I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 140 Winter in France and Gourmets

On December 21, 1844, romantic Paris was experiencing an even colder winter than the previous year, with frost lasting for a long time. This brought many wonderful sights to Paris. In the city's botanical garden, the fountains in the Tuileries Garden froze into ice sculptures, and many middle-class citizens brought their own brass brass stoves to admire this "ice tree spectacle".

In a more central area, Baron Ottoman's residence has incorporated a British-patented "Crystal Palace" conservatory, maintained at a constant 18°C, where Brazilian bromeliads and Indian orchids are cultivated. Baron Ottoman and his guests would dine here in the mornings.

An even more peculiar scene unfolded in the suburbs of Saint-Denis, where the snow appeared greyish-black, seemingly due to soot and coal dust falling with the snow. French poet Baudelaire captured this scene in his writing:
"Satan's ashes cover the spire of Notre Dame, and beggars rummage through cinders and snow for yesterday's bread."

Meanwhile, due to the weather, sections of the Seine River froze over, and the suspension of barge operations led to a coal shortage, causing heating costs in the slums to skyrocket by 30 percent. Soon after, the price of bread would also surge to 70 centimes per kilogram, representing 35 percent of a worker's daily wage.

Soon after, a group of restless mobs, shouting "Freeze to death or die in battle," rushed onto Rue Saint-Jacques and began looting food. The authorities, left with no other option, had to order the gendarmerie to suppress them with brass batons, which inadvertently resulted in the deaths of 12 people.

At this very moment, Friedrich Engels, who was stranded in Paris, wrote: "The workers' shacks in the Saint-Marseille district were colder than dog kennels, and the mothers took down the door frames to make fires, with the cold wind blowing directly into the swaddling clothes of their babies."

Even in such weather, the League of Justice, an organization formed by workers and craftsmen, still held secret gatherings under the sheltered bridge. In their leaflet, "Winter Declaration," there was this line:
"When bankers use our frozen bones to pick their teeth, spring must be forged in fire!"

This has presented a challenge for the Paris police, whose records show that the number of radical rallies in December surged by 12 percent compared to the fall.

This is Paris, a place as sublime and absurd as Romanticism itself.

In such weather, the womanizing Alexandre Dumas might have been snuggling with one of his mistresses, but he did have to go out for some reason. Since he was out, he naturally didn't mind passing by some places on the day the newspapers were released and admiring his success.

Along this stretch of road, he inevitably encountered the homeless that would appear in Paris every winter. Facing these people, Dumas, who was exceptionally generous to himself and others, did not hesitate to give away his money, handing out handfuls of cash until his pockets were empty.

This was not a difficult thing for him, just as he often said: "I will not refuse anyone who asks me for money, except my creditors."

One day, someone asked him to donate twenty francs to raise money for the funeral of a law enforcement officer, and he simply waved his hand and said, "Take forty!"

But while giving him the money, he didn't forget to tell a joke: "Bury them both!"

That's why people see him this way: "Dumas is very charming, but he's not serious about anything."

Of course, Alexandre Dumas, with his chivalrous spirit, didn't care about these comments. His ideal was actually like the novel he was currently serializing, "The Count of Monte Cristo," which was to generously give away millions of dollars in the style of Monte Cristo, turning all sorrow into joy.

That's why there was always a champagne glass on his desk filled with gold Louis and E.C., which he never even counted when distributing the coins.

However, all of this happened after he started serializing his novel, and the money he made from serializing it far exceeded his expectations.

While lavishly spending money, he couldn't help but mutter to himself after seeing the scenes in certain parts of Paris: "Look at these scenes, how can those bastard nobles always manage to turn the country into this? I think a revolution is bound to happen again sooner or later."

In Paris, discussions of this level certainly wouldn't attract much attention, given the far more sensational statements and events that occur there. However, this might not be the case in another city.

At this thought, the writer, whose belly was growing larger, couldn't help but think of the treatment one of his works received in Russia.

In short, he wrote a novel called "Memoirs of a Swordsman," in which he used the Decembrist uprising leader as a model to depict the story of young nobles resisting autocratic rule. In the book, he used the protagonist to denounce Nicholas I as "a tyrant who consolidated his throne with the gallows."

Alexandre Dumas always shared this aversion to despotism.

It is unclear how, but Nicholas I himself was furious upon reading the translation and immediately issued a permanent ban on him from entering Russia.

"Who would be scared by that?"

Dumas grinned and sneered inwardly again: "These kinds of big shots often have this characteristic: they can do whatever they want, but they just won't let anyone say it! If they do, they get so anxious that they jump up and down. Sometimes, the people under their noses are even more anxious than they are. That's more pathetic than the Tsar himself."

As for whether he will dare to write this type of novel again?

Write! That's the kind of novel I'll be writing! And I might even write it openly and honestly!
Since he had thought of this matter, Dumas couldn't help but think of a rumor he had been hearing recently about a Russian writer. Although he still scoffed at it, out of a desire to see him make a fool of himself and because he happened to be near the specialized reading room, Dumas decided to go in and look for him.

However, this search revealed something that truly surprised Dumas: the work of that unknown Russian author was published directly in the Review of the Two Worlds as soon as it arrived in Paris.

In short, this is currently the most influential comprehensive monthly magazine in France, covering literature, politics, philosophy, and other fields.

At the same time, this publication is actually more elitist and clique-oriented. Even genuine Parisian writers have to go to great lengths to get their works published here, let alone a writer from outside the country, from that barbaric and autocratic Russia.
In fact, this publication was indeed very difficult to get published in. Even though Mikhail's work was of very high quality, Turgenev still had to go to great lengths and fully utilize his social skills to finally persuade the gentlemen of the publication.

Besides social interactions, Turgenev also made many other sacrifices.
Fortunately, the results are good.

However, when Turgenev returned and mentioned this to Mikhail, Mikhail first thanked him for his efforts, then patted him on the shoulder and said, "You have done too much for me, my friend. Don't do this anymore."

Believe me, if the gentlemen in Paris consistently refuse to accept it through normal channels, then I can assure you to some extent that many years later, people will discover that the true orthodoxy behind French literature lies in Russia.

Turgenev: “???”

real or fake? !
Mikhail's boasting has gotten increasingly outrageous; it's even scaring me.
But Mikhail always manages to say the most incredible things in the most understated tone. Perhaps I should learn from him; after all, his demeanor is truly extraordinary. Anyway, back to the point, when Dumas discovered that this Russian writer's novel was published in the best French magazine available, he was initially surprised, but then genuinely developed a certain curiosity about the Russian writer and his novel.

Undeniably, the literary scene in Paris is rife with hatred and prejudice, but to some extent, this also provides a certain guarantee for the quality of writers' works. After all, if a novel is really too bad, it will face ridicule and abuse from all its peers in the industry.

So, does that mean a French novel written by a Russian author is actually readable?!

With this in mind, Alexandre Dumas quickly turned to the two novels with Russian names.

One was written in fluent French, and the other was a translation. Dumas naturally read the former first, and at first he didn't even care about the content of the article, he just focused on how well the other person wrote.

Although I've heard that French is the second language of Russians, literary language is often more difficult than everyday language. The same words spoken by different people can produce different effects, let alone literary language.

After just a brief glance, Dumas was genuinely shocked. It was flawless, with an authentic French flavor, and on top of that, it had its own unique writing style, concise and vivid, with many parts written just right.

While focusing on the language, Alexandre Dumas also quickly went through the story of the novel, "The Necklace."

After reading it and going over it in his mind, Alexandre Dumas couldn't help but nod.

As a writer with exceptional writing skills, there aren't many writing techniques that he finds particularly impressive, but the use of white space and the arrangement of details in this novel truly surprised him.

The necklace alone connects the dramatic changes that affect an ordinary person's life, and leaves behind a rather mysterious ending.

The novel's themes are quite profound, and it's likely to spark considerable discussion afterward.

It's actually really well-written?

Then the public opinion about this writer and his novels might really reverse a lot. Before his novels were officially published, whether it was to create hype or for some other purpose, there were indeed more negative voices, especially those struggling writers in Paris. Seeing that a Russian's French novel could be published in a publication that they could never get into, they naturally came up with all sorts of vicious speculations and criticisms.

"In the novel, he not only kissed the Tsar's buttocks, but probably even touched our King's boots."

"How much bribes have these gentlemen in the literary world received? I estimate that the figure is even higher than the tax revenue."

There were quite a few people who agreed with these views before, and if you had to pick one, Alexandre Dumas would be among them, but now...
Huh? I don't remember saying anything before?

Of course, up to this point, Dumas at most admired this author he had never met. After all, it was indeed remarkable that he could write a novel like this outside of his native language, but it seems that he didn't have much more to say about him.

Out of curiosity, however, he continued reading the translated work: "The Chameleon".

Originally intending to just glance at it, the great writer unexpectedly burst out laughing as he read, even patting his increasingly protruding belly. After finishing the novel, Dumas, who had been laughing for quite some time, was suddenly very surprised.

Is it really possible to write such a work in Russia? How could the Tsar, known for his autocracy, have no objection to such scathing mockery and satire of the bureaucratic system?

Perhaps they haven't seen it yet, or perhaps they feel that it doesn't matter since it doesn't directly describe him, but Russia actually has such a novel?
And to be honest, this writer was quite bold.

If even a foreigner like him was punished by the Tsar's invisible hand, then is this writer in Russia really not worried about encountering danger?
Thinking of this question, Dumas immediately thought of what his Russian writer friend had told him in Paris. When he heard others talk about it, he just found it funny and thought, "How could such a person come from such a wretched place as Russia?"
Now it seems that this writer is indeed extraordinary!

Could it be that even the harsh conditions of Siberia in Russia couldn't scare him?

I suppose this gentleman is definitely against authoritarianism, and specifically against authoritarianism in Russia?
"My God, he's practically a gourmet chef in England! Across the English Channel, culinary civilization came to an end! And now he's going to come up with something new!"

As he pondered this, Alexandre Dumas couldn't help but exclaim in praise. It was indeed difficult not to admire the courage of such a writer.

If he ever has the chance to come to France, I'd love to cook for him myself.

Perhaps he really has this intention? Otherwise, why would he write novels in French, and write them quite well? But to be honest, his novels written in Russian seem to be even better.

Incidentally, when it comes to cooking, Alexandre Dumas' culinary skills were no less impressive than his literary achievements. The reason, in his own words, was: "My love for cooking, as much as my love for poetry, is a gift."

Meanwhile, Alexandre Dumas ate at almost every restaurant in Paris throughout his life. Whether it was a fine restaurant or a small street stall, he savored every bite, using both his mouth and hands, indulging in delicious food while simultaneously writing food reviews. These culinary insights, written based on his personal experiences, were published in food columns in newspapers and magazines, becoming a trusted "food guide" for readers.

Otherwise, Alexandre Dumas wouldn't have accidentally developed such a large appetite.

While Alexandre Dumas was noting down the name Mikhail, Mikhail was also receiving something from France from Belinsky. However, this item was not obtained through legitimate channels, but rather through connections, bribery, and other means to acquire banned books.

To access the most cutting-edge ideas, Belinsky and his friends often did this, except this time they brought back what seemed to be a publication that had been discontinued for a long time. The publication's name was: "Deutsch-Französische Jahrbücher" (German-French Yearbook).

Mikhail: “?”

(End of this chapter)