“It demands,” Arkady added with importance, “we must fulfill these demands; we do not have the right to indulge in the satisfaction of personal egoism.”
Bazarov apparently did not like this last phrase; she smelled of 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’s like that? - exclaimed Bazarov. “People believe that when thunder roars, it is Elijah the prophet in a chariot riding across the sky. Well? Should I agree with him? And besides, he is Russian, but am I not 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 this folk spirit, 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 turned out to be untenable...
- Again 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 accusations, but...
“And then we realized that chatting, just chatting about our ulcers, is not worth the effort, that it only leads to vulgarity and doctrinaire; we saw that our wise men, the so-called advanced people and accusers, it’s no good that we are engaged in nonsense, talking about some kind of art, unconscious creativity,
The logic of a Russophobe.
RUSSOPHOBE– Russians do not exist... There is no such nation.
I- We’re not here?! How so! ? Why?
RUSOPHOB - Seven hundred years ago there seemed to be some Russians. Although unlikely. But all Russian women were raped by the Tatar-Mongols and now there are no purebred Russians left.
Me - Do Georgians exist? Indeed, until the time when the Georgian principalities, fleeing genocide and complete destruction, voluntarily joined Russia, for centuries the mountaineers widely exported castrated Georgian boys to Muslim countries. This was the main article of Caucasian export. And their women were raped by anyone... Do Georgians exist?
RUSOPHOB (with pathos) - What an abomination! How dare you slander the ancient Georgian people and peace-loving noble mountaineers!!.. Stop the Great Russian nationalist propaganda or I will call the police.
Me - Sorry, I said that without thinking.
RUSOPHOB - Same thing. It is necessary to spare the national feelings of proud peoples. Here we can speak the bitter truth about the Russians. They don't exist anyway.
Me - So maybe the Russians are Slavic Tatars-Mongols?
RUSOPHOB - No, of course not. Half of the marriages in the USSR are mixed, so in fact there are no Russians.
I - And we feel that we exist. And in the Russian Federation, at the last census, 80% called themselves Russian. 120 million Russians, isn’t that enough?
RUSOPHOB - Understand elementary logic, ethnic Russians are ruining Russia. Every person who simply understands Russian is already Russian. You must be able to see your own in strangers. That is, in your mind, making strangers your own. Does he understand?
Me - Not quite.
RUSOPHOB - Well, look: a camp of Tajiks has arrived in Moscow.
I (gloomily) - I see.
RUSOPHOB - But in fact, these are the new Russians! Know how to overcome xenophobia, you need to see Russians in Tajiks, Uzbeks, Azerbaijanis, Georgians and all of them. Russia is an empire, Moscow is its own hometown for all peoples. Except for Russians, of course, because Russians don’t exist.
Me - And these...are they actually Russians or do we just have to feed them until better times? Do they consider us theirs or are they just using us? Who do they really think they are, what are they looking for here?..
RUSOPHOB (excitedly) - Chauvinistic nonsense and nonsense!!! Zoological racism!!!.. (calming down) These malicious nationalistic arguments will destroy Russia. Such thoughts should be prohibited by the criminal code.
Me - What should I do?
Me - Can’t they become Jews? Couldn't these wonderful people be considered Jews and repatriated to Israel?
RUSOPHOB - You make me laugh. What nonsense?
RUSOPHOB - NO!
Why me?
RUSOPHOB (patiently) – It’s already been explained to you 100 times. Russians do not exist, and therefore anyone can be considered Russian. This strengthens Russia. That is, the Multinational Russian Federation.
Me - Do Jews exist? They wandered throughout their entire history... lived anywhere and with whomever...
RUSOPHOB - Of course there are...
Me - And the Estonians? They never had statehood...
RUSOPHOB (irritated) - Of course they exist! And Georgians exist, and Tatars, and Chukchi, and Ukrainians, and Moldovans, only Russians do not exist....
I - Now I understand. Last question. Who's that vomiting in the corner?
RUSOPHOB (joyfully) - Russians, who else! And they also shit in the entrance, and in the elevator... And they killed a Tajik girl. It's all of them - disgusting Russian pigs! They are so vile national custom- thousand-year Byzantine slavery. All of us, decent peoples, have been suffering with this beast for thousands of years, and we can’t get rid of it...
Me - So there are Russians?
RUSOPHOB (with a snout distorted from bestial anger and hatred) - there is not much left...
About Russophobia and its main sources
We have already heard many loud speeches about xenophobia, hatred of Jews, Azerbaijanis, Chechens, etc. However, it is rare to hear from ardent liberals, anti-fascists, anarchists and other evil spirits about Russophobia.
In short, Russophobia is dislike or hatred of the Russian people and Russian culture.
Initially, the people were determined by a common culture - faith, language, everyday culture, and most importantly - a common self-awareness.
Self-awareness is the most persistent and defining characteristic of a people. A people exists as long as there are people who consider themselves to be part of it. In essence, the Russian (like any other) people are a community of people who recognize themselves as Russians.
The main source of Russophobia is liberals. Here are the most shining example– Valeria Novodvorskaya. However, besides this comical animal, you can often see people who literally idolize European and American capitalism and Western political systems, and the word Russian, no matter what it refers to, causes them to go into fits of rage. And if a person openly declares: “I am Russian!”, they will definitely classify him as a fascist, criminal, etc.
Russophobia manifests itself among aggressive “anti-ethnicists” in the fact that they, like liberals, can talk long and hard about the infringement of the rights of immigrants, but when it comes to discrimination against Russians in Russia, they immediately raise a scandal. They do not want to see really important problems related to the indigenous peoples of Russia.
The phenomenon of Russophobia is indeed quite widespread. This means that we need to comprehend it as soon as possible and find ways to combat it. In addition, this phenomenon poses the task for the Russian people to better understand ethnic and national issues, in order to avoid misunderstandings such as statements: “if you consider yourself Russian, you are a fascist”... Not at all! I am Russian, and I am proud of it!
http://lt90.org/reviews/ap_art...
War is always... War against Rus'... Russia..
Russian wars don't start... Russians end them.
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 careless manners, to his unsyllabic and fragmentary speeches. Fenichka, 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 up 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 “flayer” 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. We've arrived better days in the year 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 good 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? asked Arkady. Yes, I think Buchnerovo “Stoff und Kraft” for the first time. “I think so myself,” Arkady remarked approvingly. “Stoff und Kraft” is written in popular language... “This is how you and I are,” Nikolai Petrovich said that same day after dinner to his brother, sitting in his office, “in retired people hit, our song is done. 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 gentleman, 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 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 me in the whole province red dignify; 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 is this? 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! 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 hummed. Arkady Nikolaevich takes care of your upbringing. Well, have you tried reading? Tried it. Either I'm stupid, or it's 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. Will you 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, brother; 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,” muttered his brother. 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 “rubbish” 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 is precisely why I respect real aristocrats. 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 responsibilities. The aristocracy gave freedom to England and maintains it. “We’ve heard this song many times,” Bazarov objected, “but what do you want to prove with this? I eftim I want to prove, dear sir (Pavel Petrovich, when he was angry, intentionally said: “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 aces of that time, in rare cases cases when they spoke their native language, they used only efto, others ehto: we are supposedly native Russians, and at the same time we are nobles who are allowed to ignore school rules), I eftim I want to prove that without self-esteem, without self-respect, and in an aristocrat these feelings are developed, there is no solid foundation for social... bien public, public building. Personality, dear sir, this is the main thing: 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, 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. Have mercy the logic of history requires... What do we need this logic for? We can do without it. How so? Yes, the same. 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. Is that all? That's it. 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. “However, 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. Current state Bazarov apparently did not like this last phrase; she smelled of philosophy, that is, romanticism, for Bazarov called philosophy romanticism; but he did not consider it necessary to refute his young student. The people demand this,” Arkady added with importance, “we must fulfill these demands, we do not have the right to indulge in the satisfaction of personal egoism. 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 in that you're right. And if I'm right... And yet this does not 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. But even so? - exclaimed Bazarov. People believe that when thunder roars, it is Elijah the prophet in a chariot driving around the sky. 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 own men, in which of us you or me he is more likely to recognize 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? And 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 strangles us, when all our joint stock companies burst solely because there turns out to be a lack 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 just to get drunk on dope 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. But 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? “We are not sinners with this sin,” Bazarov said through his 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 still doesn’t give an account,” said Arkady and straightened up. Unhappy! Pavel Petrovich cried out; he was absolutely not able to hold on any longer, even if you thought What in Russia you support 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 bastard, un barbouilleur, a tapper who is given five kopecks per evening, and they are more useful than you, because they are representatives of civilization, and not of 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, who will crush you! “If they crush you, that’s the way,” said Bazarov. Only the grandmother 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? From a penny candle, you know, Moscow burned down, answered Bazarov. Yes, yes. 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 fruitless 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,” Bazarov objected. 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 the family or in society, that would not cause complete and merciless denial. “I will 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, finally, 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, “I, on the contrary, am sure that you and I are much more right than these gentlemen, although we express ourselves, perhaps, in a somewhat outdated language, vieilli, and we don’t have that daring arrogance... And these current youth 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 bass voice and with such important person as if the whole universe was looking at him at this moment... Would you like some more tea? “Fenechka said, 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,"In days of doubt, in days painful thoughts about the fate of my homeland - you alone are my support and support, oh great, mighty, truthful and free Russian language! - everyone knows this quote. But few people remember the continuation: “If it weren’t for you, how not to fall into despair at the sight of everything that is happening at home?” Ivan Turgenev, whose 200th birthday is celebrated today, November 9, was a staunch Russian patriot, but also a no less consistent Westerner. The Insider has selected some of the most characteristic quotes from his works and the memoirs of his contemporaries.
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 are right in this... And yet this does not prove anything...
How does it prove nothing? - muttered the amazed Pavel Petrovich. - So, you are going against your people?
But even so? - exclaimed Bazarov. - People believe that when thunder roars, it is Elijah the prophet in a chariot driving around the sky. Well? Should I agree with him? And besides, he is Russian, and am I not 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?
"Fathers and Sons"
...your remark reminds me of the triumphant points made by our unfortunate journalists during the Crimean campaign to the shortcomings of the English military administration, exposed by Thames. I myself am not an optimist... but why impose on the West something that, perhaps, is rooted in our very human essence? This gambling house is ugly, that's for sure; Well, is our home-grown cheating probably more beautiful? No... let us be more humble and quiet: a good student sees the mistakes of his teacher, but respectfully remains silent about them; for these very mistakes serve him in favor and guide him on the straight path. And if you definitely want to scratch your teeth about the rotten West... For God’s sake, don’t encourage us in Rus' to think that you can achieve something without studying! No; Even if you're smart, just learn, learn from the ABCs! Otherwise, be silent and sit with your tail between your legs!
"Smoke"
Our old inventions crawled to us from the East, we dragged new ones with sin in half from the West, and we still continue to talk about Russian independent art! Some fellows even discovered Russian science: with us, they say, two and two are also four, but it turns out to be somehow more lively.
"Smoke"
There is nothing in existence, and Rus' for ten whole centuries has not developed anything of its own, neither in government, nor in court, nor in science, nor in art, nor even in craft... But wait, be patient: everything will happen. Why would that be, may I ask? But because we are supposedly educated people, we are rubbish; but people... oh, this great people! Do you see this Armenian? that's where it's all going to go. All other idols are destroyed; Let us also believe in the Armenian... Really, if I were a painter, this is what kind of picture I would paint: an educated man stands in front of a peasant and bows low to him: heal me, little man, I am disappearing from illness; and the man, in turn, bows low to the educated man: teach me, master-father, I am perishing from darkness. Well, and, of course, neither of them moved. But it would only be worthwhile to really humble yourself - not just in words - and to appreciate from your older brothers that they came up with something better than us, and before us!
"Smoke"
This spring I visited the Crystal Palace near London; in this palace there is, as you know, something like an exhibition of everything that human ingenuity has reached... and I thought at that time: if such an order came out that, along with the disappearance of any people from the face of the earth, it would immediately have to disappear from the Crystal Palace everything that those people invented - our mother, Orthodox Rus', could have fallen into tartarars, and not a single carnation, not a single pin would have been disturbed, dear... because even the samovar, and bast shoes, and the arc and the whip - these famous products of ours - were not invented by us. It is impossible to carry out a similar experiment even with the Sandwich Islands; the local residents invented some boats and spears...
"Smoke"
I will also say that I have never recognized the unassailable line that some caring and even zealous, but ill-informed patriots certainly want to draw between Russia and Western Europe, that Europe with which breed, language, faith so closely connects it. Doesn't our Slavic race, in the eyes of a philologist, ethnographer, constitute one of the main branches of the Indo-Germanic tribe? And if it is impossible to deny the influence of Greece on Rome and both of them together - on the German-Roman world, then on what basis is the influence of this - whatever you say - related, homogeneous world on us not allowed? Are we really so little original, so weak, that we should be afraid of any outside influence and brush it off with childish horror, lest it spoil us? I do not believe this: I believe, on the contrary, that even in the seven waters, our Russian essence cannot be taken out of us. And what kind of inferior people would we be otherwise? I judge by own experience: my devotion to the principles developed by Western life did not prevent me from keenly feeling and jealously guarding the purity of Russian speech.
"Literary and everyday memories"
I envy your modest desires! - Turgenev answered in an ironic tone. “I don’t even understand how you don’t feel the humiliation and groveling that Russian writers are doomed to?.. No, I’m a European at heart, my demands from life are also European!” I do not intend to meekly wait for my fate when the holiday comes and my lot falls to be eaten at a feast of cannibals! And I don’t understand leavened patriotism. At the first opportunity, I’ll run away from here without looking back, and you won’t see the tip of my nose!
Avdotya Panaeva (Golovacheva). "Memories"
When he visited me in Spassky English writer Rolston, said Turgenev, listening to these loud songs and seeing these women working, dancing and drinking vodka, he concluded that in Russia the reserve of physical strength among the people is endless. But here's the story! Rolston and I walked around the huts, where he looked at each item and wrote down its name in his little book; the peasants imagined that he was taking a census of them and wanted to lure them to him, to England; They waited a long time for them to be transported there, and could not bear it, they came to me in a crowd, and they said: when will we move to England? We really liked the gentleman who came to pick us up - he must be kind; we follow him willingly, with all our souls, wherever we want... And we know that he came to invite us to English soil.
Do you believe,” concluded Ivan Sergeevich, “that it took me a lot of work to reason with them and prove the unrealizability of their ridiculous fantasy.
Yakov Polonsky. “I.S. Turgenev at home on his last visit to his homeland. (From memories)"
- How so?
- Yes, the same way. 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.
- 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 smelled of 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,” interrupted Bazarov, “I’m even ready to agree that in this you're right.
- 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’s like that? - exclaimed Bazarov. “People believe that when thunder roars, it is Elijah the prophet in a chariot riding across the sky. Well? Should I agree with him? And besides, he is Russian, but am I not 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 turned out to be 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 accusations, but...
“And then we realized that chatting, just chatting about our ulcers, is not worth the effort, 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 busy 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?