crous there at such a
time, in such a crowd, but it is exactly like that that life shifts and
shifts until it has formed a pattern. I was frightened by Grogoff. I
could not believe that the new freedom, the new Russia, the new world
would be made by such men. He waved his arms, he pushed back his hair,
the men shouted. Grogoff was triumphant: 'The New World... _Novaya
Jezn, Novaya Jezn_!' (New Life!) I heard him shout.

"The sun before it set flooded the hall with light. What a scene through
the dust! The red flags, the women and the soldiers and the shouting!

"I was suddenly dismayed. 'How can order come out of this?' I thought.
'They are all mad.... Terrible things are going to happen.' I was dirty
and tired and exhausted. I fought my way through the mob, found the
door. For a moment I looked back, to that sea of men lit by the last
light of the sun. Then I pushed out, was thrown, it seemed to me, from
man to man, and was at last in the air.... Quiet, fires burning in the
courtyard, a sky of the palest blue, a few stars, and the people singing
the 'Marseillaise.'

"It was like drinking great draughts of cold water after an intolerable
thirst....

"...Hasn't Tchekov said somewhere that Russians have nostalgia but no
patriotism? That was never true of me--can't remember how young I was
when I remember my father talking to me about the idea of Russia. I've
told you that he was by any kind of standard a bad man. He had, I think,
no redeeming points at all--but he had, all the same, that sense of
Russia. I don't suppose that he put it to any practical use, or that he
even tried to teach it to his pupils, but it would suddenly seize him
and he would let himself go, and for an hour he would be a fine
master--of words. And what Russian is ever more than that at the end?

"He spoke to me and gave me a picture of a world inside a world, and
this inside world was complete in itself. It had everything in
it--beauty, wealth, force, power; it could be anything, it could do
anything. But it was held by an evil enchantment as though a wicked
magician had it in thrall, and everything slept as in Tchaikowsky's
Ballet. But one day, he told me, the Prince would come and kill the
Enchanter, and this great world would come into its own. I remember that
I was so excited that I couldn't bear to wait, but prayed that I might
be allowed to go out and find the Enchanter... but my father laughed
and said that there were no Enchanter now, a