Antonov Apples - Ivan Bunin

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: Antonov Apples
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Antonov apples
Ivan
Alekseevich Bunin
... I recall a beautiful autumn early. August was a warm rain as if purposely drop down for sowing, with rain in
most time, in the middle of the month, around the feast of St. Lawrence. A "fall and winter live well, if at Lawrence
The works water is quiet and the rain." Then the Indian summer web many village on the field. This is also a good sign: "Many
tenetnika on the Indian summer autumn vigorous" ... I remember the early, fresh, quiet morning ... I remember a
Poems
large, full gold, dried and depleted garden, remember maple alleys, delicate aroma of fallen leaves and the smell
stories, novels Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is so pure, like it not, throughout the garden
Translations voices and creaking carts. It Tarkhan, tradesmen, gardeners, hired men and sprinkled apples to the night to send
About the poet them to the city certainly in the night, when it is so nice to lie on the cart, looking up at the starry sky, the smell of tar
in the fresh air and listen to the gently creaking in the dark a long convoy along the highway. Man, pour apple, eating
Biography their school crash one by one, but it is such an institution never a tradesman will not break it, and still say:
Family
Wali, eat their fill nothing to do! On draining all honey drink.
Photo
Museum And the cool silence of the morning breaks only sated kvohtane blackbirds on coral pock in the thicket of the
Places garden, but the voices echoing knock poured into action and tubs of apples. In thinning the garden is visible far from
the road to the big hut, strewn with straw, and the best hut, near which commoners have got over the summer the
documentary
whole economy. Everywhere it smells strongly of apple, then especially. In a tent arranged bed stands a singlegun,
Reading green with a samovar in the corner dishes. Around the hut lying mats, boxes, all sorts of ragged belongings, dug
Criticism Bunin earthen oven. At noon on it cooks magnificent gruel with bacon, basking in the evening samovar, and in the garden,
the trees, stretches a long strip of bluish smoke. The festive days of the colonies of the hut the whole fair, and the
Criticism about Bunin
trees constantly flashing red hats. Lively crowdodnodvorki girls in sundresses, strongsmelling paint, "lordly" come
's notebooks, diaries, to its beautiful and rough, savage costumes starostiha young, pregnant, with a broad face and a sleepy important as
memoirs Bunin holmogorskaja cow. At the head of its "horns" Spit put on the sides and top of the head covered with several
Memories of Bunin, talks handkerchiefs, so that the head seems huge; legs in boots with horseshoes, are stupid and hard; sleeveless jacket
Letters Bunin corduroy, long curtains and skirts black and purple with stripes of color brick and lined on the hem wide gold
Letters Bunin
"prozumentom" ...
Letters about Bunin Shopping butterfly! she says about her commoner, shaking his head. translation and such ...
Miscellaneous
A boy in a white shirt and his short zamashnyh portochkah, with white open heads, all fit. They come in twos
summary section and threes, small fingering her bare feet, and look askance at the shaggy sheepdog tied to an apple tree. Buys, of
http://bunin.niv.ru/bunin/rasskaz/antonovskieyabloki.htm 1/11
5/25/2017 IA Bunin .: Antonov Apples
Order books: "Ivan Bunin" course, one for and buying something just a penny or an egg, but a lot of buyers, trade is brisk, and the consumptive
Order books for literature tradesman in a long coat and red boots gay. Together with his brother, lisping, nimble poluidiotom, who lives in his
Essays, reports: "Ivan "mercy", he deals with jokes, rhymes and sometimes even "touch" on the Tula accordion. And the evening in the
Bunin" garden of a crowd of people, heard about the shelter laughter and talk and sometimes stomping dances ...
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At night in the weather gets very cold and dewy. I breathed in the scent of a new threshing floor of rye straw
Search by Keyword and chaff, cheerfully go home for dinner by a garden tree. Voices in the village or the creaking of the gate are
Other literary sites distributed remarkably clear on icy dawn. Darkens. And here's the smell of the garden a fire, and firmly pull the
Literary dictionaries and fragrant smoke of cherry twigs. In the darkness, in the bottom of the garden fantastic picture: exactly in the corner
encyclopedias of hell blazing around the hut crimson flame, surrounded by darkness, and someone's black, as if carved from black
Send a message to the tree silhouettes moving around the fire, meanwhile, as the giant shadows of them go on apple trees . Then the entire
administration site tree will fall black hand a few yards, then draw a clear two feet two black pillars. And suddenly it all glide with apple
Copyright trees and a shadow falls across the alley from the hut to the gate ...
Useful articles
Late at night, when the lights go out in the village, when the already high shine diamond constellation Stozhar,
run through the garden again in the sky.
Our partners
Fcroma.ru News Roma Of dry leaves rustling, as the blind, get to the shed. There's a clearing a little lighter, and above his head is
football club 's official white Milky Way.
website news locomotive.
Is that you, young master? softly calls out someone from the darkness.
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I. And you are not asleep yet, Nicholas?
We can not, with sleep. A must, too late? Vaughn, I think, a passenger train coming ...
Long listen and distinguish the tremor in the ground, shivering becomes noise, growing, and that's like what is
already a garden, rapidly beat a noisy clock wheels: clattering and banging, rushing train ... closer, closer, louder and
angrier .. . And then he begins to subside, to stall, just go into the ground ...
And where you have a gun, Nicholas?
But near the boxwith.
Vskinesh up hard as scrap, singlebarreled gun and shoot with the fluff. Crimson flame deafening crash flash
towards the sky, and blind momentarily extinguish star and vigorous echo ring burst, and the roll on the horizon, far
away pausing in pure air and sensitive.
Wow, great! say a tradesman. Potraschayte, potraschayte, young master, and then just the trouble!
Again, all modulo shaft shook off ...
A black sky fiery imps strips falling stars. A long time looking in his dark blue depths crowded constellations will
float until the ground beneath their feet. Then vstrepeneshsya and hiding arms into the sleeves, quickly going to run
down the alley to the house ... How cold, dewy and how to live well in the world!
II
"Vigorous Antonovka a merry year." Village do well if born a antonovka: means "bread had been grown ... I
recall a good year.
In the early dawn, when even yell cocks and in the smoke, they smoke house, raspahnesh used to box in a
cool garden filled with lilac mist, through which the bright shining here and there the morning sun, and did not
restrain himself will you have to quickly zasedlyvat horse, and he going to run wash .On pond. Small leaves almost
all flown to the coastal Lozin and branches show through on the turquoise sky. Water under Lozin became clear, ice
and seemed heavy. It instantly banishes night laziness, and, having washed and had breakfast in the human workers
with hot potatoes and black bread with a large crude salt, with pleasure you feel under a slippery skin of the saddle,
driving through the settlement on the hunt. Autumn time for patronal feasts, and the people at this time to tidy up,
happy, countryside views is not the same that in another time. If the year of productivity and on the threshing floor
overlooks the whole city of gold, and on the river loudly and sharply gogochut geese in the morning, because in the
village and it is not bad. In addition, our Settlement spokon century, from the time of his grandfather, famous for their
"wealth". Old men and women living in the Settlement a very long time the first sign of a rich village and were all
tall, big and white as snow. Only hear are: "Yes that's Agatha eighty three godochkov leg it!" or talk like that:
And when you die, Pankrat? I bet you a hundred years will happen?
How are pleased to say, sir?
How many years you, ask!
And I do not know, sir, sir.
Yes Plato Apollonich something you remember?
Howto, sir, I remember clearly.
You see now. You, therefore, no less than a hundred.
The old man, who stands in front of his master stretched out, gently and smiles guiltily. Well, they say, do
blame zazhilsya. And he probably would have further zazhilsya if not stuffed onions in Petrovka.
I also remember an old woman it. All used to sit on a bench on the porch, bent over, shaking his head,
gasping for breath and holding hands bench all about something thinks. "Oh my goodness I suppose", said the
women, because the "good" in her chests were, however, a lot. But she seemed not to hear; weakeyed stares off
into the distance from under raised eyebrows sadly, shaking his head and accurately tries to remember something.
Most were old, all kind of dark. PANEVA almost the last century, chunki mortuary, neck yellow and withered, a
shirt with kanifasovymi shoals always white and white "quite even in the luggage coffin." And the porch large stone
lying: she bought herself to the grave, as well as a shroud a great shroud, with the angels, with crosses and prayer
printed around the edges.
By becoming old men and yards were in the Settlement: brick, triple even grandfathers. And rich men at
Savely, Ignat, from Drona the hut were two or three links, because to share in the Settlement there was no fashion.
In such families, we drove the bees, proud stallion Bityug Civauxzheleznoto color and kept the estate in order. On
the threshing floors were dark and thick fat hemp, were barns and barn, covered vprichesku; in Punko and
Ambarchik were iron doors, behind which kept canvases, spinning wheels, new coats, harnesses composing
measures, bound in copper hoops. On the gate and on a sled crosses were burned. And I remember, I sometimes
seemed to be extremely tempting to be a man. When used to going on a sunny morning in the village, all you think
about how good mowing, threshing, sleeping on the threshing floor in Omet, and holiday get up with the sun, a thick
and musical bells from the village, to wash around the barrels and put on clean zamashnuyu shirt, same pants and
indestructible boots with horseshoes. If, however, it was thought, we add to this a healthy and beautiful wife in festive
attire, but the trip to Mass and then lunch at the bearded fatherin, lunch with hot mutton on wooden plates and
rushes, with honeycomb and honey Braga so more and wish impossible!
Warehouse Middle aristocratic life even on my mind very recently had a lot to do with the storagerich
peasant life in their domesticity and rural oldworld welfare. That is, for example, cottage aunt had Anny
Gerasimovny, who lived from Settlement twelve miles. Yet it used to get there before the estate is already quite
depleted. With dogs on the pack has to go a step, and do not want to rush so much fun in the open field on a sunny
and cold day! The terrain is flat, it is visible far away. The sky is light and spacious and deep. The sun shines from
the side, and the road after rains hardpacked carts, greasy and shiny as the rails. Around are scattered wide shoals
of fresh, gorgeously green winter wheat. Unfurled from a hawk in the clear air and will stand in one place, fluttering
wings sharp. And on a clear distance escape clearly shows telegraph poles, and wire them as silver strings, slide
down the slope from the blue. They sit falcon just black marks on music paper.
Serfdom I did not know and did not see, but I remember her aunt Anna Gerasimovna felt it. Vedesh yard and
immediately becomes clear that there is still quite alive. Manor a small, but all the old, rugged, surrounded by
centuriesold birches and Lozin. Outbuildings low, but homing a lot, and they are precisely fused with dark oak
logs with thatched roofs. Provided the size, or rather, only the length of blackened human, from which peep the last
Mohicans serf class some decrepit old men and women, decrepit cook retired, like Don Quixote. All of them, when
you enter the courtyard, tightened and lowlow bow. The grayhaired driver, heading from the carriage house to take
the horse, even the shed takes off his cap and around the yard is bareheaded. He traveled with an aunt postilion,
and now carries it to Mass, sleigh in winter and summer in a strong, ironbound trolley, like those ridden by priests.
Garden aunt famous for his neglect, nightingales, doves and apples, and the house roof. He stood at the head of
the court, near the garden, branches of lime trees hugged him was small and stocky, but it seemed that he and
age would not so thoroughly he looked out of his unusually high and thick thatched roof, blackened and hardened
by time. Me its front facade is always lively: exactly old face looking out from under a huge hat troughs eyes
windows with pearl from the rain and sun glasses. And on the sides of the eyes were the porch two old large porch
with columns. On the pediment of them always were wellfed pigeons, while thousands of sparrows rain peppered
the roof on the roof ... and rustic feel like a guest in this nest under turquoise autumn sky!
Come into the house, and above all hear the smell of apples, and then the other: the old mahogany furniture,
dried lime blossom, which in June is on the windows ... In all the rooms in the servants' quarters in the hall, in the
living room cool and gloomy: this is because the house is surrounded by a garden and the upper glass windows
color: blue and purple. Everywhere silence and purity, though, it seems, armchairs, tables and mirrors inlaid in
narrow and twisted gold frames never budge. And then you hear a cough: leaves aunt. It is small, but also, like all
around, solid. On the shoulders of her thrown over a large Persian shawl. Come it is important, but friendly, and
immediately under the endless talk about the old days, about inheritance, begin to appear treats: first "blown",
apples, Antonov, "Belle lady" Borovinka, "plodovitka" and then an amazing dinner : all through pink boiled ham
and peas, farshirovanyaaya chicken, turkey, pickles and red brew strong and sweetpresladky ... The windows in
the garden raised, and there blows brisk autumn coolness.
III
In recent years, one supported the dying spirit of the landowners hunting.
Before such estates as the estate of Anna Gerasimovna, it was not uncommon. Were destroyed, but still living
in grand style manor house with a huge estate, with a garden in twenty acres. However, keep some of these
mansions still to this day, but they have no life ... no triples, no riding "Kyrgyz", no hounds and greyhounds, no
servants, and is not the owner of all this the landownerhunter like my late brotherArseniy Semenycha.
Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floor were empty, the weather, as usual, abruptly
changed. The wind tore the whole day and ruffled the trees, the rain poured over them from morning till night.
Sometimes in the evening between the gloomy low clouds made its way to the west flickering golden light of a low
sun; air make clean and clear, and brilliant sunlight shone between the leaves, the branches that are alive and
worried grid moving from the wind. Cold and shone brightly in the north over the heavy leaden clouds liquid blue sky,
but because of clouds slowly floated ranges snowy mountains, clouds. You stand at the window and think: "Perhaps,
God willing, cleared up." But the wind did not let up. He was worried garden tearing continuously running from the
pipe human stream of smoke and catching up again locks ash ominous clouds. They were running low and fast
and soon, like smoke, clouding the sun. Extinguished its luster, it closes the window in the blue sky, and the garden
became deserted and bored, and again began to sow the rain ... at first quietly, gently, then thicker and finally turned
into a downpour with the storm and darkness. Came the long, anxious night ...
From such a drubbing garden out almost completely naked, covered with wet leaves and some hushed,
resigned. But how handsome he was, when again came the clear weather, clear and cold day in early October, a
farewell feast of autumn! Preserved foliage will now hang on the trees even before the first Zazimko. Black garden
will show through in the cold turquoise sky and humbly wait for winter, prigrevayas sunny splendor. A field has
greatly blackened fields and bright green zakustivshimisya of winter ... It's time to hunt!
So I see myself in the mansion Arseniya Semenycha, in a big house, in a room full of sun and smoke from
pipes and cigarettes. A lot of people all people are tanned, with a weatherbeaten faces, in coat and long boots.
Just very satisfying lunch, flushed and excited noisy talking about the upcoming hunt, but do not forget to finish
drinking the vodka, and in the afternoon. And in the yard, and blows the horn howl at different dog voice. Greyhound
Black, a favorite Arseny Semenycha, vzlezaet on the table and starts to devour the remains of meals with hare
sauce. But suddenly, it emits a terrible shriek, overturning the plates and glasses, breaks from the table: Arseny
Semenovich, left the office with a whip and a gun, suddenly stun the audience shot. Hall even more filled with smoke,
and Arseny Semenovich stands and laughs.
It is a pity that he missed! he says, playing eyes.
He is tall and thin, but broadshouldered and slim, and face handsome gypsy. His eyes shine wildly, he is
very clever, in a crimson silk shirt, velvet trousers and long boots. Scaring the dog and shot guests, he playfully
important baritone recites:
It's time to saddle an agile stems
And ringing the horn onto the shoulders!
and says loudly:
Well, however, have nothing to lose a golden time!
I'll still feel like greedy and clearly breathed young chest cold clear and wet day in the evening, when at times
you go to a noisy gang of Arseniy Semenycha excited musical din of dogs abandoned in Württemberg, in some Red
Hillock or Gremyachiy Island already one called exciting hunter. Going on evil, strong and squat "of Kyrgyzstan",
firmly holding him the reins, and feel fused with him almost together. He snorts, asking for lynx, noisy rustling hooves
on deep black and light carpets chipped foliage, and every sound is heard echoing in the empty, cheese and fresh
forest. Barked in the distance a dog, she passionately and plaintively said, two, three and suddenly the whole forest
roared like he was all glass, with the explosion of barking and shouting. Firmly struck shot amid this din and "brew"
and rolled off into the distance.
Take care, and! shouted someone in a desperate voice on the whole forest.
"But, take care!" flicker in my head intoxicating thought. Giknesh horse, and how broken loose, will rush
through the woods, there was nothing dismantling on the road. Only trees flashed before my eyes but sculpts face
with mud from under the hoofs of the horse. Jumped out of the woods, you will see on a green variegated, stretched
on the ground pack of dogs, and even more naddash "Kirghiz" to intercept the beast on the green, vzmetam and
stubble, until finally, not handled in another island, and is hidden from the eyes of a flock with his a furious barking
and moaning. Then, all wet and shivering from the stress of the siege foam, wheezing horse and gulp ice damp
forest valley. Fade away cries of hunters and dogs barking, and all around you silence. Halfopen timber is
stationary, and it seems that you got into some protected palaces. Tight ravines mushroom smells of damp, humus
leaves and wet wood bark. And the dampness of the ravine becomes perceptible in the woods holodneet and dark ...
It is time for the night. But to collect the dogs after hunting difficult. Long and hopelessly sad horn ring in the forest,
long heard shout curses and shrieking dogs ... Finally, it was quite in the dark, tumble gang of hunters to the estate
of a nearly unknown bachelor landowner and the noise fills the whole yard of the estate, which is illuminated
lanterns, candles and lamps, handed down to meet the guests of the house ...
It happened that at such a hospitable neighbor hunting lived for several days. In the early dawn, the icy wind
and the first wet Zazimko, leaving the forests and in the field, and returned to the twilight again, all in the mud, with
flushed faces, smelling of horse sweat, hair a hunted beast, and began drinking. The bright and crowded house
very warm after a day in the cold box. All go from room to room in unbuttoned his jacket, randomly drink and eat
noisily passing each other their impressions of the dead mother wolf, who, baring his teeth, rolling his eyes, lies with
unfolded on the side of fluffy tail among halls and paints his pale and have cold half blood. After the vodka and
eating a sweet feeling tired, a young bliss of sleep, like that across the water you hear voices. Weatherbeaten face
lights up, and close your eyes all the land and float underfoot. And when you lie in bed, in the soft feather bed,
somewhere in the corner of old room with obraznichkoy and the lamps, flashed before the eyes of the ghosts fiery,
colorful dogs, zanoet feeling of racing, and you will not notice in the whole body as potonesh with all these images
and feelings in a sweet and healthy sleep, forgetting even that this room was once a prayer old man, whose name
was surrounded by legends gloomy fortress, and that he died in the prayer, probably on the same bed.
When the shooting happened to sleep, rest was particularly pleasing. Wake up and for a long time lying in
bed. In the house silence. Hear carefully walks through the rooms gardener, melting furnace, and as wood cracking
and shoot. Ahead a day of rest in the silent already wintry homestead. Slowly Odenesh, wander through the
garden, you will find in the wet leaves accidentally forgotten cold and wet apple, and for some reason, it seems
extremely tasty, not at all like the others. Afterward you will take for the books his grandfather's books in thick
leatherbound, with gold stars on morocco roots. Nice smell, these, like their church prayer books books yellowed,
thick rough paper! Some pleasant sour moldy, ancient spirits ... well, and notes in their fields, large and round with
soft strokes made with a quill pen. Razverneshsya book and read: "The idea, worthy of ancient and modern
philosophers of mind color and sense of heart" ... And involuntarily entice and the book itself. This is "A gentleman
philosopher", an allegory published a hundred years ago, a dependent of a "cavalier of many orders" and printed in
the printing order of public charity the story of how "noble philosopher, having the time and the ability to reason, to
what the mind of man can rise, once I got the desire to compose a light plan in a broad place of the village "... then
come across a" satirical and philosophical writings of Mr. Voltaire "and revels in long sweet and mannered syllable
translation:" Sirs, Erasmus wrote in shestom nades ive century praise tomfoolery (mannered break point to
employment); you did order me to exalt the mind before you ... "Then from Catherine's antiquities go over to a
romantic time to almanacs, to sentimental, pompous and long novels ... Cuckoo pops of hours and mockingly sad
cuckoo over you in the empty house. And a little heart begins to creep into a sweet and strange longing ...
But "Secrets of Alexis," but "Victor, or Child in the Woods", "Midnight Beats Sacred silence takes the place of
the daily noise and merry songs settlers Dream mrachnyya spreads his wings over the surface of the hemisphere; it
shake down with them darkness and dreams ..!. . Dreams ... How often continue ONET tokmo suffering
zloschastnago .. "and flashed before the eyes of the old favorite words: rocks and oak forests, the pale moon and
loneliness, ghosts and ghosts!" EROTA "roses and lilies," leprosy and youthful playfulness tricksy "lily hand, Lyudmila
and Alina ... But magazines with names: Zhukovsky , Batiushkov, Lyceum Pushkin. And sadly remember my
grandmother, her polonaise on the clavichord, her languid poetry reading of "Evgeniya Onegina". And old dreamy
life stand before thee ... Good girls and women once lived in the noble estates! Their portraits staring at me from the
wall, aristocratically beautiful head in a vintage hairstyles and feminine gently lowered her long lashes at the sad and
gentle eyes ...
IV
Anton smell of apples disappear from the estates. Those days were so long ago, and yet it seems to me that
since then has passed almost a century. Peremerli old Vyselky died Gerasimovna Anna, was shot Arseny
Semenovich ... There comes a petty kingdom ,, impoverished to beggary! .. But good, and this miserable petty life!
So I see myself again in the village, late autumn. The days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit in the saddle
and one dog with a gun and a horn leaving for the field. Wind ringing and buzzing in the barrel of a gun, the wind
blowing hard to meet, sometimes with dry snow. The whole day I was wandering through the empty plains ... Hungry
and prozyabshy, I go back to the twilight to the house, and my heart becomes so warm and pleasant, when the lights
flashed Settlement and pull out the smell of smoke manor housing. I remember in our house loved at this time "sit
darkling," not to light the fire and keep the conversation in the semidarkness. Entering the house, I find sashes have
been inserted, and it is even more makes me peaceful winter mood. The servile worker stokes the stove, and I, as a
child, squat around a heap of straw, sharply smelling the freshness of winter already, and look in the burning stove,
then at the window, behind which the blue, sad dying twilight. Then I go to the servants' quarters. There is light and
crowded: girls chopped cabbage, sliced flash, I listen to them float, friendly knock and friendly, sadfunny song ...
Sometimes villagers will call some petty neighbor and take me a long time to yourself ... well and melkopomestvaya
life !
Landed early risers. Tight reaching, he rises from his bed and turns the fat cigarette of cheap, black, tobacco,
or simply tobacco. The pale light of early November morning illuminates a simple, barewalled office, yellow and
hardened skins of foxes over the bed and a stocky figure in trousers and unbelted shirt, and mirrored the sleepy face
Tatar warehouse. In the dim, warm house silence. Behind the door in the hallway snoring old cook, who lived in the
manor house is still a girl. This, however, does not interfere with the master hoarse shout the house down:
Lusha! Samovar!
Then, wearing boots, throwing on the shoulders of his jacket and buttoning a shirt gates, he goes on to the
porch. The locked hallway smells of dog; lazily reaching out, shrieking yawning and smiling, surrounded his hounds.
Otryzh! slow, indulgent deep voice he says, and goes through the garden into the floor. His chest was wide
breathes dramatic dawn air and odors chilly night, naked garden. Curled and blackened by frost leaves rustling
under the boots in a birch alley, already felled half. Looming low gloomy sky, sleep nahohlennye jackdaws on the
crest of the barn ... Nice will be a day for hunting! And to stay among the mall, sir stares hard at the autumn field,
desert green winter wheat, which roam the calves. Two hounds bitches squeal at his feet, and has a garden Pour:
jumping on Colca stubble, as if he were calling and asking in the field. But what can you do now with the hounds?
The beast is now in the field, vzmetah on chernotrope, and in the forest he is afraid, because in the forest the wind
rustling the leaves ... Ah, if only greyhounds!
The threshing barn begins. Slowly dispersing, buzzing drum threshing. Lazily pulling traces, resting his feet on
the dung around and swinging, go horse in the drive. In the middle of the drive, spinning on a bench, sitting, and
monochromatic driver shouts at them, always whipping whip only one brown gelding that all lazy and completely
asleep on the go benefit his eyes bandaged.
Well, well, girls, girls! strictly shouts sedate waiter, putting on a broad canvas shirt.
The girls quickly disperse current run with a stretcher, brooms.
With God! waiter said, and the first bunch starnovki, which was put on trial, with buzzing and squealing flies
into the drum and disheveled fan rises from beneath him up. A drum buzzing insistently, the work begins to boil, and
soon all the sounds blend into the overall pleasant noise threshing. The gentleman standing at the gate of the barn
and looks like its dark flashing red and yellow handkerchiefs, hand rakes, straw and all that moves rhythmically and
bustles under monotonous hum drum and shouting and whistling of the driver. Trunks clouds flying to the gate. Barin
worth, all ashen from him. he often glances in the ... Soon, soon zabeleyut field, will soon cover them zazimok ...
Zazimok, the first snow! Greyhounds not hunt with nothing in November; but winter comes, starts "work" with
the hounds. And here again, as in former times, attracts landed together, drinking in the past the money for whole
days lost in the snowy fields. A night on some farm deaf far glow in the dark winter night wing window. There, in that
little wing, floating smoke, dimly lit tallow candles, guitars tuned ...
At dusk stubborn wind spree,
My wide gates dissolves
begins anybody breast tenor. And other awkwardly, pretending that they were joking, pick up with a sad,
desperate daring:
My wide gates to dissolve,
White snow covering his pathway ...
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Antonov Apples - Ivan Bunin

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Antonov Apples - Ivan Bunin

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http://bunin.niv.ru/bunin/rasskaz/antonovskieyabloki.htm Любить значит 10/11

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Antonov Apples - Ivan Bunin

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Antonov Apples - Ivan Bunin

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5/25/2017 IA Bunin .

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http://bunin.niv.ru/bunin/rasskaz/antonovskie­yabloki.htm Любить ­ значит 10/11

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http://bunin.niv.ru/bunin/rasskaz/antonovskieyabloki.htm Любить значит 10/11