Chapter 77: Founding a School

When reading “I Came Into This World to See the Sun” for the first time, Nadya couldn’t help reading it aloud, for though the poem seemed out of step with the current poetic tide, its vital force, rhythmic cadence, and fierce longing for light and ideals left her dizzy with awe.

How could there be such a powerful poem?

It used no elaborate diction or overly complex form, but sang a melody as radiant as the sun through a simple, unadorned structure.

Beyond that, the girl saw in this poem the wild passion and proud individuality of the young man with deep eyes—how could such intense vitality be crushed by others’ gossip and murmurs?

With such noble spirit, how could he ever accept another’s money?

After reading this poem, all the girl’s previous doubts cleared at once; she felt enlightened and could not help reading the poem again.

But no matter how she adjusted her tone or rhythm, she could never capture the poem’s unique feeling— for a moment, she truly wanted to rush to Mikhail’s residence and ask him to recite it to her himself.

Yet seeing her plain, unflattering clothes and messy hair, she restrained the impulse and hurried off to wash up instead.

Still, the poem kept echoing in her mind.

She restrained herself, but others could not.

On the day The Petersburg Collection was published, though deeply preoccupied, Mikhail slept soundly.

His living conditions were poor, but his sleep quality was surprisingly good—perhaps that was just his gift.

As Mikhail remained lost in his dream, loud, brutal knocks shattered his slumber.

Then came Turgenev’s familiar, excited voice from outside: “Dear Mikhail! Open up! I have something to ask you!”

I thought someone was coming to check my water meter.

Though slightly groggy, Mikhail couldn’t possibly leave Turgenev standing outside—so he yawned and shuffled to the door, only for Turgenev to seize his hand the moment it opened:

“Write more poems! Please, Mikhail, write more! I’ve always felt Russia lacks great poets, and those with original spirit even fewer. You’ve only written two poems, but for some reason—especially this one—I sense here a hidden, unknown new current!”

Hearing Turgenev’s words, Mikhail was genuinely startled.

Strictly speaking, Turgenev was right: “I Came Into This World to See the Sun” was a masterpiece of Russian Symbolist poetry. When, precisely, was the term “Symbolism” first formally proposed?

In 1886, in the artistic capital of old Paris, the poet Jean Moréas first introduced the name in his “Symbolist Manifesto.”

An artistic concept is both a summary of a new artistic trend and a marker of a new form’s emergence—just as Victor Hugo’s “Preface to Cromwell” became the theoretical manifesto of French Romanticism.

In any field, founding a school is the highest honor; even if the one who proposes the concept produces no outstanding work, merely being the first to name it ensures his name endures in literary history.

Likewise, if one proposes such a concept in one’s own time and gains widespread recognition from writers and artists, one inevitably seizes the dominant discourse and gains immense prestige and influence in the art world.

Moreover, in Russia at this time, Mikhail actually found Symbolism quite useful.

For instance, when I praise the sun, different people see different meanings: in Belinsky’s eyes, the sun clearly symbolizes the pursuit of democracy, revolution, and a bright future.

But among Russia’s old conservatives, interpreting the sun as His Majesty the Tsar isn’t unthinkable—some might even praise:

“Look! What noble feelings this poet has! Every two lines mention that glorious sun—yet in our Russia, who else could inspire such unwavering devotion?”

Of course, this requires control of discourse—you cannot let others freely interpret; even mentioning a single word might become a crime.

In short, at the right moment, Mikhail would certainly step forward to propose an artistic concept—both a way to build prestige and possibly a means of self-preservation.

But let’s be honest—if Mikhail were utterly reckless and proposed every influential artistic concept that would later reshape history, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say literary history would record:

“The entire nineteenth and twentieth centuries belonged to Mikhail Romanovich Raskolnikov; every influential artistic concept and form traces its origin to him.”

He was daydreaming again—Mikhail stood in his tiny room where he kept bumping his head, lost in fantasy.

Fortunately, before he started drooling, Turgenev’s excited voice pulled him back.

Facing the excited Turgenev, Mikhail merely waved his hand and smiled calmly: “Yes, Ivan, you’re right—I do have some ideas about new artistic currents, but it’s not the right time yet. When I’ve fully refined them, I’ll tell you.”

“Good heavens! It’s true! I was right!”

Turgenev, who had already sensed something, cried out: “Just tell me now, Mikhail! I swear on God—I won’t tell a soul!”

Mikhail: “.”

I’d rather believe I’m Peter the Great than believe you.

You’re a gossip—you keeping a secret would be the real miracle.

As Mikhail pondered how to politely refuse, another familiar voice came from outside.

“Mikhail! Our collection might sell out!”

With a fervent shout, Nekrasov rushed in, followed by a shy yet equally excited young man with golden hair.

Mikhail: “?”

Are you guys coming over for a group retreat?

Originally five chapters, about ten thousand words, but some sections couldn’t be split, so I compressed them into three. Ahem.

I’ve read your comments—thank you all so much for your subscriptions. I won’t be going out this May Day; I’ll stay home and write hard, aiming to produce more.

The monthly votes are strong too—already a thousand, so I’m releasing this chapter now. I’ll write two more during the day; if I can write more, I’ll post more. Thank you all for your support (heart).

I’ll keep pushing (clenched fist).

I saw some Masters asking—here’s the group number: you can chat, joke, or gossip, but don’t go too wild, ahem.

If interested, join: Group number 307658483.

Once again, thank you all for your support—I’ll keep working!

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(End of Chapter)