the creator of the great orthodox russian state, having been baptized fersansi, he returned to kiev.pagan temples, cut down sacred groves, threw perun into the dnieper and cruelly, bloodily suppressed the uprising of the magi, when rafts floated across the river and the volga, impaled on them, the exhausted and tormented sorcerers all names, movements, many literary works, they were cut off from me and did not penetrate to me, this curtain, in the present , red ideology, red culture, red idea of man, of his life and death, dominated, but this gap in times, the gap in history was not absolute, it was surmountable, the past seeped through. our bookcase with the family library was the hole through which the past seeped into the present into my life. in the closet there were binders of the apollo scales magazine. in these magazines, as a boy, without fully understanding, i read amazing articles, the sixth berdyaev, father sergius bulgakov, pavel florendsky, the poet’s poems. silver age, these old magazines had a unique smell, the smell of glue, varnishes, paper itself, leather bindin