Shubinsky’s mustache trembled violently, like the copper bell tongue of a church stirred by the north wind. He suddenly grabbed Arthur’s arm with a force that creased the British gentleman’s cal coat: "For the sake of Saint Michael, this is not a good place for a chat..."
After passing through three iron gates engraved with double-headed eagle reliefs, they finally arrived at the private domain of the Constitutional Soldier Colonel.
This office, known as the "Confession Room," was arranged in a way that was an extraordinary sight: beside the gilded Madonna hung a Tatar whip, and on the carved oak desk sat a Dresden porcelain plate piled high with coarse rye bread—said to be the "Holy al" for the involuntary visitors.
"You must understand, the interrogation committee is like the Malachite Hall of the Kremlin," Shubinsky said, using his boot tip to pull apart two copper-plated Gothic chairs: "Every feather wants to display, but soone will always have their eyes pecked out."
Arthur’s fingertips caressed the malachite inlaid on the corner of the table, the veins exuding the bitterness of Virginia tobacco: "I’ve heard that General Star overturned the entire conference table, saying you have turned Moscow University into a mousetrap."
"That old cavalryman is throwing his weight around the committee with his seniority!" Shubinsky suddenly lowered his voice, resembling a sinner in the confession room: "He insisted that at least two-thirds of the thirty-six young people we arrested are innocent..."
"So you nailed thirty-six more crosses?"
"Not at all!" The Constitutional Soldier Colonel’s dal trembled in the firelight from the fireplace: "We worked through the night to reduce the list to thirty, but the next day the Ho Office stuffed in twelve more! Now even the Gypsy old man sweeping chimneys knows that Moscow’s prisons are about to outnumber the bakeries."
Arthur tapped a cigar from his silver case, the spark danced a Cossack dance on the match head: "Co on! Old chap, neither of us is doing this for the first day; we both know clearly what’s going on. If there are truly so many people secretly against the Tsar, Moscow would have been in turmoil long ago. You’re cramming so many people into the interrogation room all at once; are you planning to create a branch of the Happiness Association in Moscow out of thin air?"
Shubinsky was also caught in a bind; he certainly knew that not all the people arrested could be opponents of the Tsar, but the problem was that Tsar Nicholas I was certain there was a group in Moscow opposed to his rule.
If the Tsar really listened, then when a respected, accomplished old minister like General Star behaves so unyieldingly, demanding to protect his reputation, it can be imagined that the case is not without problems. Therefore, he should at least summon the committee chairman, Duke Sergei Golitsyn, and order Star to clarify the case in front of him.
However, the Tsar did not do so, but instead ordered strict supervision of these young political prisoners.
Who in the committee isn’t a savvy person, who doesn’t know how to read the political atmosphere?
Perhaps not all mbers of the interrogation committee, like young Golitsyn, are thinking of gaining credit through the case, but not seeking credit does not an they are willing out of conscience to provoke the Tsar’s ire for a group of unconnected young people.
Being able to withdraw from the committee like General Star to protect oneself was already tantamount to a huge violation.
Shubinsky couldn’t help but have second thoughts at this, either.
He couldn’t stand Volkov and young Golitsyn, and he didn’t want to give up his coveted position as Constitutional Soldier Commander to them, but he dared not defy the Emperor.
That old thing Star is getting on in years, he’s pretty much reached the end of his life, but Shubinsky is still young, with a long road ahead.
If he couldn’t ensure his own safety, he would rather take a step back on this issue, at least not let the Tsar’s majesty add his na to the blacklist of promotions.
"You don’t understand, those little brats are all sharp-tongued, cursing the Tsar behind closed doors..."
"How do you know that?"
"Take that young Herzen for example. We interrogated him in the library of the committee chairman, Duke Sergei Mikhailovich Golitsyn. The little brat turned to look at the bookshelf, and just happened to see a multi-volu set of Duke Saint-Simon’s moirs. So, he turned and complained to the chairman: ’How unfair it is! I’m being interrogated for Saint-Simonism, while you’re hoarding more than twenty volus of his works!’"
Arthur imdiately understood what was going on upon hearing this.
The Duke Louis de Rouvroy Saint-Simon was a minister during Louis XIV’s era in France, and his moirs recorded the social and political conditions of that ti, considered an essential bestseller for studying French history even today.
It was Count Claude Henri Saint-Simon of France who proposed Saint-Simonism, although he and Duke Saint-Simon may have had a distant familial relationship, they were certainly not the sa person.
Herzen couldn’t possibly not know this; he probably said it hoping that the interrogation committee was full of people who didn’t read books.
If one lacked understanding of Saint-Simonism and French history, it would be easy to be fooled by the lad.
Although Herzen’s conduct was sowhat reckless, at least it showed that he hadn’t broken down ntally, his mind remaining clear, with even a bit of cunning left to play.
Arthur pretended to be ignorant, deliberately steering the topic in a different direction: "Ha! The lad is truly ignorant. He doesn’t even know that Saint-Simonism wasn’t proposed by Duke Saint-Simon. His collection of Saint-Simonist books is probably just to look impressive in the bookshelf. Thinking Saint-Simonism is fashionable, placing a few related works on display adds a touch of prestige, but instead, it got him into trouble! If his father knew the whole story of his imprisonnt, he would probably break his legs!"
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