Peter Orlovets biography

Life, like a heavenly verb, inspired, marvelous, loving, I do not want to believe in the news of that fatal, as before above the coffin, sad, in the news, which thickened the darkness of the hopelessness, because of the death of life, we look at the darkness, mournful, mournful, hoarse, in my heart and in memory. A century unforgettable for a long time in the midst of the chaos of the vulgar, wild, we warmed the shine of the great, and only yesterday we illuminated us the captivating life of the beautiful chord, the final no great a hermit with us, the body touched the seal, but the spirit among us will remain a genius.

Like a love of a loved one with all my heart, not frantic by the mind, in souls, we will keep the light of the illuminating, marvelous covenants that warmly warmly the name of the writer, marvelous pages and the creator, and the creator, and even though we are no longer Tolstoy, is quieter about the death of Tolstoy in different seals of the press, when the first news of the Tolboye came to Petersburg, all overheat.

Strange, noisy enthusiasm. They still haven’t made out the meaning of it, and the news, launched by someone from the editorial office before the release of newspapers, was overturned in every possible way-and enthusiasm in the air, overwhelmed his hearts. In restaurants, through the streets, in private apartments instantly gathered people said to each other: - Have you heard? Lev Tolstoy left the old man?

And then somehow it was scary for him. But no one answered him, only looked, and the skeptic fell silent, feeling a public mood. This skeptical question remained, however, in my memory. How many people who do not get into the beat of life, divorced by virtue of their skeptical attitude to the present from all our events, large and small, can repeat innocent, reasonable and blind words: “What did he do?

Tolstoy himself, during his life, finished his biography. There is a great and last beauty in integrity. Where the cutter brought the last line, where the lines performed in full and complete and fully performed and performed in complete and complete and complete and The finished perfection is mixed up with a pre -release, more than this excuse, because it was given in the work itself, it was made with its last line, it closed in the Harmony carried out by the chisel, which ended itself in great harmony with itself, as it were, as it were, united by its ends - and this justified everything that lay on it a hard, uninhabited, uninhabited, uninhabited.

reproachful.

This summer, one friend of mine, who lived a few miles from Yasnaya Polyana, had the opportunity to study the attitude of the Tula intelligentsia and Yasnaya Polish peasants to Count Tolstoy. This attitude is characteristic and meaningful already because the Tula residents had a great man constantly before their eyes, got used to him, and became closely close to his proximity, which in general terms resemble the proximity of the homemade.

Here is what he said: “You cannot imagine what Lev Nikolaevich is not in the Tula intelligentsia.” One hint of Leo Nikolaevich was able to annoy these people. Without hatred, but not without condemnation. Their usual phrases about him: “Well, yes, they are very distrustful of the Barskoye business. Whoever is unprofitable, who was completely indifferent. I met one male sector. I went to him with hunting, a smart man, a sensible, tired, tired, with a beard, a remarkable smile.

I somehow asked him with a hand:“ I know it, ”“ I know it, ” How. Yes, not all this worth it. "Of course, I was stuck to him, it was very interesting that he spoke with Lev Nikolaevich and how he got to him. So my peasant tells me: “This is a longtime business, at that time I read the books of Count Leo Tolstoy, encouraged them. I thought that she was all here, the truth, all to the droplet.

Well, it caught fire to me to go to the count. I didn’t understand something, I think, he would explain a little, and I will see him, I had done it. неблизко, в ту пору я жил далече. Пришел, прождал его, как водится. Ну, принял он меня. Комната ничего себе, и было бы мне свободно поговорить, коли бы он один. А в ту пору случился у него писатель, Максим Горький, как наш брат, в поддевке.

Потолковали с пятое на десятое, а тут слуга входит да и докладывает, что, мол, кушать подано. Граф оборотился к Gorky and tells him that, Alexei Maksimovich, let's go to the dining room. I'm not the same person? Speak yourself, people under God go equal, but then you make an insult to me. "If I lived alone, I would always put you at my table, but I will not be condemned by my homemade.

So forgive you. "And I bowed to me. Well, I went to the kitchen. And there I saw that he was all inappropriate. He is a weak man, that’s what. And he says well - so what my peasant told me. The great writer died. The whole man knows the name of which enjoys honorary fame in all cultural degree, India, including.The source of thoughts, which has been an echo in the minds and hearts of hundreds of thousands of people of various nations, traditions, worldviews, created a miraculous monument in the history of the development of artistic creativity and free thought, in the grateful memory of contemporaries and offspring.

One of the greatest writers of all time and peoples, he does not need to proclaim him eternal memory; The eternal memory will remain behind him in cultural humanity, immortality is destined for his name and works of his work. His creations around the world will remain immortal, but especially in Russia, dear to him in blood and spirit, in the language and warehouse of thought, according to the samples created by him, by them in Russian society, captured and directed.

The poverty of our usual language, the lack of suitable words for expressing strong feelings is never so comprehended as in the moments of non -signful social losses, when society is left without its best decorations, without which it fairly saw its pride and glory. Accustomed to ordinary expressions for a statement about our sorrows about various minor losses, we are powerless to express the whole depth of our grief, when an exceptional misfortune overtakes when the loss experienced by society cannot be filled with anything.

With what words can Russian society convey the whole significance of the loss of the “great writer of the Russian land” with the death of the “great writer”? Everything that can be said about this will be too weak and negligible in comparison with the meaning that L. Tolstoy had in the whole reading world. Since our literature has become on our feet, there has not been a writer who, so much contributed to the conquest for the Russian places in the mental life of Europe.

If former first-class Russian writers contributed to this, bringing Russia closer to Europe, then the brilliant artist who had just entered the grave brought Europe closer to us, excited a deep interest in Russian literature, to Russian thought, the images, unrest, the suffering of Russian people who were brought out in his novels and stories. Russian literature, not well known to foreigners, led by Tolstoy, pierced the thick wall that separated us from Europe, and took one of the most honorable places in world literature.

Tolstoy’s colossal talent in passing only struck the imagination of foreign readers, he continued to keep their attention for many years, constantly exciting a feeling and thought, prompting a number of issues, one or another solution of which is necessary with a conscious attitude to life. It owes these properties to his Tolstoy because in recent years there was no other writer around the world, whose works would be monitored with a more burning interest.

It is hardly an exaggeration to say that of all the writers, the most popular figure in Europe and in America is Tolstoy. The Western European reader loses one of the most known to him and the most revered to him in the persons of the great Russian writer. But the loss experienced by a foreign reader cannot be compared with the one that we are carrying, Russian people who see not only a great artist and an incomparable image of human joys and suffering, but a tireless fighter for freedom of thoughts, for making the motto of most best writers.

Amazing energy, amazing responsiveness to questions that excite humanity, never a weakening interest in the surrounding life, distinguished Tolstoy until the last days of its existence. He remained until the end of his full life and creativity and is one of the few Russian writers, who retained all his power until old age, who did not lose a single grain of his huge talent. This living and passionate attitude to everything related to public life explains the high meaning that Tolstoy had not only as an artist, but as a thinker, teacher, creator of folk literature.

And far has not yet been said by the great artist-submarine of his last word; His flesh crawled, but his spirit remained fresh and powerful. The end of the genius died a great Russian genius who used worldwide fame, the great artist and populist L. Russian literature died in the person of Leo Nikolaevich Creator: works that will never die. Already in one of his first works “Cossacks” the great talent reached the size of genius.

Over the years, this talent grew up and developed, taking various shades, pouring into one form or another form. Not being a professional writer, but working by inspiration, L. Tolstoy did a lot, processed his works endlessly, for a long time and carefully and achieved worldwide fame. Without risk, one can indicate that the whole life of Tolstoy, always cheerful, strong and capable of work has gone to literary work by inspiration.

The late great writer was always drawn to live on a clear refreshing bosom of nature, outside the conditions of urban life.Planning to generalize the life of man, animals and all nature, Tolstoy created strongly and original; He immediately began with the manifestation of internal power, and this power never almost did not change him - whether he was right or mistaken in his views, but the power of originality always visible in him.

Being a fan of Russo, he always strove for primitive simplicity. The strength and brightness of colors in the strictly literary works of L. that glory that spread about his literary works far beyond the borders of our Fatherland, L. Holding on in recent years close to nature, Tolstoy loved everything around and people. Tolstoy was a prophet. Tolstoy was a protest against a modern complicated life, in his frantic stream forgetting about truth and love.

He, as a world bell, broadcast to humanity about the possibility of a different bright, joyful life. And the whole world was listened to the powerful blows of this bell, in the hearts of the people of which the thirst for a new pure life is already lit. The blows of the bell woke up faith in a new life, called to her. And the blows of the bell will not be silent with the death of Leo Nikolaevich.