A Herzen Reader

Some sort of landowner in the Agricultural Newspaper has rightly protested the impertinent objections to birch rods, and sensibly observed that "for in­significant misdeeds a punishment of a few blows of the rod (2, 20, 200, 2,000?) does not kill a man either morally or physically (sometimes, it is true, people die, but this is morally useful for an Orthodox believer, and the dead can feel no pain!). The landowner's power is that of a parent over his children, and according to our Orthodox beliefs children accept punishment from their parents without complaint. Punishment by the rod is not going to be replaced by any foreign notions, because the birch rod in the hands of a well-meaning and kind landowner is a genuine blessing for the serfs!" [. . .]

Notes

Source: "Sech' ili ne sech' muzhika?" Kolokol, l. 6, December 1, 1857; 13:105-7, 527-28.

♦ 14 ♦

The Bell, No. 8, February 1, 1858. This is Herzen's answer to a letter that—in the end— was never published, but which raised issues that Herzen felt obliged to address. It is one of Herzen's most significant statements on laughter, and on how he would treat, in his own manner, facts about the arbitrary behavior of Russian serf owners and bureau­crats, amidst concerns that he was turning liberal observations into radical propaganda.

Mikhail Bakhtin included some of Herzen's observations on laughter in Rabelais and His World.

A Letter Criticizing The Bell [1858]

We recently received a letter severely criticizing The Bell.

This letter is full of such warm affection for the cause and a desire that our publications may help it, that we can only sincerely thank our anonymous critic and make use of that portion of his advice with which our conscience is in agreement.

We regret that the letter says that it must not be published, because we would have liked to acquaint our readers with it.

We will allow ourselves one observation. The author of this letter can see for himself how from the first issue of The Bell up to the most recent one we have fervently asked everyone sending us news to check it out carefully. What means of verification do we have? If on our pages, as in all periodi­cals, mistakes get past us, we are prepared to correct them—but we cannot always prevent them.

In the sixth issue it was said that Moscow chief of police Bering was still in place, but he has in fact retired. Le Nord, which carries semiofficial cor­respondence, in writing about the end of the student disturbances in Mos­cow, mentioned only the retirement of a policeman. After that we received a letter that directed our attention to the fact that "Zakrevsky had stood up for Bering." Then, days later, we saw that Bering had been replaced by Kropotkin.¹ We must confess our mistake, thank the sovereign, and advise Zakrevsky to surprise us in the same nice way.

As for humor, we are not entirely in agreement with our critic. Laughter is one of the most powerful weapons against something that is obsolete but is still propped up by God knows what, like an important ruin which pre­vents new growth and frightens the weak. I repeat what I said previously: "What a man cannot laugh about without falling into blasphemy or fearing the pangs of conscience is a fetish, and he is in its thrall, afraid to let it get mixed up with ordinary objects."²

Laughter is no joking matter, and we will not give it up. In the ancient world they laughed heartily on Olympus and on earth while listening to Aristophanes and his comedies, and they laughed out loud all the way up to Lucian. After the fourth century, humankind stopped laughing—they wept, and heavy chains fell on the mind amidst the groans and pangs of conscience. As soon as the fever of fanaticism began to abate, people again began to laugh. It would be extraordinarily interesting to write the history of laughter. No one laughs in church, at court, on parade, before the head of their department, a police officer, or a German boss. House serfs have no right to smile in the presence of their masters. Only equals can laugh amongst themselves.

If inferiors were permitted to laugh in front of their superiors and if they could not hold back their laughter then you can forget about respect for rank. To cause men to smile at the god Apis is to deprive him of his holy status and turn him into a common bull. Take the cassock off the monk, the uniform off the hussar, the ashes off the chimney sweep and they will no longer frighten children or adults. Laughter is a leveler, and people don't want that, afraid of being judged according to their individual merits. Aristocrats have always thought that way, and the wife of the count's factotum Figaro, complaining in The Guilty Mother³ about the bitter results of the year 1789, says that now everyone has become like everyone else, like the whole world!