In Yelets, my hometown, all the old merchants’ surnames were double. Our first name, Prishvin, was clan, official, and the second, “street”, was the Alpatovs. I was born in 1873 in the village of Khrushchevo, Solovyov volost, Yelets county, Oryol province. The village of Khrushchev was a small village with thatched roofs of earthen floors. Near the village was the manor of the landowner.
In this large landowner’s house was born. This small estate, about 200 acres, was bought by my grandfather Dmitri Ivanovich Prishvin from a nobleman, General Levshin. After the family division Khrushchev got my father, Mikhail Dmitrievich Prishvin. So it happened that Yeletsky merchant’s son, my father, became a landowner.
In the estate my father began to breed the Oryol trotters, he traveled and more than once in Orel took prizes. Still my father was a wonderful gardener, an excellent hunter and led a cheerful life. How sorry I am for my father, who did not know how to get out to anything more serious than life’s ringing life. Happened one day, he lost a large amount of money in the cards; to pay the debt, had to sell all the stud farm and lay the estate on a double mortgage. The father did not survive the misfortune, he died, and my mother, the woman
In forty years with five children, I gave my whole life to work “for a bank.” My mother, Maria Ivanovna Ignatova, was born in the city of Belovo on the banks of the Oka. Working non-existent from morning to night, taking into account every penny, my mother at the end of life still bought the estate and all five of us allowed to get higher education. In our house there was an ancient, made still with serf hands, a huge armchairKurym.
Nobody knew why it was called that way. They said that as a boy I was very much like an armchair, but what it looked like – no one knew about it. Often I reflected, sitting in this huge chair. I thought that each of us has a life like a shell of a folding, dangerous egg. Sometimes everything that has been lived begins to fly off like shells, and a little little Kurymushka comes out at the bedside of his sick father. The father made the only healthy hand like a sign, and the mother now