When Oranski had done reading, Colonel Shubenski stepped forward. He explained to us in picked phrases and the style of Lomonossov,[[77]] that for the Tsar’s clemency we were obliged to the good offices of the distinguished nobleman who presided at the Commission. He expected that we should all express at once our gratitude to the great man, but he was disappointed.
[77]. I.e., an old-fashioned pompous style. Lomonossov (1711-1765) was the originator of Russian literature and Russian science.
Some of those who had been pardoned made a sign with their heads, but even they stole a glance at us as they did so.
Shubenski then turned to Ogaryóv and said: “You are going to Penza. Do you suppose that is a mere accident? Your father is lying paralysed at Penza; and the Prince asked the Emperor that you might be sent there, that your presence might to some extent lighten the blow he must suffer in your banishment. Do you too think you have no cause for gratitude?”
Ogaryóv bowed; and that was all they got for their pains.
But that good old gentleman, the President, was pleased, and for some reason called me up next. I stepped forward: whatever he or Shubenski might say, I vowed by all the gods that I would not thank them. Besides, my place of exile was the most distant and most disgusting of all.
“So you are going to Perm,” said the Prince.
I said nothing. The Prince was taken aback, but, in order to say something, he added, “I have an estate there.”
“Can I take any message to your bailiff?” I asked, smiling.
“I send no messages by people like you—mere carbonari,” said the Prince, by a sudden inspiration.