THE COMPLETE ROUGON-MACQUART SERIES (All 20 Books in One Edition). Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ fell in an endless lullaby, he explained. The Mignon and Charrier couple had drawn nearer and were listening attentively.

      “You know the subject, don’t you? The beauteous Narcissus, son of the River Cephisus and of the Nymph Liriope, scorns the love of the Nymph Echo…. Echo was an attendant of Juno, whom she amused with her speeches while Jupiter was roving about the world…. Echo, daughter of the Air and the Earth, as you know….”

      And he went into transports over the poetry of mythology. Then, more confidentially:

      “I thought I might give rein to my imagination…. The Nymph Echo leads the beauteous Narcisse to Venus in a grotto on the seashore, so that the goddess may inflame him with her fire. But the goddess is powerless. The young man indicates by his attitude that he is not touched.”

      The explanation was not out of place, for few of the spectators in the drawingroom understood the exact meaning of the groups. When the préfet had named the characters in an undertone the admiration increased. The Mignon and Charrier couple continued to stare with wide-open eyes. They had not understood.

      On the platform, between the red velvet curtains, yawned a grotto. The scenery was made of silk stretched in large broken plaits, imitating the anfractuosity of rocks, upon which were painted shells, fishes and large sea-plants. The stage, broken up, rose in the shape of a hillock, and was covered with the same silk, upon which the scene-painter had depicted a fine sand ground, constellated with pearls and silver spangles. It was a retreat fit for a goddess. There on the top of the hillock, stood Mme. de Lauwerens as Venus; rather stout, wearing her pink tights with the dignity of an Olympian duchess, she interpreted her part of the Queen of Love with large, severe, devouring eyes. Behind her, showing only her mischievous head, her wings and her quiver, little Mme. Daste lent her smile to the amiable character of Cupid. Then on one side of the hillock, the three Graces, Mmes. de Guende, Teissière and de Meinhold, all in muslin, stood smiling and intertwined as in Pradier’s group; while on the other side, the Marquise d’Espanet and Mme. Haffner, enveloped in the same flow of lace, their arms round each other’s waists, their hair intermingled, gave a risky note to the picture, a reminiscence of Lesbos, which M. Hupel de la Noue explained in a lower voice, for the benefit of the men only, saying that he intended by this to show the extent of Venus’s power. At the foot of the hillock, the Countess Vanska impersonated Voluptuousness; she lay outstretched, twisted by a final spasm, her eyes half closed and languishing, as though satiated; very dark, she had unloosened her black hair, and her bodice, streaked with tawny flames, showed portions of her glowing skin. The scale of colour of the costumes, from the snowy white of Venus’s veil to the dark-red of Voluptuousness’ bodice, was soft, generally pink, flesh-coloured. And under the electric ray, ingeniously cast upon the stage from one of the garden windows, the gauze, the lace, all those light, diaphanous materials mingled so well with the shoulders and tights that those pink whitenesses seemed alive, and one was no longer certain that the ladies had not carried the plastic truth so far as to strip themselves quite naked.

      All this was but the apotheosis; the play was enacted in the foreground. On the left Renée, as Echo, stretched out her arms towards the tall goddess, her head half turned towards Narcissus, pleadingly, as though to invite him to look at Venus, the mere sight of whom kindles such irresistible fires; but Narcissus, on the right, made a gesture of refusal, hid his eyes with his hand, remained cold as ice. The costumes of these two characters in particular had cost M. Hupel de la Noue’s imagination infinite trouble. Narcissus, as a wandering demigod of the forests, wore an ideal huntsman’s dress: green tights, a short, clinging jacket, a leafy twig of oak in his hair. The dress of Echo was quite an allegory in itself; it suggested tall trees and lofty mountains, the resounding spots where the voices of the Earth and the Air reply to each other; it was rock in the white satin of the skirt, thicket in the leaves of the girdle, clear sky in the cloud of blue gauze of the bodice. And the groups retained a statuesque immobility, the fleshly note of Olympus sang in the effulgence of the broad ray of light, while the piano continued its penetrating complaint of love, interspersed with deep sighs.

      It was generally conceded that Maxime was beautifully made. In making his gesture of refusal, he accentuated his left hip, which was much noticed. But all the praise was for Renée’s expression of feature. In M. Hupel de la Noue’s phrase, she typified “the pangs of unsatisfied desire.” She wore a bitter smile that tried to look humble, she sought her prey with the entreaties of a she-wolf who but half hides her teeth. The first tableau went off well, but for that madcap of an Adeline, who moved and who scarcely repressed an irresistible desire to laugh. At last the curtains were closed, the piano ceased.

      Then the audience applauded discreetly, and the conversations were resumed. A great breath of love, of restrained desire, had come from the nudities on the stage, and hovered through the drawingroom, where the women leaned more languidly in their seats, while the men spoke low in each other’s ears, with smiles. There was whispering as in an alcove, a well-bred semi-silence, a longing for voluptuousness barely formulated by a trembling of lips; and in the mute looks exchanged amid this decorous rapture there was the frank boldness of delights offered and accepted with a glance.

      Endless judgments were passed on the ladies’ good points. Their costumes assumed an importance almost equal to that of their shoulders. When the Mignon and Charrier couple turned to question M. Hupel de la Noue, they were quite surprised to find him no longer beside them; he had already dived behind the platform.

      “As I was telling you, my beautiful pet,” said Madame Sidonie, resuming a conversation interrupted by the first tableau, “I have received a letter from London, about that business of the three milliards, you know…. The person I employed to make enquiries writes that he thinks he has found the banker’s receipt. England must have paid…. It has made me ill all day.”

      She was in fact yellower than usual, in her sorceress’s robe sprinkled with stars. And as Madame Michelin did not listen to her, she continued in a lower voice, muttering that it was impossible that England had paid, and that she should certainly go to London herself.

      “Narcissus’ dress is very pretty, is it not?” asked Louise of Madame Michelin.

      The latter smiled. She looked at the Baron Gouraud, who seemed quite cheerful again in his armchair. Madame Sidonie, observing the direction of her glance, leant over, whispered in her ear, so that the child might not hear:

      “Has he settled up?”

      “Yes,” replied the young woman, languishing, playing her alme part delightfully. “I have chosen the house at Louveciennes, and I have received the title-deeds from his man of business…. But we have broken off, I no longer see him.”

      Louise was particularly sharp at catching what she was not intended to hear. She looked at the Baron Gouraud with a page’s boldness, and said quietly to Madame Michelin:

      “Don’t you think the baron looks hideous?”

      Then she added, with a burst of laughter:

      “I say! they ought to have made him play Narcissus. He would have been delicious in apple-green tights.”

      The sight of Venus, of this voluptuous corner of Olympus, had in fact revived the old senator. He rolled delighted eyes, turned half round to compliment Saccard. Amidst the buzz that filled the drawingroom, the group of serious men continued to talk business and politics. M. Haffner said he had just been appointed chairman of a jury charged with settling questions of indemnities. Then the conversation turned upon the works of Paris, upon the Boulevard du Prince-Eugène, which was beginning to be discussed seriously in public. Saccard seized the opportunity to speak of somebody he knew, a landlord who would no doubt be expropriated. And he looked the gentleman straight in the face. The baron slowly wagged his head; M. Toutin-Laroche went so far as to declare that there was nothing СКАЧАТЬ