“In conclusion, the official told a historical anecdote that happened to a guest from France, the Marquis Astolphe de Custine, who visited Russia to study the country and ended up at the emperor’s ball.

An inquisitive visitor asked the autocrat about the visitors to the ball who came in a variety of bright costumes, and every time it turned out that they were representatives of non-Russian peoples, including, in particular, the Finns.

“Where are the Russians?”- the perplexed guest finally asked.
“And all together these are my Russians”- replied the emperor"

“When I was nineteen, the Motherland put me in kirzachi, put a machine gun in my hands, sat me on the armor and said: “Go.” And I went. “Restoration of the constitutional order” - that’s what this war was called then.
When I was twenty-two, I went to the military registration and enlistment office and, voluntarily, enlisted in the army and went to war for the second time.

My grandfather, Lavrentiy Petrovich Babchenko, one hundred percent Zaporozhye Cossack...
His wife, Elena Mikhailovna Kuptsova (from her first husband, I don’t know her real surname, because my grandmother carefully hid it - she’s Jewish, yes)...
My great-grandmother, whose last name is Bakhtiyarova (partially Tatar, yeah)...
My wife's grandfather, Pyotr Gorkanov, purebred Mordvinian * ...
My father-in-law, ensign, purebred Mordvinian * ...

All this time, I, my family, my ancestors and my relatives were quite Russian for my country.
When it was necessary to burn at Khalkhin Gol, to pull space for a meager salary, to starve in basements, to make iodoform for the front, to live homeless in the barracks with children, to die in Tajikistan, to feed lice in Chechnya, to adopt abandoned children - we were Russians.

Now I have become for the Motherland a Jew, a Ukrainian, a Banderaite, a fifth column and a national traitor.
At the “Jewish Bandera fascist” Maidan, no one has ever asked me about my nationality under any circumstances.”

I will repeat what I wrote before:
All Russians, especially passionate Russians, are “first generation Russians” of various ethnic backgrounds.
Maximum - in the second or third generations.

If you dig further, then everyone who knows at least something real about their ancestry will find out that even in their family a few generations ago Russian was not the native language.
Starting with the “Chukhny and Mordvins” of the Putins, Gundyaevs, Chapaevs, Matvienko (Tyutina) and there are countless others, ending with the Armenians Lavrovs, Kurginyans, Jews Zadornovs, Leontyevs, Solovievs, Frolovs, Strelkov-Girkins, Chechens Surkovs, Bulgars Matrosovs, crests Denikins-Deineks, Budenny, Navalny, Dugin, Lanov, Senchin - and so on throughout list of nationalities of the entire former USSR.

There is no need to be surprised here, because Russians have been such a community from the very beginning. Special. It is still being collected on other principles, not national ones.
That is precisely why “Russia cannot be understood with the mind” by those who stubbornly try to understand Russians as a people/nation, believing in the misconception spread by the Russians themselves that “Russians” are the same ethnic people as all other peoples.
That is why in this community the word nationalism is so feared, like the word rope in a hanged house.
Because they themselves do not constitute an ethnic, civil/political nation, but a people in the sense of a community of Janissaries of the empire, reassembled with each new generation from all the ethnic groups inhabiting this empire. In the most true Horde sense.
There are, of course, hereditary Janissaries among them, Janissaries in the second to fourth generation, but they are not the majority among Russians today. Over the past centuries, the circle of Russified people has expanded too quickly (the number of those who registered as Russians has increased) and therefore it is not they, but the neophytes who make up its backbone.

Do you know how the Janissaries were made in the Ottoman Empire?
From all over the Empire, children were forcibly taken from parents of different tribes, converted to Islam and raised, educated, educated.

And they were the best warriors of the Empire against everyone who did not renounce their paternal and maternal family like them, and this was the Ottoman strength.
Because they were not an ethnic people, but a Turkic-speaking team of slaves of the Empire and the state was the “homeland” for the Janissaries.

Do you know how Russians were made in the Russian Empire?
From all over the Empire, parents of different tribes themselves sent their children to Russian schools, baptized them into Moscow “Orthodoxy” and raised, educated, educated.
In the spirit of loyalty to the Imperial idea, and so that they “fuck” their small homeland.
And they are the best warriors of the Empire against everyone who has not renounced their paternal and maternal family like them, this is Russian strength.
Because they are not an ethnic people, but a Russian-speaking team of slaves of the Empire and the state is the “homeland” for Russians.

As long as each member of this Horde, masquerading as the people, blows the common imperial tune in support of rashism, then for the rest he is Russian with a capital R.
As soon as he cooled down to the general idea, he is already a “Russian”.
But as soon as he said something contrary, the rest of the “already Russians” would immediately remember him.
And not only Jewry, like many of those who devoted their lives to creating Russian culture (exactly the same, with innate imperialism and hidden anti-Semitism, as we know it today), like the Crimean Eskin, but also a “Khokhla” - like “Starshinezapasa” Babchenko.
By the way, they are both sincerely indignant, but why do we?
We have been faithfully and truly for so many years?

Here, the soul of another Russian, Dorenka, could not stand it:

Yes, I am a crest, after all! How can it be?
I can also add that I was born in Kerch. ..
All my parents were born in Ukraine, all my grandparents were born in Ukraine.
And after all, I am Ukrainian.

P.S.
But don’t expect sentiments towards Ukrainians from Dorenka.
That’s not why he himself and his KGB parents bit by bit (like a slave according to Chekhov) squeezed Ukrainianness out of themselves all their lives in order to finally become completely Russian.
Russian professor Dugin, who calls for killing Ukrainians, also said that he is Ukrainian.

Their origin never prevented the Janissaries from brutally, with fire and sword, destroying their compatriots who did not want to become Janissaries, bringing the Empire on their bayonets to the lands of their ancestors.
Russians too. But the Ottomans at least thanked the Janissaries, and not only in words, and did not fool them that they were an ethnic “Janischar” people.
When in the history of Russia was there at least some kind of power from which the Russians did not suffer?
But never.
When, under Queen Victoria, England owned half of the World, being an Englishman in the English Empire had money and prestige.
When under the Nazis the Germans had a Reich (thank God it's not long)- being a German loyal to Hitler was also honorable, financially and comfortable not only for this German, but also for members of his family. He was calm that no “black funnel” would suddenly come for him.
And although throughout the history of Russia (Muscovy, Russian Empire, USSR, Russian Federation) Russians in this country have never been better off than foreigners, but they still tear their asses for this state and are proud of it. Proud of the pride of a slave to the empire.
But it was not better for them, because the rulers did not create for themselves a community of service people of the empire, so that they could live for their own pleasure.
And the fact that today, instead of the word “empire”, which has been compromised by history, they came up with the euphemism “Russian World” does not change the essence.
The conflict in Ukraine is not a conflict between two peoples, but an old conflict of a people defending themselves and their country, with a predatory denationalized imperialism, vilely miming itself as a “brotherly people.”

By the way, this is precisely the problem of many Ukrainians today (and not only ethnic Ukrainians) living in Ukraine.
Throughout their conscious Soviet and post-Soviet life, they squeezed out of themselves some Ukrainians, some Bulgarians, some Jews, in order to become as Russian as Dorenko, and then suddenly, after the Maidan, it turned out that everything was down the drain.
That they are not the majority in Ukraine.

News from the fields:

*
For those Russians who are still not aware of the nationality of their ancestors, I will explain:
Just as there are no people in nature Ukrobelov or Belukrov, as there is none in nature Ukrobelsky neither Belukrsky languages, but there are two separate peoples Ukrainians And Belarusians, and two similar but separate languages Ukrainian And Belarusian,
there are no people in nature Mordovians, nor Mordovian language, even though there is such a republic in the Russian Federation.
Moscow contemptuously called them Chukhna and Mordovians.
Trotsky and Lenin, at first they wanted to call it the “Chukhon Republic”, but they realized that this would be too much. That’s why they called it “Mordovian”, so as to be familiar and not bother.
There are 2 related Finno-Ugric peoples indigenous to these places: Erzya and Moksha.
And 2 languages ​​- similar, but different - Erzya and Moksha.
There was also a third people - the Merya, but they lost their language by the 1730s, and by our time they were all completely registered as Russians.

For example, actor Sedoykin, model Vodyadnova, Erzya (like Kirill/Gundyaev, whose surname did not come from the fact that his ancestor was a gundy, “gundyay-kundyay” in Erzya - fellow countryman, so his surname is translated into Russian as Zemlyakov). And yakstere armyyan ushmodei CHEPAEV (Red Army commander Chapaev, although the Chuvash say that his mother is partly Chuvash), and Lidia Ruslanova (Leikina) and Nadezhda Kadysheva and Mazaev (from greasy=handsome) and many other Russians.
Moksha, for example, Vasily Shukshin.

We met with the luminary of the Soviet and Russian stage Ilya Reznik in the courtyard of one of the Yalta churches after a Sunday church service. Ilya Rakhmielevich ate melon, drank coffee, hugged his beloved wife Irina, listened to songs with a guitar, read his new poems and seemed to be an absolutely free and happy person. And on his chest, under a light summer shirt, he could see an Orthodox cross. About poverty and hungry childhood, about faith and inspiration, about books and money - in an exclusive interview with the Crimean Journal.

Childhood

I'm a blockade child. It is still unthinkable for me to leave crumbs on the table, to throw away the crust, because I ate duranda, cake, quinoa, and nettle soup. They rescued me and took me around Ladoga. I remember the ladder along which we climbed onto the boat. I have a series of poems during the siege, and the poems about this salvation are called “Exodus”: “And we walked two by two, treading carefully”... God saved us. We ended up on the mainland, in Sverdlovsk my mother and I lived in a mill, she worked there. There were three of us in the room - me, mom and Aunt Frosya. They slept on the same bed, I was between them. Frosya was so big... I remember kindergarten, how I danced the sailor dance, how I was in love with the same girl and the teacher at the same time. Then dad was brought to us in Sverdlovsk in 1944. He had two wounds to the lung and developed transient consumption. He died on April 15. And we returned to St. Petersburg in the fall of the same year.

Adolescence, youth

How do I know how my poems are born! At school I composed two lines - “Uncle Fedya ate a bear.” All! I got a B in Russian. True, in the 9th grade I wrote several poems - about some mare:

...wagged her tail,

Drives away gadflies and horseflies -

impudent

Listen, you animal,

animal,

Animal, listen

You really want to eat,

And I want to eat.

Wait a little, a little

wait a minute,

The road ends already

end of the road.

I was very hungry then, we lived poorly. My dreams were different: in the fourth grade - the Nakhimov School, in the seventh - the artillery school, then I sang in the choir, I entered the First Medical Institute - I was not accepted there, I entered the theater school for four years in a row. Entered.

Bard

From an artist to a poet, I moved through the theater. In my second year, Sasha Gorodnitsky came to work in our theater, I had just learned to play the guitar - it was necessary for the performance. (And now I can sometimes play something; at concerts I sing two or three romances, accompanying myself.) Gorodnitsky and I went to concerts and sang his songs - “Atlantas”, “Leather Jackets”, “Snow, Snow”, through he ended up in the Leningrad club “Vostok”, where the most famous Vizbor, Kukin, Klyachkin came - all the bards of that era. And I myself began to compose with a guitar - “The Ballad of the French Duel”, “Cockroach”... So, it turns out, I became a popular bard in St. Petersburg, I was invited to various evenings, I had 20 or 30 songs. Then I forgot all about it. And when I began to engage in pop music, when the famous songs “Cinderella” and “Fat Carlson” appeared, Lenconcert sent me and Lyuda Senchina to this very “Vostok”, to the food industry club. There I began to perform pop songs, and there was complete silence in the hall. A note arrives: “Ilyusha, we loved you so much when you were a bard, what are you doing?” Then I felt ashamed, I remembered one parody of the then popular Rozhdestvensky and read it, this parody saved me from failure.

St. Petersburg and Moscow

At one time I left St. Petersburg for Moscow - and I did the right thing. When I had my first creative evening in 1973 with Irina Ponarovskaya, Sergei Zakharov, Edita Piekha - amazing performers! - so they didn’t even put my name on the poster, but simply wrote: “Variety concert.” And Moscow opened all the doors for me. Even now I went to the Komissarzhevskaya Theater in St. Petersburg, to which I had dedicated many years, and offered to spend a creative evening completely free of charge. They didn't want to.

Method

I don’t sit down to write poetry, I lie down. The old fashioned way, on folded A4 sheets. Today, for example, I wrote two psalms - 123 and 112, and translated them from Church Slavonic into Russian. At night everything comes to me, just in blocks. The clarity of thought in the dark is amazing. When I turn on the light it goes away. The main thing is to remember these blocks, and then turn on the floor lamp and write it down. The next morning I rewrite and edit, but the main release occurs at night - and very quickly. I don’t understand people who take two or three months to write one poem.

Songs and words

Many of my wonderful poems have been ruined by mediocre music or performance. Everything in a song is important - the lyrics, the music, the performance, the arrangement, the atmosphere in the country, and the breath of the audience: all these components must coincide to make a hit.

I’m not interested in songs today, everything has already been written - it remains and sounds, it’s an archive. What's new? Now they write “came yesterday”... or about a glass of vodka. In 1992, I had a song about a glass of vodka.

A glass of vodka, a glass of vodka

Will kindle a fire in the blood.

Our life is short,

Love has even less.

So what is being written now has already been written.

I included a selection of songs from 1976 on the Nostalgia channel. 22 songs. All are masterpieces! And now, while new songs are paid for, they sound from everywhere, and then... I don’t take them seriously, I listen to jazz and classical music, there’s no talk about the radio: if I turn it on, the editor in me immediately starts talking - there’s no rhyme, here the word is clumsy , there’s the wrong emphasis...

I'm distracted by reading. I love foreign detective stories. I read the detective story “The Moth” - “Papillon”. What a rich, brilliant book! And after this “The Moth” I tried to read new foreign novels, but the translations are so terrible - the wrong word, the wrong style. I am for the purity of the language, I have a “Hymn to the Russian Language”, it is performed on the Day of Slavic Literature in squares throughout the country.

Public and author

People always recognize me on the street. It's not tiring for me, it's pleasant for me. There is no need to play hard to get. More than anything in the world, I don’t like envious people, angry people, and unsmiling people.

Books and money

My dreams are connected only with creativity. I love the smell of newly published books! I always see a new book ahead. I recently published a children’s book, “Tyapa Doesn’t Want to Be a Clown,” and now “My Leningrad Childhood” is being published. Few people know that I write for children, because I don’t do PR and often don’t sell my books. There is such a tradition: if I take out money for an author’s concert, then part of it immediately goes to the circulation of my book, we give it to the audience for free when leaving the hall - this is a kind of continuation of the concert. That’s why in Moscow we live in a rented house and haven’t saved up for our own housing. And under Soviet rule, songwriters were rich people - Rozhdestvensky, Derbenev, Tanich... We all received 5-8 thousand rubles a month.

Children

Children's theme is now the main one. My ensemble “Little Country” came to the famous “Artek”, we were given 33 free trips, and we have almost 90 children. This is amazing. Why don’t everyone have vouchers? Some parents didn’t let them go, and, again, we have children studying from the age of 2-3, but Artek accepts them from the age of 8. But little artists are not only going to relax - we will give concerts in Crimea .

Prayers and Psalms

My second main activity now is prayers and psalms, their poetic translation from Church Slavonic into Russian. Patriarch Kirill is very supportive of me and says that all hope lies in these translations, because young people do not understand the Church Slavonic language. The best day of my life is every morning when I write a prayer.

About faith

Last year I was baptized in Yalta, in Nizhnyaya Oreanda, in the Church of the Intercession of the Most Holy Theotokos. I decided to take this step because essentially I am a Russian person: I love the Russian language, not Hebrew, not the synagogue - I like churches. In the summer, my wife and I live in Oreanda. Last year in the local temple I read all the new prayers. I feel very good here - such a sincere atmosphere. I love the flock, all these gatherings, Sunday meals after the liturgy. I am ready to see and talk with the rector of the church in Oreanda, Father Nestor, every day - he is almost a saint!

From Bagnoli, a suburb of Naples, to the sharp spit of Pozzuoli, which cuts into the sea, the entire coast is densely strewn with bathing cabins. In the evenings, when the heat subsides, the carriages of the three metro lines leading here, the tram and the electric train throw out a noisy crowd of cheerful swimmers. The cabin costs two hundred liras. We, the Banjoles Dipiians, cannot afford such expenses. And what is the point of it, when you can, having chosen a passage between cabin villages, calmly climb over the embankment fence, choose a suitable flat stone under it and, casually sitting on it, enjoy all the joys of the sea absolutely free. Even more interesting: here are jellyfish, here are crabs, here are real Neapolitan lazzaroni, which American tourists pay money to pose in front of cameras.

And after taking a swim and standing in Pushkin’s pose (according to Aivazovsky), admiring Capri turning blue in the distance, you can also look into the coastal cafeteria. Half a liter of chianti is sixty lire, and sit with him all evening, listen to the sea, the screams of donkeys, the songs of wandering singers - that Italy, which you will no longer see either in Rome, or in Florence, or in Milan. The Neapolitan south loves its past and does not want to part with it.

It's Sunday, and I'm having a hard time finding a seat in the float cafe packed with swimmers. A bathing suit has all the rights of citizenship here; drink a cup of thick coffee or a sip of cognac, and then again into the blue warmth of the wave!

There are also more musical guest performers than on weekdays, and their repertoire is more diverse. Now the curly-haired guy with harmony, paying tribute to the tradition of “Santa Lucia”, viscous like syrup, paid back to modernity with an obsessive fashionable foxtrot, and then played “Katyusha”. This is in the order of things: after the war, “Katyusha” successfully competes with the outdated “Lucia”, and “Stenka Razin” even displaces “Stella del Mare”.

There is something un-Italian and somehow familiar in the guy’s curls. Where have I seen them? Will you remember this now, will you find this frame in the kaleidoscopic film that passed before your eyes? But familiar... familiar...

The guy throws a three-row string behind his back and now a small accordion is placed on his right hand, and with his left he brings to his lips some kind of projectile that looks like a black shell. The accordion soars upward, quickly descends and begins to clearly pronounce:

Like on Varvarinskaya street The Komarinsky man walked and ran...

And the shell whistles to her like the Nightingale the Robber:

Eh, you noblewoman Markovna, Is your fur coat velvet...

A bronze young bather in shorts is trying to get into the rollicking rhythm with a foxtrot pump, but it doesn’t work out and he starts tap dancing with his bare heels. My neighbors tap with their beer mugs. The song of the Russian boundless plain curls like a bright, motley ribbon over the blue wavy bay.

The guy cuts off the dashing whistle and proudly says:

Jo sono homo rueso! I am Russian person!

A frame lost in the kaleidoscope emerges from the motley mess of memory and appears before my eyes.

Alyosha, - I shout, - Alyosha Pshik! Russian man!

The decorative part of the emerging frame is very far from the environment around us.

... A freight car filled with refugees. In the middle of it is a burning stove; around her there is a dense, felt-like ring of human mass, and above it, standing on a pile of bags, this same Alyosha plays the same rollicking song on this very accordion and shouts:

Have fun! Let's live! We are Russian people!..

Alyosha Frolov is my fellow countryman in Stavropol. His mother-in-law has a house there on Podgornaya Street. But they knew and called Alyosha not Frolov, but Pshik. This was his pseudonym, a pop musical illusionist who played harmonies, brooms, Rykovskaya bottles, car sirens and some completely incomprehensible instruments.

Suddenly three events happen at once: the carriage shakes at the switch, the door opens by itself, the song ends and Alyosha yells from his stage:

Damn pop-eyed! Found time to play songs!

I am a Russian person, mother, and I can’t live without a song...

I almost killed myself through your idol songs... Why are you fussing? And I’ll get into the car myself!

Arriving in Kyiv, Alyosha and I lost each other only to meet again here, on the shores of the Gulf of Naples. The paths of the Russian people are intertwined in a bizarre pattern these days.

What the hell brought you here, Alyosha? - I shake him by the shoulder. - Sit down, have a drink and tell me why you are here?

“I’m here because I’m a Russian,” Alyosha answers confidently and confidently.

But this logical construction is incomprehensible to me, and I require clarification.

It’s very simple,” Alyosha answers, in Kyiv, at the refugee point, I register, write my stage name, well-known, of course... The major reads and starts babbling something in German. I, as you know, except for “gut” - not a go-gut... However, I see that things are turning on my wheel: the major will say “Pshik”, poke me in the stomach with his finger and smile. I’m planning: he probably knows me from the stage, and the answer is: “gut.” He also said to me: “gut”? And I told him: “Gut.” He gave me some paper to sign, coupons to the canteen for the whole family, and the corporal took me to the room. A very nice room, and firewood... Less than a week has passed - the watchman comes with a translator. “Get ready,” he says, “to Germany with your whole family.” “What the hell do I care about, Germany,” I answer, “I am a Russian man!” "No. You are a German, a Volksdeutsch, according to your own statement...” The grandmother immediately went crazy: “Look,” she shouts, “what your music has brought us to!” They turned on the Germans and are driving them to Germany, but I, thank God, still have a house that hasn’t been taken away with three rooms and a barn...”

However, there is nothing to be done, the Germans have everything in order, and that same evening we left for Munich.

Did you get a job there as a member of the “Ostovtsy”?

No, I’m sorry, the Germans don’t have such a procedure for putting an artist to the bench! In Germany we had a worldly life! In Munich they gave me my room back, full allowance, a salary of 300 marks and daily performances in soldiers' clubs. Worldwide success!..

Did you learn German there?

What the hell is this? I am a Russian man and I taught all the Germans there Russian songs. Where are their Beethovens and their “Lili Marlene” from us! As soon as I go on stage, the whole audience shouts: “Troika! Troika!" It was I who taught them “Hyde Troika” and “Troika Is Rushing” - I perform them with dull bells, and the whole soldiery sings along. That's how!

Well, how did you get to Italy?

The return is very simple. I was assigned to a tour to the Italian front. In Venice, capitulation came. Our Russian Armenians say: “We’ll go to our monastery - there’s one here - we’ll hide, and you’ll have amba... “The Armenian battalion stood there... They say: “You stomp in.” Bologna, there are Poles there. Have fun with them..."

Did you find any Poles? Have you been accepted?

Well, what about it? I come to the colonel and say: “So and so, I’m a Russian man, and there’s nowhere to go except to you. Coffin." The Pole was conscientious, sympathetic, and assessed the situation. “Okay,” he says, “stay.” Just write you down as a Pole, with the last name Pshek, there’s only one letter difference, but in Polish it works out more smoothly...” “I,” I say, “don’t mind this letter, Colonel, to hell with it, but I’m a Russian man...” “ “And I myself,” he says, “are essentially a Russian officer, and at the same time a Pole.” Nothing can be done!.. “Well, I changed the “i” to an “e” and became, as it were, a Vrid-Pole...

What was life like for you?

World famous! He played in the evenings in the officers' cantina. True, they didn’t give us any wages, but we did get English rations for the whole family. My wife and mother-in-law did the laundry for the soldiers... until the Poles went to England.

Where are you going?

The colonel told me that it was impossible to get me into England - the control was very strict, and he sent me to the Ukrainians, to Milan... I was happy, but it turned out quite the opposite.

How is it the other way around?

Very simple. I go to them with all my heart, my own people... “I, I say, am a Russian person,” and they “don’t understand the Muscovite language”... I, of course, am a Stavropol resident, I can babble in Ukrainian no worse than they do, but then it hooked me... You are so kind all sorts of things, I think, when I sang verses for you in Kyiv, that’s what they meant? He took out his “baby” and pulled it under it:

Ukraine has not yet become a mayor, You may die soon Bo are so hungry Drive to death

Well? - I ask.

I barely got off my feet, and that’s it, “well.” The Italian carabinieri defended, but were escorted to the Rimini camp behind the wire.

Was this before the extradition to the Soviets or after?

Exactly in a week. There is complete panic... All Russians, some as Czechs, some as Serbs, some as Magyars, are pretending to be...

Who did you have to turn into?

No one. I'm tired of this. The commandant says to me: “go back to your homeland,” and I say to him: “I’m sorry, I’m a Russian man, go there yourself, and I’ll wait...” I cut the wire at night and... to the ace of ten - you’re not there! Arivederchi, okay, grace!

What about your wife and grandmother?

And they crawled out. I swung the hole like Stakhanov. Record. And he dragged out the toolbox. I had some money, I moved here to Naples, got a white sogiorno... Well, I live!

What about overseas? You can't avoid IRO.

Let her swim overseas on her own. I am a Russian person, it’s closer to my home from here. I will live and live. Doesn't the syndicate allow you on the stage? I don't mind. Are there not enough osterias? The way the port sailors greet me is global success! Why are we dragging out this sour stuff for the sake of a meeting? - Camariero! Una butilla asti da mille lire! Effervescent... We are Russian people!

A bottle on ice causes a sensation among Italians.

Russi... russi... - sweeps through the cafe.

Alyosha fluffs up her curls wildly. We clink glasses.

To hell with this ocean and its America? But here I am a Russian man, even if you put me on a poster... There’s only one thing that’s bad,” Alyosha brushes his hair down on his forehead.

Italians do not have the letter “she” at all.

What do you care about her?

It sounds uncivil with my last name. "Psi. “to” the sailor is calling me... It turns out that he’s either a psycho or a wrong dog... It’s not stagey due to my fame...

maximus101 c Dad is Turkish, mom is Greek, and I'm Russian

I. Danilevsky about the origin of the Russian princes of the early period of the history of Rus'.

Indeed, the origin of Malusha, the mother of Vladimir Svyatoslavich, is very interesting. It is unknown to which ethnic group Malusha belonged, but it is very likely that her ancestors were associated with the Khazar aristocracy and she was Jewish by religion.
Since the names of Malushi (Malka), her father Malk Lyubechanin and even the Drevlyan prince Mal are consonant with the title of the ruler of the Slavs - swiet-malik (according to Ibn Rusta), which in turn can go back to the Khazar title melekh (prince, king). Apparently, she had a noble origin, was the sister of Dobrynya, the co-ruler of her son Kagan Vladimir Svyatoslavich.

Dobrynya, according to the tradition of the Rus and Khazars, was supposed to be a bek (shad and/or possibly also a melekh), a prince with military functions, while Kagan Vladimir himself also performed the ritual function of the “living god” - the sacred kagan of the Rus and Khazars, about This is indirectly evidenced by the fixation of the chroniclers' attention on his numerous harem.

Excerpt from the program "Hour of Truth" - "Peoples of Ancient Rus'"

PS. I’ll add on my own behalf (IP), that this post shows well why the name of the ethnicity - "Russian" - is an adjective, not a noun.
Unlike the “Germans”, “Poles”, “Turks”, etc. we are Russians. The closest analogy that Europeans had at one time was the British Empire. All subjects of the British Queen were British, regardless of nationality, etc. But where is now the British Empire on which the sun never set? What the European Union is now experiencing is the problem of personal identity in a super-ethnic group. Created initially as national states, European states united into a multinational superstate. And now they themselves cannot understand who they became after that. This is why all their games with “tolerance”, etc. All this is nothing more than a search for a form of interaction between parts that differ from each other in a single whole.
We in Rus' experienced this and got used to it a long time ago.
Therefore, for us, everything that happens in Europe regarding the national question seems like something like a matinee in a kindergarten in the absence of a teacher.
The most paradoxical thing about this is that instead of asking “adults” how it is really necessary, “children” are constantly trying to teach us how to solve national problems. It is a common thing that children do not obey their parents - parents always seem to teenagers to be “outdated”, “not modern”, “behind” progress.
What can we take from them, they are children...

Russian man - who is he?

Mikhail Samarsky: Russian man - who is he?

A Russian person can look like anything, even a curly-haired black man, a narrow-eyed Mongol, or even an American Indian. It doesn't matter at all. The main thing in a Russian person is something else.

On December 27, all those involved celebrated the birthday of the legendary Uncle Vasya - General of the Airborne Forces Vasily Filippovich Markelov, who loved to repeat: “Knocked down - fight on your knees, you can’t walk - advance while lying down...” To whom are these words addressed? Is it only for paratroopers? No, I think they are addressed to every Russian.

You can’t tell about a Russian person in a few words. And it will also be difficult to fit into two or three phrases. However, what words and phrases are there... You can’t fit it in a book, you can fill it in a library.

And all because a Russian person is not just some kind of homo erectus or sapiens, he is a universe, and a universe of such dimensions that astronomers prefer to talk about it only in a whisper. It's just scary to talk out loud.

How much has been written about the Russian people, how much has been said, how many songs have been sung, how many poems have been composed. Who in the world does not know Princess Olga, Vladimir the Red Sun, Yaroslav the Wise, Alexander Nevsky, Dmitry Donskoy, Ivan the Terrible. They called them Varangians - Rurikovichs, they say, they are foreigners. But they were all Russian. No one invited foreigners to rule. Even in his years, Mikhailo Lomonosov opposed this theory, but Peter I liked this option more.

Let's remember how our German Catherine II became the great Russian queen? Here, not only is the land Russian, here Russianness is everywhere - in rivers, lakes, seas, here even the sky is Russian. There is no other way here, it won’t work. Let's take an example from modern life: Ramzan Kadyrov stated that he considers himself a Russian Chechen.

What experts of the Russian word have worked hard to describe the Russian person: Karamzin, Pushkin, Lermontov, Gogol, Turgenev, Dostoevsky, Nabokov, Bunin... Is it possible to count them all?

Some suspicious researchers delve into the pedigree of a Russian person, looking for some special drops of blood, others closely examine the color of the skin, and still others peer into the shape of the eyes.

What does this mean for a Russian person? And the color of the hair, and the depth of the eyes, and the strength of the voice - it’s all from God! If it were possible to fit “Russianness” into all these far-fetched parameters, humanity would long ago have forgotten who the Russians are. No!

A Russian person can look like anything, even a curly-haired black man, a narrow-eyed Mongol, or even an American Indian. It doesn't matter at all. And he can live anywhere on the planet. The main thing is that he must think in Russian, must love Rus', must be a faithful son of his mother - the Russian land.

At the same time, a Russian person can criticize his Motherland, vast Rus', all night long, scold it with the very last words, but, the next morning, hearing a bad word about it from someone, he will immediately, without hesitation, give the offender a hard time. And if he continues to insist on his own, the Russian will fight with him for Holy Rus' to the last drop of blood, but will never agree with his opinion. Yes, a Russian can blame his homeland, but a foreigner cannot. We ourselves, with a mustache, will figure out who is right and who is wrong here.

There are many myths about the Russian people. The most common one is about supposedly Russian heavy drinking. But in fact, it turned out that Russians drink alcohol per capita much less than citizens of other countries.

Recently, some citizens prophesied to us that Russia would soon die out. And this is how it turned out - the birth rate has exceeded the death rate, and the birth rate is steadily creeping up. Average life expectancy has increased so much that people involuntarily began to think about raising the retirement age. How can you not think about it?

Without hysterics, rolling eyes and wringing fingers, let's be logical. The current retirement age was adopted when the average life expectancy in our country did not exceed 35-40 years, and now it is about 70 years. So what should we do? The question is complex. That’s why both the president and the government are in no hurry to make decisions so as not to mess things up.

But I digress! It was said about the Russian man that he harnesses slowly but rides quickly. That is, he is not a vain person. Well, what's the point if you soon put on trousers, but you still can't run away from the bear? That’s why the Russian says: don’t fuss, brother, dress slowly, run quickly.

A Russian person honors the commandments of Christ, and can turn the other cheek to a blow - suddenly a person accidentally hits you. He apologizes and that’s the end of it, anything can happen. But if the bully dares to hit you on the other cheek, then, kid, hold on, there will be no mercy - you will have to collect teeth along the entire road.

And if you think that the Russian in front of you is frail and cannot cope with a bully, that’s a big mistake, brother. In Rus', they don’t look at the size of their fist. It's all nonsense.

Look, take a young and playful bull, no matter how huge it may seem, and they drive it into a can of stew. It’s the same with all kinds of big guys who encroached on the honor and dignity of the Russian people. Even if there is one, he can’t hit him head-on, he will contrive and put the enemy behind him, if he doesn’t have a sword, he will beat him with a stick.

Look, in other countries, when a rich man goes broke, he immediately falls into a noose. But the Russian person thinks differently: “As it came, so it went!” If he can’t acquire wealth, he says: “We haven’t lived richly, there’s no point in starting!” Russian people by nature are merciful, fearless, but at the same time God-fearing. Everyone knows that a beggar will give his last shirt to a beggar, and a hungry man will share his last piece of bread.

We are not vindictive. It would seem that the battlefields of the Great Patriotic War have not yet cooled down until the end, but we are already hosting and going to visit the Germans ourselves. They became brothers with the Tatars.

What is the strength of a Russian person? The fact that Orthodoxy does not perish in his soul, it lives in the Russian heart forever, it is the foundation of his soul, on which his faith and the future of his descendants are based. When the Red Troubles came to Russian soil, when they began to destroy churches and burn icons and kill priests, Orthodoxy turned out to be invincible. It would remain even on a scorched and depopulated land.

As Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol noted: “If only one farm remains for Russians, then Russia will be reborn.” I want to add: even if the enemies and the last farm are wiped off the face of the earth, the land will still remain Russian and Russian people will be reborn on it, for this is exactly the case when “there is a Russian spirit here, here it smells of Russia”!

A Russian person never believes in his own defeat; no other nation knows such selflessness. One of the deepest qualities of the Russian character is not to feel sorry for yourself and not to snot about your own lot. Everything that happens is fate: a word that comes from the phrase “God’s judgment,” and Russian people do not enter into litigation with God.

And no matter what our current enemies and adversaries write, the main dignity of the Russian person is conscience. And where there is conscience, there is truth, and victory, and life. So we will endure, we will survive, and we will pass on our holy land, our faith, hope, love to our descendants.

Happy New Year, Russians. Happy new happiness, brothers!