The Shadow of Great Britain

“Just like a tree, the more a person yearns for the sunlight above, the deeper their roots must stretch into the darkness of the earth.”

— Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

London, Astley Circular Theatre.

In the current complicated situation of London, the theater district located in the West District had become one of the few havens left.

To prepare for any special emergencies that might arise, Scotland Yard had ordered an increase in the police patrols of all public areas of London several days ago.

Apart from the currently overdrawn banks of London, places with a large flow of people like markets and theaters had also been placed under intense surveillance.

And naturally, the Astley Circular Theatre, which was about to stage the latest work “Anthony” by the famous playwright and novelist, Mr. Great Dumas, had become a primary focus of the monitoring.

For according to the theater manager, tens of thousands of audience members were drawn by the resounding name of Great Dumas as well as the arrival of the leading actress, the renowned Parisian actress Madame Dovar, and the four thousand tickets set aside for the premiere of “Anthony” had sold out in just one morning.

Meanwhile, in London’s underground black market, the tickets for the premiere of “Anthony” were scalped at exorbitant prices, with many people even claiming they were willing to pay five pounds just for a glimpse of Madame Dovar’s grace.

It must be said that this is quite the phenomenon, especially in the current turbulent times.

All around are protesting crowds, the air is thick with the smell of gunpowder, and it seems as though London could erupt into rebellion at any moment, yet the theater’s business is booming even more than on quiet and peaceful days.

Perhaps it is because these gentlemen and ladies with a little savings want to use the drama to dissipate the lingering fear in their hearts, thus seeking a spiritual pillar in the unrealistic fantasy world for themselves.

Or maybe it is because the fiery emotions of the protesting crowds have infected their minds, stirring their usually stable hormone levels, so they urgently need a drama that can help them express their feelings to calm their restlessness.

Or perhaps it is simply because they like the poster put up by the theater for “Anthony,” they like the line spoken by Dumas through the protagonist: “Why should I obey these laws, abide by these regulations? Not one of those who designed these laws has ever relieved me of pain or fulfilled an obligation for me. In this society, all I’ve received is injustice, and all I owe is hatred, not a shred of gratitude.”

But regardless of the reason, they planned to gather at Astley tonight to enjoy this absurd love story, full of elopement, illicit love, and murder, created by the French republicans.

Arthur sat quietly in his box at the Astley Circular Theatre, smoking, with Great Dumas and Louis lying bound and gagged in front of him.

At the moment, it was still afternoon; aside from the empty chairs and the stagehands moving scenery, there was nothing else in the theater.

Great Dumas lay on the bright red carpet of the box, his eyes bloodshot and filled with flames of revenge. The Frenchman’s teeth were clenched tight, and with his wild, tousled hair, he resembled an enraged lion, ready to pounce on the cunning and agile cheetah gazing at him the moment his restraints were loosened even a bit.

Arthur locked eyes with Great Dumas, the smoke from his cigarette clouding his face, making it difficult to discern his expression. Through the haze, two glowing red eyes could be seen, along with a voice that once sounded friendly but now was unbearably loathsome.

“Alexander, I know you’re angry. I guess if I gave you a gun right now, you’d shoot me dead without hesitation. So, I won’t give you that chance. At least not until tonight’s performance is over. You’ll have to lie here quietly. Though it won’t be comfortable… you’re no stranger to this kind of situation, I believe you’ll adapt quickly.”

“Hastings!” exploded Great Dumas, his eyes nearly bursting. “You devil! You betrayed me, all for Louis Philippe, for a French usurper who has stolen our friendship!!!”

Arthur, looking at Great Dumas writhing and almost crawling on the ground in fury, merely smiled in response, “Alexander, I don’t see it that way. We just have different definitions of friendship. You think friendship is about mutual trust between friends, unreservedly providing every kind of realistic or unrealistic help to a friend.

But my view is different. I think the way to treat a good friend is to ensure, as much as possible, they live in the safest way. You crave a glorious end, you think that sacrificing your life for revolution, giving yourself heart and soul to Mother France, is the best finale.

In my opinion, however, your actions are absurd and laughable, you cannot go into an unprepared war, or partake in an uprising with no chance of success. What your Mother France needs most is not chaos. Surely, what she looks forward to most are not her children rushing to their deaths, but rather to see them grow up healthy and well?

If you must hate me, well then, Alexander, I promise this will be the last time I offend you. The reason I stopped you at the dock today is that you’re only 29 years old. Do you still remember what Mr. Talleyrand once told us?