Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy

Family happiness

We mourned for our mother, who died in the fall, and lived all winter in the village, alone with Katya and Sonya.

Katya was an old friend of the house, a governess who nursed us all, and whom I remembered and loved as long as I could remember. Sonya was my little sister. We spent a gloomy and sad winter in our old Pokrovsk house. The weather was cold and windy, so that the snowdrifts were higher than the windows; the windows were almost always frozen and dim, and for almost the entire winter we did not go or drive anywhere. Rarely did anyone come to us; and whoever came did not add to the fun and joy in our house. Everyone had sad faces, everyone spoke quietly, as if afraid to wake someone up, they did not laugh, sighed and often cried, looking at me and especially at little Sonya in a black dress. There was still a sense of death in the house; sadness and horror of death were in the air. Mom’s room was locked, and I felt creepy, and something pulled me to look into this cold and empty room when I passed her to sleep.

I was seventeen years old then, and in the very year of her death, my mother wanted to move to the city to take me out. The loss of my mother was a strong grief for me, but I must admit that because of this grief I also felt that I was young and good, as everyone told me, but I was killing the second winter in solitude in the village. Before the end of winter, this feeling of melancholy, loneliness and just boredom increased to such an extent that I did not leave the room, did not open the piano and did not pick up books. When Katya tried to persuade me to do this or that, I answered: I don’t want to, I can’t, but in my heart I said: why? Why do anything when what I have is wasted so much? best time? For what? And to “why” there was no other answer than tears.

They told me that I had lost weight and looked ugly during this time, but that didn’t even bother me. For what? for whom? It seemed to me that my whole life should pass in this lonely wilderness and helpless melancholy, from which I myself, alone, did not have the strength or even the desire to escape. At the end of winter, Katya began to fear for me and decided to take me abroad at all costs. But this required money, and we hardly knew what we had left after our mother, and every day we waited for the guardian who was supposed to come and sort out our affairs. The guardian arrived in March.

- Well, thank God! - Katya said to me once, when I was like a shadow, idle, without thoughts, without desires, walking from corner to corner, - Sergei Mikhailych arrived, sent to ask about us and wanted to be there for dinner. Shake yourself up, my Masha,” she added, “what will he think of you?” He loved you all so much.

Sergei Mikhailych was our close neighbor and friend of our late father, although much younger than him. Besides the fact that his arrival changed our plans and made it possible to leave the village, since childhood I had become accustomed to loving and respecting him, and Katya, advising me to shake myself up, guessed that of all the people I knew, it would hurt me the most to appear in an unfavorable light in front of Sergei Mikhailych . Besides the fact that I, like everyone in the house, from Katya and Sonya, his goddaughter, to the last coachman, loved him out of habit, he had a special meaning for me because of one word spoken by my mother in front of me. She said that she would like such a husband for me. At the time it seemed surprising and even unpleasant to me; my hero was completely different. My hero was thin, lean, pale and sad. Sergei Mikhailych was no longer a young man, tall, stocky and, as it seemed to me, always cheerful; but, despite the fact, these words of my mother sunk into my imagination, and six years ago, when I was eleven years old, and he told me you, played with me and nicknamed me the violet girl, I sometimes asked myself, not without fear , what will I do if he suddenly wants to marry me?

Before dinner, to which Katya added cream cake and spinach sauce, Sergei Mikhailych arrived. I saw through the window how he drove up to the house in a small sleigh, but as soon as he drove around the corner, I hurried into the living room and wanted to pretend that I had not expected him at all. But, hearing the pounding of feet in the hallway, his loud voice and Katya’s steps, I could not resist and went to meet him halfway. He held Katya by the hand, spoke loudly and smiled. Seeing me, he stopped and looked at me for some time without bowing. I felt embarrassed and felt myself blushing.

- Ah! is it really you? - he said in his decisive and simple manner, spreading his arms and approaching me. - Is it possible to change like that! how you have grown! That's a violet! You have become a whole rose.

He took it with his big hand me by the hand, and shook it so tightly, honestly, it just didn’t hurt. I thought that he would kiss my hand, and I leaned towards him, but he shook my hand again and looked straight into my eyes with his firm and cheerful gaze.

I haven't seen him for six years. He has changed a lot; he had aged, turned black and had acquired sideburns, which did not suit him at all; but they were the same simple techniques, an open, honest face with large features, intelligent, sparkling eyes and a gentle, childlike smile.

Five minutes later he ceased to be a guest, but became his own person for all of us, even for people who, it was clear from their helpfulness, were especially happy about his arrival.

He behaved completely differently from the neighbors who came after mother’s death and considered it necessary to remain silent and cry while sitting with us; he, on the contrary, was talkative, cheerful and did not say a word about his mother, so at first this indifference seemed strange and even indecent to me from such a person. loved one. But then I realized that it was not indifference, but sincerity, and I was grateful for it.

In the evening, Katya sat down to pour tea in her old place in the living room, as happened with her mother; Sonya and I sat down next to her; old Gregory He brought him his father’s old pipe, which he had found, and he, as in the old days, began to walk back and forth around the room.

– How many terrible changes are there in this house, just think! - he said, stopping.

“Yes,” Katya said with a sigh and, covering the samovar with the lid, looked at him, ready to cry.

– I think you remember your father? – he turned to me.

“Not enough,” I answered.

- And how good it would be for you to be with him now! - he said, quietly and thoughtfully looking at my head above my eyes. – I loved your father very much! – he added even more quietly and it seemed to me that his eyes became shiny.

- And then God took her! - Katya said and immediately put the napkin on the teapot, took out a handkerchief and began to cry.

“Yes, terrible changes in this house,” he repeated, turning away. “Sonya, show me the toys,” he added after a while and went out into the hall.

I looked at Katya with tear-filled eyes when he left.

- This is such a nice friend! - she said.

And indeed, somehow I felt warm and good from the sympathy of this stranger and good person.

From the living room you could hear Sonya's squeak and his fussing with her. I sent him tea; and you could hear him sit down at the piano and begin to hit the keys with Sonya’s little hands.

I was pleased that he addressed me so simply and in a friendly, commanding manner; I stood up and approached him.

“Play this,” he said, opening Beethoven’s notebook to the adagio of the sonata quasi una fantasia. “Let’s see how you play,” he added and walked away with the glass to the corner of the hall.

For some reason I felt that it was impossible for me to refuse with him and make prefaces that I was playing badly; I obediently sat down at the clavichord and began to play as best I could, although I was afraid of the court, knowing that he understood and loved music. The Adagio was in the tone of that feeling of memory that was evoked by the conversation over tea, and I played, it seems, decently. But he didn’t let me play the scherzo. “No, you’re not playing well,” he said, coming up to me, “leave that, but the first one is not bad. You seem to understand music." This moderate praise made me so happy that I even blushed. It was so new and pleasant for me that he, my father’s friend and equal, spoke to me one on one seriously, and no longer like a child, as before. Katya went upstairs to put Sonya to bed, and the two of us remained in the hall.

He told me about my father, how he got along with him, how happily they once lived, when I was still sitting with books and toys; and for the first time my father, in his stories, seemed to me to be a simple and sweet man, such as I had not known him until now. He also asked me about what I loved, what I read, what I intended to do, and gave advice. For me now he was not a joker and a merry fellow who teased me and made toys, but a serious, simple and loving person, for whom I felt involuntary respect and sympathy. It was easy and pleasant for me, and at the same time I felt involuntary tension while talking with him. I was afraid for every word I said; I so wanted to earn his love myself, which I had already acquired only because I was my father’s daughter.

Days, weeks, two months of secluded village life passed unnoticed, as it seemed then; and yet the feelings, excitement and happiness of these two months would be enough for a lifetime. My and his dreams about how ours will work out country life, came true completely differently than we expected. But our life was no worse than our dreams. There was no this strict work, the fulfillment of the duty of self-sacrifice and life for another, that I imagined for myself when I was a bride; there was, on the contrary, one selfish feeling love to each other, the desire to be loved, causeless constant fun and oblivion of everything in the world. True, he sometimes went off to do something in his office, sometimes he went to the city on business and did housework; but I saw how hard it was for him to tear himself away from me. And he himself later admitted how everything in the world, where I was not, seemed to him such nonsense that he could not understand how he could deal with it. It was the same for me. I read, studied music, and was a mother, and at school; but all this only because each of these activities was connected with him and deserved his approval; but as soon as the thought of him did not mix with any business, I gave up, and it seemed so funny to me to think that there was anything in the world other than him. Maybe it was a bad, selfish feeling; but this feeling gave me happiness and raised me high above the whole world. He alone existed for me in the world, and I considered him the most beautiful, infallible person in the world; therefore, I could not live for anything else than for him, as in order to be in his eyes what he considered me to be. And he considered me the first and most beautiful woman in the world, gifted with all possible virtues; and I tried to be this woman in the eyes of the first and better man worldwide.

One day he came into my room while I was praying to God. I looked back at him and continued to pray. He sat down at the table so as not to disturb me and opened the book. But it seemed to me that he was looking at me and I looked back. He smiled, I laughed and could not pray.

-Have you prayed yet? - I asked.

- Yes. Yes, continue, I'll leave.

- Yes, you are praying, I hope?

He wanted to leave without answering, but I stopped him.

- My soul, please, for me, read your prayers with me.

He stood next to me and, awkwardly lowering his hands, with a serious face, stammering, began to read. Occasionally he turned to me, looking for approval and help on my face.

When he finished, I laughed and hugged him.

- All of you, all of you! “It’s like I’m turning ten years old again,” he said, blushing and kissing my hands.

Our house was one of the old village houses in which several related generations lived, respecting and loving one another. Everything smelled of good, honest family memories, which suddenly, as soon as I entered this house, seemed to become my memories too. The decoration and order of the house were carried out by Tatyana Semyonovna in the old-fashioned way. This is not to say that everything was elegant and beautiful; but from servants to furniture and food there was a lot of everything, everything was neat, durable, tidy and inspired respect. In the living room there was furniture arranged symmetrically, portraits hung and homemade rugs and stripes were spread on the floor. In the sofa room there was an old piano, wardrobes of two different styles, sofas and tables with brass and inlays. In my office, decorated with the efforts of Tatyana Semyonovna, there was the best furniture of various centuries and styles and, among other things, an old dressing table, which at first I could not look at without shyness, but which later, like an old friend, became dear to me. Tatyana Semyonovna could not be heard, but everything in the house went on like clockwork, although there were a lot of extra people. But all these people, who wore soft boots without heels (Tatyana Semyonovna considered the creaking of the soles and the clatter of heels to be the most unpleasant thing in the world), all these people seemed proud of their rank, were in awe of the old lady, looked at my husband and me with patronizing affection and, it seemed, , did their job with particular pleasure. Every Saturday, the floors in the house were washed and carpets were beaten out, every first day prayers were served with the blessing of water, every name day of Tatyana Semyonovna, her son (and mine - for the first time this fall) feasts were held for the entire neighborhood. And all this has been done invariably since Tatyana Semyonovna could remember herself. The husband did not interfere with housekeeping and only took care of the field farming and peasants, and did a lot. He got up very early even in winter, so that when I woke up, I was no longer there to find him. He usually returned to tea, which we drank alone, and almost always at this time, after the troubles and troubles around the house, he was in that special cheerful mood that we called wild delight. Often I demanded that he tell me what he did in the morning, and he told me such nonsense that we died of laughter; sometimes I demanded a serious story, and he kept a smile and told it. I looked at his eyes, at his moving lips and did not understand anything, I was only glad that I saw him and heard his voice.

- Well, what did I say? repeat,” he asked. But I couldn't repeat anything. It was so funny that he was telling me not about himself and me, but about something else. It certainly doesn't matter what happens there. Only much later did I begin to understand a little and take an interest in his concerns. Tatyana Semyonovna did not come out until lunch, drank tea alone and only greeted us through the ambassadors. In our special, extravagantly happy little world, the voice from her other, sedate, decent corner sounded so strange that often I could not stand it and only laughed in response to the maid, who, folding her hand over her hand, measuredly reported that Tatyana Semyonovna was ordered to find out how they slept after yesterday's festivities, and silently ordered to report that their side had been hurting all night and that a stupid dog in the village was barking and preventing them from sleeping. “They also ordered me to ask how I liked the current cookies, and asked me to note that it was not Taras who baked today, but Nikolasha, for the first time, for testing, and they said they were very good, especially the pretzels, but he overcooked the crackers.” We weren't together much until lunch. I played, read alone, he wrote, left again; but by dinner, at four o’clock, we met in the living room, mother floated out of her room, and poor noblewomen, wanderers, of whom there were always two or three living in the house, appeared. Regularly every day, the husband, according to an old habit, gave his mother his hand for dinner; but she demanded that he give me another, and regularly every day we crowded and got confused at the door. Mother presided over dinner, and the conversation was decently reasonable and somewhat solemn. Our simple words My husband and I pleasantly disrupted the solemnity of these dinner meetings. Disputes and ridicule of each other sometimes ensued between the son and mother; I especially loved these disputes and ridicule, because they most powerfully expressed the tender and firm love that bound them. After dinner, maman would sit in the living room on a large armchair and grind tobacco or cut the pages of newly received books, and we would read aloud or go to the sofa to the clavichord. We read a lot together during this time, but music was our favorite and best pleasure, each time awakening new strings in our hearts and as if revealing each other to us again. When I played his favorite things, he sat on the far sofa, where I could hardly see him, and out of shyness feelings tried to hide the impression that the music made on him; but often, when he did not expect it, I got up from the piano, approached him and tried to catch traces of excitement on his face, the unnatural shine and moisture in his eyes, which he tried in vain to hide from me. Mom often wanted to look at us in the sofa room, but, it’s true, she was afraid to embarrass us, and sometimes, as if not looking at us, she passed through the sofa room with an imaginary serious and indifferent face; but I knew that she had no need to go to her place and return so soon. I poured evening tea in the large living room, and again everyone in the house gathered at the table. This solemn meeting in front of the mirror of the samovar and the distribution of glasses and cups embarrassed me for a long time. It seemed to me that I was still unworthy of this honor, too young and frivolous to turn the tap of such a large samovar, to put a glass on Nikita’s tray and say: “Peter Ivanovich, Marya Minichna,” and ask: “Is it sweet?” - leave lumps of sugar for the nanny and honored people. “Nice, nice,” my husband often said, “like a big one,” and this embarrassed me even more.

After tea, maman played solitaire or listened to Marya Minichna tell fortunes; then she kissed and baptized us both, and we went home. For the most part, however, we sat together past midnight, and that was the best and most enjoyable time. He told me about his past, we made plans, sometimes philosophized and tried to say everything quietly so that we would not be heard upstairs and would not be reported to Tatyana Semyonovna, who demanded that we go to bed early. Sometimes, when we were hungry, we would quietly go to the buffet, get a cold dinner through Nikita’s patronage, and eat it by one candle in my office. We lived with him like strangers in this big old house, in which the strict spirit of antiquity and Tatyana Semyonovna stood over everything. Not only she, but the people, the old girls, the furniture, the paintings inspired me with respect, some fear and the consciousness that he and I were a little out of place here and that we needed to live here very carefully and attentively. As I remember now, I see that much - both this binding, unchanging order, and this abyss of idle and curious people in our house - was inconvenient and difficult; but then this very constraint enlivened our love even more. Not only me, but he didn’t show any sign that he didn’t like anything. On the contrary, he even seemed to be hiding himself from what was bad. Mama’s lackey, Dmitry Sidorov, a great lover of a pipe, regularly every day after dinner, when we were in the sofa room, went to my husband’s office to take his tobacco from the box; and you should have seen with what cheerful fear Sergei Mikhailych approached me on tiptoe and, wagging his finger and winking, pointed at Dmitry Sidorovich, who had no idea that he was being seen. And when Dmitry Sidorov left without noticing us, out of joy that everything ended well, as in any other case, my husband said that I was lovely and kissed me. Sometimes this calmness, all-forgiveness and seemingly indifference to everything did not please me - I did not notice that it was the same in me, and considered it weakness. “Like a child who doesn’t dare show his will!” I thought.

“Oh, my friend,” he answered me when I once told him that I was surprised by his weakness, “can you be dissatisfied with anything when you are as happy as I am?” It is easier to give in than to bend others, I was convinced of this long ago; and there is no situation in which one cannot be happy. And we feel so good! I can't be angry; For me now there is no bad thing, there is only pathetic and funny. And most importantly - le mieux est l'ennemi du bien (The best is the enemy of the good, French). Would you believe it, when I hear the bell, I receive a letter, it’s just that when I wake up, I get scared. It’s scary that you have to live, that something will change; and it couldn’t be better than now.

I believed, but did not understand him. I felt good, but it seemed that all this was so, and not otherwise, it should be and always happens to everyone, and that there was, somewhere, another, although not greater, but different happiness.

So two months passed, winter came with its colds and snowstorms, and I, despite the fact that he was with me, began to feel lonely, began to feel that life was repeating itself, and there was nothing new in either me or him, but that, on the contrary, we seem to be returning to the old. He began to do things without me more than before, and again it began to seem to me that there was some special world in his soul into which he did not want to let me. His constant calm irritated me. I loved him no less than before, and no less than before, I was happy with his love; But Love mine stopped and did not grow any more, and besides love, some new restless feeling began to creep into my soul. I didn't have enough be in love after I experienced the happiness of loving him. I wanted movement, not a calm flow of life. I wanted excitement, danger and self-sacrifice for feelings. There was an excess of strength in me that found no place in our quiet life. I was overcome by gusts of melancholy, which I, like something bad, tried to hide from him, and gusts of frantic tenderness and gaiety that frightened him. He noticed my condition even before me and suggested going to the city; but I asked him not to travel and not to change our way of life, not to disturb our happiness. And sure enough, I was happy; but what tormented me was that this happiness did not cost me any labor, no sacrifice, when the forces of labor and sacrifice tormented me. I loved him and saw that I was everything to him; but I wanted everyone to see our love, so that they would prevent me from loving, and I would still love him. My mind and even my feelings were busy, but there was another feeling - youth, the need for movement, which found satisfaction in our quiet life. Why did he tell me that we can go to the city whenever I want? If he had not told me this, perhaps I would have understood that the feeling that tormented me was harmful nonsense, my fault, that the sacrifice I was looking for was here, in front of me, in the suppression of this feeling. The thought that I could escape from melancholy only by moving to the city involuntarily occurred to me; and at the same time tearing him away from everything he loved for myself - I felt ashamed and sorry. And time passed, more snow fell and more wall at home, and we were all alone and alone, and we were still the same in front of each other; and somewhere there, in the brilliance, in the noise, crowds of people worried, suffered and rejoiced, not thinking about us and our passing existence. The worst thing for me was that I felt how every day the habits of life were shackling our life into one specific form, how our feelings were no longer free, but were subordinate to the even, dispassionate flow of time. We were cheerful in the morning, respectful at lunch, tender in the evening. “Good!..” I said to myself. “It’s good to do good and live honestly, as he says; but we will have time to do this, but there is something for which I only now have the strength.” That’s not what I needed, I needed a fight; I needed the feeling to guide us in life, and not life to guide the feeling. I wanted to go up to the abyss with him and say: here’s a step, I’ll throw myself there, here’s a movement, and I’m lost—and so that he, turning pale on the edge of the abyss, would take me into his arms. Strong arms, would hold it over her, so that I would have heart went cold and would have taken him wherever he wanted.

This condition even affected my health, and my nerves began to fray. One morning I was worse than usual; He returned from the office in a bad mood, which rarely happened to him. I immediately noticed this and asked: what’s wrong with him? But he didn't want to tell me, saying he wasn't worth it. As I later found out, the police officer called our men and, out of dislike for my husband, demanded illegal things from them and threatened them. My husband still could not digest all this so that it was all just funny and pitiful, he was irritated and therefore did not want to talk to me. But it seemed to me that he did not want to talk to me because he considered me a child who could not understand what was occupying him. I turned away from him, became silent and told him to ask Marya Minichna, who was visiting us, for tea. After tea, which I finished especially quickly, I took Marya Minichna into the sofa room and began talking loudly to her about some nonsense that was not at all interesting to me. He walked around the room, occasionally glancing at us. For some reason these glances now had such an effect on me that I wanted to talk and even laugh more and more; I thought everything I said and everything that Marya Minichna said was funny. Without saying anything to me, he went completely into his office and closed the door behind him. As soon as he was no longer heard, all my gaiety suddenly disappeared, so Marya Minichna was surprised and began to ask what was wrong with me. Without answering her, I sat down on the sofa, and I wanted to cry. “And why is he changing his mind? - I thought. - Some nonsense that seems important to him, but try to tell me, I’ll show him that it’s all nonsense. No, he needs to think that I won’t understand, he needs to humiliate me with his majestic calm and always be right with me. But I’m right when I’m bored, empty, when I want to live, move, I thought, and not stand in one place and feel like time is running through me. I want to go forward and every day, every hour I want something new, but he wants to stop and stop me with him. How easy it would have been for him! For this he does not need to take me to the city, for this he only needs to be like me, not to break himself, not to hold back, but to live simply. This is what he advises me, but he himself is not simple. That's what!"

I felt that tears were coming to my heart and that I was irritated with him. I was afraid of this irritation and went to him. He sat in his office and wrote. Hearing my steps, he looked back for a moment, indifferently, calmly, and continued writing. I didn't like this look; Instead of going up to him, I stood at the table where he was writing, and, opening the book, began to look into it. He pulled away again and looked at me.

- Masha! are you out of sorts? - he said.

I responded with a cold look that said: “No need to ask! what kind of pleasantries? He shook his head and smiled timidly, tenderly, but for the first time my smile did not answer his smile.

- What did you have today? — I asked, “why didn’t you tell me?”

- Nonsense! “a little trouble,” he answered. “However, now I can tell you.” Two men went to the city...

I was annoyed that again everything was clear and calm in his soul, when in me there was annoyance and a feeling similar to repentance.

- Masha! What happened to you? - he said. “It’s not about whether I’m right or you’re right, but about something completely different: what do you have against me?” Don't suddenly talk, think and tell me everything you think. You are unhappy with me, and you are probably right, but let me understand what I am to blame for.

But how could I tell him my soul? The fact that he understood me so immediately, that again I was a child in front of him, that I could not do anything that he did not understand and did not foresee, excited me even more.

“I have nothing against you,” I said. “I’m just bored and I don’t want it to be boring.” But you say that this is how it should be, and again you are right!

I said this and looked at him. I achieved my goal, his calmness disappeared, fear and pain were on his face.

“Masha,” he spoke in a quiet, excited voice. “It’s no joke what we’re doing now.” Now our fate is being decided. I ask you not to answer me and listen. Why do you want to torture me?

That evening I played for him for a long time, and he walked around the room and whispered something. He had a habit of whispering, and I often asked him what he whispered, and he always, after thinking, answered me exactly what he whispered: mostly poetry and sometimes terrible nonsense, but such nonsense by which I knew the mood of his soul .

-What are you whispering today? - I asked.

He stopped, thought and, smiling, answered two verses from Lermontov:

And he, crazy, asks for a storm,

As if there is peace in the storms!

“No, he is more than a man; he knows everything! — I thought, “how can you not love him!”

I stood up, took his hand and began to walk with him, trying to keep track of each other.

- Yes? - he asked, smiling, looking at me.

“Yes,” I said in a whisper; and a kind of cheerful mood took over both of us, our eyes laughed, and we took more and more steps, and stood on tiptoe more and more. And with the same step, to the great indignation of Gregory and the surprise of mother, who was playing solitaire in the living room, they went through all the rooms to the dining room, and there they stopped, looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Two weeks later, before the holiday, we were in St. Petersburg.

The problem of family is one of the main ones in the work of the greatest Russian prose writer of the 19th century, L.N. Tolstoy. The relationships between family members, trust, love, devotion, betrayal were reflected in his great novels “Anna Karenina”, “War and Peace”. One of the most profound attempts to reveal the specifics of the relationship between a man and a woman in marriage was the work “Family Happiness.”

“Family Happiness” by Tolstoy, created in 1858, appeared in the magazine “Russian Messenger” the very next year. The author called the work a novel, although it has all the signs of a story. The work, which is based on the problem of family, differs from Tolstoy’s more famous prose works in the private aspect of the story only about the personal lives of the main characters. The work is also distinguished by the fact that the narration is not conducted by the author, but from the first person of the main character. This is very atypical for Tolstoy's prose.

The work was practically unnoticed by critics. Tolstoy himself, who called the novel “Anna,” after re-reading it, experienced a feeling of deep shame and disappointment, thinking of not even writing anymore. However, Apollo Grigoriev was able to consider in a touching and sensual work, striking in its sincerity and sad realism, the depth of the attempt philosophical analysis family life, the emphasized paradox of the concepts of love and marriage, and called the novel best work Tolstoy.

After the death of their mother, two girls - Masha and Sonya - were left orphans. Governess Katya looked after them. For seventeen-year-old Masha, the death of her mother was not only the loss of a loved one, but also the collapse of her girlish hopes. After all, this year they had to move to the city to bring Mashenka into the world. She begins to mope and does not leave her room for days. She didn’t understand why she should develop, because nothing interesting awaits her.

The family is waiting for a guardian who will manage their affairs. It turned out to be an old friend of his father’s – Sergei Mikhailych. At 36 years old, he is single and, believing that his best years have already passed, wants a calm and measured life. His arrival dispelled Machine's blues. When leaving, he reproached her for inaction. Then Masha begins to follow all his instructions: read, play music, study with her sister. She really wants Sergei Mikhailovich to praise her. Masha's love for life returns. Throughout the summer, the guardian comes to visit several times a week. They walk, read together, he listens to her play the piano. For Maria, nothing is more important than his opinion.

Sergei Mikhailych repeatedly emphasized that he was old and would never marry again. He once said that a girl like Masha would never marry him, and if she did, she would ruin her life next to her aging husband. It pained Masha that he thought so. Gradually she begins to understand that he likes her and she herself feels awe under his every glance. He always tried to behave with her in a fatherly manner, but one day she saw him in the barn whispering: “Dear Masha.” He was embarrassed, but the girl was confident in his feelings. After this incident, he did not come to them for a long time.

Masha decided to keep the fast until her birthday, on which, in her opinion, Sergei will certainly propose to her. She had never felt so inspired and happy before. Only now did she understand his words: “Happiness is living for another person.” On her birthday, he congratulated Masha and said that he was leaving. She, feeling more confident and calm than ever, called him to straight Talk and realized that he wanted to run away from her and his feelings. Using the example of heroes A and B, he told two stories possible development relationship: either the girl will marry the old man out of pity and will suffer, or she thinks that she loves, since she does not yet know life. And Masha told the third option: she loves and will suffer only if he leaves and leaves her. At the same hour, Sonya told Katya the news about the imminent wedding.

After the wedding, the young couple settled on the estate with Sergei’s mother. Life in the house went on at a measured pace. Everything was fine between the young people, their quiet and calm village life was full of tenderness and happiness. Over time, this regularity began to depress Masha; it seemed to her that life had stopped.

The event that changed Masha
Seeing the condition of the young wife, loving husband suggested a trip to St. Petersburg. Finding herself in the world for the first time, Masha changed a lot, Sergei even wrote to his mother about this. She became confident seeing how others liked her.

Masha began to actively attend balls, although she knew that her husband did not like it. But it seemed to her that, being beautiful and desirable in the eyes of others, she was proving her love to her husband. She did not think that she was doing anything reprehensible, and once, for formality, she was even a little jealous of her husband, which greatly offended him. They were already getting ready to return to the village, their things were folded, and the husband looked cheerful for the first time in his life. Lately. Suddenly a cousin arrived and invited Masha to a ball, where the prince would come, who certainly wanted to meet her. Sergei answered through clenched teeth that if she wanted, then let her go. Between them in the first and last time there was a big quarrel. Masha accused him of not understanding her. And he tried to explain that she exchanged their happiness for the cheap flattery of the world. And he added that everything was over between them.

After this incident, they lived in the city, strangers under the same roof, and even the birth of a child could not bring them closer. Masha was constantly passionate about society, not involved in her family. This went on for three years. But one day at the resort, Masha was neglected by her suitors for the sake of a prettier lady, and the arrogant Italian wanted to have an affair with her at all costs, kissing her by force. Instantly Masha saw the light and realized who truly loved her, that there was nothing more important than family, and asked her husband to return to the village.

They had a second son. But Masha suffered from Sergei’s indifference. Unable to bear it, she began to beg him to return their former happiness. But the husband calmly replied that love has its periods. He still loves and respects her, but the old feelings cannot be returned. After this conversation she felt better, she realized that new period her life in love for children and their father.

Characteristics of the main characters

main character the story Masha is a young girl, not knowledgeable of life, but so passionately wants to know her and be happy. Having grown up without a father, she sees her hero in his close friend and the only man in her circle, although she admits that this is not what she dreamed of. Masha understands that over time she begins to share his views, thoughts, and desires. Of course, sincere love arises in a young heart. She wanted to become wiser, more mature, in order to grow to his level and be worthy of him. But, once in the world, realizing that she was beautiful and desirable, their quiet family happiness was not enough for her. And only after realizing that a woman’s purpose is to raise children and maintain a family home, she calmed down. But to understand this, she had to pay a cruel price, losing their love.

Psychological story

ABOUT family customs and the traditions of the count's family, Valeria Dmitrieva, a researcher at the traveling exhibitions department of the Yasnaya Polyana museum-estate, tells.

Valeria Dmitrieva

Before meeting Sofia Andreevna, Lev Nikolaevich, at that time a young writer and an enviable groom, had been trying to find a bride for several years. He was gladly received in houses where there were girls of marriageable age. He corresponded with many potential brides, looked, chose, evaluated... And then one day a happy occasion brought him to the house of the Berses, with whom he was familiar. In this wonderful family Three daughters were raised at once: the eldest Lisa, the middle Sonya and the youngest Tanya. Lisa was passionately in love with Count Tolstoy. The girl did not hide her feelings, and those around her already considered Tolstoy to be the groom of the eldest of the sisters. But Lev Nikolaevich had a different opinion.

The writer himself had tender feelings for Sonya Bers, which he hinted at in his famous message.

On the card table, the count wrote with chalk the first letters of three sentences: “V. m. and p.s. With. and. n. m.m.s. and n. With. In the With. With. l. V. n. m. and v. With. L.Z.m.v. with v. With. T". Tolstoy later wrote that his entire future life depended on this moment.

Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy, photo from 1868

According to his plan, Sofya Andreevna was supposed to unravel the message. If he deciphers the text, then she is his destiny. And Sofya Andreevna understood what Lev Nikolaevich meant: “Your youth and need for happiness remind me too vividly of my old age and the impossibility of happiness. There is a false view in your family about me and your sister Lisa. You and your sister Tanya will protect me.” She wrote that it was providence. By the way, Tolstoy later described this moment in the novel Anna Karenina. It was with chalk on the card table that Konstantin Levin encrypted Kitty’s marriage proposal.

Sofya Andreevna Tolstaya, 1860s

Happy Lev Nikolaevich wrote a marriage proposal and sent it to the Bers. Both the girl and her parents agreed. The modest wedding took place on September 23, 1862. The couple got married in Moscow, in the Kremlin Church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Immediately after the ceremony, Tolstoy asked his young wife how she wanted to continue family life: whether to go to Honeymoon abroad, whether to stay in Moscow with parents or move to Yasnaya Polyana. Sofya Andreevna replied that she immediately wanted to start a serious family life in Yasnaya Polyana. Later, the Countess often regretted her decision and how early her girlhood ended and that she never visited anywhere.

In the fall of 1862, Sofya Andreevna moved to live at her husband’s estate Yasnaya Polyana, this place became her love and her destiny. Both remember the first 20 years of their lives as very happy. Sofya Andreevna looked at her husband with adoration and admiration. He treated her with great tenderness, reverence and love. When Lev Nikolaevich left the estate on business, they always wrote letters to each other.

Lev Nikolaevich:

“I’m glad that I was entertained this day, otherwise my dear I was already feeling scared and sad for you. It’s funny to say: as soon as I left, I felt how terrible it was to leave you. - Goodbye, darling, be a good girl and write. 1865 July 27. Warrior."

“How sweet you are to me; how you are better to me, purer, more honest, dearer, dearer than anyone in the world. I look at your children's portraits and rejoice. 1867 June 18. Moscow."

Sofya Andreevna:

“Lyovochka, my dear darling, I really want to see you at this moment, and again drink tea together under the windows in Nikolskoye, and run off on foot to Alexandrovka and again live our sweet life at home. Goodbye, darling, darling, I kiss you warmly. Write and take care of yourself, this is my will. July 29, 1865"

“My dear Lyovochka, I have gone through a whole day without you, and with such a joyful heart I sit down to write to you. This is my real and greatest consolation, writing to you even about the most insignificant things. June 17, 1867"

“It’s such hard work to live in the world without you; everything is wrong, everything seems wrong and not worth it. I didn’t want to write you anything like that, but it just happened. And everything is so cramped, so petty, something better is needed, and this best is only you, and you are forever alone. September 4, 1869"

The fat people loved spending time with the whole extended family. They were great inventors, and Sofya Andreevna herself managed to create a special family world with its own traditions. This was felt most of all on the days family holidays, as well as on Christmas, Easter, Trinity. They were very loved in Yasnaya Polyana. The fat people went to liturgy at the parish St. Nicholas Church, located two kilometers south of the estate.

Turkey and the signature dish - Ankovsky pie - were served for the festive dinner. Sofya Andreevna brought his recipe to Yasnaya Polyana from her family, to whom the doctor and friend Professor Anke passed it on.

Tolstoy's son Ilya Lvovich recalls:

“Ever since I can remember, on all special occasions in life, on major holidays and name days, Ankovsky pie has always and invariably been served in the form of a cake. Without this, dinner would not be dinner and the celebration would not be a celebration.”

Summer at the estate turned into an endless holiday with frequent picnics, tea parties with jam and games. fresh air. They played croquet and tennis, swam in the Funnel, and went boating. Arranged musical evenings, home performances...

The Tolstoy family playing tennis. From the album of photographs of Sofia Andreevna Tolstoy

We often dined in the courtyard and drank tea on the veranda. In the 1870s, Tolstoy brought children such fun as “giant steps.” This is a large pole with ropes tied at the top, with a loop on them. One foot was inserted into the loop, the other was pushed off the ground and thus jumped. The children loved these “giant steps” so much that Sofya Andreevna recalled how difficult it was to tear them away from the fun: the children did not want to eat or sleep.

At the age of 66, Tolstoy began riding a bicycle. The whole family was worried about him, wrote letters to him so that he would leave this dangerous occupation. But the count said that he was experiencing sincere childish joy and would under no circumstances leave his bicycle. Lev Nikolaevich even learned to ride a bicycle at Manezh, and the city government gave him a ticket with permission to ride along the city streets.

Moscow city government. Ticket No. 2300, issued to Tolstoy for cycling on the streets of Moscow. 1896

In winter, the Tolstoys enthusiastically skated; Lev Nikolaevich loved this activity very much. He spent at least an hour at the skating rink, teaching his sons, and Sofya Andreevna - his daughters. Near the house in Khamovniki, I filled the skating rink myself.

Traditional home entertainment in the family: reading aloud and literary lotto. Excerpts from works were written on the cards, and you had to guess the name of the author. IN later years Tolstoy was read an excerpt from Anna Karenina, he listened and, not recognizing his text, highly appreciated it.

The family loved to play mailbox. All week long, family members dropped pieces of paper into it with jokes, poems, or notes about what was bothering them. On Sunday, the whole family sat in a circle, opened the mailbox and read aloud. If they were humorous poems or stories, they tried to guess who could have written them. If there were personal experiences, we sorted it out. Modern families You can take this experience into account, because now we talk so little to each other.

For Christmas, a Christmas tree was always put up in the Tolstoys' house. They prepared decorations for her themselves: gilded nuts, figures of animals cut out of cardboard, wooden dolls dressed in different costumes, and much more. A masquerade was held at the estate, in which Lev Nikolaevich, and Sofya Andreevna, and their children, and guests, and servants, and peasant children took part.

“On Christmas Day 1867, the Englishwoman Hannah and I were passionate about making a Christmas tree. But Lev Nikolaevich did not like either Christmas trees or any celebrations and then strictly forbade buying toys for children. But Hannah and I asked for permission to have a Christmas tree and to be allowed to buy Seryozha only a horse, and Tanya only a doll. We decided to invite both the courtyard and peasant children. For them, in addition to various sweet things, gilded nuts, gingerbread cookies and other things, we bought wooden naked skeleton dolls, and dressed them in a wide variety of costumes, to the great delight of our children... About 40 children from the yard and from the village gathered, and the children and I were It’s a joy to distribute everything from the Christmas tree to the kids.”

Skeleton dolls, English plum pudding (pudding doused in rum, lit while serving), masquerade are becoming an integral part of the Christmas holidays in Yasnaya Polyana.

Sofya Andreevna was mainly involved in raising children in the Tolstoy family. The children wrote that their mother spent most of the time with them, but they all respected their father very much and were quite afraid of them. His word was the last and decisive, that is, the law. The children wrote that if you needed a quarter for anything, you could go to your mother and ask. She will ask you in detail what you need, and with persuasion to spend it, she will carefully give you the money. Or you could approach your father, who would simply look straight at him, glare at him and say: “Take it on the table.” He looked so soulfully that everyone preferred to beg for money from their mother.

Lev Nikolaevich and Sofya Andreevna Tolstoy with family and guests. September 1-8, 1892

The Tolstoy family spent a lot of money on the education of their children. They all got a good home elementary education, and the boys then studied at Tula and Moscow gymnasiums, but only the eldest son, Sergei Tolstoy, graduated from the university.

The most important thing that children in the Tolstoy family were taught was to be sincere, kind people and treat each other well.

In their marriage, Lev Nikolaevich and Sofia Andreevna had 13 children, but only eight of them survived to adulthood.

The most difficult loss for the family was death last son Vanya. When the baby was born, Sofya Andreevna was 43 years old, Lev Nikolaevich was 59 years old.

Vanechka Tolstoy

Vanya was a real peacemaker and united the whole family with his love. Lev Nikolaevich and Sofya Andreevna loved him very much and experienced the untimely death of their youngest son, who did not live to be seven years old, from scarlet fever.

“Nature tries to give the best and, seeing that the world is not yet ready for them, takes them back...” These were the words Tolstoy said after Vanechka’s death.

IN last years Throughout his life, Lev Nikolaevich felt unwell and often gave his relatives cause for serious concern. In January 1902, Sofya Andreevna wrote:

“My Lyovochka is dying... And I realized that my life cannot remain in me without him. I have been living with him for forty years. For everyone he is a celebrity, for me he is my whole existence, our lives went into each other, and, my God! How much guilt and remorse has accumulated... It’s all over, you can’t return it. Help, Lord! How much love and tenderness I gave him, but how much of my weaknesses upset him! Forgive me, Lord! I’m sorry, my dear, dear dear husband!”

But Tolstoy understood all his life what a treasure he had inherited. A few months before his death, in July 1910, he wrote:

“My assessment of your life with me is this: I, a depraved, deeply vicious sexually person, no longer in my first youth, married you, a pure, good, intelligent 18-year-old girl, and despite this, my dirty, vicious past, you she lived with me for almost 50 years, loving me, working, hard life, giving birth, feeding, raising, caring for children and me, without succumbing to those temptations that could so easily seize any woman in your position, strong, healthy, beautiful. But you lived in such a way that I have nothing to reproach you with.”