Zoshchenko's story "Meeting" was published in 1928 in the book "Days of Our Life", published in the library of the magazine "Begemot".

Literary direction and genre

Mikhail Zoshchenko is a realist writer. His tiny stories reveal the characters of simple, artless Soviet people, to whom the writer treats very warmly. In this story, the hero-narrator is subjected to satirical ridicule: he is selfish and cowardly, does not believe in the best human qualities. Of course, the criticism is not directed at the "little man", but at the system that cripples souls. On the other hand, using the example of a fellow traveler, the writer shows that a person cannot be spoiled if he does not want to.

Problematic

In the story "Meeting" Zoshchenko raises the problem of human disinterestedness. His hero doubts the existence of such, but the author himself does not doubt. For the author, the problem is that others are suspected of bad qualities by those who themselves have them.

In the story, Zoshchenko explores the nature of the appearance of complexes in "little people", tries to understand why bad and good people "turn out", how positive and negative qualities are formed.

Heroes of the story

The narrator in this work is not the same as the author. Moreover, the author does not sympathize with his hero. The personality of the narrator should have caused disgust and indignation in the reader. But the author awakens this feeling gradually.

The narrator's first statement about his love for people should have attracted the reader to him. The claim that the narrator did not see unselfish people is controversial and requires proof. At the beginning of the story, the narrator behaves naturally: he admires the Crimean beauties, languishes from the heat.

The reader is even ready to forgive the narrator for unwillingness to meet with a passer-by on a deserted road. And yet, there is already something unattractive in this fact: the narrator is somehow overly cautious. First of all, he thinks: “You never know what happens. I will tempt a lot. " It seems that the narrator himself is afraid to be seduced. In the future, he shows cowardice, running away from a lonely person. The narrator stops from exhaustion, and not at all because he hears a word with which the robber would hardly have addressed: “Stop! Comrade!"

The second hero of the story is truly an altruist, an unselfish person. The reader does not doubt this, unlike the hero-narrator. The reader sees the fellow traveler through the eyes of the narrator. This man is not dressed richly, he has sandals on his feet, and "instead of a shirt there is a net." Later it turns out that the narrator's interlocutor is a "food worker", that is, he works in the food industry. Obviously, he is local, which is why he uses the net as his clothes. He opposes himself to tourists who "are always confused here."

The only benefit that the "food worker" gets, catching up with the narrator on the hot highway, is a cigarette. There is also an intangible benefit - it's more fun to walk together.

Both of these benefits, obviously, are not considered by the disinterested fellow traveler-food worker who runs after a stranger only because it is “hard to look” as he is going in the wrong direction.

On the other hand, the narrator is capable of evaluating a person only from the point of view of benefit. After all, the runner suffered a loss, not to mention the fact that he was going in the wrong direction: he ran, gasped, flapped his sandals.

The main character has not yet seen a disinterested person, so this thought torments him later, when he returns to Leningrad.

Both heroes are simple people, "little people", as evidenced by their speech, equally incorrect, full of vernacular: the dog knows him, the bastard, he became attached, instead, shashe (highway), always, whole, shoot a cigarette. But the narrator treats the fellow traveler with some disdain. He already knows the word "highway" and other clever words - "panorama", "sympathy".

The narrator's speech is poor, there are not enough words even to describe the Crimean nature: the blue sea, the devil's mountains, eagles fly, ships float, unearthly beauty.

Plot and composition

The story describes one event in the hero's life - a meeting with the only, from his point of view, unselfish person, "a bright personality." About a third of the short story is devoted to the reasoning about this meeting.

The story begins with a statement from the narrator: "I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much." The reader assumes that the narrator is an open and sincere person. But all further narration contradicts this assumption. Some researchers even believe that the author's own voice sounds in the first sentence.

The narrator, resting in the Crimea, meets a random passer-by on the way from Yalta to Alupka. He runs away, fearing to run into a stranger in the wilderness. A passer-by stubbornly pursues the narrator for the sole purpose of communicating a shorter and shader road.

The story ends, as it began, with arguments about disinterestedness, in which the narrator does not fully believe.

Artistic identity

In a tiny story, the hero managed to fit three voices at once - the author, the narrator and the fellow traveler. Each of them is recognizable. The author represents the highest justice, he is an inquiring voice, seeking disinterested people. The narrator tries his best to be good as he understands it. But his aspirations seem insincere. So, the beautiful landscape quickly ceases to interest him. The narrator discovers fears and doubts that torment him and destroy spiritual harmony. The "food worker" is more harmonious. Despite poverty and illiteracy, he is internally free. This is Zoshchenko's favorite type of people who preserve nobility and remain "bright personalities" regardless of the circumstances.

A very funny story happened to me on transport this fall.

I went to Moscow. From Rostov. Here comes the mail-passenger train at six forty-five in the evening.

I'm getting on this train.

There are not so many ugly people. Even, in extreme cases, you can sit down.

Please make room. I sit down.

And now I look at my fellow travelers.

And the thing, I say, is in the evening. Not that dark, but a bit dark. Generally twilight. And they don't give fire yet. Save wires.

So, I look at the surrounding passengers and I see that the company has come together quite nice. They are all, I see, nice, not inflated people.

One such without a hat, long-maned subject, but not a pop. Such an intellectual in general in a black jacket.

Next to him - in Russian boots and a uniform cap. Such a mustachioed man. Not an engineer. Maybe he is a zoological caretaker or an agronomist. Only, you see, a very sympathetic soul man. He holds a penknife with his handles and with this knife he cuts Antonov's apple into pieces and feeds his other neighbor, the armless one. Such a man next to him, I see, an armless citizen is traveling. Such a young proletarian guy. Without both hands. Probably a disabled worker. It's a pity to see.

But he eats with such an appetite. And, since he has no hands, he cuts him into slices and feeds him into his mouth at the tip of a knife.

Such, I see, a humane picture. A plot worthy of Rembrandt.

And opposite them sits a middle-aged gray-haired man in a black cap. And all he, this man, grins.

Maybe they had some funny conversation before me. Only to see, this passenger still cannot cool down and still laughs at times: "heh" and "heh".

And it was not this gray-haired man who intrigued me very much, but the one who was armless.

And I look at him with civil grief, and I am very tempted to ask how he got so goofed and on what he lost his limbs. But it's embarrassing to ask.

I think I'll get used to the passengers, I'll talk and then ask.

He began to ask extraneous questions to the mustachioed subject as more responsive, but he answers gloomily and reluctantly.

Only suddenly the first intelligent man with long hair gets involved in a conversation with me.

Something he turned to me, and we struck up a conversation with him on various easy topics: where are you going, how much cabbage and whether you have a housing crisis today.

He says: - We do not have a housing crisis. Moreover, we live in our estate, in the estate.

And what, - I say, - do you have a room or a doghouse there? - No, - he says, - why the room. Take it higher. I have nine rooms, not counting, of course, human rooms, sheds, latrines, and so on.

I say: - Maybe you're lying? Well, - I say, - you were not evicted during the revolution, or is it a state farm? - No, - he says, - this is my family estate, a mansion. Yes you, - he says, - come to me. I sometimes arrange evenings. All around me fountains are splashing. Symphony orchestras are playing waltzes.

What are you, - I say, - I'm sorry, will you be a tenant or are you a private person? - Yes, - he says, - I am a private person. I am, by the way, a landowner.

That is, - I say, - how you, excuse me, to understand? Are you a former landowner? That is, - I say, - "the proletarian revolution swept away your category. I, - I say, - I apologize, I cannot understand something in this matter. We, I say, have a social revolution, socialism - what landlords we can have.

But, - he says, - they can. Here, - he says, - I am a landowner. I, - he says, - managed to survive through your entire revolution. And, - he says, - I spit on everyone - I live like a god. And I don't care about your social revolutions.

I look at him in amazement and just don't understand what's what. He says: - Yes, you come - you will see. Well, if you want, we’ll come and see me now. Very, - he says, - you will meet a luxurious lordly life. Let's go. You will see.

“What the hell,” I think. Should I go, perhaps, to see how he survived through the proletarian revolution? Or he is breaking. "

Moreover, I see - the gray-haired man laughs. Everyone laughs: "he-e" and "he-e".

Only I wanted to reprimand him for his inappropriate laugh, and the mustachioed man, who used to chop the apple, put his penknife on the table, devoured the leftovers, and said to me quite loudly: “Stop talking to him. It's mental. Can't you see? Then I looked at the whole honest company and saw - my priests! Why, these are really crazy people who travel with a watchman. And the one with the long hair is crazy. And who laughs all the time. And the armless one too. He's just wearing a straitjacket - his arms are twisted. And you can't tell right away that he is with his hands. In a word, they are crazy. And this mustache is their watchman. He transports them.

I look at them with concern and am nervous - I also think, damn them, they will strangle them, since they are mental and are not responsible for their actions.

Only suddenly I see - one abnormal, with a black beard, my neighbor, looked with his sly eye at a penknife and suddenly carefully takes it in his hand.

Then my heart skipped a beat, and the frost passed over my skin. In one second I jumped up, leaned on the bearded man and began to take the knife away from him.

And he is showing desperate resistance to me. And it just strives to bite me with its rabid teeth.

Only suddenly the mustachioed watchman pulls me back. He says: - Why are you leaning on them, as you, really, are not ashamed. This is their knife. This is not a psychic passenger. These three are - yes, my psychics. And this passenger just rides like you. We borrowed a knife from them - we asked. This is their knife. Shame on you! Whom I crushed, he says: - I gave them a knife, they also attack me. Suffocated by the throat. Thank you thank you. What strange things on their part. Yes, maybe this is also mental. Then, if you are a watchman, you have a better look after him. Avon swoops in - strangles by the throat.

The watchman says: - Maybe he is also psychic. The dog will take it apart. Only he is not from my party. Why would I look after him in vain. There is nothing to indicate to me. I know my own.

I say to the strangled one: - I'm sorry, I thought you were crazy too.

You, - he says, - thought. They think Indian roosters ... A little bit, you bastard, did not strangle you by the throat. Can't you see, you know, their crazy look and mine - natural.

No, I say, I don’t see. On the contrary, - I say, - you, too, have some kind of dullness in your eyes, and your beard grows with a jab, like that of an abnormal.

One psychic - this very landowner - says: - And you pull his beard - so he will stop talking abnormalities.

The bearded man wanted to shout the guard, but then we arrived at the Igren station, and our psychics with their guide left.

And they left in a fairly strict order. The armless one had just been nudged slightly.

And then the conductor told us that at this station Igren there is a house for the mentally ill, where such psychics are often taken. And what, how else to transport them? Not in a dog warmer, though. There is nothing to be offended.

Actually, I am not offended. It was stupid, of course, that he started talking like a fool, but nothing! But whom I crushed, he was really offended. He looked at me gloomily for a long time and watched my movements with dismay. And then, not expecting anything good from me, he moved with things to another department.

Please.

I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much.

Others, you know, waste their sympathy on dogs. They bathe them and drive them on chains. And somehow a person is nicer to me.

However, I cannot lie: for all my ardent love, I have not seen disinterested people.

One, it was, a boy with a bright personality flashed through my life. And even now I am in deep thought about him. I can't decide what he thought then. The dog knows what his thoughts were when he was doing his selfless deed.

And I, you know, walked from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. On the highway. I was in Crimea this year. In a rest house.

So I go on foot. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. The ships are sailing. To the right are the devilish mountains. The eagles flutter. Beauty, one might say, is unearthly.

One thing is bad - it's impossible to get hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama. And the dust on my teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue. And the devil knows how much before Alupka. Maybe ten miles. I'm not really glad I came out.

He walked another mile. I'm worn out. I sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Maybe five hundred steps.

And all around, of course, is deserted. Not a soul. Eagles fly.

I didn't think anything thin then. But still, for all my love for people, I do not like to meet with them in a deserted place. You never know what happens. There is a lot of temptation.

I got up and went. Walked a little, turned around - a man was following me. Then I went faster, - he seemed to be pushing too.

I go, I don't look at the Crimean nature. If only, I think, we could reach Alupka alive. I turn around. I looked - he was waving his hand to me. I also waved my hand to him. Say, leave me alone, do mercy.

I hear screaming something. Here, I think, you bastard, got attached! Hodko walked forward. I hear screaming again. And runs behind me.

Despite the fatigue, I also ran. I ran a little - I choke.

I hear shouts:

- Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I’m standing.

A poorly dressed man comes running up to me. In sandals. And instead of shirts - mesh.

- What do you want, I say?

- Nothing, - he says, - it is not necessary. And I see - you are not going there. Are you in Alupka?

- To Alupka.

- Then, - he says, - you don't need a checker. You give a huge hook on the saber. Tourists are always confused here. And here you have to go along the path. Four miles of benefits. And there are many shadows.

- No, - I say, - thank you merci. I'll go on the highway.

- Well, - he says, - as you wish. And I'm on the path.

He turned and walked back. After says:

- Is there a cigarette, comrade? Hunt smoke.

I gave him a cigarette. And immediately somehow we met and became friends. And we went together. Along the path.

He turned out to be a very nice person. Food worker. All the way he laughed at me.

- Straight, - he says, - it was hard to look at you. Goes wrong. Let me, I think, I will. And you are running. Why did you run?

- Yes, - I say, - why not run.

Imperceptibly, along a shady path, we came to Alupka and here we said goodbye.

I spent the whole evening thinking about this foodie.

The man ran, gasped, flapping his sandals. And for what? To tell where I need to go. This was very noble of him.

Now, returning to Leningrad, I think: the dog knows him, or maybe he really wanted to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot a cigarette at me. So he ran. Or, perhaps, he was bored to walk - he was looking for a fellow traveler.

Zoshchenko meeting summary All our dignity lies in thought. It is not space and not time, which we cannot fill, that elevate us, but it is she, our thought. Let us learn to think well: this is the basic principle of morality. Mikhail Mikhailovich Zoshchenko was the son of a hereditary nobleman, artist Mikhail Ivanovich Zoshchenko and Elena Iosifovna, who was fond of acting and literature before marriage. The future writer and satirist was born on August 10, 1894 in St. Petersburg. From an early age, the boy, echoing his mother, became interested in literature. The first "attempts at writing", as Zoshchenko himself recalls, were made at the age of seven, and the first story "Coat" appeared already in 1907. Zoshchenko meeting a summary After graduating from high school in 1913, Mikhail Mikhailovich enters the law faculty of St. Petersburg University, but without even completing his first year, he volunteers for the front. During the First World War, Zoshchenko commanded a battalion, became a Knight of the Order of St. George, was wounded, and also poisoned by enemy gases, which led to serious heart disease. Returning to St. Petersburg, Zoshchenko will write a number of stories ("Bourgeoisie", "Marusya", "Neighbor", etc.) After the revolution, Mikhail Mikhailovich took the side of the Bolsheviks. The beginning of the 1920s was the most difficult period in his life for the writer. Wounds and heart disease made themselves felt. The poor state of health was aggravated by the constant search for income. During this period, Zoshchenko changed several specialties, ranging from a shoemaker and an actor to a policeman. Nevertheless, his literary life during this period was in full swing. In 1919, Zoshchenko attends creative lectures conducted by K.I. Chukovsky. In the same period he wrote the first published stories: "War", "Fish Female", "Love", etc. After their release, Zoshchenko gained immense popularity among Soviet citizens. His stories were read at work, at home, he was quoted, turning some of his lines into "catch phrases." Having received thousands of letters from fans, Zoshchenko comes up with the idea to combine all these letters into one book, in which, as it seemed to him, he will be able to show a true "living" country, with its various thoughts and experiences. But the book, published in 1929, did not cause any emotions among the readers, except for disappointment, since they once again expected something funny and interesting from Zoshchenko. In the 1930s, the writer travels around the Soviet Union, sees how prisoners are treated in the camps, which leaves a strong imprint on Zoshchenko's vulnerable psyche. Zoshchenko meeting a summary In order to get rid of the oppressive feeling, Mikhail Mikhailovich writes "Returned youth", hang, after which he publishes the work "Blue Book" in 1935. The last work causes a storm of negative reviews in the highest circles, which makes the writer understand that he should not go beyond the permissible limits. Since that time, Zoshchenko's creativity is expressed only by publications in the children's editions "The Hedgehog" and "Chizh". After the government decree of 1946, Zoshchenko, like many of his other talented contemporaries, began to persecute in every possible way, which leads to an exacerbation of his mental illness, preventing Mikhail Mikhailovich from working normally. The beloved satirist of Soviet citizens died in July 1958. Zoshchenko meeting a summary Let a person have no benefit to lie - this does not mean that he is telling the truth: they lie simply in the name of a lie.

Zoshchenko - Meeting 1

I'll tell you frankly: I love people very much. Others, you know, waste their sympathy on dogs. They bathe them and drive them on chains. And somehow a person is nicer to me.

However, I cannot lie: for all my ardent love, I have not seen disinterested people.

One was a lad with a bright personality flashed in my life. And even now I am in deep thought about him. I can't decide what he thought then. The dog knows what his thoughts were when he was doing his selfless deed.

And I, you know, walked from Yalta to Alupka. On foot. On the highway.

I was in Crimea this year. In a rest house. So I go on foot. I admire the Crimean nature. To the left, of course, is the blue sea. The ships are sailing. To the right are the devilish mountains. The eagles flutter. Beauty, one might say, is unearthly.

One thing is bad - it's impossible to get hot. Through this heat, even beauty does not come to mind. You turn away from the panorama.

And the dust on my teeth creaks.

He walked seven miles and stuck out his tongue.

And the devil knows how much to get to Alupka. Maybe ten miles. I'm not really glad I came out.

He walked another mile. I'm worn out. I sat down on the road. Sitting. Resting. And I see a man walking behind me. Maybe five hundred steps.

And all around, of course, is deserted. Not a soul. Eagles fly.

I didn’t think anything thin then. But still, with all my love for people, I do not like to meet them in a deserted place. You never know what happens. There is a lot of temptation.

I got up and went. Walked a little, turned around - a man was following me.

Then I went faster, - he seemed to be pushing too.

I go, I do not look at the Crimean nature. If only, I think, we could reach Alupka alive.

I turn around. I looked - he was waving his hand to me. I waved my hand to him too. Say, leave me alone, do mercy.

I hear screaming something.

Here, I think, you bastard, got attached!

Hodko walked forward. I hear it screaming again. And runs behind me.

Despite the fatigue, I also ran.

I ran a little - I choke.

I hear, shouts:

Stop! Stop! Comrade!

I leaned against the rock. I’m standing.

A poorly dressed man comes running up to me. In sandals. And instead of shirts - mesh.

What do you want, I say?

Nothing, he says, is not necessary. And I see - you are going in the wrong place. Are you in Alupka?

To Alupka.

Then, he says, you don't need a checker. You give a huge hook on the saber. Tourists are always confused here. And here you have to go along the path. Four miles of benefits. And there are many shadows.

No, I say, thank you merci. I'll go on the highway.

Well, he says whatever you want. And I'm on the path. He turned and walked back. After says:

Is there a cigarette, comrade? Hunt smoke.

I gave him a cigarette. And immediately somehow we met and became friends. And we went together. Along the path.

He turned out to be a very nice person. Food worker. All the way he laughed at me.

Directly, he says, it was hard to look at you. Goes wrong. Let me, I think, I will. And you are running. Why did you run?

Yes, I say, why not run.

Imperceptibly, along a shady path, we came to Alupka and here we said goodbye.

I spent the whole evening thinking about this foodie.

The man ran, gasped, flapping his sandals. And for what? To tell me where to go. This was very noble of him.

And now, returning to Leningrad, I think: the dog knows him, or maybe he really wanted to smoke? Maybe he wanted to shoot a cigarette at me. So he ran. Or maybe he was bored to walk - he was looking for a fellow traveler. I don’t know.

You have read the story Meeting 1 Mikhail Zoshchenko.