By the will of fate, our contemporary found himself in the seventeenth century in the body of a petty German prince, who were like dirt in the Holy Roman Empire. And everything seems to be fine - Europe is all around, but the good fellow is not sitting out of the blue! So the hard times carried him back to his homeland in the midst of the Troubles. And the newly found compatriots thought and thought, and chose a foreign prince as their sovereign. And again everything seems to be fine: sit quietly and reign gloriously, but, as the poet said, “we only dream of peace.” The borders are again restless, because the Polish prince is offended that he did not get the Moscow throne. And inside the country, you just have to turn away, and the boyars, spoiled during the Time of Troubles, strive to stick a knife in the back, shouting: “The Tsar is not real!”