"Oh, diplomat..." Arthur raised an eyebrow: "Otto, although I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm, the conditions to beco a good diplomat are quite rigorous."
Bismarck replied casually: "I’ve been diligently studying various foreign languages."
"That’s not what I ant." Arthur pointed to the back of the carriage: "In the car behind us is the best diplomat from the British Foreign Office, Mr. Auguste Schneider. Do you know Mr. Schneider’s criteria for asuring whether a diplomat is competent?"
"What is it?"
"Mr. Schneider believes an outstanding diplomat must be able to predict events of tomorrow, next month, next year, and beyond."
Upon hearing this, Bismarck couldn’t help but mock: "Then it seems you should hire a bunch of fortune tellers to do diplomacy. However, even the most seasoned fortune tellers sotis get their predictions wrong."
"Predictions being wrong? That’s common, it’s not important."
"Is that so? Then what is important?"
"What matters is you should be able to give a reason for a wrong prediction, providing an explanation to your superiors and the public."
"Hahaha!"
Most people present took Arthur’s statent as another display of his joking nature.
But Bismarck, uniquely, couldn’t laugh no matter what, as one of the few who knew the real reason for the Young Italy uprising’s failure, he knew Arthur was serious.
Inciting Young Italy, deceiving the British Foreign Office, concealing the German Confederation, anwhile playing with the French Governnt and Austria’s intelligence agencies.
Bismarck considered himself quite daring, but compared to the revered Hastings School Director’s deeds, it was like a child comparing to a grand wizard.
As for why Arthur insisted on steering the topic towards such suggestive words?
Bismarck knew imdiately, even without thinking, that the School Director was warning him to keep quiet.
Arthur looked at the sweating Bismarck, adjusted his hat while holding his pipe and said: "Otto, why aren’t you laughing? Don’t you like it?"
Bismarck cooperatively put on a mixed expression: "Of course not, I just feel I’ve learned many new experiences from you."
After a bumpy ride, the carriage finally slowly ca to a stop, the driver pulled tight the reins, the horse snorted and halted in front of a roadside country inn.
The inn’s exterior wall was painted with light yellow paint, and a shaky wooden sign hung at the door, gently swaying in the breeze.
The carriage door opened, and Great Dumas was the first to jump down, stretching lazily and smiling as he poked his head into the inn: "It’s lunch ti!"
He loudly called the companions from the carriages behind to co out and catch their breath, Mottle and other students, Garibaldi and the Young Italy companions got off one after another, chatting and laughing as they walked towards the inn.
However, Heine was not in a hurry to get off the carriage, instead he leaned lazily against the window, seemingly still imrsed in so mood.
Arthur tapped Heine’s shoulder: "What’s the matter? Heinrich?"
Heine slightly shook his head: "Just feeling nostalgic."
Arthur initially didn’t understand, only thinking this was the poet’s typical rich emotion.
Leading Bismarck, he was about to get off the carriage, when he suddenly noticed a woman with a headscarf and blue apron coming out of the inn.
The innkeeper enthusiastically organized guests to enter the inn for rest, but as her eyes t Heine’s face through the window, the woman, adorned with a few silver hairs at her temples, suddenly showed a joyful smile, she reproachfully complained: "Heinrich, I’ve loved you so much, yet how long has it been since you last visited ?"
"Sorry, Busenia." Heine tipped his hat to the innkeeper and shook his head: "I didn’t an it. But you must first understand, I didn’t return not because I stopped loving you, but because I graduated from Gottingen. Moreover, I am a poet, and one hated by the German Confederation Governnt at that. Even if I wanted to co back, tternich would find ways to keep apart from your inn."
The innkeeper eagerly helped Heine down from the carriage: "You young man are always like this, but I understand that talented young people like to go against the big five. But if you’d say a few nice words, I think whether it’s Austria’s tternich or Prussia’s Stein, they would forgive you. You might get a good position from them and perhaps even beco a minister."
"Perhaps." Heine chuckled: "But if I really did that, would I still be as popular as I am now? Busenia, I know you truly care for , but right now, let’s first solve the problem of hunger for and my friends."
The innkeeper smiled and asked: "Still the usual? Hot buttered bread, celery soup, and a vegetable salad?"
"Busenia, you always understand so well. I trust your cooking, you can serve anything, just don’t bring out that bland campus food from the University of Gottingen, I never want to taste that saltless dried fish and tough cabbage stalks again."
Arthur watched as Heine and the innkeeper happily walked into the inn, then spoke to Bismarck beside him: "Was the school cafeteria’s food really that bad?"
Bismarck shrugged at the question: "No, while the dried fish and cabbage stalks were indeed hard to eat, I don’t think that’s the worst. The worst lunch should be the free als poor theology students eat, you know how that free al soup tastes?"
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