Essay Turgenev I.S. Affirmation of eternal values ​​in the novel "Fathers and Sons" Characteristics given by other heroes

The work of the great Russian writer Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev is a hymn to high, inspired, poetic love. Suffice it to recall the novels “Rudin” (1856), “The Noble Nest” (1859), “On the Eve” (1860), the stories “Asya” (1858), “First Love” (1860) and many other works. Love in the eyes of Turgenev is, first of all, mysterious: “There are such moments in life, such feelings... You can only point to them and pass by,” we read at the end of the novel “The Noble Nest.” At the same time, Turgenev considered the ability to love to be a measure of human value. This conclusion fully applies to the novel “Fathers and Sons.”

Love plays a significant role in the life of Nikolai Petrovich Kirsanov. Having married immediately after the death of his parents, Nikolai Petrovich completely surrenders to the peaceful flow of village life. “Ten years passed like a dream.” The death of his wife is a terrible blow for Nikolai Petrovich. “He barely endured this blow, turning gray in a few weeks; I was about to go abroad to disperse at least a little... but then the year 1948 came.”

Nikolai Petrovich’s relationship with Fenechka is much calmer, “...she was so young, so lonely; Nikolai Petrovich himself was so kind and modest... There is nothing else to say...” Fenechka attracts Kirsanov precisely with her youth and beauty.

Turgenev also leads Pavel Petrovich Kirsanov through trials of love. The meeting with Princess R. at the ball dramatically changed the hero’s life.

Pavel Petrovich is unable to resist his feeling. Let's observe the relationship between Kirsanov and Princess R. “It was hard for Pavel Petrovich when Princess R. loved him; but when she lost interest in him, and this happened quite quickly, he almost went crazy. He was tormented and jealous... followed her everywhere... retired...” Unrequited love completely unsettles Pavel Petrovich. “Ten years have passed... colorless, barren and quickly, terribly quickly.” The news of the death of Princess R. forces Pavel Petrovich to leave everything and settle on the family estate, “... having lost his past, he lost everything.” The duel with Bazarov over Fenichka speaks, of course, not about the strength of Kirsanov’s feelings, but about petty jealousy and the desire to avenge defeat in an argument. But can we say that the “old men” Kirsanovs did not pass the test of love? It seems to me that it is impossible. The feeling of love is too strong and complex!

In Arkady Kirsanov's judgments about love, the influence of Bazarov is felt. Like his “teacher,” the younger Kirsanov considers love “nonsense,” “nonsense,” “romanticism.” However, real life quickly puts everything in place. Meeting Anna Sergeevna Odintsova makes Arkady feel like a “schoolboy”, a “student” next to her. “On the contrary, with Katya Arkady was at home...” Young Kirsanov, in the words of Bazarov, was not created for a “tart, bobbly life.” Arkady's fate is typical. Having married Katerina Sergeevna, he becomes a “zealous owner.” “Katerina Sergeevna’s son Kolya was born, and Mitya is already running around like a charmer and chatting eloquently.” Arkady's interests are confined to a close circle of family and economic concerns.

Let us now try to find out what love means in Bazarov’s life, because the young nihilist denies all “romantic feelings.” However, Bazarov is “far from being a misogynist.” He was “a great hunter of women and female beauty, but he called love in the ideal sense, or, as he put it, romantic, nonsense, unforgivable foolishness...” Fenichka attracts Bazarov with the same things that attract the Kirsanov brothers - youth, purity, spontaneity . The duel with Pavel Petrovich occurs at the moment when Bazarov experiences passion for Odintsova. It turns out that Bazarov does not love Fenechka, he experiences a purely instinctive attraction to her. The relationship with Odintsova is a different matter. “He liked Odintsova: the widespread rumors about her, the freedom and independence of her thoughts, her undoubted disposition towards him - everything seemed to speak in his favor; but he soon realized that with her “you won’t get any sense,” and, to his amazement, he did not have the strength to turn away from her.” Turgenev depicts the hero's internal struggle with himself. This is precisely the explanation for Bazarov’s ostentatious cynicism. “Such a rich body! At least now to the anatomical theater,” he says about Odintsova. Meanwhile, Arkady notices unusual excitement in his friend and teacher, even timidity in his relationship with Odintsova. Bazarov’s feelings are not only physical passion, it is love, “...he could easily cope with his blood, but something else took possession of him, which he never allowed, which he always mocked, which outraged all his pride.” .

Bazarov's struggle with his feelings is initially doomed to failure. With his novel, the writer affirms the eternal values ​​of love, beauty, art, and nature. During a meeting with Odintsova, Bazarov suddenly feels the stunning beauty and mystery of the summer night, “... through the occasionally fluttering curtain, the irritable freshness of the night poured in, its mysterious whispering could be heard. Odintsova did not move a single member, but a secret excitement gradually took hold of her... It was communicated to Bazarov. He suddenly felt alone with a young, beautiful woman...” “Love” and “romanticism,” at which Bazarov laughed so caustically, enter his soul. Evgeniy sees perfectly well that Odintsova has “frozen” herself too much, that she very highly values ​​her own calmness and measured order of life. The decision to part with Anna Sergeevna leaves a heavy mark on Bazarov’s soul. Saying goodbye to Odintsova before his death, Turgenev’s hero talks about his high destiny, about tragic loneliness, about Russia. Confessional words! Such things are said only in front of a priest or the closest person... Bazarov's death testifies to his originality. “To die the way Bazarov died is the same as having accomplished a great feat...” (Pisarev).

Thus, both in the life of the Kirsanov brothers and in the life of the nihilist Bazarov, love plays a tragic role. And yet the strength and depth of Bazarov’s feelings do not disappear without a trace. At the end of the novel, Turgenev draws the grave of the hero and “two already decrepit old men” who come to it. But this is love! “Isn’t love, holy, devoted love, omnipotent? Oh no! No matter how passionate, sinful, rebellious the heart may be hidden in the grave, the flowers growing on it serenely look at us with their innocent eyes: they tell us not only about eternal peace, about that great peace of “indifferent” nature; they also talk about eternal reconciliation and endless life...” This is the philosophical ending of the novel “Fathers and Sons.” The main result of Bazarov’s life lies in the fact that the hero was able, albeit for a short time, to awaken immediate feelings in those who are cold by nature, like Odintsova. Bazarov leaves love in the world, not hatred or nihilism. That’s why Turgenev’s words “about eternal reconciliation and endless life...” are so appropriate at the end of the novel.

The work of the great Russian writer Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev is a hymn to high, inspired, poetic love. Suffice it to recall the novels “Rudin” (1856), “The Noble Nest” (1859), “On the Eve” (1860), the stories “Asya” (1858), “First Love” (1860) and many other works. Love in the eyes of Turgenev is, first of all, mysterious: “There are such moments in life, such feelings... You can only point to them and pass by,” we read at the end of the novel “The Noble Nest.” At the same time, Turgenev considered the ability to love to be a measure of human value. This conclusion fully applies to the novel “Fathers and Sons.”

Love plays a significant role in the life of Nikolai Petrovich Kirsanov. Having married immediately after the death of his parents, Nikolai Petrovich completely surrenders to the peaceful flow of village life. “Ten years passed like a dream.” The death of his wife is a terrible blow for Nikolai Petrovich. “He barely endured this blow, turning gray in a few weeks; I was about to go abroad to disperse at least a little... but then the year 1948 came.”

Nikolai Petrovich’s relationship with Fenechka is much calmer, “...she was so young, so lonely; Nikolai Petrovich himself was so kind and modest... There is nothing else to say...” Fenechka attracts Kirsanov precisely with her youth and beauty.

Turgenev also leads Pavel Petrovich Kirsanov through trials of love. The meeting with Princess R. at the ball dramatically changed the hero’s life.

Pavel Petrovich is unable to resist his feeling. Let's observe the relationship between Kirsanov and Princess R. “It was hard for Pavel Petrovich when Princess R. loved him; but when she lost interest in him, and this happened quite quickly, he almost went crazy. He was tormented and jealous... followed her everywhere... retired...” Unrequited love completely unsettles Pavel Petrovich. “Ten years have passed... colorless, barren and quickly, terribly quickly.” The news of the death of Princess R. forces Pavel Petrovich to leave everything and settle on the family estate, “... having lost his past, he lost everything.” The duel with Bazarov over Fenichka speaks, of course, not about the strength of Kirsanov’s feelings, but about petty jealousy and the desire to avenge defeat in an argument. But can we say that the “old men” Kirsanovs did not pass the test of love? It seems to me that it is impossible. The feeling of love is too strong and complex!

In Arkady Kirsanov's judgments about love, the influence of Bazarov is felt. Like his “teacher,” the younger Kirsanov considers love “nonsense,” “nonsense,” “romanticism.” However, real life quickly puts everything in place. Meeting Anna Sergeevna Odintsova makes Arkady feel like a “schoolboy”, a “student” next to her. “On the contrary, with Katya Arkady was at home...” Young Kirsanov, in the words of Bazarov, was not created for a “tart, bobbly life.” Arkady's fate is typical. Having married Katerina Sergeevna, he becomes a “zealous owner.” “Katerina Sergeevna’s son Kolya was born, and Mitya is already running around like a charmer and chatting eloquently.” Arkady's interests are confined to a close circle of family and economic concerns.

Let us now try to find out what love means in Bazarov’s life, because the young nihilist denies all “romantic feelings.” However, Bazarov is “far from being a misogynist.” He was “a great hunter of women and female beauty, but he called love in the ideal sense, or, as he put it, romantic, nonsense, unforgivable foolishness...” Fenichka attracts Bazarov with the same things that attract the Kirsanov brothers - youth, purity, spontaneity . The duel with Pavel Petrovich occurs at the moment when Bazarov experiences passion for Odintsova. It turns out that Bazarov does not love Fenechka, he experiences a purely instinctive attraction to her. The relationship with Odintsova is a different matter. “He liked Odintsova: the widespread rumors about her, the freedom and independence of her thoughts, her undoubted disposition towards him - everything seemed to speak in his favor; but he soon realized that with her “you won’t get any sense,” and, to his amazement, he did not have the strength to turn away from her.” Turgenev depicts the hero's internal struggle with himself. This is precisely the explanation for Bazarov’s ostentatious cynicism. “Such a rich body! At least now to the anatomical theater,” he says about Odintsova. Meanwhile, Arkady notices unusual excitement in his friend and teacher, even timidity in his relationship with Odintsova. Bazarov’s feelings are not only physical passion, it is love, “...he could easily cope with his blood, but something else took possession of him, which he never allowed, which he always mocked, which outraged all his pride.” .

Bazarov's struggle with his feelings is initially doomed to failure. With his novel, the writer affirms the eternal values ​​of love, beauty, art, and nature. During a meeting with Odintsova, Bazarov suddenly feels the stunning beauty and mystery of the summer night, “... through the occasionally fluttering curtain, the irritable freshness of the night poured in, its mysterious whispering could be heard. Odintsova did not move a single member, but a secret excitement gradually took hold of her... It was communicated to Bazarov. He suddenly felt alone with a young, beautiful woman...” “Love” and “romanticism,” at which Bazarov laughed so caustically, enter his soul. Evgeniy sees perfectly well that Odintsova has “frozen” herself too much, that she very highly values ​​her own calmness and measured order of life. The decision to part with Anna Sergeevna leaves a heavy mark on Bazarov’s soul. Saying goodbye to Odintsova before his death, Turgenev’s hero talks about his high destiny, about tragic loneliness, about Russia. Confessional words! Such things are said only in front of a priest or the closest person... Bazarov's death testifies to his originality. “To die the way Bazarov died is the same as having accomplished a great feat...” (Pisarev).

Thus, both in the life of the Kirsanov brothers and in the life of the nihilist Bazarov, love plays a tragic role. And yet the strength and depth of Bazarov’s feelings do not disappear without a trace. At the end of the novel, Turgenev draws the grave of the hero and “two already decrepit old men” who come to it. But this is love! “Isn’t love, holy, devoted love, omnipotent? Oh no! No matter how passionate, sinful, rebellious the heart may be hidden in the grave, the flowers growing on it serenely look at us with their innocent eyes: they tell us not only about eternal peace, about that great peace of “indifferent” nature; they also talk about eternal reconciliation and endless life...” This is the philosophical ending of the novel “Fathers and Sons.” The main result of Bazarov’s life lies in the fact that the hero was able, albeit for a short time, to awaken immediate feelings in those who are cold by nature, like Odintsova. Bazarov leaves love in the world, not hatred or nihilism. That’s why Turgenev’s words “about eternal reconciliation and endless life...” are so appropriate at the end of the novel.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
(1818 – 1883)

Fathers and Sons
Novel

Bazarov returned, sat down at the table and began hastily drinking tea. Both brothers looked at him silently, and Arkady glanced furtively first at his father, then at his uncle.
-Have you walked far from here? – Nikolai Petrovich finally asked.
– Here you have a swamp, near an aspen grove. I drove about five snipes; you can kill them, Arkady.
- Aren’t you a hunter?
- No.
– Are you actually studying physics? – Pavel Petrovich asked, in turn.
– Physics, yes; natural sciences in general.
– They say that the Germans have recently made great progress in this area.
“Yes, the Germans are our teachers in this,” Bazarov answered casually.
Pavel Petrovich used the word Germans instead of Germans for the sake of irony, which, however, no one noticed.
– Do you have such a high opinion of the Germans? – Pavel Petrovich said with exquisite courtesy. He began to feel secretly irritated. His aristocratic nature was outraged by Bazarov's complete swagger. This doctor’s son was not only not timid, he even answered abruptly and reluctantly, and there was something rude, almost impudent, in the sound of his voice.
– The scientists there are efficient people.
- So-so. Well, do you probably have such a flattering idea about Russian scientists?
- Perhaps so.
“This is very commendable self-sacrifice,” said Pavel Petrovich, straightening his waist and throwing his head back. - But how did Arkady Nikolaich tell us just now that you do not recognize any authorities? Don't believe them?
- But why would I recognize them? And what will I believe? They will tell me the case, I agree, that’s all.
– Do the Germans talk the whole story? - said Pavel Petrovich, and his face took on such an indifferent, distant expression, as if he had completely disappeared into some transcendental heights.
“Not everything,” answered Bazarov with a short yawn, who clearly did not want to continue the argument.
Pavel Petrovich looked at Arkady, as if wanting to tell him: “Your friend is polite, I confess.”
“As for me,” he spoke again, not without some effort, “I, a sinful man, have no sympathy for the Germans.” I no longer mention Russian Germans: we know what kind of birds they are. But I don’t like the Germans either. More old ones back and forth; Then they had - well, Schiller there, or something. Goethe... Brother is especially favorable to them... And now all the chemists and materialists have gone...
“A decent chemist is twenty times more useful than any poet,” interrupted Bazarov.
“That’s how it is,” said Pavel Petrovich and, as if falling asleep, raised his eyebrows slightly. – So you don’t recognize art?
– The art of making money, or no more hemorrhoids! - Bazarov exclaimed with a contemptuous grin.
- Yes, yes, yes. This is how you joke. So you reject everything? Let's put it. So you believe in one science?
“I have already reported to you that I don’t believe in anything; and what is science – science in general? There are sciences, just as there are crafts, knowledge; and science does not exist at all.
- Very good, sir. Well, what about other decisions adopted in human life, do you adhere to the same negative direction?
-What is this, an interrogation? - asked Bazarov.
Pavel Petrovich turned slightly pale... Nikolai Petrovich considered it necessary to intervene in the conversation.
– Someday we will talk in more detail about this subject with you, dear Evgeniy Vasilich; We will find out your opinion and express ours. For my part, I am very glad that you are engaged in natural sciences. I heard that Liebig made amazing discoveries about fertilizing fields. You can help me in my agronomic work: you can give me some useful advice.
– I am at your service, Nikolai Petrovich; but where are we from Liebig! First you need to learn the alphabet and then pick up a book, but we haven’t even seen the basics yet.
“Well, I see, you’re definitely a nihilist,” thought Nikolai Petrovich.
“Still, let me come to you if necessary,” he added aloud.
“And now, I think, brother, it’s time for us to go talk to the clerk.”
Pavel Petrovich rose from his chair.
“Yes,” he said, without looking at anyone, “it’s a disaster to live for five years in a village, far from great minds!” You'll just become a fool and a fool. You try not to forget what you were taught, and then - grab it! - it turns out that all this is nonsense, and they tell you that good people don’t bother with such trifles anymore and that you are, supposedly, a retarded cap. What to do! Apparently, young people are definitely smarter than us.
Pavel Petrovich slowly turned on his heels and slowly walked out; Nikolai Petrovich went after him.
- What, is he always like this with you? - Bazarov calmly asked Arkady as soon as the door closed behind both brothers.
“Listen, Evgeny, you’ve already treated him too harshly,” Arkady remarked. -You insulted him.
- Yes, I will spoil them, these district aristocrats! After all, these are all selfish, leonine habits, folly. Well, he would continue his career in St. Petersburg, if he has such a disposition... But by the way, God is with him at all! I found a pretty rare water beetle, Dytiscus marginatus, you know? I'll show it to you.
“I promised to tell you his story,” Arkady began.
- The story of a beetle?
- Well, that's enough, Evgeny. The story of my uncle. You will see that he is not the person you imagine him to be. He is more worthy of pity than ridicule.
- I do not argue; why did you like it so much?
– We must be fair, Evgeniy.
- What does this mean?
- No, listen...
And Arkady told him the story of his uncle. The reader will find it in the next chapter.

Pavel Petrovich was briefly present during his brother’s conversation with the manager, a tall and thin man with a sweet, consumptive voice and roguish eyes, who answered all of Nikolai Petrovich’s remarks: “For mercy, sir, it’s a well-known thing,” and tried to present the men as drunkards and thieves. The newly established household creaked like an unoiled wheel and creaked like homemade furniture made from damp wood. Nikolai Petrovich did not lose heart, but often sighed and thought: he felt that without money the business would not work, and almost all of his money had run out. Arkady told the truth: Pavel Petrovich helped his brother more than once; more than once, seeing how he struggled and racked his brains, trying to figure out how to wriggle out, Pavel Petrovich slowly approached the window and, putting his hands in his pockets, muttered through his teeth: “Mais je puis vous donner de l’argent” (But I I can give you money (French).) - and gave him money; but on that day he himself had nothing, and he chose to retire from the household squabbles, and it constantly seemed to him that Nikolai Petrovich, in spite of everything. all his zeal and hard work, he does not get down to business as he should; although he would not be able to indicate where Nikolai Petrovich is actually wrong. “My brother is not very practical,” he reasoned to himself, “Nikolai is being deceived.” Petrovich, on the contrary, had a high opinion of Pavel Petrovich’s practicality and always asked his advice: “I am a soft, weak person, I spent my life in the wilderness,” he used to say, “and it’s not for nothing that you lived so much with people, you know them well: u. you have an eagle's gaze." Pavel Petrovich, in response to these words, only turned away, but did not dissuade his brother.
Leaving Nikolai Petrovich in the office, he went along the corridor that separated the front part of the house from the back, and, reaching a low door, he stopped in thought, tugged at his mustache and knocked on it.
- Who's there? Come in,” Fenechka’s voice rang out.
“It’s me,” said Pavel Petrovich and opened the door.
Fenechka jumped up from the chair on which she sat with her child, and, passing him into the arms of the girl, who immediately carried him out of the room, hastily straightened her scarf.
“Sorry if I interrupted,” Pavel Petrovich began, without looking at her, “I just wanted to ask you... today, it seems, they are sending to the city... tell me to buy green tea for me.”
“I’m listening, sir,” answered Fenechka, how much would you like to buy?
- Yes, half a pound will be enough, I think. And here, I see, there’s a change,” he added, casting a quick glance around, which glanced across Fenechka’s face. “Here are the curtains,” he said, seeing that she did not understand him.
- Yes, sir, curtains; Nikolai Petrovich granted them to us; Yes, they have been hanged for a long time.
- Yes, and I haven’t been with you for a long time. You are doing very well here now.
“By the grace of Nikolai Petrovich,” Fenechka whispered.
– Are you better here than in your previous outbuilding? – Pavel Petrovich asked politely, but without the slightest smile.
- Of course, it’s better, sir.
– Who has been placed in your place now?
- Now there are laundresses.
- A!
Pavel Petrovich fell silent. “Now he’ll leave,” thought Fenechka, but he didn’t leave, and she stood rooted to the spot in front of him; weakly fingering.
“Why did you tell your little one to be taken out?” – Pavel Petrovich finally spoke. - I love children: show him to me.
Fenechka blushed all over with embarrassment and joy. She was afraid of Pavel Petrovich: he almost never spoke to her.
“Dunyasha,” she called, “bring Mitya (Fenechka told everyone in the house that you did it). Otherwise, wait; I need to put him on a dress.
Fenechka headed towards the door.
“It doesn’t matter,” Pavel Petrovich noted.
“I’ll be there now,” Fenechka answered and quickly left.
Pavel Petrovich was left alone and this time he looked around with special attention. The small, low room in which he was located was very clean and comfortable. It smelled of newly painted floors, chamomile and lemon balm. Along the walls stood chairs with lyre-shaped backs; they were bought by the deceased general in Poland during the campaign; in one corner stood a crib under a muslin canopy, next to a forged chest with a round lid. In the opposite corner a lamp was burning in front of a large dark image of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker; a tiny porcelain egg on a red ribbon hung on the saint's chest, attached to the radiance; on the windows, jars of last year's jam, carefully tied, showed a green light; on their paper lids Fenechka herself wrote in large letters: “laceberry”; Nikolai Petrovich especially loved this jam. Under the ceiling, on a long cord, hung a cage with a short-tailed siskin; he chirped and jumped incessantly, and the cage incessantly swayed and trembled: the hemp grains fell to the floor with a slight thud. In the wall, above a small chest of drawers, hung rather bad photographic portraits of Nikolai Petrovich in different positions, made by a visiting artist; right there hung a photograph of Fenichka herself, which was completely unsuccessful: some eyeless face was smiling tensely in a dark frame - nothing else could be made out; and above Fenechka - Ermolov, in a burka, frowned menacingly at the distant Caucasus Mountains, from under a silk shoe for pins, falling on his very forehead.
Five minutes passed; rustling and whispering were heard in the next room. Pavel Petrovich took a greasy book from the chest of drawers, a scattered volume of Masalsky's Streltsov, and turned a few pages... The door opened and Fenechka came in with Mitya in her arms. She put on him a red shirt with a braid at the collar, combed his hair and wiped his face: he was breathing heavily, thrashing all over his body and twitching his little hands, as all healthy children do; but the smart shirt apparently had an effect on him: an expression of pleasure was reflected throughout his plump figure. Fenechka put her hair in order and put on a better scarf, but she could have stayed as she was. And in fact, is there anything in the world more captivating than a young beautiful mother with a healthy child in her arms?
“What a bummer,” Pavel Petrovich said condescendingly and tickled Mitya’s double chin with the end of a long nail on his index finger; the child stared at the siskin and laughed.
“This is uncle,” said Fenechka, bending her face towards him and shaking it slightly, while Dunyasha quietly placed a lit smoking candle on the window, placing a penny under it.
- How many months is he? – asked Pavel Petrovich.
- Six months; the seventh one is coming soon, on the eleventh.
– Isn’t it the eighth, Fedosya Nikolaevna? – Dunyasha intervened, not without timidity.
- No, the seventh; as possible! - The child laughed again, stared at the chest and suddenly grabbed his mother by the nose and lips with all his fingers. “Pamperer,” said Fenechka, without moving her face from his fingers.
“He looks like his brother,” Pavel Petrovich noted.
“Who should he be like?” – thought Fenechka.
“Yes,” Pavel Petrovich continued, as if speaking to himself, “there is an undeniable similarity.” “He looked at Fenechka carefully, almost sadly.
“This is uncle,” she repeated, now in a whisper.
- A! Paul! that's where you are! – Nikolai Petrovich’s voice suddenly rang out.
Pavel Petrovich hastily turned around and frowned; but his brother looked at him so joyfully, with such gratitude, that he could not help but answer him with a smile.
“You’re a nice little boy,” he said and looked at his watch, “and I stopped by here about tea...
And, adopting an indifferent expression, Pavel Petrovich immediately left the room.
- Did you come in on your own? – Nikolai Petrovich asked Fenechka.
- Sami, sir; knocked and entered.
- Well, haven’t you visited Arkasha anymore?
- Was not. Should I go to the outbuilding, Nikolai Petrovich?
- What is this for?
– I think it wouldn’t be better for the first time.
“N... no,” Nikolai Petrovich said hesitantly and rubbed his forehead. “It should have been before... Hello, bubble,” he said with sudden animation and, approaching the child, kissed him on the cheek; then he bent down a little and put his lips to Fenichka’s hand, which was white as milk on Mitya’s red shirt.
- Nikolai Petrovich! what are you? - she stammered and lowered her eyes, then quietly raised them... The expression of her eyes was charming when she looked as if from under her brows and chuckled affectionately and a little stupidly.
Nikolai Petrovich met Fenechka in the following way. Once, about three years ago, he had to spend the night at an inn in a remote county town. He was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of the room assigned to him and the freshness of the bed linen. “Isn’t the owner here German?” - it occurred to him; but the hostess turned out to be Russian, a woman of about fifty, neatly dressed, with a handsome, intelligent face and sedate speech. He chatted with her over tea; He liked her very much. Nikolai Petrovich at that time had just moved to his new estate and, not wanting to keep serfs with him, was looking for hired ones; the hostess, for her part, complained about the small number of people passing through the city and about difficult times; he invited her to join his house as a housekeeper; she agreed. Her husband died long ago, leaving her with only one daughter, Fenechka. Two weeks later, Arina Savishna (that was the name of the new housekeeper) arrived with her daughter in Maryino and settled in the outbuilding. Nikolai Petrovich’s choice turned out to be successful; Arina brought order to the house. No one spoke about Fenechka, who was already seventeen years old at that time, and few saw her: she lived quietly, modestly, and only on Sundays Nikolai Petrovich noticed in the parish church, somewhere off to the side, the thin profile of her white face. More than a year passed like this.
One morning Arina came to his office and, as usual, bowed deeply and asked him if he could help her daughter, who had gotten a spark from the stove in her eye. Nikolai Petrovich, like all homebodies, was engaged in treatment and even prescribed a homeopathic first aid kit. He immediately ordered Arina to bring the sick woman. Having learned that the master was calling her, Fenechka was very afraid, but she followed her mother. Nikolai Petrovich led her to the window and took her head with both hands. Having carefully examined her red and inflamed eye, he prescribed her a lotion, which he immediately composed himself, and, tearing his handkerchief into pieces, showed her how to apply it. Fenechka listened to him and wanted to leave. “Kiss the master’s hand, silly,” Arina told her. Nikolai Petrovich did not give her his hand and, embarrassed, he himself kissed her bowed head, in the parting. Fenechka's eye soon recovered, but the impression she made on Nikolai Petrovich did not go away soon. He kept imagining this pure, gentle, fearfully raised face; he felt that soft hair under the palms of his hands, saw those innocent, slightly parted lips, from behind which pearly teeth shone moistly in the sun. He began to look at her with great attention in the church and tried to talk to her. At first she was shy of him and one day, before evening, having met him on a narrow path made by pedestrians through a rye field, she walked into the tall, thick rye, overgrown with wormwood and cornflowers, just to avoid catching his eye. He saw her head through the golden net of ears, from where she was looking out like an animal, and affectionately shouted to her:
- Hello, Fenechka! I do not bite.
“Hello,” she whispered, without leaving her ambush.
Little by little she began to get used to him, but was still timid in his presence, when suddenly her mother Arina died of cholera. Where could Fenechka go? She inherited from her mother a love of order, prudence and sedateness; but she was so young, so lonely; Nikolai Petrovich himself was so kind and modest... There’s nothing left to say...
- So your brother came to you? - Nikolai Petrovich asked her. “Did you knock and come in?”
- Yes, sir.
- It's good. Let me rock Mitya.
And Nikolai Petrovich began to throw him almost to the ceiling, to the great pleasure of the baby and to the considerable concern of the mother, who, whenever he took off, stretched out her hands to his exposed legs.
And Pavel Petrovich returned to his elegant office, covered with beautiful wild-colored wallpaper on the walls, with weapons hanging on a colorful Persian carpet, with walnut furniture upholstered in dark green tripe, with a renaissance library (in the style of the Renaissance (French).) from old black oak, with bronze figurines on a magnificent desk, with a fireplace... He threw himself on the sofa, put his hands behind his head and remained motionless, looking almost in despair at the ceiling. Whether he wanted to hide from the very walls what was happening on his face, or for some other reason, he just stood up, unfastened the heavy window curtains and again threw himself on the sofa.

On the same day, Bazarov met Fenechka. He and Arkady walked around the garden and explained to him why other trees, especially oaks, did not grow.
“We need to plant more silver poplars here, and fir trees, and, perhaps, sticky trees, adding to the black soil.” The arbor over there was doing well,” he added, “because the acacia and lilac are good guys and don’t require any care.” Bah, there's someone here.
Fenechka was sitting in the gazebo with Dunyasha and Mitya. Bazarov stopped, and Arkady nodded his head to Fenechka, like an old acquaintance.
- Who is this? - Bazarov asked him as soon as they passed by. - How pretty!
- Who are you talking about?
- We know about whom: only one is pretty.
Arkady, not without confusion, explained to him in short words who Fenechka was.
- Yeah! - said Bazarov, - your father apparently has a good lip. And I like him, your father, yay! He's great. However, we need to get acquainted,” he added and went back to the gazebo.
- Eugene! - Arkady shouted after him with fear, - be careful, for God’s sake.
“Don’t worry,” said Bazarov, “we are a seasoned people, we lived in cities.”
Approaching Fenechka, he threw off his cap.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he began with a polite bow, “Arkady Nikolaevich is a friend and a meek person.”
Fenichka rose from the bench and looked at him in silence.
- What a wonderful child! - continued Bazarov. “Don’t worry, I haven’t jinxed anyone yet.” Why are his cheeks so red? Are teeth coming through?
“Yes, sir,” said Fenechka, “four of his teeth have already erupted, but now his gums are swollen again.”
- Show me... don’t be afraid, I’m a doctor.
Bazarov took the child in his arms, who, to the surprise of both Fenechka and Dunyasha, did not offer any resistance and was not afraid.
- I see, I see... It’s okay, everything’s fine: he’ll be toothy. If anything happens, tell me. Are you healthy yourself?
- Healthy, thank God.
– Thank God - it’s the best. And you? - added Bazarov, turning to Dunyasha.
Dunyasha, a very strict girl in the mansions and a laugher outside the gates, just snorted in response.
- Very well. Here's your hero. Fenechka took the child into her arms.
“How quietly he sat with you,” she said in an undertone.
“All my children sit quietly,” answered Bazarov, “I know such a thing.”
“Children feel who loves them,” Dunyasha noted.
“That’s for sure,” Fenechka confirmed. “Here’s Mitya, he wouldn’t give in to anyone else.”
- Will he come to me? - asked Arkady, who, after standing at a distance for some time, approached the gazebo.
He beckoned Mitya towards him, but Mitya threw his head back and squeaked, which greatly embarrassed Fenechka.
“Another time, when he has time to get used to it,” Arkady said condescendingly, and both friends left.
-What's her name? - asked Bazarov.
“Fenechka... Fedosya,” answered Arkady.
- What about father? You need to know this too.
- Nikolaevna.
– Bene (Good (lat.).). What I like about her is that she doesn't get too embarrassed? Others, perhaps, would condemn this in her. What nonsense? Why be embarrassed? She's a mother - and she's right.
“She’s right,” Arkady noted, “but my father...
“And he’s right,” interrupted Bazarov.
- Well, no, I don’t find it.
– Apparently, we don’t like an extra heir?
“Shame on you for suggesting such thoughts in me!” – Arkady picked up with fervor. – It is not from this point of view that I consider my father wrong; I think he should marry her.
- Hey-hey! - Bazarov said calmly. - We are so generous! You still attach importance to marriage; I didn't expect this from you.
The friends took a few steps in silence.
“I saw all your father’s establishments,” Bazarov began again. - The cattle are bad, and the horses are broken. The buildings have also deteriorated, and the workers look like notorious sloths; and the manager is either a fool or a cheat, I haven’t figured it out well yet.
– You are strict today, Evgeniy Vasilyevich.
“And good men will definitely cheat your father.” You know the saying: “The Russian peasant will eat God.”
“I’m beginning to agree with uncle,” Arkady noted, “you have a decidedly bad opinion of Russians.”
- How important! The only good thing about a Russian person is that he has a very bad opinion of himself. The important thing is that two and two make four, and the rest is all nonsense.
– And nature is nothing? - said Arkady, thoughtfully looking into the distance at the motley fields, beautifully and softly illuminated by the already low sun.
- And nature is trifle in the sense in which you understand it. Nature is not a temple, but a workshop, and man is a worker in it.
The slow sounds of a cello reached them from the house at that very moment. Someone played with feeling, albeit with an inexperienced hand, “Waiting” by Schubert, and a sweet melody spread through the air like honey.
- What's this? - Bazarov said with amazement.
- This is father.
– Does your father play the cello?
- Yes.
- How old is your father?
- Forty four.
Bazarov suddenly burst out laughing.
- Why are you laughing?
- Have mercy! at forty-four years old, a man, pater familias (father of the family (lat.).), in ... the district - plays the cello!
Bazarov continued to laugh; but Arkady, no matter how much he revered his teacher, did not even smile this time.

About two weeks passed. Life in Maryino went on as usual: Arkady was sybaritic, Bazarov was working. Everyone in the house got used to him, to his casual manners, to his unsyllabic and fragmentary speeches. Fenechka, in particular, became so comfortable with him that one night she ordered him to be woken up: Mitya was having convulsions; and he came and, as usual, half joking, half yawning, sat with her for two hours and helped the child. But Pavel Petrovich hated Bazarov with all the strength of his soul: he considered him proud, impudent, cynic, plebeian; he suspected that Bazarov did not respect him, that he almost despised him - him, Pavel Kirsanov! Nikolai Petrovich was afraid of the young “nihilist” and doubted the benefit of his influence on Arkady; but he willingly listened to him, willingly attended his physical and chemical experiments. Bazarov brought a microscope with him and spent hours fiddling with it. The servants also became attached to him, although he made fun of them: they felt that he was still their brother, not a master. Dunyasha willingly giggled with him and glanced sideways at him, running past like a quail; Peter, an extremely proud and stupid man, always with tense wrinkles on his forehead, a man whose whole dignity consisted in the fact that he looked courteous, read the folds and often cleaned his frock coat with a brush - and he grinned and brightened as soon as Bazarov paid attention to him; the yard boys ran after the "doctor" like little dogs. One old man, Prokofich, did not like him, served him food at the table with a sullen look, called him a “knacker” and a “rogue” and assured him that with his sideburns he was a real pig in the bush. Prokofich, in his own way, was an aristocrat no worse than Pavel Petrovich.
The best days of the year have arrived - the first days of June. The weather was fine; True, cholera threatened again from afar, but the inhabitants of the province had already managed to get used to its visits. Bazarov got up very early and went two or three miles away, not to walk - he hated walking without doing anything - but to collect herbs and insects. Sometimes he took Arkady with him. On the way back, they usually got into an argument, and Arkady usually remained defeated, although he spoke more than his comrade.
One day they hesitated for a long time; Nikolai Petrovich went out to meet them in the garden and, reaching the gazebo, suddenly heard quick steps and the voices of both young people. They walked on the other side of the gazebo and could not see him.
“You don’t know your father enough,” said Arkady.
Nikolai Petrovich hid.
“Your father is a kind fellow,” said Bazarov, “but he is a retired man, his song is finished.”
Nikolai Petrovich lowered his ear... Arkady did not answer.
The “retired man” stood motionless for two minutes and slowly trudged home.
“The other day, I see he’s reading Pushkin,” Bazarov continued meanwhile. – Please explain to him that this is no good. After all, he is not a boy: it’s time to quit this nonsense. And I want to be a romantic nowadays! Give him something useful to read.
- What should I give him? – Arkady asked.
– Yes, I think Büchner’s “Stoff und Kraft” (“Matter and Force” (German)) for the first case.
“I think so myself,” Arkady remarked approvingly. – “Stoff und Kraft” is written in popular language...
“That’s how you and I,” Nikolai Petrovich said to his brother that same day after dinner, sitting in his office, “we became retired people, our song is finished.” Well? Maybe Bazarov is right; but, I admit, one thing hurts me: I was hoping right now to get close and friendly with Arkady, but it turns out that I stayed behind, he went forward, and we cannot understand each other.
- Why did he go ahead? And how is he so different from us? – Pavel Petrovich exclaimed impatiently. “This sir, this nihilist, drove it all into his head.” I hate this doctor; in my opinion, he is just a charlatan; I'm sure that with all his frogs he's not far behind in physics.
- No, brother, don’t say that: Bazarov is smart and knowledgeable.
“And what a disgusting pride,” Pavel Petrovich interrupted again.
“Yes,” Nikolai Petrovich noted, “he is proud.” But apparently it’s impossible without this; There’s just something I don’t understand. It seems that I am doing everything to keep up with the times: I organized peasants, started a farm, so that even in the whole province they call me red; I read, I study, in general I try to keep up with modern requirements, but they say that my song is finished. Why, brother, I myself am beginning to think that it is definitely sung.
- Why?
- Here's why. Today I’m sitting and reading Pushkin... I remember, “Gypsies” came across to me... Suddenly Arkady comes up to me and silently, with a kind of gentle regret on his face, quietly, like a child, he took the book from me and put another one in front of me, German... smiled, and left, and took Pushkin away.
- That's how it is! What book did he give you?
- This one.
And Nikolai Petrovich took out the notorious Buchner pamphlet, ninth edition, from the back pocket of his coat. Pavel Petrovich turned it over in his hands.
- Hm! – he mumbled. – Arkady Nikolaevich takes care of your upbringing. Well, have you tried reading?
- I tried it.
- So what?
“Either I’m stupid, or this is all nonsense.” I must be stupid.
– Have you forgotten your German? – asked Pavel Petrovich.
– I understand German.
Pavel Petrovich again turned the book over in his hands and looked at his brother from under his brows. Both were silent.
“Yes, by the way,” Nikolai Petrovich began, apparently wanting to change the conversation. – I received a letter from Kolyazin.
- From Matvey Ilyich?
- From him. He came to *** to inspect the province. He has now become an ace and writes to me that he wants to see us in a kindred way and invites you and Arkady and me to the city.
- You will go? – asked Pavel Petrovich.
- No; And you?
- And I won’t go. You really need to trudge fifty miles to eat jelly. Mathieu wants to show himself to us in all his glory; to hell with him! He will get the provincial incense and will do without ours. And great importance, Privy Councilor! If I had continued to serve, to pull this stupid burden, I would now be an adjutant general. Besides, you and I are retired people.
- Yes bro; Apparently, it’s time to order a coffin and fold the arms in a cross on the chest,” Nikolai Petrovich noted with a sigh.
“Well, I won’t give up so soon,” his brother muttered. – We will still have a fight with this doctor, I foresee it.
The fight took place that same day over evening tea. Pavel Petrovich went into the living room already ready for battle, irritated and determined. He was only waiting for an excuse to attack the enemy; but the pretext did not present itself for a long time. Bazarov generally spoke little in the presence of the “old Kirsanovs” (as he called both brothers), and that evening he felt out of sorts and silently drank cup after cup. Pavel Petrovich was burning with impatience; his wishes finally came true.
The conversation turned to one of the neighboring landowners. “Rubbish, aristocratic,” remarked indifferently Bazarov, who met him in St. Petersburg.
“Let me ask you,” Pavel Petrovich began, and his lips trembled, “according to your concepts, do the words “trash” and “aristocrat” mean the same thing?
“I said: “aristocratic,” said Bazarov, lazily taking a sip of tea.
- Exactly so, sir: but I believe that you have the same opinion about aristocrats as you do about aristocrats. I consider it my duty to tell you that I do not share this opinion. I dare say that everyone knows me as a liberal person who loves progress; but that’s precisely why I respect aristocrats—real ones. Remember, dear sir (at these words, Bazarov raised his eyes to Pavel Petrovich), remember, dear sir,” he repeated with bitterness, “the English aristocrats. They do not give up an iota of their rights, and therefore they respect the rights of others; they demand the fulfillment of duties in relation to them, and therefore they themselves fulfill their duties. The aristocracy gave freedom to England and maintains it.
“We’ve heard this song many times,” objected Bazarov, “but what do you want to prove with this?”
- I want to prove eftim, dear sir (Pavel Petrovich, when angry, said with intent: “eftim” and “efto,” although he knew very well that grammar does not allow such words. This quirk reflected the rest of the legends of Alexander’s time. The then aces , in rare cases, when they spoke their native language, some used - efto, others - ehto: we, they say, are native Russians, and at the same time we are nobles who are allowed to neglect school rules), I want to prove that without feeling self-respect, without self-respect - and in an aristocrat these feelings are developed - there is no solid foundation for a public... bien public (public good (French).), public building. Personality, dear sir, is the main thing: the human personality must be as strong as a rock, for everything is built on it. I know very well, for example, that you deign to find my habits, my toilet, my cleanliness, finally, funny, but this all stems from a sense of self-respect, from a sense of duty, yes, yes, yes, duty. I live in a village, in the middle of nowhere, but I don’t give up on myself, I respect the person in me.
“Excuse me, Pavel Petrovich,” said Bazarov, “you respect yourself and sit with your hands folded; What good is this for the bien public? You wouldn't respect yourself and do the same thing.
Pavel Petrovich turned pale.
– This is a completely different question. I don’t have to explain to you now why I’m sitting with my hands folded, as you deign to put it. I just want to say that aristocracy is a principle, and in our time only immoral or empty people can live without principles. I told this to Arkady the next day of his arrival and I repeat it to you now. Isn't that right, Nikolai?
Nikolai Petrovich nodded his head.
“Aristocracy, liberalism, progress, principles,” Bazarov said meanwhile, “just think, how many foreign... and useless words!” Russian people don’t need them for nothing.
– What do you think he needs? To listen to you, we are outside humanity, outside its laws. For mercy - the logic of history requires...
– What do we need this logic for? We can do without it.
- How so?
- Yes, just like that. I hope you don't need logic to put a piece of bread in your mouth when you're hungry. Where do we care about these abstractions!
Pavel Petrovich waved his hands.
“I don’t understand you after that.” You insult the Russian people. I don’t understand how you can not recognize the principles and rules! Why are you acting?
“I already told you, uncle, that we do not recognize authorities,” Arkady intervened.
“We act because of what we recognize as useful,” said Bazarov. – At the present time, the most useful thing is denial – we deny.
- All?
- All.
- How? not only art, poetry... but also... scary to say...
“That’s it,” Bazarov repeated with inexpressible calm.
Pavel Petrovich stared at him. He did not expect this, and Arkady even blushed with pleasure.
“But excuse me,” Nikolai Petrovich spoke. – You deny everything, or, to put it more precisely, you destroy everything... But you also need to build.
– This is no longer our business... First we need to clear the place.
“The current state of the people requires this,” Arkady added with importance, “we must fulfill these demands, we have no right to indulge in the satisfaction of personal egoism.”
Bazarov apparently did not like this last phrase; she emanated philosophy, that is, romanticism, for Bazarov called philosophy romanticism; but he did not consider it necessary to refute his young student.
- No no! - Pavel Petrovich exclaimed with a sudden impulse, - I don’t want to believe that you, gentlemen, really know the Russian people, that you are representatives of their needs, their aspirations! No, the Russian people are not what you imagine them to be. He sacredly honors traditions, he is patriarchal, he cannot live without faith...
“I won’t argue against this,” Bazarov interrupted, “I’m even ready to agree that you’re right about this.”
- And if I'm right...
“Still, this doesn’t prove anything.”
“It doesn’t prove anything,” Arkady repeated with the confidence of an experienced chess player who foresaw the apparently dangerous move of his opponent and therefore was not at all embarrassed.
- How does it not prove anything? - muttered the amazed Pavel Petrovich. - So you are going against your people?
- And even if it was like that? - exclaimed Bazarov. “The people believe that when thunder roars, it is Elijah the prophet riding across the sky in a chariot. Well? Should I agree with him? And besides, he’s Russian, and isn’t I Russian myself?
- No, you are not Russian after everything you just said! I cannot recognize you as a Russian.
“My grandfather plowed the land,” Bazarov answered with arrogant pride. “Ask any of your men which of us—you or me—he would rather recognize as a compatriot.” You don’t even know how to talk to him.
“And you talk to him and despise him at the same time.”
- Well, if he deserves contempt! You condemn my direction, but who told you that it is accidental in me, that it is not caused by the very spirit of the people in whose name you advocate so much?
- Of course! We really need nihilists!
– Whether they are needed or not is not for us to decide. After all, you also consider yourself not useless.
- Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, no personalities! - Nikolai Petrovich exclaimed and stood up.
Pavel Petrovich smiled and, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, made him sit down again.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will not be forgotten precisely because of that sense of dignity that Mr. ... Mr. Doctor mocks so cruelly.” Excuse me,” he continued, turning again to Bazarov, “perhaps you think that your teaching is new? You are wrong to imagine this. The materialism you preach has been in use more than once and has always proven untenable...
– Again a foreign word! - Bazarov interrupted. He began to get angry, and his face took on a kind of copper and rough color. – First of all, we don’t preach anything; this is not in our habits...
- What are you doing?
- This is what we do. Before, not long ago, we said that our officials take bribes, that we have neither roads, nor trade, nor proper courts...
“Well, yes, yes, you are accusers,” that’s what it’s called, I think. I agree with many of your denunciations, but...
“And then we realized that chatting, just chatting about our ulcers, is not worth the trouble, that it only leads to vulgarity and doctrinaire; we saw that our wise men, the so-called progressive people and exposers, are no good, that we are engaged in nonsense, talking about some kind of art, unconscious creativity, about parliamentarism, about the legal profession and God knows what, when it comes to the urgent ones bread, when the grossest superstition is strangling us, when all our joint-stock companies are bursting solely because there is a shortage of honest people, when the very freedom that the government is fussing about will hardly benefit us, because our peasant is happy to rob himself in order to get drunk on intoxication in a tavern.
“So,” interrupted Pavel Petrovich, “so: you were convinced of all this and decided not to take anything seriously yourself.
“And they decided not to take on anything,” Bazarov repeated gloomily.
He suddenly felt annoyed with himself, why he had made such a fuss in front of this master.
- And just swear?
- And swear.
– And this is called nihilism?
“And this is called nihilism,” Bazarov repeated again, this time with particular insolence.
Pavel Petrovich narrowed his eyes slightly.
- So that’s how it is! – he said in a strangely calm voice. – Nihilism should help all grief, and you, you are our saviors and heroes. But why do you honor others, even the same accusers? Don't you talk like everyone else?
“They are not sinners than other sins,” Bazarov said through clenched teeth.
- So what? Are you acting, or what? Are you going to take action?
Bazarov did not answer. Pavel Petrovich trembled, but immediately controlled himself.
“Hm!.. Act, break...” he continued. – But how can you break it without even knowing why?
“We break because we are strong,” Arkady noted.
Pavel Petrovich looked at his nephew and grinned.
“Yes, the force never gives an account,” said Arkady and straightened up.
- Unhappy! - Pavel Petrovich cried out; he was absolutely not able to hold on any longer - if only you would have thought that in Russia you were supporting you with your vulgar maxim! No, this can drive an angel out of patience! Force! Both the wild Kalmyk and the Mongol have strength - but what do we need it for? We value civilization, yes, yes, dear sir, we value its fruits. And don’t tell me that these fruits are insignificant: the last dirty guy, un barbouilleur, a pianist who gets five kopecks an evening, and those are more useful than you, because they are representatives of civilization, and not brute Mongolian force! You imagine yourself to be advanced people, but all you have to do is sit in a Kalmyk tent! Force! Yes, remember, finally, gentlemen, strong, that you are only four and a half people, and there are millions of those who will not allow you to trample under your feet their most sacred beliefs, which will crush you!
“If they crush you, that’s the way to go,” said Bazarov. “Only grandma said something else.” There are not as many of us as you think.
- How? Are you seriously thinking of getting along, getting along with the whole people?
“As a result of a penny candle, you know, Moscow burned down,” answered Bazarov.
- So-so. First, almost satanic pride, then mockery. This is what young people are passionate about, this is what the inexperienced hearts of boys conquer! Look, one of them is sitting next to you, because he is almost praying for you, admire it. (Arkady turned away and frowned.) And this infection has already spread far. I was told that in Rome our artists never set foot in the Vatican. Raphael is considered almost a fool, because he is supposedly an authority; and they themselves are powerless and sterile to the point of disgusting, and they themselves don’t have enough imagination beyond “The Girl at the Fountain”, no matter what! And the girl is written very badly. In your opinion, they are great, don’t they?
“In my opinion,” objected Bazarov. “Raphael is not worth a penny, and they are no better than him.”
- Bravo! Bravo! Listen, Arkady... this is how modern young people should express themselves! And how, do you think, they won’t follow you! Previously, young people had to study; They didn’t want to be branded as ignorant, so they toiled unwillingly. And now they should say: everything in the world is nonsense! - and the trick is in the bag. The young people were delighted. And in fact, before they were just idiots, but now they suddenly became nihilists.
“So your vaunted self-esteem has betrayed you,” Bazarov remarked phlegmatically, while Arkady flushed and his eyes sparkled. – Our dispute has gone too far... It seems it’s better to stop it. “And then I will be ready to agree with you,” he added, standing up, “when you present me with at least one resolution in our modern life, in family or social life, that would not cause complete and merciless denial.
“I’ll present you with millions of such decisions,” exclaimed Pavel Petrovich, “millions!” Yes, at least the community, for example.
A cold smile curled Bazarov’s lips.
“Well, about the community,” he said, “you’d better talk to your brother.” He now seems to have experienced in practice what a community, mutual responsibility, sobriety and similar things are.
– Family at last, family, the way it exists among our peasants! - Pavel Petrovich shouted.
– And I think it’s better for you not to go into detail about this question. Have you ever heard of daughters-in-law? Listen to me, Pavel Petrovich, give yourself a couple of days, you’ll hardly find anything right away. Go through all our classes and think carefully about each one, while Arkady and I...
“We should mock everyone,” Pavel Petrovich picked up.
- No, cut frogs. Let's go, Arkady; goodbye, gentlemen.
Both friends left. The brothers were left alone and at first only looked at each other.
“Here,” Pavel Petrovich finally began, “here are the youth of today!” These are our heirs!
“Heirs,” Nikolai Petrovich repeated with a sad sigh. Throughout the entire argument, he sat as if on coals and only furtively glanced painfully at Arkady. – Do you know what I remembered, brother? Once I quarreled with my late mother: she screamed, did not want to listen to me... I finally told her that you, they say, cannot understand me; We supposedly belong to two different generations. She was terribly offended, and I thought: what should I do? The pill is bitter - but you have to swallow it. Now it’s our turn, and our heirs can tell us: you’re not of our generation, swallow the pill.
“You are already too complacent and modest,” objected Pavel Petrovich, “on the contrary, I am sure that you and I are much more right than these gentlemen, although we express ourselves, perhaps, in a somewhat outdated language, vieilh, and do not have that daring arrogance ... And these young people today are so inflated! You ask someone else: what kind of wine do you want, red or white? "I have a habit of preferring red!" - he answers in a deep voice and with such an important face, as if the whole universe is looking at him at this moment...
- Would you like some more tea? - said Fenechka, sticking her head through the door: she did not dare to enter the living room while the voices of those arguing were heard in it.
“No, you can order the samovar to be taken,” answered Nikolai Petrovich and rose to meet her. Pavel Petrovich abruptly told him: bon soir (good evening (French).), and went to his office.

1.Details of the portrait of Nikolai Kirsanov:

“...a man of average height, dressed in a dark English suit, a fashionable low tie and patent leather ankle boots... He looked about forty-five years old: his short-cropped gray hair shone with a dark shine, like new silver; His face, bilious, but without wrinkles, unusually regular and clean, as if drawn with a thin and light incisor, showed remarkable features of beauty: his light, black, oblong eyes were especially beautiful. The whole appearance... retained youthful harmony and that desire upward, away from the earth, which for the most part disappears after the twenties”; “a beautiful hand with long pink nails, - a hand that seemed even more beautiful from the snowy whiteness of the sleeve, fastened with a single large opal...”; "fragrant mustache"; "flexible mill"; “beautiful white teeth.”

2. Area of ​​interest:

Memories of Princess R. And her past life, reflections on politics, communication with people in her circle.

3.Hero's story:

“...was brought up first at home... then in the page corps... from childhood he was distinguished by his remarkable beauty... he was self-confident, a little mocking and somehow amusingly bilious - he could not help but like him... became an officer. .. They carried him in their arms... Women went crazy about him, men... envied him... He did not spend a single evening at home, was famous for his courage and dexterity (he introduced gymnastics into fashion among secular youth) and read everything five, six French books. At twenty-eight years of age he was already a captain; a brilliant career awaited him. Suddenly everything changed." He met Princess R. “and fell passionately in love with her.” She loved him, then lost interest in him and went abroad. He resigned and went after her. They became close again, but not for long. She avoided him. He returned to Russia... “like someone poisoned, he wandered from place to place... he no longer expected anything special either from himself or from others and did nothing... Ten years passed in this way, colorless, fruitless and quickly, terribly quickly... She died in Paris... a lonely bachelor, entering that vague, twilight time, a time of regrets similar to hopes, hopes similar to regrets, when youth had passed and old age had not yet come... Having once settled in the village, he never left it... He began to read, more and more in English... he arranged his whole life according to English tastes, rarely saw his neighbors... only occasionally teasing and frightening the old-style landowners with liberal antics and not getting closer to representatives of the new generation.”

4. I am the concept of a hero:

“We, people of the old century, we believe that without principles... accepted... on faith, you cannot take a step or breathe.” “If I had continued to serve, to pull this stupid burden, I would now be an adjutant general.” “Personality... that’s the main thing; the human personality must be strong, like a rock, because everything is built on it... I live in a village, in the wilderness, but I don’t give up on myself, I respect the person in me,” “...aristocratism is a principle, but to live without principles in our time only immoral or empty people can.” “Civilization is dear to us.”

5. Speech characteristics of Pavel Kirsanov:

Unlike Nikolai Petrovich, Pavel Petrovich immediately amazes with his conflict. He was the first to react hostilely to Bazarov’s appearance, emphasizing his foreignness with a contemptuous tone and the term “hairy.” He knows how to be silent, self-absorbed, and even in this state express inner aggressiveness. His unusualness and dissimilarity is expressed not only in his appearance, but also in his speech: he is ironic, likes to use words with an unusual sound (“eftim”, “princip”) and ornate expressions typical of people of his circle, foreign words, can be harsh, self-confident , knows how to hate and defend his rightness. He often thinks and speaks disrespectfully about people (about Bazarov, about Matvey Kolyazin, about today’s youth, he suspects Fenechka). Turgenev characterizes him as follows: “a dapper, dry and passionate, in the French way, misanthropic soul.” He knows how to express his contempt. So, with Bazarov, he “adopted an overly aristocratic appearance and expressed his opinions more in sounds than in words.”

He argues passionately, selflessly, temperamentally. He knows how to be cold and pompous: “Then, dear sir, I can only thank you and return you to your studies.” And although he is not a romantic, he doesn’t read books, he doesn’t quote poetry, but his whole life is a continuous novel: a “lost life”, destroyed by love.

A true gentleman, he is impeccable in everything: when challenging Bazarov to a duel, he is very correct. After the duel, when Bazarov leaves, he wants to be generous - he shakes his hand. He was able to appreciate the courage of the enemy.

The ending of his life completes the logic of his character: he lives in Dresden, communicates with the British - with them he is reserved; with Russians he is bilious, ironic, but everything is within the limits of decency. It makes a little noise - this is the result of life. And this is the verdict.

His speech reveals him to be an unconventional, strong-willed, unyielding person.

6. Characteristics given by other heroes:

Bazarov: “An archaic phenomenon”... “Yes, I will spoil these district aristocrats! After all, these are all selfish, leonine habits, folly”; “old Kirsanovs”... “I called him properly, an idiot”; "Damn Barchuks." Nikolai Petrovich. “My brother is a man of the old school, hot-tempered and stubborn...”

Arkady: “He was a lion in his time... he was handsome, he turned women’s heads... he really is a good person.” “He is more worthy of pity than ridicule,” “...he more than once helped his father out of trouble, gave him all his money... he always stands up for the peasants; True, when talking to them, he winces and sniffs cologne...”; “He has a kind heart. And he is far from stupid."

Neighbours. “Both of them considered him proud, both of them respected him for his excellent, aristocratic manners, for the rumors about his victories; because he dressed beautifully and always stayed in the best room of the best hotel..."

“His aristocratic nature was outraged by Bazarov’s perfect swagger,” “...having lost his past, he lost everything.” “He was not born a romantic, and his foppishly dry and strange, in the French way, misanthropic soul did not know how to dream.” “Yes, he was dead.” “He does everything good as much as he can; he still makes a little noise: it’s not for nothing that he was once a lion; but life is hard for him... It’s worth looking at him in a Russian church, when, leaning aside against the wall, he thinks and does not move for a long time, bitterly clenching his lips, then suddenly comes to his senses, almost imperceptibly, to be baptized...”

8. The fate of the hero:

Went abroad. Lives in Dresden. He gets acquainted more with the British and with passing Russians... “He adheres to Slavophile views... he doesn’t read anything Russian, but on his desk there is a silver ashtray in the shape of a peasant’s bast shoe.”

The comprehensive analysis we carried out helps us understand: the author’s task is not to contrast, but to compare heroes. We see how deeply Turgenev embraces life, we get to know different people, so different from each other. Their life stories and experiences, ages and beliefs are different. These are different fathers and different children. But it is they, their past and present, that explain what is happening in the country: the social explosion, the expectation of reform. We follow the rapid development of the action and observe their lives. Why did Turgenev choose these particular heroes? Why are they all interesting to him? Apparently, their destinies explain to us, the readers, what is important for a person in life, what makes him happy, how to become happy, why people suffer, what prevents them from finding love, understanding, and support. What they believe and what they don't believe. These beliefs make a person happy or, conversely, destroy his life.

The work of the great Russian writer Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev is a hymn to high, inspired, poetic love. Suffice it to recall the novels “Rudin”, “The Noble Nest”, “On the Eve”, the stories “Asya”, “First Love” and many other works. Love in the eyes of Turgenev is, first of all, mysterious and rarely lends itself to rational explanation. “There are such moments in life, such feelings... You can only point to them and pass by,” we read at the end of the novel “The Noble Nest.” At the same time, the writer considered the ability to love to be a measure of human value. This fully applies to the novel “Fathers and Sons.”

Love plays a significant role in the life of Nikolai Petrovich Kirsanov. Having married immediately after the death of his parents, he devoted himself entirely to the peaceful flow of village life. “Ten years have passed like a dream.” The death of his wife is a terrible blow for the hero: the whole world collapsed because the woman who was its center was no longer there. Nikolai Petrovich’s relationship with Fenechka is much calmer: simply “... she was so young, so lonely,” that she aroused compassion and, of course, attracted the aging landowner with her youth and prettiness. It seems obvious to me that the hero had more fatherly feelings for the girl than passion. Having taken the “unequal”, but the mother of his child, as his wife, Nikolai Petrovich committed an act worthy of a man.

Turgenev also leads Pavel Petrovich Kirsanov through trials of love. The meeting with Princess R. at the ball dramatically changed the hero’s life: he is unable to resist his feelings, and the princess quickly loses interest in her admirer. “Ten years have passed... colorless, fruitless and quickly, terribly quickly.” It is interesting that the number ten appears in the life of the Kirsanov brothers, only with different accents: for Nikolai it is ten years of happiness, for Pavel it is the opposite. It seems to me that this emphasizes both the kinship and the internal opposition of the brothers. Pavel Petrovich's reaction to the death of his beloved is the same as Nikolai's: life is over, the hero is broken. However, Pavel Petrovich, like his brother, “noticed” Fenechka, only she is afraid of him: the older brother lacks the simplicity and gentleness of the younger one. Sympathy for the young woman and intolerance for the behavior, and most importantly, the worldview of Bazarov, who despises everything that is sacred for the elder Kirsanov, leads to a duel. “Chivalry” of Pavel Petrovich seems somewhat ridiculous in this episode, but it is still chivalry. Moreover, this “parody” duel was not in vain for the hero: something was shaken in his “principles”, he became more humane and asks his brother to marry Fenechka, while he himself finds the strength to “go into the shadows”.

In Arkady Kirsanov's judgments about love, the influence of Bazarov is felt. Like his “teacher,” the younger Kirsanov considers love “nonsense,” “nonsense,” “romanticism.” However, real life quickly puts everything in place. Meeting Anna Sergeevna Odintsova makes Arkady feel like a “schoolboy, a student” next to her; this, of course, is not true love, but only the infatuation of an ardent, inexperienced young man with a “socialite.” But “Arkady was at home with Katya,” they were united by everything: literature, nature, music, attitude to life. Everything superficial, superficial - what was instilled by Bazarov - disappeared, only a natural youthful feeling remained. Arkady repeats, but happier, the life path of his father: his interests are confined to a close circle of family and economic concerns, but is it really so “petty” to bring happiness to the people around him?

What does love mean in the life of the main character of the novel? “Bazarov was a great hunter of women and female beauty, but he called love in the ideal sense, or, as he put it, romantic, nonsense, unforgivable foolishness, and considered knightly feelings something like ugliness or illness.” Initially, the young nihilist denies the spiritual side of love, insisting that there is only carnal attraction. He is by no means a misogynist, but “if you like a woman, try to get some sense.” Thus, Fenechka attracts Bazarov with the same things that attract the Kirsanov brothers - youth, purity, spontaneity, and the hero, who does not recognize moral obligations even to hospitable hosts, makes a clumsy attempt to seduce her. Perhaps, however, there is another explanation for his action: an unconscious desire to “take revenge” for the “failure” with Odintsova, to console his vanity. It is for this one that he experiences true love and passion and is tormented by the fact that his theory of denying high feelings and reducing everything to “physiology” is collapsing. Bazarov understands that with her “you won’t get anywhere,” but he doesn’t have the strength to turn away, leave and forget. Turgenev depicts the hero's internal struggle with himself. This is precisely the explanation for Bazarov’s ostentatious cynicism. “Such a rich body!.. At least now to the anatomical theater,” he says about Odintsova. Meanwhile, Arkady notices unusual excitement in his friend and teacher, even timidity in his relationship with Anna Sergeevna. Not only the “rich body”, but also the “freedom and independence... of thoughts” of the young woman - this is what aroused Bazarov’s feelings. “He could easily cope with his blood, but something else took possession of him, which he never allowed, which he always mocked, which outraged all his pride.”

With his novel, Turgenev affirms the eternal values ​​of love, beauty, and nature. It is not without reason that during a meeting with Odintsova, Bazarov suddenly feels the stunning beauty and mystery of the summer night - this inspiring power of love awakened the hero’s soul to feelings hitherto unknown.

It is safe to say that a strong feeling changed Bazarov, but could not shake his basic principles - the hero is not able to “break” himself, “adjust” himself to the standards of another person. Evgeny Bazarov's love is tragic: he sees that Odintsova has “frozen” herself, that she values ​​her own peace and measured order of life too highly in order to connect her fate with such an extraordinary person as him. The main character is too different from those around him, too extraordinary to achieve personal happiness. Quiet family happiness goes to the ordinary - Nikolai Petrovich and Arkady. The lot of strong personalities - Bazarov, Pavel Petrovich - is loneliness, in my opinion, this is precisely the idea that Turgenev leads us to in his novel “Fathers and Sons”.