The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1202: Chapter 135: Heine’s Patriotism (3)

”Of course not.” Arthur replied with a smile: ”If I really wanted to report, why would I let you know?”

Heine was about to say something, but suddenly his eyes sharply caught sight of the file in Arthur’s hand: ”What are you looking at? It’s not materials to report me, is it?”

”Nothing.” Arthur’s words dispelled Heine’s doubts: ”If I really wanted to catch you, why bother writing a report letter, I would have already acted now.”

He naturally stood up and began organizing the files on the desk: ”Do you remember I mentioned to you that friend who was drifting in South America? This is a letter he wrote to me, describing some reptiles he discovered in South America.”

”Oh! Charles Darwin?”

Heine’s eyes lit up as he said: ”The author of the ’Beagle Voyage Diary’? That’s quite a good read, though it doesn’t have literary merit, it’s very enjoyable to read. To be honest, among the serialized works of the ’British lads’, this is my favorite.”

Arthur laughed and put the file back into the drawer: ”Heinrich, saying that is disrespectful to the author of ’Flowers of Evil’. Have you forgotten Eld Carter?”

”Damn! Indeed, there’s Carter! His poetry is truly wicked, decadent, death, corruption, forbidden love, pain, constantly offending social morals and public order!”

Heine spoke of Carter with great respect: ”Whether in terms of technique or theme, Carter is a genius figure. It’s just a pity those vulgar people cannot understand Carter’s greatness, even Carter himself dared only to publish ’Flowers of Evil’ anonymously, and Britain’s book committee seriously put this poetry collection on the banned list, it’s really ironic.”

Arthur originally just wanted to divert Heine’s attention, but upon hearing Heine’s evaluation of Eld, the high-species pride forced him to ask back: ”If you really think this poetry collection is so outstanding, why don’t you write one on the same theme?”

”Come on! That’s what I admire about Carter, he actually dared to write those things down on paper!”

Heine praised: ”I don’t have his guts, what’s unacceptable in Britain, probably won’t have many people in France and Germany that can accept it. Not to mention, if I actually wrote such a poetry collection, my uncle would probably sever all ties with me.”

”Uncle?” Arthur recalled: ”Oh, I remembered, that big banker in Hamburg, Mr. Solomon Heine. Although you didn’t sway your two sisters, I remember he seems to have continued to support you over the years, right?”

”To be precise, it was until July of this year he was supporting me. But, since he heard I accepted a government subsidy from France, he cut off that funding.”

”Hmm?” Arthur asked: ”Your uncle is also a patriot for Germany?”

”Ha...” Heine smirked: ”He’s just afraid too deep a connection with me would affect his business. You must understand, among those who do the banking profession, there aren’t many patriots.”

”Then what about your father?”

”My father? My father most likely wouldn’t care if I wrote on that theme, he might even laugh heartily, pat his son’s shoulder saying, the little guy from the Heine family has grown up. But unfortunately, that lively man passed away four years ago.”

Heine turned the chair backward and lay on the backrest, revealing a nostalgic look in his eyes: ”Actually, part of the reason why I would go to live in Britain during that period was to commemorate him. During the early Napoleonic Wars, he served in the Kingdom of Hanover’s army. My family still holds a portrait of him from that time, where he wears the characteristic uniform of the King of England’s German legion.

He has a head of enviable, silky gold hair like Chinese silk, but he insisted on styling the long curls into a big bun, fixed with a small comb on top of his head, and powdering it white, I must say, it looked ridiculous.

But there was no way, the old man liked it, until the day he passed away, he was still asking people to powder his head. Yet this also matched his position within the Hanover military, he served as a quartermaster in Prince Ernst’s army. The Prussians generally called this position ’Flour Bug’.

Because he had such an experience, the old man bragged outside every day, about how close his relationship was with the Prince. He never had a doubt his whole life that Prince Ernst would absolutely not forget his old friend. But embarrassingly, even he could not explain why His Highness the Prince never sent anyone to find him.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh while resting his chin: ”Sounds like you almost became British, after all, many in the German legion moved to Britain later on. Foreign Office’s Mr. Schneider’s father came to Britain at that time.”

Heine shrugged: ”Who knows, life is sometimes so wonderful. After retiring, my father moved to Dusseldorf, and there he fell in love with my mother. But unfortunately, my father developed some bad habits during his military career, so my mother could only help him get rid of them bit by bit.”

”Like what?”

Heine counted on his fingers: ”There are quite a few. Maybe it’s from often mingling with the nobility, so my father got into the habit of engaging in sophisticated games, he liked sponsoring theatrical arts, or, okay, I’ll say it more bluntly, his true intention was to protect those actresses dedicated to this path. Moreover, he learned all the nobles’ hobbies of dog walking and horse breeding.

When he first came to Dusseldorf, my father was in business, he opened a satin shop. But his monthly income was less than what he spent. Before marrying my mother, he kept twelve sleek and plump steeds. But my mother warned him, if he wanted to marry her, he must sell those animals first. Because those beasts ate too much oats, yet returned nothing but horse manure.

He could only surrender in the face of love, initially selling the horses, then his coachman and hunting dogs were all sent away by my mother, only keeping the ugliest spotted hunting dog named Joli. However, the reason this dog was kept wasn’t because it was the most capable, but because it was the least capable among them.”

”Huh?” Arthur asked: ”Why keep this one?”

Heine recalled the childhood anecdotes, and the usually cold and venomous poet couldn’t help but laugh.

”Because Joli was obviously useless as a hound, so my mother thought father wouldn’t be able to take it hunting. My father initially found it by the doorstep, they exchanged meaningful looks, then father sighed: ’Ah, Joli.’ Joli wagged its tail sorrowfully and walked towards him.

At that moment, I thought, this dog is a flattering hypocrite. Facts proved my point, it was the only hound allowed to stay at home. Unfortunately, my father couldn’t discern its true nature. In the army, those nobility around him had no military seriousness or sense of honor, so he was always like this, focusing on appearance rather than courage.

But Joli couldn’t deceive forever, it lacked ability, relying on flattery to please its owner. One time my father saw his pet kicked, whining pathetically, he finally admitted with ill temper, this bastard pretended. Later, Joli developed mange, covered in lice, my mother insisted on drowning it, and my father could only comply, without objection.

So, you see, Arthur, the indifferent attitude people have towards sacrificing their four-legged pets, how different is it from the attitude kings have towards sacrificing their two-legged pets? Patriotism, what a laughable word, I’d rather be like those capable hounds chased away than like a hypocrite like Joli eventually drowned by its master.”