A Herzen Reader

However, we do not blame ourselves for that. There is only so much co­ordination with the direction of society possible; any further and it becomes a betrayal. The sounds of The Bell were lost, and caused rage and indigna­tion to the degree that the popularity of Muravyov and The Moscow Gazette grew. Muravyov was cast aside, The Moscow Gazette passed its apogee and will likely begin to fade, we have survived the worst period, and soon our prodigal children, with gray hair or without any hair at all, will once again appear when we ring out, back from the patriotic herd where they did not graze but were tended. [. . .]

We return now to our difficult path with precipices on either side. No as­cetic monk in the wilderness was so persecuted, so tempted from the right and from the left sides.

This did not begin just yesterday. When CH attacked us in i858 with his doctrinaire-administrative indictment, we already possessed several purple- red letters,³ accusing us of moderation,⁴ and there was a lot of abuse for socialism, Jacobinism, various kinds of disrespect, impertinence, etc. Since that time, some people have consistently regarded us as anarchists, others—as pro-bureaucracy, [. . .] some—as bloodthirsty terrorists, others—as gradualist progressives,

some have said in horror: "They summon people to use axes and write appeals!"

others say while gnashing their teeth: "They do not call people to use axes and write not only to the emperor but to the empress as well."

We received two letters recently, one from an old friend and the other from an old enemy.⁵ "You're exhausted," writes the friend, "you are perish­ing, you have run aground because you lack the courage to go full sail; you think that development should follow a peaceful path, but it will not follow a peaceful path; in this unhappy eleventh hour you still place your hopes in the government, but it can only do harm; you have stumbled on the Rus­sian hut, which itself has stumbled and has stood for centuries in oriental immobility, with its insistence on the right to land; summon people, gather them together, issue a call, a great time is approaching, it is near."

"You are drowning," writes the enemy, "in some kind of mud, and I pity you. At times a Promethean howl bursts forth from you, but all the same you sink further and further into your abyss. You should change the atmo­sphere and forget the past, revive and restore yourself, and acquire a differ­ent language. At present it is difficult for us Russians to read your speech, because we do not hear a single kind word from you. You do not encounter in our homeland even the slightest positive trait, as if Russians are some kind of nation of outcasts. Twenty-five million private serfs and twenty million owned by the government are receiving freedom and land. Members of the landowning class are enduring their privation with patience and calm, while free voices are heard in the councils, the landed assemblies, and in the press. The troops are unrecognizable. The clergy is undergoing a renewal. does none of this find any response in the soul of one who truly loves the fatherland? No, your Bell has cracked, you cannot spread good news, and it is a crime to spread bad tidings. Ring out the De Profundis and write an epilogue."

In reading this, you so much want to sprinkle ash on your head and go off to the Solovetsky Monastery, and then hand yourself over to the worldly authorities. [. . .]

We were tormented by the knowledge that a great transformation was "so close, so possible,"⁶ and was for no reason slipping out of our hands. We pursued the emperor, we grabbed at his coat, we stood in his path with The Bell hidden in our jacket (at that point he was still reading us), and pointed out to him briefly and boldly, pleading and growing irritated, that he was turning off the path. [. . .]

We felt sorry for him. We did not represent any systematic opposition, nor a demagogic, forced hatred; we were the first to greet him with a free Russian word when he ascended the throne, and, together with the old world's exiles and the leaders of European revolution, we wanted to drink to the liberator of the serfs, and we would certainly have done that, if the terrible news of April i0, i86i, from Warsaw had not filled our glasses and vessels with Polish blood.

We grew thoughtful over this blood and sadly asked ourselves: "In the end, who is he and where is he going?" Of course, the Polish question had become urgent, and they feared Poland. All the same, to tease them with promises and then shoot unarmed people. that is too much!

Suddenly there was a shot from a different direction—Anton Petrov fell, executed, on a pile of dead peasants.