Chapter 363: Changes in “The Englishman

Chapter 360 Changes in The Cockney
Since stepping into December, the streets of London had been foggy almost every day, with a little drizzle occasionally falling.

In the editorial office of The Cockney on Fleet Street, Tennyson sat at his empty desk, holding a steaming cup of black tea.

Taking a sip of black tea and chewing a mouthful of freshly baked bread and onion rings, accompanied by the flames rising from the fireplace behind him, he finally felt his stiff fingertips stretch.

These days, since Dumas, the other managing editor of The Englishman, had followed Arthur to Liverpool to work on a case, Tennyson was the only person in the managing editor’s office, which could fit three desks, every day.

Although the fat Frenchman who liked to make witty remarks was missing, he could keep his ears quiet, but likewise Tennyson felt a hint of loneliness.

As a shy and introverted young man, Tennyson’s social circle was not particularly wide, and since his father’s death, he did not even often contact some relatives.

Although he dropped out of Cambridge on Arthur’s recommendation and immediately entered the University of London to specialize in Classics, he did not socialize much with his classmates other than attending classes on a daily basis.

He preferred dealing with old friends to meeting new ones. One’s energy is limited, and in that limited time, he would prefer to have a few carefully selected friendships.

Thinking of this, Tennyson couldn’t help but take out a few letterheads from his desk drawer.

The one from the German Duchy of Weimar, signed by William Thackeray.

Although this close friend whom he had met in Cambridge had been introduced to Mr. Goethe locally, the literary air of Goethe had apparently failed to rescue Thackeray from the manic depression defeated by Farewell to Cambridge.

On the contrary, Thackeray was dealt a new blow after seeing the strong classical literature in Goethe. He began to doubt whether he was capable of following the literary path or not, and began to seriously consider the business route that his mother had advised him to take.

However, although Thackeray poured out his bitterness almost throughout the letter, he did not forget to send Tennyson a little souvenir back towards the end.

Tennyson craned his head to look at the two books wrapped in cowhide at hand.

One was the West-Eastern Poems and the other was Faust, both by Goethe, and both were also in German.

Seeing them, Tennyson could not help but sigh bitterly.

In fact, Thackeray was not the only one who was manic and restless; he himself was the same.

The contributors to The Briton were a masterful bunch, and when it was first published a year or so ago, the guys were still nobodies in the Britannia literary scene.

But a year on, Dumas, Dickens and Disraeli have been hailed as the triumvirate of fashionable British fiction.

Crossover author Darwin’s popular science articles have also garnered a standing ovation from the Linnean Society of Museums.

Arthur, on the other hand, became a seminal figure in detective fiction, and today a number of London literary magazines clumsily imitate his writing. But for professional reasons, the imitations of others ultimately fall short of the realism of Scotland Yard’s proper superintendent.

And Elder’s Grand Theft Robin Hood, after being embellished by Alexandre Dumas, soon reaped the attention of Sir Walter Scott, the leading figure in English historical fiction.

Coincidentally, Sir Walter Scott died not long after his review of Robin Hood, so his review of Elder’s book became a closed book by mistake.

And this kind of pie-in-the-sky luck has caused Elder to create a buzz in the circle of historical literature enthusiasts.

And after the novel based on Elder, “St. George’s Flag is Always Rising” was published, the guy had quite a few more devotees.

At the same time, historical literature circles spoke highly of Elder, and the general consensus was that there was a reason Mr. Carter was able to write Grand Theft Robinson.

Elder’s experience illustrated the existence of a long-springing tradition of British history in him.

Piety, optimism, resilience, courage and indomitability are synonymous with Elder Carter.

Accompanying the rise of these new forces in the literary world is the soaring popularity and sales of Britannica.

Many characters that Tennyson would never have thought of before also began to make The Englishman one of their choices.

In the past six months alone, he had met Heine, Mickiewicz, Thomas Campbell, and other big names that had shaken Europe from the manuscripts Arthur had handed over.

Of course, what shocked Tennyson the most was the fact that Arthur had managed to get his hands on Shelley’s unpublished posthumous work, The Liberated Prometheus.

And that was far from Arthur’s limit; there were many more oddities in the supplement The Economist.

Such as the many posthumous works of Prince Czartoryski, the leader of the Polish exiles, Mr. Louis Bonaparte, Napoleon’s nephew, and David Ricardo, the leading figure in British classical economics.

Compared to these people, Tennyson only felt small.

If one were to list the most unsuccessful authors of The Englishman since its inception, it would definitely be him.

This is evident from the literary criticisms published in Blackwood’s and the Monthly Review, the two main competitors of The Englishman.

They concentrated all their main output of fire on Dumas, Dickens, etc., while mentioning Tennyson’s Lyrical Poems usually resulted in only a glib comment – sickly, crude and uninteresting.

Although the major shareholders of the magazine did not care about Tennyson’s mediocre market performance, and even took the initiative to reassure him not to take it too personally, Tennyson himself could not lie down.

However, the more anxious he was, the more trashy the writing became, so much so that he couldn’t even read it himself.

Looking at the mountain of Wordsworth, Saussure and Coleridge’s poems at hand, Tennyson was so ashamed that he couldn’t bury himself in the ground with the waste manuscripts.

“Alas ……”

Tennyson held Thackeray’s letter and couldn’t help shaking his head, “William, not only do you want to give up, even I want to give up the path of writing poetry.” The door of the room was suddenly gently pushed open, and the blonde lady with a black apron walked in carrying a tray with a teapot, and asked in half-baked English, “Mr. Tennyson, would you like to add some hot water?”

Tennyson smiled coyly at the words and nodded, “I’m sorry to trouble you, Ms. Polina.”

While refilling Tennyson’s teapot with water, Polina spoke uneasily, “Sir, do you know about that recent shooting in Liverpool? The one that assassinated Mr. Hastings.”

Tennyson put down the letterhead in his hand and looked up to ask, “Of course I know about it. I wrote to Arthur as soon as I realized it had happened, and unfortunately for him, he was only slightly injured. God has been cruel enough to me this year, my father left me in the middle of the year, and I really don’t know how I’m going to make it through the year if I have to lose a friend at the end of it who has helped me so much.”

When Polina heard Tennyson’s words, the stone in her heart was finally put down, and she held the tray in one hand and covered her chest with the other, her face filled with a smile like relief.

“It’s great that Mr. Hastings is fine! You simply don’t know how we Poles have really been living all this time. At night, we have drunks throwing stones at our windows and shouting at us to go back to Poland.

The children said they were shivering from the leaky windows, but what could we do. We were more than afraid to let that mob go. When we got home at night, we didn’t even dare to turn on the kerosene lamps, and we definitely didn’t dare to say a word. We were afraid that if we let the gang outside know we were at home, they would break in and rob us of even the little valuables we had left.

Mr. Tennyson, if Mr. Hastings comes back and blames us, I would be grateful if you could put in a word for us. Though it may have been a Pole who assassinated him, not all Poles are as bad as that. We don’t want to stay in London, but we can’t go back to Warsaw. Please tell Mr. Hastings for us that we must not be dismissed, we really need this job to support our family.”

Tennyson saw the way Polina was dropping her tears as she spoke, and comforted her with an unforgiving heart, “Just don’t worry about it. If Arthur had a problem with Poles, then he wouldn’t have hired you guys from the beginning. Since he decided to do this, then he will not change his mind temporarily. You have been here for a short period of time, so you don’t understand his personality. He is not of the high and mighty nature that you think he is, and as far as his opinion from his letters is concerned, he seems to think that it is not necessarily your government in exile that has done this.”

Polina could not help wiping a tear from her eye at this, and spoke with conviction, “How could it be our doing? There aren’t many people in London who are willing to speak for us in the first place, and the good gentlemen of The Cockney happen to count themselves among them.”

Speaking of which, Paulina couldn’t help but recite the Book of Jude and the Book of Revelation, “And the angels that kept not their proper place, and departed out of their own habitation, the Lord hath detained in chains for ever in darkness, to wait for the judgment of the great day. And the devil that bewitched them was cast into the lake of fire of brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are. And they shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever.”

She was reciting this passage when half of the red devil’s head suddenly came through the door panel.

When Agareth heard this passage, he couldn’t help but skim his mouth and spit on the ground, spitting burning hot spittle mixed with blood, “Truly you believe whatever He says. The Devil may not be thrown into a lake of fire with sulfur, but you gullible ones will surely be the ones who will be forever darkened and tormented day and night.”

Immediately behind Agareth, who entered through the door, were Arthur, covered with a large brimmed hat, with Dumas and others.

“Alfred, haven’t you missed me in over a week?”

As soon as Dumas spoke, he saw a huffing Polina and an overwhelmed Tennyson.

He thought he had crashed some good show, and his open arms dropped at once.

“This ……”

Dumas scratched his puffy head, “Alfred, how could you upset a lady like that?”

Hearing this, Polina just wiped her tears and forced a small smile to clarify, “No, it’s none of Mr. Tennyson’s business, it’s just that I’m a bit emotional. Mr. Zhongma, you guys sit down first, I’ll go make you some tea.”

With those words, Polina quickly walked out of the room holding the tea tray.

Dumas stared at Polina’s departing back for a long while, before returning the focus of his sight to Tennyson.

The French fat man cupped his chin and raised one eyebrow, “Alfred, how come I didn’t realize before that you and Miss Polina actually ……”

Tennyson sniffed and hurriedly interrupted, “Alexander, don’t talk nonsense. Miss Polina just entrusted me with an errand.”

“What matter?”

Tennyson was about to answer, but suddenly saw Arthur who had found a comfortable seat for himself, and swallowed the words that came to his mouth.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that she hasn’t been having a good time lately, so she’s looking for me to chat to ease her mood.”

Arthur casually unfolded the manuscript for the next issue, “It’s because of the Liverpool case, isn’t it? I stopped by the Philharmonic Society before I came to the editorial office and Frederick told me all about it.”

Tennyson was surprised, “Even Mr. Chopin took a hit?”

“Not exactly a shock, I suppose; outstanding talent makes it obvious that he is in a considerably better position than the average Pole. However, for the moment, His Majesty’s intention of appointing him to be the Royal Pianist should be completely yellowed.”

“Ah …… this ……”

Hearing this, Tennyson couldn’t help but ask, “Then what does Mr. Chopin intend to do next?”

Arthur flipped through the manuscript and spoke, “Looking at him, it seems like he’s also a bit disheartened. He told me that when the cholera situation eases up a bit, he will go to Paris. And, I also think it would be better for him to settle in Paris than in London.

For one thing, his father is French, so there is no language barrier.

Secondly, the music scene in Paris is obviously better than in London, although not as good as Vienna, it is still considered the second center of the music industry.

As for the third well, just for the moment, on the Polish issue, the French government and civil society are firmly opposed to the Tsar to destroy the independence of Poland. So, if he goes to Paris, he is also guaranteed in terms of personal safety, at least there won’t be mob attacks on residences or anything like that.”

Dumas also spoke rather regretfully, “If it weren’t for the fact that I’m a French political prisoner, if not for that, I would have escorted him all the way back. Alas …… it is a pity that this job will now have to be given to Heinrich.”

When Tennyson heard this, he immediately remembered Heinrich’s ragged mouth, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Wouldn’t there be a problem handing Mr. Chopin over to Mr. Heinrich?”

Arthur sniffed and lifted his cup of tea, “At the very least, it’s a little better than handing it over to the Foreign Office. The political atmosphere in London is not quite right these days, with cholera, Poland, parliamentary reform and the Foreign Office’s European rebalancing strategy all mixed together. Even recess has to be interspersed with a divorce lawsuit and Mr. Harrison’s adult education. I can’t bear to put a talented pianist like Frederick in the middle of this murky water that I can’t see.”

(End of chapter)