A Herzen Reader

No, our voice is not needed in the cathedral choir of exultation, indigna­tion, protestation, and demonstration. Let those awaiting a reward rejoice at the hints and weep over the denunciations, let the servile hypocrisy that is corrupting youth to the extent of sham idolatry, to the extent that engineer­ing students order an icon, and Moscow students are herded to the Iberian Mother of God to attend a public prayer service³—let them take part in the concert. The sound of our voice will not be in harmony with them.

We cannot understand each other.

Here's an example.

An insane fanatic or an embittered person from the nobility takes a shot at the sovereign; the unusual presence of mind of a young peasant, his quick calculation and dexterity save the sovereign. And how do they reward him? With elevation to the noble rank! To equal the social position of the shooter? [. . .] put a ribbon across his shoulder, but over a peasant coat, give him a medal on a diamond chain, give him the largest diamond from the crown on a chain full of medals, give him a million rubles (metal, not paper, by the way), only let him remain a peasant, do not turn him into von-Komissarov.

Taking Komissarov out of his environment is an insult to the peasantry; putting a noble uniform on him makes him ridiculous and vulgar. What understanding does the sovereign have of the peasantry, if he thinks that a man who performs an act of heroism should be wrenched out of that swamp? [. . .]

We have no doubt that the April 4 assassination attempt has once again—along with sincere concern—stirred up all the servility of Russian society, all the police mania of self-proclaimed spies, journalist-informers, literary executioners, all the clumsy baseness of the half-educated horde, and all the ungovernable behavior of the bureaucrats as they try to gain favor by humbling themselves. And yet we cannot read without blushing at the shamelessness of their actions and expressions. [. . .]

We are absolutely convinced that this mania for police is one of the most severe forms of insanity and that psychiatrists pay too little attention to it. It stands to reason that this sickness develops not in normal people, but in specially prepared and capable organisms, consumed by envy, pride, self- absorption, a desire for power, awards, an important place, and revenge. All that is true, and once having destroyed everything human in a subject, there is no holding back the sickness. Suspiciousness, denunciation, slander become a necessity, a hunger, a thirst. When there is no one to denounce, the patient becomes sad, and he invents a Young Georgia, and a Young Ar- menia⁴. And suddenly we are shot at. Katkov cannot separate himself from a unified Russia, or from the sovereign—he is at once the sovereign and Komissarov. Saving Russia is a familiar matter for him. On the eve of the assassination attempt (April 3) he revealed that he bore the oil of the tsar's anointing, declaring that he did not intend to obey ministerial directives, that he would submit to no one but the sovereign, that he knew his Alexan­der Nikolaevich, and had no wish to know anyone else. The humble minis­ters put up with this, and wisely so. or else things wouldn't be so different than they were with Konstantin Nikolaevich and Skedo-Ferronti. who were really catching it with the assistance of Muravyov.⁵ Having heard the bullet's whistle and having pushed aside the hand of the murderer, Katkov, still un­shaven, rushes about on a short leash like a bulldog who isn't allowed to run free—he jumps about, yelps, and barks, trying to bite everyone.

Having received a telegram from Petersburg, here is what he writes: "To­day at half past 4 in the afternoon, there was a shot. It is thought that this was a revolutionary emissary in plain clothes," and then "Not long ago the glow of fires illuminated the entire expanse of Russia; now there has been an attempt on the life of its sovereign. Will we now really be unable to find the means to penetrate the secret of this evil act and get to its roots?"

Who came up with this? And what is meant by an emissary in plain clothes? Do revolutionary emissaries really have their own uniforms, with braid and tabs, like the gendarmes? [. . .]