shadow of britain

Chapter 657: Illegitimate Children Are Not a French Patent

The deputy dean with blue glasses was holding a thick file in his hand, flipping through it while muttering: "I have examined Ogarev's case. I have to say that this case is very strange and confusing. But..."

"This is a special warrant from the Petersburg High Criminal Court." The vice president took out a document with a double-headed eagle wax seal from a drawer. "According to Article 47 of the Preventive Detention Regulations, the judicial review power for cases involving threats to national security shall be exercised by the Military Police Command."

Arthur tapped his index finger lightly on the armrest of the carved chair, a habit he developed in the interrogation room of Scotland Yard. The firelight dyed the deputy president's graying temples dark red, reminding him of the old judge he often dealt with at the Old Bailey Court in London.

"That is to say..." Arthur's Russian was elegant and strangely stammering, "Even if the military police detain someone beyond the legal period, the court has no right to intervene?"

The vice president nodded respectfully, then turned his gaze to Herzen who was beside Arthur: "Who is this?"

Arthur waved his hand gently and said, "A young man who is running around for his friend who was wrongfully imprisoned. He is an enthusiastic young man."

A gleam of light flashed behind the blue lenses of the vice-president's glasses, and his fingers stroked the brittle paper at the edge of the file: "Alexander Ivanovich Herzen?"

Herzen didn't expect the vice president to directly reveal his name. He nodded blankly: "That's right."

The deputy director asked the clerk to make a pot of tea for the two of them. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to talk about Ogarev's case. He smiled politely at Arthur first, and then chatted with Herzen: "Ivan Alexeevich Yakovlev is your father, right?"

The oak door with copper corners was suddenly pushed open, and the cold wind wrapped in snow particles blew into the room.

Six servants in bearskin cloaks stood on both sides like swordfish. From among the servants emerged an old noble with a gloomy expression. The armband embroidered with gold thread shone coldly under the candlelight - this was a symbol only possessed by the Tsar's confidants who had served as imperial aides-de-camp.

Ivan Yakovlev tapped the marble floor with his cane, the top of which was inlaid with amber and contained a double-headed eagle. His sable collar was still stained with snow from the Kremlin walls, and he had obviously come directly from the office of Prince Golitsyn, the governor-general of Moscow.

"Nikolai Sergeyevich," the old nobleman said in a voice like the frozen Volga River, "I am sorry to trouble you."

Herzen's knees began to tremble and even his teeth could not help chattering.

"Ivan Alexeevich!" The deputy dean stood up and hugged him warmly. He accidentally let his blue glasses slide to the tip of his nose. "We were just talking about your son's good deeds..."

"Good deeds?" The old nobleman lifted the hem of Herzen's coat with his silver-handled cane, revealing the brass buttons of his land and resources official uniform. "Wearing the clothes issued by the state and intervening in the case of political prisoners, is this the rule you learned in the archives of the Privy Council?"

Arthur tapped his fingertips on his cuffs three times - this was the code he used to remind his colleagues to pay attention to body language during interrogations at Scotland Yard.

He noticed that there was a secret compartment under the vice-president's desk. The old man had pressed his knee against it when he took the warrant just now. The secret compartment was now half open because he stood up, revealing half of an envelope with the gendarmerie emblem printed on it.

"Come home with me!" Yakovlev threw out a pass with a double-headed eagle wax on it and tapped Herzen on the shoulder with his cane. "Here! Your transfer order. Go to Ryazan Province to check the serf tax list starting tomorrow."

At this point, the old man suddenly switched back to German, sounding like a commander giving orders: "If you dare to get involved with these Polish scum again, I will bury your mother in a Lutheran cemetery!"

Yakovlev's eyes were like an eagle's. He stared at Herzen closely until he saw his son lower his head to express obedience to him and walked out of the vice-president's office as he requested. Only then did the anger in his eyes subside a little.

He turned his gaze to Arthur, and his tone became much gentler: "Sir Arthur Hastings?"

Arthur took off his gloves and held out his hand to him: "Nice to meet you, Mr. Yakovlev."

Yakovlev did not hold Arthur's hand. He just looked seriously at the British knight who almost dragged his son into danger. He then poked the floor with his cane and shook his head and said, "You shouldn't fool around with young people, at least a steady young man like you shouldn't do that. Although young people like to play around, this time they clearly crossed the line."

After saying this, Yakovlev left the office without looking back. His voice cursing Herzen in a low voice could still be faintly heard in the corridor.

It was a strange accent mixed with Russian, French and German. Perhaps only close friends and family could understand what the old man was cursing.

But unfortunately, Arthur also understood.

"Do you think that Englishman is the savior? The arsenic hidden in his cufflinks is enough to poison the entire choir!"

Arthur's fingertips paused on the armrest of the carved chair. He laughed helplessly, then stood up calmly, with the hem of his black wool coat brushing the copper railing by the stove, as if he wanted to move around, or as if he wanted to avoid embarrassment.

He finally made up his mind to do a good thing, but was immediately regarded as a weirdo who instigated his son to rebel.

Although judging from the reality in Russia, what they said is indeed correct.

The deputy dean took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. He had been doing this for a full minute until he saw the curtain call of Herzen's family drama. Then he slowly complimented him: "Your reputation has spread throughout Moscow recently. Everyone says that you are an outstanding scholar, and the one who knows Russia best among scholars. Prince Dmitri Golitsyn praises you to everyone he meets, saying that you can recite Karamzin's History of the Russian State by heart."

Arthur smiled and shook his head. Without Herzen, he no longer had the motivation to overturn Ogarev's case. But it was still early today, so it would be good to have a chat with this top figure in Moscow's judicial circles and expand his relationship.

"I have read the book, but to say I can recite it by heart is an exaggeration."

“Which of these quotes do you like best?”

"Famous quotes? There are actually many that I like, but if I have to pick one, it would probably be this one: It is deep in the north, between Asia and Europe, and it raises its head. Its folk image embodies the characteristics of two worlds: the Slavs who mixed with the Eastern peoples and headed to Europe."

Arthur couldn't help but pause when he said this.

Because in fact, he never prefers such a definitive summary.

Compared with these boring summaries, such as "The prosperity of the Principality of Moscow should be attributed to the Golden Horde of Mongolia. Without the intervention of the Mongols, there would be no powerful Russian Empire later", "Mongol rule played a decisive role in Russia's political transformation. Batu's invasion completely subverted Russia's rule. After that, it found good causes in the destruction, showing overall advantages, and further promoted the formation of Russia's autocratic system". These remarks that seem to make sense and can make both Western and Slav factions jump up and down seem more interesting.

In general, Arthur's interest in historians like Karamzin is obviously not as great as his interest in historians like Thiers.

Although Thiers' writings on the Napoleonic Wars were often criticized by the Duke of Wellington, who witnessed the war, as being imprecise and fanciful, this did not prevent Thiers from writing beautifully.

Thinking of this, Arthur couldn't help but recommend Thiers' "History of the French Revolution" to the vice-president.

As for the reason...

First, of course, it’s because this book is good.

Second, the English version of this book is currently being distributed and published by The Brit.

Although the vice president did not reject Arthur's recommendation, he still brought the topic back: "When I was young, I was interested in French history like you. I felt that the Great Revolution was like a fire that could burn the whole world. But as I got older, I became more and more interested in Russian history. Do you know what sentence I like most in "History of the Russian State"? "

"Let me guess." Arthur pondered for a moment: "When you were young, you liked the Great Revolution, so your favorite sentences were probably in the chapter about Peter the Great." "If I were 20 years younger, maybe it would be like this." The deputy dean recalled: "Now, I prefer the words that Ivan the Terrible said when he established the special district - let fear be the cornerstone of rule. You see, three hundred years have passed, and Moscow still needs firewood to keep warm in winter."

The firewood in the fireplace suddenly exploded with a crisp sound, and sparks flew between the two of them.

Russian bureaucrats like to beat around the bush when speaking, but fortunately, British bureaucrats also have this habit, so Arthur certainly understood what the vice-president meant.

His old hand, with its sapphire ring, was nonchalantly pressing down on the half-opened compartment on the edge of the table. The wax seal of the Military Police Headquarters loomed in the shadows, like the cover of a cheap horror novel sold by a newsboy on the streets of London.

The other party was trying to persuade him to back off in a tactful way.

But now that he had established the image of a liberal, Arthur did not intend to retreat here, at least not immediately, because this would be detrimental to the development of subsequent work.

Besides, the Russians would be surprised if they found out that this British lord was not a liberal.

Arthur picked up the gold-painted teacup and let the steam from the teacup form fine beads of water on his eyebrows. "Fear is indeed an efficient fuel, just like farmers burning horse manure to keep warm in winter - but it will inevitably become smelly if it is burned for too long."

The deputy dean's age-spotted cheeks twitched twice, and he suddenly burst into hearty laughter. He seemed to like Arthur's joke very much.

The deputy dean turned around and pulled out a bottle of Georgian wine from the depths of the bookcase. The deep red liquid in the carved glass bottle shone with blood. "So smart people will prepare two kinds of fuel, don't you think? Just like the gentlemen in Petersburg need both Karamzin's history books to decorate their facades and Benckendorff's gendarmes to maintain their dignity."

When old bureaucrats fight, just stop when it’s enough.

Neither of them delved into this issue any further. Arthur raised his glass and clinked it with the vice president's, making a crisp clinking sound. "From just now, I have always had a doubt."

The vice president tentatively quipped, "Is it related to horse manure?"

Arthur paused for a moment, looking troubled. "That depends on how you define it. I mean, my question is about Mr. Herzen and his father."

The vice president tilted his head back and drank the wine in one gulp. "That really requires a specific analysis of each case. You can tell me first."

"Mr. Herzen's last name is Herzen, isn't it?"

"Of course, if a horse is not a horse, can it still be a donkey?"

"It seems that I am not the only one who thinks so. But have you forgotten that his father's name was Yakovlev?"

"Oh..." The vice president paused and said, "So you are talking about this."

Arthur's fingertips drew circles on the edge of the wine glass, and the flickering candlelight was reflected in his amber pupils: "Ivan Alexeevich Yakovlev, Alexander Ivanovich Herzen - according to Russian naming tradition, this is like His Majesty the Tsar suddenly dancing an Irish jig in the Winter Palace. Don't you think it's funny?"

The vice president's action of pouring wine into the goblet suddenly became extremely slow, and the dark red wine rolled up dark red swirls along the wall of the goblet: "Don't you think that Moscow vodka is better at keeping secrets than London gin?"

"But you chose Georgian wine today." Arthur suddenly touched the secret compartment under the table leg with the tip of his boot. The metal collision sound was particularly clear in the silent room. "The vines in Tbilisi grew up listening to the stories of Persian caravans and Ottoman cavalry."

"Well, if you insist on listening," the vice president warned in advance, "you have to promise not to tell Yakovlev what is going to happen next. He has always been very reluctant to talk about this to outsiders, because legally speaking, he is still unmarried and has never had a son."

"Ah..." Arthur suddenly realized, "I think I understand now. This kind of thing often happens in British law. In Britain, this kind of thing only happened in aristocratic families before, but now even the middle class has begun to learn from it."

"It seems that Russia is not as advanced as Britain. We are more traditional here." The vice president smiled and said, "Just as you said, similar things still only happen in aristocratic families here. However, this does not prevent Yakovlev from being a weird person. Because he did not marry the German woman to transfer the family name, but he did not keep any lovers outside, so that everyone did not know what he was trying to do."

The vice president filled Arthur's glass. "Just think about it. An old man has only one son, but he never gave him and his mother legal status and refused to give him the surname Yakovlev. You know, if his son's surname was Yakovlev instead of Herzen, many things would not be so troublesome. You are not from Moscow, so you don't know how long the Yakovlev family has a long history in Moscow. Their family history is even older than the Romanov dynasty. When Russia was still called the Grand Duchy of Moscow, they were already nobles with luxurious manors."

Arthur also couldn't understand Herzen's father's actions: "If what you said is true, then he really made a stupid move. If Herzen used the last name Yakovlev, he wouldn't have to ask for help from Duke Yusupov to go to Moscow University. I remember that it seemed easy for a hereditary noble like this to enter Moscow University, right?"

"You also knew about this?" The vice president blinked. "Let me tell you this. Without a surname, going to Moscow University is not just about following Prince Yusupov's path. Did you know that the identity that the boy used to go to university was also a fake? When he went to university, he used the surname 'Ivanov', and I helped sign the document."

Arthur thought that what he did in Druisk was already remarkable, but he did not expect that the business of making fake certificates was so common in Russia.

No wonder...

No wonder Shubinsky showed no fear when he gave him a fake travel document and fake identity information.

The vice president said this, still muttering: "If you ask me, Yakovlev should have listened to his old friends. I still remember that a few years ago, several old comrades came to visit him, including the governor of Orenburg Province, Peter Kirillovich Essen, and the governor of Bessarabia, General Alexei Nikolayevich Bakhmetev.

At that time, Essen kindly advised him: "Leave it to me. I will arrange for this boy to join the Ural Cossacks and train him to be an officer - this is the first priority. Later, he can be promoted step by step like the rest of us."

But Yakovlev disagreed, saying that he was not interested in any military position and that he hoped his son could become a diplomat in a place with a mild climate where he could spend his old age in peace.

General Bakhmetev usually seldom interrupted, but when he heard this, he hurriedly stood up with the help of a crutch and spoke, even though he only had one leg left.

'I think Peter Kirillovitch's advice is worthy of your serious consideration. If you don't want him to go to Orenburg, then let him join the army here. You and I are old friends, and I might as well tell you straight: being a civilian and studying at a university is neither good for you nor good for society. There is no denying that his situation is a bit awkward, and only a military position can open the door to his career and put him on the normal path. Before he is promoted to company commander, all dangerous thoughts will disappear. Military discipline is a big school, and everything from then on depends on his efforts. You say he has talent, but can only fools become officers! Isn't this how you, I, and all of us have come through? The only thing you can object to is that it will take him more time to get the rank of officer. But we can help you in this matter. '"

The vice president couldn't help but sighed as he said, "Looking back now, General Bakhmetev's words were very insightful. Letting this young man study at Moscow University was not only not good for him, but he has also developed bad habits."

Suddenly, hurried footsteps were heard in the corridor. The clerk opened the door in panic: "Someone from the Military Police Headquarters is here! He said he wants to review the case file filed yesterday..."

The sound of heavy army boots drowned out his words.

Four gray-coated gendarmes filed in, and the leading captain's pupils suddenly contracted when he caught sight of Arthur.

Arthur noticed that his right index finger had calluses from constant use of triggers, a sign of the Tsar's Guards.

"By order of General Volkov." The captain's scabbard clattered against the marble floor. "To retrieve the entire judicial record of the case of Nikolai Ogarev."

The vice president pressed his bony fingers on the file: "According to the Judicial Reform Act of 1832..."

"Supplementary clause to the Eighth Amendment to the Act!" The captain drew out his sword and slammed it on the table. The bronze eagle emblem on the handle shook the ink bottle slightly. "For cases involving the safety of the royal family, the Military Police Command has the right to call on clerks from any department. Do you need me to recite the full text, sir? Every year when the Neva River thaws in spring, most of the bridges in St. Petersburg are washed away. Don't make trouble for yourself on this issue."

(End of this chapter)