Capítulo 1497: Chapter 246: The Idol of Middle-Aged Won
The Moscow Police Headquarters is located on the busiest street in Moscow—Tver Alley.
Speaking of this street, it is akin to the Neva Street in St. Petersburg; Tver Alley represents everything.
Gogol wrote a piece praising Neva Street in St. Petersburg, and even the won’s college teacher in St. Petersburg, who often complained, forgot about his hemorrhoids while speaking of this bustling street and instead pondered the wonders of life.
—The charm of it does not only captivate young n, rely twenty-five years old, with splendid mustaches, dressed in ticulously sewn frock coats, but also appeals to elderly n with full beards and heads as shiny as silver plates. As for the ladies! Ah! The ladies adore Neva Street even more. Who could resist this street? The mont one steps onto Neva Street, a sense of enjoynt surrounds you.
—Retired old soldiers, wearing heavy and dirty boots, tread on the granite road as if ready to crack it. Young won wear delicate, nimble shoes, turning their heads like sunflowers following the sun, to gaze at the myriad of window displays in the shops. Aspirational lieutenants, who carry clanging swords, leave deep grooves on the ground. They each harbor resentnt toward this street, exerting varying degrees of leg strength.
Though it’s not the sa city, nor the sa street. Compared to Neva Street, Tver Alley lacks a Western comrcial modernity but exudes a traditional Russian cultural richness.
Of course, here too, you won’t miss the rows of shops as on Neva Street, nor the dazzling beauties whom Gogol praised.
If you’re here simply to feast your eyes and seek a better lifestyle, Moscow is evidently a better choice than St. Petersburg.
For St. Petersburg, this city is the ideal urban model built by Peter the Great with Europe as a benchmark. Yet for such a city, not ford naturally but constructed artificially, St. Petersburg is neat, dignified, and modern; however, its bureaucratic ‘air’ is excessively strong.
It’s not just a city, but also a military fortress, with plenty of troops stationed in sprawling military camps where elite bureaucrats gather from local governnts for work.
The hours from six to nine in the morning and five to nine in the evening are the liveliest tis in St. Petersburg.
Yet during other hours, even the busiest stores are deserted in those working hours.
This characteristic has led to a city with a significant gender imbalance; St. Petersburg has many beauties, but clearly more are the soldiers serving the 25-year conscription without a ho or family.
As for Moscow?
The lifestyle in Moscow, though considerably conservative, is closer to the Russian people’s habits, rather than the bureaucratic style of St. Petersburg.
The noble estates in Moscow resemble small villas.
The compact and narrow official apartnts of St. Petersburg are rarely seen; houses in Moscow are large and spacious. Due to frequent large-scale entertainnt events, many houses feature a large central courtyard used as a farm, housing cattle and various poultry, with vegetable plots and small sheds for food storage.
In so luxurious hos, even rows of greenhouses are set up to grow winter fruits imported from foreign countries.
Compared to the formal and solemn palaces of St. Petersburg, Moscow’s estates are cozy and familial, even carrying a touch of bourgeois flavor.
In St. Petersburg, the imperial style is mainly manifested through grand public buildings, whereas in Moscow it is exhibited in the lavish decorations and furniture within the private living spaces of nobility.
Moscow Police Chief Zienski’s residence is located not far from the Moscow Police Headquarters. This serene noble abode quietly resides in the morning mist, but the sound of horseshoes disrupts the tranquil and picturesque scene.
The morning mist in Moscow is torn into shreds by the swinging Cossack sabers, as the white breath of six Don horses solidifies into ice crystals, weaving webs before the wrought iron gates of the Police Chief’s residence.
The double-headed eagle badges on the chests of several Cossack cavalry are brightly polished, their red cloaks lined with wolf fur slightly trembling in the cold wind. From a distance, the attire seems as though it has been lifted straight from Paul I’s coffin.
Protected in the midst of a few cavalry is a slow-moving black carriage, its chestnut mare struggling on the icy road, and the coachman cautiously holding the reins, devoid of the usual untad charm of Russian coachn racing wildly.
He fears a sudden turn might send the European diplomat, who has three broken ribs, back to the hospital.
Suddenly, the chestnut mare pulling the carriage slipped on the ice, letting out a shrill neigh, and the six Cossack cavalry quickly drew their swords, startling a flock of cold crows in the treetops.
The carriage slowly stopped, and Blackwell had just opened the door when the leading Cossack captain imdiately dismounted to assist Arthur out.
“Be careful, sir!” The call of Guard Captain Will Kosov was wrapped in vodka breath, pointing at the chestnut mare flicking its tail: “This beast has killed several Poles before!”
“No problem.” Arthur’s deerskin glove brushed past the mare’s mane, wiping away the frozen blood between the hairs: “Your country’s Don horses are as fierce as unicorn cannons, far more interesting than the draft horses of Britain.”
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