How times change. When President Boris Yeltsin visited artist Ilya Glazunov's exhibition at the Manezh Exhibition Hall a couple months ago, he walked among the paintings commenting on the faces that he recognized. "Oh, look, that's Luzhkov. There's Clinton ... and Hillary. And look at me -- I'm so small!" Local newspapers and television programs gave a lot of play to Yeltsin's comments, casting something of a personal coloring on the president's visit to the exhibit.


But when another of our leaders, Nikita Khrushchev, visited an exhibit at the Manezh at the beginning of the 1960s, he -- unlike Yeltsin -- did not recognize anyone. On the contrary! When they showed him a self-portrait by Boris Zhutovsky, Khrushchev began to shout at the young artist: "That's not a face, it's an asshole!"


For the young artists presenting the exhibit, Khrushchev's visit ended most unhappily. He labelled them "pederasts" and poor Zhutovsky was unable to show his paintings again until Mikhail Gorbachev's time. In contrast, Yeltsin's visit to the Glazunov exhibit was accompanied by an official commission for the artist to decorate the building of the State Duma. It is one of the paradoxes of our day that we hire Turkish laborers to restore the building and then invite our great nationalist artist to decorate it.


Yes, the times have changed. But the psychology of our leaders remains the same. They cannot simply visit the theater or the movies or an exhibit: They always have to make some sort of "world-historical" event out of it. As far as I can recall, it has always been that way. Perhaps only Gorbachev was an exception. He would turn up fairly often at the most fashionable Moscow theaters. All the others, though, much preferred hockey and dominoes and if they did end up in a theater or at an exhibit, it only meant one thing: Either they were coming out in favor of someone or against them.


I don't think Moscow will ever forget the time Leonid Brezhnev attended a performance of Mikhail Shatrov's play "Thus We Shall Be Victorious" at the Moscow Art Theater.


Brezhnev rarely visited the theater, except for the Bolshoi, where he often escorted foreign dignitaries. In this case, however, soon after the death of party ideologue Mikhail Suslov -- of whom, so they said, Brezhnev was somewhat afraid -- the wheels of the party machine started turning and Brezhnev -- followed, naturally, by the entire politburo -- ended up going to see this play about Lenin.


As might be expected, the play had already started by the time Brezhnev's security unit arrived and escorted him to the special box that all Russian theaters have for such occasions. Without these boxes and a special room in which to spend the intermission, our leaders simply would not know how to see a play.


I remember how one time a friend of mine invited me to see a performance of one of his plays -- an operetta, actually -- at Moscow's Sverdlov Theater of Musical Comedy. It was the first, and I think last, time I'd seen an operetta and it was also the first time I ever saw an actual, albeit former, member of the politburo. At first I thought that this man with such a familiar face was some famous actor. Then it struck me that this was Andrei Kirilenko, who had recently suffered a reversal of fortune and had retired "for health reasons." He was sitting in one of the front rows, and I admit that I spent more time watching him -- purely from professional curiosity -- than I did watching the performance.


"It must be hard for him ... " I thought. "And for everyone else here too." Friends from the theater had told me about how these visits usually go. Traffic police stand in the driveway and the guest's personal security people poke around the theater, even poking their heads into the women's toilet. I once heard the story of how the management of the Sovremennik Theater neglected to warn one guest about a pistol shot in the second act. When the shot rang out, the theater was suddenly full of muscular young men and the hall rang with laughter while the politburo member sat in embarrassment.


Anyhow, after the play I literally ran into Kirilenko, who was standing with his fat, standard-issue Kremlin wife of that generation, looking around with a frightened expression. I could tell that he did not know where to go. He even asked a passer-by: "Where is the exit?" And someone maliciously blurted out, "Maybe you should just jump out the window!"


But Brezhnev, of course, was not a former official, but an acting one and so his visit was an historical event, both for the Moscow Art Theater and for Brezhnev, who -- not being of very sound mind -- probably had no idea what was in store for him.


On the day of Brezhnev's visit, the whole downtown area was blocked off. One after another, official Volgas and Chaikas began pulling up to the theater. Each spectator was assigned a seat. In the front there were rows of regional party secretaries. Behind them, ministers and behind the ministers sat the general public. And behind the general public, there were a couple rows of cultural figures. In short, the entire party-governmental hierarchy was there, many of whom -- like the aged leader himself -- were attending the theater for the first time.


There are many stories about this evening. Since the acoustics in the hall are excellent, every word that the leader uttered was heard by everyone. When the actress Lena Proklova, playing Lenin's secretary, came out onto the stage, Brezhnev remarked: "Not bad looking." When Alexander Kalyagin, in the role of Lenin, left the scene, Brezhnev commented succinctly: "Now that is Lenin!" He tensed up for a moment when a funeral appeared on the stage. "Who died?" Brezhnev asked. "Yakov Sverdlov," answered ¤Konstantin Chernenko, sitting next to him. "Do we have to stand?" "No, you can sit," Chernenko assured him.


I don't think anyone paid much attention to the play, since all eyes were on the dignitaries' box. At one point a small panic started when Brezhnev unexpectedly stood up and left the box. Everyone breathed easier when he returned a few minutes later and, turning to the audience, said, "The score is still 0-0." In the next room, his aides were watching a hockey match on television. Hockey, along with dominoes, was Brezhnev's favorite art form.


Naturally, as was the case when Yeltsin visited the Glazunov exhibit, the newspapers and television news shows commented extensively on Brezhnev's evening at the theater. But more important were the many stories from eyewitnesses that made the rounds for years. No one could recall these exploits of our general secretaries without chuckling.


All of Moscow was laughing. And the city is laughing once again to see Boris Yeltsin's tour of the Glazunov exhibit turned into another familiar old political show. But for me there is something here that doesn't seem so funny. It all seems too familiar.





Yury Shchekochikhin is head of the investigation department at Literaturnaya Gazeta.