The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1463: Chapter 232: Bastard Son Is Not a French Privilege (Part 2)

Arthur laughed and shook his head. Without Herzen, he lacked the motivation to overturn the case for Ogarev. But it’s still early today, and chatting with this prominent figure in the Moscow judiciary might be beneficial for broadening his connections.

”I did read that book, but saying I can recite it backwards is truly overpraising me.”

”Which sentence do you like most in it?”

”A famous saying? I actually like many, but if I have to choose, it would probably be this one: ’In the depths of the North, between the various countries of Asia and Europe, it raised its head, and its folk image reflects the characteristics of two worlds: a mixture of Eastern tribes, Slavists heading to Europe.’

Arthur paused involuntarily as he spoke.

Because actually, he never favored such definitive summaries.

Compared to these dry and tasteless summaries, like ’The strength of the Moscow Duchy should be attributed to the Mongol Golden Horde. Without the Mongol intervention, there wouldn’t be the strong Russian Empire later’ or ’Mongol rule had a decisive impact on Russian political transformation, and Batu’s invasion completely overturned Russian rule, finding good causes in destruction, showing overall advantage, further promoting the formation of the Russian autocratic system’, these statements that seem reasonable and simultaneously make both Western School and Slavist jump seem a lot more fun.

In general, Arthur’s interest in historians like Karamzin was obviously less than his interest in historians like Thiers.

Although Thiers’s writings on the Napoleonic Wars are repeatedly criticized by war veteran Duke of Wellington as lacking rigor and being whimsical, it doesn’t stop Thiers from writing beautifully with a brilliant pen.

Thinking of this, Arthur couldn’t help but recommend Thiers’s ”History of the French Revolution” to the deputy dean.

As for the reason...

First, naturally because this book is engaging.

Second, the English version of this book is currently being published by ”Britons”.

Although the deputy dean did not refuse Arthur’s recommendation, he brought the topic back: ”When I was young, just like you, I was interested in the history of France. I felt the Great Revolution was like a fire that could ignite the entire world. But as I grew older, I became increasingly concerned about Russian history. You know what my favorite sentence in ’Russian National History’ is?”

”Let me guess.” Arthur pondered for a moment: ”When you were young, you liked the Great Revolution, then the sentence you like was probably in the Chapter about Peter the Great.”

”If I were twenty years younger, perhaps so,” the deputy dean recalled. ”Now, I prefer the sentence Ivan the Terrible said when establishing the special jurisdiction—let fear become the cornerstone of rule. You see, three hundred years have passed, and Moscow winters still require firewood for heating.”

A sudden cracking sound erupted from the firewood in the fireplace, and sparks flew between the two.

Russian bureaucrats enjoy speaking in roundabout ways. Fortunately, British bureaucrats also have this habit, so Arthur certainly understands the deputy dean’s meaning.

His old hand wearing a sapphire ring was casually pressing the half-open secret compartment on the table edge. The Constitutional Guard Headquarters’ wax seal loomed in the shadows, much like the cheap horror novel covers sold by London street newsboys.

The other party was covertly advising him against proceeding.

But since he had already established his image as a liberal, Arthur did not intend to retreat here, at least not immediately, as it wouldn’t favor the unfolding of later work.

Moreover, if the Russians discovered that he, a British Lord, wasn’t a liberal, they’d find it strange.

Arthur lifted the gold-inlaid tea cup, allowing the steaming heat to hang fine droplets on his eyebrows: ”Fear is indeed an efficient fuel, like farmers burning horse manure for warmth in winter—though it’s bound to be filthy when burned long.”

The deputy dean’s age-spotted cheeks twitched twice, and he suddenly burst into hearty laughter. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy Arthur’s joke.

The deputy dean turned and retrieved a bottle of Georgian wine from the depths of the bookcase, and the deep red liquid shone like blood in the carved glass bottle: ”So smart people prepare two types of fuels, don’t they? Just like gentlemen in St. Petersburg need both Karamzin’s history books for embellishment and Bendendorf’s Constitutional Soldiers for maintaining dignity.”

Old bureaucrats spar, abiding by the principle of stopping at the right point.

Neither pursued the matter further, and Arthur raised his wine glass to clink with the deputy dean’s, producing a crisp ding: ”I’ve had a doubt since just a moment ago.”

The deputy dean joked tentatively: ”Is it related to horse manure?”

Arthur pondered for a while, seemingly troubled: ”That depends on how you define it. I mean, my query is about Mr. Herzen and his father.”

The deputy dean raised his neck and downed the wine in one go: ”That’s indeed a matter for specific analysis, you can tell me about it first.”

”Mr. Herzen’s surname is Herzen, right?”

”Certainly, if a horse isn’t a horse, could it be a donkey?”

”Looks like I’m not the only one thinking this way. But haven’t you forgotten? Isn’t his father surnamed Yakovlev?”

”Oh...” The deputy dean paused: ”So that’s what you mean.”

Arthur’s fingertips circled the edge of his wine glass, amber pupils reflecting the flickering candle flame: ”Ivan Alekseyevich Yakovlev, Alexander Ivanovich Herzen—according to Russian naming traditions, it’s like the Tsar suddenly dancing an Irish jig in the Winter Palace, don’t you find it comical?”