208 If in the memoirs of contemporaries the meeting of A. Tolstoy and Voloshin in Paris is depicted mainly in everyday terms, anecdotal details are recalled (in this regard, see the memoirs of S. I. Dymshits-Tolstaya), then A. Tolstoy strives to more comprehensively present the appearance of Voloshin in combination with his spiritual essence.
209 The image of Voloshin the astrologer appears in A.N. Tolstoy, obviously in connection with the wreath of Voloshin’s sonnets “Corona astralis”.
SOFIA DYMSHITTS-TOLSTAYA
Sofya Isaakovna Dymshits-Tolstaya (1889-1963) - artist, second wife of A. N. Tolstoy. Fragments from her memoirs, written in 1950, are given in the book: Memoirs of A. N. Tolstoy (M., 1973).
210 The trial of Balmont took place on December 15 (2), 1911. Voloshin wrote to his mother: “Almost the entire last week I was occupied with Balmont. He was tried for insulting the police: passing by a policeman, he said to E. Ts., who was with him: “Close your bag” (in Russian), and the policeman heard: "Sale vache" and immediately arrested him. In a word, an exact repetition of "Affaire Crainquebille". I arranged witnesses for him, spoke with lawyers, etc. (Threatened with no more than 6 months in prison.) Still, he was not acquitted, but sentenced to a fine of 50 francs with the application of loi Berenger" (IRLI).
211 On the role of Voloshin in the creative development of A. N. Tolstoy, see the publication by V. Kupchenko “The First Mentor” (Literary Review. 1983. No. 1). A. Tolstoy himself wrote in his “Brief Autobiography”: “I owe the beginning of my novelistic work to my closeness to the poet and translator M. Voloshin.”
212 In the summer of 1909, N. S. Gumilev, E. I. Dmitrieva, S. Ya. Elpatievsky lived with the Voloshins.
213 Several cartoons by A. N. Tolstoy have been preserved in the Voloshin House-Museum in Koktebel.
214 “Poetic portraits” of S. I. Tolstoy were written in Koktebel by A. Tolstoy, M. Voloshin, E. Dmitrieva. The poem by N. Gumilyov, written in this “competition,” remains unknown to this day.
215 Voloshin's poem dedicated to "Countess Sofya I. Tolstoy", "The end of a needle on soft wax..." (it was published in Voloshin's first collection "Poems. 1900-1910").
HISTORY OF CHERUBINA
Voloshin's story about Cherubina de Gabriak was recorded in Koktebel by bibliographer Tatyana Borisovna Shanko (1909-ca. 1981), who came from Moscow, in the summer of 1930. The text is given from typescript from the poet's archive (IRLI).
216 The old-timers of Koktebel still call the bizarre grape roots Gabriaks.
217 Jean Baudin (1530-1596) - French lawyer, author of political treatises. His "Demonology" (1580) is devoted to evidence of the existence of sorcerers.
218 In an article about E.I. Vasilyeva (married name Dmitrieva) in the reference book “Writers of the Modern Era” (M., 1928) it is indicated that she studied Spanish studies at St. Petersburg University with Professor D.K. Petrov, a student of A.N. Veselovsky.
219 As reported in the reference book “All Petersburg” for 1909, E.I. Dmitrieva was a teacher at the Petrovskaya Women’s Gymnasium (Petrogradskaya Side, Plutalova St., 24).
221 Makovsky Sergei Konstantinovich (1878-1962) - poet, critic. Voloshin dedicated the poem "Delos" (1909) to him. Makovsky was listed as the editor and publisher (along with Mikhail Konstantinovich Ushkov) of the Apollo magazine.
222 The poem "Our Coat of Arms" was published as part of a selection of poems by Cherubina de Gabriac in the second issue of Apollo (published November 15, 1909). Tubal is the mythical founder of metallurgy, otherwise Tubal-Cain (“father of blacksmiths”). Hiram-Aviv is the legendary Phoenician foundry worker (the “namesake” of the Tyrian king), who participated in the construction of the temple of Jehovah, erected by King Solomon in Jerusalem. Acacia branches were laid on the grave of Hiram, who was killed by greedy apprentices - a symbol of the eternity of the spirit and good deeds.
223 Bryullova Lidiya Pavlovna (married to Vladimirov, 1886-1954) poetess, daughter of the artist P. A. Bryullov, grandniece of K. P. Bryullov. For Voloshin’s poems dedicated to her, see the memoirs of M. Tsvetaeva and the 16th note to them.
224 This refers to the main character of E. Rostand's play "Cyrano de Bergerac", who writes letters to the beautiful Roxana on behalf of Christian, who is in love with her, while at the same time loving her himself.
225 It was the custom of E.I. Dmitrieva to send a flower, leaf or blade of grass in a letter and in correspondence with Voloshin before the hoax. The “language of flowers” is a conventional way of expressing various concepts and feelings through different plants, originating from the East. In the Middle Ages it was also used in Western Europe.
226 In the post-revolutionary years, E.I. Dmitrieva was subjected to repression. For her fate, see the memoirs of I. Ehrenburg (p. 341).
227 We are talking about the “Society of Admirers of the Artistic Word”. It was created by the editors of Apollo magazine in the early autumn of 1909; the meetings took place in the editorial office of the magazine.
228 An exhibition of female portraits was opened in the Apollo editorial office from January 17 to February 7, 1910.
229 Cherubina was “exposed” to Makovsky by Mikhail Kuzmin, as evidenced by an entry in his diary dated November 17, 1909 (TsGALI, f. 232, op. 1, item 53). According to Makovsky’s recollections, Dmitrieva herself paid him a visit, bitterly regretting the pain caused to him (Makovsky S. Portraits of Contemporaries. New York, 1955. pp. 349-352).
230 Gunther Johannes von (1886-1973) - German poet and translator (from Russian to German). He was one of the main characters in this story. Having become the first owner of Cherubina’s secret, Gunther enjoys his new role for several days as the owner of a secret that worried “the whole of St. Petersburg,” and then tells everything to Kuzmin. He tells Dmitrieva that Gumilev at Vyacheslav Ivanov’s “Tower” said “God knows what” about her, and that same evening arranges a meeting between Gumilev and Dmitrieva at the apartment of her friend Lydia Bryullova. And then he notifies Voloshin and his Apollo acquaintances about what happened at Bryullova’s place. And Maximilian Voloshin, faced with the fact of insulting the woman he loved, considered himself obligated to stand up for her.
Memories of Maximilian Voloshin Voloshin Maximilian Alexandrovich
Sofya Dymshits-Tolstaya FROM MEMORIES
Sofia Dymshits-Tolstaya
FROM MEMORIES
At the end of 1907 we decided to make a trip abroad. My mentors in the field of painting believed that I should visit Paris, which was known among them as the “city of painting and sculpture”, that I should see a lot there, and at the same time “show myself”, demonstrate my works to the local “masters”. We looked at this trip, first of all, as a kind of honeymoon. And so in January 1908 we left for Paris.
Arriving in Paris, we settled in a large boarding house at 225 Rue Saint-Jacques. The boarding house was inhabited by people of various nations, including two black students, captive princes, raised at the expense of the French government and studying medicine.
In this multinational boarding house, Alexei Nikolaevich was especially willing to emphasize that he was from Russia, appeared in a fur coat and a fur hat, and dined heartily, as he said, “in the Volga style.” ...
Alexey Nikolaevich had constant difficulties with the French language in Paris. He came to France with poor knowledge of this language and enriched himself here only with words and expressions of the Parisian argot (jargon) and even various French strong words. In this area of French linguistic “culture,” which greatly amused him, he achieved such completeness and virtuosity of knowledge that he amazed the Parisians. One evening we paid a visit to our Parisian friend, the Russian poet and artist Maximilian Voloshin. We showed up late and without warning, the hosts were not prepared for our arrival, they had already had dinner, and Alexey Nikolaevich volunteered to go buy wine and snacks at one of the nearby stores. While he was walking, the front door was closed, and the concierge refused to let in a visitor she did not know. Then Alexey Nikolaevich spoke to her in Parisian argot, demanding that he be allowed to see “Monsieur Voloshin.” The concierge, beside herself with rage, ran to Voloshin, declaring that she could not believe that the “impudent individual” at the door was actually his friend. Voloshin was no less surprised. “My friend,” he said, “does not speak French. There is some kind of misunderstanding here.” “Oh no!” exclaimed the concierge. “He speaks. And very well at that.”
The environment in which we moved in Paris consisted of Russian and French artists and writers. We were introduced to this environment by the Russian artist Elizaveta Sergeevna Kruglikova, who lived for years in Paris, in the Montmartre area, on Rue Boissonade. Elizaveta Sergeevna became acquainted with my works and sent me to the La Palette school, where famous French artists Blanche, Guerin and Le Fauconnier taught. Of the Russian painters, we often met K. S. Petrov-Vodkin, then still a young artist, Tarkhov, immersed in his favorite theme of the poetry of motherhood, Shirokov, who painted his works with glaze, and Belkin, who was then beginning his artistic path. Kruglikova introduced us to the already mentioned Maximilian Aleksandrovich Voloshin, with whom we were friends for many years even after leaving Paris.
In Paris we also met the symbolist “master” Konstantin Dmitrievich Balmont, who was going out of fashion. Alexey Nikolaevich was invariably polite and correct with him, was even present at the comic “trial” of Balmont, but in his new works he saw only signs of fading talent, and the very poetic nature of Balmont - an impetuous, somewhat neurasthenic improviser - was for him, a tireless and purposeful worker in literature, absolutely alien. He was very amused by the funny incident that brought Balmont to the dock in a French court. Here is how it was. One moonlit night, after a thorough drinking session, Balmont, returning home, saw a French woman ahead, whose reticule was unfastened. Wanting to be gallant, he began to catch up with the stranger, shouting to her in Russian: “Your reticule!.. Your reticule!” At the same time, it did not occur to Balmont that his exclamation, translated into French, meant: “Funny cow!” The indignant French woman turned for help to an ajan (policeman), who stopped a drunken passerby who made a clearly suspicious impression: he hobbled (Balmont was limping), gesticulated strongly, ruffled his already disheveled mane of reddish hair and shouted loudly: “Yours!.. Yours! ..” Azhan was infuriated by these shouts, he took them personally, for in Parisian slang the Azhans were called “mor o yours” (“death to cows”). Without going into details, he arrested Balmont for... molesting a woman and insulting a policeman while on duty. Balmont's friends found him the next day in prison, dressed in a striped prisoner's suit, busy doing a prisoner's "lesson" - he was gluing matchboxes. There was a trial, and this court acquitted Balmont210. Tolstoy went to listen and see this judicial comedy, which amused him very much.
In the restaurant "Closerie de Lisle", which was eagerly visited by writers, we met with Ilya Grigorievich Ehrenburg, then a young poet. Having read in the memoirs of N.K. Krupskaya that Vladimir Ilyich Lenin called Ehrenburg of those years “Ilya Shaggy,” I thought that this definition was surprisingly accurate. Ehrenburg stood out among the sleek and pomaded French writers for his luxuriant hair. We once sent him a postcard to the address of the cafe with the inscription: “O Monsieur Mal Coifé” (“badly combed gentleman”) and this postcard found Ehrenburg.
Alexey Nikolaevich had many, frequent and long conversations with Max Voloshin, whose broad literary and historical knowledge he greatly valued211. He loved this dense, strongly built man, with slightly myopic and clear eyes, who spoke in a quiet and gentle voice. He was impressed by his exceptional, almost encyclopedic education; It was always possible to “extract” something new from Voloshin. But at the same time, Tolstoy was very far from that cult of everything French, from that uncritical, kneeling attitude towards modern French poetry that Voloshin preached.
Living in Paris, moving around Montmartre, among French aesthetes, meeting with aesthetically pleasing “Russian Parisians”, dining almost every night in artistic taverns, Alexey Nikolaevich remained here a guest, a curious observer - and nothing more. This true Russian man and deeply national writer, of course, could not get used to the atmosphere of Western European decadence. ...
In the summer of 1909, at the invitation of Maximilian Aleksandrovich Voloshin, we went to see him in Koktebel, on the eastern coast of Crimea.
Voloshin and his mother lived permanently in Crimea. Sometimes Maximilian Alexandrovich traveled on literary business to St. Petersburg or Paris. In Koktebel he owned two wooden houses located on the Black Sea shore. The owners lived in the two-story house where Voloshin’s workshop was located, in which he painted his numerous watercolor landscapes. Voloshin’s excellent library was also located here, and Maximilian Aleksandrovich’s “dacha residents” came here, as if to a kind of art club, and they occupied the second, one-story house. These summer residents were mainly people of art: writers, artists, painters, musicians. In the summer of 1909, in addition to us, a group of St. Petersburg poets212 visited Voloshin.
From Koktebel we traveled several times to Feodosia, where we visited the composer Rebikov and the landscape artist Bogaevsky. Alexey Nikolaevich had detailed conversations with both of them about art. He loved to listen to how Bogaevsky, in a quiet voice, stumbling with modesty, commented on his landscapes, how the unprepossessing and eccentric Rebikov suddenly lit up and showed a furious temperament in debates about music.
In Koktebel, in a dacha with a wonderful view of the sea and a long chain of blue mountains, Alexey Nikolaevich returned to poetry (here he worked on a collection of poems “Beyond the Blue Rivers”), worked on the farce “About the Hedgehog”, wrote “The Devil's Masquerade”; Using Voloshin's library, he began to try his hand at the historical genre for the first time, studying the era of Catherine II and the linguistic culture of that time. Quite unexpectedly, he showed himself as a caricaturist. In his free time, he was fond of satirical drawings, depicting Voloshin and his guests in the most unusual positions, and with his friendly cartoons evoked cheerful laughter from the Koktebel residents. One day the poets staged a creative competition. They made me dress in a blue dress, put a silver headband on my head and “pose” with it, reclining against the backdrop of the sea and blue mountains. Five poets “competed” to write my “poetic portrait”214. The best of these portraits turned out to be a poem by Alexei Nikolaevich, which, under the title “Portrait of Count S. I. Tolstoy,” was included in the dedication to me (the dedication read: “Dedicated to my wife, with whom they wrote this book together"), a book of poems "Beyond the Blue Rivers", published in 1911 by the Grif publishing house. Voloshin215 and other poets published similar poems. ...
From the book The Toasted Man drinks to the dregs author Danelia Georgy NikolaevichFAT NATASHA AND THE SLAPPER When I was six years old, I was in Tbilisi and there I fell ill with inflammation of the middle ear. It was hot that day, everyone left for the village, and Mikhail Chiaureli’s older sister, fat Natasha, remained to look after me (my mother was in Moscow). Fat Natasha dripped
From the book Forty-five years on the stage author Smirnov-Sokolsky Nikolay PavlovichSofia Bliznikovskaya. “From Memoirs” When you remember Smirnov-Sokolsky, you don’t know which one to “prefer”. Artist. The author is a feuilletonist. Writer. Book lover and bibliographer. Director and screenwriter of large variety shows. Public figure. Man is in everything
From the book Women who loved Yesenin author Gribanov Boris TimofeevichChapter XVI SOFIA ANDREEVNA TOLSTAY - A LITERARY-DYNASTIC MARRIAGE The meeting of Sergei Yesenin with Sofya Andreevna Tolstaya happened by chance. No one deliberately intended to introduce them. There was a regular party on the occasion of Galya Benislavskaya's birthday. on her
From the book Memoirs of Ilya Ehrenburg author Erenburg Ilya GrigorievichAl. Dymshits Difficult love Many people of my generation fell in love with the works of Ilya Grigoryevich Ehrenburg back in the twenties. As schoolchildren, we tried not to miss his books in stores, obtained tattered, well-read copies from libraries. With what enthusiasm I read
From the book Memoirs of Maximilian Voloshin author Voloshin Maximilian AlexandrovichSOFIA DYMSHITTS-TOLSTAYA Sofya Isaakovna Dymshits-Tolstaya (1889-1963) - artist, second wife of A. N. Tolstoy. Fragments from her memoirs, written in 1950, are given in the book: Memoirs of A. N. Tolstoy (M., 1973).
From the book Tolstoy the American author Filin Mikhail DmitrievichCountess S. F. Tolstaya<ГРАФУ Ф. И. ТОЛСТОМУ>You have cried often, my parent, and grief has made your hair white. Often deep suffering tormented your chest; your noble heart often broke. I myself, your dear, dearly beloved child, cost you many tears,
From the book We Knew Evgeny Schwartz author Panteleev AlexeyAlexander Dymshits In the village of Vsevolozhskoye near Leningrad, near Melnichiy Ruchey, in a plank house there lived a man whom children considered a miracle worker and astrologer. He walked, surrounded by a horde of children, and his fantasy identified them as kings and pages, appointed them as Ivanushkas - fools and
From the book Yesenin author From the book of Goncharov author Melnik Vladimir IvanovichElizaveta Tolstaya At the same time, the mid-1850s, there was an outburst of strong feelings for Elizaveta Vasilyevna Tolstaya, who was known to Goncharov from the Maykov circle. In one of his letters to his close friend Anatoly Fedorovich Koni, he admitted: “Trifles, between
From the book Dovlatov and the surrounding area [collection] author Genis Alexander AlexandrovichTolstaya: Paradise Lost I like everything Tolstaya does. I like how she writes about herring under a fur coat and how she prepares it. I like her periodicals, full of anger and passion. I like her easy speech, I bet the resourcefulness of which I managed to appreciate in
From the book Unknown Yesenin. Captured by Benislavskaya author Zinin Sergey IvanovichSofya Tolstaya Benislavskaya understood that her dream of creating a calm family life for Yesenin did not come true. She longed for great love, but did not know how to fight for it. Sergei Yesenin mercilessly cut the threads connecting them. In the presence of his sister Catherine, he
From the book Keys to Happiness. Alexei Tolstoy and literary Petersburg author Tolstaya Elena DmitrievnaSonya Dymshits' couch As we remember, Sofya Isaakovna herself wrote in her memoirs about Tolstoy's friendship with Kuzmin - most likely the year 1909 or 1910 is described here. Let us quote this passage a second time: I also remember how we spent the St. Petersburg White Nights. We were especially at that time
From the book The Path to Chekhov author Gromov Mikhail PetrovichT. L. Tolstaya Letter to A. P. Chekhov Dear Anton Pavlovich, the reason I have not answered you until now is that your letter arrived in Moscow when I was in Yasnaya Polyana, and my father did not forward it to me, but he himself carried out your instructions , having sent Mr. Chumikov for translation his article “About
From the book Loving You Sergei Yesenin author Andreeva JuliaChapter 34. Sofya Tolstaya - wife for an hour - Almost from the beginning of my acquaintance with Yesenin, there was talk that he would marry Sofya Andreevna Tolstoy, the granddaughter of the writer Leo Tolstoy, writes Yu. N. Libedinsky in his memoirs “My meetings with Yesenin." Sergey himself
From Yesenin's book. Russian poet and hooligan author Polikovskaya Lyudmila VladimirovnaSofya Andreevna Tolstaya. Persia in Baku. Quarrel with Galina Benislavskaya Almost immediately after arriving in Moscow in March 1925, Yesenin met Sofia Andreevna Tolstaya. At Galina Benislavskaya's birthday party. He went to see her off, and when he returned, he said: “We should drag ourselves.
From the book Silver Age. Portrait gallery of cultural heroes of the turn of the 19th–20th centuries. Volume 1. A-I author Fokin Pavel Evgenievich, Leningrad) is a European-educated Russian avant-garde artist who flashed her constructivist and Dadaist works during the brief heyday of Russian innovative art of the early 20th century.
The generation of Sofia Dymshits, who sincerely responded to the revolutionary renewal in Russia, soon found themselves not only unclaimed, but also crushed by the machine of the totalitarian state that had been forming in the USSR since the early 1930s.
Biography
Sofya Isaakovna Dymshits was born on April 23, 1884 in St. Petersburg, into a large family of a Jewish businessman.
- 1903-1906: Takes an initial course at the University of Bern, first in medicine, later in the faculty of philosophy.
- 1906: Classes at the Art School of S. S. Egornov. Meeting Count Alexei Tolstoy, his brother's classmate; parents are against visits to their home by a married person. In the spring of 1907, Tolstoy proposes to Sophia.
- 1907-1910: Zvantseva Drawing and Painting Studio; in St. Petersburg. The teaching staff of the studio is very powerful: M. Dobuzhinsky, L. Bakst, K. Petrov-Vodkin, K. Somov. In the same studio, Elena Guro, Alexander Romm and Marc Chagall studied together with Sophia. Natalya Krandievskaya, who would become A.N. Tolstoy’s next wife, also took lessons here. Sofya and Natalya worked at neighboring easels, and Alexey Tolstoy often looked into the studio.
- 1908: On the advice of L. Bakst, he goes to Paris for an internship as an artist. She is accompanied by A.N. Tolstoy. Sophia masters etching under the guidance of E. Kruglikova (in Kruglikova’s Parisian atelier at 17 Boisonnade Street); studies at the Academy "La Palette"(directed by Jacques-Émile Blanche, Charles Guerin and Henri Le Fauconnier).
- 1910-1911: Sophia and Alexei’s social circle includes artists Sudeikin and Sapunov, as well as Vs. Meyerhold, Gumilyov and Akhmatova, Sologub, M. Kuzmin.
- 1911: Stay of the spouses Sophia and Alexei Tolstoy in Paris. Birth of daughter Marianna.
It was supposed to be a double page spread, one on both pages. Since the cover was printed in zincography on good paper, the workers removed the cover and hung it on the wall like a picture. Thus, the cover gave not only a propaganda perception, but also, to a certain extent, an aesthetic one.”
- Dymshits-Tolstaya, S. I. Memoirs, 1939-1940 (manuscript). Department of Manuscripts of the State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg.
- Second half of the 1920s: From this time on, the artist turned to still life painting.
- 1934: Awarded a prize from the newly organized “Union of Soviet Artists” for her work in the magazine.
- 1953-1959: Member of the Leningrad branch of the Union of Artists of the USSR.
Images online
Exhibitions
Write a review of the article "Dymshits-Tolstaya, Sofya Isaakovna"
Literature
Notes
- Alexandra Shatskikh. Vol. 2. Materials of the VI-IX Chagall readings in Vitebsk (1996-1999). Vitebsk, 2004. P.102-115.
- Catalog of the exhibition of paintings “World of Art”. Moscow. 1913
- Catalog of the exhibition of paintings “World of Art”. 1st ed. St. Petersburg. 1913
- Catalog of the exhibition of paintings “World of Art”. 2nd ed. Petrograd. 1916
- Catalog of the exhibition of paintings “World of Art”. 2nd ed. Petrograd. 1917
Links
- to the text by Sofia Dymshits-Tolstaya in Russian literature / “UFO” 2008, No. 91
- Online ARTinvestment.RU
- (2007), directed by Sofia Dymshits-Tolstay's great-niece, Lucy Kostelanetz
- on the website of the gallery “Last Century”, St. Petersburg.
An excerpt characterizing Dymshits-Tolstay, Sofya Isaakovna
- Not yet. Where are you going?“I want to teach a young man how to shoe a horse,” said Telyanin.
They went out onto the porch and into the stables. The lieutenant showed how to make a rivet and went home.
When Rostov returned, there was a bottle of vodka and sausage on the table. Denisov sat in front of the table and cracked his pen on paper. He looked gloomily into Rostov's face.
“I’m writing to her,” he said.
He leaned his elbows on the table with a pen in his hand, and, obviously delighted at the opportunity to quickly say in words everything he wanted to write, expressed his letter to Rostov.
“You see, dg,” he said. “We sleep until we love. We are children of pg’axa... and I fell in love - and you are God, you are pure, as on the pieties day of creation... Who else is this? Drive him to Chog’tu. There’s no time!” he shouted at Lavrushka, who, without any timidity, approached him.
- Who should be? They ordered it themselves. The sergeant came for the money.
Denisov frowned, wanted to shout something and fell silent.
“Skveg,” but that’s the point,” he said to himself. “How much money is left in the wallet?” he asked Rostov.
– Seven new and three old.
“Oh, skveg” but! Well, why are you standing there, stuffed animals, let’s go to the sergeant,” Denisov shouted at Lavrushka.
“Please, Denisov, take the money from me, because I have it,” Rostov said, blushing.
“I don’t like to borrow from my own people, I don’t like it,” Denisov grumbled.
“And if you don’t take the money from me in a friendly manner, you’ll offend me.” “Really, I have it,” Rostov repeated.
- No.
And Denisov went to the bed to take out his wallet from under the pillow.
- Where did you put it, Rostov?
- Under the bottom pillow.
- No, no.
Denisov threw both pillows onto the floor. There was no wallet.
- What a miracle!
- Wait, didn’t you drop it? - said Rostov, lifting the pillows one by one and shaking them out.
He threw off and shook off the blanket. There was no wallet.
- Have I forgotten? No, I also thought that you were definitely putting a treasure under your head,” said Rostov. - I put my wallet here. Where is he? – he turned to Lavrushka.
- I didn’t go in. Where they put it is where it should be.
- Not really…
– You’re just like that, throw it somewhere, and you’ll forget. Look in your pockets.
“No, if only I hadn’t thought about the treasure,” said Rostov, “otherwise I remember what I put in.”
Lavrushka rummaged through the entire bed, looked under it, under the table, rummaged through the entire room and stopped in the middle of the room. Denisov silently followed Lavrushka’s movements and, when Lavrushka threw up his hands in surprise, saying that he was nowhere, he looked back at Rostov.
- G "ostov, you are not a schoolboy...
Rostov felt Denisov’s gaze on him, raised his eyes and at the same moment lowered them. All his blood, which was trapped somewhere below his throat, poured into his face and eyes. He couldn't catch his breath.
“And there was no one in the room except the lieutenant and yourself.” Here somewhere,” said Lavrushka.
“Well, you little doll, get around, look,” Denisov suddenly shouted, turning purple and throwing himself at the footman with a threatening gesture. “You better have your wallet, otherwise you’ll burn.” Got everyone!
Rostov, looking around Denisov, began to button up his jacket, strapped on his saber and put on his cap.
“I tell you to have a wallet,” Denisov shouted, shaking the orderly by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall.
- Denisov, leave him alone; “I know who took it,” Rostov said, approaching the door and not raising his eyes.
Denisov stopped, thought and, apparently understanding what Rostov was hinting at, grabbed his hand.
“Sigh!” he shouted so that the veins, like ropes, swelled on his neck and forehead. “I’m telling you, you’re crazy, I won’t allow it.” The wallet is here; I'll take the shit out of this mega-dealer, and it will be here.
“I know who took it,” Rostov repeated in a trembling voice and went to the door.
“And I’m telling you, don’t you dare do this,” Denisov shouted, rushing to the cadet to hold him back.
But Rostov snatched his hand away and with such malice, as if Denisov were his greatest enemy, directly and firmly fixed his eyes on him.
- Do you understand what you are saying? - he said in a trembling voice, - there was no one in the room except me. Therefore, if not this, then...
He couldn't finish his sentence and ran out of the room.
“Oh, what’s wrong with you and with everyone,” were the last words that Rostov heard.
Rostov came to Telyanin’s apartment.
“The master is not at home, they have left for headquarters,” Telyanin’s orderly told him. - Or what happened? - added the orderly, surprised at the upset face of the cadet.
- There is nothing.
“We missed it a little,” said the orderly.
The headquarters was located three miles from Salzenek. Rostov, without going home, took a horse and rode to headquarters. In the village occupied by the headquarters there was a tavern frequented by officers. Rostov arrived at the tavern; at the porch he saw Telyanin's horse.
In the second room of the tavern the lieutenant was sitting with a plate of sausages and a bottle of wine.
“Oh, and you’ve stopped by, young man,” he said, smiling and raising his eyebrows high.
“Yes,” said Rostov, as if it took a lot of effort to pronounce this word, and sat down at the next table.
Both were silent; There were two Germans and one Russian officer sitting in the room. Everyone was silent, and the sounds of knives on plates and the lieutenant’s slurping could be heard. When Telyanin finished breakfast, he took a double wallet out of his pocket, pulled apart the rings with his small white fingers curved upward, took out a gold one and, raising his eyebrows, gave the money to the servant.
“Please hurry,” he said.
The gold one was new. Rostov stood up and approached Telyanin.
“Let me see your wallet,” he said in a quiet, barely audible voice.
With darting eyes, but still raised eyebrows, Telyanin handed over the wallet.
“Yes, a nice wallet... Yes... yes...” he said and suddenly turned pale. “Look, young man,” he added.
Rostov took the wallet in his hands and looked at it, and at the money that was in it, and at Telyanin. The lieutenant looked around, as was his habit, and suddenly seemed to become very cheerful.
“If we’re in Vienna, I’ll leave everything there, but now there’s nowhere to put it in these crappy little towns,” he said. - Well, come on, young man, I’ll go.
Rostov was silent.
- What about you? Should I have breakfast too? “They feed me decently,” Telyanin continued. - Come on.
He reached out and grabbed the wallet. Rostov released him. Telyanin took the wallet and began to put it in the pocket of his leggings, and his eyebrows rose casually, and his mouth opened slightly, as if he was saying: “yes, yes, I’m putting my wallet in my pocket, and it’s very simple, and no one cares about it.” .
- Well, what, young man? - he said, sighing and looking into Rostov’s eyes from under raised eyebrows. Some kind of light from the eyes, with the speed of an electric spark, ran from Telyanin’s eyes to Rostov’s eyes and back, back and back, all in an instant.
“Come here,” Rostov said, grabbing Telyanin by the hand. He almost dragged him to the window. “This is Denisov’s money, you took it...” he whispered in his ear.
– What?... What?... How dare you? What?...” said Telyanin.
But these words sounded like a plaintive, desperate cry and a plea for forgiveness. As soon as Rostov heard this sound of the voice, a huge stone of doubt fell from his soul. He felt joy and at the same moment he felt sorry for the unfortunate man standing in front of him; but it was necessary to complete the work begun.
“People here, God knows what they might think,” Telyanin muttered, grabbing his cap and heading into a small empty room, “we need to explain ourselves...
“I know this, and I will prove it,” said Rostov.
- I…
Telyanin's frightened, pale face began to tremble with all its muscles; the eyes were still running, but somewhere below, not rising to Rostov’s face, sobs were heard.
“Count!... don’t ruin the young man... this poor money, take it...” He threw it on the table. – My father is an old man, my mother!...
Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin’s gaze, and, without saying a word, left the room. But he stopped at the door and turned back. “My God,” he said with tears in his eyes, “how could you do this?”
“Count,” said Telyanin, approaching the cadet.
“Don’t touch me,” Rostov said, pulling away. - If you need it, take this money. “He threw his wallet at him and ran out of the tavern.
In the evening of the same day, there was a lively conversation between the squadron officers at Denisov’s apartment.
“And I’m telling you, Rostov, that you need to apologize to the regimental commander,” said a tall staff captain with graying hair, a huge mustache and large features of a wrinkled face, turning to the crimson, excited Rostov.
Staff captain Kirsten was demoted to soldier twice for matters of honor and served twice.
– I won’t allow anyone to tell me that I’m lying! - Rostov screamed. “He told me I was lying, and I told him he was lying.” It will remain so. He can assign me to duty every day and put me under arrest, but no one will force me to apologize, because if he, as a regimental commander, considers himself unworthy of giving me satisfaction, then...
- Just wait, father; “Listen to me,” the captain interrupted the headquarters in his bass voice, calmly smoothing his long mustache. - In front of other officers, you tell the regimental commander that the officer stole...
“It’s not my fault that the conversation started in front of other officers.” Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken in front of them, but I’m not a diplomat. Then I joined the hussars, I thought that there was no need for subtleties, but he told me that I was lying... so let him give me satisfaction...
- This is all good, no one thinks that you are a coward, but that’s not the point. Ask Denisov, does this look like something for a cadet to demand satisfaction from the regimental commander?
Denisov, biting his mustache, listened to the conversation with a gloomy look, apparently not wanting to engage in it. When asked by the captain's staff, he shook his head negatively.
“You tell the regimental commander about this dirty trick in front of the officers,” the captain continued. - Bogdanych (the regimental commander was called Bogdanych) besieged you.
- He didn’t besiege him, but said that I was telling a lie.
- Well, yes, and you said something stupid to him, and you need to apologize.
- Never! - Rostov shouted.
“I didn’t think this from you,” the captain said seriously and sternly. “You don’t want to apologize, but you, father, not only before him, but before the entire regiment, before all of us, you are completely to blame.” Here's how: if only you had thought and consulted on how to deal with this matter, otherwise you would have drunk right in front of the officers. What should the regimental commander do now? Should the officer be put on trial and the entire regiment be soiled? Because of one scoundrel, the whole regiment is disgraced? So, what do you think? But in our opinion, not so. And Bogdanich is great, he told you that you are telling lies. It’s unpleasant, but what can you do, father, they attacked you yourself. And now, as they want to hush up the matter, because of some kind of fanaticism you don’t want to apologize, but want to tell everything. You are offended that you are on duty, but why should you apologize to an old and honest officer! No matter what Bogdanich is, he’s still an honest and brave old colonel, it’s such a shame for you; Is it okay for you to dirty the regiment? – The captain’s voice began to tremble. - You, father, have been in the regiment for a week; today here, tomorrow transferred to adjutants somewhere; you don’t care what they say: “there are thieves among the Pavlograd officers!” But we care. So, what, Denisov? Not all the same?
Denisov remained silent and did not move, occasionally glancing at Rostov with his shining black eyes.
“You value your own fanabery, you don’t want to apologize,” the headquarters captain continued, “but for us old men, how we grew up, and even if we die, God willing, we will be brought into the regiment, so the honor of the regiment is dear to us, and Bogdanich knows this.” Oh, what a road, father! And this is not good, not good! Be offended or not, I will always tell the truth. Not good!
And the headquarters captain stood up and turned away from Rostov.
- Pg "avda, chog" take it! - Denisov shouted, jumping up. - Well, G'skeleton! Well!
Rostov, blushing and turning pale, looked first at one officer, then at the other.
- No, gentlemen, no... don’t think... I really understand, you’re wrong to think about me like that... I... for me... I’m for the honor of the regiment. So what? I will show this in practice, and for me the honor of the banner... well, it’s all the same, really, I’m to blame!.. - Tears stood in his eyes. - I’m guilty, I’m guilty all around!... Well, what else do you need?...
“That’s it, Count,” the captain of staff shouted, turning around, hitting him on the shoulder with his big hand.
“I’m telling you,” Denisov shouted, “he’s a nice little guy.”
“That’s better, Count,” the headquarters captain repeated, as if for his recognition they were beginning to call him a title. - Come and apologize, your Excellency, yes sir.
“Gentlemen, I’ll do everything, no one will hear a word from me,” Rostov said in a pleading voice, “but I can’t apologize, by God, I can’t, whatever you want!” How will I apologize, like a little one, asking for forgiveness?
Denisov laughed.
- It's worse for you. Bogdanich is vindictive, you will pay for your stubbornness,” said Kirsten.
- By God, not stubbornness! I can’t describe to you what a feeling, I can’t...
“Well, it’s your choice,” said the headquarters captain. - Well, where did this scoundrel go? – he asked Denisov.
“He said he was sick, and the manager ordered him to be expelled,” Denisov said.
“It’s a disease, there’s no other way to explain it,” said the captain at the headquarters.
“It’s not a disease, but if he doesn’t catch my eye, I’ll kill him!” – Denisov shouted bloodthirstyly.
Zherkov entered the room.
- How are you? - the officers suddenly turned to the newcomer.
- Let's go, gentlemen. Mak surrendered as a prisoner and with the army, completely.
- You're lying!
- I saw it myself.
- How? Have you seen Mack alive? with arms, with legs?
- Hike! Hike! Give him a bottle for such news. How did you get here?
“They sent me back to the regiment again, for the devil’s sake, for Mack.” The Austrian general complained. I congratulated him on Mak’s arrival... Are you from the bathhouse, Rostov?
- Here, brother, we have such a mess for the second day.
The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by Zherkov. We were ordered to perform tomorrow.
- Let's go, gentlemen!
- Well, thank God, we stayed too long.
Kutuzov retreated to Vienna, destroying behind him bridges on the rivers Inn (in Braunau) and Traun (in Linz). On October 23, Russian troops crossed the Enns River. Russian convoys, artillery and columns of troops in the middle of the day stretched through the city of Enns, on this side and on the other side of the bridge.
The day was warm, autumn and rainy. The vast perspective that opened up from the elevation where the Russian batteries stood protecting the bridge was suddenly covered with a muslin curtain of slanting rain, then suddenly expanded, and in the light of the sun objects as if covered with varnish became visible far away and clearly. A town could be seen underfoot with its white houses and red roofs, a cathedral and a bridge, on both sides of which masses of Russian troops poured, crowding. At the bend of the Danube one could see ships, an island, and a castle with a park, surrounded by the waters of the Ensa confluence with the Danube; one could see the left rocky bank of the Danube covered with pine forests with the mysterious distance of green peaks and blue gorges. The towers of the monastery were visible, protruding from behind a pine forest that seemed untouched; far ahead on the mountain, on the other side of Ens, enemy patrols could be seen.
Between the guns, at a height, the chief of the rearguard, a general, and a retinue officer stood in front, examining the terrain through a telescope. Somewhat behind, Nesvitsky, sent from the commander-in-chief to the rearguard, sat on the trunk of a gun.
The Cossack accompanying Nesvitsky handed over a handbag and a flask, and Nesvitsky treated the officers to pies and real doppelkümel. The officers joyfully surrounded him, some on their knees, some sitting cross-legged on the wet grass.
- Yes, this Austrian prince was not a fool to build a castle here. Nice place. Why don't you eat, gentlemen? - Nesvitsky said.
“I humbly thank you, prince,” answered one of the officers, enjoying talking with such an important staff official. - Beautiful place. We walked past the park itself, saw two deer, and what a wonderful house!
“Look, prince,” said the other, who really wanted to take another pie, but was ashamed, and who therefore pretended that he was looking around the area, “look, our infantry have already climbed there.” Over there, in the meadow outside the village, three people are dragging something. “They will break through this palace,” he said with visible approval.
“Both,” said Nesvitsky. “No, but what I would like,” he added, chewing the pie in his beautiful, moist mouth, “is to climb up there.”
He pointed to a monastery with towers visible on the mountain. He smiled, his eyes narrowed and lit up.
- But that would be good, gentlemen!
The officers laughed.
- At least scare these nuns. Italians, they say, are young. Really, I would give five years of my life!
“They’re bored,” said the bolder officer, laughing.
Meanwhile, the retinue officer standing in front was pointing something out to the general; the general looked through the telescope.
“Well, so it is, so it is,” the general said angrily, lowering the receiver from his eyes and shrugging his shoulders, “and so it is, they will attack the crossing.” And why are they hanging around there?
On the other side, the enemy and his battery were visible to the naked eye, from which milky white smoke appeared. Following the smoke, a distant shot was heard, and it was clear how our troops hurried to the crossing.
Nesvitsky, puffing, stood up and, smiling, approached the general.
- Would your Excellency like to have a snack? - he said.
“It’s not good,” said the general, without answering him, “our people hesitated.”
– Shouldn’t we go, Your Excellency? - said Nesvitsky.
“Yes, please go,” said the general, repeating what had already been ordered in detail, “and tell the hussars to be the last to cross and light the bridge, as I ordered, and to inspect the flammable materials on the bridge.”
“Very good,” answered Nesvitsky.
He called to the Cossack with the horse, ordered him to remove his purse and flask, and easily threw his heavy body onto the saddle.
“Really, I’ll go see the nuns,” he said to the officers, who looked at him with a smile, and drove along the winding path down the mountain.
- Come on, where will it go, captain, stop it! - said the general, turning to the artilleryman. - Have fun with boredom.
- Servant to the guns! - the officer commanded.
And a minute later the artillerymen ran out cheerfully from the fires and loaded.
- First! - a command was heard.
Number 1 bounced smartly. The gun rang metallic, deafening, and a grenade flew whistling over the heads of all our people under the mountain and, not reaching the enemy, showed with smoke the place of its fall and burst.
The faces of the soldiers and officers brightened at this sound; everyone got up and began observing the visible movements of our troops below and in front of us - the movements of the approaching enemy. At that very moment the sun completely came out from behind the clouds, and this beautiful sound of a single shot and the shine of the bright sun merged into one cheerful and cheerful impression.
Two enemy cannonballs had already flown over the bridge, and there was a crush on the bridge. In the middle of the bridge, having dismounted from his horse, pressed with his thick body against the railing, stood Prince Nesvitsky.
He, laughing, looked back at his Cossack, who, with two horses in the lead, stood a few steps behind him.
As soon as Prince Nesvitsky wanted to move forward, the soldiers and carts again pressed on him and again pressed him against the railing, and he had no choice but to smile.
- What are you, my brother! - the Cossack said to the Furshtat soldier with the cart, who was pressing on the infantry crowded with the very wheels and horses, - what are you! No, to wait: you see, the general has to pass.
- 09.08.2019 9 out of 20 lots sold - 45%. Works of painting and graphics will go to new owners in Moscow, St. Petersburg and Yekaterinburg
- 07.08.2019 On August 8, the Litfond auction house will present a collection of 350 lots of rare books, autographs, photographs, posters, postcards, historical papers and geographical maps totaling over 10,000,000 rubles
- 06.08.2019 The traditional twenty lots of the AI Auction are eight paintings, five sheets of original and two printed graphics, three works in mixed media, one collage and one bronze sculpture
- 02.08.2019 A total of 16 lots were sold on Friday. Buyers - Moscow, St. Petersburg, Podolsk, Perm
- 30.07.2019 The traditional twenty lots of the AI Auction are nine paintings, eight sheets of original and two printed graphics and one bronze sculpture
- 09.08.2019 Following the news about the sending of paintings by Jeanne Bullock seized by the authorities to the New Jerusalem Museum, there were several calls with the question: “Why to this particular museum?” Really, why?
- 13.06.2019 Buy for five dollars and sell for a million. The passionate desire to win a lottery ticket haunts many inexperienced buyers. Don’t fool me with your books and museums! Answer simply: how to buy a masterpiece at a flea market?
- 06.06.2019 The premonition did not disappoint. The buyers were in a good mood and the auction went well. On the very first day of “Russian week” the top 10 auction results for Russian art were updated. Almost $12 million was paid for Petrov-Vodkin
- 04.06.2019 Having not yet dealt with the “millennials,” professionals of the global art market began to share the skin of the next generation of 7–22 year olds - those who are briefly called Gen Z. Why? There's too much money at stake to stop trying to give advice to young people.
- 23.05.2019 You will be surprised, but this time I have a good feeling. I think that purchasing activity will be higher than last time. And the prices will most likely surprise you. Why? There will be a few words about this at the very end.
