Chapter 48: Serving His Majesty

“Mother, dear Du Niya, I’m busy writing all day long—how could I possibly have time for socializing?”

“I’ve just become a member of a literary group; it’s normal to have more contact now.”

“Who nowadays would a young lady visit in person? As for Dmitri, he’s one of my very good friends.”

“I…”

………

After much effort, Mikhail finally dispelled the doubt in his mother’s and sister’s eyes; his throat dry from talking, he sipped tea to moisten it, then couldn’t help glancing at Nastasya, who was watching the scene, and said irritably:

“Nastasya, I think your workload is too light—I’ll definitely suggest to Pavlovna that you take on more responsibilities; you’re at the age to strive.”

“You won’t, dear Mikhail,” Nastasya said firmly, shaking her head despite the alarming remark: “You’re a kind-hearted student—you’d never let Pavlovna do that; you’d even hope we work less!”

“And the reason I spoke just now was only to remind you that you should live better.”

Mikhail: “………”

Never mind…

Sometimes, it wasn’t that Mikhail enjoyed associating with a bunch of old men—it was simply that there was no one else to associate with.

The social circle was so small; Mikhail couldn’t possibly follow that brat Nechayev and fall for someone else’s wife, could he?

Cough, cough…

Waving his hand to signal Nastasya to leave first, Mikhail turned to his mother and sister and asked: “Where are you planning to stay tonight?”

“This…”

When this topic came up, recalling the attitude Mikhail had shown in his previous letters, Plyushchikhia hesitated a moment, then finally said: “Pyotr Petrovich arranged a house for us to stay in temporarily.”

“Where?” Mikhail asked further.

“Not far from here—it’s a house belonging to a certain Mr. Bakaleyev.”

“I know where it is, Mother—Voznesensky Street. The house has two floors; it’s a small inn. They say the place is utterly dreadful, repulsive, filthy, stinking, and suspicious; accidents happen constantly; God knows who lives there! But the rent is cheap.”

After saying this with mild disbelief, and recalling his mother and sister’s decision to come without informing him, Mikhail immediately guessed what had happened, and continued:

“Pyotr Petrovich wrote you that I’m no good, didn’t he? I bet he called me a good-for-nothing rogue and a con artist trying to swindle him.”

Thinking of that pretentious gentleman, Mikhail looked straight into his mother’s and sister’s eyes and said:

“Mother, dear Du Niya, after all this, I hope you now understand this man better. As for my situation—it’s exactly as you see: though it will take time, the future is promising; I will make sure you live better.”

“Du Niya is still young; some matters can be discussed at length—she’ll have better choices.”

“Brother, I’m still young,” the quiet girl interjected, “but you’re not.”

Mikhail: “.”

I’m barely twenty—I’m practically dripping with youth, how can you say I’m old?

“Don’t speak when I’m talking to Mother, Du Niya.” He cleared his throat, glanced at his sister, who seemed slightly defiant, then quickly averted her gaze and turned back to Plyushchikhia:

“So I think we should revisit some matters. If anything comes up, tell me—I have several reliable friends in St. Petersburg; they’ll help me resolve this properly.”

“All right, then I’ll listen to you, dear Misha!” After a moment’s hesitation, the woman who usually agonized over every decision nodded firmly: “I wasn’t fully convinced myself—just seeing the beautiful scene he painted, I ended up swaying toward him.”

“From now on, I’ll handle the talks with him myself. If anything happens, I’ll tell you, Misha.”

Plyushchikhia was usually indecisive—long, hard life had made her cautious—but when real issues arose, she revealed a quiet strength.

For a woman who had supported two children since so early, life had to be this way.

After setting aside this heavy topic, Plyushchikhia quickly turned to Mikhail, her eyes hopeful: “Then, dear Misha, since your situation has improved, when will you return to university?”

“A student like you, once he finishes his studies, can quickly enter government service as a respected civil official—you’ll be serving His Majesty!”

Mikhail: “.”

To be honest, though this path offered almost no upward mobility due to his status, it was still a fine route for families like Mikhail’s.

After all, in an era when the Tsar’s authority remained firm, collaborating with the imperial apparatus was far more comfortable than opposing it.

But the problem was this: if the Tsar truly were as good as he claimed, Mikhail would gladly become a loyal subject.

Unfortunately, propaganda was always lies.

What landed on people’s shoulders was real.

In short, Mikhail wanted to reply: “Mother! I seem to be getting too radical!”

But to avoid sending his mother into a faint, he postponed it: “Perhaps I’ll need more time—you know, my career here has just begun; I must keep writing for a while longer.”

“That’s right, Misha—you must write well. Your talent in this area is unmatched. And if you write well, won’t His Majesty notice? I heard that the great poet Pushkin was greatly favored by the Tsar and promoted to high office.”

Mikhail: “.”

To be fair, Nicholas I may have publicly shown Pushkin respect, but behind the scenes he tormented him relentlessly; it’s said Pushkin’s death had much to do with Nicholas I.

Still, Pushkin never gave Nicholas I an inch of respect. After the Decembrist uprising, though Pushkin didn’t directly participate, when Nicholas I asked him: “If you had been in St. Petersburg, would you have joined the December 14th revolt?”—Pushkin answered without hesitation:

“Without doubt, all my friends joined—I wouldn’t have stayed away.”

Though Nicholas I pardoned Pushkin for the sake of his reputation, he stripped him of his freedom to write and triggered a series of subsequent events.

Back to the point: faced with his mother’s most simple wish, Mikhail offered no further explanation—only smiled and nodded: “I will.”

But in what way, I can’t guarantee.

(End of chapter)