The poem "Baydarskiye Vorota" kazin vasily vasilyevich. H

FOROS CHURCH. VIEW FROM THE TUNNEL

In the pre-war years, not the Foros church, but this tunnel, were the hallmark of Foros. Many postcards and photos of this tunnel were published. It was blown up during the war. It was finally destroyed in the post-war period.

Tunnel at the Baydar Gate. 1905 year

* Standing near the Baydar Gate, it seemed to me impossible to descend from this height without a sinking heart and a secret fear, but when we started, the fear disappeared instantly; the highway is so beautifully designed that the slope is hardly noticeable.

This descent reminded me of the descent to Mlety in the Caucasus along the Georgian Military Highway. The highway there, for 15 miles, goes along Good Mountain in endless meanders and the place from where you left at the top of the mountain hangs right above your head when you reach its bottom. There the mountains are higher and covered with snow, but here they are more picturesque and on one side they are bordered by the sea.

Having driven off three versts from the Baydar Gate, where the Yaila mountain range, due to its impenetrable immensity, was impossible to go around, an underground passage was punched in the rock. This tunnel is 20 fathoms in length, quite wide and quite consistent with the surrounding terrain and formidable rocks, piled up in chaotic disorder from the very top of Yaila to its foot.
"Memories of Crimea" by Princess Elena Sergeevna Gorchakova
http://www.bigyalta.com.ua/node/2617

In November 1941, there was a terrible battle. I knew that there was once a tunnel near the church that was blown up during the war, but I never saw his photographs. ...


Grot Foros
Near the Foros Church. Alexander Terletsky. To be remembered

Therefore, today there is an opportunity to talk about the events of November 1941 and about the hero-border guard Alexander Terletsky.

"... Then the German regiments and divisions rushed to Sevastopol, walked along highways, seeped through paths, passes and gorges, looked for any loophole - just to quickly overlay the city from land. Resort towns and villages burned along the coast, from their reflections flamed sea.
On the "Scarecrow" someone wondered:
- Oh, at the Baydarskiy gates to hold them!
- Near the tunnel?
- Sure! There you can lay down a battalion with two machine guns.
And a day later or another - I don't remember - the people of the forest house were agitated: some border guards at the Baydar Gate had done such a thing that it's hard to believe. The German motorized vanguard was detained for a whole day. There are countless corpses.
... Alexander Terletsky, the head of the Foros border outpost, was urgently summoned to the unit commander, Major Rubtsov.
- Where is your family, junior lieutenant?
- Evacuated, Comrade Major.
- Good. Take twenty border guards and come with them to me.
No one knew why they were lined up so suddenly. The unit commander personally walked around the line, looked everyone in the eye.
- We leave, and you stay. You will keep the Germans at the tunnel for a whole day. Remember - a day! And no matter how they are, keep! Who is scared - confess!
The line was silent. The commander gave time for preparation, took Terletsky aside at parting:
- If something happens, we will take care of Ekaterina Pavlovna and Sashka. Go, Alexander Stepanovich.
In the narrow gorge, distant artillery explosions are buzzing - Sevastopol is beating. On a stone patch overhanging the abyss stands a thick-walled tobacco shed made of sonorous diorite.
It's empty inside, a dry tobacco leaf is playing under the breeze, rustling. Only in the attic are voices barely audible - there are border guards.
Someone comes to the barn, knocks on the door with a butt. In response - not a sound.
An unexpected automatic burst stitches the door. Narrow beams of light from flashlights search the dark corners.
The Germans enter in a crowd. They breathe more freely, chatter, sit down.
The dawn is slowly creeping up.
The eyes from the attic counted the soldiers. There were eight of them - tall, young, without helmets, with machine guns on their bellies.
Outside the walls, bouncing on the gray stones, the mountain water rustled, the front was waking up far to the west.
New sounds began to be carefully interwoven into this already familiar noise - German cars were crawling towards the tunnel.
A burst of machine-gun fire was slashed from the attic - not a single soldier got up.
- Take away weapons, documents! - Terletsky was the first to jump from the attic. - Remove, cover with tobacco!
No trace remained, only under the breeze, as before, a dry tobacco leaf plays, rustles.
It's light. Terletsky looked at the tunnel, gasped: the night explosion was not so hot.
He showed his border guards:
- Bad job! Do you understand me?
Below the tunnel, armored personnel carriers stopped, soldiers poured out of them.
- Do you understand me? - Terletsky asked again and lay down behind the machine gun installed in the attic. - And quiet!
- Johann! - the voice from below.
- Do not shoot! A bayonet will do. The trouble, I charge you.
- Got it.
- Johann! - a voice at the very door.
The doors creaked, opened a little, a helmet appeared and immediately rolled onto the yellow tobacco leaves.
The motorized infantry approached the tunnel. The soldiers got confused and began to throw stones away.
Two machine guns hit at the same time. Those who were at the tunnel fled. Only the killed and wounded remained.
Machine guns fired at the transporters.
... A day has passed. Already in the tobacco shed there is no attic, no doors. The stone frame remained, five border guards from the Foros outpost survived.
Terletsky, black with burning, in a torn overcoat, lay behind the last machine gun.
“Ten grenades, two full discs, Comrade Commander,” reported Sergeant Bedukha.
Tanks approached. Tools - on the frame of the barn. They hit me with direct fire.
The border guards jumped out before a new volley to the ground cut off the entire right side of the barn.
... To the chief of staff of the Balaklava partisan detachment, Akhlestin, five border guards were brought in - singed, with sunken eyes, barely standing on their feet. One of them, tall, gray-eyed, putting his hand to the visor, reported:
- A group of border guards of the Foros outpost from a combat mission ... - The border guard fell.
- So you were holding the Baydar Gate? - Asked Akhlestin, raising Terletsky.
... Alexander Terletsky became the commissar of the Balaklava detachment. "
"... We went up to the road. Terletsky and two radio operators. Terletsky listened. Quiet.

Come on, - whispered and ran across the road. Radio operators are behind him. He is in the cotoneaster, on the path and then ... an explosion! We ran into a secret mine. The radio operators were killed. Terletsky fell unconscious.

In the morning, residents of the village of Baydary saw how stalwart fascists were leading a tall Soviet commander down the street in a torn, bloody overcoat, with a bandaged head.

The inhabitants of the village were herded to the commandant's office. They introduced me one by one, pointed to the shell-shocked commander, whose face had already been unbound.

Terletsky's gray eyes gazed motionlessly at the one who had been brought to him. The commandant asked the same thing:

Who is this?

They were silent, although they knew Alexander Stepanovich, whose outpost was beyond the pass by the sea. The confrontation continued the next day, this time the inhabitants of the village of Skeli answered. A thin man hastily approached with a policeman's sleeve insignia and shouted:

So this is Terletsky! The head of the Foros outpost and, of course, a partisan.
There is a lonely church not far from the Baydar Gate. There was a restaurant here before the war, tourists came here and admired the South Coast from the site behind the church.

On a cold March day, several women, in shabby clothes, with knots on their thin shoulders, huddled fearfully against the retaining wall. Below, from the direction of Yalta, a heart-rending signal was approaching a black car. Stopped. The Germans in black greatcoats pulled a barely living person out of the body. He couldn't stand. The fascists wrapped a rope around the knees of the man and dragged him to the abyss. Something was poured into his mouth and placed over the very edge. An officer and a Skele policeman came up. The officer was shouting something, pointing down to Foros, to the sea. The Skelsky policeman yelled:

Admit it, you fool! Now you will be thrown into the abyss ...

The officer took two steps back and the policeman wrapped the end of the rope around the cast-iron parapet post.

The Nazis pushed Terletsky into the abyss. Falling stones rustled. One of the women screamed and froze.


The officer looked at his watch for a long time. He waved his hand. The soldiers pulled the rope - blue bare feet appeared. Terletsky was thrown into a puddle, he moved, opened his eyes, looked intently at the women, bowed his head and began to drink greedily. They hurriedly grabbed him by the arms, lifted him up, and threw him into the car. She rushed off towards Baydar.

This is Katya's husband, our waitress. Yes, Ekaterina Pavlovna. Her son is Sashko.

Lord, what have they done to the man!

It was a clear day. The drums hit. Soldiers and policemen ran along the crooked streets. The inhabitants of Skeli were driven to the granary, on the extended mat of which a noose dangled.

Near Sevastopol cannon volleys thundered.

Terletsky was dragged down the street. Thrown under the gallows.

Another volley. Below, in the Baydar Valley, there is a cloud of thick smoke. It was hit by a naval battery. Terletsky suddenly raised his head, listened and looked for a long time at the silent crowd, then went up to the stool under the noose, pushed the executioner aside and climbed the scaffold himself.

Volleys struck with renewed power, one after another. Terletsky turned his face to the front and, mustering his last strength, shouted:

Live, Sevastopol! "(I. Vergasov" Crimean notebooks ")

After the war, Ekaterina Pavlovna Terletskaya (the hero's wife) and border guards tracked down his remains and reburied him in a park in Foros.

(I. Vergasov "Crimean notebooks")
Source http://www.rusproject.org/history/history_10/krym_terleckij

* I literally walked yesterday along the road mentioned above. During the existence of the tunnel, the road to Foros did not pass through it, but from the church towards Mount Foros, going down the serpentine and returning under the red rock and again moving away from it ... and eventually goes to the Sevastopol-Yalta highway. http://www.odnoklassniki.ru/baydarskay/album/51476252852405


Tunnel


Tunnel at the Baydarsky Gate, an old postcard from the funds of the Chekhov House-Museum in Yalta

K. Zhukov's work "Notes on the way to the southern coast of Crimea", published in St. Petersburg in 1865, is not very well known to lovers of Yalta antiquity, especially in comparison, for example, with the popular "Sketches of Crimea" by E. Markov. Nevertheless, this is a very curious document of its time, interesting for the accuracy and originality of everyday sketches. In the proposed excerpt, which tells about Yalta and its environs, the author's punctuation and, often, spelling are preserved.

In the month of May, an extraordinary movement begins in St. Petersburg. On the Neva River there are large boats, and on the streets, carts carry furniture and all kinds of household items. On the shore of Vasilievsky Island, foreign and Finnish steamers are smoking. On the railways, the number of people leaving Petersburg is increasing. It is clear that a large number of residents are in a hurry to leave the city.

One should not be surprised at such a resettlement when warm days come. After eight months of seclusion, everyone who has any means, unless they are bound by exclusive duties, leaves for a dacha, in the countryside, abroad.

Recently, travel abroad, for an educated society, has become some kind of disease, curable only if the desire to leave is realized, at all costs, at least with the undermining of the means necessary in the future. Therefore, in any circle that claims to belong to an educated society, no matter how small this circle, there will always be persons who have been or have been abroad. Meanwhile, there are very few people who have traveled around Russia and could talk about its wealth and diversity. Here it is clear, on the one hand, an indomitable enthusiasm, and on the other - striking indifference.
If we cannot admit that there are no wonderful places for curiosity and treatment in Russia, then indifference to travel around Russia does not mean that it is impossible to travel here conveniently and cheaply?

To resolve this issue, if possible, I will try to tell you how I, who left Petersburg only for Moscow, happened to go to the southern coast of Crimea.

On June 16, 1864, I hit the road. Flying by rail to the city of Ostrov, Pskov province, I rode by post office to Kiev and then to Vasilkovsky district, Kiev province. Having lived here until July 12, I went to the town of Rzhishchev, on the banks of the river. Dnieper, in order to travel by steamer, by this river and the Black Sea, to the southern coast of Crimea.

I don’t know if St. Petersburg bookstores are rich in guides to this charming part of Crimea. But, along the way, I didn't find any printed pointers. The notes of Mr. Shevelev, published in 1847, in 23 pages in 16 shares of a sheet, are very short, although one must thank for them, especially since they contain historical indications. Of course, there are scientific essays about the Crimea, but the traveler, without a scientific purpose, is looking for other details. Meanwhile, the stories of the counter faces were different, depending on the look. Some assured us that starvation awaits us; others, that one should have with oneself everything that a person who is accustomed to certain comforts of life needs, others, on the contrary, reassured, proving from experience that you can find everything you need - there would be money.

Believing that I will not be the only one in such a precarious position - which makes it especially difficult when traveling in a family, as it was with me - I dare to describe my trip to the southern coast of Crimea, in order to clarify for many the question of the convenience or inconvenience of traveling in Russia.

I won't go into details about the way from St. Petersburg to Kiev, because travel by rail and postal routes does not require explanation. The carriage rolled along the smooth, beautiful highway, and there was no shortage of horses. It is true that horses often came across exhausted from the transportation of postal stagecoaches, incessantly scurrying along the road, but still these poor animals did not refuse to serve, and I had no pretense to gallop headlong. Poor mail horses! If the belief about the transmigration of souls into animals can be realized, then, in my opinion, the poorest souls will be those who will transmigrate into Russian post horses. I will not talk about how convenient it is to get on the steamer of the Dneprovsk Shipping Company from Kiev to Cape Rzhishchev, which is one crossing, because I started a journey along the Dnieper from Cape Rzhishchev. I'll start with my departure from this place.

On July 12, 1864, at 12 noon, I boarded the Dnieper in the town of Rzhishchev, Countess Dzyalinskaya, upon the arrival of this steamer from Kiev. The steamer "Dnepr" is not entirely adapted for the convenience of passengers, which is especially experienced by the ladies, who are assigned very small cabins. It is true that, if impossible, according to the known height of the water in the river. Dnieper, to make the steamer longer, wider or higher, not one inch - as they say - it is impossible to demand special amenities. But as a steamer stops for the night near the shore, on which there is nowhere to shelter, and therefore it is necessary to spend the night in a cabin, it seems to me that the Dnieper Steamship Society would very much oblige passengers of the 1st and 2nd classes, making pull-out beds with those benches with pillows which now serve as the only refuge in every class, insufficient for men, if there are more than ten of them, and even less for ladies, or to have several folding sleeping chairs on the ship. As for food, you can get everything you need in the steamer's buffet, but at a high price for steamers. It is not bad to have with you your own tea and sugar, a travel neat and linen for the morning toilet and washing.

They talk about a noticeable shallowing of the Dnieper River. From the side of the Main Directorate of Railways, significant nobility was rendered to clear this river from stones, but the work did not reach the goal. The stones were blown up shallowly, and although the tops of the stones are not visible, they remained in place, covered with water - which makes them more dangerous.
Practical people say that by disturbing the stones in the rapids between Yekaterinoslav and Nikopol, they intensified the shallowing of the river.

The steamer is heated with wood. It is known, however, that on the way of the shipping company there is the town of Smila of Count Bobrinsky, where, or near, there is a rich coal mine, tested and heating the count's sugar factory. During the journey, a lot or stick is constantly lowered from the steamer, the end of which is painted in different colors. Sometimes the steamer, unexpectedly, stops in view of a shallow, formed by chance and unheard of. Sand deposits form shoals there. In some places, carges, which are noticed by special jets on the surface of the water, are dangerous to steamers. Here trees are known under the karzh, which are cut off from the coast and stop under water. The bottom of the steamer "Vladimir" was torn out by such a carving. It would seem that engineers should not so much work on blasting stones, which does not achieve their goal, as clear the river from carzes. Steamers cannot sail from them at night, which lengthens the time and increases the inconvenience.

The society on the ship was mixed. At the very beginning of our voyage, it began to rain. Passengers of the 1st and 2nd classes hid in the cabins, and the poor 3rd class, on the deck, felt all the burden of his open position. But, as you can see, the passengers of this class are used to it. I noticed a lady, dressed very simply, who was called the captain. She, in the pouring rain, covered with a tiny umbrella, smoked from a pipe with a long shank, releasing clouds of smoke. There were also other women smoking cigarettes. Nothing can be said against this if smoking relieves suffering and, perhaps, prevents illness. It is not easy to drive 300 or more vsrst in the rain after spending one and a half days on the deck. On the way, the steamer stops to disembark passengers, or accepts new ones. The emergence of new faces revitalizes society. Thus, we stopped at Cape Cherkasy, near the mountains. Canon, as well as Krylov, formerly Gorodishche. We came across large mast boats with luggage, here called Berlin.

Leaving Rzhishchev, as it was said, at 12 o'clock in the afternoon, we arrived the next morning, in the mountains. Kremenchug. Having time until the next day, we transported our things to another steamer, called "Kremenchug", which must be done with our own worries on a small droshky or cart, not hoping for the assistance of the steamship office, which did not prepare either people, horses or boats for this. ... Although the steamer's servant volunteered to carry it by boat, we nearly drowned in a crappy fishing boat, and we were very sorry that we trusted the carriers; moreover, it turned out to be possible to swim only to the drawbridge of the Dnieper bridge, which was not raised, and therefore it was still necessary to hire a horse, and cross the bank knee-deep in sand ourselves.

One cannot but protest against such indifference of the management of the Dnieper steamers, to the convenience of passengers from whom they take good money. No, we have largely lagged behind foreigners in this respect, and, in my opinion, no objection from the management can be substantiated. The cashier said that as if a transport carriage had been brought in, but that there were no hunters to ride in it or carry luggage; but such a weak sympathy from the public probably followed from the fact that here too the prices were set very high ...

... The horses were ready, and we moved further to the Baydar Valley, 25 miles from Balaklava. Soon, we arrived at the Baydar station, and again there were no horses, and there was no hope of getting them until late in the evening. We didn't want to drive through the picturesque Baydarskaya valley and enter the southern coast of Crimea at night. Therefore, we stayed overnight at the Baydarskaya, literally nasty, purely Tatar station, and went for a walk. Here is a Tatar village, quite populated, but so dirty in its furnishings that any poetry of the locality, which was also a pleasure here, disappeared at the sight of dirty, and even partly half-naked Tatars and their dwellings.

The first time I met a woman here, covered with a veil, through which only shining eyes could be seen. The woman was sitting on the grass and dressed decently; but immediately passed - as we saw in the Crimea for the first and last time - a young Tartar with a load of tree branches, almost naked, because the rags that covered only some parts of the body, and even then not quite, could not be attributed to what kind of clothes. Soon, it began to get dark, and we had to return to the station. Near the road, Tatar cemetery. They drove oxen along the road. Tatar carts (carts) with non-oiled wheels - which the Tatars do not accidentally, but in the order of things - made an unpleasant, unbearable creak. Some freshness began to appear in the air, but not northern, and we returned to the station house, where we settled ourselves as conveniently as possible, due to the fact that no other travelers happened.

With nothing else to do, I began to examine the stationmaster. What is the life of a stationmaster? Coachmen and horses - with whom he cannot have company - and passers-by, with whom he has nothing in common, that is the position of a stationmaster. Travelers, for the most part, try to either end the conversation by asking a few questions, or start and end with unpleasant complaints, and often with abuse and unfairness. Meanwhile, you see in front of you, very often, a young, decent man, dressed in the form of an official; near him is a sword, a sign of nobility; all the rooms in the station except him are clean and well furnished. Meanwhile, there are many married caretakers with heaps of children deprived of upbringing.

I traveled many stations in Russia and saw everywhere, not so much material needs, which can be satisfied with little, but everywhere moral poverty, making a person rubbish. At one station, early in the morning, I found the caretaker teaching his little daughter to pray. She diligently knocked her forehead on the wooden floor of the room and briskly repeated the words of the prayer "Our Father" commanded by the Savior. In Baidar, the caretaker, as if answering my thoughts, put forward, not on purpose, all kinds of his joyous life. But this is still not so bad in a southern country, where nature ennobles the senses. What is the situation in other places?

We got up early in the morning, but the fog that covered the objects made it impossible for us to leave immediately. Soon, the air cleared and we drove into the picturesque Baydar Valley. How wonderful everything is here, how little it resembles the surroundings of the Petersburg pit, where many people swarm, while here, closer to paradise, the place is so empty. There is a kingdom of people, here - birds and insects.

The Baydar Gate is approaching. Rising up the bends of the road, delighted with the surrounding views, we have to drive up to a place from which we suddenly see the entire southern coast. The royal family stopped at this point for breakfast, and, in remembrance of that, there was a gate made of stone quarried from the rocks. Indeed, when we arrived at the gate, surprise and delight were full. I will consider this moment one of the happiest in my life.

Artists, poets, come, write, sing! Before you is an endless quiet sea, near you are huge rocks, and eagles soaring above them. Below, a winding strip of highway, on the left side of the road, rocks, covered with picturesque vegetation and running, here and there, streams of the purest water; and to the right is a magnificent green velvet slope, dotted with vineyards, orchards and ending in a sea so impressionable that one does not want to look away under the influence of this wonderful view. We can say that here God threw paradise on earth in order to prepare for the concept of heavenly paradise.

And so we rolled on and on, it seemed that we were staying in the same place, because the gates - of which I said - did not get lost from sight. Meanwhile, miles are disappearing. We meet Tatars and Tatars, in local two-wheeled boxes with canopies, or horsemen galloping on horseback. Eastern-colored clothing, Muslim greetings, and the villages hanging on the rocks, all this was new to us, and the road, becoming more and more picturesque, was more and more entertaining. But here is the Kikeneiz station, from which there is only one crossing to Alupka, Prince Vorontsov, crowning the Crimea with its splendor.

It is known from the published descriptions of the Crimea that the Tatar villages, found from the Baydar Valley along the southern coast, bear Greek names that belonged to them before the resettlement of the former inhabitants, during the reign of Catherine II, to the shores of the Azov Sea. So, not far from Baydar, the village of Faros, in the middle of a wooded mountain, Mishatka, Merdven, with a stone staircase winding around the abyss; Kuchuk-koy, part of which collapsed in 1786, with houses and gardens, and formed abysses, and then Kikeneiz, with a post station of the same name.

Intending to go to Alupka, and therefore turn off the postal road, before reaching the next station, we encountered a difficulty in Kikeneiz. We were told that the driver has no right to turn off the road, but that we can, having reached the next station, take private horses there to Alupka. It was clear that there was only one landlord at both stations, and that this oppression was nothing more than a desire to rip off the mail runs from us and for a private return several miles to Alupka.

Seeing such a Jewish calculation, we decided to test whether it would be possible to hire a horse or a porter for suitcases on the road, and we ourselves prepared to reach Alupka, from the main road, on foot, which is not a big deal. Of course, we risked packing our bags on the road; but it turned out that "the devil is not so terrible as he is painted," and our driver was tempted by the offered fifty dollars, and, turning off the road, brought us to Alupka to the hotel itself.

Here we are in Alupka. But before describing the poetic side of this delightful orphanage, let's get down to the arrangement of our abode. We need to take a breath from the impressions that did not leave us.

Prince Vorontsov, so famous for its many-sided excellent qualities, made Alupka an object of curiosity for travelers. Everyone who had the opportunity to be in this direction, or on purpose, went to Alupka, and it was necessary to arrange a refuge in order to provide the opportunity to stay in this hospitable corner, without the owner's embarrassment. I don’t know who the idea of \u200b\u200bthe hotel belongs to: the prince, father or son, the current owner of Alupka, but the fact is that you find a hotel here, very clean, equipped with comfortable, good furniture and dishes from the prince. I heard that it was leased, but, unfortunately, to the Frenchman, who remained, probably from the tail of the French army, in which he, as one might suppose, served, at the stable, or in the camp at the redant.

He has his own staff: 1, his wife, the mistress, who is obliged to make false, increased accounts and represent a model of French female illiteracy; 2, maiden N, his or his wife's sister, cook, laundress, dishwasher and hotel companion, in a word, of all trades, and 3, in one person, doorman, footman and janitor who served in the French army with donkeys, therefore borrowed from there are a lot of donkeys who lost their handkerchiefs, if they were, during the siege of Sevastopol. The question is, how could the Frenchman deserve attention, and why exactly did he get an advantage over the lease seekers?

We have occupied very nice rooms here, and before the walk we found it necessary to explain about dinner. No matter how the hostess covered up her insolvency, one could guess that she had neither reserves nor money, and that we would have to borrow the poetry of the area and imagine ourselves as incorporeal spirits living in paradise. However, there was no refusal, and the hostess spoke the names of different dishes with such dignity that one could get enough from the variety of tempting sounds. Having entrusted ourselves to the patronage of fate, we went for a walk.

Before us is the sea, and on the shore is Alupka with its palace, an Orthodox church, in the form of the Pantheon, a mosque and such vegetation that it resembles all the countries of the world. Cypresses, olives, lianas, oranges, flowers of all kinds, scattered everywhere, and in the garden: grottoes, hermitages, ponds, etc. We did not know where to start, and we limited ourselves, for the first time, to a general survey, how much the tormenting heat allowed and fatigue from the mail ride.

We return to the hotel hungry, with an appetite capable of swallowing all the kingdoms of nature. A table d'hotel was served in the dining room, and the servant, who had turned his dirty blouse, with the dexterity of an almost military man, handed us a dinner menu: 1. potage a la reine; 2.saute aux roynons and 3.roastbeef a I'anglaise. What is more? We were fed as badly as one would expect in a hotel setting that was not devoid of visitors. In the dining room, we found a Russian merchant traveling across the Crimea in his carriage with a long-skirted clerk-lackey. The merchant warmly began to talk to us about the owner of the hotel. He scolded for being fed with kidney soup, the only dish he got, and pointed to the samovar standing in front of him as his savior, from which he, in a woeful mood of spirit, blew the tenth glass of tea.

Soon, the venerable merchant withdrew from the anchor, and so frankly, with such details, which, however, did not go beyond decency, scolded the Frenchwoman that she should remain satisfied if she understood at least one quarter of the cute epithets.

I regret that I did not accustom myself to expressing feelings, and there were so many of them in Alupka. A wonderful southern and, moreover, moonlit night has come. The air here is so quiet, soft and fragrant that all the senses were in some kind of especially pleasant mood. Maybe, as a Petersburger, a resident of such a city where everyone is busy, even those who have nothing to do, the very freedom and rest contributed, to a certain extent, to a fascination with a new personal position, but I in no way agree that the same sensations would be possible in this new position of mine, in another place, less charming.

Far from the coast, stood a Greek ship, the only object in the limitless expanse of water, illuminated by the moon. This ship arrived here to retrieve from the bottom of the sea the fragments of the steamer "Yenikol" that sank here during the storm.

Tatars, as inhabitants of the south, are content with very little to feed. I don’t know how the richer of them lived, many of whom dropped out during the recent eviction from Crimea; I saw the remnants of the Tatar population, ordinary people, workers. Someone called all the Tatars, both those who left and those who remained, rubbish, and, as it seems, this is true, because the Tatars have inhabited Crimea for many years, and the latter does not represent progress. It can be assumed that the rich Tatars in their way of life did not outstrip their poor brethren. Tatars eat excellent lamb, but rarely, because it is not cheap, and besides, here, in the south, meat does not constitute such a demand as it is in the north. The main dish of the Tartar is millet gruel, with sour milk, katyk, and nothing more. Unfortunately, I noticed that our Russian civilization has taken root here too, which should not have been grafted.

I'll tell you about my remark. Tatars day laborers were hired at the hotel to have dinner at the time we returned for our dinner. On the stone that served as their dining table was a piece of sitnago bread and a bottle of vodka. I asked: how long ago had Mohammed allowed to drink wine? The Tatar replied that the Koran forbids drinking wine, and that he would not take a drop in his mouth for a thousand rubles, but that vodka is not forbidden, because it is not wine. This is no longer naive, but cleverly invented, I thought, and I guessed that the great teacher in this case was, of blessed memory, a brilliant farmer, and then the common signs everywhere for drinks and takeaways, which adorn all entrances and exits. It was sad, entering the county and provincial cities, to read such signs at every step and even sadder to meet them on the southern coast of Crimea.

The poetry of the morning replaced the poetry of the evening. We went to inspect Alupka. The house of Prince Vorontsov is from the outside an example of Moorish architecture, as close as possible to the nature of this area, where a building in a different style would not be consistent with the character of the surrounding dwellings. Inside the prince's house, the connection of the east with the west is so well sustained that the latter does not destroy the first. The view from the house, its furnishings, and all the little things show what taste guided the owner and what means he possessed.

When we walked around the garden, where we were so well able to take advantage of the generally rich nature and the stone masses cut off from the mountains, it seemed to us that we were in some magical place. The grotto, under the rock, a cliff to which a staircase leads; ponds with clear water and many clearly visible fish; swans, cascades, silk trees, oranges, oranges, la-vras, olives, lemons, pomegranates, roses of all kinds, magnificent magnolias, cypresses, poplars, palms, grapes, figs, cedars, volosh nuts, tobacco, tropical vegetation, etc. , all this together represents such a wealth that astonishes the steppe dweller. And how many objects have hidden from our eyes; how many are there for the owner's personal pleasure and enjoyment.

The heat, inevitable with the approach of noon, made us rush to swim. For this, a place was chosen by the rock, which is not entirely convenient for those who do not swim; besides, the bottom is rocky here, so it's unpleasant to walk without shoes. But all this is disposed of when entering the water. One must, however, certainly have shoes for bathing, which are sold in Odessa, but which are better made from thick camel cloth, in the form of a sock, tied with ribbons. This cloth is soft, withstands more straw plaits - what I saw in Odessa - and after squeezing it dries up soon.

Alupka is visited mainly on Sundays by the residents of Yalta, and there are crews there, which will be discussed below. But on weekdays Alupka is not devoid of visitors.

Looking at the heights of the mountains, over which the eagles soar, and seeing the cross on the mountain, you want to find out what is there, beyond the mountains, and to your surprise you find out that beyond the mountains is a steppe surface, and there is neither the vegetation nor the air that southern coast of Crimea.

Our dinner that day was more abundant. The owner of the hotel, having received some money, bought meat, bread, etc. and fed us with great attention. Unfortunately, the lackey's blouse has not been reborn, and his habits: taking a glass with his nasty fingers in it, and taking flies out of the cream with the same five, remained ignorant. But we, on the road, often encountering such habits, managed to remove the participation of a dirty servant, who, as if in a mockery, appointed him to the French swineherds, finally elevated to the level of a lackey of a Russian hotel.

May the reader forgive me for preoccupying him with such details; but I want to save him from the caresses of the plucked Fratsuz, who seem to have their origin from Judea, which there is no doubt, when considering the type of family of the innkeeper, and the ability to trade without capital, which is the most capable of the Jewish tribe.

After lunch, we went to the village of Alupka, which is near the prince's house and represents a row of flat roofs with Tatars, Tatars and Tatar women sitting on them. The Tatar woman was digging in the garden, and, seeing my wife, with a smile handed her a cucumber, and when she accepted it with gratitude, the Tatar wanted to repeat her courtesy. There are women here without veils, but maybe because they are at home; however, afterwards we met many women and girls, here in Alupka, but outside the village, and all of them were without veils. We did not enter the inside of the sakles, but, as you can see, we did not lose much from that. We wanted to preserve a pleasant impression and not break it.

Near the village there is a market with several shops and a mosque. The old mullah entered the minaret and shouted the call to prayer in a very pleasant voice. With the permission of the mullah, and one can say at the invitation of all the Tatars who were at the mosque, we entered it. Many icon lamps descend from the ceiling; the floor is covered with mats and in some places carpets. Ahead, there is a small depression in the wall, in which is hung some kind of rag, sacred because it was taken out of Mecca, from the tomb of Mohammed.

In front of this rag, the mullah, sitting on his knees, recited prayers, which were repeated by all those present, sitting in the same position. Every Muslim, entering the mosque, siimal his shoes and made bows, pressing his hands to different parts of the body, and then prostrated himself. They all prayed very humbly, and each one separately; but afterwards, the prayer became common, or the repetition of the mullah's words. There were moments of such concentration of the prayers in themselves that I wondered if they had fallen asleep.

The Tatar costume is very beautiful in the front, but not beautiful in the back. At the reservoir, we saw several young women and girls, very pleasant appearance. They have good eyes; but dyeing hair and teeth makes them unpleasant. They spank with their shoes, and this makes the gait unsteady and incorrect. I noticed skew-legged Tartars, probably from the awkward sitting on their feet. A group of women and girls by the pond complemented the picture of the eastern setting. When we drew level with one separate sakley, we saw a clever young Tatar galloping up. He jumped off the saddle at the feet of his girlfriend, very pretty and graceful, who was expecting him with a smile. Then a lively speech rained down, and the young beautiful couple disappeared into the sakla. This dating scene is etched in my memory.

But enough for Alupka; we must move further to Yalta. Prince Vorontsov, taking care of the convenience of travelers, allowed to turn a beautiful cart into a modest stagecoach and a very pretty 8-seater stagecoach in the Tatar style came out, but on springs and with oiled wheels. When we hired a stagecoach in order to have stops at Apiyanda and Livadia, the coachman agreed with us, who asked for such an exception to the rules up to 6 rubles, assuring that he would not give anyone a place in this box except us. Therefore, we believed that the price depends on the arbitrariness, although the hotel also posted a fee. But before our departure, the clerk came to us, who took by position 3 p. for four places, and 1 p. for the luggage and announced that we would not have enough time to stop, but we would go alone, in the absence of other passengers. The coachman was not appointed the one who wanted to deceive us, and thus we experienced by experience that it was not necessary to apply to individuals, but directly to the prince's office.

Leaving Alupka on July 31, at 4:25 pm, after lunch, we arrived in Yalta at 7 pm. The whole road is an endless garden with wonderful views of the mountains and rocks. Everywhere streams of the purest water flow down from the mountains into arranged reservoirs and from there into the vineyards across the road. Here and there the pleasant noise of the cascades. Having passed the picturesque estates of Maltsev, Kochubei, Princess Meshcherskaya, Naryshkin and then Ariyanda the Great Prince Konstantin Nikolaevich and the upper and lower Livadia of Empress Mariya Alexandrovna, as well as the estate of Korsakov and beautiful dachas near Yalta itself, we arrived here, delighted with the road.

Yalta, a small district town. Here a fast stream rolls down from the mountains and flows into the sea. At the top, there is a beautiful Orthodox church. At the entrance to the city, on the side from which we entered, below along the coast there are: the barracks of garrison soldiers, the still unfinished house for the persons of the Imperial Family, the hotel of Franz Sobes, the customs and the hotel of Galakhov Hotel de la cote; the best house in Yalta. We ask the coachman where they stay more, and he points to the French hotel, saying that Galakhovskaya is better, but there are many insects. Bargaining with the French begins. They asked twice: 3 r. for every dirty room; moreover, there was no shortage of French chi-canes, as on the other, they agreed to take for two rooms on the first day 6 rubles, on the second 5 rubles. and in the third 4, and stop there.

When we decided to leave, the Frenchman lost for 3 rubles. two rooms or two rooms. Such a concession, however, was nothing more than an accident, which would not have followed if the Frenchman knew that at the moment of our agreement, in the Galakhov hotel, all the rooms were occupied for the retinue of the Great Prince Mikhail Nikolaevich expected from the Caucasus. Of course, in Yalta, as I noticed later, there are apartments; but perhaps we would not have given them for a few days, or we might not have a servant.

Yalta is a very small town on the coast of the bay; the coast forms a semicircle, and the city is very beautiful from a distance, because, behind and around it, there are magnificent mountains, covered with wonderful vegetation, and the sea. If we look at the houses separately, then all of them, except for the Galakhov hotel, do not deserve attention. Such a city, in a different locality, would be called trashy, in all fairness. They say that when the city of Yalta needed to arrange a hospital, there was no room, and that this happened from the seizure of the city land by adjacent owners who, having legalized, albeit incorrect plans, had proof of ownership, while the city, which did not care about the plan, was too learned late about the seizure of his land.

The hostile invasion left several plucked French blouses in the Crimea. The hotel house also belongs to the rough blouse who has made a huge fortune over the years. He, having now given his house to his fellow countrymen, for the hotel, is himself engaged in trade or the maintenance of horse carriages. They say that the store with various goods located in his house also belongs to him, which can be assumed by the high cost, which is possible in the absence of competition. The hotel is run by the French: one who runs the household, and the other, the fattest man who prepares food. This triumvirate holds visitors in its hands, and picking pockets is genius.

If some clever pyc merchant decided to compete, it would be difficult now to knock these vampires out of the position that provides a means of sucking the blood of travelers increasing every year. Indeed, they knew how to dissolve the rumor about bedbugs in the Galakhov hotel, while in a French hotel, not only bedbugs, but also other animals, not excluding the owners and servants, did not enter the fable. It is a long time to wait for the decline of our attachment to everything foreign, and for a long time to learn our art dealers to satisfy the needs of the public with little means.

There is a boulevard on the shore, but without trees, because here, under the influence of the sun, in an open place, there is no vegetation. There are also baths for men and women, separated by small wooden booths on the shore, and several boards, under water and on the water. The water here, in Yalta, too, contrary to expectation, was cold, and there were a lot of sharp stones at the bottom, so there was no way to walk without shoes, and there were cases of large cuts in the legs. But despite the unevenness of the water, which became warmer and colder, swimming here is very useful and pleasant. The more often you swim, the more you want to continue. In early August in St. Petersburg, there are few or no hunters to swim, and in Yalta and other places on the southern coast of the Crimea, the best months for swimming are September and October, and even November, but not always. During these months grapes ripen, and in general an abundance of fruits.

We went in the evening for a walk along the boulevard. In the middle there were musicians, Czechs, two men and one woman. The music is not bad, but very modest for the boulevard, where a significant number of people gather, and it would be even more. But here any music can be replaced by the harmonious melody of the evening breeze, the fresh air, and the surf of waves scattering near the coastal stones. On the same evening, a steamer of the same name sailed to the city of Kerch, and music was playing on it. Passengers were transported to the steamer from the shore by boat, due to the impossibility of arranging a dock near the shore itself and the high cost of a breakwater, the arrangement of which, it seems to me, would spoil the picture of the bay.

The moon, emerging from behind the clouds, illuminated infinity, and disposed us to dreams. Interrupting them, we went to the bazaar, which in the evening, in the southern darkness, illuminated by lanterns displayed by fruit sellers, is quite picturesque. The merchants here are mostly Greeks. There are also many Tatars offering riding horses, and several Russian shops with various goods, such as sugar, tea, coffee, butter, candles, etc. There are several bakeries, one of which is German. It seems to me that a city cannot exist without a German bakery. In Vitebsk I stopped at a shop, where I noticed rolls of a familiar look, and it turned out that the rolls were German. In other cities, we have noticed the same. Therefore, I can assume that the Germans took over the all-Russian bakery trade.

In early August, in Yalta, there were no good fruits. Early jelly grapes - what happened from the cold in 1864, after the onset of spring warmth; pears, plums, and apples sold for the pounds turned out to be bad and expensive. Liked some figs. As for the melons, they were delicious, from Sevastopol, but they are called here by peasants, as a very common fruit. And here in the north, - I thought, - a melon occupies an honorable, expensive place.

The morning of August 1st was as good as the previous days. Redeemed, - in shoes, prepared for 75 kopecks. for a couple of the bathhouse watchman - we drank tea in the garden, or rather the hotel garden, in the gazebo entwined with vines. The southern coast was visible in the distance. The heights of the mountains were covered, as if by steam from the clouds descending on them, which, little by little disappearing, revealed the mountains in all their splendor. The sun illuminated several streams falling from the mountains, and the greenery had such a wonderful color that if it were not for the heat that was increasing in our shelter, we would have admired the picture of the coast for a long time. Unfortunately, the heat here is very tiring, and there are hours of the day when time is wasted, because it is impossible to walk under the scorching southern sun and do anything because of the heat. However, in 1864, there was not the same heat as the local area.

My hat was covered with a white turban bought in Odessa. The ends were pulled down to the shoulders, which protected the head and neck from the sun. I did not give my physiognomy anything special through this bandage, and did not in any way think of serving as an object of special attention, but it turned out that way. Several beautiful and elegant young people came to Yalta from St. Petersburg. They rode Tatar horses, dressed decently for horse riding and hiking. But they lacked such turbans as I had, and in Yalta it was impossible to get them.

However, there is no incorrigible evil in the world, and happiness or self-satisfaction returns as soon as it leaves. We saw the next morning that the cavalcade set out for a walk with white muslin stripes on their hats, so that the ends flew through the air. The residents of the hotel immediately called the young people brides. I advise the reader not to tie such ribbons to the hat, but it is better to lower a white cambric shawl from under the hat - which is closer to the goal is not funny, and what the British do wherever the sun beats.

On August 1, after lunch, when the heat began to give way to pleasant coolness, we drove to Arianda, the estate of the Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich, on the southern coast of Crimea. The terrain is majestically wild, but the artificial purity of roads, paths and areas, and in general art at every step, destroyed that wild charm that was so used in Alupka. There is a lot of taste and luxury in the palace. The flower garden is beautiful; rotunda on the rock. But no matter how hard the builders and gardeners tried to decorate the area, the best decoration of Apianda will be the wild beauty of the surrounding mountains, and the sea, the view of which is most delightful to be seen in the Grand Duke's Palace.

Returning from Arianda, we stopped at Livadia, the estate of the Empress Empress Martia Alexandrovna, which formerly belonged to the Potocki family, probably counts. The palace is being rebuilt; but we were not deprived of the opportunity to see some rooms, so that - one might say - were in the palace. When all the alterations and restructuring, as well as new buildings are completed, then of course Livadia will be one of the most elegant shelters for health improvement and recreation. The church, which is finally finished, was built in the Byzantine style. Italian artists work here, who are alien to Byzantine painting, which does not prevent them from fulfilling the order, with great skill, of course, according to these samples. All works are supervised by the architect Monighetti.

But it was getting dark and it was necessary to return to our hotel. Our rooms seemed disgusting, after those seen in palaces, and our amenities were pitiful, but bought not cheaply. But even such a luxury, which we saw in palaces, could weigh on us. The royal vineyards are not a small decoration of the described dachas and, probably, deliver a large collection of this pleasant fruit, useful for health and for winemaking.

Upon returning to Yalta, swimming again, again evening on the seashore, again surf. The wind intensified, and a large swell began, which was explained by a distant storm at sea, although rare in August, but still possible. In the city, between the policemen, movement, running around began, and on the shore near the boat pier we noticed a gathering. They were expecting the arrival of the Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich, which was known by telegraph; and it was ordered to prepare rooms at the Galakhov hotel for the Grand Duke suite. There was a military parade in the bay, where you could see something in common with the preparations on the shore. The next day, August 2, we saw a marina decorated with flowers - which of course was more noticeable during the day, and on the city buildings there were prepared scales and bowls.

On August 2, in the evening, signals began on the military steamer, and in the evening, with great sea waves, the steamer arrived with the Grand Duke and his retinue. Soon after the boats approached the shore, the Grand Duke left for one of the Imperial dachas, and the promenade continued in the illuminated city, which, as it seemed to me, could hardly have done more with his means. I liked the fact that the Grand Duke, who had the honor to decorate the pages of national history with the final conquest of the Caucasus, the first reception, expressing gratitude and devotion, made the town very small and poor, but sympathetic to the great event no less than other big cities.

When it became known about the conquest of the Caucasus, I was in Malossia, and I saw that this event made a great impression. Later, when I sailed along the Dnieper and the Black Sea, the Caucasian event was the first subject of conversation between persons traveling on steamers. Immediately, people appeared who had goals and views of the Caucasus calling for their localities, unusually rich in nature and promising to serve as a golden fleece for trade and manufactories. With the arrival of the Grand Duke, Yalta revived even more. The Grand Duke and his entourage visited the city.

On the 3rd of August, the bathing amazed me. In the morning, at 7 o'clock, it was eight degrees in the water, and thirteen at 8 o'clock. The pleasure of bathing was inexpressible despite the freshness of the water. You don't need to stay in the water for a long time. It is enough to dip two or three times in cold water, or stay up to 10 minutes in water when it is warm. Bathing in the sea - I am talking about the Black Mope - in water subject to constant change and having a great impact force is not suitable for weak-chested and suffering from colds. For them, it is better to take in the same sea, but in Odessa, warm baths, which I spoke about in my place. To protect hair from the influence of sea water, the so-called sea soap is used. If sea water has too much effect, that is, it produces on the body, not only itching, due to a small rash, but causes wounds, boils, etc., then it is very useful to rub the body, before swimming, with the yolks of chicken eggs.

Walking into my room, I could not help but admire the friendliness with which the French triumvirate robbed its guests. - How could a rude blouse make himself a huge fortune in a town so small if he did not possess insolence. His successor no longer walks in a blouse, but his manners and appearance prove that they are brothers both in the land where they began, and in character. I will not say about the third, which is completely dependent on the belly, and I am afraid that someday, standing at a hot stove, it will melt and completely deprive it of the opportunity to unravel its properties.

Wanting to survey the surroundings before leaving, we went on horseback to the Uchan-su waterfall, behind the Greek village of Autkoy. We set out in the morning, on Tatar horses, with Tatar saddles and a Tatar guide. The road to the mountains is picturesque, and the further we went deep into the thicket of the forest and approached the waterfall, the wilder the area became. In some places there are paths on the very cliffs, so that, at last, we were forced to leave our horses and continue on foot. One must be surprised at the Tatar horses, how they are accustomed to walking in the mountains. In some places, an intelligent animal walks completely vertically, and in others, on narrow paths, it stops, knocks with its foot, whether a stone or earth is firmly held, and then steps. Without such horses, it is impossible to drive up to the waterfall. They say that the Tatars are lazy and lead into such a wilderness, shortening the road, but that it is more convenient to drive.

Uchan-su waterfall should be magnificent after rains, when there is a lot of water; but when we were here, the water descended vertically, along a stone, level, sheer cliff, in small quantities, and therefore we did not find a noisy, roaring waterfall, with water dust, as it should be at other times. But we were at a great height, we saw all of Yalta and the sea, which has no end in its infinity. Arianda, Livadia, Mashtar, Autka - all this was visible. In view of Autki, the ruins of a fortress dating back to antiquity In Outka there is a Greek church, with a very aged priest. It was impossible not to notice that there are many taverns in this picturesque area.

On our return to Yalta, we met Academician Makarov, who seems to be in the military service, who showed us several of the surrounding views he had shot, such as the city of Yalta and the Uchansu waterfall. After Aivazovsky, all art will seem weak, and I cannot say that Mr. Makarov's paintings and drawings made an impression. Looking at the artist's work and not finding in it what the eye saw in the pictures of nature, I come to the idea that it is impossible to convey correctly what for which neither the art of painting nor the ability to describe the visible is enough.

On 5 August we decided to leave Yalta in a carriage hired from Sobes to Simferopol. It was a very comfortable chaise with six seats, including a driver's seat. But the horses turned out to be crappy. They bargained for a long time, and finally, they hired cheaper than what the owner of the only, but very pretty ekinage, Tatar, the only competitor of Sobes asked for. We were supposed to arrive in Simferopol the next day, after an overnight stay in Alushta. The weather was fine, calm, but without the sun, which appeared then when it could not disturb.

Driving along a picturesque road, we passed the estates: Isleneva, Mordvinov, Nikitsky Botanical Garden of the Department of State Property, which should not be left unattended; which we could not do due to the circumstances - the estate of Aydanil and Massandra of Prince Vorontsov, Gurzuf, at the foot of Yaila and Ayudag, in ancient times, Cape Kriumetonon. From here you can see the mountain Chatyr-Dag (Shater-Mountain), in ancient times Trepezus, the highest in the Crimea, where there is constant snow in the gorges. In addition, we passed the estates of Gagarin and Fundukley. If the view of the sea and the wonderful coast from Baydar to Yalta can be called picturesque, then the road from Yalta to Alushta deserves the same name.

We can say that the entire southern coast is one common row with mountains, rocks, winding roads, streams, forests, vineyards and summer cottages, each of which, connecting around itself vegetation that requires care, is surrounded at the same time by wild terrain, which has its own special vegetation. In general, the vegetation here is amazing. There are operational trees in Miskhor, with Volosh nuts, which we call walnuts, so huge that one tree, giving the shadow of a whole circle, feeds three families with its fruits, that is, it provides so much income through the sale of fruits that three families have an annual sustenance. In the estate of Funduklea, we saw a camellia so huge that the flowers that covered it are counted in thousands, but even here this tree, for the winter months, is covered with boards, of which something like a barn is made. In the Massandra of Prince Vorontsov, tobacco is not inferior to Turkish and the wine is excellent.

Finally, we come to the Tatar village of Alushta, from where, turning to Chatyr-Dag, we part with the southern coast ...

The car pulled away - and behind the back,
With semi-family naval antiquity,
Beaten off by the dust, Sevastopol disappeared.
And the gaze - with an impatient string:
Hurry to the sea tossed in a wave,
To disgrace in front of a magnificent country
With all the deafening height
And cypress and poplar!
We fly - and as if the Crimea withered,
We fly - and, as if in hoops,
We are circling in the ridge waiting:
Will the swing soon pull the waves?
We fly - and right on the shoulders
Lumps of rocks ... Touch - and fuck!
We fly, teasing fear, -
Now under the mountains, now on the mountains, -
And if only the distant shimmer of the sea!
The censure is already ready for Crimea ...
We fly, we fly ... Dusty dust is frolicking.
We fly, we fly - and in a hurry
Into the span of the gate and - oh! And - ah!
Oh! - And in open eyes
The spaces are brilliant in scope,
Spaces sea exclamation!

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More poems:

1. The gate creaks all day, the glass in the window rattles. The raven rises heavily against the wind and, unable to withstand the roll, waving it off somehow, rushes in the wind instantly into a ravine full of darkness! Leaning against the fence ...
2. Here it is, the wave element, In restless draft glory! As if running, pouring, Wants to meet me. But the pavement of Moscow life dragged me into its temper, That is just about from the sea ...
3. In the mountains it rains, in the mountains the gray sky, In the mountains the mountains rumble over the mountains, The stream thunders, yesterday only which was snow, The clays, solid yesterday, rumble. And it's easy for us! Above us the sun chute ...
4. You are all wrapped up in a fluffy fur coat, In a serene dream, quiet down, you lie. The radiant air does not blow like death, This transparent, white silence. In an imperturbable deep calm, No, I was not looking for you in vain ...
5. "Graf von der Palen". - Hands on shoulders. Eye to eye, mouth blue - bloodless. - “As to myself. Let the fear disappear. Graf von der Palen. I absolutely believe! "...
6. More than once with you in a foreign land, where white houses are white over the sea, we dreamed: we would live here, as if in paradise, taking only our relatives with us books. Or in the steppes, seeing ...
7. Someone recently told us about the lazy Fedot. All day he slumbers in a hammock with an umbrella in his hand. Fedot is called to the garden, He says: - Reluctance ... - Says: - I'll go later, - And yawns under ...
8. "For the heat of the soul, wasted in the desert ..." Lermontov Also, like Gulliver, I sewn to you by the force of love, and in this cold, uninhabited forgive me my sorrows! No, not for you a random lot ...
9. Words fly in book-distributors. I wander in the word stores. Suddenly the word will sing like a nightingale - I run to the stairs as soon as possible, And before me the word is like a corridor, Like a journey under a stormy moon ...
10. And it will come - the hour of accomplishment, And behind the moon in its turn The circle of daily rotation of the tired Earth will close. And, having laid bare the silvery Rocks in the depths of the sleeping ores, From the poles, ice-rich masses ...
11. Mendeleev taught that it is necessary to look more seriously at the North. - Russia, - he said, - would not know used Tsushima, If only the Northern Route! The scientist did not live ... His instructions, His predictions came true. Persistent ...
12. Angel, guardian of my days, I sat with a lamp in the room. He kept my abode, where I lay and was sick. Exhausted by illness, From my comrades far away, I dozed. And one after another Pre ...
13. That evening, a fog arose over the Neva! .. And the city of Peter Smelled with his head In a white cloak of silver ... And immediately, for a start, With a languid cry, in the distance, Slipped and fell ...
14. You saw a city, All flooded with daylight, And a silk dress in a quiet house, And relatives of a voice. Perhaps the juicy moons Twinkle fruits over the river, Perhaps a clear ripeness In vain we ...
15. I love you in far car, In a yellow room nimbus of fire. Like a dance and like a chase, You fly through me at night. I love you - black from the light, Straight ...

You are now reading the verse of the Baydarskiye Vorota by the poet Kazin Vasily Vasilievich

Baydarskaya Valley is a charming and lovely place in the southwestern Crimea. Even the toponym Baydar-Ova confirms what has been said: Paydar in the Turkic languages \u200b\u200bis magnificent, excellent, Ova is a valley.

The old road from Sevastopol to Yalta has been preserved here; it crosses the valley and through a shallow gorge goes to the Baydarsky pass (527 m above sea level). To the west of the Baydar Gate, the spurs of the Chelyabi peak (655 m) rise with a rocky cliff protruding to the south - Mount Foros (563 m) or Razryv-mountain, to the east Mount Chhu-Bair (705 meters).

In 1787, having made an exceptionally difficult and long journey of 5657 versts for those times (14 carriages, 124 pairs of sleighs were involved, the retinue reached 3000 people), her Imperial Majesty Catherine II visited here. Route her travel in Crimeaunfortunately (due to the lack of developed roads) did not include the entire South Coast, however, following from Balaclavas towards Karasubazar (now Belogorsk), the empress nevertheless climbed to the then wild pass Baydar-bogaz and literally "out of the corner of her eye" looked into the fabulous country, which she later called the "best pearl" of her crown ... Years later , when the pass was already fully equipped, and the road from Yalta to Sevastopol did not seem to be a serious obstacle for trips in carriages, Emperor Nicholas I also visited here. It was he who called the Baydar Pass "Russian Simplon", firmly and decisively putting an equal sign between the recognized landscape beauties of the Alps and was just entering the tourist fashion of the Russian aristocracy of Gorny Crimea.

The road passing through the pass was built by order of the Governor of Novorossiya M.S. Vorontsov, built under the leadership of engineer-colonel Slavich.

Military builders and Russian soldiers were involved in the construction of the road. Construction work was repeatedly interrupted (in 1830-1831 due to plague and cholera epidemics), accompanied by human casualties (in 1834, a mountain collapse occurred at the pass, under which four soldiers-builders died ...). But still, in spite of everything, the road was built. ...

In memory of the completion of construction in 1848, according to the project of the architect K.I. Eshliman, a stone arch was erected at the pass point, which has survived to our time - Baydar Gate, a kind of "pa-radny" entrance to Southshore... From an architectural point of view, the Baydar Gate is a portico made of blocks of limestone mined here with a complex cornice, flanked by semi-columns and covered with an entablature. On the sides of the portico there are rectangular curbstones made of limestone and giving a monumental look to the Gate. A staircase leads to the viewpoints at the top of the propylaea.

The Baydarskiy Pass is not the highest in Crimea, but the strip of the South Coast is quite narrow here and the sea approaches the very foot of the mountain cliffs and rocks. And, of course, the view from this pass is perhaps the most spectacular and impressive. And the most unexpected one.

The road had just climbed the comparatively gentle northern slopes of the Main Ridge, winding through the mountain forest like an elegant green tunnel. And here, on the pass, the horizon suddenly opened up. Ahead, wherever the eye can see, the sea sparkles and shimmers, deep below is a green carpet of gardens, parks and vineyards; the church on the cliff complements this picturesque picture and, as if on guard of all this beauty, like giants, the masses of steep and torn rocks hang.

Of course, this view will hardly leave anyone indifferent - and even more creative people, people of art who have been here: artists, poets, writers, musicians.

The road winds. Thickets, valleys ... A cloudless and fervent day is burning.

We go on a long road without rest, And suddenly I hear: Baydars!

I looked - the gate ... Two desert rocks, And then? Next ... Or is it a charm ?!

These enthusiastic, wonderful lines belong to the outstanding Ukrainian poetess Lesya Ukrainka (L.P. Kosach-Kvitka).

In 1890, while in the Crimea, the terminally ill poetess traveled a lot, drawing inspiration for her creativity and, probably, vitality from the Crimean nature. In the same year, on her way from Sevastopol to Yalta, she also visited Baidars. Baydars conquered her, this poem was born, which later entered the poetic cycle Crimean memoirs.

Modest Mussorgsky wrote the piano piece "Baydary".

Polish poet Adam Mickiewicz, author of the amazing cycle "Crimean Sonnets", which became the crown of his trip to Crimea in the summer of 1825, dedicated one of the sonnets to these places. I. Bunin was very fond of these lines, which prompted him to study the Polish language.

Baydarskaya valley.

I ride like a madman on a mad horse:

Valleys, rocks, woods flashing before me,

Changing like wave in wave after wave ...

I love to revel in that whirlwind of images!

But the horse was exhausted. Silently pouring on the ground

Mysterious haze from darkening skies

And before tired eyes everything rushes

That whirlwind of images - valleys, rocks, forest ...

Everything sleeps, I can't sleep - and to the sea

I run away:

Here, with a noise, the black shaft approaches: greedily I

I bow down to him and stretch out my hands ...

It splashed, it closed: chaos brought me -

And I, like a steaming boat in the abyss, wait,

That my thought will taste even for a moment of oblivion.

And the famous Russian journalist Uncle Gilyay, the Moscow reporter and poet Vladimir Gilyarovsky expressed his feelings no less emotionally:

And above us, and below us,

Now the azure, then the sea is steel -

With clouds and waves

Pearlescent distance ...

We rush down the road

Intoxicating aroma

Gemstone prism

They burn in the sunshine.

Gemstones are not only a poetic image. In the southern cliff of the mountain with the half-forgotten name of Yaurn-Chaurn-Beli, underground balls were discovered, once filled with Icelandic spar (and this is the same caplcite, but only colorless, transparent and having the ability to refract light in two ways). When studying vein calcite, voids were found in it. The fact that crystals of transparent minerals sometimes contain "prisoners" - voids with a liquid in which a gas bubble floats, was known even in ancient times: “... like a hostage, a drop lurks in it. This water gives a special value to the crystal, "wrote the Roman poet Octavius \u200b\u200bClaudian.

Once, in the old days, clear crystals of Icelandic from a vein, unfortunately, now depleted, were sold here.

The most consonant with the solemn beauty of these places are the wondrous lines of the poet A.K. Tolstoy, who lived in Melas. He passed the pass with his bride Sofya Andreevna in 1865.

The fog rises at the bottom of the rapids

Among the midnight chill

Wild cumin smells stronger

Waterfalls are thundering more audibly.

How dazzling the moon is!

How mountains are outlined tops!

In the silvery gloom is visible

Below is the Baydar Valley.

Heaven is shining above us

Blacker is the void before us,

The glittering dew trembles

Large tears on the leaves ...

It is easy for the soul: I do not hear

The shackles of earthly existence,

No fear, no hope

What will be in the future, what was before -

I don't care - and what me

Always, like a chain, pulled to the ground,

Everything disappeared with the anxiety of the day,

Everything sank in the moonlight ...

Where is the thought carried away,

What does she see so drowsily?

Is it not in a magic dream

Are we driving together along the cliff?

You are it, full of timidity,

Leaning towards me silently?

Do I not see in a dream

Like the stars shine in the sky

As a horse steps carefully

How is your chest breathing anxiously?

Or at the deceiving moon

I'm only teased by a false ghost

Is this a dream? Oh, if only me

It was impossible to wake up!

Ivan Bunin, Nobel laureate, visited Crimea many times, became firmly attached to this land, and love never passed, even in distant emigration.

Daybreak ... Over the sea, over the canopy

Azure morning brightens:

The peaks of the whimsical kayaks

Unclear and softly turning blue.

Like a mirror - the sea ... The surf does not splash ...

Under a light veil of fog

In the gorges where the night is crowded with dusk,

It's also cool and early ...

But with every minute in the dawn rays

Both the coast and the sea are clearing ...

How wonderful here in these green mountains

Fresh spring dawns! ..

In conclusion - an excerpt from the "Guide to Crimea" by Grigory Moskvich for 1912

“As soon as you stepped on the other side of the gate, the majestic sea opens in all its beauty and unspeakable splendor: down there, far away, it swirls in a deep fog, laughing, sparkling, sparkling and kissing the shore blooming with plantations. At sunrise, purple-golden clouds covering the horizon by the sea with a solid wall, in combination with the luxurious greenery of the valley, on which still night freshness lies, gives the picture, opening from the Baydar Gate, a special charm. There is a platform above the gate, from which the views are even more majestic, even more grandiose. "

P.S. From 1848 to 1972, the Baydarsky pass was the only road leading to Sevastopol from the southern coast, and only after the construction of the Yalta-Sevastopol highway through the Laspinsky pass, the Baydarsky gate became not just a "passable" attraction, but a place that again symbolizes the opening of the southern coast Crimea

Directly from the gates of the Foros sanatorium, a serpentine road begins, leading to the Baydarskiy gates. The Baydarsky Gate is a pass on the old Sevastopol-Alupka highway, built in the middle of the 19th century. This was the second crew exit to the South Coast. Before the Russians conquered Crimea, there were no crew exits to the South Coast at all. There were only pack and hiking trails. After Crimea withdrew to Russia, a road was built from Simferopol to Alushta through the Angarsk pass, and in 1848 - the Sevastopol-Alupka highway.

The Baydar Gate is named after the Baydar Valley, which is located on the other side of the Crimean Mountains. She, in turn, was called that after the village of Baydary. This is a Tatar name. In our time, the village was called Orlinoe. The Baydar Gate is described in many literary works because it is very effective. From the side of the Baydar Valley, you climb a winding road, which is bounded by rocks on both sides. The area is gloomy, there are many twists and turns. Suddenly you see a really "gate" ahead: a corridor cut through the rock, on top of which several slabs are laid. When you pass through these gates, the sea distance and the most extensive view of the entire southern coast of Crimea suddenly open before you. It always makes an indelible impression on people traveling here for the first time. The guides always stop the groups here and enjoy the effect produced on the tourists. From Baydar I looked at the southern coast of Crimea and Catherine II when she made a trip to Crimea in 1787. She arrived here from Sevastopol, which at that time was not yet any Sevastopol, but was Akhtiyar, and it was Catherine who renamed him. But she could not drive to the South Bank, there were no roads. Then Potemkin brought her to Baidary, set up a tent there for her, in which she lived for a day or two, and admired her new possessions from here - the South Bank.

When we were on Baidary, there was a restaurant near the pass on the south coast slope, from which, in good weather, the South coast could be seen all the way to Bear Mountain. A very good place.

The descent to the sea begins from the Baydarsky Gate. This is a rather gentle serpentine with many long turns. We went down on foot, so we cut off these loops wherever possible. One turn, another turn - and suddenly a small beautiful church hovering over the South Bank opened in front of us. Very colorful and surprisingly fitting into the landscape.

I recognized her immediately. As a child, I had a wooden toy box. The box was from under tea - a cube with a side of seventy centimeters, all pasted over with colored pictures. GUM and Red Square were depicted on one side of this box. The monument to Minin and Pozharsky was still in the old place, approximately opposite the future Mausoleum, and not near the Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed. And at GUM there was a large sign “Kuznetsov - Gubkin's Successor”. It was a box from Kuznetsov's tea. On the second side of the box was an image of this very Church of the Transfiguration of the Lord, which opened in front of us on the descent from the Baydar Gate. It was built at the expense of Kuznetsov in 1888 to commemorate the miraculous rescue of the royal family during the explosion of a train in Gorki. Kuznetsov made the image of this church his logo. It flashed across the country on tea packages that came from Kuznetsov, signs and so on. And so I saw this church with my own eyes. She was really very beautiful. People crowded at the entrance, waiting for the service to begin. Service there was very rare in those years. And so those gathered were waiting for the priest to arrive and everyone would be allowed inside. We did not wait for this moment. And they walked, walked, walked, walked along the serpentine and finally descended from a height of five hundred meters (on which the Baydar Gate is located) to Foros itself.