one "There are still many things in the world that have not been written down, either out of ignorance or forgetfulness. If they are written down, it is indeed encouraging..." Half a century ago, I was born in central Russia, on my father's country estate. We have no sense of our own life and death.It's a pity that people even told me when I was born, because if I didn't, I wouldn't know how old I am now (and besides, I don't feel the burden of age at all now), that is, It never occurred to me that I might be dead in another ten or twenty years.If I had grown up on a deserted island with no one inhabited, I wouldn't have suspected that I was going to die. "That's lucky!" I would add.But who knows?Maybe it was a catastrophe.And if I say no doubt, do I really have no doubt?Are we not born with a sense of death?If not, if I had never doubted, would I love life as much as I do now and then?

About the Arsenyev family, about his lineage, I know almost nothing.Why do we need to know everything? !All I know is that in Gerpovnica our family belongs to "those lines that fade away in dark times."I know that our family is "nobility, though it has fallen..." two My first recollections are baffling and worthless things.I remember the great room lit by the early autumn sun, and the cold glow over the hillside from the south-facing window... and that's all, for a moment!Why on this day, at this moment, at this minute, suddenly for the first time in my life, my consciousness flared up so brightly that memory could possibly function?But why did my consciousness immediately go out for a long time afterwards?

I recall my childhood with sadness.Every moment of childhood is sad, because this quiet world is barren and poor, but in this world, there is a timid and weak heart that has not fully awakened in life, is still unfamiliar with everything I'm fantasizing about life.What a golden age of happiness!No, this is an unhappy, overly sentimental, pathetic time. Maybe it's because of some personal conditions that my childhood was sad?In fact, I grew up in the depths of the vast forest.In a deserted field, a solitary manor is located... In winter, there is a boundless sea of ​​snow; In this silence, in the depths of the grass, would a woodchuck and a lark also worry?No, they ask nothing, they wonder nothing, they feel no mysterious spirituality like the people of the world around them, they know neither the call of space nor the passage of time.But I already knew all this.Both the depths of the sky and the far reaches of the fields told me of what seemed to be other worlds beyond them; Holding a kind of inexplicable love and warmth, which moved me very much...

Where are people at this time?Our domain is called the Farm - Kamenka Farm.Our main estate is on the left bank of the Don, and my father often goes there.and lived there for a long time.The property on the farm is not large, and there are few servants, but there are still people, and life is still going on.Dogs, horses, sheep, cows, workers, grooms, foremen, cooks, female breeders, nurses, mothers and fathers, brother and sister Olya in middle school, and a little girl in the cradle... But Why on earth are there only moments of utter solitude left in my memory?One twilight evening in summer, the sun was setting behind the house and garden.The deserted and spacious courtyard is full of shadows, and I (I am the only one in the world) lie on the gradually cooling green grass in the courtyard, gazing at the bottomless blue sky, as if looking at a pair of strange and kind eyes, watching In the arms of his own father.A tall white cloud is floating, gradually becoming round, and slowly changing its outline, and then disappearing in this concave bottomless sky... Oh, what a lazy beauty it makes people feel!How nice it would be to sit and float on this cloud, above this terrible height, in the vast sky of this world, next to God and white-winged angels who dwell in this mountainous world Ah!Now I am lying at the back of the manor again, among the fields, as if it were the same evening as that day—only now there is still a setting sun shining, and I am also alone in the world.Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by ears of rye and oats.Deep in the thick, low-hanging stalks lived some quail.At this moment, everything is silent, and the quail is also silent, except for a few cooing chirps occasionally.A small gold bug, trapped in an ear of wheat, made a dull humming sound.I rescued it with compassion; I carefully looked at it in amazement, what is it, what kind of little gold bug, where does it live, where does it fly, how does it fly away, what is it thinking, how does it feel?It was puffy and quite violent: it squirmed and fluttered between the fingers, the hard elytra rustled, and a thin, yellowish thing protruded from under the elytra.Suddenly, the carapaces of these elytra parted and expanded, and the yellowish thing also loosened.Oh, how beautiful it is!The little beetle flew into the air, humming happily and easily, and left me forever.It disappears into the sky; Adds to me a new melancholy: Leaves in me the sorrow of parting...  

Or I just watch myself at home, still in the summer evening, still alone.The sun was gone behind the quiet garden, and the sun which had shone merrily all day over the empty hall and drawing-room was gone, only in a corner on the parquet floor, at the high foot of the old-fashioned table. In between, I left my own red afterglow alone.My God, how depressing is its sad, wordless beauty!At night, the garden outside the window presents an unfathomable darkness. I lie on my little bed in the dark bedroom, and a quiet star looks down on me from the window in the high sky...why is it so far away? away from me?Why doesn't it say a word to me?Where does it tell me to go, what does it want to remind me of?

three Childhood has begun to gradually connect me with life, and in my memory, there are still some characters, some scenes of manor life, some important events... The most striking of these events was my first travel, the most remote and extraordinary of all my subsequent travels.That time, my parents took me to the nature reserve called the city.It was then that I experienced for the first time the sweetness of the imminent realization of a fantasy, and at the same time the dread of its failure.I still remember that I stood in the middle of the yard, standing in the sun, looking at the four-wheeled carriage that was rolled out of the shed early in the morning, and I was so anxious: When will the carriage be finally harnessed? How about finishing all the preparations for going out?I remember that we walked for a long time, passing through countless fields, valleys, country roads and Shiyu intersections.A thing happened on the way: in a canyon (it was near dusk and the place was desolate), there were some oak trees growing densely all around, with branches and leaves, dark green, and in the bushes on the slope opposite the canyon, there were A "robber" drilled around, with an ax stuck in his waist.This is perhaps one of the most enigmatic and frightening farmers I have ever seen, not only at the time, but in my entire life.I can't remember exactly when we entered the city, but I always remember the morning in that city!I hung above an abyss, dazzled by the flashes of sun, glass, and signs, in gaps between vast buildings I had never seen.Overhead, the whole world resounded with a strange, chaotic musical sound: the bells of Mikhail Archangel's bell tower jingled.The bell tower towered over everything, with such a grandeur and splendor that even Peter's Basilica in Rome could not have dreamed of.This colossal figure did not surprise me when I saw the pyramid of Theops later.

————— ① The pyramid of Egyptian pharaoh Theops (3000 BC) is one of the outstanding monuments of world architecture. The most surprising thing is the black shoe polish in the city.Never in my life have I felt such exultation, such joy in seeing the things of the world (I have seen so much!) as I did in the fairs of this city, As I've felt holding a box of black shoe polish.This round box is made of ordinary bark, but what kind of bark is it that can be turned into a box by a skilled craftsman!Just such a box of black shoe polish!It was dark and dull, full and solid, and smelled heady of alcohol!Then two things made me very happy: I bought me a pair of fine suede boots with red rings embossed on the shafts, and about these boots the coachman said something that I will never forget. "These boots are just right!" Also bought me a leather whip with a whistle on the handle... As soon as you touch these fine suede boots, pick up this elastic, flexible whip , I was elated and ecstatic!At home, lying on my little bed, I was so happy that I couldn't even speak because there were my new leather boots by the bed and my little leather whip hidden under the pillow.The longing star looked at my window from high above, and said to me: Everything is fine now, there is nothing better in the world and there is no need for it!

This trip revealed to me for the first time the joy of human life, and at the same time left a deep impression on me, which I experienced on the way back.We left the city before evening and walked through a long, wide street, which seemed to me to be compared with the area where our hotel and the Mikhail Alhangar Cathedral were located. , it seems very cold.We walked through a large square, and a familiar world appeared in the distance ahead—the vast fields and the simplicity and freedom of the countryside.Our road is straight west, facing the setting sun.At this time, I suddenly found that there was another person looking at the sunset and the field: when I was about to leave the city, there stood a particularly large and dull yellow house, which was different from any I had seen so far. It was a very different house—with many large windows, each with iron bars, and surrounded by a high stone wall.The gates of the enclosure were tightly locked.Behind the iron bars of a window stood a man in a gray tweed jacket and a bonnet. His face was swollen and sallow, showing a complex and painful expression. I have never seen it on ordinary people's faces in my life. Haven't seen it before.It was the expression of the most poignant melancholy, of sadness, of resignation, and of a kind of wild and vague fantasy... Of course, someone explained to me what kind of house this is and who this person is.This is what I know from my parents that there is a special kind of people in the world, they are called prisoners, exiles, thieves, and murderers.But the knowledge we have acquired in our short individual lifetimes is so meager—there should be another, richer, never-ending knowledge that we are born with.My parents explained too little of the emotions aroused in me by the grating and the man's face.With the help of my own knowledge, I personally felt and guessed his special and terrible soul.Even more frightening was the farmer scurrying among the oaks in the canyon with an ax in his side.But perhaps it was a robber—I never doubted that, perhaps something very frightening, and yet very enchanting, magical.But this prisoner, this bar...

Four My later recollections of my first years on earth are more common and real, though they are still barren, accidental, and fragmentary.I only repeat what we know and what we remember.We sometimes have trouble remembering even yesterday! My young mind was beginning to get used to my new abode, and found there to be much delightful loveliness in it.It was no longer painful to see the beauty of nature, and I noticed people and developed various, more or less self-conscious, feelings for them. For me, the world is still limited to the estate, the family and some of the closest people.At this time, I was not only aware of my father and felt his kind presence, but I could also see him clearly.He was a robust, radiant, unscrupulous, quick-tempered, but at the same time exceptionally easy-going, magnanimous man, who had no tolerance for wicked people or people who remembered old grudges.I began to take an interest in him, and then I learned something about him: he never did anything, and, indeed, he spent his days in the happy idleness which at that time was not only for the country nobles, but also for the nobles. It is also commonplace for ordinary Russians.He often gets excited before lunch, and eats happily.When I wake up after lunch, I like to sit by the open window and drink a heady, squeaky, nose-flushing, slightly sour soda.He often grabs me suddenly at this point, puts me on his lap, puts me in his arms, kisses me, and then puts me down just as suddenly, and he doesn't like anything lasting...I don't just treat him Already fond of him, and sometimes with pleasant tenderness, I liked him.His valiant appearance, his capricious and straightforward character, all suited my established tastes, and what particularly interested me was that he seemed to have fought in that Sevastopol, and now he is an astonishing marksman. The best hunter—can shoot twenty-copeck pieces thrown in the air, and if necessary, can instantly play some old songs on the guitar from the happy time of the ancestors, playing mesmerizingly and beautifully...

I finally found our nanny too, which means I recognized the people in the house.I found this tall, dignified, and imposing woman especially dear to our little hearts.Although she often referred to herself as a maid, she was in fact a member of the family and dared to quarrel with my mother (as was the case).However, due to their love for each other or out of necessity, they often reconcile after a short cry after the quarrel.My two older brothers, both much older than me, were already living independently at that time, and they only came to us on holidays.In addition, I have two younger sisters, and I finally got to know them too.Although the circumstances are different, I still connect them closely with my life in the same way.I loved tenderly the smiling, blue-eyed Nadja who was still playing with things in her cradle.Before I knew it, all my plays and games, my joys and sorrows, were shared with her.Sometimes I told my most secret fantasies and thoughts to dark-eyed Olya, a hot-tempered girl, like my father, easily angry, but also very kind and sentimental, and she soon became my loyal friend. .As for my mother, of course, I discovered and understood her before everyone else. For me, my mother is a completely special person among all people.She is inseparable from myself, and I discover and feel her presence, probably, at the very moment when I discover my own existence...

The most painful love of my life has to do with my mother.All we love, our loved ones, is our misery--this eternal fear of losing a loved one is enough!And I have carried the burden of my unswerving love for my mother since childhood.I love her because she gave me life, and it is with this pain that she breaks my heart, and above all with the love of her whole heart, she is the embodiment of sorrow: as a child I was How many tears have been seen in her eyes, how many dirges have been heard from her lips! In that distant hometown, she rested alone in the world, forever forgotten by the world, but her extremely precious name will live forever.Could it be that eyeless skull, that gray skeleton now buried, among the groves of the cemetery of a decaying Russian city, in the abyss of a nameless grave, could it be she—a woman who once held The one I've shaken? "My ways are higher than your ways, and my thoughts are higher than your thoughts." Fives The lonely life of childhood gradually passed away in this way.I remember waking up in the middle of the night one autumn night for some reason, and seeing a thin and magical dim light filling the room, and looking over the large uncurtained window.I saw a pale and melancholy autumn moon hanging high over the empty yard of the manor house, melancholy, lonely, looking so sad, and full of such extraordinary beauty, that my heart was overwhelmed by feelings of indescribable sweetness and sorrow. Press tight.These feelings seemed to him--this pale autumn moon felt the same.But I already know, I have understood, that I am not alone in the world.I slept in my father's study—I started crying, screaming, waking my father up... People gradually came into my life and became an inseparable part of my life. I have found that in addition to summer, the world also has autumn, winter and spring, and in these three seasons I can only go out occasionally.I didn't remember them at first, and the bright and sunny things left the most in my young mind, so now, apart from that autumn night, there are only two or three dim scenes, And they were all unusual: a winter's evening, with the snow falling outside and the wind howling, frightening, yet charming.It was terrible because everyone said it was for "forty martyrs".It is charming because the more the wind shakes the house, the more you feel that you are under the protection of this house, warm and comfortable, very comfortable.Then, one winter morning, something truly extraordinary happened.We awoke to a strange half-light in the house, blocked by a pale white thing in the yard, taller than the house,—and soon we learned that it was a night. We were covered in snow for a while, and it took the workers all day to dig us out of the snow.There was also a dark April day when a man in a frock coat suddenly came to our yard. He was driven by the cold wind and staggered, his eyes slanted and his mouth crooked.This unfortunate man with bow legs pitifully held his cap on his head with one hand, and clumsily held his frock coat to his chest with the other... I repeat, in my general impression, the first days of childhood The stage seems to be only summer, and I always tell Olya about the joy of that time first, and then I tell the children of the peasant family in Vyserki.Vyserky is a mile from us behind Proval, a small village of only a few houses. This joy is poor, as poor as the joy I felt when I got black shoe polish and a leather whip. (All human joy is poor. There are people like me who sometimes want pity for him, a little sad sympathy.) Where was I born and brought up?What have I seen?There are neither mountains, rivers, lakes nor vast forests, only some small bushes and a few small woods in the valley.But in Zakaz and Dubrovka there is still a bit of forest in some places, otherwise it is all fields.O field, the endless sea of ​​crops!This is not the south, not the grassland where countless sheep can graze, not the rich town where you can meet villages and stations every hour you walk, not the place that surprises you with its white and clean houses, large population, and rich products.This is just Podstjebye, where the fields are uneven, full of ravines and slopes, and the pastures are not deep grass, but more gravel and gravel.The villages and culturally backward inhabitants here seem to have been forgotten by God.People are extremely careless and live a primitive and simple life; they have formed an indissoluble bond with vines and straw.I grew up in this secluded and very beautiful border area.During the long summer days, I saw: at noon in the heat, white clouds were floating in the blue sky, and the breeze was blowing, sometimes cool and sometimes hot, bringing the heat of the sun and the aroma of the hot rice and grass.In the fields, behind our old granaries, the sun is scorching, blindingly bright.The granaries were very old, the thick straw roofs had turned gray and looked as hard as stone, and the log walls had turned dark gray.The endless wheat waves rolling as far as the eye can see are constantly rolling on the slope, shining with silver light, rolling up and down.The majestic wheat waves are beaming, with the shadows of clouds floating and rippling on them... Later, I discovered that in the middle of the grassy yard, there is an old laundry stone trough, under which you can hide and seek.So we took off our shoes and let our tender little feet (even these little feet like their own tenderness) run on the green grass, which was scorching hot on the surface but cool inside.Under the granary, clusters of nymphs grew.Once, Olya and I ate a lot of angels and passed out. Later, the adults had to use freshly squeezed milk to revive us.At that time, although our heads were buzzing strangely, in our bodies and minds, we not only hoped, but even felt that it was possible to ascend to the sky and let us fly around... Under the granary, we also found a lot of black gold velvet. Nest of the Daimaru wasp.We guessed their subterranean dwellings by their dull, furious, majestic hum.How many edible roots, how many sweet tubers and seeds we found in the garden, near the drying shed, on the threshing floor, behind the servants' cottage, the back wall of which was heaped with hay!