In the years between the wars Gurdjieff’s philosophy would attract many brilliant people who rightly saw it as a substitute for the current political creeds and fads. For a time a number of important politicians, too, were attracted to it. The world might have been a very different place today if Gurdjieff’s teachings had taken deeper root in the minds, say, of Hitler and Goering. Gurdjieff should have stayed on in Petrograd instead of returning to Tiflis in 1917. He might have changed the whole course of Russian history. He was a noble opponent of anarchism and socialism. He recognised them as a poor substitute for true mystical experience. Yet I saw him argue fluently with committed Bolsheviks and seem to be agreeing with them. But this was his way of turning their own logic against them to win them round.
In those months before the Tsar’s abdication, the streets became even worse. The broad pavements were dirtier and more depressing. Peter was a city of death and desolation. The war reports suggested tremendous advances until in early December, just before I was due to undergo my examinations, came the news of the taking of Bucharest. Rumania had capitulated. We had lost an ally overnight. Even more wounded filled the city. France and England were rumoured to be preparing to ally themselves with Germany against Russia. Even I, obsessed with my dissertation, could not ignore the fact that we were in great danger.
Then it came to me that all my examiners would be sharing this mood. In the course of speaking, I could tell them of certain personal inventions which might help win the War. I would not go into details which would frighten those poor, unimaginative souls. I would merely mention my ideas in passing. Psychologically, it would be a perfect moment to display my knowledge and ensure myself the highest marks.
It was not a plan conceived with cynicism (though, of course, I had the motive of wishing to startle both Professor Merkuloff, the rest of the academicians and the other students) but I knew it might stand me in good stead with my attempts to achieve a government appointment.
I tested some of my speeches out on the two girls. They were impressed, though most of what I said went well over their heads. I tested other ideas on Kolya who said that I was ‘brilliant’ and laughed with joy to hear me expound my scientific theories. I wrote letters home explaining I should soon be sending good news. I wrote to Uncle Semya. He would have a nephew of whom to be more than proud. To my landlady and her daughters I became, as they put it, ‘unbearable’ because my confidence was so great. I think they had preferred the shyer Dimitri Mitrofanovitch of his first year in St Petersburg. As the day of the main examinations came closer I grew more excited. The windows in the horse-tram were by now more than half-an-inch thick with frost on the inside. It was so cold that long icicles extended from the roof over my head, but I hardly noticed. I saw pictures of myself addressing the professors and examining board. I saw my fellow students listening with stunned wonderment or leaning forward with sudden, ecstatic understanding of what I was really saying.
In the first days, one merely saw various professors and answered simple questions. I went through the examinations patiently, letting drop hints that my knowledge extended rather further than the questions demanded. In the middle days, I began to lard in more information, making casual reference to certain modern inventions, to specific kinds of materials and manufacturers, to current research findings and advanced theories. On the last day, when it was my turn to give my main dissertation before the class, in the great hall, I decided to pull out all the stops. I had learned, like many others in those times, to inject myself intravenously with cocaine. I gave myself a strong solution shortly before I boarded the tram. By the time I arrived at the Polytechnic neither the cold nor the anxious looks of my fellows could touch me in the slightest. I was ready for everything. I remember flinging open my coat as I crossed the misty quadrangle to the main hall, showing the same contempt for the weather as I felt for them.
I waited impatiently (even some of the examiners noticed this) while four others gave their pathetic, faltering speeches on this or that tiny aspect of technology. Then at last my name was called and I strode up to the dais on which, around a curved table, sat the entire staff and governors of the Polytechnic. Over their heads was a large portrait of a benevolent Tsar Nicholas; before me were the assembled students. I noticed some of them giggling or making comments about me. I was able, with stern glances, to quell these easily.
Professor Merkuloff’s sarcastic tones came from the table. ‘Well, Kryscheff, and what are you going to speak about - assuming you have absorbed any of your studies?’
I turned and laughed in his face. It was not an insolent laugh. It was the laughter of one who shared a joke with an equal (or an inferior, in actuality), ‘I am going to speak on the ontological approach to the problems of science and technology,’ I told the examiners, ‘with a particular emphasis on technological aids to the winning of the present struggle.’
‘A rather large subject,’ said Vorsin, one of the senior professors. He was a small old man with a yellow, wrinkled skin, ‘for someone in your year.’
‘It is a subject, your excellency, I feel quite at ease with. I have been doing certain studies in my spare time. The reason I was sent to your Institute was in one sense simply to complete a formality. I required academic information not generally available. I also wished to learn something of academic disciplines. I believe that this is what impressed Professor Matzneff and aroused the animosity of certain other professors. I am deeply grateful to your excellency and to your staff for the help you have given me, however.’
Vorsin seemed impressed. He smiled at his colleagues.
‘Now, your excellency, if I could begin ... ?’ I bowed with considerable dignity.
‘Begin,’ said the old man, and he moved his hand in a gesture which displayed magnanimity and kindness. He leaned over to murmur something to Merkuloff. I knew that he was asking about me and that he would receive a biased opinion of me from Merkuloff. But I was amused by my professor’s stupidity and presumption.
I began my discourse almost at once. I disdained notes. I addressed the assembled students, (turned occasionally to speak to the professors, who almost at once began to show astonishment. It was as if Jesus had sat down with the Elders in the Synagogue. Indeed, I felt somewhat godlike. This was partly due to the effects, I suppose, of the cocaine. If I was not a Messiah to the Age of Science, I felt at least I might be His Baptist!
There was no denying the immediate effect of my words. I discussed the problems of Newtonian science in relation to modern knowledge. I discussed the most recent developments in the field of extra-strong materials, which would enable us to build entirely new types of machines: gigantic aeroplanes and airships. I drew their attention to the possibilities of rocket propulsion, as opposed to the limitations of the conventional internal combustion engine. I spoke of gas-operated aeroplanes. This would involve a system of super-heating by which certain gases could be brought to an appropriately intense temperature. I spoke of a kind of Gatling gun which could be operated by means of compressed air, which would shoot thousands of needles into the enemy’s ranks. Each needle could contain a hollow tip in which was concealed deadly poison. No matter where he was hit, the soldier would die almost at once. Failing that, a narcotic drug could be used and we should have wars without death. This would be far more efficient than gas canisters which anyway could be counteracted by means of gas-masks. I also described monster machines, a thousand times bigger than the largest tank. These could simply crush their way through the enemy lines, physically burying all who stood against them. I brought into question our whole understanding of current technological developments. I was about to go into more abstract matters, concerning electrical atoms, when Merkuloff - that jealous mental dwarf! - sprang up and cried: