Fantasy Writers 1860

Chapter 98 Literary Salon

At the same time that the underground demi-human auction began, the literary salon of Count Castells and Countess Castells also started as scheduled at their mansion at 17 Rue Foyle in the St. George district.

As a residence in the city, it is not as spacious as the suburban manor. From the outside, it looks no different from the surrounding apartments; it is a detached three-story building.

Truly wealthy nobles usually live in manor houses and grand mansions. So-called nobles who live in such places are generally quite impoverished.

In particular, single wives are often widows who have inherited their husbands' estates. They are wealthy but not very rich, and can only afford to buy a house in the city and call themselves "Mrs."

These types of people often enjoy sponsoring literature and art because their inheritances are usually not so bad that they can't make a living, but they also need to maintain their face and social status in order to gain the power to stay in the circle.

As long as you're still recognized within this circle, you're still an aristocrat, no matter how down on your luck you become. But what happens if you're completely expelled from this circle? It's hard to say whether a woman can even hold onto her wealth.

The not-so-large reception room was already quite full of people. The soft lighting, heavy carpet, bookshelves, and oil paintings were arranged in a staggered manner, as if the space itself had a sense of flow, giving people a sense of tranquility and peace.

The men wore elegant but not expensive suits, while the women mostly wore brightly colored long dresses and various sparkling jewelry. Even Dickinson's outfit didn't seem out of place here.

People gathered in twos and threes, chatting with each other to the light music played by the small orchestra. Their voices mingled with the sweet aroma of black tea, all bathed in the warm glow of the magic crystal lamps.

Dorian arrived on time, dressed in a simple yet well-fitting black suit, with his white shirt collar slightly open.

Although he did prepare a surprise, he didn't write it down on paper and bring it along like the others did.

"Ah, Mr. Dorian! You've arrived!" Dickins greeted her. Unlike her usual androgynous vest, she was wearing a bright red Victorian-style long dress adorned with exotic patterns, and a wide-brimmed hat studded with vibrant feathers.

[This is something the AI ​​can't draw; it's roughly like this.]

No, it seems that it's not just covered in feathers, but rather that a bird specimen has been placed directly on the hat.

"Your hat—" Dorian was a little taken aback.

"Isn't it beautiful! I just bought it recently!" Dickins was delighted that the other person had noticed her stylish hat. "The Ruby-throated Hummingbird, a species found only in the New World, was brought over from the Emilia Federation. This flying gem is quite rare!"

Dorian took a deep breath. At first glance, it was indeed very beautiful. The color of the feathers was more beautiful than any ink he had ever seen in his previous life. It would also emit different lusters as the light changed, just like the color-changing ink on banknotes in his previous life.

But when he discovered that they weren't just feathers, but specimens of entire birds, he felt a little frightened, and even the strange patterns on Dickinson's dress seemed eerie.

"What's wrong?" Dickinson asked curiously, seeing Dorian's long silence.

"It's nothing, it's just that I still feel a little uncomfortable —"

Dickins laughed: "Haha, it's normal to feel a little uncomfortable in this kind of setting for the first time. You'll get used to it. Actually, most writers are quite shy; extroverts like me are actually in the minority!"

"I'll show you around in a bit and get to know everyone," Dickinson said.

"Why wait a moment?"

"Because there's something very important right now," Dickinson said mysteriously, her smile fading.

"The very important thing is—" Dorian swallowed hard, becoming nervous at Dickinson's words.

Could she actually be an unofficial member of the Academy of Literature, a free-spirited Book Envoy? Is she here today with some ulterior motive?

Or is this salon itself more complicated than it seems? Or are there some special rules involved?

"Of course, we should eat first!" Dickinson stopped pretending to be profound and instead looked at Dorian, who was deep in thought, with a smile.

Dorian: ————

Why make it all so mysterious when we're eating?

"Actually, for many writers who are not wealthy, one of the main reasons for attending the salon is to have a good meal and save money on a meal. I was like that back then, often coming to Countess Castel's place for a free meal."

Dickinson wasn't embarrassed at all; she just said it so openly, as if it wasn't something shameful to talk about.

So Dickinson led him into the main hall, where there were several long tables covered with white tablecloths, on which a large amount of tempting-looking food was arranged in a certain order.

In the most prominent position in the cold cut section was a huge crystal jelly salmon, next to a plate of oysters with their shells still slightly open, and the waiter was carefully drizzling lemon juice and butter sauce on them.

A whole roasted suckling pig lay across the center of the hot dish section, its skin roasted to a golden brown and crispy, its belly stuffed with a mixture of onions and breadcrumbs. Next to it was a plate of stewed beef brisket with toast, the fat slightly shrunk on the silver plate, surrounded by triangular slices of toast roasted to a crispy brown.

On the dessert table was a tower made of caramel pudding, with its base covered with cream puffs, strawberries, mini cakes, and cookies.

Britannia has delicious food too!

Dickinson started eating as if she were at home, and the other guests did the same. Seeing everyone like this, Dorian also relaxed and began to eat heartily.

At that moment, he unexpectedly discovered a rather unremarkable dish: boiled potatoes and thinly sliced ​​rye bread.

"What kind of dish is this?" Dorian asked a stranger next to him.

"The Countess has recently become fascinated with the home-style cooking of ordinary people; this must be the home-style dish she found," he replied casually.

Although this is the staple food that ordinary people rely on for survival, ordinary people really can't afford to eat potatoes and black bread of such high quality.

The staple food that these ordinary people at the bottom of society rely on for their daily survival is now placed high on a silver tray and sprinkled with expensive rock salt and sauce.

Even impoverished nobles are still nobles, separated from commoners by a huge chasm. They can even scrutinize the commoners' coarse food and bring it to the salon as a novelty embellishment to "home-style flavors".

Dorian felt a mix of emotions; even the steak in his mouth didn't taste good anymore.

Next, through Dickins's introduction, Dorian was led around the house and met many prominent figures in the Lontinion literary world, including novelists, literary critics, and poets.

Dorian had no recollection of any of these people's names, not even when he tried to connect them to the concept of other time-space counterparts like Dickinse.

It seems that none of the "literary celebrities" in this room, except for Dickinson, have written great works.

These people initially underestimated Dorian, the newcomer.

On the one hand, there was a mutual disdain among intellectuals, and on the other hand, everyone was new to the salon and lacked seniority. It was only thanks to Dickinson's enthusiastic introduction that everyone managed to avoid being impolite on the surface.

However, since it was a literary salon, even if people had prejudices, they generally agreed that writers should let their works speak for themselves.

People in this era are still relatively simple and honest; they haven't yet reached the point of ignoring the facts.

"What? You're the author of 'The Necklace'? My apologies—"

"Oh, it was you! This novel is truly wonderful. I never imagined that the essence of a story could be saved for the end—"

"Everyone's talking about 'The Necklace' now, but I think the last story, 'The Policeman and the Hymn,' is the one that deserves our deeper reflection. Society is too superficial these days; everyone's chasing after that piece that seems to mock the Iris people, simply viewing it as a tool to boost national pride. This generation of readers is far too incompetent."

"I agree! Everyone else is discussing 'The Necklace,' but I'm carefully considering 'The Policeman and the Hymn,' which is very—"

With Dickinson's continued promotion and as the exchanges deepened, Dorian gradually integrated into this small circle.

Just as the atmosphere was getting better, the orchestra, which had been playing music, suddenly switched to a more solemn piece, instantly changing the atmosphere of the salon.