World history magazine Russian seven. Russian seven

Dedicated to Olga and Sergei Narodetsky

ISLAMABAD (Reuters). Eighty Soviet soldiers were killed yesterday in northern Afghanistan in one of the deadliest guerrilla battles in eight years of war, Western diplomats in Pakistan said.

According to reports received from Afghanistan, two Soviet soldiers were captured in a battle on the Salangan Highway, the main land route between Kabul and the Soviet border.

Her name was Ulima, U-li-ma.

At first Alexey didn’t even get a good look at her. A dark hand stuck out from the dark chasm-entrance to the adobe hut, briefly and quickly waved his narrow palm inside, and Alexei, looking around thievishly and ducking his head, immediately dived into this either a kennel or a hut. Just two months ago, he could not have imagined that just like that, with one gesture, he could be lured into an Afghan dwelling, where receiving a dagger between his shoulder blades was as easy as getting a swear word from a company commander. But then, in winter, they were kept near Nanganhar, at outposts and outposts in the mountains, where, dying of hunger, they sat “on blocks” - blocking the passages of small and large detachments of Mujahideen spirits, their scouts, their caravans with weapons, and at any moment this spirit could jump on your back and slash your throat with a knife. Here in the Logar Valley, everything is different. Compared to Nanganhar, this is a resort. Of the eighty Afghan villages, more than half were destroyed and abandoned by Afghans who fled to Pakistan, and another six are “under contract.” This means that the authorities have agreed with the village elder and mullah: we don’t bomb you, we don’t fire at you, we even give you kerosene, and you don’t allow the spirits to fight against us in your “area of responsibility.” Of course, here too there was “greenery” all around - kilometers of destroyed vineyards and ancient underground irrigation canals - “kiriz”, from where small detachments of spirits constantly come out to the ground, mine roads and disappear, attack our columns, fire at posts... And yet six “negotiated” villages are a paradise, an oasis...

Large, black, slightly bulging eyes, dark eyelashes, a wide mouth, straight black hair, a long nose - that’s all that he saw at first, when he entered the darkness of this windowless hut from the bright sun. A thin little fifteen-year-old girl in a dark shack, where an invisible body with a dagger or AKM could separate from the deep shadows from the wall at any moment. 1
Modernized Kalashnikov assault rifle.

In hand.

Even if this village is “under contract”. How many times have these “negotiated” villages deceived us! A week ago, our propaganda team brought a tank of kerosene to a neighboring village, also “negotiated,” and came under fire from spirits.

But Tapbil is still quiet. This large trading settlement - Tapbil in Afghan "exchange" - changed hands more than once over the winter - first to dushmans, then to Afghan government troops, then to Soviet units... The mosque was broken into pieces, the terraces of adobe and adobe houses were plowed up by shells and tank tracks. It’s hard to understand how several dozen old women, women and children survived here; they were probably hiding in kirizas. Now craters from heavy howitzer shells, covered with straw or branches, holes dug in the mountain slope, and several adobe huts that miraculously survived the shelling were their homes. How did they live? What did you eat? Where did they graze their skinny goats?

Alexey hastily put his hands into the bulging pockets of his riding breeches, pulled out and tore out two cans of condensed milk and half a piece of black laundry soap. But, without taking her eyes off the condensed milk, the girl negatively moved her long nose from side to side and pointed with a long narrow finger with a dirty nail at the edge of her sleeveless T-shirt, sticking out in the open collar of Alekseev’s tunic. The finger bent several times, clearly determining what exactly would be the subject of the “tapbil”.

Alexey hesitated - not because he felt sorry for his T-shirt, but because he suddenly felt embarrassed to take off his tunic under the gaze of this young Afghan woman. He looked around - his eyes had already begun to get used to the darkness. Poverty and emptiness - no table, no chairs. In the back of the shack there is a fireplace, and in the corner there is a mattress stuffed with straw.

-Where is the grass? Anasha? - he asked and, thinking that she still wouldn’t understand Russian, showed with his hand and lips a deep drag of a cigarette.

With a quick movement, the girl took out a small package wrapped in a dirty rag from the neckline of her blouse, threw back the edge of the rag, and a light and sweetish smell of fresh hemp “dope” immediately floated into the air. Alexey felt his stomach swell with impatience, his hands and nostrils trembled. But the girl immediately removed her hand with the package behind her back, and with her second hand, with her finger pointed forward, she again pointed at Alexei’s sleeveless T-shirt.

- Sonny! – she suddenly said in Russian, mutilating this word with her harsh Afghan accent. Alexey shuddered:

- Do you know Russian?

- Few. “It’s not enough,” she answered slowly. - Give me your T-shirt, son! “Her accent gave Russian words a tinny sound.

- Right here, or what? – Alexey hesitated even more, as if this girl’s knowledge of several Russian words made him even more embarrassed to undress to the waist in front of her.

“Here... Here...” she said stubbornly, still holding her hand with marijuana behind her back.

Alexey could no longer endure this torture with the subtle smell of “dope.” Glancing once again at the empty walls of the shack, he quickly threw the machine gun off his shoulder, clutched it in his knees, unfastened his waist belt with a heavy brass buckle and put it with the buckle in his trouser pocket. Now all that remained was to take off his tunic and T-shirt, but... It was at this moment that he would not see anyone or anything around, and it was at this moment that it would be so easy to “put him on the pen” - on a knife, on a dagger.

- Ne tyrus... Ne tyrus! - the girl said mockingly and impatiently, and he had difficulty understanding what she wanted to say: “Don’t be a coward!”

And then, truly ashamed of his cowardice, he pulled off his tunic and T-shirt in one motion, and then began awkwardly releasing the T-shirt from the sleeves of the tunic that had turned inside out. But the machine gun clutched in his knees was about to slip out...

“Let me judge...” The girl pulled both the T-shirt and the tunic out of his hands, deftly freed the T-shirt and threw Alexey his tunic and a bag of marijuana. Then she looked carefully at his bare shoulders and chest and said:

- All Russians have no hair!

- How do you know that's it? – he asked mockingly, putting his hands into the sleeves of his tunic.

“I know,” she said.

And for some reason Alexey believed that she really knew.

And she suddenly turned sharply away from him, in one movement threw off her dark knitted blouse, elongated downward and torn in several places, and quickly put on his T-shirt. For a second, Alexey saw a dark girl’s back with sharp shoulder blades and thin, narrow shoulders. He was dumbfounded - for an Afghan woman to undress in front of a man! With the Russian “shuravi” soldier!..

“Still warm...” Ironing the T-shirt, she turned her face to Alexey, which suddenly changed with a happy smile. Bending coquettishly, she tied the wide edges of her T-shirt into a knot at her hip and again ran her hand over the soft knitted fabric. The tank top momentarily hugged her small breasts with pointed nipples.

Now, having become the owner of marijuana, Alexey immediately rummaged through his pockets in search of paper to roll up the mastyrka. And he cursed out loud:

- I-pp-a Japanese god!

There was no paper, and in general there was only crumbs of shag in the pockets.

- Do you have paper? Newspaper? - he asked.

The girl looked at him carefully and silently. “I probably didn’t understand,” thought Alexey and repeated, showing with his finger how the mask is twisted:

- Paper! I want to smoke!

She continued to stare at him. Then she turned silently and, lightly padding her dark bare feet on the earthen floor, walked up to the fireplace, above which a copper basin hung on the wall. Standing on tiptoe, groping with her hand in some kind of crack or hole in the wall, she took out three rolled-up cigarettes. And from a distance she nodded at two cans of condensed milk and half a bar of soap standing at Alexei’s feet.

- Tapbil?

- Tapbil, tapbil! - Alexey said hastily, because he already wanted to get crazy.

And he even took a step towards the girl and impatiently extended his hand, although he understood that this should scare her away. Afghan women hate Russian soldiers, they hate and fear them. Girls dress in the ugliest and torn dresses so as not to attract attention to themselves, cover their faces with burqas, and only walk in groups. But this... She suddenly handed him a small, dark, clenched fist with masks. Yearning with impatience and a desire to inhale, sucking in his stomach and bones, he immediately took the hot fist of the Afghan girl and began to carefully unclench her fingers.

- Come on, what are you doing? Tapbil...” he said impatiently.

And suddenly I heard a quiet chuckle. The girl's palm was empty. She childishly hid her other hand behind her back. He felt himself blushing.

– What are you doing?.. Stop it, I want to smoke! Give…

But she, laughing, moved away from him and easily sank onto the mattress pad. Tucking her legs under her and covering them with a wide dark skirt, she said:

- Come here. We'll smoke together. – And she patted the mattress next to her with her palm. And damn it, from the pocket of the same huge skirt, she suddenly found herself in her hands with a large brass lighter made from a spent cartridge case. Soviet soldiers make such lighters - not because there are no matches, but to bring home symbols and souvenirs of their army life in Afghanistan. The flint struck and they took a few puffs in silence.

- Where did you learn russian? – Alexey asked, blissfully stretching out his legs, as a viscous and light buzz floated through his body.

“I know...” she said reluctantly. – A friend was... teaching. Now it's gone. Allah called.

- Who it? From our unit? “He looked at her carefully. Over the past two months, even in this “oasis,” twenty-three people died in their regiment. Of course, once upon a time, a long time ago, a year ago, they experienced each such death as if it were their own. Returning from the “blocks”, from posts, from raids to their tents in the military camp, they could not look at the empty beds of the dead or those sent to the hospital. Many roared, banged their heads on the pillow, were afraid to open their eyes in the morning - they expected that they would be sent to a new raid, a new attack, and by the evening your bed might already be empty. And then they became stupefied, frantic and looked for a way out - some in revenge for their dead friends, some in marijuana. – Who taught you Russian? – Alexey repeated his question, because the girl was silent.

“You don’t know him,” she said, not very willingly, dryly. - He died earlier. You haven't arrived yet. A year earlier.

- How do you know when I arrived here? – Alexey was surprised.

- Ulima zynait. Your friend, with whom you are close, I also know... - She laughed quietly, the marijuana made her laugh.

Yurka Shalygin, Alexei’s bosom friend, number four in their combat crew of the BRDM crew 2
Combat reconnaissance and patrol vehicle.

And now he was somewhere nearby, he was mainly engaged in the small exchange of old soldiers’ uniforms and food for marijuana and goat’s milk, and most importantly, he came up with the idea of stretching a hanging wire from the electric engine in the unit to the village, giving them here light and thereby put them on a “contract”: we give you electricity, and you give us peace from the spirits in the area of your village. And now Yurka was almost a saint for these local Afghans, and his superiors easily let him come here for minor wiring repairs and “expanding contacts with the local population” - either to fix some old woman or to teach children the Russian alphabet. In a word – are they “warriors-internationalists”? And God forbid Yurka has such a loose tongue - he’ll fool any officer’s brains. And even in Afghani I got used to scolding, not like the others - only “salaam alaikum”, “khosh amadyd” and “tashakur”. Of course, Yurka always took Alexei with him...

- So your name is Ulima? – Alexey extended his hand for the mask. - And I’m Alexey.

“Ulima zynait – you are Alexey, Alyosha...” she said, not giving the mask, but taking it away on her outstretched hand. But suddenly she knelt down and approached him. The smell of her warm skin took his breath away. And she grabbed his neck with one hand, and with the other brought a short cigarette butt to his lips.

From surprise, he choked and could not clear his throat for a long time. She waited patiently, without removing her hand from his neck, mockingly looking down at him with dark, wet eyes. Then she suddenly lifted her T-shirt to her shoulder and pressed her strong brown nipple against his lips. Alexei greedily devoured it with his dry mouth and grabbed the girl around the waist with both hands. She moaned softly, laughing.

Never in his life had he felt such excitement as he did while kissing those salty, hard nipples that occupied half of his chest. They reminded him of large plums dried by the burning sun, which in early childhood he stuffed whole handfuls into his mouth. Grandma Masha scolded him for this, cursed him and immediately baptized him, she was afraid that he would choke, and he ran away and, stuffing his mouth with prunes, hid in the bushes. And just like prunes in childhood, now he liked to swallow these nipples, roll them with his tongue and lightly bite them with his teeth.

Ulima lay under him and moaned quietly. She then tucked her legs, then stretched out like a string, without getting tired and tightly clasping his neck with her thin dark arms. Afghan woman, she herself! – gave herself up to him, the Russian “shuravi”! And what! He felt extraordinary, inexhaustible strength in this small, fragile-looking and flexible girl, like a lizard. Desire seemed to be burning her from the inside, breaking out her dark narrow hips, and then she screamed, as if from piercing, hot pain - a wild, guttural, dry cry... She had a strange body: her chest, stomach and shoulders were smooth, tender, and the legs and arms were rough and hard, as if they belonged to someone else. But Alexei liked this much more than the loose bodies of inert Russian girls, whom he squeezed before the army in the bushes behind the dance floor or, even earlier, under the stairs in an orphanage. Her body was alive, elastic, springy and pulsated inside with waves of some kind of animal passion. This inner passion suddenly made them freeze motionless, squeezing each other, and then he felt how furiously pulsating, clenching and unclenching, her insides, her little hot vice-vice... The dark-skinned East knows much more about love than the pale-faced West - he understood it's on that straw mattress. But he could not withstand this torture as a motionless paradise - its fire poured into him, exploded in him some reserves of energy and strength unknown even to himself, arched his spine and threw him into a wheezing attack, not allowing him to get tired. More, more, more... The impudently impatient West came into contact with the hidden and persistent fire of the slow East. Again, again!.. As if for the first and very last time in my life...

The shadow of the neighboring mountain had already covered the village when Yurka Shalygin’s boots clattered on the stones outside and his perplexed, calling whistle was heard.

Alexei got out of the hut, dragging the machine gun on his belt. He did not understand how, for what, why exactly God or Allah gave him this young crazy Afghan woman. If the spirits find out, they will kill her, quarter her, cut her into pieces. But he didn't think about it. My legs were shaking, my arms were weak from weakness, and my whole body was empty and transparent. If he were blown up with a grenade now, he would hardly feel it. There, on the floor of this clay and adobe shack, in the silent, hot body of Ulima, all his strength remained... Ulima’s name was U-li-ma!

Part one

1

– Ladies and gentlemen, our plane landed at Sheremetyevo airport. In Moscow it is now 5.45 in the morning and the frost is minus 20 Celsius. Brrr... Honestly, I don’t like frosts and that’s why I’ll fly back right away. But I wish you a fun stay in Moscow, and - thank you for using Pan-Am...

The Boeing commander had a quiet, soft baritone, and in the headphones he generally sounded insinuating and sincere, like a priest in confession. Passengers clung to the windows, but in the blackness of the March night nothing was visible except the signal lights on the taxiway along which the Boeing rolled towards the airport terminal. Finally, the plane froze, the light boards with the request not to smoke and fasten seat belts went out, and a rather heavy poke, like a blow to the side of the plane, indicated that the accordion of the sleeve - the receiver of passengers - had poked into the plane's torso.

“Russian service has begun,” one of the tourists, swaying in their chairs, immediately commented loudly.

The rest responded with a nervous laugh and lined up towards the exit, eagerly looking around. Like all tourists, they expected impressions immediately, even before customs control, and they immediately received them: when leaving the plane, two border guard soldiers in green caps and with machine guns on their shoulders stood in a corrugated corridor. One of them was clearly of Muslim appearance, but for tourists he passed for a Russian, and one of the cheerful ones, which are in any group, immediately threw a camera at these first Russian Ivanovs. But the second, blond, border guard sternly raised his finger.

- It is forbidden! – he said in Russian.

“Nelzya means forbidden,” one of the experienced tourists immediately said. – A good start to learn Russian 3
“No” means prohibited. A good start to learning Russian (English).

The rest of the passengers were already walking past these soldiers, trying not to look them in the eye.

But a huge poster with an image of an American Express credit card against the backdrop of Red Square, hanging on the wall at the entrance to the customs hall, cheered everyone up. Passengers were divided into groups queuing up to young Russian border guards sitting in glass passport control booths. The line moved quite quickly, but one blue passport with the inscription “United States of America” aroused some curiosity among the young blue-eyed border guard. “GUR, TANJA” - the surname and first name of its owner were listed in the passport, and then there was the date of birth - July 19, 1904, gender - F, place of birth - RUSSIA.

The border guard raised his eyes. Standing in front of him was a tall, dry old woman with commanding features, wearing an expensive light cream leather coat lined with fur. She was clearly nervous, although her entire appearance demonstrated complete self-confidence - her gaze was direct, stern and even somewhat merciless. The lips are compressed, the left hand tightly clenches the kid glove. Having completed a special course in psychophysiognomy, the young border guard has already raised his left leg to press a special button, informing the customs officers that when checking luggage, special attention should be paid to this old woman. But then his gaze fell on the right, ungloved, hand of the old woman, to whom she had just handed him her passport. And the young border guard, who had seen many rich tourists, widened his eyes in surprise. On the old woman’s narrow, dry hand, on her long thoroughbred fingers, were three rings of amazing beauty and, of course, incredible value. One was made of white gold, with a large, probably twelve carat, diamond in the center, and around the diamond there was a notch and a scattering of small diamonds on two levels. The second ring was made of antique red gold with a large emerald. The third - like the first - is made of white gold, with black agate, and an intricate coat of arms is carved on this agate, and around there is a chain of small diamonds, like monograms. But the main thing in these rings was some additional quality of antiquity - such rings can only be seen in the Faceted Chamber of the Kremlin, where the royal jewelry is kept. – Have you included your rings in the customs declaration? – the customs officer asked in English.

“Yes,” Tanya Gur answered him in Russian.

He glanced at her declaration. In the column “Jewelry and other valuables” it was: “2 (two) platinium and 1 (one) golden rings with brilliants and diamonds” 4
"Two platinum and one gold ring with diamonds and diamonds" (English).

And in the column “Approximate cost” next to these rings there was a short word: “priceless” 5
"Priceless" (English).

– Do you want to leave them at customs for safekeeping until you leave? – the border guard asked in Russian.

“No,” she said harshly. “I never take these rings off, for sixty years now.” You can take them from me only with your hand!

- Oh no, no! What do you! – the border guard smiled fearfully.

He had already removed his foot from the button for communicating with customs officers. Because an old woman with such rings on her hand will not smuggle contraband - drugs, Bibles or any anti-Soviet literature. Her entry visa was in order, received in the USA, in New York, along with this entire tourist group. And that means she can be allowed into the country without delay. But youthful curiosity forced the young border guard to ask:

– Were you born in the USSR? Where?

– I was not born in the USSR. “I was born in Russia,” Mrs. Gur answered harshly.

“Well, it’s the same thing,” the border guard smiled. In general, he sympathized more and more with the old woman and wanted to show her this.

But the old woman smiled obstinately and said with an arrogant challenge:

- Oh no! Russia is Russia, young man. For Russian people, of course!

The young border guard immediately turned serious with his face, and his gaze came into sharp contact with Tanya Gur’s.

“But you’re an American...” he grinned, deciding not to get involved with this old woman and putting a stamp on her declaration.

– I am an American and a Russian princess! - said the old woman.

The young border guard looked at her again and held his hand with the stamp over the declaration.

- Gur? – he was surprised. – Is this a princely surname?

– Gur is my husband’s surname. By the way, she is also a noblewoman. And my maiden name is Odalevskaya. My great-grandfather was Prince Odalevsky, Kutuzov’s nephew. More questions?

It seemed that with her tone as cold as platinum and her gaze, fierce as the inner fire of her diamonds, she was about to incinerate this young border guard with the Komsomol badge on his jacket. But he held her gaze.

People like to decipher the St. Petersburg Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, or the Resurrection of Christ: there are symbols, riddles, and legends here. This church was founded on October 18, 1883 at the site of the assassination of Alexander II.

The legend of the collapse of the USSR

The forests around the Savior on Spilled Blood stood for so long that they became a legend of St. Petersburg, if not its landmark. And they even entered the culture: for example, Rosenbaum in his song “Show me Moscow, Muscovites...” sings that he dreams of removing the forests from the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood. People said, half jokingly, half seriously, that as soon as these forests were removed, the entire Soviet Union would collapse. Surprisingly, the scaffolding was dismantled in 1991, although it had not been touched for decades. And in August 1991, famous events took place that put an end to Soviet power in Russia.

Underwater crosses

Spas-on-Blood stands right on the Griboyedov Canal. In order for the temple to stand and the waters of the canal not to penetrate under the building, they abandoned the use of piles when strengthening the soil. For the first time in urban planning, a concrete foundation was constructed under the entire area of the building. To build the bell tower, a protrusion of 8 meters was made on the embankment.
This canal, according to legend, played a significant role in the restoration of the cathedral. There is a story about how the crosses of the Savior on Spilled Blood were “baptized” with the water of the canal. They say that in order to save them from the Bolsheviks, in Soviet times, residents of St. Petersburg hid them... at the bottom of the city. And when the temple finally began to be restored, one St. Petersburg resident, a “random passer-by,” told the team of restorers about where the crosses might be and pointed out the location. The divers actually found the hidden shrines, and they returned to their domes.

Morgue and scenery storage

The Soviet government, as is known, did not spare monuments of church architecture and mosaics. The Savior on Spilled Blood was not demolished, although the decision to dismantle it was made: it was listed as an object “of no artistic or architectural value.” They say that holes have already been drilled in the walls and explosive charges have been prepared. But war broke out, and the bombers were sent to the front.
During the war and the Leningrad siege, the temple housed - not much less - the regional Dzerzhinsky morgue, and the temple seemed to live up to its name for the second time - “On the Blood”.
A little later, the building was rented by the Maly Opera Theater to store its scenery there.

Blessed paving stones

The Cathedral of the Savior on Blood, or the Resurrection of Christ on Blood, was built, as you know, in memory of the tragic death of the Russian Emperor Alexander II. At this place, on March 1, 1881, terrorist Ignatius Grinevitsky threw a bomb at Emperor Alexander II. Evidence of these events is still kept in the cathedral: inside there are cobblestones on which the mortally wounded Alexander II fell, sidewalk slabs nearby and part of the Catherine Canal grate

Not only gospel symbols

Surprisingly, even the proportions of the Church of the Resurrection of Christ are symbolic: the height of its central structure is 81 meters, and this number was chosen as a reminder of the year of the death of Emperor Alexander II - 1881. The second highest dome is 63 meters, a symbol of the age of the murdered emperor. The symbolism of numbers is generally characteristic of Orthodoxy, and it can also be found in the number of domes and other details chosen by the architects.
Twenty red granite memorial tablets are installed in the basement of the temple. They indicate the actions of Emperor Alexander II: the main events from February 19, 1855 to March 1, 1881. Also on the temple you can find a double-headed eagle, and on the bell tower - the coats of arms of Russian cities, provinces and districts. The cross of the bell tower of the Savior on Spilled Blood is crowned with a gilded royal crown.

Masterpieces

The collection of mosaics of the Cathedral of the Savior on Spilled Blood in St. Petersburg is one of the largest in Europe. More than 7 thousand square meters of the temple building are covered with mosaics, and the production of these masterpieces delayed the completion of work on the temple and its consecration for ten years! Among the producers of sketches for mosaics are the most famous Russian masters - Vasnetsov, Nesterov, Belyaev, Kharlamov, Zhuravlev, Ryabushkin. Even the iconostasis in the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood is mosaic.
The temple was originally built as an electrified one, and it was illuminated by 1689 electric lamps. The mosaics should have looked special in such lighting. In addition to this technical innovation - electricity, there were others in the temple, for example, a lightning rod system was skillfully built into its multi-colored domes.

Mysterious icon

Whether this is true or not, no one knows, but in connection with the Savior on Spilled Blood they constantly talk about a mysterious icon located in this cathedral, on which turning dates for the history of Russia are supposedly encrypted: 1917 is the year of the October Revolution, 1941 is the year the beginning of the Great Patriotic War, 1953 - the year of the death of Joseph Stalin. In addition to these dates, some other dates appear on the amazing icon, which are still unclear and, perhaps, related to the future. We don’t know whether this icon actually exists or is an invention of mystically minded citizens, but the temple guides love to tell this story to its visitors.

The War of 1812 was the first at the end of which women were awarded. By decree of February 8, 1816, the medal “In Memory of the Patriotic War of 1812” was awarded to the widows of generals and officers who died in battle, women who worked in hospitals and cared for the wounded, as well as ladies - the eldest in noble families who made large contributions. donations for the war. A total of 7,606 medals were produced for women. Our material contains seven women's exploits in the War of 1812...

Nadezhda Durova

A cavalry maiden, the prototype of Shurochka Azarova from the film “The Hussar Ballad,” Nadezhda Durova served first in the Cossack and then in the cavalry troops from 1806. She was then 23 years old and, with the permission of the emperor, she was Alexander Andreevich Alexandrov.

The cavalry maiden Durova commanded a half-squadron and, at Borodino, defended the Semyonov flushes, where she was shell-shocked. By the end of the war, she received the rank of lieutenant and served as an orderly under Kutuzov, who, like the emperor, knew her secret. In 16, at the age of 33, she resigned.

Vasilisa Kozhina

Vasilisa Kozhina was the wife of a village elder from the Smolensk province. Together with the men, she escorted captured French to the city of Sychevka. There are many myths about her, but the only fact is reliable. During one of the transitions, she hacked to death an obstinate French soldier with a scythe.

Lacemaker Praskovya

Illarion Pryanishnikov, “Winter”

Another resident of the Smolensk province, the lacemaker Praskovya, also became famous for killing the French. But, unlike Kozhina, she defended her home. The French, having captured the village, robbed the peasants and took everything indiscriminately. When the two broke into her house, she grabbed an ax and hacked them to death. Then she gathered a detachment from the village residents and took them into the forest.

Margarita Tuchkova

Semyon Kozhin, “M.M. Tuchkova on the Borodino field. Memorial service for General A.A. Tuchkov"

Margarita Mikhailovna Tuchkova, née Naryshkina, was the wife of the youngest of the four general Tuchkov brothers. Dressed in a batman's uniform, she invariably accompanied her husband in the campaigns preceding World War II.

In 1812, Margarita Tuchkova accompanied Alexander Alekseevich only to Smolensk: she had recently buried her eldest son and had just weaned her youngest. Having learned about the death of her husband on the Borodino field, she went to look for him. But the general’s body was never found, and in 1818 Margarita Mikhailovna founded the Church of the Savior Not Made by Hands at the site of his death, and then, having taken monastic vows, founded the Spaso-Borodinsky Convent here.

Maria Fedorovna

George Dow, “Portrait of Empress Maria Feodorovna in Mourning”

Members of the imperial family could not stay away from the misfortune that befell the country. Through the efforts of the wife of Paul the First, Empress Maria Feodorovna, several charitable organizations were established in 1812 as part of the Mariinsky Department that she founded.

Maria Pavlovna and Ekaterina Pavlovna

Ekaterina Pavlovna

The sisters of Alexander the Great, Maria and Catherine, also made what they could to the defense of the country from Napoleon. Ekaterina Pavlovna participated in the convening of the people's militia: the Jaeger Battalion was formed from her appanage peasants, which participated in the main battles of the war and in the subsequent campaign abroad. And Maria Pavlovna, pawning her jewelry, set up hospitals for Russian soldiers and organized the Women's Benevolent Society.

Patriotic Society of St. Petersburg Ladies

Johann-Baptiste Lampi, “The Daughter of Commander A.V. Suvorova Natalya at 20 years old"

The Women's Patriotic Organization, the first organization of its kind in Russia, was dedicated to helping people devastated by the war. They distributed cash benefits, placed the sick in hospitals, cared for orphans and children of the poor, and provided ruined artisans with funds to restore their work.

The patriotic society included the daughter of Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov Natalya Zubova, Elizaveta Olenina, Zinaida and Sofya Volkonsky and many other representatives of the aristocracy. link

Historical site Bagheera - secrets of history, mysteries of the universe. Mysteries of great empires and ancient civilizations, the fate of disappeared treasures and biographies of people who changed the world, secrets of special services. The history of wars, mysteries of battles and battles, reconnaissance operations of the past and present. World traditions, modern life in Russia, the mysteries of the USSR, the main directions of culture and other related topics - everything that official history is silent about.

Study the secrets of history - it's interesting...

Currently reading

Throughout his life, he proved that to create painting masterpieces, a person needs only his soul and talent. He proved this by creating icons that were literally not made by hands - after all, the artist had no hands from birth. He painted with a brush held in his teeth.

All women in all centuries give birth in the same way - in accordance with the general level of development of medicine in this particular country. Persons of royal blood also did not have any privileges during childbirth; rather, it was even more difficult for them in some ways than for ordinary peasant women. However, judge for yourself.

« Only, if possible, without any tricks!“- I mentally addressed Hmayak Hakobyan at the meeting. After all: a great illusionist, a magician, a wizard, a brilliant hypnotist - suddenly he wants to joke. And besides: an actor who played 35 film roles, director, author of 18 books, screenwriter, artist, creator of a unique show with which he traveled to more than 70 countries, winner of five international awards... Yes, also: owner of 300 jackets, 680 decks of cards and 120 vests. To the traditional question of why there are so many vests, he answers - so that he has something to cry into. His monologue is in front of you - and, fortunately, without any tricks and without questions.

Back in the 16th century, Portuguese merchants who traveled to Africa for gold, slaves and ivory spoke about the ruins of giant stone structures in the area of the Zambezi and Limpopo rivers. But it was only in 1867 that the Great Zimbabwe complex of buildings was discovered here. Since then, disputes have not subsided about who built this stone fortress in southern Africa.

Nanomaterials, nanocoatings, nanostructure... We read, hear and pronounce words with the prefix “nano-” more and more often. And they are all united by the concept “nanotechnology”.

Dear readers, some names, dates and places of action in our material have been changed, because much information on this topic has not yet been declassified. A number of inaccuracies in the coverage of events were intentionally made.

Exactly 90 years ago, an unprecedented social catastrophe broke out in the Volga region. 06 of this terrible tragedy, which in 1921-1922 engulfed half of the European part of Russia, we know something from school history textbooks. In Soviet times, the two-year drought of 1920-1921, which destroyed grain crops over vast areas, was declared the official cause of the famine. However, at the same time, party propaganda always hid the fact that prolonged crop failures in Russia occurred more than once during tsarist times, but then for some reason they did not reach the scale of a national disaster.

On the map of the far side of the Moon, between the two large craters Kondratyuk and Kibalchich, there is the Tikhomirov crater. Who is it named after? Who is this Tikhomirov, and how did he deserve such a high honor?