1836: I Became a Literary Giant in Great Britain

The Countess was very busy, and after offering a few simple compliments, she gracefully turned to attend to other important guests.

Michelle finally breathed a long sigh of relief.

Dickens leaned over and nudged him lightly with his elbow.

"Well done, Michelle."

His voice was tinged with laughter.

"‘The future is nothing more than the bravest imagination of the present’—that’s such a brilliant statement that I want to write it down and use it in my novel."

Michelle shook her head with a wry smile.

"You're all I need, Charles. To be honest, my heart was pounding just now."

"Don't worry, no one will notice. You're about to become famous."

"The Countess rarely gives such high praise to a newcomer."

"Now I need to go and say hello to a few publishers..."

"You can take a walk around and relax for a bit."

Dickens patted him on the shoulder and then walked toward a corner of the hall.

Michelle remained where she was, watching the crowds coming and going in the hall.

He had no interest in this kind of hypocritical socializing.

In his previous life, when he attended those academic conferences, he had already seen through the true nature of such occasions.

It's nothing more than a group of people praising each other and exchanging some benefits along the way.

Instead of listening to that pointless nonsense, let's do something worthwhile...

For example, becoming an academic locust...

At that moment, an enticing aroma wafted into Michelle's nostrils.

He followed the scent and his eyes lit up immediately.

At the other end of the side hall, a long dining table was covered with a snow-white tablecloth and was laden with delicious food.

The grilled beef glistened with an enticing sheen, the salmon piled high like small mountains, and the various desserts so exquisite they resembled works of art...

If you get thirsty, there are waiters nearby who will pour you a glass of champagne at any time...

Michelle's stomach growled at an inopportune moment.

He had barely eaten anything since the afternoon, and was under immense stress in preparation for the salon; he was now starving.

Michelle walked straight to the dining table.

He doesn't care what others think now.

The dual approval of Disraeli and the Countess was his strongest source of confidence tonight.

He picked up a plate and took out a large piece of roast beef.

The meat juices flowed slowly down the cut surface, releasing a rich aroma.

Next came the salmon drizzled with lemon juice, and he grabbed half a plate in one go.

Then came the cheese, ham, and little sausages with sauce...

Soon, a small mountain of food had piled up on his plate.

Some of the gentlemen and ladies who were watching Michelle looked surprised.

Typically, in such situations, people will only take a symbolic amount of food...

Michelle's clear-headedness and unbridled enjoyment of food are truly unique...

Michelle doesn't care what others think.

All he knew was that he was really hungry...

He found a relatively quiet corner, put down his wine glass, picked up his knife and fork, and began to enjoy his dinner without any distractions.

The tender beef melted in his mouth, the salmon brought the freshness of the sea, and the delicate taste of the dessert greatly satisfied his taste buds.

This is life!

Just as he was enjoying his meal, a figure sat down next to him.

"Hey buddy, leave some for me!"

The visitor was none other than Dickens.

The great writer's plate was piled high with food, just as much as Michel's, and he was also holding a full glass of champagne.

Michelle forked a large piece of meat and stuffed it into her mouth, speaking indistinctly.

"That's right, nothing is more important than filling your stomach."

The two exchanged a smile, everything understood without a word.

"That's Mr. Carlisle."

Dickens pointed with his fork at a tall, thin figure not far away.

Michelle looked in the direction the man was dressed, and he was dressed plainly, even in a shabby way.

He was holding a wine glass, observing everyone present with a scrutinizing air, a hint of barely perceptible sarcasm on his face.

"His books are very well written and insightful, but he is a bit difficult to get along with."

"The economic situation doesn't seem to be too good lately..."

Dickens commented.

Michelle nodded; he recognized the man—a great historian of the Victorian era.

This year, Carlyle will publish his book "The French Revolution," which will bring him instant fame.

It's quite tragic, really. Just two years ago, his manuscript of "The French Revolution" was burned by Mill's maid... He had to rewrite it from memory...

Carlisle is currently experiencing a low point in his life, so perhaps it's a good idea to befriend him early? It's just that Carlisle's personality doesn't seem very easy to get along with...

Michelle ate while pondering to herself.

Just then, the music in the hall suddenly changed, switching from the original dance music to a more soothing and tranquil melody.

The guests' conversations gradually subsided, and many began to gather in the center of the side hall.

Dickens put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth.

"It seems our dinner time is over."

He stood up and straightened his clothes.

"The real highlight is about to begin."

As the music changed, so did the atmosphere of the salon.

The relaxed conversation and casual movement were replaced by a more solemn and expectant atmosphere.

The guests formed a semi-circle in the center of the side hall, leaving the magnificent velvet sofa and the open space in front of it untouched.

Mrs. Bresington sat elegantly in the center of the sofa, surrounded by several of her most distinguished guests, including the future Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli.

She clapped her hands gently, and the entire hall fell silent instantly.

"Dear friends, thank you for coming tonight."

The Countess's voice reached everyone's ears clearly.

"The most fascinating thing about Gore House is never the food and wine, but the most interesting souls and the most brilliant minds in London that gather here."

She smiled and looked around at everyone, and everyone felt that the Countess was looking at them...

"Tonight, let us light up this night with poetry and share the sparks of our thoughts."

As soon as he finished speaking, a round of enthusiastic applause erupted from the crowd.

Poetry recitation is the most classic part of the salon.

This is not just entertainment, but also a social way to showcase talent, ideas, and taste.

In fact, the so-called salon originated in 17th-century France and was a high-class gathering hosted by noblewomen, where intellectuals and nobles chatted, ate, drank and had fun on an equal footing.

In the salon, writers could exchange ideas on an equal footing and speak freely. The topics of discussion expanded from literature to philosophy and politics, making it a birthplace of Enlightenment thought.

In a sense, salons spurred the Enlightenment and feminism...

Some of the most famous salon hostesses, like Mrs. Joflannery, even funded the compilation of the Encyclopedia.

Soon, a young poet was chosen.

He stepped forward somewhat shyly and, with a slightly trembling voice, recited a lyrical poem about spring and love.

The poem was written in a fairly standard manner, and everyone gave it a polite round of applause.

Then, several gentlemen went up on stage, some passionate, some profound, to share the poems they admired.

Michelle and Dickens stood at the back of the crowd, listening quietly.

Michelle found that while the content of the recitation was important in such situations, posture and demeanor seemed to be even more crucial.

In other words, it needs to look good...

"Charles, it's your turn!"

Someone in the crowd shouted.

All eyes were on Dickens.

As one of London's most sought-after writers today, his performance is undoubtedly the most anticipated.

Dickens did not refuse; he smiled and nodded to the crowd before calmly walking to the center of the venue.

Instead of reciting other people's works like the previous ones, he cleared his throat and began to recount a famous passage from "The Life of Pickwick" in a highly dramatic tone.

Dickens, a born novelist, captivated everyone present with his voice, which was sometimes high-pitched and sometimes low, accompanied by a variety of gestures and expressions.

In the entire side hall, only his voice echoed.

After the story was finished, a brief silence followed, and then thunderous applause and cheers erupted.

People were completely captivated by his talent and humor.

The Countess also wore an appreciative smile.

Amidst a chorus of praise, Dickens bowed in gratitude.

However, he did not give up.

Before the crowd's enthusiasm had subsided, Dickens suddenly raised his voice.

"Everyone!"

His words immediately attracted everyone's attention.

"My performance is over, but I must give you all a warm introduction to my friend, Mr. Michel!"

Michelle felt a chill run down her spine; a sense of foreboding washed over her.

Do I have to read it too?

"Many of you here have probably read his story. But I can assure you that his talent lies in far more than just those fantastical plots."

Dickens looked at Michel with a sly smile.

"Tonight, he will bring us something even more special!"

After saying that, he led the still somewhat dazed Michelle to the center of the crowd.

In an instant, all eyes were on Michelle.

The hall was completely silent.

Dickens's sudden move put Michel at a disadvantage.

He was completely unprepared.

Refusing would make him appear weak and incompetent, and would also offend Dickens and everyone else present.

If he accepts, what should he perform next?

After Dickens's near-perfect performance, any imitation would only pale in comparison.

He knew Dickens meant well and wanted to make him famous.

Fortunately, he possesses a spiritual legacy spanning over two centuries!

Even if it's a spur-of-the-moment decision, it's not difficult for him!

The only problem is, which one to choose...

Looking at the faces around him, waiting for him to embarrass himself or anticipating the surprises he would bring, Michelle took a deep breath.

He raised his head, met everyone's gaze, and a calm smile slowly appeared on his face.

"In that case, I'll make a fool of myself."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally clear.

"What I'm bringing to you is an original poem of my own."

These words shocked everyone present.

Even Dickens' smile froze.

He had originally thought Michelle would bring one of his short stories...

Original poetry?

On this occasion, in front of some of the most talented people in all of London, to recite one's own original poetry?

This is not just bold, it's downright arrogant!

After all, Michelle had only ever written novels before.

What good poems can he write?

You know, that's poetry!

Generally speaking, in the literary hierarchy, poetry has always been at the very top, considered the crown of literature!

Objectively speaking, poetry is the earliest form of literature and the source and soul of all literature!

Of all writing systems, it is the most concise, the closest to the heart, and the closest to eternity...

In today's literary world, if we had to rank them, it would be: poetry > prose or criticism > novels.

One large part of the reason why Dickens wasn't highly regarded during his lifetime was because he couldn't write poetry...

It could be said that in the salon, novelists came to chat, and critics came to debate.

Good poets, on the other hand, are admired and respected!

The Countess of Brexington's deep brown eyes gleamed with keen interest.

She wanted to see if this young man, whose clothes and speech were so different from others, could bring her any surprises.

An eerie silence fell over the entire side hall.

Original poetry.

Everyone present understood the weight of those four words.

This is not just a performance, but a huge gamble.

What was at stake was Michelle's reputation.

Success would solidify his position in the London literary scene, transforming him from a novelist who only wrote popular stories into a truly profound and talented writer.

If he fails, he will become the laughingstock of the entire London high society.

All his previous efforts and innovations will be labeled as sensationalism.

Michelle stood in the center of the silence, feeling the pressure coming from all directions.

He did not speak immediately, but first bowed slightly in the direction of the Countess.

This small gesture not only expressed respect but also bought him a few precious seconds to think.

Countless poems he had read in his previous life flashed through his mind.

Which song is most suitable for the current situation?

It needs to be stunning enough, conform to the aesthetics of this era, but not so avant-garde as to be incomprehensible to people.

Soon, a poem became clear in his mind.

It is it.

Michelle raised her head, her gaze sweeping across the entire room before finally settling on a single point in the void.

His expression softened and brightened, and in a tone that was both romantic and slightly bittersweet, he slowly began to read:

I like you when you are quiet.

It's as if you've disappeared.

You are listening to me from afar.

My voice cannot reach you.

It seems your eyes have already flown away.

Like a kiss, sealing your lips.

As if all things filled my soul,

You emerge from all things,

It filled my soul.

PS:

Two chapters in 4k format delivered!

In response to reader suggestions, from now on, acknowledgments will be placed in the author's remarks, so as not to affect everyone's reading experience in the main text.