## Chapter 117: The Proud Gaulish Rooster
The Greenwich Police Station, a place Londoners usually avoided, had become a mecca for reporters.
The reason for their frenzy was simple: they had heard that the Frenchman rescued from the high seas by the Royal Navy was being held there.
Nearly a hundred journalists from various newspapers, big and small, had completely blocked the entrance. Their fervent desire for interviews even forced Arthur to temporarily reassign some patrol officers to maintain order.
In his office, Arthur had to give the French “fatso” a crash course before he could be released to the press.
He looked at Alexandre Dumas, dressed in loose-fitting clothes with a worn felt hat perched on his head, and shook his head. “Mr. Dumas, what is that thing you’re wearing? You call that a hat?”
Dumas immediately retorted, “Oh! Mr. Hastings, what is that under your hat? You call that a brain?”
Dumas’s remark instantly drew laughter from the Red Devil, who was watching the exchange from the side.
Arthur shrugged helplessly. “Mr. Dumas, I’m not here to argue with you. I’m simply stating a fact. You cannot go out for an interview wearing that hat. If those reporters see it, they’ll embellish the story and say we’re mistreating you.”
Dumas tapped the table with his hand. The fat man asked, “Did you not mistreat me?”
Arthur stroked his chin, recalling the French jokes he’d heard over the past few days. He couldn’t help but smile awkwardly. “Those were mental, at least we didn’t physically mistreat you.”
Dumas wasn’t willing to compromise after hearing that. He sternly demanded, “You must apologize to me on behalf of the Greater London Police and the Royal Navy for your previous actions!”
Arthur’s face contorted in a mixture of confusion and exasperation. “Forgive my frankness, Mr. Dumas, but Scotland Yard and the Royal Navy have no precedent for surrendering to France. But if you really need an apology, I suggest you go to our Prime Minister, the Duke of Wellington. It’s been a long time, but the Army did surrender to the French. You should remember, Yorktown, Virginia, in the last century, 1781.”
Dumas took a deep breath. He looked at the young man, a few years younger than himself, and suddenly felt a sense of competition.
This was the first person in his life who could trade barbs with him.
He took off his worn felt hat and said, “Alright, I’ll listen to you. Actually, I don’t mind not wearing a hat. Only you Brits like to wear hats. After all, most Brits, once they take off their hats, their shiny heads could blind anyone.”
Arthur nodded in agreement. “You are truly a great playwright, your words always flow with such elegance.”
Dumas was taken aback. “How do you know I’m a playwright?”
Arthur pretended to be embarrassed. “Mr. Dumas, I forgot to tell you, I actually admire your talent very much. I happened to see your masterpiece, ‘Henri III and His Court.’ This play is not only popular in Paris, but it has also made its way to London in the past two years. I’ve seen it many times at the Old Vic Theatre, but every performance left a lasting impression on me.”
Arthur’s flattery left Dumas feeling a little uncomfortable. He coughed twice, proudly raising his head. “It’s nothing special, just an ordinary play. But I’m very grateful for your support. It truly makes me happy to have a fan on the other side of the Channel.”
Arthur seized the opportunity and changed the subject. “But, I actually have another French playwright I like better.”
“Who?” Dumas raised an eyebrow. “Voltaire? Diderot? Or maybe Rousseau?”
Arthur shook his head slightly. “No, no, no. They’re all too old for me. I’m talking about a writer who’s about your age, Victor Hugo.”
“You like Victor?” Dumas thought for a moment and nodded. “Well, I can see why. After all, he wrote ‘Cromwell.’ I’ve heard he’s quite popular in England.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to be surprised. “You know him?”
“Of course!” Dumas said. “I’ve even had dinner with him. We’re casual friends, but not particularly close.”
Arthur, without making a sound, took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Dumas, now interested in literature, lowered his attack mode. He asked curiously, “Which of Victor’s works do you like best?”
Dumas had now cornered Arthur. He hadn’t read the Hugo masterpiece Dumas mentioned, ‘Cromwell,’ but he wasn’t sure if famous works like ‘Notre Dame de Paris’ had been published yet.
So he could only give an ambiguous answer. “It’s not so much that I like any particular work of Mr. Hugo, but rather that I like some of the witty phrases in his books. I’ve always believed that Mr. Hugo’s talent for comedy is unmatched.”
Dumas frowned at this. “You’re not just talking out of your hat, are you? Victor writes historical dramas, when did he ever write comedies?”
Arthur shook his head. “You don’t understand. Different words have different effects on different people. You know, Shakespeare once said, there are a thousand Hamlets in a thousand people’s eyes. In the eyes of the French, Mr. Hugo writes dramas and tragedies. But in the eyes of the English, Mr. Hugo’s words have a very comedic effect.”
“For example?” Dumas nodded slightly, as if he’d thought of some writing techniques.
Arthur said, “For example, the phrase – ‘All of Europe is attacking France, and the French are attacking Paris.’ What could be more tragic than that? It’s an epic tragedy!
The French think it’s a tragedy, but the English are all laughing their heads off.”
Hearing this, Dumas couldn’t help but clutch his aching head. He gasped, wanting to retort, but felt any rebuttal would be powerless in the face of the truth.
He sighed. “Forget it, I won’t argue with you. Which book of Victor’s is that quote from? I’ll have to find it and take a look.”
Arthur didn’t answer, simply saying, “You should go out and do your interview. If you don’t go out soon, I’m worried these reporters might start smashing the police station.”
Dumas was like a wilted eggplant, even his usually proud and puffy hair drooped.
He asked, “Is there anything I need to be careful about during the interview?”
Arthur was taken aback. “Why are you suddenly so cooperative?”
Dumas glared, his tone not friendly. “What else? If I say the wrong thing, I’ll be sent back to France?”
Arthur joked, “Are you afraid King Louis-Philippe will have your head chopped off?”
Dumas looked out at the light rain, his mood complex. He hesitated for a long time before revealing his true feelings.
“Humph! I’m not afraid of him, he’s just a usurper. I’m just afraid that if I go back, I’ll start to uncontrollably incite the great French people to attack Paris again!”
Arthur sighed with a smile. “Alright, I’ll accompany you to the interview. I’m also worried that with your hot temper, if you get angry under the pressure of the reporters and say something you shouldn’t, that would be a big problem.
By the way, I also have to inform you that according to the orders from the Home Office and Scotland Yard headquarters, you cannot leave the sight of the Greenwich Police District after the interview, at least not out of my sight.”
“Why?” Dumas looked Arthur up and down. “You British police are playing the French game too? Well, I can understand, after all, you learned all this from us.”
Arthur said, “It’s not about learning or not. I have to be honest with you. The reason we went to such great lengths to save your life is not because the Home Office and Scotland Yard are so determined to fight crime.
It’s because the big shots think that even if you’re going to die, you can’t die at the hands of the French. If the one who caught you was just a common slave trader, we probably wouldn’t have chased you to the high seas, let alone send the Royal Navy.
So, even though I will still monitor and protect you, the content of the monitoring is limited to preventing you from falling into the hands of your countrymen. If you encounter other crimes, we can still give you the greatest freedom of choice.”
Speaking of which, Arthur paused, then smiled and asked, “Looking at it this way, do you think the Scotland Yard police are still like the French police?”
Dumas’s eyelids twitched. “To be honest, in some ways, you’re probably worse than the French police. Either you don’t care or you control everything. What kind of demonic act is this half-hearted control?”
Arthur stood up from his chair and patted Dumas on the shoulder. “Come on, Mr. Dumas. That’s the characteristic British national character. You’ll get used to it. The difference between the British and the French is right here. Come on, let’s go do the interview.”
(End of Chapter)