Barin from Paris

This morning I received a letter from my French translator and old friend. This is what she writes from distant Paris (I retain the spelling of the original):

*Leva!

How do you like the new Russian citizen, my former neighbor in the quarter of Dipand (notorious Fasho, although the actor is convertible)?

Shame and shame !!! Is there any other globe?

Happy New Year to you, with the hope of meeting and talking! ..* Well, and so on.

This is today. And yesterday I learned that "President Vladimir Putin signed a decree on the admission of French actor Gerard Depardieu."

It seems to be so particularly interesting against the backdrop of truly fateful events of recent times? Well, Frenchman. Well, actor. Well, famous. Well, a person decided to change citizenship. Well, one of the states offered him a "table and a house." The usual, in principle, practice in the modern world. And not only in modern. How many artists, writers, scientists and musicians have acquired not only a new homeland in a foreign land, but also worldwide glory? Yes, take at least the same Chopin. Or Nabokova. But there are few such examples?

But these examples were united by one circumstance: the artist, the writer, the scientist changed his fate, leaving the unfree homeland in search of freedom, without which real work seemed impossible to him.

Apparently, the case with Gerard Depardieu is another page in the long history of the artist’s struggle, not appreciated in his fatherland, where, as you know, there is no prophet, for genuine creative freedom and gaining the coveted glory and simple human happiness.

It is wrong to assume that the emigration was sent only from here "there." What a Russophobia, in the end! And they came here for freedom. And not necessarily for freedom. Someone, for example, similar to hundreds of fugitives, was abandoned to us by the will of rock to catch happiness and ranks. Anyone happened.

Not so much intensively as, as they say now, this happened in the 30s. I personally knew two or three descendants of those who emigrated from the States or from France to build a happy life in the world's first state of workers and peasants. However, I did not really remember that any of them was so grateful to his parents.

The Stalinist USSR was, as you know, the potential homeland of all oppressed, humiliated and insulted. Well, it seems like in the movie "Circus". The most fair in the world was visited by various European figures, mainly writers. Andre Jew, for example, tried to explain to Stalin that in the very advanced country, where there should be no place for bourgeois hypocrisy and medieval obscurantism, the shameful persecution of homosexuals should certainly be canceled. Stalin puffed a couple of times a couple of times, grunted into his mustache and did not answer. The others did not even try to convince someone of something, but simply paid tribute to the grandeur of socialist construction, the most convincing achievement of which was a free black caviar in National. After the cognitive voyage, tired, but satisfied returned to their oyster hell, where enthusiastic articles wrote about the unthinkable successes of socialist construction, about caviar, however, bashfully not mentioning.

This tradition lasted after Stalin, when Paul Robson, Din Reed, then Luis Corvalalan, then other figures of the international communist movement, who sometimes came here for treatment and quite often left here in prestigious coffins, were constantly pushing. There was, for example, such a figure from Angola named Augustinho Neto. A man came here and died. The soulless folklore immediately responded with a black joke: "Neto arrived, but the gross left."

But it was a long time ago. And the venerable tradition somehow resolved by itself. But in the light of the creeping revival of the original customs, the story with Depardieu no longer seems so passable.

When a message appeared that an artist, who, as you know, decided to offend, decided to abandon French citizenship, deeply offended by the attempt on his creative freedom, expressed in an unpleasant tax innovation for him, the question of his probable new homeland arose. In one news feed, literally the following was said: "Among the Pretendent countries, Belgium, Montenegro or even Russia."

It’s slightly a shame, of course, because “even Russia” sounds about the same as “I have such a mood now that I am ready to give myself to literally everyone, even to you” or, more than that, “love of evil ...”. But here is not up to linguistic subtleties. "Even to Russia," you say? Why? What we will not do so that at least someone, “even” Depardieu, rendered us respect and respect. Not everyone is pierced with their own slaves, Leontyev and mammoth. What are these? They are always on picking - only a whistle. Yes, and fed, to be honest, already. And then take it above - a real foreigner, his whole world knows ...

I started with a letter - a letter and finish. But this is not the answer to my Parisian friend. I will write to her a little later. I suddenly wanted to write to Mr. Artist. I wrote. Although, of course, I didn’t send it - I do not like to send letters to strangers. This is a little message:

*Dear Monsieur Gerard!

Do not hesitate, move to Russia.

Firstly, Russia is a generous soul, so you will not lose.

Secondly, the size of the local taxes will suit you completely. And most importantly, your taxes will go to an exceptionally good matter - to the next increase in salaries to the Chekists, deputies, prosecutors, judges and a tunneling helmet gorillas who have fun who beaten boys, girls and old women who pose a real threat to our gendarmeal stability.

You are very needed here, Monsieur Gerard. Without a noble foreigner, it seems like without a general, the local dog wedding looks, to put it mildly, not quite convincing. And I'm not talking about what unthinkable heights your reputation will rise among decent people in different countries: you will be surprised. I'm not sure it's nice, but be surprised. And this is good - a real artist must have not only the ability to surprise, but also the ability to be surprised.*