Shadow of great britain

When the first ray of sunshine in the morning shines through the glass window into the living room of No. 36 Lancaster Gate, Arthur is already sitting at the small coffee table next to the bookcase, holding a cup of Twinings Earl Gray tea to start his rest day. routine reading.

However, what he read today was neither his favorite novels, picture books, satirical cartoons, nor the latest papers of the Royal Society, but a box full of letters from readers.

As a magazine that mainly focuses on novels and stories, the readership of "British" has always been quite active.

Whether it is Arthur, Alexandre Dumas, Disraeli or Dickens, or even Mr. Elder Carter, whose "Robin Hood" was suspended indefinitely due to his global voyage, he has received many letters of concern from readers.

Mr. Darwin, the author of "The Monkey's Tale" who disappeared at the same time as Elder, naturally attracted great attention from readers.

Many people even jokingly claimed that Robin Hood might have eloped with a monkey.

If we put aside the facts, at least in terms of direction, the readers' judgment is quite correct.

Arthur casually took out a letter from the box, glanced at it, and quickly put it aside.

Judging from the three neat piles of letters placed in front of Arthur, it was obvious that he had intentionally divided them into different types.

Agares was playing with a racket ball and asked in confusion: "What are you doing? Are you searching for an occupational disease? Aren't you tired of playing with the various file classifications of the Police Intelligence Bureau? Please, Arthur, take a rest. Why don't you come up with something new today?"

"Isn't this new?"

Arthur continued to classify without taking it seriously: "If there are only three types of documents in the Police Intelligence Bureau, then I will be thankful. Personal files, group information, long-winded but unfocused routine reports from undercover agents, Coupled with the key situation analysis of special tasks and some scattered retained information that may seem trivial but may come in handy in the future.

However, if you don’t like it, you can just watch something else. It just so happened that Benjamin was going to the White Club this weekend to build relationships with Tory dignitaries, so the manuscript for the next issue of "The Brit" was left to me to review. In addition, I also have to arrange the manuscripts for the supplement "The Economist". I took this opportunity to take a look at whether the quality of submissions to the magazine has improved after the circulation increased. "

After saying this, Arthur casually dragged another cardboard box next to the sofa chair in front of him.

He casually opened a manuscript, and the more he read, the more he frowned. After a while, he couldn't help but shook his head and put the manuscript down: "Another admirer of Alexander, don't they think that just describing the lobster shell in detail can do it?" To write "The Count of Monte Cristo"? Full of cheese, vegetable soup, sizzling roast meat and shaky pudding, perhaps he would be more suitable to be a London restaurant chef than the pages of "The Englishman". "

The red devil clenched his chin and picked through the manuscript box in disgust for a while. Suddenly, his red nose slightly shrugged, as if he smelled something delicious. Agares' eyes lit up. A manuscript was pulled out from inside: "Oh! My dear Arthur, what do you think of this article? I can guarantee that this is definitely a good piece of work."

Arthur took the manuscript from the hands of the red devil and joked while opening the envelope: "Does the devil read differently from humans? We all use our eyes, why do you have to use your nose."

"No, no, no, Arthur." Agares closed his eyes and shook his fingers: "Although I haven't seen what's written in it yet, I can smell that this manuscript comes from a delicious soul. You know , in the devil's olfactory evaluation system, delicious food usually represents greatness. A literary chapter created by a great soul will never be any worse."

Arthur opened the letter and said: "Really? I remember you also said that Alexander's soul smells delicious, like hot white bread with foie gras just out of the oven. If I could open a bottle of champagne for you at this time, That would be even better. But if you don’t open Alexander’s letter and take a closer look, who would you know whether it is full of swear words, a newly learned recipe, or a masterpiece like The Count of Monte Cristo?”

"I don't care about that. That's what you, the temporary editor, are supposed to do."

The Red Devil opened the wine cabinet in the study, took out a bottle of champagne and shook it vigorously: "What I care about is, now that I have champagne, when will you serve me white bread with foie gras spread on it?"

Arthur shrugged: "You go and discuss it with him yourself, but I think even if he agrees, I won't be able to find you an oven or oven in London that can accommodate him for the time being."

After Arthur said this, he returned his gaze to the thick pile of letter paper at hand: "He did not disappear, he just experienced a transformation of the sea water and turned into a rich and rare treasure. Well, in Shakespeare's words "The Tempest" as an introduction? From this wedge, maybe this story is a tragedy?"

Arthur's eyes moved down, and then he suddenly paused because he saw the title of this poetic drama. The title was not long, but he read it for more than ten seconds.

Arthur read slowly: "'Prometheus Unchained'?"

The Red Devil, who was holding a goblet of champagne on the side, couldn't help but whistled when he heard this: "Oh! That is a good work, Percy Shelley's last work. Unfortunately, this manuscript was not available for political reasons at the time. It has never been published in London. Arthur, you "The Englishman" have made a profit this time. As long as Shelley's name is published, at least during the period of its serialization, the readers of "Blackwood" and "Monthly Review" will definitely I don’t dare to attack The Englishman on a literary level.”

Arthur quickly flipped through the manuscript at hand: "I have seen the Greek version of "Prometheus Unbound" in an old bookstore before, but almost all versions only have the first scene "Prometheus Bound" "S", all the shop owners responded in the same way. They all said that most of the content from the second act to the fourth act was scattered and could not be completely compiled into a book. But why does the manuscript I have in hand not only include the first act, but also the first act? Even the second act is complete?”

Having said this, Arthur couldn't help but look up at the Red Devil: "Agares, when you went out with Alexander to fool around last night, did you call Shelley up to drink with you to relieve your boredom?"

Agares heard this and said: "Oh! My dear Arthur, what do you take me for? Have you forgotten what I told you? The dead cannot be resurrected, and those who can be resurrected are all miracles. Or, although Shelley is a good poet, he is not qualified in this regard. Instead of questioning me here, why don't you read the letter attached to the end of the manuscript that accidentally related to "Prometheus Unchained" Where are the thoughts I sent together?"

When Arthur heard this, he quickly found the letter at the end and read it carefully.

Dear Mary:

I am yours again, and this happiness will overwhelm my short-term self-admiration.

Oh, my beloved! Why is our happiness so short-lived and so lingering? How long will this life last? My best Mary, you know I sink to the lowest level without you.

I could feel their empty, stiff eyes staring at me until I seemed to feel their malice...

Breathing this disgusting air makes me tired and weak. I'm about to die, and at this moment, I'm afraid only the look in your eyes before going to sleep can save me.

At the bottom of this love letter, there is also a line of dried tear stains, and a line of elegant and delicate words lies across the spots.

Percy, it's so hard for me to live without you. If I had not agreed to let you leave my side and not let you embark on that fateful voyage, maybe we would still be living happily in Athens right now?

Percy, I have good news for you. Greece is liberated. It is no longer the bound Prometheus.

Percy, I also want to tell you some bad news. I am tied to the Caucasus Mountains in place of Greece, and the news of your death is the diamond nail embedded in my heart.

Percy, if you were still here, you would probably be the Hercules who broke the chains that bound me, right? But unfortunately, you are no longer here.

The rest of my life is destined to be spent in long thoughts, but please rest assured that I will sort out and publish all the golden apples you left behind and your great works. You have lived a great life completely, not too long, but wonderful enough.

Your Mary, if there is any trace of your soul left in the world, please do not forget me.

Agares leaned over to read the love letter. The red devil pretended to squeeze out two tears and said: "Oh! It's really a sad love story. The lover who died young left behind a beautiful woman in her prime. Wife, this kind of story always makes people cry, and even the devil can't help but want to help her."

When Arthur heard this, he put away the envelope and glanced at the Red Devil: "Don't disturb Mrs. Shelley, our contract has not been fulfilled yet."

Agares exclaimed: "Contract? Oh, my King Solomon! Arthur, you little bastard, you actually remember that there is a contract between us? Do you know? If Professor Agares hadn't been kind-hearted, you This inactive little bastard has lost his job a long time ago! But if you don’t let me disturb her, maybe..."

The red devil suddenly moved close to Arthur, smiled evilly and lowered his voice: "Oh! Arthur, I can't see that you, like that guy Disraeli, both like mature women! Maybe this mature woman needs to be Add a little intelligence?”

After saying that, the red devil took out a small notebook from behind his buttocks and wrote and drew in it, flipping through it again and again: "Here, I will help you see if there is any suitable one nearby, or you can buy ten souls, and I will give you this address book directly. Right? From eighty to thirty, if you want it, you can find it all in your address book."

Arthur calmly picked up the tea cup: "What if I want a three hundred year old one?"

Agares held his chin and said, "Your hobby is quite extreme! This request is a little difficult to handle, but...if you really make up your mind, I will go to the cemetery of Westminster Abbey later." Let me find out here, what do you think of your former Queen Elizabeth I? She is just a little bit younger."

Arthur took a sip of tea: "How old is the Queen this year?"

The red devil adjusted his glasses and replied: "298."

Arthur nodded and said: "Very good."

Agares muttered: "You are not picky!"

Arthur put down the tea cup and said: "We are all royal relatives, why should we choose?"

The red devil glared and said: "You kid! You're just kidding, aren't you? Do you really think of me as a London rat? If you keep talking nonsense, I'll send you to the Andes to be with Elder. Do you still want a woman? There are endless snowy peaks, chinchillas, nightingales and other birds whose names I can’t even name.”

When Arthur heard this, he immediately breathed a sigh of relief: "Really? So they are already there. Fortunately, the boy Elder did not die in the hands of the cannibals?"

I don’t know if it’s because Elder’s life and death were classified as worthless information by the Red Devil, but he didn’t mind talking more about this aspect.

Agares snorted: "A cannibal? That kid is as bad as you can imagine! Yesterday he just killed a puma with a musket and shared it with that little bald guy in Darwin. According to their evaluation, that thing It tastes the same as veal.”

"Does Elder still have this ability?" Arthur couldn't help but curl his lips and said: "Then Alexander is probably in doubt. Ever since he bought the flintlock gun, he has been waiting for Elder to come back and give him a full blow. Now it seems that Elder, who has returned from training, can kill him with one shot."

The red devil asked impatiently: "You haven't answered me yet, why don't you let me get close to Mary Shelley? What, are you, a mountain lion, going to start hunting too?"

Arthur shook his head and said: "It depends on how you understand it. I heard that people in trouble are usually more susceptible to temptation, and Mrs. Shelley is obviously in trouble now. I seemed to have heard from the Blue Stocking Club before The ladies have said that it was not easy for Mrs. Shelley to raise her children as a single woman, and Mr. Shelley's father had always been harsh on her and paid little attention to his daughter-in-law and grandchildren.

If it weren't for her difficult life, Mrs. Shelley would not have written a novel or written "Frankenstein". The identity of a female writer in this era is still too controversial. In addition, she also has to sort out and publish Shelley's posthumous works, which requires a huge amount of energy and financial resources. If not, she probably wouldn't have chosen to work with "British".

However, instead of choosing old literary magazines such as "Blackwood" and "Monthly Review", she chose the newly established "British". I am very curious about what considerations Mrs. Shelley had in making this choice. Woolen cloth……"

As Arthur said this, he suddenly heard thumping footsteps upstairs.

Arthur didn't look back and said directly: "Alexander, didn't you pat your chest with me last night and promise that you would get up on time to help me review the manuscript today?"

"Why are you in such a hurry? Even if "Robinson" is discontinued and "Lyric Poems" and "The Young Duke" are completed, "The Englishman" will still have my "The Count of Monte Cristo" and your "Hastings" to support it. Are you wearing it? The magazine won't be cold for a while."

Alexandre Dumas stretched himself and walked down the stairs, sank his big butt on the sofa chair, rubbed the corners of his eyes and glanced at the boxes full of manuscripts: "Fuck, why are there so many?"

Then, he glanced at the letters from readers next to Arthur, and then at the box that belonged to him, and finally showed a proud smile: "It seems that the throne of the most popular author of "The British" has been over for a while. No one will be able to snatch it away from me."

Seeing how rotten the fat man was, Arthur threw the manuscript in his hand away: "I'm sorry, Alexander, I'm afraid your throne will belong to someone else from the next issue on. If you dare to compete with him, in the future It’s best to bring an umbrella when you go out, otherwise you may be drowned by his fanatical supporters. By the way, Elder is also one of his loyal fans.”

Alexandre Dumas caught the manuscript and said: "What kind of person can Elder like? Our "English" will not be reduced to publishing erotic novels. Let me take a look... "Prome Unchained" Hughes"? Well...fuck it! Isn't this Shelley's work? Arthur, you resurrected him?"

Arthur was about to explain something to Alexandre Dumas, but unexpectedly the doorbell rang outside the house.

Ding Dang Dang~

Arthur stood up and said, "I'll talk to you when I get back."

Alexandre Dumas held his pen in his mouth and read with relish: "If you ask me, it's time for you to consider hiring a maid or something. There is no problem for us two grown men to cook, which can be regarded as a pleasure in life. But washing clothes When it comes to washing dishes, ladies do it more delicately.”

"So, this is why you ruined three pairs of your pants?"

"You're not any better than me!"

Arthur ignored Dumas's reply and opened the door in front of him.

Just like he was surprised when he saw Shelley's works, the person who appeared outside the door aroused his surprise: "Mr. Thomas Campbell?"

Wearing a British-style white shirt with a stand-up collar and a short tuxedo, the gray-haired middle-aged gentleman raised his hat slightly and said with a smile: "Arthur, we haven't seen each other for a long time since you graduated."

Arthur also smiled softly: "Mr. Campbell, it's so unfortunate. If you could have come a few months earlier, you might have been able to see Elder here. I remember hearing him say that he was here When he was in the Department of Classical Literature, his favorite thing was to take your class. He also said that he learned all his poetry skills from you. Your song "The English Sailor" will always be the number one work in his mind. When he had nothing to do on the ship, he often took it out and recited it to the sailors of the Royal Navy."

"Thank God!" Campbell heard this and took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat on his temples: "Although it is indeed an honor to receive such praise from that boy, I think Satanist poets such as Byron and Shelley had a greater influence on him. . Apart from anything else, the verses that boy composed are indeed like Satan, and they sound really terrifying!"

Arthur couldn't help but smile when he heard this: "So, did you just happen to pass by and come in to sit down today, or did you say there is anything I can help with?"

When Campbell heard this, there was a smile on his face: "Arthur, you are indeed the most outstanding graduate of our University of London. Brougham is really right. You really value the alumni relationship of the University of London." . Yes, I did come today with a small request. I heard from Mr. Disraeli that you co-founded the "British" book with him. Is that correct? "

Arthur invited him into the room and asked, "Do you want to submit a manuscript to us?"

"No, it's not just me, but... there are also many friends who have been exiled to Britain... I originally asked Brougham if he could publish their articles in the "Edinburgh Review". But Brougham Luham declined me politely. He said that he was no longer an opposition figure, and that the Edinburgh Review, as a Whig organ, was too sensitive to publish the works of those people. Therefore, he asked I recommend your book The Brit.”

The more Arthur listened, the more he felt something was wrong. He stopped and suddenly asked: "Exiled friend?"

His eyes drifted towards Alexandre Dumas, pointed at him and asked humorously: "Mr. Campbell, is it possible that your friend is a French republican like my tenant Mr. Dumas? If so, their article published There's no problem with The Brit, we already have one here anyway."

"No, Arthur, you misunderstood." Campbell said with some embarrassment: "Those of my friends are Polish people in exile. I led them to establish the British Friends of Poland Literary Association. By the way, Poland You should know what happened in the past six months, right?"