Chapter I

by Emile Zola

　　At nine o'clock in the evening the body of the house at the Theatresdes Varietes was still all but empty. A few individuals, it istrue, were sitting quietly waiting in the balcony and stalls, butthese were lost, as it were, among the ranges of seats whosecoverings of cardinal velvet loomed in the subdued light of thedimly burning luster. A shadow enveloped the great red splash ofthe curtain, and not a sound came from the stage, the unlitfootlights, the scattered desks of the orchestra. It was only highoverhead in the third gallery, round the domed ceiling where nudefemales and children flew in heavens which had turned green in thegaslight, that calls and laughter were audible above a continuoushubbub of voices, and heads in women's and workmen's caps wereranged, row above row, under the wide-vaulted bays with their gilt-surrounding adornments. Every few seconds an attendant would makeher appearance, bustling along with tickets in her hand and pilotingin front of her a gentleman and a lady, who took their seats, he inhis evening dress, she sitting slim and undulant beside him whileher eyes wandered slowly round the house.Two young men appeared in the stalls; they kept standing and lookedabout them."Didn't I say so, Hector?" cried the elder of the two, a tall fellowwith little black mustaches. "We're too early! You might quitewell have allowed me to finish my cigar."An attendant was passing."Oh, Monsieur Fauchery," she said familiarly, "it won't begin forhalf an hour yet!""Then why do they advertise for nine o'clock?" muttered Hector,whose long thin face assumed an expression of vexation. "Only thismorning Clarisse, who's in the piece, swore that they'd begin atnine o'clock punctually."For a moment they remained silent and, looking upward, scanned theshadowy boxes. But the green paper with which these were hungrendered them more shadowy still. Down below, under the dresscircle, the lower boxes were buried in utter night. In those on thesecond tier there was only one stout lady, who was stranded, as itwere, on the velvet-covered balustrade in front of her. On theright hand and on the left, between lofty pilasters, the stageboxes, bedraped with long-fringed scalloped hangings, remaineduntenanted. The house with its white and gold, relieved by softgreen tones, lay only half disclosed to view, as though full of afine dust shed from the little jets of flame in the great glassluster."Did you get your stage box for Lucy?" asked Hector."Yes," replied his companion, "but I had some trouble to get it.Oh, there's no danger of Lucy coming too early!"He stifled a slight yawn; then after a pause:"You're in luck's way, you are, since you haven't been at a firstnight before. The Blonde Venus will be the event of the year.People have been talking about it for six months. Oh, such music,my dear boy! Such a sly dog, Bordenave! He knows his business andhas kept this for the exhibition season." Hector was religiouslyattentive. He asked a question."And Nana, the new star who's going to play Venus, d'you know her?""There you are; you're beginning again!" cried Fauchery, casting uphis arms. "Ever since this morning people have been dreeing me withNana. I've met more than twenty people, and it's Nana here and Nanathere! What do I know? Am I acquainted with all the light ladiesin Paris? Nana is an invention of Bordenave's! It must be a fineone!"He calmed himself, but the emptiness of the house, the dim light ofthe luster, the churchlike sense of self-absorption which the placeinspired, full as it was of whispering voices and the sound of doorsbanging--all these got on his nerves."No, by Jove," he said all of a sudden, "one's hair turns gray here.I--I'm going out. Perhaps we shall find Bordenave downstairs.He'll give us information about things."Downstairs in the great marble-paved entrance hall, where the boxoffice was, the public were beginning to show themselves. Throughthe three open gates might have been observed, passing in, theardent life of the boulevards, which were all astir and aflare underthe fine April night. The sound of carriage wheels kept stoppingsuddenly; carriage doors were noisily shut again, and people beganentering in small groups, taking their stand before the ticketbureau and climbing the double flight of stairs at the end of thehall, up which the women loitered with swaying hips. Under thecrude gaslight, round the pale, naked walls of the entrance hall,which with its scanty First Empire decorations suggested theperistyle of a toy temple, there was a flaring display of loftyyellow posters bearing the name of "Nana" in great black letters.Gentlemen, who seemed to be glued to the entry, were reading them;others, standing about, were engaged in talk, barring the doors ofthe house in so doing, while hard by the box office a thickset manwith an extensive, close-shaven visage was giving rough answers tosuch as pressed to engage seats."There's Bordenave," said Fauchery as he came down the stairs. Butthe manager had already seen him."Ah, ah! You're a nice fellow!" he shouted at him from a distance."That's the way you give me a notice, is it? Why, I opened myFigaro this morning--never a word!""Wait a bit," replied Fauchery. "I certainly must make theacquaintance of your Nana before talking about her. Besides, I'vemade no promises."Then to put an end to the discussion, he introduced his cousin, M.Hector de la Faloise, a young man who had come to finish hiseducation in Paris. The manager took the young man's measure at aglance. But Hector returned his scrutiny with deep interest. This,then, was that Bordenave, that showman of the sex who treated womenlike a convict overseer, that clever fellow who was always at fullsteam over some advertising dodge, that shouting, spitting, thigh-slapping fellow, that cynic with the soul of a policeman! Hectorwas under the impression that he ought to discover some amiableobservation for the occasion."Your theater--" he began in dulcet tones.Bordenave interrupted him with a savage phrase, as becomes a man whodotes on frank situations."Call it my brothel!"At this Fauchery laughed approvingly, while La Faloise stopped withhis pretty speech strangled in his throat, feeling very much shockedand striving to appear as though he enjoyed the phrase. The managerhad dashed off to shake hands with a dramatic critic whose columnhad considerable influence. When he returned La Faloise wasrecovering. He was afraid of being treated as a provincial if heshowed himself too much nonplused."I have been told," he began again, longing positively to findsomething to say, "that Nana has a delicious voice.""Nana?" cried the manager, shrugging his shoulders. "The voice of asquirt!"The young man made haste to add:"Besides being a first-rate comedian!""She? Why she's a lump! She has no notion what to do with herhands and feet."La Faloise blushed a little. He had lost his bearings. Hestammered:"I wouldn't have missed this first representation tonight for theworld. I was aware that your theater--""Call it my brothel," Bordenave again interpolated with the frigidobstinacy of a man convinced.Meanwhile Fauchery, with extreme calmness, was looking at the womenas they came in. He went to his cousin's rescue when he saw him allat sea and doubtful whether to laugh or to be angry."Do be pleasant to Bordenave--call his theater what he wishes youto, since it amuses him. And you, my dear fellow, don't keep uswaiting about for nothing. If your Nana neither sings nor actsyou'll find you've made a blunder, that's all. It's what I'm afraidof, if the truth be told.""A blunder! A blunder!" shouted the manager, and his face grewpurple. "Must a woman know how to act and sing? Oh, my chicken,you're too stoopid. Nana has other good points, by heaven!--something which is as good as all the other things put together.I've smelled it out; it's deuced pronounced with her, or I've gotthe scent of an idiot. You'll see, you'll see! She's only got tocome on, and all the house will be gaping at her."He had held up his big hands which were trembling under theinfluence of his eager enthusiasm, and now, having relieved hisfeelings, he lowered his voice and grumbled to himself:"Yes, she'll go far! Oh yes, s'elp me, she'll go far! A skin--oh,what a skin she's got!"Then as Fauchery began questioning him he consented to enter into adetailed explanation, couched in phraseology so crude that Hector dela Faloise felt slightly disgusted. He had been thick with Nana,and he was anxious to start her on the stage. Well, just about thattime he was in search of a Venus. He--he never let a woman encumberhim for any length of time; he preferred to let the public enjoy thebenefit of her forthwith. But there was a deuce of a row going onin his shop, which had been turned topsy-turvy by that big damsel'sadvent. Rose Mignon, his star, a comic actress of much subtlety andan adorable singer, was daily threatening to leave him in the lurch,for she was furious and guessed the presence of a rival. And as forthe bill, good God! What a noise there had been about it all! Ithad ended by his deciding to print the names of the two actresses inthe same-sized type. But it wouldn't do to bother him. Wheneverany of his little women, as he called them--Simonne or Clarisse, forinstance--wouldn't go the way he wanted her to he just up with hisfoot and caught her one in the rear. Otherwise life was impossible.Oh yes, he sold 'em; he knew what they fetched, the wenches!"Tut!" he cried, breaking off short. "Mignon and Steiner. Alwaystogether. You know, Steiner's getting sick of Rose; that's why thehusband dogs his steps now for fear of his slipping away."On the pavement outside, the row of gas jets flaring on the corniceof the theater cast a patch of brilliant light. Two small trees,violently green, stood sharply out against it, and a column gleamedin such vivid illumination that one could read the notices thereonat a distance, as though in broad daylight, while the dense night ofthe boulevard beyond was dotted with lights above the vague outlineof an ever-moving crowd. Many men did not enter the theater at oncebut stayed outside to talk while finishing their cigars under therays of the line of gas jets, which shed a sallow pallor on theirfaces and silhouetted their short black shadows on the asphalt.Mignon, a very tall, very broad fellow, with the square-shaped headof a strong man at a fair, was forcing a passage through the midstof the groups and dragging on his arm the banker Steiner, anexceedingly small man with a corporation already in evidence and around face framed in a setting of beard which was already growinggray."Well," said Bordenave to the banker, "you met her yesterday in myoffice.""Ah! It was she, was it?" ejaculated Steiner. "I suspected asmuch. Only I was coming out as she was going in, and I scarcelycaught a glimpse of her."Mignon was listening with half-closed eyelids and nervously twistinga great diamond ring round his finger. He had quite understood thatNana was in question. Then as Bordenave was drawing a portrait ofhis new star, which lit a flame in the eyes of the banker, he endedby joining in the conversation."Oh, let her alone, my dear fellow; she's a low lot! The publicwill show her the door in quick time. Steiner, my laddie, you knowthat my wife is waiting for you in her box."He wanted to take possession of him again. But Steiner would notquit Bordenave. In front of them a stream of people was crowdingand crushing against the ticket office, and there was a din ofvoices, in the midst of which the name of Nana sounded with all themelodious vivacity of its two syllables. The men who stood plantedin front of the notices kept spelling it out loudly; others, in aninterrogative tone, uttered it as they passed; while the women, atonce restless and smiling, repeated it softly with an air ofsurprise. Nobody knew Nana. Whence had Nana fallen? And storiesand jokes, whispered from ear to ear, went the round of the crowd.The name was a caress in itself; it was a pet name, the veryfamiliarity of which suited every lip. Merely through enunciatingit thus, the throng worked itself into a state of gaiety and becamehighly good natured. A fever of curiosity urged it forward, thatkind of Parisian curiosity which is as violent as an access ofpositive unreason. Everybody wanted to see Nana. A lady had theflounce of her dress torn off; a man lost his hat."Oh, you're asking me too many questions about it!" cried Bordenave,whom a score of men were besieging with their queries. "You'regoing to see her, and I'm off; they want me."He disappeared, enchanted at having fired his public. Mignonshrugged his shoulders, reminding Steiner that Rose was awaiting himin order to show him the costume she was about to wear in the firstact."By Jove! There's Lucy out there, getting down from her carriage,"said La Faloise to Fauchery.It was, in fact, Lucy Stewart, a plain little woman, some fortyyears old, with a disproportionately long neck, a thin, drawn face,a heavy mouth, but withal of such brightness, such graciousness ofmanner, that she was really very charming. She was bringing withher Caroline Hequet and her mother--Caroline a woman of a cold typeof beauty, the mother a person of a most worthy demeanor, who lookedas if she were stuffed with straw."You're coming with us? I've kept a place for you," she said toFauchery. "Oh, decidedly not! To see nothing!" he made answer."I've a stall; I prefer being in the stalls."Lucy grew nettled. Did he not dare show himself in her company?Then, suddenly restraining herself and skipping to another topic:"Why haven't you told me that you knew Nana?""Nana! I've never set eyes on her.""Honor bright? I've been told that you've been to bed with her."But Mignon, coming in front of them, his finger to his lips, madethem a sign to be silent. And when Lucy questioned him he pointedout a young man who was passing and murmured:"Nana's fancy man."Everybody looked at him. He was a pretty fellow. Faucheryrecognized him; it was Daguenet, a young man who had run throughthree hundred thousand francs in the pursuit of women and who nowwas dabbling in stocks, in order from time to time to treat them tobouquets and dinners. Lucy made the discovery that he had fineeyes."Ah, there's Blanche!" she cried. "It's she who told me that youhad been to bed with Nana."Blanche de Sivry, a great fair girl, whose good-looking face showedsigns of growing fat, made her appearance in the company of a spare,sedulously well-groomed and extremely distinguished man."The Count Xavier de Vandeuvres," Fauchery whispered in hiscompanion's ear.The count and the journalist shook hands, while Blanche and Lucyentered into a brisk, mutual explanation. One of them in blue, theother in rose-pink, they stood blocking the way with their deeplyflounced skirts, and Nana's name kept repeating itself so shrilly intheir conversation that people began to listen to them. The Countde Vandeuvres carried Blanche off. But by this time Nana's name wasechoing more loudly than ever round the four walls of the entrancehall amid yearnings sharpened by delay. Why didn't the play begin?The men pulled out their watches; late-comers sprang from theirconveyances before these had fairly drawn up; the groups left thesidewalk, where the passers-by were crossing the now-vacant space ofgaslit pavement, craning their necks, as they did so, in order toget a peep into the theater. A street boy came up whistling andplanted himself before a notice at the door, then cried out, "Woa,Nana!" in the voice of a tipsy man and hied on his way with arolling gait and a shuffling of his old boots. A laugh had arisenat this. Gentlemen of unimpeachable appearance repeated: "Nana,woa, Nana!" People were crushing; a dispute arose at the ticketoffice, and there was a growing clamor caused by the hum of voicescalling on Nana, demanding Nana in one of those accesses of sillyfacetiousness and sheer animalism which pass over mobs.But above all the din the bell that precedes the rise of the curtainbecame audible. "They've rung; they've rung!" The rumor reachedthe boulevard, and thereupon followed a stampede, everyone wantingto pass in, while the servants of the theater increased theirforces. Mignon, with an anxious air, at last got hold of Steineragain, the latter not having been to see Rose's costume. At thevery first tinkle of the bell La Faloise had cloven a way throughthe crowd, pulling Fauchery with him, so as not to miss the openingscene. But all this eagerness on the part of the public irritatedLucy Stewart. What brutes were these people to be pushing womenlike that! She stayed in the rear of them all with Caroline Hequetand her mother. The entrance hall was now empty, while beyond itwas still heard the long-drawn rumble of the boulevard."As though they were always funny, those pieces of theirs!" Lucykept repeating as she climbed the stair.In the house Fauchery and La Faloise, in front of their stalls, weregazing about them anew. By this time the house was resplendent.High jets of gas illumined the great glass chandelier with arustling of yellow and rosy flames, which rained down a stream ofbrilliant light from dome to floor. The cardinal velvets of theseats were shot with hues of lake, while all the gilding shoncagain, the soft green decorations chastening its effect beneath thetoo-decided paintings of the ceiling. The footlights were turned upand with a vivid flood of brilliance lit up the curtain, the heavypurple drapery of which had all the richness befitting a palace in afairy tale and contrasted with the meanness of the proscenium, wherecracks showed the plaster under the gilding. The place was alreadywarm. At their music stands the orchestra were tuning theirinstruments amid a delicate trilling of flutes, a stifled tooting ofhorns, a singing of violin notes, which floated forth amid theincreasing uproar of voices. All the spectators were talking,jostling, settling themselves in a general assault upon seats; andthe hustling rush in the side passages was now so violent that everydoor into the house was laboriously admitting the inexhaustibleflood of people. There were signals, rustlings of fabrics, acontinual march past of skirts and head dresses, accentuated by theblack hue of a dress coat or a surtout. Notwithstanding this, therows of seats were little by little getting filled up, while hereand there a light toilet stood out from its surroundings, a headwith a delicate profile bent forward under its chignon, whereflashed the lightning of a jewel. In one of the boxes the tip of abare shoulder glimmered like snowy silk. Other ladies, sitting atease, languidly fanned themselves, following with their gaze thepushing movements of the crowd, while young gentlemen, standing upin the stalls, their waistcoats cut very low, gardenias in theirbuttonholes, pointed their opera glasses with gloved finger tips.It was now that the two cousins began searching for the faces ofthose they knew. Mignon and Steiner were together in a lower box,sitting side by side with their arms leaning for support on thevelvet balustrade. Blanche de Sivry seemed to be in sole possessionof a stage box on the level of the stalls. But La Faloise examinedDaguenet before anyone else, he being in occupation of a stall tworows in front of his own. Close to him, a very young man, seventeenyears old at the outside, some truant from college, it may be, wasstraining wide a pair of fine eyes such as a cherub might haveowned. Fauchery smiled when he looked at him."Who is that lady in the balcony?" La Faloise asked suddenly. "Thelady with a young girl in blue beside her."He pointed out a large woman who was excessively tight-laced, awoman who had been a blonde and had now become white and yellow oftint, her broad face, reddened with paint, looking puffy under arain of little childish curls."It's Gaga," was Fauchery's simple reply, and as this name seemed toastound his cousin, he added:"You don't know Gaga? She was the delight of the early years ofLouis Philippe. Nowadays she drags her daughter about with herwherever she goes."La Faloise never once glanced at the young girl. The sight of Gagamoved him; his eyes did not leave her again. He still found hervery good looking but he dared not say so.Meanwhile the conductor lifted his violin bow and the orchestraattacked the overture. People still kept coming in; the stir andnoise were on the increase. Among that public, peculiar to firstnights and never subject to change, there were little subsectionscomposed of intimate friends, who smilingly forgathered again. Oldfirst-nighters, hat on head, seemed familiar and quite at ease andkept exchanging salutations. All Paris was there, the Paris ofliterature, of finance and of pleasure. There were manyjournalists, several authors, a number of stock-exchange people andmore courtesans than honest women. It was a singularly mixed world,composed, as it was, of all the talents and tarnished by all thevices, a world where the same fatigue and the same fever played overevery face. Fauchery, whom his cousin was questioning, showed himthe boxes devoted to the newspapers and to the clubs and then namedthe dramatic critics--a lean, dried-up individual with thin,spiteful lips and, chief of all, a big fellow with a good-naturedexpression, lolling on the shoulder of his neighbor, a young missover whom he brooded with tender and paternal eyes.But he interrupted himself on seeing La Faloise in the act of bowingto some persons who occupied the box opposite. He appearedsurprised."What?" he queried. "You know the Count Muffat de Beuville?""Oh, for a long time back," replied Hector. "The Muffats had aproperty near us. I often go to their house. The count's with hiswife and his father-in-law, the Marquis de Chouard."And with some vanity--for he was happy in his cousin's astonishment--he entered into particulars. The marquis was a councilor of state;the count had recently been appointed chamberlain to the empress.Fauchery, who had caught up his opera glass, looked at the countess,a plump brunette with a white skin and fine dark eyes."You shall present me to them between the acts," he ended by saying."I have already met the count, but I should like to go to them ontheir Tuesdays."Energetic cries of "Hush" came from the upper galleries. Theoverture had begun, but people were still coming in. Late arrivalswere obliging whole rows of spectators to rise; the doors of boxeswere banging; loud voices were heard disputing in the passages. Andthere was no cessation of the sound of many conversations, a soundsimilar to the loud twittering of talkative sparrows at close ofday. All was in confusion; the house was a medley of heads and armswhich moved to and fro, their owners seating themselves or trying tomake themselves comfortable or, on the other hand, excitedlyendeavoring to remain standing so as to take a final look round.The cry of "Sit down, sit down!" came fiercely from the obscuredepths of the pit. A shiver of expectation traversed the house: atlast people were going to make the acquaintance of this famous Nanawith whom Paris had been occupying itself for a whole week!Little by little, however, the buzz of talk dwindled softly downamong occasional fresh outbursts of rough speech. And amid thisswooning murmur, these perishing sighs of sound, the orchestrastruck up the small, lively notes of a waltz with a vagabond rhythmbubbling with roguish laughter. The public were titillated; theywere already on the grin. But the gang of clappers in the foremostrows of the pit applauded furiously. The curtain rose."By George!" exclaimed La Faloise, still talking away. "There's aman with Lucy."He was looking at the stage box on the second tier to his right, thefront of which Caroline and Lucy were occupying. At the back ofthis box were observable the worthy countenance of Caroline's motherand the side face of a tall young man with a noble head of lighthair and an irreproachable getup."Do look!" La Faloise again insisted. "There's a man there."Fauchery decided to level his opera glass at the stage box. But heturned round again directly."Oh, it's Labordette," he muttered in a careless voice, as thoughthat gentle man's presence ought to strike all the world as thoughboth natural and immaterial.Behind the cousins people shouted "Silence!" They had to ceasetalking. A motionless fit now seized the house, and great stretchesof heads, all erect and attentive, sloped away from stalls totopmost gallery. The first act of the Blonde Venus took place inOlympus, a pasteboard Olympus, with clouds in the wings and thethrone of Jupiter on the right of the stage. First of all Iris andGanymede, aided by a troupe of celestial attendants, sang a choruswhile they arranged the seats of the gods for the council. Onceagain the prearranged applause of the clappers alone burst forth;the public, a little out of their depth, sat waiting. Nevertheless,La Faloise had clapped Clarisse Besnus, one of Bordenave's littlewomen, who played Iris in a soft blue dress with a great scarf ofthe seven colors of the rainbow looped round her waist."You know, she draws up her chemise to put that on," he said toFauchery, loud enough to be heard by those around him. "We triedthe trick this morning. It was all up under her arms and round thesmall of her back."But a slight rustling movement ran through the house; Rose Mignonhad just come on the stage as Diana. Now though she had neither theface nor the figure for the part, being thin and dark and of theadorable type of ugliness peculiar to a Parisian street child, shenonetheless appeared charming and as though she were a satire on thepersonage she represented. Her song at her entrance on the stagewas full of lines quaint enough to make you cry with laughter and ofcomplaints about Mars, who was getting ready to desert her for thecompanionship of Venus. She sang it with a chaste reserve so fullof sprightly suggestiveness that the public warmed amain. Thehusband and Steiner, sitting side by side, were laughingcomplaisantly, and the whole house broke out in a roar whenPrulliere, that great favorite, appeared as a general, a masqueradeMars, decked with an enormous plume and dragging along a sword, thehilt of which reached to his shoulder. As for him, he had hadenough of Diana; she had been a great deal too coy with him, heaverred. Thereupon Diana promised to keep a sharp eye on him and tobe revenged. The duet ended with a comic yodel which Prullieredelivered very amusingly with the yell of an angry tomcat. He hadabout him all the entertaining fatuity of a young leading gentlemanwhose love affairs prosper, and he rolled around the most swaggeringglances, which excited shrill feminine laughter in the boxes.Then the public cooled again, for the ensuing scenes were foundtiresome. Old Bosc, an imbecile Jupiter with head crushed beneaththe weight of an immense crown, only just succeeded in raising asmile among his audience when he had a domestic altercation withJuno on the subject of the cook's accounts. The march past of thegods, Neptune, Pluto, Minerva and the rest, was well-nigh spoilingeverything. People grew impatient; there was a restless, slowlygrowing murmur; the audience ceased to take an interest in theperformance and looked round at the house. Lucy began laughing withLabordette; the Count de Vandeuvres was craning his neck inconversation behind Blanche's sturdy shoulders, while Fauchery, outof the corners of his eyes, took stock of the Muffats, of whom thecount appeared very serious, as though he had not understood theallusions, and the countess smiled vaguely, her eyes lost inreverie. But on a sudden, in this uncomfortable state of things,the applause of the clapping contingent rattled out with theregularity of platoon firing. People turned toward the stage. Wasit Nana at last? This Nana made one wait with a vengeance.It was a deputation of mortals whom Ganymede and Iris hadintroduced, respectable middle-class persons, deceived husbands, allof them, and they came before the master of the gods to proffer acomplaint against Venus, who was assuredly inflaming their goodladies with an excess of ardor. The chorus, in quaint, doloroustones, broken by silences full of pantomimic admissions, causedgreat amusement. A neat phrase went the round of the house: "Thecuckolds' chorus, the cuckolds' chorus," and it "caught on," forthere was an encore. The singers' heads were droll; their faces werediscovered to be in keeping with the phrase, especially that of afat man which was as round as the moon. Meanwhile Vulcan arrived ina towering rage, demanding back his wife who had slipped away threedays ago. The chorus resumed their plaint, calling on Vulcan, thegod of the cuckolds. Vulcan's part was played by Fontan, a comicactor of talent, at once vulgar and original, and he had a role ofthe wildest whimsicality and was got up as a village blacksmith,fiery red wig, bare arms tattooed with arrow-pierced hearts and allthe rest of it. A woman's voice cried in a very high key, "Oh,isn't he ugly?" and all the ladies laughed and applauded.Then followed a scene which seemed interminable. Jupiter in thecourse of it seemed never to be going to finish assembling theCouncil of Gods in order to submit thereto the deceived husband'srequests. And still no Nana! Was the management keeping Nana forthe fall of the curtain then? So long a period of expectancy hadended by annoying the public. Their murmurings began again."It's going badly," said Mignon radiantly to Steiner. "She'll get apretty reception; you'll see!"At that very moment the clouds at the back of the stage were clovenapart and Venus appeared. Exceedingly tall, exceedingly strong, forher eighteen years, Nana, in her goddess's white tunic and with herlight hair simply flowing unfastened over her shoulders, came downto the footlights with a quiet certainty of movement and a laugh ofgreeting for the public and struck up her grand ditty:"When Venus roams at eventide."From the second verse onward people looked at each other all overthe house. Was this some jest, some wager on Bordenave's part?Never had a more tuneless voice been heard or one managed with lessart. Her manager judged of her excellently; she certainly sang likea squirt. Nay, more, she didn't even know how to deport herself onthe stage: she thrust her arms in front of her while she swayed herwhole body to and fro in a manner which struck the audience asunbecoming and disagreeable. Cries of "Oh, oh!" were already risingin the pit and the cheap places. There was a sound of whistling,too, when a voice in the stalls, suggestive of a molting cockerel,cried out with great conviction:"That's very smart!"All the house looked round. It was the cherub, the truant from theboardingschool, who sat with his fine eyes very wide open and hisfair face glowing very hotly at sight of Nana. When he saweverybody turning toward him be grew extremely red at the thought ofhaving thus unconsciously spoken aloud. Daguenet, his neighbor,smilingly examined him; the public laughed, as though disarmed andno longer anxious to hiss; while the young gentlemen in whitegloves, fascinated in their turn by Nana's gracious contours, lolledback in their seats and applauded."That's it! Well done! Bravo!"Nana, in the meantime, seeing the house laughing, began to laughherself. The gaiety of all redoubled itself. She was an amusingcreature, all the same, was that fine girl! Her laughter made alove of a little dimple appear in her chin. She stood therewaiting, not bored in the least, familiar with her audience, fallinginto step with them at once, as though she herself were admittingwith a wink that she had not two farthings' worth of talent but thatit did not matter at all, that, in fact, she had other good points.And then after having made a sign to the conductor which plainlysignified, "Go ahead, old boy!" she began her second verse:"'Tis Venus who at midnight passes--"Still the same acidulated voice, only that now it tickled the publicin the right quarter so deftly that momentarily it caused them togive a little shiver of pleasure. Nana still smiled her smile: itlit up her little red mouth and shone in her great eyes, which wereof the clearest blue. When she came to certain rather lively versesa delicate sense of enjoyment made her tilt her nose, the rosynostrils of which lifted and fell, while a bright flush suffused hercheeks. She still swung herself up and down, for she only knew howto do that. And the trick was no longer voted ugly; on thecontrary, the men raised their opera glasses. When she came to theend of a verse her voice completely failed her, and she was wellaware that she never would get through with it. Thereupon, ratherthan fret herself, she kicked up her leg, which forthwith wasroundly outlined under her diaphanous tunic, bent sharply backward,so that her bosom was thrown upward and forward, and stretched herarms out. Applause burst forth on all sides. In the twinkling ofan eye she had turned on her heel and was going up the stage,presenting the nape of her neck to the spectators' gaze, a neckwhere the red-gold hair showed like some animal's fell. Then theplaudits became frantic.The close of the act was not so exciting. Vulcan wanted to slapVenus. The gods held a consultation and decided to go and hold aninquiry on earth before granting the deceived husband satisfaction.It was then that Diana surprised a tender conversation between Venusand Mars and vowed that she would not take her eyes off them duringthe whole of the voyage. There was also a scene where Love, playedby a little twelve-year-old chit, answered every question put to herwith "Yes, Mamma! No, Mamma!" in a winy-piny tone, her fingers inher nose. At last Jupiter, with the severity of a master who isgrowing cross, shut Love up in a dark closet, bidding her conjugatethe verb "I love" twenty times. The finale was more appreciated: itwas a chorus which both troupe and orchestra performed with greatbrilliancy. But the curtain once down, the clappers tried in vainto obtain a call, while the whole house was already up and makingfor the doors.The crowd trampled and jostled, jammed, as it were, between the rowsof seats, and in so doing exchanged expressions. One phrase onlywent round:"It's idiotic." A critic was saying that it would be one's duty todo a pretty bit of slashing. The piece, however, mattered verylittle, for people were talking about Nana before everything else.Fauchery and La Faloise, being among the earliest to emerge, metSteiner and Mignon in the passage outside the stalls. In thisgaslit gut of a place, which was as narrow and circumscribed as agallery in a mine, one was well-nigh suffocated. They stopped amoment at the foot of the stairs on the right of the house,protected by the final curve of the balusters. The audience fromthe cheap places were coming down the steps with a continuous trampof heavy boots; a stream of black dress coats was passing, while anattendant was making every possible effort to protect a chair, onwhich she had piled up coats and cloaks, from the onward pushing ofthe crowd."Surely I know her," cried Steiner, the moment he perceivedFauchery. "I'm certain I've seen her somewhere--at the casino, Iimagine, and she got herself taken up there--she was so drunk.""As for me," said the journalist, "I don't quite know where it was.I am like you; I certainly have come across her."He lowered his voice and asked, laughing:"At the Tricons', perhaps.""Egad, it was in a dirty place," Mignon declared. He seemedexasperated. "It's disgusting that the public give such a receptionto the first trollop that comes by. There'll soon be no more decentwomen on the stage. Yes, I shall end by forbidding Rose to play."Fauchery could not restrain a smile. Meanwhile the downward shuffleof the heavy shoes on the steps did not cease, and a little man in aworkman's cap was heard crying in a drawling voice:"Oh my, she ain't no wopper! There's some pickings there!"In the passage two young men, delicately curled and formallyresplendent in turndown collars and the rest, were disputingtogether. One of them was repeating the words, "Beastly, beastly!"without stating any reasons; the other was replying with the words,"Stunning, stunning!" as though he, too, disdained all argument.La Faloise declared her to be quite the thing; only he ventured toopine that she would be better still if she were to cultivate hervoice. Steiner, who was no longer listening, seemed to awake with astart. Whatever happens, one must wait, he thought. Perhapseverything will be spoiled in the following acts. The public hadshown complaisance, but it was certainly not yet taken by storm.Mignon swore that the piece would never finish, and when Faucheryand La Faloise left them in order to go up to the foyer he tookSteiner's arm and, leaning hard against his shoulder, whispered inhis ear:"You're going to see my wife's costume for the second act, oldfellow. It is just blackguardly."Upstairs in the foyer three glass chandeliers burned with abrilliant light. The two cousins hesitated an instant beforeentering, for the widely opened glazed doors afforded a view rightthrough the gallery--a view of a surging sea of heads, which twocurrents, as it were, kept in a continuous eddying movement. Butthey entered after all. Five or six groups of men, talking veryloudly and gesticulating, were obstinately discussing the play amidthese violent interruptions; others were filing round, their heels,as they turned, sounding sharply on the waxed floor. To right andleft, between columns of variegated imitation marble, women weresitting on benches covered with red velvet and viewing the passingmovement of the crowd with an air of fatigue as though the heat hadrendered them languid. In the lofty mirrors behind them one saw thereflection of their chignons. At the end of the room, in front ofthe bar, a man with a huge corporation was drinking a glass of fruitsyrup.But Fauchery, in order to breathe more freely, had gone to thebalcony. La Faloise, who was studying the photographs of actresseshung in frames alternating with the mirrors between the columns,ended by following him. They had extinguished the line of gas jetson the facade of the theater, and it was dark and very cool on thebalcony, which seemed to them unoccupied. Solitary and enveloped inshadow, a young man was standing, leaning his arms on the stonebalustrade, in the recess to the right. He was smoking a cigarette,of which the burning end shone redly. Fauchery recognized Daguenet.They shook hands warmly."What are you after there, my dear fellow?" asked the journalist."You're hiding yourself in holes and crannies--you, a man who neverleaves the stalls on a first night!""But I'm smoking, you see," replied Daguenet.Then Fauchery, to put him out of countenance:"Well, well! What's your opinion of the new actress? She's beingroughly handled enough in the passages.""Bah!" muttered Daguenet. "They're people whom she'll have hadnothing to do with!"That was the sum of his criticism of Nana's talent. La Faloiseleaned forward and looked down at the boulevard. Over against themthe windows of a hotel and of a club were brightly lit up, while onthe pavement below a dark mass of customers occupied the tables ofthe Cafe de Madrid. Despite the lateness of the hour the crowd werestill crushing and being crushed; people were advancing withshortened step; a throng was constantly emerging from the PassageJouffroy; individuals stood waiting five or six minutes before theycould cross the roadway, to such a distance did the string ofcarriages extend."What a moving mass! And what a noise!" La Faloise keptreiterating, for Paris still astonished him.The bell rang for some time; the foyer emptied. There was ahurrying of people in the passages. The curtain was already up whenwhole bands of spectators re-entered the house amid the irritatedexpressions of those who were once more in their places. Everyonetook his seat again with an animated look and renewed attention. LaFaloise directed his first glance in Gaga's direction, but he wasdumfounded at seeing by her side the tall fair man who but recentlyhad been in Lucy's stage box."What is that man's name?" he asked.Fauchery failed to observe him."Ah yes, it's Labordette," he said at last with the same carelessmovement. The scenery of the second act came as a surprise. Itrepresented a suburban Shrove Tuesday dance at the Boule Noire.Masqueraders were trolling a catch, the chorus of which wasaccompanied with a tapping of their heels. This 'Arryish departure,which nobody had in the least expected, caused so much amusementthat the house encored the catch. And it was to this entertainmentthat the divine band, let astray by Iris, who falsely bragged thathe knew the Earth well, were now come in order to proceed with theirinquiry. They had put on disguises so as to preserve theirincognito. Jupiter came on the stage as King Dagobert, with hisbreeches inside out and a huge tin crown on his head. Phoebusappeared as the Postillion of Lonjumeau and Minerva as a Normannursemaid. Loud bursts of merriment greeted Mars, who wore anoutrageous uniform, suggestive of an Alpine admiral. But the shoutsof laughter became uproarious when Neptune came in view, clad in ablouse, a high, bulging workman's cap on his head, lovelocks gluedto his temples. Shuffling along in slippers, he cried in a thickbrogue."Well, I'm blessed! When ye're a masher it'll never do not to let'em love yer!"There were some shouts of "Oh! Oh!" while the ladies held their fansone degree higher. Lucy in her stage box laughed so obstreperouslythat Caroline Hequet silenced her with a tap of her fan.From that moment forth the piece was saved--nay, more, promised agreat success. This carnival of the gods, this dragging in the mudof their Olympus, this mock at a whole religion, a whole world ofpoetry, appeared in the light of a royal entertainment. The feverof irreverence gained the literary first-night world: legend wastrampled underfoot; ancient images were shattered. Jupiter's make-up was capital. Mars was a success. Royalty became a farce and thearmy a thing of folly. When Jupiter, grown suddenly amorous of alittle laundress, began to knock off a mad cancan, Simonne, who wasplaying the part of the laundress, launched a kick at the master ofthe immortals' nose and addressed him so drolly as "My big daddy!"that an immoderate fit of laughter shook the whole house. Whilethey were dancing Phoebus treated Minerva to salad bowls of negus,and Neptune sat in state among seven or eight women who regaled himwith cakes. Allusions were eagerly caught; indecent meanings wereattached to them; harmless phrases were diverted from their propersignifications in the light of exclamations issuing from the stalls.For a long time past the theatrical public had not wallowed in follymore irreverent. It rested them.Nevertheless, the action of the piece advanced amid these fooleries.Vulcan, as an elegant young man clad, down to his gloves, entirelyin yellow and with an eyeglass stuck in his eye, was forever runningafter Venus, who at last made her appearance as a fishwife, akerchief on her head and her bosom, covered with big gold trinkets,in great evidence. Nana was so white and plump and looked sonatural in a part demanding wide hips and a voluptuous mouth thatshe straightway won the whole house. On her account Rose Mignon wasforgotten, though she was made up as a delicious baby, with awicker-work burlet on her head and a short muslin frock and had justsighed forth Diana's plaints in a sweetly pretty voice. The otherone, the big wench who slapped her thighs and clucked like a hen,shed round her an odor of life, a sovereign feminine charm, withwhich the public grew intoxicated. From the second act onwardeverything was permitted her. She might hold herself awkwardly; shemight fail to sing some note in tune; she might forget her words--itmattered not: she had only to turn and laugh to raise shouts ofapplause. When she gave her famous kick from the hip the stallswere fired, and a glow of passion rose upward, upward, from galleryto gallery, till it reached the gods. It was a triumph, too, whenshe led the dance. She was at home in that: hand on hip, sheenthroned Venus in the gutter by the pavement side. And the musicseemed made for her plebeian voice--shrill, piping music, withreminiscences of Saint-Cloud Fair, wheezings of clarinets andplayful trills on the part of the little flutes.Two numbers were again encored. The opening waltz, that waltz withthe naughty rhythmic beat, had returned and swept the gods with it.Juno, as a peasant woman, caught Jupiter and his little laundresscleverly and boxed his ears. Diana, surprising Venus in the act ofmaking an assignation with Mars, made haste to indicate hour andplace to Vulcan, who cried, "I've hit on a plan!" The rest of theact did not seem very clear. The inquiry ended in a final galopafter which Jupiter, breathless, streaming with perspiration andminus his crown, declared that the little women of Earth weredelicious and that the men were all to blame.The curtain was falling, when certain voices, rising above the stormof bravos, cried uproariously:"All! All!"Thereupon the curtain rose again; the artistes reappeared hand inhand. In the middle of the line Nana and Rose Mignon stood side byside, bowing and curtsying. The audience applauded; the clappersshouted acclamations. Then little by little the house emptied."I must go and pay my respects to the Countess Muffat," said LaFaloise. "Exactly so; you'll present me," replied Fauchery; "we'llgo down afterward."But it was not easy to get to the first-tier boxes. In the passageat the top of the stairs there was a crush. In order to get forwardat all among the various groups you had to make yourself small andto slide along, using your elbows in so doing. Leaning under acopper lamp, where a jet of gas was burning, the bulky critic wassitting in judgment on the piece in presence of an attentive circle.People in passing mentioned his name to each other in mutteredtones. He had laughed the whole act through--that was the rumorgoing the round of the passages--nevertheless, he was now verysevere and spoke of taste and morals. Farther off the thin-lippedcritic was brimming over with a benevolence which had an unpleasantaftertaste, as of milk turned sour.Fauchery glanced along, scrutinizing the boxes through the roundopenings in each door. But the Count de Vandeuvres stopped him witha question, and when he was informed that the two cousins were goingto pay their respects to the Muffats, he pointed out to them boxseven, from which he had just emerged. Then bending down andwhispering in the journalist's ear:"Tell me, my dear fellow," he said, "this Nana--surely she's thegirl we saw one evening at the corner of the Rue de Provence?""By Jove, you're right!" cried Fauchery. "I was saying that I hadcome across her!"La Faloise presented his cousin to Count Muffat de Beuville, whoappeared very frigid. But on hearing the name Fauchery the countessraised her head and with a certain reserve complimented theparagraphist on his articles in the Figaro. Leaning on the velvet-covered support in front of her, she turned half round with a prettymovement of the shoulders. They talked for a short time, and theUniversal Exhibition was mentioned."It will be very fine," said the count, whose square-cut, regular-featured face retained a certain gravity."I visited the Champ de Mars today and returned thence trulyastonished.""They say that things won't be ready in time," La Faloise venturedto remark. "There's infinite confusion there--"But the count interrupted him in his severe voice:"Things will be ready. The emperor desires it."Fauchery gaily recounted how one day, when he had gone down thitherin search of a subject for an article, he had come near spending allhis time in the aquarium, which was then in course of construction.The countess smiled. Now and again she glanced down at the body ofthe house, raising an arm which a white glove covered to the elbowand fanning herself with languid hand. The house dozed, almostdeserted. Some gentlemen in the stalls had opened out newspapers,and ladies received visits quite comfortably, as though they were attheir own homes. Only a well-bred whispering was audible under thegreat chandelier, the light of which was softened in the fine cloudof dust raised by the confused movements of the interval. At thedifferent entrances men were crowding in order to talk to ladies whoremained seated. They stood there motionless for a few seconds,craning forward somewhat and displaying the great white bosoms oftheir shirt fronts."We count on you next Tuesday," said the countess to La Faloise, andshe invited Fauchery, who bowed.Not a word was said of the play; Nana's name was not once mentioned.The count was so glacially dignified that he might have beensupposed to be taking part at a sitting of the legislature. Inorder to explain their presence that evening he remarked simply thathis father-in-law was fond of the theater. The door of the box musthave remained open, for the Marquis de Chouard, who had gone out inorder to leave his seat to the visitors, was back again. He wasstraightening up his tall, old figure. His face looked soft andwhite under a broad-brimmed hat, and with his restless eyes hefollowed the movements of the women who passed.The moment the countess had given her invitation Fauchery took hisleave, feeling that to talk about the play would not be quite thething. La Faloise was the last to quit the box. He had justnoticed the fair-haired Labordette, comfortably installed in theCount de Vandeuvres's stage box and chatting at very close quarterswith Blanche de Sivry."Gad," he said after rejoining his cousin, "that Labordette knowsall the girls then! He's with Blanche now.""Doubtless he knows them all," replied Fauchery quietly. "Whatd'you want to be taken for, my friend?"The passage was somewhat cleared of people, and Fauchery was justabout to go downstairs when Lucy Stewart called him. She was quiteat the other end of the corridor, at the door of her stage box.They were getting cooked in there, she said, and she took up thewhole corridor in company with Caroline Hequet and her mother, allthree nibbling burnt almonds. A box opener was chatting maternallywith them. Lucy fell out with the journalist. He was a prettyfellow; to be sure! He went up to see other women and didn't evencome and ask if they were thirsty! Then, changing the subject:"You know, dear boy, I think Nana very nice."She wanted him to stay in the stage box for the last act, but hemade his escape, promising to catch them at the door afterward.Downstairs in front of the theater Fauchery and La Faloise litcigarettes. A great gathering blocked the sidewalk, a stream of menwho had come down from the theater steps and were inhaling the freshnight air in the boulevards, where the roar and battle haddiminished.Meanwhile Mignon had drawn Steiner away to the Cafe des Varietes.Seeing Nana's success, he had set to work to talk enthusiasticallyabout her, all the while observing the banker out of the corners ofhis eyes. He knew him well; twice he had helped him to deceive Roseand then, the caprice being over, had brought him back to her,faithful and repentant. In the cafe the too numerous crowd ofcustomers were squeezing themselves round the marble-topped tables.Several were standing up, drinking in a great hurry. The tallmirrors reflected this thronging world of heads to infinity andmagnified the narrow room beyond measure with its three chandeliers,its moleskin-covered seats and its winding staircase draped withred. Steiner went and seated himself at a table in the firstsaloon, which opened full on the boulevard, its doors having beenremoved rather early for the time of year. As Fauchery and LaFaloise were passing the banker stopped them."Come and take a bock with us, eh?" they said.But he was too preoccupied by an idea; he wanted to have a bouquetthrown to Nana. At last he called a waiter belonging to the cafe,whom he familiarly addressed as Auguste. Mignon, who was listening,looked at him so sharply that he lost countenance and stammered out:"Two bouquets, Auguste, and deliver them to the attendant. Abouquet for each of these ladies! Happy thought, eh?"At the other end of the saloon, her shoulders resting against theframe of a mirror, a girl, some eighteen years of age at theoutside, was leaning motionless in front of her empty glass asthough she had been benumbed by long and fruitless waiting. Underthe natural curls of her beautiful gray-gold hair a virginal facelooked out at you with velvety eyes, which were at once soft andcandid.She wore a dress of faded green silk and a round hat which blows haddinted. The cool air of the night made her look very pale."Egad, there's Satin," murmured Fauchery when his eye lit upon her.La Faloise questioned him. Oh dear, yes, she was a streetwalker--she didn't count. But she was such a scandalous sort that peopleamused themselves by making her talk. And the journalist, raisinghis voice:"What are you doing there, Satin?""I'm bogging," replied Satin quietly without changing position.The four men were charmed and fell a-laughing. Mignon assured themthat there was no need to hurry; it would take twenty minutes to setup the scenery for the third act. But the two cousins, having drunktheir beer, wanted to go up into the theater again; the cold wasmaking itself felt. Then Mignon remained alone with Steiner, puthis elbows on the table and spoke to him at close quarters."It's an understood thing, eh? We are to go to her house, and I'mto introduce you. You know the thing's quite between ourselves--mywife needn't know."Once more in their places, Fauchery and La Faloise noticed a pretty,quietly dressed woman in the second tier of boxes. She was with aserious-looking gentleman, a chief clerk at the office of theMinistry of the Interior, whom La Faloise knew, having met him atthe Muffats'. As to Fauchery, he was under the impression that hername was Madame Robert, a lady of honorable repute who had a lover,only one, and that always a person of respectability.But they had to turn round, for Daguenet was smiling at them. Nowthat Nana had had a success he no longer hid himself: indeed, he hadjust been scoring triumphs in the passages. By his side was theyoung truant schoolboy, who had not quitted his seat, so stupefyingwas the state of admiration into which Nana had plunged him. Thatwas it, he thought; that was the woman! And he blushed as hethought so and dragged his gloves on and off mechanically. Thensince his neighbor had spoken of Nana, he ventured to question him."Will you pardon me for asking you, sir, but that lady who isacting--do you know her?""Yes, I do a little," murmured Daguenet with some surprise andhesitation."Then you know her address?"The question, addressed as it was to him, came so abruptly that hefelt inclined to respond with a box on the ear."No," he said in a dry tone of voice.And with that he turned his back. The fair lad knew that he hadjust been guilty of some breach of good manners. He blushed morehotly than ever and looked scared.The traditional three knocks were given, and among the returningthrong, attendants, laden with pelisses and overcoats, bustled aboutat a great rate in order to put away people's things. The clappersapplauded the scenery, which represented a grotto on Mount Etna,hollowed out in a silver mine and with sides glittering like newmoney. In the background Vulcan's forge glowed like a setting star.Diana, since the second act, had come to a good understanding withthe god, who was to pretend that he was on a journey, so as to leavethe way clear for Venus and Mars. Then scarcely was Diana alonethan Venus made her appearance. A shiver of delight ran round thehouse. Nana was nude. With quiet audacity she appeared in hernakedness, certain of the sovereign power of her flesh. Some gauzeenveloped her, but her rounded shoulders, her Amazonian bosom, herwide hips, which swayed to and fro voluptuously, her whole body, infact, could be divined, nay discerned, in all its foamlike whitenessof tint beneath the slight fabric she wore. It was Venus risingfrom the waves with no veil save her tresses. And when Nana liftedher arms the golden hairs in her armpits were observable in theglare of the footlights. There was no applause. Nobody laughed anymore. The men strained forward with serious faces, sharp features,mouths irritated and parched. A wind seemed to have passed, a soft,soft wind, laden with a secret menace. Suddenly in the bouncingchild the woman stood discovered, a woman full of restlesssuggestion, who brought with her the delirium of sex and opened thegates of the unknown world of desire. Nana was smiling still, buther smile was now bitter, as of a devourer of men."By God," said Fauchery quite simply to La Faloise.Mars in the meantime, with his plume of feathers, came hurrying tothe trysting place and found himself between the two goddesses.Then ensued a passage which Prulliere played with great delicacy.Petted by Diana, who wanted to make a final attack upon his feelingsbefore delivering him up to Vulcan, wheedled by Venus, whom thepresence of her rival excited, he gave himself up to these tenderdelights with the beatified expression of a man in clover. Finallya grand trio brought the scene to a close, and it was then that anattendant appeared in Lucy Stewart's box and threw on the stage twoimmense bouquets of white lilacs. There was applause; Nana and RoseMignon bowed, while Prulliere picked up the bouquets. Many of theoccupants of the stalls turned smilingly toward the ground-flooroccupied by Steiner and Mignon. The banker, his face blood-red, wassuffering from little convulsive twitchings of the chin, as thoughhe had a stoppage in his throat.What followed took the house by storm completely. Diana had goneoff in a rage, and directly afterward, Venus, sitting on a moss-cladseat, called Mars to her. Never yet had a more glowing scene ofseduction been ventured on. Nana, her arms round Prulliere's neck,was drawing him toward her when Fontan, with comically furiousmimicry and an exaggerated imitation of the face of an outragedhusband who surprises his wife in flagrante delicto, appeared at theback of the grotto. He was holding the famous net with iron meshes.For an instant he poised and swung it, as a fisherman does when heis going to make a cast, and by an ingenious twist Venus and Marswere caught in the snare; the net wrapped itself round them and heldthem motionless in the attitude of happy lovers.A murmur of applause swelled and swelled like a growing sigh. Therewas some hand clapping, and every opera glass was fixed on Venus.Little by little Nana had taken possession of the public, and nowevery man was her slave.A wave of lust had flowed from her as from an excited animal, andits influence had spread and spread and spread till the whole housewas possessed by it. At that moment her slightest movement blew theflame of desire: with her little finger she ruled men's flesh.Backs were arched and quivered as though unseen violin bows had beendrawn across their muscles; upon men's shoulders appeared fugitivehairs, which flew in air, blown by warm and wandering breaths,breathed one knew not from what feminine mouth. In front of himFauchery saw the truant schoolboy half lifted from his seat bypassion. Curiosity led him to look at the Count de Vandeuvres--hewas extremely pale, and his lips looked pinched--at fat Steiner,whose face was purple to the verge of apoplexy; at Labordette,ogling away with the highly astonished air of a horse dealeradmiring a perfectly shaped mare; at Daguenet, whose ears wereblood-red and twitching with enjoyment. Then a sudden idea made himglance behind, and he marveled at what he saw in the Muffats' box.Behind the countess, who was white and serious as usual, the countwas sitting straight upright, with mouth agape and face mottled withred, while close by him, in the shadow, the restless eyes of theMarquis de Chouard had become catlike phosphorescent, full of goldensparkles. The house was suffocating; people's very hair grew heavyon their perspiring heads. For three hours back the breath of themultitude had filled and heated the atmosphere with a scent ofcrowded humanity. Under the swaying glare of the gas the dustclouds in mid-air had grown constantly denser as they hungmotionless beneath the chandelier. The whole house seemed to beoscillating, to be lapsing toward dizziness in its fatigue andexcitement, full, as it was, of those drowsy midnight desires whichflutter in the recesses of the bed of passion. And Nana, in frontof this languorous public, these fifteen hundred human beingsthronged and smothered in the exhaustion and nervous exasperationwhich belong to the close of a spectacle, Nana still triumphed byright of her marble flesh and that sexual nature of hers, which wasstrong enough to destroy the whole crowd of her adorers and yetsustain no injury.The piece drew to a close. In answer to Vulcan's triumphant summonsall the Olympians defiled before the lovers with ohs and ahs ofstupefaction and gaiety. Jupiter said, "I think it is light conducton your part, my son, to summon us to see such a sight as this."Then a reaction took place in favor of Venus. The chorus ofcuckolds was again ushered in by Iris and besought the master of thegods not to give effect to its petition, for since women had livedat home, domestic life was becoming impossible for the men: thelatter preferred being deceived and happy. That was the moral ofthe play. Then Venus was set at liberty, and Vulcan obtained apartial divorce from her. Mars was reconciled with Diana, and Jove,for the sake of domestic peace, packed his little laundress off intoa constellation. And finally they extricated Love from his blackhole, where instead of conjugating the verb amo he had been busy inthe manufacture of "dollies." The curtain fell on an apotheosis,wherein the cuckolds' chorus knelt and sang a hymn of gratitude toVenus, who stood there with smiling lips, her stature enhanced byher sovereign nudity.The audience, already on their feet, were making for the exits. Theauthors were mentioned, and amid a thunder of applause there weretwo calls before the curtain. The shout of "Nana! Nana!" rangwildly forth. Then no sooner was the house empty than it grew dark:the footlights went out; the chandelier was turned down; long stripsof gray canvas slipped from the stage boxes and swathed the giltornamentation of the galleries, and the house, lately so full ofheat and noise, lapsed suddenly into a heavy sleep, while a musty,dusty odor began to pervade it. In the front of her box stood theCountess Muffat. Very erect and closely wrapped up in her furs, shestared at the gathering shadows and waited for the crowd to passaway.In the passages the people were jostling the attendants, who hardlyknew what to do among the tumbled heaps of outdoor raiment.Fauchery and La Faloise had hurried in order to see the crowd passout. All along the entrance hall men formed a living hedge, whiledown the double staircase came slowly and in regular, completeformation two interminable throngs of human beings. Steiner, in towof Mignon, had left the house among the foremost. The Count deVandeuvres took his departure with Blanche de Sivry on his arm. Fora moment or two Gaga and her daughter seemed doubtful how toproceed, but Labordette made haste to go and fetch them aconveyance, the door whereof he gallantly shut after them. Nobodysaw Daguenet go by. As the truant schoolboy, registering a mentalvow to wait at the stage door, was running with burning cheekstoward the Passage des Panoramas, of which he found the gate closed,Satin, standing on the edge of the pavement, moved forward andbrushed him with her skirts, but he in his despair gave her a savagerefusal and vanished amid the crowd, tears of impotent desire in hiseyes. Members of the audience were lighting their cigars andwalking off, humming:When Venus roams at eventide.Satin had gone back in front of the Cafe des Varietes, where Augustelet her eat the sugar that remained over from the customers' orders.A stout man, who came out in a very heated condition, finallycarried her off in the shadow of the boulevard, which was nowgradually going to sleep.Still people kept coming downstairs. La Faloise was waiting forClarisse; Fauchery had promised to catch up Lucy Stewart withCaroline Hequet and her mother. They came; they took up a wholecorner of the entrance hall and were laughing very loudly when theMuffats passed by them with an icy expression. Bordenave had justthen opened a little door and, peeping out, had obtained fromFauchery the formal promise of an article. He was dripping withperspiration, his face blazed, as though he were drunk with success."You're good for two hundred nights," La Faloise said to him withcivility. "The whole of Paris will visit your theater."But Bordenave grew annoyed and, indicating with a jerk of his chinthe public who filled the entrance hall--a herd of men with parchedlips and ardent eyes, still burning with the enjoyment of Nana--hecried out violently:"Say 'my brothel,' you obstinate devil!"