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Name: Sergey Aksakov

Age: 67 years old

Activity: writer, theater and literary critic, journalist

Family status: was married

Sergei Aksakov: biography

Literature

In 1826, the writer received the position of censor. By that time, he had already married, and the family had to move to Moscow. The Aksakovs loved to spend time in nature, and Sergei Timofeevich himself was also a passionate hunter, so they left the city for the summer.

In 1837, Aksakov's father died, leaving his son a large inheritance and thus giving him the opportunity to focus on writing, family and economic affairs. The writer bought Abramtsevo - an estate 50 miles from Moscow, which today has the status of a museum-reserve, and settled there.

Sergei Aksakov wrote little at first, mostly short articles and reviews, but in 1834 the essay "Buran" appeared in the almanac "Dennitsa", in which his unique style and style first appeared. Having received many laudatory reviews and gained fame in literary circles, Aksakov set to work on Family Chronicles.

In 1847, he turned to natural science knowledge and impressions and wrote the famous "Notes on Fishing", and after another 5 years - "Notes of a Rifle Hunter", greeted with enthusiasm by readers.

"We've never had a book like this before."

So he wrote with delight in a review of the recently published first volume. The writer himself attached little importance to the success of books - he wrote for himself, moving away from life's problems, including financial and family troubles, which by that time had accumulated a lot. In 1856, The Family Chronicle, previously published in magazines in the form of excerpts, was published as a separate book.

"Childhood years of Bagrov-grandson" refers to the late period of his creative biography. Critics note in them the unevenness of the narrative, less capacity and conciseness compared to what Aksakov wrote earlier. An appendix to the book was the fairy tale "The Scarlet Flower" - the writer dedicated it to her little granddaughter Olga.

At the same time, “Literary and Theatrical Memories” were published, full of interesting facts, quotes and pictures from the life of contemporaries, but having less literary significance compared to the artistic prose of Sergei Timofeevich. Peru Aksakov also owns stories about nature, designed for young readers - "The Nest", "Hot Midday", "The Beginning of Summer", "Ice Drift" and others.

It was said about the writer that all his life he grew spiritually along with the century. In his works, Aksakov did not strive for an angry denunciation of serfdom: he simply truthfully showed all aspects of the life of the inhabitants of the Russian estate of that time, even the darkest and most unpleasant, but at the same time he was far from revolutionary thoughts, and even more so from putting them into the reader’s head. .

Some critics, for example, N. A. Dobrolyubov, blamed him for this, but, being a tolerant and sensitive person by nature, Aksakov did not seek to impose his opinion and preferred to simply honestly portray what he sees around.

Personal life

In June 1816, the aspiring writer married Olga Zaplatina, the daughter of a Suvorov general from a Turkish woman, Igel-Syum. After the wedding, the couple lived for some time in their parents' house, and then the writer's father gave them a separate Nadezhdino estate. Both spouses were not talented in housekeeping, so the family soon moved to Moscow.

Sergei Timofeevich was a touchingly caring father for numerous children (according to some sources, he had 10 of them, according to others - 14) and was ready to take care of them, even those that were usually entrusted to nannies.

Personal life and communication with grown-up offspring, especially sons, played a significant role in the development of the writer's views. They had little resemblance to him in temperament and temperament, but they inherited from their father a thirst for knowledge and tolerance for dissent. In the heirs, Aksakov saw the embodiment of modern youth with its high demands and complex tastes, and sought to comprehend and develop them.

Later, the three children of the writer joined the ranks of prominent Slavophile scientists: Ivan Aksakov became a famous publicist, Vera became a public figure and author of memoirs, Konstantin became a historian and linguist.

Death

Sergei Timofeevich suffered from epilepsy from his youth. In addition, from the mid-1840s, he began to have problems with his eyesight, which in his later years became especially painful. He could no longer work and dictated his last compositions to his daughter Vera.

In 1859, the writer died in Moscow, before he could finish the story "Natasha", in which he was going to describe his sister Nadezhda as the main character. The cause of death was an aggravated illness, which before that brought the writer to complete blindness.

Sergei Timofeevich was buried in the cemetery near the Simonov Monastery, and in the Soviet years the ashes of the writer were transferred to Novodevichy.

• Sergei Aksakov collected butterflies and even tried to breed them himself.
• The writer had more than 20 pseudonyms, under which his critical articles were most often published. The most famous of them are Istoma Romanov and P.Shch.
• The surname Aksakov has Turkic roots and goes back to the word meaning "lame".

• The theatrical play "The Scarlet Flower" entered the Guinness Book of Records as the longest running production for children - in 2001 it was played for the 4000th time.
• In Soviet times, the Aksakov estate housed a craft school, a children's colony, a post office, a hospital, a hostel for workers, and a seven-year general education school.
• The writer was fluent in three foreign languages ​​- German, French and English.

Quotes

A hunt is, without a doubt, one hunt. You pronounce this magic word and everything becomes clear.

Old wineskins can't stand new wine, and old hearts can't stand young feelings.

There is much selfishness hidden in the human being; he often acts without our knowledge, and no one is exempt from him.

Yes, there is the moral strength of a just cause, before which the courage of a wrong person yields.

Bibliography

• 1821 - "Ural Cossack"
• 1847 - "Notes on fishing fish"
• 1852 - "Notes of a rifle hunter of the Orenburg province"
• 1852 - "The story of my acquaintance with Gogol"
• 1855 - "Stories and memories of a hunter about different hunts"
• 1856 - "Family Chronicle"
• 1856 - "Memories"
• 1858 - "Articles on hunting"
• 1858 - "The Scarlet Flower: the tale of the housekeeper Pelageya"
• 1858 - "Childhood of Bagrov-grandson"

For thrones in the world

Let them pour swearing blood;

on a quiet lyre

I will sing love.

S. T. Aksakov

Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov, a subtle and deep painter of his native nature and a great connoisseur of the human soul. His first literary experience was poetry - naive-sentimental in his youth. He occasionally returned to poetry in subsequent years, but his prose glorified him: the memoir-autobiographical trilogy "Family Chronicle", "Childhood of Bagrov-grandson", "Memoirs". As well as the famous fairy tale "The Scarlet Flower", according to which performances are still staged in theaters. The staging of this fairy tale is even included in the Guinness Book of Records as the longest running children's play.

Aksakov Sergey Timofeevich was born on October 1, 1791 in Ufa in an old poor noble family. He spent his childhood in Ufa and in the family estate in Novo-Aksakov. Without graduating from Kazan University, he moved to St. Petersburg, where he served as a translator in the Law Drafting Commission. Public service in St. Petersburg began for Aksakov with the position of an interpreter. In a certain period of time, Aksakov moves from writing to translation. He translates Sophocles' Philoctetes, Boileau's 10th Satire, Walter Scott's Peveril, and thanks to these works he gains fame in the literary circles of Moscow and St. Petersburg. Translations of "The Miser" and "School of Husbands" by Moliere went on the stage of Moscow and St. Petersburg theaters.

Literary activity began in 1821Aksakov. But there was no time for creativity, he had to earn a living, and he was forced to serve as an inspector at the Land Surveying School, and later became its director.

In 1827-32 he served in Moscow as a censor, in 1833-38 - as an inspector of the surveying school, then - director of the Konstantinovsky Surveying Institute.

A prominent place in Russian memoir literature is occupied by Aksakov's memoirs, The History of My Acquaintance with Gogol (published in 1890). In the 20s and 30s, he was engaged in theater criticism, spoke out against the epigones of classicism and routine in theatrical art, urging actors to "simplicity" and "naturalness" of performance. Aksakov appreciated the innovative nature of the game Mochalov and Shchepkin. In 1834 he published the essay "Buran".

In the first books: “Notes on fishing” (1847), “Notes of a rifle hunter of the Orenburg province” (1852), “Stories and memories of a hunter about different hunts” (1855), designed for a narrow circle of lovers of fishing and hunting, Aksakov showed himself as a writer who owns the riches of the folk word and subtle powers of observation, as a penetrating poet of Russian nature. Turgenev wrote that Aksakov's hunting books enriched "our general literature." Aksakov's outstanding talent was revealed in the books "Family Chronicle" (1856) and "Childhood of Bagrov the Grandson" (1858).

The main place in Aksakov's heritage is occupied by autobiographical fiction, entirely based on "memories of a former life" and family traditions. It was created with a profound influence on Aksakov's creativity and personality of Gogol and in an atmosphere of "family" Slavophilism, which allowed him to clearly realize the merits and fundamental traditions of folk life, the lively "natural sympathy" of which he previously knew no price. Aksakov the artist rejected all violence, arbitrariness and awakened love for life, for people, for nature in its traditional, eternal aspect, poetized the estate life, the fortress of family foundations. Aksakov himself had 14 children (6 sons and 8 daughters), and the family was extremely friendly; its existence rested on traditionally patriarchal principles, on the coordination of the inclinations of all its members, on the harmony of moods and views; the children idolized the “aunt” and deeply loved their mother (the inspirer of their Orthodox upbringing, who combined devotion to the family and social temperament, knowledge of spiritual and modern fiction and had a literary gift, manifested in her letters). L. N. Tolstoy, who actively communicated with the Aksakovs in 1856-59, in all their domestic way of life found "harmony" and unity with the morality of the whole people. In such a moral atmosphere, the main pathos of "memories" was formed and strengthened, about which I. Aksakov wrote: bad in life.

Depicting the "domestic" life of the Russian nobility, poetizing the everyday events of local life, peering intently into their moral origins and consequences, Aksakov remains true to the nature of his talent and his creative aim - to reproduce absolutely authentic life material. Aksakov considered himself only a "transmitter" and "narrator" of actual events: “I can write only standing on the ground of reality, following the thread of a true event ... I don’t have the gift of pure fiction at all”. His prose is autobiographical, but with the utmost limitations of fiction, his characters and situations are filled with undeniable typicality.

Aksakov occupies a special place in the history of Russian culture, not only because of his remarkable literary work. The Aksakov House has been a center of attraction for a large circle of writers, journalists, scientists, and theater figures for many decades.In the 1920s and 1930s Shchepkin, Zagoskin, Pogodin, Shakhovskoy, Verstovsky, Nadezhdin regularly gathered in his house on Saturdays.This circle was replenished with friends of his children Konstantin and Ivan - Slavophiles: Khomyakov, Kireevsky,Samarin. For decades, the Aksakovs' house became one of the most important places where the Slavophil movement was born and developed.

After acquisitionAksakovAbramtsevo estate, Gogol, Turgenev, Shevyrev became frequent visitors.Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov himself, his wife Olga Semyonovna and children Konstantin Sergeevich, Ivan Sergeevich, Vera Sergeevna Aksakov created and maintained in their home both an atmosphere of hospitality and a high level of intellectual discussions.

Aksakov Sergei Timofeevich died on April 30, 1859 in Moscow.

“Russian literature honors in him the best of its memoirists, an indispensable cultural historian of everyday life, an excellent landscape painter and observer of the life of nature, and finally, a classic of the language”(A. Gornfeld)

CHILDHOOD YEARS OF BAGROV-GRANDSON

We then lived in the provincial city of Ufa and occupied a huge Zubinsky wooden house, bought by my father, as I later learned, at an auction for three hundred rubles in banknotes. The house was boarded, but not painted; it had darkened from the rains, and the whole mass looked very sad. The house stood on a slope, so that the windows to the garden were very low from the ground, and the windows from the dining-room to the street, on the opposite side of the house, rose about three arshins above the ground; the front porch had more than twenty-five steps, and from it the Belaya River was visible almost in its entire width. The two children's rooms in which I lived with my sister, painted blue on plaster, located near the bedroom, overlooked the garden, and the raspberries planted under them grew so high that they looked into our windows for a whole quarter, which greatly amused me. and my inseparable comrade, my little sister. The garden, however, was rather large, but not beautiful: here and there berry bushes of currants, gooseberries and barberries, two or three dozen lean apple trees, round flower beds with marigolds, saffrons and asters, and not a single large tree, not a shade; but this garden also gave us pleasure, especially to my sister, who knew neither mountains, nor fields, nor forests; I traveled, as they said, more than five hundred miles: despite my morbid condition, the greatness of the beauties of God's world imperceptibly fell on the child's soul and lived without my knowledge in my imagination; I could not be satisfied with our poor city garden and constantly told my sister, as a seasoned person, about various miracles that I had seen; she listened with curiosity, fixing on me, full of intense attention, her beautiful eyes, in which at the same time it was clearly expressed: "Brother, I do not understand anything." And what's so tricky: the narrator has just entered the fifth year, and the listener - the third.

I have already said that I was timid and even cowardly; probably, a serious and prolonged illness weakened, refined, brought to extreme susceptibility my nerves, and perhaps by nature I did not have courage. The first sensations of fear were instilled in me by the nanny's stories. Although she actually went after my sister, and only looked after me, and although her mother strictly forbade her even to talk to me, she sometimes managed to tell me some news about the beech, about brownies and the dead. I became afraid of the darkness of the night, and even during the day I was afraid of dark rooms. In our house there was a huge hall, from which two doors led to two small chambers, rather dark, because the windows from them looked out into a long hallway that served as a corridor; one of them housed a buffet, and the other was locked; it once served as an office for my mother's late father; all his things were collected there: a desk, an armchair, a bookcase, and so on. The nanny told me that they sometimes see my late grandfather Zubin there, sitting at the table and sorting out papers. I was so afraid of this room that I always closed my eyes when I passed it. Once, walking along the long passage, forgetting myself, I looked out the window of the study, remembered the nurse's story, and it seemed to me that some old man in a white dressing gown was sitting at the table. I screamed and fainted. My mother was not at home. When she came back and I told her about everything that had happened and about everything I had heard from the nurse, she became very angry: she ordered grandfather’s study to be unlocked, she brought me in there, trembling with fear, by force, and showed that there was no one there and that there was hanging on the armchairs some underwear. She made every effort to explain to me that such stories were nonsense and inventions of stupid ignorance. She drove my nanny away and for several days did not allow her to enter our nursery. But the extreme made us call this woman and again assign to us; of course, they strictly forbade her from telling such nonsense and took from her an oath promise never to talk about common people's prejudices and beliefs; but that didn't cure my fear. Our nurse was a strange old woman, she was very attached to us, and my sister and I loved her very much. When she was exiled to the servants' quarters and she was not even allowed to enter the house, she sneaked up to us at night, kissed us when we were sleepy, and wept. I saw it myself, because once her caresses woke me up. She followed us very diligently, but, due to inveterate obstinacy and ignorance, she did not understand my mother's requirements and slowly did everything in defiance of her. A year later, she was completely sent to the village. I longed for a long time: I could not understand why my mother was so often angry with the kind nurse, and I remained convinced that my mother simply did not love her.
Every day I read my only book, The Mirror of Virtue, to my little sister, never guessing that she still understood nothing but the pleasure of looking at pictures. I knew this children's book then by heart all; but now only two stories and two pictures out of a whole hundred remained in my memory, although they, compared to others, have nothing special. These are "The Grateful Lion" and "The Self-Dressing Boy". I even remember the physiognomy of the lion and the boy! Finally, The Mirror of Virtue ceased to absorb my attention and satisfy my childish curiosity, I wanted to read other books, but there was definitely nowhere to get them; those books that my father and mother sometimes read, I was not allowed to read. I started on Bukhan's Home Medicine Book, but for some reason my mother found this reading too uncomfortable for my age; however, she chose some places and, marking them with bookmarks, allowed me to read them; and it was indeed an interesting reading, because it described all the herbs, salts, roots, and all the medicinal preparations that are only mentioned in the medical book. I re-read these descriptions at a much later age and always with pleasure, because all this is stated and translated into Russian very sensibly and well.
A beneficent fate soon sent me an unexpected new pleasure, which made a strong impression on me and greatly expanded the circle of my then concepts. Opposite our house lived in his own house S. I. Anichkov, an old, rich bachelor, who had a reputation as a very intelligent and even learned man; this opinion was confirmed by the fact that he was once sent as a deputy from the Orenburg Territory to a well-known commission assembled by Catherine II to consider existing laws. Anichkov was very proud, as I was told, of his deputyship and boldly talked about his speeches and actions, which, however, did not bring any benefit, by his own admission. Anichkov was not loved, but only respected and even nailed to his harsh language and inflexible disposition. He favored my father and mother and even lent money that no one dared to ask him for. He once heard from my parents that I was a diligent boy and very fond of reading books, but that there was nothing to read. The old deputy, being more enlightened than the others, was naturally the patron of all curiosity. The next day he suddenly sends a man for me; my father took me. Anichkov, having thoroughly asked what I had read, how I understand what I read, and what I remember, was very pleased; He ordered me to bring a bunch of books and gave me... oh happiness! I was so delighted that almost with tears I threw myself on the old man's neck and, not remembering myself, jumped up and ran home, leaving my father to talk with Anichkov. I remember, however, the benevolent and approving laughter of the host, which thundered in my ears and gradually died away as I moved away. Fearing that someone would take away my treasure, I ran straight through the entrance to the nursery, lay down in my bed, closed the canopy, unfolded the first part - and forgot everything around me. When my father returned and laughingly told my mother everything that had happened at Anichkov's, she became very alarmed, because she did not know about my return. They found me lying with a book. My mother told me later that I was just like a lunatic: I didn’t say anything, I didn’t understand what they were saying to me, and I didn’t want to go to dinner. They had to take the book away, despite my bitter tears. The threat that the books would be taken away completely made me refrain from tears, get up and even have dinner. After dinner I grabbed the book again and read until evening. Of course, my mother put an end to such frenzied reading: she locked the books in her chest of drawers and gave me one part at a time, and then at certain hours appointed by her. There were twelve books in all, and they were not in order, but scattered. It turned out that this was not a complete collection of "Children's Reading", which consisted of twenty parts. I read my books with delight and, in spite of my mother's prudent frugality, I read them all in a little over a month. A complete revolution took place in my childish mind, and a new world opened up for me ... I learned in the “argument about thunder” what lightning, air, clouds are; learned the formation of rain and the origin of snow. Many phenomena in nature, which I looked at senselessly, although with curiosity, received for me a meaning, significance and became even more curious. Ants, bees, and especially butterflies, with their transformations from testicles into a worm, from a worm into a chrysalis, and, finally, from a chrysalis into a beautiful butterfly, captured my attention and sympathy; I got an irresistible desire to observe all this with my own eyes. Actually, moralizing articles made less impression, but how amusing I was "a ridiculous way to catch monkeys" and a fable "about the old wolf", which all the shepherds drove away from themselves! How I admired the "goldfish"!

+ + +

Even before, I heard in passing that my father was buying some kind of Bashkir land, but at the present time this purchase was made legally. Excellent land, more than seven thousand acres, thirty versts from Ufa, along the Belaya River, with many lakes, one of which was about three versts long, was bought for a small price. My father told me with warmth and detail how many birds and fish are found there, how many different berries will be born, how many lakes, what wonderful forests grow. His stories enraptured me and so inflamed my imagination that I even raved at night about the new beautiful land! On top of that, in a judicial act, she was given the name "Sergeevskaya wasteland", and the village, which they wanted to immediately settle there next spring, was previously named "Sergeevka". I liked it. The feeling of ownership, the exclusive belonging of anything, although not quite, is very much understood by the child and is a special pleasure for him (at least it was with me), and therefore I, being by no means a stingy boy, greatly valued that that Sergeevka is mine; without that possessive pronoun, I never called her. My mother used to go there in the spring to drink the koumiss prescribed to her by Deobolt. I counted the days and hours in anticipation of this happy event and tirelessly talked about Sergeevka with all the guests, with my father and mother, with my sister and with her new nanny, Parasha.

+ + +

Sergeevka exclusively captured my imagination, which my father ignited daily with his stories. The road to Bagrovo, nature, with all its marvelous beauties, were not forgotten by me, but only somewhat suppressed by the news of other impressions: life in Bagrovo and life in Ufa; but with the onset of spring, an ardent love for nature woke up in me; I so wanted to see green meadows and forests, waters and mountains, I so wanted to run around the fields with Surka, I so wanted to cast a bait, that everything around me lost its amusement for me and every day I woke up and fell asleep with the thought of Sergeevka. Holy Week has passed unnoticed for me. Of course, I could not understand its high significance, but I paid little attention even to what is understandable for children: joyful faces, festive dresses, bell-shaped. ringing, the constant arrival of guests, red eggs, etc. and so on. Our parish church stood on a hill, and the snow around it had long since melted. It was my great pleasure to watch the muddy and noisy streams of spring water run along the slope past our high porch, and even greater pleasure, which I was not often allowed to, was to clean the spring streams with a stick. From our porch I could see the Belaya River, and I was looking forward to when it would break. To all my questions to my father and Evseich: “When are we going to Sergeevka?” - they usually answered: "And this is how the river will pass."
Finally, the longed-for day and hour has come! Yevseich hurriedly looked into my nursery and in an anxiously joyful voice said: "The white one has set off!" Mother allowed it, and in one minute, warmly dressed, I was already standing on the porch and greedily following with my eyes how a huge strip of blue, dark, and sometimes yellow ice walked between the motionless shores. The transverse road had already drifted far away, and some unfortunate black cow was running along it like crazy, from one bank to the other. The women and girls standing near me accompanied with mournful exclamations every unsuccessful movement of the running animal, whose roar reached my ears, and I felt very sorry for him. The river at the turn bent behind a steep cliff - and behind it the road and the black cow running along it disappeared. Suddenly two dogs appeared on the ice; but their fussy jumps aroused not pity, but laughter in the people around me, for everyone was sure that the dogs would not drown, but jump over or swim ashore. I readily believed this, and, forgetting the poor cow, I myself laughed along with the others. The dogs were not slow to justify the general expectation and soon got over to the shore. The ice was still moving in a strong, solid, inseparable, endless block. Evseich, fearing a strong and cold wind, said to me: “Let's go, falcon, to the upper room; the river will not break soon, and you will vegetate. I'd better tell you when the ice starts to crack." I obeyed very reluctantly, but my mother was very pleased and praised Evseich and me. In fact, no closer than an hour later Evseich came to tell me that the ice on the river was breaking. Mother again let me go for a short time, and dressing even warmer, I went out and saw a new picture, also one I had never seen before: the ice was cracking, breaking into separate blocks; water splashed between them; they ran one on top of the other, the big and strong flooded the weakest, and if they met a strong stop, then they rose with one edge up, sometimes they swam in this position for a long time, sometimes both blocks collapsed into small pieces and sank into the water with a crash. A muffled noise, similar at times to a creak or a distant groan, clearly reached our ears. After admiring this majestic and terrible spectacle for some time, I returned to my mother and for a long time, with warmth, told her everything that I had seen. My father came from the presence, and I began to describe to him with renewed fervor how Belaya had passed, and told him even longer, even more passionately than my mother, because he somehow listened to me more willingly. From that day on, Belaya became a constant subject of my observations. The river began to overflow its banks and flood the meadow side. Every day the picture changed, and, finally, the flood of water, which extended for more than eight miles, merged with the clouds. To the left one could see an immense surface of water, clear and smooth as glass, and right opposite our house it was all as if dotted sometimes with the tops of trees, and sometimes up to half flooded with huge oaks, elms and sedges, the height of which only then was fully indicated, they looked like small, as if floating islands. - For a long time the hollow water did not sell, and this slowness irritated my impatience. It was in vain that my mother assured me that she would not go to Sergeevka until the grass grew: I kept thinking that the river was in the way and that we were not going because it had not entered the banks. Warm, even hot weather has already come. Belaya entered the low water, lay down in her sands; For a long time the fields had turned green and the urema had turned green beyond the river, but we still did not go. My father argued that it was difficult to drive through those places that were flooded with spring water, which were dirty, swampy, and which, in planks, either washed out the road or put silt on it; but to me all such obstacles seemed completely unworthy of attention. The desire to move quickly to Sergeevka became in me a painful striving of all thoughts and feelings towards one subject; I could no longer do anything, I was bored and picky. It was possible to foresee and should have taken real measures in order to tame this passion in me, this ability to be carried away to self-forgetfulness and fall into extremes. Subsequently, I heard my mother's regret that she paid little attention to this side of my character, a great hindrance in life and the cause of many mistakes.
I thought that we would never go, when all of a sudden, oh happy day! Mother told me that we are going tomorrow. I nearly went crazy with joy. My dear sister shared it with me, rejoicing, it seems, more than my joy. I slept badly at night. No one got up yet when I was ready at all. But then we woke up in the house, noise began, running around, laying down, they laid down the horses, gave the carriage, and, finally, at ten o'clock in the morning we went down to the carriage across the Belaya River. On top of that, Surka was with us.

+ + +

Sergeevka occupies one of the brightest places in the earliest memories of my childhood. At that time I already felt nature more strongly than during the trip to Bagrovo, but still not as strongly as I felt it a few years later. In Sergeevka, I only rejoiced with calm joy, without excitement, without a sinking heart. All the time I have spent in Sergeevka this year seems to me a happy holiday.
We, just like last year, crossed the Belaya in a slant boat. The same pebbles and sands met me on the other side of the river, but I paid little attention to them - Sergeevka, my Sergeevka, with its lake, the Belaya River and forests, was drawn in front of me. I looked forward impatiently to the crossing of our carriage and wagon, watched with impatience how they unloaded, how the horses were put in, and I really missed the white loose sands, along which it was necessary to drag more than a verst. Finally, we entered the urema, a green, flowering and fragrant urema. The merry singing of the birds rushed from all sides, but all the voices were covered with whistles, peals and the clicking of nightingales. Whole swarms of bees, wasps and bumblebees curled and buzzed around the flowering trees. My God, what fun it was! Traces of freshly drained water were noticeable everywhere: dry twigs, straw, plastered with silt and earth, already dried from the sun, hung in tatters on green bushes; the trunks of huge trees, high from the roots, were densely covered as if with dried mud and sand, which glowed from the sun's rays. “You see, Seryozha, how high the hollow water stood,” my father told me, “look, this elm tree is just in a hat from various drifts; it is clear that he was almost completely under water. Much of this kind was explained to me by my father, and I, in turn, explained to my dear sister, although she immediately sat and also listened to her father. Soon, and more than once, the validity of his fears was confirmed; Even now, in many places, the road was washed out, spoiled by spring water, and in some small planks it was so viscous from wet mud that our strong horses pulled the carriage with difficulty. Finally, we got out into an open field, ran at a fast trot, and at about three o'clock we arrived at the so-called Sergeevka. Approaching it, we again found ourselves in an uryoma, that is, in a floodplain, overgrown with sparse bushes and trees, beaten by many medium and small lakes, already overgrown with green reeds; it was the floodplain of the same Belaya River, which flowed a verst from Sergeevka and flooded this low-lying strip of land in the spring. Then we climbed a rather steep hillock, on the flat surface of which stood several new and old unfinished huts; to the left one could see a long strip of water, Lake Kiishki and the opposite shore, rather elevated, and directly opposite us lay a scattered large Tatar village of the so-called "Meshcheryaks". To the right, the floodplain of the Belaya River, which we now crossed, was green and sparkling, like glass, with its lakes. We turned a little to the right and drove into our estate, fenced in with fresh green wattle. The estate consisted of two huts: a new one and an old one, connected by a vestibule; not far from them was a human hut, not yet covered; the rest of the courtyard was occupied by a long thatched lane instead of a carriage shed and instead of a stable for horses; instead of a porch, two stones were laid to our entrance, one on top of the other; in the new hut there were no doors or window frames, and only holes were cut for them. My mother was not entirely happy and reprimanded my father, but I liked everything much more than our city house in Ufa. Father assured me that the frames would be brought tomorrow and without the jambs that were not yet ready, they would nail it outside, and for the time being advised to hang a carpet instead of doors. They began to unfold and settle down: chairs, beds and tables were brought in advance. We soon sat down to dinner. The meal, also prepared in advance on a tagan in a hole dug near the fence, seemed very tasty to us. In this pit, they wanted to knock down a summer kitchen stove out of clay. Mother calmed down, cheered up and let me go with my father to the lake, to which all my thoughts and desires aspired; Yevseich went with us, holding prepared fishing rods in his hands; mother laughed, looking at us, and cheerfully said: "There are no windows and doors, but your fishing rods are ready." For joy, I didn’t hear my feet under me: I didn’t walk, but ran skipping, so I had to hold my hands. Here it is, finally, my long-awaited and long-awaited magnificent lake, really magnificent! Lake Kiishki stretched in various bends, backwaters and reaches for about three versts; its width was very uneven: sometimes seventy fathoms, and sometimes half a verst. The opposite shore was a wooded hill, descending to the water in a gentle slope; to the left, the lake ended very close to a narrow branch, through which in the spring, the Belaya River poured into the hollow water; to the right, behind the bend, one could not see the end of the lake, along which, half a verst from our estate, a very large Meshcheryatsky village was settled, of which I have already spoken, also called Kiishki after the lake. Of course, the Russians called her, and the lake, and the newly settled Russian village of Sergeevka, simply "Kishki" - and this name was very suitable for the lake, fully denoting its long, twisted stretch. Clear clear water, very deep in some places, a white sandy bottom, various black forests reflected in the water as if in a mirror and overgrown with green coastal grasses - all together it was so good that not only I, but also my father, and Yevseich were delighted. Our shore was especially beautiful and picturesque, covered with young grass and meadow flowers, that is, a part of the shore that was not inhabited and therefore not polluted by anything; along the shore grew two dozen oaks of unusual height and thickness. As we approached the water, we saw new wide bridges and a new boat tied to them: new reasons for a new pleasure. My father took care of this in advance, because the water was shallow and it would be impossible to fish without bridges; and they turned out to be very suitable for washing clothes, but the boat was appointed for catching fish with nets and seines. Behind the footbridge stood a huge oak, several girths thick; near it once another oak grew, from which only a rather high stump remained, much thicker than the standing oak; Out of curiosity, all three of us climbed this huge stump, and, of course, we occupied only a small edge. My father said that twenty people could sit on it. He pointed out to me the notches on an oak stump and on a growing oak and said that the Bashkirs, the real owners of the land, put such notes on large oaks every hundred years, which many old people assured him of; there were only two such notches on the stump, and five on the growing oak, and as the stump was much thicker and, therefore, older than the growing oak, it was obvious that the rest of the notches were on the severed tree trunk. The father added that he saw an oak incomparably thicker and that there were twelve notes on it, therefore, he was 1200 years old. I don’t know to what extent the stories of the Bashkirs were true, but my father believed them, and they seemed to me then the truth, beyond doubt.
The lake was full of all kinds of fish, and very large ones; in high water, it came in from the Belaya River, and when the water began to subside, the Meshcheryak fenced off the narrow and shallow channel that connected the lake with the river, and all the fish remained in the lake until next spring. Huge pikes and asps now and then jumped out of the water, chasing small fish, which rushed about and melted incessantly. In places, near the banks and grasses, the water rippled from schools of fish, which crowded aground and even jumped out onto the coastal grass: I was told that this was a fish spawning. There were more perches and especially breams in the lake. We unwound the fishing rods and began to fish.

+ + +

The active organization of our semi-nomadic life began, and most importantly, the organization of special preparation and proper use of koumiss. To do this, it was necessary to see the Bashkir canton foreman Mavlyut Iseich (that was his name in his eyes, and behind his eyes - Mavlyutka), who was one of the estates who sold us the Sergeev wasteland. He lived, if not in the village of Kiishki, then somewhere very close, because his father sent to call him to him, and the sent one returned very soon with the answer that Mavlyutka would be here soon. In fact, we had barely had time to drink tea, when some strange bulk on horseback appeared in front of our gates. The crowd rode up to the fence, very freely got off the horse, tied it to the wattle fence and tumbled into our yard. We were sitting on our porch: the father went to meet the guest, extended his hand to him and said: "Salam Malikum, Mavlut Iseich." I opened my mouth in amazement. Before me stood a giant of extraordinary thickness; he was twelve inches high and twelve pounds in weight, as I later found out; he was dressed in a kazakin and the widest plush shalvars; on the crown of his thick head was a stained skullcap embroidered with gold; he had no neck; the head with a crotch lay tightly on broad shoulders; a huge saber dragged along the ground - and I felt an involuntary fear: it now seemed to me that such should be the insidious Tissaphernes, the leader of the Persian troops who fought against the younger Cyrus. And I was not slow to tell my guess in the ear of my sister and then my mother, and she laughed very much, which made my fear disappear. Mavlyutka was brought a bench, on which he sat down with difficulty; tea was served to him, and he drank many cups. The matter of preparing koumiss for the mother, which she herself asked for, was arranged very conveniently and easily. One of the seven wives of Mavlyutka was immediately appointed to this position in absentia: every day she had to come to us and bring a mare with her, so that, having milked the required amount of milk, ferment it in our dishes, in front of my mother, who had an irresistible aversion to uncleanness and untidiness in the preparation of koumiss. We agreed on a price and gave some money in advance to Mavlyutka, which, as I noticed, he was very happy about. I could not help laughing, listening to how my mother tried to imitate Mavlyutka, distorting her words. After that, a conversation began between my father and the canton foreman, which attracted all my attention: from this conversation I learned that my father bought such land that other Bashkirs, and not those from whom we bought it, called their own, that with On this land it was necessary to drive out two villages, that when there was a land survey, everyone would declare a dispute, and that several of our peasants should be moved to it as soon as possible. “Land world, drag the world soon, Aleksey Stepanych, the tank,” said Mavlyutka in a shrill voice, “the world was all over the world; white pillars are needed; I myself walk on the mizha. Mavlyut Iseich left, unleashed his horse, about which he said, among other things, that she “drag him alone in a whole herd”, put on his felt eastern cap, mounted very lightly, waved his terrible whip and rode home. It was not for nothing that I drew attention to the conversation of the Bashkir foreman with my father. Left alone with his mother, he spoke of this with a sad face and a preoccupied look: then I learned that mother had not liked this purchase before, because the land we were acquiring could not quickly and without great difficulties get into our possession: it was inhabited by two villages of apprentices, "Kiishki" and "Old Timkin", who lived, it is true, under expired contracts, but which were very difficult to bring to other, state-owned lands; What my mother disliked the most was that the Bashkir salesmen themselves quarreled among themselves, and each one called himself the real master, and the other a deceiver. Now I told about it as I later learned; at that time I could not understand the real thing, but was only afraid that they would argue, quarrel, and maybe even fight. My heart felt that my Sergeevka was not strong, and I was not mistaken.
With each passing day, our semi-nomadic life became more and more organized. The window frames were brought in and, in the absence of jambs, they were nailed quite tightly on the outside; but there were no doors, and they continued to be replaced with carpets, which seemed to me no worse than doors. A large new white Kalmyk wagon was set up in the yard; the side felt walls could be raised, and the lattice wagon then looked like a huge umbrella with a round hole at the top. We usually dined there, so that there were fewer flies in our rooms, and usually raised one side of the wagon, the one that was in the shade. an irresistible disgust, at least I assured myself and others of it, and although my mother really wanted me to drink koumiss, because I was thin and everyone thought that I would get fat from him, but I fought back. His sister could not bear him either; he was decidedly harmful to her. To tell the truth, I think that I could get used to koumiss, but I was afraid that its use and morning walks, inseparable from it, would not take away from me the best time for fishing. The desire to fish hour by hour took possession of me more; I was only afraid that my mother would not forbid me to sit with a fishing rod on the lake, with violent diligence I studied reading, writing and the first two rules of arithmetic, which my father taught me. I remember that I pretended to be quite skillful and often launched into lengthy discussions with my mother, while my only mind was how to quickly run away with a fishing rod to the bridge, when every minute of delay was a difficult test for me. The fish were biting wonderfully; there were no failures, or they consisted only in the fact that sometimes there were fewer large fish. My dear sister, who also sometimes went fishing with her Parasha, did not find any pleasure in this, and the mosquitoes soon drove her home. Finally the guests began to arrive. Once hunters came together for fishing: the kindest General Mansurov, a passionate hunter for all hunting, with his wife, and Ivan Nikolaich Bulgakov, also with his wife. They started a big fishing net; they got a net, I think, from the Bashkirs, as well as a few more boats; two of the larger ones were tied together, covered across with boards, nailed to the boards, and thus made a small ferry with a bench on which the ladies could sit.

+ + +

Our way back to Ufa was completed faster and more calmly: the frosts were moderate, the windows in our wagon were not completely covered with snow, and the wagon did not tip over.
In Ufa, all our friends we knew were very happy with us. The circle of our acquaintances, especially the children who know us, has significantly decreased. My godfather, D. B. Mertvago, who, although he was never kind to me, never teased me, had long since left for Petersburg. The princes and their children moved to Kazan; The Mansurovs also left somewhere with all the children ...

+ + +

From the very moment I returned to Ufa, I began to listen and notice that my mother and father had arguments, even unpleasant ones. It was about the fact that the father wanted to fulfill exactly the promise he had made to his mother: to retire immediately, move to the countryside, save his mother from all household chores and calm her old age. He considered it necessary to move to the countryside and take care of the household even when my grandmother agreed to live with us in the city, which she did not want to hear about. He said that "without a master, order soon deteriorates and that in a few years you will not recognize either the Old or the New Bagrov." To all these reasons, about which my father spoke a lot, for a long time and quietly, my mother objected with vehemence that “village life is disgusting to her, Bagrovo is especially disliked and harmful to health, that she is not loved in the family and that she is expected there by incessant displeasure. ". However, there was another important reason for moving to the village: a letter received from Praskovya Ivanovna Kurolesova. Upon learning of the death of my grandfather, whom she called the second father and benefactor, Praskovya Ivanovna wrote to my father that “he has nothing to live on trifles in Ufa, serve in some court from three hundred rubles salary, which would be much more profitable to take care of his own household. , and to help her, the old woman, with her housework. It is also by the way, because Old Bagrovo is only fifty miles from Churasov, where she lives permanently. At the end of the letter, she wrote that she “wants to recognize Sofya Nikolaevna by sight, with whom it would be high time to introduce her: and she wants to see her heirs.”

+ + +

Spring came, and instead of a joyful feeling, I felt sadness. What did it matter to me that streams ran from the mountains, that thawed patches appeared in the garden and near the church, that the White River passed again and its waters again overflowed widely! I will not see Sergeevka and its wonderful lake, its tall oaks, I will not fish from the bridges together with Evseich, and I will not lie on the banks of the Surk, stretched out in the sun! - Suddenly I find out that my father is going to Sergeevka. It seems that this was decided long ago, and was only hidden from me so as not to tease the child in vain. Surveyor Yartsev came to Sergeevka to demarcate our land. The land surveying was promised to be over in two weeks, because my father had to return by the time I had a new sister or brother. I did not dare to ask my father. The roads were not yet passable, Belaya was in full flood, and my father had to travel ten miles by boat, and then somehow get to Sergeevka in a cart. My mother was very worried about my father, which aroused anxiety in me. Mother was also afraid that the land survey would not delay her father, and in order to calm her down, he gave her a word that if the land survey was not completed in two weeks, he would drop everything, leave someone there as an attorney, although Fyodor, Parasha’s husband, and he will come to us, to Ufa. Mother could not help crying as she said goodbye to my father, and I burst into tears. I was sad to part with him, and scared for him, and bitter that I would not see Sergeevka and not go to the lake. It was in vain that Yevseich consoled me with the thought that now it was impossible to go for a walk, because it was dirty; you can’t fish, because the water in the lake is muddy - I didn’t trust him well: I noticed more than once that for my comfort they told lies. These two weeks dragged on slowly. Although I, living in the city, spent little time with my father, because in the morning he usually left for his office, and in the evening he visited or received guests himself, but I was bored and sad without him. My father did not have time to tell me properly what it means to survey the land, and in order to supplement the information, after asking my mother, and then Yevseich, what the survey consists of, and having learned almost nothing new from them (they themselves knew nothing), I made up for myself, however , some notion about this matter, which seemed to me important and solemn. However, I knew the external situation of the land survey: milestones, stakes, a chain and witnesses. My imagination painted various pictures for me, and I wandered mentally along with my father through the fields and forests of the Sergeevskaya dacha. It is very strange that the concept of land surveying that I had drawn up approached reality quite closely: later I was convinced of this by experience; even the thought of a child about the importance and some kind of solemnity of surveying came into my head every time when I walked or rode behind the astrolabe, reverently carried by the peasant, while others dragged the chain and stuck stakes every ten fathoms; the real thing, that is, measuring the earth and shooting it on a plan, of course, I did not understand then, like everyone around me.
Father kept his word: exactly two weeks later he returned to Ufa. It was much more difficult to return than to go to the land surveying. The water began to recede strongly, in many places the land became bare, and all the ten miles that father calmly traveled there by boat, it was necessary to travel on horseback on the way back. There was still a lot of water in the planks and hollows, and it sometimes reached up to the horse's belly. My father arrived, covered from head to toe in mud. My mother and my sister and I were very happy with him, but my father was unhappy; many Bashkirs and all pripuskniki, that is, residents of "Kiishki" and "Timkin", declared a dispute and went around the dacha with black (controversial) pillars: fencing with white pillars meant indisputable ownership. Having told everything in detail, the father added: “Well, Seryozha, the Sergeevskaya dacha will go on the back burner and will not get to you soon; in vain we hastened to transfer the peasants there. I was upset, because it was very pleasant for me to have property, and since then I have ceased to say with pleasure at every opportunity: "My Sergeevka."

Aksakov Sergei Timofeevich (1791-1859), writer.

Born October 1, 1791 in Ufa. Childhood passed in a patriarchal landlord environment, which had a profound influence on the formation of Aksakov's calm, benevolent worldview.

After studying at Kazan University, he entered the service in St. Petersburg, where he became close to the Conversation of Russian Word Lovers circle. It included A. S. Shishkov, I. A. Krylov, G. R. Derzhavin and other conservative writers who defended the purity of the Russian literary language against the new wave of N. M. Karamzin.

V. G. Belinsky argued that along with the “conversation” in public life, “it seemed that the Russian stubborn antiquity revolted again, which, with such convulsive and all the more fruitless tension, defended itself against the reform of Peter the Great.” The society published the journal "Reading in the Conversation of Lovers of the Russian Word", where Aksakov began to publish his translations and short stories. On June 2, 1816, the writer married O. S. Zaplatina and left for his estate in the Volga region - the village of Novo-Aksakovo, Orenburg province. There was born the first-born - Konstantin Aksakov. The father became so attached to the child that he replaced his nanny.

The main content of the life of the family was the desire to meet the high Christian ideal and the preaching of this ideal in society. The second son of Aksakov, Ivan, wrote about his mother this way: “The inexorability of duty, chastity ... disgust from everything dirty ... severe disregard for any comfort ... truthfulness ... at the same time, the ardor and liveliness of the soul, love of poetry, the desire for everything sublime - these are the distinctive properties of this wonderful woman."

In August 1826, the Aksakovs moved to Moscow, where Sergei Timofeevich soon got a job as a censor, and then became an inspector (since 1935, director) of the Konstantinovsky Land Survey Institute. For the summer, the family went to suburban estates, and in 1843 settled in Abramtsevo, near Moscow. Life in the family estate addicted Aksakov to hunting and instilled in the writer a subtle sense of native nature, which was reflected in Notes on Fishing (1847) and Notes of a rifle hunter in the Orenburg province (1852). These "hunting books" brought Sergey Timofeevich the fame of a recognized master.

Written after the story “Family Chronicle” (1856) and “Childhood of Bagrov the Grandson” (1858; as an appendix to this work the fairy tale “The Scarlet Flower” is included) are dedicated to the life of three generations of provincial nobles at the turn of the 18th and 19th centuries. Far from the salon-political struggle of the 40-50s. XIX century, Aksakov spoke about the relationship between peasants and masters with calm equanimity, conveying the age-old confidence of the landlords in the immutability and justice of the serf way of life.

The literary community did not find any denunciation of serfdom in Aksakov's works. Truthfully showing even the darkest sides of the estate nobility, the author, however, did not lead the reader to the conclusion that it was necessary to break the old order of life. This is what the democratic critic N. A. Dobrolyubov blamed Aksakov for, noting in the article “The Village Life of the Landowner in the Old Years” that the writer is always distinguished by “more subjective observation than probing attention in relation to the outside world.”

Despite such criticism, the house of Sergei Timofeevich became a center of attraction for many figures of culture and art. On Saturdays, prominent scientists and writers gathered in Abramtsevo: N. F. Pavlov, N. I. Nadezhdin, M. P. Pogodin, S. P. Shevyrev, M. A. Dmitriev. Aksakov's friends were N.V. Gogol and the actor M.S. Shchepkin. Children usually were in the company of parents, elders, lived their lives. Complete mutual understanding, trust and a special atmosphere of spiritual closeness allowed the Aksakovs to raise sons who fully shared the views of their parents.

Russian writer.

Sergey Timofeevich Aksakov was born on September 20 (October 1), 1791, in the family of Timofey Stepanovich Aksakov (1759-1832), a representative of an old but poor noble family.

The childhood of the future writer passed in and in the family estate of his father. In 1799-1804 he studied at the Kazan Gymnasium, since 1804 - at the newly formed Kazan University.

In 1807, without completing the university course, S. T. Aksakov moved to, then to. He worked as an interpreter for the Law Drafting Commission. At this time, he made his first rapprochement with literary circles.

In subsequent years, S. T. Aksakov lived in, then in, then in the village. During his stay in 1821, he managed to enter the writing and literary environment.

In 1827-1832, S. T. Aksakov served as a censor, in 1833-1838 he was an inspector of the land surveying school, with the transformation of which into the Konstantinovsky Land Survey Institute, he became its director. In 1839, having inherited his father's fortune, he left the service.

Since 1843, S. T. Aksakov lived mainly in his estate near Moscow. He was visited here, M.S. Shchepkin. A prominent place in Russian memoir literature is occupied by Aksakov’s memoirs “The History of My Acquaintance with”, first published in 1890.

In the 2nd half of the 1820s - early 1830s, S. T. Aksakov was engaged in theater criticism, spoke out against the epigones of classicism and routine in stage art, calling on actors to "simplicity" and "naturalness" of performance.

In 1834, S. T. Aksakov published in the almanac "Dennitsa" his essay "Buran", which marked the beginning of his writing activity. In his first books - "Notes on fishing" (1847), "Notes of a rifle hunter of the Orenburg province" (1852), "Stories and memories of a hunter about different hunts" (1855), - originally designed for a narrow circle of fishing and hunting enthusiasts, S. T. Aksakov showed himself as a writer who owns the riches of the folk word and subtle powers of observation, as a penetrating poet of Russian nature.

The main place in the legacy of S. T. Aksakov is occupied by autobiographical fiction, entirely based on "memories of a former life" and family traditions. His outstanding literary talent was most fully revealed in the books "Family Chronicle" (1856) and "Childhood of Bagrov the Grandson" (1858), created on the basis of memoirs and family traditions. Based on the history of three generations of the Bagrov family, the author recreated in them the landlord life of the end of the 18th century in its everyday life. He had a significant influence on the writer's work.

In the last years of his life, S. T. Aksakov also created such memoirs as “Literary and theatrical memories”, “Meetings with Martinists”.

S. T. Aksakov died on April 30 (May 12), 1859. Initially, he was buried in the Simonov Monastery. After its destruction in 1930, the remains of the writer were transferred to the Novodevichy cemetery.