Дні мрій

           Natureseemedprimandstaidthatdayandtheglobegavenohintthatitwasflyingroundacircusringofitsown.Couldtheyreallybetrue,Iwondered,allthosebewilderingthingsIhadheardtellofcircuses?Didlong-tailedponiesreallywalkontheirhind-legsandfireoffpistols?Wasithumanlypossibleforclownstoperformone-halfofthebewitchingdrolleriesrecordedinhistory?Andhow,oh,howdareIventuretobelievethat,fromoffthebacksofcreamyArabsteeds,ladiesofmorethanearthlybeautydischargedthemselvesthroughpaperhoops?No,itwasnotaltogetherpossible,theremusthavebeensomeexaggeration.Still,Iwouldbecontentwithverylittle,Iwouldtakealowpercentage—averysmallproportionofthecircusmythwouldmorethansatisfyme.Butagain,evensupposingthathistorywere,onceinaway,noliar,coulditbethatImyselfwasreallyfatedtolookuponthisthinginthefleshandtolivethroughit,tosurvivetherapture?No,itwasaltogethertoomuch.Somethingwasboundtohappen,oneofuswoulddevelopmeasles,theworldwouldblowupwithaloudexplosion.Imustnotdare,Imustnotpresume,toentertainthesmallesthope.Imustendeavoursternlytothinkofsomethingelse.

           Needlesstosay,Ithought,Idreamedofnothingelse,dayornight.Waking,Iwalkedarm-in-armwithaclown,andcrackedaportentouswhiptothebravemusicofaband.Sleeping,Ipursued—perchedastrideofacoal-blackhorse—aprincessallgauzeandspangles,whoalwaysmanagedtokeepjustoneunattainablelengthahead.