A Herzen Reader

The sovereign, to be fair, wanted—in the image and likeness of the late Alexander Pavlovich—to enter Paris on horseback.¹³ At the final station it seems he was already seated on his horse. It was, however, explained to him that Alexander I captured Paris with military troops, while now Paris was conquering Alexander II with kindness, so it followed that it was for Paris to approach him on horseback, but the numbers did not allow for that. There was nothing to be done, the emperor made haste, and a closed carriage raced to the Avenue Marigny. [. . .]

From the theater it was a short walk home. The next day it was off to the exhibition—here the Russian horses bore witness to the degree of per­fection achieved by their parents in this profession,¹⁴ and Russian stones spoke in favor of geological cataclysms in the earth, under the special direc­tion of the ministry of state property.¹⁵ From the stables the sovereign led Napoleon to an inn to have a bite to eat; all the food was Russian, even the champagne, which they say was brought for this purpose from Tver.

[. . .] Poles, for the most part, have left Paris, with Czartoryski¹⁶ en tete; one of them even left vertically, taking off in a hot-air balloon. That gave us the wonderful idea of starting a campaign in Siberia to get everyone— young and old alike, mullah and shaman, Votyak and Ostyak—to agitate for the sovereign to favor them with a visit. And then maybe the authorities would order all the Poles to leave.

II. A La Porte!¹⁷

In the peaceful era prior to the year i848, Nikolay Pavlovich, who loved to travel around various lands and amaze the Germans with his waistline, his elkskin pants, and his splendidly polished jackboots, was once in Vi- enna.¹⁸ At that time there ruled in Austria not the present sovereign, who so successfully began his reign by hanging captured generals who had sur­rendered to Paskevich, but his foolish and sickly predecessor.¹⁹ There was a parade. No matter where Nicholas went, no fewer than fifty thousand people were rounded up. Regiment after regiment marched by, and finally there was the Kaiser Nicholas regiment; the Austrian emperor was dozing on an enormous gray horse, with his Hapsburg lip sticking out even further than usual—suddenly there was a noise: having seen his regiment, Nicho­las, with his characteristic bravery, stood before them, received the report, skillfully led the toy soldiers, and went at full speed to inform the emperor that everything was in good order. In Austria things are done quietly and one rushes on foot. The dozing Ferdinand opened his eyes and was stupe­fied: Nicholas was racing toward him "with a gloomy and severe face,"²⁰ and with a bared saber—closer and closer. Ferdinand turned his horse and gave it the spur for the first time and took to his heels. Nicholas, turning pale with disgust, took off after him along the streets of Vienna. "Bruder," he cried out, "don't be afraid, treue Schwesterliebe widmet dir mein Herz."²¹ Finally he caught up with Ferdinand, who did not go back to the parade, but returned to his palace and went to bed. [. . .]

Who could have imagined that twenty-five years later the son of the late Nikolay Pavlovich would play out just such a scene on a more peaceful field, namely in the Palais de Justice, the palace of retribution. The sovereign came to the courthouse not on business, but to see whether everything was in order. Some of the lawyers raised the cry "Vive la Pologne!" They did this more as a compliment, knowing that in all manifestos and in various de­crees the sovereign speaks of his love for Poland and his truly parental care for it. The guards—those preservers of decorum—did not like this cry and they shouted to the friends of Poland: "A la porte!" The sovereign, imagin­ing that "a la porte!" referred to him and probably recalling that he too was a friend of Poland, turned and left with his entire suite [. . .] galloping to another place where they would also shout "Vive la Pologne!"²²

[. . .] The sooner he gets out of Poland, the sooner he would be able to peacefully stroll around the exhibition. Only not by means of such tricks like the Verzhbolovo customs amnesty. But how could they come up with something sensible when they still spend their time going through suit­cases? Evil tongues have said that this is not an amnesty, but a visa for Paris. That is how the French understood it.²³