Fonvizin is a Russian satirist and the founder of Russian comedy. D.I.fonvizin, satyrs brave ruler

"Scourge of God"

Anxiety was everywhere in Europe, it was in the very air, they breathed it.

Everyone was expecting war, uprisings, disasters. Nobody wanted to invest money in new businesses. Factories were closing. Crowds of unemployed people walked the streets and demanded bread. Bread became more and more expensive, and money fell in value every day. Eternal, immortal gold suddenly became sick, people lost faith in it. This was the last thing, there was nothing lasting in life anymore.

The very ground underfoot ceased to be strong. She was like a woman who already feels that her swollen belly will soon spew new creatures into the world - and she rushes about in fear, she is thrown into cold and heat.

It was winter when the birds froze in flight and fell with a thud onto the roofs and pavements. Then came such a summer that the trees bloomed three times, and people died from the feverish heat of the earth. On a July day, when the earth lay with black, dry, cracked lips, a spasm passed through her body. The earth howled in a round, huge voice. Birds flew screaming over the trees and were afraid to land on them. Walls, churches, houses fell silently into the distance. People fled the cities like animals and lived in herds in the open air. Time has disappeared. No one could say how many hours or days it lasted.

Covered in cold sweat, the earth finally fell silent. Everyone rushed to the church. The hot sky yawned through the cracks in the vaults. The flames of the candles bent down from human fumes, from the weight of human sins thrown out loud. Pale priests shouted from the pulpit that in three days the world would fall into pieces, like a chestnut laid on coals.

This deadline has passed. The earth still shook a little from time to time, but she survived. People returned to their homes and began to live. At night they knew that everything was over, that now life had to be measured in months, days. And they lived by running, briefly, out of breath, in a hurry. Just as a rich man, before his death, is in a hurry to give everything away, so the women, without sparing, gave themselves away right and left. But now they didn’t want to have any more children, they no longer needed breasts, they took medications to become breastless.

And like women, the fields remained unsown and barren. The villages were emptying, and the cities were overflowing; there were not enough houses in the cities. There was nothing to breathe in theaters and circuses, the music did not stop, the lights did not go out all night, red sparks sparkled in silk, in gold, in jewelry - and in the eyes.

These eyes were everywhere now. The faces were yellow, dead, and only the eyes burned like coals. They burned. They lined the entrances of theaters, churches, and rich houses with triple fires. They silently looked at those leaving. Everyone remembered one woman: she was holding a child wrapped in rags with a blackened face in her arms, she considered him alive, she was cradling him. They ran past her, holding their noses with scented handkerchiefs, running to live quickly so that they would still have time to spend their gold, body, and soul. They drank wine, pressed their lips to their lips, shouted to the musicians: “Louder!” - so as not to think, not to hear...

But one day they heard: the earth howled again. She, like a woman in labor, convulsively tensed her black womb, and water gushed out from there. The sea rushed towards the capital with a roar and immediately capsized back, carrying away houses, trees, and people. When dawn broke, the heads were still visible in the pink foam, then disappeared. The sun has risen. On the roof of the house a barge lay sideways, its bottom was green with algae, they hung like a woman’s hair, streams flowed from them. Huge silver fish, sparkling, fought on the pavement. Hungry crowds grabbed them screaming, killed them on rocks and carried them away to eat.

Everyone was waiting for a new wave - and soon it came. Just like the first time, it rose in the East and rolled to the West, sweeping away everything in its path. But now it was no longer the sea, but people.

They knew about them that they lived completely differently than everyone else here in Europe, that in winter everything was white with snow, that they walked in sheepskin coats, that they killed wolves in their streets - and they themselves were like wolves. Having been torn away from the Baltic shores, from the Danube, from the Dnieper, from their steppes, they rolled down - to the south, to the west - faster and faster, like a huge stone from a mountain.

From the stone tramp of thousands of horses, the earth howled dully, as if during an earthquake. It was early spring, in the Italian valleys the trees were round and white with flowers, there were no leaves yet. The horsemen galloped, throwing off their sheepskins and mixing their scent with the almond-colored breath. They were led by Radagost, named after the god of the Russians. One of his ears was cut off, and therefore he never took off his wolf hat. The Romans fled from him without looking back; the Roman soldiers had long had cups heavier than their swords.

But there was still gold in Rome; the help of Ulda, the prince of the Huns, whom many also called Scythians, was bought with gold. Uld and his Huns stood in the way of Radagost. At noon, Uld came to the Romans, holding a bearded head in a wolf’s cap on a spear. Her hat fell off, and everyone saw that one of her ears had been cut off. Ould heard the Romans beating their shields and shouting towards him. The words were foreign, he could only make out his name. But even among the Romans it became soft, like meat boiled for old people in water - “Ould! Ould!” He felt funny, he coughed with laughter, so that the head of his spear fell into white dust. She was picked up and placed in a wineskin filled with vinegar to preserve her and show her to the Romans on the day of Uld's triumphal procession.

Black April night. Rome, shrouded in the night, was not visible; its multi-story buildings were indicated only by red window openings cut out in the darkness. The houses shook, the dishes rattled. Military carts rumbled along the stone pavements all night, and imperial guards trampled thousands of people. Rome was getting ready. No one knew how tomorrow would end, when the city would be flooded with hordes of Uld huns and the violent mob of the capital. Before the evening, as usual, the proletarians were given bread; they stood in a long line. There was not enough bread for everyone. The crowd set fire to the city bakeries, one of them was burning down across the bridge. In the red sky the battlements of the castle of St. Angela's were jet black.

When the sun rose, streams of people from the outskirts poured into the center. The narrow streets mercilessly squeezed the crowd smelling of rags and sweat; at the top between the seven-story buildings there was a blue crack instead of the sky. People were gasping for breath, their faces were turning purple. They flowed, screamed, their mouths were open, but no scream could be heard. They flowed, they filled everything like lava. Someone's head on a long goose neck was spinning above the crowd in all directions. On the steps of the entrance, an Egyptian monk with a shaved skull was shaking blue bags. “Heavenly medicine - dust from the grave of St. Simeon - the best heavenly laxative!” In the crowd, an old woman shouted: “Sell this to those who have eaten too much!” The monk was hit by a stone and disappeared. The old woman smelled of wine, her dress was unbuttoned, her long, dry breasts were visible. She began to curse the monks, the Apostle Peter, Jupiter, and the Holy Virgin. There was a gooseneck turning in the crowd. People were flowing. From somewhere at the bottom a dirty hand emerged, a pink parrot was sitting on it, he shouted shrilly: “Citizens, I am a veteran!” The parrot was held in the hand of a soldier with a listening, raised face; he had no eyes, they were burned out in the war. They started throwing money into his basket. The old woman cursed the imperial soldiers, she remembered the emperor himself, about his sister: this whore Placidia with her brother...

Suddenly she fell silent and turned around. The goose-necked man grabbed her shoulder and said, “You will come with me.” Already very close below, a bridge was visible, in the open gates of the castle of St. Angela - soldiers of the prefecture. The street went down, there were steps under their feet, everyone stumbled, but no one could fall: they walked so closely that everyone felt the shoulders, elbows, and breathing of their neighbors. The goose-necked man opened his mouth to shout, but didn’t have time. His long neck bent, his head hung: a knife was stuck into him from behind. He could not fall, he slowly walked dead in the crowd, his head was shaking like a drunk, everyone was laughing all around. He fell only when the crowd crossed the bridge and spilled into the square. In the distance, in the forum, trumpets sounded three times: it had already begun.

Five suns sparkled at the end of the forum - five ship breasts, sheathed in copper. They floated high above the crowd, embedded in the marble of the oratory. There stood a hundred people, women and men, these were the chosen ones. The wind was blowing, they were cold, eyes were looking at them from below. All around, cold columns grew densely upward, as if the heavy blue sky was threatening to collapse and Rome wanted to prop it up. There were black cracks in the marble from the recent earthquake, several columns had already fallen, and several statues had fallen. On empty pedestals, clinging to each other, people now sat in rags; they had a better view from above.

A man with a stone jaw, gray from shaving, climbed onto the platform under the podium. By this jaw, everyone immediately recognized him; he was the prefect. He spoke, throwing words into the crowd like stones from a sling. "His eternity emperor..." - "Louder!" - “His eternity, Emperor Honorius is sick with a fever, he left for Ravenna. Together with the doctors, his sister, the divine Augusta Placidia, shares the care of the patient”... Whispers and giggles ran below. The prefect listed the imperial favors, he announced that today, by the hand of the consul, fifty slaves would be freed - in honor of the triumphant Uld.

This name fell on the crowd like the wind: "Ould! Ould!" White palms splashed above their heads, nothing was heard except this name: “Uld.” At the end of the living street, fenced off by the imperial guards, there were choristers in purple robes, they must have been singing, their mouths were silently open, like in a painting. The purple bishop, blessing, raised his hand on the ring; a stone flashed. Behind him came the consul and the Roman authorities. The wind threw dust right into their eyes, the crowd threw a barbaric name towards them: “Ould! Ould!”, They bowed their heads.

Suddenly everything became quiet. In the silence one could hear the horse snorting from the dust, but no one saw it, everyone looked up: there, swaying, floated a head raised on a spear. One of her ears was cut off, flies were sitting on her drooping eyelids, the wind was fluttering red beard. Baring its teeth, the head smiled at the Romans, a chill running down their backs. Then they drove the prisoners away like a herd. They had the same beards, black, red, and the same bared white teeth.

Overtaking the procession, a horseman rode up to the prisoners. He was also a barbarian. He was wearing wide, crumpled pants. His horse snorted from the dust with pink nostrils. He bent down from his horse and said something to the prisoners, they laughed. He drove past them forward.

Enemy weapons were carried on rumbling gigs, and barbarian banners made from horse tails flew in the wind. And finally, behind the trophies, a triumphal chariot drawn by four white horses sparkled in gold. Everyone eagerly stretched out, rising on their toes to see him.

But the gilded chariot was empty. The crowd was silent in confusion. Nobody understood what this meant. On the platform, waiting for the triumphant, stood the Roman consul; one could see his withered, dark face and winter-white hair. Below someone shouted: “They deceived me!” The crowd began to roar, the trellises of the guards began to shake. At that same moment the consul descended the red steps of the platform and extended his hand, in his hand was a wreath of laurel. The barbarian in leather pants bent down from his horse and took the wreath. Then everyone realized that this was the triumphant Uld. This name again soared over the forum, the whole forum began to boil, palms splashed: “U-uld! U-uld! U-uld!”

He was now standing on the platform and laughing; the soft “Ould” was funny to him. He was wearing a white leather cap, he did not take it off, he held a wreath in his hand. The consul stepped away from the barbarian because he smelled of leather and sweat. A hunchback translator with a blue palace sash over his shoulder ran from the consul to Uldu; he pointed to Uldu at a long line of slaves lined up in front of the platform. Ould said nothing, he nodded to the hunchback and took the laurel wreath under his arm to scratch himself. They laughed over his head on the oratorical platform. He looked around, his pupils were narrow, cat-like.

The prefect, moving his gray jaw and looking at the list, began to call out the freed slaves one by one. The first to climb onto the platform was a young slave, still almost a boy, the skin on his face was girlishly white. The consul, fulfilling custom, raised his brown, withered hand and struck him on the cheek. The slave became free, his eyes grew dark, he stumbled and ran downstairs. Red marks from the impact were visible on his white skin. "Here, here!" - they shouted to him from the crowd. He rushed into the crowd, closing his eyes, still not believing. The next one was already approaching the consul.

This one was broad-shouldered and tall, but he walked bent over, as if he was carrying a weight on his shoulders. On the left side of his black head there was a spot that looked like a silver coin. gray hair. He was shaking so much that his bare knees were knocking against each other. The consul noticed this and looked at the slave in surprise. The wind came and twisted the edge of the consular cloak thrown over his elbow. The Consul straightened his cloak, then raised his hand to hit the slave on the cheek.

Suddenly the slave stood a head taller than the consul: he straightened up and grabbed the consul by the hand. They stood there for a second, as if carved from marble. The crowd froze. The Consul pulled his hand back, as if breaking it off. Two soldiers grabbed the slave. He shouted loudly, the people below caught up, the crowd swayed and, breaking through the chain of guards, poured towards the triumphal platform, towards the oratorical platform. These were two small islands, it was clear that they would now be flooded.

Uld approached the edge of the platform. He put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long, shrill whistle. The crowd trembled like a mad horse from the blow of a whip and stopped. Ould took off white hat and put a laurel wreath on his head. The crowd clapped, discordantly, uncertainly. The audience on the oratorical platform clapped the loudest, forgetting about decency, and women from there threw flowers to Uld. The Consul hastily finished the ceremony of freeing the slaves.

There were now about two dozen boys climbing up the red steps of the platform, all of them were fair-haired, only one was dark-haired. Uld was already tired of everything, he was worn out by the sun, and he looked sleepily at the boys. But immediately his eyes opened wider, and he turned his whole body towards them. Without taking his eyes off them, he asked something from the hunchback translator. The translator replied that these were the sons of the Frankish and Burgundian princes, they were sent by their fathers to Rome as hostages. Ould silently pointed at one of them. The translator looked at Uld with intelligent dog eyes, which hunchbacks always have, and pulled out a boy with a dark head by the hand. He wore a white shirt embroidered with gold and wide trousers tied at the ankles. He stood with his head bowed, as if it had horns. “Yes, he is from your country,” said the translator Uldu, “he is the son of the Hun prince Mudyuga.” “Mudyuga? I remember well, he had two sons. What is this guy’s name?” “His name is Atilla,” answered the hunchback.

Ould approached the boy and said something to him in his own language. Atilla was silent, bowing his head. Ould took him by the chin and lifted his face up. The boy seemed to begin to smile, then suddenly, with a movement as quick as a jump, he sank his teeth into the triumphant’s hand. From surprise or pain, Ould screamed loudly and jumped back, blood dripped from his hand, he clutched his hand with his white cap. Then, without looking back, he quickly stepped off the platform, jumped onto his horse and, bending down, galloped across the forum.

The silence was such that you could hear the hooves of his horse falling on the stone. And only when he disappeared did the crowd come to their senses, everyone started talking at once, everyone asked each other: “What does this mean? What kind of little animal is this? Why did he suddenly bite him?” No one knew.

Gophers came running from the steppes. There were a lot of them, they were fatty, they were fried on fire and eaten. Then people, one after another, began to swell, turn black, and die. Then Mudyug realized that he had to give up everything and leave here so as not to die for everyone.

It was already the end of winter, the snow no longer creaked, steam was coming from the horses. They went to the river, whose name was Atil, it was also called Ra, and even later - Volga. It was near morning. The dawn hung in the sky in tatters, like pieces raw meat, fell in red drops onto the snow. Mudyug's wife screamed so loudly that everyone stopped. They laid her on felt, she spread her legs in the snow, her swollen belly was shaken by cramps. The child's shoulders were so broad that, on his way out, he tore everything off his mother, and she died. After the name of the river, his father named him Atilla.

They walked on, and walked all spring so that the sun would set before their eyes and rise behind them. When Mudyug saw smoke, he ordered to turn aside, he did not want to fight with people, because his people and horses were tired. They stopped again in front of a large river, there were stones on it, white water beat noisily into them. At night, on the other side, the sky became swollen and red from the fire, it rose and fell, dogs howled. Two people were brought to Mudyug, their beards were burned by fire, and they swam across from there. They said that their name for this river was Napr, and that of the Romans it was Borysthenes, and that the Goths would take their city by morning. Then the Huns, with a noise like a river, rushed to the other bank and washed away the Goths, Mudyug remained here as a prince.

The city looked like a skull. At the top of the yellow and bald mountain, an oak tree lay like a crown, and towers chopped from wood protruded. Caves darkened under the yellow forehead; they remained from the ancient inhabitants, about whom no one knew anything. In one cave there was now a forge; in the evening it blinked a red eye. All the trading and housing was on the hem, under the mountain, near the water. The huge yellow bald patch inside the city was empty, there were only five residential log houses, in one lived Mudyug, in the others were his closest neighbors. At times the city suddenly filled with people, it buzzed like a beehive. This meant that all around in the forests the Goths were shouting, putting their lips to their shields, or the Avars were creeping up, whistling like a thousand birds.

On the points of the left wall, in the evenings, the sun stuck out like a severed head, then fell down. Along the entire wall stood a tall, dark house; people, animals and birds were carved on the logs. The gates, lined with copper, sparkled when they opened, and a white horse was led out of them. For a long time Attila did not know what was inside. He learned to stand, clutching the legs of hobbled horses, the woman’s breast was warm and round, the puppy with whom he slept was warm. Brother Bleda was cold. He was taller than Attila, he pushed him from behind with cold hands, Attila hit his knees and chin on the floor. He knew that if he lay down, this wouldn't happen again. But he always rose and fell again, feeling cold hands on his neck.

There was a white quadrangular eye in the black wall. Attila stood on the bench and looked outside, yellow, green, and blue flowed into him. There was something else next to his face. Suddenly it trembled, Atilla felt it with his fingers, he also felt drops on his cheek, they were warm. For some unknown reason, his fingers also began to tremble; he moved them over his face. The woman had large, wet and warm lips, she pressed her lips, it became warm inside.

It was Kuna, Mudyug's wife. Both Attila and Bleda were not her children, but that day Attila ceased to be a stranger to her. Sveon Adolb silently came up from behind, took the boy under the arms and, laughing, said, “You’re ashamed to be with women, come with me.”

Adolb had only one eye, and because of this it seemed smaller than the others, it was as if he was in the same world as Attila. He gave Atilla arrows and a bow. The boy watched intently as the arrow, digging into the wall, trembled for a long time. The arrows jumped sideways from the stone, and the puppy, barking, rushed after them. His black ears dangled, he was all warm, yellow, and he smelled of milk. Attila shot an arrow at him and hit him. The puppy jumped up, then fell funny on its side, its side turning red. “Okay,” said Adolb. Attila, squatting down, watched intently. The puppy twitched, then stopped, his eyes were closed. Atilla pushed him with his hand, he wanted the puppy to jump again, but his puppy lay like a stone. Attila stood up. "What is this?" - he asked Adolb. “Nothing, I’m dead, that’s all.” Small, rectangular, with his forehead bent, Attila thought, he didn’t understand, but he felt cold. "Are you cold?" - he said to Adolb. "Why is it cold? What are you talking about!" - Adolb laughed. Attila threw his bow to the ground and ran up the steps. At home he lay down on a bench by the window and with open eyes lay until evening. The next day he forgot about everything.

In the morning, when he went out, he saw that the gates in that big house no longer sparkled, because they were open. It was still early, pink drops hung on the leaves. An old man ran out of the open gate; he had a white fur face and a white shirt, and a green broom in his hand. He sucked in a greedy breath and ran inside again. Inside it was empty, dark, high, the sun cut the darkness like an oblique knife. Then his eyes adjusted, Attila saw in the depths four red pillars and, through the half-drawn curtain, huge knees and feet. The old man, bent over, was sweeping the floor near them, small as an ant. With his left hand he covered his nose and mouth so as not to desecrate this place with his breath. Then he jumped out and began to breathe again. Attila stood at the entrance, pressing his cheek to the gate; he felt the copper cold from the dew. "Get out, get out of here quickly!" - the old man shouted at him.

During the day everything was noisy with people. When Adolb, holding Attila by the hand, led him up the steps, ears of corn rustled under their feet. They entered the open copper gates, there were people everywhere, it was the same as in the river when Attila, bathing, entered it and the water hugged him from all sides. Everyone bowed their heads and covered their breathing with their hands. Adolb lifted Atilla onto his shoulder and saw how the curtain on the pillars slowly parted to the right and left. There stood a huge man, taller than Adolb, taller than everyone else, with two heads, his eyes sparkling, and swallows darted over him squeaking, “Who is this?” - Attila asked loudly. At this time the curtain closed, everyone began to breathe noisily. “This is God,” said Adolb. Atilla thought and asked, “And you?” - Adolb didn’t understand him.

Then everyone moved away. Girls were walking and singing in the aisle, they were round, it became warm inside. They were dragging a huge piece of bread behind them on a rope. From above, Attila could see how the morning old man hid behind this bread and loudly asked, “Do you see me?” "No, we don't see it!" - everyone shouted cheerfully. “Let bread cover me next summer too,” shouted the old man. “I’m hungry,” said Atilla, and Adolb took him away.

Outside, outside the window, they sang all evening, Attila heard a quick heavy stomp, the girls, joking or dying, screamed. From the window there was the smell of hot bread and earth. The door creaked, Atilla saw a white round hand, Adolb stood up. He approached Attila, his only eye burning. He pulled the curtain over the boy. “I am God,” Attila said, remembering. "Sleep, sleep now!" And Attila closed his eyes.

He saw that everyone was below, and he was standing huge and had two heads. Then everyone started breathing noisily, which made it hot. Attila stood up and threw back the curtain. It seemed that in the corner where Adolb slept yesterday, there were now two heads and they were whispering there. "Adolb!" - he wanted to call Attila, but he didn’t do it; why, he himself didn’t know. He was hot. He threw off everything and lay down naked. The moon fell on the wall, the log became white and round, like a hand.

The horses neighed and clattered their hooves on the plank platform. Mudyug took a whip with a golden handle from his belt and raised it. He went on a big hunt to bring back moose and bears. Everyone went with him, it was like war. The city was empty, there were only women; Adolb and the old people stayed to protect them. For whole days the rain sounded in silence. Then the earth, the trees, the sky - everything became like milk, it was snow. Below the window, a black bird sat on a tree, light drops of milk flew past it, it did not move. You could hear coals falling from the fire onto the floor. Attila threw them out the window to scare the bird away, but it did not fly away. Adolb came in all white. He said that the wanderer was asking for food and fire. Kuna nodded, "Let him come in."

When the wanderer had eaten, he sat closer to the fire, steam and the smell of wet wool came from his clothes. He did not move like a bird, and he had the same curved, pointed nose. "Where are you from?" - Kuna asked. “Me?” He thought. “I’m from the north, from the sea where amber is born. I’m taking amber to Constantinople, where the Romans give a pound of gold for a pound of amber... Do you know what gold is?” He grabbed Attila's cheek, his hands scratching like a tree branch. “I know,” said Bleda and opened his big mouth.

Outside the window, the bird was still sitting on the tree, as if waiting for something. Snow was falling. The wanderer talked about Constantinople, where there is so much gold that people go blind from its shine, and he talked about the peoples who live in the east and in the north. Near the Riphean Mountains there are people who are bald from birth, they eat fruits, everyone lives under a tree and wraps it in white felt for the winter. Even higher to the north lies the land of Ugra, where the people are so terrible in appearance that no one ever sees them: at night they lay the skins of blue foxes on the snow and leave, and the merchants, when they arrive, place their goods nearby and, taking the skins, run away without looking back . And the Lyutichs sit near the sea, they have a triangular city called Radagost, there is no one more fierce than them in battle, they live without a prince.

A black coal fell from the fire onto the floor. The Stranger picked it up and crushed it with his fingers. “And also the Vagr on the island of Fembra, and the Ruyans on the island of Ruya, where the city of Arcana is on a black rock. Their ships are the same as your horses, and everyone is afraid of them.” “And you too?” asked Attila. The man laughed and covered his face with his hand, his hand was in the corner, there were black spots on his cheek. He bowed to Kuna and said that he would go to bed. The window was curtained at night, the tree was now blue, the bird was no longer on it.

They sat by the fire for a long time, alone. Bleda's large mouth was open. Attila stood with his forehead bent and thought why there were people whom no one had seen. Suddenly he felt something, looked around, and it seemed to him that a face and cheek with black coal spots flashed through the window. “Look, look!” he grabbed Kuna by the dress, “it’s him!” - "Who?" - Kuna shuddered. There was no one at the window, it was night... “Go, tell Adolb not to sleep,” she said to the woman, who placed felt on the floor.

Atilla pulled the fur over himself, he felt warm, then hot, he ran faster and faster. The walls ran in a triangle, there was no exit, no gates anywhere. He rushed and pounded on the wall with all his might, so that his hand hurt.

Kuna squeezed his hand with all her might, she bent over him all white and said: “Hurry, hurry!” He saw Adolb, Adolb was standing by the window on a bench, bending his head to his left shoulder and pulling his bow with all his might, Bleda clung to his leg and shouted something. Adolb kicked him away. "Hurry, hurry!" - Kuna said, the flat clay lamp in her hand was shaking, the fire was smoking, and something heavy was hitting the door. The wide board on the floor was raised, and there was a smell of cold and blackness coming from the hole. Kuna threw Atilla there, someone's hands caught him, the board slammed shut. He didn't see anything, he only heard someone's heart beating next to him. Large, warm lips, trembling, found his face, he realized that it was Kuna. Their feet began to pound above their heads, they fell softly onto the floor, dry dust rustled, and it became very quiet.

He lowered his hand and felt the grains, squeezed them with all his might, they passed between his fingers.

There was silence for only a minute, then they shouted in the yard: “Arch! Arch!”, the night outside was overgrown with voices, noise, iron.

My heart beat in the shaggy, wolfish darkness, the grains rustled between my fingers. Again dust fell from above and people walked over their heads. They heard a distant voice shrouded in darkness.

"It is he!" - And Kuna again painfully squeezed Atilla’s hand. A face with coal-black spots quickly appeared and disappeared.

"It's him, it's him!" - Kuna jumped up, Attila also stood up, his legs were buried up to his knees in the grain. Immediately the board was raised above his head, light burst in, loud red Attila closed his eyes, he realized: now it’s the end.

But Kuna laughed, her laugh was soft and warm like wool. Then Attila opened his eyes.

It was Mudyug, the father. He wrapped his arms around Kuna's body, his hand squeezing her breast, and Kuna laughed. Then he took Attila by the cheek, as he always did in the morning, but now he seemed to remember something and pushed him away from him, so that the boy fell into the grain. He stood up and looked, not understanding anything.

There was a sparkle in my father's belt gold pen from the whip. He hit Atilla with his eyes and said, “Go upstairs.” Attila saw that the old white scar on his forehead had turned red.

It was already morning upstairs, strong, ruddy like an apple, the tree outside the window was pink and white. Kuna quietly touched Attila and told him: “Here, eat.” He took the apple, it was cold in his hand, he did not eat it. Bleda stood next to him, with his back to the window. “Take it, wipe it,” and Mudyug handed Bleda his sword. Atilla wanted to rush in and take it away, but he only squeezed the apple harder, it was cold, it sent a chill throughout his whole body. He felt Mudyug's eyes on him like iron.

Adolb entered. He had snow on his feet, he tapped them on the floor and walked up to Mudyug. “I found their tracks, they are running down the river in boats, we can still catch up with them.” “Now,” said Mudyug. He grabbed Atilla painfully by the shoulder and turned him towards him. "You hid with the women, you coward!" Atilla did not know this word, but he still understood, he said: “No!” - “It’s me, it’s me who hid it!” - Kuna shouted. "Be quiet! Why didn't he stay upstairs like Bleda?" Atilla saw for a moment how Bled grabbed Adolb by the legs and how Adolb pushed him away, he wanted to say about it, but did not say it. He stood with his forehead bent, cruel cowlicks sticking out like horns on his forehead. "When I get back, I'll whip you. Do you hear that?" Everything became heavy, the apple was like a stone, it fell out of Atilla’s hands and rolled. Kuna came out with Adolb and Mudyug. Atilla was left alone with Bleda.

From under his brows, without raising his head, Atilla saw Bleda’s long, thin lips crawling. “Coward,” Bleda said in a whisper. Attila felt a hot surge from below, from his stomach, squeezing his throat. It seemed to him that his hands grabbed Bleda by the throat, but this did not happen, he only raised his head and looked into Bleda’s eyes. Bleda said: “What are you, what are you!” - His lips trembled, he pressed himself against the wall and stood there. Attila left without touching him.

He took a handful of snow and ate it, then pressed the snow to his cheeks. Kuna stopped as she passed by, but didn’t say anything. Atilla realized that she could not do anything, that he was alone. The sun rose up, the copper gates opened, sparkling, and an old man came out of them - he led a white horse. Atilla saw himself on this horse, he was galloping through the forest, ducking from the branches: if this is done before his father returns... He ran up, grabbed the horse by the white mane, the horse glanced sideways with its pink eyes. “Don’t touch it!” the old man shouted. “This is God’s horse!” Attila remembered the huge heavy feet and knees: God was bigger and more terrible than his father. “And he can...” Atilla began, but could not speak further. The old man had red, heavy eyelids, he raised them and said: “He can do anything. Go there and think hard about what you need.”

Atilla went inside. Huge, smoky walls covered it, the curtain barely breathed on the red pillars. A chill went down his back, he opened his eyes wide, he felt that everything was coming out through them. "I want this not to happen!" - he said in a whisper, then stood and waited. Everything was quiet, the horse was snoring outside.

Mudyug returned when they just started eating. He smelled of fresh snow, his face was red from the cold, the scar on his forehead was white as a path. “We caught up with them, only one got away,” he said, took a knife and cut the meat. Everyone ate in silence. Attila could not eat, his heart, jumping over pieces of meat, rushed forward. Before his eyes there was a window, the white wood glittered, the copper gates were not visible from here, but Attila knew that they were there, that they sparkled. When the women took away the jugs and dishes, Kuna quietly stroked Atilla’s hand under the table, and he realized that it would happen now. “I want this not to happen, not to happen!” - he thought with all his might, looking out the window, everything coming out through his eyes.

But it still happened. His father ordered him to face the wall. Atilla said: "No!" Then his father grabbed him by the neck and chained him to the wall with his fingers, like with iron. Attila stood, gritting his teeth; it seemed to him that his cheeks had become hard as wood. Then he felt that his bare legs were shaking, he squeezed himself completely and stopped shaking, he never screamed. When it was all over, he turned around, looked at his father with his teeth and ran outside.

The snow there was blue, soft, and there were footprints on it. A white tree stood under the window, the sun sparkled on the blue. But he only saw it with his eyes, it was no longer in him as before, he was alone, separate from everyone, he had huge feet and knees, he heard his teeth chattering somewhere, very high.

The brass gates were open and he walked inside with slow steps. The sun was shining low behind him, its shadow lay long all the way to the curtain and bent upward. He walked over and pulled back the curtain. Swallows, whistling their wings like whips, circled at the top of two huge heads. Attila saw white traces of bird feces on his blackened, wooden cheeks. It was good, Atilla smiled. He looked up at God, just as he had looked at his father, his eyes bared like teeth. Then he saw gold on the floor, golden bowls, a bow lined with white bone in the middle and along the edges. He picked up the bow, placed it on the ground, stepped on one end with his foot and nocked an arrow. The bowstring was tight, his hands were still childish, he could not pull it.

He returned home only when everything had already turned black and blue. He knew what he would do now. Until nightfall he walked through the forest, wolves sang in the distance, he understood their singing. At the door of the house he saw a man in a fur shirt, high above him, separately, the tip of a spear glittered blue, and sharp stars even higher. “Why are you wandering here at night? Everyone has been asleep for a long time,” he said sleepily to Attila and opened the door for him.

Atilla heard Adolb stir in his corner, then began to snore again, then Atilla moved on. He walked, bending down, distinguishing the smells of sleeping people in the darkness, listening with his whole body. Without a mistake, as if it was completely light, he grabbed with his hand the knife that always hung near Adolb on the wall. Adolb stopped snoring again, Atilla, raising his shoulders, all sharpened, stood and waited.

When he climbed up the dark stairs to the upper frame and carefully opened the door, a red stripe fell on the wall on the left; a light was burning inside. He heard his rapid breathing, froze, digging his fingers into the cold iron ring from the door. Then he immediately realized with his fingers and his whole body that he couldn’t leave anyway, and he went inside.

A flat clay lamp stood on the table. The red, spear-like fire swayed and stopped. Father and Kuna slept next to each other, it was hot, the fur blanket was pushed against the wall. The father’s bare hand lay on Kuna’s chest, his face was covered with his hand: Kuna’s one leg was bent at the knee, Attila saw the whiteness of her body in the red twilight. Attila looked, everything inside him was noisy, like a river rushing through the rapids. Something new entered him that he had not known until now. It lasted only one hair-thin moment, but that was enough for Mudyug to wake up, because his body, even in his sleep, always felt the steel. He managed to move away, and Attila’s knife only slightly, sideways, slid along the rib. Pulling Atilla towards him by the hand, Mudyug looked for a long time at his steep forehead, at the stubborn curls like horns. Little by little, Mudyug’s eyebrows parted, the scar became white again, and he smiled. “So. That’s good,” he said and gave Atilla the knife. “Now go to sleep.” Mudyug spoke quietly, Kuna was sleeping, Atilla looked at her again. “Wait,” said Mudyug. He thought. “I have to send a hostage to Rome. You will go there tomorrow, and Adolb will go with you.”

When, having descended from the stairs, Attila passed through the entryway, he stumbled upon something in the darkness. With his hand he recognized the tub of honey; it always stood here. Just yesterday evening he secretly took honey from here, but now it seemed to him that whole years had passed since then. It's over and will never happen again.

That night Attila saw his father for the last time. The next day, when Atilla was still sleeping, Mudyug called Adolb to him and spoke with him, then went hunting again. In the evening he was chasing a boar through the forest; it was already hard to see. Mudyug stood up in the saddle to throw a spear at the boar, and while galloping, he hit his forehead on an oak branch. Everyone laughed. Mudyug also laughed - and died. His brother, Rugila, sat down to rule in his place.

Attila and Adolb were already far from home at this time.

The mountains, round as bears, lay silent. Then they seemed to rear up, stones, small and large, fell from under the horses’ hooves. A day later the mountains turned green, the snow disappeared, and there were leaves and flowers everywhere. It couldn’t be, Attila knew that it was still winter at home, but still it was, he saw it with his eyes. The people here lived in houses made of stone, everyone had naked faces, men and women alike, they spoke like birds, but Adolb knew how to talk to them and laugh. Attila silently devoured them with his eyes, like meat with his mouth.

They drove almost without stopping. Like Adolb, like everyone else, Atilla knew how to sleep with his head on his horse’s neck. Nights and days fell like rain, at first there were large individual drops, then they merged, everything became continuous. Attila's shoulders ached as if from a weight, he was full to the brim. When one night they entered the city and Adolb said: “This is Rome,” Attila only nodded; nothing else could enter him. He fell on the bed, crushed by sleep, he slept like a rock all night, woke up during the day only to swallow something and slept again until the morning. He was awakened by a noise, alien, huge, iron, stone, everything was shaking.

They went out. It was still early, the ground was wet. But it was not earth, it was stone, smooth as black ice. The horses of Adolb and Atilla were afraid to walk along it, they snored, squinted their eyes, and Atilla looked at everything askance, from the corner of his eye, like his horse. The street went down, the horses, sliding, sat down on their hind legs.

The stretchers passed them, the curtains were raised. Attila saw a man with a bare, pale face inside - he was lying. And another stretcher, there lay a huge man, swollen like dough, breathing loudly. Then there were a lot of stretchers, the curtains were red, blue, gold and yellow, and there were people lying there too. Atilla asked Adolb: “They don’t walk - are they all sick?” Adolb looked at him with one eye and thought, then said: “They are rich.” But Attila saw their faces, he knew that they were sick. He squeezed the horse with his legs, he felt that his legs were strong, he felt happy. He hit his horse, it reared up, the people below, bending down, rushed to the sides. Adolb shouted to him: “Hush! Have you forgotten where you are?” They drove off quietly. They were looked at. Attila saw a blind man carrying a pink bird, the bird shouted something in a human voice, but Attila was not surprised, just as he was not surprised by anything in his dream.

They got off their horses, and in front of them were the golden gates. The gold shone dazzlingly; Attila closed his eyes, Adolb pushed him: “Look, you! This is a palace, here is the emperor.” Attila’s heart raced, he knew that the emperor was like his father, like Mudyug, just as big and strong. He remembered how his father then took him by the neck and chained him to the wall like with iron. And just like then, he clenched his teeth, he felt that his cheeks became hard and his heart began to move as smoothly as a horse.

He opened his eyes. In front of the golden gates, crowded like a herd, stood people with bare faces like women, bare legs, and no pants. Everyone had the same clothes, white with red stripes at the bottom, and it seemed to Attila that everyone had the same faces as their clothes. “Senators,” Adolb whispered to him. This word was empty, like a nut that you can whistle into; there was nothing inside this word for Atilla. "Hun! Hun!" - he heard their voices and realized that it was about Adolb and him, everyone pointed at their leather pants and laughed. One day, at home, an old man came to their yard from above, from the forests, he brought a bear on a chain, the bear was dancing in the snow, everyone was watching, the boys from below were poking the bear with sticks. That's how it was now. Attila bared his teeth at the senators and bent his head like a bull. Adolb grabbed him by the shoulder from behind, Atilla shouted: “Let him go!”, but Adolb held him tightly, he turned Atilla to face the gate, and Atilla forgot about the bear.

The gates were now open, large golden soldiers stood there, their swords glistening in the sun. One stood in front, he had the fat face of an old woman, and under his clothes, like hidden round bread, his belly stuck out. He picked blue berries from the brush and ate them. The senators approached him one by one, they all smiled the same. Attila remembered how his father's dogs smiled when he threw meat to them. A soldier with an old woman's face felt over the clothes of each of those who approached; they stood in front of him with their hands raised. Atilla looked at Adolb, asking him with his eyes. “He is looking to see if they have weapons,” answered Adolb, “so that they cannot come to the emperor with weapons.” “Is he afraid? He cannot be afraid,” said Atilla. Adolb narrowed his eye: “I don’t know. But that’s how they do it.”

The soldier began to feel Adolb, Adolb’s face became red. Atilla felt hot, he heard his shoulders and arms tremble, he shouted to Adolb: “I won’t give in, I’ll hit him with a knife!” Adolb said something to the soldier. The old woman's wrinkled lips spat out a blue berry, then a word. He pulled a bunch of berries from his bosom, gave them to Atilla and pushed him forward. Attila, still trembling, walked next to Adolb, Adolb wiped the sweat from his forehead, Attila threw the berries onto the colorful, shiny stones and stepped with his foot, so that juice that looked like blood splashed out.

They entered the room. But it was not a room, it was like the house of God with two heads, where the old man swept the floor with a green broom and where once the girls were dragging huge bread on a rope. This was all far behind, of all the previous times, only Adolb came here, it was the last, and Attila held his hand tightly. Tilting his head to the side, with one eye, as birds look, Adolb looked at the ceiling. There were golden stars, and people with wings, and some kind of blue smoke.

Attila found it difficult to breathe, he looked: behind him, on a low pillar of pink stone, there was a bowl, smoke was coming from there. Atilla widened his nostrils and inhaled, it didn’t smell like fire, or animals, or people, it wasn’t real, it was disgusting.. He bent down and spat into the bowl to put out what was burning there. Adolb pulled his hand painfully and glanced sideways in fear: had anyone seen it? A small hunchback with a blue sash over his shoulder was already running towards them. He spoke to Adolb in Roman. Attila watched. The hunchback's arms were long, white as roots. Suddenly he turned his face to Attila and said to him in ordinary, understandable words: “So you are the son of Mudyug? The emperor will be pleased, he will come out now.” He went, but immediately returned and said to Atilla: “Don’t be afraid.” He placed his long white fingers on Attila's shoulder. Atilla shook them off. "I'm not afraid!" Bending his head, he looked at the hunchback, they were the same height, the hunchback’s eyes were warm. He smiled and wanted to talk more, but behind the high doors a noise was heard from another room, the senators stood up.

Attila waited - with his ears, his eyes, as if on a hunt, when there was a tightly stretched bowstring under his hand. It seemed to him that a rooster crowed outside the door, this could not be, he made his ear sharp and after that he no longer heard anything except human voices. The doors opened.

A huge man in a golden shell entered, he held a sword in his bare hand, his hand was filled with strength, he was a head taller than Mudyug. Someone was following him small man, then that soldier with the old woman’s face and many more people. Attila, without looking away, looked at the giant with the sword, it was him, him! "It is he?" - he pulled Adolb’s hand, but Adolb did not answer, he also looked. Attila's heart raced.

The Emperor, holding the sword, climbed the steps, now he became even taller. There was a chair there, small suns sparkled on it, like in the dew in the morning. A small man in red clothes sat on a chair. “Here he is, Emperor Honorius, he is on the throne, he has sat down, do you see?” - Adolb whispered. Atilla looked in disbelief. This man had a white, sleepy face and a small crooked mouth, shifted to the left, which made it seem as if something was hurting. A man in gold with a sword, huge as God, stood behind the throne. Then Attila believed that the other one who was sitting was the emperor.

White senators rose to the throne with their heads bowed. The Emperor hugged and kissed each of them and said something to each of them, without looking, sleepily. A soldier with an old woman's face stood to the side, leaning his round belly against the throne. The senators smiled at him as they passed. Then a young man stood below the throne, sweat rolling down his face, his big red hands trembling. He began to speak to the emperor in a sing-song voice, in his nose, he spoke alone, everyone was silent. Adolb said to Atilla: “He reads poetry.” Attila didn't understand. Then Adolb said: “He praises the emperor, he says that the emperor is the wisest and the strongest of all people.” It seemed to Atilla that Adolb was laughing at him; he wanted to get angry, but did not have time.

The doors from the next room opened again, and an old man came out. He was tall, stern, with silver hair, everyone looked at him. In his hands was a large white rooster with a thick red comb, and a small golden crown was tied behind the comb. Bending his head to the side, the rooster looked angrily with his yellow eye and, without ceasing, shouted “Ko-o! Ko-o! Ko-o!”

The emperor seemed to have just woken up; he quickly stood up from the throne and took the bird in his arms. His small mouth, smiling, moved even more to the left, he kissed the rooster behind the crown and in a warm voice said to him: “Rome, my little Rome, you want to eat, right?”, and the rooster answered the emperor: “Ko-o! Ko-o !" The poet, who was praising the emperor, hastily put his big red hand into his bosom and then offered it to the rooster; there were grains in his palm. The rooster, bowing his head to the side, looked with his yellow eye and began to peck the grains. The senators, jostling, also held out their palms, some had grains, others pieces of meat. The rooster, greedily swallowing the meat, jerked his neck, his red comb and golden crown trembled. It was quiet, like in the house of God. The gold glittered. Blue smoke came from bowls on pink pillars. Attila looked at the rooster, at the emperor, at the outstretched palms. His stomach suddenly shook, just like it used to when Kuna was tickling him playfully, and he laughed loudly.

Everyone immediately turned to him, everyone’s faces were frightened. The Emperor looked at Attila, his eyes were large and cold, like water. Attila made his neck like iron, he withstood those eyes. The emperor turned away and, twisting his mouth, said something to the hunchback. The hunchback ran up to Attila and took him by the hand: “Go! Get out of here quickly!” He pulled him through a narrow door into a long corridor. Adolb followed them. People's heads looked down from the walls with empty eyes; they had pits instead of eyes. It smelled good here, it was the smell of leather, there were red leather chests near the walls.

The hunchback, out of breath, sat down on the chest, and Attila sat down next to him. Adolb bent down, his one eye yellow and angry. "Like a rooster!" - Attila said and again, remembering, began to laugh. “Fool! Be quiet!” Adolb squeezed his shoulder. “If you continue like this...” “I want to laugh,” said Atilla. “You can’t!” Adolb’s voice was angry. “It’s impossible here, this is not home.” The hunchback looked at Atilla with eyes as warm as wool. “You have to lie here, boy,” he said. "What is it - to lie?" - Attila asked. The hunchback turned to Adolb: “Explain to him.” Adolb said: “Do you remember - we went to see the fox? Do you remember - we looked at its tracks?” Attila saw smooth blue snow, and on it - a little bluer - there were traces of fox fingers, the tracks were inverted, the fox was running, backing away. “She backed away to deceive the dogs,” continued Adolb. “There are dogs around you, remember that.” Atilla nodded silently, now he understood.

The hunchback stood up and walked, swinging his long white arms. He led Atilla and Adolb into a room with a large window; on the window there were transparent, red, yellow, blue animals and people, but nothing could be seen through the window and the walls were made of large stones. “You will live here,” said the hunchback. Adolb was silent, he stood, turned away, tapping with his bent finger on the wall, the thick stones swallowed the knock. Then the hunchback led them again, and they entered another room, there were no windows, there were only walls, but it was light, the sun was falling from above. There were boys and young men here, there were ten of them or a little more. Attila could not immediately take them all into account; he only remembered that they were all dressed in Roman style, and one was wearing black trousers. They all spoke out loud and now immediately fell silent.

A man in soiled white clothes approached Attila, his yellow bald head was shining, his whole face was moving and seemed to be crawling towards Attila. “This is Bass, teacher,” the hunchback said to Atilla, then Atilla heard other people’s Roman words and among them the name of his father, Mudyuga, and his own name. Everyone crowded around him and felt him, touched him with their eyes.

He saw Adolb leaving with the hunchback. He wanted to scream. “Adolb, don’t go!”, but he forbade himself. They are gone. Attila was left alone. There were alien walls and people all around. Bowing his head with two cowlicks sticking out like horns, he stood and waited. Bass put his hand on his shoulder, Attila made a movement with his shoulder so that the hand would go away, but it remained.

The stone river Rome roared inexorably all night, and this made sleep unstable. In the morning the church bell rang. The donkey under the window gently spilled its hooves on the stone, then screamed as if it remembered that its whole life had been ruined. And from this desperate cry Priscus woke up.

He looked confusedly and myopically for several moments, not understanding where he was. Someone was breathing nearby. Without turning his head, just squinting his eyes, Priscus saw a bare shoulder, small breasts, painted nipples looking to the sides like slanted eyes... Priscus immediately remembered everything. He turned so red that the blood began to roar in his ears. Was this why he traveled from Constantinople to Rome? What would Eusapius say if he knew about this?

In Constantinople, all the professors considered Priscus stupid and lazy. This fat, clumsy young man thought about unknown things during lectures, answered inappropriately, and people made fun of him. That was until one day he heard the historian Eusapius. Eusapius spoke not about atoms, not about the laws of versification, not about the fashionable philosophy of Plato, but about the very thing that Priscus was tormented about. At the end of the lecture, Eusapius opened the book and read from there: “Let us at least be ashamed of the beasts. Beasts have everything in common: the earth, the springs, the pastures, the mountains, and the forests. And man becomes fiercer than the beast, saying these cold words: “That is yours.” , and this is mine." The next day, by order of the Prefect of Constantinople, Eusapius was arrested. Eusapius, smiling, showed the book to the prefect, who saw that the criminal words belonged to St. John Chrysostom. At the first lecture of Eusapius after his release from prison, the students went wild with their applause they prevented him from starting for a long time.

After the lecture, Priscus followed Eusapius to his house and talked with him until it became completely dark. In the morning he wrote to his father that he no longer wanted to take money from him, and since then he lived by copying books. He became the historian's favorite student. Three years later, Eusapius died, bequeathing him to do what he did not have time to do himself: to write a book about these great and terrible years, perhaps the last, when both empires, the Byzantine and the Roman, still stood, staggering. He left Priscus some money so that he could go and see Rome. Priscus went there in full confidence that he would look at everything through the eyes of a doctor who is examining a patient. And so, instead, the very next day after his arrival, he woke up in this woman’s bed!

This was the first woman in his life. He didn't know who she was, didn't even know her name. She was still almost a girl, she was no more than seventeen years old. But this girl taught him such things at night that he was now ashamed of his body, hands, mouth. Under the window the donkey screamed desperately again. Priscus decided to leave now while she was still sleeping. But how much money should I leave her? It was Eusapius’s money... The blood began to roar in Priscus’s ears.

He saw the teacher's gray head, his poor clothes, and the ink stains on them. It’s strange, but it was like this: if it weren’t for these inkblots, Priscus probably wouldn’t have been here.

On the day of his arrival, Priscus immediately, in the morning, went to the public library on Troyan Square. He enjoyed the very smell, the sight of books, the creak of feathers. He only came to his senses when the watchman came up and said that the reading room was closing. It was already dark outside. Priscus remembered that he had a letter of recommendation to the professor of logic Bass. It was still full of books; he didn’t want to go there, but he decided that he had to.

He found Bass locking the door of his house and was glad that he could leave. But Bass said that he would not let him go: they should have dinner together at the Three Sailors, which is now the most fashionable place in Rome. Priscus was embarrassed and began to refuse: he was not well dressed enough to go there. Bass laughed. Priscus saw his careless, ink-stained clothes, exactly like Eusapius's. He immediately felt good with this man, he said: “If so, I agree.” - “What “if so”?” - asked Bass. Priscus couldn't explain, he blushed. Bass looked at this girlish blush with curiosity; he was anticipating a rare pleasure for tonight.

They went down to the bridge. Below in the black mirror lay an overturned Rome: many-eyed houses with red illuminated windows, white trees round with flowers, dark palaces. Everything was swaying, fragile, every minute ready to disappear without a trace. Priscus started talking about why he came here, he began to talk passionately about his future book - and suddenly stopped, almost frightened by what he saw on Bass’s face. It was not a smile, his lips were motionless, but many, dozens of smiles moved everywhere on this face. Looking closer, Priscus realized that it was just the movement of his countless wrinkles. "We're here," Bass said. He pulled back the red curtain, illuminated from within, and pushed Priscus forward.

Priscus stopped on the threshold, he could not believe his eyes. He prepared to see that very Roman luxury that Eusapius had told him so much about, which he had read about in Juvenal, Seneca, Pliny, and Aristides. Instead, in front of him was a basement with a smoke-stained ceiling, lamps suffocating in smoke, dirty wooden tables, some kind of robber faces, rags. A sailor sat at the very entrance, blindfolded. Next to him on the bench, staggering, stood a drunken girl. She looked dully at Priscus. "Ah, sucker! Here, take it!" - She quickly bent down and thrust her bare, pungently smelling breasts into Prisca’s face. Priscus pulled away. The woman lost her balance and fell, he had to support her. She hung on him, he could not free himself from her, she tightly hugged his body with her bare legs, crossing them behind his back. There was laughter all around. The sailor hit the girl, she let go of Priscus and climbed back onto the bench. Priscus looked around in confusion, searching for Bass.

Now he was even more confused: among the tramps, sailors, and prostitutes, he saw richly dressed people at tables, rings flashed on thin women’s fingers. A woman in a black dress without any decorations approached the blindfolded sailor; she only had a heavy gold hoop around her neck. The sailor put her on his lap, wrapped his hand around her neck and slowly began to squeeze. The woman began to struggle and wheeze. Priscus could not stand it and, clenching his fist, stepped towards the sailor, but felt his hands grabbed from behind. It was Bass. “Don’t interfere, she loves it,” he said calmly. "Loves?" - "Yes. It gives her an appetite for playing in bed." Priscus slowly began to blush. The wrinkles on Bass’s face moved, crawled, creeping up - and suddenly he stunned Priscus with a question: “Tell me, how many women have there been in your life?” Priscus was silent. "None?" Priscus blushed until tears came to his eyes. He was ashamed to tell the truth and ashamed of his shame; he now hated this smiling Roman, his gentle voice, his narrowed eyes.

"Bass! Bass!" People were clapping and shouting that Bass should give a speech. "About what?" - asked Bass. In his cup of wine he saw a fat green fly, took it out and said: “Do you want about this fly?” Everyone started laughing. “You are laughing in vain: this fly is worthy of respect no less than me - or than you, my dear listeners.”

This was his usual manner: he could take any object that caught his eye and logically draw the most unexpected conclusions from there. He instantly turned a fly into the most perfect of God's creations. Are not worms born from flies, destined by the wisdom of the Creator for the destruction of carrion? Are not he himself, Bass, and all those present, magnificent, fat worms devouring the remains of Rome? He spared no one, the worms writhed from his merciless praise, but they had to laugh, they laughed.

Priscus forgot that a minute ago he hated Bass. Now he enjoyed the play of his wrinkles, with his voice he loved the ink stains on his clothes, this man, in other words, said the same thing that Eusapius had once said.

Suddenly Priscus heard his name: by some inexplicable turn of logic, Bass moved from the fly to Priscus. Playing with dozens of smiles, he offered to drink to the success of his young friend, who had brought a rare gift to the beautiful Roman women. He made a pause. "What? What gift?" - they shouted all around. “My innocence,” answered Bass.

Applause, exclamations, and laughter deafened Priscus. He jumped up to run away from here, but was already surrounded, in front of him was a fence of curious female eyes, open lips, smiles. Someone's scented hands poured wine into his mouth, it burned him, and he swallowed. Backing away, he retreated somewhere until he came across a barrier; it was a small box, separated from the basement by curtains. The curtains parted slightly, slanted eyes flashed and immediately disappeared. Priscus saw a rat running along the barrier. The women screamed in fear and raised their dresses. The rat jumped onto the floor, rushed into some open door in the depths of the basement - and Priscus ran headlong after it.

He found himself at the bottom of a narrow stone well, in the black square above, the stars were blinking myopically and confusedly. It was a dirty courtyard, it smelled of slop and urine. A tree was blooming in the corner. Priscus was surprised when a gentle, sweet smell reached him through the stench. He walked around the yard, he wanted to get out of here so as not to return to the basement. Near the door through which he entered this courtyard, Priscus saw a dark, low arch. Priscus bent down and went there, feeling the rough brick walls with his hands.

Suddenly his hand came across something warm and soft. "Do you want to get out of here? Follow me." She took his hand and led him. She smelled of sweet perfume and something else, similar to the smell of a bird. After a few steps, she laughed again in the darkness: “I was sure you would go here.”

They went outside. Two slaves were waiting at the exit, one raised a lantern and illuminated the woman. Priscus saw the one who brought him out. She had fluffy, slightly slanted eyes. Through the thin silk of the dress they looked towards the point of widely spread breasts, which also seemed to be slanted. “If you want, the slaves will carry you too,” she offered, getting into the stretcher. Priscus wanted to say “no” - and he was surprised when he heard that he said “yes”. Carefully, trying not to touch her, he lay down next to her on the stretcher. The wooden blinds fell with a crash.

The straps of the stretcher creaked in time with the steps of the slaves. Her pupils sparkled in the darkness, everything was full of her scent. One of the porters must have tripped: the stretcher tilted. To hold on, Priscus rested his hand - and through the silk his palm was burned by a tender tip, he pulled his hand away in fear. Immediately he heard his companion breathing rapidly, unevenly, as if from a fast run. Priscus understood this breathing, his heart began to beat furiously. He felt warm, round knees pressed against him. Then something began that resembled an unexpected fall from a mountain, when it hurts, it’s fun and it doesn’t matter what happens below.

Priscus climbed out of bed carefully, so as not to wake her. Everything around was unfamiliar; there were several doors. He vaguely remembered how at night she went to the bath and told him to follow her and watch. He found this door, poured hot and cold water into the marble pool and began to quickly wash himself, all over, from head to toe. He heard laughter from the bedroom, it was her. Priscus froze as he stood: with his hands raised, a basin full of water in them. He waited with fear that she would now call him or come here, but neither one nor the other happened. Then he quickly poured water on himself, hardly wiping himself, got dressed and, with a pounding heart, opened the door to the bedroom.

There was no one there, only the smell of perfume and something else, similar to the smell of a bird. On the marble table, next to the money left by Priscus, lay several gold coins, this was ten times more than what Priscus wanted to pay her. What does this mean: that he left her little - or was it her payment to him? All red, holding gold in his hand, Priscus ran out of the bedroom to immediately find the woman and give her the money. He ran through a small reception area, beyond the door there was a landing and stairs down. The window on the landing was open, and you could hear the bells ringing in the church opposite. A little gray-haired old woman stood at the window and prayed, a broom lay at her feet. Priscus approached her: “Where is your mistress?” - “This is not my mistress. The young lady paid for the room and left. There is a hotel here.” - “Where did she go? Don’t you know where she lives?” - “No, sir, I don’t know.” The old woman began to sweep the floor, Priscus watched in confusion as the broom moved. But maybe it’s not too late, maybe we’ll be able to catch up with her on the street? Priscus ran down the stairs.

The traders screamed piercingly, like birds in the wind. The barbers pounded copper basins raised above their heads. Carts thundered over the stones; bull carcasses lay on them, legs spread shamelessly. The street was spinning, rushing, human faces flashed by, living for one moment, only to immediately drown forever. The one Priscus was looking for was nowhere to be seen, she had disappeared.

Suddenly the roar of the carts stopped. At the front, the coachman, baring his teeth, lashed the horse as if he wanted to kill it, but still could not pass: there was a traffic jam ahead, people stood shoulder to shoulder, one climbed onto the steps, reading something. Priscus approached.

There was a large white sheet nailed to the door; it was an official newspaper that had just been hung up. "Not everyone heard, once again!" - voices shouted. The man with the long, goose-neck began to read again. There is no reason for alarm. Near Aurelian, the peasants rebelled over taxes, but they were surrounded by the imperial army. Tomorrow there will be no regular distribution of bread... The crowd muttered muffledly, but the goose-necked man, reading, raised his voice: “Your bread is being eaten by foreigners. By order of the prefect, all foreigners, except doctors and teachers, will be expelled from Rome...”

The crowd moved, clapped, and screamed. "Right!" - “There they are!” - “They are eating our bread!” A young curly-haired Jew, hung with copper jugs, dived into the alley, and the entire crowd rushed after him with a roar. The copper jugs could be heard clinking against the stone. The steps near the newspaper were now empty. Priscus stood up and read at the very end the message that the barbarians led by Radagost had invaded the Empire.

By noon everyone knew this, but they talked about it only silently, with their eyes, and tried to forget about it. Everything was as if nothing had happened. The sun, without looking back, flew, hundreds of suns sparkled in gold, in stones, necklaces, bracelets at the jewelers on Via Sacra. Thin, silky women stopped in front of shop windows. They kept little dog freaks on leashes, it was in fashion. It was impossible to pass on the corners of the money changers, there was a fever here, the rate of Roman money had dropped today, people bought and sold here. The tattooed, blue-eyed British islander walked slowly through the crowd. They surrounded him, raised fists flashed. "Get out! Get out of Rome!" He coolly looked around with his blue eyes and walked calmly - as if there was no one in front of him. The crowd was taken aback and made way for him.

Priscus wandered around the city all day and greedily collected everything into himself; these were the seeds from which his book would grow. Before dusk, a warm spring rain began to fall, and the trees, white with flowers, breathed sweetly on the Champ de Mars. The endless galleries quickly filled with people, walkers escaping the rain. The women laughed; in their thin, wet dresses they looked as if they were naked. Priscus thought he smelled a familiar perfume. Stepping on his feet, he caught up with the woman and looked into her face. It wasn't her, it wasn't her.

Scattering puddles, a horseman galloped along the alley of the Campus de Mars. He was covered in dirt, covered in blood, one of his hands was bandaged. It was a soldier from there, from the fields, where now, perhaps, the fate of Rome was being decided. From the gallery everyone rushed towards him, into the rain. He stopped his horse and said something. Priscus no longer heard, it occurred to him that he could find out something about his stranger where he and Bass were yesterday, he ran there.

The Three Sailors was still empty. The girl from yesterday was sitting on the threshold of the open curtain. But she was completely different, she mended clothes, she looked like someone's wife or sister. She called out to the blindfolded sailor. Priscus, blushing, asked him about the one who was in the box yesterday. The sailor knew nothing about her. Then Priscus slowly walked home.

His room was high up. As he climbed, he mechanically counted the steps, all the time silently thinking about something else. He wished that if there were more than two hundred, then... There were two hundred and five steps. He immediately calmed down, it seemed to him that now everything would be fine. Hastily he lit the lamp and sat down to write down everything he saw. A large fly, buzzing, beat against the ceiling, and as if this was why Priscus could not find the right words. He decided to start with the figures he had collected yesterday afternoon in the library and wrote down:

"Up to two million people live in Rome. There are 46,000 houses with rented apartments, 1,790 palaces, 850 baths, 1,352 swimming pools with fountains, 28 libraries, 110 churches, 2 circuses, five theaters. The Titus Amphitheater alone can accommodate up to 80,000 people . And no one could name the number of statues, others believe that there are more than 10,000 of them, but it seemed to me that there are as many of them in the city as there are living people. Many statues lie broken into pieces by the recent earthquake. Likewise, many living people .. "

A fat green fly was crawling across the table towards the lamp. Priscus looked at her and immediately saw slowly moving wrinkles on Bass’s face, then a rat flashed, slanted eyes in the opening of the curtain, a dark courtyard with a tree in the corner, rough brick walls. Priscus's fingers, apart from his, remembered the hot and soft thing he had encountered while feeling the bricks. All the numbers disappeared, he could no longer write anything.

He turned off the lamp and leaned out of the window. The Stone River of Rome roared incessantly. In the darkness stood trees, white with flowers, they looked like women in night clothes. Here, through the window, their sweet breath, mixed with the unclean smell of the city, reached.

Priscus went to bed, sure that he would not be able to sleep, but he fell asleep immediately. In the morning he got up fresh, new, as if he had recovered from a serious illness. He went to the public library and began to work there, but while working he did not stop thinking about her for a minute, without realizing it. This sometimes happens in the sea: cool, clear water at the top, and below it there is another, muddy and warm current, invisible to the eye.

And suddenly this current from the bottom rose upward: unexpectedly for himself, Priscus closed the book with a completely ready-made decision - to immediately go to Bass, he alone could know who it was and where to find it.

Priscus knocked on Bass's door for a long time, more and more forcefully, more and more impatiently. The neighbors' windows opened and they looked out with curiosity. Priscus left without reaching him. He returned here several times in the following days, but never found Bass at home. One day, a deaf old man with red, sore eyes finally opened the door for him. The old man had difficulty understanding what Priscus needed, and said that every morning Bass could be found in the imperial palace, where he taught students.

There were thirteen of them: Burgundian, Visigoth, Caledonian, Breon, Frank, Longobard, Saxon, Bayuvar, Alleman, Briton, Illyrian, Persian - and Hun, son of Mudyug, Atilla.

They were considered guests of the emperor. The palace walls hugged them tightly, so they could not go anywhere. At first they felt it, they remembered their forests and steppes, then they saw it only in their dreams, and then their very dreams became Roman. Then happiness came. The august owner was generous to them. They were taught by the best teachers in Rome. They received food from the imperial kitchen. They could eat as much as they wanted, they grew fat. The hunchback used a huge water organ for them, and they digested their food to the music. In the large courtyard there was a circle marked with red sand; they could ride horses around this circle. They walked in the imperial park, where all the walls were covered with roses. At the entrance there was a large, comfortable cage; a wolf walked along it, back and forth, without ceasing.

When Bass walked past his cage, the wolf, baring his teeth, threw himself at the bars of the cage, the hair on his neck standing on end. Perhaps this was because Bass often appeared not alone, but together with Pikus, his monkey.

Bass loved monkeys. He insisted that he could make them worthy Roman citizens if he were given enough time and money to do so. He argued that Balburius of Milan was mistaken when he saw in monkeys the human past, on the contrary, as the future of man. If Bass stayed in the palace to dine with his charges, he would sit Picus on his right hand and talk to him. Picus knew how to eat everything and knew how to drink wine. “You know, Picus,” said Bass, “to have women, you only need one thing: money.” Bass's students laughed and clapped. They were happier than Pikus: Bass himself chose women for them and paid for them himself from the sums allotted to him for the education of young barbarians.

They adored him, they wanted to be like him, but they knew that this was impossible: they could strive for him, like God, but it was impossible to achieve him. And they feared him as God, although he never punished any of them. If he was dissatisfied with someone, he would start talking about him over dinner. Bass did not say anything bad, on the contrary, he praised. The thin network of wrinkles on his face moved barely noticeably, but the one caught in this network did not know where to go, they were laughing all around, he sat red, all lashed with laughter, he remembered this for the rest of his life.

Of all thirteen, only two walked not in Roman clothes, but in trousers, like barbarians. These two were the longobard Aistulf and the hun Atilla. Aistulf was allowed to do this, he was soon to die, he was always shaking with a fever. With Atilla it was different. In the evening before dinner, the hunchback brought him Roman clothes and said: “The emperor is sending this to you, you will now wear this.” Atilla began to laugh, it was funny to him, he imagined that he would be without pants, like a girl. He came to eat with everyone else, dressed as before, in his white shirt and wide pants tied at the ankles. Bass said nothing, he just looked at Attila with curiosity. Sitting to the right of Bass was Picus; with his thin black fingers he deftly removed the bones from the fish and ate it.

Atilla found it difficult to eat. The food was foreign, soft, perfumed, it regurgitated back, but he swallowed it again until it remained inside. Bass bent down and spoke to Pikus, then he began to talk to everyone. Attila did not yet know Roman words, he did not understand. But suddenly, without looking, he felt eyes on him. It was his father’s, from Mudyug, who, without looking, felt every tip directed at him. Everyone looked at Attila. Opposite him was the snub-nosed face of the fat Briton Uffa. His nose wrinkled, he laughed first, and everyone followed. Bass said something else, and they could no longer lie at the table, they jumped up and laughed, standing or sitting, they looked through tears at Pikus, then at Atilla. Then Attila realized that Bass was talking about him, that everyone was laughing at him now.

Blood noisily filled his head. He forgot the advice of the hunchback and Adolb that here you need to be like a fox. He jumped out from behind the table, his eyes bared like teeth, he locked his eyes on Bass and crouched down to jump on him. He didn’t have time: everyone screamed, dozens of hands grabbed him at once.

It was warm that day; we had lunch under a large plane tree in the park. Attila was dragged to the exit and here in the corner, near the wolf cage, they beat him because he dared to rush at their deity. There were many of them, they were stronger than Attila, he lay silently. They were afraid that he was silent, stopped beating and left.

It became quiet, Attila only heard: someone was breathing frequently near him. He stood up and saw that through the bars of the cage the wolf was looking at him with yellow eyes, as if silently speaking to him. It was as if someone’s hand was squeezing Atilla’s throat, he needed to be touched now by something warm, like Kuna was in childhood. He reached his hand through the bars and placed it on the wolf's warm neck. The wolf flinched, but continued to stand, his eyes firmly connected with Attila's eyes. “I will kill him,” Attila said. The wolf, without moving, as if understanding everything, listened.

From that day on, Attila brought meat to the wolf and told him what he needed to say out loud and what he could not keep locked inside himself. He had no one else to talk to like that, he was alone, Adolb had gone home. As he was leaving, he said to Attila: “Remember that your father told you to find out from them everything they know.” Atilla nodded silently. Adolb seemed to accidentally touch his face with a rough hand and left.

Bass told the hunchback translator to quickly teach the little Hun Roman words. For Atilla, these words were like their food: his ears belched these words, but he stubbornly repeated them until they remained in him, inside. Soon he knew a lot of them, but they came out of his mouth as hard as wood, they creaked and grinded. It was funny for the hunchback to listen, his fingers, long and white as roots, moved on his knees, and he smiled. But he smiled completely differently from Bass; his eyes were warm. Atilla wanted to talk to him. "You love him?" - he asked the hunchback. "Whom?" “Teachers, Bassa,” said Atilla. The fingers on the hunchback's knees moved faster, as if running away, and he only replied: "You should love him." Attila realized that the hunchback was running away like a fox, he decided to do the same and said: “I love him.” The hunchback laughed: “That’s it, boy! Do you already know how to lie?” Atilla saw that he did not know how, he felt unpleasant, as it had happened before when Adolb taught him to shoot and he did not hit the target. It was the same, you had to learn it, like shooting.

The hunchback studied with Atilla in the library. There were colored windows, carpets, books. White stone heads looked with devastated eyes. Rome was almost inaudible. Attila broke the silence, he burst in out of breath, shouting: “Rat! Rat!” The emperor was mortally afraid of rats; if anyone in the palace saw a rat, a real hunt began for it until it was killed. The hunchback jumped out into the corridor, Attila showed him the place under the red leather chest where the rat had darted. People came running from all sides. Atilla saw the fat Uffa, the buyer Garitso the Long and others, who then beat him in the park. Uffa, puffing, lay on the floor and looked under the chest. The rat was never found. They couldn’t find her because she didn’t exist. Attila invented her. The hunchback and everyone believed it, it was good. In the following days he continued to learn this.

Once upon a time in the palace there was unusual movement. People whispered in the corners. Attila noticed that when he walked along the corridor, everyone followed him with their eyes, he did not understand what this meant. In the corridor he met Uffa, Garitso the Long and white-haired Theodoric, the son of the Visigothic king. Theodoric had Christian crosses sewn on his clothes; he was the most devout of all. He pointed with his other eyes at Attila, and all three stood in his way. “If they beat…” Attila thought, but did not have time to finish. Garitso the Long bent down on top of him, put his hand on his shoulder and said: “Excellent, excellent! It seems you are already starting to speak. If you want, I will study with you when the hunchback leaves.” Garitso was proud that he could speak with a slightly burr, like the Romans; he was perfumed. Atilla wanted to throw off his hand, this smell was unbearable to him, but he already knew a lot, he did not move from his place, he smiled at Garitso, Theodoric and Uffa with his teeth. But why did they talk to him like that? He couldn't understand it.

In the library, the hunchback said to Atilla: “Starting tomorrow you will start studying with Bass and others, you have already learned enough from me. I need to leave.” - “Where?” - Attila asked. The fingers on the hunchback's knees darted and twitched. He jumped up and ran across the carpet, he spoke, perhaps not with Attila, but with himself - that the barbarian horsemen were already rushing through the Italian valleys, they were already not far from Florence, and if anything could save Rome now, it was this only hoons... "Hoons?" - Attila asked in disbelief. “Yes, I’m going to their prince Uld,” said the hunchback, “he was bought by Rome, he and his army.” “No!” - Atilla shouted, he repeated only one word, he forgot all the others. The hunchback covered his mouth with his hand in fear: “Don’t scream, don’t scream! You don’t need to be heard!”

Then Attila understood why Garitso and the others suddenly became so affectionate to him.

It was that alarming day when everyone in Rome already knew that the battle had begun near Florence. On this day, Priscus went to Bass in the imperial palace.

Bass was in the library, talking to a black-bearded doctor. To the side, on the edge of a huge leather chair, like a winter sparrow, the little longbard Aistulf was trembling, his eyes shining dully. The doctor quietly told Bass that the boy would live for a week, no more. Bass patted Aistulf on the back: “Have fun, boy! You only have to wait a bit: the doctor says that in a week your illness will be completely over. Go!” The doctor took the little barbarian away. Now Bassus was free, he went up to Priscus and started talking about what everyone in the city was talking about today: about the barbarians approaching Rome.

He joked and smiled as always. It seemed that he was protected from everything by an impenetrable network of smiles; he could laugh off all dangers, suffering, and maybe even death itself. He said cheerfully to Priscus. “So, my young friend, maybe in a few days we, along with all of Rome, will be forever healed of all diseases, like this little barbarian? You should be pleased: for your book this is a godsend, you will see a wonderful performance. Again - chaos, again - the first day of creation. The only difference from the Bible is that cattle will be created on the first day, and man - perhaps later, if the god of history has free time, and if not..."

Without ceasing to talk, he led Priscus by the arm along a long corridor. “Now let’s turn the corner - I’ll stop him and ask about her,” Priscus decided. When they turned the corner, he blushed, took a breath to speak - but could not. Bass stopped at the open door, shouted to the white-haired young man waiting on the threshold: “Now, Theodoric, now,” and began to say goodbye to Priscus. Sweat appeared on Priscus’s forehead: “If I don’t ask now, it’s the end, I’ll never find her again...” Bass saw his confused eyes, shouting something. "Do you have any business with me?" “Yes...” muttered Priscus, hating both himself and Bass out of shame. “Then sit in my classes, when I finish, we’ll talk,” Bass suggested. Priscus, stooping, followed him. He left the door half open. White-haired Theodoric wanted to get up and close it, but did not have time: Bass had already begun to speak.

He slowly looked around everyone, as if linking them with a chain with his gaze. In the corner he saw Atilla. The thin network on Bass's face began to move. "Hello, my young Romans!" - he said loudly. He said this every day; it was necessary for these barbarians to remember well that they were already Romans. "Long live Rome!" - everyone shouted. Attila was silent, bowing his forehead with two protruding curls like horns. Bass approached him: “Why are you the only one silent?” Attila continued to stand the same way. "Well, what? We are waiting for an answer!" All eyes were aimed at Attila, he felt it. “My tongue hurts,” he said; Roman words, coming out of his mouth, creaked and rattled. “Does your tongue hurt? Show me, show me, maybe it’s dangerous!” Bass took Atilla by the chin. Then Attila clenched his tongue with his teeth, so that he himself heard his mouth crunch. Then he stuck out his tongue and showed it to Bass, blood flowed down his tongue, everyone saw it.

Attila looked into Bass's eyes, they fought with their eyes like spears - and Bass turned away. Attila's heart flew, flapping its wings widely, he realized that he had won. But it only lasted for a moment. Bass's whole face moved like a ball of snakes, and he said, already addressing everyone: “It’s a pity, it’s a pity that our young friend cannot greet Rome. It remains for us, the Romans, to greet him as a compatriot of the Huns, who are now nobly fighting for us.” And so that you all know how much Rome values ​​nobility, I will tell you that one thousand five hundred pounds of pure gold, like this nobility, was paid for it..."

Atilla began to breathe so loudly that everyone turned to him. When leaving, Adolb left Atilla his knife; Atilla wore it on his belt under his clothes, and now it seemed to him that the knife was pushing him. No one knew this, but everyone felt that now, in the next second, something would happen. In the silence, frequent blows of hammers could be heard; they were working in the statue factory under the palace wall, the hammers were beating like hearts.

Everything was resolved completely unexpectedly: through the door, which was not tightly closed by Priscus, the emperor’s rooster, white “Rome,” flew in, flapping his wings. Following him, a girl ran into the room with outstretched hands. Everyone stood up: it was Placidia, the emperor’s sister. Her hair sparkled, it was fiery red and sprinkled with gold powder. She had slightly slanted greenish eyes and seemingly equally slanted small breasts. "Catch him, Bass, catch him!" - she screamed. Bass sat down, spreading out his clothes. The rooster stopped, his golden crown slid to one side. Placidia took him in her arms, the white feathers on his neck ruffled, he took aim and pecked the girl on the chest, on the sharp tip covered by the dress. She shrugged her shoulders, laughed, looked around askance, and it seemed to everyone that she was looking exactly at him.

“This is my young friend Priscus, from Byzantium,” Bass told her, putting his hand on Priscus’s shoulder. He felt this shoulder tremble under his hand. Red-faced, his mouth half-open, Priscus looked at Placidia. "From Byzantium?" - she asked absentmindedly, slanting her eyes over Priscus’s face. At this time the rooster pecked her left breast again. “Shameless! Take him, Bass, and carry him with me, he can’t calmly look at me!” - “Do you think I or any of us can?” - Bass said, playing with wrinkles. The girl looked at him from under her brows and laughed. Then she quickly, sharply pecked with the eyes of each of those who were here, and left with Bass.

And yet she remained here, she was in everyone (Her smell entered Attila’s nostrils. It was the warm smell of her sweat, mixed with something alien, cloying, like the breath of carrion. Attila turned away and stopped breathing, he knew how to hold his breath for a long time.) Garitso the Long licked his lips. “This girl must have hair as golden everywhere as on her head. I would like to lie with her! I bet my head is cut off that in this art she...”

Garitso did not finish: something fell with a crash and rang. It was a table with a vase on it. Priscus brushed against her, bearishly, stepping heavily towards Garizo. Having already approached, he seemed to remember something, blinked in confusion, turned at a right angle and ran out the door.

In the depths of the echoing corridor with huge windows, he saw Bass, Bass was handing over his precious burden to the gray-haired keeper of the imperial rooster. Placidia walked a little further, the sun showing her round legs through the thin fabric. She was already turning the corner of the corridor, another moment - and she would disappear. "Priscus, wait - where are you going?" - Bass shouted. Priscus just looked at him with wild eyes and, without answering, quickly ran past.

Placidia heard his steps behind her, stopped, and turned around. It was the divine August, the emperor's sister. She looked at Priscus arrogantly and in surprise. “What if I was mistaken, what if this is just a coincidental similarity!” - flashed through his head. He forgot all the words, he stood silently, all red. "Do you need anything from me?" - she asked. "No." - muttered Priscus. She shrugged and walked away without looking back. Priscus saw how the huge door, twice the height of a man, to the imperial chambers opened in front of her, then slammed shut. It was all over.

Attila did not see the wolf for three days. Now he took the piece of meat hidden during lunch and went to the park.

There was a full moon, the stone slabs in the courtyard lay soft and white, as if it were snow. There was a black shadow under the palace wall. Atilla walked, keeping in the shadows all the time so that the sentries would not see him, they stood at the golden gate, one barely audibly sang a song about how he cut down a tree, and blood flowed from the tree.

Walking silently like a wolf, Atilla slipped into the park. There, too, everything was white and black. Naked women made of stone stood white under the trees. From the ravine below, women's laughter and voices could be heard, Attila knew that Bass, Garitso, Uffa and the others were there playing with the women. There was no one near the wolf cage or nearby; you could feed the wolf and feel its warmth.

Attila entered the black circle of the tree under which the cage stood. In the darkness, the wolf's eyes sparkled like two green fireflies. Attila pushed the meat through the bars, the fireflies moved away, the wolf grumbled. “What are you doing? It’s me, it’s me,” Atilla said, but the wolf continued to grumble, huddling in the far corner.

Attila realized that the wolf was evil. Garitso and others often teased him by sticking sticks through the bars - this was probably the case today. Attila suddenly laughed loudly - and immediately covered his mouth with his hand so that no one would hear. But he kept laughing inside, he couldn't stop because he now saw everything that was going to happen. He bent down and opened the cage door. The wolf, his eyes shining, sat still, huddled in a corner, but Attila knew that he would jump out later. Down in the ravine, Garitso’s voice shouted: “Catch her, catch her!”

With soft wolf steps, Atilla again walked along the white flagstones of the courtyard. If it had been snow, it would have creaked underfoot. Suddenly he wanted it to be snow so much that he even felt pain inside, he stopped. "Hey, who's there?" - shouted the sentry at the gate. Atilla quickly dived into the shadows and pressed himself against the wall behind the drainpipe. The sentry went out into the middle of the yard, stood there, then returned to his comrades, said something to them and began to sing again. The danger is over. The small side door to the palace was nearby.

In his room, Atilla stood motionless, his ears sharp, like a wolf sniffing out prey. He expected someone to scream in the park, he saw Garitso frightenedly climbing a tree and branches tearing his clothes, everyone was running in different directions, the wolf knocked Bass over with a jump...

But everything was quiet in the park. Or maybe the wolf ran out of the cage not into the park, but into the yard, then into the street - and is now rushing somewhere across the fields? Atilla ran with the wolf, further and further. He again felt pain inside, because he saw wolf tracks in the snow, it was no longer here, but there, at home. There was a tree under the window, its branches were white and soft with snow. Kuna's warm hand lay on her neck. A wanderer with a bird's beak sat by the fire and talked about the triangular city...

"The Emperor... Where is the Emperor? Wake up the Emperor quickly!" A red stripe from under the door cut through the darkness of the room like a knife. Frightened voices, breathless from running, were heard. Atilla ran to the door and opened it slightly. He saw: soldiers with torches surrounded the eunuch, the red light trembled on his old woman’s face. He barely said with trembling lips: “What? What happened?” Atilla knew that: this is his wolf, now the soldiers will tell what he did.

But he heard something completely different - such that his heart began to beat and he almost screamed with joy. The soldiers, interrupting each other, told the eunuch that they were standing at the gate, when suddenly a rider jumped up, his horse was panting, foam was falling from its lips. The horseman brought news that the Huns had changed their minds, they suddenly attacked the Roman outpost and cut everyone to pieces. "It was Uld himself!" - “They are going to Rome, in the morning they will be here!” - "Hush hush!" - the eunuch shouted in a desperate whisper. "Where is he, where is this man?" - “He himself is wounded, he’s lying in the yard...” “He may already be dead,” another soldier interrupted. Everyone fell silent. The resin from the torches hissed and fell to the floor. The eunuch waved his hand and ran, the soldiers following him. The palace corridor became dark. The wounded man who brought the news of Uld's unexpected betrayal was still alive. He confirmed everything the soldiers said. It was necessary to wake up the emperor, but everyone was afraid, no one dared to enter him at night. Only Placidia could do this, but what if she herself is there now? Everyone in the palace knew that the emperor often slept with his sister.

Fortunately, they slept separately today. Hastily twisting her red hair around her head, Placidia ran out to the knocking in white night clothes and red shoes. One shoe got caught on the threshold and came off. Placidia didn’t even notice, she was walking quickly in one shoe, the eunuch saw it, he told her. Without stopping, she kicked off her second shoe as she walked and walked on.

At the door of the imperial bedroom stood a huge fair-haired Alleman, Honorius's favorite. Placidia entered the bedroom and behind her, on tiptoe, a eunuch. The Emperor's white Maltese puppy jumped out from under the bed and barked. The Emperor raised his sleep-filled eyelids; they immediately fell again. Without looking, he lowered his hand, lifted Placidia's hem and ran his hand up her hot, round leg. “Fool! Leave it!” she pushed his hand away. “An accident happened.”

Honorius opened his eyes and saw the eunuch's trembling lips. “Rome... Rome”... - the eunuch could not speak. “What - Rome?” “Rome is lost!” the eunuch suddenly shouted loudly and began to cry. The Emperor jumped up. His small, tight mouth moved to the left, his eyes became round, like a bird about to peck. “Scoundrels!” he shouted. “Have you fed him? Bring him—bring him here to me now!”

The eunuch opened his mouth, his lower lip hung as blue as meat, it seemed to him that the emperor had lost his mind. Then he realized the emperor was talking about his favorite rooster. “No, not a rooster! The city of Rome! The Empire!” said the eunuch, forcefully pushing every word into the emperor. Honorius sighed loudly with relief. “Ugh, how you scared me! So, my little “Rome” is alive? Well, good. Then what happened?

The eunuch said. When the emperor finally realized that the Huns had changed their minds, that tomorrow morning they could break into Rome, his legs became soft and he lay down. “What about tomorrow? No, not tomorrow, it can’t be, it can’t be.” He repeated in confusion, trying to wrap himself more tightly in the blanket. Placidia sharply pulled his hand: “Get up now, do you hear?” Her green eyes were piercing. The Emperor looked at her in fear and from under his brows and quickly lowered his thin bare legs from the bed.

It so happened that on the evening when Attila released the wolf, Bass was not in the park. He stayed at home, he had Priscus.

Priscus came to Bass the way people go to a surgeon, they know that now a knife will enter their living body, but this is better than the slow, never-ending pain. This pain was called Placidia. Priscus knew that Bass would make him laugh, but he needed to shout out his pain in front of someone, and he had no one but Bass.

What he saw from Bass was so unexpected that for a while he completely forgot why he had come here. He looked in surprise at the pitiful peeling ceiling, at the grass broom thrown on the floor, at the stale piece of cheese on the table. Bass stood in a strange position: facing the wall. He didn't turn around, he just said: "Oh, is that you, Priscus?" - and continued to stand the same way. Priscus was at a loss. “Sorry, Bass, I wanted to see you, but if...” “You wanted to see me?” Bass interrupted him. “So, look!”

He turned to face Priscus. Priscus took a step back: what, is this Bass? Yes, it was Bass, his bald, huge forehead, and on his face the same complex network of wrinkles. But instead of the usual smiles, tears were now creeping down these wrinkles! Priscus heard Bass swallow them, it sounded like the gurgle of a stone thrown into the water. "Bass, is that you?" - Priscus asked absurdly. “Yes, it’s me...” Bass took the cut piece of cheese and looked at it carefully. “I, unfortunately, am a man. You don’t seem to have thought about that?”

He sat down and rested his forehead on his hand, still holding the piece of cheese. “Nothing, nothing left,” he said completely calmly. “No gods, no God, no fatherland. It’s very cold. And she had warm, living lips, her name was Julia, she died... My wife died today.” - “How? Did you have a wife?” - asked Priscus and blushed, he remembered everything that Bass said about women. Bass raised his head, his eyes were dry, the drops on his face seemed to appear through the skin from the inside. He hit the table with his fist, a piece of cheese broke, and only half remained in his hand. “She left me a long time ago with a low-brow cretin, a circus athlete, a bull! Have you seen now how I live? Why? Because I gave all my money to her and her lover, I supported both of them. But at least occasionally she allowed me to come to her, and now..." He began to carefully examine the rind of cheese, which he was still holding in his hand, suddenly threw it on the table and left, slamming the door behind him.

Priscus stood stunned and thought without words, looking at the wall in front of him and seeing nothing. Then he saw a picture on the wall in a golden frame covered with flies: Pasiphae, on all fours, surrendered to the bull, her face was not visible, it was hidden by her flowing hair. It seemed to Priscus that if he could pull back this hair, he would see the familiar slanted eyes. Under the picture there was a water clock on the table - two glass snakes connected by stings. Time flowed through them in a thin blue stream. There was still no bass.

When he returned, that new, unexpected person who had glimpsed Priscus for a moment had already disappeared: now it was the same, mercilessly smiling Bass. “It was funny, wasn’t it?” he said. “I remember very well: I had a piece of cheese in my hand all the time...” he laughed. “In essence, everything is excellent: I immediately became rich, now I don’t need anything anymore.” "wasting yourself on cutting off cretins. However, no, this amuses me. There, in the palace, I have a young hun, he holds on tightly, but I will achieve my goal! "

Bass spoke very quickly, his eyes sparkled as if he was burning with the same deadly fever as the little longbard Aistulf. In his hand he held a small silver box - like before a piece of cheese. He noticed that Priscus was looking at her. “Oh, this? This is an excellent medicine brought from China, they are wiser than us, they know how to heal even souls.” He quickly, sharply looked at Priscus, or rather, not at him, but at him, inside - and handed him the box: “Take it, try it, it will be useful for you too.” Priscus obediently took and swallowed the bitter pill. “And now, let’s go to the Three Sailors and have a drink in honor of our new leader, Uld. How? Don’t you know about his victory at Florence yet?” He began to talk, his wrinkles moving like a ball of snakes, his words stinging. Behind them, a puppy with an ear turned inside out whined pitifully, tagging along behind them.

When they had walked a few blocks, something very strange began to happen to Priscus. It was as if some walls had moved away and Priscus began to expand, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. He soon felt that the whole world, all the countless things big and small, were not outside of him, as always, but inside, in him. A bitter, greenish moon in the sky, fields bathed in pale light near Florence, dark, prone corpses, a lantern over a night vendor's stall, a red glow behind the castle of St. Angela, a cackling Roman crowd, a drunken bearded monk dancing on a barrel, the roar of a roof collapsing into the fire, through the fire - black human waves rushing from the East, a puppy with a twisted ear that fell under his feet, this crushed puppy, and Bass, and Priscus himself, incomprehensibly merged into one Living being, a pink parrot on the hand of a blind soldier, the pain from the clink of a coin thrown to him, a voice shouting an announcement about tomorrow's triumph, Pasiphae-Placidia on all fours - naked, disgusting, beautiful... He saw, heard, felt all this at once, he was like the omnipresent God.

“Yes, yes. For: “Man has a command to become God,” Basil the Great taught us this. So we, my dear Priscus, are fulfilling the covenant of the church with the help of Chinese pills!”

They stood on the bridge as on the day they first met. The lights of Rome trembled in the black water, every moment ready to crumble and disappear. “She disappeared,” said Priscus with bitterness in his mouth. “She pretended that she did not recognize me. Of course! She is the divine Augusta. And who am I?” “You just claimed that you are God,” Bass laughed. “Poor God!” But immediately he became serious, he again became that unexpected Bass man whom Priscus had first seen that evening. Bass Man looked intently, deeply at Priscus: “My young friend, leave here quickly. You will become like me, you will die here.” “I have already died,” said Priscus. “I will wait for her all days, at the gates of the palace, at the entrance to the theater, on the street, wherever she may appear, I will approach her in front of everyone, I will tell her... I I can't leave here because she's here. I can't! And while I have money." - “The money that Eusapius gave you?” - Bass interrupted him. Priscus stopped as if running into a wall.

It was a wall in Eusapius's poor room. There was a stale piece of cheese lying among the books on the table, and a herbal broom was lying on the floor. Eusapius said that he was ashamed to be reminded of this - that he lived like a beggar, denied himself everything, only to collect this money and give Priscus the opportunity to write a book. Such a book, great and terrible, could have been written by Noah in the days of the flood - if he could write. “You, Priscus, were chosen by Noah, this book was entrusted to you, and you? Speak! Justify yourself! Why are you silent?” - he said sternly.

It was Eusapius, but at the same time it was Bassus. Drowning Rome swayed and disappeared underfoot. Priscus's ears were burning, and there was an unbearable bitterness in his mouth. “I will write this book!” he shouted. “I swear to you: I will write it, I will leave here!” “I believe you,” said Bass. Looking around, he hugged and kissed Priscus deeply.

From the city bakery, the fire spread to other houses. The crimson, swollen sky over the castle of St. Angela swayed, ready to collapse. In the imperial bedroom, ominous red spots appeared on the white silk of the walls, on the pillows, on the pale cheeks of Honorius. In front of him stood a eunuch with the imperial armor at the ready. The ministers were waiting outside the door, the courtiers and the soldiers of the palace guard were whispering anxiously.

“You don’t feel sorry for me,” Honorius said angrily and thrust his hand at Placidia. “Look, I have a fever again. Let them do what they want - without me... I’ll go to Ravenna!” He snatched the shell from the eunuch's hands and threw it on the floor. Placidia clenched her small, sharp teeth; she wanted to shout a crude sailor curse, but she resisted.

She opened the door. The whispers fell silent. Raising her head, she clearly said from above: “The Emperor is ill, he is leaving for Ravenna. He is confident that even without him you will be able to adequately punish these traitors - the Huns.” The whispering among the soldiers became more audible, and individual loud voices were already breaking through like fire. "What's happened?" - said Placidia and went straight to the soldiers. They fell silent and backed away. Placidia slowly walked back and stopped at the door. “Don’t let anyone in,” she ordered the huge blond Alleman. One night, driven to frenzy by the impotent caresses of Honorius, she left him and called Alleman into her bedroom. It only happened once, but he remembered it forever. He looked at her now as if at God and stood at the door.

Soon the wheels of a closed leather caruzza, simple, without any decoration, thundered across the stone slabs of the courtyard. The emperor wanted to pass through Rome unrecognized; he did not take with him either an escort or a retinue. The moon has already set. The courtyard was empty, black, only red spots of glow moved on the palace walls, glistening in the pupils of the horses. Honorius came out of a small side door, clutching his rooster to his chest, his Maltese puppy squirming under his feet.

Suddenly the puppy barked angrily and rushed to the other side of the yard, where black rose bushes lined the walls. He let out a pitiful, piercing squeal, then fell silent again. "What is it, what is it?" - the emperor said in fear. The eunuch, shaking his belly, went there, but after a few steps he stopped and began to back away, then ran. Everyone saw the red light huge dog, jumped out of the bushes.

The horses were the first to understand everything: they, snoring, reared up and rushed to the gate. The wolf stood for a second, as if choosing, then jumped on the people. The Emperor grabbed Placidia's hand. The eunuch fell and, lying down, screamed in a thin female voice: “Help!” The guards ran from the gate at full speed. Placidia had time to think that they wouldn’t make it - and so be it: it’s better this way than if the soldiers ever kill...

The huge alleman jumped as quickly as a wolf, a living knot appeared on the stones, in which animal and man were entangled. The wolf remained lying down, the alleman stood up. Blood flowed from his thigh down his bare leg. He, breathing heavily, stopped in front of Placidia and looked at her happily, prayerfully. Placidia, tearing off her scarf, bandaged his wound. People poured out from all the exits of the palace, alarmed by the cries of the eunuch.

He now stood before the emperor, his lower lip drooping and shaking. “This is a conspiracy!” Honorius shouted, his small mouth moving completely to the left. “Who let him out of the cage, who? You will find out - or you will answer for it yourself!” He climbed into the carriage. “When I return,” Placidia said quietly to Alleman and sat down next to Honorius. The Golden Gates slowly opened, shining, and the wheels rattled iron on stone.

The emperor's caruzza drove in such a way as to pass Esquiline and Viminal - the 5th district, entirely populated by proletarians. When they left the city, Honorius leaned out of the carriage and looked around, as if he wanted to make sure with his own eyes that everything was left behind. There was no moon, the Roman walls were black, only at the very top of them crimson, smoky lights flashed: soldiers were running with torches, the Roman garrison was preparing for battle. "Beautiful, is not it?" - said the emperor. Placidia did not answer. The Emperor took out a travel potty from under the carriage seat, urinated, put the dishes back in place and calmly, happily fell asleep.

Before dawn it became cold on the top of the walls. The soldiers sat in groups, huddled close to each other, trembling. The angry, tired cohort leaders peered with reddened eyes into the white fog below: from there the Huns could appear every minute. It was quiet, only somewhere far away, like sentries, the roosters were crowing in the darkness. Suddenly, on the wall at the Appian Gate they shouted something and quickly, like fire on a thread of resin, the scream ran from tower to tower. The soldiers jumped up. "Hoons! Where? Where?" - grabbed their weapons...

But after a few minutes everyone already knew that imperial palace An order was received: everyone should immediately disperse to the barracks. The officers did not understand anything: what is this - betrayal? Are they surrendering Rome without a fight? They tried to hold back the soldiers, but the soldiers, not listening, ran merrily down the stairs, they only received their salaries yesterday, and they didn’t care about the rest.

The walls quickly became empty. Rome was left defenseless.

Tomorrow the Uld will take Rome! Attila listened and, covering his mouth with his hand, laughed with happiness. He realized that Ould had deceived the Romans, just as a fox deceives dogs when hunting.

When the soldiers and the eunuch went to wake up the emperor, Attila went out into the corridor. A glow danced in the huge window. Attila watched. He felt cramped, his heart beat against his ribs, like against the bars of a cage. It broke out and flew over tomorrow. The glow was already over all of Rome. Ould rode through the streets, red from the fire, as big as his father, Mudyug. Attila rode next to him, he inhaled his scent, his heart beat. They looked at each other and laughed: the horsemen were driving the emperor towards them, he was below, small, barefoot, behind him - also barefoot - they were driving Bass, Garitso, Uffa, the eunuch, Placidia.

Bare feet padded along the corridor. It was Uffa, in a nightgown. It was white, liquid, like the dough from which Kuna baked bread. He ran up to Atilla, grabbed him with a shaking hand, “Tell me, is it true that Ould?” “That’s right,” Atilla interrupted him and went to his room, he was angry that Uffa prevented him from seeing Ulda.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Soon he saw the same triangular city of Radagost about which the wanderer had long ago spoken at home. The city was in the hands of Attila. He squeezed his hand. Locked in a triangle, small people rushed about like ants. Attila squeezed his hand tighter, people ran even faster, and red juice dripped onto his hand. His hand felt hot and he woke up. Below, in the yard, someone shouted in a thin voice: “Help! Help!” Doors slammed and people ran headlong down the corridor. "Uld!" - thought Attila. His heart soared and he ran along with everyone.

Down in the yard he saw a wolf. The wolf was already lying dead, dark on the white slabs. Attila remembered the warmth of his neck, the hot, rough tongue licking his hand. Now Attila was left completely alone. No, not alone: ​​Ould will be here tomorrow! Attila heard the emperor order to find the one who released the wolf from the cage. Atilla felt funny, it was like a game: they were looking for him, and he was here, next to them.

No one went to bed in the palace that night. She was already coming to the end, the sky turned green, it became cold outside. Everyone crowded into the lower hall. Attila entered there and saw the eunuch separately from everyone else. The eunuch sat in the semicircular niche of the window overlooking the park, and a pockmarked soldier stood in front of him. Attila immediately recognized him: this soldier stood guard at the gate in the evening and sang, Attila hid from him behind a drainpipe. Uffa came up to the soldier, the soldier looked at him, shook his head: “no.” Then Garitso the Long and others who were with the women in the park in the evening passed by the soldier, Atilla understood.

He understood everything in an instant, without words, just as a fox understands every movement of the dogs chasing her. A cheerful chill ran through his body. He felt with his back that behind him the doors to the courtyard were open. The pockmarked soldier wanted to say something to the eunuch, but remained with his mouth open, looking in the direction where Atilla stood. Still without words, Attila realized that the soldier had seen him, recognized him, and that now he could not waste a single moment. The eunuch and the soldier jumped up from his chair and others were already running here. Atilla quickly turned to the doors.

A hunchback stood in the doorway. Attila was mistaken: everyone fled because they saw the hunchback enter. His long arms hung below his knees, his face was gray from fatigue and road dust. They surrounded him, asked questions, tugged at him, everyone knew that he was with the Huns, that he was now from there. The hunchback did not answer, he only said: “Drink!” Some soldier gave him a flask of wine. The eunuch watched with hatred as the Adam's apple moved on the hunchback's neck, greedily swallowing wine. "Enough! Speak!" - he shouted without waiting, and snatched the flask from the hunchback.

The hunchback told how it all happened. Ould, having overtaken the troops, rode ahead of everyone. The head of the Roman outpost did not see him in the darkness, grabbed his horse by the bridle and shouted: “Stop! You can’t.” - “You can’t! Me?” Uld laughed and killed him, and Uld's men killed the rest. Only one escaped - the same one who galloped into the palace at the beginning of the night and raised the alarm. The hunchback explained to Uld what could come of all this. Then Ould sent the hunchback to Rome to say that he was “joking” and that he was ready to pay two horses for every killed Roman soldier.

Messengers immediately galloped from the palace with orders for the garrison to leave the walls and return to the barracks. The palace hall quickly emptied, everyone suddenly felt how tired they were that night. The hunchback also wanted to go to his place, but stopped: he noticed Atilla. He had never seen him like this: the little hun was so pale, as if all the blood had been drained from him. The hunchback was scared. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick?" - "Dont touch me!" Atilla pushed the hunchback’s hand away and went somewhere; he didn’t care where to go now, because Uld was no longer there.

The next morning, just as pale, he stood below, near the platform covered with red cloth. He, without looking up, eagerly followed Uld's every movement with his eyes. Together with others, Attila climbed onto the platform. Ould was close now. He walked up to Attila and took him by the chin. Attila stopped breathing and was neither seen nor heard for a moment. He came to his senses only when he felt his teeth sink into something with pleasure. His mouth became warm and salty, it was Uld’s blood, he began to breathe, what was choking him was now gone.

The soldiers held his hands and led him into the palace. He heard the crowd screaming, but he did not want to look at them, he walked with his head bowed with two cowlicks sticking out like horns. “Raise your face! I’m telling you, do you hear?” - It was the voice of a eunuch, Attila raised his eyes. The golden palace gates glittered, and a pockmarked soldier, the same one, stood near them. The soldier, squinting, looked cheerfully at Attila and said: “It’s him!” The eunuch's blue lower lip trembled and he swung his hand. Atilla bared his eyes like teeth and looked at the eunuch, who lowered his hand. Splashing with anger, the eunuch shouted to the soldiers: “Drag him there and lock him up, let him sit there!”

The iron bolt clanged and entered the hinges. Attila was locked in an empty wolf cage; a large lock was hung on the door. The pockmarked soldier turned his back to Attila, lifted his clothes and patted his bare bottom, streaked with white welts, with his hand. Atilla understood. He rushed to the door, grabbed the bars and shook them with all his might, the iron rattling. The soldiers looked and laughed. Atilla turned away from them and stood there, gritting his teeth. He felt the burning marks on his shoulders and back from their laughter, as if from the blows of a whip.

Then he recognized a burry familiar voice, it was Garitso and his company, with them were several young Romans. Portraying the owner of a wandering menagerie, Garitso, with a broken tongue, praised the outlandish properties of the beast locked in a cage. The veins on Attila’s forehead tensed, it seemed to him that they were about to burst, but he stood still the same. Something pushed me in the side, in the back. He didn’t turn around, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the end of a long pole stuck into the cage. A bitten apple fell at his feet, then a well-thrown small stone hit his head. He stood motionless. They got bored and left. Instead, other people appeared, men and women. Attila heard their voices. There were more and more of them, as if all of Rome had gathered in the park to look at the hung in a cage. When they came from the side to look at his face, Attila closed his eyes. He stood, clasping his hands tightly, as if they contained the triangular city that he had momentarily dreamed of at night. He stood and thought that someday this would actually happen and then he would squeeze all of them so that juice would spray out of them.

The next morning, the eunuch and the soldiers came to the cage, removed the lock and opened the door. "Come out, hey you!" But Attila didn’t want to get out, he grabbed onto the iron bars and they couldn’t tear him away. The pockmarked soldier hit him on the fingers with the scabbard of his sword, the whitened fingers unclenched, then they managed to pull him out. The soldier said, “Why are you kicking? Now you will sit not in a cage, but in a room, until the day when...” - “Don’t talk!” - shouted the eunuch. The soldier fell silent. Attila was taken to an empty, unfamiliar room and locked there.

The door was low, bound with iron. The room had no corners, it was round. Attila walked around, the thick walls were silent, they had neither beginning nor end. It began to seem to him that it had always been this way and that there had never been anything else, neither grass, nor snow, nor Kuna’s warm hand, nor one-eyed Adolb. He remembered his brother Bleda and thought that he would be glad if he could feel his cold fingers on his neck now. They brought him food and drink; when he slept, he did not see a single person. A light spot with a black frame moved silently across the floor - the shadow of the bars of the round window above. A black shadow slowly crawled onto the wall, onto the ceiling, and went out. It was repeated, it was also round. Then suddenly the circle broke, the door opened, and people entered.

The window was still just a little light, but Atilla was not sleeping. He jumped up and wanted to scream, but then he thought that then everyone would gather and look at him and it would be even worse. He said, "I'll go myself." We went down to the yard. He greedily sipped the smell of wet grass from the park and looked up, the sky was streaked with the red scars of dawn. The gold of the gate, covered with dew, was dull. He walked calmly, but his eyes had already jumped out of the gate, he said to himself: “When they take you there...”

The gates slowly opened and Attila was led out into the street. He tensed up all over, so that everything in him seemed to ring. In an instant, he flew over Rome, which lay below in the fog, to the blue stripe of the distant forest and returned back. There was an old man in a felt hat with a branch in his hand instead of a whip, he was walking near a cart of firewood, one log was sticking out. Attila caught him with his eyes, slightly bent down and made his legs steel for a jump. Behind, from a stone bench near the gate, some people stood up. Attila felt this movement and at the very last moment, already all directed forward, almost flying, looked back at those standing up from the corner of his eye. Immediately his eyes, legs, arms, heart - everything stopped in him. He took a breath of air and could not exhale it, he looked without breathing: the one-eyed Adolb was walking towards him from the bench... To rush to him, to press his whole body, to breathe with him!

But Attila forbade himself this; he stood motionless, he knew that the Romans were looking at him. Adolb came up and took his hand. "What have you done here? We were notified to come and take you home." Attila's lips moved, but he could not say a word in response. Then Adolb from the side, one-eyed like a bird, looked at the Romans and asked Attila as a commander, as a prince: “Will you order, sir, to go now?” He said this in Roman language, so that the Romans could understand. “Yes, now,” Attila ordered. His heart was beating and racing; he wanted to fly, but he told himself to go slowly. He walked without looking back.

They were traveling the same way as three years ago. Attila recognized cities made of white stone, rivers muddy and yellow with clay, mountains that looked like green bears. But now he had new eyes, he saw more than just that.

One day before evening they entered the village to buy bread and meat, but there was no one in the village. All the doors stood wide open, the wind swayed them on their hinges. You could see dishes thrown on the tables and bare beds. At the threshold of one house, a thin cat screamed, her mouth wide open. “Has the plague passed here?” - said Adolb. The horses looked askance and wiggled their ears.

Soon they caught up with the convoy moving along the road. Women and children sat on carts littered with bundles. The men walked nearby. Adolb asked them, they said that they could no longer pay for the land and abandoned it. They saw that they were being listened to, and everyone began to shout at once, threatening someone, cursing, blaspheming. Attila looked at them, taking in their faces, then laughed. "Why are you laughing?" - Adolb asked. “Because all this is good,” Atilla said. Adolb rode silently next to him for a long time, then looked at him as if he had seen him for the first time, and said: “Look at you!”

Not far from Marg, the road, like a snake, crawled up the mountain in rings. Adolb was in a hurry to get to Marg before sunset, while the city gates were still open. But at the turn, Attila suddenly stopped his horse and, leaning over, began to look down into the valley. Adolb got angry and began to curse. Atilla turned around, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes went through Adolb like iron. Adolb opened his mouth and fell silent.

Below in the valley a Roman detachment stopped, the soldiers were building a camp, Attila looked at them. Two hours later, a small quadrangular city arose there, black earthen ramparts surrounded by greenery, smooth white streets of tents. Atilla did not move, did not take his eyes off until it was all over, only then did he touch the reins and ride off. The sun had already hidden its head, all that was left of it was a tail of red feathers spread across the sky. When we arrived at Marg, the gates were locked. Adolb's eye became angry, round, he wanted to tell Atilla that it was because of him that they were late, but he looked at him and said nothing: he felt that he did not dare, and he himself was surprised by this when he realized.

In the morning we left Marg. The stone road that ran from Rome itself through fields, rivers, mountains - ended here. The horse's hooves now struck softly; underfoot there was no longer stone, but earth, the steppe. She lay under the sun, warm and wet. From above, as if from the sun, larks flowed in streams. A tight wind flew and sang in my mouth. Attila swallowed it with his mouth, nostrils, and whole body. He was flushed, his eyes sparkled, he became a boy again. At full gallop, he, holding on with his feet, hung under the horse’s belly, plucked a bunch of grass and waved it, looking back at Adolb.

At noon they drove between two pillars; on the pillars there were wooden heads with hanging copper mustaches. It smelled of horse manure, river, smoke. Down on the shore, bargaining was in full swing, whips were clapping, horses were neighing. Not far from the pillars there was a forge. Behind her, under the yellow clay wall, Attila saw several people: with their belts hanging around their necks and their pants down, they were squatting and talking leisurely. In Rome, Attila completely forgot about this, but now he instantly remembered that he had seen this many times in childhood. He laughed so loudly that Adolb looked at him in surprise. "Look, look!" - Attila pointed his finger at those sitting under the forge. He was choking with laughter, with happiness that he recognized his people, his land, but he did not have the words to explain this to Adolb. Adolb still didn’t understand. He worriedly, like a hen looking out for a hawk, looked into the distance with one eye: who knows what awaits them there?

The huge round hall was full, there was not a single empty seat. Hundreds of eyes, without stopping, followed every movement of the great Jason. He was wearing only a silk tunic, the silk was scarlet color- so that blood stains are not visible on it.

On the marble table in front of Jason lay a woman, naked to the waist. Her round breasts, white with blue veins, rose and fell barely noticeably, she was apparently sleeping. Jason bent down towards her, a knife flashed in his hand. The faces of the spectators in the front row turned pale. Jason smiled encouragingly at them with slightly lined eyes. Then, taking hold of the pink nipple, he pulled back the skin on the woman’s chest, made an imperceptible movement with the knife - and blood sprayed out of the cut. The woman did not move, she continued to sleep.

This was the effect of a miraculous drug invented by Jason. His public transactions were now the most fashionable spectacle in Rome, society ladies adored Jason, and his competitors hated him. They are the ones who jumped in now different places the audience, waving their fists and shouting that this is murder, that the woman is a Roman citizen, Jason has no right, they won’t allow it!

Smiling with thick, red lips, Jason raised his hand. The hall fell silent. “Let us assume for a moment that my dear colleagues are right,” said Jason. He left the woman, went to the other end of the stage and pulled back the curtain. Everyone saw a man sitting motionless there in a chair. “This man is mine,” said Jason. “This is a slave, I bought him, he is mine, entirely, completely. But I will take only one leg from him - and then I will let him go, he will receive freedom. I hope that now I have no objections.” won't I hear?" Taken by surprise, Jason's competitors remained silent.

He leaned towards the slave. "Camel!" - he called him loudly. The slave sat still in the same way, he was sleeping, hanging his short-cropped black head. Above his left ear there was a patch of gray hair visible on the black, like a silver coin.

Priscus immediately remembered: the red platform, the wind, the curled edge of the consular cloak, the consul's hand raised to strike... It was the same slave who grabbed the consul's hand.

Priscus stood at the entrance to the hall, in a dense crowd of latecomers. He came to Jason's operation by accident. Today was his last day in Rome; he had already purchased a place on a ship that was sailing from Ostia to Constantinople in the evening. His luggage was packed, he still had a few free hours left, and he went into Troyan’s library. He could not get into the reading room, he was picked up by the rustling silk and whispering, excited, hotly breathing crowd: fashionable prostitutes and secular women, bald young men and youthful old men, a circus athlete smelling like a stable and a bishop scented with women's perfume. Priscus decided to plunge into this Rome for the last time in order to take it with him for his book, just as Noah took away samples of all kinds of creatures in his ark. Squeezed in on all sides, he stood at the door and, squinting myopically, hastily covered his faces.

There was now a stuffy, tense silence in the hall. Only loud, hoarse breathing could be heard, it was the breath of Rome, who smelled blood. The slave was lying on the table, his round, strong leg above the knee was red, and on the white marble under it the red spot was spreading wider and wider. The knife thrown by Jason sharply clinked on the marble; he took the saw, examining it, and deliberately hesitated, so that a skillful actor makes a subtly calculated pause so that the audience takes their breath away. The pause ended - and the whole hall heard the harsh grinding sound of a saw cutting into a living human bone. The pale women breathed through their teeth, clenched as if from pain or from unbearable pleasure, they pressed themselves against the men, moaning.

Priscus stood red, he wanted to scream, hit, rush out of here, but he could no longer leave, he, frozen, waited for that last second, when the round, living leg would separate from the man, he saw nothing now except moving back and forth saws.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right hand. Without taking his eyes off the saw, he pulled his hand back, the pain stopped. But after a moment it became even sharper. Then Priscus, not understanding what was the matter, looked down.

Placidia stood next to him. Her wet red mouth was open, sharp teeth glistened, and she dug her nails into Priscus’s hand. She looked at him, her green eyes the same as they had been that night at the hotel. “Run... now...” Priscus made a movement, but Placidia hurt his arm even more and forced him to bend over. He felt her hot, quick breath on his ear. “Today, when it gets dark... at the entrance to that hotel - do you remember it?” “Yes,” said Priscus. He immediately realized that he had to say something else. “I’m leaving today, I can’t, I don’t want to!” - he wanted to shout, but Placidia was no longer near him: they saw her, the crowd spread out to the sides. She was already entering the hall between the rows bowing before her. Priscus rushed after her, pushing aside the already closed crowd. He pushed a woman, her companion, a bull-eyed athlete, grabbed Priscus by the arm and demanded an explanation. They looked back at them. Priscus, red, muttered some apologies, confused in his words. "Foreigner?" - asked the athlete, sticking out his lower lip and as if looking at Priscus with it. “Yes, a foreigner,” said Priscus, blushing even more. The athlete released Priscus's hand and turned his back to him. Now Priscus could leave.

There was a wind outside, it raised dust whirlwinds, they, whirling, grew, raised their heads to the sky. Looking like huge gray wanderers, they ran, swaying, along the road out of Rome, Priscus looked at them. He was sitting in some park, in front of his eyes, making it difficult to see, a round branch, white with flowers, swayed, it smelled sweet and as if familiar. A large open caruzza roared along the road; a man was sitting in it, surrounded by chests and parcels. “In a few hours I would be riding like this,” thought Priscus. "Why would you go?" - he almost shouted out loud and with despair, with horror, he realized that everything in him had already been irrevocably decided, that he would not go anywhere, he would go to Placidia...

There was a tavern down by the road. The wind carried the smell of burnt olive oil from there. Priscus jumped up: he remembered that Bass was waiting for him at his place; the day before they had agreed to have dinner together as a farewell... How, in what words can I say now that he won’t go? This meeting with Bass seemed more shameful and painful to Pris than anything else, but he still went to see him.

Bass sat with his monkey Picus on his lap. Picus, with black, thin human fingers, selected kernels from the cracked nuts and quickly stuck them behind his cheek. When Priscus entered, he stopped and looked at him with attentive, intelligent eyes, and Bass looked at him in the same way. "What's happened?" - Bass asked, pushing Picus to the floor. "Why do you think something happened?" - “Why? Look at yourself in the mirror, it’s behind you.” But Priscus did not turn around, he was ashamed to see his face. “I’m staying, I’m not going anywhere from Rome...” - and, choking, suffering, hurrying, he told about everything that happened at Jason’s lecture.

He finished and sat there, afraid to look up at Bass. "Perfect!" - Bass shouted. Priscus, not understanding anything, looked at him with round eyes. "A very effective and unexpected ending!" - and, going through others possible combinations, Bass enthusiastically began to prove that fate, like a skilled playwright, chose the best. “However...” - he stopped and thought. “What are you doing? Continue!” Priscus said bitterly. “For you, I am like that slave whom Jason slaughtered today.” “Yes, yes...” Bass agreed absentmindedly, clearly thinking about something of his own. He looked at the water clock, where time flowed in a thin blue stream, inevitable as fate. Bass apologized that he could not have dinner with Priscus: he had something urgent to do, he needed to go now. On the street he hugged Priscus: “Don’t be angry with me. Do you promise?” Priscus shrugged. When he reached the corner, he looked back and saw that Bass was also looking at him.

At the first tavern he came across, he asked for wine. “No, I don’t want to eat,” he told the girl. At the next table, several bearded Jews were making noise, and in the corner, tipsy sailors were loudly imitating them. The curtain on the window flapped like a sail. For a moment Priscus clearly saw a ship rocking on the waves. “More wine for me,” he told the girl. “And it’s colder.” The girl brought it. Slow drops crawled down the cold, sweaty glass of the bottle. Priscus remembered the face of that unexpected Bass who had flashed only once. “If he were like this today, maybe I...” But Priscus didn’t have time to think: while pouring wine, the girl touched his shoulder with the point of her chest. Immediately Placidia, as if dozing somewhere at the bottom, floated up, he saw her clearly: she was lying in a stretcher, the belts creaked slightly in time with her steps...

It seemed to him that it was already getting dark outside, that he was late. His forehead became wet from fear. He hastily paid and ran out into the street. The sun was setting, the sky was pale, tormented by the dry wind. Dripping with sweat, Priscus kept speeding up his steps, then could not stand it and ran.

The hotel where Placidia made an appointment with him was not far away. When Priscus got there, it was still light, but under the canopy above the door to the hotel a lantern was already lit, it creaked and swayed in the wind. Two soldiers stood not far from the door, laughing with women passing by. Priscus, out of breath from running, sat down on a bench diagonally near the church, from here the entrance to the hotel was clearly visible.

Long red streaks lay across the wind-ravaged sky, as if struck by a whip. Then they disappeared. A stretcher stopped near the hotel, and Priscus rushed towards it. A fat man came out and, puffing, began to climb the steps. Priscus looked with hatred at the pink, pig-like folds at the back of his head.

Suddenly someone touched Priscus’s hand from behind. With his heart beating furiously, he turned around, but saw only the same two soldiers. They looked him up and down and looked at each other. One in the top row was missing two or three teeth, he said, pronouncing “s” instead of “t”: “Sy Sarquinius Priscus, Greek from Constantinople?” “Yes, I am.” “Then take this and read it.” “It won’t come from her...” thought Priscus. He began to read under the lantern, the lantern swayed from the wind, the letters jumped. He read it and didn’t believe it, so he started reading again...

This was an order from the Roman prefect for the immediate expulsion of Tarquinius Priscus, on the basis of the recent decree on foreigners. The gap-toothed soldier said that they were ordered to immediately go with him to Ostia and put him on a ship there. “But I can’t now, I can’t - understand!” - Priscus said in despair, grabbing the soldier’s hand and trying to look into his eyes, as if this meeting of the eyes could immediately change everything. "Here, here!" - a soldier shouted to someone. Priscus saw two more people come out from around the corner of the hotel, leading horses. He realized that it was useless to argue, that everything had been decided, it was all over. The soldiers put him on a horse and he rode off.

In Ostia we had to wait the whole night. There was a storm, black animals covered in white foam jumped out of the water onto the embankment. By dawn the storm had subsided and the ship sailed away, taking Priscus with it. He, squinting myopically, looked at the white Ostia lighthouse and asked himself bitterly: why did Placidia need to humiliate him with this comedy of deportation? The lighthouse became smaller and smaller, as if it was sinking into the water, and finally the sea completely swallowed it up.

A few months later, already in Constantinople, Priscus received a gift from Rome: a water clock in the shape of two connected snakes. A letter from Bass was attached to the gift; he wrote that “he could not resist the temptation to give another option for an unexpected ending” and therefore arranged for Priscus to be expelled...

This clock now always stood on the table in front of Priscus, and every time he sat down to write, he remembered Bass with tenderness and gratitude. Through the glass stings of the snakes, time flowed like a barely noticeable blue thread, counting down the days and years. Outside, behind the walls of Priscus’s quiet room, time raged like a flood, a torrent, events and people flashed by, he barely had time to write down. He began to write his book as a history of Byzantium, but it turned out that he had to talk most about the Huns. His first entry about them was as follows:

“The imperial translator Vigila, sent to the Huns to negotiate trade, returned with news of the death of their king Oktar. You should know that before Oktar, that country was ruled by his brother Mudyug, who died, leaving behind two sons. But since these sons were still young, then Oktar became the ruler instead of them. The names of these sons of Mudyug: Atilla and Bleda. They claim that the name of one of them - Atilla - comes from a word meaning “iron” in their language... I don’t know if this is true , for their language is unknown to me. But in those years when I was in Rome, this Atilla was there as a hostage from the Huns. I was destined to see him and hear a lot about him, and everything that I know about him justifies his name Oktar was more inclined to exploits at the banquet table than on the battlefield, and therefore we lived with the Huns in peace. But what will happen if now power passes to Attila and if this iron points its tip at Europe?

According to my understanding, Atilla is now less than 20 years old. It is still impossible to know whether he or his brother Bleda will become king, or whether until they come of age, one of their uncles will rule their region. According to the imperial translator Vigil, who knows their customs, the elders there, having gathered, choose a king. From different ends of the immeasurable country, from the Riphean, otherwise the Ural Mountains, to the Danube, they must now gather for the burial of Oktar and for the election of a new ruler. We will find out his name soon, and I believe that I will not be mistaken if I say that then we will also know the fate awaiting us.

For our hands are already like the hands of old men who have lost their strength, and other nations hold our fate in their hands."

See also Evgeniy Zamyatin - Prose (stories, poems, novels...):

GOD is a fairy tale
This kingdom was rich and ancient, famous for the fertility of women...

VISION
The vodka was special, infused with a pinch of tea with a small piece of...

Anxiety was everywhere in Europe, it was in the very air, they breathed it.

Everyone was expecting war, uprisings, disasters. Nobody wanted to invest money in new businesses. Factories were closing. Crowds of unemployed people walked the streets and demanded bread. Bread became more and more expensive, and money fell in value every day. Eternal, immortal gold suddenly became sick, people lost faith in it. This was the last thing, there was nothing lasting in life anymore.

The very ground underfoot ceased to be strong. She was like a woman who already feels that her swollen belly will soon spew new creatures into the world - and she rushes about in fear, she is thrown into cold and heat.

It was winter when the birds froze in flight and fell with a thud onto the roofs and pavements. Then came such a summer that the trees bloomed three times, and people died from the feverish heat of the earth. On a July day, when the earth lay with black, dry, cracked lips, a spasm passed through her body. The earth howled in a round, huge voice. Birds flew screaming over the trees and were afraid to land on them. Walls, churches, houses fell silently into the distance. People fled the cities like animals and lived in herds in the open air. Time has disappeared. No one could say how many hours or days it lasted.

Covered in cold sweat, the earth finally fell silent. Everyone rushed to the church. The hot sky yawned through the cracks in the vaults. The flames of the candles bent down from human fumes, from the weight of human sins thrown out loud. Pale priests shouted from the pulpit that in three days the world would fall into pieces, like a chestnut laid on coals.

This deadline has passed. The ground still shook a little from time to time, but she survived. People returned to their homes and began to live. At night they knew that everything was over, that now life had to be measured in months, days. And they lived by running, briefly, out of breath, in a hurry. Just as a rich man, before his death, is in a hurry to give everything away, so the women, without sparing, gave themselves away right and left. But now they didn’t want to have any more children, they no longer needed breasts, they took medications to become breastless.

And like women, the fields remained unsown and barren. The villages were emptying, and the cities were overflowing; there were not enough houses in the cities. There was nothing to breathe in theaters and circuses, the music did not stop, the lights did not go out all night, red sparks sparkled in silk, in gold, in jewelry - and in the eyes.

These eyes were everywhere now. The faces were yellow, dead, and only the eyes burned like coals. They burned. They lined the entrances of theaters, churches, and rich houses with triple fires. They silently looked at those leaving. Everyone remembered one woman: she was holding a child wrapped in rags with a blackened face in her arms, she considered him alive, she was cradling him. They ran past her, holding their noses with scented handkerchiefs, running to live quickly so that they would still have time to spend their gold, body, and soul. They drank wine, pressed their lips to their lips, shouted to the musicians: “Louder!” - so as not to think, not to hear...

But one day they heard: the earth howled again. She, like a woman in labor, convulsively tensed her black womb, and water gushed out from there. The sea rushed towards the capital with a roar and immediately capsized back, carrying away houses, trees, and people. When dawn broke, the heads were still visible in the pink foam, then disappeared. The sun has risen. On the roof of the house a barge lay sideways, its bottom was green with algae, they hung like a woman’s hair, streams flowed from them. Huge silver fish, sparkling, fought on the pavement. Hungry crowds grabbed them screaming, killed them on rocks and carried them away to eat.

Everyone was waiting for a new wave - and soon it came. Just like the first time, it rose in the east and rolled to the west, sweeping away everything in its path. But now it was no longer the sea, but people.

They knew about them that they lived completely differently than everyone else here in Europe, that in winter everything was white with snow, that they walked in sheepskin coats, that they killed wolves in their streets - and they themselves were like wolves. Having been torn away from the Baltic shores, from the Danube, from the Dnieper, from their steppes, they rolled down - to the south, to the west - faster and faster, like a huge stone from a mountain.

From the stone tramp of thousands of horses, the earth howled dully, as if during an earthquake. It was early spring, in the Italian valleys the trees were round and white with flowers, there were no leaves yet. The horsemen galloped, throwing off their sheepskins and mixing their scent with almond-colored breath. They were led by Radagost, named after the god of the Russians. One of his ears was cut off, and therefore he never took off his wolf hat. The Romans fled from him without looking back; the Roman soldiers had long had cups heavier than their swords.

But there was still gold in Rome; the help of Ulda, the prince of the Huns, whom many also called Scythians, was bought with gold. Uld and his Huns stood in the way of Radagost. At noon, Uld came to the Romans, holding a bearded head in a wolf's cap on a spear. Her hat fell off, and everyone saw that one of her ears was cut off. Ould heard the Romans beating their shields and shouting towards him. The words were foreign, he could only make out his name. But even among the Romans it became soft, like meat boiled for old people in water - “Ould! Ould! He felt funny, he coughed with laughter, so that the head of his spear fell into white dust. She was picked up and placed in a wineskin filled with vinegar to preserve her and show her to the Romans on the day of Uld's triumphal procession.

Black April night. Rome, shrouded in the night, was not visible; its multi-story buildings were indicated only by red window openings cut out in the darkness. The houses shook, the dishes rattled. Military carts rumbled along the stone pavements all night, and imperial guards trampled thousands of people. Rome was getting ready. No one knew how tomorrow would end, when the city would be flooded with hordes of Uld huns and the violent mob of the capital. Before the evening, as usual, the proletarians were given bread; they stood in a long line. There was not enough bread for everyone. The crowd set fire to the city bakeries, one of them was burning down across the bridge. In the red sky the battlements of the castle of St. Angela's were jet black.

When the sun rose, streams of people from the outskirts poured into the center. The narrow streets mercilessly squeezed the crowd smelling of rags and sweat; at the top between the seven-story buildings there was a blue crack instead of the sky. People were gasping for breath, their faces were turning purple. They flowed, screamed, their mouths were open, but no scream could be heard. They flowed, they filled everything like lava. Someone's head on a long goose neck was spinning above the crowd in all directions. On the steps of the entrance, an Egyptian monk with a shaved skull was shaking blue bags. “Heavenly medicine - dust from the grave of St. Simeon - the best heavenly laxative!” In the crowd, an old woman shouted: “Sell this to those who have eaten too much!” The monk was hit by a stone and disappeared. The old woman smelled of wine, her dress was unbuttoned, her long, dry breasts were visible. She began to curse the monks, the Apostle Peter, Jupiter, and the Holy Virgin. There was a gooseneck turning in the crowd. People were flowing. From somewhere at the bottom a dirty hand emerged, a pink parrot was sitting on it, and it shouted shrilly: “Citizens, I am a veteran!” The parrot was held in the hand of a soldier with a listening, raised face; he had no eyes, they were burned out in the war. They started throwing money into his basket. The old woman cursed the imperial soldiers, she remembered the emperor himself, about his sister: this whore Placidia with her brother...

Suddenly she fell silent and turned around. The goose-necked man grabbed her shoulder and said, “You will come with me.” Already very close below, a bridge was visible, in the open gates of the castle of St. Angela - soldiers of the prefecture. The street went down, there were steps under their feet, everyone stumbled, but no one could fall: they walked so closely that everyone felt the shoulders, elbows, and breathing of their neighbors. The goose-necked man opened his mouth to shout, but didn’t have time. His long neck bent, his head hung: a knife was stuck into him from behind. He could not fall, he slowly walked dead in the crowd, his head was shaking like a drunk, everyone was laughing all around. He fell only when the crowd crossed the bridge and spilled into the square. In the distance, in the forum, trumpets sounded three times: it had already begun.

Denis Ivanovich Fonvizin is the founder of Russian comedy, an accusatory realistic trend in Russian literature. In his works, satire is closely intertwined with educational journalism. An admirer of Voltaire, Rousseau, the writer was an enemy of autocratic despotism.

In 1762 Fonvizin moved to St. Petersburg and here he began intensive literary activity. He was a regular guest of Kozlovsky's circle. As a result of rapprochement with this circle, the satirist wrote “Message to my servants Shumilov, Vanka and Petrushka,” published for the first time in the monthly publication “Pustomel”, in 1770. Some of his poems and new translations date back to this period of Fonvizin’s life, of which special The translations of Bitobe’s poem “Joseph”, as well as Barthelemy’s story: “The Love of Karita and Polydor” were successful.

In 1764, F. made his first independent dramatic work, the comedy Corion. A few years after “Corion,” the social comedy “Brigadier” appears. In "The Brigadier" the features of Russian life are clearly expressed. The type of dandy, realized in the person of Ivanushka and the adviser, was familiar to the viewer from observations of metropolitan life, which is confirmed by articles in satirical magazines of that time. Even more original, having grown on Russian soil, are the types of adviser, foreman and foreman.

In 1782, the comedy “The Minor” was released. The play is imbued with accusatory pathos. In his comedy, the satirist responded to all the questions that worried advanced people that time. The state and social system, civic duties of a member of society, serfdom, family, marriage, raising children - this is the range of problems posed in “Nedorosl”. The author's educational ideas are realized through the image of Starodum. Starodum is the enemy of Catherine’s corrupt nobles, who received ranks and estates for flattery and sycophancy. In his words one can hear a direct denial of serfdom. He is also the enemy of ignorant education. Being mainly a supporter of the French enlightenment, he does not, however, share their materialistic ideas.

In 1783, Fonvizin took part in the magazine “Interlocutor”, published in it “The Experience of a Russian Estates Member”, “Petition to the Russian Minerva from Russian writers", "Questions to the writer of tales and fables", "Teaching spoken on Spiritual Day." In the work “Questions to the author of “Facts and Fables”,” the writer sharply criticizes contemporary government orders and social vices: favoritism at court, the moral decline of the nobility, etc. Esin B.I. writes: “Catherine II hid under the pseudonym of the author of “Facts and Fables.” Fonvizin pretended that he did not know who this author was and addressed him as equal to equal. Using the empress’s ostentatious liberalism, Fonvizin risked publishing his 20 questions, but was forced to refuse to continue them.”

In 1788, Fonvizin decided to publish the magazine “Starodum”, received permission and began to prepare material, but by order of Catherine the magazine was banned.

The literary legacy of the last period of Fonvizin’s activity consists of articles for the magazine (Vzyatkin’s Letter, Starodum’s Letter, General Court Grammar, etc.) and from dramatic works- the comedy “The Tutor’s Choice” and the dramatic feuilleton “Conversation with Princess Khaldina.” In addition, the last years of his life the writer worked on his autobiography “Frank Confession.”

Thus, Fonvizin belonged to that circle of advanced Russian people of the 18th century who formed the camp of enlighteners, and his work was permeated with the pathos of affirming the ideals of justice and humanism. Satire and journalism became his main weapon against autocracy and feudal abuses.

Denis Ivanovich Fonvizin is the author of the famous comedies “Minor”, ​​“Brigadier”, which are still popular theater stage, and many others satirical works. According to his convictions, Fonvizin aligned himself with the educational movement, so noble evil was the leading theme of his drama. Fonvizin managed to create a vivid and surprisingly true picture of the moral degradation of the nobility late XVIII century and sharply condemn the reign of Catherine P. The role of the writer as a playwright and author of satirical essays is enormous.

Fonvizin’s special Russian style of humor, the special Russian bitterness of laughter, sounding in his works and born of the socio-political conditions of feudal Russia, were understandable and dear to those who traced their literary ancestry to the author of “The Minor.” A. I. Herzen, a passionate and tireless fighter against autocracy and serfdom, believed that Fonvizin’s laughter “resonated far and woke up a whole phalanx of great mockers.”

A feature of Fonvizin’s work is the organic combination in most of his works satirical wit with a socio-political orientation. Fonvizin's strength lies in his literary and civic honesty and directness. He courageously and directly spoke out against social injustice, ignorance and prejudices of his class and his era, exposed the landowners and autocratic bureaucratic tyranny.

Fonvizin’s comedy “The Minor” is directed against “those moral ignoramuses who, having their full power over people, use it for evil inhumanely.” From the first to the last days of the scene, this comedy is structured in such a way that it is clear to the viewer or reader: unlimited power over the peasants is a source of parasitism, a tyrant

And, abnormal relationships in the family, moral ugliness, ugly upbringing and ignorance. Little Mitrofanushka has no need to study or prepare himself for public service, because he has hundreds of serfs who will provide him with a well-fed life. This is how his grandfather lived, this is how his parents live, so why shouldn’t he spend his life in idleness and pleasure?

Without doubting the power of laughter, Fonvizin turned it into a formidable weapon. But he also introduced the features of the “serious genre” into the comedy “The Minor”, ​​introducing the images of “carriers of virtue”: Starodum and Pravdin. He also complicated the traditional positive images of lovers - Sophia and Milo. They are entrusted with the thoughts and feelings of the playwright himself and people close to him. They talk about what is dear to the author himself: the need to instill in a person from childhood a sense of duty, love of the fatherland, honesty, truthfulness, self-esteem, respect for people, contempt for baseness, flattery, and inhumanity.

The playwright managed to outline all the essential aspects of life and morals of the feudal-serf society of the second half of the 18th century. He created expressive portraits of representatives of the serf owners, contrasting them, on the one hand, with the progressive nobility, and on the other, with representatives of the people.

Trying to give brightness and persuasiveness to the characters, Fonvizin endowed his heroes, especially the negative ones, with an individualized language. The characters in “Nedorosl” each speak in their own way; their speech is different both in lexical composition and intonation. Such careful selection linguistic means for each of the characters helps the author to reveal their appearance more fully and reliably. Fonvizin makes extensive use of the richness of the living folk language. Proverbs and sayings that are used in the play give its language a special simplicity and expressiveness: “Every guilt is to blame”, “Live forever, learn forever”, “Guilty without guilt”, “Good luck”, “Ends in the water”, etc. The author also uses colloquial and even swear words and expressions, particles and adverbs: “until tomorrow”, “uncle”, “first”, “whatever”, etc.

The richness of the linguistic means of the comedy “The Minor” suggests that Fonvizin had an excellent command of the dictionary of folk speech and was well acquainted with folk art.

Thus, the distinctive features of the comedy “The Minor” are the relevance of the topic and the denunciation of serfdom. The realism of the created picture of life and customs of the depicted era and living colloquial. In terms of the sharpness of its satirical teaching of the serfdom system, this comedy is rightfully considered

The most outstanding dramatic work of Russian literature of the second half of the 18th century.

Denis Ivanovich Fonvizin is one of the most prominent figures literature XVIII century. His love for theater began in his youth, and the talent of the future playwright was noticed by his high school teachers. Over time, Fonvizin’s educational views deepened, and his desire to intervene with his works in the very thick of events in Russian public life grew stronger. Fonvizin is rightfully considered the creator of Russian socio-political comedy. His famous play “The Minor” turned the Prostakovs’ estate into a center of vices, “the evil of worthy fruits,” which the playwright denounces with his characteristic slander, sarcasm, and irony.
“Minor” is a multi-themed work. Here questions are raised about the unwavering fulfillment of “duty” by every citizen, about the nature of family relationships in the author’s contemporary Russia, about the system of upbringing and education. But the main ones, undoubtedly, are the problems of serfdom and state power.
In the very first act we find ourselves in an atmosphere of landowner tyranny. Trishka sewed Mitrofan’s caftan “pretty well,” but this does not save him from scolding and flogging. The old nanny Mitrofana Eremeevna is immensely devoted to her masters, but receives from them “five rubles a year and five slaps a day.” Prostakova is outraged by the fact that the serf girl Palashka, having fallen ill, lies there “as if she were noble.” The arbitrariness of the landowners led to the complete impoverishment of the peasants. “Since we took away everything the peasants had, we can’t take anything back. Such a disaster!” - Prostakova complains. But the landowners know for sure that they are protected by the entire system of state power. It was the social structure of Russia that allowed the Prostakovs and Skotinins to dispose of their estates in their own way.
Throughout the comedy, Fonvizin emphasizes the “bestial” essence of Prostakova and her brother. Even Vralman thinks that, living with the Prostakovs, he is “a fairy with horses.” Mitrofan will be no better. The author does not simply expose his “knowledge” in the sciences and his reluctance to learn to ridicule. Fonvizin sees that the same cruel serf owner lives inside him.
A huge influence on the formation of people like Mitrofan, according to the author, is exerted not only by the general situation in noble estates, but also by the adopted system of education and upbringing. The education of young nobles was carried out by ignorant foreigners. What could Mitrofan learn from the coachman Vralman? Could such nobles become the backbone of the state?
Group goodies in the play it is represented by the images of Pravdin, Starodum, Milon and Sophia. For a writer of the era of classicism, it was extremely important not only to show social vices, but also to identify the ideal to which one should strive. On the one hand, Fonvizin denounces the state order, on the other, the author gives a kind of instruction on what a ruler and society should be. Starodum expounds the patriotic views of the best part of the nobility and expresses topical political thoughts. By introducing into the play the scene of Prostakova’s deprivation of her master’s rights, Fonvizin suggests to the audience and the government one of the possible ways to suppress the arbitrariness of the landowners. Let us note that this step of the writer was met with disapproval by Catherine II, who directly made the writer feel this. The Empress could not help but see in the comedy “The Minor” a sharp satire on the most terrible vices of the empire.
Fonvizin’s sarcasm was also reflected in the work entitled “General Court Grammar,” compiled in the form of a textbook. The writer gives apt descriptions of court morals and reveals the vices of representatives of the upper class. Calling his grammar “universal,” Fonvizin emphasized that these features are characteristic of monarchical rule in general. He calls the courtiers flatterers, sycophants, and scoundrels. The satirist divides people living at court into “vowels,” “voiceless,” and “semi-vowels,” and considers the verb “to owe” to be the most common, although debts are not paid at court.
Catherine never saw submission from Fonvizin, and therefore his works soon ceased to appear in print. But Russia knew them because they were on the lists. And the satirist entered the consciousness of his generation as a bold exposer of the vices of society. No wonder Pushkin called him a “friend of freedom”, and Herzen put the comedy “The Minor” on a par with “ Dead souls"Gogol.

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