twice told tale

The Balloon Ascension
It began quite unexpectedly. Time: the 1900s. Place: St Petersburg, the Russian Empire. One day, at a soiree, Grigori Rasputin mingled in society. Surrounded by ladies of society, he confusedly wheezed and poked at a slice of pineapple with his big dirty finer. “Something magic is in you,” one of the ladies nodded at him gently, “Irresistible appeal. You are a mystic.” Believing that the lady’s meaning was his former business, horsestealing,in Tobolsk of the time, when nobody was about to remember his patronymic name, Rasputin began shuffling out, “Bosh! It’s all fibs. Mikhail stole, and I didn’t. Our village constable tells untruth.” “No, no! Don’t argue, Grigori Yefimovich!” all the ladies began vividly protesting, “You are a sphinx. An enigmatic sphinx.” “Maybe, I am, gals,” Rasputin agreed, ready for paltering, “but if you talk about Ivan’s gelding, then you are wrong to think that. True, someone stole, but someone didn’t. Actually, that’s a thing of the past. Nothing worth remembering.” “Gelding. It sounds beautiful,” one of the ladies whispered to her friend, “Something dimly attractive. If my newborn is boy, I shall name him Gelding. Gelding Pavlovich.” Next, at the soiree, Rasputin was called “versatile,” “huge,” “unearthly,” “empyrean.” More and more anxious, he glanced at the doorway, from time to time, thinking to himself, “All the women are bigwigs. Their husbands may be police officers. Now, they worry me with their words, and soon, they can get to the truth. If they call their husbands, then give up, you phony old bogus man Grigori…” Aloud, he said, “So... Imust be off.”“No, no! We won’t let you go!” the ladies got agitated, “Not at any price!”“This is it!” Rasputin got frightened, “I’m caught like a sparrow!” he thought, “I must do a trick to be taken away and get out of here… To get out of here, at all costs...” He reached for a big crystal vase and pulled at the edge of the tablecloth, but a prompt valet replaced the vase on another table. “At all costs, but not the vase,” Rasputin thought, “For a huge vase like this, I’ll be beaten. And then go, Grigori, live with no ribs.” But the Siberian’s quick wits suggested him a brilliant way out. Pausing at the doorway, he beckoned the hostess of the Salon to approach and then he said to her, “Get ready, old woman. We are going to the bathhouse.” With that, the splendid Ascension of Grigori Rasputin began. It seemed to him that a moment more and he would hear shouts of the indignant guests addressing to him, his cheek got reddened beforehand with a blow, and he thrilled with anticipation of the moment when he could find a point of rest again among the cold cobblestones of the street pavement, and free again, he could dash to his humble abode... But something unexpected ensued. “To the bathhouse?” the hostess said, “Just a moment, Grigori Yefimovich...” When the hostess and he left, going to the entry, he could hear the envious whispers from the hall, “…lucky… lucky… she’s so lucky…” When they got into her carriage, her old valet turned to her to ask, “So, Madame, I was told to say it to Count?” “Yes,” she said, “Say exactly, to the bathhouse. To get purified of sins. Tell my husband he has nothing to worry about. I’ll get purified and then return home.”3 months passed from the day of the soiree. Ladies of society proved to be wallowed in sin to such an extent that the purification of their sins never stopped even on Twelve Great Feasts. Families and generations came to get the purification. Old grannies led their young granddaughters. Rasputin’s fame rose. “A lady is here,” his cook would announce, “May she come in?” “What does she want?” Rasputin looked displeased. “She says she has free time from five to seven today, so, she says, she’s in a hurry, for her motorcar’s waiting outside.” “What does she look like?” “She’s old, fat and her complexion is muddy and spotty.” “Drive her away. Tell her she’s sinless. Tell her she should sin, first, and only then come to me.” Then his clients began making appointments with him. But no, it never helped to please him. Rasputin wanted exceptional clients, and one day, he severely talked to one Baroness, who received his purification, “Look, Polly, I want to get to the highest spheres. Take me where there are the highest.” As Rasputin threatened to go on strike, he was taken there and got what he asked.First seeing a civil general, he got timid.  “Are you a police officer, by any chance?” he asked, showing his diplomacy.“Higher,” the General barked out.“Well… well…” Rasputin moved aside, but he paused. Those, who had known the way to humans’ trust, could not leave the way, and Rasputin resorted to the help of the manner which had made his career success. He beckoned the General to approach and then he said, “Let’s go to the bathhouse!”The General was not about to go, but this proposal was so unexpected for society that Rasputin got widely reputed as an exceptionally eccentric person. In 2 days of stay in the highest spheres, Rasputin was in need of two rubles to buy fresh foot wrap rags. He tried to ask the door-keeper of the house where he lived, but he was refused, because the door-keeper alleged the high cost of living, regardless of the requester’s splendid career.Refused, the requester said, “You’ll be choked with your two rubles, soon.” Rasputin simply voiced his sudden wish. “Well that’s odd!” the door-keeper said, “Did a voice say to you that I can be choked with anything?” “A voice?” Rasputin said, and then he grabbed the door-keeper’s hand, “You saved me, my dove, saved!..” In 3 minutes, Rasputin was standing before eyes of a curvaceous and laced in lady, peering at her face and dully dictating his will, “I heard a Voice, Natasha… It said: go to her and tell her to give you three rubles.” “A Voice?” the lady humbly looked up at him. “A Voice.” “Three rubles? You are not mistaken? Maybe, more, Grigori Yefimovich?” The lady was highly surprised by the moderateness of the Inner Voice.“You are right,” Rasputin lowered his voice to prophetic, “It was two voices. One said: ask three rubles, and another said: ask seven and a half.” Beginning from the day, the mystique Voice had possessed Rasputin completely, and it worried him a daylong. “Anything wrong with you, Grigori Yefimovich?” “Quite so, brother. The Voice. I’ve heard it but just. It said that the fist comer should buy me two bottles of cognac, and a pair of new boots should be sent to my address.”“May I send all this to your address in Gorochovaia Street?”“You may send all this to anywhere, brother. Donation is donation wherever it’s sent.”The weird Voice proved to be mighty, able to shuffle funds among various accounts, and it was quick to improve Rasputin’s well-being. Every night it demanded from Rasputin’s friends something new for Grigori Yefimovich, various things, from a new accordion to 30 000 rubles in gold on his bank account. It’s the opening chapter of Rasputin’s career. The ending has been lavishly described. My essay is but Introduction.
The End

P. S.However I hate Russia, ignorance I hate much more, and if someone betrays ignorance about some facts, I’ll never say it’s all right. But the essay (above) is only a fiction, a fantasy on the theme. Artist: Adolph Friedrich Erdmann von Menzel (1815-1905). Thank you for viewing.
L. B.