The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [120]
Catching sight of Wokulski, his companion nudged the speaker, who suddenly broke off. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Wokulski sought to pass them, but the tall gentlemen prevented him: ‘Excuse me,’ he said, touching his hat, ‘for venturing to make such a remark…My name is Wrzesinski…’
‘I was pleased to hear it,’ Wokulski replied with a smile, ‘for I say the same things privately. In any case, I am entering a race for the first and last time in my life…’
He shook hands with the tall sportsman, who muttered, when Wokulski had gone a few yards, ‘A spirited fellow, that…’
Only now did Wokulski buy a programme, and it was with a feeling of something like shame that he read that in the third race the mare Sultanka, out of Ali by Klara, owned by X.X., was ridden by the jockey Young (yellow shirt and blue sleeves). Prize: three hundred roubles: the winning horse to be put up for sale on the spot.
‘I was crazy,’ Wokulski muttered, going towards the stand. He thought that Izabela would surely be there, and planned to go straight back home if he did not find her.
He became pessimistic. The women looked ugly, their colourful dresses barbarous, their flirtations hateful. The men were stupid, the crowd vulgar, the band out of tune. Entering the stand, he sneered at its squeaking steps and old walls, stained with rain leaks.
Acquaintances bowed to him, women smiled at him, here and there people whispered: ‘Look!…Look!…’ But he did not notice. He halted on the top level of the stand, and looked through his field-glasses at the variegated and noisy crowds on the road, right as far as the corner, but saw only clouds of yellow dust.
‘What purpose do these stands serve for the rest of the year?’ he wondered. And it seemed to him that every night, on these rotting benches, dead bankrupts, remorseful coquettes, all kinds of idlers and wastrels took their seats, having been expelled from Hell, and that by the sorrowful light of the stars, they watched the races of skeleton horses who had perished on this course. It seemed to him that even at this moment he could see mouldering garments and smell the stench of decay.
He was aroused by a shout from the crowd, the ringing of a bell and cheers. The first race was over. Suddenly he looked at the course, and saw the Countess’s carriage driving up to the barriers. The Countess was sitting with the Duchess, and Mr Łęcki and his daughter were behind.
Wokulski himself did not know when he ran down from the stand or when he entered the enclosure. He pushed someone, someone asked for his ticket…He ran straight across and at once came up to the carriage. The Countess’s footman bowed to him from the box, and Mr Łęcki exclaimed: ‘Here is Mr Wokulski…’
Wokulski greeted the ladies, whereupon the Duchess pressed his hand in a significant manner, and Łęcki asked: ‘Is it true, Mr Wokulski, that you have bought Krzeszowski’s mare?’
‘Yes, it is…’
‘Well, you know you have played a fine trick on him, and given my daughter a pleasant surprise.’
Izabela turned to him with a smile: ‘I have made a wager with my aunt,’ she cried, ‘that the Baron would not keep his mare for the races, and I won—now I have wagered the Duchess that the mare will win…’
Wokulski went around the carriage and approached Izabela, who continued: ‘Really, the Duchess and I only came for this race. For aunt pretends that the races only make her cross. Oh, you must win…’
‘I shall—if you desire it,’ Wokulski replied, looking at her with admiration. She had never before seemed so beautiful as in this outburst of excitement. Nor had he ever dreamed she would talk to him so kindly.
He looked at the others. The Duchess was cheerful, the Countess smiling, Mr Łęcki beaming. The Countess’s coachman on the box was making a bet with the driver that Wokulski would win. Laughter and joy were all around them. He delighted in the crowd, the stands, the carriages; the women in their colourful dresses were pretty as flowers, lively as birds. The music was out of tune, but gay: the horses neighed, sportsmen placed bets, hawkers cried their beer,