Chapter 40: The Little Beggar

"Are you referring to those peasants I came into contact with during my growth?"

As Mikhail asked this slightly, Turgenev seemed to instantly grasp the point, and at the same time, the expression on his face became slightly complex.

It contained both nostalgia and longing for the past, and inevitably carried a bit of guilt and an inexplicable sigh.

"Perhaps there are also landlords." Mikhail nodded and said, "When can peasants and landlords be discussed separately? Just like factory owners and workers."

"You are right, you are right." After hearing Mikhail's words, Turgenev stared blankly and nodded for quite a while, only finally reacting after a long time, and couldn't help but tightly grasp Mikhail's hand, speaking excitedly:

"Thank you so much, dear Mikhail! I seem to have found a direction! That vague thought before has suddenly become clear! Yes, how could I forget them? They watched me grow up in my family's estate, calling me 'Master' again and again.

But I also watched them grow up and grow old; I had interactions with many of them. Perhaps because I often spoke up for them in front of my mother, they were not afraid of me and were willing to chat about some things with me. I watched them grow up, grow old, disappear, and pass away; I watched them suffer under one landlord after another. How could I forget them?"

The young man's excitement was mixed with sorrow; certain emotions that seemed to have been pressing in his heart all along suddenly burst out, making him so excited he almost shed tears, while also pulling Mikhail's hand and chattering about many things.

After he finally calmed down, he solemnly announced to Mikhail:

"After a while, perhaps I should take some time to go back again and stay for a while on that land where I grew up. I know our place well enough; I haven't hunted little there, crossing mountain after mountain, visiting landlord after landlord, and seeing the serfs under their hands.

I must write some essays, Mikhail. I am even starting to think of a name now. Besides the titles of those articles, perhaps there should be a summarizing name. What kind of name do you think I should choose, Mikhail?"

"If you ask me," Mikhail smiled slightly, "then combine those things you just mentioned. How about 'A Sportsman's Sketches'?"

"What a good name! What a wonderful name!"

After hearing this name, Turgenev first stared blankly, then began chanting the name as if mesmerized. If there were paper and pen present, he might have already started writing at this very moment.

And seeing Turgenev like this, Mikhail's heart was also slightly stirred.

To be honest, it seems impossible for some things to follow the original trajectory exactly as before.

However, for these truly great writers, sometimes even a tiny change seems unable to stop them from creating great works.

Like the Turgenev before my eyes, he seems completely immersed in a certain possibility, forgetting some risks contained within.

Undoubtedly, 'A Sportsman's Sketches', because it reflects the cruelty and unreasonableness of serfdom, and depicts one foolish, hypocritical landlord after another, will inevitably anger the authorities because of this.

My Brother Turgenev was basically put on the authorities' blacklist because of this. Plus, he later openly violated the censorship regulations by publishing an article mourning Gogol, so he was quickly arrested by the police. After being locked up for a period, he was exiled.

Of course, because of his noble status, plus many noble friends lobbying for Turgenev, my Brother Turgenev ultimately did not get to taste the potato-sized fists of the secret police. He was released after being locked up for three weeks, and the exile only sent him to his family's village.

But then again, it was precisely from this work that my Brother Turgenev began to walk step by step onto the road of being scolded by all factions.

Getting back to the point, after Turgenev finished speaking with Mikhail, he seemed truly captivated by those things in his mind. After sitting for a while longer at Panayev's house, he hurriedly bid farewell to everyone.

Seeing this, Mikhail checked the time, did not stay too long, and after staying for another period, quietly asked Panayeva, the mistress of the Panayev household, to pack him some bread or other things.

Ahem, ahem.

Although eating and taking away at the same time is not very good-looking, after seeing that Belinsky did this almost every time he came, Mikhail quickly felt relieved.

Yes, if Belinsky understands this principle, why should I still be so conflicted?

But speaking of which, although Mikhail has always had this idea, it would definitely be very embarrassing for him to propose it actively.

Fortunately, Panayeva, this mistress, seemed to have seen in Mikhail the same predicament as some others before, so she quietly and proactively brought up this matter to Mikhail.

In that case, if Mikhail refused, it would really be a bit ungrateful.

One cannot go without a good meal just for the sake of face, right?

Also, if Mikhail remembers correctly, this mistress Panayeva will write a memoir in the future, specifically to recall those writers and artists she once met who were worth mentioning.

Hmm, I wonder what Mikhail will actually be like in her book.

Carrying some free white bread, the ruddy-faced Mikhail soon walked out of the Panayev house, then quickly headed towards his own home.

And just as Mikhail was about to enter the apartment where his own small room was located, he suddenly saw a shabby, short figure wandering near the apartment.

This should be a child of eleven or twelve, perhaps even younger than that. And because of his tattered clothes and dirty appearance, Mikhail was not quite sure of his gender.

Also, it was clear that this should be a beggar; the way he looked at the passersby on the street and the movements of his hands at this very moment explained a lot.

This is extremely common in St. Petersburg; if you don't see them, it can only mean they have been driven out of this area.

Also, from his unskilled appearance, he was indeed not a seasoned beggar, seeming to have just entered this line of work not long ago.

And for Mikhail, why did he always feel like he looked somewhat familiar?

As mentioned before, although Mikhail was a pauper, many times when facing those ghosts wandering in St. Petersburg, even if very reluctant, he would still take a few coins out of his pocket.

In most cases, there would only be this one time; Mikhail would hardly see these ghost-like people a second time, as if they were only floating beneath St. Petersburg, never having been able to put their feet on this land.

But this one before his eyes, if Mikhail remembers correctly, the two should not be meeting for the first time.

Whether their areas of activity really overlapped a bit, or for some other reason, anyway, Mikhail had indeed seen him twice.

And when he finally saw Mikhail about to walk past him, this young child first froze for a moment, then, although his voice still trembled, clearly revealed a feeling of pain and relief of 'finally getting to eat a meal'.

Mikhail: "..."

Why do I suddenly feel you are much more confident?

Of course, when it really came to this moment, it was hard for Mikhail to think about his wallet suffering again; he just glanced at this thin child several times in a row, then squatted down halfway. Amidst the other's trembling repeated pleas of "Have mercy, masters," he broke off some bread, simultaneously took out a few kopecks enough to buy some bread, and handed them out together.

Finally, Mikhail, who had no religious faith, spoke: "God bless you."

"God bless you, thank you, respected master!"

After saying this, the child who had already seen Mikhail several times stared blankly at Mikhail departing, and not long after, walked towards a certain direction braving the cold wind.

Someone there was waiting for him.

New week, please beg for continued reading, donations, and monthly tickets.

Also wish everyone a smooth new week.

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(End of this chapter)