The Shadow of Great Britain

Capítulo 1365: Chapter 195: The Comedy Writer with Hemorrhoids and a Belly Full of Complaints

He inserted the quill back into the ink bottle, lifted the teapot, and as he poured the tea, began to speak: “A writer losing inspiration is indeed a big problem.”

Gogol, upon hearing this, became even angrier. He scoffed at Arthur’s words: “What do you mean by that? You speak as if you could write books too. Do you think writing a few official documents makes you a literary figure, someone who can make a living by the pen? Though it’s not humble to say, I must let you know that in the Petersburg circle, they call me the Alexander Dumas of Russia.”

“Pfft!”

Upon hearing this, Arthur spat out the tea he had just sipped all over Gogol’s face.

He hurriedly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe Gogol’s waistcoat: “Apologies, Mr. Gogol, I know I shouldn’t have, but the joke you just made was too funny, much like your books.”

Gogol thought Arthur was mocking him, and the little Russian was instantly infuriated: “Colonel, I seriously tell you, you’re finished! I will certainly report today’s events to Rukovski and Pushkin truthfully!”

Arthur quickly waved his hand and said: “Don’t rush, what I mean is, the title of Russia’s Alexander Dumas is really an insult to you. I always believe one should have higher aspirations. You might as well call yourself the Shakespeare of Russia.”

Gogol kept a straight face, turned his head, and ignored Arthur.

Seeing this, Arthur smiled and asked: “Does your circle have any other nicknames? Like the Hugo of Russia, or the Balzac of Russia.”

“Of course we do! Are you mocking us for being ignorant?” As if to prove his wide reading, Gogol counted on his fingers and shouted at Arthur: “Besides, we also have the Dickens of Russia, the Disraeli of Russia, the Arthur Sigma of Russia, and the Eld Carter of Russia!”

Arthur, hearing this string of names, felt blind for a moment. He remembered that “British” works hadn’t been officially published in Russia. Could it be that these Russians secretly pirated them?

“Do these people have Russian editions of their works?”

“Of course not!” Gogol snorted: “We read the French editions.”

Only then did Arthur finally understand what was happening.

No wonder they say that French publishers’ marketing networks lead the whole of Europe. Last year, he just negotiated French publishing, and now Eld has already effortlessly breezed into Petersburg, riding on the French wind.

This was an achievement not even accomplished by Napoleon!

That French emperor at most only reached Moscow.

Just like when Gogol discovered Arthur was his ardent reader, his good impression of this Constitutional Soldier Colonel instantly rose.

When Arthur learned that Gogol had read his “Hastings Case Files,” this British spy also immediately changed his demeanor.

“Wow, I didn’t expect your knowledge to be so extensive.” Arthur began: “It’s my fault for interrupting your thoughts. To compensate, I happen to have a good idea here, which I originally planned to use for my own writing. But since I made a mistake, I intend to give this idea to you as compensation.”

“An idea?” Gogol scoffed: “You can keep it for yourself then. What good idea could you possibly have.”

Arthur was not angry, he just lay back in the rocking chair and narratively said in French: “If this idea isn’t enough, I just heard you’re seeking a position as an associate professor, maybe I can assist you in this regard.”

“You?” Hearing this, Gogol suddenly frowned and looked at Arthur: “Do you know Inspector Brad Kay from Kyiv?”

“Brad Kay? No, I don’t know him.” Arthur replied with a smile: “But I know Arthur Hastings, oh, right, his pen name is Arthur Sigma, the one who wrote the ‘Hastings Case Files.’

“You know Arthur Sigma?” Gogol took a deep breath and gave Arthur a once-over: “You… Are you truly an insider? But what does knowing Arthur Sigma have to do with helping me get a professorship?”

“Very simple.”

Seeing the fish had taken the bait, Arthur explained leisurely: “I got word that Sir Arthur Hastings is about to be reassigned to the position of British Cultural Counsellor to Russia. Do you know what a cultural counsellor does? Mainly cultural exchange, therefore, he will surely frequently visit various Russian universities. Suppose he has a sudden notion to inspect cultural work at Kyiv University, and inadvertently mentions your name to the president and inspector of Kyiv University, saying you are a Russian writer he greatly respects, etc. I think this will definitely leave a deep impression on them.”

Gogol was full of suspicion: “Why do you know he’ll definitely go to Kyiv? If he doesn’t go, will he really want to go just because you write him a letter? Are you very close with him?”

“How do I know? Never mind that, I just do. As for how close we are? Ha, I tell him to go east, he dares not go west. I tell him to go to Petersburg, he dares not go to Paris.”

Gogol, hearing this, thought the Constitutional Soldier Colonel in front of him was definitely a habitual teller of tall tales, and he mocked: “Ha! Instead of listening to your boasting, I’d rather hear your so-called idea! At least your idea won’t be as far-fetched as your relationship with Arthur Sigma.”

“Listening to my idea? Fine! My idea is even more captivating than my connections, this time you owe me a big favor.”

Arthur replied with a smile: “Here’s the story! Arthur Hastings, on his way to assume his post in Petersburg, had his luggage stolen, even his diplomatic credentials were gone. With no money and no documents, he was stuck in a small town for five days and nights, unable to move. However, the mayor of this small town unexpectedly received news of the Imperial Envoy’s upcoming visit…”

As the narration went on, Gogol felt something was off.

At first, he merely mocked the stupidity of the city officials, until he heard of the arrival of the real Imperial Envoy, who was accompanied by a clerk suffering from hemorrhoids, at which point Gogol’s smile froze.

His eyes were fixed intently on Arthur, unable to utter a word for quite a while.

Arthur took a sip of tea, basked in the warmth of the fireplace, and asked: “Nicholas, can you guess the name of the small town where Sir Arthur Hastings was trapped for five days and nights?”

Gogol’s expression was vivid and varied: “I won’t guess.”

“Why not?”

Gogol took a deep breath: “I’m afraid I might guess right.”