Holy places presentation in Russian. Essay "holy places of the native land." Detailed instructions on how to use the collection

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VASILY PESKOV

HOLY PLACES

Fatherland............ 2

Tobolsk............ 5

Khiva.............. 6

Same age as Rome......... 7

Trakai............ 9

Mtskheta............ 10

Rostov the Great......... 11

Village of the Russian academician... 16

Grave over Issyk-Kul...... 18

Yasnaya Polyana........... 18

Quiet Don............ 19

Spassky nightingales......... 20

Bezhin Meadow............ 23

MAN'S FACE

“It is necessary to sail on the sea...” ... 25

Guy from Magadan........ 27

Childish raft.......... 29

Three in a boat.......... 31

Man from the North......... 32

First............... 35

Antonikha............ 38

Blind guide......... 41

Microphone on a birch........ 44

Dmitry Zuev.......... 48

Father's court........... 51

Stone from the Oka........... 52

I remember............... 54

ROADS AND TRAILS

Europe – Asia.......... 60

Lighthouse on the Baltic......... 61

Twenty minutes of flight...... 62

Embrace of the Danube......... 63

Bridges........................ 65

Cave in Kopet-Dag........ 66

Twenty minutes by the fire...... 67

Meeting with Baikal........ 68

Four on a volcano........ 69

Valley of Geysers......... 72

Three sails over the sands...... 74

Tea party at Tolbachik's....... 77

LIVING WATER

Middle lane......... 86

Meshchera flood....... 88

Hare Islands........ 91

Rye song......... 92

In the forest near Voronezh....... 94

The river of my childhood........ 95

Wolf......................... 101

Broken Hoof......... 103

Elk with a bell........ 105

Wild life.......... 106

Mishka's service......... 109

FROM THE AUTHOR

I am glad to have the opportunity to see my essays and miniatures in the Roman Newspaper, popular among readers. True, I had to grieve a little: in this publication it is impossible to use interesting photographs, which are usually not illustrations for essays, but their integral part. But this loss is redeemed by a joyful meeting with the mass reader for me. The book "Fatherland" (publisher - "Young Guard"), which harmoniously combines visual and literary material, gave me satisfaction, but the rich holiday edition, released in a limited edition, mostly ended up among book lovers, and for the writer it is more important that the book is not admired, but read. I see my readers, first of all, as young, inquisitive people, greedy for impressions and travel. However, I know from my own experience: with age, the desire to travel, see, learn new things does not disappear...

Everything collected here is precious to me. Interesting people, memorable places, curious geographical points and natural places, encounters with animals... Impressions of this accumulated bit by bit during my travels. And this book is like a light by which you and I are sitting together. You listen, I'm telling...

The experience and observations of one person are only a small part of everything that can be said about our country. But even a big river is fed by streams. Consider this book as a small spring from which you can drink on the paths of understanding the Motherland.

VASILY PESKOV

HOLY PLACES

FATHERLAND

I have a letter on my table. Olga Yuryevna D. writes from Ryazan. “...My son is no worse than others - he started working, and now he has returned to school in the ninth grade... I decided to write after yesterday’s conversation. Volodya's friend came. We set out to repair the receiver. I listened to what they were saying and intervened. “The homeland, I say, guys, is the most precious thing for a person.” And they laughed: “The Motherland, Mom, was invented by sentimental people. It’s good to live everywhere, where life is good. Everywhere the sun shines equally..."

I didn't sleep at night. I had to explain something important to the guys, but I couldn’t, so I decided to write to you.”

Smart excited letter. Such mothers' children eventually grow up to be good people. But the mother’s anxiety is not in vain. What is the Motherland for a person?

In New Zealand, I remember we had a meeting that you will never forget. We were flying from Antarctica and stopped in Christchurch. A man came to the hotel. He was holding the hand of a girl about seven years old.

– Is there anyone from Leningrad, guys? “The man was worried and spoke as if his fate depended on this conversation.

During the war, the sailor was captured. The war is over. I had to go back. The man did not return. He reasoned: the land is big, I’m young, strong, does it matter where I live? He lived in Germany, Italy, somewhere in Africa, in Australia. And finally I found myself at the end of the world.

The man did not complain about his need. He has a house, a job, “I’m dressed as well as you, I have a wife, a daughter”...

“The most important thing is missing...” “Sailor” waved his hand and reached for a handkerchief. - My wife is Scottish. He also yearns and longs for his homeland. My daughter was born here in Zealand. Every evening my daughter and I write a letter to the “Russian bear” - I came up with this way to teach the Russian language. Taya, tell me in Russian...

The girl looked at her father and us in confusion, not understanding what was going on. We were all silent.

This was a case when it was difficult for a person to help even with a word. Looking at him, we realized in two minutes something that, living constantly at home, you don’t comprehend right away.

And the sun rises in New Zealand the same way as in Ryazan or Khabarovsk.

What does enormous human love for everything that fits in one word – Motherland – grow from?

Homeland is a lot. This is a path with a ford across a stream, and an area of ​​​​one-sixth of the entire earth's map. It's a plane in the sky and birds flying north over our house. The homeland is growing cities and small villages of ten yards. These are the names of people, names of rivers and lakes, memorable dates in history and plans for tomorrow. This is you and me with our world of feelings, our joys and worries.

The homeland is like a huge tree on which you can’t count the leaves. And everything that we do good adds strength to him. But every tree has roots. Without roots, even a slight wind would have knocked it down. Roots nourish the tree and connect it to the earth. Roots are what we lived with yesterday, a year ago, a hundred, a thousand years ago. This is our story. These are our grandfathers and ancestors. These are their works, silently living next to us, in the steppe stone women, carved frames, in wooden toys and outlandish temples, in amazing songs and fairy tales. These are the glorious names of commanders, poets and fighters for the people's cause...

I have a mountain of letters on my desk. Hundreds of people are looking for relatives and parents lost during the war. “They say they picked me up after the bombing. Now I am an adult, working as an engineer in Kazan. It's hard to live without knowing the name of your mother and father. I don’t hope to see them alive, but at least to know who they are and where they come from...”

It is important for a person to know his roots - an individual, a family, a nation - then the air we breathe will be healing and tasty, the land that raised us will be more valuable and it will be easier to feel the purpose and meaning of human life.

Half a century ago, many thought that all this was unnecessary. “The weight of the past—get off the ship!” There really was a lot in the past that had to be gotten rid of in the new world. But it turns out that not everything needs to be thrown off the ship of history. During the tough years of the war, we called on our past to help us. “Let the courageous image of our great ancestors - Alexander Nevsky, Dmitry Donskoy, Kuzma Minin, Dmitry Pozharsky, Alexander Suvorov, Mikhail Kutuzov - inspire you in this war! Let the victorious banner of the great Lenin overshadow you!” We were inspired by these great names! The past has become a weapon. No one has measured his strength. But we can say that it was no weaker than the famous Katyushas.

Without the past it is impossible to understand well or appreciate the present. The tree of our Motherland is one whole: a green crown and roots that go deep into the ground.

I was twenty years old when, on my first payday, I came from Voronezh to look at Moscow. Early in the morning I got off the train to Red Square. I listened to the clock strike. I wanted to touch the brick in the wall with my hand, to touch the stones lining the square. People were hurrying past. It was amazing - how can you walk hastily across this square, talking about the weather, about some small matters? In those days they were not allowed into the Kremlin. I waited until the door at St. Basil's grille opened. I remembered the stones on the narrow staircase - “how many people have passed by”!

Then I visited the Kremlin many times. Having already traveled around the world, I compared it and always thought with pride: in no other city have I seen a square of such beauty, severity, and originality.

Is it possible to imagine this square without St. Basil's Cathedral? Let me tell you now about an amazing fact. I myself would not have believed it if I had not heard this from a person deeply respected by everyone. This is what Pyotr Dmitrievich Baranovsky, the best restorer of monuments of our antiquity, said: “Before the war, they summoned me to one high authority. “We will demolish the cathedral, we need to make Red Square more spacious. We instruct you to take measurements...” Then a lump stuck in my throat. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t believe it right away... In the end, someone’s wisdom unknown to me stopped the irreparable action. They didn’t break...”

But they could have broken it so that there would be more space for cars in the square. What has time shown? Today the same cars are completely prohibited from driving on Red Square due to the sanctity of this place and due to the large number of people who want to walk through this square in simple steps.

This incident is told not only to condemn various hastiness and to praise someone’s wisdom, but mainly so that this lesson can teach us something. We often lack a wise attitude towards the past. Here is one example.

Muscovites remember, of course, on Leningradsky Prospekt near the Dynamo stadium a brick house with a pointed tower. This house, surrounded by the current rectangular white buildings, was the very “zest” that was put into kvass in the old days and thanks to which the kvass seemed unusually tasty. This architectural highlight was pleasing to the eye, creating a contrast that made the depth of time visible. This house told Muscovites about the former outskirts of the city. It was called “hunting lodge”, “Peter’s castle”. Breaking up the monotony of modern neighborhoods, it fit well into this corner of Moscow and gave it a special charm. One day, returning to Moscow, I couldn’t believe my eyes - there was no house! Broken. And the place where he stood is being carefully ironed by a bulldozer...

Anyone who has been to Rome remembers the modern airport building and the ruins of an ancient wall passing through it. The proximity of aluminum and ancient brick creates unique beauty, is memorable, and most importantly, makes you immediately feel: this land and its people have a long past. The entire city of Rome is extraordinarily beautiful because it surprisingly harmoniously combines modernity and antiquity. The Yugoslavs, Bulgarians and Czechs also very skillfully preserve their antiquity. Ancient castles house not only museums, but also restaurants and inexpensive cafes. The ancient building lives on, pleases the eye and heart, and is completely unprofitable. Why didn’t they do the same, although not with a very ancient, but very peculiar “hunting lodge”?

We build a lot. Entire cities have grown up over the past twenty years. This is something to be proud of. But do we always think about the beauty and originality of cities? You come to another city for the first time, and you feel as if you have already been there. The cities are like twins. Standard buildings, standard layout, sloppy construction. We don’t often remember that a city shapes a person with its appearance.

Those who have been to Tallinn remember its originality for a long time. There are many new buildings in the city, but only in combination with lovingly preserved antiquities do they give the city a unique identity. In Tallinn, I thought: a person growing up here will certainly learn something from the city. The next day I found confirmation of this thought when I visited the young carpenter Johan Roost. He was building a home for himself on the outskirts. It was a house of amazing beauty and good quality. The entire village on the outskirts of the city consisted of cheerful, unusual and elegant houses. The craftsmen, who lived in Tallinn since childhood, could not build otherwise. The city has nurtured the taste and culture of construction since childhood.

With the current standardization of life, it is not easy to give originality to a new city. But we must strive for this. And, of course, we are obliged to preserve the beauty received as an inheritance as the most valuable capital.

A special mention to indifference and ignorance... Several years ago, the Vytegorsk wooden church burned down in the Vologda region. This miracle, made by Russian carpenters, stood on earth for two hundred and fifty years. The church was older than the world-famous wooden church in Kizhi. Burnt out! They say: drunk people spent the night in it. Perhaps the cigarette butt was accidentally thrown, or maybe it was set on fire with intent - for fun. It must have been a fire! The tree, warmed by the sun for two and a half centuries, burned perfectly. The old song of unknown carpenters was burning. And we stood in shameful silence at this fire, did not sound the alarm, as if nothing had happened, as if a wattle barn had burned down.

In the Arkhangelsk region, in the village of Belaya Sluda, an ancient tented church with a priceless iconostasis and voice boxes, like in Roman theaters, burned down. Burned out from homelessness. And again silence. Some even grinned: “Just think, church, it will be easier to fight religion.”

The identification of ancient monuments and religion is a deep misconception. Taking off your hat in front of St. Basil's Cathedral on Red Square, who remembers God?! We remember the master who created a miracle. Ancient architects, painters and carpenters could express their skills and talent only in the construction of monasteries, churches and cathedrals. By preserving the ancient church, we are preserving a monument to craftsmanship. This truth must be instilled in a person from school.

And you can't hesitate. Everything requires careful treatment: ancient buildings, folk crafts, ancient utensils, paintings in churches, books and documents, names and graves of heroes. With all our worries about current affairs, about our daily bread and about the exploration of extraterrestrial distances, we should remember: the children of the porridge must grow up as patriots who know the value of the labors of their fathers and ancestors.

And also about valuables that cannot be seen with the eye, that cannot be touched, but can still be damaged. Take the names of streets, rivers, cities and towns. They contain a lot of poetry, high meaning and echoes of the past that are dear to us. It’s not for nothing that it was written: “Moscow... how much has merged in this sound for the Russian heart! How much resonated with him!” We often don’t feel this, sometimes we are tempted to replace the old name of a city without much need, and very often we change street names in cities without much need. There are many examples. In Smolensk, the name “Varyazhskaya Street” was changed to “Krasnoflotskaya”. The former name was reminiscent of the great path “from the Varangians to the Greeks.” And no one will say what the Red Fleet has to do with Smolensk. They changed it and that's it...

From a children's toy, from a folk tale, from the first school conversation about the world around us, a person’s idea of ​​the Motherland should be formed from the past and present. Only under this condition will a person grow up capable of looking into tomorrow, capable of being proud of his Fatherland, believing in it, defending it...

Let us now return to the letter to the Ryazan mother. We are also not indifferent to who her son will grow up to be - a Patriot and a Citizen or a tumbleweed that doesn’t care where it grows or what winds it makes noise under. A man must grow up to be a son of his country. When doing great things, we must know where we came from and how we started. Our deeds, together with the past, together with the surrounding natural world and the fire of the hearth, are expressed by the dear word Fatherland. It is impossible to force people to love the Fatherland by decree. Love must be cultivated.

This article was published in Komsomolskaya Pravda eleven years ago. Now, re-reading it, I see: much has not been said in vain. So much good has been done in eleven years that it is even impossible to list everything now. Societies for the protection of monuments have been created in many republics. When planning new neighborhoods, architects now not only take into account the need to preserve ancient monuments, but also skillfully include islands of ancient buildings in the ensembles of new buildings. An example of this is the Rossiya Hotel in Moscow and its “antique surroundings.” In our multinational state, mutual interest in fraternal national cultures has grown unusually. A Georgian goes to see Suzdal, and a Russian resident shows great interest in the history of Georgia. We are witnessing a pilgrimage of people to Lithuanian Trakai and Uzbek Samarkand. Interest in the monuments of Moscow, Minsk, Kyiv, Leningrad, and Rostov the Great has grown unusually. There are noticeably many (and good quality) guidebooks to memorable places being published now. New monuments have been erected over the graves of heroes of the revolution and war. All this serves the most important cause of instilling love for our multinational Fatherland - the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. But this work is not a seasonal phenomenon. We must always remember about raising a citizen - a patriot of our country.

The sun on Earth shines equally for everyone, but for a person with his homeland it shines brighter.

TOBOLSK

I liked him immediately. From the river, from the side of a tram, you see Tobolsk for the first time. You see white clouds in the distance, and something floats among them that makes you remember fairy-tale cities in children's books. The boiling-white buildings on a high dark cape, the fortress wall, churches, houses - everything stands so high on the ground and floats towards you so majestically that you cannot take your eyes off.

And then you walk through the city, along wooden sidewalks with grass growing through them. The kids you meet politely say to you, a stranger, “Hello.” At the pier, on a patch of asphalt, boys and girls are dancing. Asphalt has yet to conquer this city. The soles of young Tobolsk residents scrape the first asphalt while playing a guitar with the same joy with which a visitor from a world filled entirely with asphalt puts his foot on the springy wooden sidewalk.

Wooden residential Tobolsk - down under the mountain. And at the top, on a hillock, where you get to via a wooden staircase, there is a white antiquity, even more majestic in the moonlight than during the day.

Tobolsk was once the most important and largest city in Siberia. It was the capital of all lands starting from the Urals and leaving for distant Irkutsk. It was the only city in Russia that received ambassadors on a par with capital Moscow. And so it turned out that the city now lives quietly and unnoticed, because it found itself temporarily away from new paths. Amazing city! It’s as if they were saving it somewhere in a box and then opened it, look – the 18th century!

Young guys don't like it. “Once they find oil, everything will change...” Old people quite like the ancient silence. And a visitor discovers a whole world for himself.

Tobolsk is almost four hundred years old. In 1587, hastily, in order to consolidate Ermak’s victory over Khan Kuchum, the river ships were dismantled and the Tobolsk fortress was erected from this forest - on the very cape, at the confluence of the Tobol with the Irtysh. Everyone knows from Surikov’s painting the battle of the Cossacks with Khan Kuchum took place nearby - near one of steep Irtysh. It was in these places that Ermak died. Above the steep slope next to the Kremlin there is a granite pyramid - a monument to Ermak.

Tobolsk was made of wood for a long time. It burned many times. It was under construction again. But the fires finally forced the governors to ask the king for stone construction. Quite quickly, Kremlin walls, a church and a bell tower, and civil services grew on the cape. In Siberia, which was entirely made of wood, this was the first stone building. One can imagine what feelings possessed a person who grew up in these places when, emerging from the wilds, he saw the stone Kremlin, in front of which today one stands in joyful amazement.

Tobolsk secured for Russia the spaces traversed by explorers and became the center of endless lands. Religion, troops, crafts, trade, administration - everything found a convenient place in Tobolsk, and the city became the main one in Siberia. Ambassadors and merchants traveled through it to the east. Geographers, travelers, and explorers could not miss it.

To this day, the city has retained traces of its former greatness, as well as material and spiritual wealth. Buildings, documents, famous names. Even the poorest street preserves evidence of the taste and imagination of the carpenters who once cut down and decorated Tobolsk. Carved shutters. Platbands. Skates on the roofs. And on one of the streets you suddenly see a tower. Yes, this is exactly how I imagined the tower from fairy tales - a carved porch, lace cornices, towers, a window in the roof. Any moment now a boyar or a young woman in a festive sundress will appear on the porch wearing a sable hat. Today the tower belongs to the city theater. The local theater is one of the very first in Russia. The local museum and archive can boast of its antiquity, where historians from Leningrad, Kyiv and Moscow come to work.

Tobolsk raised for Russia the chemist Mendeleev, the artist Perov, and the poet-storyteller Ershov (author of the immortal “The Little Humpbacked Horse”). It’s curious: Ershov was taught by Mendeleev’s father at the gymnasium, and Ershov, in turn, became the teacher of young Mendeleev’s son. The composer Alyabyev lived in Tobolsk. Many people who were the glory of Russia visited here not of their own free will. The first exile to Siberia is considered to be the church bell that rang in Uglich on the day of the murder of the baby prince. Boris Godunov, as the chronicle says, ordered the bell to be flogged and then sent to Tobolsk.

Many people disliked by the tsars visited here: Radishchev, Chernyshevsky, Dostoevsky, Korolenko... Many Decembrists served their exile here. I read their names on the black gravestones. As if in revenge for the past, history introduced the last of the tsars to the place of Russian exile. In 1917, Nicholas II lived here with his family. The museum contains cutlery with royal monograms.

In the museum, among the cannonballs, arquebuses, shields and Kuchumov’s arrows, there is a stone from the grave of the Siberian Khan: “This life is one hour, and therefore let’s use it for business.” Visitors to the museum - both Tobolsk and foreigners - are sure to slow down their steps near this saying. Among the visitors, I saw many bearded guys in rough boots and raincoats. These are surveyors, geologists, topographers. The lands around Tobolsk, despite the long-standing human presence here, have not been explored enough, and perhaps the desired oil discovered in these places will be found closer to Tobolsk. Then we will witness the awakening of a long-sleeping city. The railway, which was so lacking as it branched across Siberia, did not bypass Tobolsk this time. The first train arrived here in 1967. And the beginnings of a large construction project have already appeared.

Cities, unlike people, can acquire a new youth. And then they become especially attractive. The gray hairs of the past and the effervescence of young life are the best decorations of any settlement on earth. Let's wish this fate to Tobolsk.

Holy places of the native land.

Each person has his own roots, which he must know and respect. This is the father and mother who gave birth and raised him, the land where the person was born, the country in whose territory he lives and of which he is a citizen. I was born in Russia, in the small village of Garmashevka, Kantemirovsky district. It is very dear to me. This is my small homeland.

There are many places in Voronezh that are revered by Orthodox people. For hundreds of years, our ancestors collected bit by bit and guarded the shrines.

It just so happened in Rus' that a person’s whole life from birth to death is connected with the temple. People came here with their troubles and joys: they got married, baptized children, said goodbye to the dead, escaped from life's temptations, found answers to the eternal questions of existence, received help and support.

There are many temples and churches, monasteries, holy places in the Voronezh region, but the happiest moment in my life is the opening of the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the village of Zaitsevka, where my grandmother lives. This village is located next to my village. I often visit my grandmother and attended the opening of the church.

Old-timers remember that a stone church was built on the highest place in the village in the significant year 1812. Until the 30s of the last century, it was the center of spiritual life and literacy in the village. But in 1931 the bells were torn from it. The priest, Father Sergius, was arrested and taken away. And only in 2000, residents of nearby villages began to restore the temple.

When you enter the temple and look at the icons, your soul is freed from worldly vanity, bad thoughts and heavy thoughts. You simply pray to the Lord and all the saints: “God, grant happiness and joy to all Orthodox people, save and preserve the Russian land from enemies, from wars and civil strife, help them pass the trials of life, be close to the poor and disadvantaged, give them more light, a name to whom - Faith. Save and preserve all Orthodox people from malice and lawlessness.”

My children's prayers are simple, but from the soul, from the heart. And I would like to hope that the Lord will hear them and send them peace and prosperity.

For almost a century this temple stood quiet and empty. ! I have seen the temple many times, how the sun rises and sets, the rains rinse it, the snow blows in... But here it stands, to the joy of the villagers!

Now, new life has been breathed into the walls, which have seen a lot. For the first time in 85 years, a divine liturgy was held here last fall. It was conducted by the head of the Ostrogozh-Rossoshan diocese, Bishop Andrei. The Bishop was greeted with bread and salt, but so far without the ringing of bells.

Not only village residents and guests from neighboring villages and districts gathered for the service. As a gift to the temple, the Bishop gave an icon of Christ the Savior and a large chandelier, and the clergy presented the parishioners with icons illuminated on Mount Athos.

The building is currently being restored. The outside walls were painted bright blue, plastic windows were installed, and blue spruce trees were planted between the road and the temple.

The many years of requests of Orthodox villagers for the revival of the temple did not remain in vain, the Lord heard the prayers of the believers, and now they can glorify Him on the ancient holy land. The people's path to the place revered by Christians is not overgrown: almost a century later, people come here on the days of service, free their souls from worldly filth, admire the magnificent architectural monument, breathe in the clean air, the freshness of the morning cool... What a blessing that I live, and before my eyes all this is happening! How gratifying it is to realize that there is an opportunity to come into contact with our antiquity, read a page of the history of our native land, hear the call of our ancestors, and feel involved in all this.

One of countless villages. No better and no worse than others. But our choice is not accidental - Mikhail Vasilyevich Lomonosov was born in this village.

There are no buildings left here associated with the life of the great man. Time has not spared anything except a small pond dug by the academician’s father. In the pond, the Lomonosov family brings crucian carp to the table. There is a dark fir tree near the road, and just opposite it was this pond, overgrown with willows. Behind the pond on the right is a house-museum. It was built exactly on the spot where the Lomonosovs’ hut once stood. From the house you can see the white Dvina, or rather, one of its many branches, called Kuropolka here. St. John's worts once went down the river to hunt. Peter I sailed along the river past this village more than once. Seeing him in this place, the neighboring village of Kholmogory rang bells and fired cannons.

The village was called Denisovka. By mistake, many of us consider the village of Kholmogory to be Lomonosov’s homeland. (Kholmogory stands across the river, three kilometers away.) The misconception stems from the fact that Denisovna was an unknown village. Kholmogory is older than Moscow and was known throughout Russia as a large northern city that received overseas ships, and from the depths of Russia they welcomed ships with honey, flax, wax, furs and bread.

For complete accuracy, it must be said: it was recently established that Lomonosov was born in the village of Mishaninskaya. This news excited and saddened the Denisovans. But passions subsided when it was clarified: the villages had long ago merged into one, and the name “Mishaninskaya” ceased to exist. The name “Denisovka” does not exist today either. The village is called Lomonosovo (230 words).

V. Peskov “Holy Places”

March 14 is the 85th anniversary of the birth of the outstanding journalist Vasily Mikhailovich Peskov. At the beginning of his life, he changed many professions: he was a pioneer leader, a driver, and a projectionist. Even in his youth, he became interested in photography and loved to photograph nature. As a result, this activity became the main work of his life. In 1953, he began working for the Voronezh newspaper “Young Communard,” first as a photographer, and after the successful publication of his first essay, “April in the Forest,” as a staff correspondent. In 1956, he sent several of his articles to Komsomolskaya Pravda, after which he was invited to work in Moscow. From 1956 until his last days, he was a columnist for the Komsomolskaya Pravda newspaper. He was a regular contributor to the “Window to Nature” column. The first book of essays was published in 1960. From 1975 to 1990, Peskov hosted the television program “In the Animal World” together with Nikolai Drozdov. A collection of essays entitled “Wanderings” became widely known in 1991. In this collection, the author gave a clear picture of East Africa, Hungary, the Swiss Alps, as well as a description of their rivers and lakes. Vasily Peskov traveled a lot around the world, but most of all - in his native country. There is no corner in Russia and the former USSR that he has not visited that he has not included in his “Reserve of Black and White Photography” and described in his essays in the beautiful language of a true Master. There was V.M. Peskov and on the island of Kizhi, where he took one of his masterpiece photographs.

Today, this photo has been circulated on the Internet on a huge number of sites, and in print media it has been published several times, under different names: “Fatherland”, “Horse in Kizhi”, simply “Kizhi” and others.

V.M. called him “the reserve of black and white photography.” Peskov his works. The author himself considered this photograph one of his best and favorites.

This is what the journalist said in one of his interviews about the circumstances under which this now historical photograph was taken: “When I first arrived on the island of Kizhi in Karelia, I immediately began photographing the famous wooden temples. But they were photographed so much, and so often I saw interesting photographs that I felt: I was walking along a well-trodden path. But what to do? Walking around the island, at the far end I saw a horse. What if we somehow connect the buildings and these living creatures? Leading the horse to the churches, offering salt and bread from the palm of the hand, was not a difficult task. But while taking pictures, I felt that the possibilities were not limited to this. It would be nice to remove not a “horse”, but a “horse”, full of strength and as if it had just come out of the saddle of Alyosha Popovich from Vasnetsov’s canvas. It was necessary to excite the horse with something for a moment. Having prepared everything for instant shooting, I squeaked the mouse. An unexpected sound made the horse suddenly throw up its head and turn around..."

This is how the Master worked.

This is not something you can click on a tablet, post on social networks and be proud of. It would be something...

This is how this odd-toed Kizhi beauty was immortalized, but the photographer did not know either her name or the name of her owner. Fortunately, eyewitnesses of those distant events preserved this information, without which the history of the Kizhi Museum-Reserve would have been too bland and official.

So, this white horse's name was Mashka. This is what Boris Aleksandrovich Gushchin, a senior researcher at the department of history and ethnography of the Kizhi Museum-Reserve, a member of the Karelian Union of Writers, said about her: “I knew Masha personally, as well as her owner Mikhail Kuzmich Myshev. He was a truly legendary carpenter-restorer, foreman of the carpentry team, to whom we owe much to this day for the fact that the amazing beauty of the Kizhi architectural ensemble and the peasant houses-monuments gathered around it are pleasing to the eye. True, when I came to work at the Kizhi Museum-Reserve, Myshev, or as everyone simply called him, but with invariable respect, Kuzmich, was no longer a carpenter, but a guard. He was already nearly 80 then, and Masha was his constant assistant. And I have had to resort to her transport services more than once. The horse was the smartest! For example: one winter in absolute darkness she brought me from Sennaya Guba to the island of Kizhi - herself! I wrote about her in my book, and one of the “Winter Kizhi Tales”, published in 2006 in the Kizhi newspaper, is also dedicated to her. (You can read this story called “Open the gates!” in the electronic archive of the Kizhi newspaper on the museum’s website at: - Author’s note.) And I really like the photograph taken by Vasily Peskov half a century ago. This is a testament to the times, part of the museum’s history.”

Here are two photographs that are separated by almost half a century. They are separated not just by decades - these are photographs from different centuries: XX and XXI, and even from different millennia.

Such photos can be entered into a competition called “Find Ten Differences.” And not only material ones, which, as they say, you can touch with your hands. They differ in mood and spirit. The island has become different. Kizhi Island was before us and will remain after us. The question is: what will it remain like? How will our contemporaries remember him? How will our descendants see it? Will they see him as full of romance and freedom as Vasily Peskov saw him? Or will the protected island be completely destroyed by the wheels of buses and cars?

The white mare Mashka, as if out of epic antiquity, wandered through the Kizhi meadows as a symbol of the Kizhi free spirit, which cannot be interrupted or eradicated. And Vasily Peskov understood this, because he was a Master, a professional of the highest degree.

Vasily Peskov was not only an excellent photographer, he was also an unsurpassed master of words. His articles, essays, and books can be considered a model of style. Who and whatever he wrote about, his main theme was love for Nature and the Fatherland.

He was always where it was most interesting at the moment: it was to him that Yuri Gagarin gave his first interview after the flight, Peskov was the first to tell the world about the family of Siberian hermits, the Lykovs. He loved people and knew how to win them over, he loved and understood animals. He knew the value of life.

Holy places

What does enormous human love for everything that fits in one word - Motherland - grow from?

I was twenty years old when, on my first payday, I came from Voronezh to look at Moscow. Early in the morning I got off the train to Red Square. I listened to the clock strike. I wanted to touch the brick in the wall with my hand, to touch the stones lining the square. People were hurrying past. It was amazing - how can you walk hastily across this square, talking about the weather, about some small matters? In those days they were not allowed into the Kremlin. I waited until the door at St. Basil's grille opened. I remember the stones on the narrow staircase - “how many people have passed by”!

Then I visited the Kremlin many times. Having already traveled around the world, I compared it and always thought with pride: in no other city have I seen a square of such beauty, severity, and originality.

Is it possible to imagine this square without St. Basil's Cathedral? Let me tell you now about an amazing fact. I myself would not have believed it if I had not heard from a person deeply respected by everyone. Here is what Pyotr Dmitrievich Baranovsky, the best restorer of our ancient monuments, said: “Before the war, they summoned me to one high authority: “We will demolish the cathedral, we need to make Red Square more spacious. We instruct you to take measurements...” Then a lump stuck in my throat.

I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t believe it right away... In the end, someone’s unknown wisdom stopped the irreparable action. They didn’t break...”

But they could have broken it so that there would be more space for cars in the square. What has time shown? Today the same cars are completely prohibited from driving on Red Square due to the sanctity of this place and due to the large number of people who want to walk through this square in simple steps.

Today, taking off our hats in front of St. Basil's Cathedral on Red Square, we remember the master who performed the miracle. Ancient architects, painters and carpenters could express their skills and talent only in the construction of monasteries, churches and cathedrals. By preserving the ancient church, we are preserving a monument to craftsmanship.

And you can't hesitate. Everything requires careful treatment: ancient buildings, folk crafts, ancient utensils, paintings in churches, books and documents, names and graves of heroes. With all our worries about current affairs, about our daily bread and about exploring extraterrestrial distances.

When doing great things, we must know where we came from and how we started. Our deeds, together with the past, together with the surrounding natural world and the fire of the hearth, are expressed by the dear word FATHERLAND. It is impossible to force people to love the Fatherland by decree. Love must be cultivated.

Vasily PESKOV

Vasily Mikhailovich Peskov passed away on August 12, 2013 in Moscow at the age of 83. According to his will, his body was cremated and his ashes were scattered in his homeland in the Voronezh region in the village of Orlovo over a field on the edge of a forest on the 40th day next to a stone that he himself had brought there during his lifetime.

On this stone are the words of Vasily Peskov “The main value in life is life itself.” So he forever merged with his beloved Russian nature, the Russian land.

Tatiana NIKOLYUKINA

Retell the text in detail.
Answer the question posed at the beginning of the text: “What does enormous human love for the Motherland grow from?”
Retell the text concisely.
Answer the question: “What problems are raised by the author in this text?”