Our creative works. Pechorin's journal. Preface

Preface

I recently learned that Pechorin died while returning from Persia. This news made me very happy: it gave me the right to print these notes, and I took the opportunity to put my name on someone else’s work. God grant that readers do not punish me for such an innocent forgery! Now I must explain somewhat the reasons that prompted me to reveal to the public the heartfelt secrets of a man whom I never knew. It would be nice if I were still his friend: the insidious immodesty of a true friend is clear to everyone; but I only saw him once in my life on high road Therefore, I cannot harbor that inexplicable hatred for him, which, lurking under the guise of friendship, awaits only the death or misfortune of the beloved object in order to burst over his head in a hail of reproaches, advice, ridicule and regrets. Re-reading these notes, I became convinced of the sincerity of the one who so mercilessly exposed his own weaknesses and vices. The history of the human soul, even the smallest soul, is perhaps more curious and useful than the history of an entire people, especially when it is the result of observations of a mature mind on itself and when it is written without a vain desire to arouse sympathy or surprise. Rousseau's confession already has the disadvantage that he read it to his friends. So, one desire for benefit made me print excerpts from a magazine that I got by chance. Although I changed everything proper names, but those about whom it speaks will probably recognize themselves, and perhaps they will find excuses for actions for which they have hitherto accused a person who no longer has anything in common with this world: we almost always excuse what we understand . I included in this book only what related to Pechorin’s stay in the Caucasus; I still have a thick notebook in my hands, where he tells his whole life. Someday she too will appear at the judgment of the world; but now I dare not take upon myself this responsibility for many important reasons. Maybe some readers will want to know my opinion about the character of Pechorin? My answer the title of this book. “Yes, this is evil irony!” they will say. I don't know.

Pechorin's journal. Preface

The preface to Pechorin's Journal contains an explanation of the reasons why the author decided to publish other people's notes. main reason- “desire for benefit”, coming from the conviction that “the history of the human soul, even the smallest soul, is perhaps more interesting and useful than the history of an entire people.” With this thesis Lermontov strengthens the very genre of his novel, built on psychological analysis. He emphasizes Pechorin’s “sincerity” and contrasts his notes with Rousseau’s “Confession,” which was intended for others. In the manuscript, the essay “Maxim Maksimych” ends with a special paragraph where Lermontov says: “I reviewed Pechorin’s notes and noticed in some places that he was preparing them for publication, without which, of course, I would not have decided to use the staff captain’s power of attorney for evil. - In fact, Pechorin in some places addresses readers; you will see this for yourself, if what you know about him has not discouraged you from getting to know him more briefly.” This entire paragraph is absent from the printed text, and in the preface to the “Journal” Lermontov creates a completely different motivation. It must be assumed that at first no preface to the “Journal” was intended and the above-mentioned final paragraph of “Maxim Maksimych” was supposed to serve as a transition to Pechorin’s notes. Lermontov reports that for now he is publishing only that part of the notes in which Pechorin talks about his stay in the Caucasus, and the notebook in which his whole life is told cannot yet be published “for many important reasons.” With these words, Lermontov justifies the fragmentary nature of Pechorin’s biography. By “important reasons” we must apparently mean mainly censorship obstacles; It is characteristic that it was Pechorin’s St. Petersburg life that remained outside the novel.

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Preface

I recently learned that Pechorin died while returning from Persia. This news made me very happy: it gave me the right to print these notes, and I took the opportunity to put my name on someone else’s work. God grant that readers do not punish me for such an innocent forgery!

Now I must explain somewhat the reasons that prompted me to reveal to the public the heartfelt secrets of a man whom I never knew. It would be nice if I were still his friend: the insidious immodesty of a true friend is clear to everyone; but I saw him only once in my life on the high road, therefore, I cannot harbor for him that inexplicable hatred that, lurking under the guise of friendship, awaits only the death or misfortune of the beloved object in order to burst out over his head in a hail of reproaches, advice, ridicule and regrets.

Re-reading these notes, I became convinced of the sincerity of the one who so mercilessly exposed his own weaknesses and vices. The history of the human soul, even the smallest soul, is perhaps more curious and useful than the history of an entire people, especially when it is the result of observations of a mature mind on itself and when it is written without a vain desire to arouse participation or surprise. Rousseau's confession already has the disadvantage that he read it to his friends.

So, one desire for benefit made me print excerpts from a magazine that I got by chance. Although I have changed all my own names, those about whom it speaks will probably recognize themselves, and perhaps they will find justification for the actions of which they have hitherto accused a person who no longer has anything in common with this world: we are almost We always apologize for what we understand.

I included in this book only what related to Pechorin’s stay in the Caucasus; I still have a thick notebook in my hands, where he tells his whole life. Someday she too will appear at the judgment of the world; but now I dare not take upon myself this responsibility for many important reasons.

Maybe some readers will want to know my opinion about the character of Pechorin? - My answer is the title of this book. "Yes, this is a cruel irony!" - they will say. - Don't know.

Presentation on the topic: Pechorin’s Diary as a hero’s self-characteristics









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Presentation on the topic: Pechorin's diary as a hero's self-characteristic

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Pechorin is one of the brightest heroes in Lermontov's works. Although many critics argue that this is a “pathetic personality” and Lermontov copied her from himself. 20 years after Lermontov’s death, his childhood friend A.P. Shan-Girey wrote: “... as far as I know, neither in character nor in the circumstances of life there is nothing in common between Pechorin and Lermontov, except for a reference to the Caucasus.” Nevertheless, the author, creating his hero, put his thoughts into his mouth, provided him with some of his life positions. As a result, Pechorin acquired a resemblance to the author. In addition, it is known that several chapters of “A Hero of Our Time” were almost autobiographical - “Taman” (almost entirely) and “Princess Mary” (partially). In these chapters, the author gives a self-characteristic of this mysterious hero - Pechorin, using the genre of diary entries.

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In the chapter “Bela,” Pechorin describes his “first youth,” the initial reason why his unhappy and bored character was subsequently formed: “In my first youth, from the minute I left the care of my relatives, I began to enjoy madly all the pleasures that can be obtained for money and, of course, these pleasures sickened me... and soon I was also tired of society.” This early satiety with life resulted in Pechorin’s individualistic philosophy of life. It is based on despondency and main problem humanity - reluctance, even fear, to admit the possibility of happiness and glory.

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One feature is clearly expressed in Pechorin’s character, which, however, makes his image mysterious - inconsistency. Pechorin emphasizes this in the chapter “Princess Mary”: “I have an innate passion to contradict; “My whole life has been nothing but a chain of sad and unfortunate contradictions between my heart and my mind.” Pechorin realized this a long time ago, since he “was used to admitting everything to himself.” He, of course, understands that all his problems are based on internal disharmony. It is this inconsistency that makes Pechorin’s character alive and active, albeit covered by “mortal boredom and languid disappointment.”

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Pechorin writes in his journal about mental suffering and also analyzes his life. He leaves a certain phrase: “I was created stupidly: I don’t forget anything, nothing!” And the past torments him. Pechorin relives his dramas again and again and is constantly looking for the possibility of other endings. What does he expect from life? Pechorin answers himself: “I have already passed that period of spiritual life when the heart feels the need to love someone strongly and passionately - now I just want to be loved... even, it seems to me, constant affection alone would be enough for me: a pathetic habit of the heart ! These lines are a lonely person’s prayer for understanding, for the unrealizable peace of mind. Pechorin interrupts this impulse with mockery of his own words. Now Pechorin’s love for Vera, based on the kinship of souls, is clear: “this is one woman who understood me completely, with all my minor weaknesses, bad passions... Is evil really so attractive?”

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In the realization that others are also unhappy, that Pechorin is not alone in experiencing the tragedy of life’s failures, support for the hero’s mental strength is expressed. This reconciles him with society: “If I suffer, then let others suffer too.” And in this blind resentment of fate, he distorts all concepts and feelings, accepting this as the truth: “to be the cause of suffering and joy for someone, without having any positive right to do so, is not the sweetest food of our pride? What is happiness? Saturated pride... Evil begets evil; the first suffering gives the concept of pleasure in tormenting another; the idea of ​​evil cannot enter a person’s head without him wanting to apply it to reality...” This idea of ​​Pechorin is terrible, but at the same time it is a deep philosophical truth, carefully thought out and justified. To come to such an idea, a person must separate the concepts of good and evil, experience the temptation of evil and understand its destructive effect.

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His conclusions are amazingly deep and true, although, at first glance, they seem to be signs of a callous heart: “Passion is nothing more than ideas in their first development: they belong to the youth of the heart, and a fool is the one who thinks to worry about them all his life.” Giving in youth great importance passions, Pechorin became disillusioned with life: “I saw how others were happy without art, freely enjoying the benefits that I so tirelessly sought. And then despair was born in my chest... I became a moral cripple.” Despair is the same passion that cannot be allowed into the soul, which is what Pechorin did, obeying his character. Despair forever made happiness impossible for Pechorin. He decided that there was nothing more to expect from life, while leaving a small loophole for happiness: “Oh, it’s true, it existed, and, it’s true, I had a high destiny, because I feel immense strength in my soul. But I did not guess this purpose; I was carried away by the lures of empty and ungrateful passions.”

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Pechorin understands the futility of his life and cruelly condemns himself for the fact that he did not bring benefit or joy to anyone: “My love did not bring happiness to anyone, because I did not sacrifice anything for those I loved: I loved myself.” Pechorin loves only himself and for himself and hates only himself most of all. Realizing this, he does not try to change anything for the better. Was it weakness or strength of character, desperation or following one’s predetermined fate? Pechorin is a symbol of contradiction, suffering loneliness, cruel pride. This is the main reason for his life drama.

Preface

I recently learned that Pechorin died while returning from Persia. This news made me very happy: it gave me the right to print these notes, and I took the opportunity to put my name on someone else’s work. God grant that readers do not punish me for such an innocent forgery!

Now I must explain somewhat the reasons that prompted me to reveal to the public the heartfelt secrets of a man whom I never knew. It would be nice if I were still his friend: the insidious immodesty of a true friend is clear to everyone; but I saw him only once in my life on the high road, therefore, I cannot harbor for him that inexplicable hatred that, lurking under the guise of friendship, awaits only the death or misfortune of the beloved object in order to burst out over his head in a hail of reproaches, advice, ridicule and regrets.

Re-reading these notes, I became convinced of the sincerity of the one who so mercilessly exposed his own weaknesses and vices. The history of the human soul, even the smallest soul, is perhaps more curious and useful than the history of an entire people, especially when it is the result of observations of a mature mind on itself and when it is written without a vain desire to arouse participation or surprise. Rousseau's confession already has the disadvantage that he read it to his friends.

So, one desire for benefit made me print excerpts from a magazine that I got by chance. Although I have changed all my own names, those about whom it speaks will probably recognize themselves, and perhaps they will find justification for the actions of which they have hitherto accused a person who no longer has anything in common with this world: we are almost We always apologize for what we understand.

I included in this book only what related to Pechorin’s stay in the Caucasus; I still have a thick notebook in my hands, where he tells his whole life. Someday she too will appear at the judgment of the world; but now I dare not take upon myself this responsibility for many important reasons.

Maybe some readers will want to know my opinion about the character of Pechorin? - My answer is the title of this book. "Yes, this is a cruel irony!" - they will say. - Don't know.