Chapter 95: Petrashevsky

Although the young Tolstoy felt a moment of extraordinary anger, he did not know this author and could not simply go to the man's home to inquire about the novel.

So he could only slowly calm down from his anger; even so, he firmly remembered the author's name. If he ever had the chance to go to Saint Petersburg, he would likely try to make some inquiries.

Once his temperature had completely dropped, he flipped the magazine forward again to check for any details he might have overlooked, then casually browsed other people's works in the magazine. Finding some of them somewhat interesting, he took the magazine and walked toward a certain place.

As a young nobleman who would soon inherit a title and lands, he was extremely welcome in the social circles of both Kazan and Moscow. During the time he came to attend university, he had already attended many balls and concerts hosted by high officials and nobles.

By now, while gradually getting used to these occasions, he had also developed a great interest in many things within them, to the extent that he had been attending balls quite frequently lately.

Today, he had originally planned to attend a certain ball; buying this magazine was merely a side action.

But for some reason, as he walked, he remained immersed in the emotions stirred up by that serialized long novel.

Undoubtedly, that author's tendencies were very distinct: in his work, the duke appeared as a despicable figure, while more ordinary people possessed even more brilliance.

For such tendencies, it was only natural for people in his circle to feel repulsed and mock them.

And he ought to have shared their attitude, yet that vague emotion stirred up within him seemed to keep conveying something to him, so that he not only felt no repulsion toward such a novel but even found it intriguing.

As he walked, he suddenly stopped his steps toward that certain place and instead headed toward where he lived, preparing to continue reading for a while the unfinished works of Rousseau and the literary magazine he held in his hand.

Perhaps he would soon regret choosing to return to the embrace of the ball, but at this very moment, he walked toward his home.

And during this return journey, a thought that had never before appeared in his mind suddenly arose: Could I also write a story like this?

For a family like his, becoming a literary figure could hardly be called a respectable thing; people like them usually had more respectable matters worth pursuing. Yet this noble youth, who always seemed absent-minded and careless, still came up with such an idea.

And if he could write, could he write well?

When the young Tolstoy came up with such an idea, on the other side, on the bustling streets of Saint Petersburg, Mikhail was walking alongside Nekrasov and Belinsky.

As expected, the sleeping Mikhail was awakened by the noise again.

Fortunately, he had prepared himself mentally and gone to bed early the night before, so when they arrived on the street, Mikhail looked quite energetic. However, at this very moment, Belinsky and Nekrasov, who had just arrived at the bookstore entrance, looked even more energetic than Mikhail.

Especially Belinsky; he gazed at the young people purchasing the magazine "The Contemporary" with almost tender affection, like a father looking at his newborn children.

It was clear that the emergence of the new magazine made some young people somewhat unaccustomed, so they rushed into the bookstore and instinctively asked, "Has 'The Fatherland Notes' arrived?"

But after a brief reaction, they quickly spoke up again: "The Contemporary, where is The Contemporary? We want to see The Contemporary!"

Nevertheless, "The Fatherland Notes" was still one of the best-selling literary magazines in Saint Petersburg all along, so it was not about to be defeated so easily; many people still picked it up out of old habits.

But Mikhail and the others did not really care about this point. After all, they had just taken over "The Contemporary"; having a decent sales volume was enough. As for more, they needed to let the bullets fly for a while longer.

Watching the magazines on the shelves disappear rapidly, Nekrasov and Belinsky could not help but show excited smiles. Even Mikhail was infected by them and unconsciously said, "Why don't we go eat something to celebrate?"

"Why not have some vodka, Mikhail?" Nekrasov said excitedly, "Days like this should be celebrated with a good drink!"

Mikhail: "?"

Drinking this early in the morning?

By the way, although vodka sounds quite modern, as early as the fifteenth century, Ivan III established the state monopoly on this strong liquor that Russians loved to drink. In 1553, Ivan the Terrible opened the first vodka tavern in Moscow, earning huge profits. The nineteenth century was a consolidated century for vodka conquering the international market.

It is worth mentioning that Ivan the Terrible had a small hobby: he often held banquets and frequently had people record the words spoken by the drunk nobles. The next day, he would take those words to question the hangover-ridden sycophants.

And this practice of his was later perfectly inherited by a Georgian who wrote poetry quite well. People attending his drinking parties often displayed all sorts of ugly behaviors; among them, the son of a poor peasant who later became obsessed with corn even drank until he lost control of his bladder.

Although many Russians in this era also loved this strong liquor, Mikhail really could not handle it. At best, he could drink a little wine, let alone early in the morning.

In any case, under Mikhail's insistence, the three finally arrived at a café, partly to observe the situation further and partly to have something to drink and eat.

As a result, not long after the group sat down, just as Mikhail was about to put a piece of bread into his mouth, a suddenly raised voice immediately shook the bread from his hand onto the table:

"How is it gone?! Oh God! How dare he serialize only so little?"

Thinking it was just an isolated case, others soon responded:

"Is it that long novel in 'The Contemporary'? If you ask me, how can there be such a thing as serialization? If you write it, just put it all out at once! How can so little content be enough for anyone to read?"

"This work is very different from his previous short stories. If the previous short stories were concise and powerful, then this novel is undoubtedly much more delicate. However, it feels quite good so far; I really want to know what kind of development will come next."

"I am preparing to write a letter to this magazine to see how long this serialized novel will continue. If each installment is too short, I will not be willing to accept it. I will not allow such a thing to happen."

"Then why write a letter? Just go to their magazine office and ask! I know their office address; listen as I tell you the details."

"So it's here. Understood!"

"I have little patience to begin with, and besides, this story is truly infuriating. A duke, possessing such a title and such wealth, why must he pick on a loyal and kind butler?"

"So what kind of relationship does that old man who died without anyone caring have with the story?"

Hearing these conversations, Mikhail, who had been chatting casually, unconsciously moved deeper into his seat and lowered his head slightly. Few people knew him before, but since receiving many people in the office, the probability of Mikhail being recognized had truly increased greatly.

After all, Saint Petersburg was only this big, and the places where young people who loved literature and art could exchange ideas were also limited. What would happen if he was really recognized?

"By the way, Nikolai," Mikhail said, looking at Nekrasov as something occurred to him, "I will work at home for the next few days. If anything comes up, just come find me directly. I will not go to the publishing house for now."

"Then when will you submit your manuscript?"

Thinking of the part of the novel he had seen, Nekrasov also felt an itch in his heart for a moment and unconsciously asked, "Mikhail, you know, because of the need for advance printing, it would be best if you submit your manuscript to me now. Otherwise, if printing is delayed someday, it will affect the magazine's distribution, which would not be good."

"Yes, without a complete manuscript, how can I conduct my review?"

Belinsky, whose eyes shone with intense light, also spoke up at this moment: "Then I cannot tell you my complete thoughts on this novel! And if we only talk about the part you gave me now, then Mikhail, even though you have already heard many such comments, I still want to tell you that you are a thoroughgoing genius.

What kind of person can suddenly shift from concise and powerful short stories to deep and heavy long novels? Moreover, in this transition process, I did not see too many immature parts. It seems you have already reached a very high level just as you started writing in this format!

I simply do not know how to describe it! And your novel will surely become a dagger thrown into the darkness.

Among us, there are always many Mr. s who still hold unrealistic fantasies about some people, but in fact, except for the most thorough action, it is impossible to shake the hearts of some people. Your novel will make more people realize this."

Mikhail: "."

Sweating profusely, old Belinsky.

Seeing this situation, Mikhail signaled to the unwell Belinsky not to get so excited, and at the same time, regarding the remaining part of the novel they wanted, Mikhail nodded and agreed.

The reason for delaying until now was actually because the novel "The Insulted and Humiliated" contained a considerable amount of thought regarding religious redemption.

Regarding this, Mikhail could actually understand. After all, for some people, after long witnessing the dark reality and long seeing no way out, if they do not place hope in God, then who should they place hope in?

Moreover, this was Russia, where the religious atmosphere was quite thick.

And the reason why the works of Old Dostoevsky and Old Tolstoy later became great was that although they had their own tendencies, they still depicted various social realities and clashes of thought, and conducted in-depth sharing.

But for Mikhail, understanding was based on knowing the path ahead. To make him believe in such things in this current era was certainly impossible.

And just as Mikhail continued his conversation with Nekrasov and Belinsky, at that very moment, on a street not too far from him, a burly man who looked like a giant bear was walking down the avenue with his companion; given his build, even the magazine in his hand looked a touch small.

This was naturally Dmitri, whom Mikhail hadn't seen for a while.

The main reason was that Mikhail had been a bit busy lately, and Dmitri was not exactly idle either — besides working hard to complete his studies, he had also recently been frequently attending a small group's gatherings, and studying with an insatiable hunger a new line of thought he had not previously examined in detail.

Speaking of which, at such gatherings, certain passages from Mikhail's novel were often quoted to illustrate a certain reality that had always existed in Russia.

Thinking of this, Dmitri could not help glancing again at the familiar name on the magazine, then felt a heartfelt pride in his friend.

Who could have imagined that a destitute university student, not long ago, had become the literary rising star of St. Petersburg's Cultural Circle in such a short span of time?

Moreover, Dmitri always felt that it wouldn't be too long before his young friend consolidated his position in the Cultural Circle — and who could have imagined that a university student on temporary leave, a young man, could become an authority in the Cultural Circle?

Still, while feeling proud of his friend, Dmitri also felt a touch of regret; after all, his friend really was quite busy at times, and added to that the fact that they couldn't meet on campus, the chances of meeting had of course dwindled considerably.

If Mikhail were still at school, they would probably continue attending this small group's gatherings together, wouldn't they?

In the past, Mikhail had indeed attended a few times, but before he could delve deeper, his literary career had already begun.

He wondered whether he'd have time going forward — he'd ask him when he got the chance.

With this thought, Dmitri turned to his companion and asked: "Ilyaslav, is Mr. Petrashevsky holding another gathering soon?"

"Of course."

Dmitri's companion replied: "Same old time, starting on Friday — should be in a few more days. What about it?"

"Perhaps I should bring a friend of mine along to attend again."

The bear-like man puffed out his chest: "And you've definitely heard his name!"

(End of chapter)