Nana - Émile Zola (good books to read for young adults txt) 📗
- Author: Émile Zola
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many loud oaths roughly settled himself on a bench in the hall. The
young woman listened to him from the first floor. She was pale, and
it caused her especial pain to hear the servants’ secret rejoicings
swelling up louder and louder till they even reached her ears. Down
in the kitchen they were dying of laughter. The coachman was
staring across from the other side of the court; Francois was
crossing the hall without any apparent reason. Then he hurried off
to report progress, after sneering knowingly at the baker. They
didn’t care a damn for Madame; the walls were echoing to their
laughter, and she felt that she was deserted on all hands and
despised by the servants’ hall, the inmates of which were watching
her every movement and liberally bespattering her with the filthiest
of chaff. Thereupon she abandoned the intention of borrowing the
hundred and thirty-three francs from Zoe; she already owed the maid
money, and she was too proud to risk a refusal now. Such a burst of
feeling stirred her that she went back into her room, loudly
remarking:
“Come, come, my girl, don’t count on anyone but yourself. Your
body’s your own property, and it’s better to make use of it than to
let yourself be insulted.”
And without even summoning Zoe she dressed herself with feverish
haste in order to run round to the Tricon’s. In hours of great
embarrassment this was her last resource. Much sought after and
constantly solicited by the old lady, she would refuse or resign
herself according to her needs, and on these increasingly frequent
occasions when both ends would not meet in her royally conducted
establishment, she was sure to find twenty-five louis awaiting her
at the other’s house. She used to betake herself to the Tricon’s
with the ease born of use, just as the poor go to the pawnshop.
But as she left her own chamber Nana came suddenly upon Georges
standing in the middle of the drawing room. Not noticing his waxen
pallor and the somber fire in his wide eyes, she gave a sigh of
relief.
“Ah, you’ve come from your brother.”
“No,” said the lad, growing yet paler.
At this she gave a despairing shrug. What did he want? Why was he
barring her way? She was in a hurry—yes, she was. Then returning
to where he stood:
“You’ve no money, have you?”
“No.”
“That’s true. How silly of me! Never a stiver; not even their
omnibus fares Mamma doesn’t wish it! Oh, what a set of men!”
And she escaped. But he held her back; he wanted to speak to her.
She was fairly under way and again declared she had no time, but he
stopped her with a word.
“Listen, I know you’re going to marry my brother.”
Gracious! The thing was too funny! And she let herself down into a
chair in order to laugh at her ease.
“Yes,” continued the lad, “and I don’t wish it. It’s I you’re going
to marry. That’s why I’ve come.”
“Eh, what? You too?” she cried. “Why, it’s a family disease, is
it? No, never! What a fancy, to be sure! Have I ever asked you to
do anything so nasty? Neither one nor t’other of you! No, never!”
The lad’s face brightened. Perhaps he had been deceiving himself!
He continued:
“Then swear to me that you don’t go to bed with my brother.”
“Oh, you’re beginning to bore me now!” said Nana, who had risen with
renewed impatience. “It’s amusing for a little while, but when I
tell you I’m in a hurry—I go to bed with your brother if it pleases
me. Are you keeping me—are you paymaster here that you insist on
my making a report? Yes, I go to bed with your brother.”
He had caught hold of her arm and squeezed it hard enough to break
it as he stuttered:
“Don’t say that! Don’t say that!”
With a slight blow she disengaged herself from his grasp.
“He’s maltreating me now! Here’s a young ruffian for you! My
chicken, you’ll leave this jolly sharp. I used to keep you about
out of niceness. Yes, I did! You may stare! Did you think I was
going to be your mamma till I died? I’ve got better things to do
than to bring up brats.”
He listened to her stark with anguish, yet in utter submission. Her
every word cut him to the heart so sharply that he felt he should
die. She did not so much as notice his suffering and continued
delightedly to revenge herself on him for the annoyance of the
morning.
“It’s like your brother; he’s another pretty Johnny, he is! He
promised me two hundred francs. Oh, dear me; yes, I can wait for
‘em. It isn’t his money I care for! I’ve not got enough to pay for
hair oil. Yes, he’s leaving me in a jolly fix! Look here, d’you
want to know how matters stand? Here goes then: it’s all owing to
your brother that I’m going out to earn twenty-five louis with
another man.”
At these words his head spun, and he barred her egress. He cried;
he besought her not to go, clasping his hands together and blurting
out:
“Oh no! Oh no!”
“I want to, I do,” she said. “Have you the money?”
No, he had not got the money. He would have given his life to have
the money! Never before had he felt so miserable, so useless, so
very childish. All his wretched being was shaken with weeping and
gave proof of such heavy suffering that at last she noticed it and
grew kind. She pushed him away softly.
“Come, my pet, let me pass; I must. Be reasonable. You’re a baby
boy, and it was very nice for a week, but nowadays I must look after
my own affairs. Just think it over a bit. Now your brother’s a
man; what I’m saying doesn’t apply to him. Oh, please do me a
favor; it’s no good telling him all this. He needn’t know where I’m
going. I always let out too much when I’m in a rage.”
She began laughing. Then taking him in her arms and kissing him on
the forehead:
“Good-by, baby,” she said; “it’s over, quite over between us; d’you
understand? And now I’m off!”
And she left him, and he stood in the middle of the drawing room.
Her last words rang like the knell of a tocsin in his ears: “It’s
over, quite over!” And he thought the ground was opening beneath
his feet. There was a void in his brain from which the man awaiting
Nana had disappeared. Philippe alone remained there in the young
woman’s bare embrace forever and ever. She did not deny it: she
loved him, since she wanted to spare him the pain of her infidelity.
It was over, quite over. He breathed heavily and gazed round the
room, suffocating beneath a crushing weight. Memories kept
recurring to him one after the other—memories of merry nights at La
Mignotte, of amorous hours during which he had fancied himself her
child, of pleasures stolen in this very room. And now these things
would never, never recur! He was too small; he had not grown up
quickly enough; Philippe was supplanting him because he was a
bearded man. So then this was the end; he could not go on living.
His vicious passion had become transformed into an infinite
tenderness, a sensual adoration, in which his whole being was
merged. Then, too, how was he to forget it all if his brother
remained—his brother, blood of his blood, a second self, whose
enjoyment drove him mad with jealousy? It was the end of all
things; he wanted to die.
All the doors remained open, as the servants noisily scattered over
the house after seeing Madame make her exit on foot. Downstairs on
the bench in the hall the baker was laughing with Charles and
Francois. Zoe came running across the drawing room and seemed
surprised at sight of Georges. She asked him if he were waiting for
Madame. Yes, he was waiting for her; he had forgotten to give her
an answer to a question. And when he was alone he set to work and
searched. Finding nothing else to suit his purpose, he took up in
the dressing room a pair of very sharply pointed scissors with which
Nana had a mania for ceaselessly trimming herself, either by
polishing her skin or cutting off little hairs. Then for a whole
hour he waited patiently, his hand in his pocket and his fingers
tightly clasped round the scissors.
“Here’s Madame,” said Zoe, returning. She must have espied her
through the bedroom window.
There was a sound of people racing through the house, and laughter
died away and doors were shut. Georges heard Nana paying the baker
and speaking in the curtest way. Then she came upstairs.
“What, you’re here still!” she said as she noticed him. “Aha!
We’re going to grow angry, my good man!”
He followed her as she walked toward her bedroom.
“Nana, will you marry me?”
She shrugged her shoulders. It was too stupid; she refused to
answer any more and conceived the idea of slamming the door in his
face.
“Nana, will you marry me?”
She slammed the door. He opened it with one hand while he brought
the other and the scissors out of his pocket. And with one great
stab he simply buried them in his breast.
Nana, meanwhile, had felt conscious that something dreadful would
happen, and she had turned round. When she saw him stab himself she
was seized with indignation.
“Oh, what a fool he is! What a fool! And with my scissors! Will
you leave off, you naughty little rogue? Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
She was scared. Sinking on his knees, the boy had just given
himself a second stab, which sent him down at full length on the
carpet. He blocked the threshold of the bedroom. With that Nana
lost her head utterly and screamed with all her might, for she dared
not step over his body, which shut her in and prevented her from
running to seek assistance.
“Zoe! Zoe! Come at once. Make him leave off. It’s getting
stupid—a child like that! He’s killing himself now! And in my
place too! Did you ever see the like of it?”
He was frightening her. He was all white, and his eyes were shut.
There was scarcely any bleeding—only a little blood, a tiny stain
which was oozing down into his waistcoat. She was making up her
mind to step over the body when an apparition sent her starting
back. An old lady was advancing through the drawing-room door,
which remained wide open opposite. And in her terror she recognized
Mme Hugon but could not explain her presence. Still wearing her
gloves and hat, Nana kept edging backward, and her terror grew so
great that she sought to defend herself, and in a shaky voice:
“Madame,” she cried, “it isn’t I; I swear to you it isn’t. He
wanted to marry me, and I said no, and he’s killed himself!”
Slowly Mme Hugon drew near—she was in black, and her face showed
pale under her white hair. In the carriage, as she drove thither,
the thought of Georges had vanished and that of Philippe’s misdoing
had again taken complete possession of her. It might be that this
woman could afford explanations to the judges which would touch
them, and so she conceived the project of begging her to bear
witness in her
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