Chapter 374: Mockery
During the journey ahead, Victor opted for a carriage ride. Riding a horse for a few minutes could be quite refreshing, but after a few hours, fatigue set in, and if one rode for several days, goodness, it'd be utterly exhausting. Along the way, the accompanying cavalry and torch-bearing riders would rotate at intervals. Yet, Victor had to accompany this fire and torch across half of Europe.
"If it weren't for coming to Russia, I wouldn't have realized how vast the world truly is," Victor reminisced to his friend about his journey. "You know, one day, I'd been on the carriage for a full eight hours. Apart from changing horses at so checkpoints, we hardly stopped."
I asked a Russian cavalryman riding alongside the carriage, 'Hey, friend, how much farther to today's destination?' The trooper cheerfully replied, 'Ah, not far, almost there, just a hundred versts.' I didn't catch it imdiately, it took
a mont to realize that a verst is very similar in length to a kiloter. So, there were still over a hundred kiloters to go. Goodness, that was considered 'not far,' nearly there.
But even more absurd, before long, I found myself familiarizing and accepting this notion of distance. Yes, a thousand kiloters seed sowhat distant, five hundred kiloters felt closer, a hundred kiloters? Ah, that was within reach. So much so that when I returned to Europe, I struggled to adapt to their sense of distance."
Apart from the considerable distance, Victor's journey was fairly smooth. The first major Russian city the sacred fla reached was Kiev. The entire city warmly welcod Victor and his companions. The Mayor of Kiev granted Victor the title of Honorary Citizen, while the residents organized a torchlight procession throughout the night to celebrate the arrival of the sacred fla.
Victor rested in Kiev for two to three days. Despite his robustness, the continuous journey had left him equally fatigued. During these days, he stayed with the local noble family, the Lebiedzowski's. The host, Lebiedzowski, had also studied in France, focusing on painting and literature. He ntioned to Victor that his son was currently in Paris, studying mathematics.
"He initially wished to study physics or engineering. But I worried if he learned those subjects, he might not return to manage our family estates. Mathematics is better; at least it doesn't require a laboratory. He can research in my study without feeling troubled about applying what he learned in France but finding no use for it in Russia. Like my cousin's son, who studied architectural engineering in France, only to return to Moscow and find no cent or steel there... Eventually, he couldn't bear it and went back to France. He wasn't lacking in money, but despite all his skills, he had nowhere to apply them... I know it's tough, just like..."
"Like holding a hamr but not finding a nail to strike," Victor added with a smile.
"Yes, my friend, precisely so. That analogy is perfect," Lebiedzowski chuckled. But then he sighed, "Russia is still too backward. Our systems, many things are terribly outdated, and the Russian people are too conservative. Everything needs to change; we believe joining the Olympics, organizing an Olympic committee, is a great idea. Through sports, we can introduce new ideas to more people. I read 'The Scientific Truth Gazette,' and I really admire one line there: 'Civilize the spirit, barbarize the physique.' That's truly apt."
Lebiedzowski's stance essentially represented the views of a significant portion of the Russian nobility. This was one reason Victor had received such warm hospitality throughout his journey. Perhaps because distance enhances beauty, Russian nobles generally held a better view of the French, who had overthrown the aristocratic rule, compared to the nobility of Italy and Austria.
After spending three days in Kiev, Victor turned towards Moscow.
Moscow, the forr capital of Russia since Peter the Great, although the capital had shifted to St. Petersburg, Moscow remained one of Russia's most important cities, its second capital. Many claid St. Petersburg was rely a facade, while Moscow was the true essence of Russia.
The straight-line distance from Kiev to Moscow was roughly under eight hundred kiloters. However, considering the winding roads and various terrain obstacles, the actual distance exceeded a thousand kiloters, making it an arduous journey.
Although Victor had traveled similar distances before, covering over a thousand kiloters entirely through almost barren plains was a first.
Moreover, the Russian roads amazed Victor. The land froze in winter and thawed in spring and sumr. When frozen, the water within the land would expand, loosening the previously compacted soil. Once the ice lted, the roads turned into mud pits. This made maintaining Russian roads extrely difficult and prone to damage.
Victor contemplated while traveling, concluding that under current circumstances, any European country invading Russia would easily succumb to these blasted roads and the consequential logistical nightmares.
"Especially our French army. In recent years, the French military has beco stronger than ever, yet, on the other hand, it's more dependent on logistics than ever before," Victor thought, having served as a military advisor in Ireland for a while, he was acutely aware of this issue.
"Moreover, vast lands, intricate terrains, these are ideal for guerrilla warfare. Here, sending in a million troops would feel like sprinkling pepper into a large pond. It'd be a waste without any impact. And yes, the Russians, they are conservative, backward, but they have a unique culture. And unlike many countries, every Russian I've encountered has the ambition of a great nation. Combine that with their harsh environnt, shaping their characters resiliently—they are naturally suited for guerrilla warfare, even more so than the Irish."
As he pondered, the carriage suddenly jolted again, and Victor heard the coachman, Marklov, curse, "Damn it, it's broken again!"
anwhile, in another part, the Olympic fla had made its way into Ro, and the idle Roman citizens had wholeheartedly embraced their innate love for festivities. Nearly all the citizens poured onto the streets, turning the entire city into a carnival.
Truly, those Italians treated the torch relay as a carnival. People dressed in masks sward from all directions—so ran out of doors, others dashed from windows. Carriages stread in from every street and corner. Carriages filled with jesters donning white clothes, white trousers, and white masks, ludicrous characters in floral attire brandishing wooden swords, n and won wearing half masks, imitating aristocratic ladies, courtiers, knights, and peasants. Everyone shouted at the top of their voices, tossing paper bags or eggshells filled with flour at each other. So sprinkled tomato juice on themselves, mimicking blood, portraying zombies. If Pauline were here, witnessing all this, she'd be thoroughly delighted.
However, the clergy didn't share the sa enthusiasm upon witnessing all this. Especially when they saw a few individuals on a float.
At that mont, Bishop Leonardo had just comforted a destitute girl and, assuming the deanor of a sage, left the residence he had charitably provided for a girl who could've been his granddaughter's age. He boarded his carriage, heading towards his church to enlighten so theology students on how to draw closer to the Almighty. But as the carriage erged from a narrow alley,
it encountered the frenzied crowd and got swept into the revelry. Then he witnessed sothing peculiar on one of the floats.
Soone wore a paper-mache bishop's hat, quite evidently mimicking the Pope's appearance. This 'Pope' was half-kneeling on the float, holding a golden foil-made crown, extending it to a person seated on a high chair, clad in French military attire.
"Blasphemy! This is blasphemy!" Bishop Leonardo fud, nearly leaping from the carriage to confront whoever dared to maliciously attack the Pope's dignity.
But Bishop Leonardo refrained from acting upon rembering the intelligence reports the Vatican had issued earlier: "The Austrians are extrely displeased about losing the Roman crown. They're bound to throw a tantrum and do so petty tricks. But ignore them, let them vent. After this incident passes, we still need to reconcile with His Majesty, Franz."
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