Nana | Page 8

stock-exchange people and more courtesans than honest women. It was
a singularly mixed world, composed, as it was, of all the talents and
tarnished by all the vices, a world where the same fatigue and the same
fever played over every face. Fauchery, whom his cousin was
questioning, showed him the boxes devoted to the newspapers and to
the clubs and then named the dramatic critics--a lean, dried-up
individual with thin, spiteful lips and, chief of all, a big fellow with a
good-natured expression, lolling on the shoulder of his neighbor, a
young miss over whom he brooded with tender and paternal eyes.
But he interrupted himself on seeing La Faloise in the act of bowing to
some persons who occupied the box opposite. He appeared surprised.
"What?" he queried. "You know the Count Muffat de Beuville?"
"Oh, for a long time back," replied Hector. "The Muffats had a property
near us. I often go to their house. The count's with his wife 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 on their
Tuesdays."
Energetic cries of "Hush" came from the upper galleries. The overture
had begun, but people were still coming in. Late arrivals were obliging
whole rows of spectators to rise; the doors of boxes were banging; loud

voices were heard disputing in the passages. And there was no
cessation of the sound of many conversations, a sound similar to the
loud twittering of talkative sparrows at close of day. All was in
confusion; the house was a medley of heads and arms which moved to
and fro, their owners seating themselves or trying to make themselves
comfortable or, on the other hand, excitedly endeavoring to remain
standing so as to take a final look round. The cry of "Sit down, sit
down!" came fiercely from the obscure depths of the pit. A shiver of
expectation traversed the house: at last people were going to make the
acquaintance of this famous Nana with whom Paris had been
occupying itself for a whole week!
Little by little, however, the buzz of talk dwindled softly down among
occasional fresh outbursts of rough speech. And amid this swooning
murmur, these perishing sighs of sound, the orchestra struck up the
small, lively notes of a waltz with a vagabond rhythm bubbling with
roguish laughter. The public were titillated; they were already on the
grin. But the gang of clappers in the foremost rows of the pit applauded
furiously. The curtain rose.
"By George!" exclaimed La Faloise, still talking away. "There's a man
with Lucy."
He was looking at the stage box on the second tier to his right, the front
of which Caroline and Lucy were occupying. At the back of this box
were observable the worthy countenance of Caroline's mother and the
side face of a tall young man with a noble head of light hair 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 he
turned round again directly.
"Oh, it's Labordette," he muttered in a careless voice, as though that
gentle man's presence ought to strike all the world as though both
natural and immaterial.

Behind the cousins people shouted "Silence!" They had to cease talking.
A motionless fit now seized the house, and great stretches of heads, all
erect and attentive, sloped away from stalls to topmost gallery. The first
act of the Blonde Venus took place in Olympus, a pasteboard Olympus,
with clouds in the wings and the throne of Jupiter on the right of the
stage. First of all Iris and Ganymede, aided by a troupe of celestial
attendants, sang a chorus while they arranged the seats of the gods for
the council. Once again 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 little women, who played Iris in a soft blue dress with a
great scarf of the seven colors of the rainbow looped round her waist.
"You know, she draws up her chemise to put that on," he said to
Fauchery, loud enough to be heard by those around him. "We tried the
trick this morning. It was all up under her arms and round the small