“But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue!”
the audience roared out its applause.
“Yes, the public and I understand one another,” said the actor as he went off the stage into the wings after the first act. “Here, you crocodile, give me some vodka!” he shouted at once to the barber who was coming to meet him.
IV
“Well, little father, don’t you think he’s fine?” said a young actor-student to Yakovlef, the patriarch of provincial actors, who was taking the part of the king.
The two were standing together on the staircase which led from the dressing-rooms to the stage.
Yakovlef pursed and bit his full thick lips.
“Fine! Fine! But all the same, he acts as a boy. Those who saw Mochalof play Hamlet wouldn’t marvel at this. I, brother, was just such a little chap as you are when I had the happiness of seeing him first. And when I come to die, I shall look back on that as the most blessed moment of my life. When he got up from the floor of the stage and said:
“‘Let the stricken deer go weep’
the audience rose as one man, hardly daring to breathe. And now watch carefully how Kostromsky takes that very scene.”