Coming out behind the Winter Palace, Dan Yack suddenly fell silent. He felt uneasy again. His legs sagged. He was overwhelmed by fatigue. An infinite sadness took hold of him, drained him, blew him up again, oppressed him. He staggered as far as the Bridge of Sighs. He dumped himself down right in the middle of the hog’s back, careless of the carriages that brushed past him. A gardavoï rushed up to him, then, recognising this famous reveller who was the envy of all of St Petersburg, discreetly withdrew.
Dan Yack experienced the sensation of rising up into the air like an observation balloon. A cable held him back, painfully, like something anchored in the marrow of his bones. A weight. A steam-winch creaked. His nerves were stretched to breaking-point. His heels left the ground, fell back, then rose again, very gently.
Little by little, this movement became more pronounced. It affected his calf muscles, his shins, his knees and, finally, his thighs.
Now Dan Yack was marking time on the spot and flapping his arms. Even his head was wagging. It seemed to inflate and float away on its own.
[Dan Yack, Cendras, B.]
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