Chapter 29: The Essence of the Gathering

Regarding Belinsky's suggestion, Mikhail thought it over and agreed, even though the short story he was to read might not be entirely friendly toward the gentlemen present at this gathering; but if one really had to say so, the previous two stories had already been somewhat unfriendly toward them, just not quite so intense.

In Mikhail's view, this story wasn't all that intense either, but for these gentlemen it might well be a bit like a horror story.

Setting that aside for the moment, led by Belinsky and the others, Mikhail's group soon arrived before a villa in Pavlovsk near Petersburg; this handsome villa was a good twenty or thirty times the size of Mikhail's pitiful little garret.

And no sooner had the few of them arrived than two young servants came up to greet them; before they went inside, Mikhail could already hear from afar wave after wave of discussion and clamor within, as though some heated debate were taking place, though every now and then a strain of music drifted out as well.

Once Mikhail and the others went in, the first thing that met their eyes were several handsome oil paintings on the wall, their rich oils sketching out natural, graceful scenery and dignified-faced noblewomen; at this very moment someone was standing before one of the paintings, lost in thought.

Next to catch the eye was a large leather sofa studded with copper nails, several easy chairs of the same style, and a young man who looked quite cheerful was chatting with the plump, ruddy-cheeked old gentleman beside him.

Beside them, a large copper-trimmed card table with carvings and inlays was already surrounded by people; on it lay a deck of cards and some documents, and in addition there stood an antique-looking yellow English grand piano, before which a rather pretty lady was working the keys.

As the sound of the door opening rang out, everyone in the room one after another set down whatever they had been doing, and then every gaze turned toward the four of them — more precisely, toward Mikhail.

The other three were already more or less familiar to everyone present; only this unfamiliar young man had none of them ever seen before. Coupled with the news heard from Belinsky a few days earlier, even before Mikhail had made his self-introduction, someone had already come over to greet him.

"Vissarion, you've brought along a handsome young man." The middle-aged man who stepped forward was on the slightly short and stocky side, dressed in fine clothes, with a fairly thick beard; upon looking at Mikhail he gave a friendly smile:

"You're Mikhail, aren't you? I've read your work — both of them. Though it doesn't quite match the present literary fashion in Russia, I did indeed see something new in your stories. By the way, I'm Ivan Ivanovich Panayev."

"Respected Ivan Ivanovich, I am………"

As Mikhail began going around the room making his introductions and greeting each person in turn, he couldn't help but glance at Nekrasov; and that thick-browed, big-eyed fellow was, at this very moment, indeed staring at the lady not far away.

Another thing worth mentioning is that when Dostoevsky later came to visit Panayev's home, he too became deeply infatuated with Panayev's wife Avdotya for several months, and even wrote about it in a letter.

This brother Panayev really is a legendary cuckold………

And when Nekrasov guiltily drew back his gaze from wherever it had been wandering, he quickly turned his attention to Mikhail's state.

To tell the truth, although Nekrasov was a strapping young man of noble birth, because of the downright destitute life he had lived in recent years, when Nekrasov first came to Panayev's home he comported himself quite indecorously — in the words of those who saw him at the time, he lacked a certain Gao Ya bearing and refinement of living.

After all, the participants of salons and gatherings in this day and age were generally of noble birth, and in order to display their unusualness and Gao Ya, they often overdid it, to the point of appearing affected and insubstantial.

But more often than not, some people thoroughly enjoyed it.

In Nekrasov's view, although Mikhail was dressed somewhat indecorously, his bearing was quite remarkable.

Even when facing these authorities in their respective fields today, Mikhail still showed not a trace of fawning or nervousness, simply greeting people normally and occasionally even asking someone a question.

Most young people, when facing so-called authorities, inevitably carry some fervor and envy; Turgenev beside him was no exception, let alone Nekrasov — but in Mikhail, not a single trace of this could be seen.

In particular, Mikhail seemed to be quite clear on just how great the status and influence of everyone present in the Cultural Circle of Saint Petersburg really were.

Precisely because of this seemingly rather detached bearing, after Mikhail had finished greeting everyone, for the moment no one present pulled him into any conversation; but Mikhail did not seem to mind. By the time Nekrasov came back to himself from his reverie, Mikhail had already materialized in the area where the samovar and refreshments were laid out.

Nekrasov: "?"

Stealing my spot, are you?

Watching Mikhail quietly stuffing all sorts of things into his mouth, Nekrasov did not dare waste a moment; he rose at once and hurried over there.

By past experience, the refreshments and such at Panayev's home were mostly fixed in quantity — once they were gone, they were truly gone, and one could only wait for the main meal to follow.

To be honest, Nekrasov had expected that Mikhail, being new here, would be rather stiff and nervous, just as he himself had been; but who would have thought that Mikhail had immediately grasped the very essence of such gatherings for poor wretches like them.

Say what you will, the things he was eating now really were the best things Mikhail had eaten in recent days; after all, the little money Mikhail had was either set aside for investment or somehow given away to others, so naturally he could only keep reporting to the dining table in his apartment.

While Mikhail was quietly replenishing his energy over here, Belinsky on the other side was doing his utmost to introduce Mikhail as a genius who had, one might say, burst forth from nowhere.

One could only say that whenever Belinsky felt that any young person's writing was passable and worth watching for further development, he would spare no effort in running about on their behalf, without wishing to gain any benefit from it.

And just as Belinsky was introducing him with complete abandon, he finally remembered Mikhail, who was apparently not beside him, and the new work he had mentioned; so he immediately turned his head to look for Mikhail's whereabouts.

Upon seeing the two familiar figures standing in that familiar spot, Belinsky felt his stomach twitch slightly, as though it were conveying some opinion.

Belinsky, who had gone hungry all morning: "."

What do you think I gave up my breakfast to my wife on purpose this morning for?

The young people of today really—

(End of Chapter)