Compare the figure of Pechorin in Geroi nashego vremeni to Bazarov in Ottsy i deti. To what extent does Turgenev create a different literary type to his predecessor?
Essay written by a friend and not by me. Gives variety to the writing style and is much more focused on a literature topic which is one of my weaknesses instead of a historical topic. This was a really good essay so enjoy!
Compare the figure of Pechorin in Geroi nashego vremeni to
Bazarov in Ottsy i
deti. To what extent does Turgenev create a different literary type to
his predecessor?
The new man?
An analysis of the characters Pechorin in Geroi nashego vremeni and Bazarov in Ottsy i deti
‘He is a real hero of our time.
‘What a hero and what a time, ‘ you will say. But that’s the way things are.’[1]
– Ivan Turgenev, commenting on Bazarov
For Turgenev it was clear. With the birth of Bazarov a
new literary type was born: the new man, novyi
chelovek. And this new man was to transcend the superfluous man, the
literary type who had been born in the creative hands of Byron at the beginning
of the nineteenth century, then had travelled to Russia first to appear in
Lermontov’s Geroi nashego vremeni and
later on in works like Goncharov’s Oblomov
and Herzen’s Kto vinovat’? This new
man was to be a real hero, distinguishing himself from the pensive, introvert
and cynical heroes of the previous decades. The politician Lunacharsky would later
call him the first ‘positive’ hero in Russian literature.[2]
However, this is exactly what this essay will put into question. This essay
aims to discern the difference between the literary characters Bazarov in
Turgenev’s Ottsy i deti and Pechorin in
Lermontov’s Geroi nashego vremeni. It
aims to analyse, whether Turgenev’s ‘novyi
chelovek’ is in fact a new literary type or whether he inevitably digresses
into a superfluous man.
One should, first of all, ascertain that both
characters are impregnated with the ambiance of a particular era. Geroi nashego vremeni, written during
the repression of Nicholas the First’s leaden regime, emanates the atmosphere
of ‘a time of constraints, where young men like Pechorin
felt stifled and ineffectual’.[3] Only ten
years before, the Tsar had crushed the Decembrist revolt violently, leaving
deep marks on a whole generation. The inertia, experienced by young aristocrats
of the time, was cutting. They were shackled by a suffocating conformity,
unable to find an outlet for their originality. Out of this environment
developed characters suffering from Oblomovism,
as the literary critic Dobrolyubov coined the term.[4]
Similarly, Bazarov is marked by the
historical agenda of his time. He is a member of the rising social class of the
time, the raznochintsy, made up of
those who did not fit into the peasantry nor the landowning class. The
juxtaposition of Bazarov’s character to that of Pavel Petrovich, Arkadi’s
uncle, exemplifies the schism between the generation of the 1840’s and the
1860’s. In the former was embedded a deep admiration for the Romantic art of
the West. Beauty was a sublime aim that was to be respected. The new radicals, however, broke with this
tradition and started advocating a utilitarian, positivist ideology. They
longed for change and regarded themselves as the revolutionaries destined to
bring about this change. It was in this spirit that the serfs were emancipated
in 1861. The character of Bazarov is deeply influenced by these events. And, though
Turgenev himself denied this, Bazarov’s character strongly resembles the
aforementioned Dobrolyubov, well-known for his ferocious, militant and revolutionary
character.[5]
For many critics, besides Turgenev himself, it is
clear Bazarov represents an entirely new literary type. As Freeborn puts it: ‘As
a type there is no doubt that Bazarov was new. His challenge to the older
generation, in its rejection of aestheticism and romanticism, was hard-headed,
rational and brutal.’[6]
A similar opinion is to be found with Berlin: ‘He is young, bold, intelligent,
strong, he has thrown off the burden of the past, the melancholy impotence of
the ‘superfluous man’ beating vainly against the bars of the prison house of
Russian society.’[7]
At first glance, it seems obvious
why Bazarov is a new literary type. Pechorin always seems to remain captive in
an immobile state, unable to act in any purposeful way. His deep boredom drives
him to utter immorality; manipulating the beautiful Bela, chasing the hand of
young princess Mary for the sake of winning her soul. Belinsky’s words echo this
thought; ‘egoist, monster,
scoundrel, an immoral man!’, strict moralists will perhaps scream in unison.’[8]
Pechorin is so
utterly immoral that even the unnamed narrator starts to dislike the mysterious,
gloomy hero whose story he has just heard: ‘from the staff
captain’s tale I had formed an opinion of him that wasn’t very favourable.’[9]
Geroi nashego vremeni, rather than being a coherent story
with a denouement, is a collection of narratives which serve the purpose of
enlightening the character of Pechorin. It is above all a multifaceted and
meticulous portrait of the male ego, devoid of any character development. On
top of this, lies Pechorin’s fatalism: ‘I may recover, I may die. Either would
be according to the order of things.’[10]
Fatalism immobilizes. As this unknown force called Fate has already set out his
path in life for him, there is nothing left for Pechorin to act on. He only
needs to wait and his stars will naturally guide him. Therefore, both due to
the composition of the novel, Pechorin’s inherent characteristics and his
belief in fatalism, he remains an entirely static character.
Bazarov, on the other hand, is eternally energetic;
whether he is searching for frogs in the early morning or looks at his
microscope late at night. ‘Let’s go and have a look at that beetle.’[11]
He is, first and foremost, a practical country-doctor, following in the
footsteps of his father. Where we could see Pechorin as floating above society
in clouds of comfort and luxury, Bazarov is more grounded; he has contact with
peasant boys and instantly has a good relationship with Fenechka’s baby, Mitya.
He criticism is just when he tells Pavel Petrovich: ‘You don’t even know how to
talk to them [the peasants].’ [12]
Bazarov seems close to society and even closer to nature. His proximity to
nature is mirrored by his language. The metaphors he uses are distinctly
natural, for example when he declares that Nikolai Petrovich ‘has sung his
swansong.’ [13]
Or when he meets Odintsova for the second time, he says: ‘Let’s see what
species of mammal this personage belongs to.’[14]
As a nihilist, Bazarov is not immoral, but one could
rather call him amoral; he ‘does not accept a single principle on faith, no
matter how much that principle may be surrounded by respect.’[15]
Quoting another philosophical hornet, Bazarov knows that he knows nothing. Yet,
he regards scientific research as the only means for obtaining knowledge.
Fatalism and nihilism: a comparison
Looking beyond the slightly obvious differences
between Bazarov and Pechorin, an ideological similarity arises. Both Pechorin’s
fatalism and Bazarov’s nihilism debouch into determinism. They state that
humans are solely determined by their bodies. However, they do this each in a
slightly different way.
‘I confess that I have a strong prejudice against the
blind, the cross-eyed, the deaf, the mute, the legless, the armless, the
hunch-backed and the like. I have noticed that there is always a sort of
strange relationship between the exterior of a person and his soul. It is as
if, with the loss of a feature, the soul loses some kind of sensibility.’[16]
Pechorin starts off by stating that all men are
different, that some are blind and some can see, that some are disabled and
some are healthy. As he considers the body as determining the human soul, he states
the disabled are less sensible than the healthy. Bazarov uses a same kind of
logic, but has a different starting point.
‘All people are alike in their bodies as in their
souls. Each one of us has a brain, a spleen and lungs made in the same way and
the so-called moral qualities are the same in all of us.’[17]
Bazarov sarts off by stating that all men are equal,
because everyone has the same body. Therefore, every human soul bares the same
moral qualities. In short, Pechorin and Bazarov have the same deterministic
logic, but they emphasize different sides of the same coin.
Bazarov’s journey
It is in the energetic ability of Bazarov described
before that Bazarov and Pechorin find another similarity. Bazarov, unlike
Pechorin, goes through a radical change throughout the novel. His change is
mirrored by the change of scenery. The novel starts at Marino, a hostile
environment to Bazarov, a bastion of romanticism partly owned by the archetype
of a Westernizer, Pavel Petrovich. In this antipodal environment, Bazarov seems
strong, brazen, a giant, constantly ready to get into an argument with Pavel.
He seems, eternal, a saviour, a new wind, blowing in a stuffy, traditional
country house. His egoism and courage is both alluring and appalling. This is
Bazarov the Messiah. He seems to have fallen from the sky, not rooted in any
social class. He seems invincible. An ideological fire is burning within him
and he is eager to share his knowledge with whoever passes. He is ready to enlighten.
The time Bazarov spends at Nikolskoe can be seen as a
transitionary period. Slowly, but gradually, he falls in love with Odintsova.
He, the invincible colossus, the magnificent scientist, whose job it is to
observe the world from afar, examine it and judge it, not play in it, is being
dragged into society by a force until this point unknown to him: love. The
revolutionary, the outsider gradually becomes part of what he so passionately
despises: romanticism. Turgenev cleverly gives the reader a hint to Bazarov’s
forthcoming change when describing Odintsova’s traditional garden.
‘The estate where Anna Sergeevna lived stood on a bare
sloping hill a short distance from a yellow stone church with a green roof,
white pillars and a fresco painting over the main entrance depicting ‘The
Resurrection of Christ’ in a so-called Italian manner.’[18]
It is clear that Bazarov enters a different period of
his life from the moment he enters Odintsova’s estate. Involuntarily, he is
changed by her.
Bazarov’s failure
The final part of the novel is largely spent at
Bazarov’s parents home. The mere setting is telling. Bazarov is reduced from a grand
hero, flung out of space, without any hereditary line, to the son of a loving
country-doctor. The family setting exposes Bazarov’s roots and in that way
demystifies the mysterious Bazarov the reader had met at the beginning. It
turns out Bazarov was only capable of having casual conversations with
peasants, because ‘in their eyes he had something of the look of a village
idiot.’[19]Also
his scientific knowledge seems less persuasive. In a rather careless way, he
cuts himself while conducting an autopsy of a peasant with typhus: a beginner’s
mistake. All of these facts discredit Bazarov as an undiscovered genius. He
seems smaller, more insignificant, a fallen hero.
With meticulous attention, one can see how Bazarov’s
medical and philosophical knowledge is lacking throughout the whole book. For
example when Arkady asks Bazarov what he should read to improve his knowledge
of the sciences and Bazarov replies: ‘Well, I think Büchner’s Stoff und Kraft to start with.’[20]
This is a purposeful misquotation. The real book is called Kraft und Stoff. And, according to Berlin, this was not at all a
work of scientific truth, but a ‘a cheap popular tract, journalism, materialist
propaganda.’[21]
During the conversation with Kukshina, one can also see that Bazarov is not
entirely in the know of the leading thinkers of the time. In the original text,
there are no indications for who says what, but in this instance they have been
added, as context is lacking.
‘K: ‘I’m thinking of going abroad. […] To Paris
and Heidelberg.’
B: ‘Why Heidelberg?’
K: ‘Good heavens , Bunsen’s there!’
Bazarov found nothing to say to this.
K: ‘Pierre Sapozhnikov, do you know him?’
B: ‘No, I don’t.’
K: ‘What, you don’t know Pierre Sapozhnikov! He
still spends all his time at Lidiya Khostatova’s.’
B: ‘I don ‘t know her either.’’[22]
This can be seen as Bazarov’s first blunder and
the first sign that he is not the giant he thinks he is. The following
quotation is taken from a later point in the novel. It makes two things clear;
namely, that Bazarov’s knowledge on romanticism and the art he so despises, is
very limited. On top of that, it is one of the first moments Arkady shows
resistance towards Bazarov. The protégé rebels against his former teacher,
because he has become capable of making his own judgements judge for himself. The
pupil understands that his master does not always pronounce truths
‘B: ‘Nature induces the silence of sleep’, said
Pushkin.
A: ‘He never said anything of the kind,’
B: ‘[…] Besides, he must have done military
service.’
A: ‘Pushkin was never a soldier.’’[23]
The fact remains that Bazarov the Messiah gradually
turns into a mere remnant of his former self. The question is how to interpret
this. Kagan-Kans asserts that ‘Turgenev attempted to create a universal
yardstick for human types in his lecture on ‘Hamlet and Don Quixote’.’ [24]
She describes how many Turgenevan heroes either fall into the category of a
Hamlet or a Don Quixote. Hamlet is in this regard an archetypal Romantic
character. He is melancholic, pessimistic. He suffers, because ‘he yearns to
love, yet his egotism and self-contempt make him incapable of experiencing any
strong emotion.’[25]
Don Quixote, Hamlet’s antipode, is an enthusiastic idealist, who ‘does not
calculate or weigh the consequences of his service and self-sacrifice. Nothing
can break his determination and failure does not dismay him, since truth for
him exists outside his ego and his faith in that truth is unshakable.’[26]
Bazarov’s initial faith in truth and his later incapability to love echo in
these words. I would like to regard the character of Bazarov as an amalgamation
of both types; he begins the novel in a Quixotic manner, fearless and full of
confidence, but, gradually, discovers the Hamlet within himself. Finally, he
cannot stand this reality and dies tragically, as befits a romantic Hamlet.
However, more than simply a romantic Hamlet, I would
like to argue that Bazarov ends the novel as a superfluous man, as a an equal
to Pechorin. This can already be seen in Bazarov’s language just before he
becomes ill. ‘However, Bazarov soon stopped locking himself in because the
fever of work had ‘jumped off him’ (as he put it) and been replaced by a
wearisome boredom and a dull restlessness.’[27]
The boredom Bazarov speaks of is the same boredom as Pechorin experiences.
During his illness, it is remarkable to see that
Bazarov the same kind of metaphorical language which is normally used by his
father, Vasily Ivanovich, or by Pavel Petrovich. For example, when he talks
about his situation with his optimistic father and declares: ‘Have you ever
seen people in my condition who have not been dispatched to the Elysian
fields?’[28] ‘The Elysian fields’ here is a
euphemism for death. It is a clear reference to Greek mythology, in which it
means the resting place of the virtuous heroes of ancient Greece. It is a
characteristic of a romantic narrative and stands in sharp contrast with Bazarov’s
practical, direct and utilitarian talk of the earlier passages.
The most telling are Bazarov’s last famous words. It
makes clear that Bazarov has not just become a romantic character, but it
substantiates why Bazarov specifically has become a superfluous man.
‘I’m needed by
Russia… No, obviously I’m not needed. And who is needed? The shoemaker is
needed. The tailor’s needed, the butcher… he sells meat… the butcher… Stop, I’m
losing my way… There’s a forest here…’[29]
In a masterly manner, Turgenev sketches the moment of
realization here, when Bazarov discovers his own humanity, his own ephemerality
and his own mortality. He does so from a remarkably pragmatic perspective,
reasoning about the productive middle class. It seems as if Pavel Petrovich’s statement, after their last argument,
has turned into reality: ‘You, according to my tastes, are superfluous here.’[30]
The ingenious stranger has completely been side-lined by society.
Does Bazarov’s fall mean that he is the same literary
type as Pechorin? It does not, though it does bring him closer to his
predecessor. It has been ascertained that Bazarov does end his life as a
superfluous man, the same literary type to which Pechorin belongs. However,
Bazarov is not defined by his fall. Turgenev has created a new literary type, a
literary type who is defined by the struggle of escaping the literary type of
the superfluous man. Eventually, he fails. However, his failure to attain his
scientific and idealistic goals does not mean he should be regarded as a
superfluous man. Bazarov’s life is not defined by his failure, but by his
intention to change the world and his struggle to attain that goal. This
intention is what makes Bazarov ‘the real hero’ according to Turgenev and it is
why he should be regarded as a novel literary hero.
In this context, Bazarov could be seen as the answer
to the last words of Gogol’s Mertvye
Dushi. Bazarov did bring the Russian literary world a step forward.
‘Where is the one who in the native language of the
Russian soul could pronounce for us the mighty word “forward”? Century after
century passes, and a half a million stay-at-homes, lubbers and blockheads are
immersed in deep slumber, but rarely is a man born in Rus who is able to
pronounce this mighty word.’[31]
Turgenev’s message
Freeborn alludes to the idea that Turgenev wrote about
Bazarov’s fall as a hero in a Greek tragedy, destroyed by his own pride.
‘Strong, independent-minded and self-assured though he may be, his arrogance at
this point seems to epitomize the hubris of all those who challenge fate and
bring about their own ruin.’[32]
This is not an unreasonable interpretation of Bazarov’s fall; Bazarov with his
rebellion against the gods bears resemblance to a tragic hero from Ancient
Greece. However, an interpretation in conformity with the state of mind at the
time would be preferred, being more in line with the historical context and,
therefore, more valid. It is Bazarov’s tragic fall which could be interpreted
as a clear sign to the shestidesiatniki.
It is known that Turgenev disagreed with the shestidesiatniki on multiple levels. He would be without doubt of the generation of the ‘fathers’. First of all, he strongly disagreed
with their conception of art. Turgenev, a pure aesthete and a believer in art
for art’s sake, detested the utilitarian, pragmatic view of the radicals of the
sixties. As Berlin puts it, ‘he thought of them [shestidesiatniki] dull, narrow doctrinaires, devoid of all
understanding of art, enemies of beauty, uninterested in personal who judged
everything in the of a single goal – the liberation of the Russian people.’[33]
As he expressed in a letter to Stasyulevich: ‘their cause is so devoid of truth and life that it can only end
in a total fiasco.’[34]
It
is also known that the ambiance of the time was definitely revolutionary, as
Freeborn states that
the overthrow of the tsarist autocracy had been on the agenda of Russian
internal affairs since the end of the Decembrists revolution of 1825.[35] And although Turgenev strongly sympathized with the
peasant class, he did not believe it provided a possible source for a Russian
Golden Age. In his opinion, the time was not yet ripe for any cataclysmic
transformation, any rise of the Russian peasant over the ancient Western
culture. To him, the civilization of the West was all but crumbling. And, he
regarded ‘the Russian peasant as, in embryo, the worst conservative of all, who
cares nothing for liberal ideals.’[36]
Therefore, Bazarov’s fall could be read as a discouragement towards the shestidesiatniki to pursue their goals.
Concludingly, Bazarov and Pechorin seem to be
radically different characters at first: Bazarov being an active, idealistic,
Quixotic figure, whilst Pechorin an immoral aristocrat, tainted by his boredom.
Bazarov, however, goes through a change which leaves him in an immobile state comparable
to Pechorin’s position. This change can be interpreted from a political
perspective, as a lack of trust in the cause of the shestidesiatniki. However, one cannot say that Pechorin and Bazarov
are therefore one and the same character, as what defines Bazarov is not
failure and final ending as a superfluous man, but what characterizes him is
his struggle to be the new man. And that struggle alone makes him the new man.
-3704 words
Bibliography:
Primary sources
Dobrolyubov, N., ‘What
is Oblomovism?’, The Contemporary, Saint Petersburg, 1859
Gogol, N., Dead
Souls, Moscow, 1842
Lermontov, M., A
Hero of Our Time (trans. Natasha Randall), Il’ia Glazunov & Co., Saint
Petersburg, 1840
Turgenev, I., Fathers
and Sons (trans. Richard Freeborn), first published by The Russian
Messenger, Moscow, 1862
Turgenev, I., ‘Pis’ma:
1855-1858 Vol. 3 of Polnoe sobraniie sochinenii i pisem v tridsati tomakh’,
3:7-167, Moscow
Letter from Turgenev to
Stasyulich, 3 January 1877
Turgenev in a letter to
Herzen, 8 November 1862
Secondary sources
Berlin, I., ‘Fathers
and Children: the Romanes Lecture’, The Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1972
Freeborn, R.,
Introduction to Fathers and Sons(trans. Richard Freeborn), Oxford World Classics, Oxford, 1991
Freeborn, R., ‘A
centenary tribute to Turgenev’, Journal of European Studies, No. XIV,
London, 1984
Kagan-Kans, E., Hamlet
and Don Quixote: Turgenev’s ambivalent vision, Mouton Publishers, The
Hague, 1979
Randall, N.,
Introduction to ‘A Hero of Our Time’, the Penguin Group, London, 2009
Vissarion Belinsky
cited in Lewis Bagby, Lermontov’s A Hero of Our Time: A Critical Companion,
Northwestern University Press, Evanston, Illinois, 2002
[2] Berlin, I., ‘Fathers and Children: the Romanes Lecture’, the
Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1972, p. 31
[3] Randall, N., Introduction to ‘A Hero of Our
Time’, the Penguin Group, London, 2009, p.13
[13] Ibid., p.46
[17] Turgenev, I., Fathers and Sons (trans. Richard Freeborn), first
published by The Russian Messenger, Moscow, 1862, p. 84
[22] Turgenev, I., Fathers and Sons (trans.
Richard Freeborn), first published by The Russian Messenger, Moscow, 1862,
p. 68-69
[25] Ibid, p. 12
[28] Ibid, p. 191
[29]Ibid, p. 196
[33] Berlin, I., ‘Fathers and Children: the Romanes Lecture’, The
Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1972, p. 10
[35] Berlin, I., ‘Fathers and Children: the Romanes Lecture’, The
Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1972, p. 11
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