The Shadow of Great Britain

727: Chapter 349 Great Dumas’s Misfortune 727: Chapter 349 Great Dumas’s Misfortune Fleet Street, London, on a day of rest, Arthur came to the editor’s office as usual to pass the time.

If there was one thing different about the editor’s office today compared to the past, it was that there was one more telegraph wire leading to the editing room.

It stretched from the Scotland Yard’s London Police Intelligence Bureau, connecting to Fleet Street and from there all the way to the private laboratory of Professor Wheatstone, the newly appointed Professor of Natural Philosophy at the University of London.

In the blink of an eye, AssHole could smoothly complete remote communication with Professor Wheatstone.

If one must find a famous quote to celebrate this great new invention, then the best interpretation would be Wheatstone’s own words, “Damn it!

I hate electromagnetism!”

Of course, it wasn’t only Professor Wheatstone who had a love-hate relationship with this new invention; there were also several police stations and telegraph specialists at the Police Intelligence Department who had set up telegraph machines.

While this new invention did indeed make message transmission faster, confronted with the need to memorize a very thick codebook, the officers could only quietly ‘greet’ the inventor of this new technology privately.

Of course, not all officers despised this new technology.

For those communication officers who retired from the cavalry, there was nothing more praiseworthy than the telegraph.

They unanimously believed that Professor Wheatstone deserved the Royal Society’s Copley Medal this year and hoped that the good professor would continue to excel and reduce the cost of this technology soon.

If every police station in London could be equipped with such a device in the future, they would not have to ride through wind and rain anymore.

Great Dumas yawned as he pushed open the door of the editing room and caught sight of Arthur working at his desk.

He carelessly tossed his bag onto the sofa chair and leisurely made a cup of tea, “I thought my energy was vigorous enough, but it turns out you’re even more excessive.

I’ve seen people like you before, but unlike you, they were forced by their debts.”

Arthur straightened his back and stretched a little, “So, who exactly are you talking about?”

Great Dumas took a sip of his tea, “You’ve read his book, the one Mr.

Victor sent me earlier.”

“Honoré de Balzac?” Arthur asked, chewing on his pen, “I know he is diligent, but I was not aware that his diligence was due to debts.”

“What else do you think it’s for?”

“Hmm…” Arthur contemplated, “I thought it was a pure love.”

“Hahaha!

You think too highly of him.”

Great Dumas almost spat out his tea laughing, “Without debt, who would be so desperate to write?

If Balzac’s printing shop and type foundry had succeeded, or if his investments hadn’t lost money, perhaps by now he would have been enjoying a happy life with a virtuous wife, two or three children, and several fiery mistresses.

Why else endure a life of bitter writing until dawn, forcing oneself to chug several cups of coffee to stay awake when tired?

He’s just poor.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur had an odd look on his face.

“Alexander, it sounds like you have a personal grudge against him?”

“A grudge?

Arthur, that’s going a bit too far.”

Arthur queried, “Isn’t it the case?”

Great Dumas grabbed a bread ring, stuffing it into his mouth, “What’s Balzac to me, does he even deserve to have a grudge with me?

Before I came to London, I was the hottest new star of drama in Paris.

When ‘Henry III and His Courts’ premiered in Paris, from the fourth act till the end, it wasn’t just a success, but a climax that kept rising, intoxicating everyone present.

When the actors took their bows, everyone stood and clapped, the applause lasted a full three minutes.

After the performance ended, the then Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe, also made a special point of sending someone to congratulate me.

Though Louis Philippe wasn’t much of a person, his taste in drama was quite good.

And after I came to London?

With ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’ I made a comeback, becoming the most eye-catching leader of fashionable novels in Britain in just one year’s time.

As for Balzac, he’s a life’s loser.

Like his book, his life experience is all ‘The Human Comedy’, full of humor.

Yet this is the guy who dared to talk big in the literary salon, saying, ‘When my talent is exhausted, I will start writing plays.’

He thinks novels are superior, but in my opinion, drama is the most sophisticated form of all literary genres.

I don’t write novels not because I can’t, but because I feel drama is a greater challenge.

Look, as soon as I came to London and dabbled a little, didn’t I make achievements in novels?”

Upon hearing this, Arthur finally understood what was going on.

Great Dumas and Balzac definitely could not be said to have just a grudge, by the sound of it, they were nearly irreconcilable.

Arthur remembered the letter he had just received that morning and suddenly found it a bit difficult to choose his words.

However, his silence alerted Great Dumas that something was amiss.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?

Your sharp wit doesn’t usually stop here, it’s not like you!”

Arthur lit his pipe and took a puff, he did not directly answer Great Dumas’ question but started to lead into it gradually.