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If God sends me readers, the, may be, for them to be curious, how I decided to write the history of the village Gorukhino. For I must enter into some preliminary details.
I was born of honest and noble parents in the village Gorukhino 1801 april 1 number and received his early education from our sexton. This we esteemed husband I owe subsequently developed in me a taste for reading, and in general to employment literary. my progress although they were slow, but trustworthy, For the tenth year of age, I knew almost everything, it still remains in my memory, by nature weak and that because of the equally poor health did not allow me to unnecessarily burden.
Rank writer has always seemed to me the most eligible. my parents, respectable people, but simple and bred the old-fashioned, nothing is ever used to read, and around the house, except for ABC, bought for me, calendars and Newest pismovnika, No book was. pismovnika Reading has long been my favorite exercise. I knew it by heart and, despite, each day it is in New unnoticed beauty. After General Plemyannikova, whose father was once an adjutant, Mounds seemed to me the greatest man. I asked about it at all, and, Unfortunately, nobody could satisfy my curiosity, No one knew him personally, all my questions were answered only, that the mounds composed Newest pismovnik *, that I did know before. The darkness of the unknown around him like some ancient demigod; sometimes I even doubted the truth of his existence. His name seemed to me false and tradition of it desolate mifoyu, It is expected the new research Niebuhr. However, he still pursued my imagination, I tried to give some way to this mysterious person, and finally I decided, that he should be like assessors Zemsky Koryuchkina, a little old man with a red nose and sparkling eyes.
AT 1812 year took me to Moscow and gave the guesthouse Karl Ivanovich Meyer - where I stayed less than three months, since we disbanded before the entry of the enemy - I returned to the village. By exile dvuhnadesyati languages ​​would take me back to Moscow to see, if Karl Ivanovich returned to its original or ashes, otherwise, send me to another school, but I begged my mother to leave me in the village, because my health does not allow me to get out of bed 7 hours, It opened as usual in all boarding. Thus I reached the age of sixteen, staying at initial my education and playing rounders with my amusing, only science, means I acquired sufficient knowledge during my stay at the guest house.
At that time I was determined cadet in ** infantry regiment, in any way and was to last 18** of the year. My stay in the regiment left me little good impressions, except for production in the officers and win 245 rubles, while, both in my pocket all remain Ruble 6 hryvnia. Death dearest my parents forced me to resign and come to my fiefdom.
And this era of my life is so important for me, I intend for it to spread, advance asking pardon of the indulgent reader, if evil indulgent eating his attention.
The day was overcast and autumn. Upon arrival at the station, which it should have been on my way to turn Goriukhino, I hired a voluntary and drove the back roads. Although I am by nature a quiet disposition, but impatient to see again the places, where I spent the best years, so much over me, I'm constantly urging my coachman, then promising him a tip, then threatening beatings, and as comfortable as I was pushing him in the back, rather than to take out and untie the purse, the, I confess, three times and hit him, that after birth with me did not happen, For class coachmen, I do not know why, for me especially kindly. The driver drove his three, but it seemed to me, what he, as usual Iamskoy, coaxing horses and brandishing a whip, nevertheless tightened tugs. Finally caught sight of the grove Goryuhinskuyu; and through 10 minutes, entered the manor yard. My heart was pounding - I looked around me with indescribable emotion. Eight years have I seen Gorukhino. birches, which, when I was planted near the fence, now they are grown high, branched trees. court, who had once been decorated with three correct flowerbeds, between which there was a wide road, strewn sand, is now facing was nekosheny meadow, where grazing cow. Chaise stopped at my front porch. The man was my go open the doors, but they were boarded up, although the shutters were open and the house seemed to be inhabited. Baba came out of the hut and asked human, I need someone. Learning, that his master came, She ran back into the house, and soon I was surrounded by servants. I was touched to the heart, seeing familiar and unfamiliar faces - and friendly with all of them kissing: my funny boys were already peasants, and sitting on the floor once the parcel girls married other women. men cried. The women I spoke without ceremony: "How are you grown old '- and I responded with a sense of: "How do you say, father, podurneli ». Led me to the back porch, I went to meet my nurse and embraced me, weeping and wailing, as the long-suffering Odysseus. Ran sink bath. Cook, now inactive grow a beard, I volunteered to cook dinner, or dinner - because it was getting dark already. Immediately cleared my room, in which there lived a nurse with the girls late mother, and I found myself in a humble paternal abode, and slept in the same room, which for 23 years ago I was born.
Nearly three weeks have passed for me in the troubles of every kind - I messed around with assessors, chiefs and all sorts of provincial officials. Finally I received an inheritance and was inducted into the possession of patrimony; I've calmed down, but soon the boredom of inactivity began to torment me. I was not yet familiar with a kind and venerable neighbor my **. Economic classes were completely alien to me. I nurse my conversations, produced by me in the housekeeper and the manageress, consisted of account 15 pet jokes, very interesting for me, but it is always told by the same, so that it is done for me other new pismovnikom, which I knew, on a page which will find place. This well-deserved pismovnik I was found in the storeroom, between all junk, forlorn. I brought it into the light and began it was for him, but Kurganov had lost its former charm for me, I read it again and is no longer open.
In the extreme this came to my mind, Do yourself something that is not to try to compose? Gentle reader already knows, that I was brought up on the copper money, and that I did not have occasion to acquire by itself the, that was once lost, sixteen years playing with the farm boys, and then moving from province to province, from apartment to apartment, provozhdaya time with the Yids but with sutler, Playing on the ragged billiards and marching in the mud.
In addition, the writer seemed to me to be so wise, so we nedosyahaemo neposvyaschennыm, that thought take up the pen at first scared me. I dare to hope to get there someday in the number of writers, when it is my ardent desire to meet one of them has ever been executed? But this reminds me of a case, which I intend to talk to the invariable evidence of my passion for Russian literature.
AT 1820 It was still a cadet I happened to be traveling on government business in St. Petersburg. I lived there for a week and, despite, that had not been there I have no acquaintance, spent time very fun: every day I quietly went to the theater, in the gallery of the 4th tier. All the actors knew by name and fell passionately in love in **, plays with great skill in one Sunday Amalia role in the drama "The hatred of men and remorse *". morning, returning from the General Staff, I usually came at the low candy shop for a cup of chocolate and read literary magazines. One day I was sitting in an in-depth critical article "Blagonamerennyi"; one in pea overcoats came up to me and out of my book quietly pulled a piece of "the Hamburg newspaper *". I was so busy, is not raised and eyes. A stranger asked for a steak and sat down in front of me; I read everything, not paying attention to him; Meanwhile, he had breakfast, angrily rebuked the boy's fault, I drank half a bottle of wine and left. Two young men then had breakfast. "Do you know, who was that? - said one to another: - This is B., writer*". - "writer", - I exclaimed involuntarily, - and, nedochitannym left the magazine and cup of unfinished, and ran to pay, not putting dozhdavshisya, I ran outside. Looking in all directions, I saw from a distance the pea coat, and set off after her along Nevsky Prospekt just not running. After a few steps, I feel suddenly, that stop me, - look, Guards officer noticed me, that de I should not push him off the sidewalk, but rather to stop and stretch. After this reprimand I have become more cautious; unfortunately for my every moment I met officers, I constantly stayed, writer and everything went away from me forward. My-old soldier's cloak had not been so painful to me, epaulettes-old did not seem to me to be enviable. Finally, at the very Anichkina bridge I caught pea overcoat. "Let me ask, - I said, bailiffs hand to his forehead, - you g. B., whose excellent articles I had read in happiness "Sorevnovatele education?"" - "Not at all, - he replied, - I'm not a writer, and stryapchiy, but ** I am very familiar; quarter of an hour ago, I met him at the Police Bridge ". - So my respect for Russian literature cost me 30 kopecks lost deposit, reprimanded at work and a little bit not arrest - and all for nothing.
Despite the objections of my mind, bold idea to become a writer constantly crossed my mind. Finally, no longer able to resist the attraction of nature, I sewed myself a thick notebook with the intention to fill it with what else. All poetry birth (For a humble prose, I have not even thought) I have been dismantled, evaluated, I definitely decided on an epic poem, drawn from national history. Not long I searched for a hero. I chose Rurik - and set to work.
For poetry, I gained some skill, rewriting notebooks, circulated clandestinely among our officers, exactly: "Dangerous neighbors *", "The criticism of the Moscow Boulevard *", "On Presnensky ponds," etc.. п. Although my poem progressed slowly, and I threw it on the second verse. I thought, that epic kind of not my family, and I began the tragedy Rurik. The tragedy did not go. I tried to turn it into a ballad - but also the ballad somehow I was not given. Finally dawned on me inspiration, I started well and finished the inscription to the portrait of Rurik.
Despite, my inscription was not altogether unworthy of attention, especially as the first work of a young poet, However, I felt, I was not born a poet, and satisfied sim first experiment. But my attempts so creative tied me to a literary pursuits, that I could not leave the notebook and inkstand. I wanted to descend to prose. On the first case, not wanting to do a preliminary study, location plan, bonding portions, etc.. P., I set out to write some thoughts, without regard, without any order, in the form, they will be submitted to me. Unluckily, thoughts came to my mind, and for two whole days I just thought up the following remark:
Person, not obeying the laws of reason and accustomed to follow the promptings of passion, often wrong, and exposes himself to repent later.
The idea of ​​course fair, but not new. Allow mыsli, I started for the story, but, unable to locate the habit fictional incident, I chose the wonderful anecdotes, I once heard from different individuals, and I tried to embellish the truth of the liveliness of the story, and sometimes the colors of his imagination. Making these novel, gradually formed its own style and I learned to be expressed correctly, nice and free. But soon my stock was exhausted, and I began to search for the object again for my literary activities.
The idea to leave petty and doubtful jokes to the narration of the true and great events have long troubled my imagination. be sudieyu, observer and prophet ages and nations seemed to me the highest degree, available to the writer. But what kind of story I could write with my pathetic education, which we would not have warned me mnogouchenye, honest men? What kind of stories they have not exhausted? L I will write world history - but is not there already an immortal work of Abbe Milota *? Will ask whether a history of domestic? What shall I say after Tatishcheva, Boltina and Golikova? and if I delve into the annals and get to the hidden meaning of language dilapidated, when I could not learn Slavic figures? I thought about the history of a smaller volume, such as the history of the province of our city; but even then many obstacles, for me invincible! A trip to the city, visits to the governor and the bishop, request for admission to the archives and monastery storerooms, etc.. The history of the district of the city would be more convenient for me, but it was not entertaining any philosopher, nor for pragmatic and represented little food eloquence: *** It was renamed the city in 17** year, and the only remarkable event, preserved in the annals of his, I have a terrible fire, It happened ten years ago and destroyed the bazaar and government offices.

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