The characters of Pechorin and Bazarov, the protagonists of Lermontov's Hero of Our Time and Turgenev's Fathers and Sons, are both, in a sense, doomed men. One willingly travels the world, expecting and ultimately meeting an unnoticed end, and finds oneself fatally and irrevocably infected. The two are similar not only in the fact that they live and die in contempt and indifference, but more importantly in the fact that they inflict this on themselves. Both men are driven, consciously or unconsciously, to self-destruct – and the big factor in their undoing is ultimately love. A man is loved but cannot love in return, and another loves a woman who in turn cannot love him; and whatever reasons both men claim to believe, nothing pushes them more strongly toward their goals than their tortured romantic encounters. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay Pechorin's relationship with Vera could be described as that of a man who can't help himself. From the moment Vera is introduced, the master manipulator lets his reader slip that she has a real hold on him; as soon as he sees her for the first time, already thinking of her, he finds himself shouting her name “involuntarily” (87). This woman obviously has a hold on him, and the reader senses it immediately, even if Pechorin himself goes to great lengths to hide it. Indeed, immediately after recounting their surprising reunion and their “long-forgotten thrill” (87), he launches into a monologue about his absolute power in matters of love: “It has always amazed me that I have never been the slave of the women I loved,” he said. “In fact, I have always mastered them, heart and soul, without even trying” (89). Pechorin is trying here to convince himself of something – and the reader too, if he succeeds. He admits that his dominance in matters of the heart troubles him, in an academic way, but the cool manner in which he examines the phenomenon gives the very clear impression that it does not bother him very much. This is something recognizable in Pechorin throughout the novel; when he confronts the idea of ​​commitment, he gives a monologue about marriage. When he is accused of lack of heart, he gives an almost biographical explanation. In short, whenever Pechorin is confronted with a question of the heart, or even the soul, he makes sure to examine it in the most soulless way possible. This reflection on Vera is no exception and, in accordance with his routine, Pechorin puts forward several ideas about why he never allows himself to be controlled by a woman. Is it, he says, women's fault? Is it the strength of his strong personality? He's not sure and doesn't care, but he seems especially attached to one of his theories: he doesn't want to love, but rather to be loved. “I have passed that stage of life where all you seek is happiness and when the heart feels the need to love someone with passion and intensity. Now all I want is to be loved, and by very few people. I think I would be content with even a single lasting attachment: such is the pathetic path of the heart” (89). There is an air of confession in this passage that suggests, for once, that this is really how Pechorin views himself. He makes his point bluntly and bluntly, even going so far as to imagine how he could one day be happy. It is very unlike Pechorin to consider contentment for its own sake - the whole novel, after all, is essentially about his discontent - but here he finds himself revealing what may very well be his final dream.stay. It’s “the pathetic way of the heart,” he says – suggesting, even in passing, that he also has a heart. Why, then, is Pechorin dissatisfied with Vera? If his only goal is simply to be loved by someone else, no other woman could serve better than Vera. In the midst of his seduction of Princess Mary, he asks, "Why this feminine coquetry? Vera loves me more than Princess Mary will ever love anyone" (102). He even goes so far as to say that Vera not only loves him more, but understands him more than any woman he's ever known – and, as such, that he "could never cheat on her." » (89) as he does for all other women. . You would think that such an arrangement would be ideal in love, since we all want to find someone who knows and loves us. Pechorin, however, seems to be more disturbed by this than anything else. “I really don't understand why she loves me so much,” he says, “especially since she is the only woman who has ever fully understood me, and all my little weaknesses and unhealthy passions. Can evil be so attractive” (101)? Confused, bored, and even a little repulsed, he pushes Vera away and pursues another girl who he admits he doesn't care about, because he doesn't understand how anyone can care about him. It is this perception that Pechorin has of himself that sends him on such a violent path. After all, he claims more than once that he considers himself evil – that all he wants is affection for himself – and that the only thing he can offer is unhappiness of others. Of course, not everything that Pechorin claims to “reveal” can be taken literally; his hesitation between apparent candor and total indifference distinguishes him as a showman keeping a mystery to himself. Yet there is at least one moment in his story that is undoubtedly sincere, as Pechorin admits for the first time that he finds himself here both shameful and ridiculous. The event occurs after Pechorin's duel with Grushnitsky, when he receives a farewell letter from Vera. The letter is sincere, tragic and full of insight; Vera knows to what extent he considered her “as good” (142), and how much love she had to give him. Even now, now that her reputation has been ruined by Pechorin, she says that she still loves him and, what is most remarkable, proves that she really knows him much better than anyone else, better even than he himself. “No one,” she said, “is so persistent in their desire for love. In person, evil is no longer attractive…And no one can be as sincerely unhappy as you, because no one tries so hard to persuade himself that he is not unhappy” (142). Here Vera, like lightning, gives Pechorin the reason for her misfortune. Despite everything he says, what Pechorin really wants is to love, not just to be loved. Being loved alone is not enough, as only Vera can prove to him, because Vera is the only woman who can love him best. Her letter and her departure trigger something in Pechorin, perhaps even making her realize that she has identified the force behind her loss, her apparent inability to love. Ironically, this seems to prompt Pechorin to commit his most desperate and heartfelt act in the novel, and he pursues her "like a madman" (143), simply hoping for a parting glimpse. But forces beyond his control are also at work here; his horse falls under him, and his legs fall under him. He can't do anything as Vera moves away from him forever. His fate is then sealed, and he knows it consciously or unconsciously, because after giving in to his grief, he returns to his old self. He gets up, dusts himself off and continues as before. Vera is therefore both his salvation and his damnation; it offers him the possibility of obtainingthe contentment he seeks, but it offers him the ability to understand this opportunity only when it is too late. “My position, you will no doubt agree, is ridiculous” (81). So says Bazarov about his unhappy love for Anna Sergeyevna. There are certainly many things here that smack of the ridiculous; Bazarov is, after all, a nihilist, a man “who submits to no authority, who is not based on any principle of trust, regardless of the respect with which this principle is surrounded.” Much of his time in the novel is spent displaying his lack of faith and ridiculing others for theirs; he doesn't believe in aristocracy, he doesn't believe in sentiment, doesn't believe in beauty and certainly doesn't believe in love. While Arkady gets sentimental about Anna, Bazarov blusters a lot about her indifference. “If you like a woman,” he said, “try to achieve your goals; if that's impossible, well, too bad, turn your back on him, there are a lot of fish in the sea” (71). This more or less describes Bazarov's attitude towards love before his meeting with Odintsova, and perhaps even after – for a while. But he does not take long to realize that as a conquest it is impossible, that he will never achieve his goal: to his great astonishment, however, he did not have the strength to turn his back on it. . His blood burned as soon as he thought of her; he could have easily endured his blood, but something else had taken root in him that he had never been able to admit, something he had always mocked, something that irritated his pride. (71)In short, Bazarov is in love. As a nihilist, he has no way of justifying this to himself, and therein lies the root of his problem. So, regardless of what comes later, regardless of Anna's refusal of him and her premature death, a part of Bazarov is already dead, and that at the very moment he falls in love. However, at this point, Bazarov is far from desperate. He is baffled, even ashamed, of his feelings for Odintsova, but not to the point of giving up on her completely. His confession of love for her, as desperate as it is, reveals that he still has some hope about how she might react. He may no longer live as a nihilist, certainly, but he is waiting for her answer before going any further; in his pause is an admission that he might have been willing to live a different kind of life, more like those lived by his fathers before him. But horribly, tragically, this chance for happiness is denied to him; Odintsova and Bazarov, as they both often admit, are too similar. It is therefore not surprising that Odintsova regards Bazarov's love with as much terror, even disgust, as he does. When he approaches her, she hesitates briefly, "but a moment later she was standing in the corner in the distance, watching Bazarov from there" (80). Although Anna continues to hesitate about her rejection of Bazarov even after this scene, her decision has ultimately already been made up. For the sake of serenity, independence, and the type of woman Anna considers herself to be, she sacrifices her feelings for Bazarov and, in doing so, seals her fate. From this moment on, Bazarov is on his way to the goal. Bazarov the nihilist fell in love with Anna, and Bazarov the romantic fell because of her rejection. Before, Anna, “romantic” was the most ridiculous and absurd word for him – in a conversation with Arkady, he exchanges it with “absurdity” – but now he finds it inescapably real. Before, he often protested an indifference to nature (a trait, coincidentally, he shares with Anna), but now he suddenly takes a mocking interest in it. When he arrives home, he notices his father's birch grove, then barksafter a servant to fill his pipe. His father mentions “the trees loved by Horace” (92) and Bazarov asks what species they are – before stifling a yawn. Lying under a haystack with Arkady, Bazarov shows him an old aspen tree that he believed in childhood to have magical powers - and soon after, he challenges Arkady to a fight. He even finds it poignant when an ant walks across the ground, comparing the ant to himself and to the fly it drags towards Anna: “Look! Here is a heroic ant carrying away a half-dead fly. Come on, brother, shoot! Don't pay attention to its resistance; take advantage of the fact that as an animal you have the right not to feel any compassion, unlike us, self-destructive creatures that we are! (98) This quote is interesting not only for its connection to nature and not only for the obvious anguish it contains, but also because Bazarov finds himself admitting that as a human he simply feels more than 'an insect can never do it. He laments his fate and curses the half-dead fly, but he also seems to recognize that he suffers because of compassion – and that his suffering will lead him to destroy himself. Arkady also seems to understand his allusion, because his response to Bazarov here is full of fear and worry: “You shouldn't say that, Eugene! When did you try to destroy yourself? » Bazarov raised his head. “It’s the only thing I’m proud of. I have not destroyed myself and no woman will destroy me. Amen! Finished. I won't talk to you about it anymore. (98) Ultimately, of course, Bazarov fails to keep his promise. Caught between two worlds, no longer belonging to either, his behavior becomes more and more reckless. When Pavel Petrovich challenges him to a duel, Bazarov accepts even though he recognizes that a duel cannot serve any specific purpose. “From a theoretical point of view,” he said, “duels are ridiculous; but, from a practical point of view, well, that's another matter. The nihilist in him would never have been drawn into something literally pointless, but his new romanticism pushes Bazarov to engage in something very dangerous. After agreeing to the duel, Bazarov tries to turn to his microscope only to find that he cannot concentrate; the composure that reflection requires is no longer his - and, tellingly, Bazarov has a nightmare about the duel in which Pavel appears to him as a forest, an image of nature that returns as the type of sentimental life that he never wanted to lead. Bazarov's own death is, by all accounts, the ultimate act of self-destruction. Whether he realizes it or not, the end Bazarov meets is indeed a kind of suicide; his reckless and willful autopsy on a highly contagious corpse, carried out when Bazarov lacked practice and ended when he cut himself with apparent carelessness, is more Bazarov's work than anyone else's. The fact that his disappearance occurs as part of an act of scientific research is also significant, as it marks his attempt to return to the factual existence he previously led. And the fact that Bazarov cuts himself, instead of being cut by another, is revealing, if only on a symbolic level; his morbid calm after the event suggests that he has long accepted a fate of oblivion. (“Never miss an opportunity to practice your profession!” (145) he says cheerfully to his horrified father.) This does not mean, of course, that Bazarov does not cry himself a little; lying in fever, he thinks that a man older than him would have time “to get used to the idea of ​​leaving life behind” (148). Yet Bazarov is already, in many ways, an old man; he is exhausted in his own way, even if his body remains young. “If you know too much, you.