France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
A long shiver ran through the crowd, while a fresh peal from the bell
announced the arrival of the horses upon the racecourse. At this Nana
got up and stood on one of the seats of her carriage so as to obtain a
better view, and in so doing she trampled the bouquets of roses and
myosotis underfoot. With a sweeping glance she took in the wide, vast
horizon. At this last feverish moment the course was empty and closed
by gray barriers, between the posts of which stood a line of policemen.
The strip of grass which lay muddy in front of her grew brighter as it
stretched away and turned into a tender green carpet in the distance.
In the middle landscape, as she lowered her eyes, she saw the field
swarming with vast numbers of people, some on tiptoe, others perched on
carriages, and all heaving and jostling in sudden passionate
excitement.
Horses were neighing; tent canvases flapped, while equestrians urged
their hacks forward amid a crowd of pedestrians rushing to get places
along the barriers. When Nana turned in the direction of the stands on
the other side the faces seemed diminished, and the dense masses of
heads were only a confused and motley array, filling gangways, steps
and terraces and looming in deep, dark, serried lines against the sky.
And beyond these again she over looked the plain surrounding the
course. Behind the ivy-clad mill to the right, meadows, dotted over
with great patches of umbrageous wood, stretched away into the
distance, while opposite to her, as far as the Seine flowing at the
foot of a hill, the avenues of the park intersected one another, filled
at that moment with long, motionless files of waiting carriages; and in
the direction of Boulogne, on the left, the landscape widened anew and
opened out toward the blue distances of Meudon through an avenue of
paulownias, whose rosy, leafless tops were one stain of brilliant lake
color. People were still arriving, and a long procession of human ants
kept coming along the narrow ribbon of road which crossed the distance,
while very far away, on the Paris side, the nonpaying public, herding
like sheep among the wood, loomed in a moving line of little dark spots
under the trees on the skirts of the Bois.
Suddenly a cheering influence warmed the hundred thousand souls who
covered this part of the plain like insects swarming madly under the
vast expanse of heaven. The sun, which had been hidden for about a
quarter of an hour, made his appearance again and shone out amid a
perfect sea of light. And everything flamed afresh: the women’s
sunshades turned into countless golden targets above the heads of the
crowd. The sun was applauded, saluted with bursts of laughter. And
people stretched their arms out as though to brush apart the clouds.
Meanwhile a solitary police officer advanced down the middle of the
deserted racecourse, while higher up, on the left, a man appeared with
a red flag in his hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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