Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne

– Oh, you are so smart, Fyodor Yuryevich… – Everyone needs to be on guard… Everything is going wrong, my soul is heavy, I am anxious…

***

Prokhor was leisurely busy with an important matter, he was going to repair his boots. He was dressed in home clothes now, in felt boots, loose hemp trousers and a belted shirt. It was not cold in the warm basement, he could dress up like that. He prepared a thread, an awl, two needles and a wooden hammer, and sat down on a low comfortable bench. He sighed, and with pleasure smoothed his thick beard, rolled up the sleeves of his gray shirt of thick linen and tied an apron. The man adored order, and could not stand dirt and disorder. Even preparing for the matter pleased him, perhaps, more than his favorite craft. It was good that the day was growing little by little, he did not like to work by the torch, to strain his eyes.

He skillfully placed the boot with the sole up and struck the awl handle with a hammer.

– Father, – asked Prokhor’s only son, Maxim, who was sitting nearby, – do I have to hit hard?

– In any craft, force must be used wisely. Look how everything goes, whether it works or not… You have to feel it… Here, try it…

And he gave up his place to the boy. That smart one. punched a hole in the thick leather of the sole, and immediately, without delay, threaded the needles with thread. And he began to do everything quickly and smoothly, so that his father was distracted by his gaze. But then there was a knock on the gate, and the dog began to bark.

– Stop, Trezor, – Prokhor called to the guard dog, opening the door to the yard, – wait for me here. I’ll see who the devil is carrying:..

And the owner of the house threw his sheepskin coat over his shoulders and went out to the fence. On the way I looked under my feet so as not to step into a dirty puddle. Otherwise, I’ll get into trouble with my wife, Vasilisa. – Well, who’s there? – the man asked sternly, just in case throwing a sharp knife to his right hand.

He had to be careful, otherwise there were so many wicked people in Moscow, you just had to keep up with turning around. He was not afraid of anyone, but caution is not cowardice…

– To you, with an important matter, – he heard another voice, – here, a present for you…

And through the crack between the boards, like a sparrow’s beak, as if alive, a dimly shining efimok stuck out. The coin is thin, but wide. and the crosses on the silver pleased any, even the most capricious look. Prokhor opened the gate, but stood at the entrance.

In front of him stood two young noblemen, in marching caftans, thick Persian silk. Good hats, with a fur trim made of marten fur, with good sabres on their belts. Handsome fellows, Prokhor would like such as his daughters’ grooms.

– So what, good people? – he finally asked.

– Many have heard of you, Prokhor Kuzmich. – the older one spoke, – it’s not an easy matter… Here’s some silver. Forty rubles, so that you would execute my father mercifully. Cut off his head…

Prokhor thought about it. And then, in two days I’ll be serving on Bolotnaya Square…

– I see. So who should I grant a quick death?

– Ivan Eliseevich Tsykler. They were going to quarter my father, – the boyar’s son, the younger one, barely uttered.

– Hold on, Mikhail, it is not appropriate for us… – the elder said angrily.

– What is your name, boy? – Prokhor asked quietly.

– So, by your father. Yelisey Ivanovich, – the other added more cheerfully, – we are the sons of Ivan Yeliseyevich. The Duma nobleman Tsykler.

The executioner sighed heavily. How many people he had already sent to the Other World, and each time there was a burden on his heart. That is why he went to Father Philip, asking to remove the sin. It is also difficult to execute robbers, they are people after all. Even Christ himself, accepting the torment of the cross, and forgiving the murderer Datis, did not turn away from the repentant man. But such as these, on slander and the sovereign’s thieves:.. And you have to think about yourself… All of them, these thieves, have relatives among the first people in the state. Time will pass, they will be respected and have money again, and you see, they will remember that Prokhor Palashev helped them… But Mikhail Ivanovich Tsikler dispelled the doubts of the master of torture:

– Here is the money… We collected one hundred and twenty rubles… You, Prokhor, give it up, so that your father dies without suffering, – said the son, barely holding back his sobs, – and the others, too. Time will pass. We will help those children too, we will not be in disgrace forever. You will not lose…

– I will do everything in a godly manner, – and the kat bowed low.

Never mind, my back will probably not break, but the noble children, you see, will remember the good… He let the guests out into the street, Prokhor Palashev opened his purse and could not stop admiring the smooth and shiny efimki, two hundred and forty pieces in all. He sighed, but kept only a quarter for himself. The rest had to be given to his fellow craftsmen, he wouldn’t be doing the job alone…

***

The day of March 4, 1697, or 7215 according to the old style, did not begin as usual....Three carts with iron cages were being driven along the streets of Moscow. They were guarded by mounted dragoons with drawn swords, and in front of them rode the thieves, shouting:

– The sovereign’s thieves and traitors, Ivashka Tsykler, Fedka Pushkin, Alyoshka Sokovnin, and the riflemen Vaska Filippov, Fedka Rozhin, and the thieving Cossack Petrushka Lukyanov! And the three main thieves will be punished by quartering, and their assistants by beheading!

Crowds of people stood on the roadsides, waiting to hear what the condemned would say or shout. But they only remained silent, and blood flowed from their mouths down their chins.

– Their tongues were cut out! – shouted a merchant standing at a distance.

– Shut up! – shouted a dragoon captain who had ridden up, – or you too will quickly lose your tongue. or even your head!

The merchant quickly hid among the townspeople, the Muscovites fell silent in fear.

– And the main culprit and inspirer of this indignation is the late boyar Ivan Milislavsky! And this blood is not for him, the robber and traitor! And so that he could drink his fill of that blood, a coffin with the boyar’s bones was placed under the place of execution. And let no one else dare rebel! – the tyrant finished his speech, and lowered the Tsar’s letter.

In such deathly silence, only to the barking of dogs and the neighing of horses, this terrible train reached Bolotnaya Square, the place of executions.

The executioners opened the iron cages, and without removing the chains, dragged the condemned to the prepared chopping blocks, huge wooden bases. Here the tyrant came out again and began to read the Tsar’s Charter loudly:

“And from Aleshka’s children Sokovnin, from Vasily, from Fyodor, from Peter, from Ivashkov’s children Tsykler, their ranks, to which they are registered in the Discharge, for the theft of their fathers, to take away and to register them, Vasily with his brothers, in Belgorod, and to serve them in the Belgorod regiment, and the Tsykler’s in Kursk. And in Moscow they are not to go without the decree of the Great Sovereign. And from their estates and patrimonies and special dachas to give them to Vasily 25 households, and to Peter and Ivashkov’s children Tsykler five households each. And if they do not have special dachas, then to give them the same number of estates and from the patrimonies of their fathers. And to Fedka’s children of Pushkin from the estates and from the patrimonies and from the special dachas, for the theft of their father, not to give them, but to write off those of his Fedka and the rest of the Ivashkovs and Aleshkins and their children’s estates and patrimonies, and Moscow households and stomachs to the Great Sovereign and sell them according to the appraisal, and the money to his sovereign treasury. And to their wives, Ivashkov and Aleshkin and Fedka, and their daughters – maidens, from those estates and patrimonies not to give anything, but to give them their country courtyards, and to give from their stomachs in accordance with what was given to Fedka’s wife of Shaklovity. And to release those people of Aleshkin and Fedkin and Ivshkov. And Larion Elizariev, for the fact that he informed him about that murder, the Great Sovereign granted him, the Great Sovereign, the rank of clerk. And give him 50 peasant households from the Ivashkov estates and the Tsikler estates. And welcome Grigory Silin to the old clerkship, and give him 1,000 rubles from the Ivashkov estates and let him be in charge of the Zhitoy yard, which is by the Myasnitsky gates.” The face of the Tsar’s servant turned red from the strain, but but he tried not to cough. What, a disparagement of the Tsar’s honor, blasphemy against the Sovereign!

– It’s time to begin… – he whispered.

Kat grabbed Ivan Tsykler first. He walked on his own, not lowering his head. The assistants lowered him onto the chopping block, and the executioner, as if by accident, first cut off the unfortunate man’s head. The blade hit the block with a dull thud, the head fell into the prepared basket. The body jerked, and already dead, moved forward, almost falling off the platform. Blood burst out, abundantly soaking the boards of the scaffold. Then, coming to their senses, they chopped off the arms and legs. The executioner raised the head of the executed man, showing his terrible prey in all four directions, then, with a habitual movement of his calloused hands, stuck it into the rage. Biryuch screamed:

– Punishment has befallen the damned traitor! Here is the head of Ivashka Tsykler! It will stand here for three days, as is customary!

Then it was the turn of Alexei Sokovnin and Fyodor Pushkin. They were executed too, and their heads became a terrible decoration of the scaffold. Vasily Filippov, Fyodor Rozhin and the Cossack Pyotr Lukyanov did not escape the evil fate. Six heads hung on the spits of long poles.

Silence seemed to fall upon Bolotnaya Square. Not a sound was heard, not a rustle. The people were silent, everyone was watching the end of the terrible performance.

Blood covered the scaffold with a terrible carpet. Red, strainingly heavy drops fell down. But here they did not soak the yellow river sand, specially poured here, but fell into the open coffin of the boyar Ivan Miloslavsky. Even the executioner standing by the coffin crossed himself and said a prayer when he saw the blood begin to pour over the blackened shroud of the dead man. The dried skin that covered the skull turned red, covered with a monstrous color. The blood got into the gaping mouth, flowed down the teeth, then the jaw crunched, as if from a heavy weight, and it seemed to the executioner that the dead man had come to life and was swallowing a terrible drink.

Kat quickly turned away, shaking with fear and barely audibly muttered:

– Save and protect, Lord! Save me and protect, Lord!

The Grand Embassy

The Tsar Leaves Moscow

A tradesman, Khariton Bezukhov, was dragging a cart with goods to the shop, when the Tsar’s messengers, with coats of arms on their caftans, galloped past him along the street. Only the spring mud flew from under the hooves of good horses.

– What is this? What happened again? – Khariton shouted to his neighbor, Kapiton Rozhkov.

– I don’t understand myself… What kind of war has Pyotr Alekseevich started again…

– Yes, what is going on? They just executed the thieves on Bolotnaya Square, Tsykler and Sokovnin, and the Tsar is already leaving?

– Well, the Tsar-father knows better…

– Of course…

– Or maybe he is going on a pilgrimage?

– With the messengers, and they were sent at a gallop, too? – Kapiton cut his friend off.

– Let the Great Sovereign pass! – shouted one of the messengers, and blew his horn.

People poured out onto the side of the road to watch the rare spectacle. The grand exit of the Tsar himself! Only sighs and gasps accompanied the riders on rich horses, the luxurious carriages and the courtiers of the Tsar!

The fourteenth of March 1697 was remembered by the townspeople of Moscow for a very long time. And there was a reason for it. A huge train of many carriages, carts and vans was leaving the Kremlin. In front followed the residents of Moscow in white caftans with white wings, and behind them rode the Streltsy of the Strelets Regiment on good horses.

– What is this? Some kind of holiday? – Khariton Bezukhov could not restrain himself.

Bezukhov was unsightly in appearance, his beard was unnoticeable, barely growing on his sharp chin. He’s of average height, he’ll pass by in a crowd and be immediately forgotten, but if you meet him again, it’ll seem like you’ve seen him for the first time. – Pyotr Alekseevich is going to foreign countries! – shouted the runner, – he will not return soon, the affairs of the sovereign!

– Look at you! – Khariton whispered sadly to his wife Marya, – we will perish now, without the tsar… The boyars will plunder the entire treasury while the tsar is away…

And his wife Marya, a woman more lively than her husband, managed to put on a rich scarf, velvet, from her maiden dowry. And then, she needs to show herself.

The merchant looked back at his wife, shook his head, and rolled his cart into the yard, waiting for the street to clear. Then he could take the goods away…

– Oh, nothing, everything will work out, – Kapiton could not resist, – everything will be fine!

And he put the strap of the tray full of freshly baked pies over his head. As he knew, he was prepared for this morning. Such a day, lots of people on the street, the best trade. And the pieman began to sing his tune:

– Hey, fresh pies and snacks, buy, Orthodox people! Here are some with meat, and here are some without!

– Well, give me a couple, or what, – and the clerk from the office held out a small coin.

– And for me too, with honey and poppy seeds!

– Here, take it, Muscovite people! – Kapiton answered in a satisfied voice, dashingly tilting his cap to the back of his head, – I brought it just for you! Hey, archers, try my pies!

– Give me those that are more puffy! – the pieman turned out to be picky.

And indeed, it turned out to be a fine day for trade, the townspeople are in a good mood, ready to spend extra money, and pamper themselves! So thought Kapiton, hiding the money in a cunning purse from evil people.

The Orderly Without a Tsar

Alexander Menshikov kept looking out the glass window of the rich carriage, looking at the houses standing very close. The same as the houses.mostly not very rich, though mostly built on two floors. The tsar’s orderly had seen these buildings, Haans Loop showed what they were like. They were beautiful on the outside, whitewashed. And so – the frame of a wooden beam stands, and so, everything is made of reeds, coated with clay and whitewashed. That’s how everything looks here – beautiful on the outside, but inside everything is made of shit… The food here was much more expensive. In Moscow, everything is not for free, and everything is five times cheaper than here. He listened, it seemed that one of the horses had lost a horseshoe, was limping. Menshikov did not remain silent, and opened the door and shouted:

– Vanka, damn it! The horse lost a horseshoe, and are you sleeping or something? Watch out, or you’ll taste the whips!

– Yes, Alexander Danilovich! Benefactor! Yes, I see!

– Then get to the forge, you scoundrel! Get moving! Then watch out, the wheel horse will suffer, I’ll whip him myself!

– God save you! Here comes the forge…

The carriage stopped, and, sighing and yawning, Alexashka climbed out onto the ground. Menshikov himself, knowing Dutch, went to talk to the merchant. Their guide, Hans Loop, remained on the box, curiously watching the actions of his recent acquaintance. The guy seemed lively and efficient to him, but he also needed to make sure that his words were true.

– Good day, master, – Menshikov began politely, – will you shoe the horse, blacksmith?

– Why not?

But then he asked such a price that Alexander Danilovich started to sweat. Well, he had seen all sorts of things, of course, but this? They didn’t haggle for long, only about half an hour, and finally the blacksmith walked leisurely toward the unharnessed horse. He straightened the hoof with a large file and calmly and confidently nailed on a new horseshoe. Menshikov stood nearby and looked around the Dutch village. So, it seemed to be okay, and there was a sour smell, finally the groom understood what was going on… They heat with peat, firewood is expensive here, and you can’t find any branches. In general, it was bad… But he liked the horses, rich… Tall, strong and well-built… He got used to them when he lived with his father, on the estate…

Danila Menshikov, like many boyar children, came to Moscow to serve after the Great Smolensk Campaign of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich. Then they managed to recapture the city, and many Polish nobles went over to the service of the great Russian sovereign, among them was Danilo Menshikov. And he began to serve under Porfiry Sokovnin, also from a foreign family. Only the Sokovnins had left Livonia for Rus’ during the reign of Ivan the Terrible. And Alexey Porfiryevich Sokovnin got him a job at the court of Peter Alexeevich… And then it happened! Could Sokovnin have written anything bad against the sovereign? Of course not, Menshikov was absolutely sure of that. And Tsykler, too. After all, he was a relative of Alexey Porfiryevich… A dark story has come out, we will have to find out everything in Moscow, as Menshikov promised himself.

– Everything is ready, Alexander Danilovich! We can go! – shouted the coachman.

The sovereign’s orderly slowly returned to the carriage and settled down comfortably inside. Ivan slapped the reins, and a pair of large horses slowly pulled the carriage. The horseshoes clattered on the large stones of the road, the wheels sometimes bounced on the unevenness.

– We’ll be there soon, – Hans Luup reassured.

– There… – grumbled the dissatisfied Menshikov.

He, the son of the assistant to the head of the royal stables, recalled how he and the bombardier Pyotr Mikhailov went to see the Elector of Brandenburg.

***

The ship, a small vessel, rented by their Dutch guide, finally moored in Königsberg. The five of them were sitting in the captain’s cabin, in the company of three bottles of wine. And there were four more, empty, on the floor.

– Rhine, what kind of nastiness is this? Is there any Hungarian? – Golovin muttered discontentedly, turning over a glass. The tablecloth absorbed the white wine without changing color much. Voznesen jumped up from his seat, turning purple with rage.

– So I’ll write to the Tsar! – he shouted, – you’ll answer to the sovereign for your buffoonery! Or even with your head!

The boyar laughed like a horse. But a burly man in a bombardier’s caftan grabbed the drunk Fyodor Alekseevich and shook him by the hem of his clothes.

– What are you doing, boyar! Have you forgotten how Fyodor Yuryevich gave us directions on the road? – the officer raised his voice.

Here Golovin completely sobered up. The intoxication immediately left his head, as the boyar recalled Romodanovsky’s stern rebuke:

“As I said, so do! Or else you’ll lose all your heads!”

– So we’re now going to the palace of the Elector of Brandenburg? – Menshikov asked again, still not believing it. – I invited him myself. Look, – and Mikhailov showed the document, – “I invite Pyotr Mikhailov, bombardier lieutenant, to the palace.” It is written in the purest German.And did we tell anyone or promise anyone that the Tsar is here with us?

– Lord… – and Voznesensky covered his face with his hands.

– Yes, they think that it is you – Pyotr Alekseyevmch, – Golovin said wearily.

– So here I am, Pyotr Mikhailov. And I have never called myself a Tsar. And I will not!

A carriage with the coat of arms of Brandenburg met the important guests from Russia. The escort officer saluted the bombardier Mikhailov with his sword. Two footmen opened the carriage doors, and the six horses pulled the cart together.

– It will be a shame, a shame, the unfortunate clerk Voznesensky kept lamenting, – but the Tsar has long been in Holland!

Menshikov turned away and began to look at the street of the German city. It was unbearable to hear the clerk, and the Tsar’s orderly could not say any unnecessary words. And there was no shame. On the contrary. Pyotr Mikhailov with his bearing, politeness and even a certain courtesy created a furor among the ladies-in-waiting of the Elector of Brandenburg. They got what they expected – such an almost tame Russian bear, scary on the outside and kind on the inside.

Then Elector Friedrich spoke with Peter Mikhailov about politics, about trade, and kept insisting on a military alliance against Sweden.

The Russian bombardier looked and listened to this man, who elusively and clearly combined the rigidity hidden in his icy eyes and the sophistication of his silk attire. Yes, that was all of Europe, its incomparable style.

– I would also like to study artillery science, – the bombardier lieutenant asked.

– Well, a truly royal hobby… The park is at your service, my brother… – the Elector assessed Peter Mikhailov’s answer.

And indeed, for about a week, before Lefort arrived with a caravan of carriages, the Russian bombardier studied cannon art, and even then received a patent as a bombardier captain.

***

Now they went on a barge. Well, how they went… Only the Dutch guide, Haans Loop, and Alexander Danilovich Menshikov himself remained with them. The embassy left for Amsterdam, and the tsar’s orderly, instead of seeing the beauty of the city, went to the shipyard, to break his hands and wear out his calluses.

– Yes, I was taken to Amsterdam, but arrived in Saardam, – Menshikov sang out a sad verse.

– You are simply full of talent, Alexander, – Haans laughed, puffing on his pipe, – I dare to assure you, this is not a bad yeshchko at all…

Aleksashka felt completely sad, and he looked at the canal bank again. As he noticed, all of Holland was dug up, like a thrifty owner’s vegetable garden. And their boat was pulled by four heavy draft horses along the river bank. He had seen something like this, only in Russia barge haulers, that is, people, pulled barges. It’s more true… A horse is a tender animal, it can die, but a human being, nothing, will endure… Houses with tiled roofs ran slowly past the canal.Nearby, peasants were working leisurely in clogs or klomps. Wooden shoes, basically. In Russia, peasants used bast shoes to protect their boots, and they carry these blocks on their feet. Aleksashka shuddered. He imagined what it was like to have wooden blocks on his feet… They probably rub, and he just shook his head.

– Haans, how do they carry these on their feet? – he asked, unable to resist.

– That’s just the way it is. A European custom.

Menshikov just spat into the water in disgust and turned away.

“And so it is in everything. They teach us life, but they themselves live in shit and warm themselves with peat. Just recently, we spent the night, and out of greed they slept in closets. Where did they come …”

Alexander Danilovich became very sad. At home, it is much better. Well, to tell the truth, there was some funny stuff. Mills where, how many stood in the fields and banks.

– These are machines. They grind correctly, raise water, and do many good things, – explained Luup.

And he liked the flowers. Tulips, which he had seen enough of in the Don steppes near Azov.

– And these are tulips. Very expensive flowers, they are bought by sophisticated people. Many have become rich growing them, – Haans said with pleasure.

– That’s what we call them azure. Come to us on the Don, there is a lot of such goodness growing in the steppes, and you won’t have to pay!

With these words, the unrefined Menshikov drove the unfortunate Dutchman into a stupor, and he fell silent for a long time. There was definitely an embarrassment with the flowers here… And again there was a merciless stench of burnt peat..

The new Tsar and Grand Duke of All Rus’

– This is where you will live, – and Haans pointed to a quite decent house, by local standards.