Part one
March 12, 1923, the day when Sergei Rusanin turned 83 years old, I decided to publicize what I had been keeping in silence all my life. I was born in the fortieth year, survived four emperors and four wars, served in the cavalry and excelled in the Caucasus. In 1887, one event knocked me out of the saddle. I retired and shut myself up as a hermit on my estate until they burnt him in the revolution. Our Eel - N-province, near the estate of Lagutin.
Vera Lagutina and I grew up together, played, studied. At seventeen, the nightingale listened and had to get married, if not for my own stupidity. I brought my friend Mikhail to my last vacation in Ugorye. In 59, he came to us from the Kiev Vladimir Cadet Corps directly to the third year. He was unsociable, but he was very handsome, like an Italian: his eyes were burning, and his eyebrows were allied. He came from Bessarabia: according to his father, either Romanian or Moldavian.
The mysterious fate of Mikhail has long worried researchers. One of them, as early as 1905, turned to everyone in the press, asking for at least some information about this case. I was not ready yet. Only now I can say out loud: the traitor of Mikhail Beideman is me.
I live in a large house with a historical past. My colleague’s son, comrade Petya Tulupov, attached me as a tenant-nanny to the grandchildren of Ivan Potapych, the former lackey of the last owner. When I'm not fishing, you can write. But I have one business - alms.
The first time I saw Mikhail, when the newcomers were taken past me to the bathhouse. He stood out among all, and seemed to me very beautiful. After it turned out that his bed was next to mine. On that first night in the dormitory they read aloud the “Prince of Silver”. Michael sharply responded about this work. “Painted carrot on pink vodice,” he said scornfully. There were no crossings in Michael. Everything denounced in him a deep imbalance of the soul. But maybe it was just this quality of him that attracted me with an irresistible charm. A certain evil genius pushed me to introduce him to Vera's father, Lagutin.
My aunt, Countess Kushina, gathered on Sundays a salon in which all the famous people of that time visited. I visited Aunt Dostoevsky. On the way to my aunt, I asked Mikhail to express his opinion without harshness, but it is better to keep it with you. Michael did not fulfill my request. Excited by a conversation with Dostoevsky, he made a heated talk about socialism. It is not known what the ending of this performance would have been if there had not been one accident. The footman, who brought his aunt a huge kettle of boiling water, slipped and had to scald Lagutin, if not for Mikhail. He overshadowed the old man and got the whole kettle of boiling water on his right hand. Auntie rolled up her sleeve to Mikhail and began to do a dressing for him. It was then that I saw in his hand, a little higher than his wrist, a mole that looked exactly like a spider. Bowing away, Dostoevsky invited Mikhail to his house to continue the conversation, and the old man Lagutin called him on vacation to his estate. Among the guests there was only one person on whom Mikhail's scalded hand did not produce an action that obscured the impudent phrase about socialism. It was a young handsome man, general, Count Peter Andreevich Shuvalov, head of the third department.
Mikhail flatly refused to visit the aunt's salon. He didn’t take me seriously then. Even then, all of Mikhail’s feelings were only a means of approaching the villainous plan with which he was obsessed ... Now I ask myself: what if Mikhail was right in giving his freedom, his brave mind for this new life.
That year Vera graduated from the Smolny Institute, and I took Mikhail to the next Christmas ball. It was there that he met Vera. Vera immediately got into a serious conversation with Mikhail. It could not be otherwise: Vera read the abyss of books. Being the granddaughter of the Decembrist, she was especially relevant to all liberal nonsense, and in her table a volume of Ryleyev was locked.
Balls in Smolny were often visited by Emperor Alexander II. It happened that night. One of the cool ladies, a young cheerful Italian, allowed the girls to see their brothers and cousins in their room. We went there during one of the intermissions, taking with us the silly Kitty. From the doors of the adjoining room we heard voices: a female crying and a comforting male - interrupted by the sounds of kisses. Even in this babble of love it was impossible not to recognize the voice of Alexander II. We rushed to the exit, but Mikhail with a distorted face and burning eyes remained. From the corridor we heard the door to the adjoining room open, someone stepped out, and Michael's dull voice said: “This is meanness!” Then the sovereign passed by us in a hurried, fleeing step. Michael disappeared, and we returned to the ballroom.
On Easter, I went to Lagutino. It was the sixtieth year. Serfdom survived the last days. At that time, nobles appeared over whom neither God nor human laws had any power. Such a tyrant was Vera's father Erast Petrovich Lagutin, one of the smartest people of his time. There was Erast Petrovich widows and a great woman-lover. Faith grew up under the tutelage of French women, who often changed, and had unlimited access to her father’s huge library. Three versts from the estate lived artist Linuchenko with his wife Karelia Petrovna. He was Vera's uncle along the sideline and her bosom friend, protector and mentor.
After the incident in Smolny, Mikhail and I quarreled, but I could not prevent his arrival in Lagutino. Nevertheless, I was sure that there was no passion between Vera and Mikhail - their conversations were too boring and serious.
Arriving in Lagutino, we got to Easter festivities. On a hill in front of the house, serf girls in elegant sundresses rolled eggs painted in different colors on wooden grooves. One of the women, Martha, liked Erast Petrovich, and he decided to send her husband Peter to the soldiers, despite the stubborn resistance to this Faith. Arranging these vile amusements Erast Petrovich helped his manager and confidante, the Frenchman Charles Delmas, nicknamed the peasants Maseich.
Before dinner, we decided to take a walk to the Linuchenka farm, but they were not at home: Karelia Petrovna fell ill, and her husband took her south. I couldn’t look at Vera. In her thin body, in narrow shoulders was submissive femininity. When she walked with her head bowed, a medieval submissive wife came to mind. But Vera showed a different look. His eyes were gray, hard, with a secret thought that he would not want - he would not express.
Not far from the village of Linuchenkov there was a strange place - a round lake at the foot of the hills. According to local legend, the daughter of an old landowner died here. Mother cursed her for running away with a visiting hussar. As they drove through this place, the earth opened and pulled them along with horses and a carriage, and a lake spilled on top. The people called him the Witch's Eye.
Vera sat on a large stone by the lake, we are next. Suddenly Martha appeared, threw herself at Vera's feet and began to beg her to intercede for Peter. Faith, as she could, comforted the unfortunate woman and promised to do everything she could.
Returning to the estate, Mikhail and I changed into uniforms on the occasion of the masquerade ball, which was arranged by Erast Petrovich. Apart from us, another guest was not dressed up - Prince Nelsky, a rich neighbor, no longer young, very enlightened and humane person. Masked Mikhail and I were very similar. Vera whispered to me: “Come quickly to the gazebo,” and only after that I realized that I was not Michael. The demon of jealousy shook me I hid in the bushes by the gazebo and heard their conversation interrupted by kisses. Michael admitted to Vera that he was capable of sacrificing love for his cause, that he had nearly killed the woman who had taken possession of him too much. “With you, my dear, - to the chopping block,” she replied. Then they agreed to escape. Vera planned to take Martha and Petra with her.
After dinner, Erast Petrovich announced the engagement of Vera and Prince Nelsky. Vera was calm - she already knew about it. By dawn, I climbed into that gazebo where the night meeting of Michael and Vera took place. Something was whitening under the bench. I bent down and with disgust picked up the sheets of the overseas "Bell." Apparently, Michael forgot them here. I did not notice how Maseich entered the arbor. Somehow, he already knew about the relationship between Vera and Mikhail and persuaded me to give him the "Bell". Then I betrayed Michael for the first time. I was not ashamed, I had to save Vera. Maseich overheard Vera telling Martha the plan of escape. Everything was immediately reported to Erast Petrovich, and the escape failed.
That day I wandered around with a gun for a long time around, and when I returned, I found out that Peter was flogged and sent to the soldiers, and Marfa Erast Petrovich took for himself. Vera was to marry the prince. Before leaving, I managed to see Vera. She gave me a letter for Michael, in which she described an unsuccessful escape and assured of her love. I did not pass this letter. It is with me now.
When I returned from vacation, Mikhail was not there yet. But after everything I experienced, I ended up in a nervous fever and fell into a three-day unconsciousness. Having met a week later with Mikhail, I finally decided not to tell the whole truth. This was my second betrayal.
The day of production came - we, the cadet, received the epaulettes of the officers. Our production was attended by the sovereign. He spotted Michael and recognized him. Michael quickly went out, covering his face with a handkerchief. Upon learning his name, the emperor repeated it twice. In the evening I was summoned by a messenger, who informed me that a lower rank was awaiting me, unknown to anyone. I went out into the hall and was amazed: Peter, the husband of Martha, stood in front of me. He brought a letter to Faith from Beideman. Peter said that Vera married Prince Nelsky. Martha, whom Vera asked her father for a dowry, also sent a message saying that the young were going abroad and want to take Martha with them. In a letter, Vera asked me to take Peter to my orderly. After reading the letter, Mikhail realized that I had deceived him, but he looked exultant, as if not a prince, but he himself had married Vera. He sharply looked into my eyes and said that for their common cause it turned out that it was better not to think of it, and he was leaving immediately for his mother in Lesnaya. I became more and more convinced that this fanatic loved only for a moment.
I volunteered to escort Michael to the mail carriage. On the way we met middle-aged civilian, in a beard, not too well-dressed. It was Dostoevsky. He recognized Mikhail and invited us to his place. I was captivated by his charm, but Michael said that he was disappointed in him. Dostoevsky talked with Mikhail quietly and carefully. Escorting us, he walked ahead with a candle. As an older brother, who had long accepted his cross, he shone "along the narrow path" Dostoevsky to his younger brother, Mikhail.
I managed to transfer Peter to our unit and take him to my orderlies. Everything indicated that the marriage of Vera and the prince came out some kind of fake. The fact that Vera's love for Mikhail did not pass, I had no doubt. Soon, Michael Beideman disappeared. The old mother, whom he assured that he was going to Finland, did not know anything about him. Cruel, like all fanatics, Beideman did not think about any of the people associated with him. With Vera, Michael was to come together in Italy.
I was going on vacation on Ugric affairs, when suddenly a relay race came from mother Michael. Upon meeting, she begged me to go to Vera and find out from her about Michael. I got on the crew and went to the estate of Prince Nelsky. Driving past Lagutin’s house, I drew attention to the remains of the burned threshing floor. From the coachman I learned that there was a peasant riot in Lagutin.
Vera was glad to see me. She lived with Prince Gleb Rodionovich as with her brother. The prince let all his men go free, and those who did not want to leave were given large plots of land. Because of this, old Lagutin stopped visiting them. The best time in my life I experienced then, in the estate of the prince. I learned that not only the prince and Vera, but also Linuchenko are connected with the case of Mikhail. Under the influence of the moment, I offered them my help. I had to, hating their political ideas, help them out of a feeling for Vera. Suddenly a messenger pulled up to the porch and shouted that the rebellious men were about to set fire to Lagutin’s house. The prince and I decided to take different paths: I am at the mill, he is at the estate.
My horse suddenly shied away, snoring: on the road lay a dead body. I flew out of the saddle and, bumping my head, lost consciousness. Subsequently, I found out that it was the corpse of the peasant Ostap, who was shot dead by Erast Petrovich. Lagutin was immediately tied up and, while I was unconscious, thrown into the pool under the mill. They found me and locked me in a barn. All night I lay there in fear of Faith. In the morning I was released by an execution detachment of Cossacks. From them I learned that Prince Gleb Rodionovich died in a fire. There were no bones left from Moseich. Faith was alive and well. Fate untied all the knots in the life of Vera and Mikhail. In the person of old Lagutin, the only enemy of Mikhail who could harm him was out of order. For me, who had been knocked out of the strength of my former way of life and not stuck with theirs, it would be best for me to die now.
When Vera recovered a little from the shock, I brought her with Martha to the capital to the mother of Beideman. This old woman was amazing: with extreme love for her son, she had faith in him and respect was even more love. Linuchenko came from the south with his wife, brought Vera a letter from Mikhail. He wrote that he had learned from newspapers about the disaster in Lagutin, and, not expecting Vera in Paris, he would come to Russia himself, all the more so because the case required it.
In the studio of Linuchenko, I had one strange meeting with a man who became my only support during the terrible years. Yakov Stepanych, a small old man, all furry and gray, in gentle fine wrinkles, was known as a seer and on Vasilievsky Island, where he lived, he was very famous. I'm confused. Because of my love for Vera, I got involved in acquaintances hostile to my feeling and could not connect the unconnected. Yakov Stepanych felt my confusion and gave me his address.
My batman Peter came into the Linuchenka studio. He was also a member of the organization and behaved like an equal with everyone. I was furious, but I forgot everything in the dark when Peter said that Mikhail was arrested while crossing the border. No one else, as I have to, using my aunt’s connections, should try to free Michael.
I met Count Pyotr Andreyevich Shuvalov at the aunt’s house, where I did not dare to enter. After spending the evening in the cabin, the count took me to his place; we had a conversation about Beideman. Shuvalov said he intended to bring Vera to interrogation. During a search of Michael, a forged manifest was found on behalf of the fictional emperor Constantine I, calling for the overthrow of illegal power. Desiring one thing - to shield Vera from the cause, I described Mikhail as a stubborn, isolated pride who wanted to carry out, not connecting with anyone, but only managing everyone, his revolutionary ideas. The count suggested that Beideman may be just a miserable madman, but I fiercely rejected this assumption, thereby completely destroying Michael. For this third betrayal, I received an order. Count Shuvalov told the emperor my own words. After that, Mikhail was detained without trial and investigation in Alekseevsky ravelin, in cell No. 2.
It was in the spring of 1862. Vera sold everything that was left from her father and husband, and when a large sum was made up, she began to demand like a madman to arrange for Mikhail’s escape from us. Faith succeeded, Linuchenko decided to make an attempt. Peter found a man who undertook to bribe sentries and other guards. This was the assistant to one of the overseers, Ravelin Tulmasov. Linuchenko warned that he did not like Tulmasov, and that his plan was subtracted from a crappy novel and would bring nothing but risk. But Vera did not want to hear anything.
At night, Peter and I sailed in a boat to the fortress wall, where the bribed sentries with a rope ladder were supposed to go. As soon as we flashed fire, giving the agreed sign, two shots were fired from two opposite bushes. I leaned back, taking out a revolver, and both bullets hit Peter in the head. Peter slipped silently into the water and disappeared into the waves. I buried to the shore, where Vera and unfortunate Martha were waiting for me.
Mikhail spent twenty-seven years in solitary confinement of Alekseevsky ravelin. First - cell number 2, then number 13. What did Mikhail, dressed in stone, experience, all in the same conclusion, realizing that life continues beyond the wall. This rich, colorful life was not experienced by him, but by me, his former friend and traitor. Dressed with a stone, as Mikhail was in 1861, in 1923, I take his place.
Part two
Sergey Rusanin and Mikhail Beideman - one. I learned about the permeability of bodies in a mental hospital. This secret was told to me by the artist Vrubel, who took the form of some kind of verzil with a black beard. After spending a week here, I realized that crazy people are the freest of people. The senior doctor let me go with Potapych, telling him not to let me out of the house. “A brain hemorrhage may recur,” he said.
The first evidence of mutual communication through thoughts I experienced back in 1863, when I was transporting mother Beideman to the Crimea. After a failed child’s attempt to save Mikhail, his mother announced that she should resort to the last resort - to personally pray to the emperor for pardon. I could not let her go alone. She got sick along the way. We had to stay in a crappy little town, in a hotel. Before her death, she gave me a piece of hard paper with a gray envelope with the inscription: "Larisa Polynova" and said that this woman loved Mikhail, she was close to the yard and would do everything for him. After that, mother closed her eyes. A little later, she told me quietly, but clearly: "Seryozha, let's go to my son Mikhail." I took her hands and ended up in Mikhail’s cell. He tried to hang himself on a towel. He was taken out of the loop and the bedding was taken. Michael saw us. Crazy eyes burned, and babble was heard: “Mother, lead me out. Mother, I'm dying. ”
I haven’t written for a long time. He served Mikhailov’s torment. He was dressed in stone, like the Trubetskoy bastion. Then he put on his mask and took up the pen.
Only in the early spring I was able to fulfill the order of mother. Having received a short vacation, I raced to Yalta in search of Larisa Polynova. As soon as I saw Larisa, I fell in love with her. Larisa was a rich young widow and lived with independence that astounded everyone. In our first meeting, I gave her an envelope and reminded me of my love for Mikhail. She took the envelope and kicked me out. My promise to mother Michael was fulfilled, but now this woman has become enticing in itself.
When I came to Larisa’s house for the second time, she was going to go to her old friend the shepherd and agreed to take me with her, provided that I would be silent all the way. The shepherd lived in a goat's guardhouse far in the mountains. Larisa showed me a cliff, sheerly arising from the deep bottom of the gorge. From this precipice, Mikhail wanted to throw her off. Fortunately, the old shepherd-wizard ripened on time. Full of anger and revenge for Beideman, I said: “So know what he is! He told another woman whom he was not afraid to love, told about this incident with you. ”
This night we spent in the goat's gatehouse, which the old shepherd gave us. In the morning, when I woke up, Larisa was no longer around. I rushed to her house. Larisa met me coldly. When I started talking about helping Mikhail, she stated that she was not going to bother about him. “It was you who aroused my insult and evil powers in me. If you were faithful to him, and I would have been different. But you betrayed Beideman. ” I betrayed people, not wanting to betray.
Faith no longer believed in the possibility of the liberation of Michael, and all her forces were directed to revolutionary activity. At Linuchenko, with whom Vera lived in the same apartment, his wife died on a farm, and he went to bury her. I poured all my strength into Vera hope for the release of Michael through Larisa Polynova. Vera promised me that before my return she would not take part in a risky business. Now I went to Petersburg like a scoundrel who was entrusted with the last value, and he squandered it on his own whim. I told Vera that Larisa died, and I could not find her alive. After me, a man entered the apartment and handed Linuchenko a note from Mikhail, in which he begged for help, because he felt the impending madness. They told me that he wanted to hang himself. That is exactly what I saw then, on the day of my mother’s death, during my first trip.
Not later than this morning, I again entered the cell to Mikhail. I took him to Vera and Larisa and was glad that our unfortunate friend found at least a minute of oblivion.
After receiving the note, Mikhail's sister, Victoria, arrived, a tall woman, very face-like, silently firm. On behalf of her, they made a petition for clemency. This note, through third hands, was reported to the chief of the gendarmes, Prince Dolgoruky. He refused. Vera was melting before our eyes. Full of inexpressible pity and love, I began to beg her to leave with me for the Caucasus and start a new life. Instead of answering, she presented me with a sullen young blond. “Here is my new bridegroom, whose bride I dare to be without betraying Mikhail. But only the bride, ”she said. For the first time in my life, I hostilely said farewell to Vera and left for the regiment. I spent a disgusting winter, but neither wine nor cards gave me oblivion. In order not to die in this mud, I filed a request to expel me to prepare for the General Staff Academy and left for Petersburg.
A few days after my return to St. Petersburg, I again met Vera that blond. Despising Faith for an imaginary new feeling and unfaithfulness to Mikhail, I completely went into social life. One evening I was informed that a stranger wants to see me. As I entered, I recognized the bridegroom of Vera. He was very sick. He told me that at five o’clock near the Summer Garden something fatal would happen and asked Vera to give an clay cock from those that were sold at the fair for a nickel - a childhood memory, a gift from my mother. I regret now that I did not restrain him.
At exactly five at the Summer Garden, he made an unsuccessful attempt on the sovereign. I wandered the streets for a long time, clutching a coat of clay cock in my pocket. The name of the criminal - Karakozov - and the title of a nobleman were discovered by chance. Soon he was transferred to the Aleksandrovsky ravelin, and then he was publicly hanged under a drum roll.
Today, Mikhail and I got into Karakozov’s cell. Palisadov’s father was with him, a playful, conceited man who had long lived in Paris. What comfort could this fashionable shepherd give a suicide bomber? Karakozov could not see us - he was still inseparable from his flesh.
On the second of September I saw the execution of Karakozov. Until the last second, he hoped that he would be granted life.
I am writing after a long interval. Two weeks ago, I crawled under the bed: I was frightened by the drums calling for execution. Ivan Potapych found me by force and did not allow me to write for a long time, forced me to knit a stocking to calm my nerves. He wanted to immediately bring me to Black Vrubel, but the time for this has not yet come. Thanks to the intercession of my young friend, comrade Petit, I received the last reprieve. I need to hold out until the October festivities. This day is a conditional meeting with Black Vrubel. I asked Comrade Petya to come here on the eve of the October celebrations, pick up my manuscript and, possibly, print it.
After the execution of Karakozov, I drank for a week. When I came to, I did not hesitate to go to the chief of the gendarmes Shuvalov with a request to deliver the opportunity to Mikhail Beideman to be personally interrogated by the sovereign. The count promised to do everything possible. On Sunday, I went to my aunt and received an answer from Count Shuvalov: the request cannot be respected, it is not on the lists. The count also hinted to me that in time Mikhail might be transferred to the Kazan House of the Insane. I went home to shoot myself. One thing stopped me: to whom to pass the clay cock for Vera. It seemed to me that everyone around had pancakes instead of faces. Near me there was not a single real person. And suddenly in front of me the address of Yakov Stepanych surfaced. Without reasoning, I went.
It turned out that Yakov Stepanych was dealing with Shuvalov. With the help of the count, he was secretly present at the meeting of Beideman with the sovereign. Yakov Stepanych described in detail everything that he saw and heard. The meeting took place at night in the Count's house. The sovereign remembered Beideman well - an involuntary witness to his long-standing love affair. Despite the fact that the prisoner was already half-mad, the emperor said: “Let the prisoner be put in the same place. For example".
An insight came to me: so that everything, as Black Vrubel said, must swallow the wheel of fortune, so that it fits into the Adam's apple like a propeller, and then let the air in to start the rotation of the wheel. I’ll cut a wheel out of a girl’s newspaper, and I need scissors to put it in my throat. Now only one thing: by October 25, steal the scissors.
After the execution, I went to the Linuchenka farm to give Vera a clay cock. She was sick, lying in bed. Obeying complex and hardly kind feelings, not sparing her weakness, I told her about Michael. The next morning I went to the Caucasus. Before leaving, I came to say goodbye to Vera, and at that moment the last terrible misfortune happened: I stopped loving her. I suddenly felt painfully bored, but also unusually easy, as if I had all become empty. She felt this and took a promise from me to come to help at her first call - in memory of Mikhail and the one who gave the clay cock.
In the Caucasus, I excelled. And yet: the one who fought with non-peaceful highlanders was wounded and awarded, it was not me, but the devil knows who. I was and remained an unexpressed artist. I have saved three faces from human faces: the face of Michael, the face of the one who was hanged, and the face of Vera, who died for my heart. The rest were pancakes for me, and I myself was a pancake. But I held on to the honor of the officer. And when the relay race came from Kazan from Vera with a request to go immediately, I left.
I am writing at night. Wheel swallowed. It is installed in Adam's apple. I am speechless, mooing. Instead of the names Mikhail and Sergey, a new name came out: Mirgil.
There were exactly six shots in the corridor of the insane house when the bribed paramedic Gorlenko led me and Vera to the mysterious crazy prisoner at number 14, 16, 36, 40, 66, 35 and so on. Under these numbers was encrypted: Michael Beideman.
It was the end of November 1887. I have not seen Vera for twenty years, which means that now, like me, she is 47 years old. Faith was not an old woman - her cheeks burned with a blush, her eyes sparkled. She was left alone: Martha suffered typhus in the spring. Vera herself was sick with consumption. Now she was the head of the organization, young people crowded in her apartment from morning till night.
We went into solitary confinement. On the hospital bed was a creature in which there was not a single trait of Michael. We recognized him only by a mole in the form of a spider. We are gone. Together with the paramedic I brought Vera to the house. The next day, she was lying on a table, covered in white, as alien as Mikhail.
I did not fulfill the last Verina request. I did not tell anyone how they tortured Mikhail. Everything was found out in the archives without me. And I, not wanting any trouble for myself, lived in my village and very often was drunk. Then Verin hooped up in my head and knocked day and night.
Something in the cerebellum develops the pressure of all atmospheres. I throw my pen, keep my head up, accustom my hands to the wings. In the throat - once, head in the glass - two.
Mirgyl flew!
