I believed in the future of my country—Russia was changing before my eyes. I completed the presidential program and was burning with desire to develop new lands. But I died in a conflict with traitors—for whom the word “Motherland” is just an empty sound and who split budgets. And let them pay for their sins!
Where did I sin so much that I ended up in the 19th century—in the body of a moral scoundrel who lost at cards to a landlord. My estate is mortgaged to the bank; in the house a painting with a naked young lady covers a crack in the wall—and how do bandits come into my home like it’s theirs! Ah, yes, Mama headed off to St. Petersburg, taking all the money with her. All of it? No—he did, meaning I did—promise the whole society a ball…
“Master!” I hear the trembling voice of the manager. “Those creatures are threatening with punishment again!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming, Yemelya,” I sigh, and take the pistol from the nightstand. Well then, where did our luck ever run out! Russia, dear Mother—welcome your son!