Konstantin Powesty Gold Rosa Summary. "It should always strive for the beautiful" about de Balzac (on the work of

« Golden Rose"- the book of essays and stories K. G. Powest. For the first time published in the journal October (1955, No. 10). Separate publication Released in 1955

The idea of \u200b\u200bthe book was born in the 30s, but fully took shape only when Paustovsky began to secure on paper the experience of his work in the prose seminar in the literary institute. Gorky. Paustovsky was originally intended to call the book "Iron Rose", but later refused the intention, - the story of the Ostap, who rushed iron rose, became the episode in the "Tale of Life", and the writer did not want to continuously exploit the plot. Powetsky was going, but did not have time to write a second book about the work of creativity. In the last lifting publishing The first book (the collected works. T.Z. M., 1967-1969) Two chapters were expanded, several new chapters appeared, mainly about writers. Written to the 100th anniversary of Chekhov "Notes on a cigarette box", became the head of "Chekhov". Essay "Meetings with Olemey" turned into the chapter "Little Rose in Petweck". The composition of the same publication includes essays "Alexander Blok" and "Ivan Bunin".

"Golden Rose", according to Powesta himself, "The book about how books are written." The leitmotif is most fully embodied in the story, which begins the "Golden Rose". The story of "precious dust", which was collected by the Parisian trashman Jean Chammet, so that by collecting precious grains, order the Golden Rose at Jewelery, is a metaphor of creativity. In the genre of the book of paustovsky as if it was reflected main topic: It consists of short "grabbing" -scases about writing a debt ("inscription on boulder"), about the connection of creativity with life experience ("Flowers from the chips"), about the intention and inspiration ("zipper"), about the ratio of the plan and logic of the material ("Riot Heroes"), about Russian ("Diamond Language") and punctuation signs ("The case in the Alshvan store" ), about the conditions of the artist ("as if trifles") and artistic details ("Old man in the station buffet"), about the imagination ("Life-giving start") and about the priority of life before creative imagination ("Night Dilizhans").

Conditionally, the book can be divided into two parts. If in the first author Introduces the reader in the "secret secret" - in his creative laboratory, then her half of her half was etudes about writers: Chekhov, Bunin, block, Moopassan, Hugo, Olese, Privine, Green. Stories are characterized by delicate lyrism; As a rule, this is a story about experienced, about the experience of communication - in full-time or absentee - with one or another of the artistic words masters.

The genome composition of the "Golden Rose" of the paustovsky is largely unique: in a single compositionally completed cycle, different fragments were united in their characteristics - confession, memoirs, creative portrait, Essays of creativity, a poetic miniature of nature, a linguistic study, the history of the plan and its incarnation in the book, autobiography, household sketch. Despite the genre heterogeneity, the material "stacked" through the author who dictates the narrative of his rhythm and the tonality, leads reasoning in accordance with the logic of a single topic.

The "Golden Rose" of the Powestament caused a lot of responses in print. Critics celebrated the high mastery of the writer, the originality of the attempt itself to interpret the problems of art by the means of art himself. But she also caused a lot of complaints that reflected the spirit of transitional time preceding the "thaw" of the late 50s: the writer was reproached in "Limit copyright"," Excessive details "," insufficient attention to ideological basis art.

In the book of the stories of the paustovsky, created in the final period of his work, again appeared not yet in early works The interest of the artist to the sphere creative activity, To the spiritual essence of art.

The language and profession of the writer - this is written by K.G. Paustic. "Golden Rose" ( summary) That's about it. Today we will talk about this exceptional book and its benefits for an ordinary reader and for a novice writer.

Writing as a vocation

"Golden Rose" - a special book in the work of the paustovsky. She came out in 1955, at that time Konstantin Georgievich turned 63 years old. This book may be called a "textbook for beginner writers" only removed: the author opens the veil over his own creative cuisine, tells about himself, sources of creativity and the role of the writer for the world. Each of the 24 sections carries a part of the wisdom of wisdom experienced by the writer, who reflects on creativity on the basis of his many years of experience.

Unlike the modern textbooks "Golden Rose" (POUST), the summary of which we will consider further, has their own distinctive features: Here more biography and reflection on the nature of writing, and there are no exercises at all. Unlike many modern authors, Konstantin Georgievich does not support the idea of \u200b\u200bwriting everything, and the writer is not a craft for him, but a calling (from the word "call"). For a paustic writer - the voice of his generation, one who should cultivate the best thing in man.

Konstantin Powesty. "Golden Rose": a summary of the first chapter

The book begins the legend of the golden rose ("precious dust"). She tells about the scan of Jean Chamete, who wanted to give a rose from gold to his acquaintance - Suzanne, daughter of the regimental commander. He accompanied her, returning home from the war. The girl grew, fell in love and got married, but was unhappy. And according to legend, the Golden Rose always brings happiness to its owner.

Samet was a garrist, he had no money for such a purchase. But he worked in the jewelry workshop and thought of sinking dust, which was removed from there. Many years passed before gold grains became enough to make a small golden rose. But when Jean Chamet went to Suzanne to hand a gift, I learned that she moved to America ...

Literature as if this Golden Rose, Powstsky believes. "Golden Rose", we consider a summary of the heads of the heads, completely imbued with this statement. The writer, according to the author, should sift a lot of dust, find the grains of gold and cast a gold rose, which will make the life of an individual and the whole world better. Konstantin Georgievich believed that the writer should be a voice of his generation.

The writer writes, because he hears the call within himself. He can't not write. For the paustic writer is the most beautiful and most difficult profession in the world. This tells the head "Inscription on Boulder".

Birth of the plan and its development

"Lightning" is chapter 5 of the Book of "Golden Rose" (Powesty), a brief content that the birth of plan is like lightning. Electric charge It raises a very long time to hit the whole strength later. Everything that the writer sees, hears, reads, thinks, is experiencing, accumulates to become an idea of \u200b\u200ba story or book in one day.

In the following five chapters, the author talks about naughty characters, as well as about the emergence of the plan of the "Planet Martz" and "Kara-Bugaz". In order to write, you need to have something to write - main idea These chapters. Personal experience For the writer is very important. Not the one that is created artificially, but the one that a person gets, living active life, working and communicating with different people.

"Golden Rose" (POUST): Summary of chapters 11-16

Konstantin Georgievich loosely loved Russian, nature and people. They admired and inspired him, forced to write. The writer gives knowledge of the language of the tremendous value. Everyone who writes, according to Powest, has its own writer dictionary, where all new words impressed. He gives an example from his life: the words "Germaman" and "Dai" were unknown to him very long time. The first he heard from the forester, the second found in verse Yesenin. The value of his long remained incomprehensible until the familiar philologist explained that there were those "waves" that leaves the wind on the sand.

You need to develop the words to be able to transfer it to the meaning and your thoughts correctly. In addition, it is very important to correctly arrange punctuation marks. An instructive story of real life can be read in the chapter "Cases in Alshvan Store".

About the benefits of imagination (chapters 20-21)

Although the writer is looking for inspiration in the world real, the imagination plays a big role in creativity, says the "Golden Rose", which would be incomplete without it, is overflowing about writers, whose opinions about the imagination differ greatly. For example, mentioned wonderful duel with Gi de Maupassan. Zola helped that the imagination is not necessary to the writer, to which Maupassan answered the question: "How do you then write your novels, having one newspaper clipping and weeks without leaving the house?".

Many chapters, including the "night diligence" (chapter 21), are written in the form of a story. This is a story about the storyteller Andersen, and that it is important to keep the balance between real life and imagination. Pouustovsky tries to convey to a novice writer very important thing: In no case can not be abandoned from the real, full-fledged life for the sake of imagination and life fiction.

Art of seeing world

It is impossible to eat creative housing Only literature - the main idea The last chapters of the book "Golden Rose" (Powesty). Summary is reduced to the fact that the author does not trust writers who do not like other arts - painting, poetry, architecture, classical music. Konstantin Georgievich expressed an interesting thought on the pages: the prose is also poetry, only without rhyme. Each writer S. large letters Reads a lot of poems.

Powesty advises to train your eyes, learn to look at the world through the artist's eyes. He tells his story to communicate with artists, about their advice and how he himself developed his aesthetic flair, watching the nature and architecture. The writer himself once listened to him and reached such vertices of possession in the word, which even became knees in front of him (photo above).

RESULTS

In this article we disassemble the main points of the book, but this is not full content. "Golden Rose" (POUST) is a book that everyone who loves the work of this writer is worth reading and wants to know more about him. It will also be useful for beginners (and not very) writers to gain inspiration and understand that the writer is not a prisoner of his talent. Moreover, the writer is obliged to live an active life.

Mine. devoted friend Tatiana Alekseevna Powesta

Literature is seized from laws. She alone does not recognize death.

Saltykov-Shchedrin

It should always strive for the beautiful.

Onor Balzac

Much in this work is expressed fragmentary and, perhaps, not clear enough.

Much will be recognized as controversial.

This book is not theoretical studiesnor much more by management. It's just notes about my understanding of writing and my experience.

Important questions of ideological justification of our writing work Not affected in the book, since in this area we do not have any significant differences. Heroic I. educational meaning Clear literature for everyone.

In this book I told only the little thing that I managed to tell.

But if at least in a small share managed to transfer the reader an idea of \u200b\u200bthe excellent essence of writing work, then I will assume that I fulfilled my duty to literature.

Precious dust

I can not remember how I learned this story about the Paris garrarian Jeanne Chamete. Shatmet earned the existence of the fact that the workshops took the workshops in their quarter.

He lived in shames in a shack on the outskirts of the city. Of course, it could be detailed to describe this outskirts and thereby lead the reader away from the main thread of the story. But, perhaps, it is only worth mentioning that so far, old fortress trees have been preserved at the outskirts of Paris. At the time when this story took place, the shafts were still covered with thickets of honeysuckle and hawthorn and birds nested.

The traffacer shacks knocked down to the foot of the northern fortress tree, next to the houses of tinsmiths, shoemakers, collectors of cigarettes and beggars.

If Maupassan became interested in the life of the inhabitants of these shacks, then, perhaps, would write a few more excellent stories. Maybe they would add new laurels to its well-established glory.

Unfortunately, none of the strangers looked at these places, except for the detectives. Yes, and they appeared only in cases where stolen things were wanted.

Judging by the fact that the neighbors nicked the Dyatlla shame, it is necessary to think that he was Hood, Ostronos and from under his hats, he always stuck her hair club, similar to a chokhol birds.

Once Jean Chamet knew better days. He served as a soldier in the army of "Little Napoleon" during the Mexican War.

Shameth is lucky. In Vera Cruz, he fell ill with a severe fever. A sick soldier who has not yet been in a real shootout, sent back to their homeland. The regimental commander took advantage of this and instructed the Shames to take his daughter Suzanne to France - a girl eight years old.

The commander was a widower and therefore was forced to carry the girl everywhere.

But this time he decided to part with his daughter and send her to her sister to Rouen. The Mexico climate was killing for European children. Besides random partisan War Created a lot of sudden dangers.

During the return of the chamote to France over Atlantic Ocean He smoked the heat. The girl was silent all the time. Even on fish, flying out of oil water, she watched not smiling.

Shames, as he could, cared for Suzanne. He understood, of course, that she is waiting for him not only care, but also caress. And what could he come up with a gentle, colonial shelf soldier? What could he take her? Bone game? Or rude barrage soles?

But still it was impossible to hide for a long time. Fucks increasingly caught a girlfriend's perplexed look. Then he finally decided and began to incognaz to tell her his life, remembering the smallest details of the fishing village on the shore of La Mansha, bulk sands, puddles after low tide, a rural chapel with a cracked bell, her mother treated his neighbors from heartburn.

In these memories, Chammet could not find anything like that to cheer Susann. But the girl, to his surprise, listened to these stories with greed and even forced them to repeat them, demanding all the new details.

Fucks strained the memory and learn from it these details, until in the end did not lose confidence that they really existed. It was no longer memories, but their weak shadows. They melted like shreds fog. Shames, however, never suggested that he would need to resume in memory of this long time of his life.

Once there was a vague memory of the golden rose. Not that Samet saw this coherent rose forged from the Black Gold, suspended to crucify in the house of an old fisherman, not heard stories about this rose from others.

No, perhaps, he once even saw this rose and remembered how she blew, although there were no sun outside the windows and a gloomy storm was noisy over the strait. The farther, the clearer I remembered this shine - several bright lights under the low ceiling.

Everyone in the village was surprised that the old woman does not sell his jewel. She could help her big money for her. One of the mother of the chase assured that selling a gold rose is sin, because her gave the old woman "for happiness" beloved, when the old woman, then still a murdrating girl, worked on a sardine factory in Oder.

- There are little such golden roses in the world, "the mother of the shame said. "But all who they started in the house will definitely be happy." And not only they, but everyone who will touch this rose.

The boy looked forward to the same old woman. But there were no signs of happiness and in risen. The house of the old woman was shaking from the wind, and in the evenings they did not light fire in it.

So Shames and left the village, without waiting for changes in the old ladle fate. Only a year later, a familiar stoker from a postage steamer in Havra told him that the Son-artist's son was unexpectedly arrived at the old woman - bearded, cheerful and wonderful. Shaughter since then was no longer recognized. It was filled with noise and sufficiency. Artists say, get big money for their masculine.

Once, when the shames, sitting on the deck, combed Suzanne his iron ridge with the wind of the wind, she asked:

- Jean, Does anyone give me a gold rose?

"Everything can be," said Shamet. - There is also for you, suzzi, some kids. We in the company had one skinny soldier. He was damn lucky. He found a broken gold jaw on the battlefield. We drank it with all the mouths. This is during the Annamics War. Drunk artillery played for fun from the Morty, the projectile fell into the earthen of the extinct volcano, it exploded there, and from surprise the volcano began to puff and erupt. Damn him knows how his name was, this volcano! It seems crafting. The eruption was what you need! Died forty peaceful natives. Just think that because of some jaws there are so many people! Then it turned out that this jaw lost our colonel. The case, of course, was hushed up, - the prestige of the army is above all. But we got great then.

- Where did it happen? - asked with doubt suzzi.

- I told you - in Annama. In indochite. There, the ocean burns with fire, like hell, and jellyfish are similar to the lace ballerina skirts. And there is such a dampness that champignons grew in our boots in our boots! Let me hang me if I'm lying!

Before this incident, the shats heard a lot of soldiers' lies, but he himself never lied. Not because he did not know this, but simply there was no need. Now he considered the holy duty to entertain Susann.

Shamet brought a girl to Rouen and handed over with hands high woman With pursed yellow lips - suzanne aunt. The old woman was all in black glass and glittered as a circus snake.

The girl, having seen her, firmly pressed against Shameth, to his burned overcoat.

- Nothing! "Said Shames whisper and pushed Susann to his shoulder." - We, ordinary, also do not choose the regular chiefs. Terepi, suzzi, soldier!

Shatmet went away. Several times he looked at the windows of a boring house, where the wind did not even move the curtains. On close streets was heard of a fussy knock of watches. In the Soldier's Racing Chamete, there was a memory of Suzi - a blue gathering ribbon from her braids. And the devil knows why, but this tape smelled so gently, as if she had long stayed in a basket with violets.

Mexican fever has undermined the health of the chamote. He was fired from the army without Sergeant rank. He left B. civilian life Simple ordinary.

The years passed in monotonous need. Shatmet tried many scarce classes and eventually became a Parisian trawswoman. Since then, he has pursued the smell of dust and nois. He felt this smell even in a light wind, penetrating into the streets from the Seine, and in the oakhas of wet flowers - they were sold to the purest old women on the boulevards.

The days merged into the yellow torment. But sometimes there was a light pink cloud in it in front of the inner gaze - an old dress Susanne. From this dress, smelled of spring freshness, as if he was kept for a long time in a basket with violets.

Where is she, Suzanne? What with her? He knew that she was now adult girl, and her father died from the Russian Academy of Sciences.

Shames everything was going to go to Rouen to visit Suzanne. But every time he was postponing this trip, until finally realized that the time was missed and Susanna probably forgot about him.

He scolded himself a pig when he recalled farewell to her. Instead of kissing a girl, he pushed her in his back towards the old carge and said: "Terespi, Suzi, a soldier!"

It is known that the garbered workers work at night. There are two reasons for this: the most garbage from the boiler and not always useful human activity accumulates by the end of the day, and, moreover, it is impossible to insult the vision and smell of Parisian. At night, almost no one except rats notices the work of the garbers.

Shames got used to night work and even loved these hours of day. Especially the time when the dawn made himself above Paris. A fog smoked over Saint, but he did not ride above the parapet of bridges.

Once at such a misty dawn, Shamets passed through the bridge of the disabled and saw a young woman in a pale lilac dress with black lace. She stood at Parapete and looked at the Seine.

Shatmet stopped, removed the dusty hat and said:

- Madam, water in the Seine at this time is very cold. Let's better spend you home.

"I don't have at home now," the woman answered quickly and turned to Shamet.

Shames dropped his hat.

- Suzi! He said with despair and delight. - Suzi, Soldier! My girl! Finally I saw you. You forgot me must be. I am Jean-Ernest Chammet, that ordinary twenty-seventh colonial regiment, which brought you to this frowning aunt in Rouen. What kind of beautiful you are! And how good your hair is broken! And I, the soldiers' plot, did not know them at all!

- Jean! - The woman screamed, rushed to the shameth, hugged him behind her neck and cried. - Jean, you are the same kind as they were then. I remember evrything!

- Uh, nonsense! - murmured shatmet. - What to benefit from my kindness. What happened to you, my little one?

Shatmet pulled Susannu to himself and did what he did not dare in Ruang, "stroked and kissed her shiny hair. He was immediately removed, fearing that Susanna would hear the mouse stench from his jacket. But Suzanne pressed to his shoulder even stronger.

- What's wrong with you, girl? - confusedly repeated the flames.

Susanna did not answer. She was unable to hold back sobs. Shamet realized: So far, I do not ask for anything.

"I have," he said hastily, "there is a lair at the godfather." Far from here. In the house, of course, empty - at least to shake the ball. But you can warm the water and fall asleep in bed. There you can wash and relax. And in general, how much you want.

Susanna lived at the Shame five days. Five days over Paris raised an unusual sun. All buildings, even the oldest, coated with soak, all the gardens and even the lair of the chase sparkle in the rays of this sun, like jewels.

Who has not experienced unrest from the bare breath of the young woman, he will not understand what tenderness is. Brighter wet petals were her lips, and from the nightly tears brilliantly eyelashes.

Yes, with Susanny, everything happened exactly as it was assumed. She changed his beloved, a young actor. But those of five days, which Susanna lived from the chame, was enough for their reconciliation.

Shatmet participated in it. He had to attribute the letter of Susanne to the actor and teach this languid handsome of courtesy when he wanted to sharpen a somewhat so tea.

Soon the actor arrived in Fihacre for Susanny. And everything was as needed: a bouquet, kisses, laughter through tears, repentance and slightly pricked carelessness.

When the young people went, Suzanne was so hurried that he jumped into FIKER, forgetting to say goodbye to the shame. He immediately decided, blushed and guiltfully extended his hand.

"Since you chose your life to taste," Shames grumbled at her, "then be happy."

"I don't know anything else," Susanna replied, and the tears walked in her eyes.

"You worry in vain, my baby," the young actor stretched displeasure and repeated: "My adorable baby."

- Now, if someone gave me a gold rose! - sighed Susanna. - It would probably be lucky. I remember your story on the steamer, Jean.

- Who knows! - answered Chamet. - In any case, not this master will bring you a gold rose. Sorry, I am a soldier. I do not like Sharkunov.

Young people surrendered. The actor shrugged. Phyakre moved.

Usually Shames threaded all the garbage, taken out of the day from craft institutions. But after this incident, he stopped throwing dust from jewelry workshops. He began to collect her secretly in a bag and relieved to his shack. The neighbors decided that the garbage was "tried." Few who knew that in this dust there is some amount of gold powder, as the jewelers, working, always sharpen a little gold.

Shamet decided to fly from the jewelry dust gold, make a small ingot from it and forged a small gold rose from this ingot for happiness suzanne. Or maybe, as the mother said to him, she will serve for happiness ordinary people. Who knows! He decided not to meet with Suzanny until this rose was ready.

Shames Nickname did not talk about his venture. He was afraid of the authorities and the police. You never know what will come to the head of court hooked. They can declare it with thief, put in prison and take gold from him. After all, it was still someone else's.

Before entering the army, Shames Batracil on the farm from a rural Cure and therefore knew how to handle grain. These knowledge came in handy now. He remembered how the bread and heavy grains were treated on the ground, and light dust was worn by the wind.

Shamet built a small flower and jewelry dust in the courtyard at night. He was worried until he saw on the tray barely noticeable gold powder.

There was a long time until the gold powder has accumulated so much that the ingot could be made from it. But Shatmet slowed to give it to the jeweler to pushing the golden rose from it.

He did not stop the lack of money - any jeweler would agree to take a third of the ingot and would be pleased with it.

The case was not in this. Every day the hour of meeting with Susanny was approaching. But for some time, Shamet began to be afraid of this hour.

All tenderness, long ago already drunk in the depths of the heart, he wanted to give only her, only suzu. But who needs the tenderness of an old freak! Shamet has long noticed that the only desire of people who met him was as soon as possible to go and forget his skinny, gray face With sagging skin and shrill eyes.

He had a fragment of the mirror in his shack. Occasionally, Shames looked at him, but immediately with a heavy criticism, he was ravaged away. It was better not to see ourselves - this awkward returned to the rheumatic legs.

When Rose was finally ready, Shamet learned that Suzanne left Paris from Paris to America - and, as they said, forever. No one could tell Shames her address.

In the first minute, Shamet even experienced relief. But then all his expectation of a gentle and easy meeting with Susanny turned into an incomprehensible way into an iron rusted fragment. This spiny shard stuck from the chame in the chest, near the heart, and Shatmet praying God so that he would rather get into this old heart and stopped him forever.

Shamet threw the workshops. Several days he lay in his shack, turning face to the wall. He was silent and smiled only once, pressing the old jacket with his sleeve. But no one saw it. Neighbors did not even come to Shameto - everyone had enough of her worries.

Only one person watched the shameth - that an elderly jeweler, which was forgotten from the ingot the finest rose and next to her, on the young branch, a small sharp bud.

The jeweler visited the shame, but did not bring him medications. He believed that it was useless.

And indeed, Shatmet died imperceptibly during one of the visits to the jeweler. The jeweler lifted the head of the traffacer, pulled a golden rose from under the gray cushion, wrapped in a blue mad ribbon, and slowly left, sticking the violining door. From the tape smelled of mice.

Was late fall. Evening darkness moved from wind and blinking lights. The jeweler remembered how the shame's face was transformed after death. It became harsh and calm. The bitterness of this person seemed even beautiful to the jeweler.

"What does not give life, then death brings," the jeweler thought, prone to template thoughts, and sighed noisily.

Soon, the jeweler sold the golden rose to the elderly trick, slightly dressed and, according to Jeweler, is not rich enough to have the right to buy such a precious thing.

Obviously, the story of the Golden Rose, told by a jeweler, played a decisive role in this purchase.

We owe the memorandum of the old writer by the fact that someone became known to this husty case from the life of the former soldier of the 27th colonial regiment - Jean-Ernest Chamete.

In their notes, the writer, by the way, wrote:

"Every minute, every abandoned unstable word and look, every deep or joking thought, every inconspicuous movement human heart, as well as the volatile fluff of poplar or the fire of the stars in the night puddle, - all these are crooked gold dust.

We, the writers, remove them with decades, these millions of grains, we collect unnoticed for ourselves, we turn our "golden rose" from this alloy - a story, a novel or poem from this alloy.

Gold Rose Chamete! She will partly seem to me the prototype of our creative activity. It's amazing that no one has given its difficulty to trace how a live flow of literature is born from these precious dust.

But, just as the Golden Rose of the Old Scareman was intended for happiness of Susanna, and our creativity is intended to ensure that the beauty of the earth will call for the struggle for happiness, joy and freedom, the latitude of the human heart and the power of the mind prevailed over darkness and sparkle as Optical sun. "

Inscription on boulder

For the writer, complete joy comes only when he is convinced that his conscience is in accordance with the conscience of the neighboring.

Saltykov-Shchedrin

I live in a small house on the dunes. All Riga seaside in the snow. He all the time flies with high pines long strands and scattered into dust.

He flies from the wind and because proteins jump on pines. When very quiet, then you can hear pine cones peel.

The house is near the sea. To see the sea, you need to go out for the gate and go through the footpath by the cathedral cottage in the snow.

On the windows of this cottage, the curtains remained from the summer. They move from weak wind. It must be the wind penetrates through the inconspicuous gaps into an empty cottage, but they appeared that someone raises the curtain and carefully watches you.

The sea did not frozen. Snow lies until the edge of the water. It sees traces of the hare.

When the wave is risening at the sea, no noise of the surf is heard, but the ice criste and the rustling of the settlement snow.

Baltika in winter desert and sullen.

Latvians call it "Amber Sea" ("Dzintar Yura"). Maybe not only because Baltika throws a lot of amber, but also because its water slightly marks the amber yellow.

By the horizon all day lies with the layers of heavy meal. It disappears the outlines of low banks. Only in some places in this darkness are descended over the sea. White Bandshed Stripes - there is snow there.

Sometimes wild geese, which arrived this year too early, sit on the water and shout. Their crying is far away along the shore, but does not cause a response - there are almost no birds in coastal forests in winter.

In the afternoon in the house where I live, the usual life is going. Fresh firewood in multicolored tiled furnaces, muffled a typewriter, silent lily cleaner sits in a cozy lobby and knits lace. Everything is usually very simple.

But in the evening, the pillable darkness surrounds the house, pine is moved close to it, and when you leave a brightly lit hall outward, you covers the feeling full of loneliness, with an eye on the eyes, with winter, sea and night.

The sea goes for hundreds of miles in black and lead gave. It does not see any light on it. And not a single burst is not heard.

The little house is as the last lighthouse, on the edge of the foggy abyss. The earth is broken here. And so it seems awesome that the light is calmly burning in the house, sings the radio, soft carpets drown down the steps, and lie on the tables opened books And manuscripts.

There, to the West, in the direction of Ventspils, behind the layer of MGLL lies a small fishing village. An ordinary fishing village with networks drying in the wind, with low houses and low smoke from pipes, with black motors, pulled out on sand, and trustless dogs with rude wool.

Latvian fishermen live in this hundreds of years. Generations replace each other. Blind-haired girls with shy eyes and singers are becoming weathered, detached old women, closed in heavy scarves. Flushing young men in sickle caps are converted into bristy old men with imperturbed eyes.

Powesty Konstantin Georgievich (1892-1968), Russian Writer was born on May 31, 1892 in the family of railway statistics. Father, according to Powesta, "was an incorrigible dreamer and Protestant," which was constantly changing the place of work. After several movements, the family settled in Kiev. Powesta studied in the 1st Kiev classical gymnasium. When he was in the sixth grade, his father left the family, and Paustovsky was forced to independently earn a living and studying tutoring.

"Golden Rose" - a special book in the work of the paustovsky. She came out in 1955, at that time Konstantin Georgievich turned 63 years old. This book may be called a "textbook for beginner writers" only removed: the author opens the veil over his own creative cuisine, tells about himself, sources of creativity and the role of the writer for the world. Each of the 24 sections carries a part of the wisdom of wisdom experienced by the writer, who reflects on creativity on the basis of his many years of experience.

Conditionally, the book can be divided into two parts. If in the first author Introduces the reader in the "secret secret" - in his creative laboratory, then her half of her half was etudes about writers: Chekhov, Bunin, block, Moopassan, Hugo, Olese, Privine, Green. Stories are characterized by delicate lyrism; As a rule, this is a story about experienced, about the experience of communication - in full-time or absentee - with one or another of the artistic words masters.

The genome composition of the "Golden Rose" of the paustovsky is largely unique: in a single compositionally completed cycle, different fragments were combined in their characteristics - confession, memoirs, creative portrait, essay of creativity, a poetic miniature about nature, a linguistic study, the history of the plan and its incarnation in the book, autobiography , household sketch. Despite the genre heterogeneity, the material "stacked" through the author who dictates the narrative of his rhythm and the tonality, leads reasoning in accordance with the logic of a single topic.

Much in this work is expressed abruptly and, perhaps, not clear enough.

Much will be recognized as controversial.

This book is neither theoretical study, no more leadership. It's just notes about my understanding of writing and my experience.

Huge layers of ideological substantiations of our writing work are not affected in the book, since we have no big differences in this area. The heroic and educational value of the literature is clear for everyone.

In this book I told only the little thing that I managed to tell.

But if at least in a small share managed to transfer the reader an idea of \u200b\u200bthe excellent essence of writing work, then I will assume that I fulfilled my duty to literature. 1955

Konstantin Powesty

"Golden Rose"

Literature is seized from laws. She alone does not recognize death.

It should always strive for the beautiful.

Much in this work is expressed abruptly and, perhaps, not clear enough.

Much will be recognized as controversial.

This book is neither theoretical study, no more leadership. It's just notes about my understanding of writing and my experience.

Huge layers of ideological substantiations of our writing work are not affected in the book, since we have no big differences in this area. The heroic and educational value of the literature is clear for everyone.

In this book I told only the little thing that I managed to tell.

But if at least in a small share managed to transfer the reader an idea of \u200b\u200bthe excellent essence of writing work, then I will assume that I fulfilled my duty to literature.

Chekhov

His notebooks live in literature on their own, as special genre. He enjoyed little by their work.

how interesting genre There are notebooks of Ilf, Alphonse Dode, the diaries of Tolstoy, the brothers of the Honor, french writer Renar and many other writers and poets records.

As an independent genre, notebooks have the full right to exist in the literature. But I, contrary to the opinion of many - writers, I consider them almost useless for the main writing work.

Some time I led notebooks. But every time I took an interesting entry from the book and inserted it into a story or story, then this particular piece of prose turned out to be inanimate. He drank from the text, as something alien.

I can only explain this to the fact that the best selection of the material produces memory. What remains in memory has not been forgotten - this is the most valuable. The same thing you need to write down to not forget, - less valuable and rarely can be useful to the writer.

Memory, as a fabulous sieve, passes the garbage through itself, but delays gold grains.

Chekhov had the second profession. He was a doctor. Obviously, every Writer would be useful to know the second profession and to do it for a while.

The fact that Chekhov was a doctor, not only gave him knowledge of people, but also affected his style. If Chekhov were not a doctor, then perhaps he would not create such an acute as a scalpel, analytical and accurate prose.

Some of his stories (for example, "Chamber No. 6", "boring story", "Pumping", and many others) are written as exemplary psychological diagnoses.

His prose did not tolerate the slightest dust and spots. "We must throw out too much," wrote Chekhov, "to clean the phrase from" as "," with help ", it is necessary to take care of its musicality and not allow in one phrase almost near" became "and" stopped ".

He brutally cast out of prose words as "appetite", "Flirt", "ideal", "disk", "screen". They caused disgust.

Chekhov's life is instructive. He spoke of himself that for many years I squeezed out the slave from myself. It is worth expanding the photos of Chekhov by year - from the youth to recent years Life, - In order to make sure that it gradually disappears from his appearance a lightweight meshness, and how everything is more stricter, more and more beautifully, his clothes are made and worse.

We have a corner in the country, where everyone keeps part of their heart. This is a Chekhov house on an opening room.

For the people of my generation, this house - as lit from the inside window. You can see your half-selling child from a dark garden. And to hear the tender voice of Maria Pavlovna - the nice Chekhovskaya Masha, which is also known and in relation to the relative loves almost the whole country.

The last time I was in this house in 1949.

We sat with Maria Pavlovna on the bottom terrace. Thickets of white fragile colors closed the sea and Yalta.

Maria Pavlovna said that this magnificent bunker was planted by Anton Pavlovich and somehow called him, but she could not remember this wisdom name.

She said it was so simple that Chekhov was alive, was here quite recently and went somewhere for a while - to Moscow or Nice.

I threw Camellia in the Chekhovsky Garden and presented it with her girl who was with us from Mary Pavlovna. But this carefree "lady with Camellia" dropped the flower from the bridge to the rice river, and he sailed into the Black Sea. It was impossible to be angry with her, especially on this day, when it seemed that we could meet with Chekhov at each turn of the street. And he will be unpleasant to hear how the seruly disguised girl is banging for such a nonsense as a lost flower from his garden.

a completely brief content of the story of K. Powesta Golden Rose. Powesty Golden Rosa

1. Golden Rose

   1955
   Summary Tale
   Read in 15 minutes
   original 6 C.
   Precious dust
   

   Inscription on boulder
   

   Flowers made of chips
   

   First story
   

   Lightning
   

2. http://www.litra.ru/composition/get/coid/00202291295129831965/woid/00016101184773070195/
3. Golden Rose

   1955
   Summary Tale
   Read in 15 minutes
   original 6 C.
   Precious dust
   The trashman Jean Chamet removes craft workshops in the Paris suburb.

   Serving a soldier during the Mexican war, Shames fell ill with fever, and he was sent to his homeland. The regimental commander instructed Shames to take his eight-year-old daughter Suzanne to France. All the way Chamets took care of the girl, and Suzanna willingly listened to his stories about the golden rose, which brings happiness.

   One day, Shames meets a young woman in which Susann will find out. Crying, she says Shames that she changed her lover, and no now at home. Susanna settles the shame. Five days later she puts up with his beloved and leaves.

   After breaking down from Susanny, Chamets will cease to throw away from the jewelry workshops, in which there will always remain a little gold dust. He builds a small flower and translates jewelry dust. Gold Famer mined for many days will give a jeweler for making a golden rose.

   Rose is ready, but the flames will find out that Suzanna went to America, and the following was lost. He throws work and ill. No one cares for him. Only a jeweler who made a rose visits him.

   Soon the shames dies. The jeweler will sell a rose to the elderly writer and tells him the story of the Chamete. Rose is represented by a writer with a prototype of creative activity, in which, like from these precious dust, a live flow of literature is born.

   Inscription on boulder
   Powesty will live in a small house at the Riga seaside. Nearby lies a big granite boulder with the inscription in the memory of everyone who died and perishing in the sea. Pouustovsky considers this inscription a good epigraph to the book on writing work.

   Writing vocation. The writer seeks to convey to people of thoughts and feelings that exciting himself. At the order of the call of his time and the people, the writer could become a hero, to make heavy trials.

   An example of this is the fate of the Dutch writer Edward Decker, known under the pseudonym of Multatulyuli (Lat. Multiplay). Serving government official On the island of Java, he defended Yavavans and stood on their side when they rebelled. Multatuli died and without waiting for justice.

   The artist Vincent Wang Gogh was equally dedicated to his work. He was not a fighter, but the VNS in the treasury of the future his paintings, chanting the Earth.

   Flowers made of chips
   The greatest gift to us from childhood poetic perception of life. Man who preserved this gift becomes a poet or writer.

   During his poor and bitter youth, Pouustovsky writes poems, but soon understands that his poems are tinsel, flowers from painted chips, and instead they write their first story.

   First story
   This history of the paustovsky will find out from a resident of Chernobyl.

   Jew Yosika falls in love with Christ Christ. The girl also loves his little, red, with a squeaky voice. Christ moves into the house of Yoska and lives with him as a wife.

   The town begins to worry the Jew lives with Orthodox. Yoska decides to bother, but Father Mikhail refuses him. Yoska leaves, the wrap of the priest.

   Having learned about the decision of the yoska, Rabbi curses his family. For insulting the priest, Yoska is in prison. Chither dies from grief. The fixer produces yoska, but he loses the mind and becomes a beggar.

   Returning to Kiev, Paustovsky writes his first story about it, in the spring reread it and understands the author of the author before the love of Christists.

   Pouustovsky believes that the stock of his everyday observations is very poor. He throws to write and fluttered in Russia for ten years, changes professions and communicates with the most different people.

   Lightning
   The idea is zipper. It occurs in the imagination, saturated with thoughts, feelings, memory. For the appearance of the plan, you need a push, which can be Sun, which happens around us.

   The embodiment of the plan is shower. Conclusion