I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 30: Thirst

When Belinsky went over to invite Mikhail to read his latest novel, Sologub, another young man at the party, approached Turgenev, who had just finished speaking to the people present, and asked with a hint of sarcasm:

"Ivan, what do you think of this gentleman? From the moment we met until now, I haven't heard any interesting ideas from him, nor have I seen him behave in any elegant manners. As for his novels, I think they may not be as good as Vissarion said."

"I think he's a nice gentleman." Glancing at Sologub, who was always a bit pretentious, Turgenev continued:

"I really like his novels."

Turgenev was quite familiar with Sologub. He seemed to be writing his "The Carriage" recently, and it had indeed received praise from Belinsky.

But unfortunately, when Mikhail's novel appeared, Belinsky's attention was suddenly taken away from him.

At the same time, he was a real frivolous fellow, constantly pretending to be a student from Delput, and then assuming the airs of an aristocrat. In high society, he was proud of his status as a writer, and in literary circles, he flaunted his earldom.

If an ordinary person is introduced to him, he will only extend two fingers to shake hands with the other person, and pretend that he does not know the other person when they meet again the next day.

In today's era, there are certainly idealists, but aristocratic children like Sologub are often the mainstream.

Who would be willing to get along with ordinary people when they can live a superior life?

In short, due to various reasons, this young man did have an inexplicable hostility towards Mikhail.

As for his novels, Sologub always felt that there was a dangerous atmosphere in them.
Although the young Turgenev loved to brag and treat people to dinner, his relationship with Sologub was not very good. Therefore, in the face of the other party's obviously provocative remarks, Turgenev of course told the truth.

Upon hearing Turgenev's answer, Sologub simply shook his head noncommittally and said, "Then let's hear what his new work is like. You know, few people can produce good works continuously, but if his work is truly mediocre, I'd be willing to speak a few words in its favor."

Before Turgenev could say anything, Mikhail was pulled over by Belinsky. When he walked in front of everyone, Mikhail had already tidied up his appearance and concealed what he had just done.

Because of his previous experience in the apartment, at this moment, facing the gazes of these well-dressed gentlemen and ladies present, Mikhail was not nervous at all. He took out his manuscript and began to make final preparations.

Seeing Mikhail like this, Nekrasov suddenly remembered the embarrassment of his first time reciting poetry here. His voice was weak and he was nervous and restrained. He was exactly the opposite of the current Mikhail.

While his face turned slightly red, Nekrasov did not forget to put something in his mouth.

At this moment, Mikhail finally read out this latest novel in front of all the authoritative figures in the cultural circles of St. Petersburg. He had made some minor changes to it to make it more in line with the current era:

"It's night time. The nurse, Varka, a girl of thirteen, is rocking a cradle with a baby in it; she hums, so softly that you can just hear her: 'Sleep, sleep well, I'll sing for you.'"

It’s the same subject again.

Sologub, who was listening attentively, couldn't help but raise the corner of his mouth.

Having written about a boy like that, he now has to fill the vacancy of a girl?
There's really nothing new about it.

Mikhail didn't notice the young man's expression, but continued reading at his own pace.

"The baby is crying. He has long since grown hoarse and tired from crying, but he keeps on crying, and no one knows when he will stop.

But Varka is sleepy. Her eyelids cannot be opened, her head droops, her neck aches. She cannot move her eyelids or her lips, and it seems to her as if her face has dried up and turned to wood, and as if her head has become as small as the head of a pin.

When this was read, everyone present had undoubtedly heard the identity of the protagonist. Some even said that almost every noble family would have a maid like this, who was specifically responsible for handling trivial matters for them.

"But now the music is irritating and painful, for it makes her sleepy, and she cannot sleep at all; and if Varka falls asleep (and God forbid she should fall asleep), the masters will beat her."

Up to this point, Belinsky, observing the crowd's reactions while listening to Mikhail's recitation, could understand it. It was just a poor girl trying to keep herself awake while soothing her child. But what followed startled Belinsky slightly:
"Her late father, Yefim Stepanov, was writhing on the floor. She could not see him, but she could hear him writhing about in pain and groaning. As he said, his 'hernia' was acting up.'
He was in so much pain that he couldn't utter a word. He could only breathe in and out, his teeth chattering like the sound of drums: "Boom--boom--boom--boom..."

Her mother, Pelagia, has gone to the master's estate to announce that Yefim is dying. She has been away for a long time and must be back soon. Varka lies awake on the stove, listening to her father's "boo-boo-boo" noises.

She was clearly trying to coax her child, so why did these scenes appear in front of her eyes?
Are you so sleepy that you are experiencing strong hallucinations?
In this illusion, the girl finally waited for the master's carriage to pick up her father, but in the end she still received the following news:
"Pelagia came back; she crossed herself and whispered, 'They cured him at night, but towards morning he gave his soul to God. May he rest in peace in heaven... They said it was too late... they should have cured him sooner...'

This illusion did not last long, and the girl quickly returned to reality:
"Varka goes into the woods and weeps bitterly, but suddenly someone hits her on the back of the head so hard that her forehead strikes a birch tree. She raises her eyes and sees her master, the tanner, standing before her.

"What are you doing, you little bitch?" he said. "The baby is crying, and you are sleeping!" He pulled her ear hard, and she shook her head, then rocked the cradle and hummed her song.

Even though she was woken up by her boss, the girl, who seemed to be extremely sleepy, soon blurred the distance between illusion and reality:
The green spots, the shadows of the trousers and the swaddling clothes danced toward her and soon filled her mind again. She saw the muddy road again. The man with the bag on his back and the shadow had already lain down, fast asleep.

Varka looks at them and feels very sleepy herself; she longs to lie down comfortably, but her mother Pelagia walks beside her, urging her to go faster. They are both going to the town to find work.

"For Christ's sake, give me some money!" her mother begged everyone she met. "Have mercy like God, kind sir!" "Bring the baby here!" a familiar voice answered her. "Bring the baby here!" The voice repeated it again, but it was angry and fierce. "Are you asleep, you vile creature?"

In this interweaving of reality and illusion, the girl still could not find a moment of rest, but just did one thing after another under the orders of her master:

"Varka, light the stove!" she hears the boss's voice coming from outside the door.

"Varka, light the samovar!" calls the landlady.

Varka splits a piece of wood, but has just lighted the pieces and put them in the samovar when she hears the order: "Varka, clean the master's goloshes!" She sits on the floor, cleaning them, and thinks how nice it would be to put her head in one of the big, deep goloshes and take a nap.
"Varka, run and get some vodka! Varka, where's the corkscrew? Varka, get the herring out!" But now the guests have finally left; the lights are out, and the landlord and his wife have gone to bed. "Varka, rock the baby!" she hears the last command.

When the story reached this point, everyone present had already stopped what they were doing, and only rarely would they look at the person next to them, as if they wanted to ask how they thought the story would end.

Is it like the article "Vanka", leaving an unknown hope, but actually conveying a deeper kind of despair?
And soon, they heard the end of the story:
"But in her half-sleep state she could not fathom what force was binding her hands and feet, pressing her down, and preventing her from living.

She looked around for the power to break free from it, but she could not find it. Finally, exhausted, she stretched her eyes wide, looked up at the shimmering green spots, listened to the crying, and found the enemy who would not let her live.

It turns out that the enemy is that doll.

She laughed. She wondered how she hadn't understood such a little thing before. The green spots, the shadows, and the crickets seemed to laugh too, wondering too.

This false idea takes hold of Varka. She rises from the stool, and with a broad smile on her face, without blinking, she walks up and down the room. She feels a pang of joy and a thrill in her heart at the thought that she will soon be free from the doll that is binding her hand and foot."

When he read this, Mikhail, who was somewhat tired, raised his head and prepared to read out the ending of this girl who was extremely eager to sleep.

Coincidentally, when Mikhail raised his head, he met the eyes of the dazed Sologub, and then Mikhail read:
"Kill this doll, and then sleep, sleep, sleep
Varka smiles, winks, shakes her finger at the green spot, goes quietly to the cradle, bends down and approaches the baby.

When she had strangled him, she flung herself down on the floor, laughing with joy because she could sleep, and in a minute she was as sound as the dead."

More than 3,000 words, really, I worked hard to refine it (covering my face)

Pulling another handful of Chekhov's wool (dog head)

It is indeed a bit difficult to fleece other people. After all, Russian writers of this period were generally landlords. If you want to choose someone from the protagonist's family, you still have to think carefully.

But for the next article, let’s do something about Laozi.

It’s a pity that I didn’t have time to grab “The Poor”, but fortunately there are other more suitable ones.

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(End of this chapter)