Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [147]
At the back of the box in which she was seated, Nana, wrapped in a large shawl, was listening to the piece and devouring Rose with her eyes. She turned to Labordette and asked him in a low voice,
“You’re sure he’s coming?”
“Quite sure. No doubt he will come with Mignon, as a pretext. As soon as he arrives you must go up into Mathilde’s dressing-room, and I will bring him there to you.”
They were talking to Count Muffat. It was an interview on neutral ground, arranged by Labordette. He had had a serious talk with Bordenave, whom two successive failures had brought to a very low ebb. And Bordenave had hastened to lend his theatre and offer a part to Nana, wishing to get on good terms with the count, with the view of borrowing some money of him.
“And the part of Géraldine, what do you think of it?” resumed Labordette.
But Nana neither answered nor moved. After the first act, in which the author made the Duke de Beaurivage deceive his wife with the fair Géraldine, an operatic star, came the second act, where the Duchess Hélène went to the actress’s on the night of a masked ball, to learn by what magic power such creatures conquered and retained the husbands of better women. It was a cousin, the handsome Oscar de Saint-Firmin, who introduced her there, hoping to seduce her. And, to her great surprise, as a first lesson she heard Géraldine abusing the duke in the language of a navvie, whilst the latter seemed to be delighted; this sight drew from her the cry, “Ah, well! if that’s the way the men must be spoken to!” This was about the only scene Géraldine had in the act. As for the duchess, she was soon punished for her curiousity. An old beau, the Baron de Tardiveau, took her for one of the gay women and attacked her vigorously, whilst, on the other side, Beaurivage made it up with Géraldine, who was reclining in an easy chair, and kissed her. As the part of the latter was not filled up, old Cossard had risen to read it, and he accentuated certain passages in spite of himself, and acted in Bosc’s arms. They had reached this scene, the rehearsal dragged on tediously, when suddenly Fauchery jumped up from his chair. He had restrained himself till then, but his nerves had at length got the better of him.
“That isn’t it! he exclaimed.
The actors paused, their arms dangling beside them. Fontan, screwing up his nose, asked in a sneering way:
“What? What isn’t it?”
“You’re all wrong! it’s not that at all, not that at all!” resumed Fauchery, who marched about the stage gesticulating, and went through the scene. “Look here, Fontan, you must understand Tardiveau’s excitement; you lean forward like this, with this gesture, to seize hold of the duchess. And you, Rose, it’s then that you pass, quickly, like this, but not too soon, not till you hear the kiss—” He interrupted himself, and called to Cossard, in the heat of his explanations: “Géraldine, give the kiss—loud! so that it can be well heard!”
Old Cossard turned towards Bosc, and smacked his lips vigorously.
“Good! that’s the kiss,” said Fauchery jubilantly. “Give the kiss once more. Now you see, Rose, I’ve had time to pass, and then I utter a faint cry—‘Ah! she has kissed him!’ But, for that, Tardiveau must follow you towards the back of the stage. Do you hear, Fontan? you must follow her to the back of the stage. Now, try it over again, and all together!”
The actors went through the scene a second time, but Fontan played his part with such ill-will, that it was worse than ever. Twice again Fauchery gave his directions, acting the mimic each time with more warmth. They all listened to him in a mournful way, looked at one another for an instant, as though he had asked them to walk on their heads, and then awkwardly tried again, to stop almost directly with the rigidity of puppets whose strings have just been broken.
“No, it’s too much for me; I can’t understand it,” Fontan ended by saying in his insolent tone of voice.
During all this while, Bordenave had not opened his lips. Buried in the depths of his arm-chair, one could only see by the pale light of the gas-jet the