[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-93":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Literary Giant in Russia",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2317268,4531,"Chapter 93","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-93",93,"\u003Cp>When the latest issue of *The Contemporary* went on sale, Mikhail’s previous novels and the anthology he co-published with Nekrasov had not entirely vanished from public memory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Often, precisely the opposite was true—literature was precisely the thing most in need of time to ferment; whether a work deserved to be read could only be judged fairly after decades, even centuries.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It reduced once-popular works to dust blown by the wind, forgotten by all, while it made works that had languished for ages shine ever more brightly with indelible brilliance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mikhail was fortunate: thanks to Belinsky’s vigorous endorsement, he had immediately taken his place at the center of Russian culture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet in this era, due to the difficulties of printing and transportation, even within the same country, spreading certain things still required considerable time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thus, although Mikhail had already made a name for himself in St. Petersburg’s cultural circles, in Moscow, some distance away, he was known only to a few, and even among those who knew him, his reception was likely worse than in St. Petersburg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The reason, ultimately, lay in the clash between the new capital and the old, between new ideas and old.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From a geopolitical standpoint, locating the capital in Moscow offered greater security.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Moscow lay deep inland, with vast strategic depth—a key reason why the new state would later move its capital there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But before that, Peter the Great, seeking to facilitate foreign expansion and better learn from Western European advanced nations, strengthen trade ties, chose an alternative path and established his capital in St. Petersburg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On this basis, St. Petersburg and Moscow could largely be divided into two cultural spheres.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>St. Petersburg was continuously influenced by European Enlightenment thought, civil society, and customs; thus, not only did its nobility emulate European lifestyles, but its urban planning, architecture, and citizens’ daily habits were also more Westernized.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Moscow, as the old capital, emphasized Orthodox tradition and national identity in culture, and placed great value on Russia’s peasant commune system and ancient patriarchal society.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In short, St. Petersburg was more urban, Moscow more rural; St. Petersburg had more Westernizers, Moscow more Slavophiles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under these circumstances, even if Mikhail’s works had already drawn much criticism in St. Petersburg, in Moscow—especially among the aristocratic upper class—they were regarded as a waste of time; even those who endured reading them more than briefly met only mockery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Tolstoy wrote in his memoirs:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I wholeheartedly longed to become a good man, but I was young, I had many desires, and when I sought what was noble, I stood alone, unarmed.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Each time I tried to voice my deepest wish—to become a morally excellent person—I met contempt and ridicule; yet whenever I indulged in base desires, I was praised and encouraged. Vanity, lust for power, greed, lust, pride, anger, revenge—all these were respected.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I sank into these desires and gradually grew into an adult, feeling that others were satisfied with me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even Tolstoy’s most pure-minded aunt, whose greatest wish for the young Tolstoy was to have an affair with a married woman:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Nothing could better mold a young man than an affair with a woman of the upper class.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She also hoped Tolstoy would attain another happiness: becoming an aide-de-camp to the Emperor, and her greatest wish for him was to marry a very wealthy girl and thereby acquire more serfs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In short, in Russia of this era, expectations for most so-called upper-class people were lowered to the absolute bottom—the higher the class, the lower the morality, often indeed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under such conditions, Mikhail’s poetry was still somewhat popular; as for novels? What nonsense were they writing?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even attempting to discuss them before other nobles inevitably drew collective ridicule.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At this moment, the sturdy young man—or rather, boy—walking down the street had recently received precisely such treatment; yet due to his status, other nobles dared not go too far, especially since this boy was quick-tempered and volatile, and if provoked, he might instantly challenge someone to a duel that could end in death.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Incidentally, though the journey was long, money must still be made; thus, after selling their anthology for a while in St. Petersburg, Mikhail and his associates naturally tried finding agents in Moscow to test the waters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though more feudal and conservative, Moscow was unquestionably Russia’s second-largest city after St. Petersburg, and many still cared for culture and knowledge; thus, although *The Petersburg Anthology* faced much mockery here, sales were overall still decent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Therefore, even though the main battlefield was not here, Nekrasov had put in some effort: he arranged for agents and placed modest advertisements.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Of course, it was only a tentative trial; the main focus remained on St. Petersburg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Few were interested in their magazine, but some were—and the boy walking down the street was one of them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His appearance was very ordinary, even somewhat ugly: short, stiff hair, a broad nose, thick lips, and a pair of small gray eyes; yet his clothing was exquisite, unmistakably signaling extraordinary wealth and likely noble lineage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The truth was exactly that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though young—only sixteen—he was currently studying philosophy at Kazan University, but soon he would return home to inherit his count’s title and his allotted share of the family estate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His portion of the estate consisted of roughly five thousand four hundred acres of land and three hundred thirty serfs and their families.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even within Russia’s upper circles, such wealth was substantial enough to sustain generations of extravagance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps because of this, his expression appeared especially cold and haughty, his gaze like a judge’s, deeply unsettling; in daily life, he flew into rages at the slightest provocation, rudely dismissed others, and almost never responded to greetings, as if to declare he was fundamentally unequal to them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His name, full and formal, was Leo Nikolayevich Tolstoy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet at this moment, his steps were hurried, and the place he was heading to seemed, at first glance, unsuitable for his status—but he had indeed come, following the small advertisement in the newspaper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Upon arriving, he pulled out the newspaper again, confirmed the address, then walked straight inside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This famous Moscow bookstore was doing brisk business, with many people browsing; yet the boy moved through it as if alone, charging forward, and those who saw him quickly stepped aside.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His gray eyes swept the room; seeing nothing immediately recognizable, he quickly found a clerk and demanded in a tone bordering on command: “Where is *The Contemporary*?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“T-The Contemporary?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The clerk, startled by this sudden, harsh question, quickly began searching for the item requested.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Due to distance, Moscow had its own popular magazines and newspapers; finding publications from St. Petersburg was not easy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortunately, the clerk was experienced and soon located the few remaining copies of *The Contemporary*.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The boy took the magazine, paid immediately, and left, hurrying to find a quiet spot where he could read; he opened it at once and searched directly for the name he had begun to recognize.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In truth, given his recent interests, he should never have encountered any literary works.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Having entered Moscow’s aristocratic circles from the countryside, the boy encountered many new things—and inevitably became immersed in social life; during this time, he began gambling heavily at casinos and visiting brothels, like other nobles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet no matter how wildly he gambled, his family’s wealth was sufficient to cover his losses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But perhaps by nature, even as he indulged in these acts, he often wept over them in remorse—only to be dragged back into the gambling dens the next day by grinning gamblers. As he wrote in his diary: “I am vile, foolish, living like an animal.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young Tolstoy came to literature partly because he had recently been reading Rousseau intensively, and partly because at a ball he heard a profoundly moving poem; yet for some reason, while this poet’s verses were widely praised, his novels were dismissed by many as worthless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Driven by curiosity, he began exploring the poet’s novels; once he started reading, though much of the content clashed with his own understanding, he somehow became absorbed, growing increasingly interested, until now he could recite entire passages by heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Returning to the present: he was about to read the new novel—and not just one, but many pages at once, for this was a full-length novel!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Upon finding the familiar name, the boy eagerly turned to the page; the novel’s title soon appeared before him: *The Insulted and the Injured*.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Though the title seemed unrelated to him, he lingered on it for a long time, his heart trembling without reason.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After calming this inexplicable emotion, he began reading the text:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Last year, on the evening of March 22, I encountered a very strange event. All day I had been running through the city, searching for a new apartment. My previous lodging was damp; I had begun to cough and felt unwell.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps because this novel was serialized, its opening carried strong suspense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It began with the narrator’s unusual experience: while searching for an apartment, he repeatedly encountered at Miller’s Food Shop an emaciated old man and his equally frail, sickly dog.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bony old man often sat there for hours, his gaze vacant, expressionless, as if burdened by some secret sorrow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whenever he clashed with someone, he would “rise from his chair with a pitiful smile—the humble, subservient smile of a poor man ejected from a seat he had no right to occupy—and prepare to leave the room.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The narrator felt deeply uneasy watching the old man’s submissive, terrified demeanor; when the dog suddenly died at his feet, the narrator followed the dazed old man, intending to escort him home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But during their conversation: “The old man did not move. I grasped his arm; it fell like a dead man’s arm. I looked at his face, touched it—he was dead. I felt as if all this had happened in a dream.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Out of compassion, the narrator then arranged the funeral and tried to notify the man’s family: “Yet five days after his death, no one came.”\u003C\u002Fp>",1668,"2026-06-20T14:41:53.633Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","fea127f31c1bf2d07c4510ece2a8ebe91595c4457100c07d472a4d1351d4ebb7","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-94","my-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-chapter-92",105,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-literary-giant-in-russia-cover.jpg"]