The Kill - Emile Zola [107]
Maxime found society tedious. In fact he thought it chic to be bored, because he did not really enjoy himself anywhere. At the Tuileries and the ministries he hid behind Renée’s petticoats. He took charge again, however, whenever an escapade was in the offing. Renée asked to return to the private room on the boulevard, where the width of the divan made her smile. After that he took her all over, to visit prostitutes, to the Bal de l’Opéra,3 to the front rows of burlesque houses, wherever raw vice could be savored incognito. Dead tired, they would then sneak back into the house and fall asleep in each other’s arms, sleeping off the intoxication of gutter Paris with snatches of ribald tunes still ringing in their ears. The next day, Maxime would mimic the actors, and Renée, playing the piano in the small salon, would attempt to emulate Blanche Muller’s hoarse voice and bumps and grinds in the role of La Belle Hélène. 4 Her music lessons at the convent were of no use to her now except to murder the latest burlesque numbers. Serious music filled her with horror. Maxime jeered at German music right along with her, and he felt it his duty to go hiss at Tannhäuser5 partly out of conviction and partly to defend his stepmother’s bawdy refrains.
One of their great entertainments was skating. Skating was “in” that winter, the emperor having been one of the first to try the ice on the lake in the Bois de Boulogne. Renée ordered a complete Polish skating outfit of velvet and fur from Worms and insisted that Maxime wear soft boots and a cap of fox fur. They went to the Bois in weather so bitingly cold that it stung their noses and lips, as if the wind were blowing fine sand against their faces. They enjoyed the cold. The Bois was completely gray, with stripes of snow clinging to the branches like thin strips of lace. And above the dull frozen lake the colorless skies were empty but for the islands whose fir trees still fringed the horizon, except that now those theatrical curtains were trimmed with billows of lace stitched by the snow. Together the two lovers glided through the frigid air like swallows swooping just above the ground. With one hand behind the back and the other on the partner’s shoulder they skated straight ahead, smiling, side by side, then turned and skated back to where they had begun, all within an ample section of the lake marked out by heavy ropes. Spectators watched from the main path above. Occasionally the skaters paused to warm themselves at stoves set up along the shore before resuming their activity, extending their flight as far as possible while tears of pleasure and cold welled up in their eyes.
When spring came, Renée remembered her elegy of old. She insisted that Maxime accompany her into the Parc Monceau at night and stroll with her by moonlight. They went to the grotto and sat on the grass in front of the colonnade. But when she reminded him of her desire to row out on the little lake, they noticed that the boat that could be seen from the house moored alongside one of the paths had no oars. Apparently they were put away at night. This was a disappointment. The darkness of the park made the lovers nervous in any case. They would have preferred a Venetian festival with red balloons and an orchestra. They were more comfortable in daylight, in the afternoon, and they often stood at one of the windows of the