There began a truly Russian hubbub, noisy and senseless. The rosy,
flaxen-haired, pleasing Tolpygin was playing LA SEGUIDILLE from
CARMEN on the piano, while Roly-Poly was dancing a Kamarinsky
peasant dance to its tune. His narrow shoulders hunched up,
twisted all to one side, the fingers of his hanging hands widely
spread, he intricately hopped on one spot from one long, thin leg
to the other, then suddenly letting out a piercing grunt, would
throw himself upward and shout out in time to his wild dance:
"Ugh! Dance on, Matthew,
Don't spare your boots, you! ..."
"Eh, for one stunt like that a quartern of brandy isn't enough!"
he would add, shaking his long, graying hair.
"They fee-ee-eel! the tru-u-u-uth!" roared the two friends,
raising with difficulty their underlids, grown heavy, beneath
dull, bleary eyes.
The actor commenced to tell obscene anecdotes, pouring them out as
from a bag, and the women squealed from delight, bent in two from
laughter and threw themselves against the backs of their chairs.
Veltman, who had long been whispering with Pasha, inconspicuously,
in the hubbub, slipped out of the cabinet, while a few minutes
after him Pasha also went away, smiling with her quiet, insane and
bashful smile.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176