Kids r kids 4: Programs – Kids ‘R’ Kids

Filming took place in Spasskoye-Lutovinovo, Fyodor Tyutchev’s estate in Ovstug and in specially built scenery at Mosfilm.

Feature Film (Russia, 2008)
Director: Avdotya (Dunya) Smirnova
Scriptwriters: Alexander Adabashyan, Avdotya (Dunya) Smirnova
Operator: Yuri Paradise
in roles: Alexander Ustyugov, Alexander Ustyugov Alexander Skotnikov, Andrey Smirnov, Anatoly Vasilyev, Natalya Rogozhkina, Ekaterina Vilkova, Leonid Yarmolnik, Bogdan Ermakov, Natalya Tenyakova, Sergey Yursky, Daria Belousova, Natalya Kurdyubova, Ivan Krivoruchko, Olga Demidova

• drama

• Ivan Turgenev

• Avdotya Smirnova

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• generation

• Anatoly Vasiliev

• Andrey Smirnov

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Ekaterina Vilkova

• Sergei Yursky

• classic

• Leonid Yarmolnik

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• conflict

• film adaptation

• parents/children

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movie

• art

• TV channel “Culture”

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Read online “Fathers and Sons”, Ivan Turgenev – LitRes, page 4

Pavel Petrovich smiled and, putting 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 over which the lord … lord doctor so cruelly mocks. Excuse me,” he continued, turning again to Bazarov, “perhaps you think that your teaching is new? You are right to imagine it. The materialism that you preach has been in vogue more than once and has always proved to be untenable …

– Another foreign word! interrupted Bazarov. He began to get angry, and his face took on a kind of coppery and rough color. – Firstly, we do not preach anything; it is not in our habits…

– What are you doing?

– That’s what we do. Formerly, in recent times, we used to say that our officials take bribes, that we have neither roads, nor trade, nor a proper court… With many of your denunciations and I agree, but …

– And then we figured out that talking, just talking about our ulcers is not worth the trouble, that it only leads to vulgarity and doctrinairism; ^[45] we saw that our wise men, the so-called progressive people and accusers, are no good, that we are engaged in nonsense, talking about some kind of art, unconscious creativity, about parliamentarism, about advocacy and the devil knows what, when it comes to our daily bread, when the grossest superstition suffocates us, when all our joint-stock companies fail solely because there is a shortage of honest people, when the very freedom that the government is busy with is hardly going to benefit us, because our peasant is glad of himself rob yourself just to get drunk dope in a tavern. nine0007

“So,” Pavel Petrovich interrupted, “so: you are convinced of all this and have decided not to take anything seriously yourself.

“And they decided not to take on anything,” repeated Bazarov sullenly.

He suddenly felt annoyed with himself, why he had spread himself so much in front of this gentleman.

– And only to swear?

– And swear.

– And this is called nihilism?

“And that’s called nihilism,” Bazarov repeated again, this time with particular impudence. nine0007

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 deliverers and heroes. But why do you honor others, at least the same accusers? Don’t you just talk like everyone else?

“What else, but this sin is not sinful,” Bazarov said through his teeth.

– So what? you act, don’t you? Are you going to take action?

Bazarov did not answer. Pavel Petrovich trembled, but immediately mastered himself. nine0007

“Um!.. Act, break…” he continued. “But how can you break it without even knowing why?”

“We break because we are strong,” Arkady remarked. Pavel Petrovich looked at his nephew and grinned.

“Yes, strength still doesn’t give an account,” Arkady said and straightened up.

– Unfortunate! cried Pavel Petrovich; he was resolutely not in a position to hold on any longer – even if you thought that in Russia you support your vulgar maxim! ^[46] No, it can make an angel out of patience! Force! Both in the wild Kalmyk and in the Mongol there is strength – but what do we need it for? Civilization is dear to us, yes, sir, yes, sir; we cherish its fruits. And don’t tell me that these fruits are worthless: the last scribbler, un barbouilleur , ^[47] taper, who is given five kopecks a night, and those are more useful than you, because they are representatives of civilization, and not of brute Mongol power! You imagine yourself to be progressive people, and all you have to do is sit in a Kalmyk wagon! Force! Finally, remember, strong gentlemen, that there are only four and a half of you, and there are millions of those who will not allow you to trample under your feet your most sacred beliefs, which will crush you! nine0007

“If they crush you, the road is there,” said Bazarov. – Only the grandmother said in two. We are not as few as you think.

– How? Do you not jokingly think to get along, get along with the whole people?

– From a penny candle, you know, Moscow burned down, – answered Bazarov.

– Yes, yes. At first almost satanic pride, then mockery. This is what the youth is fond of, this is what the inexperienced hearts of the boys submit to! Here, look, one of them is sitting next to you, because he almost prays 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. nine0095 [48] Raphael ^[49] is considered almost a fool, because he is supposedly an authority; but they themselves are powerless and fruitless to the point of disgust; and their own fantasy is not enough beyond “The Girl at the Fountain”, no matter what! And the girl is badly written. You think they are great, don’t they?

– In my opinion, – objected Bazarov, – Rafael is not worth a penny, and they are no better than him.

Bravo! Bravo! Listen, Arkady … that’s how modern young people should express themselves! And how, you think, they can’t follow you! Formerly young people had to learn; they did not want to pass for ignoramuses, so they involuntarily worked. And now they should say: everything in the world is nonsense! – and it’s in the hat. The young people rejoiced. And in fact, before they were just blockheads, and now they have suddenly become nihilists. nine0007

“That’s what your vaunted self-respect has betrayed you,” Bazarov remarked phlegmatically, while Arkady flushed all over and flashed his eyes. “Our argument has gone too far… It seems to be better to end it. And then I’ll be ready to agree with you,” he added, getting up, “when you present me at least one decision in our modern life, in family or public life, which would not cause complete and merciless denial.

“I will present you millions of such decrees,” exclaimed Pavel Petrovich, “millions! Yes, at least the community, for example. nine0007

A cold smile twisted Bazarov’s lips.

“Well, about the community,” he said, “talk to your brother instead. He now seems to have experienced in practice what a community, mutual responsibility, sobriety and the like are.

– The family, finally, the family, as it exists among our peasants! cried Pavel Petrovich.

– And this question, I think, is better for you not to go into details yourself. Have you, tea, heard of daughters-in-law? Listen to me, Pavel Petrovich, give yourself a day or two, you will hardly find anything right away. Go through all our estates and think carefully about each, but for now we will be with Arkady …

“Everyone should be mocked,” Pavel Petrovich picked up.

– No, cut the 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 is the youth of today! Here they are – our heirs!

“Heirs,” repeated Nikolai Petrovich with a despondent sigh. During the entire argument he sat as if on coals and only furtively glanced painfully at Arkady. “Do you know what I remember, brother? Once I quarreled with the deceased 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 it must be swallowed. Now it’s our turn, and our heirs can tell us: you, they say, are not of our generation, swallow the pill. nine0007

– You are already too complacent and modest, – objected Pavel Petrovich, – on the contrary, I am sure that you and I are much more right than these gentlemen, although we may express ourselves in somewhat outdated language, vieilli , ^[50] and we do not have that impudent arrogance … And such an inflated youth of today! You ask someone else: “Which wine do you want, red or white?” “I have a habit of preferring red!” – he answers in a bass voice and with such an important face, as if the whole universe is looking at him at this moment . ..

– Would you like more tea? said Fenechka, sticking her head in the door; she did not dare to enter the drawing-room while the voices of the arguing were heard in it.

“No, you can order the samovar to be accepted,” answered Nikolai Petrovich and went up to meet her. Pavel Petrovich abruptly said to him: bon soir, ^[51] , and went off to his office.

XI

Half an hour later Nikolai Petrovich went to the garden, to his favorite pavilion. Sad thoughts were found on him. For the first time he was clearly aware of his separation from his son; he foresaw that every day it would grow larger and larger. It was, therefore, in vain that he used to sit all day long in the winter in St. Petersburg over the latest compositions; in vain he listened to the conversations of young people; he rejoiced in vain when he managed to insert his own word into their ebullient speeches. “Brother says that we are right,” he thought, “and, putting all self-love aside, it seems to me myself that they are further from the truth than we are, and at the same time I feel that there is something behind them, what we don’t have, some advantage over us. .. Youth? No: not only youth. Doesn’t this advantage lie in the fact that they have fewer traces of nobility than we do? nine0007

Nikolai Petrovich lowered his head and ran his hand over his face.

“But reject poetry? he thought again, “not to sympathize with art, nature?..”

And he looked around, as if wishing to understand how one could not sympathize with nature. It was already evening; the sun hid behind a small aspen grove that lay half a verst from the garden: its shadow stretched endlessly across the motionless fields. The peasant was trotting on a white horse along a dark narrow path along the grove itself: he was all clearly visible, all up to the patch on his shoulder, even though he rode in the shade; the horse’s legs flickered pleasantly distinctly. The rays of the sun, for their part, climbed into the grove and, breaking through the thicket, doused the aspen trunks with such a warm light that they became like pine trunks, and their foliage almost turned blue and a pale blue sky rose above it, slightly reddened by the dawn. The swallows flew high; the wind stopped completely; belated bees buzzed lazily and drowsily in the lilac flowers; midges huddled in a column over a lonely, far-stretched branch. “How good, my God!” thought Nikolai Petrovich, and his favorite poems came to his lips; he remembered Arkady, “Stoff und Kraft” – and fell silent, but continued to sit, continued to indulge in the sorrowful and gratifying game of lonely thoughts. He liked to dream; rural life developed this ability in him. How long had he dreamed the same way, waiting for his son at the inn, and since then a change had already taken place, relations had already been determined, then still unclear, … and how! The deceased wife appeared to him again, but not the way he had known her for many years, not a housewife, kind housewife, but a young girl with a thin figure, an innocently inquisitive look and a tightly twisted braid over her childish neck. He remembered the first time he saw her. He was then still a student. He met her on the stairs of the apartment in which he lived, and, accidentally pushing her, turned around, wanted to apologize and could only mutter: “Pardon, monsieur”, ^[52] and she bowed her head, grinned, and suddenly seemed to be frightened and ran, and at the turn of the stairs she quickly glanced at him, took on a serious look and blushed. And then the first timid visits, half-words, half-smiles, and bewilderment, and sadness, and impulses, and, finally, this suffocating joy … Where has it all gone? She became his wife, he was happy, like few on earth … “But,” he thought, “those sweet, first moments, why shouldn’t they live an eternal, undying life?”

He did not try to clarify his thought to himself, but he felt that he wanted to keep that blissful time with something stronger than memory; he wanted to again feel the closeness of his Mary, to feel her warmth and breath, and it already seemed to him, as if above him…

He started. He did not feel any pain or ashamed … He did not even allow the possibility of a comparison between his wife and Fenechka, but he regretted that she had taken it into her head to look for him. Her voice reminded him at once: his gray hair, his old age, his present…

The magical world into which he had already entered, which had already emerged from the misty waves of the past, stirred and disappeared.

– I am here, – he answered, – I will come, go. “Here they are, traces of the nobility,” flashed through his head. Fenechka silently looked into his arbor and disappeared, and he noticed with amazement that night had already fallen since he had been daydreaming. Everything went dark and quiet all around, and Fenechka’s face glided before him, so pale and small. He got up and wanted to return home; but his softened heart could not calm down in his chest, and he began to slowly walk around the garden, now looking thoughtfully at his feet, now raising his eyes to the sky, where the stars were already swarming and winking. He walked a lot, almost to the point of fatigue, but the anxiety in him, some kind of searching, indefinite, sad anxiety, still did not subside. Oh, how Bazarov would laugh at him if he knew what was going on in him then! Arkady himself would have condemned him. He, a forty-four-year-old man, an agronomist and a landlord, was welling up with tears, unreasonable tears; it was a hundred times worse than the cello. nine0007

Nikolai Petrovich continued to walk and could not make up his mind to go into the house, into that peaceful and cozy nest, which looked at him so welcomingly with all its lighted windows; he was unable to part with the darkness, with the garden, with the feeling of fresh air on his face, and with this sadness, with this anxiety…

At the turn of the path he met Pavel Petrovich.

– What’s wrong with you? he asked Nikolai Petrovich, “you are as pale as a ghost; you are unwell; why don’t you go to bed?

Nikolai Petrovich explained his state of mind to him in short words and left. Pavel Petrovich went to the end of the garden, and also fell into thought, and also raised his eyes to the sky. But his beautiful dark eyes reflected nothing but the light of the stars. He was not born a romantic, and his smartly dry and passionate, French-style misanthropic ^[53] soul…

– Do you know what? – Bazarov said to Arkady that same night. “A great idea came to my mind. Your father said today that he received an invitation from this noble relative of yours. Your father will not go; let’s wave-ka you and I in ***; because this gentleman is calling you. Look, what the weather has become here; and we’ll take a ride, see the city. Let’s hang out for five or six days, and that’s it!

– Will you return here from there?

– No, I need to go to my father. You know, he’s thirty miles from ***. I haven’t seen him for a long time, and neither did my mother: I need to amuse the old people. They are good people, especially my father: very amusing. I’m the only one with them. nine0007

– And how long will you stay with them?

– I don’t think so. Tea, it will be boring.

– Will you visit us on your way back?

– I don’t know… I’ll see. Well, so what? Are we going?

“Perhaps,” Arkady remarked lazily.

In his heart he was very happy with his friend’s proposal, but considered it his duty to hide his feelings. No wonder he was a nihilist!

The next day he left with Bazarov for ***. The youth in Maryino regretted their departure; Dunyasha even burst into tears… but the old men sighed lightly. nine0007

XII

The city *** where our friends went was run by a young governor, a progressive and a despot, as is often the case in Rus’. He, during the first year of his administration, managed to quarrel not only with the provincial leader, a retired guard staff captain, horse breeder and hospitality, but also with his own officials. The feuds that arose over this finally assumed such proportions that the ministry in St. Petersburg found it necessary to send a trusted person with instructions to sort everything out on the spot. The choice of the authorities fell on Matvey Ilyich Kolyazin, the son of that Kolyazin, under whose guardianship the Kirsanov brothers were once. He was also from the “young”, that is, he had recently passed forty years, but he was already aiming for statesmen and wore a star on each side of his chest. nine0095 [55] One, however, was foreign, from inferior ones. Like the governor he came to judge, he was considered a progressive and, already an ace, did not look like most of the aces. He had the highest opinion of himself; his vanity knew no bounds, but he carried himself simply, looked approvingly, listened condescendingly, and laughed so good-naturedly that at first he might even be passed for a “wonderful fellow.” On important occasions, however, he knew how, as they say, to set the dust. “Energy is necessary,” he used to say then, “l’energie est la première qualite d’un homme d’ètat”; nine0095 [56] and with all that, he usually remained in the cold and every somewhat experienced official mounted him. Matvey Ilyich spoke with great respect of Guizot ^[57] and tried to impress everyone and everyone that he did not belong to the number of routiners and backward bureaucrats, that he did not disregard a single important manifestation of social life … All such words were good for him known. He even followed, albeit with careless majesty, the development of modern literature: like an adult, meeting a procession of boys on the street, sometimes joins it. In fact, Matvey Ilyich was not far removed from those statesmen of Alexander’s time who, getting ready to go to the evening to Madame Svechina, ^[58] who then lived in St. Petersburg, read a page from Condillac in the morning; ^[59] only his methods were different, more modern. He was a clever courtier, a great cunning, and nothing more; he didn’t know much about business, he didn’t have a mind, but he knew how to manage his own affairs: here no one could saddle him, and that’s the main thing.

Matvey Ilyich received Arkady with the kindness characteristic of an enlightened dignitary, let’s say more playfully. He, however, was amazed when he learned that the relatives he had invited remained in the village. “Your dad was always an eccentric,” he remarked, throwing the tassels of his magnificent velvet dressing gown,0095 [60] and suddenly, turning to a young official in a well-intentioned uniform buttoned up, he exclaimed with a preoccupied look: “What?” The young man, whose lips were stuck together from a long silence, got up and looked at his boss in bewilderment. But, having puzzled his subordinate, Matvei Ilyich no longer paid attention to him. Our dignitaries generally like to puzzle their subordinates; the ways in which they resort to achieve this goal are quite varied. The following method, by the way, is in great use, “is quite a favourite”, ^[61] as the English say: a dignitary suddenly stops understanding the simplest words, becomes deaf. He will ask, for example: what day is it today?

Most respectfully they report to him: “Today is Friday, your s… s… s… s…stvo.”

– Huh? What? What’s happened? What are you talking about? – tensely repeats the dignitary.

– Today is Friday, your s… s… st.

– How? What? What is Friday? what friday?

– Friday, your s…ccc…ccc…stvo, day of the week.

– Well, did you want to teach me?

Matvey Ilyich was still a dignitary, although he was considered a liberal.

“I advise you, my friend, to go on a visit to the governor,” he said to Arkady, “you understand, I advise you this, not because I adhere to the old notions about the need to go to the authorities to bow, but simply because the governor is a decent person; besides, you probably want to get acquainted with the local society . .. you are not a bear, I hope? And he gives a big ball the day after tomorrow. nine0007

– Will you be at this ball? asked Arkady.

“He gives it to me,” said Matvei Ilyich, almost with regret. – You are dancing?

– I dance, only badly.

– This is in vain. There are pretty ones here, and it’s a shame for a young man not to dance. Again, I do not say this by virtue of ancient concepts; I do not at all believe that the mind should be at the feet, but Byronism ^[62] is ridiculous, il a fait son temps. ^[63]

– Yes, uncle, I’m not from Byronism at all …

“I’ll introduce you to the ladies here, I’ll take you under my wing,” Matvey Ilyich interrupted and laughed smugly. – You’ll be warm, huh?

The servant entered and announced the arrival of the Chairman of the Treasury, a sweet-eyed old man with wrinkled lips, who was extremely fond of nature, especially on a summer day, when, according to him, “every bee takes a bribe from every flower . ..”. Arkady left.

He found Bazarov in the tavern where they were staying, and for a long time tried to persuade him to go to the governor. “Nothing to do! said Bazarov at last. – Grabbed the tug ^[64] – don’t say you’re not a lot! We came to see the landlords – let’s see them! The governor received the young people cordially, but did not seat them and did not sit down himself. He was always fussing and in a hurry; in the morning he put on a tight uniform and an extremely tight necktie, ate and drank too little, ordered everything. He was nicknamed Burdalu in the province, ^[65] , thus alluding not to the famous French preacher, but to Burda. He invited Kirsanov and Bazarov to his ball and two minutes later invited them again, considering them to be brothers and calling them Kaisarovs. nine0007

They were walking to their house from the governor, when suddenly a small man in a Slavophile Hungarian dress jumped out of a passing droshky, shouting: “Evgeny Vasilyevich!” – rushed to Bazarov.

– Ah! it’s you, Herr Sitnikov,” Bazarov said, continuing to pace along the sidewalk, “what fate?

“Imagine, quite by chance,” he answered and, turning to the droshky, waved his hand five times and shouted: “Follow us, follow us!” My father has business here,” he continued, jumping over the groove, “well, that’s how he asked me … I learned about your arrival today and already visited you … (Indeed, my friends, returning to their room, found a card with folded corners and with the name of Sitnikov, on one side in French, on the other – in Slavic script.0095 [66] ) I hope you’re not from the governor!

– Do not expect, we are straight from him.

– Ah! in that case, I’ll go to him too… Evgeny Vasilyich, introduce me to yours… to them…

“Sitnikov, Kirsanov,” muttered Bazarov without stopping.

“I am very flattered,” Sitnikov began, stepping sideways, grinning and hastily pulling off his already overly elegant gloves. – I heard a lot . .. I am an old acquaintance of Yevgeny Vasilyich and I can say – his student. I owe him my rebirth…

Arkady looked at the Bazarov student. An anxious and dull expression showed itself in the small, however pleasant, features of his sleek face; small eyes, as if sunken in, stared intently and uneasily, and he laughed uneasily: a kind of short, wooden laugh.

“Would you believe,” he continued, “that when Yevgeny Vasilyevich said for the first time in my presence that he should not recognize authorities, I felt such delight … as if I had seen the light! “Here,” I thought, “finally I found a man!” By the way, Yevgeny Vasilyevich, you absolutely must go to one of the local ladies, who is perfectly able to understand you and for whom your visit will be a real holiday; I think you have heard of her? nine0007

– Who is she? Bazarov said reluctantly.

– Kukshina, Eudoxie, Evdoxia Kukshina. This is a wonderful nature, émancipée ^[67] in the true sense of the word, an advanced woman. Do you know what? Let’s all go to her now. She lives a stone’s throw from here. We’ll have breakfast there. You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?

– Not yet.

– Well, that’s great. She, you understand, has parted ways with her husband, does not depend on anyone.

Is she pretty? interrupted Bazarov.

– N… no, you can’t say that.

– So why the hell are you calling us to her?

– Well, joker, joker… She’ll put us a bottle of champagne.

– That’s it! Now you can see a practical person. By the way, is your father all on payoffs?

“From the ransom,” Sitnikov said hurriedly and laughed shrillly. – What? goes?

– I don’t know, really.

“You wanted to see people, go,” Arkady remarked in an undertone.

– What about you, Mr. Kirsanov? Sitnikov picked up. – You are welcome too; it is impossible without you. nine0007

– How can we all come down at once?

– Nothing! Kukshina is a wonderful person.

– Will there be a bottle of champagne? Bazarov asked.

– Three! exclaimed Sitnikov. – For this I vouch!

– What?

– With my own head.

– It would be better for a powerful father. But anyway, let’s go.

45. Doctrinairism is a narrow, stubborn defense of some teaching (doctrine), even if science and life contradict it.

46. A maxim is a short saying of an instructive nature. nine0007

47. Maratel, scribbler (fr.).

48. “…our artists never go to the Vatican.” – There are many museums in the Vatican with the most valuable monuments of art (paintings, sculptures, etc.). In the 50s and 60s. XIX century in Russian painting, a new, realistic direction, called peredvizhnestvo, is emerging. Young artists abandoned traditional academicism, which demanded the imitation of classical models, mainly Italian art, and advocated the creation of Russian original art, imbued with progressive, democratic ideas. This largely explained the oblivion of the Vatican by Russian artists. nine0007

49. Raphael Santi (1483-1520) – the greatest Italian artist.

50. Old fashioned (fr.).

51. Good evening (French).

52. Excuse me, sir (fr.).

53. Misanthropic – unsociable, misanthropic.

54. Provincial marshal – marshal of the nobility, elected from the nobility, head of the nobility of the entire province.

55. Star (gold or silver) – a sign of the highest degree of some orders of tsarist Russia.

56. Energy is the first quality of a statesman (fr.). nine0007

57. Guizot François Pierre Guillaume (1787–1874) – French bourgeois historian and reactionary politician. He sought to create in France a bloc of the bourgeoisie with the nobility and to prevent a revolution.

58. Svechina S. P. (1782–1859) – writer of the mystical direction. She lived mainly in Paris. Her writings (published in 1860) were animatedly discussed in the noble circles of Russian society.

59. Etienne de Bonnot Condillac (1715–1780) – French idealist philosopher.