Chapter 93: Tolstoy as a Nobleman (Part 1-2 Combined)

When the new issue of The Contemporary magazine went on sale, Mikhail's previous novels and the anthology he had published together with Nekrasov had not, by any means, completely faded into obscurity.

More often than not, the opposite was true; literature was precisely the thing that required time to ferment, and whether a literary work was truly worth reading often could only be fairly judged on a scale of thirty, fifty, or even more years.

It reduced many once-popular works to mere dust in the wind, no longer cared for by anyone, while simultaneously allowing works that had been lonely for countless ages to reveal their indelible brilliance even more clearly.

Mikhail was fortunate; thanks to Belinsky's vigorous recommendation, he managed to stand immediately upon the stage of Russia's cultural center.

However, in those days, due to the difficulties of printing and transportation, even within the same country, it still took considerable time for certain things to spread.

Thus, although Mikhail could be said to have already made a name for himself in St. Petersburg's cultural circles, in Moscow, which lay some distance away, he was only just becoming known to a portion of the populace, and even among those who knew him, their assessment of him was likely even harsher than that in St. Petersburg.

The root cause of this was, ultimately, the contest between the new capital and the old, between new ideas and old.

In fact, considering geopolitical factors, establishing the capital in Moscow would have offered greater security.

The reason was that Moscow lay deep inland, possessing vast strategic depth; this was one of the important reasons why that nascent state later moved its capital to Moscow.

But before that, in order to facilitate external expansion, better learn from the advanced nations of Western Europe, and strengthen economic and trade exchanges, Peter the Great chose to blaze a new trail by establishing the capital in St. Petersburg.

On this basis, St. Petersburg and Moscow could essentially be divided into two distinct cultural spheres.

St. Petersburg continuously received influences from European Enlightenment thought, civil society, customs, and habits; therefore, not only did the nobility here fully emulate European lifestyles, but even urban planning, architectural styles, and the way of life of the citizens were more Westernized.

As for Moscow, as the old capital, its culture placed greater emphasis on Orthodox traditions and national identity, attaching great importance to Russia's village commune system and the ancient patriarchal society.

Simply put, St. Petersburg was more urban, Moscow more rural; St. Petersburg had more Westernizers, while Moscow had more members of the Silafu Sect.

Under these circumstances, to speak plainly, even if the works Mikhail published had already received much criticism in St. Petersburg, here in Moscow, especially within the aristocratic high society, merely glancing at them was considered a waste of time; even if one forced oneself to read a bit more, it would only provoke mockery.

Just as Tolstoy wrote in his memoirs:

"I wholeheartedly longed to become a good person, but I was young, I had all sorts of desires, and when I sought what was beautiful, I was alone, fighting single-handedly.

Whenever I attempted to voice my most secret wish, namely that I wanted to become a person of excellent virtue, I encountered contempt and ridicule; yet as soon as I indulged in base desires, I received praise and encouragement. Vanity, lust for power, greed, lust, pride, anger, revenge—all of these were respected.

As I indulged in these desires, I gradually became like an adult, feeling that others were satisfied with me."

And even the aunt whom Tolstoy considered the purest of all held her greatest wish for the young Tolstoy to have relations with a married woman:

"Nothing contributes more to making a young man than having relations with a lady of high society."

She also hoped Tolstoy would attain another happiness: becoming an aide-de-camp to the Emperor; and the greatest happiness she wished for Tolstoy was to marry a wealthy Miss, thereby acquiring more serfs.

In short, in Russia of those days, the expectations for most so-called upper-class individuals were infinitely lowered; the higher the social standing, the more base the behavior; such was often the case.

In this environment, Mikhail's poetry was still somewhat more popular; as for his novels? What sort of trash was this?

Indeed, even attempting to discuss these matters before other nobles undoubtedly resulted only in collective mockery and attack.

At this very moment, the robust young man, or rather adolescent, walking down the street had recently received precisely such treatment; however, constrained by his status, other nobles dared not go too far, especially since this youth was irritable and short-tempered; once provoked, he was extremely likely to challenge someone on the spot to a duel that could cost them their life.

Incidentally, although the distance was great, money still had to be made; therefore, after selling their anthology in St. Petersburg for a while, Mikhail and his associates naturally tried to find someone to test the waters in Moscow as well.

Although relatively feudal and conservative, Moscow was undoubtedly the second-largest city in Russia after St. Petersburg, with many people interested in culture and knowledge; thus, while the St. Petersburg Anthology received considerable ridicule here, its sales were generally quite good.

Therefore, even though the main battlefield was not here, Nekrasov still devoted some effort to this place, entrusting an agent while also placing a few small advertisements locally.

Of course, this was merely a simple test of the waters; the main effort remained focused on St. Petersburg.

Few people were interested in their magazine, but there were indeed some; this adolescent walking down the street was one of them.

His appearance was very ordinary, even somewhat ugly, with short, stiff hair, a broad nose bridge, thick lips, and a pair of small gray eyes, yet he dressed with great refinement, making it immediately obvious that his family circumstances were extraordinary and that he likely possessed noble lineage.

Indeed, this was exactly the case.

Although not yet old, being only sixteen years of age and currently studying in the Philosophy Department at Kazan University, it would not be long before he returned to his hometown to inherit his count title and the portion of family assets already allocated to him.

His share of the family estate comprised approximately five thousand four hundred acres of farmland, three hundred and thirty serfs, and their families.

Even within Russia's upper circles, such wealth could be considered substantial, enough to allow him to squander for several lifetimes without ever running out.

Perhaps precisely because of this, his expression appeared exceptionally cold and arrogant; the judge-like gaze in his eyes made people quite uncomfortable, and in daily life, he was prone to flying into rages, rudely refuting others, and almost never acknowledging greetings, as if indicating that for some reason he was entirely unequal to others.

As for his name, his full name was Lev Nikolayevich Tolstoy.

Yet at this moment, his steps were rather hurried, and the place he was heading to seemed, at first glance, somewhat inconsistent with his status; nevertheless, he had indeed come following that small advertisement in the newspaper.

Upon reaching his destination, he took out the newspaper to read it again; after confirming the address was correct, he walked straight inside.

This famous large bookstore in Moscow had good business, with quite a few people browsing at this moment, yet this youth strode through as if entering an empty realm, and those who saw his movements hastily made way.

After scanning the area with his small gray eyes and seeing at a glance that what he wanted was not visible, he quickly located a clerk and asked in a tone approaching a command: "Where is The Contemporary?"

"The... The Contemporary?"

The clerk was startled by this sudden, rude inquiry but quickly began searching for what the other party wanted.

Due to the distance, Moscow had its own popular magazines and newspapers; finding a magazine from St. Petersburg was actually not an easy task.

Fortunately, this clerk was experienced, and before long, he found those copies of The Contemporary magazine, which were not numerous in total.

After receiving the magazine, the youth immediately paid and left; hurriedly finding a place where he could read, he instantly opened the magazine and went straight to search for that name which had already become somewhat familiar to him.

In fact, judging by his recent hobbies, he ought not to have been exposed to any literary works at all.

Moving from the countryside into Moscow's aristocratic circles, while this youth encountered many new things, he inevitably became immersed in social life; during this process, he also began, like other nobles, to gamble lavishly in casinos and seek pleasure in brothels.

However, no matter how lavishly he gambled, his family was wealthy enough to cover his losses.

But perhaps due to his nature, while frequently engaging in such acts, he would occasionally weep bitterly over his behavior, only to be dragged back into the casino the next day by grinning gamblers; just as he wrote in his diary: "I am vile, foolish, living like a beast."

The reason young Tolstoy came into contact with literary works was, on one hand, that he had recently been reading Rousseau's works extensively, and on the other, a soul-stirring poem he heard at a ball; yet for some reason, while this poet's poems received much praise, his novels were disparaged by many as worthless.

It was precisely under the drive of this curiosity that he began to explore that poet's novel works; once he started reading, although he felt much of the content in the novels conflicted greatly with his own perceptions, for some reason, he became absorbed in them and grew increasingly interested, to the point where he could now completely recite certain sentences from those novels.

Returning to the present, he was about to see a new novel, and moreover, he could read a great deal at once, after all, this was a full-length novel!

Thus, after finding that familiar name, the youth immediately turned excitedly to that page, and the title of this full-length novel soon appeared before his eyes: The Humiliated and Insulted.

Although this title seemed to have nothing to do with him, he still lingered over these words for a long time, his heart unconsciously beginning to tremble.

After calming this inexplicable emotion, he began reading the main text:

"Last year, on the evening of March 22nd, I encountered a very strange incident; I had been running all over the city all day, looking for lodging for myself. The house I originally lived in was very damp, and I had already begun to cough, feeling quite unwell."

Perhaps because this full-length novel was published in serial form, its opening was quite suspenseful.

It first recounted a special experience of "I"; in the process of looking for lodging, I would always encounter an old man so thin he was nothing but skin and bones, along with his old dog, equally sickly and emaciated, at Miller's Food Shop.

This skin-and-bones old man would often sit here for ages, his eyes vacant, his face expressionless, as if something were weighing on his mind.

And whenever he had a brush with anyone, he would "rise from his chair with a kind of pitiful smile — the meek, cringing smile of a poor wretch being driven away for having taken the wrong seat — and prepare to walk out, to leave the room."

"I," watching the poor old man's meek, submissive, obedient panic-stricken manner, felt a great pang inside, so after his dog suddenly died of old age right before him, I followed the dazed old man, wanting to see him home.

The result was that, in the very process of speaking: "The old man did not stir. I caught his arm; his arm fell back like the arm of a dead man. I looked into his face, touched it — he was dead already. It all seemed to me to have happened in a dream."

Afterwards, out of sympathy, I began to help him arrange his funeral affairs, and tried to notify his family, "but five days after his death, still no one came."