The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1432: Chapter 219: Sir Hastings Admired by All

The cold was extreme, the chill firmly sealed off the main roads, freezing them into a smooth sheet, now relentlessly knocking on the doors and windows of Moscow’s common folk. Night had fallen, and the streets became desolate and silent.

A full moon looked down from high above the clouds, its light gentle and lively, illuminating the streets and alleys as brightly as day.

On the street sped a pony, swiftly dragging a sleigh, upon which sat a provincial member of the nobility on his way to a celebration. The sound of hooves echoed far, far away.

On this day of family joy, during the Butter Week celebration, lights appeared in the windows of most Moscow houses, initially dim but then gradually growing, casting out dazzling colors.

Through the windows of the noble club, one could hear the conversation of the nobility gathered around the fireplace with wine glasses in hand.

”Have you heard? There’s great news in our Moscow.”

”What’s the news? Are you saying the Emperor plans to hold this year’s Butter Week ball at the Kremlin?”

”If that were true, the Emperor has made a good decision. This year we’re going to show those Westernized bureaucrats from St. Petersburg that Moscow’s ball is the most authentic.”

”Gentlemen, what I speak of is not such a mundane event as a ball, but something more exalted, more sacred.”

”Are you referring to the Easter Vigil after Lent ends, where the priest loudly chants, ’Jesus is risen!’ and we loudly respond, ’He is risen indeed!’?”

”No! Haven’t you heard? Sir Arthur Hastings has come to our Moscow!”

With those words, the room fell silent, all conversation abruptly halted, leaving only the occasional crackle of the fire and the faint swishing of the sleigh outside the windows in the distance.

”Sir Arthur Hastings!”

Although the nobleman being questioned did not know who Sir Arthur Hastings was, a strange sense of pride in avoiding admitting ignorance drove him to echo his companion’s exclamation: ”That is indeed a great figure!”

The nobility’s expressions quickly shifted from initial bewilderment to a feigned depth and solemnity, as if each held deep understanding and admiration for Sir Arthur Hastings in their hearts.

A richly dressed, youthful-looking nobleman was the first to break the silence, speaking in a tone as though he had long been acquainted with Arthur: ”Oh! I’ve been his devoted follower for years now, and last night I dreamed of meeting him. Little did I expect, my dream came true, truly God has bestowed his blessing!”

Another nobleman joined in the praise, his voice carrying a hint of urgency, evidently afraid to be outdone: ”Arthur has arrived in Moscow? My heavens! Why have you only revealed this news now? Had I known he was coming, I wouldn’t have planned my hunting trip to the countryside tomorrow!”

As he spoke, the respected cultural figure, full of adoration for Sir Arthur Hastings, quickly walked away, standing at the club’s entrance and solemnly ordering the coachman outside: ”Platon! Platon! You must go immediately to Duke Golitsyn’s residence and inform them that tomorrow’s hunt is canceled, for I must pay my respects to Sir Arthur Hastings.”

The nobles nodded in agreement, though most of them only knew about Sir Arthur Hastings from the few words they’d just heard, some never hearing the surname Hastings before. Yet, at this moment, none of these difficulties prevented them from becoming ten-year fans of Sir Arthur.

Under such conditions, any disrespectful words towards Sir Arthur Hastings would become the target of widespread criticism, any derogatory remarks about him would be considered a desecration of culture.

Even at Scotland Yard, the name Arthur Hastings never received the treatment it did at today’s noble club.

After all, at the Greater London Police Department, since Sir Arthur himself had been ’exiled’ to St. Petersburg, he was at most an innocuous Holy Image there. Yet in today’s Moscow noble club, Arthur almost became a living saint in everyone’s mouth.

Amidst the fervent discussion about Arthur Hastings, a member of the Moscow Natural Philosophy Society finally dug up this evening’s high-frequency term from a pile of old papers deep in their memory.

He proudly showed off: ”Arthur Hastings? Oh, are you referring to Mr. Michael Faraday’s assistant? The rising star in the field of electromagnetic studies?”

He thought he could leverage his extensive experience to gain the group’s attention, but unexpectedly drew criticisms and ridicule instead.

”Assistant? Rising star? What are you saying?”

”Do you not understand the principle of the student surpassing the teacher? I’m not belittling Mr. Faraday, but in my opinion, even if Sir Arthur Hastings isn’t yet better than Faraday, he will soon become more outstanding in electromagnetic research.”

”It seems we have someone who recognizes talent among us.” An elderly nobleman with a thick beard dressed in a refined velvet robe slowly began to speak, his voice carrying an undeniable authority: ”Sir Arthur Hastings is not only a brilliant new star in the field of electromagnetism but also a bridge connecting Russia and Europe’s science and culture. His arrival will undoubtedly bring an unprecedented storm of thought to Moscow.”

The elder nobleman’s words were like a stone thrown into a tranquil lake, creating ripples.