Shadow of great britain

Arthur's deerskin gloves gently brushed the edge of the copper-lined table, and the heat from the stove steamed the sweat on his temples into salt grains. When Shubinsky adjusted the Persian velvet cushion for the third time, he suddenly sighed.

"When I was a guest at your house last Sunday, I thought your son was really a handsome man. The way he recited Faust reminded me of the students in the poplar forest of Göttingen University. Such an outstanding young man should have studied in Göttingen, a first-class university in Europe. He could study for a degree in philosophy, law, medicine or theology there. I believe that no matter which subject he chooses, he will eventually achieve great success. However, such an outstanding young man could only go to Moscow University and St. Petersburg University because of the Tsar's ban. This is really a pity."

Shubinsky's silver teaspoon suddenly stopped in the black tea, and the cinnamon stick floating on the surface of the cup looked like a dead centipede.

Talking about family matters obviously made the nervous colonel of the military police who had been tense for many days relax a lot: "To be honest, although German philosophy is like an over-pickled cucumber, I still want him to study philosophy privately. You also know that government departments always look up to students of philosophy, and everyone thinks that German philosophy is quite good. But I don't know where my boy heard it from. Maybe it was the ideas instilled in him by my talkative German tutor, which made him insist on going to Heidelberg University to study medicine all day long."

"What a coincidence! Half of the Russian students rejected by Heidelberg Medical College last year were successfully transferred with the personal recommendation letter from Professor Göttingen."

Arthur took out a tortoise-shell snuff bottle, and the carved statue of Athena just covered the corners of his twitching mouth. "Of course, there are a few unlucky ones, but that is not the fault of us in Göttingen, but some of their review documents were not completed in time."

"Our Göttingen?"

Shubinsky's mink collar fluttered in the wind. He suddenly remembered that his old friend was the former dean of the University of Göttingen. "Oh, I actually forgot about that. You are a diplomat and a policeman, but your talent in academic research is the most outstanding. After the Frankfurt Garrison Incident last year, among all the universities in Germany, the University of Göttingen was the most peaceful. Alas! If His Majesty the Tsar sent you to manage Moscow University, there would definitely be no trouble! Look at the universities in Russia, they have all become hiding places for reactionaries!"

When Arthur took off his deerskin gloves, he deliberately let the badge ring he had received when he left the University of Göttingen knock against the copper ashtray.

Arthur's subtext is very clear - there is a possibility that Nicholas I will change his mind overnight.

Moreover, his view was not groundless, because Nicholas I had done similar things several times before, the most typical of which was the University Regulations of 1828.

At that time, the Minister of Education, the Duke of Leven, advocated that "mathematics can cultivate loyal subjects better than Latin" and demanded that practical subjects be included in the teaching system.

However, due to the frequent liberal incidents at Moscow University, new regulations were promulgated this year, forcing the proportion of classical education to be restored to 62%, and requiring mathematics teachers to submit a "Report on Ideological Status" to the Third Department on a regular basis.

After the Polish Uprising in 1831, Nicholas I demanded that the army must be modernized and reorganized and the Prussian staff system must be introduced.

However, when the Tsar discovered that some officers in the Guards were reading the French Military Drill Manual, he began to emphasize the seven-step gun salute from the time of Peter the Great and required officers to carry the Orthodox Catechism with them.

This year, His Majesty the Tsar feels that students trained in foreign universities are dangerous elements, but in a few years, perhaps he will change his mind. No one can predict.

Shubinsky's child is only ten years old this year, and he still has at least six years before going to college, so he can definitely afford to wait.

Moreover, not to mention that the university ban issued by the Tsar was extremely unpopular, especially among the nobles.

Is it worth it to break up with Arthur just for such a trivial matter?

This matter could be big or small. Even if it was a big deal, it would only implicate Herzen and at most his three friends. Besides, up to now, they had not found any evidence of these people committing rebellion.

Even if we release them, there are still 20 or 30 people in the cell...

In the distance came the sound of leather boots as the guards changed shifts. When he counted to the seventh beat, Shubinsky suddenly said, "The new decree signed by His Majesty the Tsar last week..."

"My Russian is not good enough to read the new decree, but I have a thermometer hanging in my study." Arthur opened the cover of the pocket watch and snapped it shut. "When I bought it, the craftsman specifically told me that it would break automatically when the mercury column rose to the red mark. Fortunately, the weather in Russia is so cold that it usually has no chance of breaking."

They both looked at the portrait of the Tsar on the wall at the same time. There was a layer of wax under the frame, like a stream of solidified blood.

"Those old guys on the interrogation committee..." Shubinsky sat back down and poked the candy with a spoon. "We should at least give philosophy students some rights to dream."

But in a flash, Shubinsky seemed to realize that his tone was too soft, and he emphasized: "However, the principle of the interrogation committee..."

"Like the hydrographic data for the Thames," Arthur interrupted suddenly in German. "Three correction factors are automatically added during the spring floods."

Shubinsky picked up the sugar with the tip of his spoon and made a cross in the air: "Three years ago, a fire broke out in the archives of the Kiev Governor's Office, and a batch of... archived templates for special letters of recommendation were burned."

"So your Ministry of Education wanted to import fireproof ink from Prussia last year?" Arthur took out a letter from his briefcase calmly, the tip of his pen trembling above the date column: "The Göttingen Archives actually has a backup copy from before the Moscow fire in 1812."

The teaspoon suddenly hit the rim of the cup. When Shubinsky stood up suddenly, the Persian velvet cushion was flipped over to reveal the double-headed eagle emblem at the bottom. "Do you know the Third Bureau's recommendation and review process for German professors who come to Russia to work?"

"It's just like the restoration process of the Kazan Madonna." Arthur took out a bronze wax mold and baked it by the stove to produce a faint rosin. "First, the Holy Office will identify the miracle, then it will be registered with the Winter Palace Restoration Bureau, and finally... a pious custodian will wipe the back of the frame with holy oil."

"Recently, all the clocks in St. Petersburg have been suffering from fever and chills." Shubinsky suddenly grabbed a sugar tong and piled sugar cubes into a Gothic spire. "I heard that when Berlin watchmakers treat this kind of disease, they always use parchment soaked in Rhine wine to space the spacers between the gears."

"No wonder when the bell tower of Mainz Cathedral was renovated last year..." Arthur's pen tip suddenly pierced the letter paper, and the ink smudged over the last name "Herzen": "Three more barrels of wine were used to maintain the time gears."

The silver buttons of his mink coat scraped against the edge of the table, and Shubinsky's boot heels left half-moon dents in the carpet: "The inkwell in the Third Bureau has been freezing in the middle of the night lately, and the periods in the interrogation records have all frozen into snowflakes."

"I heard from the Kremlin gardener that greenhouse roses can bloom at minus ten degrees Celsius, as long as a layer of Venetian glycerin is applied to the back of each petal." Arthur rolled the stained recommendation letter into a ball and threw it into the fireplace. The flames instantly devoured the words "Medical Department". "Of course, we have to hurry before the morning mist of the Peter and Paul Fortress spreads over the Neva River."

The military police colonel suddenly took out his pocket watch and put it to his ear. The gold watch chain cast a noose-like shadow on the frame of the Tsar’s portrait: “The academic calendar of St. Petersburg University shows that the deadline for registration of new students in the Department of Philosophy is…”

"The third new moon after Easter." Arthur pulled out a new piece of letter paper with the coat of arms of the University of Göttingen printed on it. "But the ice age in Danzig Port will always last until Pentecost Week."

"So ocean-going cargo ships need a customs certificate..." Shubinsky's fingertips drew a wavy line on the title page of the case file: "Recent sea conditions report."

"It so happens that the Göttingen Observatory released its 1834 North Sea ice forecast last month." Arthur slowly pressed the wax seal onto the melted red wax. "The copies go to the Hamburg Consulate and... the Riga Gulf Customs Administration."

As Arthur's ring left the solidified wax, a wisp of smoke curved between the two of them in the shape of an hourglass.

Shubinsky suddenly used the interrogation record to cover his mouth: "Five pages are missing from Herzen's file."

The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!

"Just like the chapters of Goethe's Theory of Colors that were lost during the Battle of Jena." Arthur stuffed the letter of recommendation into a sealed briefcase and put it into Shubinsky's arms. "Fortunately, the Göttingen Library has the laundry bill of Napoleon's guard captain's mistress."

The sound of the gendarmerie colonel's leather boots suddenly stopped at the seventh floor tile in the hallway: "Next week the interrogation committee will restart the interrogation process, but you know, collective voting is like the weather in St. Petersburg..."

"Of course I can understand that." Arthur stood up leisurely, his deerskin gloves stroking the brass door handle. He took off his hat and said goodbye to his old friend. "But the mercury column of the thermometer in my study suddenly dropped to the average temperature on Peter the Great's coronation day this morning. I think this is a good sign."

When the last tapping of boot heels disappeared at the end of the corridor, Shubinsky stood in front of the door and looked out. He turned his head and found that a spark suddenly burst out from the ashes in the fireplace, burning a black hole the size of a pinhole in the Tsar's beard.

…

The cast-iron gate of the Moscow Police Headquarters oozed a bile-like glow in the twilight. Blackwell counted the twelfth cough that escaped from the crack of the door, and Arthur's silver-handled cane finally knocked on the granite steps.

Arthur climbed into the carriage and brushed the ice crystals off his cloak. The sable fur still smelled of the office's pine resin.

"What's raining in London is raining in Moscow," Blackwell reminded cryptically.

The moment the velvet curtain fell, the secretary had already taken out a brand new document from the secret compartment of the Persian blanket: "Confidential document from No. 15, from the Foreign Office, Viscount Palmerston did not agree with your plan but did not oppose it either. He just emphasized that he has authorized the Russian Embassy to act at its discretion."

"Neither in favor nor against? Do it at your own convenience?" The wheel turned slowly, and Arthur lit his pipe, a wisp of green smoke curled up: "Oh! It seems that our dear Pam can say so if she doesn't want to take responsibility. He knows that we have already taken action, but now he is still speaking so ambiguously, which makes him look mean. If it weren't for Earl Daramore, I would not help him, the Foreign Minister, to clean up this mess."

"From what I know, it seems that this is not as simple as not wanting to take responsibility." After being reprimanded by Arthur, Blackwell has learned his lesson and has even paid more attention to his work: "You should know that there are quite a number of British merchants doing business in the Ottoman Empire, right?"

"After all, it is the home of the Levant Company. This is not surprising. Wherever there is money to be made, there are British merchants. This has been a practice since ancient times."

"It is indeed a common practice, but the problem is that they are numerous and powerful. In order to safeguard their huge interests in the Ottoman Empire, they have been putting pressure on the government and asking us to intervene in Ottoman politics. The Foreign Office's previous concessions to Russia and Sir David Urquhart's accusations against Viscount Palmerston seem to have aroused the hostility of this group of businessmen. In recent months, they have increased their funding for Blackwood and the Edinburgh Review. So you know, if the dirty water on Sir David is leaked, it may not end well in the end."

If it were two years ago, Arthur might have been really afraid of this group of people, but now, it is impossible to make an old cop with a hole in his heart give in by gossiping.

"I really didn't know that Viscount Palmerston would be so vulnerable in front of the news media. Where is the Secretary of War who, after the Peterloo tragedy, did not hesitate to participate in the formulation of six special laws to prohibit freedom of speech, assembly and publication? Did he change his position and change his face?"

"If it were only the news media, perhaps things wouldn't be so serious." Blackwell took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his head. "But you also know that there are many pro-Turkey people among the powerful faction of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Lord Ponsonby and Sir John McNeill, although they think Sir David's behavior is too aggressive, they also think this is an exploration worth trying. As for Sir Stratford Canning, he privately applauded Sir David's actions."

"Little Canning is applauding Sir David's actions?"

Arthur pondered for a moment and couldn't help laughing. "He probably still hates the Tsar, right? After all, as an ambassador to Russia, he stayed in St. Petersburg for two months but didn't even see what the Tsar looked like. Cases of British diplomats being humiliated like this are rare in history. But then again, although he had said a lot of bad things about Russia before, there are not many countries in Europe that he hasn't said bad things about. And the Tsar's behavior is indeed a bit disgraceful. Look at the Ottoman Sultan, Mahmud II is obviously much more generous than Nicholas I. I remember that two years ago, young Canning was still scolding the Ottoman Empire as a barbaric country, but now he has been influenced by the Sultan and has become a pro-Turkish person."