Brief summary of the work: Wax Person. Peter's time in the work of Yu. N. Tynyanov “Wax Person”

Yuri Tynyanov

Wax person

CHAPTER FIRST

Most faithful doctor, try to treat me,

Separate this painful wound from me.

Act of Caleandra

It was still pito on Thursday. And how pito it was! And now he was screaming day and night and hoarse, now he was dying.

And what a pito it was on Thursday! But now Archbishop Blumentrost showed little hope. Yakov Turgenev was then put into a tub, and there were eggs in the tub.

But there was no fun then and it was difficult. Turgenev was an old man, he clucked like a chicken and then cried - it was difficult for him.

The canals were not completed, the Nevsky towpath was ruined, the order was not obeyed. And was it really possible that, in the midst of unfinished labors, one now really had to die?

He was driven away from his sister: she was cunning and evil. The nun is intolerable: she was stupid. The son hated it: he was stubborn. Favorite, minion, Danilovich - thief. And a cedula opened from Vilim Ivanovich to the hostess, with the composition of the drink, such a drinker, about no one else, about the owner himself.

He huddled with his whole body on the bed right up to the canvas ceiling, the bed tilted like a ship. These were convulsions from illness, but he still fought himself, on purpose.

Catherine bent over him with what she took him by the soul, by the meat, -

And he obeyed.

Which were kissed two months ago by Mr. Chamberlain Mons, Vilim Ivanovich. He fell silent.

In the next room, the Italian doctor Lazzaritti, black and small, all frail, was warming his red hands, and the English doctor, Gorn, was sharpening a long and sharp knife to cut it.

Mons's head was infused in alcohol, and it now stood in a bottle in the Kunshtkamor, for science.

To whom should we leave that great science, all that structure, the state and, finally, the considerable art of art?

Oh Katya, Katya, mother! The rudest!

Danilych, Duke of Izhora, now did not undress at all. He sat in his bedroom and dozed off: were they coming?

He had long ago learned to sit and doze while sitting: he was waiting for death for the monastery robbery, the Pochep land survey and the great dachas that were given to him: some for a hundred thousand, and some for fifty efimki; from cities and from men; from foreigners of various states and from the royal court; and then - with contracts in someone else's name, covering troops, making worthless portages - and straight from the treasury. He had a sharp, fiery nose, and dry hands. He loved for everything to burn like fire in his hands, for there to be a lot of everything and everything to be the best, so that everything was harmonious and careful.

In the evenings he counted his losses:

– Vasilievsky Island was given to me as a gift, and then taken away overnight.

In the last payment for the troops was enclosed. And there will be only one great consolation for me, if the city of Baturin is given as a gift.

His Serene Highness Prince Danilych usually called upon his minister Volkov and asked him for an account of how many coins he had to this day.

Then he locked himself away, remembered the last figure, fifty-two thousand subject souls, or remembered the slaughter and greasy business that he had in the Arkhangelsk City - and felt some secret sweetness at his very lips, the sweetness from the thoughts that have a lot of things, more than anyone else , and that everything is growing for him. He led troops, built quickly and diligently, was a diligent and willing gentleman, but the campaigns passed and the canal buildings ended, and his hand was still dry, hot, did it need work, or did it need a woman, or a dacha?

Danilych, Prince of Rim, fell in love with the dacha.

He could no longer grasp with his eyes all his thoughts, how many cities, villages and souls belonged to him - and sometimes he was surprised at himself:

“The more I get sick, the more my hand burns.”

He sometimes woke up at night, in his deep alcove, looked at Mikhailovna, Duchess of Izhora, and sighed:

- Oh, fool, fool!

Then, turning his fiery eye to the window, to those Asian colored pieces of glass, or staring at the leather painted ceilings, he calculated how much interest he would have from the treasury; to show less in the bills, but in reality get more bread. And it turned out to be either five hundred thousand efimks or six hundred and fifty. And he felt hurt. Then he looked at Mikhailovna again for a long time:

- Big lips!

And then he nimblely and quickly put his feet into Tatar shoes and walked to the other half, to his sister-in-law Varvara. She understood him better, he talked to her this way and that, right up until the morning. And this pleased him. The old fools said: it’s impossible, it’s a sin. And the room is nearby, and it’s possible. From this he felt state courage.

But at the same time he fell in love with a small dacha and sometimes said this to his sister-in-law Varvara or the same Mikhailovna, Countess of Pochep:

– What joy do I have from things when I can’t see them all at once or even comprehend them? I saw ten thousand people in formations or camps, and that was darkness, but at this moment, according to Mr. Minister Volkov, I have fifty-two thousand souls, besides the still beggars and old walkers. This cannot be understood. And the dacha, it’s in my hand, clutched between five fingers, as if it were alive.

And now, after many small and large dachas and robberies and the exile of all furious enemies: Baron Shafirka, the Jew, and many others, he sat and waited for trial and execution, and he kept thinking, gritting his teeth:

“I’ll give you half, I’ll laugh it off.”

And having drunk Rensky, he already imagined some sweet city, his own, and added:

- But Baturin is for me.

And then things got worse and worse; and it was easy to understand that there could be a removal of both nostrils - hard labor.

There was one hope left in this decline: a lot of money was transferred to London and Amsterdam, and it would come in handy later.

But who was born under the planet Venus - Bruce spoke about that: fulfillment of desires and deliverance from cramped places. That's why I got sick myself.

Now Danilych sat and waited: when will they call? Mikhailovna kept praying for it to come soon.

And for two nights he sat like that in the parade, in all his uniform.

And so, as he sat and waited, in the evening a servant came to him and said:

- Count Rastrelli, on a special matter.

- What did the devils bring him? – the Duke was surprised. - And his county is worthless.

But now Count Rastrelli himself was already entering. His county was not real, but Papezhsky: the pope gave him the county for something, or he bought this county from the pope, and he himself was none other than an artist of art.

He was let in with his apprentice, Mr. Legendre. Monsieur Legendre walked through the streets with a lantern and illuminated the way for Rastrelli, and then reported below that he asked that he, the apprentice, Monsieur Legendre, be allowed to see the Duke, because the boy knew how to speak German.

They were admitted.

Count Rastrelli walked up the stairs cheerfully and felt the railing with his hand, as if it were the knob of his own cane. His hands were round, red, and small. He didn’t look at anything around him, because the house was built by the German Schedel, and what the German could build was of no interest to Rastrelli. And in the office he stood proudly and modestly. His height was small, his belly was large, his cheeks were thick, his legs were small, like a woman’s, and his arms were round. He leaned on his cane and snorted heavily because he was out of breath. His nose was lumpy, lumpy, burgundy-colored, like a sponge or the Dutch tuff with which the fountain is lined. The nose was like a newt, because from vodka and from great art Count Rastrelli was breathing heavily. He loved the roundness and if he portrayed Neptune, then it was the bearded one, and so that sea girls splashed around. So he rounded up to a hundred bronze pieces along the Neva, and all of them were funny, based on Ezop’s fables: opposite Menshikov’s house there stood, for example, a bronze portrait of a frog, which sulked so much that in the end it burst. This frog looked as if it were alive, its eyes were bulging out. If someone had enticed such a person, it wouldn’t have been enough to give him a million: he had more joy and artistry in one finger than all the Germans. On his one journey from Paris to Petersburg he spent ten thousand in French coin. Menshikov still could not forget this. And I even respected him for it. How much art could he produce alone? Menshikov looked with surprise at his thick calves. His calves are too thick, it’s clear that he’s a strong man. But, of course, Danilych, like a duke, sat in an armchair and listened, and Rastrelli stood and spoke.

Most faithful doctor, try to treat me,

Separate this painful wound from me.

Act of Caleandra

1

It was still pito on Thursday. And how pito it was! And now he was screaming day and night and hoarse, now he was dying.

And what a pito it was on Thursday! But now Archbishop Blumentrost showed little hope. Yakov Turgenev was then put into a tub, and there were eggs in the tub.

But there was no fun then and it was difficult. Turgenev was an old man, he clucked like a chicken and then cried - it was difficult for him.

The canals were not completed, the Nevsky towpath was ruined, the order was not obeyed. And was it really possible that, in the midst of unfinished labors, one now really had to die?

He huddled with his whole body on the bed right up to the canvas ceiling, the bed tilted like a ship. These were convulsions from illness, but he still fought himself, on purpose.

Catherine bent over him with what she took him by the soul, by the meat, -

And he obeyed.

Which were kissed two months ago by Mr. Chamberlain Mons, Vilim Ivanovich. He fell silent.

In the next room, the Italian doctor Lazzaritti, black and small, all frail, was warming his red hands, and the English doctor, Gorn, was sharpening a long and sharp knife to cut it.

Mons's head was infused in alcohol, and it now stood in a bottle in the Kunshtkamor, for science.

To whom should we leave that great science, all that structure, the state and, finally, the considerable art of art?

Oh Katya, Katya, mother! The rudest!

2

Danilych, Duke of Izhora, now did not undress at all. He sat in his bedroom and dozed off: were they coming?

In the evenings he counted his losses:

– Vasilievsky Island was given to me as a gift, and then taken away overnight.

In the last payment for the troops was enclosed. And there will be only one great consolation for me, if the city of Baturin is given as a gift.

His Serene Highness Prince Danilych usually called upon his minister Volkov and asked him for an account of how many coins he had to this day.

He led troops, built quickly and diligently, was a diligent and willing gentleman, but the campaigns passed and the canal buildings ended, and his hand was still dry, hot, did it need work, or did it need a woman, or a dacha?

Danilych, Prince of Rim, fell in love with the dacha.

He could no longer grasp with his eyes all his thoughts, how many cities, villages and souls belonged to him - and sometimes he was surprised at himself:

“The more I get sick, the more my hand burns.”

He sometimes woke up at night, in his deep alcove, looked at Mikhailovna, Duchess of Izhora, and sighed:

- Oh, fool, fool!

- Big lips!

But at the same time he fell in love with a small dacha and sometimes said this to his sister-in-law Varvara or the same Mikhailovna, Countess of Pochep:

“I’ll give you half, I’ll laugh it off.”

And having drunk Rensky, he already imagined some sweet city, his own, and added:

- But Baturin is for me.

And then things got worse and worse; and it was easy to understand that there could be a removal of both nostrils - hard labor.

There was one hope left in this decline: a lot of money was transferred to London and Amsterdam, and it would come in handy later.

But who was born under the planet Venus - Bruce spoke about that: fulfillment of desires and deliverance from cramped places. That's why I got sick myself.

Now Danilych sat and waited: when will they call? Mikhailovna kept praying for it to come soon.

And for two nights he sat like that in the parade, in all his uniform.

And so, as he sat and waited, in the evening a servant came to him and said:

- Count Rastrelli, on a special matter.

- What did the devils bring him? – the Duke was surprised. - And his county is worthless.

3

They were admitted.

Count Rastrelli walked up the stairs cheerfully and felt the railing with his hand, as if it were the knob of his own cane. His hands were round, red, and small. He didn’t look at anything around him, because the house was built by the German Schedel, and what the German could build was of no interest to Rastrelli. And in the office he stood proudly and modestly. His height was small, his belly was large, his cheeks were thick, his legs were small, like a woman’s, and his arms were round. He leaned on his cane and snorted heavily because he was out of breath. His nose was lumpy, lumpy, burgundy-colored, like a sponge or the Dutch tuff with which the fountain is lined. The nose was like a newt, because Count Rastrelli was breathing heavily from vodka and great art. He loved the roundness and if he portrayed Neptune, then it was the bearded one, and so that sea girls splashed around. So he rounded up to a hundred bronze pieces along the Neva, and all of them were funny, based on Ezop’s fables: opposite Menshikov’s house there stood, for example, a bronze portrait of a frog, which sulked so much that in the end it burst. This frog looked as if it were alive, its eyes were bulging out. If someone had enticed such a person, it wouldn’t have been enough to give him a million: he had more joy and artistry in one finger than all the Germans. On his one journey from Paris to Petersburg he spent ten thousand in French coin. Menshikov still could not forget this. And I even respected him for it. How much art could he produce alone? Menshikov looked with surprise at his thick calves. His calves are too thick, it’s clear that he’s a strong man. But, of course, Danilych, like a duke, sat in an armchair and listened, and Rastrelli stood and spoke.

What he spoke in Italian and French, Mr. Apprentice Legendre spoke in German, and Minister Volkov understood and only then reported to the Duke of Izhora in Russian.

Count Rastrelli bowed and said that Duke d'Izhora is an elegant gentleman and a magnificent patron of the arts, their father, and that he came only for this.

“Your altessa is the father of all arts,” this is how Mr. Apprentice Legendre conveyed this, but instead of “arts” he said “pieces,” because he knew the Polish word - piece, meaning: art.

Then the minister, Mr. Volkov, thought that it was about chest and bronze things, but Danilovich, the Duke himself, rejected this: at night at such a time - and about things.

But then Count Rastrelli brought a complaint against Monsieur de Caravaque.

Caravaque was an artist for small things, painted small figures and arrived at the same time as the count. But the Duke showed his patronage and began to use him as a historical master and gave him the contract to depict the Battle of Poltava. And now a rumor has reached the count that M. de Caravaque is preparing such a thing that he has come to ask the Duke to intervene in this matter.

The word “Caravaque” Rastrelli libbed, menacingly, with contempt, as if croaking. Saliva sprayed from his mouth.

Here Danilych aimed his eye: the sight of the artist became pleasant to him.

“Let him talk about the matter,” he said, “why they had a quarrel with Korovyak.” Mullein is a keen painter and costs less. – He was pleased with the quarrel between Rastrelli and Caravaque, and if it weren’t for such a time, what would he have done? He would have called the guests, and would have called that Rastrelli and Korovyak, and would have set them off until they started fighting. Like roosters, this fat one with that dark one.

Then Rastrelli said, and Mr. Legendre explained:

“It came to his ears that when the emperor dies, Mister de Caravaque wants to make a mask from him, and Mister de Caravaque does not know how to make masks, but he, Rastrelli, knows how to make masks from the dead.

But then Menshikov stretched out lightly in his chairs, jumped off them airily and ran to the door. He looked behind the door and then looked out the window for a long time; he looked to see if there were any prospectors and informers.

Then he approached Rastrelli and said this:

– Are you raving obscene words related to the person himself? The Emperor is alive and has now received relief.

But then Count Rastrelli strongly shook his head in denial.

“The Emperor, of course, will die in four days,” he said, “that’s what Mr. Doctor Lazzaritti told me.”

And then, explaining his speech, he pointed his two thick and small fingers down to the floor - that at four days the emperor, of course, would go to the ground.

And then Danilych felt a slight chill and shock, because none of the outsiders had ever spoken so clearly about the royal death. He felt delight, as if he were being lifted above the floor and he seemed to be rising in the air above his condition. Everything changed in him. And he was already sitting at the table and in the chairs calm person, the father of the arts, who was no longer interested in small dachas.

Then Rastrelli said, and Mr. Apprentice Legendre and Minister Volkov translated, each in his own way:

“He, Rastrelli, wants to do this so that with this curious mask he hopes to gain great attention at foreign courts, both from the Caesar, as well as in France.” But he, Rastrelli, promises to make a mask from the duke himself when he dies, and agrees to make him a portrait, a small copper one, of the duke’s daughter.

“You tell him, I’ll take the mask off him myself,” said Danilych, “and let him make a medium-sized one for his daughter.” Fool.

And Rastrelli promised.

But then, stomping around, gurgling with his thick lips, he suddenly extended his right hand - rubies and carbuncles were burning on his right hand - and began to speak so quickly that Legendre and Volkov, with their mouths open, stood and did not translate anything. His speech was like bubbles that float on the water around a bathing person and burst just as quickly. The bubbles floated up and burst - and finally the bathing man dived: Count Rastrelli choked.

Then they reported to the Duke: there is an elegant and most faithful art, so that a portrait cannot be distinguished from the person from whom the portrait was made. Neither copper, nor bronze, nor the softest lead, nor gesso goes against the substance from which the artists of this art make portraits. This art is the most ancient and lasts the longest, dating back even to the times of the Roman emperors. And the substance itself fits into the hand, it is so sculpted, and the slightest notch or bulge, it conveys everything, you just need to press, or stick it out with your palm, or stick it with a finger, or stick it in with a style, and then face it, stroke it, flatten it, smooth it out - and it turns out: magnificence.

Menshikov watched Rastrelli's fingers with concern. Small fingers, crooked from the cold and vodka, red, wrinkled, crushed the airy clay. And finally, it turned out the following: about two hundred years ago, they found a girl in Italian soil, the girl was as if alive, and everything was as if alive, both above and behind. It was, some said, a statue of work famous master Raphael, and others said that Andreia Verokia or Orsinia.

And then Rastrelli laughed, like a growing child laughs: his eyes disappeared, his nose wrinkled, and he shouted, hurrying:

“But it was Julia, the daughter of the famous Cicero, alive, that is, not alive, but nature itself made her that substance over time. - And Rastrelli choked. – And that substance is wax.

- How much are they asking for that girl? - asked the Duke.

“She’s not for sale,” Legendre said.

“She’s not for sale,” Volkov said.

“It’s not worth saying,” said the Duke.

But then Rastrelli raised his small, thick hand.

“Tell the Duke of Izhora,” he ordered, “that of all great sovereigns, when they die, they certainly make such wax portraits according to exact measurements.” And there is a portrait of the late King Louis the Fourteenth, and it was made by the glorious master Anton Benoit - my teacher and mentor in this matter, and now in all European lands, large and small, there is only one master left for this matter: and that master is me.

And he poked his finger into his chest and bowed widely and magnificently to the douk of Izhora, Danilych.

Danilych sat calmly and asked the master:

– Is the portrait tall? Rastrelli replied:

– The portrait is small, just as the late French sovereign himself was small; his mouth is feminine; nose like an eagle's beak; but the lower lip is strong and the chin is noble. He is dressed in lace, and there is a way for him to jump up and show his favor to visitors with his hand, because he is standing in a museum.

Here Danilych’s hands began to move: he had little knowledge of devices, but was luxurious and loved things. He did not like art, but loved leisure. But out of habit he asked, as if out of curiosity:

- Is the colossus inside or attached to the outside, and is it made of steel or iron - or what?

But he immediately waved his hand and said:

“And that custom is stupid, for a person to jump up and show honor to every slacker, and now is not the time for me.”

But after short translation Rastrelli caught the air in his fist and offered it to the Duke:

“Fortune,” he said, “whoever accidentally steps on his foot will stand up before that person, all that is a test of fortune.”

And then there was complete silence. Then the Duke of Izhora took out a silver case from a deep pocket, took out a toothpick from it and brushed his teeth with it. - Is the wax left from the casting, from the cannon tuyeres, good for that portrait? – he asked later.

Rastrelli gave a proud answer that no, it won’t do, you need the whitest wax, but then Mikhailovna entered.

“Name,” she said.

And Danilych, His Serene Highness, stood up, ready to give orders.

4

There were two headwinds blowing along the Neva: siverik - from the Swedes and mokryak - from a wet place, and when they met, then a third wind was formed: the Chukhon cross-wind.

The siverik was straight and curly, the wet one was oblique, with a bend. It turned out to be a Chukhon cross-section, across everything. He walked in circles along the Neva, cleaning a small place, raising his gray beard on end and then standing in front of the places and covering them.

Then two young wolves fell behind a large pack in the forest behind Petrovsky Island. Two wolves ran along a tributary of the Neva, ran across it, stood and looked. They ran along Vasilyevsky Island, along a linear road, and stopped again. They saw a hut and a wooden slingshot. A living person was sleeping in a hut, having taken refuge. Here they walked around the slingshot; they ran smoothly along narrow path walking along the road. We passed two huts and went down to the Neva at Menshikov’s house.

They descended carefully: there were stones piled up, covered with snow, and in some places bare; They, the wolves, gently placed their paws. And they ran to the liquid forest, which they saw in the distance.

A light came on in one hut, or it had been on before, but only became brighter now, then at dusk a man jumped out with big-faced dogs, then he let them down, and immediately screamed, and soon fired from a long gun. Hans Jurgen was a cook, and now a coastal commander, and it was he who jumped out of his hut and fired. The big-faced dogs were his Great Danes. He had twelve dogs.

The wolves then pressed their butts against the ice, and all their strength went into their front paws. The front legs became steeper and stronger, the wolves took more and more space. And they left the dogs.

Then they ran out to the shore and ran past the Summer Garden to Erik, the Fountain River. Here they crossed the large Nevsky perspective road, which was paved with Novgorod, with boards lying across it. Then, jumping over the swamp hummocks, they disappeared into the grove along the Fontannaya River.

And he woke up from the shot.

5

He worked all night in his sleep and had difficult dreams.

And for whom did he work? - For the fatherland.

His hands felt like a burden. He carried this burden from one restless place to another, and his legs got tired, became thinner and in the end became completely thin.

He dreamed that the one whom everyone called Katerina Alekseevna, and he Katerinushka, and before was called the dragoon’s wife, Katerina Vasilevskaya, and Skavronskaya, and Marta, and whatever else, she left. He entered the chambers and wanted to run away - everything was so empty without her, and a bear was wandering around the chambers. On a chain, black hair and large paws, a quiet beast. And the beast was kind to him. But Katerina left and said she was unknown. And here is a soldier and a soldier’s face, inflated like a bubble and covered in fine wrinkles, like ripples in water.

And he drew up the burden and stabbed the soldier with his sword; Then he felt a pain in his lower abdomen, pulled right into the ground, but then let go, although not all of it.

Still, he dragged the soldier under the armpits and with weak hands began to look for him: he laid him out on the floor and passed a hot broom over his back. And he lies quietly, and all around him is the farm and many things. As soon as he began to move a broom over the soldier’s back, his own back burned and he became weaker and changed. It became cold and fearful, and he walked with his feet as if not on the floor. And the soldier kept shouting in a high voice, in his voice, Petrov’s. Then the Swedes began to shoot from afar, and he woke up, realized that it was not he who was torturing, but he was being tortured, and said, as if he had been writing a letter to Katerina all the time:

- Come see how I live, wounded, on my farm.

I woke up again and found myself in the twilight, as if in the womb, it was stuffy, the heat had been on since the evening. And he lay there without thoughts.

He even changed in size, he had weak legs and a deserted, stony and difficult belly.

He decided not to enter his nightly dreams into the office journal, as he usually did: the dreams were not interesting, and he was afraid of them. He was afraid of that soldier and the wrinkles, and it was unknown what the soldier meant. But it was necessary to deal with it too.

Then the room became somewhat brighter, as if the cook was stirring this porridge with a spoon.

The day began, and although he no longer went about business, as soon as he woke up, things seemed to wander around him. It was as if he went to a lathe to sharpen a piece of bone, but was left with an unsharpened piece of wood.

Then it’s as if it’s time to go to different places for inspection - today is an auto show, not a ceremonial day, they are waiting for strollers, an outfit for all roads.

Kalmyk sheepskin on the head - willows the Senate.

Give the Senate the following decree: do not pull on the temple more than once and do not burn with a broom, because if you burn with a broom more than that, then the person changes in himself and can lose himself.

But his affairs quickly left him, not reaching the end, and even before the beginning, like a shadow.

He was completely awake.

The oven had been heated since the evening so that the glaze was glowing and seemed to burst before our eyes, as if it was cracking. The room was small, dry, the very air was bursting like icing from the heat.

Oh, if only a fountain of coolness would penetrate my small, dry head!

For the fountain to tighten up and rush its stream - then the disease would burst.

And when the whole body woke up, it realized: Peter Mikhailov was coming to an end, the most final and fastest. At most he had a week left. He did not agree to anything less; he was afraid to think about anything less. And he called himself Pyotr Mikhailov when he loved or pitied.

And then his eyes began to look at the blue Dutch tiles, which he ordered from Holland, and here he tried to make such tiles, but failed, at this stove, which would stand for a long time after him, a good stove.

Why didn't those tiles start? He didn’t remember and looked at the tiles, and the look was the most childish, without anything.

A windmill, and a pavilion with a bridge, and three-masted ships.

A man in a round hat pumps from a round pump, and there are three flowers as thick as human limbs. Gardener.

A passerby, wearing a caftan with a waist, hugs a fat woman who is pleased. Road fun.

A horse with a head like a dog.

A tree, curly, similar to a Chinese one, a carriage, a man in it, and on the other side a tower, and a flag, and birds flying.

There is a hut, and next to it there is a big girl, and it is doubtful whether she can enter the hut, because the proportions have not been made.

On the plinth tombstone Peter I, you can see (if you bend over) the inscription: “To the creator of the city of St. Petersburg from the Italian sculptor Carlo Rastrelli and the Russian artist Mikhail Shemyakin. Cast in New York in 1991.” The bronze persona faces the towering Cathedral of Peter and Paul directly in front of it, where the ashes of the emperor rest. The wax figure of Rastrelli once lived in the Kunstkamera, then moved to the Hermitage. A persona is a persona, so as not to sit in one place (Latin persona - “mask, guise”, “theatrical role, character”, “everyday role, position”, “personality, face”). During his life and after his death, Peter moves and moves - during his life he moves the capital (as easily as traveling artists move from one place to another), does not copy the old one, but builds a new one from scratch, becomes the director of a completely new performance, in which the new everything - the script, the scenery, and the actors; after his death (as, indeed, now) in St. Petersburg you can hear the Bronze Horseman galloping.

The tombstone of Peter I by Shemyakin, despite its external static nature, turns out to be in the rhythm of transitions and metamorphoses set by the emperor himself. Wax and bronze Persons are similar as Life and Death are similar. Rastrelli's persona is probably warm, as if alive, but we know that this is the face of death pretending to be life (the very possibility of comparing it with a living being enhances the feeling of deadness 1). Shemyakin's persona with her bare skull and cold metal is the persona of death. However, it is no coincidence that both Personas are so similar; the artist’s “secondary nature” in relation to the work of his predecessor-sculptor is provocative, gives new meaning the ancient opposition of the living and the dead, mythological ideas about the revival of a dead likeness and the transformation of a living being into a motionless image.

At the beginning of Yuri Tynyanov’s story “The Wax Person,” Rastrelli explains to Menshikov why it is necessary to make a wax copy of Peter. At the same time, he refers to the portrait of the late King Louis XIV, made by Anton Benoit: “He is dressed in lace, and there is a way for him to jump up and show his favor to visitors with his hand...”. The wax image of Louis is a bust of the king, and therefore cannot, of course, “jump up”. Rastrelli’s persona was supposed to participate in the funeral ritual of the emperor, so the “inaccuracy” of the sculptor is a kind of déjà vu, when the story about the portrait of Louis also becomes a story about his plan, into which the “memory” of Greek rituals, during which the gods and the heroes were represented by both living actors and automata statues moving on chariots and palanquins (while establishing complete equivalence

"Wax Person - 01"

CHAPTER FIRST

Most faithful doctor, try to heal me, separate this painful wound from me.

Act of Caleandra.

It was still pito on Thursday. And how pito it was! And now he was screaming day and night and hoarse, now he was dying.

And what a pito it was on Thursday! But now Archbishop Blumentrost showed little hope. Yakov Turgenev was then put into a tub, and there were eggs in the tub.

But there was no fun then and it was difficult. Turgenev was an old man, he clucked like a chicken and then cried - it was difficult for him.

The canals were not completed, the Nevsky towpath was ruined, the order was not obeyed. And was it really possible that, in the midst of unfinished labors, one now really had to die?

He huddled with his whole body on the bed right up to the canvas ceiling, the bed tilted like a ship. These were convulsions from illness, but he still fought himself, on purpose.

Catherine bent over him with what she took him by the soul, by the meat, -

And he obeyed.

Which were kissed two months ago by Mr. Chamberlain Mons, Vilim Ivanovich.

He fell silent.

In the next room, the Italian doctor Lazzaritti, black and small, all frail, was warming his red hands, and the English doctor, Horn, was sharpening a long and sharp knife - to cut it.

Mons's head was infused in alcohol, and it now stood in a bottle in the Kunshtkamor, for science.

To whom should we leave that great science, all that structure, the state and, finally, the considerable art of art?

Oh Katya, Katya, mother! The rudest!

Danilych, Duke of Izhora, now did not undress at all. He sat in his bedroom and dozed off: were they coming?

when making contracts in someone else's name, covering troops, making worthless items of clothing - and directly from the treasury. He had a sharp, fiery nose, and dry hands. He loved for everything to burn like fire in his hands, for there to be a lot of everything and everything to be the best, so that everything was harmonious and careful.

In the evenings he counted his losses:

Vasilyevsky Island was given to me as a gift, and then taken away overnight.

In the last payment for the troops was enclosed. And there will be only one great consolation for me, if the city of Baturin is given as a gift.

His Serene Highness Prince Danilych usually called upon his minister Volkov and asked him for an account of how many coins he had to this day.

Danilych, Prince of Rim, fell in love with the dacha.

He could no longer grasp with his eyes all his thoughts, how many cities, villages and souls belonged to him - and sometimes he was surprised at himself:

The more I get sick, the more my hand burns.

He sometimes woke up at night, in his deep alcove, looked at Mikhailovna, Duchess of Izhora, and sighed:

Oh, fool, fool!

Big lips!

But at the same time he fell in love with a small dacha and sometimes said this to his sister-in-law Varvara or the same Mikhailovna, Countess of Pochep:

What joy do I have from things when I can’t see them all at once or even comprehend them? I saw ten thousand people in formations or camps, and that was darkness, but at this moment, according to Mr. Minister Volkov, I have fifty-two thousand souls, besides the still beggars and old walkers. This cannot be understood. And the dacha, it’s in my hand, clutched between five fingers, as if it were alive.

“I’ll give you half, I’ll laugh it off.”

And having drunk Rensky, he already imagined some sweet city, his own, and added:

But Baturin is for me.

And then things got worse and worse; and it was easy to understand that there could be a removal of both nostrils - hard labor.

There was one hope left in this decline: a lot of money was transferred to London and Amsterdam, and it would come in handy later.

But who was born under the planet Venus - Bruce spoke about that: fulfillment of desires and deliverance from cramped places. That's why I got sick myself.

Now Danilych sat and waited: when will they call? Mikhailovna kept praying for it to come soon.

And for two nights he sat like that in the parade, in all his uniform.

And so, as he sat and waited, in the evening a servant came to him and said:

Count Rastrelli, on a special matter.

What did the devils bring him? - the Duke was surprised. - And his county is worthless.

They were admitted.

Count Rastrelli walked up the stairs cheerfully and felt the railing with his hand, as if it were the knob of his own cane. His hands were round, red, and small. He didn’t look at anything around him, because the house was built by the German Schedel, and what the German could build was of no interest to Rastrelli. And in the office he stood proudly and modestly. His height was small, his belly was large, his cheeks were thick, his legs were small, like a woman’s, and his arms were round. He leaned on his cane and snorted heavily because he was out of breath. His nose was lumpy, lumpy, burgundy-colored, like a sponge or the Dutch tuff with which the fountain is lined. The nose was like a newt, because Count Rastrelli was breathing heavily from vodka and great art. He loved the roundness and if he portrayed Neptune, then it was the bearded one, and so that sea girls splashed around. So he rounded up to a hundred bronze pieces along the Neva, and all of them were funny, based on Ezop’s fables: opposite Menshikov’s house there stood, for example, a bronze portrait of a frog, which sulked so much that in the end it burst. This frog looked as if it were alive, its eyes were bulging out. If someone had enticed such a person, it wouldn’t have been enough to give him a million: he had more joy and artistry in one finger than all the Germans. On his one journey from Paris to Petersburg he spent ten thousand in French coin. Menshikov still could not forget this. And I even respected him for it. How much art could he produce alone? Menshikov looked with surprise at his thick calves. His calves are too thick, it’s clear that he’s a strong man. But, of course, Danilych, like a duke, sat in an armchair and listened, and Rastrelli stood and spoke.

What he spoke in Italian and French, Mr. Apprentice Legendre spoke in German, and Minister Volkov understood and only then reported to the Duke of Izhora in Russian.

Count Rastrelli bowed and said that Duke d'Izhora is an elegant gentleman and a magnificent patron of the arts, their father, and that he came only for this.

Your altessa is the father of all arts, - this is how Mr. Apprentice Legendre conveyed this, but instead of “arts” he said “pieces”, because he knew the Polish word - piece, meaning: art.

Then the minister, Mr. Volkov, thought that it was about chest and bronze things, but Danilovich, the Duke himself, rejected this: at night at such a time

And about things.

But then Count Rastrelli brought a complaint against Monsieur de Caravaque.

The word "Caravaque" Rastrelli libbed, menacingly, with contempt, as if croaking. Saliva sprayed from his mouth.

Here Danilych aimed his eye: the sight of the artist became pleasant to him.

“Let him talk about the matter,” he said, “why they had a quarrel with Korovyak.” Mullein is a keen painter and costs less. - He was pleased with the quarrel between Rastrelli and Caravaque, and if it weren’t for such a time, what would he have done? He would have called the guests, and would have called that Rastrelli and Korovyak, and would have set them off until they started fighting. Like roosters, this fat one with that dark one.

Then Rastrelli said, and Mr. Legendre explained:

It came to his ears that when the emperor dies, Mister de Caravaque wants to make a mask from him, and Mister de Caravaque does not know how to make masks, but he, Rastrelli, knows how to make masks from the dead.

Then he approached Rastrelli and said this:

Are you raving obscene words related to the person himself?

The Emperor is alive and has now received relief.

But then Count Rastrelli strongly shook his head in denial.

The emperor, of course, will die in four days,” he said, “that’s what Mr. Doctor Lazzaritti told me.”

And then, explaining his speech, he pointed his two thick and small fingers down to the floor - that at four days the emperor, of course, would go to the ground.

And then Danilych felt a slight chill and shock, because none of the outsiders had ever spoken so clearly about the royal death. He felt delight, as if he were being lifted above the floor and he seemed to be rising in the air above his condition. Everything changed in him. And already at the table and in the chairs sat a calm man, the father of the arts, who was no longer interested in the small dacha.

Then Rastrelli said, and Mr. Apprentice Legendre and Minister Volkov translated, each in his own way:

He, Rastrelli, wants to do this in order that with that curious mask he hopes to gain great attention at foreign courts, both from the Caesar, as well as in France. But he, Rastrelli, promises to make a mask from the duke himself when he dies, and agrees to make him a portrait, a small copper one, of the duke’s daughter.

“You tell him, I’ll take the mask off him myself,” said Danilych, “and let him make a medium-sized one for his daughter.” Fool.

And Rastrelli promised.

And finally the bathing man dived: Count Rastrelli choked.

Menshikov watched Rastrelli's fingers with concern. Small fingers, crooked from the cold and vodka, red, wrinkled, crushed the airy clay. And finally, it turned out the following: about two hundred years ago, they found a girl in Italian soil, the girl was as if alive, and everything was as if alive, both above and behind. It was, some said, a statue by the famous master Raphael, while others said it was by Andrei Verokia or Orsinius.

And then Rastrelli laughed, like a growing child laughs: his eyes disappeared, his nose wrinkled, and he shouted, hurrying:

But it was Julia, the daughter of the famous Cicero, alive, that is, not alive, but nature itself over time made her that substance. - And Rastrelli choked. - And that substance is wax.

How much are they asking for that girl? - asked the Duke.

“She’s not for sale,” Legendre said.

“She’s not for sale,” Volkov said.

“It’s not worth saying,” said the Duke.

But then Rastrelli raised his small, thick hand.

Tell the Duke of Izhora,” he ordered, “that when all great sovereigns die, they certainly make such wax portraits to exact measurements. And there is a portrait of the late King Louis the Fourteenth, and it was made by the glorious master Anton Benoit - my teacher and mentor in this matter, and now in all European lands, large and small, there is only one master left for this matter: and that master is me.

And he poked his finger into his chest and bowed widely and magnificently to the douk of Izhora, Danilych.

Danilych sat calmly and asked the master:

Is the portrait tall? Rastrelli replied:

The portrait is small, just as the late French sovereign himself was small; his mouth is feminine; nose like an eagle's beak; but the lower lip is strong and the chin is noble. He is dressed in lace, and there is a way for him to jump up and show his favor to visitors with his hand, because he is standing in a museum.

And the colossus is inside or attached to the outside, and made of steel or iron -

or which one?

But he immediately waved his hand and said:

But that custom is stupid, for a person to jump up and show honor to every slacker, and now is not the time for me.

But after a brief translation, Rastrelli caught the air in his fist and offered it to the Duke:

Fortune,” he said, “whoever accidentally steps on his foot will stand up before that person, all that is a test of fortune.”

Rastrelli gave a proud answer that no, it won’t do, you need the whitest wax, but then Mikhailovna entered.

“Name,” she said.

And Danilych, His Serene Highness, stood up, ready to give orders.

Two headwinds were blowing along the Neva: siverik - from the Swedes and mokryak - from a wet place, and when they met, then a third wind was formed: the Chukhon cross-wind.

The siverik was straight and curly, the mokryak was oblique, with a bend. It turned out to be a Chukhon cross-section, across everything. He walked in circles along the Neva, cleaning a small place, raising his gray beard on end and then standing in front of the places and covering them.

Then two young wolves fell behind a large pack in the forest behind Petrovsky Island. Two wolves ran along a tributary of the Neva, ran across it, stood and looked. They ran along Vasilyevsky Island, along a linear road, and stopped again. They saw a hut and a wooden slingshot. A living person was sleeping in a hut, having taken refuge. Here they walked around the slingshot; They ran smoothly along the narrow path that ran along the road. We passed two huts and went down to the Neva at Menshikov’s house.

And he woke up from the shot.

He worked all night in his sleep and had difficult dreams.

And for whom did he work? - For the fatherland.

His hands felt like a burden. He carried this burden from one restless place to another, and his legs got tired, became thinner and in the end became completely thin.

And he drew up the burden and stabbed the soldier with his sword; Then he felt a pain in his lower abdomen, pulled right into the ground, but then let go, although not all of it.

Come see how I live, wounded, on my farm.

I woke up again and found myself in the twilight, as if in the womb, it was stuffy, the heat had been on since the evening.

And he lay there without thoughts.

He even changed in size, he had weak legs and a deserted, stony and difficult belly.

Then the room became somewhat brighter, as if the cook was stirring this porridge with a spoon.

Then it’s as if it’s time to go to different places for inspection - today is an auto show, not a ceremonial day, they are waiting for strollers, outfit for all roads.

Kalmyk sheepskin on your head - and to the Senate.

But his affairs quickly left him, not reaching the end, and even before the beginning, like a shadow.

He was completely awake.

Oh, if only a fountain of coolness would penetrate my small, dry head!

For the fountain to tighten up and rush its stream - then the disease would burst.

Why didn't those tiles start? He didn’t remember and looked at the tiles, and the look was the most childish, without anything.

A windmill, and a pavilion with a bridge, and three-masted ships.

A man in a round hat pumps from a round pump, and there are three flowers as thick as human limbs. Gardener.

A passerby, wearing a caftan with a waist, hugs a fat woman who is pleased. Road fun.

A horse with a head like a dog.

A tree, curly, similar to a Chinese one, a carriage, a man in it, and on the other side a tower, and a flag, and birds flying.

There is a hut, and next to it there is a big girl, and it is doubtful whether she can enter the hut, because the proportions have not been made.

A Dutch monk, bald, reads a book under a thorny tree. There is a thick sackcloth on it and it sits with its back turned.

A dovecote, simple, with columns, and the columns are as thick as knees. And statues and pots. The dog is behind woman's face, barks. The bird on the side makes a crawl with its wing.

Chinese pagoda is cool.

Two fat men on a bridge, and the bridge is on stilts, like book bindings. Dutch custom.

Another bridge, a drawbridge, on chains, and the opening is round.

A tower, a hook lowered from above, a rope on the hook, and luggage dangling on the rope. They drag. And below, in the canal, there is a boat and three oarsmen, they are wearing round hats, and they are carrying a cow in the boat. And a cow with a big head and spotted spots.

A shepherd is driving a horned herd, and on the mountain there are trees, prickly, rough, like dogs. Summer heat.

The castle, square, old style, the ducks in front of the castle in the bay, and the tree tilted. Nord-Ost.

A ruined building or ruins, and a horse army rides on the sand, and the trunks are bare, and the tents are horned.

And the three-masted ship and the sea.

And goodbye, sea, and goodbye, oven.

Farewell, beautiful chambers, no more walking on you!

Goodbye, faith, faith! You shouldn't go to the Senate!

Don't wait! Disband the team, give out salaries!

Farewell, dagger and sword belt!

Goodbye sea! Angry!

Sails too, goodbye!

The ropes are tarred!

Sea wind, oursters!

Sailing, factory yards, goodbye!

Navigation and gun business!

And goodbye to you too, wool-beating and felting! And it's a matter of uniform!

Another farewell, ore prospecting, deep, stuffy mountains!

Go to the soap shop and evaporate!

Doctors forbid drinking Malvasia!

Goodbye again, admiral's hour, Austeria, and the free house, and wild houses, and willing women, and white legs, and domestic fun! What a nice job!

Peterhof garden, goodbye! Velikolutsk hornbeams, Amsterdam lindens!

Farewell, gentlemen, foreign states! Lion of Svei, Chinese Serpent!

And farewell to you too, big ship!

And you don’t know who to leave you with!

Sons and little daughters, giblets, gutters, all died, and he cleaned up the eldest villain himself! They will lead you into the void!

Farewell, Peter-Bass, Mr. Captain of the bombardment company Pyotr Mikhailov!

I’m dying from an evil and internal secret disease!

And it is unknown to whom I leave the fatherland, and the economy, and the arts!

the head was cropped, like a soldier's, with a shaved forehead.

The camisole was hanging on a hanger, it had been built for a long time, the deadlines had passed, and it was dilapidated. No longer fit for service.

And in an hour Katerina would come, and he knew that he was dying because he did not execute her and even allowed her into the room. But it was necessary to execute her, and then the blood would have been relieved, he would have recovered. And now the blood has gone to the bottom, and it holds, and holds, and does not let go.

And he also did not execute his baked friend, Danilych, and also did not receive relief.

And the man next to him, in the closet, fell silent, did not write a pen, did not rattle off his abacus. And he won’t have time to lay an ax on that rotten root. Apparently, that little man has already been driven out of the chamber; there is no one else to listen to his reports.

His sentence has passed, he was sold, the soldier’s son Pyotr Mikhailov is dying!

His lips began to tremble, and his head began to move about on the pillow. She lay there, dark-skinned and not much larger, with slanting eyebrows, just as the head of that broad-shouldered, also soldier’s son, the head of Alexei, Petrov’s son, lay seven years ago.

But there was no real anger, anger did not come, only trembling. If only I could get angry; He would get angry, then the mistress would tickle his crown - he would sleep and then he would recover.

And then a baked cockroach crawled out onto the tower of that castle, on which the luggage was dangling on a rope, onto that blue tile. He got out, stopped and looked.

There were three fears in life and all three were big: the first fear was water, the second was blood.

As a child, he was afraid of water, because of this turbidity, from bloating. big waters came to my throat. And he loved the boot because the boot had walls, there was protection from hollow water. And then I got used to it and loved it.

He was afraid of blood, but only for a short time. He saw, as a child, an uncle who had been killed, and his uncle was so red and skinned, like a carcass in a meat aisle, but his uncle’s face was pale, and on his face, as if a painter had put it on, there was blood instead of an eye. And then he had fear and shaking, but there was also some curiosity. And curiosity prevailed, and he became curious about blood.

And the third fear was that bastard, the crunchy cockroach. This fear remains.

What was there in him, in the cockroach, to be afraid of? - Nothing.

It appeared about fifty years ago, came from Turkey to large number, in the Turkish unfortunate campaign. He was found in Austeria, both in wet and dry places: he loved to bake. Maybe he was afraid of him because he was a bastard from Typechina? Or that he was hidden, secretly hiding in the crack, that he was present all the time, lived, hid - and accidentally crawled out? Or his Chinese mustache? He looked like Fyodor Yurich, Caesar the Pope, like Prince Romodanovsky, with his Chinese mustache.

Or that it is empty, and when you crush it, the sound from it is crunchy, like from an empty place or from a fish bladder? Or even that he, a dead creature, is all flat, like a metatarsus?

And when it was necessary to go somewhere, mailers and couriers rode ahead, and they inspected the houses: where to stop, is there a reptile? And without that I didn’t pester.

There was no handler or protection against the reptile.

And now he, Peter, was crying, there were tears in his eyes, and he did not see the cockroach. And when I wiped my eyes with a blanket, I saw it.

The cockroach stood, moved its mustache, looked, and there was a black tarnish on it, like on an olive. Where will those legs go, forty forties? Where will they rustle? And he jumps onto the bed and goes to pee on the blanket. Then his toes became languid, he trembled, pulled the blanket over his nose, and then took his hand out from under the blanket to reach his boot and throw it at the reptile while he was standing and not hiding. But there were no boots, the shoe was light and would not kill. He reached out for her, but could not reach her and, howling, crawled on his hands. How weak! They don't hold! And the chest is like a mattress filled with dust. He lay there and rested. Then he crawled with his hands to the chairs. The chairs were oak, turned, and instead of handles there were women's hands. He last time held on to the oak ones thin fingers, and the hand, as if in water, slid into the air - all behind the shoe. But there are no shoes, and there is no bottom, and the hand floated. Then the teeth started chattering, because the cockroach stood without his supervision and was waiting for him, or maybe it had already moved or escaped somewhere.

And suddenly the cockroach actually fell, as if lifeless, knocked and was gone. And both were like this: Pyotr Alekseevich lay without memory and without everything, as if drunk.

His strength is gone. But he was patient and kept trying to wake up and soon woke up.

He turned around, rolling his eyes, in all directions - where did the bastard go? -

I looked with a bad look over the varnish patches and saw an unfamiliar face.

The man was sitting to the left of the bed, by the door, on a bench. He was young, and his eyes were staring at him, at Peter, and his teeth were chattering and his head was shaking.

He seemed crazy or like a fool, or he was cold. Another one, an old man, was sitting nearby and sleeping. His face looked like Musin-Pushkin, from the Senate. He was a young-looking German, from Holstein.

Then Peter looked again and saw that the young man’s teeth were chattering, and his lips were apparently shaking, but that he was not a fool, and said weakly:

Ei, dat is nit permittert 1.

1 This is not allowed (Dutch).

He was ashamed that the Holstein saw him this way, that he climbed into the bedroom.

But at the same time the fear also decreased.

And when he looked at the stove, there was no cockroach, and he deceived himself, it was his imagination, it couldn’t have happened, how could there be a cockroach here? He became weak for a while and forgot himself, and when he opened his eyes, he saw three people - all three were awake, and the young man, whom he considered to be from Holstein, was also a senator, Dolgoruky.

He said:

Then the old man and everyone stood up, and the old man said, stretching out his arms at his sides:

Dressed up to protect the health of Your Majesty. He closed his eyes and dozed off.

He did not know that from that night three senators were assigned to guard the bedroom. Then, without looking, he waved his hand:

And all three left.

And that night, in the chamber next to the bedroom, a small man, pockmarked, broad-faced, invisible, was sitting at the table. He rustled papers.

All the papers were laid out in order so that they could appear in the bedroom at any time and report. The man was fiddling with papers at night. He was the fiscal general and was preparing a report. His name was: Alexey, surname Myakinin, not one of the old surnames. He accumulated papers through fiscal agents; and the quietest of them was the merchant fiscal, Busarevsky. And he wrote how the matter was not standing, how it was not going, what was given, and what was taken, and what was hidden in unusual places. He had a fine nose for the dacha, a fine sense for bribes, and a low sense for concealment.

And when the illness came, they called that invisible man, and he was told: be next to me, in the closet, next to my bedroom, on the side, because I can no longer go to your places. And you sit and write and report to me. And lunch will be served to you there in the closet. And sit and hide. Hide and write.

And after that, every day in the closet there was a clunk-a-blink - a man threw indiscriminate numbers onto the abacus. And on the morning of the second day, the man went into the bedroom secretly and reported. After this report, my lip began to twitch and foam appeared.

The little man stood and waited. He was patient, waited, and kept his head to the side.

Invisible man. Then, when the lip was smaller, the little man raised his forehead, his forehead was wrinkled - and his gaze swept up to the very person, even to the very eyes,

And the look was simple, red eyelashes, this look was experienced. Then the man asked, in a quiet voice, as one asks about the health of a sick person or a burned person about a house:

What do you say, should I chop only the branches?

But the mouth was motionless, no longer twitching and did not answer anything. And the eyes were closed, and, probably, the internal secret gnawing began. Then the pockmarked man thought that he had not heard, and asked even more quietly:

And would you say to put an ax on the entire root? And he was silent, and this one still stood with his papers.

The man is pockmarked and invisible. Myakinin Alexey.

Aphids to the ground.

And his eyes squinted at Myakinin with fear - it seemed that Myakinin was sorry. But he stood there - red-haired, mottled across his face, a small man, calm - on duty.

And now the man estimated everything and sewed it with a thick needle, and in the morning he reported - forehead to forehead. His papers were already thick. Busarevsky, the merchant fiscal, came to him - there was an order to let this man through at all times.

And when the merchant fiscal left, Myakinin immediately began to sweat and sweat for a long time, wiped his forehead with his hand, but his hands also sweated. And then he sat down, threw everything on the abacus a couple of times and began to creak. The first matter was of His Serene Highness, the Duke of Izhora. And as soon as he opened it, he sewed the beginning to it. And the beginning had already happened before - about the significant sums that his lordship transferred into Amsterdam and Lyon loans.

But this beginning remained a beginning, and he added another, the very first beginning - also about the significant sums that His Lordship spent in Amsterdam and Lyon. The most significant sums. And he was sweating because he sent that considerable money through his lordship to Dutch Amsterdam and to the French in Lyon none other than her autocracy. He was sweating. And then at the same time he attached a list of still unknown and secret dachas through Vilim Ivanovich, also given to Her Majesty.

He didn’t start a special case, but simply attached it to the first one. He was sweating because he didn’t know what to do here: to start a special business or not. And after he sewed it on, he looked at the sheets with a caring eye. And he clicked on the abacus, and the dice showed many thousands at once. Darkness. And he cut it off, there was nothing in the accounts.

Then, turning over many sheets of paper with a thick finger and slobbering on this finger, he made an adicia, counted, and the total came out to 92. He looked for a long time and expressed amazement with his forehead and eyes. And then quickly, suddenly - one bone up - he made a suptraction, left: 91. And so he took hold, even with three fingers, of this last bone, and so he burned himself on it, and finally, not very well, he dragged it back.

Then I took up my short hair, grabbed them and began to itch. And at once he made up the bills for the floor.

Went to bed.

And there were 92 bones - 92 heads.

And in the morning I came to the report: he was still sleeping. He stood still.

Then the eye is opened, and a sign is given that he is listening. And in a quiet voice, not even a voice, but as if an internal cooing, right next to the ear, it was reported. But the eye was closed again, and Myakinin thought that he was lying unconscious and stood there, doubting. But then a tear rolled down - and that tear gave a sign that he had heeded it. And with his fingers there was another sign, and Myakinin did not understand it: it’s not like leaving, it’s not like there’s nothing to do, you need to continue, it’s not like, like, quit; now, they say, it doesn’t matter.

He still didn’t understand, and when he went into the closet, he no longer creaked and quietly pushed the abacus with his foot. And they forgot to bring him lunch that day. So he sat hungry and did not go to bed. Then I heard: something was wrong, they were walking around there and rustling, like in a hayloft, and then quietly - and everything was wrong. In the morning he quietly tore out everything he had sewn, tore it into shreds and, looking around, put it in his boot. And he wrote down the numbers in numbers in an unusual place, this time so that if necessary, he could compile everything all over again and report it.

An hour later the door was pushed open and Katerina, Her Majesty, entered. Then Alexey Myakinin became angry. And Her Majesty pointed with her finger - to leave.

He was about to take the sheets, but then she put her hand on them. And I looked.

And Myakinin Alexey, without saying a word, went out. At home, he burned everything he put in his boot in the stove. But the numbers remain, only in an unseen place, and no one will understand.

And a lot of things remained in the closet.

About the great secrets from ships and from the ships that he built - this is about Admiral General Mr. Apraksin. And about almost all the gentlemen from the Senate, who, how much and for what. But only with the commemoration of great bribes and concealments, and there is no room to write about small ones. How merchants hide their profits, about the Shustov merchants, who do not pay taxes even up to many thousands, and are themselves in the dark, wandering around in poverty, who knows where. How the gentlemen of the nobility hide bread and wait in order to make more money when famine comes, their names and much more. What remained and where it went - Myakinin did not think about it.

He was red-haired, broad-browed, not a supreme gentleman. If it were not for Pavel Ivanovich Yaguzhinsky, he would not have been sitting in that closet for a century, and Catherine herself would not have driven him out of there.

By morning, three senators went to the Senate, and the Senate met and issued a decree: to release many convicts who had been sent to hard labor, and to free them so that they could pray for the long-term health of the Majesty.

Big things began: the owner was still talking, but could no longer be angry.

At night they sent for Danilych, Duke of Izhora. And he, from big palace, sent for his military secretary Wüst and told him to double the guards in the city at once. Wüst doubled at once. And then everyone knew that he would soon die.

And they knew about this much earlier in one place where everyone knows -

it was in the tavern, in the fortin that was in the Jurassic.

Fortina stood at the Admiralty. It was built for craftsmen who were bored; the artisans missed their native places where they were born, or their wife, their children, who were beaten at home, or even various junk, or even just one household item that was left at home - they missed this greatly in the new, abyssal place.

There, in the tavern, there was beer, wine, by the glass and in tubs, and many came, individually and in batches, drank from a ladle over the tub, wiped themselves and hooted:

Everyone went to a crowded place - to a tavern.

Above the fort on the roof stood on a pole state bird, eagle. It was tin with a pattern. And she bent from the wind, rusted, they began to call her: rooster. But from the bird, the fortin could be seen over a vast area, even from a large swamp and from a birch grove around the Neva Prospect Road. Everyone said: let's go to the pet. Because a rooster is a bird, and a rooster is

drunkard. And here many knew each other, just as when they met on the streets; in Petersburg all the people counted. And there were also nameless ones: St. Petersburg barge haulers. They were bitter drunkards.

Bitter drunkards stood in the hallway above the tub, drank the onuchi and immediately took off their shoes and honestly hung the onuchi on the tub. This gave off a balsam-like scent.

They drank beer, mash, and what flowed down the sides back into the tub, others behind them scooped up and drank. And it was quiet here, only the sound of crackling and this:

And in the first ward there were all sorts of drunkards, noisy people, and they drank with laughter and guffawing, they didn’t care. They were walking. Here they shouted in the corners:

Because there was card game, grain and other obscenities going on here. Sometimes there were fights.

And then, in the small chamber, through one window, there were average people, commoners of the secular team, average clerks, artisans, Swedes, French and Dutch. And also soldiers' wives and dragoon widows, willing women.

And here they drank in silence, without being naughty. And only a few sang. Here were the people who were most bored.

In the entryway there was Russian and Swedish speech, and in the second - many dialects. From the second chamber the speech went to the first, and then into the vestibule - and went for a walk to the huts and all the way to the swamp.

And although the speech was different: Swedish, German, Turkish, French and Russian, they all drank in Russian and cursed in Russian. That was the whole point of the tavern business.

The French had the following conversation: they remembered wine, and whoever could remember more wine varieties had more respect, because he had experience in drinking grapes and knowledge of life in his homeland.

Monsieur Legendre, an apprentice, said:

I would now take a bottle of pantaka, then another half bottle of bastra, then a small glass of frontiniac, and perhaps a small glass of mushkatel. I was always treated like this in Paris.

But Monsieur Leblanc, the carpenter, listened and said to him:

No, I don't like frontiniac. I only drink St. Laurent, Alkay, Portuguese and Sect Quenarcho. And most of all I love the Eremitage. I treated him in Paris, and everyone praised me.

Amazed by such a rude answer from Leblanc, the apprentice carpenter, Mr. Legendre, drank a mug of vodka.

Don't you like arak? - he then asked Leblanc and looked at him curiously.

No, I don’t like arrack, and I don’t drink hot wine at all,” Leblanc replied.

“Eh,” said Mr. Legendre, the apprentice, in a very thin voice, “and yesterday Mr. Master Pino treated me to arrack, checolate, and we smoked Virginia tobacco.”

And drank a glass of beer.

But then Mr. Leblanc began to become furious. He looked at Legendre with all his eyes, became furious, and his mustache became like a walrus, in all directions.

Pino? - he said. - Pino is a master like me, and I am the same as Pino. Only he cuts rocaille and grotesque, and I cut everything. And I’m also sharpening things for your patron that I myself don’t understand what they’re needed for, motherfucker. - And the last word Mister Leblanc, the carpenter, spoke in Russian.

Monsieur Legendre was pleased with the carpenter's words that the artistic carpenter became angry.

And did you, Mr. Leblanc, get that oak tree for the count and me, do you remember? - that piece of the best oak to chisel - as the Count and I told you - isn’t it?

“I didn’t get it,” said Leblanc, “because I’m not an undertaker, but a carver of architecture, and here only coffins are made from oak, and this is prohibited by law, and no one sells, mother of a thousand,” and he said the last word in Russian.

He didn’t drink beer, but only vodka, and then he became noisy and grabbed Mr. Apprentice Legendre by the chest and began to shake him.

If you don’t tell me why your count is buying wax, and I have to look for this oak, I’ll go to the order and, mother of a thousand, I’ll say that you’re helping to make stamps for forbidden money, and then would you like a supplice des batogues or du grand knife? 1

1 Punishment with batogs or whip execution (French).

Then Monsieur Apprentice Legendre became humble and said:

Wax for arms and legs, and oak for the torso.

And they were silent, and Leblanc began to think and look at Legendre, and thought for a long time, and after thinking:

“Eh,” he said then calmly, “so, those upstairs are really planning to go to their parents?” But worry, I've already made one of these torsos.

Then he wiped his mustache and said:

All this doesn’t concern me, I’m a straight person and I don’t like people when they are crooked. I'll give you a bottle of Florentine and a pack of Bresil tobacco, it's better than Virginia. This doesn't concern me. I will earn another thousand three francs and I will leave this country. Pino is a master like me. Only he cuts the rocaille, and I do everything. And I carve on stone, which you might know if you were interested, but it is only on wood. And oak like this is really hard to find.

Then the apprentice, Monsieur Legendre, began to whistle and sang a French song in a thin voice, that he - ran-ron - found a girl in the forest and began to tickle her, more and more, and then completely ran-ron, and Monsieur Leblanc talked about tree sesafras, which does not exist in Russia, then began to cry and said from Philippe Deporte’s ode at farewell to Poland:

Adieu, pays d"un eternel adieu! 1

1 Farewell, land of eternal farewell! (French)

because in my thoughts I saw how he earned his thousand francs (and not three, but all fifteen) and how he was leaving for the city of Paris from this swamp. Whether it was Poland or Russia, he didn’t care.

And then Ivanko Zub, aka Ivanko Zhuzla, or Trumpet, or Ivan Zhmakin, appeared in the second ward. He walked lightly through the second ward, looked at what and how and passed by, but one tailor master stopped him and said to him:

Stop! Your face is familiar to me! Aren't you one of the master tailors?

“You guessed it,” said Ivanko, “I am a master tailor, but why is the German singing?” - and nodded his head at Legendre, and winked at the familiar coachman, who was slurping kvass, and again floated out of the room with his easy deed.

And at the second table there was actually a German sitting and singing a German song.

It was Mr. Pharmacist Gesell Balthasar Stahl. He came here from Kikin’s chambers, from the Kunshtkamora, and he was so thin and tall, with freckles all over his face, that everyone knew him in Petersburg. But he did not often visit the fortin.

He was a member of the Kunshtkamor to change the wine spirit in naturals. Up to a hundred buckets of wine per year were spent on these naturalia, from which the wine spirit sat. And because he changed this wine spirit, he, Gezel, smelled of this spirit all over.

And now he was sitting in the fortin, and opposite him sat another Gesel, from the famous pharmacist Lipgold, from the doctor’s pharmacy, from Tsaritsyn Meadow, and he was an old German, that is, almost Russian. His father was already born in the German settlement in Moscow, and therefore his title was: old German. He was still young.

Mr. Balthazar sang a song that he was either standing or walking, and he didn’t know where, and finally explained to his comrade, the old German, that he had come to the fort for this reason, that the freaks had drunk all the wine spirit. He scolded them. There were only four freaks, and the main freak was Yakov, the smartest of them, and Balthazar therefore made him commander over all the freaks who were fools.

It had never happened to him that he was so brutalizing or showing bad tentamines, until yesterday's great Gesauf, when he, Balthasar Stahl, found by morning all the freaks almost sick from vile drunkenness, and still had to look after them, because they naturals.

The old German then said:

Shh! - and so expressed that he understands Balthazar’s difficult situation and condemns the freaks.

Today, said Balthazar, in view of the fact that Mr. Schumacher is abroad and he, Balthazar, is now replacing this great scientist (and this is a matter of great national importance, but it’s better not to talk about it, because in two banks he has especially two human heads, about which not a word is said, and if these natural things go bad, then things will begin that it’s better not to think about it) - he went to the apartment of Mr. Archpriest Blumentrost -

in order to report and ask for a new wine spirit, since the old freaks drank to a drop.

The old German said here: “Oh!” - and at the same time expressed that he respects such famous persons and regrets that they are all forced to bother themselves because of freaks, but that he does not want details about some government leaders.

What did the secretary of Mr. Archactor do? - Mr. Balthazar suddenly asked him. - He pushed my reports under the inkwell, shouted and stomped at me that when the Tsar is sick, then there is no need to worry about freaks, and - rraus, rraus, he pushed me out the door. This is how this tragedy played out.

“Ssss,” said the old German and shook his head, showing that although he considered Balthazar right, he was a judge between big people it can not be.

Then he said, turning the conversation away from such offensive memories:

Yes, indeed, of course, although up there they really seem to be very sick, and Mr. Lipgold told me that a man has already been sent by Mr. Archpriest to Holland to ask Mr. Boergav for consilium medicum 1, because the local doctors do not know such a medicine.

1 Medical advice (lat.).

Then, completely calmed down, Mr. Balthasar Stahl raised his finger and said quietly:

It's interesting what kind of interregnum can happen here! But it's better not to say! Mr. Menschenkopf, that’s who will rule - I swear! But not a word about this.

But when he looked at the old German, there was no one opposite him.

The old German was like that; frightened by the indecent conversation, he was already in the first chamber.

And in the first chamber a fisherman was sitting and drinking, and at that time Ivanko passed, and the fisherman suddenly stopped him and, looking closely, said:

Stop! As if I know you, your appearance is familiar to me. Haven't you fished on the Volga?

You guessed it! - Ivanko said and narrowed his eyes, - I was fishing on the Volga.

And then he walked lightly into the corner and sat down at the table, and under the table a puddle melted from all the feet, and different people were sitting at the table.

“It made me laugh,” Ivanko said quietly, “I see that all the people here are crap.”

And almost all the people, seeing Ivanka, scattered in all directions, but only three remained.

To the three Ivanko said:

Well, now it's going to be fun. A cat will die not in the summer, not in the fall, not in the summer, not in the middle, but in the gray heel. Already in the Yamskaya Sloboda they took the horses and galloped from the postal yard to take death to Nemechina. It made me laugh - I see all the stupid people wandering around. And tomorrow everyone will be released!

And the three asked: who?

“And they will release,” Ivanko Zhuzla answered, “the tailors who sew with an oak needle, and they will also release the Volga fishermen on all four sides, those who catch fish in stables and cages.” They will be released tomorrow - there is bargaining here, there is a hole, stand up straight! And you are stupid! It made me laugh!

And then one of the three, with long hair, properly cut, let out a wheeze over the table:

Today he is dying from a tobacco pipka!

Soon, Mr. Police Captain entered the fort, followed by two slingshot guards with rattles - and the captain read the order: close the fort, for many years of imperial health. He drank over the tub, and so did the guards. And all the people who already knew everything before left, all the artisans who were bored, and the Germans, and skippers, and coachmen, different people.

CHAPTER TWO

Isn't it better to live than to die?

Udder, king of the Samoyeds.

There was a considerable amount of farming in Kunshtkamor. It began in Moscow, and was first a closet, and then it was in the Summer Palace, in Petersburg; there were two closets. Then it became kunshtkamora, stone house. He was separated from the others in the Smolny yard; everything was together here, both living and dead, and the watchmen had their own mud hut next to the house. There were three watchmen. One looked after those in the jars, another looked after the stuffed animals, swept them, the third cleaned the chambers. Then, when important matter Alexey Petrovich was executed, the entire Kunshtkamora without exception, everything unnatural and unknown was transferred to the Foundry part - to the Kikin Chambers. This is how naturalia were transported from house to house. But it was far away, everyone began to stop by and stop by so willingly and diligently. Then they began to build kunsthouses on the main square, so that the main thing was on all sides: on the one hand - the building of all colleges, on the other hand - the fortress, on the third -

kunsthouses and on the fourth - Neva. But so far few people have gone to Kikin’s chambers; they did not have such diligence. Then it was invented that everyone would get their own interest when watching the kunshtkamora: whoever went there was treated to either a cup of coffee, or a glass of vodka or Hungarian wine. And for a snack they gave us zuckerbrod. Yaguzhinsky, the Prosecutor General, suggested that anyone who wants to see the rarities should pay a ruble for admission, from which a sum could be raised to support the freaks. But this is not accepted, and they even began to give out vodka and zuckerbrods without payment. Then noticeably more people began to enter the kunshtkamora. And two clerks - one of average grade, the other old - came in twice a day, but they were rarely given vodka, and never Zuckerbrods. They gave us a cod or a pretzel, or a kalach, or even nothing. The clerks lived nearby, in huts. And Mr. Sublibrarian or the watchman led them around the curiosities so that they would not spoil anything or take it with them. Or the main freak, Yakov. Yakov was also a stoker, he fired up the stoves. It was warm in Kikin's chambers.

The lemon babies, golden with fat, swam with their arms in the alcohol and kicked off with their legs, like frogs in water. And next to it are the heads, also in bottles. And their eyes were open. All are one year old or two year old. And the children's heads looked with lively eyes: blue, cornflower-colored, dark; human eyes. And where the head was cut off - you would have thought that blood would splash out - so everything was preserved in bread wine!

Pueriskaput No. 70

Dark-skinned. The eyes seem to be squinted with displeasure - and the eyebrows are slanted.

The nose is short, the forehead is wide, the chin is wide. And yellow in color, important, this head is both a small child and as if a Mongol prince. She is calm and her lips are heavy without a smile. A boy was brought from the Peter and Paul Fortress, it is unknown from which chamber and from which wife. Three of the wives were sitting there at that time, the third was a captured Finnish girl, nicknamed Efrosinya Fedorova. She was sitting in the case of Alexei Petrovich, Tsarevich, Petrov’s son, and was his mistress, she gave him up. She gave birth in the fortress. The head looks at everything with heavy eyelids, dissatisfied, important, like a Mongol prince, as if squinting from the sun.

The chamber was large, the sun stood in it for a long time. The rain outside the windows was not terrible. It was warm. And Mister Bourgeois was scattered in different places

He was a giant, of French breed, from the city of Calais; hayduk and drunkard.

Taken for height. A fathom and three inches. And they looked for a wife for him for a long time taller to see what comes out of this? Maybe a tall breed will happen? It didn't work out. He was tall, a drunkard - and there was no more use for him. Gave birth to a son and two daughters: ordinary people. But when he died from the evil Venus, he was skinned. For Ruysch. The foreigner Enshau undertook to make it, boasted a lot and had been holding it for a year, not giving it away, but only asking for money and making noise. Bourgeois himself was gutted. The stomach was taken into grain wine - and was the size of a bull. He stood in a bank, in a closet. And besides, there was the skeleton of Mister Bourgeois. It is large and, most curiously, eaten away by Venus like a worm. So Mr. Bourgeois was in three forms: a skin (which is behind Master Enschau), a stomach (in a jar), and a free skeleton.

And in the third chamber there were animals.

And everyone who came in and looked thought: what a shiny, fat beast in a foreign land!

The animals stood dark, shiny, with sharp and blunt muzzles, and their muzzles were like twilight and looked at the glass walls. People from all over the world, oily wool, Westerners!

The monkey in the jar sat quietly, its face was purple, stern, it looked like a Catholic saint.

Minerals lay on the tables, sparkling with earthy sparkles. And petrified bread from Copenhagen.

And everyone who came in looked at the cabinets and marveled for a long time: these are the natural things! And then I came across those animals that stood without cabinets.

Without cupboards, in freedom, stood Russian animals or animals that died here, in Russian soil.

White Siberian sable, lizards.

Elephant He stood at the white house, and all around people shouted like monkeys in unison:

Shahinshah! - and fell to their knees.

Then he began to climb the stairs. The ears are heavy with gold, the sides are covered with small suns, there is air all around, the steps below are wide, gray, warm. And when he climbed up, the leaders shouted the elephant word to him, and he then bowed and knelt before someone.

Shahinshah! Hussein!

Then there was reed straw underfoot, there was water in the lips and ordinary food.

And then a Persian, an Arab and an Armenian in rich clothes came for him, and then the time became noisy and crowded.

He did not know that Persis was sending a gift and that he was the gift. He could not know that the Ottoman, Hussein of Persia and Peter of Moscow were arguing over the Caucasus, that Kabarda, the Kumyk khans and the Kuban Horde - who was for whom, and one from the other all disappeared. He swam, standing on the boards, and the water smelled, and so he reached the city of Astrakhan. Again there were a lot of people, and camels, and shouting. And when they led him down the street - and he walked slowly - people threw themselves on their knees in front of him and rubbed the dust with their heads. And he walked slowly, like a god.

Then they left the city of Astrakhan, and many people with bundles followed him, as pilgrims follow. Now the time has become cold - there is a lot of water, no reed straw, no flour, empty time, and much has been lost. Already entered an unknown country.

And they brought him to a city, not to a city, either houses, or ships, or the sky, or not. They brought him to a wooden house and shouted the elephant word, and again he knelt in front of someone.

Then suddenly there was a roar through the water, and it hummed many times.

And he walked slowly, like a god, but no one fell in front of him. And where he slept, it smelled of a strange, bitter tree, it was a gray time, vodka on his lips, rice in his mouth and there was no reed under his feet. He saw no more elephants, but only non-elephants. Then time became more boring. The wind mooed over the trees, husky, alien. He did not know - could not know - what it was called: Nord.

This caused considerable cold, and the elephant shivered.

Then the elephant stopped missing the elephants and began to miss the non-elephants, because they too were missing.

And when it got warmer, he was taken out of the Animal Yard. And many non-elephants began to throw sticks and stones at him. Then the elephant became timid and ran like a baby, and all around they whistled, and stamped, and laughed at him.

The elephant did not sleep at night; in the evening the watchman gave him vodka. And then in the chamber nearby there was a dull breathing and a sighing roar, even. He listened: lion's breath. And he could not know that these were also the Shah’s gifts - nearby, namely: a lion and a lioness; he was drunk, got up, tore off the chain and went out into the garden. But the garden was not real, there were no trees in it, but only one fence. Then he broke the fence and went to Vasilyevsky Island. There he ran along the road like a foolish baby, they ran after him, and he kept increasing his pace. They threw crushed stone, wood chips, stones, and boards at it. And when he felt pain, his eyes were filled with blood, he raised his trunk and walked forward, as if in formation, as if there were many elephants nearby. He destroyed the Chukhon village, and then he was caught and kicked in the side. He was again taken to the Animal Yard.

There were fewer and fewer non-elephants, their eyes appeared less and less often, and the last non-elephant often staggered, screamed like a monkey, and kicked the elephant’s belly. But the trunk hung like the wind, and I was too lazy to raise it to drive away that last monkey.

Then they began to feed the elephant little, he began to fall off his body from the poor food and lay wrinkled, his gray skin was like calico on an old woman, his eye was red and smoky and no longer looked like an eye. Op walked under himself, his bowels were shaking.

So spacious! And he became all limp, became like a dirty drunkard, only his breath was in his sides.

Then he died, was skinned and stuffed, and he became a stuffed animal.

Various minerals of the great land lay on the tables.

Nearby stood an African donkey - a zebra, like a Kalmyk robe.

Lapland deer, Dzhigitey

The Great Samoyed sent messengers to Petersburg, and the Samoyeds walked on reindeer and stood on Petrov Island. Lots of trees and quite a lot of moss. Once they lit a big fire, danced, clapping and sang. Dzhigitey could not know that the Samoyed king had died and was no more, he was only sniffing the smoke. Then they came to Dzhigitey.

Dzhigitey-ey-ey!

The wind was in his mouth, and the deer ate it instead of moss until it hurt, because he had eaten his fill. And they kept stabbing him in the side, the reins kept singing, he ate and ate the wind and couldn’t take it anymore.

And when he galloped to a certain place, they shouted all around:

The Samoyed King, - and the strap was removed from him, and the man stroked him with a soft mitten, and he fell.

He fell because he had eaten too much of the wind, and he died, and they skinned him, stuffed him, and he became a stuffed animal.

There were minerals on the tables.

There stood the idiots whom Gagarin, the Siberian provincial, had exhumed. I wanted to get minerals out of the ground, but I dug copper figures in Samarkand: portraits of a minotauros, a goose, an old man and a fat girl. The girl’s hands are like hooves, her eyes are thick, her lips are laughing, and in her hooves she holds a lamp that once burned, but now does not burn. And the goose has a pipe in its muzzle. And these are gods, and the pipe was made to speak for God, for that goose. And this is a lie. The inscriptions are like needles on everyone, and no one at the Academy can read them.

Stallion of Liset, the owner himself. Brown wool. He served as a hero in the Battle of Poltava and was wounded. The tail is no more than ten inches long, the saddle is of ordinary size. Iron stirrups, half a foot off the ground.

Two dogs - one male, the other female. The owner himself. The first is a Danish breed, Tyrant, brown coat, white neck. The second - Lenta - is an English breed.

An ordinary dog. Then the puppies: Pyrois, Eois, Aeton and Phlegon.

And in the basement there are human things: two heads, in bottles, in bread wine.

The first was called Vilim Ivanovich Mons, and although she had been standing on a stake for a month and was offended by the snow and rain, one could still recognize that her mouth was proud and pleasant, and her eyebrows were sad. And so he was, and even in his greatest strength, when there were large dachas on all sides for him, when he was lying with his mistress, -

he was always sad. This could be recognized immediately by the eyebrows.

Oh, what is light, and in the light, oh, everything is disgusting, I can’t live or die, my heart is sad.

Maybe he didn’t love the owner? But only for big dachas and for future fortune did he lie with her? And at this time he himself was horrified by his gazart and expected trouble?

And the second head was Hamilton - Marya Danilovna Khamentova. That head on which the structure of the veins was so clear, where each vein goes, that the owner himself, on the platform, first kissed this head, then explained to those standing right there how many veins run from the head to the neck and back. And he ordered the head to be put into grain wine and into the cunnilingus. And before he was lying with Marya. And she had a lot of outfits, sables, and rode in an English carriage.

And now a living freak from above followed the two of them and got used to them. But they were not shown to visitors until the time came. Because although all the veins in their heads were clear, this was a domestic matter, it was impossible for everyone - and even big people - to show their domesticity.

And in the small room there were also birds - white, red, blue and yellow.

It is blue, the tail is black, the beak is white. Who caught her like that?

Decree on monsters or freaks. So that in every city they bring or bring to the commandant all human, bestial, animal and bird monsters.

Payment is promised, subject to review. But they brought little. The Dragoon widow brought two babies, each with two heads and their backs fused together. Whether the payment was small or something else, there were no more monsters in such a great state.

And then the Prosecutor General, Mr. Yaguzhinsky, advised introducing a tariff on freaks so that the payment would be fair. The fee is as follows: 10 rubles for a human monster, 5 for a beast and beast, 3 for a bird. This is for the dead.

And for the living - one hundred rubles for a human, one hundred rubles for cattle and animals

15, for a bird freak 7. So that they do not listen to whispers that the freaks are from witchcraft and damage. To be delivered to the kunshtkamora. For science. If anyone is convicted of non-delivery, he will be fined ten times the payment. And if the freak dies, put it in alcohol. There are no alcohols - put it in double wine, or even in a simple one, and tighten it with a beef bladder. So that it doesn't spoil.

Many began to look askance: is there a monster or a freak somewhere? Because they paid a hundred rubles for a human monster. They began to look askance at each other.

The commandants and governors especially watched.

There were monsters. Prince Kozlovsky sent a lamb, eight legs;

another lamb, three eyes, six legs. He was driving along the road, he sees a ram grazing, and he has either six or eight legs, his eyes are dazzled. I thought it was from the vodka and drove by - then he told me to take it; They brought a ram with eight legs.

Ordered to look for the owner. Let's go to the house; no one was found there - the owner is in the dark and most likely buried himself in the oats. The order was to take the ram. Favor and 30 rubles of money were received. Then the Ufa commandant Bakhmetyev found out about this and looked out for a calf that had two monstrous legs.

But for these legs they gave 10 rubles. The Nizhyn commandant sent a human monster: one baby, eyes under the nose, ears under the neck, and the nose itself knows where.

Then the Pushkar widow from Moscow, from Tverskaya Street, presented a baby with a fish tail. And the governor, Prince Kozlovsky, kept looking to see if there was a human monster, because 100 rubles and 15 rubles proved big difference. But it wasn't. Then he sent two dogs. The dogs were ordinary, but the fact is that they were born from a sixty-year-old girl. And I wanted to get

200 rubles, like for human monsters. Still, it was given 20, because the dogs were not brutes or even freaks. And he gave an order to all the commandants - to watch carefully, and then they will get a part. And a pig was sent to the kunshtkamora with human face- if you look from the side, - her forehead, that of a pig, looks like a human’s.

Human front. But it seemed like it to some, but not to others. Given 10 rubles.

There were three living freaks: Yakov, Foma and Stepan. Foma and Stepan were rare monsters, but they were fools. They were two-fingered: they had only two fingers on their hands and feet, like claws. But they made do with two. If they were given a hand and said:

Hello, perhaps! - either the monster Foma or the monster Stepan shook hands and bowed. Both were young, one seventeen, the other fifteen years old. They were led by a slingshot guard, but they could not tell themselves who they were, because they were fools. The guard was given 3 rubles. Then the turtle master appeared and said that fools were his nephews, and also demanded payment. But he was told to get out, because for failure to report he had to pay a fine of 1,000 rubles.

The watchman was an old soldier and was often noisy. He came to evening time when there were no visitors, and shouted:

Two-fingered! Form into groups!

And the two-fingered ones were built. He did not shout at Yakov. Yakov had six fingers. He was smart, and his brother sold him.

He was six-fingered and smart and was a peasant. The land was worn out, worn out, exhausted, but there was good grooming, and my father also set up apiaries. He installed it, died and stopped being a peasant, leaving the tax system. Then the mother and Yakov, the six-fingered one, entered the tax. His brother, Mikhalko, was a soldier; he was taken before the Narva campaign, when Yakov was not yet in the draft, he had not yet been born. He was fifteen years younger than his brother. And suddenly now, twenty-two years later, some team came to the churchyard, stood there, and an old soldier appeared to Yakov and said that he was Mikhalka. His mother recognized him.

He looked sternly. As they sat down at the table, he looked at Yakov’s mouth to see how much he was eating, so as not to eat too much. There was something on his mind. He whistled. I went to the regimental yard, left, it happened. He didn't like to talk. They called him this on the street:

Hey war!

And Yakov pulled the tax.

The mother began to dry out, her face was green, her eyes were greedy. She also began to look at their mouths to see who was eating how much. And sometimes she used to say:

At least he would make noise or get torn apart. Others are noisy.

Others were probably making noise. Many people's uniforms were worn out, and zipuns began to appear. Five people found themselves in the dark and stopped going to the regimental yard. Many got married, settled in the courtyards, near the smoke. Then they began to look after the yard and vegetable garden. And in a short time the team spread out and struck in all directions; even though she caused insults and there was often soldier theft, you can still live with noisy people. And then the regimental yard was empty. Mister Corporal went somewhere, and fat grass grew in the yard. There was only one feltweball left there, and he began to hold the auction for ash and wine. And no one had heard of either the Balka regiment or Mr. Balka himself, the commander.

And Mikhalko was putting together some kind of petition. He knew how to read and write. And then one day I went and arrived. The uniform was worn out, he built himself a caftan from sackcloth, and sewed the cuffs and lapels onto sackcloth. Six-fingered walked and was bored under this brotherly gaze. He didn't know his brother; while he was paying his taxes, his sweat and his grooming, and his bees, and honey, and wax. And war eats bread. Yakov knew how to whiten wax under the moon, he was taught, but the soldier would lead everything into emptiness. Once he was lost in thought, went out into the yard, looked at the hallway, the hallway was dark, and said quietly:

You won't get tired of this mouth.

He went into the hut and gave money to the soldier for wine. The soldier took the bill from him, sternly. Yakov's money was hidden in a place that his mother did not even know. In two places. In one there is little, in the other there is more. He got it from a small place for a soldier.

Mikhalko wrote a petition about his character. And he wrote it for two years, a word a day, and went to the city, and there the clerk corrected that petition for him.

All-merciful king and sovereign.

I have been serving as the most humble in Mr. Balk’s regiment for a year... with all diligence. A bullet hit in the back in the Narf affair. He had a yellow disease from his wounds and received relief at the Martial waters by order of your autocracy. Nowadays it has fallen into terminal decline in the village of Sivachi. The uniform is shabby and full of holes, which is why everyone ridicules it. I have no character or interpretation. And now, by your Majesty’s most gracious decree, ranks and characters are given. For this reason, most merciful sovereign, I ask your autocracy, so that, by your mercy, I will be honored with character, ready for a campaign, ready for a battle, or on guard, as a slingshot and rattle guard, or as an order, so that I can have food. Your Majesty's lowest slave of Mr. Balk's regiment of soldiers.

But I was in no hurry to sign everything. And I didn’t remember the year from which it was taken. I wore the piece of paper under my shirt for six months and rustled it at night. And the leaf became as old as a uniform. The mother woke up, raised her thin head and shook it as if on a pole: it rustled. At least he would make some noise.

But one day he brightened up. He went to the green yard, came home, began to clean his belt, exposed his beard with a braid - and his face lit up.

The mother gasped.

Then he approached Yakov and said:

To assemble, by order of his autocracy, by order of Mr. Balka, the regiment. Provide a cart to transport those arrested to St. Petersburg. On the matter of maiming.

And looked around. And this gaze was like a star: it was not directed at either his mother or his brother. It spread to the sides. And then the mother and brother realized that the house was not a home, but stray bees, and others would drown the wax. That you need to go.

And they went, rode day and night and were silent. And they arrived in St. Petersburg, and the soldier sold his brother to the Kunshtkamora and received 50

rubles By order of His Majesty. Soldier of Mr. Balk's regiment. And he returned home. And Yakov became a monster because he had six fingers on both hands and on both feet. And he began to hobble around Kikin’s chambers and acquired the character of a stoker. And Yakov looked at his comrades. The comrades were overseas, motionless. Large frogs whose name was frogs. Stuck, which sticks to ships and can sink them. And Yakov respected Sticky, or otherwise the holder, because he could sink ships. He asked the watchmen, the watchmen began to call him names: snake, sea dog, bending. And Yakov began to lead visitors around the cell. He led them around the room, pointed his sixth finger and said briefly:

Frog. The wine is simple. Or like this:

Little boy. Double wine.

He received two rubles a month, and fools were given a ruble each.

Once a middle-ranking clerk, who was not given a roll, grabbed an elephant by the trunk, which was strictly prohibited, because one or the other would grab the trunk, and then they could tear it off altogether. And then he began to grab him, Yakov, by the fingers in order to better see how six-fingered he was. Then Yakov, without saying a word, showed his fist to the clerk, and he immediately sank down. And then he asked for pardon and began to respect him. And Yakov lived for his own pleasure. Before leaving, he went to an unknown place, dug out the money, tied it in his belt, and that belt was now on him. And the two-fingered people were afraid of him, but the watchman respected him. He called the two-fingered: stupid. He took them to the soap shop to steam. And when he began to follow those two heads below, he looked into Marya Danilovna’s eyes for a long time - and her eyes were open, as if she had seen someone she was not expecting, and the freak was looking at the structure of the veins.

And when he looked at which veins were located where, then he understood what a person was.

But all the days he was bored, and it seemed to him that his boredom was from the elephant, that he was so gray, big, with a trunk. And there was a situation: they would live in the chamber until they died, and then they would be put in alcohol, and they would become natural.

And brother Mikhalko returned without character: he changed his mind about filing a petition, he decided to wait for time. You cannot submit without time. And I found a big change at home. The mother took care of things and became talkative. And she began to look at him the same way Yakov looked before. But she couldn’t whiten wax like Yakov, and Mikhalko couldn’t either. As soon as he arrived, he wrapped his brother’s money in a rag and put it in the guardianship, between the stones. The place is dry.

And the wax was not the same: with bee bread, dark, and breaking. Maybe it's a matter of fire, how to stoke it? Or has the bee changed? Where did Yakov get this method from? And now the mother kept talking about wax. And I forgot to think about Yakov, but I still remembered everything about the wax, what he was like. Various people passed through the post. Nobody knew who they were - pilgrims or fugitives.

And suddenly in the evening the mother said:

All the power is in the wax. Now wax is like bread. And the tribute is waxed. Because the German Tsar's nose was streaked; to get rid of it, she eats wax. And the wax used for food is white.

And then the soldier choked on his bread and felt the petition on his chest, and the petition rustled, he hit the table with his fist and shouted, turning white with great fear and pride:

Word and deed!

The guard-professors and pus-hideers took everyone out onto a large, promising road, brought them to the last outpost, to the slingshot, and said:

Away. Now don't toss and turn.

Then the hard labor moved along the roads like a louse. The snow melted, and she walked and got slimy, because she had lost the habit of walking on the ground, she only went to collect alms for food. But then she walked shackled, and now everyone’s feet were free and slimy. There were people here who were tried and tested, they were tortured. They didn't walk well. They will pass and sit down. Where there is less snow. And by nightfall they wandered off into the forests and villages. And the villages were flooded, as if the Neva penal servitude had overflowed its banks, flowed along the roads and entered the village streets. The villages were locked down.

There were people wandering around and beating beaters.

Tk-tk-tk.

And the dogs barked with their hearts, with anger, twisted their tails and put their ears on guard.

And here there was a soldier and a soldier's mother, among those tested. Their stories were completely different and they were tortured.

The provos adjusted the mother into a collar, and the mother said:

I don’t remember those speeches about wax. And I was not talking about the queen, but about the German woman who was taken from the king. I don’t know who she is.

And when they asked her where she got those speeches from, and they gave her two whips, she showed:

Red-haired, tall, hair standing in all directions, and it is notable that he is from the priests or the son of priests, who knows. He walked by howling and asked for some water to drink. And he spoke those words. And I don’t know who that is. Maybe not Russian, from the Germans.

And they gave the mother five whips, but they didn’t give her any more, because her health began to deteriorate.

The soldier's arms were twisted, and he said:

It is said about a person that she has a streak across her nose. And the person is called German in stingy words. And if he said the wrong thing, order me to be executed by death. And I am a soldier of Mr. Balk’s regiment.

He was given ten whips.

Fool, they told him, there is no Balka regiment at all now.

And both spoke their tortured speeches, and then they looked at each other and saw that the speeches did not differ so much and that neither the mother nor the son changed their speeches. And now it’s very difficult to catch up with that red-haired guy in terms of time range.

But then a big change came, they ordered everyone to be driven out for the long-term royal health, and the mother and son were kicked out. The scoundrels took them outside the outpost and said:

But the son chewed up his petition for character, ate everything so that they wouldn’t find it and something worse would happen, and he didn’t submit that petition and left the city of St. Petersburg the same way he came - without character. But the son and mother did not meet. They went different ways and grew weaker. What was the beggar's business based on?

In obedience, and not to let anything out of your sight. The beggar business was similar to the trading business, just like selling wax on the side. Only now it was no longer wax, but submission, and smooth speech to the young, and bad speech to the old,

To show that they are so meek that they cannot even speak well.

They sold poor goods around the yards, and they were given cheap prices for it. And the eyes were downcast, and the eyes were tested and saw right through everything that was behind the fence. And the hands were turned out and put in a bag that the eye was looking at. So they came, each on their own way, to their post, and met at the post, and, without looking at each other, went to the house.

And at the house a sleek black dog met them and began barking and grinning, even gnashing its teeth. Then Starostin’s son came out of their hut, wiped his mouth and asked:

What do you need? And he waved his hand:

And you go, go.

And then the mother sat down by the tree and did not get up again.

And the soldier of Mr. Balk’s regiment looked around him and did not recognize either the hut, or the people, or the groom, or his mother. And he went at a military pace back to where he came from.

The freak beckoned the middle-ranking clerk with his sixth finger and said to him:

Come here.

Behind the elephant, near the boy without a skull, they conspired. And the next day the clerk brought Yakov a long petition, written in the old manner, about non-existence. The clerk was an old man, he had rubbed shoulders with Nikon.

The most humble servant Yakov, Shumilin's son, asked him to look at his thinness and, since he was ready to lose not only the sixth of his fingers, but also all his thin arms and legs and even his stomach itself, - command him not to be in the anatomy, called kushntkamora. It had already become sickening for him, the bitter one, to spend all his days in the midst of frogs, and drowned babies, and elephants, and now he, the lowest, has become like a beast among beasts, and there is no great science from him, because he has neither a nose nor a trunk, or The nose is under the mouth, but only has sixth fingers. And for that non-existence he gives five times more than his price and will be on the lookout all day for octopus sheep and where there are two-headed bodies, or a horned horse, or a winged serpent - he is guilty of bringing all that to the anatomy without payment, and his own supply.

CHAPTER THREE

Did you sit by a difficult bed, Did you have a spiritual parting?

At half past six o'clock the ringing rang thinly and thinly: the guard soldier at the Apraksin manufactory rang the bell so that everyone would go to work. They hit the hammer on the gunpowder ones on Berezovoy, Petersburg Island and the board on the wax ones on Vyborgskaya. And the old women got up to work in the Spinning House.

At half past six o'clock it was neither dark nor light, gray snow was falling. The furman workers were already blowing out the wicks in the lanterns.

At half past six o'clock a bell rang in his throat and he died.

CHAPTER FOUR

And not only does he fight in the cavalry, but he also bravely marches in the infantry.

Shepherd Mikhail Valdaisky.

My heart is burning, I can’t stand it.

I want to have cupid with you now.

Comedy act

Besides Nester, she has six.

Proverb.

He was on his feet all day, all night. His eyes looked keenly, there were two wrinkles on his forehead, as if they had been made by a sword, and the sword was with him, and the orders were on him, and the lapels of his uniform were puffy. He walked like clockwork:

Tick tock.

His step was precise.

It became light, there was no fat in it, only meat remained. He was like a bird or like a sword: to fly, to fly, to stab, to stab.

And it was just like in war, when the Swedes were attacked: the same through forest, and the same invisible enemies, and secret commands.

He told Katerina to give him money, and without a word - she just looked him in the face - she opened the entire state box - take it. Of that money, I didn’t keep anything for myself, except some small change that stuck to it - the gentlemen of the guard got it all. And his ministers rode day and night. And Mr. Minister Volkov returned once - he became yellow, galloped another time, returned - he became white. And Mr. Wüst kept pacing somewhere, and his clothes stuck to his body from sweat.

And in right time The Duke of Izhora opened the window with his hand to let a light breeze into the palace. Who was lying there in the side room? Dead?

Alive? It's not about him. The point is - who should be? - And he let in the wind. And the wind came not as a wind, but as a drumbeat: the gentlemen of the Guard, the Menshikov Life Regiment, beat the drums in the courtyard. And the gentlemen of the Senate, who were sitting in the palace, stopped arguing about who should be, and then everyone understood: yes, that’s right, there will be an Indian kingdom.

Vivat, Colonel!

It was at three o'clock in the morning.

And then, when he realized: there is! everything is! - a bird in your hands! - then he was released a little, but he thought that he was completely released - and went to wander.

He began to wander around the palace and put his hands behind his back, and he was a little more relaxed than before - he was tired.

And at half past six o'clock, when I went up to the side room, and he was still lying uncleaned, it completely let go.

And Danilych remembered from whom he received his state power, with whom he kissed, with whom he poured bells on cannons, with whom he melted silver dishes for money - how much wealth he squandered - with whom he deceived.

And so, for one moment, he became like Aleksashka again, who slept in the same bed with his owner, his eyes turned red, became wolfish, angry with sadness.

And then Catherine began to sob.

Whoever heard this roar for the first time was frightened, he sensed that there was a mistress. And you need to cry. And the whole house roared and seemed from the street to be roaring in various ways.

And neither the gentlemen of the guard, who wandered around the palace like herd grooms in the field, the gentlemen of the guard - a noble bone, nor the mousey old men -

Messrs. Senate and none of the servants noticed that Mr. Count Rastrelli had entered the house.

And he walked, leaning on a cane, and was breathing heavily, he was in a hurry, so as not to be late, in his hand he had a merchant's yardstick, which is used to measure feather bed bales or velvets for a dress. And Monsieur Legendre, the apprentice, trotted ahead with a bucket containing white gesso, as if he were going to whitewash the walls.

And, entering the side room, the artist pulled back the curtain from the alcove and looked at Peter.

“It’s not enough,” he said hoarsely and briefly, turning to Legendre. -

I'll have to buy more, but where can I get it now?

Then he stepped back and looked from afar.

“I told you, Monsieur Legendre,” he croaked displeasedly, “that you should wander less around the osteria and pay more attention to the matter at hand.” But you bought little, and now we will be left without legs.

And then he turned to Catherine as she entered, bowing his entire body.

O mother! - he said. - Empress! High! We remove the likeness from the demigod!

And he suddenly choked, sulked all over, and tears jumped from his eyes like peas.

He rolled up his sleeves.

And half an hour later he went out into the hall and brought out the likeness on a platter. It just froze, and the master raised a small, thick finger upward, warning: don’t touch, don’t try to kiss.

But no one came.

The plaster portrait looked at everyone with eggs of pouty eyes, two wrinkles were on the forehead, and the lip was twitched to the left, and the cheekbones were swollen with swearing and anger.

Then the artist saw: in the hall, among the gentlemen of the Senate and the gentlemen of the guard, a small dark-haired man was pushing and getting stuck, he was trying, but they did not let him in.

And the master puffed up his lips with importance and contentment, and his face became like that of a frog, because that dark-haired Mr. Louis de Caravaque was, and this sharp artist was late.

Duk Izhorsky pulled the master by the sleeve and shook his head: leave. And the master left the plaster likeness and left. He took with him in a simple canvas bag a second personal likeness - a wax one, legs made of gesso and feet and palms made of wax.

And the plaster likeness looked at everyone.

Then Catherine burst into tears.

He did not stop at home, but went with Legendre straight to the Formal barn. He lived in the Liteiny part, opposite the Liteiny Dvor, and worked next to the Dvor -

in the barn. He loved this barn.

Anbar was strong, made of logs, a large stove was heated in it, it was warm, and there was snow and snow all around, because the Neva was ahead.

The workers were fanning the fur, and he ran past the workshops in small steps and muttered:

Rrapota!

He knew only this one word in Russian, but things didn’t go well with the interpreter, he was sputtering, and the interpreter couldn’t translate, he couldn’t keep up. He drove the interpreter away. And he got by with words and even with his hands. They understood him.

He loved the red, hot light from the oven and the semi-darkness, because in the Forming barn the white light came from above, from the turret, and it was poor. And the walls were blank, round and shone from the heat. Here lay cannons, tuyeres for casting, his work, wax, howitzers, small cannons and cannon parts - the work of artillery.

He ran into his side chamber, dimly lit, with a small window on top,

Where there was an unpainted table and bench and a smaller stove was also burning, and on the floors there were screws and bomb and grenade tubes and there was a large flat flask of rum. There was a sick cannon in the corner to show everyone her infidelity. She was poured in Vinius's manner.

He put the canvas where the head and forms lay in a corner, took off his formal dress, hung it on a nail and sat down to work. He laid out scraps of paper that he had taken out of his pocket on the table and began to write large sheets of paper with them. He wrote out the title slowly, with a squeak and admiring the thick letter with a delicate stroke that was like a bow.

And on the sheets he wrote a great amount of inconsistency, confusion, incomplete writing

Notes - and clear numbers, sometimes small, sometimes large, curly - measurements.

The handwriting of his hand was like a carol's dance, or as if a bush had suddenly grown on paper: with flights, with pig tails, with hooks; sudden, rough pressure, thin whistle and blot. These were such notes, and only he could understand them. And next to the numbers he drew a finger, and the numbers gathered around the finger, like fish for food, and there was a volume and a wave - it was a muscle, and a thick fountain stream was beating - and it was an outstretched leg, and a lake with a whirlpool was the stomach. He loved the sound of water, and the muscles were like crackling streams to him.

Then he sobbed the entire page with his pen and finished.

And, pushing the sheet aside, he looked at it, frowning and anxious. So I sat there in anxiety. He glanced superstitiously at the corner where there stood a canvas bag with a wax face and parts made of gesso and wax. Sighing, turning to Monsieur Legendre, he said, as if he was feeling sorry for himself:

Warm water.

The apprentice poured water on short fingers and looked at them as if they were the whole point.

Tomorrow morning you will harness my phaeton and go to the wax factories.

You will take white, only white. In the shop, dans Le Gostiny Riad 1, you will again look for the deepest colors. Snake blood. And you will pay for them everything that I give you, and not a single coin will lie in your pocket. And not a single trattoria will see your face.

1 In Gostiny Row (French),

And with long sadness he looked at Legendre and kept looking for something else to find fault with and something to say to him so that it would penetrate him, Mr. Apprentice, so that he, Mr. Legendre, would tell him the right word.

And you will drive along Vasilyevsky Island, and you will pass by the house of Monsieur de Caravacca with noise. You can make noise while driving your horse so that Monsieur de Caravaque can see from the window of his own house who is riding. You can bow to him.

Here Mr. Legendre grinned at these words of Count Rastrelli.

Why are you laughing? - Rastrelli asked and began to flare his nostrils. -

Why are you laughing? - he shouted and then he began to puff. - I'm asking you! Sieur Legendre! I know you! You're all laughing! Knead the clay!

This is where he made the wrong word, because it was necessary to heat the wax and make an empty mold, and not to knead the clay - and this was the right word. And then the master immediately began to heat the wax by the stove and feel it, then for some reason he took a piece on his tongue, chewed it, the wax didn’t taste good to him, and he grumbled:

This wax is not Corsican, not boxwood. Ugh! The stove was warm, and he was breathing quietly, and his chest was open, and hair curled on it.

He spat out the wax, wiped his hands and shouted with joy and burr:

Gypsum! Give me the form! Right hand! Begin!

And already in a small patter he said to Legendre and did not have time to finish:

Snake blood! Snake blood in the shop tomorrow. Give me some varnish to coat it with, why are you standing there? Gypsum!

And small hands went into action.

Yuri Nikolaevich Tynyanov - Wax Person - 01, read the text

Brief summary of the work: Wax Person. Peter's time in the work of Yu. N. Tynyanov “Wax Person”

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"Wax Person - 01"

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