Part 27

The measured footsteps were returning. They closed the window. Turning back, Nana, shivering, her hair damp, remained for a moment startled before her drawing room, as if she had forgotten and had come home to an unfamiliar place. She found there such a mild, perfumed air that she felt a happy surprise. The piled-up riches, the antique furniture, the silks and golds, the ivories, the bronzes, slept in the pink light of the lamps; while from the whole silent mansion rose the full sensation of great luxury, the solemnity of the reception rooms, the comfortable spaciousness of the dining room, the hush of the vast staircase, with the softness of carpets and seats. It was a sudden expansion of herself, of her needs to dominate and enjoy, of her wish to have everything in order to destroy everything. Never had she felt so deeply the power of her sex. She let her gaze wander slowly, and said with an air of grave philosophy:

— Ah well! one is certainly very right to make the most of things, when one is young!

But already Satin, upon the bear skins of the bedroom, was rolling about and calling her.

— Do come! do come!

Nana undressed in the dressing room. To go faster, she had taken her thick blonde hair in both hands, and was shaking it above the silver basin, while a shower of long pins fell, ringing a chime upon the bright metal.

XI

That Sunday, beneath a stormy sky of the first heats of June, the Grand Prix de Paris was being run in the Bois de Boulogne. In the morning, the sun had risen in a russet dust. But toward eleven o'clock, at the moment when the carriages arrived at the Longchamp racecourse, a south wind had swept away the clouds; gray vapors drifted off in long rents, and stretches of intense blue widened from one end of the horizon to the other. And, in the sunlight falling between two clouds, everything suddenly flamed: the lawn gradually filling with a crush of equipages, riders, and pedestrians, the track still empty, with the judge's box, the winning post, the masts of the indicator boards, then opposite, in the middle of the weighing enclosure, the five symmetrical stands, tiering their galleries of brick and timber. Beyond, the vast plain flattened out, lost in the noon light, bordered with small trees, closed to the west by the wooded hills of Saint-Cloud and Suresnes, above which dominated the severe profile of Mont Valérien.

Nana, passionate, as if the Grand Prix were to decide her fortune, wanted to place herself against the rail, beside the winning post. She had come very early, one of the first, in her silver-trimmed landau, harnessed to the Daumont of four magnificent white horses, a gift from Count Muffat. When she appeared at the entrance to the lawn, with two postilions trotting on the left-hand horses, and two footmen, motionless behind the carriage, a crush had occurred among the crowd, as at the passing of a queen. She wore the colors of the Vandeuvres stable, blue and white, in an extraordinary toilet: the little bodice and the blue silk tunic clinging to the body, raised behind the loins in an enormous puff, which outlined the thighs in a bold fashion, in these days of ballooning skirts; then, the white satin gown, the white satin sleeves, a white satin scarf worn as a sash, all adorned with silver guipure that the sun was kindling. With that, jauntily, to look even more like a jockey, she had set a blue toque with a white feather upon her chignon, whose yellow locks flowed down the middle of her back, like an enormous tail of red fur.

Noon was striking. There were more than three hours to wait, for the Grand Prix race. When the landau had ranged itself against the rail, Nana made herself at home, as if in her own house. She had had the whim to bring Bijou and Louiset. The dog, lying in her skirts, trembled with cold, despite the heat; while the child, decked out with ribbons and lace, had a poor little waxen face, mute, pale from the open air. However, the young woman, without concerning herself with the neighbors, talked very loud with Georges and Philippe Hugon, seated before her, on the other seat, amid such a heap of bouquets, white roses and blue forget-me-nots, that they disappeared up to the shoulders.

— So, she was saying, since he was boring me to death, I showed him the door... And it's two days now that he's sulking.

She was speaking of Muffat, only she did not confess to the young men the true cause of this first quarrel. One evening, he had found a man's hat in her room, a silly fancy, a passer-by brought home from boredom.

— You don't know how funny he is, she continued, amused by the details she was giving. At bottom, he's a finished bigot... Why, he says his prayers every evening. Exactly. He thinks I notice nothing, because I go to bed first, not wishing to embarrass him; but I watch him out of the corner of my eye, he mumbles, he makes his sign of the cross turning to step over me and go lie at the foot...

— Well! that's clever, murmured Philippe. Before and after, then?

She gave a fine laugh.

— Yes, that's it, before and after. When I fall asleep, I hear him mumbling again... But what's becoming a nuisance is that we can't quarrel without his falling back into the priests. Me, I've always had religion. No doubt, laugh if you like, it won't stop me believing what I believe... Only, he's too much of a bore, he sobs, he talks of his remorse. Why, the day before yesterday, after our row, he had a real fit, I wasn't reassured at all...

But she broke off to say:

— Look there, here come the Mignons. Why! they've brought the children... Are those kids got up, or what!

The Mignons were in a landau of severe colors, a solid luxury of enriched bourgeois. Rose, in a gray silk dress, trimmed with ruffles and red bows, smiled, happy in the joy of Henri and Charles, seated on the front seat, swallowed up in their too-wide schoolboy tunics. But, when the landau came to range near the rail, and she caught sight of Nana triumphant amid her bouquets, with her four horses and her livery, she pursed her lips, very stiff, turning her head. Mignon, on the contrary, his fresh complexion, his gay eye, sent a wave of the hand. He, on principle, stayed outside women's quarrels.

— By the way, resumed Nana, do you know a little old man, very neat, with bad teeth?... A Monsieur Venot... He came to see me this morning.

— Monsieur Venot, said Georges, stupefied. Impossible! He's a Jesuit.

— Precisely, I smelled that. Oh! you've no idea of the conversation! It was a queer one!... He spoke to me of the count, of his divided household, begging me to give happiness back to a family... Very polite, moreover, very smiling... So, I answered that I asked nothing better, and I undertook to reunite the count with his wife... You know, it's no joke, I'd be delighted to see those people all happy! Then it would relieve me, for there are days, really! when he bores me to death.

Her weariness of the last few months escaped in this cry of her heart. Besides, the count seemed to have serious money troubles; he was anxious, the note signed with Labordette threatened not to be paid.

— Just so, the countess is over there, said Georges, whose eyes were scanning the stands.

— Where? cried Nana. Has the baby got eyes!... Hold my parasol, Philippe.

But Georges, with a sudden movement, had anticipated his brother, delighted to carry the blue silk parasol with silver fringe. Nana was sweeping an enormous opera glass.

— Ah! yes, I see her, she said at last. In the right stand, near a pillar, isn't it? She's in mauve, with her daughter in white, beside her... Why! Daguenet going to greet them.

Then Philippe spoke of the coming marriage of Daguenet with that beanpole Estelle. It was a settled thing, the banns were being published. The countess resisted at first; but the count, it was said, had imposed his will. Nana smiled.

— I know, I know, she murmured. So much the better for Paul. He's a nice boy, he deserves it.

And, leaning toward Louiset:

— You're enjoying yourself, eh?... What a serious face!

The child, without a smile, looked at all that world, with a very old air, as if full of sad reflections upon what he saw. Bijou, driven from the young woman's skirts, which she moved a great deal, had gone to tremble against the little boy.

Meanwhile, the lawn was filling. Carriages, continually, arrived by the Cascade gate, in a compact, endless file. There were great omnibuses, the Pauline, departed from the boulevard des Italiens, loaded with its fifty travelers, and which was going to range to the right of the stands; then, dog-carts, victorias, landaus of superb correctness, mixed with lamentable fiacres shaken by sorry nags; and four-in-hands, pushing their four horses, and mail-coaches, with the masters up above, on the seats, leaving inside the servants to guard the champagne baskets; and still more spiders whose immense wheels cast a dazzle of steel, light tandems, fine as clockwork, that slipped away amid a noise of bells. At moments, a rider passed, a flood of pedestrians ran, startled, across the equipages. On the grass, suddenly, the distant rumbling that came from the avenues of the Bois ceased in a dull brushing; nothing was heard but the growing hubbub of the crowd, cries, calls, cracks of the whip, borne off into the open air. And, when the sun, beneath the gusts of wind, reappeared at the edge of a cloud, a trail of gold ran, kindling the harnesses and the varnished panels, setting the toilets on fire; while, in that dust of brightness, the coachmen, very high on their seats, blazed with their great whips.

But Labordette was getting down from a calash where Gaga, Clarisse, and Blanche de Sivry had kept a place for him. As he was hurrying to cross the track and enter the weighing enclosure, Nana had him called by Georges. Then, when he was there:

— At what am I? she asked, laughing.

She meant to speak of Nana, the filly, that Nana who had let herself be shamefully beaten in the Prix de Diane, and who even, in last April and May, had not been placed, running the Prix Des Cars and the Grande Poule des Produits, won by Lusignan, the other horse of the Vandeuvres stable. Thereupon, Lusignan had become the great favorite; since the previous day, he was commonly taken at two to one.

— Still at fifty, answered Labordette.

— The devil! I'm not worth much, resumed Nana, amused by this joke. So, I don't take myself... No, hang it! I'm not putting a louis on me.

Labordette, in great haste, was starting off again; but she called him back. She wanted advice. He, who kept relations in the world of trainers and jockeys, had special information on the stables. Twenty times already his forecasts had come true. The king of tipsters, as he was called.

— Come, what horses ought I to take? repeated the young woman. At what is the Englishman?

— Spirit? at three... Valerio II, at three also... Then, all the others, Cosinus at twenty-five, Hasard at forty, Boum at thirty, Pichenette at thirty-five, Frangipane at ten...

— No, I'm not betting on the Englishman, me. I'm patriotic... Eh? perhaps Valerio II; the Duke of Corbreuse looked radiant just now... Eh! no! after all. Fifty louis on Lusignan, what do you say to that?

Labordette looked at her with a singular air. She leaned forward, questioned him in a low voice, for she knew that Vandeuvres charged him to take for him with the bookmakers, in order to bet more at ease. If he had learned anything, he might well tell it. But Labordette, without explaining himself, decided her to trust to his instinct; he would place her fifty louis as he saw fit, and she would not repent of it.

— Any horses you like! she cried gaily, letting him go; but not Nana, she's a nag!

It was a fit of wild laughter in the carriage. The young men found the word very funny; while Louiset, without understanding, lifted his pale eyes toward his mother, whose bursts of voice surprised him. Labordette, moreover, could not yet escape. Rose Mignon had made him a sign; and she was giving him orders, he was inscribing figures in a notebook. Then, it was Clarisse and Gaga who recalled him, to change their bets; they had heard words in the crowd, they no longer wanted Valerio II and were taking Lusignan; he, impassive, wrote. At last, he slipped away, he was seen disappearing, on the other side of the track, between two stands.

The carriages kept arriving. Now, they ranged themselves in a fifth row, spreading along the rail in a deep mass, all variegated by the light patches of the white horses. Then, beyond, it was a straggling of other carriages, isolated, as if stranded in the grass, a jumble of wheels, of teams thrown in all directions, side by side, askew, across, head to head. And, upon the remaining free carpets of turf, the riders trotted, the foot people made continually moving black groups. Above this fairground, in the muddled mingling of the crowd, the refreshment booths raised their gray canvas tents, which the sunlight whitened. But the crush, the heaps of people, the eddies of hats, took place especially around the bookmakers, mounted in open carriages, gesticulating like dentists, with their odds near them, pasted on high boards.

— It's silly, all the same, not to know on what horse one is betting, said Nana. I must risk a few louis myself.

She had stood up to choose a bookmaker who had a good face. However, she forgot her wish, on catching sight of a whole crowd of her acquaintance. Besides the Mignons, besides Gaga, Clarisse, and Blanche, there were there, to the right, to the left, behind, in the middle of the mass of carriages which now imprisoned her landau, Tatan Néné in company with Maria Blond in a victoria, Caroline Héquet with her mother and two gentlemen in a calash, Louise Violaine all alone, driving herself a little basket trimmed with the colors of the Méchain stable, orange and green, Léa de Horn on a high seat of a mail-coach, where a band of young men were making a noise. Further off, in a eight-spring carriage of aristocratic keeping, Lucy Stewart, in a very simple black silk dress, was putting on airs of distinction, beside a tall young man who wore the uniform of naval cadets. But what stupefied Nana was to see Simonne arrive in a tandem that Steiner was driving, with a lackey behind, motionless, arms crossed; she was dazzling, all in white satin, striped with yellow, covered with diamonds from the belt to the hat; while the banker, lengthening an immense whip, launched the two horses harnessed in arrow, the first a little golden sorrel, at a mouse trot, the second a great brown bay, a stepper, who trotted with high legs.

— Good Lord! said Nana, that thief Steiner has come then once more to clean the Bourse!... Eh? has Simonne style! It's too much, they'll nab her.

Yet, she exchanged a salute, from afar. She waved her hand, she smiled, turned about, forgot no one so as to be seen by all. And she continued to talk.

— But it's her son that Lucy is dragging about with her! He's nice, in uniform... So that's why she puts on her airs! You know she's afraid of him and passes herself off as an actress... Poor young man, all the same! he doesn't seem to suspect it.

— Bah! murmured Philippe, laughing, when she wants, she'll find him an heiress in the provinces.

Nana fell silent. She had just caught sight, in the thick of the equipages, of Tricon. Arrived in a fiacre, from which she saw nothing, Tricon had quietly mounted the coachman's seat. And, up there, straightening her tall figure, with her noble face and long English curls, she dominated the crowd, she seemed to reign over her people of women. All smiled at her, discreetly. She, superior, affected not to know them. She was not there to work, she followed the races for pleasure, a furious player, with a passion for horses.

— Why! that fool la Faloise! said Georges suddenly.

It was a surprise. Nana no longer recognized her la Faloise. Since he had inherited, he had become of an extraordinary style. The turned-down collar, clad in a soft-colored stuff that clung to his thin shoulders, coiffed with little bands of hair, he affected a languid swaying, a soft voice, with slang words, phrases he did not take the trouble to finish.

— But he's very well! declared Nana, seduced.

Gaga and Clarisse had called la Faloise, throwing themselves at his head, trying to win him back. He left them at once, with a blague and disdainful hitch of the hip. Nana dazzled him, he ran up, stood on the carriage step; and, as she teased him about Gaga, he murmured:

— Ah! no, finished, the old guard! Mustn't do that to me anymore! And then, you know, it's you now, my Juliet...

He had put his hand on his heart. Nana laughed a great deal at this declaration so sudden, in broad daylight. But she resumed:

— I say, that's not all. You're making me forget I want to bet... Georges, do you see that bookmaker, over there, the fat red one, with curly hair. He has a face of a dirty scoundrel that pleases me... You go take him... Eh? what can one well take him?

— Me, not patriotic, oh! no! stammered la Faloise, me, all on the Englishman... Very chic, if the Englishman wins! at Chaillot, the French!

Nana was scandalized. Then, they discussed the merits of the horses. La Faloise, to affect being very much in the know, treated them all as nags. Frangipane, of Baron Verdier, was by The Truth and Lenore; a great bay, who would have had chances, if he had not been sprained in training. As for Valerio II, of the Corbreuse stable, he was not ready, he had had scourings in April; oh! they hid that, but he was sure of it, word of honor! And he ended by advising Hasard, a horse of the Méchain stable, the most defective of all, whom no one wanted. Hang it! Hasard, a superb form, and action! There was a beast that was going to surprise his world!

— No, said Nana. I'm going to put ten louis on Lusignan and five on Boum.

Thereupon, la Faloise exploded.

— But, my dear, foul, Boum! Don't take that! Gasc himself is dropping his horse... And your Lusignan, never! Stuff! Think, by Lamb and Princess! Never, by Lamb and Princess! all too short in the legs!

He was choking. Philippe remarked that nevertheless Lusignan had won the Prix Des Cars and the Grande Poule des Produits. But the other started again. What did that prove? Nothing at all. On the contrary, one must distrust. And, besides, it was Gresham who rode Lusignan; so, let them leave him in peace! Gresham had the jinx, he never arrived.

And, from one end to the other of the lawn, the discussion that arose in Nana's landau seemed to widen. Shrill voices rose, the passion of play blew, lighting faces, deranging gestures; while the bookmakers, perched on their carriages, cried odds, inscribed figures, furiously. There were only the small fry of bettors there, the big bets were made in the weighing enclosure; and it was a keenness of little purses risking a hundred sous, all covetousness displayed for a possible gain of a few louis. In sum, the great battle was delivered between Spirit and Lusignan. Englishmen, recognizable, walked among the groups, as if at home, their faces inflamed, already triumphant. Bramah, a horse of Lord Reading, had won the Grand Prix, the previous year: a defeat whose wounds still bled. This year, it would be a disaster, if France were beaten again. So all those ladies grew passionate, by national pride. The Vandeuvres stable became the rampart of our honor, they pushed Lusignan, they defended him, they acclaimed him. Gaga, Blanche, Caroline, and the others bet on Lusignan. Lucy Stewart abstained, because of her son; but the rumor ran that Rose Mignon had given Labordette commission for two hundred louis. Alone, Tricon, seated near her coachman, waited the last minute; very cold amid the quarrels, dominating the growing uproar where the names of the horses returned, in the lively phrases of Parisians, mixed with the guttural exclamations of the English, she listened, she took notes, with an air of majesty.

— And Nana? said Georges. No one asks for her?

No one asked for her, indeed; they did not even speak of her. The outsider of the Vandeuvres stable disappeared in the popularity of Lusignan. But la Faloise lifted his arms in the air, saying:

— I have an inspiration... I put a louis on Nana.

— Bravo! I put two louis, said Georges.

— Me, three louis, added Philippe.

And they mounted, they paid court to her, playfully, throwing out figures, as if they had auctioned Nana off among themselves. La Faloise spoke of covering her with gold. Besides, everyone must bet, they were going to drum up backers. But, as the three young men were escaping, to do propaganda, Nana cried to them:

— You know, I don't want any of it, me! For nothing in the world!... Georges, ten louis on Lusignan and five on Valerio II.

Meanwhile, they had launched forth. Gayened, she watched them slip between the wheels, duck under the horses' heads, beat the whole lawn. As soon as they recognized someone in a carriage, they ran up, they pushed Nana. And there were great bursts of laughter that passed over the crowd, when sometimes they turned back, triumphant, indicating numbers with the finger, while the young woman, standing, waved her parasol. Yet, they did rather poor work. A few men let themselves be convinced; for example, Steiner, whom the sight of Nana moved, risked three louis. But the women refused, absolutely. Thanks, to lose for sure! Then, it was not pressing to work for the success of a dirty girl who crushed them all, with her four white horses, her postilions, her air of swallowing the world. Gaga and Clarisse, very prim, asked la Faloise if he was making fun of them. When Georges, boldly, presented himself before the Mignons' landau, Rose, outraged, turned her head, without answering. One had to be a pretty low creature, to let one's name be given to a horse! On the contrary, Mignon followed the young man, with an amused air, saying that women always brought luck.

— Well? asked Nana, when the young men returned, after a long visit to the bookmakers.

— You are at forty, said la Faloise.

— How? at forty! she cried, stupefied. I was at fifty... What's happening?

Labordette, just then, had reappeared. They were closing the track, a peal of bells announced the first race. And, in the hubbub of attention, she questioned him on this sudden rise of the odds. But he answered evasively; no doubt demands had arisen. She had to content herself with this explanation. Besides, Labordette, with a preoccupied air, announced to her that Vandeuvres was going to come, if he could get away.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”