Chapter 81: *Modern Man*

Starting a magazine is, in a sense, about seizing the high ground of public discourse, so that when any wave comes, there will still be opportunities to speak out and fight for rights for this era, this society, and the individual.

If the chance to speak gradually vanishes, and the faint voices of individuals are crushed by louder, stronger ones, then what is called media and magazine has slowly lost its meaning.

In this era, intellectuals often spread ideas and enlighten the people by launching magazines, thereby creating opportunities for a new age to arrive.

In normal history, it was precisely through the efforts of Nekrasov, Belinsky, and Panaev and others that the magazine they took over, *Modern Man*, became a cradle for promoting materialism and peasant revolutionary thought.

And in later history, the founding of a magazine called *New Youth* would also provide intellectual momentum for the arrival of a new era.

So the question arises: if intellectuals understand this, how could the great Tsar not?

Thus after 1848, the Tsar, deeply fearful of revolutionary fervor, waved his invisible yet tangible hand, and magazines and newspapers became the Tsar’s mouthpieces; progressive journals and media were swiftly banned, and the empire forbade any dissonant voice—the vibrant, flourishing scene still fresh in sight!

But now, since Europe’s major revolutionary zones have not yet begun to mobilize, although Russia’s controls are strict, the Tsar’s hand has not kept swinging.

Yet even a single swing produced a policy banning new magazines.

That is, if Mikhail and his group want to launch a new magazine, they can only take over an existing one and transform it into their own.

After deciding to start a magazine, Nekrasov and his group debated long over which one to take over, because most magazines of this period were lifeless, leaving them only a few options: *The Lighthouse*, *The Finnish Herald*, *The Son of the Fatherland*.

But this problem did not trouble them long; with Mikhail’s entrance, his blunt words—“What about *Modern Man*? I think it’s the most suitable.”—solved their dilemma and pushed the magazine project forward another step.

By the way, launching a new magazine was still a semi-secret matter; Mikhail had mentioned it, but he did not elaborate in front of the group, for fear of unwanted interference.

Never mind the rest—just consider Turgenev, that big mouth. If you spoke to him even slightly about it, he’d probably brag over a glass of horse urine and spill the whole thing in no time.

So although Mikhail immediately said those words to Belinsky, the finer details were only discussed after the gathering ended and everyone had left.

Those present were roughly Panaev and his wife, Nekrasov, Belinsky, and Mikhail.

Overall, Mikhail and Nekrasov had certainly earned a large sum of money, but to run the magazine well, this amount was still tight—so it would be best to bring in Panaev, who had some money, connections, and was also an excellent publisher.

Yet even at this stage, Panaev still had reservations, for launching a magazine was no small expense, and if the magazine sank into trouble, even a noble like Panaev might be trapped in debt and unable to escape.

After all, Panaev was a noble, but not a great one—he still felt economic pressure.

Moreover, his view on running a magazine in Russia now: “With Mikhail’s involvement, money seems less scarce, but I doubt we can compete with *The Fatherland Chronicle*—it has already secured a solid position.”

“Who secured it? Vissarion and most of his circle of contributors. And to fear competition is laughable.”

After a night-long talk with Mikhail, Nekrasov, now fully resolved, reminded them: “*The Fatherland Chronicle* has its subscribers; a new magazine has its own. Krayevsky never feared competition from *The Reading Library*—he built *The Fatherland Chronicle* with his bare hands.”

“It was easier back then,” Panaev countered. “In its early years, most of his magazine’s content was unpaid. Even when he paid, he paid little. Now, don’t expect free submissions—especially not for a new magazine.”

"We might get some on credit at first, but if subscribers never come, what will we use to pay our debts?"

“If we run the magazine seriously, and if Belinsky’s entire literary circle lends a hand, why can’t we expect success? Taking risks is good—these past few years, people’s demand for reading has greatly increased.”

“Everyone once predicted *The Petersburg Collection* would lose money. If not for Mikhail’s unwavering confidence, I never would have printed so many copies.”

Looking at Mikhail, then recalling his words, Nekrasov continued:

“If the new magazine aligns with modern thought, readers will come. New social problems are clearly maturing day by day; studying them must not be dry and pedantic, but filled with fiery passion—to move readers and awaken their desire to act. The beginning is hard, but once you keep going, it becomes easier.”

Hearing Nekrasov’s words, Panaev—who had always been close to Belinsky—hesitated only briefly; behind him, Panaeva had long sympathized with Belinsky’s plight, repeatedly raising his hardship among noble friends, only to receive this reply:

“Belinsky is the worst at managing a magazine’s finances. Can he refuse any contributor’s demands?… He’ll advance all the fees and leave himself penniless; and he surely won’t take on the responsibility of handling others’ money.”

But now—

Before making a final decision, all eyes turned to Mikhail, who had said almost nothing, the young man seemingly lost in shadow.

As their gazes settled on him, Mikhail, who had been leaning back, mentally calculating, snapped back to attention. He sat upright, his face once again illuminated by candlelight.

Meeting their stares, Mikhail merely smiled, then spoke the words he seemed to have said many times before:

“We will succeed.”

And with those words, Panaev immediately slapped his thigh and declared: “Fine! I, Panaev, am in!”

Panaev had always admired Mikhail’s literary talent; now, with this bold gamble, his trust in Mikhail reached a new height, and he immediately added:

“I know the current publisher of *Modern Man*, Pletnyov. I can see him by tomorrow at the latest—but he’ll likely demand a fee for transferring the publishing rights. We must be prepared.”

“Then we rely on you, Panaev.”

Mikhail nodded solemnly: “Money shouldn’t be a problem. If worse comes to worst, I have other ways.”

These methods, simply put, amounted to one phrase: Who stands atop the path of debt?

Also, turning to soft living isn’t out of the question.

As for the magazine *Modern Man*, as previously mentioned, it was founded by the great Russian literary titan Pushkin and had maintained a decent reputation and influence in Russia’s literary scene.

It passed to Pletnyov because, just before Pushkin was forced into that deadly duel, he entrusted the magazine to Pletnyov.

Under Pushkin, *Modern Man* was among the most progressive magazines; but under Pletnyov, the rector of St. Petersburg University and professor of literature, its ideological stance grew increasingly mild and conservative, and declined further.

In fact, Mikhail was somewhat connected to this rector—and also a fellow alumnus of Turgenev.

When Turgenev studied at St. Petersburg University, Gogol had just slipped in as a history professor through back channels, and Turgenev had attended his lectures.

As for Gogol’s academic ability, as Turgenev once bragged to Mikhail:

“Hey, Mikhail, you know Gogol? I once took his class! His writing is brilliant, but he has zero historical knowledge! He mumbles incoherently—I’d say he’s worse than me in this!”

Though exaggerated, the truth seemed to bear it out: after teaching a while and collecting a salary, Gogol quickly resigned, probably sensing he’d ruin his reputation if he kept going.

Back to the matter: with Panaev now committed, matters were swiftly settled. Belinsky, who had been listening wide-eyed beside them, stood up in excitement upon hearing the outcome and eagerly joined the discussion.

For Belinsky, the things he had once dreamed of now seemed truly about to become real.

(End of chapter)