The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1735: Chapter 74: I Want More Than Scotland Yard—The Foreign Office Too

In the winter of 1834, shrouded in gray mist, when Arthur Hastings finally stood at the bright podium of Kensington Palace’s Rose Hall, he looked down and saw the young girl, just fifteen, intently transcribing Tennyson’s verses, and he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

This peace didn’t come from faith, but from the tranquility after a conspiracy succeeded. He no longer needed to justify his origin among the crowd, nor hesitate at the doors of Whitehall for a commission. Because he knew that in this red-draped, fire-crackling Rose Hall, in some sense, he had already claimed his throne.

But his destiny was never at a standstill. For Hastings, this was only the prologue. He was a man who could never say no to higher power. Hastings could forgive failure, endure humiliation, but he could never tolerate being marginalized. He wasn’t noble enough, romantic enough, or pure enough. He wasn’t a tiger, an eagle, or even a fox or a hyena.

What was he like? Like a pig, a quiet pig rolling in the mud, pondering in front of the feeding trough. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not an insult, or rather, not just an insult. Because it’s precisely such a seemingly humble, unpoetic creature that can endure blow after blow, yet still appear vibrant. Not eager to win, not angry from disdain, not retreating from neglect. When it bites its target, it’s neither flamboyant nor does it let go.

This is the least romantic, but the most enduring and resilient character. Just like a Yorkshire countryside saying from Hastings’ hometown: ”A man with pigs never starves.” German and Austrian farmers often say, ”May you have pigs!” Farmers regard this as the best blessing. For country folks, pigs mean the family can survive the winter, symbolizing abundance, wealth, and stability.

With a farmer’s inherent character, Hastings was heading towards the door of supreme authority. This time, he was no longer just trying to use his reputation or follow the Conservative Party lineage to knock on the door. He found a key, a key that gleamed with gold on the outside but was actually full of cracks: Benjamin Disraeli. This young Jew of complex background, with agile skills and words as sharp as blades, was trying to enter the court of politics through literary fame.

Hastings understood deeply that the peak of power would never favor loners. To keep climbing, he needed not just steely determination but also a group willing to serve as stepping stones. Although Robert Peel’s minority government was backed by King William IV, anyone with a keen eye could see that this new cabinet, lacking a majority in the Lower House, wouldn’t hold on for long. While everyone was busy betting on who would be the next Prime Minister, Hastings had already bypassed the gambling table, placing his chips into an unnoticed envelope.

When Disraeli first felt isolated and helpless in the Foreign Office, Hastings recommended to this Vice Minister his deputy from his time in Russia. Just a week later, Henry Blackwell, the ”traitor” from the Embassy in Russia, was urgently recalled to 15 Whitehall. Meanwhile, Richard Hutter, the Constitutional Soldier Captain from the Second District of the Third Bureau of the Russian Empire’s Imperial Office, had already submitted his resignation to Count Benkendorf...

—— Stephen Zweig, ”Arthur Hastings: The Ambition of a Rational Prisoner Driven”

”Show him out.”

Arthur didn’t glance at Blackwell again, merely placed the teaspoon gently on the saucer. His voice was not loud, but the force was like a judge’s gavel falling.

Blackwell’s body shook suddenly, as if this sentence wasn’t about making him leave but was ready to negate his whole life.

He didn’t say ”thank you,” nor did he pretend to exchange a few polite words casually.

As a diplomat, he knew any words at this moment might be seen as inappropriate, and the diplomatic circle never tolerates those lacking tact.

He slowly stood up, moving cautiously, as if afraid the chair might make any sound.

Several officers who had just come upstairs saw this scene and silently made way.

Once Blackwell left, the upstairs returned to a brief silence.

Arthur then lifted his head and knocked on the window pane with his hand: ”Did you see that? He didn’t dare look up at people when he walked, but once he’s out the door, I’ll bet this lad will immediately straighten up and put on the guise of having withdrawn entirely.”

Hutter glanced out the window, indeed as Arthur had said.

He gently coughed and picked up the teapot to refill Arthur’s cup.

Although Hutter had no special rapport with Blackwell, he wouldn’t stoop to hitting a man when he’s down, so he only said, ”You certainly know him well.”

Seeing Hutter had no intention to delve into this topic, Arthur switched to another question: ”Fine, talking about him is indeed dispiriting. By the way, how is your brother?”

”You mean James? When I had dinner with him yesterday, he said his promotion report was just submitted the day before, and it’ll probably be approved next month.” Speaking of which, Hutter, still quite sensible, thanked Arthur: ”Getting him into Scotland Yard was indeed the right decision; this rascal has now become upright, all thanks to your suggestion.”