At the turn of the century, when science and industry were fulfilling promises of a better life, science fiction let imaginations soar into the future. Many Russians were fascinated by Jules Verne, H. G. Wells, and others who sold well in translation. But the era inspired dystopias as well, as the idealistic dreams of previous generations began going sour. Many Russians, saddled with a very unscientific autocracy, recognized well before 1917 that was not necessarily brighter.The following story, abbreviated slightly here, is essentially political science fiction, embellished with marvelous technological inventions and palm trees along Petersburg's Nevsky Prospect. A cursory reading shows it an omen of what was to come; indeed, it anticipates visionaries from Evgeny Zamiatin, to George Orwell and Margaret Atwood. It competed in its own time with the socialist utopia Red Star (1908), written by Bolshevik Aleksandr Bogdanov. Within this context, the story reflects the confusion of reconciling Russia's outmoded past with its unknown future.
The story has been translated from Nikolai Federov, Vecher v 2217 godu. S poslesloviem. (SPB: Gerol'd, 1906).
It was three o'clock. The bright winter day was dying, and thesun's rays sparkled gold and red on flowers covered with frost alongthe glass roof of the city. Many of the people standing in thesamodvizhnik1 looked up; the leaves of the palm and magnolia treesalong Nevsky Prospect appeared dark, like bits of black velvet in asea of fading luminescence.
The sparks from the light in the glass flickered and died. Themournful bell rang three forlorn, soft peals. The vozdushnik2 landednoisily on the corner of Liteinyi Prospect, and in two minutes amotley crowd of passengers was pouring down the stairs and descendingin the elevators, crowding into the samodvizhniki. A girl, stillyoung but having lost the freshness of youth, stood on the secondlanding of the samdvizhnik; she bit her full lower lip with white,even teeth, and furrowed her exquisite, thin brows, deep in thought.A kind of haze covered her face and clouded her blue eyes. She didnot notice the crossroads of Liteinyi, Troitsky, and the park onFontanka, did not notice how everyone else standing around her waslooking up at the news bulletin, flaming in red letters above thecrowd and announcing that the insurrection in Greenland continued,despite intense fighting.
"It's terrible, how weak humanity still is," said a tall,broad-shouldered lad near her.
"But this eruption is extraordinary."
"In general, though, something bad is happening around us,"muttered a heavyset "thousander"3 smoking a long cigarette. The redlight made it easy to distinguish his hooked nose, pursed lips, andbulging eyes.
"What do you think?" asked a woman wearing an armband thatdesignated her a doctor.
"What is there to think? Listen closely and you'll hear the droneof an approaching insurrection, only it won't be like the one inGreenland. It'll be far more terrible …"
The girl got off at Catherine Street and walked to the cathedral.She loved this "ancient corner." It seemed to her that shadows of thepast lived here, of people who would never return. Only a high,greyish roof hanging overhead spoiled the illusion. There were notmany people here today, only a tall old man with a long black beard,and two boys. One of them attracted her attention particularly. Hewas thin, frail, with big blue eyes and straight blonde hair. He wasprobably imagining himself to be a defender of the truth from bygonedays, a student or a revolutionary, as he looked secretively into hissmall, red notebook. No one passing and looking at the girl, at herfull, healthy face, at her hands folded together, at the musculaturedetectable even through her clothes, her pretty legs crossed one overthe other, at her slender figure&emdash;no one would realize that shehad travelled into the past, into the mysterious distance.
Only yesterday she had taken her turn with Karpov.1
She was a strange girl. What attracted and amused others repelledher; what to them seemed plain, simple, and natural would produce awhirlwind in her pretty head, a whole storm of strange andincomprehensible thoughts, an oppressive aching in her soul …How the boys and girls she knew would laugh, laugh with their wholesouls if she told them her thoughts. Most of them would notunderstand her, and she would hear, of course, the same advice fromall sides: "Go to a doctor."
She wanted a family, an old-fashioned family shut off in its owncircle, tightly and indivisibly bound together, the kind of lovingfamily that one could only read about in historical novels. Shelooked at the strong, self-satisfied guys with hard muscles andsmiling eyes whom she met at work, on the streets, in the theaters,at meetings, picnics, and she insisted despondently, "No, not that,not that …" The ease with which these fellows went from woman towoman, changing their affections, was appalling to her, wounded herdeeply. Her girlfriends would laugh at her, "You have a heart ofstone." The boys she had turned down considered her stupid andabnormal, and little by little stopped paying attention to her.
Aglaia&emdash;that was the girl's name&emdash;was alreadytwenty-six. Twice the stern and dry "thousander" Krag had looked atAglaia's slender figure and said, "You're avoiding your duty tosociety."
Not many people liked Krag because she had such a one-track mind,an austerity, a fanatical devotion to her god&emdash;society.
"Even if you don't have any enthusiasm, you at least have toregister. If you take from society everything you need, you must giveback to it what you can. This neglect is improper and immoral."
"I'll think about it," said Aglaia.
"There's nothing to think about. It's crystal clear. This seems tobe some new sickness. When I was young, girls didn't think so much.It seems to me that those who favor a special compulsory law arecorrect."
So now, going down the steps at the university, gripped by a coolspring wind that made her nostrils flare and her breath to comedeeply and freely from her chest, Aglaia made up her mind. On thenext day she would go to the house where Karpov lived.
It was difficult for her to do this, and she blushed when sheasked the superintendent of the house, "Does Karpov takeapplications?"
The superintendent smiled reflexively and answered, "Yes he does,on Wednesdays from two to three."
Four days until the next Wednesday. Aglaia spent them as in afever, a hundred times deciding not to go and then changing her mind.Five minutes before she left her room she was not yet certain thatshe would go. But she went.
More than twenty women and girls were already sitting in hiswaiting room when she arrived, and each minute brought new ones. Somewere obviously embarrassed and sat with their eyes down, handsfolded. Others chatted in an undertone. The room was so crowded thatthere did not seem to be enough places for everyone who wanted toregister with this striking celebrity, and the elevators keptbringing them up in in ones, twos, and threes.
Aglaia did not want to speak with anyone and, burning with shame,she jumped to the first landing of the samodvizhnik, impatient withits slowness, shoving her way through the crowd and getting annoyedglances as she pushed toward her apartment.
When Krag again asked her several days later, "You still haven'tregistered?" she answered hatefully and with a nervous quiver in hervoice, "I've registered, I've registered, so please leave me alonenow."
Yesterday morning she was informed that today she would have herturn with Karpov. She had expected this, yet she had also thoughtthat it would be a very long time before she was called and this hadcalmed her down somewhat. The news hit her like an electric shock.Her arms and legs felt paralyzed and her head spun in a frenzy. Thatevening, when she washed and dressed, she was trembling.
Her knock on Karpov's door was barely audible. He was home andanswered lazily, "Come in."
It was midnight, the hour she had been assigned to him. He wasalready in bed and said lethargically, "Take off your clothes."
Her fingers would not listen to her. She tore off a large metalbutton, which clinked when it hit the floor, breaking the silence. Hesaid indifferently, "What's taking you so long?"
It seemed to Aglaia that yesterday she had lost the dearest, thebest thing in life, and that it could not be returned. She raised hereyes, as if searching the dark night sky for silent stars, butoverhead all she saw was the grey-white roof hanging coldly andapathetically. It seemed to Aglaia that it was pressing down on herbrain, her thoughts.
Aglaia turned her gaze back to the street. The red letters of thebulletins faded and then glowed back again, bringing news from allcorners of the earth:
"Vozdushnik crash near Madrid. Eleven dead."
"Elections in the Tokyo region. Kamegava won with a majority of389 votes."
"The insurrection in Greenland continues. Four divisions have beenmobilized."
Aglaia read these announcements, but the meanings behind the bloodred letters of these words escaped her. She looked to the right. Thecold green letters of yesterday's programs shone there:
"First auditorium. A lecture by Liubavina on the earth'scrust."
"Second auditorium. An aromatic concert."
"Third auditorium. A lecture by Karpov …"
This name hit Aglaia like a hammer and she jumped up, wanting torun away&emdash;but where could she go?
Today she wanted to be far away from people, from theseself-satisfied, happy, and laughing people, as monotonous asmannequins. But it would be even worse to go back to her own room,clean, light, and filled with lonelines; to be alone with herselfwould be the worst of all. She decided to visit Liuba, the new friendshe had become close to in the last couple months.
She walked into the entrance and pressed the button to numbertwenty-seven; an answer appeared instantaneously: "I'm home. Who isit?" She answered and again the letters lit up: "Come in."
Aglaia got into the elevator and went up to the eight floor. Shetook a few steps down the corridor and then knocked at numbertwenty-seven.
"Come in," answered Liuba.
"Are you alone?" asked Aglaia, having difficulty trying to makeout the objects in the room, which was lit only by a heater.
"Alone," Liuba got up off the couch to greet her.
"Can we close the window?" asked Aglaia, pressing the blackbutton. "That's better. The outside is bothering me today."
"I've just been lying here, dreaming," said Liuba, after Aglaiahad taken off her sweater and gloves.
"About what?"
"Oh, I don't even know myself. Today was the aromatic concert withmy favorite numbers: Viaznikov's "May Night," Wells's "Storm,"Poletti's "Romeo and Juliette." But I didn't want to leave my room.You remember "May Night"? It begins with the delicate scent of afresh meadow. Then the thick, warm aroma of violets, and the smell ofthick green leaves, and then the spicy smell of a decomposing forest… You seem to be walking through the thick woods hand-in-handwith your favorite person … and then roses, regal and in fullbloom … the dawn sparkles in the dew on the roses … It's somarvelous!"
"Why didn't you go?" asked Aglaia, waiting the answer with suchdread that it seemed as though her fate was hanging in thebalance.
"I didn't want to. Laziness. I've had some unpleasantries lately,"answered Liuba and then fell silent, looking intently at the coloredglass of the heater.
"What kind of unpleasantries?" asked Aglaia, unable to remainquiet.
"Oh, the usual. Everything's falling apart again. I'm so unhappy,Aglaia, so miserable!"
"What's the matter?"
"This week I was at Aikhenvald's, Kurbatov's, and Eizen's.Rejections everywhere … Why am I so unattractive? Why do I havesuch a long nose? I'm sure that every one of them looks first at mynose and then gets scared."
"Liuba, you're not as ugly as you think you are."
"Oh, you can't console me, I know better."
"Yesterday I was at Karpov's," Aglaia spoke almost inaudibly.
"You were!" Liuba cried out excitedly, turning to her. "so, howwas it? You're so lucky Aglaia. Tell me everything, do you hear?Everything."
"I'm depressed … I can't talk about it. My soul feels nasty,filthy.
"But why? How I'd love to be in your place. Don't blush …Karpov is so handsome. That's wonderful."
The telephone rang abruptly, and a ray of white light pierced theroom.
"Who is it?" asked Aglaia, annoyed.
"Vetvinsky," Liuba read the lighted board.
"Call him, let him in, please," intervening Aglaia, hurrying toprevent her friend from sending him away.
"I can't stand that reformer," whispered Liuba, turning away fromthe telephone.
"Please," repeated Aglaia, folding her hands and begging.
"Okay. But he's not my type, and I don't understand why you likehim. He's disturbed."
"It's his troubled nature that attracts me."
They heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Liuba.
A tall, well developed and muscular fellow entered.
"Is that you, Pavel?" asked Liuba, not turning around.
"Yes, it's I. Why don't you have any lights on?" Pavel greeted theyoung ladies.
"My nerves are bad."
"Well, it's not good to upset the nervous system. Have you heardthe latest news?"
"What?" asked Aglaia.
"First, there was an explosion in the central heating station inMoscow. A cylinder of gas blew up, taking several houses with it.More than ten are already dead, and part of the roof was destroyed.The whole city is freezing. Also, and this is the news that reallyexcites me, seven people, members of the "Southern Society ofIndividualism"1 have been captured, interrogated, and sentenced tolife imprisonment. Some of them have come and talked to us abouttheir ideas. Yesterday in the city of Solianii they received agenuine ovation after their lecture. They weren't able to make itback to their home before the Supreme Soviet ordered them rounded upand tried at a special session …"
"It's about time someone took measures against this infection,"said Liuba.
"But where is our freedom?" asked Aglaia.
"Freedom, freedom … a hackneyed expression," answered Liuba,"these people are undermining society, threatening calamities worsethan any explosions … "
"You have to fight words with words," said Aglaia.
"And what word do you use to fight the plague?" asked Liuba,upset, "and there are words worse than the plague."
She began to speak excitedly, gesticulating wildly, "There wereprophets … for centuries, for thousands of years humanitymoaned, was tormented, writhing in blood and tears … Finally itstroubles were solved, it found answers to the eternal questions;there are no more unhappy, destitute, forgotten people any more.Everyone has a place in the world, warmth, enough to eat, theopportunity to study …"
"And they're all slaves," tossed out Pavel quietly.
"That's not true," Liuba responded heatedly, "it's not true. Thereare now more slaves. We're all free and equal. There aren't slavesbecause there aren't masters."
"There's one terrible master."
"Who?"
"The crowd. Your ghastly 'majority'."
"Stop. These are old wives' tales. They upset me," Liuba now fellsilent, wringing her nervously.
"They drew me to them, as to a pool, as to an abyss," Aglaia saidsoftly.
"Who?" asked Liuba.
"Those whom you ironically call 'prophets'."
Liuba took three glasses, milk, cookies, and bread and butter fromthe tray, then pressed the button and slammed the door.
"I'm reading old books now. Every evening I devote a couple ofhours to reading," Pavel began to speak after swallowing a few bitesand leaning back in his armchair.
"So what?" Liuba aked curtly, still upset.
"I'm envious," Pavel began slowly, "I envy the free people ofthose times. I envy the unfortunate, hungry, and cold peasants. Theylived so freely, so broadly, choosing either work or idlenessaccording to their own free wills."
"That's the main thing, to be able to die from hunger," Liubatossed out.
"Yes, to make the choice to die from hunger."
"You can die from hunger from your own free will now if you wantto."
"Yes, I'm free to die any moment I want to, but they don't allowme to live as I'd like."
Aglaia did not take her eyes off him, catching his words hungrily."Yes, those are my thoughts."
"Be quiet! You're unbearable," cried Liuba. "Now you're going tostart talking about religion." She laughed contemptuously.
"Oh, how I would like to believe!" said Pavel, caught up by herwords, "to believe purely, naively, passionately, as they describe inthe those books. But they stole that from me when I was still a baby.They poisoned my soul with scepticism. Now it's dead, lifeless. How Ienvy the old-fashioned families, with mothers and fathers instead ofnumbered citizens."
"You're against the communal raising of children?"
"Yes, I'm against it, and I'm not afraid to talk about it, I don'tcare how wild it is or how much it cuts against the current scienceof government or prevailing morals."
"Do you know that in Africa, near New Berlin, a society has beenorganized to demand from the Supreme African Soviet the legalizationof the family according to the old ways?" said Aglaia. "Yes, I heardthat. They have my deepest sympathy. And if I ever get together witha woman," Pavel added meaningfully, "if I go with one it will beforever, and we will never part. If she nevertheless tries to leaveme, I'll kill her and myself."
"You're completely nuts," said Liuba. "More tea? Why are youyakking on about this? You're not going to convert society. And ifthe majority is against you, you must submit to them."
"The majority, the majority. The damned, imbecilic majority. Arock, suppressing freedom of movement."
Pavel jumped up and began to pace nervously. "When I'm outwalking," he began again, "along the Field of Mars, beneath itsstunning palms, magnolias, and oleanders, among its bright flowers,and I see that damned palace of the Supreme Soviet, my hands start toshake and I believe that I could strangle those people, tranquil,cold and as soulless as machines. The inflated speeches our oratorsgive at public festivals always seem to me to be mockery, patheticwretchedness. I always want to answer their trite words about theprosperity of humanity with only two words: blind men! Humanity isdead. It no longer exits."
"Let's walk together," Pavel said to Aglaia as she prepared toleave.
"Of course. I'd be very happy."
The samodvizhniki had already stopped running; the lonely steps ofa few pedestrians rang hollowly in the street. In silence, Pavel andAglaia mounted the stairs and exited onto the platfrom. Thevozdushnik was ready to take off. After they had fastened theirseatbelts, it slipped out of its mooring and began to rise.
"Look, isn't this like a fairytale bird?" asked Aglaia. "See howit shines."
"Yes," Pavel took Aglaia's warm hand and squeezed it. Aglaia'sheart froze from a glimpse of unanticipated happiness. The machinelanded. They got out and were left alone on the platform.
"Aglaia, dear, I love you, I love you," Pavel began to whispersuddenly, as if in a fever. "I've loved you for a long time, madly,and I want you to be my wife. I don't want you to give me a moment,or a day, a week; I'm not asking for a fleeting love from you. I wantyou for the rest of your life, until death. If you can give that kindof love and want me, tell me 'yes' …"
Aglaia's head was spinning, her thoughts jumbled. Suddenly sheturned away and pulled her hand from Pavel's hot hands.
"I'm unworthy of you," she said.
"You? you? so pretty, such a pure soul and body, unworthy of me?"whispered Pavel, tossing words out one after the other.
"Yes … yesterday I was at Karpov's … registered."
Pavel stepped away from her, staring bitterly at her pale face, asif he could not believe what he was hearing.
"Yes, yes … I'm telling the truth … Go away … Leaveme alone … my darling …" she ended in a whisper.
"Please …"
"I beg you, leave me alone …"
Pavel walked away acquiescently, his weak legs almost bucklingbeneath him. Soon he disappeared through the doors to the entry.
A bell rang. The massive shadow of a vozdushnik moved slowly infrom the right, and before it could land Aglaia threw herself fromthe platform, closing her eyes under its bright, shiny body.
Pavel wandered the empty streets for a long time. At threeo'clock, crossing Morskoi Street, he looked up reflexively at thebulletins. The red letters jumped in his eyes. The news read:
At vozdushnik station no. 3, citizenness no. 4372221 threw herselfbeneath a vozdushnik and was recovered without any signs of life.Reasons unknown."
"Are you sure that everything is going to be like that?" my friendasked me after I had read him the manuscript.
"No, I hope that everything won't be like this. Otherwise Iwouldn't have written the story."
"A red thread runs through your story, the idea of a compulsorysocial organization in the future."
"Yes."
"But aren't the socialists striving most of all for freedom?"
"They aren't yet triumphant. They're still struggling, at leastwaiting patiently. In every religious doctrine the embryo of thepersecuted turns into the persecutor as soon as it becomes aware ofits own strength."
"Religious?"
"Yes, socialism is a religious doctrine. You can see all the signsof it. Most of all, it has a scarcely concealed, sometimes even veryopen hatred for other religious doctrines, especially forChristianity, which is the strongest and most dangerous. It has theabsolute confidence that this doctrine contains the one and onlytruth, the essentially deliberate martyrdom in the name of thetriumph of these beliefs, the astonishing ability to subdivide intovarious sects, the passion and intolerance of their disputes."
"You said 'victory.' Are you certain that socialism willtriumph?"
"Yes, the followers of the new doctrine believe that the victorywill be final and complete, but I think that it will only betemporary and partial."
"Why?"
"As with all man-made doctrines … do you really think thathumanity has advanced to that level where it can come up with adefinitive formula? Socialism carries in it the seeds of its owndestruction."
"Where?"
"In its excessive devotion to land and earthly goods, in thenarrowness of its focus, it's just too materialistic."
"Yes, but aren't its ideals the same as Christianity's …brotherhood … equality …"
"There's a major difference."
"What?"
"True Christianity says 'look first of all for the kingdom of Godand His truth and all will be yours'."
"And socialism?"
"Socialism says 'look most of all for material goods because youcan do without God's kingdom'."
"But still there are many similarities between the two."
"No, they're antithetical."
"So Christians have to fight with socialists?"
"No, they must fight with themselves, with the filthy scum that inpast centuries has spread over the crystal clarity of Christianity,and which has enticed away many people who cannot see into thedepths. Socialism isn't dangerous for true Christians because theyjoin not as masters but as servants. It is only a threat to weaksouls, whose vision is clouded over."
"On the question of marriage …" my friend began.
"I explained it well enough in the story, and now can only addthat in all cases even the slightest external coercion must be wipedout. Also, on the question of raising children, and the rearing ofchildren is properly one of the most important responsibilities aperson can have, bringing the child up to the correct level ofculture, the state and society can only be observers, making certainthat children aren't raised with deformed and conspicuously harmfulmorals …"
1 The author has created a word here that in essence means"automotive." Like other science fiction writers, he is anticipatingland travel far more sophisticated than the large, cumbersomeautomobiles then on the road.
2 "Vozdushnik" brings to mind a balloon; this is another exampleof the author creating a word to describe in this case air travelmore advanced than biplanes.
3 A "thousander" was a member of the new government; the neologismresembles the medieval "sotnik," or hundreder.
1 Karpov was a handsome historian who had recently defended adissertation on "The Institution of the Family in PrereformEurope."
1 The author here makes reference to Russia's first band ofrevolutionaries, the Decembrists of 1825, who were organized into"Northern" and "Southern" societies.