Bunin dark alleys very brief summary. "Dark alleys

In cold autumn weather, on one of the big Tula roads, flooded with rain and cut by many black ruts, to a long hut, in one connection there was a state postal station, and in the other a private room, where you could rest or spend the night, dine or ask for a samovar , a carriage covered in mud with the top half-raised, three rather simple horses with their tails tied up from the slush, rolled up. On the box of the tarantass sat a strong man in a tightly belted overcoat, serious and dark-faced, with a sparse pitch beard, looking like an old robber, and in the tarantass a slender old military man in a large cap and in a Nikolaev gray overcoat with a beaver stand-up collar, still black-browed, but with a white mustache that connected with the same sideburns; his chin was shaved and his whole appearance bore that resemblance to Alexander II, which was so common among the military during his reign; the look was also questioning, stern and at the same time tired. When the horses stopped, he threw his leg in a military boot with a straight top out of the tarantass and, holding the hem of his overcoat with his hands in suede gloves, ran up to the porch of the hut. “To the left, your Excellency,” the coachman shouted rudely from the box, and he, bending slightly at the threshold due to his height, entered the entryway, then into the upper room to the left. The upper room was warm, dry and tidy: a new golden image in the left corner, under it a table covered with a clean, harsh tablecloth, behind the table there were cleanly washed benches; the kitchen stove, which occupied the far right corner, was new and white with chalk; Closer stood something like an ottoman, covered with piebald blankets, its blade resting against the side of the stove; from behind the stove damper there was a sweet smell of cabbage soup - boiled cabbage, beef and bay leaves. The newcomer threw off his overcoat on the bench and found himself even slimmer in just a uniform and boots, then he took off his gloves and cap and, with a tired look, ran his pale, thin hand over his head - White hair His hair was slightly curly at the temples and at the corners of his eyes; his handsome, elongated face with dark eyes bore here and there small traces of smallpox. There was no one in the upper room, and he shouted with hostility, opening the door to the hallway:- Hey, who's there? Immediately after that, a dark-haired woman, also black-browed and also still beautiful beyond her age, entered the room, looking like an elderly gypsy, with dark down on her upper lip and along her cheeks, light in her step, but plump, with large breasts under a red blouse, with a triangular, goose-like belly under a black woolen skirt. “Welcome, Your Excellency,” she said. — Would you like to eat or would you like a samovar? The visitor glanced briefly at her rounded shoulders and light legs in worn red Tatar shoes and answered abruptly, inattentively: - Samovar. Is the mistress here or are you serving? - Mistress, Your Excellency. - So you’re holding it yourself? - Yes sir. Herself. - What’s so? Are you a widow, are you running the business yourself? - Not a widow, Your Excellency, but you have to live somehow. And I love to manage. - So-so. This is good. And how clean and pleasant your place is. The woman looked at him inquisitively all the time, squinting slightly. “And I love cleanliness,” she answered. “After all, I grew up under the masters, but I don’t know how to behave decently, Nikolai Alekseevich.” He quickly straightened up, opened his eyes and blushed. - Hope! You? - he said hastily. “I, Nikolai Alekseevich,” she answered. - My God, my God! - he said, sitting down on the bench and looking at her point-blank. - Who would have thought! How many years have we not seen each other? Thirty-five years old? - Thirty, Nikolai Alekseevich. I’m forty-eight now, and you’re nearly sixty, I think? - Like this... My God, how strange! - What's strange, sir? - But everything, everything... How don’t you understand! His fatigue and absent-mindedness disappeared, he stood up and walked decisively around the room, looking at the floor. Then he stopped and, blushing through his gray hair, began to say: “I haven’t known anything about you since then.” How did you get here? Why didn't you stay with the masters? “The gentlemen gave me my freedom soon after you.” -Where did you live later? - It's a long story, sir. - You say you weren’t married?- No, I wasn’t. - Why? With such beauty as you had? - I couldn’t do it. - Why couldn’t she? What do you want to say? - What is there to explain? You probably remember how much I loved you. He blushed to tears and, frowning, walked again. “Everything passes, my friend,” he muttered. - Love, youth - everything, everything. The story is vulgar, ordinary. Over the years everything goes away. How does it say this in the book of Job? “You will remember how water flowed through.” - What does God give to whom, Nikolai Alekseevich. Everyone's youth passes, but love is another matter. He raised his head and, stopping, smiled painfully: “You couldn’t love me all your life!” - So, she could. No matter how much time passed, she lived alone. I knew that you had not been the same for a long time, that it was as if nothing had happened for you, but... It’s too late to reproach me now, but, really, you abandoned me very heartlessly - how many times did I want to lay hands on myself out of resentment from one , not to mention everything else. After all, there was a time, Nikolai Alekseevich, when I called you Nikolenka, and you remember me? And they deigned to read all the poems to me about all sorts of “dark alleys,” she added with an unkind smile. - Oh, how good you were! - he said, shaking his head. - How hot, how beautiful! What a figure, what eyes! Do you remember how everyone looked at you? - I remember, sir. You were also excellent. And it was I who gave you my beauty, my passion. How can you forget this? - A! Everything passes. Everything is forgotten. “Everything passes, but not everything is forgotten.” “Go away,” he said, turning away and going to the window. - Please go away. And, taking out the handkerchief and pressing it to his eyes, he added quickly: - If only God would forgive me. And you, apparently, have forgiven. She walked to the door and paused: - No, Nikolai Alekseevich, I didn’t forgive you. Since our conversation touched on our feelings, I’ll say frankly: I could never forgive you. Just as I didn’t have anything more valuable than you in the world at that time, so I didn’t have anything later. That's why I can't forgive you. Well, why remember, they don’t carry the dead from the graveyard. “Yes, yes, there’s no need, order the horses to be brought,” he answered, moving away from the window with a stern face. - I’ll tell you one thing: I’ve never been happy in my life, please don’t think about it. Sorry that I may be hurting your pride, but I’ll tell you frankly, I loved my wife madly. And she cheated on me, abandoned me even more insultingly than I did you. He adored his son, and while he was growing up, he didn’t have any hopes for him! And what came out was a scoundrel, a spendthrift, an insolent person, without a heart, without honor, without a conscience... However, all this is also the most ordinary, vulgar story. Be healthy, dear friend. I think that I, too, have lost in you the most precious thing I had in life. She came up and kissed his hand, and he kissed hers. - Order it served... When we drove on, he thought gloomily: “Yes, how lovely she was! Magically beautiful! With shame I remembered my last words and that he kissed her hand, and was immediately ashamed of his shame. “Isn’t it true that she gave me the best moments of my life?” Towards sunset the pale sun appeared. The coachman trotted along, constantly changing the black ruts, choosing less dirty ones, and also thought something. Finally he said with serious rudeness: “And she, Your Excellency, kept looking out the window as we left.” That's right, how long have you known her?- It's been a long time, Klim. - Baba is a crazy person. And everyone, they say, is getting richer. Gives money in growth. - This means nothing. - It doesn’t mean that! Who doesn't want to live better! If you give with conscience, there is little harm. And she, they say, is fair about it. But cool! If you didn’t give it on time, you blame yourself. - Yes, yes, blame yourself... Please hurry, so as not to be late for the train... The low sun shone yellow on the empty fields, the horses splashed smoothly through the puddles. He looked at the flashing horseshoes, knitting his black eyebrows, and thought: “Yes, blame yourself. Yes, of course, the best moments. And not the best, but truly magical! “The scarlet rose hips were blooming all around, there were dark linden alleys...” But, my God, what would have happened next? What if I hadn't left her? What nonsense! This same Nadezhda is not the innkeeper, but my wife, the mistress of my St. Petersburg house, the mother of my children?” And, closing his eyes, he shook his head. October 20, 1938

I. A. Bunin is the first of the Russian writers to receive Nobel Prize, who achieved popularity and fame at the world level, having fans and associates, but... deeply unhappy, because since 1920 he was cut off from his homeland and yearned for it. All stories from the emigration period are imbued with a feeling of melancholy and nostalgia.

Inspired by the lines of the poem “An Ordinary Tale” by N. Ogarev: “The scarlet rose hips were blooming all around / There was an alley of dark linden trees,” Ivan Bunin conceived the idea of ​​writing a cycle of love stories about subtle human feelings. Love is different, but it is always a strong feeling that changes the lives of heroes.

The story “Dark Alleys”: summary

The story “Dark Alleys,” the same name in the cycle and the main one, was published on October 20, 1938 in the New York edition “ New land». Main character, Nikolai Alekseevich, accidentally meets Nadezhda, whom he seduced and abandoned many years ago. For the hero then it was just an affair with a serf girl, but the heroine seriously fell in love and carried this feeling throughout her life. After the affair, the girl received her freedom, began to earn her own living, and now owns an inn and “gives money on interest.” Nikolai Alekseevich ruined Nadezhda’s life, but was punished: his beloved wife abandoned him as vilely as he himself had once done, and his son grew up to be a scoundrel. The heroes part, now forever, Nikolai Alekseevich understands what kind of love he missed. However, the hero cannot even in his thoughts overcome social conventions and imagine what would have happened if he had not abandoned Nadezhda.

Bunin, “Dark Alleys” - audiobook

Listening to the story “Dark Alleys” is extremely pleasant, because the poetic language of the author is also manifested in prose.

Image and characteristics of the main character (Nikolai)

The image of Nikolai Alekseevich evokes antipathy: this man does not know how to love, he sees only himself and public opinion. He is afraid of himself, of Nadezhda, no matter what happens. But if everything is outwardly decent, you can do as you please, for example, break the heart of a girl for whom no one will stand up. Life punished the hero, but did not change him, did not add strength of spirit. His image personifies habit, the routine of life.

Image and characteristics of the main character (Nadezhda)

Much stronger Hope, who was able to survive the shame of an affair with the “master” (although she wanted to commit suicide, she came out of this state), and also managed to learn how to earn money on her own, and in an honest way. Coachman Klim notes the woman’s intelligence and fairness; she “gives money on interest” and “gets rich,” but does not profit from the poor, but is guided by justice. Nadezhda, despite the tragedy of her love, kept it in her heart for many years, forgave her offender, but did not forget. Its image is the soul, the sublimity, which is not in origin, but in personality.

The main idea and main theme of the story “Dark Alleys”

Love in Bunin’s “Dark Alleys” is a tragic, fatal, but no less important and beautiful feeling. It becomes eternal, because it remains forever in the memory of both heroes; it was the most precious and brightest thing in their lives, although it is gone forever. If a person has ever loved like Nadezhda, he has already experienced happiness. Even if this love ended tragically. The life and fate of the heroes of the story “Dark Alleys” would be completely empty and gray without such a bitter and sick, but still stunning and bright feeling, which is a kind of litmus test that tests human personality on the subject of fortitude and moral purity. Nadezhda passes this test, but Nikolai does not. This is the idea of ​​the work. You can read more about the theme of love in the work here:

On a stormy autumn day, along a rutted dirt road to a long hut, in one half of which there was a postal station, and in the other a clean room where one could rest, eat and even spend the night, a mud-covered carriage with a half-raised top drove up. On the box of the tarantass sat a strong, serious man in a tightly belted overcoat, and in the tarantass - “a slender old military man in a large cap and a Nikolaev gray overcoat with a beaver stand-up collar, still black-browed, but with a white mustache that was connected to the same sideburns; his chin was shaved and his whole appearance bore that resemblance to Alexander II, which was so common among the military during his reign; the look was also questioning, stern and at the same time tired.”

When the horses stopped, he got out of the tarantass, ran up to the porch of the hut and turned left, as the coachman told him. The room was warm, dry and tidy, with a sweet smell of cabbage soup coming from behind the stove damper. The newcomer threw his overcoat onto the bench, took off his gloves and cap, and tiredly ran his hand through his slightly curly hair. There was no one in the upper room, he opened the door and called: “Hey, who’s there!” A dark-haired woman, also black-browed and also still beautiful beyond her age, entered... with dark fluff on her upper lip and along her cheeks, light as she walked, but plump, with large breasts under a red blouse, with a triangular belly, like a goose’s, under a black woolen blouse. skirt." She greeted politely.

The visitor glanced briefly at her rounded shoulders and light legs and asked for a samovar. It turned out that this woman was the owner of the inn. The visitor praised her for her cleanliness. The woman, looking at him inquisitively, said: “I love cleanliness. After all, Nikolai Alekseevich, Nikolai Alekseevich, grew up under the gentlemen, but he didn’t know how to behave decently.” "Hope! You? - he said hastily. - My God, my God!.. Who would have thought! How many years have we not seen each other? About thirty-five?” - “Thirty, Nikolai Alekseevich.” He is excited and asks her how she lived all these years. How did you live? The gentlemen gave me freedom. She was not married. Why? Yes, because she loved him very much. “Everything passes, my friend,” he muttered. - Love, youth - everything, everything. The story is vulgar, ordinary. Over the years everything goes away."

For others, maybe, but not for her. She lived it all her life. She knew that his former self had been gone for a long time, that it was as if nothing had happened to him, but she still loved him. It’s too late to reproach her now, but how heartlessly he abandoned her then... How many times did she want to kill herself! “And they deigned to read all the poems to me about all sorts of ‘dark alleys,’” she added with an unkind smile.” Nikolai Alekseevich remembers how beautiful Nadezhda was. He was good too. “And it was I who gave you my beauty, my passion. How can you forget this?” - "A! Everything passes. Everything is forgotten." - “Everything passes, but not everything is forgotten.” “Go away,” he said, turning away and going to the window. “Go away, please.” Pressing the handkerchief to his eyes, he added: “If only God would forgive me. And you, apparently, have forgiven.” No, she did not forgive him and could never forgive him. She can't forgive him.

He ordered the horses to be brought, moving away from the window with dry eyes. He, too, had never been happy in his life. He married for great love, and she abandoned him even more insultingly than he abandoned Nadezhda. He placed so many hopes on his son, but he grew up to be a scoundrel, an insolent man, without honor, without conscience. She came up and kissed his hand, and he kissed hers. Already on the road, he remembered this with shame, and he felt ashamed of this shame. The coachman says that she watched them from the window. She is a woman - a ward. Gives money in interest, but is fair.

“Yes, of course, the best moments... Truly magical! “The scarlet rose hips were blooming all around, there were dark linden alleys…” What if I hadn’t abandoned her? What nonsense! This same Nadezhda is not the innkeeper, but my wife, the mistress of my St. Petersburg house, the mother of my children?” And, closing his eyes, he shook his head.

Dark Alleys - a story by Ivan A, written in 1938.

It was a stormy autumn day when the carriage drove into the yard. In the courtyard there was a hut in which there was a postal station and an inn. Got out of the tarantass old man. It was clear from his cap and gray overcoat that in the past he was a military man and served under Nikolai Pavlovich.

Facial features, eyes and sideburns made the guest look like Alexander II. In the upper room of the inn, where the old man went, there was an appetizing smell of cabbage soup. The hostess met the guest. She was no longer young, but despite her age, she was still quite beautiful. She called the guest by name, Nikolai Alekseevich, after which the old man recognized the woman.

Nikolai Alekseevich was once passionately in love with Nadezhda, that was the woman’s name, but since their last meeting About thirty-five years have passed. Seeing Nadezhda, Nikolai Alekseevich became incredibly excited and began hastily asking about her life all this time. It turned out that the gentlemen gave Nadezhda freedom. She never got married, because all her life she loved only Nikolai Alekseevich.

Having learned about this, the old man was embarrassed and began to make excuses that over the years a lot of water had passed under the bridge and that time smoothed everything out. Nadezhda is outraged by Nikolai Alekseevich’s excuses. It may happen with others, but not with her. All her life her heart belonged only to him, although she understood that Nikolai Alekseevich behaved as if there was no connection between them.

Nadezhda’s life was often in the balance, because she more than once thought about committing suicide out of despair as a result of a break with her loved one. The hostess, smiling unkindly, remembers Nikolai Alekseevich, who read her poems about “dark alleys.” The old man remembers all the charm and beauty of Nadezhda, bursting with youth. But he was also very handsome in his time, because it was not without reason that she gave him all her youth.

Nikolai Alekseevich was sad and restless from the unexpected meeting with Nadezhda, so he urgently asks to leave him. The old man decided that she had forgiven him and hoped for God's forgiveness. Nikolai Alekseevich was wrong - Nadezhda would never be able to forgive him... Nikolai Alekseevich was overcome by anxiety, and stingy tears fell from his eyes. He decided to leave this place immediately.

The old man, remembering his whole life, realized that he had never experienced happiness. He married a woman whom he also loved very much, but she treated him even more heartlessly than he did with Nadezhda. Nikolai Alekseevich still hoped that his son would become a worthy and noble person, but his expectations were not met. Saying goodbye, Nadezhda and Nikolai Alekseevich kiss each other’s hands.

After Nikolai Alekseevich’s departure, pangs of conscience begin to overcome him, and he is embarrassed by his shame for what he had done. Meanwhile, the coachman said a few words about Nadezhda - she watched them for a long time from the window. The coachman believes that Nadezhda is an intelligent and fair woman, although rather tight-fisted. At this moment, Nikolai Alekseevich comes to the realization that a relationship with Nadezhda is best time in his life.

His imagination paints an amazing picture - Nadezhda is no longer the owner of a small inn, but his loving wife. The couple live in the St. Petersburg house of Nikolai Alekseevich, Nadezhda is raising children. The old man closed his eyes and shook his head, regretting the missed opportunities.

On a stormy autumn day, along a rutted dirt road to a long hut, in one half of which there was a postal station, and in the other a clean room where one could rest, eat and even spend the night, a mud-covered carriage with a half-raised top drove up. On the box of the tarantass sat a strong, serious man in a tightly belted overcoat, and in the tarantass - “a slender old military man in a large cap and a Nikolaev gray overcoat with a beaver stand-up collar, still black-browed, but with a white mustache that was connected to the same sideburns; his chin was shaved and his whole appearance bore that resemblance to Alexander II, which was so common among the military during his reign; the look was also questioning, stern and at the same time tired.”

When the horses stopped, he got out of the tarantass, ran up to the porch of the hut and turned left, as the coachman told him. The room was warm, dry and tidy, with a sweet smell of cabbage soup coming from behind the stove damper. The newcomer threw his overcoat onto the bench, took off his gloves and cap, and tiredly ran his hand through his slightly curly hair. There was no one in the upper room, he opened the door and called: “Hey, who’s there!” A dark-haired woman, also black-browed and also still beautiful beyond her age, entered... with dark fluff on her upper lip and along her cheeks, light as she walked, but plump, with large breasts under a red blouse, with a triangular belly, like a goose’s, under a black woolen blouse. skirt." She greeted politely.

The visitor glanced briefly at her rounded shoulders and light legs and asked for a samovar. It turned out that this woman was the owner of the inn. The visitor praised her for her cleanliness. The woman, looking at him inquisitively, said: “I love cleanliness. After all, Nikolai Alekseevich, Nikolai Alekseevich, grew up under the gentlemen, but he didn’t know how to behave decently.” "Hope! You? - he said hastily. - My God, my God!.. Who would have thought! How many years have we not seen each other? About thirty-five?” - “Thirty, Nikolai Alekseevich.” He is excited, asks her, to-

This is how she lived all these years. How did you live? The gentlemen gave me freedom. She was not married. Why? Yes, because she loved him very much. “Everything passes, my friend,” he muttered. - Love, youth - everything, everything. The story is vulgar, ordinary. Over the years everything goes away."

For others, maybe, but not for her. She lived it all her life. She knew that his former self had been gone for a long time, that it was as if nothing had happened to him, but she still loved him. It’s too late to reproach her now, but how heartlessly he abandoned her then... How many times did she want to kill herself! “And they deigned to read all the poems to me about all sorts of ‘dark alleys,’” she added with an unkind smile.” Nikolai Alekseevich remembers how beautiful Nadezhda was. He was good too. “And it was I who gave you my beauty, my passion. How can you forget this?” - "A! Everything passes. Everything is forgotten." - “Everything passes, but not everything is forgotten.” “Go away,” he said, turning away and going to the window. “Go away, please.” Pressing the handkerchief to his eyes, he added: “If only God would forgive me. And you, apparently, have forgiven.” No, she did not forgive him and could never forgive him. She can't forgive him.

He ordered the horses to be brought, moving away from the window with dry eyes. He, too, had never been happy in his life. He married for great love, and she abandoned him even more insultingly than he abandoned Nadezhda. He placed so many hopes on his son, but he grew up to be a scoundrel, an insolent man, without honor, without conscience. She came up and kissed his hand, and he kissed hers. Already on the road, he remembered this with shame, and he felt ashamed of this shame. The coachman says that she watched them from the window. She is a woman - a ward. Gives money in interest, but is fair.

“Yes, of course, the best moments... Truly magical! “The scarlet rose hips were blooming all around, there were dark linden alleys…” What if I hadn’t abandoned her? What nonsense! This same Nadezhda is not the innkeeper, but my wife, the mistress of my St. Petersburg house, the mother of my children?” And, closing his eyes, he shook his head.



If you find an error, please select a piece of text and press Ctrl+Enter.