The Shadow of Great Britain

666: Chapter 325 The Transformation of the British_2 666: Chapter 325 The Transformation of the British_2 Although the major shareholders of the magazine were not concerned about Tennyson’s lukewarm market performance and even went out of their way to reassure him not to take it too much to heart, Tennyson himself could not just lie back and accept it peacefully.

However, the more anxious he became, the worse his writing turned out, so terrible that even he could not bear to read it.

Gazing at the mountainous pile of Wordsworth, Sosse, and Coleridge’s poetry collections beside him, Tennyson felt so ashamed that he wished he could bury himself alive under his discarded drafts.

“Alas…”

Tennyson, holding Thackeray’s letter, shook his head and said, “William, you’re not the only one wanting to give up, even I have thought about giving up the path of writing poetry.”

The door to the room was gently pushed open, and a blonde lady with a black apron, holding a tray with a teapot, walked in and asked in her halting English, “Mr.

Tennyson, would you like some hot water added?”

With a shy smile, Tennyson nodded and responded, “That would be lovely, thank you, Miss Polina.”

As Polina was topping up Tennyson’s teapot with water, she spoke uneasily, “Sir, do you know about the recent shooting in Liverpool?

The one where Mr.

Hasting was targeted.”

Putting down the letter in his hand, Tennyson looked up and asked, “Of course, I know.

As soon as I learned of the incident, I wrote to Arthur.

By a stroke of luck, he only sustained minor injuries.

God has already been cruel enough to me this year, taking my father from me in mid-year.

If I were to lose a friend who has helped me so much by the year’s end, I truly wouldn’t know how to get through this period.”

Hearing Tennyson’s words, Polina finally felt a weight lift from her heart.

Cradling the tray in one hand and pressing the other to her chest, her face was filled with a relieved smile.

“It’s such good news that Mr.

Hasting is alright!

You simply can’t imagine how us Poles have been getting by lately.

Come nightfall, drunken louts throw stones at our windows, yelling at us to go back to Poland.

“The children say the drafts through the windows are so cold they shiver, but there’s nothing we can do.

We dare not approach the thugs to drive them off.

At night, even when we get home, we daren’t turn on the oil lamp, nor speak a word—we’re afraid if those people outside know we’re in, they’ll break in and take the little we have left.”

“Mr.

Tennyson, if Mr.

Hasting comes back and holds it against us, could you please say a word on our behalf?

Although a Pole might be responsible for the assault, not all Poles are that bad.

It’s not that we don’t want to go back to Warsaw from London, but that we simply can’t.

Please convey to Mr.

Hasting that we beg him not to let us go; we really need this job to support our families.”

Tennyson, seeing Polina speak through her tears, offered his consoling words with a heavy heart, “Don’t worry.

If Arthur had any reservations about Poles, he wouldn’t have hired you in the first place.

Since he has made that decision, he won’t change his mind suddenly.

You haven’t been here long, so you don’t understand his character.

He’s not the haughty type you might imagine.

Moreover, from what he’s indicated in his letters, he doesn’t seem to believe that this event was necessarily the work of your exiled government.”

Upon hearing this, Polina couldn’t help wiping her tears and vowed, “How could it possibly be us?

In London, there are few willing to speak for us, and the British gentlemen have been just those few.”

With that, Polina could not restrain herself from reciting passages from “Judas” and “Revelation”: “Those angels who did not keep to their proper dwelling but left their own place, He has kept in eternal chains in the darkest abyss, waiting for the day of judgement.

The Devil who deceived them was thrown into the lake of burning sulfur, where the beast and the false prophet are.

They will be tormented day and night for ever and ever.”

As she recited these words, suddenly half of the Red Devil’s head appeared on the door panel.

Agares, hearing this passage, couldn’t help but purse his lips and spit a mouthful of hot, blood-streaked saliva to the floor, “Truly, you believe whatever He says.

The Devil might not be thrown into the lake of burning sulfur, but you gullible fools will definitely endure eternal darkness and torment day and night.”

Following Agares through the door were Arthur capped with his wide-brimmed hat, the Great Dumas, and others.

“Alfred, it’s been over a week, did you miss me?”

No sooner had the Great Dumas spoken than he caught sight of the sobbing Polina and the bewildered Tennyson.

He thought he might have walked in on some drama, and his open arms abruptly sagged.

“This…”

Great Dumas scratched his bushy hair, “Alfred, how could you make a lady so sad?”

Upon hearing this, Polina only wiped her tears and managed a faint smile to clarify, “No, it’s not Mr.

Tennyson’s fault, I’ve just been a bit too emotional.

Mr.

Dumas, please take a seat, I’ll make some tea for you.”

With that, Polina quickly left the room, carrying the tea tray.

Great Dumas watched Polina’s retreating figure for a good while before shifting his focus back to Tennyson.

The Frenchman pinched his chin and raised an eyebrow, “Alfred, how come I never noticed before that you and Miss Polina actually…”

Tennyson hurriedly interrupted, “Alexander, don’t talk nonsense.

Miss Polina simply asked me to do her a favor.”

“What favor?”

Tennyson was about to answer when he suddenly saw Arthur seating himself comfortably without asking and swallowed his words.

“It’s nothing, she’s just been a bit down lately, so she wanted to have a talk to ease her mind.”

Arthur casually unfolded the next issue’s manuscript, “Is it because of the Liverpool case?

Before I came to the editorial office I stopped by the Philharmonic Society; Frederick told me everything.”

Tennyson exclaimed in surprise, “Even Mr.

Chopin has been affected?”

“Not quite an impact, no, for his outstanding talent obviously puts him in a much better position than the average Pole.

However, as things currently stand, His Majesty the King’s plans to appoint him as Royal Pianist are likely completely off the table.”

“Ah…

this…”

Tennyson, upon hearing this, couldn’t help but ask, “So what does Mr.

Chopin plan to do next?”

Arthur flipped through the manuscript and said, “He seems rather disheartened too.

He told me, he will go to Paris when the cholera situation eases up a bit.

And I also think that settling down in Paris will be somewhat better for him than being in London.

For one, his father is French, so there’s no language barrier.

Secondly, the musical atmosphere in Paris is clearly superior to that of London, even though it’s not on par with Vienna, it’s still considered the second center of the musical world.

And for the third, currently, regarding the Polish issue, both the French Government and the public firmly stand against the Tsar’s undermining of Polish independence.

So, his move to Paris will also ensure his personal safety; at least there won’t be incidents like mobs attacking his residence.”

Great Dumas too expressed his regret, “If only I weren’t a political criminal in France; otherwise, I would’ve definitely escorted him all the way back.

Alas…

now the task can only be entrusted to Heinrich.”

Upon hearing this, Tennyson immediately remembered Heine’s sharp tongue and couldn’t help but ask, “Won’t there be any problem entrusting Mr.

Chopin to Mr.

Heine?”

Arthur, sipping from his tea cup, said, “At least it’ll be a bit better than entrusting him to the Foreign Office.

The political atmosphere in London lately is quite amiss, what with the cholera, the Polish issue, parliamentary reforms, and the Foreign Office’s strategy to re-balance Europe all getting muddled together.

Even during the tea break, we have an interruption for a divorce case and Mr.

Harrison’s adult education.

Placing Frederick, a genius pianist, in the midst of such murky waters is truly distressing to me.”