shadow of britain

Chapter 635: Luck That Makes Even Cold Water Get Stuck in Your Teeth

The winter in St. Petersburg is as cold as ever. Although the sun occasionally shows half of its face, everyone knows that its appearance is just a decoration, merely serving to remind people that spring has not been frozen to death.

However, no matter how cold the weather is, it cannot stop people from participating in Maslenitsa.

Although Maslenitsa is usually held in the week before the Orthodox Lent (40 days before Easter), it is not actually an Orthodox holiday, but a traditional Slavic holiday and one of the oldest folk festivals in Russia.

Before the introduction of Eastern Orthodoxy, Maslenitsa was an agricultural celebration in pagan Russia that celebrated the natural cycle of winter and spring, so you can also think of it as the Russian Spring Festival.

St. Petersburg's Nevsky Avenue, Palace Square, and markets and squares across the city are all filled with makeshift stalls. Vendors shout enthusiastically in the cold wind and greet passers-by.

The stall that is most popular among the citizens almost only sells pancakes.

Pancakes are the iconic food of Maslenitsa. The golden pancakes exude the aroma of butter and honey. If you are willing to pay two more kopecks, you can add a few more slices of cheese and smoked salmon to the pancakes.

Many people line up around the pancake stalls just to buy a stack of hot pancakes so they can eat them while shopping.

In addition, there are many stalls selling cheese, pickled fish and mead in the market. Where women gather, most of them sell handicrafts, embroidered headscarves or colorful pottery.

On the frozen ice of the Neva River, you can see makeshift ice rinks and ice slides. Young people are screaming and sliding down the ice slides, with laughter ringing out one after another.

Circus performers dressed as funny clowns shuttled back and forth among the crowd, performing acrobatics, and their casual witty remarks always brought laughter.

Near the Palace Square, horse-drawn carriages decorated with ribbons and garlands passed through the streets. Coachmen wearing fur coats waved whips, and nobles dressed in gorgeous costumes sat in the carriages, waving and greeting the onlookers.

The carriage was followed by a group of farmers in traditional costumes, who were parading in the square holding several ornately decorated scarecrows.

Although these scarecrows look beautiful, unfortunately, according to Russian tradition, scarecrows are a symbol of winter and must be burned during the ceremony on the last day of Maslenitsa.

Next to the big bonfire in the center of the square, the music of the balalaika mixed with singing and footsteps. Young people held hands and formed a big circle, singing and dancing traditional Russian dances.

The young balalaika player was playing a lively tune.

His fingertips jumped on the strings like a rabbit, and the girls watching couldn't help but applaud.

The zither player narrowed his eyes and sang a traditional folk song that mocked winter with a smug look on his face: "Winter, winter, put away your claws, don't stop us from drinking, eating butter and caviar!"

Naturally, the young and energetic guys were unwilling to let the pianist steal their limelight.

A few young men broke away from the circle dance and performed Cossack tap dance in the center of the square.

Following the fast rhythm of the balalaika, they kept squatting and standing up. Whether it was high kicks, squat clapping or goat jumping, they could perform any difficult moves with ease. Such a wonderful dance battle naturally attracted cheers from the crowd.

But in this joyous festive atmosphere, a British gentleman seemed out of place.

Arthur's face was paler than the ice and snow in St. Petersburg on a winter day.

He leaned on his cane with one hand and supported his waist with the other hand. He limped past the dancing boys, like a penguin trying to keep balance on ice.

With every step he took, Arthur's face twitched, as if reminding himself that the joy of Maslenitsa was not for him.

And on his top hat, the Red Devil was sitting cross-legged leisurely, his tail gently tapping the brim of the hat.

The pair of small eyes burning with the flame of teasing were fixed on the young man who was still performing Cossack tap dance in the center of the square, and a very proud smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh! Arthur~Arthur~Are you still in pain?"

Agares began to lament in an exaggerated manner, but there was no sympathy in his tone: "You were such a respectable gentleman. The lightness of the waltz and the elegance of the quadrille were all your specialties. Even in the ballrooms of Vienna, you might not be able to find a dancer like you, but..."

Arthur ignored it, gritted his teeth and continued to stagger forward, as if the physical pain he suffered was easier to bear than the humiliation from the devil.

Agares found that this approach was not feasible, so he tried another way: "Arthur, my dear, considering your pain, let me tell you a joke. One day, an English gentleman decided to try the Cossack dance. He tried to squat, pat his legs, and even tried to do a high kick. Everything seemed so perfect, but when he tried to stand up for the seventh time, he suddenly stopped..."

Agares paused deliberately and continued in a calm tone: "He stood there elegantly, adjusted his bow tie, and said to the crowd - it seems that my performance was good enough, so my knees decided to stay here and take a bow alone."

Arthur finally couldn't help but speak, his tone mixed with a hint of suppressed anger: "Agares, if you say one more word, I promise, I will tear your hat off and throw you into the Neva River."

"No, you can't, my dear, because the Neva is frozen."

Agares laughed and wagged his tail even more vigorously.

It can be seen that the Red Devil is obviously very satisfied with his own wit.

Arthur slapped his forehead, feeling that things had been raining cats and dogs recently.

The news that a British citizen had illegally entered Russia was already troubling enough.

It just so happened that this British citizen was Sir David Urquhart, First Secretary of Constantinople, an Oxford University alumnus who had established deep friendships with King William IV and many British politicians during his college years.

Moreover, Sir David went to the Caucasus Mountains, which were heavily blockaded by the Russians. His purpose of entering the country was to contact the leaders of the resistance and to speak up for the local Circassians who were resisting Russian rule.

Most importantly, none of the above decisions were reported to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Embassy in Constantinople, nor were they approved by any minister.

In other words, Sir David Urquhart acted alone in everything he did!
Arthur thought that his act of impersonating the Russian envoy in a desperate situation was already daring, but compared with the stubborn Sir David, it was nothing.

When the British Embassy in Russia learned that Sir David had entered the Caucasus, it immediately sent people to track down his whereabouts.

But such efforts are mostly in vain.

Not to mention that Britain has basically no presence in the Caucasus. Even if they have informants there, looking for someone in the mountainous Caucasus is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Some people in the embassy even believed that Sir David might have died in the Caucasus.

Fortunately, according to the recent response of the Russian government, they seemed unaware that a British diplomat had sneaked through their blockade and successfully entered the Circassia region of the Caucasus.

It was better for the Foreign Office that Sir David should die in the Caucasus than live into the hands of the Russians.

Because the living Sir David is an irrefutable evidence of Britain's meddling in Russia's internal affairs.

No one likes to clean up one's own mess, especially when cleaning up the mess for someone else. On this point, the Chinese Embassy in Russia and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have maintained a high degree of consistency in their positions.

However, although most people wished Sir David would die sooner, as long as no definite news was received, he would hang over everyone's head like a sword of Damocles.

To understand how anxious Foreign Secretary Viscount Palmerston was, one only needs to look at the order he issued to the embassy in Russia - to take Sir David out of the Caucasus alive, or dead if necessary.

Over the next week, the search for Sir David could be described as a nightmare.

Where is Sir David?
No one knows this.

But who is with Sir David?
In addition to the Circassians there was a special correspondent for The Times, James Longworth.

Speaking of Mr. Longworth, he is actually an old acquaintance of Arthur.

When Arthur was stalking Bernie Harrison MP at Scotland Yard, Longworth was doing an on-site interview with the famous British journalist Thomas Barnes, Jupiter of The Times.

But at that time, he was just a small reporter helping Thomas Barnes.

After that live interview on "British Sausage Making Technology", Longworth seemed to have suddenly become enlightened. In the following years, he published several well-known reports, including a special report on the cholera epidemic and a long column on parliamentary reform.

At the beginning of last year, with the expansion of the business empire of The Times, Longworth, who was highly regarded by editor-in-chief Thomas Barnes, took on the groundbreaking task and took up his post in Constantinople as The Times' special correspondent to the Ottoman Empire, with full responsibility for news gathering and editing in the Middle East and Central Asia.

As we all know, Western journalists always run fast when they hear news.

But unfortunately, in this day and age, the journalists with the strongest legs among Western journalists are British journalists, especially those from The Times.

Longworth heard about Sir David Urquhart's deeds from somewhere. In order to obtain first-hand information about the Circassian region, he risked his life and followed Sir David on board the ship. He temporarily changed his job to become a war correspondent and disappeared as expected.

When Foreign Secretary Viscount Palmerston learned the news, he was so shocked that he almost hinted to the embassy in Russia that if Longworth was found, he must be shot on the spot.

Any British politician would understand what kind of work Fleet Street could do for Viscount Palmerston and the Foreign Office if a journalist like Longworth were allowed to come back alive.

After all, not everyone is like Arthur - what newspaper headlines has Arthur not seen? What criticism has he not endured?

Although he was young, Arthur had eaten more salt than the average politician had eaten bread.

You know, let alone a young reporter like James Longworth, Arthur could even have a good chat with Thomas Barnes, the "Jupiter of the Times".

Viscount Palmerston, you are often surprised by this.

Of course, if the superior has concerns, the subordinates must solve the problems.

But this pattern is not absolute sometimes. Arthur also wants to find Sir David, but his original intention of looking for someone is different from everyone else.

Arthur simply wanted to make friends with this heroic figure who graduated from Oxford, because Sir David seemed to take Viscount Palmerston lightly, and he also had a straightforward temper, which was very rare in the political circle.

Of course, if Sir David was unfortunately caught, Arthur would not be unable to accept it.

If the Tsar ordered the expulsion of all British diplomats in Russia in anger, Arthur would be happy to be sent back to London by Nicholas I to take up his post.

The worst case scenario is that he would be sent to other countries to continue serving as his counselor.

But Arthur's fantasy was finally shattered yesterday.

Yesterday, the latest issue of the "British Foreign Office Rank List" was delivered to St. Petersburg. After carefully reviewing the relevant information, Arthur discovered an extremely horrifying fact - basically all embassies abroad have no vacancies at the counselor level, and the seat in the Foreign Office at 15 Downing Street is also full.

According to Foreign Office practice, if there is no suitable position in the foreign missions in Europe, the outgoing diplomat will be sent to overseas colonies or dominions to deal with local political or administrative affairs.

Based on the current situation, Arthur's destination is very likely to be Canada, Australia or India.

Ok……

The sky is falling!
Going to Canada and Australia at this age is tantamount to ending one's political career early.

What's the difference between going there and being exiled?
Just because you have the rank of counselor and are not wearing chains on your hands and feet, you are not an exiled prisoner?

As for India, it is indeed a good place to go. Many British nobles also like to send their children to India for gilding.

Even if there are family members who are hopeless and can never make it big, at least they can make their first pot of gold in India.

But the problem is that India’s colonial institutions were mainly military-oriented, and those who went to India and were able to return were basically officers like the Duke of Wellington.

It is rare for the names of civil servants to appear in inter-continental transfers. If you are a civil servant and are transferred, it means that you have at least reached the level of the Governor of Bombay or the Governor of Madras.

This is not to say that Arthur does not have the confidence to achieve this level.

However, confidence is confidence, and ability is ability. From a realistic perspective, it is impossible to achieve such a level in India without the support of the government.

According to the news from London, His Majesty the King seems to be dissatisfied with the Whig Grey Cabinet, and there seem to be signs of instability within the Whig Party...

If the Grey cabinet falls, Lord Brougham, my mentor, steps down from the position of Lord Chancellor, and Earl Daramore is expelled by the Russian government and becomes unemployed...

If the new cabinet happens to forget about Arthur Hastings...

If things go wrong, the Hastings family might just become a clean and hygienic traditional Indian family!
This is unacceptable under any circumstances!

When Arthur thought of this, it seemed that his waist and legs were no longer sore, and he could put on his top hat and walk two miles in the snow again.

He walked through the dense crowd and knocked on the door of a house on Nevsky Avenue: "Excuse me, is this the British Club?"

The servant pushed open the door and saw the unfamiliar guest. He nodded slightly and asked, "Who are you?"

Arthur took out his business card from his pocket and handed it to the servant who opened the door: "Please go to the club and inform Mr. Pushkin that Arthur Hastings is invited to visit."

(End of this chapter)