Chapter 11: Otechestvennye Zapiks

If Mikhail were to truly develop so well in the future, then historians and literature lovers of later generations would probably regard his first meeting with Belinsky as a historic moment to discuss and commemorate endlessly, even yearning deeply for such a moment, wishing they could travel back in time to converse directly with these two.

But unfortunately, the meeting between Mikhail and Belinsky was by no means solemn; it could even be said to be shabby.

After all, as mentioned before, Belinsky was a pauper.

Coincidentally, Mikhail was also a pauper.

As for Nekrasov, although he would indeed make a fortune later, at present, he was still a pauper.

Three paupers gathering together; in today's Russia, one need not think to know what that would look like.

Three tattered greatcoats, three unkempt men, cheap taverns and alcohol, laughing and shoving each other.

Of course, they were at least men of culture; discussing matters in a place too noisy was inappropriate, so Nekrasov, hardening his heart, ultimately decided on a café. Belinsky would come after finishing his current tasks, while Nekrasov would personally go to invite Mikhail.

Now, Nekrasov had already brought Mikhail to the café, and after glancing around, Mikhail finally fixed his gaze on the man sitting in the corner, lost in thought.

It was clear that the man seemed to have dressed up solemnly before coming, yet details still revealed his financial situation was indeed average.

And that face, lost in thought, bore at least eighty percent resemblance to the portraits Mikhail had seen before.

So, was this really meeting the living Belinsky?

Slightly excited, Mikhail soon relaxed and, led by Nekrasov, walked toward him.

As if hearing the commotion, Belinsky, who had been lost in thought, suddenly awoke and looked toward Mikhail and the others; with just one glance, Belinsky hurriedly stood up, and the heavy contemplation that had been on his face instantly transformed into a kind of flame.

This flame walked straight toward Mikhail.

Mikhail did not stand frozen either; he likewise took a step forward, and immediately the two men's hands clasped together heavily.

"Mikhail Romanovich Raskolnikov."

"Vissarion Grigoryevich Belinsky."

Before Mikhail could even open his mouth to express his admiration for this leader of the current literary world, Belinsky, whose face clearly shimmered with the light of excitement, spoke first:

"Young man, a handsome young man! What you write is truly excellent! This is the kind of work I want to see in the Russian literary world, a work connected to the Russian earth by flesh and blood, possessing some underlying rhythm!"

"You flatter me."

Before Mikhail could offer two more humble words, the other continued:

"I can hardly wait to write a review for you! I have so much I want to say! 'Misery' is good, 'Vanka' strikes straight at my heart; no one would not shed tears for him, even though the reality of Russia today is even heavier than the novel."

Evidently, this outstanding critic had no airs of a literary leader at all; he held onto Mikhail and talked nonstop. After a long while, the three finally sat down properly. After sitting, having once again expressed his praise for Mikhail and his expectations for his future, Belinsky began to discuss the arrangement for these two manuscripts:

"Next month, how about next month? I will do my utmost to write my review, and then publish it together in 'Otechestvennye Zapiks'."

The current press censorship system is very strict, but your two works should have no problems. As long as they do not involve the Tsar, ministers, and those noble lords, how the people of Russia are—ha! They have no time to care about that."

"I very much look forward to your review. I have often read your articles in magazines before; there is nothing better than them."

This was not merely polite talk; judging from the memories in his mind, Mikhail had read plenty of such things, and when moved, he would passionately discuss them with companions beside him. Once, because he spoke too absorbedly, he nearly got dragged to the police station to receive a beating of fists as big as potatoes.

"But dear Mikhail, there is something I must tell you." After the enthusiasm, Belinsky, showing a certain broad-mindedness, said: "What you write is very likely to be attacked by the conservatives, just like Gogol. Merely for writing out social reality, he has been constantly attacked and slandered.

I have defended him vigorously from beginning to end, yet he was still greatly affected and often felt confused."

Regarding who Gogol was, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky once said: "We all emerged from Gogol's 'The Overcoat'."

Undoubtedly, Gogol inherited the realist tradition originating from Pushkin and continued to promote it, deeply influencing Russian writers of his time while also exerting an extremely profound influence on another great literary master a century later.

As for who this great literary master was, let's put it this way: Gogol had a novel titled 'Diary of a Madman'.

And the Gogol of today can be said to be at the height of his fame in the Russian literary world; he had just published his masterpiece 'Dead Souls' last year, which directly shocked the entire Russia.

But at the same time, sweeping debates and criticisms descended upon him; Gogol's mental state under such pressure could only be described as worrying.

The reason for this was naturally that Gogol, in 'Dead Souls', profoundly satirized Russia's serfdom, bureaucratic system, and the many typical landlords who were vulgar, ridiculous, and pathetic.

Having satirized the entire upper class of Russia in one fell swoop, could he possibly end up well?

But then again, Mikhail naturally knew in his heart about the two articles he had written; they mostly depicted the reality of the lower masses, far from reaching the level of political commentary.

Therefore, in this situation, when one is almost starving, what is there to fear?

Let there be some criticism; in this era, a writer who is not criticized—can that even be called a writer?!

That would be a lapdog under the Tsar's feet!

Precisely because he knew in his heart, when facing Belinsky's reminder and concern, Mikhail naturally appeared calm and unhurried; he even gave a carefree smile, looked at Belinsky and the young Nekrasov, and said quite solemnly:

"Rest assured, Vissarion Grigoryevich, I do not care about these things.

Undoubtedly, what we are doing is the future of Russian literature!

Even if we encounter temporary setbacks and criticism, history will still render the most just verdict for us!"

(End of this chapter)