Blackwell’s face suddenly turned gloomy: "It shouldn’t... be that serious, right? Are you saying, the Tsar might really... expel us?"
"Don’t underestimate his thods, nor overestimate our standing. In this ga of diplomacy, power speaks. If the unfortunate really happens, it’s not that big of a deal for . At most, I’ll be transferred to a colonial office in India, Canada, or even Australia. Although the conditions there are harsh, at least there’s a job, a steady salary. But you, Henry, what are you planning to do?"
Arthur casually painted Blackwell’s prospects: "A junior diplomat with a major blunder, with no one in the family to support you. Without my recomndation letter, without the embassy’s protection, where can you go? Is it back to London to find clerical work, or to a country school to teach French and German? Those noble friends you made at the Shrovetide ball, they’ll imdiately forget you, even pretend they never knew you. Because you’re no longer a diplomat, you’re just an insignificant, worthless little person."
Blackwell’s hand subconsciously gripped his knee tightly, as every word from Arthur hit him hard like snowflakes.
Can my family help at all?
He couldn’t help but think of his family.
The Blackwell family in London was rely part of the middle class; his father ran a small printing workshop, with an inco barely maintaining the family’s respectable life, but certainly not an important pillar that could provide shelter or resettlent.
His brother had inherited the family business, but the relationship between them was always cold, and his brother might not be willing to pay for his mistakes.
As for those distant noble relatives, they had long ignored this side branch of theirs.
Blackwell understood that if he really lost this job, the family could only offer a few words of comfort, at most a few hundred British Pounds as a loan, but not truly supportive help.
He was proficient in French and German, having used them adeptly in diplomatic affairs, but what could these skills do when he returned to London in 1834?
Beco a translator?
Perhaps there would be a job, but the salary would by no ans be generous, and there would be no future.
Work as a contributor for a newspaper?
This industry was fiercely competitive, often relying on connections, and besides, his reputation might have already been ruined by diplomatic failures.
As for teaching languages, although he could try to start a small French or German class...
But where would the students co from?
And how much inco could there be?
Such a life would only see him descend from being a respectable diplomat to a struggling small-ti employee, not reduced to poverty, but certainly not as comfortable as he lived now.
Arthur observed the vivid changes in Blackwell’s expression, understanding that this difficult goat had finally agreed to put on the collar.
It must be said, the lessons taught by the French psychology master, Europa’s greatest charlatan Talleyrand, were always useful, and once again his words were proven true—seeing the struggles of small people, people will compromise with the great ones.
Agares’ voice rang in Arthur’s ear, with the usual mockery and teasing, as if he were leisurely leaning in so dark corner of the carriage.
"My dear Arthur, your skills in manipulating people’s hearts are becoming more and more masterful! Look at you, you’re practically a young version of Talleyrand-Perigord, even your limp is just like his. Never put your hope in the kindness of others, but in their fears. How about this, since you’ve now obtained the teaching qualification of the German Confederation, when you retire, I’ll arrange a position for you to teach a course in administrative managent at Hell University, what do you say?"
Arthur snorted lightly, covering his face with a newspaper, murmuring: "The students at Hell University are too stupid, they can’t learn anything."
Agares laughed instead of getting angry, grinning: "Oh, dear, your words are truly sharp! But yes, you’re right. Nearly all the students we recruit are not very bright. Otherwise, why would they trade their souls for so third-rate wishes?"
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