In search of the miraculous

[G. of course meant esoteric work, 'the collecting of knowledge' and the collecting of people. But A. understood that he was speaking about 'oil.']

It would be curious to talk and become more closely acquainted with the psychology of a man whose capital depends entirely upon order in the solar system, which is hardly likely to be upset and whose interests for that reason prove to be higher than war and peace. . . .

In this way A. concluded the episode of the 'oil king.'

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.

I cannot say that my idea met with much approval. Most of them did not realize the gravity of the situation and to them it seemed possible that everything might yet calm down and become normal. Others were in the grip of the customary illusion that everything that happens is for the best. To them my words seemed to be exaggeration; at all events they saw no need for haste. For others the main difficulty was that we had heard nothing from G. and had had no news of him for a long time. Since the revolution there had only been one letter from Moscow and from this it was possible to gather that G. had gone away but no one knew where. Finally we decided to wait.

At that time there were two groups numbering about forty persons in all and there were also some separate groups which met at irregular intervals.

Soon after the meeting at Dr. S.'s house I received a postcard from G. written a month before in the train on the way from Moscow to the Caucasus which had been lying all that time at the post office owing to the prevailing disorders. It was evident from the postcard that G. had left Moscow before the revolution and as yet knew nothing of events

when he wrote it. He wrote that he was going to Alexandropol; he asked me to continue the work of the groups until his arrival and he promised to return by Easter.

This communication faced me with a very difficult problem. I thought it senseless and stupid to stay in Russia. At the same time I did not want to leave without G.'s consent or, to speak more truthfully, without him. And he had gone to the Caucasus, and his card, written in February, that is, before the revolution, could have no relation to the present situation. At length I again decided to wait although I saw that what was possible today might become impossible tomorrow.

Easter came—there was no news whatever from G. A week after Easter came a telegram in which he said he was arriving in May. The first 'provisional government' came to an end. It was already more difficult to get abroad. Our groups continued to meet and awaited G.

Our conversations used often to come back to the 'diagrams,' especially when we had to talk to new people in our groups. It seemed to me the whole time that in these 'diagrams' which we had got from G. there was a good deal left unsaid and I often thought that perhaps gradually with a deeper study of the 'diagrams,' their inner meaning and significance would be revealed to us.

Once when looking through some notes, made the year before, I paused at the 'cosmoses.' I wrote earlier that the 'cosmoses' particularly attracted me because they coincided completely with the 'period of dimensions' of the New Model of the Universe. I mentioned also the difficulties which arose for us at one time in connection with the different understanding of the 'Microcosmos' and the 'Tritocosmos.' But by this time we had already decided to understand 'man' as the 'Microcosmos' and organic life on earth as the 'Tritocosmos.' And in the last conversation G. silently approved of this. G.'s words about different time in different cosmoses intrigued me very much. And I tried to remember what P. had said to me about our 'sleep and waking' and about the 'breath of organic life.' For a long time I could make nothing of it. Then I remembered G.'s words that 'time is breath.'

''What is breath?' I asked myself.

'Three seconds. Man in a normal state takes about twenty full breaths, that is inhalations and exhalations, to the minute. Consequently a full breath takes about three seconds.

'Why are 'sleep and waking' the 'breath of organic life'? What are sleep and waking?

'For man and for all organisms commensurable with him and living in similar conditions to him, even for