The Shadow of Great Britain

He even changed his signature on the letterhead to ”Honoresky”.

Ha, I even know someone named Hestingov, must be some relative of Mr. Honoresky Balzac from Eastern Europe.

His actions certainly made many in the Paris literary circle look down on him, especially Hugo who couldn’t stand Balzac’s attempts to ingratiate himself with the Tsarist Russian nobility, especially after Balzac bragged that Mrs. Hanska’s estate was bigger than the Louvre Museum. Hugo even privately hinted that this chubby man’s head must have been caught in a door.

But even though Balzac climbed up to a noblewoman whose estate was bigger than the Louvre’s, he didn’t receive much financial support from her.

For one, Mrs. Hanska was, after all, a married woman.

And secondly, Balzac insisted on putting on a brave face, not wanting Mrs. Hanska to look down on him, so he never asked her for money.

He even felt troubled that he couldn’t give an equivalent return gift when Mrs. Hanska presented gifts.

In short, this chubby man was now practically driven mad by financial troubles.

Because of this, when Victor sent someone to notify Balzac that an English publisher had specially come to Paris to discuss the publication of English books with him, Balzac didn’t think twice and jumped out of bed, put on the nice clothes he’d reserved for going out, and rushed to the prearranged meeting place.

As soon as Victor’s carriage stopped in front of the France Restaurant, two waiters in red coats immediately stepped forward to open the door, bowing respectfully.

The French detective hadn’t even had a chance to get out of the car before hearing hurried footsteps from upstairs, followed by a slightly disheveled, stout little man rushing out from the stairs, panting.

The man’s clothes were tidy, with a bright white collar and neatly pressed trousers that made it clear he had changed into this outfit for the occasion, but there were still faint ink and talcum stains on the cuffs and pants, likely picked up while writing.

”Mr. Victor! You are truly my savior!” Balzac exclaimed, wiping sweat and reaching out with both chubby hands, almost trying to grab his cane in excitement: ”Where is that English publisher friend you mentioned? Is he ready to bring my works to London?”

Victor smiled as his eyes narrowed into slits: ”Brother Balzac, no rush. At least tie your shoelaces before running out, okay?”

Eld followed Victor out of the car, observing the writer before him. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he could scarcely believe that this panting, oily-faced chubby man was indeed the author of ”Old Goriot” and ”Eugene Grangai”, the one hailed as the ”French Dickens”.

But soon, Eld didn’t find it so shocking after all, because wasn’t the British Dickens quite the same?

It’s not like he hadn’t seen him before.

Even when he went out for a meal with Dickens, the bills were always settled by the other party.

The original Dickens wasn’t much to speak of, so what waves could the French version possibly stir?

Eld was sizing up Balzac, and Balzac was also sizing up Eld.

This rumored English publisher donned a well-tailored woolen long coat, with a pair of silver cufflinks suggesting he came from a significant background.

”Mr. Balzac!” Victor said, ”Allow me to introduce, this is Mr. Carter, a publisher from London. He greatly admires your work and has specially come to meet you.”

”What an honor, such an honor!” Balzac said, panting heavily and repeatedly reaching out to shake hands.

Eld laughed heartily and stepped forward himself: ”Mr. Balzac, a pleasure to meet you, Eld Carter, director of London Imperial Publishing Company. Your ’Old Goriot’ and ’Eugene Grangai’ are more popular than fish and chips in London, Londoners can’t get enough, clamoring for more. If you’re willing, we’ll bring your new work to the banks of the Thames River.”

Upon hearing that, Balzac’s face flushed, his eyes sparkling: ”Sir, you know how to speak! I love dealing with straightforward people like you!”

Years ago, he had signed a copyright agency agreement with Mr. Arthur Hastings of the ”British” and published English translations. Although he hadn’t been to London to investigate how well his books sold, considering the generous royalties from ”British”, he wasn’t too bothered by these details.

However, in terms of publishing, what had troubled Balzac most in recent years was that Mr. Hastings had not come to renew the copyright agency contract with him.

He had always suspected this might have been the work of that black fatty Alexander Dumas behind the scenes, because he had heard from Hugo before that Great Dumas had close ties with Mr. Hastings, and the two maintained a long-term cooperative relationship.

Given the contentious relationship between Balzac and Great Dumas, it was only natural for them to resent each other’s success.

However, the appearance of this Mr. Carter opened up a new opportunity for Balzac.

Empire Publishing Company, just hearing the name suggested immense power, far beyond what ”British” could offer.

”Empire Publishing Company?” Balzac’s eyes widened, his voice more eager than before, ”That sounds... almost like an official agency of the British Empire! Your Excellency, forgive my straightforwardness, I have dealt with the London publishing scene for years, but I’ve never heard of this company. By the way, do you know Mr. Arthur Hastings?”