But before he had time to finish he lay with his nose on the grass; he was lifted in the air and thrown down with force—­father had thrown him high up with his knees, according to his old habit.  Yura felt offended; but father, entirely ignoring his anger, began to tickle him under his armpits, so that Yura had to laugh against his will; and then father picked him up like a little pig by the legs and carried him to the terrace.  And mamma was frightened.

“What are you doing?  The blood will rush to his head!”

After which Yura found himself standing on his legs, red faced, dishevelled, feeling very miserable and terribly happy at the same time.

The day was rushing fast, like a cat that is chased by a dog.  Like forerunners of the coming great festival, certain messengers appeared with notes, wonderfully tasty cakes were brought, the dressmaker came and locked herself in with mamma in the bedroom; then two gentlemen arrived, then another gentleman, then a lady—­evidently the entire city was in a state of agitation.  Yura examined the messengers as though they were strange people from another world, and walked before them with an air of importance as the son of the lady whose birthday was to be celebrated; he met the gentlemen, he escorted the cakes, and toward midday he was so exhausted that he suddenly started to despise life.  He quarrelled with the nurse and lay down in his bed face downward in order to have his revenge on her; but he fell asleep immediately.  He awoke with the same feeling of hatred for life and a desire for revenge, but after having looked at things with his eyes, which he washed with cold water, he felt that both the world and life were so fascinating that they were even funny.

When they dressed Yura in a red silk rustling blouse, and he thus clearly became part of the festival, and he found on the terrace a long, snow white table glittering with glass dishes, he again commenced to spin about in the whirlpool of the onrushing events.

“The musicians have arrived!  The musicians have arrived!” he cried, looking for father or mother, or for any one who would treat the arrival of the musicians with proper seriousness.  Father and mother were sitting in the garden—­in the arbour which was thickly surrounded with wild grapes—­maintaining silence; the beautiful head of mother lay on father’s shoulder; although father embraced her, he seemed very serious, and he showed no enthusiasm when he was told of the arrival of the musicians.  Both treated their arrival with inexplicable indifference, which called forth a feeling of sadness in Yura.  But mamma stirred and said: 

“Let me go.  I must go.”

“Remember,” said father, referring to something Yura did not understand but which resounded in his heart with a light, gnawing alarm.

“Stop.  Aren’t you ashamed?” mother laughed, and this laughter made Yura feel still more alarmed, especially since father did not laugh but maintained the same serious and mournful appearance of Gulliver pining for his native land....