I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 231 Dickens's Astonishment and Merry Christmas (7.5k)

In 1870, Dickens passed away. The tragic news spread throughout England, America, Canada, and Australia; even children knew of it. It is said that a little boy once asked:
"Is Mr. Dickens dead? Will Santa Claus also die?"

—From *A Critical Biography of Charles Dickens*

My dearest, you are the cutest little mouse and the cutest little pig in my life.
—Love letters written by Dickens when he was pursuing Catherine
When it was finally Christmas Eve in London, the clock on a clock tower somewhere in London had just struck three, but it was already very dark. Or rather, in winter London, it was hardly bright at all that day, and the fog had thickened as time went on, as if it were about to condense.

But this day seemed unusually lively.

According to British custom, every Christmas, folk singers go from house to house singing Christmas carols to celebrate the birth of Christ or Christmas-related events. Therefore, many folk singers begin their preparations well in advance.

Meanwhile, many merchants in London have already started their work, usually settling accounts around Christmas to see if income and expenses balance out, and if there are any debts, they must be repaid immediately.

The liveliest place is undoubtedly the market. Christmas Eve is the last big shopping day. On this day, butcher shops, grocery stores, poultry shops and even bookstores become exceptionally lively. The air is filled with the aroma of roasted chestnuts, mulled wine and roast goose, and the stalls are filled with traditional holly, ivy and mistletoe branches.

The market was crowded with all sorts of people. Gentlemen strolled leisurely, housewives haggled with various vendors, and even ordinary citizens with very modest means would try their best to buy some things to decorate their homes after much deliberation, and then the whole family would dream of the new year in front of the cold, lifeless walls.

On the eve of such a holiday, a short, thick-haired gentleman with deep-set eyes and an energetic air was wandering the night. Even though his family had already bought everything they needed for Christmas and his family was waiting for him to return, Charles Dickens still adhered to his childhood habit of wandering at night and strolled aimlessly through the streets.

Such nighttime wanderings undoubtedly inspired him endlessly. The weather had almost no effect on him. Whenever it was foggy, rainy, or snowy, he would wander into the most unfamiliar areas, jotting down a sentence or two he overheard as he walked, or standing in front of a shop listening intently, or following a shady young couple.
During these nighttime walks, he sometimes couldn't help but recall his childhood and current family life, which made him feel a little restless.

However, he didn't want to waste too much time on these emotions tonight. What he really wanted to see was the sales of his latest Christmas book, "The Cricket by the Fireside." Although he had struggled to finish the book and hadn't put all his mind on it, he still wanted to see how his cherished readers viewed his new book.

Of course, although Dickens appeared to be a tough guy, he was actually quite sensitive. He could only write in an atmosphere of approval and complete friendliness, and unfavorable criticism would cause him great distress. He had to try his best to avoid reading such criticism.

To put it simply, due to the limitations of his time and technology, Dickens couldn't physically "delete bad comments," but he was trying his best to do so in spirit.

However, if he faced too much criticism and rebuttal, Dickens's fragile writing heart would shatter in an instant.
With a sense of unease, Dickens found himself at a nearby bookstore. As soon as he entered, he saw a brightly lit billboard under dazzling lights, the most prominent part of which read:

"The Christmas book 'The Cricket by the Fireside' by Charles Dickens, a writer known to all the British, is now on sale!"

With several well-received works, even though Dickens is only in his thirties, he is undoubtedly a renowned genius writer in London, and he is far ahead of the competition in the Christmas book genre.

The bookstore offered the best treatment, and the sales of Dickens' new book did not disappoint the bookstore owner. Almost every middle-class or upper-class person looking to buy a few books for entertainment before the holidays considered this one.
“Mr. Dickens’s books? Let’s buy one and read stories to the children by the fire tonight.”

"There's no better time to read a Dickens book at Christmas. Please give me a copy."

"Both John and my father loved his books."

When he heard these words, even though Dickens looked cold and serious, a heartfelt joy and comfort spread through him, so much so that a smile couldn't help but appear on his serious face.

Strictly speaking, Dickens was a writer who cherished his reputation. In his writing, he wanted to satisfy most readers as much as possible, which had both advantages and disadvantages for a writer. In a sense, it might lower the quality of his writing.

In short, Dickens was indeed such a writer to some extent, who would slap his own face and say, "I'm a London kid, I have to be worthy of my readers and present myself as a respectable person to the public. That's all I have to say, and the rest can go to hell!"

Dickens remained immersed in an indescribable joy for a while, until he came to his senses. His keen intuition as a writer quickly kicked in, and he almost immediately noticed that next to his most prominent advertisement, he could also see an advertisement for another book:

"Mr. Mikhail's first Christmas book, 'The Gift of the Magi,' is now on sale!"

Russian writer?

After a brief moment of surprise, Dickens immediately realized who this Russian writer was.

Normally speaking, the influence of Russian writers in Europe is almost zero, but this obvious fact is being broken by a young man from Russia in a devastating manner.

Even though he is still controversial, and it is said that the literary circles in Paris have recently rushed to criticize him, no one can deny the fact that he has become famous.

In Britain, his two novels, "Around the World in Eighty Days" and "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," sold quite well. His idea of ​​combining scientific spirit with literary creation was undoubtedly a brilliant invention, especially in Britain, where the scientific spirit is becoming increasingly strong, and the response it caused was almost sensational.

What's particularly striking is that he actually set the protagonist of "Around the World in Eighty Days" as an Englishman. At that time, British newspapers were spreading rumors that he was a British writer who had gone to France to make money. It wasn't until more information came out that the British had to gradually accept the fact that he was Russian.

How can there be writers in a place like Russia? Aren't the people there all slaves?
This sense of surprise persists to this day, so much so that Dickens heard customers ask:

"A Christmas book by a Russian author? A Russian author? Is this the latest Christmas joke?"

"Haven't you heard of his previous works? 'Around the World in Eighty Days' and 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.' Perhaps you haven't seen the recent newspapers? Many newspapers are reporting on his arrival and have even published advertisements for his new book, which is said to be his first Christmas story written in English."

"Around the World in Eighty Days? Of course I've heard of it! Now that you mention it, I think I remember. But writing a Christmas story in English? Is he of British descent? Does he even have that kind of ability?"

"It's said he has British ancestry; his grandfather was apparently a true English gentleman who was unfortunately murdered and taken to a place like Russia. But there seems to have been no news of him writing in English before, though he's said to be a linguistic genius."

"Good heavens, I'm completely confused. In my mind, he's always been a French writer, and no matter how talented he is, how could he possibly write a good Christmas story in English? Besides, this story definitely has little to do with England, so I'm not buying it."

"The price is very cheap, only three shillings."

“I’ll buy a copy and try it out. I really love his ‘Around the World in Eighty Days,’ and the newspapers have also praised the book highly.”

Hearing this conversation, Dickens found it amusing and quickly jotted down some sentences. After finishing his task, he couldn't resist walking to the shelf to examine the book.

With its gorgeous red cloth binding, gold-stamped cover design, gold-edged pages, four vividly colored immersive prints, and seemingly some illustrations interspersed throughout, this book is undeniably sincere, except for its somewhat thin feel.

As for its name, "The Gift of the Magi," the "Maggie" should refer to the three wise men from the East in the Bible who worship Jesus with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, symbolizing reverence for sacred things and the spirit of selfless dedication. The combination of Christmas stories and selfless dedication undoubtedly suited Dickens's taste.

Of course, most importantly, Dickens had a good impression of the Russian writer. First of all, some rumors he heard about the young man in literary circles and high society left him stunned. Sometimes he would frown at the rumors about his less-than-honorable behavior. But recently, one of the young man's actions greatly increased his goodwill towards him.

In short, as Christmas approached, this young man visited a reputable charity through a referral and donated a substantial sum, an act that undoubtedly surprised many in Britain. It is also said that he did the same in France and Russia.

In this way, it's hard for Dickens not to have a good impression of this noble gentleman, who is a truly upright person! He even sympathizes with and cares for people from foreign lands, so what kind of noble sentiments does he possess?
With that in mind, Dickens didn't hesitate for long and bought a copy. Since the book was indeed very thin, in order not to be bogged down by the trivial matters after returning home, Dickens simply found a bright place to read it.

His English novels probably won't be very good. After all, who can create works in so many languages ​​and write them so well? If he could do that, he must be the incarnation of God!

As Dickens pondered these thoughts, he began reading the first story in the book:
"One pound and seven shillings. That's all there is, and two of those shillings were made up of small copper coins. This money was saved little by little by haggling over prices at grocers, butchers, and vegetable vendors, earning her a bad reputation as a 'stingy' person, which made her blush. Della counted it three times, over and over again, one pound and seven shillings, and tomorrow was Christmas."

Clearly, nothing could be done, so Della could only sit down on the worn-out little sofa and silently weep. This was Della's current state. This situation inevitably reminded her that life consisted of sobs, hiccups, and smiles, with hiccups always taking precedence.

After reading the previous part, Dickens nodded slightly. A poor family, a young and poor couple, although they each have their own treasures, an extremely beautiful head of long hair and an heirloom pocket watch, the wife is willing to sell her beautiful long hair in order to give her hardworking husband a good gift on Christmas Day.

How could such pure love and selfless dedication not move people?

Some humorous parts include: "If King Solomon were to become a gatekeeper, with all his treasures stored in the basement, Jim would be so jealous every time he took out his pocket watch to look at it that he would tug at his beard."

“If Jim glances at me and doesn’t kill me right away,” she muttered to herself, “he’ll say I sound like an opera chorus singer. But what can I do?”

This undoubtedly made Dickens laugh out loud.

However, at this point, the supposedly extraordinary Russian genius did not seem to have displayed any particularly outstanding talent.

Is it because he uses English to create his works?

Just as Dickens was thinking this, he continued reading, and as he read, a look of surprise gradually appeared on his face, which had been relatively calm.

Then she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Her face turned pale instantly. She always had a habit of silently praying for even the simplest things in her daily life, and at this moment her prayer was, "God be merciful and let him think that I am still beautiful."

Faced with Della's reaction, Jim's expression was neither anger, surprise, approval, nor fear—none of the expressions Della had anticipated. Yet, he stared intently at Della with this peculiar expression:
"You cut your hair?" Jim stammered, as if he hadn't quite grasped the obvious fact after racking his brains.

“I’ll cut it off and sell it,” Della said. “No matter what, you’ll still love me, won’t you? I’m still me even without hair, aren’t I?”

Jim looked around curiously. "You mean your hair is gone?" he asked, almost with an idiotic expression.

“You don’t need to look,” Della said. “It’s already sold, I’m telling you—sold, and there’s none left. It’s Christmas Eve, my dear, be kind to me, because I sold it for you.” She suddenly spoke in a serious yet sweet tone, “Perhaps the hairs on my head can be counted, but no one can count my love for you.” This was already touching enough, but what followed truly made Dickens realize what kind of genius the young Russian man possessed to accomplish that series of incredible things.

“Isn’t this top-notch, Jim? I searched all over town to find it. Now you can take it out and look at it a hundred times a day. Give me your watch, I want to see what it looks like with the strap on.”

Jim ignored her and sat down abruptly in a chair, hands behind his head, smiling. "Della," he said, "let's put the Christmas presents aside for now. These two gifts are wonderful, but we can't use them right now. I sold the watch and bought you a comb with the money."

Dickens was struck by this unexpected yet logical ending. After the initial shock subsided, a deep sense of emotion welled up inside him, leaving him speechless for a moment.

This story is so short, yet it conveys what would otherwise require much more, and with such effectiveness and poignancy.
How could you write such a novel on your first attempt at writing in English?

Dickens, who had always been regarded as a genius, was beginning to feel slightly dizzy.

After he finally calmed himself down, he looked at the following novel with somewhat mixed feelings:

"Soapy slept very restlessly under the arch of Waterloo Bridge."

The story begins simply with the kind of desperate homeless people that are common in London. Even though the new Poor Law in Britain is helping to quickly reduce the number of beggars, vagrants and poor people, for some reason, these people continue to emerge from London, as if they can never be completely eliminated no matter how hard they try to catch them.

The protagonist, Soapy, was once a very hardworking person, but as harsh realities struck him, he gradually fell into homelessness. After accurately depicting the widespread injustices in London, the novel also uses rather ironic language to write:

"Soapy always believed that hard work would lead to owning his own home, while his friend believed until his death that he failed to live a good life because he didn't work hard enough."

After experiencing many things, Soapy became a complete rogue and ghost of London. Having tasted the bitterness of the workhouse, he simply said: "You can't find a worse place than the workhouse except in England. The second worst place is the prison in England."

But this winter, as Christmas approached, Soapy's health deteriorated and he could no longer bear it. He decided to commit a crime to go to prison so he could get through the winter, even if it was just "a slower way of dying."

In order to enjoy himself one last time before going to prison, Soapy made thorough preparations and began his actions. What follows may seem absurd, but it is a cruel absurdity, and it is full of irony.

Our first stop was a restaurant where we could eat and drink for free, including a Peking duck meal. Unfortunately:

"But as soon as Soapy stepped into the restaurant, the head waiter's eyes fell on his worn-out trousers and slovenly shoes. A pair of incredibly strong hands immediately spun him around and silently pushed him onto the sidewalk, thus changing the fate of the threatened wild duck."

Soapy then smashed the shop window, but due to a series of coincidences and Soapy's expression, ultimately:
"The police didn't want to admit that Soapy was the culprit, and they didn't even want to find any clues from him. A person who smashes a shop window wouldn't stay at the scene to negotiate with the claws of the law; he would have already fled."

Soapy then went on to commit many more crimes, but due to the many inconsistencies in London's legal system and various factors such as the fog and the environment, Soapy ridiculously avoided all opportunities to go to prison.

Upon reading this, Dickens felt both amused and bewildered by the absurdity, and also thought that Soapy in the story seemed to have completely given up on himself and was constantly provoking others by walking on the edge of the law.

In addition, he seemed to have found a suitable word to describe the style of the article: a desperate sense of humor.

As he pondered and appreciated this seemingly unprecedented style, he continued watching.

When Soapy finally arrived at a church where hymns were being played, as he walked along, his mood suddenly underwent a strange change:

"The organist's playing of hymns kept Soapy firmly to the iron bars, for he was familiar with the tunes of hymns when his life was filled with motherly love, roses, friendship, ambition, pure thoughts, and clean clothes."

Soapy's sensitive state of mind at that moment, combined with the influence of the old church, caused a sudden and miraculous change in his soul. He recalled with sudden fear the quagmire he had fallen into, the dishonorable days, the base desires, the disillusioned hopes, the damaged talents, and the despicable motives—all of which constituted his life.

At that very moment, his heart reacted violently to this new feeling. A powerful impulse urged him to fight against misfortune. He needed to pull himself out of the mire; there was still time. He was still young. He wanted to rebuild his former ambition, and even in death, he would not die like this, but in a more glorious way.”

Ok?
Did a merciful God reveal this to him?
Did a merciful God awaken his wounded yet resilient heart?
But how can he possibly escape his current predicament in London?
After all, as the article states, London completely plunged the poor into a quagmire, rather than truly giving them a chance to start over.

Just as Dickens was feeling both gratified and moved, yet also beginning to worry about Soapy's future, he couldn't help but look at the following content:
Soapy felt a hand on his arm. He immediately turned his head and saw a policeman's broad face.

"What are you doing here?" the policeman asked.

“Nothing,” Soapy replied.

"Then come with me," the policeman said.

"Put him in jail," the police chief said the next morning.

And in the very end, Soapy thought:

"Thank goodness it wasn't a workhouse!"

Dickens, upon seeing this, simply said: "."

Dickens, upon seeing this: "???"

what?
Dickens stood frozen in place, as if petrified.

Such a turning point. Such a turning point!
Although it is logically expected, how could it be written like this!
It's too hard to describe.
And why would a Russian writer have such a profound understanding of the realities of Britain?
Why was he able to deliver such a scathing and sharp satire of Britain? In a way, he almost made London a laughingstock!

Could it be that he wrote it this way in Russia as well?
Then why is he still alive and well today?!
When Dickens finally recovered from the almost screaming ending and a host of questions, he suddenly felt someone staring at him with a very peculiar gaze.

When Dickens looked over, the very likable young man with a charming smile asked, "What do you think of this book?"

"Hmm? You mean this book?"

Although he was taken aback for a moment, seeing that the young man seemed to only want to hear his opinion, Dickens hesitated only slightly before replying, "A very good book, the story is also very touching and interesting."

"Oh?"

Seemingly driven by some kind of morbid humor, the young man then asked, "And how does it compare to 'The Cricket by the Fireside'?"

Dickens: "?"

Although he was tempted to say "it's not as good as it," Dickens, being a fairly upright man, ultimately nodded and said, "The lengths are different, so it's not appropriate to compare them directly, but both books are excellent."

Thank you for your feedback.

The young man, who seemed to be suppressing a laugh, thanked him and turned to leave. But after taking a few steps, he seemed to remember something, so he turned back and said with a smile, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Dickens!"

"Merry Christmas."

After subconsciously responding with that remark, Dickens suddenly realized something and hurriedly looked at the young man. Unfortunately, the young man was walking too fast, and Dickens only caught a glimpse of his last afterimage. Then, without hesitation, the young man walked into the darkness and disappeared into the depths of the shadows.

Where Dickens couldn't see, Mikhail, who had just been indulging in a wicked joke, couldn't hold back any longer and burst into laughter, a rare occurrence for him.

Such laughter not only made the darkness tremble, but also stirred some of Mikhail's thoughts.

Undoubtedly, novels like "The Gift of the Magi" and "The Cop and the Anthem" will need some adaptation. "The Gift of the Magi" is alright, it doesn't need much alteration, but adapting "The Cop and the Anthem" would be a real headache.

Fortunately, the core plot, core humor, and core plot twists have been largely preserved, with the addition of some modern British characteristics.

However, to be honest, some parts seemed a bit too violent.
But I'm already in Great Britain, if I don't resort to violence now, where else can I be violent?!
Thinking of this, Mikhail, who was unusually in high spirits today, couldn't help but take off his hat and bow to everything in front of him.

While experiencing the darkness of London and the jubilation of Christmas, Mikhail also thought of his mother and sister, his friends, and many, many more people on Christmas Eve.
And so, on this joyous holiday, Mikhail raised the darkness, the fog, and the snowflakes in his hands, and then laughed and said:

Merry Christmas! My dearest family!
Merry Christmas! My dear friends!

Just as Mikhail was about to continue walking forward, he realized he seemed to have forgotten something and turned back. His laughter mingled with the wind and snow, and finally, in the darkness, Mikhail's voice shone like a lamp:
"I almost forgot about you all! Finally, Merry Christmas! To my dearest readers!"

(End of this chapter)