Shadow of great britain

The lobby on the second floor of the St. Petersburg Royal Bookstore on Nevsky Prospekt shines brightly. The light shines softly on the high stacked books on the wall, brightly illuminating the blue, red, and gold-cut books, as well as the dusty, Forgotten book titles. They are also books, but slow-selling and best-selling books clearly distinguish the strength and weakness of human creative power.

The bookstore was packed with people and extremely crowded. Carriages came and went on the street, and the road and the carriages rumbled, making the windows jingle, as if the lights, books, and people were all trembling slightly, making the bookstore even more colorful.

The shop assistants were busy going back and forth, diligently promoting the most powerful author among the patrons who visited this place, patting their chests and assuring them that as long as they would take one more look at the treasure of the shop, they would be able to I will never move my eyes to other books again.

"What a great book! Sir, have you read The Bronze Horseman? No! Then you really haven't read any good books."

The man in a brown coat stared at "The Bronze Horseman" on the bookshelf, glanced at the author's name, and then shouted to the out-of-breath square-faced clerk: "Who is Pushkin? He belongs to Scott." The Russian Apprentice? I came here looking for a historical novel to read."

"Pushkin? You don't even know Pushkin? Please, man, you'd better introduce him to some French novels. I already know what kind of person he is."

As the fledgling dragoon ensign said, he turned to the person next to him, who was eagerly cutting out the last few pages of the book: "Yes, not everyone is suitable for reading Pushkin. Some people can only read Dumas." Books. As for poetry, whether it is Byron, Shelley, or Pushkin, they can’t read it.”

The gentleman in the brown coat retorted: "You are looking down on me. I don't read Dumas."

The second lieutenant ignored his rebuttal and just held "The Bronze Horseman" in his hands and praised loudly: "Oh my God! Look at this book, some parts are wonderfully written!"

"Hey, look, we're finally waiting for "The Bronze Horseman"!"

Regular customers squeezed through the bustling crowd and asked, "What? The Bronze Horseman has been published?"

"Tell me, what is The Bronze Horseman like? What do you think of this new work?"

"It couldn't be better! It couldn't be better! It would be better if there were a few more scenes... Oh, Pushkin has made great progress!"

The fat man wearing a square collar badge chattered on with a cheerful smile. He bent his fingers to pinch his chin as if holding a ripe apple: "It's mainly about skills, skills! Look here, and here, here it is written How skillful!”

"Yes, there are many advantages, very outstanding!" repeated the skinny connoisseur, putting half an ounce of tobacco into his Roman pipe: "Of course, some places also need to be severely criticized... Well, you know, He's still young...but it's almost a top-notch work!"

The bookseller joined the conversation with satisfaction: "On this point, please allow me to report that we will ensure a steady flow of money..."

The clerk of the Senate who was taking a lunch break walked into the bookstore, took off his hat and asked humbly: "Is this work really so touching?"

"Of course, the writing is very moving!" the bookseller responded, and then took a hard look at his shabby coat: "If it's not moving, how can you sell four hundred copies in two hours?"

The gentleman in the brown coat was obviously dissatisfied with everyone's neglect of him. He shouted: "Do you have any works by Walter Scott here? I just finished reading his "Rob Roy" two days ago. , I want to watch the second part now.”

The cavalry lieutenant raised his hand to point him the way: "Go to the right and follow the stairs to the third floor. They sell fashionable French novels there, including Dumas, Balzac and Hugo. If you insist on reading Scott, Special, then go downstairs, there are other works of Scott there, but there is no second part of "Rob Roy."

"Why?" the gentleman in the brown coat asked angrily, with disappointment in his eyes: "Isn't this the place with the richest collection of books in Russia?"

The second lieutenant glanced at him with disdain: "Thank you for claiming to be a loyal reader of Scott. Don't you know that Scott passed away two years ago? If you want to watch the second part of "Rob Roy" , then you shouldn’t come to the bookstore. You should go to the church with a good prayer candle and ask the priest to ask God to be accommodating and invite Scott to come back and write the second book for you.”

"Scott is dead? Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me earlier? If I had known he was dead, I wouldn't have read his books! Ever since I finished reading "Rob Roy", all I can think about is The 'Robin Hood of Scotland'."

The expert shook his head when he heard this and said: "This is wrong. Scott is the king of historical novels. You can't read his books wrongly."

"I don't care whether he is a king or not. I only know that it has only been a month this year, and I have already run out of food! Excuse me, I would like to ask, does this king have no heir? Even if he does not have a biological son, he has no Any other blood relatives? No one wants to sit on the huge throne of historical novels? "

"I want to read historical novels again, and I want Scott's successor. Well, I know who this gentleman is looking for. Brother, let's take him to the first floor to find Carter's book."

"Who is Carter?"

"Don't worry about it. Don't you want to read a book like Rob Roy? Rob Roy is the Scottish Robin Hood, and Carter's debut novel is called Robin Hood, which is just what you like."

"Is he better than Dumas?"

"Didn't you say you don't read Dumas?"

"I don't, but I've heard of him."

"Map of St. Petersburg in 1844"

The gentleman in a brown coat went downstairs with the waiter. The environment on the first floor was obviously much quieter than that on the second floor. There were only a few scattered guests standing in front of the rows of bookshelves. They took a book and wrapped themselves in their coats and curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace to warm themselves by the fire.

"Sir, these books here are Carter's works. The two books on the top are "Robin Hood" and "St. George's Flag Rises". These two are old works, typical Walter Scott-style works, I believe they will suit your taste. As for the books below, they should be works written by Carter when he was bored, but they are also a good choice to kill time." The gentleman in the coffee coat stared at the books below and couldn't help but read out the title: "The Emperor's Toilet? What is this book about?" "This book! This book is about a tradition in a certain country that every emperor must have the most noble toilet, which is regarded as a symbol of imperial power. Rumor has it that this toilet is made by the country's top craftsmen, using various rare materials and precious decorations. Because of the preciousness of the toilet, every time someone uses the toilet, it needs to go through strict security and a lot of preparation work, following the complicated "toilet ceremony". One day, a foreign businessman came to this country with a new type of toilet, claiming that the new toilet can save time and improve efficiency while providing the same as the emperor. The emperor's toilet was as comfortable as a golden toilet. This caused an uproar inside and outside the palace. Some ministers believed that this "new toilet" represented modernization and progress, while others insisted that the golden toilet was a symbol of national authority and could not be replaced.

Just as the ministers were debating fiercely, the palace guards accidentally broke the emperor's toilet, gold and jewels scattered all over the floor, and the emperor's dignity was instantly lost. In order to avoid the ministers' protests and the resulting national crisis, the emperor decided to repair the toilet into a more luxurious version, but this plan was financially overspent. Crisis. The story revolves around the toilet. Although it sounds vulgar, it is still interesting to read. "

The gentleman in the coffee coat heard the plot introduction and immediately put back the "Robinson Crusoe" he had just picked up: "This... This sounds interesting, but I can only buy one book today..."

He was hesitating, and he saw a gentleman holding "The Emperor's Toilet" standing not far away. He just approached and was about to ask the other party about his reading experience, but he heard the other party mumbling some dialect from some mountain corner.

"This one has it, and this one has it... All of them are from Brussels... Damn Belgian pirates... You'd better pray to God: Don't get caught by me... Otherwise, I will hang you one by one on the gallows in front of Newgate Prison..."

Arthur noticed someone approaching, raised his eyes and looked at the gentleman, but unexpectedly, the murderous eyes scared the other party.

He glanced at the book in the other's hand, curled his lips and asked the clerk next to him: "I heard that Mr. Gogol is here?"

"Master, you are looking for Mr. Gogol?" The clever clerk nodded and said: "He is in the office discussing the publishing business of the second part of "Dikanka Night Talk" with several other masters. Do you need me to pass a message on for you?"

"That's not necessary. When they are done, just let me know."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, a man wearing a Dutch shirt and an exquisite dress appeared behind him.

"Sir, the Earl of Daramo has read the diplomatic report you drafted yesterday. He appreciates your hard work attitude and the rigorous professionalism shown in the report."

Arthur invited his subordinates to sit on the sofa together, and then he picked up his pipe, and the smoke drifted gently.

He ignored the other party's compliment and turned to ask: "Henry, how long have you been in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?"

"Me?" Henry Blackwell put the briefcase under his arm on the coffee table: "Seven years."

"Seven years..." Arthur pinched his chin and pondered for a while: "It's really not a short time. Seven years in Russia? Haven't you thought of a way to move west?"

Blackwell nodded. He was quite helpless about this: "Everyone knows that the embassy in the west is good. At least the weather is warm and the butt won't be frozen in winter. But I'm unlucky and there's nothing I can do."

Arthur laughed twice: "You are not unlucky, you are too isolated from the news and too lazy to think. Do you think my report is good? I don't think so."

Blackwell was stunned by what Arthur said. He frowned and thought carefully: Although the report can't be said to be written in a splendid style, nor can it be called a gorgeous article with gorgeous words, it wins in terms of detailed arguments and clear organization. Judging by the standards of diplomatic reports, it can definitely be called excellent, but why did the knight say that the article was poorly written?

Seeing that he was not understanding, Arthur pointed out: "You should know that even within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, everyone is divided on how to handle the relationship with Russia. Although everyone is doubting Russia's intentions, But some people think that Russia is far from threatening the interests of the British Empire, while others think that the threat from Russia has reached a level that cannot be ignored. Do you know who the representatives of these two groups are? "

Blackwell said in astonishment: "You mean?"

"Yes, our immediate boss, Count Dalamo, is the main supporter of the former view. He believes that Russia's seemingly powerful military strength only has defensive value. Tsar Nicholas may have dreams of expansion, but Russia currently The situation simply does not allow him to pursue this dream. Count Dalamo has been trying to prove to the cabinet that foreign expansion requires a lot of resources, and Russia does not have these resources."

Blackwell suddenly realized: "No wonder your diplomatic report made Count Durham so happy to read it. I remember that you degraded the Russian army as worthless in the report. This just suits Count Durham's wishes. . Who are the people who claim that Russia is a threat?”

Arthur took a puff of cigarette: "Lord Ponsonby and Sir John MacNeill, Minister to Persia. They both witnessed with their own eyes the process of Russia gradually replacing Britain and expanding its influence in the Ottoman Empire and the Kingdom of Persia respectively, so It’s hard not to be wary of Russia.”

"Lord Ponsonby?" Blackwell frowned and said, "Class... I remember that he was transferred back to London last year and no longer served as minister to the Ottoman Empire?"

"Henry." Arthur stared at Blackwell for a long time: "You know personnel appointments well, but why don't you think more about the reasons for personnel transfers? Why was Lord Ponsonby dismissed? Our Foreign Secretary I shouldn’t need to say more about Viscount Palmerston’s attitude towards Russia, right?”

When Blackwell heard this, many things that he had been unable to figure out suddenly became clear in an instant.

But even if he knew the reason, as a potential anti-Russian diplomat, his immediate boss, Count Duramo, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs both maintained a relatively close attitude towards Russia, which still made him feel stuck in his throat.

"Alas..." Blackwell sighed softly: "If you hadn't punctured this layer of paper, I might still be in the dark."

"Henry, most things in the world are connected." Arthur blew out a smoke ring: "For example, you can also think about why I only picked you to be my personal secretary when there are so many people in the embassy. I’ll take the trouble to explain these things to you.”