Chapter 1403: Chapter 209: The Orientalist Society of St. Petersburg (Part 2)
People familiar with Arthur, like Eld, know that if you want to anger this seemingly polite Yorkshire gentleman, re verbal provocation is unlikely to succeed.
If you really want to upset him, just spit on his collection of books.
As for how to anger Mr. Carter?
The principle is basically the sa.
The students at University of London are all book lovers, and Eld’s book collection is equally his lifeblood.
The only drawback is that Eld’s collection usually consists of certain specific types.
Arthur glanced at Bichulin’s room full of collections, suddenly considering a purchase: “Is this ‘A Pleasant Room Need Not Be Large, Fragrance of Flowers Lies Not in Quantity’ calligraphy for sale? I’m willing to offer two hundred rubles.”
Bichulin turned around and handed Arthur a cup of hot tea. Instead of directly rejecting, he coyly replied: “Sir, a gentleman does not seize what others love nor force others into difficulties.”
Upon hearing this, Arthur felt quite disappointed. But when Bichulin saw Arthur’s expression, he seed as if Columbus discovering a new continent: “You understood it?”
Originally, he thought Pushkin was exaggerating—a British diplomat couldn’t possibly have any substantial foundation in Sinology.
At most, he would only know a smattering, perhaps able to say a few words of Cantonese.
But now it seems, he might have genuinely delved into studies.
The joy of unexpectedly finding a fellow enthusiast overwheld Bichulin’s mind. He set the pipe on the table, disregarded the steaming kettle on the stove, eagerly approached Arthur, spread his hands, eyes gleaming: “Tell , Sir, how did you learn Chinese? Simply learning from a ho tutor surely wouldn’t achieve such proficiency—did you also live in Beijing?”
Seeing Bichulin’s reaction, Arthur originally intended to say a few humble words, but the other’s eager expression prompted him to simply smile slightly, holding the teacup and said: “I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered it, just that during my ti in London, I occasionally encountered so Sinology materials and, being interested, researched a bit. As for living in Beijing…”
He paused, a hint of jest in his eyes: “Not everyone has the good fortune that you do.”
“Good fortune?” Upon hearing this, Bichulin laughed and coughed twice: “Your Excellency, you might not understand—the days we spent living in Beijing were quite hard. Despite bringing back so many books, they were all traded with money saved from frugality those years. Back then in Beijing, even dreaming of having a proper Russian stew was a luxury.”
“Is that so?” Arthur smirked: “But seeing your room full of books, they’re certainly worth more than a pot of stew.”
Bichulin squinted his eyes, evidently agreeing deeply with Arthur’s words.
Arthur then asked: “And you? How did you learn Chinese?”
“?” Bichulin laughed jovially: “At first, I managed to get hold of a Latin-Chinese dictionary from a Catholic priest. But as study material, that dictionary was evidently not suitable for beginners like , but rather for those who already had an initial grasp of Chinese. Hence, I developed my own thod.”
“What thod?”
“Whenever I had free ti, I would walk along the streets of Beijing, exploring alleyways. Whenever I encountered sothing unfamiliar, I would ask the owner to tell what that was and write it down in Chinese characters. Subsequently, my Chinese teacher would verify the accuracy of the words. This practical approach allowed to encounter different social classes of Chinese people, especially governnt officials and rural farrs.”
Speaking here, Bichulin walked to the bookshelf by the wall, pointed at a ticulously bound Chinese text and asked: “Do you know what this is?”
Arthur stood up and approached to look, seeing densely packed Chinese characters on the pages, occasionally interspersed with lines of Russian annotations, the script forceful and vigorous: “Let guess…”
He gently traced the cover with his fingers, furrowing his brows more and more tightly, as if exerting great effort: “This is the ‘Taiping Scripture’?”
“Exactly!”
Bichulin clapped his hands and laughed: “This is one of the copied texts I brought back from Beijing, and organizing it was quite strenuous. I was originally only curious about what these scriptures contained, but unexpectedly, the more I studied, the more fascinated I beca. You know? The way they discuss the operation of heaven and earth, moral cultivation, surprisingly has several similarities with Eastern Orthodox.”
Arthur stood aside holding his teacup: “You an, missionaries can also learn sothing from Taoism?”
“Of course!” Bichulin, an atypical missionary, answered crisply: “Knowledge knows no boundaries, wisdom knows no bounds. We can draw nourishnt from any culture, the key lies in having eyes willing to discover.”
He paused, as if recalling sothing: “Oh, by the way, Your Excellency, regarding that calligraphy you ntioned earlier—A Pleasant Room Need Not Be Large, Fragrance of Flowers Lies Not in Quantity—I actually didn’t purchase it; it was given to by a friend in Beijing.”
“Friend?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Not quite.” Bichulin shook his head, laughed and said, “A calligrapher, surna Wang. He’s a manager at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and has a straightforward character; he quite appreciated my research spirit. Once, when he saw my interest in calligraphy, he personally wrote this piece and gave it to . You know, their brush technique is completely different from ours, emphasizing ‘dynamic charm and vitality’; it’s not sothing that can be achieved by casually writing.”
Saying this, Bichulin happily ran to the miscellaneous box, picking and choosing for a long ti, then presented a brush as if showing off a treasure.
Bichulin prepared the paper, looking ready to give Arthur a lesson right there.
Bichulin settled down, lifted the brush to dip so ink from the ink bottle, and thodically wrote the eight characters ‘A Pleasant Room Need Not Be Large, Fragrance of Flowers Lies Not in Quantity’ on the paper.
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