I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 209 The Romance of Old Paris and Two Poems (7k)

Mael is the owner of a well-known newspaper in Paris. Although his newspaper cannot compare with top-tier publications like Le Journal de la Stamp or Le Soir, he has a place in the Parisian cultural market, so he can be considered a figure in the Parisian cultural industry.

Putting everything else aside, whenever he appears at a salon, both newcomers and veterans of the cultural world often try to curry favor with him, even flattering and trying to please him. After all, even the owner of the smallest newspaper is far better off than at least half of the poor writers in Paris who want to make a living through writing.

His circle as a business owner is clearly different from that of writers and artists. For example, at this salon, he sat with other newspaper owners. Even though he is not a big shot among them, he is at least in this social circle and occasionally responds casually to people who greet him.

As a result, he naturally has a strong sense of self-respect for such a social circle and his own identity, while ordinary writers would not bother to squeeze in, otherwise even if they are not kicked out on the spot, they may face the situation of having no way to submit their works.

With this mindset, when he saw the Russian writer who had recently caused quite a stir, he simply discussed it briefly with the people around him:

"Looks like he finally remembered to say hello to us?"

"Greeting? I think he should apologize to us. I had already extended an invitation to him, but he didn't come right away. Instead, he kept delaying until today."

"He's probably also having a headache from the recent news. If it weren't for Le Château protecting him for their own interests, an outsider like him would have had his reputation ruined in Paris long ago."

“We don’t need to be too enthusiastic. At his writing speed, it seems unlikely that he can keep up with Mr. Dumas and Mr. Balzac. If he can’t bring us anything and just stays at Le Château, then why should we say good things about him? Besides, news that criticizes and questions him is also very popular.”

After reaching a brief consensus with his colleagues, Mael leaned back comfortably in his chair. As expected, the young Russian man soon walked straight toward them.

But coincidentally, the direction he walked from seemed to be exactly towards Mael.

Huh? What? Is he going to be the first to greet me?
They do have some good taste.

Just as Mael was beginning to think about how to respond with a bit of surprise, the young man walked straight past him and plopped down in a seat usually reserved for important figures.

Mael: "?"

The moment he sat down, many people present immediately looked at him strangely. Was this the seat you should be sitting in?
Among them, Mael, who had been somewhat presumptuous, blushed instantly. Just as he was about to retaliate, he inadvertently caught sight of Turgenev and suddenly remembered a boast he had heard earlier:
"He's the owner of Russia's most important magazine, and half of Russia's literary world's writers want to work for him! If he takes a liking to someone, he can make that person rise to the top in the Russian literary world with a flick of his finger! If any of you ever want to go into Russia's cultural circles, just mention his name and you'll definitely be treated very well!"

Mikhail, who had actually heard this rumor before, said: "..."

It doesn't seem that amazing.
However, to a certain extent, Turgenev's words are not entirely wrong. After all, he had become the owner of the literary magazine with the largest circulation in the Russian literary world. If he didn't even have this much prestige, wouldn't he have wasted his life?

But Mael, who had heard this boast before, was dismissive of it. He thought, "In Russia, where information is scarce, you can say whatever you want about things." Every year, a group of such swindlers appear in Paris, using all sorts of methods to impersonate nobles or other identities, and then profit from it.

Even if they aren't scammers, they're simply trying to use this to inflate their own status, just like Balzac insisted on adding "de" to the middle of his name.

Just as Mael was about to say something, Madame Girard, the hostess of the salon, approached and introduced him to the owners of the Parisian newspapers:

"This is Mr. Mikhail. According to my friend in Russia, he is the owner of 'The Modern Man,' one of the most famous literary magazines in Russia, so you can exchange ideas on many things."

Everyone present: ?

Has this been verified?

Even though Russia's cultural industry is not that developed, being able to sit in one of the top positions in the literary world of such a large country is still very prestigious.

Thinking of this, the people present couldn't help but exchange glances, looking at each other's graying beards and their swollen bellies. Finally, they all focused their attention on Mikhail.

Is this right?
Faced with the gazes of this group of people, Mikhail finally greeted everyone present politely.

Although those present were not planning to engage in any international business, considering the political resources and other things that the other party's identity might leverage, they did not want to adopt a high-handed attitude and instead spoke a few words to Mikhail in a relatively polite manner.

Upon arriving here, the atmosphere eased somewhat, but soon, Mikhail's words made everyone's hearts tighten: "Gentlemen, thank you for your welcome. I had a very pleasant time in Paris. If you would like to travel to Russia in the future, I will certainly treat you well and let you experience the beauty of Russia."

The people present: "??"

What could Russia possibly have?
The place is so big, and the environment is so harsh, that if someone were to die by accident, it probably wouldn't surprise anyone.
Wait a minute, although his words sounded friendly, considering some of the things they've been doing lately, something doesn't seem quite right.
"Unfortunately, I probably won't be staying in Paris for too long. I have other things to do, and before I officially leave Paris, there's one thing I want to accomplish: to successfully get my play into the theater."

At this point, looking at the newspaper owners in front of him who remained expressionless, Mikhail leaned forward slightly and continued, "Yes, basically this is the only one. I've prepared a large sum of money for this. If it doesn't work out, I'll have to use the money elsewhere, but by then I should be no longer in France."

You're not even in France anymore, what are you trying to do with such a large sum of money?
While the others' expressions shifted slightly, Mikhail, who was actually just preparing to use the money for some initial setup, added, "Of course, besides that, I also want to serialize two more novels, and there will be quite a few new works to come, so..."

In this regard, it was a mix of truth and empty promises, since France was the first country to descend into chaos in 1848, and this chaos would not truly stabilize until Napoleon III ascended the throne.

For this reason, Mikhail has no plans to expand his newspaper business in France for the time being; otherwise, the chaotic situation might have caused the collapse of the company before it was even completed.

However, the newspaper owners present were certainly unaware of such matters. From Mikhail's words, they could glean some general information: firstly, the young man was indeed capable; secondly, he didn't intend to stay long and could leave at any time; and finally, there was no real conflict of interest among them, and there was even an opportunity for them to cooperate.

At this thought, while others were still weighing things to some extent, Mael, who had been brainstorming, had already taken two glasses of wine from a servant and enthusiastically handed them to Mikhail, saying:

“Mr. Mikhail, I have always been a loyal reader of yours, and my newspaper is a staunch supporter of yours. I would like to have a drink with you here.”

Mikhail: “?”

Do old Parisians also have the custom of toasting?

Although it felt a little unexpected, Mikhail definitely responded to the other party.

Mael's actions undoubtedly inspired the others, and soon, even though the others were not as enthusiastic as Mael, the previously somewhat awkward atmosphere suddenly became harmonious.

Strictly speaking, Mikhail didn't really do much reckoning, since his European trip was quite packed and he didn't have much time to outwit and outmaneuver all sorts of people.

Besides, who says that old Parisians have no social skills?

Having reached a consensus in a certain sense, Mikhail could only say that when it came to doing business and pursuing profits, the old Parisians were far more daring than the gentlemen of St. Petersburg.

However, when the atmosphere on their side was just right, the other people on the field saw that Mikhail and his group were so harmonious, and for a moment many of them had rather strange expressions.

On the one hand, some rumors seem to have been confirmed again, and on the other hand, what attitude should they take towards that young man?
Before some people could figure out the problem, the salon soon officially began as time went on.

Since the salons in Russia were basically modeled after those in France, Mikhail didn't find anything particularly novel about them. However, if he had to say, the salons in Paris were obviously more free-spirited, with broader and bolder topics, more frequent and lively exchanges, and of course, the "patron of the arts" segment that was a must-experience in Paris.

Russia has it too, but there aren't many in total. France, on the other hand, has a long-standing tradition of this. Sometimes, it's a matter of mutual benefit: one side gains cultural influence, while the other receives tangible financial support. And sometimes, if they hit it off, a romantic story unfolds.

Normally, these days, most French artists have had lovers or actively become someone else's lover. In places like salons, although many people can't be too explicit, there are quite a few undercurrents running through their private lives.

It's not just wealthy women who eye some good-looking young men; some young men even flaunt themselves like peacocks. In fact, some of the people they try to please are quite old, and their appearance and manners are really not flattering.

Even so, they still tried very hard; you could say they practically had "Auntie! I don't want to try anymore!" written all over their faces.
These young people mainly showcase themselves through humorous conversation and eloquent discussions about certain things, seemingly trying to demonstrate their uniqueness and depth.

Some people give off a good impression, while others are simply more hardworking.

During this segment, Mikhail appeared somewhat silent, even though just moments before, several newspaper owners had been offering him advice, saying:

"Mr. Mikhail, I probably don't need to introduce those gentlemen to you. With your qualifications, it's a real shame you're not showing your skills in Paris!"

Unfortunately, for some reason, Mikhail seemed unwilling to play to his strengths in this area, and because of his performance, some people's attention had gradually shifted away from him. After all, in Paris, witty and quick-witted conversation is often more attractive, while people who are too silent and traditional are often considered old-fashioned and boring.

Seeing this, some of the young French people who were initially worried that Mikhail's presence might have an impact were relieved. It seems that this good-looking young man is ultimately a Russian, and he simply doesn't understand what Parisian romance is all about!

Since it was a literary salon, as the emotions of the audience gradually rose, some recitations naturally followed.

Perhaps because some people have a clear purpose, the poems they recite, full of praise and admiration, are mostly filled with unrestrained passion and rich emotions. Under their deep tone and affectionate gaze, even noblewomen who are usually neglected by their husbands would feel like stunning beauties at this moment.

However, this kind of thing doesn't seem to matter much to some socially adept ladies. Having seen the glamour of Paris and all sorts of people, they are obviously immune to these things. At their stage, it's a bit difficult to feel passionate, and nowadays it's more about practical considerations.

Mikhail observed the diverse group of men and women on the field, noticing their reactions one by one. When he felt that some things were indeed worth trying, he seized an opportune moment and smiled at Madame Girard, the hostess of the salon, saying:

"May I display my work here?" Hmm?
Could it be one of your scripts that was banned from being performed?
That kind of subject matter is not suitable for reading in this kind of setting.
Just as Madame Gilar was hesitating, Mikhail added, "It's a poem."

Upon hearing this, Madame Girard, who also wanted to secure Mikhail's novel for the newspaper, no longer hesitated and immediately flattered him, saying, "Of course, you are a promising poet personally recognized by Mr. Hugo."

After these words were spoken, whether out of respect for Hugo or because of Mikhail's status in the publishing world, the scene quickly quieted down, and many people then turned their attention to this foreign poet, Mikhail.

However, several young French people who had just received feedback from the ladies and gained confidence were not too worried about this scene. After all, the effect of a poem often depends on the atmosphere of the scene.

In a salon that has become romantic, if someone writes about serious topics, no matter how well they write, they will not get a good response. Mikhail’s poem that he read to Mr. Hugo last time was good, but it was also timeless and philosophical. Now, combined with his actual performance in the salon, his personality must be the same as the topics he writes about.
Regardless of what others think, Mikhail has already produced a poem whose rhythm he has carefully considered.

The first few lines of this poem immediately delighted some young French people, while causing others to frown slightly:
When you are old, with gray hair and a heavy heart,

He sat wearily by the fire, took down the book, and

Reading slowly, I see the look in his eyes from back then, chasing after his dreams.

That gentle, beautiful expression and that deep, shadowy aura.

How many people are willing to grow old?
How many people can accept this fact?
Moreover, some of the ladies present were indeed quite old, and reciting such a poem seemed like an attempt to hurt their feelings.
Just as some people were thinking this, with the turn of the poem, many people present seemed to have a sudden jolt in their hearts, even those who had long been accustomed to social situations and the passion between men and women.

"How many people have loved the images of your youth?"

I loved your beauty, whether with pretense or true feelings.

Only one person loved the pilgrim spirit in you.
I love the sorrow on your face, the marks of time.

These few lines of poetry seemed to immediately make the poems recited by the young Frenchmen earlier seem less sophisticated. After all, compared to passionate praise and unrestrained expression of emotion, this kind of love poem truly reaches the depths of a person's soul.
Even as time passes and youth fades, there will still be people who fall for you.

Towards the end of the poem, a sense of inexplicable melancholy and sorrow arises:
"Bending over and stooping by the stove hood"
Lost in thought, grieving, he murmured to himself.

How does love fade away, and how does it ascend the mountains?

How did she manage to hide her face among the stars?

As Mikhail's voice faded into the salon, the others remained silent. Just as Mikhail smiled and prepared to sit down, a noblewoman who had been sitting in an important position but had remained mostly silent broke the silence somewhat hastily: "Anything else?"

Although she is not young, one can still vaguely see the beauty of her youth. However, her identity is obviously more eye-catching than her appearance. As the wife of the French Minister of the Interior, she is a prominent figure in France.

For that reason, Mikhail quickly replied, "If you mean the poem, then it is indeed over. But if you are still interested, why don't you give me a theme now, which may inspire me."

Although Mikhail was a Xiao Chunan, he had read far too many love poems to count. Normally, as long as the theme wasn't too bizarre, he could find a corresponding poem here.

That's how it is for Mikhail, but when others heard him say it, some almost screamed on the spot.

What does this mean? Does it mean writing a poem on the spot based on a random theme?

But if quality isn't guaranteed, then perhaps it's not too far off.
While some people were about to scream, Turgenev couldn't help but get excited.

It's just right! It tastes so familiar!
However, if Mikhail was extremely humble in Russia, he's really not putting on any act now in France!

Is it so direct?
Yes! We should really crack down on those annoying Frenchmen!
Just as Turgenev felt a sense of déjà vu, the noblewoman who had been speechless with shock remained silent for a while before recovering. Seeing only a calm smile on Mikhail's face, she finally looked around and then slowly spoke in a somewhat strained voice:

"If you insist on doing it this way, then let's focus on the current atmosphere of the salon."

Because her brain was in such a state of confusion after the shock, the questions she posed left many people scratching their heads.

But Mikhail merely sensed the silence on the field for a moment, then nodded and said, "As you wish."

After saying this, Mikhail seemed to be deep in thought for a while in the eyes of everyone on the field. When he seemed to finally have some inspiration, he couldn't help but walk back and forth for quite a while under the gaze of others.

When he returned to his place, he raised his head and seemed to gaze into the distance. Finally, his voice, which seemed to possess some kind of magic, rang out again:

"I like you to be silent, as if you disappeared,
You hear me from afar, but my voice cannot reach you.

It's as if your eyes have flown away,
Like a kiss, it seals your mouth.

As if all things filled my soul,
You emerge from all things and fill my soul.

You are like my soul, a butterfly of dreams.

You are like the word "melancholy".

After those two segments, some people on the field were in a state of utter shock.

To some extent, this corresponds to the somewhat vague theme, but the most crucial point is that the quality seems to be surprisingly high!

Some were horrified, while others were slowly drawn into the atmosphere and imagery of the poem in this silent ambiance:

I like you when you are silent, as if you have gone far away.

You sound like a butterfly lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.

You hear me from afar, my voice cannot reach you:
Let me be silent in your silence.

And let me speak to you through your silence,
Your silence is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring,

You are like the night, with loneliness and stars.

Your silence is the silence of the stars, distant and bright.

I like you when you are silent, as if you have disappeared.
Distant and sorrowful, as if you were already dead.

At that time, a single word or a smile was enough.

And I would feel happy, because it wasn't real.

When the somewhat meaningful poem was finally finished, Mikhail emerged from a certain emotion and nodded to himself in satisfaction at his good fortune.

For masterpieces like "I Like You When You Are Silent," Mikhail had certainly prepared in terms of translation and rhythm before coming to France. It was lucky that he was able to use them now, but it was also because Mikhail had come prepared.

Mikhail initially had no intention of releasing these poems, which transcend language and are considered remarkably sturdy. Even if he had wanted to, he might not have done so in the way we do now.

but!

If you French won't even let a play be performed smoothly, what else is there to say? Just bring it out and that's it!
As Mikhail pondered these matters, the crowd, which had been silent for a long time, finally couldn't contain themselves any longer. Some people shouted out rather rudely, some stared blankly and shook their heads, and some couldn't suppress their inner emotions and stared straight at Mikhail as if they wanted to scrape a piece of flesh off him.

Stiff and boring?
Do not!
Just by standing there and reciting those two poems, he exuded the ultimate romance in all of Paris!
These two poems alone are enough to make for many wonderful nights!

Faced with the reactions of the crowd, Mikhail did not speak directly. Instead, he slightly raised his hand. Although this gesture was inconspicuous, with the slight arc of his raised hand, almost everyone present, regardless of their status or position, gradually quieted down.

After the noise subsided, Mikhail, who was very clear about his purpose, said directly: "Gentlemen and ladies, may I please allow you to read aloud the script that caused some trouble? As for what it is like, I think you will have your own judgment after hearing it."

Ok?
That screenplay that features a prostitute as the main character?

Is this really appropriate to read in an event that gathers high society people?

Long-held beliefs caused Madame Girard, the hostess of the salon, to hesitate again. But before she could make a final judgment, the minister's wife, whose eyes were already somewhat fanatical, exclaimed, "Please just read it! I now believe this will be a masterpiece! If you can write such poetry so quickly, what difficulty will a script be for you?"

Since this noble lady of such high status had already said so, there was no longer any suspense about the matter. Soon, Mikhail finally produced the script of "La Dame aux Camélias" as he wished, and then slowly read it aloud amidst all sorts of stares.
(End of this chapter)