Four Short Stories By Emile Zola. Emile Zola

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СКАЧАТЬ on its chair, was letting his neighbors, Lucy and Rose, wait on him as though he were a sultan. They were entirely taken up with him, and they helped him and pampered him and watched over his glass and his plate, and yet that did not prevent his complaining.

      “Who’s going to cut up my meat for me? I can’t; the table’s a league away.”

      Every few seconds Simonne rose and took up a position behind his back in order to cut his meat and his bread. All the women took a great interest in the things he ate. The waiters were recalled, and he was stuffed to suffocation. Simonne having wiped his mouth for him while Rose and Lucy were changing his plate, her act struck him as very pretty and, deigning at length to show contentment:

      “There, there, my daughter,” he said, “that’s as it should be. Women are made for that!”

      There was a slight reawakening, and conversation became general as they finished discussing some orange sherbet. The hot roast was a fillet with truffles, and the cold roast a galantine of guinea fowl in jelly. Nana, annoyed by the want of go displayed by her guests, had begun talking with the greatest distinctness.

      “You know the Prince of Scots has already had a stage box reserved so as to see the Blonde Venus when he comes to visit the exhibition.”

      “I very much hope that all the princes will come and see it,” declared Bordenave with his mouth full.

      “They are expecting the shah of Persia next Sunday,” said Lucy Stewart. Whereupon Rose Mignon spoke of the shah’s diamonds. He wore a tunic entirely covered with gems; it was a marvel, a flaming star; it represented millions. And the ladies, with pale faces and eyes glittering with covetousness, craned forward and ran over the names of the other kings, the other emperors, who were shortly expected. All of them were dreaming of some royal caprice, some night to be paid for by a fortune.

      “Now tell me, dear boy,” Caroline Hequet asked Vandeuvres, leaning forward as she did so, “how old’s the emperor of Russia?”

      “Oh, he’s ‘present time,’” replied the count, laughing. “Nothing to be done in that quarter, I warn you.”

      Nana made pretense of being hurt. The witticism appeared somewhat too stinging, and there was a murmur of protest. But Blanche gave a description of the king of Italy, whom she had once seen at Milan. He was scarcely good looking, and yet that did not prevent him enjoying all the women. She was put out somewhat when Fauchery assured her that Victor Emmanuel could not come to the exhibition. Louise Violaine and Lea favored the emperor of Austria, and all of a sudden little Maria Blond was heard saying:

      “What an old stick the king of Prussia is! I was at Baden last year, and one was always meeting him about with Count Bismarck.”

      “Dear me, Bismarck!” Simonne interrupted. “I knew him once, I did. A charming man.”

      “That’s what I was saying yesterday,” cried Vandeuvres, “but nobody would believe me.”

      And just as at Countess Sabine’s, there ensued a long discussion about Bismarck. Vandeuvres repeated the same phrases, and for a moment or two one was again in the Muffats’ drawing room, the only difference being that the ladies were changed. Then, just as last night, they passed on to a discussion on music, after which, Foucarmont having let slip some mention of the assumption of the veil of which Paris was still talking, Nana grew quite interested and insisted on details about Mlle de Fougeray. Oh, the poor child, fancy her burying herself alive like that! Ah well, when it was a question of vocation! All round the table the women expressed themselves much touched, and Georges, wearied at hearing these things a second time discussed, was beginning to ask Daguenet about Nana’s ways in private life, when the conversation veered fatefully back to Count Bismarck. Tatan Nene bent toward Labordette to ask him privily who this Bismarck might be, for she did not know him. Whereupon Labordette, in cold blood, told her some portentous anecdotes. This Bismarck, he said, was in the habit of eating raw meat and when he met a woman near his den would carry her off thither on his back; at forty years of age he had already had as many as thirty-two children that way.

      “Thirty-two children at forty!” cried Tatan Nene, stupefied and yet convinced. “He must be jolly well worn out for his age.”

      There was a burst of merriment, and it dawned on her that she was being made game of.

      “You sillies! How am I to know if you’re joking?”

      Gaga, meanwhile, had stopped at the exhibition. Like all these ladies, she was delightedly preparing for the fray. A good season, provincials and foreigners rushing into Paris! In the long run, perhaps, after the close of the exhibition she would, if her business had flourished, be able to retire to a little house at Jouvisy, which she had long had her eye on.

      “What’s to be done?” she said to La Faloise. “One never gets what one wants! Oh, if only one were still really loved!”

      Gaga behaved meltingly because she had felt the young man’s knee gently placed against her own. He was blushing hotly and lisping as elegantly as ever. She weighed him at a glance. Not a very heavy little gentleman, to be sure, but then she wasn’t hard to please. La Faloise obtained her address.

      “Just look there,” murmured Vandeuvres to Clarisse. “I think Gaga’s doing you out of your Hector.”

      “A good riddance, so far as I’m concerned,” replied the actress. “That fellow’s an idiot. I’ve already chucked him downstairs three times. You know, I’m disgusted when dirty little boys run after old women.”

      She broke off and with a little gesture indicated Blanche, who from the commencement of dinner had remained in a most uncomfortable attitude, sitting up very markedly, with the intention of displaying her shoulders to the old distinguished-looking gentleman three seats beyond her.

      “You’re being left too,” she resumed.

      Vandeuvres smiled his thin smile and made a little movement to signify he did not care. Assuredly ‘twas not he who would ever have prevented poor, dear Blanche scoring a success. He was more interested by the spectacle which Steiner was presenting to the table at large. The banker was noted for his sudden flames. That terrible German Jew who brewed money, whose hands forged millions, was wont to turn imbecile whenever he became enamored of a woman. He wanted them all too! Not one could make her appearance on the stage but he bought her, however expensive she might be. Vast sums were quoted. Twice had his furious appetite for courtesans ruined him. The courtesans, as Vandeuvres used to say, avenged public morality by emptying his moneybags. A big operation in the saltworks of the Landes had rendered him powerful on ‘change, and so for six weeks past the Mignons had been getting a pretty slice out of those same saltworks. But people were beginning to lay wagers that the Mignons would not finish their slice, for Nana was showing her white teeth. Once again Steiner was in the toils, and so deeply this time that as he sat by Nana’s side he seemed stunned; he ate without appetite; his lip hung down; his face was mottled. She had only to name a figure. Nevertheless, she did not hurry but continued playing with him, breathing her merry laughter into his hairy ear and enjoying the little convulsive movements which kept traversing his heavy face. There would always be time enough to patch all that up if that ninny of a Count Muffat were really to treat her as Joseph did Potiphar’s wife.

      “Leoville or Chambertin?” murmured a waiter, who came craning forward between Nana and Steiner just as the latter was addressing her in a low voice.

      “Eh, what?” he stammered, losing his head. “Whatever you like – I don’t care.”

      Vandeuvres gently nudged Lucy Stewart, who had a very spiteful tongue and a very fierce invention when once СКАЧАТЬ