However, he couldn’t quite handle the thought of his parents knowing he’d been exiled.
His father was quite a character. Despite being a grumpy old man whose highest rank in the military was only Lieutenant, he had seen a lot in life and weathered many storms. Therefore, Herzen wasn’t too worried about his father’s reaction.
But his mother, this unfortunate woman, had given birth to Herzen during the Patriotic War of 1812. While his father went to St. Petersburg to deliver a letter, this seventeen-year-old girl was arranged to stay in a small village in the countryside of Yaroslavl.
Mother and son lived in a small, smoky farmhouse, surrounded by these scruffy "semi-barbaric" people. They wore old fur coats and spoke a language she couldn’t understand, and all this happened during the terrifying November winter of 1812. The only attendant staying with her had also tragically died of illness during this period, leaving her to cry day and night.
Fortunately, these "barbarians" sincerely pitied the mother and son, treating her with the most genuine kindness. The village chief even sent his son to town several tis to buy her raisins, honey cookies, apples, and small round loaves.
Fortunately, those days passed, and to this day, the kind, bearded village chief occasionally cos to Moscow. He still looks as rugged as ever, just with his beard gone white and his head balder.
Every ti he cos to Moscow, Herzen’s mother always invites him for tea, chatting with the old man about the amusing events of those days: how scared she was of him back then, and how they misunderstood each other.
The old man still calls Herzen’s mother Yulisa Ivanovna according to Russian pronunciation, instead of calling her Louisa, as would be customary in German. If Herzen is around, he would certainly joke about how this baby kept trying to nestle into his big beard.
After everything has passed, those hard days can even beco beautiful mories.
Herzen always felt that forming friendships with simple peasants like the village chief was far more worthwhile than with the self-proclaid high-class nobility of Moscow.
From a young age, he enjoyed making friends with these inconspicuous small people, perhaps because of his status as an illegitimate child, he never felt like a mber of the nobility; what he sensed from the nobility was more often coldness.
Instead, from the servants and peasants despised by the nobility, he felt genuine affection.
He liked watching his two nannies knit socks and tease each other, and his best and only friend was his uncle’s attendant—Carl from Germany.
Carl had no family in Russia and couldn’t speak Russian well, and he was extrely shy and timid.
Unfortunately, the only people in the vicinity who spoke German, aside from the nobility, were Herzen’s German nanny, Mrs. Provo.
Alas, poor Carl, one would be hard-pressed to find a person more gentle, kind, and easygoing than he. He would let a mischievous child make a ss of his living space and tolerate being pestered by this imp for hours, but he dared not speak to won.
Herzen’s habit of reading was also cultivated by Carl. Every evening, Carl would bring so picture books from the library upstairs for Herzen to read, explaining patiently wherever Herzen couldn’t understand. Sotis he could talk for an hour or two over just a few pictures.
Thinking of this, Herzen felt his chest tighten with anxiety.
If he were as solitary as Carl, then exile would be just that, no big deal.
Even if he were to die in the Caucasus or die in Siberia, he wouldn’t let the snow bend his back.
But in this way, wouldn’t his poor mother, Carl who introduced him to reading, Vera Aldamovna who dressed him, arranged his sleep, and bathed him, and Mrs. Provo who took him for walks and taught him German, all be saddened?
Herzen couldn’t help but recall the idle gossip his two nannies would chat about while knitting.
Mrs. Provo often said, "Truly, if I were the lady, I would leave everything behind and go back to Stuttgart. Couples always bickering, arguing non-stop, it’s so tireso, what’s the fun in that?"
Vera Aldamonovna replied, "Easy to say, but you’re tied up because of this."
She pointed with the knitting needle at Herzen, "If you take him away, where would you go? What then? Leave him here, and with the house like this, who wouldn’t feel heartache seeing it!"
Alas...
The good news is, mother doesn’t need to worry about now.
The bad news is, it seems taking away isn’t an option, and leaving in Moscow isn’t needed either. As for where to go? To the Caucasus, or to Siberia!
Of course, those two places are surely no match for mother’s old ho Stuttgart.
At this thought, Herzen wished he could slap himself.
How could I have let myself get captured by the Constitutional Soldier?
If I hadn’t...
Herzen’s thoughts paused abruptly here, as he murmured to himself, "By the way, why was I arrested again?"
He scratched his head, puzzled.
It wasn’t until then that he suddenly realized that, like Ogarev, he seed to have no reason for his arrest either.
Herzen cast a glance at the mountain of docunts on the large table and the stacks of case files on the small table in the corner. He unceremoniously plopped down into the chief’s easy chair, lit the small oil lamp on the desk, and began to go through the files one by one.
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