ONE day Suvorov called an officer who was known for being excessively talkative. Having locked the doors, Suvorov, under the guise of the greatest secret, told the officer: “You have an evil enemy who is doing you dirty at every step...” Alarmed by the field marshal’s news, the officer began to quickly list his enemies. He called their names, but Suvorov waved his hands: “Not that one, not that one at all.”
Then Suvorov tiptoed to the window and doors, as if checking if they were being overheard, and whispered to the officer: “Stick out your tongue!” The officer obeyed. Then Suvorov, pointing his finger at his tongue, said: “Here it is!” Here it is! That’s who your worst enemy is!”
Language is truly our worst enemy. And not a foreign language, but our own.
Many great sins arise from the tongue from its improper use.
“The tongue is fire,” writes the apostle. Jacob (3:6). Fire is a great force. Just as a fire begins with a match or a spark, so the tongue, having fallen under the power of the devil, leaves the obedience of the human mind, does an evil deed, and becomes an instrument of dark forces.
The tongue can pray or curse, thank God or blaspheme; can express joy, love, gratitude or contempt, hatred, slander. That's why ap. James advises Christians to learn to control the tongue, to bridle it, just as a rider bridles an unruly horse.
Thoughtless, unweighted words, bursting out, more than once brought sorrow to me.
I often have to witness empty, completely useless conversations. You listen and think: what if you invite these people to pray or read a chapter from Scripture? They will probably say: “We don’t have time”...
Friends, fear an idle tongue like fire, like a flood, like a plague. We sin a lot with our tongue. The Russian emigration especially suffers from this disease. Fear slander like atomic war. Don't take every rumor at face value. Rumors must be verified before they are believed. The best thing to do is to filter out all rumors. Not only for an incorrect judgment about a person, but “for every idle word that people speak, they will give an answer on the day of judgment: for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned,” said Christ (Matthew 12:36,37) . This is a reason to be careful when talking to people.
The Lord said: “I hate lying lips.” This evil must be fought. “Liars... will not inherit the kingdom of God.” This is what Scripture teaches.
And one more thing: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” says God’s commandment. How many times a day do Christians break this commandment! Recently, this sin has been especially instilled in Americans. The great, holy name of the Lord Jesus Christ is repeated by millions of people in the wrong places. I was talking to a Mexican guy at work once. (There is a cross on his neck.) He hit his finger with a hammer, jumped up as if stung, and cried out: “Oh, Chisas Christ!..” I pointed out to him the commandment of God. He replied: “This is our habit.” It’s amazing what priests are doing if their flock does not know that taking the name of the Lord in vain is a great sin.
The tongue must be subordinated to the will, and the will to Christ, and then the tongue will be in the service of noble, holy purposes. He will console, delight, thank, and not curse.
I'm not afraid to admit it out loud
I'm not speaking for my neighbor:
Language is my enemy
Language is my friend!
And speaking the language is a victory.
N. Vodnevsky
Kidnapping
Peter Blood, leaning on the gunwale, watched the Arabella being unloaded. It had been exactly three months since they had returned from Jamaica after his unsuccessful attempt to enter the royal service.
All this time he tried to load himself with business to the limit. And although the rainy season created many inconveniences, Blood did not give rest to himself or his people, sometimes acting with the strength of his entire squadron, but much more often going to sea on just the Arabella. They boarded several ships, but there were almost no losses, because most of the captains chose to surrender as soon as they saw the pirates. Returning from a voyage, Blood was ready to immediately set off to something new, even taking on the delivery of especially valuable cargo to the French colonies closest to Tortuga. For good pay, of course. He never stopped anywhere longer than it was necessary to unload the ship and replenish supplies.
The corsairs, unaccustomed to such things, grumbled. However, they regularly received their share, besides, everyone who sailed on the Arabella idolized their captain, and therefore Blood preferred to notice the despondency that flashed on their faces.
Blood did all this so as not to think, not to remember about... No, he will not allow this shadow to appear again from the far corner of his soul, where he tried to hide it.
Today, as soon as they moored, a messenger from His Excellency the Governor of Tortuga jumped onto the deck. The note addressed to Blood actually contained an order to appear in the evening at a reception that the governor was going to give. This was not the first attempt to pull him ashore, and he, as before, wanted to refuse, intending to go out to sea again with the morning low tide.
However, Wolverston, who arrived to find out about the captain’s future plans, said that a little more and the people would rebel. This is especially true for the Arabella team. It’s never been seen that for three months they haven’t been able to get their throats wet in a good tavern, and with a rude beauty on their knees. Why do they even need money then? - he asked angrily.
Blood laughed and told everyone to get out. He himself decided to accept the governor’s invitation.
When will you be back, Peter? - asked Wolverston.
Perhaps by midnight.
I'll send the guys...
For what? Since I decided to unwind, I’ll take a walk in the moonlight, and at the same time I’ll take a break from your vile faces.
But...
“It’s not worth discussing, Ned,” Peter grinned. - It would be better if you follow your own advice and go and pay tribute to the good Jamaican rum.
Wolverston grumbled something else, but the captain no longer listened to him. He straightened his cuffs with a flick and went ashore.
The reception, as always, was excellent. Blood noticed that Madeleine, the governor's eldest daughter, had been staring at him all evening with her radiant eyes. He suspected that he was the ideal of her girlish dreams, and always tried to be nice to her, but nothing more. However, this evening it was as if he saw the girl for the first time. Otherwise. And if he was honest with himself, her inviting and passionate gaze made his body respond. The first moment Blood realized this he was surprised, but then he found that he liked to look at Mademoiselle d'Ogeron.
After the reception ended, d’Ogeron invited Blood into his office. When they walked inside, the governor waved Blood to a chair invitingly, and he himself filled two glasses from a pot-bellied bottle standing on the table.
My friend, today I will let you try a special drink, it is much better and nobler in taste than rum, and is not inferior in strength. It is stored in oak barrels, and this contributes to the appearance of a special taste,” saying this, Monsieur d’Ogeron handed the filled glass to Blood. “This bottle was delivered to me the other day from France...
They were silent for several minutes, enjoying the unusual taste and delicate aroma of the drink. And suddenly, without any transition, the governor said:
We, your friends, care about you.
Here's how, and why?
You look tired, and it seems to me that you used to have a fire in you, but now...
It went out, I admit.
Have you ever thought about getting married?
Blood almost choked from surprise:
What, do I look that bad?
God forbid! But the day comes when you find yourself at a crossroads.
And, in your opinion, I should get a nice wife, put on a nightcap and sit down to write my memoirs?
No, but you could do something... less risky. Memoirs... - d "Ogeron nodded his head, - Yes, memoirs. It could be very profitable, in Europe they would sell out instantly. You business man, and not just a corsair! The funds that you entrusted to me to manage are secured in bills of exchange from reliable French banks. Why should you continue to put yourself at risk? You can lead a very, very wealthy life.
Who are you offering me as my wife? You didn't just start talking about marriage.
Madeleine.
Madeleine?
Until recently, I did not take this seriously, because these were only my daughter’s dreams and idle gossip, but, it seems to me, something has changed... - the governor paused and clicked his tongue, savoring the drink, then stated bluntly: - I saw how you looked at Madeleine today, Monsieur Blood.
Nothing can be hidden from the eyes of the Governor of Tortuga...
That’s why he’s the governor,” d’Ogeron laughed, but immediately became serious. - But now I am first and foremost loving father, caring for the welfare of his daughter. So, do you promise to think about it?
“I promise,” Peter answered firmly.
Of course, I didn’t call you only to arrange Madeleine’s fate,” d’Ogeron looked at Blood with alarm. - I believe you know how many powerful enemies you have...
Of course, Blood knew that both the Spanish king and the English king were both looking for a way to destroy him. And somewhere else Don Miguel de Espinosa wandered the seas, and we also couldn’t forget about the governor of Jamaica. Not to mention smaller opponents - pirate captains or members of their crews, whose interests he ever infringed.
You have to pay for fame,” Blood grinned. “However, here in Tortuga I have no enemies.”
Are you sure?
Yes. Really, you are so worried, do you know something?
Nothing specific. I was recently informed that the governor of Jamaica, an old acquaintance of yours, has put a fabulous price on your head, and if anyone can capture you alive, he will receive twice as much. He is a persistent person, as far as I know.
The Governor of Jamaica thinks highly of me. I heard that Don Miguel would also like to get me...
Don't joke about it. The other day someone discreetly tried to offer me a good deal through a third party. Help lure you into a trap. I, as you understand, rejected the vile proposal, but someone may agree. What do you know about Cahuzac?
I haven't seen Cahusac since Maracaibo and, I confess, I thought that he was no longer in Tortuga.
So he appeared again! - exclaimed d'Ogeron.
Blood thought about it. It was the first time he had seen the governor so worried. Perhaps he was too hasty in declaring that he had no enemies in Tortuga.
It would be reckless of him to threaten me. Especially here in Tortuga. He's too cowardly and stupid for that.
It seems that his words did not convince d’Ogeron, but Blood had already stood up: “Thank you for a wonderful evening and an interesting conversation, I’ll think about everything.” Your drink is divine.
The governor clasped his hands in despair:
But at least get security! I will order my people to accompany you to the port or, if you wish, I will provide you with my carriage!
Thank you, but it's not worth it. I want to take a little walk alone.
***
Blood left the hospitable governor's house and walked quickly in the warm dusk southern night towards the port. He involuntarily recalled Mademoiselle d’Ogeron, her grace and stately figure with high and lush breasts, her dark passionate eyes and dark skin. He felt himself drawn to her. It’s been a long time since any woman aroused such interest and such desire, not one except...
“Enough, think about Madeleine.”
It was pleasant to think about Madeleine. Perhaps the governor is right, it’s time to finally settle down.
He passed the city center and turned into the winding outlying streets. The dark bulk of the port warehouses appeared not far away, and the close breath of the ocean could already be felt when a thin plaintive cry cut through the darkness of the night. Blood stopped.
A woman was screaming, however, this was a common thing in the port slums, and Blood would never have paid attention to it. However, he did not hear in the voice the hoarse and shrill notes characteristic of port whores. The voice could belong to a very young girl or even a child.
Cursing and checking his pistol, Blood stepped into the narrow dark street between the shacks that stuck together one after the other. He heard some commotion ahead, but his eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. He had barely taken a couple of steps, focusing on the sounds, when something darted at his feet and a blow fell on his head.
A squat, stocky man bent over Blood and began to wrap rope around his arms and legs.
Calm the girl down,” he grumbled, turning to his accomplice, who was holding a squirming, frail girl of about ten years old.
He mumbled inarticulately, and suddenly gasped: the little captive sank her teeth into his hand. Turning around, the girl rushed headlong to run and instantly disappeared into the darkness. The short man hissed a curse in a low voice and began to tie the defeated captain even faster. Having checked the bundles, he lifted Blood by the shoulders and waved his hand to his comrade, who obediently grabbed the captain by the legs, and the kidnappers with their burden disappeared into the labyrinth between the long barracks.
The awakening was not pleasant. Not only did Peter feel that he was tightly bound, but he also recognized the one who was bending over him: Cahusac!
He looked around and discovered that he was in an old boathouse, no longer in use due to its disrepair. The roar of the surf could be heard very close by, which meant they were at the far end of the port, where few could wander even during the day, let alone at night. Badly. Blood tried to suppress the rage that filled him, realizing that he had to act differently.
Long time no see, Cahuzac! What wind brought you to Tortuga?
It’s unlikely that this wind will be favorable to you, captain,” Cahusac’s small eyes looked at Blood with gloating and hatred: “You’ve sailed, and neither your snake tongue nor your people will help you!”
Blood glanced at his accomplice, a big guy with a dull, expressionless face and a flat forehead. Looks like a retard. Very bad. In another situation, one could try to pit these two against each other, playing on greed and envy, but in this one!
Don't look at Tom, Mister, I grabbed him like a beast of burden, he only obeys me.
It seems that dear Cahusac has sharply wised up and learned to read minds.
- May I know what you intend to do with me?
You ask a lot of questions, look, and Tom doesn’t like it,” Cahusac pointed to his partner, who grumbled indistinctly. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, I swore to take revenge on you, I would do it for free!”
"For free? Of course, a large ransom was promised for me... Should I try to give more?
Would you give up money? I'll never believe it!
Cahuzac seemed embarrassed, apparently this was indeed far from the truth. Maybe we can still play on this?
So who promised to pay you? - there was a small hope that it could be one of the offended captains, and there was always a chance to come to an agreement with them.
You’ll find out soon, but I assure you, you won’t like it,” Cahusac laughed quietly and ominously.
Will everything go as it should? Maybe instead of the promised money you will get a few inches of steel under your heart, eh, Cahuzac? And I will offer you double, triple the price. You know that I am rich enough and that I keep my word.
Cahuzac clearly hesitated: after all, greed overcame his newly acquired mental abilities, and Blood began to have hope. He tried to come from the other side:
The city knows you threatened me. Do you think my guys won't find you?
Who said I was going to stay here? Don't threaten me, captain!
Do you think they'll limit their search to Tortuga? And it seems to me that you yourself are not sure of the honesty... of the customer. Under other circumstances, I would have made a bet with you. I bet he'll deceive you. Why such a risk? I don't understand why you're so angry with me? If you were a little smarter, you wouldn’t have been left with nothing after Maracaibo. Now you can take revenge on me in another way, for example, I will give you double your share. How much did they offer you for my head?
Blood spoke calmly and confidently, even mockingly, but he didn’t feel particularly confident. Despite his hesitation, Cahuzac continued to cast evil glances at him, and it was impossible to understand what was going on in his head. I didn’t want to think at all about who the customer was: that Don Miguel and Colonel Bishop were worth each other. Perhaps he would prefer a Spaniard, if it is appropriate to talk about choice here. In both cases, death awaits him, but the Spaniard will simply hang him on the knock-yard, and the colonel... Oh, knowing his savage inclinations, fueled by long-standing hatred... Peter felt cold sweat break out on his forehead when he imagined, what Bishop can do with him.
Of course, his people will take revenge, but he won’t care. They definitely won't get here in time. Despair overcame Blood more and more, but he continued to fight.
So what, Cahuzac? A double share and the glory that you were able to take a ransom from Captain Blood himself or the dubious prospect of receiving any money at all and eternal fear for your life?
Greed flashed in Cahusac's eyes, and Blood was ready to celebrate the victory, but at that moment steps were heard, and several people quickly entered the barn.
“Good catch, Cahuzac,” said one of those who entered, a tall fair-haired man with cold gray eyes, apparently the eldest, with a note of authority in his voice. Then he turned to the prisoner: - Captain Blood, good evening!
He spoke English, and the fishermen's clothes did not hide his military bearing, and Peter's heart sank. He didn't have time!
“I don’t have the honor of being introduced,” he answered impudently.
Lieutenant of His Majesty's Navy James Curring.
Let me agree with you, Mr. Curring. This evening can hardly be called a good one,” Blood grinned.
Karring looked at the pirate with involuntary curiosity: what a dandy, you would meet him on the street, and you would never think that this was a sea robber... The spitting image of a lord or, rather, a noble don, judging by the Spanish camisole. But he had to hurry, and he, turning to his people, commanded:
Bring the prisoner on board. We are setting sail immediately, as soon as I can settle accounts with our friends.
Twenty-eight-year-old James Carring, promoted to lieutenant three years ago personally by Vice Admiral Crawford for his courage and resourcefulness shown in one of the skirmishes of the Jamaican squadron with French privateers, has since been in good standing with the vice admiral. That's why Crawford mentioned his name during a secret meeting with the squadron's senior officers two months ago. The vice admiral had an order from Governor Bishop: he ordered the selection of efficient people to capture a pirate named Peter Blood, at the mention of whom his Excellency always fell into a state of extreme irritation. This irritation especially intensified after Captain Blood, by a strange whim of fate, found himself in the royal service, returned to his pirate activities.
Karring was not too happy when he was ordered to lead the operation to capture the pirate captain. He preferred to engage his opponent in open combat rather than strike on the sly. But orders are not discussed. The lieutenant did not have a chance to see the famous corsair; his Orion was on patrol at that time. But the officers of the squadron and the fort were impressed for a long time by the circumstances of the departure, or rather, the daring escape pirate ship from Port Royal Harbour. Wow, take the governor hostage! It was rumored that this had happened for the second time, and for the first time Bishop found himself in the hands of Captain Blood back in Barbados. As for Carring, what surprised him most was that Blood kept his word and did not deal with the hostage, as one would expect from a despicable pirate.
Three weeks ago, the squadron remained cruising at the appointed place, a couple of days' journey from Tortuga, and Karring, who tried to calm his conscience with the thoughts that we were talking about a criminal, a pirate - an insidious and dishonest enemy, against whom such methods were also suitable, set off with a group of sailors on a fishing schooner to Cayon harbor.
The Governor of Jamaica occasionally received information about what was happening in Tortuga from one of the owners of the countless taverns of Cayon. It was this man who pointed out to the lieutenant Cahusac, who had recently returned to Tortuga, and who was suitable as one of the possible executors.
The speed with which Cahusac agreed to betray his former comrade-in-arms and the greedy gleam that appeared in his eyes at the sight of the generous deposit disgusted Carring and silenced his restless conscience.
“These scoundrels, like spiders in a jar, are just waiting for an opportunity to cling to each other,” he thought, watching Cahuzac quickly grab gold from the table.
All that remained was to choose the moment, because, to Carring’s displeasure, Peter Blood could not sit still: after appearing at the port for several hours, he did not even leave the side of his ship. The time during which Bishop's squadron had to wait for Carring was running out, and he was already thinking that he would have to return empty-handed, when suddenly Cahusac informed him that Peter Blood had gone to visit Governor d'Ogeron, and everything could be done that evening .
The orders Carring received emphasized that no one was to know who had captured Captain Blood. By agreeing to participate in this, Cahuzac thereby signed his own death warrant. The unfortunate idiot made Karring hesitate: he did not want to take his life, it was unlikely that he could give them away. But Cahusac's accomplice suddenly came at him with a roar, lifting the remainder of the stern of the old boat above his head.
Blood, who had already been carried out of the barn, heard two shots and realized that he would have won the bet, but nothing could be done. He saw the nearby lights of the port, ships in the roadstead, it seemed that he could even distinguish his “Arabella”... The thought that freedom was two steps away was so painful that he began to struggle in his bonds and immediately heard a calm voice Karringa:
It's no use, captain, don't flutter.
He was loaded into a lifeboat and a few minutes later he was being lifted aboard a small ship with the lights extinguished. The prisoner was brought into a fairly spacious and dry hold, which was illuminated by a dim lantern suspended from the ceiling.
Lieutenant Karring went down into the hold and ordered the ropes to be cut. One of the sailors hastened to carry out the order. But before Blood had time to rub his numb hands, metal clinked and shackles closed on his wrists.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Captain Blood,” Carring noted ironically, “but it’s still better than spending many hours tied up.”
Your generosity is unparalleled,” Blood responded in tone.
Meanwhile, the sailor also put leg shackles on him, to which a long chain was chained. Its other end was attached to a massive hook in the bulkhead. The key turned with a grinding sound in the lock of the shackles, then the sailor handed it to the lieutenant.
However, what precautions! - Blood chuckled.
Karring frowned and, without answering, put the key in his pocket.
Mr. Carring, would you be so kind as to tell me where you are taking me?
His Excellency the Governor of Jamaica awaits you for an audience. We will meet with his squadron in a day.
The lieutenant's face was strong-willed and open, and Blood looked into his eyes carefully.
Karring said coldly:
I am aware of your diplomatic skills, Captain Blood. Don't try to use them on me. You've been outplayed, get over it. Later, food and water will be brought to you. I don't wish you any unnecessary suffering.
Peter Blood, despite the melancholy that filled his heart, answered with an amiable smile:
A day is quite a long time, a lot can still happen. For example, you will be boarded, a storm will break out and the ship will be carried far from the meeting place, or we will all go to the bottom, or, finally, I will smash my head with these chains.
Karring, already climbing the ladder, looked back:
I like you, Captain Blood. I don’t think you will commit suicide, you are one of those who fight to the last. As for the rest, everything is in God’s hands, although the weather is excellent, and it’s unlikely that anyone would think of attacking an old fishing schooner.
And the hold lid slammed shut.
Hospitality of the Governor of Jamaica
The sound of the lid slamming rang like a death knell in Peter Blood's head. Not wanting to humble himself, he examined every link of his chains, hoping to find some kind of flaw, tried to swing the hook with which they were attached to the bulkhead, but the shackles were made to last, as befits in good old England.
Then he sat down on the floor and thought. The waves splashed evenly against the side of the schooner, the lantern swayed to the beat, casting broken shadows. Peter's mind was racing, but nothing worthwhile came to mind. Unless some pirate is crazy enough to be tempted by the pitiful booty. He could only rely on fate, hoping that Lady Luck, who had so generously bestowed her favors on him until now, would not turn away from him. Blood understood that the chances of salvation were negligible. Torment and death lay ahead, but he did not allow melancholy and fear to take over, the fear of a creature of flesh and blood who passionately wanted to live.
The hold lid opened again, and two sailors looked into the hold. One of them went down, and his comrade remained standing on the top step of the ladder, holding Blood at gunpoint with his musket. The sailor silently placed on the floor a jug of water and a plate on which lay crackers and several slices of corned beef.
After they left, everything became quiet, only the splashing of water could be heard, and the cracking of the bulkheads of the old ship. Blood sat motionless, it seemed he even began to doze off, and shuddered because a low voice sounded in his head:
“Death is very important. People do not always remember the life of a warrior, but they talk about his dignified death around night fires. And about the unworthy one too.”
He remembered Paco. A short Indian, the last of an exterminated tribe, with an unpronounceable name, loosely translated into Spirit-Talker and shortened to Paco, a sorcerer and son of a sorcerer. A slave of some finally degenerate Spanish hidalgo. Paco was rescued by Iberville from a boarded Spaniard a year ago. They discovered the Indian thanks to the excessive curiosity, or rather, the greed of one of Iberville’s people: the prisoner was chained in the farthest room of the sinking ship and did not make a sound.
Paco understood Spanish, but it, in turn, was not easy for even Blood to understand, although over time the Indian began to speak better and even learned a few English words. Blood remembered his conversations with Paco. At first the strange Indian amused him. Having learned that he had the honor of communicating with a sorcerer and even his fellow doctor, he began to tease the Speaker-with-Spirits. Once he asked:
“Why didn’t you call thunder and lightning on your master’s head?”
“Paco can speak with the Aya-Spirits of the departed. He can ask the Ka-Spirit, who has left the body but has not yet entered the Upper World, to return if it is really necessary... To drive away or lure the beast. Everything has a Ka, but when my former master and his warriors attacked our village, Paco thought they were demons. They didn't have Ka. Paco later realized that he was wrong, most white people have Ka. But he's sleeping.."
"Can you kill a person?"
The Indian turned away displeasedly and muttered:
“Paco can ask Ka to leave. Paco doesn't like doing this."
“Do I have Ka?”
"Eat".
At this point Blood became doubly curious:
“Will you wake me up?”
“Why do you need it?”
“I’ll check if you’re a real sorcerer.”
Paco looked at him intently, and Blood felt uneasy from the gaze of his impenetrable black eyes. It seemed to him that someone’s hand lightly squeezed his heart, stronger, even stronger, and he froze, unable to take his eyes off the Indian’s face. Then the hand disappeared, but a wave of heat passed through the body only to explode in the head with instant pain. The sorcerer's lips curled into a smile:
“Have you checked? Now beware, your Ka has become visible to our demons.”
Blood took a breath:
“Some kind of devilry.”
But since then he has taken the little Indian much more seriously. He felt professional curiosity and allowed Paco to bring various local plants into the closet on the Arabella, from which he prepared potions used by the Indians. The drugs turned out to be very effective, but few of the fearless pirates dared to resort to it. Some quietly crossed their fingers against the evil eye, as soon as they saw the short, dense figure of the sorcerer.
Another time, remembering stories about the northern Indians, Blood asked:
“I heard there are other peoples living in the north, a little like you. When they are captured, they smile in response to the torture of their enemies, and it is considered a matter of honor not to reveal their suffering. Can your warriors do the same?
“They can, but this cannot be done often or for a long time. In war or in the face of enemies."
"Why?"
“The body,” the Indian patted his stomach, “is not getting stronger. You can push the pain away, but then it will come back. And he will drink your life."
“And you know how to make the pain go away?”
The Indian nodded silently, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation.
“Listen,” said Blood, “I have many enemies.”
He put on a gloomy look and continued, hoping that he had found a good reason for Paco:
“If I am captured, I want to show them an example of a dignified death.”
He glanced at him:
“You are old, our young men begin to comprehend this skill as soon as they reach the age of warriors.”
Blood grinned.
"I'm a fast learner."
“Okay,” replied the Indian. -You were kind to Paco, the last of your people. Paco doesn't know how others do it, but among his people there were two ways. One is simple: you need to see what pain feels like and remove it from your body. Suitable for minor pain. Another difficult and dangerous one: your Ka must be allowed to come out, but keep it close at all times, otherwise the Ka will turn into Aya. On the second path, you won't care what they do to you. The only trouble is that Ka almost always has nowhere to return to. I’ll try to teach you at least the first way.”
Blood, partly for fun, began studying with the sorcerer, but gradually became more involved. He taught him to concentrate, looking at water or fire, and clear his mind of vain thoughts; Particular attention was paid to proper breathing. Gradually the tasks became more complicated, and the sorcerer chuckled contentedly as he followed Blood’s progress.
“It’s a pity that I’ve completely given up on it lately. But I will at least use what I have learned.”
Blood smiled slightly: When the time comes to die, he will try not to please Colonel Bishop with his screams.
The next day turned out to be as fine as the previous one, except that the wind had weakened. This was stated by Lieutenant Karring, who looked into the hold to check how the prisoner was doing and whether he needed anything. Blood immediately pointed to his chains.
These iron ornaments don't suit my suit at all.
This caused the lieutenant to grin: he was definitely beginning to like the pirate for his insolence. He also added that their journey would take a long time and the meeting with Bishop’s squadron would take place only tomorrow.
“Oh, I’m in no hurry,” Blood assured him. “I think that I will have to abuse the hospitality of the Governor of Jamaica anyway.”
The lieutenant left, and Blood returned to his interrupted studies, remembering what the Indian had taught him. He even managed to get some sleep, but was awakened by the patter of many feet above his head.
The hatch swung open and soldiers descended into the hold. They were commanded by a red-faced sergeant. At first he wanted to leave Blood chained hand and foot, but Karring intervened.
Sergeant Johnson, will you drag a prisoner down the ramp on your hump?
No way, sir! - he barked, glancing warily at Blood. - However, I have clear instructions from His Excellency the Governor...
I understand that His Excellency has ordered Captain Blood to be brought in alive. But if the prisoner falls off the ladder and goes to the bottom, then the governor’s order will not be carried out due to your fault.
Johnson was confused - apparently, he had not thought about this turn of events:
We must not allow the slightest possibility of the criminal escaping...
- Don't be stupid, Sergeant. How do you think he can escape? - Karring asked sharply.
It was more expensive for Johnson to argue with the lieutenant, even if he was not his commander, and so he panted:
Your responsibility, Mr. Curring.
Blood watched the skirmish with curiosity: why did Karring need to make his life easier? However, whether he has shackles on him or not, this will not change his fate much.
They unchained him, and he calmly allowed the soldiers to take him out. On deck, Blood looked around, eagerly inhaling the sea air. It was morning, the sun was shining brightly, and the huge ships of the Jamaican squadron towered around. A boat with sailors was waiting at the side of the schooner, and a few minutes later the prisoner was already on the flagship.
Welcome, Captain Blood! I will try to make your stay here as entertaining as possible! - a familiar voice rang out, full of mockery and hatred.
Blood turned around and looked fearlessly into the face of Colonel Bishop as he approached him.
Colonel, your affection for me is truly limitless! Every time we meet, troubles overtake you, and you even take a short swim. However, the latter fully corresponds to my medical recommendations, and is clearly good for you,” he answered mockingly.
Bishop turned purple:
- Hey, what are you waiting for! Throw the bastard into the hold immediately! And do not give him any food or water. He won't need them!
Your Excellency, take your time! - Blood recognized the voice of Lord Wade: wow, this guy is here too! – Why these excesses? I need this pirate for a public trial.
“Okay,” Bishop grumbled dissatisfied. - Give me some water. I'll talk to him later. Heading for Port Royal.
Lady Luck did not want to intervene. Captain Blood found himself in the hands of his worst enemy, whose hospitality he was to fully enjoy.
In the hold
As soon as Blood was in the hold of the Emperor, the shackles were put on him again. Colonel Bishop kept his word - the prisoner was not given food, but the hunger that initially plagued him gradually subsided. He was also not given the luxury of light. But there was water, and even in excess. However, it was difficult to call the fetid oily liquid that covered the floor an inch water. The darkness heightened his senses to the limit; it seemed to Peter that he had merged with the ship and even seemed to feel the coolness of the sea waves and the tickling touches of the shells that covered the bottom of the Emperor. Did the science of the sorcerer Paco have an effect?
The sea was quite calm. Blood did not know where Carring's schooner met the Jamaican squadron, but in any case, it is unlikely that their journey to Jamaica could have taken more than two or three days.
In the darkness of the hold, time did not exist. Sometimes Blood could hear the voices of sailors. Then suddenly heavy footsteps were heard above, and light flashed through the cracks in the hatch cover. Then someone pulled back the lid and Blood lowered his head, covering his eyes with his hand.
Governor Bishop delayed the pleasure of enjoying the sight of the defeated Captain Blood until the very end of the voyage. He also had to fight his urge to interrogate Blood before he arrived in Port Royal.
But he was restrained by Lord Wade's intention to bring Blood to open trial. Bishop did not share his lordship's ideas and even tried to convince Wade, but he was adamant. Therefore, the governor realized that the interrogation had to be approached skillfully and without haste, so as not to inadvertently finish off the prisoner. However, when Vice Admiral Crawford announced that in an hour the squadron would enter Port Royal Bay, Bishop, ordering two soldiers to accompany him, went to the hold where Blood was being held...
Having overcome the narrow ladder with a grunt, Bishop went down and stopped, looking around blindly. The light from the lantern caught the motionless figure of Blood, who was sitting with his back against the bulkhead.
So, Captain Blood, everything is back to normal,” Bishop said triumphantly, approaching him. - So the slave returned to his master, and the convict returned to his chains.
The prisoner was silent, and the colonel chuckled with satisfaction:
Have you forgotten your insolence this time?
Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit,” Blood answered slowly, as if reluctantly.
What are you muttering there? Are you praying for your sinful soul? It’s about time,” Bishop gurgled, which, apparently, meant laughter.
Chains clinked. Raising his head, Blood said calmly:
Colonel Bishop, apparently Latin is beyond your feeble mind. This saying says that man proposes, but God disposes.
Wicked! Only you can trust in the mercy of the Lord!
The peaceful doctor could not even imagine that he would become a convict, and the desperate convict, in turn, could not imagine that he would become the captain of the ship.
The governor gasped in amazement.
Are you really shameless enough to hope for something? - he croaked.
Why shouldn’t I hope that the fetid hold will again be replaced by the captain’s cabin or... the governor’s chair? Viae Domini imperceptae sunt. Neither the pirate nor the governor can know what is in store for them tomorrow.
The world has never known an insolent person like you! - Bishop yelled.
Blood narrowed his eyes at the governor, who had bulging veins on his forehead.
Having suddenly calmed down, he spoke quietly and deliberately:
Okay. I may not know my own fate, but I can tell you what your last days and hours will be like. Very soon the Emperor will drop anchor in the Port Royal roadstead. You will be taken to shore under reliable guard. I once promised not to leave an inch of intact skin on your back, but the Spanish devils interrupted our conversation. Now no one will interfere with us... You will beg for death, but the executioner John Liddle knows his craft. He will make sure that you live to the scaffold and dance a jig on the gallows.
He spat, walked away from Blood and began to climb the ladder. The steps creaked pitifully.
Be careful, Colonel. What if one of the steps doesn't support your weight or you trip and fall and break your neck? Then it is quite likely that your fabrications about my last hours will turn out to be erroneous, and the executioner Liddle will not have to sweat in the dungeon.
Bishop had already opened his mouth, about to burst into a stream of abuse, but at that moment his foot slipped off the step and he grabbed the edge of the hatch.
Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit,” Blood grinned.
Taking a breath, the governor glared angrily at him and hurried to get out of the hold.
When Bishop came on deck, the Emperor was preparing to drop anchor. The boatswain's pipes whistled and the ship slowed down. Lord Wade, seeing the governor, came down from the quarterdeck and approached him.
Your Excellency, what do you intend to do when you arrive in Port Royal?
First of all, it is necessary to ensure the transportation of Captain Blood to prison. I've already given the order to Sergeant Johnson. Then I will visit the prisoner,” an unpleasant smile appeared on Bishop’s lips: “I have a few questions left for him.”
His lordship knitted his eyebrows in displeasure:
- Haven't we come to an agreement regarding Peter Blood?
Of course, I remember our agreement,” Bishop muttered.
Then be careful not to overdo it, Mr. Governor. I need Blood alive and relatively intact.
There's no need for anyone to worry, Your Grace, I'll just give him a little spanking. An old promise, you know.
His Lordship's Bride
Arabella Bishop rode to the top of the hill and sent her mare into a gallop. She galloped along a narrow path along the crest of a hill, and the fresh wind ruffled her hair.
A cannon shot came from the fort, the girl pulled the reins, holding the horse and looking anxiously towards the sea. Now, in the absence of the Jamaican squadron, the city remained defenseless against any more or less serious enemy. But her fears were in vain, she recognized the ships: it was her uncle’s squadron entering the harbor of Port Royal. Arabella winced slightly. Lately, Uncle could only talk about his plans to capture Captain Blood.
The mare began to walk, then, obeying the firm hand of the rider, she stopped. From here there was a beautiful view of the bay. Arabella was in no hurry to continue her journey; she admired the endlessly changing and at the same time unchanged turquoise element. It is worth admitting that she began to come here more often and look for a long time at the horizon, where the white sails of the ship that bears her name disappeared.
Peter Blood... more than three months have passed since they last saw each other - most likely, really in last time. And isn't she to blame? Oh, how many times during this time she reproached herself! After all, if it weren’t for her words! How could you be so cruel and... stupid! Why did she so readily believe the dirty gossip about Captain Blood and not even want to listen to him himself? If only we could repeat that conversation! But Blood left so quickly, and then it was too late.
“If I could see you, if only I could see you for a moment, I would try to explain everything. That story with Mademoiselle d'Ogeron... I felt such anger... and such pain... Why did I turn out to be so deaf to the voice of my own heart?
Arabella shook her head sadly and took a shaky breath.
But Captain Blood would have been able to take Port Royal. If he had come for her... She pulled herself together:
"How can you even think about like this?! And the death of innocents?
Then Arabella thought with bitterness that innocents had already perished during these months at the hands of the men Blood commanded. Taking another look at the sea, she touched the mare with the whip and slowly rode towards the city. The girl let go of the reins, allowing the horse to choose its own path, and she plunged into her conflicting experiences.
The intelligent animal went straight to the governor's house and stopped in front of the gate, arching its neck and looking questioningly at its owner, only then Arabella woke up from her thoughts.
Strangely, Colonel Bishop did not appear by lunchtime, although the squadron’s flagship had long since dropped anchor in the roadstead. Lord Julian, who was a frequent visitor to their house, did not come either. Arabella was rather happy about the latter circumstance. His attention was too persistent at the receptions hosted by Governor Bishop, too often he allowed himself to touch her hand when it was not necessary. In addition, it became his lordship's habit to come across her in the galleries of the house and on the paths of the garden - completely by accident, of course. But Wade's gaze left Arabella with an unpleasant feeling.
She ordered dinner to be served in her room; she did not want to be alone in the huge empty dining room. In the afternoon she went down into the garden and sat down on a bench in the shade of an ebony tree, intending to immerse herself in reading Mr. Bunyan's novel, which had recently arrived from London. But the repercussions of the Pilgrim’s allegorical wanderings could not captivate her. She put the book down and got up to walk around.
Good afternoon, Miss Bishop! Will you let me take a walk with you?
Lord Wade approached her. Arabella answered politely, hiding her annoyance:
Good afternoon, Lord Wade. Was everything safe on the voyage?
Yes, thank you, more than! - and he looked at her strangely, sideways.
He was clearly about to say something, but Arabella asked:
Do you know where my uncle is? He didn't come for lunch.
Didn't come? – Lord Julian was surprised. - That's how
Did something happen?
Yes,” he continued to think about something, frowning, and finally said: “Miss Bishop, your uncle captured Captain Blood three days ago.”
Arabella must have turned pale, because Lord Julian peered worriedly into her face.
Are you sure? – she barely said with alien, dead lips.
Of course, I was on the Emperor when the prisoner was brought there, and I saw him.
And my uncle now...
Colonel Bishop was going to interrogate the captain. We need some information about his people if we are to rid the Caribbean of pirates...
Interrogate?! – Arabella began to tremble. – Do you mean... torture?
Oh, don’t worry, that’s not necessary at all,” but there was no confidence in Lord Julian’s voice. - If Blood cooperates...
Don't consider me a child, you are well aware of my uncle's intentions regarding Captain Blood, he has shared them more than once! And that a man like Peter Blood would never... cooperate!
She suddenly squeezed Lord Wade's hand.
I ask you to intervene in the name of the king! - she suppressed a sob and continued with a passionate plea in her voice: - Don’t let my uncle commit this sin, because he has already drowned his soul in hatred! No living being deserves to be tortured, not even a criminal. Spare Captain Blood this! If he is guilty, let the court sentence him. And then the heavenly Judge will reward him with justice... Remember our conversation, you gave your word to help him!
Julian looked at her silently, thinking about his own:
“How beautiful she is! Oh, my chest is heaving with excitement, and those eyes! Tears make them shine even brighter.”
Now he wanted to possess her more than ever before:
“How passionate she is, but she seemed so cold, unapproachable... How much fire is hidden in her... I have to get her. And perhaps this is my chance.”
Out loud he said softly and insinuatingly:
But why should I care what the governor of the colony does with the pirate? Yes, I remember my words, but the political situation has changed. His Majesty made it clear that he did not want to hear any more about Captain Blood. And even more so now that the danger posed by the pirate has been eliminated. But if my beautiful bride, who has a kind and generous heart, asks me...
Arabella recoiled as if struck:
- No, you cannot demand this! – she exclaimed in despair.
But your request is also... unusual. God knows, Miss Bishop, I love you. However, any intervention in the fate of a state criminal will be very risky. But for the sake of my future wife, I am ready to do anything, even this risk.
Arabella pressed her fingers to her temples, her heart pounding painfully and loudly in her chest. Then the thought flashed through her head that while they were bickering, her uncle...
Okay...” she whispered, “I will become your wife.”
That's great. I think we will announce our engagement immediately. For my part, I promise you that I will do everything possible in this situation to help Captain Blood. He will be provided with everything he needs, and if necessary, the help of a doctor. I promise to speak in his defense at the trial, perhaps I will be able to replace the death penalty with life imprisonment.
“That’s definitely not the case, it wasn’t enough for him to escape from hard labor again,” he immediately thought.
Arabella looked up at him with unseeing eyes:
– The wedding will take place only after the process.
Can I kiss my bride?
Without waiting for an answer, Lord Julian pulled the girl towards him and literally pressed his lips to hers. She shuddered in disgust and pressed her hands on his chest:
Hurry up!
Of course, my treasure!
He really hurried to leave the garden. Lord Julian wanted Captain Blood to be tried, it would benefit his career. In the morning, parting with the colonel, he felt a vague reluctance to leave the prisoner alone with the bloodthirsty Bishop, who had declared his intention to interrogate Blood.
Upon learning that the colonel never showed up, Wade became seriously worried. Coming out of the garden, he ordered the coachman to drive with all possible haste in the direction of the Port Royal prison.
Between life and death
Perhaps Governor Bishop would have kept his word to Lord Julian, if not for one circumstance: as Wade had feared, he had lost control of himself.
Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Bishop went down to the basement of the city prison, where the executioner Liddle and his henchman were already laying out the tools of their terrible craft. In the corner, at a small table, the governor's secretary hunched over, preparing to write down the prisoner's answers. Soon Blood was brought into the basement. Dismissing the guards with a casual gesture, Bishop walked around him, grinning carnivorously. He had been hunting the damned pirate for so long, and now that Blood was finally in his power, the colonel's most vile inclinations demanded release.
Bishop sat down on a chair, and the executioners dragged Blood to the chains hanging from the ceiling. His shirt was torn off and his hands were secured in iron rings, then Liddle tightened the chains so that the prisoner could barely touch the floor with his feet. Reveling in the sweetness of revenge, the governor waved his hand. The whip whistled through the air and the first blow landed on Peter's back.
Wanting to maintain the appearance of interrogation, Bishop asked the same questions: about pirate ships, about secret sites and buried treasures. Blood, in an extremely impolite manner, refused to provide any information, and no longer honored His Excellency with answers. And frankly speaking, the governor was not too interested in this: first of all, he wanted to punish the former slave for his obstinacy.
The heavy twisted whip left bloody stripes on the prisoner’s body, but not a single scream escaped from his chest. Enraged by the silence, Bishop set out to break the damned pirate’s resilience at all costs.
Master Liddle, fan your brazier,” he commanded, and then mockingly looked at Blood, covered in blood: “Well, what do you say now about the providence of God?” Still hoping to get out of here?
Only his eyes lived on Blood’s terribly haggard face. He continued to remain silent, and it seemed that all the governor’s rage was being shattered by that clear blue gaze.
You'll scream. I'll make you squeal like a mangy dog! - Bishop hissed and nodded to the executioner.
* * *
Hot iron also did not give the desired result. Even Liddle and his assistant, who had seen everything, became silent, furtively reflecting on themselves sign of the cross, and the secretary, in front of whom lay a pristine interrogation sheet, was ready to hide under the table.
However, Paco managed to reveal too little to his master. Time passed, and Blood began to grow exhausted. He thought wearily that he had been able to hold out longer than he had expected. However, now the pain grew like an avalanche, as if punishing him for trying to deceive her, and Blood was unable to fight it. From this pain, his heart began to beat at a frantic pace, then stopped and skipped beats. As a doctor, he understood what this meant and was ready to welcome death, seeing in it deliverance from torment.
The faces of his tormentors floated, twisting and grimacing, their voices reached him as if through the noise of the sea surf. At one point he heard Bishop ask:
How are you feeling, Dr. Blood? Not hot? What is your forecast for yourself?
And then Blood suddenly raised his head, which was hanging on his chest, and answered, with difficulty pronouncing the words:
It’s been better, I don’t argue... But I have a prognosis and... for you, you fat pig... you’ll have a stroke and you... will rot alive in your bed.
The colonel actually almost had a stroke. The impudence of the half-dead pirate led him to a state close to insanity.
Burn! - His eyes bulging, he shouted to the executioner.
Your Excellency... - Liddle began timidly, - Wait... he won’t stand it...
What-oh-oh?! - Bishop roared. - Now I’ll hang you next to him!
The executioner glanced sideways at the governor in fear: it could only be that the devil himself had possessed his Excellency, because before the interrogation he ordered the prisoner to be saved for execution...
“Well, this doesn’t concern you,” he interrupted his seditious thoughts, “do what they say.”
This was not the first time Liddle had taken to the pliers. Trying not to look at his victim, he picked up a bar of hot metal and pressed it to the pirate's chest.
Peter's body arched in a spasm, and he saw the endless sky above him, along which cracks suddenly ran, as if it were the firmament. A moment later the sky fell on him and darkness reigned...
In the silence that followed, hurried footsteps were heard, and Lord Wade almost ran into the basement.
What's going on here?! - Wade did not hide his anger. He stared in shock at the tortured prisoner, then turned his gaze to the crimson Bishop: “Governor Bishop, have you gone crazy?” You finished him off!
There was a heavy smell of blood and burnt flesh in the basement. His Lordship winced and, taking a scented cambric handkerchief from his pocket, put it to his aristocratically sensitive nose. Bishop looked at Lord Wade for a moment, as if not recognizing him.
“He didn’t say anything,” he finally mumbled.
He won’t say that anymore! “I warned you,” ominous notes appeared in his lordship’s voice, “I needed this pirate!” Take it off!
The executioners rushed to carry out the order, Liddle bent down and pressed himself against Blood’s chest for a long time. Then he straightened up and said in surprise:
Looks like he's breathing...
Incredible! Send immediately for a doctor and provide everything you need! - There was sincere joy in his lordship’s voice, and Bishop looked at him in bewilderment:
Your Mightiness...
Be silent, Colonel, do not forget that you are talking to the royal envoy. You still have to answer for your arbitrariness!
But which doctor should I call?
Hmm... - Lord Julian thought, turning over the city doctors in his mind, - perhaps send for this eccentric William Gordon, as far as I know, he doesn’t care who he treats, even a criminal.
“Damn, what a fool this Bishop is! We must warn him, let him not think of sharing details in the presence of Arabella,” he looked at Blood and felt something similar to sympathy: “Yes... it’s unlikely that he will live to see the morning. But it’s still worth a try... Perhaps I’ll postpone my visit to her until tomorrow, at least I’ll be able to understand what and how to tell her.”
He did just that. The next morning, having learned that Peter Blood, oddly enough, was still alive, he came to his bride. Lord Ued found her, as the day before, in the garden.
After a fierce overnight thunderstorm, the morning was magnificent. The air became crystal clear, the dew drops reflected the sun in myriads of tiny rainbows. But Arabella did not notice the splendor of the morning garden.
A waxy pallor covered her face, but her eyes remained dry. The girl looked at his lordship in silence, and he hastened to assure:
Stop tormenting yourself, my love. Everything is fine.
Is he... suffering a lot? - Arabella said with difficulty.
Oh, not at all, - this was said quite frankly: in the state in which Blood was, he could hardly have suffered much.
Is it possible for me... to see him?
My love, I think that this is out of the question. Now that you are my fiancée, this will be misinterpreted. But I’ve already visited him... - but now be careful, you can’t let her sense the slightest falsehood. - He wishes us happiness.
Did you tell him? - Arabella seemed to turn even more pale.
Yes, he was even surprised when he found out that we were still not married. After all, you remember his instructions?
His Lordship continued to lie with inspiration, because his future happiness now depended on it. Now, if only we could convince her to get married before the trial...
Arabella did not answer. She was the personification of sorrow itself, and soon Lord Ued was forced to take his leave.
“It’s okay,” he consoled himself, “she’ll get used to it.”
* * *
The darkness surrounding Blood began to dissipate, and he found himself in the forest.
This was not the majestic oak forest of his homeland, nor was this forest like the lush, fragrant tropical forests where he had been in recent years.
If there was anything fragrant here, it was only rot. There was a champing sound under his feet, and he slipped on the trunks of fallen trees, covered with a thick layer of moss. Moss also covered the standing trees. Everything seemed dead.
Somewhere above, leaves were fluttering, bathed in sunlight, but not a single one penetrated through the dense interweaving of branches. sunbeam. Strange shadows flashed in the green twilight. Peter thought he heard voices calling his name.
How did he get here? Why is he alone? Did he get lost while hiking?
Where should we go? It was impossible to climb the trees; the first branches started too high. He wandered off at random. From time to time he heard rustling and splashing, as if someone was walking behind him, but when he turned around, he saw no one.
Blood walked for an eternity, but all around was the same moss, slimy roots and trunks of fallen trees under his feet, twilight and whispers. He no longer understood whether he was actually hearing whispers or whether the voices were sounding in his brain.
Suddenly, an angry, familiar voice was heard very close by:
What are you doing here? This place is not for you!
Blood quickly turned around and saw Paco.
“I would like to know what I’m doing here,” he smiled wryly.
Come back!
But how?! This damn forest is everywhere!
You have to want to come back. Then you will find a way.
But Blood just shook his head and sighed:
I don't know where to go.
The Indian showed no sympathy:
Remember what happened to you!
Blood strained his memory, but everything was hidden in the fog.
At this time, many miles from Port Royal, in a cramped room on board the ship, full of strange sweetish smoke from several small incense burners, a little Indian, sitting with his eyes closed on a wretched mat, muttered something in a recitative. Wolverston, who happened to be passing by the closet, spat and barely restrained the desire to cross himself. But he had to resist the urge to rush inside and throw the damned sorcerer overboard even more strongly.
A thunderstorm was gathering over Port Royal.
Remember,” Paco insisted.
He suddenly touched Peter's forehead, and he remembered; however, the memories brought little pleasant... He just wanted to tell Paco that he was not going to return there, when the Indian suddenly looked around: a crash was heard in the distance, as if something big was breaking towards them through the forest. Some kind of animal? If, of course, there could be animals here...
Hurry up! You don't have any more time! Go, this is your path!
The Indian on the mat mumbled louder, more insistently, and large drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. Out of nowhere, a gust of wind that came out of the calm rocked the huge ship, swept across it, and sang in the shrouds. Wolverston, who had managed to get on deck, cursed dirtyly and said to Jeremy Pitt:
Vile sorcerer! Let's throw him to feed the sharks, shall we?
Pitt just rolled his eyes.
Ned, will you ever calm down? This Indian was given to you. And in general, get yourself in order, d'Ogeron is calling us, he wants to talk to us about St. Petersburg.
Lightning flashed almost continuously over the city, and peals of thunder forced people to draw their heads into their shoulders.
A scarlet flower appeared in Paco's hand. He blew hard, a cloud of thick pollen floating towards Blood's face. He instinctively closed his eyes, and immediately incredible pain washed over him. He twitched and groaned muffledly. The edge of the mug touched his lips, and a bitter-sweet liquid poured into his throat. Blood began to fall into the darkness again, almost afraid to fall into the ghostly green hell again, but this time there was no forest, only fertile nothing.
The little Indian opened his eyes. He was breathing heavily and looked exhausted. Rising with difficulty, he wandered to the ladder leading to the deck. Wolverston spat again at the sight of him and turned away. The sorcerer came up and pulled Pitt by the sleeve:
Paco knows where the captain is. Paco sees land in the middle of the water. The ground looks like this - he said in terrible English and then bent down and began to draw something right on the deck with the tip of his knife.
Pitt leaned over and exclaimed:
Ned, this is Jamaica!
* * *
Peter Blood was carried along by a dark river, at times thrown ashore, covered in a red haze of pain and weakness, and then again mercifully covered by a wave of oblivion tya. But when he woke up again, he realized that he was better. The pain had not gone away, his own body seemed alien, as if he still had to learn to control it, but his consciousness no longer tried to slip away into an unknown distance.
Blood heard inarticulate muttering and opened his eyes. Next to him sat a tall, elderly man, thin as a pole, muttering something under his breath, looking intently at Blood.
Seeing that he had opened his eyes, he grinned joyfully and exclaimed:
Come on, come on, Mr. Pirate, you seem to be coming to your senses!
Who are you? - Peter exhaled, with difficulty prying his parched lips apart.
Yes, you’re probably thirsty... - the man said instead of answering.
He fumbled at the head of the head, the sound of pouring water was heard, then he carefully raised the corsair's head, and the next minute Blood was already greedily swallowing the water, feeling the familiar sweetish taste. It smelled of herbs, apparently their infusion was added to the drink.
Well, the executioner has already worked on you, it’s nice to watch, but I ordered the priest to be driven away, he is not needed here yet. So the doctor remains,” after giving him a drink, the man returned to the question asked. He took Blood’s hand, counting his pulse and chuckled with satisfaction: “I think the worst is over now...
I didn't think that... the governor's hospitality would extend... so far.
What are you saying, the governor has nothing to do with it! This is all Lord Wade. I don’t know why he needed you, but he ordered you to be treated.
Blood was too weak to think about the reasons that prompted his lordship to do such an original act, and so he asked something else:
What was in your tincture, opium?
Well, yes, opium is part of it, I had to resort to it... But how quickly you realized this!
I... am also a doctor... was.
Ahh, so we are colleagues! Let me introduce myself, I'm William Gordon, also called Weird Bill. Amazing! It will be easier for me to bring you up to date, dear colleague! Well, you gave me a problem! - and the strange doctor simply closed his eyes with pleasure, as if it was not about a person on the verge of death, but about a tricky puzzle. - When, at the invitation of His Lordship, I came to this abode of sorrow, when I looked at you, I decided that there was nothing for a doctor to do here.
You showed practically no signs of life, your skin was cold to the touch, however, I managed to feel a pulse. On the other hand, such deep unconsciousness allowed me to calmly take care of you. Here a problem arose: how could large wound surfaces be treated? I’ll be honest, you’ve been thoroughly skinned, and you know that yourself, hehe. So, for your burns I use a balm based on the juice of some cacti that grow here; it has good astringent properties. I noticed that the natives were doing this and improved their recipe. Well, I came up with the idea to try it everywhere and I was pleased with the result! - the old doctor seemed to be generally pleased with everything in this life, which Blood was ready to envy.
The second problem followed from the first,” the doctor continued, “I didn’t know how best to arrange for you. I had to pluck up the nerve and demand the best feather bed in the city.
Perina? - Blood asked in surprise. - And you managed to get it?
What a question,” the doctor was offended. - His lordship ordered that my every whim be fulfilled!
The doctor chuckled again:
One way or another, the feather bed was delivered to me, by the way, are you comfortable, colleague?
Thank you... very convenient.
You see! And finally, as you began to come back to life, I faced a new enemy: pain. You had to lie still, that’s when I started giving you opium along with some herbs, don’t blame me. I hope you don't get addicted.
It’s unlikely that I’ll have time for this,” the corsair remarked reasonably.
In any case, I must say that you are unusually tenacious and lucky. I was afraid of inflammation, but it manifested itself to a fairly mild degree. You're feeling feverish, that's normal. With complete rest and treatment, you will recover in a month or a month and a half.
I wouldn't call it... great luck. Lord Wade ordered... to treat me not in order to free me... Death would be the best... solution.
Death, young man, is the only thing in this world that cannot be changed. And who knows, maybe the governor will finally have a stroke or our good king will die, and a happy change will happen in your destiny.
Blood thought that he himself had recently said something similar and did not object, he just grinned:
You are making treacherous speeches.
“Oh, nothing,” the doctor responded carelessly. - Do you need anything else?
Blood shook his head, beginning to feel sleepy.
Then I won't bore you. I see that you are falling asleep. I better go home, otherwise I had to become a prisoner too,” he pointed to the mattress next to him. “I want to get a good night’s sleep, I’ve been here for three days already.” It's evening. I will call one of the guard soldiers, he will be with you at night, he is a good fellow, he has already helped me. I will come in the morning, there will be medicine in a jug, fruit and cheese on a tray.
The doctor stood up and, stretching, went to the door, and Blood, left alone, quickly fell into a normal sleep.
eCHTEK ABOUT ZHTPOF
(pFLTPCHEOOP, LBL ABOUT YURPCHEDY)
dP CHPKOSHCH, CHPURYFBOOSCHK YLPMPK, LPNUPNPMPN, UTEDUFCHBNY NBUUPCHPK YOZHPTNBGYY CH DHIE YOFETOBGYPOBMYNB, P UCHPEN ECHTEKULPN RTPYUIPTSDEOOY S ЪBDХНШЧБМУС ПУЕОШ TEDLP . pDOBLP OBUYOBS U RETCHSHCHI NEUSGECH CHPKOSH UP'OBOYE RTYOBDMETSOPUFY L LFPNH "OEUFBODBTFOPNH" OBTPDH NEOS RPYUFY OYLPZDB OE RPLYDBMP. rTYUYOPK LFPNKH UFBM VSHUFTP YYYTPL TBURPTPUFTBOYCHYKUS VSHFPCHPK BOFYUENYFYYN. h UBNSCHI TBMYUOSCHI UMPSI PVEEUFCHB CHPULTEUUBMY NEEBOULYE RTEDTBUHDLY RP RPCHPDH ECHTEECH, CH YI BDTEU NPTsOP VSHMP KHUMSHCHYBFSH EDLYE UMPCHB PUKhTSDEOYS, PULPTVIFEMSHOSHHE RTPЪCHY EB, OBUNEYYLY, BOELDPFSCH. UMPC LTYFYLE RPDCHETZBMPUSH CHUE, VPMSHYEK YUBUFSHA NYZHYUUEULPE YMY OBNETEOOP RTEKHCHEMYUEOOPE, RTYCHETTSEOOPUFSH ECHTEECH L "ЪPMPFPNH FEMSHGH", FPTZBYUEUFCHH, TsKHMSHOYUEUFCH X; OETSEMBOE TSYFSH YUEUFOSCHN FTKHDPN; FTHUPUFSH Y KHCHYMYCHBOIE PF ZHTPOFB; OBLPOEG, UREGYZHYUEULYE YOFPOBGYY Y LBTFBCHPUFSH TEYUY.
rShchFBSUSH UEZPDOS RPOSFSH, RPYENH CH RETCHSHCHE NEUSGSHCHPKOSH RTPYIPYMB CHURSHCHYLB LFPPZP PFCHTBFYFEMSHOPZP SCHMEOYS, FBYCHYEZPUS TBOEE RPD URKHDPN (PE CHUSLPN UMHYUBE, S EZP OE NEYUBM), RPMBZBA, YuFP VShchMP L FPNH OEULPMSHLP RPChPDPCH.
UTEDY UPFEO FSHCHUSYU MADEK, VETSBCHYI ABOUT CHPUFPL YЪ ЪBRBDOSCHI TEZYPOPCH UFTBOSHCH, OBYUYFEMSHOKHA YUBUFSH UPUFBCHMSMY ECHTEKULYE UENSHY. y LFP OEKHDYCHYFEMSHOP: PUFBOSHUS SING ABOUT PLLHLHRYTPCHBOOPC ENME, YI PTSYDBMB VSC OENYOKHENBS ZYVEMSH. fBL Y RTPYPYMP U FENY ECHTESNY, LFP RP TBOSCHN RTYYUYOBN OE UBBLHYTPCHBMUS. uYUBUFMYCHSHI YULMAYUEOYK VSHMP OYUFPTsOP NBMP. lPOYUOP, RPLYDBMY UCHPY DPNB OE PDOY MYYSH ECHTEY, HIPDYMY PF CHTBZB YUMEOSH RBTFYY, TBVPFOILY PTZBOPCH CHMBUFY. chNEUFE U PVPTKHDPCHBOYEN LTHROSHI EBCHPDPCH Y ZHBVTYL CH VPMEE-NEOO PTZBOYPCHBOOPN RPTSDLE UCBLKHYTPCHBMYUSH, OEBCHYUYNP PF YI OBGYPOBMSHOPK RTYOBDMETSOPUFY, LY BDNYOYUFTBGYY, YOTSEOETOP-FEIOYUUEULYE TBVPFOYL, LCHBMYZHYYTPCHBOOSCHE LBDTTPCHESCH TBVPYUYE RFTEDRTYSFYK, B FBLCE YUMEOSH YI UENEK. y CHUE-FBLY OE PVTBFYFSH CHOYNBOYE ABOUT CHSHUPLYK RTPGEOF ECHTEECH UTEDY UBBLHYTPCHBOOSCHI VSHMP FTHDOP. x NEUFOSCHI TSYFEMEK, DBCE X FAIRIES, LPFPTSHCHE DP bFPZP TsYCHPZP-FP ECHTES OE CHYDEMY, B P OBTPDE LFPN OBMY MYYSH, YuFP SING ITYUFB TBURSMY, RTY CHYDE CHRPMOYE ЪДПТПЧШШИ РТЪЪЦYI NHTSYUYO CHPKOILBMB EUFEUFCHEOOBS, ABOUT NPK CHZMSD, OERTYOSH: “lBL CE FBL? nPEZP NHTSB (VTBFB, USCHOB, PFGB) ЪБВТБМИ ABOUT ZHTPOF, B bfjЪDEUSH TBZHMYCHBAF!” vshchMY MY PUOPCHBOYS DMS FBLYI UHTSDEOOK? uLBTSKH PFLTPCHEOOP OE VEЪ FPZP. lPOYUOP, NOPZYI VETSEOGECH U ЪBRBDБ OE KHUREMY ABOUT NEUFE RTYJCHBFSH CH BTNYA YЪ-ЪB NPMOYEOPUOPZP RTDPDCHYTSEOYS OENGECH, OP Y VEJ DPUFBFPYUSHI PUOPCHBOIK OENBMP "OBYEZP VTBFB » UYYCHBMPUSH CH FSHMKH (UTEDY FBLYI VSCHMY DCHB IPTPYP OBLPNSCHINOE YUEMPCHELB, TBOSCHNY IYFTPUFSNY KHCHYMSHOKHCHYYI PF NPVYMYBGYY). rTBCHDBNY Y OERTBCHDBNY YVEZBMY BTNY Y USCHOSCH DTHZYI OBTPDCH, OP ЪBNEYUBMY CH RETCHHA PYUETEDSH ECHTEECH: YUKHTSP CHUEZDB CHYDOEE.
rTYVSHCHFYE OBYUYFEMSHOPZP YUYUMB UCBLKHYTPCHBOOSCHI, OUEUPNOOOOP, ULBUBMPUSH ABOUT KHUMPCHYSI TSYYOY NEUFOPZP OBUEMEOYS. PUFTEE PEHEBMBUSH OEICHBFLB RTDPDHLFPCH RYFBOYS, TEOLP CHPTPUMY GEOSCH ABOUT TSHOLBI. x NOPZYI KHIKHDIYMYUSH TSIMYEOSCH HUMPCHYS. lPZP NPTsOP VSHMP PVCHYOYFSH CH LFPN? lPOYUOP, ьЧБЛХИТПЧБУОСЧИ (ЛПФПТШЧИ ЛПЭ-ЗЭПВШЧЧБМИ “ЧШЧЛПЧШЧЦОШНЯ”), CH RETCHHA PYUETEDSH ECHTEECH. y EUMY UTEDY FAIRIES RPRBDBMYUSH VPZBFSHCHE MADI, CHSHLMBDSHCHBCHYE MAVSHCHYE UHNNSHCH ЪB OHTSOSCHK YN FPCHBT (VSHCHMY, LPOYUOP, Y FBLYE), FP TBUULBSCH PV LFPN UFBOPCHYMYUSH DPUFPS OYEN NBUU. NYZHSCH P OEUNEFOSCHI VPZBFUFCHBI RTYETSYI TBURPTPUFTBOSMYUSH ABOUT CHUEI ECHTEECH, RPDBCHMSAEE VPMSHYOUFCHP LPPTTSCHI ZBLFYUEULY CHAMP ABOUT YUKHTSVIOE RPMHOEEOOULYK PVTTB TsYOY .
lPE-LPNH YJ NEUFOSCHI TSYFEMEK, OBCHETOPE, RTYYMYUSH OE RP DKHYE PVSHYUBY Y NBOETB RPchedeoys Rtyvschchyyi EChTEECH VShchFH, URPUPVSH CHEDEOYS DPNBYOZP IP'SKUFCHB, DBTSE PUPVEOOPUFY YI NEOA (OBRTYNET, RTYUFTBUFYE L LHTSFYOE).
OB PFOPYEOYE L ČBLHYTPCHBOOSCHN CH FSHMKH UFTBOSH NPZMY FBLCE RPCHMYSFSH PFZPMPULY ZYFMETPCHULPK RTPRBZBODSCH, LPFPTBS YЪPVTBTSBMB ECHTEECH LBL ЪMEKYI CHTBZPCH YuEMPCHYU EUFCSB.
fBLLPCHB NPS OSCHOEYOSS CHETUIS RTYYUYO FPZDBYOEK CHURSHCHYLY BOFYUENYFYNB CH uuut, LPFPTHA WITH CHPURTYOINBM PYUEOSH VPMEJOOOP.
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VSHMP VSH OEURTBCHEDMYCHP KHNPMYUBFSH P FPN, YuFP OBYUYFEMSHOBS, NPTsEF VSHFSH, DBTSE VPMSHYBS YUBUFSH NEUFOSHI TSYFEMEK PF CHUEK DKHYUYUKHCHUFChBMB UBBLKHYTPCHBOOSCHN, VEULPTSHCHU, FOP RPNPZBMB YN CHSHCHTSYFSH, DEMYMBUSH RPUMEDOYN. pDOBLP FBLYNY VSHMY DBMELP OE CHUE.
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PUPVEOOOP ЪBDECHBMY NPI AOPYEULYE YUKHCHUFCHB PULPTVYFEMSHOSH PVCHYOOYS ECHTEECH FTHUPUFY Y KHCHYMYCHBOY PF OERPUTEDUFCHOOOPZP HYUBUFYS CH VPSI. oYLPZDB OE ЪБВХДХ, LBL VPMSHOP VSHMP CHSHCHUMKHYYCHBFSH ZOHUOSCH PUFTPFSH ABOUT UFKH FENKH. rPLB S OE PLBBBMUS CH BTNYY, RTYIPDYMPUSH, UFYUOHCH ЪХВШЧ, NPMYUB UOPUIFSH RTPYOPUINSHCH NPEN RTYUKHFUFCHY ZBDPUFY FYRB "CHPSLY YI fBYLEOFB" YMY CHSHCHUMKHYYCHBFSH BOELDPF P tBVYOPCHYUE, LPFPTSCHK ABOUT CHPRTPU, RPYENKH PO OE ABOUT ZHTPOF, PFCHEFYM: “b EUMY NEOS FBN KHVSHAF, LFP FPZDB VHDEF MAVYFSH tPDYOH?” CHEDSH OE Refinery S, LTERLYK 19-MEFOIK RBTEOSH, KHRTETSDBS CHPNPTSOSCHE CHPRPTUSCH, PRPCHEEBFSH MAVPZP CHUFTEYUOPZP P FPN, YuFP UFBFKHU UFKhDEOFB ChFPTPZP LHTUB DBEFNOE PFUTPYULH PF RT YЪSCCHB CH BTNYA. th DP NBS 1942 ZPDB RTYIPDYMPUSH NPMYUB ZMPFBFSH PVYDH DBTSE FPZDB, LPZDB LFY ZBDPUFY OE PFOPUYMYUSH LP NOE MYUOP.
OBCHBOOSCH RTYYUYOSCH RTYCHEMY L FPNKH, UFP NPS RUYILB CH FE NEUSGSH ЪBGYILMYMBUSH ABOUT FEN “READ ON CHPKOYE, ECHTEY ABOUT ZHTPOF.” rППФПНХ, ПЛБББЧИУШ Х БТНІ, С ВШМ ЪБТББОе ОГЭМЭО О FP, YuFPVSH HOBFSH, LBLYNY CE SING VSHCHMY CH DEKUFCHYFEMSHOPUFY.
(at ZPDBNY S KHVEDYMUS CH FPN, YuFP RTSSNSHCHE PFCHEFSHCH ABOUT RPDPVOSHCHPRTPUSH UHEEUFCHHAF FPMSHLP FPZDB, LPZDB PGEOYCHBAFUS PFDEMSHOSHE MYUOPUFY, B PDOPOBYUOP PGEOIFSH MAVKHA PVEOPUFSH YM Y VPMSHYKHA ZTHRRH MADEK OECHPNPTSOP. P ZhBLFBI, LPFPTSHN VSHHM UCHYDEFEMEN.)
UOBYUBMB P FPN, YUFP NOE VSHMP YJCHEUFOP HCE CH RETCHSHCHE NEUSGSHCH PKOSHCH, PV KHYUBUFYY CH CHPKOE NPYI VMYYLYI TPDUFCHEOILCH CHUEI NPYI DCHPATDOSCHI VTBFSHECH, LPPTSHCHN CH 1941 Z PDH VSCHMP PF 19 DP 30 MEF (YI VSCHMP YUEFCHETP, B NPENH EDYOUFCHEOOPNH TPDOPNH VTBFH VSCHMP FPZDB CHUEZP 10 MEF). oBYOOH UP UFBTYI.
NYYB zYOVHTZ (ZPD TPTsDEOOYS 1911 Z.) CH BTNYY U 1939 ZPDB. about ZhTPOFE VSHM RPMYFTHLPN, YOTSEOETPN, ЪBFEN LPNBODITPN BCHFPNPVYMSHOPZP VBFBMSHPOB.
oANB zYOVKhTZ (1919) MEFYUIL-YUFTEVYFEMSH, FSTSEMP TBOEO CH CHPDHYOPN VPA CH 1943 ZPDKH, YOCHBMID CHPKOSHCH.
yЪS lPVSCHMSOULYK (1922) RTYYCHBO CH BTNYA RPUME DEUSFYMEFLY CH 1940 ZPDH, UMKHTSYM CH rTYVBMFYLE. rPZYV CH RETCHSHCHE DOY CHPKOSCH.
yЪS chBKOVKhTZ (1922) Ch BTNYY U 1940 ZPDB RPUME PLPOYUBOYS BTFYMMETYKULPK UREGYLPMSCH. FSTSEMP TBOEO CH 1942 ZPDH, RPUME YJMEYUEOYS RTDDPMTsBM CHPECHBFSH, YOCHBMID CHPKOSHCH.
uEVS CH LFPF URYUPL OE CHLMAYUBA, FBL LBL YUYFBFEMSH HCE OBEF P NPEN KHUBUFYY CH CHPKOE. OP Y VE NEOS "UENEKOBS UFBFYUFILB" VSHMB ABOUT 100% CH RPMSH'H ECHTEECH!
MEFPN 1942 Z., VKHDHYU CH FEYUEOYE FTEI NEUSGECH LHTUBOFPN BTFKHYUMYEB, S PVTBEBM CHOYNBOYE ABOUT OBGYPOBMSHOPUFSH LBTSDPZP YЪ RTERPDBCHBFEMEC, LPNBOYTPCH HYEVOSHI POPC, VBFBTEC Y CHJCHPDPCH, U LPFPTSCHNY UFBMLYCHBMUS CH LFPF RETYPD. ъBNEFYM MYYSH PDOPZP ECHTES. fPCE RPYFYCHOBS UFBFYUFYLB!
vPMEE UMPTSOBS LBTFYOB RTEDUFBMB RETEDP NOK, LPZDB S CHPECHBM CH UFTEMLPCHPN RPMLKH PVSHYUOPK REIPFOPK DYCHYYY. h RPDTBBDEMEOYSI RETEDOEZP LTBS OBEZP RPMLB, OBUYFSHCHBCHYI CH UTEDOEN ЪB ZPDSH CHPKOSHCH RTYNETOP RSFSHUPF "BLFYCHOSHI YFSHCHLPCH", ECHTEECH VSHMP OENOPZP. h RPMLH, RPNNYNP NEOS, "BLFYCHOP" (CH NPEN RPOINBOYY) CHPECHBMY EEE YUEFSHTE ECHTES: LPNBODYT TPFSH RTPFPYCHPFBOLPCHSHI THCEK (rft) zPTMPCHULYK, LPNBODYT CHJCHPDB NYOPNEFOPK VBFB TEY rMPFLYO, LPNBODYT NYOPNEFOPZP CHJCHPDB, ЪBFEN TPFSCH vBNN Y VBFBMSHPOOSCHK UCHSYUF UETSBOF iBODTPU. CHRPMOE CHPNPTsOP, YuFP CH VBFBMSHPOBI VSHCHMY EEE ECHTEY, OP S OBSCHCHBA FPMSHLP FAIRIES, LPZP OBBM MYUOP. CHUE, LPZP S RETEYUMYUM, VSHMY YJCHEUFOSH CH RPMLH LBL ITBVTSHCHPYOSCH. (zPTMPCHULPZP CH RPUMEDOYK TB WITH CHYDEM FSTSEMP TBOOOOSCHN, EZP OEUMY ABOUT THLBI UPMDBFSCH, LPZDB NSCH RSHCHFBMYUSH CHSHKFY JY “vBMLY UNETFY”, FBN CE CHUFTEFYM iBODTPUB Y VPMSHYE EZP OE CHIDEM. s, vBNN Y rMPFLYO CHETOKHMYUSH U CHPKOSH OECHTEDYNSCHNY.)
pDOBLP NPK VPMEЪOOOP RTDYTYUYCHSHCHK CHZMSD EBNEYUBM, YuFP CH OEVPMSHYI RP YUYUMEOOPUFY FSHMPCHSHCHI RPDTBBDEMEOYSIY RTY YFBVE OBEZP RPMLB VSHMP RTYNETOP UFPMSHLP TSE ECHTEECH: RPMOPNPYUEOOOSCHK UNETYB CHYZOBOLET, RPYUFBMSHPO chYO, BCHFPNBFYUIL RTY YFBVE yKhMSHNBO, ЪBCHULMBDPN pchu UBRPTSoilPCH, RYUBTSH UFTPECHPK YUBUFY sLHVNBO. ъBNEFOSCHK RTPGEOF ECHTEECH S PVOBTHTSYCHBM FBLCE CH "CHETIBI" Y FSHMBI DYCHYYY. oBPCHH FPMSHLP FAIRIES, LPZP EBRPNOYM: ЪBNLPNDYCHB RP FSHMKH dTBKZET, BDYAAFBOF LPNDICHB EMSHYUYO, OBYU RPMYFPFDEM B MYREGLYK, YOUFTHLFPTSCH RPMYFPFDEMB ZBTVET, chYOOIL Y vMHCHYFEKO, YOTSEOET UMKHTSVSH FSHMB dTHK, BTFYUF DYCHYYPOOPZP BOUBNVMS zPMSHDYFEKO, REYUBFOIL TEDBLGYY NOPZPFYTBTSLY RETEMSHNHFET. (ch FYI RPDTBDEMEOYSI VSHMP ZPTBDP VE'PRBUOOEE, YUEN ABOUT RETEDPCHPK, OP Y ЪDEUSH, LPOYUOP, MADI RPZYVBMY.)
lPOYUOP, FBLPE OERTYSFOPE DMS NEOS UPPFOPEYE "BLFYCHOP" Y "RBUUYCHOP" CHPAAEYI, ECHTEECH OBYEK DYCHYYY VSHMP OBNEFOP OE NOE PDOPNKH, Y POP NPZMP RPDLTERMSFSH RPYGYA FEE, LFP FCHETDYM PV KHNEOY ECHTEECH "HUFTB YCHBFSHUS." lBL BOFYUENYFYYN CH FSHMKH UFTBOSHCH, LBL UMSHCHE OBCHEFSHCH ABOUT ECHTEECH CH OENEGLYI MYUFPCHLBI, FBL Y LPTPVYCHYBS NEOS UPVUFCHEOOBS "NYOY-UFBFYUFYLB" UFTEMLPCHPZP RPMLB {1} ZMHVPLLP ЪBDECHBMB NPI YUKHCHUFCHB. y S UFBTBMUS UCHPYN RPCHEDEOYEN ABOUT ZHTPOF PRTPCHETZBFSH BOFYECHTEKULJE RTEDTBUUHDLY.
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GEMSHK TSD NPYI RPUFHRLPCH CHPEOOSHCH ZPDSH VSHM RTDPDYLPCHBO UFTENMEOYEN DPLBBBFSH PLTHTSBAEIN, YuFP S, ECHTEK, OYUEN OE IHTSE DTHZYI. OE TBJ CH VPA S DENPOUFTBFYCHOP RTEOEVTEZBM PRBUOPUFSHA, DB Y CHPPVEE CH UCHPEK VBFBTEE VSCHM CH YUYUME UFPKLYI. ChBOS lBNYUBFOSCHK CH RYUSHNE CHETE RYUBM RPUME VPEC CH “vBMLE UNETFY”: “yЪS PRTBCHDBM chBYE DPCHETYE. BY DTBMUS L RTYNETH CHUEN, Y OH RPD RHMSNY, OH RPD VPNVBNY EZP OILFP OE CHYDEM U RPOILYEK ZPMPCHPK... CHSC NPTSEFE ZPTDYFSHUS YN, LBL S UCHPYN VPECHSCHN FPCHBTYEEN.”
lPOYUOP TSE, RPNNYNP TSEMBOYS PRTPCHETZOKHFSH RTEDTBUUKHLY BOFYUENYFPCH, VSHMY Y DTHZIE, OE NEOEE CHULYE NPEZP RPCHEDEOYS: RBFTYPFYYN, OEOBCHYUFSH L CHTBZKH, FS RTYUSZE, DPMZ JUMEOB RBTFYY. h LBLPK-FP NETE RTYUHFUFCHBM Y RTYUHAKE NOE UP YLPMSHOPZP CHPTBUFB "UYODTPN PFMYUOILB" (CH YUBUFOPUFY, PYUEOSH IPFEMPUSH ЪBUMHTSYFSH RPVPMSHYE PTDEOPCH Y ). OE FPMSHLP CH VPA, OP Y CHDBMY PF ZHTPOFB, CH URPLPKOPK PVUFBOPCHLE, OE IPFEMPUSH KHUFKHRBFSH CH YuEN-MYVP NPYN VPECHSCHN FPCHBTYEBN. chPЪNPTSOP, LFP VSHMB OEPUPOBOOBS "BDBRFBGYS L PLTHTSBAEEK UTEDE".
OE NPZH OE TBUULBBBFSH P FAIRIES DCHHI UMHYUBSI ABOUT ZHTPOF, LPZDB S UPCHETYOOOP UPOBFEMSHOP RTYOINBM TSJOOOOP CHBTSOSHCHE TEYEOYS, YUIPDS YJ FPZP, YUFP S ECHTEK.
VSHMB RTY RPMYFPFDEM DYCHYYY "ZTHRRB RP TBUMPTSEOYA CHPKUL RTPFYCHOILB" (OBYUBMSHOIL ZTHRRSHCH ECHTEK, NBKPT chYOOIL). h ZTHRRE YNEMUS BCHFPNPVIMSH U ZTPNLPZPCHPTSEEK KHUFBOPCHLPK. nBYYOB DPMTSOB VSHMB RPDYAETSBFSH L RETEDOENH LTBA Y, OBRTBCHYCH TKHRPTB CH UFPTPOH RTPFYCHOILB, CHEEBFSH RTPRBZBODYUFULYE FELUFSCH. (rTBCHDB, S OE RPNOA, YuFPVSH LFB NBYOB RPSCHMSMBUSH ABOUT RPIYGYSI OBEZP RPMLB, OP NOPZPFYTBTSLB LBL-FP RYUBMB P DEKUFCHYSI ZTHRRSH.) pDOBTDSCH CH 1943 ZPDH chYOOIL, P FPN, YuFP S UCHPVPDOP ZPChPTA RP-OENEGLY, TBSHCHULBM NEOS Y RTEDMPTSYM RETEKFY CH EZP RPDYOOYE. with UTBХ PFCHETZ ЪBNBOYUYCHPE RTEDMPTSEOYE, PFCHEFYCH chYOOILH, YuFP, NPM, DPMTSEO TSE LFP-FP YЪ ECHTEECH CHPECHBFSH ABOUT RETEDPPCHPK.
chFPTK ІРЪПД ИНEM NEUFP PUEOSH 1944 ZPDB, LPZDB NSCHCHYMYY ABOUT MECHSHCHK VETEZ oENBOB OBRTPFYCH ZPTPDB FYMSHYF. rTBCHSHCHK VETEZ TELY RPDOINBMUS L ZPTPDH RPYUFY PFCHEUOP. lPZDB S CHRECHCHESHCHYDEM PFLTSCHCHYHAUS RBOPTBNH, RPDKHNBMPUSH: “oe DBK VPZ OBUFKHRBFSH ABOUT LFPF ZPTPD CH MPV!” OP LPNBODPCHBOYE YNEMP UPPVTBTTSEOYS, Y VSHMP PVYASCHMEOP, YuFP CH OPYUSH ABOUT 31 PLFSVTS (PRSFSH TPLPCHPK RPUMEDOYK DEOSH NEUSGB!) RPML VHDEF RETERTBCHMSFSHUS YETE OENBO YYFKHTNP CHBFSH FYMSHYF. chUA PUFBCHBCHYHAUS OEDEMA NSCH CH RTYVTETSOPN MEUKH CHSBMY RMPFSCH, B OPYUBNY PVPTHDPCHBMY PZOECHSCH RPYGYY KH UBNPK TELY. VSHMP UPPVEEOP, YuFP RETCHSHCHN, LFP ChPKDEF CH ZPTPD, VHDHF RTYUCHPEOSCH ЪChBOYS ZETPECH UPCHEFULPZP UPAB, OP, OEUNPFTS ABOUT LFP, OBUFTPEOYE H PLTHTSBAEYI VSHMP FTECHPTSOPE LOFH, ЪЪБЪН OE RTPUNBFTYCHBMUS, FBL LBL YBOUPCH KHGEMEFSH VSHMP NBMP. chPF UFTPLY YJ NPEZP RYUSHNB CHETE, OBRYUBOOZP CH FY DOY. "...With UFPA ABOUT RPTPZE PUEOSH UETSHESHI PECH, Y PDYO zPURPDSH OBEF, YUEN POY PLPOYUBFUS DMS NEOS...”(OH DP, OH RPUME bFPZP S OE RYUBM FBL PFLTPCHOOOP P RTEDUFPSEEK PRBUOPUFY).
y ChPF ЪB UKhFLY DP OBYUBMB OBUFHRMEOYS LP NOE RTYVSCCHBEF CHEUFPCHPK yj UFTPECHPK YUBUFY Y CHTHYUBEF BOLEFKH RPUFHRBAEEZP CH CHPEOOP-YOTSEOETOKHA BLBDENYA. rP FEMEZHPOKH PVYASUOSAF, YuFP RTYVSHMB TBOBTSDLB ABOUT PDOPZP YUEMPCHELB U EBBLPOYUEOOSCHN YMY OEBBLPOYUEOOOSCHN CHCHUYN FEIOYUUEULIN PVTBPCHBOYEN, Y S EDYOUFCHEOOSCHK R PMLH, LFP KHDPCHMEFCHPTSEF LFPNH FTEVPCHBOYA. fTEVPCHBMPUSH UTPYUOP RTEDUFBCHYFSH BOLEFKH DMS PZHPTNMEOYS RTYLBYB PV PFLPNBOYTPCHBOY ABOUT HYUEVKH. CHUE OBDP VSHMP UDEMBFSH ЪB OEULPMSHLP YUBUPCH. CHOBYUBME S PYUEOSH PVTBDPCBMUS YUBUFMYCHPK CHPNPTSOPUFY YVETSBFSH KHYUBUFYS CH ZYVEMSHOPK PRETBGYY Y RTYOSMUS ЪBRPMOSFSH BOLEFKH. OP RPUFEREOOP CH ZPMPCHH UFBMY RTYIPDYFSH Y DTHZIE NSHUMY. “lBL CE S NPZH FBL RPUFKHRYFSH? CHEDSH LFP DBUF CH THLY BOFYUENYFPCH EEE PDO LPSHTSH. y LBL NPZH PUFBCHYFSH UCHPYI DTHJEK y RPDYYOOOSCHI CH LBOHO FSTSEMPZP VPS?” TBNSHCHIMEOYS ЪBLPOYUYUMYUSH FEN, YuFP S RPЪCHPOYM CH UFTPECHHA YUBUFSH Y PFLBBBMUS PF "YUBUFMYCHPK CHPNPTSOPUFY". b YUETE OEULPMSHLP YUBUPCH PRETBGYA PFNEOMY - FBL NOE CH LPFPTSCHK TB RPCHEMP ABOUT CHPKOE...
ChPF Y CHUE, YuFP S IPFEM TBUULBBFSH P NPEN ZhTPOFPChPN PRSHFE "VPTSHVSH U BOFYUENYFYNPN". dPVIMUS MY S YUEZP-OYVKhDSH UKHEEUFCHEOOPZP? rPYMP MY NPE RPCHEDEOYE ABOUT RPMSHЪХ OBTPDKH, L LPFPTPNKH WITH RTYOBDMETSKH? oE DKHNBA. OP S OE UPTSBMEA P UCHPYI AOPYEULYI RPUFKHRLBY RPYUFY KHCHETEO, YuFP IPFS VSC OUELPMSHLP PDOPRPMYUBO, UUSCHMBSUSH ABOUT NEOS, PURBTYCHBMY YUSHY-OYVKhDSH PZKHMSHOSHE PVCHYOEOYS ECHTEECH FTH OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. OBDEAUSH, YuFP LFP UMSHCHYBMY YI DEFY YMY CHOHLY...
h LFPC OERTPUFPK ZMBCHE S UFBTBMUS RETEDBFSH PGEOLY Y YUKHCHUFCHB FPZP RETYPDB, LPZDB VSCHM EEE UPCHUEN NMPDSCHN. chPNPTsOP, VKhDSH S FPZDB RPUFBTYE, OELPFPTSHCHE NPI PGEOLY VSHMY VSHCH NEOEE LBFEZPTYUOSCHNY, B RPUFHRLY VPMEE CHCHEOOOSCHNY.
with RPOINBA, YuFP CH LFPC ZMBCHE, OBTSDKH U PRTPCHETTSEOYEN TSDB BOFYECHTEKULYI RTEDTBUUKHDLPC, EUFSH NOPZP RTPFPYCHPTEYUYCHPZP. About OBCHETOPE, LFP UCHSBOP U FEN, YuFP OECHPNPTSOP PDOPOBYUOP PIBTBLFETYPCHBFSH VPMSHYKHA PVEOPUFSH MADEK, CH DBOOPN UMKHYUBE UPCHEFULYI ECHTEECH.
p FPN, LBL HDBTSM RP NOE RPUMECHPEOOOSCHK ZPUKhDBTUFCHEOOSCHK BOFYUENYFYYN CH uuut, KHRPNSOKH CH RPUMEUMMPCHYY.
At meetings with Rockefeller, Prime Minister Kosygin proposed that the United States jointly develop gas fields and build nuclear power plants. The big breakthrough came when we emerged as one of America's leading banks in financing billionth Soviet grain purchase in 1971. In November 1972, Chase received permission to establish a representative office - it was the first American bank to receive a license. The location of the office was house No. 1 on Karl Marx Square. Official opening business took place in May 1973. First, I suggested to Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin that we appoint James Billington as head of the department.
Original taken from alliruk
in Russian-American stories
Here is a list of Dartmouth conferences:
- Dartmouth I - Hanover, New Hampshire, USA, October 29-November 4 1960
- Dartmouth II - Nizhnyaya Oreanda, Crimea, USSR, May 21-28, 1961 May 21-28, 1961
- Dartmouth III - Andover, Massachusetts, USA, October 21-27, 1962
- Dartmouth IV - Leningrad, USSR, July 21-31, 1964
- Dartmouth V - Rye, New York, USA January 13-18, 1969
- Dartmouth VI - Kyiv, Ukraine, USSR, July 12-16, 1971
- Dartmouth VII - Hanover, New Hampshire, USA, December 2-7, 1972
- Dartmouth VIII - Tbilisi, Georgia, USSR, April 21-24, 1974
- Dartmouth IX - Moscow, USSR, June 3-5, 1975
- Dartmouth X - Rio Rico, Arizona, USA, April 30-May 2, 1976
- Dartmouth XI - Jurmala, Latvia, USSR, July 8-13, 1977
- Dartmouth XII - Williamsburgh, Virginia, USA, May 3-7, 1979
- Dartmouth Leadership Conference - Bellagio, Italy, May 22-26, 1980
- Dartmouth XIII - Moscow, USSR, November 16-19, 1981
- Dartmouth XIV - Hanover, New Hampshire, USA, May 14-17, 1984
- Dartmouth XV - Baku, Azerbaijan, USSR, May 13-17, 1986
- Dartmouth XVI - Austin, Texas, USA, April 25-29, 1989 [15]
- Dartmouth XVII - Leningrad, USSR, July 22-27, 1990
The conferences began at the height of the Cold War and their goal was to create a forum for intellectuals to put forward and discuss peace initiatives. It was believed that only representatives of non-governmental organizations (and only two countries) participated in these meetings - no Europeans were invited to participate.
The meetings were financed by the Ford and Ketterling Foundations (USA), as well as the Soviet Peace Fund and the US Institute (later the Institute of the USA and Canada) of the USSR Academy of Sciences. Among the participants were Yevgeny Primakov and Georgy Arbatov, David Rockefeller and Zbigniew Brzezinski... The founder of the conferences is considered to be Norman Cousins, a journalist and editor of the Saturday Review, a famous liberal and anti-war activist. On the day the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, he wrote and published an article in his publication deploring the use of such weapons against people. Later, he brought hibakusha (atomic bomb survivors) to the United States and tried to provide them with qualified treatment.
Norman Cousins
The first meeting took place at Dartmouth College, which gave rise to the name of the subsequent ones (although the venues were constantly changing). Although the conferences were supposed to be held annually, during the period of aggravation of bilateral relations there were absences of several years.
In 1981, special groups for discussing specific issues (specialized task forces) appeared, but conferences continued in a “large format”. After the end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union, meetings continued - now with representatives of Russia, but the focus shifted to the situation in the former Soviet republics. In particular, at the “new” Dartmouth conferences they discussed civil war in Tajikistan and Nagorno-Karabakh.
To be honest, I could not find evidence of the effectiveness of these meetings, other than maintaining human contacts between representatives of the elite of the two countries. Well, this is probably also a worthy result...
One of the chairmen of the Dartmouth conferences, David Rockefeller, grandson of the founder of Standard Oil and long-time chairman of the Council on Foreign Policy (CFR)
Evgeny Primakov during the beginning of the Dartmouth meetings
The texts below are mainly excerpts from the memoirs of participants in the old and “new” Dartmouth conferences.
As for the Dartmouth meetings, they were regularly held in order to discuss and bring together the approaches of the two superpowers on issues of arms reduction, searching for a way out of various international conflicts, creating conditions for economic cooperation. Two institutes played a special role in organizing such meetings - IMEMO and ISKAN, on our side; for the Americans, a group of political scientists, retired executives from the State Department, the Pentagon, the administration, the CIA, current bankers, and businessmen. For a long time, the American group was headed by David Rockefeller, with whom I developed a very warm relationship. For us, first N.N. Inozemtsev, and then G.A. Arbatov. V.V. Zhurkin, M.A. Milshtein, G.I. Morozov actively participated in the Dartmouth meetings. I, along with my partner G. Saunders, former US Deputy Secretary of State, were co-chairs of the working group on conflict situations. It must be said that we have made significant progress in developing measures to normalize the situation in the Middle East. Naturally, both sides reported all developments to the very top.
Meetings took place both here and in the States. A much-needed and difficult-to-achieve human community at that time appeared. So, during a meeting in Tbilisi in 1975, the idea was born to invite the Americans and ours into the Georgian family. I suggested going to dinner with my wife Laura Vasilievna’s aunt, Nadezhda Vasilievna Kharadze. A professor at the Conservatory, a former prima donna of the Tbilisi Opera House, she lived, like real Georgian intellectuals, quite modestly, so she borrowed a set from her neighbors, and as a result, the whole house, of course, knew that Rockefeller himself would come to visit her. By the way, there were the Scott couple, who, as a senator, took the initiative to impeach President Nixon, and the former US representative to the UN Charles Yost, and the editor-in-chief of Time magazine Danoven. They asked permission from Shevardnadze, who was the first secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Georgia - in those days this was far from a gesture of politeness - and, having received his consent, they went on a visit.
Nadezhda Vasilievna’s apartment is on the fourth floor, there was no elevator in the building, the city authorities did not have time to whitewash the walls of the entrance before our arrival and found an “original” solution - they turned out the light bulbs. We climbed in the darkness, but there was illumination on each floor - just like in Italian films, and the same scene awaited us: the doors of each apartment opened and its entire population, young and old, silently looked at us.
The evening was a success. A wonderful Georgian table, Russian, Georgian and American songs were sung. Rockefeller delayed the departure of his plane and left with everyone else at three in the morning, and even helped the hostess wash the dishes. Later, he told me many times that he would remember this evening for a long time, although at first he underestimated the sincerity of the hosts and, perhaps, even considered everything to be another “Potemkin village.” He even went up to the portrait of Hemingway that was hanging on the wall above my nephew Sandrik’s school table, and, moving the portrait aside, he was convinced that the wall under it had faded, which meant it had not been hung when he arrived.
Rockefeller was especially popular in Tbilisi. Ted Kennedy, who was in the Georgian capital at the same time as our group, complained that as soon as he appeared on the street, everyone around him shouted: “Hello Rockefeller!”
It must be said that Rockefeller is closely connected with Dartmouth - their entire family studied and is studying at this college, and there you can learn a lot about the famous family.
* * * * *Original taken from vbulahtin c The Russians, I discovered, were surprisingly sensitive to criticism of their regime by the United States.
<...>Now a few excerpts from Rockefeller's memoirs:
<...>Even though I had absolutely no sympathy for these regimes, I believed that the bank should work with them.
Throughout my career at Chase, I never hesitated to meet with the leaders of countries that were my country's most militant and stubborn ideological opponents, and with rulers whose despotic and dictatorial style I personally despised, from Houari Boumediene of Algeria to Mobutu Sese Seko - ruler of Zaire; from General Augusto Pinochet of Chile to Saddam Hussein of Iraq.
I've met them all.
I had lengthy conversations with Marshal Tito of Yugoslavia, President of Romania Nicolae Ceausescu, General Wojciech Jaruzelski of Poland and General Alfredo Stroessner of Paraguay.
Sat in lengthy negotiations with all the modern leaders of racist South Africa, Henrik Verwoerd, B.J. Forster, P.W. Botha and later - with the more enlightened leader F.V. de Klerk. Persistently held lengthy conversations with Zhou Enlai and other top Chinese leaders while the Cultural Revolution was still raging, participated in debates with virtually every leader of the Soviet Union: from Nikita Khrushchev to Mikhail Gorbachev, and most recently met with Fidel Castro during his visit to New York in 1996.
Those who condemned me said: “David Rockefeller never met a dictator he didn’t like.” However, never in more than four decades of private meetings with foreign leaders have I conceded their point of view when I disagreed with them. On the contrary, I used these meetings to point out, respectfully but firmly, the flaws in their systems as I saw them, and to defend the virtues of my own system. 
My contacts with the Soviets began in 1962, when I was invited to participate in a conference of representatives of the American and Soviet public. Initiated by Norman Cousins, publisher of The Saturday Review, the Dartmouth Meetings, as the conferences came to be known, were one of several Cold War-era initiatives designed to improve understanding between the two superpowers through face-to-face meetings and dialogue.
The value of these conferences was demonstrated by the first one I attended, which took place in Andover, Massachusetts, in late October 1962. 
At the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, participants continued their meetings while our two countries faced each other in an unprecedented and frightening nuclear confrontation.
Both sides saw that it was time to take a step back from the threshold of atomic destruction and look for other ways to continue their rivalry. The next Dartmouth Conference took place two years later in Leningrad, and it was during this trip that my daughter Niva and I met Nikita Khrushchev, First Secretary of the Soviet Communist Party. The idea for this meeting actually came from U Thant, the Secretary-General of the United Nations, who outlined it at a reception I gave for the top UN leadership in Pocantico. When I told him that I was planning a trip to Leningrad, the General Secretary remarked that he thought the top Soviet leadership could benefit from communicating with an American banker.
A personal meeting with Khrushchev during my trip to Russia may, in some sense, help improve relations between the two superpowers.
U Thant agreed to notify Khrushchev about this, but I did not hear anything definite about this meeting until I left for Leningrad at the end of July. The day after the delegation arrived at the Dartmouth Conference, I received a message from the Kremlin inviting me to a meeting the next day in Moscow. To get there on time, Niva and I traveled by night train under the close supervision of a KGB agent who was a participant in the conference.
Moscow in those days was a city of contrasts.
Khrushchev declared that the USSR would surpass the United States in terms of gross national product, but he made this claim in a city mired in economic stagnation and suffering from decades of neglect. Elegant buildings left over from Tsarist times stood unpainted and unrepaired; office buildings and apartment buildings, built later, during the Stalin era, looked squalid and unfriendly. There were few cars available, but the central lanes on wide main thoroughfares were open to the speeding ZIL limousines, built in Russia and carrying Politburo members on official business. People stood in long lines to buy meager quantities of substandard food, and department store shelves were virtually empty. On this first trip to the heart of the Soviet empire, I began to doubt the economic power of the country, which was the subject of Khrushchev's boasts.
For the Soviet propaganda machine, the Rockefeller family was always “capitalist enemy number one.” A few years earlier, Pravda published a book about me and my four brothers under the title “Always knee-deep in blood, always walking over corpses.” An article published around the same time in English magazine "New Time", stated that "of all the dynasties of billionaires ruling the world, the most powerful is the Rockefeller dynasty." The idea was that, having made huge profits from oil during World War II, we would then invest that money in weapons and seize control of the production of atomic weapons. The fact that the Rockefeller Foundation helped rescue Enrico Fermi, Leo Szilard and Edward Teller from European fascist regimes in the 1930s was cited as evidence that our family intended to inflame the Cold War to increase our personal profits.
Just a few months before my arrival in Moscow, the Izvestia newspaper wrote in an editorial that, as chairman of the board of the Museum contemporary arts, I advertised decadence to corrupt the population: “Under the leadership of the Rockefellers, abstract art is used to play a political role, to distract the attention of thinking Americans from real life and to dumb them down.”
Over the years, I have met many Russians who were convinced that my brothers and I were a cabal behind the scenes pulling the strings that controlled American foreign policy.
The Soviets had no understanding of how a pluralistic democracy operated and believed that elected officials, up to and including the President of the United States, were mere puppets, acting in roles dictated to them by the real "masters of power", in in this case my family.
Often, Soviet officials asked me to “tell your president about granting us most favored nation status in trade” or talked about other problems, believing that only my word would be enough to solve them.
I tried to explain that the United States was governed differently and that I did not have that kind of power, but it was clear that they did not believe me.
In the afternoon hours of July 29, a beat-up Russian-made Fiat picked up the Niva and me from our hotel and drove us behind the high, red, embattled Kremlin walls to a fairly simple and modestly furnished room in a modest building that had been used by Lenin. His successors had their offices there, trying, I suppose, to create the impression that they were making sacrifices in the name of the proletariat.
I was allowed to meet alone, but when Khrushchev greeted us in the reception room, I asked if Niva could stay behind to take notes. I thought it would be important for me to have a recording of the conversation and for her it would be a memorable event. Khrushchev kindly agreed. There were only four of us: Niva, me, Khrushchev and his excellent translator Viktor Sukhodrev, who was born in Brooklyn and translated for Soviet leaders. We were sitting on hard wooden chairs with straight backs around a large, varnished oak table. Khrushchev is on one side, Niva and I are opposite him. Sukhodrev sat at the end of the table between us. There was almost no decoration in the room, other than a large portrait of Lenin, which occupied a dominant position. During the subsequent conversation, once or twice I looked up and saw Lenin looking at me disapprovingly.
Although there had been a certain thaw in the Soviet Union's internal repression under Khrushchev, a welcome change from Stalin's incredibly brutal regime, Khrushchev was still perceived as an uncouth brute who took off his shoe at the UN to bang on the table while interrupting the British Prime Minister's speech. Minister Harold MacMillan, who condemned the actions of the Soviets. I thought about how Khrushchev would behave during our meeting, since it would not be devoid of serious symbolism when the “Prince of Capitalism,” as some called me, met with the modern “Tsar of All Rus'.” I began with pleasantries and offered him two Grant Wood engravings as a gift, considering them quite American and close enough to the approved Soviet taste so that he would not perceive them with hostility. During our meeting, which lasted more than two hours, there were no phone calls or any other interruptions..... 
* * * * *
In 1971, the Kettering Foundation assumed primary responsibility for funding these conferences, with additional support from the Rockefeller Foundation and the Lilly Foundation. As American and Soviet diplomats negotiated treaties covering defense spending and missile defense systems, the Dartmouth meetings began to be viewed in official circles in both Moscow and Washington as a serious forum that could contribute to a broader dialogue. Celebrities disappeared from the list of American participants and were replaced by specialists in Soviet affairs such as James Billington, Richard Gardner and Paul Warnke; scientists such as Paul Doty of Harvard and Harold Agnew of the Los Alamos Laboratory; and businessmen whose companies had interests in the Soviet Union, such as General James Gavin of Arthur D. Little, G. William Miller of Tectron, and William Hewitt of John Deere. A number of US senators also took part in the conferences, including Frank Church, Mark Hatfield, Hugh Scott and Charles (Mac) Mathias.
Similar changes occurred on the Soviet side. Local Russian luminaries and figures of the literary world were replaced by members Supreme Council, high-level government officials, renowned scholars specializing in the study of Europe, North America and the Middle East, and retired military personnel. The main responsibility for the composition of the Soviet group in the early 1970s was held by Georgy Arbatov, head of the Institute of the USA and Canada of the USSR Academy of Sciences.
During the Kyiv meeting in the summer of 1971, I asked Georgy Arbatov to take a walk with me. suggested that we begin each conference with a short session, immediately followed by small group meetings to discuss specific issues such as defense spending and trade. Arbatov agreed, and we adopted this new format for all subsequent conferences. Shortly thereafter, the Kettering Foundation asked me to take on more responsibilities for organizing these meetings, which I agreed to do.
The result of the new format of meetings and the participation of experienced and knowledgeable persons from both countries there were substantive discussions that had an impact direct influence on Soviet-American trade negotiations in the first half of the 1970s.
The Dartmouth meetings provided me with the opportunity to meet a number of Russians in an informal setting. I was particularly impressed by Yevgeny Primakov, who later became Russian Foreign Minister, and Vladimir Petrovsky, who became Deputy Secretary General of the UN.
The big breakthrough came when we acted as one of the leading American banks to finance billions of dollars in Soviet grain purchases in 1971. The following year we began discussions with the Soviet authorities on the issue of opening a representative office in Moscow. In November 1972, Chase received permission to establish a representative office - it was the first American bank to receive a license.
The location of the office was house No. 1 on Karl Marx Square. The official opening of the business took place in May 1973. First, I suggested to Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin that we appoint James Billington as head of the department. James is a Russia specialist who spoke fluent Russian and was working at Chase at the time as an adviser on Soviet affairs (he later became head of the Library of Congress).
The gala reception at the Metropol Hotel, dedicated to the opening of the Chase office, was a huge success, including in terms of the number of people present. We invited every communist functionary in Moscow; they swarmed like locusts, and within just a few minutes the tables, covered with delicacies imported from abroad, were literally stripped clean, and not a drop of liquid was left in the bottles of wine and vodka. Shortly thereafter, the Soviets gave permission to Citi Bank and several other American banks to open representative offices in Moscow. Although the Soviet market never became important to any of our banks, there is no denying the symbolic significance of Chase, the Rockefeller Bank, being the first US financial institution in the Soviet Union.
I came to Moscow almost every year throughout the 70s: for Dartmouth meetings or on bank business. The main person through whom my connections with the government were carried out was at that time Alexey Kosygin, one of the most significant political figures in the USSR. Kosygin took part in the coup that resulted in the removal of Nikita Khrushchev in 1964. A tall, thin man with a sad face, Kosygin was a talented manager who performed miracles in managing the stubborn Soviet economy. By the time we met, he had lost the struggle for power in the Kremlin to the head of the Communist Party, Leonid Brezhnev, and was appointed to the subordinate position of prime minister - the chief operating officer of the Soviet economy.
While my conversation with Khrushchev was an argument over the relative merits of our ideologies and philosophies, my conversations with Kosygin were always pragmatic and focused on business matters. In retrospect, the content of these discussions was very informative due to the fact that they dealt with the potential economic relationship between the United States and the USSR.
I first met Kosygin in the summer of 1971 after the Dartmouth meeting in Kyiv. This was my first trip to Moscow after a memorable meeting with Khrushchev. I discovered that the Soviet capital had changed significantly over the years.
Kosygin's emphasis on the production of goods for the consumer sector led to more cars on the streets and clothing and other goods becoming more affordable. Major road construction projects were underway everywhere, and in Moscow the metro system was a miracle - modern, clean, convenient and cheap. Moscow itself was relatively clean and free of garbage. Hippies and people with long hair were mostly absent.
I was a member of the Dartmouth delegation and paid a courtesy visit to Kosygin in his Kremlin office. We spent most of the time talking about trade, and Kosygin encouraged our group to work to “remove barriers” in the United States that prevented trade with the USSR.
It was clear that the Soviets wanted expanded trade relations. Our second meeting coincided with the opening of the Chase office in May 1973. Kosygin was pleased by this development and expressed optimism that the obstacles to improved trade between the United States and the Soviet Union would now be removed. He focused on exploring large gas fields in Siberia, at one point waving a pointer and pointing out strategic fields on a map hanging on the wall. “Economically,” he said, “we are ready to go further, but we don’t know how far the United States will go.”
By 1974, a clear shift had occurred in the range of issues that occupied Kosygin. This was our most technically oriented, economically oriented dialogue. He expressed deep concern about the rise in oil prices by OPEC and the impact this was having on the US dollar, as well as the European and Japanese balance of payments. He listened carefully to my analysis of the consequences of these trends. We discussed the relative merits of alternative energy sources such as coal and nuclear energy.
Kosygin said he is convinced Western countries will face difficulties in reducing their energy consumption and finding effective solutions will take years. The prime minister suggested that the development of nuclear energy would ultimately lower the cost of oil. He then asked: Would Chase help finance and build nuclear power plants in Russia that would be jointly owned by the United States and the USSR? I was amazed by this revolutionary proposal because it showed how important both American investment and technology were to the Soviets, and how far they were willing to go to get both.
Kosygin concluded our meeting by saying that “history will show those who try to hinder the development of a new relationship between the United States and the USSR to be wrong,” and that “the leadership of the Soviet Union has faith in the leadership of the United States, and they are unanimous in their desire to find new paths for development new relations between our countries."
At each of the first three meetings, Kosygin was optimistic and open, suggesting potential areas of cooperation and ways in which common projects could be developed. Our meeting in April 1975 was different. After the passage of the Jackson-Vanik Amendment and Brezhnev's condemnation of America's failure to grant the USSR most-favored nation status in trade, Kosygin adopted a confrontational style of communication that I had never experienced before.
I challenged him by asking, “If the Soviet Union is truly going to become a world economic power, then it must be a serious factor in world trade. How can this be if you do not have convertible currency? I said that I understood that making the ruble convertible could create other complications for the USSR, “since your ideology requires that you sharply restrict the movement of people, goods and currency. How can you reconcile these two realities with each other?”
He looked at me for a second in some confusion, and then gave confused and not particularly adequate answer. It is clear that he never seriously thought about the practical consequences of introducing a convertible currency.
About a week later I was having lunch at a restaurant in Amsterdam when Fritz Letwiler, the manager of the Swiss National Bank, saw me and came to my table. Letwiler said that he had just returned from Moscow. He said that after my visit Kosygin found out that he was in Moscow and invited him to his place. Kosygin was disturbed by my words, and they spent two hours discussing the implications of currency convertibility for Russia.
There was no satisfactory answer for the Soviets to the question I asked. This clearly defined their dilemma: they could not become an international economic power without a fully convertible currency, but this was impossible as long as they adhered to Marxist dogma and maintained a repressive authoritarian order in society.
memoires), memories- notes from contemporaries telling about events in which the author of the memoirs took part or which are known to him from eyewitnesses. Important Feature memoirs is to focus on the “documentary” nature of the text, which claims to be authentic to the reconstructed past.Memoirs differ from chronicles of modern events in that in them the author’s face comes to the fore, with his sympathies and dislikes, with his aspirations and views. Very often by individuals who played a prominent role in history, sometimes covering a significant period of time, such as the entire life of the author, often connecting important events with the minutiae of everyday life, memoirs can be historical material of paramount importance.
The Oldest European Memoirs
Classical antiquity knew only two authors of memoirs - Xenophon and Caesar. France was considered the true birthplace of memoirs in the 19th century. The first experiments in this area date back to the 13th century. Villehardouin's naive notes on the Latin Empire still stand on the border between memoirs and chronicles, while Histoire de St. Louis“ (about ) is rightfully considered an example of historical memoirs.
France (XVI -XIX centuries)
The number of memoirs especially increased during the era of the revolution (memoirs of Necker, Besanval, Ferrier, Alexandre Lamette, Lafayette, Madame de Stael, Campan, Barbara, Billot-Varenna, Dumouriez, Madame Roland, Mirabeau, Mounier, Barera, Camille Desmoulins). Even executioners, for example, Samson, wrote memoirs then.
Many of the memoirs of that era that appeared with the names of famous figures are fraudulent. This kind of forgery was widely practiced by Soulavie, whose collections have therefore been superseded “Collection des mémoires relatifs à la revolution française”(30 vols., Paris, 1820-1830) and some other publications.
Even more numerous are memoirs dating back to the Napoleonic era. Almost all of Napoleon's generals and many other people left notes. The memoirs of Bignon, O'Meara, Constant, Lavalette, Savary, Duchess d'Abrantes, Marmont, Eugene Beauharnais, Madame de Remusat, Talleyrand are especially important.
Later, memoirs were written by Carnot, Broglie, Chateaubriand, George Sand, Guizot, Marmier, Edmond de Goncourt and Jules de Goncourt.
England
English literature is also rich in memoirs, in which they, however, acquire significance only from the era of Queen Elizabeth and even more from the time of the internal wars of the 17th century. For the reign of Charles I, the memoirs of James Melville and the Scotsman David Crafoord are of particular importance. The most important works of this kind are collected in the edition of Guizot, “Collection des mémoires relatifs à la revolution d’Angleterre”(33 vols., Paris, 1823 et seq.).
Of the memoirs of later times, the most outstanding are the notes of Bolingbroke and Horace Walpole. In England, as in France, the literature of memoirs had reached, by the end of the 19th century, dimensions that were barely accessible to review.
Germany
Poland
Russian memoirs
In Russian literature, a number of notes begin with “The History of the Book.” Great Moscow about the deeds that we have heard from reliable men and that we have seen in our eyes,” the famous Prince Kurbsky, which has the character of a pamphlet rather than history, but important as an expression of the opinion of a well-known party.
The time of troubles caused a whole series narratives of contemporaries and eyewitnesses of the Troubles, but with a few exceptions, these works cannot be considered simple-minded records of what was seen and heard: in almost all legends there is either a biased point of view, or influences from which the simplicity and truthfulness of the author’s testimony suffers. Not to mention the works that appeared even before the end of the Troubles (the story of Archpriest Terenty), journalistic features are not alien to the two largest narratives about the Troubles - Vremennik by Ivan Timofeev and “The Tale of the Siege of the Trinity-Sergius Monastery” by Abraham Palitsyn. In both works, the desire to expose the vices of Muscovites prevails. society and with them explain the origin of the unrest; Depending on such a task, there is a lack of chronological connection, gaps in factual testimony, and an abundance of abstract reasoning and moralizing.
The later works of eyewitnesses of the Troubles, which appeared under Tsars Mikhail and Alexei, differ from the earlier ones in their greater objectivity and more factual depiction of the era (“Words” by Prince I. A. Khvorostinin, especially the story of Prince I. M. Katyrev of Rostov, included in Sergei’s chronograph Kubasov), but in them the presentation is often subordinated either to conventional rhetorical devices (notes of Prince Semyon Shakhovsky, dating back to 1601-1649), or to one general point of view (for example, the official one - in the manuscript attributed to Patriarch Philaret and depicting events from 1606 until the election of Michael as Tsar).
Therefore, as a historical source, those few works that deviate from the general literary template and do not go beyond a simple ingenuous transmission of events are of greater importance. This is, for example, the life of the teacher. Dionysius, Archimandrite of the Trinity-Sergius Convent, which in 1648 - 54. was written by Trinity cellarer Simon Azaryin, and the cellarer from Moscow added his memories. Dormition Cathedral Ivan Nasedka (cf. S. F. Platonov, “Ancient Russian legends and stories about the time of troubles, as a historical source,” St. Petersburg, 1888; the texts of the legends were printed by him in the “Historical Library” published by the archaeographical commission, vol. 13). The works of Kotoshikhin, Shusherin (life of Nikon), Avvakum (autobiography), and Semyon Denisov bear the character of notes or personal memories.
Peter I
Alexander II
Of the numerous memoirs about the era of Alexander II, the notes of N.V. Berg (on Polish conspiracies), Count Valuev, N.S. Golitsyn (on the abolition of corporal punishment, in “Russian Antiquity”, 1890), A.L. Zisserman are of particular importance (Caucasian memories, in the “Russian Archive”, 1885), Levshin, Count M.N. Muravyov, P.N. Obninsky, N.K. Ponomarev (“Memoirs of the mediator of the first call”, in “Russian Antiquity”, 1891, no. 2), N. P. Semyonova, Y. A. Solovyova, gr. D. N. Tolstoy-Znamensky.
Literary Memoirs
Literary memoirs of the 19th century are very numerous. These are the notes of S. T. Aksakov, P. V. Annenkov, Askochensky, Bodyansky (in the “Collection of the Society of Lovers of Russian Literature”, 1891), N. P. Brusilov (in “Historical Vestn.” 1893, No. 4 ), Buslaeva, book. P. A. Vyazemsky, A. D. Galakhov (in “Historical Vestn.” 1891 No. 6 and 1892 No. 1 and 2), Herzen, Panaev, Golovacheva-Panaeva, Grech, I. I. Dmitrieva, V. R. Zotov (“Historical Vestn.”, 1890), M. F. Kamenskaya, Kolyupanova, Makarova,
