Kitabı oku: «Peter The Great, of Orange. Usurper on the Throne», sayfa 6
– No, you can’t do with a spoon here… Two full glasses!
The giant drained the offered drink in a flash, without even wincing. There was no need for a snack either.
“The jungles of Columbia,” he continued, “are a bad place, never go there…” he whispered and fell into a deep sleep.Menshikov looked attentively at the man who promised him power, while he himself was suffering from an incurable disease and was so weak and defenseless now. But. service is service, and he changed the new tsar’s clothes and covered him with a blanket.
And indeed. the next morning the tsar was healthy and cheerful. He went out onto the deck of the ship, not afraid of the wind and cold. Menshikov tried to portray something similar, but hastily threw on a sheepskin coat.
– Min hertz, it’s cold… You’ll catch a cold after all…
– Never mind. For a sailor, the best medicine is sea air, – and he laughed evilly again, – never mind, I’ll show Wilhelm too… I don’t give a damn about him… – he spoke in Russian now.
At the palace, Peter was received royally, there was a guard from the stadtholder’s guard, the Dutch ruler himself came out to meet the Tsar. – Oh, my beloved brother, – said Wilhelm, and looked intently at the Russian sovereign.
The Stadtholder of the Netherlands and the King of England looked like a very solid and strong man. A thin, strong-willed face, as if in captivity of a large raven wig, decorated with a well-groomed moustache. Judging by the health of the representative of the Orange dynasty, it was not very good, but Peter also knew that Wilhelm was desperately brave and smart, which he proved by overthrowing King James Stuart from the English throne.
Peter smiled slightly patronizingly, and from the look of this monarch he understood that he knew who he was. With his finger he beckoned to the clerk Voznitsyn, and in broken Russian he said:
– Translate…
Lefort, this Swiss sly and sneaky fellow. hid his smile under a scented handkerchief, and Golovin proudly leaned on his cane. Apparently, the boyar appreciated the skill and dexterity of the new tsar.
– I am here to greet my brother Wilhelm, the king and stadtholder…
Voznitsyn translated Peter’s deliberately tricky speech. It was said that the tsar wanted to hire masters and mathematicians for the navigation school in Moscow. Wilhelm did not look at the Russian ruler with such impudence any more.
Then a dinner and a ball were given in honor of the Russian tsar. The ladies of the court were surprised that the guest from the North was not averse to gallant amusements.
Peter approached Lefort, the general bowed again, demonstrating all possible devotion.
– I am glad to see your royal majesty again… – he said.
– At small receptions and balls, call me simply – Herr Peter, – said the Tsar.
– As your grace pleases… We need to visit Vienna, the court of Emperor Leopold. But that happened later.
Alarm in Moscow
Boyarin Romodanovsky sat at a table of Italian work. Not simple, special, but made for important matters. This miracle was created by the Venetian master Nikolaus Crespi, as the clerk of the Ambassadorial Prikaz, who ordered such a pleasant thing, told Fyodor Yuryevich. The boyar sat at a carved board, could not rejoice enough. On each side there were three good boxes, in the middle – another large box, locked with a key. The table’s exterior was covered with elegant carving. The boyar pulled the bronze handle of one drawer and took out a sheet of paper, and the other one took out a goose quill and put it aside.
He was reading a letter written by Menshikov on behalf of the Tsar. Yes, the Great Embassy in Europe has been traveling around the capitals for almost a year now. And the Tsar is now in place, learning Russian… He just learned it, so better… There was a slight chill and dampness coming from the street, and Romodanovsky, who was famous for his corpulence, covered himself with a huge thick fur coat and wrapped himself up tighter.
– They all lie that the obese don’t freeze, – he whispered, – how chilly it is!
He poured himself some vodka into a silver glass and drank it with pleasure. Well, it seems to have gotten warmer, the boyar thought with pleasure. There was a knock on the door, answering from work. Romodanovsky hid the instruments and said sternly:
– Who’s going on there, at this hour of the night!
But all the same, they rustled and creaked.The clerk Fomenko, a cheerful lad from the settlement, dropped in. And he serves well, devotedly, and is quick-witted, sensible…
– Father, here is a letter from the boyar Troekurov, Ivan Borisovich.
– Give it here, quickly!
And his plump fingers, covered with rings, reached for the message. He pulled a candlestick with three burning candles towards him. He quickly tore off the seal and unfolded the paper sheet. As usual, he omitted the doxology and began to read only from the practical and important:
“… The elected archers from Velikiye Luki came to Moscow. They cursed me profanely, demanded salary and bread. They say that the convoys with the tsar’s salary never came to Novgorod, and they are in a bad way. So we must look for silver…”
– Have you seen the archers yourself?
– Yes, I have. They came to the Prikaz, cursed everyone shamefully… It’s good that the clerks weren’t beaten. Especially Vasily, nicknamed Darkness. He was too insolent…
– I’ll write to the Prikaz of the Great Treasury so that they give the strelets their salaries. Prozorovsky will do everything right. And verbally, so that Ivan Borisovich would tell the strelets that the grain was delayed due to the muddy season, and we’ll deliver the feed soon.
– Thank you, our father, – and the messenger bowed low, but his hat fell off from his zeal.
However, the clerk immediately picked it up and carefully stepped forward, afraid to dirty the woven rugs on the floor.
– Well, go, don’t dawdle. I have business to attend to, – and the boyar threw the petitioner out.
He sat at the table, thought, and rang the bell. He waited quickly, so that no strangers would be listening. A trusted serf, his bedchamber attendant, Senka, arrived. He was a smart man, efficient and loyal, and the boyar took care of the servants.The gentleman of the bedchamber was dressed quite decently, in a good gray cloth caftan, wide trousers, yuft boots, a hat with a squirrel trim.
– Is Vaska busy, with Foma? – the prince-caesar asked the gentleman of the bedchamber.
– So you can always find business, father… Whatever it is, there is always some!
– Don’t beat around the bush in front of me! – and the boyar slapped his hand on the table.
But he didn’t slap it hard, graciously. For the sake of order, so that Semyon wouldn’t forget himself, and wouldn’t take on too much.
– Here, both of them, and quickly…
The gentleman of the bedchamber nodded and quickly went to do the job. The boyar took out a small purse, poured in about twenty kopecks. He thought for a moment, and put in a couple more altyns.
And soon two little people appeared before the boyar’s menacing eyes. Such, you look at them and forget them the same day. Thin, fidgety, with sunken cheekbones, barely covered by short beards.
– Hello, father, for many years! – one of them started singing.
– And we did nothing bad, don’t be angry, – and the second bowed low.
– Vaska, Fomka! – Fyodor Yuryevich began as sternly as possible, – we need to follow Keshka Tvorogov, Dimka Tropinin and Frol Razhny in the Streletskaya Sloboda. And for your expenses, – and he threw his purse on the table,
And the byarin himself began to read the charter from the Ambassadorial Prikaz. There was another matter to attend to. The Tsar was going to open a Navigation School in Moscow, and was already sending instruments from Amsterdam. Well, and the serfs stood in front of them, shifted from one foot to the other and kept looking inquisitively. They were still waiting for something… Romodanovsky continued to speak:
– So… I know, you are both clever and resourceful, follow and find out with whom the Streletskaya will meet, and what conversations to conduct. Do everything wisely, but you also need to hurry. Is it clear now or should I repeat it again?
– So, Fyodor Yuryevich… It’s not an easy matter… We’ll lose our heads! The bastards will drown us, if not in the Neglinnaya or Yauza, then in the Moscow River for sure, – Vasily said quietly.
– The main thing is that it’s not in a ditch or the Poganye Ponds. You can suffocate from the stench there. That’s it, it’s a done deal! Carry it out!
– But to do it right, as you, father, decided, we need to become sbitenshiks. Or kvassniks. And for that we need… – and the sly man raised his head, studying the grassy pattern in the chambers.
– Well, what did you see there? Was it the Prophet Elijah? Or maybe St. Nicholas the Saint? – the boyar clarified.
The serf bent his fingers for a long time, whispered, rubbed his eyes, in general, tested the boyar’s patience for a long time. And the boyar did not have this quality at all.
– Well, should I throw you to Yashka the bear? So that my thoughts can come to order?
– Well, that’s it… It comes out to six rubles eighty-three kopecks, no less! – and the serf stared at the prince-caesar.Vaska was a real rogue, but he knew how to entertain Romodanovsky. The boyar silently ran his hand over his mustache, thought for a moment, and took out the treasured box. He counted out exactly fourteen efimki and pushed them towards the serf.
– Seven rubles. If you don’t return it in a month, or don’t do the job, I’ll put you on trial, and they’ll beat you both until you return every penny!
– Yes, God is holy, we’ll do anything! – and Vasily hid the silver, – right, Foma? – the serf turned to his comrade.
He nodded his head reluctantly and continued to look at the floor. Sadness fell upon Vasily. His comrade was completely taken aback by what had happened. They were driving us out into the cold from a warm and well-fed place, a boyar’s estate.
– Come on, hurry up! – Romodanovsky ordered sharply, in a lordly manner.
And these two serfs, assigned to an important task, rolled out into the corridor. The boyar rang the bell. The sleeping bag came up. and Fyodor Yuryevich pointed to the servants:
– Take them out. so that they don’t flash in the tower…
– I will do everything, prince-father, – answered Senka, and glanced at the open door to the corridor, and bowed carefully, and as low as possible.
After all, the sly one saw that the priest-boyar was not in the mood, he could even order a flogging.
***
– And whoever wants some hot sbiten, come on in, Orthodox! – the cheerful merchant said.
An ordinary tradesman, of course, in an inconspicuous sermyaga caftan, heavy yuft boots and a felt hat pushed to the left side. The street vendor had nothing outstanding except for his beard sticking out.
– Give me a mug, it’s cold… – the archer muttered, holding out a small coin, a dengi.
He drank slowly, looking at the drink vendor. He handed over the mug, and the merchant quickly rinsed it with water from a wooden bottle.
– You’re a clever fellow, I see, – muttered the service man, – we’ve never had such near the Church of Paraskeva-Pyatnitsa…
– I used to carry things around in the ranks. I heard that the riflemen had returned, so here we are. And our house, with my brother, is not far away. We are from the Tsykler people, released into freedom…
– Ah, – and the rifleman’s voice warmed. – the late Ivan Eliseevich? That’s how… And what should I call you, my dear man?
– Me, Vasily, and my brother, Foma… He’s my pie maker. Would you like some pies? With sauerkraut, Lenten…
– Ah, let’s have some pies!
Vaska whistled wildly, and the pieman quickly appeared, throwing back a clean gray cloth from the goods.
– Here, choose, Strelets… With cabbage and mushrooms.
He chose slowly, paid. And both peddlers were already calmly walking through the settlement. They had only taken a hundred steps, and by the Church of John the Baptist they had already taken all the goods. Business was going well, the brothers returned with new ones.
A couple of beggars were sitting on the porch, and an old woman was sitting next to them, mumbling under her breath.
– Give us a pie, too, good fellow merchant! – the beggar cried.
– Here, take it, in the name of John the Baptist and Mother Paraskeva, – Foma was not greedy.
It’s like this, there will be no loss… Fomka always thought so, and he was almost never wrong.
The old woman’s clothes were poor. All sewn and re-sewn. But her shoes were good, brown goatskin shoes. They are brought from Persia. Foma walked in circles nearby, waiting for someone to come up. And he was right. The archer sat down next to her, the old woman whispered something. The pie-maker thought, or maybe, sinfully, that she was a matchmaker. But no… He saw how the old woman gave him the letter, and the archer gave her his. The soldier hid the message in his boot.
Foma dropped his hat, and immediately picked it up, shaking it off. The passers-by did not notice, but Vasily understood everything. They had an agreement among themselves, a cap fell, which meant that a comrade had seen something important. And they had to follow the one with whom one of the archers was talking.
And as the archer rose from the stone steps, the sbiten seller slowly followed him. And the pie man, having waited a little, slowly followed the old woman.
He was able to turn around and hide the pies, changed his sermyak for a sheepskin coat and tucked the bag behind his back, and got himself a staff. It’s good, the old woman didn’t walk quickly, Foma was in a hurry. But what happened was unexpected, they found themselves at the tower of Princess Marfa. Here the lively serf began to hide in dark corners, afraid that the princess’s servants would notice him, and then he would lose his head!
***
– To hell with it. Tyomka, don’t drag it out! It’s dark after all! – the elderly archer spoke in jokes and squinted with his left eye. This service man looked like a buffoon, dressed in an archer’s caftan by mistake. But both experienced strelets and foremen, and even the sergeants, knew that this strelets had fought at Chigirin, and at Perekop, and had shown himself in the Osai of Azov.
– Right now, Uncle Dmitry! Wait a bit… The candle needs to be closer, I can’t make it out…
And the fingers, calloused from labor, moved the copper candlestick with a tallow candle burning brightly in it towards the owner of the house.
And there were not two servicemen here, and not three. But eight elected ones, from the entire strelets community. Three foremen, and a couple more strelets sergeants, and privates. Finally. Artemy was able to read the letter:
– So Princess Martha is sending us a letter. She has learned about our misfortune and state unrest, – and he looked at his comrades with a satisfied face.
– Don’t keep us in suspense, Tyomka, read it!
– Okay, here it is:
“Greetings to you, Streltsy, from me, Marfa and Tsarevna Sophia. We have heard about your troubles, that you have been worn out in the service of the sovereign, and you are not given a break. And you have not seen your families and wives for almost two years, working incessantly on the Don and Azov. And Tsar Peter, having gone abroad, forgot about you. And it is not known whether he is alive or not, others say that the boyars replaced him with a German. They wanted to destroy the Tsarevich, Alexei Petrovich, but his loyal people hid him. And for that, Tsarina Evdokia was dishonorably slapped on the cheeks. Our only hope is in you, loyal service people of Moscow, that you will stand up for the sovereign’s cause and the Orthodox faith. And I would, with God’s help, stand by Tsarevich Alexei until he reaches adulthood, and protect both the veu and the Orthodox customs…” – Evona, how things turned out, – Dmitry whispered worriedly.
– And what do you think, uncle? – asked Artemy.
– We’ll take the charter to the regiments… The society will decide everything for us.And I think we’ll do what they did in Nizhny Novgorod. We need to call up the militia and drive the boyars out of their yards. They’ve betrayed the Orthodox faith and Holy Rus’. And we’ll do what Kuzma Minin didn’t do and Stepan Razin couldn’t.
– Look at you, Mityai, where are you going with this…
– If we do it, we’ll do it wisely… We’ll preserve the state and beat the traitors without mercy. And I see you have good pies here. I haven’t had those for a long time.
– A pie shop and a kvass shop appeared next to the settlement. Vasily and Foma, – one of the riflemen, Ustyan Ivanov, was saying.
– New ones? Who’s seen them here before? – and Mityai even got up from the bench.
– Nothing… They say they were released from the Tsyklerov servants. After that execution. And they settled here.
– My God, just like children, – and Mityai grabbed his shaggy head, – who among you knows the housekeeper Ivan Eliseevich?
– Mikhail Ivanovich and Elise Ivanovich served in the Kursk city regiment… And there was such a close serf of Ivan Eliseevich. Nikita. So we need to find him then. You, Artemy, knew many people in the estate?
– I’ll try, I’ll do it, – noted Tyoma and frowned, – do you think, uncle, that the boyars have sent us?
– I don’t know, – Mityai said quietly, – but everything must be done seriously, wisely. We need to check. Find Nikita – bring him so that he can take a look at Vaska and Fomka.
– Okay, we need to disperse. And behave more quietly until we find out everything.
The archers left Ustya Ivanov’s house, accompanied by their owner all the way to the gate. He stood with a lantern, lighting the way for his comrades. Uncle Mityai adjusted his hat, patted his friend on the shoulder and said
– We’ll meet soon, Ustyan…
***
Foma had settled into life in these parts, in the Streltsy settlement. Good people, not evil. But they still sent a message to Romodanovsky, and he said that he forgave them seven rubles in debt. And here, too, trade was going well, it was a sin to complain about life.
– A couple with cabbage, – said one of the Streltsy passing by.
The peddler gladly gave two pies, but for some reason his heart sank… An unfamiliar tradesman stood next to the serviceman and looked attentively at the serf, as if recalling his face, his whole appearance. Then he shook his head.
The archer, without saying another word or swinging his fist, hit Foma in the stomach, and when he bent over, he instantly put a burlap sack on his head, like a chicken being dragged to market. And then the serf felt that he was being dragged into some gateway. He tried to scream, but a mitten was already sticking out of his mouth, which was impossible to spit out. Vaska was enthusiastically selling sbiten, and only then noticed that Foma was missing. He looked around, stood, waited… His soul felt sick, and he had an unbearable desire to run away right there, to hide… Slowly, without showing it, he walked to his hut. A cart stopped nearby, on which sat a driver, and a tradesman, who seemed to be looking closely at the drink carrier. Then this stranger turned away and slapped the driver on the shoulder. Now three men in Streltsy caftans approached the sbiten merchant. Two of them kept looking at the pavement as if they had lost something, and the third smiled crookedly and hid his hands behind his back. – Hello, Vasily… Pour us three mugs, our throats are so dry…
– With great pleasure.
The sbiten seller got distracted and earned a blow to the head with a stick. He fell onto the pavement. They tied him up in an instant, shoved a gag in his mouth, threw him into a cart and covered him with a mat. Then they put three bundles of brushwood on top, and it turned out as if Vaska the peddler had never been there. The cart slowly rolled down the street, to Poganye Prudy.
***
Fyodor Yuryevich sat at his desk, studying the letters from his messengers. Another serf, Afonka, brought the letter, who was only supposed to pick up these letters from the watchman at the Paraskeva-Pyatnitsa church. And it had been written the day before yesterday.
“And the archers met with a certain grandmother Uliana, from the tower of Princess Marfa. And this grandmother sent letters from Marfa and Sophia to the archers. And whether she gave silver, I do not know. But treasonous talk began in the settlement, they say, Tsar Peter is gone, the boyars killed him, and replaced him with a German. They want to completely destroy the Orthodox faith. And they planned to strangle Tsarevich Alexei. And who else helps the archers, we do not know” And it was written crookedly, on good paper, but even from this the prince-caesar grabbed his head. Out of chagrin, he took out a decanter of galangal, poured himself a full glass of green wine, and without wincing, drank to the last drop. The devil knows whether vodka is a medicine or not, but somehow his soul and heart felt relieved. The boyar rang the bell, calling the bedchamber, Semyon. He came running quickly, without delay.
– Senka, did Afonka bring anything else? – asked the boyar, pouring more vodka into a glass.
– No, father… I went to church for two days, but there is nothing…And from the order, a sergeant of the Semenovsky regiment is expecting you, what business…
– And for how long?
– No, about two hours…
– What, have you lost your mind? – Romodanovsky began to get angry, – maybe it’s important! I’ll catch you, you fool! Quickly, bring him here!
– So I thought, you’re busy, always thinking about important things, father…
– Get out, and bring the sergeant here, and quickly!
– As you wish, – and the serf bowed low, and closed the door behind him.
Romodanovsky put away the vodka, assumed a respectable appearance, settled into the chair, and put a sheet of paper in front of him. A statesman at work, and was pleased with himself.
They knocked, and the sergeant entered, with his hat under his arm, according to the Code. He looked sprightly, courageous. Shaved cheeks, not long hair. A fine caftan and boots, with a sword, a fine fellow, as tall as the ceiling of the room.
– Prince-Caesar! I am forced to report that during the patrol at the Foul Ponds, two dead bodies were found in sacks of burlap. Drowned, no doubt. One had a tag, and as we were told, only your people have one.
And he put a lead seal with an eye on the table. On it was a two-headed eagle, the sovereign’s coat of arms, and a number, in Greek letters AB with a title. The boyar looked thoughtfully at the messenger, twirled the tag in his hand, and thought for a moment. The sergeant clicked his heels and left the room.
– Yes, it’s really bad, – whispered Romodanovsky, – Vaska and Fomka are gone now… Well, what can I say, they judged correctly… I’ll put a candle at the bottom, – and he poured himself some more vodka, – Senka! Senka, come here quickly!
– So what do you order, father?
– Send for Troekurov and Prozorovsky quickly!
– Right now, I’ll do it myself!
And sure enough, he ran, rattling his kabukam on the stone floor. Romodanovsky didn’t hesitate to get up, and saw the serf running down the steep stairs to the first floor of his rich chambers.
***
Vasily T’ma slept on a bench, the soft feather bed didn’t crush his sides, and the patchwork blanket warmed him, not chilled him. It was better than huddling on straw in the barns and barns in the Novgorod backwaters. His wife, Marfa, moved closer to him. The archer felt completely calm, and he fell asleep again. But there was a crash of blows on the gate, a dog barked loudly, and then whined pitifully and fell silent.
Vasily jumped up, grabbed a stick, then put on his sheepskin coat, and shoved his feet into his felt boots.
– Vasya, where are you going? – his wife got up and threw a thick shawl over her shoulders.
– Someone is breaking in…
– Wait…
The blows began to rain down on the front door. They were simply beating furiously, with malice, as if the unfortunate door was their enemy.
– Open up, Vasily, get ready for the road! There is an order, you all have to go to the border quickly!
– Okay. I’ll get dressed now. Why scare people in the morning? Marfa, pack your bundle…
– My God… I’ll be right now… Wait! – the woman screamed shrilly.
And the children woke up, Granny Avdotya got up from the stove and rushed to help equip her son for the campaign. The woman threw back the lid of the chest, took out a pair of underwear and pants, warm mittens.Meanwhile, Marfa put a couple of loaves of bread, a bag of crackers, cereals, salt, a pot, a tin camp mug, and a wooden spoon into the bag.
– Dad, dad! – both sons, Mitka and Pashka, and daughter Vasilisa cried out in different voices.
The archer sat down and hugged and kissed each of them in turn. The daughter began to cry, wiping away her tears with her palm.
– It’s okay, I’ll be back soon, don’t cry, little one… And you, Mitka and Pashka, stay at home as men. You’ll manage, right?
– Because… I’m not a little boy, – twelve-year-old Mitka said seriously.
– Don’t worry, we’ll manage, – Pashka, who was the same age as his brother, supported him.
– Well, I’m only counting on you, – and he hugged his sons in turn.
The travel bag was ready, the strelets placed the fusil by the threshold, sat down on the bench.
– And then, we need to sit down for the road, – grandma Avdotya loudly agreed.
Then she took the icon and blessed her son for the long journey. He crossed himself, unlocked the door and went out into the yard. There were three Semyonovtsy with a sergeant, with fusils and swords.
– Go, hurry up, strelets, yours are gathering at the church, – the strelets muttered.
– Weren’t we with your soldiers at the Azov bastion under bullets? – he asked in response.
– It happened, – the brave mustachioed man grinned, – well, hurry up…
– Vasenka! – and the wife threw herself on her husband’s neck, – take care of this on the road, don’t catch a cold!
– Everything will be fine, Martha! It’s time for me to go… Keep an eye on the children! God help you all!
And Vasily T’ma walked down the street. Other Streltsy, comrades and friends, were gathering near the church, also with fuzes on their shoulders and with sacks on their backs. Well, the Semenovtsy, with attached baginets at the fuzes, stood ready, like a guard for convicts. On horseback, on horses, were General Aatomon Golovin and boyar Ivan Troekurov. Oh, there were rallies-radeshenki, that everything went without bloodshed, during Lent. Elected envoys of four regiments were leaving Belokamennaya.
Streltsy rebellion
Fyodor Yuryevich tried to do a lot in a new manner. The boyar knew that during the war with the Poles, the service people of Poland had seen a lot. The Tsar’s troops had been stationed in Vilnius for many years, and the Tsar’s troops had entered the Polish fortresses. And then the Russian nobles saw how they gave feasts in Europe, and they became familiar with noble customs. And with duels, theaters, and dances. And he had a couple of paintings, which his father had brought from Polotsk… It was shameful to look at these parsunas, honestly… He knew, however, that Golovin and the Golitsyns, the famous scoundrels, had such. The Patriarch shamed them, of course, but those admonitions were not public. And other things… They all began to think highly of themselves, saying, why is it that the Poniatowskis, Sapiehas, and Vishnevetskis can do everything, but they, the Golitsyns, Dolgorukys, and Sheremetevs, you see, cannot? Only Stenka Razin cheered up the impudent fellows, but not for long… True, they realized that without a strong royal hand and protection they would hang on stakes, but even here, they started a fight, but a secret one, in the dark. No matter how much they got carried away, and he, Fyodor Yuryevich, would not let the fools lose their shores.Thus, Romodanovsky indulged in his thoughts, standing on the porch, greeting distinguished guests. He stood in the old custom in a rich fur coat and hat, and on the left, already in the Polish custom, his dear wife, the world, was present. She treated the dear guests to Hungarian from her own hands.
Then the head clerk seated those who came according to nobility, knowing how not to offend anyone. In the corner, the serfs played, and in the Italian manner. Romodanovsky did not like these whistles and gusli. The violin seemed to him a much more refined instrument, capable of producing truly divine melodies.
– As always, you are wonderful, Fyodor Yuryevich! – Boris Alekseevich Golitsyn, who came with his wife, praised him.
– So it is an important matter, to gather noble people. An anxious time, difficult…
– Pyotr Alekseevich is not going to return from Amsterdam? – Not yet. He is visiting the Tsar in Vienna now… Things are not easy there, and Leopold is offering his relative as a wife for Tsarevich Alexei Petrovich. Princess Louise.
– He wants to become related? – and it was clear how happy Golitsyn was, – it means he values the Tsarevich’s family highly. And he will have an insurmountable support…
Romodanovsky nodded understandingly. Yes, Tsar Leopold obviously figured out something about their Dutch Peter, and hopes to keep his own plans for the Russian Kingdom… But then no one will dare to take the life of Alexei Petrovich, and encroach on his rights as heir. And that is very good.
– Write a letter to the chancellor, Boris Alexeevich, that all Russian nobles will stand firmly for Princess Louise. Such a wife…
– We will do everything, Fyodor Yuryevich… Enough of these intrigues, it could all end badly! Okay, Fyodor Lopukhin is looking at us, I’d better sit down at the table!
Fyodor Yuryevich looked at his sons, talking with Boris Alekseevich’s son. He had good and smart children. He was a demanding, but very caring father. And he did not let his sons go to the Great Embassy. And he wanted to send them both to Venice to study, to learn science. Although, of course, it would be best to Rome, to the Great City. He himself dreamed of visiting there, and loved to look at engravings with views of Rome.
The cupbearers poured wine into glasses, starting the feast. True, they served treats from Romodanovsky on silver, and Russian dishes. The prince-caesar did not accept unfamiliar foreign dishes. The feast lasted almost until evening, the guests were cheerful, well-fed and drunk. But no one talked about anything important, only about hunting with dogs. Fyodor Yuryevich kept hoping that at least someone would let slip about the conspiracy while drunk, who gave the strelets silver and sent all sorts of letters.
