The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1426: Chapter 216: Medal? Oh, It’s Just the Tsar’s Small Favor_3

Arthur shrugged helplessly and explained from a different perspective: ”You should know I’ve traveled quite a bit, right? Yet, no matter which country I go to, or which region’s people I meet, I can always hear the same sentence. Do you know what that is?”

”What sentence?” Herzen leaned slightly forward, quite interested in this topic.

Arthur repeated in English, French, German, Italian, and Russian: ”There is no place more corrupt than here!”

Arthur joked: ”You know, I’m a researcher in Natural Philosophy, and from a logical standpoint, this sentence is certainly wrong because not every place can be the most corrupt. But, when you think about it carefully, it also makes sense. The corruption of a place largely depends on where the speaker is currently residing. When you’re not settled here, it’s honest; when you settle here, it becomes corrupt. This is called the duality of corruption and integrity, and the uncertainty principle.”

Herzen was amused by Arthur’s earnest explanation, but he still wanted to argue.

”Perhaps in official settings, everyone is the same. But the problem is, Russia has this bad habit even in informal settings. Once you attend a Moscow ball, you’ll see people here love to show reverence and pretend to be cultured in front of authorities like you and Professor Humboldt, greeting you with ’I’ve long admired you.’ But in reality, admire what? They’ve only known who you are for a few days and that you’re a researcher in Natural Philosophy. Yet, just because they heard you’re an academic authority, they immediately show you great respect.

And the socialites in Moscow regard musicians as charming and romantic young lords. Everyone listens to only the musician, speaks only to him, and only answers his questions. The scene is like when a traveler is setting up a horse on a village road, with farm kids watching him and his carriage and hat with great interest. The women just love to crowd around, make a fuss, and stand in front of these celebrities asking questions and showing concern. Even if someone says the most ordinary thing, they think it’s extraordinary. It’s simply too vulgar and makes Russia look small in people’s eyes.”

Herzen’s youthful complaints were not particularly new to Arthur, as he had met many young people like that on his way from Paris to Moscow, and he himself used to have the same opinions when he was a patrol on the streets of London.

Because British women also love to crowd around and make a fuss, listening to a performance by Paganini, and fainting en masse at the theater.

And in Paris, the situation was obviously worse because the King of Piano, Liszt, and the Poet of Piano, Chopin, were both regulars there.

Liszt’s cigar butts could sell for exorbitant prices in the Paris market, and this wasn’t something made up by Liszt’s ’official little blackie’ Heine.

Although he hadn’t seen Liszt’s burnt-out cigarette butts with his own eyes, Arthur had personally witnessed ladies enthustiastically scrambling for Chopin’s tailcoat and the porcelain teacup he drank from backstage at the opera house in Paris.

Heine attacked Liszt in his writings every day, yet he could still jump and hop around lively in Paris, thanks to the absence of the internet in the 19th century.

Otherwise, he would have long been ’boxed online, and really offline’ by Liszt’s fans.

Of course, Heine’s fans weren’t without fighting spirit. After all, he was a great poet with countless followers across Europe.

But for some reason, it seemed that in terms of fan-attracting strength in the world of literary idols, musicians were ranked higher than poets.

Back when Paganini held a concert in London, Scotland Yard, responsible for maintaining Lambeth’s order, was overwhelmed, but fortunately, Arthur later became a pianist, so he found it okay.

Of course, at Herzen’s age, having some grudges due to limited knowledge was normal.

There’s no need to argue with young people; leaving them alone for five or six years will make them realize their mistakes on their own.

Then again, occasionally, there are stubborn ones among the youth, like the forever 29-year-old Mr. Alexander Dumas.

Arthur changed the topic and said: ”I’m currently facing a problem, I want to take a look around Moscow University’s campus, but it seems it’s not open to the public, is it?”

”Generally, it’s not open, but there are some special circumstances.” Herzen enthusiastically introduced his alma mater: ”For example, public lectures, academic conferences, and speeches; these events are generally open to non-student groups, but most of them require an invitation. However, with your status, getting such an invitation is as easy as pie. If you need, I can take you to the Kremlin to apply for one.”

”Does the Department of Lands manage this too?”

”Of course not, but whether it manages it or not doesn’t matter here.”

Herzen explained: ”Many regulations in Russia are set in stone, but when it comes to execution, it’s a different story. Take my job at the Department of Lands, for instance. Actually, before I entered university, my father asked Duke You Subofu to register me with the Kremlin Management Office. Three years later, I graduated from high school and happened to become a lieutenant. However, according to the rules, employed officials with ranks are not allowed to take the entrance exam of Moscow University...”

Arthur asked in surprise: ”Why?”

Herzen chuckled: ”It’s because, for officials, Moscow University has specially set up night schools, which admit only those preparing for the ’committee exam,’ the exam for promotion to the Eighth Rank. Therefore, all the rich idlers, the prodigals who don’t want to serve in the military but are eager to obtain the title of Eighth Rank Civil Servant, can take the committee exam through the night school path. The night school is like a gold mine run by Moscow University’s old professors, able to charge twenty rubles for a class, so naturally, they don’t want to cut off this financial path.”

Arthur suddenly realized and immediately asked: ”Then how did you get around it back then?”

Herzen replied nonchalantly: ”It was because my father went to Duke You Subofu again. Duke You Subofu, being an old nobleman and a Tatar, solved the problem in his unique way. He called the secretary, ordering him to write me a three-year leave certificate. The secretary hesitated, nervously reporting that without the Emperor’s approval, the maximum leave for an official cannot exceed four months. The Duke impatiently said: ’Nonsense, dear sir, what’s the difficulty? Well, if there’s no leave, write that I’m sending him to further his studies in science—to further his education at university.’ The secretary wrote it, and the next day I was sitting in the amphitheater of the Moscow University Department of Mathematics and Physics.”