Полное собрание сочинений в десяти томах. Том 6. Художественная проза - Николай Степанович Гумилев

do figures. We had seventy-three men in our village and I wanted to know how many there would be in seventy-three villages. God is witness that I succeeded in finding out! My mother beat me, but never cured me of the habit. When I learned to read, it got worse. I used to calculate the number of people now on the earth and the number there were in the time of Jesus Christ. I began the elementary school, but never finished it. I wasn’t able to do other work, and my mother needed me at home. She was just getting me a wife when the terrible thing happened. A man game to our house to spend the night. He looked like a pilgrim, but he was not a pilgrim. He was a scoundrel! He admired my gift for figures and one morning persuaded me to go away with him, God knows where. He had lots of money! We went in a two horse carriage... I have never travelled that way before or since. We took trains and boats and came at last to a village in the mountains, a very rich village, full of new houses and big pink faced women. I was taken to the chief, a little white old man. I nearly fainted with fear when I saw him. Every man is sometimes sad and every man is sometimes angry, but one could see that this man was never angry, never sad. Looking at his joyful, quiet face gave me the shivers down my back and yet I don’t know why I was frightened. He heard me make some calculations and nodded his head to show he was satisfied. «You will be the greatest of us all», he said, «when you have accomplished the task. You will live in the richest house and have a wife of your own choice. Then you will rest till the time comes for the second task and after that live happily amongst us for ever.» But he was wrong. I could never live with him, I am a serious minded man and during all the three weeks I was in that place, the people danced and sang as if it were the devil’s masquerade! It was there I first met Mitia. He isn’t clever enough to be given a special task, but he goes from place to place through Mother Russia watching the workers and engaging new ones. Be careful of him my good Sir! He is a dangerous man and his knife is sharp as a razor...»

«But what work did they give you?» asked Mesentzeff impatiently.

Misha was almost in tears. «They put me to chemistry. It requires a head for figures. Have you heard of a certain Lavoisier? He is a science man from France and has proved that nothing is lost in nature, not a single grain of dust. If you burn a match, it becomes ash and smoke, but if you collect the ash and smoke and know how to put them together again scientifically, you can remake the match all complete as it was before. That’s ingenious, isn’t it? I have tried the experiment here and it came out quite correct. «Well,» they said, «you know the formula. You know how to remake the match. Prove it cannot be done. Disprove Lavoisier. He says nothing is lost. Prove the opposite. Because if matter can be done away with, matter does not truly exist, and that proves the existence of God». The damned devils! Can one prove the existence of God by chemistry? It is in the heart that one finds God. «You think that way,» said they, «but some men think otherwise. We are working to prevent those men from forgetting God». How can one get on with such people?»

«What is the second task?» inquired Mesentzeff.

«It is still more complicated. «The world spins round the sun,» they said. «You know how to prove it; so prove the contrary. Copernicus and Galileo are not authorities on the subject, for they did not believe in God.» Who am I, to contradict great men? Great lords and professors and government ministers have toiled to invent things, and I, an ignorant peasant, am to lay traps for them! If I were to succeed, how should I dare look in their honest, reproachful faces? I would die of shame if they said to me, «Thank you Misha, for the good turn you have done us.» But I must work or the Brotherhood will murder me. This is the sixth year I have been working».

«Have you found a solution?»

Misha looked away for a moment in silence.

«Well not exactly,» he said at last unwillingly. One can find out, but I don’t try very hard. When things begin to grow clear, I upset a glass or let the papers fall into the fire. It looks like an accident and meanwhile the work makes no progress. I’m not altogether without a conscience. I’ve one consolation. My enemies are in no hurry. «Work away, Misha,» they say, «ten years, thirty years, no matter so long as you succeed! And a gipsy told me I should die before my hair turned grey!»

There came a knock at the door. Misha grew shy again at the sound and timidly unbarred it. Vania appeared.

«That’s how it is, is it?» he exclaimed with a sudden assumption of superiority. «You’re together and Mitia told me not to let you talk to each other! However I’m not his spy. He can look after you himself if he wants to instead of playing about with the girls like a billy goat. All the same you had better come away, Nicolas Petrovitch, or he’ll suspect you and he can be very nasty.»

Mesentzeff realized the excellence of the advice and left the cabin. The flames of sunset were by now burnt out: only one red bar hanging smouldering over the blue sea of mist. Mesentzeff thought of Petrograd.