The Shadow of Great Britain

584: Chapter 296: Early Human Love Issues_2 584: Chapter 296: Early Human Love Issues_2 “I’m not bothered either,” Gladstone said with a self-deprecating smile, “In fact, I’ve been quite a failure this year.

I lost the party primary to a Jewish man, and at that time I felt rather unconvinced, but now it seems he had his reasons for defeating me.

Perhaps his manner of expression is a bit ostentatious, but at least he was much more practical than I in selecting his campaign’s policies.”

Catherine, seeing him so dejected, spoke up to comfort him, “William, don’t talk like that.

Do you remember our childhood?

You used to tell me: ‘One must always look up to something.’ Being realistic is good, yet I always felt that it’s synonymous with mediocrity.”

Gladstone chuckled, “Catherine, that wasn’t my saying, it was Kant’s.

And he didn’t just say that, he also said: ‘Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.’”

Catherine nodded, “I know it was Kant who said it, but you were the first to say it to me, and that’s enough.”

“Catherine…”

Gladstone looked at the beauty beside him and was momentarily distracted, “Thank… thank you, you are always so understanding.

Thanks to you, I feel much better now.

I…

I…”

Gladstone tried to continue, but his father’s admonition flashed through his mind.

He fell silent with his mouth half open, and seeing this, Catherine couldn’t help asking, “What’s wrong?

Do you feel unwell?”

“It’s nothing.”

Gladstone said with a smile, “Usually at social events, it is the gentlemen who accommodate the ladies.

But now it’s you who are taking care of my feelings, how could that be right?

I heard Mr.

Roseville say that you’re very fond of life in London, you enjoy the music, painting, architecture, and so on.

By the way, do you know the phonograph?

I just brought back a few records for the phonograph from London.

Although they don’t sound as good as live music, they’re enough to relieve worry and boredom.

I’ll have them sent over to you tomorrow.”

Catherine, hearing this, joyfully said, “Do you like listening to records too?

When the phonograph was just sold in London, my father sent someone to get one.

The problem is that we don’t have many records at home, just a few pieces.

Though they are beautiful to listen to, hearing them over and over every day, I’m almost fed up with them.”

“Is that so?

Seems like I’ve truly bought the right gift,” Gladstone said with a smile, “Which pianist’s music do you like?

Mendelssohn, Bart, Mozesales or Clementi?

Let me guess, it couldn’t be Hastings, could it?

Everyone says you are quiet, but I know underneath your composed exterior lies a passionate heart; Mr.

Hastings’s ‘The Bell’ is just right for you.”

Catherine replied with a smile, “William, you do understand me.

Of all the records I have at home, my favorite is indeed ‘The Bell.’ I spent one or two months learning it, but my playing is nowhere near as forceful and spirited as Mr.

Hastings’s.

Speaking of which, is Mr.

Hastings really planning to retire from piano?

He is still so young and has plenty of time to create more excellent music!”

At the mention of retirement, Gladstone couldn’t resist the urge to tease Catherine, responding, “Perhaps it’s because Mr.

Hastings met Chopin, yes?

You must have read the report of his farewell concert, haven’t you?

Mr.

Hastings said that in the presence of Chopin, he couldn’t muster the confidence to continue playing—if he couldn’t be the best, he’d rather step aside for more dazzling music stars.”

Catherine sighed, “What a romantic.

His musical career might have been brief, but it was nothing short of legendary.

His arrival was heralded with ‘The Bell,’ and a piece by Chopin ‘To Hastings’ became his swansong.

However, if Mr.

Hastings is no longer playing piano, what will he do for a living?

Such pianists typically start studying music at a very young age, which means apart from playing the piano, they can hardly look after themselves.

I truly hope the record of ‘The Bell’ brings him sufficient income, otherwise he’ll have to suffer hunger and cold.”

Gladstone suddenly remembered the scene when his father sent a large box of money to Arthur, choking on his thoughts for a moment.

He took a deep breath and replied, “Catherine, you’re as kind-hearted as ever.

But there’s no need to worry about Mr.

Hastings’s livelihood—he’s an oddity among musicians.

Playing the piano was just a passing interest; his main career is as a senior police officer at Scotland Yard, having just been assigned to Liverpool for a smuggling investigation.”

“A senior police officer?

Investigating smuggling?”

Catherine was initially startled, then she thought of something.

The young heiress widened her eyes and turned to look at the smoking room to her left, “Does that mean…”

“Yes,” Gladstone said with a wry smile, “that’s him in the smoking room.”

“My God!” Catherine covered her heaving chest, not sure whether she was excited or overwhelmed, “I have to go and tell Sophia and Vivian; they’d surely faint with joy.

William, did you know?

They both are fervent fans of Mr.

Hastings.”

Gladstone, puzzled, said, “It’s not hard for me to understand Mr.

Hastings having fans, but they shouldn’t be that fanatical, right?

As a pianist, his works are still too few for now.”

Catherine shook her head, “William, have you forgotten Sophia and Vivian’s interests?

Aside from music, they love Natural Philosophy, especially the newest and most cutting-edge fields.

They say Mr.

Hastings is not only a remarkable pianist but also a young master in the field of Electromagnetism.

He’s published several papers in the Royal Society journal, even co-authored with Mr.

Faraday.

With such achievements, can they not be fanatical?”