My Past and Thoughts

But it has brought forth no new principles.

Or if it has, where are they? I await an answer to this question from you, or perhaps from someone else, and then I shall continue.

A Relevant Clzreston1atlt)�

jro111 tlze Later Years

(Selected by the Abridger)

ABRIDGER'S NOTE: Th� above, unlike the other chapter titles, is not Herzen's but mine. I've chosen the following excerpts from the heterogeneous fourth volume partly because I couldn't bear to omit them but lacked space for the long articles in which they occur, partly as specimens of Herzen's mature prose-his style became more flexibly varied in the last decade, sometimes more conversationally open and sometimes more rhetorically dense and allusive-but mostly because they struck me as relevant to some of our own problems today.

ON STYLE: Cf. I, as an epiphany of Herzen's feelings about his people-and their rulers; in II, the formal wit (in the eighteenth-century sense) of a parugraph like "The Peterhof fete is over, the Court masque in fancy dress is played out, the

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lamps are smoking and going out, the fountains have almost run dry-let us go home"; the long footnote 3 on the same page, as an example of his use of historical anecdotes that are both entertaining and profound as metaphors. As for his colloquial style, easy and spontaneous but never trivial, cf. especially V and VI.

ON RELEVANCE: See II, on the difficulties of "raising up the people" from above, du haut en bas, with the best liberal (or radical) intentions. "So long as we take people for clay and ourselves as sculptors, we shall encounter nothing but stubborn resistance or offensively passive obedience. The pedagogic method of our civilising reformers is a bad one. It starts from the fundamental principle that we know everything and the people know nothing . . . . We cannot set them free that way."

III begins with reflections on the importance (and the alienation) of the intelligentsia in a backward country like Tsarist Russia (or Nixonian America) and ends with a long credo of Russian separatism that could be transposed into a black separatist credo in America today. Thus: "The past of you Western European peoples serves us as a lesson and nothing more; we do not regard ourselves as the executors of your historic testament .

. . . Your faith doesn't rouse us . . . . We do not respect what you respect . . . . All our memories are filled with bitterness and resentment. Civili::.ation and learning were held out to us at the end of a knout."

IV explores the problem of the avant-garde artist or intellectual in that massified petty-bourgeois culture that has spread like a fungus over Europe and America since the eighteenth century. He sees the necessity, and justification, for it socially:

'The crou·ds of holiday-makers in the Champs-Elpees or Kensington Gardens depress one with their vulgar faces, their dull expressions, but . . . what is important to them is that their fathers were not in a position to go holiday-making and they are: that their elders sometimes sat on the box of carriages while they drive about in cabs." But he also understands the cost: "The crowd is without ignorance and also without education . . . .

Those who arc in advance live in tiny cliques like secular monasteries."

The last pages of V, on "the monks of knowledge," remind me of our UN sentimentalists like Norman Cousins, our Afarxian bclia·crs. "Pcdantrr and scholasticism prevent men from grasping things u·ith simple, lively enthusiasm more than do superstition and ignorance."

Toward the end of VI there is a curious adumbration of Trotsky's "law of combined development": that new nations

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don't necessarily have to go through all the evolutionary stages but may sometimes "combine" them-as he and Lenin (always a bold experimenter) did, unfortunately, when they flouted orthodox Marxist theory and aimed their October coup d'etat not at the next stage, bourgeois democracy, but at the one after, a oneparty "dictatorship of the Proletariat" which would immediately begin to "build socialism." It built something even worse than bourgeois democracy. But it's an interesting idea, and it's also interesting that Her::.en, long before Trotsky, was asking whether the Russian people needed to go through a bourgeois period after Tsarism. "Why should we put on a European blouse when we have our own shirt with the collar buttoning on one side?" That the "European blouse," cut on loose Menshevik, Social-Democratic lines, would have fitted the historical neck (and needs) of the Russian people in 1917 better than the Bolshevik straitjacket seems to me hardly worth arguing now, pace Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin-and Her::-en.

I

IN 1 789 the following incident took place. A young man1 of no importance, after supping \Vith his friends in Petersburg, drove to Moscow in a post-chaise. The first station he slept through. At the second, Sofia, he spent a long time trying to get horses, and consequently must have been so thoroughly woken up that when the three fresh horses set off with him, their bells ringing, instead of sleeping he listened to the driver's song in the fresh morning air. Strange though ts came into the head of the young man of no importance. Here are his words:

'My driver struck up a song, a plaintive one, as usual. Anyone who knows the sounds of the songs of the Russian people will admit that there is something in them that expresses a sadness of the spirit. Almost every tune of these songs is in a minor key.

The government should be founded on this musical inclination of the people's ear. In it one will find the formation of the soul of our people. Look at the Russian and you will find him pensive. If he \vants to shake off tedium or, as he calls it himself, if he

'"·ants to have a good time, he goes to the pot-house . . . . The barge-hauler going with hanging head to the pot-house and coming back bloody from blows in the face may provide the 1 Alexander Nikolayevich Radishchev ( 1 i1-9-1 802) is meant, the author of the famous lourner from Petersburg to Jl.1oscow. ( Tr.)

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solution of much that has hitherto been enigmatic in the history of Russia.'

The driver went on wailing his song: the traveller went on thinking his thoughts, and before he had reached Chudovo he suddenly remembered how once in Petersburg he had struck his Petrushka for being drunk; and he burst out crying like a child, and, without blushing for his honours as a gentleman, he had the shamelessness to write: 'Oh, if only, drunk as he was, he had come to his senses, enough to answer-me in the same way! '

This song, these tears, these words, scattered between two stations on the post-road, must be regarded as one of the first signs of the turning tide. The conception always happens quietly, and the trace of it is usually lost to begin with.

The Empress Catherine understood the point of it, and was graciously pleased 'with w<�rmth

To be surprised that she sent him in chains to Ilimsky prison is absurd. It is much more surprising that Paul brought him back; but he did that to spite his dead mother-he had no other purpose.

-from The Emperor Alexander I and V. N. Karazin ( 1 862) I I

'WHEN IN 1826 Yakubovich saw Prince Obolensky with a beard and wearing the coarse uniform of a soldier, he ·could not help exclaiming: '\Nell, Obolensky, if I am like Stenka Razin,3 you must be like Vanka K<�in4 and no mistake!' . . . Then the officer commanding the escort c<�me up; the prisoners were put in fetters and sent to pen

The common people did not recognise this resemblance, and dense crowds of them looked on indifferently in Nizhny Novgorod as the fettered prisoners \Wre conveyed through it at the very time of the f<� ir. Perh

2 PugarhPY ll'd the grPat rl'bPll ion of the serfs i n I i75. (D.M.) 3 Legendary Cossack bandit who led a large-scale peasant uprising m I 6i0. (D.M.)

4 '\'anka Kain' ( <>q uivalPnt to Jack Cain-from Cain of the Bible) is a slang t erm of abuse for a desperah• fellow rl'ady for anything. ( Tr.)

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But on the other side of the Ural Range comes a mournful equality in the face of penal servitude and hopeless misfortune.

Everything changes. The petty official whom we were accustomed to know as a heartless, dirty taker of bribes, in a voice trembling with tears beseeches the exiles at Irkutsk to accept a gift of money from him ; the rude Cossacks escorting them leave them in peace and freedom so far as they can ; the merchants entertain them as they pass through. On the farther side of Lake Baikal some of them stopped at the ford at Verkhne-Udinsk ; the inhabitants learnt who they were, and an old man at once seilt them by his grandson a basket of white bread and rolls, and the grandfather dragged himself out to tell them about the country beyond the Baikal and ask them questions about the great world.

While Prince Obolensky was sti!l at the Usolsky Works he went out early one morning to the place where he had been told to chop down trees. While he was at work a man appeared out of the forest, looked at him intently with a friendly air and then went on his way. In the evening, as he was going home, Obolensky met him again; he made signs to him and pointed to the forest. Next morning he came out of a thicket and made signs to Obolensky to follow him. Obolensky went. Leading him deeper into the forest, the man stopped and said to him solemnly: 'We have long known of your coming. It is told of you in the prophecy of Ezekiel. We have been expecting you. There are many of us here; rely upon us, for we shall not betray you ! ' It was a banished Dukhobor.

Obolensky had for a long time been tormented by his desire to have news of his own people through Princess Trubetskoy, who had come to Irkutsk. He had no means of getting a letter to her so he asked the schismatic for help. The man did not waste time thinking. 'At dusk to-morrow,' he said, 'I shall be at such and such a place. Bring the letter, and it shall be delivered . . . .'

Obolensky gave him the letter, and the same night the man set off for Irkutsk ; two days later the answer was in Obolensky's hands.

What would have happened if he had been caught?

'One's own people do not regard dangers . . . .'

The Dukhobor paid the people's debt for Radishchev.

And so in the forests and mines of Siberia, the Russia of Peter, of the landowner, of the public official, of the officer, and the 'black' Russia of the peasants and the village, both banished and fettered, both with an axe in the belt, both leaning on the spade and wiping the sweat from their faces, looked at each

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other for the first time and recognised the long-forgotten traits of kinship.

It is time that this should take place in the light of day, loudly, openly, everywhere.

It is time that the nobility, artificially raised above the common level in a reservoir of their own by German engineers, should mingle with the surrounding sea. We have become accustomed to seeing fountains, and Samson's column of water from the lion's jaws is no wonder to us beside the infinity of the surging sea.

The Peterhof fete is over, the Court masque in fancy dress is played out, the lamps are smoking and going out, the fountains have almost run dry-let us go home.

'All that is so, but . . . but . . . would it not be better to raise the people?' Perhaps; only one must know that to make them really bristle up there is one sure method-the method of the torture-chamber, the method of Peter I, of Biron, of Arakcheyev. That is why the Emperor Alexander accomplished nothing with his Karazins and Speranskys-but when he got to Arakcheyev that was where he stayed.

There are too many ordinary common people for it to be possible actually to raise them all to the Fourteenth Rank,5 and in 5 The Old Believers of the English schooL who are bound by their doctrine to maintain all the age-old gains of their historical life, even when these do not exist or when they are pernicious, do not agree with this.

They think that every sort of right, however wrongly acquired, must be kept, and others united to it. For instance, instead of depriving the nobles of the right to flog and beat the peasants. the peasants should be given the same right. In the old days they used to say that it would be a good thing to promote all the people into the Fourteenth Rank, • in order that they should not be flogged: would it not be better to promote them directly to be captains in the Guards or hereditary noblemen, seeing that heredity with us is reckoned in the opposite direction? ! Yet the Ukrainians in the seventeenth century did not reason like this when there was a plan to ennoble them-a plan suggested not by bookish scholars but by the brilliant, magnificent, exuberant nobility of the Free Kingdom of Poland and Lithuania. They thought it better to go on being Cossacks.

There is something like that Cossack principle in organic development generally (which our doctrinaires are very fond of taking as an example ) . One side of an organism can under certain circumstances develop especially, and get the upper hand. always to the detriment of the rest.

In itself this organ may be well developed, but in the organism it constitutes a deformity, which one cannot get rid of in the organism by artificially developing the remaining parts to the point of grotesqueness.

• The Fourteenth was the iowest rank in the Table of Ranks. ( Tr.) I In Russia a 'hereditary nobleman' was not one who had inherited his rank but one whose heirs would inherit it. ( Tr.)

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general, every people has a strongly defined physiological character which even foreign conquests rarely alter. So long as we take the people for clay and ourselves for sculptors, and from our sublime height mould it into a statue a !'antique, in the French style, in the English manner, or on a German last, we shall encounter nothing in the people except stubborn indifference or offensively passive obedience.

The pedagogic method of our civilising reformers is a bad one.

It starts from the fundamental principle that we know everything and the people know nothing: as though we had taught the peasant his right to the land, his communal ownership, his system, the artel6 and the mir.7

It goes without saying that we can teach the people a great deal, but there is a great deal that ,..,.e have to learn from them and to study among them. We have theories, adopted by us and representing the worked-up discoveries of European culture. To determine which suits our national way of living, it is not enough to translate word for word; a lexicon is not enough. One must do with it in the first place what theoretical authorities are trying to do in the West with the way of living of the European peoples-introduce it into their consciousness.

The people cling obstinately to their way of living-for they believe in it; but we, too, cling obstinately to our theories and we believe in them and, what is more, we think that we know them, that the reality is so. Passing on after a fashion in conventional language what we have learnt out of books, we see with despair that the people do not understand us, and we complain of the stupidity of the people, just as a schoolboy blushes for his poor relations, because they do not know where to put 'i' and This reminds me of a remarkable case from the religio-surgical practice of Prince Hohenlohe, who was one of the last mortals endowed with miraculous powers. This was in that blessed epoch in our century when everything feudal and clerical was rising again with power and incense on the ruins of the French Revolution. The Prince was summoned to a patient, one of whose legs was too short ; his relations had not realised that properly speaking the other leg was too long. The miracle-working Prince betook himself to his prayers . . . the leg grew longer, but the Prince was not sufficiently careful and prayed very immoderately: the short leg got overgrown-vexatious. He began praying for the other and then that outgrew the former: back to the former . . . and it ended in the Prince's leaving his patient still with legs of unequal lengths and both of them as long as live stilts.

6 An association, for a longer or shorte1 time, of a group of men for communal work. (R.) 7 The village community in

ry times. (R.)

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where 'y,' but never considers why there should be two different letters for one sound.

Genuinely desirous of the good of the people, we seek remedies for their ailments in foreign pharmacopoeias; there the herbs are foreign, but it is easier to look for them in a book than in the fields. We easily and consistently become liberals, constitutionalists, democrats, Jacobins, but not members of the Russian people.

All these political nuances one can acquire from books: all this is understood, explained, written, printed, bound . . . . But here one must go wholly by oneself . . . . The life of Russia is l ike the forest in which Dante lost his way, and the wild beasts that are in it are even worse than the Florentine ones, but there is no Vergil to show the way; there were some Moscow Susanins,8 but even those led one to the cemetery shrine instead of to the peasants' cottage. . . .

'Without knowing the people we may oppress the people, we may enslave them, we may conquer them, but we cannot set them free.

Without the help of the people they will be liberated neither by the Tsar with his clerks, nor by the nobility with the Tsar nor by the nobility without the Tsar.

What is now happening in Russia ought to open the eyes of the blind. The people endured the frightful burden of serfdom without ever admitting the legality of it; seeing the force opposed to them they remained silent. But as soon as others wished to set them free in their O\vn way, they passed from murmuring, from passive resistance, almost to open revolt. And y et they are obviously better off now. What new signs do the reformers expect?

Only the man who, when summoned to action, understands the life of the people, \vhile not losing what science has given him; only the man who voices its aspirations, and founds on the realisation of them his participation in the common cause of the people of the soil, will be the bridegroom that is to come.

This lesson is repeated to us alike by the mournful figure of Alexander with his crown; by Radishche\·9 with his glass of R Ivan Susanin. a peasant .. saYed the elected Tsilr Mikhail Romanov from the Poles. who sought to assassinilte him. Susilnin undertook to lead them to the monastPry in which the Tsa r was conCPilled, but led them instead into the forPst, where they killed him but were themseh·es frozen to death. It is the subject of Glinka's opPra, A Lifl' for thl' Tsar. ( Tr.) H f.e., his Journl')' from St. Petasburg to !lfoscow, cited by Herzen above, which slipped pilst the cPnsors in 1 790 and so Pnrag!'d CathPrine the Great that she condemned him to death, later relenting to ten years'

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poison; by Karazin10 darting through the Winter Palace like a burning meteor; by Speransky11 who shone for years together with a glimmer like moonshine, with no warmth, no colour; and by our holy martyrs of the Fourteenth of December.12

Who will be the destined man?

Will it be an emperor who, renouncing the Petrine tradition, combines in himself Tsar and Stenka Razin? Will it be a new Pestel?13 Or another Yemelyan Pugachev, Cossack, Tsar and schismatic? Or will it be a prophet and a peasant, like Antony Bezdninsky?

It is hard to tell: these are des details, as the French say.

Whoever it may be, it is our task to go to meet him with bread and salt!

-from The Emperor Alexander I and V. N. Karazin ( 1 862) I I I

NEXT To THE coMMUNISM of the peasants nothing is more characteristic of Russia, nothing is such an earnest of her future, as her literary movement.

Between the peasantry and literature there looms the monster of official Russia, of 'Russia the lie,' or 'Russia the cholera,' as you call her. This Russia extends from the Emperor and passes from soldier to soldier, from petty clerk to petty clerk, down to the smallest assistant to a commissary of police in the remotest corner of the Empire. So it unfolds and so, at every step of the ladder, as in Dante's Malebolge, it gains a new power for evil, a new degree of corruption and tyranny. This living pyramid of crimes, abuses and extortions, of the batons of policemen, of heartless German administrators everlastingly famished, igno-exile in Siberia. It was the first important liberal-humanitarian protest in Russian history. (D.M.)

10 A social reformer encouraged by Alexander I when he was young and idealistic. "In my early youth I saw Karazin two or three times,"

Herzen writes. "I remember my father used to tell of his letter to Alexander I, of his close associa tion with the Tsar, and of his rapid fall."

( D.M.)

11 On Speransky, see p. 1 86, fn. 1 . ( D.M. ) 12 The small group of liberal army officers whose unsuccessful conspiracy to prevent Nicholas I from succeeding to the throne he punished by execution or banishment to Siberia. (D.M.) t 3 One of the five "Decembrists" executed oy Nicholas I in 1 826. (D.M. )

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rant judges everlastingly drunk and aristocrats eYerlastingly servile ; all this is soldered together by complicity, by the sharing of the plunder and gain, and supported at its base on six hundred thousand animated machines with bayonets. The peasant is never defiled by contact with this world of governing cynicism; he endures it-that is the only way in which he is an accessory.

The camp opposed to official Russia consists of a handful of men who are ready to face anything, who protest against it, fight it, expose and undermine it. From time to time these i solated champions are thrown into dungeons, tortured, relegated to Siberia, but their place does not long remain empty, for fresh combatants come forward; it is our tradition, the inheritance entailed upon us.

The terrible consequences of human speech in Russia necessarily give it added power. The voice of a free man is welcomed with sympathy and reverence, because with us to lift it up one absolutely must have something to say. One does not so lightly decide to publish one's thoughts when at the end of every page one sees looming a gendarme, a troika, a kibitka and, in prospect, Tobolsk or Irkutsk.

The Russian people do not read. You know, Monsieur,14 that it

\vas not the country-folk, either, who read the Voltaires and Diderots: it was the nobility and part of the Third Estate. In Russia the enlightened part of the Third Estate belongs to the nobility and gentry, which consists of all that has ceased to be the peasantry. There is even a proletariat of the nobility which partly merges into the peasantry, and another, an emancipated proletariat, mounts on high and is ennobled. This fluctuation, this continual exchange, stamps the Russian nobility with a character which you will not find in the privileged classes in the rest of Europe. In a word the whole history of Russia, since the time of Peter I, is only the history of the nobility and gentry and of the influence on them of European civilisation. I shall add here that the Russian nobility and gentry equal in numbers at least half the electorate of France established by the law of 3 1 st May, 1 850.

During the eighteenth century the nco-Russian literature contimwd to ela borate the rich, sonorous, magnificent language that we write to-day: a supple, powerful language capable of 14 Herzen characteristically wrote this major essay, The Russian People and Socialism, as a letter to the French historian J ules Michelet. (D.M.)

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expressing the most abstract ideas of German metaphysics and the light sparkling wit of French conversation. This literature, which flowered under the inspiration of the genius of Peter I, bore, it is true, the impress of the government-but in those days

'government' meant reform, almost revolution.

Till the moment of the great Revolution of 1 789 the Imperial throne complacently draped itself in the finest vestments of European civilisation and philosophy. Catherine II deserved to be shown cardboard villages and palaces of boards freshly distempered; no one knew better than she did the art of stageeffect.15 In the Hermitage there was continual talk about Voltaire, Montesquieu and Beccaria. You, Monsieur, know the medal's reverse.

Yet the triumphal concert of the Pindaric apologiae of the Court began to be disturbed by a strange, unexpected note. This was a sound vibrant with irony and sarcasm, with a strong tendency towards criticism and scepticism, and this sound, I say, was the only one susceptible of vitality, of external development.

The rest, the temporary and exotic, had necessarily to perish.

The true character of Russian thought, poetical or speculative, develops in its full force after the accession of Nicholas to the throne. Its distinguishing feature is a tragic emancipation of conscience, an implacable negation, a bitter irony, a painful selfanalysis. Sometimes this all breaks into insane laughter, but there is no gaiety in that laughter.

Cast into oppressive surroundings and endowed with great sagacity and a fatal logic, the Russian frees himself abruptly from the religion and morals of his fathers. The emancipated Russian is the most independent man in Europe. What could stop him? Respect for his past? . . . But what serves as a starting point of the modern history of Russia if not an absolute denial of nationalism and tradition?

Could it be that other 'past indefinite,' the Petersburg period perhaps? That tradition lays no obligation on us; on the contrary, that 'fifth act of the bloody drama staged in a brothel'1 5

sets us free, but it imposes on us no belief.

On the other hand, the past of you Western European peoples serves us as a lesson and nothing more; we do not regard ourselves as the executors of your historic testament.

Your doubts we accept, but your faith does not rouse us. For us I a Herzen refers to the "Potemkin Villages" her minister and lover.

Count Potemkin, rigged up to impress her with the prosperity of her subjects. This hoax, by now proverbial, nas kept the count's memory green-with an assist from Eisenstein's movie. (D.M.)

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you are too religious. We share your hatreds, but we do not understand your devotion to what your forefathers have bequeathed to you: we are too downtrodden, too wretched, to be satisfied with a half-freedom. You are restrained by scruples, and held back by reservations. VVe have neither reservations nor scruples; all �ve lack at the moment is strength . . . .

It is from this, Monsieur, that we get the irony, the fury which exasperates us, which preys upon us, which drives us forward, \vhich sometimes brings us to Siberia, torture, banishment, premature death. vVe sacrifice ourselves with TID hope, from distaste, from tedium. . . . There is indeed something irrational in our life, but there is nothing vulgar, nothing stagnant, nothing bourgeois.

Do not accuse us of immorality because we do not respect what you respect. Since when has it been possible to reproach foundlings for not venerating their parents? We are independent because \Ve are beginning from our own efforts. We have no tradition but our structure, our national character; they are inherent in our being, they are our blood, our instinct, but by no means a binding authority. We are independent because we possess nothing. ·we have hardly anything to love. All our memories are fill£'d with bitterness and resentment. Civilisation and learning were held out to us at the end of a knout.

\Vhat have \Ve to do with your traditional duties, we younger brothers robbed of our heritage? And how could we honestly accept your faded morality, unchristian and inhuman, existing only in rhetorical exercises and indictments of the prosecution?

What respect can be inspired in us by your Roman-barbaric system of law, those heavy, crushing vaults, without light or air, repaired in the Middle Ages and whitewashed by the newly enfranchised Third Estate? I admit that the tricks of the Russian lawcourts are even worse, but who could prove to us that your system is just?

We see clearly that the distinction between your lav\"S and our ukazr lies principally in the formula with which they begin.

Ukazy begin with a crushing truth: 'The Tsar commands' ; your laws are headed with the insulting lie of the threefold republican motto and the ironical invocation of the name of the French people. The code of Nicholas is directed exclusively against men and in favour of authority. The Code Napoleon docs not seem to us to have any other quality. "\\'e are dragging about too many chains that violence has fastened on us to increase the weight of them with others of our choice. In this respect we stand precisely on a level with our peasants. We submit to brute force. We are

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slaves because we have no means of freeing ourselves; from the enemy camp, none the less, ""e accept nothing.

Russia will never be Protestant. Russia will never be justemilieu.

Russia will not make a revolution with the sole object of getting rid of the Tsar Nicholas and gaining, as the prize of victory, other Tsars: parliamentary representatives, judges, police officials and laws. We are asking for too much, perhaps, and shall achieve nothing. That may be so, but yet we do not despair; before the year 1 848 Russia could not, and should not, have entered the phase of revolution ; she had only her education to get, and she is getting it at this moment. The Tsar himself perceives it, so he bludgeons the universities, ideas, the sciences; he is striving to isolate Russia from Europe, to kill culture. He is practising his vocation.

Will he succeed? As I have said else,vhere, we must not have blind faith in the future; every foetus has its claim to development, but for all that not every foetus does develop. The future of Russia does not depend on her alone but is bound up with the future of the whole of Europe. Who can foretell what the fate of the Slav world will be when reaction and absolutism shall have vanquished the revolution in Europe?

Perhaps it will perish: who knows?

But in that case Europe too will perish.

And history will continue in America. Is

-from The Russian People and Socialism ( 1851 ) I V

THERE WAS A TIME when you defended the ideas of Western Europe, and you did well; the only pity is that it was entirely 16 This famous "letter" to Michelet is seYerely critical of the French historian's judgments about Russia but is also infused with a deep respect for Michelet's work and thought in general, a respect which wa5

reciprocated. In his Democratic Legends of the North, Michelet. the target of Herzen's polemic, pays an extra,·agant tribute to his adversary:

"The author [of The Russian People and Socialism] writes our language with heroic vigor. [Herzen seems to haw addressed Michele! in French, a language he was as much at home in, like many nineteenth-century aristocrats, as in his own.] Methought I saw one of the ancient heroes of the north tracing with a merciless rod of iron the sentence on this miserable world . . . . Alas! It is not the condemnation of Russia only; it is that of France and Europe also. "Ne flee from Russia,' he says,

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unnecessaryY The ideas of Western Europe, that is, scientific ideas, have long been recognised by all as the entailed estate of humanity. Science is entirely free of meridian and equator; it is like Goethe's Diwan-westostlich.

Now you want to maintain that the actual forms of Western European life are also the heritage of mankind, and you believe that the manner of life of the European upper classes, as evolved in the historic past, is alone in harmony with the aesthetic needs of human development, that i t alone furnishes the conditions essential for intellectual and artistic life; that in Western Europe art was born and grew up, and to Western Europe it belongs; and finally, that there is no other art at all. Let us pause first at this point.

Pray do not think that I shall from the point of view of civic austerity and ascetic demagogy object to the place which you give to art in life. I am in agreement with you on that point.

Art-c'est autant de prix; together with the summer lightning of personal happiness, it is our one undoubted blessing. In everything else we are either toiling or drawing water in a sieve for humanity, for our country, for fame, for our children, for money, and at the same time for trying to solve an endless problem. In art we find enjoyment, in it the goal is attained; it, too, is an

'End' in itself.

And so, giving to Diana of Ephesus what is due to Diana, I shall ask you of what exactly you are speaking, of the present or the past? Of the fact that art has developed in Western Europe, that Dante and Michelangelo, Shakespeare and Rembrandt, Mozart and Goethe, were by birth and opinion 'VVesterners'? But no one disputes this. Or do you mean that a long historical life has prepared both a better stage for art and a finer framework for it, that museums are more sumptuous in Europe than anywhere else, galleries and schools richer, students more numerous, teachers more gifted, theatres better appointed and so on? And that, too, is true ; or nearly so, for ever since the great opera has returned to its primitive state of performers strolling from town to town, only grand opera is iiberall und nirgends. In the whole

'but Russia is everywhere-Europe is one great prison.' So long, however, as Europe ;assesses such men as the author, everything may be hoped." (D.M. )

17 "You" is the novelist Turgenev, an old friend of Herzen's (D.M.) Turgenev carne to England in May 1 862, and the discussions which took place between the two friends were continued by Herzen in Ends and Beginnings. (A.S.)

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of America there is no such Campo Santo as in Pisa, but still the Campo Santo is a grave-yard. It is quite natural, indeed, that where there have been most corals there should be most coralreefs, too . . . . But in all this where is the new living, creative art, where is the artistic element in life itself? To be continually calling up the dead, to be repeating Beethoven, to be playing Phedre and Athalie, is all very well, but it says nothing for creativeness. In the dullest periods of Byzantium Homer was read and Sophocles recited at literary evenings; in Rome the statues of Pheidias were preserved, and the best sculpture collected on the eve of the Genserics and the Alarics. ·where is the new art, where is the artistic initiative? Is it to be found in Wagner's 'music of the future' ?

Art i s not fastidious; it can depict anything, setting upon everything the indelible imprint of the gift of the spirit of beauty, and disinterestedly raising to the level of the madonnas and demigods every casual incident of life, every sound and every form, the slumbering pool under the tree, the fluttering b ird, the horse at the drinking-trough, the sunburnt beggar-boy.

From the savage, menacing phantasy of Hell and the Day of Judgment to the Flemish tavern with its peasant with his back turned, all lie within the domain of art. . . . But even art has its limit. There is a stumbling-block which neither the violinist's bow nor the painter's brush nor the sculptor's chisel can deal with; art to conceal its impotence mocks at it and turns it into caricature. That stumbling-block is petit bourgeois vulgarity.

The artist who excellently portrays a man completely naked, covered with rags, or so completely dressed that nothing is to be seen but armour or a monk's cassock, is reduced to despair before the bourgeois in a swallow-tail coat. Hence the extravagance of casting a Roman toga upon Robert Peel; hence a banker is stripped of his coat and his cravat, and his shirt is pulled straight, so that if he could see his bust after death he would be covered with blushes before his own wife . . . . Robert Macaire and Prudhomme arc great caricatures. Sometimes great caricatures arc works of genius; in Dickens they are tragically true to life, but still they are caricatures. Beyond Hogarth this genre cannot go. The Van Dyck and Rembrandt of petite bourgeoisie are Punch and Charivari, they are its portrait gallery and scaffold ; they are the family records and the pillory.

The fact is that the whole petit bourgeois character, both in its good and bad qualities, is opposed to art and cramping to it; art withers in it like a green leaf in chlorine, and only the passions

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inherent in all humanity can at times, by breaking into bourgeois life or, even better, breaking out of its decorum, raise it to artistic significance.

Decorum, that is the real word. The petit bourgeois has two talents, and he has the same ones, Moderation and Punctuality.

The life of the middle class is full of small defects and small virtues; it is self-restrained, often niggardly, anc! shuns what is extreme and what is superfluous. The garden is transformed into a kitchen garden; the thatched cottage into a little country-town house with an escutcheon painted on the shutters; but every day they drink tea and every day they eat meat in it. It is an immense step forward, but not at all artistic. Art is more at home with poverty and luxury than with crude prosperity or with comfort when it is an end in itself; if it comes to that, it is more at home with the harlot selling herself than with the respectable woman selling at three times the cost the work of the starving seamstress. Art is not at ease in the stiff, over-neat, thrifty house of the petit bourgeois, and his house is bound to be such; art feels instinctively that in that life it is reduced to the level of external decoration such as wall-paper and furniture, to the level of a hurdy-gurdy; if the hurdy-gurdy man is a nuisance he is kicked out, if they want to listen they give him a halfpenny and that's that . . . . Art which is pre-eminently elegance of proportion cannot endure the yard-measure ; a life self-satisfied with its narrow mediocrity is stigmatised in the eyes of art by the worst of blots-vulgarity.

But that does not in the least prevent the whole cultured world from passing into petite bourgeoisie, and the vanguard has arrived there already. Petite bourgeoisie is the ideal to which Europe is striving, and rising from every point on the ground. It is the 'chicken in the cabbage soup,' about which Henri Quatre dreamt. A little house with little windows looking into the street, a school for the son, a dress for the daughter, a servant for the hard work-all that ma kes up indeed a haven of refuge

Havre de Crace! The man driven off the soil which he had tilled for agPs for his mastPr; the descendant of the villager broken in thP struf?;glP, doomed to everlasting toil and hunger, the homeless day-labourPr, the journey-man, born a beggar and dying a bPggar-can only \vipe the swPat from his brow and look without horror at his children by becoming a property owner, a mastPr, bourgeois; his son will not lw ham!Pd over to life-long bondage for his bread, his daughtPr· will not be condemnPd to thP

factory or thP brothPl. I low should hP not strive to be bourgeois?

The bright image of the shopkeeper-the knight and the priest

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for the middle classes-hovers as the ideal before the eyes of the casual labourer, until his tired, horny hands drop on his sunken chest, and he looks at life with that Irish peace of despair which precludes every vision, every expectation, except the vision of a whole bottle of whisky next Sunday.

Bourgeoisie, the last word of civilisation, founded on the ab�olute despotism of property, is the 'democratisation' of aristocracy, the 'aristocratisation' of democracy. In this environment Almaviva is the equal of Figaro--from below everything is straining up into bourgeoisie, from above everything is sinking down into it through the impossibility of maintaining itself. The American States present the spectacle of one class-the middle class-with nothing below it and nothing above it, the petit bourgeois manners and morals have remained. The German peasant is the petit bourgeois of agriculture ; the working man of every country is the petit bourgeois of the future. Italy, the most poetical land in Europe, was not able to hold out, but at once forsook her fanatical lover, Mazzini, and betrayed her husband, the Hercules Garibaldi, as soon as Cavour, the petit bourgeois of genius, the little fat man in spectacles, offered to keep her as his mistress.

With the coming of bourgeoisie, individual characters are effaced, but these effaced persons are better fed ; clothes are made by the dozen, not to measure or to order, but there are more people who \"iear them. With the coming of bourgeoisie, the beauty of the race is effaced, but i ts prosperity increases; the classic-looking beggar from Trastevere is used for manual labour by the bald shopkeeper of the Via del Corso. The crowds of holiday-makers in the Champs-Elysees or Kensington Gardens, or the audiences in churches or theatres, depress one with their vulgar faces, their dull expressions; but the holiday-makers in the Champs-Elysees are not concerned at that, they do not notice it. But what is very important to them and very striking is that their fathers and elder brothers were not in a position to go holiday-making or to the theatre, and they are: that their elders sometimes sat as coachmen on the box of carriages while they drive about in cabs, and very often too.

It is in the name of this that bourgeoisie is triumphing and is bound to triumph. One cannot say to a hungry man, 'You look better when you are hungry; don't look for food.' The sway of bourgeoisie is the answer to emancipation without land, to the freeing of men from bondage \"ihile the soil is left in bondage to a few of the elect. The crowds that have earned their halfpence have come to the top and are enjoying themselves in their own

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way and possessing the world. They have no need of strongly marked characters or original minds. Science cannot help stumbling upon the discoveries that lie closest at hand. Photography-that barrel-organ version of painting-replaces the artist; if a creative artist does appear he is welcome, but there is no crying need of him. Beauty and talent are altogether out of the normal ; they are the exceptions, the luxury of Nature, its highest limit or the result of great effort, of whole generations.

The voice of Mario,18 the points of the winner of the Derby, are rarities, but a good lodging and a dinner are indispensable.

There is a great deal that is bourgeois in Nature herself, one may say ; she very often stops short in the middle, half-way, and evidently has not the spirit to go farther. Who has told you that Europe will have it?

Europe has been through a bad quarter of an hour. The bourgeois were all but losing the frui ts of a long life-time, of prolonged efforts, of hard work. An undefined but frightening protest has arisen in the conscience of humanity. The petits bourgeois have remembered their wars for their rights, their heroic age and biblical traditions. Abel, Remus, Thomas Munster have been subdued once more, and long will the grass grow upon their tombs as a warning how the autocratic bourgeoisie punishes its enemies. Since then all has returned to its normal routine, which seems durable and based on reason and strong and growing, but has no artistic sense, no aesthetic chord: it does not even seek to have them, for it is too practical ; it agrees with Catherine II that it is not becoming for a serious man to play the piano well; the Empress, too, regarded men from a practical point of vie\v. The gardens are too heavily manured for flowers to grow; flowers are too unprofitable for the petit bourgeois'

garden; if he does sometimes grow them, it is for sale.

In the spring of 1 8:30 I was looking for lodgings in Paris. By that time I had got used to so much from living in Europe that I had grown to hate the crowding and crush of civilisation, which at first we Russians like very much. I already looked with horror mixed with disgust at the continually moving, swarming crowd, foreseeing how it would take up half the room that was my due at the theatre and in the diligence, how it would dash like a wild beast into the railway carriages, how it would heat and saturate tlw air-and for that reason I was looking for a flat, not I� Mario, Giuseppe, Marchese di Candia ( 1 8 1 0-83 ) , an Italian tenor.

( A .S. )

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in a crowded place, and to some extent free from the snug vulgarity and deadly sameness of the lodgings a trois chambres a coucher de maitre.19

Someone suggested to me the lodge of a big, old house on the farther side of the Seine in the Faubourg St Germain, or close by. I went there. The old wife of the concierge took the keys and led me by way of the yard. The house and the lodge stood behind a fence; within the courtyard behind the house there were green trees. The lodge was untidy and neglected; probably no one had been living there for many years. The somewhat old-fashioned furniture was of the period of the First Empire, with Roman straight lines and blackened gilt. The lodge was by no means large or sumptuous, but the furniture and the arrangement of the rooms all pointed to a different idea of the conveniences of life. Near the little drawing-room, to one side, next the bedroom, was a tiny study with cupboards for books and a big writingtable. I walked about the rooms, and it seemed to me that after long wanderings I had come again upon a dwelling for a man, un chez soi, not a hotel room nor a human stall.

This remark may be applied to everything-the theatre, holiday-making, inns, books, pictures, clothes: everything has gone down in quality and gone up fearfully in numbers. The crowd of which I was speaking is the best proof of success, of strength, of growth; it is bursting through all the dams, flooding and overflowing everything; it is content with anything, and can never have enough. London is crowded, Paris is cramped. A hundred railway carriages coupled on are insufficient; there are forty theatres and not a seat free; a play has to be running for three months for the London public to be able to see it.

'Why are your cigars so bad?' I asked one of the leading London tobacconists. 2o

'It is hard to get them, and, indeed, it is not worth taking trouble ; there are few connoisseurs and still fewer well-to-do ones.'

'Not worth-while? You charge eightpence each for them.'

That hardly brings us out even. While you and a dozen like 19 A very intelligent man. Count Oskar Reichenbach, said to me once, speaking of the better-class houses in London: Tell me the rent and the storey, and I will undertake to go on a dark night without a candle and fetch a clock, a vase, a decanter . . . whatever you like of the things that are invariably standing in every middle-class dwelling.'

20 Carreras.

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you will buy them, is there much profit in that? In one day I sell more t\vopenny and threepenny cigars than I do of these in a year. I am not going to order any more of them.'

Here was a man who had grasped the spirit of the age. All trade, especially in England, is based now on quantity and cheapness, and not at all on quality, as old-fashioned Russians imagine when they reverently buy Tula penknives with an English trademark on them. Everything receives v1.·holesale, herdlike, rank and file consideration ; everything is withiQ the reach of almost everyone, but does not allow of aesthetic finish or personal taste. Everywhere the hundred-thousand-headed hydra waits expectantly close at hand round a corner, ready to listen to everything, to look at everything indiscriminately, to be dressed in anything, to gorge itself on anything-this is the autocratic crowd of 'conglomerated mediocrity' (to use Stuart Mill's expression) which purchases everything, and therefore owns everything. The crowd is without ignorance, but also without education. To please it art shouts, gesticulates, lies and exaggerates, or in despair turns away from human beings and paints dramatic scenes of animals and portraits of cattle, like Landseer and Rosa Bonheur.

Have you seen in the last fifteen years in Europe an actor, a single actor, who is not a mountebank, a buffoon of sentimentality, or a buffoon of burlesque? Name him!

Many blessings may have been ordained by fate for the epoch of \vhich the last expression is to be found in the notes of Verdi, but the artistic vocation was certainly not among them. Its own creation-the cafe chantant-an amphibious product, half-way between the beer-cellar and the boulevard theatre, fits it perfectly. I have nothing against cafes chantants, but I cannot give them serious artistic significance; they satisfy the 'average customer,' as the English say, the average consumer, the average bidder, the hundred-headed hydra of the middle class, and there is nothing more to be said.

The \vay out of this situation is still far in the distance.

Behind the multitude now ruling stands an even greater multitude of candidates for it, to whom the manners, ideas and habits of life of the middle class appeal as the one goal to strive for.

There are enough to fill their places ten times over. A world without land, a world dominated by town life, with the right of property carried to the extreme, has no other way of salvation, and it will all pass through petite bourgeoisie, which in our

!'yes is inferior, but in the eyes of the agricultural population and the proletariat stands for culture and progress. Those who

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are in advance live in tiny cliques like secular monasteries, taking no interest in what is being done by the world outside their walls.

The same thing has happened before, but on a smaller scale and less consciously; moreover, in the past there were ideals and beliefs, words which set beating both the simple heart of the poor citizen and the heart of the haughty knight; they had holy things in common, to which all men bowed down as before the blessed sacrament. Where is there a hymn which could be sung nowadays with faith and enthusiasm in every storey of the house from the cellar to the garret? Where is our 'Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott' or our 'Marseillaise'?

When Ivanov was in London he used to say with despair that he was looking for a new religious type, and could find it nowhere in the world about him. A pure artist, fearing to lie with his brush as if it had been perjury, penetrating rather by imagination than by analysis, he required us to show him where were the picturesque features in which a new Redemption would shine forth. We did not show them to him. 'Perhaps Mazzini will,' he thought.

Mazzini would have pointed out to him 'the unity of Italy,' or perhaps Garibaldi in 1 861, as the forerunner, the last of the great men.

Ivanov died still knocking; the door was not opened to him.

Isle of Wight, 1 0th June, 1 862

-from Letter 1 of Ends and Beginnings: Letters to I. S. Turgenev ( 1862-3 )

LAST SUMMER a friend, a Saratov landowner, and a great Fourierist, came to see me in Devonshire.

Please don't be angry with me (it was not the landowner who 21 This fourth "letter" to Turl!:enev is here uncut, as is the following eighth letter, both examples of the remarkable political prose Herzen was writing toward the end of his life. I know little else comparable in its unusual combination of an easy, spontaneous, flexibly varied style with original insights drawn from a lifetime of experience as an activist in radical politics-and. more important, one who reflected on his actions . . . . Also I couldn't bear to cut them, wildly digressive as they are-indeed, for that very reason, since even more than in the rest of the memoirs, which is saying a lot, the detours are obviously the main road. (D.M.)

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said this to me, but I who say it to you) for so continually

\vandering from the point. Parentheses are my joy and my m:sfortune. A French literary man of the days of the Restoration, a classic and a purist, more than once said to me, taking a pinch of snuff in the prolonged Academy fashion which will soon have passed away altogether: 'Notre ami abuse de la parenthese avec intemperance!' It is for the sake of digressions and parentheses that I prefer writing in the form of letters, that is, letters to friends; one can then write without embarrassment whatever comes into one's head.

Well, so my Saratov Fourierist is in Devonshire and says to me: 'Do you know what is odd? I have just been in Paris for the first time. Well--of course . . . there's no denying . . . but, if you look a bit deeper, Paris is a dull place--really dull !'

'What next!' I said to him.

'Upon my soul, it is.'

'But why did you think it was gay there?'

'Upon my word, after the wilds of Saratov! '

'Perhaps it i s just because of that. But really, weren't you bored in Paris just because it's so excessively gay there?'

'You are playing the fool, just as you always did.'

'Not at all. London, that always looks like September, is more to our taste; though the boredom here, too, is frightful.'

'VVhere is it better, then? It seems the old proverb is right: It is where we are not!'

'I don't know ; but it must be supposed that it is not very nice there either.'

This conversation, though apparently it was not very long nor particularly important, stirred in me a whole series of old notions concerning the fact that the brain of modern man is short of a sort of fish-glue; that is why his mind does not settle, and is thick with sediment-new theories, old practice, new practice, old theories.

And what logic was that? I say it is dull in Paris and London, and he answers, 'Where is it better, then?' not noticing that this was the line of argument employed by our house-serfs of the old style: in reply to the remark, 'I fancy you are drunk, my lad,'

they usually answered, 'Well, did you stand treat?'

What grounds are there for the idea that men are happy anywhere? That they can or ought to be happy? And what men?

And happy in what? Let us assume that men do have a better life in one place than another. Why are Paris and London the upper limits of this better life?

Is it so according to Reichardt's guide-book?

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Paris and London are closing a volume of world history-a volume in which few pages remain uncut. People, trying with all their might to turn them as quickly as possible, are surprised that as they approach the end there is more in the past than in the present, and are vexed that the two most complete representatives of Western Europe are declining along with it. The audacity and recklessness in general conversations which float, as the Spirit of God before, over the waters, are terrific, but as soon as it comes to action, or even to a critical appreciation of events, all is forgotten and the old weights and measures are hauled out of grandmother's store-room. Decayed forms can only be restored by a complete rebirth: Western Europe must rise up like the Phoenix in a baptism of fire.

'Oh well, in God's name, into the flames with it.'

What if it does not rise up again, but singes its beautiful feathers, or perhaps is burnt to ashes?

In that case continue to baptise it with water, and do not be bored in Paris. Take my father, for example: he spent eight years in Paris and was never bored. Thirty years afterwards he loved to tell of the fetes given by the marechaux and by Napoleon himself, the suppers at the Palais Royal in company with actresses and opera dancers decked in diamonds that had bec>n plucked out of conquered royal crowns, of the Yusupovs, the Tyufyakins and other princes russes who staked there more souls of peasants than fell at Borodino. With various changes and un peu plus canaille the same thing exists even now. The generals of finance give banquets as good as those of the generals of the army. The suppers have moved from the Rue St Honore to the Champs

Elysees and the Bois de Boulogne. But you are a serious person; you prefer to look behind the scenes of world history rather than behind the scenes of the Opera. . . . Here you have a parliament, even two. What more do you want? . . . With what envy and heart-ache I used to listen to people who had come home from Europe in the 'thirties, as though they had robbed me of everything that they had seen and I had not. They, too, had not been bored, but had great hopes, some of Odilon Barrot, some of Cobden. You, too, must learn not to be bored ; and in any case be a little consistent; and if you still feel dull, try to find the cause.

You may find that your demands are trivial-then you must take treatment for this; it is the boredom of idleness, of emptiness, of not knowing how to find your real self. And perhaps you will find something else: that you are bored because Paris and London have no answer to make to the yearnings that are growing stronger and stronger in the heart and brain of the man

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of to-day-which does not in the least prevent their standing for the highest development and most brilliant result of the past, and being rich conclusions to a rich period.

I have said this a dozen times, but it is impossible to avoid repetitions. Persons of experience know this. I once spoke to Proudhon of the fact that there often appeared in his journal articles which were almost identical, with only slight variations.

'And do you imagine,' Proudhon answered, 'that once a thing has been said, it is enough? That a new idea will be accepted straight off? You are mistaken. It has to be dinned into people, it has to be repeated, repeated over and over again, in order that the mind may no longer be surprised by it, that it may be not merely understood, but assimilated, and obtain real rights of citizenship in the brain.'

Proudhon was perfectly right. There are two or three ideas which are particularly dear to me ; I have been repeating them for a bout fifteen years; fact upon fact confirms them with unnecessary abundance. Part of what I expected has come to pass and the other part is coming to pass before our eyes; yet these ideas arc as outrageous and unaccepted as they were before.

And, what is most mortifying, people seem to understand you; they agree, but your ideas remain like aliens in their heads, ahvays irrelevant, never passing into that spontaneous part of consciousness and the moral bPing which as a rule lies at the undisputed foundation of our acts and opinions.

It is owing to this duality that people who apparently are highly developed are constantly startled by the unexpected, are caught unawares, rebel against the inevitable, struggle with the irresistible, pass by what is springing into life, and apply all sorts of allopathies and homeopathies to those who arc at their last gasp. They know that their watch was properly set but, like the late 'unlamented' Kleinmikhel,22 cannot grasp that the meridian is not the same.

Pedantry and scholasticism prevent men from grasping things with simple, lively understanding more than do superstition and ignorance. \\'ith the latter the instincts are left, hardly realised, but trustworthy; moreover, ignorance does not exclude passionate Pnthusiasm. nor do!'s supPrstition <•xcludt• inconsistency.

But pPdantrv is alwavs trut' to itsPlf.

At the time of tlw Italian war a decent, worthy professor

�2 K l <>inmikhPI. Count Pi'tr Andr<>ve\"ich ( 1 i93- 1 8fi9 ) . S!'nator a nd membPr of the Council of Still<'. His ci ismissal i n Ortob .. ,· 1 8-1-1 \\'aS n•cein�J

with great sa tisfaction in broad circles of thP Russian public. ( A .S. )

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lectured on the great triumphs of 'international law,' describing how the principles once sketched big by Hugo Grotius had developed and entered into the consciousness of nations and governments, how questions which had in old times been decided by rivers of blood and the miseries of entire provinces, of whole generations, were now settled, like civil disputes between private persons, on the principles of national conscience.

Who, apart from some old professional condottieri, would not agree with the professor that this is one of the greatest victories of humanity and culture over brute violence? The trouble is Iiot that the lecturer's judgment is wrong, but that humanity is very far from having gained this victory.

While the professor in eloquent words was inspiring his young audience to these W eltanschauungen, very different commentaries on international law were taking place on the fields of Magenta and Solferino. It would have been all the harder for any Amphictyonic Councils to avert the Italian war because there was no international cause for it-since there was no subject in d ispute. Napoleon waged this war as a remedial measure to calm down the French by the gymnastics of liberation and the shocks of victory. What Grotius or Vattel23 could have solved such a problem? How was it possible to avert a war which was essential for domestic interests? If it had not been Austria the French would have had to beat somebody else. One can only rejoice that it was just Austrians who incurred it.

Then, India, Pekin-war waged by democrats to maintain the slavery of the blacks, war waged by republicans to obtain the slavery of political unity. And the professor goes on lecturing; his audience are touched; they fancy that they have heard the last creak of the church gates in the cathedral of Janus, that the warriors have laid down their weapons, put •on crowns of myrtle and taken up the distaff, that the armies are demobilised and are tilling the fields . . . . And all this at the very time when England was covered with volunteers, when at every step you met a uniform, when every shopkeeper had a fire-arm, when the French and Austrian armies stood with lighted matches, and even a prince-1 think it was of Hesse Cassel-placed on a military footing and armed with revolvers the two hussars who had from the time of the Congress of Vienna ridden peacefully and unarmed behind his carriage.

If war blazed up again-and that depends on a thousand 23 Vattel, Emmerich de ( 1 71 4-67), a Swiss writer, author of Traite du Droit des Gens. (Tr.)

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accidents, on one well-timed shot-in Rome or on the frontier of Lombardy, it would spill over in a sea of blood from Warsaw to London. The professor would be surprised; the professor would be pained. But one would have thought he should not be surprised nor pained. The trend of history is not a hole and corner business! The misfortune of the doctrinaires is that they shut their eyes when arguing so that they may not see their opponent is I\'ature itself, history itself.

To complete the absurdity we ought not to lose sight of the fact that in abstract logic the professor is right, and that if not a hundred but a hundred million men had grasped the principles of Grotius and Vattel, they would not slaughter each other either for the sake of exercise or for the sake of a bit of land. But the misfortune is that unc}pr the present political regime only a hundred and not a hundred million men can understand the principles of Grotius and Vattel.

That is why neither lectures nor sermons have any effect; that is why neither the learned fathers nor the spiritual fathers can bring us any relief; the monks of knowledge, like the monks of ignorance, know nothing outside the walls of their monasteries and do not test their theories or their deductions by events, and whi le men are perishing from the eruption of the volcano they are blissfully beating time, listening to the music of the heavenly spheres and marvelling at its harmony.

Lord Verulam, Bacon, ages ago divided the learned into spiders and bePs. There are epochs in which the spiders are decidedly in the ascendant, and then masses of spiders' webs are spun, but little honey is gathered. There are conditions of life which are particularly favourable to spiders. Lime groves, flowering meadows and, above all, wings and a social form of life, are necessary for the production of honey. For spiders' webs a quiet corner is enough, with untroubled leisure, plenty of dust and indifference towards everything except the internal process.

At ordinary times it is still possible to plod drowsily along a dusty, smooth road without breaking the spiders' webs, but as soon as it comes to crossing rough ground and tussocks there is trouble.

There \vas a n'ally good, quiet belt of European history beginning with V.'aterloo and lasting till the year 1 848 There was no \\·ar then but plenty of international law and standing armies. ThP governments openly encouraged 'true enlightenmPnt' and quietly suppressPd the falsr; then' was not much freedom but thPre was not much slavery eithPr. Even the despotic rulers werP all good-naturPd in the style of the patriarchal

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Francis II, the pietist Friedrich Wilhelm, and Alexander the friend of Arakcheyev. The king of Naples and Nicholas came by way of dessert. Industry flourished, trade flourished even more, factories worked, masses of books were written ; it was the golden age for all cobwebs; in academic aulae and in the studies of the learned endless webs were woven! . . .

History, criminal and civil law, international law, and religion itself were all brought into the field of pure science and thence they dropped like the lacy fringes of a spider's web. The spiders swung at their own sweet will by their filaments, never touching the earth. Which was very fortunate, however, since the earth was covered with other crawling insects, who represented the great idea of the State armed for self-defence, and clapped over-bold spiders into Spandau and other fortresses. The doctrinaires understood everything most perfectly a vol d'araignee.

The progress of humanity was as certain in those days as the route mapped out for His Imperial Majesty when he travelled incognito-from stage to stage with horses ready at the stations.

And then came--February the 24th, June the 24th, the 25th, the 26th and December the 2nd.

These flies were too big for a spider's web.

Even the comparatively slight shock of the July revolution fairly killed such giants as Niebuhr and Hegel. But the triumph was still to the advantage of the doctrinaires; the journalists, the College de France, the political economists sat on the top steps of the throne together with the Orleans dynasty; those who remained alive recovered and adapted themselves somehow to 1 830; they would have probably got on all right even with the republic of the troubadour, Lamartine.

But how could they cope with the days of June?

And the 2nd of December?

Of course, Gervinus�4 teaches us that a democratic revolution is followed by an epoch of centralisation and despotism, but yet something was amiss. Some began asking whether we should not go back to the Middle Ages; others quite simply urged a return to Catholicism. The Stylites of the Revolution pointed with undeviating finger along the whole railway line of time to the year 1 793; the Jews of doctrinairism went on lecturing regardless of facts, in the expectation that mankind would have had its fling and return to Solomon's temple of wisdom.

�4 Gervinus, Georg Gottfried ( 1805-il ) , a German historian. ( R.)

1\l Y P A S T A N D T H O U G H T S

670

Ten years have passed.

Nothing of all that has come off. England has not become Catholic, as Dono so Cortes25 desired ; the nineteenth century has not become the thirteenth, as certain Germans desired ; the peoples resolutely refuse French fraternity (or death ! ) , international law after the pattern of the Peace Society, honourable poverty after Proudhon and a Kirgiz diet of milk and honey.

While the Catholics

The mediaevalists . . .

The Stylites of 1 793 . .

And all the doctrinaires harp on the same strings.

Where is humanity going since it despises such authorities?

Perhaps it does not know i tself.

But we ought to know for it.

Apparently not wh!'re we expected it to go. And, indeed, it is hard to tell where one will get to, travelling on a globe which a few months ago only just missed a comet and may crack any day, as I informed you in my last letter.

1 st Septembl'r, 1 862

-Letter 4 of Ends and Beginnings: Letters to I. S. Turgenev ( 1 862-3 )

V I 26

Be a man, stop and make answer! . .

'Halte-la! Stop!' was said to me this time not by a lunatic but, quite the contrary, by a very well-adjusted gentleman who walked into my room with The Bell in his hand. 'I have come,'

he said, 'to have it out with you. Your Ends and Beginnings have exceeded all bounds; it is time to know when to stop, and really put an end to them, with regrets for having begun.'

"Has it really come to that?'

'It has. You know I'm fond of you, I respect your talent.

'"Well,' I thought, 'it's a bad look-out; it is clear that this "well-

�:; Juan Francisco Donoso Cortes. :\larques Valdegamas ( 1 803-5 3 ) , a Spaniard. was a moderate liberal until the revolution of 1 848 and after that an extreme reactionary. ( R . )

2G This i s t h e eighth. a n d last. o f Herzen's "letters" t o Tuq�enev, which he ran as a series titled Ends and Beginnings in his magazine The Bell, 1 862-3. I t is uncut. (D.M. )

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adjusted man" means to abuse me in earnest, or he wouldn't have attacked me with such flattering approaches.'

'Here is my breast,' I said; 'strike.'

My resignation, together with the classical allusion, had a happy effect on my irritated friend, and with a more goodnatured air he said: 'Hear me out calmly, laying aside the vanity of the author and the narrow exclusiveness of the exile: with what object are you writing all this?'

'There are many reasons for it; in the first place, I believe what I write to be the truth, and every man who is not indifferent to the truth has a weakness for spreading it abroad. Secondly

. . . but I imagine the first reason is sufficient.'

'No. You ought to know the public whom you are addressing, the stage of development it has reached, and the circumstances in which it is placed. I'll tell you straight: you have the most pernicious influence on our young people, who are learning from you disrespect for Europe and her civilisation, and consequently do not care to study it seriously but are satisfied with a smattering and think that the breadth of their own nature is enough.'

'Ugh! how you have aged since I saw you last! you abuse the young and want to rear them on falsehoods, like nurses who tell children that the midwife brings the babies, and the difference between a boy and a girl is the cut of their clothes. You had better consider for hmv many centuries men have been telling godless lies, with a moral purpose, and morality has been none the better. Why not try speaking the truth? If the truth turns out to be bad, it will be a good precPdent. As to my bad influence on the young-I've long been resigned to that, remembering how all who have been of any use to the younger generation have invariably been accused of corrupting it, from Socrates to Voltaire, from Voltaire to Shelley and Belinsky. Besides, I am comforted by the fact that it is very difficult to corrupt our young Russians. Brought up on the estates of slave-owners by Nicholas's officials and officers, completing their studies in army barracks, government offices or the houses of the gentry, they are either incapable of being corrupted, or their corruption is already so complete that it would be hard to add to it by any bitter truth about Western Europe.'

'Truth! . . . But allow me to ask you whether your truth really is the truth? '

'I can't answer for that. You may be sure o f one thing, that I say conscientiously what I think. If I am mistahn, without being aware of it, what can I do? It is more your job to open my eyes.'

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'There's no convincing you-and you know why; it's because you are partly right; you are a good prosecutor, as you say yourself, and a bad accoucheur.'

'But you know I am not living in a maternity hospital, but in a clinic and an anatomy theatre.'

'And you are writing for nursery-schools. Children must be taught that they may not eat each other's porridge and pull each other's hair. But you regale them with the subtleties of your pathological anatomy, and keep on adding besides: Look here, how nasty the entrails of these old Europeans are! What is more, you use two standards of weight and two of measure. If you have taken up the scalpel, you should be uniform in your dissection.'

'What, am I cutting up the living too? How awful ! And children too! Do I seem to you to be a Herod?'

'You may joke as you like ; you won't put me off with that.

With great insight you diagnose the malady of modern man, but when you have made out all the symptoms of a chronic disease, you say that it is all due to the patient's being French or German. And our people at home actually imagine that they have youth and a future. Everything that is dear to us in the traditions, the civilisation and the history of the Western nations you cut open relentlessly and mercilessly, exposing frightful sores, and in that you are performing your task as a demonstrator. But you are sick of messing about for ever v..-ith corpses. And so, abandoning every ideal in the world, you are creating for yourself a new idol, not a golden calf but a woolly sheepskin, and you set to bowing down to it and glorifying it as "The Absolute Sheepskin, the Sheepskin of the Future, the Sheepskin of Communism, of Socialism! " You who have made for yourself a duty and a profession of scepticism, expect from a people, \vhich has done nothing so far, a new and original form of society in the future and every other blessing; and, in the excess of your fanatical ecstasy, you stop up your ears and squeeze your eyes shut that you may not see that your god is as crude and hideous as any Japanese idol, with its three-tiered belly and nose flattened onto its cheekbones and moustaclJPs like the King of Sardinia. VVhatever you are told, whatever facts are brought forward, you talk in "ardent ecstasy" of the freshness of spring, of beneficent tempests, of rainbows and sprouts full of promise!

It is no wonder that our young people, aftc>r drinking deep of your still fermenting brew of Slavophil socialism, are staggering, drunk and dizzy, till they break thc>ir necks or knock their noses against our real reality. Of course, it is as hard to sober them as

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it is to sober you-history, philology, statistics, incontestable facts, go for nothing with both of you.'

'But allow me; I, in my turn, shall tell you that you must keep within bounds. What are these indubitable facts?'

'There are scores of them.'

'Such as?'

'Such as the fact that we Russians belong both by race and language to the European family, genus europaeum, and consequently by the most immutable laws of physiology we are bound to follow the same path. I have never heard of a duck, belonging to the breed of ducks, breathing with gills . . . .'

'Only fancy, I haven't either.'

I pause at this agreeable moment of complete agreement with my opponent to turn to you again and submit to your judgment such censure of the honour and virtue of my epistles.

My whole sin lies in avoiding dogmatic statement and perhaps relying too much on my readers; this has led many into temptation and given my practical opponents a weapon against me--of various temper and not always of equal purity. I shall try to condense into a series of aphorisms the grounds of the theory on the basis of which I thought myself entitled to draw the conclusions, which I have passed on like apples I had picked without mentioning the ladder which I had put up to the tree, nor the shears with which I cut them off. But before I proceed to do this I want to show you by one example that my stern judges cannot be said to be on very firm ground. The learned friend who came to trouble the peace of my retreat takes it as you see for an indubitable fact, for an invariable physiological law, that if the Russians belong to the European family the same line of development awaits them as that followed by the Latin and Germanic peoples. But there is no such paragraph in the code of laws of physiology. It reminds me of the typically Muscovite invention of various institutions and regulations in which everyone believes, which everyone repeats, and which in fact have never existed. One friend of mine and of yours used to call them the laws of the English Club.

The general plan of development admits of endless unforeseen deviations, such as the trunk of the elephant and the hump of the camel. There are any number of variations on the same theme: dogs, wolves, foxes, harriers, borzois, water-spaniels and pugs. . . . A common origin by no means conditions an identical biography. Cain and Abel, Romulus and Remus, were brothers, but what different careers they had ! It is the same in

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all spiritual societies or communities. Every form of Christianity has similarities in the organisation of the family, of the Church and so on, but it cannot be said that the history of the English Protestants has been very similar to that of the Abyssinian Christians, or that the most Catholic Austrian army has much in common with the extremely Orthodox monks of Mount Athas.

That the duck does not breathe through gills is true; it is even truer that quartz does not fly like a humming-bird. You certainly know, however, though my learned friend does not, that there was a moment's hesitation in the duck's life when its aorta had not turned its stalk downwards, but branched out with pretensions to gills; but having a physiological tradition, the habit and possibility of development, the duck did not stop short at the inferior form of respiratory organ, but passed on to lungs.

It simply and plainly comes to this, that the fish has become adapted to the conditions of aquatic life and does not a dvance beyond gills, while the duck does. But why the fish's breathing should blow away my view, I do not understand. It seems to me, on the contrary, to explain it. In the genus europaeum there are peoples that have grown old without fully developing a bourgeoisie ( the Celts, some parts of Spain, of Southern Italy and so on), while there are others whom the bourgeois system suits as water suits gills. So why should not there be a nation for whom the bourgeois system will be a transitory and unsatisfactory condition, like gills for a duck?

Why is it a wicked heresy, a defection from my own principles, and from the immutable laws of creation and the rules and doctrines, human and divine, that I do not regard the bourgeois system as the final form of Russian society, the organisation towards which Russia is striving and to attain which she will probably pass through a bourgeois period?

Possibly the European peoples will themselves pass to another order of life, and perhaps Russia will not develop at all; but just because this is possible, there are other possibilities too: the more so that in the order in which problems arise, in the accidents of time and place and development, in the conditions and habits of life and the permanent traits of character, there is a multitude of indications and directions.

The Rus�ian people, extended so widely between Europe and Asia, and standing to the general family of European peoples somev.,·hat in the rl'lationship of <1 cousin, has taken scarcely any part in the family chronicle of Western Europe. Having been combined late and with difficulty, it must either show a complete inc<�p<�city for progress, or must develop something of its own

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under the influence of the past and of borrowings, of its neighbours' examples and of its own angle of reflection.

Up till our day Russia has developed nothing of her own, but has preserved something; like a river, she has reflected things tmly but superficially. The Byzantine influence has perhaps been the deepest; the rest went according to Peter: beards were shaved, heads were cropped, the skirts of caftans were cut off, the people were silent and submissive, the minority changed their dress and went into the Service, and the State, after receiving- the general European outline, grew and grew . . · . . This .is the usual history of childhood. It is finished: that no one doubts, neither the Winter Palace nor Young Russia. It is time to stand on our own feet: why is it absolutely necessary to take to wooden legs because they are of foreign make? Why should we put on a European blouse when we have our own shirt with the collar buttoning on one side?

We a re vexed at the feebleness, at the narrow outlook of the government, which in its sterility tries to improve our life by putting on us the tricolour camisole de force cut on the Parisian pattern, instead of the yellow and black Zwangs;acke, in which we have been herded for a hundred and fifty years. But here we have not the government but the mandarins of literature, the senators of journalism, the university professors preaching to us that such is the immutable law of physiology, that we belong to the genus europaeum, and must therefore cut all the old capers to a new tune, that we must trip like sheep over the same rut, fall into the same gully, and afterwards settle down as an everlasting shopkeeper selling vegetables to other sheep. Away with their physiological law! And \vhy is it that Europe has been more fortunate? No one has made her play the part of Greece and Rome da capo.

There are in life and nature no monopolies, no measures for preventing and suppressing new biological species, nev11 historical destinies and political systems-they are only limited by practical possibility. The future is a variation improvised on a theme of the past. Not only do the phases of development and the forms of life vary but new nations are created, new nationalities whose destinies go different ways. Before our eyes, so to speak, a new breed has been formed, a variety European by free choice and elemental composition. The manners, morals and habits of the Americans have developed a peculiar character of their own; the Anglo-Saxon and the Celtic physical types have so changed beyond the Atlantic that you can nearly always tell an American. If a fresh soil is enough to malre an individual, character-

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istic nation out of old peoples, why should a nation that has developed in its own way under completely different conditions from those of the West European States, with different elements in its life, live through the European past, and that, too, when it knows perfectly well what that past leads to?

Yes, but what do those elements consist of?

I have said what they consist of many times, and not once have I heard a serious objection ; but every time I hear again the same objections, and not from foreigners only, but from Russians .

. . . There is no help for it; we must repeat our arguments again, too.

1 5th January, 1 863

-from Letter 8 of Ends and Beginnings: Letters to I. S. Turgenev

A P P E N D I X :

M A R X V . H E R Z E N

The lengthy note in the recent Soviet edition of Herzen (Volume XI, 1957, pp. 678-BO) on the hostility between Marx and Herzen was omitted by Mr. Higgens from his edition for scholarly reasons-little information, much ideologese-but I think it worth including, with cuts, in this more topically oriented version because of the later historical importance of Marx. Also because the Herzen-Marx antagonism had much deeper rootsin personal style as well as political ideas-than the Soviet scholars seem to realize. The stereotyped Marxistic formulae they use to obscure it merely reveal how unbridgeable is the chasm. I have felt it necessary, and pleasurable, to add some length)' glosses which may throw some light on the political psychology of Marx and his epigones. (D.M.)

For a correct understanding of Herzen's chapter on 'The German Emigrants'-in particular, of how he could arrive at such a gross distortion of the activity and role of Marx-one must consider the reasons for the estrangement, indeed, the hostility, which separated them.

The roots of Herzen's activity were in a social environment sharply different from the one in which Marx, the proletarian

[ sic] revolutionary, functioned. Herzen came from a backward country of serfdom in which capitalism was poorly developed and the revolutionary proletariat had not manifested itself at all.

The spiritual bankruptcy which followed the defeat of the 1 848

revolution ; the profound doubts whether, after the 'June Days,'

the European proletariat could recover new strength for the struggle ; and the 'halt' before historical materialism-all these likewise prevented Herzen's receiving any correct notion of the great revolutionary and scientific role of Marx and Engels.

There was no personal acquaintance between Herzen and the founder of scientific socialism. The persons Herzen met in the late 1840s had already become opponents ( Proudhon, Bakunin) of the founder of scientific socialism or were their ignorant pupils (Sazonov, Moses Hess ) . Information from such sources Herzen can have found only confusing.

677

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678

[The stiff-starched uniform of official rhetoric which these Moscow scholars put on (do they ever take it off? in bed' ) a s they try to explain ( away) why Herzen couldn't stand Marx and vice versa is as confining intellectually as were physically the uniforms Herzpn found so absurd and repulsive on the pPrsons of the Tsar's bureaucrats. Both are too tight to allow any freedom of individual (i.e., human) expression. (D.M. ) ) O n the other hand, Marx and Engels in the late forties and early fifties had not at their disposal the objective, indisputable data which \vould have made it possible for them to judge of the good aspects of the revolutionary activity of Iskander (Herzen's pen-name) and hovv profoundly he was related to the development of progressive thought in Russia and the revolutionary stimulus he exerted on the Russian intelligentsia.

However, certain aspects of Herzen's activity could not but provoke in Marx and Engels extreme caution and even hostility: his pessimistic view of the revolutionary movement in the West and, following from this, certain erroneous predictions about the future of the Slavs and of Western Europe which caused Marx to charge that, in Ht>rzen's Yiew, 'the old. rottPn Europe must be rPvivificd by the Yictory of Panslavism,' although in fact Herzen oftpn denounced 'imperialistic Panslavism.'

Marx criticized Herzen's populist views, seeing in his hopes for the Russian commune merely Panslavism and noting that Herzen 'had discoYerPd thP Russian commune not in Russia but in the book of a Prussian Regierurzgsrat named Haxthausen.'

[This crack is typical of the kind of polemical infighting Marx often

in for. It is defective ( a ) epistemologically and (b) factually. ( a ) The provenance of a fact or idea doesn't affect its validity: worse men than Haxthausen have told the truth and added to wisdom. As for (b) , see pp. 310-12 of Martin Malia's Her::.en and the Birth of Russian Socialism, which state that while ( 1 ) "Hcrzen's first reference to the socialist possibilities of the Russian peasant commune

[or mir] occurs in his Diarr in 1843 apropos of a visit to Russia of the Prussian ethnologist, Baron Haxthausen [ the baron, Regierurzgsrat though he was, whatever that issounds terrible, which is why Marx uses it-was a perfectly sPrious scholar. D.M. ] u:ith whom he had a long conversation," the fact is also (2) that he hac! written about the mir in an 1 83G essay and was by then "aware that the absence of

Appendix: Marx u. Herzen

679

private property in the commune distinguished Russia from the West." Then (3) Malia proceeds to pull what's left of the Haxthausen rug from under Marx's polemical stance:

"It is virtually certain, however, that Herzen first heard the idea of the 'socialist' character of the commune not from Hazthausen but from the Slavophiles." For another page and a half he patiently untangles the Gordian knot, a pleasant contrast to IVIarx's method which was more in the style of Alexander the Great, as was his accusation that Herzen was a Panslavist (maybe he got "Panslav" mixed up with "Slavophile"-which Herzen wasn't either) . In any case, see Malia passim for a non-Alexandrian unraveling of both questions. (D.M. ) ]

It followed from this that Marx and Engels, who, like Herzen, vvere living in London in the 1 850s and 1 860s, considered it impossible to make political speeches on the same platform with him.

[How "it followed from this"-unless one accepts sectarian spite and ignorance as a reasonable justification-! don't understand. The platform referred to was that of the 1 855

meeting organized by the Chartist Ernest Jones to commemorate "The Great Revolutionary IVIovement of 1 848."

Marx first accepted, then withdrew when he learned Herzen was going to speak. See pp. 482-3 above, for ! Ierzen's account of the incident, which is not objected to there (or here) by the Soviet academicians. (D.M. ) ]

Herzen was inclined to attach to Marx as well his criticism of the German petty-bourgeois emigrants for their nationalism, narrow-mindedness and sectarianism. He could not understand the place in history that belonged to him.

[Possibly because Marx didn't then have much of a "place in history." If Herzen had foreseen how big it would be, he would have been even more depressed than after 1 848. Still, if only out of touristic curiosity-he \vas a masterful tourist

-he had made a social effort (even Marx might have thawed if they'd ever met), what an interesting portrait \Ve might have had ! Not all unflattering, either: Herzen was as generous as he was perceptive. He wouldn't have confused Marx, once he'd met him, with the other German emigrants.

Maybe worse, maybe better, but certainly not petty-bourgeois. (D.M. ) ]

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This was aggravated by the conflicts that arose because of Herzen's friendly relations with Bakunin and Karl Vogt.

[They might have added Proudhon, to whose demolishment Marx devoted a whole book, The Poverty of Philosophy. He also wrote a much smaller book, Herr Vogt, attacking the Swiss naturalist as the wrong kind of materialist-the undialectical, or philistine, kind. "Herr Vogt"-Marx never let u�was a close friend of and an influence on Herzen.

Naturally. Sometimes the Herzen-Marx antagonism seems so perfect as to suggest instinct, like cat-dog or mongoosecobra. (D.M. ) ]

Plekhanov as right when, in 'Herzen the Emigre,' h e wrote:

'Only with Marx and his small circle-with the "Marxids" as Herzen called them-was he on bad terms. This was the result of a series of unhappy misunderstandings. It was as if some evil fate had prevented rapprochement between the founder of scientific socialism and the Russian publicist who was exerting himself to set socialism on a scientific basis.'

[That Plekhanov, most steadfast of Marxids, was driven to so un-Marxian a formulation as "an evil fate" to bridge the chasm, shows its depth. But isn't there a less mystical explanation: wasn't it simply Marx's temperament-reclusive, exclusive with more than a bit of paranoiac suspicion: a reverse negative of Herzen's-that made "rapprochement"

impossible? Herzen's relations with his fellow exiles in London were as ecumenical as Marx's were parochial. As Plekhanov notes and as the memoirs show, Herzen was on human terms-friendly, critical, ironical but always sociable terms, seeing them and sharing platforms with them whether he agreed or disagreed-with the big, and small, fry of every national group except for "Marx and his small circle." While Marx seems to have disliked, despised, and kept aloof from everybody outside his cenaclc: Ledru-Rollin, Louis Blanc, Mazzini, Garibaldi, Robert Owen ( Engels dealt with him in Socialism-Scientific and Utopian) , Worcell and his Poles, Kossuth and his Hungarians-the whole menagerie. "The only company he could easily stand,"

writes J. Hampden Jackson in /Harz, Proudhon and European Socialism, "was that of GPrmans." And even there he had no use for outsiders like Ruge and Kinkel or, later, that

"nigger Jew boy" Lassalle (to telescope the racial epithets he

Appendix: Marz v. Herzen

681

showered, privately, on his pan-flashy rival in the German Social Democratic movement) . Marx was quite a different type from Herzen, and their "misunderstandings" were not really misunderstandings. (D.M. ) ]

However, by the end of the 1 860s, a s Lenin has shown, Herzen had come to recognize the power of the First International. In 1 868, rebuking 'our enemies'-the reactionaries headed by Katkov who proclaimed that 'socialism is now a dead cause'

Herzen pointed to the Brussels congress of the First International, the 'movement' of the German working class, and other signs of revolutionary enthusiasm.

[The First International was founded in London in 1 864

and Marx soon became its ideological leader. But from the beginning his dominance was challenged strongly by French, Swiss, Spanish, and Italian affiliates whose membership followed the anarchistic ideas of Proudhon and, especially, Bakunin. Maybe Herzen's "other signs of revolutionary enthusiasm" referred to such followers of his old friends

-1 haven't looked it up. Or maybe not. But it is a fact that at the Hague congress in 1872, two years after Herzen's death, the anarchists were so strong, and so on the rise (after the 1 870 Paris Commune, which was a Proudhon

Bakunin, not a Marxist, show) that Marx used his last voting muscle to transfer the headquarters of the First International to New York City, where it died, as he expected, of pernicious anemia in a few years, after which he planned and structured the Second International along more sensible, power-practical lines. (D.M. ) ]

And in a letter to Ogarev (September 29, 1 869) he writes: 'All the enmity between myself and the Marxids is over Bakunin.'

Note also that Herzen did not publish his chapter on 'The German Emigrants' during his lifetime.

[I don't know why in his last year Herzen came to think his enmity with the "Marxids" was only due to Bakunin.

Maybe he was irritated with Bakunin, as he often was, and relieved his feelings to the ever-sympathetic Ogarev with no idea of their being engraved by the muse of History, or the Soviet Academy, as the final sununary of his relations to Bakunin and Marx. As for Herzen's not publishing his chapter on "The German Emigrants" during

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his lifetime: Isaiah Berlin's Introduction (page xxxi) explains this not as due to a rapprochement with Marx but to Herzen's distaste (which Marx didn't share) for "washing the revolutionaries' dirty linen in public." (D.M.) On Marx's attitude to Herzen in the sixties, cf. his letter of February 1 3, 1 863, on the Polish risings: ' . . . now Herzen & Co. have a chance to prove their revolutionary honour.' And Herzen, as is known, did prove it. When he carne out for the Polish insurgents, Lenin writes, 'Herzen saved the honor of Russian democracy.' (V. I. Lenin: Works, V. 18, p. 13.) In the second edition of Das Kapital ( 1 873) Marx deleted a sharp, ironical remark aimed at Herzen which had appeared in the first edition ( 1 866) . However, it is hard to judge to what extent this represents a change in Marx's estimation of Herzen-see his 1 877 'Letter to the Editor of Notes of the Fatherland.'

[I haven't seen it but the implication is that Marx was still denigrating Herzen in 1877. Nor do I know why Marx deleted that "sharp, ironical" remark about Herzen in the second edition (maybe space ? ) , but I do notice that Marx, after challenging "llerzen & Co." ( the "Co." by that time was reduced to Ogarev-and Bakunin) to "prove their revolutionary honor" when the Polish revolt began, wasn't generous enough to concede that Herzen had proved it (unless the Soviet scholars, incredibly, overlooked some such expression, private or public, in their laborious search for every straw of "rapprochement") . That tribute Marx left for Lenin to pay-posthumously. (D.M. ) ]

Finally, the interest Marx took in Herzen's writings may be gathered from the fact that in studying the Russian language he made use of My Past and Thoughts.

[On this gracious dying fall, the Academy of Sciences ends its apologetic chronicle. Gracious, but even an amateur detects a certain desperation. ( "Well, anyway, he was good to his mother.") For Herzen's memoirs were, even in his, let alone Marx's, lifetime, recognized as a literary classic, and Marx dug classics, old or new. He admired Balzac's novels despite their retrograde politics and is said to have reread Aeschylus, in Greek, every year. So, of course he would dig Herzen stylistically as a language text. But there is no evidence he ever dug him politically. Quite the contrary, as the Soviet scholars and I have between us demonstrated. (D.M. ) ]

Appendix: Marx v. Herzen

683

PosTSCRIPT: In Martin Malia's Herzen and the Birth of Russian Socialism there is an explanation (footnote 5, pp. 429-30) of the grandeurs and miseries of Her:::en as a subject for Soviet scholarship which may be illuminating to readers puzzled by the above learned egg-dance. Or by the even more bewildering fact from which it proceeds: that so un

Marxist and unsovietsimpatico a political writer has lately had his complete works collected, annotated, and published by the Academy of Sciences of the U.S.S.R. (Moscow, 1954-65, 30 volumes ) . True, Volume 1 appeared just after Stalin's death-though they must have been preparingbut still . . .

It's all due, according to Professor Malia, to Lenin's having dashed off three casual appreciations of Herzen as the founder of Russian socialism. "Short journalistic efforts of no great value as historical analysis unlike some of Lenin's longer and more pondered works" is his description.

But one of them was decisive in establishing Herzen's place in Soviet iconography as a precursive "voice crying in the wilderness." Namely "Parmiati Gertsena" ("To the Memory of Herzen" ) in the April 25, 1912, issue of the newspaper Sotsial-Demokrat.

"This article," Professor Malia writes, "was written to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of Herzen's birth.

It is no more than an attempt to annex Her:::en to the tradition of Lenin's own party against the claims of the Socialist Revolutionaries, which in reality were more substantial. Yet this chance article has been the basis for Herzen's great fortune in Soviet historiography. Without it, Herzen might well have been spurned as an aristocrat, an anarchist, and Marx's foe-which was the fate of Bakunin. But Lenin's blessing has not been an unmixed one, for the same 'remarkable' article (as it is inevitably described) has also been the strait-jacket into which all Soviet scholarship on Her:::en has had to fit since the 1930s, and it is a narrow one indeed."

An item in The New York Times, March 16, 1947, is relevant here: "At the Lenin Library, where !Hoscow University students represent a formidable section of readers, Alexander Herzen was mentioned as among the most widely read authors. His works are required reading in courses on the literature and history of the revolutionary movement in Russia." One wonders what (silent) conclusions some of the Lenin Library readers may have drawn, for Her:::erz's notion

A P P E N D I X :

M A R X V . H E R Z E N

684

of revolution was basically "soft"-Menshevik-rather than

"hard"-Bolshevik: "/ do not believe that people are serious when they prefer destruction and rude force to evolution and compromise. Men must be preached to, incessantly preached to, workmen as well as masters." (D.M. )

I ND E X O F P E RS O NS

A

Bakhmetev, Nikolay Nikolayevich

(c. 1 77o--c. 1 830) , 68, 74-5

Aksakov, Konstantin Sergeyevich

Bakhmetev, Pavel Alexandrovich

( t 8 1 7-6o), 28� 30 1

(fl. c. 1 857), 557-9 and n., -

Alenitsyn Petr Yakovlevich, 1 78-

56o--2

9, t 8o

Bakunin, Mikhail Alexandrovich

Alexander I ( Paylovich) , Tsar of

( 'Jules Elizar') ( 1 8 1 4-76),

Russia ( 1 777-1 825) , 8, 39, 40,

xxxiv and n., 236, 252-3, 324.

44. 1 87. 200, 2 1 1 - 1 4, 2 78-g,

378, 422, 469, 473-5. 477. 5 1 5

289, 290 and n., 298, 648, 65 1

and n., 5 16-17, 560 and n.,

and n.

565-6 and n., s67 and n., 568

Alexander II ( Nikolayevich) ,

and n., 569 and n., 570 and n.,

Tsar of Russia ( formerly Grand

57 1-3 and n., 574-7 and n.,

Duke, Tsarevich ) ( 1 8 t 8-8 1 ) ,

580-5, 643, 68 1

5 70

Bandiera, Attilio ( 1 8 1 o--44) , 366

Alton-Shee, Edmond de Lignieres,

and n.

Comte d' ( 1 8to--74) , 425

Bandiera, Emilio ( 1 8 19-44), 366

'American, the': see Tolstoy,

and n.

Fedor Ivanovich, Count

Barbes, Armand ( 1 809-70 ), 343,

Androsov, Vasily Petrovich

453 and n., 454 and n., 455

( 1 803-41 ) , 292

Barclay de Tolly, Mikhail Bogda

Arago, Etienne ( 1 803-92 ) , 354

novich, Prince ( 1 761-1 8 1 8) ,

Arakchayev, Alexsey Andrey289 and n.

evich, Count ( 1 769-1 834) , 8

Barilli, Giuseppe ('Quirico Filoand n., 9, 40 n.-41 n., 1 0 1 n., panti') ( 1 8 1 2-94) , 449

278, and n., 279 n., 280, 669

Barret, Odilon ( 1 79 1 - 1873), 356

Arnim, Bettina ( Elizabeth) von

n., 359 n.

( 1 785-1 859), 597 and n.

Augereau, Pierre Fran�ois

Bauchart, Alexandre Quentin

Charles, ( 1 756-t8t6), 555

( 1 809-87 ) , 359

Belinsky, Vissarion Grigorevich

( 1 8 t t -48) , xx, xlvi, 96 and n.,

B

209 and n., 236, 238-45, 250,

253. 641-3, 67 1

Babeuf, Fran<;ois-NoiH ('Grac

Benckendorf, Alexander Khristochus') ( 1 76o--g7 ) , 367, 5 1 2 n., forovich, Count ( 1 783-1 844) ,

5 1 3 and n., 5 14-1 5 and n., 5 1 6-

24 n., 8t and n., 255, 262, 264-

1 7 and n.

6, 283, 3 1 0 and n., 480

Bakhmetev, Alexey Nicolayevich

Biggs, Matilda (d. 1 867), 485 and

1 774- 1 841 ) , 2 1

n., 486

I N D E X O F P E R S O N S

Blanc, Louis ( 1 8 1 1 -82), xxvi, 453

Caussidiere, Marc ( 1 8og-61 ) , 413,

and n., 454. 475 n., 504 n., 68o

454. 456

Blind, Karl ( 1 826-1907) , 357,

Cavaignac, Louis-Eugene ( 1 8o2-

468, 478, 482

57), 339. 415

Bludov, Dmitry Nikolayevich (d.

Chaadayev, Petr Yakovlevich

1 864? ) , 2 2 1 , 223

( 1 794-1856), 243. 246. 292-6

Bolgovsky, Dmitry Nikolayevich

and n., 297 and n., 298 and n.,

( 1 775-1 852), 268

299, 300, 309, 422, 626-7 and n.

Bomba: see Ferdinand II

Changarnier, Nicolas ( 1 793-

Bonaparte, Jerome, King of West1877), 355 and n.

phalia ( 1 784-186o) , 376, 418

'Chemist, the': see Yakovlev,

Botkin, Vasily Petrovich ( 1 81 1-

Alexey Alexandrovich

6g ) , 533

Chernyshevsky, Nikolay Gavrilo

Boullay, Emile, 406

vich ( 1 828--89) , 536 n., 553

Branicki, Ksawary, Count ( 1 8 1 2-

Chersosi ( Quersosi) , Joachim

79) , 341

Rene Theophile ( 1 798--1 874) ,

Brisbane, Albert ( 1 8og-go), 504

354

Brunetti, Angelo ('Ciceruachio')

Chicherin, Boris Nikolayevich

( 1 80o--49) , 333, 35 1-2

( 1 828--1 904) , 534

Bruno, Giordano ( 1 548--16oo) ,

Chojecki, 'Charles Edmond'

496

( 1 82 2--99) , xxxiv n., 342-4.

Buchanan, James, President of

422, s8o and n.

the United States ( 1 791-t868) ,

Ciceruacchio: see Brunetti,

479. 48D-t

Angelo

Bulgarin, Faddey Benediktovich

Condorcet, Jean-Antoine, Marquis

( 1 7 8g-1 859) , 291

de ( 1 743--94), 4 1 2

Butkov, Vladimir Petrovich

Considerant, Victor ( 1 8o8--g3 ) ,

( 1 82o-8 t ) , 534

416 and n., 504 and n.

Byron, George Gordon Noel, Lord

Constantine Pavlovich, Grand

( 1 788--1 824), 386-7, 38g, 390

Duke ( 1 779-183 1 ) , 40, 45, 61,

58o n.

Cosenz, Enrico ( 1 82o--g8), 370

c

Cowen, Joseph ( 1 829-1900) , xxxv

Calot, Karl lvanovich (d. 1 842 ) ,

1 2, 1 3

D

Cambaceres, Jean-Jacques ( 1 753-

1 824) , 436 and n.

Dejazet, Virginie ( 1 797-1 875 ) ,

Carlier, Pierre ( 1 799-1858), 406,

6os

408

Delessert, Gabriel Abraham

Carlyle, Thomas ( 1 795-1 88 1 ) ,

c 1 786-1858), 35o--1 , 456

6 1 5

Dickens, Charles ( 1 81 2-70),

Carr, E . H., xvii, xxvii n., xxxv

X X X n.

vi n.

Dostoevsky, Fedor Mikhaylovich

Catherine (Yekaterina ) II, Tsar

( 1 82 1 -81 ) , xiv n., xx, xli n., 1 04

itsa of Russia ( 1 729-96), 43,

Dubelt, Leonty Vasilevich ( 1 792-

28g, 65o n., 65 1 n., 653

1862 ) , 257. 26o-6, 268, 308--1 2

Index of Persons

v

Dvigubsky, Ivan Alexeyvich

Goethe, Johann \

( 1 7 7 1- 1 839) , 93-4

( 1 749-1 832 ) , 34. 1 00, 247. 377,

389

Gogo!, Nikolay Vasilevich ( 1 8og-

E

5 2 ) , 1 85

Golitsyn, Alexander Fedorovich,

Prince ( 'junior') ( 1 796-1 864),

Elizar, Jules: see Bakunin, Mik41 , 8 1, 9 7 , 1 I I , 1 54-7, 1 59, 1 64-hail Alexandrovich

5

Essen, Petr Kirillovich ( 1 77 2-

Golitsyn, Alexander Nikolaye-.

1 844) , 2 Q- 1

vich, Prince ( 1 773-1 844) , 205,

207, 279

Golitsyn, Dmitry Vasilevich,

F

Prince ( 1 771-1844) , 97, 306-7,

205 and n.

Fain, Franc;ois, Baron ( 1 778--

Golitsyn, Sergey ('Sergiy') Mik1 83 7 ) , 6 and n.

haylovich, Prince ('senior')

Faucher, Leon ( 1 804-54), 427

( 1 774- 1 859) , 8 1 , 1 5 5-6

Ferdinand II ('Bomba') , King of

Golitsyn, Yury Nikolayevich,

Naples and the Two Sicilies

Prince ( 1 823-7 2 ) , 539-49

( 1 8 1 o-5 9 ) , 368 n.

Golokhavastov, Pavel lvanovich

Filopanti, Quirico: see Barilli,

(d. 1 8 1 2 ) , 3 and n., 2-4, 9, 10

Giuseppe

Golokhvastov, Yelizaveta Alexe

Forestier, Henri-Joseph ( 1 787-

yevna, nee Yakovlev ( 1 763-

1 882) , 356

1 82 2 ) , 14 n.

Fouche, Joseph ( 1 759-1 820) , 4 1 3

Golovin, Ivan Gavrilovich ( 1 816-

Fourier, Franc;ois Marie Charles

90) , 4 7 7 and n., 482

( 1 772-1 837), 493 n.

Goncourt, Edmond Huot de

Frappoli, Ludovico ( 1 8 1 5-78) ,

1 822-96) , xxxiv and n.

4 1 4 and n.

Goncourt, Jules H uot de ( 1 83o-

Fulton, Robert ( 1 765- 1 8 1 5 ) , 5 1 7

7 0 ) , xxxiv and n.

Gorgei, Arthur ( 1 8 1 8--1 9 1 6), 359

Gorky. :\1axim (Alexey Maximo

G

vich Peshkov) ( 1 868--1936) ,

XVlll

Gall, Franz Joseph ( 1 758--1 828),

G racchus: see Babeuf, Franc;ois

362

Noel

Garibaldi, Giuseppe ( 1 8o8-g2),

Grandville, Jean Ignace Isidore

365, 37Q-1, 374-5, 479. 487,

( 1 803-47 ) , 358

6 1 2-13, 68o

Granovsky, Timofey Nikolaye

Gasser, Karl, 402-4

vich ( 1 8 1 3-55 ) , xxxviii, 2 3 1 ,

Gedeonov, Stepan Alexandrovich

250, 2 84, 343. 382, 532, 641 -2

( 1 8 1 6-78), 2 9 1

Griboyedov, Alexander Sergeye

Giller, Anton ( 1 83 1-87 ) , 581 -4

vich ( 1 795-1829) , 83

Girardin, Emile de ( 1 806-8 1 ) ,

Guinard, Auguste-Joseph ( 1 79o-

415, 422

1 874) , 356-7

I N D E X O F P E R S O N S

H

K

Haag (Henrietta-Wilhelmina)

Kapp, Friedrich ( 1 820-84), 360

Luiza I vanovna ( 1 795- 1 85 1 ) ,

Karakozov, Dmitry Vladimiroxxi and n., 3 and n., g-1o, 20, vich ( 1 84o-66), 607 and n.

38, 1 33

Karamzin, Nikolay Mikhaylovich

Haas, Fedor Petrovich ( 1 78o-

( 1 766- 1 826) , 64, 68, 28g

1 853), 1 6o-t

Karazin, Vasily Nazarovich

"Hangman, The":

( 1 773-1 842 ) , 65 1- and n.

see Miiravev,

Mikhail Nikolayevich

Karlovich, Fedor (tutor ) , 36-7

Haug, Ernst, 6o1 -2

Katkov, Mikhail Nikiforovich

Hecker, Friedrich ( 1 8 1 1--81 ) , 359

( 1 8 1 8-87 ) , xli n., 533-4 and n.,

Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich

634

( 1 7 7o-1 83 1 ) , xviii, 234-7, 248,

Kelsiev, Vasily lvanovich ( 1 835-

250, 253, 41 7, 433, 641 and n.,

7 2 ) , 552-4

642 n.

Ketscher, Nikolay Khristoforovich

Heine, Heinrich ( 1 797-1856),

(c. 1 806-86) , 103-4, 1 05

1 oo, 596 and n., 597 and n.,

Khomyakov, Alexey Stepanovich

598

( 1 804-60) , 343, 422

Heinzen, Karl Peter ( 1827-80),

Khovansky, Marya Alexeyevna,

36o-l , 364, 381

nee Yakovlev, Princess ( 1 755-

Herwegh, Georg ( 1 8 1 7-75 ) ,

1 847) , 14 n., 469, 47o-2

xviii, xxix, xxxiv, xxxv-vi n.,

Kinkel, Gottfried ( 1 8 15-82 ) ,

xh·i n., 383 and n.

468 n., 469, 47o-2

Herzen, Alexander Alexandrovich

Kireyevsky, Petr Vasilevich

('Sasha') ( 1 839-1 906) , 445-6

( 1 8o8-56) , 1 05, 627

Herzen, Natalya Alexandrovna

Kiselev, Nikolay Dmitriyevich

( Natalie) , mie Zakharin ( 1 8 1 7-

( 1 8oo-69 ) , 403

5 2 ) , xxiii, xxvi, xxix, xxxv and

Kleinmikhel, Petr Andreyevich,

n., 14 and n., 229 and n., 259,

Count ( 1 793-1 869) , 281, 666

375, 39 1 , 485 n.

and n.

Herzen, Y egor I vanovich ( 1 803-

Kochubey, Lev Viktorovich,

82 ) , 1 3n.

Prince ( 1 8 1 0--90), 534 and n.

Herzen, Yelizaveta ( Liza) Alex

Kokoshkin, Sergey Alexandrovich

androvna (b. 1 858), 5 73 n.

( 1 785- 1 86 1 ), 307--9. 3 1 2

Humboldt, Alexander Friedrich

Kolachek, Adolf (b. 1 82 1 ) , 477 n.

Heinrich ( 1 769-1 859) , 97--8,

Koltsov, Alexey Vasilevich

598 n.

( 1 809-46), 252

Konarsky, Shimon ( 1 808-39),

1 82 and n., 413

Kornilov, Alexander Alexeyevich

J

( 1 80 1-56), 2 1 5-1 6

Kosciusko, Thaddeus ( 1 7 46-

Jellachich, Joseph, Baron (11.

1 8 1 7) , 1 0 1

1 848) , 292 and n.

Kossuth, Lajos ( 1 802--94) , 479,

Jokich (tutor ) , 35-6

48o-1

.Iones, Ernest Charles ( 1 8 1 9-69) ,

Krylov, Ivan Andreyevich ( 1 769-

483

1 844 ) , 67 and n., 68, 222, 342

Index of Persons

Kuchin, Tatyana Petrovna : see

xiv, xxvi, xxxiv, 381, 4 1 8, 419-

Passek, Tatyana Petrovna

20 n., 473 and n., 474-6 and n.,

Kuruta, Ivan Emmanuilovich

484 and n., 676-83

( t 78o-t853), 2 2 1 , 2 74

Mazzini, Giuseppe ( 1805-72) ,

Kutuzov, Mikhail Illarionovich

364-5, 369-370, 375, 477-8 1 ,

( 1 745-t 8t5), 7 and n.

663, 68o

Medici, Giacomo ( 1 8 t g-82 ) , 365-

6

L

Menotti, Ciro ( 1 798-t83 1 ) , 366

and n.

Labzin, Alexander Fedorovich

Menshikov, Alexander Sergeye

( 1 766-1 825 ) , 40 and n.

vich ( 1 787-t 86g) , 289, 296-7 n.

Lacroix ( French minister), 354

Meschersky, Anna Borisovna,

Lamennais, Felicite Robert de

Princess, 4 and n., 76

( 1 782-1 854) . 41� 470

Metternich, Klemens, Prince von

Lamoriciere, Louis de ( t 8o6-6s) ,

< • 773-1859), 288, 297

339 and n.

Michelet, Karl Ludwig ( 1801-

Ledru-Rollin. Alexandre-Auguste,

93) , 426, 652 n., 655 and n.,

( t807-74), 353 n., 356-7, 361,

656 n.

4 1 3- 1 5, 474. 479-80, 68o-t

Mickiewicz, Adam ( t 798-t855 ) ,

Lemke, Mikhail K., xxxi

342-6

Lenin (Vladimir Ilych Ulyanov)

Mieroslawski, Ludwig ( t 8 1 4-78),

( 1 870-1 924), xii, 68o-3

468

Leontine (fl. 1 849) , 602-3, 6os

Mikhaylov, Mikhail I llarionovich

Leopardi, Giacomo ( t 798- t 837),

( 1 829-65 ) , 571 and n.

374-5

Mill, John Stuart ( t 8o6-73),

Leroux, Pierre ( 1 797-1 87 1 ) , 337,

4 1 8 n., 459-67, 498, 6 t 6, 662

347. 4 1 6 and n.

Miloradovich, Mikhail Andreye

Lesovsky, Stepan lvanovich

vich. Count ( 1 77t -t 825 ) , t o

( 1 782-1839), 1 06

and n., 40, 187, 204

Linton, William J. ( t 8 1 2-97),

Milovicz, Vladimir (fl. 1 863) , 581

X X X n . , XXXV, 482

Mirovich, Vasily Yakovlevich

Liszt, Franz ( 1 82 2-86), 99

( 1 740-64) , 43 and n.

Luxemburg, Rosa ( t 87o?-1919),

Montagnards, 353 and n., 356

xiii

and n.

!VIozart, \\' olgang Amadeus

( 1 756-g t ) , 23, 33-4

M

Miiller-Strubing, Hermann

( 1 8 1 o-g3 ) , 355-6, 6ot

Maistre, Xavier de ( 1 763- 1 85 2 ) ,

Miiravev, Mikhail Nikolayevich,

xxxvii, 1 1 7

"The Hangman" ( 1 796-1 866) ,

Malia, Martin, xviii, xxiv n., 682

1 1 7, 534 n . , 535, 570

Malov, Mikhail Yakovlevich

( 1 79D- 1 849) , 91 and n., 92-5

and n.

N

Martyanov, Petr Alexeyevich

( 1 835-65 ) , 585-6 and n.

Nadezhdin, Nikolay Ivanovich

Marx, Karl ( 1 8 1 8-t883 ) , xii, xiii,

( 1 804-56), 627

I N D E X O F P E R S O N S

viii

Napoleon I, Emperor of the

485 n., 487 and n., 488-g and

French ( 1 76g- 1 82 1 ) , xxi, 6-8,

n., 490--9, soo- t , 503-5 and n.,

14, 1 7, t 8, 345--6, 3 73-4, 376,

506--g, 5 1 1 , 5 1 4, 515 and n.,

41 2-13, 435, 437, 5 1 7- 1 8

5 1 6- 1 7, 5 2 0, 68o

Napoleon III, Emperor of the

Owen, Robert Dale ( t 8o t -77),

French ( t 8o8-73) , 454-5

478 n., 488

Nechayev, Sergey Gennadiyevich

( 1 847-82 ) , 559--60 n.

Nicholas I ( Pavlovich ) , Tsar of

p

Russia ( 1 796- t 855), xxiii,

xxiv n., 39-40 and n., 41 and n.,

Padelwski ( Podlewski) , Zyg44 and n., 45, 82, 92, to t and munt ( 1 835-63) , 58t, 583-4

n., 1 02 n., 1 1 7- t 8, 1 43-5, 1 53-

Palmier, Dr., 4 1 1

5, 1 93, 1 99-200, 207, 245, 2 79,

Paskevich-Erivansky, Ivan

290 and n., 291 and n., 298-g,

Fedorovich, Prince, 359

307, 32 1 , 402, 405. 487 n., 493,

Passek, Tatyana Petrovna, nee

5 3 1 , 54 1 , 569-70, 5 79. 623, 640

Kuchin ( 1 8 t o-89) , 47 and n.,

Noailles, Due de, 32 5-7

48-52

Passek, Vadim Vasilevich ( t 8o8-

42 ) , 1 02-4, 1 06

0

Paul ( Pavel ) I ( Petrovich) , Tsar

of Russia ( 1 754- t 8ot ) , 1 7, 44,

Obolensky, Andrey Petrovich,

1 9 1 , 2 7 3, 2 79, 328

Perevoshchikov, Dmitry Matvey

Prince ( 1 769- 1 852 ) , 93-4, 1 63,

evich ( 1 788-t 88o) , 1 07 n.

646-7

Obolensky, Ivan Afanasevich

Peste), Pavel I vanovich ( 1 793-

1 82 6 ) , 42 and n., 43

( 1 8os-49) , 1 06

Odoyevsky, Vladimir Fedorovich,

Peter I (Alexeyevich) , Tsar of

Russia ( 1 672-1 725) , 30o-2

Prince ( 1 804-69 ) , 246-7

Pierce, Franklin, President of the

Ogarev, Natalya Alexeyevna, nee

United States ( 1 804-69), 478

Tuchkov ( t 829- 1 9 1 3 ) , 573 n.

Pisacane. Carlo ( 1 81 8-5 7 ) , 367-

Ogarev, Nikolay Platonovich

8, 370, 374

( 1 8 1 3-7 7 ) , xviii, xxiii, xxx

Pisarev, Dmitry lvanovich

xxxi, xxxv, xlv, xlix and n., 3,

( 1 84o-68) , 62 8-g and n., 63o-

56, 59-65, 79, 83, 1 02 n .• 1 05

and n., 1 06, 1 1 1 , 1 1 4, 1 25, 1 27,

1 , 63 7--9

Pius VII, Pope ( 1 742-1823), 374

1 30- 1 , 1 38, 1 54, 1 56, 1 63-.j.,

Pogodin. Mikhail Petrovich

209. 2 29-2 32, 23 7-8, 245, 282,

( 1 8o0-75) , 2 9 1

29'5 . 3 1 3, 33 1 , 533, 552-4, 559-

Polevoy, Nikolai Alexeyevich

6o, 584, 681

( 1 796- 1 846) , 1 1 6- 1 7, 62 7

OrJo,·, Fedor Grigorevich, Count

Polezhayev, Alexander lvanovich

( 1 7.p--96 ) . 205

( t 8o.�-38) , 8 t , 1 1 7-20, 1 5 3 n.

OriO\-. M iJ..hail Fedorovich

Potebnya 1 Potyebnya ) . Andrey

1 • 788-42 ) , 1 2 7-3 1 , 295, 298

AfanilSPvich ( 1 8.38-63), 577,

Orsini, Felice ( 1 8 1 9-58) , 367 and

584 and n., s8s

n., 368, 37 1 -4

Preux, the Chp,·alicr, 306-7

Owen, Robert ( 1 7 7 1 - 1 858 ) , 460,

Pritchett, V. S., xvii

Index of Persons

Protopopov, Ivan Yevdokimovich

Ruge, Arnold ( 1 802-80) , 232 and

(tutor), 46-8

n., 233, 357, 381 , 468-70, 473

Proudhon, Pierre-Joseph ( 1 8og-

and n.

65 ), xxvi, 286, 40 1, 415-18 and

Ryleyev, Kondraty Fedorovich

n., 419 and n., 42o-7 and n.,

( 1 795-1 826) , 46, 6o and n.

428 and n., 429 and n., 43o-3,

493 n., 5 1 0 n., 616, 666

Proveau, Lizaveta Ivanovna

s

( nurse ) , 1 1 , 19-20

Piigachev, Yemelyan Ivanovich

Saffi, Aurelio ( 1 8 1 g�o), 365 and

(c. 1 742-75), 43 and n., 646

n.

Pulszky, Ferenc A. ( 1 8 1 4�7),

Sagra, Ramon de Ia ( 1 798-1 87 1 ) ,

479

344 and n., 345

Pushkin, Alexander Sergeyevich

Saint Simon, Claude-Henri,

( 1 799- 1 837), 40, 46, 6o, 67, 99,

Comte de ( 1 76o-1 825 ) , 1 55-6

294. 296, 29�

Samoylov, Nikolay Alexandrovich, Count (d. 1 842 ) , 41

Sand, George (Aurore Dupin,

Q

Baroness Dudevant) , ( 1 804-

76), 473-4

Quersosi: see Chersosi, Joachim

Satin, Nikolay Mikhaylovich

Rene Theophile

( 1 8 1 4-73), 102 n., 1 05 n., 1 06,

Quinsonas, Comte de, 1 1

1 1 Q-1 1 , 153-4, 161, 1 63

Quinet, Edgar ( 1 803-75 ) , 615-16

Savich, I van I vanovich ( 1 808-

92), 549 and n., 55o-2

Sazonov, Nikolay Ivanovich

R

( 1 8 1 5-62 ) , 102 n., 324, 34�,

353. 382, 41 1 , 415, 422

Radetsky, Joseph W encel ( 1 766-

Schiller, Friedrich von ( 1 759-

1 858), 377

1 805 ) , 59, 64 and n., 290, 362,

Radishchev, Alexander Nikolaye389, 397

vich ( 1 749- 1 802), 645 and n.,

Schurz, Karl ( 1 829-1906) , 45 7

646, 6so-6

and n.

Rayer, Pierre-Fran,.ois ( 1 793-

'Senator, the': see Yakovlev, Lev

1 867) , 347 and n.

Alexeyevich

Rayevsky, Nikolay Nikolayevich

Senyavin, Ivan Grigorevich

( 1 801-43) , 1 30

( 1801-5 1 ), 1 86

Rebillaud (Prefect of Police), 40 1

Shchepkin, Mikhail Semenovich

Reichel, Adolf ( 1 8 1 7�7), 42 1 ,

( 1 788-1863), 531

474

Shcherbatov, Alexey Grigorevich,

Riviera da Silva, Anita (d. 1 849) ,

Prince ( 1 776-1 848) , 31 1-1 2

371 and n .

Shelley, Percy Bysshe ( 1 792-

. Rostopchin, Fedor Vasilevich,

1822), 498 and n., 671

Count ( 1 763-1826), 4 and n.,

Shishkov, Alexander Semenovich

5-6, 7 1 , 1 87 n., 290

(or S. S.) ( 1 754- 1 841 ), g, 290

Rothschild, Baron James ( 1 792-

and n.

1 868) , xxxiv n., 399, 40o-5,

Shubinsky, Nikolay Petrovich

409

( 1 782- 1 837), 158, 164-5

I N D E X

O F P E R S O N S

X

Sokolovsky, Vladimir lgnatevich

Turgenev. Ivan Sergeyevich

( t 8o8-39 ) , t 53, t 59- t 6 t -3

( t 8 1 8-83 ) , xvi n., XX, XXX,

Sonnenberg, Karl hanovich (d.

xxxix, 29t, 348, 572, 629 n.,

after t 862 ) , 59-62, 7 t -2, 75,

633. 638, 656 n., 663 and n.,

3 1 4

670 and n., 676

Sorokin, 1\Iikhail Fedorovich (fi.

Turgot, Louis Felix, Marquis de

t 8. p ) . t 63

( t 796- t 866 ) , t 94

Soule, Pierre ( t 8oo-7o) , 4-78 and

Tyufayev. Kirill Yakovlevich

n.

( t 775-after t 84o) , t 7 t -3, t 76-

Speransky, Mikhail Mikhaylovich

7. 1 80-.j., • 93- •95- 2 t 2, 2 1 -j.

( t 772-t 839) , t 86 and n., 268,

65 t

Spini, Leopold, 365 and n.

u

Staal, Karl Gustavovich ( t 777-

t 85 3 ) , t 05, t 54, t 59

Urquhart. David ( t 8o5-77 ) , 475-6

Stankevich, Nikolay Vladimiro

Uvaro,-, Sergey Semenovich

,·ich, ( t 8 t 3-4o), 2 3 1 , 245-6,

( t 786- t 855 ) , 99, 29 t and n.

249-53

Strogonov (Stroganov) Sergey

Grigorevich ( t 794- t 882), 267,

v

268-g, 29 1 , 309

Struve, Gustav ( t 805-70) ,

359 n., 36o-64

V arnhagen von Ense, Rahel

( 1 77 t -1 833 ) , 597

Sungurov, Nikolay Petrovich ( b.

and n., 598

t8o5 ) , t O.J., t o5 n., 249

Vasilchikov, Illa rion Vasilevich,

( 1 775-t 8+7 ) , 297

Suslova. Nadezhda Prokofevna

( t 843- t 9 t 8 ) , 6o9 n.

Vensky, Dr. (Pavel Lukich Pikulin). ( 1 822-85 ) , 53t and n., 532

Vera Artamonovna (nurse), 3-5,

t o- t t, 42-3

T

\'etoshnikov, Pavel Alexandrovich, ( b. t 83 1 ), 55 3-4- a nd n.

Thiers, Adolphe ( t 797- t 877),

Vitberg, Alexander Lavrentevich

.po

( t 787- t 85 s l . 63, 2oo-8, 294

Tocqueville, Alexis de ( t 8o5-59) ,

Vogt, Karl ( t 8 t 7-95 ) , xxxix, 422,

xi a n d n . , x i i n., 335

679

Tolstoy, Fef;lor Ivanovich, Count

Vyrubov, Grigory Nikolayevich

( 'the American') ( t 782- t 8.j.6) ,

( t 843- t 9 t 3 ) , 555 and n.

296

Tolstoy, Lev Nikolayevich, Count

( t 828- t 9 1 0 ) , xix, xx and n.,

w

xxix, xi

Towjanski, Andrei ( t 799-t 878),

Windischgratz, Alfred, Prince

3+5 and 11., 34-6 and n.

( t 787-t862 ) , s68 and n.

Trelawney, John Edward ( t 792-

Wintsengerode, Ferdinand Fedt 887 ) , 497-8 and n.

orovich ( t 77o- 1 8 t 8) , 8

Tuchkov, Alexey Alexeyevich

Wolmsley, Joshua ( 1 794-- t 87 t ) ,

( ' 799-t 878 ) , 309

+79

Index of Persons

Worcell, Stanislaw Gabriel,

665

Count ( 1 799- 1 85 7 ) , 469- 7 1 ,

Yakovlev, Lev Alexeyevich ('the

477, 479. 578--g

Senator') ( 1 764- 1 839) , t O and

Wronski, Jusef ( t 77S- t 853),

n., t t - t 2 , 1 4, t 6, 1 7, t S- 1 9, 2 7-345-6 n.

8, 32, 37. 39. n-8

Wylie, Sir James ( 1 76S- t 854) ,

Y ermolov Alexey Petrovich

280 and n.

( 1 772-t 86 t ), t o t n., 1 29, 1 33

Yusupov, Nikolay Borisovich

1 750- t 8 t 2 ) , 66-7, 79

y

Yakovlev, Alexander Alexeyevich

z

( 1 762- 1 82 5 ) , 14 and n., 15-16,

83

Zagoskin, Mikhail Nikolayevich

Yakovlev, Alexey Alexandrovich

( t 789- t 85 2 ) , 29 1

('the Chemist') , 83-9

Zhukovsky, Vasily Andreyevich

Yakovlev, Ivan Alexeyevich

( t 783- 1 85 2 ) , 207 and n., 2 1 3,

( t 767- 1 846) , xxi, xxii, xxv, 3

241

and n., 6-t t , 1 4, t S-2 1 , 28, 3S-

Zubkov, Vasily Petrovich ( t 799-

9, 53. 65-g, 7D-79, 1 33. 305,

t 86 2 ) , 1 2 5 and n., 126-7