Read the cathedral in p astafieva. Education portal. K. Paustovsky "The Old Chef"

The Dome Cathedral

Home ... Home ... Home ...

Dome Cathedral, with a cock on the spire. Tall, stone, it sounds over Riga.

The vaults of the cathedral are filled with organ singing. From the sky, from above floats now a rumble, now thunder, now the gentle voice of lovers, now the call of the Vestals, now the roulades of the horn, now the sounds of the harpsichord, now the sound of a rolling brook ...

And again, with a formidable wave of raging passions, it blows everything away, again a roar.

Sounds sway like incense smoke. They are thick, tangible. They are everywhere, and everything is filled with them: soul, earth, world.

Everything froze, stopped.

Mental confusion, the absurdity of a vain life, petty passions, everyday worries - all of this remained in another place, in a different light, in a different life, distant from me, out there somewhere.

“Maybe all that came before was a dream? Wars, blood, fratricide, supermen playing with human destinies in order to establish themselves above the world.

Why do we live so intensely and difficult on our land? What for? Why?"

House. House. House…

Blagovest. Music. The gloom was gone. The sun rose. Everything is changing around.

There is no cathedral with electric candles, with ancient molding, with glass, toy and candy depicting paradise life. There is a world and I, calmed with awe, ready to kneel before the greatness of beauty.

The hall is full of people, old and young, Russian and non-Russian, party and non-party, evil and kind, vicious and light, tired and enthusiastic, all sorts of things.

And no one is in the hall!

There is only my serene, disembodied soul, it oozes with incomprehensible pain and tears of quiet delight.

It purifies itself, the soul is something, and it seems to me that the whole world held its breath, this seething, formidable world of ours was thinking, ready to fall on its knees with me, to repent, to fall with its withered mouth to the holy spring of good ...

And suddenly, like an obsession, like a blow: and yet at this time, somewhere, someone is targeting this cathedral, this great music ... with cannons, bombs, missiles ...

It can't be! Must not be!

And if there is. If we are destined to die, burn out, disappear, then let now, even at this moment, fate punish us for all our evil deeds and vices. Since we are unable to live freely, together, let at least our death be free, and the soul will go to another world, lightened and bright.

We all live together. We die separately. This has been the case for centuries. It was so until this moment.

So let's go now, let's rather, while there is no fear. Don't turn people into animals before you kill them. Let the vaults of the cathedral collapse, and instead of crying about the bloody, criminally folded path, people will carry the music of a genius into their hearts, and not the bestial roar of a murderer.

The Dome Cathedral! The Dome Cathedral! Music! What have you done to me? You are still trembling under the arches, you are still washing your soul, chilling your blood, illuminating everything around with light, knocking on your armored chests and sick hearts, but already a man in black comes out and bows from above. A small man trying to assure that it was he who did the miracle. A wizard and a songwriter, a nonentity and God, to whom everything is subject: both life and death.

The Dome Cathedral. The Dome Cathedral.

There is no applause here. Here people cry from the tenderness that overwhelmed them. Everyone cries about his own. But together everyone cries about the end, a wonderful dream subsides, that magic is brief, deceptively sweet oblivion and endless torment.

The Dome Cathedral. The Dome Cathedral.

You are in my shuddering heart. I bow my head to your singer, thank you for the happiness, albeit a short one, for the delight and faith in the human mind, for the miracle created and sung by this mind, thank you for the miracle of the resurrection of faith in life. Thank you for everything, for everything!

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Algorithm for working with part "C"

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The Dome Cathedral is an old cathedral, which, unfortunately, has not been completely preserved to this day. It is located in the capital of Latvia - Riga. The building was built of red brick and topped with a black bell dome, which is made in the Baroque style. Inside the Dome Cathedral there is an organ with incredible acoustic power. It has 4 sets of hand keys. The organ has been reconstructed three times. Many outstanding composers wrote works for the great organ and gave their concerts right in the cathedral. The organ is 25 meters high and sounds perfect.

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(1) Dome Cathedral. (2) House ... (B) House ... (4) House .. (5) The vaults of the cathedral are filled with organ singing. (b) From the sky, from above, floats now a rumble, then thunder, then the gentle voice of lovers, then the call of the Vestals, then the roulades of the horn, then the sounds of the harpsichord, then the sound of a rolling brook ... (7) The sounds sway like incense smoke. (8) They are thick, tangible, (9) They are everywhere, and everything is filled with them: the soul, the earth, the world. (10) Everything froze, stopped. (11) Mental confusion, the absurdity of a vain life, petty passions, everyday worries - all-all this remained in another place, in a different light, in a different life, distant from me, there, somewhere. “(12) Maybe all that came before was a dream? (13) Wars, blood, fratricide, supermen playing with human destinies in order to establish themselves above the world ... (14) Why do we live so intensely and difficult on our land? (15) Why? (16) Why? "

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(17) House. (18) House. (19) House ... (20) Annunciation. (21) Music. (22) The darkness has disappeared. (23) The sun rose. (24) Everything is changing around. (25) There is no cathedral with electric candles, with ancient molding, with glass, toy and candy, depicting paradise life. (26) There is a world and I, subdued with reverence, ready to kneel before the greatness of beauty. (27) Zal is full of people, old and young, Russian and non-Russian, evil and kind, vicious and bright, tired and enthusiastic, all sorts of things. (28) And no one is in the hall! (29) There is only my serene, disembodied soul, it oozes with incomprehensible pain and tears of quiet delight. (30) It is purified, the soul is something, and it seems to me that the whole world held its breath, this seething, formidable world of ours pondered, ready to fall on its knees with me, to repent, to fall with its withered mouth to the holy spring of good ...

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(31) Dome Cathedral. (32) Dome Cathedral. (33) 3 There is no applause here. (34) 3Here people cry from the tenderness that overwhelmed them. (35) Everyone cries about his own. (36) But together everyone cries about the end, a beautiful dream subsides, that magic is brief, deceptively sweet oblivion and endless torment. (37) Dome Cathedral. (38) Dome Cathedral. (39) You are in my shuddering heart. (40) I bow my head in front of your singer, thank you for happiness, albeit a short one, for delight and faith in the human mind, for the miracle created and sung by this mind, thank you for the miracle of the resurrection of faith in life. (41) 3a everyone, thank you for everything! (According to V. Astafiev)

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What is the text read about? (About music). What questions does the author consider, what is he talking about? (About how, under the influence of music, the perception of the surrounding world changes, the state of mind of the hero changes). What does the author want to tell us through this text? (About the enormous power of music, about its ability to influence the soul of a person, to heal people's hearts). Initial perception of the text

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Define the style and type of text Publicistic style Type of text - description and reasoning Make a plan for the text Dome Cathedral Everything is filled with music The impact of music on a person Purification of the soul under the influence of music Gratitude to the Dome Cathedral and music for resurrection What is this text about? The author of the text V. Astafiev reflects on the power of the influence of music on a person What worries the author? Music brings people together. What will save the human soul? Only music.

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Find in the text sentences in which the author speaks about the problems posed The sounds of music are everywhere, and everything is filled with them: soul, earth, peace. Mental confusion, the absurdity of a vain life, petty passions, everyday worries - all-all this remained in another world ... Wars, blood, fratricide, supermen ... Why do we live so intensely and difficult on our land? Here people cry from the tenderness that overwhelmed them. Formulate the problem in words In the text offered for analysis, the author reflects on the role of music in human life. Use these suggestions to comment on the issue

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We formulate the problem

A noun phrase in which we formulate the theme of the text (for example, Music ... Magic sounds ...) A rhetorical question addressed to everyone or to oneself (What does music mean in the life of each of us? Or: Why does a person sing, listen to music in moments of sadness or joy ? How does it help?) A general phrase leading to the formulation of the problem of this particular text (for example, A lot of people thought about this problem, they did not leave NN indifferent, who is considering the question of the role of music in ...) IF YOU HAVE CORRECTLY SOLVED PROBLEM A28 YOU CAN IDENTIFY THE AUTHOR'S POSITION. By asking her a question, you will formulate the problem.

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the problem of the purpose of art; the role of music in human life. the problem is formulated; the problem is raised; raised the problem; the problem is highlighted; the problem is being discussed; the problem considered by the author and others. Possible variants of the formulation of the problem of the original text Support phrases for the formulation of the problem of the text

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The problem (what? What?) The author examines with an example ... Commenting on this problem, I would like to note ... Considering this problem, the author draws the reader's attention to ... There is no consensus in the literature on the problem expressed ... The problem (what? What?) Is solved by researchers in different ways , but ... This is one of the most pressing problems ... Let's consider this problem in more detail. A transitional moment from problem to comment.

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Commentary on the formulated problem of the source text

The commentary should not contain a retelling of the source text or any part of it; reasoning about all the problems of the text; comments about the actions of the characters in the text; general reasoning about the text, because you need to comment on one of the problems!

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How do I comment on the problem? Remember that the commentary should be based on the text read. The content of the commentary can be concretized with the help of the following questions: How, on what material does the author reveal the problem? What is it focusing on? What aspects of the problem are discussed in the text? What emotions of the author are expressed in the text? How is the author's attitude to the depicted expressed? What means of expressiveness help to reveal the author's attitude to the problem? The commentary represents a logical transition from the formulation of the problem to the presentation of the author's position. To distinguish a commentary from a retelling, you need to remember the following: in retelling, we are talking about what the heroes are doing, and when commenting, we are talking about what the author is doing.

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Arguing about the role of music in human life, the writer V. Astafyev speaks about the famous Dome Cathedral, about the sublime, divine sound of an organ that makes a person forget about bad, evil and separating people. Music unites all those gathered in the hall, enlightens souls (“It is being purified, the soul is…”, “the whole world is holding its breath”). The text is built on oppositions: “wars, blood, fratricide ...” - “evangelism”, “music”, “sun”. The author admires music, its power and beauty (actively uses comparisons: sounds, "like incense smoke", metaphors (sentences 6, 29, 30); interrogative and exclamatory sentences. Astafiev addresses the Dome Cathedral as a living one with words of gratitude for this purification and enlightenment. Commentary on the formulated problem of the original text

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In what proposals is the author's position expressed? Mental confusion, the absurdity of a vain life, petty passions, everyday worries - all of this remained in another world ... It is purified, the soul, and ... this ... formidable world of ours ... is ready ... to fall on its knees ... to fall with its withered mouth to the holy spring good ... Everything is changing around. I thank you for the happiness, for the delight and faith in the human mind, ... I thank you for the miracle of the resurrection of faith in life. Formulate the author's position in words. The author believes that music has tremendous power, it is able to excite the human soul, to change the attitude towards the world around us. “Mental turmoil, absurdity of vain life, petty passions, everyday worries - all of this remained in another place, in a different light ...” and others. The narrator is convinced that only music will save the world and each of us from internal decay, help to better understand myself.

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How to identify the author's position? If the problem of the text is formulated as a question, then the position of the author is the answer to the question. In order to identify the position of the author, try to answer the following questions: "What did the author want to say when creating the text?" The position of the author of a journalistic text is usually revealed quite simply. It is much more difficult to determine the author's point of view in a literary text. And here a good knowledge of pictorial and expressive means will come to the rescue, since it is through their analysis that we can determine the author's attitude to his heroes, to the problem.

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Reflection of the position of the author of the source text

clearly, directly, directly in the title of the text; in individual sentences of the text; through a series of arguments; rhetorical questions through the modal outline of the text; rhetorical exclamations; word order; lexical repetitions; evaluative vocabulary. The author's position can be expressed

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We formulate the position of the author. Do not attribute thoughts to the author that are not in the text !!! Do not confuse the author of the text and the hero of the story !!! What did the author want to say? What was the purpose of his statement? Why did he write this? How does he himself relate to the problem posed? What does the text teach? The author can relate to what is depicted: Positively Negative Ambiguously Dually Skeptical Ironically ... "One cannot disagree with the author's opinion" is not a formulation of the author's opinion.

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Do you agree with the author's point of view? I agree (agree) with the opinion of the author that ... the author is right that ... I agree with the position of the author and believe that ... and then we repeat the position of the author again only in other words. It is advisable to write each argument with a red line; one of the most successful methods of including arguments in the text of an essay is the use of introductory words: firstly, secondly. But you can argue without introductory words. It is not advised to give arguments using the construct with the union because. YOU CAN WRITE: "It is impossible to disagree with the author's point of view on (pointing out the problem)." If you disagree with the author's position, express your disagreement very correctly. For example, like this: "With all my respect for the author's point of view (or for NN's thoughts about ...), I still allow myself to express my own vision of this problem (or I will try to refute his opinion)."

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How to correctly object to the author, stating his position The author, in my opinion, is not quite right, asserting that ... The point of view of the author is, of course, interesting, but I believe that ... In my opinion, the author is somewhat categorical in his judgments. The author's point of view, it seems to me, is rather controversial. I believe that the author's assertion that ... In my opinion, the author is not quite right, not noticing the fact that ... The author's assertion is beyond doubt, but as far as I know, there is such a point of view : ... The author's arguments are convincing, but one can hardly agree that ...

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Go to argumentation. Let's give an example Let's refer to an example Let's take as an example Let's compare On the one hand None of us will object The brightest examples of this can be ... In this part, you do not deduce anything new, but only confirm what has been said !!! The goal is to explain and concretize the above provisions. The meaning of the argumentation is to show the relevance, importance of the problem, the inviolability of the axiom being proved.

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We draw up and fill in the table This part of the work cannot repeat the comment !!! The argumentation can be: Real facts from life (printed sources) Examples of their films, programs, periodicals Proverbs, sayings, aphorisms (folk wisdom) Examples from fiction Examples from historical and popular science literature.

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What can be an argument

Examples from personal life experience Examples from books, films, radio and television programs Quotes (if you remember them word for word) Presumptive example Appeal to the common sense of the audience Science conclusions

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Reading experience Fiction Historical literature Popular non-fiction Literature Turning to the reading experience is the strongest argument of the essay. But you need to refer to it if you remember well both the author of the book and the work itself, in order to avoid factual errors. When you turn to Russian classical literature, remember this rule: do not allow expressions like Alexander Pushkin, or, speaking, say, about MI Tsvetaeva, you cannot call her Marina; speaking about the heroes of a literary work, name them as the author does (Evgeny Bazarov, but not Zhenya, Tatyana Larina, but not Tanya, Katerina (from "The Thunderstorm"), but not Ekaterina. Correctness and accuracy must be observed, otherwise you will lose points according to the criteria K 11, K 12.

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For the blind hero of K. Paustovsky's story "The Old Chef", Mozart's music recreated a visible picture, helped to return to the past, to see the happiest events of his life. Petrus in the story by V.G. Korolenko "The Blind Musician" was born blind, and music helped him survive and become a truly talented pianist. With her singing Natasha Rostova ("War and Peace" by LN Tolstoy) is able to influence the best in man. This is how she saved her brother Nikolai from despair after he lost a large amount of money. One can recall the concerts of the symphony orchestra under the direction of Valery Gergiev in the destroyed Tskhinvali. Possible arguments

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Title (preferred, but not required). I. Introduction. II. Formulation of the main problem of the original text. III. Commentary on the main problem of the text. IV. Determination of the author's position. V. Statement of their own position: 1st argument in defense of their own position; 2nd argument; output. Vi. Conclusion. Thus, an essay for a given text should have approximately 9 parts. Each part must be written with a red line. The sequence of the parts also does not need to be changed, otherwise the logic of the presentation will be violated. The plan of the essay-reasoning on the given text.

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Lyrical reflection. A number of rhetorical questions, consonant with the topic (idea, problem). Dialogue with an imaginary interlocutor. A number of nominative sentences that create a figurative picture arising from associations in connection with the problems of the text. It can start with a quote, proverb, sayings. It can start with a key word of the text, etc. An introduction to an essay based on the text of V. Astafiev should be ... About what? (about music). The introduction can be written in the form:

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The introduction could be like this: French writer Stendhal said: “Music, when it is perfect, brings the heart into exactly the same state that you experience enjoying the presence of a loved one, that is, that it gives, undoubtedly, the brightest happiness that is possible on earth ". One (French) writer said that music gives a person the brightest happiness that is possible on earth, and affects the human soul as strongly as love. " Perhaps such a beginning, if you do not remember the author of the statement or the quote verbatim:

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It is enough to summarize what has been said in one sentence and move on to the conclusion to the entire essay based on the original text. To write a conclusion, you need to return to the introduction again, read it, since the introduction and the conclusion are organically linked. Conclusion

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About fifteen years ago, the author heard this story, and he does not know why, she lives in him and burns his heart. "Maybe it's all about her depressing routine, her disarming simplicity?" It seems to the author that the heroine's name was Lyudochka. She was born in the small endangered village of Vychugan. Parents are collective farmers. Father from the oppressive work drank himself to death, was fussy and dull. The mother was afraid for the unborn child, so she tried to conceive in a rare break from her husband's drunkenness. But the girl, "bruised by her father's unhealthy flesh, was born weak, sickly and whiny." She grew sluggish, like roadside grass, rarely laughed and sang, at school she did not leave the C grade, although she was silently diligent. The father disappeared from the life of the family long ago and imperceptibly. Mother and daughter without him lived freer, better, more cheerful. From time to time, peasants appeared in their house, “one tractor driver from the neighboring timber industry enterprise, plowing a vegetable garden, having a good meal, stayed for the whole spring, grew into the farm, began to debug, strengthen and multiply it. I went to work on a motorcycle seven miles away, took a gun with me and often brought either a beaten bird or a hare. "The lodger had nothing to do with Lyudochka: neither good nor bad." He didn't seem to notice her. And she was afraid of him.

When Lyudochka finished school, her mother sent her to the city - to improve her life, she herself was going to move to the timber industry. "At first, the mother promised to help Lyuda with money, potatoes and what God will send - in her old age, you see, and she will help them."

Lyudochka arrived in the city by train and spent the first night at the station. In the morning I came to the station hairdresser to do a perm, a manicure, I wanted to dye my hair, but the old hairdresser advised me: the girl already has weak hair. Quiet, but country-style dexterous, Lyudochka offered to sweep the hairdresser's, spread soap to someone, gave someone a napkin, and in the evening found out all the local order, watched an elderly hairdresser, who advised her to wear makeup, and asked to be her student.

Gavrilovna carefully examined Lyuda and her documents, went with her to the municipal commune, where she registered the girl for a job as a hairdresser's apprentice, and took to her place, setting simple conditions: to help around the house, not to walk for more than eleven years, not to take the guys into the house, not to drink wine , do not smoke tobacco, obey the hostess in everything and honor her like a mother. Instead of paying the rent, let them bring a car of firewood from the timber industry enterprise. “If you’re a student, live, but as a master, go to the hostel, God willing, and you’ll arrange life ... If you grow bulky, I’ll drive you out of the place.” I didn’t have children, I don’t like peepers ... ”She warned the tenant that she was tossing with her legs and“ howling ”at night during the weather. In general, for Lyudochka Gavrilovna made an exception: for some time now she did not take tenants, and even more so girls. Once upon a time, back in Khrushchev's times, two students of a financial technical school lived with her: dyed, in trousers ... the floor was not washed, the dishes were not washed, they did not distinguish between their own and others - they ate the master's pies, sugar that grew in the garden. In response to Gavrilovna's remark, the girls called her "selfish", and she, not understanding the unknown word, cursed them at their mother and kicked them out. And from that time on, she let only guys into the house, quickly accustomed them to housekeeping. She even taught two, especially smart ones, to cook and to handle the Russian oven.

Lyudochka Gavrilovna let her in because she guessed in her the village relatives, not yet spoiled by the city, and she began to feel burdensome with loneliness in her old age. "If you fall down - there is no one to serve water."

Lyudochka was an obedient girl, but her studies were a little tough, the barbarian business, which seemed so simple, was difficult, and when the appointed period of study had passed, she could not pass to the master. In the hairdresser's, Lyudochka also worked as a cleaner and stayed in the state, continuing to practice - she cut the recruits under a typewriter, kornal schoolchildren, while she learned to make shaped haircuts “at home”, cutting frightful fashionistas from the village of Vepeverze, where Gavrilovna's house stood, to cut haircuts for schismatics. She built hairstyles on the heads of fidgety disco girls, like those of foreign hit stars, without taking any payment for it.

Gavrilovna sold all household chores, all household items to Lyudochka. The old woman's legs ached more and more, and Lyudochka's eyes stung when she rubbed the ointment into the twisted legs of the hostess, who was working on the last year to retire. The smell of the ointment was so fierce, Gavrilovna's screams were so heartbreaking that cockroaches scattered among the neighbors, every single one of the flies died. Gavrilovna complained about her work, which made her disabled, and then consoled Lyudochka that she would not be left without a piece of bread, having learned to be a master.

For help around the house and care in old age, Gavrilovna promised Lyudochka to make a permanent residence permit, to register her house, if the girl continues to behave just as modestly, to look after the hut, the yard, bend her back in the garden and overlook her, the old woman, when she becomes completely dehydrated ...

From work Lyudochka traveled by tram, and then walked through the dying Vepevere park, in human terms - the car-locomotive depot park, planted in the 30s and destroyed in the 50s. Someone decided to lay a pipe through the park. They dug a ditch, laid a pipe, but forgot to bury it. A black pipe with bends lay in the steamed clay, hissing, hovering, seething with a hot pile. Over time, the pipe became clogged, and a hot river flowed on top, circling rainbow-poisonous rings of fuel oil and various debris. The trees have dried up, the foliage has flown around. Only poplars, gnarled, with burst bark, with horned branches at the top, rested their roots with their paws on the earth's firmament, grew, littered the fluff and in the autumn dropped leaves showered with wood scabies around.

A footbridge with handrails was thrown across the ditch, which was broken every year and renewed again in the spring. When the steam locomotives were replaced by diesel locomotives, the pipe was completely clogged, and a hot mess of mud and fuel oil still flowed through the ditch. The banks were overgrown with all kinds of bad wood, in some places there were stunted birches, mountain ash and linden. Christmas trees also made their way, but they did not go beyond infancy - they were cut down for the New Year by the shrewd inhabitants of the village, and the pines were plucked by goats and any prodigal cattle. The park looked like "after the bombing or invasion of the fearless enemy cavalry." There was a constant stench all around, puppies, kittens, dead pigs and everything that burdened the inhabitants of the village were thrown into the ditch.

But people cannot exist without nature, so there were reinforced concrete benches in the park - the wooden ones were instantly broken. Children were running around in the park, there were punks who had fun playing cards, drinking, fighting, "sometimes to death." "They also imaged girls here ..." Artyomka-soap, with a frothy white head, was in charge of the punks. No matter how much Lyudochka tried to pacify the rags on Artemka's violent head, nothing came of it. His “curls, resembling soap suds from a distance, turned out to be sticky horns from the station dining room - they boiled them, threw them in a lump into an empty plate, so they, stuck together, were unhealthy and lay. And the guy did not come to Lyudochka for the sake of his hair. As soon as her hands became busy with scissors and a comb, Artemka began to grab her in various places. Lyudochka at first dodged Artemka's grasping hands, and when it did not help, she hit him on the head with a typewriter and punched him to the point of bleeding, so I had to pour iodine on the head of the "diligent person." Artemka hooted and began to gasp for air with a whistle. Since then, "he stopped his hooligan harassment", moreover, the punks ordered Lyudochka not to touch.

Now Lyudochka was not afraid of anyone or anything, she walked from the tram to the house through the park at any hour and any time of the year, responding to the greetings of the punks with a “friendly smile”. Once the ataman-soap "hooked" Lyudochka to the central city park to dance in a corral similar to an animal.

“In the zoo-menagerie, people behaved like an animal ... The herd raged, raged, making bodily disgrace and delirium out of dancing ... Music, helping the herd in devilry and savagery, beat in convulsions, crackled, hummed, rumbled with drums, moaned, howled. "

Lyudochka got scared of what was happening, huddled in a corner, looked for Artyomka with her eyes to intercede, but "the soap was washed out in this seething gray foam." Lyudochka snatched a whip in a circle, began to cheek, she barely fought off the gentleman and ran home. Gavrilovna edified the “lodging house” that if Lyudochka “handed over to the master, decided on a profession, she would find a suitable working guy for her without any dancing - not only the punks live in the world ...”. Gavrilovna assured - from dancing one disgrace. Lyudochka agreed with her in everything, she believed that she was very lucky with a mentor who had rich life experience.

The girl cooked, washed, scraped, whitewashed, painted, washed, ironed and it was not a burden for her to keep the house completely clean. But if she gets married, she can do everything, she can be an independent mistress in everything, and her husband will love and appreciate her for that. Lyudochka often did not sleep enough, felt weak, but nothing, it can be survived.

At that time, a well-known person nicknamed Strekach returned from places not at all distant to everyone in the district. In appearance, he also resembled a black, narrow-eyed beetle, however, under his nose instead of tentacles-mustaches, Strekach had some kind of dirty splash, with a smile resembling a grin, damaged teeth were exposed, as if made of cement crumbs. Vicious since childhood, while still in school he was engaged in robbery - he took away from the kids "silverware, gingerbread", chewing gum, he especially loved it in a "shiny wrapper". In the seventh grade, Strekach was already dragging around with a knife, but he didn't have to take anything away from anyone - "the small population of the village brought him, as a khan, tribute, everything he ordered and wanted." Soon Strekach cut someone with a knife, he was registered with the police, and after an attempted rape, the postwoman received his first term - three years with a suspended sentence. But Strekach did not calm down. He smashed neighboring dachas, threatened the owners with fire, so the owners of the dachas began to leave drinks and snacks with the wish: “Dear guest! Drink, eat, rest - just, for God's sake, don't set anything on fire! " Strekach lived almost the entire winter, but then they took him, he sat down for three years. Since then, he found himself “in forced labor camps, from time to time arriving in his native village, as if on a well-deserved vacation. The local punks followed Strekach with a tug, gaining intelligence, "considering him a thief in law, and he did not disdain, pinched his team in a small way, playing cards or thimble. “At that time, the population of the Veperveze settlement was always in anxiety, and without that it was always in anxiety. That summer evening Strekach was sitting on a bench, drinking expensive cognac and tossing about idle. Shpana promised: “Don't freak out. Here the masses will tumble down from the dance, we will hire chicks for you. As much as you want..."

Suddenly he saw Lyudochka. Artemka-soap tried to put in a word for her, but Strekach did not listen, he found courage. He caught the girl by the belt of his cloak and tried to sit her on his knees. She tried to get rid of him, but he threw her over the bench and raped her. The pun was next to me. The strekach made the punks "get dirty" so that he was not the only culprit. Seeing the torn Lyudochka, Artyomka-soap was intimidated and tried to pull a cloak over her, and she, madly, ran, shouting: “Soap! Soap!" Having reached Gavrilovna's house, Lyudochka fell on the steps and lost consciousness. I woke up on an old sofa, where she was dragged by the compassionate Gavrilovna, who was sitting next to her and consoled the dwelling. Coming to her senses, Lyudochka decided to go to her mother.

In the village of Vychugan “there are two whole houses left. In one the old woman Vychuganikha stubbornly lived out her days, in the other - Lyudochka's mother with her stepfather. The whole village, suffocated in the wild growth, with a barely trodden path, was in boarded up windows, swaying birdhouses, poplars, bird cherry trees, and aspens wildly growing between the huts. That summer, when Lyudochka graduated from school, the old apple tree gave an unprecedented harvest of red bulk apples. The frightened out frightened: “Children, do not eat these apples. This is not good! " “And one night a living branch of an apple tree, unable to withstand the weight of the fruit, broke off. A bare, flat trunk was left behind the parted houses, like a cross with a broken crossbar on a churchyard. Monument to a dying Russian village. One more. “Something like that,” predicted Vychuganikha, “they will drive a stake in the middle of Russia, and there will be no one to remember it, plagued by evil forces ...” The women were terrified to listen to Vychuganikha, they clumsily prayed, considering themselves unworthy of God's mercy.

Lyudochka's mother also began to pray, and there was only hope for God. Lyudochka chuckled at her mother and got a slap.

Vychuganikha died soon after. Lyudochka's stepfather called the peasants from the timber industry enterprise, they took the old woman to the churchyard on a tractor sleigh, and there was nothing to remember. Lyudochka's mother gathered something on the table. They recalled that Vychuganikha was the last of the scared family, the founders of the village.

Mother washed in the kitchen, when she saw her daughter, she began to wipe her hands on the apron, put them to her big belly, said that the cat had been “washing guests” in the morning, she was still surprised: “Where can we get them from? And then what about Avon! " Looking around Lyudochka, the mother immediately understood that trouble had happened to her daughter. “You don't need a big mind to realize what a misfortune happened to her. But through this ... inevitability, all the women must go through ... How many more, troubles, ahead ... "She found out, her daughter came for the weekend. I was glad that I had dug up sour cream for her arrival, my stepfather had pumped up honey. The mother said that she would soon move with her husband to the timber industry, just "as I am giving birth ...". Embarrassed that at the end of the fourth decade she decided to give birth, she explained: “He himself wants a child. He is building a house in the village ... and we will sell this one. But he himself does not mind if we rewrite it for you ... "Lyudochka refused:" Why do I need it. " Mother was delighted, maybe they will give about five hundred for slate, for glass.

The mother began to cry, looking out the window: "Who benefits from this rupture?" Then she went to reach, and the daughter sent to milk the cow and bring firewood. "Himself" should come home from work late, before his arrival they will have time to cook a stew. Then they will drink with their stepfather, but the daughter replied: "I have not learned yet, mother, neither to drink, nor to cut." Mother reassured that she would learn to cut "when-nito". It is not the gods who burn the pots.

Lyudochka thought about her stepfather. How difficult it was, but recklessly grew into the economy. With cars, motors, a gun, he was easy to control, but in the garden for a long time he could not distinguish one vegetable from another, he perceived haymaking as pampering and a holiday. When they finished throwing haystacks, mother ran off to cook food, and Lyudochka - to the river. Returning home, she heard "animal rumble" during the search. Lyudochka was very surprised to see how his stepfather - “a man with a shaved head turning graying on all sides, with deep furrows on his face, all in tattoos, long-armed, squatting, slapping himself on the stomach, suddenly ran skipping along the shallows, and a hoarse roar of joy burst out from the burnt or corroded insides of a person she didn't know much, ”Lyudochka began to guess that he had no childhood. At home, she laughingly told her mother how her stepfather frolicked in the water. “But where could he learn to swim? From an early age in exile and in camps, under escort and guardianship in a state bathhouse. He has a life, oh-ho-ho ... - Recovering herself, the mother began to shake and, as if proving someone, continued: - But he is a decent person, maybe a kind one.

From that time on, Lyudochka ceased to be afraid of her stepfather, but did not become closer. The stepfather did not allow anyone close to him.

Now I suddenly thought: I would run to the timber industry, seven miles away, find my stepfather, lean against him and cry on his rough chest. Maybe he will pat her on the head, regret it ... Unexpectedly for myself, she decided to leave with the morning train. The mother was not surprised: "Well ... if it is necessary, duck ..." Gavrilovna did not expect a quick return of the dwelling. Lyudochka explained that her parents were moving, not before her. She saw two strings attached to the bag instead of straps and began to cry. Mother said that she tied these strings to the cradle, put her foot in the noose and shaken her foot ... Gavrilovna was afraid that Lyudochka was crying? "I'm sorry for Mom." The old woman was disheartened, and there was no one to regret her, then she warned: Artyom-soap was taken away, Lyudochka scratched everything on his face ... a sign. He was ordered to keep quiet, rather death. From Strekach, they warned the old woman that if the little dwelling squeaked, she would be nailed to the post, and the old woman would be burnt to the hut. Gavrilovna complained that she had all the best - a corner in her old age, she could not lose it. Lyudochka promised to move to the hostel. Gavrilovna reassured: this bandit will not walk for a long time, he will soon sit down again, "and I will call you back." Lyudochka remembered how, while living on a state farm, she caught a cold, developed pneumonia, she was admitted to the regional hospital. On an endless long night, she saw a dying guy, learned his simple story from the nurse. Recruited from some distant place, a lonely boy caught a cold in the cutting area, a boil jumped out at his temple. The inexperienced paramedic scolded him for turning over all sorts of trifles, and a day later she accompanied the guy, who had fallen into unconsciousness, to the regional hospital. In the hospital, the skull was opened, but they could not do anything - the pus began to do its destructive work. The guy was dying, so they carried him out into the corridor. Lyudochka sat for a long time and looked at the tormented man, then put her hand to his face. The guy gradually calmed down, with an effort opened his eyes, tried to say something, but came only "usu usu ... usu ...". She guessed her feminine instinct, he tries to thank her. Lyudochka sincerely regretted the guy, who was so young, lonely, who probably didn’t have time to love anyone, brought a stool, sat down next to her and took the guy’s hand. He looked at her with hope, whispered something. Lyudochka thought that he was whispering a prayer, and began to help him, then she got tired and dozed off. She woke up, saw that the guy was crying, shook his hand, but he did not respond to her shaking. He comprehended the price of compassion - "another habitual betrayal was committed in relation to the dying man." They betray, “the living betray him! And not his pain, not his life, their suffering is dear to them, and they want his torment to end sooner, so as not to suffer themselves. " The guy took his hand away from Lyudochka and turned away - “he was not expecting little consolation from her, he was expecting a sacrifice from her, consent to be with him to the end, maybe die with him. Then a miracle would have happened: together they would have become stronger than death, they would have risen to life, a mighty impulse would have appeared in him, ”the way to resurrection would have opened. But there was no person around who could sacrifice himself for the sake of the dying, and alone he did not overcome death. Lyudochka sideways, as if caught in a bad deed, stealthily went to her bed. Since then, the feeling of deep guilt in front of the late lumberjack guy has not ceased in her. Now she herself is in grief and abandonment, she especially acutely, quite tangibly felt all the rejection of the dying person. She had to drink to the end the cup of loneliness, of crafty human sympathy - the space around everything narrowed, like near that bed behind the hospital flaky stove where the dying guy lay. Lyudochka was ashamed: “why did she pretend then, why? After all, if there really was in her a readiness to remain with the dying man to the end, to accept torture for him, as in the old days, perhaps, in fact, unknown forces would have emerged in him. Well, even if a miracle had not happened, if the dying man had not been resurrected, the consciousness that she was capable ... to give him all of herself, to the last breath, would have made her strong, self-confident, ready to resist evil forces. " Now she understood the psychological state of the lone prisoners. Lyudochka again remembered her stepfather: here he is, I suppose, one of those, one of the strong? But how, from where to approach it? Lyudochka thought that in trouble, in loneliness, everyone is the same, and there is nothing to shame and despise someone.

There were no places in the hostel yet, and the girl continued to live with Gavrilovna. The hostess taught the dwelling to "return in the dark" not through the park, so that the "saranopals" did not know that she lived in the village. But Lyudochka continued to walk through the park, where the guys once caught her, frightened her with Strekach, imperceptibly pushing her to the bench. Lyudochka understood what they wanted. She carried a razor in her pocket, wanting to cut off "Strekach's dignity to the very root." She did not think of this terrible revenge herself, but once heard about such an act of a woman in a hairdressing salon. Lyudochka said to the guys, it's a pity that Strekach is not there, "such a prominent gentleman." She cheekily declared: fuck off, boys, I'll go change into shabby, not rich. The guys let her go so that she would return as soon as possible, warned her not to dare "joke." At home, Lyudochka changed into an old dress, girded herself with that very string from her cradle, took off her shoes, took a sheet of paper, but did not find a pen or pencil, and jumped out into the street. On the way to the park, I read an advertisement for the recruitment of young men and women into the timber industry. A saving thought flashed through: "Maybe leave?" "Yes, immediately another thought interrupted the first: there, in the woods, there was a streak on a streak, and everyone had a mustache." In the park, she found a long-spotted poplar with a gnarled branch above the path, threw a string over it, dexterously tied a loop, albeit a quiet one, but she knew a lot in the country style. Lyudochka climbed onto the poplar tree, put a noose around her neck. She mentally said goodbye to family and friends, asked for forgiveness from God. Like all introverted people, she was quite decisive. “And here, with a noose around her neck, she, too, as in childhood, covered her face with her palms and, pushing herself off with her feet, as if thrown herself from a high bank into a whirlpool. Endless and bottomless. "

She managed to feel the heart swelling in her chest, it seems, break the ribs and break out of the chest. The heart quickly got tired, weakened, and immediately all pain and torment left Lyudochka ...

The guys waiting for her in the park began to scold the girl who deceived them. One was sent to reconnaissance. He shouted to his friends: “We tear the claws! Ko-ogty! She ... "- The scout dashed by leaps from the poplars, from the light." Later, sitting in a railway station restaurant, he told with a nervous laugh that he saw Lyudochka's body trembling and twitching. The guys decided to warn Strekach and leave somewhere before they were "drummed".

Lyudochka was buried not in his native abandoned village, but in the city cemetery. Mother at times forgot herself and shouted. At home, Gavrilovna burst into tears: she considered Lyudochka a daughter, but what did she do on herself? My stepfather drank a glass of vodka and went out onto the porch to smoke. He went to the park and found the whole company, headed by Strekach, on the spot. The bandit asked the man who approached him what he wanted. “I came to look at you,” my stepfather replied. He tore the cross from Strekach's neck and threw it into the bushes. “Well, at least not a trash, sucker! At least don't touch God, leave it to people! " The strekach tried to threaten the peasant with a knife. The stepfather grinned and, with an imperceptible lightning movement, grabbed Strekach's hand, tore it out of his pocket along with a piece of cloth. Without letting the bandit come to his senses, grabbed the collar of his shirt with his tailcoat, dragged Strekach by the collar through the bushes, threw him into the ditch, in response there was a heartbreaking cry. Wiping his hands on his pants, his stepfather went out onto the path, the punks stood in his way. He stared at them. “The guys felt a real, unthinkable godfather. This one did not stain his pants with dirt, for a long time he did not kneel in front of anyone, even in front of the dirtiest convoy. ” The squad fled: some from the park, some dragged the half-cooked Strekach out of the ditch, someone behind the ambulance and told Strekach's half-asleep mother about the fate that befell her son, whose stormy path from a children's correctional labor colony to a strict regime camp ended. Having reached the outskirts of the park, Lyudochka's stepfather stumbled and suddenly saw a piece of rope on a twig. "Some old force, which he himself did not know to the end, threw him high, he caught a branch, it creaked and fell off." Holding the branch in his hands, for some reason sniffing it, his stepfather quietly said: "Why didn't you break off when necessary?" He crushed it into pieces, scattered it to the sides, and hurried to Gavrilovna's house. Arriving home and drinking vodka, I got ready to go to the timber industry. At a respectful distance, his wife hurried after him and did not keep up. He took Lyudochka's belongings from her, helped climb the high steps into the train carriage and found an empty seat. Lyudochka's mother first whispered, and then in a voice asked God to help give birth and keep at least this child full. She asked for Lyudochka, whom she did not save. Then she “timidly laid her head on his shoulder, leaned weakly against him, and it seemed to her, or in fact it was, he lowered his shoulder so that she was more agile and calmer, and even pressed her to her side with an elbow and warmed her”.

The local police department still lacked the strength and ability to split Artemka-soap. With a stern warning, he was allowed to go home. Out of fright, Artemka entered a communications school, a branch, where they teach to climb poles, screw in glasses and pull wires; with fright, not otherwise, Artyomka-soap soon got married, and in his Stakhanov way, the fastest in the village, four months after the wedding, a curly-haired child was born, smiling and cheerful. The grandfather laughed that "this fellow with a flat head, because they took him out into the light of God with tongs, will not be able to brainwash with papa, from which end to climb a pole - he will not understand."

On the fourth page of the local newspaper at the end of the quarter, a note appeared about the state of morality in the city, but “Lyudochka and Strekach did not get into this report. The chief of the Internal Affairs Directorate had two years left before retirement, and he did not want to spoil the positive percentage with questionable data. Lyudochka and Strekach, who did not leave behind any notes, property, valuables and witnesses, entered the registration book of the Internal Affairs Directorate through the line of suicides ... foolishly killing themselves. "

Victor Astafiev was born in a difficult time and went through many difficulties prepared for him by fate. In early childhood, the future writer's mother died, and his father's new wife did not like the boy. For this reason, he remained on the street.

Victor Astafiev has become a great writer, his work is liked by both children and adults. And, of course, the story "Dome Cathedral" takes pride of place in his work. The genre of this work is difficult to determine, since it combines several different genres, but it is still customary to define the genre of a work as an essay.

Due to the organ music playing in the hall with many spectators, the hero has different associations. Analyzing this music, he compares its sounds with the sounds of nature. His whole life rushes through his imagination: resentment, disappointment, loss, war. He remembers grief and loss. But this music has such incredible power that all bad memories leave his thoughts. The hero is amazed by the sounds of the organ and he wants to kneel before this delightful sound. Although the hall is crowded with people, the hero, nevertheless, feels lonely. A thought appears in his head: he wants everything to collapse, and only music sounded in the souls of people. The hero reflects on life, the human path, death and the role that a tiny person plays in this vast world. He realizes that the Dome Cathedral is a house of gentle music, a place of calm and silence. The hero thanks the cathedral from the bottom of his heart and bows his soul to the great piece of architecture.

Loneliness in the story appears in a positive way. Despite the fact that there are a lot of people in the hall, it seems to the hero that he is alone. And this is more likely not loneliness, but solitude.

The story leads us to the idea that music can heal our mental wounds, helps us get away from depressing memories and problems.

Picture or drawing Dome Cathedral

We are writing an essay in. p. astafiev "Dome Cathedral". - download presentation

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WE WRITE A COMPOSITION VP Astafiev "Dome Cathedral".
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A noun phrase, in which we formulate a topic A noun phrase, in which we formulate the theme of the text (for example, Music ... Magic sounds ...) A rhetorical question addressed to everyone or to oneself (What does music mean in the life of each of us? Or: Why a person in minutes sings or listens to music? How does it help?) A general phrase leading to the formulation of the problem of this particular text (for example, Many people have pondered this problem, and NN, who is considering the role of music in ...) YOU HAVE CORRECTLY SOLVED THE JOB A28, YOU CAN IDENTIFY THE AUTHOR'S POSITION. By asking her a question, you will formulate the problem.
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The commentary should not contain The commentary should not contain a retelling of the source text or any part of it; reasoning about all the problems of the text; comments about the actions of the characters in the text; general reasoning about the text, because you need to comment on one of the problems!
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clearly, directly, directly clearly, directly, directly in the title of the text; in individual sentences of the text; through a series of arguments;
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How to correctly object to the author, setting out his position How to correctly object to the author, setting out his position The author, in my opinion, is not quite right, asserting that ... The point of view of the author is, of course, interesting, but I think that ... In my opinion, the author is somewhat categorical in his judgments.

The author's point of view, it seems to me, is rather controversial.
I believe that the author's assertion that ... In my opinion, the author is not quite right, not noticing the fact that ... The author's assertion is beyond doubt, but as far as I know, there is such a point of view : ... The author's arguments are convincing, but one can hardly agree that ...
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Examples from my own life experience Examples from my own life experience Examples from books, films, radio and TV programs Quotes (if you remember them word for word) Presumptive example Appeal to the common sense of the audience Science conclusions
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The appeal to the reader's experience is the strongest argument of the essay. But you need to refer to it if you remember well both the author of the book and the work itself, in order to avoid factual errors.

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Tsvetaeva, you cannot call her Marina; speaking about the heroes of a literary work, name them as the author does (Evgeny Bazarov, but not Zhenya, Tatyana Larina, but not Tanya, Katerina (from "The Thunderstorm"), but not Ekaterina. Correctness and accuracy must be observed, otherwise you will lose points according to the criteria K 11, K 12.
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Book of Zatesa. Author - Victor Petrovich Astafiev. Contents - Dome Cathedral

The connection was often broken, and we had a lot of work. The telephone line was stretched through the park and went into the basement of the landlord's house, where the company commander arrived and settled with his servants.
According to a very clever order that was not established by us, if the connection was torn, we, already mutilated and twitched communications from the front line, had to correct it under fire, and company signalmen would scold us, since we did not do it very quickly.
In turn, company signalmen ran through communications to the battalion; battalion - to the regiment, and then I don’t know what and how it was done, further and communications were rarely damaged, and the signalmen called themselves telephone operators, they were well fed, washed and looked at us, trench shrews, with lordly arrogance.
Running along the communication line, I often noticed Abdrashitov digging in the park.

Small, with awkwardly wrapped windings, he was already covered in clay and plaster, emaciated and completely blackened, and to my brisk "salam aleikum!", Smiling quietly and guiltily, answered: "Hello!" I asked him if he ate.

The goddess over the fountain Abdrashitov and the Pole were repaired. They covered the wounds on it with unclean plaster, collected the breast, but collected it without the nipple. The goddess became ugly, and even if bloodless veins would appear on her, she did not cheer up at all. The goddess, in patches, was still mournfully bowing over the silent fountain, in which the fishes rotted and the slimy lilies blackened.

The Germans got wind of something about our offensive and watered the front line with everything they had at their disposal.
My partner and I scoured the park, mending communications and scolding everyone who came to mind.
On a rainy, nautical morning, our guns struck - artillery preparation began, the ground swayed under our feet, the last fruits fell from the trees in the park, and the leaf spun up above.

The platoon leader ordered me to break up the communications and follow them on the attack with a coil and a telephone set. I merrily rushed along the line to rewind the wires: although it was cozy in the master's hut and manor, I was still tired of it - it's time and honor to know, it's time to go ahead, to joke a German to Berlin is still far away.

Shells rushed over me with discordant screams, kurlykans and whistles.
The Germans answered rarely and anywhere - I was already an experienced soldier and knew: the German infantry was lying now, with its nose buried in the ground, and prayed to God that the Russians' stock of shells would soon run out.
“It won't end! They will hammer for an hour and ten minutes until they make a mess of you, who are daring, ”- I reflected with feverish elation. During artillery preparation it is always like this: it is scary, it shakes everything inside and at the same time, passions flare up in the soul.
As I ran with a reel around my neck, I stumbled, and my thoughts were cut off: the goddess Venus stood without her head, and her hands were torn off, only her palm remained, with which she covered her shame, and Abdrashitov and a Pole were lying near the fountain covered with earth, covered with white splinters and plaster dust. Both of them were killed. Before the morning, the Germans, disturbed by the silence, made an artillery attack on the front line and fired a lot of shells into the park.
The Pole, I ascertained, was the first to be wounded - a piece of plaster had not yet dried up in his fingers and had not crumbled. Abdrashitov tried to pull the Pole into the pool, under the fountain, but did not manage to do this - they were covered again, and both of them calmed down.

A bucket lay on its side, and a gray plaster of paris fell out of it, the broken head of the goddess lay and with one unseen eye looked at the sky, screaming with a crooked hole punched below her nose. There was a mutilated, disfigured goddess Venus. And at her feet, in a pool of blood, lay two people - a Soviet soldier and a gray-haired Polish citizen, trying to heal the beaten beauty.

Home ... Home ... Home ...
Dome Cathedral, with a cock on the spire. Tall, stone, it sounds over Riga.
The vaults of the cathedral are filled with organ singing. From the sky, from above floats now a rumble, now thunder, now the gentle voice of lovers, now the call of the Vestals, now the roulades of the horn, now the sounds of the harpsichord, now the sound of a rolling brook ...
And again, with a formidable wave of raging passions, it blows everything away, again a roar.
Sounds sway like incense smoke. They are thick, tangible. They are everywhere, and everything is filled with them: soul, earth, world.
Everything froze, stopped.
Mental confusion, the absurdity of a vain life, petty passions, everyday worries - all of this remained in another place, in a different light, in a different life, distant from me, out there somewhere.
“Maybe all that came before was a dream? Wars, blood, fratricide, supermen playing with human destinies in order to establish themselves above the world.
Why do we live so intensely and difficult on our land? What for? Why?"
House. House. House…
Blagovest. Music. The gloom was gone. The sun rose. Everything is changing around.

There is no cathedral with electric candles, with ancient molding, with glass, toy and candy depicting paradise life. There is a world and I, calmed with awe, ready to kneel before the greatness of beauty.

The hall is full of people, old and young, Russian and non-Russian, party and non-party, evil and kind, vicious and light, tired and enthusiastic, all sorts of things.
And no one is in the hall!
There is only my serene, disembodied soul, it oozes with incomprehensible pain and tears of quiet delight.
It purifies itself, the soul is something, and it seems to me that the whole world held its breath, this seething, formidable world of ours was thinking, ready to fall on its knees with me, to repent, to fall with its withered mouth to the holy spring of good ...

And suddenly, like an obsession, like a blow: and yet at this time, somewhere, someone is targeting this cathedral, this great music ... with cannons, bombs, missiles ...

It can't be! Must not be!
And if there is. If we are destined to die, burn out, disappear, then let now, even at this moment, fate punish us for all our evil deeds and vices. Since we are unable to live freely, together, let at least our death be free, and the soul will go to another world, lightened and bright.
We all live together. We die separately. This has been the case for centuries. It was so until this moment.
So let's go now, let's rather, while there is no fear. Don't turn people into animals before you kill them. Let the vaults of the cathedral collapse, and instead of crying about the bloody, criminally folded path, people will carry the music of a genius into their hearts, and not the bestial roar of a murderer.

The Dome Cathedral! The Dome Cathedral! Music! What have you done to me? You are still trembling under the arches, you are still washing your soul, chilling your blood, illuminating everything around with light, knocking on your armored chests and sick hearts, but already a man in black comes out and bows from above. A small man trying to assure that it was he who did the miracle. A wizard and a songwriter, a nonentity and God, to whom everything is subject: both life and death.

The Dome Cathedral. The Dome Cathedral.
There is no applause here. Here people cry from the tenderness that overwhelmed them. Everyone cries about his own. But together everyone cries about the end, a wonderful dream subsides, that magic is brief, deceptively sweet oblivion and endless torment.
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A thick morning fog fell on Lake Kubenskoye. Not to see the shores, not to see the white light. How and when the sun rose - I did not notice. The mists moved away to the shores, the lake became wider, the ice on it seemed to float and sway.
And suddenly above this moving, white in the distance and gray near the ice, I saw a temple floating in the air. He, like a light toy made of papier-mâché, swayed and bounced in the haze of the sun, and the mists swayed him on their waves.
This temple floated towards me, light, white, fabulously beautiful. I put my rod aside, mesmerized.

Behind the fog, the brush of the forests emerged with sharp peaks. Already the distant factory chimney became visible, and the roofs of the houses. And the temple was still hovering over the ice, sinking lower and lower, and the sun played in its dome, and it was all illuminated by light, and a haze shone under it.

Finally, the temple sank onto the ice, established itself. I silently pointed to him, thinking that I dreamed that I really fell asleep and a vision from the fog appeared to me.
- Spas-stone, - my comrade shortly said.
And then I remembered how my friends told me about some kind of Savior-stone. But I thought that a stone is just a stone.
And here the Savior Stone is a temple! Monastery!
Without taking his eyes off the fishing rod, the comrade muttered to me the story of this diva. In honor of the Russian warrior-prince, who fought for the unification of the northern lands, this monument-monastery was erected.

Tradition says that the prince, fleeing from enemies, began to drown in heavy armor and went to the bottom, when suddenly he felt a stone under his feet, which saved him. And in honor of this miraculous salvation, stones and earth from the shore were piled on the underwater ridge.

On boats and on a drawbridge, which every spring was rolled up by breaking ice on the lake, the monks dragged the whole island and set up a monastery on it. The famous Dionysius painted it.
However, already in our time, in the early thirties, construction began on the collective farms and brick was required. But the monks were excellent builders and made a monolith out of bricks.
I had to blow up the monastery. They pulled - and still they did not take the bricks: it turned out to be a pile of ruins, and nothing more.

Only one bell tower and a living room remained from the monastery, in which nets are now kept and fishermen take refuge from the weather ...

I looked at the sun-drenched temple. The lake was already completely swaddled, the fogs rose high. Among the huge lake, endlessly iridescent with glare, a temple stood on the ice - white, as if crystal, and I still wanted to pinch myself, make sure that all this was not in a dream, not a mirage vision.
It takes your breath away, just think what this temple was like until they laid explosives under it!
“Yes,” the comrade says, still gloomy. - He was such that words cannot be said. A miracle, in a word, a miracle created by human hands and mind.
I look and look at the Savior-stone, forgetting about fishing rods, and about fish, and about everything in the world.

Presentation "Vision" - (Astafiev)

V.P. Astafiev, "Dome Cathedral": a summary, features of the work and reviews

Viktor Petrovich Astafiev, the author of the story "The Dome Cathedral", was born in troubled times and swallowed in full all the troubles and misfortunes that fate could have prepared for him.
From an early age, life did not spoil him: at first his mother died, and Victor could not accept it until the end of his life, later his father brought a new wife into the house, but she could not stand the boy. So he ended up on the street.
Later, Viktor Petrovich wrote in his biography that he began an independent life suddenly and without any preparation.

A master of literature and a hero of his time

V.P. Astafiev's literary life will be quite eventful, and his works will be loved by all readers, from the smallest to the most serious.
Astafiev's story "The Dome Cathedral" undoubtedly took one of the most honorable places in his literary biography, and even years later it never ceases to find connoisseurs among the modern generation.

V. Astafiev, "Dome Cathedral": a summary

In the hall filled with people, organ music sounds, from which the lyric hero has various associations.
He analyzes these sounds, compares them with high and sonorous sounds of nature, then with hissing and low peals of thunder. Suddenly, his whole life appears before his eyes - his soul, the earth, and the world.
He recalls the war, pain, losses and, struck by the sound of the organ, is ready to kneel before the greatness of beauty.

Despite the fact that the hall is full of people, the lyric hero continues to feel lonely. Suddenly a thought flashes through his mind: he wants everything to collapse, all the executioners, the murderers, and music sounded in the souls of people.

He talks about human existence, about death, about the path of life, about the importance of a small person in this big world and understands that the Dome Cathedral is a place where gentle music lives, where all applause and other exclamations are prohibited, that this is a house of silence and tranquility. ... The lyrical hero bows his soul before the cathedral and thanks him from the bottom of his heart.

Analysis of the work "Dome Cathedral"

Now let's take a closer look at the story written by Astafiev ("Dome Cathedral"). Analysis and comments to the story can be presented as follows.
From the very first lines, the reader observes the author's admiration for the majestic piece of architectural art - the Dome Cathedral. Viktor Petrovich more than once had to visit this cathedral, which soon came to his liking.
The building of the Dome Cathedral itself, located in the capital of Latvia - Riga, has survived to this day only partially.
Made in the Rococo style, the cathedral was built according to the project of foreign sculptors and architects, who were specially invited to erect a new structure that would have sounded for centuries and remained an excellent reminder to subsequent generations of bygone times.

But it was the organ with incredible acoustic power that made the cathedral a real attraction. Great composers-virtuosos wrote their works especially for this majestic organ and gave concerts there, in the cathedral.

Thanks to the assonances and dissonances that V.P. Astafiev skillfully uses at the beginning of the story, the reader can feel himself in his place.
Organ melodies, compared with the thunder and the rumble of waves, with the sounds of a harpsichord and a resounding stream, reach us seemingly through space and time ...
The writer tries to compare the sounds of the organ with his thoughts. He understands that all those terrible memories, pain, grief, worldly vanity and endless problems - all disappeared in an instant. The sound of the organ has such a majestic power.

"Dome Cathedral" is rightfully one of his deepest philosophical works.

The image of loneliness and soul in the story

Loneliness is not a fact, but a state of mind. And if a person is lonely, then even in society he will continue to consider himself so. Organ music sounds through the lines of the work, and the lyric hero suddenly realizes that all those people - evil, kind, old and young - have all disappeared. He feels in a crowded hall only himself and no one else ...
And then, like a bolt from the blue, the hero is pierced by a thought: he realizes that at this very moment someone, perhaps, is trying to destroy this cathedral. Endless thoughts swarm in his head, and the soul healed by the sounds of the organ is ready to die overnight for this divine melody.

The music stopped sounding, but left an indelible imprint on the soul and heart of the author. He, being impressed, analyzes every sound that sounded and cannot help but say “thank you” to him.

The lyrical hero received healing from the accumulated problems, grief and the killing bustle of the big city.

Genre "Dome Cathedral"

What else can you say about the story "Dome Cathedral" (Astafiev)? It is difficult to define the genre of the work, because it has the designations of several genres. "Dome Cathedral" is written in the genre of an essay, reflecting the inner state of the author, impressions from one life event. For the first time Viktor Astafiev published "The Dome Cathedral" in 1971. The story was included in the cycle "Zatesi".

"Dome Cathedral": composition plan

The Dome Cathedral is the abode of music, silence and peace of mind.

An atmosphere filled with music that evokes many associations.

Only the sounds of music can so subtly and deeply touch the strings of the human soul.

Getting rid of the burden, mental heaviness and accumulated negativity under the influence of a miraculous medicine.

Gratitude of the lyric hero for healing.

Finally

It is worth noting that the author, undoubtedly, has a subtle mental organization, because not everyone will be able to feel the music so much, heal under its influence and with subtle tender words convey their inner state to the reader. Victor Astafiev as a phenomenon of our time deserves respect. And by all means, everyone should read the work of Viktor Astafiev "The Dome Cathedral".