Oblomov - a pigeon soul or an extra person - essay. Oblomov - a pigeon soul or an extra person - essay Pigeon soul

Oblomov - “pigeon soul” or “superfluous person”?

Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov’s novel “Oblomov,” written in 1859, was not particularly well received by the reader. The fact is that the public is accustomed to intriguing plots with unexpected endings, but the novel was completely different, it was thoroughly permeated with subtle mental analysis. This work exposed the true representative of the noble class of Russia in those years, revealing all facets of his nature - both positive and negative - without embellishment. The Russian gentleman appears before us in all his glory in the person of Ilya Ilyich Oblomov. As the novel progresses, he encounters various life situations and problems. Having analyzed his reactions to them, we will try to conclude who Oblomov is - a “pigeon soul” or a “superfluous person.”

What features strike us first? Of course, firstly, it's laziness. Laziness is inherent in everyone, it’s just a matter of its quantity and its role in a person’s life. For a good half of humanity, thank God, it is in a subordinate position, appears infrequently and does not interfere with achieving goals in your life. For others, laziness takes the position of master and gathers around itself hundreds of unfulfilled promises (including, most importantly, promises made to oneself) and, as a result, dozens of aimlessly lived years. So Oblomov belongs to the latter; one might even say that he is their worthy representative. It is not at all surprising that laziness is accompanied by effeminacy, boredom, apathy... As the story progresses, we notice positive qualities in Ilya Ilyich - peacefulness, kindness, striving for the highest. And his love for Olga almost radically changed his entire existence... But one more small obstacle on the path to a new life, and Oblomov gave up! Why did this happen? The answer to this question is easy to obtain by looking at the pictures of his childhood. It's no secret that character is formed not only under the influence of internal struggle and choice, but also under the influence of external factors - these include upbringing. Plunging into Oblomov's Dream, we see little Ilyusha. He is surrounded by apathetic environment created by his relatives and nature itself. He drowns in an ocean of affection and care. That is, he lives in the same calm and inaction as now. But this is not today’s Oblomov. He, like any child, is keenly interested in what is happening and wants to take part in building life. And, like any child, you can mold him into anything you want. So the mother’s excessive love for the child did its job. A person with such care simply had no other way of development than to become the same person, whose main difference from others is the inability to work (and this is not even considered due to him, the master), make independent decisions and boldly act without any support.

So, such qualities of Oblomov’s character as peacefulness, dreaminess, and the desire for quiet comfort can serve as a basis for calling him a “dove soul.” Such a person certainly has the right to life. But Oblomov’s life turns into existence, because his laziness and other negative character traits that follow on its heels are so strong that they cover up all the good that could elevate a person above others if he had at least a modicum of determination and hard work. But no one worries about instilling in Ilyusha these most important qualities, only thanks to which a person’s life can become rich, bright and successful. Oblomov’s existence was the complete opposite of such a multifaceted life; it ended as quietly and calmly as it began. He didn't do anything remarkable, and he didn't strive for it. The greatest thing that happened in his life was his love for Olga. But even such a feeling did not turn out to be strong enough to defeat the old way of life, to force Oblomov to complete his plans. Oblomov did not make a special impact on anyone’s destiny, to say nothing of his mark on history... In general, Oblomov is a man who spent his life only for his own pleasure. Although it is unlikely that he received it, because his soul thirsted for more, and he did not realize any of his great thoughts. So now we can conclude: Oblomov is, without a doubt, a “pigeon soul.” But people like him do not bring any benefit to the public or their country, and on the contrary, they lead to its degradation. The reasons for the development of just such a personality are already clear to us, and we can only feel sorry for her and honestly say that she, that is, Oblomov, is a “superfluous person.”

The Tsaritsyn Orthodox Festival was also remembered for its blessed meetings...

Gorodets cross

It happens: you see a person for the first time, but it seems that both the face and the voice are well known. It is all the more interesting to find out later that this feeling was not completely deceptive - we simply knew each other in absentia, briefly and for a long time. I first heard about Valentina in the snowy autumn of 2003 on a business trip to Nizhny Novgorod, when I interviewed the Orthodox writer and priest, the abbot of the Archangel Michael Church, which is on the territory of the Nizhny Novgorod Kremlin, Archpriest Vladimir Hoffman. He mentioned then that, together with journalist Valentina Romanovna Eremina, he was hosting the Orthodox program “Quiet Light” on Nizhny Novgorod television.
And so Valentina Romanovna and I had a chance to meet in Volgograd, at the VII Tsaritsyn Alexander Nevsky Orthodox Festival. On the very first day, it turned out that we have many mutual acquaintances in the Nizhny Novgorod region, and those people whom I managed to fall in love with over the short days, roads and Valentine.
Valentina came to the festival not only with the filmed Orthodox film “In Strength and Truth,” but also with a beautiful icon of the holy blessed prince Alexander Nevsky - a gift to Metropolitan Herman of Volgograd and Kamyshin on the occasion of his 70th birthday. And also with an amazing story that she shared with all festival participants:
- As you know, Saint Prince Alexander Nevsky, returning from the Horde encampment of Sarai-Berke, ended his days on Nizhny Novgorod soil, in Gorodets. This city is the same age as Moscow, although many historians consider it the capital’s older brother. In the men's St. Feodorovsky Monastery, the prince took monastic vows and went to the Lord as the humble schemamonk Alexy. On September 8, 2007, on the site where the Feodorovsky Monastery stood, the Poklonny Cross was installed and consecrated - such crosses will mark the mournful path of the seriously ill prince from the Horde.
A cross was erected - and around the same time, a real miracle happened in the village of Vysokaya Ramen near Gorodets! Lyudmila Fedorovna Lebedeva decided to chop a piece of an old spruce trunk that was lying in her barn for firewood. But the wood turned out to be as hard as stone, and with great difficulty the woman managed to split the log in two with a cleaver. And then a wondrous wonder appeared to her amazed gaze. A regular eight-pointed Orthodox cross made of amber spruce resin-resin was formed in the middle of the trunk. Having learned about this miracle, Vladyka George gave his blessing to place the life-giving cross in a specially made icon case. Now this cross is in the Gorodets church, prayers are served there, people go to it...
Of course, after this story, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go to Gorodets and venerate the wonderful Life-Giving Cross.

Bahorya

On the long way on the bus, Valentina and I started talking about the Old Believers.
“You know, I treat them very warmly,” Valentina admitted. - It’s such a tragedy that the Russian Orthodox people found themselves split in the most important thing - faith. What a pity for them, who broke away from the saving Mother Church! Good, kind, smart people - and here’s the problem...
How many wonderful pearls of pure wisdom the Old Believers managed to preserve... They dress strictly: for a man to tuck his shirt into his trousers, and for a woman to tuck her blouse into her skirt - never mind! Because the shirt symbolizes the sky, and the lower part of the clothing symbolizes the earth. It’s no good putting the earth on top of the sky...
And what words are spring-pure, from forgotten old Rus'. One day I was sitting, talking about something, and one Old Believer woman silently listened, listened, and said: “Oh, you bakhorya... Pigeon soul...” I later read in Dahl’s dictionary other meanings of the words bakhorya and bakhar - storyteller , a storyteller, an eloquent talker - but to me (even though I, of course, did nothing to deserve this) this was what hit my heart: the soul of a dove. She said it somehow cordially, with love...
After this Valya’s story, I immediately remembered how, after Metropolitan German’s blessing, she came up to me, crimson with embarrassment:
- Oh, how embarrassing, how embarrassing! Now I’m approaching Vladyka, and he says: “What good people came to our festival!” And for two whole seconds I thought it was about me... No, of course, - Vladyka said this about all the festival participants. And I just caught his eye at that time...

Baptism

“I came to God through great grief,” said Valentina. - She was the secretary of the party committee on Nizhny Novgorod television, and by worldly standards she lived quite well. And suddenly the father dies. But he and I were one soul! And this soul was split in two... As I sobbed, I fell on the coffin from melancholy. And then one elderly, not very literate neighbor said to me:
- Valya, apparently you’re not baptized. It is not Christian to kill oneself like that for the dead. And you won’t help your father with your sobs, you’ll only drown him in your tears!
I jumped up: how can you help your dead father?
“Pray,” he says, “for him.” And first of all, baptize yourself.
We didn't talk about God in our family. True, my father was so quiet, as I would now say, God-fearing. When I hear someone say about someone: “Wouldn’t hurt a fly!” - I remember my father. He literally never offended a single living creature in his life. We even - I’m ashamed to say - chickens died of natural causes, from old age. They lived as long as they lived and were not afraid to end up in the soup. Alone, like a little dog, she ran after her father...
Of the only creatures living in our area that he could not stand were snakes. I was successful in this too: not like a viper - I’m almost deathly afraid!
In his youth, my father (then still a young boy) often had to spend the night in a haystack, guarding the hay from dashing people. Once he spent the night like this, woke up early in the morning and got up from the stack. And his neighbor comes to him. How to scream:
- Romka, what are you doing?
Lo and behold, under his arm the snake was curled up, warmed up and sleeping, contentedly. So he stood up like a pillar and turned white. Whispers:
- Take it away...
The neighbor threw her away with a stick and waved:
- Right now I’ll kill her, I’ll kill her!
And the father grabbed his hand:
- Don't touch it! Let her crawl, she's alive!
So then the neighbor laughed and made him famous throughout the village:
- Our quiet guy spent the night in a haystack with a snake! I wanted to fight back, but I didn’t give...
Why am I saying this: my father was quiet, meek. But he did not allow insolence to talk about God. She and her mother were baptized, believers, but their faith was quiet, hidden. They didn’t talk to me about spiritual things. Apparently, they were afraid that my faith would interfere with my life as a party member and a successful person.
And now I need to be baptized. But as? You know what those times were like. They know me in the city, I won’t go to church yet, they might already snitch, there will be volunteers. And they told me that far from the city in the wilderness there is a functioning church, a good priest serves in it.
I went to him. I arrive - the church is small, there is a lock on the doors, the windows are dark. Okay, the villagers suggested: Father’s house is nearby. I knocked and the priest came out. He heard what I was coming to him with and... refused:
- I can not today! My son had just returned from the army, we sat here and had a drink. Come next time and I’ll baptize you.
And I'm in tears:
- No, Father V., if you don’t baptize me now, I won’t come again!
Now I understand what temptation I created for the priest, but then I had no idea about the canons. He persuades: what are you, unreasonable, I can’t go to the holy temple after drinking, and even perform the Sacrament! But all this doesn’t reach me, an ignoramus. I know one thing: I need to be baptized! It's either now or never! I don’t know, maybe someone will condemn the priest: how come he was “drunk”... But his son came from the army, after a difficult and dangerous service - here the teetotaler will throw a festive feast, call his relatives to share this joy...
He took pity on me. He sighed heavily, went, got dressed and led me to church. In church I stumbled and became even more embarrassed: what a sin! So I sighed every now and then: oh, what a sin!..
Well, he suddenly asked about my most serious sins. And what are my sins, the party “righteous woman”? I have no sins! How suddenly I remembered such a serious sin (though many did not even consider it a sin at that time... It’s an everyday matter, and that’s all...). She called him. Father responded:
- How happy you are! After all, the Lord has now forgiven you such a terrible sin! Baptism removes all sins...
And after baptism, the Lord Himself took charge of me. I started going to church - at first I ordered services for my parents, but then I didn’t notice how I began to pray for myself, confess and receive communion.

Once upon a time there lived a cat...

The late Metropolitan of Nizhny Novgorod and Arzamas Nikolai (Kutepov) had a cat living in his chambers. That’s what his name was: Bishop’s Cat. A big, fat man will walk into the reception room, look around with an important gaze - and there the priests are sitting, waiting to be received by the Bishop. The cat will walk under the chairs and lie down, not visible under the wide robes. He stretches out - just under two chairs, dozing.
Sometimes a little dog will slip sideways from the yard into the reception room and lie down in the aisle, at the feet of the priests. It’s then that the Cat swims out from under the chair and straight to the impudent one, with both paws - once, once! - he will slap the little dog in the face and stretch out in its place. And she will tuck her tail - and run into the yard!
When Metropolitan Nicholas died, Kot left home. He disappeared, and only a month later they found him in the garden, already dead. I missed my owner...

Case in Arkhyz

We didn’t talk enough during the day: almost at night, having returned from a trip around the diocese, we went up to the fifth floor of the hotel, to the room of Valentina and her neighbor Zoya, a journalist from the Volgograd city of Kotovo. My friends invited Rimma Khokhlova and I (she, like Valya, is a TV presenter from Astrakhan) to drink tea and have a comforting conversation. And two of our men, festival participants, also asked for tea with us. Valery Moskalenko read poetry and talked about his experiences in Orthodox journalism. Nikolai Lunev teaches children the basics of Orthodoxy in Surovikino. He loves to go on pilgrimages and has visited many shrines.
“We were,” he says, “we were in Arkhyz, at the Face of the Lord Not Made by Hands on the rock.” There you have to climb a steep slope to venerate the Image. Another climb - okay. And going down from there is even more difficult! Well, we, strong men, are about to climb the rock. So a rather large woman, in years, got involved with us.
“Somehow,” he says, “I’ll get there with God’s help!”
My friend and I, of course, helped her climb up. We prayed at the Icon, and look - it’s getting dark so quickly! Here our fellow traveler became worried:
- Brothers, dear ones, don’t leave me, I won’t get down on my own!
We decided this: first we’ll go down ourselves, we’ll take ours and her things downstairs, then we’ll come back for her.
The stones are crumbling from under our feet, our arms and legs are trembling - we can’t grab hold of ourselves, we can’t stand up... We barely got down. We put down the trunks: well, shall we climb back? And our fellow traveler is already standing next to us, taking the puff. We were surprised:
- How were you able to get off the mountain?
- Oh, the boy helped me. He saw that I was puffing, I didn’t know how to get down from this high place, and he gave me his hand: “Let me help!” Yes, so easily, he brought me together well - like on wings! The boy is so fair, in a white T-shirt...
We looked around, but there was no boy nearby. And there was no way he could have escaped unnoticed. Involuntarily you will remember: “For His angel commanded you to keep you in all your ways” (Ps. 90:11).
Already in Samara, I took a moment - let me read what kind of poem Lunev wrote. And she regretted that she had not taken his other poems. The poems turned out to be good:

My prayer

Holy Rus' lives in me
With its origins of baptism.
I always pray with her:
Give us, Lord, patience!

Give us, Lord, peace -
We lose it so often!
Give us, Lord, love,
Which we don’t know at all...

Save us, Lord! sorry
For all sins, for lack of faith.
Holy crucifix of autumn
And bring me to peace of humility.

Have mercy, Lord, forgive
The deceit of souls and rejection.
Do not destroy Holy Rus'
At least only for Epiphany,

May the prayers of all saints
Blessing will come to Rus',
And only for their prayers
Grant us, Lord, forgiveness!

The bell rings loudly...

Zoya was the first of our inseparable four to go home, followed by me getting ready for the station. And Valentina and Rimma have one more night to sleep before the long journey, each in their own direction. At parting, Valentina handed me a small white bell with a three-domed temple and Slavic letters in the palm of her hand: “Gorodets”.
If you lift it by the golden loop, the pea inside on a string will hit the walls - and the bell will respond with a silvery ringing, just like those bells that eternally ring under an arc above the wavy manes of horses. And the bird-three flies and flies...

In the photo: Valentina Eremina with the icon of the Holy Blessed Alexander Nevsky.

Ila Opalova

DOVE SOUL
story

God liked to experiment with energy. He endlessly transformed one species into another, changing himself, fused, exploded, destroyed, scattering star rain. He juggled with matter, broke and created, tirelessly striving for perfection. He was interested in everything and saw everything: from a galaxy to a speck of dust. God has his own goal - Great Harmony and Great Perfection.
Not all of his experiments were successful. He created the most beautiful planet - the Earth, with enamel lakes, mossy forests, boiling sunsets, majestic mountains crowned with clouds, composed for it the music of rain, and wind, and bird voices, wove the subtle smells of flowers and minty earth. God loved the Earth he created.
He was resting here. The lions clung to his feet, and the rainbow shone in the heavenly heights in a joyful half-ring. Bird chirping spread through the forests, and the aroma of grass, flowers and earth mixed with the freshness of the rain. I wanted to drink this smell, like delicious spring water.
God loved the sea, which people called the Ionian. He walked barefoot along the shore, and the waves licked his feet. From the outside, he could be mistaken for an eccentric fat man - a slacker. And it was funny to watch how he moved his lips, as if talking to the water or to the fish that jumped out of the water and splashed into his soft hands.
But suddenly the wave below him leveled out, hardened, and he easily, as if walking on grass, went into the distance along the water surface or slowly rose up from the water, like a huge golden leaf blown from below by the wind, then brightened at the height and dissolved in the azure.
And for a long time afterwards a casual observer rubbed his eyes.
Here, in Greece, stories about the visit of the Earth by the Gods appeared.
But what happened to these places now? What happened to the Earth?
Dirty rivers with dying fish, littered forests, toxic dust carried by the wind.
And the culprit is people who kill the animals he created with love, who poison the oceans he created, people who even kill each other.
God loved people. They are his main creation. God generously provided them with freedom of choice, and they chose Evil, although their mind, in which he put his commandments, told them: “You cannot. Thou shalt not kill...”
God is tired of punishing them. They will punish themselves.
He turned away from his creation. It was a failed attempt. God set about creating a new world. Here he will take into account his mistakes.

The scientist was round and cheerful. He was pleased. His experiments were successful. The work is done. He accomplished something that had never been dreamed of before. He felt like God.
The journalist, dark-skinned, nimble, accustomed to communicating with people of all kinds, including the powers that be, in his place also felt like God. He interviewed the President himself and the Prime Minister, he was on friendly terms with pop stars, artists and poets. And now his collection of celebrities will include this funny little man. Some with whom the journalist had already talked about the scientist called him a genius.
“Something has gone wrong with them, these geniuses,” the journalist thought skeptically, “today a genius, and tomorrow a burst bubble.”
But he was used to thinking one thing and saying another.
“Mr. Dionov,” he said with his perfectly placed smile, “in 20 minutes, millions of people will witness a grandiose experiment, the author of which is you.” Tell us what your invention is and what it promises for humanity.
“It’s all simple,” the scientist responded quickly. - We have learned to transplant souls.
The journalist skillfully feigned extreme surprise:
- That is...
- That is, we have learned to separate a person’s energy core from the body, capture it, and then move it to a suitable object.
- The “energy core” is... the soul?..
-Yes, that’s what it’s called in common parlance.
- Do you want to say that, as the Lord God, you can command souls?
- Yes!
- And what will this give us, people? Immortality? - The journalist was pleased: it should turn out to be a good show.
“And immortality too,” the scientist answered, still as lively and even cheerful. - But now we will see the execution.

The condemned man sat in his cell. He was scared. Maybe they are already coming for him... Now, this very minute, the door may open... His hands became wet, and his heart rose like a sick lump to his throat. If only I could smash my head against the wall, so as not to suffer from waiting! But the walls of the cell were soft. Their blue color drove the condemned man into a frenzy. He either prayed to God, or laughed at the prayers, grimacing and blaspheming the Almighty, and began to bargain with the Devil, visibly visualizing his horned, hairy face to the point of madness. And at the same time, he understood that his soul had long been given to the Devil, and then the condemned man again began to mock God.
Again and again his memory pictured the little girl he had strangled. But is he to blame? People like her should be strangled from birth.
She was five years old. She walked, clutching a tabby kitten and with it the hem of her dress, which she awkwardly caught. White panties were put on askew, their middle went to the side, revealing what it was supposed to cover. “I dressed myself, without my mother,” he thought then. He had never seen a more shameless and exciting spectacle. Why did God allow this? The girl became his disease. For a whole month he watched over her, spoke to her, smiled, and met her mother. He pretended to be a “good uncle.”
He easily managed to lure the girl into the basement. There, he said, white mice live, a whole family, and they have their own house...
He didn't want to kill. You just shouldn't have looked at him like that. There was such insane horror, misunderstanding, pain in her eyes that he simply could not bear it. He's not some kind of animal. He croaked: “Don’t look at me like that...” He shouted: “Don’t look, whore!” And he began to strangle... And then the girl didn’t care what he did to her... But is he to blame? He killed her accidentally. It's not him. These are his hands. Sami... It's God... He darkened his mind. Of course, God! If he allowed this, then it was necessary, then it was what he wanted. So this girl didn’t have to live. After all, he could have stopped, interfered!
And now he, sentenced to death, must answer for all this. Be responsible for God.
The criminal shuddered: they came for him. He felt his legs become weak.

The condemned man saw what millions of spectators saw: in the middle of the hall there was a transparent, narrow but high booth, under the dome of which a white dove sat majestically on a thin perch.
The left wall of the hall was glass, behind it were crowds of people with photo and film cameras.
“Like in a circus,” the criminal thought with choking anger; he wanted to fall to the floor and become hysterical.
And behind the glass wall, inaudible for the condemned man, the conversation continued, witnessed by millions of television viewers.
“Mr. Dionov,” the journalist, with an affected expression of horror on his moving face, leaned slightly towards the scientist, “Do you want to treat the audience to a bloody scene?” Or is this a special punishment? What is so special about it?
“If by the word “execution” we mean the separation of the soul from the body, then this is exactly what will happen,” the scientist began to explain with pleasure, “But there will be no execution—murder.” The body of the criminal, freed from his energy core, so to speak, the black soul, will enter a new - sinless - dove, that is, the energy core of that dove.
And the scientist quickly pointed to a snow-white bird sitting in a transparent booth.
-Where will you send the criminal soul?
- Into the body of a bird.
- But... aren't you afraid for the dove?
- This bird is so kind and harmless that the soul of a criminal will be cleansed and get rid of its vices. We transferred the souls of sheep into wolf shells. The results are amazing: the predators have become unrecognizable. They are friendly and obedient.
- What can you say about sheep?
- Well, they don’t have wolf teeth, so their evil temper is not dangerous. By the way, deprived of fangs, they cease to be aggressive after a short time. And it should be noted that these sheep are more intelligent than their ordinary counterparts.
- So there is no longer a problem with the death penalty? Have all these debates: to execute or not to execute lost their meaning?
“Of course!” the scientist nodded joyfully. “With our invention we are abolishing the death penalty.” And we not only save the lives of criminals (and they are people too!), but we radically change their criminal nature.

A handsome white dove sat on the ledge and, tilting his head to the side, carefully looked down where people were scurrying about. The air was thick with heat and dust. The bird glanced at a smartly dressed woman carrying a baby in a stroller from the stream of people. So she stopped at a newsstand and, having chosen a magazine, sat down on a bench, completely absorbed in looking at the bright pictures.
“Probably studying fashion. What a fool, if only she would put the stroller in the shade... Her baby will fry,” thought the pigeon, watching with interest as the baby, whimpering, tried to free himself from the sheet that was bothering him. The sheet slid down, revealing the child’s bare legs. Spreading its wings, the pigeon flew onto the roof of the kiosk.
The baby's toothless mouth was twisted with offense, his blue eyes were filled with tears, his skin was soft, pink...
The white bird quietly landed on the edge of the carriage. She aimed her sharp beak at the blue eye.

In a psychiatric hospital, in a tiny service canteen, sparkling with metallic cleanliness, two orderlies were drinking hot coffee: an active, athletic guy and a heavyset man with a deathly gaze.
– Is this crazy guy from the thirteenth ward really a scientist? – asked the young orderly and immediately turned his curious gaze to the lush buns, glistening with sugar barrels, lying in a heap in a milky white vase.
“Yeah, scientist... professor...,” his senior comrade, with short hair and wide as a bear, slowly chewed. – Can you imagine, he tried to break the machine he himself invented! He was caught doing this...
- Is he really moving?
- Stopudovo! He talks to God all day long, asks for forgiveness... “Desecrated,” he says...
– I wonder what God answers him? – the young colleague laughed, enjoying the delicious smell of fresh baked goods and good coffee. - Does the car he broke work?
– They say it works... The main thing here is to debug everything, and then you won’t be able to stop...

“Dove soul” - how often do we touchingly pronounce these words addressed to selflessly kind people who are unable to pass by anyone in need - be it a person or an animal. Indeed, kindness is a feeling that gives only joy to others. Almost always... Because, as with all rules, there are exceptions in the case of kindness. We will talk about these exceptions today.
A resident of the fourth floor of one of Stupino’s Khrushchev buildings, pensioner Vera Pavlovna, has a special love for pigeons. Therefore, even with her modest pension, the elderly woman always finds the opportunity to pamper the blue-winged birds. Traditionally, when returning from the store, she carries in her bag a bag of cereal and fresh bread for her pets. For this reason, the outer window sill of Vera Pavlovna’s kitchen is a place of pilgrimage for pigeons and sparrows from all over the area. As soon as a wrinkled hand with a handful of cereal appears in a slightly open window, birds, desperately flapping their wings, cooing and chirping, rush to the feeding place to the delight of the kind woman.
It cannot be said that Vera Pavlovna’s neighbors, especially those living directly below her apartment, experience similar joy. While upstairs every day
feasts are set, the window sills and windows of the residents below are experiencing the unpleasant consequences of dense meals of the well-fed birds of the world. In addition, while sharing food, clumsy pigeons push some of the grain down, and soon it tightly clogged all the joints in the neighbors’ windows, and over time, having collected moisture, it simply made it impossible for them to close the frames tightly. Another unpleasant side of the pensioner’s kindheartedness was the enviable intelligence of birds. Having remembered the feeding time, they take advantageous positions ahead of time as close to the window as possible - that is, on the balconies and windows of their long-suffering neighbors, generously “decorating” them with feathers and droppings...
In a word, the longer Vera Pavlovna revels in her love for all living things, the more hostility her neighbors become towards these actions of humanism. They tried to have conversations with the pensioner, persuading her to move the feeding place to at least the nearest lawn, but the woman indignantly suppressed such conversations, reproaching her neighbors for their callousness.
Antonina Petrovna, who lives in a nearby high-rise building, also makes similar accusations against her neighbors. Generously endowed with kindness by nature, the woman took under her care stray cats living in the yard. To be fair, we note that she feeds the cats, of course, not on the windowsill or even in the entrance. The table for baleen-tailed animals' meals is the lid of a well under the wall of the house. Every day Antonina Petrovna brings here scraps of meat or fish, sometimes a bowl of porridge or soup, and sometimes a bowl of milk and dry food.
Needless to say, the cats adore their benefactress, keeping watch in the surrounding bushes for hours waiting for her to appear. But here’s the problem: purrs don’t always get along with each other. Therefore, noisy brawls with chilling screams at any time of the day have long become a common occurrence for local residents. Another problem was the impromptu “dining table” of the pussies - that is, the very lid of the well. The surface of the iron hatch, which did not cool down even in winter, was the very provoking factor for the rapid spoilage of the leftover meals. As a result, already on the way to the entrance, the local atmosphere can help residents understand even with their eyes closed: here it is, home, sweet home.
Here are just two sad examples showing how the triumph of kindness not only does not bring joy to others, but, on the contrary, in every possible way poisons their lives. For this reason, we appeal to our compassionate and humane lovers of birds and homeless animals: please do not forget about people... After all, mutual understanding and respect are the main components of a healthy society, in which such values ​​as kindness, humanism and unselfishness.
S. OSENEVA.

Nikishin Al

Pigeon soul

Al.Nikishin

Pigeon soul

(summer meetings)

A neat old man with a neatly trimmed gray beard calmly told his listeners: “You choose a large reservoir with a weak current or without it, stock up on live bait and go on an exciting fishing trip... Now you’re already there - you go to the reach.” Your comrade is on the oars, he slowly steers the boat, you are at the stern and one by one you place red mugs loaded with live bait on the water. Soon a guard detachment will form behind your boat, lined up across the reach. Make the last circle, quietly move to the side and take up an observation post... Not a sound on the stretch, but this silence is deceptive - be ready. ...A little time passes, and suddenly... one of the circles turns over with the white side up. Behind him is another... These predatory inhabitants of the depths have begun to take your live bait. The white circles quickly unwind and begin to dive along the reach... Without wasting time, you drive up to the first overturned circle, lift it, hook it and feel how the stretched silk line is about to break. You need to remain calm when removing the fish. Prepare a landing net... Usually you leave the pond with a good catch and in high spirits. The backpack puts a pleasant weight on your shoulders. “We persuaded,” said Anton. - Let's try to fish with mugs.