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Meanwhile M. Meyerhold, white, perspiring, in his shirt-sleeves with his collar loosened and his hair damp, is in labour behind the gold tissue to produce the child of his life... and Behold, the Child is produced! And such a child! It was not I am sure so fantastic an affair in reality as in my rememberance of it.
"Some arrests and a few people beaten, and a policeman will get a medal." There was a long pause. "I went to 'Masquerade' the other night," I said. "I hear it's very good...." "Pretentious and rather vulgar but amusing all the same." "Every one's talking about it and trying to get seats...." "Yes. Meyerhold must be pleased." "They discuss it much more than they do the war, or even politics.
The name of the evening was "Meyerhold," the gentleman responsible for the production. At last the Event that had been brewing ceaselessly for the last ten years ever since the last Revolution in fact was to reach creation. The moment of M. Meyerhold's life had arrived the moment, had we known it, of many other lives also; but we did not know it.
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