Chapter 276: The Great Century (K4)

Chapter 275 The Great Century (4K4)

London, Westminster, 4 Whitehall Street, Greater London Police Station.

Louis Bonaparte was busily walking between the halls of Scotland Yard, clutching a stack of papers, and every now and then colleagues passing by would flick up the brims of their hats to say hello to him.

It had been a month since he had arrived at Scotland Yard, but the officers’ curiosity about him continued unabated.

Every new Scotland Yard young police officer will always intentionally or unintentionally ask about him, Bonaparte family to Scotland Yard as a police officer is already enough to be called a strange story, not to mention Louis Bonaparte is still the next generation of the Bonaparte family heir to a strong contender.

Since Louis Bonaparte’s own brother, who had joined him in the charcoal-burning revolt, had died in Italy, and his uncle, the former King of Spain, Joseph Bonaparte, was already dying.

The current head of the Bonaparte family, Napoleon’s own son, was frail. Therefore, the young man, who had never been recognized in the Bonaparte family, quietly came to be the second heir of the Bonaparte family.

That is to say, as long as he can maintain good health and live a long time, then he has every hope to ascend to the position of leading the Bonaparte family to continue to move forward.

Scotland Yard police officers one by one from Louis Bonaparte’s side through, Bonaparte police officer in their view and weekdays are no different, treating people and gas and gentle, although the hands and feet between the vaguely feel a nobility, but do not feel completely overbearing, so that occasionally people will let people forget that he is a member of the royal family.

But what the police officers do not know is that this young man’s tuxedo inner pocket also carries a warmed up letterhead, that is this morning he just received. The address was Vienna, the capital of Austria, and the sender was his cousin, Napoleon’s only legitimate heir, the grandson of Emperor Franz I of Austria, the Duke of Reichstadt in the Austrian Empire, François-Joseph Charles Bonaparte.

Dear Louis:
How have you been doing?

It’s a bit funny, when we first parted ways, you were 7 and I was 4, and to be honest, I can’t even somewhat remember what you looked like.

But I don’t know why, maybe it’s because of the blood connection, I still remember you in my heart, and everyone in the Bonaparte family.

A while ago, my uncle and aunt wrote to me, saying that they had found you in London. God forbid, it is fortunate that you were not buried by the sound of artillery fire in the Apennines. Though I am younger than you, and it is not proper for me to say this, I hope you will live long.

Louis, from the point of view of defending the members of the family, I think it was too impulsive for you to run away to join the charcoal-burning party uprising. But from a young man’s point of view, I can fully understand your impulsiveness.

Louis, about this matter, I even feel a little jealous of you, you can stand under the Apennine sky without restraint and proclaim that you are a proud Bonaparte, but this is something I can not do.

There has always been a great ambivalence towards me in the court of Vienna, on the one hand they think that I have the noble blood of the Habsburgs and Bonapartes in me, on the other hand they do not want to mention my father’s deeds in front of me.

Yes, they hardly ever spoke to me of Napoleon’s exploits, and I was taught from my earliest years that I was a member of the Habsburg family, that I hated France, that I was hostile to the soil of France.

I was confused for a while, and I thought about embracing this identity they had given me, but when I did plan to fit in, I suddenly realized that they didn’t really think I was a noble Austrian Habsburg royal.

They flatteringly called me a prince of Austria while at the same time calling me little Napoleon behind my back.

It was as if my heart was being torn out of my chest; it was as if I heard my soul roaring. From that time on, I finally understood that I was not an Austrian royal family, not to mention belonging to the Habsburg family, I was nothing but a Habsburg noble prisoner bound by chains.

From that time on, I was madly trying to make up for the missing part of my life, I longed to know more about my father, and more about the land of France. But they wouldn’t let me, they wouldn’t even let me in or out of the Royal Library in Vienna, in case I saw the truth of what I wanted to know.

In order to be able to get that, I began to volunteer for military training and began to ask my grandfather to serve in the Austrian army. I was finally able to see the past of the French Empire in the battle examples taught by those armies, and on top of the sandbox I finally learned about the once glorious achievements of the Bonaparte family.

After completing a full year of military education, my grandfather made me a captain in the 16th Hungarian Company, but Metternich was still unsure of me, my unit was in Hungary, but they had set up my command not far from the Imperial Palace in Vienna.

I was not discouraged, however, and I did everything I could to try to prove to them that my efforts had worked, and perhaps you know that I was weak in body and bones, but I could make up for physical frailty with mental strength. I fell ill several times, but each time I recovered I was the first to rush back to my military duties.

When the charcoal-burners revolted in Rome not long ago, and Austria declared her intervention, my uncle and mother, who had learned that you and your brother were deeply involved in the war, sent a letter of distress directly to me.

I took the initiative at the time to ask my grandfather for help, intending to bring my troops to rescue you from the quagmire of Rome, but Metternich pressed my request directly.

Metternich said, “Prince, your body has wasted away to the point that anyone who sees you finds it abnormal, and you cannot even make a normal voice, so how can you give orders to your army? How can you give orders to the army? With all due respect, anyone who sees you like this will be worried. For your sake and for the sake of Austria, you’d better get some rest.

He lightly relieved me of my military authority, plucked my feathers one by one, and made me a harmless mascot at the Viennese court again. My doctor said that the Viennese winter was too cold and suggested that I be sent to sunny Naples for convalescence, but Metternich refused just as stiffly.

I knew what he was afraid of beneath his calm exterior; he was afraid of my heroic blood, he was afraid that as soon as my feet set foot on the soil of the Apennines, there would be cries there of ‘Elect Napoleon II as King.’ Such a situation had already arisen in France at the time of the July Revolution last year, and he could not, on any account, let my captive canary leave the cage of Vienna.

This letter at this moment is written as I lie in my sick bed in Vienna, my body is hard, my heart is bleeding, but I know that they must not be able to strike me down.

In the depths of my soul, in my bones and blood, there always burns the unquenchable fire of France.

Louis, the reason my aunt asked me to write to you in the first place was so that I could dissuade you from acting with caution in the future.

But as I write this, I realize that I can’t do it after all. I understand your behavior, because I also know what the name Napoleon stands for.

Louis, the Bonaparte family has left us a political mission that is too heavy.

Your unworthy brother, François-Joseph Charles Bonaparte.

September 20, 1831, on his deathbed in Vienna. Every now and then a fragment of this despatch had to flash through Louis Bonaparte’s mind, his face still wearing a bright smile, but his heart was raining in a way that no one could understand. He stopped at the door of the office of the Criminal Investigation Department, looked up to the window on the side of the aisle, London’s rain has been falling for several days, the pedestrians in the street of Whitehall, one by one, put on a coat to wrap themselves tightly.

Louis Bonaparte hugged the documents and pressed them to his chest, he could not help but murmur in a low voice: “Vienna’s winter compared to London, who is colder? Char, are we doing this right or wrong?”

He sank his head low and seemed to be thinking about something.

However, behind him, a gentle voice suddenly rang out, “Right and wrong are both footnotes written by God, for one’s life, as long as one lives a wonderful life. Although I don’t like Hegel, one of his quotes still has a lot of flavor. Louis. The owls of Minerva only fly at the hour of twilight.”

Louis Bonaparte’s body shuddered, and he turned his head to look; Arthur had crept up behind him at some point, a book under his armpit and a steaming coffee cup in his hand.

Louis hurriedly turned around and saluted him, then handed over the papers in his arms, “Superintendent Hastings, the minutes of yesterday’s meeting as well as the crime statistics of Scotland Yard for the last month have been compiled.”

Arthur scanned the cover of the document and nodded slightly, “Well done, it seems you’ve adapted well at Scotland Yard and could be called a pretty good police secretary. So ……”

Arthur pushed open the door to his office and smiled as he owed a smile and asked, “Come in and have a cup of tea, it’s not good to have your nerves on edge all the time. It’s not like working at Scotland Yard is a prison sentence.”

Arthur lifted the teapot on the table and poured him a cup of tea, and brought out a plate of treats from a nearby cupboard, but before he could set it on the table he saw that a couple of shortbread cookies in the treat box seemed to be missing a corner.

Arthur glanced at Agares, who was lying on the office couch covering his stomach and burping, and without moving, he picked out those cookies, then turned around with a smile to set out the snacks and asked, “What’s wrong? In a bad mood? Actually, I was just like you when I first came to Scotland Yard, I had a foul face every day at work, and this place does always find a way to give people a hard time.”

Louis Bonaparte held his teacup and smiled down for a moment before shaking his head, “No, sir. After my escape from the failed uprising, I feel that these days, while not exactly easy, are not so bad as to fill me with sadness. There are even times when I find it quite relaxing to have nothing to do for work, having something to do on my hands and a full schedule so that I’m less likely to think blindly, and I’m much more relaxed mentally.

Take the case where you asked me to gather information on the Bernie Harrison case, it may seem like a small thing, but I really feel like I’m being rewarded for my efforts. I’m embarrassed to say that this is probably the first thing I’ve accomplished in years.

It gives me a sense of fulfillment and a feeling that I’ve really done something on my own, even though my contribution was very small.”

Hearing this, Arthur just snorted, “Louis, this is not a small thing, it’s a huge thing for Scotland Yard. Also, the intelligence you gather is not insignificant, only people with real power can go into this job. The big man who has the power to make policy naturally has a bunch of people to give him ideas, as for him, he only needs to choose one of these options, and even if things go wrong in the future, he only needs to put the blame on the head of the person who came up with the idea. But we, as the executives and the one who made the suggestion, if we mess things up, who can we ask to take the blame for us?”

When Louis Bonaparte heard this, he was stunned at first, and then asked, “Did you think of that yourself?”

Arthur blew on the piping hot coffee, “No, but I have found many practitioners in history. You may not know that I was in the history department when I was a student at the University of London.”

Hearing this, Louis Bonaparte couldn’t help but put down the papers in his hands and asked with a bitter smile, “Sir, to be honest, although I have already spent more than a month with you. But the longer I get along with you, the more I can’t see what kind of person you are. Newspapers and magazines, police officer evaluations, street news, practical operations, on different sources, your image is completely different, sometimes even diametrically opposed and contradictory.

If all this is true, you are both an honest police officer eager to help the weak and an expert in devising schemes and traps. You are both a police thug who defends Tory interests against reform and a progressive who is passionate about Whig values. You are both an impassioned piano player and a Frankenstein’s monster who loves solitude and living in the closet. You are the lone scholar who can get some philosophical quote out of his mouth every now and then, and the local scoundrel who can squeeze into a pub with London’s grimiest landlubbers for a drink and a meal.”

At this point, Louis Bonaparte sighed and asked, “So, sir, you are a man who is actually fickle to such an extent?”

Arthur sniffed and just took small sips of his hot coffee, “Louis.”

“Well, what is it, sir.”

Arthur raised his eyes and smiled at him, “I’ve never changed, it’s the times that have changed.”

Louis Bonaparte froze at hearing this and then gasped, “It’s the times that change?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair and crossed his fingers and said, “That said, I also received a letterhead from a friend yesterday from South America, and he’s a really great naturalist. He’s not a philosopher, but I think that sometimes the arguments that museums use to explain the world are much more desirable.”

“Did he say anything?”

Arthur looked out the window at the drizzle and spoke, “Louis, in this world, it’s not the strong that survive, much less the wise, but the fittest.”

Louis just pondered for a while when he heard this, however, before he could think clearly, another knock sounded outside the office door.

“Enter.”

Tom pushed the door in, he saw Louis and then looked at Arthur, his face suddenly became a bit ugly, a look of wanting to say something.

Arthur spoke up and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Tom thought for a while, and only then implicitly opened his mouth, “Arthur, over at the Foreign Office, Viscount Palmerston has summoned you over, he seems to have something he wants to interview with you.”

Arthur copied the hat in front of the table and buckled it on his head, straightened his clothes and said, “Did it say what it was about?”

Tom glanced at Louie and hesitated before he reminded, “It seems to be about a magazine article and something else or other. I heard from the messenger that it looks like Viscount Palmerston is a little upset about all the pro-Polish talk on the ground in London lately.”

(End of chapter)