The Shadow of Great Britain

457: Chapter 252: The Hot-Tempered German Poet (5K4)_2 457: Chapter 252: The Hot-Tempered German Poet (5K4)_2 Monarchs generally take great care over the military uniforms and appearance of their soldiers.

Frederick III of Prussia was like this, Alexander I of Russia was like this, George IV of Britain was like this, and my uncle was among the kings, an exceptional figure.

However, relatively speaking, the design of France’s military uniforms was more practical compared to those of other countries.

British military uniforms emphasized aesthetics a bit too much, to the extent that the jackets were designed so tightly that some soldiers couldn’t even put them on, let alone operate a musket.

However, in terms of military uniforms, I can’t be too critical of Britain, after all, although George IV was obsessed with beautiful uniforms, the Duke of Wellington later corrected him, he protested to the king saying, ‘The soldiers can’t even breathe in these clothes, how are they supposed to fight?’ Moreover, among the Allied Forces, Britain was not the most aesthetic while neglecting practicality.

I heard from my uncle that during the Battle of Austerlitz, the Russian Royal Guard Cavalry’s commander, Grand Duke Constantine, ordered his entire regiment to dismount and tidy up two miles from the battlefield.

They first cleaned their uniforms, then powdered their hair and changed into new saddles that had just been shipped from St.

Petersburg.

Although such behavior seemed somewhat excessive, it must be admitted that it might also have inspired their fighting spirit.

In the snowy expanse of Austerlitz, the defeat of the Allied Forces was inevitable, but this Tsar’s Guard Cavalry exhibited a commendable fighting spirit.

They fought to the last moment, almost to the point of complete annihilation.

After hearing this, Arthur nodded slightly and said, “A very fascinating story.

However, Louis, if you had saved this story for later, it would have been better, as the gentleman we’re about to meet would likely enjoy these tales.”

Louis Bonaparte frowned and said, “You…

Arthur, the gentleman you mentioned, is he also a Bonapartist like Mr.

Bertrand?

Is he also French?”

Arthur exhaled smoke and said, “If he were French, this matter would probably not be so complicated.

Louis, I must say, Napoleon’s name is not only unpopular among the Britons, but he is also quite respected in other parts of Europe.

Many among the Poles, Italians, and Belgians support him.

However, the gentleman we are meeting today is not from these regions.”

Upon hearing this, Louis Bonaparte almost instantly guessed the answer: “Then I think, that gentleman is probably a Deutsch?”

Arthur nodded and said, “Exactly, he is a Deutsch Jew, and like Benjamin, he’s a convert.

We’re going to visit that troublemaker from Dusseldorf—Mr.

Heinrich Heine.”

“Heine?” Louis Bonaparte pondered a moment, “I seem to have heard that name somewhere.”

Arthur spoke up, “His ‘Collection of Poems’ sells well all over Europe, you’ve probably read a line or two in the newspapers.

‘My heart is like the sea’s waves, deep longing tugging at my heart.

Ah!

How I miss you, your charming figure!’”

Louis’s eyes lit up, “Was that written by him?

I must say, it does remind me of Byron.”

Arthur agreed, saying, “I think so too.

Heine is like the spiritual heir to Lord Byron, but unfortunately, he only inherited half of it, much like our new king’s coronation ceremony.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Arthur replied, “We’ve all read Lord Byron’s poetry, and we all know about his chaotic private life that could fill hundreds of operatic stages.

On one hand, Lord Byron was angry, combative, and explosive like fire, on the other hand, he was often sentimental and prone to tears.”

Louis asked with a laugh, “But isn’t that not necessarily a flaw, given that he was a poet?

Poets are all like that, aren’t they?

I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Arthur responded, “Louis, you misunderstand me, I’m not trying to criticize Lord Byron.

I just feel that although Mr.

Heine has some similarities to Lord Byron, his inheritance is only half; he doesn’t like to be weepy, he is purely angry, combative, like a barrel of gunpowder that ignites instantly.”

“Oh…” Louis raised an eyebrow, “Sounds quite difficult indeed.

But if he is so hard to handle, why are we going to provoke him?

What has he done?”

Arthur did not reveal the conversation he had with Lionel Rothschild on the golf course that day, instead, he bluffed, “As I said before, Mr.

Heine is a troublemaker.

Although I don’t know why he came to London, to prevent him from causing any scandalous incidents in Britain, I think it’s best to check on his background first, that’s also within the jurisdiction of the Police Intelligence Department, isn’t it?”

Curious, Louis asked, “So what outrageous thing did he actually do?”

Arthur didn’t speak; he just took a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Louis.

Louis took the clipping, which was from a Paris newspaper.

The familiar, endearing French script ironically penned rib-tickling text.

“I’ve heard everyone loudly proclaiming their love of freedom.

In every city I passed, in every country I stayed, I heard the same argument.

Initially, I was also thrilled by this phenomenon; I felt like all the people in the world stood with me.

However, the longer I stayed in these countries, I realized, although everyone claimed to love freedom, they loved it in different ways.

Britons love freedom like a lawful wife—normally indifferent to her, but if someone dares to touch her, they would fight to death.

French love freedom like a mistress—passionate when remembered, hoping to be with her every day, and indifferent when not interested, as if they never knew this woman.

As for the Deutsch, everyone knows, they value tradition, they love freedom like our deceased grandmother—normally forgotten, but wept over when remembered!”