Message on the topic Golden Rose Powesty. Paust Konstantin Georgievich

31.03.2019

Biography Haruki Murakov Haruki Murakami emphasis

very summary of the story of K. Powest Golden Rose. Powesty Golden Rosa

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

Inscription on boulder

Flowers made of chips

First story

Lightning
http://www.litra.ru/composition/get/coid/00202291295129831965/woid/00016101184773070195/
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 creative activityin which, as from these precious dust, is born a live flow of literature.

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

This book consists of several stories. In the first story the main character Jean Chamete is in the service in the army. By successful coincidence, it is not possible to learn this service. And now he returns home, but at the same time gets a task to accompany the daughter of his commander. On the way, a little girl does not pay attention to Jean and does not speak him. And it is at this moment that he decides to tell her the whole story of his life to at least cheer.

And here Jean tells the girl legend about the golden rose. According to this legend, the owner of roses immediately became the owner of a huge happiness. This rose was cast from gold, but so that she began to act, she had to give her beloved. Those who tried to sell such a gift immediately became unhappy. Jean seen such a rose only one day, in the house of the old and poor fishermen. But nevertheless, she waited for her happiness and the arrival of the son, and after that, her life began to improve and played with new bright colors.

After for long years Solitude Jean meets his pozdnaya sweetheart Susanne. And decides to cast for it exactly the same rose. But Susanna went to America. Our main character dies, but still learns what happiness is.

This work teaches us to appreciate life, rejoice to each of her moment and of course believe in a miracle.

Picture or drawing golden rose

Other retells for the reader diary

Summary of Kataev in the country
The story is based on the plot taken from the wartime 1941. Russian family with two young children, three-year-old Zhenya and five-year-old Pavlik, because of a sudden attack, the enemy air forces experienced a real horror.
Brief content singing in a thorn McCalow
From the moment of publication, a beautiful Roman-epic Colin McCalow "singing in a thorns" was warmly perceived by both critics and readers and a few years later in the lists of bestsellers.
Short content Gogol Starlavetsky landowners
Very beautiful and appetizing descriptions from which the story begins. Food is practically the only thing that the old people care. All life is subordinated to her: in the morning they hated this or that
Summary of Tafffi your own and strangers
The story begins with the approval that we divide all people on "strangers and their". How? Just about "your" we know how many years they have and how much money they have. These are the most important things for people and concepts always try to hide
Short content of Pharmacist Chekhov
In a small town, sitting by the window toggas the pharmacist. Still sleep, sleeping and old pharmacist. His spouse will not sleep, she misses the window. Suddenly the girl heard the noise and conversation on the street.

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 ideological justification of ours 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 medication. 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.

Konstantin Georgievich Powesta is an outstanding Russian writer who fell in his works of the Meshchersky region and touched the foundations of the people's Russian language. Surchate "Golden Rose" - an attempt to comprehend secrets literary creativity Based on your own writer experience and understanding creativity great writers. The story is based on many years of thought artist over complex problems Psychology of creativity and writing skill.

My devoted friend Tatiana Alekseevna Powest

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

Important questions of ideological justification of our writing work are not affected in the book, since in this area we do not have any significant differences. 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.

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.

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.

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

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. In addition, the random partisan war created many sudden hazards.

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

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?

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

Shamet brought a girl to Rouen and passed away from his hands on his hands with a pinned yellow lips - Susanna's 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!

Mexican fever has undermined the health of the chamote. He was fired from the army without Sergeant rank. He went into civil life with a simple ordinary.

Where is she, Suzanne? What with her? He knew that now she was already an adult girl, and her father died from wounds.