Bunin's winter dream summary. Chang's Dreams

And no matter how badly you live, it will be difficult to part with the white light,” Agafya said sadly, pouring from a cup into a saucer.

It’s known to be difficult,” said Gregory. “If I had known and lived differently, I would have destroyed all my property.” Otherwise, we are afraid to dissolve our property, you keep thinking that in old age there will be nowhere to go... but look, you haven’t even lived to see old age!

“Our life flows like a wave,” Semyon said. - Death, as it is said, must be greeted with joy and trepidation.

Exodus, not death, dear,” Evgenia corrected dryly and instructively.

“With trepidation, not with trepidation, but no one wants to die,” said Gregory. - Every booger is afraid of death. It also means that they have souls.

“Not souls, father, but souls,” Evgenia said even more instructively.

Having finished the last cup, Semyon shook his head, throwing away the sweaty dark gray hair, stood up, crossed himself, grabbed the psalter and walked on tiptoe through the dark hall, through the dark living room to the deceased. “Go, go, dear,” Evgenia said after him. - Yes, read more diligently. When someone reads well, the sins fall off the sinner like leaves from a dry tree.

Replacing Tishka, Semyon put on glasses and, looking sternly through them, gently picked the wax from the melted candles with his fingers, then slowly crossed himself, unfolded the book on the lectern and began to read quietly, with affectionate and sad conviction, only in some places raising his voice warningly.

The door to the hallway near the back porch was open. While reading, Semyon heard someone stamping their feet on the porch: two girls, both dressed up, in new strong shoes, came to look at the dead man. They entered the room timidly and joyfully, talking in whispers. Crossing herself and trying to walk unsteadily, one of them, shaking her breasts under her new pink blouse, approached the table and turned the sheet away from the prince’s face. The sparkle of the candles fell on the blouse, the frightened face of the girl became pale and beautiful in this shine, and the dead face of the prince shone like a bone. The large graying mustache, which had grown due to illness, was already showing through, and in the eyes, which were not completely closed, some kind of liquid was darkening...

Tishka smoked greedily in the hallway, waiting for the girls to come out. They slipped past him, pretending not to notice him. One ran away from the porch, he managed to catch the other, in a pink blouse. She rushed forward and whispered:

Oh, are you crazy? Let me go! And then I’ll tell my father...

Tishka released her. She ran towards the garden. The moon, already small, white, clear, stood high above the dark garden, and the dry iron on the roof of the bathhouse glittered golden in its light.

In the shadow of the garden, the girl turned around and, looking at the sky, exclaimed:

What a night, fathers!

And charmingly, with joyful tenderness, her happy voice sounded in the quiet night air.

Bestuzhev walked from end to end around the yard. From the courtyard, empty, wide, illuminated by the moon, he looked first at the lights in the village across the river, then at the bright windows of the living room, where the voices of those dining were heard. The gates of the barn were open, and a broken lantern, placed on the trolley box, was burning. Grigory, bending over and putting one leg out, moved the jointer along the wood, tucked into an old workbench. The red-smoky fire in the lantern trembled, the shadows trembled in the gloomy barn...

When Bestuzhev paused for a minute at the gate of the barn, Grigory raised his excited face and said with gentle pride:

I'm just finishing the lid...

Then Bestuzhev stood, leaning his elbows on the open window of the servant’s room. The cook collected the remains of dinner from the table and wiped it off with a rag. The shepherds, teenagers, were going to bed: Mitka, barefoot, prayed, standing on bunks covered with fresh straw. Vanka is among the hut. A red, shaggy ovenbird, broad-shouldered and very small in stature, in a black shirt with speckles of lime on it, who had come from the village across the river to begin tomorrow to straighten the walls inside the collapsed princely crypt, was skewering a cigarette while sitting on a bench.

Anyuta spoke stupidly, enthusiastically and tongue-tiedly from the stove:

So he died, your Excellency, he didn’t put anything into his head... He didn’t give me anything... No, no, no, wait, wait... Now go... Now go... Now go! Wait, honey? Have you put a lot into your head? Do you understand now what’s going on in your head, stupid? How about giving me two rubles to cover my body! I'm miserable, ugly. I don't have anyone. Look at the breasts! And she opened her jacket and showed her bare breasts:

All naked. That's right, stupid! And I loved you in my old years, I missed you, you were beautiful, cheerful, affectionate, a pure young lady! All your youth you were obsessed with your Lyudmilochka, and she, stupid, only tormented you - tormented you and got married to someone else, but I was the only one who truly loved you, but only my thoughts knew about it! I am wretched, ugly, but my soul may be angelic, archangelic, I alone loved you, I am sitting alone rejoicing over your mortal death... And she laughed joyfully and wildly and cried.

Fool! If only my legs were intact, I would have gone, how bad is it? - Anyuta shouted through her tears. - It’s their sin, the dead, to be afraid. They are holy, pure.

“I’m not afraid,” the stove-maker said cheekily, lighting a cigarette that lit up with a green fire. - I’ll lie down with you even for the whole night in the family crypt...

Anyuta sobbed enthusiastically, wiping herself with her jacket.

Without disturbing the bright and beautiful kingdom of the night, but only making it even more beautiful, light shadows fell onto the courtyard from the white clouds that were traveling for the month, and the moon, shining, rolled on them in the depths of the clear sky, above the shining roof of the dark old house where it glowed only one extreme window is at the head of the deceased prince.

Winter dream

During the day, while walking, Ivlev passed along the pasture past the school.

The teacher stood on the porch and looked at him intently.

She was wearing a blue-on-white lambskin coat, belted with a red sash, and a white hat.

Then he lay in his office on an ottoman.

Outside, in the bright sun and high shining clouds, drifting snow played.

In the windows of the hall the sun warmed the shining glass.

It was cold and boring blue only in the office - its windows faced north.

But outside the windows there was a garden, directly lit by the sun.

And he lay, leaning his elbows on a worn morocco pillow, and looked at the steaming snowdrifts and at the rare tangled branches, reddishly blackened against the sun in a clear sky of a strong cornflower blue color.

The snowdrifts and green fir trees sticking out of the snowdrifts were thick with golden dust. And he, looking, thought intensely:

Where, however, can I meet the teacher? Should I go to Vukolova's hut?

And immediately in the garden, in the snow dust, he appeared big man walking along the alley, drowning in snow up to his waist: gray beard fluttering in the wind, on his head, on his long straight hair, is a worn out hat, felt boots on his feet, and one shabby pink shirt on his body.

Ah, Ivlev thought with joy, something terrible must have happened!

It was Vukol, a bankrupt rich man who lived in a lonely field hut with his drunkard son.

And Vukol stood in the hallway, cried and complained that his son was beating him, bowed wildly to the maids and asked for some tea - even a pinch.

Then he climbed through the snowdrifts, through the frost,” he said. - What can you do, I’m used to it, but my son won’t let me, he threatens to kill me...

And it was clear that he himself was touched - and much more than by the beatings and rudeness of his son - by the fact that he once drank tea every day and got used to it.

He was scary and pitiful, holding a stick in his blue hands like a bear.

Give him,” said Ivlev, “tea, sugar, and white bread!”

Returning to the field, to his icy hut, Vukol, taking advantage of the absence of his son, pulled out a green samovar from under the bench, filled it with ice frozen in a tub, chopped some wood chips, lit them hot, dipping them first in hemp oil. And soon, under the leaky, rusty pipe, the samovar hummed violently, flared up, and the old man, still warming it up, sat down to drink.

December ends the year and begins winter: “As soon as it snows, and as soon as it falls, summer will tell the peasant about the stubble.” At the beginning of the month there are Vvedensky frosts, followed by Nikolsky frosts.

January - “section”, “prosinets”. By the January weather they judged the coming spring and summer: “If there is March in January, be afraid of January in March.”

February - “snowfall”, or “bokogrey”. With its winds, February blows away the winter, lets in water, and March picks it up.

They said: “There’s snow on Candlemas, there’s rain in spring.” And before Great Lent there was a whole week of cheerful Maslenitsa.

The signs of winter do not always coincide, year after year. But Russian poets have a magical remedy - the poetic word. It transforms and paints reality, even the impossible becomes possible. We are convinced of this when we read winter poetic classics.

K.D. Balmont

For winter

The forest has become completely drafty,
Its leaves are rare.
Soon there will be fluffy snow
Fall from a height.

He will close our windows
In the nursery and everywhere.
The stars will light up more beautifully,
The ice will stick to the water.

Let's start skating
We are on ringing ice.
Our laughter will be heard
In the park on the pond.

And in the quiet of the rooms - hide and seek,
Even and odd - count.
And then Christmas time comes,
New Year again.

N. Rubtsov

***

Frost under the bright stars

In the white meadow, or in the snow

He walks, playing with branches,

The snow creaks merrily.

And everyone walks under the trees,

And everyone takes care of the trees -

Dresses up with satin snow

And sends you off on your New Year's journey!

The calm beauty of the winter sorceress amazes us and makes us stop, forget our endless bustle, listen, see the beauty fabulous atmosphere winter world. Let's enter the sparkling chambers of the Russian winter, enjoy the wonderful light frost and shimmering snow, its holidays and blizzards. Wonderful palaces conceal a lot of new and unusual things. Each corner is interesting and alluring in its own way.

F.I. Tyutchev

Enchantress in Winter
Bewitched, the forest stands -
And under the snow fringe,
motionless, mute,
He shines with a wonderful life.

And he stands, bewitched, -
Not dead and not alive -
Enchanted by a magical dream,
All entangled, all shackled
Light chain down...

Is the winter sun shining 1
On him your ray with a scythe -
Nothing will tremble in him,
It will all flare up and sparkle
Dazzling beauty.

1 meshet (obsolete) - from the word “throw”, which means to throw, throw, the modern word “throws”.

F.I. Tyutchev is a true connoisseur of the beauty of nature. How could he pass by this winter miracle? The marvelous landscape, painted in the jubilant colors of a clear day, lifts your spirits. Everything in nature fell asleep, life became quiet and, it seems, died.

A.A. Fet

In the pastures of the dumb I love in the bitter frost
In the sunlight I have a prickly shine on the snow,
Forests under the caps or in gray frost,
Yes, the river is ringing under the dark blue ice.
How they love to find thoughtful gazes
Winded ditches, blown mountains,
Sleepy blades of grass among the naked fields,
Where the hill is bizarre, like some kind of mausoleum,
Sculpted at midnight, - or clouds of distant whirlwinds
On white shores and mirror ice holes.

But under the deceptively white snow mask, unconquered life, a wonderful fairy tale, is boiling winter forest continues its flow, invisible to the eye.

Ask yourself a question: why do we love winter? Of course, for the beautiful winter landscapes. And winter is also the favorite time of year for the children. So much fun and celebration! And skis, and skates, and sleds, and snowballs, and a snow fortress, and snowmen!

A.A. Fet

Mother! look from the window -
You know, yesterday it was not for nothing that there was a cat
Wash your nose:
There is no dirt, the whole yard is covered,
It has brightened, it has turned white -
Apparently there is frost.

Not prickly, light blue
Frost is hung along the branches -
Just take a look!
Like someone too shabby
Fresh, white, plump cotton wool
I removed all the bushes.

Now there will be no argument:
Over the skids, and up the hill
Have fun running!
Really, mom? You won't refuse
And you yourself will probably say:
“Well, hurry up and go for a walk!”

A.S. Pushkin speaks about his favorite heroine:

Tatiana...
I loved the Russian winter,
There is frost in the sun on a frosty day,
And the sleigh, and the late dawn
The glow of pink snows,
And the darkness of Epiphany evenings.

This is the poet’s own declaration of love to his dear “north”.

Here is the north, the clouds are catching up,
He breathed, howled - and here she is
Beautiful winter is coming.
She came and fell apart; shreds
Hanged on the branches of oak trees;
Lay down in wavy carpets
Among the fields, around the hills;
Brega with a still river
She leveled it with a plump veil;
Frost flashed. And we are glad
To the pranks of Mother Winter...

No other time of year can please us with such magnificent landscapes. The artist frost decorates city streets and rooftops with a dazzling white robe, delighting adults and children. And the magnificent ice patterns on the windows! This is another winter fairy tale!

I.A. Bunin

On the window, silver with frost,
The chrysanthemums bloomed overnight.
In the upper windows - the sky is bright blue
And getting stuck in the snow dust.
The sun rises, cheerful from the cold,
The window glows golden.
The morning is quiet, joyful and young.
Everything is covered in white snow.
And all the mornings are bright and clean
I will see colors above,
And until noon they will be silver
Chrysanthemums on my window.

Winter is beautiful when it sends us bright sunny days, in which all the colors of an amazing natural palette shimmer. But there are other winter days when the whole world suddenly twitches under a cloudy blizzard and an icy wind rages. And it’s scary to be outside the house in such bad weather.

...In the evening, do you remember, the blizzard was angry,
There was darkness in the cloudy sky;
The moon is like a pale spot
Through the dark clouds it turned yellow,
And you sat sad -
And now... look out the window...

Frost and sun; wonderful day!
You are still dozing, dear friend -
It's time, beauty, wake up:
Open your closed eyes
Towards northern Aurora 2,
Be the star of the north!..

2 Aurora - morning dawn.

Pushkin's poem " Winter morning"and about human happiness, and about peace, and about tranquility. It brings a feeling of fullness of life, a feeling of all the beauty of the coming morning.

Under blue skies
Magnificent carpets,
Glistening in the sun, the snow lies;
The transparent forest alone turns black,
And the spruce turns green through the frost,
And the river glitters under the ice.

The whole room has an amber shine
Illuminated. Cheerful crackling
The flooded stove crackles.
It's nice to think by the bed.
But you know: shouldn’t I tell you to get into the sleigh?
Ban the brown filly?..

Winter gave Alexander Sergeevich happy moments joy and joy poetic creativity. These are the moments that are associated with this poem. When Pushkin lived continuously in his small village of Mikhailovskoye for two years, he often visited Trigorskoye, where he was sincerely loved, where he found a noisy society of young people.

The village is very nice. Ancient house on the mountain, garden, lake, all around pine forests. But the village solitude and winter immobility sometimes evoked sad thoughts and even melancholy.

Winter. What should we do in the village? I meet
The servant bringing me a cup of tea in the morning,
Questions: is it warm? Has the snowstorm subsided?
Is there powder or not? And is it possible to have a bed?
Leave for the saddle, or better before lunch
Messing around with your neighbor's old magazines?..
How much fun! Here is the evening: the blizzard howls;
The candle burns darkly; embarrassed, the heart aches;
Drop by drop, I slowly swallow the poison of boredom.
I want to read; eyes glide over the letters,
And my thoughts are far away... I close the book;
I take a pen and sit; I forcibly pull out
The slumbering muse has incoherent words.
The sound doesn’t match the sound... I’m losing all rights
Above the rhyme, above my strange servant:
The verse drags on sluggishly, cold and foggy.
Tired, I stop arguing with the lyre,
I go to the living room; I hear a conversation there
About the close elections, about the sugar factory;
The hostess frowns in the semblance of weather,
The steel knitting needles move nimbly,
Or the king is guessing about the red one.
Yearning! So day after day he goes into solitude!

It is known that the purity and freshness of winter air can sometimes become boring. I want change!

Six months of snow and snow,
After all, this is, finally, for the inhabitant of the den,
The bear will get bored.

I.A. Bunin

I remember a long winter evening,
Twilight and silence;
The light of the lamp 3 is dimly pouring,
The storm is crying at the window.

“My dear,” my mother whispers, “
If you want to take a nap,
To be cheerful and cheerful
Tomorrow morning to be again, -

Forget that the blizzard is howling,
Forget that you are with me
Remember the quiet whisper of the forest
And the mid-day summer heat;

Remember how the birch trees rustle,
And behind the forest, at the boundary,
Walk slowly and smoothly
Golden waves of rye!

And advice to a friend
I listened trustingly
And, surrounded by dreams,
I started to forget myself.

Together with the quiet sleep merged
Lulling dreams -
Whisper of ripening ears
And the indistinct noise of birches...

3 lamp - a vessel filled with oil, usually lit in front of the icon.

Poem by I.A. Bunin is reminiscent of a soulful lullaby that gives peace and harmony to the tormented soul. So, it’s too early to grieve, we’ll wait for a happy drop...

BULLETIN OF UDMURT UNIVERSITY

UDC 821.161.1(092) Bunin I.A. + 82-3 E.V. Kapinos

AUTO CHARACTER AND ONEIRIC SPACE IN I. A. BUNIN’S STORY “WINTER’S DREAM”

The story “Winter Dream” by I.A. Bunin is analyzed. The main character of the story, the dreamer Ivlev, embodies the idea of ​​the “split” author’s “I”. Through the consciousness of a hero immersed in sleep, Bunin shows a whole series of combined spaces, each of which is involved in one or another of the author’s hypostases.

Key words: I.A. Bunin, lyrical prose, self-character, lyrical hero, dream motif, oneiric space.

In I. A. Bunin’s prose there are often characters called by the same names: for example, in the famous story “Natalie” (1941) from “ Dark alleys» main character, having gotten married, receives the surname of her husband Alexei Nikolaevich Meshchersky and thus becomes the namesake of another beauty - Olya Meshcherskaya from “ Easy breathing"(1916). The hero of the story “The Snow Bull” (1911), the landowner Khrushchev, bears the same surname as the owners of Sukhodol (“Sukhodol” (1911)), and three more stories written at different times - “The Grammar of Love” (1915), “Winter a dream" (1918), "In a certain kingdom" (1923) - united by a hero named Ivlev, about whom Bunin wrote, commenting on the first of the "Ivlev" texts: "My nephew Kolya Pusheshnikov, a great lover of books, especially rare ones, a friend of many Moscow second-hand booksellers, found it somewhere and gave me a small old book entitled “The Grammar of Love.” After reading it, I remembered something vaguely that I had heard in my early youth from my father about some poor landowner from among our neighbors who was obsessed with love for one of his serfs, and soon I invented and wrote a story with the title of this little book ( on behalf of some Ivlev, whose last name I derived from the initial letters of my name and my usual signature).” The “returning” character prompts reflection on one of the main features of Bunin’s poetics - variability: the same motives, plots, names are repeated many times in Bunin and produce a new impression each time. We already had to write about three stories with Ivlev (see:), but in in this case we will consider in detail only one text - “Winter Dream”, already almost exhaustively analyzed by M.S. Stern. We will try once again to take a closer look at the hero of this story.

All we learn about Ivlev from “Winter Sleep” is that he returns home along a winter street, passes by the school, sees a teacher (“The teacher stood on the porch and looked intently at him”), and at home he lies down on an ottoman in his office and admires it for a short time landscape outside the window and, unnoticed by himself and the reader, falls asleep. The rest of the story is a record of the hero’s confused dream.

It is interesting that at the very beginning, somewhat paradoxically, Bunin chose the point of inclusion in the text of the landscape. When Ivlev walks down the street, except for the teacher, the reader sees nothing, although it is here, while Ivlev is outside the house, that one would expect a detailed description winter paintings. However, the bright, winter experience of the hero is captured only in the bright clothes of the teacher: “She was wearing a blue jacket with a white lambskin, belted with a red sash, and a white hat,” and only when Ivlev had already entered the house and lay down, the moment finally comes, when the entire winter panorama opens: “Then he lay in his office on an ottoman.

Outside, in the bright sun and high shining clouds, drifting snow played.

In the windows of the hall the sun warmed the shining glass.

It was cold and boring blue only in the office - its windows faced north.

But outside the windows there was a garden, directly lit by the sun.

And he lay, leaning his elbows on a worn morocco pillow, and looked at the steaming snowdrifts and at the rare tangled branches, reddishly blackened against the sun in a clear sky of a strong cornflower blue color.

The snowdrifts and green fir trees sticking out of the snowdrifts were thick with golden dust.”

This landscape outside the windows of the northern room amazes with its sunny colors(“in the bright sun”, “the sun was warming hot”, “in a clear sky of a strong cornflower blue color”), consonant with the blue and white in the teacher’s clothes. An expanded focus has been chosen for the landscape, from the dense penumbra of the northern room swinging open towards the sun-drenched snowy expanse. This focus forces you to “break away” a little from the hero with whom the narrative is inextricably linked, and to present a picture much more voluminous than the “shiny glass” of the office allows. It seems that Willow the Lion has just laid down on the ottoman and is not yet sleeping, but the space around him is already oneirically expanding, capturing areas that exceed the scale and colors of plausible paintings. The dream that takes possession of Ivlev expands the boundaries around his feeling and perceiving “I”, as if weakening the “subjective” concentration of the hero in himself, allowing Ivlev to get closer to the vastness of the world, to overcome the alienation of the world from the “I”. Referring to A.V. Razin, M.S. Stern draws attention to the connection between the window and the screen, the dream “sees” Ivlev as a movie, and Ivlev becomes only an “eye” into the opening world, an imperceptible but obligatory “transfer link” on the way to the luminous pictures. M.S. Stern notes that the narration is told simultaneously “from within I,” but grammatically in the third person: ““Someone” tells about the adventures of Ivlev; this someone does not coincide with the hero and is not separated from him. This subject, together with the hero, is within the phantasmagoric reality of a dream. As a result, the artistic world<...>given in direct representation, in movement, in the unity of visual, sound, rhythmic images."

It is difficult to say when Ivlev completely breaks away from reality and plunges into the realm of dreams. There is no clear boundary of sleep in the story; the entire text is assembled from various pieces in which, as in a kaleidoscope, characters flash (Ivlev himself, Vukol, Vukol’s son, the teacher), spaces (Ivlev’s house, winter road, Vukol’s hut, Greenland), remarks are heard, accompanied by the confused thoughts of the dreamer-Ivlev. Almost every sentence begins a new paragraph, which is why the story acquires a graphic harmony, somewhat reminiscent of poetry: “Each of its (text - E.K.) components is isolated, graphically delimited from the rest, closed and complete. The change of components gives a change of angles, points of view - this is what determines the dynamics of the “narration” (image) with discreteness, incoherence, and incompleteness of event development. It should be noted that there is a constant alternation of “panoramic shots” and “ close-ups"". Despite the almost poetic pauses between syntagmas, the rhythm and sound of individual sentences, the story does not become a poem in prose. A poetic text is characterized by some leveling of space, its conventionality. In Bunin, the external situation is not leveled, but, on the contrary, calls for to delve into it, linger in each of the described corners. All Bunin's houses, estates, alleys are cozy, shady, the detail of the interiors and landscapes prevents one from perceiving the text as a polished poetic structure. We have to talk about lyricism here prose text, manifested in how whimsically, according to the laws of poetic ligature, spaces change each other, touch and join with each other, being “passed” through the consciousness of the hero.

The landscape sparkling in the pre-sleep is replaced by the story of Vukola, which, most likely, Ivlev sees in a dream from beginning to end. The barely noticeable boundary of sleep in the story is nevertheless outlined by the gerund “looking”: “And he, looking, thought intensely:

Where, however, can I meet the teacher? Should I go to Vukulova's hut?

And immediately in the garden, in the snowy dust, a large man appeared, walking along the alley, drowning in snow up to his waist: a gray beard fluttering in the wind, on his head, on long straight hair, a worn out hat, felt boots on his feet, on his body only a shabby pink shirt ". It's still the same look through the office window at winter Garden, but the colors of thoughts and dreams are superimposed on the landscape so that it is not clear: whether in the garden outside the window, whether in dreams “immediately” a man appears, with a gigantic appearance and old name with his own, Vukol, suggesting a ballad-fairy tale theme1. A little later in the text there will be a comparison of Vukol with a bear (“like a bear he held a stick in his blue hands”), and an atmosphere of “fear” will accompany the ballad-fairy-tale hero even before the resolution of the plot comes: Vukol’s death at the hands of his own son (“ Ah, - Ivlev thought with joy, - certainly

1 “In the organization of the plot,” M.S. Stern writes about “Winter Dream,” “the motifs of a fantastic ballad play an important role: the expectation of an extraordinary event, the appearance of a messenger, a meeting at the grave, an endless snowy field, a mad jump of a deaf winter night» .

E.V. Kapinos

something terrible happened!”, “he was scary and pitiful,” and only later: “And the son hit him so hard on the crown of the head with a crutch that he instantly gave up his soul to God.”). According to the laws of sleep, in Ivlev’s soul the “terrible” is experienced before it happens; moreover, horror is mixed with joy. The murder itself seems to spread throughout the entire passage about Vukol: first, the old man through the snowdrifts, with a stick in his hands, comes to Ivlev for a pinch of “seagull”, and upon returning home, he receives a blow to the crown of the head with a crutch from his son. The stick in Vukola’s blue hands and the smashing crutch in the hands of his son, separated in the text by just a few sentences, bizarrely echo each other, force the killer and his victim to be mirrored in each other, Vukola and his son lose their clear outlines, the plot of parricide drowns in some kind of haze (“The hut was all blue from the smoke”), trembling in Ivlev’s sleepy consciousness.

In the “floating” event picture of “Winter Sleep” one can guess, however, one of Bunin’s characteristic plots on the theme of Russian life, which in others, more early stories spelled out repeatedly and clearly - the plot of ruin and loss, the death of his home: “It was Vukol, a ruined rich man who lived in a lonely field hut with his drunkard son.

And Vukol stood in the hallway, cried and complained that his son was beating him, bowed wildly to the maids and asked for some tea - even a pinch.

And it was clear that he was touched by it. that he once drank tea every day and got used to

Returning to the field, to his icy hut, Vukol, taking advantage of the absence of his son, pulled out a green samovar from under the bench, filled it with ice frozen in a tub, chopped some wood chips, lit them hot, dipping them first in hemp oil. And soon, under the leaky, rusty pipe, the samovar hummed violently, flared up, and the old man, still warming it up, sat down to drink.”

“Noble elegy”2 refers to the genre of those numerous stories by Bunin, which describe ruined houses, estates, poverty and death of their owners (“In the Field”, “ Antonov apples”, “Golden Mine”, “Grammar of Love”, “Untimely Spring” and many others) This plot has not only a “noble”, but also a “peasant” version in Bunin’s work: often Bunin’s hero, having come out of the people, carrying in his ancestral past, the experience of serfdom, through incredible efforts, amasses a small fortune, gains independence, but then it turns out that he does not want and cannot hold what he has acquired in his hands. The heirs are also unable to preserve and increase what they have achieved: they either don’t exist at all (like Tikhon Ilyich in “The Village”), or they passionately squander their parental fortune and hate their parents (“I’m still silent”), or they had to pay for the “good life" (" A good life"). In “Winter Sleep,” the intense tension between a ruined father and his destitute son finds an extreme resolution: the son kills his father, and parricide symbolizes both the general ruin of Russia and the bloody coup taking place in the country3. "Winter Dream" is last story Bunin, published in 1918 in Moscow on the eve of the writer’s departure to Odessa. What Bunin’s upcoming departure portends is still unknown to anyone, including the writer himself, and the story seems to accumulate terrible forebodings of his own, still being decided, fate, and, of course, the fate of Russia. In the same year, in one of his letters to A.B. Derman, written from Odessa, I.A. Bunin, obsessed with worry for his relatives, especially for his brother Yuli Alekseevich, talks about his dreams of this time: “Heavy dreams and Vera and I are being overwhelmed. All my relatives and friends are dreaming - my soul is exhausted!” .

However tragic theme is not consistently deployed in “Winter Dream”, but is only fragmentarily outlined and restored in general outline against the background of Bunin's other texts, as well as from the historical and biographical context of his work, and constitutes only one of many segments of the story. This segment, which describes the fate of the bankrupt rich man Vukola, like Ivlev’s dream, has no clear boundaries; it does not end with the phrase “instantly gave his soul to God,” but fits into both the landscape layer of the story and its erotic line with the meeting between Ivlev and the teacher. Without leaving his warm office, Ivlev seems to penetrate into an icy hut, sees neat and happy

2 This definition is given by commentators (A. Baboreko, O. Mikhailov, V. Smirin) “Sukhodolu”.

3 In Vukola’s plot, M.S. Stern sees the “essay beginning” of the story, woven into a ballad-fairy tale context.

Vukola’s intimate preparations for the last tea party and acquires a mysterious, inexplicable connection from a logical point of view with this man and his death. On the other hand, the death of Vukol is described in such a way that Ivlev’s face, feelings, his possible presence are completely hidden, subjectivity is overcome so much that it makes one completely forget about the dreamer, who, being an “all-seeing eye,” is completely unable to intervene in the tragic course of events taking place not by his will and without his participation.

The semantics of the adverb “then” remains elusive, which, contrary to all laws of logic, immediately follows a murder that occurs somewhere remote from the dreamer-narrator and has reasons completely independent of him. For some reason, Vukol’s death frees not the murderer, but Ivlev, who is given the opportunity to fulfill his dream of meeting his teacher: “...he instantly gave his soul to God.

Then Ivlev ordered a young, hot horse to be harnessed to the runners.

It was a pink, frosty evening, and he dressed especially warmly and well, went out, sat down, and the sled carried him across the pasture to the school.

The teacher, who had been waiting for him all day, immediately came out onto the porch.”

In the next part of “Winter Sleep,” Ivlev, together with the teacher, rushes in a sleigh to the coffin of a dead man, and then the two heroes continue their journey. to Greenland. Here the ballad motifs are further intensified and condensed. As you know, not only blood, but also poetic kinship with V.A. Zhukovsky experienced Bunin, and ballad plots and accents are characteristic of many of his prose fragments. The trip of Ivlev and the teacher to the hut of the dead man Vukul and the further journey to Greenland absorbs the ballad fear of the path to an unknown world. The classic literary ballad, traces of which are found everywhere in Bunin’s prose,4 has a whole range of emotions characteristic only of this genre, and each ballad emotion is so strong that it seems to be separated and exists independently of the plot. This is, for example, “ballad fear”. The strongest potential in a ballad also has the motif of uniting lovers who are traditionally separated by war, family feud, or the death of one of the heroes, but ballad motifs are not included directly in Bunin’s prose; they are always greatly shaded. So, according to the plot of “Winter Sleep,” the teacher and Ivlev are simply distant from each other, there is no love between them, maybe they don’t even know each other, but the ballad setting of the dream itself is capable of inducing love between the characters, which is even stronger than fear of separation, enriched by the rapture of the unfulfilled (not fulfilled, but only possible love, which has not yet had time to “bloom” or come to fruition, is one of Bunin’s most fruitful themes). Thus, death hovers over the love of Ivlev and the teacher no less than over Vukol: not the heroes themselves, but their love is placed in the face of oblivion.

The ballad's fear of separation and the thirst for reunion of the heroes rise above the event outline; The emotion that has captured the heroes in this case is stronger than the event, it neutralizes and makes the real acquaintance/unfamiliarity of the heroes completely unimportant. The thirst for reunion, the magical attraction of the heroes exist independently and separately, overtaking real events, just as “horror” overtakes the death of Vukola in the narrative. The dream seems to “feel the boundaries of reality” and transcends them; the dream depicted in the story is a dream that Ivlev cannot get rid of and cannot control. And although all the threads of the narrative pass through the oneiric perception of the hero, he cannot “pull” these threads, subordinated to other and much more powerful forces than the passive “I” of the hero.

The semantic center of the journey of the loving heroes is a visit to the hut with Vukola’s coffin; the hut is called “a gloomy and terrible den,” and this comparison brings back the image of Vukola the bear, which already appeared once in the text. The bear's guise contains the semantics of an animal, non-rational, terrible and passionate, equally inherent in love and death. To continue this series, we can recall Bunin’s much later story, “Iron Wool,” where, as in “Winter’s Dream,” the bear serves as the embodiment of an unconscious instinct that embraces all living things in their destruction and purity. In another text, the “Ballad” from “Dark Alleys,” the same forces are personified in the image of the “Lord’s Wolf.” All three stories have a fairy-tale-ballad aura and force one to take into account the features of the ballad genre when analyzing them. The ballad claims to be " latest genre Middle Ages" and one of the very first genres of modern times; she keeps a trace

4 The works of E.E. are devoted to this. Anisimova, see, in particular: .

56 E.V. Kapinos

2011. Issue. 4 HISTORY AND PHILOLOGY

ways to overcome syncretism: “The ballad is associated with lyricism and a mythical and terrible atmosphere. This suggests that we are dealing with a modern man’s fear of his own subjectivity” 5.

Syncretism and its overcoming are reflected in Bunin’s text by the fact that, reading “Winter Dream,” one would like to mentally draw a boundary between sleep and reality, consciousness and the unconscious, the subject and the world, even between the heroes and the intentions coming from them, but this is impossible. For example, when Ivlev sees a teacher on the porch, not only does he experience her presence, but she is also keenly interested in him: “The teacher stood on the porch and looked intently at him.” From the teacher’s gaze, the reader gets the feeling that Ivlev’s dream fulfills not only his, Ivlev’s, secret desires (“Where, however, can I meet the teacher”), but also the desires of the teacher. In the dream, it is not he, but she who pushes all the events, organizes their course (“Don’t be afraid!” the teacher whispered with demonic joy.”), beckons Ivlev along with her, then moving Ivlev away, then bringing him closer, so that in the finale they are together, clinging tightly to each other, rushed to Greenland. The appearance of both heroes of the Ivlevsk dream, Vukola and the teacher, is accompanied by the word “immediately”: “And immediately in the garden, in the snow dust, a big man appeared,” “The teacher, who had been waiting for him all day, immediately came out onto the porch.” It seems that both Vukol and the teacher appear as if on their own, independently of Ivlev, as changing pictures of his consciousness; Having appeared, they come to life, become close and involved in Ivlev, inseparable from him.

Let us return once again to the idea that a dream can only be experienced from within the dreamer’s “I,” but in the story it is written not in the first, but in the third person. Moreover, the dreamer is called only by his last name: “Ivlev said,” “Ivlev ordered,” “Ivlev looked back.” The absence of the name “Ivlev” and at least some details of his life, it would seem, should contribute to the alienation of the hero from the reader, meanwhile, this, on the contrary, allows us to focus attention on the inner “I” of the hero and his position in the world, “Ivlev” ceases to be just a surname, but becomes some kind of magical point through which the reader plunges into the depths of the invisible, “unspoken” in reality. And the surname “Ivlev” ceases to be a designation of some alienated third person, it approaches the author’s “I”, almost merges with it, and more and more makes one feel in “Ivlev” the anagrammed name of the author - Ivan Alekseevich. The hero’s immersion in sleep is so deep that it seems to be a fixation of some special state of the author’s “I,” unique, fleeting, one that, like a dream, cannot even be preserved, but can only be tried to be remembered and written down with a certain degree of alienation. The hero’s “I” is constructed in Bunin’s prose according to the lyrical model: it collects in itself different states (sleep, dream, madness)6, has different forms, up to the alienated (captured by the past, unconscious, generic, instinctive).

The feeling, remembering “I” of the character in Bunin is united, but heterogeneous, “split,” stratified in its various formats. A sign of splitting can be the description of the teacher, which is repeated twice in the three-page text, almost without changing (the second time she wears the same “blue coat on a white lambskin, belted with a red sash, and a white hat”). The double portrait of the teacher corresponds to two states of Ivlev’s “I”: in a dream and outside of it. The “split” of the poetic “I”, the distance between the inner, intimate and poetic “I” has already become the subject of research when it comes, for example, to Pushkin. So, M.N. Virolainen writes about Pushkin’s “ability to alienate his own “I”, to transform it into a “not-I””, while Pushkin’s favorite images - the Muse, the inkwell, the lyre - are interpreted as signs of Pushkin’s “I”, his “own creative activity, but activity hypostatized, alienated, distanced." Virolainen’s Pushkin is the heir to the classical tradition, which formed strict cultural standards and

5 Referring to V.M. Zhirmunsky, A. Merilai also writes about ballad new syncretism (see:).

6 On the basis of untranslatability Yu.N. Chumakov brings dream and lyric poetry closer together; the untranslatability of sleep is ensured by the fact that it has no real denotation, does not “reach the level of a phenomenon,” but is formed exclusively in an internal, secluded space. As a result, the dream outlines and expands the boundaries of the inner world, increasing the tension between the inner and outer. Madness is studied in approximately the same direction, but from a more general perspective, in one of M. Foucault’s books. Here is what he writes about the ancient, archetypal plot of “Ship of Fools”: “The voyage of a madman signifies his strict isolation and at the same time is the highest embodiment of his transitional status<. >For the outside world he is inside, for the inside he is outside.”

which follows a certain standard “I”. The discrepancy between one’s own internal image and the standard one, and at the same time their inseparability, the closest correlation with each other, is characteristic, according to M.N. Virolainen, for classical examples of the culture of the golden age, but over time this discrepancy becomes more and more difficult and painful for a person striving for self-identity (see:).

It is likely that not only certain cultural attitudes and changes in artistic paradigms influence the processes of self-experience, self-presentation and self-description. The heterogeneous state of the subject is universal, and where moments of lyrical concentration are traced, the texture and dynamism of the “I” begin to appear. At the same time, moments of lyrical concentration seem to be left aside, “you” are simply ignored, since “I” is transformed within itself, turns not into another “you”7, but into “not-I”, into “he”, into “ someone." On the path of self transformation vital role play all the transitional stages of this process, which it would be too simplistic to call objectification or, on the contrary, internalization. It is not only the metamorphosis of “I” - “he” that is valuable, but the processual experience of the wave dynamics of transitions from “I” to “not-I”, to “someone” and “he”, which highlights different faces"I" in his relation to the world. Yu.N. Chumakov compares the lyrics to a soliton - “a solitary wave that maintains a stable form amid the chaos of sea infinity.” Soli tone, according to the scientist, is a suitable metaphor for denoting a lyrical plot; the same metaphors can be transferred to lyrical hero, both the hero of lyrical prose and the auto-character: while maintaining the stability of the “I”, such a hero meanwhile forms a dynamic relief within his “I”, consistent with the world in its constant rhythmic transition.

It is not surprising that some researchers emphasize subjective splitting, while others, on the contrary, assert the unity of the lyrical subject. Subjective texture becomes apparent in the continuous, extended states of the subject, where the event is indistinguishable, narrative logic goes astray. At the same time, the altered, peripheral states of the subject, being distant from his volitional, rational core, provide the most vivid contacts between the “I” and the outside world. Sleep is one of the main peripheral, “remote” states of the “I” for V.V. Bibikhin's lyrical emotion and dream are almost identical, which forces the philosopher to abandon the term “lyrical hero”, emphasizing that any “not-I” of the hero are inseparable from his “I”: “In lyric poetry, the poet on stage is, as it were, not even in the first plan. He is suffering. “I’m looking like crazy at the black shawl.”, I look. And it’s a little too learned to say that the lyricist himself did not kill the Armenian. Due to the fact that we do not know in which dream layer the lyricist is working, we do not know that he did not kill. The distinction between the poet and the lyrical hero seems to me both unnecessary and introduces an intellectual split, which a good poet does not have. - Even if the lyricist does not identify himself, it is all the same in the foreground: his point of view<...>In the lyrics, I wakes up, becomes different, it sees itself with surprise, and this is a state of amechania, it completely excludes action.” There is a remarkable paradox in this quote: according to V. Bibikhin, in the lyrics “I” “wakes up” in a dream, “in some layer of sleep.”

Let us return, however, to the ending of the story. Despite the “ballad horror” and terrible biographical overtones, Bunin’s story is not clearly read as tragic; its general tone is completely different. Just as in Zhukovsky’s “Svetlana” a terrible dream only enhances the joyful apotheosis of awakening, in “Winter Dream” landscapes with morning and evening sun, winter journey together with the teacher they eclipse and conquer the fear of death, the unknown, the ancient, the instinctive. Or rather, this fear is not conquered, but is transformed into rapture, which retains in its depths a dark secret and unknown, hidden in the toponym “Greenland”. “Greenland” in Ivlev’s dream becomes a miraculous fulfillment of the hero’s barely flickering dream of meeting a teacher, the name of not a real, but a fictitious, dreamlike, poetic country, preserving the memory of the poetry of the 19th century, the northern elegies of Pushkin, Vyazemsky, Boratynsky with motifs of snow, sunshine, horseback riding with lovers. But at the same time, the path to ice-bound Greenland symbolizes death, the unrealized, the forgotten, the non-existent, the dead.

Light and dark fragments of the text (sparkling landscape/gloomy office; winter road/Vukol's hut; death, coffin/date) do not so much change in a certain rhythm, as it happens

7 The fundamental omission of “you” in the lyrics removes the problem of dialogue and communication from this type of literature; any “you” necessarily fits into the “I”. Instead of “you”, the whole world in its sculptural volume comes to the fore and becomes level with “I”.

E.V. Kapinos

walks in a ballad, but they also overlap, flow on top of each other, and the closer to the finale, the stronger. Gradually, the dream dissolves in itself all real spatial signs: Ivlev’s house, Vukola’s “den”, trees are left far behind, only a road is described, the direction of which is marked by a specific toponym, but the incompatibility of this toponym with the Russian context forms a mystery, over which the uncertainty of the fate of the author himself hovers story, forced just at this time to leave Russia forever: “And the runners of the sled, like skates, whistled under the frozen snow. The gloomy scarlet dawn was still smoldering far ahead, and from behind the field was already illuminated by the newly risen bright glass moon.”

The article was written within the framework of the SB RAS integration project “Plot-motive complexes of Russian literature in the system of contextual and intertextual connections (national and regional aspects).”

BIBLIOGRAPHY

1. Bunin I.A. Collection cit.: in 9 volumes. M.: Khudozh. lit., 1965-1967.

2. Kapinos E.V. “Someone Ivlev”: Bunin’s returning character // Materials for the Dictionary of Plots and Motives of Russian Literature: Lyrical and Epic Plots. Novosibirsk, 2010. Issue. 9. pp. 132-143.

3. Stern M.S. In search of lost harmony (prose by I.A. Bunin of the 1930s-1940s). Omsk: Omsk State Pedagogical University Publishing House, 1997. 240 p.

4. Bunin I.A. Letters 1905-1919. M.: IMLI RAS, 2007. 830 p.

5. Anisimova E.E. “Svetlana’s frosty soul is in the dreams of a mysterious game”: aesthetic and biographical codes of Zhukovsky in Bunin’s story “Natalie” // Vestn. Volume. un-ta. 2011. No. 2 (14). pp. 78-84.

6. Merilai A. Issues in the theory of ballads. Balladry. Poetics of genre and image. Works on metrics and poetics. Tartu: Tartu University, 1990. pp. 3-21.

7. Chumakov Yu.N. Towards the lyrical plot. M., 2010. 88 p.

8. Foucault M. History of madness in the classical era. St. Petersburg: University Book, 1997. 576 p.

9. Virolainen M.N. “I” and “not-me” in Pushkin’s poetics // Pushkin: Research and materials. St. Petersburg: Nauka, 2003. T. 16-17. pp. 94-101.

10. Bibikhin V.V. The Grammar of Poetry. St. Petersburg: Ivan Limbach Publishing House, 2009. 592.

Received by the editor 09/08/11

Author-Character and the Oneiric Space in Ivan Bunin's Short Story “A Winter Dream”

The paper presents a detailed analysis of Ivan Bunin's short story "A Winter Dream". The story"s protagonist, the dreamer Ivlev, personifies the idea of ​​the author"s split self. Through the consciousness of the dreaming Ivlev, Bunin demonstrates a variety of superimposed spaces, each of which relates to a particular image of the author.

Keywords: I. Bunin, lyrical prose, author-character, lyrical hero, dream motif, oneiric space.

Kapinos Elena Vladimirovna,

candidate philological sciences, senior scientific

Institute of Philology SB RAS

630090, Russia, Novosibirsk, st. Nikolaeva, 8

Email: [email protected]

candidate of philology, senior researcher Institute of Philology of the Siberian Branch of Russian Academy of Sciences 630090, Russia, Novosibirsk, Nikolaeva st., 8 E-mail: [email protected]

Six years have passed since the dog Chang recognized his master, the captain of a huge ocean ship. And then morning comes again, and old Chang is still dozing. An angry and gloomy winter rules the streets of Odessa. She is much worse than that Chinese winter, when the dog met his captain.

On such stormy days with wind and prickly snow that hurts their faces, the captain and Chang wake up late. Over these six years, their lives have changed a lot, they have turned into old people, although the captain is not yet forty years old. The captain no longer sails the seas, but lives in a cold, sparsely furnished room in the attic of a five-story building inhabited by Jews.

The captain has an old iron bed, but he sleeps on it very soundly.

Anyone who has lived in attics can easily imagine what this bed, squashed almost to the floor, is like and what the mattress on it is like.

Previously, the captain had never slept like this even when he was rolling, although he had a wonderful bed - high, with drawers and thin linen. Now he gets tired during the day, and he has nothing to worry about - the captain knows that the coming day will not make him happy.

Once upon a time there were two truths in the life of a captain. One read “that life is unspeakably beautiful”, and the second - “that life is conceivable only for crazy people.” Now for the captain there is only one truth: life does not bring joy.

In the mornings, the captain lies on the bed for a long time, Chang is also cloudy and weak in the morning. He is dozing and dreaming.

Chang dreams of how the “old, sour-eyed Chinese man” sold him - a fox-like puppy - to the young captain of the ship. For three weeks after this, the dog was terribly “suffered from seasickness” and did not see either Singapore or Colombo. Autumn storms were raging on the ocean, and Chang spent all this time sitting in the “hot, dimly lit corridor,” where food was brought to him once a day.

Chang is awakened by a loud slam of the door. The captain also gets up, drinks vodka straight from the bottle, and pours the rest into Chang’s bowl. The dog drinks vodka, falls asleep and dreams of the morning in the Red Sea.

The storm stopped, and Chang walked onto the deck of the ship for the first time. The captain picked him up and carried him to the chart room, fed him, and then spent a long time drawing out sea charts and telling Chang about the little girl, his daughter, who lives in Odessa. The girl already knew about the puppy and was looking forward to him.

Here Chang put his paws on the line, for which he received the first slap in the face from the owner. Ignoring the dog's offense, the captain began to tell what he was like. happy man, because he has a beautiful wife and a wonderful daughter. Then he began to talk about the Chinese belief in the Foremother, who shows the way to all things. This path cannot be resisted, but the captain is too “greedy for happiness” and sometimes cannot understand whether his path is dark or bright.

When you love someone, no one can force you to believe that the one you love may not love you.

From hot Arabia, Chang is again transported to the cold attic - the owner calls him. For two years now, the captain and the dog have been visiting Odessa restaurants, pubs, and snack bars every day. Usually the captain drinks in silence, but sometimes he meets one of his former friends and begins to talk about the insignificance of life, treating himself, his interlocutor and Chang to alcohol.

Today they meet one of those friends - an artist in a top hat. First they sit in a pub, among red-faced Germans, then they go to a coffee shop full of Jews and Greeks, and end the day in a restaurant full of all sorts of trash. And the captain again assures the artist that “there is only one truth in the world, evil and base.”

All this is lies and nonsense, which is what people supposedly live by: they have no God, no conscience, no rational purpose for existence, no love, no friendship, no honesty - they don’t even have simple pity.

The captain believes that “life is a boring, winter day in a dirty tavern.” Chang doesn't know whether the owner is right or wrong. Musicians play in the restaurant. The dog “gives himself over to music with his whole being” and again sees himself as a puppy on a ship in the Red Sea.

Chang remembers how good he felt then. He and the owner sat in the wheelhouse, stood on the deck, had lunch, dinner, and in the evening looked at the sunset, and even then the captain smelled of wine.

Chang remembers the events that followed that day. terrible night, when huge, glowing in the dark waves rolled onto the ship. The steamer was rocking violently, and the captain was holding the dog in his arms.

Then they went to the captain's cabin, where there was a photograph of a capricious girl in curls and a young lady, slender, thin and charming, “like a Georgian princess.” The captain believed that this woman would not love Chang.

Have a brother, women's souls who are always languishing with some kind of sad thirst for love and who, as a result, never love anyone.

His wife dreamed of the stage, fame, wealth, “her own car and picnics on a yacht.” One day she returned home late at night after a yacht club ball. Then the captain felt for the first time that this woman was no longer entirely his. The captain was angry and wanted to kill her, but his wife asked him to unbutton her dress, and he lost his head again.

At night, the captain screamed pitifully in his sleep.

Suddenly Chang is deafened by a roar. The dog doesn't understand what happened. Either it was again, like three years ago, due to the fault of a drunken captain, the ship hit the rocks, or the captain again shot his wife with a pistol. But no, it was Chang’s drunken owner who slammed his fist on the table while arguing with the artist - the captain cursed women, and his friend disagreed with him.

Soon the restaurant is closed, and the captain and Chang go home.

Another day has passed - a dream or reality? - and again there is darkness, cold, fatigue in the world...

This is how Chang's time passes monotonously. But waking up one winter morning, the dog realizes that the captain is dead. Then the captain’s friends come into the room, and Chang lies in the corner, closing his eyes so as not to see this world.

Chang comes to his senses at the door of the church, sees the owner’s coffin above a crowd dressed in black and hears unearthly chants. The dog's fur stands on end from pain and delight. The artist comes out of the church and looks with amazement into Chang’s tear-filled eyes.

After the funeral, Chang moves to a new owner - an artist. He also lives in the attic, but his room is warm and well furnished. The dog lies quietly near the fireplace, the captain is still alive in his memory.

There should be only one truth in this world, but only the last Master, to whom Chang will soon return, knows about it.