Yegor Abozov

"On the ninth of September, an advertisement appeared in three capital newspapers: “The first book of the journal ‘Delos’ has been published and is now on sale. Today, a preview exhibition will be placed at the editorial office. Fontanka, opposite the Summer Garden.”

That advertisement was read with great satisfaction by three thousand people—the three thousand refined lovers of beauty whom the editorial secretary had accurately predicted in Petrograd.

Notes about ‘Delos’ had been appearing since last spring. Many people were waiting for the journal, like a key to cold water in a desert.

The prince approached a small painting by the well-known artist Spitsyn without even finishing listening.
It showed free-roaming marquises and marquises being seized by their snooty—and corrupt—faces.

“ What is this?” the prince asked loudly.

A thick face of Spitsyn poked out from the secretary’s office door and immediately disappeared. Gniloyedov reported:

“ This is based on the story of the Louis XV era. A free imitation of Boucher.”

“Good,” said the prince. He turned to the stove on which hung a strange work by Belokopytov, and everyone saw how his thin face twitched and his eyelids blinked several times.

And only then did Gniloyedov understand both the content of the painting and the fact that he himself had made a mistake by hanging it where everyone could see it. Belokopytov depicted a pair of bathers on a small lawn; they climbed out of the water and were doing something improper. Two faces with spyglasses emerged from a red—like there’s no such color—mill behind the pond. On the sides of the trees sat three putti, and a third putto flew out of a cloud and held a wreath over everything. The painting was clearly painted for scandal.

“Strange thing,” the prince said.

In the crowd, people snickered. Gniloyedov shut his eyes, understood he was doomed, and muttered, spreading his hands:

“We hung it up just for amusement. Bright colors, a young author. A piece for the entryway. Didn’t I already tell him what’s here with the putto and the wreath?”

Then a young man stepped out from the crowd—short in stature, wearing a frock coat and suede vest. He ripped open the door to the secretary’s office and disappeared.

“Belokopytov,” people said in the crowd."