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Story " Easy breath» dedicated eternal problems- beauty and death, love and separation, freedom and necessity.

Basic compositional principle story - contrast. It creates an image main character, the author's position is expressed.

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

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

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

The tragedy of the girl’s fate is largely predetermined by the monotony and soullessness of her environment. Around her there are extremely indifferent people, whose chain is completed by the last link - the “classy lady”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man is the reason for the explosion.

(Why do volcanoes explode?).

Sometimes volcanoes explode with treasure.

Letting it explode is more than getting it.

M. Tsvetaeva.

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

Current page: 41 (book has 41 pages total) [available reading passage: 23 pages]

Easy breath

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

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

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

This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

As a girl, she did not stand out in any way in the crowd of brown school dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was one of the pretty, rich and happy girls that she is capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions that the classy lady gives her? Then she began to blossom and develop by leaps and bounds. At the age of fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms, the charm of which had never yet been expressed human word; at fifteen she was already considered a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how careful they were about their restrained movements! But she was not afraid of anything - not ink stains on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that became bare when falling while running. Without any of her worries or efforts and somehow imperceptibly, everything that distinguished her from the entire gymnasium in the last two years came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, the clear sparkle of her eyes... No one danced at balls like Olya Meshcherskaya , no one skated like she did, no one was courted at balls as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved as much junior classes like her. Imperceptibly she became a girl, and her high school fame was imperceptibly strengthened, and rumors had already spread that she was flighty, could not live without admirers, that the school student Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she supposedly loved him too, but was so changeable in her treatment of him that he attempted suicide.

During her last winter, Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun, as they said in the gymnasium. The winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, the sun set early behind the tall spruce forest of the snowy gymnasium garden, invariably fine, radiant, promising frost and sun for tomorrow, a walk on Sobornaya Street, an ice skating rink in the city garden, a pink evening, music and this in all directions the crowd gliding on the skating rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest. And then one day, during a big break, when she was rushing around the assembly hall like a whirlwind from the first-graders chasing her and squealing blissfully, she was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped running, took only one deep breath, straightened her hair with a quick and already familiar feminine movement, pulled the corners of her apron to her shoulders and, her eyes shining, ran upstairs. The boss, young-looking but gray-haired, sat calmly with knitting in her hands at her desk, under the royal portrait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ran through these lines and right there, on the platform where she was walking, waiting for me to finish reading, I shot at her,” said the officer. - This diary, here it is, look what was written in it on the tenth of July last year. The following was written in the diary: “It’s now two o’clock in the morning. I fell asleep soundly, but woke up immediately... Today I have become a woman! Dad, mom and Tolya all left for the city, I was left alone. I was so happy that I was alone! In the morning I walked in the garden, in the field, was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was alone in the whole world, and I thought as well as never in my life. I had lunch alone, then played for a whole hour, I had such a feeling while listening to music feeling that I would live endlessly and be as happy as anyone. Then I fell asleep in my dad’s office, and at four o’clock Katya woke me up and said that Alexei Mikhailovich had arrived. I was very happy with him, I was so pleased to receive him and borrow. He arrived in a couple of his Vyatkas, very beautiful, and they stood at the porch all the time, he stayed because it was raining, and he wanted it to dry out by the evening. He regretted that he did not find his dad, he was very animated and held treated me like a gentleman, joked a lot that he had been in love with me for a long time. When we walked around the garden before tea, the weather was again lovely, the sun was shining through the whole wet garden, although it had become completely cold, and he led me by the arm and said that he is Faust with Margarita. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very handsome and always well dressed - the only thing I didn’t like was that he arrived in a lionfish - he smells of English cologne, and his eyes are very young, black, and his beard is gracefully divided into two long parts and completely silver. Over tea we sat on the glass veranda, I felt as if unwell and lay down on the ottoman, and he smoked, then moved to me, began again to say some pleasantries, then examined and kissed my hand. I covered my face with a silk scarf, and he kissed me on the lips through the scarf several times... I don’t understand how this could happen, I’m crazy, I never thought I was like this! Now I have only one way out... I feel such disgust for him that I can’t get over it!..”

During these April days, the city became clean, dry, its stones turned white, and it was easy and pleasant to walk along them. Every Sunday, after mass, a small woman in mourning, wearing black kid gloves and carrying an ebony umbrella, walks along Cathedral Street, leading to the exit from the city. She crosses a dirty square along the highway, where there are many smoky forges and the fresh air of the field blows; further, between monastery and the fort, the cloudy slope of the sky turns white and the spring field turns gray, and then, when you make your way among the puddles under the wall of the monastery and turn left, you will see, as it were, a large low garden, surrounded by a white fence, above the gate of which is written the Dormition of the Mother of God. The little woman makes the sign of the cross and walks habitually along the main alley. Having reached the bench opposite the oak cross, she sits in the wind and in the spring cold for an hour or two, until her feet in light boots and her hand in a narrow kid are completely cold. Listening spring birds singing sweetly and in the cold, listening to the sound of the wind in the porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that she would give half her life if only this dead wreath would not be before her eyes. This wreath, this mound, the oak cross! Is it possible that under him is the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how can we combine with this pure gaze the terrible thing that is now associated with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? “But deep down in her soul, the little woman is happy, like all people devoted to some passionate dream.

This woman is the cool lady Olya Meshcherskaya, a middle-aged girl who has long lived in some kind of fiction that replaces her real life. At first, her brother, a poor and unremarkable ensign, was such an invention - she united her whole soul with him, with his future, which for some reason seemed brilliant to her. When he was killed near Mukden, she convinced herself that she was an ideological worker. The death of Olya Meshcherskaya captivated her a new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of her persistent thoughts and feelings. She goes to her grave every holiday, does not take her eyes off the oak cross for hours, remembers the pale face of Olya Meshcherskaya in the coffin, among the flowers - and what she once overheard: one day, during a long break, walking through the gymnasium garden, Olya Meshcherskaya quickly, quickly said to her beloved friend, plump, tall Subbotina:

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

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

Bunin Ivan Alekseevich

Easy breath

Ivan Bunin

Easy breath

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

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

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

This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

As a girl, she did not stand out in any way in the crowd of brown school dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was one of the pretty, rich and happy girls, that she was capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions that the classy lady gave her ? Then she began to blossom and develop by leaps and bounds. At the age of fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms, the charm of which had never yet been expressed by human words, were already clearly outlined; at fifteen she was already considered a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how careful they were about their restrained movements! But she was not afraid of anything - not ink stains on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that became bare when falling while running. Without any of her worries or efforts, and somehow imperceptibly, everything that had so distinguished her from the entire gymnasium in the last two years came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, the clear sparkle of her eyes... No one danced like that at balls, like Olya Meshcherskaya, no one ran on skates like she did, no one was looked after at balls as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved as much by the junior classes as she was. Imperceptibly she became a girl, and her high school fame was imperceptibly strengthened, and rumors had already spread that she was flighty, could not live without admirers, that the school student Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she supposedly loved him too, but was so changeable in her treatment of him that he attempted suicide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the cemetery, above a fresh clay mound, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth. April, gray days; The monuments of the spacious county cemetery are still visible far away through the bare trees, and the cold wind rings the porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross. A rather large, convex porcelain medallion is embedded in the cross itself, and in the medallion is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes. This is Olya Meshcherskaya. As a girl, she did not stand out in any way in the crowd of brown school dresses: what could be said about her, except that she is one of the pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions given to her cool lady? Then she began to blossom and develop by leaps and bounds. At the age of fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms, the charm of which had never yet been expressed in human words, were already well outlined; at fifteen she was already known as a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how they watched their restrained movements! But she was not afraid of anything - not ink stains on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that became bare when falling while running. Without any of her worries or efforts, and somehow imperceptibly, everything that had so distinguished her from the entire gymnasium in the last two years came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, the clear sparkle of her eyes. No one danced at balls like Olya Meshcherskaya, no one ran on skates like she did, no one was looked after at balls as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved by the junior classes like her. She imperceptibly became a girl, and her high school fame was imperceptibly strengthened, and rumors had already spread that she was flighty, could not live without admirers, that the school student Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she supposedly loved him, but was so changeable in her treatment of him that he attempted suicide... During her last winter, Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun, as they said in the gymnasium. The winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, the sun set early behind the tall spruce forest of the snowy gymnasium garden, invariably fine, radiant, promising frost and sun for tomorrow, a party on Sobornaya Street, an ice skating rink in the city garden, a pink evening, music and this crowd sliding in all directions on the skating rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest. And then, one day, during a big break, when she was rushing like a whirlwind around the assembly hall from the first-graders chasing her and blissfully squealing, she was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped running, took only one deep breath, straightened her hair with a quick and already familiar feminine movement, pulled the corners of her apron to her shoulders and, her eyes shining, ran upstairs. The boss, young-looking but gray-haired, sat calmly with knitting in her hands at her desk, under the royal portrait. “Hello, Mademoiselle Meshcherskaya,” she said in French, without raising her eyes from her knitting. “Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have been forced to call you here to talk to you about your behavior.” “I’m listening, madame,” Meshcherskaya answered, approaching the table, looking at her clearly and vividly, but without any expression on her face, and sat down as easily and gracefully as only she could. “You won’t listen to me well, I, unfortunately, am convinced of this,” said the boss and, pulling the thread and spinning a ball on the varnished floor, which Meshcherskaya looked at with curiosity, raised her eyes. “I won’t repeat myself, I won’t speak at length,” she said. Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually clean and large office, which on frosty days breathed so well with the warmth of a shiny Dutch dress and the freshness of lilies of the valley on the desk. She looked at the young king, depicted in full height in the middle of some brilliant hall, at the even parting in the milky, neatly crimped hair of the boss and was silent expectantly. “You’re not a girl anymore,” the boss said meaningfully, secretly beginning to get irritated. “Yes, madame,” Meshcherskaya simply answered cheerfully. “But not a woman either,” the boss said even more meaningfully, and her matte face turned slightly red. - First of all, what kind of hairstyle is this? This is a women's hairstyle! “It’s not my fault, madame, that I have good hair,” Meshcherskaya answered and slightly touched her beautifully decorated head with both hands. - Oh, that’s it, it’s not your fault! - said the boss. - It’s not your fault for your hairstyle, it’s not your fault for these expensive combs, it’s not your fault that you’re ruining your parents for shoes that cost twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you completely lose sight of the fact that you are still only a high school student... And then Meshcherskaya, without losing her simplicity and calmness, suddenly politely interrupted her: “Forgive me, madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman.” And you know who is to blame for this? Dad's friend and neighbor, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. This happened last summer in the village... And a month after this conversation, a Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing in common with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people , who had just arrived by train. And the incredible confession of Olya Meshcherskaya, which stunned the boss, was completely confirmed: the officer told the judicial investigator that Meshcherskaya had lured him, was close to him, vowed to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, accompanying him to Novocherkassk, she suddenly said him that she never thought of loving him, that all this talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and she gave him to read that page of the diary that talked about Malyutin. “I ran through these lines and right there, on the platform where she was walking, waiting for me to finish reading, I shot at her,” said the officer. - This diary is here, look what was written in it on the tenth of July last year. The following was written in the diary: “It’s now two o’clock in the morning. I fell asleep soundly, but woke up immediately... Today I have become a woman! Dad, mom and Tolya all left for the city, I was left alone. I was so happy, that alone! I was in the garden, in the field, in the forest in the morning, it seemed to me that I was alone in the whole world, and I thought as well as never in my life. I dined alone, then played for a whole hour, under music, I had the feeling that I would live endlessly and be as happy as anyone. Then I fell asleep in my dad’s office, and at four o’clock Katya woke me up and said that Alexei Mikhailovich had arrived. I was very happy with him. I was so pleased to receive him and entertain him. He arrived in a pair of his Vyatkas, very beautiful, and they stood at the porch all the time, he stayed because it was raining, he wanted it to dry out by the evening. He was sorry, that he didn’t find dad, he was very lively and behaved like a gentleman with me, joked a lot that he had been in love with me for a long time. When we walked through the sala before tea, the weather was again lovely, the sun shone through the whole wet garden, although it became completely cold, and he led me by the arm and said that he was Faust with Margarita. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very handsome and always well dressed - I just didn’t like that he arrived in a lionfish - he smells of English cologne, and his eyes are very young, black, and his beard is gracefully divided into two long parts and completely -purely silver. Over tea we sat on the glass veranda, I felt as if I was unwell and lay down on the ottoman, and he smoked, then he moved over to me, again began to say some pleasantries, then examined and kissed my hand. I covered my face with a silk scarf, and he kissed me on the lips through the scarf several times... I don’t understand how this could happen, I went crazy. I never thought I was like this! Now I have only one way out... I feel such disgust for it that I can’t survive it!..." During these April days, the city became clean, dry, its stones turned white, and it’s easy and pleasant to walk along them. Every Sunday, after mass, along Sobornaya Street, leading to the exit from the city, a small woman in mourning, in black kid gloves, with an umbrella made of ebony wood, is heading along the highway. She crosses a dirty square along the highway, where there are many smoky forges and the fresh breeze of the field air; further, between the monastery and the fort, the cloudy slope of the sky turns white and the spring field turns gray, and then, when you make your way among the puddles under the wall of the monastery and turn left, you will see what looks like a large low garden, surrounded by a white fence, above the gate of which is written Dormition of the Mother of God. A little woman makes the sign of the cross and walks habitually along the main alley. Having reached the bench opposite the oak cross, she sits in the wind and in the spring cold for an hour or two, until her feet in light boots and her hand in a narrow kid are completely cold Listening to spring birds singing sweetly even in the cold, listening to the sound of the wind in a porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that she would give half her life if only this dead wreath would not be before her eyes. This wreath, this mound, the oak cross! Is it possible that under him is the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how can one combine with this pure gaze the terrible thing that is now associated with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? But deep down, the little woman is happy, like all people devoted to some passionate dream. This woman is the cool lady Olya Meshcherskaya, a middle-aged girl who has long lived in some kind of fiction that replaces her real life. At first, her brother, a poor and unremarkable ensign, was such an invention - she united her whole soul with him, with his future, which for some reason seemed brilliant to her. When he was killed near Muk-den, she convinced herself that she was an ideological worker. The death of Olya Meshcherskaya captivated her with a new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of her persistent thoughts and feelings. She goes to her grave every holiday, does not take her eyes off the oak cross for hours, remembers the pale face of Olya Meshcherskaya in the coffin, among the flowers - and what she once overheard: once, at a big break, walking around the gymnasium hall, Olya Meshcherskaya quickly, quickly spoke to her beloved friend, plump, tall Saturday: “I read in one of my father’s books,” he has a lot of old funny books, “what kind of beauty a woman should have.” .. There, you see, there is so much punishment that you can’t remember everything: well, of course, black eyes boiling with tar - by God, that’s what it says: boiling with tar! - eyelashes black as night, a gentle blush, a thin figure, longer than an ordinary arm - you know, longer than usual! - a small leg, a moderately large chest, a properly rounded calf, shell-colored knees, sloping shoulders - I almost learned a lot by heart, so it’s all true! - but most importantly, you know what? - Easy breath! But I have it, - listen to how I sigh, - I really do, don’t I? Now this light breath has again dispersed into the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind. 1916

Bunin wrote the story “Easy Breathing” in 1916. In the work, the author touches on the themes of love and death characteristic of the literature of this period. Despite the fact that the story is not written in chapters, the narrative is fragmented and consists of several parts arranged in a non-chronological order.

Main characters

Olya Meshcherskaya- a young schoolgirl, was killed by a Cossack officer because she said that she did not love him.

Headmistress of the gymnasium

Other characters

Cossack officer- shot Olya because of unhappy love, “ugly and plebeian in appearance.”

Cool lady Olya Meshcherskaya

“In the cemetery, over a fresh clay mound, there is a new oak cross.” A convex porcelain medallion with a photographic portrait of schoolgirl Olya Meshcherskaya “with joyful, amazingly lively eyes” is embedded in the cross.

As a girl, Olya did not stand out among other schoolchildren; she was “capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions” of the class lady. But then the girl began to develop, to “bloom.” At the age of 14, “with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and curves were already well defined.” “At fifteen she was already considered a beauty.” Unlike her prim girlfriends, Olya “wasn’t afraid—no ink stains on her fingers, no flushed face, no disheveled hair.” Without any effort, “grace, elegance, dexterity, and the clear sparkle of her eyes” came to her.

Olya danced the best at balls, skated, was the most looked after at balls, and was loved most by the junior classes. “Unnoticedly she became a girl,” and there were even rumors about her frivolity.

“Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun during her last winter, as they said in the gymnasium.” One day, during a big break, the boss called the girl over and reprimanded her. The woman noted that Olya is no longer a girl, but not yet a woman, so she shouldn’t wear “ women's hairstyle", expensive combs and shoes. “Without losing simplicity and calmness,” Meshcherskaya replied that the madame was mistaken: she was already a woman, and the father’s friend and neighbor, the boss’s brother Alexei Mikhailovich Malyutin, was to blame for this - “this happened last summer in the village.”

“And a month after this conversation,” a Cossack officer shot Olya “on the station platform, among a large crowd of people.” And Olya’s confession, which stunned the boss, was confirmed. “The officer told the judicial investigator that Meshcherskaya lured him, was close to him, vowed to be his wife,” and at the station she said that she did not love him and “gave him to read that page of the diary that talked about Malyutin.”

“On the tenth of July last year,” Olya wrote in her diary: “Everyone left for the city, I was left alone.<…>Alexey Mikhailovich arrived.<…>He stayed because it was raining.<…>He regretted that he didn’t find dad, he was very animated and behaved like a gentleman with me, he joked a lot that he had been in love with me for a long time.<…>He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very handsome and always well dressed.<…>Over tea we sat on the glass veranda, he smoked, then moved to me, began again to say some pleasantries, then examined and kissed my hand. I covered my face with a silk scarf, and he kissed me on the lips through the scarf several times... I don’t understand how this could happen, I’m crazy, I never thought I was like this! Now I have only one way out... I feel such disgust for him that I can’t get over it!..”

Every Sunday, after mass, a little woman in mourning comes to the grave of Olya Meshcherskaya - a cool lady girl. Olya became the subject of “her persistent thoughts and feelings.” Sitting at the grave, the woman remembers the pale face of the girl in the coffin and a conversation she accidentally overheard: Meshcherskaya told her friend about what she read in her father’s book, that supposedly the main thing in a woman is “light breathing” and that she, Olya, has it.

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

Conclusion

In the story, Bunin contrasts the main character Olya Meshcherskaya with the head of the gymnasium - as the personification of the rules, social norms, And cool lady- as the personification of dreams replacing reality. Olya Meshcherskaya is completely different female image– a girl who has tried on the role of an adult lady, a seductress who has neither fear of rules nor excessive daydreaming.

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