According to the text of Prishvin When a person loves, he penetrates the essence of the world (USE in Russian). The road to a friend (diaries, compiled by A

When a person loves, he penetrates the essence of the world. The white hedge was covered with needles of frost, red and golden bushes. The silence is such that not a single leaf will move from the tree. But the bird flew by, and a flap of the wing was enough for the leaf to break off and, whirling, fly down. What happiness it was to feel the golden leaf of the hazel tree, covered with white lace of frost!

And this cold running water in the river... and this fire, and this silence, and the storm, and everything that exists in nature and that we don’t even know, everything entered and united in my love, embracing the whole world. Love is an unknown country, and we all sail there, each on our own ship, and each of us is a captain on his ship and leads the ship with his own. own way. I missed the first powder, but I do not repent, because before the light a white dove appeared to me in a dream, and when I then opened my eyes, I realized such joy from white snow and morning star, which you do not always recognize on the hunt. That's how gently, blowing his wing, he hugged the face of the warm air of a flying bird, and a delighted person rises in the light of the morning star, and asks how Small child: stars, month, White light, take the place of the departed white dove! And the same in this morning hour was the touch of understanding my love, as the source of all light, all the stars, the moon, the sun and all the illuminated flowers, herbs, children, all life on earth. And at night it seemed to me that my charm was over, I no longer love. Then I saw that there was nothing else in me, and my whole soul was like a devastated land in the deep autumn: the cattle were stolen, the fields were empty, where it was black, where there was snow, and on the snow - traces of cats. ...What is love? Nobody really said this. But only one thing can be truly said about love, that it contains a striving for immortality and eternity, and at the same time, of course, as something small and in itself incomprehensible and necessary, the ability of a being seized by love to leave behind more or less durable things. ranging from small children to Shakespearean lines. A small ice floe, white on top, green on top, swam quickly, and a seagull swam on it. While I was climbing the mountain, it became, God knows where, in the distance, where you can see the white church in curly clouds under the magpie kingdom of black and white. Large water overflows its banks and spreads far. But even a small stream hurries to big water and even reaches the ocean. Only stagnant water remains for itself to stand, go out and turn green. So is the love of people: a big one embraces the whole world, it makes everyone feel good. And there is simple, family love, running in streams in the same beautiful direction. And there is love only for oneself, and in it a person is also like stagnant water.

Elena SANDETSKAYA

Mikhail Prishvin: “... I affirm that people have great love on earth”

The mother seeks permission for her son to leave for Germany, where Mikhail continued his education at the University of Leipzig. And shortly before receiving his diploma, he goes to friends in Paris, where his “fatal” meeting with the Russian student of the Sorbonne Varvara IZMALKOVA took place. Love falls on him. The relationship began swiftly, passionately and ... just as quickly ended.

The flame of unfulfilled love ignited him as a writer, and he carried him to old age, to the hour when, at the age of 67, he met a woman about whom he could say: “This is She! The one I've been waiting for so long." Together they lived for 14 years. These were years of real happiness in complete unanimity and unanimity. Valeria Dmitrievna and Mikhail Mikhailovich told about this in their book “We are with you”.

All his life, PRISHVIN kept a diary, which absorbed everything that the writer experienced. Here are some of his thoughts on love:

“... There is such a special fear of closeness to a person, based on the general experience that everyone is fraught with some kind of personal sin and does his best to hide it from prying eyes with a beautiful veil. When meeting a stranger, we also show ourselves to him on the good side, and so, little by little, a society of hiders of personal sins from prying eyes is created.

There are naive people here who believe in the reality of this conventionality between people; there are pretenders, cynics, satyrs who know how to use conventionality as a sauce for delicious dish. And there are very few who, not satisfied with the illusion that hides sin, are looking for ways to sinless rapprochement, believing in the secrets of the soul that there is such He or She, who can unite sinlessly and forever and live on earth as forefathers before the fall.

In truth, heavenly history repeats itself and still countless: almost every love begins with paradise.

“... If a woman interferes with creativity, then it is necessary with her, like Stepan Razin, and if you don’t want to, like Stepan, then you will find your own Taras Bulba, and let him shoot you.

But if a woman helps create life, keeps a house, gives birth to children, or participates in creativity with her husband, then she should be revered as a queen. It is given to us by severe struggle. And maybe that's why I hate weak men."

“... When people live in love, they don’t notice the onset of old age, and even if they notice a wrinkle, they don’t attach any importance to it: that’s not the point. So, if people loved each other, then they would not do cosmetics at all.

“... So, every love is a connection, but not every connection is love. True love- there is moral creativity.

“... Do you know that love when you yourself don’t have anything from it and won’t, but you still love everything around you through this, and you walk through the field and meadow, and pick up colorful, one to one, blue cornflowers smelling of honey , and blue forget-me-nots.

“... I affirm that on earth people have great love, unified and infinite. And in this world of love, destined for man to nourish the soul as much as air is for blood, I find the only one that corresponds to my own unity, and only through this correspondence, unity from one side and the other, do I enter the sea. universal love human.

That is why even the most primitive people, starting their short love, will certainly feel that it is not only for them, but for everyone to live well on earth, and even if it is obvious that good life does not work out, then it is still possible for a person and should be happy. So, only through love can one find oneself as a person, and only through a person can one enter the world of human love: love is virtue.

“... Every untempted young man, every uncorrupted and not overwhelmed by need man contains his own fairy tale about the woman he loves, about the possibility of impossible happiness. And when, it happens, a woman appears, then the question arises:

“Is it not SHE who came, the one I was waiting for?”

Then the responses follow:

- It's like she is!

- No, not her!

And then, it happens, very rarely, a person, not believing himself, says:

- Is she?

And every day, confident in his actions and easy communication during the day, he exclaims: “Yes, this is SHE!”

And at night, touching, he enthusiastically accepts the miraculous current of life and is convinced of the phenomenon of a miracle: the fairy tale has become reality - this is SHE, undoubtedly SHE!

“... Oh, how trivialized the French “look for a woman”! In the meantime, this is the truth. All the Muses are vulgarized, but the sacred fire continues to burn in our time, as it has been burning since time immemorial in the history of man on earth. So my writing, from beginning to end, is a timid, very bashful song of some creature singing in the spring choir of nature the only word: “Come!”

Love is an unknown country, and we all sail there each on our own ship, and each of us is a captain on our own ship and leads the ship in our own way.

“... It seems to us, inexperienced and learned from novels, that women should strive for lies, etc. Meanwhile, they are sincere to such an extent that we cannot even imagine it without experience, only this sincerity, sincerity itself, is not at all similar to our concept of it, we mix it with the truth.

“... At night I thought that love on earth, that same ordinary love for a woman, specifically for a woman, is everything, and here God, and any other love within its boundaries: love-pity and love-understanding - from here.

“... I think with love about the absent Lyalya. It is now becoming clear to me, as it has never been, that Lyalya is the best thing that I have ever met in my life, and any thought about some kind of personal “freedom” must be discarded as absurdity, because there is no freedom greater than that which is given love. And if I always be at my height, she will never stop loving me. In love, one must fight for one's height and thereby win. In love, you need to grow and grow yourself.

I said:

- I love you more and more.

“After all, I told you from the very beginning that you would love more and more.

She knew it, but I didn't. I brought up in myself the idea that love passes, that it is impossible to love forever, and that it is not worth the trouble for a while. This is where the division of love and our common misunderstanding lies: one love (some kind) is passing, and the other is eternal. In one, a person needs children in order to continue through them; the other, intensifying, unites with eternity.

“In love, you can reach everything, everything will be forgiven, but not a habit ...”.

“... The woman stretched out her hand to the harp, touched it with her finger, and from the touch of her finger to the string, a sound was born. So it was with me: she touched - and I sang.

The most surprising and special thing was my complete absence of that teasing image of a woman that impresses at the first meeting. I was impressed by her soul - and her understanding of my soul. Here there was a contact of souls, and only very slowly, very gradually passing into the body, and without the slightest rupture into soul and flesh, without the slightest shame and reproach. It was the embodiment."

"- My friend! You are my only salvation when I am in misfortune ... But when I am happy in my deeds, then, rejoicing, I bring you my joy and love, and you answer - what kind of love is dearer to you: when I am in misfortune or when I am healthy rich and famous, and I come to you as a conqueror?

“Of course,” she replied, “that love is higher when you are a winner.” And if in misfortune you cling to me in order to be saved, then you love it for yourself! So be happy and come to me a winner: it's better. But I myself love you equally - in sorrow and in joy.

“... What is love? Nobody really said this. But only one thing can be truly said about love, that it contains a striving for immortality and eternity, and at the same time, of course, as something small and self-evident and necessary, the ability of a being engulfed in love to leave behind more or less durable things. from small children to Shakespeare's lines."

How much tenderness and light in these wise thoughts of Mikhail PRISHVIN. It is a pity that the truth of true love is not revealed to everyone.

LOVE

When a person loves, he penetrates into
the essence of the world.

The white hedge was covered with needles of frost, red and golden bushes. The silence is such that not a single leaf will move from the tree. But the bird flew by, and a flap of the wing was enough for the leaf to break off and, whirling, fly down.

What happiness it was to feel the golden leaf of the hazel tree, covered with white lace of frost! And this cold running water in the river ... and this fire, and this silence, and the storm, and everything that exists in nature and that we don’t even know, everything entered and united in my love, embracing the whole world.

Love is an unknown country, and we all sail there each on our own ship, and each of us is a captain on our own ship and leads the ship in our own way.

I missed the first powder, but I do not repent, because before the light a white dove appeared to me in a dream, and when I then opened my eyes, I realized such joy from the white snow and the morning star, which you do not always recognize when hunting.

That's how gently, blowing his wing, he hugged the face of the warm air of a flying bird, and a delighted person rises in the light of the morning star, and asks, like a small child: stars, moon, white light, take the place of the white dove that has flown away! And the same in this morning hour was the touch of understanding my love, as the source of all light, all the stars, the moon, the sun and all the illuminated flowers, herbs, children, all life on earth.

And at night it seemed to me that my charm was over, I no longer love. Then I saw that there was nothing else in me, and my whole soul was like a devastated land in the deep autumn: the cattle were stolen, the fields were empty, where it was black, where there was snow, and on the snow - traces of cats.

What is love? Nobody really said this. But only one thing can be truly said about love, that it contains a striving for immortality and eternity, and at the same time, of course, as something small and in itself incomprehensible and necessary, the ability of a being seized by love to leave behind more or less durable things. ranging from small children to Shakespearean lines.

A sportswoman in trousers and a white coat, her eyebrows are shaved into a thread, her eyes are beautiful, like those of rams. She arrives exactly at 8 1/2, measures the pulse and begins the exercises. In the morning I always think well, and I think about my own, and I do the exercises without thinking, I look at her and, like she, so am I, like she, so am I.

That's what I was thinking today, spreading my hands over the score, clenching my fists and crouching. I thought that L. in spiritual world for me it was the same as this athlete in gymnastics. I, gradually looking at L., noticing the methods of her service to me, almost mechanically began to serve her as well as I could.

So she teaches me love, but I must say that, of course, it came to me a little late, and that's why she is so impressed. Generally speaking, this is not a new matter: in good families have long been brought up by mutual service.

And perhaps, among all nations, and even among the most savage, in their own way, in a savage way, there has always been the same physical culture of goodness or service of one person to another.

My friend! You are my only salvation when I am in misfortune ... But when I am happy in my deeds, then, rejoicing, I bring you my joy and love. And you answer - what kind of love is dearer to you: when I am in misfortune or when I am healthy, rich, and glorious, and I come to you as a winner?

Of course, - she answered, - that love is higher when you are a winner. And if in misfortune you cling to me in order to be saved, then you love it for yourself! So be happy and come to me a winner: it's better. But I myself love you equally - in sorrow and in joy.

A small ice floe, white on top, green on top, swam quickly, and a seagull swam on it. While I was climbing the mountain, it became, God knows where, in the distance, where you can see the white church in curly clouds under the magpie kingdom of black and white.

Large water overflows its banks and spreads far. But even a small stream hurries to the big water and even reaches the ocean.

Only stagnant water remains for itself to stand, go out and turn green.

So is the love of people: a big one embraces the whole world, it makes everyone feel good. And there is simple, family love, running in streams in the same beautiful direction.

And there is love only for oneself, and in it a person is also like stagnant water.

THE IMAGINARY END OF THE NOVEL. They were so indebted to each other, so delighted with their meeting that they tried to give away all their wealth stored in their souls, as if in some kind of competition: you gave, and I gave more, and again the same on the other side, and until neither of them had anything left of their stocks. In such cases, people who have given everything of their own to another consider this other to be their property and this torment each other for the rest of their lives.

But these two, beautiful and free people, having once learned that they had given everything to each other, and there was nothing more for them to change, and there was nowhere higher for them to grow in this exchange, they embraced, kissed each other tightly and parted without tears and without words.

Be blessed, wonderful people!

The death of a current man. The lead hit him in the side and hit his heart, but he must have thought that it was his opponent who had hit him, because he jumped up and fell, and his wings were already flapping in agony, and he, tearing out the sound of love from his throat, was current ...

In her everything was found for me, and through her everything came together in me.

The woman stretched out her hand to the harp, touched it with her finger, and from the touch of her finger to the string sound was born.

So it was with me: she touched - and I sang.

A change in the life of a birch since the first bright and still cold pre-spring ray shows the virgin whiteness of its bark.

When a warm beam heats up the bark and a large sleepy black fly sits on a white birch bark and flies on; when the inflated buds create such a chocolate-colored crown density that the bird will sit down and hide; when, in a brown density on thin twigs, occasionally some buds open like surprised birds with green wings; when an earring appears, like a fork with two or three horns, and when suddenly on a good day the earrings become golden and the whole birch is golden; and when you finally enter birch grove and the green transparent canopy will embrace you, - then in the life of one beloved birch understand life of the whole spring and the whole person in his first love, which determines his whole life.

No, friends, I will never agree with this that the first man in paradise was Adam. The first person in Paradise was a woman, and it was she who planted and made the garden. And then Adam came to the arranged garden with his dream.

We often see that a man is something and a woman is excellent. This means that we do not know the hidden dignity of this man, appreciated by a woman: this love is selective and, probably, is true love.

If a woman interferes with creativity, then you need to work with her, like Stepan Razin, and if you don’t want to, like Stepan, then you will find your own Taras Bulba, and let him shoot you.

But if a woman helps create life, keeps a house, gives birth to children, or participates in creativity with her husband, then she should be revered as a queen. It is given to us by severe struggle. And maybe that's why I hate weak men.

The person you love in me is, of course, better than me: I'm not like that. But you love, I will try to be better than myself.

Do you know that love when you yourself don’t have anything from it and won’t, but you still love everything around you through this, and you walk through the field and meadow, and pick up colorful, one to one, blue cornflowers smelling of honey, and blue forget-me-nots.

If you think about her, looking straight into her face, and not somehow from the side, or "about", then poetry runs right to me like a stream. Then it seems as if love and poetry are two names for the same source. But this is not entirely true: poetry cannot replace all love and only flows out of it like a lake.

Love is like big water: a thirsty one comes to her, gets drunk or scoops up a bucket and carries it away in his measure. And the water keeps running.

For some reason, it seems to us that if these are birds, then they fly a lot, if they are fallow deer or tigers, then they constantly run and jump. In fact, birds sit more than fly, tigers are very lazy, fallow deer graze and only move their lips.

So are people too.

We think that people's lives are filled with love, and when we ask ourselves and others - who loved how much, and it turns out - that's so little! That's how lazy we are too!

Everyone is doing something...

Isn't it a matter of putting two lives into one?

The beginning of love is in attention, then in election, then in achievement, because love without work is dead.

At last he came, my unknown friend, and never left me again. Now I no longer ask where he lives: in the east, in the west, in the south or in the north.

Now I know: he lives in the heart of my beloved.

All my life I have heard the word “soul” and I myself have pronounced this word, not at all understanding what it means.

It seems to me that if I were asked what “soul” is, I would answer this question quite correctly. I would say the soul is inner world man is what he knows about himself. Secondly, I would say about the soul from the point of view of a philosopher that the soul is the totality of a person's knowledge about himself, etc., as it is said in psychology textbooks. Thirdly, I would recall the ideas of the soul by primitive man as a kind of entity that lives in the body. And all this understanding of the soul would not be about one's own soul, but as all people speak and think about it.

Meanwhile, I had a soul of my own, and I knew about it from a very distant time, almost from childhood, when I shed tears on the sly that I came into the world not like everyone else.

Little by little, over the years, with dozens of passing years, through this suffering, I learned my meaning: little by little it turned out that to be not like everyone else, but like myself, is the very necessary thing, without which my existence would be meaningless. And my passionate desire to join everyone, to be like everyone else, cannot happen otherwise than through the disclosure of myself in the eyes of everyone ...

And it took a long time before I realized that the desire to be like everything in me was a desire for love.

And quite recently, I finally realized that this desire to love was the action of my soul, and the soul - this means love.

And how many unworthy things we keep among the treasures of our souls!

Some time ago, I was given an excellent gray raincoat as a winter present.

Spring came sunny, and then it became hot, and I never used a raincoat. Summer was hot, autumn was dry. So in the first year my raincoat hung in the wardrobe, and every time, going through the hangers and meeting the raincoat, I home soul added a pleasant feeling of owning a good thing, very useful when communicating with nature.

Then the next year it was dry again, and when the third year came out dry, they started talking about the fact that the climate is changing due to the special arrangement of sunspots.

Only in the fourth year did a wet spring come out, and at the end of April, when the woodcocks arrived, it was raining. Then I took out a waterproof raincoat from my piggy bank at home and, putting it on, went hunting. And then it turned out that I guarded in vain home comfort, where a waterproof raincoat was kept for three years: when I met the first rain, my raincoat got wet.

If the writer Mikhail Prishvin had met his fate destined for him not in his declining years, but at least a little earlier, he would have entered the history of literature not as a “singer of Russian nature”, but as a singer of love. Mikhail Prishvin's diaries, which he kept for half a century and which he called his main book, are full of lyrical statements. And the love diary “We are with you”, which Prishvin wrote together with his beloved Valeria Lebedeva (Liorko), can be called one of the most beautiful books about love.

“Love is like the sea, sparkling with the colors of heaven. Happy is he who comes to the shore and, enchanted, harmonizes his soul with the majesty of the whole sea. Then the boundaries of the soul of a poor person expand to infinity, and the poor person then understands that there is no death either ... ”- Prishvin went to this understanding all his life. “I will bring my love to the end and find at the end of it the beginning of endless love of people passing into each other. Let our descendants know what springs hid in this era under the rocks of evil and violence, ”wrote Prishvin. To understand what the lessons of love learned by the writer looked like, one should turn to his diaries.

Love doesn't have to be carnal

More precisely, love should not be based only on carnal feelings. In a love diary, Prishvin recalls an incident that had a strong effect on him: “It was in childhood. I am a boy and she is a lovely young girl, my aunt, who came from fairyland Italy. For the first time, she awakened in me an all-encompassing, purest feeling, I did not understand even then that this was love. Then she left for her Italy. Years passed. It was a long time ago, now I can’t find the beginning and reasons for the split of my feelings - this shame from the woman with whom I met, and the fear of great love.

Later, Prishvin met with his “Marya Morevna,” as he called her, and confessed to a painful split. “And you connect,” the former lover answered mysteriously. “But this is the whole difficulty of life, in order to regain your childhood, when it was all one.” Prishvin carried this awareness of the sinfulness of the flesh, the denial of love without the participation of the soul through his whole life. He believed that it was "the denial of temptation" that helped him become a writer. After a series of those cases when the feeling was based solely on passion, Prishvin will look for love first of all spirituality: “Here nothing can come from outside, in this there is your personal business - connect, and you will create true love, without shame and without fear.

That's why: Relationships cannot be built on passion alone. Prishvin always warned "to beware of passions", their dark force obscures the mind. For real strong relationships include the voice of reason, and carnal pleasures, and tenderness of the heart at the same time.

Love doesn't have to be spiritual

Everything is good in moderation. After a collision with dark side"carnal attraction and disappointment in him Prishvin on long years becomes an ascetic. “Hunger for love or poisonous food of love? - his choice is clear. - I got love hunger. In 1902, traveling around Europe after graduating from the University of Leipzig, Prishvin met Varvara Izmalkova, a Russian student at the Sorbonne, in Paris. The platonic romance did not last very long, only three weeks, and ended in a break due to the different aspirations of the lovers. Prishvin, with his bitter experience of “spiritual”, carnal love, was looking for a union of souls, he saw in Varenka “ beautiful lady”, an object of worship, but not a living woman with all her advantages and disadvantages. Varvara, on the other hand, thought more down to earth, like most girls in her years, she was waiting for a marriage proposal, engagement, wedding dress and other pleasant everyday worries that did not interest the young idealist writer at all. He did not know how to combine the desire to possess his beloved, to make her his wife with the desire to worship her from afar, like a goddess on a pedestal: “This was the fatal romance of my youth for life: she immediately agreed, and I felt ashamed, and she noticed it and refused. I insisted, and after a struggle she agreed to marry me. And again I got bored of being a groom. Finally, she guessed and refused me this time forever and thus became inaccessible. All his life, Prishvin recalled this relationship: “To the one I once loved, I made demands that she could not fulfill. I could not humiliate her with an animal feeling - that was my madness. And she wanted an ordinary marriage. The knot was tied over me for life.

That's why: spiritual love without bodily attraction also does not bring happiness. Relationships should be as complete as possible. It is worth excluding one “ingredient”, and now discord sets in ... It was not for nothing that Prishvin compared love with the sea: “But the other comes to the sea not with a soul, but with a jug and, scooping up, brings only a jug from the whole sea, and the water in the jug is salty and worthless. "Love is a lie," such a man says, and never returns to the sea. If you choose only one side of the whole spectrum of relationships, be prepared for disappointment.

Love doesn't have to be compassionate

The trouble with many women is that they mistake pity for love. But men, it turns out, are susceptible to this. Still experiencing a break with Varvara Izmalkova, tormented by the incompleteness of this relationship, Prishvin met a peasant woman, Efrosinya Pavlovna Smogaleva. After her divorce from her husband, she raised her son alone. Prishvin, with his idealism, decided that since he did not succeed in the role of a knight singing the Beautiful Lady, then he could try himself in the no less romantic role of a savior. “I thought: to love a woman is to discover a girl in her. And only then will a woman go to love when you discover it in her: a girl, even if she had ten husbands and many children, ”Prishvin thought at that time.

Love, based only on the mind, did not work out from the very beginning. Pity was replaced by mutual discontent, irritation. Pavlovna, as Prishvin called his wife, understood that her husband did not love her and took out her disappointment in anger. Prishvin suffered in silence, endured the endless reproaches of his wife, constant humiliation - and Efrosinya could, for example, begin to rudely scold him in front of the children - and blamed himself for everything: “In my love there was an egoistic rush with an inability to penetrate into the soul of another person. He seemed to atone for past unsuccessful relationships with self-sacrifice.

come to terms with bad marriage writing helped. And also a passion for beautiful things that Prishvin fell in love with, “like in his youth he fell in love with a bride.” He bought an antique gold-headed cane from a thrift store and took it with him to bed. This "thingism" was a kind of means psychological protection from the sad reality. “And, of course, Pavlovna appeared to me then not as a person, but as part of nature, part of my home. That is why there is no “man” in my writings,” Prishvin answered the accusation of Zinaida Gippius, who called him “an inhuman writer.”

That's why: self-deception does not make people happy. If there is neither a spiritual nor a sensual component in a relationship, they turn into a “deadly swamp”. Since ancient times, wisdom has been known: the attraction of bodies generates passion, the attraction of souls generates friendship, the attraction of minds generates respect, and only the combination of all three attractions generates love. There was no passion, no friendship, no respect in the marriage of Mikhail Mikhailovich and Pavlovna. “Why did I do this, why did I spend precious money on fun or self-deception? human life! - Prishvin lamented at the end of his life. - There was no bright day for us. One displeasure after another…”

It's never too late to love

But fate always encourages patient people, and at the age of 67, Prishvin meets his first true love. Valeria Dmitrievna is 40 years old, and she came to Prishvin's house to get a job as a secretary on the recommendation of a mutual friend.

Valeria Prishvina

By the time they met, Valeria also had an experience of unhappy love behind her. Her first lover, a philosopher, "abhorred marriage" and called for a lofty ideal of relationships. He wanted to travel with Valeria and preach a new doctrine, but she could not leave her mother. Later, the girl married a friend who had long sought her hand. But this marriage of convenience did not bring her happiness. On a false denunciation, she and her husband were arrested and sent into exile. A few years later, unable to live with the unloved anymore, she asked her husband for a divorce. With such a "burden of the lived" she comes to Prishvin.

“It was a woman not imaginary, not on paper, but alive, spiritually graceful, and I realized that real happy people live for this, and not for books, like me; that it is worth living for this ... ”- Prishvin will soon write in his diary. From this mutual admiration and respect began a friendship that grew into love. Prishvin realized past mistakes and realized that love is not always complicated, but can appear in such a simple guise: “And now I wanted to escape from this gloomy-habitat throne.” Perhaps for the first time in his life, Prishvin is ready to forget about his ideals and enjoy the closeness of a simple "earthly" woman.

If the writer was tormented at first, thinking how he deserved such happiness, then the difficult divorce from Efrosinya calmed his doubts. She did not even hesitate to go to the Writers' Union to complain about her husband's "criminal connection". After the “war”, as Prishvin said about his divorce, happiness with Valeria became complete. It was clear to both of them that this was forever. Last years Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin lived his life with the feeling that “God created me most happy man and instructed me to glorify love on Earth.

That's why: it is never too late to end relationships that make you unhappy in order to start new ones by meeting a person in whom you feel kindred spirit. It is worth fighting for love at any age, because living without feeling is like “being pickled in a glass jar,” as Prishvin said about his first marriage. He added: “If a woman helps create life, keeps a house, gives birth to children, or participates in creativity with her husband, then she should be revered as a queen. It is given to us by severe struggle. And that's why, maybe, I hate weak men... In love, you have to fight for your height and win this. In love, you have to grow and grow yourself.”