by Emile Zola
“Well! you’re nice, not to come till this time! I, who’ve been longing to see the enclosure.”
“Come then,” said he, “there is still time. You can have a look round. I just happen to have a lady’s ticket.”
And he led her off on his arm, she delighted at seeing the jealous looks with which Lucy, Caroline, and the other women watched her. The two Hugons and La Faloise, remaining in the landau, continued to do the honours of her champagne. She called to them that she would be back directly.
But Vandeuvres, having caught sight of Labordette, beckoned to him, and a few brief words passed between them.
“Have you picked up everything?”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“Fifteen hundred louis, a little everywhere.”
As Nana, full of curiosity, was listening, they said no more. Vandeuvres was very nervous, and his clear eyes seemed lighted up with little flames of fire, the same as on the night when he frightened her by talking of burning himself in his stable with his horses. As they crossed the course, she lowered her voice, and said,
“I say, just tell me this. Why has the price of your filly gone up? It’s creating quite a sensation!”
He started, and exclaimed, “Ah! so everyone’s talking of it. What a set they are, those betting-men! When I’ve a favourite they all jump at it, and there’s nothing left for me. Then, when an outsider’s inquired after, they clamour and cry out as though they were being fleeced.”
“Well, you know, you must put me on my guard, for I’ve been betting,” she resumed. “Has she a chance?”
A sudden rage overpowered him, without any apparent reason. “Eh! have the goodness not to badger me any more. Every horse has a chance. The price has gone up, of course, because some people have been backing her! Who I don’t know. I’d rather leave you if you’re going to continue your idiotic questions.”
This way of speaking was neither in accordance with his usual temper or habits. She felt more surprised than hurt. He, too, felt ashamed of himself; and, as she stiffly requested him to be more polite, he apologised. For some little time past he had been subject to these sudden fits of temper. No one belonging to the gallant world of Paris ignored that on that day he was playing his last cards. If his horses did not win, if they lost him the considerable sums for which he had backed them, it would be not only a disaster, but a regular collapse; the scaffolding of his credit, the grand appearances which his undermined existence, destroyed by disorders and debts, preserved, would tumble and noise his ruin abroad. And Nana, as everyone also knew, was the man-destroyer who had finished him, who had been the last to attack that already damaged fortune, and had cleared off all that remained. The maddest caprices imaginable were related—gold thrown to the winds, an excursion to Baden, where she had not even left him the money to pay the hotel bill, a handful of diamonds flung into the fire one night of intoxication, to see if they would burn like coal. Little by little, with her big limbs and her noisy vulgar laughter, she had taken complete possession of that heir, so impoverished and so cunning, of an ancient race. At that hour he was risking his all, overpowered by a taste for what was vile and idiotic, that he had even lost the strength of his scepticism. Eight days before she had made him promise her a château on the Normandy coast, between Havre and Trouville; and he made it a point of honour to keep his word. Only, she preyed on his nerves; he thought her so stupid that he could have beaten her.
The gatekeeper had permitted them to enter the enclosure, not daring to stop the woman on the count’s arm. Nana, full of pride on at length placing her foot on that forbidden spot, studied her poses, and walked slowly along in front of the ladies seated at the foot of the stands. On ten rows of chairs there was a deep mass of elegant costumes, blending their gay colours in the open air. Chairs were turned round; friends had formed into groups just as they chanced to meet, the same as in some public garden, with children playing around; and, higher up, the tiers of the stands were filled to overflowing, whilst the delicate framework cast its shadows over the light-coloured garments. Nana stared at the ladies. She made a point of looking fixedly at Countess Sabine. Then as she passed in front of the imperial pavilion, the sight of Muffat, standing up near the Empress, in all his official dignity, amused her immensely.
“Oh! how stupid he looks!” said she out loud to Vandeuvres.
She wished to see everything. This bit of a park, with its lawns and its groups of trees, did not strike her as very interesting. A refreshment contractor had set up a large bar near the railings. Beneath an immense circular thatched roof, a crowd of men were shouting and gesticulating. This was the betting ring. Close by were some empty horse-boxes; and to her disappointment she merely beheld the horse of a gendarme. Then there was the paddock, a little more than a hundred yards round, where a stable lad was walking Valerio II., well covered up. And that was all! with the exception of a number of men on the gravel paths, wearing their orange-coloured tickets in their button-holes, and a continual promenade of people in the open galleries of the stands, which interested her for a moment; but, really! it wasn’t worth while being upset, because one was kept out of there.
Daguenet and Fauchery, who were passing, bowed to her. She beckoned to them, so they were obliged to draw near; and she launched out into abuse of the enclosure. Then interrupting herself, she exclaimed,
“Hallo! there’s the Marquis de Chouard; how old he’s looking! He’s doing for himself, the old rogue! Is he still as unruly as ever?”
Then Daguenet related the old fellow’s last prank—a story of the day before, which had not then got about. After hovering around for months, he had just given Gaga, it was said, thirty thousand francs for her daughter Amélie.
“Well! it’s abominable!” exclaimed Nana indignantly. “It’s a fine thing to have daughters! But, now I think of it! it must have been Lili that I saw over there in a brougham with a lady. I thought I knew the face. The old fellow must have brought her out.”
Vandeuvres was not listening, but stood by impatiently and anxious to get rid of her. However, Fauchery having said that if she had not seen the bookmakers she had not seen anything, the count was obliged to take her to these, in spite of his visible reluctance. This time she was satisfied; it was really very curious.
In an open space composed of a series of grass plots bordered by young chestnut trees, and shaded by tender green leaves, a compact line of bookmakers, forming a vast circle, as though at a fair, awaited those desirous of betting. In order to overlook the crowd, they were standing on wooden benches. They had posted up their betting lists against the trees; whilst, with an eye ever on the watch, they at the least sign made notes of bets so rapidly that some of the spectators gazed at them with open mouths and without comprehending. All was confusion, odds were shouted out, and exclamations greeted the unexpected changes in the prices; and now and again, increasing the hub-bub, scouts running at full speed would arrive and call out at the top of their voices the news of a start or a finish, which would raise a long murmur midst all that fever for gambling beneath the shining sun.
“How funny they are,” murmured Nana, highly amused. “Their faces all look as though they were turned inside out. You see that big one there? Well, I shouldn’t care to meet him by myself in the middle of a wood.”
But Vandeuvres pointed out to her a bookmaker, an assistant in a draper’s shop, who had made three millions in two years. Slim, delicate-looking, and fair, he was treated by everyone with the greatest respect. He was spoken to smilingly, and people stood by to look at him.
They were at last about to leave, when Vandeuvres nodded to another bookmaker, who thereupon ventured to call to him. He was one of his old coachmen—an enormous fellow with shoulders like an ox, and a very red face. Now that he was tempting fortune on the race-course, with a capital of doubtful origin, the count gave him a helping hand, commissioning him with his secret betting, and always treating him as a servant from whom one has nothing to
hide. In spite of this protection, the fellow had lost some very heavy sums one after another, and he also was playing his last card on that day, his eyes all blood-shot, and himself on the verge of a fit of apoplexy.
“Well, Maréchal,” asked Vandeuvres, in a low voice, “how much have you against?”
“Five thousand louis, sir,” replied the bookmaker, also speaking low. “That’s good, isn’t it? I must admit that I’ve lowered the price. I’ve laid the odds at three to one.”
Vandeuvres looked greatly annoyed. “No, no; I won’t have it. Put it back at two to one at once. I will never tell you anything again, Maréchal.”
“Oh, but what can that matter to you now, sir?” resumed the other, with the humble smile of a confederate. “I had to attract the people so as to place your two thousand louis.”
Then Vandeuvres made him give over; but, as he went away, Maréchal, recollecting something, regretted that he had not questioned him respecting his filly’s rise in price. He was in a pretty mess if the filly had a chance, for he had taken two hundred louis about her, laying fifty to one against.
Nana could not make anything out of the words whispered by the count, but she did not dare question him again. He seemed more nervous than ever, and abruptly placed her under the care of Labordette, whom they found waiting at the entrance to the weighing place.
“You must take her back,” said he. “I have something to attend to. Good-bye.”
And he went inside. It was a narrow apartment, with a low ceiling, and almost filled with a big weighing machine. It was like the room where luggage is weighed at a small suburban station. Nana was again greatly disappointed. She had figured to herself a very vast affair—a monumental apparatus for weighing the horses. What! they only weighed the jockeys! Then there was no need to make such a fuss about it. Seated in the scales, a jockey, looking an awful fool, with his saddle and harness on his knees, was waiting till a stout man in an overcoat had taken his weight; whilst a stable lad, at the door, held the horse, Cosinus, around which the crowd gathered, silent and wrapped in thought.
They were clearing the course. Labordette hurried Nana, but he returned a few steps to show her a little fellow talking to Vandeuvres apart from the others.
“Look, there’s Price,” said he.
“Ah! yes, he rides me,” she murmured with a laugh.
She thought him very ugly. To her all the jockeys looked like fools, no doubt, said she, because they were not allowed to grow. That one, a man of forty, had the appearance of an old, dried-up child, with a long, thin face, looking hard and death-like and full of wrinkles. His body was so knotty, so reduced, that the blue jacket with white sleeves seemed to cover a piece of wood.
“No,” she resumed as they moved away, “you know he isn’t my fancy.”
A mob still crowded the course, the wet trodden grass of which looked almost black. The crowd pressed in front of the boards, placed very high up on iron posts, which exhibited the numbers of the starters, and with raised heads, greeted uproariously each number that an electric wire, communicating with the weighing place, made appear. Some gentlemen were ticking their racing cards; Pichenette having been scratched by his owner, caused a slight commotion. Nana, however, simply passed by on Labordette’s arm. The bell was ringing persistently for the course to be cleared.
“Ah! my friends,” said she as she re-entered her landau, “it’s all humbug, their enclosure.”
Everyone about her applauded her return. “Bravo, Nana! Nana is restored to us!” How stupid they were! Did they think her one to give them the slip? She returned at the right time. Attention! it was going to begin. And the champagne was forgotten, everyone left off drinking. But Nana was surprised to find Gaga in her carriage, with Bijou and little Louis on her knees. Gaga had come there for the sake of being near La Faloise, though she pretended that she had done so because she so longed to kiss the baby. She adored children.
“Ah! by the way, and Lili?” asked Nana. “It’s she, is it not, in that old fellow’s brougham over there? I’ve just been told something that isn’t very creditable.”
Gaga assumed a most grieved expression of countenance.
“My dear, it has made me quite ill,” said she woefully. “I cried so much yesterday, I was obliged to keep my bed all day, and even this morning I was afraid I should not be able to come. Well, you know what my notion was. I did not wish her to do as she has done; I had her brought up in a convent, and intended getting her well married. And she always had the best advice, and was constantly looked after. Well, my dear! she would have her own way. Oh! we had such a scene—bitter tears, unpleasant words, until it ended by my slapping her face. She felt so dull, she would try the change. Then when she took it into her head to say, ‘It’s not you, anyhow, who have the right to prevent me,’ I said to her, ‘You’re a wretch, you dishonour us, be off!’ And so off she went, but I consented to make the best arrangement I could for her. However, there’s my last hope gone; and I had been planning, ah! such grand things!”
The sounds of a quarrel caused them to stand up. It was George who was defending Vandeuvres against several vague rumours that were passing from group to group.
“How absurd to say that he no longer believes in his horse!” exclaimed the young man. “Only yesterday, at the club, he backed Lusignan to the extent of a thousand louis.”
“Yes, I was there,” added Philippe. “And he didn’t back Nana for a single louis. If Nana’s got to ten to one, it’s not owing to him. It’s ridiculous to give people credit for so much calculation. Besides, what interest could he have in behaving so?”
Labordette listened in a quiet sort of way, and, shrugging his shoulders, observed,
“Let them say what they like, they must talk of something. The count has just laid another five hundred louis at least on Lusignan, and if he’s backed Nana for a hundred it’s merely because an owner must show some faith in his horses.”
“What the devil can it matter to us?” yelled La Faloise, waving his arms. “Spirit will win. France is nowhere! Bravo, England!”
A tremor passed slowly through the crowd, whilst a fresh peal of the bell announced the arrival of the horses at the starting-place. Then Nana, to obtain a better view, stood up on one of the seats of her landau, treading on the bouquets of forget-me-nots and roses. With a glance round, she took in the vast horizon. At this last moment, when the excitement was at fever heat, she beheld first of all the empty course, enclosed by its grey barriers, along which policemen were stationed at intervals, and the broad band of muddy grass before her became greener and greener in the distance, until it merged into a soft velvety carpet. Then, as she lowered her eyes and gazed around in her immediate vicinity, she saw an ever-moving crowd standing on tip-toe or clambering on to the vehicles, excited and animated by the same passion, with the horses neighing, the refreshment tents shaking in the wind, and riders urging on their steeds in the midst of the foot passengers hastening to the barriers; whilst, when she looked at the stands on the other side of the course, the people seemed smaller, the mass of heads appeared merely a medley of colours filling the paths, the benches, and the terraces, beneath the dull sky.
And she could see the plain beyond. Behind the ivy-covered windmill, to the right, there was a background of meadows, intersected with plantations; in front, as far as the Seine, which flowed at the foot of the hill, park-like avenues, along which interminable rows of immovable vehicles were waiting, crossed each other; then on the left, towards Boulogne, the country spreading out again, opened into a view of the bluey heights of Meudon, intercepted only by a row of pawlonias, the rosy tufts of which, without a single leaf, formed a sheet of vivid crimson. People still continued to arrive, numbers were hastening from over there looking like so many ants as they wended their way along a narrow path which crossed the fields; whilst far off, in the direction of Paris, the spectators who did not pay, a host who camped out in the wood, formed a long black moving line under the trees on the outskirt
s of the Bois.
But suddenly a feeling of gaiety excited the hundred thousand souls who covered that bit of a field with a commotion of insects disporting themselves beneath the vast sky. The sun, which had been hidden for the last quarter of an hour, reappeared and shone in a flood of light, and everything sparkled once more. The women’s parasols looked like innumerable shields of gold above the crowd. Everyone applauded the sun, gay laughter saluted it, and arms were thrust out to draw aside the clouds.
At this moment a police officer appeared walking alone along the centre of the now deserted course. Higher up, towards the left, a man could be seen holding a red flag in his hand.
“That’s the starter, the Baron de Mauriac,” replied Labordette to a question of Nana’s.
Among the men surrounding the young woman, and who pressed even on to the steps of her landau, there arose a hubbub of exclamations, of sentences left unfinished, in the flush of first impressions. Philippe and George, Bordenave, La Faloise could not keep quiet.
“Don’t push!”—“Let me see!—”Ah! the judge is entering his box.“—”Did you say it was M. de Souvigny?“—”I say, he must have good eyes to decide a close contest from such a place!“—”Do be quiet, they’re hoisting the Hag.“—”Here they come—look out! “—”The first one is Cosinus.”
A red and yellow flag waved in the air from the top of the starting-post. The horses arrived one by one, led by stable lads, the jockeys in the saddle, their arms hanging down, and looking mere bright specks in the sunshine. After Cosinus, Hasard and Boum appeared. Then a murmur greeted Spirit, a tall, handsome bay, whose harsh colours, lemon and black, had a Britannic sadness. Valerio II. met with a grand reception. He was a lively little animal, and the colours were pale green, edged with pink. Vandeuvres’s two horses were a long time making their appearance. At length, the blue and white colours were seen following Frangipane; but Lusignan, a very dark bay of irreproachable form, was almost forgotten in the surprise created by Nana’s appearance. No one had ever before seen her thus. The sunshine gave to the chestnut filly the golden hue of a fair-haired girl. She glittered in the light like a new louis, with her deep chest, her graceful head and neck and shoulders, and her long, nervous, delicate back.
