╔════════════════──────── ─────────────────── ───════════════════╗ │ PRINTED WITH CONTINUATION. │ ╚════════════════─────────────── ───────────────════════════════╝ (R) Fedin Pavel V. Shinkarev Papuan from Honduras. (Continued. Starts in issues 24 and 25.) CHAPTER TWO. High revival. "The people who replaced the great era the Middle Ages were so low that They denied her the name of the culture." G. K. Chesterton "Renaissance worldview, pushing man into ontological emptiness, thus most dooms him to passivity, and in this passivity is the image of the world, as well as the person himself crumbles into mutually exclusive waiting points - moments." P. Florensky The next day, completely sober and angry Valera Marus, Having done some communal cleaning, he turned on the TV right before the beginning of "Papuans from Honduras". . . . . . . . . . . On the screen is beautiful Italy at the end of the Great Period Renaissance. Cubes of gold at sunset fortresses can be seen on separate hills. Two yellow loaves of bread are jumping along the roadrider in black. - The more I thirst for peace, the longer it runs away from me. Here and now I have taken the road to Florence in the hope of resting from bestiality of all beasts and worse than the beasts that haunt my thresholds overlord, and most of all this old illiterate brute Buonarotti, constantly begging from my illustrious patron's money for his clumsy crafts - so I'm different There were never even a dozen crowns! I also had to for a while hide from Rome because of one filthy bully stalking me with a company of bandits like him - for what I cleared Rome from one rogue, the brother of the aforementioned filthy yaryga. And so I, unwrapped with a sword, with money on me, left at night to Florence with his excellent friend Giuliano, kind and very pious, like me, little ones, only very eager for other people's wives and a terrible bully - so much so that it happened to him to kill in a day two, or even five - and all for different reasons! Having such a good fellow as a companion, I didn’t even notice how whiled away the road to Florence with the cheerful stories of my servant, better than whom the world did not know. Upon arrival, I immediately went to the Grand Duke Cosimo, patron of all artists, and if such a rogue like Cellini rolls around like cheese in butter at his court, how much more honor should I receive? By contactingto the Duke with this and similar speeches, I am very persuaded him to join me, and he asked to immediately show me samples of my art. Dissatisfied, I objected that I didn’t have them yet, but as soon as he will provide me with money, workshops and a place where make an effort, such as, for example, to paint something, then I I will immediately show him all my considerable skill. While the discouraged Duke was brooding, I continued to blaspheme his hangers-on Cellini and Bandinelli, you live well receiving up to two hundred or more meager salaries, not counting begged on top of that. “I’m only surprised,” I said in conclusion, “why one of these two, he has not wiped off the other to this day, or “not dunked,” as this kind of public expresses itself. That's it, truly, it would have turned out as written: one reptile devoured another reptile. After all, Benvenuto has long deserved for his stabbing rope around the neck. The Duke then took into his hands the cup of the work of the said Benvenuto Cellini said: “Yes, Cellini had a lot of trouble and Rome, and Milan, and Florence. But is that really your taste? so high that you can no longer call this cup the work of a master? Looking condescendingly at the cup, I bowed and answered: "My lord, Benvenuto is undoubtedly a master of the first rank, but only one thing: begging for money." Marveling at my just words, the Duke of Medici tookme and premises and one hundred crowns as a deposit for the work. Meanwhile, I have already figured out how to glorify my name in this, I must say, bestial Florence. Walls in the Bardi Chapel painted by the painter Giotto Bondone, which is more than two centuries old. This work, which was glorious in its time due to the stupidity of morals, is now not even worthy of laughter: the figures are like logs, gloomy, like cattle, rotten in color. So I decided to rewrite these frescoes, immeasurably in the best manner. In order to hire a model, I began to drawing cardboards in order to show them to the Duke to persuade him to rewriting the named chapel in my opinion, what is the reason every livestock. On the first cardboard I began to depict Saint Teresa, and so, so that my work is in no way similar to the work of this brute Giotto. I painted Saint Teresa with my rather pretty self models - a slender, blooming lady with sparkling eyes, with loose hair, in translucent clothes, barely covering young Percy. My work went slowly, since I am healthy and very good-looking, and my nature always demands its way. I see, that I began to force the model to satisfy my natural necessity, but instead of taking it as a great honor for myself, the bastard began to yell and resist so much that I persuaded her to carnal pleasures with great difficulty.From this bestial resistance made me disheveled and powerless, and the work went through the roof, so the duke was already tired inquire about the cardboards through your bastard majordomo. Unfortunately, my servant Giuliano, who previously helped as much as he could, disappeared me both in work and in curbing the obstinate model. Probably the nice fellow was stabbed with a knife by some cuckolded husband, because that in a fair fight my servant could easily pierce any lout the average person. Another misfortune happened to me. One evening when I was returning from the Duke, from whom he asked for money to continue work, some old man came up to me and asked if it was me that famous painter who came from Rome to this god forgotten Florence. Having assumed my dignity, I confirmed this, when suddenly this the asshole started babbling and babbling something in a mosquito voice, from What I only understood was that he was the father of my model. I told him to go on his way, but the old man, completely gone or thinking in a mean way to pity me, he began to splash saliva and cry a crocodile cry. I laughed and even patted him on the shoulder and offered him a couple of crowns, but the scoundrel got angry and began threaten "righteous vengeance." I started to laugh, imagining how this old man with his with spidery hands he fights with me with swords, but then he realized that this scoundrel has enough anger to hiresome bandit or give me crushed diamonds through your scoundrel daughter. Therefore, since the street was completely empty, I didn’t have anything All that was left to do was to grab the dagger and hit the old man I'll go through it two or three times. He wheezed and fell into a ditch, and I, wrapped in a cloak, he ran home, bitterly mourning that the old scoundrel finally forced me to take sin on my soul with your threats. However, no matter how difficult it was for me, the cardboard moved, holy Teresa was already as if alive, although the vile model was not at all could already take on that sly and charming appearance in which I portrayed Saint Teresa, but on the contrary, she wailed and poured herself tears; pleasing your flesh with her was sometimes easy unpleasant. The day I finished the cardboard and was relieved to kick out scoundrel away, the Duke impatiently showed up at the workshop, and when I saw this finished cardboard of mine, I immediately cheered up absolutely. I, feeling that the iron was hot, became fair speak in obscene terms about the sodomite hanger-on Benvenuto, comparing his poor crafts with his cardboard - but on the wall the fresco will turn out fifty times better! The Duke was forced to agree with me, saying that my the work is truly beyond praise, and he never I didn't think about anything like that. Then he's in my presence orderedThe majordomo will begin work tomorrow on priming the walls in Bardi Chapel. I, very pleased, remained to reflect on art, ordered the servant brought me wine and food, but before I had time to finish the meal, how the servant reported that the chaplain wanted to see me named Bardi Chapel. Understanding the natural desire to see as quickly as possible cardboard, which will soon, copied onto the wall, decorate chapel, I ordered him to be let in. The chaplain entered, barely stammered a greeting and immediately glared eyes into cardboard. I, being in an excellent mood, a living example explained to him the difference between the daubs of the medieval Bogomaz and the bright, true art of modern times. Then this brute answered me that not everything that is bright is better, and that my Saint Teresa evokes only seductive thoughts, and Giotto's frescoes overflow with mournful hardness and evoke purifying flight of the spirit. Unfortunately, instead of ordering him to be pushed out this illiterate and ignorant brute, making sure that There’s nothing else to talk about with him, I condescended to talk. I said that, apparently, he has neither his ear nor his snout to understand art, since he doesn’t know the value of his old-fashioned tricks dauber, who didn’t even understand the prospects. Even Vasari their, however, rather bestial biographies of artists the past couldn't do anything about Giottomore interesting to report than what One day, while going for a walk, this little guy was knocked down by a pig, which made everyone very happy. But the chaplain didn’t listen to me at all, he kept asking whether It is true that the Duke allowed Giotto's frescoes to be painted over. Realizing that this is so, this completely brutalized cattle has become begged me to abandon the plan, began to grab my clothes and rage. I once and twice threatened to break his face and gave him a good blow, and this brute, stupid like the guy from Prato, decided on his own push me, and rushed to the cardboard, as if wanting to spoil it. I got ahead of him, pushing him to the ground with force. But apparently what they say is true: You don’t hit according to agreement. I just wanted to push this asshole away but he slammed his head right on the stone floor, and no matter how much I kicked, didn't move anymore. I spat and quickly galloped to the Duke so as not to be ahead of some wiping, and prowling, so that slander me. There is nothing to hide: I entered the Duke’s office out of breath, covered in dust, impatience was beating inside me. The Duke asked what was the reason for my so hasty visit - Have I come again to ask for money? I warmly confirmed this assumption and fell silent, not knowing how to start describing an absurd incident that happened with me. The Duke absentmindedly turned a diamond of such a huge size in his hands what size is itcould have been mistaken for a large piece of debris ice. “Look, by the way,” he said, admiring the diamond, “I saw do you have anything like that? "Carbonado" - that's how I decided name him. “It’s fitting for a diamond to have a name, but not for a diamond.” To the dignity of the stone was fully revealed, before something to call it, it needs to be processed. - Yes, of course, Benvenuto will take care of it tomorrow. I paused, looking at the Duke with inexpressible bitterness. He looked at me and apparently understood. - But, as far as I know about you, you are not famous for cutting stones, and Benvenuto is a recognized master. - Master? - I cried out in righteous anger, - how, how did you did they say? Master? Oh, how much art and the whole race would benefit human, if this master had done nothing but stabbing was busy! Nowadays it has become easy to be called a master, if That's what they call Cellini! But there are moments - seriously and frowning I continued, “when should one show high taste and remember that art is durable, but life is short! Remember and be horrified that this "Carbonado", as you called him, almost fell into the hands of Benvenuto! I felt infinitely right, and my speech flowed freely and convincingly. The Duke's eyes became moist: without saying a word, he caught my hand and put a diamond in it. - How long will it take you to work? - Threeday, my lord. - Go ahead and don’t hesitate. In your tools, I believe, there is no shortage, and you will receive the money in full upon completion of the work. Somewhat annoyed by the Duke's last phrase, I went out to deep thought. This is how it turns out that the more I thirst for peace, the further he's running away from me. The events of life are mixed up so coolly, woven into such a knot, that there is only one way to unravel them, more than once tried and tested by me - to chop and tear everything apart. My speech before the Duke was quite sincere - so what, but that I could cut a diamond better than Cellini was indisputable, and, therefore, art, in any case, was not lost, which is the main thing, because: life is short, but art is long lasting. It can be assumed that the Duke will also benefit - after all, he will get my cardboard with the image of St. Teresa, probably not less valuable than carbonado. (Lute music sounds and the cloaked figure disappears into the blackness streets of Florence. Caption: "End of the second episode." ) . . . . . . . . . . It is curious that Valera Marus is associated with diamonds stronger than characters in the TV movie, he will die because of diamonds. Therefore even Valera's insignificant historical knowledge was enough to grasp anachronism in the events depicted. Without hearing about famous jewelers of the Renaissance, he neverthelessknows what it is the word "diamond" appeared only at the end of the 17th century, and before that they didn’t know how to process diamonds, which Valera Marus found out when attended advanced training courses for sharpeners, wanting to pass the fifth category. This was one of the periods of his life when he started a new life: bought trousers, a notebook, a ballpoint pen and I wrote down everything that I managed to do from the introductory lecture - that’s exactly what diamonds. Then he wrote down less and less, and then nothing I wrote it down, but I stopped going, realizing that I was in fifth grade It’s better not to try to pass, otherwise you’ll be deprived of the fourth one. And now it’s too late, and what should I take for the fifth grade now? Valera is almost forty years old, but she doesn’t expect to live until retirement, because such a harmful specialty is a diamond sharpener. On the work seems good and clean - curtains, flowers; but in reality In fact, invisible diamond dust accumulates in the lungs, and they turn to stone. Valera recently had surgery on her lungs, and the surgeon then I scolded him for a long time because everyone was scalpeled on his lungs learned by rote. A diamond sharpener is supposed to work for forty minutes, then twenty minutes to leave the premises, but where to go? On the street stand? Valera remains in place - smokes or smokes, and sometimes goes to the boiler room to see his friend Ivan, but in the boiler room he always It smells so much like gas that within twenty minutes Valera starts suffocate.Valera took out from the wardrobe a preserved copy of the course advanced training notebook and began to look at the rough diligent lines. It became very difficult for him; it seemed better not to live anymore. He abruptly turns off the TV, which is droning on about oil pipelines, goes to the window - there is snow, it’s dark, there’s nowhere to go. Valera understands that the mash he has set will be ready in a day three, but, of course, there are already some degrees in it. And it makes him feel better. (To be continued.)
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