Valentin Pikul to read with a pen and a sword. Valentin Pikul - pen and sword. Pikul. Feather and sword
Valentin Savvich Pikul
Feather and sword
The people who do not remember, do not appreciate and do not love their history are bad!
V. M. Vasnetsov
Let's start from the end
On the night of March 21, 1810, the French consul at Saint James Court, Baron Seguier, was very lucky. He played in the house of Lady Pembroke-Montgomery, nee Countess Vorontsova, feverishly betting on doubling.
It was already well past midnight when the footman, carrying the players with strong tea, handed Seguier a tray on which lay a letter:
- The courier from the embassy. Excuse me, baron.
Absorbed by his winnings, the consul hastily ripped open the envelope.
- Sorry, gentlemen. I won't delay you...
And suddenly he jumped up, discarding his cards (and everyone noticed that the lucky Seguier played without trump cards at all).
- War? the Russians looked at each other. - War again?
“No, no,” Seguier comforted them, somewhat agitated.
The frivolous beauty Ekaterina Bagration, who, having traveled all her life around Europe, had long forgotten both her husband and the fatherland, suddenly became capricious:
“Baron, you intrigue me, and I won’t be able to win back…”
The Consul glanced at the cards scattered before him.
“I beg your pardon, I have to leave you urgently.
Semyon Romanovich Vorontsov (father of the mistress of the house) asked the Frenchman casually, with the indifference of an old hardened diplomat:
- What happened, dear Seguier? .. - Vorontsov paused. - If it's not a secret? .. - Another pause. “The secret of your obstinate emperor?”
- Lord! the consul announced. - There is no secret ... I just went to better world girl and cavalier Geneviève de Yeon, who in her youth was the ambassador of Versailles to such high courts as St. Petersburg and St. James!
The faces of the players stretched.
“I forgot about that snarky old woman,” said Lord Pembroke with a snort. - Oh, how much noise there was because of this woman! ..
The embassy's cab, wheels clattering on the stones, took Séguier to the deserted street of New Wilman; The duty constable held up his lantern, peering.
- Who goes? Respond…
Séguier slammed the lacquered cab door shut behind him.
- There is a consul of Napoleon - the emperor of all the French!
The policeman helpfully illuminated the entrance of the house with a lantern - black, like the failure of a mine drift, long abandoned. In the flight of stairs, a stray cat shied away from under Seguier's feet. The shaky railing wavered over the top of the well.
On the landing of the upper floor, light suddenly burst from the open doors.
“The consul has arrived,” the constable announced.
The royal surgeon, Sir Thomas Campeland, opened his bag and rolled up his sleeves, pulling on long silk gloves.
“Great,” he said. - In the name of law and justice, let's proceed to the examination, while the mortal body of the deceased still retains the warmth of a past life ...
Baron Seguier looked around. My God! He did not even know that the maiden de Yeon, that mysterious diplomat and forgotten writer of France, lived in such disgusting poverty. Almost bare walls, a cold fireplace, abandoned needlework on the hoop.
And everywhere - swords, swords, swords! ..
Madame Coll, the deceased's host, approached him.
- When did it happen? the Consul asked her in a whisper.
“About midnight, monsieur.
“Paper,” Seguier hinted. – Papers… where?
Madame Colle nodded to a corner. There lay a large bundle wrapped in a bear's skin, the seals of the king hung down to the floor, and there was a smell of sealing wax. The British are ahead. “As always…” However, there was nothing surprising in this hasty inventory of the property, because the London police had long suspected the deceased of coining counterfeit money…
- Attention! Campeland said. - Witnesses, the prosecutor and the consul, I ask you to come here ... Closer, closer.
Séguier stepped towards the untidy bed, on which lay a small but majestic dead woman with a yellow face. The thin lips of the old woman still retained a dying smile, and one eye looked dully at her curious guests.
"Let's get started," said the surgeon.
- Wait, sir! the prosecutor stopped him and turned to the attesting witnesses. “Gentlemen,” he said, waving his hat, “I hope you are aware of the high official position that the dead woman formerly occupied in this world. Therefore, I ask you to treat the inspection procedure with all your attention ... Begin, sir!
“Excuse me,” answered Campeland, and a rag of blankets sewn from colored rags flew off the deceased; then the beggarly skirts flew up, revealing slender muscular legs. - Look! ..
And Baron Séguier caught Madame Coll, who suddenly collapsed into a swoon.
“Everything is clear,” said the doctor, throwing off his gloves, “the deceased was never a woman ... You can see for yourself: the great mockingbird Beaumarchais was fooled, and he (ha-ha!) offered her his hand and heart in vain.
Madame Colle regained consciousness with difficulty:
“But I, gentlemen… I didn’t know anything. I swear!
Baron Seguier was more confused than others:
- What should I write to the emperor in Paris?
And, slamming the bag shut, Kampeland smiled sadly:
- Describe what you saw, Mr. Consul ...
At dawn, an artist sat down at the deathbed of de Yeon with an easel, and a few days later the booksellers of London threw fresh prints of engravings on the shelves. These engravings were not quite decent from the point of view of my contemporary, but then, at the very beginning of the last century, they eloquently convinced everyone that the cavaliere de Yeon was a man. “And without any admixture of a different sex!” - as stated in the official conclusion, certified by witnesses and a notary.
The mystery of the mystification of secret diplomacy in the 18th century seemed to be solved forever.
But it only seemed.
And when the Napoleonic wars died down, humanity suddenly again remembered the "maiden de Yeon."
Dumas, the father, was also excited (still young, not yet a father).
- The English are crooks! Dumas said. - What the hell is a man? And here we were led ... Of course - a woman, and even an innocent one, damn me! Could the author of Le Figaro, himself a great scoundrel, be so wrong? And the maiden de Yeon, that fearless dragoon in a skirt, had given her consent to marry him. Their first night would have been good if Beaumarchais had run into a man! No, my friends, the English are notorious rogues, but we French will not let ourselves be fooled. So what are we talking about?
* * *Basically, the conversation will be about secret diplomacy.
Let the weapons rumble and the koturnes of women's shoes knock; let the old-fashioned robes of state ladies crackle, drowning out the firing of muskets, and the powder flies like a column from stupid wigs. Let…
Dear friend and reader, let's muster up the courage: the carriages have already been submitted, and they have been waiting for us at Versailles for a long time.
Act one
Approaches
It was a time of wars, heresy and philosophy...
The people who do not remember, do not appreciate and do not love their history are bad!
V. M. Vasnetsov
START FROM THE END
On the night of March 21, 1810, the French consul at Saint James Court, Baron Seguier, was very lucky. He played in the house of Lady Pembroke-Montgomery, nee Countess Vorontsova, feverishly betting on doubling.
It was already well past midnight when the footman, carrying the players with strong tea, handed Seguier a tray on which lay a letter:
Embassy courier. Excuse me, baron. Absorbed by his winnings, the consul hastily ripped open the envelope.
Sorry gentlemen. I won't delay you... And suddenly he jumped up, discarding his cards (and everyone noticed that the lucky Seguier played without trump cards at all).
War? the Russians looked at each other. - Another war?
No, no, - Seguier consoled them, excited about something. The frivolous beauty Ekaterina Bagration, who, traveling all her life around Europe, had long forgotten her husband and fatherland, suddenly became capricious:
Baron, you are intriguing me, and I won’t be able to win back ... The Consul looked at the cards scattered in front of him:
I'm sorry, I have to leave you urgently. Semyon Romanovich Vorontsov (father of the mistress of the house) asked the Frenchman casually, with the indifference of an old hardened diplomat:
What happened, dear Seguier? .. - Vorontsov paused. - If it's not a secret? .. - Another pause. - The secret of your obstinate emperor?
Lord! the consul announced. - There is no secret ... The maiden and cavalier Genevieve de Eon, who in her youth was the ambassador of Versailles at such high courts as St. Petersburg and St. James, has just departed to a better world!
The faces of the players stretched.
I already forgot about this scurrilous old woman, - Lord Pembroke was surprised, snorting. - Oh, how much noise there was because of this woman! ..
The embassy's cab, wheels clattering on the stones, took Séguier to the deserted street of New Wilman; The duty constable held up his lantern, peering.
Who goes? Respond…
Séguier slammed the lacquered cab door shut behind him.
There is a consul of Napoleon - the emperor of all the French!
The policeman helpfully illuminated the entrance of the house with a lantern - black, like the failure of a mine drift, long abandoned. In the flight of stairs, a stray cat shied away from under Seguier's feet. The shaky railing wavered over the top of the well.
On the landing of the upper floor, light suddenly burst from the open doors.
The consul has arrived,” the constable announced. The royal surgeon, Sir Thomas Campeland, opened his bag and rolled up his sleeves, pulling on long silk gloves.
Great, he said. - In the name of law and justice, let's proceed to the examination, while the mortal body of the deceased still retains the warmth of a past life ...
Baron Seguier looked around. My God! He did not even know that the maiden de Yeon, that mysterious diplomat and forgotten writer of France, lived in such disgusting poverty. Almost bare walls, a cold fireplace, abandoned needlework on the hoop.
And everywhere - swords, swords, swords! ..
Madame Coll, the deceased's host, approached him.
When did it happen? the consul asked her in a whisper.
Around midnight, sir.
Papers, Seguier hinted. - Papers .., where? Madame Colle nodded to a corner. There lay a large bundle wrapped in a bear's skin, the seals of the king hung down to the floor, and there was a smell of sealing wax. The British are ahead. “As always…” However, there was nothing surprising in this hasty inventory of the property, because the London police had long suspected the deceased of coining counterfeit money…
Attention! Campeland announced. - Witnesses, the prosecutor and the consul, I ask you to come here ... Closer, closer.
Séguier stepped towards the untidy bed, on which lay a small but majestic dead woman with a yellow face. The thin lips of the old woman still retained a dying smile, and one eye looked dully at her curious guests.
Let's start, - said the surgeon.
Wait, sir! the prosecutor stopped him and turned to the attesting witnesses. “Gentlemen,” he said, waving his hat, “I hope you are aware of the high official position that the dead woman formerly occupied in this world. Therefore, I ask you to treat the inspection procedure with all your attention ... Begin, sir!
If you please, - answered Kampeland, and a rag of blankets sewn from colored patches flew off the deceased; then the beggarly skirts flew up, revealing slender muscular legs. - Look! ..
And Baron Séguier caught Madame Coll, who suddenly collapsed into a swoon.
Everything is clear, - said the doctor, throwing off his gloves, - the deceased was never a woman ... You can see for yourself: the great mockingbird Beaumarchais was fooled, and he (ha-ha!) offered her his hand and heart in vain.
Madame Colle regained consciousness with difficulty:
But, gentlemen, I didn't know anything. I swear! Baron Seguier was more confused than others:
What should I write to the emperor in Paris?
And, slamming the bag shut, Kampeland smiled sadly:
What you saw, then describe, Mr. Consul ...
At dawn, an artist sat down at the deathbed of de Yeon with an easel, and a few days later the booksellers of London threw fresh prints of engravings on the shelves. These engravings were not quite decent from the point of view of my contemporary, but then, at the very beginning of the last century, they eloquently convinced everyone that the cavaliere de Yeon was a man. “And without any admixture of a different sex!” - as stated in the official conclusion, certified by witnesses and a notary. The mystery of the mystification of secret diplomacy of the 18th century seemed to have been resolved forever.
But it only seemed.
And when the Napoleonic wars died down, humanity suddenly again remembered the "maiden de Yeon."
Valentin Savvich Pikul
Feather and sword
The people who do not remember, do not appreciate and do not love their history are bad!
V. M. Vasnetsov
Let's start from the end
On the night of March 21, 1810, the French consul at Saint James Court, Baron Seguier, was very lucky. He played in the house of Lady Pembroke-Montgomery, nee Countess Vorontsova, feverishly betting on doubling.
It was already well past midnight when the footman, carrying the players with strong tea, handed Seguier a tray on which lay a letter:
- The courier from the embassy. Excuse me, baron.
Absorbed by his winnings, the consul hastily ripped open the envelope.
- Sorry, gentlemen. I won't delay you...
And suddenly he jumped up, discarding his cards (and everyone noticed that the lucky Seguier played without trump cards at all).
- War? the Russians looked at each other. - War again?
“No, no,” Seguier comforted them, somewhat agitated.
The frivolous beauty Ekaterina Bagration, who, having traveled all her life around Europe, had long forgotten both her husband and the fatherland, suddenly became capricious:
“Baron, you intrigue me, and I won’t be able to win back…”
The Consul glanced at the cards scattered before him.
“I beg your pardon, I have to leave you urgently.
Semyon Romanovich Vorontsov (father of the mistress of the house) asked the Frenchman casually, with the indifference of an old hardened diplomat:
- What happened, dear Seguier? .. - Vorontsov paused. - If it's not a secret? .. - Another pause. “The secret of your obstinate emperor?”
- Lord! the consul announced. - There is no secret ... The maiden and cavalier Genevieve de Yeon, who in her youth was the ambassador of Versailles at such high courts as St. Petersburg and St. James, has just departed to a better world!
The faces of the players stretched.
“I forgot about that snarky old woman,” said Lord Pembroke with a snort. - Oh, how much noise there was because of this woman! ..
The embassy's cab, wheels clattering on the stones, took Séguier to the deserted street of New Wilman; The duty constable held up his lantern, peering.
- Who goes? Respond…
Séguier slammed the lacquered cab door shut behind him.
- There is a consul of Napoleon - the emperor of all the French!
The policeman helpfully illuminated the entrance of the house with a lantern - black, like the failure of a mine drift, long abandoned. In the flight of stairs, a stray cat shied away from under Seguier's feet. The shaky railing wavered over the top of the well.
On the landing of the upper floor, light suddenly burst from the open doors.
“The consul has arrived,” the constable announced.
The royal surgeon, Sir Thomas Campeland, opened his bag and rolled up his sleeves, pulling on long silk gloves.
“Great,” he said. - In the name of law and justice, let's proceed to the examination, while the mortal body of the deceased still retains the warmth of a past life ...
Baron Seguier looked around. My God! He did not even know that the maiden de Yeon, that mysterious diplomat and forgotten writer of France, lived in such disgusting poverty. Almost bare walls, a cold fireplace, abandoned needlework on the hoop.
And everywhere - swords, swords, swords! ..
Madame Coll, the deceased's host, approached him.
- When did it happen? the Consul asked her in a whisper.
“About midnight, monsieur.
“Paper,” Seguier hinted. – Papers… where?
Madame Colle nodded to a corner. There lay a large bundle wrapped in a bear's skin, the seals of the king hung down to the floor, and there was a smell of sealing wax. The British are ahead. “As always…” However, there was nothing surprising in this hasty inventory of the property, because the London police had long suspected the deceased of coining counterfeit money…
- Attention! Campeland said. - Witnesses, the prosecutor and the consul, I ask you to come here ... Closer, closer.
Séguier stepped towards the untidy bed, on which lay a small but majestic dead woman with a yellow face. The thin lips of the old woman still retained a dying smile, and one eye looked dully at her curious guests.
"Let's get started," said the surgeon.
- Wait, sir! the prosecutor stopped him and turned to the attesting witnesses. “Gentlemen,” he said, waving his hat, “I hope you are aware of the high official position that the dead woman formerly occupied in this world. Therefore, I ask you to treat the inspection procedure with all your attention ... Begin, sir!
“Excuse me,” answered Campeland, and a rag of blankets sewn from colored rags flew off the deceased; then the beggarly skirts flew up, revealing slender muscular legs. - Look! ..
And Baron Séguier caught Madame Coll, who suddenly collapsed into a swoon.
“Everything is clear,” said the doctor, throwing off his gloves, “the deceased was never a woman ... You can see for yourself: the great mockingbird Beaumarchais was fooled, and he (ha-ha!) offered her his hand and heart in vain.
Madame Colle regained consciousness with difficulty:
“But I, gentlemen… I didn’t know anything. I swear!
Baron Seguier was more confused than others:
- What should I write to the emperor in Paris?
And, slamming the bag shut, Kampeland smiled sadly:
- Describe what you saw, Mr. Consul ...
At dawn, an artist sat down at the deathbed of de Yeon with an easel, and a few days later the booksellers of London threw fresh prints of engravings on the shelves. These engravings were not quite decent from the point of view of my contemporary, but then, at the very beginning of the last century, they eloquently convinced everyone that the cavaliere de Yeon was a man. “And without any admixture of a different sex!” - as stated in the official conclusion, certified by witnesses and a notary.
The mystery of the mystification of secret diplomacy in the 18th century seemed to be solved forever.
But it only seemed.
And when the Napoleonic wars died down, humanity suddenly again remembered the "maiden de Yeon."
Dumas, the father, was also excited (still young, not yet a father).
- The English are crooks! Dumas said. - What the hell is a man? And here we were led ... Of course - a woman, and even an innocent one, damn me! Could the author of Le Figaro, himself a great scoundrel, be so wrong? And the maiden de Yeon, that fearless dragoon in a skirt, had given her consent to marry him. Their first night would have been good if Beaumarchais had run into a man! No, my friends, the English are notorious rogues, but we French will not let ourselves be fooled. So what are we talking about?
* * *Basically, the conversation will be about secret diplomacy.
Let the weapons rumble and the koturnes of women's shoes knock; let the old-fashioned robes of state ladies crackle, drowning out the firing of muskets, and the powder flies like a column from stupid wigs. Let…
Dear friend and reader, let's muster up the courage: the carriages have already been submitted, and they have been waiting for us at Versailles for a long time.
Act one
Approaches
It was a time of wars, heresy and philosophy...
When the borders of Europe, so confused, defined their contours, barely resembling modern ones.
Germany did not yet exist as a single state, but Prussia existed, disturbing the world with the plans of its aggressions.
It was a strong power, and they were afraid of it.
The colonial wars have already begun.
England, having grown rich in trade, strengthened the traditions of her policy; it was hosted by Pitt Sr., knocking together, like a ship, the bulky British Empire.
Scientific treatises were read, debauchery was savored and guns rumbled. Hundreds of people enriched themselves on the black trade, and then, patronizing, they died in poverty, forgotten by everyone.
Smallpox raged in palaces and huts, disfiguring the faces of princesses and bazaar traders alike. Do not believe the airy charms of the portraits of the past - their originals were clumsy!
Pirates were made admirals and peers of England, and the unsociable knights of the Order of Malta waged a protracted war with the Algerian corsairs.
The Inquisition had not yet been destroyed; the squares of the cities were decorated with crucifixes and gallows; people were branded with red-hot iron.
And in Moscow they caught just Vanka Cain, and he sang his mischievous songs, which later became "folk".
Fortresses no longer had the same significance then - they learned to bypass them. But it was considered an honor to take the fortress by storm. Cities had keys, and handed them over to the winner on a satin pillow.
Men wore cocked hats under the elbow, and their heads were powdered. The powder was of different shades (even blue). The fashion for figs was kept - and the number of the bowhead whale was mercilessly knocked out for the sake of the ideal harmony of women's waists. Corsets reared the breasts of the then beauties, lightly and casually covered with flowers.
And in the mountains of the Vosges, the last bears lived out their lives.
The poor of Europe already ate potatoes, but in Russia the nobles ate them for the time being. The pigs served the gourmets, trained to look for nests of truffles. People sat at the table with caution, for the art of poisoning had been brought to perfection.
Voltaire managed to glorify himself, and in Russia the fiery and honest Sumarokov soared. Rokotov and Levitsky began to try their brushes, but Antropov already seemed outdated.
The people who do not remember, do not appreciate and do not love their history are bad!
V. M. Vasnetsov
START FROM THE END
On the night of March 21, 1810, the French consul at Saint James Court, Baron Seguier, was very lucky. He played in the house of Lady Pembroke-Montgomery, nee Countess Vorontsova, feverishly betting on doubling.
It was already well past midnight when the footman, carrying the players with strong tea, handed Seguier a tray on which lay a letter:
- The courier from the embassy. Excuse me, baron. Absorbed by his winnings, the consul hastily ripped open the envelope.
- Sorry, gentlemen. I won't delay you... And suddenly he jumped up, discarding his cards (and everyone noticed that the lucky Seguier played without trump cards at all).
- War? the Russians looked at each other. - Another war?
“No, no,” Seguier comforted them, somewhat agitated. The frivolous beauty Ekaterina Bagration, who, traveling all her life around Europe, had long forgotten her husband and fatherland, suddenly became capricious:
- Baron, you are intriguing me, and I won't be able to win back... The Consul looked at the cards scattered in front of him:
- I'm sorry, I have to leave you urgently. Semyon Romanovich Vorontsov (father of the mistress of the house) asked the Frenchman casually, with the indifference of an old hardened diplomat:
- What happened, dear Seguier? .. - Vorontsov paused. - If it's not a secret? .. - Another pause. - The secret of your obstinate emperor?
- Lord! the consul announced. - There is no secret ... The maiden and cavalier Genevieve de Eon, who in her youth was the ambassador of Versailles at such high courts as St. Petersburg and St. James, has just departed to a better world!
The faces of the players stretched.
"I've already forgotten about that slutty old woman," said Lord Pembroke, snorting. - Oh, how much noise there was because of this woman! ..
The embassy's cab, wheels clattering on the stones, took Séguier to the deserted street of New Wilman; The duty constable held up his lantern, peering.
- Who goes? Respond...
Séguier slammed the lacquered cab door shut behind him.
- There is a consul of Napoleon - the emperor of all the French!
The policeman helpfully illuminated the entrance of the house with a lantern - black, like the failure of a mine drift, long abandoned. In the flight of stairs, a stray cat shied away from under Seguier's feet. The shaky railing wavered over the top of the well.
On the landing of the upper floor, light suddenly burst from the open doors.
“The consul has arrived,” the constable announced. The royal surgeon, Sir Thomas Campeland, opened his bag and rolled up his sleeves, pulling on long silk gloves.
“Great,” he said. - In the name of law and justice, let's proceed to the examination, while the mortal body of the deceased still retains the warmth of a past life ...
Baron Seguier looked around. My God! He did not even know that the maiden de Yeon, that mysterious diplomat and forgotten writer of France, lived in such disgusting poverty. Almost bare walls, a cold fireplace, abandoned needlework on the hoop.
And everywhere - swords, swords, swords! ..
Madame Coll, the deceased's host, approached him.
- When did it happen? the consul asked her in a whisper.
- About midnight, monsieur.
"Paper," Seguier hinted. - Papers .., where? Madame Colle nodded to a corner.
On the night of March 21, 1810, the French consul at Saint James Court, Baron Seguier, was very lucky. He played in the house of Lady Pembroke-Montgomery, nee Countess Vorontsova, feverishly betting on doubling.
It was already well past midnight when the footman, carrying the players with strong tea, handed Seguier a tray on which lay a letter:
- The courier from the embassy. Excuse me, baron.
Absorbed by his winnings, the consul hastily ripped open the envelope.
- Sorry, gentlemen. I won't delay you...
And suddenly he jumped up, discarding his cards (and everyone noticed that the lucky Seguier played without trump cards at all).
- War? the Russians looked at each other. - War again?
“No, no,” Seguier comforted them, somewhat agitated.
The frivolous beauty Ekaterina Bagration, who, having traveled all her life around Europe, had long forgotten both her husband and the fatherland, suddenly became capricious:
“Baron, you intrigue me, and I won’t be able to win back…”
The Consul glanced at the cards scattered before him.
“I beg your pardon, I have to leave you urgently.
Semyon Romanovich Vorontsov (father of the mistress of the house) asked the Frenchman casually, with the indifference of an old hardened diplomat:
- What happened, dear Seguier? .. - Vorontsov paused. - If it's not a secret? .. - Another pause. “The secret of your obstinate emperor?”
- Lord! the consul announced. - There is no secret ... The maiden and cavalier Genevieve de Yeon, who in her youth was the ambassador of Versailles at such high courts as St. Petersburg and St. James, has just departed to a better world!
The faces of the players stretched.
“I forgot about that snarky old woman,” said Lord Pembroke with a snort. - Oh, how much noise there was because of this woman! ..
The embassy's cab, wheels clattering on the stones, took Séguier to the deserted street of New Wilman; The duty constable held up his lantern, peering.
- Who goes? Respond…
Séguier slammed the lacquered cab door shut behind him.
- There is a consul of Napoleon - the emperor of all the French!
The policeman helpfully illuminated the entrance of the house with a lantern - black, like the failure of a mine drift, long abandoned. In the flight of stairs, a stray cat shied away from under Seguier's feet. The shaky railing wavered over the top of the well.
On the landing of the upper floor, light suddenly burst from the open doors.
“The consul has arrived,” the constable announced.
The royal surgeon, Sir Thomas Campeland, opened his bag and rolled up his sleeves, pulling on long silk gloves.
“Great,” he said. - In the name of law and justice, let's proceed to the examination, while the mortal body of the deceased still retains the warmth of a past life ...
Baron Seguier looked around. My God! He did not even know that the maiden de Yeon, that mysterious diplomat and forgotten writer of France, lived in such disgusting poverty. Almost bare walls, a cold fireplace, abandoned needlework on the hoop.
And everywhere - swords, swords, swords! ..
Madame Coll, the deceased's host, approached him.
- When did it happen? the Consul asked her in a whisper.
“About midnight, monsieur.
“Paper,” Seguier hinted. – Papers… where?
Madame Colle nodded to a corner. There lay a large bundle wrapped in a bear's skin, the seals of the king hung down to the floor, and there was a smell of sealing wax. The British are ahead. “As always…” However, there was nothing surprising in this hasty inventory of the property, because the London police had long suspected the deceased of coining counterfeit money…
- Attention! Campeland said. - Witnesses, the prosecutor and the consul, I ask you to come here ... Closer, closer.
Séguier stepped towards the untidy bed, on which lay a small but majestic dead woman with a yellow face. The thin lips of the old woman still retained a dying smile, and one eye looked dully at her curious guests.
"Let's get started," said the surgeon.
- Wait, sir! the prosecutor stopped him and turned to the attesting witnesses. “Gentlemen,” he said, waving his hat, “I hope you are aware of the high official position that the dead woman formerly occupied in this world. Therefore, I ask you to treat the inspection procedure with all your attention ... Begin, sir!
“Excuse me,” answered Campeland, and a rag of blankets sewn from colored rags flew off the deceased; then the beggarly skirts flew up, revealing slender muscular legs. - Look! ..
And Baron Séguier caught Madame Coll, who suddenly collapsed into a swoon.
“Everything is clear,” said the doctor, throwing off his gloves, “the deceased was never a woman ... You can see for yourself: the great mockingbird Beaumarchais was fooled, and he (ha-ha!) offered her his hand and heart in vain.
Madame Colle regained consciousness with difficulty:
“But I, gentlemen… I didn’t know anything. I swear!
Baron Seguier was more confused than others:
- What should I write to the emperor in Paris?
And, slamming the bag shut, Kampeland smiled sadly:
- Describe what you saw, Mr. Consul ...
At dawn, an artist sat down at the deathbed of de Yeon with an easel, and a few days later the booksellers of London threw fresh prints of engravings on the shelves. These engravings were not quite decent from the point of view of my contemporary, but then, at the very beginning of the last century, they eloquently convinced everyone that the cavaliere de Yeon was a man. “And without any admixture of a different sex!” - as stated in the official conclusion, certified by witnesses and a notary.
The mystery of the mystification of secret diplomacy in the 18th century seemed to be solved forever.
But it only seemed.
And when the Napoleonic wars died down, humanity suddenly again remembered the "maiden de Yeon."
Dumas, the father, was also excited (still young, not yet a father).
- The English are crooks! Dumas said. - What the hell is a man? And here we were led ... Of course - a woman, and even an innocent one, damn me! Could the author of Le Figaro, himself a great scoundrel, be so wrong? And the maiden de Yeon, that fearless dragoon in a skirt, had given her consent to marry him. Their first night would have been good if Beaumarchais had run into a man! No, my friends, the English are notorious rogues, but we French will not let ourselves be fooled. So what are we talking about?
Basically, the conversation will be about secret diplomacy.
Let the weapons rumble and the koturnes of women's shoes knock; let the old-fashioned robes of state ladies crackle, drowning out the firing of muskets, and the powder flies like a column from stupid wigs. Let…
Dear friend and reader, let's muster up the courage: the carriages have already been submitted, and they have been waiting for us at Versailles for a long time.
Act one
Approaches
It was a time of wars, heresy and philosophy...
When the borders of Europe, so confused, defined their contours, barely resembling modern ones.
Germany did not yet exist as a single state, but Prussia existed, disturbing the world with the plans of its aggressions.
It was a strong power, and they were afraid of it.
The colonial wars have already begun.
England, having grown rich in trade, strengthened the traditions of her policy; it was hosted by Pitt Sr., knocking together, like a ship, the bulky British Empire.
Scientific treatises were read, debauchery was savored and guns rumbled. Hundreds of people enriched themselves on the black trade, and then, patronizing, they died in poverty, forgotten by everyone.
Smallpox raged in palaces and huts, disfiguring the faces of princesses and bazaar traders alike. Do not believe the airy charms of the portraits of the past - their originals were clumsy!
Pirates were made admirals and peers of England, and the unsociable knights of the Order of Malta waged a protracted war with the Algerian corsairs.
The Inquisition had not yet been destroyed; the squares of the cities were decorated with crucifixes and gallows; people were branded with red-hot iron.
And in Moscow they caught just Vanka Cain, and he sang his mischievous songs, which later became "folk".
