Analysis of Bunin’s work “Easy Breathing. Bunin "Easy Breathing": analysis of the work

Tanya felt cold and woke up.

Freeing her hand from the blanket in which she had awkwardly wrapped herself at night, Tanka stretched out, took a deep breath and squeezed again. But it was still cold. She rolled up to the very “head” of the stove and pressed Vaska to it. He opened his eyes and looked as brightly as only healthy children look from sleep. Then he turned on his side and fell silent. Tanka also began to doze off. But the door to the hut knocked: the mother, rustling, was dragging an armful of straw out of the hay.

Is it cold, auntie? - asked the wanderer, lying on the horse.

No,” answered Marya, “fog.” And the dogs are lying around, which is sure to lead to a blizzard.

She was looking for matches and rattling her grips. The wanderer lowered his feet from the bunk, yawned and put on his shoes. A bluish light glimmered through the windows cold light morning, under the bench hissed and quacked an awakened lame drake. The calf stood up on its weak, splayed legs, convulsively stretched out its tail and muttered so stupidly and abruptly that the wanderer laughed and said:

Orphan! Did you lose the cow?

Sold.

And there's no horse?

Sold.

Tanka opened her eyes.

The sale of the horse was especially etched in her memory: “When they were still digging potatoes,” on a dry, windy day, her mother was half-hearted in the field, crying and saying that “the piece didn’t go down her throat,” and Tanka kept looking at her throat, not understanding, What's the point?

Then the “Anchichrists” arrived in a large, strong cart with a high front. They both looked alike - black, greasy, belted along the rumps. Another one came after them, even blacker, with a stick in his hand, I shouted something loudly, a little later, I took the horse out of the yard and ran with it across the pasture, my father ran after him, and Tanka thought that he ran to take the horse away, caught up with her and took her into the yard again. The mother stood on the threshold of the hut and cried. Looking at her, Vaska began to roar at the top of his lungs. Then the “black” again took the horse out of the yard, tied it to a cart and trotted down the hill... And the father no longer chased...

The “Anchichrists,” the bourgeois horsemen, were, indeed, fierce in appearance, especially the last one, Taldykin. He came later, and before him the first two only brought down the price. They vied with each other to torture the horse, tore its face, and beat it with sticks.

Well,” one shouted, “look here, get some money with God!”

They’re not mine, take care, you don’t have to take half price,” Korney answered evasively.

But what is half the price, if, for example, the filly is more years old than you and me? Pray to God!

There’s no point in interpreting,” Korney objected absentmindedly.

It was then that Taldykin came, a healthy, fat tradesman with the physiognomy of a pug: shiny, angry black eyes, the shape of his nose, cheekbones - everything about him reminded him of this dog breed.

What's all the noise and there's no fight? - he said, entering and smiling, if flaring nostrils can be called a smile.

He walked up to the horse, stopped and was silent for a long time, looking at it indifferently. Then he turned around, casually said to his comrades: “Hurry up, it’s time to go, I’ll wait for the rain in the pasture,” and went to the gate.

Korney hesitantly called out:

Why didn’t the horse look?

Taldykin stopped.

It’s not worth a long look,” he said.

Come on, let’s indulge...

Taldykin came up and made lazy eyes.

He suddenly hit the horse under the belly, pulled its tail, felt under its shoulder blades, sniffed its hand and walked away.

Bad? - Korney asked, trying to joke.

Taldykin chuckled:

Long-lasting?

The horse is not old.

Tek. So, the first head on your shoulders?

Korney was confused.

Taldykin quickly thrust his fist into the corner of the horse’s lips, glanced as if briefly at its teeth and, wiping his hand on the floor, asked mockingly and quickly:

So not old? Didn’t your grandfather go to marry her?.. Well, it’ll do for us, get eleven yellow ones.

And, without waiting for Korney’s answer, he took out the money and took the horse by the turn.

Pray to God and put in half a bottle.

What are you, what are you? - Korney was offended - You are without a cross, uncle!

What? - Taldykin exclaimed menacingly, - are you crazy? Don't you want money? Take it while you catch a fool, take it, they tell you!

What kind of money is this?

The kind you don't have.

No, it's better not to.

Well, after a certain number you will pay for seven, you will pay with pleasure, trust your conscience.

Korney walked away, took an ax and businesslike began to hew a pillow under the cart.

Then they tried the horse on the pasture... And no matter how cunning Korney was, no matter how much he restrained himself, he did not win back!

When October came and white flakes began to flicker and fall in the air, blue from the cold, covering the pasture, the crawl spaces and the heap of the hut, Tanka had to be surprised at her mother every day.

It used to be that with the beginning of winter, true torment began for all the children, stemming, on the one hand, from the desire to escape from the hut, run waist-deep in the snow across the meadow and, rolling on their feet in the first blue ice pond, hitting it with sticks and listening to how it gurgles, and on the other hand - from the menacing shouts of its mother.

Where are you going? Chicher, it’s cold - and she’s screwed up! With the boys to the pond! Now climb onto the stove, otherwise you’ll look at me, little demon!

Sometimes, with sadness, I had to be content with the fact that a cup of steaming crumbly potatoes and a hunk of thickly salted bread, smelling like a cage, was put on the stove. Now the mother did not give any bread or potatoes in the morning, and when asked about this she answered:

Go, I’ll get you dressed, go to the pond, baby!

Last winter, Tanka and even Vaska went to bed late and could calmly enjoy sitting on the “group” of the stove even until midnight. The air in the hut was steamy and thick; A light bulb without glass was burning on the table, and the soot, like a dark, trembling wick, reached right up to the ceiling. My father was sitting near the table, sewing sheepskin coats; the mother mended shirts or knitted mittens; Her bowed face was at that time meekly and affectionately in a quiet voice, she sang “old” songs that she had heard as a girl, and Tanka often wanted to cry from them. In the dark hut, covered in snow blizzards, Marya remembered her youth, remembered the hot hayfields and evening dawns, when she walked in a crowd of girls along the field road with ringing songs, and behind the rust the sun went down and its dying glow fell like golden dust through the ears of corn. She told her daughter in a song that she too would have the same dawns, that everything that passed so quickly and for a long time would be replaced for a long time by village grief and care.

When her mother was getting ready for dinner, Tanka, wearing only a long shirt, would tear it off the stove and, often shuffling her bare feet, run to the bunk, to the table. Here she, like an animal, squatted down and quickly caught some salsa in the thick stew and snacked on cucumbers and potatoes. Fat Vaska ate slowly and rolled his eyes, trying to fit a big spoon into his mouth... After dinner, with a tight stomach, she just as quickly ran to the stove, fought for space with Vaska, and, when one frosty night dregs looked through the dark windows, she fell asleep in a sweet dream under the prayerful whisper of the mother: “God's saints, the merciful Saint Nikola, the pillar of protection of people, Mother Blessed Friday - pray to God for us! Cross in our heads, cross at our feet, cross from the evil one”...

Now the mother put her to bed early, said that there was nothing to eat for dinner, and threatened to “gouge out her eyes” and “give her to the blind in a bag” if she, Tanka, did not sleep. Tanka often roared and asked for “at least some caps,” while the calm, mocking Vaska lay there, kicking his legs up and scolding his mother:

“Here’s the brownie,” he said seriously, “go to sleep, everyone!” Let dad wait!

Dad left Kazanskaya, was at home only once, said that there was “trouble” everywhere - they don’t make sheepskin coats, more people die - and he only does repairs here and there for rich men. True, that time they ate herrings, and my dad even brought “such and such a piece” of salted pike perch in a rag. “He was at the kstinah, he says, the day before yesterday, so I hid it for you guys...” But when dad left, they almost stopped eating altogether...

This story allows us to conclude that it belongs to the short story genre. The author managed to convey in a short form the life story of high school student Olya Meshcherskaya, but not only her. According to the definition of the genre, a short story in a unique, small, specific event must recreate the entire life of the hero, and through it, the life of society. Ivan Alekseevich creates through modernism unique image a girl who is still dreaming of true love.

Not only Bunin wrote about this feeling (" Easy breath"). The analysis of love was carried out, perhaps, by all the great poets and writers, very different in character and worldview, so Russian literature presents many shades of this feeling. Opening the work of another author, we always find something new. Bunin also has his own His works are often tragic endings, ending with the death of one of the heroes, but it is more light than deeply tragic. We are faced with a similar ending after finishing reading “Easy Breathing”.

First impression

At first glance, the events seem messy. The girl plays at love with an ugly officer, far from the circle to which the heroine belonged. In the story, the author uses the so-called “proof by return” technique, since even with such vulgar external events, love remains something untouched and bright, does not touch everyday dirt. Arriving at Olya’s grave, the class teacher asks herself how to combine all this with a pure look at “that terrible thing” that is now associated with the name of the schoolgirl. This question does not require an answer, which is present in the entire text of the work. They permeate Bunin's story "Easy Breathing".

Character of the main character

Olya Meshcherskaya seems to be the embodiment of youth, thirsty for love, a lively and dreamy heroine. Her image, contrary to the laws public morality, captivates almost everyone, even the lower grades. And even the guardian of morals, teacher Olya, who condemned her for growing up early, after the death of the heroine, comes to the cemetery to her grave every week, constantly thinks about her and at the same time even feels, “like all people devoted to a dream,” happy.

Character trait main character The story is that she longs for happiness and can find it even in such an ugly reality in which she had to find herself. Bunin uses “light breathing” as a metaphor for naturalness and vital energy. the so-called “ease of breathing” is invariably present in Olya, surrounding her with a special halo. People feel this and therefore are drawn to the girl, without even being able to explain why. She infects everyone with her joy.

Contrasts

Bunin's work "Easy Breathing" is built on contrasts. From the very first lines, a double feeling arises: a deserted, sad cemetery, a cold wind, a gray April day. And against this background - a portrait of a high school student with lively, joyful eyes - a photograph on the cross. Olya's whole life is also built on contrast. Cloudless childhood is contrasted with the tragic events that occurred in Last year life of the heroine of the story "Easy Breathing". Ivan Bunin often emphasizes the contrast, the gap between the real and the apparent, the internal state and the external world.

Story plot

The plot of the work is quite simple. The happy young schoolgirl Olya Meshcherskaya first becomes the prey of her father's friend, an elderly sensualist, and then a living target for the aforementioned officer. Her death prompts a cool lady - a lonely woman - to “serve” her memory. However, the apparent simplicity of this plot is violated by a striking contrast: heavy cross and alive joyful eyes, involuntarily making the reader’s heart clench. The simplicity of the plot turned out to be deceptive, since the story “Easy Breathing” (Ivan Bunin) is not only about the fate of a girl, but also about the unfortunate lot of a classy lady who is used to living someone else’s life. Olya’s relationship with the officer is also interesting.

Relationship with the officer

In the plot of the story, the already mentioned officer kills Olya Meshcherskaya, involuntarily misled by her game. He did this because he was close to her, believed that she loved him, and could not survive the destruction of this illusion. Not every person can arouse such strong passion in another. This speaks of Olya’s bright personality, says Bunin (“Easy Breathing”). The act of the main character was cruel, but she, as you might guess, having a special character, stupefied the officer unintentionally. Olya Meshcherskaya was looking for a dream in her relationship with him, but she failed to find it.

Is Olya to blame?

Ivan Alekseevich believed that birth is not the beginning, and therefore death is not the end of the existence of the soul, the symbol of which is the definition used by Bunin - “light breathing.” Analysis of it in the text of the work allows us to conclude that this concept is souls. It does not disappear without a trace after death, but returns to its source. The work “Easy Breathing” is about this, and not just about Olya’s fate.

It is no coincidence that Ivan Bunin delays explaining the reasons for the heroine’s death. The question arises: “Maybe she is to blame for what happened?” After all, she is frivolous, flirts first with the high school student Shenshin, then, albeit unconsciously, with her father’s friend Alexei Mikhailovich Malyutin, who seduced her, then for some reason promises the officer to marry him. Why did she need all this? Bunin (“Easy Breathing”) analyzes the motives of the heroine’s actions. It gradually becomes clear that Olya is as beautiful as the elements. And just as immoral. She strives in everything to reach the depth, to the limit, to the innermost essence, and the opinion of others does not interest the heroine of the work “Easy Breathing”. Ivan Bunin wanted to tell us that in the actions of the schoolgirl there is no feeling of revenge, no meaningful vice, no firmness of decision, no pain of repentance. It turns out that the feeling of fullness of life can be destructive. Even unconscious longing for her is tragic (like a classy lady). Therefore, every step, every detail of Olya’s life threatens disaster: pranks and curiosity can lead to serious consequences, to violence, and frivolous play with other people’s feelings can lead to murder. Bunin leads us to such a philosophical thought.

"Easy breath" of life

The essence of the heroine is that she lives, and not just plays a role in a play. This is also her fault. To be alive without following the rules of the game means to be doomed. The environment in which Meshcherskaya exists is completely devoid of a holistic, organic sense of beauty. Life here is subject to strict rules, violation of which leads to inevitable retribution. Therefore, Olya’s fate turns out to be tragic. Her death is natural, Bunin believes. “Light Breath,” however, did not die with the heroine, but dissolved in the air, filling it with itself. In the finale, the idea of ​​the immortality of the soul sounds like this.

Bunin Ivan Alekseevich (1870 - 1953) was born on October 10 in Voronezh into a noble family. Childhood years passed in family estate on the Butyrka farm in the Oryol province, among the “sea of ​​bread, herbs, flowers”, “in the deepest silence of the field” under the supervision of a teacher and educator, “a strange man”, who captivated his student with painting, from which he “had quite a long insanity”, in the rest gave little.

In 1889, Bunin left the estate and was forced to look for work to ensure a modest existence for himself (he worked as a proofreader, statistician, librarian, and contributed to a newspaper). He moved often - he lived in Orel, then in Kharkov, then in Poltava, then in Moscow. In 1891, his collection “Poems” was published, full of impressions from his native Oryol region.

Ivan Bunin in 1894 in Moscow met with L. Tolstoy, who kindly received the young Bunin, and the next year he met A. Chekhov. In 1895, the story “To the End of the World” was published, which was well received by critics. Inspired by success, Bunin turned entirely to literary creativity.

In 1898, a collection of poems "Under open air", in 1901 - the collection "Leaf Fall", for which he was awarded the highest prize of the Academy of Sciences - Pushkin Prize(1903). In 1899 he met M. Gorky, who attracted him to cooperation in the publishing house "Knowledge", where they appeared best stories that time: " Antonov apples"(1900), "Pines" and "New Road" (1901), "Chernozem" (1904).

Gorky will write: “...if they say about him: this is the best stylist of our time, there will be no exaggeration.” In 1909 Bunin became an honorary member Russian Academy Sci. The story "The Village", published in 1910, brought its author a wide reader fame. In 1911 - the story "Sukhodol" - a chronicle of the degeneration of the estate nobility. In subsequent years, a series of significant stories and novellas appeared: " Ancient man", "Ignat", "Zakhar Vorobyov", " A good life", "Mr. from San Francisco."

Having met with hostility October Revolution, the writer left Russia forever in 1920. Through Crimea, and then through Constantinople, he emigrated to France and settled in Paris. Everything he wrote in exile concerned Russia, Russian people, Russian nature: "Mowers", "Lapti", "Distant", "Mitya's Love", a cycle of short stories " Dark alleys", novel "The Life of Arsenyev", 1930, etc.

In 1933 Bunin was awarded the Nobel Prize.

Bunin lived long life, survived the invasion of fascism in Paris, rejoiced at the victory over it.

In the cemetery, above a fresh clay mound, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth.

April, gray days; The monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still visible far away through the bare trees, and the cold wind rings and rings the porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross.

A rather large, convex porcelain medallion is embedded in the cross itself, and in the medallion is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes.

This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

As a girl, she did not stand out in any way in the crowd of brown school dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was one of the pretty, rich and happy girls, that she was capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions that the classy lady gave her ?

Then she began to blossom and develop by leaps and bounds. At the age of fourteen, she had thin waist and slender legs, breasts and all those forms were already clearly outlined, the charm of which has never yet been expressed by human words; at fifteen she was already considered a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how careful they were about their restrained movements!

But she was not afraid of anything - not ink stains on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that became bare when falling while running. Without any of her worries or efforts, and somehow imperceptibly, everything that had so distinguished her from the entire gymnasium in the last two years came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, the clear sparkle of her eyes...

No one danced at balls like Olya Meshcherskaya, no one ran on skates like she did, no one at balls was looked after as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved as much by the junior classes as she was. Imperceptibly she became a girl, and her high school fame was imperceptibly strengthened, and rumors had already spread that she was flighty, could not live without admirers, that the school student Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she supposedly loved him too, but was so changeable in her treatment of him that he attempted suicide.

During her last winter, Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun, as they said in the gymnasium. The winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, the sun set early behind the tall spruce forest of the snowy gymnasium garden, invariably fine, radiant, promising frost and sun for tomorrow, a walk on Sobornaya Street, an ice skating rink in the city garden, a pink evening, music and this in all directions the crowd gliding on the skating rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest.

And then one day, during a big break, when she was rushing around the assembly hall like a whirlwind from the first-graders chasing her and squealing blissfully, she was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped running, took only one deep breath, straightened her hair with a quick and already familiar feminine movement, pulled the corners of her apron to her shoulders and, her eyes shining, ran upstairs. The boss, young-looking but gray-haired, sat calmly with knitting in her hands at her desk, under royal portrait.

“Hello, mademoiselle Meshcherskaya,” she said in French, without raising her eyes from her knitting. “Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have been forced to call you here to talk to you about your behavior.”

“I’m listening, madame,” Meshcherskaya answered, approaching the table, looking at her clearly and vividly, but without any expression on her face, and sat down as easily and gracefully as only she could.

You won’t listen to me well, I, unfortunately, am convinced of this,” the boss said and, pulling the thread and spinning a ball on the varnished floor, which Meshcherskaya looked at with curiosity, raised her eyes. “I won’t repeat myself, I won’t speak at length, - she said.

Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually clean and large office, which on frosty days breathed so well with the warmth of a shiny Dutch dress and the freshness of lilies of the valley on the desk. She looked at the young king, depicted in full height in the middle of some brilliant hall, at the even parting in the milky, neatly crimped hair of the boss and was silent expectantly.

“You’re not a girl anymore,” the boss said meaningfully, secretly starting to get irritated.

Yes, madame,” Meshcherskaya answered simply, almost cheerfully.

But not either woman - still The boss said more meaningfully, and her matte face turned slightly red. “First of all, what kind of hairstyle is this?” This is a women's hairstyle!

“It’s not my fault, madame, that I have good hair,” Meshcherskaya answered and slightly touched her beautifully decorated head with both hands.

Oh, that's it, it's not your fault! - said the boss. “It’s not your fault for your hairstyle, it’s not your fault for these expensive combs, it’s not your fault that you’re ruining your parents for shoes that cost twenty rubles!” But, I repeat to you, you completely lose sight of the fact that you are still only a high school student...

And then Meshcherskaya, without losing her simplicity and calmness, suddenly politely interrupted her:

Sorry, madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And you know who is to blame for this? Dad's friend and neighbor, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village...

And a month after this conversation, a Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing in common with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people who had just arrived by train. And the incredible confession of Olya Meshcherskaya, which stunned the boss, was completely confirmed: the officer told the judicial investigator that Meshcherskaya had lured him, was close to him, vowed to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, accompanying him to Novocherkassk, she suddenly told him that she and never thought to love him, that all this talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and she gave him to read that page of the diary that talked about Malyutin.

“I ran through these lines and right there, on the platform where she was walking, waiting for me to finish reading, I shot at her,” said the officer. “This diary, here it is, look what was written in it on the tenth of July last year.”

The following was written in the diary: “It’s now two o’clock in the morning. I fell asleep soundly, but woke up immediately... Today I have become a woman! Dad, mom and Tolya all left for the city, I was left alone. I was so happy that I was alone In the morning I walked in the garden, in the field, was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was alone in the whole world, and I thought it was as good as ever in my life. I had lunch alone, then played for a whole hour, listening to music. there was a feeling that I would live endlessly and be as happy as anyone.

Then I fell asleep in my dad’s office, and at four o’clock Katya woke me up and said that Alexey Mikhailovich had arrived. I was very happy about him, I was so pleased to accept him and keep him busy. He arrived in a pair of his Vyatkas, very beautiful, and they stood at the porch all the time; he stayed because it was raining and he wanted it to dry out by the evening. He regretted that he didn’t find dad, he was very animated and behaved like a gentleman with me, he joked a lot that he had been in love with me for a long time.

When we walked around the garden before tea, the weather was again lovely, the sun shone through the entire wet garden, although it had become completely cold, and he led me by the arm and said that he was Faust with Margarita. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very handsome and always well dressed - the only thing I didn’t like was that he arrived in a lionfish - he smells of English cologne, and his eyes are very young, black, and his beard is gracefully divided into two long parts and completely silver.

Over tea we sat on the glass veranda, I felt as if unwell and lay down on the ottoman, and he smoked, then moved to me, began again to say some pleasantries, then examined and kissed my hand. I covered my face with a silk scarf, and he kissed me on the lips through the scarf several times... I don’t understand how this could happen, I’m crazy, I never thought I was like this! Now I have only one way out... I feel such disgust for him that I can’t get over it!..”

During these April days, the city became clean, dry, its stones turned white, and it was easy and pleasant to walk along them. Every Sunday, after mass, a small woman in mourning, wearing black kid gloves and carrying an ebony umbrella, walks along Cathedral Street, leading to the exit from the city. She crosses a dirty square along the highway, where there are many smoky forges and the fresh air of the field blows; further, between the monastery and the fort, the cloudy slope of the sky turns white and the spring field turns grey, and then, when you make your way among the puddles under the wall of the monastery and turn left, you will see what appears to be a large low garden, surrounded by a white fence, above the gate of which is written the Dormition of the Mother of God.

The little woman makes the sign of the cross and walks habitually along the main alley. Having reached the bench opposite the oak cross, she sits in the wind and in the spring cold for an hour or two, until her feet in light boots and her hand in a narrow kid are completely cold. Listening to the spring birds singing sweetly even in the cold, listening to the sound of the wind in a porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that she would give half her life if only this dead wreath would not be before her eyes. This wreath, this mound, the oak cross! Is it possible that under him is the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how can we combine with this pure gaze the terrible thing that is now associated with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? But deep down, the little woman is happy, like all people devoted to some passionate dream.

The death of Olya Meshcherskaya captivated her with a new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of her persistent thoughts and feelings. She goes to her grave every holiday, does not take her eyes off the oak cross for hours, remembers the pale face of Olya Meshcherskaya in the coffin, among the flowers - and what she once overheard: one day, during a long break, walking through the gymnasium garden, Olya Meshcherskaya quickly, quickly said to her beloved friend, plump, tall Subbotina:

I read in one of my dad’s books - he has a lot of old funny books - what kind of beauty a woman should have... There, you know, there are so many sayings that you can’t remember everything: well, of course, black eyes boiling with resin - she -God, that’s what it says: boiling with resin! -eyelashes black as night, a gentle blush, a thin figure, longer than an ordinary arm, - you know, longer than an ordinary one! - a small leg, in moderation big breasts, correctly rounded calf, shell-colored knees, sloping shoulders - I almost learned a lot by heart, it’s all so true! - but most importantly, you know what? - Easy breath! But I have it, - listen to how I sigh, - I really do, don’t I?

Now this light breath has again dissipated in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind.

Easy breath. “In the cemetery, above a fresh clay mound, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth.” On cold, gray April days, the monuments of the spacious county cemetery are clearly visible through the bare trees. The porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross rings sadly and lonely. “In the cross itself there is a rather large, convex porcelain medallion, and in the medallion there is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes. This is Olya Meshcherskaya.”

She did not stand out among her peers in any way, although she was “one of the pretty, rich and happy girls.” Then she suddenly began to blossom and become amazingly prettier: “At the age of fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms, the charm of which had never yet been expressed by human words, were already clearly outlined; at fifteen she was already considered a beauty.” Everything suited her and it seemed that nothing could harm her beauty: not the ink stains on her fingers, not her flushed face, not her disheveled hair. Olya Meshcherskaya danced and skated better than anyone else at balls; no one was looked after as much as she was, and no one was loved by the junior classes as much as she was. They said about her that she was flighty and could not live without admirers, that one of the schoolchildren was madly in love with her, who, because of her changeable treatment of him, even attempted suicide.

“Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun during her last winter, as they said in the gymnasium.” The winter was beautiful - snowy, frosty and sunny. The pink evenings were beautiful, when the music sounded and the dressed crowd merrily glided along the ice of the skating rink, “in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest.”

One day, when Olya Meshcherskaya was playing with first-graders during a long break, she was called to the head of the gymnasium. Stopping in her tracks, she took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, pulled down her apron and ran up the stairs with shining eyes. “The boss, young-looking but gray-haired, sat calmly with knitting in her hands at her desk, under the royal portrait,”

She began to reprimand Meshcherskaya: it was not appropriate for her, a high school student, to behave like that, to wear expensive combs, “shoes that cost twenty rubles,” and, finally, what kind of hairdo did she have? This is a woman's hairstyle! “You are no longer a girl,” the boss said meaningfully, “... but not a woman either...” Without losing her simplicity and calmness, Meshcherskaya boldly objected: “Forgive me, madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And you know who is to blame for this? Dad's friend and neighbor, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village..."

And a month after this conversation, the incredible confession that stunned the boss was unexpectedly and tragically confirmed. “... A Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing in common with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people who had just arrived by train.” He told the investigator that Meshcherskaya was close to him, vowed to be his wife, and at the station, seeing him off to Novocherkassk, suddenly told him that she had never thought of loving him, that all the talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and let me read that page of her diary that talked about Milyutin.

On the page marked the tenth of July last year, Meshcherskaya described in detail what happened. That day her parents and brother left for the city, and she was left alone in their village house. It was a wonderful day. Olya Meshcherskaya walked for a long time in the garden, in the field, and was in the forest. She felt as good as she had ever felt in her life. She fell asleep in her father’s office, and at four o’clock the maid woke her up and said that Alexei Mikhailovich had arrived. The girl was very happy about his arrival. Despite his fifty-six years, he was “still very handsome and always well dressed.” He smelled pleasantly of English cologne, and his eyes were very young, black. Before tea they walked in the garden, he held her arm and said that they were like Faust and Margarita. What happened next between her and this elderly man, her father’s friend, could not be explained: “I don’t understand how this could happen, I’m crazy, I never thought I was like this!... I feel such disgust for him that I can’t survive this!..”

Having given the diary to the officer, Olya Meshcherskaya walked along the platform, waiting for him to finish reading. This is where her death overtook...

Every Sunday, after mass, a small woman in mourning goes to the cemetery, which looks like “a large low garden surrounded by a white fence, above the gate of which is written “Assumption” Mother of God" Finely crossing herself as she walks, the woman walks along the cemetery alley to the bench opposite the oak cross above Meshcherskaya’s grave. Here she sits in the spring wind for an hour or two, until she gets completely cold. Listening to the singing of birds and the sound of the wind in a porcelain wreath, the little woman sometimes thinks that she would not regret half her life, if only this “dead wreath” were not in front of her eyes. It is difficult for her to believe that under the oak cross lies “the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how can one combine with this pure gaze the terrible thing that is now associated with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya?”

This woman is the cool lady Olya Meshcherskaya, “an elderly girl who has long been living with some kind of fiction that replaces her real life.” Previously, she believed in the brilliant future of her brother, “an in no way remarkable ensign.” After his death near Mukden, my sister began to convince herself “that she is an ideological worker.” The death of Olya Meshcherskaya gave her food for new dreams and fantasies. She recalls a conversation she accidentally overheard between Meshcherskaya and her beloved friend, plump, tall Subbotina. Walking through the gymnasium garden during recess, Olya Meshcherskaya excitedly recounted to her the description of the perfect female beauty, read in one of the old books. Many things seemed so true to her that she even learned them by heart. Among the obligatory qualities of a beauty were mentioned: “black eyes boiling with resin, eyelashes black as night, a delicately playful blush, a thin figure, longer than an ordinary arm... a small leg, moderately large breasts, regularly rounded calves, shell-colored knees, sloping shoulders... but most importantly... easy breathing! “But I have it,” Olya Meshcherskaya said to her friend, “listen to how I sigh—it’s true, I have it?”

“Now this light breath has dispersed again into the world, into this cloudy sky, into this cold spring wind.”

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The story “Easy Breathing” is dedicated to eternal problems- beauty and death, love and separation, freedom and necessity.

The main compositional principle of the story is contrast. With its help, the image of the main character is created and the author’s position is expressed.

From the very beginning, a dual feeling arises: a sad, deserted cemetery, a gray April day, bare trees, a cold wind “rings and rings like a porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross,” “strong, heavy, smooth,” and on the cross “a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly alive eyes.” Death and life, sadness and joy are the symbol of Olya Meshcherskaya’s fate.

Bunin creates a complex composition - from the fact of death to the heroine’s childhood, then to the recent past and its origins.

The author expressively conveys the strange logic of Olya’s behavior. Whirling through life: at balls, at the skating rink, in the gymnasium, the rapidity of change, unexpected actions. “She has gone completely crazy,” they say about her; “I went completely crazy,” she says.

The tragedy of the girl's fate is largely predetermined by the monotony and soullessness of her environment. Surprisingly around her indifferent people, the chain of which closes with the last link - the “classy lady”.

Olino's internal burning is genuine and could evoke a great feeling. If it were not for the crazy fluttering through life, not for the primitive idea of ​​happiness, not for the vulgar surroundings. The author reveals not only the beauty of the girl, but also her undeveloped spiritual capabilities. They, according to the writer, cannot disappear, just as the craving for beauty, happiness, and perfection never disappears.

At the end of the story, Olya tells her friend that she read in one book what kind of beauty a woman should have. She really had a light, natural breath - a thirst for some special, unique destiny, worthy only of the chosen few.

Many of I. A. Bunin’s works and the entire cycle of stories “Dark Alleys” are devoted to the theme of love. “All the stories in this book are only about love, about its “dark” and most often very gloomy and cruel alleys,” Bunin wrote in one of his letters. Bunin himself considered this book the most perfect in craftsmanship. Bunin sang not platonic, but sensual love, surrounded by a romantic aura. Love, in Bunin’s understanding, is contraindicated in everyday life, any duration, even desired marriage, she is an insight, " sunstroke", often leading to death. He describes love in all its states, where it barely dawns and will never come true ("Old Port"), and where it languishes unrecognized ("Ida"), and where it turns into passion ("The Killer" ). Love captures all thoughts, all the spiritual and physical potentials of a person - but this state cannot last long. To prevent love from running out of steam and exhausting itself, it is necessary to part ways - and forever. If the heroes themselves do not do this, then fate intervenes in their lives. , fate: one of the lovers dies. The story “Mitya’s Love” ends with the hero’s suicide. Death here is interpreted as the only possibility of liberation from love.

The stories of the “Dark Alleys” cycle are an example of amazing Russian psychological prose, in which love has always been one of those eternal secrets that word artists sought to reveal. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin, in my opinion, was one of those brilliant writers, who came closest to solving this mystery.

The book “Dark Alleys” is usually called the “encyclopedia of love.” I. A. Bunin in this cycle of stories tried to show the relationship between the two from different sides, in all its diversity of manifestations. “Dark Alleys” is the writer’s favorite brainchild, created over many years. Here the author's thoughts about love are embodied. This was the topic to which Bunin devoted all his creative energy. The book is as multifaceted as love itself. The name “Dark Alleys” was taken by Bunin from N. Ogarev’s poem “An Ordinary Tale”. It is about first love, which did not end with the union of two lives. The image of the “dark alleys” came from there, but the book does not contain a story with that title, as one might expect. It's just a symbol general mood all the stories. Bunin believed that a true, high feeling not only never has a successful ending, but also has the property of even avoiding marriage. The writer repeated this several times. He also quite seriously quoted Byron's words: “It is often easier to die for a woman than to live with her.” Love is the intensity of feelings and passions. A person, alas, cannot constantly be on the rise. He will certainly begin to fall precisely when he has reached the highest point in anything. After all, you can’t rise higher than the highest peak! In “Dark Alleys” we do not find a description of the irresistible attraction of two people, which would end in a wedding and a happy family life. Even if the heroes decided to link their destinies, in last moment a catastrophe occurs, something unexpected that destroys both lives. Often such a catastrophe is death. It seems that it is easier for Bunin to imagine the death of a hero or heroine at the very beginning life path than their coexistence during for long years. To live to old age and die on the same day - for Bunin this is not at all an ideal of happiness, rather, on the contrary. Thus, Bunin seems to stop time at the highest rise of feelings. Love reaches its climax, but it knows no fall. We will never come across a story that talks about the gradual extinction of passion. It breaks off at the moment when everyday life has not yet had a chance to have a detrimental effect on feelings. However, such fatal outcomes do not in any way exclude the persuasiveness and verisimilitude of the stories. It was claimed that Bunin spoke about cases from own life. But he did not agree with this - the situations are completely fictitious. He often based the characters of his heroines on real women. The book “Dark Alleys” is a whole gallery women's portraits. Here you can meet girls who have matured early, and self-confident young women, and respectable ladies, and prostitutes, and models, and peasant women. Each portrait, painted with short strokes, is surprisingly real. One can only marvel at the talent of the author, who was able to present to us in a few words such different women. The main thing is that all the characters are surprisingly Russian and the action almost always takes place in Russia. Female characters play in stories main role, male - auxiliary, secondary. More attention is paid to men's emotions, their reactions to various situations, their feelings. The heroes of the stories themselves retreat into the background, into the fog. The stories also amaze with the huge variety of shades of love: the simple-minded but unbreakable affection of a peasant girl for the master who seduced her (“Tanya”); fleeting dacha hobbies (“Zoyka and Valeria”); a short one-day novel (“Antigone”, “ Business Cards”); passion leading to suicide (“Galya Ganskaya”); the simple-minded confession of a young prostitute (“Madrid”). In a word, love in all possible manifestations. It appears in any form: it can be a poetic, sublime feeling, a moment of enlightenment, or, conversely, an irresistible physical attraction without spiritual intimacy. But whatever it is, for Bunin it is only a short moment, a lightning in fate. The heroine of the story “Cold Autumn,” who lost her fiancé, loves him for thirty years and believes that in her life there was only that autumn evening, and everything else was “an unnecessary dream.” In many stories of the cycle, Bunin describes female body. This is something sacred for him, an embodiment true beauty. These descriptions never descend into crude naturalism. The writer knows how to find words to describe the most intimate human relationships without any vulgarity. Without a doubt, this comes only at the cost of great creative torment, but it is easy to read, in one breath. I. A. Bunin, in the cycle of stories “Dark Alleys,” managed to display many facets of human relationships and created a whole galaxy of female images. And all this diversity is united by the feeling to which Bunin devoted most of his work - Love.

Analysis of I. Bunin's story "Easy Breathing"

Man is the reason for the explosion.

(Why do volcanoes explode?).

Sometimes volcanoes explode with treasure.

Letting it explode is more than getting it.

M. Tsvetaeva.

Starting to write this essay, I set myself the goal of understanding why extraordinary, unusual people, people “exploding with treasures,” remain unrecognized and rejected by society. Olya Meshcherskaya is one of such people. Radiating undying light, good spirits, cheerfulness, lightness, she aroused envy in some, hostility in others. Although all these people, it seems to me, deep down in their souls admired her carelessness, courage, admired her fate, behavior, her unbridled happiness. Undoubtedly, the personality of Olya Meshcherskaya, her character and way of life are ambiguous. On the one hand, this strong personality lives without fear of being misunderstood. But on the other hand, Olya is unable to resist society, she cannot withstand this cruel struggle with prejudices, “moral principles” that are created by the crowd, a gray and faceless mass of people who have no individuality, no life of their own, who condemn even attempts to live like that , as you like. “She was not afraid of anything - not an ink stain on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that got exposed when she fell while running” - that’s something worth admiring! This is something worth envying! Rarely will a person be able to behave so fearlessly, without thinking about the consequences, doing everything sincerely and easily. All her words, actions (that is, deeds) - all this came from a pure heart. She lived for today, without fear of the future, truly enjoying life. To be honest, I'm jealous! I probably wouldn’t be able to live like that, behave so carelessly, and few people could. This is the uniqueness of Olya, her individuality, such fate as a gift, one should be proud of her. The idea of ​​the story is in the contradiction of two worlds: a gray, boring, faceless society and a light, bright one inner world Olya Meshcherskaya. Here there is an interpersonal conflict: “... rumors began to spread that she (Olya) is flighty, cannot live without fans...” Society did not accept Olya’s behavior because it went beyond its boundaries, Olya, in turn, perhaps even too much She dealt with the increased attention of others with ease. Every time underestimating the enemy, a person is doomed to defeat in the fight. Here, in “Easy Breathing,” the conflict of two worlds is reflected in the landscape: on the one hand, “...April, gray days; the cold wind rings like a wreath at the foot of the cross,” and on the other, a medallion in which “a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes." And this lightness, joy, liveliness is everywhere. Reading the story, you become infected with that boiling, seething energy of Olya, you seem to be pierced by the biocurrents sent by the high school student Meshcherskaya: “grace, elegance, dexterity, clear sparkle of eyes,” “Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest,” “shining eyes, she ran upstairs.” , “... looking at her clearly and vividly,” “... as easily and gracefully as only she could,” “... Meshcherskaya answered simply, almost cheerfully.” Olya's carelessness and desire to know everything led her to a dead end. This is the main contradiction: living by her destiny, Olya discovered a new world for herself, but at the same time, wanting everything at once, without thinking about the meaning of her life, she hopelessly lost her childhood, adolescence, youth. Too early she learned the vulgar side of love, without ever unraveling the secret of romantic feelings. Only later, realizing this, or rather, feeling fear, disappointment and shame, perhaps for the first time in her life, Olya got scared: “I don’t understand how this could happen, I’m crazy, I never thought I was like this.” ! Now I have only one way out... I feel such disgust for him that I can’t survive this!..” Only now it becomes clear how weak Olya is. She is unable to fight. Having descended from heaven to earth, she was afraid. And the only possible way out of this situation for her is death. Olya understood this well. I believe death was the natural result of her reckless behavior. Many questions arise when you re-read the text again and again. Malyutin and this Cossack officer who killed Olya - are they the same person or not? And the woman we see at Meshcherskaya’s grave at the end of the story, and the boss? It is difficult to answer unequivocally. One thing is clear: in principle, it doesn’t matter, because these people represent a crowd, and it is not at all necessary to know who they are, because they are all, in essence, the same. The only bright image in the story is Olya Meshcherskaya, and Bunin draws her to us in every detail, because there are only a few people like her. “Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of her persistent thoughts and feelings,” we are talking about the worship of the classy lady Olya as an ideal. Thanks to such people, the world exists: they give those around them that energy, that lightness that the world of mere mortals lacks. Although these people are weak and unable to resist both their passions and the contempt of others, people like Olya live the time allotted to them with dignity and pleasure. And even one like this human destiny, I believe, is capable of turning the whole world around, something that a faceless crowd can never do. High school student Olya, a young girl who was just beginning to live, left a deep imprint on the soul of everyone who knew her story. In a short period of her life, she was able to do what many fail to do in their entire lives: she stood out from the crowd. “...But the main thing, you know what? Easy breathing! But I have it,” listen to how I sigh, “I really have it?” Of course, she had this lightness that she gave to everyone. “Is it possible that under it (under the porcelain wreath) is the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross..?” Of course not, only her body is buried in the ground, but Olya’s life, her smile, pure look, lightness will forever remain in the hearts of people: “Now this light breath has again dissipated in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind.” Such people are immortal, because they give life to others, a full, real, genuine life. So why was Olya rejected by society? There is only one answer: envy. All these faceless creatures were jealous of her" black envy"Realizing that they would never become LIKE Meshcherskaya, people made her an outcast. The stubborn crowd did not want to accept anything that did not fit into its framework. But the main problem of people like Olya is not this. They simply live with their lives, they completely forget about the cruel reality, which costs nothing to break all their dreams, joys, their whole life. But nevertheless, I admire Olya Meshcherskaya, her talent to live beautifully, incorrectly, but interestingly, little, but brightly and easily! !! ...It's a pity that light breathing is rare.