Analysis of the work Russian character by Tolstoy. A.N. Tolstoy Russian character creative work of students in literature (grade 11) on the topic. Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary

“Russian character! Go ahead and describe him…” - the story “Russian Character” by Alexei Tolstoy begins with these amazing, heartfelt words. Indeed, is it possible to describe, measure, define what is beyond words and feelings? Yes and no. Yes, because talking, reasoning, trying to understand, getting to know the very essence is all necessary. These are, so to speak, those impulses, shocks, thanks to which life revolves. On the other hand, no matter how much we talk, we still can’t reach the bottom. This depth is infinite. How to describe what words to choose? This can also be done using the example of a heroic deed. But how to choose which one to prefer? There are so many of them that it’s hard not to get lost.

Alexey Tolstoy, “Russian character”: analysis of the work

During the war, Alexey Tolstoy creates an amazing collection “Stories of Ivan Sudarev”, consisting of seven short stories. All of them are united by one theme - the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945, one idea - admiration and admiration for the patriotism and heroism of the Russian people, and one main character, on whose behalf the story is told. This is an experienced cavalryman Ivan Sudarev. The last story, which completes the entire cycle, is the story “Russian Character”. Alexei Tolstoy, with his help, summarizes what was said earlier. It is a kind of summary of everything that was said before, all the author’s reasoning and thoughts about the Russian person, about the Russian soul, about the Russian character: beauty, depth and strength are not “a vessel in which there is emptiness”, but “a fire flickering in a vessel."

Theme and idea of the story

From the first lines, the author indicates the theme of the story. Of course, we will talk about the Russian character. Quote from the work: “I just want to talk to you about the Russian character...” And here we hear notes not so much of doubt, but rather of regret that the form of the work is so small and limited - a short story that does not correspond to what the author has chosen scope. And the topic and title are very “meaningful”. But there is nothing to do, because I want to talk...

The ring composition of the story helps to clearly clarify the idea of the work. Both at the beginning and at the end we read the author’s reflections on beauty. What is beauty? Physical attractiveness is clear to everyone, it is on the very surface, you just have to stretch out your hand. No, she is not the one who worries the narrator. He sees beauty in other things - in the soul, in character, in actions. It especially manifests itself in war, when death is constantly around. Then they become, from a person “every kind of nonsense, husk, peels off, like skin that has become dead after a sunburn,” and does not disappear, and only one thing remains - the core. It is clearly visible in the main character - in the silent, calm, strict Yegor Dremov, in his elderly parents, in the beautiful and faithful bride Katerina, in the tank driver Chuvilov.

Exposition and setup

The story is set in the spring of 1944. The liberation war against the fascist invaders is in full swing. But she is not a character, but rather a background, dark and harsh, but so clearly and vividly showing the amazing colors of love, kindness, friendship and beauty.

The exhibition provides brief information about the main character of the story - Yegor Dremov. He was a simple, modest, quiet, reserved man. He spoke little, especially did not like to “rant” about military exploits and was embarrassed to talk about love. Only once did he casually mention his fiancée - a good and faithful girl. From this moment we can begin to describe the summary of Tolstoy’s “Russian Character”. It is noteworthy here that Ivan Suzdalev, on whose behalf the story is told, met Yegor after his terrible injury and plastic surgery, but in his description there is not a single word about his comrade’s physical disabilities. On the contrary, he sees only beauty, “spiritual affection”, looks at him when he jumps from the armor to the ground - “the god of war.”

We continue to reveal a brief summary of Tolstoy’s “Russian Character”. The plot of the plot is the terrible wound of Yegor Dremov during the battle, his face was practically bruised, and even bones were visible in places, but he survived. His eyelids, lips, and nose were restored, but it was a completely different face.

Climax

The climax scene is the brave warrior's arrival home on leave after the hospital. A meeting with his father and mother, with his bride - with the closest people in his life, turned out not to be a long-awaited joy, but to bitter inner loneliness. He could not, did not dare to admit to his old parents that the man standing in front of them with a disfigured appearance and an alien voice was their son. You can’t let your mother’s old face tremble desperately. However, there was a glimmer of hope in him that his father and mother themselves would recognize him, guess without explanation who had come to them, and then this invisible barrier would be broken. But that did not happen. It cannot be said that Maria Polikarpovna’s maternal heart felt nothing at all. His hand with a spoon while eating, his movements - these seemingly smallest details did not escape her gaze, but she still did not guess. And here Katerina, Yegor’s fiancée, not only didn’t recognize him, but at the sight of the terrible face-mask, she leaned back and got scared. This was the last straw, and the next day he left his father’s house. Of course, he had resentment, disappointment, and despair, but he decided to sacrifice his feelings - it was better to leave, to isolate himself, so as not to frighten his nearest and dearest. Summary of Tolstoy’s “Russian Character” does not end there.

Denouement and conclusion

One of the main features of the Russian character, the Russian soul is sacrificial love. It is precisely this feeling that is true, unconditional. They love not for something and not for the sake of something. This is an irresistible, unconscious need to always be close to a person, to take care of him, to help him, to sympathize with him, to breathe with him. And the word “nearby” is not measured in physical quantities, it means an intangible, thin, but incredibly strong spiritual thread between people who love each other.

After Yegor's quick departure, his mother could not find a place for herself. She guessed that this man with a disfigured face was her beloved son. The father had doubts, but still said that if that visiting soldier was really his son, then there is no need to be ashamed, but to be proud. This means that he truly defended his homeland. His mother writes a letter to him at the front and asks him not to torment him and to tell the truth as it is. Touched, he admits to deception and asks for forgiveness... After some time, both his mother and his bride come to his regiment. Mutual forgiveness, love without further ado and fidelity - this is a happy ending, these are Russian characters. As they say, a man seems simple in appearance, there is nothing remarkable about him, but trouble will come, harsh days will come, and immediately a great strength rises in him - human beauty.

Russian character! - for a short story the title is too meaningful. What can you do? I just want to talk to you about the Russian character.

Russian character! Go ahead and describe it... Should I talk about heroic deeds? But there are so many of them that you get confused which one to choose. So one of my friends helped me out with a little story from his personal life. I won’t tell you how he beat the Germans, although he wears a gold star and half his chest in orders. He is a simple, quiet, ordinary person - a collective farmer from a Volga village in the Saratov region. But among others he is noticeable by his strong and proportionate build and beauty. You used to look at him when he climbed out of the tank turret - the god of war! He jumps from the armor to the ground, pulls off the helmet from his wet curls, wipes his grimy face with a rag and will certainly smile from spiritual affection.

In war, constantly hovering near death, people become better, all nonsense peels off from them, like unhealthy skin after a sunburn, and remains in the person - the core. Of course, some have it stronger, others have it weaker, but even those who have a flawed core are drawn to it, everyone wants to be a good and faithful comrade. But my friend, Yegor Dremov, was of strict behavior even before the war, extremely respected and loved his mother, Marya Polikarpovna, and his father, Yegor Yegorovich. “My father is a sedate man, first of all, he respects himself. “You, son, he says, will see a lot in the world, and you will go abroad, but be proud of your Russian title...”

He had a bride from the same village on the Volga. We talk a lot about brides and wives, especially if there is calm at the front, it’s cold, the fire is smoking in the dugout, the stove is crackling and people have had dinner. If they say something like this here, it will make you laugh. They will start, for example: “What is love?” One will say: “Love arises on the basis of respect...” Another: “Nothing like that, love is a habit, a person loves not only his wife, but his father and mother and even animals...” - “Ugh, stupid! - the third will say, “Love is when everything is boiling in you, a person walks around as if drunk...” And so they philosophize for an hour and another, until the foreman, intervening, with an commanding voice defines the very essence... Egor Dremov, it must be embarrassed by these conversations, he only casually mentioned to me about his fiancée - she was, they say, a very good girl, and even if she said that she would wait, she would wait until he returned on one leg...

He also didn’t like to talk about military exploits: “I don’t want to remember such things!” He frowns and lights a cigarette. We learned about the combat performance of his tank from the words of the crew; the driver Chuvilev especially surprised the listeners:

-...You see, as soon as we turned around, I saw a tiger crawling out from behind a hill... I shouted: “Comrade Lieutenant, tiger!” - “Forward,” he shouts, “full throttle!..” I’ll camouflage myself along the spruce tree - to the right, to the left... He moves the tiger’s barrel like a blind man, he hit it - missed... And the comrade lieutenant will hit him in the side , - splashes! As soon as it hits the tower, he raised his trunk... As he hits the third time, smoke poured out of all the cracks of the tiger, and flames burst out of it a hundred meters up... The crew climbed through the emergency hatch... Vanka Lapshin fired a machine gun, and they lay there, kicking their legs... For us, you know, the path has been cleared. Five minutes later we fly into the village. Here I just lost my life... The fascists are all over the place... And - it’s dirty, you know - another one will jump out of his boots and in only his socks - Pork. Everyone runs to the barn. Comrade lieutenant gives me the command: “Come on, move around the barn.” We turned the gun away, at full throttle I ran into a barn... Fathers! Beams rattled across the armor, boards, bricks, fascists who were sitting under the roof... And I also - and ironed it - the rest of my hands up - and Hitler was kaput...

This is how Lieutenant Yegor Dremov fought until a misfortune happened to him. During the Battle of Kursk, when the Germans were already bleeding and faltering, his tank - on a hillock, in a wheat field - was hit by a shell, two of the crew were immediately killed, and the tank caught fire from the second shell. The driver Chuvilev, who jumped out through the front hatch, again climbed onto the armor and managed to pull out the lieutenant - he was unconscious, his overalls were on fire. As soon as Chuvilev pulled the lieutenant away, the tank exploded with such force that the turret was thrown fifty meters away. Chuvilev threw handfuls of loose earth on the lieutenant’s face, head, and clothes to put out the fire. Then he crawled with him from crater to crater to the dressing station... “Why did I drag him then? — Chuvilev said, “I hear his heart beating...”

Yegor Dremov survived and did not even lose his sight, although his face was so charred that bones were visible in places. He spent eight months in the hospital, he underwent plastic surgery one after another, his nose, lips, eyelids, and ears were restored. Eight months later, when the bandages were removed, he looked at his and now not his face. The nurse who handed him a small mirror turned away and began to cry. He immediately returned the mirror to her.

“It can be worse,” he said, “you can live with it.”

But he no longer asked the nurse for a mirror, he only often felt his face, as if he was getting used to it. The commission found him fit for non-combatant service. Then he went to the general and said: “I ask for your permission to return to the regiment.” “But you are disabled,” said the general. “No way, I’m a freak, but this won’t interfere with the matter, I’ll restore my combat capability completely.” (The fact that the general tried not to look at him during the conversation, Yegor Dremov noted and only grinned with purple lips, straight as a slit.) He received a twenty-day leave to fully restore his health and went home to his father and mother. This was just in March of this year.

At the station he thought about taking a cart, but he had to walk eighteen miles. There was still snow all around, it was damp, deserted, the icy wind blew away the skirts of his overcoat, whistling in his ears with lonely melancholy. He arrived in the village when it was already dusk. Here was the well, the tall crane swayed and creaked. Hence the sixth hut - the parents' hut. He suddenly stopped, putting his hands in his pockets. He shook his head. I turned diagonally towards the house. Stuck knee-deep in the snow, bending over to the window, I saw my mother - in the dim light of a screwed-on lamp above the table, she was getting ready for dinner. Still in the same dark scarf, quiet, unhurried, kind. She was old, her thin shoulders stuck out... “Oh, if only I knew, every day she would have to write at least two little words about herself...” She gathered some simple things on the table - a cup of milk, a piece of bread, two spoons, a salt shaker and thought, standing in front of the table, his thin arms folded under his chest... Yegor Dremov, looking through the window at his mother, realized that it was impossible to frighten her, it was impossible for her old face to tremble desperately.

OK! He opened the gate, entered the courtyard and knocked on the porch. The mother answered outside the door: “Who’s there?” He replied: “Lieutenant, Hero of the Soviet Union Gromov.”

His heart was pounding so hard - he leaned his shoulder against the ceiling. No, the mother did not recognize his voice. He himself, as if for the first time, heard his own voice, which had changed after all the operations - hoarse, dull, unclear.

- Father, what do you want? she asked.

— Marya Polikarpovna brought a greeting from his son, Senior Lieutenant Dremov.

Then she opened the door and rushed towards him, grabbing his hands:

- Is my Yegor alive? Are you healthy? Father, come into the hut

Yegor Dremov sat down on the bench by the table, in the very place where he sat when his legs did not reach the floor and his mother used to stroke his curly head and say: “Eat, Irrita.” He began to talk about her son, about himself - in detail, how he eats, drinks, does not suffer need for anything, is always healthy, cheerful, and - briefly about the battles where he participated with his tank.

- Tell me, is it scary in war? - she interrupted, looking into his face with dark eyes that did not see him.

- Yes, of course, it’s scary, mom, but it’s a habit.

My father, Yegor Yegorovich, who had also passed over the years, came, and his beard felt like flour. Looking at the guest, he stamped on the threshold with his broken felt boots, slowly unwound his scarf, took off his sheepskin coat, walked up to the table, shook hands - ah, it was familiar, a wide, fair parental hand! Without asking anything, because it was already clear why the guest was wearing orders, he sat down and also began to listen, with his eyes half-closed.

The longer Lieutenant Dremov sat unrecognizable and talked about himself and not about himself, the more impossible it was for him to open up, to stand up and say: acknowledge me, freak, mother, father!.. He felt both good at his parents’ table and offended.

“Well, let’s have dinner, mother, pack something for the guest.” Yegor Yegorovich opened the door of an old cupboard, where in the corner to the left lay fishing hooks in a matchbox—they were lying there—and there was a teapot with a broken spout, he stood there, where it smelled of bread crumbs and onion skins. Yegor Yegorovich took out a bottle of wine - just two glasses, and sighed that he couldn’t get more.

We sat down to dinner, as in previous years. And only at dinner, Senior Lieutenant Dremov noticed that his mother was especially closely watching his hand with a spoon. He grinned, the mother raised her eyes, her face trembled painfully.

We talked about this and that, what spring would be like and whether the people would be able to cope with sowing, and that this summer we had to wait for the end of the war.

- Why do you think, Yegor Yegorovich, that we must wait for the end of the war this summer?

“The people are angry,” answered Yegor Yegorovich, “they passed through death, now you can’t stop them, the Germans are kaput.”

Marya Polikarpovna asked:

“You didn’t say when he’ll be given leave to visit us on leave.” They haven't seen him for three years, he's grown up, he walks around with a mustache... So - every day - near death, his tea and his voice have become rough?

“But when he comes, maybe you won’t recognize him,” said the lieutenant.

They assigned him to sleep on the stove, where he remembered every brick, every crack in the log wall, every knot in the ceiling. It smelled of sheepskin, bread - that familiar comfort that is not forgotten even in the hour of death. The March wind whistled over the roof. Behind the partition my father was snoring. The mother tossed and turned, sighed, and did not sleep. The lieutenant was lying face down, his face in his hands: “Is it really that she didn’t recognize it,” I thought, “Is it really that she didn’t recognize it? Mom mom..."

The next morning he woke up to the crackling of firewood, his mother was carefully fiddling around the stove; his washed foot wraps hung on a stretched rope, and his washed boots stood by the door.

— Do you eat millet pancakes? she asked.

He didn’t answer right away, but got off the stove, put on his tunic, tightened his belt and, barefoot, sat down on the bench.

— Tell me, does Katya Malysheva, Andrei Stepanovich Malysheva’s daughter, live in your village?

— She graduated from courses last year and is our teacher. Do you need to see her?

“Your son definitely asked me to convey my regards to her.”

Her mother sent a neighbor girl to fetch her. The lieutenant didn’t even have time to put on his shoes when Katya Malysheva came running. Her wide gray eyes sparkled, her eyebrows flew up in amazement, and there was a joyful blush on her cheeks. When she threw the knitted scarf from her head onto her broad shoulders, the lieutenant even groaned to himself - he could kiss that warm blond hair!.. This was the only way his girlfriend seemed to him - fresh, gentle, cheerful, kind, so beautiful that she came in and the whole hut turned gold...

— Did you bring a bow from Yegor? (He stood with his back to the light and just bowed his head because he couldn’t speak.) And I’m waiting for him day and night, so tell him...

She came close to him. She looked, and as if she had been lightly hit in the chest, she leaned back and got scared. Then he firmly decided to leave - today.

Mother baked millet pancakes with baked milk. He again talked about Lieutenant Dremov, this time about his military exploits - he talked cruelly and did not raise his eyes to Katya, so as not to see the reflection of his ugliness on her sweet face. Yegor Yegorovich began to fuss to get a collective farm horse, but he left for the station on foot as he came. He was very depressed by everything that had happened, even stopping, hitting his face with his palms and repeating in a hoarse voice: “What should we do now?”

He returned to his regiment, which was stationed deep in the rear for replenishment. His comrades greeted him with such sincere joy that everything that had prevented him from sleeping, eating, or breathing fell away from his soul. I decided to let his mother not know about his misfortune for a longer time. As for Katya, he will tear this thorn out of his heart.

About two weeks later a letter came from my mother:

“Hello, my beloved son. I’m afraid to write to you, I don’t know what to think. We had one person from you - a very good person, only with a bad face. I wanted to live, but I immediately packed up and left. Since then, son, I haven’t slept at night, it seems to me that you came. Yegor Yegorovich scolds me for this, - he says, you, old woman, have gone crazy: if he were our son, wouldn’t he have revealed himself... Why should he hide if it were him - with such a face as his We should be proud of whoever came to us. Yegor Yegorovich will persuade me, and a mother’s heart is all her own: he is it, he was with us! this!.. Egorushka, write to me, for Christ’s sake, you fool me - what happened? Or really, I’ve gone crazy...”

Yegor Dremov showed this letter to me, Ivan Sudarev, and, while telling his story, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. I told him: “Here, I say, the characters clashed! You fool, you fool, write to your mother quickly, ask her for forgiveness, don’t drive her crazy... She really needs your image! This way she will love you even more.”

On the same day he wrote a letter: “My dear parents, Marya Polikarpovna and Yegor Yegorovich, forgive me for my ignorance, you really had me, your son...” And so on, and so on - on four pages in small handwriting, He could have written it on twenty pages - it would have been possible.

After some time, we are standing at the training ground, - the soldier comes running and - to Yegor Dremov: “Comrade captain, they are asking you...” The soldier’s expression is this, although he is standing in full uniform, as if a man is about to drink. We went to the village and approached the hut where Dremov and I lived. I see that he is not himself, he keeps coughing... I think: “Tanker, tanker, ah - nerves.” We enter the hut, he is in front of me, and I hear:

“Mom, hello, it’s me!..” And I see that the little old woman fell on his chest. I look around, and it turns out there is another woman. I give my word of honor, there are other beauties somewhere, she’s not the only one, but personally, I haven’t seen one.

He tore his mother away from him, approached this girl, - and I already remembered that with all his heroic build this was the god of war, “Katya! - he says, - Katya, why did you come? You promised to wait for this, not this...”

Beautiful Katya answers him, and although I have gone into the hallway, I hear: “Egor, I am going to live with you forever. I will love you truly, I will love you very much... Don’t send me away..."

Yes, here they are, Russian characters! It seems that a simple person, but a severe misfortune will come, in big or small ways, and a great power rises in him - human beauty.

Russian character

Russian character! - for a short story the title is too meaningful. What can you do? I just want to talk to you about the Russian character.

In war, constantly hovering near death, people become better, all nonsense peels off from them, like unhealthy skin after a sunburn, and remains in the person - the core. Of course, one has a stronger core, another has a weaker one, but even those who have a flawed core are drawn to it, everyone wants to be a good and faithful comrade. But my friend, Yegor Dremov, was of strict behavior even before the war, extremely respected and loved his mother, Marya Polikarpovna, and his father, Yegor Yegorovich. “My father is a sedate man, first of all, he respects himself. “You, son, he says, will see a lot in the world, and you will go abroad, but be proud of your Russian title...”

He had a bride from the same village on the Volga. We talk a lot about brides and wives, especially if there is a calm at the front, it’s cold, there’s a smoke in the dugout, the stove is crackling and people have had dinner. If they say something like this here, it will make you laugh. They will start, for example: “What is love?” One will say: “Love arises on the basis of respect...”. Another: “Nothing like that, love is a habit, a person loves not only his wife, but his father and mother and even animals...” - “Ugh, stupid! - the third will say. “Love is when everything is boiling inside you, a person walks around like he’s drunk...” And so they philosophize for an hour and another, until the foreman, intervening, in a commanding voice defines the very essence... Yegor Dremov, probably embarrassed by these conversations, only casually mentioned to me about the bride - she is, they say, a very good girl, and even if she said that will wait, - will wait, at least he returns on one leg...

“...You see, as soon as we turned around, I saw him crawling out from behind a little hill... I shouted: “Comrade Lieutenant, tiger!” - “Forward,” he shouts, “full throttle!” I’ll camouflage myself along the spruce tree - to the right, to the left... He moves the tiger’s barrel like a blind man, he hits it wide... And the comrade lieutenant hits him in the side - splashes! As soon as he gets into the tower, he lifts up his trunk... When he hits the third time, smoke pours out of all the cracks of the tiger, and flames rush out of it a hundred meters up... The crew climbs through the emergency hatch... Vanka Lapshin fires a machine gun - and they lie there , kicking their legs... For us, you understand, the path has been cleared. Five minutes later we fly into the village. Here I just lost my life... The fascists are all over the place... And it’s dirty, you know, another one will jump out of his boots and in only his socks - Pork. Everyone runs to the barn. Comrade lieutenant gives me the command: “Come on, move around the barn.” We turned the gun away, at full throttle I ran into a barn... Fathers! Beams rattled across the armor, boards, bricks, fascists who were sitting under the roof... And I still - and ironed it - the rest of my hands up - and Hitler was kaput...”

So Yegor Dremov fought until a misfortune happened to him. During the Battle of Kursk, when the Germans were already bleeding and faltering, his tank - on a hillock, in a wheat field - was hit by a shell, two of the crew were immediately killed, and the tank caught fire from the second shell. The driver Chuvilev, who jumped out through the front hatch, again climbed onto the armor and managed to pull out the lieutenant - he was unconscious, his overalls were on fire. As soon as Chuvilev pulled the lieutenant away, the tank exploded with such force that the turret was thrown fifty meters away. Chuvilev threw handfuls of loose earth on the lieutenant’s face, on his head, on his clothes to knock down the fire. Then he crawled with him from crater to crater to the dressing station. “Why did I drag him then? - Chuvilev said. “I hear his heart beating...”

It can be worse,” he said, “you can live with it.”

But he no longer asked the nurse for a mirror, he only often felt his face, as if he was getting used to it. The commission found him fit for non-combatant service. Then he went to the general and said. “I ask your permission to return to the regiment.” “But you are disabled,” said the general. “No way, I’m a freak, but this won’t interfere with the matter, I’ll restore my combat capability completely.” (The fact that the general tried not to look at him during the conversation, Yegor Dremov noted and only grinned with purple lips, straight as a slit). He received a twenty-day leave to fully recover his health and went home to his father and mother. This was just in March of this year.

At the station he thought about taking a cart, but he had to walk eighteen miles. There was still snow all around, it was damp, deserted, the icy wind blew away the skirts of his overcoat, whistling in his ears with lonely melancholy. He arrived in the village when it was already dusk. Here is the well, the tall crane swayed and creaked. From here is the sixth hut - the parents' house. He suddenly stopped, putting his hands in his pockets. He shook his head. He turned diagonally towards the house. Stuck knee-deep in the snow, bending over to the window, I saw my mother - in the dim light of a screwed-on lamp above the table, she was getting ready for dinner. Still in the same dark scarf, quiet, unhurried, kind. She was old, her thin shoulders stuck out... “Oh, if only I knew, every day she would have to write at least two little words about herself...” She gathered some simple things on the table - a cup of milk, a piece of bread, two spoons, a salt shaker and thought, standing in front of the table, folding his thin arms under his chest... Yegor Dremov, looking through the window at his mother, realized that it was impossible to frighten her, it was impossible for her old face to tremble desperately.

OK! He opened the gate, entered the courtyard and knocked on the porch. Mother answered behind the door: “Who’s there?” He replied: “Lieutenant, Hero of the Soviet Union Gromov.”

His heart was pounding so hard - he leaned his shoulder against the ceiling. No, the mother did not recognize his voice. It was as if he himself heard his voice for the first time, which had changed after all the operations - hoarse, dull, unclear.

Father, what do you want? - she asked.

Marya Polikarpovna brought a bow from her son, Senior Lieutenant Dremov.

Then she opened the door and rushed towards him, grabbing his hands:

Is my Yegor alive? Are you healthy? Father, come into the hut.

Yegor Dremov sat down on the bench near the table in the same place where he sat when his legs did not reach the floor and his mother used to stroke his curly head and say: “Eat, killer.” He began to talk about her son, about himself - in detail, how he eats, drinks, does not suffer need for anything, is always healthy, cheerful, and - briefly about the battles where he participated with his tank.

Tell me, is it scary in war? - she interrupted, looking into his face with dark eyes that did not see him.

Yes, of course, it’s scary, mom, but it’s a habit.

My father, Yegor Yegorovich, who had also passed over the years, came, and his beard felt like flour. Looking at the guest, he stamped on the threshold with his broken felt boots, slowly unwound his scarf, took off his sheepskin coat, walked up to the table, shook hands - ah, it was familiar, the wide, fair parental hand! He didn’t ask anything, because it was already clear why the guest was here in orders, he sat down and also began to listen, with his eyes half-closed.

The longer Lieutenant Dremov sat unrecognizable and talked about himself and not about himself, the more impossible it was for him to open up - to stand up and say: acknowledge me, you freak, mother, father!.. He felt both good at his parents’ table and offended.

Well, let's have dinner, mother, pack something for the guest. - Yegor Yegorovich opened the door of an old cupboard, where in the corner to the left there were fishing hooks in a matchbox - they lay there - and there was a teapot with a broken spout - I stood there - where it smelled of bread crumbs and onion skins. Yegor Yegorovich took out a bottle of wine - just enough for two glasses, and sighed that he couldn’t get any more. We sat down to dinner, as in previous years. And only at dinner, Senior Lieutenant Dremov noticed that his mother was especially closely watching his hand with a spoon. He grinned, the mother raised her eyes, her face trembled painfully.

We talked about this and that, what spring would be like, and whether the people would be able to cope with the sowing, and that this summer we had to wait for the end of the war.

Why do you think, Yegor Yegorovich, that we must wait for the end of the war this summer?

The people got angry,” Yegor Yegorovich answered, “they passed through death, now you can’t stop them, the Germans are kaput.”

Marya Polikarpovna asked:

You didn’t say when he would be given leave to visit us on leave. I haven’t seen him for three years, tea, he’s become an adult, he walks around with a mustache... So - every day - near death, tea, and his voice has become rough?

“But when he comes, maybe you won’t recognize him,” said the lieutenant.

They assigned him to sleep on the stove, where he remembered every brick, every crack in the log wall, every knot in the ceiling. It smelled of sheepskin, bread - that familiar comfort that is not forgotten even in the hour of death. The March wind whistled under the roof. Behind the partition my father was snoring. The mother tossed and turned, sighed, and did not sleep. The lieutenant was lying face down, his face in his hands. “She really didn’t recognize it,” I thought, “she really didn’t recognize it? Mom mom…"

The next morning he woke up to the crackling of firewood, his mother was carefully fiddling around the stove; his washed foot wraps hung on a stretched rope, and his washed boots stood by the door.

Do you eat millet pancakes? - she asked.

He didn’t answer right away, got off the stove, put on his tunic, tightened his belt and, barefoot, sat down on the bench.

Tell me, does Katya Malysheva, Andrei Stepanovich Malysheva’s daughter, live in your village?

She graduated from courses last year and became our teacher. Do you need to see her?

Your son definitely asked to convey his regards to her.

Her mother sent a neighbor girl to fetch her. The lieutenant didn’t even have time to put on his shoes when Katya Malysheva came running. Her wide gray eyes sparkled, her eyebrows flew up in amazement, and there was a joyful blush on her cheeks. When she threw the knitted scarf from her head onto her broad shoulders, the lieutenant even groaned to himself - he wished he could kiss that warm blond hair!.. That’s just how his girlfriend seemed to him - fresh, gentle, cheerful, kind, so beautiful that she came in and the whole hut became golden...

Did you bring a bow from Yegor? (He stood with his back to the light and only bowed his head because he could not speak.) And I’m waiting for him day and night, so tell him...

She came close to him. She looked, and as if she had been lightly hit in the chest, she leaned back and got scared. Then he firmly decided to leave - today.

Mother baked millet pancakes with baked milk. He again talked about Lieutenant Dremov, this time about his military exploits - he talked cruelly and... I didn’t look up at Katya, so as not to see the reflection of my ugliness on her sweet face. Yegor Yegorovich began to fuss to get a collective farm horse, but he left for the station on foot, as he had arrived. He was very depressed by everything that had happened, even stopping, hitting his face with his palms and repeating in a hoarse voice: “What should we do now?”

About two weeks later a letter came from my mother:

“Hello, my beloved son. I’m afraid to write to you, I don’t know what to think. We had one person from you - a very good person, only with a bad face. I wanted to live, but I immediately packed up and left. Since then, son, I haven’t slept at night - it seems to me that you came. Yegor Yegorovich completely scolds me for this, he says, you, old woman, have gone crazy: if he were our son, wouldn’t he have revealed himself... Why should he hide if it were him, with such a face as this one, who he came to us, we need to be proud. Egor Yegorovich persuaded me, and his mother’s heart was all his: he was, he was with us!.. This man was sleeping on the stove, I took his overcoat out into the yard to clean it, and I would fall to her and cry - he is this, his is this!.. Yegorushka, write to me, for Christ’s sake, give me some advice - what happened? Or really, I’ve gone crazy..."

On the same day he wrote a letter: “My dear parents, Marya Polikarpovna and Yegor Yegorovich, forgive me for my ignorance, you really had me, your son...” And so on and so forth - on four pages in small handwriting - he would and wrote on twenty pages - it would be possible.

After some time, we are standing at the training ground, a soldier comes running and - to Yegor Dremov: “Comrade captain, they are asking you...” The soldier’s expression is this, although he is standing in full uniform, as if a man is about to drink. We went to the village and approached the hut where Dremov and I lived. I see that he is not himself, he keeps coughing... I think: “Tanker, tanker, but his nerves.” We enter the hut, he is in front of me, and I hear:

He tore his mother away from him and approached this girl - and I already remembered that with all his heroic build he was the god of war. "Kate! - he says. - Katya, why did you come? You promised to wait for this, not this..."

Yes, here they are, Russian characters! It seems that a simple person, but a severe misfortune will come, in big or small ways, and a great power rises in him - human beauty.

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Tolstoy Alexey "Russian character"

Russian character! Go ahead and describe it... Should I talk about heroic deeds? But there are so many of them that you get confused as to which one to prefer. So one of my friends helped me out with a little story from his personal life. I won’t tell you how he beat the Germans, although he wears a Golden Star and half his chest in orders. He is a simple, quiet, ordinary person - a collective farmer from a Volga village in the Saratov region. But among others he is noticeable for his strong and proportionate build and beauty. You used to look at him when he climbed out of the tank turret - the god of war! He jumps from the armor to the ground, pulls off the helmet from his wet curls, wipes his grimy face with a rag and will certainly smile from spiritual affection.
In war, constantly hovering near death, people become better, all nonsense peels off from them, like unhealthy skin after a sunburn, and remains in the person - the core. Of course, some people have it stronger, others have it weaker, but even those who have a flawed core are drawn to it, everyone wants to be a good and faithful comrade. But my friend, Yegor Dremov, was of strict behavior even before the war, extremely respected and loved his mother, Marya Polikarpovna, and his father, Yegor Yegorovich. “My father is a sedate man, first of all, he respects himself. “You, son, he says, will see a lot in the world and go abroad, but be proud of your Russian title...”
He had a bride from the same village on the Volga. We talk a lot about brides and wives, especially if it’s calm at the front, it’s cold, the fire is smoking in the dugout, the stove is crackling and people have had dinner. If they say something like this here, it will make you laugh. They will start, for example: “What is love?” One will say: “Love arises on the basis of respect...” Another: “Nothing like that, love is a habit, a person loves not only his wife, but his father and mother and even animals...” - “Ugh, stupid! - the third will say, “love is when everything is boiling inside you, a person walks around as if drunk...” And so they philosophize for an hour and another, until the foreman, intervening, defines the very essence with a commanding voice. Egor Dremov, probably embarrassed by these conversations, only casually mentioned to me about his fiancée - she was, they say, a very good girl, and even if she said that she would wait, she would wait, at least he returned on one leg...
He also didn’t like to talk about military exploits: “I don’t want to remember such things!” He frowns and lights a cigarette. We learned about the combat performance of his tank from the words of the crew; the driver Chuvilev especially surprised the listeners.
“...You see, as soon as we turned around, I saw a tiger crawling out from behind a hill... I shouted: “Comrade Lieutenant, tiger!” - “Forward, shouting, full throttle!..” I’ll camouflage myself along the spruce tree - to the right, to the left... He moves the tiger’s barrel like a blind man, he hit it - missed... And the comrade lieutenant will hit him in the side, - spray! As soon as it hits the tower, - he raised his trunk... As it hits the third time, - smoke poured out of all the cracks of the tiger, - flames burst out of it a hundred meters up... The crew climbed through the emergency hatch... Vanka Lapshin fired his machine gun and they lay there, kicking their legs... For us, you know, the path has been cleared. Five minutes later we fly into the village. Here I just lost my life... The fascists are all over the place... And - it’s dirty, you know - another one will jump out of his boots and in only his socks - Pork. Everyone runs to the barn. Comrade lieutenant gives me the command: “Come on, move around the barn.” We turned the gun away, at full throttle I ran into a barn... Fathers! Beams rattled across the armor, boards, bricks, fascists who were sitting under the roof... And I also - and ironed it - the rest of my hands up - and Hitler was kaput...”
This is how Lieutenant Yegor Dremov fought until a misfortune happened to him. During the Battle of Kursk, when the Germans were already bleeding and faltering, his tank - on a hillock in a wheat field - was hit by a shell, two of the crew were immediately killed, and the tank caught fire from the second shell. The driver Chuvilev, who jumped out through the front hatch, again climbed onto the armor and managed to pull out the lieutenant - he was unconscious, his overalls were on fire. As soon as Chuvilev pulled the lieutenant away, the tank exploded with such force that the turret was thrown fifty meters away. Chuvilev threw handfuls of loose earth on the lieutenant’s face, head, and clothes to put out the fire. “Then I crawled with him from crater to crater to the dressing station... “Why did I drag him then? - Chuvilev said, “I hear his heart beating...”
Yegor Dremov survived and did not even lose his sight, although his face was so charred that bones were visible in places. He spent eight months in the hospital, he underwent plastic surgery one after another, his nose, lips, eyelids, and ears were restored. Eight months later, when the bandages were removed, he looked at his and now not his face. The nurse who handed him a small mirror turned away and began to cry. He immediately returned the mirror to her.
“It can be worse,” he said, “you can live with it.”
But he no longer asked the nurse for a mirror, he only often felt his face, as if he was getting used to it. The commission found him fit for non-combatant service. Then he went to the general and said: “I ask for your permission to return to the regiment.” “But you are disabled,” said the general. “No way, I’m a freak, but this won’t interfere with the matter, I’ll restore my combat capability completely.” (The fact that the general tried not to look at him during the conversation, Yegor Dremov noted and only grinned with purple lips, straight as a slit.) He received a twenty-day leave to fully restore his health and went home to his father and mother. This was just in March of this year.
At the station he thought about taking a cart, but he had to walk eighteen miles. There was still snow all around, it was damp, deserted, the icy wind blew away the skirts of his overcoat, whistling in his ears with lonely melancholy. He came to the village when it was already dusk. Here was the well, the tall crane swayed and creaked. Hence the sixth hut is the parents' hut. He suddenly stopped, putting his hands in his pockets. He shook his head. I turned diagonally towards the house. Stuck knee-deep in the snow, bending over to the window, I saw my mother - in the dim light of a screwed-on lamp above the table, she was getting ready for dinner. Still in the same dark scarf, quiet, unhurried, kind. She was getting old, her thin shoulders were sticking out... “Oh, if only I knew, every day she would have to write at least two little words about herself...” She gathered some simple things on the table - a cup of milk, a piece of bread, two spoons, a salt shaker and thought, standing in front of the table, his thin arms folded under his chest... Yegor Dremov, looking through the window at his mother, realized that it was impossible to frighten her, it was impossible for her old face to tremble desperately.
OK! He opened the gate, entered the courtyard and knocked on the porch. The mother answered outside the door: “Who’s there?” He replied: “Lieutenant, Hero of the Soviet Union Gromov.”
His heart began to pound and he leaned his shoulder against the ceiling. No, the mother did not recognize his voice. He himself, as if for the first time, heard his own voice, which had changed after all the operations - hoarse, dull, unclear.
- Father, what do you want? - she asked.
- Marya Polikarpovna brought a bow from her son, Senior Lieutenant Dremov.
Then she opened the door and rushed towards him, grabbing his hands:
- Is my Yegor alive? Are you healthy? Father, come into the hut.
Yegor Dremov sat down on the bench at the table in the same place where he sat when his legs did not reach the floor and his mother used to stroke his curly head and say: “Eat, killer.” He began to talk about her son, about himself - in detail, how he eats, drinks, does not suffer need for anything, is always healthy, cheerful, and - briefly about the battles where he participated with his tank.
- Tell me, is it scary in war? - she interrupted, looking into his face with dark eyes that did not see him.
- Yes, of course, it’s scary, mom, but it’s a habit.
My father, Yegor Yegorovich, who had also passed over the years, came, and his beard felt like flour. Looking at the guest, he stomped on the threshold with his broken felt boots, slowly unwound his scarf, took off his sheepskin coat, walked up to the table, shook hands - ah, the familiar wide, fair parental hand! Without asking anything, because it was already clear why the guest was wearing orders, he sat down and also began to listen, with his eyes half-closed.
The longer Lieutenant Dremov sat unrecognizable and talked about himself and not about himself, the more impossible it was for him to open up, to stand up and say: acknowledge me, you freak, mother, father! He felt both good and offended at his parents’ table.
- Well, let's have dinner, mother, collect something for the guest. - Yegor Yegorovich opened the door of an old cupboard, where in the corner to the left lay fishing hooks in a matchbox - they lay there - and there was a teapot with a broken spout, it stood there, where it smelled of bread crumbs and onion skins. Yegor Yegorovich took out a bottle of wine - only two glasses, and sighed that he couldn’t get more. We sat down to dinner, as in previous years. And only at dinner, Senior Lieutenant Dremov noticed that his mother was especially closely watching his hand with a spoon. He grinned, the mother raised her eyes, her face trembled painfully.
We talked about this and that, what spring would be like and whether the people would be able to cope with sowing, and that this summer we had to wait for the end of the war.
- Why do you think, Yegor Yegorovich, that we must wait for the end of the war this summer?
“The people are angry,” answered Yegor Yegorovich, “they passed through death, now you can’t stop them, the Germans are kaput.”
Marya Polikarpovna asked:
“You didn’t say when he’ll be given leave to visit us on leave.” I haven’t seen him for three years, tea, he’s become an adult, he walks around with a mustache... So - every day - near death, tea, and his voice has become rough?
“But when he comes, maybe you won’t recognize him,” said the lieutenant.
They assigned him to sleep on the stove, where he remembered every brick, every crack in the log wall, every knot in the ceiling. It smelled of sheepskin, bread - that familiar comfort that is not forgotten even in the hour of death. The March wind whistled over the roof. Behind the partition my father was snoring. The mother tossed and turned, sighed, and did not sleep. The lieutenant was lying face down, his face in his hands: “Is it really that she didn’t recognize it,” I thought, “Is it really that she didn’t recognize it? Mom mom..."
The next morning he woke up to the crackling of firewood, his mother was carefully fiddling around the stove; his washed foot wraps hung on an extended rope, and his washed boots stood by the door.
- Do you eat millet pancakes? - she asked.
He didn’t answer right away, got off the stove, put on his tunic, tightened his belt and, barefoot, sat down on the bench.
- Tell me, does Katya Malysheva, Andrei Stepanovich Malysheva’s daughter, live in your village?
- She graduated from courses last year and is our teacher. Do you need to see her?
“Your son definitely asked me to convey my regards to her.”
Her mother sent a neighbor girl to fetch her. The lieutenant didn’t even have time to put on his shoes when Katya Malysheva came running. Her wide gray eyes sparkled, her eyebrows flew up in amazement, and there was a joyful blush on her cheeks. When she threw the knitted scarf from her head onto her broad shoulders, the lieutenant even groaned to himself: I wish I could kiss that warm blond hair!.. That’s just how his girlfriend seemed to him - fresh, gentle, cheerful, kind, beautiful, so that the whole hut came in turned gold...
- Did you bring a bow from Yegor? (He stood with his back to the light and just bowed his head because he couldn’t speak.) And I’m waiting for him day and night, so tell him...
She came close to him. She looked, and as if she had been lightly hit in the chest, she leaned back and got scared. Then he firmly decided to leave - today.
Mother baked millet pancakes with baked milk. He again talked about Lieutenant Dremov, this time about his military exploits, - he talked cruelly and did not raise his eyes to Katya, so as not to see the reflection of his ugliness on her sweet face. Yegor Yegorovich began to fuss to get a collective farm horse, but he left for the station on foot, as he had arrived. He was very depressed by everything that had happened, even stopping, hitting his face with his palms, repeating in a hoarse voice: “What should we do now?”
He returned to his regiment, which was stationed deep in the rear for replenishment. His comrades greeted him with such sincere joy that everything that had prevented him from sleeping, eating, or breathing fell away from his soul. I decided this: let his mother not know about his misfortune for a longer time. As for Katya, he will tear this thorn out of his heart.
About two weeks later a letter came from my mother:
“Hello, my beloved son. I’m afraid to write to you, I don’t know what to think. We had one person from you - a very good person, only with a bad face. I wanted to live and immediately packed up and left. Since then, son, I haven’t slept at night, it seems to me that you came. Yegor Yegorovich scolds me for this - he says, you’re an old woman who’s gone crazy: if he were our son, wouldn’t he have revealed himself... Why should he hide if it were him - with a face like this one, who he came to us, you should be proud. Yegor Yegorovich will persuade me, and my mother’s heart is all hers: he is it, he was with us! this!.. Egorushka, write to me, for Christ’s sake, give me some advice - what happened? Or really, I’ve gone crazy...”
Yegor Dremov showed this letter to me, Ivan Sudarev, and, while telling his story, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. I told him: “Here, I say, the characters clashed! You fool, you fool, write to your mother quickly, ask her for forgiveness, don’t drive her crazy... She really needs your image! This way she will love you even more.”
On the same day he wrote a letter: “My dear parents, Marya Polikarpovna and Yegor Yegorovich, forgive me for my ignorance, you really had me, your son...” And so on and so forth - on four pages in small handwriting - He could have written it on twenty pages - it would have been possible.
After some time, we are standing with him at the training ground, - the soldier comes running and - to Yegor Dremov: “Comrade captain, they are asking you...” The soldier’s expression is this, although he is standing in full uniform, as if a man is about to drink. We went to the village and approached the hut where Dremov and I lived. I see that he is not himself - he keeps coughing... I think: “Tanker, tanker, ah - nerves.” We enter the hut, he is in front of me and I hear:
“Mom, hello, it’s me!..” And I see that the little old woman fell on his chest. I look around, and it turns out there is another woman. I give my word of honor, there are other beauties somewhere, she’s not the only one, but I personally haven’t seen them.
He tore his mother away from him and approached this girl - and I already remembered that with all his heroic build he was the god of war. "Kate! - he says. - Katya, why did you come? You promised to wait for this, not this...”
Beautiful Katya answers him, and although I have gone into the hallway, I hear: “Egor, I am going to live with you forever. I will love you truly, I will love you very much... Don’t send me away..."
Yes, here they are, Russian characters! It seems that a simple person, but a severe misfortune will come, in big or small ways, and a great power rises in him - human beauty.

Egor Dremov is saved from spruce in the war. He's covered in burns. His face is disfigured. Yegor goes to his parents in the guise of their son's friend. He decides to abandon his beloved and leave his family forever, just not to scare them with his appearance. A letter from his mother and the confident attitude of his bride make him change his mind. Thanks to his strong and invincible character, the hero manages to regain the joy of life.

The main idea of the story Russian character of Tolstoy

The Russian character is so strong and invincible that it can withstand any troubles and illnesses.

Egor Dremov is the simplest and most ordinary tanker. He lives an ordinary life. Egor is a very handsome guy. He is tall, strong, and has curly hair. Parents occupy a huge place in the hero’s life. He loves and respects them. Yegor has a chosen one. When leaving for war, he is sure that his beloved will be waiting for him and will accept him in any condition. During the war, Dremov performed many feats and brave deeds, however, he himself did not say a word about it to anyone. The war continued and Dremov fought bravely, but a terrible misfortune befell him.

During the next battle, Yegor's tank was knocked out. He was pulled out in a burning state a minute before the tank exploded. His friends died. The tanker's burns were so strong and serious that in some places bones could be seen under the burns and swollen skin. After the burns, Yegor had to undergo numerous plastic surgeries. His face was completely changed. It’s good that at least the poor guy still has his sight. Yegor looked in the mirror for a long time and tried to recognize the stranger looking at him from the mirror. The hero asks to be returned to the regiment, but is ordered to remain on vacation for another 20 days.

After resting he returns home. Egor meets with his parents. He does not want to scare them with his disfigured appearance. The idea comes to his mind to call himself a friend of their son. His parents warmly welcome him, feed him, give him water and ask him about their beloved son. The next day the hero meets his beloved girl, Katya. She immediately greets him joyfully, but when she sees his disfigured face, she shrinks away. Dremov talks about the exploits of her fiancé, and he decides to leave her life and forget about her forever.

Returning to the front, Yegor receives a letter from his mother, where she writes about her doubts that the son himself is coming to them. She wrote that she was proud of her son’s face and wanted to know the truth. Egor meets with his mother and fiancee. The mother accepts him, and the bride says that she wants to live her whole life only with him.

Analysis of the work Russian character by Tolstoy. A.N. Tolstoy Russian character creative work of students in literature (grade 11) on the topic. Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary

Alexey Tolstoy, “Russian character”: analysis of the work

Theme and idea of ​​the story

Exposition and setup

Climax

Denouement and conclusion

Tolstoy Alexey "Russian character"

The main idea of ​​the story Russian character of Tolstoy

Picture or drawing Russian character

Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary

Theme and idea of the story

The main idea of the story Russian character of Tolstoy