A Herzen Reader

The Bell, No. i8, July i, i858. Herzen increasingly doubts the expediency of appealing to the authorities, although he still hopes that the tsar will reach out to the people. The image of the fairy-tale hero at the crossroads, faced with difficult choices with serious repercussions, will reappear in The Bell, most notably in one of the final issues (Doc. i00). Natan Eidelman saw in this article Herzen's disillusionment with the govern­ment's program in a "concentrated" form; he also analyzes it for the reuse of phrases and arguments from letters to or from the author, evidently a common practice of Her- zen in his journalism (Eidel'man, Svobodnoe slovo, 238). The Bell began to address a broader spectrum of readers than just the upper-class intelligentsia, who were the pri­mary focus of early publications by the Free Russian Press. One of the final items in this issue was Herzen's announcement that the Holy Father had bowed to pressure from the Russian government and banned the sale of all Russian publications from London in his domain. Herzen was not surprised, since "inquisition is a papal activity," and he half expected to hear that anathema had been pronounced on The Bell and its pages consigned to the flames.

July 1, 1858 [1858]

A year ago the first issue of The Bell appeared. We stop for a moment and glance back at the path we have traveled. and feel sadness and heaviness in our hearts.

Meanwhile, in the course of this year one of our most ardent hopes has been realized; one of the greatest revolutions in Russia has begun, the one that we have predicted, craved, and called for since childhood—the libera­tion of the serfs has begun.

But we don't feel any better, and this year we almost took a step backward.

The reason is obvious, and we will state it directly and steadfastly: Alex­ander II has not justified the hopes that Russia had at his coronation. Last June he still stood, like the hero of our fairy tales, at the crossroads—whether he would turn to the right or to the left no one knew. It seemed that he would without fail follow the path of development, liberation, construction. tak­ing one step, and then another—but suddenly he thought better of it and turned

From the left to the right.¹

Maybe there is still time. but he is being hurried along by the palace coachmen, who are taking advantage of the fact that he does not know the road. And our Bell is ringing out to him that he has gone astray, ringing out Russia's distress and the danger that he faces.

But that is the problem—the powerful people of this world do not know how to either listen or remember. History lies before them, but it is not for them that it tells of the bitter experience of nations and of posterity's harsh judgment of tsars.

Not to make use of the remarkable position in which events in Europe and the previous reign left Alexander II is to such a degree absurd that it is difficult to find room in one's head for it.

Having the possibility of choosing one of two roles—Peter I or Pius IX— to choose Pius IX is the ultimate example of Christian meekness.

"But," they will tell us, "Peter I was a genius—geniuses aren't born ev­ery century, and not every tsar who wants to be Peter I can succeed." The thing is, to be Russia's Peter in our time one does not have to be a genius; it would be sufficient to love Russia, to respect and understand the human dignity in a Russian man, and to listen closely to his thoughts and his aspira­tions. A genius might do great harm, as Peter did; he would inject his own will instead of developing the new growth that has appeared, when one just has to avoid weeding it out, trampling it, or constraining it, removing any obstacles and allowing it to grow on its own. Peter I had to create and de­stroy—in one hand he had a spade, and in the other an axe. He made a clear­ing in the wilderness, and, of course, cut down the good along with the bad. But we have ceased to love terror, no matter what kind and for what purpose.