The Shadow of Great Britain

Langworth’s lips twitched slightly; he really couldn’t understand why this Fleet Street tycoon worth over ten thousand pounds was suddenly playing poor with him.

”So, at the board meeting, I slammed the table on the spot.” Arthur said, raising his hand to tap on the coffee table in front of him, ”I said, just giving a raise isn’t enough. A company truly worth trusting should prepare more for its employees.”

”Therefore!” Arthur opened a drawer and placed the salary adjustment plan on the table, ”At the end of this year, in addition to a salary increase for everyone, the board will also allocate a special annuity subsidy, to be distributed to all core middle-level employees, including you. As for the specific amount...”

Arthur paused thoughtfully, ”The specific amount is not convenient to disclose, but I think you should be able to go to Notting Hill this afternoon to check out houses.”

Langworth finally realized, nodding repeatedly with excitement, ”Sir, you’re too... I... to be honest, I never thought... I could...”

Arthur laughed heartily in response, his cheerful laughter echoing throughout the spacious office.

He patted Langworth’s shoulder, ”James, remember to always keep up this enthusiasm, work steadily, and preserve the good traditions of ’The Economist’ over the years. Rest assured, as long as nothing goes wrong and we maintain press freedom, this annuity is just the beginning.”

Langworth’s face was flushed with excitement, as though he had drunk a barrel of rum.

He kept nodding, ”Sir, rest assured! As long as I’m on Fleet Street, the columns of ’The Economist’ will never sink into sensationalism.”

”Of course, I believe in your ability and level.” Arthur leaned back on the sofa, seeming ready to end the conversation but suddenly remembered something, smiling as he looked at Langworth, ”However, don’t spend all your time at work. One must leave some thoughts for life. I heard you’re planning to get married soon? Your fiancée is the daughter of a manager at Baring Bank?”

Langworth chuckled in response, ”Yes, the daughter of Mr. Blake at Baring Bank, Alina. We plan to have the wedding next spring, and by then, we would be honored if you could attend.”

”Oh, so it’s Mr. Blake.” Arthur nodded with a smile, ”Sir Francis Baring mentioned him to me, someone well-versed, skilled in his business, and a well-regarded old gentleman in the Financial City. Although I’ve never met Alina, knowing she’s Mr. Blake’s daughter, it’s clear she must be an elegant and gracious girl.”

Speaking of this, Arthur pretended to ask casually, ”What do you both usually enjoy doing? Does she like music?”

”Very much! She has a collection of records from many famous pianists, including Chopin, yourself, Mendelssohn, and Mozesales, but her greatest admiration is for Liszt.” Langworth, in high spirits, seemed almost defenseless in front of Arthur, ”She always wanted to go to Paris to listen to a Liszt concert. We originally planned to visit during our honeymoon next year, but unexpectedly, Liszt came to London this time, and he’s even performing at Buckingham Palace. She was too excited to sleep a few nights ago.”

”Really?” Arthur smiled gently, ”I remember Liszt seems to be giving a few solo concerts in Paris too, right?”

”Yes, the moment I heard about it, I arranged to get tickets. We chose the event at the Covent Garden Theatre. It took quite some effort to secure two tickets.” Langworth shook his head with a smile, filled with the satisfaction of fulfilling a promise to his fiancée, ”Alina said it felt like a heaven-sent engagement gift.”

Arthur did not respond immediately; instead, he leisurely sipped a bit of Bordeaux, contemplated for a moment, then asked thoughtfully, ”What do you think of... Liszt?”

Langworth nearly blurted out, ”A genius among geniuses. His stage presence is unique, his sound free-spirited, it’s like... like he’s creating dreams with the piano.”

”Creating dreams?” Arthur repeated the words with a faint smile, ”Mm, quite the dream-maker indeed.”

He set down his wine glass, leaning back against the seat of the sofa, ”A few days ago, I came across a book at a friend’s place, written by France’s Balzac, titled ’Beatrice.’ Have you heard of it?”

”’Beatrice’?” Langworth pondered for a moment, ”I think in the Balzac works we publish, this novel isn’t included, right?”

”Yes, it isn’t, but it soon will be.” Arthur replied nonchalantly, ”Mr. Carter personally went to Paris to negotiate with Balzac some time ago and even finalized the royalties. The conditions aren’t low, I heard he wants his remuneration calculated by the paragraph, which just shows how confident he is in his writing and story.”

Langworth laughed, ”Balzac, well, I’ve heard Mr. Zhongma say before, he really is an arrogant fellow.”

”Indeed.” Arthur’s smile didn’t fade, ”But it doesn’t matter what Balzac is like, I’m more interested in the people he writes about. I learned, before Balzac published ’Beatrice,’ his friend George Sand suggested he name the book ’The Convict, or The Enforced Love.’”

Hearing this, Langworth immediately showed interest, ”Is that so? This story sounds intriguing, is it about a convict? Like ’The Count of Monte Cristo’?”

Arthur laughed, waving his hand, ”It’s not as grand as ’The Count of Monte Cristo,’ just like most French novels, it’s about the nobility, musicians, love triangles, and infidelity.”

Langworth responded with a hearty laugh, ”Seems like this book would sell quite well in London, considering London readers are also into that sort of thing.”

”Of course, that’s what I think too.” Arthur raised his wine glass and clinked it with Langworth’s, ”Especially considering, there’s content in the book alluding to Liszt’s private life.”

Langworth almost choked on his drink, ”Alluding... Sir, do you mean... does he know about it himself?”

”Who?” Arthur raised an eyebrow in feigned confusion, ”Balzac? Or Liszt?”

”Liszt.”

Arthur shrugged, ”Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn’t, or even if he knows, he doesn’t care. Think about it, a pianist immersed day and night in sheet music and aristocratic perfumes, would he really bother to meticulously read a novel depicting his chaotic private life? Plus, he’d need to read it in French, understand the allusions, analyze the structure? Does he have the time for that?”

”True enough...” Langworth chuckled, not taking the matter seriously, ”He probably just reads reviews, especially those praising his enthralling charisma.”

”Precisely.” Arthur leisurely took a puff from his pipe, his eyes partly hidden behind the smoke, ”That’s why we have the responsibility to provide the public with a more... neutral, rational, and structured interpretation.”

Hearing this, Langworth’s smile at the corner of his mouth hesitated slightly.

”Like?”

”Like featuring a small column in the next issue of ’The British,’ introducing the news of the upcoming release of ’Beatrice.’ Arthur spoke lightly, as if discussing something pleasant, ”And along the way, excerpt a few lines, have some critics add a few analyses, something like ’showcasing an artist’s amorousness and cowardice,’ ’a lady’s arrogance and self-destruction,’ written by the most renowned novelist in Paris, and analyzed by the most tasteful literary magazine in London as a cultural phenomenon. This is more dignified and achieved than him performing at Buckingham Palace. What other composer gets such treatment as Liszt, James, what do you think?”