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.One had to have a sharp eye here to perceive what lay beneath the surface.Yet the institute girls never openly expressed any disagreement with the lectures to one another: either this was simply not the common practice or—more likely—it was something quite risky.And how boring it all was! How could one live on this? Where were those radiant faces she had known?Nastenka now had to cram into her head that Ostrovsky also reflected the process of decay of the feudal, serf-owning system and its displacement by developing industrial capitalism, and that his identification with that system had cast him back to the camp of reactionary Slavophilism.And this whole dark kingdom had best been penetrated by Dobroliubov’s ray of light.The bit about Dobroliubov—well, that was gospel.The boys in the class were basically stumblebums who appeared to have entered this faculty simply by accident.But then there was Shurik Gen—impulsive, quick-witted, a bundle of energy with jet-black hair and eyes full of expression.Now, he was in his proper place here! A natural leader who excelled in his studies, he immediately became the Komsomol organizer.And in discussions outside of class, which were now becoming frequent, he brought in a vital stream of literature that they had not yet taken up in their program.This was the literature of today, turbulent and filled with furious struggle among various literary groupings.How can anyone turn his back on the contemporary world? (And, indeed, why should one try to avoid it?) As it turned out, there were many groups that had already burned themselves out or grown shallow over these years—but the Smithy, Vagranka, Lef, October—“These are all on our side of the literary trenches.”“But,” his voice rang out, “our ideological antipodes aren’t simply sleeping.Take the Fellow Travelers: these writers are our enemies of yesterday and the corpses of tomorrow.They are reactionaries at the core, and they slanderously distort the revolution.And they’re all the more dangerous the more skillfully they do it.Literature, though, isn’t some object of enjoyment, it’s a battlefield.All these Pilnyaks and Akhmatovas and their kin, all these Serapion Brothers and wretched little Scorpios must either be forced to fall into line with proletarian literature or be swept aside with an iron broom; there’s no room for compromise.We mustn’t let the trenches of our literary position be overgrown with thistles! And we, the youth—all we Children of October—must also help establish a single communist line in literature.Despite the way some of these melancholic scribblers have tried to frighten us, the basic spirit of our new beginnings is vigor, not despair!”Shurik always spoke out with such passion and heat that no one could match him.His classmates were left speechless.He simply drew everyone along in his wake.To say that these discussions were interesting wasn’t enough; they provided a connection with living life; whole new currents, previously unknown, flowed from them.Nastenka was one of the most dedicated listeners among his audience, and she spent more and more time asking him questions after the others had gone.And it was true: one couldn’t live only on the literature of the past, one had to hearken to what was happening today.Real life was flowing around them in a vigorous stream, and they had to enter into it.How did Shurik know all these things? When had he found the time to soak it all up? As it emerged, he had wasted no time even in the last years of his high school.While there, he had even made his way through the yellow-, green- and crimson-colored anthologies of the Futurists, then through LEF (“Lef or bluff?”), then through Komfut (communist futurism), and the Litfront (all of them searing his heart) and had already become a dedicated On Guardist while at his school desk.(And in fact the journal On Literary Guard was right there in the institute’s library, but no one bothered to peer into it or take a deep breath of its heady spirit.)“None of these Fellow Travelers should even be allowed to exist,” Shurik would shoot back.“You’re either an ally or an enemy! Just look at what they most value: the subtlety of their emotions.But what is decisive is not the writer’s heart, it’s his outlook on life.And we value a writer not because of what and how he experiences life but by his role in our proletarian movement.Psychologism only gets in the way of our triumphant movement forward.But what they call ‘reincarnation into a character’ only deadens one’s class consciousness.One can say that the revolution in literature hasn’t yet truly begun.After the revolution we need not just new words but even new letters for them! Even the periods and commas of the past become repulsive.”This was positively staggering! It made your head spin.Yet how transported he became by all this fervor, this unyielding conviction.As for the lectures, they moved along the clearly specified paths laid out by the stolid textbooks of Kogan and Friche.They wrote in similar fashion: Shakespeare was a poet of kings and lords; do we have any use for him? And all these Onegins and Bolkonskys, are they not our total class aliens?That may be so, yet they certainly knew how to love in those days!There was no way to maintain a sustained argument against Kogan, however: he couldn’t have constructed all these many things on utter nonsense.Surely there was a genuine historical and social basis for them?Month by month, it seemed, her father’s eyes occupied more and more space on his face and expressed more and more meaning.So much depth and suffering and wisdom had accumulated in them! He seemed to acquire a profound understanding as he detached himself from life [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]