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Ivan Bunin. Sunstroke

Sunstroke
story
read by Eduard Toman

Bunin's concept of love is also revealed by the story "Sunstroke", written in the Maritime Alps in 1925.
This work, in my opinion, is typical of Bunin. Firstly, it is built in the same way as many other stories, and draws the experiences of the hero, in whose life he met great feeling.
So, the story begins with a meeting on the ship of two people: a man and a woman. There is a mutual attraction between them, and they decide for an instant love affair. When they wake up in the morning, they act as if nothing happened, and soon "she" leaves, leaving "him" alone. They know that they will never see each other again, do not attach any importance to the meeting, but ... something strange begins to happen to the hero ... In the finale, the lieutenant again finds himself in the same situation: he again sails on a ship, but "feels ten years older." Emotionally, the story affects the reader amazingly. But not because we sympathize with the hero, but because the hero made us think about the meaning of life. Why are the characters unhappy? Why doesn't Bunin give them the right to find happiness? Why, having experienced such wonderful moments, do they part?
The story is called "Sunstroke". What can this name mean? There is a feeling of something instantaneous, suddenly striking, and here - and entailing the devastation of the soul, suffering, misfortune. This is especially clearly felt if we compare the beginning and end of the story.
A number of details of the story, as well as the scene of the meeting between the lieutenant and the cab driver, help us understand the author's intention. The most important thing that we discover after reading the story "Sunstroke" is that the love that Bunin describes in his works has no future. His heroes can never find happiness, they are doomed to suffer. "Sunstroke" once again reveals Bunin's concept of love: "Having fallen in love, we die ...".

Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
Russian writer: prose writer, poet, publicist. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was born on October 22 (according to the old style - October 10), 1870 in Voronezh, in the family of an impoverished nobleman who belonged to an old noble family.
Literary fame came to Ivan Bunin in 1900 after the publication of the story " Antonov apples". In 1901, the symbolist publishing house "Scorpion" published a collection of poems "Leaf Fall". For this collection and for the translation of the poem by the American romantic poet G. Longfellow "The Song of Hiawatha" (1898, some sources indicate 1896) Russian Academy Sciences Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was awarded the Pushkin Prize. In 1902, the first volume of I.A. Bunin. In 1905, Bunin, who lived in the National Hotel, witnessed the December armed uprising.

Last years the writer passed into poverty. Ivan Alekseevich Bunin died in Paris. On the night of November 7-8, 1953, two hours after midnight, he died: he died quietly and calmly, in his sleep. On his bed lay a novel by L.N. Tolstoy "Resurrection". Ivan Alekseevich Bunin was buried at the Russian cemetery of Saint-Genevieve-des-Bois, near Paris.
In 1927-1942 Galina Nikolaevna Kuznetsova was a friend of the Bunin family. In the USSR, the first collected works of I.A. Bunin was published only after his death - in 1956 (five volumes in the Ogonyok Library).

Ivan Alekseevich Bunin(10 (22) October 1870, Voronezh - November 8, 1953, Paris) - Russian writer, poet, honorary academician of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences (1909), the first Russian laureate Nobel Prize in Literature (1933). In exile, he was active in social and political activities: he gave lectures, collaborated with Russian political organizations of the nationalist and monarchist direction, and regularly published journalistic articles. In 1924, he delivered a famous manifesto about the tasks of the Russian Diaspora regarding Russia and Bolshevism: “The Mission of the Russian Emigration”, in which he gave such an assessment of what happened to Russia and the leader of the Bolsheviks, V. I. Lenin:

There was Russia, there was a great house bursting with all sorts of belongings, inhabited by a powerful family, created by the blessed labors of many, many generations, consecrated by worship of God, the memory of the past, and all that is called cult and culture. What was done to him? They paid for the overthrow of the steward with the complete destruction of literally the entire house and unheard of fratricide, all that nightmarishly bloody booth, the monstrous consequences of which are incalculable ... The planetary villain, overshadowed by a banner with a mocking call for freedom, fraternity, equality, sat high on the neck of the Russian "savage" and he called on conscience, shame, love, mercy to be trampled into the mud ... A degenerate, moral idiot from birth, Lenin revealed to the world just at the height of his activity something monstrous, amazing, he ruined the greatest country in the world and killed millions of people, and in broad daylight they argue: Is he a benefactor of mankind or not?

second world war(from October 1939 to 1945) spent at the rented Villa Jeannette in Grasse (Alpes-Maritimes department). Worked a lot and fruitfully literary activity, becoming one of the main figures of the Russian Diaspora. In exile, Bunin wrote his the best works, such as: "Mitina's Love" (1924), "Sunstroke" (1925), "The Case of Cornet Elagin" (1925), and, finally, "The Life of Arsenyev" (1927-1929, 1933) and the cycle of stories "Dark Alleys » (1938-40). These works have become a new word in Bunin's work, and in Russian literature as a whole.

SUNSTROKE

After dinner they left the brightly and hotly lit dining room on deck and stopped at the rail. She closed her eyes, put her hand to her cheek with her palm outward, laughed with a simple, charming laugh—everything was lovely about that little woman—and said:

- I seem to be drunk ... Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat. In Samara? But still... Is it my head spinning or are we turning somewhere?

Ahead was darkness and lights. From the darkness a strong, soft wind beat in the face, and the lights rushed somewhere to the side: the steamer, with Volga panache, abruptly described a wide arc, running up to a small pier.

The lieutenant took her hand and raised it to his lips. The hand, small and strong, smelled of sunburn. And my heart sank blissfully and terribly at the thought of how strong and swarthy she must have been all under that light linen dress after a whole month of lying under the southern sun on the hot sea sand (she said she was coming from Anapa). The lieutenant muttered:

- Let's go...

- Where? she asked in surprise.

- At this pier.

What for?

He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.

- Crazy...

"Let's go," he repeated stupidly. - I beg you…

— Ah. Do as you please,” she said, turning away. With a soft thud, the runaway steamer hit the dimly litpier, and they almost fell on top of each other. The code flew over the end of the rope, then it carried back, and the water boiled with noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed for things.

The cabman stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which the old wooden staircase, an old, unshaven footman in a pink blouse and frock coat, took his things with displeasure and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated during the day by the sun, with white curtains drawn down on the windows and two unburned candles on the under-mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both suffocated so frantically in a kiss that for many years they later remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.

At ten o'clock in the morning it's sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with a bazaar on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar, and again all that complex and odorous smell that a Russian county town smells like, she, this little unnamed woman, who never said her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, left. They slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. As before, she was simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.

“No, no, dear,” she said in response to his request to go on together, “no, you must stay until the next boat. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It will be very unpleasant for me. I give you honestly that I'm not at all what you might think of me. There has never been anything even similar to what happened to me, and it will never happen again. It’s like an eclipse hit me… Or rather, we both got something like a sunstroke…

And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink Airplane - kissed her on deck in front of everyone and barely had time to jump onto the gangway, which had already moved back.

Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! there was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-finished cup was still on the tray, but she was no longer there ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly contracted with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and walked several times up and down the room.

— A strange adventure! he said aloud, laughing and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think ...” And she has already left ...

“I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t come to this city for no reason at all, where is her husband, where is her three year old girl, in general, her whole family and all her usual life!" And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would continue to live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and struck him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! And he felt such pain and such uselessness of all his later life without her, that he was seized with horror, despair.

"What the hell! he thought, getting up, again beginning to pace the room and trying not to look at the bed behind the screen. - What is it with me? And what is special about it and what actually happened? In fact, just some kind of sunstroke! And most importantly, how can I now, without her, spend the whole day in this outback?

He still remembered her all, with all her slightest features, remembered the smell of her tan and canvas dress, her strong body, lively, simple and cheerful sound of her voice ... The feeling of just experienced pleasures of her whole feminine beauty was still unusually alive in him, but now the main thing was still this second, completely new feeling - that strange, incomprehensible feeling, which had not been at all while they were together, which he could not even imagine in himself, starting this yesterday, as he thought, only an amusing acquaintance, and about which it was no longer possible to tell her now! “And most importantly,” he thought, “you can never tell! And what to do, how to live this endless day, with these memories, with this insoluble torment, in this godforsaken town above that very shining Volga, along which this pink steamer carried her away!

It was necessary to escape, to do something, to distract yourself, to go somewhere. He resolutely put on his cap, took a stack, quickly walked, clinking his spurs, along an empty corridor, ran down a steep staircase to the entrance ... Yes, but where to go? At the entrance stood a cab driver, young, in a dexterous coat, calmly smoking a cigarette. The lieutenant looked at him in confusion and amazement: how is it possible to sit on the box so calmly, smoke, and in general be simple, careless, indifferent? “Probably I am the only one so terribly unhappy in this whole city,” he thought, heading towards the bazaar.

The market has already left. For some reason, he walked through the fresh manure among the carts, among the carts with cucumbers, among the new bowls and pots, and the women, sitting on the ground, vying to call him, took the pots in their hands and knocked, tinkled their fingers at them, showing their good quality, the peasants deafened him, shouted to him: “Here are the first grade cucumbers, your honor!” It was all so stupid, absurd that he fled from the market.

He went to the cathedral, where they were already singing loudly, merrily and resolutely, with a sense of accomplishment of duty, then he walked for a long time, circled around the small, hot and neglected garden on the cliff of the mountain, above the boundless light-steel expanse of the river ...

The shoulder straps and buttons of his tunic were so hot that they could not be touched. The cap band was wet with sweat inside, his face was on fire ... Returning to the hotel, he entered with pleasure into a large and empty cool dining room in ground floor, took off his cap with pleasure and sat down at a table near open window, which carried with heat, but still blew air, ordered botvinia with ice ... Everything was fine, there was immense happiness in everything, great joy: even in this heat and in all the smells of the bazaar, in all this unfamiliar town and in this old she was in the county hotel, this joy, and at the same time the heart was simply torn to pieces. He drank several glasses of vodka while eating salted cucumbers with dill and feeling that he would die without hesitation tomorrow if it were possible by some miracle to bring her back, to spend one more, this day with her - to spend only then, only then, to tell her and something to prove, to convince how painfully and enthusiastically he loves her ... Why prove it? Why convince? He didn't know why, but it was more necessary than life.

- The nerves are completely gone! he said, pouring out his fifth glass of vodka.

He pushed the botvinia away from him, asked for black coffee, and began to smoke and think hard: what should he do now, how to get rid of this sudden, unexpected love? But to get rid of - he felt it too vividly - was impossible. And he suddenly got up again quickly, took a cap and a stack, and, asking where the post office was, hurriedly went there with the telegram phrase already ready in his head: “From now on, my whole life forever, to the grave, yours, in your power.” But, having reached the old thick-walled house, where there was a post office and a telegraph office, he stopped in horror: he knew the city where she lives, knew that she had a husband and a three-year-old daughter, but did not know either her last name or her first name! He asked her about it several times yesterday at dinner and at the hotel, and each time she laughed and said:

“Why do you need to know who I am, what is my name?”

On the corner, near the post office, there was a photographic display case. He looked for a long time at a large portrait of some military man in thick epaulettes, with bulging eyes, with a low forehead, with amazingly magnificent sideburns and the broadest chest, completely decorated with orders ... How wild, terrible everything is everyday, ordinary, when the heart is struck - yes, amazed, he now understood it - this terrible "sunstroke", too big love, too much happiness! He glanced at the newlywed couple—a young man in a long frock coat and white tie, with crew cut, stretched out to the front arm in arm with a girl in wedding gauze—transferred his eyes to the portrait of some pretty and playful young lady in a student cap on one side... envy of all these unknown to him, not suffering people, he began to look intently along the street.

- Where to go? What to do?

The street was completely empty. The houses were all the same, white, two-storied, merchants', with large gardens, and it seemed that there was not a soul in them; thick white dust lay on the pavement; and all this was blinding, everything was flooded with hot, fiery and joyful, but here, as if by an aimless sun. In the distance, the street rose, hunched over, and rested on a cloudless, grayish, gleaming sky. There was something southern in it, reminiscent of Sevastopol, Kerch ... Anapa. It was especially unbearable. And the lieutenant, with lowered head, squinting from the light, intently looking at his feet, staggering, stumbling, clinging to spur with spur, walked back.

He returned to the hotel so overwhelmed with fatigue, as if he had made a huge transition somewhere in Turkestan, in the Sahara. He is collecting last strength, entered his large and empty room. The room was already tidied up, devoid of the last traces of her - only one hairpin, forgotten by her, lay on the night table!

He took off his tunic and looked at himself in the mirror: his face—the usual officer’s face, gray from sunburn, with a whitish sun-bleached mustache and bluish whiteness of eyes that seemed even whiter from sunburn—had now an excited, crazy expression, and in There was something youthful and profoundly unhappy about a thin white shirt with a stand-up starched collar. He lay on his back on the bed, put his dusty boots on the dump.

The windows were open, the curtains were lowered, and a light breeze from time to time blew them in, blew into the room the heat of the heated iron roofs and all this luminous and now completely empty, silent Volga world. He lay with his hands behind the back of his head, staring intently ahead of him. Then he clenched his teeth, closed his eyelids, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks from under them - and finally fell asleep, and when he opened his eyes again, the evening sun was already reddish yellow behind the curtains. The wind died down, it was stuffy and dry in the room, like in an oven ... And I remembered yesterday and this morning as if they were ten years ago.

He slowly got up, slowly washed himself, raised the curtains, rang the bell and asked for the samovar and the bill, and drank tea with lemon for a long time. Then he ordered a cab to be brought in, things to be carried out, and, getting into the cab, on its red, burnt-out seat, he gave the lackey a whole five rubles.

“But it seems, your honor, that it was I who brought you at night!” said the driver cheerfully, taking hold of the reins.

When they went down to the pier, the blue summer night was already turning blue over the Volga, and already many multi-colored lights were scattered along the river, and the lights hung on the masts of the approaching steamer.

- Delivered exactly! said the driver ingratiatingly.

The lieutenant gave him five rubles, took a ticket, went to the pier ... Just like yesterday, there was a soft knock on its pier and a slight dizziness from unsteadiness underfoot, then a flying end, the noise of water boiling and running forward under the wheels of a steamboat moving a little back ... And it seemed unusually friendly, good from the crowd of this steamer, already lit everywhere and smelling of kitchen.

The dark summer dawn was dying away far ahead, gloomy, sleepy and multi-colored reflected in the river, which still shone here and there in trembling ripples far below it, under this dawn, and the lights scattered in the darkness all around floated and floated back.

The lieutenant sat under a canopy on the deck, feeling ten years older.

Maritime Alps.1925

Ivan Bunin

Sunstroke

After dinner they left the brightly and hotly lit dining room on deck and stopped at the rail. She closed her eyes, put her hand outward to her cheek, laughed a simple, charming laugh—everything was lovely about that little woman—and said:

- I'm completely drunk ... Actually, I'm completely crazy. Where did you come from? Three hours ago, I didn't even know you existed. I don't even know where you sat. In Samara? But anyway, you're cute. Is it my head spinning, or are we turning somewhere?

The lieutenant muttered:

- Let's go...

- Where? she asked in surprise.

- At this pier.

He said nothing. She again put the back of her hand to her hot cheek.

- Crazy…

"Let's go," he repeated stupidly. - I beg you…

“Oh, do as you please,” she said, turning away.

With a soft thud, the steamer hit the dimly lit pier, and they almost fell on top of each other. The end of the rope flew overhead, then it rushed back, and the water boiled with a noise, the gangway rattled ... The lieutenant rushed for things.

A minute later they passed the sleepy desk, stepped out onto the deep, hub-deep sand, and silently sat down in a dusty cab. The gentle ascent uphill, among the rare crooked lanterns, along the road soft from dust, seemed endless. But then they got up, drove out and crackled along the pavement, here was some kind of square, government offices, a tower, warmth and smells of a summer county town at night ... The cabman stopped near the illuminated entrance, behind the open doors of which an old wooden staircase rose steeply, an wearing a pink blouse and a frock coat, he took his things with displeasure and walked forward on his trampled feet. They entered a large, but terribly stuffy room, hotly heated during the day by the sun, with white curtains drawn down on the windows and two unburned candles on the under-mirror, and as soon as they entered and the footman closed the door, the lieutenant rushed to her so impetuously and both suffocated so frantically in a kiss that for many years they later remembered this moment: neither one nor the other had ever experienced anything like this in their entire lives.

At ten o'clock in the morning, sunny, hot, happy, with the ringing of churches, with a market on the square in front of the hotel, with the smell of hay, tar, and again all that complex and odorous smell of a Russian county town, she, this little nameless woman, and without saying her name, jokingly calling herself a beautiful stranger, she left. They slept little, but in the morning, coming out from behind the screen near the bed, having washed and dressed in five minutes, she was as fresh as at seventeen. Was she embarrassed? No, very little. She was still simple, cheerful and - already reasonable.

“No, no, dear,” she said in response to his request to go on together, “no, you must stay until the next boat. If we go together, everything will be ruined. It will be very unpleasant for me. I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think of me. There has never been anything even similar to what happened to me, and there will never be again. It’s like an eclipse hit me… Or rather, we both got something like a sunstroke…

And the lieutenant somehow easily agreed with her. In a light and happy spirit, he drove her to the pier - just in time for the departure of the pink "Airplane", - kissed her on deck in front of everyone and barely managed to jump onto the gangway, which had already moved back.

Just as easily, carefree, he returned to the hotel. However, something has changed. The room without her seemed somehow completely different than it was with her. He was still full of her - and empty. It was strange! There was still the smell of her good English cologne, her half-finished cup was still on the tray, but she was no longer there ... And the lieutenant's heart suddenly contracted with such tenderness that the lieutenant hurried to light a cigarette and, slapping his tops with a stack, several times walked up and down the room.

- Strange adventure! he said aloud, laughing and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. - “I give you my word of honor that I am not at all what you might think ...” And she has already left ... An absurd woman!

The screen was drawn back, the bed had not yet been made. And he felt that he simply did not have the strength to look at this bed now. He closed it with a screen, closed the windows so as not to hear the bazaar talk and the creak of wheels, lowered the white bubbling curtains, sat on the sofa ... Yes, that's the end of this "road adventure"! She left - and now she’s already far away, probably sitting in a glassy white salon or on deck and looking at the huge river shining under the sun, at the oncoming rafts, at the yellow shallows, at the shining distance of water and sky, at all this immense expanse of the Volga ... And forgive, and already forever, forever. Because where can they meet now? “I can’t,” he thought, “I can’t come to this city for no reason at all, where her husband, her three-year-old girl, in general, her whole family and her whole ordinary life!” And this city seemed to him some kind of special, reserved city, and the thought that she would continue to live her lonely life in it, often, perhaps, remembering him, remembering their chance, such a fleeting meeting, and he would never will not see her, this thought amazed and struck him. No, it can't be! It would be too wild, unnatural, implausible! - And he felt such pain and such uselessness of his whole future life without her that he was seized with horror, despair.

The theme of love is the main one in the work of Ivan Aleksandrovich Bunin. "Sunstroke" is one of his most famous short stories. The analysis of this work helps to reveal the author's views on love and its role in the fate of a person.

What is typical for Bunin, he focuses not on platonic feelings, but on romance, passion, desire. For the beginning of the 20th century, this can be considered a bold innovative decision: no one before Bunin openly sang and spiritualized bodily feelings. For married woman a fleeting relationship was an unforgivable, grievous sin.

The author argued: "All love is a great happiness, even if it is not divided." This saying applies to this story as well. In it, love comes like an inspiration, like a bright flash, like a sunstroke. It is an elemental and often tragic feeling, which, nevertheless, is a great gift.

In the story "Sunstroke" Bunin talks about the fleeting romance of the lieutenant and married lady who sailed on the same ship and suddenly inflamed with passion for each other. The author sees eternal mystery love is that the characters are not free in their passion: after the night they part forever, not even knowing each other's name.

The motif of the sun in the story gradually changes its color. If at the beginning the luminary is associated with joyful light, life and love, then at the end the hero sees in front of him "Aimless Sun" and understands what he experienced "terrible sunstroke". The cloudless sky became grayish for him, and the street, resting against it, humped. The lieutenant yearns and feels 10 years older: he does not know how to find the lady and tell her that he can no longer live without her. What happened to the heroine remains a mystery, but we guess that falling in love will also leave an imprint on her.

Bunin's manner of narration is very "dense". He is a master of the short genre, and in a small volume he manages to fully reveal the images and convey his idea. The story contains a lot of short but capacious descriptive sentences. They are filled with epithets and details.

Interestingly, love is a scar that remains in the memory, but does not burden the soul. Waking up alone, the hero realizes that he is again able to see smiling people. He himself will soon be able to rejoice: a spiritual wound can heal and almost not hurt.

Bunin never wrote about happy love. According to him, the reunion of souls is a completely different feeling, which has nothing to do with sublime passion. True love, as already mentioned, comes and goes suddenly, like a sunstroke.

About what?

From the very beginning, the story is intriguing in that the narrative begins with impersonal offer: "After dinner we went ... on deck ...". The lieutenant meets a beautiful stranger on the ship, whose name, like his name, remains unknown to the reader. They both seem to be hit by a sunstroke; passionate, ardent feelings flare up between them. The traveler and his companion leave the ship for the city, and the next day she leaves by boat to her family. The young officer is left all alone and after a while realizes that he can no longer live without that woman. The story ends with the fact that he, sitting under a canopy on the deck, feels ten years older.

Main characters and their characteristics

She. From the story, you can learn that this woman had a family - a husband and a three-year-old daughter, to whom she returned on a steamer from Anapa (probably from vacation or treatment). The meeting with the lieutenant became for her a "sunstroke" - a fleeting adventure, a "clouding of her mind." She does not tell him her name and asks him not to write to her in her city, as she understands that what happened between them is only a momentary weakness, and her real life is something completely different. She is beautiful and charming, her charm lies in the mystery.
The lieutenant is an ardent and impressionable man. For him, a meeting with a stranger was fatal. He only managed to truly realize what had happened to him after the departure of his beloved. He wants to find her, return her, because he was seriously carried away by her, but it's too late. The misfortune that can happen to a person from an overabundance of the sun, for him was a sudden feeling, true love, which made him suffer from the realization of the loss of his beloved. This loss had a profound effect on him.

Issues

One of the main problems in the story "Sunstroke" of this story is the problem of the essence of love. In the understanding of I. Bunin, love brings a person not only joy, but also suffering, making him feel unhappy. The happiness of short moments later results in the bitterness of separation and painful parting.
From this follows another problem of the story - the problem of the short duration, the fluctuation of happiness. And for the mysterious stranger, and for the lieutenant, this euphoria was short-lived, but in the future they both "remembered this moment for many years." Short moments of delight are accompanied by long years of longing and loneliness, but I. Bunin is sure that it is thanks to them that life acquires meaning.

Topic

The theme of love in the story "Sunstroke" is a feeling full of tragedy, mental anguish, but at the same time it is filled with passion and ardor. This great, all-consuming feeling becomes both happiness and grief. Bunin's love is like a match that rapidly flares up and dies out, and at the same time it suddenly strikes, like a sunstroke, and can no longer leave its imprint on the human soul.

Meaning

The point of Sunstroke is to show readers all the facets of love. It arises suddenly, lasts a little, passes hard, like a disease. It is both beautiful and painful at the same time. This feeling can both elevate a person and completely destroy him, but it is precisely this feeling that can give him those bright moments of happiness that color his faceless everyday life and fill his life with meaning.

Ivan Alexandrovich Bunin in the story "Sunstroke" seeks to convey to readers his main idea about the fact that passionate and strong emotions do not always have a future: love fever is fleeting and like a powerful shock, but this is what makes it the most wonderful feeling in the world.

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