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A dream of the past in the story Antonov's apples. The theme of nature in I. A. Bunin’s work “Antonov Apples”

11.08.2023

Sections: Literature

Class: 11

Goal: to show the originality of I.A. Bunin’s style using the example of the story “Antonov Apples”.

Cognitive:

1). Identify students’ first impressions of the work they read;

2). Follow how the hero’s age changes and, along with it, the perception of the world;

3). Draw students' attention to the intonation of light sadness in the story;

4). To conclude that this story widely includes landscapes that help to most deeply understand the internal state of the hero and express nostalgia for the bygone past;

5). Consider the image of nature, the image of the human world, the mood of the hero-storyteller, the images and symbols of the story “Antonov Apples”.

Educational:

1). To develop students’ skills in literary critical analysis of a work;

2).to develop in students the skill of complete, competent oral response;

3). Develop the ability to draw conclusions and generalizations.

Educators:

1). Instill in students a sense of beauty;

2). Raising a cultural reader;

Equipment: text of I. Bunin’s story “Antonov Apples”, notes on the board (lesson topic, lesson epigraph, table)

No, it’s not the landscape that attracts me,
It’s not the colors that I’m trying to notice,
And what shines in these colors -
Love and joy of being.
(I. Bunin)

Lesson form: lesson-conversation.

During the classes

1. Org moment

Greetings.

2. Teacher's introduction

The topic of today's lesson is “The wonderful power of the past in Bunin’s story “Antonov Apples.” The most capacious and completely philosophical reflections of I.A. Bunin about the past and the future, longing for a passing Russia and an understanding of the catastrophic nature of future changes were reflected in the story “Antonov Apples,” which was written in 1900, at the turn of the century. This date is symbolic, and therefore attracts special attention. It divides the world into the past and the present, makes you feel the movement of time, and turns to the future. It is this date that helps to understand that the story begins ("... I remember an early fine autumn") and ends (“I covered the road with white snow...”) unconventionally. A kind of “ring” is formed - an intonation pause that makes the story continuous. In fact, the story, like eternal life itself, has not begun and it is not finished. It sounds in the space of memory and will sound forever, since it embodies the soul of man, the soul of the long-suffering people. It reflects the history of the Russian state.

A.T. Tvardovsky said that Bunin “smells the world always and everywhere; he hears and conveys smells - both wonderful and disgusting, and refined, and indescribably complex. He knows how to show a thing through its smell, with such brightness and strength that her image seems to pierce the soul. Bunin inhales the world; he smells it and gives its smells to the readers.”

- Do you agree with Tvardovsky's statement? What do you agree with and why? Give examples from the text.

This story is filled with nostalgia. What is this story about? What is its plot ?

The question is problematic. What a story? About Antonov apples, about memories: The story caused bewilderment among Bunin’s critics and contemporaries - “everything that comes to hand is described.” Indeed, the story does not have a customary specific plot line. By genre it is a story-impression, a story-memory. In this sense, this story can be considered impressionistic, i.e. a work that captures moments. (Impressionism is a movement in art, it is characterized by the transmission of subtle moods, psychological nuances, the desire to capture the world in its mobility and variability).

3. Story composition

- How is the work organized?

The story unfolds as a series of memories. The narration is in 1st person. Verbs are most often used in the present tense, which brings the reader closer to what is happening in the memories (“The air is so clean, it’s as if there is none at all:” Sometimes verbs are in the 2nd person singular, thus the reader is drawn into the action (“you used to open the window into the cool garden filled with purple fog: ").

- This story is a memory, and what exactly does the narrator remember? ?

What is remembered is not some events, but pictures, impressions, sensations. For example: a holiday in chapter 1, a description of hunting in chapter 3, reading books in chapter 3. Everything that belongs to the past: a manor's house, a peasant's yard, a tree or a hundred-year-old old man Pankrat - everything has a powerful margin of safety, it seems reliable, eternal.

Particular attention should be paid to the composition of the work. The author divided the story into four chapters, and each chapter is a separate picture of the past, and together they form a whole world that the writer admired so much. Now we will look at each chapter and see how the hero-narrator and his mood change.

(table explanation)

Part of the story	Image of nature	Image of the human world	The mood of the hero-storyteller	Hero's age	Image-symbol	Conclusion
1	Early fine autumn: “fresh morning”, “juicy crackling” of apples. Cool silence, clean air, cheerful echo, (August)	“like a popular print,” fair, new sundresses. Festive colors: "black-lilac, brick color, wide gold "poneva braid"	Joyful, cheerful: “How cold, dewy and how good it is to live in the world”	teenager	Something alarming, mystical, scary: the fire of Hell as a symbol of death
2	The water is clear. Purple fog, turquoise sky (early September)			Young man	Image of a mortal old woman with a gravestone
3	Gloomy low clouds, liquid blue sky (late September)	Reading books, admiring antique magazines		Man in adulthood	Dead silence. Ravine - as an image of loneliness
4	Empty plains, naked garden, First snow			Adult

At the beginning of the first chapter, an amazing garden is described, “large, all golden, dried up and thinned out.” And it seems that the life of the village, the hopes and thoughts of the people - all this seems to be in the background, and in the center is a beautiful and mysterious image of the garden, and this garden is a symbol of the Motherland, and it includes in its space Vyselki, which "... since the time of grandfather they were famous for their wealth,” and old men and women who “lived... for a very long time,” and a large stone near the porch, which the owner “bought for her grave,” and “barns and barns covered with a hairstyle.” And all this lives together with nature as a single life, all this is inseparable from it, which is why the image of a train rushing past Vyselok seems so wonderful and distant. He is a symbol of a new time, a new life, which “ever louder and angrier” penetrates into the established Russian way of life, and the earth trembles like a living creature, and a person experiences some kind of nagging feeling of anxiety, and then looks for a long time into the “dark blue depth " the sky, "overflowing with constellations," and thinks: "How cold, dewy and how good it is to live in the world!" And these words contain the whole mystery of existence: joy and sorrow, darkness and light, good and evil, love and hatred, life and death, in them the past, present and future, in them the whole human soul.

The second part, like the first, begins with folk wisdom: “Vigorous Antonovka - for a cheerful year,” with good omens, with a description of a fruitful year - autumn, which was sometimes the patronal holidays, when the people are “tidy, happy,” when “the view of the village not at all the same as at another time." Heartfelt poetry warms the memories of this fabulously rich village with brick courtyards that were built by our grandfathers. Everything around seems close and dear, and above the estate, above the village, you can feel the amazing smell of Antonov apples. This sweet smell of memories with a thin thread binds the whole story into one whole. This is a kind of leitmotif of the work, and the remark at the end of the fourth chapter that “the smell of Antonov’s apples disappears from the landowner’s estate,” says that everything is changing, everything is becoming a thing of the past, that a new time is beginning, “the kingdom of small-scale landowners is coming, impoverished to the point of beggary.” . And then the author writes that “this beggarly small-scale life is also good!” And again he begins to describe the village, his native Vyselki. He talks about how the landowner's day goes, notices such details that make the picture of existence so visible that it seems as if the past is turning into the present, only in this case the familiar, everyday things are perceived as lost happiness. This feeling also arises because the author uses a large number of color epithets. Thus, describing the early morning in the second chapter, the hero recalls: “...you used to open a window into a cool garden filled with a lilac fog...” He sees how “boughs show through in the turquoise sky, how the water under the vines becomes transparent.” ; He also notices “fresh, lush green winter crops.” The range of sounds is no less rich and varied: you can hear “how a long convoy along the main road carefully creaks,” you can hear “the booming sound of apples being poured into measures and tubs,” and people’s voices can be heard. At the end of the story, the “pleasant sound of threshing” is heard more and more insistently, and the “monotonous scream and whistle of the driver” merges with the roar of the drum. And then the guitar is tuned, and someone starts a song, which everyone picks up “with sad, hopeless daring.”

5. Story space

In Bunin's story, special attention must be paid to the organization of space. What do you think is the space of a story?

From the first lines one gets the impression of isolation. It seems that the estate is a separate world that lives its own special life, but at the same time this world is part of the whole. So, the men pour apples to send them to the city; a train rushes somewhere into the distance past Vyselki... And suddenly there is a feeling that all connections in this space of the past are being destroyed, the integrity of being is irretrievably lost, harmony disappears, the patriarchal world is collapsing, the person himself, his soul is changing. That is why the word “remembered” sounds so unusual at the very beginning. It contains light sadness, the bitterness of loss and at the same time hope.

6. Time in the story

The organization of time is also unusual. Each part is arranged along a unique vertical: morning - day - evening - night, in which the natural flow of time is fixed. And yet, the time in the story is unusual, pulsating, and it seems that at the end of the story it is speeding up: “the small estates come together to each other” and “disappear for whole days in the snowy fields.” And then only one evening remains in memory, which they spent somewhere in the wilderness. And about this time of day it is written: “And in the evening, on some remote farm, the outbuilding window glows far away in the darkness of the winter night.” And the picture of existence becomes symbolic: the road covered with snow, the wind and in the distance a lonely trembling light, that hope without which not a single person can live. And therefore, apparently, the author does not destroy the calendar flow of time: August is followed by September, then October comes, followed by November, followed by autumn by winter.

7. Working with text

Now we will look at how the themes of the story “Antonov Apples” are manifested. What 3 themes do you think are intertwined in this story?

Social theme, nature theme, psychological theme.

Now we will look at each topic and try to find evidence in the text for these topics in each chapter.

Topic 1: Social.

In Chapter 1, the description of the house “There is a bed in the hut (2nd paragraph)” The social structure of peasants, nobles and landowners is described. Read to me how Bunin describes the peasants: “Beautiful and rough savage costumes:.”

In Chapter 2 we find ourselves in a village, Anna Gerasimovna’s house is described - a solid, large, durable, wooden house, surrounded by a garden with birds. Quote.

In Chapter 3 there is another estate, but there is no homeliness (“And now I see myself in the estate of Arseny Semenych:”)

In Chapter 4 there is a small-scale, beggarly life (“Now I see myself again in another village”, “The small-scale gets up early:”)

Conclusion: Thus, we see the gradual impoverishment and ruin of the noble estate. Nothing remains of the former abundance in chapter 1.

Topic 2: Theme of nature.

In Chapter 1 - August is warm, early autumn is fine. Description of the garden - a feeling of permeability of the garden is created, “the air is so clean”, the smell of apples is EVERYWHERE;

In Chapter 2 there is a cold autumn, the motif of the cold and the stove intensifies, but the harmony of life and nature is still felt. Read it.

In Chapter 3 - September, dark, evening, night rain, deserted, boring, anxious.

In chapter 4 - November, snow outside the windows, twilight, evening, color - blue.

Conclusion: Nature at first from the first chapters is bright, lively, summer, in the last chapters nature dims, it rains. Autumn is dying.

Topic 3: psychological.

In Chapter 1: the child’s memories, a child’s fairy-tale perception of the world and nature, reads fairy tales (“By night the weather becomes:”), the child runs through the garden

In Chapter 2, the teenager recalls “At times it seemed tempting to me to be a man,” he is not a child, but not an adult either, he wants to work, wants to get married.

In chapter 3, “When I happened to oversleep the hunt: here are the secrets of Alexis:” The hero is already reading Zhukovsky, which speaks of his romanticism.

In chapter 4 - a completely adult man drinks and eats cabbage.

Conclusion: The lyrical hero grows up; in the story he is from childhood to old age. But gradually the circle of impressions and memories narrows. At the beginning he wants to live, but at the end he feels boredom and monotony.

Having examined the three topics, we can say that they develop synchronously, they run parallel to each other, they are in every chapter. But they develop from major to minor.

Chapter 1 - “cold and dewy”;

Chapter 2 - "firmly"

Chapter 3 - "sweet fatigue"

Chapter 4 - "sad hopeless prowess"

The leitmotif of “Antonov Apples” runs through all 4 chapters, but in all chapters these apples are different: let’s try to follow:

Chapter 1 - the smell of green apples

Chapter 2 - a lot of apples, comfort from the smell of apples

Chapter 3 - one apple, but tasty

Chapter 4 - the smell of apples disappears

Thus, apples are a symbol of childhood, which disappear as they grow up, also a symbol of Russia, a symbol of life in general.

8. Poll

Now let's check what you remember from the lesson and what you don't. Let's conduct a short survey, I will ask a question, and you must answer:

1). The main feature of impressionism in the story “Antonov Apples” (transmission of subtle moods, the desire to capture the world in its mobility and variability)

2). Genre of the story (story-memory, story-impression)

3). What three themes are intertwined in the story? (psychologist, sociologist, nature theme)

4). In what year was this work written? (1900)

5). What is the tone of the story? How is it changing? (first joyful, cheerful, nostalgic notes, then sweet and strange melancholy, sadness)

9. Summing up

Conclusion

So, the main symbol in the story from the very beginning to the end remains the image of Antonov apples. The meaning the author puts into these words is ambiguous. Antonov apples are wealth (“Village affairs are good if the Antonov apple is ugly”). Antonov apples are happiness ("Vigorous Antonovka - for a merry year"). And finally, Antonov’s apples are all of Russia with its “golden, dried up and thinning gardens”, “maple alleys”, with the “smell of tar in the fresh air” and with a firm consciousness of “how good it is to live in the world”. And in this regard, we can conclude that the story “Antonov Apples” reflected the main ideas of Bunin’s work, his worldview as a whole, reflected the history of the human soul, the space of memory in which the movement of existential time, Russia’s past, its present and future are felt.

10. Homework

2). Answer the question in writing: “How is the miraculous power of the past manifested in I. Bunin’s story “Antonov Apples.”

Antonov apples

I

...I remember an early fine autumn. August was full of warm rains, as if falling on purpose for sowing - with rains at the very time, in the middle of the month, around the feast of St. Lawrence. And “autumn and winter live well if the water is calm and there is rain on Laurentia.” Then, in the Indian summer, a lot of cobwebs settled in the fields. This is also a good sign: “There is a lot of shade in the Indian summer - autumn is vigorous”... I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinning garden, I remember maple alleys, the subtle aroma of fallen leaves and - the smell of Antonov apples, the smell honey and autumn freshness. The air is so clean, it’s as if there is no air at all; voices and the creaking of carts can be heard throughout the garden. These Tarkhans, bourgeois gardeners, hired men and poured apples in order to send them to the city at night - certainly on a night when it is so nice to lie on a cart, look into the starry sky, smell tar in the fresh air and listen to how carefully it creaks in the dark, a long convoy along the high road. The man pouring out the apples eats them with a juicy crackle one after another, but that’s the way the establishment is - the tradesman will never cut it off, but will also say:

- Go ahead, eat your fill, there’s nothing to do! When pouring, everyone drinks honey.

And the cool silence of the morning is disturbed only by the well-fed cackling of blackbirds on the coral rowan trees in the thicket of the garden, voices and the booming sound of apples being poured into measures and tubs. In the thinned garden one can see far away the road to the large hut, strewn with straw, and the hut itself, near which the townspeople acquired an entire household over the summer. Everywhere there is a strong smell of apples, especially here. There are beds in the hut, there is a single-barreled gun, a green samovar, and dishes in the corner. Near the hut there are mats, boxes, all sorts of tattered belongings, and an earthen stove has been dug. At noon, a magnificent kulesh with lard is cooked on it, in the evening the samovar is heated, and a long strip of bluish smoke spreads across the garden, between the trees. On holidays, there is a whole fair near the hut, and red headdresses constantly flash behind the trees. There is a crowd of lively single-yard girls in sundresses that smell strongly of paint, the “lords” come in their beautiful and rough, savage costumes, a young elder woman, pregnant, with a wide, sleepy face and as important as a Kholmogory cow. She has “horns” on her head - the braids are placed on the sides of the crown and covered with several scarves, so that the head seems huge; the legs, in ankle boots with horseshoes, stand stupidly and firmly; the sleeveless vest is corduroy, the curtain is long, and the paneva is black and purple with brick-colored stripes and lined at the hem with a wide gold “prose”...

- Economic butterfly! - the tradesman says about her, shaking his head. – These are now being translated...

And the boys in fancy white shirts and short porticoes, with white open heads, all come up. They walk in twos and threes, shuffling their bare feet, and glance sideways at the shaggy shepherd dog tied to an apple tree. Of course, only one buys, because the purchases are only for a penny or an egg, but there are many buyers, trade is brisk, and the consumptive tradesman in a long frock coat and red boots is cheerful. Together with his brother, a burry, nimble half-idiot who lives with him “out of mercy,” he trades in jokes, jokes and even sometimes “touches” the Tula harmonica. And until the evening there is a crowd of people in the garden, you can hear laughter and talking around the hut, and sometimes the clatter of dancing...

By nightfall the weather becomes very cold and dewy. Having inhaled the rye aroma of new straw and chaff on the threshing floor, you cheerfully walk home for dinner past the garden rampart. Voices in the village or the creaking of gates can be heard unusually clearly in the chilly dawn. It's getting dark. And here’s another smell: there’s a fire in the garden, and there’s a strong wafting of fragrant smoke from cherry branches. In the darkness, in the depths of the garden, there is a fabulous picture: as if in a corner of hell, a crimson flame is burning near a hut, surrounded by darkness, and someone’s black silhouettes, as if carved from ebony wood, are moving around the fire, while giant shadows from them walk across apple trees Either a black hand several arshins in size will fall across the entire tree, then two legs will clearly appear - two black pillars. And suddenly all this will slide from the apple tree - and the shadow will fall along the entire alley, from the hut to the gate itself...

Late at night, when the lights in the village go out, when the diamond seven-star Stozhar is already shining high in the sky, you will run into the garden again. Rustle through the dry leaves, like a blind man, you will reach the hut. There in the clearing it is a little brighter, and the Milky Way is white above your head.

- Is it you, barchuk? – someone quietly calls out from the darkness.

- I am. Are you still awake, Nikolai?

- We can’t sleep. It must be too late already? Look, there seems to be a passenger train coming...

We listen for a long time and notice trembling in the ground. The trembling turns into noise, grows, and now, as if just outside the garden, the noisy beat of the wheels is rapidly beating out: thundering and knocking, the train rushes... closer, closer, louder and angrier... And suddenly it begins to subside, stall, as if going into the ground ...

– Where is your gun, Nikolai?

- But next to the box, sir.

You throw up a single-barreled shotgun, heavy as a crowbar, and shoot straight away. The crimson flame will flash towards the sky with a deafening crack, blind for a moment and extinguish the stars, and a cheerful echo will ring out like a ring and roll across the horizon, fading far, far away in the clean and sensitive air.

- Wow, great! - the tradesman will say. - Spend it, spend it, little gentleman, otherwise it’s just a disaster! Again they shook off all the gunk on the shaft...

And the black sky is lined with fiery stripes of falling stars. You look for a long time into its dark blue depths, overflowing with constellations, until the earth begins to float under your feet. Then you will wake up and, hiding your hands in your sleeves, quickly run along the alley to the house... How cold, dewy and how good it is to live in the world!

II

“Vigorous Antonovka - for a fun year.” Village affairs are good if the Antonovka crop is bad: that means the grain is bad too... I remember a fruitful year.

At early dawn, when the roosters were still crowing and the huts were smoking black, you would open the window into a cool garden filled with a lilac fog, through which the morning sun shines brightly here and there, and you couldn’t resist - you ordered to saddle up the horse as quickly as possible, and you yourself ran wash at the pond. Almost all of the small foliage has flown off the coastal vines, and the branches are visible in the turquoise sky. The water under the vines became clear, icy, and seemingly heavy. It instantly drives away the laziness of the night, and, having washed and had breakfast in the common room with the workers, hot potatoes and black bread with coarse raw salt, you enjoy feeling the slippery leather of the saddle under you as you ride through Vyselki to hunt. Autumn is the time for patronal feasts, and at this time the people are tidy and happy, the appearance of the village is not at all the same as at other times. If the year is fruitful and a whole golden city rises on the threshing floors, and geese cackle loudly and sharply on the river in the morning, then it’s not bad at all in the village. In addition, our Vyselki have been famous for their “wealth” since time immemorial, since the time of our grandfather. The old men and women lived in Vyselki for a very long time - the first sign of a rich village - and they were all tall, big and white, like a harrier. All you ever heard was: “Yes,” Agafya waved off her eighty-three year old!” - or conversations like this:

- And when will you die, Pankrat? I suppose you will be a hundred years old?

- How would you like to speak, father?

- How old are you, I ask!

- I don’t know, sir, father.

- Do you remember Platon Apollonich?

“Why, sir, father,” I clearly remember.

- You see now. That means you are no less than a hundred.

The old man, who stands stretched out in front of the master, smiles meekly and guiltily. Well, they say, what to do - it’s my fault, it’s healed. And he probably would have prospered even more if he had not eaten too much onions in Petrovka.

I remember his old woman too. Everyone used to sit on a bench, on the porch, bent over, shaking his head, gasping for breath and holding onto the bench with his hands, all thinking about something. “About her goods,” the women said, because, indeed, she had a lot of “goods” in her chests. But she doesn’t seem to hear; he looks half-blindly into the distance from under sadly raised eyebrows, shakes his head and seems to be trying to remember something. She was a big old woman, kind of dark all over. Paneva is almost from the last century, the chestnuts are like those of a deceased person, the neck is yellow and withered, the shirt with rosin joints is always white-white, “you could even put it in a coffin.” And near the porch lay a large stone: I bought it for my grave, as well as a shroud, an excellent shroud, with angels, with crosses and with a prayer printed on the edges.

The courtyards in Vyselki also matched the old people: brick, built by their grandfathers. And the rich men - Savely, Ignat, Dron - had huts in two or three connections, because sharing in Vyselki was not yet fashionable. In such families they kept bees, were proud of their gray-iron-colored bull stallion, and kept their estates in order. On the threshing floors there were dark and thick hemp trees, there were barns and barns covered with hair; in the bunks and barns there were iron doors, behind which canvases, spinning wheels, new sheepskin coats, type-setting harnesses, and measures bound with copper hoops were stored. Crosses were burned on the gates and on the sleds. And I remember that sometimes it seemed extremely tempting to me to be a man. When you used to drive through the village on a sunny morning, you kept thinking about how good it would be to mow, thresh, sleep on the threshing floor in brooms, and on a holiday to rise with the sun, under the thick and musical blast from the village, wash yourself near a barrel and put on a clean pair of clothes. a shirt, the same trousers and indestructible boots with horseshoes. If, I thought, we add to this a healthy and beautiful wife in festive attire and a trip to mass, and then dinner with a bearded father-in-law, a dinner with hot lamb on wooden plates and with rushes, with honeycomb honey and mash - it’s impossible to wish for more. !

Even in my memory, very recently, the lifestyle of the average nobleman had much in common with the lifestyle of a wealthy peasant in its homeliness and rural, old-world prosperity. Such, for example, was the estate of Aunt Anna Gerasimovna, who lived about twelve versts from Vyselki. By the time you get to this estate, you are already completely dry. With dogs and packs you have to walk at a pace, and you don’t want to rush - it’s so fun in an open field on a sunny and cool day! The terrain is flat, you can see far away. The sky is light and so spacious and deep. The sun sparkles from the side, and the road, rolled by carts after the rains, is oily and shines like rails. Fresh, lush green winter crops are scattered around in wide schools. A hawk will fly up from somewhere in the transparent air and freeze in one place, fluttering its sharp wings. And clearly visible telegraph poles run into the clear distance, and their wires, like silver strings, slide along the slope of the clear sky. Falcons sit on them - completely black icons on music paper.

I didn’t know or see serfdom, but I remember feeling it at my aunt Anna Gerasimovna’s. You drive into the yard and immediately feel that it is still quite alive here. The estate is small, but all old, solid, surrounded by hundred-year-old birch and willow trees. There are a lot of outbuildings - low, but homely - and all of them seem to be made of dark, oak logs under thatched roofs. The only thing that stands out in size, or better yet, in length, is the blackened human one, from which the last Mohicans of the courtyard class peep out - some decrepit old men and women, a decrepit retired cook, looking like Don Quixote. When you drive into the yard, they all pull themselves up and bow low and low. A gray-haired coachman, heading from the carriage barn to pick up a horse, takes off his hat while still at the barn and walks around the yard with his head bare. He worked as a postilion for his aunt, and now he takes her to mass - in the winter in a cart, and in the summer in a strong, iron-bound cart, like those that priests ride on. My aunt’s garden was famous for its neglect, nightingales, turtle doves and apples, and the house for its roof. He stood at the head of the courtyard, right next to the garden - the branches of the linden trees hugged him - he was small and squat, but it seemed that he would not last a century - so thoroughly did he look from under his unusually high and thick thatched roof, blackened and hardened by time. Its front facade always seemed to me to be alive: as if an old face was looking out from under a huge hat with sockets of eyes - windows with mother-of-pearl glass from the rain and sun. And on the sides of these eyes there were porches - two old large porches with columns. Well-fed pigeons always sat on their pediment, while thousands of sparrows rained from roof to roof... And the guest felt comfortable in this nest under the turquoise autumn sky!

You will enter the house and first of all you will smell the smell of apples, and then others: old mahogany furniture, dried linden blossoms, which have been lying on the windows since June... In all the rooms - in the servant's room, in the hall, in the living room - it is cool and gloomy: this is why that the house is surrounded by a garden, and the upper glass windows are colored: blue and purple. Everywhere there is silence and cleanliness, although it seems that the chairs, tables with inlays and mirrors in narrow and twisted gold frames have never been moved. And then a cough is heard: the aunt comes out. It is small, but, like everything around, it is durable. She has a large Persian shawl draped over her shoulders. She will come out importantly, but affably, and now, amid endless conversations about antiquity, about inheritances, treats begin to appear: first, “duli”, apples, Antonovsky, “Bel-Barynya”, borovinka, “plodovitka” - and then an amazing lunch : all through and through pink boiled ham with peas, stuffed chicken, turkey, marinades and red kvass - strong and sweet-sweet... The windows to the garden are raised, and the cheerful autumn coolness blows from there...

III

In recent years, one thing has supported the fading spirit of the landowners - hunting.

Previously, such estates as the estate of Anna Gerasimovna were not uncommon. There were also decaying, but still living in grand style, estates with a huge estate, with a garden of twenty dessiatines. True, some of these estates have survived to this day, but there is no longer life in them... There are no troikas, no riding “Kirghiz”, no hounds and greyhounds, no servants and no owner of all this - a landowner-hunter like mine late brother-in-law Arseny Semenych.

Since the end of September, our gardens and threshing floors have been empty, and the weather, as usual, has changed dramatically. The wind tore and tore the trees for days on end, and the rains watered them from morning to night. Sometimes in the evening, between the gloomy low clouds, the flickering golden light of the low sun made its way in the west; the air became clean and clear, and the sunlight sparkled dazzlingly between the foliage, between the branches, which moved like a living net and were agitated by the wind. The liquid blue sky shone coldly and brightly in the north above the heavy lead clouds, and from behind these clouds ridges of snowy mountain-clouds slowly floated out. You stand at the window and think: “Maybe, God willing, the weather will clear up.” But the wind did not subside. It disturbed the garden, tore up the continuously flowing stream of human smoke from the chimney, and again drove up the ominous strands of ash clouds. They ran low and fast - and soon, like smoke, they clouded the sun. Its shine faded, the window into the blue sky closed, and the garden became deserted and boring, and the rain began to fall again... at first quietly, carefully, then more and more thickly and, finally, it turned into a downpour with storm and darkness. A long, anxious night was coming...

After such a scolding, the garden emerged almost completely naked, covered with wet leaves and somehow quiet and resigned. But how beautiful it was when clear weather came again, clear and cold days of early October, the farewell holiday of autumn! The preserved foliage will now hang on the trees until the first winter. The black garden will shine through the cold turquoise sky and dutifully wait for winter, warming itself in the sunshine. And the fields are already turning sharply black with arable land and brightly green with overgrown winter crops... It's time to hunt!

And now I see myself in the estate of Arseny Semenych, in a big house, in a hall full of sun and smoke from pipes and cigarettes. There are a lot of people - all the people are tanned, with weathered faces, wearing shorts and long boots. They have just had a very hearty lunch, are flushed and excited by noisy conversations about the upcoming hunt, but do not forget to finish the vodka after dinner. And in the yard a horn blows and dogs howl in different voices. The black greyhound, Arseny Semenych's favorite, climbs onto the table and begins to devour the remains of the hare with sauce from the dish. But suddenly he lets out a terrible squeal and, knocking over plates and glasses, rushes off the table: Arseny Semenych, who came out of the office with an arapnik and a revolver, suddenly deafens the room with a shot. The hall fills with smoke even more, and Arseny Semenych stands and laughs.

- It's a pity that I missed! - he says, playing with his eyes.

He is tall, thin, but broad-shouldered and slender, and has a handsome gypsy face. His eyes sparkle wildly, he is very dexterous, wearing a crimson silk shirt, velvet trousers and long boots. Having frightened both the dog and the guests with a shot, he jokingly and importantly recites in a baritone voice:

It's time, it's time to saddle the agile bottom
And throw the ringing horn over your shoulders! -

and says loudly:

- Well, however, there is no point in wasting golden time!

I can still feel how greedily and capaciously my young breast breathed in the cold of a clear and damp day in the evening, when you used to ride with Arseny Semenych’s noisy gang, excited by the musical din of dogs abandoned in the black forest, to some Krasny Bugor or Gremyachiy Island, Its name alone excites the hunter. You ride on an angry, strong and squat “Kyrgyz”, holding it tightly with the reins, and you feel almost fused with it. He snorts, asks to trot, rustles noisily with his hooves on the deep and light carpets of black crumbling leaves, and every sound resounds echoingly in the empty, damp and fresh forest. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, another, and a third answered it passionately and pitifully - and suddenly the whole forest thundered, as if it were all made of glass, from violent barking and screaming. A shot rang out loudly among this din - and everything “cooked up” and rolled off into the distance.

“Oh, take care!” – an intoxicating thought flashes through my head. You whoop at your horse and, like someone who has broken free from a chain, you rush through the forest, not understanding anything along the way. Only the trees flash before my eyes and the mud from under the horse’s hooves hits my face. You will jump out of the forest, you will see a motley pack of dogs on the greens, stretched out on the ground, and you will push the “Kirghiz” even more against the beast - through the greens, shoots and stubbles, until, finally, you roll over to another island and the pack disappears from sight along with its frantic barking and moaning. Then, all wet and trembling from exertion, you rein in the foaming, wheezing horse and greedily swallow the icy dampness of the forest valley. The cries of hunters and the barking of dogs fade away in the distance, and there is dead silence around you. The half-opened timber stands motionless, and it seems that you have found yourself in some kind of protected palace. The ravines smell strongly of mushroom dampness, rotten leaves and wet tree bark. And the dampness from the ravines is becoming more and more noticeable, the forest is getting colder and darker... It's time to spend the night. But collecting dogs after a hunt is difficult. For a long time and hopelessly sadly the horns ring in the forest, for a long time you can hear the screaming, swearing and squealing of dogs... Finally, already completely in the dark, a band of hunters bursts into the estate of some almost unknown bachelor landowner and fills the entire yard of the estate, which is illuminated by lanterns, with noise, candles and lamps brought out from the house to greet guests...

It happened that with such a hospitable neighbor the hunt lasted for several days. At early morning dawn, in the icy wind and the first wet winter, they went into the forests and fields, and by dusk they returned again, all covered in dirt, with flushed faces, smelling of horse sweat, the hair of a hunted animal - and the drinking began. The bright and crowded house is very warm after a whole day in the cold in the field. Everyone walks from room to room in unbuttoned undershirts, drink and eat randomly, noisily conveying to each other their impressions of the killed seasoned wolf, which, baring its teeth, rolling its eyes, lies with its fluffy tail thrown to the side in the middle of the hall and paints its pale and already cold blood on the floor After vodka and food, you feel such sweet fatigue, such the bliss of youthful sleep, that you can hear people talking as if through water. Your weathered face is burning, and if you close your eyes, the whole earth will float under your feet. And when you lie down in bed, in a soft feather bed, somewhere in a corner old room with an icon and a lamp, ghosts of fiery-colored dogs flash before your eyes, a sensation of galloping ache throughout your whole body, and you won’t notice how you’ll drown along with all these images and sensations in a sweet and healthy sleep, even forgetting that this room was once the prayer room of an old man, whose name is surrounded by gloomy serf legends, and that he died in this prayer room, probably on the same bed.

When I happened to oversleep the hunt, the rest was especially pleasant. You wake up and lie in bed for a long time. There is silence throughout the whole house. You can hear the gardener carefully walking through the rooms, lighting the stoves, and the firewood crackling and shooting. Ahead lies a whole day of peace in the already silent winter estate. Slowly get dressed, wander around the garden, find a cold and wet apple accidentally forgotten in the wet leaves, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like the others. Then you’ll get down to reading books—grandfather’s books in thick leather bindings, with gold stars on morocco spines. These books, similar to church breviaries, smell wonderful with their yellowed, thick, rough paper! Some pleasant sour mold, old perfume... The notes in the margins, large and with round soft strokes made with a quill pen, are also good. You unfold the book and read: “A thought worthy of ancient and modern philosophers, the color of reason and feelings of the heart”... And you will involuntarily become carried away by the book itself. This is “The Noble Philosopher,” an allegory published a hundred years ago by the dependent of some “chevalier of many orders” and printed in the printing house of the order of public charity, a story about how “a noble philosopher, having time and the ability to reason, to to which the human mind can rise, I once received the desire to compose a plan of light in a spacious place of my village”... Then you come across “the satirical and philosophical works of Mr. Voltaire” and for a long time you revel in the sweet and mannered syllable of the translation: “My sirs! Erasmus composed in the sixteenth century a praise of tomfoolery (mannerly pause - semicolon); you command me to exalt reason before you...” Then from Catherine’s antiquity you will move on to romantic times, to almanacs, to sentimentally pompous and long novels... The cuckoo jumps out of the clock and crows mockingly and sadly at you in an empty house. And little by little a sweet and strange melancholy begins to creep into my heart...

Here is “The Secrets of Alexis”, here is “Victor, or the Child in the Forest”: “Midnight strikes! Sacred silence takes the place of daytime noise and cheerful songs of the villagers. Sleep spreads its dark wings over the surface of our hemisphere; he shakes off the poppy and dreams from them... Dreams... How often do they continue only the suffering of the ill-fated! “the pranks and frolics of young rascals”, the lily hand, Lyudmila and Alina... And here are the magazines with the names of Zhukovsky, Batyushkov, lyceum student Pushkin. And with sadness you will remember your grandmother, her polonaises on the clavichord, her languid reading of poems from Eugene Onegin. And the old dreamy life will appear before you... Good girls and women once lived in noble estates! Their portraits look at me from the wall, aristocratically beautiful heads in ancient hairstyles meekly and femininely lower their long eyelashes onto sad and tender eyes...

IV

The smell of Antonov apples disappears from the landowners' estates. These days were so recent, and yet it seems to me that almost a whole century has passed since then. The old people in Vyselki died, Anna Gerasimovna died, Arseniy Semenych shot himself... The kingdom of the small estates, impoverished to the point of beggary, is coming. But this miserable small-scale life is also good!

So I see myself again in the village, in late autumn. The days are bluish and cloudy. In the morning I get into the saddle and with one dog, a gun and a horn, I go into the field. The wind rings and hums in the barrel of a gun, the wind blows strongly towards, sometimes with dry snow. All day long I wander through the empty plains... Hungry and frozen, I return to the estate at dusk, and my soul becomes so warm and joyful when the lights of Vyselok flash and the smell of smoke and housing draws me out of the estate. I remember that in our house they liked to “go twilight” at this time, not light a fire and conduct conversations in the semi-darkness. Entering the house, I find the winter frames already installed, and this puts me even more in the mood for a peaceful winter mood. In the servant's room, a worker lights the stove, and, as in childhood, I squat down next to a heap of straw, already smelling sharply of winter freshness, and look first into the blazing stove, then at the windows, behind which the dusk, turning blue, sadly dies. Then I go to the people's room. It’s bright and crowded there: the girls are chopping cabbage, the chops are flashing by, I listen to their rhythmic, friendly knocking and friendly, sad and cheerful village songs... Sometimes some small-scale neighbor will come and take me away for a long time... Small-scale life is good too!

The small-timer gets up early. Stretching tightly, he gets out of bed and rolls a thick cigarette made of cheap, black tobacco or simply shag. The pale light of an early November morning illuminates a simple, bare-walled office, yellow and crusty fox skins above the bed and a stocky figure in trousers and a belted blouse, and the mirror reflects the sleepy face of a Tatar warehouse. There is dead silence in the dim, warm house. Outside the door in the corridor, the old cook, who lived in the manor house when she was a girl, is snoring. This, however, does not stop the master from hoarsely shouting to the whole house:

- Lukerya! Samovar!

Then, putting on his boots, throwing his jacket over his shoulders and not buttoning the collar of his shirt, he goes out onto the porch. The locked hallway smells like a dog; Lazy stretching, yawning and smiling, the hounds surround him.

- Burp! - he says slowly, in a condescending bass voice, and walks through the garden to the threshing floor. His chest breathes widely with the sharp air of dawn and the smell of a naked garden, chilled during the night. Leaves curled up and blackened by frost rustle under boots in a birch alley that has already been half-cut down. Silhouetted against the low gloomy sky, tufted jackdaws sleep on the crest of the barn... It will be a glorious day for hunting! And, stopping in the middle of the alley, the master looks for a long time into the autumn field, at the deserted green winter fields through which the calves wander. Two hound bitches squeal at his feet, and Zalivay is already behind the garden: jumping over the prickly stubble, he seems to be calling and asking to go to the field. But what will you do now with the hounds? The animal is now in the field, on the rise, on the black trail, and in the forest he is afraid, because in the forest the wind rustles the leaves... Oh, if only there were greyhounds!

Threshing begins in Riga. The drum of the thresher hums slowly, dispersing. Lazily pulling on the lines, resting their feet on the dung circle and swaying, the horses walk in the drive. In the middle of the drive, spinning on a bench, the driver sits and shouts monotonously at them, always whipping only one brown gelding, who is the laziest of all and completely sleeps while walking, fortunately his eyes are blindfolded.

- Well, well, girls, girls! - the sedate waiter shouts sternly, donning a wide canvas shirt.

The girls hastily sweep away the current, running around with stretchers and brooms.

- With God blessing! - says the server, and the first bunch of starnovka, launched for testing, flies into the drum with a buzzing and squealing and rises up from under it like a disheveled fan. And the drum hums more and more insistently, the work begins to boil, and soon all the sounds merge into the general pleasant noise of threshing. The master stands at the gate of the barn and watches how red and yellow scarves, hands, rakes, straw flash in its darkness, and all this moves and fusses rhythmically to the roar of the drum and the monotonous cry and whistle of the driver. Proboscis flies towards the gate in clouds. The master stands, all gray from him. He often glances at the field... Soon, soon the fields will turn white, winter will soon cover them...

Winter, first snow! There are no greyhounds, there is nothing to hunt in November; but winter comes, “work” with the hounds begins. And here again, as in the old days, small-scale families gather together, drink with their last money, and disappear for whole days in the snowy fields. And in the evening, on some remote farm, the outbuilding windows glow far away in the darkness of the winter night. There, in this small outbuilding, clouds of smoke float, tallow candles burn dimly, a guitar is being tuned...

At dusk the wind began to blow wildly,
He opened my wide gates, -

someone starts with a chest tenor. And others clumsily, pretending that they are joking, pick up with sad, hopeless daring:

My gates opened wide,
The path was covered with white snow...

In my memories - early warm autumn. It all starts in August, when warm rain covers the sown fields. In September, at the height of Indian summer, all the fields are covered with cobwebs. In the morning you can smell the freshly fallen leaves, a feeling of fresh coolness envelops the new day. It smells like honey and, of course, Antonov apples. The air is clean, the whole garden is covered with autumn gold.

A hum can be heard from afar: the gardeners are preparing apples to be sent to the city. And you definitely need to do this at night, so you can lie on the cart and contemplate the beautiful starry canvas in the sky. The gardeners do not spare their harvest: the hired worker eats the apples one after another, and the master only urges him: “Eat your fill, there is nothing to do!”

From the garden you can see a long path that leads to a high hut. There the townspeople set up their farms. Here the smell of Antonov apples is felt especially strongly. During the holidays, a fair is organized near the house. A lot of people gather: single-family girls in sundresses, boys in white shirts. Everyone is dressed up and cheerful, and songs and dances continue at the hut until the evening.

Dusk is approaching and it is getting frosty. You’re tired, wandering to dinner, and voices are heard throughout the village. There is a smell of fire in the garden, a fire is burning near the hut. In the darkness, barely visible silhouettes can be seen. Someone calls from the darkness: “Is that you, barchuk?” The earth is shaking - it's a passenger train passing by.

The stars are shining in the black sky. You will already feel very tired and will quickly go home. Cold, dew - how good it is to live!

Chapter II

If the apples grow well, then the bread will rise excellently. You wake up at dawn, can’t resist and immediately order to saddle your horse - to go hunting. When you wash yourself in the pond, all your fatigue and laziness immediately goes away. Have breakfast with black bread and potatoes and hit the road.

Autumn is a festive time. At this time of year the village looks special. People live here for a long time, you can often hear ironic lamentations: “And when will you die, Pankrat?” The houses in the village were also stately and perennial, bees were bred in the courtyards, there were iron doors in the barns, and crosses were burned on the gates.

I didn’t experience serfdom, but I felt it with Aunt Anna Gerasimovna. Her estate was small, but very strong, with tall birch trees growing around it. Elderly men and women looked out from the servants' room; the cook looked somewhat like Don Quixote. Each of them, just seeing me, bowed low. Anna Gerasimovna's garden was famous for its nightingales and apples. It’s a wonderful feeling to be there under the autumn sky.

The house is cool, and there is always a treat on the table. The aunt herself comes out, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. The windows are open, freshness blows from the garden.

Chapter III

In recent years, only hunting supported the life of the old landowners. Life has already gone from many estates, they are empty and have fallen into disrepair.

At the beginning of October our gardens were becoming scarce and the weather was getting worse. It was rainy and windy, and in the evening the clouds were gathering, turning the bad weather into a downpour and a storm. But by morning the sky became clear again. "It's time to hunt!"

At Arseny Semyonich's estate they only talk about hunting, people dine and drink. There are dogs everywhere: a black greyhound climbs onto the table and tries to eat the leftover food. Arseny Semyonich comes out of his office with a pistol: There’s no point in wasting golden time!”

It’s an amazing feeling to gallop through the forest on a horse, surrounded by other hunters, it’s as if you merge with your horse, and he snorts and wants to break into a trot. You hear dogs barking and a moment later - a loud shot.

It also happened that the hunt lasted several days. You leave in the morning and return late in the evening, everyone starts drinking. Someone talks about their successes, and someone shares with a friend their impressions of a wolf killed by their mother. The next day, hunting again.

It also happened that I slept through the hunt. Then you go out into the garden, grab an apple, it seems incredibly tasty. Afterwards you will start reading your grandfather’s old books: Voltaire, Pushkin, Batyushkov. The paper in the books is yellowed, and the pages themselves smell incredibly pleasant.

Chapter IV

And now the smell of Antonov apples is finally leaving the estates. All the long-livers in the village have already died. A new time is coming - the time of small-scale farmers. But such a life - beggarly and small-scale - is also good!

I remember myself again in the village, again you harness your horse and ride off to the field. You will return in the evening, your soul will be warm and pleasant. It smells like smoke, a stove is being lit in a distant room, and dinner is being prepared in the kitchen. Sometimes a neighbor will drop by and offer to go to his estate. And such a life is good!

The small-timer wakes up very early. He gets out of bed, rolls himself a tobacco cigarette, puts on his boots and goes out onto the porch. He is immediately surrounded by dogs, the master breathes deeply and looks at the cloudy sky.

The threshing begins. The driver whips the horses, the girls run around with a stretcher. The work is intense, the first batch of straw flies into the drum, which makes a loud noise.

And here is the first snow! All the small estates come to each other’s estates, drink away all the remaining money, and work every day in the snow-covered fields. In the evening they gather: someone tunes the guitar and starts a song. After some time, others cautiously, as if in jest, pick up the tune. And just a few minutes later, a quiet, but very soulful, with a certain sadness, singing is heard from an outbuilding in a remote farm.

Interesting? Save it on your wall!

Target:

To introduce the variety of themes of Bunin's prose,
To teach to identify literary techniques used by Bunin to reveal human psychology, and other characteristic features of Bunin’s stories,
Develop prose text analysis skills.

Tasks:

Cognitive:

1) identify students’ first impressions of the work they read;

2) monitor how the hero’s age changes and, along with it, the perception of the world;

3) draw students’ attention to the intonation of light sadness in the story;

4) to conclude that this story widely includes landscapes that help to most deeply understand the internal state of the hero and express nostalgia for the bygone past;

5) consider the image of nature, the image of the human world, the mood of the hero-storyteller, the images and symbols of the story “Antonov Apples”.

Educational:

1) develop students’ skills in literary critical analysis of a work;

2) develop in students the skill of a complete, competent oral response;

3) develop the ability to draw conclusions and generalizations.

Educators:

1) instill in students a sense of beauty;

2) education of a cultural reader; writing; interest in the history of language and people

Lesson type: lesson explanation of new material

Technology: the lesson was developed using problem-based teaching technology, health-saving, system-activity approach and general pedagogical technologies, as well as using information and communication technologies.

Lesson Methods: reproductive, search, heuristic

Forms of work: frontal, individual, in pairs

Equipment: story by I.A. Bunin “Antonov apples”, interactive board, presentation, notebook.

Stages of the lesson and activities of students and teachers

				Method, technique
1.Organizational moment	Organization of students in the lesson		frontal
2.Motivation	Awakening cognitive interest	Reading a poem	frontal	heuristic
3.Updating	Repetition of previously learned and its expansion	Active listening, conversation	Frontal, individual	Reproductive, viewing presentation
4.Creating a problem situation	The teacher encourages students to pay attention to the topic of the lesson and explain it		frontal	Reproductive, search
5. Search, resolution of a problem situation	Form your own opinion; learn to listen to another person;	Work in a notebook, drawing up a table	Individual, group	research
6. Generalization, conclusion	Representation of the resulting table, summary, conclusion	Working with an interactive whiteboard	Frontal, individual	Reproductive
7. Development of new knowledge in a creative task	Working with individual tasks	Hearing	Personal message	Reproductive
8. Summing up	reflection on what was heard in class		Frontal, individual	heuristic
9.Homework	Variable homework	Paperwork	individual	reproductive

During the classes

We just remember happiness.

And happiness is everywhere. Maybe it-

This autumn garden behind the barn

And clean air flowing through the window.

I. Bunin.

Teacher's word: Hello, guys! Today we have a very interesting lesson ahead of us, in which we will continue to get acquainted with the work of I.A. Bunin and talk about his story “Antonov Apples”. In order to create the right atmosphere, I suggest listening to the poem by I.A. Bunin's "Evening", an excerpt from which I took as an epigraph to our lesson. (A trained student reads the poem “Evening”)

EVENING
We always only remember about happiness.
And happiness is everywhere. Maybe it's -
This autumn garden behind the barn
And clean air flowing through the window.

In the bottomless sky with a light white edge
The cloud rises and shines. For a long time
I'm watching him... We see little, we know,
And happiness is given only to those who know.

The window is open. She squeaked and sat down
There's a bird on the windowsill. And from books
I look away from my tired gaze for a moment.

The day is getting dark, the sky is empty.
The hum of a threshing machine can be heard on the threshing floor...
I see, I hear, I am happy. Everything is in me.

What mood is this poem permeated with? What is the main idea of this poem? (mood of quiet sadness, sadness. The main idea is that happiness can be found in the simplest things that surround us, the main thing is to be happy yourself).

I.A. Bunin was convinced that there should be no “division of fiction into prose and poetry,” and admitted that such a view seemed to him “unnatural and outdated.” He wrote: “The poetic element is spontaneously inherent in works of fine literature, equally in both poetic and prose form. The prose should also differ in tone. Many purely fictional things are read as poetry, although neither meter nor rhyme are observed in them... Prose, no less than poetry, must be subject to the requirements of musicality and flexibility of language.”

These requirements were most fully realized in Bunin’s masterpiece of prose - the story “Antonov Apples”. The story was written in 1901. An attentive reader will notice that this story is a single lyrical monologue of the hero, conveying his state of mind. The story is like a poem. First of all, how the plot is built. Many may say that there is no plot here. And they will be wrong. There is a plot. It is based on memory. The rhythm of poetic breathing, the vague unsteadiness of intonation, and impressionistic imagery become significant. The lyrics seem to lead the prose. Thanks to the saturation of the narrative with poetic imagery, a special laconicism is developed, coupled with magical smoothness and bewitching length. Repetitions of words and pauses create an expressive musical harmony. Let's listen to the excerpt: “I remember an early, fine autumn... I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning<…>I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinning garden, I remember maple alleys, the subtle aroma of fallen leaves and the smell of Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. “The extreme concentration of details, the boldness of comparisons give the impression of elegance, a rich decoration of the narrative, while remaining strict, sharp, and clear. The aroma of Antonov apples is constantly present in the work, and this smell sounds like a musical leitmotif.

Bunin is the greatest master of words, attentive to details. This story is often compared to impressionist paintings. If you come very close to the painting, you will see nothing but brush strokes; if you move away a little, individual objects appear, and if you move even further away, you will see the whole picture.

At home you read this amazing story, filled with smells, sounds, impressions, memories, tell me, what is the general mood of the story? (sadness, nostalgia, despondency, farewell to the past).

Let's carefully read the topic of today's lesson, what kind of “paradise lost” is the writer talking about? (Paradise is a past life, life in a manor, life in harmony with nature)

What is the composition of the work? (the work consists of 4 parts) And if you read the story carefully, you will notice that the mood in each part is different. In order to confirm this thesis, we will conduct a small study. You are divided into 4 groups, each group will work with one part of the story, the result of your work will be a table consisting of the following columns:

Main theme of the part	Basic images of nature	Picture of people	Image-symbol	Hero's age	What is the mood of this part of the story?
1. Memories of apple picking	Early fine autumn: “fresh morning”, “juicy crackling” of apples. Cool silence, clean air, cheerful echo, (August)	“like a popular print”, fair, new sundresses. Festive colors: “black-lilac, brick color, wide gold “poneva braid”	Something alarming, mystical, scary: the fire of Hell as a symbol of death	teenager	Joyful, cheerful: “How cold, dewy and how good it is to live in the world”
2.Description of the estate of the aunt - Anna Gerasimovna	The water is clear. Purple fog, turquoise sky (early September)	The people are tidy and cheerful, peasant life is rich, the buildings are homely. Auntie talks about the past, but she is important, friendly, and treats her to a nice dinner.	Image of a mortal old woman with a gravestone	Young man	The theme of fading, aging, fading arises. Words with the root “old” begin to predominate. The mood is intended to confirm the former contentment and well-being of village life.
3. Magnificent hunting scenes.	Gloomy low clouds, liquid blue sky, icy wind, liquid ash clouds (late September)	Reading books, admiring antique magazines	Dead silence. Ravine - as an image of loneliness	Man in adulthood	The last flash of life before further disappearance. The motive of abandonment intensifies.
4. The time of ruin, impoverishment, the end of former greatness.	Empty plains, naked garden, First snow	The old people in Vyselki have died, the village resembles a desert.		Adult	Funeral prayer

Students work with the text, then present their work.

General conclusion: The four-part composition of “Antonov Apples” is full of deep meaning. The fate of the specific village of Vyselki and specific people is perceived as the common fate of the entire noble class, and of all of Russia as a whole. Bunin’s conclusion is clear: only in the imagination, only in memory remains the time of happy, carefree youth, thrills and experiences, harmonious existence with nature, the life of ordinary people, the greatness of the cosmos. Estate life seems to be a kind of “lost paradise”, the bliss of which, of course, cannot be returned by the pitiful attempts of small-scale nobles, who are perceived rather as a parody of past luxury. The breath of beauty that once filled the ancient noble estates, the aroma of Antonov apples gave way to the smells of rottenness, mold, and desolation.

Do you think there is a central image in this work? (Yes, this is an image of a GARDEN). Implementation of homework, students prepared in advance make a presentation.

Student message: In “Antonov Apples” the lexical center is the word SAD, one of the key words not only in Bunin’s work, but in Russian culture as a whole. The word “garden” revived memories of something dear and close to the soul.

The garden is associated with a friendly family, home, and with the dream of serene heavenly happiness, which humanity may lose in the future.

You can find many symbolic shades of the word garden: beauty, the idea of time, memory of generations, homeland. But most often the famous Chekhov image comes to mind: the garden-nests of the nobility, which recently experienced a period of prosperity, but have now fallen into decay.

Bunin's garden is a mirror that reflects what is happening to the estates and their inhabitants.

In the story “Antonov Apples” he appears as a living being with his own mood and character. The garden is shown each time through the prism of the author’s moods. In the blessed time of Indian summer, he is a symbol of well-being, contentment, prosperity: “... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinning garden, I remember maple alleys, the subtle aroma of fallen leaves and the smell of Antonov apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness.” In the early morning, it is cool and filled with a “lilac fog,” as if stripping away the secrets of nature.

It is interesting that back in 1891, Bunin conceived the story “Antonov Apples,” but wrote and published it only in 1900. The story was subtitled “Pictures from the Book of Epitaphs.” Why? What did the writer want to emphasize with this subtitle?

(An epitaph is a saying (often in poetry) written on the occasion of someone's death and used as a funeral inscription.)

Homework:
1) Write a short essay on the topic “Paradise Lost” by Ivan Bunin” or “What brings together the comedy of A.P. Chekhov's “The Cherry Orchard” and the story by I.A. Bunin's "Antonov Apples"?.

The teacher pays attention to Ivan Bunin’s story “Antonov Apples,” in which the writer describes the entire life of the Russian middle and upper classes in the countryside. In the story “Antonov Apples,” the plot as a whole represents a description of the main character’s memories, and they are different in each of the four chapters of the text. Thus, the first part describes the trade of the townspeople with the famous Antonov apples in August, the second - autumn, the noble house where the main character and his relatives lived. The third describes hunting, as well as the onset of winter. The fourth describes the November day of small-scale people.
At the end of the lesson, the teacher emphasizes that Ivan Bunin’s story “Antonov Apples” is an expression of deep and poetic love for his country.

Topic: Russian literature of the late XIX – early XX centuries.

Lesson:Ivan Bunin. "Antonov Apples", "Village"

A characteristic feature of I. Bunin’s early prose work is the presence of a lyrical plot, in which it is not events that are important, but impressions, associations, and a special elegiac mood. It is known that I.A. Bunin began his career in literature as a poet and, as a rule, did not clearly distinguish between poetic and prosaic creativity; he often used in prose individual images taken from his own lyrics. In this regard, his work clearly reflects such a characteristic phenomenon of 20th-century literature as poetry.

The story “Antonov Apples” as a whole can be considered as a prose poem. A brief and incredibly poetic time is depicted - Indian summer, when elegiac reflections naturally form in the soul. Behind the detailed landscape sketch one can discern the poetic soul of the author, a subtle, educated man who deeply loves the life of his native nature. Folk wisdom is close to him, as he often refers to signs: “Autumn and winter live well if the water is calm and there is rain on Laurentia.”

The motive of death enhances the experiences of the lyrical hero. However, the wonderful moment remains in the memory.

Beauty and death, love and separation - these are eternal themes, personal and enlightened expression in poetry.

The genre has been defined in various ways, and the running theme is the passage of time.

The story begins and ends with an ellipsis. This means that nothing begins and nothing ends in it. Human life is finite, but life is infinite.

The story is divided into 4 fragments, each of them has its own theme and intonation.

Few people can know and love nature as well as Bunin can. Thanks to this love, the poet looks vigilantly and far, and his colorful and auditory impressions are rich. His world is primarily a world of visual and auditory impressions and experiences associated with them.

Treasured alleys of noble nests. These words from K. Balmont’s poem “In Memory of Turgenev” perfectly convey the mood of the story “Antonov Apples.” Apparently, it is no coincidence that on the pages of one of his first stories, the very date of creation of which is extremely symbolic, I.A. Bunin recreates the world of a Russian estate. It is in it, according to the writer, that the past and the present are united, the history of the culture of the golden age and its fate at the turn of the century, the family traditions of the noble family and individual human life. Sadness about the noble nests fading into the past is the leitmotif not only of this story, but also of numerous poems, such as “The high white hall, where the black piano is...”, “Into the living room through the garden and dusty curtains...”, “On a quiet night, the late moon came out... " However, the leitmotif of decline and destruction is overcome in them “not by the theme of liberation from the past, but on the contrary, by the poeticization of this past, living in the memory of culture... Bunin’s poem about the estate is characterized by picturesqueness and at the same time inspired emotionality, sublimity and poetic feeling. The estate becomes for the lyrical hero an integral part of his individual life and at the same time a symbol of the homeland, the roots of the family” (L. Ershov).

The first thing you notice when reading a story is the absence of a plot in the usual sense, i.e. lack of event dynamics. The very first words of the work “...I remember an early fine autumn” immerse us in the world of the hero’s memories, and the plot begins to develop as a chain of sensations associated with them. The smell of Antonov apples, which awakens a variety of associations in the narrator’s soul. The smells change - life itself changes, but the change in its way of life is conveyed by the writer as a change in the hero’s personal feelings, a change in his worldview. The whole earth is oozing with fruits. But we understand that this is universal happiness. This is a child's perception of happiness.

Let us pay attention to the pictures of autumn given in different chapters through the perception of the hero.

In the first chapter we are talking about a strong emotion: “In the dark, in the depths of the garden, there is a fabulous picture: as if in a corner of hell, a hut is burning with a crimson flame, surrounded by darkness, and someone’s black silhouettes, as if carved from ebony wood, are moving around the fire, between as giant shadows from them walk across the apple trees.” How good it is to live in the world!

In the second chapter, the tone is already consistent, we are talking about the people who convey the way of life, the epic mood: “Almost all the small foliage has flown off the coastal vines, and the branches are visible in the turquoise sky. The water under the lozins became clear, icy and as if heavy... When you used to drive through the village on a sunny morning, you kept thinking about how good it is to mow, thresh, sleep on the threshing floor in brooms, and on a holiday to rise with the sun...”

Rice. 2. Illustration for the story “Antonov Apples” by I. A. Bunin ()

Time goes by in circles as if nothing is happening. The author conveys in his own words the thoughts of the characters.

Bunin formulates the idea of the epic. Thoughts about the village. The idyllic intonation is affirmed, but the author, for contrast, mentions serfdom.

The third chapter deals with the heyday of local culture. Late fall. Pictures of nature “The wind tore and tore the trees for days on end, the rains watered them from morning to night... the wind did not let up. It disturbed the garden, tore up the stream of human smoke continuously flowing from the chimney, and again drove up the ominous strands of ash clouds. They ran low and fast - and soon, like smoke, they clouded the sun. Its shine faded, the window into the blue sky closed, and the garden became deserted and boring, and rain began to fall more and more often...”

And in the fourth chapter: “The days are bluish, cloudy... All day long I wander through the empty plains...” Lonely wandering through the already winter forest. Quiet sadness.

The description of autumn is conveyed by the narrator through its flower and sound perception. The autumn landscape changes from chapter to chapter: the colors fade, the sunlight becomes less. Essentially, the story describes the autumn of not one year, but several, and this is constantly emphasized in the text: “I remember a fruitful year”; “These were so recent, and yet it seems that almost a whole century has passed since then.”

Pictures - memories appear in the mind of the narrator and create the illusion of action. However, the narrator himself seems to be in different age guises: from chapter to chapter he seems to become older and looks at the world either through the eyes of a child, a teenager and a young man, or even through the eyes of a person who has crossed adulthood. But time seems to have no power over him, and it flows in the story in a very strange way. On the one hand, it seems to be moving forward, but in the memories the narrator always turns back. All events occurring in the past are perceived and experienced by him as momentary, developing before his eyes. This relativity of time is one of the features of Bunin's traits.

I.A. Bunin is incredibly fond of national color. With what care, for example, he describes the festive spirit of the garden fair. His creation of figures of people from the people amazes with a high degree of individualization. Just look at one important thing, like a Kholmogory cow, a young elder, or a burry, nimble half-idiot playing the Tula harmonica.

To recreate in detail the atmosphere of early fine autumn in the apple orchard I.A. Bunin widely uses a whole series of artistic definitions: “I remember an early, fresh, quiet morning... I remember a large, all golden, dried up and thinning garden, I remember maple alleys, the subtle aroma of fallen leaves...” In order to more fully and clearly reflect the surrounding atmosphere, convey every sound (the creaking of carts, the clucking of blackbirds, the crackle of apples being eaten by men) and aroma (the smell of Antonov apples, honey and autumn freshness).

The smell of apples is a recurring detail in the story. I.A. Bunin describes a garden with Antonov apples at different times of the day. At the same time, the evening landscape turns out to be no poorer than the morning one. It is decorated with the diamond constellation Stozhar, the Milky Way, whitening overhead, and shooting stars.

Local libraries preserve the memory of ancestors.

The central theme of the story is the theme of the ruin of noble nests. The author writes with pain that the smell of Antonov apples is disappearing, and the way of life that has developed over centuries is falling apart. Admiring the past and the passing brings an elegiac tone to the work. Bunin emphasizes in certain details the social aspect of relations between people. This is evidenced by the vocabulary (“bourgeois”, “barchuk”). Despite the elegiac tone, the story also contains optimistic notes. “How cold, dewy and how good it is to live in the world!” - emphasizes I.A. Bunin. The story reveals the idealization of the image of the people characteristic of the writer. It is especially close to the author on holidays, when everyone is tidy and happy. “The old men and women lived in Vyselki for a very long time - the first sign of a rich village - and they were all tall, big and white, like a harrier. All you heard was: “Yes,” Agafya waved off her eighty-three year old!” - this is how I.A conveys through dialogues. Bunin his admiration for the way of simple village life. The author poetizes everyday values: work on the land, a clean shirt and lunch with hot lamb on wooden plates.

Social and class differences do not escape the author's attention either. It is no coincidence that old Pankrat stands stretched out in front of the master, smiling guiltily and meekly. It is in this work that I.A. expresses. Bunin had an important idea for him that the structure of the average noble life was close to that of the peasants. The author-narrator directly admits that he did not know or see serfdom, but felt it, remembering how former servants bowed to their masters.

The social aspect is also emphasized in the interior of the house. Footman's room, people's room, hall, living room - all these names indicate the author's understanding of class contradictions in society. However, at the same time, the story also contains admiration for the refined life of the nobility. The writer, for example, emphasizes arctocratically beautiful heads in ancient hairstyles, from portraits lowering their long eyelashes onto sad and tender eyes.

Thus, the story of I.A. Bunin’s “Antonov Apples” is dear to the reader because it embodies the beauty of native nature, pictures of Russian life and teaches to love Russia as much as the Russian writer, stunning with the depth of lyrical expression of patriotic experience, loved it.

Additionally

The idea for the story “Village” arose from Bunin’s thoughts about the events of 1905 and how it affected life in the Russian village. This led to the fact that the lyrical and master of subtle and tender poetry, Bunin, had to depict what was happening in the village in a strict style and in a purely objective manner.

Only in this way could he reach the callous and already seemingly unbeatable hearts of people who ignored what thousands of disadvantaged people were experiencing. At the same time, Bunin not only paints a harsh picture of reality, he reveals the personalities of the people who were the key figures in this picture.

Therefore, the story “The Village” is considered, first of all, a psychological novel, since Bunin pays a lot of attention to deep portraits of people, their feelings, experiences, thoughts.

In portraying this most skillfully, Bunin is helped by his artistic expressiveness, which is also contained in his rustic lyrics dedicated to the beauty of nature and the amazing sensations that it evokes in humans.

The life and daily existence of the peasants, carefully described by Bunin, and the images of people shown in detail testify to the main idea of the story.

The writer’s goal is not just to show reality realistically, but also to lead the reader to a logical thought about the future of the Russian people and, in particular, about the fate of the Russian village and those people who devote their whole lives to it.

And it is here that the lyricism so close to Bunin is manifested; it sounds softly in the tone of the entire narrative, in those amazing pictures of nature to which the writer pays so much attention, in the bright and complex feelings of the characters and their heartfelt words.

The two main characters of the story - the Krasov brothers - represent carefully thought-out images, the opposite of which helps the writer to fully paint a picture of reality.

Kuzma, a self-taught poet, is clearly close to Bunin’s personality; in his actions and thoughts one can feel the writer’s personal attitude to what is happening and his assessment.

Using the example of Kuzma, the author shows the features of the new national psyche; Kuzma himself thinks that the Russian people are lazy and wild, that the reasons for such a cruel life of the peasants lie not only in difficult circumstances, but also in their own ideas and psychology.

In contrast to the self-taught poet, Bunin makes the image of his brother Tikhon selfish and calculating. Gradually, he increases his capital, and on his path to prosperity and power, he stops at nothing.

But despite the path he has chosen, he still feels an emptiness and despair that is directly related to the future of his homeland, which paints pictures of an even more destructive revolution.

Using the example of the main and secondary characters, Bunin reveals to the readers the acute social contradictions in which Russian reality lies.

Those who are village “rebels” are stupid and empty people who grew up in lack of culture and rudeness, and their protest is just a ridiculous attempt to change something. But they are unable to change their own consciousness and psychology, the core of which still remains inertia and hopelessness.

The psychological story “The Village” by Ivan Alekseevich Bunin is recognized as one of the most outstanding and truthful works of Russian literature of the 20th century.

It is in this story that the writer begins to reveal his talent as a realistic prose writer, while the variety of his artistic techniques for depicting the simple peasant life of Russia closely resonates with the themes and artistic expressiveness of his lyrics.

The main “Village” is a sober, merciless realism in its truth, with the help of which Bunin reveals to his readers a full-fledged picture of peasant life.

Bibliography

1. Chalmaev V.A., Zinin S.A. Russian literature of the twentieth century.: Textbook for grade 11: In 2 hours - 5th ed. – M.: LLC 2TID “Russian Word - RS”, 2008.

2. Agenosov V.V. . Russian literature of the 20th century. Methodical manual M. “Bustard”, 2002

3. Russian literature of the 20th century. Textbook for applicants to universities M. academic-scientific. Center "Moscow Lyceum", 1995.

4. Wiktionary.

additional literature

Publications by I. Bunin: Collection. op. in 9 vols. M., 1965–1967; Collection op. in 6 vols. M., 1996–1997; Literature “Russian writers in Moscow”. Collection. Reprint. Comp. L. P. Bykovtseva. M., 1977, 860s “Russian writers. Bio-bibliographic dictionary.” M., 1990

Essays on Russian literature of the late 19th – early 20th centuries. State Publishing House of Fiction. M., 1952

I. A. Bunin. “Stories”. M., 1955 I. A. Bunin. “Antonov apples. Novels and stories” Children's literature. M., 1981 “History of Russian literature of the late 19th – early 20th centuries” Higher school. M., 1984

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