Читать книгу Peasant Tales of Russia - Nemirovich-Danchenko Vasilii Ivanovich - Страница 6

"It is impossible to go back, my friends, for in an hour or two the other gallery will fall in."

The miners listened in silence to the words of the overseer, whose words sounded hollowly. The flame of the torch quivered, agitated by currents of air coming from all sides.

"Shall we wait here?" suggested a miner timidly.

"Wait for what?"

"Perhaps help will come from outside."

"What help can one hope for, when the mine has entirely collapsed? This gallery, moreover, affords no safety. When the one we have just left falls in, this will not resist long."

There was no answer, and nothing was audible but the crackling of torches and the breath which came in gasps from many chests.

"However, I still have an idea!" said the overseer.

The crowd of miners gathered closely around him again.

"You know that this mine is next to the old abandoned one. Is there among you any one who has worked in it?"

"Only old Ivan."

"There is nothing to be done then. In the first place, he must have forgotten everything; and secondly, one cannot extract a word from him."

During this time old Ivan, who seemed to have no idea that any one was talking of him, was gazing intently into the deep darkness which filled the gallery; he stood erect, his dim eyes were wide open, and a tremor passed over his wrinkled face, the expression of which was constantly changing from one moment to another, and betrayed now terror, now a kind of joy, then surprise. Finally he put his hand before his eyes as though they could not endure a dazzling splendour which issued from that darkness.

"If he wished, he could get us out of this," said a miner. "He worked for a long time in the old mine. But we cannot reckon on him; he is not even able to speak. He has been silent for ten years."

Suddenly something startling and unexpected happened. Ivan had just seized the miner who was nearest to him by the hand, and pointed into the darkness. When the miner saw the dilated pupils of the old man's eyes, he staggered with astonishment.

"Look at him! He is going mad!" they whispered.

"Here I am!" cried Ivan, as though answering a call.

The crowd fell back from him.

"Here I am! Here I am!" repeated Ivan.

The overseer approached him with his torch uplifted. Ivan turned his face toward him radiant with an inner light.

"Look! There He is Jesus! It is sixty years since He came, and now – there He is. He is calling us!"

"But what do you see? Who is calling us?"

"Jesus, I tell you. Stop! Look! There He is standing, in a white robe. He signs to us to follow Him… Here I am, Lord! Here I am!"

Suddenly, when no one was expecting it, old Ivan snatched the torch from the overseer's hand, and held it above his head.

"Jesus will save us! I tell you He will save us all! Here I am, Lord, I am coming! Behold Him, our Lord full of mercy. I am coming! Here I am!.."

Then without looking round, or lowering the torch which he held aloft with a firm hand, the old man, suddenly grown quite cheerful, walked steadily towards the end of the gallery. Who had given this strength to his feeble legs, and straightened his hollow chest? Old Ivan was unrecognizable.

After a moment's hesitation the chief miner signed to the others to obey, and all followed the old man, holding their breath and not daring to speak. A mysterious force seemed to be guiding him, for without even looking at his feet he avoided the very numerous crevasses, and strode over huge stones which had fallen from the roof. As they went along the overseer had some more torches lit, and the crowd, which advanced in silence, was followed by a broad train of black smoke, momentarily lit up by the red reflection of the flame, and at other times lost in the increasing darkness behind them. The walls and wet roofs of the gallery were visible by its flickering light. Now and again drops of water fell on the torches with a hissing sound.

Some one behind him called to the old man, "Ivan!" but the latter did not turn his head, only gazing in front of him intently. He seemed to see some one who was only visible to himself.

"Here I am, Lord, here I am!" he repeated from time to time, and it was surprising to hear how his voice sounded like that of a young man. What strange cause had roused him so far as to restore to him his former strength, and what inner flame glowed within him?

"Who is there then?" asked the chief miner, catching him up. "Whom do you see, Ivan?"

"It is a very long time since I saw Him. When I was a little fellow, I saw him often. There He is in front of me, all in white. I see His halo. He marches in the darkness like the sun… Here I am, Lord, here I am!"

After that no one asked Ivan any more questions.

At the end of the gallery they came up against an obstructing wall formed by the rock itself; but the old man seemed to see a gleam of light.

"Here He has passed … here! There are His shining footsteps," he said, pointing to the blocks of earth which lay on one side.

The miners began to ply their picks. The earth was so soft that in a few seconds an opening was made through which the air rushed with such violence that it nearly extinguished the already flickering flames of the torches. It was plain that the gallery extended still much farther, and that if just where it turned round the rock it was obstructed by a mass of earth, this must be caused by a landslip.

Before they had time to enlarge the opening which had been made, the old man had already entered it.

"I see Him! There He is! I come, Lord. I come!" These words were heard from the other side of the passage which was lit up by old Ivan's torch. The miners followed him, crawling one after the other.

On the other side of the opening the gallery, which was hollowed through the rock itself, was much higher. The torches showed seams of flint and strata of white marble. The air circulated freely, and it seemed as though there were somewhere an invisible outlet; the flames of the torches flickered violently and it felt cold. A torrent of water fell down from the top of the rocky walls, and ran noisily along the gallery, winding from one wall to another. Soon it fell roaring into the black gaping mouth of a crevasse and disappeared in the bottomless depth. Still holding his torch high, Ivan skirted the precipice without appearing to notice it.

"There is one thing I should like to know," said a little boy, pressing up close to a miner in the gloom.

"What is that?" asked the latter in a low voice.

"What is it the old man sees there?"

"Hush! Some heavenly power is guiding him."

The gallery through which they were passing just now still formed part of the Voskressensky mine, but it had been deserted for a long time, after having been worked out. As it had been cut through the native rock, the walls were solid and unshakable. Suddenly Ivan stopped.

"Well, what is it?"

"He is there… Standing. Oh, listen! Do you hear?"

Ivan leant forward, straining his ear to catch mysterious sounds. As a matter of fact distant and strange moanings were audible. Was it the complaint of a spring imprisoned in the rock? Was it the noise of a landslip? Or was it simply the sound made by a current of air passing through the fissures of the rock?