Petersburg in 1834 was like a frozen book of poetry, and the brass ring on the oak door of the British Club glowed coldly in the twilight.
Arthur Hastings stood by the carved porch, holding onto a velvet chair, chin clenched, and looked from behind at Gogol, who was curled up in a high-backed Cossack chair and writing a new script. From time to time, he would interject a few words and imitate the tone of the Druisk officials to make suggestions for revisions to Gogol.
As for Gogol, although he was very dissatisfied with the Englishman's talkativeness, he still listened patiently because his story was indeed touching.
"The part where the corrupt mayor toasted Colonel Hastings was too straightforward. I... No, according to the previous text, Hastings is not such a violent character. How could he curse people? You wrote a comedy, so I think it should be modified appropriately. The tax collector confessed his mistake tremblingly at the table, and Hastings just smiled and handed him a glass of wine, saying: 'Drink this wine, and the church reconstruction funds you embezzled will become communion donations - as for the blurred numbers caused by the church rats gnawing on the account books, we can call it in the report - God's personal revision.'"
Gogol rolled his eyes and drew a funny St. George flag on the edge of the manuscript paper with honey. "Perhaps I should indicate that this play is based on a diplomat's history of hemorrhoids? After all, the 'clerk with anal disease' is the soul of the whole scam."
The firelight from the fireplace danced in Arthur's eyes. He put a sugar cube into the hot tea and said, "My dear Nikolai Vasilyevich, I bet you that you will become famous in Russia this time. Do you know that your ability to choose words and construct sentences is now infinitely close to the level of Heinrich Heine."
Gogol thought Arthur was laughing at him: "Come on, if I were really as good as Heine, would I have almost sacrificed half my life for a position as an associate professor at Kiev University? Since I wrote "History of Little Russia", I have become more and more aware of how difficult it was for Karamzin. Not every novelist can successfully switch careers to become a historian."
"Are you still thinking about your position at Kiev University?" Arthur took a sip of tea. "You are now an associate professor at the History Department of Petersburg University. Although I am a foreigner, I am not stupid enough to think that Kiev University is better than Petersburg University."
"How dare you bring this up?" Gogol was feeling exhausted from working so long that he slumped over the table. But when he heard Arthur talking about his new position, he immediately became furious: "To be honest, I've heard from Zhukovsky and Pushkin that you've made a great contribution to my position as an associate professor!"
"No need to thank me." Arthur raised his teacup and gently clinked it with the bottle of kvass that Gogol had placed on the table. "Helping others is my job, especially in the cultural field."
"Thank you?" Gogol's eyes widened. "Do you think I am willing to accept this position? My hemorrhoids are howling day and night, asking me to go to warm Kiev! The reason why I am still in Petersburg is not because I am a heartless person, but because the position in Petersburg was provided by the emperor's order, and you are the instigator of all this."
"Please, man." Arthur explained, "I promised you that I would help you speak to the big shots. The fact that His Majesty the Tsar ordered you to stay in Petersburg only means that I did my job too well. Besides, in my opinion, cold weather is not the only factor that causes hemorrhoids. Even if your butt moves south to Kiev, the disease may not be completely cured."
Gogol thought this guy was just talking nonsense again: "I just thought you were a great electromagnetic scholar. When did you become a doctor? Maybe my illness may not be cured in Kiev, but how do you explain that hemorrhoids are everywhere in St. Petersburg, but rarely seen in Kiev?"
"Of course that's explainable." Arthur flicked the rim of his teacup, his voice like a gold coin falling into a confession box: "Do you know why everyone in St. Petersburg has hemorrhoids? Tax collectors use their buttocks to practice double-entry bookkeeping. The left buttock is responsible for the treasury deficit, and the right buttock is responsible for personal surplus. From a medical point of view, St. Petersburg has a large number of bureaucratic institutions. Everyone here sits like a mountain and neglects exercise. They cultivate their own rebellious blood vessels in the mountains of files, so it is not difficult to understand why hemorrhoids occur frequently. As for Kiev, although I have never been to Kiev, the fourteenth-rank officials and civil servants in the entire Little Russia region may not be as many as those in St. Petersburg."
When Gogol heard Arthur's explanation, he felt that this guy was making complete nonsense, but he didn't know how to refute it from a medical perspective.
So he could only ignore the Englishman and sit in a chair sulking.
Seeing this, Arthur had no choice but to offer the candied cherries he had just bought and consoled her, saying, "Although I couldn't return to Kiev, it's still great to eat some of Kiev's specialties to relieve my homesickness. The vendor boasted to me that these cherries had been pickled in the sugar jar for ten years and were so hard that they could break wolf teeth. Just like your butt that refused to move south, it incubated on the Iron Throne in St. Petersburg for eight months and finally gave birth to two bloody academic achievements for the Russian historical community."
"You are a hairless monkey who grew up in the gutter of London! You are an idiot who was complained about your thick tongue coating even when you polished the Tsar's boots!" Gogol stood up with the ink bottle in his hand. The velvet seat made a sound of tearing cloth like a suction cup, which sounded very much like the conscience of a certain British diplomat being torn apart by a dog: "Ivan the Terrible's hemorrhoids are cleaner than your smiling face! Such a vulgar person actually calls himself a knight. Did you pick your medal of chivalry from Duke Potemkin's toilet?"
He stood up and was about to punch the Englishman, but he froze in place just after taking half a step, and felt a familiar pain in his buttocks. The sweat beads on his hooked nose flickered in the firelight, like the bribe ruby that Mayor Druisk could never give away.
Gogol held his butt and sat back down, burying his head and breathing softly with a hiss.
The noise here attracted the attention of the surrounding guests. Arthur called the waiter with an apologetic look on his face: "Please bring a cushion with a thick warm cloth. Mr. Gogol's hidden illness seems to have flared up."
When the guests around heard this, they nodded to Arthur helplessly.
Most of the guests present could relate to what it was like to have a hemorrhoid attack, and it was indeed a very unpleasant feeling.
Arthur comforted Gogol, "Look! You need to rest for your illness and don't get too excited. I really treat you as a friend and I'm thinking about you in every way."
It took Gogol a long time to regain the strength to speak. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, with a resigned expression: "You are like the devil sent to punish me."
The Red Devil, who had not come out to cause trouble for many days because of the cold weather in Russia, just snorted and sneered when he heard this, "I am not such a vulgar thing."
"I heard him say that last week," Arthur replied with a smile. "He said that the first class was very successful. Many big names came to the class, including the Petersburg Inspector, the Dean and President of Petersburg University, the Crown Prince's Tutor Zhukovsky, Prince Vyamzersky, Pushkin, Pogokin... I heard that half of the Petersburg literary world came to support you."
Gogol's cheeks turned red, and he muttered: "Don't even mention it! My performance that day was really terrible. If you were there, you would see how pale and painful my face was..."
Arthur asked doubtfully, "But Pushkin told me that your first lesson was barely good?"
"There are indeed some good parts." Gogol talked about his embarrassing experience without any concealment: "When the opening speech was about to end, I suddenly felt confident and spoke more fluently and coherently. But at this moment, the principal and the supervisor suddenly walked into the classroom. They said a few polite words of welcome to me, greeted the students, and sat down in the armchairs prepared for them. Then, a silent silence fell, and I fell into the same nervous state again, and my face turned pale again. However, it was too late to hesitate. So I could only walk up to the podium and start speaking..."
Gogol covered his face and said, "I swear to God, that was the most embarrassing experience of my life. It was a disaster comparable to the Battle of Austerlitz!"
"Come on, Nikolai, you're just overthinking this." Arthur said, "When I visited St. Petersburg University two days ago, I talked to the students there about you. One of the students had taken your class and he spoke highly of you. But he also complained that your first class was the best, but the following classes became increasingly listless and disorganized, and sounded boring. And how come you claimed you couldn't continue teaching after only 20 minutes of class on Wednesday? Did you fail to prepare for the following classes because you encountered setbacks in the first class?"
Gogol was touched by Arthur's words and quickly denied it: "Of course I was preparing for the class, but my enthusiasm for preparing for the class was indeed dampened."
Seeing that he was not in the right here, Gogol quickly changed the subject and asked, "What is the name of the student you are talking about?"
"Are you going to cause trouble for him?" Arthur shrugged and said, "Nicholas, you can't do that. He is a good and motivated student. I talked to him about Shakespeare for a long time the other day."
"How is that possible? I'm not that kind of person." Gogol patted his chest and assured, "I just plan to listen to his suggestions and ask him in person what else needs to be improved."
Arthur didn't have the habit of betraying others without reason, but he was really interested in seeing what kind of sparks would be created by the two great Russian writers who were teacher and student, so he blurted out, "Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev, a sophomore in the language major, who just transferred from Moscow University this semester."
When Gogol heard the name, a look of surprise suddenly appeared on his face.
The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!
When Arthur saw him like this, he immediately realized that he might have overestimated this guy who was spoiled by the entire St. Petersburg literary world.
As a university professor who leaves class early and is too lazy to prepare for his lectures, and a weirdo who sulks and ignores everyone the whole night at literary gatherings just because he didn't get his favorite drinks, it is indeed a daunting challenge for him to remember the "Student Roster".
Not everyone can store detailed lists of names and home addresses in their heads like Arthur does.
If we put aside his talent, it is really hard to imagine how Gogol could survive in the Russian officialdom given his weird temper and unreliable style of doing things.
But precisely because of his talent, almost everyone, whether it was Pushkin or Zhukovsky, spoiled this guy. Even though he had all kinds of childish behaviors, everyone would still try their best to please him just to see his latest manuscripts.
A literary leader like Zhukovsky would go out during a party and even send several messengers to ask door to door in closed businesses, just to buy wine for Gogol and cheer him up.
When Pushkin visited Gogol's home, he would be distracted for several days if he hadn't read Gogol's unpublished new works.
Half of the St. Petersburg literary world mobilized to get him the position of associate professor at Kiev University.
Although the plan was not accomplished in the end, it was enough to show Gogol's appeal.
Talented but willful, that's Gogol.
When Arthur thought of this, he couldn't help but think of this guy again.
Before he left the post of Cultural Counselor, he had to leave behind as many political achievements as possible, and the establishment of the British-Slavic Literary Association was a good option.
This was within his area of responsibility and not risky.
However, his appeal in the Russian literary world was obviously not enough to accomplish this.
His original plan was to ask Pushkin for help, but at this moment, going to this "Russian conscience" would easily attract the attention of the Tsar and the Third Bureau.
If Pushkin cannot be found, then Gogol will naturally become the next-level substitute.
Although the relationship between the two cannot be said to be close, it is at least familiar enough.
"Forget it, let's not talk about those unhappy things. I heard from Pushkin that you recently wrote a new work called "The Nose"? He strongly recommended this article to me, saying that you wrote it very funny and it can be compared with "The Decameron"."
Gogol curled his lips when he heard this: "It may be an exaggeration to compare it with The Decameron, but I also think it is a good work. But can you believe it? The Moscow Observer actually rejected my manuscript of The Nose."
"Ah?" Arthur was quite surprised. He had actually read The Nose a long time ago, even earlier than Pushkin. That was why he found it even harder to believe that The Nose would be rejected. "What was the reason for the rejection?"
Gogol snorted and drank the kvass: "They said my writing was too vulgar."
Arthur Hastings stood by the carved porch, holding onto a velvet chair, chin clenched, and looked from behind at Gogol, who was curled up in a high-backed Cossack chair and writing a new script. From time to time, he would interject a few words and imitate the tone of the Druisk officials to make suggestions for revisions to Gogol.
As for Gogol, although he was very dissatisfied with the Englishman's talkativeness, he still listened patiently because his story was indeed touching.
"The part where the corrupt mayor toasted Colonel Hastings was too straightforward. I... No, according to the previous text, Hastings is not such a violent character. How could he curse people? You wrote a comedy, so I think it should be modified appropriately. The tax collector confessed his mistake tremblingly at the table, and Hastings just smiled and handed him a glass of wine, saying: 'Drink this wine, and the church reconstruction funds you embezzled will become communion donations - as for the blurred numbers caused by the church rats gnawing on the account books, we can call it in the report - God's personal revision.'"
Gogol rolled his eyes and drew a funny St. George flag on the edge of the manuscript paper with honey. "Perhaps I should indicate that this play is based on a diplomat's history of hemorrhoids? After all, the 'clerk with anal disease' is the soul of the whole scam."
The firelight from the fireplace danced in Arthur's eyes. He put a sugar cube into the hot tea and said, "My dear Nikolai Vasilyevich, I bet you that you will become famous in Russia this time. Do you know that your ability to choose words and construct sentences is now infinitely close to the level of Heinrich Heine."
Gogol thought Arthur was laughing at him: "Come on, if I were really as good as Heine, would I have almost sacrificed half my life for a position as an associate professor at Kiev University? Since I wrote "History of Little Russia", I have become more and more aware of how difficult it was for Karamzin. Not every novelist can successfully switch careers to become a historian."
"Are you still thinking about your position at Kiev University?" Arthur took a sip of tea. "You are now an associate professor at the History Department of Petersburg University. Although I am a foreigner, I am not stupid enough to think that Kiev University is better than Petersburg University."
"How dare you bring this up?" Gogol was feeling exhausted from working so long that he slumped over the table. But when he heard Arthur talking about his new position, he immediately became furious: "To be honest, I've heard from Zhukovsky and Pushkin that you've made a great contribution to my position as an associate professor!"
"No need to thank me." Arthur raised his teacup and gently clinked it with the bottle of kvass that Gogol had placed on the table. "Helping others is my job, especially in the cultural field."
"Thank you?" Gogol's eyes widened. "Do you think I am willing to accept this position? My hemorrhoids are howling day and night, asking me to go to warm Kiev! The reason why I am still in Petersburg is not because I am a heartless person, but because the position in Petersburg was provided by the emperor's order, and you are the instigator of all this."
"Please, man." Arthur explained, "I promised you that I would help you speak to the big shots. The fact that His Majesty the Tsar ordered you to stay in Petersburg only means that I did my job too well. Besides, in my opinion, cold weather is not the only factor that causes hemorrhoids. Even if your butt moves south to Kiev, the disease may not be completely cured."
Gogol thought this guy was just talking nonsense again: "I just thought you were a great electromagnetic scholar. When did you become a doctor? Maybe my illness may not be cured in Kiev, but how do you explain that hemorrhoids are everywhere in St. Petersburg, but rarely seen in Kiev?"
"Of course that's explainable." Arthur flicked the rim of his teacup, his voice like a gold coin falling into a confession box: "Do you know why everyone in St. Petersburg has hemorrhoids? Tax collectors use their buttocks to practice double-entry bookkeeping. The left buttock is responsible for the treasury deficit, and the right buttock is responsible for personal surplus. From a medical point of view, St. Petersburg has a large number of bureaucratic institutions. Everyone here sits like a mountain and neglects exercise. They cultivate their own rebellious blood vessels in the mountains of files, so it is not difficult to understand why hemorrhoids occur frequently. As for Kiev, although I have never been to Kiev, the fourteenth-rank officials and civil servants in the entire Little Russia region may not be as many as those in St. Petersburg."
When Gogol heard Arthur's explanation, he felt that this guy was making complete nonsense, but he didn't know how to refute it from a medical perspective.
So he could only ignore the Englishman and sit in a chair sulking.
Seeing this, Arthur had no choice but to offer the candied cherries he had just bought and consoled her, saying, "Although I couldn't return to Kiev, it's still great to eat some of Kiev's specialties to relieve my homesickness. The vendor boasted to me that these cherries had been pickled in the sugar jar for ten years and were so hard that they could break wolf teeth. Just like your butt that refused to move south, it incubated on the Iron Throne in St. Petersburg for eight months and finally gave birth to two bloody academic achievements for the Russian historical community."
"You are a hairless monkey who grew up in the gutter of London! You are an idiot who was complained about your thick tongue coating even when you polished the Tsar's boots!" Gogol stood up with the ink bottle in his hand. The velvet seat made a sound of tearing cloth like a suction cup, which sounded very much like the conscience of a certain British diplomat being torn apart by a dog: "Ivan the Terrible's hemorrhoids are cleaner than your smiling face! Such a vulgar person actually calls himself a knight. Did you pick your medal of chivalry from Duke Potemkin's toilet?"
He stood up and was about to punch the Englishman, but he froze in place just after taking half a step, and felt a familiar pain in his buttocks. The sweat beads on his hooked nose flickered in the firelight, like the bribe ruby that Mayor Druisk could never give away.
Gogol held his butt and sat back down, burying his head and breathing softly with a hiss.
The noise here attracted the attention of the surrounding guests. Arthur called the waiter with an apologetic look on his face: "Please bring a cushion with a thick warm cloth. Mr. Gogol's hidden illness seems to have flared up."
When the guests around heard this, they nodded to Arthur helplessly.
Most of the guests present could relate to what it was like to have a hemorrhoid attack, and it was indeed a very unpleasant feeling.
Arthur comforted Gogol, "Look! You need to rest for your illness and don't get too excited. I really treat you as a friend and I'm thinking about you in every way."
It took Gogol a long time to regain the strength to speak. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, with a resigned expression: "You are like the devil sent to punish me."
The Red Devil, who had not come out to cause trouble for many days because of the cold weather in Russia, just snorted and sneered when he heard this, "I am not such a vulgar thing."
"I heard him say that last week," Arthur replied with a smile. "He said that the first class was very successful. Many big names came to the class, including the Petersburg Inspector, the Dean and President of Petersburg University, the Crown Prince's Tutor Zhukovsky, Prince Vyamzersky, Pushkin, Pogokin... I heard that half of the Petersburg literary world came to support you."
Gogol's cheeks turned red, and he muttered: "Don't even mention it! My performance that day was really terrible. If you were there, you would see how pale and painful my face was..."
Arthur asked doubtfully, "But Pushkin told me that your first lesson was barely good?"
"There are indeed some good parts." Gogol talked about his embarrassing experience without any concealment: "When the opening speech was about to end, I suddenly felt confident and spoke more fluently and coherently. But at this moment, the principal and the supervisor suddenly walked into the classroom. They said a few polite words of welcome to me, greeted the students, and sat down in the armchairs prepared for them. Then, a silent silence fell, and I fell into the same nervous state again, and my face turned pale again. However, it was too late to hesitate. So I could only walk up to the podium and start speaking..."
Gogol covered his face and said, "I swear to God, that was the most embarrassing experience of my life. It was a disaster comparable to the Battle of Austerlitz!"
"Come on, Nikolai, you're just overthinking this." Arthur said, "When I visited St. Petersburg University two days ago, I talked to the students there about you. One of the students had taken your class and he spoke highly of you. But he also complained that your first class was the best, but the following classes became increasingly listless and disorganized, and sounded boring. And how come you claimed you couldn't continue teaching after only 20 minutes of class on Wednesday? Did you fail to prepare for the following classes because you encountered setbacks in the first class?"
Gogol was touched by Arthur's words and quickly denied it: "Of course I was preparing for the class, but my enthusiasm for preparing for the class was indeed dampened."
Seeing that he was not in the right here, Gogol quickly changed the subject and asked, "What is the name of the student you are talking about?"
"Are you going to cause trouble for him?" Arthur shrugged and said, "Nicholas, you can't do that. He is a good and motivated student. I talked to him about Shakespeare for a long time the other day."
"How is that possible? I'm not that kind of person." Gogol patted his chest and assured, "I just plan to listen to his suggestions and ask him in person what else needs to be improved."
Arthur didn't have the habit of betraying others without reason, but he was really interested in seeing what kind of sparks would be created by the two great Russian writers who were teacher and student, so he blurted out, "Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev, a sophomore in the language major, who just transferred from Moscow University this semester."
When Gogol heard the name, a look of surprise suddenly appeared on his face.
The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!
When Arthur saw him like this, he immediately realized that he might have overestimated this guy who was spoiled by the entire St. Petersburg literary world.
As a university professor who leaves class early and is too lazy to prepare for his lectures, and a weirdo who sulks and ignores everyone the whole night at literary gatherings just because he didn't get his favorite drinks, it is indeed a daunting challenge for him to remember the "Student Roster".
Not everyone can store detailed lists of names and home addresses in their heads like Arthur does.
If we put aside his talent, it is really hard to imagine how Gogol could survive in the Russian officialdom given his weird temper and unreliable style of doing things.
But precisely because of his talent, almost everyone, whether it was Pushkin or Zhukovsky, spoiled this guy. Even though he had all kinds of childish behaviors, everyone would still try their best to please him just to see his latest manuscripts.
A literary leader like Zhukovsky would go out during a party and even send several messengers to ask door to door in closed businesses, just to buy wine for Gogol and cheer him up.
When Pushkin visited Gogol's home, he would be distracted for several days if he hadn't read Gogol's unpublished new works.
Half of the St. Petersburg literary world mobilized to get him the position of associate professor at Kiev University.
Although the plan was not accomplished in the end, it was enough to show Gogol's appeal.
Talented but willful, that's Gogol.
When Arthur thought of this, he couldn't help but think of this guy again.
Before he left the post of Cultural Counselor, he had to leave behind as many political achievements as possible, and the establishment of the British-Slavic Literary Association was a good option.
This was within his area of responsibility and not risky.
However, his appeal in the Russian literary world was obviously not enough to accomplish this.
His original plan was to ask Pushkin for help, but at this moment, going to this "Russian conscience" would easily attract the attention of the Tsar and the Third Bureau.
If Pushkin cannot be found, then Gogol will naturally become the next-level substitute.
Although the relationship between the two cannot be said to be close, it is at least familiar enough.
"Forget it, let's not talk about those unhappy things. I heard from Pushkin that you recently wrote a new work called "The Nose"? He strongly recommended this article to me, saying that you wrote it very funny and it can be compared with "The Decameron"."
Gogol curled his lips when he heard this: "It may be an exaggeration to compare it with The Decameron, but I also think it is a good work. But can you believe it? The Moscow Observer actually rejected my manuscript of The Nose."
"Ah?" Arthur was quite surprised. He had actually read The Nose a long time ago, even earlier than Pushkin. That was why he found it even harder to believe that The Nose would be rejected. "What was the reason for the rejection?"
Gogol snorted and drank the kvass: "They said my writing was too vulgar."
