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diff --git a/78377-0.txt b/78377-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..21c0ad9 --- /dev/null +++ b/78377-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10718 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78377 *** + + + + +THE MEMOIRS OF ALEXANDER HERZEN + +VI + + + + +NOTE + + +This translation has been made by arrangement from the sole complete +and copyright edition of _My Past and Thoughts_, that published in the +original Russian at Berlin, 1921. + + + + + _MY PAST AND THOUGHTS_ + + THE MEMOIRS OF + ALEXANDER HERZEN + + _THE AUTHORISED TRANSLATION + TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN + BY CONSTANCE GARNETT_ + + VOLUME VI + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + ALFRED A. KNOPF + 1928 + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + T. & A. CONSTABLE LTD. EDINBURGH + * + ALL RIGHTS + RESERVED + + + + +CONTENTS + + + INTRODUCTION _page vii_ + + ENDS AND BEGINNINGS _page 1_ + + LETTER 1 _page 3_ + + LETTER 2 _page 17_ + + LETTER 3 _page 26_ + + LETTER 4 _page 36_ + + LETTER 5 _page 45_ + + LETTER 6 _page 51_ + + LETTER 7 _page 62_ + + LETTER 8 _page 76_ + + ANOTHER VARIATION ON AN OLD THEME _page 84_ + + THE SUPERFLUOUS AND THE EMBITTERED _page 99_ + + PRINCESS EKATERINA ROMANOVNA DASHKOV _page 113_ + + BAZAROV— + + LETTER 1 _page 191_ + + LETTER 2 _page 204_ + + THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE AND SOCIALISM _page 210_ + + + + +TRANSLATOR’S NOTE + + +This volume concludes the ‘Memoirs of Herzen.’ Nothing in the complete +Russian edition has been omitted except two or three pages, which +are practically repetition of earlier passages, and a brief section, +Aphorismata, the humour of which has so evaporated with the lapse of time +that it could hardly be made intelligible to an English reader. + +I have ventured to add to the volume Herzen’s famous letter to Michelet, +which is of interest in view of what has actually happened in Russia +during the last ten years. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +Herzen’s own story of his life as a connected narrative breaks off with +his arrival in London in 1852. A full description of his later years is +given in the Reminiscences of Madame Ogaryov-Tutchkov, from which the +following extracts are taken. As the latter is the central figure in the +picture of those years, some account of her is essential. + +Natalya Alexyevna Tutchkov was born in 1827, and came of a distinguished +family. Her grandfather and his four brothers were highly cultured men, +remarkable for their gifts and their character. Her father was a friend +of the Decembrists, was slightly implicated in the conspiracy, and was +for a time under arrest. When released, he settled on his estate in the +province of Penza, where he was elected Marshal of Nobility and did much +good work for the welfare of the peasants and the administration of the +district. His two daughters, Elena and Natalie, had a happy childhood. In +1846 Ogaryov, an old friend of their father’s, came, after seven years’ +absence, to his estate near the Tutchkovs. He saw a great deal of them, +and the young girls became very fond of him. In 1847 the Tutchkovs went +abroad, and Ogaryov gave them a letter of introduction to the Herzens, +who were at that time in Rome. + +The Herzens welcomed them warmly, and Natalie Herzen and Natalie Tutchkov +became deeply attached to each other. Natalie Herzen called the young +girl ‘Consuelo di mia alma,’ and many of her letters are addressed to +her. She is said to have expressed a wish that in case of her death +Natalie Tutchkov should have charge of her children. + +After the happy time in Italy they all returned together to Paris, +where they witnessed the terrible days of June 1848. Herzen (volume iv. +pp. 11-13) describes the mournful parting between his wife and her +‘Consuelo’; the Tutchkovs went home to their estate in Penza, where +Ogaryov was a frequent visitor. His affection for Natalya Alexyevna soon +passed into love, and he tried to obtain a divorce from his first wife, +Marya Lvovna, _née_ Roslavlov, who had left him several years before, +and was living in Paris with the well-known painter, Vorobyev, but out +of spite she refused to release him. In the end Natalie Tutchkov decided +to dispense with the legal ceremony, and in 1850 settled with Ogaryov +as his wife. In those days such a step required a good deal of courage, +and her parents were greatly distressed, though they, like every one +else, indeed, had a warm affection for Ogaryov. Not long afterwards Marya +Lvovna died, and the Ogaryovs were legally married. + +Herzen had, on his first arrival in London in 1852, settled near Primrose +Hill with his son Sasha (Alexander), a boy of twelve, and his friend +Haug. The latter had quarrelled and left him by 1854. The two girls, +‘Tata’ (Natalie) and Olga, had joined him with their governess, Malwide +von Meysenbug, an excellent woman, well known in her own day as the +authoress of _Memoirs of an Idealist_, but now remembered only for her +correspondence with Nietzsche and Wagner. + +Herzen repeatedly wrote to Ogaryov, begging him to come to London. At +last Ogaryov, who had been living since his marriage in the province of +Simbirsk, where he had a paper-mill, decided to go to England. It took +him some time to obtain permission to leave Russia, but “on April the +9th, 1856,” Madame Ogaryov writes, + + “we crossed from Ostend to Dover on a very rough sea; it was + all I could do not to be ill. Ogaryov is a very good sailor. + When at last the steamer came to a standstill before the dark, + endless cliffs of Dover, dimly visible through the thick yellow + fog, my heart sank: I felt everything about me somehow strange + and cold; the unfamiliar language ... everything overwhelmed me + and made me think of my home and my family so far away.... We + found our luggage, took a cab and drove to the station; there + we hardly had time to have our things put in and to take our + seats when the train moved off with incredible swiftness—it was + an express: the objects beside the line flashed by, making an + unpleasant impression on unaccustomed eyes. I was vexed that + we had not managed to get breakfast. It was so important for + Ogaryov, who might easily have had an attack from exhaustion + and impatience to see his friend.[1] Four hours later we saw + London—grand, gloomy, for ever wrapped in a fog, like a muslin + veil—London, the finest city I had ever seen. We hurriedly got + into a cab and set off to seek Herzen at the address given us + by Dr. Pikulin: Chomley Lodge, Richmond. But a cab is not an + express train, and we needed all our store of patience; at last + we arrived in Richmond; in spite of the rain, the place made + a great impression on me; it was buried in verdure, even the + houses were covered with ivy, wild vines, and other creepers; + in the distance we caught sight of a magnificent immense park; + I had never seen anything like it! The cab stopped at the gate + of Chomley Lodge; the cabman, muffled up in a great-coat, with + a number of collars each wider than the one above it, gave + a loud ring at the bell. A woman came out; scanning us with + evident curiosity, for we probably looked very different from + Londoners, she bowed very civilly to us. To Ogaryov’s enquiry + whether Mr. Herzen was living here, she replied with alacrity: + + ‘Yes, yes, Mr. Herzen used to live here, but he moved a long + time ago.’ + + ‘Where to?’ Ogaryov asked dejectedly. + + ‘Where is he now?’ she rejoined. ‘Oh, a long way from here; + I’ll fetch you the address.’ + + She went off, and returned with the address on a scrap of + paper. Ogaryov read, Peterborough Villa, No. 21 Finchley Road, + London. The cabman bent over the paper and evidently read it + for his own benefit. + + ‘Oh ... oh!’ he said, shaking his head, ‘I’ll drive you back to + London, and there you must take another cab, my horse wouldn’t + get so far, it’s at the opposite end of the town, and he’s + tired already, here and back again’s a tidy journey.’ + + We sighed disconsolately and accepted his decisions without + protest. When we were back in London Ogaryov owned that he + would be glad to have a hasty meal, while our luggage was being + transferred to another cab; and we succeeded in obtaining + something to eat. Then we got into the second cab and drove + off again on the hard resounding road; we did not talk on the + way, but looked anxiously out of window, only from time to + time exchanging the same thought: ‘What if he is not there + either?’ At last we arrived. The cabman climbed down from + the box and rang the bell. We had a view of No. 21 above the + gate; the neat, prosaic brick house stood in the middle of a + flower-garden, surrounded by a high stone wall with bits of + broken glass on the top of it; the wall made the little garden + look like a deep bath. Herzen could not bear it and never sat + in the garden. The cook, François, a little, bald, middle-aged + Italian, opened the door of the house, looked at our trunks, + and closed it again; probably he was going to tell his master + of what he had seen. The impatient cabman rang again more + loudly. This time François came out briskly, ran down to the + garden gate, gave us a careless bow, and said in French: + + ‘_Monsieur pas à la maison._’ + + ‘How annoying!’ Ogaryov answered quietly in French, and he + gave me his hand to step out of the cab, then bade the cabman + lift down the luggage and carry it into the house; then he + asked him his fare and paid it. François followed us in great + perturbation. In the hall Ogaryov turned to François and asked: + + ‘Where are the children?’ + + Herzen was standing at the top of the stairs. Hearing Ogaryov’s + voice, he ran down like a boy of twenty and rushed to embrace + him, then he turned to me. ‘Yes, Consuelo?’ he said, and kissed + me too. + + At the sight of the general rejoicing, François at last + recovered; at first he stood thunderstruck, thinking the + Russians were taking the house by storm. + + At Herzen’s summons the children appeared with their governess, + Malwide von Meysenbug. The younger, Olga, a little girl with + regular features, seemed lively and somewhat spoilt; the elder + girl, about eleven, was rather like her mother in her dark-grey + eyes, the shape of her forehead, and her thick eyebrows and + hair, though this was fairer than her mother’s. There was a + rather diffident, forlorn look in her face. She could not + readily express herself in Russian, and so was shy of speaking. + Later on she liked talking Russian to me at bedtime, and I + used often to sit by her little bed while we talked of her + dear mother. Herzen’s son, Alexander, a lad of seventeen, was + delighted to see us. He was at that stage when boyhood is over, + but the youth is not yet a young man. Until he left London, I + was like an elder sister to him, the friend to whom he confided + all that was in his heart. + + For the first days after our arrival in London Herzen bade + François admit no visitors whatever; even the presence of + Malwide was irksome to him: he wanted to talk with us of all + that had been aching in his heart these last two years; he told + us all the details of the terrible blows he had endured, told + us of his wife’s illness and death. + + Often the children or Malwide came in and interrupted our + conversation, and he preferred to begin talking when they had + all gone to bed, so we spent several nights without sleep, and + the dawn found us still up. I was only anxious on Ogaryov’s + account, but it could not be helped. Afterwards, when he had + relieved his heart and shared his sorrowful memories with us, + Herzen regained his liveliness and activity. He went about + London with us, showing us what had struck him at first, + among other things the London public-houses, where people sat + partitioned off from each other like horses in stalls, and the + markets on Saturday nights lighted up by torches, where only + the poor make their purchases, and where we heard on all sides: + ‘Buy, buy, buy!’ + + A few days after our arrival, a little lodging, consisting of + two rooms, was found for us with a Mrs. Bruce, a few steps from + Herzen’s house.... We were very comfortable with that worthy + woman, but we spent the greater part of our time at Herzen’s. + There we met _émigrés_ from almost every part of Europe; there + were Frenchmen, Germans, Italians, Poles, but at that time + only one Russian, Ivan Ivanovitch Savitch, a cousin of the + Savitch who suffered for his political views, I believe, when + Herzen was a student; that is, many years before. Yet Ivan + Ivanovitch, simply because he was his cousin, felt that he was + under suspicion, and so was afraid to return to Russia. He had + suffered great hardships and privations, but when we arrived he + had work as a private teacher, and rarely asked for help from + Herzen, who assisted all the _émigrés_ indiscriminately....” + + “Soon after our arrival the news came that the daring + revolutionary, Orsini, had escaped from an Austrian prison and + would soon be in London.... A few days afterwards Herzen, on + returning from his daily excursion into town, told us that + Orsini had arrived, that he had seen him, and that Orsini would + be dining with us next day. I had heard so much about him that + I looked forward with interest to seeing him. + + We were by then living at Herzen’s; this is how it came to + pass. One day Ogaryov and Herzen had gone to town together, + and I was alone in my lodging. Suddenly Miss Mills, the old + housemaid, appeared with Herzen’s two little girls. The elder, + Natasha, with a happy face, threw her arms round my neck and + said: ‘She has gone and taken all her things.’ Miss Mills told + me that Fräulein Meysenbug had left the house. I could make + nothing of it and went back with the children; we were met by + their brother Alexander. He looked distressed, picked up little + Olga and kissed her; his eyes were full of tears. + + ‘What is it for? what is it for?’ he said. + + Herzen was quite incensed at this typically German proceeding. + + ‘She might have explained and talked things over,’ he said. + + Nothing would induce him to go and ask her to come back. + + She lived henceforward in lodgings, and we moved into Herzen’s + house and said good-bye for ever to our dear Mrs. Bruce. + + But to return to Orsini. He arrived at the hour fixed. He was a + typical Italian: tall, with black hair and eyes, with a small + black beard and regular but rather marked features. Most likely + he was even handsomer in Italian military uniform, but in + London he was in a frock-coat, and he wore it with the peculiar + _chic_ with which all military men wear civilian dress. When + he talked, he impressed one by his extraordinary earnestness, + vivacity, and fervour, and at the same time by knowing where to + draw the line and avoid saying more than he meant to. I asked + him about his escape from prison, and he readily told me what + he could....” + + “I remember that we spent not more than six months at + Peterborough Villa. Herzen was fond of changing from one house, + and even from one neighbourhood, to another:[2] he soon became + aware of all the inconveniences of any house he had taken, and + could not bear seeing the same faces in the omnibuses that + plied backwards and forwards between the centre of the city and + the suburb. Peterborough Villa had besides a great drawback. + It was not a detached house, but was joined by a party wall to + another next door to it. On Sundays various circles gathered + at our house: Czernecki and Tchorszewski invariably, Germans, + Italians, Frenchmen. Sometimes one of them would bring a new + casual visitor. Gradually they all grew lively, some one would + begin playing the piano, sometimes they sang in chorus. The + children, too, took part in the singing, and soon there would + be laughter and an uproar of merriment. Then a knocking at the + wall would remind us that it was highly reprehensible to spend + a Sunday like this in England. That used to make Herzen very + indignant, and he would declare that there was no living in + England except in a house standing quite apart and alone. He + commissioned his friend Saffi, who often took long walks in the + remoter parts of the town, to look out for a detached house for + him. When Saffi at last found Tinkler’s or Laurel House (it was + called by both names), he invited Herzen to go over it with + him, and they were both very much pleased with it. + + Laurel House was in every respect the opposite of Peterborough + Villa. With its iron roof painted red, it looked more like an + English farm than a town house, and on the side next the garden + it was entirely covered with greenery; ivy twined from the + bottom to the top of its walls; in front of the house there was + a big oval lawn with little paths round it; there were bushes + of lilac, fragrant syringa, and other flowering shrubs on all + sides; there were masses of flowers, and there was even a + little greenhouse. + + Dear house, how happy we were in it, and how rapidly and + successfully all that made the life of the two friends + developed in it! + + Every day Herzen’s elder daughter and I used to gather two + nosegays, putting a big fragrant white lily in the middle; one + was for the drawing-room, the other for Ogaryov’s room....” + + “We moved into our new abode and settled in happily. Herzen + could go into London by rail, the station was only a few paces + away. And when he was too late for the train, he could take the + omnibus which went from Putney Bridge to the City every ten + minutes. + + Herzen used to get up at six in the morning, which is very + early for London habits; but, not expecting the same early + rising from the servants, he used to read for some hours in + his study. He read for a little while, too, when he went to + bed; and we sat up till after eleven, sometimes even later, so + that he had hardly six hours’ sleep. After dinner, as a rule, + he was at home, and then he usually read aloud something from + history or literature within the grasp of his elder girl, and, + when she had gone to bed, he read aloud books suitable for his + son’s age. Herzen followed every new scientific discovery and + read everything new in the literary way that appeared in any + European country or in America. + + At nine o’clock in the morning coffee was served in the + dining-room. Herzen used to drink a whole glass of very strong + coffee, in which he would put a tablespoonful of cream; he + liked very good coffee. Then he read _The Times_, made his + own deductions, and told us various bits of news. He did not + like the politics of _The Times_, but thought it essential to + read it. Then he went into the drawing-room, where he worked + without a break till lunch. Between one and two there was + lunch, consisting of two dishes, almost always cold meat and + something left from the previous day’s dinner. A jug of pale + ale and a little claret or sherry stood on the table. Herzen + was very fond of pale ale and drank it every day. Ogaryov was + always late in the morning; by the time that he came down to + the dining-room Herzen had always left it. But at lunch we all + gathered together, the door was thrown open into the garden, + and the children ran off to play in the open air. Then the + friends talked of their work, of the articles they had to + write, and so on. Sometimes one of them brought a finished + article and read it aloud. + + One day, soon after we had moved into Laurel House, Ogaryov + said to Herzen after lunch, in my presence: ‘You know, + Alexandr, the _Polar Star_ and your _Past and Thoughts_ are all + very good, but that’s not what’s wanted; it’s not talking with + our own people; we ought to bring out a journal regularly, once + a fortnight, or once a month; we could state our views, our + hopes for Russia, and so on.’ + + Herzen was delighted with the idea. ‘Yes,’ he cried eagerly, + ‘we will bring out a journal, we will name it the _Bell_, the + bell that calls men to council, we two together just as we were + only two together on the Sparrow Hills—and who knows, perhaps + some one will answer our call!’ + + From that day they began getting ready articles for the _Bell_; + soon afterwards the first number of the Russian paper appeared + in London. Trübner, who always bought Herzen’s works, or took + them on commission, took the _Bell_ also. He sent it about in + all directions, and soon it was heard of even in Russia. About + that time Turgenev arrived from Paris. Ogaryov and Herzen told + him the joyful tidings, and showed him the first number of the + _Bell_, but Turgenev did not at all approve of the plan. As a + refined writer with rare gifts and exceptionally elegant taste, + he was delighted at the publication of the _Polar Star_ and _My + Past and Thoughts_, but, never in close sympathy with political + views and movements, he refused to believe that two men living + isolated in England could carry on a real correspondence with + their far-away country, could find in themselves anything to + tell or could understand its needs. + + ‘No, it’s impossible,’ said Turgenev; ‘give up this fantastic + notion, don’t waste your energies; you have plenty of work as + it is, the _Polar Star_ and _My Past and Thoughts_, and there + are only you two.’ + + ‘Well, the thing is begun now, and we must go on with it,’ they + answered. + + ‘It won’t and can’t be a success, and literature will lose a + great deal,’ Turgenev protested hotly. + + But the friends did not take his advice, whether from a + presentiment that the _Bell_ would rouse many from their + slumber and find contributors, or from simple obstinacy, I + cannot say. + + With Turgenev, Vassily Petrovitch Botkin, author of the + _Letters from Spain_, came to see us. I knew something of + him from Herzen’s description and from the sketch ‘Basil and + Armance,’[3] but I must own that he seemed to me more eccentric + than I had expected. He could speak of nothing without + theatrical affectation, and was, moreover, a great gourmand, + and moved, one may say, to tenderness at the sight of dishes + which he particularly liked. He presented a complete contrast + to our household, in which no one cared enough even to order + the daily dinner. François himself chose the menu and cooked + the dinner for eight o’clock in the evening. When anything was + particularly nice we all praised it, but no one except Herzen + criticised the cooking, and he only very rarely. + + After lunch Herzen and Ogaryov went off, each in accordance + with his tastes and inclinations. Herzen would go by train + or omnibus as far as the crowded streets, and there stroll + about, looking at the brightly lighted shop windows, and he + watched and observed a great deal that went on in the street. + He went into different coffee-houses, generally asked for a + tiny glass of absinthe and a syphon of Seltzer water, and + read there newspapers of all kinds.... He often brought home + with him savouries or sauces, the choice of which he did not + care to leave to François’ taste. Often, too, he brought us + something we particularly liked, a lobster, or a special + cheese, occasionally curaçao, or sweet things for the children, + crystallised fruits or dried cherries. When he was in a very + good humour, he liked to make us all guess whom he had met in + London. I could read his mobile, expressive features so well + that I could always tell; and so he would exclude me, and I was + always left to guess last. + + When Ogaryov went out of our peaceful suburb, Fulham, he + tried to find still more solitary places for his walks. He + lived in his inner life, people worried him, but he was fond + of them in his own way, was particularly compassionate and + excessively kind to every one. Instinctively he held aloof from + his fellow-men; but when chance threw him into contact with + them, he was so good-hearted and unconstrained that none of the + people who talked to him imagined how oppressive they all were + to him. Herzen, on the contrary, was fond of people, and though + he was sometimes irritated if some one came at the wrong time, + his interest was quickly aroused and he was glad to see them. + Company was necessary to him, he was only afraid of bores. + + On Sunday everything in England is locked up. The whole of + London is transformed into a sort of huge cupboard; shops, + bakeries, coffee-houses, restaurants, even the milkshops, are + closed. Silence reigns in the streets, the only movement is in + the parks, and even there it is not like week-days. Here and + there in the distance one sees preachers surrounded by dense + crowds of people listening with strained attention in unbroken + silence. The children walk decorously, not one bowls a hoop + nor tosses a ball in the air—and all this irritated Herzen. + He did not like going out on Sundays, and was obliged to keep + in hiding from the unceremonious visitors who called all day + long from early morning. On such days he stayed longer at work, + while the two elder children and I entertained the boring + visitors in the garden. Little by little more interesting + people began to arrive, the bell never stopped ringing; + then Herzen at last joined us. When he came out everything + was transformed and animated; there was a continual flow of + entertaining talk, discussion and interesting news, mostly + political. He was for his circle what the sun is for nature. As + a rule he had extremely good health.... Once he caught a very + bad chill and had a high temperature and shooting pain in his + side; both Ogaryov and I were much alarmed and sent at once for + our doctor and friend, the exile Deville. The latter was very + fond of Herzen, and came several times a day while he was ill, + but in less than a week the patient was on his legs again.” + + “At that period so many Russians came that the servants were + constantly making mistakes; at last Herzen arranged that + all newcomers should be shown into the other half of the + drawing-room, where I saw them and learned who they were, how + long they were to be in London, and so on. Those who had come + only for a day or two on purpose to deliver manuscripts, had to + see him at once, for they always had a great deal they wanted + to tell him by word of mouth.... When people arrived who were + already known to him personally, or through their works, Herzen + was overjoyed, and gladly left his work for their sakes; in + such cases I called him to see them at once, but as a rule I + gave him the visitor’s name, etc., and then asked them to come + when he was at leisure, that is, at two or three o’clock in the + afternoon. Then after sitting a little with his visitors, he + would suggest going with them into London, for he needed fresh + air and exercise after his sedentary work. + + Herzen used to try to keep Russians away on Sundays, for + we sometimes had so many visitors on that day that it was + impossible to be sure that no spy made his way in with them. + But it was not easy to induce the Russians to be careful; + they often would come on Sundays all the same, and were often + unnecessarily open with everybody, mentioning their own + surnames, though all of us made it a rule when introducing + visitors from Russia to Poles or other Russians, to say: ‘Our + fellow-countryman whose name I have forgotten, or I have not + heard,’ and when introducing them to foreigners, we said: ‘Un + compatriote, le nom de famille est trop difficile à prononcer, + trop barbare pour les oreilles occidentales, appelez-le par le + nom de baptême—M. Alexandre,’ or some Christian name. + + I believe that not a single person came to harm through + carelessness on the part of Herzen or any of his household. He + always refused to give a note in his own handwriting addressed + to anybody in Russia, and did not like giving his portrait, + maintaining that to do so was unnecessary imprudence. + + Unhappily I cannot say the same for Bakunin; later on, when he + came to London, he was guilty of thoughtless actions which had + deplorable consequences; he was like a child playing with fire.” + + “One day a short, rather lame Russian came to see Herzen, who + had a great deal of conversation with him. Now that he is no + longer in this world I may reveal a secret known only to me, + I may tell the reason which brought him to London. After his + first visit Herzen said to Ogaryov and me: ‘I am very glad N. + has come, he has brought us a treasure, only not a word must + be said about it in his lifetime. Look, Ogaryov,’ Herzen went + on, handing him a manuscript, ‘it’s the Memoirs of Catherine + the Second, written by her in French; look at the spelling of + the period; it’s an authentic copy.’ By the time the Memoirs of + Catherine were published, N. was in Germany. From Germany he + wrote to Herzen that he would like to translate these Memoirs + into Russian. Herzen was delighted to send him a copy, and a + month later the translation was published by Czernecki; I don’t + remember who translated the book into German and English, I + only know that the Memoirs of Catherine the Second appeared + simultaneously in four languages and made an extraordinary + sensation throughout Europe. The editions were quickly + exhausted. Many people maintained that Herzen had written the + Memoirs himself, others were puzzled to think how they came + into Herzen’s hands. Efforts were made to discover who had + brought them from Russia, but that was a secret known only to + N. himself and three other persons who had been trained to + silence under Nicholas the First. + + I forgot to say when speaking of Herzen’s character, that he + was very impressionable. Though as a rule of a serene and + at times even gay and mirthful disposition, he was apt to + become suddenly gloomy if anything disagreeable happened. Such + depression was frequently caused by his carelessness, which + grew upon him in the trifling affairs of daily life; he was + very precise in business, and never forgot anything relating + to the printing-press, to money matters, or to any questions + affecting people. When he set off after lunch to London he + would think he had remembered everything; his letters and his + proofs were ready—he would say good-bye, looking cheerful, but + five minutes later there would be a terrific ring at the bell: + this was Herzen back again with a gloomy face and a voice of + exasperation. ‘I have forgotten everything,’ he would say in + despair, ‘and now the train will be gone before I can get back + to the station.’ + + ‘Well, go by the omnibus, then,’ his son would tell him, unable + to help smiling at his despair. + + We all rushed to look for what was lost, ran to the + drawing-room where he had been writing, or to his own room, + and sometimes came back unsuccessful; no letters, no proofs! + Occasionally it turned out that they were in his pocket; + unluckily, he had so many pockets in his coat and in the cloak + which he wore over it to keep off the London dust; then Herzen, + more wrathful than ever, would have to cross Fulham Bridge to + the omnibus office, and just as he approached it would see one + going off, and have to wait there ten minutes for the next.” + + “At Laurel House Ogaryov and I once got up some theatricals for + the children.... I made two red shirts for Herzen and Ogaryov. + Sasha put on a fur-lined coat inside out to represent a bear, + and Ogaryov, in a red shirt, was the bear-leader. The red shirt + was very becoming to him. With his big fair beard and curly + head he looked a typical Russian peasant. On the other hand, + the red shirt did not suit Herzen at all, he looked like a + foreigner in it. Not supposing that he would mind, I blurted + this out, and Herzen would never put on the red shirt again.” + +[Somewhere about 1856 Herzen sent his son, who had been a brilliant +student of natural science in London, winning a silver and then a gold +medal in examinations, to Geneva to study under his old friend, Karl +Vogt. After six months in Geneva, the young man entered the University +of Berne, and there lived in the family of old Professor Vogt. In 1859 +Herzen’s cousin,[4] Madame Passek, visited Berne and saw the young +student there. She writes:] + + “In Berne we stopped for a few days at the Hôtel au Faucon, + and at once sent a note to Alexandr’s son, who was about to + take his final in medicine at the University of Berne, and was + living in the family of Professor Vogt, a man greatly respected + by every one. A few minutes later he arrived; he was a young + man with long fair hair, kind, pleasant face, and blue eyes + like his mother’s. He had left Russia as a child of seven, but + had not forgotten us; he was glad to see us, and at once made + such friends that with all the ardour and simplicity of youth + he confided to us his love for Emma, the thirteen-year-old + granddaughter of the Vogts. He said he had asked his father’s + permission to propose to her formally and after the engagement + to wait till she came of age; but his father would not consent, + and was vexed at his falling in love so young. ‘I reminded my + father,’ he said, ‘that he was not much older than I am when he + fell in love and married; he did not like this, and now we are + having a disagreeable correspondence.’ + + ‘But why is your father against your love?’ I asked. ‘The Vogts + are an excellent family, he respects them, and is a friend of + their son, the famous naturalist, Karl Vogt.’ + + ‘Well, you see, he has got it into his head that I should marry + a Russian, should live for Russia, love Russia. But how can one + love what one doesn’t know? I hardly remember Russia, it is a + foreign country for me, and what can I do for it? I am not a + politician, I am a man of peace. If I had a plot of land in + Switzerland, Emma, and my books, that would be enough for me.’ + + ‘Do the Vogts know of your love for Emma, and what is their + attitude?’ + + ‘They know and strongly disapprove—that makes my position all + the more difficult.’ + + We spent about a fortnight in Berne; Alexandr’s son spent + whole days with us. Through him we got to know the Vogts; they + treated us like old friends and often kept us to dinner. We + dined at their famous round family table, which had served + several generations of Vogts and Vollens.... The gifted + zoologist, Karl Vogt, came to see his parents while we were + in Berne. He was a man of clear, realistic intellect and of + the happiest disposition. He did not waste his energies in + yearning for impractical ideals; he was passionately fond of + nature, work was for him a pleasure, not a task, and he did not + ask from man or nature more than they could give.... In Berne + Alexandr’s son introduced us to Emma. With her grandmother’s + permission he brought her from Zurich, where she was at + boarding-school. She was still a child, fresh and rosy, with + bright, merry blue eyes—still a chrysalis, as Herzen said of + her. + + After a fortnight in Berne we moved to Geneva.... Our young + friend soon came to see us there, and told us that he had + formally proposed to Emma, had informed her grandparents, and + obtained their consent, and had, as her recognised betrothed, + been with her to call on all their friends and relations. He + had done all this without his father’s knowledge, and now asked + me to break the news to him and try to settle it all peaceably. + + It was settled peaceably—in appearance; but Alexandr was + planning to put an end to the engagement. + + When his son came to London, however, with his fiancée to + introduce Emma to his family, Alexandr met them at the railway + station with a carriage and drove the betrothed child to his + house; everything there had been prepared for her reception, + and all the time she spent with him she was surrounded with + tenderness and attention; but this was all. + + When Emma’s parents arrived in London, Alexandr received them + rather coldly, and advised them to take their daughter, till + she came of age, to live with them in South America, where they + were returning shortly. At the same time he sent his son on + a scientific expedition to Norway and Iceland, undertaken, I + believe, by Karl Vogt. During the years of parting the young + people wrote to each other; the letters from America did not + always reach their destination: the correspondence grew slacker + and slacker, and finally ceased. + + I have heard that Emma married a rich banker in South America; + Alexandr’s son settled in Italy, where, later on, he married; + he has nine charming children, owns a villa near Florence, is + devoted to farming, does scientific work, and is well known + as a naturalist. The dreams of the boy of twenty have come + true.“[5] + +[It seems probable that Natalya Alexyevna had cherished a girlish +adoration[6] for Herzen during the time she spent in his company in Italy +and in Paris. Now that she was in daily contact with him, this early +passion revived, and soon eclipsed her feeling for Ogaryov. About the +same time (possibly earlier) Ogaryov formed a permanent connection with +an Englishwoman, Mary (her surname is never given), by whom he had two +sons, Henry (born 1857) and ‘Toots.’ She seems to have been a kind, good +woman, but not of much education nor of intellectual tastes. Herzen’s +enemies have not hesitated to accuse him of treacherously seducing the +wife of his best friend. It must be borne in mind that Ogaryov remained +on the warmest terms with Herzen, continuing to live in his house so long +as they were in England, and no trace of resentment can be discerned. +It is, indeed, quite possible that his wife’s defection may have been +rather a relief than a subject of regret to him. Moreover, the initiative +and the responsibility seem to have been hers. At first no one but +Ogaryov and Herzen’s elder children understood the real position, and +Natalya Alexyevna’s daughter, Liza, as a child looked upon Ogaryov as +her father. Twins, a boy and girl, were born in 1861. Herzen seems to +have found little happiness in this new union, which was a constant +source of anxiety and misery. He was morbidly sensitive in regard to +the irregularity of the position, but accepted the tie as a binding +obligation and responsibility. Except for short intervals of absence on +business, or on visits to his children or his friends, he lived with +Natalya Alexyevna to the end of his life, though he does in his letters +to Ogaryov talk of escaping from his bondage. + +In 1858, just after the birth of Liza, Natalya Alexyevna’s mother +arrived.] + + “Herzen now thought our house overcrowded, and shortly + afterwards took another, called Park House, also in Fulham and + not far away, with a big garden and a fairly large vegetable + patch. My mother moved with us and spent six weeks there. + Though Park House was in some respects very superior to Laurel + House, I regretted the beautiful flower-garden we had left. + There was a very spacious verandah along one whole side of the + new house looking into the garden, and there we used to spend + the greater part of the day. On the ground floor there were + the kitchen and a little room for washing up the crockery, and + another tiny closet with an open rack in which the plates were + stood to dry without being wiped. These adjuncts to the kitchen + are usual in all English houses; in fact, Herzen used to say + that English houses were so exactly alike in the arrangement + of the rooms and even of the furniture, that he could find any + room and any object in them with his eyes bandaged....” + +[The difference between the Russian and the English attitude (at that +period) in regard to law and punishment is well illustrated by the +following domestic incident.] + + “We had four servants in Park House ... and on Saturdays, as + in all English houses, a charwoman came to scrub and clean + everything, even the front doorsteps. Mazzini recommended + Herzen an Italian cook, Tassinari, a revolutionary and ardent + patriot ... a stout, fresh-looking man, in spite of his grey + hair and long white beard, with a clever, expressive face and + big bright black eyes. He was an excellent cook, and Herzen + was well satisfied with him ... but he had one great defect, + jealousy or envy—painful as it is to admit it, those two + feelings are closely akin. The Irish housemaid, who was very + much with us, as she looked after my little girl, aroused this + feeling particularly. He was always finding fault with her, + would not give her lunch in the morning if she did not come in + at once when the bell rang, and so on. We brought from Laurel + House with us a middle-aged German called Trina, who took the + children out and read German with them. She had been with us + for six months, and seemed to be fond of us. One day Jules, + our manservant, said to me: ‘Isn’t it sad for poor Trina, + madam; last Sunday she was taking the wages you paid her to her + sister’s, and in the crush in the omnibus she had her pocket + picked.’ + + ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I asked. + + ‘I expect she didn’t like to,’ answered Jules. + + I went to Ogaryov and Herzen; they gave me the money and I + handed it to Trina. She thanked me, but seemed overcome with + confusion and did not look me in the face. I imagine it was + a clever trick on her part. Not long after this, Trina was + suddenly taken ill with acute rheumatism, and could not move + hand or foot; we sent for a doctor and a nurse, but she soon + begged to be taken to the hospital. Herzen hired an omnibus, + she was with the greatest care carried down on a mattress and + driven at a walking pace to the hospital. Some months later, + when she had completely recovered, she came back to us. That + was just when we were leaving Laurel House. Then Jules lost + his silver watch; he could not imagine who had taken it, but + was inclined to suspect the gardener and his wife. I was very + much annoyed at this suspicion, but I had no positive proofs + by which I could convince Jules that he was mistaken. We had + been for nearly two years at Laurel House, the same gardener + had been there all the time, and nothing had ever been missed. + After her return Trina went on visiting her sister, who kept, I + believe, a baker’s shop; she even took to asking me to let her + stay the night there, as it was a long way off; this was very + inconvenient, but I put up with it, as I liked her. + + One day, when Trina was at her sister’s, Tassinari came into + the dining-room looking worried. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘they came + yesterday from the chandler’s, where we have an account; you + know they are also carriers, that is, they deliver parcels all + over the town.’ + + ‘Well, what then?’ I asked. + + ‘You will see in a minute,’ our cook answered. ‘Do you know + this address, madam?’ and he handed me a piece of paper. + + ‘It’s Trina’s sister’s name,’ I answered, glancing at it. + + ‘They let us know,’ Tassinari went on, ‘parcels are very often + sent from Park House to that address, and that there is often + something that clinks in the parcels. It’s always the same box; + it comes back empty and is sent off from here full.... I told + them to keep back the box, which was to be sent to that address + yesterday; would not you like to look what there is in it, + madam?’ + + ‘Of course not,’ I answered warmly, ‘you can’t open another + person’s boxes. Trina is sending something to her sister,’ I + said, with a simplicity certainly excessive at my years; but + the thought that she was capable of stealing did not enter + my head; besides, I imagined this was another instance of + Tassinari’s fault-finding ways. The Italian smiled. + + ‘Then shall I ask Monsieur Herzen?’ and he went off and knocked + at the drawing-room door. + + Herzen listened to him and gave him leave to bring in the box. + Tassinari was triumphant; he quickly reappeared with the box, + deftly unfastened the lid, and began picking things out with a + gleeful face; there were curtains, ribbons, children’s smocks, + and I don’t know what else; I stood overwhelmed. + + ‘Herzen,’ I said, ‘could Trina really...?’ + + He looked at me with sympathy for my distress. + + ‘She could,’ he said. + + He told Tassinari to pack the things in the box again, and put + it in the other half of the room, then dismissed him. + + ‘When Trina comes,’ said Herzen, ‘show her that box; we shall + see what explanation she gives. Of course, it is all very clear + and simple, but what matters is this: by English law we are + bound to prosecute a thief, or we are liable to a considerable + fine, and nothing would induce me to hand over a thief to the + police. Let her go back to Germany, for we can’t give her a + character....’ + + It was a long time before Trina returned; I suppose she was + waiting for the arrival of her box. At last she came into the + drawing-room, with apologies for having stayed away so long, + but turned pale and said no more when she saw the box on the + table. After listening to her protestations that she had done + wrong only once, I gave her Herzen’s advice to go back to + Germany, which she at once agreed to do. Three days later she + left our house, together with the Irish housemaid, who had been + in the secret, and had carried the box to the chandler’s.” + + “Malwide von Meysenbug had all this time been living apart from + us, sometimes in lodgings and sometimes with friends, but she + looked forward to an independent life and to visiting Paris and + Italy, where she had never been. She suggested that she should + take Herzen’s younger daughter, Olga, with her on a visit to + Madame Schwabe, the widow of a wealthy banker with a large + family and a splendid estate in England. As Madame Schwabe was + going to Paris for the winter, Malwide asked Herzen to let Olga + go with them.... Soon afterwards Malwide left Madame Schwabe + and settled alone with little Olga.” + +[Olga, who was devoted to Malwide, remained with her permanently. In a +letter from Fräulein von Meysenbug to Wagner she gives a charming picture +of the little girl’s enthusiasm at a performance in Paris of one of +Wagner’s operas, and her audible indignation when some of the audience +hissed the new music.] + + “Among the Russians who came to see Herzen at Park House, I + cannot pass over Alexandr Serno-Solovyovitch, at that time + a very young man. Herzen liked him very much: it was evident + that, in spite of his youth, he had read and thought much; he + was intelligent and interested in all the important questions + of the day. I don’t remember where the rest of the family had + gone, but I know they were obliged to be out one day when + Serno-Solovyovitch particularly wanted to see the Zoological + Gardens. I went with him, taking Natasha, Olga, and my baby + Liza. Serno-Solovyovitch inspected the Gardens thoroughly, + and was very charming and attentive to the children. He spent + a few days more in London, continually seeing Herzen and + Ogaryov, and showing them the greatest warmth and respect. At + that time his bad qualities were slumbering, and circumstances + had not yet arisen to develop them. I shall have to speak of + him later.... It is painful to think how this intelligent + and cultured man perished in a strange land without being of + any service to his country, brought to ruin by vanity, envy, + and despair; but I must speak of him not so much on his own + account as because in his relations with him Herzen’s innate + characteristics—a magnanimity, kindness, and compassion almost + passing belief—were so strikingly displayed.” + +[In the summer of 1859 Natalya Alexyevna, hearing from her sister, +Madame Satin, that she was visiting Germany with her children, went to +Dresden with her baby Liza and Natasha Herzen, then to Heidelberg with +her sister, where she saw many old friends and met Madame Passek for +the first time, and then to Berne to stay with the Vogts. On returning +to London the following winter she found Herzen and Ogaryov installed +in Orsett House, a large house of five storeys, in Westburn Terrace, +Wimbledon.] + + “Herzen told me that while I was away an artist, Madame + O’Connell, a complete stranger, had written asking him to give + her five sittings. At the first sitting she had been extremely + kind, and had told him that having heard a great deal about him + she wanted to paint a portrait of him for posterity.... What + became of the portrait I do not know.” + +[In the summer of 1861[7] Herzen went with his daughter Natasha to Paris +to see Olga, who was ill, and there] + + “After long years of separation he met his cousin, Tatyana + Passek.[8] He told us a great deal about this, and said + that the Yakovlyevs[9] had treated her very badly and taken + possession of her share of the family property. When she had + been in need of money, Herzen had lent her what she wanted and + had never asked for repayment. In his views he had moved far + away from the friend of his youth. Madame Passek was religious, + and regarded the monarchy as the salvation of Russia. + + They disputed hotly, both stoutly defending their convictions, + and parted with a smile, conscious that only the grave could + reconcile their divergent views, and that as long as they lived + they would be warriors in opposing camps.” + + “Soon after Herzen’s return from France, he received visitors + who greatly interested us all—Sergey Ivanovitch Turgenev and + Lyov Nikolaevitch Tolstoy. The former we had known for years, + and we were used to his caprices and little peculiarities; the + latter we saw for the first time. + + Not long before leaving Russia, Ogaryov and I had read + Tolstoy’s _Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth_, and tales of the + Crimean War, with enthusiasm. Ogaryov was constantly talking of + these tales and of their author. + + When we came to London, we hastened to tell Herzen about this + new and exceptionally gifted writer. It turned out that Herzen + had read several of his works already, and was delighted with + them. He particularly admired the boldness with which Tolstoy + spoke of feelings so subtle and deeply concealed that no one + had put them into words, though many had perhaps experienced + them. As regards his philosophical views, Herzen thought them + feeble, misty, and often unsupported by evidence. + + ‘Tolstoy is in our house!’ Natasha and I thought, and we + hurried into the drawing-room to have a look at the illustrious + fellow-countryman, who was being read by all Russia. When + we went in Count Tolstoy was carrying on a heated argument + with Turgenev. Ogaryov and Herzen, too, were taking part in + the discussion. At that time (1861) Tolstoy looked about + thirty-five; he was of medium height, his features were ugly, + there was a piercing and yet dreamy look in his little grey + eyes. It was odd that his face never wore that expression of + childlike good-nature sometimes seen in Turgenev’s smile, and + so attractive in him. + + As we went in, the usual introductions began. Of course, + Tolstoy had no idea that we were so excited at seeing him that + we hardly dared to speak to him, but only listened to what he + said to other people. He came to see us every day. It was soon + obvious that he was far more sympathetic as a writer than as + a thinker, for he was sometimes illogical; in defence of his + fatalism, he often had heated arguments with Turgenev, in the + course of which they said extremely disagreeable things to each + other. When there was no discussion going on, and when Tolstoy + was in a good humour, he would sit down at the piano and sing + us the soldiers’ songs composed in the Crimea during the war: + + ‘On the eighth day of September, + How the devil brought us here + To camp upon the mountains,’ etc. + + We laughed as we listened, but in reality it was painful to + hear of what was done in the Crimea—the light-hearted way + in which the fate of thousands of soldiers was entrusted to + incompetent generals, and the incredible amount of thieving + that went on. Even lint was stolen and sold to the enemy, while + our long-suffering soldiers were dying.” + + “Every year Turgenev paid one or two visits to London. + + Once he came to see us soon after writing _Faust_. He read + it aloud to us, but neither Ogaryov nor Herzen liked it; the + latter was, however, very reserved in his observations, while + the former criticised it very severely. From that day Turgenev + lost all liking for Ogaryov. + + I remember on one visit to London Turgenev was particularly + good-humoured and sweet to Herzen. + + ‘Do you know,’ he said to him, ‘I have not come alone this + time. Simply to see you, a queer fellow has set off on his + travels, without knowing a word of any foreign language, and + begged me to take him to London. Isn’t that heroic? Guess who + it is. But I tell you what,’ he went on, ‘perhaps you had + better call on him first: Ogaryov may not care much about + seeing him; there were some misunderstandings....’ + + ‘Goodness,’ said Herzen, ‘surely it’s not Nekrassov? He knows + no foreign language. What makes him suppose I should care to + see him after the message he sent Ogaryov through you, Sergey + Ivanovitch?’ + + ‘But you know he has come all the way from Russia on purpose to + see you!’ + + ‘He can go back again,’ said Herzen, and he was not to be + moved. He was always far more ready to resent a slight to + Ogaryov than to himself. + + For three days Turgenev went on trying to persuade Herzen to + see Nekrassov, but he was forced in the end to submit, and to + take the latter back without obtaining an interview.” + + “When they met in Paris in 1869, they talked about literature, + and Herzen asked Turgenev what he was writing. + + ‘I am writing nothing,’ he answered, ‘I am no longer read + in Russia; I have begun writing in German for Germans, and + publishing in Berlin....’ + + Turgenev joked, but he was inwardly sore at the estrangement + of his fellow-countrymen. From the age of five-and-twenty he + had been the spoilt darling of fortune; his fame had grown + steadily; later on, thanks to Viardot’s translations, he became + no less famous in Europe, and the doors of all the best salons + of Paris and London were thrown open to him; he was being + spoilt by success, when his own country suddenly drew back and + turned away from him, and what for? His faithful picture of + Nihilism in _Fathers and Children_. He wrote as the nightingale + sings, with no idea of wounding any one’s vanity; he wrote + because writing was his vocation, but the younger generation in + Russia saw a spiteful intention in it, were resentful, and were + up in arms against Turgenev. These strained relations with his + own people lasted for several years. + + Herzen disliked the anti-aesthetic side of Nihilism, and was + surprised at the indignation of young Russia with Turgenev. He + used to say to Russians: ‘Why, Bazarov is the apotheosis of + Nihilism; the Nihilists never rise to his level. There is a + great deal of humanity in Bazarov; what is there for them to be + offended at?’ + + Herzen and Turgenev had both fallen on evil days; they were + both ostracised by social opinion in Russia at that time, + Turgenev for his vivid presentation of Nihilism, Herzen for his + sympathy with Poland. The latter’s views and principles always + led him, of course, to espouse the cause of the weaker, but + he had taken no part in Polish affairs. There were, however, + evil-disposed persons who hinted that he had done so, and this + was enough to make almost every one abandon him.” + + “In 1861, not long before the Emancipation of the Serfs, Herzen + had a letter with the London postmark, and from a Russian, + asking permission to call on him. The letter was simply written + and dignified, though not free from mistakes in spelling. + Herzen, as always, answered that he would be glad to see a + fellow countryman. A young man appeared and explained that he + was a peasant of the Simbirsk province, and that his name was + Martyanov. He was a tall, graceful, fair man, with regular + features and a rather cold-looking, ironical expression that + seemed full of a sense of his own dignity. He was engaged + on translation of some sort, and had been for some time in + London. At first Herzen was rather mistrustful of him, but + soon Martyanov’s character showed itself so clearly that it + was unthinkable to suspect him of being a spy. He was of an + unusually straightforward disposition and of sharply-defined + views; he believed in the Russian peasantry and in the Russian + Tsar. He was not very talkative as a rule, but at times he + spoke with great enthusiasm. + + Sad to relate, this perfectly loyal Russian citizen came to + a sad end. After the Emancipation of the Serfs, the Polish + demonstrations and the pacification of Poland, Martyanov + decided to return to Russia. At the frontier he was detained + and sent to Siberia. What for he never knew. + + The rumours of the Emancipation of the Serfs were at last + confirmed, ceased to be rumours and became truth, the great + and joyful truth. As he was reading the _Moscow News_ in his + study one day, Herzen ran his eyes over the preamble of the + manifesto, gave a violent tug at the bell, and, keeping the + paper in his hand, ran out with it on to the stairs, shouting + loudly in his resonant voice: + + ‘Ogaryov, Natalie, Natasha, come, make haste!’ + + Jules was the first to run out, asking: + + ‘Monsieur a sonné?’ + + ‘Je ne sais pas, peut-être, mais que diable, Jules, allez les + chercher tous, vite—vite; qu’est-ce qu’ils ne viennent pas?’ + + Jules looked at him with surprise and pleasure. + + ‘Monsieur a l’air bien heureux,’ he said. + + ‘Ah! diable! je crois bien,’ Herzen answered carelessly. + + At that instant we all ran up from different directions, + expecting something out of the ordinary, and from Herzen’s + voice something good. He waved the paper at us, but would not + answer our questions till he was back in his study with us + following him. + + ‘Sit down and listen,’ he said, and he began reading the + manifesto. His voice broke with emotion; at last, he passed the + paper to Ogaryov. ‘You read it,’ he said, ‘I can’t go on.’ + + Ogaryov read the manifesto through in his quiet, gentle voice, + though he was inwardly as rejoiced as Herzen; but his feelings + were always differently expressed. + + Then Herzen suggested that they should go together for a walk + in the town; he wanted air and movement. Ogaryov preferred his + solitary walks, but on this occasion he readily agreed. At + eight o’clock they came back to dinner. Herzen put a little + bottle of curaçao on the table and we all drank a glass, + congratulating each other on the great and joyful news. + + ‘Ogaryov,’ said Herzen, ‘I want to celebrate the great event. + Perhaps,’ he went on with feeling, ‘there may be no happier day + in our lives. You know we live like workmen, nothing but toil + and labour; we ought sometimes to rest and look back over the + distance we have come, and to rejoice at the happy solution of + the question so near our hearts; perhaps we, too, have done our + bit towards it.’ + + ‘And you,’ he went on, turning to Natasha and me, ‘must get + ready some coloured flags and sew big letters in white calico + on them; on one, “Emancipation of the Peasants in Russia, + February 19, 1861,” on another, “Russian Free Press in London,” + and so on. We will have a dinner for Russians; I’ll write an + article about it and read it aloud; I have the heading already: + “Thou hast conquered, Galilean.” Yes, the Tsar has conquered + me by accomplishing the great task. At the Russian dinner I + will propose in my own house a toast to the health of the + Tsar. Whoever removes the obstacles that hinder the advance of + Russia towards progress and prosperity is not acting against + us. In the evening we will invite not only Russians, but all + foreigners who sympathise with this great event, all who are + rejoicing with us.’ + + At last the day for this festival was fixed.... Flags were + made, English words were sewn on them, and little glass lamps + of different colours were procured for illuminating the house. + Prince Golitsyn,[10] hearing of Herzen’s plan, undertook to + write a quartet, which he called ‘Emancipation,’ and performed + it on the occasion. + + On the morning of the festive day we had not very many guests, + only Russians and Poles. Among others there were Martyanov, + Prince Pyotr Dolgorukov, and Count Uvarov. Tchorszewski came + later than the rest; I remember we were all in the drawing-room + when he arrived. + + ‘Alexandr Ivanovitch, it is not a day for rejoicing; Russians + are shedding Polish blood in Warsaw!’ said Tchorszewski, + breathless. + + ‘What?’ cried Herzen. + + ‘Impossible!’ exclaimed the others. Tchorszewski took out of + his pocket photographs of the slain which he had just received + from Warsaw. + + ‘There have been demonstrations there,’ he told us; ‘the Poles + were praying in the street; all of a sudden the word of command + rang out, and Russian bullets felled several men who were + kneeling in prayer.’ + + All pressed round Tchorszewski and examined the photographs. + Herzen was pale and silent. His face was overcast, the serene + and happy expression was replaced by a look of anxiety, + trouble, and sadness. + + Jules announced that dinner was served. We all went down to the + dining-room, every face looked troubled.... When champagne was + handed round, Herzen stood up and proposed a toast to Russia, + to its prosperity, its progress, and so on. We all stood glass + in hand, every one responded warmly, and other toasts were + proposed.... Herzen made a short speech, of which I remember + the first sentence: ‘Friends, our day of rejoicing is darkened + by unexpected news; blood is flowing in Warsaw, Slav blood, and + it is shed by brother Slavs!’ + + There was a hush, and all sat down again in silence. + + In the evening the house was lighted up; flags fluttered on + it; Prince Golitsyn conducted his quartet in the drawing-room. + In response to Herzen’s invitation in the _Bell_, there was a + great gathering not only of our Russian and Polish friends, but + also of the Italian _émigrés_, Mazzini and Saffi among them, + the French exiles, among whom Louis Blanc and Talandier were + conspicuous, as well as Germans, English people, and numbers of + Poles and Russians whom we did not know. + + At moments it seemed as though Herzen had forgotten the + events at Warsaw and recovered his gaiety. Once he even stood + on a chair, and with great feeling said: ‘A new era is coming + for Russia, and we shall be in Russia again, friends; I do + not despair of it, the nineteenth of February is a great + day!’ Kelsiev and some fellow-countrymen whom we did not know + responded. There were so many people that nobody could sit + down. Even outside our house there was such a huge crowd that + policemen had to stand there all the evening to protect the + place from thieves. + + A photographer took a view of our house lighted up and decked + with flags. The figure of Prince Yury Golitsyn was seen on + the steps. This photograph was reproduced on the cover of the + published quartet ‘Emancipation.’ I preserved a copy, but it + was taken from me, together with my books, at the Russian + frontier. + + A few days after this celebration, Herzen wrote the article + headed ‘Mater Dolorosa,’ in which he expressed his sympathy + with the oppressed Poles, and published it in the following + number of the _Bell_. + + Martyanov came to Herzen after reading this article and said: + + ‘You have buried the _Bell_ to-day, Alexandr Ivanovitch; no, + you can’t revive it now, you have laid it in its grave.’ + + And so the first blow to the _Bell_ was given it by Herzen + himself through showing sympathy to suffering Poland. Russian + _amour-propre_ was wounded, and little by little every one + turned away from the London publications. The second blow to + the _Bell_ was dealt later by Bakunin. + + One day after dinner the postman rang the bell, and Herzen + opened a huge letter. It was from Bakunin, who wrote describing + his escape from Siberia and the sympathy shown him in America. + + Bakunin expressed a hope that he would soon be in London and + helping his friends in their propaganda, writing for the + _Bell_, and so on. Herzen pondered after reading the letter, + then said to Ogaryov: + + ‘I must own I am afraid of Bakunin’s coming, he will be sure + to ruin our work. You remember what Caussidière—or Lamartine, + was it?—said of him in 1848: “Notre ami Bakounine est un homme + impayable le jour de la Révolution, mais le lendemain il faut + absolument le faire fusiller, car il sera impossible d’établir + un ordre quelconque avec un pareil anarchiste.”’ + + Ogaryov agreed. He, too, thought that Bakunin would not be + satisfied with their propaganda, but would insist on activity + after the pattern of Western European revolutionary movements. + Moreover, Bakunin had always figured abroad as the champion of + Poland. Herzen and Ogaryov sympathised with the sufferings of + Poland, but disliked the aristocratic character of the Poles, + their attitude to the lower classes, and so on. As for Bakunin, + he saw nothing.... + + I very well remember Bakunin’s first appearance in our house. + + It was between eight and nine in the evening, every one was + sitting at table, but, as I was not very well, I was having + dinner lying on the sofa. There was a loud ring at the bell, + Jules ran upstairs to the front door, and in a few minutes came + back with the visitor: it was Mihail Alexandrovitch Bakunin. I + don’t remember whether I have spoken before of his appearance. + He was very tall, with an intelligent and expressive face; in + his features there was a great likeness to the Muravyovs, to + whom he was related. Every one stood up as Bakunin came in. + The men embraced each other, Herzen introduced the children + and Malwide, who happened to be dining with us. After greeting + all the rest, Bakunin came up to me. He recalled our meeting + in Berlin not long before the Dresden barricades, when he was + captured and handed over to the Austrians. + + ‘That’s bad—lying down,’ he said to me briskly; ‘you must get + well; we must be acting, not lying down.’ + + Bakunin sat down to the table, the dinner began to be very + lively. Afterwards he told us about his imprisonment in + Austria.... I should like to repeat his account of it, as far + as I remember it. + + Chained to the wall in an underground dungeon, he was brought + to such a pitch of misery that he resolved to commit suicide + and tried sucking phosphorus off matches. This, however, had + no satisfactory result; it gave him a pain in his stomach, but + he remained alive. After a year and a half or two years of + this existence, one night, Bakunin told us, he was awakened + by an unaccustomed sound. Doors were being noisily opened and + shut, locks grated; at last footsteps approached nearer, and + various officials entered his cell: the governor of the prison, + warders, and an officer. They ordered Bakunin to dress. ‘I + was tremendously delighted,’ said Bakunin; ‘whether they were + taking me to be shot or transferring me to another prison, + anyway it was a change, and so anyway it was for the better. + I was taken in a closed carriage to a railway station and put + in a closed compartment, with tiny windows at the top. The + compartment must have been shunted, when we changed to another + train, for I was not led out at any station.... To get a breath + of fresh air, I said I was hungry, but that did not lead to the + desired result, they brought me food to the carriage. At last + we reached our destination. I was brought out in fetters from + the dark railway carriage into the bright winter sunshine on + the platform. Casting a cursory glance round the station, I saw + Russian soldiers; my heart throbbed joyously, and I understood + what was happening. + + ‘Would you believe it, Herzen, I was as delighted as a child, + though I could not expect anything good for myself. I was taken + to a room apart, a Russian officer appeared, and they began + transferring me as though I were an inanimate object; official + documents in German were read. The Austrian officer, a spare, + lean man, with cold, lifeless eyes, began demanding the return + of the chains riveted on me in Austria. The Russian officer, a + very young, shy fellow, with a good-natured expression, agreed + at once. The Austrian fetters were removed and Russian ones put + on. Ah, dear friends, the chains seemed lighter, I was glad of + them, and smiled happily to the young officer and the Russian + soldiers. “Ah, lads,” I said, “so I may die in my own country.” + The officer interposed, “You are not allowed to speak.” The + soldiers looked at me with silent curiosity. Then I was put + in a closed carriage like a hen-coop, with little openings at + the top. It was a very frosty night, and I was unused to fresh + air. You know the rest; I wrote that I was confined in the + Peter-Paul Fortress and afterwards in the Schlüsselburg, that + Nicholas commanded me to write an account of my doings abroad. + I complied with his desire, and at the end of my confession + added: “Sire, for my openness, forgive me my German sins.” On + the accession of Alexander I was sent to Siberia; that blessed + news reached me in the Solovetsky monastery. In Siberia I was + very well off. Muravyov is a very sensible man—he did not worry + me, but it is a true saying: you may feed the wolf, but he’ll + still yearn for the forest. Though it was a shame to do it, I + had to deceive my friends, to break away to freedom.’ + + But Herzen’s foreboding was soon justified. With Bakunin’s + arrival the Polish note began to be more conspicuous in the + Free Russian Press. At first Bakunin published his articles + in the _Bell_; but Herzen, noticing this tendency in them, + suggested that he should bring them out as separate pamphlets + or print them in the series called ‘Voices from Russia,’ + as their views diverged, and Herzen did not want to publish + articles in the _Bell_ with which he was not usually in + complete agreement. What was most unfortunate was that Ogaryov + was nearer in his ideas to Bakunin, and the latter acquired + a great influence over him. And Herzen always gave way to + Ogaryov, even when he recognised that Ogaryov was wrong. + + While Bakunin was in London there came among other visitors + from Russia an Armenian called Nalbandov. He was a man of + thirty, ugly, awkward, shy, but kind-hearted, sensible, and + full of sympathy for everything good. He was a wealthy man.... + After completing his studies, I believe, in the University + of Moscow, he had travelled for his own pleasure, and had + been in China; on his return to Russia he heard of the _Bell_ + and of Herzen, and made up his mind to visit London. The + first time he came to see Herzen he could scarcely speak for + shyness. Afterwards, however, delighted at the friendly welcome + given him, he used often to visit us. Bakunin completely + took possession of him; every day he used to go about London + with him, and he insisted on Nalbandov having his photograph + taken. This was done in a very original way: Nalbandov had his + photograph taken, back view, reading a newspaper. This queer + man spent two months in London, well pleased with his stay + in England, and took no part at all in the work of Russian + propaganda. Yet on his way back to Russia he was arrested and + clapped into some fortress in the East, where he was probably + forgotten. He was ruined by the carelessness of Bakunin, who + sang his praises in a letter to some relative in Russia. + Bakunin’s letters were, of course, opened in the post; word was + sent to the frontier, and Nalbandov paid for his friendship + with Bakunin. We heard no more of the fate of this truly good + and worthy man. + + Sad to say, Nalbandov was not the only one who suffered from + Bakunin’s recklessness. The latter had a really childish + inability to control his tongue. + + After the Warsaw risings, when repressive measures were + being taken by the Russian Government for the pacification + of the country, Herzen was visited by a Russian officer, + Potyebnya, who had left his regiment, but continued living in + Warsaw, where he showed himself everywhere in public places, + sometimes in civilian dress, sometimes disguised as a Polish + monk. Occasionally he came across fellow-officers, but nobody + recognised him. Potyebnya was a fair man of medium height and + attractive appearance. Herzen and Ogaryov liked him very much + and tried to persuade him to remain in London, but he would + not. It was said that he was in love with a Polish woman, and + so had gone over to the side of the Poles. He came several + times when in London; the last time he said: ‘I shall not fire + on Russians, I could not bring myself to it.’ ‘Do stay with + us,’ said Herzen. ‘I cannot,’ he answered, with a mournful + smile. + + Potyebnya was extraordinarily nice with children. My eldest + child, a little girl of four, was very fond of him. She was + often present when they were talking, busy with her playthings, + and we thought she noticed nothing. But we were once struck by + a saying of hers to Potyebnya. It was on the last evening that + he spent in Orsett House. The young officer had taken the child + on his knee and was talking to her. Suddenly she said: + + ‘Dear Potyebnya, don’t go away, stay with us.’ + + ‘I can’t,’ he answered, ‘but I will soon come back; I am not + going far, only to the South of France.’ + + ‘Oh no,’ she said; ‘you are going to Poland, and they’ll kill + you there.’ + + Then Herzen cried out: ‘If you won’t listen to us, listen to + the child, who makes such a dreadful prophecy.’ But Potyebnya + could not be shaken in his determination, and he went back to + Poland next day. A Russian bullet laid him low soon afterwards.” + +[In 1863 Bakunin left London with the expedition described by Herzen in +volume v. pp. 169-175, and was stranded in Sweden.] + + “Bakunin went to Stockholm to complain of the captain’s + treachery. He heard that the King’s brother was a very cultured + and liberal man, and hoped with his support to force the + captain to continue the voyage. But Bakunin’s hopes were not + realised. There was a highly cultured society in Stockholm and + great sympathy for every liberal movement. He was throughout + his stay well received by the King of Sweden’s brother, and + fêted by Stockholm society as the Russian agitator of 1848. + Dinners and evening parties were given in his honour, his + health was drunk, and people were delighted to get the chance + of seeing him, but he received no help as regards the captain. + The other _émigrés_ determined on bold action; they hired boats + and attempted to continue on their way. But a terrible storm + blew up, and all those luckless and foolhardy men perished.... + + While Bakunin remained in Sweden hoping that another expedition + would be arranged, his wife arrived in London from Siberia. + I was not at home at the time; I had, on the advice of our + doctor, gone to Osborne for the sake of the children.... + + One day Herzen was sitting at his writing-table when Jules + announced that a very young and pretty woman was asking to see + him. + + ‘Ask her name, Jules, I am always telling you,’ said Herzen, + with some impatience. + + Jules went out, and at once came back with a look of + astonishment on his face. + + ‘Eh bien?’ said Herzen. + + ‘Madame Bakunin! comment, monsieur, est-ce possible?’ said + Jules incoherently, as he probably compared husband and wife + in his mind. Herzen had heard that Bakunin had married the + daughter of a Polish clerk in Siberia. ‘Surely she has not + turned up?’ he thought. Making himself a little tidier, he went + into the drawing-room, where he saw a fair, very young and + handsome woman in deep mourning. + + ‘I am Bakunin’s wife; where is he?’ she said. ‘And you are + Herzen?’ + + ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Your husband is not in London.’ + + ‘Where is he?’ she repeated. + + ‘I have no right to tell you that.’ + + ‘What, not me, his wife!’ she said in a tone of offence, and + she turned crimson. + + ‘We had better talk about the Bakunins. When did you leave his + brothers and sisters? What on earth is the name of their place? + You have stayed in the country with them—what are the names of + his brothers and sisters? I have forgotten and mixed them all + up....’ + + Madame Bakunin gave the name of the country place, and answered + all the questions correctly. The Bakunins had helped her to + obtain a passport and had provided the money for her journey.... + + At last Herzen was convinced that she really was Bakunin’s + wife, and suggested that she should stay in our house and for + the time occupy my room. Calling my maid, Herzen told her to + look after Madame Bakunin, which was rather difficult, simply + because the latter did not know one word of English. + + But all the same Herzen did not tell her where Bakunin was, + which offended her very much, and left a shade of dislike for + him in her heart. + + By the time I came back from Osborne she had moved into + lodgings, where she remained till she left London. We were + very good friends, but she got on best of all with Varvara + Timofyevna Kelsiev.[11] She told the latter a great deal + about her life and her marriage. ‘I liked a young doctor much + better,’ she said, ‘and I believe he was attracted by me, but I + preferred to marry Bakunin because he is a hero and has always + been for Poland. Though I was born and grew up in Siberia, I + love my fatherland; I wear mourning for it and always shall.’ + + There was a great deal that was childish and naïve in her, + but at the same time much that was sweet and sincere. Then + a telegram came from Bakunin addressed to me: ‘Natalya + Alexyevna, I commend my wife to you, take care of her.’ Soon + afterwards, however, he sent for her to Sweden, and a great + many of us went to the station with her to see her off to + Dover. Before she left London, Madame Bakunin invited us all + to dinner and regaled us with Polish dainties, which were + very nice and greatly delighted our Polish friends, Czernecki + and Tchorszewski. The latter, however, was such an admirer of + female beauty that, however bad the dinner, he would have been + in raptures if the hostess were handsome.” + + “One summer we spent at Torquay. Malwide von Meysenbug came + from Italy with Olga, and I went down from London with Natasha + and my baby, Liza. Ogaryov and Herzen could only come for + visits, for they had to be in London to look after the Russian + Free Press, and to receive the Russians who used to come to + interview the editors of the _Bell_, bringing a great deal + of material for publication. That summer Tatyana Petrovna + Passek decided to visit Herzen. She arrived in London and + telegraphed to him; he hurried back from Torquay and met her + at the station. We were all delighted to see her; she had the + gift of winning people by her gentleness and typically Russian + good-nature. Unluckily, she only paid us a brief visit. Soon + Malwide went back to Italy with both Herzen’s daughters; on the + way they visited Nice, where the girls’ mother was buried.... + + In 1862, or 1863, we decided to leave London, as Herzen + thought it would be cheaper and more comfortable to live in a + suburb. There was, only fifteen minutes by rail from London, + a little place called Teddington, consisting of a long street + with country houses in large luxuriant gardens, and several + smaller houses, with little shops of various sorts.... There + Herzen found a fairly roomy house with a big garden, and we all + moved into it, taking with us Varvara Timofyevna Kelsiev and + her little girl, Marusya. The printing-press was moved to a + little house not ten minutes’ walk from us. There Czernecki was + installed with the companion of his life, Marianna; they had no + children. + + Our new house had only one drawback: behind it there was a + factory from which often came a smell of burnt tallow. But the + doctor assured us that this would do the children no harm, and + so we meekly put up with the unpleasantness of it. The only one + of our intimate circle left in London was Tchorszewski, and he + came to Teddington at least once a week, partly on business, + and partly from affection for the family, of which he was like + an indispensable member. His devotion to Herzen and all of us + was beyond all bounds, and he proved it indeed after Herzen’s + death.” + +[At Elmfield House, Teddington, they were visited, as described in volume +v. p. 111, etc., by Gonchar, who took Madame Kelsiev and her little girl +Marusya with him to Tulcea, the colony of Russian raskolniks to which +Kelsiev had previously gone, and there the mother and child died. (See +volume v. p. 115.) Soon afterwards Garibaldi’s visit took place, as +described in volume v.] + + “After being a year in Teddington we spent a summer by the + sea at Bournemouth. Malwide von Meysenbug joined us there + with Herzen’s daughters. This was the last time we were all + together in England; but I will say nothing of that stay, as + nothing of general interest occurred. After living in Italy + neither Malwide nor the girls were willing to hear of a change. + Sometimes Herzen spent a month or two with them in Italy.... + + On our return to London Herzen began to make plans for + transferring the printing-press to Geneva. From the time of the + Polish rebellion the circulation of the _Bell_ had dropped; + fewer manuscripts were sent us from Russia than before. This + was obviously a grief to Herzen. ‘We are old,’ he used to say; + ‘the Nihilists look upon us as reactionaries; it is time to + retire, it is time to set to work on some big job.’ But Ogaryov + did not lose heart. He thought that in Switzerland there would + be more people coming fresh from Russia, and that the Free + Press would begin to flourish again. + + While Herzen and Ogaryov were settling things up and preparing + to go, I went to Paris with my children, thinking that it would + be easier for my relations to come there from Russia to see me. + + Then a calamity befell me from which I could not recover; for + several years afterwards I moved about from place to place and + could nowhere find peace.” + +[In 1864, in Paris, Natalya Alexyevna’s two younger children, the twins, +died of diphtheria.] + + “At midnight, on the 15th of December 1864, Herzen and Ogaryov, + accompanied by some other persons, whom I did not notice at + the time, put me with my daughter Liza into the train for + Montpelier. Some of the company commended us to the care of the + guard, others gave us letters of recommendation to doctors and + various other persons. + + Yielding to necessity, I set off with a heavy heart on this + long journey alone with my child; but I knew Herzen could + not take us. He promised to join us shortly at Montpelier. + The doctors insisted that we should leave Paris as soon as + possible, for diphtheria was raging there. The well-known + writer and journalist, Emile Girardin, had just lost from this + epidemic his only daughter, a child of my Liza’s age. + + Herzen did in fact arrive in Montpelier soon afterwards. Doctor + Coste, who was attending us, beamed all over with enthusiasm + when he saw him. A few days later he took Herzen in the evening + to the ‘Cercle Démocratique’; there many people were eager to + make his acquaintance, warmly shook his hand, and talked of his + writings. Herzen was much moved when, on his return, he told me + of the warm welcome given him; indeed, he was extremely popular + at that time in France, north and south alike, with all classes + of the population. + + From Montpelier Herzen went to Geneva, and there meeting his + son brought him to Montpelier. Alexandr Alexandrovitch spent + two days with me and then went back to Florence. + + At the end of the winter we went to Cannes, and from there + again to Nice. In Cannes we made the acquaintance of Dr. + Bernacki;[12] he was recommended to us in the hotel when my + daughter had some trifling ailment. Bernacki turned out to be a + great admirer of Herzen; he was a Polish _émigré_, an elderly + man whose patriotism was as keen as ever, though he had lived + in France since 1830. He had married a widow, who died, leaving + him her son. Herzen saw all Bernacki’s surroundings; life is + hard for the rich Slav temperament in the narrow, petty life of + the French bourgeois. Bernacki brought up and at last married + this son who was not his own, and all his love was centred on + the latter’s children. + + In the spring of 1865 we moved from Nice to a villa, Château de + la Boissière, near Geneva.” + +[Here the whole group, including Malwide, Herzen’s two elder daughters, +and Ogaryov, were for some time together again.] + + “Prince Dolgorukov left London soon after we did, and he too + settled in Geneva.... He was an intelligent man, but had a + great deal of _amour-propre_, and, as I have said already, + his views were absolutely different from Herzen’s, yet he + seemed drawn to the latter by a strange, inexplicable, and + irresistible attraction. The prince’s harsh, hasty, and + despotic temper caused him continual difficulties abroad. + + At the Château de la Boissière there was rather a curious + incident with Prince Dolgorukov. I was not in the house at the + time, but I well remember Herzen’s humorous account of the + quarrel between Prince Dolgorukov and our servant, Jules. + + Dolgorukov, Vyrubov, and some other guests were dining at the + house. When they got up from the table, Dolgorukov went out of + the dining-room meaning to give some order to our cook. He had + to go down some steps to reach the kitchen; there he halted, + listening to a conversation in which he caught his own name; + Jules in a loud voice was complaining of the prince, saying + that he gave the servants far more trouble than all the rest of + the visitors. Instead of calling Jules and pretending to have + heard nothing, Dolgorukov pushed open the door and, drawing + the blade out of his swordstick, began waving it in the air + while he scolded and shouted at Jules. The latter gave him back + as good as he got and raised his fist to strike Dolgorukov. + Hearing a great uproar below-stairs, and knowing the prince’s + troublesome temper, Herzen, calling Vyrubov to follow him, + hurried down to the kitchen.... He seized Dolgorukov’s arms, + and asked Vyrubov to hold Jules; the prince was led away to + the dining-room, where, frantic with rage, he snatched up a + decanter and smashed it into splinters on the table, then + seized a chair and threw it on the floor so that it was broken + to pieces. Herzen gazed at him in mute amazement. The prince, + choking with fury, at last articulated: ‘Never again will I set + foot in your house,’ and went off. + + But he could not do without seeing Herzen; and a week later + wrote asking him to dismiss Jules for his impertinence. Only on + this condition, said the prince, could he visit Château de la + Boissière again. + + To this missive Herzen replied that he was very sorry for + what had occurred, but that it was against his principles to + dismiss a servant simply for impertinence, the more so as + he ‘considered the prince more to blame than Jules, since + the latter could not be compared with Dolgorukov as regards + culture and education, and, moreover, the prince had begun + the quarrel.’ ‘We sometimes perhaps complain of servants in + their absence,’ wrote Herzen, ‘though we have many interests, + and our relations with our servants do not take the most + prominent place in them; but as for them, they may well pour + out their indignation with us pretty often to relieve all the + unpleasantness of their lot in life.’ + + By degrees the prince began to calm down. He told his cook to + meet Jules in the market and to ask the latter to come to him. + Jules was buying provisions in the market when the prince’s man + went up to him with this message. Jules followed the man, set + down his basket in the hall, and not without surprise walked + into Dolgorukov’s study. The latter, on his entrance, stood up + and came to meet him. In response to our cook’s bow, the prince + held out his hand. + + ‘Je veux, Jules, me réconcilier avec vous, voulez-vous?’ said + the prince. + + ‘Je veux bien, je veux bien, monsieur le prince,’ Jules + answered good-humouredly, ‘il ne faut pas se fâcher toujours.’ + + ‘Alors buvons à notre réconciliation,’ said the prince, filling + two glasses with some good red wine and offering one to Jules. + They clinked their glasses, and drained them. + + From that time forward Prince Dolgorukov took to visiting + Herzen again, and never referred to the past. + + When we settled in Geneva there were a great many Russians + there; almost all of them were Nihilists. They took up an + extremely hostile attitude to Herzen. + + The greater number of them lived either in the Russian hotel + or in a boarding-house kept by Madame X., a Russian who had + several years before visited Herzen in London, accompanied by + her husband and the writer Mihailov. Since then there had been + many changes in her life; her husband had long before returned + to Russia, lived somewhere in the wilds, and wrote constantly + for the reviews. Mihailov had been exiled. A year or two after + parting with Mihailov, she had succeeded not only in forgetting + him, but in replacing him by the younger Serno-Solovyovitch. + + I permit myself to speak of the relations of Madame X. with + Mihailov and Alexandr Serno-Solovyovitch, because every one + knew of them at the time, and she made no secret of them.... + Serno-Solovyovitch was younger than she was: hasty, jealous, + and hot-tempered, he had stormy scenes with Madame X., and she + began to be afraid of him. When a son was born, to put an end + to all relations with him she made up her mind to send the baby + off to her husband X. to be brought up. Two other Russians + assisted her in this, to my thinking, inhuman action: I cannot + see what right a mother has to rob a father of his child, + unless she keeps the child herself. Serno-Solovyovitch was + beside himself at the child’s being sent away, he threatened + to murder Madame X., broke into her room, and really did become + alarming, ‘You have taken everything from me,’ he said with + despair, ‘now I have nothing I care for.’ I do not know how + Madame X. managed it, but for the sake of her own peace and + comfort she got Serno-Solovyovitch put into a lunatic asylum. + Probably his friends helped her. O Pushkin! how right you were! + it is easier to defend oneself from foes than from friends! + + One evening Herzen, Ogaryov, and I were sitting in the + dining-room; suddenly the door was thrown open, and a man with + a face of despair ran in, looked about him, then fell on his + knees before Herzen. It was Serno-Solovyovitch; I recognised + him. + + ‘Get up, get up, how can you!’ said Alexandr Ivanovitch in a + voice full of emotion. + + ‘No, no, I won’t get up. I have wronged you, Alexandr + Ivanovitch, I have slandered you, I have slandered you even in + print ... and yet it is from you I ask help. Protect me from + my friends, they will shut me up again that _her_ mind may be + at rest. You see I have run away from the madhouse and come + straight to you, my enemy.’ + + Herzen and Ogaryov raised him up, shook his hand, assured him + that they harboured no malice against him, and kept him in the + house, but earnestly begged him not to go where he would be + irritated (namely, to Madame X.’s). + + They looked on him with all-forgiving compassion, and as I + watched them I thought that the first Christians must have + loved and forgiven like them. + + Serno-Solovyovitch was fond of children; he liked to walk about + the garden and play with my little girl Liza. Malwide and + Olga had not yet arrived, and Natasha was with her brother in + Berne at Marya Kashparovna Reihel’s. Suddenly we received from + Malwide a telegram: + + ‘We will stay on longer as Serno-Solovyovitch is with you.’ + + Herzen answered by telegram: + + ‘As you like; Natalie is not afraid of him; he is playing with + Liza in the garden.’ + + On the morning after the first night that Serno-Solovyovitch + slept at the Château de la Boissière we all got up early and + met in the dining-room; we hoped that he was still peacefully + reposing in freedom, and yet we were a little uneasy. Suddenly + Jules came in with the coffee and said: + + ‘You told me to keep an eye on our visitor, but really no + one could do that. He was there all the time,’ he went on + anxiously, ‘but now the room is empty, he’s not there, M. + Herzen,’ he said in despair. + + After waiting some time we began breakfast, but Herzen was + gloomy. ‘He will murder her,’ he said, ‘and I shall never + forgive myself for not keeping watch over him myself!’ + + All at once we caught the sound of footsteps coming nearer and + nearer, and Serno-Solovyovitch walked into the dining-room, + looking almost cheerful. He apologised, and told Herzen in a + low voice that he had gone out to buy a paper collar and cuffs, + as he felt uncomfortable at sitting down to table in a lady’s + company without. We felt as though a weight had been lifted off + us when he came in. + + But not long afterwards Serno-Solovyovitch’s self-control gave + way, he went where he was irritated to frenzy, and he was taken + back again to the asylum. + + Later on he was discharged, and then he joined a society of + working-class Socialists; but his success with them did not + fully satisfy him. He felt that he was severed from his own + country and grew more and more gloomy. He wrote a great deal + about socialism, but was dull and depressed, and held aloof + from every one.... He ended by suicide—and what a terrible + end! He sought death in three ways: he poisoned himself, cut + his veins, and stifled himself with charcoal fumes. He had + suffered enough, and so escaped to freedom. + + While we lived near Geneva, Madame X. was only twice in our + house, and then not as an acquaintance but on business. I found + her very unattractive, and could not understand how it was + she had so much influence over undoubtedly good men. Various + persons came to see us from her boarding-house, chiefly men, + though I remember one very handsome young woman, who had + married a very young Prince Golitsyn in order to go abroad to + study. She saw him for the first time in church and never saw + him again. Such marriages were a fashion at that time and were + treated as a joke, but later on, so it was said, this reckless + marriage was the cause of great sorrow to Golitsyn: he fell in + love, and could not marry the girl he loved! + + Herzen did not like living in Geneva; the _émigrés_ were in too + close proximity; having nothing to do, they had plenty of time + for gossip and tittle-tattle; their antagonism to Herzen, an + antagonism for which envy of his material resources was chiefly + responsible, irritated him extremely, and his irritability was + increased by the state of his health, which began to fail from + the year 1864. + + The Château de la Boissière was abandoned; I sought solitude in + Montreux with my little girl and her governess, Miss Turner. + Malwide went back to Italy with Olga. Herzen remained with only + Natasha in Geneva; he moved into lodgings on the Quai du Mont + Blanc, while Ogaryov settled at Lancy, almost outside the town. + Living at Geneva was not a success; little good work was done, + and we had not what the English call a _home_. + + I was drawn to Nice again, to the newly-dug graves.[13] Herzen + was fond of the scenery of the south; besides, he had in Nice + many precious memories, and his wife’s grave, which he never + forgot. Sending Natasha to Italy, he accompanied us to Nice, + and stayed there for a time himself. + + Whether I wanted to or not, I had to make some acquaintances + for my daughter’s sake; a gloomy environment is bad for a + child. She used to play in the public gardens every day with + some children; she soon made friends with them, and so I came + to be acquainted with two or three families. I arranged with + a dancing-mistress to form a class, and had no difficulty in + finding some among my little girl’s friends who were glad to + join it. And so the children came to us twice a week. Among + others, we made the acquaintance of the family of Garibaldi (a + cousin of the celebrated Garibaldi), whose amiable wife and + children were in friendly relations with us till I went back to + Russia for good. + + At that time Herzen was still in Nice. He wrote a great deal + in Nice—there was no one to hinder him; then he used to go and + read the papers at Visconte’s; after dinner he liked to go a + walk alone with Liza; sometimes he took her to the theatre, and + enjoyed her sallies, her apt remarks, and intelligence. He was + then writing for the _Week_ the series of articles entitled ‘To + Pass the Time.’ It was a comfort to him to be writing and being + printed in Russia. He was fond of reading aloud what he had + written before sending it off.” + +[Ogaryov was now settled with Mary and their two children, Henry and +‘Toots,’ in Geneva.] + + “... While Herzen was in Nice, a telegram arrived from + Tchorszewski, telling him that Ogaryov had broken his leg, and + begging him to come to Geneva as soon as possible. I was not + in the house at the time, and on returning home I found Herzen + sitting on a chair in the hall in a dazed condition; I was + astounded at his being there and looking so overwhelmed. He + handed me the telegram without a word. Glancing at it, I said: + ‘Well, Herzen, you must make haste and go; let us look at the + time-table and pack up your things; you must not delay.’ + + But Herzen sat mute as though he did not hear what I said. ‘I + feel,’ he said at last, ‘that I shall never see him again.’ + + However, I managed to pack what was needed, and to see Herzen + off at the station; I felt that if anything could relieve + his mind it would be seeing Ogaryov. Such an accident was a + serious thing at his age. Herzen wrote afterwards, describing + with what terror and anxiety he travelled to Geneva; how, + meeting Tchorszewski at the station, he had not courage to ask + ‘Is Ogaryov alive?’ At last Tchorszewski, of his own accord, + said that he thought that there was no ground for anxiety in + Ogaryov’s condition. Doctor Meyer had set the bone and put + the leg in a splint. Ogaryov had borne the operation with the + greatest fortitude. + + I have searched in vain for the letter in which Herzen + described this unfortunate accident. I remember that he wrote + that Ogaryov was taking an evening stroll in the outskirts of + Geneva, when he had one of the fits to which he was subject. On + recovering consciousness, he got up and tried to go on, but, + as it was by then dark, he did not see the ditch, stumbled, + broke his leg, and was sick from the pain; after lying there + for a while, he tried again to get up, but could not. Then + he began to call to passers-by, but nobody came to him. As + ill-luck would have it, he was lying in a pool just outside the + lunatic asylum, and this was why everybody hurried away when + he shouted, supposing him to be a lunatic. + + Seeing that no one would come, Ogaryov, with great presence of + mind, took a knife and a pipe out of his pocket, cut off his + boot, then lit his pipe, and lay there, I believe, till next + day. Early in the morning an Italian who knew Ogaryov passed + by, and, though the latter was lying at some distance from the + road, the Italian noticed him, and began looking more closely; + then Ogaryov called to him. The Italian went up, said he would + fetch a carriage, and took him home, Ogaryov suffering great + pain when moved.” + +[Some months later—Natalya Alexyevna rarely gives dates—when Ogaryov was +able to hobble about, and the accident was almost forgotten, there was a +family gathering again.] + + “Tchorszewski took an old château called ‘Prangius,’ about an + hour and a half’s drive from Geneva; here, for the last time, + the whole family were together again; Liza and I, Malwide and + Olga and Natasha.... Rather later Ogaryov joined us with little + ‘Toots.’ Last of all, Alexandr (Herzen’s son) arrived with his + young wife. They were only just married, and Teresina did not + yet speak French, so we all had to talk Italian to her, which + curtailed conversation a good deal. Teresina liked going for + walks, sometimes with Herzen, sometimes with me.” + +[At the end of the summer.] + + “Alexandr and his wife went to spend the whole winter in Berlin + for the sake of his work.... Olga and Malwide went back to + Italy, where they were now so used to living that they liked + nothing else so well.... Herzen was intending to go to Vichy + for the first time. Ogaryov returned to Geneva with little + ‘Toots,’ who had amused us all with his liveliness and + originality.... But before going to Vichy, Herzen went with us + to Lucerne, and from there he was summoned to Berne, as Prince + Dolgorukov, who was lying there seriously ill, wished to see + Herzen once more before his death.” + + “After spending some time in Geneva we went to Paris, where + Vyrubov and Herzen’s French friends were very anxious that + he should settle with all the family.... To Herzen’s great + delight we found Sergey Petrovitch Botkin[14] and his family in + Paris. Botkin still hoped at that time that Herzen’s vigorous + constitution might successfully combat the diabetes from which + he was suffering, but this hope was not realised; doctors + cannot foresee the fatal accidents which have sometimes a + decisive effect on disease. + + We had rooms in the Grand Hotel, on the fourth storey. + Botkin was as charming and attentive as ever. There was such + serenity and kindness in his beautiful smile that I thought + him handsome; I particularly liked to see his eyes rest upon + Herzen with such unfeigned love and admiration. Alexandr + Ivanovitch was glad to be with him too; he actually seemed + better when Botkin was present, for the latter had a charming + and encouraging effect on him. + + We were sitting in the little drawing-room talking almost + light-heartedly of how we should probably be able to make a + home here; here there would be suitable and even interesting + society for Natasha; and as regards educational facilities, we + could find everything that could be desired.... All at once + Herzen was handed a letter from his son, telling him that + Natasha was very seriously ill, and begging him to go at once + to Florence. + + Knowing his daughter’s strong constitution, Herzen was + perplexed, and sent a telegram asking what her illness + was. When he received the reply, he handed me the telegram + in silence, then said: ‘I would rather have heard she + was dead.’ The telegram read: ‘_Dérangement des facultés + intellectuelles._’[15] These terribly alarming words seemed to + paralyse him. He remained sitting with a pale face, in a sort + of stupefaction, not attempting to get ready: it was obviously + impossible to let him go alone, and indeed he said himself: ‘We + had better all go together.’ + + I hurriedly packed the most necessary things and, not staying + to say good-bye to any one in Paris, we paid our bill at the + hotel and went off to the station on the chance of getting a + train—they go pretty often. We had not to wait, but to hurry: + Herzen took the tickets, while I looked after the luggage, + and Liza, who was then ten, went to the buffet to buy some + provisions for the journey. We travelled without stopping. + It was very exhausting for us all, especially for the child. + As though she understood the gravity of the reason for our + journey, she did not complain, and was impatiently eager to + arrive and see Natasha. Herzen was silent almost the whole + way; his anxiety and impatience were apparent in his careworn + face. At last we reached Genoa; from there Herzen went on + alone, telling us to remain in Genoa till we heard from him: + if Natasha were fit to travel, Herzen would bring her, and we + would all return together to Paris; if the doctor decided that + she must stay on in Florence, he would let us know, and we + would join him there. Next day we found a letter and a telegram + for us at the post office. The telegram only told us to await + the letter; in the letter we were directed to go at once to + Florence, which we accordingly did. + + When the train stopped at the station we saw Herzen and his + son, who had come to meet us. They took a carriage, and we + drove to the villa that young Herzen had bought. There we saw + Teresina with her first-born, a charming baby whom Herzen found + enchanting; then we went in to Natasha, who was very glad to + see us. However, Herzen thought it more comfortable for the + patient and for all of us to be in the town, and so next day we + moved with Natasha to the Hôtel de France.... There we spent + about a fortnight; again I had to part with Liza, whom I put + for the time in the care of Malwide and Olga, while I remained + with Natasha. There was nobody to nurse her but me. Malwide + would not undertake to look after the invalid, and I did not + care to leave her to strangers. It is true that before I came + the doctor had called in an acquaintance, a Miss Reynolds, to + nurse her, but though she was experienced, she only irritated + the patient. What was needed was not experience but love. + + Anyway, my coming was crowned with success; the patient began + to recover, sleep and appetite returned, but I looked in + vain for any sign of joy in Herzen’s gloomy face: he seemed + crushed, and had not the strength to hope or to believe in + his beloved daughter’s recovery. He lived in a state of + morbid apprehension. The doctor sanctioned Natasha’s leaving + Florence.... Liza and Natasha set off with us for Paris. Only + Herzen’s son saw us off. For some reason Malwide and Olga did + not come to say good-bye. + + This time we did not hurry; we travelled very slowly. We + stopped several times on the way to rest. We spent a day in + Genoa; I remember that there Herzen was writing to Florence, + and he said to me: ‘What am I to say to Olga and Malwide: ask + them to come to Paris or leave them in Italy? They so dislike + coming away!’ But I advised him to send for them, because I + saw that Natasha still needed me, and Herzen himself was too + unhinged to be fit to look after Liza. He could not be with + the patient either; her overwrought nerves could not stand her + father’s resonant voice. + + We stayed two days in Nice, then rested at Lyons, and at + last reached Paris, where we went to the Pension Rovigan. + But it was not sufficiently comfortable for our invalid, and + so in his daily walks about the city Herzen looked out for + a spacious flat where there would be room for us all. Soon + after our return to Paris Malwide and Olga arrived, though + they certainly were very unwilling to come. They were sorry to + exchange Florence for Paris. Then we moved into a big flat in + the Pavillon Rohan, No. 172 rue Rivoli, into that fateful house + in which he who, forgetful of himself, thought and lived for + his country, for humanity, and for his family, after some five + days’ illness left us for ever.” + +[Herzen had been suffering from diabetes since 1864, but the doctors +thought his strong constitution would enable him to resist the disease, +if only he received no shocks. The alarm caused him by his daughter’s +illness made him worse. In January 1870 he had an attack of pneumonia, of +which he died four days later at the age of fifty-eight. He was buried in +Nice beside his wife and children. + +That his life with Natalya Alexyevna was not a happy one can be seen +from his correspondence with Ogaryov. They made more than one attempt +at separation, but Herzen could not bear parting from Liza. There seems +to have been something morbid and unbalanced in Natalya Alexyevna’s +character. Even Liza, to whom she was devoted, was after Herzen’s death +on very bad terms with her. They lived near Herzen’s other children +in Italy, but Liza did not always get on well with them, in spite of +the unvarying patience and affection of Natasha Herzen. Brilliantly +intelligent, vain and capricious, Liza committed suicide in 1875, at +the age of seventeen, after a dispute with her mother, who wished her to +break off an undesirable intimacy. Natalya Alexyevna went back to Russia +and lived in seclusion in the country. Later on she adopted the daughter +of a niece. The girl was consumptive, and for the sake of her health +Madame Ogaryov took her to the Black Forest, where the adopted daughter +died. Natalya Alexyevna just succeeded in reaching Russia before her own +death in 1913. + +Ogaryov, who had become more or less of an invalid from the time of +his accident in 1866, was still living in Geneva in 1873, when his old +friend, Madame Passek, visited him there. Not long afterwards he moved +to England with ‘Mary,’ who faithfully cared for him to the end. Once a +wealthy man, he had lost or given away all he had and was maintained in +his last years by Herzen’s children. He died at Greenwich in 1877, and is +buried at Shooter’s Hill. + +The following extracts from letters written by Herzen to Ogaryov throw +light on the former’s state of mind during his last years.] + + “NICE, _May 31, 1868_. + + “Ah, you dear, absurd person, you will hardly believe me, I + laugh at you and at myself quite genuinely—with no tinge of + anger or anything of the sort. I knew all along and wrote to + you in Geneva that whether it’s Lausanne or Prangius—it’s a + terror to you (you accepted the suggestion too hastily and I + made it too hastily)—you are so comfortably and peacefully + settled in your snug little den that the very idea of + travelling frightens you. Well, so be it, but why did you wait + till the trunks were packed and everything was ready, to write + of the difficult position that Toots put you in...? + + It is too late not to go—you must think of some plan. I see you + want us to come to Geneva. Tell me how and I will do it. The + _only_ difficulty is Liza (who remembers you and has a romantic + affection for you). Are you really going to risk telling her + straight away not only the whole secret history, but two secret + histories?... And so I suggest that I should first come from + Lyons by myself, and all the rest we will put off and settle + later. I cannot guarantee that everything will be well at + Prangius. Below the surface of peace there are sometimes very + bad symptoms. One thing you might explain: why did you tell + me that I was wrong, and that you really did want to come to + Lausanne or anywhere else to see us all and to have a change + from the monotony of your life that I find so trying? I would + have arranged things accordingly. But there is no harm done. + Now it is no use sacrificing yourself, for a sacrifice always + makes itself felt. Believe me, I will manage it all, including + the shock to Liza’s feelings and the ridicule. I cannot + endure ridicule (that is, being laughed at) as an insult, but + everything else can be settled, and you can trust me to do all + I can to make it right and not too conspicuous. Well, amen.” + + “MULHOUSE, _June 30, 1868_. + + “... We are going to Basle to-night. I expect I shall stay + there till Tata[16] comes, or perhaps I shall go to Lucerne and + wait there till the question of Prangius is settled. Lucerne is + a beautiful place; I am quite ready to spend a month there. + + But how I should like to settle down somewhere! though I see + no prospect of it.... You have always preached immobility, + and now you cannot walk; I, on the contrary, was always for + movement—and here, at fifty-six, I am utterly homeless.... Liza + is well, but Natalie[17] is convinced that she is ill and wants + to ask Adolph Vogt’s advice.” + + “HOTEL BELLE VUE, LUCERNE. + “_July 7, 1868. Tuesday._ + + “... It is very nice here in the summer. The hotel is expensive + and the food is not up to much, but the view from the + windows—fields all round, gardens, and mountains ... right in + front is the lake, and mountains again. + + Lucerne is infinitely more beautiful than Geneva, but it + probably begins to be cold here in October.... I fancy Natalie, + too, is tired of _vagabondage_, but as to where are we to + settle I must ask Tata’s advice. I am not equal to deciding it + alone! You can’t believe how tired I am. Oh, for a house, a + comfortable house, with a field adjoining—and then rest!” + + “BERNERHOFF, NO. 6, BERNE. + “_July 11, 1868._ + + “... Yesterday I spent a long day which I shall not soon + forget. It began wretchedly with Natalie’s ill humour; I set + off _low-spirited_,[18] but all the way from Olten I travelled + with Lewes and his wife (you know, who writes English novels): + he cheered me up; he is an extraordinarily intelligent and + lively-minded man. Among other things he asked me: ‘Est-ce que + votre “Golos” parait toujours?’ for which he caught it severely. + + But to the tragedy. Dolgorukov is very bad, but his strong + constitution is like a fortress that will not surrender.... He + talks incoherently, his eyes are dim, he does not know that the + end is so near, but he fears it. The worst of it is that there + is a fearful conflict going on inside him. His joy at seeing + me was immense, but noiseless; he keeps squeezing my hands and + thanking me. There is nobody in the world he trusts but me and + my representative, Tchorszewski. In the morning he summoned + Tchorszewski and Vogt ... then after all sorts of dreadful + incidents, he sent Vogt to tell N. to go back at once. + + Vogt carried out this commission. N. of course was furious. But + Dolgorukov at once sent for him and begged his forgiveness. + When I went up, he sent them all away, and taking both my + hands, sat up and fixed his dim eyes on me. + + ‘Herzen, Herzen! For God’s sake, tell me, you are the only one + I trust, the only one I respect—is it madness, is it nonsense? + + ‘You see yourself,’ I said, ‘that it’s madness. What reasons + have you? + + ‘Yes, yes, it’s obvious, it’s delirium—so you think it’s + delirium?’ (And so on a dozen times over.) Then all at once, + sinking back, he repeated slowly twice: + + ‘No, but do you—for God’s sake, do keep a watch on the way they + are treating me,’ and he signified that I was to say no more. + After which he fell into a doze, and on waking asked us to + have dinner with his son, which we did. The son was irritated + at first, but after dinner, after two or three bottles of wine + and some absinthe, he recovered—he’s a queer fellow. All this + together affected my nerves, so that I did not sleep all night + and my head aches. + + Tell me what impression this letter makes on you? + + Vogt says that there isn’t a chance of saving him, and that if + he is left like this, he’ll pop off. I fancy there is a lot of + strength in him yet....” + + “LUCERNE, BELLE-VUE. + “_July 14 (1868)._ + + “Well, at least I have escaped from the Dolgorukov nightmare. + An awful agony, and what’s more, he’s actually better, he’s + eating incessantly, and so keeps himself up. Adolph Vogt quite + worn out. The day before yesterday there was a hideous scene + with N. in my presence; afterwards I made peace between them. + He is persuaded that the fellow is only waiting to snatch + his money and be off!... N. came in and protested against + something. Dolgorukov shouted: + + ‘Hold your tongue and be off to Petersburg!’ + + Then he sent Vogt to tell him not to come near him. And though + I did bring him to reason a bit, yet next morning he told him + to go away and let him die in peace or recover. Tchorszewski is + the only one who is not moved to exasperation in this filthy + slough, and though fearfully depressed behaves well.” + + “... Vogt says I have a strong tendency to diabetes, and + advises me to drink the waters at Lucerne, and not go to Berne + again for a fortnight. Altogether I am better now, though still + far from well. Tata has come with me.... + + Auerbach and his wife are here; they have lately come from + Russia, and have been in Vevey. Bakunin belongs heart and soul + to Elpidin’s party, and they are as thick as thieves. + + _Caro mio_—it is time we retired and began on something else; + writing a great work or settling down to old age.... Liza was + very glad to see Tata, their meeting was delightful. I am very + much pleased with Tata.... Tchorszewski has just arrived for + a rest, and has brought the news that Dolgorukov is immensely + better. See what medicine can do!” + + “LUCERNE, BELLE VUE. + “_July 23 (1868). Thursday._ + + “... I posted you a letter at ten o’clock last night, enclosing + one from Liza, who, _entfesselt_ from town life, enjoys the + woods and the fields so much that it is a pity to take her + away from here. She and Tata would have got on well, but Liza’s + rude pranks (her only serious defect) irritate Tata. Natalie in + such cases does, of course, everything to make matters worse. + It’s a bad look-out. + + In my letter of yesterday I wrote to you about striking + work—the millstone is turning more slowly; we labour listlessly + and in vain, surrounded by jeers and vile envy. Russia is + deaf. The seed has been sown, it is covered with dung—there is + nothing to do till autumn. It has occurred to me to write to + you an official letter suggesting _stoppage_[19]—and I shall do + so. + + But how could you imagine that by retiring and rest from the + _Bell_ ... I meant empty inactivity, and how could one set + about it? For that, one must wait for complete softening of the + brain, hardening of the heart, or terror over one’s health.... + + All I want after burying the _Bell_ is external peace, being + able to keep calm, almost indifferent to the annoyances all + about me. But the _Bell_ won’t do that; there’s no managing + it, it’s a good thing you have got it—make the most of it. + Good-bye.” + + “ST. GALLEN, _Aug. 3, 1868_. + + “... Liza wants to write to you that we crossed the Rhine under + a waterfall. She is well, eats enough for two, sleeps enough + for three; and if one could persuade Natalie not to spoil + her, we could boast of her at Prangius. But her temper and + naughtiness are great defects.” + +[In September and October 1868 Herzen was at Vichy first alone, then with +his family, and had a quiet and pleasant time there. It had been decided +to go from Vichy to Lyons and then to Zurich, but later the plan was +changed, and it was proposed to go to Lausanne.] + + “LYONS, HOTEL DE L’EUROPE. + “_Oct. 23, 1868._ + + “Well, here we are at Lyons. _Le chapitre_ of water cure is + over. What next?[20] In any case I shall come to Geneva. Our + plans are all unsettled. Natalie wants to go to Nice—we are on + the way to it here. I say that Liza’s education ought to be our + chief consideration. She is growing up mentally every day and + quite naturally, _i.e._ it does not interfere with her health. + Nice, of course, has no educational advantages except its + climate. Even Lyons has plenty of the museums and other things + that Liza needs. One winter can be sacrificed, but I won’t + agree to more.” + + “MARSEILLES, _Dec. 4, 1868_. + “Cafe at the railway station, 9 A.M. + + “... Our last meeting was confused. I am somehow stunned and + stupefied by such blows and shocks[21] and want to be alone. It + is over now, and thank God, and in 1864 there was Lyola’s[22] + operation. You know, I have not till now had the courage to + tell any one what happened then: ‘It is wonderful what a man + can endure.’ Had Natalie understood that moment and my love now + for Liza, she would not be constantly pulling at the strings, + for fear of breaking them. I am ready to forgive, for, as + Kukolnik puts it, ‘only the strong can forgive.’ But that’s not + all. + + _A propos_, do you know I was expecting that Bakunin would send + to inquire after Tata and so make peace. But he hasn’t ... _é + rotta l’altissima colonna_. + + It is summer here. All the windows are open. Sun is shining. + No, we’ll have to give up Zurich and Berne and Geneva. It + would be better to live in the same town with you, but it + is difficult. The irregularity of my position and (in a + different way) of yours makes it hard. When Toots is sent to + boarding-school, and you decide on some career for Henry, we + will talk about it.” + + “_After Lunch._ + + “... As to Tata, it would have been too dreadful for me to lose + her. Dear Natalie (my wife), you and she, in spite of her youth + and crudity, understand me better than any one. But that menace + is over. Natalie[23] loves me, but she does not spare me. She + never will be a _sister_ (you remember her last letter), but + Tata can be.” + + “LYONS, HOTEL DE L’EUROPE. + “_Dec. 30, 1868._ + + “... I am so sick of my irregular life that I keep thinking + about the future, about ‘a room of my own,’ books, and a + writing-table.... Ever since the end of 1864 I cannot settle + down anywhere, and, of course, that is chiefly Natalie’s fault. + If something could be arranged in Geneva or here (anywhere + between Nice and Genoa)! Florence does not attract me. However + I shuffle the cards, nothing turns up. Well, that’s an old + story.” + + “NICE, _Feb. 20, 1869_. + + “... Tata has had a long letter from Olga. There are hints and + surmises in it so awful that I am afraid to comment on them. It + is a systematic intrigue on the part of Meysenbug, who wants to + estrange Olga from all of us, from me in particular—an intrigue + that involves slander (I may have proofs of this). What is one + to say to it! I have written to Sasha and am waiting for his + answer.” + + “PARIS, _Oct. 28, 1869_. + + “... I have found temporary lodgings in a small but clean hotel + in the Champs-Élysées, Avenue d’Antin, No. 33. Not expensive as + prices are here. Then I have in view a very nice unfurnished + flat right opposite the Luxembourg Gardens. I think that + after knocking about all over the world one must at last fix + somewhere a home for one’s old age and settle the children and + the grown-ups in it. If I venture to take a house for _three + years_, I will offer you in a year’s time to move to Paris too. + For the present you had better stay in Geneva.... I can easily + find a flat with two bedrooms, a sitting-room, and a kitchen + somewhere near the Luxembourg Gardens. The worst of it is one + needs the courage of a Suvorov to sign a contract for three + years.” + + “GENOA, HOTEL FEDER. + “_Nov. 14, 1869._ + + “... I don’t do anything at all, don’t want to do anything, and + don’t read anything—this is why I write long letters. + + S. P. Botkin is a terrible medical prophet. He said to me: + ‘All will go well if you have no violent shocks.’ Here is a + shock,[24] and apparently—thanks to your Providence, otherwise + my stomach—all has gone off well ... but no, Botkin is right. I + shan’t get off a visit to Vichy in the spring after all.” + + “PARIS, 8 RUE ROVIGO. + “_Dec. 23, 1869._ + + “Dr. Charcot came yesterday, stayed over half an hour ... I did + not even ask him about myself, I have no thoughts to spare on + myself so far. I eat and drink well, but sleep badly. I drop + off into a dead sleep when I go to bed in the evening, but wake + up about four o’clock in terror that I shall not be able to + sleep any more. + + I have found a flat with full board, expensive but very good, + quiet though quite central—172 rue Rivoli. By the end of two + months I shall see whether we are going to stay in Paris and + then find a permanent flat; as it is, I have to throw away 800 + francs per month. + + I very much dislike doing it, but large rooms and a certain + amount of comfort are essential for the invalid.[25] We are + saved all trouble and worries about housekeeping, etc.” + + “8 RUE ROVIGO, _Dec. 29, 1869_. + + “We are just going to move to Pavillon Rohan, 172 rue Rivoli. + It’s a huge house let out in big and small flats, with or + without board. We can rest there for a month, or even two, and + see what happens.... I have earned this expensive rest by what + I have been through during the last two months. + + I cannot concentrate on anything, or settle down to any work, + and I am doing nothing but reading. + + ... Best wishes for the New Year—from which I expect nothing + new—and nothing good. All I ask is to keep what I have.” + + “PARIS, 172 RUE RIVOLI. + “_Jan. 4, 1870._ + + “Again I don’t know what to write—everything is slow, dull, and + not particularly smooth. Tata is getting better and better. All + the rest hobbles on in the usual way.... I tell you candidly, + it seems to me there is no chance of arranging a common life + here. Everything hangs on a thread. With Tata alone we could + manage things better, and that is how it will end.” + + + + +ENDS AND BEGINNINGS + + +A year ago, when I was writing ‘Ends and Beginnings,’ I did not expect +to conclude them so abruptly. I wanted in two or three following +letters to define the ‘Beginnings’ more closely; the ‘Ends’ seemed to +me sufficiently clear of themselves. This I could not do. My outlook +changed: events gave me neither peace nor leisure—they made their own +commentaries and their own deductions. The tragedy is still developing +before our eyes, and is more and more passing from an individual conflict +into the prelude to a world struggle. Its prologue is complete; the plot +is well constructed; all is in a tangle; neither men nor parties can be +recognised. One cannot help recalling the image of Dante’s wrestlers, +in which the combatants’ limbs were not only intertwined, but by some +metamorphosis subsequently transformed into each other. + +Everything youthful and enthusiastic, from the prayer before the Crucifix +to the feat of reckless daring, from the woman dressed in black to the +secret preserved by the whole people—everything that had faded away in +the old world, from the mitre and the sword of chivalry to the Phrygian +cap—has appeared once more in all its poetic brilliance in rebellious +Poland, as though to deck with the flowers of youth the _elders of +civilisation_, as they slowly move into the conflict that they dread. + +On the other hand, the ‘Beginnings’ glimmer faintly through the +smoke of burnt cities and villages.... What is happening here is the +exact opposite.... All the surviving relics of the _old world_ have +risen up in defence of the rule of Petersburg, and are defending its +ill-gotten gains with all the weapons bequeathed by the barbarous ages +of military violence and the corrupt period of diplomatic intrigue. +These range from the torture and murder of prisoners to false amnesties +and sham declarations, from the barbaric exile of whole sections of +the population to newspaper articles and the filigree rhetoric of +Gortchakov’s notes. + +The storms of recent days have ruffled the still waters of our pool. +Much that has lain buried in silence under the coffin-lid of past +oppression has come to the surface and revealed its utter putrefaction. +Only now we can measure the depth of the corruption which the Imperial +Government has developed in the cause of Germanising us for a century +and a half. The German lymph has matured in the coarse Russian blood, +the healthy organism has given it fresh strength, and, while infected by +it, has lost nothing of its own vice. The inhuman narrow ugliness of the +German officer and the petty vulgarity of the German official has long +ago blended in Russia with the features of the Mongol, the savage and +unrelenting cruelty of the oriental slave and of the Byzantine eunuch. +But we have not been used to seeing this composite personality outside +the army barracks and the government offices; it has never appeared so +strikingly outside the Service: scantily educated, it not only wrote +little but even read little. Now our Minotaurs come to the surface +not only in the palaces and torture-chambers, but in society, in the +universities, in literature. + +We thought that our literature was so lofty, that our professors were +such apostles; we were mistaken in them, and how painful it is! we are +revolted by it as by every display of moral degradation. We cannot but +protest against the dreadful things that are being said and done; we +cannot but be repelled by the frenzy of violence, the inhuman butchery +and still more inhuman applause. Perhaps it may be our lot to fold our +hands and die in our retreat before this delirium of ‘cultured’ Russia is +over.... But this storm will not uproot the seed that lies hidden in the +soil; it will not hurt it, and maybe it will strengthen it. A new vital +force is strengthened by everything—ill deeds and good alike. It alone +can pass through blood, unstained, and say to the savage combatants: ‘I +know you not; you have worked for me, but it was not for my sake you +worked.’ + +Look at the savage satrap in Lithuania: he strangles the Polish element, +but the Russian autocracy will bear the marks of the struggle; he hunts +down the Polish nobles, but it will be the Russian nobles who will flee. + +Like house-porters, they know not for whom they are sweeping, for whom +they are clearing a path, as little as the Roman she-wolf knew whom she +was suckling, whom she was rearing. Not Romulus, but Remus, wronged in +the past, will tread the bloodstained path: it is for him that Tsar and +satraps are clearing a road. + +But before he comes much blood yet will flow, and there will be a fearful +collision of two worlds. Why must it flow? Why, indeed? There is no +help for it, if men gain no more sense. Events move rapidly and the +brain develops slowly. Under the influence of dark forces, of fantastic +images, the peoples move as though sleep-walking through a succession +of insoluble problems; after fighting together, and seeing nothing +clearly, during all the fifteen hundred years from the fearful collapse +of the Roman world, they reach the nineteenth century, which is no more +civilised than the times of Germanicus and Alaric. + + _August 1, 1863._ + + +Letter 1 + +And so, dear friend,[26] you will positively go no further, you want to +rest amidst the rich autumn harvest, in shady parks, languidly ruffling +their leaves after the long, hot summer. You are not alarmed at the +days growing shorter, at the mountain-tops turning white, and the cold, +sinister wind that blows at times; you are more afraid of our spring +floods, of the knee-deep mud, of the wild overflow of the rivers, of +the bare earth showing under the snow, and, in fact, of our dreams of a +future harvest from which we are separated by storms and hail, by drought +and deluge, and all the hard work we have not yet accomplished.... +Well, in God’s name, let us part in love and concord like good +fellow-travellers. + +You have only a little way further to go, you have arrived, here is the +brightly lighted house, the sparkling river and the garden, and leisure +and books at hand, while I, like an old post hack, always in harness, +shift from one task to another till I drop dead between two stations. + +Believe me that I fully understand your dislike and dread of a life with +no order nor beaten paths, and your affection for established civic and +political forms, and, moreover, such as may become ‘better,’ but are so +far the ‘best’ existing. + +We men of European town civilisation can, as a rule, only exist under +the established conventions. Town life accustoms us from early childhood +to the fact that discordant forces are balanced and kept in check behind +the scenes. When we are by chance thrown off the beaten track on which, +from the day of our birth, it guides and carefully moves us, we are as +completely at a loss as the theoretical savant, accustomed to museums +and herbariums and to wild beasts in glass cases, is at a loss when +confronted with the traces of a geological cataclysm, or with the dense +population of the Mediterranean Sea. + +I have chanced to see two or three desperate haters of Europe who have +returned from beyond the ocean. They had gone thither, so revolted by the +Reaction after 1848, so exasperated against everything European, that +they had hastened on to Kansas or California, hardly willing to stop +at New York. Three or four years later they reappeared in the familiar +cafés and beer-shops of old Europe, ready to make any concession to avoid +seeing the virginal forests of America and her untilled soil, to avoid +being _tête-à-tête_ with Nature and meeting wild animals, rattlesnakes, +and men with revolvers. You must not imagine, however, that they were +simply terrified by danger, material privations, or the necessity of +work; here, too, men die of hunger if they do not work, and here, too, +they work sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, while the police and +the spies in the old continent are more dangerous than wild beasts and +revolvers. They were, above all, terrified and depressed by Nature +untouched by man, by the absence of that well-ordered organisation, that +peace secured by the administration, that artistic and epicurean comfort +which depend on permanent habitation, are protected by a strong wall of +police, rest upon the ignorance of the masses, and are defended by the +Church, the Law, and the Army. For the sake of this mess of pottage, +_well served_, we sacrifice our share of human dignity, our share of +sympathy for our neighbour, and give our _negative_ support to the +_régime_ which is in reality hateful to us. + +In France we have seen another example: the literary men who lived in +rhetoric, the artists who lived in art for art’s sake and for money’s +sake, were beside themselves at the disturbance caused by the Revolution +of February. We have an acquaintance, a teacher of singing, who, to +escape 1848, moved from Paris to London, to the home of sore throats, +bronchitis, asthma, and speaking through the teeth—only to avoid hearing +the alarm bell and the masses singing in chorus. + +In the Russia of to-day the causes which led men to flee from Paris +and from Arkansas are combined. In America what was most alarming was +naked Nature, wild Nature with the dew of creation not yet dry upon its +leaves, the Nature we love so ardently in pictures and poems. (The man +with the revolver naïvely killing his neighbour is as much in place in +the Pampas as the naïve tiger with teeth an inch long.) In France Nature +is not to be feared, it is swept and garnished, tigers do not walk about, +and the vine flourishes; but, on the other hand, in 1848, passions broke +loose again, and again the foundations of good order tottered. Among +us in Russia, while Nature is untouched, men and institutions, culture +and barbarism, the past that died an age ago, and the future which +will be born in ages to come—all are in ferment and dissolution, being +pulled down and built up, everywhere there are clouds of dust, posts +and rafters. Indeed, if one adds to our primitive means of travel the +highly developed means of making money in the Service, to the natural +mud of our roads the filth of the life of our landowners, to our winter +tempests the Winter Palace, together with the generals, the Cabinet +Ministers, the refreshment bars, and the Filarets, ‘the gendarme vanguard +of civilisation’ made in Germany, and the rearguard with axes in their +belt, primeval in their force and their simplicity, one must have a great +passion or a mighty madness to plunge of free will into that whirlpool, +which redeems its chaos by the rainbow-lights of prophecy and the grand +visions, for ever glimmering behind the fog and for ever unable to +disperse it. + +Passion and madness are talents of a sort, and do not come at will. One +is irresistibly drawn into the whirlpool, another is repelled by its +froth and uproar. The point is that to one man sleep is dearer than +father and mother, and to another his dream. Which is better? I do not +know: and, indeed, both may lead to the same delirium. + +But we will not give way to these philosophic reflections; they commonly +by one path or another conduct us to the unpleasant conclusion that +whether you batten in a feather-bed or fret yourself in a squirrel’s +wheel, you will do no good one way or the other, except perhaps to enrich +the soil when you are dead. Every life, as the students’ song has it, +begins with _Juvenes dum sumus_, and ends with _Nos habebit humus_! + +We must not dwell on this mournful reduction of everything in the world +to nullity, or you will call me a nihilist, and that is now the term of +abuse which has replaced Hegelian, Byronist, and suchlike. + +A living man thinks of what is living. The question between us is not +whether a man has the right to withdraw into a peaceful retreat, to turn +aside like an ancient philosopher from the Nazarene madness and the +influx of barbarians. Of that, there can be no question. I only want to +make clear to myself whether the ancient sanctuaries, built so solidly +and overgrown with the moss of mediaeval Europe, are so peaceful and +convenient, above all, so secure as they were; and, on the other hand, +whether there is not a magic spell in the visions we see in the snowstorm +and the ringing of the sledge-bells, and whether there is not some real +force in that magic. + +There was a time when you defended the ideas of Western Europe, and you +did well; the only pity is that it was entirely unnecessary. The ideas of +Western Europe, that is, scientific ideas, have long ago been recognised +by all as the inalienable property of humanity. Science is entirely +without latitude or longitude; it is like Goethe’s ‘Divan,’ Western and +Oriental. + +Now you want to maintain that the actual forms of Western European life +are also the heritage of mankind, and you believe that the manner of +life of the European upper classes, as evolved in the historic past, is +alone in harmony with the aesthetic needs of human development, that it +alone furnishes the conditions essential for literary and artistic life; +that in Western Europe art was born and grew up, and to Western Europe +it belongs; and finally, that there is no other art at all. Let us pause +first at this point. + +Pray do not imagine that I shall from the point of view of civic +austerity and Puritanism protest against the place which you give to art +in life. I am in agreement with you on that point. Art—_c’est autant de +pris_; together with the summer lightnings of personal happiness, it is +our one indubitable blessing. In all the rest, we are either toiling or +drawing water in a sieve for humanity, for our country, for fame, for our +children, for money, and at the same time are solving an endless problem. +In art we find enjoyment, in it the goal is attained; it, too, is an +‘End’ in itself. + +And so, giving to Diana of Ephesus what is due to Diana, I ask you +of what exactly you are speaking, of the present or the past? Of the +fact that art has developed in Western Europe, that Dante and Michael +Angelo, Shakespeare and Rembrandt, Mozart and Goethe, were by birth and +opinion ‘Westerners’? But no one disputes it. Or do you mean that a long +historical life has prepared both a better stage for art and a finer +framework for it, that museums are more sumptuous in Europe than anywhere +else, galleries and schools richer, students more numerous, teachers more +gifted, theatres better decorated, and so on? And that, too, is true. Or +nearly so, for ever since the great opera has returned to its primitive +state of performers strolling from town to town, only grand opera is +_überall und nirgends_. In the whole of America there is no such Campo +Santo as in Pisa, but still Campo Santo is a graveyard. It is quite +natural, indeed, that where there have been most corals there you find +most coral-reefs.... But in all this where is the new living creative +art, where is the artistic element in life itself? To be continually +calling up the dead, to be repeating Beethoven, to be playing Phèdre and +Athalie, is all very well, but it says nothing for creativeness. In the +dullest periods of Byzantium, Homer was read and Sophocles recited at the +literary evenings; in Rome, the statues of Pheidias were preserved, and +the best sculpture collected on the eve of the Genserics and the Alarics. +Where is the new art, where is the artistic initiative? Is it to be found +in Wagner’s ‘music of the future’? + +Art is not fastidious; it can depict anything, setting upon all the +indelible imprint of the spirit of beauty, and impartially raising to the +level of the madonnas and demigods every casual incident of life, every +sound and every form, the slumbering pool under the tree, the fluttering +bird, the horse at the drinking-trough, the sunburnt beggar-boy. From +the sinister, savage fantasy of hell and the Day of Judgment to the +Flemish tavern with the back view of a peasant, from Faust to Faublas, +from the Requiem to the Kamarinsky, all lie within the domain of art.... +But even art has its limit. There is a stumbling-block which neither the +violinist’s bow nor the painter’s brush nor the sculptor’s chisel can +deal with; art to conceal its impotence mocks at it and turns it into +caricature. That stumbling-block is petty-bourgeois vulgarity. The artist +who excellently portrays a man completely naked, covered with rags, or +so completely dressed that nothing is to be seen but armour or a monk’s +cassock, is reduced to despair before the bourgeois in a swallow-tail. +Hence the necessity of flinging a Roman toga upon Robert Peel; hence +a banker is stripped of his coat and his cravat, and his shirt is +unbuttoned, so that if he could see his own bust after death he would be +covered with blushes before his own wife.... Robert Macaire and Prudhomme +are great caricatures. Sometimes caricatures are works of genius; in +Dickens they are tragically true to life, but still they are caricatures. +Beyond Hogarth that style cannot go. The Vandyke and Rembrandt of petty +bourgeoisie are Punch and Charivari, they are its portrait gallery and +pillory; they are the family records and the whipping-post. + +The fact is that the whole petty-bourgeois character, both in its good +qualities and its bad qualities, is opposed to art and cramping to it; +art withers in it like a green leaf in chlorine, and only the passions +common to all humanity can at times, by breaking into bourgeois life, +or, even better, breaking out of its decorum, raise it to artistic +significance. + +Decorum, that is the real word. The petty bourgeois, like Moltchalin,[27] +has two talents, and he has the same ones, Prudence and Punctuality. The +life of the middle class is full of petty defects and petty virtues; it +is self-restrained, often niggardly, and shuns what is extreme, what +is superfluous. The park is transformed into the kitchen garden, the +thatched cottage into the little town house with an escutcheon painted +on the shutters, but every day they drink tea in it, and every day they +eat meat. It is an _immense step_ in advance, but not at all artistic. +Art is more at home with poverty and luxury than with crude prosperity, +with comfort when it is an end in itself; if it comes to that, it is more +at home with the harlot selling herself than with the respectable woman +selling at three times the cost the work of the starving seamstress. +Art is not at ease in the stiff, over-neat, careful house of the petty +bourgeois, and his house is bound to be such; art feels instinctively +that in that life it is reduced to the level of external decoration +such as wallpaper and furniture, to the level of a hurdy-gurdy; if the +hurdy-gurdy man is in the way he is kicked out, if they want to listen +they give him a halfpenny and with that have done with him.... Art which +is pre-eminently elegance of proportion cannot endure the yard-measure; a +life self-satisfied with its narrow mediocrity is defiled for art by the +worst of blots—vulgarity. + +But that does not in the least prevent the whole cultured world from +passing into petty bourgeoisie, and the vanguard has arrived there +already. Petty bourgeoisie is the ideal to which Europe is everywhere +striving and ascending. It is the ‘hen in the soup,’ of which Henry the +Fourth dreamt. A little house, with little windows looking into the +street, a school for the boy, a dress for the girl, a servant for the +hard work—all that makes up indeed a haven of refuge—Havre de Grace! The +man turned off the soil which he had tilled for ages for his master, +the descendant of the villager, crushed in the struggle, the homeless +workman, doomed to everlasting toil and hunger, the day-labourer, born +a beggar and dying a beggar, can only wipe the sweat from their brows +and look without horror at their children by becoming property owners, +masters, bourgeois; their sons will not be kept in lifelong bondage for +a crust of bread, their daughters will not be condemned to the factory +or the brothel. How should they not strive to be bourgeois? The bright +image of the shopkeeper—who has replaced the knight and the priest for +the middle classes—hovers as the ideal before the eyes of the casual +labourer, until his tired and horny hands drop on his sunken chest, or +until he looks at life with that Irish tranquillity of despair which +precludes every hope, every expectation, except the hope of a whole +bottle of whisky next Sunday. + +Bourgeoisie, the last word of civilisation, founded on the absolute +despotism of property, is the ‘democratisation’ of aristocracy, the +‘aristocratisation’ of democracy. In this order Almaviva is the equal +of Figaro—everything below is straining up into bourgeoisie, everything +above sinking down into it through the impossibility of maintaining +itself. The United States present the spectacle of one class—the middle +class—with nothing below it and nothing above it, and the petty bourgeois +manners and morals are retained. The German peasant is the petty +bourgeois of agriculture; the workman of every country is the petty +bourgeois of the future. Italy, the most poetical land in Europe, was +not able to hold out, but at once forsook her fanatical lover, Mazzini, +and betrayed her husband, the Hercules Garibaldi, as soon as Cavour, the +petty bourgeois of genius, the little fat man in spectacles, offered to +keep her as his mistress. + +With the coming of bourgeoisie, individual characters are effaced, but +these effaced persons are better fed; clothes are made by the dozen, +not to measure or to order, but there are more people who wear them. +With the coming of bourgeoisie, the beauty of the race is effaced, but +its prosperity increases, the statuesque beggar from Transteverino is +employed for rough work by the puny shopkeeper of the Via del Corso. The +crowds of holiday-makers in the Champs-Élysées or Kensington Gardens, +or the audiences in churches or theatres, depress one with their +vulgar faces, their dull expressions; but the holiday-makers in the +Champs-Élysées, the audiences listening to the sermons of Lacordaire or +the songs of Levasseur,[28] are not concerned at that, they do not notice +it. But what is very important to them and very striking is that their +fathers and elder brothers were not in a position to go holiday-making or +to the theatre as they are; that their elders sometimes drove on the box +of carriages, but they drive about in cabs, and very often too. + +It is for this reason that bourgeoisie is triumphing and is bound to +triumph. It is useless to tell a hungry man, ‘It suits you much better to +be hungry; don’t look for food.’ The sway of bourgeoisie is the answer +to emancipation without land, to the freeing of men from bondage while +the soil is left in bondage to a few of the elect. The masses that have +earned their halfpence have come to the top and are enjoying themselves +in their own way and possessing the world. They have no need of strongly +marked characters, of original minds. Science cannot help stumbling upon +the discoveries that lie closest at hand. Photography—that barrel-organ +version of painting—replaces the artist; if a creative artist does appear +he is welcome, but there is no desperate need of him. Beauty, talent, +are altogether out of the normal; they are the exceptions, the luxury +of Nature, its highest limit or the result of great effort, of whole +generations. The voice of Mario, the points of the winner of the Derby, +are rarities. But a good lodging and a dinner are necessities. There is +a great deal that is bourgeois in Nature herself, one may say; she very +often stops short in the middle, half-way, and evidently has not the +spirit to go further. Who has told you that Europe will have it? + +Europe has been through a bad quarter of an hour. The bourgeois were +all but losing the fruits of a long lifetime, of prolonged efforts, of +hard work. A vague but terrible protest has arisen in the conscience of +humanity. The petty bourgeois have been reminded of their wars for their +rights, their heroic age and biblical traditions. Abel, Remus, Thomas +of Münster have been slain once more, and long will the grass grow upon +their tombs as a warning how the all-powerful bourgeoisie punishes its +enemies. Since then all has returned to its normal routine, which seems +secure, which is based on reason, which is strong and growing, but has +no artistic plan, no aesthetic chord: it does not seek to have them; it +is too practical; it agrees with Catherine II. that it is not becoming +for a serious man to play the piano well; the Empress, too, regarded men +from the practical point of view. The gardens are too heavily manured for +flowers to grow; flowers are too unprofitable for the petty bourgeois’ +garden; if he does sometimes grow them, it is for sale. + +In the spring of 1850 I was looking for lodgings in Paris. By that time +I had lived so long in Europe that I had grown to hate the crowding +and crush of civilisation, which at first we Russians like so much. I +looked with horror mixed with disgust at the continually moving, swarming +crowd, foreseeing how it would rob me of half my seat at the theatre and +in the diligence, how it would dash like a wild beast into the railway +carriages, how it would heat and pervade the air—and for that reason I +was looking for a flat, not in a crowded place, and to some extent free +from the vulgarity and deadly sameness of the lodgings _à trois chambres +à coucher de maître_.[29] + +Some one suggested to me the lodge of a big old house on the further +side of the Seine in the Faubourg St. Germain, or close by. I went +there. The old wife of the concierge took the keys and led me by the +yard. The house and the lodge stood behind a fence; within the courtyard +behind the house, there were green trees. The lodge was neglected and +deserted-looking, probably no one had been living there for many years. +The somewhat old-fashioned furniture was of the period of the First +Empire, with Roman straight lines and blackened gilt. The lodge was by no +means large or sumptuous, but the furniture and the arrangement of the +rooms all pointed to a different idea of the conveniences of life. Near +the little drawing-room to one side, next the bedroom, was a tiny study +with cupboards for books and a big writing-table. I walked through the +rooms, and it seemed to me that after long wanderings I had come again +upon a dwelling for a man, _un chez soi_, not a hotel room nor a human +stall. + +Everything—the theatre, holiday-making, books, pictures, +clothes—everything has gone down in quality and gone up terribly in +numbers. The crowd of which I was speaking is the best proof of success, +of strength, of growth; it is bursting through all the dams, overflowing +and flooding everything; it is content with anything, and can never have +enough. London is crowded, Paris is cramped. A hundred railway carriages +linked on are insufficient; there are forty theatres and not a seat free; +a play has to be running for three months for the London public to be +able to see it. + +‘Why are your cigars so inferior?’ I asked one of the leading London +tobacconists. + +‘It is hard to get them, and, indeed, it is not worth the trouble; there +are few connoisseurs and still fewer well-to-do ones.’ + +‘Not worth while? You charge eightpence each for them.’ + +‘That brings us hardly any profit. While you and a dozen like you will +buy them, is there much gain in that? In one day I sell more twopenny and +threepenny cigars than I do of these in a year. I am not going to order +any more of them.’ + +Here was a man who had grasped the spirit of the age. All trade, +especially in England, is based now on quantity and cheapness, and not at +all on quality, as old-fashioned Russians imagine when they reverently +buy Tula penknives with an English trademark on them. Everything has a +wholesale, ready-made, conventional character, everything is within the +reach of almost every one, but does not allow of aesthetic distinction +or personal taste. Everywhere the hundred-thousand-headed hydra lies in +wait close at hand round a corner, ready to listen to everything, to look +at everything indiscriminately, to be dressed in anything, to be fed on +anything—this is the all-powerful crowd of ‘conglomerated mediocrity’ +(to use Stuart Mill’s expression) which purchases everything, and +so dominates everything. The crowd is without ignorance, but also +without culture. To please it art screams, gesticulates, falsifies, +and exaggerates, or in despair turns away from men and paints animal +portraits and pictures of cattle, like Landseer and Rosa Bonheur. + +Have you seen in the last fifteen years in Europe an actor, a single +actor, who is not a clown, a buffoon of sentimentality, or a buffoon of +burlesque? Name him! + +Many blessings have been vouchsafed to the epoch of which the last +expression is to be found in the notes of Verdi, but the artistic +vocation was certainly not among them. Its own creation—the _café +chantant_—an amphibious product, half-way between the beer-cellar and +the boulevard theatre, is precisely on its level. I have nothing against +_cafés chantants_, but I cannot give them serious artistic value; +they satisfy the ‘average customer,’ as the English say, the average +purchaser, the average bidder, the hundred-headed hydra of the middle +class, and there is nothing more to be said. + +The way out from this position is far off. Behind the multitude now +ruling stands an even greater multitude of candidates eager to enter it, +to whom the manners, ideas, and habits of life of the middle class appear +as the one goal to strive for. There are enough to multiply their numbers +ten times over. A world without land, a world predominated by town +life, with the rights of property carried to the extreme point, has no +other way of salvation, and it will all pass through petty bourgeoisie, +which in our eyes has not reached a high level, but in the eyes of the +agricultural population and the proletariat stands for culture and +progress. Those who are in advance live in tiny cliques like secular +monasteries, taking no interest in what is being done by the world +outside their walls. + +The same thing has happened before, but on a smaller scale and less +consciously; moreover, in the past there were ideals, convictions, words +which set both the simple heart of the poor citizen and the heart of the +haughty knight beating; they had holy things in common, to which all men +did homage as before the sacrament. Where is there a hymn nowadays which +could be sung with faith and conviction in every storey of the house from +the cellar to the garret? Where is our ‘Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott’ or +our ‘Marseillaise’? + +When Ivanov was in London he used to say with despair that he was looking +for a new religious type, and could find it nowhere in the world about +him. A pure artist, dreading falsehood in his painting like blasphemy, +understanding rather by imagination than by analysis, he asked us to show +him where were the picturesque features in which a new Atonement would +shine forth. We could not show them. ‘Perhaps Mazzini will,’ he thought. + +Mazzini would have pointed him to the unity of Italy, perhaps to +Garibaldi in 1861, to that _last of the great men_ as to a _forerunner_. + +Ivanov died knocking in vain, the door was not opened to him. + + ISLE OF WIGHT. + + _June 10, 1862._ + + +Letter 2 + +Apropos of Mazzini. A few months ago the first volume of his collected +works appeared. Instead of a preface or notes, Mazzini connected the +articles written by him at various times, by means of a series of +amplifications; there is a mass of the most living interest in these +explanatory pages. The poem of his monastic life dedicated to one god and +one service is unintentionally revealed in these disconnected jottings, +possibly more fully than he meant. + +An enthusiast, a fanatic with Ligurian blood in his veins, Mazzini was +from youth up irrevocably devoted to the great cause of the freedom of +Italy, and to that cause he remains faithful for ever—_ora e sempre_, as +his motto says: he finds his youth, love, family, faith, duty, all in +that. Espoused to one wife, he has not betrayed her, and grey-headed, +emaciated, sick, he holds off death, he refuses to die before Rome is the +capital of United Italy and the lion of Saint Mark tears to tatters the +black-and-yellow rag which flies above him. + +The testimony of such a man, one, too, who attacked scepticism, +socialism, and materialism, a man who lived in every heart-throb of +European life for forty years, is extremely important. + +After the first schoolboy enthusiasm of every revolutionary career, after +the romance of conspiracies, mysterious passwords, meetings at night, +vows over bloodless daggers, the young man reconsiders things. + +In spite of the fascination for a youthful Latin soul of the setting and +ritual, the earnest and ascetic Mazzini soon discerned that there was +in Carbonarism far more ceremony and empty form than action, far more +meeting and preparing than doing. We, too, perceived long ago that the +political liturgy of the priests of conspiracy, like the church liturgy, +is only a dramatic performance; however much feeling and sincerity the +priests sometimes bring to the service, still the Lamb is slain in bread +and bleeds in wine. Mazzini noticed that thirty-five years ago. + +Having reached that point, it was hard for the young Carbonaro to +stop. Watching recent events in the crumbling Empire, an eye-witness +of monarchical restorations, revolutions, constitutional attempts and +republican failures, Mazzini reached the conclusion that contemporary +European life had, as he expressed it, ‘no initiative of any sort,’ that +the conservative idea and the revolutionary idea have only negative +significance: one destroys, not knowing to what end, the other preserves, +not knowing to what end; that in everything that was going on (and +the revolution of 1830 was going on at that time) there was nothing +inaugurating a new order of things. + +In these words of the future rival of the Pope there are echoes of the +funeral knell struck by the Pope’s friend, Maistre. + +The void of which Mazzini was sensible may well be understood. + +The flood-tide of the revolutionary sea rose triumphantly in 1789 and, +untroubled by any doubts, drowned the old world. But when everything was +covered by its waves, and when mitres, plumed hats, and heads without +bodies (among them one wearing a crown) had bobbed up for a moment and +sunk again to the bottom, then for the first time a fearful freedom +and emptiness was felt. The forces set free attacked one another, then +stopped, exhausted; they had nothing to do, they waited for the events +of the day as casual labourers wait for work. Those standing armies of +the Revolution boiled with martial energy, but there was no war to fight; +above all, there was no clear aim to fight for. And when there is no aim, +anything may become the aim. Napoleon assured them that he was the aim, +that war was the aim, and set blood flowing faster than the revolutionary +tide had flooded the world with ideas. + +Mazzini saw that, and, before uttering his final verdict, he looked +beyond the political walls. There he was met by the colossal egotism +of Goethe, his serene callousness, his interest as of a naturalist in +human affairs; there he was met by the self-consuming colossal egotism +of Byron; the poetry of scorn beside the poetry of contemplation; +lamentation, laughter, proud flight, and revulsion from the modern world +beside the haughty satisfaction in it. The heroes of Byron impress +Mazzini; he tries to discover the origin of these strange hermits with +no religion and no monastery, these egoists, concentrated on themselves, +useless, unhappy, without work, without fatherland, without interests, +these ascetics, ready for sacrifices which they know not how to make, +ready to despise themselves as human beings. And again Mazzini stumbles +upon the same cause. Byron’s heroes are lacking in faith, in an objective +ideal; the poet’s vision, turning aside from his barren, repellent +surroundings, was reduced to the lyrical expression of states of feeling, +to the impulses of activity turned inwards, to morbid nerves, to the +spiritual abysses where madness and sense, vice and virtue, lose their +limits and turn to phantoms, to gnawing remorse and, at the same time, +morbid ecstasy. + +Mazzini’s active spirit could not stop at this analysis of the malady. +At all costs he longed to find motive for action, the word of a new +faith,—and he found them. + +Now the lever is in his hands. He will turn the world upside-down, he +will re-create Europe, he will exchange the coffin for the cradle, will +turn the demolishers into architects, will solve the problem of society +and the individual, of freedom and authority, will give faith to the +heart without robbing the mind of reason.... What, you may wonder, is +this _magnum ignotum_? _The unity and freedom of Italy with ancient Rome +for its centre._ + +In all this, of course, there is no place for analysis nor for criticism. +Was it not because Mazzini had found a new revelation, a new redemption +of the world, and an Italian _resorgimiento_, that he failed to foresee +one thing—Cavour? He must have hated Cavour more than Antonelli. Cavour +was the prose translation of his poem, he fulfilled the prosaic part of +Mazzini’s programme, _à la longue_ Rome and Venice will follow suit. +Cavour is the Italian Martha, thwarting the all-absorbing dream of the +Italian Mary with household trivialities; and while Mary, with tender +ecstasy, saw the redemption of the world in liberated Italy, Martha was +cutting out a Belgian dress for Italy, and the country, pleased that the +new garment did not pinch her, went along the beaten European track, the +great trade route, though there is no reaching a regeneration of the +world without risking a more perilous path. + +The fanatic Mazzini was mistaken; the immensity of his error made +Cavour and United Italy possible. But for us it matters little how +Mazzini solved the question; what is of interest to us is that as soon +as a Western European stands on his own feet and shakes off ready-made +formulas, as soon as he begins to look at the state of contemporary +Europe, he is conscious of something amiss, he feels that things are +not going the right way, that progress has taken the wrong turning. +Revolutionaries and conservatives can easily cheat this feeling by +replacing what they lack with the principle of nationalism, especially +if, luckily for them, their native country is under foreign rule. But +what comes next? What are they to do when they have established the +independence of their people? Or what are they to do if it is already +independent? + +Mazzini, conscious of the emptiness of the democratic idea, points to +the emancipation of Italy from the ‘Tedeschi.’ Stuart Mill sees that +everything around him is growing vulgar and petty; he looks with despair +at the overwhelming myriads of petty bourgeois massed together like +pressed caviare, with no initiative, no understanding, but in England +they have no Austrian yoke, no Pope, no Neapolitan Bourbon. What is to be +done there? + +I foresee the wrath of our bond-slaves of the factories of learning and +the foundries of scholasticism; I can see how malignantly in the light +of day they will look at me with their night-owls’ eyes and say: ‘What +nonsense is he talking? As though historical development could turn +aside, as though it did not move according to its laws, like the planets +which never turn aside, and never break away from their orbits.’ + +To this last contention it may be said that anything may happen, and +that there is no reason why a planet should not sometimes break away +from its orbit. Saturn’s ring has been preserved and revolves with it, +while Jupiter’s necklace has broken into separate beads, and the earth +has one moon like a cataract in the eye. But one has but to glance into +a hospital instead of an observatory to see how the living _go off +the track_, develop in their abnormality and carry it to comparative +perfection, distorting and sometimes destroying the whole organism. The +delicate equilibrium of every living creature is uncertain and to some +extent adapts itself to abnormalities: but one step too far in that +direction, and the overstrained knot is broken and the elements released +form into new combinations. + +The general laws, of course, remain the same, but they may vary in their +particular applications, till they appear absolutely opposite in their +manifestations. Fluff flies and lead falls in obedience to the same law. + +In the absence of a set plan and fixed date, of a yard-measure and a +clock, development in nature and in history, far from not being able to +turn aside, is bound to be continually turning aside, in accordance with +every influence and by virtue of its irresponsible passivity and lack of +definite aim. In the individual organism the deviation reveals itself by +pain, and the warning of pain often comes too late. Complex, composite +organisms fly off at a tangent and are carried downhill, unconscious of +the road or the danger, owing to the constant change of generations. +There is very little possibility of stopping the deviation, arresting the +downward flight or overtaking it, and there is little desire to do so; +such a desire would in every case presuppose consciousness and aim. + +Consciousness is a very different thing from practical application. Pain +does not cure, but calls for treatment. The diagnosis may be correct, +but the treatment may be bad; one may have no knowledge of medicine, yet +clearly perceive the disease. To demand a cure from a man who points out +some evil is exceedingly rash. The Christians who wept over the sins of +this world, the socialists who exposed the sores of the social order, and +we, dissatisfied, ungrateful children of civilisation, we are not the +physicians, we are the pain; what will come of our moaning and groaning +we do not know; but the pain is recorded. + +We are confronted with a civilisation which has developed consistently on +the basis of a landless proletariat and the unlimited right of the owner +over his property. What Sieyès prophesied has come to pass: the middle +class has become all-important because it possesses property. Whether +we know how to emerge from petty-bourgeois rule to the rule of the +people or not, we have the right to regard bourgeois rule as a one-sided +development, a monstrosity. + +By the word monstrosity, disease, we commonly understand something +unnatural, exceptional, not reflecting that abnormality and disease are +more _natural_ than the normal, which is merely the algebraical formula +of the organism, an abstraction, a generalisation, an ideal formed +from different particulars by the exclusion of what is accidental. The +deviation and the abnormality follow the same law as the organisms; if +they were not subjected to it, the organism would die. But, in addition +to that, they rest on their peculiar rights, they have their private +laws, the consequences of which we have again the right to deduce, +apart from any ability to correct them. Seeing that the forepart of the +giraffe has acquired a one-sided development, we could surmise that this +development was at the expense of the hind part, and that in consequence +there would infallibly be a series of defects in his organism +corresponding with his one-sided development, but for him natural and +comparatively normal. + +Bourgeoisie makes up the forepart of the European camelopard; that might +be disputed, if the fact were not so obvious; but, once that is accepted, +we cannot overlook all the consequences of this supremacy of the shop and +trade. It is clear that the man at the helm of this world will be the +tradesman, and that he will set his trademark on all its manifestations. +The ineptitude of an aristocracy by birth and the misery of a proletariat +by birth are equally helpless against him. The government must die +of hunger or become his menial; its comrades in unproductivity, the +guardians of the human race in its immaturity, the lawyers, notaries, +judges and such, are equally under his yoke. Together with his supremacy, +the whole of moral life is degraded, and Stuart Mill, for instance, +did not exaggerate when he talked of the narrowing of men’s minds and +energies, the filing down of individuality, life continually becoming +more shallow, and wide human interests being continually more excluded +from it by its being confined to the interests of the counting-house and +bourgeois prosperity. Mill says plainly that, going by that road, England +will become a second China; to which we would add, and not England alone. + +Perhaps some crisis will save us from the Chinese decay. But whence +and how will it come, and will the aged body survive it? That I cannot +tell, nor can Stuart Mill. Experience has taught us; more cautious than +Mazzini, we humbly adhere to the point of view of the dissector. We know +of no remedies and have little faith in surgery. + +I have been particularly fortunate, I have lived next door to the +hospital and have had a first-rate seat in the anatomical theatre; I +had not to look in the atlas, nor to attend lectures on parliamentary +therapeutics, nor theoretical pathology; disease, death, and dissolution +were taking place before my eyes. + +The death agony of the July monarchy, the fever of the Papacy, the +premature birth of the Republic and her death, the June days following +on the February twilight, all Europe in a fit of somnambulism falling +from the roof of the Pantheon into the muddy pond of the police! And then +ten years in the spacious museum of pathological anatomy, the London +Exhibition of specimens of all the progressive parties in Europe, side by +side with the indigenous specimens of every form of conservatism from the +times of the Judean high priests to the Puritans of Scotland. + +Ten years! + +I had leisure to look deeply into that life, into what was going on +around me; but my opinion has not changed since in 1848 I ventured, not +without horror, to decipher on the brow of those men the _Vixerunt_ of +Cicero! + +With every year I struggle more and more against the lack of +comprehension of men here, their indifference to every interest, to +every truth, the trivial frivolity of their senile intellects, the +impossibility of persuading them that routine is not the infallible +criterion, and that habit proves nothing. Sometimes I stop short, I fancy +that the worst time is over, I try to be inconsistent: I fancy, for +instance, that suppressed speech in France is growing into thought.... I +expect, I hope.... Exceptions do happen sometimes.... Something seems to +be dawning.... No, nothing! + +And no one feels this.... People look at you with a sort of pity as +at one deranged.... But I have happened to meet with old, old men who +shake their heads very mournfully. Evidently these old men are ill at +ease with the strangers of their household, that is, with their sons and +grandsons.... + +Yes, _caro mio_, there is still in the life of to-day a great type for a +poet, a type altogether untouched.... The artist who would look intently +at the grandfathers and grandsons, at the fathers and children, and +fearlessly, mercilessly embody them in a gloomy, terrible poem, would be +the laureate at the graveside of this world. + +That type—the type of the Don Quixote of the Revolution, the old man +of 1789, living out his old age on the bread of his grandsons, French +petty bourgeois grown rich—has more than once moved me to horror and +depression. Think of him a little and your hair will stand on end. + + ISLE OF WIGHT, COWES. + + _July 20, 1862._ + + +Letter 3 + +... Phew, what a disgusting summer! Cold, darkness, sleet, continual +winds, constant irritation of the nerves and also of the membrane of the +nose; and all that has been going on for three months, and there were +seven months before that on this side of the Sign of the Ram. + +At last the sun has come out in a cloudless sky. The sea is smooth and +sparkling. I am sitting at my window in a tiny farm; I cannot take my +eyes off it; it is so long since I saw the sun and the distance. To-day +it is actually warm. I am simply delighted, seeing that Nature is not +played out yet. The rejoicing is endless: bees and birds are flying, +buzzing, singing, droning; in the little yard of the farm the cock, dry +at last, is crowing his loudest; and the old dog, oblivious of his age +and social position, lies on his back like a puppy, with his legs in the +air, rolling from side to side with an unconscious epicurean growl. There +are no people to be seen from my window, but fields, trees, and gardens +without end; in spite of the sea on one side, this view reminds one of +our great Russian landscapes, and there is the scent of grass and trees, +too. + +It was more than time for the weather to improve, for I had really begun +to be afraid not of a social, but of a geological catastrophe; I had +begun to expect that after ten months of bad weather Europe would crack, +and by volcanic means cut the Gordian knot of contemporary problems and +_impasses_, bidding those who will to begin, not from their ABC, but from +a second Adam. + +You, as a poet and idealist, probably don’t believe in such nonsense, but +Lamé,[30] as one of the greatest mathematicians of our age, is not of +that opinion. He fancies that the equilibrium of the crowded continents +is very insecure, and that, taking also into account their rapid movement +in one direction, and certain facts of the shifting of contours in +Iceland, the earthly globe may crack in Europe at any moment. He has even +drawn up a series of formulas and made a series of calculations.... But +there is no need to frighten you; the crack won’t reach as far as the +province of Orel. + +We had better, taking advantage of the phenomenally fine weather, return +to our discussion of ‘Ends and Beginnings,’ and if the earthquake comes +it will settle things. + +The Don Quixote of the Revolution sticks in my head. That austere, tragic +type is vanishing, vanishing like the aurochs of the White Russian +forest, like the Red Indian, and there is no artist to record his old +clear-cut features, marked with the traces of every sorrow, every grief +that comes from general principles and faith in humanity and reason. +Soon these features will perish, still unyielding, still wearing an +expression of proud and reproachful disdain, then their image will be +effaced and the memory of man will lose one of its noblest and loftiest +types. + +These are the peaks in which the mountain range of the eighteenth century +ends; with them it reaches the limit; with them a series of ascending +efforts breaks off. There is no reaching a higher level through volcanic +action. + +Titans, left after the struggle, after defeat, representatives of +unsatisfied ambitions, for all their Titanic effort turn from great +men into melancholy Don Quixotes. History rises and falls between the +prophets and the Knights of the Grievous Countenance. Roman patricians, +republicans, stoics of the early ages, hermits fleeing into the +wilderness from a Christianity vulgarised into the official religion, +Puritans who passed a whole century gnashing their teeth over failure +to attain their tedious ideal—all these, left by the retreating tide, +obstinately struggling forward and sticking in the mud, unsupported by +the wave, all are Don Quixotes, but Don Quixotes who have found their +Cervantes. For the champions of the early church, there are volumes of +legends, there are ikons and paintings, there are mosaics and sculpture. +The type of Puritanism is firmly fixed in English literature and in Dutch +painting, but the type of the Don Quixote of the Revolution is fading +before our eyes, growing rarer and rarer, and no one thinks of even +photographing it. + +Fanatics of earthly religion, dreamers not of the Kingdom of Heaven, +but of the Kingdom of Man, they are left the last sentinels of the +ideal, long ago deserted by the army; in gloomy solitude they stand for +half a century, incapable of changing, still expecting the coming of +the republic on earth. The ground sinks lower and lower; they refuse +to see it. I still come upon some of these apostles of the ’nineties; +their clear-cut, melancholy, striking figures, standing out above two +generations, seem to me like austere, immovable Memnons, falling into +ruins stone by stone in the Egyptian desert.... While at their feet tiny +men and little camels swarm, bustle, drag their goods, hardly visible +through the whirling sand. + +Death gives more and more warning of his approach; the aged, lustreless +eye is sterner, grows weary with the effort of seeking a successor, +looking for one to whom to yield place and honour. Son?—the old man +frowns. Grandson?—he waves his hand in despair. Poor King Lear in +democracy, whenever he turns his dimming eyes upon those of his own +household, everywhere he is met by lack of understanding, lack of +sympathy, disapproval, half-concealed reproach, petty considerations +and petty interests. They are afraid, before strangers, of his Jacobin +words; they beg pardon for him, pointing to his scanty grey hair. His +daughter-in-law worries him to be reconciled with the Church, and a +Jesuit _abbé_ flits in at times, like a passing crow, to see what +strength and consciousness is left, so as to catch him for God in his +deathbed delirium. Well it is for Citoyen Lear if there is somewhere in +his neighbourhood a Citoyen Kent who finds that ‘he is every inch’ a hero +of 1794, some obscure comrade of Santerre,[31] a soldier of the army of +Marceau and Hoche, Citoyen Spartacus Brutus junior, childishly faithful +to his tradition, and proudly keeping shop with the hand which held a +lance crowned with the Phrygian cap. Lear will visit him sometimes to +relieve his heart, to shake his head, and to recall old days, with their +immense hopes, with their great events, to abuse Tallien[32] ... and +Barras[32] ... the Restoration, with its _cafards_, the shopkeeper king, +and _ce traître de Lamartine_. Both _know_ that the hour of revolution +will strike, that the people will awaken like a lion and again hoist the +Phrygian cap, and one of them will fall asleep in these dreams. + +Scowling Lear will follow the coffin of Spartacus Brutus junior, or +Spartacus Brutus junior, not concealing his profound loathing of all +the kindred of the deceased, will follow the coffin of Lear, and of the +two majestic figures one only will be left, and that one absolutely +superfluous. + +‘He, too, is no more; he, too, has not lived to see it,’ thinks the old +man who is left, as he comes back from the funeral. Can superstition and +monarchy, the party of Pitt and of Coburg, have triumphed for good and +all? Can all our long lifetime, our efforts, our sacrifices?... No, that +cannot be; the truth is on our side, and the victory will be with us.... +Reason and justice will triumph, in France first of all, of course, and +then in all humanity, and ‘Vive la République Une et Indivisible’! The +old man at eighty prays with his aged lips, just as another old man, +giving up his soul in peace to his Maker, murmurs ‘Thy Kingdom come,’ and +both tranquilly close their eyes and do not see that neither the Kingdom +of Heaven on earth nor the sole and indivisible Republic in France is +coming at all, and do not see it, because not the Lord but their decaying +body has received their soul in peace. + +Holy Don Quixotes, the earth rest lightly upon you! + +This fanatical conviction of the possibility of bringing about harmonious +order and the common weal, of the possibility of realising the truth +because it is the truth, this renunciation of everything private and +personal, this devotion which survives every ordeal, every blow, is the +topmost peak.... The mountain ends there; higher, beyond, is icy air, +darkness, nothing. We must go down again. Why cannot we go on? Why does +not Mont Blanc stand on Chimborazo and one of the Himalayas continue +them? That would be a mountain! + +But no—every geological cataclysm has its romance, its mountain poem, its +individual peaks of granite and of basalt, whose mass towers above the +lower slopes. Monuments of the revolutions of the planets, they have long +ago been overgrown with forest and moss, bearing witness to thousands of +years of immobility. Our pioneers of the Revolution have left their Alps +in history; the traces of their titanic efforts have not passed away, and +it will be long before they pass. What more would you have? + +Yes, that is enough for history. It has its own wholesale, ruthless +valuation; in it, as in the description of battles, we have the movement +of companies, the action of artillery, the attack of the left flank, the +retreat of the right; it has its leading figures, the ‘30th Light Cavalry +and afterwards the 45th.’ The bulletin goes no further; it is satisfied +with the sum total of the dead, but the ‘fifth act’ of every soldier goes +further, and it has a purely civilian interest. + +What was not endured by these men of the latest flood-tide, left stranded +in the slime and mud by its ebb! What did not these fathers endure—more +solitary in their own families than monks in their cells! What terrible +conflicts every hour, every day!... What moments of weariness and despair? + +Is it not strange that in the long series of ‘_Misérables_’ brought +before us by Victor Hugo there are old men ... but _the_ miserable old +man _par excellence_ is thrust into the background, neglected? Hugo +scarcely noticed that side by side with the agonising sense of guilt +there is another anguish, the agonising sense of one’s useless rectitude, +the recognition of one’s fruitless superiority over the feebleness of +every young creature near that has survived.... The great rhetorician and +poet, while dealing with the sorrowful lives in modern France, scarcely +touches upon the greatest sorrow in the world—that of the old man, young +in soul, surrounded by a generation growing more and more shallow. + +Beside them what are the poignant but useless and purely subjective +sufferings of Jean Valjean described with such wearisome minuteness in +Hugo’s omnibus of a novel? Of course, one may feel compassion for every +form of unhappiness, but one cannot feel deep sympathy for all. The pain +of a broken leg and the pain of a broken life stir a different kind of +sympathy. + +We are not sufficiently Frenchmen to understand such ideals as Jean +Valjean, and to sympathise with such heroes of the police as Javert. To +us Javert is simply loathsome. Probably Hugo had no idea, when he drew +this typically national figure of the jackal of Law and Order, how he was +branding his ‘charming France.’ In Jean Valjean all we can understand +is his external struggle of the good-luckless wild beast, baited by a +whole pack of hunting dogs. His inner conflict does not touch us; this +man, so strong in will and muscles, is in reality a singularly weak man. +A saintly convict, an Ilya Muromets[33] from the galleys of Toulon, an +acrobat at fifty, and a lovesick boy at almost sixty, he is a mass of +superstition. He believes in the brand on his shoulder, he believes in +his sentence, he believes that he is an outcast, because thirty years +ago he stole a loaf, and that not for himself. His virtue is morbid +remorse, his love is senile jealousy. His strained existence is raised to +truly tragic significance only at the end of the book by the heartless +narrow-mindedness of Cosette’s husband and the boundless ingratitude of +herself. And here Jean Valjean really has something in common with our +old men—the remorse of the one and the rectitude of the others blend in +burning suffering. The mercury frozen in the thermometer scalds like the +molten lead of the bullet. The consciousness of rectitude, consuming +half the heart, half the existence, is as painful as the gnawings of +conscience, and worse indeed. In the latter case there is the relief +of confession, the prospect of reward; in the former there is nothing. +Between the old man of the ’nineties—fanatic, dreamer, idealist—and the +son, older than he in prudence, good sense, and disillusionment, the +son so extremely well satisfied with things on a lower plane, and the +grandson who, swaggering in his uniform of _Guide Impérial_, dreams of +how to get a berth as a _sous-préfet pour exploiter sa position_, the +natural relation is violated, the balance is destroyed, and the normal +succession of generations is distorted. + +Jean Valjean in his aged virginity, in his lyrical personal +concentration, did not himself know what he wanted from the younger +generation. What did he really want from Cosette? Could she have been +a friend to him? In the inexperienced innocence of his heart, he went +beyond the love of a father.... He wanted to love her exclusively for his +own sake, and a father’s love is not like that. Moreover, though he has +mentally been draping himself all his life in the jacket of a convict, +he is crushed under the burden of repulsion evinced for him by the very +narrow-minded young man—the typical representative of a generation +sinking into vulgarity. + +I don’t know what Hugo meant to make of his Marius, but to me he is as +much a type of his generation as Javert is of his. In the instincts +of the young man there is still a glimmer of the virtues of another +period—warm and generous impulses, with no reflection, no roots, almost +no significance, springing from tradition and example. There is in him +no trace of the leaven of the eighteenth century, that restless itch +for analysis and criticism, that menacing summons of everything in the +world to the test of the intellect; he has no intellect, but he is +still a good comrade; he goes to the barricades, not knowing what is to +come afterwards; he lives by routine, and, knowing _à code ouvert_ what +is good and what is evil, troubles his head as little about it as a +man who knows for certain that it is sinful to eat meat in Lent. With +this generation, the revolutionary epoch comes finally to a standstill +and begins its descent; another generation, and there will be no more +generous impulses; everything will fall into its commonplace routine, +personality will be effaced, and the succession of individual specimens +will be scarcely perceptible in the daily routine of life. + +I imagine that there must have been something of the sort in the +development of animals. The species in course of formation stirring +towards what is above its strength, while failing to make the most of +its powers, has gradually gained equilibrium and proportion, and lost +its anatomical eccentricities and physiological excesses while gaining +fertility, and beginning from generation to generation, from age to +age, to repeat its distinct form and its individuality in the image and +semblance of the first forefather who adopted steady habits. + +When the species is evolved development almost stops; at any rate, it is +slower and on a humbler scale, as it is with our planet. Having reached +a certain stage of cooling, it changes its crust very slowly; there are +floods, but there are no world-wide deluges; there are earthquakes here +and there, there is no universal cataclysm. Species become stationary, +and are consolidated in various forms more or less one-sided in one +direction or another, and are satisfied with them; they are scarcely able +to escape from them, and if they did, or if they do, the result would be +just as one-sided. The mollusc does not try to become a crab, the crab a +trout, or Holland Sweden.... If we could presuppose ideals in animals, +the ideal of a crab would still be a crab, but with a more perfect +equipment. The nearer a country is to its final condition, the more it +regards itself as the centre of all civilisation and of every perfection, +like China, which stands unrivalled; like England and France, which in +their antagonism, in their rivalry, in their mutual hatred, never doubt +each that she is the foremost country in the world. Some species are at +rest in the position they have attained; development continues in the +unfinished species, beside the finished which have completed their cycles. + +Everywhere where human swarms and ant-heaps have attained comparative +prosperity and equilibrium, progress becomes slower and slower, +imagination and ideals are dimmed. The satisfaction of the rich and +the strong suppresses the efforts of the poor and the weak. Religion +appears as the comforter of all the heavy laden. Everything that gnaws +at the heart, that makes men suffer, every craving left unsatisfied on +earth, all are set right and satisfied in the eternal realm of Ormuzd, +loftier than the Himalayas at the foot of Jehovah’s throne. And the more +unrepiningly men endure the temporary sorrows of earthly life, the fuller +the heavenly consolation, and that for no brief period, but for ever and +ever. It is a pity that we know little of the inner story of the Asiatic +peoples who have dropped out of history, know little of those uneventful +periods which preceded the violent inroads of savage races who devastated +everything, or the predatory civilisation which uprooted or reconstructed +everything. It would show us in simple and elementary form, in those +plastic biblical images which only the East creates, the transition of +the people from historical upheavals into a peaceful _status quo_ of +life, persisting in the accepted, untroubled sequence of generations, +like winter into spring, spring into summer.... + +With slow, untroubled steps England is advancing to that repose, to +that unruffled stagnation of forms, ideas, convictions. The other day +_The Times_ congratulated her on the lack of interest in parliamentary +debates, on the unrepining submission with which workmen starve to death, +‘while so lately their fathers, the contemporaries of O’Connor,’ agitated +the country with their menacing murmurs. As firmly as an aged oak stands +the English Church, its roots deep in the soil, graciously tolerating all +forms of Dissent, and convinced that they will not move far away. + +Swaggering and resisting, as is her wont, France is shoved backwards +while making a show of progress. Behind these giants will come in two +columns others, once prophetically united under one sceptre ... on the +one hand, the thin, austere, ascetic type of the Spaniard, brooding +without thought, enthusiastic without an object, anxious without cause, +taking everything to heart, unable to improve anything, in short, a type +of a true Don Quixote de la Mancha; on the other, the sturdy Dutchman, +content when he has had a good meal, reminiscent of Sancho Panza. + +Is not the reason that the children of to-day are older than their +fathers, older than their grandfathers, and able _à la_ Dumas junior +to talk of their ‘prodigal fathers,’ that senility is the leading +characteristic of the present age? At any rate, wherever I look I see +grey hairs, wrinkles, bent backs, last wills and testaments, balanced +accounts, funerals, _ends_, and I am always seeking and seeking +beginnings. They are only to be found in theories and abstractions. + + _August 10, 1862._ + + +Letter 4 + +Last summer a friend, a Saratov landowner, and a great Fourierist, came +to see me in Devonshire. + +Please don’t be angry with me (it was not the landowner who said that to +me, but I who say it to you) for so continually wandering from the point. +Parentheses are my joy and my misfortune. A French literary man of the +days of the Restoration, a classic and a purist, more than once said to +me, taking a pinch of snuff in the prolonged academic fashion which will +soon have passed away altogether: ‘_Notre ami abuse de la parenthèse avec +intempérance!_’ It is for the sake of digressions and parentheses that I +prefer writing in the form of letters, especially letters to friends; one +can write without check whatever comes into one’s head. + +Well, so my Saratov Fourierist came to Devonshire and said to me: ‘Do you +know what is odd? I have just been for the first time in Paris. Well—of +course ... it is all very fine, but, seriously speaking, Paris is a dull +place—really dull!’ + +‘What next?’ I said to him. + +‘Upon my soul, it is.’ + +‘But why did you expect it to be amusing?’ + +‘Upon my word, after the wilds of Saratov!’ + +‘Perhaps it is just owing to that. But were not you bored in Paris +because it’s so excessively gay there?’ + +‘You are just as silly as you always were.’ + +‘Not at all. London, looking like a permanent autumn, is more to our +taste; though the boredom here, too, is awful.’ + +‘Where is it better, then? It seems the old proverb is right. It is where +we are not!’ + +‘I don’t know: but it must be supposed that it is not very nice there +either.’ + +This conversation, though it is apparently not very long, nor +particularly important, stirred in me a whole series of old notions +concerning the absence of a sort of fish-glue in the brain of the modern +man; that is why his mind is cloudy and thick with sediment—new theories, +old habits, new habits, old theories. + +And what logic! I say it is dull in Paris and London, and he answers, +‘Where is it better, then?’ Not noticing that this was the line of +argument employed by our house-serfs of the old style: in reply to the +observation, ‘I fancy you are drunk, my boy,’ they answered, ‘Well, did +you stand treat?’ What grounds are there for the idea that men are happy +anywhere? that they can or ought to be happy? And what men? And happy +in what? Let us assume that men do have a better life in one place than +another. Why are Paris and London the pinnacles of this better life? + +Is it from Reichardt’s guidebook? + +Paris and London are closing a volume of world-history—a volume in which +few pages remain uncut. People, trying with all their might to turn +them as quickly as possible, are surprised that as they approach the +end there is more in the past than in the present, and are vexed that +the two fullest representatives of Western Europe are setting together +with it. The audacity and recklessness in general conversations which +float, as once the Spirit of God, over the waters, are terrific, but +as soon as it comes to action, or even to a critical appreciation of +events, all is forgotten, and the old weights and measures are hauled +out of the grandmother’s storeroom. Worn-out forms can only be restored +by a complete rebirth: Western Europe must rise up like the Phoenix in a +baptism of fire. + +‘Oh, well, in God’s name, into the flames with it.’ + +What if it does not rise up again, but singes its beautiful feathers, or +maybe is burnt to ashes? + +In that case continue to baptize it with water, and don’t be bored in +Paris. Take my father, for example: he spent eight years in Paris and +was never bored there. Thirty years afterwards he was fond of describing +the fêtes given by the maréchals and by Napoleon himself, the suppers at +the Palais Royal in company with actresses and opera dancers, decked in +diamonds that had been wrenched out of conquered royal crowns, of the +Yussupovs, the Tyufyakins and other _princes russes_ who lost there more +souls of peasants than were laid low at Borodino. With various changes +and _un peu plus canaille_ the same thing exists even now. The generals +of finance give banquets as good as those of the generals of the army. +The suppers have moved from the Rue St. Honoré to the Champs-Élysées and +the Bois de Boulogne. But you are a serious person; you prefer to look +behind the scenes of world-history rather than behind the scenes of the +Opera.... Here you have a parliament, even two. What more do you want?... +With what envy and heartache I used to listen to people who had come home +from Europe in the ’thirties, as though they had robbed me of everything +they had seen and I had not seen. They, too, had not been bored, but had +great hopes, some of Odilon Barrot, some of Cobden. You, too, must learn +not to be bored; and in any case be a little consistent; and if you still +feel dull, try to find the cause. You may find that your demands are +fantastic, then you must try to get over it; that it is the boredom of +idleness, of emptiness, of not knowing how to adapt yourself. And perhaps +you will find something else: that you are bored because Paris and London +have no answer to make to the yearnings that are growing stronger and +stronger in the heart of the man of to-day—which does not prevent their +standing for the highest culture and most brilliant result of the past, +and being rich endings of a rich period. + +I have said this a dozen times. But it is impossible to avoid +repetitions. Persons of experience are well aware of it. I spoke to +Proudhon of the fact that articles which are almost identical, with only +slight variations, often appeared in his journal. + +‘And do you imagine,’ Proudhon answered, ‘that once a thing has been +said, it is enough? That a new idea will be accepted straight off? You +are mistaken. It has to be repeated, it has to be dinned into people, +repeated over and over again, so that the mind is no longer surprised by +it, so that it is not merely understood, but is assimilated, and obtains +real rights of citizenship in the brain.’ + +Proudhon was perfectly right. There are two or three ideas which are +particularly precious to me; I have been repeating them for about fifteen +years; fact upon fact confirms them with unnecessary abundance. Part of +what I anticipated has come to pass, the other part is coming to pass +before our eyes, yet these ideas seem as wild, as unaccepted, as they +were. + +And what is most mortifying, people seem to understand you; they agree, +but your ideas remain like aliens in their heads, always irrelevant, +never passing into that integral part of consciousness and the moral +being, which as a rule forms the undisputed foundation of our acts and +opinions. + +It is owing to this inconsistency that people apparently highly cultured +are continually being startled by the unexpected, caught unawares, +indignant with the inevitable, struggle with the insurmountable, pass by +what is springing into life, and apply all sorts of remedies to those who +are at their last gasp. They know that their watch was properly set, but, +like the late ‘unlamented’ Kleinmihel, cannot grasp that the meridian is +not the same. + +Pedantry and scholasticism prevent men from grasping things with simple +lively understanding more than do superstition and ignorance. With +the latter the instincts are left, hardly conscious, but trustworthy; +moreover, ignorance does not exclude passionate enthusiasm, and +superstition does not exclude inconsistency, while pedantry is always +true to itself. + +At the time of the Italian war a simple-hearted, worthy professor +lectured on the great triumphs of ‘international law,’ describing how the +principles of Hugo Grotius had developed and entered into the conscience +of nations and governments, how questions which had in old times been +decided by rivers of blood and the miseries of entire provinces, of whole +generations, were now settled, like civil disputes between private +persons, on the principles of national right. + +Who, apart from some old professional condottiere, would not agree with +the professor that this is one of the greatest victories of humanity +and culture over brute violence? The trouble is not that the lecturer’s +judgment is wrong, but that humanity is very far from having gained this +victory. + +While the professor in eloquent words was inspiring his young audience to +the contemplation of these triumphs of peace, very different commentaries +on international law were taking place on the fields of Magenta and +Solferino. It would not have been easy for any international court to +avert the Italian war, since there was no international cause for it, for +there was no subject in dispute. Napoleon waged this war as a remedial +measure to pacify the French by the gymnastics of liberation and the +galvanic shocks of victory. What Grotius or Vattel[34] could have solved +such a problem? How was it possible to avert a war which was essential +for domestic interests? If it had not been Austria the French would +have had to beat somebody else. One can only rejoice that the Austrians +presented themselves. + +Then, India, Pekin—war waged by democrats to maintain the slavery of +the blacks, war waged by republicans to obtain the slavery of political +unity. And the professor goes on lecturing; his audience are touched; +they fancy that they have heard the last creak of the gates of the +temple of Janus, that the warriors have laid down their weapons, put on +crowns of myrtle and taken up the distaff, that the demobilised armies +are tilling the fields.... And all this at the very moment when England +is covered with volunteers, when at every step you meet a uniform, +when every shopkeeper has a gun, when the French and Austrian armies +stand with lighted matches, and even a prince—I think it was of Hesse +Cassel—put on a military footing and armed with revolvers the two hussars +who had from the time of the Congress of Vienna ridden peacefully without +weapons behind his carriage. + +If war breaks out again—and that depends on thousands of chances, on +one casual shot—in Rome or on the borders of Lombardy, a sea of blood +would flow from Warsaw to London. The professor would be surprised, the +professor would be pained. But one would have thought he should not be +surprised nor pained. The trend of history is plain for all to see! The +misfortune of the doctrinaires is that they, like our Diderot, shut their +eyes when arguing, that they may not see that their opponent wants to +retort; and their opponent is nature itself, history itself. + +To complete the absurdity we ought not to lose sight of the fact that +in abstract logic the professor is right, and that if not a hundred but +a hundred million men had grasped the principles of Grotius and Vattel, +they would not slaughter each other either for the sake of exercise or +for the sake of a bit of land. But the misfortune is that under the +present political _régime_ only a hundred and not a hundred million men +can understand the principles of Grotius and Vattel. + +That is why neither lectures nor sermons have any effect, that is why +neither the learned fathers nor the spiritual fathers can bring us any +relief; the monks of knowledge, like the monks of ignorance, know nothing +outside the walls of their monasteries, do not test their theories by +facts, their deductions by events, and, while men are perishing from the +eruption of the volcano, they are blissfully beating time, listening to +the music of the heavenly spheres and marvelling at its harmony. + +Lord Bacon long ago divided the learned into the spiders and the bees. +There are periods in which the spiders are distinctly in the ascendancy, +and then masses of spiders’ webs are spun, but little honey is gathered. +There are conditions of life which are particularly favourable to +spiders. Lime trees, thickets, and flowering meadows, above all, wings +and a social conception of life, are necessary for the production of +honey. A quiet corner, untroubled leisure, plenty of dust, and lack of +interest in anything outside the inner process, is all that is needed for +producing spiders’ webs. + +At ordinary times it is even possible to saunter along the dusty, smooth +highroad without breaking the spiders’ webs, but as soon as it comes to +crossing rough ground and hillocks there is trouble. + +There was a really good, quiet period of European history beginning with +Waterloo and lasting till the year 1848. There was no war then, but +plenty of international law and standing armies. + +The governments openly encouraged ‘true enlightenment’ and quietly +suppressed the _false_; there was not much freedom, but there was not +much slavery; even the despotic rulers were all good-natured in the +style of the patriarchal Francis II., the pious Friedrich Wilhelm, and +Alexander the friend of Araktcheyev. The King of Naples and Nicholas came +by way of dessert. Manufactures flourished, trade flourished even more, +factories worked, masses of books were written; it was the golden age for +all the spiders; in academic retreats and in the libraries of the learned +endless spiders’ webs were spun!... + +History, criminal and civil law, international law, and religion itself, +were all brought into the region of pure science and thence dropped in +lacy fringes of spider’s web. The spiders swung at their own sweet will +in their meshes, never touching the earth. Which was very fortunate, +however, since the earth was covered with other crawling insects, who +stood for the idea of the state _armed for self-defence_, and clapped +over-bold spiders into Spandau and other fortresses. The doctrinaires +understood everything most perfectly _à vol d’araignée_. The progress of +humanity was as certain in those days as the route mapped out for the +Most High when he travelled incognito—from stage to stage with horses +ready at the stations. And then came—February the 24th, June the 24th, +the 25th, the 26th, and December the 2nd. + +These flies were too big for a spider’s web. + +Even the comparatively slight shock of the July revolution gave the +final death-blow to such giants as Niebuhr and Hegel. But its triumph +was still to the advantage of the doctrinaires; the journalists, the +Collège de France, the political economists sat on the top steps of the +throne beside the Orleans dynasty, those who remained alive recovered and +adapted themselves somehow to 1830; they would have probably got on all +right even with the republic of the troubadour, Lamartine. + +But how could they compromise with the days of June? + +How could they live with the 2nd of December? + + * * * * * + +Of course, Gervinus teaches us that an epoch of centralisation and +despotism necessarily follows a democratic revolution, but yet something +seemed amiss. Some began asking whether we should not go back to the +Middle Ages, others simply urged a return to Catholicism. The fakirs +of the Revolution pointed out with undeviating finger along the whole +railway line of time to the year 1793; the doctrinaires went on lecturing +regardless of facts, in the expectation that mankind will have had its +fling and return to Solomon’s temple of wisdom. + +Ten years have passed. + +Nothing of all that has come off. England has not become Catholic, +as Donoso-Cortès desired; the nineteenth century has not become the +thirteenth, as some of the Germans desired; the peoples resolutely +refuse French fraternity (or death!), international law after the pattern +of the Peace Society, honourable poverty after Proudhon, and a Kirghiz +diet of milk and honey. + +While the Catholics.... + +The mediaevalists.... + +The fakirs of 1793.... + +And all the doctrinaires go on preaching.... + +Where is humanity going since it despises such authorities? + +Perhaps it does not know. + +But we ought to know for it. + +Apparently not where we expected it to go. And, indeed, it is hard to +tell where one will get to, travelling on a globe which a few months ago +only just missed a comet, and may any day crack, as I informed you in my +last letter. + + _September 1, 1862._ + + +Letter 5 + +In the early days of my youth I was struck by a French novel which I have +not met since; it was called _Arminius_. Possibly it has no great merits, +but at the time it had a great influence on me, and I remember the chief +incidents to this day. + +We all know something of the meeting and conflict between two different +worlds; the one, the classical world of culture, corrupt and effete; +the other, savage as a wild beast of the forest, but full of slumbering +forces and chaotic impulses. But we only, for the most part, know the +official public side of this contact, not that side concerned with +details and the privacy of home life. We know the events in the rough, +but not individual fortunes; not the dramas in which lives were silently +broken and perished in personal struggle, in which blood was replaced +by bitter tears, and devastated towns by ruined families and forgotten +graves. + +The author of _Arminius_ tried to reproduce these two worlds—the one +moving from the jungle to history, the other from history into the +grave—as they met at the domestic hearth. In this, world history is +reduced to personal gossip, is brought nearer to us, more within our +grasp and comprehension.[35] + +It never entered my head then that I should find myself in a similar +conflict, that a similar conflict would come into my own life with all +its ruinous force, and that my hearth would be devastated and shattered +at the meeting of two historic worlds. + +In our attitude to the Europeans, in spite of all the points of +difference, which I understand quite well, there are points of +resemblance to the attitude of the Germans to the Romans. In spite of our +exterior, we are still barbarians. Our civilisation is skin-deep, our +corruption is crude, our coarse hair bristles through the powder on our +heads, and our sunburn shows through the powder on our cheeks. We have +plenty of the cunning of savages and the evasiveness of slaves. We are +ready to give blows indiscriminately and to fall at a man’s feet, when +we are guiltless, but I obstinately repeat we are very far behind the +corrosive hereditary subtleties of West European corruption. + +Among us, intellectual development serves as a purification and +a guarantee—at least it has done so hitherto;[36] exceptions are +exceedingly rare, culture among us is a barrier which much that is +infamous never crosses; and it is owing to this that all through the +reign of Nicholas the government could not succeed in establishing a +secret police nor a literature in the pay of the police, like the French. + +In Western Europe this is not so, and that is how it is that Russian +dreamers who have made their way into freedom readily surrender to any +man who touches with sympathy on their holy things, who understands +their cherished thoughts, forgetting that for him these holy things have +long ago passed into a commonplace, into a convention, that, for the +most part, they repeat them possibly even sincerely, but in the way in +which a priest, thinking of something else, blesses any one he meets. We +forget how many other elements are tangled in the complex, exhausted, +morbidly struggling soul of the Western European, how utterly he is +exhausted, worn out with envy, penury, vanity and _amour-propre_, and +into what a terrible epicureanism of the higher morbidly nervous kind the +humiliation, poverty, and struggle of competition have developed. + +We find out all this when the blow has fallen; it stuns us. We feel +ourselves made fools of, and want to revenge ourselves. Looking at this I +sometimes think that much blood will flow from the ‘conflict of these two +different forms of culture....’ These lines were written some years ago. + +I am still of the same opinion despite the fact that in Europe Russians +enjoy the reputation of a most depraved people. This is due to the lack +of polish in our conduct and the rustic habits of our landowners. We +have convinced the whole world of our viciousness, just as the English +have convinced it of their domestic virtue. As a matter of fact, +neither the vice nor the virtue goes very deep. Russians abroad not +only lead a disorderly life, but boast of their savage and dissolute +habits. Unfortunately, being brought into contact as soon as they pass +the frontier with the clumsy and servile country of _kellners_ and +_hofraths_, the Russians, like half-educated people in general, cease +to stand on ceremony, and let themselves go further and further, and +in this reckless mood arrive in Paris and London. It has happened to +me many times to observe how conspicuous Russians make themselves by +absolute trifles, and they keep up the first impression by the sort of +defiant _nargue_ with which they refuse to obey the received conventions +(though they are models of submissiveness and correctness at home!). A +man is recognised as a Russian in the big hotels, because he shouts in +the public room, guffaws loudly, and invariably protests at smoking being +forbidden in the dining-room. All this aggressiveness of an upper servant +outside his master’s house shows far more immaturity and unfamiliarity +with freedom than deep depravity; bragging always goes with this moral +‘unripeness.’ Like boys of fourteen, we not only want to drink too much, +but to show off to all the world: ‘Look how I have been going it!’ But +all the world judges differently. Looking at what the Russians lay bare, +it thinks, shaking its head, ‘What must they have concealed?’ And all the +while there is nothing there, just as there is nothing in the soldier’s +haversack on parade, though it looks as though it were stuffed. + +Ages of civilisation, passing from generation to generation, acquire a +special bouquet which one does not catch at once; in this the fate of +man is similar to the fate of Rhine wine. There is nothing particularly +attractive about the propriety that is gained, though it is pleasanter +to go by its rules, as it is to go along a well-swept path. We, it must +be admitted, are badly swept, and there are a good many hard stones and +plenty of mud on our path. + +Our breaking-in to culture is fresh in our memory: it was accomplished by +rough-and-ready means, just as a peasant taken into the master’s house is +shaved like a German and turned into a servant. Renouncing at the command +of the Most High the whole structure of the national life, the nobility +have obstinately retained all its bad qualities; flinging overboard +together with its prejudices the severe decorum and propriety of the +national manners, they have retained all the coarse habits of the master +and the Tatar lack of respect for self and for others. The oppressive +traditional morality of old days has been replaced neither by the +aristocratic conception of honour nor the citizen’s conception of public +duty and independence; it has been replaced much more simply by German +barrack discipline _in the army_, mean servility and cringing dependence +_in the public service_, and nothing at all _outside it_. + +Outside the government service, the nobleman was transformed from the +servant who is beaten to a Peter the Great who is beating; in the +country he had full scope: there he became at once corporal, emperor, +grand gentleman, and father of his domain. This life of both wolf and +enlightener produced colossal monstrosities, from torturers like Bühren +and Potyomkin on the grand scale to the hangmen and Potyomkins on a +microscopic scale; from Izmailov flogging police captains to Nozdryov +with one whisker torn off; from the ‘Araktcheyev of all the Russias’ +to the minor Araktcheyevs of battalions and companies who flogged the +soldier into his grave; from the bribe-takers of the first three grades +to the hungry swarms of clerks who scribbled the poor peasants into +their graves; with endless variations of drunken officers, bullies, +cardsharpers, heroes of fairs, dog-fanciers, brawlers, devotees of +flogging, and seraglio-keepers. Here and there among them is a landowner +who has turned a foreigner in order to remain a human being, or a ‘noble +soul,’ a Manilov,[37] a turtle-dove of a nobleman, cooing in his mansion +beside the stable where chastisement was administered. + +One might wonder what good thing could arise, grow, and flourish in this +soil between the Araktcheyevs and the Manilovs? What could be reared by +these mothers who sent men for soldiers, cut off women’s hair, and beat +their servants, by these fathers who fawned on all above them and were +savage tyrants to all below them? Yet it was among them that the men of +the 14th of December arose, a phalanx of heroes, suckled like Romulus +and Remus on the milk of a wild beast.... Finely they throve on it! They +were heroes, wrought out of pure steel from head to foot, martyr warriors +who went forth consciously to inevitable ruin to awaken the younger +generation to new life and to purify the children, born in the midst of +brutality and slavishness. But who cleansed their souls with the fire +of purification, what virgin force renounced in them its filth and its +corruption, and made them the martyrs of the future? + +It was in them; that is enough for me for the present. I make a note +of it and return to what I was saying: there is a sort of unstable, +unbalanced ferment and frenzy in the pothouse debauchery of our vice; it +is the delirium of intoxication which has taken hold of an entire class, +that has strayed off the path with no serious plan and aim. But it has +not that deeply penetrating, deeply rooted, subtle, nervous, intelligent, +fatal depravity from which the educated classes of Western Europe are +suffering, dying, and decaying. + +But how has it come to pass, what moral simoom has blown on the civilised +world?... There has always been progress and more progress, there are +free institutions, railways, reforms, and telegraphs. + +Much that is good is being accomplished, much that is good is being +accumulated, but the simoom still blows and blows like a _memento mori_, +continually increasing, and sweeping everything in the world before it. +To be wroth at this is as useless as to be wroth with the squirrels for +losing their fur, at the sea because after full tide, as though to mock +us at its very best moment, it begins to ebb. It is high time that we +accepted this fluctuation, this rhythm of all creation, this alternation +of night and day. + +The period of ‘moulting’ in which we have found Western Europe is the +hardest; the new fur is scarcely showing while the old skin has grown +stiff, like that of the rhinoceros; here is a crack, there is a crack, +but _en gros_ it holds fast. This position between two skins is extremely +disagreeable. Everything strong suffers, everything weak that struggles +to the surface is ruined; the process of renewal is inextricably +connected with the process of decay, and there is no telling which will +get the upper hand. + +Let me explain my thought further in the next letter. Perhaps I shall +succeed in proving to you that this is not a _manière de dire_, not +subjective indignation (indeed, it is difficult to have a personal +quarrel with world history), but a few facts noted by eyes free from the +myopia of scholastic pedantry and the blindness of mysticism. + + +Letter 6 + +We stopped at the reflection that we must not be angry with squirrels +for losing their fur, nor at the winter for following the summer every +year. To recognise the inevitable is a source of strength. It is only by +knowing the currents of the sea and the continually shifting equatorial +winds, apart from any desire to correct them, that one can navigate the +ocean. + +Look how things are done as a rule in Nature. In every species, in the +shaping of every form, development goes on the principles by which the +germ was determined. + +It grows, is defined, and acquires a more or less unalterable character +from the mutual interaction of the elements and environment. New +factors may arise, new conditions may alter the direction of growth, may +arrest what has begun, and change it into something quite different; but +if the development does not lose its individuality, if it continues, +the form will inevitably progress on the same lines, with its own +special characteristic, and will develop its one-sidedness, that is, +its individual case. This does not in the least hinder its neighbours, +either in space or time, from developing all sorts of variations on +the same theme with various complements and differences, with their +own one-sidedness in accordance with other conditions and another +environment. Only at the beginning of the development of forms there +is an undefined and characterless epoch, an epoch of, so to speak, the +pre-zoological stage in the egg and the embryo. + +Of the transmutation of animal species we know very little. Their +whole history has taken place behind man’s back and covers whole +periods of time in which there has been no witness. We are confronted +now with finished, settled types, so far removed from each other that +any interchange between them is impossible. Behind every animal there +glimmers a long history—of efforts, of progress, of _avortements_, and of +reaching the equilibrium, in which its forms have come to rest at last, +not reaching its vague ideal, but coming to a standstill at the possible, +at what will just do. + +Needless to say, there are no sharp limits nor irrevocable decisions +in any natural phenomena. The creative process that has come to a +standstill, that has been reduced to mere repetition, may always be +re-awakened; in some cases it has passed from the influence of the stars +under the influence of man; by his cultivation he has developed vegetable +and animal species which would not have developed of themselves. + +All this casts an immense light on the question we are considering. + +History presents us with a formation, caught in the very act, not yet +settled but settling, and preserving in its memory the leading phases of +its development and their ebbs and flows. Some sections of the human race +have attained consistent forms and have conquered their history, so to +speak; others in the heat of struggle and activity are creating it; while +others, like the bottom of a sea that has only recently dried up, are +ready for any sort of seeds, any sort of sowings, and give an unexhausted +rich soil for everything. + +As it is impossible looking at a calm sea to say that it will not +within an hour be ruffled into a storm, so we cannot positively assert +that China, for instance, or Japan, will for ages and ages maintain +their aloof, cramped, stagnant form of existence. How can we tell +that some word will not fall like a drop of yeast among those sleepy +millions, and rouse them to a new life? But if we have no right to +form a final, unconditional conclusion, it does not follow that after +careful observation we have not the right to draw some conclusions. The +fisherman, looking at a cloudless sky, and noting that there is no wind, +will almost certainly be right if he concludes there will not be a storm +for an hour. + +This is all I ask in my scrutiny of modern history. To me it is evident +that Western Europe has developed up to certain limits ... and at the +last moment has not the spirit either to cross them, or to be satisfied +with what it has gained. The difficulty of the position to-day rests +on the fact that at this moment the active minority does not feel +itself capable, either of creating forms of existence consistent with +modern thought, or renouncing its old ideals, or frankly accepting the +petty-bourgeois state that has been built up incidentally, as a form +of life suitable for the Germanic Latin people just as the Chinese +civilisation is for China. + +This agonising state of hesitation and uncertainty makes the life of +Europe unendurable. Whether it will come to rest by casting off the +prejudices of the past and the hopes of the future, or the restless +spirit of the Western European heights and depths will wash away the new +dams, I do not know; but in any case I consider the present condition a +period of agony and exhaustion. Life is impossible between two ideals. + +History provides us with one example in full detail. + +The long process of the decline of the ancient world and the rise of +the Christian world presents us with every form of historical death, +transmigration of souls and rebirth. Whole States stood still, remained +outside the movement, did not come into the Christian formation, grew +decrepit, and fell into ruins. Savage races, as yet hardly gathered +into orderly herds, developed at their side into new and powerful +State-organisations.... While Rome, pre-eminently the classical city, was +transformed into a city pre-eminently Catholic. + +Those who deny the inner inevitability of the death of ancient Rome, and +hold that it was slain by violence, forget one thing, that every death is +violent. Death does not enter into our conception of the living organism; +it is outside it, beyond its limit. Old age and disease protest against +death in their sufferings, and do not invoke it, and, if they could find +strength in themselves, or means outside themselves, they would conquer +death. + +The barbarians are all very well, but we must not assume that the whole +sickness of the ancient world was due to their onslaughts. From the days +of Tacitus, its thought had unmistakably become gloomy and despondent. +The depression, the misery, reached the pitch of suicide; such a pitch, +in fact, that all the world almost went out of its mind and really +became unhinged, believing in the most incredible theodicy and the most +unnatural salvation, taking despair for consolation and the religion +of death for a new life. Men who could not go out of their minds +withdrew from the general saturnalia of death, the funerals in wreaths +of roses, with amphoras of wine, the funerals in crowns of thorns, with +lamentations over the sins of this world, and withdrew through the two +narrow gates of stoicism and scepticism. + +Beside the men who disdained death, beside the men who disbelieved in +life, beside the fanatics who went forth to destroy the ancient world to +the last stone, and the fanatics who expected the old world to rise up +again with all the virtues of the days before the Punic Wars, there was +a pinchbeck mediocre class, a crowd of those who were neither blind nor +seeing, a crowd of the myopic who saw nothing, neither Catiline nor death +behind the bustle of their daily cares, the news of war, the affairs of +the senate, the gossip of the Court, the puzzles of scholasticism and the +endless problems of household management, who shrugged their shoulders, +listening to the ravings of the Christian Jacobins, despised the +barbarians and laughed at their uncouthness, never guessing that these +forest Hottentots, with their long hair and flaxen eyebrows, were coming +to take their place in history. + +The barbarians, too, have played their part, their duty is over; an +immensely rich and ample period was developed by them, but they have +reached the limits of their formation; they must reject their fundamental +principles or come to a standstill in them. + +It is very hard for the modern civilised world to come to terms with the +new principles which are harassing it. What could be improved has been +improved, what could be overturned has been overturned; it has next to +preserve what it has gained, or to move out of the _one-sidedness_, the +individual variation which constitutes its personality. The last word +of Catholicism was uttered by the Reformation and the Revolution; they +revealed its mystery; the mystic redemption was solved by the political +emancipation. The Nicene Creed founded on the remission of sin to the +Christian was expressed in the recognition of the rights of every man +in the Creed of the last œcumenical council, that is, the Convention of +1792. The morality of the Judean proletarian, Matthew the Evangelist, +is the same as that professed by the Geneva proletarian and deist, Jean +Jacques Rousseau. It came in as faith, hope, and charity, and goes out as +liberty, fraternity, and equality. + +The Germanic Latin world reached its climax in the storms and the +hurricanes that followed the triumphal year 1789. The upheaval of the +French Revolution went on by summits and abysses, the great and the +terrible, victories and the Terror, partial landslides and earthquakes, +till 1848; then came _Amen, Ne plus ultra_. The cataclysm that had begun +with the Renaissance and the Reformation was over. + +The work goes on inwardly: the weaving of the microscopic web, the slow +growth of drift from wind and water, the scurrying to and fro of history, +the volcanic labours underground, the impenetrable passing of last year’s +autumn into this year’s spring. Overhead are terrible apparitions, dead +men in old armour and old tiaras, and fantastic figures, incredibly +radiant shapes, agonisings, sufferings, frantic hopes, the bitter +consciousness of weakness and the impotence of reason. Below is the +bottomless pit of elemental passions, of primeval slumber, of childish +dreams, of cyclopean mole-like labour. The voice of man does not reach +to these depths, as the wind does not reach to the bottom of the sea; +only at times the trumpet-blasts and drum-beats of war are heard there, +calling to blood, promising slaughter and dealing destruction. + +Between the fantastic dreamers at the top and the savages beneath hovers +the middle class, having neither the strength proudly to utter its: I am +king! nor the self-sacrifice to join the Jesuits or the Socialists. + +Hesitating between two moralities, they furnish precisely by this +hesitation the material for developing that corruption of which I am +speaking. + +But how is it between two moralities? What does it mean, ‘between two +moralities’? And are there two moralities? Is there not one eternal +morality, _une et indivisible_? + +Absolute morality is bound to share the fate of everything absolute; +it has no existence at all outside theory, outside abstract thought. +There are several moralities, and they are all very relative, that is, +historical. + +The first Christians stated this very directly, very boldly, without +beating about the bush, and, having announced that the new Adam brought +a new morality, that the heathen virtues were for the Christian but +brilliant vices, they closed Plato, closed Cicero, and proceeded to drag +from their pedestals golden-haired Aphrodite, ox-eyed Hera, and the other +sinful saints of the old morality. + +Pliny looked upon them as fools, Trajan despised them, Lucian laughed +at them, but they ushered in a new world and a new morality. Their new +morality has grown old in its turn. And that is just what we are talking +about. + +The Revolution secularised what it could out of the catechism, but the +Revolution, like the Reformation, took its stand in the precincts of the +Church. Egmont and Alva, Calvin and Guise, Louis XVI. and Robespierre, +had the same general convictions; they differed, like Dissenters, in +shades only of opinion. Voltaire, who arrived wrapped up in a fur cloak, +in a carriage, to see the sunrise, and who fell on his trembling knees +with a prayer on his lips, Voltaire, who blessed Franklin’s grandson ‘in +the name of God and liberty,’ is as religious as St. Basil the Great and +Gregory of Nazianzus, only of a different sect. The cold moonlight of +Catholicism has passed through all the vicissitudes of revolution, and at +its last gasp has unfurled a new standard inscribed _Deo et Popolo_! + +Somewhere on the heights the dawn of a new day is struggling with the +moonlight, revealing the glaring incompatibility of faith and knowledge, +of church and science, of law and conscience; but of that they know +nothing in the plains below—that is for the small band of the elect. + +The union of science and religion is impossible, but there _is_ an +irregular union, from which one can draw one’s conclusion as to the +morality which rests on such a union. The fact is that Reason, fearing +a scandal, conceals the truth she knows; Science conceals that she is +with child, not by Jehovah but by Pan, and will bear a new redeemer; and +both are keeping it quiet, whispering, talking in cypher or simply lying, +leaving men in an utter chaos of confused ideas, in which prayers for +rain are mixed up with barometers, chemistry with miracles, telegraphs +with rosaries. And all this is somehow through routine, through habit; +you may believe or not, so long as you maintain certain forms of +propriety. Who is deceived? What is it all for? One obligatory rule has +remained, strong and accepted. Think what you please, but lie like the +rest. + +Prophets may guide the people by visions and passionate words, but they +cannot guide them if they conceal the gift of prophecy or bow down to +Baal. + +Is it any wonder that life grows emptier with terrible rapidity, driving +men by lack of understanding and by deadly dullness to every kind of +frenzy, from gambling on the Exchange to playing at turning tables? + +Apparently everything is going in the usual way; respectable people are +occupied with their daily cares and business, with practical objects, +they hate every sort of Utopia and all far-reaching ideals; but in +reality this is not so, and the most respectable people as well as their +forefathers have won everything good that they have won by constantly +running after the rainbow and accomplishing impossibilities, such as +Catholicism, the Reformation, the Revolution. These rainbow visions are +no more, or, at any rate, the optical illusion deceives no more. + +All the old ideals are dead, every one of them, from the Crucifixion to +the Phrygian cap. + +Do you remember that awful picture after the style of Jean Paul Richter’s +inspired rhapsody, in which he depicts, apropos of what I forget, all +the penitent nations on the dread Day of Judgment fleeing terrified to +the Cross, praying for salvation and the good offices of the Son of God? +Christ answers briefly: ‘I have no father!’ + +A similar answer is heard now from all the crosses, to which the +yearning peoples, worn out with struggle, weary and heavy laden, appeal. +From every Golgotha the answer comes more and more loudly: ‘I have no +liberty!’ ‘I have no equality!’ ‘I have no fraternity!’ And one hope +after another grows dim, casting its last dying light on the melancholy +figures of the Don Quixotes, who obstinately refuse to hear the voices +from Golgotha ... they beckon to men to follow them more quickly, and one +after another vanish in the dark night of winter. + +And that is not all; with redoubled horror men have begun to discern that +the Revolution not only has no father, but no son. + +The terrible fruitless days of June 1848 were the protest of despair; +they did not create, they destroyed ... but what they attacked turned +out to be the strongest. With the taking of the last barricade, with the +deportation of the last batch of untried exiles, came the era of order. +The Utopia of the democratic republic proved to be as evanescent as the +Utopia of the kingdom of heaven on earth. Emancipation has turned out to +be as much a failure as redemption. + +But the social ferment has not calmed down sufficiently to allow people +to be occupied with their own affairs; they must occupy their minds, +and without Utopias, without epidemics of enthusiasm for ideals, they +are badly off. It would not be so bad if the masses of the people, +disappointed in their expectations, would simply rot and mildew in the +Irish manner, like stagnant water; but, as it is, they may rise up in +exasperation and test their Samson-like muscles, and see how strong are +the pillars of the social edifice in which they are fettered! + +Where are we to find ideals that are free from danger? + +No need to look far—in the soul of man are many mansions. The +classification of man by nationalities becomes more and more the wretched +ideal of this world which has buried the revolution. + +Political parties have dissolved into national parties: that is not +merely a backsliding from the Revolution, it is a backsliding from +Christianity. The human ideals of Catholicism and the Revolution have +given place to a heathen patriotism; and the honour of the flag is the +one honour of the peoples that has remained inviolate. + +When I recall how twelve years ago the rake and buffoon Romieu[38] +used to preach in the Paris salons to all who would listen that the +revolutionary forces that had been roused should be turned from their +path to national, maybe dynastic, questions, I cannot help blushing with +shame at the memory. + +There must be fighting whatever it is for, or a Chinese slumber will fall +upon the people in this stagnation, and it will be long before there is +an awakening. But is there any need of an awakening? That is just the +question. + +The last of the Mohicans of the eighteenth century, the Don Quixotes of +the Revolution, the Socialists, some of the literary men, the poets, and +the eccentric folk of all sorts, are not sleepy, and, as far as they can, +they prevent the masses from sleeping. + +The taciturn bourgeois is ashamed to confess that he is sleepy and, +half-asleep, goes on muttering incoherent phrases about progress and +liberty.... + +He needs war to awaken him. And is there in all the arsenal of the past +a standard, a banner, a word, an idea for which men would go out to +fight, which they have not seen put to shame and trampled in the mud?... +Universal suffrage, perhaps?... + +No; no man of our day will go out to fight for a deposed idol with the +radiant self-sacrifice with which his forefather went to the stake for +the right to sing psalms, with the proud self-confidence with which his +father faced the guillotine for the sake of the one and indivisible +republic. To be sure, he knows that neither psalms sung in German nor the +emancipation of the people _à la française_ will lead to anything. + +And no one can die for a god of whom he knows nothing, and who keeps +hidden behind a wall. Let him first speak out who he is, let him own +himself for a god, and with the impertinence of St. Augustine declare +in the face of the old world that ‘its virtues are vices, its truths +falsehood and absurdity.’ + +Well, that will not be to-day nor to-morrow. + +The sensible man of our age is like Frederick II., an _esprit fort_ +in his study and an _esprit accommodant_ in the market-place. When he +entered his study from which his lackeys were dismissed, the king became +a philosopher; but when he came out of it, the philosopher became a +king.... + +Here, too, ‘the bulls stand before the mountain.’ And yet it cannot be +denied that the light of reason is more and more widely dissipating the +darkness of prejudice.... What is most annoying is that people have +no time and die early—a man is only beginning to grow sensible when +in a trice he is carried to the cemetery. One cannot help recalling +the celebrated horse whose master trained it to eat nothing, but death +interfered with his plans. + +In the Alpine glaciers every summer a crust of ice melts, but its mass +is so great that the autumn always catches the work of the sunbeams +half-way, and the crust begins to freeze again, though sometimes it does +not attain its former thickness. The meteorologists have reckoned many +times how many ages and ages the summer will need to beat the winter at +its work and melt all the ice. Many doubt whether the sun itself will +last long enough to do all the work: possibly a volcanic eruption will +help. + +A similar calculation has not yet been worked out in history. + + _October 20, 1862._ + + +Letter 7 + +Six days for labour and the seventh for rest. Moses and Proudhon were +right to defend the Sabbath day. Monotonous work is terribly exhausting. +A man must have periodical pauses, in which, after washing his hands and +putting on clean clothes, he can go out, not to work but for a walk, have +a look at his fellow-creatures and at Nature, possess his soul, breathe +freely, be [39]‘resurrected.’[40] + +Here I, too, have made of my periodical chatter about ‘Ends and +Beginnings’ my Sunday rest, and in it I withdraw from the daily discords, +the journalistic rascalities and the workaday wrangles, in which the +hours and days of the month change, but opinions and the expression of +them remain the same.... I withdraw as into some remote cell from the +windows of which many details are unseen, many sounds unheard, though the +silent outlines of mountains, far and near, are clearly visible, and the +murmur of the sea comes in distinctly. + +Perhaps you will think that I am not spending my holiday very gaily; +remember that I am in England, where of all the dull days Sunday is the +dullest. + +Well, there is no help for it. You must be bored once more, while, for my +part, I will try to tell you as amusingly as I can about the melancholy +matters which we discuss. + +But are they really melancholy? And if it really is so, is it not high +time we were resigned to them? We really should not talk for ever about +things which it is not in our power to change. Would it not be better, +like a sensible man, to make up the account-books we have inherited, and, +forgetting our inordinate expenses and irreparable losses, accept the +total in meekness of spirit as a new starting-point. Grieve as you will, +you will not mend things; there are plenty of ways of using inherited +capital; there are plenty of dreams men cherish when they receive it. We +have had such dreams too.... The _symphonia heroica_ is over, practical +life is beginning. The wine has gone flat, let us drink the dry _tisane +de champagne_. It is not so nice, but they say it is more wholesome. Part +of the cultured world pines, with the old maid’s yearning for happiness +which she has not lost but has never had, and, instead of firmly making +up her mind to widowhood without marriage, laments that the _ideal_ of +her youth has not carried her off.... Well, what is to be done? It has +not, and now it is too late. + +People are vexed at not having wings, and so will not trouble to be well +shod. The painfulness of European life in its more cultured classes is +directly due to their false position between dreams of what is not and +contempt for what is. + +Side by side with the ideals of seraphic wings which are retreating more +and more into the darkness of the past and the ideals of other wings +that are vanishing into the future, there is a whole independent world +at which the dreamers are incensed, because it has achieved what it +could and not what the dreamers expected, that is, not wings. So long as +the authority and power of this world is not recognised, so long will +the feverish ferment, the perpetual falsity in life, the involuntary +faithlessness both to its ideal and to practical life, which is revealed +in the continual contradiction of words and deeds, phrases and conduct, +continue. That world is not nimble in words and not eloquent, although +it has created a great lever, comparable with steam and electricity, the +lever of advertisement, of proclamation, of _réclame_. + +With all that, it cannot stand at its full height in all its breadth and +say aloud to the people: ‘I am the alpha and omega of your development; +come to me and I will comfort you, I will give what can be given; but +leave off knocking at all the doors which are not opened to you, some +because there is no one to open them, others because they lead nowhere. +Remember at last that you have no other god but me, and cease to bow down +to all sorts of idols and desire all sorts of wings. Understand that you +cannot preach at the same time Christian poverty and political economy, +socialist theories and the unlimited right of property. So far my power +exists as a fact, but not as the recognised foundation of morality, not +even as a flag, and, what is worse, I am denounced, I am insulted in +churches, in academies, in aristocratic halls and clubs, in speeches and +in sermons, in novels and in newspapers.... I am sick of playing the +part of a provincial relation from whom city fops take money and domestic +supplies, but about whom they keep quiet or speak with a blush. I want +not only to rule, but to wear the purple.’ + +Yes, my dear friend, it is time to come to recognising with all meekness +and humility that bourgeoisie is the final form of Western European +civilisation, its coming of age—_état adulte_; this closes the long +series of its visions; with this the epic of its growth, the romance +of its youth, everything that has brought so much poetry and calamity +into the life of the nations, ends. After all men’s dreams and efforts +... this offers them modest repose and a less troubled life and a +comfort within their capacity, not beyond the reach of any one, though +insufficient for the majority. By hard work the nations of the West have +won their winter quarters. Let others show their mettle. From time to +time, of course, men of a different leaven, of heroic times, of other +formations—monks, knights, Quakers, Jacobins—will be seen again, but +their transient appearance will not be able to affect the prevailing tone. + +The mighty elemental hurricanes, that tossed up the whole surface of the +European sea, have sunk into a quiet sea-breeze, not perilous for ships, +but helping them to sail along the coast. Christianity has grown shallow +and quietened down into the calm stony haven of the Reformation; the +Revolution, too, has grown shallow and sunk into the calm sandy haven +of liberalism. Protestantism, a religion austere in trifles, has found +the secret of reconciling the Church which despises earthly goods, with +the supremacy of commerce and profit. Liberalism, austere in political +trifles, has learned even more artfully to unite a continual protest +against the government with a continual submission to it. + +With so indulgent a Church, with so docile a Revolution, Western Europe +has begun to settle down, to find its equilibrium: everything that +hindered it has been drawn gradually into the solidifying waves, like +insects caught in amber. Byron, unable to breathe, let out a scream of +anger and fled, one of the first, anywhere ... to Greece.[41] Stoically +remaining in Frankfort, Schopenhauer slowly expired, noticing, like +Seneca when his veins had been opened, the progress of death and +welcoming it as his deliverer.... This did not in the least hinder the +tendency of all European life towards stillness and crystallisation; on +the contrary, this tendency grew more and more distinct. Individuality +was effaced, the racial type concealed everything strikingly original, +restless, or eccentric. Men, like goods, were turned into something +wholesale, ready-made, cheaper, and commoner, individually, but stronger +and more numerous in the mass. Individual characteristics were lost, +like the drops of a cataract in the general flood, without even the poor +consolation of + + ‘Gleaming bright in the rainbow’s passing streak.’ + +Hence their hateful but natural indifference to the life of their +neighbours and the fate of individuals; it is the type, the race, the +work that matters, not the person. To-day one hundred men are buried in a +coal-mine, to-morrow fifty more will be buried; to-day ten men are killed +on one railway, and to-morrow five more will be; and every one looks on +this as individual misfortune. Society suggests insurance.... What more +can it do?... There can be no shortage in the transport of stock because +somebody’s son or father has been killed; there can be no shortage in the +living apparatus for coal-mining either. A horse is needed, a workman +is needed, and whether it is a bay, or whether it is Tom or Harry, is +absolutely no matter. In this _no matter_ lies the whole secret of +persons being replaced by masses, of individuals being swallowed up by +the race. + +A storm seemed about to arise, threatening to awaken every one and +hinder the bourgeois crystallisation, to bring down belfries and towers +and frontiers and customs-houses, but it was turned aside in time by +the lightning conductors, and had not a chance. It is easier to picture +Europe returning to the Catholicism of the times of Gregory Hildebrandt +at the summons of Donoso Cortès and Count Montalembert, than turning into +a socialist republic of Fourier’s or Cabet’s pattern. But who speaks +seriously of socialism nowadays? The European world may rest easy on that +score; the shutters are put up, there are no lightnings on the horizon, +the storm is far away ... the bourgeois can quietly tuck himself up in +his quilt, tie his kerchief round his head, and put out his candle. + + ‘Gute Nacht, gute Nacht, + Liebe Mutter Dorothee!’ + +But poor Mother Dorothy, like Gretchen, has a brother a soldier, and +like all soldiers he is fond of noise and fighting and will not let her +sleep. She would have got rid of him long ago, but she has some valuable +belongings, so she must have a guard in case of hungry neighbours. Well, +it is not enough for her brother to be her guard; he is ambitious. ‘I am +a knight,’ he says, ‘I thirst for heroic deeds and promotion.’ + +Yes, if the army could be reduced to the defenders of property, the +bodyguard of capital, everything would quickly reach its stable +final order. But there is nothing perfect in this world, and the +hereditary knightly spirit keeps up the ferment and prevents life +from settling down. However tempting is plunder and however natural +is blood-thirstiness to men in general, the dash of a hussar, the +aggressiveness of a Suvorov, are not compatible with maturity, with +quiet unruffled culture. The dislike for everything military in China +is much more comprehensible in a mature people than the passion of a +Nicholas for ‘braid and epaulettes and buttonholes.’ + +That is just the trouble. What is to be done with the great people which +boasts of being a military people, which is all made up of Zouaves, +_pioupious_, and Frenchmen, who are also soldiers? + +_Peuple de France, peuple de braves!_ + +It is absurd to talk about quiet nights, moonlight walks, free trade, +political freedom, or freedom of any sort, while five hundred thousand +bayonets, bored and idle, are clamouring for their ‘right to work.’ + +The Gallic cock sees to it that no turkey, duck, or goose in Europe can +sleep in peace. + +As a matter of fact, if France would abandon the army and enter the +Civil Service (she cannot exist without being an official of some sort) +everything would go swimmingly. England would fling the useless guns +bought for her riflemen into the sea, my grocer Johnson (and Son) would +be the first to exchange his weapon for a fishing-rod, and go fishing +in the Thames. Cobden would weaken everything that Palmerston had +strengthened, and the Duke of Cambridge would be elected President of the +Peace Society. + +But France does not dream of leaving military service—and, indeed, how +could she? Who would look after Mexico, the Pope, and the _almost_ united +Italy? The honour of the flag is involved, there is no help for it! + +_Peuple de France, peuple de braves!_ + +What is to be done? + +Allow me to break off here and to describe another meeting with an old +friend: he from his ‘crazy’ standpoint has found a bolder solution of +these questions than I have. + +Some two years ago I was walking along the Strand, when I saw busily +engaged in the doorway of a big shop of travelling requisites a fat, +nimble little figure, startlingly out of place in London, and in various +ways suggestive of Italy, wearing a light grey hat, and a thin yellow +overcoat, and adorned with an immense black beard: I fancied I had seen +this figure before somewhere.... I looked more closely ... it was he, +it really was he, my vigorous, jolly medical student, with teeth like a +wolf’s and the good humour of a good digestion, the demonstrator with +whom in old days I had ‘cut up cats and dogs,’ as he expressed it, and +not in Italy, but in the anatomical theatre of the Moscow University. + +This time I said to my Russian-Italian, ‘You can’t claim to be the first +to recognise an old friend.’ + +‘_Eccolo!_ How charming! Upon my soul!’ and he impetuously kissed me, so +intimately had he come to know me during his absence. + +‘If you often fling up both hands like that,’ I observed to him, ‘you +certainly will have your travelling wallet stolen.’ + +‘I know, I know. It is the traditional home of thieving.... Do you +remember Don Juan, at the end of the poem, when he goes back to London?’ + +‘I remember. Well, and is your eccentric friend with you?’ + +‘To be sure. He is expecting me at the hotel; he did put his nose out +into the street, but went back at once. He said it was so crowded and +stuffy that he was afraid he would be sea-sick. So he sent me to buy a +few things for the journey. To-morrow we are setting out for Texas.’ + +‘Where?’ + +‘To Texas, you know, in America.’ + +‘What for?’ + +‘What we lived in Calabria for. My Telemachus has not changed one bit, +only he discourses with more assurance than ever. You remember how he +used to explain to you that the terrestrial globe was sick, and that it +was high time for men to be cured of civilisation, so now he is convinced +that the cure is progressing too slowly in Europe, so he is going off +to Texas or somewhere. I am used to him; we spend the whole day, as we +always did, in arguing, and it is wonderful what a tie that is. Oh, well, +we’ll have a look at America!’ + +‘And how did you get on in Calabria?’ + +‘At first he liked it there, though to my thinking the humblest district +town in the province of Saratov, say, is superior to the whole of +Calabria. You can get billiards there, anyway, and, maybe, some little +widow, or at any rate a soldier’s wife in a neighbouring village, but we +found none but brigands, shepherds, and priests, and there was no telling +which was a brigand, which was a shepherd, and which was a priest. We +took a tumbledown ruin of a Radcliffe castle; lizards, the beasts, ran +over the floor in broad daylight, while at night the bats flew about the +drawing-room, _flop, flop_, against the wall. But I did go away several +times to Naples and to Palermo.... And what do you think of Garibaldi? +Now he is a man! you can depend upon him!... But our friend stayed on +in his castle; he only once left it to go to Rome. Rome suited him, as +though the choir had just left off singing, “May he rest in peace with +the Saints.” He is a Hamlet, a grave-digger!’ + +‘Well, will your Hamlet show himself?’ + +‘Not a doubt. He has mentioned you several times; you are still astray at +times, but are on the right path, he says. Ha, ha, ha!’ + +‘I am glad to hear it. Let us go to him.’ + +‘Delighted.’ + +I found Yevgeny Nikolayevitch greatly aged. His face, much calmer, had +gained a shade of a sort of clerical pensiveness: the dry, even pallor +of his face gave it a lifeless appearance; the dark rings round his +eyes, which were more sunk than ever, gave a sinister look to their old +melancholy expression. + +‘You are fleeing from us across the ocean, Yevgeny Nikolayevitch,’ I said +to him. + +‘And I advise you to do the same.’ + +‘Why so?’ + +‘It is very wearisome here.’ + +‘Well, you knew that in the past. You told me so eight years ago.’ + +‘That is true. But I confess I thought there would be war.’ + +‘What war?’ + +‘War!’ and he waved his hand. + +‘Have you grown so bloodthirsty in Calabria?’ + +‘It does not matter to me personally, but it is painful to be the witness +of it; I am sorry for the young generation.’ + +‘But what do you want war for? To help the young generation?’ + +‘I can’t help it. That is what it has come to.’ + +‘I frankly confess I do not clearly understand what you mean.’ + +‘You have hit on a knotty point!’ put in Filipp Danilovitch. + +‘That is because you both doubt and believe. That is the trouble. It is +clear that tables do not turn, but when the question arises: but what +if tables really do turn, then it is not clear. Filipp Danilovitch here +is quite a different matter; he is orthodox; he knows that there is +progress, and that everything is for the best. But however I look at it, +I see that men have kicked over the traces and are plunging deeper and +deeper into the morass.’ + +‘The horse has kicked over the trace, so off with his leg, amputate it at +once. Drastic treatment!’ observed Filipp Danilovitch. + +‘Find a remedy and amputation will not be necessary. But since there +is none, would you leave the invalid alone? The nations of West Europe +are tired out, and they have reason to be; they want to rest, to live +for their own pleasure; they are sick of perpetually remodelling and +reconstructing, and knocking down each other’s houses. They have +everything they need—capital and experience and order and moderation +... what hinders them? They had difficult problems, they had cherished +dreams: all that is over. Even the problem of the proletariat has +subsided. The hungry have become zealous admirers of other men’s property +in the hope of obtaining their own; they have become the quiet lazzaroni +of industry, whose murmuring and indignation have been stifled, together +with all their faculties, and that is undoubtedly one of the greatest +debts we owe the factory system.... But still there is no peace, no peace +... armies are kept up, fleets are kept up, all that is gained is wasted +on defence—and what can put an end to armaments except war?’ + +‘That is knocking out one nail with another in the homeopathic way,’ +observed Filipp Danilovitch. + +‘Is it possible,’ my queer friend continued, ‘to work in one’s own little +garden, with a light heart, knowing that there is a gang of bandits, +pandours, janissaries, in a cave close by?’ + +‘Allow me one word,’ Filipp Danilovitch interrupted. ‘I bet you a bottle +of Burgundy that you don’t know who these brakes on the wheels of +progress and enlightenment, these pandours and janissaries, are!’ + +‘Austria and Russia, I suppose.’ + +‘Ha, ha, ha! I knew I should win it. Pay up with a bottle of Chambertin; +it is the only wine I care for.’ + +‘Upon my word,’ Yevgeny Nikolayevitch observed reproachfully, ‘what can +Austria do? The country is exerting every effort to keep alive, straining +every muscle to hold its parts together. How could she be a menace to +any one? She is like a man holding his leg with one hand for fear it +should walk off without him, and his head with the other for fear it +should drop off his shoulders, and then people talk of her rushing into a +quarrel. It is high time after the last campaign to strike Russia, too, +off the list of bogeys: far from any one’s being afraid of her, no one +even builds any hopes on her now, neither Serbs nor Bulgars, nor any of +the Slav patriots who have been trying ever since the fourth century to +discover their fatherland and their independence. And a good thing too! +Let Russia “look for the life of the world to come,” while in the present +she is teaching her officials not to steal and her landowners not to use +their fists. In Europe there are systems of oppression better organised +which prevent the lungs from breathing and the heart from being at rest.’ + +‘So it is England and France whom you honour in this way?’ + +‘Of course, one might put up with England still, though she is +stealthily, indirectly, negatively oppressive, on the one hand supporting +what is decayed, on the other oppressing what is young, so that it cannot +grow: she tells the hungry man when she meets him: “Go your way and +God bless you, you are a free man, I won’t keep you.” While France ... +oh, well—it is one battalion: all France will follow the drum and fife +wherever you like—to Kazan or Ryazan, while she would make a dash at +England even without a drum if only to play the master of the house in +the docks and in the City, as she does in the Palace of Pekin. Who can +hope that these two sworn foes will go on calmly gazing at each other +with a hatred which centuries, education, and commercial interests have +been unable to overcome, while they move closer and closer together, so +that already it is only ten hours’ journey between Paris and London? On +the one side of the Channel the _légion d’honneur_, on the other the +_Habeas Corpus_, and they put up with each other! Do you understand what +it means to cherish that passionate hatred, and not to have the spirit to +fight? It makes me decide to go to Texas.’ + +‘It is difficult to understand, that’s true, but it is not altogether a +bad thing that it is so. You know, when your war does come and the French +cross the Channel to emancipate England, then I shall start for Texas +too.’ + +‘_À la bonne heure!_’ exclaimed Filipp Danilovitch, delighted. + +‘It is drainage; war is a system of drainage for the purification of the +soil and the air. How could they remain in London? Moscow is not London, +and even the Russians picked up Germans on the way, and invaded Paris.’ + +‘Have you got a Louis XIX. up your sleeve?’ + +‘He won’t be wanted.’ + +‘Yevgeny Nikolayevitch,’ I said, after a pause, ‘and all this is simply +in order to reach a Dutch stagnation, and for this mess of pottage to +part with the finest dreams, the most sacred aims.’ + +‘And what is wrong,’ observed Filipp Danilovitch, showing his white teeth +again, ‘with eating herrings and pancakes, with a clear conscience and a +clean table-napkin in a house which has just been scrubbed, with a wife +of Rubens contours, and a ring of little toddlers about you! Schiedam, +faro, and curaçao, they are the only things Dutch I know. Ha, ha, ha! +What were all your Fouriers and Owens struggling to find?’ + +‘Not only they: the Catholics and the Protestants, the Encyclopaedists +and the Revolutionists ... what were they all struggling for ... and +their toil, their faith, their doom, does it all count for nothing? Do +you expect the City of God and the _Feste Burg_ and the Phalanstery and +the Jacobin Republic all to be realised in fact? I remember ...’ he +paused, and then, with some inner emotion, asked me: ‘Have you ever +experienced what a man feels when he imparts his outlook to another and +sees how it grows up in him?’ + +‘That is all very well, saving your presence,’ the pupil of Hippocrates +interrupted, ‘but what is the use of idle talk, what is the use of +bothering?’ + +‘_Ech_, Filipp Danilovitch, what is the use of you or me bothering? we +have not succeeded in finding a remedy for death, and you know the peace +of death is worse than Dutch stagnation. But there, God will forgive you; +you are orthodox. But you, now, how can you make such a blunder?’ he +added, turning to me, and shaking his head mournfully. + +And then suddenly breaking into his nervous, mirthless laugh, he said: ‘I +have just remembered a German book in which the laborious existence of +the mole is described—it is very funny. The little beast, with big paws +and little chinks instead of eyes, tunnels in the dark, underground, in +the damp, tunnels day and night, without weariness, without recreation, +with passionate persistence. It barely stops to eat some little grains +and worms and sets to work again, but the hole is ready for the children, +and the mole dies in peace, while the children begin boring holes in all +directions for their children. What is the price paid for the lifetime +of toil underground? What correspondence is there between effort and +attainment? Ha, ha, ha! The funniest thing about it is that after making +his splendid corridors and passages which cost him the labour of a +lifetime, he cannot see them, poor mole!’ + +With this moral drawn by my crazy friend, I will conclude the first part +of my ‘Ends and Beginnings,’ and the last month of 1862. Within two days +we shall have the New Year, and I wish you a happy one; in it we must +gather up fresh strength for our mole-like labour; my paws are itching to +begin. + + _December 29, 1862._ + + +Letter 8 + + _Be a man, stop and make answer?_ + +‘_Halte-là! Stop!_’ was said to me this time, not by a lunatic, but, +quite the contrary, by a very sane gentleman who walked into my room with +a number of the _Bell._ in his hand. ‘I have come,’ he said, ‘to have it +out with you. Your “Ends and Beginnings” have passed every limit; it is +high time to take leave and put an end to them, with regrets for having +begun them.’ + +‘Has it really come to that?’ + +‘It has. You know I love you, I respect your talent....’ + +‘Well,’ I thought, ‘it’s a bad look-out; it is clear that he means +to abuse me in earnest, or he wouldn’t have attacked me with such a +flattering introduction.’ + +‘Here is my heart,’ I said; ‘strike.’ + +My resignation, together with the classical allusion, had a happy effect +on my irritated friend, and with a more good-natured air he said: ‘Listen +to me quietly, laying aside the vanity of the author and the narrow +exclusiveness of the exile: with what object are you writing all this?’ + +‘There are many reasons for it; in the first place, I believe what I +write to be the truth, and every man who is not indifferent to the truth +has a weakness for spreading it abroad. Secondly ... but I imagine the +first reason is sufficient.’ + +‘No. You ought to know the public whom you are addressing, the stage of +development it has reached, and the circumstances in which it is placed. +I’ll tell you plainly: you have the most fatal influence on our young +people, who are learning from you to despise Europe and her civilisation, +and consequently do not care to study it seriously, but are satisfied +with a smattering of the newest ideas and think that the breadth of their +own nature is enough.’ + +‘Ough! how elderly you have grown since I saw you last! you abuse the +young and want to rear them on falsehoods, like nurses who tell children +that the midwife brings the babies, and the difference between the boy +and the girl is the cut of their clothes. You had better consider for how +many centuries men have been lying shamelessly with a moral object, and +morality has been none the better. Why not try speaking the truth? If +the truth turns out to be bad, the example would be good. As to my bad +influence on the young—I’ve long been resigned to that, remembering how +all who have been of any use to the younger generation have invariably +been accused of corrupting it, from Socrates to Voltaire, from Voltaire +to Shelley and Byelinsky. Besides, I am comforted by the fact that it is +very difficult to corrupt our young Russians. Brought up on the estates +of slave-owners by Nicholas’ officials and officers, completing their +studies in army barracks, government offices, or the houses of the +gentry, they are either incapable of being corrupted, or their corruption +is already so complete that it would be hard to add to it by any bitter +truth about Western Europe.’ + +‘Truth!... But allow me to ask you whether your truth really is the +truth?’ + +‘I can’t answer for that. You may rely on one thing, that I say +conscientiously what I think. If I am mistaken, unaware of it, what can I +do? It is more your job to open my eyes.’ + +‘There’s no convincing you—and you know why; it’s because you are +partly right; you are a good dissector, as you say yourself, and a bad +accoucheur.’ + +‘But you know I am not living in a maternity hospital, but in a clinic +and an anatomical theatre.’ + +‘And you are writing for nursery-schools. Children must be taught that +they may not snatch each other’s porridge and pull each other’s hair. But +you regale them with the subtleties of your pathological anatomy, and +keep on telling them besides: Look here, how nasty the entrails of these +old Europeans are! What is more, you use two different measures and two +different standards. If you do take up the scalpel, you should be fair in +your dissection.’ + +‘What, am I dissecting the living too? How awful! And children too! You +do make me out a Herod!’ + +‘You may joke as you like, you won’t put me off with that. With great +insight you diagnose the malady of modern man, but when you have analysed +every symptom of chronic disease, you say that it is all due to the +patient’s being French or German. And our people at home actually imagine +that they have youth and a future. Everything that is precious to us in +the traditions, the civilisation, and the history of the Western nations +you cut open relentlessly and unsparingly, exposing horrible sores, and +in that you are performing your task as a demonstrator. But you are sick +of messing about for ever with corpses. And so, abandoning every ideal in +the world, you are setting up for yourself a new idol, not a golden calf, +but a woolly sheepskin, and you set to bowing down to it and glorifying +it as “The Absolute Sheepskin, the Sheepskin of the Future, the Sheepskin +of Communism, of Socialism!” You who have made for yourself a duty and a +profession of scepticism, expect from a people, which has done nothing +so far, a new and original form of society in the future and every other +blessing; and, in the excess of your fanatical ecstasy, you stuff up +your ears and close your eyes that you may not see that your god is as +crude and hideous as any Japanese idol, with its threefold belly and +flattened nose and moustaches like the King of Sardinia. Whatever you are +told, whatever facts are brought forward, you talk in “ardent ecstasy” +of the freshness of spring, of rising crops, of beneficent tempests, of +rainbows full of promise! It is no wonder that our young people, after +drinking deep of your still fermenting brew of Slavophil socialism, are +staggering, drunk and dizzy, till they break their necks or knock their +noses against our _real_ reality. Of course, it is as hard to sober them +as it is to sober you—history, philology, statistics, incontestable +facts, go for nothing with both of you.’ + +‘But excuse me, I, too, must tell you to call a halt. What are these +incontestable facts?’ + +‘There are masses of them.’ + +‘Such as?’ + +‘Such as the fact that we Russians belong both by race and language to +the European family, _genus europaeum_, and consequently by the most +inevitable laws of physiology we are bound to follow the same line of +development. I have never heard of a duck belonging to the genus of ducks +breathing with gills....’ + +‘Only fancy, I haven’t either.’ + +I pause at this agreeable moment of complete agreement with my opponent +to turn to you again and submit to your judgment such attacks on the +honour and virtue of my epistles. + +My whole sin lies in avoiding dogmatic statement and perhaps relying +too much on my readers; this has led many into temptation and given my +_practical_ opponents a weapon against me—not always of the same quality +and equal purity. I will try to condense into a series of aphorisms the +grounds of the theory on the basis of which I thought myself entitled +to draw the conclusions, which I have passed on like apples without +mentioning the ladder which I had put up to the tree, nor the pruner +with which I picked them. But before I proceed to do this, I want to +show you by one example that my stern judges cannot be said to be on +very firm ground. The learned friend who came to trouble the peace of my +retreat takes it as you see for an incontestable fact, for an invariable +physiological law, that if the Russians belong to the European family +the same line of development awaits them as that followed by the Latin +and Germanic peoples. But there is no such paragraph in the laws of +physiology. It reminds me of the typically Moscow invention of all sorts +of institutions and regulations in which every one believes, which every +one repeats, and which have never existed. One friend of mine and of +yours used to call them the laws of the English Club. + +The general plan of development admits of endless unforeseen deviations, +such as the trunk of the elephant and the hump of the camel. There +are any number of variations on the same theme: dogs, wolves, foxes, +harriers, wolf-hounds, water-spaniels, and pugs.... A common origin by +no means implies a similar biography. Cain and Abel, Romulus and Remus, +were brothers, but what different careers they had! It is the same in +all spiritual societies or communities. Every form of Christianity has +similarities in the organisation of the family, of the Church, and so on, +but it cannot be said that the history of the English Protestants has +been very similar to that of the Abyssinian Christians, or that the most +Catholic Austrian Army has much in common with the extremely orthodox +monks of Mount Athos. That the duck does not breathe through gills is +true; it is even truer that quartz does not fly like a humming-bird. You +certainly know, however, though my learned friend does not, that there +was a moment’s hesitation in the duck’s life when its aorta had not taken +its downward turn, but branched out with pretensions to gills; but having +a physiological tradition, the habit and possibility of development in +the duck did not stop short at the inferior form of breathing, but passed +on to lungs. + +It only comes to this, that the fish has become adapted to the conditions +of aquatic life and does not advance beyond gills, while the duck +does. But why the fish’s breathing should blow out my theory, I do not +understand. It seems to me, on the contrary, to illustrate it. In the +_genus europaeum_ there are peoples that have grown old without fully +developing a bourgeoisie (the Celts, some parts of Spain, of Southern +Italy, and so on), while there are others whom the bourgeois system suits +as water suits gills. So why should not there be a nation for whom the +bourgeois system will be a transitory and unsatisfactory condition, like +gills for a duck? + +Why is it a wicked heresy, a desertion of my own principles, and a +contradiction of the absolute laws of creation and rules and doctrines, +human and divine, that I do not regard the bourgeois system as the +final form of Russian society, the organisation towards which Russia is +striving and to attain which she will probably pass through a bourgeois +period? Possibly the European peoples will themselves pass to another +order of life, perhaps Russia will not develop at all; but just as that +is possible, there are other possibilities too. Especially as the order +in which problems arise, the accidents of time and place and development, +the conditions and habits of life and the permanent traits of character, +may give endlessly varied direction to development. + +The Russian people, covering such wide spaces between Europe and Asia, +and standing to the general family of European peoples somewhat in the +relationship of a cousin, has taken scarcely any part in the family +history of Western Europe. Developing late and with difficulty, it must +either show a complete incapacity for progress, or must produce something +of its own under the influence of the past and of its neighbours’ +examples and its own point of view. + +Hitherto Russia has developed nothing of its own, but has preserved +something; like a river, she has reflected things truly but +superficially. The Byzantine influence has perhaps been the deepest; all +the rest has passed like Peter’s innovations: beards have been shaved, +heads have been cropped, the skirts of kaftans have been cut off, the +people have been silent and given way, while the minority changed their +costumes and went into the Service, while the State, after receiving +the general European outline, grew and grew.... It is the usual history +of childhood. It is over, that no one doubts, neither the Winter Palace +nor Young Russia. It is time to stand on our own feet: why must we take +to wooden legs because they are of foreign make? Why should we put on a +European blouse, when we have our own shirt with the collar buttoning on +one side? + +We are vexed at the feebleness, at the narrow outlook of the Government, +which in its impotence tries to improve our life by putting on the +tricolor _camisole de force_ cut on the Parisian pattern, instead of +the yellow and black _Zwangsjacke_, which it wore for a hundred and +fifty years. But here we have not the Government, but the mandarins +of literature, the senators of journalism, the university professors +preaching to us that such is the inevitable law of physiology, that +we belong to the _genus europaeum_, and must therefore cut all the +old capers to a new tune, that we must stumble like sheep over the +same ditch, fall into the same pit, and afterwards settle down as an +everlasting shopkeeper selling greens to other sheep. A plague on +their physiological law! And why is it Europe has been luckier, why +has no one made her play the part of Greece and Rome over again? There +are in life and nature no monopolies, no measures for preventing and +suppressing new biological forms, new historical destinies and political +systems—they are only limited by practical possibility. The future is +a variation improvised on a theme of the past. Not only the phases of +development and the forms of life vary, but new nations are created, new +nationalities whose destinies are on other lines. Before our eyes, so to +speak, a new race has been formed, a variety European by free choice and +elemental composition. The manners, morals, and habits of the Americans +have developed a peculiar character of their own; the Anglo-Saxon and the +Celtic physical types have so changed beyond the Atlantic that you can +scarcely ever mistake an American. If a fresh soil is enough to make an +individual characteristic nation out of old peoples, why should a nation +that has developed in its own way under completely different conditions +from those of the West European States, with different elements in its +life, live through the European past, and that, too, when it knows +perfectly well what that past leads to? Yes, but what are those elements? + +I have said what they are many times, and not once have I heard a serious +objection, but every time I receive again the same answers, and not from +foreigners only, but from Russians.... There is no help for it; we must +repeat our arguments again, too. + + _January 15, 1863._ + + + + +ANOTHER VARIATION ON AN OLD THEME + +_A Letter to X_ + + +No, dear friend, I am not going to keep the promise I made you to write +an article in explanation of what I said of Western Europe and what I +said of Russia. + +After you had gone, under the influence of your criticisms and the +criticisms made by our common friends, I looked through part of what +I had written and found I had nothing to add. I had said all that was +in my heart, what I understood, and how I understood it. If I have not +succeeded in making my outlook clear in whole books, in a series of +articles, and a series of letters, how can I succeed in doing so in a few +pages? Even if my view were really simply morbid, partial, and personal +when I wrote ‘From the Other Side’ eight years ago, time has so terribly +confirmed it that it has become a more settled conviction, and has merely +cooled without being changed in anything essential. I refuse to repeat +coldly what I said then with warmth, and I write now rather to show you +that I listened to you attentively and took our friends’ criticisms +sincerely to heart. The chief points of their censure may be reduced to +two: first, that my attitude to Western Europe weakens convictions which +are still essential in Russia; secondly, that my attitude to Russia +approximates to that of the Slavophils. These criticisms are themselves +the proof that your feud with the Moscow Old Believers has not subsided; +that is a pity. + +Carried away by your polemics, you do not notice how tedious and boring +your disputes have become. Your quarrel with the Slavophils has lost all +interest, especially since the death of Nicholas. It is high time to +apply the manifesto of August 26, 1856, to all these wretched wrangles, +and to consign them to oblivion with the other transgressions of +Nicholas’ reign. + +A new life is unmistakably surging up in Russia; even the Government +is carried away by it. Questions, each more pressing than the last, +are arising on all sides; hopes crushed to the earth are reviving; one +wants to know what is being thought in Russia about the Emancipation of +the Serfs, about the abolition of spiritual and corporal punishment—the +censorship and the stick—about the restraint of official plundering and +the irresponsible tyranny of the police, and one reads instead scholastic +controversies about the precedence of races and the nationality of +truth. I have never denied that the Slavophils have a true sense of the +_living soul_ in the people, that they ‘look for the world to come,’ +but unhappily I must repeat that their instinct is clearer than their +understanding, clearer, indeed, than their conscience. I have read with +horror and repulsion some articles in Slavophil reviews; they stink of +the torture chamber, of slit nostrils, penances, and the Solovetsky +monastery. If power came into the hands of these gentry, they would +be worse than the ‘Third Section,’ and am I supposed to be like these +savages in sympathy and opinion and language? Why, then, did one of +them not so long ago, under the protection of the irresponsible police, +fling at me a handful of patriotic mud with the insolence of a flunkey +protected from the stick by his safe perch behind the carriage, diffusing +such a national stench of the servants’ hall, and such a flavour of +orthodox lenten oil, that for several minutes I fancied myself in one of +the remote quarters of Moscow? + +But your controversy with them is of no use; leave them alone or beat +them on their own ground. They do not know the real Russia, they are +changelings and corpses; not one of them will take up your challenge; +they have distorted their understanding by a false show of orthodoxy and +a pretence of nationalism. + +It would be difficult to confute them by holding up Western Europe as an +example (here I am answering another criticism) when a single copy of +any newspaper you like is enough to show the terrible malady from which +Europe is suffering. To ignore her wounds and to preach reverence not +only for the ideas which she has worked out and which are inconsistent +with her life of to-day, but for her herself, is as impossible as to +persuade us that the fanatically crazy lucubrations of the followers of +Buddha, or the Carpathian Dissenters, are of more value and significance +than all the problems that occupy us. + +You love European ideas—I love them too; they are the ideas of all +history, they are the monument on which is inscribed what has been +bequeathed not only by the men of yesterday, but by Egypt and India, +Greece and Rome, Catholicism and Protestantism, the Latin peoples and +the Germanic peoples. Without them we should sink into Asiatic quietism +or African blankness of mind. With those ideas, and only with them, can +Russia be brought into possession of that great part of the heritage +which comes to her share. About that we are completely in agreement. But +you are unwilling to recognise that contemporary life in Europe is not +in harmony with her ideas. You are alarmed for them; ideas which fail +to find their realisation at home seem to you unrealisable anywhere. +Historical embryology scarcely warrants such a conclusion. From the fact +that the new social ideas are not applied in the contemporary life of the +European peoples (even if this were completely proved) you cannot deduce +that they are impossible of realisation, that they cannot be applied in +practice anywhere. Has not the European ideal in one form, to wit, the +Anglo-Saxon, found complete expression on the other side of the Atlantic +Ocean? + +The ways of development are very hard, and far from simple in nature +and in history; they make use of a terrible number of forces and forms. +That is not very obvious to us, because we are always confronted with +the complete result, with what has been accomplished and successful. +Numbers of unsuccessful forms were evolved by the way, did not attain +a full life (in comparison with those that follow), and were replaced +by others of which we know nothing. They were not sacrificed, for they +lived for themselves, but when they passed away they handed on their +heritage not to their own offspring, but to strangers, the mammoths and +ichthyosaurians to the elephants and crocodiles, Egypt and India to +Greece and Rome. It may very well be that the whole creative ability of +the Western European peoples has been spent and is exhausted in evolving +their social ideal, their science, in striving towards it, and in +realising separate partial phases of it with all the passion and fervour +of the struggle, in which men are ready to die because at every step they +fancy they are attaining the whole of their ideal. + +Will the down-trodden masses wrest out of the hands of the monopolists +the powers evolved by science, and all the accumulation of technical +improvements, and make of them the common weal? Or will the propertied +classes, resting on the force of government and the ignorance of people, +keep the masses down? In either case the ideas are saved, and that is +what is of first importance for you. Science, independent of political +systems and nationality, remains as the grand achievement of European +life, ready to transform men’s hard existence of the past everywhere +where it meets a suitable soil, understanding and, together with +understanding, strength and freedom. The question of the future of Europe +I do not regard as finally settled; but, looking at it conscientiously +with the humble desire to see the truth and with prejudices rather in +favour of Western Europe than opposed to it, studying it for ten years, +not in theories and books, but in clubs and in market-places, in the +centre of its political and social life, I am bound to say that I see +neither a speedy nor a happy solution. Looking on the one hand at the +feverish, one-sided development of industry, at the concentration of all +riches, moral and material, in the hands of the minority of the middle +class, at the way in which that minority has taken hold of the Church and +the Government, the machines and the schools, at the fact that the army +obeys it, that the judges interpret the law in its favour, and, looking +on the other hand at the undeveloped state of the masses, the immaturity +and instability of the revolutionary party, I cannot predict the speedy +downfall of the bourgeoisie and the reform of the old political order +without a most terrible and bloody struggle. + +It is of no use to dream now of the ordinary revolutions of the past, +made half in jest, with a song of Béranger and a cigar in the mouth; now +there is no Charles X. ready to flee at the sight of danger, no Louis +Philippe who would not bombard Paris; now there is no silly Austrian +Emperor who would give a Constitution at the first musket-shot. Though +the Prussian King is the same, he would not now take the cap off his +drunken head at the sight of murdered revolutionaries; even Pius IX. has +grown wiser. The June days of 1848 and Cavaignac have shown the world +what massacres of St. Bartholomew, what September days, await the future +conflict. Whether Europe will emerge rejuvenated from this ordeal, or +be drowned like Seneca in her own blood, I do not know; but I fancy +neither you nor I will live to see the day. Your hair is grey, while I am +forty-four. + +Is it not natural under these circumstances for an enlightened man to +enlarge his horizon, to look about him, to enquire how other lands, not +drawn into the death-struggle of Europe, stand in regard to the future, +what can be expected from them, whither they are tending, and whether +there is no inconspicuous preliminary work being done there. But outside +Europe there are only two progressive countries, America and Russia, +with possibly Australia just beginning. All the rest lie in unbroken +slumber or struggle in convulsions which are alien to us and outside our +comprehension, like the Chinese rebellion, with its piles of corpses and +revolting butchery. + +America is Europe colonised, the same race (predominantly Anglo-Saxon), +but living under different conditions. Wave after wave carries the +overflow to her shores further and further. Just as in Cromwell’s days +England sailed across the ocean and was scattered over the northern +plains and forests, so now crowds of European fugitives sail thither +to escape from hunger, from the stifling atmosphere, from persecution, +‘from the future,’ foreseeing troubles at home. It is the continuation +of the age-long movements to the West. Three millions of Irishmen have +settled there since the days of Robert Peel; the German monarchs who, +in the eighteenth century, traded in herds of their subjects for making +war against independence, for settling Pennsylvania, and so on, pause +when they see how the population is flowing away. The movement goes on +in America itself: the newcomers make their way through the settled +population, sometimes draw it with them, and keep pressing, crowding, +and hurrying to the South; to-day to the equator, where there will be a +new meeting and a new combination of the Anglo-Saxon element with the +Latin-Spanish. + +We see that all this is but the clearing of the ground, the marking out +of the arena, and that no power can prevent the North Americans with +their overflowing strength, plasticity, and untiring energy from reaching +Central America and Cuba. While in Europe Venice is falling into ruins, +Rome is reduced to beggary, the little towns of Italy and Spain are +declining from lack of capital and labour, from indolence and lack of +energy, in California, in Honduras and Nicaragua, deserts are in a few +years being transformed into cultivated fields and clearings into towns, +the plains are lined with railways, capital is abundant, and the restless +vigour of the Republic absorbs more and more. What is growing is young. + +The growth of Russia has been vigorous too, and it can hardly be over +yet, it can hardly have reached its natural limits; that is evident, +not only from its geographical physiology, but also from the unceasing +aggression of the Government, from the perpetual striving to get hold +of every morsel of land. But Russia is extending by a different law +from America; because in its present state it is not a colony, not an +overflow, not a migration, but an independent world advancing in all +directions, yet sitting tight on its own soil. The United States, like +an avalanche torn away from its mountain, carries everything before it; +every step gained by it is a step lost by the American Indians. Russia +saturates all about it like water, surrounds races on all sides, then +covers them with the uniform layer of the ice of autocracy—and under +it makes of the worshippers of the Grand Llama defenders of orthodoxy, +of Germans uncompromising Russian patriots. There is the same youthful +plasticity here. Why did Joseph II. laugh at laying the foundation of +Ekaterinoslavl, saying that the Empress had laid the first stone of the +city, and he the last? It was not a city that was founded then, but a +State. The Novorossisk region is the best proof of the plastic power +of Russia. And all Siberia? And the settlements on the banks of the +Amur, where to-morrow the Stars and Stripes of the American Republics +will be fluttering? And indeed the Eastern Provinces of European Russia +themselves. + +Reading the chronicle of the Bagrov family,[42] I was struck by the +resemblance of the old man who migrated into the Province of Ufa to the +settlers who migrate from New York to Wisconsin or Illinois. It is a +completely new clearing of uninhabited places, and the turning of them to +agriculture and civilised life. When Bagrov summons the people from all +parts to dig the dam for the mill, when the neighbours come singing and +bring the earth, and he triumphantly crosses the conquered river at their +head, one fancies one is reading Fenimore Cooper or Washington Irving. +And all that happened only a hundred years ago; it was the same thing in +the Saratov province and in Perm. In Vyatka, in my day, it was hard to +keep the peasants from migrating into the forests and there making new +clearings; the land was still in their eyes common property, the _res +nullius_ to which every man has a right. + +America presents no new elements; it is a further development of +Protestant Europe, set free from its historic past, and put under +different conditions of life. The grand idea developed by the Northern +States is purely Anglo-Saxon, the idea of self-government, that is of a +strong people with a weak government, the home rule of every tract of +land without centralisation, without bureaucracy, held together by an +inner moral unity. What attitude America will take up to socialism is +hard to say; the spirit of comradeship, of association, of enterprise +in common is highly developed in her, but it has not common ownership +nor our _artel_, nor the village community; the individual combines with +others only for a definite task, apart from which he jealously guards his +complete independence. + +Russia, on the contrary, is a quite special world, with her own natural +habit of life, with her own physiological character—not European, not +Asiatic, but Slav. She takes her share in the destinies of Europe, though +she has not its historical traditions and is free from its obligations +to the past. ‘What good fortune for a Russian lawgiver,’ said Bentham to +Alexander I., when the latter was in London after the Napoleonic Wars, +‘that he has not to contend with Roman law at every step!’ And we add, +nor with feudalism, nor with Catholicism, nor with Protestantism. The +Book of Church Law and the Civil Code do not cover every aspect of life, +do not govern every action; other institutions have been introduced by +force and are maintained by force. We have nowhere those hard-and-fast +prejudices which, like a paralysis, deprive the Western European of the +use of half his limbs. The village commune lies at the basis of our +national life with the re-division of fields, with the common ownership +of land, with an elective control, with the equality of duties laid on +each workman (the _tyagla_). All this is in an oppressed, distorted +state, but it is all living, and has outlived its worst period. + +If there is any truth in all this, one need not be a Russian to turn +special attention to Russia in these black days for Europe. And, as a +matter of fact, many vigorous minds are occupied with Russia. I have +myself chanced to speak of Russia with serious men like Proudhon and +Mazzini ... and I assure you that the attitude of hatred and fear, fully +deserved by the thirty years’ reign of Nicholas, is being replaced by +hesitation and a desire to gain a closer knowledge of this newcomer, +whose rights and power for the future they are neither able nor willing +to deny. + +Russia could not really be understood by Western Europeans so long as +the latter had faith in themselves, and were advancing; but they are +convinced of the impossibility of progressing by way of revolutions, +having lost at one blow all the fruits of them, except the lesson of +failure. ‘The equality of slavery’ has let them look more closely at each +other, and this is why it is in England that there is least understanding +of Russia; the English have not taken an equal share in the Continental +revolutions, nor in the general downfall that has followed. Free after +their own fashion, they look with indifference at the land of slavery and +despotism. But other nations in their fetters feel instinctively that, +though a temporary necessity may yesterday have forced the discipline +of the barracks on a peaceful agricultural people and turned all Russia +into military settlements, another necessity may to-morrow do away +with all that, just as Alexander II. has done away with Araktcheyev’s +settlements; the period of military despotism will pass, leaving behind +a political unity indissolubly welded together and forces hardened in +a harsh and bitter school. The stumbling-blocks over which Europe has +tripped scarcely exist for us. In the natural simplicity of our peasant +life, in our uncertain and unsettled economic and judicial conceptions, +in our vague sense of property, in our lack of a strong middle class, and +in our extraordinary capacity for assimilating foreign ideas, we have +an advantage over nations that are fully organised and exhausted. The +Russian State has been firmly established by terrible means; by slavery, +the knout, and executions, the Russian people have been driven into +making a vast empire, through torture they have moved to the achievement +of their destinies. It is idle to waste anger on the past; it is the task +of the living to take advantage of all forces alike, whether they have +been won by good means or ill, by bloodshed or by the ways of peace. The +military settlements, as I have said, are passing away, but the villages +remain. In our shifting primitive soil there is nothing conservative but +the village commune; that is, nothing but what ought to be preserved. + +I have read your discussions about the commune; they are very +interesting, but less to the point than appears on the surface. Whether +the village commune is racial in origin or the work of the Government, +whether the land belonged in the past to the commune, to the landowners, +or to the princes, whether the institution of serfdom strengthened the +commune or not, all that ought to be investigated; but what is most +important for us is the present position of affairs. The fact, whether +distorted or not, whether right or wrong, forces itself upon us. The +Government and the institution of serfdom have, in their own fashion, +maintained our native commune; the stable, permanent principle left in +it from patriarchal days is not lost. The common ownership of land, the +_mir_, and the village elections form a groundwork upon which a new +social order may easily grow up, a groundwork which, like our black +earth, scarcely exists in Europe. + +That is why, dear friend, in the midst of the gloomy, heartrending +requiem, in the midst of the dark night which is falling upon the sick +and weary West, I turn away from the death agony of the mighty warrior +whom I honour, but whom I cannot aid, and look with faith and hope to our +native East, inwardly rejoicing that I am Russian. + +The period upon which Russia is now entering is extraordinarily +important; instead of small political reforms for which we are too old, +not in experience, but in intelligence, we are confronted with a vast +economic revolution, the emancipation of the peasants. And that is not +all: our problems are so set that they can be solved by social and +political measures without violent upheavals. We are called to overhaul +the rights of land ownership and the relations of the workman to the +means of production. Is this, perhaps, our solemn entry upon our future +growth? The whole new programme of our historical activity is so simple +that there is no need of genius for it, but merely eyes to see what to +do. It is only the timidity, the clumsiness and bewilderment of the +Government that hinder it from seeing the way, and it is letting the +marvellous chance slip by. Good Lord! What might not be done in this +spring sunshine after the winter of Nicholas! The blood is thawed in the +veins and the oppressed heart beats more freely, and what profit might be +made of it! + +Few feelings are more painful and oppressive than the sense that one +might make a dash forward now at once, that everything is in readiness, +and that the only thing lacking is understanding and courage on the part +of the leaders. The machine is stoked up and ready, the fuel is burning +for nothing, energy is being wasted, and all because there is no bold +hand to turn the key without fear of an explosion. Our leaders should +know that nations pardon a great deal—the barbarism of Peter and the +dissoluteness of Catherine; they pardon violence and wickedness, if only +they are aware of strength and boldness of mind. But however good the +heart may be, lack of understanding, colourless vacillation, incapacity +to take hold of circumstances and turn them to account, in a ruler whose +power is unlimited, is never forgiven, either by the people or by history. + +My passionate impatience in this case is in no way a contradiction of my +resigned acceptance of the tragic fate of Europe. In Russia I see the +chance at hand. I feel I can touch it; there is no such possibility in +Western Europe, at any rate, at this moment. If I were not a Russian, +I should long ago have gone away to America. You know that I am not a +fatalist, and do not believe in anything ordained beforehand, not even in +the famous ‘Perfectibility of Humanity.’ + +Nature and history plod along from day to day and from age to age, +stepping aside, making new ways, stumbling upon old ones, amazing us now +by their swiftness, now by their slowness, now by their sense, now by +their folly, pressing in all directions, but advancing only where the +gates are open. When I talk of possible development I am not talking of +its inevitability; what part of all that is possible will be accomplished +I do not know, because very much in the life of nations depends on +persons and will. I feel in my heart and in my mind that history is +knocking at our door; if we have not the strength to open it, and those +who have are unwilling or incapable, progress will find fitter means in +America or in Australia, where political life is being formed on quite a +different basis. Perhaps even Europe herself will be renewed, will rise +up, will take up her bed and walk on her Holy Land, under which so many +martyrs are buried, and on which so much sweat and blood has been spent. +Perhaps! + +But is it really possible that after setting one foot on the beaten track +we shall sink back into the swamp, giving the world the spectacle of +immense strength and complete incapacity to use it? Something forbids the +heart to accept that! + +How bitter are these doubts, how bitter this loss of time and +strength!... When will the scales fall from their eyes? And why are they +afraid to answer the loud summons of the future? ‘A new period has come +for Russia,’ we said, when we heard of the death of Nicholas; now all the +Russian journals are saying it, the Tsar himself is saying it in other +words. Well, then let it be new. + +Everything that is being done shows our unhappy passion for prefaces and +introductions at which we love to stop short complacently. As though it +were enough to decide to do something, for the thing to be done. + +The Petersburg Government has but few traditions, yet those are like +fetters on the legs of Alexander II. How slowly and indirectly he +advances along the path of reform, of which he has himself said so much! +In what shallow waters the boat of his autocracy floats! At this rate it +will take us over two hundred years to catch up the Prussia of to-day. +And it is all due to the Nicholas tradition, the Nicholas policy, and, +what is perhaps worst of all, the Nicholas men. + +It is high time to give up this stupid fear of free speech and daylight +through dread of some phantom revolution, for which there are no elements +ready. It is high time to abandon the futile meddling in every European +squabble, always in support of despotism, of brute force, and of flagrant +injustice. To the devil with this diplomatic influence which makes all +the nations hate us. It is not the Russian, but the Holstein policy of +Nicholas. Nicholas turned the sentimental Holy Alliance into a police +compact. Why does Alexander go on playing the same part? The Russian +Tsardom is not bound up in any way with the fate of the decrepit European +thrones, so why will he needlessly share all their abominations and bring +upon himself all the hatreds gained by them? + +With the partition of Poland the attitude of the new Empire to old Europe +was transformed. But the memory of that crime ought not to lead to mere +dread of losing the ill-gotten gains, but to pangs of conscience and to +repentance. What has Alexander II. done to show repentance? All that +remains in our memory is the refrain of the song with which he concluded +his speech at Warsaw—_Pas de rêveries! Pas de rêveries!_ + +_Pas de rhétorique! Pas de rhétorique!_ we say in our turn. We have +no dreams! Crushed by authority, by injustice, by bribery, by the +suppression of free speech and the contempt for personal freedom, we +want to speak out fearlessly, to exchange ideas with each other and to +unmask the abuses of which even the Government is ashamed and which it +will never check without publicity. We want the peasants to be freed +from the power of the landowners and all subject Russia to be freed +from the stick; of course, that is not _rêverie_, but is something very +practical and extremely little. Yes, it is very little, but it is just +our youthfulness and our strength which makes us need so little in order +to push ahead boldly and rapidly. We ask no help from the Government; all +we ask of it is not to meddle. Western Europe, on the contrary, having so +much, cannot make use of its riches; they have cost it so much that it is +miserly over them; it is conservative, like every property-owner. We have +nothing to preserve. Of course, poverty is not of itself a claim to a +different future, nor are years of slavery a claim to freedom, but here, +starting from the opposite principles to opposite ends, I meet not the +Slavophils but some of their ideas. + +I believe in the capacity of the Russian people; I see from the seedling +crop what the harvest may be; I see in their life, poor and oppressed as +it is, an unconscious fitness for the social ideal which European thought +has consciously reached. + +So that, dear friend, is why it is that you have found a similar strain +in my views and in those—worse than false—mischievous and dangerous views +of the Moscow literary Old Believers, those orthodox Jesuits who reduce +every one to despondency. And that is why, warmly accepting the new +social religion that is arising on the blood-soaked fields of reformation +and revolution, repeating with throbbing heart the great legends of those +days, I turn away from contemporary Europe and have little sympathy with +the pitiful heirs of mighty fathers. + +Do not let us dispute about methods, our aim is the same. Let us devote +all our efforts, each according to his strength at his own post, to throw +down every barrier that hinders the free development of the abilities of +our people and maintains the present worthless _régime_, let us stir the +minds of the people and the Government alike. And so I conclude my long +letter to you with the words: to work, to toil, to toil for the Russian +people, which has toiled enough for us! + + LONDON, _February 3, 1857_. + + + + +THE SUPERFLUOUS AND THE EMBITTERED + + _The Onyegins[43] and the Petchorins[44] were perfectly true + to life, they expressed the real misery and dislocation of + the Russian life of the period. The melancholy type of the + superfluous man, lost merely because he had developed into + a man, was to be seen in those days not only in poems and + novels but in the streets and the villages, in the hotels and + the towns.... But the days of the Onyegins and the Petchorins + are over. There are no superfluous men now in Russia: on the + contrary, now there are not hands enough to till the vast + fields that need ploughing. One who does not find work now has + no one else to blame for it. He must be really a frivolous + person, a wastrel or a sluggard._—‘The Bell,’ 1859, p. 44. + + +These two classes of superfluous men, between whom Nature herself raised +up a high mound of Oblomovs,[45] and History, marking out its boundaries, +dug out a ditch—the one in which Nicholas is buried—are continually +confounded. And so we want, with a partiality like that of Cato for the +cause of the vanquished, to champion the elder generation. Superfluous +men were in those days as essential, as it is now essential that there +should be none. + +Nothing is more lamentable than, in the midst of the growing activity +as yet unorganised and awkward, but full of enterprise and initiative, +to meet the flustered, nervously overwrought lads who lose their heads +before the toughness of practical work, and hope and expect to arrive +without effort at a solution of difficulties, and to find answers to +problems, which they can never state clearly. + +We will lay aside these voluntary superfluous men, and just as the French +only recognise as real grenadiers _les vieux de la vieille_, so we will +recognise as honourably and truly superfluous men only these of the +reign of Nicholas. We ourselves belong to that unhappy generation, and, +grasping very many years ago that we were superfluous on the banks of +the Neva, very practically took our departure as soon as the rope was +loosened. + +There is no need for us to defend ourselves, but we are sorry for our +former comrades and want to distinguish them from the batch of invalids +that followed them from the hospital of Nicholas. + +One cannot but share the healthy realistic attitude of one of the best +Russian magazines, in attacking the effete moral point of view which +in the French style seeks personal responsibility for public events. +Historical formations can no more be judged by a criminal court than +geological ones. And men who say that one ought not to direct one’s +thunders and lightnings against bribe-takers and embezzlers of Government +funds, but at the environment which makes bribes a characteristic symptom +of a whole tribe, such as the whole race of _beardless_ Russians for +instance, are perfectly right. All we desire is that the superfluous men +of Nicholas’s reign should have the rights of bribe-takers and enjoy the +privileges granted to the embezzlers of public funds. They deserve it the +more, since they are not only superfluous, but almost all dead; while +the bribe-takers and embezzlers are alive, and not only prosperous, but +historically justified. + +Whom have we here to attack, whom have we here to ridicule? On the one +hand, men who have fallen from exhaustion; on the other, men crushed by +the machine; to blame them for it is as ungenerous as to blame scrofulous +and lymphatic children for the poorness of their parents’ blood. + +There can be but one serious question about them: were these morbid +phenomena really due to the conditions of their environment, to their +circumstances?... + +I think it can hardly be doubted. + +There is no need to repeat how cramped, how painful, was the development +of Russia. + +We were kept in ignorance by the knout and the Tatars: we were civilised +by the axe and by Germans: and in both cases our nostrils were slit and +we were branded with irons. Peter the Great drove civilisation into us +with such a wedge that Russia could not stand the shock and split into +two layers. We are only just beginning now, after a hundred and fifty +years, to understand how this split was made: there was nothing in common +between the two parts; on the one hand, robbery and contempt; on the +other, suffering and mistrust: on the one hand, the liveried lackey, +proud of his social position and haughtily displaying it; on the other, +the plundered peasant, hating him and concealing his hatred. Never did +Turk, slaughtering men and carrying off women to his harem, oppress so +systematically, nor disdain the Frank and the Greek so insolently, as did +the Russia of the privileged class despise the Russia of the peasant. +There is no instance in history of a caste of the same race getting the +upper hand so thoroughly and becoming so completely alien as our military +nobility. + +A renegade always goes to the extreme, to the absurd and the revolting, +to the point at last of clapping a literary man in prison for wearing +the Russian dress, refusing to let him enter a restaurant because he is +wearing a kaftan and has a sash tied round his waist. It is colossal, and +reminds one of Indian Asia. + +On the margins of these savagely opposed worlds strange figures appeared, +whose very distortion points to latent forces, cramped and seeking +something different. The Raskolniks and Decembrists stand foremost among +them, and they are followed by all the Westerners and Easterners, the +Onyegins and the Lenskys, superfluous and disillusioned people. All of +them, like Old Testament prophets, were at once a protest and a hope. +By them Russia was striving to escape from the Petersburg period, or to +transform it to her real body and her healthy flesh. These pathological +formations called forth by the conditions of the life of the period +invariably pass away when the conditions are changed, just as superfluous +people have passed away now; but it does not follow that they deserved +judgment and condemnation unless from their younger comrades in the +Service. And this is on the same principle on which one of the inmates of +Bedlam pointed with indignation at another inmate who called himself the +Apostle Paul, while he who was Christ himself knew that the other was not +the Apostle Paul, but simply a shopkeeper from Fleet Street. + +Let us recall how superfluous people were evolved. + +The hangings of the 13th of July 1826 on the Kronverg Courtyard could not +at once check the current of ideas, and as a fact the traditions of the +reign of Alexander and the Decembrists persisted through the first half +of Nicholas’s reign, though disappearing from sight and turning inwards. +Children still at school dared to hold their heads erect, they did not +yet know that they were the prisoners of education. + +They were the same when they left school. + +These were far different from the serene, self-confident, enthusiastic +lads, open to every impression, that Pushkin and Pushtchin[46] were when +they were leaving the Lyceum. They have neither the proud, unbending, +overwhelming daring of a Lunin,[47] nor the dissipated recklessness of +a Polezhaev,[48] nor the melancholy serenity of Venevitinov.[49] But +yet they preserved the faith inherited from their fathers and elder +brothers, the faith that ‘It is coming—the dawn of radiant happiness,’ +the faith in Western liberalism in which all—Lafayette, Godefroi +Cavaignac, Börne, and Heine—believed. Frightened and disconsolate, they +dreamed of escaping from their false and unhappy position. This was +like that last hope which every one of us has felt before the death of +one we love. Only doctrinaires (whether red or parti-coloured, makes no +difference) readily accept the most terrible deductions, because they +really accept them _in effigy_, on paper. + +Meanwhile every event, every year, confirmed for them the dreadful truth +that not only the Government was against them, with gallows and spies, +with the irons with which the torturer compressed Pestel’s head, and with +Nicholas putting those irons on all Russia, but that the people, too, +were not with them, or at least were completely alien. If the people +were discontented, the objects of their discontent were different. +Together with this crushing recognition they suffered, on the other hand, +from growing doubt of the most fundamental principles of the Western +European outlook. The ground was giving way under their feet; and in this +perplexity they were forced either to enter the Service or to fold their +hands and become superfluous, idle. We venture to assert that this is one +of the most tragic positions in the world. Now these superfluous people +are an anachronism, but, of course, Royer Collard or Benjamin Constant +would be an anachronism now, too. But they cannot be blamed for that. + +While men’s minds were kept in misery and painful hesitation, not knowing +where to find an outlet, how to move, Nicholas went his way with dull +elemental obstinacy, trampling down the tilled fields and every sign of +growth. A master in his work, he began from the year 1831 his war upon +children; he grasped that he must beat out everything human in the years +of childhood, in order to make faithful subjects in his own image and +semblance. The training of which he dreamed was organised. A simple word, +a simple gesture was reckoned as much an insolence and a crime as an open +neck, as an unbuttoned collar. And this torture of the souls of children +went on for thirty years! + +Nicholas—reflected in every inspector, every school director, every +tutor—confronted the boy at school, in the street, in church, even to +some extent in the parental home, stood and stared at him with pewtery +unloving eyes, and the child’s heart ached and grew faint with fear that +those eyes might detect some budding of free thought, some human feeling. + +And who knows what chemical change in the composition of a child’s blood +and nervous system is caused by intimidation, by the checking of speech, +by the concealment of thought, by the repression of feeling? + +The terrified parents helped Nicholas in his task; to save their children +by ignorance, they concealed from them their one noble memory. The +younger generation grew up without traditions, without a future, except a +career in the Service. The Government office and the barracks gradually +conquered the drawing-room and society, aristocrats turned gendarmes, +Kleinmihels turned aristocrats; the stupid character of Nicholas was +gradually imprinted on everything, vulgarising everything and giving +everything a formal red-tape aspect. + +Of course, in all this misery, not everything perished. No plague, not +even the Thirty Years’ War, exterminated every one. Man is a tough +creature. The craving for humane culture, the striving for independent +initiative, survived, and most of all in the two Macedonian phalanxes +of our culture, the Moscow University and the Tsarskoe Syelo Lyceum. On +their youthful shoulders they carried across the whole kingdom of dead +souls the Ark in which lay the Russia of the future, her living thought, +her living faith in what was to come. + +History will not forget them. + +But in this conflict they lost, for the most part, the youthfulness of +their early years: they were overstrained, grew up prematurely. Old age +reached them before their legal coming of age. These were not idle, not +superfluous people; these were embittered people, sick in body and soul, +people who had been wrecked by the insults they had endured, who looked +at everything askance, and were unable to shake off the bitterness and +venom accumulated more than five years before. They unmistakably stand +for a step in advance, but still it is a morbid step; it is no longer a +heavy, chronic lethargy, but an acute suffering which must be followed by +recovery or death. + +The superfluous people have made their exit from the stage, and the +embittered, who are more angry with the superfluous than any, will follow +them. Indeed, they will be gone very soon. They are too forbidding, and +they get too much on one’s nerves to last long. The world, in spite +of eighteen centuries of Christian austerities, is in a very heathen +fashion devoted to epicureanism and _à la longue_ cannot put up with the +depressing faces of Nevsky Daniels, who gloomily reproach them for dining +without gnashing their teeth, and for enjoying pictures or music without +remembering the troubles of this life. + +Others are coming to take their place; already we see men of quite a +different stamp, with untried powers and stalwart muscles, coming from +remote universities, from the sturdy Ukraine, from the sturdy North-east, +and perhaps we old folks may yet have the luck to hold out a hand across +a sickly generation to the newcomers, who will briefly bid us farewell +and go on their wide road. + +We have studied the type of embittered people, not on the spot, and not +from books, we have studied it from specimens who have crossed the +Nieman and sometimes even the Rhine since 1850. + +The first thing that struck us in them was the ease with which they +despaired of everything, the vindictive pleasure of their denial, and +their terrible ruthlessness. After the events of 1848 they saw themselves +at once in a superior position, from which they looked down on the defeat +of the Republic and the Revolution, on the decay of civilisation, on the +defilement of banners, and could feel no compassion for those who still +struggled on. Where we stopped short, tried to restore animation, and +looked to see if there were no spark of life, they went further into the +desert of logical deduction, and easily arrived at those final, violent, +abrupt conclusions, which are alarming in their radical audacity, but +which, like the spirits of the dead, are but the essence gone out of +life, not life itself. In these deductions the Russian enjoys a terrible +advantage over the European; he has no traditions, no habits, nothing +akin to him to lose. The man who has no wealth of his own or of others +goes most safely along dangerous roads. + +This emancipation from everything traditional fell to the lot not of +healthy youthful characters, but of men whose heart and soul had been +strained in every fibre. After 1848 there was no living in Petersburg. +The autocracy had reached the Hercules’ Pillars of absurdity; they had +reached the instructions issued to teachers at the military academies, +Buterlin’s scheme for closing universities, the signature of the censor +Yelagin on patterns for stencils. Can one wonder that the young men who +broke out of this dungeon were nervous wrecks and invalids? + +So they faded without ever blossoming, knowing nothing of space and +freedom, nothing of frank speech. They bore on their countenances deep +traces of a soul roughly handled and wounded. Every one of them had some +special neurosis, and apart from that special neurosis they all had one +in common, a sort of devouring, irritable, and distorted vanity. The +denial of every right, the insults, the humiliations they had endured +developed a secret craving for admiration; these undeveloped prodigies, +these unsuccessful geniuses, concealed themselves under a mask of +humility and modesty. All of them were hypochondriacs and physically ill, +did not drink wine, and were afraid of open windows; all looked with +studied despair at the present, and reminded one of monks who from love +for their neighbour came to hating all humanity, and cursed everything in +the world from desire to bless something. + +One half of them were continually remorseful, the other half continually +damning and denouncing. + +Yes, the iron had entered deeply into their souls. The Petersburg world +in which they had lived was imprinted on themselves; it was thence +they took their restless tone, their language—_saccadé_, yet suddenly +passing into bureaucratic vapidity—their elusive meekness and haughty +fault-finding, their intentional frigidity and readiness on any occasion +to break out into abuse, the insulting way in which they scorned to +justify themselves, and the uneasy intolerance of the director of a +department. + +This tone of a director’s reprimand, uttered contemptuously with eyes +screwed up, is more hateful to us than the husky shout of the general, +like the deep bark of an old dog, who growls in deference to his social +position rather than from spite. + +Tone is not a matter of no importance. + +_Das war innen—das ist draussen!_ + +Extremely kind at heart and noble in theory, they, I mean our embittered +people, may drive an angel to fighting and a saint to cursing by their +tone. Moreover, they exaggerate everything in the world with such +_aplomb_—and not to amuse but to wound—that there is simply no bearing +it. To every criticism, to every censure, they are always ready to add +gloomier details. ‘Why do you defend these sluggards (an embittered +friend, _sehr ausgezeichnet in seinem Fache_, said to us lately), drones, +cumberers of the earth, white-handed laggards _à la Onyegin_?... They +were formed differently, if you please, and the world surrounding them +was too dirty for them, not polished enough; they will dirty their hands, +they will dirty their feet. It was much nicer to go on moaning over their +miserable position, at the same time eating and drinking in comfort.’ + +We put in a word for our classification of the superfluous people into +those of the Old Dispensation and those of the New. But our Daniel +would not hear of a distinction: he would have nothing to say to the +Oblomovs nor to the fact that Nicholas cast in bronze had been gathered +to his fathers, and just for that reason had been cast in bronze. On the +contrary, he attacked us for our defence and, shrugging his shoulders, +said that he looked upon us as on the fine skeleton of a mammoth, as at +an interesting bone that had been dug up and belonged to a different +world with a different sun and different trees. + +‘Allow me on that ground and in the character of a _Homo Benkendorfii +testis_ to defend our contemporaries. Surely you do not really imagine +that these men did nothing, or did something silly of their own choice?’ + +‘Most certainly; they were romantics and aristocrats; they hated work, +they would have thought themselves degraded if they had taken up an axe +or an awl, and it is true they would not have known how to use them.’ + +‘In that case I will quote names: for instance, Tchaadayev. He did +not know how to use an axe, but he knew how to write an article which +thrilled all Russia, and was a turning-point in our understanding of +ourselves. That article was his first step in the literary career. You +know what came of it. The German Vigel took offence on behalf of Russia, +the Protestant and future Catholic Benkendorf took offence on behalf +of orthodoxy, and, by the falsehood of the Most High, Tchaadayev was +declared mad and forced to sign an undertaking not to write. Nadyezhdin, +who published the article in the _Telescope_, was sent to Ust Sysolsk; +the old rector Boldyryev was dismissed: Tchaadayev was turned into an +idle man. Granting that Ivan Kireyevsky could not make boots, yet he +could publish a magazine; he published two numbers, the magazine was +forbidden; he contributed an article to the _Dennitsa_, and the censor, +Glinka, was put in custody: Kireyevsky was turned into a superfluous +man. N. Polevoy cannot, of course, be charged with idleness; he was a +resourceful man, and yet the wings of the _Telegraph_ were clipped, and, +I confess in my weakness, when I read how Polevoy told Panayev that he, +as a married man, handicapped by a family, was afraid of the police, I +did not laugh, but almost cried.’ + +‘But Byelinsky could write and Granovsky could give lectures; they did +not sit idle.’ + +‘If there were men of such energy that they could write and give lectures +in sight of the police-chaise and the fortress, is it not clear that +there were many others of less strength, who were paralysed and suffered +deeply from it?’ + +‘Why did they not take to making boots or splitting logs—it would have +been better than nothing?’ + +‘Probably because they had money enough not to be obliged to do such +dull work; I have never heard of anyone taking to cobbling for pleasure. +Louis XVI. is the only example of a king by trade and a carpenter by +inclination. However, you are not the first to observe this lack of +practical work in these superfluous men; to correct it, our watchful +Government sent them to hard labour.’ + +‘My antediluvian friend, I see that you still look down upon work.’ + +‘As on a far from entertaining necessity.’ + +‘Why should they not have taken their share of the general necessity?’ + +‘No doubt they should, but in the first place they were born, not in +North America, but in Russia, and unluckily were not brought up to it.’ + +‘Why were they not brought up to it?’ + +‘Because they were born, not in the tax-paying classes of Russia, but +in the gentry; perhaps that really is reprehensible, but, being at that +period in the inexperienced position of unborn infants, they cannot, +owing to their tender years, be held responsible for their conduct. And +having once made this mistake in the choice of their parents, they were +bound to submit to the education of the day. And by the way, what right +have you to demand of men that they should do one thing or another? This +is some new compulsory organisation of labour; something in the style of +socialism adapted to the methods of the Ministry of Crown Estates.’ + +‘I don’t compel any one to work; I simply state the fact that they were +idle, worthless aristocrats, who led an easy and comfortable life, and I +see no reason for sympathising with them.’ + +‘Whether they deserve sympathy or not, let every one decide for himself. +Every human suffering, especially if it is inevitable, awakens our +sympathy. And there is no sort of suffering to which one could refuse it. +The martyrs of the early centuries of Christendom believed in redemption. +They believed in a future life. The Roman Muhanovs, Timashevs, and +Luzhins compelled the Christians to bow down in the dust before the +august image of the Caesar; the Christians would not make this trivial +concession, they were thrown to the beasts in the arena. They were mad, +the Romans were half-witted, there is no place here for sympathy or +admiration.... But if so, farewell, not only to Thermopylae and Golgotha, +but also to Sophocles and Shakespeare, and incidentally the whole long +and endless epic poem which is continually ending in frenzied tragedies +and continually going on again under the title of history.’ + +As is usual in argument, our Daniel did not give in. I began to be tired +of it and, taking advantage of my palaeontological importance, said to +him: ‘Have it your own way, but you know it is a silly business pitching +into people who are either dead or not far off dying, and to pitch into +them in a society where almost all the living—military and civilian, +landowners and priests—are worse than they are; I tell you what, if you +are so particularly attracted by _censura morum_, are so fond of the +harsh duty of a moralist, do pick out something original. If you like, I +can pick you out types more pernicious than any superfluous persons, dead +or living.’ + +‘What types?’ + +‘Well, the literary ruffian, for instance.’ + +‘I don’t understand.’ + +‘In our pale literature, maltreated by the censorship, there have been +numbers of queer fishes of all sorts, but until lately they were for +the most part clean, honest men. If there were any of the mercenary, +the disingenuous, the dealers in false coin and genuine police reports, +they were either on the side of the Government, or they scuttled about +underground and never crawled into conspicuous places, like the London +black beetles, which confine themselves to the kitchen and do not appear +in the drawing-room. And so we have preserved a naïve faith in the poet +and the writer. We are not used to the thought that it is possible to lie +in the spirit and trade in talents, as prostitutes delude with the body +and sell their beauty. We are not used to the money-grubbers who make +profit out of their tears over the people’s sufferings, or the traders +who turn their sympathy for the proletariat into a well-paid article. +And there is a great deal that is good in this confidence, which has not +existed for years in Western Europe, and we ought all to try and maintain +it. Believe me, that the man who denounces duplicity, crying shame and +curses upon the disgrace and decay of to-day, and at the same time locks +up in his cash-box money evidently stolen from his friends, is in the +present ferment of ideas, with our looseness and impressionability, more +pernicious and contaminating than all the idle and superfluous people, +all the embittered and the lachrymose!’ + +I do not know whether my Daniel agreed. + + + + +PRINCESS EKATERINA ROMANOVNA DASHKOV + + +‘I very much wish,’ Miss Katharine Wilmot writes to her relations in +Ireland, from the Princess Dashkov’s country estate, ‘that you could see +the Princess herself. Everything about her—dress, language, everything—is +original; whatever she does, she is absolutely unlike any one else. It is +not only that I have never seen such a creature, I have never even heard +of one. She teaches the masons how to build walls, helps make the paths, +goes to feed the cows, composes music, writes articles for the Press, +knows the Church ritual perfectly and corrects the priest if he makes a +mistake in the prayers, understands the theatre perfectly and corrects +her serf-actors when they go wrong in their parts; she is a doctor, a +chemist, a sick-nurse, a blacksmith, a carpenter, a judge, a legislator; +every day she does the most opposite things in the world, and carries on +a correspondence with her brother, who holds one of the foremost posts +in the Empire, with savants, with literary men, with Jews, with her son, +and with all her relations. Her conversation, charming in its simplicity, +sometimes borders upon childlike _naïveté_. Without stopping to think +she speaks at once French, Italian, Russian, and English, mixing all the +languages together. + +‘She was born to be a minister or a general, her place is at the head of +a State.’ + +All that is true, but Miss Wilmot forgets that, in addition to all that, +Princess Dashkov was born a woman, and remained a woman all her life. She +was exceptionally developed on the side of the heart, of tenderness, of +feeling, of devotion. + +For us that is particularly important. In Princess Dashkov the Russian +woman, awakened by the revolution made by Peter the Great, emerges from +her seclusion, displays her capacity, demands her share in politics, in +science, in the civilisation of Russia, and boldly takes her stand beside +Catherine the Great. + +In Princess Dashkov we are conscious of that force, still formless, which +was struggling into life and freedom from under the mildew of Moscow +stagnation, something powerful, many-sided, active, something of Peter +the Great and of Lomonossov, but softened by aristocratic breeding and +womanliness. + +Catherine II., in making her President of the Academy, recognised the +political equality of the sexes, which is perfectly consistent in a +country which accepted the civic equality of woman before the law, +while in Western Europe they still remain bound to their husbands or in +perpetual tutelage. + +The memoirs of a woman who took a foremost part in the _coup d’état_ of +1762, and who was a close witness of all the events from the death of +Elizabeth to the Peace of Tilsit, are exceedingly important in Russian +history, so poor in striking individualities; they are the more so as we +know very little of our eighteenth century. We like to go much further +back in history. We see the Varangians, the men of Novgorod, and the men +of Kiev, and they block out our view of yesterday; the turreted walls of +the Kremlin screen the flat lines of the Peter-Paul fortress from us. +Going carefully through the royal records, we know little of what was +being written in bad Russian in the Government offices of Petersburg, +while sedition and tumult were roaring under the windows of the Winter +Palace, menacing its inhabitants with Siberia and death, and the throne +had not yet the strength and security which it gained not more than +seventy-five years ago. To repeat the story of that period is very +profitable, both for the Government, that it may not forget, and for us, +that we may not despair. + +I should like, however briefly, to explain what I mean. + +All Europe and, what is far worse, all Russians accept the power of the +Tsar in its present form as an eternal and immutable element of Russian +life, which has the right to jeer at all rash assaults on it and boldly +withstands every onslaught, resting firmly and securely on roots that +spread far into the earth. + +The power of the Tsar has, on the contrary, been firmly established +only very recently. Even to this day it carries the traces of its +revolutionary origin; in it, as in the strata of the earth, the granite +of ancient times, the alluvial sands, the fragments casually brought +down from above, or thrust up from below, in places tightly compressed +together, but not chemically united, are mingled chaotically to this day. + +The Byzantine necklet of Monomah, the throne of the Tsar Ivan the +Terrible, the Uspensky Cathedral, lead us astray. Did not Napoleon array +himself in the mantle of Charlemagne and put the iron crown on his head +at Milan? That is all forgery in the style of Chatterton; the venerated +emblems of what is old and past are borrowed to invest the new with +respect, and to persuade us of its durability, of its eternity, so to +speak. + +The Russian Imperial autocracy developed from the power of the Tsar +in response to the acute need for a different manner of life. It is +a military and civil dictatorship with far more resemblance to the +Caesarism of Rome than to a feudal monarchy. A dictatorship may be very +strong and may absorb every power, but it cannot be permanent. It exists +so long as the circumstances that have called it forth remain unaltered +and so long as it is true to its destiny. + +Of course, when, on landing from a steamer, one meets a freshly +pipe-clayed, spick-and-span regiment of Guards, an unquestioning +bureaucracy, galloping couriers, motionless sentinels, Cossacks with +whips, policemen with fists, half the town in uniform, half the town +standing at attention, and the whole town hurriedly taking off its +hat, and when one reflects that they are all deprived of every kind of +independence, and simply acting as the fingers, teeth, and nails of +one man who combines in his own person every form of authority—that of +landowner, priest and executioner, mother and sergeant—one may turn +giddy, be terrified, perhaps feel moved to take off one’s hat oneself, +and to bow down while one’s head is still on one’s shoulders. And it may +even more forcibly make one wish to return to the steamer and sail away +elsewhere. All that is so, and all that (except the last item) was felt +by the worthy Westphalian baron, Haxthausen. + +The Tsardom acquired this grimly gloomy, oppressive aspect of brute force +especially in the thirty years of the reign of Nicholas; terrorism was +with him a principle. But here we cannot avoid asking why Nicholas could +not, in the course of those thirty years, forget the ‘bad quarters of an +hour’ he spent during the defence of the Winter Palace on the 14th of +December 1825. Why was it that he remembered that day on his deathbed and +sent his thanks to the Guards for it? + +It was because from the very beginning of his reign he grasped that his +throne was only strong through _force_. By force alone he maintained his +position, but he felt that there was no lasting security in bayonets +and physical oppression; and he was seeking other means of support. The +allies to which he turned his attention could be relied upon; beside +autocracy he set orthodoxy and nationalism. But this was a reaction +against the movement inaugurated by Peter the Great, the whole gist of +which lay in the secularisation of the Tsardom and the diffusion of +European culture. Nicholas stood in direct contradiction to the living +principle of the Tsardom as it had been from the time of Peter the +Great, and so there is nothing surprising in the fact that the immediate +result of his reign was a dumb breach between him and Russia. If he +had lived another ten years, his throne would have collapsed of itself; +everything was ceasing to work, everything had grown slack and begun to +wilt; the spirit had gone out of everything, the irregularities of the +administration had reached monstrous proportions. He understood that, had +he followed Alexander’s lead, he would inevitably have had to replace the +autocratic power by more humane forms of government, but this he would +not do, and he imagined that he was so far independent of the principles +of Peter the Great that he could be another Peter without them. + +He would have succeeded perhaps if the revolution wrought by Peter had +really been, as Moscow Old Believers hold, the consequence of personal +will and the caprice of genius. But it was not at all a matter of chance, +it came in response to the instinctive craving of Russia to develop its +forces. How else can its success be explained? + +The political development of Russia moved slowly and was very late in +coming. Russia lived from hand to mouth and, harried by Tatars, with +difficulty gathered herself together into the ikon-like Suzdal-Byzantine +kingdom of Muscovy; its political forms were clumsy and coarse, +everything moved awkwardly, apathetically. The power of the Tsar was +insufficient even for the defence of the country, and in 1612 Russia was +saved without the help of the Tsar. And meanwhile something, that speaks +to this day in the heart of every one of us, whispered that there was an +immense vigour and strength under the old-fashioned burdensome garments. +That something is youth, self-confidence, consciousness of strength. + +The abrupt break with the old order wounded—yet pleased; the people liked +Peter the Great; they put him into their legends and their fairy tales. +It was as though the Russians divined that at all costs our sloth must +be broken up and our slackness be braced by a strong political order. The +inhuman discipline of Peter the Great, and of such of his successors as +Bühren, aroused, of course, horror and loathing, but all that was borne +with for the sake of the wide horizons of the new life. It was just as +the Terror was endured in France. + +The period initiated by Peter the Great was from the first more national +than the period of the Muscovite Tsars. It has entered deeply into our +history, into our manners, into our flesh and blood; there is something +in it youthful and extraordinarily akin to us; the revolting mixture +of barrack-room insolence and Austrian red-tape is not its chief +characteristic. With that period the precious memories of our mighty +growth, our glory, and our misfortunes are bound up; it has kept its word +and created a powerful State. The people love success and strength. + +One side of its ideal was accomplished when, in Paris, Alexander dictated +the laws for all Europe. What was the next step? To go back again to +the period before 1700, and combine a military despotism with a Tsardom +bereft of everything human. This was what was desired by Nicholas and a +dozen crazy Slavophils—and nobody else. + +If the people hate the alien German Government, which fully deserves it, +it does not follow that it loved the Muscovite rule; it forgot it in one +generation and knows absolutely nothing about it. + +After Peter the Great what hindered the return to the period that was +only just over? The whole Petersburg system was hanging on a thread. +Drunken and dissolute women, dull-witted princes who could scarcely speak +Russian, German women and children, ascended the throne, and descended +from it; the palace became the nearest way to Siberia and prison; the +Government was in the hands of a handful of intriguers and _condottieri_. +Yet through all this chaos we see no special desire to return to the +earlier period. On the contrary, what remains constant through all +these convulsive changes, what develops in spite of them and gives them +a striking unity, is precisely the fidelity to the ideas of Peter the +Great. One party overthrows another, taking advantage of the fact that +the new _régime_ is not yet in working order; but whoever gained the +day, no one touched the principles of Peter the Great, but all accepted +them—Menshikov and Bühren, Minih and even the Dolgorukys, who wanted to +limit the Imperial power, though not by the old Boyar Duma.[50] Elizabeth +and Catherine II. flatter orthodoxy, and flatter nationalism in order to +possess the throne, but, once securely seated on it, they keep to the +same way, Catherine II. more so than any one. + +The only opposition to the new order of things after its cruel +installation we see in the unorthodox _raskolniks_ and the passive lack +of sympathy of the peasants. The obstinate grumblings of a few old men +meant nothing. The crushed submission of all the ‘Old Believers’ was +the admission of their impotence. If there had been anything living in +their outlook there would certainly have been attempts, unsuccessful, +impossible, impracticable perhaps, but they would have been made. All +the Anna Leopoldovnas, the Anna Ivanovnas, the Elizabeth Petrovnas and +Catherine Alexyevnas, found bold and devoted men ready to face the block +and prison for their sakes. The Cossacks, faced with ruin, and the +serfs, crushed under the heel of the nobility, had their Pugatchov, and +Pugatchov his two hundred thousand fighting men; the Kirghiz-Kaisaks +moved into China; the Crimean Tatars joined the Turks; Little Russia +murmured loudly; everything injured or crushed by the Autocracy made its +protest, but the Old Russian party in Russia never did. It had neither +voice nor devoted followers, neither a Polubotok nor a Mazeppa![51] + +And it was not until one hundred and fifty years after Peter the Great +that it found a representative and a leader, and that representative and +leader was Nicholas. It would have been a calamity if he had, with the +support of Church intolerance and nationalistic sentiment, succeeded in +transforming the Autocracy, and changing it from a dictatorship into a +purely monarchical or imperial government; but that was impossible. As +soon as Nicholas was dead, Russia broke again into the path traced out by +Peter the Great—not in the conquering or martial direction he had given +it, but towards the development of its material and moral powers. + +Peter the Great was one of the first of the leading figures of the great +eighteenth century, and he acted in its spirit, he was saturated through +and through with it, like Frederick II. of Prussia, like Joseph II. of +Austria. His revolutionary realism gets the upper hand of his royal +dignity—he is a despot, but not a monarch. + +We all know how Peter crushed the old order and how he built up the new. +To the burdensome, immovable Byzantine decorum he opposed the manners +of the pothouse, the tedious Granovitaya Palata was transformed under +him into a palace of debauchery; instead of the legal succession to the +throne he, on one occasion, endowed the Tsar with the right of appointing +his successor; on another occasion, wrote to the Senators that they +should themselves select the most suitable one in case he should perish +in a Turkish prison, and thereupon took the crown from his own son to +give it to the servant-girl who, after passing through many men’s hands, +had come into his. He left vacant the post of the most holy Patriarch, +forbade the display of holy relics, and wiped dry all the sorrowing tears +of the wonder-working ikons. In the land of unalterable precedence, he +placed above all the rest the plebeian Menshikov, he associated with +foreigners, even with negroes, got drunk in the company of skippers and +sailors, rioted in the streets—in fact, in every way outraged the rigid +propriety of the Old Russian life and the dignified formality of a Tsar. + +He set the tone. His successors maintained it, exaggerating and +distorting it; for half a century after him, there was one unbroken orgy +of drink, blood, and debauchery—_l’ultimo atto_, as an Italian writer +expresses it, _d’una tragedia representata nel un lupanar_. + +Where was orthodoxy, where was the principle of monarchy and chivalry, in +all this? + +If in the second half of the reign of Catherine the tragic character +pales, the _locale_ remains the same; the history of Catherine II. cannot +be read aloud before ladies. Versailles, corrupted in the monarchical +style, looked with as much astonishment at the debauchery of the Russian +court as at the philosophical liberalism of Catherine II., for the French +court did not understand that the foundations of the Imperial power in +Russia were utterly different from those on which the Royal power of +France was founded. + +When Alexander said at Tilsit to Napoleon that he did not agree with the +significance which the latter ascribed to the hereditary character of +the Tsardom, Napoleon thought that he was deceiving him. When he said to +Madame de Staël that he was only a ‘happy accident,’ she took it for a +phrase. But it was a profoundly true saying. + +Moved to wrath by the cowardice of the German sovereigns, the Emperor +Alexander said in his proclamation of 22nd February 1813 to their +subjects: ‘Terror restrains your Governments, do not let that hold you +back; if your sovereigns, under the influence of cowardice and servility, +do nothing, then the voice of their subjects must be heard and must +compel the rulers who are leading their peoples into slavery and misery +to lead them into freedom and honour.’ + +The fact is, that Alexander retained a full understanding of the +tradition of Peter the Great; he was too close to the first period of +Imperial rule to pose as the military pope of all the reactions. Indeed, +it was with obvious doubt and uncertainty that he read the police reports +of Sherwood and Mayboroda. + +With no doubt and no reflection, Nicholas sat down in his place and made +of his power a machine which was to turn Russia back in her tracks. But +the Tsardom ceased to be strong as soon as it became conservative. Russia +had given up everything human, she had given up peace and freedom, and +had gone into the German bondage only to escape from the cramped and +stifling condition which she had outgrown. To turn her back by the same +means was impossible. + +It is only by going forward towards real objects, it is only by more +and more actively promoting the development of the national forces with +humane education, that the Tsardom can maintain itself. The oil with +which the engines on the new railways are greased will be better for +anointing the Tsars at their coronation than the holy unguents of the +Uspensky Cathedral. + +Whether our interpretation of the Imperial rule is correct will be +clearly and vividly shown by the excellent memoirs of Princess Dashkov. + +Our object will be fully attained if our brief sketch of its contents +drives readers to open the book itself. + + * * * * * + +In the year 1744, the Empress Elizabeth and the Grand Duke Peter stood +godfather and godmother to Ekaterina, the baby daughter of Count Roman +Vorontsov, brother of the great Chancellor. The Vorontsovs belonged +to that small number of oligarchic families which, together with the +paramours of the Empresses, ruled Russia at that time as they liked, +while the country passed abruptly from one reign to another. They played +the master in the Empire, just as nowadays in the houses of wealthy +landowners house-serfs govern districts far and near. + +The Empress Elizabeth was loved, not at all because she deserved it, but +because her predecessor, Anna Ivanovna, had kept Bühren, a German, as +steward, and we Russians cannot endure German stewards. She was nearer to +the people than Anna Ivanovna and Anna Leopoldovna; in addition to the +blood of Peter, she had all the defects of the Russian character—that is, +she sometimes had regular drinking bouts, and every evening drank till +she could not wait for her maids to undress her, but ripped her laces and +her dresses off. She used to go on pilgrimages, fasted, was superstitious +and passionately fond of fine clothes—she left fifteen thousand dresses; +above all, she loved precious stones, as our wealthy merchants’ wives do, +and probably had just as much taste as they, of which we can judge by the +fact that she had a whole room decorated with amber. + +The gentry in those days lived on quite a different footing with their +serfs from now; there was a certain intimacy and familiarity between +them, and, in spite of outbursts of domineering, they felt the novelty of +their power and the necessity of support. + +All of a sudden, for instance, Elizabeth takes Shuvalov and drives with +him to Count Vorontsov’s to drink tea, to try on his Hungarian jacket, to +gossip with him a little, while if any one told lies too wildly she would +clip or cut out his tongue according to the degree of his guilt; and +all this in a motherly, homely way without fuss, while she refused from +motives of humanity to sign a single death-warrant. + +When the Empress’s god-daughter had reached the age of fourteen she had +measles: measles and smallpox were no joke in those days, and almost +reached the proportions of a political crime; measles or smallpox might +attack Paul, that future hope of all Russia! A special Imperial decree +forbade families in which there was this terrible illness to have any +contact with the court. Our sick countess was hurriedly packed up and +sent off into the country some fifty miles away; it must be assumed that +the air there was not bad for the measles. With the countess were sent an +old German lady and the rigidly decorous widow of a Russian major: the +clever, plucky, and lively girl, on recovering from measles, almost died +of boredom with her two companions; luckily, she found in the country a +fairly good library. At fourteen our young countess knew four languages +besides Russian, which she did not know, but after her marriage learnt +thoroughly to please her mother-in-law. She did not attack novels but +Voltaire, Bayle, and so on. Reading became a passion with her, yet books +did not dispel her depression; she pined, and went back to Petersburg +languid and unwell. The Empress sent her own doctor to her—and that +doctor was Boerhaave; he said there was nothing wrong, that she was +physically well, but that her imagination was ailing—in fact, that she +was fourteen. + +After Boerhaave, relations from all parts pounced on the poor girl, and +with inexhaustible cruelty undertook to entertain her, to distract her +mind, to feed her up; they tormented her with questions and advice. While +she only asked for one thing, to be left in peace; she was at the time +reading Hélvetius’ _De l’Entendement_. + +The remedy soon arrived of itself. + +One evening the young countess, who was fairly free to make her own +arrangements, went to Madame Samarin’s and stayed to supper, ordering the +carriage to be sent to fetch her home. At eleven o’clock the carriage +drove round and she came out; but the night was so fine and there was +no one in the streets, so she went home on foot, accompanied by Madame +Samarin’s sister. At the corner they met a tall graceful, man, who was +acquainted with her companion; he began talking to the latter, and +addressed a few words to the young countess. + +The countess arrived home and dreamed of the handsome officer. The +officer arrived home in love with the handsome countess. + +No need to lose precious time; the countess was no longer a child (it was +1759), and she was fifteen; the officer was young, handsome, brilliant, +and very tall, he was in the Preobrazhensky regiment, and belonged to an +old family. The relations blessed the match, the Empress sanctioned it, +and they were married. And so our young countess became Princess Dashkov. + +A year and a half after their wedding, being on the eve of her second +confinement, she remained alone in Moscow, while her husband went to +Petersburg. His furlough was over, and he was asking for an extension of +leave. The Grand Duke was at that time in command of the Preobrazhensky +regiment; he would have given Dashkov the extension of leave at once, +but the position was serious, and he wanted to make friends with his +officers. The Empress was almost breathing her last; the Shuvalovs, the +Razumovskys, and the Panins were intriguing with and without the Grand +Duchess in favour of Paul, even in favour of the luckless Ivan—and most +of all in their own favour. The Grand Duke was not liked; he was not a +bad man, but he had every quality that the Russian temperament detests in +the German—_gaucherie_, a coarse heartiness, a vulgar tone, a pedantry +and a haughty self-complacency bordering on contempt for everything +Russian. Elizabeth, though herself perpetually tipsy, could not forgive +him for being drunk every evening. Razumovsky hated him for wanting to +make Gudovitch Hetman; Panin for his guard-room manners; the Horse Guards +for preferring his Holstein soldiers to them; the ladies for his inviting +actresses and German women of all sorts to sit down at his banquets +beside them; while the clergy detested him for his undisguised contempt +for the Orthodox Church. Seeing that Elizabeth’s end was near, and afraid +of being deserted by every one, the tactless Peter attempted to make up +to his officers and win their favour, and set about it with excessive +clumsiness. Among others he wanted to make sure of Dashkov, who was in +command of a company; and therefore, without refusing him his leave, he +invited him to Oranienbaum. + +Dashkov, after his interview with Peter, set off for Moscow; on the way +he was taken ill with a sore throat and feverishness. Anxious not to +worry his wife, he bade them take him to his aunt, Madame Novosiltsov, +for he fancied that the pain in his throat was somewhat easier, and that +his voice was coming back a little; instead of that, the illness turned +out to be quinsy, and he was soon in a high fever. + +At that very time, Prince Dashkov’s mother, with her sister, Princess +Gagarin, was sitting in our young princess’s bedroom, together with a +midwife, expecting the birth of the child in a few hours. The young +mother was still able to move about, and she went to fetch something in +another room, where her maid had long been awaiting her. The girl told +her in secret of her sick husband’s return, saying that he was at his +aunt’s, and begging her mistress not to betray her, as all were strictly +forbidden to tell her the news. The young princess uttered a shriek at +these unexpected tidings; recovering herself, she went upstairs to the +bedroom, as though nothing had happened, assured them that they were all +mistaken, that her confinement was not coming so soon, and persuaded +them to go and rest, promising by all that was holy to send for them if +anything should happen. + +No sooner had the old ladies retired than the young princess flew with +all the impetuosity of her character to entreat the midwife to take +her to her husband. The kind-hearted German thought she had gone out +of her mind, and began trying in her Silesian accent to dissuade her, +continually adding: ‘No, no, I shall have to answer to God afterwards for +the slaughter of the innocent.’ The princess told the midwife resolutely +that, if she would not accompany her, she should go alone, and no force +on earth should stop her. The old woman was worked upon by terror, +but when the young lady told her that they must go on foot that her +mother-in-law might not hear the crunch of the sledge-runners, she again +resisted and stood motionless, ‘as though her legs had sent down roots +into the floor.’ At last this difficulty, too, was overcome; but on the +stairs the young princess’s pains returned, and so violently that the +midwife tried to dissuade her, but, clutching on to the stair-rail, she +was not to be turned from her resolution. + +They walked out of the gate, and in spite of the pains reached the +Novosiltsovs’ house. Of the interview with her husband she remembered +only that she saw him pale, ill, lying unconscious, that she only had +time to take one look at him, and fell in a swoon on the floor. In this +condition the Novosiltsovs’ servants carried her on a stretcher home, +where, however, no one had suspected her absence. Fresh and more acute +pains restored her to consciousness, she sent for her husband’s mother +and aunt, and an hour later gave birth to her son Mihail. + +At six o’clock in the morning her husband was brought into the house; +his mother put him in another room, forbidding any intercourse between +the two sick-rooms on the pretext that the young mother might catch the +quinsy, though in reality from a petty jealousy. The young couple at once +began a sentimental correspondence, which was, of course, attended with +much more risk for the young mother than quinsy, which is not in the +least infectious, could be; they were writing notes to each other at all +hours of the day and night, till the old lady found them out, scolded the +maids, and threatened to take away pens, pencils, and paper. + +A woman who was capable of such love and such determination in getting +her own way in spite of danger, fear, and pain was bound to play a great +part in the times in which she lived and in the circle to which she +belonged. + +On the 28th of July 1761, the Dashkovs moved to Petersburg. ‘The day,’ +she said, ‘which twelve months later became so memorable and so glorious +for my country.’ + +In Petersburg she found awaiting her an invitation from the Grand Duke +to move to Oranienbaum. She did not want to go, and her father had +difficulty in persuading her to take his summer villa not far from +Oranienbaum. The fact is that by then she could not endure the Grand +Duke, while she was sincerely devoted to his wife. Before she had left +her father’s house she had been presented to the Grand Duchess; Catherine +had been gracious to her, the clever and highly cultured girl had taken +her fancy. With the smile, the _abandon_ with which Catherine for thirty +years fascinated all Russia, and the diplomatists and learned men of all +Europe, she won the devotion of Princess Dashkov for ever. From the first +interview the young girl loved Catherine passionately, ‘adored her’ as +schoolgirls adore their elder companions; she was in love with her as +boys are in love with women of thirty. + +On the other hand, she felt as genuine an aversion for her godfather, +Peter. And a pleasant person he was, there is no denying. We shall see it +directly. + +Her own sister, Elizaveta Romanovna, was openly Peter’s mistress. He +considered that Saltykov and Poniatowski, the fortunate predecessors +of the Orlovs, Vassiltchikovs, Novosiltsovs, Potyomkins, Lanskys, +Yermolevs, Korsakovs, Zoritches, Zavodovskys, Mamonovs, Zubovs, and a +whole phalanx of stalwart _virorum obscurorum_ gave him the right not to +be over-niggardly in his affairs of the heart, and not to conceal his +preferences. + +His attitude to his wife was already such that, on Princess Dashkov’s +first being presented to him, he said to her: ‘Allow me to hope that you +will bestow upon us no less time than upon the Grand Duchess.’ + +For her part the impetuous young princess did not dream of concealing +her preference for Catherine. The Grand Duke observed it, and a few days +later led the young princess aside, and said to her, ‘in the simplicity +of his head and the kindness of his heart,’ as she puts it: ‘Remember +that it is safer to have to do with simple, honest people like your +sister and me than with great intellects who squeeze every drop out of +you and then throw you out of window like the skin of an orange.’ + +Princess Dashkov evasively observed that the Empress had expressed her +urgent desire that they should show respect equally to the Grand Duchess +and to His Highness. + +Nevertheless, she could not avoid sometimes attending the Grand Duke’s +drinking-parties. These festivities were of a German barrack-room +character, coarse and drunken. Peter, surrounded by his Holstein generals +(that is, in her words, by corporals and sergeants of the Prussian army, +sons of German artisans whose parents did not know what to do with them, +and sent them for soldiers on account of their dissolute habits), with +the pipe always between his lips, sometimes went on drinking till his +flunkeys carried him out. + +At one such supper-party in the presence of the Grand Duchess and +numerous visitors, the conversation turned on Tchelishtchev, a sergeant +of the Guards, and his supposed _liaison_ with the Countess Hendrikov, a +niece of the Empress. + +Peter, who was already very drunk, observed that Tchelishtchev ought +to have his head cut off as a warning to other officers not to get up +love affairs with the female relations of the royal family. The Holstein +sycophants expressed their approval and sympathy by every possible token, +while the young princess could not refrain from observing that it seemed +to her very inhuman to inflict the death penalty for so trivial a crime. + +‘You are still a child,’ answered the Grand Duke, ‘your words prove it; +otherwise you would know that to be sparing with the death penalty means +to encourage insubordination.’ + +‘Your Highness,’ answered Princess Dashkov, ‘you are trying to frighten +us; with the exception of the old generals, all of us who have the honour +to be sitting at your table belong to a generation which has never seen +the death penalty in Russia.’ + +‘That does not signify,’ retorted the Grand Duke; ‘fine sort of order +there has been in everything in consequence. I tell you, you are a child +and know nothing about these things.’ + +All remained silent. ‘I am ready,’ the young princess replied, ‘to +acknowledge that I am incapable of understanding you; but I cannot help +rejoicing when I think that your aunt is still on the throne and is still +well and strong.’ + +All eyes were turned upon the bold young woman. The Grand Duke did not +answer in words; he confined himself to putting out his tongue—a charming +trick to which he often resorted instead of a verbal reply, especially +when he was in church. + +This conversation, which was the beginning of Princess Dashkov’s +political career, was the more remarkable for the fact that these +Nero-like speeches were uttered by the mildest man in the world, who had +never put any one to death. There were a large number of the officers of +the Guards and of the cadets sitting at the table, and Princess Dashkov’s +words were carried with lightning swiftness all over the town. They gave +her a great notoriety, which at first she was far from appreciating, and +which made of her one of the centres, and almost the principal one, round +which discontented officers rallied. At first the young princess was +delighted that the Grand Duchess was exceedingly pleased by her answer. +‘Time,’ she mournfully adds, ‘had not then taught me how dangerous it is +to tell the truth to sovereigns; if they can sometimes forgive it, their +courtiers never do.’ + +Her affection for Catherine increased. Elizabeth was then living at +Peterhof, and there the Grand Duchess was permitted _once a week_ to +see her son. On her way back from the Palace she usually drove to the +Dashkovs’, took the princess with her, and kept her for a whole evening. +When it was impossible to visit her, Catherine wrote a brief note to her; +from this there sprang up the friendly, intimate correspondence between +them which lasted even after the Dashkovs had left the summer villa. They +write about literature, about their day-dreams, about Voltaire, and about +Rousseau, in verse and in prose. + +‘Such verse and such prose!’ writes Catherine, ‘and at seventeen! I +entreat you not to neglect such a talent. Perhaps I am not altogether an +impartial critic; your flattering attachment to me is to blame for your +having chosen me for the subject of your poem. Blame me for pride if you +like, but still I will say that it is long since I have read such correct +and such poetical work.’ + +Catherine, too, sends her essays and very emphatically insists that +they are to be shown to no one. ‘In the circumstances under which I +am compelled to live, everything serves as a ground for unpleasant +suppositions.’ She is so anxious that she begs Princess Dashkov to have +letters addressed to her maid, Katerina Ivanovna, and burns them when she +has read them. What she calls ‘trifling grounds’ may be surmised from one +letter in which she again speaks of her manuscript. The young princess +had returned it to her with much praise, assuring her that she had never +let it go out of her own hands. Not a word is said of the contents of the +manuscript, but it is evident from the following words (letter 21): ‘You +relieve me of my duties in regard to my son; I see in that a fresh proof +of the goodness of your heart. I was profoundly agitated by the tokens of +devotion with which I was greeted by the people on that day. I have never +been so happy.’ + +That letter was written soon after Elizabeth’s death, but we have not yet +reached that stage of our narrative. + +Towards the end of December 1761, there was a rumour that Elizabeth was +very ill. + +Princess Dashkov was lying in bed with a very bad cold when the news +reached her. The thought of Catherine’s danger struck her; she could no +more lie still in bed with it than with the thought of her husband’s +illness; and so, wrapped in a fur coat, on the frosty night of the 20th +of December, she set off for the wooden palace on the Moika, where the +royal family lived at that time. Not wishing to be seen, she left the +carriage at a little distance from the Palace, and walked towards the +little entrance at the side of the Grand Duchess’s apartments, though +she did not know the way to them. Fortunately she met Katerina Ivanovna, +the Grand Duchess’s maid; the latter said that the Grand Duchess was in +bed; but Princess Dashkov insisted on being announced, saying that she +absolutely must see her at once. The maid, knowing her and her devotion +to the Grand Duchess, obeyed. Catherine, who knew the Princess Dashkov +was seriously ill, and so would not have come out at night in the frost +without specially important reasons, ordered her to be shown up. + +At first she showered reproaches on the princess for not taking care of +herself, and, seeing that she was cold, said to her: ‘Dear princess, +first of all you must get warm; come, get into my bed’; and only after +tucking her up, she asked her at last what was the matter. + +‘In the present position of affairs,’ said Princess Dashkov, ‘when the +Empress has only a few days, perhaps a few hours, to live, you must, +without loss of time, take measures against the danger with which you are +threatened and steps to avert it. For God’s sake, trust me; I will show +you that I am worthy of your trust. If you have any definite plan, make +use of me, dispose of me, I am at your service.’ + +Catherine burst into tears and, pressing her friend’s hand to her heart, +said: ‘I assure you that I have no plan whatever; there is nothing I can +do, and I imagine that all that is left me is to await the course of +events with fortitude. I resign myself to the will of God, and rest all +my hopes on Him alone.’ + +‘In that case your friends must act for you. As for me, I feel I have +strength and energy enough to carry them all with me; and believe me, +there is no sacrifice which would hinder me.’ + +‘For God’s sake,’ Catherine interrupted, ‘do not expose yourself to +danger in the hope of resisting evil which seems really inevitable. If +you ruin yourself for my sake, you will only add an everlasting grief to +my unhappy lot.’ + +‘All that I can tell you is that I will not take a step which could +possibly involve you, or put you in danger. Whatever happens, may it come +upon me, and, if my blind devotion to you leads me to the scaffold, you +shall never be its victim.’ + +Catherine would have protested, but Princess Dashkov[52] interrupting +her, took her hand, pressed it to her lips, and, saying that she was +afraid to continue the conversation, asked leave to withdraw. Deeply +touched, they remained for some minutes in each other’s arms, then the +princess cautiously went out, leaving Catherine in great agitation. + +We must add to this affecting scene that Catherine had all the same +deceived the princess; she had not entrusted her fate to God alone, but +also to Grigory Orlov, with whom she had thought out her plan, and Orlov +was already secretly trying to enlist the co-operation of the officers. + +At Christmas the Empress died. Petersburg received the news gloomily; and +Princess Dashkov herself saw the Semyonovsky and Izmailovsky regiments +march sullenly past her house with muffled murmurs. + +Peter III., proclaimed Emperor, paid no regard to decorum; the drinking +bouts went on. A few days after Elizabeth’s death he visited the father +of Princess Dashkov, and through her sister announced his displeasure +at not seeing her at court. There was no escaping it; she went. Peter +III., dropping his voice, began telling her that she would end by drawing +upon herself his anger, and might very bitterly repent of it later on, +‘because there may easily come a time when Romanovna’ (that was what he +called his mistress) ‘will be in _that woman’s_ place.’ + +Princess Dashkov made a show of not understanding, and hurriedly took +her place at Peter III.’s favourite game. In this game (_campis_) each +player has several counters; the player who keeps one till the last +wins the game. Every one put down ten imperials, which, considering +Princess Dashkov’s income at that time, was not a trifling sum for her, +particularly as, when Peter III. lost, he used to take a counter out +of his pocket and lay it on the pool, so that he almost always won. As +soon as the game was over, the Tsar proposed a second; she refused. He +pestered her so much to play that, taking advantage of her ‘position as +spoilt child,’ she told him that she was not rich enough to lose for +certain, that if His Majesty played like other people she would, at any +rate, have a chance of winning. Peter III. responded with his ‘usual +buffooneries,’ and the princess made her bows and withdrew. + +As she walked through the suite of rooms filled with courtiers and +persons of various grades, she felt as though she were at a masquerade, +there was no one she could recognise. She could not help laughing when +she saw Prince Trubetskoy, who was seventy, for the first time in his +life dressed up in a military uniform, standing at attention, in high +boots with spurs, all ready, in fact, for the most desperate battle. ‘The +pitiful little old man,’ she adds, ‘pretending to be ill and suffering, +as beggars do, lay in bed while Elizabeth was dying; he felt a little +better when Peter III. was proclaimed, and, learning that everything had +gone off well, he leapt up at once, armed himself from head to foot, and +showed himself like a hero in the Izmailovsky regiment to which he was +attached.’ + +Apropos of uniforms, the fatal passion for them was handed down from +Peter III. to Paul, from Paul to all his children, to all the generals, +staff and higher officers; Panin, who supervised the education of Paul, +complained that Peter III. was never present at his examinations. The +Holstein princes, his uncles, persuaded Peter to attend one at least; +he was very much pleased, and promoted Panin to be a general in the +infantry. To perceive the full absurdity of this, one must picture the +pale, sickly figure of Panin, who liked to be correctly dressed and +scrupulously groomed, and was rather like a courtier of the days of Louis +XIV. Panin detested Peter III.’s barrack-room tone, he hated uniforms and +all that nonsense. When Melgunov brought him the joyful tidings that he +was a general, Panin would have fled to Switzerland and lived there in +preference to wearing the uniform. News of this reached Peter III.; he +transferred him to the corresponding civilian grade. He never got over +his surprise at Panin. ‘Why,’ he used to say, ‘I always thought Panin was +a sensible man!’ + +While Peter III. was dressing his courtiers up as heroes, the usual +funeral ceremonies were taking place. The Empress did not leave her +rooms, and only appeared at the requiem service. Peter III., too, only +rarely showed himself, and then always behaved improperly, whispering +with the ladies, laughing with his adjutants, mocking at the clergy, +scolding the officers, and even the common soldiers, over buttons or some +such trifle. ‘The new Emperor,’ the English ambassador, Keith, said to +Prince Golitsyn, ‘is beginning his reign imprudently; if he goes on like +this he will come to be despised by his people and afterwards to be hated +by them.’ + +Peter III. did everything as though on purpose to arouse this hatred. +One evening, when Princess Dashkov was present, the Tsar was holding +forth, as his habit was, on the subject of his respect for Frederick +II., and suddenly turning to the Secretary of State, Volkov, who had +been Chief Secretary of the Privy Council under Elizabeth, he asked him +whether he remembered how they used to laugh over the perpetual failure +of the secret instructions sent to the army in the field. Volkov, who +together with Peter, then Grand Duke, had communicated to the Prussian +King all the army orders, and so stultified them, was so taken aback by +Peter III.’s words that he almost fainted. But the Tsar went on, jocosely +describing how in time of war they had betrayed to the enemy the country +in which he was heir to the throne. + +At the conclusion of the peace with the Prussian King, in which he +shamefully yielded everything that had been won by Russian blood, there +was no end to the delight and rejoicing. There was festivity after +festivity. Among others Peter III. gave a great dinner, to which all the +ambassadors and members of the three first grades were invited. After +dinner the Tsar proposed three toasts, which were drunk to the firing +of cannon—to the health of the Imperial Family, to the health of the +Prussian King, to the permanence of the peace that had been concluded. + +When the Empress drank the toast to the Imperial Family, Peter III. sent +his adjutant, Gudovitch, who was standing by his chair, to ask her why +she did not stand up. Catherine answered that since the Imperial Family +consisted only of her husband, her son, and herself, she had not supposed +that it would be His Majesty’s pleasure that she should stand up. When +Gudovitch repeated her answer, the Tsar bade him go back and tell the +Empress that she was ‘a fool,’ and ought to know that his uncles, the +Holstein princes, belonged to the Imperial Family too. This was not +enough; afraid that Gudovitch would soften his rudeness, he repeated +what he had said across the table, so that the greater number of the +guests heard it. For the first minute the Empress could not refrain +from shedding tears, but, anxious to end the scandal as quickly as +possible, she turned to the _kammerherr_, Strogonov, who was standing +behind her chair, and begged him to begin some conversation. Strogonov, +who was himself deeply shocked, began babbling something with a show of +liveliness. As he went out of the palace, he received the command to go +to his country estate, and not to leave it without permission. + +This incident was exceedingly prejudicial to Peter III. Every one pitied +the unfortunate woman, who had been grossly insulted by a drunken boor. +Princess Dashkov was naturally bound to take advantage of this state of +public feeling. She became a desperate conspirator, persuading, sounding, +enlisting sympathisers, and at the same time she went to balls and danced +to avoid arousing suspicion. Prince Dashkov, insulted by Peter III., made +him some answer on parade. The princess, afraid of the consequences, +succeeded in procuring him a commission to Constantinople, and gave him +the advice to ‘make haste slowly’ with it. Having sent him off, she +surrounded herself with officers who put the fullest confidence in their +eighteen-year-old leader. + +There were other people about Peter III. who were dissatisfied, but owing +to their age and position took no part in the conspiracy; they were glad +to take advantage of a change, but the risk of losing their heads on the +scaffold was too much for a Razumovsky or a Panin. The real conspirators +were Princess Dashkov with her officers, and Orlov with his adherents. + +Of Razumovsky Princess Dashkov says: ‘He loves his country as much as the +apathetic man can love anything. Sunk in the bog of wealth, surrounded +by marks of respect, well received at the new court, and liked by the +officers, he has dropped into indifference and grown sluggish.’ + +Panin was a statesman and looked further ahead than the rest; his aim was +to proclaim Paul Tsar and Catherine Regent. So doing he hoped to curtail +the power of the Autocracy. Moreover, he thought to attain his object by +legal means through the Senate. + +All this was far from being approved by Princess Dashkov. Moreover, +the dissatisfaction and murmuring among the soldiers were growing. The +disgraceful peace, on the one hand, and the insane war with Denmark +which with no serious object Peter III. wanted to wage over Holstein, +exasperated men’s minds. This war became an insane obsession with him; +even Frederick II. tried by letter to persuade him to defer it. + +It is said that the young conspiratress used peculiarly eloquent weapons +to induce stubborn Panin to co-operate with her party. Panin was so +attracted by her intelligence, her energy, and, above all, her beauty, +that, old as he was, he fell passionately in love with her. Princess +Dashkov rejected his love with mirth, but finding no other means of +persuading him she made up her mind to bribe him with herself. After this +Panin was in her hands. It is only just to say that in two passages of +her memoirs she denies this rumour with indignation.[53] + +Although the conspirators could reckon on Razumovsky and Panin, and, +what was more, on the Archbishop of Novgorod, and although a number of +officers adhered to the conspiracy, they had no definite plan of action. +Though at one in a common object, they could not agree on the steps to be +taken; Princess Dashkov, devoured by burning energy, was angry with their +deliberateness, did not know what to do, and at last went off to her +summer villa at Krasny Kabak. This summer villa was the first possession +she had entirely of her own: she at once set to work rebuilding, digging +ditches, laying out gardens. ‘In spite,’ she said, ‘of the affection I +had for that first bit of ground which was my own, I did not want to give +it my name, as I wished to dedicate it to the name of the saint on whose +day success crowns our great enterprise.’ ‘Make haste and give a name to +my villa,’ she writes to the Empress, when laid up with a fever, which +she had caught through riding up to her waist in a bog. Catherine could +make nothing of it, and thought that her friend was delirious. + +But it was Peter III. who was really delirious; while Princess Dashkov +was planting acacias and clearing paths, he was moving rapidly on his +downward path; one folly succeeded another, one unseemly vulgarity was +followed by another twice as unseemly. Keith’s prophecy was coming true: +public feeling was passing from contempt into hatred. + +The Austrian persecution of the Greek Church in Serbia had driven many +Serbs to appeal to the Empress Elizabeth, begging her to assign them +lands in the south of Russia. In addition to lands, Elizabeth ordered +a considerable sum of money to be given them for the expenses of their +moving and resettlement. One of their agents, Horvat, a wily, intriguing +fellow, took possession of the lands and money and, instead of carrying +out the conditions on which the land was given, began to dispose of the +emigrants as though they were his serfs. The Serbs presented a complaint, +Elizabeth ordered an enquiry, but before it was over she died. Horvat, +hearing of her death, went to Petersburg and began by giving two thousand +gold pieces to each of the three persons who were in closest relations +with Peter III.—L. Naryshkin, who was something in the way of a court +buffoon, General Melgunov, and the Prosecutor-General Glyebov. The two +latter went to the Tsar and told him straight out of the bribe. Peter +III. was much pleased at their openness, he praised them for it, and +added that if they would give him half he would go himself to the Senate +and command them to decide the case in favour of Horvat. They divided the +spoils, the Tsar kept his word, and for two thousand gold pieces lost +hundreds of thousands of new settlers; seeing that their comrades had +been cheated by the Government, those who had not yet started did not +venture to move. + +When the case was over, Peter III. heard that Naryshkin had concealed +his bribe, and, to punish him for this lack of friendly confidence, took +the whole sum from him. And for a long time afterwards he used to tease +Naryshkin by asking him what he was doing with Horvat’s gold pieces. + +Here is another charming anecdote of Peter III. One day the Tsar returned +home with Razumovsky after parade, much pleased with the Izmailovsky +regiment; suddenly he heard a noise a little way off; his favourite negro +was fighting with the fencing-master. At first Peter III. was delighted +with the spectacle, but all at once he pulled a solemn face and said: +‘Narcisse exists no longer for us.’ Razumovsky, who could make nothing +of it, asked what had so suddenly distressed His Majesty. ‘Why, don’t +you see,’ he cried, ‘that I cannot keep a man about me who has fought +with a fencing-master? he is disgraced, disgraced for ever.’ Razumovsky, +pretending to enter into these deep considerations, observed that the +negro’s honour might be restored by passing him under the flag of the +regiment. This idea delighted Peter III.; he at once called the negro, +bade him pass under the flag, and, feeling this was not quite sufficient, +ordered that he should be scratched with the lance of the flag that he +might wash out his offence with his own blood. The poor negro almost died +of fright, the generals and the officers could hardly restrain their +indignation and laughter. Only Peter III. performed the whole ritual of +the negro’s purification with perfect solemnity throughout. + +And this buffoon was Tsar!... But not for long! + +On the evening of the 27th of June Grigory Orlov came to Princess Dashkov +to tell her that Captain Passek, one of the most desperate conspirators, +was arrested. Orlov found Panin with her; to lose time, to procrastinate, +was now impossible. Only the lymphatic, slow, and cautious Panin +counselled waiting till the morrow, and first finding out how and why +Passek was arrested. This did not please Orlov or her. The former said +that he would go to find out about Passek. Princess Dashkov asked Panin +to leave her, pretending that she was excessively tired. As soon as Panin +had driven off, she threw on a man’s grey overcoat and set off on foot to +see Roslavlev, one of the conspirators. + +Not far from home she met a man on horseback galloping full speed. +Although she had never seen Orlov’s brothers, she guessed that it was +one of them; when she reached him, she called his name. He pulled up the +horse, and she made herself known to him. ‘I was coming to you,’ he said. +‘Passek has been seized as a political criminal. There are four sentries +at the doors and two at the window. My brother has gone to Panin, and I +have been to Roslavlev.’ + +‘Is Roslavlev much alarmed?’ + +‘He is indeed.’ + +‘Send word to our men, Roslavlev, Lasunsky, Tchertkov, and Bredihin to +gather at once to the Izmailovsky regiment, and to make ready to receive +the Empress. Then say that I advise your brother or you to ride as fast +as you can to Peterhof for the Empress; tell her that I have a carriage +ready, tell her that I beseech her not to delay, but to drive full speed +to Petersburg.’ + +On the previous evening Princess Dashkov, who had heard from Passek of +the great discontent of the soldiers, and was afraid that something might +happen, had by way of precaution written to the wife of Catherine’s +_kammerdiener_, Shkurin, telling her to send a carriage with four +post-horses to her husband at Peterhof, and to bid him await her in +his yard. Panin laughed at this unnecessary fuss, supposing that the +_coup d’état_ was not so imminent; events proved how necessary Princess +Dashkov’s precautions were. + +On parting from Orlov, she returned home. In the evening a tailor was to +have brought her a man’s dress, but did not bring it, and she was not +free enough dressed as a woman. To avoid rousing suspicion, she dismissed +her maid and went to bed; but half an hour had not passed before she +heard a knock at the outer door. It was the youngest Orlov, who had been +sent by his elder brothers to ask her whether it was not too soon to +disturb the Empress; Princess Dashkov was beside herself, and showered +reproaches upon him and all his brothers: ‘As though it were a question,’ +she said, ‘of disturbing the Empress; better bring her unconscious, +fainting, to Petersburg than expose her to imprisonment or to sharing +the scaffold with us. Tell your brothers that some one must go this very +minute to Peterhof.’ + +The young man agreed with her. + +Then followed agonising hours of solitude and suspense; she trembled for +her Catherine, and pictured her pale, worn out, in prison, going to be +beheaded, and all ‘through our fault.’ Exhausted and feverish, she waited +for news from Peterhof. At four o’clock it came: the Empress had gone to +Petersburg. + +How Alexey Orlov went in the night to the pavilion to where Catherine +was calmly asleep; how, though, like Princess Dashkov, she did not know +the younger Orlov by sight, she instantly determined to set off in the +carriage that was waiting for her at Shkurin’s; how Orlov sat on the +box-seat as coachman, and knocked the horses up by his driving, so that +the Empress was obliged to walk with her maid; how they afterwards met an +empty cart; how Orlov hired it, and brought Catherine to Petersburg in +democratic style—all that is well known. + +The soldiers of the Izmailovsky regiment received Catherine with +enthusiasm; they were told that Peter III. had tried that night to kill +her and her son. With shouts and uproar the soldiers escorted her from +the barracks to the Winter Palace, proclaiming her the reigning Empress +as they passed through the streets; they met with no hindrance of any +kind. The people flocked in crowds to the Palace, the leading noblemen +gathered together in the Cathedral, and the Archbishop, surrounded by +clergy, awaited the new sovereign with holy water. + +When, after terrific efforts, Princess Dashkov succeeded in reaching +Catherine, they rushed into each other’s arms, and could only say: ‘Well, +thank God, thank God!’ Then Catherine told her how they had driven from +Peterhof, then they fell to embracing each other again. ‘I do not know,’ +writes Princess Dashkov, ‘whether a mortal has ever been happier than I +was at that minute!’ + +‘And,’ she adds, ‘when I think by what extraordinarily small means this +revolution was effected, with no thought-out plan, by men who were not +agreed among themselves, who had different aims in view, and were not in +the least alike either in breeding or character, it is clear to me that +the finger of Providence was in it.’ + +The revolution, of course, was essential, but if the finger of Providence +was so directly concerned in it, then the divine hands were far from +being clean on that day. + +After they had kissed each other to their hearts’ content, Princess +Dashkov noticed that the Empress was wearing the Catherine and not the +Andrew ribbon; she ran at once to Panin, took off his ribbon, put it on +the Empress, and put the Catherine ribbon and star in her pocket. + +The Empress expressed a desire to put herself at the head of the troops +and to march to Peterhof. At the same time she ordered the princess +to accompany her. The Empress took a uniform from Captain Talyzin, +Princess Dashkov one from Sergeant Pushkin. Both uniforms were of the old +Preobrazhensky pattern. As soon as the Empress had arrived in Petersburg, +the soldiers had, of their own initiative, cast off their new uniforms +and put on their old ones. + +While Princess Dashkov was changing her dress, Catherine was presiding +over an Extraordinary Council, consisting of the highest dignitaries +and senators who happened to be on the spot. The sentinels stationed +at the doors admitted to it a young officer with a bold carriage and +reckless air. No one but the Empress recognised him as Princess Dashkov; +she went up to Catherine and said that the guard was very inefficient, +that they would perhaps admit Peter III. himself if he should suddenly +appear (how little even she knew the buffoon!); the guard was immediately +strengthened; meanwhile, the Empress, who was dictating a manifesto to +Tyeplov, broke off to tell the members of the Council who this young +officer was who had come up _sans façon_, and begun whispering to her. +All the senators stood up to greet her. ‘I blushed to my ears at this +honour,’ says the charming sergeant, ‘and indeed I was rather embarrassed +by it. + +‘Then, after taking the necessary measures to ensure the tranquillity of +the capital, we mounted our horses, and on the road to Peterhof reviewed +ten thousand men, who cheered the Empress with enthusiasm.’ + +At Krasny Kabak the insurrectionary army halted: the men, who had been +on their legs for twelve hours, needed a rest. Catherine and Princess +Dashkov, who had not slept at all the last few nights, were much +exhausted. The princess took an overcoat from Colonel Kar, spread it +over the solitary sofa in the little room they had taken at the inn, and +stationed sentries; then she and Catherine stretched themselves on the +sofa, not taking off their uniforms, but firmly resolved to get a little +sleep; they could not sleep, however, but spent the whole time talking, +making plans, and entirely forgetting the danger they were in. + +There is no denying that there is something extraordinarily fascinating +in this daring exploit of two women, who changed the destinies of +an empire, in this revolution wrought by a handsome, clever woman, +surrounded by young men in love with her, and with the leading figure +among them a beauty of eighteen on horseback in the Preobrazhensky +regiment, with a sabre in her hand. + +The unlucky Peter was meanwhile driving from Oranienbaum to Peterhof, +and from Peterhof to Oranienbaum, unable to think what to do or to +decide upon anything. He looked for Catherine through all the rooms of +the pavilion, behind doors and cupboards, as though she were playing +‘hide-and-seek’ with him, and, not without complacency, repeated to +‘Romanovna’: ‘There, you see I was right; I was sure she would do +something; I always said that woman was capable of anything.’ + +The old champion, Minih, still stood by him, all Russia and part of +Petersburg was still not against him, but he had already lost his head +entirely. Displaying incredible cowardice at Cronstadt, he bade the +Imperial yacht sail not to the fleet, but back to Oranienbaum; the ladies +were afraid of sickness and the sea, he was afraid of everything. It +was a calm moonlight night; the pitiful Tsar hid in the cabin with his +courtiers, while the two heroes, Minih and Gudovitch, sat in gloomy +brooding on deck, with shame and anger and sorrow in their hearts; they +saw that there is no saving people against their will. At four o’clock in +the morning they reached Oranienbaum again, and crestfallen stealthily +returned to the Palace. Peter sat down to write a letter to Catherine. + +At the same time two fiery steeds were being saddled, one for Catherine, +the other for Princess Dashkov, and again, full of gaiety and energy, +they were at the head of their soldiers, who set off on the march at +five o’clock, and halted to rest at the Troitsky Monastery. Then Peter’s +envoys began appearing one after another, bringing proposals each more +foolish than the last; he abdicated from the throne, begged leave to go +to Holstein, and owned himself to blame and unfit to rule. Catherine +insisted on his unconditional surrender to avert greater troubles, and +promised in return to arrange his life as comfortably as possible in +whichever he preferred of the palaces away from the town. + +Catherine’s troops calmly occupied Peterhof; Orlov, who had ridden on +to reconnoitre, had found no one there. The Holsteiners, who were about +Peter in Oranienbaum and were devoted to him, were ready to die for him, +but he told them to make no defence; he meant to flee, ordered a horse to +be brought, but did not mount it; instead, he got into a carriage with +Romanovna and Gudovitch, and mournfully went to surrender to his guilty +wife. He was led secretly into a remote room of the Palace. Gudovitch, +who even then behaved with extraordinary dignity, was arrested, together +with Romanovna; Peter was given food and drink, and taken to Ropsha +in the escort of Alexey Orlov, Passek, Baryatinsky, and Baskakov. He +selected Ropsha himself; it had belonged to him when he was Grand Duke. +Other authorities state, however, that he did not go to Ropsha at all, +but was on the estate of Razumovsky. + +Princess Dashkov saw his letters to Catherine. In one he speaks of his +abdication, in another of the persons he would like to keep about him, +and enumerates everything he needed for his daily life, making special +mention of a store of Burgundy and tobacco. He asked further, it is said, +for a violin, a Bible, and various novels, adding that he meant to become +a philosopher. + +On the evening of the day when Peterhof was taken, Princess Dashkov, +coming back from the Princess of Holstein’s to the Empress’s apartments, +came upon Orlov, who was lying at full length on a sofa in one of the +Empress’s inner rooms. He apologised for doing so, alleging that he had +hurt his foot. He was opening a big envelope; Princess Dashkov had seen +such envelopes in the hands of her uncle, the Vice-Chancellor; they were +used for the most important affairs of state communicated from the Privy +Council to the Tsar. + +‘What are you doing?’ she asked, with amazement. + +‘The Empress told me to.’ + +‘Impossible,’ she answered. ‘You have no official status for doing it.’ + +At that moment word was brought that the soldiers had broken into the +cellars, and were drinking Hungarian wine in their helmets, taking it +for mead. Orlov did not stir. Princess Dashkov at once went downstairs, +assumed a threatening air, and with her thin girlish voice restored +discipline. Pleased with her success, she distributed among them all +the money she had on her; then, turning her purse inside out, told them +that her means were less than her goodwill, but that on their return to +Petersburg they should have leave to drink at the Government’s expense; +after this she went back. + +Beside the sofa on which Orlov was lying she found a table laid for +three. The Empress came in, took her seat, and invited the princess to +sit down. All this so impressed the latter that she could not conceal her +emotion. The Empress noticed it, and asked her what was the matter. + +‘Nothing,’ she answered; ‘most likely I am tired from sleepless nights +and excitement.’ + +Catherine, wishing to draw the princess into being civil to Orlov, +told her that in spite of her urgent wishes he was giving up military +service, and begged the princess to help her to dissuade him. ‘I shall be +charged,’ she said, ‘with horrible ingratitude if he leaves the army.’ +But Princess Dashkov, mortified by her discovery, answered that Her +Majesty had so many means of rewarding his services that she had no need +to constrain him. + +‘It was only then,’ she adds, ‘that I was convinced there was _une +liaison_ between them.’ + +It has been thought that she was mortified at this through jealousy, +and it is not a mistake. Only, she was not jealous on Orlov’s account; +she never liked and never respected either him or his brothers; she was +jealous over the Empress; she liked neither the choice nor the tone; +moreover, her dreams of exclusive confidence, of romantic friendship, of +all-powerful influence, paled and vanished at her discovery. And as a +fact, from that evening she had a rival and an enemy; she felt that the +very day after the _coup d’état_. + +Crazy Peter’s saying about the orange skin began coming true with +extraordinary rapidity. The very day after ascending the throne the +Empress began appraising and rewarding Princess Dashkov’s services, she +began to be grateful—that is, ceased to be her friend. + +After her triumphal entry into Petersburg, Princess Dashkov went away +to see her father, her uncle, and, most of all, to have a look at her +little one. It must not be forgotten that our Preobrazhensky sergeant +had a little daughter Nastya, whom she passionately loved, and with whom +she longed to play, after having played enough with the Tsar’s crown. +Her father’s house was full of soldiers, stationed there partly for +his protection, and partly because ‘Romanovna’ had been brought to his +house. Vadkovsky sent to ask the officer on duty whether all the guard +was needed; Princess Dashkov, speaking to him in French, told the officer +that half of the soldiers were not needed, and that she was dismissing +them. + +When she went back to the Palace, Catherine received her with a look +of displeasure; the officer of the guard was present and was talking +to Orlov. The Empress reprimanded Princess Dashkov for acting on her +own initiative, and even observed that she had spoken French before the +soldiers. The princess, deeply wounded, listened to the reprimand, made +no reply, and, to change the conversation, gave Catherine the ribbon and +the order which she had put in her pocket the day before. + +‘Not so fast, not so fast,’ said the Empress. ‘I had to reprimand you for +your impetuosity—you had no right to dismiss the soldiers on your own +authority; but I must also reward you for your services.’ With this she +put around her neck the ribbon that had been restored. + +Instead of kneeling down before the Empress, as is done on such +occasions, Princess Dashkov said to her sorrowfully: ‘Your Majesty, +forgive me for what I want to say; the time is coming when truth must +be banished from your presence; before it comes, I beg you to take back +that order: as a decoration I cannot sufficiently value it; if it is a +reward—however great it might be, it could not reward my services, they +cannot be paid by anything, for they were not to be bought.’ + +‘But,’ said the Empress, embracing her, and leaving the ribbon, +‘friendship has its claims; surely I am not deprived of them now?’ + +Princess Dashkov, pleased again, kissed her hand, and the spirits of a +girl of eighteen got the upper hand; half a century later she does not +forget to add with pleasure: ‘Fancy me in a uniform, with a spur on one +high boot, looking like a boy of fifteen, with the red Catherine ribbon +across my shoulder.’ The new cavalier galloped back again to Nastya, +to show herself to the baby, to be present at her supper, and at last +undressing flung herself into bed; but this time, too, sleep fled from +her fretted nerves, or terrified her with dreams: the amazing scenes +of the preceding days, which she had not merely lived through, but had +partly brought about, passed incessantly before her imagination. + +The Empress herself did not deny the important share Princess Dashkov had +taken in the revolution of the 28th of June; on the contrary, when the +wily old Bestuzhev was presented to her, she said to him: ‘Who could +have imagined that the daughter of Roman Vorontsov would have helped me +to ascend the throne!’ + +The news of the murder of Peter filled Princess Dashkov with horror +and aversion; she was so distressed and revolted by this stain on the +‘revolution which has not cost one drop of blood,’ that she could not +bring herself to go next day to the Palace. She omits in her memoirs all +the details of the revolting proceeding, in which three officers, one +of whom was of gigantic stature, were at work for half an hour stifling +with a napkin the poisoned prisoner, as though they could not wait for a +quarter of an hour. She assumed that Catherine did not know beforehand +of Alexey Orlov’s design;[54] it is more probable that she simply had +no idea of the connivance of Catherine, who could carefully conceal her +wishes. Not only Panin and the other conspirators knew nothing of her +intrigue with Grigory Orlov, but, as we have just seen, Princess Dashkov +had not suspected it. + +Catherine perceived what was in the latter’s heart, and when she saw her +began to speak with horror of what had happened. + +‘Yes, your Majesty,’ answered Princess Dashkov, ‘this death has come too +quickly and too soon for your fame and for mine.’ + +As she walked through the drawing-room, she said in a loud voice before +every one that, of course, Alexey Orlov would spare her his acquaintance. +For over twenty-five years they did not bow nor say a word to each other. + +It is very possible that Catherine had not given instructions to murder +Peter. Alexander went further: he positively insisted that they should +not _kill_ Paul, when he sent a gang of the rebel nobles to him. We +know from Shakespeare how these orders are given by a glance, a hint, a +silence. Why did Catherine entrust the care of the pusillanimous Peter +to his worst enemies? Passek and Baskakov had meant to kill him several +days before the 27th of June, and did not she know that? And why were the +murderers so shamelessly rewarded? + +Princess Dashkov quotes in Catherine’s defence a letter from Orlov, +written immediately after the murder, which the Empress showed her. This +letter, she says, bore unmistakable traces of uneasiness, distress, +consternation, and tipsiness. It was preserved by the Empress in a +special case, together with other important documents. After her death +Paul ordered Prince Bezborodka to go through these papers in his +presence; when they got to this letter, Paul read it aloud to the Tsarina +in the presence of Madame Nelidov.[55] Then he ordered Rastoptchin to +read it aloud to the Grand Dukes. + +I have heard what the letter contained from a trustworthy man who had +read it himself; it was in this style: ‘Little Mother, Empress, how am I +to tell you what we have done! such a misfortune has happened! We came to +see your husband, and were drinking with him; you know what he is like +when he is drunk; word followed word. He so insulted us that we came to +blows. All of a minute he dropped dead. What is to be done? Take our +heads if you like, or, merciful Little Mother, think that what is done +cannot be undone, and overlook our offence.’[56] + +Princess Dashkov, carried away by her love for Catherine, believed, +or professed to believe, that Mirovitch,[57] too, acted without her +knowledge; and the worst, most disgraceful and loathsome story of her +whole reign, the abduction by Alexey Orlov and De Ribasse of Princess +Tarakanov,[58] she does not mention at all. + +It was, among other things, because she believed and wanted to believe in +the ideal Catherine that she could not maintain herself in favour. And +she would have been a splendid minister. Though indisputably gifted with +political insight, she had besides her enthusiastic temperament two great +defects which hindered her from making a career: she could not be silent, +her tongue was sharp and biting, and it spared no one except Catherine; +moreover, she was too proud, and she could not, and would not, conceal +her antipathies—in short, she could not ‘abase her personality,’ as the +Moscow Old Believers express it. + +As a matter of fact, a friendship between Catherine and Princess Dashkov +was impossible. Catherine wanted not only to be sovereign by the Imperial +power, but to rule over every one in the world by her genius and her +beauty; she wanted to attract the attention of all to herself alone; she +had an insatiable desire to please. She was still in the full flower of +her beauty, but she was thirty. She could probably have borne to have +about her a weak woman, lost in the radiance of her glory and adoring +her, not very handsome and not very clever. But she could not endure at +her side the vigorous Princess Dashkov, who spoke of _her own fame_, +with her wit, her fire, and her nineteen years. + +She withdrew herself from her with the rapidity of truly royal +ingratitude. In Moscow, after the Coronation, the old sinner Bestuzhev +proposed writing an address to the Empress, and begging her, in the name +of all her subjects, to take another husband. Grigory Orlov, who had +already been created a prince of the Empire, dreamed of being Tsar. This +roused the indignation of all decent people. Chancellor Vorontsov asked +for an audience, and warned Catherine, on the supposition that she did +not know what was being done. Catherine was surprised, and wanted to +reprimand Bestuzhev. + +Hitrov, one of the devoted conspirators of the 27th of June, loudly +declared that he would sooner kill Orlov, or go to the scaffold, than +acknowledge him Emperor. It need hardly be said that Princess Dashkov’s +voice, too, was heard in the general murmur of displeasure; her words +were carried to Catherine. Suddenly one evening, Tyeplov, the secretary +of the Empress, came to Prince Dashkov and demanded to see him. The +Empress had written him the following note: ‘I sincerely desire not to +be compelled to consign to oblivion the services of the Princess Dashkov +on account of her imprudent behaviour. Tell her to remember this next +time she permits herself an indiscreet freedom of language amounting to +threats.’ + +Princess Dashkov did not answer a word to this letter; she held herself +aloof, and after the death of her husband in 1768 asked leave to visit +foreign lands. ‘I might very well go without question,’ she said +(probably never dreaming that in another eighty years a stupid law would +almost completely deprive Russians of the right of crossing the frontier, +and still less, that the Government would force every traveller to pay +ransom), ‘but my position as a lady of the court lays upon me the +obligation to ask the sanction of the Most High.’ + +Receiving no answer, she went to Petersburg, and at her first reception +asked Catherine to allow her to go abroad for the sake of her children’s +health. + +‘I am very sorry,’ answered Catherine, ‘that such a distressing cause +obliges you to go. But, of course, Princess, you are perfectly free to +make what arrangements you like.’ + +Where was the time when they had lain in one bed, under one quilt, and +had wept and embraced each other, or, lying on Colonel Kar’s overcoat, +had dreamed for a whole night of political reforms? + +Abroad Princess Dashkov revived, and became again the same proud, +indefatigable, indomitable, active woman, interested in every one and +throwing herself into everything. + +On the wall in the hotel at Dantzig there hung a big picture representing +some battle between Prussians and Russians, in which, of course, the +Russians were being beaten. In the foreground there was a group of our +soldiers on their knees before the Prussians begging for mercy. Princess +Dashkov could not stand this. She induced two Russians to creep by night +into the room, with oil-paints and brushes, locked the door, and set to +work with her companions to repaint the uniforms, so that by the morning +the Prussians were on their knees begging the Russians to spare them. +When she had finished the picture, she sent for post-horses, and before +the hotel-keeper had grasped the situation, she was racing along the road +to Berlin, laughing at the thought of his amazement. + +In Hanover she went to the Opera alone with Mlle. Kamensky. They were so +unlike the worthy German women that the Prince of Mecklenburg, who was +the chief authority in the town, sent to find out who they were. His +adjutant went unceremoniously into the box in which there were also two +German ladies, and asked our Russians whether they were not foreigners. +Princess Dashkov said ‘Yes.’ + +‘His Highness,’ added the adjutant, ‘wishes to know with whom I have the +honour of speaking.’ + +‘Our name,’ answered Princess Dashkov, ‘can be of no interest either to +you or to the Duke; as women we have the right not to say who we are, and +not to answer your question.’ + +The adjutant went away in confusion. The German ladies, who had from +the first felt involuntary respect for our ladies, gazed at them with +awe when they heard Princess Dashkov’s valiant answer. Seeing that the +Germans took them for very great ladies, Princess Dashkov, turning +courteously to them, said that though she would not answer the Prince’s +impudent question, she had no reason to conceal from them her identity. +‘I am an opera-singer, and my friend is a dancer; we are both out of a +job, and on the look-out for a good engagement.’ The German ladies opened +their eyes wide, blushed to their ears, and not only abandoned their +polite attentions, but tried so far as the size of the box permitted to +sit with their backs turned on them. + +In Paris Princess Dashkov was surrounded by all the celebrities and made +friends with all of them except Rousseau; him she would not go to see on +account of his hypocritical humility and affected originality. Diderot, +on the other hand, became an intimate friend, spent whole evenings +_tête-à-tête_ with her, and discussed everything under the sun with +her. Princess Dashkov proved to him that serfdom was not so bad as was +supposed, trapped him into contradictory statements, and the susceptible +Diderot was ready to agree with her instantly. + +A servant came in and announced that Madame Necker[59] and Madame +Geoffrin[60] had arrived. ‘Don’t receive them!’ cried Diderot, without +asking Princess Dashkov’s wishes; ‘say that she is not at home.’ + +‘There is not a better woman in the world than Madame Geoffrin, but she +is the greatest gossip in Paris; I positively won’t have her talking all +sorts of nonsense about you before she has time to know you properly. I +won’t have blasphemy against my idol.’ And Princess Dashkov sent word +that she was unwell. + +Rulhière,[61] who was writing about Russia and the year 1762, also +urgently wished to see her. Diderot would not have him received either: +he wanted to keep Princess Dashkov to himself. + +In London Princess Dashkov made the acquaintance of Paoli, but she did +not like his ‘Italian grimaces,’ which were unbecoming in a great man. In +Geneva she visited Voltaire and marvelled at him, though she could not +help laughing with some doctor over the way Voltaire lost his temper at +losing a game of draughts, and at the killing faces he made. The doctor, +observing that it was not only Voltaire who could make such faces, bade +his dog lift up his head, and Princess Dashkov could not control her +laughter at the extraordinary resemblance. From Geneva she went to Spa; +there she made great friends with Mrs. Hamilton[62] and, when she parted +from her, romantically swore to come again in five years to see her, if +they did not meet before, and, what was even more romantic, actually came. + +The feeling of the most ardent, most active affection was almost the +strongest emotion in this proud and strong-willed woman. Deeply wounded +by Catherine’s treatment of her,[63] she looked prematurely old. +Diderot says that she looked nearly forty, though she was at that time +twenty-seven. Whether she loved any man after her husband’s death, or +was beloved by one, is not to be seen from her Memoirs; but it may be +said for certain that no man played a significant part in her life. After +Catherine she attached herself, with all the ardour of a hungry heart, to +Mrs. Hamilton. And in her old age an infinitely tender motherly affection +brought warmth into her life; I am speaking of Miss Wilmot, who edited +her Memoirs. + +From Spa she went back to Moscow to the house of her sister, Madame +Polyansky; this sister, with her humble, prosaic name, was no other than +the notorious ‘Romanovna,’ who, if she had not been Madame Polyansky, +might easily have been Empress of all the Russias. + +The clouds which had overcast Princess Dashkov’s sky were beginning to +clear away. The influence of the Orlovs had waned. The Empress, hearing +of her arrival, sent her sixty thousand roubles to buy an estate. + +But the princess was utterly unable to get on with the favourites, and +there was no real intimacy between her and the court. Now she began to be +deeply absorbed in the education of her son; an ardent admirer of England +and English institutions, she made up her mind to go with her son to +Edinburgh. Moreover, she saw that she was completely superfluous in the +Winter Palace. + +While she was preparing for this journey she betrothed her daughter to +Shtcherbinin. On the way to the estate of the young man’s brother, to +which she was going with the whole party, a servant fell off the box, +and three sledges passed over him; he was badly hurt and stunned; he had +to be bled, but how? Princess Dashkov had with her a case of surgical +instruments bought in London; she took out a lancet, but no one would +undertake to use it; the injured man lay unaided until, overcoming an +intense feeling of disgust, she opened his vein, and after successfully +performing the operation, almost sank into a swoon herself. + +In Edinburgh she was soon surrounded by the leading celebrities, +Robertson, Blair, Adam Smith, Fergusson. She wrote long letters to +Robertson, and explained to him in detail her plan of education; she +wanted her son, who was at that time fourteen, to complete his studies +in two years and a half, and then, after making a tour of the whole of +Europe, to go into the Service. + +Robertson presumed that he would need four years; the mother thought that +was too much. She wrote out in detail what her son knew already, and what +he must know. + + ‘_Languages_: + + Latin.—The initial difficulties are overcome. + + English.—The prince has a very good understanding of prose, + and to some extent of verse. + + German.—He understands it perfectly. + + French.—He knows like his mother tongue. + + ‘_Literature_: He is familiar with the best classical works. + His taste is more formed than is common at his age. He has an + excessive tendency to be critical, which is perhaps his only + defect. + + ‘_Mathematics_: A very important branch of study. He has been + fairly successful in the solution of advanced problems, but I + should like him to go further in algebra. + + ‘_Civil and Military Architecture_: I want him to make a + particular study of these subjects. + + ‘_History and Political Institutions_: He has a knowledge of + general history, and particularly of Germany, England, and + France, but he ought to go through a course of history more in + detail; he can study it at home with a tutor. + + ‘Now this is what I want him to study: 1. Logic and the + Philosophy of Reasoning. 2. Experimental Physics. 3. A little + Chemistry. 4. Philosophy and Natural History. 5. Natural Law, + International Law, public and private Law in its application to + the legal systems of European nations. 6. Ethics. 7. Politics.’ + +This extensive programme she divides into five sessions, and then, as +always, carries it out exactly. Her son passed his M.A. examination +in 1779; it is commonly said that she exhausted him, and, certainly, +he never did anything; moreover, he died very young, but whether his +education is to blame for that it is hard to say. + +After the examination Princess Dashkov went at once to Ireland, queened +it in Dublin society, and composed church music, which was sung in +the Chapel of Magdalen in the presence of a vast concourse of people, +‘desirous,’ as she expresses it, ‘of hearing how the bears of the North +compose.’ Probably it was a successful experiment, for later on she was +busy negotiating with David Garrick for the performance on the stage of +her musical works. She was also writing long instructions to her son +in the style of the counsels of Polonius concerning the conduct of his +travels.... + +From England she went to Holland; in Haarlem she went to see a doctor of +her acquaintance, and there met Prince Orlov, by now married and out of +favour. The same day Orlov came to call on her, and just at dinner-time. +His visit was to Princess Dashkov ‘as unexpected as it was disagreeable.’ + +‘I have come to you not as an enemy, but as a friend and ally,’ said +Orlov, sitting down in a low chair. Then followed a silence on both +sides. He looked intently at young Dashkov, and observed: ‘Your son is +enrolled in the Cuirassiers, and I am in command of a regiment of the +Horse Guards; if you like, I will ask the Empress to transfer him to my +regiment; that will give him promotion.’ + +Princess Dashkov thanked him for his kind suggestion, but said that she +could not take advantage of his offer, because she had already written on +his behalf to Prince Potyomkin, and did not want without good reason to +do anything in opposition to him. + +‘What could there be disagreeable to him in it?’ asked Orlov, feeling the +sting of this. ‘However, as you please; you may rely on me; your son will +make a great career; it would be hard to find a _handsomer_ young man.’ + +The mother flushed crimson with anger, and the conversation dropped. But +at the next meeting Orlov, addressing young Dashkov, said: ‘What a pity +that I shall not be in Petersburg when you arrive! I am certain that you +will oust the present favourite as soon as you appear at court; I should +be pleased to carry out my present duties—comforting the forsaken.’ + +Beside herself with indignation, Princess Dashkov sent her son out of the +room, and told Orlov that she thought it extremely improper to speak to a +boy of seventeen in that way, and that in so doing Orlov was compromising +the Empress, whom she had brought her son up to respect; that, as for +favourites, she begged him to remember that she had never known and +never recognised one of them. + +After that they parted. Orlov went to Switzerland, Princess Dashkov to +Paris. Then we meet her inspecting the French fortresses with her son +and Colonel Samoylov, by special permission of Maréchal de Biron.[64] +From France she went to Italy, and there was completely absorbed in +pictures and statues, cameos and antiques, bought a picture of Angelica +Kauffmann’s as a present for the Empress, went to see the Pope and Abbé +Galiani,[65] and finally returned to Russia through Vienna. + +In Vienna she had a heated argument with Kaunitz, with whom she was +dining. He called Peter the Great the political creator of Russia; +Princess Dashkov observed that this was a European misconception. Kaunitz +was not ready to yield his point; she was even less so. She admitted +that Peter had done a very great deal for Russia, but thought that the +material was ready, and that, together with his masterly use of it, he +had inhumanly oppressed and distorted it. + +‘If he had really been a great statesman, he would by his intercourse +with other nations, and by trade, have gained without haste what he +attained by violence and cruelty. The nobility and the serfs were both +left worse off through his unbridled passion for innovations; from the +latter he took the protective tribunal to which alone they could appeal +in case of oppression, from the former he took all their privileges. And +to what end was it all? To clear the way for a military despotism, that +is, for the very worst of all existing forms of government. From simple +vanity he was in such a hurry to build Petersburg that he sent thousands +of workmen to die in the marshes. He not only forced the landowners +to provide a certain number of peasants, but compelled them to build +themselves houses according to his own plans, without asking whether they +needed them. One of his principal buildings, the Admiralty and Docks, +which cost immense sums, was constructed on the bank of a river which no +human efforts could make navigable even for merchant vessels, much less +for ships of the Navy.’ + +‘However,’ observed Kaunitz, ‘no one can help being touched at the sight +of a monarch learning shipbuilding with the axe in his hand.’ + +The ruthless lady would not let this pass. ‘Your Excellency,’ she +answered, ‘is doubtless joking. Who can know better than you how precious +is a monarch’s time, and whether he has the leisure to practise a +handicraft? Peter I. was in a position to command the services not only +of shipbuilders, but even of admirals. To my mind, when he was wasting +time in Saardam working with the axe and learning the slang of the Dutch +market, and sailors’ words with which he distorted the Russian language, +he was simply neglecting his duty.’ + +I foresee how the good Orthodox souls of our Moscow Slavophils will +rejoice at reading these words; they certainly ought, on days for +commemorating the dead, to keep the memory of our princess with pancakes +and lenten oil. + +Joseph II. was ill, and wanted Princess Dashkov to remain a few days +longer, but she had received an invitation from Frederick II. for herself +and her son to be present at his manœuvres. She had, however, an informal +interview with Joseph II. in the study he devoted to natural history. + +A week later Princess Dashkov was at the manœuvres at which Frederick II. +drilled forty-two thousand men, and to which he had never before admitted +women, but she was specially invited. The Prussian Princess herself +drove to fetch her, brought her to the spot where the King was to meet +her, and asked her to get out of the carriage, saying: ‘Dear Princess, +as I have not the slightest desire to see the old grumbler, I will drive +on,’ and Princess Dashkov was left to an innocent _tête-à-tête_ with +Frederick II., who took her and her son with him to a military inspection +of the provinces. + +In July 1782 she returned to Petersburg. The Empress appointed her +President of the Academy of Science. Princess Dashkov was apparently +for the first time in her life disconcerted, and wanted to decline the +honour. She wrote a sharp letter to the Empress, and at twelve o’clock at +night drove with it to Potyomkin. Potyomkin had gone to bed; however, he +received her. He read the letter, tore it up and threw it on the floor, +but, seeing that she was angry, said to her: ‘Here are pen and paper, by +all means write it again; only, it is all nonsense; why do you refuse? +The Empress has been full of the idea for the last two days. In that +position you will be frequently seeing her, and the fact is, to tell the +truth, she is dying of boredom, perpetually surrounded by fools.’ + +Potyomkin’s eloquence overcame her opposition; she went to the Senate +to take the oath for her new duties, and from that moment became a +consummate president. She asked old Euler, the great mathematician, to +introduce her at the assembled Academy; she wanted to appear under the +aegis of learning before the academicians. She presented herself to them +not in silence, as Russian presidents usually do, but with a speech, +after which, seeing that the first place next the president was occupied +by Stehlin,[66] she turned to Euler and said: ‘Sit where you prefer; +whatever place you occupy will be the first.’ + +Then with her habitual energy she set to work to eradicate abuses, +that is, thefts; she increased the number of the pupils, improved the +printing-press, and finally proposed to the Empress the founding of a +Russian Academy. Catherine appointed her president of this new academy +too. Again Princess Dashkov made a speech. ‘You all know, gentlemen,’ +she said, among other things, ‘the wealth and splendour of our language. +The powerful eloquence of Cicero, the measured grandeur of Virgil, +the fascinating charm of Demosthenes, and the light language of Ovid, +translated into Russian, lose nothing of their beauties.... But we are +without exact rules, the limits and meanings of words have not been +defined, and many foreign phrases have crept into our language,’ and +therefore she proposed that the Russian Academy should work at a grammar +and dictionary of the language. She herself prepared to share the +labours of the academicians, and did, in fact, work at the dictionary. +The Empress seemed to be pleased with her. Her energy at this period +was amazing. She undertook the publication of special geographical maps +of the different provinces, and edited the periodical, _Lovers of the +Russian Language_, to which the Empress herself, Von Vizin, Derzhavin, +and others contributed. + +Her relations with the Empress were unmistakably improved. A +correspondence sprang up between them again; the letters deal with a +review they were publishing and various literary subjects. These letters, +which are of little general interest, are a striking proof of the degree +to which good manners, culture, and humanity have since sunk in the +Winter Palace. Catherine gives no orders, does not command in her notes, +does not confine herself to set forms, is not afraid of jesting; she has +confidence in herself, and the Empress often gives way to the woman of +intelligence. The Prussian Gatchina tone, translated into official red +tape by Nicholas, has replaced with brutal illiteracy the gentleness of +cultured language. + +All would have been well if only Princess Dashkov could have kept on good +terms with the favourites; she got on better with Potyomkin than with any +of the rest, perhaps because Potyomkin was the cleverest of them; with +Lanskoy, and afterwards with Manonov, she was at daggers drawn. Zubov +gossiped spitefully against her, and did her a great deal of mischief. + +In the summer of 1783 she was in Finland with the Empress, who had an +interview there with the King of Sweden. Lanskoy kept pestering her to +know why in the news published under the auspices of the Academy her name +was the only one mentioned of the persons who were with the Empress. +Princess Dashkov explained to him that it was not her doing at all, that +the Court news was sent and printed without alteration. Lanskoy went on +sulking and grumbling till she was sick of it. + +‘You ought to know,’ she said to him, ‘that, though it is always an +honour and a happiness to me to dine with the Empress, I cannot really +be so much overwhelmed by it as to publish it in the papers. I am too +much accustomed to it; as a little child I used to dine on the Empress +Elizabeth’s knee, as a little girl I sat at her table; it is so natural +that it could not be a matter for boasting to me.’ + +Lanskoy grew heated, but Princess Dashkov, seeing that the room was +beginning to fill up, raised her voice, and said: ‘Sir, people whose +whole life has been devoted to the public welfare are not always +particularly powerful or happy, but they always have the right to insist +on being treated without insolence. They quietly go their own way and +outlive those meteors of a day which burst and fall, leaving no trace.’ + +The doors were flung open and the Empress walked in. Her arrival put an +end to the conversation. How could Lanskoy fail to hate her? It was as +well for her that he died soon after. + +On her return from Finland Princess Dashkov received her friend, Mrs. +Hamilton, to stay with her. She took her to her new estate; there she +kept a village holiday, met with bread and salt the peasants newly +settled there, introduced them to the Englishwoman, and informed them +that henceforth the new village would be called Hamiltonovo. After this +she travelled with her to other estates in the provinces of Kaluga, +Smolensk, Kiev, and Tambov. + +The following year Princess Dashkov received a cruel blow in her personal +life. Her son was in Rumyantsev’s army, and she was glad that he was not +in Petersburg. Latterly even Potyomkin had designs upon him. He once sent +Samoylov to fetch him late one evening, and Samoylov gave the mother a +hint of their project. She refused to have anything to do with it, and +said that if it happened she would take advantage of her son’s influence +to obtain leave of absence abroad for many years. For this reason she was +relieved that her son was away in Kiev. But there love had another arrow +in store for him, aimed not from above, but from below. + +One day, as she came out of the Empress’s bedroom, she met Rebinder, +who warm-heartedly congratulated her on her son’s marriage. She was +thunderstruck. Rebinder was disconcerted; he had had no idea that young +Dashkov’s wedding was a secret. She was wounded in her motherly feelings +and in her pride; on the one hand, the _mésalliance_, on the other, the +lack of confidence. It was a heavy blow, it made her ill. + +Two months later her son wrote her a letter, asking for her permission to +marry; this was a fresh blow—falsity, cowardice, deceit. Moreover, he had +so little understanding of his mother’s character that together with his +own letter he sent one from Field-Marshal Rumyantsev obviously written +at his request. Rumyantsev tried to persuade Princess Dashkov to sanction +her son’s marriage, spoke of the prejudices of aristocratic birth and of +the instability of fortune, and, in her words, ‘reached such a pitch of +futility as to give advice in a matter of such gravity between mother and +son, though nothing in their relations gave him a right to meddle.’ + +Wounded on two sides at once, she wrote a sarcastic letter to Rumyantsev, +in which she explained to him that, ‘among the various foolish ideas +with which her head was filled, there was happily no exaggerated respect +for aristocratic birth; but that, if she had been endowed with such +remarkable eloquence as the Count, she would have used it to show the +superiority of good breeding over bad.’ + +To her son her letter was strikingly simple; here it is: ‘When your +father intended to marry a Countess Vorontsov, he drove post-haste to +Moscow to ask his mother’s sanction. You are married; I knew this before +you wrote, and I know, too, that my mother-in-law had done no more to +deserve to have a friend in her son than I have.’ + +The discussions that followed this and other family affairs must have +cost her much mortification. Her daughter parted from her husband. +Miss Wilmot has omitted several pages in the Memoirs, after which +Princess Dashkov goes on like this: ‘All was black in the future and the +present.... I was so worn out by suffering that I was at times visited by +the thought of suicide.’ + +And so the demon of family troubles crushed her, as it has crushed many +strong characters. Family misfortunes wound so deeply, because they steal +upon one in silence and to combat them is almost impossible. Victory in +the struggle makes it worse. They are like those poisons whose presence +is only recognised when their effect is shown in pain, that is, when the +man is already saturated with them. + +Meanwhile, the French Revolution had come. Catherine, who was growing +old, worn out by a life of vice, threw herself into reaction. This was +no longer the conspirator of the 27th of June, who said to Betsky: +‘I reign by the will of God and the election of the people,’ not the +Petersburg correspondent of Voltaire and the translator of Beccaria and +Filangier,[67] who proclaimed in her famous _Nakaz_[68] the evils of the +censorship and the advantage of an assembly of deputies from the whole +realm of Russia. In 1792 we find her an old woman afraid of thought, a +worthy mother of Paul.... And like a pledge that a savage reaction would +crush for long years every branch of free development in Russia, Nicholas +was born before her death. Catherine’s dying hand was still there to +caress this awful monster who was destined to cry _Halt!_ to the epoch of +Peter’s reforms, and to delay the progress of Russia for thirty years. + +Princess Dashkov, an aristocrat and an admirer of English institutions, +could not sympathise with the Revolution; but still less could she share +the feverish terror of free speech and applaud the punishment of thought. + +Catherine was alarmed by Radishtchyev’s pamphlet;[69] she saw in it the +‘signal of revolution.’ Radishtchyev was seized and sent without trial +to Siberia. Princess Dashkov’s brother, Alexandr Vorontsov, who loved +Radishtchyev, and had been a benefactor to him, retired from the Service +and went to Moscow. + +Her own turn came next. Knyazhnin’s[70] widow asked her, for the benefit +of her children, to publish under the auspices of the Academy her +husband’s last tragedy. The subject was taken from the history of the +subjugation of Novgorod. Princess Dashkov directed that it should be +published. Field-Marshal Saltykov, ‘who,’ as she says, ‘could not be +charged with ever having read a book of any sort,’ read this one and +talked to Zubov of its pernicious tendency. Zubov spoke to the Empress +about it. + +Next day the Petersburg police-master arrived at the Academy bookshop to +seize the copies of the Jacobin Knyazhnin’s inflammatory tragedy; and +in the evening the Prosecutor-General, Samoylov, came himself to tell +Princess Dashkov of the Empress’s displeasure at the publication of the +dangerous play. Princess Dashkov answered coldly that probably no one +had read the tragedy, and that it was certainly less pernicious than the +French plays which were being performed at the Hermitage. + +The ex-liberal Catherine met her with a frowning face. ‘What have I +done,’ she asked her, ‘that you publish such dangerous books against me +and my authority?’ + +‘And does your Majesty really think that?’ the princess asked. + +‘That tragedy ought to have been burnt by the hand of the hangman.’ + +‘Whether it is burnt by the hand of the hangman or not is no concern of +mine. I shall not have to blush for it. But for God’s sake, madam, before +you decide on an action so opposed to your character, read the whole +play.’ + +At that the conversation ended. Next day Princess Dashkov attended a +great court reception, and made up her mind that if the Empress did +not send for her to her dressing-room, as she always did, she would +resign her post. Samoylov came out from the inner apartments. With a +patronising air he went up to Princess Dashkov and told her not to be +uneasy, that the Empress was not angry with her. + +She could not brook this, and answered, as her habit was, in a loud +voice: ‘I have no reason to be uneasy, my conscience is clear. It would +greatly distress me if the Empress retained an unjust feeling towards +me; but I should not be surprised even then: at my age injustice and +misfortune have long ceased to surprise me.’ + +The Empress was reconciled with her, and tried once more to explain why +she had acted as she did. Instead of answering her, Princess Dashkov +replied: ‘A grey cat has run between us, madam: let us not awaken her +again.’ + +But Petersburg was becoming distasteful to her; she was sick of it. She +felt ‘utterly alone in these surroundings, which became every day more +hateful to her.’ This feeling of repulsion was so great that she made up +her mind to leave the court, Petersburg, her public activity, her Academy +of Science, and her Russian Academy, and finally her Empress, and to go +and live on her estate in the country. + +‘With deep sorrow I thought of parting, perhaps for ever, from the +Sovereign whom I loved passionately, and loved long before she was on her +throne, when she had less means of bestowing benefits on me than I found +occasions for serving her. I still loved her, although she did not always +treat me as her own heart, her own brain, would have prompted her.’ + +That is all! Not one word of anger, of condemnation for complete lack of +heart, for ingratitude; even here she gives us to understand that it was +not Catherine’s fault, but other people’s. + +The parting of these women was remarkable. The Empress said to her drily, +and with an angry face: ‘I wish you a good journey.’ Princess Dashkov +was amazed; she did not understand it, and went away after kissing her +hand. Next morning Troshtchinsky, the Secretary of the Empress, arrived, +and in her name handed the princess an unpaid bill, the unpaid bill of a +tailor who had done work for Shtcherbinin. The Empress sent word that she +was surprised that the princess should leave Petersburg without carrying +out her promise to pay her daughter’s debts. Zubov, who hated Princess +Dashkov, and was a patron of the tailor’s, had carried these paltry +details to the Empress. To crown it all, it appeared that the bill had +nothing to do with her daughter, but had been incurred by her husband, +Shtcherbinin, who was living apart from her. + +Princess Dashkov, utterly revolted at this humiliation, firmly resolved +to leave Petersburg for ever. + +But people of her temperament do not fold their hands at a little over +fifty, in the full possession of their faculties. She became a capital +manager of her estates; she built houses, drew maps, and laid out parks. +There was not a tree nor a bush in her garden which she had not planted +or to which she had not at least assigned its position. She built four +houses, and says with pride that her peasants were among the most +prosperous in the neighbourhood. While she was engaged in these rustic +pursuits, Serpuhovsky, the Marshal of the Nobility, suddenly arrived, +looking distressed. + +‘What is the matter with you?’ she asked. + +‘Don’t you know?’ answered the Marshal; ‘the Empress is dead.’ + +Princess Dashkov’s daughter rushed to her, thinking that she would faint. +‘No, no, don’t worry about me,’ said her mother; ‘I am quite well, though +it would be happiness to die at this moment. My fate is worse; I am +destined to see all the reforms that had been begun destroyed, and my +country ruined and unhappy.’ + +With these words she fell into convulsions, and gave way to prolonged +grief. + +It was not long before she felt the heavy, weighty, autocratic hand of +Peter’s crazy son.[71] First she received a decree discharging her from +her post; she asked the Prosecutor-General, Samoylov, to testify to the +Tsar her gratitude for relieving her from the burden which had become too +great for her strength. + +A little later she went to Moscow, but the Governor-General of Moscow +called on her at once and informed her that she should go back to the +country immediately, and there think of the year 1762. She answered, +‘that she never forgot that year, but that in accordance with the Tsar’s +will she would think of that time, which had left her neither stings of +conscience nor remorse.’ + +Her brother Alexandr, anxious to soothe her, told her that Paul was doing +all this now for the rehabilitation of his father’s memory, but that +after his coronation things would go better. On reaching Troitskoye she +wrote to him: ‘Dear brother, you write that Paul will leave me in peace +after the coronation. Believe me, you are much mistaken in his character. +When the tyrant has once struck his victim, he will repeat his blows +until he has crushed the victim utterly. The consciousness of innocence +and the feeling of indignation serve to give me courage to endure +discomfort so long as his growing spite does not assail all of you, my +relations, also. Of one thing you may rest assured, that no circumstances +will compel me to do anything or say anything to demean myself. + +‘Examining my past life,’ she adds, ‘I am not without inner consolation, +aware in myself of sufficient strength of character, tested by many +calamities, to feel certain that I shall find again strength to endure +misfortune.’ + +She correctly gauged the character of the relentless, petty, frenzied +tyrant. Only a few days after she had reached Troitskoye, a courier from +the Governor-General arrived from Moscow. Paul commanded Princess Dashkov +to go at once to her son’s estate in a remote district of the Novgorod +Province, and there to await his further commands. + +She answered that she was ready to obey the Sovereign’s will, and that it +was a matter of complete indifference to her where she ended her days, +but that she knew nothing of the estate nor of the roads thither, that +she would have to write from Moscow either for her son’s steward or for a +peasant from that village to guide her by the cross-country roads. + +When she was ready and had obtained a guide, she drove off into her exile +in the winter frost, travelling slowly with her own horses, surrounded +by the spies of Arharov, and accompanied by her kind-hearted kinsman, +Laptyev, whom she tried in vain to dissuade from coming and exposing +himself to the persecution of the frenzied autocrat. + +But as the foremost symptom of madness is inconsistency, she was here +mistaken: when it was reported to Paul that Laptyev had accompanied her, +he said: ‘He is not such a petticoat as our young men; he knows how to +wear the breeches.’ + +As a rule far more value is attached to such momentary flashes of humane +feeling in Paul and others than they deserve. What would Paul have done +if all the young men had known ‘how to wear the breeches’ like Laptyev? +he had plenty of Arharovs, Araktcheyevs, and Obolyaninovs to torture +them, fetter them in chains, and send them into exile. (Pahlen and +Bennigsen[72] did show him, however, that there was an even better way to +‘wear the breeches’!) + +This approbation of the victim is the final outrage on him, the +miscreant sets his conscience at rest with it. On one occasion, in the +presence of Ségur, Potyomkin gave some colonel a blow, and, recollecting +himself, said to the ambassador: ‘How is one to treat them differently +when they put up with everything?’ + +And what would Potyomkin’s answer have been, if the colonel had given him +a blow or a challenge? + +Princess Dashkov settled in a peasant’s hut. She took another for her +daughter, and a third as a kitchen. To add to the discomforts of this +life in the wilds in winter, exiles from Petersburg to Siberia were +brought by her windows. The figure of one young officer haunted her long +afterwards; he was some distant relative of hers. Learning that she was +here, he wanted to see her. Risky as such an interview was, she received +him. She was shocked to see the convulsive twitching of his face, and how +ill he looked; this was the result of the tortures in which his limbs had +been twisted and dislocated. What had this criminal done? He had said +something about Paul in the barracks, and some one had informed against +him. Yet perhaps he, too, knew how to ‘wear the breeches,’ till his arms +were wrenched out of their sockets. + +Before the spring flooding of the rivers, which would have cut off +Princess Dashkov from all communication for a long period, she wrote a +letter to the Empress Marya Feodorovna, and enclosed in it a request for +permission to move to her Kaluga estate. Paul could not have liked the +tone of her letter; she said in it that it was as little to her honour +to write this letter as it was to her Majesty’s to read it, but that +religion and humanity compelled her to make a final effort to save all +her people from this cruel exile. + +Paul, as usual, flew into a fury, and gave orders that pen and paper +should be taken from Princess Dashkov, that she should be forbidden all +correspondence, be kept under stricter supervision, and I do not know +what else. ‘It is not so easy,’ he said, ‘to turn me off the throne.’ +With these orders a courier was despatched, but the Empress and Madame +Nelidov induced the Grand Duke Michael Pavlovitch to beg his infuriated +father for mercy, and the little boy, with the help of the wife and +mistress, succeeded. Paul took up a pen and wrote: ‘Princess Ekaterina +Romanovna, since you desire to return to your Kaluga estate, I give you +permission for the same. I remain well disposed to you.—PAUL.’ + +Arharov had to despatch another courier: fortunately the second overtook +the first. + +In 1798 Paul suddenly took a fancy to Prince Dashkov, showered undeserved +favours of all sorts upon him, and made him the present of an estate. +Dashkov asked Kurakin to submit to Paul that, instead of an estate, he +would prefer permission for his mother to live where she chose. Paul gave +the permission with the proviso that she should never remain in the same +town where he was. + +The mother was forgiven. Now came the son’s turn. A certain Altesti was +tried for misappropriation of public money, but really for being a friend +of Zubov. Dashkov said to Lopuhin that Altesti was innocent. In the +evening he received the following note: ‘Since you meddle in affairs that +have nothing to do with you, I have dismissed you from your duties.—PAUL.’ + +Dashkov, afraid of worse to follow, went off to his Tambov estate. + +At last, on the 12th of March 1801, Paul’s life ‘came to an end,’ as +Princess Dashkov says. With deep emotion and intense joy she learned that +this pernicious man had ceased to exist. ‘How many times,’ she goes on, +‘have I thanked Heaven that Paul exiled me! by so doing he saved me from +the humiliating obligation of appearing at the court of such a sovereign.’ + +She breathed freely again in the reign of Alexander ... she could appear +at his court without the loss of her human dignity, but she did not feel +at home in the new surroundings. Many things had changed since Catherine +had sent her the tailor’s bill. Princess Dashkov, now an old woman, is +angry with the younger generation surrounding Alexander, and thinks that +they are all Jacobins or martinets. + +One pure presence arrested her, and with respectful love, with reverence, +she looked upon her and attached herself to her; sorrowful and +unappreciated, this melancholy being moved thoughtfully through the halls +of the Winter Palace, and vanished like a shadow; she would have been +forgotten, if we did not sometimes come across a well-known picture of +the year 1815, in which the Emperor Alexander and the Empress Elizabeth +are represented as the peacemakers of Europe. + +Miss Wilmot has appended to Princess Dashkov’s Memoirs a well-drawn +portrait of the Empress Elizabeth; the unhappy woman is standing with her +arms folded, she looks out mournfully from the paper, a hidden grief and +a sort of perplexity can be seen in her eyes, the whole figure expresses +one thought: ‘I am a stranger here’; indeed, she is holding up her skirt +and wraps as though on the point of departure. + +How strange was her destiny, and that of Anna Pavlovna, the wife of the +Tsarevitch! + +After the coronation Princess Dashkov saw that there was really no place +for her at the new court, and she began making plans for repose at +Troitskoye. In her honoured seclusion she again became a power. + +Friends and relations, celebrities whose fame was waning, and rising +stars visited her. + + ‘Crossing your threshold + I am back in Catherine’s days. + Taking no share in the world’s hopes and fears, + You at your window stand with mocking gaze + To watch at times the flying wheel of change. + E’en so, withdrawing from the busy whirl + To court the Muses and their idle ease, + In porphyry baths and marble palaces, + Grandees in Rome endured their world’s decay. + And to them from afar the young men came,— + Dictator, consul, tribune, warrior chief— + To rest in peace, to heave luxurious sighs, + Then off at once upon the road again.’ + +She often visited Moscow. There she was held in the highest respect; +active and inexhaustible, she was seen at balls and dinners, and arrived +there indeed earlier than any. Young ladies trembled at her criticisms +and observations, men sought the honour of being presented to her. + +At the other end of Moscow, not far from the Donsky Monastery, another +living monument of the reign of Catherine was passing his last days in a +palace surrounded by gardens. He led a gloomy life, retaining in spite of +his age his athletic frame and savage energy of character. In 1796, with +a scowling brow but unrepentant, he carried all over Petersburg the crown +of the man whom he had murdered; hundreds of thousands of people pointed +the finger at him; his companion, Prince Baryatinsky, turned pale and +nearly fainted; old Orlov merely complained of his gout. + +But his sombre life was not to pass uncheered. At his side a gentle, +tender little girl, exceptionally graceful and talented, was growing up. +The haughty old man began to live for her; he became her nurse, petted +her, cared for her, waited on her, and loved her beyond all measure, as +no one but her dead mother could have loved her. + +Sitting on his sofa, he made his daughter dance gipsy and Russian dances, +watched her movements with fond tenderness and unspoken pride, sometimes +wiping a tear from eyes which had, dry and cold, looked on so many +horrors. + +At last the time came for the old man to bring his treasure out into the +world; but to whom was he to confide her, into what woman’s care was he +to entrust this cherished flower? There was, indeed, one woman whom he +could have trusted, who with her marvellous tact might have directed her +first steps; but they were not on good terms. She had not forgiven him +for the stain he had brought on her revolution forty-two years before. + +And now the haughty Alexey Orlov, the Orlov of Chesme,[73] whom even +Paul could not crush, sought the favour of an interview with Princess +Ekaterina Romanovna, and, receiving permission to present his daughter to +her, joyfully hastened to take advantage of it and went with his Annushka +to see her. + +Princess Dashkov came in to greet him; bowing, the old man kissed her +hand; both were agitated; at last Princess Dashkov said to him: ‘So many +years have passed since we have met, Count, and so many events have +transformed the world in which we once lived that, indeed, I feel that +we are meeting now as shades in the other world. The presence of this +angel’ (she added, feelingly pressing to her bosom the daughter of her +former enemy) ‘who has brought us together again makes that feeling even +stronger.’ In his delight Orlov kissed the hand of Miss Wilmot, who was +afraid of him, in spite of the fact that she calls him ‘a majestic old +man,’ and saw with surprise the portrait of Catherine on his breast, +framed in nothing but diamonds, and the _heiduks_ standing in the hall, +and with them a dwarf dressed like a jester. + +The Count invited Princess Dashkov, and gave one of those fabulous +banquets of which we used to hear traditions in our childhood, +feasts reminiscent of Versailles and the Golden Horde. The gardens +were brilliantly lighted up, the house was thrown open, throngs of +house-serfs in gorgeous masquerade costumes filled the rooms, an +orchestra played, the tables groaned under the viands; in short, a royal +banquet. He had some one now to whom to entrust his daughter! + +At the height of the festivities, the father called her, the guests +formed a circle, and she danced, danced with a shawl and danced with a +tambourine in the Russian style. The old father beat time and watched +Princess Dashkov’s face; the old lady was pleased, the crowd was silent +through respect for the father’s rank and the daughter’s extraordinary +grace. ‘She danced,’ says Miss Wilmot, ‘with such simplicity, such +natural charm, such dignity and expression, that her movements seemed her +language.’ + +After each dance, she ran to her father and kissed his hand. Princess +Dashkov praised her; her father bade her kiss the princess’s hand too. +But he fancied that she was overheated, and with his own hands wrapped +her in a shawl that she might not take cold. At supper, with a blare +of trumpets and kettledrums, the Count, standing, drank the health of +Princess Dashkov. Then followed her favourite Russian songs accompanied +by a full orchestra. Then the strains of the polka were heard, and Orlov +led Princess Dashkov into the drawing-room, where the music of the wind +instruments astonished our Irish girl, who had never before heard serfdom +put to the service of art. At last Princess Dashkov got up to take leave, +and the Count, bowing and kissing her hand, thanked her for honouring his +poor house. + +This was how Orlov of Chesme celebrated his reconciliation with old +Princess Dashkov, and this was how the grim, harsh man loved his daughter. + +I, too, like Princess Ekaterina Romanovna, am almost reconciled to him. +Savage were the days in which he lived, and savage were his actions; the +Russia of Peter’s creation was still in the melting-pot: let us not judge +him more severely than Princess Dashkov did, and, if the prayers of +parents can do much in the next world, let us forgive Orlov much in this +for his love for his daughter. + +Her fate, too, was a strange one. + +As a boy I saw her once or twice, then I saw her again in 1841 at +Novgorod; she was living near the Yurev Monastery. Her whole life was one +prolonged, sorrowful penitence for a crime that she had not committed, +one prayer for the remission of her father’s sins, one act of atonement +for them. She could not overcome the horror inspired in her by the murder +of Peter III., and was crushed at the thought of her father’s eternal +punishment. All her mind, all her Orlov energy, she fixed on this one +object, and little by little abandoned herself completely to gloomy +mysticism and superstition. Called by birth, by wealth, and by talent +to one of the foremost positions not only in Russia, but in Europe, she +spent her days with tedious monks, with old bishops, with all sorts of +paralytics, sanctimonious hypocrites, crazy saints. I am told that after +1815 German hereditary princes sought her hand; Alexander showed her +marked attention; she withdrew from the court. Her palace grew emptier +and emptier, and at last sank into complete silence; neither the clatter +of old-fashioned goblets nor the choruses of singers were heard in it, +and no one cared about the cherished racehorses. Only the black figures +of bearded monks moved gloomily about the garden avenues and looked at +the fountains, as though Count Alexey’s funeral were not yet over—and, +indeed, the prayer for the repose of his soul still went on. + +In the drawing-room, where she had spun and twirled in the gipsy dance in +her girlish purity, innocent of the significance of the ardent movements +of the Asiatic dance, where smoothly, with downcast eyes, she had danced +with modestly raised hand our languid feminine dances, and where her +terrible father had gazed at her with tears in his eyes, the bigoted +fanatic, Foty,[74] sat now uttering incoherent speeches, and bringing +even greater horror into her crushed soul; the daughter of the haughty +conqueror of Chesme meekly listened to his sinister words, carefully +covering his feet with a shawl, perhaps the very one in which her father +had wrapped her! + +‘Anna,’ Foty would say, ‘fetch me water,’ and she ran for water. ‘Now sit +and listen,’ and she sat and listened. Poor woman! + +Her palace and gardens in Moscow she presented to the Tsar. What for? I +do not know. The immense estates, the stud-farms, all went to adorn the +Yurev Monastery; thither she transferred, too, her father’s coffin; there +in a special vault a lamp for ever burned, and a prayer was muttered +over him, there her own sarcophagus, still empty when I saw it, was +prepared. In the church twilight, the wealth of the Orlovs, transformed +into rubies, pearls, and emeralds, glitters mournfully in the settings +of ikons and the caps of archimandrites. With them the luckless daughter +tried to bribe the Heavenly Judge. + +Catherine had robbed the monasteries of their estates and distributed +them among the Orlovs and her other lovers. What a nemesis! + +Princess Dashkov’s Memoirs fail us about this time. The very details of +her interview with Orlov we have taken from the letters of the two Wilmot +sisters. + +Miss Mary Wilmot, grieving for the loss of her brother and dull at +home, received an invitation from Princess Dashkov to spend a year or +two with her. Miss Mary did not know the princess personally, but (she +was Mrs. Hamilton’s niece) she had from her childhood heard of this +wonderful woman, had heard how at eighteen she had been at the head of +a conspiracy, how she had dashed on horseback before revolting troops, +how afterwards she had lived in England and stayed in Ireland, had been +President of the Academy, and had written passionate letters to Mrs. +Hamilton. The young girl imagined her something fantastic, ‘a fairy and +partly a witch,’ and for that very reason decided, in 1803, to go to her. + +When she reached Troitskoye, however, she felt so scared and homesick +that she would have been glad to return if it had been possible. + +A short old lady, in a long dark cloth dress with a star on the left +side, and something like a peaked hat, came to meet her. Round her neck +she had a shabby old kerchief—one damp evening, when out for a walk, +twenty years earlier, Mrs. Hamilton had given her that kerchief, and from +that time forward she had kept it as a holy relic. But if her attire +really was suggestive of a witch, the noble features of her face and the +expression of infinite tenderness in her eyes fascinated the Irish girl +from the first moment. ‘There was so much truth, so much warmth, dignity, +and simplicity in her manner, that I loved her before she said anything.’ + +Miss Mary was completely under her influence from the first day, was +surprised at it, and angry with herself, but could not resist the +attraction of the splendid old lady. She liked everything in her, even +her broken English, which gave something childlike to her words. ‘Tears +and life,’ she says, ‘have given serenity and softness to her features, +and their expression of pride, of which slight traces still remain, has +been replaced by indulgence.’ + +But how Princess Dashkov loved her! She loved her passionately, as she +had once loved Catherine. Such freshness of feeling, such feminine +tenderness, such craving for love, such youthfulness of heart, are +astounding at sixty. The solicitude of a mother, the solicitude of +a sister, a lover, are what Miss Mary found at Troitskoye; for her +entertainment Princess Dashkov went to Moscow, took her to balls, showed +her monasteries, presented her to Empresses, adorned her room with +flowers, spent evenings with her reading the letters of Catherine and +other celebrities. + +Miss Wilmot begged and besought her to write her Memoirs. ‘And what I +would never do for my relatives or my friends, I am doing for her.’ + +She wrote her Memoirs for her, and dedicated them to her. + +In 1805 Princess Dashkov invited Miss Mary’s sister, Miss Katharine, +who was then in France and was obliged to leave that country, being +persecuted as an Englishwoman. The sisters were not in the least alike. +Mary was a soft, tender creature, delighted to have some one to protect +her, and to nestle under some one’s wing; she attached herself to +Princess Dashkov, as the weak twig to a strong old tree; she calls her +‘my Russian mother’; she came to her from a little town, and had seen +nothing before except her ‘Emerald Isle.’ Her sister, who had lived in +Paris, was lively and hot-tempered, independent in her opinions, clever +and ironical, not particularly loving or tolerant, and rather free in her +speech. Moreover, there was a great deal in Russia that she positively +disliked—and so her letters have for us a special interest of their own. + +‘Russia,’ she says, ‘is like a girl of twelve—wild and awkward, who has +been dressed up in a fashionable Parisian hat. We are living here in the +fourteenth or fifteenth century.’[75] + +She was far more shocked by serfdom than her kind-hearted sister. In +vain Princess Dashkov pointed out to her the prosperity of her peasants. + +‘They are well off,’ writes Miss Katharine, ‘while the princess lives, +but what will happen to them afterwards?’ Every landowner seems to her an +iron link in the fetters of Russia. + +In the pitiful cringing, the shameless servility of our society she very +correctly sees the reflection of slavery. With amazement she sees again +in assembly halls and drawing-rooms slaves devoid of all moral feeling +and personal dignity. She is astonished at visitors who dare not sit +down, and stand for hours at a time at the door, shifting from one foot +to the other, till they are dismissed with a nod. ‘The conceptions of +good and evil are in Russia mixed up with the idea of being in favour +or out of favour. A man’s worth is easily ascertained from the address +calendar, and it depends on the Tsar whether a man is unreservedly taken +for a snake or an ass.’ + +The Moscow grandees did not overawe her with the galaxy of their stars, +with their ponderous dignity and boring dinners. + +‘I feel,’ she writes after the festivities of 1806, ‘that I have been +floating all this time among the shades and spirits of Catherine’s +palace. Moscow is the imperial political Elysium of Russia. All the +personages of power and authority in the reigns of Catherine and Paul, +who have long ago been succeeded by others, retire into the luxurious +idleness of this lazy city, maintaining a supposed consequence which is +allowed them out of courtesy. Influence and power have passed years ago +to another generation; nevertheless, the _oberkammerherr_ of the Empress +Catherine, Prince Golitsyn, is still hung all over with orders and +decorations under the burden of which his ninety years are weighed down +to the ground; still, as in the palace of Catherine, a diamond key is +tied to his skeleton, which is dressed in an embroidered kaftan, and he +still majestically accepts tokens of respect from his companion shades +who once shared power and honour with him. + +‘By his side is another gaudy _revenant_, Count Osterman, once the great +Chancellor; he is hung with ribbons of every possible colour, red, blue, +and striped; eighty-three years are piled upon his head, but still he +drives his skeleton about with the bones rattling behind a team of six +horses, dines with _heiduks_ waiting at his table, and keeps up the +solemn etiquette by which he was surrounded when he was in power.’ Among +the shades she saw, too, Count Alexey Orlov. + +‘The hand that murdered Peter III. is studded with diamonds, among +his gifts from royalty the portrait of the Empress is particularly +conspicuous; Catherine smiles from it in everlasting gratitude.’ + +Miss Wilmot mentions, too, Korsakov, ‘who might have been taken for a +glittering vision of diamonds,’ Prince Baryatinsky and some other figures +from this world of the past, ‘from which they have retained the habit of +court gossip about important nonentities, haughtiness, vanity, and the +empty bustle in which they find their joy and their sorrow.’ + +And she concludes with indignation: ‘And yet the open coffin stands at +their tottering feet threatening to consign their paltry existences to +speedy oblivion.’ + +‘All these old grandees are surrounded by wives, daughters, and +granddaughters, dressed up to the nines, and sitting in gilded +apartments, in patriarchal fashion making their maids dance for their +amusement, and incessantly regaling one on jam. There is something +French in their appearance, and, being brought up by Frenchwomen, they +speak that language well and dress in the latest Parisian mode. But +there is very little real politeness in these ladies; their education is +absolutely superficial, and there is not a trace here of the charming +lightness of French society. When a Moscow lady has scanned you from +head to foot and kissed you five or six times (though twice, one would +think, would be more than enough), has assured you of her everlasting +affection, told you to your face that you are sweet and charming, asked +you the price of everything you have got on, and babbled about the coming +ball at the Hall of the Nobility, she has nothing more to say.’ + +Both sisters were greatly shocked by the vulgar habit of wearing other +people’s diamonds at balls. Moreover, every one knew whose they were; +thus a Princess Golitsyn used to lend her friends a girdle of diamonds +and a headdress of marvellous beauty that was known to the whole town. On +one occasion she adorned the shoulders of a niece of Princess Dashkov’s +with her jewels; the young lady had completely forgotten that the +princess was to be present; the stern and implacable old lady, it need +hardly be said, detested these displays of other people’s wealth. The +young lady was so terrified at the sight of Princess Dashkov that she +kept out of sight all the evening. But the fatal hour of supper arrived; +Miss Mary, feeling cold, put on her shawl; this struck the young lady as +a way of salvation, and she took hers to conceal the rivers of diamonds +from Princess Dashkov. They sat down, the aunt opposite; the soup tureen +screened the niece a little, but her headdress burnt her like fire. +Princess Dashkov stared at it. Red patches came out on the poor girl’s +face and tears came into her eyes. The princess said not a word. + +The sisters, who in many ways disagreed over people and incidents, +are completely at one whenever Princess Dashkov is spoken of. Miss +Katharine’s sarcastic pen loses all its venom when writing of the +princess. We have put her description of her at the beginning of this +account. In it she has shown least appreciation of the tender, womanly +side, for which love was a necessity. This side of her nature was far +better understood by Miss Mary, and yet she abandoned her. + +In 1807 Miss Katharine went away. Mary meant to leave a little later. She +was detained by a terrible blow which fell upon Princess Dashkov. + +Though the latter loved her son devotedly, she had never quite forgiven +his marriage, and would never receive his wife; she was in correspondence +with her son, however, but did not see him. In spite of all entreaties, +and in particular those of Miss Wilmot, whose influence was so immense, +the mother’s wounded heart, which they had not known how to soften +immediately after the marriage, could not do violence to itself and be +fully reconciled. In 1807, immediately after Princess Dashkov had arrived +in Moscow, her son was taken ill, and a few days later he died. + +This was a terrible blow for her, it shortened her life; repentance too +late laid all its irrevocable burden of regret upon her. She sent for her +daughter-in-law. And these women, who had done each other so much harm, +who had never met and had openly and senselessly hated each other, fell +sobbing in each other’s arms, and were reconciled for ever beside the +coffin of the man whom they had so much loved. + +Life was shattered for the princess. One consolation was left her—that +was her child, her friend, her ‘Irish daughter,’ and _she_ was preparing +to leave her. + +Why she went away I do not understand. It is hard to restrain a feeling +of vexation, seeing how unnecessarily Miss Wilmot abandoned Princess +Dashkov for the sake of her Irish relatives, who played an extremely +limited part in her life, and with whom she must have been very dreary. + +Princess Dashkov, frightened of her isolation, wanted to go with her +to Ireland, there to end her existence, ‘which has no heirs and must +die out.’ Miss Wilmot persuaded her not to go and promised to come back +to her. The old woman felt it bitterly. Miss Mary, to spare her, set +off secretly, but, detained in Petersburg by the departure of the ship +and the incredibly stupid police measures taken against the English on +account of the war which had then been declared, she made up her mind to +go back for some months to Moscow; the figure of the old lady with tears +in her eyes rent her heart; she wrote to her of her intention. + +Princess Dashkov’s joy and gratitude knew no bounds, and how did she +celebrate the news? She sent to the prison for five men who were there +for debt to be released, and charged them to celebrate a thanksgiving +service for her. + +But the bitterness of separation was only deferred; the obstinate +Miss Mary would have her way, and went after all. Princess Dashkov, +heartbroken at parting from her friend, had gone to bed. At night Miss +Wilmot stole quietly once more into her room. The princess, who had been +weeping the whole day, had fallen asleep: ‘The expression of her face was +serene as a child’s. I softly kissed her and went away.’ They never saw +each other again. + +The last days of our princess were passed in complete emptiness, through +which those dreary ‘shades’ flitted from time to time, covered with +stars and powder, and growing still more decrepit. Her thoughts were +concentrated on the young girl with a sorrow and dreamy tenderness which +makes the heartache; one has a distinct feeling that this grief must go +uncomforted. + +‘What am I to say to you, my beloved child, not to grieve you?’ she +writes on the 25th of October 1809. ‘I am sad, very sad, tears are +flowing from my eyes, and I cannot get used to our separation. I have +built a few bridges. I have planted a few hundred trees, I am told +successfully; all that distracts me for a minute, but my sadness comes +back again.’ + +On the 29th of October she writes: ‘And how changed everything is in +Troitskoye since you left! The theatre is shut up, there has not been a +single performance, the pianos are mute, and even the maids do not sing. +But why am I telling you this? you are surrounded by your kinsfolk, you +are happy, contented....’ + +She writes her a few more lines on the 6th of November, and ends her +letter with the English words: ‘God bless you!’ Did Mary know that that +blessing came from a dying hand? Less than two months later, on the 9th +of January 1810, Princess Ekaterina Romanovna was no more. + +Five years before her death, on the 22nd of October 1806, she concluded +her Memoirs with these words: ‘With an honest heart and pure intentions I +have had to endure many calamities; I should have been crushed under them +if my conscience had not been clear ... now I look forward without fear +and uneasiness to my approaching dissolution.’ + +What a woman! What a rich and vigorous life! + + + + +BAZAROV + + +Letter 1 + +Instead of a letter, dear friend, I am sending you a dissertation, and an +unfinished one too. After our conversation I read over again Pisarev’s +article on Bazarov, which I had quite forgotten, and I am very glad I +did—that is, not that I had forgotten it, but that I read it again. The +article confirms my point of view. In its one-sidedness it is more true +and more worth consideration than its opponents have supposed. Whether +Pisarev has correctly grasped the character of Bazarov as Turgenev meant +it, does not concern me. What does matter is that he has recognised +himself and his comrades in Bazarov, and has added to the portrait what +was lacking in the book. The less Pisarev has adhered to the narrow +framework in which the exasperated ‘Father’ has tried to confine the +obstinate ‘Son,’ the more freely has he been able to treat him as the +expression of his ideal. + +‘But what interest can Mr. Pisarev’s ideal have for us? Pisarev is +a smart critic, he has written a great deal, he has written about +everything, sometimes about subjects of which he had knowledge, but all +that does not give his ideal any claim on the attention of the public.’ + +The point is that it is not his own individual ideal, but the ideal which +both before and since the appearance of Turgenev’s Bazarov has haunted +the younger generation, has been embodied not only in various heroes +in novels and stories, but in living persons who have tried to take +Bazarovism as the basis of their words and actions. What Pisarev says I +have seen and heard myself a dozen times; in the simplicity of his heart, +he has let out the cherished thought of a whole circle and, focussing the +scattered rays on one centre, has shed a light on the typical Bazarov. + +To Turgenev, Bazarov is more than alien; to Pisarev, more than a comrade; +to study the type, of course, one must take the view which sees in +Bazarov the desideratum. + +Pisarev’s opponents were frightened by his lack of caution; while +denouncing Turgenev’s Bazarov as a caricature, they repudiated even more +violently his transfigured double; they were displeased at Pisarev’s +having put his foot in it, but it does not follow from this that he was +wrong in his interpretation. + +Pisarev knows the heart of his Bazarov through and through; he makes +a confession for his hero. ‘Perhaps,’ he says, ‘at the bottom of his +heart Bazarov does accept a great deal of what he denies in words, and, +perhaps, it is just what is accepted and concealed that saves him from +moral degradation and from moral insignificance.’ + +We regard this indiscreet utterance, which looks so deeply into another +soul, as very important. + +Further on, Pisarev describes his hero’s character thus: ‘Bazarov is +extremely proud, but his pride is not noticeable’ (clearly this is not +Turgenev’s Bazarov) ‘just because it is so great. Nothing would satisfy +Bazarov but an _eternity of ever-widening activity and ever-increasing +enjoyment_.’[76] + +Bazarov acts everywhere and in everything only as he wishes, or as he +thinks advantageous and convenient; he is guided only by his personal +desire or personal calculation. He acknowledges no Mentor above him, +without himself nor within himself. Before him is no lofty aim, in his +mind is no lofty thought, and with all that his powers are immense. If +Bazarovism is a malady, it is a malady of our age, and will have to run +its course in spite of any amputations or palliatives. + +Bazarov looks down on people, and rarely gives himself the trouble, +indeed, to conceal his half-contemptuous and half-patronising attitude +to those who hate and to those who obey him. He loves no one. He thinks +it quite unnecessary to put any constraint on himself whatever. There +are two sides to his cynicism, an internal and an external, the cynicism +of thought and feeling and the cynicism of manner and expression. The +essence of his inner cynicism lies in an ironical attitude to feeling of +every sort, to dreaminess, to poetical enthusiasm. The harsh expression +of this irony, the causeless and aimless roughness of manner, are part of +his external cynicism. Bazarov is not merely an empiricist; he is also +an unkempt Bursch. Among the admirers of Bazarov there will doubtless be +some who will be delighted with his rude manners, the vestiges left by +his rough student life, and will imitate those manners, which are in any +case a defect and not a virtue.[77] Such people are most often evolved +in the grey environment of hard work: stern work coarsens the hands, +coarsens the manners, coarsens the feelings; the man is toughened, casts +off youthful dreaminess, and gets rid of tearful sentimentality; there +is no possibility of dreaming at work; the hard-working man looks upon +idealism as a folly peculiar to the idleness and soft self-indulgence of +the well-to-do, he reckons moral sufferings as imaginary, moral impulses +and heroic deeds as far-fetched and absurd. He feels a repulsion for +high-flown talk.’ + +Then Pisarev draws the genealogical tree of Bazarov: the Onyegins and +Petchorins begat the Rudins and the Beltovs,[78] the Rudins and the +Beltovs begat Bazarov. (Whether the Decembrists are omitted intentionally +or unintentionally I do not know.) The bored and disillusioned are +succeeded by men who strive to act, life rejects them both as worthless +and incomplete. ‘It is sometimes their lot to suffer, but they never +succeed in getting anything done. Society is deaf and inexorable to them. +They are incapable of adapting themselves to its conditions, not one +of them ever rises so high as head clerk of a government office. Some +are consoled by becoming professors and working for future generations. +Their negative usefulness is incontestable. They increase the numbers of +men incapable of practical activity, in consequence of which practical +activity itself, or more precisely the forms in which it usually finds +expression now, slowly but steadily sink lower in public esteem.’ + +‘It seemed (after the Crimean War) that Rudinism was over, that the +period of fruitless ideals and yearnings was succeeded by a period of +seething and useful activity. But the illusion has faded. The Rudins have +not become practical workers, and a new generation has come forward from +behind them and taken up a reproachful and ironical attitude towards its +predecessors. “What are you whining about, what are you seeking, what +are you asking from life? You want happiness, I suppose? I daresay you +do! Happiness has to be fought for. If you are strong, take it. If you +are weak, hold your tongue; we feel sick enough without your whining!” +A gloomy, concentrated energy is expressed in this unfriendly attitude +of the younger generation to their Mentors. In their conceptions of good +and evil the young generation and the best men of the preceding one +are alike, the sympathies and antipathies of both are the same; they +desire the same thing, but the men of the past generation were in an +everlasting fuss and ferment. The men of to-day are not in a fuss, they +are not trying to find anything, they will not give in to any compromise, +and they hope for nothing. They are as helpless as the Rudins, but they +recognise their helplessness. “I cannot act now,” each of these new men +thinks, “and I am not going to try. I despise everything that surrounds +me, and I am not going to conceal my contempt. I shall enter on the +battle with evil when I feel myself strong.” Having no possibility +of acting, men begin to reflect and investigate. Superstitions and +authorities are torn to shreds, and the philosophy of life is completely +cleared of all sorts of fantastic conceptions. It is nothing to them +whether the public is following in their footsteps. They are full of +themselves, of their own inner life. In short, the Petchorins had will +without understanding, the Rudins understanding without will, the +Bazarovs both understanding and will. Thought and action are blended in +one firm whole.’ + +As you see, there is everything here (if there is no mistake), both +character-drawing and classification. All is brief and clear, the sum is +added up, the bill is presented, and perfectly correctly from the point +of view from which the author has attacked the question. + +But we do not accept this bill, and we protest from our premature coffins +which have not yet arrived, though bespoken. We are not Charles V., and +have no desire to be buried alive. + +How strange has been the fate of _Fathers and Children_! That Turgenev +created Bazarov with no idea of patting him on the head is clear; that +he meant to do something for the ‘Fathers’ is clear too. But when he +came to deal with such pitiful and worthless ‘Fathers’ as the Kirsanovs, +Turgenev was carried away by Bazarov in spite of his harshness, and +instead of thrashing the son he chastised the fathers. + +And so it has come to pass that some of the younger generation have +recognised themselves in Bazarov. But we entirely fail to recognise +ourselves in the Kirsanovs, just as we did not recognise ourselves in +the Manilovs nor the Sobakevitches, although Manilovs and Sobakevitches +existed all over the place in the days of our youth, and are existing now. + +Whole herds of moral freaks live at the same date in different layers +of society and in its different currents; undoubtedly they represent +more or less general types, but they do not represent the most striking +and characteristic side of their generation, the side which most fully +expresses its force. Pisarev’s Bazarov is, in a one-sided sense, to a +certain extent the extreme type of what Turgenev called the ‘Sons’; while +the Kirsanovs are the most commonplace and ordinary representatives of +the ‘Fathers.’ + +Turgenev was more of an artist in his novel than is thought, and that is +why he turned out of his course, and to my thinking he did well in so +doing—he meant to go one way, and he went another and a better one. + +He might just as well have sent his Bazarov to London. That insignificant +creature, Pisemsky, did not shrink from travelling expenses for his +sorely tried freaks. We could perhaps have shown Bazarov on the banks of +the Thames that, without rising to the post of head clerk of an office, +one might do quite as much good as any head of a department; that society +is not always deaf and inexorable when the protest finds a response; that +action does sometimes succeed; that the Rudins and the Beltovs sometimes +have will and perseverance; and that, seeing the impossibility of +carrying on the work to which they are urged by their inner impulse, they +have forsaken many things, gone abroad, and without ‘fuss and ferment’ +have established a Russian printing-press, and are carrying on a Russian +propaganda. The influence of the London press from 1856 to the end of +1863 is not merely a practical fact, but an historical fact. It cannot be +effaced, it has to be accepted. In London Bazarov would have seen that it +was only from a distance that we seemed to be waving our arms in despair, +and that in reality we were keeping our hands hard at work. Perhaps his +wrath would have been changed to lovingkindness, and he would have given +up treating us with ‘reproach and irony.’ + +I frankly confess this throwing of stones at one’s predecessors is very +distasteful to me. I repeat what I have said already: ‘I should like to +save the younger generation from historical ingratitude, and even from +historical error. It is high time that the fathers gave up devouring +their children like Saturn, but it is time the children ceased to follow +the example of those savages who slaughter their old people. Surely it +is not right that only in natural science the phases and degrees of +development, the variations and the deviations, even the _avortements_, +should be studied, accepted, considered _sine ira et studio_, while as +soon as one approaches history the physiological method is abandoned, +and the methods of the Criminal Court and the House of Correction are +adopted.’ + +The Onyegins and Petchorins have passed away. + +The Rudins and the Beltovs are passing. + +The Bazarovs will pass ... and very quickly, as a matter of fact. It is a +too artificial, bookish, overstrained type to persist for long. + +A type has already tried to thrust himself forward to replace him, one +rotten in the spring of his days, the type of the orthodox student, +the conservative patriot trained at Government expense, in whom +everything loathsome in Imperial Russia was incarnate, though even he +felt embarrassed after serenading the Iversky Madonna, and singing a +thanksgiving service to Katkov. + +All the types that arise pass, and all, in virtue of the law of the +conservation of energy which we have learnt to recognise in the physical +world, persist and will spring up in different forms in the future +progress of Russia and in her future organisation. + +And so would it not be more interesting, instead of pitting Bazarov +against Rudin, to analyse what are the salient points connecting them, +and what are the reasons of their appearing and their transformation? +Why have precisely these forms of development been called forth by our +life, and why have they passed one into the other in this way? Their +dissimilarity is obvious, but in some respects they are alike. Typical +characters readily pounce on distinctions, exaggerate the angles and +prominent features for the sake of emphasising them, paint the barriers +in vivid colours, and tear apart the bonds. The shades are lost and unity +is left far away, hidden in mist, like the plain that joins the foot +of the mountains, whose tops, far apart from each other, are brightly +lighted up. Moreover, we load on the shoulders of these types more than +they can carry, and ascribe to them in life a significance they have +not had, or have only in a limited sense. To take Onyegin as the finest +type of the intellectual life of the period between 1820 and 1830, as +the integral of all the tendencies and activities of the class then +awakening, would be quite a mistake, although he does represent one of +the aspects of the life of that time. + +The type of that period, one of the most splendid types of modern +history, was the Decembrist and not Onyegin. He could not be touched by +Russian literature for all these forty years, but he is not the less for +that. + +How is it the younger generation have not the clearness of vision, the +imagination, or the heart to grasp the grandeur and the virtue of those +brillant young men who emerged from the ranks of the Guards, those +spoilt darlings of wealth and high rank who left their drawing-rooms and +their piles of gold to demand the rights of man, to protest, to make +a statement for which—and they knew it—the hangman’s rope and penal +servitude awaited them? It is a melancholy and puzzling question. + +To resent the fact that these men appeared in the one class in which +there was some degree of culture, of leisure, and of security, is +senseless. If these ‘princes, boyars, voyevods,’ these secretaries of +state and colonels, had not been awakened by moral hunger, but had waited +to be aroused by bodily hunger, there would have been no whining and +restless Rudins, nor Bazarovs, priding themselves on their combination +of will and knowledge: in their place there would have been a regimental +doctor who would have done the soldiers to death, robbing them of +their rations and medicines, and have sold the death certificate to a +Kirsanov’s bailiff when he had flogged a peasant to death, or there +would have been a court clerk taking bribes, for ever drunk, fleecing +the peasants of their quarter-roubles, and handing overcoat and goloshes +to his Excellency, a Kirsanov and Governor of the province; and what is +more, serfdom would not have received its death-blow, nor would there +have been any of that underground activity under the heavy heel of +authority, gnawing away the imperial ermine and the quilted dressing-gown +of the landowners. It was fortunate that, side by side with men who found +their gentlemanly pastimes in the kennels and the serfs’ quarters, in +outraging and flogging at home and in cringing servility in Petersburg, +there were some whose ‘pastime’ it was to tear the rod out of their +hands and fight for freedom, not for licence but freedom for mind, for +human life. Whether this pastime of theirs was their serious work, their +passion, they showed on the gallows and in prison ... they showed it, +too, when they came back after thirty years spent in Siberia. + +If the type of the Decembrist has been reflected at all in literature, it +is—faintly but with kindred features—in Tchatsky.[79] + +His exasperated, bitter feeling, his youthful indignation, betray a +healthy impulse to action; he feels what it is he is displeased with, he +beats his head against the stone wall of social conventions and tries +whether the prison bars are strong. Tchatsky was on the straight road for +penal servitude, and if he survived the 14th of December he certainly +did not turn into a passively suffering or proudly contemptuous person. +He would have been more likely to rush into some indignant extreme, like +Tchaadayev, to become a Catholic, a Slav-hater or a Slavophil, but he +would not in any case have abandoned his propaganda, which he did not +abandon either in the drawing-room of Famussov or in his entrance-hall, +and he would not have comforted himself with the thought that ‘his hour +had not yet come.’ He had that restless energy which cannot endure to be +out of harmony with what surrounds it, and must either crush it or be +crushed. This is the ferment which makes stagnation in history impossible +and clears away the scum on its flowing but dilatory wave. + +If Tchatsky had survived the generation that followed the 14th of +December in fear and trembling, and grown up crushed by terror, +humiliated and suppressed, he would have stretched across it a warm hand +of greeting to us. With us Tchatsky would have come back to his natural +surroundings. These _rimes croisées_ across the generations are not +uncommon even in zoology. And it is my profound conviction that we should +meet Bazarov’s children with sympathy and they us ‘without bitterness and +sarcasm.’ Tchatsky could not have lived with his hands folded, neither +in capricious peevishness nor in haughty self-admiration; he was not old +enough to find pleasure in grumbling sulkiness, nor young enough to enjoy +the conceit and self-sufficiency of adolescence. The whole character of +the man lies in this restless ferment, this leaven of energy. But it is +just that aspect that displeases Bazarov, it is that that incenses his +proud stoicism. ‘Keep quiet in your corner if you have not the strength +to do anything; it is sickening enough as it is without your whining,’ he +says; ‘if you are beaten, well, stay beaten.... You have enough to eat; +as for your weeping, that’s just an idle diversion’ ... and so on. + +Pisarev was bound to speak in that way for Bazarov; the part he played +required it. + +It is hard not to play a part so long as it is liked. Take off Bazarov’s +uniform, make him forget the jargon he uses, let him be free to utter one +word simply, without posing (he so hates affectation!), let him for one +minute forget his bristling duty, his artificially frigid language, his +rôle of castigator, and within an hour we should understand each other in +all the rest. + +In their conceptions of good and evil the new generation are like the +old. Their sympathies and antipathies, says Pisarev, are the same; +what they desire is the same thing ... at the bottom of their hearts +the younger generation accept much that they reject in words. It would +be quite easy then to come to terms. But until he is stripped of his +ceremonial trappings Bazarov consistently demands from men who are +crushed under every burden on earth, outraged, tortured, deprived both of +sleep and of all possibility of action when awake, that they should not +speak of their misery; there is a smack of Araktcheyev about it. + +What reason is there to deprive Lermontov, for instance, of his bitter +lamentation, his upbraidings of his own generation which sent a shock of +horror through so many? Would the prison-house of Nicholas be really +any better if the gaolers had been as irritably nervous and carping as +Bazarov and had suppressed those voices. + +‘But what are they for? What is the use of them?’ ‘Why does a stone make +a sound when it is hit with a hammer?’ + +‘It cannot help it.’ + +And why do these gentlemen suppose that men can suffer for whole +generations without speech, complaint, indignation, cursing, protest? If +complaint is not of use for others, it is for those who complain; the +expression of sorrow eases the pain. ‘_Ihm_,’ says Goethe, ‘_gab ein Gott +zu sagen, was er leidet._’ + +‘But what has it to do with us?’ + +Nothing to do with you, perhaps, but something to do with others, maybe; +moreover, you must not lose sight of the fact that every generation +lives for itself also. From the point of view of history it leads on to +something else, but in relation to itself it is the goal, and it cannot, +it ought not to endure without a murmur the afflictions that befall it, +especially when it has not even the consolation which Israel had in +the expectation of the Messiah, and has no idea that from the seed of +the Onyegins and the Rudins will be born a Bazarov. In reality, what +drives our young people to fury is that in our generation _our_ craving +for activity, _our_ protest against the existing order of things was +_differently_ expressed from theirs, and that the motive of both was not +always and completely dependent on cold and hunger. + +Is not this passion for uniformity another example of the same +irritable spirit which has made of formality and routine the one thing +of consequence and reduced military evolutions to the goose-step? +That side of the Russian character is responsible for the development +of Araktcheyevism, civil and military. Every personal, individual +manifestation or deviation was regarded as disobedience, and excited +persecution and incessant bullying. Bazarov leaves no one in peace; he +provokes every one with his scorn. Every word of his is a reproof from +a superior to a subordinate. There is no future before that. ‘If,’ says +Pisarev, ‘Bazarovism is the malady of our age, it will have to run its +course.’ By all means. This malady is only in place before the end of the +university course; like teething, it is quite unseemly in the full-grown. + +The worst service Turgenev did Bazarov was putting him to death by typhus +because he did not know how to get rid of him. That is an _ultima ratio_ +which no one can withstand; had Bazarov been saved from typhus, he would +certainly have grown out of Bazarovism, at any rate in science, which he +loved and prized, and which does not change its methods, whether frog or +man, embryology or history, is its subject. + +‘Bazarov rejected every sort of convention, and was nevertheless an +extremely uncultured man. He had heard something about poetry, something +about art, and, without troubling himself to think, abruptly passed +sentence on the subject of which he knew nothing. This conceit is +characteristic of us Russians in general; it has its good points, such as +intellectual daring, but at times it leads us into crude errors.’ + +Science would have saved Bazarov; he would have ceased to look down on +people with deep and unconcealed contempt. Science even more than the +Gospel teaches us humility. She cannot look down on anything, she does +not know what superiority means, she despises nothing, is never false for +the sake of a pose, and conceals nothing to produce an effect. She stops +short at the facts to investigate, sometimes to heal, never to punish, +still less with hostility and irony. + +Science—I anyway am not compelled to keep some words hidden in the +silence of the spirit—science is love, as Spinoza said of thought and +vision. + + +Letter 2 + +What has been leaves an imprint by means of which science sooner or later +restores the past in its fundamental features. All that is lost is the +particular atmosphere in which it has occurred. Apotheoses and calumnies, +partialities and envies, all fade and are blown away. The faint track +on the sand vanishes; the imprint which has force and persistence +stamps itself on the rock and will be brought to light by the honest +investigator. + +Connections, degrees of kinship, testators and heirs, and their mutual +rights, will all be revealed by the heraldry of science. + +Only goddesses are born without predecessors, like Venus from the foam of +the sea. Minerva, more intelligent, sprang from the ready head of Jupiter. + +The Decembrists are our noble fathers, the Bazarovs our prodigal sons. + +The heritage we received from the Decembrists was the awakened feeling +of human dignity, the striving for independence, the hatred for slavery, +the respect for Western Europe and for the Revolution, the faith in the +possibility of an upheaval in Russia, the passionate desire to take part +in it, the youth and freshness of our energies. + +All that has been recast and moulded into new forms, but the foundations +are untouched. + +What has our generation bequeathed to the coming one? Nihilism. + +Let us recall the position of affairs a little. + +Somewhere about 1840 our life began to force its way out more vigorously, +like steam from under a closed lid. A scarcely perceptible change passed +all over Russia, the change by which the doctor discerns before he can +fully account for it that there is a turn for the better, that the +patient’s strength, though very weak, is reviving—there is a different +_tone_. Somewhere inwardly in the moral invisible world there is the +breath of a different air, more stimulating and healthier. Externally +everything was deathlike under the ice of Nicholas’s government, but +something was stirring in the mind and the conscience—a feeling of +uneasiness, of dissatisfaction. The terror had grown weaker, men were +sick of the twilight of the kingdom of darkness. + +I saw that change with my own eyes, when I came back from exile, first +in Moscow, afterwards in Petersburg. But I saw it in the literary and +scientific circles. + +Another man, whose Baltic antipathy for the Russian movement places +him beyond the suspicion of partiality, described not so long ago how, +returning at that period to the Petersburg aristocracy of the barracks +after an absence of some years, he was puzzled at the decline of +discipline. Aides-de-camp and colonels of the Guards were murmuring, were +criticising the measures taken by the Government, and were displeased +with Nicholas himself. He was so overwhelmed, distressed, and alarmed for +the future of the Autocracy that in the tribulation of his spirit he felt +when dining with the aide-de-camp B., almost in the presence of Dubbelt +himself, that Nihilism had been born between the cheese and the dessert. +He did not recognise the new-born spirit, but the new-born spirit was +there. The machine wound up by Nicholas had begun to give way; he turned +the screw the other way and every one felt it; some spoke, others kept +silent and forbade speech, but all knew that things were really going +wrong, that every one was oppressed, and that this oppression would bring +no good to any one. + +Laughter played its part too; laughter, never a good companion for any +religion, and Autocracy is a religion. The vileness and degradation +of the lower ranks of the officials had reached such a pitch that the +Government abandoned them to the satirist. Nicholas, roaring with +laughter in his box at the Mayor and his Derzhimorda,[80] helped the +propaganda, never guessing that after the approval of the Most High the +mockery would soon be promoted to the higher ranks. + +It is difficult to apply Pisarev’s rubrics to this period without +modification. Everything in life consists of _nuances_, hesitations, +cross-currents, ebbing and flowing, and not of disconnected fragments. At +what point did the men of will without knowledge cease to be and the men +of knowledge without will begin? + +Nature resolutely eludes classification, even classification by age. +Lermontov was in years a contemporary of Byelinsky; he was at the +university when we were, but he died in the hopeless pessimism of the +Petchorin movement, against which the Slavophils and ourselves alike rose +in opposition. + +And by the way, I have mentioned the Slavophils. Where are Homyakov +and his brethren to be put? What had they—will without knowledge, or +knowledge without will? Yet the position they filled was no trifling one +in the modern development of Russia, they left a deep imprint on the life +of that time. Or in what levy of recruits shall we put Gogol, and by what +standard? He had not knowledge, whether he had will I don’t know, I doubt +it; but he had genius, and his influence was colossal. + +And so, leaving aside the _lapides crescunt, planta crescunt et vivunt_ +... of Pisarev, let us pass on. + +There were no secret societies, but the secret agreement of those who +understood was immense. Circles consisting of men who had felt the +bear’s claw of the Government on their own persons, more or less, kept a +vigilant watch on their membership. Every action was impossible, even a +word must be masked, but great was the power of speech, not only of the +printed but even more of the spoken word, less easily detected by the +police. + +Two batteries were quickly moved forward. Journalism became propaganda. +At the head of it, in the full flush of his youthful strength, stood +Byelinsky. University lecture-rooms were transformed into pulpits, +lectures into the preaching of humane culture; the personality of +Granovsky, surrounded by young professors, became more and more prominent. + +Then all at once another outburst of laughter. Strange laughter, terrible +laughter, the laughter of hysteria, in which were mingled shame and +pangs of conscience, and perhaps not the tears that follow laughter, but +the laughter that follows tears. The absurd, monstrous, narrow world of +_Dead Souls_ could not endure it; it sank and began to disappear. And the +propaganda went on gathering strength ... always unchanged; tears and +laughter and books and speech and Hegel[81] and history—all roused men to +the consciousness of their position, to a feeling of horror for serfdom +and for their own lack of rights, everything pointed them on to science +and culture, to the purging of thought from all the litter of tradition, +to the freeing of conscience and reason. That period saw the first dawn +of Nihilism—that complete freedom from all established conceptions, from +all the inherited obstructions and barriers which hinder the Western +European mind from advancing in its historical fetters, from taking a +step forward. + +The silent work of the ’forties was cut short all at once. A time even +blacker and more oppressive than the beginning of Nicholas’s reign +followed upon the revolution of February. Byelinsky died before the +beginning of the persecution. Granovsky envied him and wanted to leave +Russia. + +A dark night that lasted seven years fell upon Russia, and in it that +intellectual outlook, that way of thinking that is called Nihilism, took +shape, developed, and gained a firm hold on the Russian mind. + +Nihilism (I repeat what I said lately in _The Bell_) is logic without +structure, it is science without dogmas, it is the unconditional +submission to experience and the resigned acceptance of all consequences, +whatever they may be, if they follow from observation, or are required +by reason. Nihilism does not transform something into nothing, but shows +that nothing which has been taken for something is an optical illusion, +and that every truth, however it contradicts our fantastic ideas, is more +wholesome than they are, and is in any case what we are in duty bound +to accept. Whether the name is appropriate or not does not matter. We +are accustomed to it; it is accepted by friend and foe, it has become a +police label, it has become a denunciation, an insult with some, a word +of praise with others. Of course, if by Nihilism we are to understand +destructive creativeness, that is, the turning of facts and thoughts +into nothing, into barren scepticism, into haughty passivity, into the +despair which leads to inaction, then true Nihilists are the last people +to be included in the definition, and one of the greatest Nihilists +will be Turgenev, who flung the first stone at them, and another will +be perhaps his favourite philosopher, Schopenhauer. When Byelinsky, +after listening to one of his friends, who explained at length that the +_spirit_ attains self-consciousness in man, answered indignantly: ‘So, I +am not conscious for my own sake, but for the spirit’s?... Why should I +be taken advantage of? I had better not think at all; what do I care for +its consciousness?...’ he was a Nihilist. + +When Bakunin convicted the Berlin professors of being afraid of negation, +and the Parisian revolutionaries of 1848 of conservatism, he was a +Nihilist in the fullest sense. + +All these discriminations and jealous reservations lead as a rule to +nothing but artificial antagonism. + +When the Petrashevsky group were sent to penal servitude for ‘trying to +uproot all laws, human and divine, and to destroy the foundations of +society,’ in the words of their sentence, the terms of which were stolen +from the inquisitorial notes of Liprandi, they were Nihilists. Since then +Nihilism has broadened out, has to some extent become doctrinaire, has +absorbed a great deal from science, and has produced leaders of immense +force and immense talent. All that is beyond dispute. But it has brought +forth no new principles. Or if it has, where are they? I await an answer +to this question from you, or perhaps from some one else, and then I will +continue. + + + + +THE RUSSIAN PEOPLE AND SOCIALISM + +_A Letter to J. Michelet_ + + This letter was first published at Nice in 1851, but only + circulated in Piedmont and Switzerland, as the French police + seized almost the whole edition in Marseilles. + + +Dear Sir,—You hold so high a position in the esteem of all thinking +men, and every word which comes from your noble pen is received by the +European democracy with such complete and deserved confidence, that I +cannot keep silent in a matter that touches upon my deepest convictions. +I cannot leave unanswered the description of the Russian people which you +have included in your legend of Kosciuszko.[82] + +This answer is necessary for another reason also. The time has come to +show Europe that when they speak about Russia they are not speaking of +something absent, defenceless, deaf and dumb. + +We who have left Russia, only that free Russian speech may be heard at +last in Europe, we are on the spot and deem it our duty to raise our +voice when a man wielding an immense and deserved authority asserts that +‘Russia does not exist, Russians are not men, they are devoid of moral +significance.’ + +If by this you mean official Russia, the parade-Tsardom, the +Byzantine-German Government, then you are right. We agree beforehand +with everything that you tell us; it is not for us to play the part of +champion there. The Russian Government has so many agents in the press +that there will never be a lack of eloquent apologies for its doings. + +But not official society alone is dealt with in your work; you touch on a +deeper question; you speak of the people itself. + +Poor Russian people! There is no one to raise a voice in its defence! +Judge whether I can in duty be silent. + +The Russian people, my dear sir, is alive, strong, and not old; on the +contrary, indeed, very young. Men do die even in youth, it does happen, +but it is not the normal thing. + +The past of the Russian people is obscure, its present is terrible, +but it has claims on the future. It does not _believe_ in its present +position; it has the temerity to expect the more from time, since it has +received so little hitherto. + +The most difficult period for the Russian people is drawing to its close. +A terrible conflict awaits it; its enemies are making ready. + +The great question, ‘to be or not to be,’ will soon be decided for +Russia, but it is a sin to despair of success before the fight has begun. + +The Russian question is assuming immense and fearful proportions; it is +the object of interest and anxiety to all parties; but I think that too +much attention is paid to Imperial Russia, to official Russia, and too +little to the Russia of the people, to voiceless Russia. + +Even looking at Russia solely from the point of view of its Government, +do you not think it would be as well to become more closely acquainted +with this inconvenient neighbour who makes himself felt throughout the +whole of Europe, in one place with bayonets, in another with spies? The +Russian Government extends its influence to the Mediterranean by its +protection of the Ottoman Porte, to the Rhine by its protection of its +German uncles and connections, to the Atlantic by its protection of +_order_ in France. + +It would not be amiss, I maintain, to appraise at its true value this +universal protector, to inquire whether this strange realm is destined +to play no other part than the repulsive one assumed by the Petersburg +Government, the part of a barrier continually thrown up on the path of +human progress. + +Europe is approaching a terrible cataclysm. The mediaeval world is +falling into ruins. The feudal world is drawing to a close. Political and +religious revolutions are flagging under the burden of their impotence; +they have accomplished great things, but have not carried out their +tasks. They have destroyed faith in the Throne and the Altar, but have +not established freedom; they have kindled in men’s hearts desires which +they are incapable of satisfying. Parliamentarianism, Protestantism, +are only stop-gaps, temporary havens, weak bulwarks against death and +resurrection. Their day is over. Since 1849 it has been grasped that +petrified Roman law, subtle casuistry, thin philosophic deism, and barren +religious rationalism are all equally powerless to hold back the workings +of destiny. + +The storm is approaching, it is impossible to avert it. Revolutionaries +and reactionaries are at one about that. All men’s minds are perturbed; +the oppressive, vital question lies heavy on the hearts of all. With +growing uneasiness all men ask themselves whether there is still strength +for recovery in old Europe, that decrepit Proteus, that decaying +organism. The answer to that question is awaited with horror, and the +suspense is terrible. + +Indeed, it is a fearful question! Will old Europe have the power to +infuse new blood into its veins and fling itself into the boundless +future to which it is drawn by an invincible force, to which it is +being borne headlong, the path to which is perhaps over the ruins of +its ancestral home, over the fragments of past civilisations, over the +trampled riches of modern culture? + +On both sides the full gravity of the moment has been understood; Europe +is plunged in dim, stifling gloom, on the eve of the momentous conflict. +It is not life, but an oppressive, agitating suspense. There is no regard +for law, no justice, no personal freedom even; everywhere the sway of the +secular inquisition is supreme; instead of order upheld by law, there is +a state of siege, all are governed by a single feeling—fear, and there +is plenty of it. Every question is thrown into the background before the +all-devouring interests of the reaction. Governments, apparently most +hostile, are united into a single world-wide police. The Russian Emperor, +without concealing his hatred for the French, rewards the Prefect of the +Parisian police; the King of Naples bestows a decoration on the President +of the Republic. The Prussian King, donning the Russian uniform, hastens +to Warsaw to embrace his foe, the Emperor of Austria, in the gracious +presence of Nicholas; while the latter, the schismatic of the one Church +of salvation, proffers his aid to the Pope of Rome. In the midst of these +Saturnalia, in the midst of this Sabbath of the reaction, nothing is left +to safeguard freedom from the caprices of tyranny. Even the guarantees +which exist in undeveloped societies, in China, in Persia, are no longer +respected in the capitals of the so-called civilised world. + +One can hardly believe one’s eyes. Can this be the Europe which once we +knew and loved? + +Indeed, if it were not for free and haughty England, ‘that jewel set in +a silver sea,’ as Shakespeare calls it, if Switzerland were, like Peter, +in fear of Caesar, to renounce its principles, if Piedmont, that branch +still left of Italy, that last refuge of freedom, which has been hunted +beyond the Alps, and cannot cross the Apennines, were led astray by the +example of her neighbours, if those three countries were infected by the +spirit of death that breathes from Paris and Vienna, it might be thought +that the Conservatives had succeeded already in bringing the old world +to its final dissolution, that the days of barbarism had already returned +in France and Germany. + +In the midst of this chaos, in the midst of these pangs of death and +agonies of birth, in the midst of a world falling into dust about the +cradle of the future, men’s eyes involuntarily turn to the East. + +There a hostile, menacing empire is seen standing out behind the mists, +like a dark mountain; at times it seems as though it is falling upon +Europe like an avalanche, that like an impatient heir it is ready to +hasten her tardy death. + +This empire, absolutely unknown two hundred years ago, has suddenly made +its appearance, and with no right to do so, with no invitation, has +loudly and bluntly raised its voice in the council of European Powers, +demanding a share in the booty, won without its assistance. + +No one has dared to oppose its pretensions to interfere in the affairs +of Europe. Charles XII. tried to do so, but his sword, till then +invincible, was broken; Frederick II. attempted to resist the claims of +the Petersburg Court; Königsberg and Berlin became the prey of the foe +from the North. Napoleon, with half a million men, penetrated to the very +heart of the giant, and stole away alone in the first peasant sledge +he came upon. Europe gazed with astonishment at Napoleon’s flight, at +the crowds of Cossacks racing in pursuit of him, at the Russian troops +marching to Paris, and giving the Germans their national independence +by way of alms on the road. Since then Russia has lain like a vampire +over the fate of Europe, watching the mistakes of rulers and peoples. +Yesterday she almost crushed Austria, assisting her against Hungary; +to-morrow she will proclaim Brandenburg a Russian province to appease the +Prussian King. + +Is it credible that on the very eve of conflict nothing is known of this +combatant? Yet he stands already menacing, fully armed, prepared to cross +the frontier at the first summons of reaction. And meanwhile men scarcely +know his weapons, or the colour of his flag, and are satisfied with his +official speeches and the vague, incongruous tales that are told of him. + +Some tell us only of the unlimited power of the Tsar, of the capricious +tyranny of his Government, of the slavish spirit of his subjects; others +assert, on the contrary, that the Imperialism of Petersburg has nothing +in common with the people, that this people, crushed under the twofold +despotism of the Government and the landowners, bears the yoke, but is +not resigned to it, that it is not crushed, but only unfortunate, and +at the same time declare that it is this very people which gives unity +and power to the colossal Tsardom that crushes it. Some add that the +Russian people is a _contemptible rabble of drunkards and knaves_; others +maintain that Russia is inhabited by a competent and richly gifted race. +It seems to me that there is something tragic in the senile heedlessness +with which the old world mixes up the different accounts it hears of its +antagonist. In this confusion of contradictory opinions there is apparent +so much senseless repetition, such distressing superficiality, such +petrified prejudice, that we are involuntarily moved to a comparison with +the days of the fall of Rome. + +Then, too, on the eve of catastrophe, on the eve of the victory of the +barbarians, men loudly proclaimed the eternity of Rome, the impotent +madness of the Nazarenes, and the insignificance of the movement that was +arising in the barbarian world. + +You have performed a great service: you first in France have spoken of +the Russian people, you have, unawares, touched on the very heart, the +very source of life. The truth would have been revealed to your eyes at +once, if you had not, in a moment of anger, pulled back your outstretched +hand, if you had not turned away from the source because its waters were +not clear. + +I read your bitter words with deep distress, with melancholy, with +anguish in my heart. I confess I looked in vain in them for the +historian, the philosopher, and, above all, the tender-hearted man whom +we all know and love. I hasten to explain, I fully understood the cause +of your indignation; sympathy for unhappy Poland prompted your words. We, +too, deeply cherish this feeling for our Polish brothers, and in us the +feeling is not merely one of pity, but of shame, and pangs of conscience. +Love for Poland! We all love her, but is it necessary to combine with +that feeling hatred for another people as unhappy, a people forced to +aid with its fettered hands the misdeeds of its savage Government? Let +us be magnanimous, let us not forget that before our eyes the nation +decked with all the trophies of recent revolution has consented to the +establishment of _order_ in Rome like that in Warsaw. And to-day ... look +yourself what is going on about you ... yet we do not say that the French +_have ceased to be men_. + +It is time to forget this unhappy conflict between brothers. Among us +there is no conqueror. Poland and Russia are crushed by a common foe. +Even the victims and the martyrs turn their backs upon the past, which is +equally sorrowful for them and for us. I, like you, appeal to your friend +the great poet, Mickiewicz. + +Do not say of the Polish bard’s opinions that they are ‘due to +mercifulness, a sacred delusion.’ No; they are the fruits of long and +conscientious thought and a profound understanding of the destinies of +the Slav world. The forgiveness of enemies is a glorious achievement, +but there is an achievement still more glorious, more humane; that is, +the understanding of enemies, for understanding is at once forgiveness, +justification, reconciliation. + +The Slav world is striving towards unity; that tendency became apparent +immediately after the Napoleonic period. The idea of a Slavonic +federation had already taken shape in the revolutionary plans of Pestel +and Muravyov. Many Poles had a hand in the Russian conspiracy of December +1825. + +When the Revolution of 1830 broke out in Warsaw, the Russian people +displayed not the slightest animosity against the disobedient subjects +of their Tsar. The young were in complete sympathy with the Poles. I +remember with what impatience we awaited tidings from Warsaw; we cried +like children at the news of the memorial services held in the capital of +Poland for our Petersburg martyrs. Sympathy for the Poles exposed us to +the risk of cruel punishments, we were forced to conceal it in our hearts +and to be silent. + +It may well be that during the war of 1830 a feeling of exclusive +nationalism and quite intelligible hostility prevailed in Poland. +But since those days the influence of Mickiewicz, the historical and +philological works of many Slav scholars, a closer knowledge of other +European nations, purchased at the bitter price of exile, has given a +very different turn to Polish thought. The Poles have come to feel that +the battle is not between the Russian people and themselves; they have +learned that for the future the only way they can fight is _for their and +our freedom_, the words inscribed on their revolutionary banner. + +Konarski, who was tortured and shot by Nicholas at Vilna, called upon +Russians and Poles without distinction of race to rise in revolt. Russia +showed her gratitude by one of those almost unknown tragedies with which +every heroic action ends amongst us under the military heel of our German +rulers. + +Korovazev, an army officer, resolved to save Konarski. The day when he +would be on duty was approaching, everything was in readiness for the +escape, when the treachery of one of the Polish martyr’s comrades brought +his plans to ruin. The young man was arrested and sent to Siberia, and +nothing has been heard of him since. + +I spent five years in exile in the remote provinces of the Empire. There +I met many Polish exiles. Almost in every district town there is either a +whole group, or at least one of the luckless champions of independence. +I would gladly appeal to their evidence; certainly they cannot complain +of lack of sympathy on the part of the people around them. Of course, +I am not speaking here of the police or members of the higher military +hierarchy. They are nowhere conspicuous for their love of freedom, and +least of all in Russia. I might appeal to the Polish students exiled +every year to Russian universities to remove them from the influences +of their native land; let them describe how they were received by their +Russian comrades. They used to part from us with tears in their eyes. + +You remember that when in 1847 the Polish emigrants in Paris celebrated +the anniversary of their revolution, a Russian mounted their platform +to beg for their friendship, and forgiveness for the past. That was our +unhappy friend Bakunin.... But not to quote my fellow-countrymen, I will +pick out one of those who are reckoned our enemies, a man whom you have +yourself mentioned in your legend of Kosciuszko. For evidence on this +subject I will refer you to one of the veterans of the Polish democracy, +Bernacki, one of the ministers of revolutionary Poland. I boldly appeal +to him, though long years of grief might well have embittered him against +everything Russian. I am convinced that he will confirm all that I have +said. + +The solidarity binding Russia and Poland to each other and to the whole +Slav world cannot be denied; it is obvious. What is more, there is no +future for the Slav world apart from Russia; without Russia it will +not develop, it will fall to pieces and be swallowed up by the German +element; it will become Austrian and lose its independence. But in our +opinion that is not its fate, not the end for which it is destined. + +Following the gradual development of your idea, I must confess that I +cannot agree with your view of Europe as a single individual in which +every nationality plays the part of an essential organ. + +It seems to me that all the German-Latin nationalities are necessary in +the European world, because they exist in it, in consequence of some +necessity. Aristotle long ago drew a distinction between pre-existent +necessity and the necessity involved in the sequence of events. Nature +is subject to the necessity of the accomplished fact, but her hesitation +between various possibilities is very marked. On the same principle the +Slav world can claim its right to unity, especially as it is made up of +one race. + +Centralisation is alien to the Slav spirit—federation is far more natural +to it. Only when grouped in a league of free and independent peoples +will the Slav world at last enter upon its genuine historical existence. +Its past can only be regarded as a period of growth, of preparation, of +purification. The political forms in which the Slavs have lived in the +past have not been in harmony with their national tendency, a tendency +vague and instinctive if you like, but by that very fact betraying an +extraordinary vitality and promising much in the future. The Slavs +have until now displayed in every phase of their history a strange +unconcern—indeed, a marvellous receptivity. Thus Russia passed from +paganism to Christianity without a shock, without a revolt, simply in +obedience to the Grand Duke Vladimir, and in imitation of Kiev. Without +regret they flung their old idols into the Volhov and accepted the new +god as a new idol. + +Eight hundred years later, part of Russia in precisely the same way +accepted a civilisation imported from abroad. + +The Slav world is like a woman who has never loved, and for that very +reason apparently takes no interest in what is going on about her. She +is a stranger to all, unwanted everywhere, but there is no answering for +the future; she is still young, and already a strange yearning has taken +possession of her heart and sets it beating faster. + +As for the richness of the national spirit, we need only point to the +Poles, the one Slavonic people which has been at once free and powerful. + +The Slav world is not in reality made up of nationalities so different in +kind. Under the outer crust of chivalrous Liberal and Catholic Poland, +and of imperial enslaved Byzantine Russia, under the democratic rule +of the Serb Voyevod, under the bureaucratic yoke with which Austria +oppresses Illyria, Dalmatia, and the Banat, under the patriarchal +authority of the Osmanlis and under the blessing of the Archbishop of +Montenegro, live nations physiologically and ethnographically identical. + +The greater number of these Slav peoples have never been enslaved by +conquest. The dependence in which they are so often found has for the +most part consisted only in the recognition of a foreign potentate and +the payment of tribute. Such, for instance, was the character of the +Mongol power in Russia. Thus the Slavs have through long centuries +preserved their nationality, their character, their language. + +Have we not therefore the right to look upon Russia as the centre of the +crystallisation, the centre towards which the Slav world in its striving +toward unity is gravitating, especially as Russia is so far the only +nation of the great race organised into a powerful and independent state? + +The answer to this question would be perfectly clear if the Petersburg +Government had the faintest inkling of its national destiny, if that +dull-witted, deadly despotism could make terms with any humane idea. But +in the present position of affairs, what honest man will bring himself +to suggest to the Western Slavs their union with an empire which is +perpetually in a state of siege, an empire in which the sceptre has been +turned into a bludgeon that beats men to death? + +The Imperial Pan-Slavism, eulogised from time to time by men who have +been suborned, or who have lost their bearings, has, of course, nothing +in common with a union resting on the foundations of freedom. + +At this point we are inevitably brought by logic to a question of primary +importance. Assuming that the Slav world can hope in the future for a +fuller development, are we not forced to enquire which of the elements +that have found expression in its undeveloped state gives it grounds for +such a hope? If the Slavs believe that their time has come, this element +must be in harmony with the revolutionary idea in Europe. + +You indicated that element, you touched upon it, but it escaped you, +because a generous sentiment of sympathy for Poland drew your attention +away from it. + +You say that ‘the fundamental basis of the life of the Russian people is +_communism_,’ you maintain that ‘their strength lies in their agrarian +law, in the perpetual re-division of the land.’ + +What a terrible _Mene Tekel_ has dropped from your lips!... Communism—the +fundamental basis! Strength resting on re-division of the land! And you +were not alarmed at your own words? + +Ought we not here to pause, to take thought, to look more deeply into the +question, and not to leave it before making certain whether it is a dream +or truth? + +Is there in the nineteenth century an interest of any gravity which does +not involve the question of communism, the question of the re-division of +the land? + +Carried away by your indignation you go on: ‘They (the Russians) are +without any true sign of humanity, of moral sensibility, of the sense +of good and evil. Truth and justice have for them no meaning; if you +speak of these things—they are mute, they smile and know not what the +words signify.’ Who may those Russians be to whom you have spoken? What +conceptions of _truth and justice_ appeared beyond their comprehension? +This is not a superfluous question. In our profoundly revolutionary epoch +the words ‘truth and justice’ have lost all absolute meaning identical +for all men. + +The _truth and justice_ of old Europe are falsehood and injustice to the +Europe which is being born. Nations are products of Nature, history is +the progressive continuation of animal development. If we apply our moral +standards to Nature, we shall not get very far. She cares nought for our +blame or our praise. Our verdicts and the Montyon prizes[83] for virtue +do not exist for her. The ethical categories created by our individual +caprice are not applicable to her. It seems to me that a nation cannot +be called either bad or good. The life of a people is always true +to its character and cannot be false. Nature produces only what is +practicable under given conditions: all that exists is drawn onwards by +her generative ferment, her insatiable thirst for creation, that thirst +common to all things living. + +There are peoples living a prehistoric life, others living a life outside +history; but once they move into the broad stream of history, one and +indivisible, they belong to _humanity_, and, on the other hand, all the +past of humanity belongs to them. In history—that is, in the life of the +active and progressive part of humanity—the aristocracy of facial angle, +of complexion, and other distinctions is gradually effaced. That which +has not become human cannot come into history: so no nation which has +become part of history can be reckoned a herd of beasts, just as there +is no nation which deserves to be called an assembly of the elect. + +There is no man bold enough, or ungrateful enough, to deny the importance +of France in the destinies of the European world; but you must allow me +the frank confession that I cannot share your view that the sympathetic +interest of France is the _sine qua non_ of historical progress in the +future. + +Nature never stakes all her fortune on one card. Rome, the Eternal City, +which had no less right to the hegemony of the world, tottered, fell into +ruins, vanished, and pitiless humanity strode forward over its grave. + +On the other hand, unless one looks on Nature as madness incarnate, it +would be hard to see nothing but an outcast race, nothing but a vast +deception, nothing but a casual rabble, human only through their vices, +in a people that has grown and multiplied during ten centuries, that has +obstinately preserved its nationality, that has formed itself into an +immense empire, and has intervened in history far more perhaps than it +should have done. + +And such a view is the more difficult to accept since this people, even +judging from the words of its enemies, is far from being in a stagnant +condition. It is not a race that has attained social forms approximately +corresponding to its desires and has sunk into slumber in them, like +the Chinese; still less, a people that has outlived its prime and is +withering in senile impotence, like the people of India. On the contrary, +Russia is a quite new State—an unfinished building in which everything +smells of fresh plaster, in which everything is at work and being worked +out, in which nothing has yet attained its object, in which everything is +changing, often for the worse, but anyway changing. In brief, this is the +people whose fundamental principle, to quote your opinion, is communism, +and whose strength lies in the re-division of land.... + +With what crime, after all, do you reproach the Russian people? What is +the essential point of your accusation? + +‘The Russian,’ you say, ‘is a liar and a thief; he is perpetually +stealing, he is perpetually lying, and quite innocently—it is in his +nature.’ + +I will not stop to call attention to the sweeping character of your +verdict, but will ask you a simple question: who is it that the Russian +deceives, from whom does he steal? Who—if not the landowner, the +Government official, the steward, the police officer, in fact the sworn +foes of the peasant, whom he looks upon as heathens, as traitors, as half +Germans? Deprived of every possible means of defence, the peasant resorts +to cunning in dealing with his torturers, he deceives them, and he is +perfectly right in doing so. + +Cunning, my dear sir, is, in the words of the great thinker,[84] the +irony of brute force. + +Through his aversion for private property in land, so correctly noted +by you, through his heedless and indolent temperament, the Russian +peasant has gradually and imperceptibly been caught in the snares of +the German bureaucracy and of the landowners’ power. He has submitted +to this humiliating disaster with the resignation of a martyr, but he +has not believed in the rights of the landowner, nor the justice of the +law-courts, nor the legality of the acts of the authorities. For nearly +two hundred years the peasant’s existence has been a dumb, passive +opposition to the existing order of things. He submits to coercion, +he endures, but he takes no part in anything that goes on outside the +village commune. + +The name of the Tsar still stirs a superstitious sentiment in the people; +it is not to the Tsar Nicholas that the peasant does homage, but to the +abstract idea, the myth; in the popular imagination the Tsar stands for a +menacing avenger, an incarnation of Justice, an earthly providence. + +Besides the Tsar, only the clergy could possibly have an influence on +orthodox Russia. They alone represent old Russia in governing spheres; +the clergy do not shave their beards, and by that fact have remained +on the side of the people. The peasantry listen with confidence to the +monks. But the monks and the higher clergy, occupied exclusively with +life beyond the grave, care little for the people. The village priests +have lost all influence through their greed, their drunkenness, and their +intimate relations with the police. In their case, too, the peasants +respect the idea but not the person. + +As for the dissenters, they hate both person and idea, both priest and +Tsar. + +Apart from the Tsar and the clergy every element of government and +society is utterly alien, essentially antagonistic to the people. The +peasant finds himself in the literal sense of the word an outlaw. The +law-court is no protector for him, and his share in the existing order +of things is entirely confined to the twofold tribute that lies heavy +upon him and is paid in his toil and his blood. Rejected by all, he +instinctively understands that the whole system is ordered not for his +benefit, but to his detriment, and that the aim of the Government and +the landowners is to wring out of him as much labour, as much money, as +many recruits as possible. As he understands this and is gifted with a +supple and resourceful intelligence, he deceives them on all sides and +in everything. It could not be otherwise; if he spoke the truth he would +by so doing be acknowledging their authority over him; if he did not +rob them (observe that to conceal part of the produce of his own labour +is considered theft in a peasant) he would thereby be recognising the +lawfulness of their demands, the rights of the landowners and the justice +of the law-courts. + +To understand the Russian peasant’s position fully, you should see him +in the law-courts; you must see his hopeless face, his frightened +watchful eyes, to understand that he is a prisoner of war before the +court-martial, a traveller facing a gang of brigands. From the first +glance it is clear that the victim has not the slightest trust in the +hostile, pitiless, insatiable robbers who are questioning him, tormenting +him and fleecing him. He knows that if he has money he will be acquitted; +if not, he will be found guilty. + +The Russian people speak their own old language, the judges and the +attorneys write in a new bureaucratic language, hideous and barely +intelligible; they fill whole folios with ungrammatical jargon, and +gabble off this mummery to the peasant. He may understand it if he can +and find his way out of the muddle if he knows how. The peasant knows +what this performance means, and maintains a cautious demeanour. He does +not say one word too much, he conceals his uneasiness and stands silent, +pretending to be a fool. + +The peasant who has been acquitted by the court trudges home, no more +elated than if he had been condemned. In either case the decision seems +to him the result of capricious tyranny or chance. + +In the same way, when he is summoned as a witness he stubbornly professes +to know nothing, even in face of incontestable fact. Being found guilty +by a law-court does not disgrace a man in the eyes of the Russian +peasant. Exiles and convicts go by the name of _unfortunates_ with him. + +The life of the Russian peasantry has hitherto been confined to the +commune. It is only in relation to the commune and its members that the +peasant recognises that he has rights and duties. Outside the commune +everything seems to him based upon violence. What is fatal is his +submitting to that violence, and not his refusing in his own way to +recognise it and his trying to protect himself by guile. Lying before a +judge set over him by unlawful authority is far more straightforward +than a hypocritical show of respect for a jury tampered with by a corrupt +prefect. The peasant respects only those institutions which reflect his +innate conception of law and right. + +There is a fact which no one who has been in close contact with the +Russian peasantry can doubt. The peasants rarely cheat each other. An +almost boundless good faith prevails among them; they know nothing of +contracts and written agreements. + +The problems connected with the measurement of their fields are often +inevitably complicated, owing to the perpetual re-division of land, +in accordance with the number of taxpayers in the family; yet the +difficulties are got over without complaint or resort to the law-courts. +The landowners and the Government eagerly seek an opportunity of +interference, but that opportunity is not given them. Petty disputes +are submitted to the judgment of the elders or of the commune, and the +decision is unconditionally accepted by all. It is just the same thing +in the _artels_. The _artels_ are often made up of several hundred +workmen, who form a union for a definite period—for instance, for a year. +At the expiration of the year the workmen divide their wages by common +agreement, in accordance with the work done by each. The police never +have the satisfaction of meddling in their accounts. Almost always the +_artel_ makes itself responsible for every one of its members. + +The bonds between the peasants of the commune are even closer when +they are not orthodox but dissenters. From time to time the Government +organises a savage raid on some dissenting village. Peasants are clapped +into prison and sent into exile, and it is all done with no sort of plan, +no consistency, without rhyme or reason, solely to satisfy the clamour +of the clergy and give the police something to do. The character of the +Russian peasants, the solidarity existing among them, is displayed again +during these hunts after heretics. At such times it is worth seeing +how they succeed in deceiving the police, in saving their comrades and +concealing their holy books and vessels, how they endure the most awful +tortures without uttering a word. I challenge any one to bring forward a +single case in which a dissenting commune has been betrayed by a peasant, +even by an orthodox one. + +The peculiarity of the Russian character makes police enquiries +excessively difficult. One can but heartily rejoice at the fact. The +Russian peasant has no morality except what naturally, instinctively +flows from his communism; this morality is deeply rooted in the people; +the little they know of the Gospel supports it; the flagrant injustice of +the landowner binds the peasant still more closely to his principles and +to the communal system.[85] + +The commune has saved the Russian people from Mongol barbarism and +Imperial civilisation, from the Europeanised landlords and from the +German bureaucracy. The communal system, though it has suffered violent +shocks, has stood firm against the interference of the authorities; it +has successfully survived _up to the development of socialism in Europe_. +This circumstance is of infinite consequence for Russia. + +The Russian Autocracy is entering upon a new phase. Having grown out +of an anti-national revolution,[86] it has accomplished its destined +task. It has created an immense empire, a formidable army, a centralised +government. Without real roots, without tradition, it was doomed to +ineffectiveness; it is true that it undertook a new task—to bring Western +civilisation into Russia; and it was to some extent successful in doing +that while it still played the part of an enlightened government. + +That part it has now abandoned. + +The Government, which severed itself from the people in the name of +civilisation, has lost no time in cutting itself off from culture in the +name of autocracy. + +It renounced civilisation as soon as the tri-coloured phantom of +liberalism began to be visible through its tendencies; it tried to +turn to nationalism, to the people. That was impossible—the people and +the Government had nothing in common; the former had grown away from +the latter, while the Government discerned deep in the masses a new +phantom, the still more terrible phantom of the Red Cock.[87] Of course, +liberalism was less dangerous than the new Pugatchovism, but the terror +and dislike of new ideas had grown so strong that the Government was no +longer capable of making its peace with civilisation. + +Since then the sole aim of Tsarism has been Tsarism. It rules in order to +rule, its immense powers are employed for their mutual destruction, for +the preservation of an artificial peace. But autocracy for the sake of +autocracy in the end becomes impossible; it is too absurd, too barren. + +It has felt this and has begun to look for work to do in Europe. The +activity of Russian diplomacy is inexhaustible; notes, threats, promises, +councils are scattered on all sides, its spies and agents scurry to and +fro in all directions. + +The Russian Emperor regards himself as the natural protector of the +German Princes; he meddles in all the petty intrigues of the petty German +courts; he settles all their disputes, scolding one, rewarding another +with the hand of a Grand Duchess. But this is not a sufficient outlet for +his energy. He undertakes the duty of chief gendarme of the universe; he +is the mainstay of every reaction, every persecution. He plays the part +of the representative of the monarchical principle in Europe, assumes the +airs and graces of the aristocracy, as though he were a Bourbon, or a +Plantagenet, as though his courtiers were Gloucesters or Montmorencys. + +Unhappily there is nothing in common between feudal monarchism with its +definite basis, its past, and its social and religious ideas, and the +Napoleonic despotism of the Petersburg Tsar with no moral principle +behind it, nothing but a deplorable historic necessity, a transitory +usefulness. + +And the Winter Palace, like a mountain top toward the end of autumn, +is more and more thickly covered with snow and ice. The vital sap +artificially raised to these governmental heights is gradually being +frozen; nothing is left but mere material power, and the hardness of the +rock which still resists the onslaught of the waves of revolution. + +Nicholas, surrounded by his generals, his ministers, and his bureaucrats, +tries to forget his isolation, but grows hour by hour gloomier, more +morose, more uneasy. He sees that he is not loved; he discerns the deadly +silence that reigns about him through the distant murmur of the far-away +tempest, which seems to be coming nearer. The Tsar seeks to forget, he +proclaims aloud that his aim is the aggrandisement of the Imperial power. + +That avowal is nothing new; for the last twenty years he has +unwearyingly, unrestingly laboured for that sole object; for the sake of +it he has spared neither the tears nor the blood of his subjects. + +He has succeeded in everything: he has crushed Polish nationalism; in +Russia he has suppressed liberalism. + +What more does he want, indeed? Why is he so gloomy? + +The Emperor feels that Poland is not yet dead. In place of the liberalism +which he has persecuted with a savagery quite superfluous, for that +exotic flower cannot take root in Russian soil, another movement menacing +as a storm-cloud is arising. + +The peasantry is beginning to murmur under the yoke of the landowners; +local insurrections are continually breaking out; you yourself quote a +terrible instance of this. + +The party of progress demands the emancipation of the peasants; it is +ready to sacrifice its own privileges. The Tsar hesitates and holds it +back; he desires emancipation and puts hindrances in its way. He sees +that freeing the peasants involves freeing the land; that this in its +turn is the beginning of a social revolution, the proclamation of rural +communism. To escape the question of emancipation is impossible, to +defer its solution to the next reign is, of course, easier, but it is a +cowardly resource, and only amounts to the respite of a few hours wasted +at a wretched posting-station in waiting for horses.... + +From all this you see how fortunate it is for Russia that the village +commune has not perished, that personal ownership has not split up the +property of the commune; how fortunate it is for the Russian people +that it has remained outside all political movements, outside European +civilisation, which would undoubtedly have undermined the commune, and +which has to-day reached in socialism the negation of itself. + +Europe, as I have said in another place, has not solved the problem of +the rival claims of the individual and the State, but has set herself the +task of solving it. Russia has not found the solution either. It is in +this problem that our equality begins. + +At the first step towards the social revolution Europe is confronted +with the people which presents it with a system, half-savage and +unorganised, but still a system, that of perpetual re-division of land +among its cultivators. And observe that this great example is given us +not by educated Russia, but by the people itself, by its actual life. We +Russians who have passed through European civilisation are no more than a +means, a leaven, mediators between the Russian people and revolutionary +Europe. The man of the future in Russia is the peasant, just as in +France it is the workman. + +But, if this is so, have not the Russian peasantry some claim on your +indulgence, sir? + +Poor peasant! Every possible injustice is hurled at him: the Emperor +oppresses him with levies of recruits, the landowner steals his labour, +the official takes his last rouble. The peasant endures in silence but +does not despair, he still has the commune. If a member is torn from it, +the commune draws its ranks closer. One would have thought the peasant’s +fate deserved compassion, yet it touches no one. Instead of defending, +men upbraid him. + +You do not leave him even the last refuge, in which he still feels +himself a man, in which he loves and is not afraid; you say: ‘His commune +is not a commune, his family is not a family, his wife is not a wife; +before she is his, she is the property of the landowner; his children are +not his children—who knows who is their father?’ + +So you expose this luckless people not to scientific analysis but to the +contempt of other nations, who receive your legends with confidence. + +I regard it as a duty to say a few words on this subject. + +Family life among all the Slavs is very highly developed; it may be the +one conservative element of their character, the point at which their +destructive criticism stops. + +The peasants are very reluctant to split up the family; not uncommonly +three or four generations go on living under one roof around the +grandfather, who enjoys a patriarchal authority. The woman, commonly +oppressed, as is always the case in the agricultural class, is treated +with respect and consideration when she is the widow of the eldest son. + +Not uncommonly the whole family is ruled by a grey-haired grandmother.... +Can it be said that the family does not exist in Russia? + +Let us pass to the landowner’s relation to the family of his serf. For +the sake of clearness, we will distinguish the rule from its abuses, what +is lawful from what is criminal. + +_Jus primae noctis_ has never existed in Russia. + +The landowner cannot legally demand a breach of conjugal fidelity. If the +law were carried out in Russia, the violation of a serf-woman would be +punished exactly as though she were free, namely by penal servitude or +exile to Siberia, with deprivation of all civil rights. Such is the law, +let us turn to the facts. + +I do not pretend to deny that with the power given by the Government +to the landowners, it is very easy for them to violate the wives and +daughters of their serfs. By privation and punishment the landowner can +always bring his serfs to a pass in which some will offer him their +wives and daughters, just like that worthy French nobleman who, in the +eighteenth century, asked as a special favour that his daughter should be +installed in the Parc-aux-Cerfs. + +It is no matter for wonder that honourable fathers and husbands find no +redress against the landowners, thanks to the excellent judicial system +of Russia. For the most part, they find themselves in the position of +Monsieur Tiercelin, whose daughter of eleven was stolen by Berruyer, at +the instigation of Louis XV. All these filthy abuses are possible; one +has but to think of the coarse and depraved manners of a section of the +Russian nobility to be certain of it. But as far as the peasants are +concerned they are far indeed from enduring their masters’ viciousness +with indifference. + +Allow me to bring forward a proof of it. + +Half of the landowners murdered by their serfs (the statistics give +their number as sixty to seventy a year) perish in consequence of their +misdeeds in this line. Legal proceedings on such grounds are rare; the +peasant knows that the judges show little respect for his complaints; +but he has an axe; he is a master of the use of it, and knows that he is. + +I will say no more about the peasants, but beg you to listen to a few +more words about educated Russia. + +Your view of the intellectual movement in Russia is no more indulgent +than your opinion of the popular character; with one stroke of the pen +you strike off all the work hitherto done by our fettered hands! + +One of Shakespeare’s characters, not knowing how to show his contempt for +a despised opponent, says to him: ‘I even doubt of your existence!’ You +have gone further, for it is not a matter of doubt to you that Russian +literature does not exist. I quote from your own words: + +‘We are not going to attach importance to the attempts of those few +clever people who have thought fit to exercise themselves in the Russian +language and cheat Europe with a pale phantom of Russian literature. +If it were not for my deep respect for Mickiewicz and his saintly +aberrations, I should really censure him for the indulgence, one might +even say charity, with which he speaks of this trifling.’[88] + +I search in vain, sir, for the grounds for the contempt with which +you greet the first frail cry of a people that has awakened in its +prison-house, the groan suppressed by its gaoler. + +Why are you unwilling to listen to the shuddering notes of our mournful +poetry, to our chants through which a sob can be heard? What has +concealed from your eyes our hysterical laughter, the perpetual irony +behind which the deeply tortured heart seeks refuge, in which our +fatal helplessness is confessed? Oh, how I long to make you a worthy +translation of some poems of Pushkin and Lermontov, some songs of +Koltsov! Then you would hold out to us a friendly hand at once, you would +be the first to beg us to forget what you have said! + +Next to the communism of the peasants, nothing is so deeply +characteristic of Russia, nothing is such an earnest of her great future, +as her literary movement. + +Between the peasantry and literature there looms the monster of official +Russia. ‘Russia the deception, Russia the pestilence,’ as you call +her. This Russia extends from the Emperor, passing from gendarme to +gendarme, from official to official, down to the lowest policeman in the +remotest corner of the Empire. Every step of the ladder, as in Dante, +gains a new power for evil, a new degree of corruption and cruelty. This +living pyramid of crimes, abuses, and bribery, built up of policemen, +scoundrels, heartless German officials everlastingly greedy, ignorant +judges everlastingly drunk, aristocrats everlastingly base: all this +is held together by a community of interest in plunder and gain, and +supported on six hundred thousand animated machines with bayonets. +The peasant is never defiled by contact with this governing world of +aggression; he endures its existence—only in that is he to blame. + +The body hostile to official Russia consists of a handful of men who are +ready to face anything, who protest against it, fight with it, denounce +and undermine it. These isolated champions are from time to time thrown +into dungeons, tortured, sent to Siberia, but their place does not +long remain empty, fresh champions come forward; it is our tradition, +our inalienable task. The terrible consequences of speech in Russia +inevitably give it a peculiar force. A free utterance is listened to with +love and reverence, because among us it is only uttered by those who have +something to say. One does not so easily put one’s thoughts into print +when at the end of every page one has a vision of a gendarme, a troika, +and, on the far horizon, Tobolsk or Irkutsk. + +In my last pamphlet[89] I have said enough about Russian literature. Here +I will confine myself to a few general observations. + +Melancholy, scepticism, irony, those are the three chief strings of the +Russian lyre. + +When Pushkin begins one of his finest poems with these terrible words: + + ‘All say—there is no justice upon earth.... + But there is no justice—up above us either! + To me that is as clear as A B C,’ + +does it not grip your heart, do you not through the show of composure +divine the broken life of a man grown used to suffering? Lermontov, in +his profound repulsion for the society surrounding him, turns in 1830 to +his contemporaries with his terrible + + ‘With mournful heart I watch our generation, + Tragic or trivial must its future be.’ + +I only know one contemporary poet who touches the gloomy strings of +man’s soul with the same power. He, too, was a poet born in slavery and +dying before the rebirth of his Fatherland; that is the singer of death, +Leopardi, to whom the world seems a vast league of criminals ruthlessly +persecuting a handful of righteous madmen. + +Russia has only one painter who has won general recognition, Bryullov. +What is the subject of his finest work which won him fame in Italy? + +Glance at this strange painting.[90] On an immense canvas groups of +terrified figures are crowded in confusion, seeking in vain for safety. +They are perishing from an earthquake, a volcanic eruption in the midst +of a perfect tempest of cataclysms. They are overwhelmed by savage, +senseless, ruthless force, to which any resistance is impossible. Such +are the conceptions inspired by the Petersburg atmosphere. The Russian +novel is occupied exclusively in the sphere of pathological anatomy. In +it there is a perpetual reference to the evil consuming us, perpetual, +pitiless, peculiar to us. Here you do not hear voices from heaven, +promising Faust forgiveness for sinful Gretchen—here the only voices +raised are those of doubt and damnation. Yet if there is salvation for +Russia, she will be saved only by this profound recognition of our +position, by the truthfulness with which she lays bare before all her +plight. He who boldly recognises his failings feels that there is in +him something that has been kept safe in the midst of downfalls and +backslidings; he knows that he can expiate his past, and not only lift up +his head, but turn from ‘Sardanapalus the profligate to Sardanapalus the +hero.’ + +The Russian peasantry do not read. You know that Voltaire and Dante, too, +were not read by villagers, but by the nobility and a section of the +middle class. In Russia the educated section of the middle class forms +part of the nobility, which consists of all that has ceased to be the +peasantry. There is even a proletariat of the nobility which merges into +the peasantry, and a proletariat of the peasantry which rises up into the +nobility. This fluctuation, this continual renewal, gives the Russian +nobility a character which you do not find in the privileged classes of +the backward countries of Europe. In brief, the whole history of Russia, +from the time of Peter the Great, is only the history of the nobility and +of the influence of enlightenment upon it. I will add that the Russian +nobility equals in numbers the electorate of France established by the +laws of the 31st of May. + +In the course of the eighteenth century, the new Russian literature +fashioned that rich, sonorous language which we possess now: a supple +and powerful language capable of expressing both the most abstract ideas +of German metaphysics and the light sparkling play of French wit. This +literature, called into being by the genius of Peter the Great, bore, it +is true, the impress of the Government—but in those days the banner of +the Government was progress, almost revolution. + +Till 1789 the Imperial throne complacently draped itself in the majestic +vestments of enlightenment and philosophy. Catherine II. deserved to be +deceived with cardboard villages and palaces of painted boards.... No one +could dazzle spectators by a gorgeous stage effect as she could. In the +Hermitage there was continual talk about Voltaire, Montesquieu, Beccaria. +You, sir, know the reverse of the medal. + +Yet in the midst of the triumphal chorus of the courtiers’ songs of +praise, a strange unexpected note was already sounding. That was the +sceptical, fiercely satirical strain, before which all the other +artificial chants were soon to be reduced to silence. + +The true character of Russian thought, poetical and speculative, develops +in its full force on the accession of Nicholas to the throne. Its +distinguishing feature is a tragic emancipation of conscience, a pitiless +negation, a bitter irony, an agonising self-analysis. Sometimes this all +breaks into insane laughter, but there is no gaiety in that laughter. + +Cast into oppressive surroundings, and armed with a clear eye and +incorruptible logic, the Russian quickly frees himself from the faith and +morals of his fathers. The thinking Russian is the most independent man +in the world. What is there to curb him? Respect for the past?... But +what serves as a starting-point of the modern history of Russia, if not +the denial of nationalism and tradition? + +Or can it be the tradition of the Petersburg period? That tradition lays +no obligation on us; on the contrary, that ‘fifth act of the bloody drama +staged in a brothel’[91] sets us completely free from every obligation. + +On the other hand, the past of the Western European peoples serves us as +a lesson and nothing more; we do not regard ourselves as the executors of +their historic testaments. + +We share your doubts, but your faith does not cheer us. We share your +hatred, but we do not understand your devotion to what your forefathers +have bequeathed you; we are too down-trodden, too unhappy, to be +satisfied with half-freedom. You are restrained by scruples, you are held +back by second thoughts. We have neither second thoughts nor scruples; +all we lack is strength. This is where we get the irony, the anguish +which gnaws us, which brings us to frenzy, which drives us on till we +reach Siberia, torture, exile, premature death. We sacrifice ourselves +with no hope, from spite, from boredom.... There is, indeed, something +irrational in our lives, but there is nothing vulgar, nothing stagnant, +nothing bourgeois. + +Do not accuse us of immorality because we do not respect what you +respect. Can you reproach a foundling for not respecting his parents? +We are independent because we are starting life from the beginning. We +have no law but our nature, our national character; it is our being, our +flesh and blood, but by no means a binding authority. We are independent +because we possess nothing. We have hardly anything to love. All our +memories are filled with bitterness and resentment. Education, learning, +were given us with the whip. + +What have we to do with your sacred duties, we younger brothers robbed +of our heritage? And can we be honestly contented with your threadbare +morality, unchristian and inhuman, existing only in rhetorical exercises +and speeches for the prosecution? What respect can be inspired in us by +your Roman-barbaric system of law, that hollow clumsy edifice, without +light or air, repaired in the Middle Ages, whitewashed by the newly +enfranchised petty bourgeois? I admit that the daily brigandage in the +Russian law-courts is even worse, but it does not follow from that that +you have justice in your laws or your courts. + +The distinction between your laws and our Imperial decrees is confined +to the formula with which they begin. Our Imperial decrees begin with a +crushing truth: ‘The Tsar has been pleased to command’; your laws begin +with a revolting falsehood, the ironical abuse of the name of the French +people, and the words Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. The code of +Nicholas is drawn up for the benefit of the Autocracy to the detriment +of its subjects. The Napoleonic code has absolutely the same character. +We are held in too many chains already to fasten fresh ones about us of +our own free will. In this respect we stand precisely on a level with +our peasants. We submit to brute force. We are slaves because we have no +possibility of being free; but we accept nothing from our foes. + +Russia will never be Protestant, Russia will never be _juste-milieu_. + +Russia will never make a revolution with the object of getting rid +of the Tsar Nicholas, and replacing him by other Tsars—parliamentary +representatives, judges, and police officials. We perhaps ask for too +much and shall get nothing. That may be so, but yet we do not despair; +before the year 1848 Russia could not, and should not, have entered on +a career of revolution, she had to learn her lesson—now she has learnt +it. The Tsar himself observes it, and is ferociously brutal in his +opposition to universities, to ideas, to knowledge; he is trying to cut +Russia off from Europe, to destroy culture. He is doing his job. + +Will he succeed in it? As I have said before, we must not have blind +faith in the future; every seed has its claim to development, but not +every one develops. The future of Russia does not depend on her alone, it +is bound up with the future of Europe. Who can foretell the fate of the +Slav world, if reaction and absolutism finally vanquish the revolution in +Europe? + +Perhaps it will perish. + +But in that case Europe too will perish.... + +And progress will pass to America. + + * * * * * + +After writing the above I received the last two instalments of your +legend. My first impulse on reading them was to throw what I had written +in the fire. Your warm and generous heart has not waited for some one +else to raise a voice on behalf of the despised Russian people. Your +heart was too tender for you to play the part you had undertaken of the +_relentless_ judge, the avenger of the outraged Polish people. You have +been drawn into inconsistency, but it is the inconsistency of a noble +mind. + +I thought, however, on reading over my letter that you might find in it +some new views on Russia and the Slav world, and I made up my mind to +send it you. I confidently hope that you will forgive the passages in +which I have been carried away by my Scythian impetuosity. It is not for +nothing that the blood of the barbarians flows in my veins. I so longed +to change your opinion of the Russian people, it was such a grief, such +a pain to me to see that you were hostile to us that I could not conceal +my bitterness, my emotion, that I let my pen run away with me. But now +I see that you do not despair of us, that under the coarse smock of +the Russian peasant you discern the man. I see this, and in my turn +confess that I fully understand the impression the very name of Russia +must produce on every free man. We often ourselves curse our unhappy +Fatherland. You know it, you say yourself that everything you have +written of the moral worthlessness of Russia is feeble compared with what +Russians say themselves. + +But the time for funeral orations on Russia is past for us too, and with +you we say ‘in that thought lies hid the spark of life.’ You have divined +that spark by the power of your love; but we see it, we feel it. That +spark will not be quenched by streams of blood, by the ices of Siberia, +nor the suffocating heat of mines and prisons. May it spread under its +layer of ashes! The cold, deadly breath which blows from Europe cannot +put it out. + +For us the hour of action has not come; France may still be justly proud +of her foremost position. That painful privilege is hers until 1852. +Europe will doubtless before us reach the goal of the grave or of the +new life. The day of action is perhaps still far away for us; the day of +recognising the idea, the day of utterance, has already come. We have +lived long enough in sleep and silence; the time has come to tell what we +have dreamed, what conclusions we have reached. + +And indeed whose fault is it that we have had to wait until 1847 for a +German (Haxthausen) to _discover_, as you express it, the Russia of the +peasantry, as unknown before his time as America before Columbus? + +Of course, it is we who are to blame for it, we poor dumb creatures with +our cowardice, our halting words, our terrified imagination. Even abroad +we are afraid to confess the hatred with which we look upon our fetters. +Convicts from our birth up, doomed to the hour of death to drag the +chains riveted to our legs, we are offended when we are spoken of as +though we were voluntary slaves, as though we were frozen negroes, and +yet we do not openly protest. + +Ought we to submit meekly to these denunciations, or to resolve to check +them, lifting up our voice for Russian freedom of speech? Better for us +to perish suspected of human dignity than to live with the shameful brand +of slavery on our brow, than to hear ourselves charged with voluntary +servility. + +Unhappily, free speech in Russia arouses terror and amazement. I have +tried to lift only a corner of the heavy curtain that hides us from +Europe, I have indicated only the theoretical tendencies, the remote +hopes, the organic elements of our future development; and yet my book +of which you speak in such flattering phrases has made an unpleasant +impression in Russia. Friendly voices which I respect condemn it. In +it they see a denunciation of Russia, denunciation!... For what? for +our sufferings, our hardships, our desire to force our way out of this +hateful position.... Poor precious friends, forgive me this crime, I am +falling into it again. + +Heavy and dreadful is the yoke of years of slavery with no struggle, +no hope at hand! In the end it crushes even the noblest, the strongest +heart. Where is the hero who is not overcome at last by weariness, who +does not prefer peace in old age to the everlasting fret of fruitless +effort? + +No, I will not be silent! My words shall avenge those unhappy lives +crushed by the Russian autocracy which brings men to moral annihilation, +to spiritual death. + +We are bound in duty to speak, else no one will know how much that is +fine and lofty is locked for ever in those martyrs’ breasts and perishes +with them in the snows of Siberia, where their criminal name is not even +traced upon their tombstone, but is only cherished in the hearts of +friends who dare not utter it aloud. + +Scarcely have we opened our mouth, scarcely have we murmured two or +three words of our desires and hopes, when they try to silence us, try +to stifle free speech in its cradle! It is impossible. A time comes when +thought reaches maturity and can no longer be kept in fetters by the +censorship, nor by prudence. Then propaganda becomes a passion; can one +be content with a whisper when the sleep is so deep that it can scarcely +be awakened by an alarm-bell? From the mutiny of the Stryeltsy to the +conspiracy of the Fourteenth of December there has been no political +movement of consequence in Russia. The cause is easy to understand: +there were no clearly defined cravings for independence in the people. +In many things they were at one with the Government, in many things the +Government was in advance of the people. Only the peasants, who had no +share in the Imperial benefits and were more oppressed than ever, tried +to revolt. Russia from the Urals to Penza and Kazan was, for three +months, in the power of Pugatchov. The Imperial army was defeated, put +to flight by the Cossacks, and General Bibikov, sent from Petersburg to +take the command of the army, wrote, if I am not mistaken, from Nizhni: +‘Things are in a very bad way; what is most to be feared is not the +armed hordes of the rebels, but the spirit of the peasantry, which is +dangerous, very dangerous.’ After incredible efforts the insurrection +was at last crushed. The people relapsed into numbness, silence, and +submission.... + +Meanwhile the nobility had developed, education had begun to fructify +their minds, and like a living proof of that political maturity, of that +moral development which is inevitably expressed in action, those divine +figures appeared, those heroes as you justly call them, who ‘alone in +the very jaws of the dragon dared the bold stroke of the Fourteenth of +December.’ + +Their defeat and the terror of the present reign have crushed every idea +of success, every premature attempt. Other questions have arisen; no one +has cared to risk his life again in the hope of a Constitution; it has +been too clear that any stroke won in Petersburg would be defeated by +the treachery of the Tsar; the fate of the Polish Constitution has been +before our eyes. + +For ten years no intellectual activity could betray itself by one word, +and the oppressive misery has reached the point when men ‘would give +their life for the happiness of being free for one moment’ and uttering +aloud some part of their thoughts. + +Some, with that frivolous recklessness which is only met with in us +and in the Poles, have renounced their possessions and gone abroad to +seek distraction; others, unable to endure the oppressive atmosphere of +Petersburg, have buried themselves in the country. The young men gave +themselves up, some to Pan-Slavism, some to German philosophy, some to +history or political economy; in short, not one of those Russians whose +natural vocation was intellectual activity could or would submit to the +stagnation. + +The case of Petrashevsky and his friends, condemned to penal servitude +for life, and exiled in 1849, because they formed some political +societies not two steps from the Winter Palace, proves by the insane +recklessness of the attempt, and the obvious impossibility of its +success, that the time for rational reflection had passed, that feeling +was beyond restraint, that certain ruin had come to seem easier to endure +than dumb agonising submission to the Petersburg discipline. + +A fable very widely known in Russia tells how a Tsar, suspecting his wife +of infidelity, shut her and her son in a barrel, then had the barrel +sealed up and thrown into the sea. + +For many years the barrel floated on the sea. + +Meanwhile, the Tsarevitch grew not by days but by hours, and his feet +and his head began to press against the ends of the barrel. Every +day he became more and more cramped. At last he said to his mother: +‘Queen-mother, let me stretch in freedom.’ + +‘My darling Tsarevitch,’ answered the mother, ‘you must not stretch, the +barrel will burst and you will drown in the salt water.’ + +The Tsarevitch thought in silence for a while, then he said: ‘I will +stretch, mother; better stretch for once in freedom and die.’ + +That fable, sir, contains our whole history. + +Woe to Russia if bold men, risking everything to stretch in freedom for +once, are no more to be found in her. But there is no fear of that.... + +These words involuntarily bring to my mind Bakunin. Bakunin has given +Europe the sample of a free Russian. + +I was deeply touched by your fine reference to him. Unhappily, those +words will not reach him. + +An international crime has been committed; Saxony has handed over the +victim to Austria, Austria to Nicholas. He is in the Schlüsselburg, that +fortress of evil memory where once Ivan, the grandson of the Tsar Alexis, +was kept caged like a wild beast, till he was killed by Catherine the +Second,[92] who, still stained by her husband’s blood, first ordered the +captive’s murder, then punished the luckless officer who carried out her +command. + +In that damp dungeon in the icy waters of Lake Ladoga there is no place +for dreams or hopes! May he sleep the last sleep in peace, the martyr +betrayed by two Governments, whose hands are stained with his blood.... +Glory to his name! And revenge! But where is the avenger?... And we too, +like him, shall perish with our work half done; but then lift up your +stern and majestic voice, and tell our children once more that there is a +duty before them.... + +I will close with the memory of Bakunin and warmly press your hand for +him and for myself. + + NICE, _September 22, 1851_. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +[1] Ogaryov suffered from some form of epilepsy.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[2] Herzen lived twelve years in London, and during that time took no +less than seven different houses: (1) ‘a house in one of the remotest +parts of the town, near Primrose Hill’; (2) Chomley Lodge, Richmond; (3) +Peterborough Villa, Finchley Road; (4) Laurel House, Fulham; (5) Park +House, Putney Bridge; (6) Orsett House, Wimbledon; (7) Elmfield House, +Teddington.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[3] See vol. ii. p. 403.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[4] See vol. i. p. 67.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[5] Natalya Alexyevna’s version is slightly different. She gives Emma +Vogt’s age as sixteen, and says that when the girl’s parents were +returning to America Herzen begged them to leave her in London, ‘but +they insisted on taking her with them.’ Neither Madame Passek nor Madame +Ogaryov can be relied upon for perfect accuracy, but I think the latter +is the more trustworthy. + +[6] This is how I interpret the cryptic passage on page 113, vol. +iv.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[7] See vol. v. p. 245. + +[8] See vol. i. chapter iii. + +[9] Yakovlyev was the surname of the two brothers, Ivan, Herzen’s father, +and Pyotr, Madame Passek’s father.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[10] See vol. v. p. 82.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[11] See vol. v. pp. 105 and 106.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[12] See vol. iv. chap. iv.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[13] The two children who died in Paris were buried at +Nice.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[14] The famous doctor.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[15] As a matter of fact, Natalya Alexandrovna Herzen’s illness was what +would now be called a ‘nervous breakdown,’ and was followed by a complete +and permanent recovery.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[16] Herzen’s elder daughter Natalie, also called Natasha. + +[17] Madame Ogaryov.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[18] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[19] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[20] English in the original. + +[21] The news that Tata had an attack of smallpox. + +[22] Baby daughter who died.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[23] Natalya Alexyevna Tutchkov-Ogaryov.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[24] Tata’s nervous illness.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[25] Tata.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[26] Turgenev was the friend to whom these letters were +addressed.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[27] A character in the play _Woe from Wit_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[28] A famous singer who made his début in _La Caravane_ in 1813. He is +frequently mentioned in French memoirs of the period.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[29] A very intelligent man, Count Oscar Reichenbach, said to me once, +speaking of the better-class houses in London: ‘Tell me the rent and the +storey, and I will undertake to go on a dark night without a candle and +fetch a clock, a vase, decanters ... whatever you like of the things +that are invariably standing in every middle-class dwelling.’—(_Author’s +Note._) + +[30] Lamé, Gabriel, born 1795, was a French mathematician who for +many years held an important post in the Transport Department of the +Russian Government. He published _Leçons sur la Théorie Mathématique de +l’Élasticité_, and many other works.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[31] A brewer who was in command of the ‘Garde Nationale’ in 1793. + +[32] Members of the ‘Convention’ of 1792.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[33] A traditional hero of Russian legend.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[34] Vattel (1714-1767), a Swiss writer, author of _Traité du Droit des +Gens_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[35] I was so interested by _Arminius_ that I began writing a series of +similar scenes, and the chief police-master, Tsinsky, made a critical +analysis of them in my presence at the committee in 1834. + +[36] This was written in 1855.—(_Author’s Notes._) + +[37] A character in Gogol’s _Dead Souls_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[38] Auguste Romieu, celebrated in Paris for his wit and droll +adventures, began by writing vaudevilles (1822-1834). The Government of +July turned him into _un homme politique_, appointing him prefect of +several places in succession, and in 1849 he wrote _De l’Administration +sous le Régime républicain_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[39] The Russian word for Sunday means Resurrection.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[40] + + Sie feiern die Auferstehung des Herrn, + Denn Sie sind selber auferstanden + Aus niedrigern Häuser dumpfen Gemächer.—_Faust._ + + —(_Author’s Note._) + +[41] The intensity with which cultivated people felt their isolation +at that time, and tried to devise a life, pursuits, and so on for +themselves, you can see clearly in Trelawney’s _Recollections of the Last +Days of Shelley and Byron_.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[42] _A Family Chronicle_, by Aksakov. There is an excellent translation +by Mr. Duff.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[43] Onyegin, hero of Pushkin’s poem. + +[44] Petchorin, hero of Lermontov’s novel, _A Hero of Our Time_. + +[45] Oblomov, hero of Goncharov’s novel of that name.—(_Translator’s +Notes._) + +[46] Ivan Ivanovitch Pushtchin was a great friend of the poet Pushkin. + +[47] One of the Decembrists. + +[48] See vol. i. page 193. + +[49] A young poet of the greatest promise who died in 1827 at the age of +twenty-two.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[50] Of which Koshihin so picturesquely writes that the Boyars +sat silent with their eyes fixed on their beards to show their +profundity.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[51] Polubotok was a candidate for the office of Hetman after Mazeppa’s +treason. Peter the Great appointed the weak Skuropadsky, saying that +Polubotok was ‘much too clever’ and might be another Mazeppa. He owned +more than two thousand peasant homesteads, and was one of the richest +men in Little Russia; he did his utmost to defend the interests of his +country against the encroachments of the Tsar’s officials, and for some +time with success, but in 1723 he was imprisoned in the Peter-Paul +fortress, where he died a year later.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[52] Diderot, in his extremely interesting account of his acquaintance +with Princess Dashkov, speaking of this interview, adds that Catherine +said to her: ‘You are either an angel or a demon.’ ‘Neither the one nor +the other,’ she answered; ‘but the Empress is dying and you must be +saved.’—(_Author’s Note._) + +[53] Diderot in the above-mentioned essay relates that Princess Dashkov +told him of this rumour with the greatest resentment.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[54] There are no grounds for supposing that Catherine knew of any plan +to murder Peter; there is strong evidence, indeed, that she did not know, +and that in fact there was no such plan. It is obvious that Peter was +killed in a drunken scrimmage.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[55] A mistress of Paul’s, and a friend of his wife’s.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[56] This is the drift of the letter; I cannot answer for the exact +words. I repeat what I heard long ago from memory.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[57] Mirovitch plotted to rescue Ivan VI. from the Schlüsselburg and put +him on the throne. Ivan’s jailers had been instructed by the Empress +Elizabeth to kill him if any attempt were made to effect his escape—and +did so. For an impartial account of Catherine’s reign see Sir Bernard +Pares’ _History of Russia_. + +[58] Princess Tarakanov was an adventuress who claimed to be one of the +natural children of the Empress Elizabeth (there were several). Alexey +Orlov captured her, by pretending to make love to her. She was imprisoned +in the Peter-Paul fortress, where she died of consumption.—(_Translator’s +Notes._) + +[59] Madame Necker, wife of the great minister of finance and mother of +Mme. de Staël. + +[60] Madame Geoffrin, a lady noted for her wit, whose salon was the +favourite resort of the philosophers of the day. + +[61] Rulhière, Claude de (1735-1791), a French historian and poet. + +[62] Hamilton, Elizabeth (1758-1816), a Scotswoman, authoress of _Letters +of a Hindoo Rajah_, _Letters on Education_, and also _On the Moral and +Religious Principle_, and _The Cottagers of Glenburnie_.—(_Translator’s +Notes._) + +[63] An impartial reader of the Memoirs of both ladies will probably +be surprised at Catherine’s forbearance with Princess Dashkov, whose +tediously reiterated insistence on her own virtue and impeccability must +have been a severe tax on the quick-witted Empress’s patience and good +nature. Only on one occasion she permitted herself the gentle retort: +‘Dear princess, your reputation is better established than that of the +whole calendar of saints,’ the irony of which was probably not apparent +to Princess Dashkov.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[64] The duc de Biron, afterwards a general in the service of the +government of the Revolution, was beheaded in 1793. + +[65] An Italian writer on philosophy, history, and economics +(1728-1789).—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[66] The former tutor of Peter III.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[67] An Italian writer of the school of the physiocrats. + +[68] See Pares’ _History of Russia_, p. 241. + +[69] The pamphlet referred to is _A Journey from Petersburg to Moscow_, +an impassioned protest against serfdom. (See vol. v. p. 313.) + +[70] Knyazhnin translated tragedies from the French and wrote imitations +of them. This last one was called _Vadim of Novgorod_.—(_Translator’s +Notes._) + +[71] Catherine’s own Memoirs make it clear that, though crazy, Paul was +not the son of Peter III.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[72] By their successful conspiracy to assassinate Paul.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[73] In 1770, Alexey Orlov, in command of the Russian fleet, defeated and +burnt the Turkish fleet at Chesme Bay.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[74] The archimandrite of the Yurev Monastery, famous for his fanaticism +and ascetic exploits. Alexander I. once had an interview with him, but +was repelled by his crassness.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[75] Miss Wilmot meant to say something biting, but paid us a compliment. +It is only a pity that she does not see how old the girl is now! It is +not something to be reckoned by years.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[76] Youth is fond of expressing itself in all sorts of incommensurables, +and striking the imagination by images of infinite magnitude. The +last sentence reminds me vividly of Karl Moor, Ferdinand, and Don +Carlos.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[77] The prophecy has now been fulfilled. This mutual interaction of men +on books, and books on men, is a curious thing. The book takes its whole +shape from the society in which it is conceived; it generalises, it makes +it more vivid and striking, and afterwards is outdone by reality. The +originals caricature their vividly drawn portraits, and actual persons +live in their literary shades. At the end of last century all young +Germans were a little after the style of Werther, while all their young +ladies resembled Charlotte; at the beginning of the present century the +university Werthers had begun to change into ‘Robbers,’ not real ones, +but Schilleresque robbers. The young Russians who have come on the scene +since 1862 are almost all derived from _What Is to be Done?_ with the +addition of a few Bazarov features.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[78] The hero of Herzen’s novel, _Who Is to Blame?_—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[79] The hero of _Woe from Wit_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[80] The reference is to the performance of Gogol’s _The Government +Inspector_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[81] Hegel’s dialectic is a terrible battering-ram, in spite of its +double-facedness and its Prussian Protestant cockade; it dissolved +everything existing and dissipated everything that was a check on +reason. Moreover, that was the period of Feuerbach, _der kritischen +Kritik_.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[82] It appeared in a feuilleton of the journal _l’Événement_, 1851, and +was later on included in a volume entitled _Democratic Legends_.—(_Note +to Russian Edition._) + +[83] A philanthropist, Baron de Montyon (1733-1820) endowed prizes for +virtue and literary distinction to be distributed by the Institut in +Paris.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[84] Hegel. + +[85] A peasant commune belonging to Prince Kozlovsky bought their +freedom. The land was divided amongst the peasants in proportion to the +sum contributed by each to the purchase-money. This arrangement was +apparently most natural and just. The peasants, however, thought it so +inconvenient and inconsistent with their habits that they decided to +regard the purchase-money as a debt incurred by the commune and to divide +the lands according to their accepted custom. This fact is vouched for by +Baron von Haxthausen. The author himself visited the village in question. + +In a book recently published in Paris and dedicated to the Emperor +Nicholas, the writer says that this system of the division of land +seems to him unfavourable to the development of agriculture (as though +the object of it were the success of agriculture!); he adds, however: +‘It is difficult to escape these disadvantages, because this system +of land division is bound up with the organisation of our communes, +which it would be _dangerous to touch_; it is established on the +fundamental idea of the unity of the commune, and the right of every +member of it to a share in the communal property in proportion to his +strength, and so it supports the communal spirit, that trusty prop of +the social order. At the same time it is the best defence against the +increase of the proletariat and the diffusion of communistic ideas.’ +(We may well believe that for a people in actual fact possessing their +property in common, communistic ideas present no danger.) ‘The good +sense with which the peasants avoid the inconveniences of their system +where such are inevitable is extremely remarkable; so is the ease with +which they agree over the compensation for inequalities arising from +differences of soil, or the confidence with which every one accepts the +decisions of the elders of the commune. It might be expected that the +continual re-divisions would give rise to continual disputes, and yet +the intervention of the higher authorities is only necessary in the very +rarest cases. This fact, _very strange in itself_, can only be explained +through the system, with all its disadvantages, having so grown into the +morals and conceptions of the peasants that its drawbacks are accepted +without a murmur.’ + +‘The idea of the commune is,’ says the same author, ‘as natural to the +Russian peasant, and as fully embodied in all the aspects of his life, as +the corporate municipal spirit that has taken shape in the bourgeoisie of +Western Europe is distasteful to his character.’—(_Author’s Note._) + +[86] _I.e._, from the revolutionary changes made by Peter the +Great.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[87] To ‘let fly the Red Cock’ is the popular Russian phrase for +arson.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[88] The last sentence is omitted in the version of the ‘Légende’ in +Michelet’s Collected Works.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[89] _Du Développement des Idées révolutionnaires en Russie._ + +[90] The picture is called ‘The Last Day of Pompeii.’—(_Translator’s +Notes._) + +[91] Quoted from the excellent expression of one of the contributors of +_Il Progresso_ in an article on Russia, August 1, 1851.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[92] This is not a correct version either of the murder of Peter III. or +of Ivan VI. Catherine was certainly not directly responsible for either +of those crimes.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78377 *** |