Chapter 32: The Body is the Capital of Exile

Returning to the present, there is no doubt that Belinsky held a spiritual authority over the people in his circle, and Turgenev even more so; seeing Belinsky open his mouth, Turgenev naturally shrank back and waited for Belinsky to continue speaking.

"From beginning to end, I have upheld one view: I do not believe there can be any human relationship between a slave and a slave master! The 'reminder' you speak of may be useful to some gentlemen, but for the greater number who have long grown accustomed to it, they already regard it as a matter of course!"

Belinsky's tone grew hurried:

"But is that truly the case? I listened intently to this novel; even for such an evil act as infanticide, I could still understand this young Miss, yet no one could save her, not even herself. Even if nothing happened from the outside, she would be crushed by her own guilt!"

"I know you all think infanticide is an unforgivable crime, but in truth, who is responsible for all this? One can imagine that when she wakes from her sleep again, she will be judged as a true demon!"

"And her enemy was never that innocent infant, yet she herself was only a thirteen-year-old child. Could she challenge and retaliate against her master, or even against our heavy, cruel society and laws?"

"In this novel, I saw endurance, suffering, and the inevitable degradation and distortion of people under heavy pressure. But please believe me: no matter how ignorant the Russian people may be, they understand very well that to end their suffering, they must sooner or later shatter something!"

"This weak, weary, and nearly driven-mad young Miss could only stretch her hand toward the innocent infant, but I believe more and more people will surely know whose neck to stretch their hand toward!"

It must be said that although under normal circumstances Belinsky was frail, constantly coughing, and even somewhat shy, when he truly entered a certain state, his words often carried the same infectious power as his articles.

And after he spoke these words, some present even dared not meet his gaze.

As for Mikhail.

Mikhail: "???"

Brother Bel, brother Bel, what you said was truly excellent, but while you speak, please do not actually write it into the magazine!

If there is anything in these days that is an absolute red line, there is no doubt that serfdom is the red line among red lines.

Touching this is sometimes even more serious than publicly cursing: "Tsar Nicholas, I f*** your mother!"

The reason is naturally that serfdom was indeed one of the foundations upon which the Russian imperial family maintained its rule during this period; tampering with it lightly was tantamount to tampering with one's own head.

And Belinsky's attitude toward serfdom was, from beginning to end, very clear: he did not believe in the so-called humanitarianism of the landlords, nor did he think there was any room for reconciliation within it; there was no path other than abolition.

Precisely for this reason, in his final years Belinsky could almost be said to have been walking on the edge of imprisonment. Once, Belinsky encountered Skobelev, the commander of the Peter and Paul Fortress. This grand jailer made such a "joke" to him: "When will you come to our place? We have already prepared a comfortable confinement cell reserved for you." It was only because Belinsky suddenly passed away that he narrowly escaped disaster.

After his death, the gendarmerie chief Dubelt said regretfully: "What a pity! We should have sent him to the fortress."

However, to be honest, even if Belinsky had truly written this, he likely would not have passed the censors.

And when he saw Belinsky's pale face, panting, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth with a trembling hand, Mikhail hurriedly stepped forward, patted Belinsky's back, and sighed, saying:

"Dear Vissarion, please sit down quickly, have some tea and eat something; you look as if you are about to faint."

"This is all because of your novel, Mikhail." Belinsky, having found a place to sit slowly, panted and said:

"I can truly be certain that a novel like yours will surely play a greater role than my criticism and political essays. What I write may have an effect on some gentlemen, but what you write, even a serf will feel deeply."

"This is the power of a writer, and only a writer can truly accomplish such a thing. I heard from Nicholas that you read your novel aloud to the landlords and tenants in your apartment? And it is said that the effect was very good?"

"This is correct. If one day all the peasants of our entire Russia have heard your novels, perhaps some things will truly change because of them!"

Oh my god, what should I do if I accidentally commit suicide at home one day?

Or perhaps some officer picks a quarrel, forcing me to duel, thereby recreating the old story of the imprisoned Pushkin and the imprisoned Lermontov, his fan and imitator.

Although he thought this in his heart, Mikhail ultimately said nothing, merely waiting for Belinsky's emotions to gradually calm down until he returned to his usual, relatively normal state.

To be honest, due to his constitution and the fact that he had long performed high-intensity work in harsh conditions, Belinsky's physical condition was already terrible; otherwise, he would not have died young later on.

Of course, Mikhail's constitution was not good either. To survive better in the days to come, Mikhail had indeed made preparations to exercise seriously once he could eat his fill.

Returning to the main point, although Belinsky's words sounded almost treasonous, the gentlemen who often gathered here had long grown accustomed to Belinsky's "neurotic" mental state and his somewhat acerbic way of speaking.

Therefore, after a brief silence, these gentlemen did not wish to continue delving deeper into this topic, but instead began doing other things and chatting about other subjects.

Some spoke there about the novel's novel artistic conception they had just heard; others came to check on Belinsky's condition. Among these people, Turgenev was the one who felt most guilty:

"Dear Vissarion, perhaps my words were somewhat ill-considered; otherwise, how could I have made you so agitated?"

"No, this is not your fault; I merely think such a novel has places worth interpreting further." Belinsky, having recovered his breath, shook his head and smiled. Just as he was about to continue speaking, something occurred to him, and he suddenly looked in one direction and said:

"However, Ivan, perhaps you could pass me the pastries over there; I am simply starving to death."

(End of this chapter)