June 7, 2019 at the Museum and Exhibition Complex " New Jerusalem"The opening of exhibitions by Dasha Namdakov and Maria Bashkirtseva took place.
The exhibition “The Art of Dasha Namdakov” in the halls of the museum and exhibition center “New Jerusalem” opened on several sites at once: landscape sculptures will be placed in the atrium space, program works will be placed in the common area of the first and second floors, and then the viewer will be able to see a retrospective in the exhibition halls easel sculptures author. The exhibition presents 33 works by the master.
On the same day, an exhibition of works by Maria Bashkirtseva entitled “Chosen One of Fate” opened at the New Jerusalem Museum. An exhibition telling about the life and work of Maria Bashkirtseva is being held in our country for the first time. The exhibition features 118 works by the artist. In particular, unique exhibits from private collection Tatiana and Nikolai Shvets: graphic works, created during the period of study at the Julian Academy; the canvas “Young Woman Reading “On the Question of Divorce” by A. Dumas” - the artist’s first work, presented at the Salon in Paris in 1880 (for more than 100 years the painting was considered lost), photographs of Maria and her loved ones, miraculously preserved personal belongings, rare editions"Diary".
Dates of the exhibition "The Art of Dasha Namdakov": June 7, 2019 - September 8, 2019
Dates of the exhibition "Chosen One of Fate": June 7, 2019 - August 22, 2019
(as Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the MPR)
Qing , Setsen Khansky aimak, Achit-vanovsky khoshun
Moscow
Foreign:
Biography
Early years and education
Revolutionary activities
In 1919 he joined the revolutionary circle Bodo, whose merger in 1920 with a similar circle Sukhbaatar laid the foundation (MNRP).
Since the 1920s, he held leadership positions in the revolutionary movement.
Government career
Choibalsan's death in 1952 was accompanied by another round of the cult of his personality - his body was placed in a mausoleum, his name was immortalized, in particular, by renaming largest mountain in the capital of Mongolia.
In 1956, under the influence of political processes in the USSR, Choibalsan's political activities and cult of personality were criticized in a report Yu. Tsedenbala at the congress Mongolian People's Revolutionary Party. However, his statues were not torn down, but administrative center aimag Dornod still bears his name.
Choibalsan's body, which had been in storage since 1952 Mausoleum of Sukhbaatar and Choibalsan, reburied in 2005 at the State Memorial Cemetery Ulaanbaatar.
Streets in cities are also named after Choibalsan. Volgograd And Almaty(in the latter city in the orthographic form "Choibolsan").
Awards and titles
MPR Awards- Hero of the Mongolian People's Republic (1941, 1945)
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Excerpt characterizing Khorlogiin Choibalsan
On Bagration’s right flank at 9 o’clock the business had not yet begun. Not wanting to agree to Dolgorukov’s demand to start the business and wanting to deflect responsibility from himself, Prince Bagration suggested that Dolgorukov be sent to ask the commander-in-chief about this. Bagration knew that, due to the distance of almost 10 versts separating one flank from the other, if the one sent was not killed (which was very likely), and even if he found the commander-in-chief, which was very difficult, the sent one would not have time to return earlier evenings.
Bagration looked around his retinue with his large, expressionless, sleep-deprived eyes, and involuntarily froze with excitement and hope. baby face Rostov was the first thing that caught his eye. He sent it.
- What if I meet His Majesty before the Commander-in-Chief, Your Excellency? - said Rostov, holding his hand to the visor.
“You can hand it over to your Majesty,” Dolgorukov said, hastily interrupting Bagration.
Having been released from the chain, Rostov managed to sleep for several hours before the morning and felt cheerful, courageous, decisive, with that elasticity of movements, confidence in his happiness and in that mood in which everything seems easy, fun and possible.
All his wishes were fulfilled that morning; a general battle was fought, he took part in it; Moreover, he was an orderly under the bravest general; Moreover, he was traveling on an errand to Kutuzov, and perhaps even to the sovereign himself. The morning was clear, the horse under him was good. His soul was joyful and happy. Having received the order, he set off his horse and galloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of Bagration’s troops, which had not yet entered into action and stood motionless; then he entered the space occupied by Uvarov’s cavalry and here he already noticed movements and signs of preparations for the case; Having passed Uvarov's cavalry, he already clearly heard the sounds of cannon and gunfire ahead of him. The shooting intensified.
In the fresh morning air there were no longer, as before, at irregular intervals, two, three shots and then one or two gun shots, and along the slopes of the mountains, in front of Pratzen, the rolls of gunfire were heard, interrupted by such frequent shots from guns that sometimes several cannon shots were no longer separated from each other, but merged into one common roar.
It was visible how the smoke of the guns seemed to run along the slopes, catching up with each other, and how the smoke of the guns swirled, blurred and merged with one another. Visible, from the shine of the bayonets between the smoke, were the moving masses of infantry and narrow strips of artillery with green boxes.
Rostov stopped his horse on a hill for a minute to examine what was happening; but no matter how hard he strained his attention, he could neither understand nor make out anything of what was happening: some people were moving there in the smoke, some canvases of troops were moving both in front and behind; but why? Who? Where? it was impossible to understand. This sight and these sounds not only did not arouse in him any dull or timid feeling, but, on the contrary, gave him energy and determination.
“Well, more, give it more!” - He turned mentally to these sounds and again began to gallop along the line, penetrating further and further into the area of the troops who had already entered into action.
“I don’t know how it will be there, but everything will be fine!” thought Rostov.
Having passed some Austrian troops, Rostov noticed that the part of the line that followed (it was the guard) had already entered into action.
“So much the better! I’ll take a closer look,” he thought.
He drove almost along the front line. Several horsemen galloped towards him. These were our life lancers, who were returning from the attack in disordered ranks. Rostov passed them, involuntarily noticed one of them covered in blood and galloped on.
“I don’t care about this!” he thought. Before he had ridden a few hundred steps after this, to his left, across the entire length of the field, a huge mass of cavalrymen on black horses, in shiny white uniforms, appeared, trotting straight towards him. Rostov put his horse into full gallop in order to get out of the way of these cavalrymen, and he would have gotten away from them if they had kept the same gait, but they kept speeding up, so that some horses were already galloping. Rostov heard their stomping and the clanking of their weapons more and more clearly, and their horses, figures, and even faces became more visible. These were our cavalry guards, going into an attack on the French cavalry, which was moving towards them.
The cavalry guards galloped, but still holding their horses. Rostov already saw their faces and heard the command: “march, march!” uttered by an officer who unleashed his blood horse at full speed. Rostov, fearing to be crushed or lured into an attack on the French, galloped along the front as fast as his horse could, and still did not manage to get past them.
The last cavalry guard, a huge, pockmarked man, frowned angrily when he saw Rostov in front of him, with whom he would inevitably collide. This cavalry guard would certainly have knocked down Rostov and his Bedouin (Rostov himself seemed so small and weak in comparison with these huge people and horses), if he had not thought of swinging his whip into the eyes of the cavalry guard's horse. The black, heavy, five-inch horse shied away, laying down its ears; but the pockmarked cavalry guard thrust huge spurs into her sides, and the horse, waving its tail and stretching its neck, rushed even faster. As soon as the cavalry guards passed Rostov, he heard them shout: “Hurray!” and looking back he saw that their front ranks were mingling with strangers, probably French, cavalrymen in red epaulets. It was impossible to see anything further, because immediately after that, cannons began firing from somewhere, and everything was covered in smoke.
At that moment, as the cavalry guards, having passed him, disappeared into the smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop after them or go where he needed to go. This was that brilliant attack of the cavalry guards, which surprised the French themselves. Rostov was scared to hear later that out of all this mass of huge handsome people, out of all these brilliant, rich young men on thousands of horses, officers and cadets who galloped past him, after the attack only eighteen people remained.
“Why should I envy, what is mine will not go away, and now, perhaps, I will see the sovereign!” thought Rostov and rode on.
Having caught up with the guards infantry, he noticed that cannonballs were flying through and around them, not so much because he heard the sound of cannonballs, but because he saw concern on the faces of the soldiers and unnatural, warlike solemnity on the faces of the officers.
Driving behind one of the lines of infantry guard regiments, he heard a voice calling him by name.
- Rostov!
- What? – he responded, not recognizing Boris.
- What is it like? hit the first line! Our regiment went on the attack! - said Boris, smiling that happy smile that happens to young people who have been on fire for the first time.
Rostov stopped.
- That's how it is! - he said. - Well?
- They recaptured! - Boris said animatedly, having become talkative. -Can you imagine?
And Boris began to tell how the guard, having taken their place and seeing the troops in front of them, mistook them for Austrians and suddenly learned from the cannonballs fired from these troops that they were in the first line, and unexpectedly had to take action. Rostov, without listening to Boris, touched his horse.
-Where are you going? – asked Boris.
- To His Majesty with an errand.
- Here he is! - said Boris, who heard that Rostov needed His Highness, instead of His Majesty.
And he pointed to the Grand Duke, who, a hundred paces away from them, in a helmet and a cavalry guard's tunic, with his raised shoulders and frowning eyebrows, was shouting something to the white and pale Austrian officer.
“But this is the Grand Duke, and I should go to the commander-in-chief or the sovereign,” said Rostov and started to move his horse.
- Count, count! - shouted Berg, as animated as Boris, running up from the other side, - Count, I’m in right hand wounded (he said, showing his hand, bloody and tied with a handkerchief) and remained at the front. Count, holding a sword in my left hand: in our race, the von Bergs, Count, were all knights.
Berg said something else, but Rostov, without listening to him, had already moved on.
Having passed the guards and an empty gap, Rostov, in order not to fall into the first line again, as he came under attack by the cavalry guards, rode along the line of reserves, going far around the place where the hottest shooting and cannonade was heard. Suddenly, in front of him and behind our troops, in a place where he could not possibly suspect the enemy, he heard close rifle fire.
