The underground interrogation room of the Moscow Police Headquarters was bathed in the dim glow of kerosene lamps. The gurgling heat from the cast-iron heating pipes evaporated the mildew on the walls with a sweet smell of decay.
Herzen was leaning against the wall, holding in his hands the open copy of Italian Rhetoric and Grammar.
From time to time, the dull thuds of Ural sabers hitting the wall could be heard from the depths of the corridor, followed by Latin prayers and Russian curses, and finally all the sounds were silenced by the sound of water splashing. Without a doubt, there must be a few more unlucky people being pushed into the wooden barrel filled with ice water.
During the two months of detention, Herzen had become accustomed to all the conspiracies and tricks used by the police and the fraudulent tricks used by the gendarmerie investigation agencies: deliberately reversing right and wrong, confusing black and white, creating contradictions, or implying that others have confessed, and inflicting various kinds of mental torture.
Herzen did not want to go into detail about these circumstances.
The only thing he wanted to mock was that despite all their tricks and efforts, they still couldn't find a topic that could be confronted with each other.
Herzen, Ogarev, Sagin and Ivan Obolensky, these four young men were arrested almost at the same time. Although they were never imprisoned together, they all tacitly agreed not to confess or betray any of their friends.
Ta-da, ta-da, ta-da…
The sound of hard riding boots stepping on bricks and tiles came from far away, followed by the sound of sleeves rubbing against coats.
Is someone saluting?
Before Herzen could stand up and walk to the iron window to see what was happening, the old prison door had already been pushed open.
Standing outside the door was a well-proportioned man, whose age was in the awkward range between middle-aged and young people, just like his classical nose that seemed to have been carefully refined by a sculptor and his deliberately maintained attentive lip corners that were not in harmony.
The grey deerskin gloves, the same style as the executioner's, were bleached into a snowy color by French powder. The collar of the black tweed dress always maintained a precise 30-degree angle, and the halo refracted by the ruby collarstay just enveloped the Adam's apple, as if to wrap every sentence of "sentenced to exile" in velvet.
Alexander Fedorovich Golitsyn, the most promising rising star among the younger generation of the Golitsyn family, a future leader highly regarded by Count Benkendorf, director of the Third Bureau of the Tsar's Privy Council, a judge of the Second Moscow Trial Committee, and a dog spy that all Moscow liberals fear.
Little Golitsyn came in, looking troubled and with a look of sympathy on his face, as if he did not want to see Herzen in his cell, amusing himself with an Italian dictionary.
But this trick did not work on Herzen. He did not trust anyone here, especially the young Golitsyn, who kept emphasizing that the Golitsyn family and the Yakovlev family were old friends.
As soon as Little Golitsyn entered the room, he motioned for the others to wait outside the door. He half-closed the door, dragged out the rickety chair and sat down as if they were old friends. "You should know that the case will be sentenced soon. But before that, I want to talk to you alone. Although the hope is slim, I think we still have a chance to try and see if there is any room for recovery."
Before Herzen could speak, the younger Golitsyn continued, "I know you have resentment towards me, but my father and your father have known each other for many years, and our two families can be considered old friends, so I have to pay special attention to you. You are still young and have a bright future, so you must get rid of this case. After you were arrested, your father missed you very much, and now he still holds hope that you can be released. I was discussing this morning with the chairman of the committee, Prince Sergei Mikhailovich, and he is also very willing to help you, but the premise is: you have to create some conditions for our help so that we can leave room for the emperor."
Herzen was furious when he heard this and closed the dictionary angrily: "What's the point of you saying this now? I have nothing to say anymore."
Little Golitsyn was not discouraged. He tapped his fingers lightly on the spine of the dictionary, and the double-headed eagle emblem on the cuff glowed dimly as he moved: "Your father's gout attacked four times last night. Thanks to the imperial physician's laudanum, his pain was relieved. If you insist on going down this path, you will end up in the army or in jail, and it will also kill your father. He will not survive a single day when he sees you in your gray coat."
Herzen was about to speak when Golitsyn the Younger interrupted him.
"I know what you want to say. Please be patient. It is obvious that you have thoughts against the government. In order for the emperor's mercy to fall upon you, we need evidence of your true repentance. You deny everything, avoid answering questions, and protect others out of a false sense of justice, but we know these people better than you do. They are not as loyal as you are. If you help them, they will only drag you down with you."
He flipped through Herzen's interrogation records and suddenly tore off the title page with Ogarev's sketch on it. "Last night he confessed more tactfully than you did. He even provided the specific date when you sang the Marseillaise after drinking. Fortunately, I suppressed his confession. Now, write a simple and straightforward letter to the committee, saying that you have realized your guilt, that you were deceived because of your youth and ignorance, and then confess the names of those unfortunate people who deceived you and led you astray. This small price can be used to buy your future and your father's life."
Herzen's shoulders couldn't stop shaking, and it was unclear whether it was because of anger or fear: "I am innocent, and my hands should not be stained with the blood of innocent people. Alexander Fyodorovich, I am different from people like you!"
“The blood of innocent people? Those people are not innocent at all. Even if they are innocent, it is not the blood of innocent people... but the holy ointment that the Holy Fool sacrificed for the truth.” Little Golitsyn, who had a smile on his face just now, suddenly turned cold. He stood up and said in a dry voice: “I hope you understand that this is your last chance.”
"I know nothing, and I have not a word to add to my confession!"
"What a pity..." Little Golitsyn's eyes showed a look of either regret or mockery: "Since you don't want to, you can't blame us."
With a bang, the cell door closed again, and the clanging sounds of military boots and Ural sabers outside the door dissipated like the tide.
Herzen leaned against the cold wall, his body sliding down little by little, his forehead covered with sweat. The few words of conversation he had just had with little Golitsyn seemed to have drained all his strength.
The sound of footsteps outside the prison door sounded to his ears like a countdown to exile to Siberia.
However, soon, the noisy sounds in my ears returned to silence.
Herzen's head was a mess, like paste. He remembered many people and many things, including the servants in his home, his serious and weird father who loved him silently, his fragile and sensitive mother who left her hometown and came to Russia but never got a legitimate status, and the like-minded friends he made at Moscow University.
He recalled the experience of hiding in the small attic where his uncle's servant Carlo lived when he was a child and listening to his uncle reading picture books. When he was eight or nine years old, he began to read French and German novels.
He still remembers that his favorite books were Beaumarchais's The Marriage of Figaro and Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther...
Herzen fell into a long memory and didn't know how much time had passed. His recollection of the past was suddenly interrupted by the cold sound of the door opening.
The indigo blue double-breasted copper-buttoned stand-up collar formal dress was tightly fitted on his sturdy body, with golden piping extending from the collar to the sleeves, and the stitching was as dense as the iron bars of a prison cell. Although both were gendarmes, Shubinsky obviously liked wearing uniforms more than little Golitsyn.
This may be due to the different family backgrounds between him and Golitsyn the Younger. This Russian friend of Sir Arthur Hastings always felt that without this uniform, even the power in his hands and his social status would drop by several percent.
Shubinsky looked very relaxed. This gendarmerie colonel who rarely smiled in the interrogation committee not only raised his hand to greet Herzen today, but also brought him a bottle of fine red wine.
He handed the confession he had brought to Herzen, indicating that he should read it again in front of him and write down if he had any additions.
Although Herzen resisted in his heart, he still did it in order to get rid of this plague god as soon as possible.
As Shubinsky listened, he took out the box of Havana cigars Arthur had given him, took out the one he hadn't finished yesterday and relit it.
He squinted his eyes and exhaled a puff of smoke, then asked, "Little Golitsyn was here just now?"
Herzen ignored him and continued reading the script. In his opinion, Shubinsky was just trying to repeat his old tricks and imitate little Golitsyn's tricks.
"Of course not. He said you were still the same. You would rather be a Siberian martyr than a Moscow son."
The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!
Shubinsky grinned and continued, "Of course, there is nothing wrong with what you did. But if it's your opinion, you'd better confess. You're holding on for the sake of your friends, but it's just driven by the stubborn self-esteem of a young man. If you are willing to write a letter of appeal, I think it will not only help your future, but also make your suffering in the past few months worthwhile. To be honest, I personally hope to recruit you into the third team."
Perhaps Shubinsky felt that his words were an affirmation of a young man, but in Herzen's view, these words were a complete personal insult.
He was full of anger and pointed at the confession in his hand and asked: "I would like to ask, based on these questions and these answers, what crime can be convicted of? Which article in the Russian Code can you cite to sentence me?"
Shubinsky crossed his legs and answered without hesitation: "The code was made for another kind of crime."
"That's not the point. I'm rereading those essay exercises now, and I still can't believe that I was in jail for so long just for this."
"Do you really think we trust you so much?" Shubinsky laughed at the young man's naivety. "Do you think we believe that you don't organize a secret society?"
Herzen pointed to the black and white words and asked: "But where is this group?"
Shubinsky remained calm and said, "We didn't find any trace of it, and you didn't do anything. You're lucky. We stopped you in time. In short, we saved you."
Herzen was driven mad by this shameless speech. He wanted to reason with Shubinsky, but the other party's words had already made him realize that this group of people were unreasonable.
Shubinsky also reminded Herzen: "A priest will come over later to go over the case handling procedures."
“What process?”
"As a witness. The priest will write a few words under your signature to say that all your confessions are voluntary and have not been forced."
"I did not see any priest during my trial. He was not present, and he did not even pretend to ask me about the circumstances. How can a man who has been shut out the whole time be a witness?"
Shubinsky blew out a smoke ring and raised his finger to draw a circle towards the ceiling: "God is omniscient and omnipotent, so the fact that the priest was not present at the trial does not mean that he cannot be a witness."
Herzen was so angry that he was shaking all over. He raised his hand and pointed at Shubinsky, half opening his mouth as if wanting to say something, but he didn't know what to say.
Shubinsky laughed at the situation, and he patted Herzen on the shoulder: "Helpless, right? Life is so helpless. If you don't want to be treated like this, you shouldn't put yourself in such an environment. Herzen, young man, we have known each other since we were at Moscow University. From that time on, I warned you: Be cautious in making friends. You have made too many bad friends in your life, and you almost ruined yourself. But fortunately, you made a good friend in Leipzig, and it was the power of this good friend that made up for the negative impact brought to you by all the bad friends."
Herzen was originally thinking about scolding Shubinsky, but in the next moment he saw the letter that Shubinsky took out from his arms.
The text on the letter was so dense that Herzen couldn't read it clearly at first glance.
But the sentence at the end of the document - "leniency at the discretion of the court" and the signature of Nicholas I and the emperor's seal - made him shudder.
Shubinsky only glanced at it and then took the document written by the emperor back into his arms. "In the next three days, if someone comes to your cell or takes you to the interrogation room, you must not say anything more and must not give any additional testimony. It is the emperor's will to give a lighter sentence. You should thank General Staal for his argument. As for the specific decision, you should especially thank Sir Arthur Hastings after the verdict comes out."
At this point, Shubinsky looked at Herzen meaningfully and said, "When the verdict is announced, remember to thank the chairman of the committee, your old proctor, Duke Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsyn, in front of everyone. Thank that kind-hearted nobleman for interceding for us, and the emperor's mercy has come upon us. As for Sir Arthur Hastings and General Stahl, you can wait a few days before going. Young man, you are not a college student now. When you enter society, especially Russian society, you have to be smarter than before."
Herzen was leaning against the wall, holding in his hands the open copy of Italian Rhetoric and Grammar.
From time to time, the dull thuds of Ural sabers hitting the wall could be heard from the depths of the corridor, followed by Latin prayers and Russian curses, and finally all the sounds were silenced by the sound of water splashing. Without a doubt, there must be a few more unlucky people being pushed into the wooden barrel filled with ice water.
During the two months of detention, Herzen had become accustomed to all the conspiracies and tricks used by the police and the fraudulent tricks used by the gendarmerie investigation agencies: deliberately reversing right and wrong, confusing black and white, creating contradictions, or implying that others have confessed, and inflicting various kinds of mental torture.
Herzen did not want to go into detail about these circumstances.
The only thing he wanted to mock was that despite all their tricks and efforts, they still couldn't find a topic that could be confronted with each other.
Herzen, Ogarev, Sagin and Ivan Obolensky, these four young men were arrested almost at the same time. Although they were never imprisoned together, they all tacitly agreed not to confess or betray any of their friends.
Ta-da, ta-da, ta-da…
The sound of hard riding boots stepping on bricks and tiles came from far away, followed by the sound of sleeves rubbing against coats.
Is someone saluting?
Before Herzen could stand up and walk to the iron window to see what was happening, the old prison door had already been pushed open.
Standing outside the door was a well-proportioned man, whose age was in the awkward range between middle-aged and young people, just like his classical nose that seemed to have been carefully refined by a sculptor and his deliberately maintained attentive lip corners that were not in harmony.
The grey deerskin gloves, the same style as the executioner's, were bleached into a snowy color by French powder. The collar of the black tweed dress always maintained a precise 30-degree angle, and the halo refracted by the ruby collarstay just enveloped the Adam's apple, as if to wrap every sentence of "sentenced to exile" in velvet.
Alexander Fedorovich Golitsyn, the most promising rising star among the younger generation of the Golitsyn family, a future leader highly regarded by Count Benkendorf, director of the Third Bureau of the Tsar's Privy Council, a judge of the Second Moscow Trial Committee, and a dog spy that all Moscow liberals fear.
Little Golitsyn came in, looking troubled and with a look of sympathy on his face, as if he did not want to see Herzen in his cell, amusing himself with an Italian dictionary.
But this trick did not work on Herzen. He did not trust anyone here, especially the young Golitsyn, who kept emphasizing that the Golitsyn family and the Yakovlev family were old friends.
As soon as Little Golitsyn entered the room, he motioned for the others to wait outside the door. He half-closed the door, dragged out the rickety chair and sat down as if they were old friends. "You should know that the case will be sentenced soon. But before that, I want to talk to you alone. Although the hope is slim, I think we still have a chance to try and see if there is any room for recovery."
Before Herzen could speak, the younger Golitsyn continued, "I know you have resentment towards me, but my father and your father have known each other for many years, and our two families can be considered old friends, so I have to pay special attention to you. You are still young and have a bright future, so you must get rid of this case. After you were arrested, your father missed you very much, and now he still holds hope that you can be released. I was discussing this morning with the chairman of the committee, Prince Sergei Mikhailovich, and he is also very willing to help you, but the premise is: you have to create some conditions for our help so that we can leave room for the emperor."
Herzen was furious when he heard this and closed the dictionary angrily: "What's the point of you saying this now? I have nothing to say anymore."
Little Golitsyn was not discouraged. He tapped his fingers lightly on the spine of the dictionary, and the double-headed eagle emblem on the cuff glowed dimly as he moved: "Your father's gout attacked four times last night. Thanks to the imperial physician's laudanum, his pain was relieved. If you insist on going down this path, you will end up in the army or in jail, and it will also kill your father. He will not survive a single day when he sees you in your gray coat."
Herzen was about to speak when Golitsyn the Younger interrupted him.
"I know what you want to say. Please be patient. It is obvious that you have thoughts against the government. In order for the emperor's mercy to fall upon you, we need evidence of your true repentance. You deny everything, avoid answering questions, and protect others out of a false sense of justice, but we know these people better than you do. They are not as loyal as you are. If you help them, they will only drag you down with you."
He flipped through Herzen's interrogation records and suddenly tore off the title page with Ogarev's sketch on it. "Last night he confessed more tactfully than you did. He even provided the specific date when you sang the Marseillaise after drinking. Fortunately, I suppressed his confession. Now, write a simple and straightforward letter to the committee, saying that you have realized your guilt, that you were deceived because of your youth and ignorance, and then confess the names of those unfortunate people who deceived you and led you astray. This small price can be used to buy your future and your father's life."
Herzen's shoulders couldn't stop shaking, and it was unclear whether it was because of anger or fear: "I am innocent, and my hands should not be stained with the blood of innocent people. Alexander Fyodorovich, I am different from people like you!"
“The blood of innocent people? Those people are not innocent at all. Even if they are innocent, it is not the blood of innocent people... but the holy ointment that the Holy Fool sacrificed for the truth.” Little Golitsyn, who had a smile on his face just now, suddenly turned cold. He stood up and said in a dry voice: “I hope you understand that this is your last chance.”
"I know nothing, and I have not a word to add to my confession!"
"What a pity..." Little Golitsyn's eyes showed a look of either regret or mockery: "Since you don't want to, you can't blame us."
With a bang, the cell door closed again, and the clanging sounds of military boots and Ural sabers outside the door dissipated like the tide.
Herzen leaned against the cold wall, his body sliding down little by little, his forehead covered with sweat. The few words of conversation he had just had with little Golitsyn seemed to have drained all his strength.
The sound of footsteps outside the prison door sounded to his ears like a countdown to exile to Siberia.
However, soon, the noisy sounds in my ears returned to silence.
Herzen's head was a mess, like paste. He remembered many people and many things, including the servants in his home, his serious and weird father who loved him silently, his fragile and sensitive mother who left her hometown and came to Russia but never got a legitimate status, and the like-minded friends he made at Moscow University.
He recalled the experience of hiding in the small attic where his uncle's servant Carlo lived when he was a child and listening to his uncle reading picture books. When he was eight or nine years old, he began to read French and German novels.
He still remembers that his favorite books were Beaumarchais's The Marriage of Figaro and Goethe's The Sorrows of Young Werther...
Herzen fell into a long memory and didn't know how much time had passed. His recollection of the past was suddenly interrupted by the cold sound of the door opening.
The indigo blue double-breasted copper-buttoned stand-up collar formal dress was tightly fitted on his sturdy body, with golden piping extending from the collar to the sleeves, and the stitching was as dense as the iron bars of a prison cell. Although both were gendarmes, Shubinsky obviously liked wearing uniforms more than little Golitsyn.
This may be due to the different family backgrounds between him and Golitsyn the Younger. This Russian friend of Sir Arthur Hastings always felt that without this uniform, even the power in his hands and his social status would drop by several percent.
Shubinsky looked very relaxed. This gendarmerie colonel who rarely smiled in the interrogation committee not only raised his hand to greet Herzen today, but also brought him a bottle of fine red wine.
He handed the confession he had brought to Herzen, indicating that he should read it again in front of him and write down if he had any additions.
Although Herzen resisted in his heart, he still did it in order to get rid of this plague god as soon as possible.
As Shubinsky listened, he took out the box of Havana cigars Arthur had given him, took out the one he hadn't finished yesterday and relit it.
He squinted his eyes and exhaled a puff of smoke, then asked, "Little Golitsyn was here just now?"
Herzen ignored him and continued reading the script. In his opinion, Shubinsky was just trying to repeat his old tricks and imitate little Golitsyn's tricks.
"Of course not. He said you were still the same. You would rather be a Siberian martyr than a Moscow son."
The latest novel is published first on Liu9shuba!
Shubinsky grinned and continued, "Of course, there is nothing wrong with what you did. But if it's your opinion, you'd better confess. You're holding on for the sake of your friends, but it's just driven by the stubborn self-esteem of a young man. If you are willing to write a letter of appeal, I think it will not only help your future, but also make your suffering in the past few months worthwhile. To be honest, I personally hope to recruit you into the third team."
Perhaps Shubinsky felt that his words were an affirmation of a young man, but in Herzen's view, these words were a complete personal insult.
He was full of anger and pointed at the confession in his hand and asked: "I would like to ask, based on these questions and these answers, what crime can be convicted of? Which article in the Russian Code can you cite to sentence me?"
Shubinsky crossed his legs and answered without hesitation: "The code was made for another kind of crime."
"That's not the point. I'm rereading those essay exercises now, and I still can't believe that I was in jail for so long just for this."
"Do you really think we trust you so much?" Shubinsky laughed at the young man's naivety. "Do you think we believe that you don't organize a secret society?"
Herzen pointed to the black and white words and asked: "But where is this group?"
Shubinsky remained calm and said, "We didn't find any trace of it, and you didn't do anything. You're lucky. We stopped you in time. In short, we saved you."
Herzen was driven mad by this shameless speech. He wanted to reason with Shubinsky, but the other party's words had already made him realize that this group of people were unreasonable.
Shubinsky also reminded Herzen: "A priest will come over later to go over the case handling procedures."
“What process?”
"As a witness. The priest will write a few words under your signature to say that all your confessions are voluntary and have not been forced."
"I did not see any priest during my trial. He was not present, and he did not even pretend to ask me about the circumstances. How can a man who has been shut out the whole time be a witness?"
Shubinsky blew out a smoke ring and raised his finger to draw a circle towards the ceiling: "God is omniscient and omnipotent, so the fact that the priest was not present at the trial does not mean that he cannot be a witness."
Herzen was so angry that he was shaking all over. He raised his hand and pointed at Shubinsky, half opening his mouth as if wanting to say something, but he didn't know what to say.
Shubinsky laughed at the situation, and he patted Herzen on the shoulder: "Helpless, right? Life is so helpless. If you don't want to be treated like this, you shouldn't put yourself in such an environment. Herzen, young man, we have known each other since we were at Moscow University. From that time on, I warned you: Be cautious in making friends. You have made too many bad friends in your life, and you almost ruined yourself. But fortunately, you made a good friend in Leipzig, and it was the power of this good friend that made up for the negative impact brought to you by all the bad friends."
Herzen was originally thinking about scolding Shubinsky, but in the next moment he saw the letter that Shubinsky took out from his arms.
The text on the letter was so dense that Herzen couldn't read it clearly at first glance.
But the sentence at the end of the document - "leniency at the discretion of the court" and the signature of Nicholas I and the emperor's seal - made him shudder.
Shubinsky only glanced at it and then took the document written by the emperor back into his arms. "In the next three days, if someone comes to your cell or takes you to the interrogation room, you must not say anything more and must not give any additional testimony. It is the emperor's will to give a lighter sentence. You should thank General Staal for his argument. As for the specific decision, you should especially thank Sir Arthur Hastings after the verdict comes out."
At this point, Shubinsky looked at Herzen meaningfully and said, "When the verdict is announced, remember to thank the chairman of the committee, your old proctor, Duke Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsyn, in front of everyone. Thank that kind-hearted nobleman for interceding for us, and the emperor's mercy has come upon us. As for Sir Arthur Hastings and General Stahl, you can wait a few days before going. Young man, you are not a college student now. When you enter society, especially Russian society, you have to be smarter than before."
