We roughly know why. Essays

The estate in which Anna Sergeevna lived stood on a gently sloping open hill, not far from a yellow stone church with a green roof, white columns and al fresco painting above the main entrance, representing the “Resurrection of Christ” in the “Italian” style. Particularly remarkable for its rounded contours was the dark-skinned warrior in a cone, stretched out in the foreground. Behind the church stretched in two rows a long village with here and there chimneys flickering above the thatched roofs. Lord's house was built in the same style as the church, in the style that is known among us under the name of Aleksandrovsky; This house was also painted yellow, and had a green roof, white columns, and a pediment with a coat of arms. The provincial architect erected both buildings with the approval of the late Odintsov, who did not tolerate any empty and spontaneous, as he put it, innovations. The dark trees of an ancient garden adjoined the house on both sides, and an alley of trimmed fir trees led to the entrance. Our friends were met in the hallway by two tall footmen in livery; one of them immediately ran after the butler. Butler, fat person in a black tailcoat, immediately appeared and directed the guests along the carpeted stairs to special room, where there were already two beds with all toilet accessories. Order apparently reigned in the house: everything was clean, there was a decent smell everywhere, as if in ministerial reception rooms. “Anna Sergeevna asks you to come to them in half an hour,” the butler reported. Will there be any orders from you for now? “There will be no orders, most respected,” answered Bazarov, “would you please bring me a glass of vodka.” “I’m listening, sir,” said the butler, not without bewilderment, and walked away, his boots creaking. What a grunge! Bazarov noted, I think that’s what you call it? Duchess, that's it. “The duchess is good,” Arkady objected, “from the first time she invited such strong aristocrats as you and me. Especially me, the future doctor, and the doctor’s son, and the sexton’s grandson... After all, you know that I am the grandson of the sexton?.. “Like Speransky,” added Bazarov after a short silence and curling his lips. And yet she spoiled herself; oh, how this lady spoiled herself! Shouldn't we wear tailcoats? Arkady just shrugged his shoulder... but he also felt a little embarrassed. Half an hour later, Bazarov and Arkady went into the living room. It was a spacious, high room, decorated quite luxuriously, but without any particular taste. Heavy, expensive furniture stood in the usual prim order along the walls, upholstered in brown wallpaper with gold streaks; the late Odintsov ordered her from Moscow through his friend and commission agent, a wine merchant. A portrait of a flabby blond man hung above the middle sofa and seemed to be looking unfriendly at the guests. "It must be myself, Bazarov whispered to Arkady and, wrinkling his nose, added: “Should we run away?” But at that moment the hostess entered. She was wearing a light barge dress; her hair combed smoothly behind her ears gave a girlish expression to her clean and fresh face. “Thank you for keeping your word,” she began, “stay with me: it’s really not bad here.” I'll introduce you to my sister, she plays the piano well. It doesn’t matter to you, Monsieur Bazarov; but you, Monsieur Kirsanov, seem to love music; Besides my sister, I have an old aunt who lives with me, and a neighbor sometimes comes over to play cards: that’s our whole community. Now let's sit down. Odintsova pronounced this entire little speech with particular clarity, as if she had learned it by heart; then she turned to Arkady. It turned out that her mother knew Arkady’s mother and was even the confidant of her love for Nikolai Petrovich. Arkady spoke passionately about the deceased; and Bazarov, meanwhile, began to look at the albums. “How humble I have become,” he thought to himself. A beautiful greyhound dog with a blue collar ran into the living room, knocking its nails on the floor, and after her came a girl of about eighteen, black-haired and dark-skinned, with a somewhat round but pleasant face, with small dark eyes. She was holding a basket filled with flowers. “Here’s my Katya,” said Odintsova, pointing at her with a movement of her head. Katya sat down slightly, positioned herself next to her sister, and began sorting out the flowers. The greyhound dog, whose name was Fifi, approached the two guests in turn, wagging its tail, and poked each of them in the hand with its cold nose. Did you pick it all yourself? Odintsova asked. “Myself,” answered Katya. Will auntie come for tea? Will come. When Katya spoke, she smiled very sweetly, shyly and frankly, and looked somehow funny and stern, from bottom to top. Everything about her was still young-green: her voice, the fluff all over her face, her pink hands with whitish circles on their palms, and her slightly compressed shoulders... She blushed incessantly and quickly took a breath. Odintsova turned to Bazarov. “You are looking at the pictures out of decency, Evgeniy Vasilich,” she began. It doesn’t bother you. Better come over to us and let's argue about something. Bazarov approached. What do you want, sir? - he said. About whatever you want. I warn you that I am a terrible debater. Are you? ME: This seems to surprise you. Why? Because, as far as I can judge, your disposition is calm and cold, and for an argument you need passion. How did you manage to recognize me so soon? First of all, I am impatient and persistent, better ask Katya; and secondly, I get carried away very easily. Bazarov looked at Anna Sergeevna. Maybe you should know better. So, you want to argue, if you please. I looked at the views of Saxon Switzerland in your album, and you noticed to me that this could not occupy me. You said this because you don’t expect me to be artistic meaning, yes, I really don’t have it in me; but these species could interest me from a geological point of view, from the point of view of mountain formation, for example. Sorry; as a geologist, you would rather resort to a book, a special essay, rather than a drawing. The drawing will clearly present to me what is presented in the book on ten whole pages. Anna Sergeevna was silent. And yet you don’t have a bit of artistic sense? “She said, leaning her elbows on the table and with this very movement bringing her face closer to Bazarov. How do you manage without him? What is it used for, may I ask? Yes, at least to be able to recognize and study people. Bazarov grinned. Firstly, there is a life experience; and, secondly, let me tell you, studying individual personalities is not worth the trouble. All people are similar to each other both in body and soul; each of us has the same brain, spleen, heart, and lungs; and the so-called moral qualities the same for everyone: small modifications mean nothing. One human specimen is enough to judge all others. People are like trees in the forest; not a single botanist will study each individual birch tree. Katya, who was slowly matching flower to flower, raised her eyes to Bazarov in bewilderment and, meeting his quick and careless gaze, flushed all the way to her ears. Anna Sergeevna shook her head. “Trees in the forest,” she repeated. Therefore, in your opinion, there is no difference between stupid and smart person, between good and evil? No, there is: as between a sick person and a healthy person. A consumptive person’s lungs are not in the same position as yours and mine, although they are structured the same. We roughly know why bodily ailments; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society, in a word. Correct society and there will be no diseases. Bazarov said all this with such an air, as if at the same time he was thinking to himself: “Believe me or not, it’s all the same to me!” He slowly passed his long fingers across his sideburns, and his eyes darted around the corners. “And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people? At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind. Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen. That’s right, madam. Odintsova turned to Arkady. What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich? “I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered. Katya looked at him from under her brows. “You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears. Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess H...ya, a thin and small woman with her face clenched into a fist and motionless with evil eyes under a gray overlay, she entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, on which no one except her had the right to sit. Katya put a bench under her feet; The old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved yellow: She also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap. How did you rest, auntie? Odintsova asked, raising her voice. “This dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scatter, scatter!” Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her. Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out... I think the tea is ready? Odintsova said. Gentlemen, let's go; Auntie, please have some tea. The princess silently rose from her chair and was the first to leave the living room. Everyone followed her to the dining room. A Cossack man in livery noisily pushed away from the table a chair covered with pillows, also a treasured one, into which the princess sank; Katya, who was pouring tea, was the first to serve her a cup with a painted coat of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup (she thought that drinking tea with sugar was both sinful and expensive, although she herself did not spend a penny on anything) and suddenly asked in a hoarse voice: What does Prince Ivan write? Nobody answered her. Bazarov and Arkady soon realized that they did not pay attention to her, although they treated her respectfully. " For the sake of they hold it in importance because they are the offspring of a prince,” thought Bazarov... After tea, Anna Sergeevna suggested going for a walk; but it began to rain, and the whole company, with the exception of the princess, returned to the living room. A neighbor arrived, an amateur card game, named Porfiry Platonich, a plump, gray-haired man with short, precisely chiseled legs, very polite and funny. Anna Sergeevna, who was talking more and more with Bazarov, asked him if he wanted to fight them in the old-fashioned way in preference. Bazarov agreed, saying that he needed to prepare in advance for his upcoming position as a district doctor. “Beware,” Anna Sergeevna remarked, “Porfiry Platonich and I will beat you.” And you, Katya,” she added, “play something for Arkady Nikolaevich; he loves music, by the way, we’ll listen. Katya reluctantly approached the piano; and Arkady, although he definitely loved music, reluctantly followed her: it seemed to him that Odintsova was sending him away, but in his heart, like everyone else young man at his age, some vague and languid feeling was already brewing, similar to a premonition of love. Katya lifted the lid of the piano and, without looking at Arkady, said in a low voice: What should you play? “Whatever you want,” Arkady answered indifferently. What kind of music do you like best? Katya repeated without changing her position. “Classical,” Arkady answered in the same voice. Do you like Mozart? I love Mozart. Katya took out Mozart’s purest sonata-fantasy. She played very well, although a little stern and dry. Without taking her eyes off the notes and tightly clenching her lips, she sat motionless and straight, and only towards the end of the sonata her face became hot and a small strand of her hair fell on her dark eyebrow. Arkady was especially struck by the last part of the sonata, that part in which, in the midst of the captivating gaiety of a carefree melody, gusts of such sad, almost tragic grief suddenly arise... But the thoughts aroused in him by the sounds of Mozart did not relate to Katya. Looking at her, he just thought: “But this young lady plays well, and she herself is not bad.” Having finished the sonata, Katya, without moving her hands on the key, asked: “Is that enough?” Arkady announced that he did not dare bother her any more, and started talking to her about Mozart; I asked her whether she chose this sonata herself, or who recommended it to her? But Katya answered him in monosyllables: she hid, went into herself. When this happened to her, she did not come out quickly; Her very face then took on a stubborn, almost stupid expression. She was not only timid, but distrustful and a little intimidated by the sister who raised her, which, of course, she did not suspect. Arkady ended up calling Fifi, who had returned, and began stroking her head with a benevolent smile. Katya took up her flowers again. And Bazarov, meanwhile, got back up and down. Anna Sergeevna played cards masterfully, Porfiry Platonich could also stand up for himself. Bazarov was left with a loss, although insignificant, but still not entirely pleasant for him. At dinner, Anna Sergeevna again started talking about botany. “Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning,” she told him, “I want to learn from you the Latin names of field plants and their properties.” What do you need Latin names for? asked Bazarov. “Everything needs order,” she answered. “What a wonderful woman Anna Sergeevna is,” exclaimed Arkady, left alone with his friend in the room assigned to them. “Yes,” answered Bazarov, “a woman with a brain.” Well, she's seen the sights. In what sense are you saying this, Evgeniy Vasilich? B in a good way, in a good way, my father, Arkady Nikolaich! I am sure that she manages her estate well. But the miracle is not her, but her sister. How? Is this one dark? Yes, this one is dark. It’s fresh, and untouched, and timid, and silent, and everything you want. Here's what you can do. From this you can make whatever you want; and that one is grated kalach. Arkady did not answer Bazarov, and each of them went to bed with special thoughts in his head. And Anna Sergeevna that evening thought about her guests. She liked Bazarov for his lack of coquetry and the very harshness of his judgments. She saw something new in him that she had never encountered, and she was curious. Anna Sergeevna was a rather strange creature. Having no prejudices, not even having any strong beliefs, she did not retreat from anything and did not go anywhere. She saw a lot clearly, a lot occupied her, and nothing completely satisfied her; Yes, she hardly even wanted complete satisfaction. Her mind was inquisitive and indifferent at the same time: her doubts never subsided to the point of forgetfulness and never grew to anxiety. If she had not been rich and independent, she might have rushed into battle, would have known passion... But life was easy for her, although she was bored at times, and she continued to pass day after day, slowly and only occasionally worrying. Rainbow colors sometimes lit up before her eyes, but she rested when they faded and did not regret them. Her imagination carried even beyond the limits of what is considered permissible according to the laws of ordinary morality; but even then her blood still flowed quietly in her charmingly slender and calm body. Sometimes, coming out of the fragrant bath, all warm and pampered, she would dream about the insignificance of life, about its grief, work and evil... Her soul would be filled with sudden courage, boil with a noble aspiration; but a draft wind will blow from the half-closed window, and Anna Sergeevna will shrink all over, and complain, and almost become angry, and only one thing she needs at this moment: so that this nasty wind does not blow on her. Like all women who failed to fall in love, she wanted something, without knowing what exactly. Actually, she didn’t want anything, although it seemed to her that she wanted everything. She could hardly stand the late Odintsov (she married him out of convenience, although she probably would not have agreed to become his wife if she had not considered him kind person) and received a secret disgust for all men, whom she imagined as nothing other than unkempt, heavy and lethargic, powerlessly annoying creatures. Once, somewhere abroad, she met a young, handsome Swede with a chivalrous expression on his face, with honest blue eyes under an open forehead; he impressed her strong impression, but this did not stop her from returning to Russia. “Is this doctor a strange man?” - she thought, lying in her magnificent bed, on lace pillows, under a light silk blanket... Anna Sergeevna inherited from her father a part of his inclination towards luxury. She loved her sinner very much, but good father, and he adored her, joked friendly with her, as with an equal, and trusted her completely, consulted with her. She barely remembered her mother. “This doctor is strange!” she repeated to herself. She stretched, smiled, put her hands behind her head, then ran her eyes over two pages of a stupid French novel, dropped the book and fell asleep, all clean and cold, in clean and fragrant linen. The next morning, Anna Sergeevna immediately after breakfast went to botanize with Bazarov and returned just before lunch; Arkady did not go anywhere and spent about an hour with Katya. He was not bored with her; she herself volunteered to repeat yesterday’s sonata for him; but when Odintsova finally returned, when he saw her, his heart instantly sank... She walked through the garden with a somewhat tired gait; Her cheeks turned red and her eyes shone brighter than usual under her round straw hat. She twirled a thin stalk of a wildflower in her fingers, a light mantilla fell over her elbows, and the wide gray ribbons of her hat clung to her chest. Bazarov walked behind her, self-confidently and casually, as always, but the expression on his face, although cheerful and even affectionate, did not please Arkady. Mumbling through clenched teeth: “Hello!” Bazarov went to his room, and Odintsova absentmindedly shook Arkady’s hand and also walked past him. “Hello,” thought Arkady... “Didn’t we see each other today?”

Katya, who was slowly matching flower to flower, raised her eyes to Bazarov in bewilderment - and, meeting his quick and careless gaze, she flushed all the way to her ears. Anna Sergeevna shook her head.

“Trees in the forest,” she repeated. - So, in your opinion, there is no difference between a stupid and an intelligent person, between a good and an evil person?

– No, there is: as between a sick person and a healthy person. A consumptive person’s lungs are not in the same position as yours and mine, although they are structured the same. We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society, in a word. Correct society and there will be no diseases.

Bazarov said all this with such an air, as if at the same time he was thinking to himself: “Believe me or not, it’s all the same to me!” He slowly ran his long fingers over his sideburns, and his eyes darted to the corners.

“And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people?”

- At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind.

- Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen.

- That's right, ma'am.

Odintsova turned to Arkady.

– What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich?

“I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered.

Katya looked at him from under her brows.

“You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears.

Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess X...ya, a thin and small woman with a face clenched into a fist and motionless evil eyes under a gray overlay, entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, on which no one but her had the right to sit . Katya put a bench under her feet; The old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved the color yellow: she also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.

- How did you rest, auntie? – Odintsova asked, raising her voice.

“That dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scram, scram!”

Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her.

Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out...

– I think the tea is ready? - Odintsova said. - Gentlemen, let's go; Auntie, please have some tea.

The princess silently rose from her chair and was the first to leave the living room. Everyone followed her to the dining room. A Cossack man in livery noisily pushed away from the table a chair covered with pillows, also a treasured one, into which the princess sank; Katya, who was pouring tea, was the first to serve her a cup with a painted coat of arms. The old woman put honey in her cup (she thought that drinking tea with sugar was both sinful and expensive, although she herself did not spend a penny on anything) and suddenly asked in a hoarse voice:

– What does Prince Ivan write?

Nobody answered her. Bazarov and Arkady soon realized that they did not pay attention to her, although they treated her respectfully. “They are keeping it for the sake of importance, because they are princely offspring,” thought Bazarov... After tea, Anna Sergeevna suggested going for a walk; but it began to rain, and the whole company, with the exception of the princess, returned to the living room. A neighbor arrived, a card game fan named Porfiry Platonich, a plump, gray-haired man with short, precisely chiseled legs, very polite and funny. Anna Sergeevna, who was talking more and more with Bazarov, asked him if he wanted to fight them in the old-fashioned way in preference. Bazarov agreed, saying that he needed to prepare in advance for his upcoming position as a district doctor.

“Be careful,” Anna Sergeevna remarked, “Porfiry Platonich and I will defeat you.” And you, Katya,” she added, “play something for Arkady Nikolaevich; he loves music, by the way, we’ll listen.

Katya reluctantly approached the piano; and Arkady, although he definitely loved music, reluctantly followed her: it seemed to him that Odintsova was sending him away, and in his heart, like every young man of his age, some vague and languid feeling was already boiling up, similar to a premonition of love . Katya lifted the lid of the piano and, without looking at Arkady, said in a low voice:

- What should you play?

“Whatever you want,” Arkady answered indifferently.

– What kind of music do you like best? – Katya repeated without changing her position.

– Do you like Mozart?

- I love Mozart.

Katya took out Mozart’s purest sonata-fantasy. She played very well, although a little stern and dry. Without taking her eyes off the notes and tightly clenching her lips, she sat motionless and straight, and only towards the end of the sonata her face became hot and a small strand of her hair fell on her dark eyebrow.

Arkady was especially struck by the last part of the sonata, that part in which, in the midst of the captivating gaiety of a carefree melody, gusts of such sad, almost tragic sorrow suddenly arise... But the thoughts aroused in him by the sounds of Mozart did not relate to Katya. Looking at her, he just thought: “But this young lady plays well, and she herself is not bad.”

Having finished the sonata, Katya, without moving her hands on the key, asked: “Is that enough?” Arkady announced that he did not dare bother her any more, and started talking to her about Mozart; I asked her whether she chose this sonata herself, or who recommended it to her? But Katya answered him in monosyllables: she hid, retreated into herself. When this happened to her, she did not come out quickly; Her very face then took on a stubborn, almost stupid expression. She was not only timid, but distrustful and a little intimidated by the sister who raised her, which, of course, she did not suspect. Arkady ended up calling Fifi, who had returned, and began stroking her head with a benevolent smile. Katya took up her flowers again.

And Bazarov, meanwhile, got back up and down. Anna Sergeevna played cards masterfully, Porfiry Platonich could also stand up for himself. Bazarov was left with a loss, although insignificant, but still not entirely pleasant for him. At dinner, Anna Sergeevna again started talking about botany.

“Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning,” she told him, “I want to learn from you the Latin names of field plants and their properties.”

– What do you need Latin names for? - asked Bazarov.

“Everything needs order,” she answered.

“What a wonderful woman Anna Sergeevna is,” exclaimed Arkady, left alone with his friend in the room assigned to them.

“Yes,” answered Bazarov, “a woman with a brain.” Well, she's seen the sights.

- In what sense are you saying this, Evgeny Vasilich?

- Sorry; as a geologist, you would rather resort to a book, a special essay, rather than a drawing.

– The drawing will clearly present to me what is presented in the book on ten whole pages.

Anna Sergeevna was silent.

– And yet you don’t have a bit of artistic sense? - she said, leaning her elbows on the table and with this very movement bringing her face closer to Bazarov. - How do you manage without him?

– What is it used for, may I ask?

- Yes, at least to be able to recognize and study people.

Bazarov grinned.

– Firstly, there is life experience for this; and secondly, let me tell you, studying individual personalities is not worth the trouble. All people are similar to each other both in body and soul; each of us has the same brain, spleen, heart, and lungs; and the so-called moral qualities are the same for everyone: small modifications mean nothing. One human specimen is enough to judge all others. People are like trees in the forest; not a single botanist will study each individual birch tree.

“Trees in the forest,” she repeated. - So, in your opinion, there is no difference between a stupid and an intelligent person, between a good and an evil person?

“And you believe,” said Anna Sergeevna, “that when society corrects itself, there will no longer be either stupid or evil people?”

- At least, with the correct structure of society, it will be completely equal whether a person is stupid or smart, evil or kind.

- Yes, I understand; everyone will have the same spleen.

- That's right, ma'am.

Odintsova turned to Arkady:

– What is your opinion, Arkady Nikolaevich?

“I agree with Evgeniy,” he answered.

Katya looked at him from under her brows.

“You surprise me, gentlemen,” said Odintsova, “but we will talk to you later.” And now, I hear auntie going to drink tea; we must spare her ears.

Anna Sergeevna's aunt, Princess X......I, a thin and small woman with a face clenched into a fist and motionless evil eyes under a gray overlay, entered and, barely bowing to the guests, sank into a wide velvet chair, to which no one but her had the right sit down. Katya placed a bench under her feet: the old woman did not thank her, did not even look at her, she only moved her hands under the yellow shawl that covered almost the entirety of her frail body. The princess loved the color yellow: she also had bright yellow ribbons on her cap.

- How did you rest, auntie? – Odintsova asked, raising her voice.

“That dog is here again,” the old woman grumbled in response and, noticing that Fifi took two hesitant steps in her direction, exclaimed: “Scram, scram!”

Katya called Fifi and opened the door for her.

Fifi happily rushed out, hoping that she would be taken for a walk, but, left alone outside the door, she began to scratch herself and squeal. The princess frowned, Katya wanted to go out...

– I think the tea is ready? - Odintsova said. - Gentlemen, let's go; Auntie, please have some tea.

Nobody answered her. Bazarov and Arkady soon realized that they did not pay attention to her, although they treated her respectfully. " For-sake they hold it in importance because they are princely offspring,” thought Bazarov... After tea, Anna Sergeevna suggested going for a walk; but it began to rain, and the whole company, with the exception of the princess, returned to the living room. A neighbor arrived, a card game fan named Porfiry Platonich, a plump, gray-haired man with short, precisely chiseled legs, very polite and funny. Anna Sergeevna, who was talking more and more with Bazarov, asked him if he wanted to fight them in the old-fashioned way in preference. Bazarov agreed, saying that he needed to prepare in advance for his upcoming position as a district doctor.

- What should you play?

“Whatever you want,” Arkady answered indifferently.

– What kind of music do you like best? – Katya repeated without changing her position.

– Do you like Mozart?

- I love Mozart.

Having finished the sonata, Katya, without moving her hands on the key, asked: “Is that enough?” Arkady announced that he did not dare to bother her any more, and started talking to her about Mozart; I asked her whether she chose this sonata herself or who recommended it to her? But Katya answered him in monosyllables: she hid, went into herself. When this happened to her, she did not come out quickly; Her very face then took on a stubborn, almost stupid expression. She was not only timid, but distrustful and a little intimidated by the sister who raised her, which, of course, she did not suspect. Arkady ended up calling Fifi, who had returned, and began stroking her head with a benevolent smile for continence. Katya took up her flowers again.

“Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning,” she told him, “I want to learn from you the Latin names of field plants and their properties.”

– What do you need Latin names for? - asked Bazarov.

“Everything needs order,” she answered.

“What a wonderful woman Anna Sergeevna is,” exclaimed Arkady, left alone with his friend in the room assigned to them.

The main character of the novel, Bazarov, represents a new generation of democrats who will later become revolutionaries. Turgenev himself says that democrats must be understood as revolutionaries. In fact, many of Bazarov's views point to his revolutionary essence. And although in the novel it active work is not shown as a revolutionary, the hero himself, in disputes with Pavel Petrovich, remarks: “There are not as few of us as you think” and: “From a penny candle... Moscow burned down.”

The image of Bazarov is most fully revealed in his relationships with other heroes of the novel. Turgenev paints the cream high society- the family of hereditary nobles-aristocrats Kirsanovs - and contrasts their views with the views and beliefs of Yevgeny Bazarov. Even at the first meeting, the differences between these people are striking. Cloth, appearance, manners, and speech reveal Pavel Petrovich as an Anglomaniac aristocrat. His views and beliefs correspond to those of the nobility as a whole. He is subconsciously afraid of Bazarov, sees in him a destroyer of the moral foundations of the current society. What positions does Bazarov stand on? He considers himself a nihilist, therefore, a person who denies everything, primarily the old order, old authorities and principles. “At the present time, the most useful thing is denial - we deny,” says Bazarov. He claims that old world, and along with it, its representatives, the nobles, have outlived their usefulness, so they need replacement, and this replacement must begin with complete destruction: “first the place must be cleared.” Here an important gap emerges in Bazarov’s ideology. What happens after everything collapses? Bazarov does not have a specific answer to this question; the future is unclear for him.

Bazarov deeply sympathizes with the Russian people, the peasants. He regrets his ignorance, darkness, backwardness and is looking for ways to help ordinary people. To begin with, he believes that society needs to be corrected.

Bazarov has little practical knowledge; his position is that of a theorist. He explains the imperfection of society and social illnesses by the nature of society itself. “We know approximately why bodily ailments occur; and moral illnesses come from bad upbringing, from all sorts of trifles that fill people’s heads from childhood, from the ugly state of society... - says Bazarov. “Correct society, and there will be no diseases.” As for the upbringing that Turgenev’s hero is talking about here, in his opinion, everyone should educate themselves, the way they do. Turgenev does not show how and under the influence of what Bazarov’s upbringing took place, but in the novel he is presented as a person strong will, smart and active. Even on the Kirsanov estate, he does not sit still, carries out physical and chemical experiments, is engaged in natural science.

In disputes with Pavel Petrovich, issues related to literature, poetry and art in general were raised. Bazarov believes that art means nothing and gives nothing to a person; rather, it leads to fruitless dreams.

Nature for Bazarov is only a “workshop”, and he believes that “a person is a worker in it.” Bazarov's nihilism was not based on empty space. The youth of the 60s mainly relied on natural science and practical activities, believing that only accurate knowledge and practical actions will help in reorganizing the world. Not everyone in this era understood the true transformative meaning of art.

As in many other works, Turgenev tests the hero with love. Here Bazarov’s character appears from one more side, I must say from the best. We are accustomed to considering the hero of the novel a person with a cold mind, to whom all feelings are alien, including love. This confirms his statement about women as rather stupid creatures. Odintsova was an intelligent, beautiful woman, but selfish and cold. Love for her did not bring Bazarov happiness.

Bazarov spent the rest of his life on his parents' estate. Turgenev describes Bazarov's parents as sensitive, kind, deeply loving their son and tragically experiencing his death. Using the example of the Bazarov family, Turgenev also showed the conflict of generations. Its essence is that Bazarov, despite the fact that he loves his parents, follows a different path, not the one that the older generation had. It is difficult for parents who have lived a different life to understand their son. But the son cannot live the way his parents lived. Bazarov is alone in his family. And not only in the family. He is forced to part with his students. Arkady marries and moves away from the views of his teacher. Sitnikov and Kukshina are not so much followers of democrats as companions of every new idea.

And in the end, Bazarov bitterly says that his homeland does not need him.

Bazarov is the brightest of the heroes of the novel “Fathers and Sons”. This is strong, brave, courageous man but man future Russia. The present society is not ready to accept this person. Even Arkady prefers democratic views Bazarova quiet life father's generation. But physical death does not mean spiritual death. Bazarov's work will be continued by those who come after him.