Just when everyone thought that Garion had been hammered by Frederick and couldn't refute it, what they didn't expect was that the map cannon came.

In order to show the importance of this poem, the editor-in-chief Thornton also reserved a large blank space in the first edition for Garion's poetry.

Dead Water

It's a desperate stagnant water, and the breeze can't blow the slightest ripple.

It's better to have more broken copper and iron, and splash your leftovers.

Maybe the copper ones should be green into jade, and the iron cans will rust out a few peach blossoms;

Let the greasy weave a layer of Luo Qi, and the mold will steam some clouds for him.

Let the stagnant water ferment a ditch of green wine, full of pearl-like white foam;

Xiaozhu laughed and turned into a big bead, and was bitten by the flower mosquito that stole the wine.

Then a ditch of desperate stagnant water can be boasted a little vividly.

If the frog can't bear the loneliness, it is considered a stagnant water and cries out.

This is a desperate backwater, and this is not where beauty lies,

It's better to let the ugliness reclaim it, and see what kind of world he creates.

The meaning of the poem is simple and easy to understand, and it can't be more straightforward, using the desperate backwater as a metaphor for London's literary and artistic circles, because you can't directly and rudely tear your face, and break the tradition of the elegant gentleman of Great Britain, after all, Garion can't show his attitude, and say to this group of literati directly, "I'm sorry, you literary workers in London are all rubbish in my eyes." ”

The poetry caused widespread controversy in the London literary and artistic circles, and the content of the controversy was naturally that Garrian angrily denounced the literary and artistic workers, and originally thought that the war was limited to Frederick, but he did not expect to affect those who watched the excitement as well. In this way, others stopped doing it, just like the writers of the Republic of China period, they immediately criticized Garian's poetry. Suppressing newcomers is one of the favorite things the bigwigs do, and who doesn't want to see Garion grow in power and threaten their status in the literary world in the future.

Thus this game of verbal criticism became a collective denunciation of foreigners by London writers, who even saw it as a declaration of war against the Parisian literary and artistic scene, because Garion happened to be a writer who had fled to London from France. Since they represented the dignity of Great Britain, there was no reason to lose to a foreigner.

If it weren't for the fact that this place is called London, and looking at the Victorian architectural style, you really thought you had come to the hospitable town of Yanan?

And he came as a despicable outlander!!

All of a sudden, all kinds of articles belittling and satirizing Gallian emerged one after another, as if the jealous literati were drowning Garian in the indignation of the crowd with one mouthful of spit.

A week after the controversy, news of the controversy finally reached faraway Jersey.

Hugo and Jones regularly visit each other at their residence, and this time it was Jones who came from afar to bring the latest news to Hugo.

Just like the little freshmen who always like to set the location of WeChat as Jersey, they would never have thought that this humble island once hosted the great writer Hugo, who had been displaced.

The sea breeze was blowing on Jones's face, and he stood in the harbor of the island, watching the white waves crash against the harbor, and he carried his bag and walked towards his residence on the hill. I struggled over the moss-smoothed stone steps and admired the wildflowers blooming along the way. Jones came to a low white bungalow. The dwelling that blends with the white clouds seems to be a puffy cloud in a clear blue sky. Hugo, on the other hand, sat in a small courtyard with a wooden fence in his hand, painting colors on the canvas.

Hugo kept a low profile about his paintings, which he considered to be a dull pastime, an illusion inspired by inner anguish, an illusion that is difficult to capture with words, but which is remembered at the moment of waving his hand.

In 1957, the French surrealist painter Breton described in "The Art of Magic": "In this field, the final decisive painting should belong to a non-professional painter, who has already used the brush and pen ink to fix the vertigo and explore his subconscious, the author of the unappreciated ink painting, ink stain painting and unbridled imagination, is a man of letters, his name is Victor Hugo." ”

Standing in front of Jones, it was as if he was a great painter who had been delayed by literature. If Hugo had chosen art at the beginning, I am afraid that he can be seen frequently in official salon activities now.

After a long time, he stood with some numb legs before he whispered, "Your Excellency Hugo." ”

Hugo hurriedly turned around, he saw Jones standing behind him, watching himself draw for a long time in a muffled voice, and then he reacted and said, "Oh, it's Lord Jones, I'm sorry, I was too absorbed just now, did I make you wait for a long time." ”

Jones waved his hand, signaling that it didn't matter, he took out two bottles of wine from the bag, and said to him with a smile, "It's okay, I came to visit His Excellency Hugo today, and I specially brought a friend to send a red wine from Bordeaux, would Your Excellency Hugo want a glass?" ”

Hugo smiled knowingly at the wine of his hometown, patted Jones on the shoulder and said, "It's really a timely rain, and this desolate island is going crazy for me." Come, dear Jones, and stay for dinner. ”

Hugo hurriedly put down his painting tools and beckoned Jones into the house, to be honest, he was also curious about how things were going in London recently.

After all, his daughter Aldai went to London alone.

Jones, who had come all the way from London, told Hugo what had happened in London, the story of a brave literati from Paris who was in trouble defending the French revolutionary Blanqui, and the rampant bourgeois liberal thinkers and writers attacked him violently.

Jones hated these bastards who advocated and shouted for the bourgeoisie, openly advocated and defended the interests of the big capitalists, and was content with eating steamed buns with human blood.

It fully proves that the sentence is not the right way, and the more knowledge there is, the more reactionary it is.

As early as 1858, under the encouragement and coaxing of the bourgeois literati, Jones made a mistake and openly reached a compromise with the bourgeois radicals. Severely criticized by Marx, Marx severed relations with Jones. By 1859, the National Chartist Association had ceased its activities altogether, and the newspaper had passed into the hands of the liberal bourgeoisie. Instead of a victory, Jones was forced to leave London and move to Manchester, where he returned to his old career as a lawyer.

At the beginning of 1860, Jones openly admitted his mistake and reconciled himself with Marx and Engels. He established a political coalition of Chartist veterans in Manchester and resumed agitation for universal suffrage.

Hugo poured Jones a cup of tea and listened slowly to him. It's been a long time since he's seen a junior who insists so much on justice and fairness.

He publicly published a poem refuting the literati in London, but the poem was met with a collective bombardment. The damned literati don't see anything to do with the working class and the revolution, for them these are a thorn in their eyes, a thorn in their throat. ”

"I see myself in him as if I were a fearless warrior in battle—to meet his fate in the midst of bullets, or to fall and die, or to live and win, because he is a fighter for democracy." I issued a statement in support of his article, but I was not besieged by the big capitalists, and in the end it ended in nothing. ”

Hugo took the newspaper from Jones's hand, and after a quick glance at the week's contents, he got a rough idea of what was going on in faraway London. Although Trotsky's poetry is not very well written, the metaphors are very subtle and do not stick to form, which is rare and valuable. After reading "Dead Water" silently, he even showed an appreciative smile. It reminded him of the newcomer named Garion that Gautier had mentioned to him, and even the style was familiar.

However, what followed made Hugo's smile slowly disappear from his face, especially when he saw that Mr. "Trotsky", who was also a Parisian literati, became the object of condemnation by the British literati, and he could no longer hold back the anger in his heart.

Are these Brits really bullying us French?

And while scolding Gallián again, these people also belittled French literature by the way, thus directly expanding the front.

For Hugo, who insisted on a democratic republic, it was tantamount to a challenge to the dignity of French literature.

Hugo slapped the table angrily, and when he saw that the literati who had done justice for the revolutionaries had been condemned by London, he was furious.

Even because the other party was French, he felt that he needed to help the young man this time.

Otherwise, it really makes the British think that the French are not good?

Hugo said indignantly, "I'm so angry that a group of English literati are besieging a weak French writer in London? Truly I, the leader of the literati in Paris, do not exist! It's too much! Who do they think they are? Representing the mainstream of English literature? ”

Jones hurriedly admonished him to sit down first, then patted Hugo on the back and said, "Eliminate the gas, eliminate the gas, Your Excellency Hugo." You don't have to be like them. ”

Hugo turned his head and retorted in a firm tone.

"What general knowledge, do these London bastards really think they can ride on our heads and show off their might? Inexistent. It just so happens that I've been idle lately anyway, and they want to argue, and I'll be with them to the end! ”

Jones slapped his thigh in annoyance, he felt that he had done something wrong, and now he could no longer persuade Hugo, if Hugo joined the debate as the leader of the literati in Paris, he was afraid that the London literary and artistic circles would set off another bloody storm.

His guess was not wrong, and sure enough, Hugo said resolutely, "At least I want them to know why France is the center of European literature and art!" ”