The most popular works of Bunin. Bunin stories
White Deer. The shooter goes to the green meadows, In those meadows sedge and kuga, In those meadows, everything is cheer and flowers, Spring water is poured from the bottom.
The night is growing pale ... A veil of fogs. The night is turning pale ... The veil of fog In the hollows and meadows is becoming whiter, The forest is more resounding, the moon is lifeless And the silver dew on the glass is colder.
In a country chair, at night, on the balcony .... In a country chair, at night, on the balcony ... The ocean's lullaby noise ... Be trusting, meek and calm, Take a break from thoughts.
In the forest, in the mountain, there is a spring, alive and sonorous. In the forest, in the mountain, a spring, alive and ringing, Above the spring is an old cabbage roll With a blackened popular print icon, And in the spring there is a birch bark.
Evening. We always only remember about happiness. And happiness is everywhere. Maybe it is - This autumn garden behind the barn And clean air pouring through the window.
A full month is high. Highly full month stands In the skies above the misty land, Pale light silvery meadows, Drinking white haze.
Mr. from San Francisco. The gentleman from San Francisco - no one remembered his name either in Naples or in Capri - went to the Old World for two whole years, with his wife and daughter, solely for the sake of entertainment.
Dense green spruce forest by the road. Dense green spruce near the road, Deep fluffy snow. A deer walked in them, mighty, thin-legged, Throwing back heavy horns to the back.
Village beggar. Aside from the road, under an oak tree, Under the scorching rays, he sleeps In a zipunishke, roughly darned, An old beggar, a gray-haired invalid; He was exhausted from long road And lay down under the border to rest.
Childhood . The hotter the day, the sweeter it is in the forest To breathe a dry resinous aroma, And it was fun for me in the morning to Wander through these sunny chambers!
Also cold and cheese. The February air is also cold and cheese, but over the garden The sky is looking with a clear gaze, And the world of God is getting younger.
The morning is not soon, not soon. The morning is not soon, not soon, the night has not left the quiet forests. Under the canopies of the sleepy forest there is a warm predawn haze.
Thank you for everything, Lord! ... Thank you for everything, Lord! You, after a day of anxiety and sorrow, Grant me the evening dawn, The vastness of the fields and the meekness of the blue distance.
Forgotten fountain. A chamber of amber was scattered, - From edge to edge an alley to the house runs through. The cold breath of September Carries the wind through the empty garden.
Desolation. Home I walked along the slope along the Oka, Along the copses, the banks of the mountains, Admiring the steel of the winding river And the horizon is low and spacious.
Lull. Behind the gray days and on dark nights The bright farewell time has come. The day quietly slumbers over the quiet fields, And the delight of the evening blows.
Why and what to talk about? ... ... Why and what to talk about? All my soul, with love, with dreams, Try to open my whole heart - And with what?
The star trembles in the middle of the universe .... The star trembles among the universe ... Whose wondrous hands carry Some kind of precious moisture Such an overflowing vessel? A flaming star, chalice of Earthly sorrows, heavenly tears Why, oh Lord, over the world have you lifted my being?
Mirror . The winter day is darkening, calmness and gloom Descend on the soul - and everything that was reflected, What was in the mirror, faded, was lost.
And here again, at dawn. And now again, along the dawn In the heights, deserted and free, The villages of birds fly to the seas, Blackening in a triangular chain.
And flowers, and bumblebees, and grass, and ears. And flowers, and bumblebees, and grass, and ears, And azure, and midday heat ... The time will come - the Lord of the prodigal son will ask: “Have you been happy in earthly life?
How light, how elegant is spring! ... How light, how smart is spring! Look me in the eye as you used to. And tell me: why are you sad? Why have you become so affectionate? But you are silent, you are weak as a flower ... Oh, be silent! I do not need recognition: I learned this caress of farewell, - I'm alone again!
When the dark city descends. When the dark city descends In the dead of night, a deep sleep, When a blizzard, whirling, starts a chime in the bell towers, - How terribly the heart stops!
Epiphany night. A dark spruce forest with snow, like fur, Was covered with gray frosts, In sparkles of frost, as if in diamonds, Birches dozed, bending over.
Lapti. The fifth day smelled like an impenetrable blizzard. In the white with snow and cold farmhouse there was a pale gloom and there was great sorrow: the child was seriously ill.
Summer night . “Give me a star,” the sleepy child repeats, “Give me, Mommy ...” She, hugging him, Sits with him on the balcony, on the steps leading to the garden.
Leaf fall. The forest, like a painted tower, Lilac, golden, crimson, A cheerful, variegated wall Stands over a bright glade.
We met by chance, at the corner. ... We met by chance, at the corner. I walked quickly - and suddenly, like the light of a summer lightning, I cut through the half-darkness Through the black radiant eyelashes.
On the window, silver with frost. On the window, silver with frost, Chrysanthemums bloomed overnight. In the upper windows - the sky is bright blue And stuck in the snow dust.
On the pond. On a clear morning on a quiet pond, swallows briskly soar around, They sink to the water itself, A little bit touching the moisture with their wing.
The day will come - I will disappear. The day will come - I will disappear, And in this empty room Everything will be the same: a table, a bench Yes, an image, ancient and simple.
No birds visible. Submissively withers away. No birds visible. The Forest, deserted and sick, is obediently withering away. The mushrooms are gone, but it smells strong In the ravines of mushroom dampness.
There is no sun, but light ponds. There is no sun, but ponds of lights, They stand as molded mirrors, And the bowls of motionless water Would seem completely empty, But the gardens were reflected in them.
I alone meet the days of the Joyful week. Alone I meet the days of the Joyful week, - In the wilderness, in the north ... And there you have spring: The snow has melted in the field, the forests have become cheerful, The distance of the flooded meadows is azure and clear; Shyly white birch turns green, Clouds are passing higher and more tender,
Asters are falling in the gardens. Asters are falling in the gardens, The slender maple under the window turns yellow, And the cold fog in the fields White motionless all day.
First matinee, silver frost. First matinee, silver frost! Silence and resounding cold at dawn. The track of wheels turns green with a fresh gloss On the silver expanse, in the yard.
Before sunset came running. Before sunset a cloud ran over the forest - and suddenly On the hill a rainbow fell, And all around sparkled.
Wildflowers . In the sparkle of the lights, behind the mirrored glasses, Expensive flowers bloom magnificently, Their delicate smells are tender and sweet, Leaves and stems are full of beauty.
The last bumblebee. Black velvet bumblebee, golden mantle, Mournfully humming with a melodious string, Why are you flying into a human's dwelling And as if you yearn for me?
Ghosts. No, the dead did not die for us! There is an old Scottish legend, That their shadows, invisible to the eye, At midnight hour they go to us on a date, That dusty harps hanging on the walls, Mysteriously touch their hands And awaken in dormant strings
Early, barely visible dawn. Early, barely visible dawn, Heart of sixteen. The drowsy haze of the garden Linden-colored warmth. Quiet and mysterious house With an extreme cherished window. The curtain is in the window, and behind it is the sun of my universe.
Peregrine Falcon. In the fields, far from the estate, Millet mist winters. There are wolf weddings herd, There are shreds of wool and droppings.
Cricket. This a little story the saddler Sverchok, who had been working with another saddler all November, told me. Vasily, at the landowner Remer.
Svyatogor and Ilya. On maned horses on shaggy ones, On golden stirrups on spread ones, The brothers, the youngest and the oldest, are riding, They ride for a day, and two, and three, They see a simple trough in the field, They run into a coffin, but a big one: A deep coffin, hollowed out of oak,
Skillful master words beautifully expressed his thoughts, competently built his own convictions and perfectly conveyed to the listener all the splendor of Russian nature, enchanting with its extraordinary colors and landscapes. Bunin touched upon many topics in his creative masterpieces - love for the homeland, peasant life, the absurdity of revolutionary upheavals in Russia, the tragic finale of human life and the passionate relationship of loving hearts.
Each work of Ivan Alekseevich awakens certain feelings, the reader is inspired by the author's frankness and emotionally experiences together with the main characters, as if getting used to the role fictional people... All fans of the work of the great Russian writer find something dear and soulful in the works of Bunin.
Ivan Bunin was an excellent writer and an extraordinary poet. Picturesque descriptions natural phenomena, painful experiences for home country, inspired slogans and longing for a beloved woman ... All these themes tell each new generation about important, vital things that cannot be ignored and difficult to forget. It is necessary to read the works of a talented Russian writer with special care, only in this way can you understand the whole sincerity and truthfulness of human life.
Creativity of Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
The unique writer left behind many literary works: melodic poems, intriguing stories, an impressive novel and numerous prose. The author was often engaged in translation activities, so famous novels can also be found in the list of his works. foreign writers, with the plot of which Russian readers were able to get acquainted thanks to the professionally performed work of Ivan Alekseevich. Bunin's works are interesting and informative for everyone. His stories are read with pleasure by schoolchildren while studying the work of the great Russian author according to the program. There are many middle-aged and mature people among his fans. These people who lived long life, are inspired by the humanity and frankness of Ivan Alekseevich. The author was often fond of philosophy, loved to reflect on life and death, as if trying to look beyond the edge of being. He expounded his thoughts in art.
The writer was worried about many problems of mankind. He was sick with all his soul for his country, saw the disastrous consequences for the homeland, provoked by the revolutionary process. He was always oppressed by injustice towards poor peasants living in scarce villages and often in need of basic necessities.
Bunin's stories
Bunin openly described all his experiences in stories. V creative works he touched upon many topics that are close enough for every citizen of our country. The most intriguing stories of the famous Russian writer, with a fascinating storyline, were published in a unique collection “ Dark alleys»."Dark Alleys" were painted far from their homeland, on French soil, during the emigration of Ivan Alekseevich. The first book was published in 1943. It consists of three parts, almost all of the stories from this magnificent collection are devoted to the theme of love.
1 part:
✔ "Caucasus"
✔ "Ballad"
✔ "Stepa"
✔ "Muse"
✔« Late hour»
Part 2:
✔ "Rusya"
✔ "Beauty"
✔ "Fool"
✔ "Antigone"
✔ "Smaragd"
✔ "Guest"
✔ "Wolves"
✔ "Business Cards"
✔ "Zoya and Valeria"
✔ "Tanya"
✔ "In Paris"
✔ "Galya Ganskaya"
✔ "Heinrich"
✔ "Natalie"
Part 3:
✔ "In one familiar street"
✔ "River Inn"
✔ "Kuma"
✔ "Start"
✔ "Dubki"
✔ "Young Lady Klara"
✔ Madrid
✔ "Second coffee pot"
✔ "Iron wool"
✔ "Cold Autumn"
✔ "Steamer" Saratov ""
✔ "Raven"
✔ Camargue
✔ "One hundred rupees"
✔ "Revenge">
✔ "Swing"
✔« Clean Monday»
✔ "Chapel"
✔ "Spring, in Judea"
✔ "Accommodation"
In addition to stories from the collection "Dark Alleys", Ivan Alekseevich wrote other famous works, impressive with an original storyline, vivid storytelling and sharpness of thought.
Dark Alleys short story
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin wrote his favorite story in 1938. The plot is based on the theme of love, and most importantly literary direction made in the style of neorealism. For the first time, the work was published in the publication "New Earth" (New York) in 1943. The protagonist of the story "Dark Alleys" is a sixty-year-old man, Nikolai Alekseevich. He was a military man, had a wife and a son, and in the past, he had a beloved woman named Nadezhda, but due to certain circumstances, their relationship did not work out.
The former lover, a 48-year-old woman, was the hostess of an inn. Nadezhda sincerely loved Nikolai Alekseevich, and even the fact of betrayal on his part (after all, he was the initiator of the break), did not affect her feelings. All her life she remained devoted to her beloved person, so she never got married.
The work also features the character Klim, who serves as the coachman of Nikolai Alekseevich.
The main storyline of the story is built on a chance meeting of two former lovers. Their sudden conversation, after thirty years of separation, awakens frankness. The hero confesses to Nadezhda that all these years he was deeply unhappy and regrets the deed he did in his youth. Only now did he admit to her, and to himself, that at that moment he had lost the most precious thing that could have been in his life. Comparing all the events of the past and the present, Nikolai Alekseevich thinks about how his fate could have developed if he had not abandoned his beloved woman and built a married life with her.
In this story, the author reflects on the most serious problem of humanity - love, open and passionate, zealous and tragic, joyful and painful ... Is time subject to real feelings? Can years erase real feelings from the memory and heart of a person in love? Or does the passing years leave only a trail of pleasant memories that often warm the soul of a person in unfortunate times? The reader can get an answer to all these questions if he reads the romantic and somewhat tragic work of I.A. Bunin - "Dark Alley".
Story "Clean Monday", summary
In 1944, Bunin wrote another interesting story, which is also included in the collection "Dark Alleys" - "Clean Monday". This work also belongs to neo-realism and has a love story. An antithesis is clearly visible here, an artistic technique aimed at a detailed opposition of the images of the main characters, their everyday life, spirituality and other important aspects. The main character of the story is a daringly handsome and young man from the Penza province. He is in love with a beautiful girl. The work is based on the emotional story of this person.
His beloved, a beautiful swarthy girl with dark hair and black eyes, lives in a rented apartment in Moscow. In the final part of the story, she leaves for a monastery. It is about this damn beautiful and charming heroine that the young man tells his love story.
Their romantic relationship took shape in a big city. The young man presented his beloved with gifts and flowers, they spent a lot of time together, went to concerts, to restaurants and to the theater.
The young people were a wonderful couple, they looked spectacular with each other. He is handsome and funny guy, outwardly similar to the Italian macho. She is a silent, but quite intelligent beauty, whose appearance was comparable to the features of Persian and Indian girls.
The young man was inspired by her beauty and grace, but he was always oppressed by her indifference towards him. It seemed that only love and respect for her father lived in her heart, and the dear chosen one was like an appendix to the daily life of the main character.
Once, the young man made an offer to his beloved, but was refused in response. Despite this, he waited and believed that her indifference would sooner or later disappear, and instead of this ridiculous feeling, true love would wake up in the heart of the chosen one.
Their relationship continued, and soon, during a visit to the Novodevichy Convent, which happened on Forgiveness Sunday, the girl reveals her secret to her lover. She is sincerely passionate about the life of the monastery, often visits religious institutions and even dreams of leaving everyday life into this world. The guy is confused, he did not expect such confessions from his bride.
At the end of the story, the young man describes her sudden departure to the city of Tver. She told the young man about her decision in early morning, this was their last meeting outside the monastery. The guy longed for his beloved, led a dissolute life, often visited taverns. This separation seemed to have crossed out his whole life. She went to a monastery, and it is no longer possible to return her to her arms.
Years later, on Clean Monday, he will visit the Archangel Cathedral, where among the marching nuns religious procession, will notice the charming dark eyes of your beloved ...
This story amazes the reader with the depth of the disclosed topics, forcing each of us to think about the meaning of human and spiritual life. main character made her choice, giving pure and bright love in return for religious beliefs. An intriguing storyline will appeal to every reader who respects the sincere feelings of love and the free choice of a person.
Love is a feeling about which a lot has been said in Russian classical literature. Some of the authors touched upon the theme of love in passing. But there were also those who boldly walked towards her, devoting their work to her mysterious and incomprehensible sides. The most mysterious and controversial human emotions are devoted to love. The list of these works is a gallery of beautiful poetic stories, which, as a rule, have a sad and touching outcome.
"Dark alleys"
The problem of love in Bunin's stories lies in the transience and inconstancy of this feeling. Tragic story love becomes when feelings were fleeting for one of its participants. So, in the story "Dark Alleys", an elderly military man, accidentally dropping by, meets his old love there, which he does not immediately recognize. Many years have passed since their last meeting. She became the hostess of the inn, a hard and cold woman. But this was not always the case. Such was her unrequited feelings for Nikolai Alekseevich - that same military man, her occasional guest. To the man who brutally abandoned her thirty years ago.
In his youth, he read her lyric poems "Dark Alleys", and she called him Nikolenka. Now he admits that he was not happy for a minute of his life. But nothing can be fixed, and Nikolai Alekseevich leaves the inn with a heavy heart and with vague disturbing memories.
"Caucasus"
The motive of love in Bunin's stories is often associated with betrayal, which leads a person to a tragic ending. In the story "Caucasus", on the one hand, the happiness of two lovers is shown. On the other hand, there is the tragedy of a deceived husband. Little is said about him in this story. The reader only knows that this is a tough and decisive person. In the eyes of a frivolous wife, he appears as a hindrance and annoying obstacle on the path to happiness. But at the moment when lovers are exhausted with passion, this " tough man»Realizes that he has been betrayed and commits suicide.
Bunin describes the emotions of the deceived husband and his death sparingly and dispassionately. The happy experiences of the wife and her lover are depicted against the backdrop of a colorful southern landscape. This literary device creates a sharp contrast between happiness and tragedy, which are engendered equally by love.
"Styopa"
About how human happiness can be unattainable, they tell how impossible better stories Bunin about love. Summary the story "Styopa" gives the impression of a familiar plot. But art forms, characteristic of the author, allow us to see in classic history about the "poor dishonored girl" new shades.
The young merchant Krasilshchikov, having driven into a familiar room, finds the master's daughter alone. The father went to the city. The merchant, taking advantage of the situation, approaches the girl. For him, this story is an entertaining adventure, which he happily forgets after two days. For her - the hope of happiness. The story does not show the tragedy of a common girl. Only her hopes and dreams are present here, creating the opposite of the indifference and frivolity of the protagonist.
"Muse"
The world of men and the world of women for Ivan Bunin are in constant antagonism. Bunin's narrative is characterized by a sharp change in the hero's life circumstances, which is not a consequence of any events. Changes in the character's life occur under the influence of his feelings for a woman, who often has an image of a selfish and eccentric nature. The question of what kind of love in Bunin's stories does not have a sad ending can be answered unequivocally: there is no such love. The writer paid no attention to the life-affirming power of this feeling.
The main character will not suffer a fatal fate, which is often the end of Bunin's stories about love. A summary of the misadventures of the protagonist of the short story "Muse" is reduced to a description life together with a beloved and separation from her, which comes as suddenly as a meeting. An unexpected parting confuses him, causes a feeling of emptiness.
The narration is in the first person. The main character takes painting lessons, but does not show in fine arts any abilities. From a short introduction, which precedes the acquaintance with the heroine, who has the symbolic name Muse, the reader concludes that the narrator is not a strong-willed person. He is not able to influence the course of events in his life. One day the Muse comes to him, draws him along, his life changes. But when the girl-muse loses interest in him, another, equally weak-willed character takes his place.
"Late hour"
Bunin's prose is characterized by the catastrophic nature of being, a feeling of loneliness and the illusory nature of happiness. Undoubtedly, these features were the result of the difficult fate of the author, although there are no direct autobiographical references in his work.
During the years when the story "Late Hour" was written, the writer was abroad. The work is dedicated to the memories of a long-gone love that accompany the author during his journey through hometown... Passing over the bridge, the bazaar and the Monastyrskaya square, he restores the lost images in his memory. The past and the present are combined into one whole. This whole becomes the awareness of the perishability of all living things on earth. The logical conclusion of a trip around the city is a cemetery. In the story, it is a symbol of the fragility of love. This cemetery contains the grave of the beloved. An analysis of Bunin's stories about love allows us to see the connection between the lyric motives of the writer and nostalgia and awareness of the frailty of life.
"Fool"
Tragic love in Bunin's stories is not always beautiful. And sometimes it can be compared rather with an animal passion, which can only be experienced by an extremely narcissistic and selfish person. In the center of the story "Fool" is a very immoral and hypocritical person.
The master's son spends the summer with his parents. As a student at a theological seminary, he shows brilliant academic success. Moreover, his spiritual and moral world is extremely poor. Taking advantage of the irresponsibility of the fool-cook, he possessed her: "She could not even shout out of fear." The impunity of these actions led to the fact that the young man repeated them more than once. In the end, the cook gave birth to a boy. But the sight of the child, like the appearance of the "fool" herself, depressed the master's son, and he ordered to drive her out of the yard. Since then, she wandered the streets with her son, begging for alms "for Christ's sake."
The hypocrisy and cruelty of the main character acquire a particularly strong effect because he has a clerical rank, is a minister of the church. The story is simple, but thanks to Ivan Bunin's unique style, it evokes strong feelings in the reader. The wanderings of the young mother are not supplemented with tearful emotions, but are described very briefly and succinctly. The author says only a few words about the child: "He was ugly, but when he smiled, he was very nice."
"Antigone"
This story from the collection "Dark Alleys" tells of mutual passion. A young student is visiting his close relatives. Uncle - a general chained to In his house, the young man is bored and dreary. Out of boredom, he indulges in fantasies, compares himself to Pushkin's Onegin. But he does not adjust the pillows to the general and does not bring medicine. These responsibilities lie with the nurse - a lovely young lady.
At first glance, passion is born. But a student cannot meet a girl. She is somewhere close, her room is behind the wall, but still the girl is not yet available. One fine day she appears in his room, and the next morning the general's nephew meets in her bed. The connection is instantly revealed, and the young woman has no choice but to leave the estate. What did this fleeting relationship become for her? Passion? Falling in love? The peculiarities of Bunin's stories about love are, first of all, innuendo and mystery. For some questions, the reader has to find the answers himself.
"Business Cards"
The diverse palette of human feelings is reflected in Bunin's stories about love. List love stories include stories about fateful feelings, and about selfish passion, and fleeting attraction. Relations with casual companions are discussed in the story "Business Cards".
He - famous writer... She is a poor, simple-hearted girl. Her husband, in her own words, is a kind and completely uninteresting person. The feeling that life is wasted pushes the young woman to love adventures... Her naivety and inexperience touch and attract the writer. The life of this woman is so monotonous and gray that after meeting and a short communication with a beautiful and famous person she is ready to indulge in simple, unromantic debauchery in order to give her existence at least some bright colors. Which is what happens in her cabin. At the end of the story, she appears before the reader in a different form: "quiet, with lowered eyelashes."
"Zoya and Valeria"
Bunin devotes stories about love to an all-consuming and sometimes deadly feeling. The list of characters in Dark Alley is not easy to make, as many of them are faceless. In the foreground in the stories of this cycle is not a person with characteristic appearance and habits, but the feeling that governs his actions. Georges Levitsky is one of the few characters who is not devoid of name and appearance.
He is brooding, melancholy, sloppy. Love comes to him not with the appearance of the chosen one, but much earlier. He expects this feeling, but to whom it will be addressed, at the beginning of the story, he still does not know. Whether it will be the daughter of a colleague Georges, or a distant relative, it does not matter. What is important is that one day Valeria appears, and it is on her that this nervous and sensual character directs all his power of experience. Valeria, like many other Bunin heroines, is impartial and cold. Her indifference prompts the main character of the story "Zoya and Valeria" to commit suicide.
"Tanya"
Some of Bunin's stories about love have a hidden historical background. The list of stories about happiness is supplemented by the story "Tanya". Here we are talking about love between the maid of a small landowner and a certain young man. All that is known about him is that Tanya called him affectionately Petrusha and he led a chaotic and wandering life. One autumn night, he took possession of her. At first, this frightened the girl, but later the fear receded into the background, and in its place, attachment began to grow and develop. But they were not destined to be together. Their last meeting took place in February of the terrible seventeenth year.
"In Paris"
In emigration, people, more than ever, experience a sense of melancholy and loneliness. It was in this atmosphere that Bunin's stories about love were created. The list of works of those years includes the short story "In Paris". The main character is a former officer of the Russian army forced to leave his homeland. In a small Russian restaurant, he meets a waitress - a woman of Russian descent. The fates of these two people have been crippled by the revolution. They are united by loneliness, desire to love and be loved. The life of these characters, such strangers against the backdrop of the Parisian cityscape, takes on meaning again. But Bunin's love cannot last long. It, like a flash, lights up and goes out again. The protagonist of the story "In Paris" suddenly dies in a subway car.
"Henry"
In this story, Ivan Bunin created an image of the Don Juan type. In the center of the story is the writer Glebov. His life is full of lies. He is surrounded by women, but has no affection for them. Except for one - a translator and journalist, writing under the pseudonym Heinrich. But even with this lady, he is insincere when he tells her that she is only for him true friend and an understanding interlocutor. In reality, Glebov is seized with jealousy. After all, Heinrich also has a person to whom she lies and whom she uses in her whole. The culmination is a small newspaper article, from which the main character learns about the death of his beloved. An analysis of Bunin's stories about love demonstrates Bunin's special handwriting. The poetic artistic style with which the author conveys the emotions of lovers contrasts with the dry newspaper style, which informs about the death of the heroine of this story. A similar technique is found in other works of Bunin.
The motives of separation and death
"Dark and gloomy alleys" keeps love in Bunin's stories. Briefly about these works in this spirit was expressed by the author himself. Hence the name of the famous cycle. The life of Ivan Bunin's heroes takes on meaning only with the arrival of a deep feeling. But love in his works has a fleeting and tragic character... As a rule, the relationship between a man and a woman ends in death or separation. This pessimistic view is due to personal tragedy the author, forced to be alone for many years, abroad.
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Ivan Bunin, Alexander Kuprin, Anton Chekhov
The best about love
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"What an open space!" Repin I. Ye.
From the publisher
How often do we hear and say the word "love" ... For many centuries, poets, writers, philosophers and the most ordinary people tried to find a definition for this feeling, to describe it. But so far, no one has been able to answer the question: what is love? Probably because this feeling is multifaceted and contradictory: it can uplift, but it can also bring down to the very bottom, it can give wings, or it can deprive the desire to live, it can make you commit wonderful reckless acts and push a person to meanness and betrayal.
The Bible says: “Love is longsuffering, merciful, love does not envy, love is not exalted, is not proud, does not rage, does not seek its own, does not get irritated, does not think evil, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth; Covers everything, believes everything, hopes everything, endures everything. Love never ceases, although prophecies will cease, and tongues will cease, and knowledge will be abolished. " Not everyone can see it in the everyday hustle and bustle and not everyone will find the strength in themselves for such love, which gives not only joy, but also hurts, and sometimes and kills, because many great love stories in literature are tragic.
Our book includes prose works the brightest representatives Silver Age Russian literature - I. Bunin, A. Kuprin and A. Chekhov, who dedicated their best creations to this feeling - the painful first love; love sudden, striking like lightning; love, which becomes the meaning of all life and bestows the greatest happiness, and sometimes becomes a real obsession and torment.
It was no coincidence that our choice fell on these three great writers. The theme of the relationship between a man and a woman occupies perhaps the most important place in their work. Before you piercing love stories, written in the unsurpassed language of the classics and found their expression in a short literary form- the form of the story.
In the works of Ivan Bunin, love is always tragic, it is spiritualized in its brevity and doom and, reaching its peak, ends in separation and often death of one of the main characters, as in Mitya's Love and Sunstroke. Love was viewed by the writer as raising "the value of the human person to the infinite heights", giving equally "a gentle chaste fragrance" and "the thrill of intoxication" with pure passion.
The "Pomegranate Bracelet" is a masterpiece of Alexander Kuprin - one of the most painful and sad works about love, selfless love, all-forgiving and extraordinary. The plot of the story "Helen", on the contrary, is recognizable and therefore so close to many. The heroes, who were in love with each other in their youth, meet by chance many years later and realize that their pure and sincere youthful love may have been the most important, most real and beautiful thing that happened in their life.
The stories told by Anton Chekhov are also colored by longing for a real and unfulfilled feeling. The writer believed that "love is either the remnant of something degenerating, which was once huge, or it is part of what will develop into something huge in the future, but in the present it does not satisfy, gives much less than you expect." Love in his famous story "The Lady with the Dog" tastes bitter from the impossibility of two loving people find happiness. Heroes meeting true love already in adulthood, they understand how empty and meaningless their life is, and are annoyed at the cruelty of fate, which played a cruel joke with them: she gave love too late, when everyone already has a family, the burden of a joyless personal life, the futility of hopes for the best.
And in the story "Ariadne" love is a way of manipulating one person by another. The heroine, beautiful, but so cold, leads with a man in love with her cruel game, then pushing away, then giving him hope, turning him into an unfortunate puppet.
Enjoy best stories love that came out of the pen of Russian classics, they are dedicated to a wonderful and ambiguous feeling, without which our life is devoid of any meaning!
Moskvoretsky bridge (fragment). Korovin. K. A.
Ivan Bunin
Mitya's love
I
In Moscow, Mitya's last happy day was March 9th. So, at least, it seemed to him.
At twelve o'clock in the morning she and Katya walked up Tverskoy Boulevard. Winter suddenly gave way to spring, it was almost hot in the sun. As if the larks really flew in and brought warmth and joy with them. Everything was wet, everything was melting, drops were dripping from the houses, the janitors were chipping off ice from the sidewalks, throwing sticky snow from the roofs, everywhere it was crowded and lively. Tall clouds parted in thin white smoke, merging with the damp blue sky. In the distance Pushkin stood with blissful pensiveness, the Passionate Monastery shone. But the best thing was that Katya, who was especially pretty that day, breathed all of her innocence and intimacy, often took Mitya's arm with childish trust and looked from below into his face, who seemed happy even a little arrogantly, striding so wide that she could barely keep up with him.
Near Pushkin, she suddenly said:
- How funny you are, with a kind of cute boyish awkwardness you stretch your big mouth when you laugh. Do not be offended, for this smile I love you. And here's another for your Byzantine eyes ...
Trying not to smile, overpowering both secret contentment and slight resentment, Mitya answered amiably, looking at the monument, which had now risen high in front of them:
- As for boyhood, in this respect we seem to be not far from each other. And I look like a Byzantine just as you look like a Chinese empress. You are all just obsessed with these Byzantium, the Renaissance ... I do not understand your mother!
- Well, would you have locked me in the tower in her place? Katya asked.
- Not in the tower, but simply on the threshold would not let all this supposedly artistic bohemia, all these future celebrities from studios and conservatories, from drama schools, - answered Mitya, continuing to try to be calm and friendly careless. - You yourself told me that Bukovetsky already invited you to have dinner in Strelna, and Egorov offered to sculpt naked, in the form of some kind of dying sea wave, and, of course, terribly flattered by such an honor.
- I still won't give up art even for your sake, - said Katya. “Maybe I’m ugly, as you often say,” she said, although Mitya never told her this, “maybe I’m spoiled, but take me as I am. And let's not quarrel, stop being jealous of me even today, on such a wonderful day! How can you not understand that you are still the best for me, the only one? She asked quietly and insistently, already looking into his eyes with pretended seductiveness, and thoughtfully, slowly recited:
A dormant mystery between us
The soul gave the soul a ring ...
This last, these verses already very painfully touched Mitya. In general, a lot, even on that day, was unpleasant and painful. The joke about boyish awkwardness was unpleasant: he had heard such jokes from Katya not for the first time, and they were not accidental, - Katya often showed herself in one or another more adult than he, often (and involuntarily, that is quite naturally) showed her superiority over him, and he painfully perceived this as a sign of her some kind of secret vicious experience. It was unpleasant "after all" ("you are the best for me after all") and the fact that for some reason it was said in a suddenly lowered voice, especially the verses, their mannered reading, were especially unpleasant. However, even the poetry and this reading, that is, the very thing that most of all reminded Mitya of the environment that took Katya away from him, sharply aroused his hatred and jealousy, he transferred relatively easily to this happy day of March 9, his last happy day in Moscow, as often it seemed to him later.
On that day, on the way back from Kuznetsky Most, where Katya bought several of Scriabin's things from Zimmerman, she, by the way, talked about his mother, Mitina, and said, laughing:
- You cannot imagine how I am afraid of her in advance!
For some reason, during all the time of their love, they never touched the question of the future, about how their love would end. And then suddenly Katya started talking about his mother, and spoke in such a way, as if by itself it was implied that mother was her future mother-in-law.
II
Then everything seemed to go on as before. Mitya accompanied Katya to the studio of the Moscow Art Theater, to concerts, literary evenings or sat with her on Kislovka and stayed up until two o'clock in the morning, taking advantage of the strange freedom that her mother gave her, always a smoking, always rouged lady with crimson hair, a sweet, kind woman (who had lived for a long time separately from her husband, who had a second family) ... Katya also ran to see Mitya, to his student rooms on Molchanovka, and their meetings, as before, almost entirely proceeded in a heavy intoxication of kisses. But Mitya persistently thought that something terrible had suddenly begun, that something had changed, that something began to change in Katya.
That unforgettable easy time flew by quickly when they had just met, when they, having barely met, suddenly felt that it was most interesting for them to talk (and even from morning to evening) only with each other - when Mitya so unexpectedly found himself in that fairy world love, which he secretly awaited from childhood, from adolescence. This time was December - frosty, fine, day after day decorating Moscow with thick frost and a dull red ball of low sun. January, February swirled Mitya's love in a whirlwind of continuous happiness, already, as it were, realized, or at least just about ready to come true. But even then something began (and more and more often) to embarrass, poison this happiness. Even then, it often seemed as if there were two Katya: one was the one whom Mitya had insistently desired and demanded from the first minute of his acquaintance with her, and the other was genuine, ordinary, painfully different from the first. And yet Mitya did not experience anything like the present at that time.
Everything could be explained. Spring women's worries began, purchases, orders, endless alterations of one or the other, and Katya really often had to visit the dressmakers with her mother: in addition, she had an exam ahead at the private theater school where she studied. Therefore, her concern, absent-mindedness could be quite natural. And so Mitya constantly consoled himself. But consolations did not help - what the suspicious heart spoke in spite of them was stronger and was confirmed more and more clearly: Katya's inner inattention to him grew, and at the same time his suspiciousness, his jealousy grew. Director theater school dizzy Katya's head with praise, and she could not resist telling Mitya about these praises. The director told her: “You are the pride of my school” - he said “you” to all his students - and, in addition to general studies, he began to study with her later and separately, in order to show her especially at exams. It was already known that he corrupted the students, every summer he took one with him to the Caucasus, to Finland, abroad. And it began to occur to Mitya that now the director has an eye on Katya, who, although she is not to blame for this, nevertheless, probably feels it, understands and therefore is already, as it were, in a vile, criminal relationship with him. And this thought tormented the more since the decrease in Katya's attention was all too obvious.
It seemed that in general, something began to distract her from him. He could not calmly think about the director. But what a director! It seemed that in general some other interests began to prevail over Katina's love. To whom, to what? Mitya did not know, he was jealous of Katya for everyone, for everything, most importantly, for that general, imagined by him, by which, secretly from him, she seemed to have begun to live. It seemed to him that she was irresistibly drawn somewhere away from him and, perhaps, towards something that was even scary to think about.
Once Katya, half in jest, said to him in the presence of her mother:
- You, Mitya, generally talk about women in Domostroi. And the perfect Othello will come out of you. I would never fall in love with you and marry you!
The mother objected:
- And I cannot imagine love without jealousy. He who is not jealous, in my opinion, does not love.
“No, Mom,” said Katya with her constant tendency to repeat other people's words, “jealousy is disrespect for the one you love. So they don't like me if they don't believe me, ”she said, purposely not looking at Mitya.
- And in my opinion, - objected the mother, - jealousy is love. I even read it somewhere. There it was very well proven, and even with examples from the Bible, where God himself is called a jealousy and avenger ...
As for Mitya's love, it was now almost entirely expressed only in jealousy. And this jealousy was not simple, but somehow, as it seemed to him, special. She and Katya had not yet crossed the last line of intimacy, although they allowed themselves too much in those hours when they were alone. And now, at these hours, Katya was even more passionate than before. But now this, too, began to seem suspicious and aroused at times a terrible feeling. All the feelings of which his jealousy consisted were terrible, but among them there was one that was the most terrible of all and which Mitya could not in any way, could not define or even understand. It consisted in the fact that those manifestations of passion, the very thing that was so blissful and sweet, higher and most beautiful in the world as applied to them, Mitya and Katya, became unspeakably disgusting and even seemed something unnatural when Mitya was thinking about Katya and another man. Then Katya aroused an acute hatred in him. Everything that, eye to eye, he himself did with her, was full for him of paradise charm and chastity. But as soon as he imagined someone else in his place, everything changed instantly - everything turned into something shameless, arousing the desire to strangle Katya, and, above all, just her, and not an imaginary rival.
Reflection. Weistling M.
III
On the day of Katya's exam, which took place at last (in the sixth week of Lent), it was as if the whole righteousness of Mitya's torments was especially confirmed.
Then Katya did not see at all, did not notice him, there was a whole stranger, all public.
She was a great success. She was in all white, like a bride, and the excitement made her charming. She was applauded warmly and amicably, and the director, a self-satisfied actor with impassive and sad eyes, who sat in the front row, only for the sake of greater pride sometimes made remarks to her, speaking in a low voice, but somehow that was heard throughout the audience and sounded unbearable.
- Less reading, - he said weightily, calmly and so imperiously, as if Katya was his full ownership... “Don't play, but worry,” he said separately.
And it was unbearable. Yes, the reading itself was intolerable as well, which aroused applause. Katya burned with a hot blush, embarrassment, her voice sometimes broke, she was short of breath, and it was touching, charming. But she read with that vulgar melodiousness, falseness and stupidity in every sound that was considered the highest art reading in that environment, hated by Mitya, in which Katya was already living with all her thoughts: she did not speak, but all the time exclaimed with a kind of annoying languid passion, with an immoderate prayer, unjustified in her persistence, and Mitya did not know where shame for her. Most terrible of all was that mixture of angelic purity and depravity that was in her, in her flushed face, in her white dress, which seemed shorter on the stage, since everyone in the audience looked at Katya from below, in her white shoes and covered silk white stockings legs. “The girl sang in the church choir,” Katya read about some seemingly innocent angelic girl with pretentious, immoderate naivete. And Mitya felt a heightened closeness to Katya - as you always feel in a crowd towards the one you love - and an evil hostility, felt pride in her, the consciousness that after all, she belongs to him, and at the same time heart-breaking pain : no, no longer belongs!
After the exam, they were again happy Days... But Mitya no longer believed them as easily as before. Katya, recalling the exam, said:
- How stupid you are! Didn't you feel that I read something so well just for you alone!
But he could not forget what he felt during the exam, and he could not admit that these feelings had not left him even now. Katya also felt his secret feelings, and once, during a quarrel, she exclaimed:
- I do not understand why you love me, if, in your opinion, everything is so bad in me! And what do you finally want from me?
But he himself did not understand why he loved her, although he felt that his love not only did not diminish, but was growing along with the jealous struggle that he waged with someone, with something because of her, because of this love, because of its intensifying strength, ever-increasing exactingness.
- You love only my body, not my soul! - Katya once said bitterly.
Again these were someone else's, theatrical words, but they, for all their absurdity and hackneyedness, also touched upon something painfully insoluble. He did not know why he loved, could not say exactly what he wanted ... What does it mean in general - to love? It was all the more impossible to answer this because neither in what Mitya heard about love, nor in what he read about it, there was not a single word that precisely defined it. In books and in life, everyone seemed to agree once and for all to speak either only about some kind of almost ethereal love, or only about what is called passion, sensuality. His love was unlike either one or the other. What did he feel for her? What is called love, or what is called passion? Katya's soul or body brought him almost to a swoon, to some kind of dying bliss, when he unbuttoned her blouse and kissed her breasts, heavenly lovely and virgin, opened with a kind of soul of tremendous resignation, shamelessness of the purest innocence?
IV
She changed more and more.
Success on the exam meant a lot. And yet there were some other reasons.
With the onset of spring, Katya somehow immediately turned into some kind of young society lady, smart and all in a hurry. Now Mitya was simply ashamed of her dark corridor, when she came — now she did not come, but always came — when she, rustling with silk, walked quickly along this corridor, her veil down over her face. Now she was invariably tender with him, but she was invariably late and cut off dates, saying that she again had to go with her mother to the dressmaker.
- You see, we are frantic! She said, round, gaily and wondering, glittering her eyes, perfectly realizing that Mitya did not believe her, and nevertheless speaking, since there was now nothing to talk about at all.
And now she almost never took off her hat, and did not let go of her umbrella, sitting on Mitya's bed while flying away and driving him crazy with her calves covered in silk stockings. And before you leave and say that this evening she will not be home again - again you need to see someone with your mother! - she invariably did the same thing, with the obvious purpose of fooling him, rewarding for all his "stupid", as she put it, torment: she looked at the door with a pretense thief, slipped out of bed and, wagging her hips over his legs, spoke in a hasty whisper :
- Well, kiss me!
V
And at the end of April Mitya. finally decided to give himself a rest and go to the village.
He completely tortured himself and Katya, and this torment was all the more unbearable because there seemed to be no reason for her: what really happened, what was Katya to blame? And one day Katya, with the firmness of despair, said to him:
- Yes, go away, go away, I can’t do it anymore! We need to temporarily leave, to sort out our relationship. You have become so thin that your mother is convinced that you have consumption. I can not do it anymore!
And Mitya's departure was decided. But Mitya was leaving, to his great surprise, although he could not remember himself from grief, still almost happy. Once the departure was decided, all of a sudden everything returned. After all, he still passionately did not want to believe anything that terrible, which, day or night, gave him no peace. And the slightest change in Katya was enough for everything to change again in his eyes. And Katya again became tender and passionate without any pretense - he felt this with the unmistakable sensitivity of jealous natures - and again he began to sit with her until two in the morning, and again there was something to talk about, and the closer the departure became, the more everything The parting, the need to "sort things out" seemed more absurd. Once Katya even cried - and she never cried - and these tears suddenly made her terribly dear to him, pierced him with a feeling of acute pity and as if some kind of guilt in front of her.
Katya's mother in early June left for the Crimea for the whole summer and took her away with her. We decided to meet in Miskhor. Mitya was also supposed to come to Miskhor.
And he got ready, made preparations for his departure, walked around Moscow in that strange intoxication that happens when a person is still vigorously on his feet, but is already sick with some kind of serious illness. He was painfully, drunkenly unhappy and at the same time painfully happy, touched by Katya's returning closeness, her concern for him - she even went with him to buy travel belts, as if she were his bride or wife - and in general, the return of almost everything that reminiscent of the first time of their love. And he perceived everything around him in the same way - houses, streets, walking and driving along them, the weather, all the time frowning like a spring, the smell of dust and rain, the church smell of poplars blossoming behind the fences in the alleys: everything spoke of the bitterness of separation and about the sweetness of hope for the summer, for a meeting in the Crimea, where nothing will interfere and everything will come true (although he did not know what exactly was all).
Portrait of a young man Leonid Chernyshev. V. I. Surikov
On the day of departure, Protasov dropped in to say goodbye. Among the high school students, among the students there are often young men who have mastered their manner of behaving with good-natured, gloomy derision, with the air of a person who is older, more experienced than anyone else in the world. Such was Protasov, one of Mitya's closest friends, his only true friend, who knew, despite all Mitya's secrecy, silence, all the secrets of his love. He watched Mitya tie his suitcase, saw his hands shaking, then grinned with sad wisdom and said:
- You are pure children, God forgive me! And behind all that, my dear Werther from Tambov, it’s time to understand that Katya is, first of all, the most typical female nature and that the police master himself will not do anything about it. You, male nature, climb the wall, present the highest demands of the instinct of procreation to it, and, of course, all this is perfectly legal, even in a sense sacred. Your body is the highest mind, as Herr Nietzsche rightly noted. But it is also legal that you can break your neck on this sacred path. There are individuals in the animal world, whom, even according to the state, are supposed to pay the price of their own existence for their first and last love act. But since this state is probably not absolutely necessary for you, then watch your way, take care of yourself. In general, do not rush. "Juncker Schmitt, honestly, summer will return!" The light did not shine with a bast, it did not converge on Katya like a wedge. I see from your efforts to strangle the suitcase that you completely disagree with this, that this wedge is very kind to you. Well, forgive me for the uninvited advice - and may Nicola the Pleasant keep you with all his relatives!
And when Protasov, squeezing Mitya's hand, left, Mitya, tightening the pillow and blanket in his belts, heard through his open window into the courtyard how a student living opposite, learning to sing and exercising from morning to evening, thundered, trying his voice, " Azru ". Then Mitya hurried with the belts, fastened them at random, grabbed the cap and went to Kislovka to say goodbye to Katya's mother. The motive and words of the song that the student sang sounded so persistently and repeated in him that he saw neither the streets nor the oncoming ones, walked even more drunk than everyone else. the last days... Indeed, it looked as if the light had come together like a wedge, that Junker Schmitt wanted to shoot himself with a pistol! Well, well, it’s so close, he thought, and again returned to the song about how, walking in the garden and “beaming with her beauty,” she met the Sultan’s daughter in the garden of a black slave who stood at the fountain “paler than death”, as once she asked him who he was and where he was from, and how he answered her, beginning ominously, but humbly, with sullen simplicity:
I am called Mohammed ... -
and ending with an ecstatic and tragic cry:
- I come from a kind of poor Azrov,
Falling in love, we die!
Katya was dressing to go to the station to see him off, and she shouted to him affectionately from her room - from the room where he had spent so many unforgettable hours! - that she will arrive at the first call. A sweet, kind woman with crimson hair sat alone, smoked and looked at him very sadly - she probably understood everything for a long time, guessed everything. He, all scarlet, trembling inwardly, kissed her tender and flabby hand, bowing his head like a son, and she, with maternal affection, kissed him several times on the temple and made the sign of the cross.
- Eh, dear, - she said with a timid smile in the words of Griboyedov, - live laughing! Well, Christ is with you, go, go ...
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was born on October 22 (October 10, old style) in 1870 in Voronezh into a noble family. The childhood of the future writer was spent on the Butyrki farm in the Eletsky district of the Oryol province.
In 1881, Ivan Bunin entered the Yeletsk gymnasium, but studied for only five years, since the family did not have the means. His elder brother Julius (1857-1921) helped him to master the gymnasium program.
Bunin wrote his first poem at the age of eight.
His first publication was the poem "Over the grave of Nadson", published in the newspaper "Rodina" in February 1887. During the year, several poems by Bunin, as well as the stories "Two Wanderers" and "Nefedka", appeared in the same edition.
In September 1888, Bunin's poems appeared in Books of the Week, where the works of the writers Leo Tolstoy and Yakov Polonsky were published.
From the spring of 1889 began independent life writer - Bunin, following his brother Julius, moved to Kharkov. In autumn he began to work for the newspaper "Orlovsky Vestnik".
In 1891 his student book "Poems. 1887-1891" was published in the supplement "Orlovsky Vestnik". Then Ivan Bunin met Varvara Pashchenko, the proofreader of the newspaper, with whom they began to live in a civil marriage, without getting married, since Varvara's parents were against this marriage.
In 1892 they moved to Poltava, where brother Julius was in charge of the statistical bureau. provincial zemstvo... Ivan Bunin entered the service as a librarian of the zemstvo council, and then as a statistician in the provincial council. At various times he worked as a proofreader, statistician, librarian, newspaper reporter.
In April 1894, the first prose Bunin's story "A Village Sketch" (the title was chosen by the publishing house).
In January 1895, after his wife's betrayal, Bunin left the service and moved first to St. Petersburg, and then to Moscow. In 1898, he married Anna Tsakni, a Greek woman, daughter of the revolutionary and émigré Nikolai Tsakni. In 1900, the couple parted, and in 1905 their son Nikolai died.
In Moscow, the young writer met many famous poets and writers - Anton Chekhov, Valery Bryusov. After meeting Nikolai Teleshov, Bunin became a member of the Wednesday literary circle. In the spring of 1899, in Yalta, he met Maxim Gorky, who later invited him to cooperate with the Znanie publishing house. Ivan Bunin came to literary fame in 1900 after the publication of the story "Antonov apples".
In 1901, the Scorpion publishing house of the Symbolists published a collection of poems "Leaf Fall". For this collection and for the translation of the poem by the American romantic poet Henry Longfellow "The Song of Hiawatha" (1896) by the Russian Academy of Sciences Ivan Bunin was awarded the Pushkin Prize.
In 1902, the publishing house "Knowledge" published the first volume of the writer's works.
In 1906, Bunin met Vera Muromtseva, who came from a noble Moscow professorial family, who became his wife. The Bunin couple traveled a lot. In 1907, the young couple went on a trip to the countries of the East - Syria, Egypt, Palestine. In 1910 they visited Europe and then Egypt and Ceylon. From the fall of 1912 to the spring of 1913, they were in Turkey and Romania, from 1913 to 1914 - in Capri, Italy.
In the fall of 1909, the Academy of Sciences awarded Bunin the second Pushkin Prize and elected him an honorary academician in the category of fine literature.
In the works written after the first Russian revolution of 1905, the theme of the drama of Russian historical fate became dominant. The novellas "Village" (1910) and "Sukhodol" (1912) were a great success among readers.
In 1915-1916, the collections of the writer's stories "The Cup of Life" and "The Lord from San Francisco" were published. In the prose of these years, the writer's idea of the tragedy of the life of the world, of the doom and fratricidal nature of modern civilization is growing.
Ivan Bunin was extremely hostile to the February and October revolutions of 1917 and perceived them as a catastrophe. The diary of events in the life of the country and the writer's thoughts at that time was the book of journalism " Cursed days" (1918).
On May 21, 1918, he left Moscow for Odessa, and in February 1920 he emigrated first to the Balkans and then to France. In France, at first he lived in Paris, but from the summer of 1923 he moved to the Alpes-Maritimes and came to Paris only for some winter months.
Here he turned to intimate, lyrical memories of his youth. The novel "The Life of Arseniev" (1930), as it were, closed the cycle of artistic autobiographies related to the life of a Russian local nobility... One of the central locations in late creativity Bunin was interested in the theme of fatal love-passion, expressed in the works "Mitya's love" (1925), " Sunstroke"(1927), a cycle of short stories" Dark Alleys "(1943).
In 1927-1930 Bunin turned to the genre short story("Elephant", "Veal Head", "Roosters", etc.).
In 1933 he became the first Russian writer to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature "for the true artistic talent with which he recreated in fiction typical Russian character ".
In 1939, with the outbreak of World War II (1939-1945), the Bunins settled in the south of France, in Grasse, at the Villa Jeannette, in 1945 they returned to Paris.
V last years life the writer stopped publishing his works. A lot and seriously ill, wrote "Memoirs" (1950), worked on the book "About Chekhov", which was published posthumously in 1955 in New York.
In the "Literary Testament" he asked to publish his works only in the last author's edition, which formed the basis of his 12-volume collected works, published by the Berlin publishing house "Petropolis" in 1934-1939.
On November 8, 1953, Ivan Bunin died in Paris. Buried in the Russian cemetery Saint-Genevieve-des-Bois.
His wife Vera Muromtseva (1881-1961) left literary memories of the writer "Life of Bunin" and "Conversations with Memory".
In 1988, the I.A. Bunin was opened in Yelets, in 1991 the literary and memorial museum of Ivan Bunin was created in Orel.
In 2004, the annual literary Bunin Prize was established in Russia.
In 2006, the presentation of the first complete 15-volume collection of Ivan Bunin's works in Russian took place in Paris, including three volumes of his correspondence and diaries, as well as the diaries of his wife Vera Muromtseva-Bunina and the writer’s friend Galina Kuznetsova.