The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1297: Chapter 170: Fourth-Rank Civil Servant Lord Hei_3

But Shubinsky didn’t really mind Arthur’s impropriety; he was still savoring the explicit and implied meanings in Arthur’s words, and for a moment, he even forgot today’s tasks.

Shubinsky murmured to himself while holding his wine glass: “My Lord! A Fourth Rank Civil Servant Hastings, a serf making it to Fourth Rank Civil Servant… No matter how you look at it, it just feels absurd…”

…

Just as Shubinsky was still immersed in the shock that the Tsar might award a ‘Order of Saint Vladimir’ to a York serf, the joint event between Moscow University and the University of Gottingen in a second-floor box of the theater was still pushing towards its climax.

And all of this was thanks to the sudden appearance of a Frenchman.

The absence of a female companion made Mr. Great Dumas appear particularly desolate in the theater, but fortunately, the young people’s stories about the Napoleonic Wars filled the void in his heart.

“When Napoleon reached Moscow, my father was still tidying up here and there, always dawdling and never straightforward. After finally arranging everything, the carriage was at the door. My father and uncles hurried to have breakfast, when suddenly a servant rushed into the dining hall and reported anxiously: Trouble! The enemy has already entered Dragomilov Gate!

Everyone was taken aback, their hearts cold. In their hearts, everyone prayed: My heavens! God bless! At this moment, everyone was in a panic, chaotic. When they ran to the street, they saw Napoleon’s Dragon Cavalry galloping around, wearing steel helmets with horse tails raised behind them. All the gates were closed, my dad could only leave it to fate, and I was unlucky too. At that time, I was still in swaddling clothes, being fed by my nurse Darya.

The first few days after the French soldiers entered the city were still quite passable; sometimes two or three soldiers would come in, gesturing to ask if there’s any wine. The servants at home routinely poured each of them a cup, which they drank and then left, saluting as they did. But then a fire broke out in the city, burning fiercer and fiercer, the city became chaotic, with looting and various disasters occurring.

I heard my nanny say, our family was living in the side room of Miss Mescherskaya’s house at that time, and that building caught fire too. Then my uncle advised us: ‘Let’s go to my house; my house is made of stone, has a deep courtyard, and sturdy walls.’ We went, masters and servants walking together, as at that time no one cared about ranks anymore.

When the family reached Tver Alley, the trees in the armor area were already on fire. Finally, we arrived at the Golokhvastov house, and upon looking, the building was engulfed in thick smoke, with tongues of fire darting from all the windows. My uncle was stunned, couldn’t believe his eyes. Behind that house we found a large garden; we made a detour there, thinking it was somewhat safer.

We sat on a bench feeling worried, when suddenly a group of drunken soldiers came rushing out of nowhere. My uncle wore a large travel robe at the time, and one of the soldiers lunged forward, wanting to strip him of the robe; the old man refused, so the soldier pulled out a short sword and slashed his face, leaving a scar that remained even till his dying day.

The other soldiers turned on us; one of them snatched me from the nanny’s arms, untied the swaddle, looking for bills or diamonds inside, found nothing. My nanny Aldamonovna would gnash her teeth and curse when recounting this part: ‘That damn rogue just tore the wrapping to pieces and threw it on the ground. Right after they left, a new upheaval occurred.’

We had a servant named Platon, who was later sent to the army. He was an extreme drinker, causing a ruckus that day with a sword hanging at his waist, wandering everywhere. Apparently, the day before the enemy entered the city, Count Rostopchin had opened the arsenal and distributed weapons to everyone; Platon managed to get hold of a sword. That evening, Platon saw a Dragon Cavalryman ride into our family’s courtyard; there was a horse in the stable, which the cavalryman wanted to lead away.

But Platon leaped in front of him, grabbed his reins and said: ‘The horse is ours, we won’t give it to you.’ The Dragon Cavalryman raised a handgun to intimidate him, but apparently the gun wasn’t loaded. My father was also there at the time, seeing this, he hurriedly shouted at Platon: ‘Give him the horse, this is none of your business.’

But Platon, being hot-blooded, completely ignored my father and drew his sword, slashing at the Dragon Cavalryman’s head. The cavalryman staggered but didn’t fall, so Platon swung a few more hard chops. At that moment, everyone thought that this was it; once the cavalryman’s companions found out, we’d be doomed.

Yet Platon was completely fearless; as soon as the cavalryman fell, he grabbed his foot and dragged the poor guy into a swamp pit, throwing him there—it turns out he wasn’t dead yet. The cavalryman’s horse stood aside, unmoving, kicking up dirt with its hooves, seemingly understanding what was happening. We locked it in the stable, and later it was probably burnt to death there.

Everyone quickly fled the courtyard as the fire grew more terrifying. Exhausted and hungry, we found a house not yet burning and took refuge inside. Not even an hour passed when one of ours was shouting from the street: ‘Get out fast, out! Fire’s started again!’ My nanny immediately tore a piece of coarse canvas from the billiard table, wrapped me inside, lest I catch cold at night.

Thus, the nurse and nanny took me to Tver Square, where the French were fighting the fire because their officers lived in the Governor’s residence. We simply sat on the street corner, watching patrol soldiers pass by, some walking, others on horseback. I was crying desperately at that time, due to the nurse’s lack of milk and no bread even to be found.

At that time, our maid Constantinovna was also with us; she saw a group of soldiers eating by the corner of the wall, and approached them holding me, gesturing that the child needed food. Initially, the soldiers were fierce, shouting at her: ‘Allay, Allay!’ Constantinovna cursed them: ‘You executioners still blabbering about.’

The soldiers, not understanding, laughed heartily and gave me a piece of soaked bread, also giving her a piece. In the early morning the next day, an officer came running, and took all the men away, including my father, leaving only the women and the injured uncle. They were taken to surrounding houses to fight fires, leaving us alone again till the evening, sitting there crying incessantly…”