Chapter 53: Pride and Prejudice (Requesting Monthly Passes!)

Regarding the status of poetry within literature, it is no exaggeration to say that poetry is both the womb from which literature was born and the highest condensation of the literary spirit; almost all of humanity's earliest written literature appeared in the form of poetry.

And poetry is undoubtedly also the original mode of expression for the art of language; at the same time, it plays a huge role in establishing national languages and national spirits. Just like our dear Pushkin, who gradually established the linguistic norms of the Russian language through poetry and allowed more people to discover the beauty within Russian, thereby becoming the eternal sun in the history of Russian literature.

However, interestingly, Pushkin learned French before he learned Russian, and throughout his life, French remained his language of social intercourse; this of course relates to the fashion among Russian nobles at that time.

Due to cultural inferiority, a vast number of Russian nobles revered French and mocked those bumpkins who could only speak Russian. Once Russian culture gradually improved, a large group of patriotic members of the Silafu Sect stood up, denounced this bad habit of speaking French, and then began to belittle the culture and language of France and other countries.

One can only say that such things are not new, and many such occurrences will be seen in the coming era.

It is simply so clichéd that it is disappointing.

By the way, there are also quite a few jokes about language; a classic one is that in the sixteenth century, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V once quipped: "I speak Spanish with God, Italian with women, French with men, and German with my horse."

In short, even if poetry in later generations has been made increasingly foul by some people, in this current era, poetry is undoubtedly still the crown of literature; often, a poet can receive more praise than a novelist.

And this poem, "I Love You More Than Nature," is already a poem of the Soviet era; in terms of language, there is absolutely nothing to criticize, fully leveraging the unique advantages of the Russian language. At the same time, its light, bright, yet slightly bitter style, for an era still steeped in the elegies of Romanticism, can undoubtedly bring a fresh feeling to many people.

Some people think more deeply, such as Turgenev standing beside Mikhail; after listening, he first appeared dazed, then looked at Mikhail's entire body with a gaze of astonishment, as if he wanted to peel open Mikhail's skin to see what exactly was inside.

After staring for a long time, Turgenev finally spoke with difficulty: "Mikhail, could it be that you are the Muse's lover? Otherwise, how could she treat you so favorably? This is the best poem I have heard this year. Even the poems written by the great poets of St. Petersburg this year may not compare to yours."

"Not bad, not bad," Mikhail said modestly, waving his hand, and then smiled slightly.

In Turgenev's eyes, this air of calmness and indifference was simply impossibly beautiful.

Turgenev: "."

Perhaps in this regard, I should learn from dear Mikhail.

At the same time, many people present may not think as deeply as the poet Turgenev, but for them, the content of the poem itself was already enough to make them feel an experience not often encountered, and to be moved by this poem.

Therefore, after Mikhail finished reciting, the scene fell slightly silent for a moment; almost everyone was looking at this young poet, as if waiting for him to open his mouth and say something.

But Mikhail said nothing; he only smiled slightly, then bowed slightly to everyone present. After he stood up straight again, a louder round of applause rang out:

"Chapeau! (French: Excellent), what a wonderful poem!"

"A handsome young man and his even more beautiful poem; who is he? Why have I never seen him at any gathering before?"

"It has been a long time since I heard such a poem. Oh God, some poets' poems make me feel drowsy; nothing is more hypnotic than their poems as lullabies, though they are a bit prone to causing nightmares."

"Written well, but I feel it is a bit too direct, and perhaps he elevates his beloved too high; what kind of person can compare to Shakespeare? And how can love for one's country be equated with that?"

"I..."

Some people might genuinely think this poem is good, but it is estimated that others are clapping because everyone else is clapping, and not clapping would make them seem uncultured, so they clap even louder than others.

But regardless, at this moment, Mikhail was indeed the focal point of the party, and soon one gentleman and lady after another surrounded him, seeming very eager to exchange a few words with him.

Some were truly interested in art; for this, Mikhail could give quite good responses, and occasionally adding a sentence of the Authentic method of French immediately made these old masters of St. Petersburg nod repeatedly, acknowledging Mikhail's status as an artist.

But it must be said that the authentic old masters of St. Petersburg are quite realistic; more people were interested in Mikhail's family background. For this, Mikhail did not feel there was any need to conceal anything and chose to tell the truth.

After answering this way, the gentlemen and ladies surrounding Mikhail suddenly decreased significantly, but even so, dealing with the remaining people left Mikhail utterly exhausted.

Once he was temporarily free, Mikhail could no longer care about that faintly visible gaze and hurriedly began looking for tea, snacks, or something else; if he didn't eat something soon, his stomach would probably start growling, and that would truly be a huge embarrassment at the party.

After quickly scanning the area, Mikhail, who had already roughly determined his target just moments ago, quickly walked toward the place he favored.

Seeing Mikhail's actions, a certain Miss who had been observing him since the beginning also frowned in confusion.

As the daughter of a general who still held some power in St. Petersburg, the number of people fawning over this Miss was certainly not small; even after a long time, this Miss had grown somewhat accustomed to it, and there were many of those fawning over her whose faces she couldn't even remember.

But today, her deliberate attention to a certain person was almost noticed by everyone around her, yet that young man, seemingly new to high society, remained unmoved; apart from chatting with the gentlemen and ladies who specifically sought him out, he hardly took the initiative, and his eyes kept looking in a direction that made her feel somewhat confused.

Although this Miss was not an active person, facing all kinds of people fawning over her, she only responded normally out of family upbringing and social etiquette, but thinking of the poem the other person had just recited and those pair of deep black eyes, this Miss's heart rate involuntarily sped up a few beats.

After hesitating for a while, this Miss finally made up her mind; after politely greeting the people beside her, she stood up, slightly lifted her skirt hem, and then flew out lightly like a small bird.

As for Mikhail, at this very moment, he was immersed in his own world.

Good, good, good, this one looks truly delicious.

This one also seems a bit tasty.

Hmm, that one is also quite good.

That one smells fragrant, the most flashy one.

If I eat them all, will it be a bit undignified?

Just as Mikhail was pondering these questions, a slender, pale finger suddenly appeared at his shoulder, then touched Mikhail lightly, like a dragonfly skimming the water.

Mikhail's body stiffened slightly; then he quickly swallowed what was in his mouth. After adjusting his state, he turned his head to look.

(End of Chapter)