Samsonova Victor Biography

Laureate of international competitions of the Grand Prix and a prize of the audience sympathies of the International Competition of Opera Singers named after Morgunov, A. Dzhigamyan, L. Fedoseeva-Shukshin, I. Dmitriev, St. Petersburg; International Competition of Opera Singers. Vignaca, Barcelona, ​​G. was born: G. Chisinau Moldova, February 28. No, to start his biography with a story about himself and write only about himself to his beloved meant completely excluded from the process of my appearance and education several generations of beautiful and talented people, to whom I owe absolutely everything that I can now and have.

So, the earliest that I know about my ancestors is that my great-grandfather Nestor Samsonov was a soldier of one of the St. Petersburg regiments and was wounded under Port Arthur. After the Russo-Japanese War, he was awarded the tsarist awards and was granted by the Great Land of the Earth in Bessarabia, where he later moved forever. Here, a two-meter Russian gvardist-giant married Miniature Mary, the daughter of the Greek and Bulgarian Dobrov, who gave birth to ten sons, the third of whom was my grandfather Grigory Nestorovich Samsonov.

My father, however, also remembers my great -great -grandfather, the father of the great -grandfather of Nestor, the silent, sustained by the gray gray -haired old man, sternly and lonely sitting in his room, but his children's memory has not retained anything more about this person. The great -grandfather Nestor was strong and hardworking. Having resigned, he planted a huge apple garden on his lands, vineyards, built a huge house.

Several employees helped him to conduct a large economy, in which there were horses, sheep, bird, as well as gardens and winery with a deep wine cellar. Until now, moving along the bridge across the Dniester River from the city of Bender towards Tiraspol, on the left bank you can see the wasteland, where a huge apple orchard bloomed every spring. Then the revolution came, and the great -grandfather, who secretly helped the Bolsheviks transport weapons to the other side of the Dniester, ended up in the Chisinau prison.

Fate hooked on him in the cell of Kotovsky himself, who quickly appreciated the pood pound fists and offered him a joint escape. Nestor refused, and that night Kotovsky fled himself. Sawing the grate on the window and wrapping his feet with blankets, he jumped from the height of the third floor of the prison. The Bolsheviks, having come to power, then ranked his great -grandfather to the fists, and took all the “unfairly acquired” from the great -grandfather, the Ovovets, horses, cows and great -grandfathers later went a long life path, lived to the end of the seventies and died quietly, almost lived up to 90 years.

But the true steering of a huge Samson family was a little great -grandmother Maria. She lived until 94 years and until her death was the center of the family and its supreme leader. All seven of her sons were an implicitly listened and loved their “mommy” very much. Even I still found huge festive feasts in the main parental house in the village of Parkani, where all the brothers with their wives, children and grandchildren gathered.

Homemade Moldavian wine poured as a river, like songs, to the accompaniment of trophy accordions. After the Civil War and the signing of the Brest world, the part of Bessarabia, where my relatives lived, went to Royal Romania. My grandfather, Grigory Nestorovich, then still a very young guy, went to Bucharest to study the newfangled Togv that time of the profession of photographer-artist.

There he met and subsequently married Stepanid Vasilievna Vranchans, my grandmother. The ancestors of grannies were Romanian nobles. Her father, my other great -grandfather Vasily Vranchan, was a rural priest. He was a highly educated and intelligent person. But his wife is Ukrainian Evdokia, my great -grandmother Baba Dusu, I remember myself and very clearly. However, like the aforementioned great -grandfather Nestor and great -grandmother Mary.

But it was from the side of the Vrancans in our family that opera voices were inherited. So, my aunt on my mother’s father was an opera diva first in the Bucharest opera, and then in Chisinau. And the uncle of my grandmother Stepanida was a famous bass-soloist of the imperial Mariinka and sang there with Chaliapin himself. He had a phenomenal voice in force. The father recalls how, during the feast, the guests begged his uncle to show the “focus” and he, after long persuasion, picked up a kerosene lamp in his hands, sang a very low note and extinguished the flame without even removing the glass cap.

Then, already living in St. Petersburg, I found his name in the ancient telephone book of the year and addressed lane. Soon my grandfather Grigory opened his photo studio in Bucharest. My father Victor, who was born in Bucharest on June 27, told me about a large parental house, a servant and a large suitcase with money stored under the bed - the fashionable photo -business of my grandfather then flourished with might and main.

The idyll ended in M, after the signing of the famous Pact Ribbentrop-Molotov. The large territories of Romania were now moving to the USSR, and there, in the village of Lapkan, the main value of the whole family remained - parents. Grandfather, throwing everything in his beloved Bucharest, moved with his family to Bender to be near them.Everyone then already knew firsthand what the “Iron Stalinist curtain” was and understood that separation could be eternal.

And then my father had to hide the fact of his birth in the capitalist country all his life all his life. He shot visitors to documents, portraits of labor leaders on the Board of Honor, and worked on at weddings and funerals. By the way, I still remember how he, having given me for my 13 years, my first FED FED -3, taught: “The most responsible shooting, granddaughters, are a funeral.

If you cut a film, then no one will dig up the deceased for the shooting. ” And then the y. Grandfather was called up to the Red Army, and as one of the few competent was appointed a construction battalion commander and sent Moldavians - villagers with a detachment, who did not even speak Russian, build a fortified area near Sevastopol. Father, remaining with his mother, my grandmother Stepanida in Benders, recalls how the planes unprecedented in the sky flew high in the sky, and Soviet soldiers left the city without a fight.

The next day, the Germans entered the city. The whole huge family of the Samsonovs hid in a wine basement, disguised under the haystack. The Germans settled in an abandoned house, without even realizing that immediately a whole family was hiding under their nose in the yard. Grandfather told me how the Germans blocked the approaches to Sevastopol from land at the same time, and how one day the connection with his platoon was interrupted and they remained in the fortified area alone, only with shovels and pickles.

Since there were no teams from the position held, he and his platoon remained in place to wait for further orders.

By evening, the infantry battalion with the front line came and stayed for the night. The battalion commander proposed joining them and moving to Sevastopol in the morning. But, waking up in the morning, my grandfather saw that the battalion had left, but they simply forgot about them. Further, events began to develop rapidly. On the road next to the collapse of the field where the platoon was digging trenches, the roar was heard, and dust stuck.

At one glance, it became clear that this is a German motorcycle. Grandfather gave the countrymen-Seelia his last order in a young man: "To disperse and go to his own, who can." Everyone, having thrown shovels, rushed into a strait. Grandfather, that there is strength, ran to the neighboring village. In the first hut, where his grandfather ran, the old man and his daughter lived. They quickly changed into a “citizen”.

As soon as they managed to hide the Soviet command uniform, the Germans burst into the house. Tearing a cap from his grandfather, they shouted: “Rusish Zoldaten? The Germans rushed to other houses, and his grandfather, waiting for the evening and taking a little grunts, went into the forest. Then the incredible story begins. Grandfather walked the distance from Sevastopol to Bender.

More than kilometers. He began the way in the summer, and came already in the winter. And it only went at night so as not to get caught by the Germans. Without documents and eating in the forest berries and mushrooms, he first reached Sivash. There, on the shore of them, making their way past the checkpoints, several people came together. Hungry, they found potatoes in the basement of an empty house on the shore, but it was impossible to eat.

Those who could not pick her up with themselves doused potatoes with gasoline. Having reached the Dnieper in late autumn, his grandfather was forced to go across the bridge, where he was immediately detained without documents and was completed to the German commandant's office. There, grandfather also saved luck. The Russian woman, who issued the documents, made him Ausweis.

When his grandfather got to the treasured basement in his native Benders, his legs were taken away. Overnight in the damp forests were not in vain. But his grandfather later got up from a wheelchair. I remember how we went to Odessa estuaries - to treat grandfather's legs with mud. Four years later, a victory came. The Germans were knocked out of Bender, t Ak and not having learned that in the basement, in one courtyard, there was a whole family, whose men went secretly at night for water and food.

Then there was the famine of the year, when people, according to the memoirs of their father, died right on the streets. Our family survived only because Stepanid’s grandmother, as if foreseeing this nightmare, preserved a lot of cans with chickens. Grandfather Grigory has always been a frown in his soul and a convinced adherent of capitalism and private property. He worked fanatically and productively.

With respect, only those people who could do something sensibly and earn good money were enjoyed. In E, he went to work in Naryan-Mar. After warm Moldova, fierce frosts and six -month night were remembered by my father for life.