The Shadow of Great Britain

665: Chapter 325 The Transformation of the British 665: Chapter 325 The Transformation of the British Since stepping into December, the streets of London had been shrouded in fog nearly every day, with the occasional drizzle.

In the “British” editorial department on Fleet Street, Tennyson sat in front of an empty desk, holding a steaming cup of tea in his hands.

With a sip of tea, a bite of freshly baked bread and onion rings, accompanied by the flames rising from the fireplace behind him, his stiff fingers finally felt much more relaxed.

These days, as the other editor-in-chief, the Great Dumas, had followed Arthur to Liverpool to investigate a case, Tennyson was the only one in the spacious editor-in-chief’s office that could fit three desks.

The absence of the French fat man who liked to crack witty remarks did give Tennyson a much quieter time, but equally, it made him feel a hint of loneliness he hadn’t felt in a long while.

As a naturally shy and introverted young man, Tennyson’s social circle was not particularly wide, and since the death of his father, he had even stopped contacting many of his relatives regularly.

Although he had dropped out of Cambridge and immediately entered the University of London to specialize in classical literature on Arthur’s recommendation, besides attending classes, he had little interaction with his fellow students.

Rather than making new friends, he still preferred to deal with old friends.

After all, a person’s energy is limited, and within the constraints of a finite life, he hoped to carefully cultivate a few sincere friendships.

Thinking of this, Tennyson couldn’t help but pull out several letters from the drawer of his desk.

The one from the Duchy of Weimar in Germany was signed by William Thackeray.

This friend he had met at Cambridge, although introduced to Mr.

Goethe, couldn’t be rescued from the melancholy caused by “Adieu to Cambridge” by Goethe’s literary aura.

On the contrary, after encountering the strong classical literary atmosphere of Goethe, Thackeray faced a new round of setbacks.

He began to doubt whether he had the talent to pursue a path in literature and started to seriously consider the commercial route that his mother suggested.

However, although Thackeray complained bitterly in almost the entire letter, he did not forget to send some souvenirs back to Tennyson towards the end.

Tennyson turned to look at the two leather-bound books beside him.

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

Seeing these things, Tennyson couldn’t help but smile wryly and sigh.

It wasn’t just Thackeray who felt restless and uneasy—Tennyson felt the same.

The contributors to “The British” were a cloud of great talents; when it had just launched more than a year ago, everyone was a nobody in Britain’s literary scene.

But as a year passed, the Great Dumas, Dickens, and Disraeli had been hailed as the troika of British fashionable novelists.

Cross-genre writer Darwin’s popular science articles had won a chorus of praise from members of the Linnaean Society of naturalists.

Arthur had become a pioneering figure in detective novels, and now, many people in London’s literary magazines clumsily mimicked his style.

However, because of professional reasons, the imitations by others could never reach the verisimilitude of Scotland Yard’s genuine inspector.

And Eld’s “Robin Hood,” after being polished by the Great Dumas, quickly caught the attention of Sir Walter Scott, a leading figure in British historical fiction.

More coincidentally, not long after Sir Scott had commented on “Robin Hood,” he passed away, making his critique of Eld’s work unexpectedly become his final piece.

Such stroke of fortune akin to a pie falling from the sky also stirred a heated debate among historical literature enthusiasts about Eld.

And with the novel “St.

George’s Flag Still Rises,” based on Eld, this chap acquired quite a few devout followers.

Meanwhile, the historical literature circle also highly praised Eld, unanimously believing that Mr.

Carter’s ability to write “Robinson Crusoe” was no fluke.

Eld’s experiences proved he embodied a long and distinguished British historical tradition.

Devout, optimistic, resilient, courageous and indomitable—these were the synonyms for Eld Carter.

With the rise of these new forces in the literary world came the soaring fame and sales of “The British.”

Many people whom Tennyson once dared not even dream of began to consider “The British” one of their options.

Just in the past half year, he had seen the works of big names like Heine, Chartoryski, and Thomas Campbell, known throughout Europe, coming through the manuscripts provided by Arthur.

Of course, what shocked Tennyson the most was that Arthur had managed to obtain Shelley’s unpublished posthumous work, “Prometheus Unbound.”

And that was far from the limit of what Arthur could achieve; in the supplement “The Economist,” there were many strange and curious things.

For example, the works of Prince Chartoryski, the leader of Polish exiles, Mr.

Louis Bonaparte, the nephew of Napoleon, and many unpublished works of David Ricardo, the leading figure in British classical economics.

Compared to these people, Tennyson felt insignificant.

If there were to be a list of the most unsuccessful authors since the launch of “The British,” he would undoubtedly be at the top.

This was evident from the literary criticism articles published by “Blackwood’s” and “The Monthly Review,” the two main competitors of “The British.”

They focused their main firepower on the likes of the Great Dumas, Dickens, and others, while when referring to Tennyson’s “Lyric Collection,” they would usually make a brief and light comment—whiny, crude, and uninteresting.