Shadow of great britain

The snowflakes outside the car window slapped the glass like falling salt.

Yakovlev took out a silver snuff bottle from the inner bag of the mink coat, and the crisp opening and closing sound was particularly clear in the confined space.

"I still remember it was the winter of 1812, and I followed Marshal Kutuzov to meet you British observers in Borodino." The old man suddenly said in pure French, his fingertips twisting dark brown tobacco: " Those gentlemen in scarlet uniforms always like to write and draw on the edge of the battlefield, like ravens surrounded by carrion."

Arthur's knuckles tightened slightly in the deerskin gloves. The scent of ambergris and vodka was floating in the carriage, which smelled quite a bit of gunpowder, which reminded him of the London Night in 1832.

The old noble's glasses glowed coldly in the shadows, like the barrel aiming at his heart.

"The son is a rare idealist." Arthur responded in Russian, deliberately increasing the pronunciation of the word "ideal": "It has thoughts and feelings, just like the oak tree in Pushkin's writing that he does not want to bow to the blizzard."

"Oak tree?" Yakovlev suddenly burst out with a hoarse laugh, as if he had heard some exquisite joke: "In Russia, only Baihua knows when to bend down. Nine years ago, a group of young nobles were I vowed to be Brutus of Russia in front of the gate of the Winter Palace. But what happened? The one with the worst luck among the group lost their heads, and the others were either in the Caucasus or in Siberia. And the one with the best luck, It's the guy you mentioned who writes oak trees every day."

Arthur avoided talking about this, and he took a different approach and wanted to start from another direction: "I heard that you have a friendship with Napoleon?"

It can be seen that Yakovlev was quite proud of that experience. Although he didn't say it, he fooled Arthur and said, "What, do you have a friendship with Napoleon?"

"That's not. I was only 6 years old when Napoleon was defeated by Waterloo. At this age, I can't even be called a young boy. It's probably only his son, King Roman, who can attract Napoleon's attention in this age group."

Yakovlev showed a 'I think so'' expression, but Arthur's words changed his attitude in a flash.

Arthur spoke, "But I do have some friendship with Napoleon's nephew Louis Bonaparte."

"Lui Bonaparte?" Yakovlev thought for a moment: "Are you talking about Jerome's son, or..."

"Not Jerome's son, but Napoleon's other brother, the son of the King of the Netherlands, and his grandmother was Napoleon's ex-wife Josephine."

"Ah..." Yakovlev suddenly realized: "It turned out to be him, the boy who brought his uncle's coffin back to Paris from Saint Helena?"

Arthur pretended to be surprised and said, "So you know this too?"

Yakovlev poured the snuff powder on the back of his hand, rubbed it gently with his thumb, and slowly sucked it in: "I made many friends in Paris back then, but I have never broken contact with them until now. Napoleon was buried in the House of Invalides in Paris It's a big deal, it's strange if they don't tell me."

Arthur solemnly took out paper and pen from his top pocket: "Do you have any impression of Napoleon?"

Yakovlev rubbed his nose and said, "Are you a worshiper of Napoleon?"

"Not count." Arthur opened his notebook: "But you may have heard that I am very interested in history and is also a writer. To be honest, I am planning to write a book about the Napoleonic Wars recently."

"I deserve to be a student of Daramo." Yakovlev looked as if he was right: "I knew you were a complete British Whig, you could simply be considered the kind of guy in the British Jacobin. Thank God, he was born in England. If it were in Russia, you would probably be in the Caucasus now, not in Moscow."

"So you also know I'm a British man, and it's no big deal to talk to me about Napoleon."

"Of course you can talk about Napoleon, but I have a condition." Yakovlev stared at Arthur with his eyes tightly, as if he was sure whether he had lie: "I want you to assure me that I will be far away from my son in the future a little."

"Your son?" Arthur jokingly said, "But I heard you are a bachelor, not married, and not even a son."

"Young man, don't be fooled with me." Yakovlev looked gloomy: "You know who I am talking about. Besides, not getting married does not mean there are no children, and the same is true for your idol Napoleon."

Arthur's eyes shone in the shadows: "When I was in Paris, I saw a document. When the coalition forces entered Paris in 1814, Tsar Alexander I personally drafted a list of pardons, this list of pardons There is a row of special care columns in it. Since there is only one person in this column, I was quite impressed. If I remember correctly, the name is Ivan Alexeyevich Yakovlev. The same name as you."

The old nobleman suddenly stopped his movement of twisting the tobacco, and the lid of the snuff bottle made a crisp click. The carriage ran over the frozen road, the carriage swayed slightly, and the light and shadow cast by the sun split into ravines with light and darkness on his face: "You have a good memory. How did you see that list?"

Arthur said in an understatement: "You know, there are always some privileges for historians."

"But you are a natural philosopher, not a historian."

"But I don't think so. In this regard, I am like Mr. Faraday. Mr. Faraday was originally famous in the academic world as a chemist, but because of an electromagnetic induction, everyone now thinks he is an electromagnetic scientist. , so much so that he forgot his contribution to the field of chemistry.”

Yakovlev finally compromised: "That was more than 20 years ago. The French entered Moscow. My family and I were slow to set off and didn't have time to enter the city. Escape from here, so he was trapped in the city. However, although Napoleon occupied the place, he was happy for a short time, and the city caught fire one after another. The fire was so red that it was even the Governor's Mansion. It became a sea of ​​fire.

In order to put out the fire, the French recruited men from the whole city, and I was naturally among them. After completing the duties of the fire chief, I encountered a team of Italian cavalry near the Monastery of Christ's Passion. I looked for their captain and told him about his family's situation in Italian. The Italians heard the kind language of the motherland, so they promised to report my situation to Marshal Mortier, Duke of Trevitz. ”

"So you saw Napoleon?"

Yakovlev nodded and said, "Napoleon was short of a messenger at that time. He wanted to send someone to Petersburg to upload a message to the emperor, but he could not find someone who could trust both sides, and I just met this condition."

Arthur asked with interest: "What did he say to you at that time?"

"At first it was some ordinary language, incoherent sentences and simple arguments. Then Napoleon scolded Rostupchin for the fire, who thought it was immoral to set fire in the city before evacuating Moscow, and claimed that it was unethical. It was barbaric. Napoleon, as usual, tried his best to convince people that he was infinitely peaceful. He explained that his battlefield was in England, not in Russia, and boasted that he had sent troops to protect the orphanage and the Assumption of the Virgin. Church. He complained that our Emperor Alexander was deceived by bad people and did not understand his willingness to be peaceful."

Arthur almost couldn't hold back his eyes and laughed out loud: "Napoleon, the title of Peace Angel is indeed more suitable for him than the Emperor of France."

Yakovlev sarcastically said, "You are right. The open and honest Hastings is also suitable for you."

Arthur scratched his nose: "Sorry, it's really impolite to interrupt someone, you keep going."

"I asked Napoleon to give me a pass so that my family and I could leave Moscow. Napoleon was extremely reluctant at first and said something he had ordered not to issue a pass to anyone. But we all know, that It was his usual negotiation method. When I asked him hard, he pretended to think and suggested that if I helped him deliver a letter to Petersburg, I would let my family and I leave Moscow."

Speaking of this, Yakovlev did not forget to tease Napoleon: "I still remember the envelope that says - to my brother, Emperor Alexander."

Arthur wrote down this passage in his notebook, muttering: "It is common for brothers and feet to be slaughtered, especially when competing for family property. It is human nature to Napoleon do this."

Yakovlev stared at him: "It seems that you do have the ability to be a historian. At least from this sentence, you at least have the qualities of a historian to turn black and white."

Arthur closed the notebook: "This is also the basic quality of being a diplomat."

"That's right." Yakovlev nodded, "I hope my little Alexander can learn this from you, rather than some bullshit liberal thought."

"Everyone has their own ambitions, and you can't force some things." Arthur replied with a smile, "Besides, you just asked me to stay away from him."

"That's because you're a Whig, and if you're a Tory, I'd be glad he could make friends with you, because aside from harmful liberalism, I must admit that you're a very Outstanding person.”

Arthur shrugged, "Maybe you should take your words to the reporters on Fleet Street, they all said I am a complete royalist."

"You? Royalist?" Yakovlev thought Arthur was joking: "The British are indeed not resistant to freezing. The weather is so warm today, but it doesn't prevent you from being so cold."

Arthur did not explain much, he just spoke with facts: "You should probably go to Marquis of Bina or Baron Dentes of Petersburg, and listen to me among these French royalists. What is your reputation? If you have liberal eyes, even if you are standing in front of you, you will still feel that he intends to put his head on the guillotine himself."

No mistakes, one song, one content, one in 6, one book, one bar, one reading!

Yakovlev was skeptical: "Although I don't know Marquis of Bina and Baron Deters, I have a good relationship with Count Kansona. He served in the Russian army as a French exile and participated as a Russian lieutenant general. He had a battle with Napoleon. His son is currently in Moscow. If you were lying to me before, I would advise you to take back that sentence."

Arthur was afraid that he would not verify: "As you said, Arthur Hastings has always been open and honest. I am not the kind of person who talks about running a train."

"Master!" The coachman suddenly tightened the reins, and the four Pidon hippos neighed and raised their front hooves.

Through the frosted car windows, you can see black smoke rising from the direction of Negrenaiya Street, and the flames are licking the spire of the St. Nicholas's bell tower.

Arthur subconsciously clamped the Colt revolver on his waist, and the silver-plated gun handle refracted cold light under the coat.

Yakovlev looked at the fire outside the window, and in a daze he remembered the Moscow fire in 1812: "Take a detour! Take the Arbat Street!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, and he noticed the gray coat shaking around the fire scene, and the Moscow police were dispersing the onlookers.

As the carriage turned into Tver Avenue, three black carriages roared past them.

"Stop!" Yakovlev suddenly shouted. Before the servant wearing a bear fur cloak could stop the carriage, the old noble had already jumped into the snow.

In front of the door of the mansion, the butler was walking back and forth in a gold-edged triangular hat. The heraldry on the brim was covered with mud and snow, as if he had just picked it up from the ground.

He saw Yakovlev coming and staggered and fell to his knees on the snow.

"Master, young master..." The butler's voice was torn to pieces by the north wind.

Arthur walked slowly off the carriage, and his deerskin boots ran over the frozen pebbles.

He bent down and picked up the half-covered gilded pocket watch in the snow, and there was an emerald pendant engraved with the Hercen family's emblem on his bracelet.

When the British gentleman pushed open the cover with his thumb, he found that the hour hand was stopped at 3:17 - it was the time they left the court.

"General Volkov brought people in person." The housekeeper trembled and handed over a letter covered with the gendarmerie headquarters: "They said they wanted to ask the young master to assist in the investigation of the case..."

The old nobleman raised his cane and smashed the alabaster image on the porch, and the splashed pieces almost cut through the back of his hand: "What did you say!"

Yakovlev's cane was heavily penetrated into the snow, and the carved silver handle was shining with cold light in the twilight.

Outside the cast iron fence at Herzen's residence not far from next door, six military policemen were throwing boxes of documents into carriages, and the parchment flew in the cold wind like a dying white dove.

"Stop!" Yakovlev's mink cloak drifted deep in the snow, and he scolded in German mixed with Berlin accent: "Who gives you the power to search your private residence?"

The lieutenant of the military police turned around slowly, and he raised the document covered with the double-headed eagle and almost poked the nose of the old nobleman: "After the order written by the director of the Third Bureau, Earl Benkendorf, searched Herzen Ogaliaf The group's secret den."

Arthur's deerskin boots silently ran through the ice edges, and his eyes swept through the scattered documents—the bundles of "Moscow Telecommunications", "History of the French Revolution", and "The Cataclysm of the Earth's Surface" were all thrown on the snow.

"Secret den?" Arthur suddenly interrupted in a pure Petersburg accent: "I think your country's youth discussing St. Simonism is like a British gentleman talking about the weather, which can it be considered a crime?"

The lieutenant's pupils suddenly contracted. He recognized the Anna medal ribbon ring with Arthur's collar, but he still stubbornly raised his chin: "Our internal affairs are not something outsiders can ask for comments, sir. It's you..."

Before he could finish his words, the sound of glass shattering suddenly came from the second floor of the mansion.

Through the broken bay window, two gendarmes were seen smashing open the cherry wood bookcase with their butts. Although they couldn't see what books they took from the bookcase, Arthur clearly remembered that there was a gold-burned cover in the bookcase. Social Contract Theory and "Memoirs of the December Party".