I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 198 Language and Poetry of Exiled Slaves (6k)

When Everything Falls Asleep

When everyone else has fallen asleep, I often wake up excitedly.
Looking up at the star-studded, glittering dome,
I sat quietly listening to the harmony of the night sounds;
The beating of the hour did not interrupt my contemplation.
I gazed with excitement at this eternal festival—

The glorious sky bestows the night upon the world.

I always believe that in a sleeping world...
Only my heart is moved by these millions of suns.

It was destined that only I could understand them.
I am this illusory, dark, and silent image.

To act as the mysterious king during the Night Festival.

The sky is decorated with lanterns and colorful lights just for me!
—Victor Hugo
Regarding Victor Hugo, although he was somewhat of a traitor in the early stages, constantly shifting his political allegiances, and his private life, like many literary giants, could be described as chaotic, he was by no means a novice when it came to literature.

Rather than writing novels, Victor Hugo preferred to call himself a poet and playwright for most of his life. His poem "When All Is Sleeping," written around 1830, to some extent reflects his ability as a poet and the characteristics of Romantic poetry, namely, self-expression, emphasis on emotional outpouring, and the use of imagination.
Because he had been thinking about these things the whole way, by the time Mikhail came to his senses, he had already arrived at Building 6, Place des Vosges, in Paris.

Perhaps because he arrived early, the door to Hugo's house was not yet open to anyone. Therefore, even the young people who had arrived earlier than Mikhail were gathered outside whispering to each other, waiting for the appointed time to rush into Mr. Hugo's house.

It is worth mentioning that, despite the major scandal that occurred some time ago, it is undoubtedly impossible for a great poet with both status and influence to completely cut off his social activities.

Or rather, appropriate silence and appropriate activity are more conducive to regrouping.

Therefore, when Mikhail wrote to Mr. Hugo expressing his desire to visit him, Mr. Hugo agreed. However, it was clear that Mr. Hugo did not take the young Mikhail seriously and did not give him a time to visit alone, but instead asked him to come with several other young people.

After all, strictly speaking, Mikhail had not yet truly established himself in the Parisian literary scene, especially in high-end circles like those of Hugo. In addition, he was too young, which made many people unsure how to treat him. In short, after a while, Mikhail arrived just like any other young person.

Mikhail, however, did not care about this, but rather prepared to see what Hugo was like during this period with a rather curious feeling.

Strictly speaking, this period, and even the year 1848 that followed, was a very important turning point for Hugo.

Firstly, because Hugo was caught cheating on his wife, he remained silent and began rewriting a novel he had previously abandoned, "The Unfortunate Ones," a social romance novel for which he had already signed a contract with a publisher and was written in the style of Eugène Sue.

He asked his lover Juliet to transcribe the novel, which had once been titled "Jean Trejean," for him.

Eugène Sue was a very famous and arguably quite important writer in France during this period. He was also someone Balzac once compared to and envied. Well, the reason I say "once" is because Balzac's object of envy has since changed.
Let's leave the matter of Eugène Sue for later. In short, the novel that Hugo was currently writing was not finished due to some issues. Later, due to some setbacks, it was interrupted and repeatedly revised. It was not until 1862 that it was published under the resounding name "Les Misérables".

So, to put it somewhat loosely, if Hugo hadn't been caught cheating, this book might not exist, cough cough.
As for 1848, it is no exaggeration to say that Hugo's greatness and status as the conscience of France were perhaps due to a series of events after 1848. Before 1848, it wouldn't have been entirely wrong to call Hugo a traitor.

In the beginning, influenced by his mother, an extreme royalist, Hugo was naturally a royalist as well, and he became famous for his poems praising the monarchy. However, towards the end of the Bourbon dynasty, he became a republican and called for the overthrow of the monarchy.

However, when the July Monarchy was established in 1830, he soon changed his stance and became one of the core supporters of the July Monarchy.

Regardless of the hidden reasons and struggles involved, since he did it, in the eyes of others, he was indeed the French Little Lu Bu. And it wasn't until 1848, amidst a series of magnificent events, that Hugo's noble sentiments were fully aroused, and even his mentality underwent a leap in a certain sense.

Thus began Hugo's nineteen-year exile, during which he relentlessly fought against the Napoleonic regime.

For a country like France, which went through three kingdoms, three republics, and two empires in less than a hundred years from 1789 to 1871, what? You're against the French government? Great! Go ahead and rebel! Who does the French government think it is?!

For a great writer, exile is a glorious medal, especially when you suffer for a noble ideal. Your reputation soars, and in the end, Hugo was arguably the most prestigious writer in all of France. The French government held a state funeral for him, and about two million people in Paris came to pay their respects.

In short, his life in exile completely washed away all the shame on Victor Hugo and crowned him with a laurel wreath that could be called immortal.

However, it must be said that Hugo's life in exile was actually not too bad. If he were a Russian writer, his medals would probably be for being exiled to Siberia. Prestige can certainly skyrocket like crazy, but a person can also be gone in an instant.
If Mikhail were to encounter a script like this one day, he would have already thought of the lines and the scene:

"Just a step away from the window,"

He brushed the hair off his cloak;
He pointed to the ice peak and swore:

Sleep well, my love, for I will return like an avalanche!

Pshaw! Doesn't that sound a bit unlucky?

Just as Mikhail's mind was filled with many dangerous thoughts, the young people who were also waiting and talking not far from him began to look at Mikhail with some suspicion. They quickly guessed Mikhail's identity based on his appearance and Turgenev next to him.

Having just read the newspapers in the past two days, they immediately began to discuss the matter with some surprise and uncertainty:

"He's actually already here? That Russian?"

"Didn't the newspapers already write it? Damn it! What kind of talk is that, Mr. Dumas? What do you mean by saying that only he and that Russian can be called writers in all of France? Where do they put the great Mr. Hugo?!"

"Just bragging! That Dumas loves to do that, always showing off his ridiculous attire and ostentation. But why does he bring this Russian along when he's bragging? Look at him, he looks like a kid who's just started school, probably hasn't even tasted a woman's pleasure yet!"

"That's hard to say. It's said that he was more of a womanizer in Russia than even the most womanizing Frenchman!"

"That makes them even more contemptible! They act like that when they're behaving like that!"

"What does he want to visit Mr. Hugo for? Does he think he can catch Mr. Hugo's eye with those two children's books that sell well? Including his two French novels, they look exquisite, but they are empty inside. They have neither abundant emotion nor rich and brilliant imagination. They are just depictions of reality with a little dramatization. If you ask me, there is nothing remarkable about them."

I certainly could write a novel like that if I wanted to, but I still prefer to create under the banner of Romanticism; that's the truly suitable path for me.

"We'd better not talk to him too easily, ha! Russian! Even if he comes to talk to us, we shouldn't pay him any attention."

"Not only should I ignore him, I should also ask them about the situation in Russia! Serfs everywhere, I really can't imagine what that scene is like."

Because they didn't try to conceal it much, Mikhail quickly noticed their movements. Just as he was feeling confused, Turgenev, noticing his bewilderment, offered a simple explanation:
"Mikhail, as you know, relations between Russia and France are indeed not very good, and given the situation in Russia, the French have always been... not to mention that your novel has been successful in France."

There's far more bickering and attacks in the French literary world than in Russia. Perhaps it's because their literature sells very well, and because people from less privileged backgrounds can indeed overcome class barriers. Therefore, jealousy and attacks are commonplace there.

At this point, Turgenev couldn't help but shake his head before continuing:

"While you initially wrote this novel hoping for popularity in the Parisian market, some people felt it was inferior, not as good as other French novelists, let alone poetry and drama. Ironically, most of Mr. Hugo's followers were focused on poetry and drama. So, frankly, although I helped your novel achieve success here, I don't like coming back. At first, it was fine, but as your success grew, some of them not only mocked your work but also completely ignored what you said. Being with them was practically torture!"

By the way, Mikhail, you'd better be prepared. We Russians all know you don't like to pay attention to negative voices, but some harsh French people, like Artur in the crowd, are really unbearable.

He seemed desperate to make a name for himself in Parisian literary and social circles, even willing to sacrifice his pride for it, sometimes appearing almost obsequious! There are quite a few people like him, and he's certainly talked about you a lot in public to generate buzz.

A group of elites plus a clique?

Upon hearing Turgenev's words, Mikhail nodded thoughtfully. Before he could say anything more, the door to Hugo's house finally opened to the people waiting outside. Seeing this, Mikhail and his companion didn't say anything more and followed the others inside.

As Mikhail curiously observed the mansion, which later became a memorial, the person in front of him, seemingly having witnessed something astonishing, couldn't help but murmur a quiet exclamation:
"Isn't that Mr. Hugo's daughter? She's here today too? I've never seen such a beautiful girl before."

Oh? Hugo's daughter?
It's no exaggeration to say that the Hugo family was indeed quite good-looking. Among these children, Hugo loved his eldest daughter the most. So much so that when his eldest daughter died from drowning, Hugo couldn't get over it for a long time. He not only displayed Leopoldina's clothes and portraits in prominent places in his home and told his daughter's story to every visiting guest, but also wrote a large number of poems to commemorate his daughter.

Among these poems is an excellent classic.

At this point in time, Hugo's eldest daughter has passed away, so these people are clearly referring to Adele Hugo, a woman of exceptional beauty but with a rather tumultuous life.

Leaving aside other matters, out of curiosity about Balzac's diary entry that described him as "never having seen such a beautiful girl," Mikhail took a second look after entering the room.

Of course, Mikhail's first glance was naturally at Professor Hugo, whose expression was solemn and who looked even more profound when he frowned. After briefly looking up at this unfamiliar yet somewhat familiar face, Mikhail curiously glanced at the fifteen-year-old girl.

With her black eyes and straight nose, even though she was still young, her black hair, styled in a bun, seemed to give her a touch of classical beauty.

However, after only one glance, Mikhail quickly looked away. A fifteen-year-old girl—if he looked at her any longer, he would really become a pervert.

By this point, Mikhail's curiosity had been largely satisfied, and the seemingly quiet Hugo probably wasn't very interested in exchanging much with a young foreigner. However, out of politeness, he couldn't leave right away, so Mikhail and Turgenev eventually found a less conspicuous spot to sit down.

It's worth mentioning, however, that perhaps because their unfamiliar faces were quite noticeable, or perhaps because Mikhail was indeed quite famous in the French literary world, in any case, although Hugo didn't really want to talk, he still managed to exchange a few polite words with Mikhail and greet him.

As for anything more, that's really all. After all, to be honest, Hugo didn't consider this young Russian man to be one of their circle. Moreover, although Hugo had read the young man's two novels, even if he couldn't quite give them a proper evaluation, ultimately, they were not the same as poetry and drama, and seemed to deviate quite a bit from his aesthetic principles.

In short, they're not from the same boat, so there's not much to say, especially since Hugo has indeed been in a bad mood lately.

The reason he sometimes has to receive guests is naturally to hear about the hottest news outside. He can remain silent, but he must never be completely ignorant of the outside world, otherwise he might be forgotten by the public at any time, which is the most terrifying thing for a writer.

Hugo paid some attention to Mikhail, but didn't think much of it. His daughter, however, glanced curiously at the two obviously unfamiliar young men. The reason she looked at them more often was that these two seemed to be subtly excluded from this circle. One of them looked a little reluctant, while the other was completely at ease, seemingly listening to the conversation of the people present with great interest.

More importantly, this person didn't even glance at her.

Because of her older sister and family background, Adele is sensitive and melancholic, and she does wish she could be as popular as her sister.

Of course, this slight concern was nothing, and Adele quickly shifted her attention elsewhere.

As for Mikhail, since Turgenev had already explained, he certainly wouldn't try to curry favor with someone who wasn't interested. So, in the eyes of the other young people present, he was listening to other people's conversation with an infuriating arrogance and mockery.

Not long after, Artur, the man Turgenev had mentioned who longed to make a name for himself, actually took the initiative to speak with Mikhail. This action naturally attracted the attention of many people present, but some of them simply watched with amusement.

As it turned out, it did have a dramatic effect, because the young man who came over to speak had a somewhat sarcastic tone in his words, and after Mikhail politely replied a few times, the way he looked at the young Frenchman also seemed a little strange.

Upon seeing this scene, Turgenev's heart skipped a beat, and anger surged up instantly. In Russia, of course, no one would say such things to Mikhail's face, but since this was in France, Turgenev decided to steer the conversation elsewhere first.

Before he could do so, the young Frenchman Artur asked with some ill intent, "In the works you've translated, it seems that serfs appear most frequently. Is it because such a reality is unavoidable? After all, only Russia has so many slaves. And your status? Oh right, a commoner. I almost forgot about that."

Mikhail had already replied, "This reality doesn't need to be avoided, but from what you're saying, do you think it doesn't exist elsewhere? Do you think it's rare elsewhere? I think some people are even worse off."

When Mikhail uttered those words, everyone who heard them seemed to freeze for a moment. As they turned to look at him, Mikhail continued:

"Of course, I'm not talking about the people in the slums and factories. To casually comment on them is both unfair and despicable. Let me ask you a question: Do you want more money and to climb to a higher position? Are you willing to give your all for these things, even if it means paying a heavy price?"

Is not this nonsensical?

"Everyone in Paris wants these things, is there anything shameful about that?"

Artur, still annoyed by the baseness of the first half of the sentence, had just finished asking a question when Mikhail glanced at him and continued: "Then slaves have to give up their labor and time, their dignity, and many other things. And some people give up all of these things as well. What are they doing it for? Aren't they also slaves to these things?"
Should we not point fingers at those who are forced into slavery, but applaud those who voluntarily become slaves?
Meanwhile, if those who are forced into slavery do not harm others, then what do those who voluntarily become slaves want to do?

I thought I had only seen a part of Paris, but you're telling me that the whole of Paris is like that.

"Could these be the same thing?"

Despite feeling he could still be saved, Artur panicked after sensing the strange looks from others and couldn't organize his thoughts properly. So, all he could say was something very obvious:

"What do you know about Paris? Do you really understand France?! And your French is so fluent, it must have taken you a lot of time! Do all Russians take French this seriously?"

"Personally, I just know how, and what's the big deal?"

Mikhail smiled nonchalantly, then raised his voice slightly: "Is anyone here who speaks English? Italian? German? I'd also like to try chatting with someone in a different language."

"What are these languages?"

Although somewhat stunned by Mikhail's words, Artur still made a final effort: "These languages ​​are not difficult, and compared to French, they are nothing! Even you yourself wrote in your book that English does not exist; it is just French with poor pronunciation!"

Do you think there are no other languages ​​in the world?

Under everyone's gaze, Mikhail suddenly recited something in a language that no one present could understand, yet which seemed to possess a peculiar rhythm. Just as they were pondering the meaning of this inexplicable tone, Mikhail switched back to French and then smiled, saying:

"A thousand years ago, Li Bai, China's greatest poet, wrote the immortal poem 'Drinking Alone Under the Moon,' which reads, 'Do you not see the Yellow River's waters come from the sky, rushing to the sea never to return?' Meanwhile, Du Fu, a poet of equal greatness from the same era, wrote, 'Behind the red gates, meat and wine go to waste; on the road, frozen corpses lie.'"
Around 2,600 years ago, the Chinese anthology of poetry, the Book of Songs, contained the line, "Big rat, big rat, do not eat my millet."
Is there anyone here who can share in the poetic beauty of these poems? I'd be happy to discuss my thoughts on them with anyone.

Mikhail's voice was loud, but only deathly silence answered him.
(End of this chapter)