Chapter 371 Red and Black

"I am of low birth, madam, but I am not lowly."

He sighed: "Hell on earth is right here. As long as I walk in, I can't get away from him!"

——"Red and Black"

Fleet Street, London, The Brit Editorial Office.

Alexandre Dumas nestled himself in a comfortable sofa chair and sat comfortably by the fireplace to warm himself up.

Normally, he would have complained about the drizzle and foggy London winter.

But today his attention was entirely attracted by the manuscript in hand that had been sent from Paris.

As a playwright with superb literary appreciation ability, Alexandre Dumas has always looked down upon second- and third-rate works.

As for Paris, the capital of literature and art, many fresh novels and scripts are published there every year, but there are only a few that catch his eye.

But this novel called "The Red and the Black" made Alexandre Dumas feel a lot of shame.

To be fair, Alexandre Dumas believes that he has not created any work that can compare with "The Red and the Black" so far.

In fact, he loved "The Red and the Black" more than Hugo's new work "Notre Dame de Paris" that the members of the Second Paris Literary Society sent him from France.

What's worse is that both "The Red and the Black" and "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" made Alexandre Dumas deeply ashamed of himself.

Such feelings directly broke down the proud psychological defense line he had built up over the past year while creating "The Count of Monte Cristo".

The fat French man slapped the manuscript on his face and shouted with envy and jealousy: "Alexander, look at all the rubbish you wrote! This is a novel, this is literature! I can tolerate being defeated by Victor, But where did Mr. Stendhal come from? How could he be so famous before when he could write works of this level?"

And when he couldn't stop complaining loudly, the red devil, whose legs were numb from squatting behind him, couldn't help but said: "Damn it! This novel is really wonderful!"

In order to express his love for this work, Agares, who has a strong memory, even recited chapters from the novel: "His cheeks were red and he looked down at the ground. The young man was eighteen or nineteen years old and looked quite good. Weak. His facial features are not regular, but he is very delicate. His nose is pointed and his eyes are big and black. When he is quiet, he looks thoughtful, studious and passionate, but now he has an expression of deep resentment. "

The Red Devil savored this description of Julien, the protagonist of "The Red and the Black", as if he was remembering something from the past. He bared his fangs and smiled with relish.

"Julian, the son of a carpenter, wanted to get ahead, but he had no choice but to join the army and finally chose the path of the church. By chance, he was spotted by the mayor and became a tutor, and later became the secretary of the Marquis. Thus, he rose to great heights all the way, but in the end...hehe..."

When the red devil said this, he stopped talking.

Because his flashing red eyes saw through the door panel that Mr. Hastings, who had just finished his work at Scotland Yard, had walked out the door expressionlessly.

Although Agares did not specifically analyze the interests of a certain human being, after spending so long with Arthur, he could still tell from Arthur's brows that his little client was very unhappy and unhappy.

For Arthur, this is his expression of deep resentment.

In this regard, the Red Devil did not want to say anything. He just slumped down on the sofa and began to recite the chapters of "Red and Black" easily and freely.

"Although this young man comes from a low background, he has a very strong self-esteem. If his self-esteem is hurt, he will do irrational things. He only feels hatred and disgust towards the so-called upper class society, because this upper class society actually He was just accepted at the end of the table.”

Click.

Arthur pushed open the door to the editing room, and as soon as he took off his hat, he saw Alexandre Dumas and Agares lying on the sofa.

Then, he turned to look at Tennyson's seat. Unfortunately, this rising star of British poetry was not much better.

He was holding a manuscript, and even the hand holding the manuscript was shaking, and even his lips were blue and white, and the tears couldn't stop flowing down. He raised his sleeves to wipe away the tears, but every time he wiped them he could only It would bring more tears to his face.

Arthur thought that his mood was bad enough today, but he didn't expect that there were two people in the editorial department who were better than him. This was really beyond his expectation.

But compared with Alexandre Dumas, Tennyson's situation is obviously worse.

Arthur walked up to Tennyson and asked in as brisk a tone as possible: "Alfred, is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, Arthur..."

When Tennyson saw him coming, he quickly picked up the water glass and took a sip to try to calm down his emotions: "I... I was just touched by this poem, and I did have a rough time this year... My father passed away, and my creation was in a mess...so I couldn't control my emotions for a while."

Arthur smiled when he heard this and said: "Frustrations are only temporary, but this poem can actually impress a poet of your level. It seems that it is indeed very level."

The red devil on the sofa yawned and said, "Arthur, why bother? Are you still in the mood to care about others now?"

Arthur glanced at him, then smiled at Tennyson and said, "Can I see this work?"

"Of course." Tennyson handed over a thick stack of manuscripts: "This is a genuine masterpiece."

I, the glorious son of immortality,

In order to make you confess your guilt, I condemned you.

At that time, I had to dress up as,

A demon from purgatory.

...

At that time, I covered my face with my hands,

Wept bitterly, ashamed.

I have long wanted to return to heaven,

But I hesitated.

I am afraid of meeting your mother,

I am afraid that she will ask me:

"What news is there in the world?

What changes have occurred in my hut?

Is my son peaceful in his dreams?"

When Arthur saw this, he immediately understood why Tennyson was so excited.

He must have thought of his deceased parents here.

Then, Arthur's eyes swept down.

What? Are you sad for us? - Who are you worried about?

You are not crying for me, are you? May I ask, what use am I?

If it is a war.

No doubt, Mr. Freind can still fight.

Maybe I can cut off the backs of a few Don Cossacks.

But in peacetime - even if I live for ten thousand years,

I can only curse the Moscow devils for a hundred years, and then die.

...

If they put me in shackles and exile me to Siberia,

the Lithuanian brothers will see me and think:

This is our noble bloodline, our youth is being destroyed.

Wait, Moscow devils!

Wait, Tsarist murderers!

People like me, Tomasz, would rather be hanged on the gallows and die!

People like me - can only serve the motherland with death!

Arthur saw this and couldn't help turning a few pages forward.

Sure enough, he found the familiar name on the first page, the poet strongly recommended to "The Englishman" by the Friends of Poland Literary Association - Mr. Adam Mickiewicz.

Below is his motto written in a graceful and chic handwriting - for the motherland, knowledge and justice.

And this manuscript is his latest work - the third part of "Ancestors' Sacrifice".

Undoubtedly, this is an immortal masterpiece. For the Poles, this is a great chapter that will eventually be recorded in their national history.

But...

For the Russians, this work is tantamount to treason.

Even if it is not 1831, but 1968, this book will also be strongly banned by the authorities in Poland.

And for Arthur, who has just experienced the Liverpool incident, he really has doubts whether this work can successfully pass the publication review of the library publishing department.

Fortunately, even if "Ancestors' Ceremony" cannot be published separately, it can at least be published in the "British" in serial form due to the regulations that newspapers and magazines do not need to be reviewed separately.

Occasionally holding a view that contradicts the government's position is not a problem, but if you do it often, then when the "British" publishing license is about to be renewed, whether they can renew it smoothly will be a big problem.

But Arthur obviously doesn't want to think about this problem now.

He asked someone to shoot a shot, so he also wants to shoot them back.

Although this bullet was not as good as the one Bellingham shot at Prime Minister Percival, it could still help him vent his discontent.

Moreover, from an emotional point of view, he did sympathize with the displaced Poles, and this "Ancestors' Ceremony" was a good example.

If Mickiewicz had not experienced real suffering and had not witnessed the execution of his old friends and relatives by the Tsar, he would never have been able to write such a touching work.

From a realistic perspective, the Tsar's suppression of the Warsaw Uprising brought many Polish refugees to London, and the refugees represented the instability of the public security situation. He did not like this behavior of arbitrarily increasing his workload, especially when the person who assigned him the work was not his superior.

Tennyson wiped his tears and said with a smile.

"Arthur, am I right? This is indeed a great work. Although I am a little jealous, I have to admit that only people like Mr. Mickiewicz can be called poets. I can't even describe him as a poet anymore. He is a soul singer from Poland.

I completely felt the power of grief and indignation between his words and knew what the Polish people were experiencing. He is such a great patriot. Every time I reread his work, I can feel the insurmountable gap between me and him.

A great poet is someone like him who can record an era with poems. I... I really don't know what to do. How can we catch up with one ten-thousandth of his talent. "

When Arthur heard this, he just lit up and took a puff of cigarette: "Alfred, I agree with your point of view. But from a friend's point of view, I pray to God that you'd better never become a great poet like him."

Tennyson was stunned: "Why?"

Arthur put the manuscript back to its original place with his pipe in his mouth: "Because, it would be very painful. The poems recording heaven have been written by priests, so if poets want to achieve greatness, they can only witness hell with their own eyes. In this regard, Dante is like this, Wordsworth is like this, Byron is like this, Mickiewicz is like this... Oh, but Homer is an exception. "

Tennyson was puzzled: "Why is Homer an exception?"

Arthur exhaled a puff of smoke leisurely: "Because that guy is blind."

Tennyson was so amused that he almost spit out the tea in his mouth, and his extremely sad mood disappeared without a trace.

"Arthur, can you prepare me mentally before you make a joke next time?"

Arthur shrugged: "Alfred, my kind of writing detective novels is different from your kind writing poetry. Detective novels are all about an unexpected attack, rather than laying out the emotions like writing poetry."

Tennyson took out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth: "Well, it seems that my talent for detective novels is lower than that for poetry."

Arthur persuaded him nicely: "Alfred, people with low talent cannot create masterpieces like "Timbuktu". It's not that you have no talent, but you lack some of the necessary experience to become an outstanding poet. However, As I said just now, you are my friend, so I hope you can bury your talents and live a happy life, even if you end up as an ordinary person. "

"Thank you, Arthur." Tennyson said with a smile: "Although I know you are complimenting me, I still want to thank you. At least I feel more comfortable now."

"No need to thank me." Arthur asked: "By the way, how is your academic progress at the University of London?"

"Thanks to you, it went very smoothly." Tennyson replied with a smile: "The professor said that with my learning speed, I might be able to complete the course and graduate a year early."

"Thank God."

Arthur pretended to make a cross on his chest: "Although I don't know why he favored the University of London, a school that educated a lot of atheists, at least our Department of Classical Literature can finally educate a A serious poet."

Tennyson said sheepishly: "Isn't it unfair to Mr. Carter if you say that?"

When Arthur heard this, he couldn't help but apologize: "Oh, Alfred, if you hadn't reminded me, I almost forgot about my best friend. He is indeed quite hellish."

When Alexandre Dumas, who was lying dead next to him, heard this, he blew open the manuscript in front of him and said, "Not only that, he also brought Sir Scott, who had spoken highly of him, to hell with him."

Arthur turned his head and looked at Alexandre Dumas: "Alexander, if you didn't say anything, I thought you were following."

When the fat French man heard this, he just pointed his middle finger at Arthur, then stood up with the manuscript and said, "Come on, take a look at this, the work that Victor sent me from Paris."

"Victor?" Arthur raised his eyebrows and asked, "You mean Mr. Hugo?"

"Oh, I almost forgot, you are his admirer."

Alexandre Dumas rubbed his butt that was numb from reading the manuscript: "In that case, things will be easier to handle. Victor discovered a new author in Paris, but his book was banned by the authorities not long after it was published in Paris, so He wrote to me to ask if The British could help distribute the book in London."

When Arthur heard this, he couldn't help but frown.

In such a sensitive period, it was already quite extraordinary for "The British" to withstand the pressure and publish "Ancestor Sacrifice". If it publishes another print that dissatisfies the authorities, it will inevitably attract some people's attention.

It would be dangerous if "British" completely exposes its shareholding composition and ideological tendencies.

However, although Arthur did not agree immediately, he still wanted to see what book made Hugo so aggressive.

And when the manuscript came to Arthur's eyes, the first thing he saw was a line of mottos on it.

I understand that this book will be banned in the 1830s, but I also firmly believe that I will be understood in 1880, reprinted in 1900, read in 1935, and 150 years later, I will be remembered by the world.

——Stendhal.