In
thousands and thousands again, on an almost even level, the small round
caps of many colours were pressed together, till it seemed impossible
that there could be room for the bodies that belonged to them. As when,
in vintage time, the gathered fruit is brought home to the vats in the
sweating panniers of wood, pressed down and level to the brim, and the
red and white and blue and green grapes lie closely touching each other
almost floating in the juice, rocking and bobbing all at once with
every step of the laden mule--so, as Gilbert looked out before him, the
bright-hued, close-fitting caps moved restlessly and without ceasing
all round a central turmoil of splendid colour, shaded by tender tones
of violet and olive, and shot by the glare of sunlit gold, and the
sheen of silver, and the cold light of polished steel.
But there in the heart of the press there was danger, and from far away
Gilbert saw clearly enough, through the cloud of light and colour, the
lifeless tones that are like nothing else of nature, the deadly
unreflecting paleness of frightened faces, and the cries of women hurt
and in terror came rising over the heads of the multitude. He sat still
and looked before him as if his sight could distinguish the features of
one or another at that distance, and he felt icy cold when he thought
of what might happen, and that all those fair young girls and women, in
their beauty and in their youth, in their fanciful dresses, might be
crushed and trampled and kicked to death before thousands who would
have died to save them.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220