twice

running. Well, so much the worse for him! She would have Fauchery!

She had been