Chapter 8: Belinsky, the White Moonlight of the Russian Literary World

Regarding Vissarion Grigoryevich Belinsky, to speak officially, he is the "pioneer of the commoner intellectuals who completely replaced the nobility" and the "pioneer of Russian social democracy."

To speak more abstractly, Belinsky is the one who truly opened the era of "great political keyboarding" in the Russian literary world.

After him, if you as an intellectual dare not even engage in political keyboarding, then what kind of an intellectual are you?

He profoundly influenced the atmosphere of the Russian literary scene and also exerted an extremely profound impact on a large number of people; he is the undisputed white moonlight of the Russian literary world.

More will be discussed later; speaking only of the present, even though he is already considered familiar with Belinsky, at this very moment, Nekrasov still prepares to meet Belinsky with a pilgrim's state of mind.

For Nekrasov, there is no doubt that Belinsky is now his idol and also the literary idol in the eyes of many young people today.

After all, under the high-pressure policies of the current Tsar Nicholas I, the entire society can be described as a dead pool of water, silent and dark, while literature has become the only medium through which social issues can be discussed with a slight degree of freedom.

And literary criticism, especially political literary criticism, has undoubtedly become the form best suited for expressing philosophical and political ideas.

Belinsky, precisely in the form of literary criticism, is passionately discussing all social and ideological issues, and with his unwavering courage and the fervor that breaks through all barriers, he delivers a powerful critique of the drowsy social status quo.

Using the method of literary criticism, he attacked the Tsar's rule and the backward serfdom system, mocked the academic cliques in the literary world, the court writers and scholars, bureaucratic politicians, and the narrow-minded singers of flowers, wind, and snow; such new insights into the world and life, combined with his unique mode of expression, stimulated the drowsy intellectual sphere of present-day Russia like a hangover cure.

And the youth of St. Petersburg and Moscow, starting from the 25th of each month, eagerly awaited his articles; university students ran into coffee shops time and again to inquire whether "The Fatherland Notes" had arrived, and as soon as the magazine arrived, they scrambled to read it.

Upon finding his articles, they would "read them through in one breath with fanatical sympathy, laughing while reading, arguing while reading..."

Nekrasov was once one of these university students; now, through his own efforts, he has successfully met his idol in person and is together pushing forward the birth of a new literary trend in Russia.

Just thinking about this makes Nekrasov feel his heart surging, and the two manuscripts in his hand undoubtedly signify that the leader of the new literary trend seems to have already appeared!

Thinking of these things, Nekrasov walked into the apartment where Belinsky was staying; after having the maid announce him, soon Nekrasov saw Belinsky, who was pondering in front of a desk covered with various books and papers.

Although as a critic he is highly sought after in the current Russian literary world, Belinsky's financial situation has always been poor.

The royalties were not meager, but they could not be called very generous; plus he was rarely willing to accept assistance from those noble friends, so to this day, Belinsky's residence remains humble, better than Mikhail's room by a good margin, but it also does not seem to be much better.

And because of his frail health and years of high-intensity work, the man before him appeared thin, with a haggard face, even somewhat unkempt, but his eyes were exceptionally bright, filled with passion and a certain indescribable drive.

"Dear Vissarion Grigoryevich, perhaps you should take a rest. Did you stay up all night again? Why haven't you even changed your clothes?" Seeing Belinsky's appearance, Nekrasov, who had been feeling his heart surge, suddenly cooled down and suggested with a hint of concern:

"You cannot always maintain such a schedule."

"But recently our cause has just begun to advance; there is still much to be busy with, and sleeping a little less is not a matter of great importance." Waving his hand, those eyes radiating a certain light suddenly turned toward what Nekrasov was holding:

"What have you brought me? The maid said it seemed to be something very important."

"A new Gogol." Taking a deep breath, Nekrasov, who could finally no longer suppress his emotions, said: "Unfortunately, my time chatting with him was too short, and I cannot judge his current tendencies too clearly, but there is no doubt that his works have already explained everything. This is a masterpiece connected by flesh and blood to the Russian people, and it will surely be a work of landmark significance for our future cause!"

"What? Really?" Belinsky, who looked a bit haggard, was stunned for a moment, then suddenly stood up; his face, which looked somewhat withered, seemed to glow with light at this moment; he hurriedly walked over, saying quickly:

"Show it to me, Nikolai! You know, literary criticism sometimes must rely on sufficiently excellent works; otherwise, I cannot convince myself, nor can I convince those readers, let alone convince those chattering old stubborn ones!"

"Take it! I believe you will be surprised."

After handing the manuscript to the obviously somewhat excited Belinsky, Nekrasov did not move but found a quiet place to sit down, waiting for Belinsky's reaction after reading these two short stories.

Shortly after, the maid brought tea, and Belinsky also began to read the first of these two short stories very seriously: "Misery."

"To whom shall I tell my sorrow?

The twilight is dim. Large flakes of wet snow lazily swirl around the newly lit street lamps, falling on rooftops, horse backs, shoulders, and hats, accumulating into a layer that is both soft and thin. The coachman Yona Potapov is covered in white snow, like a ghost.

He sits on the driver's seat, motionless, his body bent forward, bent to the maximum extent a living human body can bend. Even if a large snowdrift were to fall upon him, it would seem he would feel no need to shake the snow off his body...

His little horse is also all white, and also motionless."

With just a few strokes, an image of a lonely winter coachman has been outlined, instantly reminding Belinsky of the one after another haggard coachman he had seen in the winter of St. Petersburg.

So what is this short story trying to write about?

A story of a coachman waiting for customers and suffering in a winter night?

If so, perhaps there is not much novelty, after all, related descriptions have already been brilliantly written by the great Pushkin and Gogol.

Perhaps he could also write well, but he could not bear the kind of praise that Nekrasov gave.

Although he thought this, Belinsky, who never readily made final judgments, continued to read further.

(End of this chapter)