The Shadow of Great Britain

504: Chapter 268: The King’s Power (4K6) 504: Chapter 268: The King’s Power (4K6) Louis stood by the window watching Becky Sharp with her skirt lifted and umbrella open, disappearing around the bustling street corner By the time he regained his senses, he turned around to see Arthur bent over a desk, drawing and writing something.

Louis leaned in to have a look and saw that the manuscript was neither the latest issue of the “Hastings Case Files” nor a paper on electrics that Faraday had been urging Arthur to submit, but a swordsmanship manual complete with diagrams and descriptive text.

Louis chuckled and joked from the wall, “Look at this, Arthur, an encyclopedic scholar, a modern-day Aristotle!

Are you now not only content with leaving a mark in the literary and scientific world but also planning to conquer the field of swordsmanship?

Aren’t you a bit too knowledgeable?”

Louis’s jest did not stop Arthur from continuing his writing.

His explanation even came forth with ease.

“Although I don’t think I can compare myself to Aristotle, it does not stop me from quoting his famous words: ‘People think I am intelligent, but I know nothing.’ I’m not doing this because I am very smart, but because it is His Majesty the King’s command.”

“That day at the theater, to cheer up His Majesty the King, the Duke of Wellington was persuading him to promote the martial spirit from his early years in the Royal Navy, leveraging resources at his disposal to revise and compile basic swordsmanship for the Royal Navy, Army, and police forces.

Initially, with the Angelo brothers, both Swordsmanship Masters from Britain in the box, it wasn’t my place to speak.”

“But perhaps it was because we released too much liquid carbon dioxide in the theater that day, which muddled His Majesty’s mind.

Or maybe because he valued my experience at Scotland Yard, thinking I, an active police officer, had more experience with street brawls.

Either way, I have now become one of the drafters of the ‘Basic Training Swordsmanship for Police Forces’.”

“So, this is why you can’t rest even if you are on sick leave?”

Upon hearing this, Louis Bonaparte couldn’t help but laugh, jokingly saying, “The King’s command?

If you really don’t want to do it, why not simply find an excuse to refuse?

After all, in Britain, Parliament has the final say, and we policemen are not like judges who need the King’s approval to take office.

Wouldn’t it be enough not to offend the Home Secretary?”

Upon hearing this, Arthur put down his pen, stretched, and said, “Perhaps the King of Britain really doesn’t have as much power as the King of France, and certainly not as much as the Tsar of Russia to act autocratically, but if you really disregard His Majesty the King, you will soon regret it.

Louis, you should not take everything written in the newspapers of other European countries seriously.”

“The people who wildly praise Britain may not truly understand this small island; most are merely venting dissatisfaction with their own countries by praising others.

In this regard, Mr.

Heine whom we met before is a classic example.

You’ve been reading his books lately; how much of his praise for France do you think is genuine?”

Upon hearing this, Louis recalled some of Heine’s famous phrases and couldn’t help but frown slightly.

Heine’s praise for France was indeed something Louis, a descendant of Napoleon’s family, appreciated.

But what he couldn’t tolerate was that Heine not only praised Napoleon’s France but also often sang praises for the current French July Monarchy.

Heine even characterized his decision to move to Paris from Dusseldorf after the July Revolution as ‘leaving the muddy marshes to breathe fresh air amongst the woods.’

To vividly illustrate his attitude towards this pilgrimage-like move, Heine also told Arthur and Louis a little story about his move.

When Heine reached a small seaside town in northwest France, he suddenly saw many peasant carts slowly moving along the road, with many women, children, and elderly on them, while the men walked slowly alongside; surprisingly, they were all speaking German.

Heine claimed, “At that moment, I felt an intense spasm, a sensation I had never experienced before.

My blood rushed to my ventricles, pounding against my ribs, as if it were about to burst out of my chest, as if it had to rush out immediately.

My breath stuck in my throat.

Indeed, what I encountered was my homeland itself.”

In Germany, Heine often furiously criticized the inherent mediocrity and lack of spine in Germans through newspapers and magazines.

His move to France was also to escape his stale homeland.

Yet, when he encountered this group of people speaking the same language as himself in a foreign land, covered in dust, sharing less than a pound of black bread among over a dozen people to stave off hunger, he said, “This scene moved me painfully.

Suffering abroad, tasting hardship, seeing my homeland in difficulties, all such memories dissipated from my mind.

Even its shortcomings suddenly seemed respectable and dear to me.

I even made peace with its shallow and narrow opinions.

I shook hands with it, with every farmer who came from Germany as if I were reconciling with my homeland itself.”