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

like a sovereign whom none dare disobey. She set

the fashion, and great ladies imitated her.

 

Nana’s fine house was situated at the corner of the Rue Cardinet, in

the Avenue de Villiers. The avenue was part of the luxurious

quarter at that time springing up in the vague district which had

once been the Plaine Monceau. The house had been built by a young

painter, who was intoxicated by a first success, and had been

perforce resold almost as soon as it was habitable. It was in the

palatial Renaissance manner and had fantastic interior arrangements

which consisted of modern conveniences framed in a setting of

somewhat artificial originality. Count Muffat had bought the house

ready furnished and full of hosts of beautiful objects—lovely

Eastern hangings, old credences, huge chairs of the Louis XIII

epoch. And thus Nana had come into artistic surroundings of the

choicest kind and of the most extravagantly various dates. But

since the studio, which occupied the central portion of the house,

could not be of any use to her, she had upset existing arrangements,

establishing a small drawing room on the first floor, next to her

bedroom and dressing room, and leaving a conservatory, a large

drawing room and a dining room to look after themselves underneath.

She astonished the architect with her ideas, for, as became a

Parisian workgirl who understands the elegancies of life by

instinct, she had suddenly developed a very pretty taste for every

species of luxurious refinement. Indeed, she did not spoil her

house overmuch; nay, she even added to the richness of the

furniture, save here and there, where certain traces of tender

foolishness and vulgar magnificence betrayed the ex-flower seller

who had been wont to dream in front of shopwindows in the arcades.

 

A carpet was spread on the steps beneath the great awning over the

front door in the court, and the moment you entered the hall you

were greeted by a perfume as of violets and a soft, warm atmosphere

which thick hangings helped to produce. A window, whose yellow-and

rose-colored panes suggested the warm pallor of human flesh, gave

light to the wide staircase, at the foot of which a Negro in carved

wood held out a silver tray full of visiting cards and four white

marble women, with bosoms displayed, raised lamps in their uplifted

hands. Bronzes and Chinese vases full of flowers, divans covered

with old Persian rugs, armchairs upholstered in old tapestry,

furnished the entrance hall, adorned the stairheads and gave the

first-floor landing the appearance of an anteroom. Here men’s

overcoats and hats were always in evidence, and there were thick

hangings which deadened every sound. It seemed a place apart: on

entering it you might have fancied yourself in a chapel, whose very

air was thrilling with devotion, whose very silence and seclusion

were fraught with mystery.

 

Nana only opened the large and somewhat too-sumptuous Louis XVI

drawing room on those gala nights when she received society from the

Tuileries or strangers of distinction. Ordinarily she only came

downstairs at mealtimes, and she would feel rather lost on such days

as she lunched by herself in the lofty dining room with its Gobelin

tapestry and its monumental sideboard, adorned with old porcelain

and marvelous pieces of ancient plate. She used to go upstairs

again as quickly as possible, for her home was on the first floor,

in the three rooms, the bed, dressing and small drawing room above

described. Twice already she had done the bedchamber up anew: on

the first occasion in mauve satin, on the second in blue silk under

lace. But she had not been satisfied with this; it had struck her

as “nohowish,” and she was still unsuccessfully seeking for new

colors and designs. On the elaborately upholstered bed, which was

as low as a sofa, there were twenty thousand francs’ worth of POINT

DE VENISE lace. The furniture was lacquered blue and white under

designs in silver filigree, and everywhere lay such numbers of white

bearskins that they hid the carpet. This was a luxurious caprice on

Nana’s part, she having never been able to break herself of the

habit of sitting on the floor to take her stockings off. Next door

to the bedroom the little saloon was full of an amusing medley of

exquisitely artistic objects. Against the hangings of pale rose-colored silk—a faded Turkish rose color, embroidered with gold

thread—a whole world of them stood sharply outlined. They were

from every land and in every possible style. There were Italian

cabinets, Spanish and Portuguese coffers, models of Chinese pagodas,

a Japanese screen of precious workmanship, besides china, bronzes,

embroidered silks, hangings of the finest needlework. Armchairs

wide as beds and sofas deep as alcoves suggested voluptuous idleness

and the somnolent life of the seraglio. The prevailing tone of the

room was old gold blended with green and red, and nothing it

contained too forcibly indicated the presence of the courtesan save

the luxuriousness of the seats. Only two “biscuit” statuettes, a

woman in her shift, hunting for fleas, and another with nothing at

all on, walking on her hands and waving her feet in the air,

sufficed to sully the room with a note of stupid originality.

 

Through a door, which was nearly always ajar, the dressing room was

visible. It was all in marble and glass with a white bath, silver

jugs and basins and crystal and ivory appointments. A drawn curtain

filled the place with a clear twilight which seemed to slumber in

the warm scent of violets, that suggestive perfume peculiar to Nana

wherewith the whole house, from the roof to the very courtyard, was

penetrated.

 

The furnishing of the house was a most important undertaking. Nana

certainly had Zoe with her, that girl so devoted to her fortunes.

For months she had been tranquilly awaiting this abrupt, new

departure, as became a woman who was certain of her powers of

prescience, and now she was triumphant; she was mistress of the

house and was putting by a round sum while serving Madame as

honestly as possible. But a solitary lady’s maid was no longer

sufficient. A butler, a coachman, a porter and a cook were wanted.

Besides, it was necessary to fill the stables. It was then that

Labordette made himself most useful. He undertook to perform all

sorts of errands which bored the count; he made a comfortable job of

the purchase of horses; he visited the coachbuilders; he guided the

young woman in her choice of things. She was to be met with at the

shops, leaning on his arm. Labordette even got in the servants—

Charles, a great, tall coachman, who had been in service with the

Duc de Corbreuse; Julien, a little, smiling, much-becurled butler,

and a married couple, of whom the wife Victorine became cook while

the husband Francois was taken on as porter and footman. The last

mentioned in powder and breeches wore Nana’s livery, which was a

sky-blue one adorned with silver lace, and he received visitors in

the hall. The whole thing was princely in the correctness of its

style.

 

At the end of two months the house was set going. The cost had been

more than three hundred thousand francs. There were eight horses in

the stables, and five carriages in the coach houses, and of these

five one was a landau with silver embellishments, which for the

moment occupied the attention of all Paris. And amid this great

wealth Nana began settling down and making her nest. After the

third representation of the Petite Duchesse she had quitted the

theater, leaving Bordenave to struggle on against a bankruptcy

which, despite the count’s money, was imminent. Nevertheless, she

was still bitter about her failure. It added to that other

bitterness, the lesson Fontan had given her, a shameful lesson for

which she held all men responsible. Accordingly she now declared

herself very firm and quite proof against sudden infatuations, but

thoughts of vengeance took no hold of her volatile brain. What did

maintain a hold on it in the hours when she was not indignant was an

ever-wakeful lust of expenditure, added to a natural contempt for

the man who paid and to a perpetual passion for consumption and

waste, which took pride in the ruin of her lovers.

 

At starting Nana put the count on a proper footing and clearly

mapped out the conditions of their relationship. The count gave

twelve thousand francs monthly, presents excepted, and demanded

nothing in return save absolute fidelity. She swore fidelity but

insisted also on being treated with the utmost consideration, on

enjoying complete liberty as mistress of the house and on having her

every wish respected. For instance, she was to receive her friends

every day, and he was to come only at stated times. In a word, he

was to repose a blind confidence in her in everything. And when he

was seized with jealous anxiety and hesitated to grant what she

wanted, she stood on her dignity and threatened to give him back all

he had given or even swore by little Louiset to perform what she

promised. This was to suffice him. There was no love where mutual

esteem was wanting. At the end of the first month Muffat respected

her.

 

But she desired and obtained still more. Soon she began to

influence him, as became a good-natured courtesan. When he came to

her in a moody condition she cheered him up, confessed him and then

gave him good advice. Little by little she interested herself in

the annoyances of his home life, in his wife, in his daughter, in

his love affairs and financial difficulties; she was very sensible,

very fair and right-minded. On one occasion only did she let anger

get the better of her, and that was when he confided to her that

doubtless Daguenet was going to ask for his daughter Estelle in

marriage. When the count began making himself notorious Daguenet

had thought it a wise move to break off with Nana. He had treated

her like a base hussy and had sworn to snatch his future father-in-law out of the creature’s clutches. In return Nana abused her old

Mimi in a charming fashion. He was a renegade who had devoured his

fortune in the company of vile women; he had no moral sense. True,

he did not let them pay him money, but he profited by that of others

and only repaid them at rare intervals with a bouquet or a dinner.

And when the count seemed inclined to find excuses for these

failings she bluntly informed him that Daguenet had enjoyed her

favors, and she added disgusting particulars. Muffat had grown

ashen-pale. There was no question of the young man now. This would

teach him to be lacking in gratitude!

 

Meanwhile the house had not been entirely furnished, when one

evening after she had lavished the most energetic promises of

fidelity on Muffat Nana kept the Count Xavier de Vandeuvres for the

night. For the last fortnight he had been paying her assiduous

court, visiting her and sending presents of flowers, and now she

gave way not so much out of sudden infatuation as to prove that she

was a free woman. The idea of gain followed later when, the day

after, Vandeuvres helped her to pay a bill which she did not wish to

mention to the other man. From Vandeuvres she would certainly

derive from eight to ten thousand francs a month, and this would

prove very useful as pocket money. In those days he was finishing

the last of his fortune in an access of burning, feverish folly.

His horses and Lucy had devoured three of his farms, and at one gulp

Nana was going to swallow his last chateau, near Amiens. He seemed

in a hurry to sweep everything away, down to the ruins of the old