SGB Chapter 360

## Chapter 360: The Transformation of “The Englishman”

The streets of London were shrouded in a thick fog almost every day since December arrived, occasionally punctuated by light drizzle.

In the bustling editorial office of “The Englishman” on Fleet Street, Alfred Tennyson sat alone at his spacious desk, a steaming cup of tea clutched in his hand.

He took a sip of his tea, nibbled on a freshly baked bread roll and onion rings, and basked in the warmth of the roaring fireplace behind him. Finally, he felt his stiff fingers begin to loosen.

With the other editor-in-chief of “The Englishman”, Alexandre Dumas, accompanying Arthur to Liverpool on a case, the editor’s office, normally large enough to accommodate three desks, was now occupied solely by Tennyson.

While the absence of the talkative French gentleman brought a welcome silence, it also left Tennyson with a sense of long-forgotten loneliness.

As a naturally shy and introverted young man, Tennyson’s social circle wasn’t particularly large. Since his father’s passing, he had even stopped contacting many of his relatives.

Although Arthur had recommended him for a place at the University of London after his withdrawal from Cambridge, he focused on his classical literature studies and didn’t engage much with his classmates.

He preferred the company of old friends over making new ones. He believed that life, being finite, demanded careful selection and cultivation of genuine friendships.

This thought prompted Tennyson to pull out a stack of letters from his desk drawer.

One from the Grand Duchy of Weimar in Germany was signed by William Thackeray, a close friend he had met at Cambridge.

Despite meeting Johann Wolfgang von Goethe through an introduction, the literary aura surrounding Goethe didn’t seem to lift Thackeray from the melancholy that had settled over him since the publication of “The Farewell to Cambridge.”

In fact, Thackeray’s encounter with Goethe’s profound classical literary influence only intensified his inner turmoil. He began to question his own ability to pursue a literary career and seriously considered his mother’s suggestion to go into business.

Although Thackeray’s letter was filled with complaints, he didn’t forget to send Tennyson a few souvenirs.

Tennyson turned his head and looked at the two books wrapped in leather on his desk.

One was “West-Eastern Divan,” and the other was “Faust,” both by Goethe and both in German.

Seeing them, Tennyson couldn’t help but sigh with a wry smile.

It wasn’t just Thackeray who was restless, he felt the same way.

“The Englishman” boasted a roster of talented contributors. When it was first founded a year ago, they were all anonymous figures in the British literary scene.

But a year later, Dumas, Dickens, and Disraeli had become the three pillars of the British fashion novel industry.

Charles Darwin, a cross-genre writer, had also received praise from naturalists at the Linnean Society for his scientific articles.

Arthur had become the pioneer of detective fiction, and many in London’s literary magazines were clumsily imitating his style. However, due to his professional background, their imitations couldn’t match the realism of the Scotland Yard inspector.

Meanwhile, Eldred’s “Robin Hood” had garnered the attention of Sir Walter Scott, the leading figure in British historical fiction, after being polished by Dumas.

Coincidentally, Scott passed away shortly after reviewing “Robin Hood,” making his review of Eldred’s work his final literary critique.

This stroke of luck had sparked a frenzy of discussion about Eldred among history enthusiasts.

The publication of “Saint George’s Flag Flies High,” a novel based on Eldred’s life, further increased his fan base, particularly among devout believers.

At the same time, Eldred also received high praise from the historical literature circle. Everyone agreed that there was a reason why Mr. Carter could write “Robin Hood.”

Eldred’s experience proved that he embodied the long-standing British historical tradition.

Devotion, optimism, resilience, bravery, and unwavering spirit – these were the hallmarks of Eldred Carter.

Alongside the rise of these new literary forces came a surge in the popularity and sales of “The Englishman.”

Many figures Tennyson had never dared to dream of were now choosing “The Englishman” as their platform.

In the past six months alone, he had seen works by renowned European figures like Heinrich Heine, Adam Mickiewicz, and Thomas Campbell in manuscripts Arthur had submitted.

But the most astonishing discovery for Tennyson was Arthur’s acquisition of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s unpublished masterpiece, “Prometheus Unbound.”

And that wasn’t even the limit of Arthur’s achievements. In the supplement “The Economist,” there were all sorts of strange and wonderful things.

For example, the works of Prince Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, the leader of the Polish exiles, Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte, the nephew of Napoleon, and David Ricardo, the leading figure in British classical economics.

Compared to these giants, Tennyson felt insignificant.

If one were to list the most unsuccessful authors in “The Englishman” since its inception, he would undoubtedly be the top contender.

This was evident in the literary criticism published by “Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine” and “The Quarterly Review,” the two main competitors of “The Englishman.”

They focused their firepower on Dumas, Dickens, and others, while mentioning Tennyson’s “Lyric Poems” only in passing, usually with a dismissive comment like “vapid, crude, and uninteresting.”

Although the magazine’s major shareholders were unconcerned about Tennyson’s lackluster market performance, even offering him comfort and urging him not to take it to heart, he couldn’t bring himself to simply accept it.

However, the more anxious he became, the worse his writing got, so bad that even he couldn’t stand to look at it.

Staring at the mountain of Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge poetry collections on his desk, Tennyson felt so ashamed that he wished he could bury himself in the waste paper.

“Sigh…”

Tennyson held Thackeray’s letter, shaking his head, “William, you’re not the only one who wants to give up. I’m starting to feel the same way about poetry.”

The door to the room creaked open, and a blonde woman wearing a black apron and carrying a tray with a teapot entered. In broken English, she asked, “Mr. Tennyson, would you like some more hot water?”

Tennyson smiled shyly and nodded, “Thank you, Miss Paulina.”

Paulina poured more water into Tennyson’s teapot, her voice tinged with anxiety, “Sir, have you heard about the shooting in Liverpool recently? The one where Mr. Hastings was attacked?”

Tennyson put down his letter, looked up, and asked, “Of course, I know. As soon as I heard, I wrote Arthur a letter. Thankfully, he only sustained minor injuries. God has been cruel enough to me this year. My father passed away in the middle of the year, and if I were to lose a friend who has helped me so much at the end of the year, I don’t know how I would get through it.”

Paulina felt a weight lift from her heart at Tennyson’s words. Holding the tray in one hand and clutching her chest with the other, she smiled with relief.

“It’s good that Mr. Hastings is alright! You have no idea how we Poles have been feeling these past few days. Every night, drunkards throw stones at our windows and shout for us to go back to Poland.

The children say the windows are drafty and they’re freezing, but what can we do? We can’t even chase those hooligans away. Even when we go home at night, we don’t dare turn on the kerosene lamp or speak a word. We’re afraid that if those people outside know we’re home, they’ll break in and steal our remaining valuables.

Mr. Tennyson, if Mr. Hastings returns and blames us, please say a good word for us. Although the person who tried to assassinate him might be Polish, not all Poles are bad. We don’t want to stay in London, but we can’t go back to Warsaw. Please tell Mr. Hastings that we need this job to support our families. Please don’t fire us.”

Seeing Paulina’s tears, Tennyson couldn’t help but offer comfort, “Don’t worry. If Arthur had a prejudice against Poles, he wouldn’t have hired you in the first place. Since he decided to do this, he won’t change his mind. You haven’t been here long, so you don’t know his personality. He’s not the kind of person you think he is. In fact, based on his letters, he seems to think that this might not be the work of your exile government.”

Paulina wiped her tears and declared, “How could it be us? There are few people willing to speak for us in London, and the kind gentlemen of “The Englishman” are one of them.”

At this point, Paulina couldn’t help but recite from the Book of Jude and the Book of Revelation, “Those who do not keep their proper place, but leave their own dwelling, the Lord has kept in chains of darkness, to be reserved for the judgment of the great day. But the devil who deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are also. They will be tormented day and night for ever and ever.”

As she was reciting these verses, a red devil’s head suddenly appeared on the other side of the door.

Agareus, hearing these scriptures, couldn’t help but spit a mouthful of scorching saliva mixed with blood onto the floor, “They believe whatever He says. The devil may not be thrown into the lake of fire and brimstone, but you ignorant souls, you will be eternally shrouded in darkness, tormented day and night.”

Following Agareus, who had just stepped through the door, were Arthur, Dumas, and others, their faces hidden under wide-brimmed hats.

“Alfred, we haven’t seen each other in over a week. Did you miss me?”

Dumas’s words were cut short as he caught sight of the weeping Paulina and the flustered Tennyson.

He thought he had stumbled upon some good drama and immediately lowered his outstretched arms.

“This…”

Dumas scratched his fluffy hair, “Alfred, how could you make a lady so upset?”

Hearing this, Paulina simply wiped her tears and forced a smile, “No, it’s not Mr. Tennyson’s fault. I was just a little emotional. Mr. Dumas, please have a seat. I’ll make you some tea.”

With that, Paulina quickly left the room with the tea tray.

Dumas stared at Paulina’s retreating figure for a while before turning his attention back to Tennyson.

The French gentleman pinched his chin and raised an eyebrow, “Alfred, I never noticed that you and Miss Paulina…”

Tennyson quickly interrupted, “Alexandre, don’t say anything. Miss Paulina just asked me to do her a favor.”

“What favor?”

Tennyson was about to answer, but then he saw Arthur casually finding a comfortable spot to sit down, and he swallowed his words.

“Nothing, she’s just been feeling a little down lately, so she wanted to talk to me to cheer herself up.”

Arthur casually flipped through the next issue’s manuscripts, “It’s because of the Liverpool case, right? I stopped by the Philharmonic Society before coming to the office, and Frederick told me everything.”

Tennyson was surprised, “Even Mr. Chopin was affected?”

“Not really affected. His exceptional talent has put him in a much better position than ordinary Poles. But it seems the King’s plan to appoint him Royal Pianist is now completely off the table.”

“Ah… this…”

Tennyson couldn’t help but ask, “What does Mr. Chopin plan to do next?”

Arthur flipped through the manuscripts, “He seems a bit disheartened. He told me that he’ll go to Paris once the cholera situation eases. And I think he’d be better off settling in Paris than London.

Firstly, his father was French, so there’s no language barrier.

Secondly, Paris has a much better music scene than London, though not as good as Vienna, but it’s still the second center of the music world.

And thirdly, for now, the French government and people are firmly against the Tsar’s attempt to undermine Polish independence. So, he’ll be safe in Paris, at least he won’t have to worry about mobs attacking his residence.”

Dumas also sighed with regret, “If I weren’t a French political prisoner, I would have escorted him back. Sigh… unfortunately, now that job falls to Heinrich.”

Hearing this, Tennyson immediately thought of Heine’s sharp tongue and couldn’t help but ask, “Wouldn’t it be problematic to leave Mr. Chopin in the care of Mr. Heine?”

Arthur picked up his teacup and said, “At least it’s better than leaving him to the Foreign Office. The political atmosphere in London is a bit tense these days. Cholera, Poland, parliamentary reform, the Foreign Office’s European rebalancing strategy – they’re all mixed up. Even during breaks, there’s a divorce case and Mr. Harrison’s adult education program. I really couldn’t bear to put Frederick, a talented pianist, in this murky situation.”

(End of Chapter)