The convoy stretched endlessly over the snowy plains like a black centipede, with thirty-two pairs of steel wheels crushing the last moonlight of the snowfield.
Tsar Nicholas I removed his gold-frad pince-nez and wiped the ice crystals off the lenses with a velvet cloth.
Count Benkendorf, who was in the carriage with the Tsar, noticed the old scar on the Tsar’s forefinger trembling—a relic from the Decemberist rebellion in 1825.
"Your Majesty, Moscow is on triple alert." The Tsar’s most trusted favorite folded a secret ssage into the shape of a swan, "Duke Dmitry Golitsyn, the Governor of Moscow, insists on welcoming you personally, but as you instructed..."
"I don’t want to see him now. Let him go and pray at St. Basil’s Cathedral." The Tsar’s saber made a scratch on the carpet of the carriage: "Tell Shubinsky, I want to see the original interrogation records before dawn—not those perfu-stained copies from Volkov."
In the distance, the golden dos of the Kremlin erged in the blizzard.
The secret journey to Moscow, undertaken overnight, seed to have exhausted Nicholas I, the supre ruler of Tsarist Russia. He rested his hand on his forehead, gently closing his eyes, but his thoughts did not falter.
"What’s the situation with Polevoy from ’Moscow Telecommunications’ now?"
Count Benkendorf’s voice lowered, as if worried about disturbing the Tsar’s rest: "As per your orders, Polevoy has been escorted to the prison in Peterborough Fortress. Initially, he was silent all day, but lately, he seems to have realized his mistake, almost daily requesting the guards to give him a chance to petition you to confess his cris. Do you intend to take the ti to summon him soon?"
"No hurry, he still needs to reflect." The deep voice of Nicholas I sounded particularly jarring in the silent environnt: "Everyone sent to prison claims they know their wrongs, swearing to God they have deeply reflected. But unless they taste real hardship and feel the fear and trembling in the depths of their souls, they will relapse in no ti."
Benkendorf did not refute the Tsar’s words, but he insisted on reporting the good news he had just received yesterday: "I heard that Polevoy’s reflection this ti is very thorough. Although he’s imprisoned in the fortress, he hasn’t given up writing."
The Tsar opened his eyes, his tone mocking: "Such a diligent writer, what has our Jacobin leader written this ti?"
"There’s so progress compared to before."
Benkendorf spoke: "This ti he didn’t overly focus on content harmful to society and public interests. I’ve seen the initial Chapters and the outline of the story. The protagonist this ti is a young woman from a poor Siberian farming family. She grew up in poverty, losing her parents early, forced to live alone and struggle for livelihood. To escape her family’s hardship, she leaves her hotown, enters a relatively larger city, where Balasha is exploited and abandoned by so irresponsible n, making her life even harder. She has no choice but to succumb to the pressure of survival and do nial jobs. Despite her efforts to maintain her dignity and longing for a better, more dignified life, her health gradually deteriorates, leaving her to die in solitude."
"Quite a classic tragic story." Nicholas I sneered: "Is Polevoy writing about a country girl? I have a feeling he’s writing about himself."
Count Benkendorf nodded slightly: "Yes, Your Majesty, his spirit has been completely crushed by your iron will. God bless Russia, I believe that soon we’ll have a literary giant, an impeccable tragic writer. As for the personality of that Russian Jacobin leader, it will be completely erased from Polevoy."
The face of Nicholas I showed neither joy nor sorrow as he spoke lightly: "Once Polevoy finishes his new work, bring the manuscript to the Winter Palace. He will receive the sa treatnt as Pushkin for this work destined for the ages. To celebrate Polevoy’s rebirth, I will be the sole censor of this new masterpiece."
"As you wish, Your Majesty." Count Benkendorf placed his hand on his chest and bowed slightly.
After a mont of silence, the Tsar added: "Make sure to send soone to give our great writer so hope, tell him that even a country girl has the chance to reverse her fate, there are indeed so scoundrel n in Russia, but at least I am quite humane. True nobility cannot stand to see soone die in loneliness. If this work is satisfactory, I shall grant him the right to settle in St. Petersburg."
Moonlight illuminated Benkendorf’s face, outlining his chiseled features: "With such generous handling, I’m confident Polevoy will set a good example for the liberals in the country."
The Tsar then instructed: "Polevoy’s ’Moscow Telecommunications’ has been banned, a new publication needs to be promptly established. ’Odessa News’ and ’Tbilisi News’ are doing well, how is the preparation for the ’National Ministry of Education Magazine’ progressing?"
Count Benkendorf took a stack of docunts from his briefcase and placed them next to the oil lamp on the small table: "These are the articles to be published in the inaugural issue of the ’National Ministry of Education Magazine.’ Each piece is written with extraordinary flair. Especially this one, Uvarov strongly recomnded it to ."
Nicholas I put on his gold-frad pince-nez, glancing over the draft: "Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol Yanovsky? I haven’t seen this na before, is he a newcor?"
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