Bunin summary of the story teacher. Brief biography of Bunin, the most important thing

Love is a feeling about which in Russian classical literature a lot has been said. Some of the authors touched on the topic of love in passing. But there were also those who boldly walked towards it, devoting their creativity to its mysterious and incomprehensible aspects. The most mysterious and ambiguous human emotions are dedicated to love. The list of these works is a gallery of beautiful poetic stories that, as a rule, have a sad and touching outcome.

"Dark alleys"

The problem of love in Bunin's stories lies in the fleeting and impermanent nature of this feeling. A love story becomes tragic when feelings were fleeting for one of its participants. So, in the story “ Dark alleys“An elderly military man, accidentally stopping by, meets his former love there, whom he does not immediately recognize. Many years have passed since their last meeting. She became the mistress of the inn, a hard and cold woman. But she wasn't always like this. What made her this way were unrequited feelings for Nikolai Alekseevich - that same military man, her occasional guest. The man who cruelly abandoned her thirty years ago.

In his youth, he read her lyric poems “Dark Alleys,” and she called him Nikolenka. Now he admits that he has never been happy for a minute of his life. But nothing can be corrected, and Nikolai Alekseevich leaves the inn with a heavy heart and with vague, disturbing memories.

"Caucasus"

The motive of love in Bunin's stories is often associated with betrayal, which leads a person to tragic ending. The story “Caucasus,” on the one hand, shows the happiness of two lovers. On the other hand, there is the tragedy of a deceived husband. This story says little about him. The reader only knows that this is a tough and determined person. In the eyes of a frivolous wife, he appears as a hindrance and an annoying obstacle on the path to happiness. But at that moment, when the lovers are exhausted from passion, this “hard man” realizes that he has been betrayed and commits suicide.

Bunin describes the emotions of the deceived husband and his death sparingly and dispassionately. The happy experiences of the wife and her lover are depicted against the backdrop of a colorful southern landscape. This literary device creates a sharp contrast between happiness and tragedy, which are born equally from love.

"Styopa"

They tell how unattainable human happiness can be. better stories Bunin about love. The summary of the story “Styopa” creates the impression of a familiar plot. But art forms, characteristic of the author, allow us to see new shades in the classic story about the “poor dishonored girl”.

The young merchant Krasilshchikov, arriving at a familiar room, finds the owner’s daughter alone. The father went to the city. The merchant, taking advantage of the situation, becomes close to the girl. For him, this story is an entertaining adventure, which he happily forgets about after two days. For her - hope for happiness. The story does not show the tragedy of a simple girl. Only her hopes and dreams are present here, creating the opposite of the indifference and frivolity of the main character.

"Muse"

The world of men and the world of women in Ivan Bunin are in constant antagonism. Bunin's narration is characterized by a sharp change in the hero's life circumstances, which is not a consequence of any events. Changes in the character's life occur under the influence of his feelings for a woman, who often has the image of a selfish and eccentric nature. To the question of what kind of love in Bunin’s stories does not have a sad ending, one can answer unequivocally: there is no such love. Life-affirming power The writer did not pay attention to this feeling.

The main character will not suffer a mortal fate, which is how Bunin’s stories about love often end. A summary of the misadventures of the protagonist of the short story “Muse” comes down to a description life together with your beloved and separation from her, which comes as suddenly as the meeting. An unexpected separation leaves him in confusion and leaves him feeling empty.

The narration is told in the first person. Main character takes painting lessons, but does not show any interest in fine arts any abilities. From the short introduction that precedes the introduction to the heroine, who has the symbolic name Muse, the reader concludes that the narrator is not a strong-willed person. He is unable to influence the course of events in his life. One day the Muse appears to him, drags him along, his life changes. But when the girl-muse loses interest in him, another, equally weak-willed character takes his place.

"Late Hour"

Bunin's prose is characterized by the catastrophic nature of existence, a feeling of loneliness and the illusory nature of happiness. Undoubtedly, these features were the result of the author’s difficult fate, although there are no direct autobiographical references in his work.

During the years when the story “The Late Hour” was written, the writer was abroad. The work is dedicated to memories of a long-past love that accompany the author during his journey through hometown. Walking along the bridge, the bazaar and Monastery Square, he restores lost images in his memory. Past and present are united into one whole. This whole becomes the awareness of the perishability of all life on earth. The logical conclusion of a trip through the city is a cemetery. In the story, it is a symbol of the fragility of love. In this cemetery there is the grave of his beloved. An analysis of Bunin's stories about love allows us to see the connection between the writer's lyrical motives and nostalgia and awareness of the frailty of existence.

"Fool"

Tragic love in Bunin's stories is not always beautiful. And sometimes it can be compared rather to an animal passion, which can only be experienced by a person who is extremely narcissistic and selfish. At the center of the story “The Fool” is a very immoral and hypocritical person.

The master's son spends the summer with his parents. As a student at a theological seminary, he demonstrates brilliant success in his studies. At the same time, his spiritual and moral world is extremely poor. Taking advantage of the irresponsibility of the foolish cook, he took possession of her: “She couldn’t even scream out of fear.” The impunity of these actions led to the young man repeating them more than once. Eventually the cook gave birth to a boy. But the appearance of the child, as well as the appearance of the “fool” herself, depressed the owner’s son, and he ordered her to be driven out of the yard. Since then, she wandered the streets with her son, begging for alms “for Christ’s sake.”

The hypocrisy and cruelty of the main character acquire a particularly strong effect because he has clergy and is a minister of the church. The story is simple, but thanks to Ivan Bunin’s unique style it evokes in the reader strong feelings. The wanderings of the young mother are not complemented by tearful emotions, but are described very briefly and laconically. The author says only a few words about the child: “He was a freak, but when he smiled, he was very sweet.”

"Antigone"

This story from the collection "Dark Alleys" tells of mutual passion. A young student is visiting his close relatives. Uncle is a general, chained to In his house young man boring and dreary. Out of boredom, he indulges in fantasies, comparing himself to Pushkin’s Onegin. But he doesn’t straighten the general’s pillows or bring him medicine. These responsibilities lie with the nurse - a beautiful young lady.

Passion is born at first sight. But the student cannot meet the girl. She is somewhere close, her room is behind the wall, but still the girl is not yet available. One fine day she appears in his room, and the next morning the general’s nephew meets him in her bed. The connection is instantly discovered, and the young woman has no choice but to leave the estate. What did this fleeting relationship become for her? Passion? Falling in love? The peculiarities of Bunin's stories about love are, first of all, understatement and mystery. The reader has to find the answers to some questions himself.

"Business Cards"

Diverse palette human feelings reflect Bunin's stories about love. List love stories include stories about a fateful feeling, and about selfish passion, and about fleeting attraction. Relationships with random companions are discussed in the story “Business Cards.”

He is a famous writer. She is a poor, simple-hearted girl. Her husband, in her own words, is a kind man and completely uninteresting. The feeling that life is wasted pushes a young woman into love adventures. Her naivety and inexperience touch and attract the writer. The life of this woman is so monotonous and gray that after meeting and briefly communicating with a handsome and famous person she is ready to indulge in simple, unromantic debauchery in order to give her existence at least some bright colors. Which is what happens in her cabin. At the end of the story, she appears before the reader in a different form: “quiet, with drooping eyelashes.”

"Zoyka and Valeria"

Bunin devotes stories about love to an all-consuming and sometimes deadly feeling. It is not easy to compile a list of characters in Dark Alleys, since many of them are faceless. In the foreground in the stories of this cycle is not a person with a characteristic appearance and habits, but a feeling that rules his actions. Georges Levitsky is one of the few characters who is not without a name and appearance.

He is thoughtful, melancholic, messy. Love comes to him not with the appearance of his chosen one, but much earlier. He is waiting for this feeling, but to whom it will be addressed, at the beginning of the story he does not yet know. Whether it will be the daughter of Georges’ colleague, or a distant relative, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that one day Valeria appears, and it is to her that this nervous and sensual character directs all the power of his experiences. Valeria, like many other Bunin heroines, is impartial and cold. Her indifference prompts the main character of the story “Zoika and Valeria” to commit suicide.

"Tanya"

Hidden historical background have some of Bunin's stories about love. The list of stories dedicated to happiness is complemented by the story “Tanya”. Here we're talking about about the love between a small landowner's maid and a certain young man. All that is known about him is that Tanya affectionately called him Petrusha and he led a chaotic and wandering life. One autumn night, he took possession of her. At first this scared the girl, but later the fear faded into the background, and in its place affection began to grow and develop. But they are not destined to be together. Their last meeting took place in February of the terrible seventeenth year.

"In Paris"

In emigration, people feel sadness and loneliness more than ever. It was in such an atmosphere that Bunin’s stories about love were created. The list of works of those years includes the short story “In Paris”. The main character is a former Russian army officer forced to leave his homeland. In a small Russian restaurant, he meets a waitress - a woman of Russian origin. The fates of these two people were crippled by the revolution. They are united by loneliness, the desire to love and be loved. The lives of these characters, so alien against the backdrop of the Parisian cityscape, begin to make sense again. But Bunin’s love cannot last long. It, like a flash, lights up and goes out again. The main character of the story “In Paris” suddenly dies in a subway car.

"Henry"

In this story, Ivan Bunin created an image of the Don Juan type. At the center of the story is the writer Glebov. His life is full of lies. He is surrounded by women, but does not feel affection for them. With the exception of one - a translator and journalist writing under the pseudonym Heinrich. But even with this lady he is insincere when he tells her that she is only for him true friend and an understanding interlocutor. In reality, Glebov is overcome with jealousy. After all, Heinrich also has a person to whom she lies and whom she uses in her whole. The climax is a small newspaper article, from which the main character learns about the death of his beloved. Analysis of Bunin's stories about love demonstrates Bunin's special style. Poetic art style, with the help of which the author conveys the emotions of the lovers, contrasts with the dry newspaper style with which the death of the heroine of this story is reported. A similar technique is found in other works of Bunin.

Motives for separation and death

“Dark and Gloomy Alleys” contains love in Bunin’s stories. The author himself briefly spoke about these works in this spirit. Hence the name of the famous cycle. The life of Ivan Bunin's heroes acquires meaning only with the advent of deep feeling. But love in his works is fleeting and tragic. As a rule, relationships between a man and a woman end in death or separation. This pessimistic view is due to the personal tragedy of the author, who was forced to live alone for many years abroad.

I. A. Bunin was born on October 22, 1870 in Voronezh. His childhood was spent on a family estate located in the Oryol province.

At the age of 11, Bunin began studying at the Yeletsk gymnasium. In his fourth year of study, due to an illness, he was forced to leave his studies and go to live in the village. After recovery, Ivan Bunin continued his studies with his older brother; both were very interested in literature. At the age of 19, Bunin is forced to leave the estate and provide for himself. He changes several positions, working as an extra, proofreader, librarian, and has to move often. Since 1891, he begins to publish poems and stories.

Having received approval from L. Tolstoy and A. Chekhov, Bunin focuses his activities on the literary sphere. Being a writer, Bunin receives the Pushkin Prize and also becomes an honorary member Russian Academy Sci. Bunin became famous in literary circles brought the story “The Village”.

He perceived the October Revolution negatively, and therefore he left Russia, emigrating to France. In Paris he writes many works concerning Russian nature.

I. A. Bunin dies in 1953, having survived the Second World War.

Brief biography of Ivan Alekseevich Bunin, 4th grade

Childhood

Bunin Ivan Alekseevich was born on October 10 or 22, 1870 in the city of Voronezh. A little later, he and his parents moved to an estate in the Oryol province.

He spends his childhood on the estate, in the middle of nature.

Having not graduated from the gymnasium in the city of Yelets (1886), Bunin received his subsequent education from his brother Yuli, who graduated from the university with excellent marks.

Creative activity

Ivan Alekseevich's first works were published in 1888, and the first collection of his poems with the same title was published in 1889. Thanks to this collection, fame comes to Bunin. Soon, in 1898, in the collection “Under open air"his poems are published, and later, in 1901, in the collection "Listopad".

Later, Bunin was awarded the title of academician at the Academy of Sciences of St. Petersburg (1909), after which he left Russia, being an opponent of the revolution.

Life abroad and death

Abroad Bunin does not leave his creative activity and writes works that will be doomed to success in the future. It was then that he wrote one of the most famous works, “The Life of Arsenyev.” For it the writer receives Nobel Prize.

Bunin's last work - literary image Chekhov was never completed.

Ivan Bunin died in the capital of France - in the city of Paris and was buried there.

4th grade for children, 11th grade

Life and work of Ivan Bunin

1870 is a landmark year for Russia. On October 10 (October 22), a brilliant poet and writer who won world fame, I.A. Bunin, was born into a Voronezh family of nobles. From the age of three, the Oryol province became home for the future writer. Ivan spends his childhood in his family; at the age of 8 he begins to try himself in the literary field. Due to illness, he was unable to complete his studies at the Yeletsk gymnasium. He improved his health in the village of Ozerki. Unlike younger brother, another member of the Bunin family, Yuli, is studying at the university. But after spending a year in prison, he was also sent to the village of Ozerki, where he became Ivan’s teacher, teaching him many sciences. The brothers were especially fond of literature. The debut in the newspaper took place in 1887. Two years later, due to the need to earn money, Ivan Bunin leaves his home. Modest positions as a newspaper employee, extra, librarian, and proofreader brought in a small income for subsistence. He often had to change his place of residence - Orel, Moscow, Kharkov, Poltava were his temporary homeland.

Thoughts about my native Oryol region did not leave the writer. His impressions were reflected in his first collection entitled “Poems,” which was published in 1891. Bunin was particularly impressed by his meeting with the famous writer Leo Tolstoy 3 years after the release of “Poems”. Next year He remembered it as the year he met A. Chekhov; before that, Bunin had only corresponded with him. Bunin's story “To the End of the World” (1895) was well received by critics. After which he decides to devote himself to this art. The subsequent years of Ivan Bunin's life are completely connected with literature. Thanks to his collections “Under the Open Air” and “Leaf Fall”, in 1903 the writer became the owner Pushkin Prize(this prize was awarded to him twice). The marriage to Anna Tsakni, which took place in 1898, did not last long; their only 5-year-old child dies. Afterwards he lives with V. Muromtseva.

In the period from 1900 to 1904, well-known stories beloved by many were published: “Chernozem”, “ Antonov apples", no less significant "Pines" and " New road"These works made an indelible impression on Maxim Gorky, who highly appreciated the writer’s work, calling him the best stylist of our time. Readers especially loved the story “The Village.”

In 1909, the Russian Academy of Sciences gained a new honorary member. Ivan Alekseevich rightfully became it. Bunin could not accept October Revolution, spoke sharply and negatively about Bolshevism. Historical events in his homeland force him to leave his country. His path lay to France. Crossing Crimea and Constantinople, the writer decides to stop in Paris. In a foreign land, all his thoughts are about his homeland, Russian people, natural beauty. Active literary activity resulted in significant works: “Lapti”, “Mitya’s Love”, “Mowers”, “Distant”, the short story “Dark Alleys”, in the novel “The Life of Arsenyev”, written in 1930, he talks about his childhood and youth. These works were called the best in Bunin's work.

Three years later, another significant event occurred in his life - Ivan Bunin was awarded an honorary Nobel Prize. Famous books about Leo Tolstoy and Anton Chekhov were written abroad. One of his appeared in France latest books"Memories". Ivan Bunin survived historical events in Paris - an attack by the fascist army, I saw their defeat. His active work made him one of the most important figures of the Russian Abroad. Date of death famous writer – 8.11.1953.

Biography by dates and Interesting Facts. The most important.

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This happened in a remote mountainous area in southern Spain.

It was a June night, there was a full moon, a small moon stood at its zenith, but its light, slightly pinkish, as happens on hot nights after short daytime showers, so common during the flowering of lilies, still so brightly illuminated the passes of low mountains covered with stunted southern forest that the eye could clearly distinguish them to the very horizons.

A narrow valley ran between these passes to the north. And in the shadow of their heights on one side, in the dead silence of this deserted night, a mountain stream rustled monotonously and mysteriously floated and floated, steadily extinguishing and steadily flaring up with amethyst, then topaz, flying fireflies and lucioli. The opposite hills retreated from the valley, and an ancient rocky road ran along the lowlands below them. Just as ancient on this lowland seemed that stone town, where at that already quite late hour I rode at a stride on a bay stallion, falling in the front right leg, a tall Moroccan wearing a wide burnous of white wool and a Moroccan fez.

The town seemed extinct, abandoned. Yes, he was like that. The Moroccan first drove along a shady street, between the stone skeletons of houses, gaping with black voids where windows should have been, with wild gardens behind them. But then he drove out into a bright square, on which there was a long pond with a canopy, a church with a blue statue of the Madonna above the portal, several houses that were still inhabited, and ahead, already at the exit, an inn. There, on the lower floor, small windows were illuminated, and the Moroccan, already dozing, woke up and pulled on the reins, which made the limping horse clatter more vigorously on the bumpy stones of the square.

At this knock, a small, skinny old woman, who could be mistaken for a beggar, came out onto the threshold of the inn, a round-faced girl of about fifteen, with bangs on her forehead, wearing espadrilles on her bare feet, in a light dress the color of faded wisteria, jumped out, and a huge black woman lying at the threshold stood up. a dog with smooth hair and short, erect ears. The Moroccan dismounted near the threshold, and the dog immediately leaned forward, eyes flashing and baring his white scary teeth as if in disgust. The Moroccan waved his whip, but the girl warned him:

Negra! - she shouted loudly in fright, - what’s wrong with you?

And the dog, lowering its head, slowly walked away and lay down, with its muzzle to the wall of the house.

The Moroccan said in bad Spanish greeting and began to ask if there was a blacksmith in the city - tomorrow he needed to examine the horse’s hoof, - where he could stay for the night and whether there would be food for her, and some kind of dinner for him? The girl looked at him with lively curiosity. a big increase and a small, very dark face, eaten away by smallpox, cautiously glanced sideways at the black dog, which was lying quietly, but as if offended; the old woman, hard of hearing, hastily answered in a loud voice: there is a blacksmith, the worker is sleeping in the barnyard next to the house, but she is now will wake him up and give him food for the horse, as for the food, let the guest not demand: you can fry eggs with lard, but all that remains from dinner is a few cold beans and vegetable stew... And half an hour later, having dealt with the horse with the help of a worker , an always drunk old man, the Moroccan was already sitting at the table in the kitchen, greedily eating and greedily drinking yellowish white wine.

The inn house was old. Its lower floor was divided by long vestibules, at the end of which there was a steep staircase to the upper floor, into two halves: to the left a spacious, low room with bunks for the common people, to the right an equally spacious, low kitchen and at the same time a dining room, all along the ceiling and along the the walls were thickly smoked with smoke, with small and very deep windows due to the very thick walls, with a fireplace in the far corner, with rough bare tables and benches near them, slippery from time to time, with a stone uneven floor. There was a burning kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling on a blackened iron chain, there was a smell of furnace and burnt lard - the old woman lit a fire on the hearth, heated up a sour stew and fried eggs for the guest while he ate cold beans doused with vinegar and green olive oil. He did not undress, did not take off his burnous, he sat with his legs spread wide apart, shod in thick leather shoes, over which he was grabbed narrowly at the ankle wide pants from the same white wool. And the girl, helping the old woman and serving him, was frightened every now and then by his quick, sudden glances at her, by his bluish whites, standing out against the dry and pockmarked dark face with narrow lips. He was already scary to her. Very tall, he was wide from the burnous, and the smaller his head in the fez seemed. Coarse black hair curled at the corners of his upper lip. The same ones curled here and there on the chin. The head was slightly thrown back, which made the large Adam's apple stick out especially in the olive skin. Silver rings were white on her thin, almost black fingers. He ate, drank and was silent all the time.

In Russian literature to the great writer and poet XIX-XX centuries, Ivan Alekseevich Bunin, is given a special place. This author was the first to receive the Nobel Prize during his lifetime for meritorious services to Russian literary creativity. His fans were not only residents of our country, but also readers from near and far abroad.

A skilled master of words beautifully expressed his thoughts, competently built his own beliefs and excellently conveyed to the listener all the splendor of Russian nature, enchanting with its extraordinary colors and landscapes. Bunin touched on many topics in his creative masterpieces - love for the motherland, peasant life, the absurdity of revolutionary upheavals in Russia, the tragic ending of human existence and passionate relationship loving hearts.

Each work by Ivan Alekseevich awakens certain feelings; the reader is inspired by the author’s frankness and experiences spiritually along with the main characters, as if getting used to the role of fictional people. All fans of the work of the great Russian writer find something dear and soulful in Bunin’s works.

Ivan Bunin was an excellent writer and an extraordinary poet. Picturesque descriptions natural phenomena, painful experiences for home country, inspired slogans and longing for the woman you love... All these topics tell each new generation about important, vital things that cannot be ignored and are difficult to forget. You need to read the works of a talented Russian writer with special care; only in this way can you understand all the sincerity and truthfulness of human life.

Works of Ivan Alekseevich Bunin

The unique writer left behind many literary works: melodious poems, intriguing stories, impressive romance and copious prose. The author often studied translation activities, so in the list of his works you can also find famous novels foreign writers, the plot of which Russian readers were able to familiarize themselves with thanks to the professionally performed work of Ivan Alekseevich.

Bunin's works are interesting and educational for everyone. His stories are read with pleasure by schoolchildren while studying the work of the great Russian author according to the program. Among his fans are many people of average and mature age. These people who lived long life, are inspired by the humanity and frankness of Ivan Alekseevich. The author was often interested in philosophy, loved to think about life and death, as if he was trying to look beyond the boundaries of existence. He expressed his thoughts in his works.

The writer was concerned about many problems of humanity. He rooted for his country with all his heart and saw the disastrous consequences for his homeland provoked by the revolutionary process. He was always oppressed by the injustice towards poor peasants living in meager villages and often in need of the bare necessities.

Bunin's stories

Bunin openly described all his experiences in stories. IN creative works he touched on many topics that are quite close to every citizen of our country. The most intriguing stories of the famous Russian writer, with a fascinating storyline, were published in the unique collection “Dark Alleys”.

“Dark Alleys” was written far from his homeland, on French soil, during the period of Ivan Alekseevich’s emigration. The first book was published in 1943. It consists of three parts, almost all the stories from this magnificent collection are devoted to the theme of love.

1 part:

✔"Caucasus"
✔"Ballad"
✔"Styopa"
✔“Muse”
✔“Late hour”

Part 2:
✔"Rusya"
✔"Beauty"
✔“Fool”
✔"Antigone"
✔"Smaragd"
✔"Guest"
✔"Wolves"
✔“Business cards”
✔"Zoyka and Valeria"
✔"Tanya"
✔“In Paris”
✔"Galya Ganskaya"
✔"Henry"
✔"Natalie"

Part 3:
✔“In a familiar street”
✔"River Inn"
✔“Kuma”
✔“The Beginning”
✔"Oaks"
✔“Young Lady Clara”
✔"Madrid"
✔“Second coffee pot”
✔“Iron wool”
✔"Cold Autumn"
✔"Steamboat "Saratov""
✔"Raven"
✔"Camargue"
✔“One hundred rupees”
✔"Revenge">
✔"Swing"
✔« Clean Monday»
✔“Chapel”
✔“In the spring, in Judea”
✔"Overnight"

In addition to the stories from the collection “Dark Alleys,” Ivan Alekseevich wrote others famous works, impressive with an original storyline, vivid storytelling and sharpness of thought.

Story “Dark Alleys”, summary

Ivan Alekseevich Bunin wrote his favorite story in 1938. The plot is based on the theme of love, and most importantly literary direction made in the style of neorealism. For the first time, the work was published in the publication " New land"(New York) in 1943.

The main character of the story “Dark Alleys” is a sixty-year-old man, Nikolai Alekseevich. He was a military man, had a wife and son, and in the past, he had a beloved woman named Nadezhda, but due to certain circumstances, their relationship did not work out.

The former lover, a 48-year-old woman, was the owner of an inn. Nadezhda sincerely loved Nikolai Alekseevich, and even the fact of betrayal on his part (after all, it was he who initiated the breakup) did not affect her feelings. All her life she remained devoted to her loved one, so she never got married.

The work also features the character Klim, who serves as Nikolai Alekseevich’s coachman.

The main plot line of the story is built on chance meeting two ex-lovers of people. Their sudden conversation, after thirty years of separation, awakens frankness. The hero admits to Nadezhda that all these years he has been deeply unhappy and regrets what he did in his youth. Only now did he admit to her, and to himself, that at that moment he had lost the most precious thing that could have been in his life. Comparing all the events of the past and present, Nikolai Alekseevich thinks about how his fate could have developed if he had not abandoned the woman he loved and built a married life with her.

In this story, the author reflects on the most serious problem of humanity - love, open and passionate, jealous and tragic, joyful and painful... Is time subject to real feelings? Can years erase real feelings from the memory and heart of a person in love? Or the passing years leave only a trace pleasant memories, which often warm a person’s soul in unhappy times? The reader can get an answer to all these questions if he reads the romantic and somewhat tragic work of I.A. Bunin - “Dark Alleys”.

The story “Clean Monday”, summary

In 1944, Bunin wrote another interesting story, which was also included in the collection “Dark Alleys” - “Clean Monday”. This work also belongs to neorealism and has a love plot. The antithesis is clearly visible here, artistic technique, aimed at a detailed contrast of the images of the main characters, their everyday life, spirituality and other important aspects.

The main character of the story is a daringly handsome and young man from the Penza province. He is in love with a beautiful girl. The work is based on the emotional story of this man.

His beloved, a beautiful dark-skinned girl with dark hair and black eyes, lives in a rented apartment in Moscow. In the final part of the story, she goes to the monastery. It is about this damn beautiful and charming heroine that the young man tells his love story.

Their romantic relationship developed into big city. The young man gave his beloved gifts and flowers, they spent a lot of time together, went to concerts, restaurants and the theater.

The young people were a wonderful couple; they looked spectacular with each other. He is a handsome and cheerful guy, outwardly similar to an Italian macho. She is a silent, but quite intelligent beauty, whose appearance was comparable to the features of Persian and Indian girls.

The young man was inspired by her beauty and grace, but he was always oppressed by her indifference towards him. It seemed that in her heart there lived only love and respect for her own father, and the dear chosen one was like an addition to Everyday life the main character.

One day, a young man proposed to his beloved, but received a refusal in response. Despite this, he waited and believed that her indifference would sooner or later disappear, and instead of this ridiculous feeling, true love would awaken in the heart of the chosen one.

Their relationship continued, and soon, during a visit Novodevichy Convent What happened on Forgiveness Sunday, the girl reveals her secret to her lover. She is sincerely passionate about the life of the monastery, often visits religious institutions and even dreams of leaving everyday life in this world. The guy is confused, he did not expect such confessions from his bride.

At the end of the story, the young man describes her sudden departure to the city of Tver. She told the young man about her decision early in the morning; this was their last meeting outside the monastery. The guy longed for his beloved for a long time, led a dissolute lifestyle, and often visited taverns. This separation seemed to erase his entire life. She went to the monastery, and it is no longer possible to return her to her arms.

Years later, on Clean Monday, he will visit the Archangel Cathedral, where among the marching nuns procession, will notice charming dark eyes your beloved...

This story amazes the reader with the depth of the themes explored, forcing each of us to think about the meaning of human and spiritual life. main character made her choice, giving pure and bright love in exchange for religious beliefs. An intriguing storyline will appeal to every reader who respects sincere feelings love and free choice person.

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Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
Overnight

This happened in a remote mountainous area in southern Spain.

A narrow valley ran between these passes to the north. And in the shadow of their heights on one side, in the dead silence of this deserted night, a mountain stream rustled monotonously and mysteriously floated and floated, steadily extinguishing and steadily flaring up with amethyst, then topaz, flying fireflies and lucioli. The opposite hills retreated from the valley, and an ancient rocky road ran along the lowlands below them. Just as ancient on this lowland seemed that stone town, where at this already quite late hour a tall Moroccan in a wide burnous of white wool and a Moroccan fez rode at a pace on a bay stallion, leaning on his front right leg.

“Negro,” she shouted loudly in fright, “what's wrong with you?!”

And the dog, lowering its head, slowly walked away and lay down, with its muzzle to the wall of the house.

The Moroccan said a greeting in bad Spanish and began to ask if there was a blacksmith in the city - tomorrow he needed to examine the horse's hoof - where he could stay for the night and whether there would be food for her, and some kind of dinner for him? The girl looked with lively curiosity at his great height and his small, very dark face, eaten away by smallpox, and glanced warily at the black dog, which lay quietly, but as if offended; the old woman, hard of hearing, hurriedly answered in a loud voice: there is a blacksmith, the worker is sleeping in the barnyard next to the house, but she will wake him up now and give him food for the horse, as for the food, don’t let the guest demand it: you can fry eggs with lard , but all that was left from dinner was a few cold beans and a vegetable stew... And half an hour later, having handled the horse with the help of a worker, an always drunk old man, the Moroccan was already sitting at the table in the kitchen, greedily eating and greedily drinking yellowish white wine.

The inn house was old. Its lower floor was divided by long vestibules, at the end of which there was a steep staircase to the upper floor, into two halves: to the left a spacious, low room with bunks for common people, to the right an equally spacious, low kitchen and at the same time a dining room, all along the ceiling and along the walls were thickly smoked with smoke, with small and very deep windows due to the very thick walls, with a fireplace in the far corner, with rough bare tables and benches near them, slippery from time to time, with a stone uneven floor. There was a burning kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling on a blackened iron chain, there was a smell of furnace and burnt lard - the old woman lit a fire on the hearth, heated up a sour stew and fried eggs for the guest while he ate cold beans doused with vinegar and green olive oil. He did not undress, did not take off his burnous, he sat with his legs spread wide apart, shod in thick leather shoes, over which wide trousers made of the same white wool were narrowly grabbed at the ankle. And the girl, helping the old woman and serving him, was frightened every now and then by his quick, sudden glances at her, by his bluish whites, standing out on his dry and pockmarked dark face with narrow lips. He was already scary to her. Very tall, he was wide from the burnous, and the smaller his head in the fez seemed. Coarse black hair curled at the corners of his upper lip. The same ones curled here and there on the chin. The head was slightly thrown back, which made the large Adam's apple stick out especially in the olive skin. Silver rings were white on her thin, almost black fingers. He ate, drank and was silent all the time.

When the old woman, having warmed up the stew and fried the scrambled eggs, wearily sat down on a bench near the extinguished fireplace and loudly asked him where he was coming from and where he was going, he gutturally threw back only one word:

- Far.

Having eaten the stew and scrambled eggs, he shook the already empty wine jug - there was a lot of red pepper in the stew - the old woman nodded her head to the girl, and when she, grabbing the jug, flashed out of the kitchen through her open door, into the dark entryway, where they were slowly floating and the fireflies flashed fabulously, he took out a pack of cigarettes from his bosom, lit a cigarette and said just as briefly:

- Granddaughter?

- Niece, orphan! - the old woman began to shout and launched into a story about how she loved her late brother, the girl’s father, so much that for his sake she remained a girl, that this inn belonged to him, that his wife had died twelve years ago, and he himself had died eight years ago. and he bequeathed everything for lifelong ownership to her, the old woman, because things had become very bad in this completely deserted town...

The Moroccan, puffing on a cigarette, listened absentmindedly, thinking something of his own. The girl ran in with a full jug, he looked at her, took a drag on the cigarette butt so hard that he burned the tips of his sharp black fingers, hastily lit a new cigarette and said separately, turning to the old woman, whose deafness he had already noticed:

“I will be very pleased if your niece pours me wine herself.”

“It’s none of her business,” snapped the old woman, easily switching from talkativeness to sharp brevity, and began to shout angrily: “It’s late, finish the wine and go to bed, she’ll now make your bed in the upper room!”

The girl's eyes flashed animatedly and, without waiting for an order, she jumped out again and quickly stomped up the stairs.

-Where do you both sleep? – the Moroccan asked and slightly moved the fez from his sweaty forehead. - Also upstairs?

The old woman screamed that it was too hot there in the summer, that when there were no guests - and now they are almost never there! “They sleep in the other lower half of the house,” “here, on the contrary,” she pointed to the entryway and again launched into complaints about bad things and the fact that everything had become very expensive and that therefore, inevitably, they had to charge dearly from travelers...

“I’ll leave early tomorrow,” said the Moroccan, clearly no longer listening to her. - And in the morning you will only give me coffee. This means that you can now count how much I owe, and I will pay you right away. Let’s just see where my small money is,” he added and took out a bag of red soft leather from under his burnous, untied it, stretched the strap that tightened its opening, poured out a pile of gold coins on the table and pretended to carefully count them, and the old woman even stood up from the bench near the fireplace, looking at the coins with rounded eyes.

It was dark and very hot at the top. The girl opened the door into the stuffy, hot darkness, in which the cracks of the shutters, closed behind two windows as small as the ones below, shone sharply, and deftly turned past in the darkness round table in the middle of the room, opened the window and, pushing, threw open the shutters onto the shining moonlit night, to a huge bright sky with rare stars. It became easier to breathe, the flow in the valley began to be heard. The girl leaned out of the window to look at the moon, not visible from the room, which was still very high, then looked down; below stood and, raising its muzzle, looked at her, a dog had run into the inn as a stray puppy about five years ago, grown up before her eyes and became attached to her with that devotion of which only dogs are capable.

“Negro,” the girl said in a whisper, “why are you not sleeping?”

The dog squealed weakly, shook his muzzle upward, and rushed to the open door in the hallway.

- Back, back! – the girl hastily ordered in a whisper. - Get to your place!

The dog stopped and raised its muzzle again, flashing a red light in its eyes.

- What do you want? – the girl, who always talked to her as if she were a person, spoke affectionately. - Why aren’t you sleeping, stupid? Is it the moon that worries you so much?

As if wanting to answer something, the dog again stretched its muzzle upward and again squealed quietly. The girl shrugged. The dog was also the closest, even the only close, creature in the world to her, whose feelings and thoughts seemed almost always understandable to her. But what the dog wanted to express now, what was troubling her today, she did not understand, and therefore she only sternly shook her finger and again ordered in a feigned angry whisper:

- Take your place, Negra! Sleep!

The dog lay down, the girl stood at the window a little longer, thinking about her... It is possible that this terrible Moroccan was bothering her. She almost always greeted the guests of the court calmly, and did not pay attention even to those who in appearance seemed to be robbers or convicts. But it still happened that for some reason she would rush at some people like mad, with a thunderous roar, and then only she alone could subdue her. However, there could be another reason for her anxiety, her irritation - this hot, without the slightest movement of air and such a dazzling, full-moon night. It was clearly audible in the extraordinary silence of that night how the stream rustled in the valley, how the goat that lived in the barnyard walked and stamped its hooves, when suddenly someone - either an old inn mule or a Moroccan stallion - kicked with a thud him, and he bleated so loudly and disgustingly that it seemed that this devilish bleating was heard all over the world. And the girl cheerfully jumped away from the window, opened another one, and opened the shutters there too. The darkness of the room became even brighter. In addition to the table, there were three wide beds, covered only with rough sheets, at the wall to the right of the entrance, with their headboards facing it. The girl threw back the sheet on the first bed from the entrance, straightened the headboard, which suddenly became fabulously illuminated with a transparent, gentle bluish light: it was a firefly that had landed on her bangs. She ran her hand over it, and the firefly, flickering and going out, floated across the room. The girl sang lightly and ran out.

In the kitchen, a Moroccan man stood at his full height with his back to her and said something quietly, but persistently and irritably to the old woman. The old woman shook her head negatively. The Moroccan shrugged his shoulders and with such an angry expression on his face turned to the girl who had entered that she recoiled.

- Is the bed ready? – he shouted gutturally.

“Everything is ready,” the girl answered hastily.

“But I don’t know where to go.” Walk me out.

“I’ll accompany you myself,” the old woman said angrily. - Come after me.

The girl listened to how slowly she stomped up the steep stairs, how the Moroccan clattered his shoes behind her, and went outside. The dog, lying at the threshold, immediately jumped up, flew up and, trembling all over with joy and tenderness, licked her in the face.

“Get out, get out,” the girl whispered, gently pushed her away and sat down on the threshold. The dog also sat on hind legs, and the girl hugged her neck, kissed her forehead and began to sway with her, listening to the heavy footsteps and guttural conversation of the Moroccan in the upper room. He was already saying something to the old woman more calmly, but it was impossible to make out what. Finally he said loudly:

- Well, okay, okay! Just let her bring me water to drink at night.

And the footsteps of an old woman were heard carefully walking down the stairs.

The girl entered the hallway to meet her and said firmly:

– I heard what he said. No, I won't go to him. I'm afraid of him.

- Nonsense, nonsense! - the old woman shouted. “So you think that I’ll walk on my own again with my feet, especially in the dark and on such slippery stairs?” And there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of him. He is only very stupid and hot-tempered, but he is kind. He kept telling me that he felt sorry for you, that you were a poor girl, that no one would marry you without a dowry. And really, what is your dowry? We're completely broke. Who stays with us now except poor men?

“Why was he so angry when I came in?” – the girl asked.

The old woman was embarrassed.

- What! – she muttered. – I told him not to interfere in other people’s affairs... So he got offended...

And she shouted angrily:

- Go quickly, get some water and take it to him. He promised to give you something for this. Go, I say!

When the girl ran with a full jug into the open door of the upper room, the Moroccan was lying on the bed, already completely undressed: in the bright moonlight his bird's eyes were piercingly black, his small, short-cropped head was black, his long shirt was white, and his large bare feet were sticking out. On the table in the middle of the room glittered a large revolver with a drum and a long barrel; on the bed next to his bed there was a white mound of it piled outerwear... It was all very creepy. The girl quickly put the jug on the table and rushed back headlong, but the Moroccan jumped up and caught her hand.

“Wait, wait,” he said quickly, pulling her towards the bed, sat down, without letting go of her hand, and whispered: “Sit next to me for a minute, listen... just listen...”

Stunned, the girl sat down obediently. And he hastily began to swear that he had fallen in love with her without memory, that for one of her kisses he would give her ten gold coins... twenty coins... that he had a whole bag of them...

And, pulling out a bag of red leather from under the head of the head, he stretched it with shaking hands, poured the gold onto the bed, muttering:

- You see how many of them I have... Do you see?

She shook her head desperately and jumped out of bed. But he again instantly caught her and, covering her mouth with his dry, tenacious hand, threw her onto the bed. She tore his hand off with furious force and screamed shrilly:

He again squeezed her mouth and nose, began to catch her bare legs with his other hand, with which she kicked and painfully hit him in the stomach, but at that same moment he heard the roar of a dog rushing like a whirlwind up the stairs. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed a revolver from the table, but did not even have time to catch the trigger, instantly knocked down to the floor. Protecting his face from the mouth of the dog, stretched out on him, dousing him with the dog’s fiery breath, he rushed, raised his chin - and the dog tore out his throat with one death grip.