Four Short Stories By Emile Zola , livre ebook

Pub One Info - Émile Zola

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

340 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. 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

Sujets

Short story

Informations

Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	27 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	6
EAN13	9782819923190
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

FOUR SHORT STORIES
By Emile Zola
NANA
by
Emile Zola
CHAPTER I
At nine o'clock in the evening the body of the houseat the Theatres des Varietes was still all but empty. A fewindividuals, it is true, were sitting quietly waiting in thebalcony and stalls, but these were lost, as it were, among theranges of seats whose coverings of cardinal velvet loomed in thesubdued light of the dimly burning luster. A shadow enveloped thegreat red splash of the curtain, and not a sound came from thestage, the unlit footlights, the scattered desks of the orchestra.It was only high overhead in the third gallery, round the domedceiling where nude females and children flew in heavens which hadturned green in the gaslight, that calls and laughter were audibleabove a continuous hubbub of voices, and heads in women's andworkmen's caps were ranged, row above row, under the wide-vaultedbays with their gilt-surrounding adornments. Every few seconds anattendant would make her appearance, bustling along with tickets inher hand and piloting in front of her a gentleman and a lady, whotook their seats, he in his evening dress, she sitting slim andundulant beside him while her eyes wandered slowly round thehouse.
Two young men appeared in the stalls; they keptstanding and looked about them.
“Didn't I say so, Hector? ” cried the elder of thetwo, 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, “itwon'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 ofvexation. “Only this morning Clarisse, who's in the piece, sworethat they'd begin at nine o'clock punctually. ”
For a moment they remained silent and, lookingupward, scanned the shadowy boxes. But the green paper with whichthese were hung rendered them more shadowy still. Down below, underthe dress circle, the lower boxes were buried in utter night. Inthose on the second tier there was only one stout lady, who wasstranded, as it were, on the velvet-covered balustrade in front ofher. 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 bysoft green tones, lay only half disclosed to view, as though fullof a fine dust shed from the little jets of flame in the greatglass luster.
“Did you get your stage box for Lucy? ” askedHector.
“Yes, ” replied his companion, “but I had sometrouble 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'tbeen at a first night before. The Blonde Venus will be the event ofthe year. People have been talking about it for six months. Oh,such music, my dear boy! Such a sly dog, Bordenave! He knows hisbusiness and has kept this for the exhibition season. ” Hector wasreligiously attentive. He asked a question.
“And Nana, the new star who's going to play Venus,d'you know her? ”
“There you are; you're beginning again! ” criedFauchery, casting up his arms. “Ever since this morning people havebeen dreeing me with Nana. I've met more than twenty people, andit's Nana here and Nana there! What do I know? Am I acquainted withall the light ladies in Paris? Nana is an invention of Bordenave's!It must be a fine one! ”
He calmed himself, but the emptiness of the house,the dim light of the luster, the churchlike sense ofself-absorption which the place inspired, full as it was ofwhispering voices and the sound of doors banging— all these got onhis nerves.
“No, by Jove, ” he said all of a sudden, “one's hairturns gray here. I— I'm going out. Perhaps we shall find Bordenavedownstairs. He'll give us information about things. ”
Downstairs in the great marble-paved entrance hall,where the box office was, the public were beginning to showthemselves. Through the three open gates might have been observed,passing in, the ardent life of the boulevards, which were all astirand aflare under the fine April night. The sound of carriage wheelskept stopping suddenly; carriage doors were noisily shut again, andpeople began entering in small groups, taking their stand beforethe ticket bureau and climbing the double flight of stairs at theend of the hall, up which the women loitered with swaying hips.Under the crude gaslight, round the pale, naked walls of theentrance hall, which with its scanty First Empire decorationssuggested the peristyle of a toy temple, there was a flaringdisplay of lofty yellow posters bearing the name of “Nana” in greatblack letters. Gentlemen, who seemed to be glued to the entry, werereading them; others, standing about, were engaged in talk, barringthe doors of the house in so doing, while hard by the box office athickset man with an extensive, close-shaven visage was givingrough answers to such as pressed to engage seats.
“There's Bordenave, ” said Fauchery as he came downthe stairs. But the manager had already seen him.
“Ah, ah! You're a nice fellow! ” he shouted at himfrom a distance. “That's the way you give me a notice, is it? Why,I opened my Figaro this morning— never a word! ”
“Wait a bit, ” replied Fauchery. “I certainly mustmake the acquaintance of your Nana before talking about her.Besides, I've made no promises. ”
Then to put an end to the discussion, he introducedhis cousin, M. Hector de la Faloise, a young man who had come tofinish his education in Paris. The manager took the young man'smeasure at a glance. But Hector returned his scrutiny with deepinterest. This, then, was that Bordenave, that showman of the sexwho treated women like a convict overseer, that clever fellow whowas always at full steam over some advertising dodge, thatshouting, spitting, thigh-slapping fellow, that cynic with the soulof a policeman! Hector was under the impression that he ought todiscover some amiable observation for the occasion.
“Your theater— ” he began in dulcet tones.
Bordenave interrupted him with a savage phrase, asbecomes a man who dotes on frank situations.
“Call it my brothel! ”
At this Fauchery laughed approvingly, while LaFaloise stopped with his pretty speech strangled in his throat,feeling very much shocked and striving to appear as though heenjoyed the phrase. The manager had dashed off to shake hands witha dramatic critic whose column had considerable influence. When hereturned La Faloise was recovering. He was afraid of being treatedas a provincial if he showed himself too much nonplused.
“I have been told, ” he began again, longingpositively to find something to say, “that Nana has a deliciousvoice. ”
“Nana? ” cried the manager, shrugging his shoulders.“The voice of a squirt! ”
The young man made haste to add:
“Besides being a first-rate comedian! ”
“She? Why she's a lump! She has no notion what to dowith her hands and feet. ”
La Faloise blushed a little. He had lost hisbearings. He stammered:
“I wouldn't have missed this first representationtonight for the world. I was aware that your theater— ”
“Call it my brothel, ” Bordenave again interpolatedwith the frigid obstinacy of a man convinced.
Meanwhile Fauchery, with extreme calmness, waslooking at the women as they came in. He went to his cousin'srescue when he saw him all at sea and doubtful whether to laugh orto be angry.
“Do be pleasant to Bordenave— call his theater whathe wishes you to, since it amuses him. And you, my dear fellow,don't keep us waiting about for nothing. If your Nana neither singsnor acts you'll find you've made a blunder, that's all. It's whatI'm afraid of, if the truth be told. ”
“A blunder! A blunder! ” shouted the manager, andhis face grew purple. “Must a woman know how to act and sing? Oh,my chicken, you're too STOOPID. Nana has other good points, byheaven! — something which is as good as all the other things puttogether. I've smelled it out; it's deuced pronounced with her, orI've got the scent of an idiot. You'll see, you'll see! She's onlygot to come on, and all the house will be gaping at her. ”
He had held up his big hands which were tremblingunder the influence of his eager enthusiasm, and now, havingrelieved his feelings, he lowered his voice and grumbled tohimself:
“Yes, she'll go far! Oh yes, s'elp me, she'll gofar! A skin— oh, what a skin she's got! ”
Then as Fauchery began questioning him he consentedto enter into a detailed explanation, couched in phraseology socrude that Hector de la Faloise felt slightly disgusted. He hadbeen thick with Nana, and he was anxious to start her on the stage.Well, just about that time he was in search of a Venus. He— henever let a woman encumber him for any length of time; he preferredto let the public enjoy the benefit of her forthwith. But there wasa deuce of a row going on in his shop, which had been turnedtopsy-turvy by that big damsel's advent. Rose Mignon, his star, acomic actress of much subtlety and an adorable singer, was dailythreatening to leave him in the lurch, for she was furious andguessed the presence of a rival. And as for the bill, good God!What a noise there had been about it all! It had ended by hisdeciding to print the names of the two actresses in the same-sizedtype. But it wouldn't do to bother him. Whenever any of his littlewomen, as he called them— Simonne or Clarisse, for instance—wouldn't go the way he wanted her to he just up with his foot andcaught her one in the rear. Otherwise life was impossible. Oh yes,he sold 'em; HE knew what they fetched, the wenches!
“Tut! ” he cried, breaking off short. “Mignon andSteiner. Always together. You know, Steiner's getting sick of Rose;that's why the husband dogs his steps now for fear of his slippingaway. ”
On the pavement outside, the row of gas jets flaringon the cornice of the theater cast a patch of brilliant light. Twosmall trees, violently