Chapter 1376: Alliance Through Marriage
Rochefort, exasperated, slapped his forehead:
"God, why didn't you tell me sooner? I bought three of the most expensive spots from the queue-holders..."
"It's fine," Portier gestured towards the square. "With this many people here today, you should be able to resell them easily."
...
In Russia, at a small tavern on the northern outskirts of Saint Petersburg, Chadov, his skin chapped, pulled his collar tighter and looked towards the young man in a worn leather jacket at the door:
"Frolonov, haven't they arrived yet?"
The biting wind outside wailed shrilly. The young man firmly closed the door and turned around, saying:
"Huh? What did you say?"
"Those noble lords," Chadov took a sip of his drink and frowned, "They aren't going to chicken out, are they?"
Frolonov was about to close the door when he noticed two more people following behind him.
"What are they doing here?" He immediately reached warily for the axe behind the door.
"Don't be nervous, these are my friends, completely trustworthy."
Chadov hesitated for a moment, then gestured for them to enter. "Come in, all of you. But this isn't what we agreed upon, Lieutenant."
"I'm not a Lieutenant anymore." The tall young man casually found a chair and sat down, glancing around at the others in the room.
Chadov pointed to the brown-haired man closest to him:
"Dmitry Rogov. He held the line in Switzerland for two days and a night, but the Prussians never came to relieve them as promised."
His finger moved on: "Kirill Tikhonov. He was scattered by cavalry in Karlsruhe.
"Over there is Pyotr Litkin, also from the Baden battlefield, who was..."
The tall young man interjected, "All of you returned from France?"
"Yes, all of us abandoned by the Emperor's generals." Chadov gestured towards the tall young man again. "Lieutenant Kishchenko. From what I understand, he didn't flee, but was captured in close-quarters combat."
"I told you, I've already retired." Kishchenko waved his hand, then lowered his voice. "Enough with the pleasantries. I want to see it."
"Of course."
Chadov finished speaking but began drinking, waiting for over ten minutes until someone came in to report that no one had followed them. Only then did he turn, move aside a few wine barrels, pry open the floorboards, retrieve a cloth-wrapped package, and toss it to Kishchenko.
The latter nervously opened the package and examined the documents one by one, his face growing paler with each passing moment.
It wasn't until he pulled out a piece of tattered cloth from the bottom, seeing the crooked, reddish-brown handwriting on it, that he gasped and shot to his feet.
The young man who had accompanied him took the tattered cloth and read aloud with a frown:
"Alexander shot at me, I curse him. Paul Petro..."
The last word was unfinished, but it was clearly "Petrovich."
The young man stared intently at Chadov, his voice grave. "This is His Majesty Paul's..."
"A replica." Chadov retrieved all the items and stuffed them back into the cloth package.
"I want to see the original!"
"No."
"Listen, we can work together."
"..."
"I know what you're trying to achieve, but please believe me, without help, you won't even get through the gates of the Winter Palace." Kishchenko pointed to the young man beside him. "He's a Novik; his elder brother serves as a battalion commander in the Tsar's Imperial Guard."
A Novik is a young noble who has already begun serving in the Imperial Palace.
Chadov hesitated for a moment. "I need to discuss this with 'that gentleman'."
...
In Notre-Dame de Paris Square, Rochefort and the others, despite being escorted by the Department of Military Affairs, were still jostled and pushed from side to side.
It took them over twenty minutes of walking to finally reach a spot right next to the red carpet.
Three young boys made way for them, bowing slightly as they left.
Portier looked back at the dense crowd behind them and said to Rochefort:
"Your money was certainly well spent."
Indeed, the queue-holders had been occupying these spots since early yesterday morning. The view from here was far superior to the rest area for the outer security agents, which was why each spot sold for 40 francs.
From nearby, the joyful singing of young girls drifted over:
"If you marry, marry a man like the Crown Prince...
"He can defeat all enemy armies...
"He severely punished the corrupt...
"He sent those damned tax farmers to the gallows...
"Ah, but where in this world is there another man like the Crown Prince..."
Chaumont looked at Rochefort. "What are they singing?"
"The latest craze," the chubby man shrugged. "Even my little niece sings it."
His niece had just turned nine this year.
Chaumont craned his neck, looking towards the far end of the square, and murmured:
"I thought the Russian princess would be sent back."
Portier smiled faintly:
"The Tsar will soon choose to cease hostilities and negotiate peace. Britain is our greatest enemy."
Rochefort added:
"You probably don't know, but the Crown Princess is very popular among the common people."
The surrounding band suddenly began playing with renewed vigor, and the distant crowd erupted into excited cheers.
Soon, a red-robed Archbishop, holding a holy relic, led a procession of priests slowly past.
The Crown Prince's figure appeared behind them, accompanied by the Russian princess, who was dressed in a lavish gown and holding his arm.
The two looked as if they had stepped out of a fairy tale, seeming to glow with a soft radiance.
The crowds lining both sides of the red carpet, following their steps, orderly pressed their hands to their chests in a bow. All the previous clamor of shouts and songs vanished at that instant, and the entire square was instantly filled with silence and solemnity.
...
On the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, Chadov, still pulling at his collar, followed the faint tracks on the snow until he reached a small copse of trees. He turned to Kishchenko and said:
"This is the place, Lieutenant."
Before the latter could reply, the door of the dark little wooden cabin ahead opened.
"Why do you need to see it?" an ordinary-looking middle-aged man with some Gallic features asked, handing him a cup of hot berry tea.
"Thank you," Kishchenko said, looking at the cup. "Are you familiar with the Declaration of the Rights of Man?"
"I've heard of it."
"We want Russia to change. To free serfs from beatings and exploitation, to allow citizens to speak freely, and to stop the nobility from indulging in lavish corruption."
The middle-aged man also picked up a cup of berry tea:
"That doesn't seem to be related to why you need to see it."
"It is related." Kishchenko's voice trembled slightly. "His Majesty Alexander does not wish for reform.
"We should have a sufficiently enlightened Imperial Prince... become Tsar."
"How many of you are there?"
"I don't know, but many noble officers, especially the younger ones, agree with our ideas. Especially with the continuous losses in the Dnieper River campaign, people are growing more and more frustrated and desperate..."
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