In Search of the Miraculous

We were particularly surprised by G.'s "French novel." Either A. invented it, adding it to his own impressions, or G. actually made him "see," that is, presume, a French novel in some small volume in a yellow, or perhaps not even a yellow cover, because

G. of course did not read French.

After G.'s departure up to the time of the revolution we only got news of him from

Moscow once or twice.

All my plans had long since been upset. I had not succeeded in publishing the

books I intended to publish; I had not succeeded in preparing anything for foreign

editions, although right from the beginning of the

war I saw that my literary work would have to be transferred abroad. During the past

two years I had given up all my time to G.'s work, to his groups, to talks connected

with this work, to journeys from Petersburg, and had completely neglected my own

affairs.

Meanwhile the atmosphere was growing gloomier. One felt that something was

bound to happen and that very soon. Only those upon whom the course of events still

appeared to depend were unable to see and feel this. The marionettes failed to

understand the danger that threatened them and did not understand that the very same

wire which pulls the villain with a knife in his hand from behind a bush makes them

turn and look at the moon. A marionette theater is worked in the same way.

Finally the storm broke. The "great bloodless revolution" took place— the most

absurd and the most blatant lie that could have been thought of. But the most

extraordinary thing of all was that people who were there on the spot, in the center of

everything that was happening, could believe in this lie, and in the midst of all the

murders could speak about a "bloodless" revolution.

I remember that we spoke at the time of the "power of theories." People who had been waiting for the revolution, who had put all their hopes in it, and who had seen in

it liberation from something, could not and did not want to see what was actually

happening and only saw what in their opinion ought to be happening.

When I read in a leaflet printed on one side only the news of the abdication of

Nicholas II, I felt that in this lay the center of gravity of everything that took place.

"Ilovaisky may rise from the grave and write at the end of his books:

'March, 1917, the end of Russian history,'" I said to myself.

I had no feelings whatever for the dynasty, but I simply did not wish to deceive

myself as many others were doing at that time.

I had always been interested in the person of the Emperor Nicholas II;

he seemed to me to be a remarkable man in many ways; but he was completely

misunderstood and did not understand his own self. That I was right is proved by the

end of his diary which was published by the bolsheviks and which referred to the time

when, betrayed and left by all, he showed wonderful strength and even greatness of

mind.

But after all, the matter had nothing to do with him as a person but with the

principle of the unity of power and the responsibility to this power which he

represented in himself. It is true that this principle was denied by a considerable part

of the Russian intelligentsia. And for the people the word "czar" had long lost all significance. But this word still had a very great significance for the army and for the

bureaucratic machine which, though very imperfect, nevertheless worked and held

every-

thing together. The "czar" was the indispensable central part of this machine. The abdication of the "czar" at such a moment was bound to destroy the whole machine.

And we had nothing else. The celebrated "public-co-operation," for the creation of which so many sacrifices had been made, proved, as was to be expected, to be bluff.

To create anything "on the move" was impossible. Events were moving at a breathless speed. The army broke up in a few days. The war in reality had stopped earlier. But

the new government did not wish to recognize this fact. A fresh lie was started. But

what was most surprising in all this was that people should find something to be glad

about. I do not speak of the soldiers who broke out of barracks or out of the trains

which were ready to carry them to the slaughter. But I was surprised at our

"intelligentsia" who from "patriots" immediately became "revolutionaries" and

"socialists." Even the Novoe Vremya suddenly became a socialist paper. The famous Menshikov wrote one article "about freedom," but he evidently could not swallow it himself and gave it up.

I think it was about a week after the revolution that I collected the principal

members of our group in the quarters of Dr. S. and put before them my views on the

position of affairs. I said that in my opinion there was no sense whatever in staying in

Russia and that we must go abroad;

that in all probability there would be only a short period of comparative calm before

everything began to break up and collapse. We could do nothing to help and our own

work would be impossible.