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The Lottery Ticket by Anton Chekhov
Book, page 132 / 221


"I have seen in my day many of your students and young scientific
men and many actors -- well, I have never once been so fortunate
as to meet -- I won't say a hero or a man of talent, but even an
interesting man. It's all the same grey mediocrity, puffed up
with self-conceit."

All this talk of degeneration always affects me as though I had
accidentally overheard offensive talk about my own daughter. It
offends me that these charges are wholesale, and rest on such
worn-out commonplaces, on such wordy vapourings as degeneration
and absence of ideals, or on references to the splendours of the
past. Every accusation, even if it is uttered in ladies' society,
ought to be formulated with all possible definiteness, or it is
not an accusation, but idle disparagement, unworthy of decent
people.

I am an old man, I have been lecturing for thirty years, but I
notice neither degeneration nor lack of ideals, and I don't find
that the present is worse than the past. My porter Nikolay, whose
experience of this subject has its value, says that the students
of today are neither better nor worse than those of the past.

If I were asked what I don't like in my pupils of today, I should
answer the question, not straight off and not at length, but with
sufficient definiteness. I know their failings, and so have no
need to resort to vague generalities. I don't like their smoking,
using spirituous beverages, marrying late, and often being so
irresponsible and careless that they will let one of their number
be starving in their midst while they neglect to pay their
subscriptions to the Students' Aid Society. They don't know
modern languages, and they don't express themselves correctly in
Russian; no longer ago than yesterday my colleague, the professor
of hygiene, complained to me that he had to give twice as many
lectures, because the students had a very poor knowledge of
physics and were utterly ignorant of meteorology. They are
readily carried away by the influence of the last new writers,
even when they are not first-rate, but they take absolutely no
interest in classics such as Shakespeare, Marcus Aurelius,
Epictetus, or Pascal, and this inability to distinguish the great
from the small betrays their ignorance of practical life more

 
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