At ten in the morning, despite his low spirits, Lionel tidied himself up and once again took a carriage to the district where The Nineteenth Century Magazine's editorial office was located.
The difference was, this time he had negotiated the price beforehand.
The editorial office was in a rather respectable-looking Georgian building near Fleet Street.
Unlike the noisy and dirty world outside, the interior of the building was quiet and orderly.
The heavy doors, sealed windows, and ubiquitous incense made the air inside sweet, stuffy, and hot.
Harold Thompson, a solidly built man with a thick beard, was very enthusiastic: "My dear Lionel! Welcome to London!
Was your journey smooth?"
Thompson gripped Lionel's hand firmly, speaking French even more fluently than in his letter.
Lionel forced a smile: "Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Everything is fine, except the air needs a little time to get used to."
Thompson laughed heartily at this: "Ah, yes, our 'pea-souper' (referring to the London fog) is famous!
But it also nurtures our unique spirit, doesn't it?"
Lionel: "..." Was this a case of being proud of the smell, developing feelings for it?
After exchanging pleasantries, Thompson eagerly led Lionel to the nearby Savile Club.
This club was known for its members mostly coming from the fields of literature, art, and academia, making it slightly more 'new-wave' and 'artistic' than the traditional political and military clubs.
The club's interior decoration was typical English gentleman style:
Dark wood paneling, heavy leather sofas, walls full of books and portraits.
The air was filled with the scent of cigars, old books, and shoe polish.
Thompson introduced Lionel to several members present, including a famous historian, a poet, and the editor of the Bi-Weekly Review.
Everyone offered a polite welcome to his arrival.
The conversation was mainly in English, with occasional French interjections.
Although Lionel's spoken English was fluent, his pronunciation carried an American accent, quite different from "Queen's English" or "Oxford accent."
While the gentlemen praised his language ability, some couldn't help but say:
"Your pronunciation... is quite unique, it seems to carry a certain... sprightliness from across the Atlantic, did you study in America?"
This small interlude did not significantly affect the atmosphere, but it did make Lionel feel the subtle sense of superiority among the British elite.
——————
The lunch provided by the Savile Club was distinctly British—the main course was roasted lamb chops, bacon, black pudding, and fried beef kidneys, with creamed mushrooms and mashed potatoes as side dishes, and buttered white bread rolls and toasted bread with marmalade as staples.
The focus was on large portions, filling, and plenty of oil and meat.
After lunch and a short rest, Thompson took Lionel to the editorial office of Good Words magazine.
Dr. Macleod, the editor-in-chief of Good Words, was a kind and amiable elder, dressed in a clerical robe, with gentle eyes.
Upon meeting, Dr. Macleod enthusiastically praised hometown and my uncle jules:
"Mr. Sorel, the melancholy for lost time and the depiction of the 'thick barrier' between people in hometown deeply moved me.
my uncle jules, on the other hand, is so sharp yet so compassionate; the questions it raises are worth deep thought by all of us."
Next, both parties entered into substantive discussions.
Dr. Macleod was indeed interested in reprinting these two works in Good Words and inquired about the possibility of serializing the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button.
When discussing royalties, Dr. Macleod's offer was: "Considering these are reprints and not first publications, we are willing to pay 6 pounds per thousand words for hometown and my uncle jules.
For the serialization of the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button, if the response is good, we can refer to a similar standard."
Lionel quickly calculated in his mind.
6 pounds was roughly equivalent to 150 francs; a thousand words translated into French standard lines was about 80 to 90 lines.
This meant a royalty of over 1.5 francs per line—which was actually slightly higher than his first publication royalty in France!
No wonder Mr. Zola had mentioned more than once that for a writer to get rich, he must conquer England and Russia!
The generosity of the British market was well-deserved!
Lionel did not hesitate too much; after a little bargaining, he agreed: "Thank you very much for your generosity, Dr. Macleod!"
Dr. Macleod was very pleased and then added: "Mr. Sorel, if you have works written directly in English in the future, and are willing to 'first publish' them in Good Words...
We can offer more competitive prices, 8 pounds per thousand words or even higher, are negotiable."
This proposal stirred something in Lionel's heart.
Writing directly in English, bypassing the translation process, would not only earn him higher royalties but also allow him to directly enter the English market.
This was currently the largest reader market in the world, if not the largest.
Lionel nodded: "I will consider it—just like Mr. Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days?"
Everyone laughed.
Jules Verne was French, but the protagonist of Around the World in Eighty Days was British.
Although this novel was not "tailored" for the British market and was full of stereotypes about "British gentlemen," it was still extremely popular in England.
The English translation of Around the World in Eighty Days was published only two months after the French version, and less than a year later, the Princess's Theatre in London premiered an adapted play.
This play featured numerous stage spectacles, simulating scenes such as "steamboats," "trains," "Indian temples," "American railways," and "blizzards," not only causing a sensation in London but also touring Manchester, Liverpool, and Edinburgh.
It had over 200 performances, setting a record for British stage plays at the time.
If Lionel could create such an "English novel," Dr. Macleod would certainly not mind raising the price per thousand words to 10 pounds.
After an afternoon of conversation and a three-tiered afternoon tea consisting of scones, fancy cakes, and Manchester tarts, Lionel shook hands with Dr. Macleod and bid him farewell.
Walking out of the Good Words editorial office, he felt that the main purpose of his trip had not only been successfully achieved but had even exceeded his expectations.
——————
Declining Harold Thompson's invitation to stay in England for a few more days, Lionel returned to the "Bedford" hotel early.
He now only wanted to escape the foul-smelling London as soon as possible and return to the not-so-foul-smelling Paris.
But perhaps it was due to travel fatigue, or perhaps the poor air and water quality in London, or perhaps the humid and changeable climate...
The evening he returned from the Good Words editorial office, he felt a dry, sore throat, intermittent chills, and a heavy head.
Lionel initially didn't pay much attention, thinking he was just tired. He drank some hot water provided by the hotel and went to bed early.
But when he woke up the next day, the situation took a turn for the worse.
He felt a splitting headache, aching muscles all over, and shivered with cold, even wrapping himself in thick blankets did no good.
He felt his forehead; it was burning hot.
He struggled to get up, rang the bell for the hotel's attendant, and in a weak voice, asked them to quickly find Mr. Thompson, the editor-in-chief of The Nineteenth Century Magazine.
As soon as he finished speaking, Lionel fainted...