Dictation on Tverskaya opposite Leontyevsky Lane. The building of the former baker Filippov rises in the iron way. Bakers and hairdressers

“On Tverskaya, opposite Leontyevsky Lane, stands the building of the former baker Filippov. Filippov's bakery was always full of customers. In the far corner, around the hot iron boxes, there was a constant crowd munching on Filippov's famous fried pies with meat, eggs, rice, mushrooms, cottage cheese, raisins and jam. The audience ranges from students to old officials in frieze overcoats and from well-dressed ladies to poorly dressed working women. Using good butter and fresh minced meat, the piglet pie was so big that a couple could have had a hearty breakfast. They were started by Ivan Filippov, the founder of the bakery, who became famous far beyond the borders of Moscow for his rolls and saikas, and most importantly, for his excellent quality black bread. The counters and shelves on the left side of the bakery, which had a separate passage, were always surrounded by crowds buying brown bread and sieve bread by the pound. Black bread, rolls and saiki were sent daily to St. Petersburg to the royal court. They tried to bake it on the spot, but it didn’t work, and old Filippov argued that such rolls and cakes wouldn’t work in St. Petersburg. - Why? - And it’s very simple! Neva water is no good! In addition, there were no railways at that time; in the winter, carts with his biscuits, rolls and saika baked on straw went even to Siberia. Somehow they were frozen in a special way, hot, straight from the oven, transported a thousand miles, and just before eating they were thawed in a special way, in damp towels, and the fragrant, hot rolls somewhere in Barnaul or Irkutsk were served on the table with ardent, hot. Rolls with bran, cod with straw... And suddenly a new product appeared, which the buyer attacked in a flock - these are cod with raisins... - How did you think of it? - And it’s very simple! - answered the old man. It turned out to be really very simple. In those days, the all-powerful dictator of Moscow was Governor-General Zakrevsky, before whom everyone was in awe. Every morning, hot fish from Filippov were served to him for tea. “- What an abomination! Bring the baker Filippov here!” – the ruler once shouted over morning tea. The servants, not understanding what was happening, dragged the frightened Filippov to the authorities. “W-what? Cockroach?! - and puts in a cod with a baked cockroach. - W-what?! A?". “And it’s very simple, Your Excellency,” the old man turns the cod in front of him. “What-oh?.. What-oh?.. Just?!” - This is a highlight, sir! And he ate a piece with a cockroach. “You’re lying, you bastard! Are there ice cream with raisins? Go away!" Filippov ran into the bakery, grabbed a sieve of raisins into the dough, to the great horror of the bakers, and rushed in. An hour later, Filippov treated Zakrevsky to sautés with raisins, and a day later there was no end to buyers. - And it’s very simple! “Everything comes out on its own, you can catch it,” Filippov said when mentioning the fish with raisins.”

For many years, Filippova's bakery, like the Eliseevsky store, was, without exaggeration, the face of the Russian trading capital. Today the bakery on Tverskaya, building 10 does not exist. From the once famous Filippov Empire, only the “grain” names of Moscow streets and alleys have survived to this day: Kalashny, Khlebny.
This is what Vladimir Gilyarovsky wrote about the most famous bakery in Moscow.

« Filippov's bakery was always full of customers. In the far corner, around the hot iron boxes, there was a constant crowd munching on Filippov's famous fried pies with meat, eggs, rice, mushrooms, cottage cheese, raisins and jam. The audience ranges from students to old officials in frieze overcoats and from well-dressed ladies to poorly dressed working women. Using good butter and fresh minced meat, the piglet pie was so big that a couple could have had a hearty breakfast. They were started by Ivan Filippov, the founder of the bakery, who became famous far beyond Moscow for his rolls and saikas, and most importantly, for his excellent quality black bread.”

Excellent quality black bread... How we often miss him now.

The founder of the famous family was the former serf peasant of the village of Kobelevo, Tarussky district, Kaluga province, Maxim Filippov, who, having received his freedom, came to Moscow in 1806 and found a job as a peddler of rolls at the market. Then, gradually saving money, he acquired his own bakery, in which he began baking rolls and pies with various fillings.

It was he who first baked Moscow kalachi, which over time became widespread throughout Russia. After kneading, the dough for them was taken out into the cold, which gave the finished rolls a special taste. Business was very successful, and by the end of his life Maxim Filippov already owned three bakery establishments - kalachny, bakery and bagel and occupied a prominent place in the city's bread market.

A worthy successor to his father’s business was Ivan Maksimovich Filippov (1824 – 1878), who was recognized as the first baker in Russia, and then in Europe. Ivan Maksimovich had an amazing flair and extraordinary entrepreneurial skills, which allowed him to introduce many innovations into the baking business .

The success of the entire enterprise was ensured by an uninterrupted chain, thanks to which the entire process from grain collection and flour production to baking and sales was controlled by Ivan Maksimovich himself. Filippov, the first of the Russian bakers, organized trade “in the German style” - right at the bakery.
THEM. Filippov constantly expanded the range of his products.
In addition to bakery products, he established the production of branded “Filippovsky” pies with Russian national filling - tripe, porridge, cabbage, vyaziga, etc. And the bread itself was varied: peklevanny (from sifted finely ground rye flour), Borodinsky, Starodubsky , Riga, sieve (each loaf of hearth sieve bread weighed about 2.5 kg). In addition, there were French buns, penny loaves of bread (called “swindlers” by Muscovites), vitushki, saechkas sprinkled with poppy seeds or coarse salt, simple saiki baked on straw, large and small rolls, bran rolls, bread rings and much, much more. .
Everyone knows the story of the invention of raisin cods, so we won’t dwell on it in detail.

The “King of Moscow Bakers” was the first to organize the freezing of bread on an industrial scale to preserve its freshness. In winter, immediately after baking, bread products were frozen in a special way and transported in this form thousands of miles. Carts with the famous “Filippovsky” bread from Moscow were sent to St. Petersburg, Barnaul, Irkutsk and many other cities of Russia. There the bread was thawed - also in a special way - in damp towels and, as if it had just been taken out of the oven, it was served on the table, causing surprise and delight among those invited to tea.

The famous entrepreneur was also famous for his charity. On holidays, he baked large batches of bread according to orders and sent these “bread gifts” to those arrested in Butyrka prison. Ivan Maksimovich supplied his bread products to the Nikolaev charity home for poor widows and orphans. All his life I.M. Filippov was a member of the Moscow merchant society, and a year before his death he was elected as a member of the city Duma. For his charitable activities and services to entrepreneurship, he was awarded the Order of St. Anna 2nd degree and became a hereditary honorary citizen of Moscow.

After the death of Ivan Maksimovich, the business passed to his widow, Tatyana Ivanovna, and in 1881 it was headed by one of his sons, Dmitry, who turned out to be as worthy of successor to the family business as his father once was. Dmitry Ivanovich’s activities to expand his father’s business and business deserve a separate story

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The merchant club was located in a spacious house that belonged in Catherine's time to Field Marshal and Moscow Commander-in-Chief Count Saltykov and after the Napoleonic invasion, it passed into the Myatlev family of nobles. It was from them that the Moscow Merchant Club hired him in the forties.

Back then, Bolshaya Dmitrovka was entirely aristocratic: the Dolgoruks, Dolgorukovs, Golitsyns, Urusovs, Gorchakovs, Saltykovs, Shakhovskys, Shcherbatovs, Myatlevs... Only later did the palaces begin to pass into the hands of the merchants, and on the verge of the present and last centuries, noble coats of arms disappeared from the pediments and appeared on on the walls are signs of new homeowners: Solodovnikovs, Golofteyevs, Tsyplakovs, Shelaputins, Khludovs, Obidins, Lyapins...

In the old days, Dmitrovka was also called Club Street - there were three clubs on it: the English Club in Muravyov’s house, the Noble Club there, which later moved to the house of the Noble Assembly; Then the Clerk's Club moved to Muravyov's house, and the Merchant Club moved to Myatlev's house. The lordly chambers were occupied by merchants, and the lordly tone gave way to a merchant one, just as the exquisite French table switched to ancient Russian dishes.

And on Tuesdays these merchants went to the club to overeat.

Okhotny Ryad - The Belly of Moscow.

In previous years, Okhotny Ryad was built up on one side with ancient houses, and on the other with a long one-story building under one roof, despite the fact that it belonged to dozens of owners. Of all these buildings, only two were residential: the house where the Continental Hotel is, and the Egorov tavern, famous for its pancakes, standing next to it. The rest are all shops, right up to Tverskaya.

Okhotny Ryad got its name back in the days when it was allowed to trade in game brought by hunters near Moscow.

Hunters walked around, hung with ducks, grouse, and hares. The heads of hens and chicks were sticking out of the women's baskets; piglets were squealing in the bags, which the sellers, taking out of the bag to show to the buyer, certainly raised them above their heads, holding them by their tied hind legs.

And sometimes a ham sticks out of a gunny bag next to the millionaire’s sable fur coat, and across the bear’s cavity lies a pound frozen sturgeon in all its beauty.

The cellars smelled of rotten meat, and the goods on the shelves were first-class.

The poor bought the latest types of meat in tents and from peddlers: ribs, thighs, trim, tripe and cheap lamb. They cannot afford the goods of the best shops; they are for those about whom Gogol said: “For those who are cleaner.”

But the sellers in the shops and the sellers on the streets weigh and cheat both of them equally, without distinguishing the poor from the rich - this was the old custom of the Okhotsk Ryad merchants, who were irrefutably confident - “if you don’t cheat, you won’t sell.”

Sewage of the "back yard" of Okhotsk Ryad

“The area of this courtyard is covered with a thick layer of dried blood and scraps of entrails located between the stones; near the walls lies smoking manure, intestines and other rotting waste. The yard is surrounded by cellars and locked sheds housed in dilapidated buildings” - from the sanitary inspection protocol.

After the revolution, the shops of Okhotny Ryad were completely demolished, and in their place the eleven-story building of the Moscow Hotel rose.

In this area of Moscow there were the chambers of Vasily Golitsyn, the favorite of Princess Sophia, next to the chambers of Golitsyn the same vast place belonged to his sworn enemy - boyar Troekurov, the head of the Streltsy order.

The restored houses of Golitsyn and Troekurov are the last memory of Okhotny Ryad... And the only one, if you don’t count “Peter Kirillov”.

Lubyanka

On Lubyanka Square, between Bolshaya and Malaya Lubyanka, a huge house grew up. This is the house of the Rossiya insurance company, built on the property of N.S. Mosolova

Opposite Mosolov's house on Lubyanka Square there was an exchange for hired carriages. When Mosolov sold his house to the Rossiya insurance company, he gave the carriage and horses to his coachman and “Noodles” was listed on the stock exchange. An excellent harness gave him the opportunity to earn good money: riding with “Noodles” was considered chic.

Lubyanskaya Square also replaced the carriage yard: between Mosolov’s house and the fountain there was a carriage exchange, between the fountain and Shilov’s house there was a dray exchange, and along the entire sidewalk from Myasnitskaya to Bolshaya Lubyanka there was a continuous line of passenger cabs milling around their horses. In those days, it was not required that cab drivers sit on box seats. The horses stand with their bags on, unbridled, and feed.

On the pavement along the sidewalk line there are scraps of hay and streams of sewage.

On Tverskaya

..., opposite Leontyevsky Lane, stands the building of the former baker Filippov, who rebuilt it at the end of the century from a long two-story house that belonged to his father, popular in Moscow thanks to his rolls and saikas.

The oldest English club in Moscow still remembered the times when “the fire of Moscow roared and roared,” when on the burning Tverskaya, through which the remnants of Napoleon’s army made their way to the outpost, one magnificent palace survived.

The palace stood in a centuries-old park of several acres, between Tverskaya and Goat Swamp. The park ended with three deep ponds, the memory of which survives only in the name “Trekhprudny Lane”.

Leo Tolstoy in “War and Peace” describes the dinner with which in 1806 the English Club honored Prince Bagration who arrived in Moscow: “...Most of those present were old, respectable people with broad, self-confident faces, thick fingers, firm movements and voices.”

So they moved to Tverskaya, where their contemporaries still doze on the gates - stone lions with huge, slack jaws, like petrified nobles digesting Lucullus' lunch

Now... On the pediment, the white coat of arms of the republic was replaced by the gilded count coat of arms of the Razumovskys. In this palace - the Museum of the Revolution - everyone can now trace the victorious march of the Russian revolution, from the Decembrists to Lenin.

ever since Catherine II’s Secretary of State Kozitsky built a palace on Tverskaya for his beautiful wife, Siberian gold miner E.I. Kozitskaya, the lane began to bear her name and is still called that way.

This house at that time was one of the largest and best in Moscow, its facade overlooked Tverskaya, was built in a classical style, with a coat of arms on the pediment and two stylish balconies.

After the death of E.I. Kozitskaya's house passed to her daughter, Princess A.G. Beloselskaya-Belozerskaya. In this very house there was a historical Moscow salon of Beloselsky-Belozersky’s daughter, Zinaida Volkonskaya. Here in the twenties of the last century the then representatives of art and literature gathered.

On the other side of Tverskaya stood behind bars an empty huge house, built during the reign of Catherine II by the nobleman Prozorovsky and in the forties ended up in the hands of the wealthy landowner Guryev, who finally abandoned it. The house stood with broken windows and a collapsed roof. Subsequently, in the eighties, Brenko’s “Pushkin Theater” was located in this house.

And then... devils lived in it.

Such rumors persisted in Moscow.

After the rebuilding of Malkiel, the Beloselsky house passed through many merchant hands. Malkiel also completely changed the facade, and the house lost the appearance of an ancient palace.

On Tverskaya, opposite Bryusovsky Lane, in the seventies and early eighties, almost next to the governor-general’s palace, stood Olsufiev’s large house - four floors, with basement floors where shops and a wine cellar were located. Both the shops and the cellar had two exits to the street and to the courtyard - and they sold for two solutions.

The owner of the house, retired staff captain Dm. L. Olsufiev, who had nothing in common with Count Olsufiev, did not live here, but the house was managed by a former janitor, Karasev’s bosom friend, who received huge amounts of money from him and from the tenants, the owners of trading establishments.

It is not for nothing that the house had no other name than “Olsufevskaya Fortress” - after the name of its owner.

In the dank outbuildings there are hundreds of apartments and rooms occupied by all kinds of workshops.

People have lived in Olsufievka for generations. Everyone knew each other, they were selected according to their specialties, condition and behavior.

Vladimirka.

The main center where alms were sent was the central prison - “Butyrsky Prison Castle”. Prisoners exiled to Siberia arrived there from all over Russia, from here they, before the construction of the Moscow-Nizhny Novgorod railway, went on foot along Vladimirka.

The main donors were the merchants, who considered it necessary to save their souls to donate food to the “unlucky ones” so that they would remember the donor in their prayers, firmly believing that the prayers of prisoners would more quickly achieve their goal.

It was mainly bakers and bakeries who profited from these alms. Only one old man, Filippov, who saved his enormous business by eating a cockroach for a raisin, was an honest man in this case.

Firstly, when ordering, he never sent heaps to the prisoners, but always fresh rolls and saika; secondly, he kept a special account, according to which it was clear how much profit these alms orders generated, and he took this profit entirely to the prison himself and donated it to improve food for sick prisoners.

In those days, before 1870, the sight of Vladimirka was terrible!

And Vladimirka begins behind Rogozhskaya, and for generations the inhabitants of Rogozhskaya saw these terrible ranks several times a year passing by their houses. We saw the same picture for the first time as children, and then as gray-haired old men and women.

The movement of these parties was terrible.

Throughout Sadovaya and on all passing streets, a chain of guards with guns was posted along the sidewalks...

And endless rows of gray pea coats with a yellow ace of diamonds on the back and yellow cloth letters above the ace: “S.K.” rattle with hand and foot shackles.

Then there was a breathtaking farewell scene, tears, scandals. Many of the prisoners had already become tipsy, there were riots and drunken fights every now and then... Finally, the convoy managed to calm the party down, lined it up and set off along Vladimirka on a long journey.

When the Nizhny Novgorod railway was built, Vladimirka ceased to be a land Styx

Along Piterskaya

When I got off the tram, heading to the station, a young man stopped me.

– I apologize, this is my first time in Moscow. I am a student. I’m interested in why the station on the empty square near Sadovaya is called “Triumphal Gate”, and this is “Tverskaya Zastava”, although in front of me is the Triumphal Gate in all its grandeur... Then, what do these two small houses with columns next to them mean?

I explained that this was the end of Tverskaya, that the gates had been erected a hundred years ago in memory of the 1912 War, but that along Sadovaya there had once been wooden Triumphal Gates, but that they had been broken for a hundred and fifty years, but the name of the area had been preserved.

I explained to him that in the old days, when there were no railways, these two houses were outposts and were called a guardhouse because there was a military guard in them, and there was a barrier between the buildings, and so on.

Description of work

Rich nobles and important nobles rode in huge tall carriages with folding ladders at the doors. Standing at the back, holding on to their belts, were two huge guides, two livery footmen, and on the steps, one at each door, a Cossack. Their duties were to run to the entrances with a report of their arrival, and in dirty weather to help the guides carry the master and lady out of the carriage to the entrance of the house. The carriage was harnessed by a quadruple train, and for especially important persons - by a gear. A postilion sat on the left, front horse, and a horseman galloped in front, examining the road: is it possible to pass? Along the entire Sadovaya, next to the trellises of the front gardens, instead of sidewalks there were wooden walkways, and under them there were ditches for water drainage. Samotechnaya and Sukharevsky Gardens with their steep slope towards Neglinka were especially impassable.

Using good butter and fresh minced meat, the piglet pie was so big that a couple could have had a hearty breakfast. They were started by Ivan Filippov, the founder of the bakery, who became famous far beyond the borders of Moscow for his rolls and saikas, and most importantly, for his excellent quality black bread.

The counters and shelves on the left side of the bakery, which had a separate passage, were always surrounded by crowds buying brown bread and sieve bread by the pound. Black bread, rolls and saiki were sent daily to St. Petersburg to the royal court. They tried to bake it on the spot, but it didn’t work, and old Filippov argued that such rolls and cakes wouldn’t work in St. Petersburg.

- Why?

- And it’s very simple! Neva water is no good!

In addition, there were no railways at that time; in the winter, carts with his biscuits, rolls and saika baked on straw went even to Siberia. Somehow they were frozen in a special way, hot, straight from the oven, transported a thousand miles, and just before eating they were thawed in a special way, in damp towels, and the fragrant, hot rolls somewhere in Barnaul or Irkutsk were served on the table with ardent, hot. Rolls on bran, cod on straw...

And suddenly a new product appeared, which the buyer pounced on in droves - these are cod cakes with raisins...

- How did you come up with the idea?

- And it’s very simple! - answered the old man.

It turned out to be really very simple. In those days, the all-powerful dictator of Moscow was Governor-General Zakrevsky, before whom everyone was in awe. Every morning, hot fish from Filippov were served to him for tea.

“Th-what an abomination! Bring the baker Filippov here!” – the ruler once shouted over morning tea. The servants, not understanding what was happening, dragged the frightened Filippov to the authorities.

“W-what? Cockroach?! - and puts in a cod with a baked cockroach. - W-what?! A?".

“And it’s very simple, Your Excellency,” the old man turns the cod in front of him.

“What-oh?.. What-oh?.. Just?!”

“This is the highlight, sir!” - And he ate a piece with a cockroach.

“You’re lying, you bastard! Are there ice cream with raisins? Go away!"

Filippov ran into the bakery, grabbed a sieve of raisins into the dough, to the great horror of the bakers, and rushed in. An hour later, Filippov treated Zakrevsky to sautés with raisins, and a day later there was no end to buyers.

- And it’s very simple! “Everything comes out on its own, you can catch it,” Filippov said when mentioning the fish with raisins.”

Excerpt from Vladimir Gilyarovsky’s book “Moscow and Muscovites”

Current page: 9 (book has 18 pages in total)

We forcibly persuaded them to take the money...

The man who played “Vanka” said that this “performance” was very old and even during the times of serfdom it served as entertainment for the serfs, who because of it risked getting whipped or even become a soldier.

The same was confirmed by the old man Kazakov, a former serf actor, which he strenuously hid.

Next to Mosolov’s house, on land that belonged to the consistory, there was a common people’s tavern “Uglich”. The tavern was a carriage house, although it did not have a yard where horses are usually fed while their owners drink tea. But at that time in Moscow there was “simplicity”, which was brought out in the mid-nineties by Chief of Police Vlasovsky.

Lubyanskaya Square

And before him, Lubyanskaya Square also replaced the cabman's yard: between Mosolov's house and the fountain there was an exchange of carriages, between the fountain and Shilov's house there was an exchange of drays, and along the entire sidewalk from Myasnitskaya to Bolshaya Lubyanka there was a continuous line of passenger cabs milling about the horses. In those days, it was not required that cab drivers sit on box seats. The horses stand with their bags on, unbridled, and feed.

On the pavement along the sidewalk line there are scraps of hay and streams of sewage.

Horses feed without supervision, flocks of pigeons and sparrows rush underfoot, and cab drivers drink tea in the tavern. The driver, leaving the tavern, draws water directly from the pool with a dirty bucket and gives the horse water, and around the pool there is a line of water carriers with barrels.

They drive up eight barrels at a time, stand around the pool and use bucket scoops on long handles to scoop water from the pool and fill the barrels, and the whole area is buzzing with curses from early morning until late at night...

NEW SUBSTATION
Yesterday, a new substation for the city electrical structure was laid on Lubyanka Square.

The new substation will be located near the Chinese Wall, on Lubyanka, at the exit from the Nikolskaya gate - underground.

For Moscow, this is the first attempt to build a large building underground.<…>

Next to “Uglich”, on the corner of Myasnitskaya there are “Myasnitsky” furnished rooms, occupied by passing merchants and commission agents with samples of goods. The house where they are located was built by Malyushin on land rented from the consistory.

Consistory! A word now incomprehensible to most readers.

The devil fell into the net and cried out in fear:

- Am I in the consistory?!

There was a saying that characterized this institution.

And it was a local church administration consisting of large spiritual officials - the council, and minor officials, led by the secretary - the main force that influenced the council. The secretary is everything. Officials received a pittance salary and subsisted solely on bribes. This was done completely openly. Rural priests brought cartloads of bribes to officials' apartments, in the form of flour and livestock, while Moscow priests paid in cash. Bribes were given by deacons, sextons, sextons, and students who graduated from an academy or seminary and were given positions as priests. The consistory owned a large piece of land along Myasnitskaya - from Furkasovsky Lane to Lubyanka Square. It was located in a two-story barracks-type building, and it had a large garden. Then this house was demolished, a new one was built, now existing, No. 5, but even in the new house, bribes were taken in the old way. The clergy came here to bow, here the guilty were tried, divorce cases ended here, requiring huge bribes and corruptible witnesses, who, in order to convict one or the other spouse of infidelity, which was necessary according to the old law during divorce, told the court, consisting of gray-haired bishops, all the smallest details of physical betrayal, which they allegedly witnessed. It was not enough for the court to prove that the unfaithful man was found in bed; they also required details that no third party could ever see, but the witnesses “saw” and spoke with pathos, and the judges savored and “judged.”

Above the consistory was the Holy Synod. It was located in St. Petersburg in a building under arches, as well as the Governing Senate, also in a building under arches.

This is where the joke came from:

– The blindest synod and the robbing Senate live on gifts.

Between the consistory building and the Myasnitsky rooms there was an ancient three-story building where officials had apartments. This was once a house of horrors.

I have a record of an eyewitness about a visit to this slum: “I had to,” writes the author of the record, “visit one of the officials who lived in this house. The apartment was on the ground floor of an old three-story building, in low vaulted rooms. The impression is eerie, despite the quite decent mediocre family atmosphere; even a pair of canaries called to each other in the deep niche of the small window. The vaults and walls were incredibly thick. Some thick, rusty iron hooks and huge iron rings stuck out from the ceiling and walls in the dining room. Sitting over tea, I looked around in surprise at the arches, the hooks, and the rings.

– What is this strange building? – I asked the official.

- Quite interesting. For example, we are sitting in the very room where Stepan Ivanovich Sheshkovsky, the head of a secret expedition, sat a hundred years ago and tortured those arrested here. These hooks above us are the racks where the tortured were hung. But this cabinet,” my interlocutor pointed to a deep niche, on the new wooden shelves of which there were bottles with liqueurs and various utensils, “this cabinet is no more no less than a stone bag. The iron door was removed from it and replaced with a wooden one by us, and now, as you can see, homemade liqueur stands peacefully in it, which we will now try. And in the time of Sheshkovsky, criminals were placed here; you see, only an arshin in depth, one and a half in width and a little over two arshins in height. And below us, and under the archive, next to us are basements with prisons, a terrible dungeon where they were tortured, where the rings to which the brought criminals were chained are still intact. It's worse there. Another stone bag with a door lined with iron also survived. And the basement is now littered with all sorts of rubbish.

In a further conversation, the official said the following:

“I’ve been living here for forty years now and I still found people who remembered Sheshkovsky and his assistants - Cheredin, Agapych and others who even knew Vanka Cain himself. I remembered better than others and told me the horrors, who lived here in those days as a teenager, the son of the senior watchman of that time, then our official. Under him, torture was less frequent. And as soon as Paul I reigned, he ordered the release from these prisons of a secret expedition of everyone who had been imprisoned by Catherine II and her predecessors. When they were taken out into the yard, they didn’t even look like people: some scream, some go berserk, some fall dead...

E. Gertner. Ivanovskaya Square

In the yard, they took off their chains and took them somewhere, mostly to a madhouse... Then, already under Alexander I, they broke the rack, torture machines, and cleaned the prisons. Cheredin was still in charge of everything. He lived here, with me still. He told how Pugachev was tortured in front of him - my father still remembered this... And he saw Saltychikha here, in this very room where we are now sitting... Then she was transported from here to the Ivanovo Monastery, to the crypt, where she remained for thirty years until her death sat. I saw her personally in the Ivanovo Monastery... She was then kept in an underground prison, looking through the bars, out the window, screaming, swearing and spitting at us. It was never unlocked, and food was served through this very single window. I was about eight years old then, I went to the monastery with my mother and I remember everything well...

More than twenty years have passed since this recording. Already at the beginning of this century, I was returning home from a long trip along Myasnitskaya from the Kursky station - and suddenly I saw: there was no house, just a pile of stones and garbage. Masons are working, destroying the foundation. I jumped off the cab and went straight to them. It turns out that they want to build a new house.

“Now they have begun to break down the underground prison,” the foreman explained to me.

“I saw her,” I say.

- No, you saw the basement, we had already broken it down, and under it there was still the most terrible one: in one compartment there were potatoes and firewood, and the other half was tightly walled up... We ourselves didn’t know that there was a room there. We made a breach and came across an oak, iron-forged door. They broke it forcibly, and behind the door was a human skeleton... As the door was torn off - as it rattled, as the chains clanked... The bones were buried. The police came, and the bailiff took the chains somewhere.

We crawled through the gap, went down four steps to the stone floor; here the underground darkness was still struggling with the light from the broken ceiling at the other end of the dungeon. I was breathing heavily... My guide took a candle stub out of his pocket and lit it... Arches... rings... hooks...

“And here was a skeleton in chains.”

Upholstered in rusty iron, a blackened oak door, covered in mold, with a little window, and behind it a low stone bag, the same as the old man’s liqueur was in, only with some kind of recess, like a narrow niche.

Upon further inspection, there were some more niches in the walls, also probably stone bags.

Trams on Lubyanka Square

– I’ll come tomorrow with a photographer, we need to shoot this and publish it in a magazine.

- Please, come. Let them know how people were tortured. Come.

I went out into the street and was just about to get into a cab when I saw my colleague from magazine work, illustrator N.A. Bogatov.

- Nikolai Alekseevich, do you have a pencil? – I stop him.

- Of course, I don’t take a step without a pencil and an album.

I briefly described what I had seen, and in a few minutes we were in the dungeon.

We spent three hours here with Bogatov while he made an excellent sketch, and the foreman gave us exact measurements of the dungeon. The terrible stone bag where the skeleton was found was two arshins two inches high, the width was also two arshins two inches, and the depth in one place, where the niche was, was twenty inches, and in another - thirteen. What this niche was made for, we never guessed.

The house was demolished and a new one grew in its place.

In 1923–1924, retail premises were built on the site where the Myasnitsky furnished rooms were. Beneath them were deep cellars with vaults and some kind of pillars, reminiscent of the neighboring prisons of the “Secret Order”, to which they probably belonged. Now they were filled up, but before the revolution they were disposed of by the merchant Chichkin for a dairy products warehouse.

On the other side of Myasnitskaya, in Lubyansky Proezd, there was Romeiko’s property. The house overlooking the passage housed Arsentich's tavern, the rear façade of which overlooked a huge courtyard that stretched almost to Zlatoust Lane. The yard was lined with wholesale shops where they sold seasonal goods: in the spring - cucumbers and herbs, in the summer - berries, in the fall - fruits, mainly apples, and in the winter - frozen fish and all year round - live crayfish, which were brought from the Oka and Volga, and most importantly image from the Don, in huge wicker baskets. This wholesale trade was, in fact, for only buyers - hawkers and peddlers. In the early nineties, this huge business ceased; Romeiko’s property was bought by the Siberian rich man N.D. Stakheev and built a large house on the site of a broken tavern, which he later lost at cards.

Behind the “Shipovskaya Fortress” there was a huge wasteland, where in winter they sold frozen meat, fish and poultry from carts, and at other times - vegetables, livestock and fruits. Peddlers, mainly from Tver, bought goods here and walked all over Moscow, right up to the very outskirts, carrying pound-sized trays on their heads and delivering products to their regular customers. You could buy a large sturgeon from them, and livers for a cat for a nickel. Peddlers were especially valued by housewives in the spring and autumn, when the streets were impassable from mud, or in the extreme cold of winter. There were few good shops in Moscow, and markets were far away.

Somehow, back in serfdom, a wooden booth appeared on Lubyanka Square with a simple menagerie and a huge elephant, which mainly attracted the public. Suddenly, in the spring, the elephant went berserk, tore out the logs from the wall to which it was chained, and began to sweep away the booth, trumpeting victoriously and striking fear into the crowds of people surrounding the square. The elephant, irritated by the shouts of the crowd, tried to escape, but he was held back by the logs to which he was chained and which were stuck in the rubble of the booth. The elephant had already managed to knock down one log and rushed at the crowd, but by this time the police had brought a company of soldiers, who killed the giant in several volleys.

Now the Polytechnic Museum stands on this site.

Bakers and hairdressers

On Tverskaya, opposite Leontievsky Lane, stands the building of the former baker Filippov, who rebuilt it at the end of the century from a long two-story house that belonged to his father, popular in Moscow for his rolls and saikas.

Filippov was so popular that the famous Moscow poet Schumacher celebrated his death with a quatrain that all of Moscow knew:

Yesterday another of the types died out,
Moscow are very famous and familiar,
Prince of Tmutarakan Ivan Filippov,
And left the insects in mourning.

Filippov's bakery was always full of customers. In the far corner, around the hot iron boxes, there was a constant crowd munching on Filippov's famous fried pies with meat, eggs, rice, mushrooms, cottage cheese, raisins and jam. The audience ranges from students to old officials in frieze overcoats and from well-dressed ladies to poorly dressed working women. Using good butter and fresh minced meat, the piglet pie was so big that a couple could have had a hearty breakfast. They were started by Ivan Filippov, the founder of the bakery, who became famous far beyond Moscow for his rolls and saikas, and most importantly, for his excellent quality black bread.

The counters and shelves on the left side of the bakery, which had a separate passage, were always surrounded by crowds buying brown bread and sieve bread by the pound.

“The little black bread is the worker’s first food,” said Ivan Filippov.

- Why is it only good for you? - they asked.

- Because the little bread loves care. Baking is just baking, but all the power is in the flour. I don’t have any purchased flour, it’s all my own, I buy selected rye locally, I have my own people at the mills, so that there’s not a speck or a speck of dust... But still, there are different types of rye, you have to choose. I increasingly get the best flour from Tambov, from near Kozlov, from the Rominsk mill. And very simple! – he always ended his speech with his favorite saying.

“There is a huge golden roll above the front door... We especially loved the section where buns, rolls, and gingerbreads are sold. You push your five-alt coin to the seller and say loudly: “A pound of mint gingerbread.” The seller will certainly joke with you and quickly pour the gingerbread into a paper bag...”

E. A. Andreeva-Balmont

Black bread, rolls and saiki were sent daily to St. Petersburg to the royal court. They tried to bake it on the spot, but it didn’t work, and old Filippov argued that such rolls and cakes wouldn’t work in St. Petersburg.

- Why?

- And it’s very simple! Neva water is no good!

In addition, since there were no railways then, in the winter carts with his biscuits, rolls and saika baked on straw went even to Siberia. Somehow they were frozen in a special way, hot, straight from the oven, transported a thousand miles, and just before eating they were thawed - also in a special way, in damp towels - and the fragrant, hot rolls were served somewhere in Barnaul or Irkutsk the table is blazing hot.

Rolls with bran, cod with straw... And suddenly a new product appeared, which buyers flocked to - these were cod with raisins...

- How did you come up with the idea?

- And it’s very simple! - answered the old man.

It turned out to be really very simple.

In those days, the all-powerful dictator of Moscow was Governor-General Zakrevsky, before whom everyone was in awe. Every morning, hot fish from Filippov were served to him for tea.

- What an abomination! Bring the baker Filippov here! – the ruler once shouted over morning tea.

The servants, not understanding what was happening, dragged the frightened Filippov to the authorities.

- W-what? Cockroach?! - and puts in a cod with a baked cockroach. - W-what?! A?

“And it’s very simple, Your Excellency,” the old man turns the cod in front of him.

– What-oh?.. What-oh?.. Just?!

- This is a highlight, sir!

And he ate a piece with a cockroach.

- You're lying, you bastard! Are there ice cream with raisins? Go away!

“On Tverskaya, further towards Okhotny, there is Filippov: a large bread store and a pastry shop with marble tables, where my mother and I sat down to eat hot cabbage pies. Black Filippovsky was famous throughout Moscow and beyond.”

A. Tsvetaeva

Filippov ran into the bakery, grabbed a sieve of raisins into the dough, to the great horror of the bakers, and rushed in.

An hour later, Filippov treated Zakrevsky to sautés with raisins, and a day later there was no end to buyers.

- And it’s very simple! “Everything comes out on its own, catch it,” Filippov said when mentioning the fish with raisins.

- For example, take the candies that are called “landrin”... Who is Landrin? What's a monpensier? Previously, our monpensiers were learned to make from the French, but they were sold in pieces of paper wrapped in all the confectionery shops... And then there’s Landrin... The same word seems to be foreign, which is what we need for trade, but it turned out to be very simple.

The artisan Fedya worked for the confectionery shop of Grigory Efimovich Eliseev. Every morning, he used to bring him a tray of monpensiers - he made it in a special way - half white and red, mottled, no one else knew how to do this, and in papers. After the name day, perhaps with a hangover, he jumped up to carry the goods to Eliseev.

He sees that the tray is covered and ready. He grabbed it and ran so as not to be late. Brings. Eliseev untied the tray and shouted at him:

- What did you bring? What?..

Fedya saw that he forgot to wrap the candies in paper, grabbed the tray and ran. Tired, I sat down on a pedestal near the girls’ gymnasium... The schoolgirls were running, one after another...

- How much are the candies?

He does not understand…

-Will you take two kopecks? Give me your heels.

One dime is thrust in... Behind it is another... He takes the money and realizes that it is profitable. Then a lot of them ran out, bought up the tray and said:

– You come to the yard tomorrow, at 12 o’clock, for recess... What’s your name?

- Fedor, last name Landrin...

I calculated the profits - it’s more profitable than selling to Eliseev, and the gold pieces of paper are worth the profits. The next day he brought it back to the gymnasium.

- Landrin has arrived!

He started selling first as a peddler, then locally, and then opened a factory. These candies began to be called “landrin” - the word seemed French... landrin and landrin! And he himself is a Novgorod peasant and got his last name from the Landra river, on which his village stands.

– And it’s very simple! I just didn’t miss the opportunity. And you say: “Ta-ra-kan”!

Still, Filippov was picky and did not take advantage of every opportunity where he could make money. He had a kind of honesty. Where other bakers did not even consider it a fraud to make money, Filippov acted differently.

Bakers made huge sums before the holidays by selling stale goods at full price through charitable orders for alms to prisoners.

From time immemorial, there was a custom on major holidays - Christmas, baptism, Easter, Maslenitsa, as well as on “All Souls’ Day”, on “Parents’ Saturdays” - to send alms to those arrested in prison, or, as they said then, “the unfortunate ones.”

Moscow was especially good at this.

Bakeries received orders from donors for a thousand, two, or even more rolls and saikas, which were delivered on the eves of holidays and divided among the prisoners. At the same time, the guard soldiers from the regiments stationed in Moscow were never forgotten.

Going on guard duty was generally considered a difficult and risky duty, but before major holidays, soldiers asked to be assigned to guard duty. For them, who had never seen a piece of white bread, these days were holidays. When the alms were large, they even brought bread to the barracks and shared it with their comrades.

CITY INCIDENTS
On August 19, peasant Lyubov Vorobyova, who lives in Fedorov’s house on Pimenovskaya Street, and her children, Nikolai, 3 years old, and Taisiya, 2 years old, ate a cake bought at the Filippov bakery, on the corner of Dolgorukovskaya and Seleznevskaya streets, fell ill with signs of poisoning, but thanks to quickly provided medical assistance, the danger was eliminated.

This was expressed even more clearly by the Old Believers, who, by their law, are obliged to provide assistance to all those who suffered from the Antichrist, and they considered such victims to be “those thrown into prison.”

The main center where alms were sent was the central prison - “Butyrsky Prison Castle”. Prisoners exiled to Siberia arrived there from all over Russia; from here, before the construction of the Moscow-Nizhny Novgorod railway, they went on foot along Vladimirka.

In those days, before 1870, the sight of Vladimirka was terrible!

...Here it swirls
Dust. Getting closer... The sound of steps,
The rhythmic ringing of iron chains,
The creaking of carts and the clang of bayonets.
Closer. Louder. Here in the sun
Guns flash. That's a convoy;
Further long lines
Gray cloth. Evil enemy
Enemy and friend, stranger and friend,
Everyone wanders dejectedly in a row,
One misfortune brought everyone together,
Everyone was shackled with an iron rod...

...And a groan
And the ringing of iron chains...

Well, of course, they sacrificed whatever they could, trying to personally hand over the alms. To do this, the donors themselves sometimes drove a cart to the prisons, and the single poor with a couple of rolls or a home-baked loaf would wait on Sadovaya, along the route of the party, and, breaking through the chain, thrust their piece of labor into the hands of the prisoners, sometimes receiving slaps from the soldiers.

The movement of these parties was terrible.

Throughout Sadovaya and on all passing streets, a chain of guards with guns was posted along the sidewalks...

And a party of sometimes a thousand people moves, crawls, thundering and clanking with iron, from the transit prison along Sadovaya, Taganka, Rogozhskaya... In the head of the party, convicts rattle with hand and leg shackles, exposing their half-shaved heads every now and then. They have to win back alms thrown by the people from the guards on the move.

Tverskaya street in winter

And the endless rows of gray pea coats with a yellow ace of diamonds on the back and yellow cloth letters above the ace rattle with hand and foot shackles:

"WITH. TO." - means exiled convict. People translate it in their own way: “Hard convict.”

The “filly” is moving through the trellises of the people, who even covered the roofs of houses and fences... Behind the exiled convicts, in only shackles, walked the exiles chained several times with an iron rod to Siberia, behind them were the passport-free tramps, prisoners, arrested for “lack of writing”, sent to their homeland. Behind them was a line of racks littered with bundles and bags, on which lay the sick and women with children, who aroused special sympathy.

While the party was moving, driving along these streets stopped... They passed Taganka. They crossed the outpost... And there, behind the outpost, on Vladimirka, thousands of people have gathered with carts, waiting - these are Muscovites, and peasants from nearby villages, and buyers with empty bags from the outskirts of Moscow and from the bazaars.

Before the party arrives, a large detachment of soldiers comes and clears Vladimirka and the large field that surrounds it from the people.

This is the first stage. Here the last roll call and check of the party was carried out, here alms were accepted and divided among the prisoners, and they were immediately sold to the dealers, who filled their bags with rolls and rolls, paying money for them, and money was the only thing valued by the prisoners. Vodka was quoted even more expensive, and dealers also managed to lend it to the lot.

To do this, it was sometimes necessary to call in a reinforced squad of troops and blacksmiths with shackles in order to further shackle the brawlers.

It was, of course, not the convicts, the seasoned prisoners, who got drunk and rowded the most, but the “punks,” the prisoners.

When the Nizhny Novgorod railway was built, Vladimirka ceased to be a land Styx, and Charons with bayonets no longer transported the souls of sinners to hell along it. Instead of the path trodden by the sounds of chains -

Between the blackening ones under the fallow
Plow raised fields
The road stretches like a ribbon
Greener than emerald...
Everything about her is different now,
Just build double birches,
Why did you hear so many screams?
That you've seen so many tears,
The same…
...But how wonderful
In the lush decoration of spring
Everyone is around them! Not by rain
These herbs are watered,
On human tears, on sweat,
What flowed like a river in those days -
Without supervision, at large -
Now they have blossomed.
All the flowers where there used to be tears
Sometimes they kicked up dust,
Where the rattles rattled
Along the highway.

Vladimirka was closed, the first stage, where the last alms were distributed, was destroyed behind the outpost. It was forbidden to accept alms near the station - it was only allowed to bring it before the party left for the transit prison and hand it over not to the prisoners personally, but through the authorities. The Rogozh Old Believers were especially offended by this:

- How do the unfortunate ones know who gave it to them? Who will they pray for?

The Rogozhskys flatly refused to take alms to the transit castle and chose two nearby prisons to distribute it: at the Rogozhsky police house and at the Lefortovosky one.

And these two parts were filled with alms on set days, although the rest of Moscow continued to send as before to all prisons. The Khitrovites got wind of this and took advantage.

Before the big holidays, to the great surprise of the authorities, the Lefortovo and Rogozhskaya units were filled with prisoners, and fights and scandals took place throughout Moscow, and an incredible number of tramps were detained for “lack of writing”, who indicated their place of residence mainly in Lefortovo and Rogozhskaya, where they were sent with an escort for identification.

And along with them they carried cartloads of alms, which were immediately distributed to the prisoners, exchanged for vodka and eaten.

After the holiday, all these criminals turned out to be either petty thieves, or simply vagabonds from Moscow townspeople and artisans, who, with an identity card, were released to go home, and they dispersed, having celebrated a satisfying holiday at the expense of the “benefactors”, who were expecting fervent prayers for their souls from these “unlucky ones.” thrown into prison by the servants of the Antichrist."

It was mainly bakers and bakeries who profited from these alms. Only one old man, Filippov, who saved his enormous business by eating a cockroach for a raisin, was an honest man in this case.

Many years later, his son, who continued his father’s work, erected the large one that now stands on the site of the two-story house, and decorated it in a foreign style, arranging in it the once famous “Philippov’s coffee shop” with mirrored windows, marble tables and lackeys in tuxedos...

Nevertheless, this Parisian-looking institution was known as the “lousy exchange.” The same as in the old days, a constant crowd around the boxes of hot pies...

M. Shcheglov. At Fillipova's coffee shop

But the audience in the coffee shop is completely different: the audience of the “lousy stock exchange”.

Regulars of the “lousy stock exchange”. Few people knew them, but they knew everyone, but they did not have the custom of pretending that they knew each other. Sitting next to each other, they exchanged words; another approached an already occupied table and asked, as if from strangers, permission to sit down. Favorite place away from windows, closer to a dark corner.

This audience is swindlers, commission agents, theft masterminds, organizers of shady affairs, agents of gambling houses who lure inexperienced gamblers, club blacks and cheaters into their dens. The latter, after sleepless nights spent in brothels and clubs, woke up at noon and were going to Filippov's to drink tea and work out a plan for the next night.

Among the detectives who dropped into the coffee shop every now and then, this audience was known under the heading: “players.”

On the days of races and races, two hours before the start, the coffee shop is filled with a diverse crowd with racing and racing posters in their hands. There are merchants, officials, and rich young people here - all avid betting players.

They come here to meet with the “players” and “bugs” - regulars at the racetracks - to get their marks on which horse they can win. “Bugs” bring them together with cheaters, and recruitment into gambling houses begins.

An hour before the start of the races, the coffee shop is empty - everyone is at the hippodrome, except for the random, visiting audience. The “gamblers” no longer appear: from the hippodrome to clubs, to gambling houses they make their way.

“Players” had already become a common word, almost characterizing a class, a workshop that gave, so to speak, the right to reside in Moscow. Every now and then, during arrests, the police had to be content with answering the question about their occupation with one word: “playing.”

Here is a verbatim conversation at the police station during the interrogation of a very respectable dandy:

– What is your occupation?

- Playing.

- I don't understand! I ask you, how do you make a living?

- I'm the one playing! I earn money by playing betting, in the imperial racing and running societies, with cards, as you know, issued by the imperial educational house... I play games permitted by the government...

And, released, he went straight to Filippov to drink his morning coffee.

But not everyone had access to the coffee shop. The walls were full of signs: “No dogs allowed” and “No lower ranks allowed.”

I remember one incident. Once, shortly before the Japanese War, a student from a military paramedic school, whose shoulder straps could be mistaken for an officer’s, was sitting by the window with a young lady. Further, at another window, an old man sat, deep in reading a magazine. He was wearing a rubberized cape buttoned at the collar. Enter, rattling his saber, a young hussar officer with a lady on his arm. The lady is wearing a hat almost the size of an airplane. Having thrown off his coat to the doorman, the officer walks and finds no place: all the tables are occupied... Suddenly his gaze falls on the young military man. The officer quickly approaches and stands in front of him. The latter stands in front of his superiors, and the officer’s lady, feeling fully entitled, sits in his place.