Translated material
Inflatable bells
Nizhny Novgorod lit up on the Day of Unity and Accord
Nizhny Novgorod is probably the only city in Russia where people know why November 4 was chosen to celebrate the Day of National Unity and Accord: the militia that gathered here in 1612 has always been considered one of the central events of the city's history. Citizen Minin and Prince Pozharsky are a high symbol and trademark for Nizhny Novgorod residents.This was the case until last year’s opening on the restored Unity Square of an exact copy of the monument to the heroes on Red Square in Moscow. A year ago, the premiere of the new holiday began with the monument. Governor Valery Shantsev and the then presidential envoy to the Volga Federal District Sergei Kiriyenko opened it on a frosty sunny morning to a chant explaining the meaning of the sculptural-geographical déjà vu: “From the Kremlin to the Kremlin - together the Russian land.” This year, on November 4, the verse was repeated and many new ones were read, but gloomy bad weather, more typical for early November, with constant rain, sometimes turning into snow, almost turned the holiday into a one-time one. Dozens of courageous Nizhny Novgorod residents, making their way through the wet rubbish along blocked streets from one site to another, clearly doubted the correctness of the choice of date for the demonstration of national unity.
The saddest sight was Minin Square. At one o'clock in the afternoon it was almost empty; the townspeople, many times outnumbered by the gloomy police officers, listened without enthusiasm to the children's choir. Along the axis of the square stood sadly stands with tricolors for the proposed rally. Behind the huge screen, on which the performances of the top officials were supposed to begin at exactly one o'clock, lay on the asphalt balloons and inflatable bells, raised into the air the day before, but deflated and nailed to the pavement by wet snow. “There will definitely be nothing until six, you see what the weather is like,” the policeman explained from the cordon to the curious grandmothers. “We don’t have an image,” a woman from the organizing committee worried into her cell phone, looking anxiously at the screen. Somewhere, Mr. Shantsev had already begun to talk about his ancestors, who expelled unrest and adversaries from the country not by order, but by the call of their hearts. The governor's voice was audible, but the screen glowed with a fine mosaic of bright chemical colors.
True, there was still no one to look at the screen: the few who wanted to see the first persons in the rain and snow gathered at one o'clock at the so-called Skob, at the monument to Minin and Pozharsky. First Deputy Prime Minister of the Russian Federation Dmitry Medvedev, who, as President Putin in 2000, visited Minin’s grave in the Kremlin’s Archangel Cathedral in the morning, had already completed his festive visit by this time. Brief speeches on the occasion of bad weather about the unity of the peoples and confessions of Russia were interspersed exclusively with Orthodox hymns, which were listened to respectfully by the representative of the Muftiate, who stood on the podium. The townspeople freezing in the puddles did not lose their courage and invited the choir to sing something well-known, like “Murka,” so that everyone could pull up and thus warm up, if not physically, then at least mentally. But by two o'clock the snow had finally turned to pouring rain, the top officials had gone to their holiday errands, and the spectators had gone to bars and shops.
Nevertheless, the culmination of the holiday was saved. By six o'clock, already dark, streams of townspeople under umbrellas flowed to the Nizhnevolzhskaya embankment, to the foot of the Kremlin hill. On the monumental Chkalov Stairs, leading from the bank of the Volga to the Kremlin itself, they promised a laser show and a theatrical performance. The mixture of rain and fog in the sky above the river was indeed illuminated by several dozen blue and green rays, much like in films about an alien invasion. It seems that this was the only case when the weather was favorable to the organizers: the wet haze seemed to thicken the air, raindrops sparkled in the rays and gave rise to additional visual effects.
Several hundred people gradually gathered at the foot of the stairs. Close to the foot, inside the police turnstiles, at first they were allowed only by invitation. “So much for unity: the elite are allowed in, but the electorate is not,” joked a man of retirement age. The riot police from the cordon responded that not enough “electorate” had gathered, so the question of letting everyone behind the cordon was being decided. It took about a quarter of an hour to resolve the issue - the show still did not start, and the audience again got bored in the rain. Finally, the turnstiles were opened and the show began.
Several dozen children in blue sundresses descended onto the laser-lit stairs, which, judging by the poetic text from the columns, were supposed to symbolize the sprouts of Rus', growing “from the darkness where there are no names.” The text, scale and props together sometimes resembled an attempt to hold a school theatrical festival with the scope and pathos of a film about The Lord of the Rings. The situation was partly saved by lighting effects and amazingly beautiful video sequences, which were projected onto the slopes of the hill on both sides of the stairs. True, they promised to cover the slopes with light-colored screening fabric, but they either forgot or didn’t have time, so the drawings appeared right on the withered grass.
Following the children, colossal black figures appeared on the stairs, symbolizing evil, war and strife. Each figure was carried by several people. Children in sundresses ran downstairs - the fear of four-meter-long polyethylene colossuses swaying on the wet steps looked absolutely natural. Spotlight beams danced like flames on aluminum flags, and somewhere in the middle of the stairs real horsemen rushed back and forth. Then all the plastic evil was carried away somewhere towards the river, and the stairs were filled with figures with gigantic mournful faces and exaggerated right palms - apparently an allegory of divided people, busy mainly with begging. In general, apart from indicating the unprimordial “darkness in which there are no names,” the presentation did not contain any clear signs of a particular era - it seems that the authors had in mind peace, war, unrest and its overcoming in general. It was only clear that we were talking about Russians and Orthodox Christians: this was emphasized many times.
Overcoming the turmoil turned out to be unexpectedly easy. Men in ancient caftans came out onto the stairs - apparently Minin and Pozharsky and their comrades. Behind them, a backdrop with the coat of arms of Nizhny Novgorod flashed, from behind which three balls floated in the colors of the current state flag. The balls began to rise and unwind the cloth, forcing the audience to wonder whose portrait would be there. At first the cloth seemed empty, but after a few minutes the iconographic Mother of God and Child appeared on it. Following the icon, huge inflatable bells floated over the stairs to the soundtrack of the gospel - the ones that lay under the snow on Minin Square in the morning. On one of them was written: “Holy Rus', keep the Orthodox faith.” The call contrasted somewhat with the words about a common home for all and the indestructible friendship of peoples.
Then the announcer declared “a feast in the mountains” and several times emphasized that the Russians are “a people of craftsmen and creators” who know how to have fun themselves and will teach others. “We will paint this life like a spoon or a saucer,” warned a voice from the speakers. As confirmation, giant inflatable Gzhel saucers, Zhostovo whistles the size of a KamAZ, samovars and half-deflated painted spoons floated down the stairs.
And then the school carnival suddenly ended, and a spectacle began in the spirit of the famous “Triumph of the Will” by Leni Riffenstahl. From above, from the corner tower of the Kremlin, dozens of torchbearers entered the Chkalov Stairs. The flaming column filled the entire march. She went down two-thirds, and several hundred more children with torches rushed towards her from the water. When the entire staircase burst into flames, the first volleys of a half-hour fireworks display hit the sky. Finding themselves literally in the epicenter of the fireworks, even inveterate skeptics were imbued with national unity and began shouting: “Hurray!” and clap your hands. The fireworks ended with the rain. “The fireworks probably heated the air, so it stopped pouring,” suggested an elderly spectator on the way to the bus stop.