The Shadow of Great Britain

239: Chapter 162: Introducing You to a Lucrative Writing Business 239: Chapter 162: Introducing You to a Lucrative Writing Business At dusk, Disraeli sat on a bench next to Hyde Park, gazing at the rising moon and stars and letting out a long sigh.

Suddenly, he clutched his head in agony and bellowed twice at the sky.

His cry not only scared the passersby but also startled a red-eyed raven that had flown from the Tower of London to feast on fruit in the park.

As the ravens flapped their wings and fled, a feather as dark and deep as the night sky landed in Disraeli’s palm.

He looked at the feather, feeling an urge to cry without tears.

Although he had known he would not be elected as a representative, receiving only three votes was still quite a blow to him.

According to his calculations, he should have had at least four sure votes.

One from his father, one from his uncle, one from a friend he had grown up with, and one from himself.

Already distressed by the betrayal of his close friends and family, Disraeli could not bear to confront them, but keeping it inside made him feel even worse.

Thus, after summoning the courage, he finally resolved to find out who had betrayed him.

What he had not anticipated was that the investigation would end as soon as it had begun.

His father calmly admitted that he had not voted for him.

He believed his son would definitely not be elected because a Jew needed to demonstrate exceptional work abilities and a stable character to become a representative, and his theatrically inclined son clearly did not meet these standards.

Moreover, his son did not seem reliable or capable of breaking the mold as the chosen one.

Therefore, based on the principle of maximizing returns, his father thought it was not worth wasting a valuable vote on Disraeli.

Thus, he resolutely betrayed his kin, casting his vote for Disraeli’s direct competitor, the bomb-enthusiast General Thomas Cochran from Westminster.

Disraeli could not understand or comprehend how he could be less worthy of a vote in his father’s eyes than a shipment of gunpowder.

Sitting on the park bench, he only felt the cold wind of late autumn, but his heart was even colder.

Suddenly, he knelt down and prayed to the moon, “Autumn has ended, winter has come, and my heart is barren.

God, why must you torment me so?

You might as well just take me away!”

But despite his loud pleas, he received no response at all, and instead, the passersby spontaneously formed a circle around him with Disraeli at the center, maintaining a radius of about five to six meters.

He resentfully glanced at these people who avoided him and kicked the railing of Hyde Park, hearing along with the buzzing tremor of the railing, a rather languid reminder.

“Mr.

Disraeli, what are you doing?”

Disraeli spun around and locked eyes with Arthur.

He jumped back in surprise, his pants catching on the corner of the railing, “Officer Hasting?”

“Just call me Arthur.

We had a good chat last time, didn’t we?

But…” Arthur tapped the iron plaque hanging on the wall, “Didn’t you see the sign?

It prohibits damaging the park’s buildings and decorations.”

“I saw it.”

“You saw it and still kicked the railing?”

“But I didn’t see you!”

Disraeli’s unexpected honesty momentarily silenced Arthur.

He was silent for a while before sitting on the bench, lighting his pipe, and exhaling rings of smoke, “That sounds somewhat reasonable.”

Disraeli chuckled awkwardly and sat beside him, “Sorry, I’m not in a good mood today, you should know, I’m not usually like this.”

“Hmm.” Arthur nodded, “When you’re in a good mood, you’re usually a good person and even helped me move stuff.”

Disraeli took off his hat and held it against his chest, “Uh…

Arthur, I don’t know how to tell you this…

I…

I always thought I was quite popular.

I speak for everyone and I’m determined to be an independent candidate without party interference.

I thought everyone would support me, but when I look back, I…

I feel like I’m in the harsh winter of the Siberian plains, and there’s no one behind me.

I told you last time I was proud, but now it seems I was proud of nothing.

I lost seven thousand pounds in business, my novel was criticized viciously, and now my hopes for election are gone too.

I don’t even know what worthwhile things I’ve done in my life.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur merely quoted Shelley’s famous line, “Let the prophetic trumpet sound!

Oh, west wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?”

Startled by the remark, Disraeli asked, “What, you think there’s still hope for me?

Or are you here to discuss literature with me today?”

Arthur did not answer directly, instead he recited another line, “If you cherish your feathers too much and prevent them from any harm, you will lose your wings and never be able to soar through the sky again.”

Although young and impetuous, Disraeli was not foolish, and he could naturally discern the meaning behind Arthur’s metaphors.

“Ah… Do… Do you also think I should choose between the Whig Party and the Tory Party?”

Upon hearing this, Arthur frowned slightly, “Also?

Has someone else said something similar to you?”

Not intending to hide anything, Disraeli nodded, “Huh…

Yes, Mr.

Rothschild also told me the same thing.

He said that going it alone has no future, and I must find a powerful ally to back me.

In Britain, if you want to win in a small constituency, you must rely on the power of the two parties, because the voters there are basically under their control.

And if I choose a larger constituency, I also need a platform with a strong voice.

Such as the Whig Party’s ‘Edinburgh Review’ or the Tory Party’s ‘Quarterly Review.’ The impact of publishing an article there is far greater than a year’s worth of my speeches in Hyde Park.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur did not immediately reveal his thoughts but asked suggestively, “So, you say you don’t want to be under the control of either party, but you want to continue your political career.

Could the only way be to start your own newspaper?

My God!

That must need a lot of money, right?”

Disraeli waved his hand, “Money is not the main issue.

A few years ago when Mori that bitch’s thing and I founded ‘Representative’ which went bankrupt, the printing machines and premises I bought earlier are still with me.

And although I went bankrupt last time, I did get to know some ins and outs of the publishing industry, like sales channels and such.

If I really want to do it, I just need to rehire a few staffers.

And as I mentioned to you before, although I converted to the national religion, I grew up in a Jewish community, so our family has some connections with Rothschild Bank.

Even if I don’t have enough money, borrowing from them won’t be a big problem.”

Arthur nodded slightly, “Then all this sounds quite good, doesn’t it?

Why are you reluctant to start the newspaper again?”

Hearing this, Disraeli said bitterly, “Isn’t it obvious?

It’s because my book ‘Vivian Grey’ has offended everyone in the publishing industry.

They’ve been clamoring to mess with me, to ensure I have no standing in Britain’s literary circles.

If I lead the newspaper, surely no one would dare submit articles to me, because submitting to me would be like declaring war on major literary magazines like ‘Blackwood’s.’

Moreover, newspaper sales are not as easy as you think.

Readers’ tastes change every day, and it’s not easy to catch their attention.

If I decide to restart the newspaper, I first need to understand my positioning and figure out exactly who my target audience is.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur laughed and gave an example, “Then, what do you think about Lady Copper along with Lady Cordington, Lady Milbanke, Lady Somerville, these charming ladies of the Bluestocking Society?

Oh, and perhaps add a few gentlemen of the Royal Navy, including the Earl Thomas Cochrane who defeated you in the Westminster constituency.”

Disraeli was just speaking casually, but when he heard this list of names pronounced by Arthur, he suddenly widened his eyes, “Arthur, are you joking with me?

Why would these gentlemen and ladies buy my newspaper?”

Arthur said no more, pulling out a manuscript of ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ from his coat and handing it over.

He smiled and said, “Because these gentlemen and ladies told me that as long as a newspaper publishes this manuscript, they are willing to subscribe for a year beforehand.

Additionally, I’d like to add, ‘Blackwood’s’ just today called this manuscript garbage, so I came to ask you if you’re interested?”