Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no real, true, eternal love? May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!
Follow me, my reader, and only me, and I will show you such love!
No! The master was mistaken when he bitterly told Ivanushka in the hospital at the hour when the night had passed midnight that she had forgotten him. This couldn't happen. She, of course, did not forget him.
First of all, let's reveal the secret that the master did not want to reveal to Ivanushka. His beloved was called Margarita Nikolaevna. Everything that the master said about her was the absolute truth. He described his beloved correctly. She was beautiful and smart. One more thing must be added to this - we can say with confidence that many women would give anything to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. Childless thirty-year-old Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who also made a most important discovery of national importance. Her husband was young, handsome, kind, honest and adored his wife. Margarita Nikolaevna and her husband together occupied the entire top of a beautiful mansion in a garden in one of the alleys near Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can verify this if they wish to go to this garden. Let him contact me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact.
Margarita Nikolaevna did not need money. Margarita Nikolaevna could buy whatever she liked. Among her husband's acquaintances there were interesting people. Margarita Nikolaevna never touched a primus stove. Margarita Nikolaevna did not know the horrors of living in a shared apartment. In a word... Was she happy? Not one minute! Since she got married at nineteen and ended up in a mansion, she has not known happiness. Gods, my gods! What did this woman need?! What did this woman need, in whose eyes some incomprehensible light always burned, what did this witch, slightly squinting in one eye, need, who then decorated herself with mimosas in the spring? Don't know. I don't know. Obviously, she was telling the truth, she needed him, the master, and not a Gothic mansion, and not a separate garden, and not money. She loved him, she told the truth. Even for me, a truthful narrator, but stranger, my heart aches at the thought of what Margarita experienced when she came to the master’s house the next day, fortunately, without having time to talk with her husband, who did not return at the appointed time, and found out that the master was no longer there.
She did everything to find out something about him, and, of course, found out absolutely nothing. Then she returned to the mansion and lived in the same place.
- Yes, yes, yes, the same mistake! - Margarita said in winter, sitting by the stove and looking into the fire, - why did I leave him at night? For what? After all, this is madness! I returned the next day, honestly, as I promised, but it was too late. Yes, I returned, like the unfortunate Levi Matthew, too late!
All these words were, of course, absurd, because, in fact: what would have changed if she had stayed with the master that night? Would she have saved him? Funny! - we would exclaim, but we will not do this in front of a woman driven to despair.
Margarita Nikolaevna lived in such torment all winter and lived until spring. On the very day when all sorts of ridiculous chaos was happening caused by the appearance of a black magician in Moscow, on Friday, when Berlioz’s uncle was expelled back to Kyiv, when the accountant was arrested and many other stupid and incomprehensible things happened, Margarita woke up around noon in her bedroom , looking out like a lantern into the tower of the mansion.
When she woke up, Margarita did not cry, as she often did, because she woke up with a premonition that today something would finally happen. Feeling this premonition, she began to warm it up and grow it in her soul, fearing that it would not leave her.
- I believe! - Margarita whispered solemnly, - I believe! Something will happen! It can’t help but happen, because why, really, have I been sent lifelong torment? I confess that I lied and deceived and lived a secret life hidden from people, but still I cannot be punished so cruelly for this. Something is bound to happen, because nothing lasts forever. And besides, my dream was prophetic, I vouch for that.
So Margarita Nikolaevna whispered, looking at the crimson curtains filling with the sun, dressing restlessly, combing her short, curled hair in front of the triple mirror.
The dream that Margarita had that night was truly unusual. The fact is that during her winter torment she never saw the master in her dreams. At night he left her, and she suffered only during the daytime. And then I dreamed about it.
Margarita dreamed of an area unknown to Margarita - hopeless, dull, under the cloudy sky of early spring. I dreamed of this ragged, running gray sky, and below it a silent flock of rooks. Some kind of clumsy bridge. Below it is a muddy spring river, joyless, beggarly, half-naked trees, a lonely aspen, and then, between the trees, a log building, either a separate kitchen, or a bathhouse, or God knows what. Everything around is somehow lifeless and so sad that you just want to hang yourself on this aspen tree near the bridge. Not a breath of wind, not a moving cloud, not a living soul. This is a hellish place for a living person!
And then, imagine, the door of this log building swings open, and he appears. Quite far away, but it is clearly visible. He's in tatters, you can't tell what he's wearing. His hair is disheveled and unshaven. The eyes are sore, anxious. He beckons her with his hand, calling her. Choking in the inanimate air, Margarita ran over the bumps to him and at that time woke up.
“This dream can only mean one of two things,” Margarita Nikolaevna reasoned to herself, “if he is dead and beckoned me, then it means that he came for me, and I will soon die. This is very good, because then the torment will end. Or he is alive, then the dream can only mean one thing, that he reminds me of myself! He wants to say that we will see each other again. Yes, we will see you very soon."
Still in the same excited state, Margarita got dressed and began to convince herself that, in essence, everything was turning out very well, and one must be able to seize such successful moments and use them. My husband went on a business trip for three whole days. For three days she is left to her own devices, no one will stop her from thinking about anything, dreaming about what she likes. All five rooms on the top floor of the mansion, this entire apartment, which would be the envy of tens of thousands of people in Moscow, are at her complete disposal.
However, having received freedom for three whole days, Margarita chose far from the best of all this luxurious apartment. best place. After drinking tea, she went into a dark, windowless room where suitcases and various old items were stored in two large closets. Squatting down, she opened the bottom drawer of the first one and from under a pile of silk scraps took out the only valuable thing she had in life. In Margarita’s hands was an old brown leather album, which contained a photograph of the master, a savings bank book with a deposit of ten thousand in his name, dried rose petals spread out between sheets of tissue paper and part of a whole-sheet notebook, written on a typewriter and with a burnt bottom edge.
Returning to her bedroom with this wealth, Margarita Nikolaevna installed a photograph on the three-leaf mirror and sat for about an hour, holding a notebook damaged by fire on her knees, leafing through it and rereading what, after the burning, there was neither beginning nor end: “... The darkness that came from the Mediterranean Sea covered the city hated by the procurator. The hanging bridges connecting the temple with the terrible Anthony Tower disappeared, an abyss fell from the sky and flooded the winged gods over the hippodrome, the Hasmonean palace with loopholes, bazaars, caravanserais, alleys, ponds... Yershalaim disappeared - the great city, as if it did not exist on light..."
Wiping away her tears, Margarita Nikolaevna left the notebook, put her elbows on the mirror table and, reflected in the mirror, sat for a long time, not taking her eyes off the photograph. Then the tears dried up. Margarita carefully folded her property, and a few minutes later it was again buried under silk rags, and the lock closed with a ringing sound in the dark room.
Margarita Nikolaevna put on her coat in the front room to go for a walk. The beautiful Natasha, her housekeeper, inquired about what to do for the second course, and, having received the answer that it did not matter, in order to entertain herself, she entered into a conversation with her mistress and began to tell God knows what, like the fact that yesterday there was a magician at the theater He showed such tricks that everyone gasped, he gave everyone two bottles of foreign perfume and stockings for free, and then, when the session was over, the audience went out into the street, and - grab it - everyone turned out to be naked! Margarita Nikolaevna collapsed on a chair under the mirror in the hallway and burst out laughing.
- Natasha! Well, aren’t you ashamed,” said Margarita Nikolaevna, “you’re literate, smart girl; in queues they lie God knows what, and you repeat!
Natasha blushed and objected with great fervor that they weren’t lying about anything and that today she personally saw a citizen in a grocery store on Arbat who came to the grocery store wearing shoes, and when she began to pay at the cash register, the shoes disappeared from her feet and she stayed in just stockings. Eyes are bugged out! There is a hole in the heel. And these shoes are magical, from that very session.
- So you went?
- So I went! - Natasha screamed, blushing more and more because they didn’t believe her, - yes, yesterday, Margarita Nikolaevna, the police took a hundred people away at night. Citizens from this session ran along Tverskaya in their trousers.
“Well, of course, it was Daria who told the story,” said Margarita Nikolaevna, “I’ve noticed about her for a long time that she’s a terrible liar.”
The funny conversation is over pleasant surprise for Natasha. Margarita Nikolaevna went to the bedroom and came out holding a pair of stockings and a bottle of cologne in her hands. Having told Natasha that she also wanted to show a trick, Margarita Nikolaevna gave her stockings and a bottle and said that she was asking her only for one thing - not to run around Tverskaya in her stockings and not listen to Daria. After kissing, the housewife and housekeeper parted.
Leaning back on the comfortable, soft back of the chair in the trolleybus, Margarita Nikolaevna rode along Arbat and either thought about her own things or listened to what the two citizens sitting in front of her were whispering about.
And they, occasionally turning around with apprehension to see if anyone was listening, whispered about some nonsense. Hefty, fleshy, with lively pig eyes, sitting by the window, quietly telling his little neighbor that he had to cover the coffin with a black blanket...
“It can’t be,” the little one whispered in amazement, “this is something unheard of... But what did Zheldybin do?”
Among the steady hum of the trolleybus, words were heard from the window:
– Criminal investigation... scandal... well, downright mystical!
From these fragmentary pieces, Margarita Nikolaevna somehow put together something coherent. Citizens were whispering that some deceased person, and they did not name which one, had his head stolen from his coffin this morning! This is why this Zheldybin is so worried now. All these people whispering in the trolleybus also have something to do with the robbed dead man.
– Will we have time to pick up flowers? - the little one was worried, - cremation, you say, at two?
Finally, Margarita Nikolaevna got tired of listening to this mysterious chatter about the head stolen from the coffin, and she was glad that it was time for her to go out.
A few minutes later, Margarita Nikolaevna was already sitting under the Kremlin wall on one of the benches, positioned so that she could see the Manege.
Margarita squinted at the bright sun, remembered her dream today, remembered how exactly a year, day after day and hour after hour, she sat on this same bench next to him. And just like then, the black handbag lay next to her on the bench. He was not around that day, but Margarita Nikolaevna was still talking to him mentally: “If you are exiled, then why don’t you let yourself be known? After all, people let you know. Have you stopped loving me? No, for some reason I don’t believe this. This means that you were exiled and died... Then, I ask you, let me go, finally give me the freedom to live, to breathe the air.” Margarita Nikolaevna answered for him: “You are free... Am I holding you?” Then she objected to him: “No, what kind of answer is this! No, you leave my memory, then I will be free.”
People passed by Margarita Nikolaevna. Some man glanced sideways at the good clothed woman, attracted by her beauty and loneliness. He coughed and sat down on the end of the same bench on which Margarita Nikolaevna was sitting. Plucking up his courage, he spoke:
– Definitely good weather today...
But Margarita looked at him so gloomily that he got up and left.
“Here is an example,” Margarita mentally said to the one who owned her, “why, in fact, did I drive this man away? I'm bored, but there's nothing wrong with this ladies' man, except the stupid word "definitely"? Why am I sitting like an owl, alone under the wall? Why am I excluded from life?
She became completely sad and dejected. But then suddenly that same morning wave of anticipation and excitement pushed into her chest. “Yes, it will happen!” The wave pushed her a second time, and then she realized that it was a sound wave. Through the noise of the city, approaching drum beats and the sounds of slightly out of tune trumpets could be heard more and more clearly.
The first step seemed to be a mounted policeman following past the garden fence, followed by three foot soldiers. Then a slow moving truck with musicians. Next is a slowly moving funeral brand new open car, on it is a coffin covered in wreaths, and in the corners of the platform there are four standing people: three men, one woman. Even from a distance, Margarita saw that the faces of the people standing in the funeral car, accompanying the deceased on his last journey, were somehow strangely confused. This was especially noticeable in relation to the citizen standing in the left rear corner of the highway. The thick cheeks of this citizen seemed to be bursting even more from the inside with some piquant secret; ambiguous lights played in her swollen eyes. It seemed that just a little more, and the citizen, unable to bear it, would wink at the dead man and say: “Have you seen anything like that? Just mystical!” The mourners on foot, who, about three hundred in number, slowly walked behind the funeral car, had equally confused faces.
Margarita followed the procession with her eyes, listening to the dull Turkish drum fading away in the distance, making the same “Booms, booms, booms,” and thought: “What a strange funeral... And what melancholy from this “booms”! Oh, really, I would pledge my soul to the devil just to find out whether he is alive or not! It’s interesting to know who is being buried with such amazing faces?”
“Berlioz Mikhail Alexandrovich,” a slightly nasal male voice was heard nearby, “the chairman of MASSOLIT.”
The surprised Margarita Nikolaevna turned and saw a citizen on her bench, who, apparently, silently sat down at the time when Margarita gazed at the procession and, presumably, absent-mindedly asked her last question out loud.
Meanwhile, the procession began to slow down, probably delayed by traffic lights ahead.
“Yes,” continued the unknown citizen, “they are in an amazing mood.” They are transporting a dead man, but all they can think about is where his head went!
-What head? – Margarita asked, peering at her unexpected neighbor. This neighbor turned out to be short, fiery red-haired, with a fang, in starched underwear, in a good-quality striped suit, in patent leather shoes and with a bowler hat on his head. The tie was bright. What was surprising was that this citizen had a gnawed chicken bone sticking out of the pocket where men usually carry a handkerchief or a pen.
“Yes, if you please see,” the red-haired man explained, “this morning in the Griboedov Hall a dead man’s head was stolen from the coffin.”
- How can this be? – Margarita involuntarily asked, at the same time remembering the whisper in the trolleybus.
- The devil knows how! - the redhead answered cheekily, - however, I think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask Behemoth about this. They stole it horribly cleverly. Such a scandal! And, most importantly, it is not clear who needs this head and what for!
No matter how busy Margarita Nikolaevna was with her own affairs, she was still struck by the strange lies of the unknown citizen.
- Allow me! - she suddenly exclaimed, - what Berlioz? This is what's in the newspapers today...
- How, how...
- So it’s the writers who are going after the coffin? – Margarita asked and suddenly bared her teeth.
- Well, naturally, they are!
– Do you know them by sight?
“Every single one,” answered the red-haired man.
- How can it not exist? - answered the red-haired one, - there he is on the edge in the fourth row.
- Is this the blond one? – Margarita asked, squinting.
– Ash-colored... You see, he raised his eyes to the sky.
- Does he look like a priest?
Margarita didn’t ask anything more, peering at Latunsky.
“And you, as I see,” the red-haired man spoke, smiling, “hate this Latunsky.”
“I still hate someone,” Margarita answered through clenched teeth, “but it’s not interesting to talk about it.”
– Yes, of course, what’s interesting here, Margarita Nikolaevna!
Margarita was surprised:
– Do you know me?
Instead of answering, the red-haired man took off his bowler hat and took it away.
“Absolutely a robber’s face!” – thought Margarita, peering at her street interlocutor.
“I don’t know you,” Margarita said dryly.
- How do you know me? Meanwhile, I was sent to you on business.
Margarita turned pale and recoiled.
“This is exactly what we should have started with,” she said, “and not talk God knows what about a severed head!” Do you want to arrest me?
“Nothing of the kind,” exclaimed the red-haired man, “what is it: since he started talking, he’ll definitely arrest him!” I just have something to do with you.
- I don’t understand anything, what’s the matter?
The redhead looked around and said mysteriously:
- I was sent to invite you to visit this evening.
– Why are you raving, what kind of guests?
“To a very noble foreigner,” the red-haired man said significantly, narrowing his eye.
Margarita was very angry.
“A new breed has appeared: a street pimp,” she said, getting up to leave.
- Thank you for such instructions! – the red-haired man exclaimed offended and grumbled at the departing Margarita’s back: “Fool!”
- You bastard! – she responded, turning around, and immediately heard the red-haired voice behind her:
– The darkness that came from the Mediterranean Sea covered the city hated by the procurator. The hanging bridges connecting the temple with the terrible Anthony Tower have disappeared... Yershalaim, the great city, has disappeared, as if it did not exist in the world... So you and your burnt notebook and dried rose! Sit here on the bench alone and beg him to let you go free, let you breathe air, leave your memory!
Having turned white, Margarita returned to the bench. The redhead looked at her, narrowing his eyes.
“I don’t understand anything,” Margarita Nikolaevna spoke quietly, “you can still find out about the leaflets... sneak in, peep... Has Natasha been bribed? Yes? But how could you know my thoughts? – she wrinkled her face painfully and added: “Tell me, who are you?” What institution are you from?
“This is boring,” the red-haired man grumbled and spoke louder: “Forgive me, because I told you that I’m not from any institution!” Please sit down.
Margarita obeyed unquestioningly, but still, sitting down, she asked again:
-Who are you?
- Well, okay, my name is Azazello, but it still doesn’t tell you anything.
“Won’t you tell me how you learned about the sheets and my thoughts?”
“I won’t tell,” Azazello answered dryly.
- But do you know anything about him? – Margarita whispered pleadingly.
- Well, let's say I know.
– I beg you: tell me just one thing, is he alive? Don't torture.
“Well, he’s alive, he’s alive,” Azazello responded reluctantly.
“Please, without excitement and screaming,” Azazello said, frowning.
“Sorry, sorry,” muttered the now submissive Margarita, “of course I was angry with you.” But, you see, when on the street they invite a woman to visit somewhere... I have no prejudices, I assure you,” Margarita smiled sadly, “but I never see any foreigners, I have no desire to communicate with them.. .and besides, my husband... My drama is that I live with someone I don’t love, but I consider it unworthy to ruin his life. I saw nothing but goodness from him...
Azazello listened to this incoherent speech with visible boredom and said sternly:
– I ask you to be silent for a moment.
Margarita fell silent obediently.
– I invite you to a completely safe foreigner. And not a single soul will know about this visit. This is what I guarantee you.
- Why did he need me? – Margarita asked insinuatingly.
– You will find out about this later.
“I understand... I have to give myself to him,” Margarita said thoughtfully.
To this Azazello chuckled arrogantly and answered like this:
“Any woman in the world, I can assure you, would dream of this,” Azazello’s face twisted with a laugh, “but I will disappoint you, this will not happen.”
– What kind of foreigner is this?! - Margarita exclaimed in confusion so loudly that the benches passing by turned to look at her, - and what interest do I have in going to him?
Azazello leaned towards her and whispered meaningfully:
- Well, there is a lot of interest... You will take advantage of the opportunity...
- What? - Margarita exclaimed, and her eyes widened, - if I understand you correctly, are you hinting that I can find out about him there?
Azazello silently nodded his head.
- I'm on my way! – Margarita exclaimed forcefully and grabbed Azazello’s hand, “I’m going anywhere!”
Azazello, puffing with relief, leaned back on the bench, covering the large carved word “Nyura” with his back, and spoke ironically:
– These women are difficult people! - he put his hands in his pockets and stretched his legs far forward, - why, for example, was I sent on this matter? Let Behemoth drive, he's charming...
Margarita spoke, smiling crookedly and pitifully:
– Stop mystifying me and tormenting me with your riddles... I’m an unhappy person, and you take advantage of it. I’m getting into some strange story, but, I swear, it’s only because you lured me with words about him! I'm getting dizzy from all these unknowns...
“No drama, no drama,” Azazello responded, grimacing, “you also need to accept my position.” Punching an administrator in the face, or throwing an uncle out of the house, or shooting someone, or some other trifle of that kind, is my direct specialty, but talking to women in love is an obedient servant. After all, I’ve been trying to persuade you for half an hour already. So are you going?
“I’m on my way,” Margarita Nikolaevna answered simply.
“Then take the trouble to get it,” said Azazello and, taking a round golden box from his pocket, handed it to Margarita with the words: “Hide it, otherwise passers-by will look.” It will be useful to you, Margarita Nikolaevna. You have aged quite a bit from grief over the past six months. (Margarita flushed, but did not answer, and Azazello continued.) Tonight, at exactly half past nine, take the trouble to strip naked and rub your face and whole body with this ointment. Then do what you want, but don’t leave your phone. I'll call you at ten and tell you everything you need. You will not have to worry about anything, you will be taken where you need to go, and you will not be in any way disturbed. It's clear?
Margarita was silent for a moment, then answered:
- It's clear. This thing is made of pure gold, as can be seen from its heaviness. Well, I understand perfectly well that they are bribing me and dragging me into some dark story, for which I will pay a lot.
“What is this,” Azazello almost hissed, “you again?”
- No, wait!
- Give me back the lipstick.
Margarita clutched the box tighter in her hand and continued:
- No, wait... I know what I'm getting into. But I go to any lengths because of him, because I have no hope for anything else in the world. But I want to tell you that if you destroy me, you will be ashamed! Yes, it's a shame! I'm dying for love! – and, beating herself on the chest, Margarita glanced at the sun.
“Give it back,” Azazello hissed in anger, “give it back, and to hell with all this.” Let them send Behemoth.
- Oh no! - Margarita exclaimed, astonishing those passing by, - I agree to everything, I agree to do this comedy with rubbing with ointment, I agree to go to hell. I won't give it up!
- Bah! – Azazello suddenly shouted and, widening his eyes at the garden fence, began to point his finger somewhere.
Margarita turned to where Azazello was pointing, but did not find anything special. Then she turned to Azazello, wanting to get an explanation for this ridiculous “bah!” But there was no one to give this explanation: Margarita Nikolaevna’s mysterious interlocutor disappeared. Margarita quickly put her hand into her purse, where she had hidden the box before this scream, and made sure that it was there. Then, without thinking about anything, Margarita hurriedly ran out of the Alexander Garden.
Happiness is a wonderful feeling. ...
Platon Karataev, the thoughts of ordinary soldiers, the awareness of the true value of life - all this influenced Pierre. He realized that he had been wrong before. The hero finds the meaning of life and happiness in family life with Natasha, in harmony with himself and the world around him, in the ideas of the secret society of the Decembrists, in which he fights against everything that humiliates a person, that prevents him from living.
Also, the problem of true happiness was reflected in the story of I.A. Bunin "Mr. from San Francisco". Main character works was a very rich man. The main goal of his life was to earn money. He thought that he could buy everything with money, but that was not the case. The gentleman from San Francisco died before he could enjoy his earned capital. So, I. A. Bunin showed, using the example of the Master, that money is not the main thing in life. Need to live life to the fullest, enjoy being with family and friends. In conclusion, it is worth concluding that, without a doubt, money and material support cannot give a person true happiness. But this is within the power of love, family life, friendship and caring for loved ones.
Updated: 2017-09-06
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Useful material on the topic
- The problem of cowardice. According to the text by M.A. Bulgakov "The Master and Margarita". Inside the palace, darkness and silence reigned. And the procurator, as Afranius had said, did not want to go inside... “Eugene Onegin”, “The Wise Minnow”
And we continue to publish the most interesting quotes of all time, and today we have an equally significant quote from the mouth of... Who do you think? Who is the author of the lines - Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in the world? May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!
The correct answer to this question is Mikhail Bulgakov
PART TWO
Chapter 19. Margarita
Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in the world? May the liar's vile tongue be cut out!
Follow me, my reader, and only me, and I will show you such love!
No! The master was mistaken when he bitterly told Ivanushka in the hospital at the hour when the night had passed midnight that she had forgotten him. This couldn't happen. She, of course, did not forget him.
First of all, let's reveal the secret that the master did not want to reveal to Ivanushka. His beloved was called Margarita Nikolaevna. Everything that the master said about her was the absolute truth. He described his beloved correctly. She was beautiful and smart. One more thing must be added to this - we can say with confidence that many women would give anything to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. Childless thirty-year-old Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who also made a most important discovery of national importance. Her husband was young, handsome, kind, honest and adored his wife. Margarita Nikolaevna and her husband together occupied the entire top of a beautiful mansion in a garden in one of the alleys near Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can verify this if they wish to go to this garden. Let him contact me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact.
It couldn't. She, of course, did not forget him.
First of all, let's reveal the secret that the master did not want to reveal to Ivanushka.
His beloved was called Margarita Nikolaevna. Everything the master said about
No, it was absolutely true. He described his beloved correctly. She was beautiful
And smart. To this we must add one more thing - we can say with confidence that
Many women would give anything to trade their lives
On the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. Childless thirty-year-old Margarita was a wife
A very prominent specialist, who also made a very important discovery
State significance. Her husband was young, handsome, kind, honest and adored
My wife. Margarita Nikolaevna and her husband together occupied the entire top
A beautiful mansion in a garden in one of the alleys near Arbat. Charming
place! Anyone can verify this if they wish to go to this garden.
Let him contact me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact
Still.
Margarita Nikolaevna did not need money. Margarita Nikolaevna could
Buy everything she likes. Among her husband's acquaintances there were interesting
People. Margarita Nikolaevna never touched a primus stove. Margarita
Nikolaevna did not know the horrors of living in a shared apartment. In a word... She was
happy? Not one minute! Since she came out at nineteen
married and ended up in a mansion, she did not know happiness. Gods, my gods! What do you need?
was this woman?! What did this woman need, in whose eyes she always
Some incomprehensible light was burning, which was what this slightly squinting one needed
The eye of the witch who decorated herself with mimosas in the spring? Don't know. I don't know.
Obviously, she was telling the truth, she needed him, the master, and not at all
A Gothic mansion, and not a separate garden, and not money. She loved him, she
She told the truth. Even for me, a truthful narrator, but an outsider
A person’s heart sank at the thought of what Margarita experienced when
The next day I came to the master’s house, fortunately, without having time to talk with
Her husband, who did not return on time, and found out that the masters had already
She did everything to find out something about him, and, of course, she didn’t
I found out absolutely nothing. Then she returned to the mansion and began to live as before.
Location.
- Yes, yes, yes, the same mistake! - Margarita said in winter, sitting
At the stove and looking into the fire, why did I leave him at night? For what? After all
this is crazy! I returned the next day, honestly, as I promised, but it was already
late. Yes, I returned, like the unfortunate Levi Matthew, too late!
All these words were, of course, absurd, because, in fact: what
Would it have changed if she had stayed with the master that night? Would she have saved
his? Funny! - we would exclaim, but we will not do this in front of the finished
A desperate woman.
Margarita Nikolaevna lived in such torment all winter and lived to see
Spring. On the very day when all this ridiculous chaos was happening,
Caused by the appearance of a black magician in Moscow, on Friday, when he was expelled
Back to Kyiv Berlioz's uncle, when the accountant was arrested and more happened
Many other stupid and incomprehensible things, Margarita woke up around
Noon in his bedroom, looking out with a lantern into the tower of the mansion.
When she woke up, Margarita did not cry, as she often did, because
I woke up with a premonition that something would finally happen today. Feeling
This premonition, she began to warm it up and grow it in her soul,
Fearing that it would not leave her.
- I believe! - Margarita whispered solemnly, - I believe! Something
will happen! It can’t help but happen, because why, really, should I
Lifelong torment sent? I confess that I lied and deceived and lived
A secret life hidden from people, but still cannot be punished like that
Cruel. Something will definitely happen, because it doesn’t happen that
Something took forever. And besides, my dream was prophetic, for this I
I guarantee it.
So Margarita Nikolaevna whispered, looking at the crimson curtains pouring
in the sun, dressing restlessly, combing his short shorts in front of the triple mirror
Curled hair.
The dream that Margarita had that night was really
Unusual. The fact is that during her winter torments she never
I saw a master in a dream. He left her at night, and she suffered only during the day.
Watch. And then I dreamed about it.
Margarita dreamed of an area unknown to Margarita - hopeless, dull, under
Cloudy early spring sky. I dreamed about this ragged running gray
The sky, and below it a silent flock of rooks. Some kind of clumsy bridge. Beneath him
A muddy spring river, joyless, beggarly, half-naked trees,
First of all, let's reveal a secret that the master did not want to reveal to Ivanushka. His beloved was called Margarita Nikolaevna. Everything that the master told the poor poet about her was the absolute truth. He described his beloved correctly. She was beautiful and smart. One more thing must be added to this - we can say with confidence that many women would give anything to exchange their lives for the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. Childless thirty-year-old Margarita was the wife of a very prominent specialist, who also made a most important discovery of national importance. Her husband was young, handsome, kind, honest and adored his wife. Margarita Nikolaevna and her husband together occupied the entire top of a beautiful mansion in a garden in one of the alleys near Arbat. Charming place! Anyone can verify this if they wish to go to this garden. Let him contact me, I will tell him the address, show him the way - the mansion is still intact.
Margarita Nikolaevna did not need money. Margarita Nikolaevna could buy whatever she liked. Among her husband's acquaintances there were interesting people. Margarita Nikolaevna never touched a primus stove. Margarita Nikolaevna did not know the horrors of living in a shared apartment. In a word... was she happy? Not one minute! Since she got married at nineteen and ended up in a mansion, she has not known happiness. Gods, my gods! What did this woman need?! What did this woman need, in whose eyes some kind of incomprehensible light always burned! What did this witch, slightly squinting in one eye, need, who decorated herself with mimosas that spring? Don't know. I don't know. Obviously, she was telling the truth, she needed him, the master, and not a Gothic mansion, and not a separate garden, and not money. She loved him, she told the truth.
Even I, a truthful narrator, but an outsider, sank at the thought of what Margarita experienced when she came to the master’s house the next day, fortunately, without having time to talk with her husband, who did not return at the appointed time, and found out that that the master is no longer there.
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Happiness is a wonderful feeling. It gives a person a feeling of boundless joy, so everyone wants to be happy. What is true happiness?
He writes about the problem of true happiness M. A. Bulgakov. In the above fragment from the novel “The Master and Margarita,” the author talks about the life of Margarita Nikolaevna. The girl “was beautiful and smart”, “was the wife of a very prominent specialist”, “the husband was young, handsome, kind, honest and adored his wife”. Many girls were ready to give everything for Margarita’s life in the “beautiful mansion” on Arbat. But was Margarita happy? "Not one minute." She didn't need any of these luxuries that were in abundance. She needed the Master and his love.
The author of the text is convinced that true happiness lies not in wealth, but in finding love.
One cannot but agree with the author that no amount of money can bring true happiness; only the person you love can do this.
L.N. Tolstoy wrote about the search for happiness in his epic novel “War and Peace”. Pierre Bezukhov spent many years in searching for the meaning of life and happiness. He was looking for them in wealth, marriage to Helen, Freemasonry, but found only by
