Chapter 34: Love Is a Riddle

Overall, Mikhail’s first gathering at the Panaevs’ home went fairly well.

Although some gentlemen found his two short stories—especially the one he read aloud at the gathering—excessively unconventional and shocking, they could still sense the genius in certain passages.

Moreover, after spending time with Mikhail, these gentlemen realized his personality was not extreme; though he often made startling remarks, they mostly hovered near the edges of their accepted boundaries, never truly frightening them.

Lastly, and arguably most importantly, Mikhail possessed an excellent appearance.

Cough, cough…

In any era, a handsome face is a rare commodity, and in this age without technology or artificial enhancements, good looks were even rarer. Throughout European history, many men leveraged their looks to break into high society, then pursued other men’s wives and entangled themselves with widows.

Such behavior is documented in *The Red and the Black*: Julien rose not merely through his own efforts, but largely by seducing other men’s wives, making them his lovers, and using those connections to climb higher.

Thus, why shouldn’t I, Mikhail, follow Julien’s old path?

But then again, better not—I’m a man of principle!

Hmm, I have principles… but damn it!

In short, the gentlemen at the gathering accepted Mikhail’s presence, and among them, Turgenev had already begun boasting to Mikhail, first about the salons he’d recently attended and the figures he’d met.

But as he spoke, the name he mentioned most often was Paulina Viardot, the lead singer and actress of an Italian opera troupe.

“Oh Mikhail, you simply cannot imagine how brilliant her performance was! I swear, once you’ve seen her, you’ll never forget her!”

“Oh? When I have money, I’ll definitely go see her.”

Hmm, Mikhail was mostly curious about gossip.

After all, Turgenev had never married, primarily because he was perpetually infatuated with this married woman.

In Turgenev’s own description, this married woman was like an angel—talented, with unparalleled beauty. But according to Panaeva, Panaev’s wife, the singer was not beautiful, especially her large mouth, which was deeply unpleasant, and she suspected the woman had Jewish features.

Turgenev once swore she was Spanish, but then something happened: a poor female singer in the choir died, leaving behind an elderly mother and several young children.

Nearly all the other choir members, male and female, contributed what little they could from their meager wages—but this noble-born, celebrated singer gave nothing. She also refused to perform gratis at the charity concert organized to support the choir.

Meanwhile, according to Panaeva’s recollection, this singer treated Turgenev completely differently before and after he inherited his fortune.

Before the inheritance, she treated him casually; only after he received it did she grant him the same treatment as other guests.

If her account is true, then this singer was a master manipulator, stringing Turgenev along his entire life. Not only did he follow her, living near her home, but he even contributed dowries when her daughters married.

Then again, though Turgenev was an ardent fan, he wasn’t a fool—and in his later years, constantly mocked, hadn’t he found some solace in this peculiar love?

In the end, perhaps it’s like drinking water: only the drinker knows if it’s hot or cold.

Still, driven by curiosity, Mikhail naturally hoped to meet this singer someday and see for himself how she had so thoroughly bewitched Turgenev.

But then again, why do all of you keep chasing other men’s wives…

Can’t you just be normal…

Yes, I’m talking about you! Nekrasov, Turgenev, and Dostoevsky!

As Mikhail silently scolded these men in his mind, Turgenev heard Mikhail’s remark about going to see her when he had money, and burst out laughing:

“Oh dear Mikhail! Don’t worry—once I’m a bit more comfortable, I’ll treat you!”

Don’t even think about it, buddy—keep chasing stars like this and your mother will cut off your allowance; then you’ll be living in debt.

“Thank you, Turgenev,” Mikhail didn’t refuse his friend’s offer, only nodded and sighed: “But I hope you’ll suffer less from love.”

“Love’s suffering?” Though Mikhail’s phrasing sounded slightly odd, Turgenev understood perfectly, and laughed heartily:

“Don’t worry, Mikhail—I’ve roamed St. Petersburg’s romantic scene long enough. It’s always beautiful young ladies who pine for me, never the other way around. Oh, yes, I feel sorrow sometimes—but never suffering.”

Mikhail: “…”

You’re full of it…

You’ll regret ignoring advice…

“Oh, by the way, Mikhail—what about you? I’ve never heard you speak of such matters,” Turgenev suddenly asked, surprised: “Do you mean you’ve never had any?”

Mikhail: “…”

You know a bit too much…

“So it’s true?” Turgenev waited a moment. Though Mikhail said nothing, Turgenev read the truth in his expression, and burst into another hearty laugh:

“Oh poor Mikhail! I’ve rarely met a young man like you! Alas! Alas!”

Oh, you know Mikhail? Yes, yes, him—I know him! Just a kid! Still hasn’t won the heart of a single young lady!

Turgenev had already drafted this gossip in his mind.

Mikhail, though slightly exasperated, merely shook his head and didn’t take it to heart.

Honestly, after spending some time together, Turgenev wasn’t a bad man—at least, not by character. After all, who could be truly evil if he insisted on treating everyone to meals every day?

Cough, cough…

Perhaps because he loved treating people to meals, Turgenev eventually came to know nearly every cultural figure of his era—and perhaps precisely because of this, he later became Russia’s widely recognized literary patriarch.

Unfortunately, as political tensions grew fiercer, some who once dined with Turgenev gradually stopped coming, while others he truly wished to invite—even after repeated visits to befriend them—still ignored him completely.

Turgenev, so proud of his image, couldn’t bear such humiliation and immediately severed ties with them.

Later, the seemingly absurd conflicts between Turgenev and Tolstoy were largely due to their clashing personalities.

Of course, we’ll leave those details for when Tolstoy himself appears.

By the way, though Tolstoy always gives the impression of an elder, he is actually ten years younger than Turgenev—and right now, he’s still a boy of about ten or eleven.

Mikhail’s age is nearly the same as Tolstoy’s, just one or two years older, meaning Mikhail is currently twenty-one.

It is now 1844. Mikhail is twenty-one. Honestly, he has no idea how long he’ll live—or how long he should live.

(End of chapter)