The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 989: Chapter 54: Absurd Assassination Plot

If one were to say what place in Paris rivals London’s Regent Street, then the Vendôme Square, crafted by the renowned French architect Jules Hardouin-Mansart, would undoubtedly top the list of candidates.

It is lined with Baroque and Neoclassical buildings, where giants of the jewelry industry and high fashion gather.

Here, from the simplest engagement ring to art-like gold and silver pieces, and even the honorary Sword of Honor for the ‘Immortal’ of the French Academy, can all be custom-made.

Among all these stores, the most eye-catching place has to be the Waai’er Restaurant.

As the most upscale restaurant in Paris, guests here can not only take in the entire view of Vendôme Square but also catch glimpses of the Paris Opera House and the Louvre Museum in the distance.

Such a uniquely advantageous location naturally draws many dignitaries and literary figures to the Waai’er Restaurant.

Chopin was very fond of the dishes at this restaurant, so he often dined here. Of course, he frequented this place not only because the food was delicious, but also because Waai’er Restaurant was very close to his home — he lived in an apartment at No. 12 Vendôme Square.

Of course, the regulars of Waai’er Restaurant not only included great pianists like Chopin and Liszt, but it was also highly esteemed by the German nationalist Jewish poet Heinrich Heine.

For instance, right now he was seated on the second floor of Waai’er Restaurant with a new friend from Denmark.

Considering that Heine visited such places every so often, it was no surprise that he would accumulate so many bills of 1000 Francs.

Heine took the menu from the waiter’s hand, casually ordered two dishes he liked, and then handed the menu to Andersen across from him: “Hans, is there anything you’d like to eat? Our generous host said to order whatever you want, today’s meal is on his tab.”

Andersen took the menu, glanced at the dazzling numbers on it, and felt like his heart was about to jump out.

He smiled sheepishly and nodded politely to the waiter: “Let’s start with these, we aren’t all here yet. If there’s anything else later, I’ll call you.”

Seeing how cautious he was, Heine affectionately smiled and said: “Hans, at the European Literary Society gathering the day before yesterday, you said the person you most wanted to meet in this world was me. But if you were truly interested in me, why didn’t you come to see me sooner?”

“I… I couldn’t.”

Andersen smiled shyly: “You are so proficient in poetry. If someone like me, an unknown young man from an obscure village in Denmark, comes looking for you and introduces myself as a poet, you would surely find it dramatically ludicrous. I also knew that meeting you would cause my awkwardness to amuse or invite your ridicule, and that would be very embarrassing for me. I admire you so much that I would rather not meet you than leave a bad impression on you.”

“How could that be?”

Heine took a glass of red wine from the waiter: “You have talent and are not lacking in effort; your becoming famous is just a matter of time. It is also my honor to meet you while you are still unknown. By the way, have you visited Lamartin, Vini, Dumas, and Hugo since arriving in Paris?”

Andersen spoke up: “I visited Mr. Hugo, ‘Notre-Dame de Paris’ was the first book I read in the original French. I read that book while walking through the corridors of the Notre-Dame, and the meticulous descriptions complemented the solemn and majestic scenes within, giving me a very wonderful feeling. So, I thought since I read his book, visiting the original author would be natural.”

Heine sipped his wine: “You chose the right person. Among the romantic writers in Paris, Hugo and Dumas are the most enthusiastic, welcoming all young people aspiring to tread the path of literature with open arms.”

Andersen timidly agreed: “You’re right; Mr. Hugo is indeed very enthusiastic. He lives at the street corner of Place Royale, and when I went to visit him that morning, he opened the door for me in pajamas and lantern pants with slippers on his feet. Before leaving, I thick-skinnedly asked him to autograph on a piece of paper, and look, I still have it here.”

With that, Andersen pulled out a small wooden box from his jacket pocket, opened the lid, and took out the cherished signed paper.

Andersen continued with a grin: “Then there’s the joyful Mr. Dumas. After you introduced me to him the day before yesterday, I went to the Prince Restaurant on Richelieu Street to visit him around noon. But I really didn’t expect that even past midday, Mr. Dumas was still lounging in bed. He was lying by the bedhead, with two pillows under his chin, writing with a pen in hand.

He saw me and greeted me warmly: ‘Just wait a moment, the Muse is here, she’ll leave soon.’ He continued writing while muttering aloud. After a while, he shouted ‘Hurrah’ and leapt from the bed, showing off the manuscript in his hand with pride, saying: ‘The third act is finished.’

After that, he took me to several theaters. We watched two plays, and then he took me to visit the backstage of Saint Martin Theatre. The backstage was crowded with people, including the mechanical operators of the stage, the girls of the choir, and even ballet dancers. Everyone warmly greeted Mr. Dumas upon seeing him.