I. A. Bunin, “Antonov apples” (a brief summary follows) is a memory picture in which juicy autumn apples become the protagonist, because without their suffocating aroma the author himself would not have been. Why? Sounds, smells, random pictures, vivid images ... It would seem that thousands, millions of them have passed through their whole lives. Something is stored for a long time in memory and is gradually forgotten. Something passes without a trace, is erased, as if this had never happened. And something remains with us forever. It inexplicably seeps through the thickness of our consciousness, penetrates deep into and becomes an integral part of ourselves.
Summary “Antonov apples”, I. Bunin
Early fine autumn. It seemed that yesterday was August with its frequent warm rains. The peasants rejoiced, because when the rain drizzles on Lawrence, autumn and winter will be good. But time passes, and now a lot of cobwebs have appeared on the fields. Golden gardens thinned, shriveled. The air is clean, transparent, as if it were completely gone, and at the same time filled with the "top" smells of fallen leaves, honey and Antonov apples ... This is how Ivan Bunin begins his story.
"Antonov apples": the first memory.
The village of Vyselki, the estate of the author’s native aunt, where he loved to visit and spent his best years. Guomon and creaking carts in the garden: harvesting autumn apples. Petty bourgeois gardeners recruited men to pour apples and send them to the city. Work in full swing, albeit night in the yard. A cautious creak of a long convoy is heard, in the darkness, a loud crack is heard here and there - this man eats apples one by one. And no one stops him, on the contrary, the owners encourage this indefatigable appetite: “Vali, eat your fill, there’s nothing to do!” The thinned garden opens the way to a big hut - a real house with its own household. Everywhere it smells incredibly apples, but in this place - especially. In the afternoon, people gather near the hut, and there is a brisk trade. Who is not there: the girls-odnodorki in smelling sundresses, and the "gentlemen" in beautiful and rude costumes, and the young pregnant old woman, the boys in white shirts ... By evening, the fuss and noise subside. Cold and dewy. Crimson flames in the garden, fragrant smoke, cherry branches burst ... "How good it is to live in the world!"
I. A. Bunin, “Antonov apples” (for a brief summary, read on): second memory.
That year in the village of Vyselki was fruitful. As they said, if Antonovka was ugly, that means there will be a lot of bread, and village affairs will be good. And so they lived, from harvest to harvest, although it cannot be said that the peasants were in poverty, on the contrary, Vyselki was considered a rich land. Old men and old women lived for a long time, which was the first sign of prosperity: Pankrat will be a hundred years old, and Agafya has hit eighty-three years. To match the old people were houses in the village: large, brick, two or three under one roof, because it was not customary to live separately. They kept bees, were proud of the stallions, new short fur coats, canvases, spinning wheels, and harness were kept behind the iron doors. I also recall the estate of Aunt Anna Gerasimovna's aunt, which stood from the Settlements at a distance of twelve miles. In the middle of the courtyard was her house, around the linden, and then the famous apple orchard with nightingales and necks. It happened that you cross the threshold, and above all other smells, the aroma of Antonov apples is felt. Everywhere is clean and tidy. A minute, another, a cough is heard: Anna Gerasimovna comes out, and now, under endless courts and gossip about antiquity and inheritance, treats appear. First, the Antonov apples. And then a delicious dinner: boiled ham, pink with peas, marinades, turkey, stuffed chicken and strong sweet kvass.
I. A. Bunin, “Antonov apples” (summary): the third memory.
End of September. The weather is going bad. It rains more and more. You stand like that by the window. The street is deserted and boring. The wind does not stop. It begins to sow rain. At first it’s quiet, then it’s stronger, stronger and turns into a thick downpour with lead darkness and a storm. An alarming night is coming. The next morning, after such a fight, the apple orchard is almost completely naked. Wet leaves around. The preserved foliage, which has already become quiet and reconciled, will wander in the trees until the first frosts. Well, time to go hunting! Usually by this time everyone was gathering in the estate of Arseny Semenych: hearty dinners, vodka, reddened, weathered faces, lively conversations about the upcoming hunt. They went out into the yard, and there the horn was blowing, and a noisy group of dogs howled in different voices. It happened - you overslept, missed the hunt, but the rest was no less pleasant. You lie in bed for a long time. Around the silence, which is broken only by the crackling of firewood in the stove. Dressing slowly, you go out into the wet garden, where you will definitely find a randomly dropped cold, wet Antonov apple. Strange, but it seems unusually sweet and tasty, completely different from the others. Later you take up books.
The fourth memory.
The settlements were empty. Anna Gerasimovna died, Arseny Semenych shot himself, there aren’t even those village old men. The aroma of Antonov apples gradually disappears from the once prosperous landowners' estates. But good is this poor small-local life. In late autumn, at home, at dusk, they loved not to light a fire and conduct quiet intimate conversations in the darkness. On the street rustling under the boots blackened leaves from frost. Winter is coming soon, which means that, as in former times, small locals will eat each other up, will drink with the last money and spend days on end hunting in the snowy fields, and sing along with the guitar in the evening.
I. A. Bunin, “Antonov apples”, summary: conclusionAntonov apples are the first link in an endless chain of memories. Other pictures invariably pop up behind it, which, in turn, raise long-forgotten feelings and emotions to the surface, happy, tender, sometimes sad, and sometimes painful. The juicy aroma of Antonov apples is literally saturated with everything around. But this is at the beginning of autumn, during the dawn and prosperity in the village. Then their smell gradually disappears, deep autumn sets in, the village becomes poorer. But life goes on, and perhaps this smell will soon again be felt before others. Who knows?