, and from between the backs of those
in front he caught glimpses of an open space with a strip of red cloth
spread out on it; but just then the crowd swayed back--the police
in front were pushing back those who had pressed too close to the
procession: the Emperor was passing from the palace to the Cathedral of
the Assumption--and Petya unexpectedly received such a blow on his side
and ribs and was squeezed so hard that suddenly everything grew dim
before his eyes and he lost consciousness. When he came to himself, a
man of clerical appearance with a tuft of gray hair at the back of his
head and wearing a shabby blue cassock--probably a church clerk and
chanter--was holding him under the arm with one hand while warding off
the pressure of the crowd with the other.

"You've crushed the young gentleman!" said the clerk. "What are you up
to? Gently!... They've crushed him, crushed him!"

The Emperor entered the Cathedral of the Assumption. The crowd spread
out again more evenly, and the clerk led Petya--pale and breathless--to
the Tsar-cannon. Several people were sorry for Petya, and suddenly a
crowd turned toward him and pressed round him. Those who stood nearest
him attended to him, unbuttoned his coat, seated him on the raised
platform of the cannon, and reproached those others (whoever they might
be) who had crushed him.

"One might easily get killed that way! What do they mean by it? Killing
people! Poor dear, he's as white as a sheet!"--various voices were heard
saying.

Petya soon came to himself, the color returned to his face, the pain had
passed, and at the cost of that temporary unpleasantness he had obtained
a place by the cannon from where he hoped to see the Emperor who
would be returning that way. Petya no longer thought of presenting his
petition. If he could only see the Emperor he would be happy!

While the service was proceeding in the Cathedral of the Assumption--it
was a combined service of prayer on the occasion of the Emperor's
arrival and of thanksgiving for the conclusion of peace with the
Turks--the crowd outside spread out and hawkers appeared, selling kvas,
gingerbread, and poppyseed sweets (of which Petya was particularly
fond), and ordinary conversation could again be heard. A tradesman's
wife was showing a rent in her shawl and telling how much the shawl had
cost; another was saying that all silk goods had now got dear. The clerk
who had rescued Petya was talking to a functionary about t