Lost trumpet
(143)
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THE LOST TRUMPET
M3
“A girl you know there ? Then she’ll take us in.
Let’s go.”
“These are sad hours for a middle-aged drago¬
man.”
She laughed mockingly. “I will find you a nice
basket-chair to sit in at the Avallaire.”
Now the glitter of lights begilding the usually
sombre frontage of the Pension burst upon us.
Another dance was in progress. I said :
“The good Oscar Wilde, you will remember from
my English classes in Kazan, was a favourite of
mine.”
“Who ?”
“Wilde. A not-so-clean little English genius.
And a verse of his says :
“ ‘ ’Tis sweet to dance to violins
When love and life are fair.
To dance to lutes, to dance to flutes.
Is delicate and rare.
But it is not sweet with dangling feet
To dance upon the air 1’ ”
“But I don’t want to dance upon the air !”
“Nor are you in any risk, Princess. But I was
only a moment ago. . . . For no doubt I should
have had the decency to go and hang myself had I
accepted your challenge at Adrian’s and put it in
practice in that dark street we have just left.”
“Why, Anton Kyrilovitch I” She stopped and put
her hands on my shoulders. We stood so, ludicrously,
and it was well it was night and not day, for even
M3
“A girl you know there ? Then she’ll take us in.
Let’s go.”
“These are sad hours for a middle-aged drago¬
man.”
She laughed mockingly. “I will find you a nice
basket-chair to sit in at the Avallaire.”
Now the glitter of lights begilding the usually
sombre frontage of the Pension burst upon us.
Another dance was in progress. I said :
“The good Oscar Wilde, you will remember from
my English classes in Kazan, was a favourite of
mine.”
“Who ?”
“Wilde. A not-so-clean little English genius.
And a verse of his says :
“ ‘ ’Tis sweet to dance to violins
When love and life are fair.
To dance to lutes, to dance to flutes.
Is delicate and rare.
But it is not sweet with dangling feet
To dance upon the air 1’ ”
“But I don’t want to dance upon the air !”
“Nor are you in any risk, Princess. But I was
only a moment ago. . . . For no doubt I should
have had the decency to go and hang myself had I
accepted your challenge at Adrian’s and put it in
practice in that dark street we have just left.”
“Why, Anton Kyrilovitch I” She stopped and put
her hands on my shoulders. We stood so, ludicrously,
and it was well it was night and not day, for even
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (143) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205191336 |
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| Description | J. Leslie Mitchell. |
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| Shelfmark | Vts.143.j.8 |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Sixteen books written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935), regarded as the most important Scottish prose writer of the early 20th century. All were published in the last seven years of his life, mostly under his real name, James Leslie Mitchell. They include two works of science fiction, non-fiction works on exploration, short stories set in Egypt, a novel about Spartacus, and the classic 'Scots Quair' trilogy which includes 'Sunset Song'. Mitchell's first book 'Hanno, or the future of exploration' (1928) is rare and has never been republished. |
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