Summary of Leon's golden carriage by action. Writer Leonid Leonov
Khaled Hosseini
A thousand shining suns
This book is dedicated
Haris and Farah,
the lights of my eyes,
and to all the women of Afghanistan
Part one
Mariam was five years old when she first heard the word harami.
Apparently, this happened on Thursday. She felt very uneasy, she simply couldn’t find a place for herself. After all, Jalil came to them on Thursdays. To pass the time (he was about to appear, wave his hand from afar, come up, knee-deep in the tall grass), Mariam climbed onto a chair and took from the shelf her mother’s Chinese tea set, the only memory after her grandmother, mother’s mother, who died when Mariam was two years old. Nana, Mariam’s mother, couldn’t get enough of the blue and white porcelain cups decorated with birds and chrysanthemums, the teapot with a nobly curved spout, the sugar bowl with the dragon designed to ward off the forces of evil.
It was the sugar bowl that slipped out of Mariam’s hands. She fell on the wooden floor and broke.
When Nana saw the fragments, her face turned purple, her upper lip trembled, and her eyes, usually languid and kind, glared at Mariam. The girl was scared that her mother had been possessed again genie. But no, it worked out. Nana just grabbed her daughter’s hands, pulled hard and hissed through clenched teeth:
A clumsy fool. This is my reward for everything I endured. This little one has everything harami falls out of your hands. like this valuable thing broke it.
Then Mariam did not understand. Word harami- bastard - was unfamiliar to her. Due to her young age, she could not appreciate the injustice of the vile curse - after all, the fault probably lay with those who brought her into the world, and not with herself. Mariam only guessed that this was very bad word and it means something nasty, like the cockroaches that Nana scolded and swept out the threshold.
As she grew older, Mariam understood. There was such disgust in the mother's tone that it became clear: harami(that is, Mariam herself) is an unwanted creature, not needed by anyone, who, unlike other people, does not have any rights. Love, family, home - all this is not for her.
Jalil never called Mariam that name. Jalil affectionately addressed her as “my little flower.” He sat her on his lap, told her about Herat - the city in which Mariam was born in 1959, the cradle of Persian culture, native home for writers, artists and Sufis.
“You can’t take a step here without accidentally kicking some poet in the ass,” he laughed.
Jalil told her about Queen Gohar-Shad, who, as a sign of love for Herat, erected magnificent minarets in the fifteenth century. He told Mariam about the wheat fields of Herat, orchards, lush vineyards, crowded markets.
Just imagine, a pistachio tree is growing, - Jalil once said, - and under it, Mariam-jo, not just anyone is buried, but himself great poet Jami. “Jalil leaned closer to the girl and whispered: “I’ll show you this tree someday.” Jami lived more than five hundred years ago. So long ago that you don't even remember. You're still little.
Mariam really didn’t remember. And although she lived the first fifteen years of her life near Herat itself - just a stone's throw away - she never had a chance to see the promised tree. And she did not stand next to the minarets, did not pick fruits in the famous gardens, did not walk along the wheat fields. But she listened to Jalil’s stories as if enchanted, and admired the depth and breadth of his knowledge, and was proud of her father to the point of sweet trembling.
What a fable! - Nana grumbled when Jalil left. - The rich man has a good tongue. He won't show you any tree. And don't listen to his honeyed speeches. He betrayed us, your beloved daddy. Threw him out. He threw us out of his big luxurious house as if we were strangers to him. And he didn’t blink an eye.
Mariam silently and obediently listened to her mother, although she could not tolerate bad words about Jalil. After all, next to him she was no longer harami. One or two hours a week on Thursdays, when he came to her, often with gifts, scattering smiles and affection, she rightfully enjoyed all the beauty and abundance of life. And for this Mariam adored Jalil.
And it didn’t matter that he had to share his father with others.
Jalil had three wives and nine children, legitimate children. Mariam never saw any of them. Jalil, one of the richest people in Herat, owned his own cinema, which Mariam had never been to in her life. True, Jalil, at the insistence of his daughter, described it in detail. She knew that the outside of the building was tiled with blue and brown tiles, and that the hall had a secluded balcony with chairs that Jalil could use at his discretion. She knew that the lobby, decorated with bright posters Indian films, there are double doors that open in both directions, and on Tuesdays the buffet gives out free ice cream to children.
When Jalil talked about the free treat, Nana just smiled meekly. But when he left, she laughed bitterly:
Other people's children eat ice cream. What does he treat you with, Mariam? Fables?
In addition to the cinema, Jalil owned plots of land in Karaha and Farah, three carpet stores, one ready-made clothing store and a 1956 Buick car. And he had connections. Among his friends were the mayor of Herat and the governor of the province. Of course, Jalil had servants, a cook and a driver. And three whole maids.
Nana was one of his maids.
Until her belly became round.
According to Nana, when this happened, Jalil’s entire family was swollen with indignation. They sucked in all the air in the city. It became almost impossible to breathe in Herat. It almost came to bloodshed. The wives demanded that the worthless woman be driven away. Her own father, a stone carver from the village of Gul-Daman, renounced Nana, collected his belongings, boarded a bus and drove off to Iran. And I haven’t heard a word about him since then, not a ghost.
Sometimes it seems to me,” Nana said one morning, giving food to the chickens, “that it would be better if my father sharpened his knife properly and did what honor dictates.” Would have spared me the pain. “She threw another handful of grain to the birds, paused and looked at Mariam: “And you too.” What is it like for you, illegitimate. But he was a coward, my father. He didn't have the courage.
Jalil also didn’t have the courage. He did not go against his relatives, against his wives, and did not take on a heavy burden. Everything was done in secret, behind closed doors. Get ready, darling, and clear the place.
Do you know what he told his wives in his defense? That it's all my fault. I seduced him. Can you imagine? What is it like for a woman in the earthly vale!
Nana put the cup of grain on the ground and grabbed Mariam’s chin:
Look at me.
Mariam reluctantly raised her eyes.
Remember well, daughter, it’s always the woman’s fault when it comes to men. In everything. Never forget this.
Jalil and his wives saw me as something of a thistle. Chernobyl weeds. And in you too. You haven’t even had time to be born, and you’ve already earned contempt.
What is thistle? - Mariam asked.
“Weed,” answered Nana. - It needs to be weeded. And get out of the field.
Mariam secretly frowned. So that Jalil treats her like a weed! Yes, this has never happened! But she considered it better to remain silent.
Another thing is that, after all, I need to be fed and watered. After all, I have you in my arms. Well, he and his family agreed on this.
According to Nana, she did not want to live in Herat.
For what? Watch him drive around town with his wives?
Nana also did not go to her father’s empty house in the village of Gul-Daman, on a steep mountain slope (two kilometers north of Herat). She wanted to move to some secluded, secluded place where the neighbors wouldn't stare at her belly, point, giggle, or, worse, pester her with feigned sympathy.
Believe me,” said Nana, “your father was impatient to throw me out of sight.
This is Mukhsin, Jalil’s eldest son from his first wife Khadija, found not far from Gul-Daman appropriate place- a considerable bald spot in the thickets. From the Herat highway, up the slope, between tall grass and flowers, a dirty path, driven by carts, crawled like a snake and led out onto the plateau. Here the poplars rustled, the poppies turned red, the rusty wings of the village windmill could be seen below on the left, and right hand there was a view of Herat. The path abutted a stormy stream, a river full of trout, flowing down from the Safedkokh mountains, which surrounded Gul-Daman on all sides. A couple of hundred meters upstream, in the middle of a grove of weeping willows, a clearing appeared.
Khaled Hosseini
A thousand shining suns
This book is dedicated
Haris and Farah,
the lights of my eyes,
and to all the women of Afghanistan
Part one
Mariam was five years old when she first heard the word harami.
Apparently, this happened on Thursday. She felt very uneasy, she simply couldn’t find a place for herself. After all, Jalil came to them on Thursdays. To pass the time (he was about to appear, wave his hand from afar, come up, knee-deep in the tall grass), Mariam climbed onto a chair and took from the shelf her mother’s Chinese tea set, the only memory after her grandmother, mother’s mother, who died when Mariam was two years old. Nana, Mariam’s mother, couldn’t get enough of the blue and white porcelain cups decorated with birds and chrysanthemums, the teapot with a nobly curved spout, the sugar bowl with the dragon designed to ward off the forces of evil.
It was the sugar bowl that slipped out of Mariam’s hands. She fell on the wooden floor and broke.
When Nana saw the fragments, her face turned purple, her upper lip trembled, and her eyes, usually languid and kind, glared at Mariam. The girl was scared that her mother had been possessed again genie. But no, it worked out. Nana just grabbed her daughter’s hands, pulled hard and hissed through clenched teeth:
A clumsy fool. This is my reward for everything I endured. This little one has everything harami falls out of your hands. Such a valuable thing was broken.
Then Mariam did not understand. Word harami- bastard - was unfamiliar to her. Due to her young age, she could not appreciate the injustice of the vile curse - after all, the fault probably lay with those who brought her into the world, and not with herself. Mariam only guessed that this was a very bad word and that it meant something nasty, like the cockroaches that Nana scolded and swept out the threshold.
As she grew older, Mariam understood. There was such disgust in the mother's tone that it became clear: harami(that is, Mariam herself) is an unwanted creature, not needed by anyone, who, unlike other people, does not have any rights. Love, family, home - all this is not for her.
Jalil never called Mariam that name. Jalil affectionately addressed her as “my little flower.” He sat her on his lap and told her about Herat - the city in which Mariam was born in 1959, the cradle of Persian culture, the home of writers, artists and Sufis.
“You can’t take a step here without accidentally kicking some poet in the ass,” he laughed.
Jalil told her about Queen Gohar-Shad, who, as a sign of love for Herat, erected magnificent minarets in the fifteenth century. He told Mariam about the wheat fields of Herat, orchards, lush vineyards, and crowded bazaars.
Just imagine, a pistachio tree grows, - Jalil once said, - and under it, Mariam-jo, not just anyone is buried, but the great poet Jami himself. “Jalil leaned closer to the girl and whispered: “I’ll show you this tree someday.” Jami lived more than five hundred years ago. So long ago that you don't even remember. You're still little.
Mariam really didn’t remember. And although she lived the first fifteen years of her life near Herat itself - just a stone's throw away - she never had a chance to see the promised tree. And she did not stand next to the minarets, did not pick fruits in the famous gardens, did not walk along the wheat fields. But she listened to Jalil’s stories as if enchanted, and admired the depth and breadth of his knowledge, and was proud of her father to the point of sweet trembling.
What a fable! - Nana grumbled when Jalil left. - The rich man has a good tongue. He won't show you any tree. And don't listen to his honeyed speeches. He betrayed us, your beloved daddy. Threw him out. He threw us out of his big luxurious house as if we were strangers to him. And he didn’t blink an eye.
Mariam silently and obediently listened to her mother, although she could not tolerate bad words about Jalil. After all, next to him she was no longer harami. One or two hours a week on Thursdays, when he came to her, often with gifts, scattering smiles and affection, she rightfully enjoyed all the beauty and abundance of life. And for this Mariam adored Jalil.
And it didn’t matter that he had to share his father with others.
Jalil had three wives and nine children, legitimate children. Mariam never saw any of them. Jalil, one of the richest people in Herat, owned his own cinema, which Mariam had never been to in her life. True, Jalil, at the insistence of his daughter, described it in detail. She knew that the outside of the building was tiled with blue and brown tiles, and that the hall had a secluded balcony with chairs that Jalil could use at his discretion. She knew that the lobby, decorated with colorful Indian movie posters, had double doors that opened in both directions, and that on Tuesdays the cafeteria gave out free ice cream to children.
When Jalil talked about the free treat, Nana just smiled meekly. But when he left, she laughed bitterly:
Other people's children eat ice cream. What does he treat you with, Mariam? Fables?
In addition to the cinema, Jalil owned plots of land in Karaha and Farah, three carpet stores, one ready-made clothing store and a 1956 Buick car. And he had connections. Among his friends were the mayor of Herat and the governor of the province. Of course, Jalil had servants, a cook and a driver. And three whole maids.
Nana was one of his maids.
Until her belly became round.
According to Nana, when this happened, Jalil’s entire family was swollen with indignation. They sucked in all the air in the city. It became almost impossible to breathe in Herat. It almost came to bloodshed. The wives demanded that the worthless woman be driven away. Her own father, a stone carver from the village of Gul-Daman, renounced Nana, collected his belongings, boarded a bus and drove off to Iran. And I haven’t heard a word about him since then, not a ghost.
Sometimes it seems to me,” Nana said one morning, giving food to the chickens, “that it would be better if my father sharpened his knife properly and did what honor dictates.” Would have spared me the pain. “She threw another handful of grain to the birds, paused and looked at Mariam: “And you too.” What is it like for you, illegitimate. But he was a coward, my father. He didn't have the courage.
Jalil also didn’t have the courage. He did not go against his relatives, against his wives, and did not take on a heavy burden. Everything was done in secret, behind closed doors. Get ready, darling, and clear the place.
This book is dedicated
Haris and Farah,
the lights of my eyes,
and to all the women of Afghanistan
Part one
1
Mariam was five years old when she first heard the word harami.
Apparently, this happened on Thursday. She felt very uneasy, she simply couldn’t find a place for herself. After all, Jalil came to them on Thursdays. To pass the time (he was about to appear, wave his hand from afar, come up, knee-deep in the tall grass), Mariam climbed onto a chair and took from the shelf her mother’s Chinese tea set, the only memory after her grandmother, mother’s mother, who died when Mariam was two years old. Nana, Mariam’s mother, couldn’t get enough of the blue and white porcelain cups decorated with birds and chrysanthemums, the teapot with a nobly curved spout, the sugar bowl with the dragon designed to ward off the forces of evil.
It was the sugar bowl that slipped out of Mariam’s hands. She fell on the wooden floor and broke.
When Nana saw the fragments, her face turned purple, her upper lip trembled, and her eyes, usually languid and kind, glared at Mariam. The girl was scared that her mother had been possessed again genie. But no, it worked out. Nana just grabbed her daughter’s hands, pulled hard and hissed through clenched teeth:
A clumsy fool. This is my reward for everything I endured. This little one has everything harami falls out of your hands. Such a valuable thing was broken.
Then Mariam did not understand. Word harami- bastard - was unfamiliar to her. Due to her young age, she could not appreciate the injustice of the vile curse - after all, the fault probably lay with those who brought her into the world, and not with herself. Mariam only guessed that this was a very bad word and that it meant something nasty, like the cockroaches that Nana scolded and swept out the threshold.
As she grew older, Mariam understood. There was such disgust in the mother's tone that it became clear: harami(that is, Mariam herself) is an unwanted creature, not needed by anyone, who, unlike other people, does not have any rights. Love, family, home - all this is not for her.
Jalil never called Mariam that name. Jalil affectionately addressed her as “my little flower.” He sat her on his lap and told her about Herat - the city in which Mariam was born in 1959, the cradle of Persian culture, the home of writers, artists and Sufis.
“You can’t take a step here without accidentally kicking some poet in the ass,” he laughed.
Jalil told her about Queen Gohar-Shad, who, as a sign of love for Herat, erected magnificent minarets in the fifteenth century. He told Mariam about the wheat fields of Herat, orchards, lush vineyards, and crowded bazaars.
Just imagine, a pistachio tree grows, - Jalil once said, - and under it, Mariam-jo, not just anyone is buried, but the great poet Jami himself. “Jalil leaned closer to the girl and whispered: “I’ll show you this tree someday.” Jami lived more than five hundred years ago. So long ago that you don't even remember. You're still little.
Mariam really didn’t remember. And although she lived the first fifteen years of her life near Herat itself - just a stone's throw away - she never had a chance to see the promised tree. And she did not stand next to the minarets, did not pick fruits in the famous gardens, did not walk along the wheat fields. But she listened to Jalil’s stories as if enchanted, and admired the depth and breadth of his knowledge, and was proud of her father to the point of sweet trembling.
What a fable! - Nana grumbled when Jalil left. - The rich man has a good tongue. He won't show you any tree. And don't listen to his honeyed speeches. He betrayed us, your beloved daddy. Threw him out. He threw us out of his big luxurious house as if we were strangers to him. And he didn’t blink an eye.
Mariam silently and obediently listened to her mother, although she could not tolerate bad words about Jalil. After all, next to him she was no longer harami. One or two hours a week on Thursdays, when he came to her, often with gifts, scattering smiles and affection, she rightfully enjoyed all the beauty and abundance of life. And for this Mariam adored Jalil.
And it didn’t matter that he had to share his father with others.
Jalil had three wives and nine children, legitimate children. Mariam never saw any of them. Jalil, one of the richest people in Herat, owned his own cinema, which Mariam had never been to in her life. True, Jalil, at the insistence of his daughter, described it in detail. She knew that the outside of the building was tiled with blue and brown tiles, and that the hall had a secluded balcony with chairs that Jalil could use at his discretion. She knew that the lobby, decorated with colorful Indian movie posters, had double doors that opened in both directions, and that on Tuesdays the cafeteria gave out free ice cream to children.
When Jalil talked about the free treat, Nana just smiled meekly. But when he left, she laughed bitterly:
Other people's children eat ice cream. What does he treat you with, Mariam? Fables?
In addition to the cinema, Jalil owned plots of land in Karaha and Farah, three carpet stores, one ready-made clothing store and a 1956 Buick car. And he had connections. Among his friends were the mayor of Herat and the governor of the province. Of course, Jalil had servants, a cook and a driver. And three whole maids.
Nana was one of his maids.
Until her belly became round.
According to Nana, when this happened, Jalil’s entire family was swollen with indignation. They sucked in all the air in the city. It became almost impossible to breathe in Herat. It almost came to bloodshed. The wives demanded that the worthless woman be driven away. Her own father, a stone carver from the village of Gul-Daman, renounced Nana, collected his belongings, boarded a bus and drove off to Iran. And I haven’t heard a word about him since then, not a ghost.
Famous Russian and Soviet writer Leonid Leonov left a significant mark on literature. Many of his works are highly appreciated by critics and loved by readers. One of them is the play "The Golden Carriage". A brief summary of this dramatic work is given in this article. From it you can understand what this author was like and whether his other books are worth reading.
History of the play
Leonid Leonov's play "The Golden Carriage", a brief summary of which is in the proposed material, is one of his most significant dramatic works. It is noteworthy that it has reached us in three editions.
The first was written in 1946, immediately after the end of the Great Patriotic War. Then the author rethought a lot and presented the second version to the public in 1955. Soon after this, its premiere took place on the stage of the Moscow Art Theater. The production was successfully staged on other stages in Soviet cities, and foreigners also paid attention to it. theater directors. In particular, in Czechoslovakia, Poland and Romania. Leonov presented the final version of his work in 1967. It is published in all modern publications anthology by this author.
Writer Leonid Leonov
Leonid Leonov himself was born in Moscow in 1899. Significant role in Soviet literature played for almost 60 years. He is considered one of the main masters socialist realism. Modern researchers noted it big interest to issues of morality in the traditions of Christianity, as well as in the continuation of the traditions of Dostoevsky in Russian literature.
The author's bibliography consists of several novels, which he wrote at regular intervals, often very long. His most famous major works are “Badgers”, “The Thief”, “Sot”, “Skutarevsky”, “Road to the Ocean” and “Russian Forest”. Last piece became one of the first in Russia to directly address ecological problems, which threaten the country and humanity in the near future.
He also owns a huge, one and a half thousand page, mystical and philosophical novel “The Pyramid”, on which he worked for about 40 years. He managed to publish it only in the year of his death - in 1994.
Dramatic experience
Since the 30s, Leonov actively wrote dramatic works. His plays "Untilovsk", "The Wolf, or Sandukov's Escape", "Invasion", "Mr. McKinley's Escape" enjoyed success in theatres. The latter was even filmed in 1975 by director Mikhail Schweitzer.
And, of course, the play "The Golden Carriage". A brief summary, of course, will not allow you to understand the whole essence of this work, but it will be enough to get acquainted with Leonov’s work in general terms.
The first act of the play
The events of the play "The Golden Carriage", a summary of the actions is presented below, unfold in a front-line town, just a few months after the end of the Great Patriotic War. It's 1945. Soviet Union Fascism won, but the joy that filled everyone in the first days subsided. It was replaced by an awareness of the consequences and destruction that the war left behind.
The action of the play begins in a hotel, which is located in a former monastery. New guests arrive there - academician geologist Kareev and his own son Yuliy. The owner of the hotel, Nepryakhin, shows them to their room, but the guests do not like him. The only excuse he can make is that after the war, almost the entire housing stock is in this condition.
While Kareev is talking about his first love, Colonel Berezkin appears in the room and offers him a drink. Starting from the first edition of the play "The Golden Carriage", a summary of the chapters of which is given in this article, this person was one of the key characters. In this city, the front-line soldier’s family died, but he returned to it to punish the cowardly captain who served under his command.
At the end of the evening, Marka, the daughter of Kareev’s first lover, comes to visit them. She captivates Yuli with her beauty.
Second act
The second act of Leonov's play "The Golden Carriage", a brief summary of which is presented here, takes place at the home of the hotel owner Nepryakhin. He lives with his wife and blind son Timofey.
Before dinner, Tobun-Turkovskaya comes to visit them and begins to gossip about Shchelkanov, the very captain whom Berezkin is looking for. He is now the director of the factory. Everyone around is trying to arrange his personal life, because they believe that he current wife, ex-lover Kareeva is already old. Tired of gossip, Nepryakhin kicks her out.
Then Shchelkanov’s wife Marya Sergeevna appears, who is now presiding. She brings an expensive accordion. Everyone understands that this is a gift so that Timofey will abandon her daughter. Before the war they were considered a couple, but now no one needs a blind accordion player. The family refuses the gift, and Timofey declares that he will leave the city.
The next guest is Colonel Berezkin, who gives the chairman a letter from her husband, in which he declares his love for their common neighbor and asks them to arrange for his transfer to the rear. He found this letter while still at the front. Then the whole essence of Shchelkanov became clear.
The chairman already knew that her husband was cheating on her, but now it turned out that he was also a coward. Berezkin strives for the family to hate Shchelkanov. His wife has long been disappointed in him, but his daughter is only now finding out what kind of person he really is.
Third act
The third act of L. Leonov's play "The Golden Carriage", a brief summary of which is in front of you, moves to the chairwoman's office. Tobun-Turkovskaya comes to her and explains her problem: her pupil Fimochka is going to get married, and the groom lives in his wife’s apartment and does not have his own apartment. Therefore, she asks the Nepryakhins to be evicted and the young people to settle in their place.
It dawns on the chairman that we're talking about about her husband. She calls her husband and asks him to disappear from her life forever. Kareev appears, who talks about his successes, and then Marka with his son. The Kareevs call the girl to the sea, she almost agrees. They part, making a promise to come to Marka’s name day.
Fourth and final act
The final action of the play "The Golden Carriage", a brief summary of which is presented here, takes place on the name day of the chairman's daughter. All the guests showed up, except for her mother, who is busy with the city council.
At this time, Nepryakhin’s wife persuades Marka not to miss her chance, her prince in a golden carriage, meaning Julia. However, Marka ultimately refuses the trip to the sea. She decides to sacrifice herself for the sake of love for a person like Timofey. However, Julius calls her again, and she suddenly changes her mind, believing that it is time to see the world. She rushes after Julius, asking her mother to explain to Timofey that she is not to blame for anything.
The play ends with the chairman ceremoniously raising a glass of champagne to her daughter.
Idea of the play
So we met summary. Leonov's in the "Golden Carriage" the main idea lies in the problem of choice that faces every person. And also that the actions of the past affect our present.
Much of the play is devoted to the concept of "self-sacrifice." All the main characters of the work live not for themselves, but for the sake of their family and friends. In one version of the play, Marka remained with her blind fiancé.
The play "The Golden Carriage", which is one of the most significant dramatic works of Leonid Leonov, has three fundamentally different editions.
The first version was published in 1946, the second in 1955. The performance premiered on November 6, 1957 at the Moscow Art Theater. The play was performed on the stage of Leningrad and other cities of the USSR, as well as in a number of countries - Poland, Czechoslovakia, Romania, etc. In 1964, Leonov published the third, final version"Golden Carriage", which is presented on this site.
Starting from the first version, Colonel Berezkin is at the center - the embodied “conscience of war”. “I wanted to make this image very high and noble,” L. Leonov shared his plan. “Berezkin is a man who went through wars, lost a lot, almost everything, and understood some main and essential meaning that was revealed to him during the war” (“The Golden Carriage.” Materials for the production of L. Leonov’s play.” M., VTO , 1946, p. 3). But what if, wanting to fulfill a sacred duty to the fallen, driven by a high sense of self-sacrifice and retribution, Berezkin comes to the destroyed town to punish the deserter Shchelkanov (in the first version - Cherkanov), but must bring grief to his innocent wife and daughter cowards - Marya Sergeevna and Marka, young soul which can be crushed by the revealed truth? At the same time, the appearance in the town of a prominent scientist, academician Kareev (Karev) with his son further complicates the psychological multi-layeredness of the play: Kareev Sr. was once in love with Marya Sergeevna, just as Kareev Jr. falls in love with her daughter, the named bride of the tankman Timosha, who was blinded in the war.
How to live? What to live with? And why should heroes live? - all these questions of enormous moral fullness fluctuate in variants, sometimes acquiring tones of extreme self-sacrifice, sometimes, on the contrary, bringing to the surface how highest value“black bread of happiness”, then, finally, as if reconciling both extremes, avoiding categoricalness in deciding people's destinies, their future, their paths to happiness.
In the first edition, Marka leaves, and Berezkin calls Timosha, whom she abandoned, with her: “I will take you wherever you say. I'll be your eyes. You will still thunder in this universe, too small for such love and pain.” In one of the conversations, L. Leonov mentioned that among the numerous responses to the play there was a letter from a disabled war veteran with a reproach: “How are you taking away my last joy?”, which influenced the temporary change in the ending. In the second option, Marka remains in her hometown in fulfillment of an imaginary obligation to Timosha. The writer recalled that after this he once looked last scene V Art Theater and suddenly I thought about the future of Marka, an eighteen-year-old girl, whom two real heroes - Berezkin and young Nepryakhin - condemned to a difficult position, almost asceticism, with a blind man. And in the third version of the play, it was no longer Marka who refused to share her fate with Timosha, but it was he who did not accept the extreme sacrifice of the girl, for whose happiness, in the end, he fought in the war...
