Retold from a short memoir of Osterman-Tolstoy by his aide-de-camp Lazhechnikov (who should have totally written a book about him, considering what obvious fanboy he was).

Once, when living in St.-Petersburg after the war, Osterman received two letters: one from a woman whom he called a friend telling him of the death of her husband; the other from the commander of a Grenadier regiment who "adopted" Osterman's pet bear. The Count dictated the answers to Lazhechnikov, both started with the words "My dear friend" without their names. He signed them and telling him ther adresses, told him to seal the letters and post them. Lazhechnikov adressed the letters wrongly. The Count's female friend did not send a reply, but the regiment commander returned the letter noting that he must have received it by mistake. Fortunately for Lazhechnikov, Osterman did nothing except giving him that note to read with a very stony face.


OMG, I wish that woman did send a reply. XD Poor, poor Lazhechnikov. And yes, Osterman had some pet bears. :D (Also apparently he had a white eagle and a white crow. O_o )

It's amazing how wildly energetic does my leafing through books become when I get struck by a mad and bad fic plotbunny. Aha. It's especially amazing how the fic practically writes itself. It's one of those times, when you practically don't have to think about phrases or scenes, they just appear in your mind, ready and available for use. The only problem is that this time, it decided to write itself in my mind in Russian. Well, it's not so much of a problem, but it's funny how the mind works. Sometimes I want to write a piece in Russian, but my brain keeps shoving English at me. This time it's other way round. >.< But, me thinks, maybe I'll write this fic in both languages. If for the sake of one phrase that sounds way better in Russian than it does in English. I think it'll be very fun to write Wellington in Russian for the first time. :D

Another small fail. Mom went to my flat in Russia to water the plants. For some reason she looked into the fridge, and found a bunch of asparagus that I forgot to throw out when I was leaving home to go back to Scotland after Easter. Eww. I'm just horrible. XDDD

And now, stay tuned for my EPIC fail of the day. XD

4 a.m. I am having coffee in the kitchen. It's almost light outside and the seagulls are going crazy. Idyllic. Suddenly, I realise that something is wrong with the window. Having come closer to take a look at it, I realise there is snail on the other side of it. And really, I could have left it alone, but no how could I possibly live when there is snail on the outside of my window?! Here I have to explain something. My window is above the sink and the counters and there is a wiiide windowsill between them and the window. The only easily accessible part of the window is the narrow opening on the side, which at the time I had open for I was smoking.

So. I looked at the snail and decided to get rid of it. I grabbed a piece of carton from the counter, streched myself out of the narrow opening and tried to reach the snail. It all bunched up but stayed put. Groaning, I stretched some more. The snail fell off the window. Onto the "windowsill" outside. This really was the time to leave it at that. But, no, the memory of Count Osterman-Tolstoy's heroic stand at Kulm made my blood run faster and apparently away from the brain. I got onto the inside windowsill and threw the snail onto the ground below. Then I looked at it. And at that moment I very vividly realised that the only part of my body that was in the warmth and safety of my flat was the part below the knees. I never liked heights. On my way back inside I resembled a very acrobatic snake that was trying to avoid becoming both a puree and a prisoner of a narrow window at the same time.

Finally watched the new episode of Eureka! My favourite quote of the episode: 'You speak Dutch?!'

Was up the whole night, so that's what is responsible for the following.

See that userpic? It comes from this portrait. Portrait of General Osterman-Tolstoy (also a Count and a former governor of St.-Petersburg (squees fannishly because OMG, he was pretty! ^_^;;) Anyhow, I just gotta share this anecdote of his life, because it's just so so so... erm, something! XD

In August of 1813, during the Battle of Kulm a cannonball shattered Osterman's left arm up to the shoulder. While waiting for the operation, Ostermann was listening to three doctors arguing in Latin how to amputate the arm better. Finally one of them, the youngest, turned to look at the General and saw a mocking expression in his eyes.
- It was useless, gentlemen, to speak in Latin, - said the Doctor, - the Count knows it better than we do!
To which, Ostermann said:
- You are good! Here, you will cut, no one else!

(sighs lovingly)

Count Osterman-Tolstoy.



 

This quote from Gleig's memoirs of Wellington just can't leave me alone, so I have written this. XD Forgive me, f-list. I swear I am not x-posting it anywhere else. You are the only ones who see it. XD

"A pair of black leather leggings, fastened at the sides, and reaching half-way up the calf, protected his legs."

More descriptions of Wellington with emphasis on his clothing (yes, I am obsessed, can you blame me? Black leather leggins, damn it!) XD


1802, George Elers.

…Colonel Wellesley was just thrity-two, and I saw some gray hairs about his temples mixed with his fine crop of light-brown hair… He never wore powder, though it was at that time the regulation to do so. His hair was cropped close. I have heard him say he was convinced the wearing of hair powder was very prejudicial to health as impeding the perspiration, and he was doubtless right.
 … His dress consisted of a long coat, the uniform of the 33rd Regiment, a cocked hat, white pantaloons, Hessian boots and spurs, and a large sabre, the handle solid silver, and the mounting of the scabbard of the same metal, but all gilt.

1813

We know Lord Wellington at a great distance by his little flat cocked hat (not a fraction of an inch higher than the crown,) being set on his head completely at right angles with his person, and sitting very upright in his hussar saddle, which is simply covered with a plain blue shabrack. His lordship rides, to all appearance, devoid of sash, as, since he has been made a Spanish Field-Marshal, he wears on his white waistcoat, under his blue surtout coat, the red and gold knotted sash of that rank, out of compliment to our allies. From the same motive, he always wears the order of the Toison d’Or round his neck, and on his black cockade two others, very small, of the Portuguese and Spanish national colours. His lordship, within the last year, has taken to wearing a white neckerchief instead of our black regulation, and in bad weather a French private Dragoon’s cloak of the same colour.

William Maginn

‘Every day during the siege of San Sebastian  I saw him, unattended by his staff, riding by my window, in a narrow street of Renteria, on his way to the besieged fortress, accompanied by an old artillery or engineer officer, - I believe Sir. R. Fletcher, - and dressed in a plain grey frock, white cravat, and cocked hat - evidently intent on the matters of the siege…’

1814.
 
Major Harry Ross-Lewin

‘He had been reconnoitring the enemy, and, seating himself on the grass in his well-known short white cloak, he took out some paper, and began to write; but some drizzling rain that was then falling incommoded him. Another officer and I, perceiving the inconvenience he suffered, immediately procured an umbrella, which my companion fixed near him so as to shelter the paper, his lordship having thanked him for his attention.’

John Colborne.

‘I remember seeing Lord Wellington in a little white cloak, sitting on a stone, writing. Charles Beckwith, who was standing near me, said, “Do you see that old White Friar sitting there? I wonder how many men he is marking off to be sent into the next world.’


And now, for variety's sake, Russian soldier's march/song of the Napoleonic Wars, specifically 1812. I provided the translation into English.


 

From the memoir of Lord Ellesmere.

"... and at her arm was a gentleman, unknown, and whose features I did not, strange to say, at all recognise as those so often to be observed in shop-windows. I was, I remember, struck with the good-humoured and joyous expression of his smile, but more with the unusual length and size of his watch-chain and appendages, which seemed to me to present undue attractions to a pickpocket. Lady Harrowby did not fail to present me."

""After the Battle of Talavera he sat to a Portuguese" artist for a whole-length, of which there is an elaborate line-engraving. He is represented, I think, in Portuguese uniform, in Hessians, and it is remarkable for the size and strength of the legs, in which I believe the artist was accurate. This print I have seen in the dining-room at Walmer, and I think there is another in a bed-room at Apsley House."

Leggins, legs... People seem to have had a positive obsession with certain parts of Wellington's anatomy.  And OMG, appendages. XD And the next one just made me go 'Aaaaw'. ^_^

I next met the Duke at Woodford, Mr Arbuthnot's residence in Northamptonshire, in a very limited circle. We drove, shot, and rode together without cessation, I well remember a day's partridge-shooting, in the course of which during a heavy shower we sat down under his umbrella, which he always took with him, and he told me the history of his Danish campaign of 1807.

Yes! I did it! I finally, FINALLY, got the plot line of my big and scary Sharpe fic straight. OH JOY! It's not even overly melodramatic. ^_^;; Though, of course, now I want to rewrite everything written so far, even though I already re-wrote a lot of it. >.<

In other news. I got propositioned by a guy with pink hair and now I am hoping desperately he is not gonna take me up on my promise to meet up and hang out which I made BEFORE the proposition. x _ x I think I've used up a month's worth of excuses last night already. I wish I could just tell him to go to hell, but I've known him for a while, and he is actually a pretty nice guy, and we do have some history... But that history is like 4 years old! AAAAARGH, time to forget it. >.< *hides in the closet*