Journal of Literature · Night reading at the moment
Night before bedtime reading, a beautiful article, takes you into the world of memory of reading.
Meet Pushkin in a restaurant, listen to Gogol read Dead Souls at a friend's house, witness Lermontov's duel, watch Bakunin argue with others, discover the first work of the genius Dostoevsky... Fortunate Russian writer I. Banayev was not only in the star-studded "Golden Age" of Russian literary history, but also at the center of the literary circles of this period, with whom few people could refuse to record all this with a pen. Through his book "The Age of the Stars", Banayev recalled his dealings with these writers and intellectuals, and recounted to later readers the unknown details of the lives and creations of these literary masters.
Reading this evening, let's go back to the live broadcast of a moment in Russian literature, and it so happens that the literary critic Belinsky has just received a manuscript of the novel "The Poor" from a newcomer author, which belongs to the 24-year-old Dostoevsky.
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
Debut at the age of 24
The author of The Poor Man came to see him in this apartment, before the work was published.
It should be noted that the first to learn about the work "The Poor" was Grigorovich. Dostoevsky was a classmate of his engineering school.
He gave the manuscript to Grigorovich, who in turn forwarded it to Nekrasov. Together, they read the manuscript and handed it to Belinsky, saying it was an exceptionally good work.
Belinsky took the manuscript suspiciously. He didn't seem to touch it for days.
One day when he was sleeping he wanted to read something, and this was the first time he picked up the manuscript, but the first page of the manuscript attracted him. The more he watched, the more fascinated he became, and he stayed up all night and read the manuscript in one sitting.
When Nekrasov saw Belinsky the next morning, he was already in a state of frenzied excitement.
In this state, he usually seems impatient, walking around the room with a look full of excitement. At such a moment, there must be a close person who listens to his feelings that are stuffed in his heart.
Needless to say, How happy Belinsky must have been when he saw Nekrasov. "Bring me Dostoevsky!" That's what he said.
Then he breathlessly spoke to Nekrasov about his impressions, saying that The Poor Man showed great genius, that its author would surpass Gogol, and so on. "The Poor Man" is naturally a masterpiece, and its popularity is well deserved, but Belinsky is also too obsessed with it, to the extreme. When Dostoevsky was brought to see him, he met him with a gentle attitude, almost like a father's love, and immediately expressed his views to him and fully expressed his enthusiasm for him.
The Collected Works of Dostoevsky, Shanghai Translation Publishing House
I have never seen anyone more forthspoken, more sincere, and more straightforward than Belinsky.
He himself admitted more than once: "What can be done?" I don't talk, I don't sell —it's not in my nature... "It's always a joy for him to discover any new genius." Belinsky's enthusiasm was very single-minded, and he devoted all his attention to literature. Every time a new issue of the magazine came out, he greedily grabbed it in his hand, cut his article with a trembling hand, and quickly went through it to see how much of the meaning of the article was retained after printing. At this time, his face suddenly turned red and suddenly turned white; One moment desperately dropping the magazine, the next—if there are no major deletions or distortions—is relieved and in a good mood.
By this time his health was already very poor. Friends had long advised him to give up his magazine job, which was extremely harmful to his physical condition. But he kept undecided, and asked, "Then what do I rely on to support my family?" Finally a situation arose that really angered Belinsky and prompted him to make up his mind. In the spring of 1846, he abandoned the routine work of the Chronicle of the Fatherland and left for Moscow, where he set out in early June with Mi Shepkin for southern Russia.
The scene of sending off Belinsky was extremely pleasant and lively. I started with a light meal at Shepkin's house in the morning, and I was also in Moscow, and all of Belinsky's friends in Moscow had arrived, including Granovsky, Ye Fei Korsh, Ketchell, and Herzen, and he and Belinsky were reconciled at my house in 1840. Belinsky and Herzen were already in love and intimate at this time. Their beliefs were identical, and Belinsky was unwaveringly attached to him. They all become indispensable to each other.
Herzen, despite repeated changes and troubles, is still extremely optimistic and vibrant. This time he was talking non-stop at breakfast, colorful and funny (which is what characterizes his speech)—his loud and pleasant voice overshadowed everyone's voice.
Shepkin's four-wheeled carriage was ready, and the light carriage of the senders was also set. It's time to leave.
Herzen was still gushing, witty, and fascinating. "Let's go, Mikhailo Semonec, it's time!" Belinsky said,
He was always impatient on such occasions. "I'm sorry, folks," Korsh interjected, "how can we take Herzen through town?" Can't walk around town with him. "Why?" Everyone felt inexplicable. "Because cars with little bells are forbidden to pass in the city."
Everyone laughed and walked toward the carriage.
Herzen, October 1861
We brought food and wine with us. The weather was sunny and warm that day. Our journey was unusually enjoyable, and Herzen, who had always been witty, was more vocal and laughing than usual on this day. We did not enter the caravanserai, but rested next to a farmhouse on an open hill. It wasn't pretty, but we didn't care about it. We unwrapped the food, took out the wine, and laid it all on the floor. Because there was no table, Herzen got a plank and cut ham on it without caring, which made Korsh, who had always been a clean man, feel very uncomfortable. Later, he refused to eat this ham under any circumstances.
Konstantin Colovin / Painting, Russia
Everyone randomly found a piece of ground, or a piece of log, sat down and lay down. Some people take a piece of ham, some people cut a piece of pie, and some people unwrapped the paper wrapped roast meat. Ketchell shouted louder than anyone, laughed mercilessly, and was always busy opening champagne according to her own habits.
"Good health to those who set out!" Ketchell poured champagne for everyone, then raised her glass and shouted.
He laughed again for some reason.
At the sound of an order, the banquet began. Ketchell kept shouting as she poured wine into her glass. Herzen was already lying belly-up, and someone jumped over him.
Belinsky didn't drink and didn't like others to get drunk, and he began to get tired of the scene. He gradually became sullen and looked very anxious.
"It's time to go, it's time to go, Mikhailo Semonec." He said it again and again. The four-wheeled carriage finally came. One by one, everyone hugged and kissed the departing people. "God bless you to return healthy!" Everyone shouted at Belinsky from all sides.
He smiled. "Goodbye! See you soon!" He waved and said hurriedly.
The carriage started and the bell rang. We watched him, and Belinsky looked out of the carriage for the last time and nodded at us. A few minutes later, only a cloud of dust remained on the road.
Kapitonov Ivan Karistradovich / painting, Russia
"Guys, we have a few bottles left!" Ketchell shouted triumphantly as she shook the bottle.
However, we did not stay long after Belinsky left. On the way home, Ketchell had a fight with a young man who lived at Shepkin's house and came to see him off. Russia's trip to the south did not have much effect on Belinsky's body.
He returned to St. Petersburg in the autumn of 1846, when we had begun preparations for the publication of Modern Man, and he was overjoyed by the unexpected news.
He saw all the preparations we had made, heard the discussion of the new publications, thought that he had shed the status of attachment which had upset him, and was now moving freely with those whom he had a good affection for and whom he deeply respected, and which, together with a rather interesting controversy which had arisen between us and the Chronicle of the Fatherland at that time, all of which supported his nerves, made him feel excited, that there was something to be done!
Works of Belinsky
He enthusiastically wrote articles on Russian literature for Modern Man (see Modern Man, No. 1, 1847) and another indignant essay (see Modern Man, No. 2, 1847) commenting on Gogol's famous letters, the publication of which he was deeply ashamed of.
But his physical strength began to run out — and he felt it painfully. The doctor advised him to go abroad, and he himself had this wish, and all his friends urged him to fulfill it, hoping that this trip would be of benefit to him, at least for some more time. The money was raised, so he set off by boat in the spring of 1847.
Among those who lived abroad during this period were Bavar Annenkov, whom Belinsky cherished very much, and Turgenev; They can probably tell a lot of interesting stories about his time abroad and the impressions that Europe has left on him.
After returning from abroad at the end of August, Belins lived for a while in a small apartment on Flag Street. At first he appeared refreshed, much more vigorous than before, and filled all his friends with hope that he would recover. He himself had this hope for some time, but his confidence seemed small. A month later, he found himself a apartment in the Galchenkov apartment on Rigovka Street.
The apartment is quite spacious and comfortable, located in the wide courtyard of the apartment, on the second floor of the wooden box, in front of which there are several trees, giving a gloomy impression. Several trees next to the window blocked out the light, so the room appeared gloomy.
Herzen, Belinsky, and Turgenev on the cover of the English edition of Berlin's Russian Thinker
Autumn has come, bringing with it the eternal darkness of the day in Petersburg, the damp snowflakes falling in the sludge, and the piercing moisture.
At the same time, Belinsky's asthma recurs, and it is more severe than before; The cough began to torment him again, day and night, making him extremely miserable; As a result, blood kept pouring into the head. At night, chills and fevers become more and more frequent, often with high fever. His energy was visibly depleted day by day.
The autumn and winter of 1847 seemed endless, and it made him feel extremely miserable. At the same time as his physical strength was exhausted, his spiritual strength also declined. He rarely goes out; When friends gathered in his house, he rarely mentioned his spirits, often saying that he had not lived long and that his death was near. It is said that people with lung disease are almost never aware of their illness, aware of their dangerous situation, and often hope to survive. Belinsky knew very well that he had a lung disease, that he never expected to live, that he never had to masturbate in fantasies about the future.
In the later stages, the suffering of the disease he suffered became incalculable because of the climate of Petersburg, due to all kinds of sorrows and troubles, due to heavy and vague ominous premonitions. Some rumors began to spread against him, everything around him seemed to become more and more suffocated and dark, and the censorship of his articles became more and more stringent. He received two very unpleasant letters, but in very euphemistic terms, written by a teacher whom he had loved and respected in the past. As requested by these two letters, he had to come forward to explain some of the situation, but at this point he could no longer go out.
Some gentlemen, Belinsky, used to attach great importance to their opinions, and now they are beginning to say that his literary thinking has dried up, that he is repetitive, that his articles are weak and tedious.
These words also reached his ears, and he was deeply saddened by them.
Statue of Belinsky
At the beginning of spring, his condition deteriorated rapidly, destroying his body. His cheeks are sunken deep, his eyes are lost, and he only occasionally flashes a little light during the cold and heat attack; His chest collapsed, his legs could barely move, and his panting was terrible. Even when friends came to see him, it became a burden to him.
I went to his house one morning, and it was late April or early May. A couch was moved under a tree in the yard—Belinsky was helped out for a breath of fresh air.
I met him in the courtyard. He sat down on the couch, his head bowed, breathing very hard. He saw me, shook his head melancholy, and put his hand out to me, his hands oozing with cold sweat. After a while he looked up slightly, looked at me, and said, "I'm not going to be able to do it, I can't do it, Banayev!" I said a few words to comfort him, but he interrupted me, "Stop talking nonsense." He stopped talking and hung his head down and gasped heavily. I can't express how heavy my mood is at the moment... I was in trouble with him, but somehow I was uncomfortable, and Belinsky seemed to have no interest in anything. "It's all over!" I thought, "In a few days, maybe a few more hours, this person will be gone!" But the sun was so bright; it was a bright spring day, the young leaves of the trees began to sprout, and a flock of sparrows squeaked and flew freely around this dying man. A few days later Belinsky died. (Miya) Yazekov's home holds a pencil portrait depicting him in the days before his death: a thin face, a sickly glow of cold and heat in his eyes, his hair disheveled, and his beard pulled out.
The portrait was painted by Yazekov's wife. The dying man's face shocked her and imprinted it so deeply in her mind that she sketched it on paper as soon as she got home.
I was not with him at the moment of his death, but according to those present, Belinsky was lying on the bed with a high fever, had lost his strength and consciousness, but to everyone's surprise, he suddenly jumped up from the bed, his eyes flashed, he took a few steps, his mouth was vague, but he said a few words firmly, and then fell down. Everyone took him and made him lie down on the bed, and after a quarter of an hour he passed away.
Oil painting "Belinsky before his death"
A few friends in Petersburg accompanied his body to the Volkovo cemetery. They were joined by three or four unidentified people, who god knows where they popped up. They stayed in the cemetery until the end of this bleak ritual, watching everything with great curiosity, though nothing was worth their attention at all. Everyone prayed for Belinsky and put his body in the tomb as anyone else did, and then the grieving friends silently threw a handful of dirt into his grave according to Christian custom, and the tomb began to leach water.
I have no luxury in the slightest desire to portray the whole of Belinsky as a person. Such a task would take enormous force, and the time to do so would not yet come. I just want to use this little article to throw bricks and stones and let those who are close to him like me write more interesting memories. If my memories of this fragment can remind his friends of his image to some extent, and those who do not know him but sincerely miss him are not without interest in reading it, then I am very pleased.
January 15, 1860
Selected from
The age of the stars
[Russian] by I. I. Banayev/
Liu Dunjian / Translation
Houlang 丨Jiangsu Phoenix Literature and Art Publishing House
New Media Editor: Zheng Zhouming
Pictured: Historical materials, published books
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