The Shadow of Great Britain

Capítulo 1386: Chapter 203: An Encounter at the Winter Palace (Part 2)

If there’s a clown in this matter, then Arthur believes that Austria’s Prime Minister Metternich deserves to be elected with a high vote.

After all, during the London Conference, Arthur had sent someone to steal early love letters Metternich wrote to Mrs. Levin.

Although this diplomat, who maneuvered through Europe with prowess, and this statesman who rivaled Mr. Talleyrand in state affairs, had been persistently devoted to Mrs. Levin over the years, even when she left Viscount Palmerston, she didn’t head to Vienna, but instead, threw herself into the arms of Gizo in Paris.

Ha!

This good news, maybe I should write a letter to Heine about it.

But upon second thought, Arthur worried that writing might provoke Heine, as that guy’s romantic adventures with his two cousins were even more clownish than Metternich’s. Perhaps this is a racial gift of the Germans; Metternich couldn’t do it, and Heine wasn’t much better.

But then again, Mrs. Levin indeed deserves to be one of the top figures in European social circles. Just look at her list of lovers and pursuers: Duke of Wellington, Viscount Palmerston, Metternich, Gizo, and her husband Duke of Levin, her brother Count Benkendorf…

Britain, France, Russia, Austria, every country can find a representative figure.

Perhaps she wasn’t the most powerful woman in Europe and couldn’t start a war.

But if everyone wanted to quell a war, they would most likely have to pass the message through her, just like what happened after the Napoleonic Wars at the Vienna Conference.

After hearing a string of gossip, the veteran agent’s fingers couldn’t help but tremble.

Since his school days, he had developed a good habit.

Once he discovered a new piece of knowledge, he had to jot it down immediately and review it multiple times after class to deepen the impression.

Arthur instinctively took out his notebook from his jacket pocket, just ready to write but then caught sight of the glances from Earl Dalmo and others, he calmly smiled and said: “I want to go for a smoke, anyone joining?”

Earl Dalmo and the others were in the midst of an engaging conversation and politely declined Arthur’s invitation.

Seeing his objective achieved, Arthur walked to the three-meter-high door, asking the guard, “Excuse me, where is the smoking room?”

“Turn left at the first intersection ahead.”

Arthur nodded in thanks, humming “Katyusha,” he walked to the smoking room, he just pushed open the door to see a young man sitting on the deep red velvet sofa, who appeared to be about his age.

The two exchanged a simple polite nod, which counted as a mutual greeting.

Arthur struck a match to light his pipe and couldn’t help but steal a few glances through the white smoke at that smoking guest.

Judging by his attire, he should be a staff member at the Winter Palace, maybe a servant of the Tsar, or perhaps a clerk at the Emperor’s Office.

If it was only because of this, Arthur might not have paid such attention, but the smoking guest’s appearance certainly didn’t look like an ordinary Russian, nor did he look British, German, or French.

His curly hair, coupled with his bright black skin.

For some reason, this involuntarily reminded Arthur of a French friend of his, a plump one.

Curiosity is like wildfire, nudging Arthur’s agent soul, and unless it’s figured out, he would be tormented day by day.

Arthur sucked on his pipe, inhaling one puff after another, until the third smoke ring blew out, the old agent finally couldn’t hold back: “You don’t seem like a traditional Slavic person, is your ancestry from immigrants?”

The smoking guest did not shy away from his heritage; on the contrary, he was quite willing to talk about it: “My lineage is much more traditional than those new nobles from the Orlovs during the eras of Catherine the Great and Alexander II. My ancestors were already prominent during Peter the Great’s time. Do you consider a family that became Russian nobility centuries ago as immigrants?”

He paused there: “However, if you insist there’s a part of immigrant blood in me, I won’t argue. Because my great-grandfather was indeed born in East Africa; he was a prince in Abisnia, taken by the Ottomans to Constantinople at the age of seven, and then carried by a Russian ambassador back to Moscow as a gift to Peter the Great. He began as the Tsar’s guard and secretary, later sent to France to study military engineering, and upon returning, was entrusted with significant responsibilities, leading the construction of the fortresses in Kalinkstadt and Rogervik, and the Lake Ladoga canal. During the reigns of Elizabeth I and Peter II, my great-grandfather was a major official in the court, retiring with the rank of General, and you should know the weight of that rank.”

Arthur was amazed by this: “Your great-grandfather sounds like a legendary character, and the more I learn about your background, the more you remind me of a friend of mine. You’re practically the Russian Alexander Dumas.”

“Dumas?” The smoking guest was idly chatting, but when he heard Arthur mention Dumas, he suddenly seemed to recall something, and symbolically inquired: “Could you be Sir Arthur Hastings?”

“How did you know my name?”

“So it really is you!”

The smoking guest laughed, extending his hand: “I heard about you from a Little Russian, you should know who he is, that guy’s been suffering terribly with hemorrhoids lately. Oh, let me introduce myself, I’m Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin. You are right, I do have some similarities with Dumas. For instance, a part of our names is both Alexander.”

“Pushkin?”

Arthur found the encounter with Pushkin utterly absurd, for he had been meticulously planning to connect with Pushkin through Gogol’s introduction, who could have imagined that merely going for a smoke, Pushkin himself would appear.

It seems that smoking, while detrimental to health, could indeed aid in work.

Arthur lowered his voice: “I had initially heard from Gogol that you’d been pardoned by the Tsar and returned to St. Petersburg, thinking you were most likely living in some residence strictly monitored by the Third Bureau. Who’d have thought, you’re casually working at the Winter Palace?”

Pushkin smiled wryly: ” Surveillance-wise, I am indeed monitored. But except for needing to apply and report for approval to the Tsar and the Third Bureau for any out-of-town travel, at least my movements within St. Petersburg are free.”

“What about going abroad?”

Pushkin shrugged, his eyes revealing his dissatisfaction: “I’m forbidden from going abroad. Although they didn’t explicitly state it, my previous applications to investigate in Western Europe were rejected several times. A few years ago, I heard a Foreign Office interpreter mention his experiences in the Eastern Orthodox Mission in Beijing, and I wanted to go to China as an envoy, but they wouldn’t allow it.”

“Interpreter? Mission?” Arthur’s interest was piqued: “Wouldn’t the missionaries speak Chinese? Would they need an interpreter?”

Pushkin laughed heartily: “Those missionaries don’t speak it? That’s quite an interesting story in itself.”

With a hearty laugh, Pushkin continued: “That interpreter originally was a missionary, but, how should I say it, it’s quite funny. This man’s conduct really enraged the Tsar, which led to his recall to the country and exile to Siberia. He stayed in St. Petersburg only due to the court’s lack of Chinese-speaking people.”

An atheist priest?

Hearing that, Arthur couldn’t help but be amazed: “If he was an atheist, why put himself in a tough spot and become a priest?”

Pushkin shot him a wry but amused smile: “Well, being an atheist… but you see, it’s not a self-chosen path. My foreign great-grandfather was indeed born in East Africa, but that does not negate my nobility. He was the sibling of an Abisnian prince, but at seven years old, he was taken by the Ottomans to Constantinople, and was then taken by a Russian ambassador to Moscow and presented to Peter the Great. He started as a simple attendant of the Tsar, later promoted to significant government positions under Elizabeth and Peter II’s reigns, and eventually retired with the rank of an admiral, which you should understand the weight of.”