My heart was suddenly
heavy.
Such a development could only mean tragedy, and I knew it. I had even
sworn to Semyonov that I would prevent it. I looked at them and felt my
helpless weakness. Who was I to prevent anything? And who was there now,
in the whole world, who would be guided by my opinion? They might have
me as a confidant because they trusted me, but after that... no, I had
no illusions. I was pushed off the edge of the world, hanging on still
with one quivering hand--soon my grip would loosen--and, God help me, I
did not want to go.
Nina turned back to me and, with a little excited clap of her hands,
drew my attention to the gallant Madame Gineselli, who, although by no
means a chicken, arrayed in silver tights and a large black picture-hat,
stood on one foot on the back of her white horse and bowed to the
already hysterical gallery. Mr. Gineselli cracked his whip, and the
white horse ambled along and the sawdust flew up into our eyes, and
Madame bent her knees first in and then out, and the bourgeoisie clapped
their hands and the gallery shouted "Brava." Gineselli cracked his whip
and there was the clown "Jackomeno, beloved of his Russian public," as
it was put on the programme; and indeed so he seemed to be, for he was
greeted with roars of applause.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208