As for Arthur’s social circle, it was just as chaotic as the campus of the University of London, and sotis one friend could represent quite a lot of identities.
A Black man, a fat man, a literary figure, a flirt, an artilleryman, a Republican.
Bonaparte, British nationality, military academy student, policeman, Republican Emperor.
Fiona soon cald down once she realized this, but she couldn’t help but advise: "You told before that when you finish your tenure as the Academic Director, you might be transferred to Russia. So you’d better rember, the second biggest insult to a Russian is saying they have Gypsy ancestry."
"Hmm? That’s only the second biggest?" Arthur asked with interest: "Then what’s the first?"
Fiona snorted: "Calling them a Mongol."
After saying this, Fiona didn’t forget to remind: "But you’d better not say that, because if you do, they might fight you to the death."
Arthur was puzzled: "Why? Just because I say he’s a Mongol, a Russian would fight to the death with ?"
Fiona opened her little parasol and took Arthur’s arm, saying: "Aren’t you a university student of history? You should know that the Russians were once conquered by the Mongols. So if you insult a Russian by saying they have Mongol blood, you’re not only calling them a barbarian, but also implying that one of their grandmothers was once ravaged by the Mongols. They’d be crazy not to fight you."
Arthur pondered this and then asked: "What if I want to complint a Russian? What should I say?"
Fiona proudly puffed out her chest: "If they’re like , you’d complint them on their German heritage, saying they don’t look like a pure Russian. If you say that, they might just treat you to a drink."
"You have German blood?" Arthur stepped back a couple of steps, taking another look at Fiona, but after a long while, he still couldn’t find any hint of a Dragon Cavalry’s dashing deanor: "I don’t see it!"
"How can’t you see it?" Fiona retorted angrily: "I’m one-eighth German!"
Arthur had no idea what she was getting upset about: "But Heine told that German girls walk like Dragon Cavalry. You know, because Dragon Cavalry often rode horses, most of them had bowlegs, how long have you had these symptoms?"
Upon hearing this, Fiona quickly corrected herself: "Oh, then maybe my German bowlegs were overshadowed by my other one-eighth French blood."
Arthur, hearing this, just figured she was playing tricks on him again: "Where did your one-eighth German and one-eighth French blood co from?"
"From my great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents."
Fiona listed them with pride: "They all ca to Russia during Peter the Great’s reforms. My French great-great-grandfather was brought in as a skilled artisan, and my great-grandfather was a low-level officer recruited from Germany. Since Peter the Great, right through Empress Catherine’s reign, nurous foreign skill experts, officers, engineers, and scholars were recruited to Russia. Because most of them were Germans, if you have German blood, your ancestors weren’t ordinary people, which is why German heritage naturally feels superior in Russia."
Upon hearing this, Arthur suddenly realized that the hierarchy of European bloodlines was indeed incredibly long.
At the top is French ancestry, followed closely by the mutually disdainful Italian, Spanish, and German ancestries, then the mutual disdainful Polish, Lithuanian, and Russian ancestries, and finally the Mongolian.
As for British lineage, it resembles British politics; everyone thinks it’s important, but it’s not included in the European Continent’s system, and it doesn’t want to be accepted into it either.
However, this doesn’t an that Britain doesn’t have its own internal hierarchy.
Even when categorized by the English accent, several tiers can be distinguished.
The highest tier speaks English, the second tier has a Scottish and Welsh accent, the third tier has an Irish accent, the fourth tier doesn’t speak English, and the last tier speaks Arican English.
Curious, Fiona asked: "And you, what kind of ancestry do you have?"
Arthur shrugged at this: "Heaven knows, if I’m not of Gypsy origin, my ancestors might have been scraping in the fields of York since William the Conqueror."
Fiona, looking at this self-proclaid eighth-generation peasant boy from York, covered her mouth with her fan and laughed: "That’s not certain, you bear the na Hastings, so your ancestors might have been granted that na during that battle which determined the fate of England."
At this, Fiona looked at Arthur’s face, so real it was almost phantasmal, and couldn’t help but rember the day he rose from the coffin in the church: "Dear, sotis I wonder, are you really human? After all, humans shouldn’t be able to..."
Arthur quickly interrupted her: "This is the University of Gottingen, madam, I request you not to spread superstition here, as it would cause a lot of trouble."
Fiona was about to say more, but ultimately she couldn’t help but blurt out: "I bet, you might have actually lived for a thousand years, right?"
Arthur chuckled lightly: "If I had really lived a thousand years, then turning out like this would be pretty pathetic. Even if I started working a thousand years ago, I’d have saved up at least tens of thousands of Pounds by now."
Agares, who was eating an apple under the tree, spat out the peel in response, and the two-thousand-year-old Red Devil glared at Arthur, exclaiming angrily: "Arthur, you brat! Who the hell are you insulting!"
Arthur pretended not to hear Agares’s angry curse, he diverted the topic: "Speaking of which, how’s Charles doing these days?"
Fiona replied unhurriedly: "Don’t worry, ever since that business with Defina, I’ve been more cautious. No matter where Mr. Wheatstone goes, he always has two people following him. He tried to escape on the way to Gottingen, but after so many failures, he’s probably resigned to his fate now. Besides, he seems to be in a good mood these days, helping to set up telegraph equipnt at the Observatory during the day, and at night he’s engrossed with the translation of ’The Calculation of Currents’ that you did. He’s even found German books for self-study, saying he wants to talk more with Mr. Ohm."
Arthur was surprised to hear this: "Charles actually wanted to et soone?"
Fiona nodded gently: "At first, he actually didn’t want to et Ohm directly. On the first day, he just asked us to deliver a ssage to Ohm, but because they didn’t speak the sa language, their communication wasn’t smooth. After exchanging letters more than ten tis, Mr. Wheatstone beca urgent; he seems to have a new idea that he has to explain to Mr. Ohm."
Arthur paused and frowned: "A new idea?"
Fiona pursed her lips: "Why are you surprised about that? To , it’s more suspicious that two grown n have to exchange over ten letters each day."
"That’s not strange." Arthur replied: "When Charles was in London, he exchanged tons of telegrams daily with Alfred from the editorial departnt. If the efficiency of letter writing wasn’t so low, I bet with his nature, he could output a folio volu novel every day."
"He’s quite a peculiar person."
"You still haven’t told what new idea he has. What did the letters say?"
"I can’t understand much. But it seems that Mr. Wheatstone highly agrees with Mr. Ohm’s views, and he knows how to help Mr. Ohm prove his theory. The specific thod seems to involve so kind of bridge experint."
"Bridge experint?"
Arthur found it all bewildering: "Am I supposed to build a bridge at the venue for them?"
"That I don’t know." Fiona replied: "Once the telegraph equipnt is set up, you can send him a telegram and ask."
As they spoke, they walked out of Gottingen’s campus, but not far away, they saw a carriage slowly approaching the school gate.
Two heads stuck out of the carriage window, those of ndelssohn and Liszt, waving their top hats towards them.
"Arthur, good news, we’ve solved the tenor problem!"
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