The Shadow of Great Britain

Capítulo 1517: Chapter 254: The Power of a True Mentor and Friend (Part 2)

Herzen’s shoulders shook uncontrollably, uncertain whether from anger or fear: “I am innocent, and my hands should not be stained with the blood of the innocent. Alexander Fedorovich, I am not like you!”

“The blood of the innocent? Those people weren’t innocent at all, and even if they were, it wouldn’t be innocent blood… but rather the Holy Anointing sacrificed by the Holy Fool for the truth.” Young Golitsyn, who had just been smiling, suddenly turned cold. He stood up and said in a hoarse voice, “I hope you understand, this is your last chance.”

“I know nothing, regarding my confession, I have not a single word to add!”

“Regrettable…” Young Golitsyn’s eyes showed an expression that could not be distinguished between regret and mockery: “Since you are unwilling, you cannot blame us.”

With a bang, the prison door closed again, and the sound of boots and Ural sabers outside the cell door dispersed like a tide.

Herzen leaned against the cold wall, his body sliding down little by little, his forehead covered with beads of sweat. The few words exchanged with young Golitsyn seemed to have drained all his strength.

The footsteps outside the cell door sounded in his ears like a countdown to exile in Siberia.

Yet soon, the cacophony in his ears returned to silence.

Herzen’s mind was in a mess, like a paste, he recalled many people and events, including the servants at home, his stern and eccentric father who silently loved him, his fragile and sensitive mother who came to Russia from afar but never received recognition, and the like-minded friends he met at Moscow University.

He recalled hiding in Uncle Carlo’s small attic listening to him read picture books, and by the age of eight or nine, he began reading French and German novels.

He still remembered his favorite books were Beaumarchais’ “The Marriage of Figaro” and Goethe’s “The Sorrows of Young Werther”…

Herzen was lost in long memories, not knowing how much time had passed. His recollection of the past was suddenly interrupted by the cold sound of a door opening.

A double-breasted indigo uniform with copper buttons was tightly stretched over a burly frame. The gold trim extended from the collar to the sleeves, with stitches dense like the iron bars of the cell. Although he was also a Constitutional Soldier, Shubinsky clearly preferred wearing a uniform more than young Golitsyn.

This might be due to the different family backgrounds between him and young Golitsyn. This Russian friend of Sir Arthur Hastings always felt that without this uniform, even his power and social status would decline significantly.

Shubinsky looked very relaxed. This Constitutional Soldier Colonel, who rarely smiled in the interrogation committee, not only greeted Herzen with a raised hand today but also brought him a bottle of fine red wine.

He handed the confession he brought to Herzen, indicating that he should read it aloud again. If there was anything to add, he could write it down.

Although Herzen was resistant, in order to send away this harbinger of misfortune as soon as possible, he complied.

While listening, Shubinsky took out the Havana cigar Arthur had given him and relit the one he had not finished smoking yesterday.

He squinted comfortably, exhaled a puff of smoke, and immediately asked, “Did young Golitsyn just come by?”

Herzen ignored him, continuing to read the script. In his view, Shubinsky was simply trying to repeat young Golitsyn’s tricks.

Seeing his attitude, Shubinsky was not annoyed but rather pleased: “I wish you had the same attitude when he came earlier.”

Herzen suddenly paused: “Did he say anything to you after he left?”

“Of course not, he said you were still the same, preferring to be a martyr of Siberia rather than a filial son of Moscow.”

Shubinsky grinned and continued: “Of course, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. But if you ask me, you’d better confess. Stubbornly holding out for those scoundrel friends of yours is just driven by the misguided pride of youth. If you’re willing to write a petition, I think it would not only be beneficial for your future, but the hardship of these months would not have been in vain. To be honest, I personally would very much like to recruit you into the Third Bureau.”

Perhaps Shubinsky believed his words were an affirmation of a young man, but to Herzen, these words were a complete insult to his character.

Fuming with anger, he pointed to the confession in his hand and asked, “I would like to ask, based on these questions and answers, what crime can one be judged guilty of? Which article of the Russian Code can you invoke to sentence me?”

Cross-legged, Shubinsky candidly replied: “The code was designed for another category of crimes.”

“That’s not the point. I’ve reread these essay exercises, and I still can’t believe I’m imprisoned for this.”

“Do you really think we trust you?” Shubinsky laughed heartily at the young man’s naivety: “You think we believe you haven’t organized secret groups?”

Herzen pointed at the black-and-white words questioning: “But where is this group?”

Unflinchingly, Shubinsky replied calmly: “We haven’t found any trace of it, and you haven’t accomplished anything, that’s your good fortune. We stopped you in time, in short: we saved you.”

Herzen was driven mad by this shameless statement. He wanted to reason with Shubinsky, but the other’s words had made him realize—these people were unreasonable.

Shubinsky did not forget to remind Herzen: “A priest will come later for the procedure.”

“What procedure?”

“As a witness. The priest will write a few words under your signature stating that your entire confession is voluntary, with no coercion involved.”

“During my trial, I never saw any priest. He wasn’t present, nor did he even bother to ask me about the situation at the time. How can someone confined outside be a witness?”

Shubinsky exhaled a smoke ring, raising his finger to draw circles on the floor: “God is all-knowing and omnipotent, so the priest not being at the interrogation doesn’t mean he can’t be a witness.”

Herzen was shaking with anger, pointing an accusing finger at Shubinsky, mouth half open, unsure what to say.

Seeing this, Shubinsky chuckled, patting Herzen on the shoulder: “It’s helpless, isn’t it? Life is just that helpless. If you don’t want to be treated like this, don’t put yourself in such a situation. Herzen, young man, we’ve known each other since Moscow University, and from then on, I warned you: be careful who you befriend. You’ve had too many bad friends in your life, almost burying yourself. Luckily, you made a good friend in Leipzig, whose strength offset all the negative impact your bad friends had on you.”

Originally intending to vent his rage at Shubinsky, Herzen then saw the letter Shubinsky withdrew from his pocket.

The densely packed text on the letter was indistinguishable at first glance, but the phrase at the end—lenient treatment where appropriate, and the signature of Tsar Nicholas I along with the Emperor’s seal, sent a shiver through him.

Shubinsky only gave him a brief look before returning the imperial document to his pocket: “In the next three days, if anyone comes to your cell or takes you to the interrogation room, don’t add anything unnecessary to your statements. The leniency is the Emperor’s will, and you have General Star to thank for his persistent advocacy; as for the specifics of how to be lenient, when the verdict comes out, you should especially thank Sir Arthur Hastings.”

Saying this, Shubinsky glanced at Herzen meaningfully: “When the verdict is announced, remember to thank the Chairman of the committee, who is also your old Academic Director, Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsyn the Duke, for his benevolent intercession that brought the Emperor’s mercy upon us. As for Sir Arthur Hastings and General Star, you can thank them in a few days. Young gentleman, you are no longer a university student; out in the world, particularly in Russian society, you must be smarter than you were before.”