ET: Almanac

 Escape: 

Alexander Ivanovich was returning home along a prospect running parallel to the Neva. A light flew by; the Neva opened up from under the arch of the Winter Canal; on the little arched bridge he again noticed the same shadow. 

Alexander Ivanovich was returning to his wretched habitation, to sit in solitude and to keep track of the life of the sow bugs. He had left that morning to escape the crowling sow bugs. Alexander Ivanovich's observations had led him to the thought that peace at night depends on how you spend the day. You bring home with you what you have experienced on the streets, in squalid restaurants, in tearooms. 

Then what was he returning home with?

His experiences dragged after him, like a tail invisible to the eye; Alexander Ivanovich experienced the experiences in reverse order, as they retreated behind his own back. It seemed to him that his back had opened up. Out of this back, as out of a door, something like the body of a giant reared and prepared to fling itself out of him; the experiences of today's twenty-four hours. 

Alexander Ivanovich was thinking that he had but to return home and the events of the last twenty-four hours would come crashing through the door. 

He left the glittering bridge behind him.

Beyond the bridge, against the background of St. Isaac's, a crag rose out of the murk. Extending a heavy, patinated hand, the enigmatic Horseman loomed, the horse flung out two hooves above the shaggy fur hat of the Palace grenadier, and the grenadier's shaggy fur hat swayed beneath the hooves. 

A shadow concealed the enormous face of the Horseman. A palm cut into the moonlit air. 

From that fecund time when the metallic Horseman had galloped hither, when he had flung his steed upon the Finnish granite, Russia was divided in two. Divided in two as well were the destinies of the fatherland. Suffering and weeping, Russia was divided in two, until the final hour. 

Russia, you are like a steed! Your two front hooves have leaped far off into the darkness, into the void, while your two rear hooves are firmly implanted in the granite soil. 

Do you want to separate yourself from the rock that holds you, as some of your mad sons have separated themselves from the soil? Do you too want to separate yourself from the rock that holds you, bridleless, suspended in air, and then plunge down into the chaos of waters? Or, could it be that you want to hurdle through the air, cleaving the mists, to disappear in the clouds along with your sons? Or having reared up, have you, oh Russia, fallen deep into thought for long years in the face of the awesome fate that has cast you here, amidst this gloomy north, where even the sunset itself lasts many hours, where time itself in turn pitches now into frosty night, now into diurnal radiance? Or will you, taking fright at the leap, again set down your hooves and, snorting, now out of control, carry off the great Horseman, out of these illusory lands into the depths of plain-flat spaces?

May this not come to pass!

Once it has soared up on its hind legs, measuring the air with its eyes, the bronze steed will not set down its hooves. There will be a leap across history. Great shall be the turmoil. The earth shall be cleft. The very mountains shall be thrown down by the cataclysmic earthquake, and because of that native earthquake our native plains will everywhere come forth humped. Nizhny, Vladimir, and Uglich will find themselves on humps. 

As for Petersburg, it will sink. 

In those days all the peoples of the earth will rush forth from their dwelling places. Great will be the strife, strife the like of which has never been seen in this world. The yellow hordes of Asians will set forth from their age-old abodes and will encrimson the fields of Europe in oceans of blood. There will be, oh yes, there will--Tushima! There will be--a new Kalka!

Kulikovo Field, I await you!

And on that day the final sun will arise in radiance over my native land. Oh Sun, if you do not rise, then, oh Sun, the shores of Europe will sink beneath the heavy Mongol heel, and foam will curl over these shores. Earthborn creatures once more will sink into the depths of the oceans, into chaos, primordial and long-forgotten. 

Arise, oh Sun!  

*        *        *

A turquoise gap swept across the sky, while a blot of burning phosphorous flew to meet it through the storm clouds and was unexpectedly transformed into a brightly shining crescent moon. Everything flared up: the waters, chimneys, granite, the two goddesses above the arch, the roof of the four-story house; and for an instant the cupola of St. Isaac's appeared illumined; and the bronze laurel wreath flared; and the lights on the islands went out one by one. In the middle of the Neva an indistinct vessel turned into a fishing schooner; on the captain's bridge there glowed what even could have been the pipe of a blue-nosed bosun, in a fur hat with ear-flaps, or the small bright lantern of a sailor on watch. 

At this point human destinies were distinctly illuminated for Alexander Ivanovich. He could perceive; what would be, what was never to be. Thus all became clear, but he was afraid to glance into his own destiny. He stood shaken. 

And the moon cut into a cloud. . . . 

Again raggedy arms and misting strands began scudding madly. A blot of phosphorous shone dimly and indistinctly. 

A deafening, inhuman roar! Headlights gleaming, an automobile, belching kerosine, hurtled from under the arch toward the river, and yellow, Mongol mugs cut across the square. 

Andrei Bely - Petersburg