Yesenin and Chapaev: Car show on Red Square

It was Moscow, in the early 1920s. The weather was uncertain: the morning would start with a light drizzle, but by midday the sun would break through the grey clouds, as if trying to remind us that even in October autumn can be generous with light. Red Square, as always, was full of life: there were traders with carts, children kicking a ball, and the occasional foreign tourist accompanied by experienced guides.

Sergei Yesenin, a famous poet and, as his friends said, a passionate adventurer, invited Vasily Chapayev, a Red Army commander, to an unusual excursion around the capital. But not on foot, as it might seem, but by car. Yes, yes, in those years a car was a rare miracle that attracted not only the glances of passers-by, but also sincere admiration.

“Vasily Ivanovich,” Yesenin exclaimed, wiping the raindrops from his forehead, “it’s time for you to find out what Moscow looks like from the height of the driver’s seat!”

Chapayev, accustomed to horses and tanks, looked with some apprehension at the car parked by the sidewalk. It was an old Russo-Balt with a stretched canvas roof. The car looked as if it had been ready to retire in the previous decade. But Yesenin was adamant.

- Sit down, commander, time is of the essence!

At first, everything went smoothly. They drove past the Bolshoi Theatre, where Chapaev, seeing a poster, thoughtfully muttered: "Maybe it's a shame I'm not friends with culture." Then they passed Lubyanka, where Yesenin, looking at the building, remarked: "It's better not to read poetry out loud here, otherwise they'll arrest you for a rhyme that doesn't correspond to the party line!"

But, approaching Red Square, the first problems began. Yesenin, who decided to take control, mixed up the pedals and, instead of braking, stepped on the gas. The car, with a characteristic roar, rushed straight to St. Basil's Cathedral.

"Sergey, are you going to ram us?" Chapaev shouted, grabbing the handrail.
- Calm down, Vasily Ivanovich! We are poets, not suicides! - Yesenin tried to joke, but there was a hint of panic in his voice.

At the last moment, he sharply turned the steering wheel. The Russo-Balt turned around, almost knocking over a cart of apples, and stopped right at the foot of the monument to Minin and Pozharsky. The square froze. Traders, guides, and even pigeons looked with curiosity at the two passengers getting out of the car. Chapayev, glancing at the crowd, decided to take control of the situation.

- Comrades! - he thundered, adding conviction to his voice. - This was... a rehearsal! For the future parade! The car is a symbol of progress, and we were checking how it would fit into the ceremonial formation!

Yesenin, picking up on the idea, added:
— And I, as a representative of the poetic intelligentsia, inspected how progress is combined with culture!

The crowd began to hum approvingly. Some even clapped. Moscow, as always, innocently accepted the improvisation as the truth. And only one of the pigeons sitting on the monument looked at them with obvious reproach.

That same evening, sitting in a tavern, Chapaev poured himself and Yesenin a glass each.
"Sergey," he said, raising his glass, "a car is, of course, a good thing. But next time, brother, let's make do with a horse. It certainly knows where to brake."

 

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Of course, this is a joke, and there is no real basis for this story - just a little imagination and for the sake of a smile! And if you are interested in real facts and events, we invite you to the excursions of the "Radius" bureau, where real history comes to life!