Nana | Page 3

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****The Project Gutenberg Etext of several works by Emile Zola****
Nana, Miller's Daughter, Captain Burle, Death of Olivier Bacailler

This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, Toronto, Canada.

CONTENTS

NANA
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER
CAPTAIN BURLE
THE DEATH OF OLIVIER BACAILLE

NANA
by
Emile Zola


CHAPTER I
At nine o'clock in the evening the body of the house at the Theatres des
Varietes was still all but empty. A few individuals, it is true, were
sitting quietly waiting in the balcony and stalls, but these were lost, as
it were, among the ranges of seats whose coverings of cardinal velvet
loomed in the subdued light of the dimly burning luster. A shadow
enveloped the great red splash of the curtain, and not a sound came
from the stage, the unlit footlights, the scattered desks of the orchestra.
It was only high overhead in the third gallery, round the domed ceiling
where nude females and children flew in heavens which had turned
green in the gaslight, that calls and laughter were audible above a
continuous hubbub of voices, and heads in women's and workmen's
caps were ranged, row above row, under the wide-vaulted bays with
their gilt- surrounding adornments. Every few seconds an attendant
would make her appearance, bustling along with tickets in her hand and
piloting in front of her a gentleman and a lady, who took their seats, he
in his evening dress, she sitting slim and undulant beside him while her
eyes wandered slowly round the house.
Two young men appeared in the stalls; they kept standing and looked
about them.
"Didn't I say so, Hector?" cried the elder of the two, a tall fellow with
little black mustaches. "We're too early! You might quite well have
allowed me to finish my cigar."

An attendant was passing.
"Oh, Monsieur Fauchery," she said familiarly, "it won't begin for half
an hour yet!"
"Then why do they advertise for nine o'clock?" muttered Hector, whose
long thin face assumed an expression of vexation. "Only this morning
Clarisse, who's in the piece, swore that they'd begin at nine o'clock
punctually."
For a moment they remained silent and, looking upward, scanned the
shadowy boxes. But the green paper with which these were hung
rendered them more shadowy still. Down below, under the dress circle,
the lower boxes were buried in utter night. In those on the second tier
there was only one stout lady, who was stranded, as it were, on the
velvet-covered balustrade in front of her. On the right hand and on the
left, between lofty pilasters, the stage boxes, bedraped with
long-fringed scalloped hangings, remained untenanted. The house with
its white and gold, relieved by soft green tones, lay only half disclosed
to view, as though full of a fine dust shed from the little jets of flame in
the great glass luster.
"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 first night
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 and has kept this for
the exhibition season." Hector was religiously attentive. He asked a