An essay based on a text by Voronsky about the wanderer Natalya, who visited a scumbag student. The problem of human moral fortitude

Ivan did not get along closely with anyone, was not friends; inflexible, obstinate, he had no attachments; He respected, perhaps not for fear, but for conscience, only his grandfather. Seeing him, Ivan stood up, straightened his lower back and back with difficulty, bowed earnestly to his grandfather, followed him with a gaze and did not sit down until he disappeared. Ivan never stood up in front of the others.

Ivan died suddenly. In the morning they found him under the barn shed, already cold and covered with dew. Long before his death, he was completely dry, and his corpse resembled a relic: his temples sank, his cheeks were deeply sunken, his cheekbones stood out sharply, his collarbones protruded; his eyes went under his forehead, his bent knees stuck out like sticks. Green flies swarmed in the corners of his blue-black lips and woodlice crawled across his face... How lonely, bitter and untold a person’s life can be!

...Behind the vegetable gardens there is a hemp plant. The rye is ripening. On the hill, the mill flaps and flaps its wings tirelessly, it would fly, but the earth holds tightly. It smells of dill, cucumber, and sometimes the wind brings the hot, bitter smell of wormwood. The sky is about to open up and become surrounded by mirages.

I decided to make humanity happy. Raw eggs lathers excellently. I stole three eggs from under the chickens “for experiments.” In the tin there are yolks, salt, blue, cherry glue is added to them, the glue will harden, the liquid will turn into solid, and an excellent soap is ready. Should I add more ink for coloring?.. So, I will become a famous soap maker, get rich, travel... Maybe I should also add some sugar? For what? We'll see there. Or better yet, lime. However, quicklime, if you pour water on it, hisses and burns. Wouldn't lime make something explosive instead of soap, say, gunpowder? Well, this is not bad for a young chemist! It's even wonderful to invent gunpowder. Some sweat stench all their lives, but don’t invent gunpowder... We must be careful: what if the tin explodes! I put a piece of lime into the mixture and even close my eyes in fear. Glory to the creator, nothing happened!..

A woman comes down from the hill from the mill; closer and closer she flashes in the thick and tall rye. No one should guess about my secret chemistry studies. I diligently hide the tin under a mound. Today soap and gunpowder didn’t work out, there’s no need to be discouraged: they’ll definitely work out tomorrow. I recognize the woman as the wanderer Natalya. Her head is tied with a gray cotton scarf, the ends of the scarf stick out like horns above her forehead, and there is a wicker knapsack behind her. Natalya walks quickly, easily, leaning on the staff. She is over forty years old, but it is difficult to determine her age by her face: she is tanned and weathered almost to blackness. She is wearing a homespun plaid skirt, a white woolen zipun, and her legs are in dusty bast shoes, tightly and neatly wrapped with onuchas and twine. I call out to Natalya.

“Hello, dear, hello, master,” Natalya answers warmly, vigorously wiping her lips into small wrinkles. -Will you welcome a guest into the house? Is everyone alive and well?

Thank you. Everyone is alive and well. I will accept you for a visit.

I speak gravely, as if I really am the owner. I waddle next to Natalya, like a peasant.

Natalya is from a neighboring village; about ten years ago she immediately lost her husband and three children: while she was away, they died from smoke inhalation. Since then, she sold the house, abandoned the farm and wandered.

Natalya speaks quietly, melodiously, innocently. Her words are pure, as if washed, as close and understandable as the sky, the field, the bread, the village huts. And all of Natalya is simple, warm, calm and majestic. Natalya is not surprised by anything: she has seen everything, experienced everything, oh contemporary affairs and incidents, even dark and terrible ones, she tells, as if they were separated from our lives by millennia. Natalya doesn’t flatter anyone; It’s very good about her that she doesn’t go to monasteries and holy places, doesn’t look for miraculous icons. She is worldly and talks about everyday things. There is nothing superfluous in it, no fussiness. Natalya bears the burden of a wanderer easily and she buries her grief from people. She has an amazing memory. She remembers when and why the children in such and such a family were ill, where Kharlamov or Sidorov went to earn money during Lent, whether they lived well and well enough there, and what kind of renewal they brought to the housewives.

Political figure, prose writer and publicist A.K. Voronsky was born on September 8, 1884 in the village of Khoroshavka, Kirsanovsky district, Tambov province, into the family of a priest. After the death of their father, the family settled in the village of Dobrinka, Usman district, where numerous relatives lived, including the last rector of the Chuevsky St. Nicholas Church, Nikolai Ivanovich Dobrotvortsev. A.K. Voronsky spent his childhood there.

After graduating in 1900 from the 1st Tambov religious school he entered the Tambov Theological Seminary, from which in 1905 he was expelled for “political unreliability.”

Since 1904, Alexander Konstantinovich was a member of the RSDLP (b) and conducted party work in St. Petersburg, Vladimir, Saratov, Tambov, Odessa, and Crimea. He was in exile for 4 years, served a prison sentence for 2.5 years, including a year in the fortress.

In 1911, he began publishing his first articles and essays in the Odessa newspaper Yasnaya Zarya. In 1912, A.K. Voronsky was a delegate to the Prague Conference.

After the revolution, he worked as editor-in-chief of the Rabochy Krai newspaper in Ivanovo-Voznesensk, making it one of the best in Russia. In the early 1920s, Alexander Konstantinovich moved away from party organizational work and devoted himself entirely to literature. He had the idea to publish the first Soviet “thick” magazine “Krasnaya Nov”, which began publishing in July 1921 and A.K. Voronsky was its editor. Alexander Konstantinovich contributed to the publication of all the best that was in the literature of those years. He wrote many articles about writers who became, largely thanks to his support, classics of Soviet literature

Critical and theoretical articles by A. K. Voronsky of these years were collected in the books “At the Junction” (1923), “Art and Life” (1924), “ Literary types"(1924), "Literary Notes" (1926), "Mr. Britling drinks the cup to the dregs" (1927), " Literary portraits"(T. 1-2. 1928-1929), "The Art of Seeing the World" (1928).

In 1927, A.K. Voronsky was removed from the leadership of Krasnaya Novya, removed from the editorial office of the Krug publishing house, expelled from the party for belonging to the Trotskyist opposition, and after his arrest in January 1929, he was exiled to Lipetsk.

The Lipetsk exile regime was not very strict, but speaking at meetings and in local press he was forbidden. In Lipetsk, Alexander Konstantinovich and his family lived first in a hotel on Petrovsky Spusk, then in the outbuilding of lawyer M.A. Dyachkov on Pervomaiskaya Street (the house has not survived). I. Babel, L. Seifullina, B. Pilnyak, members of the “Pereval” group close to him - I. Kataev, N. Zarudin and others came to visit him.

In Lipetsk, he wrote the stories “Exhibit”, “Factory”, “Prison Little Things”, “Fedya-Gverillas”, in which Lipetsk and its inhabitants are recognizable, as well as a short story about A.I. Zhelyabov “Sleepless Memory”, three stories: “At the crossroads”, “Everyday life”, “Olga”.

In the fall of 1929, due to illness, he was allowed to return to Moscow, he was reinstated in the party and appointed editor of the department classical literature in Goslitizdat.

In 1927, his first book was published, based on autobiographical material, “For the Living and dead water", reissued in expanded form in 1934. Its logical continuation, the story “The Eye of the Hurricane,” was published in 1931. In 1931-1933, his collections of stories were published; in 1933, a magazine publication of the novel “Bursa” appeared, in which the impressions of Dobrin’s childhood came to life. In 1934, in the series “Life wonderful people“The books “Zhelyabov” and “Gogol” were published.

In 1935, he was again expelled from the party, suspended from work and arrested on February 1, 1937. On August 13, 1937, A.K. Voronsky was shot. His personal investigative file was destroyed. 20 years later, on February 7, 1957, he was completely rehabilitated.

For decades, the name of A.K. Voronsky was “crossed out” from Soviet history. After the execution, his works were confiscated, for a long time have not been reprinted.

In the name of A.K. Voronsky in the village. The street is named Dobrinka.

Author's works

Gogol. – M.: Magazine and newspaper association, 1934. – 496 p.
Zhelyabov. – M.: Magazine and newspaper association, 1934. – 403 p. – (Life of remarkable people. Series of biographies; issue 3, 4).
Literary critical articles / intro. Art. A. G. Dementieva. – M.: Sov. writer, 1963. – 423 p.
Bursa: novel / intro. Art. A. Dementieva. – M.: Khudozh. lit., 1966. – 320 p.
Behind living and dead water: story / intro. Art. F. Levin. – M.: Khudozh. lit., 1970. – 432 p.
Selected articles about literature / intro. Art. A. G. Dementieva. – M.: Artist. lit., 1982. – 527 p.
Selected lyrics / comp. and preparation text by G. Voronskaya; entry Art. V. Akimova. – M.: Khudozh. lit., 1987. – 655 p. : portrait – Contents : Bursa; For living and dead water: stories; First work; Bombs; From old letters; From Valentin's stories; Armadillo; Fedya Guerillas: stories.
Eye of the Hurricane: stories / comp., prepared. text, note G. A. Voronskaya; entry Art. V. Akimova. – Voronezh: Central-Chernozem. book publishing house, 1990. – 234 pp.: ill. – Contents: At crossroads; Weekdays; Olga; Eye of the hurricane: stories.
The art of seeing the world: portraits. Articles. – M.: Sov. writer, 1987. – 704 p.
Sleepless memory: stories. – M.: Marekan, 2004. – 80 p.
Strada: [lit.-crit. Art.]. – M.: Antikva, 2004. – 359 p.
For living and dead water. – M.: Antikva, 2005. –
- T. 1. – 170 p.
- T. 2. – 375 p.
Mr. Britling drinks the cup to the dregs: Sat. Art. and feuilletons / intro. Art. N. Kornienko. – M.: Antikva, 2005. – 243 p.
Literary records. – M.: Antikva, 2006. – 211 p. : ill.
Collection of articles published in the newspaper “Rabochy Krai”: 1918-1920. – M.: Antikva, 2006. – 388 p.
Gogol / author. entry Art. V. A. Voropaev. – M.: Young Guard, 2009. – 447 p. : ill. – (Life of remarkable people. Series of biographies. Small series; issue 1).

Literature about life and creativity

Volokitin V. A. A. K. Voronsky // Travel through the Lipetsk region. – Voronezh, 1971. – P. 267-272.
Kupriyanovsky P. Pages of the biography (writer) A.K. Voronsky // Russian literature. – 1982. – No. 4. – P. 246-247.
Efremov E.P. Founder of Bolshevik criticism // Rise. – 1984. – No. 8. – P. 128-129.
Literary activity of A.K. Voronsky // Questions of literature. – 1985. – No. 2. – P. 78-104.
Medvedeva L. Lipetsk short story by A. K. Voronsky // Rising. – 1985. – No. 10. – P. 115-118.
Akimov V. Our contemporary Voronsky: touches to the portrait // Neva. – 1989. – No. 8. – P. 178.
Belaya G. Don Quixotes of the 20s: “The Pass” and the fate of his ideas / G. Belaya. – M.: Sov. writer, 1989. – 415 p.
Unliving E. S. Alexander Voronsky. Ideal. Typology. Individuality / E. S. Nezhivoy. – M.: VZPI, 1989. – 180 p.
“Maybe later a lot will become more obvious and clear”: (from the document “Party Affairs by A.K. Voronsky”) // Questions of Literature. – 1995. – Issue. 3. – pp. 269-292. – From the contents: [about the eviction of A.K. Voronsky to Lipetsk]. – S.: 274, 282.
Dinerstein E. A. A. K. Voronsky. In search of living water / E. A. Dinerstein. – M.: Rosspan, 2001. – 360 p. : ill. – (People of Russia).
Povartsov S. Preparatory materials for the biography of Babel I. E. // Questions of literature. – 2001. – No. 2. – P. 202-232. – From the contents: About I. Babel’s trip to Lipetsk to A.K. Voronsky.
Vetlovsky I. Alexander Voronsky // Dobrinsky region: pages of history / I. Vetlovsky, M. Sushkov, V. Tonkikh. – Lipetsk, 2003. – P. 299-303.
What the old walls will tell you about: [A. I. Levitov and A.K. Voronsky at the Tambov Theological Seminary] // History of the Tambov region: essays on the history of culture and literature: textbook. a manual on historical and literary-cultural local history. – Tambov, 2005. – P. 113-114.
Shentalinsky V. Execution nights // Zvezda. – 2007. – No. 5. – P. 67-102.

Reference materials

Lipetsk encyclopedia. – Lipetsk, 1999. – T. 1. – P. 233.
Tambov encyclopedia. – Tambov, 2004. – P. 106-107.
Zamyatinskaya encyclopedia. Lebedyansky context. – Tambov-Elets, 2004. – P. 110-118.
Glorious names of the land of Lipetsk: biogr. reference about the known writers, scientists, educators, artists. – Lipetsk, 2007. – P. 124.
The pride of the Usman land: short. reference biogr. noble people who glorified their fatherland. – Usman, 2005. – Book. 2. – P. 54.

Polkan, who had until then been observing the battle good-naturedly, could not stand it, stretched out, at first he lazily barked, then he dispersed more and more, and now he was pouring out as loud as he could and breaking free from the chain. Cunning, he pretended to be frantic, and at a time when the nettles burned my legs unbearably, he preferred to rush from side to side. I was ready to retreat shamefully from the nettle “paws”, even tears came to my eyes, but Ivan kept pressing on behind me - “Kill them!” Ruby! Fire!” - And I continued to mercilessly shed nettle blood.

Sometimes the aforementioned Pitersky, also drunk, joined the “case”: weren’t he and Ivan getting drunk together? Pitersky was shaking his trousers with enormous baggage, his hair stuck out wildly; thin, very long - he added incredible swearing to our hubbub, and even the experienced Ivan fell out of tone and looked sideways with doubt at his militant and overly zealous comrade. Polkan at this time was losing his balance of spirit and was already seriously trying to get to Pitersky, to grab his bare, scabbed foot, to which the old man paid no attention, which confused Polkan. It was difficult to understand who was meant by Pitersky’s frantic abuse; I attributed it to nettles, but now, it seems to me, he brought it down on all of us, and on the village, and on his entire miserable and absurdly spent life.

Ivan’s hoarse command, my war cries, Polkan’s barking, Pitersky’s heart-rending swearing merged into one utter chaos. Men appeared at the neighboring huts, and housewives looked out of the windows. Village children gathered around us, taking whatever part they could in the “war.” The noise, commotion, and confusion grew. Uncle Ermolai hurried from another order with a bucket, believing that the hut at our end had been occupied. Someone's calf, tail in the air, was racing across the pasture. The chickens scattered in all directions, clucking. And Alexey was already hurrying towards us, shaking his head, waving his arms, and muttering protractedly and condemningly. Sweaty and frantic, he grabbed me by the armpits and dragged me home; I resisted, yelled and in a rage kept waving my gun or saber, looking back at Ivan, at Polkan, at Pitersky and at the horde of guys. At that moment the horde was advancing on the pond, where a brood of ducks was swimming in the dirty, rusty water. Away from sin. The brood wisely made its way to the opposite bank, the ducklings shook themselves off and quacked to express disapproval of the reprehensible human behavior. I tore myself out of Alexei’s strong arms with an exasperated cry, either because I wanted to fight some more, or because my legs and arms were burned by nettles, or for both reasons. The hubbub at the pond stopped when Nikolai Ivanovich appeared on the porch. Polkan was the first to give in, he began to wag his tail slavishly and treacherously: don’t confuse me with these good-for-nothing mischief-makers! Following Polkan, the guys jumped everywhere, showing their black heels. Ivan muttered something unintelligible and retreated under the canopy. Pitersky was the most stubborn of all; he continued to “clean” the pond, and the ducklings, and his uncle, and Polkan, until his old woman came for him and lured him with promises of vodka, and showed him a bottle of water from under her apron or from under her skirt.

I decided to make humanity happy. Raw eggs lather excellently. I stole three eggs from under the chickens “for experiments.” In the tin there are yolks, salt, blue, cherry glue is added to them, the glue will harden, the liquid will turn into solid, and an excellent soap is ready. Should I add more ink for coloring?.. So, I will become a famous soap maker, get rich, travel... Maybe I should also add some sugar? For what? We'll see there. Or better yet, lime. However, quicklime, if you pour water on it, hisses and burns. Wouldn't lime make something explosive instead of soap, say, gunpowder? Well, this is not bad for a young chemist! It's even wonderful to invent gunpowder. Some sweat stench all their lives, but don’t invent gunpowder... We must be careful: what if the tin explodes! I put a piece of lime into the mixture and even close my eyes in fear. Glory to the creator, nothing happened!..

“Hello, dear, hello, master,” Natalya answers warmly, vigorously wiping her lips into small wrinkles. -Will you welcome a guest into the house? Is everyone alive and well?

Thank you. Everyone is alive and well. I will accept you for a visit.

I speak gravely, as if I really am the owner. I waddle next to Natalya, like a peasant.

Natalya speaks quietly, melodiously, innocently. Her words are pure, as if washed, as close and understandable as the sky, the field, the bread, the village huts. And all of Natalya is simple, warm, calm and majestic. Natalya is not surprised by anything: she has seen everything, experienced everything, she talks about modern affairs and incidents, even dark and terrible ones, as if they were separated from our lives by millennia. Natalya doesn’t flatter anyone; It’s very good about her that she doesn’t go to monasteries and holy places, doesn’t look for miraculous icons. She is worldly and talks about everyday things. There is nothing superfluous in it, no fussiness. Natalya bears the burden of a wanderer easily and she buries her grief from people. She has an amazing memory. She remembers when and why the children in such and such a family were ill, where Kharlamov or Sidorov went to earn money during Lent, whether they lived well and well enough there, and what kind of renewal they brought to the housewives.

Seeing the wanderer, Alexei hums joyfully and rushes to put on the samovar. From her knapsack, Natalya slowly takes out the popular book “Guac or Invincible Loyalty.” She gives her sister a wooden doll, and her mother a towel embroidered with roosters. Over tea, carefully biting off sugar with strong and juicy teeth, supporting the saucer on her outstretched fingers, Natalya narrates:

- ...I went to a Tatar near Kazan, and his peddlers also asked for the night. The Tatar is old, over sixty years old; the neck is all in folds and the scar is blue from the lip to the chest; my eyes are watering. He treats the peddlers, and they ask, “Where is your mistress?” The Tatar laughs - “My hostess is young, she’s afraid of guests.” - There is an accordion in the corner on the bench. - “Who, master, plays the accordion?” - “And my wife plays.” The peddlers pestered: show and show the hostess, let her play the accordion, we’ll give you a mirror and a comb. One of the peddlers is elderly, and the other is very young, about twenty years old, no more. The Tatar brings his wife out from the other half, she resists, lowered her head, doesn’t look at us, is all crimson, blushing. She looks like a girl; with small rowan spots around the eyes, so pleasant and clean. She sat down on the windowsill, buried herself and covered her face with her palm, unaccustomed to it. They begged her - she took the accordion, started playing, and she played well; enough for the heart. It’s sad, and everyone seems to be crying in accordion. She played well. The young peddler does not take his eyes off the Tatar woman and only with a high eyebrow, no, no, and he will lead; and I listen and think: he is playing about his unenviable life with the old man. Even as a wanderer, I feel sick to my stomach as soon as I look at the old man’s scar, his Adam’s apple, and the wrinkles, but she, who is young, doesn’t have any pleasant experiences with him at all: with someone like that there’s no joy in him. She played, covered her face with her palm again and ran away. And the guy just sighed after her with his whole chest and ran his hand over his forehead... The next day I said to the Tatar: “Your wife is not a match for you, Akhmet, not a match for you. Why are you, old man, you didn’t spare the little green girl: this ten suited you, but she hasn’t seen the world yet.” “My first wife,” the old man replies, “died, someone needs to look after the guys.” And this one served as a nanny. Well, that's how it happened. She’s well-fed, she’s got shoes, she’s dressed, and she used to be a beggar, she’s a big orphan...” He paused, frowned: “You’re with me, Natalya, don’t knock her down. We have our own law, you have your own law; go quickly where you came from...” That’s what they are, our women’s affairs!..

Original text According to A. Voronsky

... Natalya is from a neighboring village, about ten years ago she immediately lost her husband and three children: during her absence they died from smoke inhalation.

Since then she sold the house , gave up farming and wandered.

Natalya says quietly, melodiously, innocently. Her words clean as if washed, the same close, pleasant as the sky, field, bread, village huts. And all Natalya simple, warm, calm and majestic. Natalia is not surprised by anything: she saw everything, experienced everything, she talks about modern affairs and incidents, even dark and terrible ones, as if they were separated from our lives by millennia. Natalya does not flatter anyone; very into it it’s good that she doesn’t go to monasteries and holy places, is not looking for miraculous icons. She - worldly and talks about everyday things. In it no extras, no fussiness.

Natalia bears the burden of a wanderer easily, and buries his grief from people. She has an amazing memory. She remembers when and why such and such a family was ill. She talks about everything willingly, but in one thing she is stingy with words: when they ask her why she became a wanderer.

... I was already studying at the bursa, was known as “inveterate” and “desperate”, took revenge on the guards and teachers from around the corner, revealing remarkable ingenuity in these matters. During one of the breaks, the students informed me that “some woman” was waiting for me in the locker room. The woman turned out to be Natalya. Natalya walked from afar, from Kholmogory, she remembered me, and although she had to give a detour about eighty miles, how could she not visit the orphan, not look at his city life, her son had probably grown up, wiser for the joy and consolation of his mother. I listened inattentively to Natalya: I was ashamed of her bast shoes, boots, knapsack, her whole village appearance, I was afraid of losing myself in the eyes of the students and kept looking sideways at my peers snooping past. Finally he couldn’t stand it and said rudely to Natalya:

Let's get out of here.

Without waiting for consent, I took her to the backyard so that no one would see us there. Natalya untied her knapsack and handed me some village flatbread.

I don’t have anything else in store for you, my friend. Don’t worry, I baked them myself, using butter or cow’s milk.

At first I sullenly refused, but Natalya insisted on donuts. Soon Natalya noticed that I was shy of her and was not at all happy with her. She also noticed the torn, ink-stained Casinet jacket I was wearing, my dirty and pale neck, my red boots, and my haunted, sullen look. Natalya's eyes filled with tears.

Why can’t you say a kind word, son? So, it was in vain that I came to see you.

I dully poked at the sore on my arm and muttered something listlessly. Natalya leaned over me, shook her head and, looking into my eyes, whispered:

Yes, my dear, you seem out of your mind! You weren't like that at home. Oh, they did something bad to you! Dashingly, apparently, they let you down! This is the teaching that comes out.

“Nothing,” I muttered emotionlessly, moving away from Natalya.

Alexander Konstantinovich Voronsky (September 8, 1884, Khoroshavka village, Tambov province - August 13, 1937, shot) - Russian Bolshevik revolutionary, writer, literary critic, art theorist .

· The problem of repentance for what has been done.

· The problem of selfishness, callousness, cruelty, heartlessness.

· The problem of human spirit.

· The problem of human inner beauty.

· The problem of attitude to life's difficulties.

An essay based on a text by Voronsky about the wanderer Natalya, who visited a scumbag student.

In this text, the Russian Bolshevik revolutionary, writer, literary critic, art theorist, Alexander Konstantinovich Voronsky talks about the wanderer Natalya and about his meeting with her in childhood, when he studied at the bursa and “was known as “inveterate” and “desperate”, took revenge from “around the corner to the guards and teachers.” It is clear that, when describing Natalya, the author makes her almost a saint, almost ideal, and when talking about her feelings, she emphasizes her own callousness and dependence on the opinions of her peers.

Probably the author-narrator, a student boy, and Natalya are from the same village; they most likely have similar moral principles, a similar upbringing. It is no coincidence that Voronsky, describing Natalya, emphasizes that “her words clean as if washed, the same close, pleasant as the sky, field, bread, village huts».

Thus, we can say that Voronsky, surprised by his behavior, asks the question: why did he become unkind so easily? Why is he ashamed of Natalia? Why is he so unfree, hunted, insensitive, and “Natalya is like this” simple, warm, calm and majestic»?

Natalya thinks that the boy, to whom she walked “about eighty miles” to “look at his city life”, “is not at all happy with her”, will not say a “kind word” because studying and city life they did it that way. Natalya’s eyes filled with tears, and she said: “As if she’s not herself!” You weren't like that at home. Oh, they did something bad to you! Dashingly, apparently, they let you down! This is the teaching that comes out.” This is how Voronsky’s text ends.

However, both the writer and revolutionary himself, and the readers understand that the point, of course, is not in the teaching and the corrupting influence of the city, but in human strength and weaknesses. Natalya, a simple “some kind of woman”, is very strong internally, external appearances will not change her, therefore “she talks about modern affairs and incidents, even dark and terrible ones, as if they were separated from our lives by millennia.” The boy Voronsky talks about is still weak, he wants to be considered desperate and is already revealing “remarkable ingenuity” in low and petty matters.

Thus, the author's position becomes clear. Voronsky is delighted with the simplicity and strength of a simple woman and is shocked by his own weakness and baseness (or the boy). Also, I think, the reader understands that if the boy is ashamed, then there is hope that he is not a complete person, he’s just “not himself!” not the same as it was at home.

I agree with Voronsky that a person should remain a person, not be deceitful, not be mean. I also agree that it is important for a person to remember his beginning, his roots. For example, Chekhov’s Firs Dunyasha speaks about this, and there is a lot about this in Pushkin’s “The Captain’s Daughter”: common moral and human things bring the Grinevs and Mironovs together and help them to withstand and save themselves, despite external war and bitterness.

...Natalya is from a neighboring village, about ten years ago she immediately lost her husband and three children: during her absence they died from smoke inhalation. Since then, she sold the house, abandoned the farm and wandered.

Natalya speaks quietly, melodiously, innocently.

Composition

Our whole life is a series of ups and downs, black and white stripes, and our entire future existence depends on how we treat our problems. How should you approach life's difficulties? These are the questions A.K. invites us to think about. Voronsky in the text given to me.

The writer introduces us to the story of a woman in whose life, at first glance, everything was so wrong that most of us would probably give up long ago. However, Natalya suddenly lost her husband and three children, after which she embarked on a lonely journey. Was she disappointed, broken and depressed? On the contrary, the author focuses our attention on the fact that in his head he preserved innocence and melodiousness, in his words - purity, in his entire appearance - simplicity, warmth, calmness and majesty. We understand that despite serious life difficulties, Natalia retained the harmony of her soul and continued to live, treating the dark streaks of her life as a long-gone past. She speaks willingly on any topic, but she prefers not to talk about the origins of her wanderings - probably, her whole life would not be enough to quench the pain of loss.

A.K. Voronsky is convinced that no misfortune deserves to be devoted to a whole life, or even part of it. It’s better not to think about problems at all, and if you remember them, then only as a long-gone past. No difficulties should change the appearance of a person: you need to fight them, and, if the fight is pointless, cross them out of your life.

I, like the author, am convinced that any, even the most unsolvable problems are not worthy of grief, much less human life. No matter what happens, no matter how the circumstances develop, it is worth continuing to live, love, dream, strive, perhaps, to discover new page and change everything, continuing to enjoy every moment, because, in fact, this is all we have.

As an example of this thesis, I would like to cite the story of A.I. Solzhenitsyn " Matrenin Dvor" In it, the author tells us about the story of a woman whose life, at first glance, is a continuous series of tragic circumstances. The war separated Matryona from her fiancé, and the heroine was forced to marry his brother, who also soon irrevocably went to war. One by one, the woman’s children die, and Matryona is left alone, with only a shaky estate with cockroaches and mice and a “crooked-armed goat.” It would seem that a woman doomed to eternal loneliness, broken under the weight of circumstances, should despair and stop making any attempts at her own happiness. But this doesn't happen. Matryona, despite all the difficulties, takes in her niece Kira, and the girl becomes the happiness and meaning of the heroine’s life. Throughout the entire work, Matryona did not utter a single swear word, she did not complain and did not blame her problems on others. On the contrary, the woman helps the entire district, without demanding any help in return.

The hero of the story, M.A., approaches his problems in exactly the same way. Sholokhov "The Fate of Man". At the very beginning of the war, Andrei Sokolov loses his entire family, and later, having met his only son, he learns that he too died. The hero experiences all the hardships of war, but even in captivity he does not lose human face. Through hunger and torture, he carries mercy and kindness in his heart, and, having met a homeless person, as lonely as himself, little boy, Andrey Sokolov gives him his love and support. The circumstances of life changed the hero’s appearance and outlook, but did not break his spirit, because this fighter knew how to deal with life’s difficulties and, despite everything, retained faith in his soul in a happy future.

It is always worth remembering that our existence is determined by our perception of life. And, no matter how the circumstances develop, no matter what burden falls on our shoulders, we should always remember that it’s never too late to start over. You can change your course, style and way of thinking - but you should never worry about anything, and, moreover, blame yourself for the current circumstances.