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diff --git a/78332-0.txt b/78332-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07e03a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/78332-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13836 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78332 *** + + + + +THE MEMOIRS OF ALEXANDER HERZEN + +II + + + + +NOTE + + +This translation has been made by arrangement from the sole complete +and copyright edition of _My Past and Thoughts_, that published in the +original Russian at Berlin, 1921. + + + + + _MY PAST AND THOUGHTS_ + + THE MEMOIRS OF + ALEXANDER HERZEN + + _THE AUTHORISED TRANSLATION + TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN + BY CONSTANCE GARNETT_ + + VOLUME II + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + ALFRED A. KNOPF + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + T. & A. CONSTABLE LTD. EDINBURGH + * + ALL RIGHTS + RESERVED + + FIRST PUBLISHED 1924 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PART III + VLADIMIR ON THE KLYAZMA + (1838-1839) + + CHAPTER XIX:—The Two Princesses _page 1_ + + CHAPTER XX:—The Forlorn Child _page 11_ + + CHAPTER XXI:—Separation _page 29_ + + CHAPTER XXII:—In Moscow while I was away _page 50_ + + CHAPTER XXIII:—The Third of March and the Ninth of May 1838 _page 63_ + + CHAPTER XXIV:—The Thirteenth of June 1839 _page 87_ + + PART IV + MOSCOW, PETERSBURG, AND NOVGOROD + (1840-1847) + + CHAPTER XXV:—Dissonance—A New Circle—Desperate Hegelianism—V. + Byelinsky, M. Bakunin, and others—A Quarrel with Byelinsky and + Reconciliation—Argument with a Lady at Novgorod—Stankevitch’s + Circle _page 104_ + + CHAPTER XXVI:—Warnings—The Promotion Office—A Minister’s + Secretariat—The Third Section—The Story of a Sentry—General + Dubbelt—Count Benckendorf—Olga Alexandrovna Zherebtsov—My + Second Exile _page 151_ + + CHAPTER XXVII:—The Provincial Government—I am under my own + Supervision—The Duhobors and Paul—The Paternal Rule of the + Landowners—Count Araktcheyev and the Military Settlements—A + Ferocious Investigation—Retirement _page 188_ + + CHAPTER XXVIII:—Grübelei—Moscow after Exile—Pokrovskoe—The + Death of Matvey—Father Ioann _page 207_ + + CHAPTER XXIX:—OUR FRIENDS—The Moscow Circle—Table Talk—The + Westerners (Botkin, Ryedkin, Kryukov, and Yevgeny Korsh)—On + the Grave of a Friend _page 227_ + + CHAPTER XXX:—OUR ‘OPPONENTS’—The Slavophils and + Panslavism—Homyakov—The Kireyevskys—K. S. Aksakov—P. Y. + Tchaadayev _page 254_ + + CHAPTER XXXI:—My Father’s Death—My Heritage—The + Partition—Two Nephews _page 304_ + + CHAPTER XXXII:—The Last Visit to Sokolovo—The Theoretical + Rupture—A Strained Position—Dahin! Dahin! _page 340_ + + CHAPTER XXXIII:—A Police-Officer in the Part of a Valet—The + Police-Master Kokoshkin—‘Disorder in Order’—Dubbelt Once + More—The Passport _page 353_ + + APPENDIX (TO CHAPTER 29):—N. H. Ketscher—Basil and Armance _page 365_ + + + + +PART III + +VLADIMIR ON THE KLYAZMA + +(1838-1839) + + _Do not expect from me long accounts of my inner life of + that period.... Terrible events, troubles of all sorts, are + more easily put upon paper than quite bright and cloudless + memories.... Can happiness be described?_ + + _Fill in for yourselves what is lacking, divine it with the + heart—while I will tell of the external side, of the setting, + only rarely, rarely touching by hint or by word, on its holy + secrets._ + + + + +Chapter 19 + +THE TWO PRINCESSES + + +When I was five or six years old and was very naughty, Vera Artamonovna +used to say: ‘Very well, very well, you wait a bit, I’ll tell the +princess as soon as she comes.’ I was at once subdued by this threat and +begged her not to complain. + +Princess Marya Alexeyevna Hovansky, my father’s sister, was a stern, +forbidding old woman, stout and dignified, with a birth-mark on her cheek +and false curls under her cap; she used to screw up her eyes as she +spoke, and to the end of her days, that is to the age of eighty, rouged +and powdered a little. Whenever I fell into her hands she worried me; +there was no end to her lecturing and grumbling; she would scold me for +anything, for a crumpled collar, or a stain on my jacket, would declare +I had not gone up to kiss her hand properly, and make me go through the +ceremony again. When she had finished lecturing me, she would sometimes +say to my father, as with her finger-tips she took a pinch out of a tiny +gold snuff-box: ‘My dear, you should send your spoilt child to me to be +corrected; he would be as soft as silk when he had been a month in my +hands.’ I knew that they would not give me up to her, but I shivered +with horror at those words. + +My terror of her passed off with the years, but I never liked the old +princess’s house; I could not breathe freely in it, I was not myself +there, but like a trapped hare looked uneasily from one side to the other +to make my escape. + +The old princess’s household was not in the least like my father’s or +the Senator’s. It was an old-fashioned, orthodox Russian household in +which they kept the fasts, went to early matins, put a cross on the doors +on the Eve of Epiphany, made marvellous pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, ate +pork with horse-radish, dined exactly at two o’clock and supped at nine. +The European influences which had infected her brothers and turned them +somewhat out of their native rut had not touched the old princess’s +existence; on the contrary, she disapproved of the way in which ‘Vanyusha +and Lyovushka,’ as she called my father and uncle, had been corrupted by +‘that France.’ + +Princess Marya Alexeyevna lived in the lodge of the house occupied by her +aunt, Princess Anna Borissovna Meshtchersky, a maiden lady of eighty. + +This Princess Meshtchersky was the living and almost solitary link +connecting all the seven ascending and descending branches of the +family. At the chief holidays all the relations gathered about her. She +reconciled those who were at variance and brought together those who had +drifted apart. She was respected by all, and she deserved it. At her +death family ties were loosened and lost their rallying-point, and the +relations forgot each other. + +She had finished the education of my father and his brothers; after the +death of their parents she looked after their property until they came +of age. She put them into the Guards, and she made marriages for their +sisters. I do not know how far she was satisfied with the results of +her bringing up, which with the help of a French engineer, a kinsman of +Voltaire, had turned them into landowners and _esprits forts_, but she +knew how to retain their esteem, and her nephews, though not greatly +disposed to feelings of obedience and reverence, respected their old aunt +and often obeyed her to the end of her life. + +Princess Anna Borissovna’s house, by some miracle preserved at the time +of the fire of 1812, had not been repaired nor redecorated for fifty +years: the hangings that covered the walls were faded and blackened; the +lustres on the chandeliers, discoloured by heat and turned into smoky +topazes by time, shook and tinkled, shining dingily when any one walked +across the room. The heavy, solid mahogany furniture, ornamented with +carvings that had lost all their gilt, stood gloomily along the walls; +chests of drawers with Chinese incrustations, tables with little copper +trellis-work, rococo porcelain dolls—all recalled a different age and +different manners. + +Grey-headed flunkeys sat in the vestibule, occupied with quiet dignity in +various trifling tasks, or sometimes reading half aloud a prayer-book or +a psalter, the pages of which were darker than its cover. Boys stood at +the doors, but they were more like old dwarfs than children—they never +laughed nor raised their voices. + +A deathly silence reigned in the inner apartments; only, from time to +time, there was the mournful cry of a cockatoo, its luckless faltering +effort to repeat a human word, the bony tap of its beak against its +perch, covered with tin, and the disgusting whimper of a little old +monkey, shrunken and consumptive, that lived in the big drawing-room, +on a little shelf of the tiled stove. The monkey, dressed like a +_débardeur_, in full, red trousers, gave to the whole room a peculiar and +extremely unpleasant smell. In another big drawing-room hung a number of +family portraits of all sizes, shapes, periods, ages, and costumes. These +portraits had a peculiar interest for me, especially from the contrast +between the originals and their semblances. The young man of twenty with +a powdered head, dressed in a light-green embroidered, full-skirted coat, +smiling courteously from the canvas, was my father. The little girl with +dishevelled curls and a bouquet of roses, her face adorned with a patch, +mercilessly tight-laced into the shape of a wine-glass, and thrust into +an enormous crinoline, was the formidable old Princess Marya Alexeyevna. + +The stillness and the stiffness grew more marked as one approached the +princess’s room. Old maidservants in white caps with wide frills moved +to and fro with little teapots, so softly that their footsteps were +inaudible; from time to time a grey-headed manservant in a long coat of +stout dark-blue cloth appeared at the doors, but his footsteps too were +as inaudible, and when he gave some message to the elder maidservant, his +lips moved without making a sound. + +The little, withered, wrinkled, but by no means ugly, old lady, Princess +Anna Borissovna, was usually sitting or reclining on the big clumsy sofa, +propped up with cushions. One could scarcely distinguish her; everything +was white, her dressing-jacket, her cap, the cushions, the covers on the +sofa. Her waxen white face of lace-like fragility together with her faint +voice and white dress gave her an air of something that had passed away +and was scarcely breathing. + +The big English clock on the table with its loud-measured +spondee—tick-tack, tick-tack—seemed marking off the last quarters of an +hour of her life. + +Between twelve and one, Princess Marya Alexeyevna would enter and settle +herself with dignity in a big easy-chair. She was dull in her empty +apartments. She was a widow, and I still remember her husband, a little +grey-headed old gentleman who drank liqueurs and home-made beverages +on the sly; he never played an important part in the house, and was +accustomed to obey his wife implicitly—though he sometimes rebelled +against her in words, especially after his secret potations. The princess +would be surprised at the great effect produced on her spouse by the +minute glass of vodka which he drank officially before dinner, and she +would leave him in peace to play the whole morning with his blackbirds, +nightingales, and canaries, which trilled shrilly against each other; he +trained some of them with a little organ, others by whistling to them +himself; he used to drive off very early to the bird-market to exchange, +sell, and buy birds; he took an artistic delight in succeeding, as +he supposed, in cheating a dealer.... And so he spent his profitable +existence, until one morning, after whistling to his canaries, he fell +forward on his face and two hours afterwards died. + +His widow was left alone. She had had two daughters, both of whom married +not for love but simply to escape from the maternal yoke. Both died in +their first childbirth. The princess was really an unlucky woman, but her +troubles rather warped her character than softened it. Her misfortunes +made her not milder, not kinder, but harder and more forbidding. + +Now she had no one left but her brothers and her old maiden aunt. She had +scarcely parted from the latter all her life, and after her husband’s +death she took complete control of the old lady’s household, and ruled +her with a rod of iron under the pretext of looking after her and caring +for her wants. + +Old women of all sorts, either living with Princess Anna Borissovna or +staying temporarily in her house, were always ranged along the walls or +sitting in the various corners. Half saints and half vagrants, rather +depraved and very devout, sickly and extremely unclean, these old women +trailed from one old-fashioned house to another: in one they were fed, +in another presented with an old shawl; from one place they were sent +grain and fuel, from another linen and cabbage; and so they somehow made +both ends meet. Everywhere they were regarded as a nuisance, everywhere +they were passed over, everywhere put in the lowest seat, and everywhere +received through dullness and emptiness and, most of all, through love +of gossip. In the presence of other company these mournful figures were +usually silent, looking with envious hatred at each other.... They +sighed, shook their heads, made the sign of the cross, and muttered to +themselves the number of their stitches, prayers, and perhaps even words +of abuse. On the other hand, _tête à tête_ with their benefactresses, +they made up for their silence by the most treacherous gossip about all +the other benefactresses who received them, fed them, and made them +presents. + +They were continually begging from Princess Anna Borissovna, and in +return for her presents, often made without the knowledge of Princess +Marya Alexeyevna, who did not like indulging them, brought her holy +bread, hard as a stone, and useless woollen and knitted articles of +their own make, which the old lady afterwards sold for their benefit, +regardless of the unwillingness of the purchasers. + +Besides birthdays, namedays, and other holidays, the most solemn +gathering of kinsmen and friends in Princess Anna Borissovna’s house +took place on New Year’s Eve. On that day she ‘elevated’ the Iversky +Madonna. The holy ikon was carried through all the apartments by monks +and priests, chanting. Princess Anna Borissovna, the first to kiss the +cross, walked under it, and after her all the visitors, men and maid +servants, old people and children. Then they all congratulated her on the +New Year, and made her all sorts of trifling presents such as are given +to children. She would play with them for a few days, then give them away. + +My father used to drag me off every year to this heathen ceremony; +everything was repeated in exactly the same order, except that some old +men and women were every year missing, and their names were intentionally +avoided, until the old lady herself would say: ‘Our Ilya Vassilyevitch +is no longer here, the Kingdom of Heaven be his!... Whom will the Lord +summon this year?’ and she would shake her head dubiously. + +And the ticking of the English clock would go on marking off the days, +the hours, the minutes, and at last it reached the fatal second. The old +lady felt unwell on getting up one day; she walked about the rooms and +was no better; her nose began bleeding, and very violently; she felt +faint and exhausted, and lay down fully dressed on her sofa, fell quietly +asleep ... and never woke again. She was over ninety. + +She left her house and the greater part of her property to her niece, +the widowed princess, but did not hand on to her the inner significance +of her life. Princess Marya Alexeyevna could not maintain the—in its +own way—artistic rôle of head of the family, of the patriarchal link +connecting many threads. With the death of Princess Anna Borissovna +an aspect of gloom came over everything, as in mountainous places at +sunset, long dark shadows lay upon all. Princess Marya Alexeyevna shut +up her aunt’s house and remained living in the lodge; the big house was +surrounded by weeds, the walls and frames grew blacker and blacker; the +porch, in which ungainly yellow dogs were for ever asleep, fell out of +the perpendicular. + +Friends and relations came less frequently, her house was deserted, she +was distressed at it, but did not know how to improve things. + +The only survivor of the whole family, she began to be apprehensive for +her own useless life, and mercilessly repulsed everything that could +disturb her physical or moral equilibrium and cause her uneasiness or +annoyance. Afraid of the past and of memories, she removed every object +that had belonged to her daughters, even their portraits. It was the same +with her aunt’s belongings—the cockatoo and the monkey were exiled to the +servants’ hall, and then turned out of the house. The monkey lived out +its days in the coachman’s quarters at the Senator’s, choking with the +smell of rank tobacco and amusing the stable-boys. + +The egoism of self-preservation has a fearfully hardening effect on the +heart of the old. When her last surviving daughter’s condition was quite +hopeless, the mother was persuaded to leave her and return home, _and she +went_. At home she at once ordered spirits of various sorts and cabbage +leaves for putting on her head to be got ready, that she might have +everything necessary at hand when the _terrible news_ should come. She +did not take leave of her dead husband nor of her daughter, she did not +see them after their death and was not at their funerals. When later on +the Senator, her favourite brother, died, she guessed what had happened +from a few words dropped by her nephew, and _begged him_ not to tell her +the melancholy news nor any details of the end. With these precautions +against one’s own heart, and such an accommodating heart, one may well +live to eighty or ninety in perfect health and with undisturbed digestion. + +However, in justification of Princess Marya Alexeyevna, I must say +that this monstrous avoidance of everything melancholy was more in +fashion with the spoilt aristocrats of last century than it is now. The +celebrated Kaunitz[1] in his old age sternly forbade any one’s death, or +the smallpox, of which he was very much afraid, to be mentioned before +him. When the Emperor Joseph II. died, his secretary, not knowing how to +announce the fact to Kaunitz, decided to say, ‘the Emperor now reigning, +Leopold.’ Kaunitz understood and, turning pale, sank into an armchair, +asking no questions. His gardener avoided the word ‘grafting’ (in Russian +the same word as ‘inoculation’) for fear of reminding him of smallpox. + +He heard of the death of his own son by chance from the Spanish +ambassador. And people laugh at ostriches who hide their heads under +their wings to escape danger! + +To preserve her peace untroubled, the old princess established a special +sort of police, and entrusted the supervision of her safety to skilled +hands. + +Besides the old women dependents inherited from Princess Anna Borissovna, +she had a permanent lady companion living with her. This post of honour +was filled by the healthy, rosy-cheeked widow of a Zvenigorod government +clerk, very proud of ‘being a lady’ and of her dead husband’s rank of +assessor; a quarrelsome and irrepressible woman who could never forgive +Napoleon the premature death of her Zvenigorod cow, who perished in the +war of 1812. I remember how seriously troubled she was on the death of +Alexander I. upon the question of the width of the crape weepers that +would be appropriate to her rank. + +This woman played a very insignificant part in the household while +Princess Anna Borissovna was alive, but afterwards she managed so +adroitly to humour the widowed princess’s caprices and apprehensive +anxiety about herself, that she obtained the same control over her as the +princess herself had had over her aunt. + +Draped in her official weepers, this Marya Stepanovna bounced about the +house like a ball from morning to night; she shouted and made an uproar, +gave the servants no peace, made complaints against them, investigated +the misdeeds of the maids, slapped the boys and pulled them by the ears, +raced off into the kitchen, raced off into the stable, brushed away the +flies, rubbed the princess’s feet, and made her take her medicine. The +members of the household no longer had access to their mistress; the +woman was a regular Araktcheyev, a Biron, in fact, a Prime Minister. The +widowed princess, a haughty and, in the old-fashioned style, well-bred +woman, was often, especially at first, annoyed by the Zvenigorod widow, +by her shrill voice and market-woman’s manners, but she gradually +put more and more confidence in her, and saw with delight that Marya +Stepanovna considerably decreased the household expenses, which had not +been over-high before. For whom the princess was saving her money it is +hard to say; she had no near relatives except her brothers, who were +twice as wealthy as she was. + +For all that, the princess was really dull after the death of her husband +and daughters, and was glad when an old Frenchwoman who had been her +daughters’ governess, came to spend a fortnight with her, or when her +niece from Kortcheva paid her a visit. But these were only passing and +exceptional distractions, and the tedious society of her ‘lady companion’ +did not fill the intervals satisfactorily. + +An occupation, a plaything, and an entertainment had been provided for +her in a very natural way not long before her aunt’s death. + + + + +Chapter 20 + +THE FORLORN CHILD + + +In the middle of 1825 ‘the Chemist,’ who found his father’s affairs +in great confusion, sent his brothers and sisters from Petersburg to +the Shatskoye estate; he assigned them the house there and their keep, +proposing to arrange for their education and their future later on. My +aunt, Princess Marya Alexeyevna, drove over to have a look at them. A +child of eight caught her attention by her mournfully pensive face; my +aunt put her in the carriage, took her home and kept her. + +The mother was delighted, and went off with the other children to Tambov. + +The Chemist gave his consent—it did not matter to him. + +‘Remember all your life,’ Marya Stepanovna kept saying to the little +girl when they had reached home, ‘remember that the Princess is your +_benefactress_ and pray that her days may be long. What would you be +without her?’ + +And so into this lifeless house, gloomily oppressed by two irrepressible +old women, one full of whims and caprices, the other her indefatigable +spy, devoid of all trace of delicacy or tact, a child was brought, torn +from everything familiar to her, strange to everything surrounding her, +and adopted out of boredom as people take a puppy, or as my aunt’s +husband used to keep canaries. + +The little girl with a pale face and blue shadows under her eyes was +sitting at the window in a long woollen dress of deep mourning when my +father brought me a few days later to visit my aunt the princess. She +was sitting in silence, scared and bewildered, gazing out of the window, +afraid to look at anything else. + +My aunt called her up and introduced her to my father. Always frigid and +ungracious, he patted her carelessly on the shoulder, observed that his +late brother had not known what he was about, abused ‘the Chemist,’ and +began talking of something else. + +The little girl had tears in her eyes; she sat down again by the window +and again fell to looking out. + +A hard life was beginning for her. Not one warm word, not one tender +glance, not one caress; beside her, around her, strangers, wrinkled +faces, yellow cheeks, decrepit creatures whose life was smouldering out. +Princess Marya Alexeyevna was always stern, exacting, and impatient, and +she kept the forlorn child at such a distance that it could never enter +her head to take refuge with her, to find warmth or comfort in being near +her, or to shed tears. Visitors took no notice of her. Marya Stepanovna +put up with her as one of the princess’s whims, as something superfluous +which she must not harm; she even made a show of protecting the child and +making a fuss over her before the princess, especially if visitors were +present. + +The child did not grow used to her surroundings, and a year later was as +little at home as on the day of her arrival, and was even more depressed. +Even Princess Marya Alexeyevna was surprised at her ‘seriousness,’ and +sometimes, seeing her sitting dejectedly for hours together at her little +embroidery frame, would say to her: ‘How is it you don’t play and run +about?’ The little girl would smile, flush, and thank her, but stay where +she was. + +And the old lady left her in peace, in reality caring nothing about the +child’s sadness and doing nothing to relieve it. Holidays came, other +children were given playthings, other children talked of treats, of new +clothes.... No presents were given to the little orphan. The princess +considered that she had done enough for her in giving her shelter; she +had shoes, what did she want with dolls? And in fact she did not need +them—she did not know how to play; besides, she had no one to play with. + +Only one creature realised the forlorn child’s position; an old nurse +had been put in charge of her, and she alone loved the child simply and +naïvely. Often in the evening when she undressed her she would ask: ‘But +why is it you are so sad, my little lady?’ The child would throw herself +on her neck and weep bitterly, and the old woman would shed tears and +shake her head as she went away with the candlestick in her hand. + +So the years passed. She did not complain, she did not murmur; only, at +twelve she longed for death. + +‘It always seemed to me,’ she wrote, ‘that I had come by mistake into +this life, and that soon I should go home again—but where was my home?... +When we drove out of Petersburg I saw a great mound of snow over my +father’s grave; when my mother left me in Moscow she vanished on the +wide unending road.... I wept bitterly and prayed God to take me quickly +home.... My childhood was most mournful and bitter; how many tears I +shed unseen, how many times before I understood what prayer meant I +would get up secretly at night (not even daring to say my prayers except +at the fixed time) and pray to God that some one might love me and pet +me. I had no amusement nor plaything which could interest or comfort +me, for, if anything were given me, it was invariably accompanied by +the words: “You don’t deserve it.” Every rag I received from them I +paid for with my tears: afterwards I got over that; I was overcome by a +craving for knowledge, and envied other children for nothing more than +for their lessons. Many praised me, thought I had abilities, and said +compassionately: “If only that child had a chance.” “She would astonish +the world,” I added inwardly, and my cheeks glowed; I hurried away with +visions of my pictures, my pupils, and meanwhile they would not give me +a piece of paper nor a pencil.... The longing to get into another world +grew stronger and stronger, and with it my scorn for my dark prison-house +and its cruel sentinels; I was continually repeating the lines from “The +Monk”: + + “A mystery this; already I know + All the sorrow of life, in the spring of my days.” + +‘Do you remember, we were once staying with you long ago in the other +house and you asked me if I had read Kozlov and repeated just that +passage from him? A shudder ran over me, I smiled, hardly able to keep +from crying.’ + +There was always a strain of deep melancholy in her heart; it was never +quite absent, and only at times hushed at some radiant moment. + +Two months before her death, going back once more to her childhood, she +wrote: ‘Around me all was old, bad, cold, dead, false; my education began +with upbraidings and insults, and the result of this was estrangement +from all, distrust of their kindness, aversion for their sympathy, and +absorption in my own inner life....’ + +But to be able to be absorbed in one’s own inner life one must have not +only a terribly deep nature into which one can retreat at will, but a +terrific strength of independence and self-sufficiency. Very few can live +their own life in hostile and vulgar surroundings from the oppression of +which there is no escape. Sometimes the spirit is broken by it, sometimes +the health gives way. + +Loneliness and harsh treatment at the tenderest age left a dark trace on +her soul, a wound which never fully healed. + +‘I do not remember,’ she writes in 1837, ‘any time when I could utter the +word “mother” freely and spontaneously, any person on whose bosom I could +lay my head in security, forgetting everything. I have been a stranger +to all since I was eight years old; I love my mother ... but we do not +know each other.’ + +Looking at the pale face of the twelve-year-old girl, at her big eyes +with rings round them, at her tired listlessness and everlasting +depression, many thought she was one of the predestined victims of +consumption, those victims marked out by the finger of death from +childhood with a special imprint of beauty and premature thoughtfulness. +‘Perhaps,’ she says, ‘I should not have survived this struggle if I had +not been saved by our meeting.’ + +And I was so slow to understand her and read her heart! + +Till 1834 I failed to appreciate the richly gifted nature that was +unfolding beside me, although nine years had passed since the old +princess had presented her to my father in her long woollen dress. It +is easy to explain. She was shy, I was absorbed in my many interests; I +was sorry for the child who sat so solitary and depressed in the window, +but we did not see each other very often. It was only rarely and always +unwillingly that I went to Princess Marya Alexeyevna’s; still more rarely +did she bring her to see us. Besides, my aunt’s visits almost always +left unpleasant impressions. She usually quarrelled with my father over +trifles and, though they had not seen each other for two months, they +said nasty things to each other, hiding them in affectionate phrases, +just as nasty medicines are covered with a coat of sugar. ‘My dear boy,’ +the princess would say; ‘My dear girl,’ my father would answer, and the +quarrel would go on as before. We were always glad when the princess +departed. Moreover, it must not be forgotten that at that time I was +completely absorbed by my political dreams and my studies, and lived in +the university and my comrades. + +But what had she to live in, besides her melancholy, during those long +dark nine years, surrounded by silly fanatics, haughty relations, tedious +monks, and fat priests’ wives, hypocritically patronised by the ‘lady +companion,’ not allowed to go farther from the house than the gloomy +courtyard overgrown with weeds and the little garden at the back? + +From the foregoing lines it may be seen that the princess was not +particularly lavish in her expenditure on the education of her adopted +child. Her moral training she undertook herself; it consisted in external +observances and in the development of a complete system of hypocrisy. +The child had from early morning to be laced in, stiffly erect, with her +hair properly dressed: this might be admissible so far as it was not +injurious to health; but the princess put her soul in stays as well as +her waist, suppressing every open spontaneous feeling; she insisted on +a smile and an air of gaiety when the child was sad, on amiable phrases +when she wanted to cry, on an appearance of interest in everything +indiscriminately—in fact, on continual duplicity. + +At first the poor girl was taught nothing on the pretext that learning +early was useless; later on, that is _three or four years later_, wearied +by the observations made by the Senator and even by outsiders, the +princess made up her mind to arrange for her to be taught, keeping the +strictest economy in view. For this purpose she took advantage of an +old governess who considered herself under obligations to the princess +and sometimes stood in need of her assistance. In this way the French +language was brought down to the lowest price; on the other hand, it was +taught _à bâtons rompus_. + +But the Russian language, too, was equally cheapened; to teach it and all +other subjects, the princess engaged the son of a priest’s widow, to whom +she had been a benefactress—of course, at no special expense to herself; +through her good offices with the Metropolitan the widow’s two sons had +been made priests in the cathedral. The tutor was their elder brother, +the deacon of a poor parish, burdened with a large family. He was in the +lowest depths of poverty, was glad of any payment, and dared not haggle +over terms with his brothers’ benefactress. + +Nothing could have been more pitiful, more insufficient than such an +education, and yet all went well, it all brought forth marvellous fruits, +so little is needed for development if only there is something to develop. + +The poor deacon, a tall, thin, bald man, was one of those enthusiasts +whom neither years nor misfortunes can cure of their dreams; on the +contrary, their troubles tend to keep them in a state of mystic +contemplation. His faith, which approached fanaticism, was sincere +and not without a shade of poetry. Between these two, the father of a +hungry family and the forlorn child fed on the bread of charity, a good +understanding sprang up at once. + +The deacon was received in the princess’s household as a poor man, +defenceless, and at the same time mild-tempered, usually is received, +with barely a nod, or barely a condescending word. Even the ‘lady +companion’ thought it necessary to show her disdain; while he scarcely +noticed either them or their manners, taught his subjects with love, was +touched by his pupil’s readiness of understanding, and could move her +to tears. This the old princess could not understand; she scolded the +child for being a cry-baby and was greatly displeased, declaring that the +deacon was upsetting her nerves. ‘This is really too much,’ she said, +‘it’s unchildlike!’ + +Meanwhile the old man’s words were opening before the young creature +another world, attractive in a very different way from that in which +religion itself was turned into an affair of diet, reduced to keeping the +fasts, and going to church at night, in which everything was limited, +artificial, and conventional, and cramped the soul with its narrowness. +The deacon put the Gospel into his pupil’s hands—and it was long before +she let it go again. The Gospel was the first book she read, and she +read it over and over again, with her one friend Sasha, her old nurse’s +niece, now a young maid of the princess’s. + +Later on I knew Sasha very well. Where and how she had managed to develop +her intelligence I never could understand, as she spent her childhood +between the coachman’s quarters and the kitchen, and never left the +maids’ room, but she was extraordinarily developed. She was one of those +innocent victims who perish unnoticed in the servants’ quarters, and +more often than we suppose, crushed by the conditions of serfdom. They +perish not only without compensation, without commiseration, without an +hour of brightness, without a joyful memory, but without knowing, without +themselves suspecting, what is perishing in them and how much is dying +with them. Their mistress says with vexation: ‘The wretched girl was just +beginning to be trained to her work when she took to her bed and died.’ +... The seventy-year-old housekeeper grumbles: ‘What are servants coming +to nowadays? They are worse than any young lady,’ and goes to the funeral +dinner. The mother weeps and weeps and begins to drink—and that is the +end. + +And we pass hurriedly by, not seeing the terrible dramas enacted at +our feet, thinking we have more important things to fill our time, and +feeling that we have done our part with a few roubles and a kindly word. +And then all at once astounded, we hear the heart-rending moan with which +the crushed spirit reveals itself for all time, and, as though awakening +from sleep, we ask ourselves whence came that spirit, that strength. + +Princess Marya Alexeyevna killed her maid, unintentionally and +unconsciously, of course; she worried her to death over trifles, broke +her heart, oppressed her whole life, wore her out with humiliations, with +harshness and insensibility. For several years she forbade her marriage, +and only allowed it when she could see consumption in her suffering face. + +Poor Sasha, poor victim of the loathsome, accursed Russian life +defiled by serfdom, by death you escaped to freedom! And yet you were +incomparably happier than others in the gloomy bondage of the princess’s +house: you met a friend, and the affection of her whom you loved so +immeasurably was with you to the grave. You cost her many tears; not long +before her own death she still thought of you, and blessed your memory as +the one bright image of her childhood! + +The two young girls (Sasha was a little the elder) used to get up early +in the mornings when all the household was still asleep, read the Gospel +and pray, going out into the courtyard under the open sky. They prayed +for the princess and her lady-companion, besought God to soften their +hearts; they invented ordeals for themselves, ate no meat for weeks +together, dreamed of a nunnery and of the life beyond the grave. + +Such mysticism is in keeping with adolescence, with the age in which +everything is still a secret, still a religious mystery, when the +awakening thought is not yet shining clearly through the mists of early +morning, and the mist is not yet dissipated by experience nor passion. + +At quiet and gentle moments, I loved in after years to hear of these +childish prayers, with which one full life began and one unhappy +existence ended. The image of the forlorn child outraged by coarse +patronage, and of the slave girl outraged by her hopeless bondage, +praying for their oppressors in the neglected courtyard, filled the heart +with tenderness, and breathed a rare peace upon the spirit. + +The pure and gracious being, whom no one of those near her in the +princess’s senseless household appreciated, won, besides the devotion of +the deacon and Sasha, a warm response and homage from all the servants. +These simple people saw in her more than a kind and gracious young lady, +they divined in her something higher for which they felt reverence, they +had faith in her. The girls of the princess’s household, when they were +going to their wedding, would beg her to pin some ribbon with her own +hands. One young maidservant—I remember her name was Yelena—was suddenly +taken very ill; it turned out to be acute pleurisy, there was no hope +of saving her, the priest was sent for. The frightened girl kept asking +her mother if she were dying; the mother, sobbing, told her that God +would soon summon her. Then the sick girl besought her mother with bitter +tears to fetch her young lady that she might come herself to bless her +with the holy ikon for the other world. When she came the sick girl took +her hand, laid it on her forehead, and repeated: ‘Pray for me, pray for +me!’ The young girl, herself in tears, began praying in a low voice, +and the sick girl died as she prayed. All in the room knelt round, +crossing themselves; Natalie closed the dead girl’s eyes, kissed the cold +forehead, and went away.[2] + +Only cold and narrow natures know nothing of this romantic period; +they are as much to be pitied as those frail and feeble beings in whom +mysticism outlives youth and remains for ever. In our age this does not +happen with realistic natures; but how could the secular influences of +the nineteenth century penetrate into the princess’s house, every crevice +was so well padded? + +A crack was found, nevertheless. + +My Kortcheva cousin used sometimes to come on a visit to the princess. +She was fond of the ‘little cousin,’ as one is fond of children, +especially if they are unhappy, but she did not understand her. With +amazement, almost with horror, she discovered later on her exceptional +nature, and, impulsive in everything, at once determined to make up for +her neglect. She begged from me Hugo, Balzac, or anything new I might +have. ‘The little cousin,’ she said to me, ‘is a genius, we ought to do +what we can for her!’ + +The ‘big cousin’—and I cannot help smiling at this name for her, for she +was a tiny creature—at once communicated to her protégée every stray +thought in her own mind, Schiller’s ideas and the ideas of Rousseau, +revolutionary ideas picked up from me and the dreams of a lovesick girl +picked up from herself. Then she secretly lent her French novels, verses, +poems; they were for the most part books that had appeared since 1830. +With all their defects, they stimulated thought, and stirred and fired +youthful hearts. In the novels and stories, the poems and songs of that +period, whether the author intended it or not, there was always a strong +vein of social feeling: everywhere social sores were revealed and the +moan of the hungry, innocent slaves of labour could be heard; even by +that date their murmur and complaint was no longer feared as a crime. + +I need hardly say that my cousin lent the books without any +discrimination, without any explanations, and I imagine that there was no +harm in that; there are natures which never need help, support, guidance +from others, who always walk most safely where there is no fence. + +Another person who carried on the secular influence of my Kortcheva +cousin was soon added to the list. The princess at last made up her mind +to take a governess, and to avoid expense engaged a young Russian girl +who had only just left boarding-school. + +Russian governesses do not cost much, at any rate they did not in the +’thirties, yet for all their defects they were better than the majority +of French girls from Switzerland, of retired courtesans and actresses +who catch at teaching in despair as their last resource for earning +their bread, a resource needing neither talent nor youth, nothing in +fact but the ability to pronounce ‘Hrrrra’ and the manners _d’une +dame de comptoir_, which is often taken in the provinces for ‘good’ +manners. Russian governesses come from boarding-schools, or educational +establishments, and so have had some sort of regular education, and are +free from the petty-bourgeois tone which the foreign women bring in with +them. + +The French governesses of to-day must be distinguished from those who +used to come to Russia before 1812. In those days France was less +bourgeois and the women who came to Russia belonged to quite a different +social stratum. To some extent they were the daughters of _émigrés_ and +of ruined noblemen, or widows of officers, often their deserted wives. +Napoleon used to marry off his warriors in the way that our landowners +used to marry their serfs, without much regard for love or inclination. +He wanted, by these marriages, to unite his new military aristocracy +with the old nobility; he wanted to knock his Skalozubs[3] into shape by +means of their wives. Accustomed to blind obedience, they married without +protest, but soon abandoned their wives, finding them too stiff for the +festivities of the barracks and the bivouac. The poor women made their +way to England, to Austria, to Russia. The old Frenchwoman who used to +stay with the princess belonged to this class of old-fashioned governess. +She spoke with a smile in choice language and never made use of a single +strong expression. She was entirely made up of good manners and never +forgot herself for a minute. I am convinced that even at night in her +bed she was more preoccupied with the proper way of sleeping than with +sleeping. + +The young governess was an intelligent, bright, energetic girl with a +good share of boarding-school enthusiasm and an innate feeling for what +is fine. Active and ardent, she brought more life and movement into the +existence of her pupil and friend. + +There had been a tone of mourning, of melancholy in the sad and +depressing friendship with the consumptive Sasha. Her company, together +with the deacon’s teachings and the absence of every kind of diversion, +was drawing the young girl away from the world, from men. This third +person, young, full of life and gaiety, and at the same time sympathetic +with everything dreamy and romantic, came in the nick of time: she drew +her back to earth, to the basis of truth and reality. + +At first the pupil to some extent adopted her Amelia’s external manners; +a smile was more often to be seen on her face, and her conversation +grew livelier; but within a year the natures of the two girls defined +their mutual attitude. The careless, charming Amelia gave way before the +stronger nature and was completely dominated by her pupil, saw with her +eyes, thought her thoughts, lived in her smile and in her affection. + +Before I had finished my studies at the university, I took to going more +frequently to the princess’s house. The young girl seemed pleased when I +came, and sometimes her cheeks glowed and her talk grew more animated, +but she quickly withdrew into her usual dreamy stillness, recalling +the cold beauty of sculpture or Schiller’s ‘Mädchen aus der Fremde’ who +checked all approach. + +It was not unsociability nor coldness, but an active inner life; not +understood by others, she did not as yet even understand herself, and +had rather a dim presentiment than a knowledge of what was in herself. +In her lovely features there was still something incomplete, not fully +expressed, they lacked a spark, a touch of the sculptor’s chisel which +would decide whether she was destined to pine and fade away in a barren +desert, knowing neither herself nor life, or to reflect the glow of +passion, to be enfolded by it, and to live, perhaps to suffer—certainly, +indeed, to suffer, but to live abundantly. + +I first saw the token of life coming out on her half-childish face on the +eve of our long separation. + +Well I remember her eyes with quite a different light in them, and all +her features with their significance transformed, as though penetrated by +a new thought, a new fire ... as though the secret had been guessed and +the inner mist dissipated. This was when I was in prison. A dozen times +we said good-bye, and still we could not bear to part. At last my mother, +who had come with Natalie[4] to the Krutitsky Barracks, resolutely got +up to go. The young girl shuddered, turned pale, squeezed my hand with +unnatural force, and repeated, turning away to hide her tears, ‘Alexandr, +don’t forget your sister.’ + +The gendarme saw them out and set to walking to and fro. I flung myself +on my bed and long gazed at the door behind which that bright apparition +had vanished. ‘No, your brother will not forget you,’ I thought. + +Next day I was taken to Perm, but before I speak of our separation I will +tell of something else that prevented me, before my prison days, from +understanding Natalie better and growing more intimate with her. I was in +love! + +Yes, I was in love, and the memory of that pure youthful love is as dear +to me as the memory of a spring day spent by the sea among flowers and +singing. It was a dream, full of much that was lovely, that vanished as +dreams usually do vanish! + +I have mentioned already that there were very few women in our circle, +especially of the sort with whom I could have been on intimate terms: +my affection for my Kortcheva cousin, at first ardent, gradually became +quieter in tone. After her marriage we saw each other less often, and +then she went away. A vague yearning for a warmer, tenderer feeling than +the affection of my men friends hovered about my heart. Everything was +ready, all that was lacking was ‘she.’ In one of the families of our +acquaintance there was a young girl with whom I quickly made friends. It +was a strange chance that brought us together. She was betrothed, when +all at once some dissension arose, her fiancé abandoned her and went off +to the other end of Russia. She was in despair, overcome with distress +and mortification. With deep and sincere sympathy I saw how she was +being consumed by grief. Without daring to hint at the cause, I tried to +comfort her and distract her mind, brought her novels, read them aloud to +her, told her long stories, and sometimes neglected to prepare for my +lectures at the university in order to stay longer with the distressed +girl. + +Gradually her tears fell less frequently, from time to time a smile +glimmered through them; her despair passed into a languid melancholy; +soon she began to feel alarmed for her past, she struggled with herself +and defended it against the present, from a _point d’honneur_ of the +heart, as a soldier defends the flag, though he knows that the battle +is lost. I saw these last clouds faintly lingering on the horizon and, +myself carried away, with a beating heart, softly, softly drew the flag +out of her hands, and by the time she had given it up I was in love. We +believed in our love. She wrote verses to me, I wrote whole essays to +her in prose, and then we dreamed together of the future, of exile, of +prisons. She was ready for anything. The external side of life never took +a very clear shape in our imaginations; dedicated to the conflict with a +monstrous power, we felt success almost incredible. ‘Be my Gaetana,’ I +said to her after reading Saintine’s[5] ‘The Mutilated Poet,’ and I used +to fancy how she would follow me to the Siberian mines. + +‘The Mutilated Poet’ was the poet who wrote a lampoon upon Sixtus V. and +gave himself up when the Pope promised not to inflict the death penalty. +Sixtus V. ordered his tongue and hands to be cut off. The figure of the +luckless victim, choked by the mass of ideas which swarmed in his brain +and found no outlet, could not but attract us in those days. The martyr’s +sad and exhausted eyes found peace when they rested with gratitude and +some remnant of happiness on the girl who had loved him in old days and +did not abandon him in misfortune. Her name was Gaetana. + +This first experience of love was soon over, but it was perfectly +sincere. Perhaps, indeed, it was right for this love to pass, or it would +have lost its finest, most fragrant quality, its innocent freshness, its +nineteen-year-old charm. Lilies of the valley do not flower in winter. + +And can it be, my Gaetana, that you do not recall our meeting with the +same serene smile, can it be that there is any bitterness mixed with your +memory of me after twenty-two years? That would be very grievous to me. +And where are you, and how have you spent your life? + +I have lived my life and now am going slowly downhill, broken, and +morally ‘mutilated.’ I seek no Gaetana, I go over the memories of the +past and meet your image joyfully.... Do you remember the window in the +corner facing the little side street into which I had to turn, and how +you always came to it to watch me pass, and how disappointed I was if you +did not come to it, or moved away before I had time to turn? + +But I do not want to meet you in reality; in my imagination you have +remained with your youthful face, your _blond cendré_ curls: remain as +you were. And you, too, if you think of me, will remember a slender lad +with sparkling eyes and fiery words, and may you think of him like that +and never know that the eyes have lost their lustre, that I have grown +heavy, that my brow is furrowed, that long ago my face lost the radiant, +eager look of old days which Ogaryov used to call ‘the look of hope.’ +And, indeed, hope too is gone. + +We ought to be to each other as we were then ... neither Achilles nor +Diana grow old.... I do not want to meet you as Larin met Princess +Alina:[6] + + ‘Do you remember Grandison? + Cousin, how is Grandison?— + Oh, Grandison! In Moscow living, + On Christmas Eve he left his card, + A son of his was married lately.’ + +The last glow of dying love lighted up for a moment the prison vault, +warmed the heart with its old dreams, and then each took our separate +paths. She went away to the Ukraine while I was going into exile. Since +then I have had no tidings of her. + + + + +Chapter 21 + +SEPARATION + + + ‘_Ah, people, wicked people,_ + _You separated their...._’ + +So my first letter to Natalie ended, and it is note-worthy that, +frightened by the word ‘hearts,’ I did not write it. And I signed the +letter ‘your brother.’ + +How dear ‘my sister’ was then to me and how continually in my thoughts is +clear from the fact that I wrote to her from Nizhni, and from Perm on the +very day after my arrival there. The word ‘sister’ expressed all that was +recognised in our affection; I liked it immensely and I like it now, used +not as the limit of the feelings but, on the contrary, as the mingling of +them all; in it are united affection, love, the tie of kinship, a common +devotion, the surroundings of childhood, and habitual association. I had +called no one by that name before, and it was so precious to me that even +in later years I often used it to Natalie. + +Before I fully understood our relations, and perhaps just because I did +not understand them fully, a temptation awaited me which has not left so +bright a memory as my episode with Gaetana; a temptation that humiliated +me and cost me much regret and inner distress. + +Having very little experience of life, and being flung into a world +completely strange to me, after nine months of prison, I lived at first +carelessly without taking stock of what I saw; the new country, the new +surroundings made me rather dizzy. My social position was transformed. In +Perm and in Vyatka I was regarded very differently from in Moscow; there +I had been a young man living in my father’s house, here in this stagnant +waste I was independent, and was accepted as a government official, +although I was not exactly one. It was not hard for me to perceive that +without much effort I might play the part of a man of the world in the +drawing-rooms beyond the Volga and the Kama, and be a lion in Vyatka +society. + +In Perm, before I had time to look about me, the landlady to whom I +had gone to take lodgings asked me whether I wanted a kitchen garden +and whether I was keeping a cow! It was a question by which I could, +with horror, judge the depth of my descent from the academic heights +of student life. But at Vyatka I made acquaintance with all the world, +especially with the younger people of the merchant class, which is much +better educated in these remote provinces than in those nearer the +centre, though they are no less given to drink and debauchery. Distracted +from my usual pursuits by office work, I led a restlessly idle life; +owing to my peculiar impressionability, or perhaps mobility, of character +and absence of experience, adventures of all sorts might well be expected. + +From a coquettish passion _de l’approbativité_ I tried to please right +and left indiscriminately, forced my sympathies, made friends over a +dozen words, became far more intimate than I need, recognised my mistake +a month or two later, said nothing from delicacy, and dragged a weary +chain of false relations until it was broken by an absurd quarrel +in which I was blamed for capricious impatience, ingratitude, and +inconstancy. + +At first I did not live alone in Vyatka. A strange and comic figure, +which from time to time appears at all the turning points of my life, at +all its important events, the person who drowns to make me acquainted +with Ogaryov, and waves a handkerchief from Russia when I cross the +frontier at Taurogen—K. I. Sonnenberg—was living with me in Vyatka; I +forgot to mention this when I described my exile. + +This was how it happened: at the moment when I was being sent to Perm, +Sonnenberg was preparing to go to the Fair at Irbit. My father, who +always liked to complicate everything simple, suggested to Sonnenberg +that he should go to Perm and there _furnish my house_, in return +undertaking to pay his travelling expenses. + +At Perm Sonnenberg zealously set to work, that is, to the purchase of +unnecessary articles, all sorts of crockery, saucepans, bowls, glass, +and provisions. He went himself to Obva to procure a Vyatka horse _ex +ipso fonte_. When everything was complete I was transferred to Vyatka. We +sold, half-price, the goods he had purchased and left Perm. Sonnenberg, +conscientiously carrying out my father’s wishes, thought it his duty +to go to Vyatka too to furnish my house. My father was so well pleased +with his devotion and self-sacrifice that he offered him a salary of a +hundred roubles a month so long as he would stay with me. This was more +profitable and more secure than Irbit—and he was in no hurry to leave me. + +In Vyatka he bought not one but three horses, one of which belonged to +himself, though it too was bought at my father’s expense. These horses +raised us considerably in the esteem of Vyatka society. Karl Ivanovitch, +as I have mentioned already, was, in spite of his fifty years and the +rather glaring defects of his features, a great flirt, and entertained +the agreeable conviction that every girl and woman who came near +him risked the fate of the moth flying round a lighted candle. Karl +Ivanovitch had no intention of wasting the effect produced by the horses, +but tried to turn them to advantage on the erotic side. Moreover, all our +circumstances were favourable to his designs; we had a verandah looking +out into a courtyard beyond which there was a garden. From ten o’clock +in the morning Sonnenberg, arrayed in Kazan morocco leather boots, a +gold embroidered _tibiteyka_, and a Caucasian _beshmyet_, with an immense +amber mouthpiece between his lips, would sit on watch, pretending to be +reading. The _tibiteyka_ and the amber mouthpiece were all aimed at three +young ladies who lived in the next house. The young ladies for their +part were interested in the new arrivals and gazed with curiosity at the +oriental-looking doll smoking on the verandah. Karl Ivanovitch knew when +and how they secretly lifted their blind, thought that things were going +swimmingly—and tenderly blew a light coil of smoke in the direction of +the objects of his devotion. + +Soon the garden gave us the opportunity of making our neighbours’ +acquaintance. Our landlord had three houses, and the garden was shared in +common by them. In one of the houses we were living, together with the +landlord and his stepmother, a fat, flabby widow who looked after him so +masterfully and with such jealousy that it was only on the sly that he +ventured to speak to the ladies of the garden. In the second house lived +the young ladies and their parents, and the third house stood empty. +Within a week Karl Ivanovitch was quite at home with the ladies of our +garden. He would spend several hours a day swinging the young girls in +the swing and running to fetch their capes and sunshades, in fact he was +_aux petits soins_. The young ladies were more free in their behaviour +with him than with anybody else, because he was more beyond suspicion +than Caesar’s wife: a mere glance at him was enough to check the faintest +breath of scandal. + +In the evening I too used to walk into the garden, from that herd +instinct which makes people do what others are doing, apart from +any inclination. To the garden came, besides the lodgers, their +acquaintances; the chief subject of talk and interest was flirtation and +watching one another. Karl Ivanovitch devoted himself to sentimental +espionage with the vigilance of a Vidok,[7] and always knew who walked +oftenest with whom, and who looked significantly at whom. I was a +terrible bone of contention for all the secret police of our garden; the +ladies and the men wondered at my reserve, and for all their efforts +could not discover on whom I was dancing attendance, and who particularly +attracted me; and indeed it was not easy to do so, for I was not dancing +attendance on any one and I did not find any of the young ladies +particularly attractive. In the end they were vexed and offended by this, +they began to consider me proud and sarcastic, and the young ladies’ +friendliness grew perceptibly cooler—though every one of them tried her +most killing glances upon me when we were alone. + +While things were like this, one morning Karl Ivanovitch informed me +that the landlady’s cook had opened the shutters of the third house and +was cleaning the windows. The house had been taken by a family who had +arrived in the town. + +The garden was entirely absorbed in details concerning the new arrivals. +The unknown lady, who was either tired from the journey or had not yet +had time to unpack, as though to spite us, refused to show herself +outside. Every one tried to see her at a window or in the porch, some +succeeded, while others watched for days together in vain; those who +saw her reported her pale and languid, interesting, in short, and +good-looking. The young ladies said that she looked melancholy and ill. A +young clerk in the governor’s office, a sprightly and quite intelligent +fellow, was the only one who knew the strangers. He had once served +in the same provincial town with them, and every one besieged him with +questions. + +The sprightly clerk, pleased at knowing what other people did not +know, held forth endlessly upon the charms of their new neighbour. He +praised her to the skies, declared that you could see she was a lady +from Petersburg or Moscow. ‘She is intelligent,’ he repeated, ‘charming, +cultured, but she won’t look at fellows like us. Ah, upon my soul,’ he +added, suddenly turning to me, ‘there’s a happy thought; you must keep up +the honour of Vyatka society and get up a flirtation with her.... Why, +you are from Moscow, you know, and in exile; no doubt you write verses. +She’s a heaven-sent find for you.’ + +‘What nonsense you do talk,’ I said, laughing, but I flushed crimson: I +longed to see her. + +A few days later I met her in the garden and found that she really was a +very charming blonde. The gentleman who had talked about her introduced +me. I was agitated and was as little able to hide it as my companion his +smile. + +The shyness due to vanity passed and I got to know her; she was very +unhappy and, deceiving herself by assumed composure, was pining away and +languishing in a sort of indolence of the heart. + +Madame R—— was one of those secretly passionate natures only to be met +among women of a fair complexion. The ardour of their hearts is masked +by the mildness and gentleness of their features; they turn pale with +emotion, and their eyes do not flash but rather grow dim when feeling +brims over. Her languid eyes looked exhausted with a vague craving, her +yearning bosom heaved irregularly. There was something restless and +electric in her whole being. Often when walking in the garden she would +suddenly turn pale and, inwardly troubled or agitated, would answer +absent-mindedly and hurry into the house. It was just at those moments +that I liked to look at her. + +I soon saw what was passing within her. She did not love her husband and +could not love him; she was twenty-five, he was over fifty, yet that +disparity she might have got over, but the difference of education, of +interests, of temperament, was too great. + +Her husband scarcely ever came out of his room; he was a dry, harsh, old +man, an official with pretensions to being a landowner, irritable like +all invalids and like most people who have lost their fortune. She was +sixteen when she was married to him and then he had some property, but +afterwards he had lost everything at cards and was forced to go into the +service for a living. Two years before he was transferred to Vyatka he +began to fall into ill-health, a sore on his leg developed into disease +of the bone. The old man became surly and ill-humoured, was afraid of his +illness, and looked with helpless suspicion and uneasiness at his wife. +She waited upon him with mournful self-sacrifice, but she did this only +as her duty. Her children could not give all that her yearning heart +craved. + +One evening, speaking of one thing and another, I said that I should very +much like to send my cousin my portrait, but that I could not find a man +in Vyatka who could hold a pencil. + +‘Let me try,’ said the lady. ‘I used to draw rather successful portraits +in pencil.’ + +‘I shall be delighted. When?’ + +‘To-morrow before dinner, if you like.’ + +‘Of course. I will come to-morrow at one o’clock.’ + +All this was in her husband’s presence; he said not a word. + +Next morning I got a note from Madame R——. It was the first I had ever +received from her. She very courteously and circumspectly informed me +that her husband was not pleased at her having offered to draw my +portrait, begged me not to judge harshly of the whims of an invalid, said +that he must not be worried, and, in conclusion, offered to make the +sketch some other day, saying nothing about it to her husband, that he +might not be annoyed by it. + +I warmly, perhaps excessively warmly, thanked her. I did not accept her +offer to draw the portrait in secret, but nevertheless these two notes +made us much more intimate. Her attitude to her husband, upon which I +could never have touched, was openly expressed; a secret understanding, a +league against him, was unconsciously formed between us. + +In the evening I went to see them—not a word was said about the portrait. +If her husband had been cleverer he must have guessed what had happened; +but he was not clever. I thanked her with my eyes, she answered with a +smile. + +Soon they moved into another part of the town. The first time I went to +see them I found her alone in a barely furnished drawing-room; she was +sitting at the piano, her eyes were tear-stained. I begged her to go on; +but the music halted, she played false notes, her hands trembled, the +colour left her face. ‘How stifling it is!’ she said, getting up quickly +from the piano. + +In silence I took her hand, a weak, feverish hand; her head, like a +flower grown too heavy, as though passively obeying some external force, +sank on my breast, she pressed her forehead against me and instantly fled. + +Next day I received a rather frightened note from her, trying to throw +a sort of mist over what had passed; she wrote of the terribly nervous +condition in which she had been when I came in, of scarcely remembering +what had happened. She apologised for her behaviour—but the thin veil of +her words could not conceal the passion that glowed through them. + +I went to see them; that day her husband was a little better, though he +had not risen from his bed since they had been in their new quarters. +I was worked up by excitement, played the fool, fired off witty jokes, +talked all sorts of nonsense, made the invalid almost die with laughter, +and of course all that was to cover her embarrassment and my own. +Moreover, I felt that the laughter was intoxicating her and drawing her +on. + + * * * * * + +This orgy of love lasted for a month; then my heart was as it were tired, +exhausted; I began to have moments of depression, I studiously concealed +them, tried not to believe in them, wondered what was passing within +me—while still love was cooling. + +I began to feel constrained by the presence of the old man. It was +awkward and hateful for me in his company. Not that I felt myself in the +wrong as regards the man who had the civil and ecclesiastical rights of +property in a woman who could not love him and whom he was incapable +of loving, but my double part struck me as humiliating; hypocrisy and +duplicity are the vices most foreign to my nature. While growing passion +was in the ascendant I thought of nothing, but as soon as it was somewhat +cooler I began to have doubts. + +One morning Matvey came into my bedroom with the news that old R—— ‘had +passed away.’ I was overcome by a strange feeling at this news, I turned +on the other side and was in no hurry to dress. I did not want to see +the dead man. Vitberg came in, quite ready to go out. ‘What!’ he said, +‘you’re still in bed! Haven’t you heard what’s happened? I expect poor +Madame R—— is all alone, let us go and see, make haste and dress.’ I +dressed—and we went. + +We found Madame R—— in a swoon or in a sort of nervous lethargy. There +was no pretence about it: her husband’s death had recalled her helpless +position; she was left alone with her children in a strange town, +without money, without friends or relations. Besides, she had on previous +occasions fallen into this cataleptic condition, which was brought on by +some violent shock and lasted several hours. Pale as death, with her face +cold and her eyes closed, she lay, from time to time giving a gasp, and +breathless in the intervals. + +Not one woman came to help her, to show her sympathy, to look after the +children or the house. Vitberg remained with her, the prophetic clerk and +I undertook to see after things. + +The old man, looking black and sunken, lay in his uniform on the +drawing-room table, frowning as though he were angry with me. We laid +him in the coffin, and two days later lowered him into the grave. After +the funeral we went back to the dead man’s house; the children in their +black frocks with crape weepers huddled in the corner, more amazed and +frightened than grieved: they whispered together and walked on tiptoe. +Madame R—— sat with her head leaning on her hands, as though pondering, +and did not say a single word. + +In that drawing-room, on that sofa I had waited for her, listened to the +sick man moaning and the drunken servant swearing. Now everything was so +black.... In the midst of funereal surroundings and the smell of incense, +I was haunted by vague and gloomy recollections of words and minutes of +which I still could not think without tenderness. + +Her grief gradually subsided and she looked more resolutely at her +position; then, little by little, other thoughts began to light up her +careworn and despondent face. Her eyes rested upon me with a sort of +agitated inquiry, as though she were waiting for something ... a question +... an answer.... + +I said nothing—and she, frightened, alarmed, began to feel doubts. + +Then I saw that her husband had in reality been an excuse for me in +my own eyes—love had burnt itself out in me. It was not that I had no +feeling for her, far from it, but the feeling was not what she wanted. +I was now occupied by a different order of ideas, and that outburst of +passion seemed to have possessed me simply to make another feeling clear +to myself. Only one thing I can say in my defence—I was perfectly sincere +in my infatuation. + +While I had lost my head and did not know what to do, while with cowardly +weakness I was waiting for the chances of time and circumstance, time and +circumstance complicated my position still further. + +Tyufyaev, seeing the helpless position of a young and beautiful widow +left without any support in a remote town in which she was a stranger, +like the true ‘father of the province,’ showed her the tenderest +solicitude. At first we all thought that he felt real sympathy for her. +But soon Madame R—— observed with horror that his attentions were by no +means so simple. Two or three dissolute governors before him had kept +Vyatka ladies as mistresses, and Tyufyaev, following their example, lost +no time but at once began making declarations of love to her. Madame +R—— of course responded with cold disdain and mockery to his elderly +blandishments. Tyufyaev would not recognise himself rebuffed, but +persisted in his insolent attentions. Seeing, however, that he was making +little progress, he gave her to understand that her children’s future lay +in his hands, that without his assistance she could not place them in +schools at government expense, and that he on his side would not exert +himself in her favour if she did not adopt a less chilly attitude to him. +The insulted woman sprang up like a wild beast wounded. ‘Kindly leave my +house and don’t dare to set foot in it again,’ she said, pointing to the +door. + +‘Ough, what a temper you have got!’ said Tyufyaev, trying to turn things +off with a jest. + +‘Pyotr, Pyotr,’ she shouted in the entry, and the terrified Tyufyaev, +fearing a public scandal, abashed and humiliated, fled to his carriage, +gasping with fury. + +In the evening Madame R—— told Vitberg and me all that had happened. +Vitberg at once realised that the Lovelace put to flight and insulted +would not leave the poor woman in peace; Tyufyaev’s character was pretty +well known to us all. Vitberg resolved at all costs to save her. + +Persecutions soon followed. The petition with regard to the children was +presented in such a way that refusal was inevitable. The landlord and +the shopkeepers demanded payment with remarkable insistence. God knows +what might not be expected; the man who had done Petrovsky to death in a +madhouse was not to be trifled with. + +Though burdened with an immense family and weighed down by poverty, +Vitberg did not hesitate for one minute, but invited Madame R—— to move +with her children into his house two or three days after his wife’s +arrival in Vyatka. In his house Madame R—— was safe, so great was the +moral power of this exile. His inflexible will, his noble appearance, +his fearless words, his scornful smile were dreaded even by the Vyatka +Shemyaka.[8] + +I lived in a wing apart in the same house and dined at Vitberg’s table, +and so here we were under the same roof, just when we ought to have been +seas apart. + +In this close proximity she soon saw that there was no bringing back the +past. + +Why had she met me, at that time so unstable? She might have been +happy, she deserved to be happy. The sorrowful past was over, a new +life of love and harmony was so possible for her! Poor woman! Was it my +fault that this storm-cloud of love which had swooped down upon me so +irresistibly, so ardently, intoxicated me, drew me on, and then melted +away? + +I lived in a state of anxious perturbation. Perplexed, foreseeing +trouble, and dissatisfied with myself, again I turned to dissipation and +sought distraction in noise, was vexed at finding it and vexed at not +finding it, and awaited a few lines from Natalie as for a breath of pure +air in the midst of sultry heat. The gentle image of the child on the +verge of womanhood rose brighter and brighter above all this ferment of +passion. My outburst of passion for Madame R—— made my own heart clear to +me and revealed its secret. + +More and more absorbed by my feeling for my far-away cousin, I had not +clearly analysed the sentiment that bound me to her. I was used to the +feeling and did not watch closely to see whether it had changed or not. + +My letters became more and more troubled; on the one hand I felt deeply +not only the wrong I had done Madame R——, but the fresh wrong I did her +in the lying of which I was guilty by my silence. It seemed to me that I +had fallen, that I was unworthy of any other love ... while my love was +growing and growing. + +The name of _sister_ began to fret me, affection now was not enough for +me, that gentle feeling seemed cold. Her love was apparent in every line +of her letters, but that did not satisfy me. I wanted not only love +but the very word itself, and I wrote: ‘I am going to put a strange +question to you. Do you believe that the feeling you have for me is +only affection? Do you believe that the feeling I have for you is only +affection? I don’t believe it.’ + +‘You seem somewhat troubled,’ she answered. ‘I knew your letter +frightened you much more than it frightened me. Set your mind at rest, +dear, it has changed absolutely nothing in me, it could not make me love +you more, or less.’ + +But the word had been uttered: ‘The mist has vanished,’ she writes, ‘all +is clear and bright again.’ + +With unclouded joy she gave herself up to the feeling that had been +given its name; her letters are one youthful song of love rising from a +childish whisper to lyrical heights. + +‘Perhaps at this moment,’ she writes, ‘you are sitting in your study, not +writing, not reading, but pensively smoking a cigar, and your eyes are +fixed on the vague distance and you have no answer for the greeting of +any one who comes in. Where are your thoughts? What are you seeing? Do +not answer, let them come to me....’ + +‘Let us be childish, let us fix an hour for both of us to be in the open +air, an hour in which we can both be sure that nothing separates us but +distance. At eight o’clock in the evening you, too, are surely free? Or +else I go out as just now upon the steps—and come back at once thinking +that you are indoors.’ + +‘Looking at your letters, at your portrait, thinking of my letters, of +my bracelet, I wished I could skip a century and see what will be their +fate. The things which have been for us holy relics, which have healed +us, body and soul, with which we have talked and which have to some +extent replaced us to each other in absence; all these weapons with which +we have defended ourselves from others, from the blows of fate, from +ourselves, what will they be when we are gone, will their virtue, their +soul remain in them, will they awaken, will they warm some other heart, +will they tell the story of us, of our sufferings, of our love, will they +win one tear? How sad I feel when I imagine that your portrait will one +day hang unknown in some one’s study, or a child perhaps will break the +glass and efface the features.’ + +My letters were not like this[9]; in the midst of full, enthusiastic love +there is a note of bitter vexation with myself and repentance; the dumb +reproaches of Madame R—— were gnawing at my heart and troubling the clear +radiance of my feeling; I seemed to myself a liar, and yet I had not been +lying. + +How could I acknowledge the position? How was I to tell Madame R—— in +January that I had made a mistake in August when I spoke of my love? How +could she believe in the truth of my story—a new love would have been +easier to understand, treachery would have been simpler. How the far-away +image of the absent could enter into conflict with the present, how +another love could have crossed that mountain barrier and become stronger +and more recognised—that I did not understand myself, but I felt that it +was all true. + +Moreover, Madame R—— herself with the elusive agility of a lizard slipped +away from any serious explanation; she had an inkling of danger, was lost +in conjecture, and at the same time was avoiding the truth. It was as +though she had a foreboding that my words would reveal terrible facts, +after knowing which all would be over, and she cut short all talk at the +point where it was becoming dangerous. + +At first she was looking about her; for a few days she thought she had +found her rival in a charming, lively young German girl whom I liked as a +child, with whom I was at ease just because it had never entered her head +to flirt with me, nor mine to flirt with her. A week later she perceived +that Paulina was not at all dangerous. But I cannot go further without +saying a word about the latter. + +In the government dispensary at Vyatka there was a German chemist, and +there was nothing strange about that, but what is strange is that his +assistant was Russian and was called Bolman. With this latter I became +acquainted; he was married to the daughter of a Vyatka government clerk, +a lady who had the longest, thickest, and most beautiful hair I have ever +seen. The dispenser himself, Ferdinand Rulkovius, was at first absent, +and Bolman and I used to drink together various ‘fizzing drinks’ and +artistic cordials compounded from the pharmacy. The dispenser was away +in Reval, there he made the acquaintance of a young girl and offered her +his hand; the girl, who hardly knew him, married him rashly, as a girl +generally does, and a German girl in particular; she had no notion even +into what wilds he was taking her. But when after the wedding she had to +set off, she was overcome with terror and despair. To comfort his bride, +the dispenser invited a young girl of seventeen, a distant relation of +his wife, to go with them to Vyatka. She, even more rashly, with no idea +of what was meant by Vyatka, consented. Neither of the German girls +spoke a word of Russian, and in Vyatka there were not four men who spoke +German. Even the teacher of that language in the high school did not know +it, a fact which surprised me so much that I actually ventured to ask him +how he managed to teach it. + +‘With the grammar,’ he answered, ‘and with dialogues.’ + +He further explained that he was really a teacher of mathematics, but +that, as there was no post vacant, he was meanwhile teaching German, +and that he received, however, only half the salary.[10] The Germans +were dying of ennui, and seeing a man who, if he could not speak German +well, could at least do so intelligently, were highly delighted, regaled +me with coffee and some sort of ‘_Kalteschale_,’ told me all their +secrets, their hopes and their wishes, and within two days called me +their friend and still more hospitably treated me to sweet cakes and +pastries flavoured with spices. Both were fairly well educated, that is, +knew Schiller by heart, played the piano, and sang German songs. There +the likeness between them ended. The dispenser’s wife was a tall, fair, +lymphatic woman, very good-looking but sleepy and listless; she was +extremely good-natured and, indeed, with her physique it would have been +hard to be anything else. Being convinced once for all that her husband +was her husband, she loved him quietly and steadily, looked after the +kitchen and the linen, read novels in her leisure moments, and in due +time successfully bore the chemist a daughter with white eyebrows and +eyelashes and a scrofulous constitution. + +Her friend, a short, dark brunette, vigorously healthy, with big black +eyes and an independent air, was a beauty of the sturdy peasant type; a +great deal of energy was apparent in her words and movements, and when +at times the dispenser, a dull, close-fisted fellow, made somewhat +discourteous observations to his wife, while she listened with a smile +on her lips and a tear on her eyelash, Paulina would flush crimson and +give the offending husband such a look that he would instantly subside, +pretend to be very busy, and go off to his laboratory to pound and mix +all sorts of nasty things for the preservation of the health of the +Vyatka officials. + +I liked the simple-hearted girl who knew how to stand up for herself, +and I do not know how it happened, but it was to her I first talked of +my love and translated some of Natalie’s letters. Only one who has lived +for long years with people who are completely alien know how precious +are these confidences of the heart. I rarely talk of my feelings, but +there are moments, even now, when the longing to express myself becomes +insufferable, and at that time I was four-and-twenty, and I had only just +realised my love. I could bear separation, I could have borne silence +too, but, meeting with another child on the threshold of womanhood, in +whom everything was so unaffectedly simple, I could not refrain from +giving away my secret. And how grateful she was for my confidence, and +how much good she did me! + +Vitberg’s always serious conversation sometimes wearied me; fretted by +my difficult relations with Madame R——, I could not be at my ease with +her. Often in the evening I used to go off to Paulina, read foolish +stories aloud to her, listen to her ringing laugh and to her singing, +especially for my benefit, ‘Das Mädchen aus der Fremde’—by which she and +I understood another ‘maiden from a strange land,’ and the clouds were +dissipated, there was an unfeigned gaiety, an untroubled serenity in my +heart, and I would go home in peace when the dispenser, after stirring +his last mixture and preparing his last ointment, began boring me with +absurd political inquiries—not, however, before I had drunk a ‘draught’ +of his mixing and eaten the herring salad mixed by the little white hands +_der Frau Apothekerin_. + + * * * * * + +Madame R—— was wretched, while with pitiful weakness I waited for time to +bring some chance solution and prolonged the half-deception. A thousand +times I longed to go to Madame R——, to throw myself at her feet, to +tell her everything, to face her wrath, her contempt ... but it was not +indignation that I feared—I should have been glad of it—I feared her +tears. One must have endured many evil experiences to be able to bear a +woman’s tears, to be able to feel doubts while they trickle still warm +over the flushed cheek. Besides, her tears would have been sincere. + +A good deal of time passed like this. Rumours began to reach me that +my exile might soon come to an end. The day no longer seemed so remote +on which I should fling myself into a chaise and dash off to Moscow, +familiar faces hovered before my imagination and among them, foremost of +them, the cherished features; but scarcely did I abandon myself to these +dreams when the pale, mournful figure of Madame R—— would rise up on the +other side with tear-stained eyes, full of pain and reproach, and my joy +was troubled: I felt sorry, terribly sorry for her. + +I could no longer remain in a false position, and plucking up all +my courage I made up my mind to get out of it. I wrote her a full +confession. Warmly, openly, I told her the whole truth. Next day she said +she was ill and did not leave her room. All the sufferings of a criminal, +the fears that he will be unmasked, I passed through on that day. She had +another attack of her nervous stupor—I dared not visit her. + +I wanted my repentance to be complete. I shut myself up with Vitberg in +his study and told him the whole story. At first he was astonished, then +he listened to me not as a judge but as a friend, did not worry me with +questions, did not preach to me with stale morality, but devoted himself +to helping me find means for softening the blow—he alone could do that. +His affection was very warm for those of whom he was fond. I had been +afraid of his rigorous morals, but his affection for me and for Madame +R—— completely outweighed that. Yes, in his hands I could leave the +unhappy woman to whose hard lot I had given the finishing blow, in him +she found strong moral support and authority. She respected him like a +father. + +In the morning Matvey gave me a note. I had scarcely slept all night. +With a trembling hand I broke the seal. She wrote gently, in a noble and +deeply mournful spirit; the flowers of my eloquence had not concealed +the snake beneath them, in her words of resignation could be heard the +stifled moan of a wounded heart, the cry of pain, repressed by a supreme +effort. She blessed me on my way to my new life, wished me happiness, +called Natalie a sister, and held out a pleading hand to us for +forgetfulness of the past and friendship for the future—as though she had +been to blame! + +Sobbing, I read her letter over and over again. _Qual cuor tradisti!_ + +Later on I met her. She gave me her hand affectionately, but we felt +awkward; each of us had left something unsaid, each of us tried to avoid +touching on something. + +A year ago I heard of her death. + +When I left Vyatka I was for a long time worried by the thought of +Madame R——. As I regained my composure I set to work to write a story of +which she was the heroine. I described a young nobleman of the period of +Catherine who has abandoned the woman who loves him and married another. +She pines away and dies. The news of her death is a heavy blow to him, he +becomes gloomy and pensive, and at last goes out of his mind. His wife, +an ideal of gentleness and self-sacrifice, after trying everything, leads +him in one of his quieter moments to the Dyevitchy Convent and kneels +down with him at the unhappy woman’s grave, begging her forgiveness and +her intervention. From the windows of the convent the words of a prayer +reach them, soft feminine voices sing of forgiveness—and the young man +recovers. The story was a failure. At the time when I wrote it Madame +R—— had no thought of coming to Moscow, and the only man who guessed +that there was anything between us was the ‘ubiquitous German,’ K. I. +Sonnenberg. After my mother’s death in 1851, we had no news from him. In +1860 a tourist, describing his acquaintance with Karl Ivanovitch, now a +man of eighty, showed me a letter from him. In a postscript the old man +told him of the death of Madame R—— and said that my brother had had her +buried in the Novo Dyevitchy Convent! + +I need hardly say that neither of them knew anything about my story. + + + + +Chapter 22 + +IN MOSCOW WHILE I WAS AWAY + + +My peaceful life in Vladimir was soon troubled by news from Moscow which +reached me now from all sides and deeply distressed me. To make this +intelligible I must go back to 1834. + +The day after I was arrested in 1834 was the nameday of my aunt, the +princess, and so when Natalie had parted from me in the graveyard she +had said: ‘Until to-morrow’; she was expecting me, several members of +the family had arrived, when suddenly my cousin made his appearance and +told them the full details of my arrest. This news, utterly unexpected, +gave her a shock; she got up to go into the other room, and after taking +two steps fell unconscious on the floor. The princess saw it all and +understood it all; she determined to oppose this love from the beginning +by every means in her power. + +What for? + +I do not know: she had of late, that is after I had finished my studies, +been very well disposed to me; but my arrest and rumours of our +free-thinking attitude, of our giving up the Orthodox Church and entering +the Saint Simon ‘sect,’ infuriated her; from that time forward she never +spoke of me except as ‘that unhappy son of brother Ivan’s.’ The Senator +had to use all his authority to induce her to allow Natalie to go to the +Krutitsky Barracks to say good-bye to me. + +Fortunately I was exiled and the princess had plenty of time before her. + +‘And where is this Perm or Vyatka? He’ll be sure to break his neck there, +or have it broken for him; and in any case he’ll forget her there.’ + +But as though to spite the princess, I had an excellent memory. Natalie’s +correspondence with me, for a long time concealed from the old lady, was +at last discovered, and she sternly forbade the maids and menservants to +receive letters for the young girl, or to take letters to the post. + +‘So I daresay some fine morning that unhappy son of my brother’s will +open the door and walk in; it’s no use wasting time thinking about it, +and putting things off—we’ll make a match for her and save her from the +political criminal who has no religion or principles.’ + +The princess, sighing, would talk of the poor, forlorn girl, saying +that she had scarcely anything, that it would not do for her to pick +and choose, that she would like to see her settled in her own lifetime. +She had, as a fact, with the help of her dependents, settled, after a +fashion, the fate of one distant cousin who had no dowry by marrying her +off to an attorney of some sort. A nice, good-natured, and well-educated +girl, she married to satisfy her mother; two years later she died, but +the attorney was still living, and from gratitude was still looking +after her Excellency’s affairs. In this case, however, the bride was +not portionless, the princess was prepared to treat her like her own +daughter, to give her a dowry of a hundred thousand roubles and to leave +her something in her will besides. On such terms suitors are always to +be found, not only in Moscow but everywhere else, especially when there +is the title of princess as well as a ‘lady companion’ and numerous ‘old +women’ in attendance. + +The whispering, the negotiations, rumours, and maidservants brought +Princess Marya Alexeyevna’s intention to the ears of the unhappy victim +of so much solicitude. She told the ‘lady companion’ that she would not +accept any offer of marriage. Then followed an insulting and ruthless +persecution without one trace of delicacy, a petty persecution pursuing +her every minute and catching her at every step, at every word. + +‘Imagine bad weather, terrible cold, wind, rain, an overcast, as it were, +expressionless sky, a very horrid little room which looks as though a +corpse had just been carried out of it, and these _children_, who have no +aim, no pleasure even, making a noise, shouting, spoiling and defiling +everything near them; and it would be bad enough if one had simply to +look at them, but when one is forced to be in their company ...’ she +writes in one letter from the country where the princess had gone for the +summer; and she goes on: ‘there are three old women sitting here with us, +and they are all three describing how their late husbands were paralysed +and how they used to look after them; and it is chilly enough without +that.’ + +Now systematic persecution was added to these surroundings, and it was +practised not only by the princess but also by the wretched old women, +who were perpetually worrying Natalie, persuading her to be married and +abusing me; as a rule, she said nothing in her letters of the continual +annoyances she had to endure, but sometimes bitterness, humiliation and +boredom were too much for her. ‘I don’t know,’ she writes, ‘whether they +can invent anything more to oppress me. Can they possibly have wit enough +for that? Do you know that I am actually forbidden to go into another +room, even to move to another seat in the same room? It is a long while +since I have played the piano; lights were brought and I went into the +drawing-room, thinking they might be merciful, but no, they brought +me back and set me knitting; perhaps, at least I might sit at another +table—I can’t endure being beside them—might I do even that? No, I must +sit just here beside the priest’s wife, listen, look, and talk, while +they speak of nothing but Filaret or criticise you. For a moment I felt +vexed, I flushed crimson, then all at once my heart was weighed down by a +feeling of bitter sadness, not because I had to be their slave, no ... I +felt horribly sorry for them.’ + +Matchmaking negotiations were formally beginning. + +‘A lady has been here who is fond of me, and whom I am not for that +reason fond of.... She is doing her very utmost to settle things for me, +and she made me so angry that I sang after her— + + “I had rather be dressed in my winding-sheet + Than the wedding veil without my sweet.”’ + +A few days later, 26th October 1837, she writes: ‘What I have been +through to-day, my dear, you can’t imagine. They dressed me up and +dragged me off to Madame S——, who has been extremely gracious to me ever +since I was a child; Colonel Z—— goes there every Tuesday to play cards. +Imagine my position: on the one side the old ladies at the card-table, on +the other all sorts of disgusting figures, and he.... The conversation, +the company—everything was so alien to me, so strange and horrid, so +lifeless and vulgar, I was more like a statue than a living creature. +Everything that was going on seemed like an oppressive nightmare. I kept +asking like a child to go home, they would not heed me. The attention of +the host and of _the visitor_ overwhelmed me; he got as far as writing +half my monogram in chalk. Oh dear, I am not strong enough and I can look +for support to no one of those who might be a help; I am all alone on the +edge of a precipice, and a whole crowd of them are doing everything they +can to push me over; sometimes I am weary, my strength fails me and you +are not near and I cannot see you in the distance; but the mere thought +of you—and my soul is stirred and ready to do battle again in the armour +of love.’ + +Meanwhile every one liked the Colonel: the Senator was friendly to +him, and my father gave it as his opinion that ‘a better match could +not be expected and should not be desired.’ ‘Even his Excellency D. +P. (Golohvastov) is pleased with him,’ wrote Natalie. The princess +said nothing directly to Natalie, but restricted her freedom even more +severely and hurried things on. Natalie tried to play the part of a +complete imbecile in his presence, hoping to repel him, but not at all; +he went on coming more and more frequently. + +‘Yesterday,’ she writes, ‘Amelia was here and this is what she said: “If +I heard that you were dead I should cross myself with joy and thank God.” +She is right in a great deal but not altogether; her soul living only in +sorrow could fully grasp the sufferings of my spirit, but the bliss with +which love fills it she could scarcely understand.’ + +But the princess was not losing heart. ‘Wishing to have a clear +conscience, the princess invited a priest who is a friend of Z—— and +asked him whether it would not be a sin to marry me against my will. The +priest said it would be actually a godly work to make so good a provision +for an orphan. I am sending for my own priest,’ Natalie adds, ‘and shall +tell him the whole story.’ + +‘_October 30th._—My clothes are here, my attire for to-morrow, and the +ikon, the rings; all sorts of arrangements and preparations have been +made, and not a word to me. The Nasakins and others have been invited. +They are preparing a surprise for me and I am preparing a surprise for +them. + +‘_Evening._—Now a family council is going on. Lyov Alexeyevitch (the +Senator) is here. You urge me to be strong—there is no need, my dear. +I am equal to extricating myself from the awful, loathsome scenes into +which they are dragging me on the chain. Your image is bright above me, +there is no need to fear for me, and my very distress and sadness are so +sacred and have taken so firm a hold on my soul that tearing them away +would hurt even more, the wounds would re-open.’ + +However, though they did their best to mask and cover up the position, +the Colonel could not avoid seeing the positive aversion of his proposed +bride; he began to be less frequent in his visits, declared himself ill, +and even hinted at some addition to the dowry; this greatly incensed the +princess, but she got over even that humiliation and was ready to give +her an estate near Moscow as well. This concession he had apparently not +anticipated, for after it he disappeared altogether. + +Two months passed quietly. All at once the news came that I had been +transferred to Vladimir. Then the princess made her last desperate +effort to marry off her protégée. One of her acquaintances had a son, +an officer, who had just returned from the Caucasus; he was young, +cultivated, and a very decent fellow. The princess condescended so far +as herself to suggest to his sister that she should ‘sound’ her brother +and see whether he cared for the match. He yielded to his sister’s +representations. The young girl did not care to play the same disgusting +and tedious part a second time, so, seeing that the position was taking +a serious turn, she wrote to the young man a letter, told him directly, +openly, and simply that she loved another man, trusted herself to his +honour and begged him not to add to her sufferings. + +The officer with great delicacy drew back. The princess was amazed +and affronted and made up her mind to find out what had happened. The +officer’s sister, to whom Natalie had spoken herself, and who had +promised her brother to say nothing to the princess, told the whole story +to the ‘lady companion’; the latter of course at once reported it to her +mistress. + +The princess almost choked with indignation. Not knowing what to do, +she ordered the young girl to go upstairs to her room and not to show +herself; not content with that, she ordered her door to be locked and +put two maids on guard; then she wrote notes to her two brothers and one +of her nephews and asked them to come and give her advice, saying that +‘she was so distressed and upset that she could not think what to do in +the misfortune that had befallen her.’ My father refused, saying that he +had plenty of worries of his own, that there was no need to attach such +importance to what had happened, and that he was a poor judge in affairs +of the heart. The Senator and D. P. Golohvastov appeared next evening in +answer to her summons. They talked for a long time without reaching any +conclusion and at last asked to see the prisoner. The young girl came +in, but she was no longer the shy, silent, forlorn girl they had known. +Unflinching firmness and stubborn determination were apparent in the calm +and proud expression of her face; this was not a child but a woman who +had come to defend her love—my love. + +The sight of the prisoner on her trial confounded her judges. They were +awkward; at last Dmitry Pavlovitch, _l’orateur de la famille_, expatiated +at length on the cause of their coming together, the distress of the +princess, her heartfelt desire to settle her protégée’s future, and the +strange opposition on the part of her for whose benefit it was all being +done. The Senator with a nod and a movement of his finger expressed his +assent to his nephew’s words. The princess said nothing but sat with her +head turned away, sniffing salts. + +The prisoner on her trial heard all they had to say and asked with +straightforward simplicity what they required of her. + +‘We have no thought of requiring anything from you,’ observed the nephew. +‘We are here at Aunt’s desire to give you sincere advice. A match +excellent in all respects is offered to you.’ + +‘I cannot accept it.’ + +‘What is your reason for that?’ + +‘You know it.’ + +The orator of the family coloured a little, took a pinch of snuff, and +screwing up his eyes went on: ‘There is a great deal to which objection +might be urged. I would call your attention to the very small ground for +your hopes. It is so long since you have seen our unfortunate Alexandr; +he is so young and impetuous—are you certain of him?’ + +‘Yes, and whatever his intentions may be, I cannot change mine.’ + +The nephew had exhausted his eloquence; he got up saying: ‘God grant +that you may not regret it! I feel very anxious about your future.’ The +Senator scowled; the luckless girl now appealed to him. ‘You have always +shown me sympathy,’ she said to him. ‘I implore you, save me, do what +you like but take me out of this life. I have done no harm to any one, I +ask for nothing, I am not trying to do anything, I am only refusing to +deceive a man and ruin myself by marrying him. What I have to endure on +account of it you cannot imagine; it pains me to have to say this in the +presence of the princess, but to put up with the slights, the insulting +words, the hints of her friends is too much for me. I cannot, I ought not +to allow it, for insulting me is insulting....’ Her nerves gave way, the +tears gushed from her eyes; the Senator leapt up and walked about the +room in agitation. + +Meanwhile the ‘lady companion,’ boiling over with fury, could not +restrain herself and said, addressing the princess: ‘So that’s our nice, +modest girl, there’s gratitude for you.’ + +‘Of whom is she speaking?’ shouted the Senator. ‘How is it, sister, you +allow that woman, devil knows what she is, to speak like that of your +brother’s daughter in your presence? And if it comes to that, why is this +drab here at all? Did you invite her to the family council too? Is she a +relation or what?’ + +‘My dear,’ answered the panic-stricken princess, ‘you know what she is to +me and how she looks after me.’ + +‘Yes, yes, that’s all very nice, let her give you your medicine and what +you like; that’s not what I am talking about. I ask you, _sœur_, why +is she here when family affairs are being discussed, and how dare she +put her word in? One might suppose it was all her doing, and then you +complain—Hey, my carriage!’ + +The ‘lady companion’ flushed, and ran out of the room in tears. + +‘Why do you spoil her like this?’ the Senator went on, carried away; ‘she +fancies she is sitting in the tavern at Zvenigorod; how is it you aren’t +disgusted by it?’ + +‘Leave off, my dear, please,’ the poor princess groaned, ‘my nerves are +so upset—oh! You can go upstairs and stay there,’ she added, addressing +her niece. + +‘It’s time to be done with all this Bastille business. It’s all nonsense +and leads to nothing,’ observed the Senator and took his hat. + +Before driving away, he went upstairs; Natalie, overcome by all that +had passed, was sitting in an armchair with her face hidden, weeping +bitterly. The old man patted her on the shoulder and said: + +‘Calm yourself, calm yourself, it will all come right. You must just try +not to make sister angry with you; she is an invalid, you must humour +her; after all, she only wishes for your good, you know; but, there, you +shan’t be married against your will, I’ll answer for that.’ + +‘Better a nunnery, a boarding-school, to go to Tambov to my brother, or +to Petersburg, than to endure this life any longer,’ she answered. + +‘Come, come! try and soothe my sister, and as for that fool of a woman +I’ll teach her not to be rude.’ + +The Senator, as he crossed the drawing-room, met the ‘lady companion’: +‘I’ll ask you not to forget yourself,’ he shouted at her, holding up a +menacing finger; she went sobbing into the bedroom where the princess lay +on the bed while four maids rubbed her hands and feet, moistened her +temples with vinegar, and poured Hoffman’s drops on lumps of sugar. + +So ended the family council. + +It is clear that the girl’s position was hardly likely to be improved +by what had happened; the ‘lady companion’ was more on her guard, but, +cherishing now a personal hatred for Natalie, and desirous of avenging +the affront to herself, she poisoned her existence by petty indirect +means. I need hardly say that the princess acquiesced in this ignoble +persecution of a defenceless girl. + +This had to be ended. I made up my mind to come forward, and wrote a +long, calm, and sincere letter to my father. I told him of my love and, +foreseeing his reply, added that I did not want to hurry him, that I +should give him time to see whether it was a passing feeling or not, and +that all that I begged of him was that the Senator and he would enter +into the poor girl’s position and would remember that they had the same +rights over her as the princess herself. + +My father answered that he could not endure meddling in other people’s +affairs, that what the princess did in her own house was not his +business; he advised me to abandon foolish ideas ‘induced by the idleness +and ennui of exile,’ and added that I had much better prepare myself for +travel in foreign lands. We had often talked in past years of a tour +abroad, he knew how passionately I wished for it, but found endless +difficulties and always ended by saying: ‘You must first close my eyes, +then you’ll be free to go to the ends of the earth.’ In exile I had lost +all hope of going abroad, I knew how hard it would be to get permission, +and, besides, it would have seemed a lack of delicacy to insist on a +voluntary separation after the involuntary one. I remembered the tears +quivering on his old eyelids when I was setting off to Perm ... and now +here was my father taking the initiative and suggesting I should go! + +I had been open, I had written sparing the old man, asking so little—and +he had answered with irony and strategy. + +‘He doesn’t want to do anything for me,’ I said to myself, ‘like Guizot +he advocates _la non-intervention_. Very well then, I’ll act myself, and +now good-bye to concessions.’ I had not once before thought about the +ordering of the future; I believed, I knew that it was mine, that it was +ours, and I left the details to chance; the consciousness of love was +enough for us, our desires did not go beyond a momentary interview. My +father’s letter forced me to take the future into my own hands. It was +useless to wait—_cosa fata capo ha!_ My father was not very sentimental, +while as for the princess— + + ‘Let her weep, + Her tears mean nought!’ + +Just at that time my brother and Ketscher came to stay in Vladimir. +Ketscher and I spent whole nights together, talking, recalling the past, +laughing through our tears, and laughing till we cried. He was the first +of our set whom I had seen since we left Moscow. From him I heard the +chronicles of our circle, what changes had taken place in it, and what +questions were absorbing it, what fresh people had arrived, where those +who had left Moscow were, and so on. When we had discussed everything +I told him of my plans. After considering how I ought to act, Ketscher +concluded with a proposition the absurdity of which I only appreciated +afterwards. Desirous of trying every peaceful method, he offered to go to +my father and to talk to him seriously. I agreed. + +Ketscher, of course, was better fitted for any good deed, and, in fact, +for any evil deed, than for diplomatic negotiations, particularly with +my father. He had in a marked degree all the characteristics that were +calculated to ruin any chance of success. His very appearance was enough +to make any conservative depressed and alarmed. A tall figure, with hair +strangely dishevelled and arranged on no fixed principle, with a harsh +countenance reminiscent of a number of the members of the Convention of +1793, and especially of Marat, with the same big mouth, the same hard, +disdainful lines about the lips, and the same expression of mournful and +exasperated gloom; to this must be added spectacles, a wide-brimmed hat, +extreme irritability, a loud voice, lack of all habit of self-control, +and the power of arching his eyebrows higher and higher as he grew more +indignant. Ketscher was like Laravigny in George Sand’s excellent novel, +_Horace_, with an admixture of something of the Pathfinder and Robinson +Crusoe, as well as an element purely Muscovite. His open, generous +temperament had set him from childhood in direct conflict with the world +surrounding him; he did not conceal his antagonism and was accustomed to +it. A few years older than we, he was continually scolding us and was +dissatisfied with every one. He used to quarrel and bring accusations +against us and make up for it all by the simple good-nature of a child. +His words were rough, but his feelings were tender and we forgave him +much. + +Imagine him, this last of the Mohicans with the face of a Marat, this +‘friend of the people,’ setting off to advise my father! Many times +afterwards I made Ketscher describe their interview; my imagination was +unequal to picturing all the oddity of this diplomatic intervention. +It took place so unexpectedly that for a moment my old father lost his +bearings and began explaining the weighty reasons which led him to +oppose my marriage; then, recovering himself, he changed his tone and +asked Ketscher on what grounds he had come to discuss a matter which +was none of his business. The conversation took a more bitter tone. +The diplomatist, seeing that his position was not improving, tried to +frighten the old man about my health, but it was too late, and the +interview ended, as might have been expected, in a series of malignant +sarcasms from my father and rude rejoinders from Ketscher. + +He wrote to me: ‘Expect nothing from the old man.’ That was all I wanted. +But what was I to do? How was I to begin? While I was thinking over a +dozen different plans a day and unable to decide between them, my brother +was preparing to return to Moscow. + +That was on the first of March 1838. + + + + +Chapter 23[12] + +THE THIRD OF MARCH AND THE NINTH OF MAY 1838 + + +In the morning I wrote letters; when I had finished we sat down to +dinner. I could not eat, we said nothing, I felt unbearably oppressed—it +was between four and five, at seven the horses were to come round. At +the same time next day he would be in Moscow while I—and every minute my +pulse beat faster. + +‘I say,’ I said at last to my brother, looking at my plate, ‘will you +take me with you to Moscow?’ + +He put down his fork and looked at me uncertain whether he had heard me +aright. + +‘Take me through the town gate as your servant, I want nothing more, do +you agree?’ + +‘Yes if you like, only, you know, afterwards you’ll....’ + +It was too late, his ‘if you like’ was already in my blood, in my brain. +The idea that had only flashed upon me a minute before had now taken deep +root. + +‘What is there to discuss, anything may happen—and so you’ll take me?’ + +‘Of course—I don’t mind—only....’ + +I jumped up from the table. + +‘Are you going?’ asked Matvey, anxious to put in a word. + +‘I am,’ I answered in such a tone that he said no more. ‘I’ll be back the +day after to-morrow, if any one comes tell them I have a headache and am +asleep, in the evening light the candles, and now get me my linen and my +bag.’ + +The bells were tinkling in the yard. + +‘Are you ready?’ + +‘Yes, and so good luck to us.’ + +By dinner-time next day the bells ceased tinkling, we were at Ketscher’s +door. I bade them call him out. A week before, when he had left me in +Vladimir, there had been no idea of my coming, and hence he was so +surprised on seeing me that at first he did not say a word and then went +off into a peal of laughter: but soon looked anxious and led me indoors. +When we were in his room he first carefully locked the door and then +asked me: ‘What has happened?’ + +‘Nothing.’ + +‘Then why are you here?’ + +‘I couldn’t stay in Vladimir, I want to see Natalie—that’s all, and you +must arrange it, and this very minute, because I must be back at home by +to-morrow.’ + +Ketscher looked into my face and raised his eyebrows. + +‘What folly, the devil knows what to call it, to come like this with no +need and nothing prepared! Have you written, have you fixed a time?’ + +‘I have written nothing.’ + +‘Upon my word, my boy, but what are we to do with you? It’s beyond +anything, it’s raving madness!’ + +‘That’s just the point, that you must think what to do without losing a +minute.’ + +‘You’re a fool,’ said Ketscher with conviction, raising his eyebrows +higher than ever. ‘I should be glad, very glad indeed, if it were a +failure, it would be a lesson to you.’ + +‘And rather a long lesson if I am caught. Listen: as soon as it is dark +we’ll go to the princess’s house, you shall call some one out into the +road, one of the servants, I’ll tell you which—and then we’ll see what to +do. What do you say to that?’ + +‘Well, there’s no help for it, we’ll go, we’ll go; but I should like +you not to succeed in seeing her! Why on earth didn’t you write +yesterday?’—and Ketscher, pulling his broad-brimmed hat over his brows +with an air of dignity, threw on a black cloak lined with red. + +‘Oh, you hateful grumbler!’ I said to him as we went out, and Ketscher, +laughing heartily, repeated: ‘But really it’s enough to make a hen laugh, +to come like this without sending a word; it’s beyond anything.’ + +I could not stay at Ketscher’s—he lived terribly far away, and his mother +had visitors that day. He took me to an officer of hussars whom he +knew to be an honourable man, and who, having never been mixed up with +political affairs, was not under police supervision. The officer, a man +with long moustaches, was sitting at dinner when we went in; Ketscher +told him what we had come about. The officer in reply poured me out +a glass of red wine and thanked us for the confidence we put in him; +then he took me into his bedroom, which was adorned with saddles and +saddle-cloths so that one might have supposed that he slept on horseback. + +‘Here is a room for you,’ he said; ‘no one will disturb you here.’ Then +he called his orderly, a hussar, and told him not to let any one go into +that room on any pretext. I found myself again under the guardianship +of a soldier, with this difference, that at the Krutitsky Barracks the +gendarme had been keeping me from all the world, while here the hussar +was keeping all the world from me. + +When it was quite dark, Ketscher and I set off. My heart beat violently +when I saw again the familiar streets and houses which I had not seen for +nearly four year.... Kuznetsky Bridge, Tversky Boulevard ... and here was +Ogaryov’s house; they had clapped an immense heraldic crest on it and it +looked different. In the lower storey, where we spent such happy youthful +days, a tailor was living.... Here was Povarsky Street—I held my breath: +in the corner window of the little room there was a candle burning, that +was her room, she was writing to me, she was thinking of me, the candle +twinkled so gaily, it seemed twinkling _to me_. + +While we were considering how best to call some one out into the street, +one of the princess’s young footmen ran out towards us. + +‘Arkady,’ I said as he reached us. He did not recognise me. ‘How is +this,’ I said, ‘don’t you know your own people?’ + +‘Oh, is it you?’ he cried. + +I put my finger on my lips and said: ‘If you would like to do me a +friendly service, deliver this little note at once, as quickly as you +can, through Sasha or Kostinka, do you understand? We will wait for the +answer round the corner, and don’t breathe a word to any one of having +seen me in Moscow.’ + +‘Don’t be uneasy, we’ll do it all instantly,’ answered Arkady, and he +skipped back into the house. + +We walked up and down the side-street for about half an hour before +a little, thin, old woman came out, flustered and looking about her; +this was that same brisk servant girl who in 1812 had begged the French +soldiers for ‘_manger_’ for me; we had called her Kostinka ever since I +was a child. The old woman took my face in both hands and showered kisses +upon it. + +‘So you’ve flown to see us,’ she said. ‘Ah, you headstrong boy, when will +you learn sense, you foolish darling?—and you’ve given our young lady +such a fright that she almost fainted.’ + +‘And have you a note for me?’ + +‘Yes, yes, he is impatient,’ and she gave me a scrap of paper. + +A few words had been scribbled in pencil with a trembling hand: ‘My God, +can it be true—you, here! To-morrow between five and six in the morning I +will expect you. I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it! surely it must +be a dream!’ + +The hussar again put me into his orderly’s keeping. At half-past five +next morning I stood leaning against a lamp-post, waiting for Ketscher, +who had gone in at the side-gate of the princess’s house. I will not +attempt to describe what was passing in me while I waited at the +lamp-post; such moments remain one’s own secret because there are no +words for them. + +Ketscher beckoned to me. I went in at the little gate, a boy who had +grown up since I left showed me in with a friendly smile, and here I +was in the hall which at one time I used to enter yawning, though now I +was ready to fall on my knees and kiss every plank on the floor. Arkady +led me into the drawing-room and went out. I sank exhausted on the +sofa, my heart throbbed so violently that it hurt me, and besides I was +frightened. I linger over my story for the sake of spending longer over +these memories, though I see that my words give a poor idea of them. + +She came in all in white, dazzlingly lovely; three years of separation +and the struggles she had been through had given the finishing touches to +her features and her expression. + +‘This is you,’ she said in her soft, gentle voice. + +We sat down on the sofa and remained silent. + +The expression of joy in her eyes almost approached suffering. I suppose +when the feeling of happiness reaches its highest point it is mingled +with an expression of pain, for she said to me: ‘How exhausted you look!’ + +I held her hand, she leaned her head on the other, and there was no need +for us to talk ... a few brief phrases, two or three reminiscences, words +from our letters, some idle remarks about Arkady, about the hussar, about +Kostinka, that was all. + +Then the old woman came in, saying that it was time for me to go, and I +got up without protesting, and she did not try to keep me ... our hearts +were so full, all thoughts of more or less, of shorter or longer, all +vanished before the fullness of the present.... + +When we had passed the town gate, Ketscher asked: ‘Well, have you settled +anything?’ + +‘Nothing.’ + +‘But you talked to her?’ + +‘Not a word about that.’ + +‘Does she consent?’ + +‘I didn’t ask, of course she consents.’ + +‘Well, upon my soul, you behave like a child, or a lunatic,’ observed +Ketscher, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders with +indignation. + +‘I’ll write to her and then to you, and now, good-bye. Now drive ahead +full speed!’ + +It was thawing, the spongy snow was black in places, the endless white +plain lay on both sides, little villages flashed by with their smoke, +then the moon rose and shed a different light on everything; I was alone +with the driver and kept looking out, yet all the while was there with +her, and the road and the moon and the fields were somehow mixed up with +the princess’s drawing-room. And, strange to say, I remembered every word +uttered by the nurse, by Arkady, even by the maid who had led me out to +the gate, but what I had said to her and what she had said to me I could +not remember! + +Two months were spent in making arrangements. I had to borrow money, +and to get her baptismal certificate; it appeared that the princess had +taken it. One of my friends—swearing, bribing, treating policemen and +clerks—succeeded by all sorts of false statements in getting another from +the Consistory. + +When everything was ready, we, that is Matvey and I, set off. + +At dawn on the eighth of May we were at the last posting-station before +Moscow. The drivers had gone to get horses. The air was heavy, there were +drops of rain, and it seemed as though a storm were coming on; I remained +in the covered chaise and hurried on the driver. Some one spoke near me +in a strange, high, sing-song voice. I turned round and saw a pale, thin +girl of about sixteen, in rags and with her hair hanging about her; she +was begging. I gave her some small silver coin, she laughed seeing it, +but instead of going away clambered on to the box of the chaise, turned +towards me and began muttering half-coherent sentences, looking straight +into my face; her eyes were clouded and pitiful, wisps of hair fell over +her face. Her sickly face, her unintelligible mutterings, together with +the light of early morning, aroused a sort of nervous uneasiness in me. + +‘She’s crazy, you know, that is, she is simple,’ observed the driver. +‘And where are you poking yourself? I’ll give you a lash with the whip +and then you’ll know! Upon my soul, I will, you shameless hussy!’ + +‘Why are you scolding, what have I done to you—here your master’s given +me a silver bit, and what harm have I done you?’ + +‘Well, he’s given it to you, and so be off to your devils in the forest.’ + +‘Take me with you,’ added the girl, looking piteously at me, ‘do, really, +take me....’ + +‘To put you in a show in Moscow as a freak, some sea monster,’ observed +the driver. ‘Come, get down, we’re just off.’ + +The girl made no attempt to move, but kept looking pitifully at me. I +begged the driver not to hurt her, he lifted her gently under his arm and +set her on the ground. She burst out crying and I was ready to cry with +her. + +Why had this creature crossed my path just on that day, just as I was +driving into Moscow? I thought of Kozlov’s ‘Mad Girl,’ and she, too, had +been met near Moscow. + +We drove off, the air was full of electricity, unpleasantly heavy and +warm. A dark blue storm-cloud with grey streamers reaching to the earth +was slowly trailing over the fields, and all at once a zig-zag of +lightning ran slanting through it, there was a clap of thunder and the +rain came down in torrents. We were nearly seven miles from the Rogozhsky +Gate and after reaching Moscow had an hour’s drive to the Dyevitchy +field. We reached A——’s, where Ketscher was to wait for me, literally +without a dry thread on us. + +Ketscher was not there. He was at the bedside of a dying woman, E. D. +Levashev. This woman was one of those marvellous products of Russian life +which reconcile one to it, one of those types whose whole existence is an +heroic feat, unseen by any but a small circle of friends. How many tears +she had wiped away, how much comfort she had brought to more than one +broken heart, of how many young lives she had been the support, and how +much she had suffered herself! ‘She spent herself in love,’ Tchaadayev, +one of her closest friends, who dedicated his celebrated letter about +Russia to her, said to me. + +Ketscher could not leave her; he wrote that he would come about nine +o’clock. I was alarmed by this news. A man absorbed by a great passion +is a dreadful egoist; in Ketscher’s absence I could see nothing but +an obstacle in my path.... When it struck nine, when the bells began +ringing for evening service and then another quarter of an hour passed, +I was overcome by feverish anxiety and cowardly despair.... Half-past +nine—no, he would not come, the sick woman was probably worse, what was I +to do? I could not remain in Moscow, one incautious word from the maid or +the old nurse in the princess’s house would give everything away. To go +back was possible, but I felt I had not the strength to go back. + +At a quarter to ten Ketscher appeared in a straw hat with the drowsy +face of a man who has not slept all night. I rushed up to him and as I +embraced him showered reproaches upon him. Ketscher, frowning, looked +at me and asked: ‘Why, isn’t half an hour enough to get from A——’s to +Povarsky Street? I might have been gossiping with you here for an hour, +and I daresay it would have been very nice, but I could not bring myself +to leave a dying friend sooner than I need for the sake of that. She +sends you her greetings,’ he added, ‘she blessed me with her dying hand, +hoping for the success of our enterprise, and gave me a warm shawl in +case of need.’ The dying woman’s greetings were particularly precious to +me. The warm shawl was very useful in the night, and I had no time to +thank her nor to press her hand ... soon afterwards she died. + +Ketscher and A—— set off. Ketscher was to drive out of the town with +Natalie, while A—— was to come back and tell me whether everything had +gone off successfully and what I was to do. I was left waiting with his +charming and delightful wife; she had herself only lately been married, +and, being an ardent, passionate nature, she took the warmest interest +in our enterprise. She tried with feigned gaiety to assure me that +everything was going splendidly, though she was herself so fretted by +anxiety that her face was continually changing. We sat together in the +window and conversation did not flow easily; we were like children shut +up in an empty room as a punishment. Two hours passed in this way. + +There is nothing in the world more shattering, more unendurable than +inactivity and suspense at such moments. Friends make a great mistake in +taking the whole burden off the shoulders of the principal _patient_. +They ought to invent duties for him if there are none, to overwhelm him +with physical exertions, to distract his mind with work and arrangements. + +At last A—— came in, we rushed to meet him. + +‘Everything is going gloriously, I saw them gallop off,’ he shouted to us +from the yard. ‘You go at once out at the Rogozhsky Gate, there by the +little bridge you will see the horses not far from Perov’s restaurant. +Good luck to you! And change your cab half-way, so that your second +cabman may not know where you have come from.’ + +I flew like an arrow from the bow.... And here was the little bridge +not far from Perov’s; there was no one there, and on the other side of +the bridge, too, there was no one. I drove as far as the Izmailovsky +Menagerie, there was no one. I dismissed the cabman and went forward on +foot. Walking backwards and forwards, at last I saw on another road a +carriage of some sort. A handsome young coachman was standing by it. ‘Has +a tall gentleman in a straw hat driven by here,’ I asked him, ‘and not +alone, with a young lady?’ + +‘I have seen no one,’ the coachman answered reluctantly. + +‘With whom did you come here?’ + +‘With gentlefolks.’ + +‘What is their name?’ + +‘What is that to you?’ + +‘What a fellow you are really, if it was nothing to do with me, I should +not be asking you.’ + +The coachman gave me a searching look and smiled—apparently my appearance +disposed him more favourably to me. + +‘If you have business with them then you ought to know their names +yourself.’ + +‘You are a regular flint; well, I want a gentleman named Ketscher.’ + +The coachman smiled again, and pointing towards the graveyard said: +‘There, do you see something black in the distance? That’s himself, and +the young lady is with him; she did not bring her hat, so Mr. Ketscher +gave her his, luckily it was a straw one.’ + +Again this time we met in a graveyard! + +With a faint cry she flung herself on my neck. + +‘And it’s for ever!’ she cried. + +‘For ever,’ I repeated. Ketscher was touched, tears gleamed in his eyes, +he took our hands and in a trembling voice said, ‘Friends, be happy!’ We +embraced him. This was our real wedding! + +For over an hour we waited in the private dining-room of Perov’s +restaurant, and still the carriage and Matvey did not come! Ketscher +frowned. The possibility of trouble never entered our heads, we were so +happy there, the three of us, and as much at home as though we had always +been together. There was a wood in front of the windows, from the storey +below came strains of music and a gypsy chorus; the weather was lovely +after the storm. + +I was not, like Ketscher, afraid of the police being put on our track +by the princess; I knew that she stood too much on her dignity to let a +policeman be mixed up in our family affairs. Besides, she never took any +step without consulting the Senator, nor the Senator without consulting +my father; my father would never consent to the police stopping me in +Moscow or near Moscow, which would mean my being sent to Bobruisk or to +Siberia for disobedience to the will of the Most High. The only possible +danger was from the secret police, but it had all been done so quickly +that it was hard for them to know it. Besides, if they had got an inkling +of anything, it would never occur to any one that a man who had secretly +returned from exile and was eloping with his bride would be quietly +sitting in Perov’s restaurant where people were coming in and out from +morning to night. + +At last Matvey appeared with the carriage. + +‘One more glass,’ commanded Ketscher. + +And we set off. + +And then we were alone, that is, the two of us, flying along the Vladimir +road. + +At Bunkovo while they were changing horses we went into the inn. The old +hostess came to ask us whether we would like anything; and, looking at us +good-naturedly, said: ‘How young and pretty your good lady is, and the +two of you, God bless you, make a pretty pair.’ We blushed up to our ears +and did not dare to look at each other, but asked for tea to cover our +confusion. Between five and six next day we reached Vladimir. There was +no time to be lost; leaving Natalie with the family of an old official, I +rushed off to find whether everything was ready. But who was there to get +things ready in Vladimir? + +There are good-natured people everywhere. A Siberian regiment of +Uhlans was stationed at Vladimir at the time; I was only very slightly +acquainted with the officers, but, meeting one of them rather often in +the public library, I took to bowing to him; he was very polite and +charming. A month later he admitted that he knew me and my story in 1834 +and told me that he was himself a student of the Moscow University. When +I was leaving Vladimir and looking about for some one in whose hands +to leave various arrangements, I thought of this officer, and told him +openly what I wanted. Genuinely touched by my confidence, he pressed my +hand, promised to do everything, and kept his word. + +He was awaiting me in full dress uniform, with white facings, with his +casque uncovered, with a cartridge-case across his shoulder, and all +sorts of cords and trimmings. He told me that the bishop had given +the priest permission to marry us, but had bidden him first show the +baptismal certificate. I gave the officer the baptismal certificate, +while I went off to another young man who had also been a Moscow student. +He was serving his two provincial years in accordance with the new +regulation, in the governor’s office, and was almost dying of boredom. + +‘Would you like to act as best man?’ + +‘Whose best man?’ + +‘Mine.’ + +‘Yours?’ + +‘Yes, yes, mine.’ + +‘Delighted. When?’ + +‘At once.’ + +He thought that I was joking, but when I briefly told him how it was, he +skipped with delight. To be best man at a clandestine wedding, to have +to make arrangements, possibly to get into trouble, and all that in a +little town absolutely without any diversions! He promised at once to get +a carriage and four horses and ran to his chest of drawers to see whether +he had a clean white waistcoat. + +As I drove away from him, I met my Uhlan with a priest sitting on his +knee. Imagine a smart, gaily attired officer in a little droshky with a +stout priest, adorned with a huge, flowing beard, and arrayed in a silk +cassock, which kept catching in all the Uhlan’s useless accoutrements. +This sight might have attracted attention not only in the street that led +from the Golden Gate of Vladimir, but in the Paris boulevards, or even in +Regent Street. But the Uhlan did not think of that, and, indeed, I only +thought of it afterwards. The priest had been going from house to house +holding services, as it was St. Nicholas’ Day, and my cavalry officer had +captured him by force and requisitioned him. We drove off to the bishop’s. + +To explain the position I must describe how the bishop came to be +involved in it. The day before I went away the priest who had agreed to +marry us suddenly announced that he would not do so without the bishop’s +sanction, that he had heard something and was afraid to do it. In spite +of all my eloquence, as well as the Uhlan’s, the priest was obstinate and +stuck to his point. The Uhlan suggested the priest of his regiment. The +latter, a priest with a cropped head and shaven skin, wearing a long, +full-skirted coat and trousers tucked into his high boots, and placidly +smoking a soldier’s pipe, though affected by certain details of our +proposition, yet refused to perform the ceremony, declaring, in a mixture +of Polish and White Russian, that he was strictly forbidden to marry +‘civilians.’ + +‘And we are still more strictly forbidden to be witnesses and best men at +such marriages without permission,’ observed the officer. + +‘That’s a different matter, as God’s above us, it’s a different matter.’ + +‘God helps those who help themselves,’ I said to the Uhlan. ‘I’ll go +straight to the bishop. And by the way, why don’t you ask permission?’ + +‘That won’t do. The Colonel would tell his wife and she’d gossip about it +all over the place. Besides, he’d very likely refuse it.’ + +Bishop Parfeny of Vladimir was a clever, austere, rough old man; managing +and self-willed, he might equally well have been a governor or a general, +and, indeed, I think he would have been more in his right place as a +general than as a monk; but it had turned out otherwise, and he ruled +his diocese as he would have ruled a division in the Caucasus. I noticed +in him far more of the qualities of an administrator than of one dead to +the things of this life. He was, however, rather harsh than ill-natured; +like all business-like men, he grasped questions quickly and clearly and +was furious when people talked nonsense to him or did not understand him. +It is far easier to come to an understanding with men of that sort than +with soft but weak or irresolute persons. In accordance with the custom +of all provincial towns, on arriving in Vladimir I went once after mass +to call on the bishop. He received me graciously, gave me his blessing, +and regaled me with sturgeon; then invited me to come some evening and +talk to him, saying that his eyes were failing and he could not read +in the evening. I went two or three times; he talked about literature, +knew all the new Russian books and read the magazines, and so we got on +splendidly together. Nevertheless, it was with some alarm that I knocked +at his episcopal door. + +It was a hot day. His Reverence the bishop received me in the garden. He +was sitting under a big, shady lime tree, and had taken off his monk’s +cap and let his grey locks flow in freedom. A bald, impressive-looking +head-priest was standing before him, bareheaded, and right in the sun, +reading some document aloud; his face was crimson and big drops of +perspiration stood out on his forehead, he screwed up his eyes at the +dazzling whiteness of the paper with the sunlight upon it, yet he did not +dare to move nor did the bishop tell him to step out of the sun. + +‘Sit down,’ he said after blessing me, ‘we are just finishing, these are +our little Consistory affairs. Read,’ he added to the head-priest, and +the latter, after mopping his face with a dark blue handkerchief and +coughing aside, set to reading again. + +‘What news have you to tell me?’ Parfeny asked me, handing the pen to the +head-priest, who seized this excellent opportunity to kiss his hand. + +I told him of the priest’s refusal. + +‘Have you the necessary papers?’ I showed him the governor’s permission. + +‘Is that all?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +Parfeny smiled: ‘And on the lady’s side?’ + +‘There is a baptismal certificate; it will be brought on the day of the +wedding.’ + +‘When is the wedding?’ + +‘In two days.’ + +‘Have you found a house?’ + +‘Not yet.’ + +‘There you see,’ Parfeny said to me, putting his finger on his lips and +pulling his mouth towards his cheek, one of his favourite tricks; ‘you’re +an intelligent and well-read man, but you won’t catch an old sparrow by +putting salt on its tail. There is something shady about it, so, since +you have come to me, you had much better tell me all about it truthfully. +Then I’ll tell you straightforwardly what can be done and what can’t, and +in any case my advice will do you no harm.’ + +My case seemed to me so clear and so just that I told him the whole +story, without, of course, going into unnecessary details. The old man +listened attentively and often looked into my face. It appeared he was an +old acquaintance of the princess’s, and therefore could to some extent +judge for himself of the truth of my account. + +‘I understand, I understand,’ he said when I had finished. ‘Well, let me +write a letter to the princess on my own account.’ + +‘I assure you that no effort at peace will lead to anything, her +ill-humour and exasperation have gone too far. I have told your Reverence +all about it, as you desired, now I will add that if you refuse to help +me I shall be forced to do secretly, stealthily, by bribes, what I am +doing now quietly, but straightforwardly and openly. I can assure you of +one thing, neither prison nor a fresh term of exile will stop me.’ + +‘You see,’ said Parfeny, getting up and stretching, ‘what a headstrong +fellow you are. Perm has not been enough for you, you are not broken +in yet. Am I saying that I forbid it? Get married if you like, there +is nothing unlawful about it; but it would have been better peacefully +with the consent of the family. Send me your priest, I’ll persuade him +somehow; only remember one thing, without the proper certificate on the +bride’s side don’t you attempt it. So it’s a case of “Neither prison nor +exile”—upon my word, what are people coming to! Well, the Lord be with +you! Good luck to you, only you’ll get me into trouble with the princess.’ + +And so in addition to the Uhlan officer his Reverence Parfeny, bishop of +Vladimir and Suzdal, came into our conspiracy. + +When as a preliminary measure I had asked the governor’s permission, I +had not spoken of my marriage as though it were clandestine; silence +about that was the surest means of avoiding talk about it, and nothing +could be more natural than the arrival of my future bride in Vladimir, +since I had not the right to leave it. It was also natural that under the +circumstances we should wish the wedding to be as quiet as possible. + +When we arrived with the priest at the bishop’s on the ninth of May, +his servitor told us that he had gone to his country house and would +not be back until night. It was already between seven and eight in the +evening, weddings cannot be celebrated after ten, and the next day was +Saturday. What was to be done? The priest was scared. We went in to see +the head-monk, the bishop’s chaplain; he was drinking tea with rum in it +and was in the most affable frame of mind. I told him our difficulty, +he poured me out a cup of tea and insisted on my adding rum to it; then +he took out immense silver spectacles, read the baptismal certificate, +turned it over, looked at the other side where there was nothing written, +folded it up, and giving it back to the priest said: ‘It’s all perfectly +regular.’ + +The priest still hesitated. I told the chaplain that if I were not +married to-day it would be terribly upsetting for me. + +‘Why put it off?’ he said. ‘I will tell his Reverence; marry them, Father +Ioann, marry them—in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, +Amen.’ + +There was nothing for the priest to say, he drove off to write out our +names while I galloped off for Natalie. + +When we were driving out at the Golden Gate alone together, the sun, +which had till then been hidden by the clouds, shed a dazzling light upon +us with its last bright, red glow, and so triumphantly and joyously that +we both said in one breath: ‘That’s to see us off!’ I remember her smile +at the words and the pressure of her hand. + +The little church of the sledge-drivers’ quarter was empty, there were +neither choristers nor lighted candelabra. Five or six common soldiers +of the Uhlan regiment came in as they were passing, and went out again. +The old deacon chanted in a soft, faint voice, Matvey looked at us with +tears of joy, our young ‘best men’ stood behind us with the heavy crowns +with which all the drivers of Vladimir were crowned. The deacon with a +shaky hand passed us the silver bowl of union ... it grew dark in the +church, only a few candles glowed here and there; all this was, or seemed +to us, extremely picturesque just from its simplicity. The bishop drove +by, and seeing the church doors open stopped and sent to inquire what +was happening. The priest, turning a little pale, went out himself to +him, and returning a minute later with a cheerful face, said to us: ‘His +Reverence sends you his episcopal blessing and bade me tell you he is +praying for you.’ + +By the time we were driving home the news of our clandestine marriage was +all over the town; ladies were waiting on the balconies and the windows +were open. I let down the carriage windows and was a little vexed that +the darkness prevented me from showing my ‘fair bride.’ + +At home we drank two bottles of wine with Matvey and the ‘best men,’ the +latter stayed twenty minutes with us, and then we were left alone, and +again, as at Perov’s, that seemed so natural that we were not in the +least surprised at it, though for months afterwards we could not get over +the wonder of it. + +We had three rooms, we sat at a little table in the drawing-room, and +forgetting the fatigue of the last few days we talked half the night. + +To have a crowd of outsiders at the wedding festivities has always seemed +to me something coarse, unseemly, almost cynical; why this premature +lifting of the veil from love, this initiation of indifferent casual +spectators into the privacy of the family? How all these hackneyed +greetings, commonplace vulgarities, stupid allusions, must wound the +poor girl who is thrust into the public eye in the part of bride ... not +one delicate feeling is spared, the luxury of the bridal chamber, the +charm of the night attire displayed, not only for the visitors but for +every idle gazer. And afterwards the first days of the new life that is +beginning, in which every minute is precious, which ought to be spent far +away in solitude, are, as though in mockery, passed in endless dinners +and exhausting balls, amidst a crowd. + +Next morning we found two rose-bushes and an immense nosegay awaiting us +in the dining-room. Dear, kind Yulia Fyodorovna (the governor’s wife), +who took a warm interest in our romance, had sent them. I embraced +and kissed her footman and then we went off to see her. As the bride’s +trousseau consisted of two dresses, the one in which she had travelled +and the other one in which she had been married, she put on the wedding +dress. + +From Yulia Fyodorovna’s we drove to the bishop’s; the old man himself led +us into the garden, with his own hands cut us a nosegay of flowers, told +Natalie how I had tried to frighten him with the prospect of my own ruin, +and in conclusion advised her to study housekeeping. ‘Do you know how to +salt cucumbers?’ he asked Natalie. + +‘I do,’ she answered, laughing. + +‘Oh, I don’t feel sure of it. And you know, it is essential!’ + +In the evening I wrote a letter to my father. I begged him not to be +angry at the accomplished fact, and, ‘since God had united us,’ to +forgive me and add his blessing. My father as a rule wrote me a few +lines once a week; he did not write one day earlier or later in reply, +and even began his letter exactly as usual: ‘I received your letter of +the 10th of May, at half-past five the day before yesterday, and from it +learned, not without regret, that God had united you with Natasha. I do +not repine against the will of God in anything, but submit blindly to the +trials which He lays upon me. But since the money is mine and you have +not thought it necessary to regard my wishes, I must inform you that I +shall not add one kopeck to your present allowance of one thousand silver +roubles a year.’ + +How spontaneously we laughed at this distinction between the spiritual +and temporal power. + +And yet how we needed something more! The money I had borrowed was all +spent. We had nothing, absolutely nothing, no clothes, no linen, no +crockery. We sat shut up in a little flat because we had nothing to +go out in. Matvey with a view to economy made a desperate effort to +transform himself into a cook, but except beefsteaks and collops he could +cook nothing, and so for the most part confined himself to ready-cooked +provisions, ham, salt fish, milk, eggs, cheese, and extremely hard cakes +flavoured with mint and not in their first youth. Dinner was an endless +source of amusement to us; sometimes we had milk first by way of soup, +and sometimes last by way of dessert. Over this Spartan fare we used to +recall, smiling, the long process of the sacred ritual of dinner at the +princess’s and at my father’s, where half a dozen flunkeys ran about +the room with bowls and dishes, cloaking under the magnificent _mise en +scène_ the really very unattractive fare. + +So we struggled along in poverty for a year. ‘The Chemist’ sent us ten +thousand paper roubles; more than six thousand of this went to pay our +debts, and what remained was a great help. At last even my father was +tired of attacking us like a fortress by hunger, and without adding to my +allowance he began sending us presents of money, though I never dropped a +hint about money after his famous _distinguo_! + +I began looking for another lodging. A big, deserted manor-house with a +garden was to let. It belonged to the widow of a prince who had ruined +himself at cards, and it was being let very cheaply because it was far +away and inconvenient, and, above all, because the princess bargained +to keep part of it, in no way separated from the rest, for her son, a +spoilt fellow of thirty, and for the servants. No one would agree to +this partial possession; I at once accepted it, for I was fascinated by +the loftiness of the rooms, the size of the windows, and the big, shady +garden. But this very loftiness and spaciousness made a very amusing +contrast with our complete lack of movable belongings and articles of the +first necessity. The princess’s housekeeper, a good-natured old woman, +who was greatly attracted by Matvey, provided us at her own risk, first +with a table-cloth, then with cups, then with sheets, then with knives +and forks. + +What bright and untroubled days we spent in the little three-roomed flat +at the Golden Gate and in the princess’s immense house!... There was +a big, scarcely furnished drawing-room, in it we were sometimes taken +by such childishness that we raced about it, jumped over the chairs, +lighted candles in all the candelabra ensconced on the wall, and after +illuminating the room _a giorno_, recited poetry. Matvey and our maid, a +young Greek girl, took part in everything and ‘played the fool’ as much +as we did. Discipline was ‘not maintained’ in our household. + +And for all this childishness our life was full of a deep earnestness. +Cast away in the quiet, peaceful little town, we were completely devoted +to each other. From time to time came news of some one of our friends, +a few words of warm sympathy, and then again we were alone, absolutely +alone. But in this solitude our hearts were not closed by our happiness; +on the contrary, they were more open to every interest than ever before; +we led a full and many-sided life, we thought and read, gave ourselves +up to every pursuit and again concentrated on our love; we compared our +thoughts and dreams, and saw with amazement how endless was our sympathy, +how in all the subtlest turns and twists of feeling and thought, taste +and antipathy, all was kinship and harmony. The only difference was that +Natalie brought into our union a gentle, mild, gracious element, the +characteristics of a young girl with all the poesy of a loving woman, +while I brought lively activity, my _semper in motu_, infinite love, and, +moreover, a medley of earnest ideas, laughter, ‘dangerous’ thoughts and +Utopian projects. + +My desires had reached a standstill, I was satisfied, I lived in the +present, I expected nothing from the morrow, I carelessly trusted that +it would take nothing from me. Personal life could give nothing more, it +had reached the limit; any change could but diminish it, on one side or +another. + +In the spring Ogaryov came from his exile for a few days. He was then +in the very height of his powers; he was soon to pass through painful +experiences; at moments he seemed to feel that trouble was near, but he +could still turn round and look upon the lifted hand of destiny as a +dream. I myself thought then that the storm-clouds would be dissipated; +carelessness is characteristic of everything young and not devoid of +strength, and in it is expressed a trust in life and oneself. The feeling +of complete mastery over one’s fate lulls us asleep ... while dark clouds +and black-hearted people draw us without a word to the edge of the +precipice. + +And well it is that man either does not suspect, or can shut his eyes +and forget. Where there is apprehension there can never be complete +happiness; complete happiness is serene as the sea in the calm of summer. +Apprehension gives its peculiar, feverish, morbid thrill which fascinates +like the thrill of suspense at cards, but how far away it is from the +feeling of harmonious infinite peace. And so, whether it be a dream or +not, I deeply prize that trust in life, before life itself has refuted it +and has awakened one.... The Chinese die for the coarse illusion of it +given by opium. + +So I ended this chapter in 1853 and so I end it now. + + + + +Chapter 24 + +THE THIRTEENTH OF JUNE 1839 + + +One long, winter evening towards the end of 1838 we were sitting, as +always, alone, reading and then not reading, talking and then being +silent, and in silence continuing the talk. There was a hard frost +outside, and even in the room it was not at all warm. Natasha did not +feel well and was lying on the sofa, covered with a cloak. I was sitting +on the floor near her; my reading did not get on, she was inattentive, +thinking of something else and absorbed, and her face kept changing. + +‘Alexandr,’ she said, ‘I have a secret, come nearer and I will tell you +in your ear, but guess it yourself.’ + +I did guess, but insisted on her telling me. I longed to hear this news +from her: she told me, we looked at each other in excitement and with +tears in our eyes. + +How rich is the human heart in the capacity for happiness, for joy, if +only people know how to give themselves up to it without being distracted +by trifle. As a rule the present is spoilt by external worries, empty +cares, irritable fussiness, all the rubbish which is brought upon us in +the midday of life by the vanity of vanities, and the stupid ordering of +our everyday life. We waste our best minutes, we let them slip through +our fingers as though we had an endless store of them. We are usually +thinking of to-morrow, of next year, when we ought with both hands to be +clasping the brimming cup which life itself, unbidden, with her customary +lavishness, holds out to us, and to drink and drink of it until the cup +passes into other hands. Nature does not care to waste time offering it +and pressing us. + +One would have thought nothing could have been added to our happiness, +and yet the news of the coming child opened new vistas of feeling, new +raptures, hopes and apprehensions of which we had before known nothing. + +Love, a little scared and agitated, grows more tender, is more anxious +in its solicitude, from the egoism of two it becomes not a mere egoism +of three but the sacrifice of two for a third; family life begins with +the child. A new element is entering into life, a mysterious person is +knocking at its portals, a guest who is yet is not, but whose coming is +essential, who is eagerly awaited. What will he be? No one knows, but +whatever he may be like, he is a happy stranger, with what love he is met +on the threshold of life! + +And then there is the agonising anxiety: would he be born alive or +not? There are so many unhappy possibilities. The doctor smiles at the +questions: ‘He knows nothing or will not say,’ one thinks; everything is +still hidden from outsiders; there is no one to ask, besides one is shy. + +And then the child gives signs of life. I know no loftier and more +religious feeling than that which fills the heart at feeling the first +movements of the future being, struggling and stretching its immature +muscles, that first touch with which the father blesses the newcomer and +yields a place for him in his life. + +‘My wife,’ a French bourgeois said to me once, ‘my wife’—and seeing that +there were neither ladies nor children present, added in an undertone—‘is +pregnant.’ + +Indeed, the muddle of all our moral conceptions is such that pregnancy +is looked upon as something improper. Though childbirth should claim +unconditional respect for the mother, whoever she may be, the facts are +kept secret not from a feeling of respect or spiritual delicacy, but +from a regard for propriety. All that is the depravity of idealism, +the corruption of monasticism, the accursed immolation of the flesh; +it all comes from that unhappy dualism which draws us like Magdeburg +hemispheres in opposite directions. Jeanne Deroin,[13] in spite of her +socialism, hints in her _Almanach des Femmes_ that in time children will +be born differently. How differently?—As the angels are born.—Well, that +makes it clear. + +Honour and glory to our teacher, the old realist Goethe. He had the +courage to set the woman with child beside the innocent maidens of +romanticism, and did not fear to mould in his mighty verse the changing +forms of the future mother, comparing them with the supple limbs of the +future woman. + +Truly the woman who bears with the memory of past transports the whole +cross of love, all its burden, sacrificing beauty and time, suffering, +feeding from her own bosom, is one of the most beautiful and touching +figures. + +In the Roman elegies, in the Weaver, in Gretchen and her despairing +prayer, Goethe has expressed all the solemn beauty with which nature +surrounds the ripening fruit and all the thorns with which society crowns +that vessel of the future life. + +Poor mothers, who hide as though it were shame the traces of love, how +brutally and mercilessly the world persecutes them, and persecutes them +at the very time when the woman needs peace and kindness, savagely +poisoning for her those priceless moments in which life droops fainting +under the weight of happiness. + +Gradually the secret is with horror discovered: the luckless mother at +first tries to persuade herself that it is fancy, but soon doubt is +impossible; with despair and tears she follows every movement of her +babe, she would like to check the secret workings of its life, to turn +it back, she hopes for some misfortune as a mercy, as pardon—while +inexorable nature goes its way; she is young and healthy! + +To force a mother to desire the death of her own child, and sometimes +even more, to drive her to be its murderess and then to punish her, or +to cover her with shame if the mother’s heart is too strong for her—how +intelligently and morally is society organised! + +And who has weighed, who has considered what passes in her heart while +the mother crosses the terrible path from love to fear, from fear +to despair, to crime, to madness, for infanticide is physiological +abnormality. She too has had, of course, moments of forgetfulness, in +which she has passionately loved her coming little one, only the more +because his existence was a secret between them; there have been times +when she has dreamed of his little feet, of his milky smile, has kissed +him in his sleep, has found in him a likeness to one who has been so dear +to her.... + +‘But do they feel it? Of course there are unhappy victims ... but ... the +others, but the average?’ + +It would be hard, one fancies, to sink lower than those bats that flit +about at night in the fog and slush of the London streets, those victims +of ignorance, poverty, and want, with whom society guards its respectable +women from the excesses of their admirers’ sensuality ... in them, of +course, it would be hardest of all to assume traces of maternal feeling, +would it not? + +Allow me to tell you of a little incident that occurred to me. Three +years ago I met a young and beautiful girl. She belonged to the higher +ranks of prostitution, that is, did not democratically walk the streets, +but lived in bourgeois style, kept by a merchant. It was at a public +ball; the friend who was with me knew her and invited her to drink a +bottle of wine with us in the gallery, she, of course, accepted the +invitation. She was a merry, careless creature, and probably like Laura +in Pushkin’s _Don Juan_ was never worried by the fact that far away in +Paris it was cold while she heard the watchman in Madrid cry ‘The sun +is shining.’ ... After swallowing the last glass she rushed back to the +ponderous whirl of the English dances and I lost sight of her. + +This winter, one wet evening I crossed the street to stand under the +Arcade in Pall Mall to escape the streaming rain; a poorly dressed woman, +shivering with cold, was standing under the lamp-post in the archway, +probably on the watch for her prey. Her features struck me as familiar, +she glanced at me, turned away and tried to shrink out of sight, but I +had time to recognise her. ‘What has happened to you?’ I asked her with +sympathy. Her sunken cheeks were suffused with bright crimson, whether +from shame or consumption I do not know, but it did not seem like rouge; +those two years and a half had made her look ten years older. + +‘I was ill for a long time and was very unfortunate,’ with a look of +great distress she glanced towards her shabby clothes. + +‘But where is your friend?’ + +‘He was killed in the Crimea.’ + +‘Why, but he was a merchant, wasn’t he?’ + +She was confused, and instead of answering, said: ‘I am very ill even +now, and besides I have no work at all. Why, have I changed so much?’ she +asked, looking at me suddenly in embarrassment. + +‘Very much: in those days you were like a little girl, and now I +shouldn’t mind betting that you have children of your own.’ + +She flushed crimson, and with a sort of terror asked: ‘How did you know +that?’ + +‘Well, you see, I do know. Now tell me, what really has been happening to +you?’ + +‘Nothing, only you are right, I have got a little boy ... if only you +knew,’ and at those words her face brightened, ‘what a splendid, handsome +little fellow he is, even the neighbours all admire him. But that man +married a rich girl and went away to the Continent. The baby was born +afterwards. He is to blame for my position. At first I had money and +used to buy him everything in the biggest shops, but now things have got +worse and worse and I have taken everything to “my uncle.” I have been +advised to put baby out in the country, it certainly would be better for +him, but I can’t; I look at him, I just look at him and feel, no, we had +better die together; I tried to find a situation, but they won’t take +me with the baby. I went back to mother’s, she was all right, she’s got +a kind heart, she forgave me, she is fond of the boy and makes a lot of +him; but for five months now she has been bedridden—what with the doctor +to pay and the medicine and then, as you know yourself, coal and bread +and everything so dear this year, there was nothing but starvation before +us there. So I——,’ she paused, ‘of course, it would be better to throw +myself in the Thames than ... but there’s baby and I’m sorry for him, +whom should I leave him to, and you know he’s such a darling!’ + +I gave her something and in addition took out a shilling and said: ‘And +spend that on something for your baby.’ She took the coin joyfully, +held it in her hand, and all at once, giving it back to me, added with +a mournful smile: ‘Since you are so kind, buy him something yourself +in some shop here, a toy or something, for no one has ever given him a +present, poor little darling, since he was born.’ + +I looked with emotion at this _lost_ woman and pressed her hand +affectionately. + +The zealous champions of ladies with camellias and pearls would do better +to leave velvet furniture and rococo boudoirs alone and look at the +wretched, starved, and shivering prostitution close at hand, the fatal +prostitution which forces its victims down the road to ruin and gives no +chance for rallying nor repentance. Scavengers more often find precious +stones in the gutter than amongst the tinsel of tawdry finery. + +That reminded me of that clever translator of _Faust_, poor Gérard de +Nerval, who shot himself last year. He had not been home for five or six +days. It was discovered at last that he was spending his time in the +lowest dens near the town gates, as Paul Niquet used to do, that there +he had made friends with thieves, with low creatures of all sorts, was +treating them to drink, playing cards with them, and sometimes sleeping +under their protection. His old friends tried to persuade him to come +away and to put him to shame. Nerval, defending himself good-naturedly, +once said to them: ‘Let me tell you, my friends, you are fearfully +conventional. I assure you that the society of these people is no worse +than that of any others I have been among.’ He had been suspected of +madness; after that saying I imagine the suspicion passed into conviction! + +The fatal day was approaching and everything became more and more +dreadful. I looked at the doctor and the mysterious face of the midwife +with slavish reverence. Neither Natasha nor I nor our young maid knew +anything about it; luckily, at my father’s request, an elderly lady, an +intelligent, practical, and capable woman called Praskovya Andreyevna, +came from Moscow to stay with us. Seeing our helplessness she took the +reins of management entirely into her own hands and I obeyed her like a +nigger. + +One night I felt a hand touch me, I opened my eyes. Praskovya Andreyevna +was standing before me in a nightcap and dressing-gown with a candle +in her hand; she told me to send for the doctor and the midwife. I was +petrified as though the news were something quite unexpected. I felt as +though I should have liked to take a dose of opium, turn over on the +other side and sleep through the danger ... but there was no help for it. +I dressed with trembling hands and rushed to wake Matvey. + +A dozen times I ran out from the bedroom into the hall to listen for a +carriage in the distance. Everything was still but for the faint, faint +rustle of the breeze of morning in the warm June air of the garden; +the birds were beginning to sing, the crimson dawn threw a light flush +over the leaves, and again I hurried back to the bedroom, pestered kind +Praskovya Andreyevna with stupid questions, squeezed Natasha’s hands +convulsively, did not know what to do, trembled and was in a fever ... +but at last the chaise rattled on the bridge—thank God, it was in time! + +At eleven o’clock in the morning I started as from a violent electric +shock when the loud scream of a new-born baby reached my ear. ‘A boy,’ +Praskovya Andreyevna called to me as she went towards the cradle; I would +have taken the baby from the pillow, but I could not, my hands trembled +so violently. The thought of danger (which often indeed is only beginning +at this stage) that had weighed upon me vanished at once, a wild joy +took possession of my heart as though all the bells were pealing for a +festival of festivals! Natasha smiled at me, smiled at the baby, wept +and laughed, and only her broken breathing, her weary eyes, and deathly +pallor reminded me of the struggle, the agony that she had just passed +through. + +Then I left the room, I could bear no more. I went into my study and +flung myself on the sofa, at the end of my strength, and lay for half an +hour without definite thought, without definite feeling, in a sort of +anguish of bliss. + +That face of exhausted ecstasy, that joy flitting on the brink of death +upon the mother’s countenance, I recognised again in Vandyke’s Madonna +in the Corsini Gallery at Rome. The baby has just been born, they are +holding it up to the mother; exhausted, with not a drop of blood in her +face, faint and weary, she smiles, while her tired eyes rest on the baby +with a look of infinite love. + +It must be admitted that the Virgin Mother is quite out of keeping with +the celibate religion of Christianity. With her, life, love, gentleness +cannot but break into the everlasting funeral, the dread day of judgment, +and the other horrors of Church theology. + +That is why Protestantism has rejected the Virgin Mother _only_ from its +barn-like chapels, from its factories of God’s word. She really does +interfere with Christian propriety, she cannot escape from her earthly +nature, she warms the cold church, and in spite of everything remains +a woman, a mother. She makes up for the supernatural conception by the +natural birth, and snatches a blessing on her labour from the lips of +monastic worshippers who curse everything bodily. + +Michael Angelo and Raphael grasped that in their painting. + +In ‘The Day of Judgment’ in the Sistine Chapel, in that massacre of St. +Bartholomew in the other world, we see the Son of God going to preside +over the executions; He has already lifted His hand.... He will give the +signal, and tortures, agonies will follow, the last trump will sound, the +universal _auto-da-fé_ will begin crackling; but—the Mother, trembling +and suffering for all, presses up to Him in horror, and is imploring Him +on behalf of the sinners; looking at her He will perhaps be softened and +forget His cruel ‘Woman, what hast thou to do with me?’ and will not give +the signal. + +The Sistine Madonna is Mignon after the child’s birth, she is frightened +at her incredible fate, helpless.... + + ‘Was hat man dir, du armes Kind, gethan?’ + +Her inner peace is shattered, she has been told that her son is the Son +of God, that she is the Mother of God; she looks with a sort of nervous +ecstasy, with mesmeric clairvoyance she seems to be saying: ‘Take Him, He +is not mine.’ But at the same time she presses Him to herself as though, +if she could, she would fly with Him far away and would simply fondle +and feed at her bosom not the Saviour of the world but her own babe. And +all this is because she is a human mother and has no kinship with Isis +and Rhea and all the other gods of the female sex. + +That is why it has been so easy for her to conquer the cold Aphrodite, +that Ninon L’Enclos of Olympus, whose children no one troubles about. +Mary with her babe in her arms, with her eyes always gently looking down +upon Him, surrounded by the halo of womanliness and the holiness of +motherhood, is nearer to our hearts than the golden-haired Aphrodite. + +To my thinking Pius IX. and his Conclave were very consistent in +proclaiming the unnatural or, in their language, immaculate conception of +the Virgin. Mary, born naturally like you and me, would naturally stand +up for men and sympathise with us: in her the living reconciliation of +flesh and spirit would steal into religion. If even she was not humanly +born, there is nothing in common between her and us, she will not feel +for us, and the flesh is once more damned—and the Church more essential +than ever for salvation. + +It is a pity that the Pope is a thousand years too late. That, it +seems, is Pius IX.’s fate. _Troppo tardi, Santo Padre, siete sempre e +sempre—troppo tardi!_ + + * * * * * + +When I wrote this part of my Memoirs I had not our old letters. I got +them in 1856. After reading them over I had to correct two or three +passages, not more. My memory had not betrayed me. I should have liked to +add a few of Natalie’s letters, and at the same time I am restrained by a +sort of dread and cannot decide the question whether I ought to lay bare +our life any further, and whether those lines so dear to me might not +meet with a cold smile. + +Among Natalie’s papers I found my own notes to her, written partly +before prison and partly from the Krutitsky Barracks.... Some of them +I append to this part. Perhaps they will not seem superfluous to those +who are fond of tracing the sources of men’s destinies, perhaps such +will read them with that nervous interest with which we look through the +microscope at the development of the living organism. + + +I[14] + + _August 15th, 1832._ + + DEAR NATALYA ALEXANDROVNA,—To-day is your birthday; I should + very much have liked to wish you many happy returns in person, + but there really is no possibility. I am sorry I have not been + to see you for so long, but circumstances have quite prevented + me from disposing of my time as I should have liked. I hope + that you will forgive me, and wish you the full development of + all your talents and all the treasures of happiness which fate + bestows on the pure in heart.—Your devoted + + A. H. + + +II + + _July 5th or 6th, 1833._ + + You are wrong, Natalya Alexandrovna. You are quite wrong in + thinking that I should confine myself to one letter—here is + another for you. It is extremely pleasant to write to persons + with whom one is in sympathy, there are so few of them, so few + that one wouldn’t use a quire of paper on them in a year. + + I am a graduate, that is true, but they did not give me the + gold medal. I have a silver medal—_one of three_! + + A. H. + + _P.S._—To-day there was the prize-giving, but I didn’t go for I + don’t care to be second. + + +III + + (_At the beginning of 1834._) + + Natalie! we are expecting you impatiently. M—— hopes that in + spite of E—— I——’s threats yesterday Amelia Mihailovna will be + sure to come too, and so, till we meet,—Wholly yours, + + A. H. + + +IV + + KRUTITSKY BARRACKS, + _December 10th, 1834_. + + I have just written a letter to the colonel in which I have + asked for a permit for you, there is no answer yet. It will be + harder for you to arrange it, but I rely on Mother. You were + in luck in regard to me, you were the last of my friends whom + I saw before my arrest [we parted confidently hoping to see + each other soon at nine o’clock, but at two I was already in + the police-station], and you will be the first to see me again. + Knowing you, I know that that will give you pleasure, let me + assure you that it will me too. To me you are a sister. + + There is not much for me to say about myself. I have settled + down and grown used to being a prisoner. The most dreadful + thing for me is the separation from Ogaryov, he is essential + to me. I have not seen him once—that is, not properly—though + on one occasion I was sitting alone in a little lobby (at the + committee), my examination was over; from my window the lighted + porch could be seen; a chaise was brought round, I rushed + instinctively to the window, opened the little pane and saw an + adjutant get in together with Ogaryov. The chaise drove off + and he had no chance to see me. Can we be fated to perish by + a mute, inglorious death, of which no one will hear? Why then + has nature given us spirits craving for activity, for glory? + Can that be a mockery? But no, faith, strong and living, glows + here in my heart, there is a providence watching over us! I am + reading with delight _The Lives of the Saints_; there you have + examples of self-sacrifice, there you have men! + + I have just received the answer, it is not cheering—they refuse + the permit. + + Good-bye, remember and love your brother. + + +V + + _December 31st, 1834._ + + I will never take upon myself the responsibility which you + lay upon me, never! You have a great deal that is _your own_, + why then do you give yourself up to my will like this? I want + you to make _of yourself whatever you can make of yourself_; + for my part I undertake to assist that development, to remove + obstacles. + + As for your position, it is not so bad for your development as + you imagine. You have a great advantage over many; as soon as + you began to understand yourself, you found yourself alone, + alone in the whole world. Others have known a father’s love and + a mother’s tenderness—you have not had them. No one has cared + to look after you, you have been left to yourself. What can be + better for development? Thank your fates that no one did look + after you, they would have instilled something alien to you, + they would have warped your childish soul—now it is too late. + + +VI + + KRUTITSKY BARRACKS, + _February 1835_. + + I am told you have an idea of going into a nunnery; don’t + expect me to smile at the idea, I understand it, but it needs + to be very, very thoroughly weighed. Can it be that the + thought of love has never stirred your bosom? A nunnery means + despair, there are no nunneries now for prayer. Can you doubt + that you will one day meet a man who will love you, whom you + will love? How joyfully I shall press his hand and yours. He + will be happy. If that _he_ does not appear—then go into a + nunnery, that is a million times better than a vulgar marriage. + + I understand _le ton d’exaltation_ of your letters—_you are in + love!_ If you write to me that you are seriously in love I’ll + say nothing—a brother’s authority stops at that. But I must + have you say those words. Do you know what ordinary men are? + They may of course make some people happy—but can they make you + happy, Natasha? You think too little of yourself! Better into a + nunnery than into the common herd. Remember one thing, that I + say this because I am your brother, _because I am proud of you + and for you_. + + I have received another letter from Ogaryov; here is an extract + from it: ‘L’autre jour donc je repassais dans ma mémoire toute + ma vie. Un bonheur qui ne m’a jamais trahi, c’est ton amitié. + De toutes mes passions, une seule qui est restée intacte c’est + mon amitié pour toi, car mon amitié est une passion.’ + + In conclusion, one word more. What is so strange about it if he + does love you? What would he be if he did not love you, seeing + a shade of attention on your side? But I beseech you don’t tell + him of your love—not for a long time. + + Farewell.—Your brother, + + ALEXANDR. + + +VII + + What marvels happen in the world, Natalie! Before I got your + last letter I had answered all your questions. I have heard + that you are ill and melancholy. Take care of yourself, drink + resolutely the—not so much bitter as—loathsome cup which your + _benefactors_ fill for you. + +And after that on another sheet of paper follows:— + + Natasha, my dear, my sister, for God’s sake don’t lose heart, + despise these abominable egoists, you make too much allowance + for them, despise them all—they are wretches! It was an awful + moment for me when I read your letter to Amelia. My God, what + a position I am in! What can I do for you? I swear that no + brother loves his sister more than I do you, but what can I do? + + I received your letter and am pleased with you. Forget him, if + that is how it is; it was an experiment, and if it had really + been love it would not have been expressed like that. + + +VIII + + KRUTITSKY BARRACKS, + _April 2nd_. + + My heart is torn to shreds, I have not been so crushed, so + shattered, all the while I have been in prison as now. It is + not exile that is the cause of it. What do I care whether it is + Perm or Moscow, Moscow is no better than Perm. Let me tell you + all about it. + + On the 31st of March we were summoned to hear our sentence. It + was a glorious, magnificent day. Twenty fellows were gathered + together, who were to be immediately scattered, some to the + cells of the fortresses, others to distant towns, while all of + them had spent nine months in captivity. They all sat, a noisy, + merry company, in the big hall. When I went in, Sokolovsky, + with a beard and a moustache, threw himself on my neck, and + S—— was there too. Ogaryov was brought in a good while after + me, and all rushed to greet him; we embraced with tears and a + smile. Everything rose up in my heart, I lived, I was a youth, + I pressed every one’s hand, in fact it was one of the happiest + moments of my life. I had not a gloomy thought. At last the + sentence[15] was read out. + + All was well, but yesterday—damnation take it!—has shattered me + in every nerve. Obolensky is being confined in the same place + with me. When the sentence had been read us, I asked leave of + Tsinsky for us to see each other and was given permission. + On returning I went to see him, and meanwhile they had + forgotten to tell the colonel about the permission. Next day + that blackguard of an officer S—— reported the matter to the + colonel, and in that way I got three of the very best officers + into trouble who had shown me no end of kindness; they were + all reprimanded and all punished, and now have to be on duty + for three weeks (and it is Easter!) without being relieved. + Vassilyev the gendarme has been flogged, and all through me. I + bit my fingers, cried, raged, and the first thought that came + into my head was revenge. I told things about the officer which + may ruin him (he used to go off somewhere with a prisoner), and + then remembered that he is a poor man and the father of seven + children; but ought one to spare the sneak? Did he spare others? + + +IX + + _April 10th, 1835. Nine o’clock._ + + A few hours before departure I am still writing, and writing to + you—my last word as I go away shall be for you. Bitter is the + feeling of separation, and involuntary separation, but such is + the fate to which I have given myself up, it draws me on and I + submit. When shall we see each other? Where? All that is dark, + but bright is the thought of your affection, the exile will + never forget his charming sister. + + _Perhaps_ ... but I cannot finish, for they have come for + me—and so farewell for long, but, on my word, not for ever, I + cannot think that. + + All this is written in the presence of the gendarmes. + +Traces of tears can be seen on this note and the word _perhaps_ has been +twice underlined by her. Natalie carried this note about with her for +several months. + + + + +PART IV + +MOSCOW, PETERSBURG, AND NOVGOROD + +(1840-1847) + + + + +Chapter 25 + +DISSONANCE—A NEW CIRCLE—DESPERATE HEGELIANISM—V. BYELINSKY, M. BAKUNIN, +AND OTHERS—A QUARREL WITH BYELINSKY AND RECONCILIATION—ARGUMENT WITH A +LADY AT NOVGOROD—STANKEVITCH’S CIRCLE. + + +At the beginning of 1840 we left Vladimir and the poor, narrow Klyazma. +With anxiety and an aching heart I left the little town where we were +married. I foresaw that the same simple, deep, spiritual life would not +come again, and that we should have to take in our sails. + +Our long, solitary walks out of the town, where, lost among the meadows, +we felt so keenly the spring in nature and the spring in our hearts, +would never come again.... + +The winter evenings when, sitting side by side, we closed the book and +listened to the crunch of sledge-runners and the jingle of bells that +reminded us of the 3rd of March 1838 and our journey of the 9th of May +would never come again.... + +They will never come again! + +In how many keys and for how many ages men have known and repeated +that ‘the May of life blossoms once and never again,’ and yet the June +of mature age with its hard work, with its stony roads, catches a man +unawares. Youth, all unheeding, floats along in a sort of algebra of +ideas, feelings, and yearnings, is little interested in the concrete, +little touched by it, and then comes love, the unknown quantity found; +all is concentrated on one person, through whom everything passes, +in whom the universal becomes precious, in whom the artistic becomes +beautiful; then, too, the young are untouched by the external, they are +devoted to each other, let the grass grow as it will! + +And it does grow, together with the nettles and the thistles, and sooner +or later they begin to sting or prick. + +We knew that we could not take Vladimir with us, but still we thought +that our May was not yet over. I even fancied that in going back to +Moscow I was going back to my student days. All the surroundings helped +to maintain the illusion. The same house, the same furniture—here was the +room where Ogaryov and I, shut in together, used to conspire two paces +away from the Senator and my father, and here was my father himself, +grown older and more bent, but just as ready to scold me for coming home +late. ‘Who is lecturing to-morrow? Where is the class? I am going from +the university to Ogaryov’s....’ It was 1833 over again! + +Ogaryov was actually there. + +He had received permission to go to Moscow a few months before me. Again +his house became a centre where friends, old and new, met. And although +the old unity was no more, every one was in sympathy with him. + +Ogaryov, as I have had occasion to observe already, was endowed with a +peculiar magnetism, a feminine quality of attraction. For no apparent +reason others are drawn to such people and cling to them; they warm, +unite, and soothe them, they are like an open table at which every +one sits down, renews his strength, rests, grows calmer and more +stout-hearted, and goes away a friend. + +His acquaintances swallowed up a great deal of his time; he suffered at +times from this, but still kept his doors open, and met every one with +his gentle smile. Many people thought it a great weakness. Yes, time +was lost and wasted, but the love, not only of intimate friends, but of +outsiders, of the weak, was won; that is worth as much as reading and +other pursuits. + +I never can make out how people like Ogaryov can be accused of idleness. +The standards of the factory and the workhouse do not apply in their +case. I remember that in our student days Vadim and I were once sitting +over a glass of wine when he suddenly became more and more gloomy, and +all at once with tears in his eyes repeated the words of Don Carlos (who +quoted them from Julius Caesar): ‘Twenty-three and nothing done for +eternity!’ This so mortified him that with all his might he brought his +open hand down upon the green wine-glass and cut it badly. All that is +so, but neither Caesar nor Don Carlos and Posa, nor Vadim and I explained +why we must do something for eternity. There is work and it has to be +done, and is it to be done for the sake of the work, or for the sake of +being remembered by mankind? + +All that is somewhat obscure: and what is work? + +Work, business.[16] ... Officials recognise as such only civil and legal +affairs, the merchant regards nothing but commerce as work, military men +call it their work to strut about like cranes armed from head to toe in +times of peace. To my thinking, to serve as the link, as the centre of +a whole circle of people, is a very great work, especially in a society +both disunited and fettered. No one has reproached me for idleness, +and many people have liked some of the things I have done; but they do +not know how much of all that I have done has been the reflection of +our talks, our arguments, the nights we spent idly strolling about the +streets and fields, or still more idly sitting over a glass of wine. + +But soon a chilly air reminding us that spring was over penetrated +even into these surroundings. When the joy of meeting had subsided and +festivities were over, when we had said most of what we had to say, and +had to go on our way again, we perceived that the careless, happy life +which we sought from memories was no longer to be found in our circle, +and especially not in Ogaryov’s house. Friends were noisy, arguments +were lively, sometimes wine flowed, but it was not light-hearted, not as +light-hearted as in old days. Every one had a hidden thought, something +unspoken; there was a feeling of strain: Ogaryov looked melancholy and +Ketscher raised his eyebrows fiercely. An intrusive note made a jangling +discord in our harmony; all the warmth, all the friendliness of Ogaryov +could not drown it. + +What I had dreaded a year before had come to pass, and it was even worse +than I had thought. + +Ogaryov had lost his father in 1838, and had married not long before +his father’s death. The news of his marriage frightened me, it had all +happened so quickly and unexpectedly. The rumours that had reached me +about his wife were not altogether favourable to her, yet he wrote with +enthusiasm and was happy; I put more faith in him, but still I was uneasy. + +At the beginning of 1839 they had come for a few days to Vladimir. It was +our first meeting since the auditor Oransky read us our sentence. We were +in no mood to be critical. I only remember that for the first few minutes +her voice struck me unpleasantly; but that momentary impression passed +in the radiance of our joy. Yes, those were the days of fullness and +bliss, when a man all unsuspecting reaches the highest limit, the utmost +boundary of personal happiness. There was not a shade of gloomy memory, +not the faintest dark foreboding, it was all youth, friendship, love, +exuberant strength, energy, health, and an endless road before us. Even +the mood of mysticism which had not yet passed quite away gave a festive +solemnity to our meeting, like chiming bells, choristers, and burning +incense. + +There was a small iron crucifix on a table in my room. ‘On your knees!’ +said Ogaryov, ‘and let us give thanks that we are all four here +together.’ We knelt down beside him and embraced, wiping away our tears. + +But one of the four scarcely needed to wipe them away. Ogaryov’s wife +looked at the proceedings with some astonishment. I thought at the time +that this was _retenue_, but she told me herself afterwards that this +scene had struck her as affected and childish. Of course it might strike +one so looking on at it as an outsider, but why was she looking on at it +as an outsider? Why was she so sober at that moment of intoxication, so +middle-aged in the midst of our youthfulness? + +Ogaryov went back to his estate, while she went to Petersburg to try and +obtain permission for him to return to Moscow. + +A month later she passed through Vladimir again, alone. Petersburg and +two or three aristocratic drawing-rooms had turned her head. She longed +for external splendour, she was allured by wealth. Will she get over it, +I wondered. Such opposite tastes may lead to many troubles. But wealth +was something new to her and so were drawing-rooms and Petersburg, +perhaps it was a momentary infatuation; she was intelligent and she loved +Ogaryov—and I hoped. + +In Moscow they were more apprehensive that she would not get over it so +easily. An artistic and literary circle rather flattered her vanity, +but her chief efforts were not turned in that direction. She would have +consented to have a place for artists and savants in her aristocratic +drawing-room; she forcibly drew Ogaryov into frivolous society in which +he was bored to death. His more intimate friends began to notice it, +and Ketscher, who had long been scowling over it, angrily proclaimed +his _veto_. Hot-tempered, vain, and unused to control herself, she +wounded a vanity as sensitive as her own. Her angular, rather frigid +manners and sarcasms, uttered in the voice which at our first meeting +had so strangely jarred on me, provoked a violent opposition. After +carrying on a feud for two months with Ketscher who, though he was right +fundamentally, was continually in the wrong formally, and arousing the +hostility of several persons who were, perhaps owing to their material +position, too ready to take offence, she found herself brought face to +face with me. + +She was afraid of me. In me she wanted to test herself and to discover +once for all which was to take the upper hand, friendship or love, as +though one or the other must take the upper hand. There was more in this +than the desire to gain the day in a capricious quarrel, there was a +consciousness that I opposed her views more strongly than any of them; +there was envious jealousy and feminine love of power in it too. With +Ketscher she disputed till she shed tears, and every day she quarrelled +with him as angry children quarrel, but without exasperation; she could +not look at me without turning pale and trembling with hatred. She +reproached me for revolting pride, and for destroying her happiness +through conceited claims to Ogaryov’s exclusive friendship. I felt +this was unjust and became cruel and merciless in my turn. She herself +confessed to me five years later that she had had thoughts of poisoning +me—so violent was her hatred. She broke off all acquaintance with Natalie +because of her love for me and the affection all our friends had for her. + +Ogaryov suffered. No one spared him, neither she nor I nor the others. +We chose his heart (as he himself expressed it in a letter) ‘for our +field of battle,’ and did not consider that whichever gained the day +he suffered equally. He swore to reconcile us, he tried to soften the +awkwardness of the position and we were reconciled; but wounded vanity +cried aloud and smarting resentment flared into warfare at a word. +Ogaryov saw with horror that everything he prized was falling to pieces, +that his holy things were not sacred to the woman he loved, that she was +a stranger—but he could not cease to love her. We were his own people—but +he saw with grief that even we did not spare him one drop of the cup of +bitterness fate forced upon him. He could not roughly sunder the ties +of _Naturgewalt_ that bound him to her, nor the strong ties of sympathy +that bound him to us; in any case his heart could not but bleed, and, +conscious of that, he tried to keep both her and us—gripped convulsively +her hands and ours—while we savagely strained apart, tearing him to +pieces like executioners! + +Man is cruel and only prolonged suffering softens him; the child is cruel +in its ignorance, the young man is cruel in the pride of his purity, +the priest is cruel in the pride of his holiness, and the doctrinaire +in the pride of his learning—we are all merciless, and most of all +merciless when we are in the right. The heart is usually melted and +grows soft after severe wounds, after the wings have been burnt, after +acknowledged downfalls, after the panic which makes a man cold all over +when alone, without witnesses, he begins to suspect what a weak and +worthless creature he is. His heart grows softer; as he wipes away the +sweat of shame and horror, afraid of an eye-witness, he seeks excuses for +_himself_ and finds them for _others_. The part of judge, of executioner, +from that moment excites his loathing. + +I was far from that stage in those days! + +The feud was carried on intermittently. The exasperated woman, pursued +by our intolerance, got further and further entangled, could not go +forward, struggled, fell—and did not change. Feeling that she could not +be victorious, she burned with vexation and _dépit_, with jealousy +in which there was no love. Her confused ideas, taken disconnectedly +from George Sand’s novels and from our conversations, and never clearly +thought out, carried her from one absurdity to another—to eccentricities, +which she took for originality and independence, to that form of feminine +emancipation in virtue of which women arbitrarily deny all that they +dislike in the existing and accepted order, while they obstinately cling +to all the rest. + +The gulf was becoming impassable, but for a long time yet Ogaryov spared +her, for a long time he still tried and hoped to save her. And whenever +for a minute some tender feeling was awakened or poetic chord was touched +in her, he was ready to forget the past for ever and begin a new life of +harmony, peace, and love; but she could not restrain herself, she lost +her balance and every time sank lower. Thread by thread their tie was +painfully broken, till the last thread snapped without a sound—and they +parted for ever. + +In all this one question presents itself that is not quite easily +answered. How was it that the strong, sympathetic influence that Ogaryov +exercised on all around him, which drew outsiders into higher spheres, +into general interests, glided over that woman’s heart without leaving +any fruitful trace upon it? And yet he loved her passionately and put +more soul and effort into saving her than into all the rest; and she +herself loved him at first, of that there is no doubt. + +I have thought a great deal about this. At first, of course, I put the +blame on one side only, but afterwards I began to understand that this +strange, monstrous fact has an explanation and that there is really no +contradiction in it. To have an influence on a sympathetic circle is far +easier than to have an influence on one woman. To preach from the pulpit, +to sway men’s minds from the platform, to teach from the lecturer’s +desk, is far easier than to educate one child. In the lecture-room, in +the church, in the club, similarity of interests and aspirations takes +the foremost place; men meet there for the sake of them, and all that is +needed is to develop them farther. Ogaryov’s circle consisted of his old +comrades of the university, young artists, literary or scientific men; +they were united by a common religion, a common language, and still more +by a common hatred. Those for whom this religion was not really a living +question gradually dropped off, while others came to fill their places, +and the circle itself, as well as its thinking, was the stronger for the +free play of selection and the community of conviction that bound them +together. + +Intimacy with a woman is a purely personal matter, based on some secret +physiological affinity, unaccountable, resting on passion. We are first +intimate, afterwards we become acquainted. Among people whose life is not +marked out for them, not dominated by one idea, equilibrium is easily +established; everything with them happens casually, he yields half and +she half, and if they do not, it does not much matter. On the other hand, +a man devoted to his idea discovers with horror that it is strange to +the creature he has brought so close to him. He sets to work in haste +to awaken her, but as a rule only frightens or muddles her. Torn away +from the traditions from which she has not freed herself, and flung +across a sort of abyss with nothing to fill it, she believes that she is +emancipated—conceitedly, arrogantly rejects the old at random, accepts +the new indiscriminately. There is disorder and chaos in her head and in +her heart ... the reins are flung down, egoism is unbridled ... while we +imagine that we have accomplished something and preach to her as in the +lecture-room. + +The gift for education, the gift of patient love, of complete, of +persevering devotion is more rarely met with than any other. No mother’s +passionate love nor dialectical skill can replace it. + +Is not this the reason why people torment children and sometimes grown-up +people too—that it is so hard to educate them and so easy to flog them? +When we punish, are we not revenging ourselves for our own incapacity? + +Ogaryov saw that even then; that was why all (and I among them) +reproached him for being too gentle. + +The circle of young people that gathered round Ogaryov was not our old +circle. Only two of his old friends, besides us, were in it. Tone, +interests, pursuits, all were changed. Stankevitch’s friends took the +lead in it; Bakunin and Byelinsky stood at their head, each with a volume +of Hegel’s philosophy in his hand, an each filled with the youthful +intolerance inseparable from deep and passionate convictions. + +German philosophy had been grafted on the Moscow University by M. G. +Pavlov. The Chair of Philosophy had been abolished since 1826. Pavlov +gave us an introduction to philosophy by way of physics and agricultural +science. It would have been hard to learn physics at his lectures, +impossible to learn agricultural science; but they were extremely +profitable. Pavlov stood at the door of the section of Physics and +Mathematics and stopped the student with the question: ‘You want to +acquire knowledge of nature? but what is nature? what is knowledge?’ + +This was extremely valuable: our young students enter the university +entirely without philosophical preparation; only the divinity students +had any conception of philosophy, and that an utterly distorted one. + +By way of answer to these questions, Pavlov expounded the doctrines +of Schelling and of Oken with a conciseness and a clarity such as no +teacher of natural philosophy had shown before. If he did not attain +complete lucidity in anything it was not his fault, but was due to the +cloudiness of Schelling’s philosophy. Pavlov may more justly be blamed +for stopping short at this Mahabharata of philosophy instead of passing +on to the austere initiation into Hegelian logic. But even he went no +farther than the introduction and general outline, or at any rate he led +others no farther. Such a halt at the beginning, such incompleteness, +houses without roofs, foundations without houses, and splendid vestibules +leading to a humble dwelling, are quite in the spirit of the Russian +people. Are we not perhaps satisfied with vestibules because our history +is still knocking at the gate? + +What Pavlov did not do was done by one of his pupils—Stankevitch. + +Stankevitch, also one of the _idle_ people who accomplish _nothing_, was +the first disciple of Hegel in the Moscow circle. He had made a profound +study of German philosophy, which appealed to his aesthetic sense: +endowed with exceptional abilities, he drew a large circle of friends +into his favourite pursuit. This circle was extremely remarkable, from it +came a regular legion of savants, writers and professors, amongst whom +were Byelinsky, Bakunin and Granovsky. + +Before our exile there had been no great sympathy between our circle and +Stankevitch’s. They disliked our almost exclusively political tendency, +while we disliked their almost exclusively theoretical interests. They +considered us _Frondeurs_ and French, we thought them sentimentalists +and German. The first man who was acknowledged both by us and by them, +who held out the hand of friendship to both and by his warm love for +both and his conciliating character removed the last traces of mutual +misunderstanding, was Granovsky; but when I arrived in Moscow he was +still in Berlin, while poor Stankevitch at the age of twenty-seven was +dying on the shore of the Lago di Como. + +Sickly in constitution and gentle in character, a poet and a dreamer, +Stankevitch was naturally bound to prefer contemplation and abstract +thought to living and purely practical questions; his artistic idealism +suited him, it was ‘the crown of victory’ on his pale, youthful brow +that bore the imprint of death. The others had too much physical vigour +and too little poetical feeling to remain long absorbed in speculative +thought without passing on into life. Exclusive preoccupation with +theory is utterly opposed to the Russian temperament, and we shall soon +see how the Russian spirit transformed Hegel’s philosophy and how the +vitality of our nature asserted itself in spite of all the tonsures of +the philosophic monks. But at the beginning of 1840 the young people +surrounding Ogaryov had as yet no thought of rebelling against the letter +on behalf of the spirit, against the abstract on behalf of life. + +My new acquaintances received me as people do receive exiles and old +champions, people who come out of prison or return out of captivity or +banishment, that is, with respectful indulgence, with a readiness to +receive us into their alliance, though at the same time refusing to yield +a single point and hinting at the fact that they are ‘to-day’ and we are +already ‘yesterday,’ and exacting the unconditional acceptance of Hegel’s +phenomenology and logic, and their interpretation of it, too. + +They discussed these subjects incessantly, there was not a paragraph +in the three parts of the _Logic_, in the two of the _Aesthetic_, the +_Encyclopaedia_, and so on, which had not been the subject of furious +battles for several nights together. People who loved each other were +parted for weeks at a time because they disagreed about the definition +of ‘all-embracing spirit,’ or had taken as a personal insult an opinion +on ‘the absolute personality and its existence in itself.’ Every +insignificant treatise published in Berlin or other provincial or +district towns of German philosophy was ordered and read into tatters, +so that the leaves fell out in a few days, if only there were a mention +of Hegel in it. Just as Francœur in Paris wept with delight when he +heard that in Russia he was taken for a great mathematician and that +all the youthful generation made use of the same letters as he did when +they solved equations of various degrees, tears of delight might have +been shed by all those forgotten Werders, Marheinekes, Michelets, Ottos, +Vatkes, Schallers, Rosenkrantzes, and even Arnold Ruge,[17] whom Heine +so wonderfully well dubbed ‘the gate-keeper of the Hegelian philosophy,’ +if they had known what pitched battles they were exciting in Moscow, how +they were being read, and how they were being bought. + +Pavlov’s great value lay in the extraordinary clarity of his exposition, +a clarity in which none of the depth of German thought was lost; the +young philosophers, on the contrary, adopted a conventional language; +they did not translate philosophical terms into Russian, but transferred +them whole, even, to make things easier, leaving all the Latin words _in +crudo_, giving them orthodox terminations and the endings of the Russian +declensions. + +I have the right to say this because, carried away by the current of the +time, I wrote myself exactly in the same way, and was actually surprised +when Perevoshtchekov, the well-known astronomer, described my language as +the ‘twittering of birds.’ No one in those days would have hesitated to +write a phrase like this: ‘The concretion of abstract ideas in the sphere +of plastics presents that phase of the self-seeking spirit in which, +defining itself for itself, it passes from the potentiality of natural +immanence into the harmonious sphere of pictorial consciousness in +beauty.’ It is remarkable that here Russian words, as in the celebrated +dinner of the generals of which Yermolov spoke, sound even more foreign +than Latin ones. + +German learning—and it is its chief defect—has become accustomed to an +artificial, heavy, scholastic language, just because it has lived in +academies, that is, in the monasteries of idealism. It is the language of +the priests of learning, a language for the faithful, and no one of the +uninitiated understood it. A key was needed for it, as for a cryptograph +letter. The key is now no mystery; when they understood it, people were +surprised that very sensible and very simple things were said in this +strange jargon. Feuerbach was the first to begin using a more human +language. + +The mechanical copying of the German learned jargon was the more +unpardonable as the leading characteristic of our language is the extreme +ease with which everything is expressed in it—abstract ideas, the lyrical +sensations of the heart, ‘life’s mouse-like flitting,’ the cry of +indignation, sparkling mischief, and overwhelming passion. + +Another mistake, far graver, went hand in hand with this distortion of +language. Our young philosophers distorted not merely their phrases +but their understanding; their attitude to life, to reality, became +scholastic, bookish; it was that learned conception of simple things at +which Goethe mocks with such genius in the conversation of Mephistopheles +with the student. Everything in reality direct, every simple feeling, was +lifted into abstract categories and came back from them without a drop of +living blood, a pale, algebraic shadow. In all this there was a naïveté +of a sort, because it was all perfectly sincere. The man who went for a +walk in Sokolniky went in order to give himself up to the pantheistic +feeling of his unity with the cosmos; and if on the way he happened upon +a drunken soldier or a peasant woman who got into conversation with him, +the philosopher did not simply talk to them, but defined the essential +substance of the people in its immediate and phenomenal manifestation. +The very tear glistening on the eyelash was strictly referred to its +proper classification, to _Gemüth_ or ‘to the tragic in the heart.’ + +It was the same thing in art. A knowledge of Goethe, especially of the +second part of _Faust_ (either because it was inferior to the first or +because it was more difficult), was as obligatory as the wearing of +clothes. The philosophy of music took a foremost position. Of course, +no one ever spoke of Rossini; to Mozart they were indulgent, though +they did think him childish and poor. On the other hand, they made +philosophical investigations into every chord of Beethoven and greatly +respected Schubert, not so much, I think, for his superb melodies as for +the fact that he chose philosophical themes for them, such as ‘the divine +omnipotence’ and ‘Atlas.’ French literature, everything French in fact, +and, incidentally, everything political also, shared the interdict laid +on Italian music. + +From the above, it is easy to see on what field we were bound to meet +and do battle. So long as we were arguing on the theme that Goethe was +objective but that his objectivity was subjective, while Schiller as a +poet was subjective but that his subjectivity was objective, and _vice +versa_, everything went peaceably. Questions that aroused more passion +were not slow to make their appearance. + +While Hegel was Professor in Berlin, partly from old age, but far +more from satisfaction with his position and the respect he enjoyed, +he purposely screwed his philosophy up above the earthly level and +kept himself in an environment from which all contemporary interests +and passions became somewhat indistinct, like buildings and villages +seen from a balloon; he did not like to be entangled in these accursed +practical questions with which it is difficult to deal and which must +receive a positive answer. How revolting this artificial and disingenuous +dualism was in a doctrine which set out from the elimination of dualism +can readily be understood. The real Hegel was the modest Professor at +Jena, the friend of Hoelderlin, who hid his _Phenomenology_ under his +coat when Napoleon entered the town; then his philosophy did not lead +to Indian quietism nor to the justification of the existing forms of +society, nor to Prussian Christianity; then he had not read his lectures +on the Philosophy of Religion, but had written things of genius such +as the article on the executioner and the death penalty, printed in +Rosenkrantz’s biography. + +Hegel confined himself to the sphere of abstractions in order to avoid +the necessity of touching upon empirical deductions and practical +applications; the one domain which he, very adroitly, selected for the +practical application of his theories was the calm, untroubled ocean +of aesthetics. He rarely ventured into the light of day, and but for a +minute, wrapped up like an invalid, and even then left behind in the +dialectic maze just those questions most interesting to the modern +man. The extremely feeble intellects (Gantz is the only exception) who +surrounded him accepted the letter for the thing itself and were pleased +by the empty play of dialectics. Probably the old man felt at times +sore and ashamed at the sight of the limited outlook of his excessively +complacent pupils. If the dialectic method is not the development of the +reality itself, the lifting of it, so to speak, into thought, it becomes +a purely external means of driving all sorts of things through a series +of categories, an exercise in logical gymnastics, as it was with the +Greek Sophists and the mediaeval scholastics after Abelard. + +The philosophical phrase which did the greatest harm, and in virtue +of which the German conservatives strove to reconcile philosophy with +the political régime of Germany—‘all that is real is rational’—was the +principle of sufficient reason and of the correspondence of logic and +fact expressed in other words. Hegel’s phrase, wrongly understood, became +what the words of the Christian Girondist Paul were at one time: ‘There +is no power but from God.’ But if all powers are from God, and if the +existing social order is justified by reason, the struggle against it, +since it exists, is also justified. These two sentences accepted in their +formal meaning are pure tautology; but whether tautology or not, Hegel’s +phrase led straight to the recognition of the existing authorities, led +to a man’s sitting with folded hands, and that was just what the Berlin +Buddhists wanted. Though such a view is diametrically opposed to the +Russian spirit, our Moscow Hegelians were genuinely misled and accepted +it. + +Byelinsky, the most active, impulsive, and dialectically passionate, +fighting nature, was at that time preaching an Indian stillness of +contemplation and theoretical study instead of conflict. He believed in +that theory and did not flinch before any of its consequences, nor was he +held back by considerations of moral propriety nor the opinion of others, +which has such terrors for the weak and those who lack independence. He +was free from timidity for he was strong and sincere; his conscience was +clear. + +‘Do you know that from your standpoint,’ I said to him, thinking to +impress him with my revolutionary ultimatum, ‘you can prove that the +monstrous tyranny under which we live is rational and ought to exist?’ + +‘There is no doubt about it,’ answered Byelinsky, and proceeded to recite +to us Pushkin’s ‘Anniversary of Borodino.’ + +That was more than I could stand and a desperate battle raged between +us. Our feud reacted upon the others, the circle fell apart into two +groups. Bakunin tried to reconcile, to explain, to persuade, but there +was no real peace. Byelinsky, irritated and dissatisfied, went off to +Petersburg, and from there fired off his last furious shot at us in an +article which he called ‘The Anniversary of Borodino.’ + +Then I broke off all relations with him. Though Bakunin argued hotly, he +began to reconsider things, his revolutionary tact drove him in another +direction. Byelinsky reproached him for weakness, for concessions, and +went to such exaggerated extremes that he scared his own friends and +followers. The chorus was on Byelinsky’s side, and looked down upon us, +haughtily shrugged their shoulders and considered us behind the times. + +In the midst of this feud I saw the necessity _ex ipso fonte bibere_ +and began studying Hegel in earnest. I even think that a man who has +not _lived through_ Hegel’s phenomenology and Proudhon’s contradictions +of political economy, who has not passed through that furnace and been +tempered by it, is not complete, not modern. + +When I had grown used to Hegel’s language and mastered his method, I +began to perceive that Hegel was much nearer to our standpoint than +to the standpoint of his followers; he was so in his early works, he +was so everywhere where his genius had got out of hand and had dashed +forward forgetting the gates of Brandenburg. The philosophy of Hegel is +the algebra of revolution, it emancipates a man in an extraordinary way +and leaves not a stone standing of the Christian world, of the world of +outlived tradition. But, perhaps with intention, it is badly formulated. +Just as in mathematics—only there with more justification—men do not +go back to the definition of space, movement, force, but continue the +dialectical development of their laws and qualities, so in the formal +understanding of philosophy, after once becoming accustomed to the first +principles, men go on merely drawing deductions. Any one new to the +subject who has not stupefied himself by the method being turned into +a habit is pulled up just by these traditions, by these dogmas which +have been accepted as thoughts. To people who have long been studying +the subject and are consequently not free from preconceptions, it seems +astonishing that others should not understand things that are ‘perfectly +clear.’ How can any one fail to understand such a simple idea as, for +instance, ‘that the soul is immortal and that what perishes is only the +personality,’ a thought so successfully developed by the Michelet of +Berlin; or the still more simple truth that the absolute spirit is a +personality, conscious of itself through the world, and at the same time +having its own self-consciousness? + +All these things seemed so easy to our friends, they smiled so +condescendingly at ‘French’ objections, that I was for some time crushed +by them and worked and worked to reach an exact understanding of their +philosophic jargon. + +Fortunately scholasticism is as little natural to me as mysticism, and I +stretched its bow until the string snapped and the scales dropped from my +eyes. Strange to say, it was an argument with a lady that brought me to +it. + +I had the year before at Novgorod become acquainted with a general. I +made his acquaintance just because no one could have been less like a +general. + +There was a painful feeling in his house, there were tears in the air, it +was obvious that death had passed through it. His hair was prematurely +grey and his kindly, mournful smile was, even more than his wrinkles, +expressive of suffering. He was about fifty. The traces of a fate that +had cut off living branches was still more clearly imprinted on the pale, +thin face of his wife. It was too quiet in their house. The general +studied mechanics, while his wife spent her mornings giving French +lessons to some poor children; when they had gone she took up a book, +and the only things that suggested a different, bright, fragrant life +were the flowers, of which there were many, and the playthings in a +cupboard—but no one ever played with them. + +They had had three children: two years before I knew them an +exceptionally gifted boy of nine had died; a few months later another +child died of scarlet fever; the mother hastened into the country to save +the last child by change of air and came back a few days later with a +little coffin in the carriage with her. + +Their life had lost its meaning, it was ended, and continued without +object, without need. Their existence was maintained by the compassion +of each for the other; the one comfort left them was the deep conviction +that each was essential to enable the other to bear the cross. I have +seen few more harmonious marriages, though, indeed, it was hardly a +marriage, for it was not love that bound them together but a deep +comradeship in misfortune; their fate held them tight and kept them +together with the little cold hands of those three, and the hopeless +emptiness around them and before them. + +The bereaved mother was completely given up to mysticism; she found +relief from her misery in the world of mysterious reconciliations, +she was deceived by the flattery that religion pays the human heart. +For her, mysticism was no light thing, it was no mere dream, it meant +having her children again, and she was defending them when she defended +her religion. But, as she had an extremely active intelligence, she +challenged discussion and knew her strength. I have met, both before and +since, many mystics of various kinds, from Vitberg and the followers of +Tovjanski,[18] who acknowledged Napoleon as the military incarnation +of God and took off their caps when they passed the Vendôme Column, to +the now-forgotten ‘Ma-Pa,’[19] who told me himself of his interview with +God which took place on the high-road between Montmorency and Paris. +They were all hysterical people who worked on the nerves, impressed the +fancy, or the heart, mixed up philosophical conceptions with an arbitrary +symbolism, and did not care to come out into the open field of logic. + +But it was upon that field L—— D—— took a firm and fearless stand. +Where and how she had succeeded in obtaining such artistic skill in +argument I do not know. Altogether women’s development is a mystery; +there is nothing: just dress and dances, mischievous back-biting and +novel reading, making eyes and shedding tears—and all at once titanic +will, mature thought, colossal intelligence make their appearance. The +young girl carried away by her passions vanishes, and before you stands +Théroigne de Méricourt,[20] the beauty of the tribune, swaying multitudes +of the people, or a Princess Dashkov, sword in hand, on horseback, at +eighteen, in the midst of a turbulent crowd of soldiers. + +In L—— D—— everything was complete, she had no doubts, no wavering, no +theoretical weakness; even the Jesuits or the Calvinists can hardly have +been so harmoniously consistent in their doctrine as she. + +Deprived of her little ones, she had come, instead of hating death, to +hating life. That is just what is needed for Christianity, that complete +apotheosis of death: the contempt for earth, the contempt of the body has +no other meaning. Hence the attack upon everything living and realistic, +enjoyment, health, gaiety, the free joy of existence. And L—— D—— had +reached the point of disliking both Goethe and Pushkin. + +Her attacks on my philosophy were original. She used ironically to +declare that all our dialectical subtleties and elaborate constructions +were just the beating of the drum, the noise with which cowards try to +drown the terrors of their conscience. + +‘You will never,’ she used to say, ‘get to a personal god, nor to the +immortality of the soul, by any philosophy, and none of you have the +courage to be atheists and reject the life beyond the grave. You are +too human not to be horrified by those conclusions, so you invent your +logical miracles to throw dust in the eyes and to arrive at what is given +by religion in a simple and childlike way.’ + +I objected, I argued, but I was inwardly conscious that I had no complete +proofs and that she had a firmer footing on her ground than I on mine. + +To complete my discomfiture, the inspector of the Medical Board must +needs turn up to support me; he was good-natured man, but one of the most +ridiculous Germans I have ever met. A devoted worshipper of Oken and +Carus,[21] he argued by means of quotations, had a ready-made answer for +everything, never had doubts about anything, and imagined that he was +completely in accord with me. + +The doctor lost his temper, grew furious the more readily as he could +not hold his own by other means, looked upon L—— D——’s views as feminine +caprice, took refuge in Schelling’s lectures on the academic doctrine, +and read extracts from Burdach’s _Physiology_ to prove that there is an +eternal and spiritual element in man, and that some personal _Geist_ is +hidden in nature. + +L—— D——, who had long ago passed through these ‘back premises’ of +pantheism, confuted him, and, smiling, glanced from him to me. She was, +of course, more in the right than he, and I was vexed and conscientiously +racking my brains, while the good doctor was laughing triumphantly. These +arguments interested me so much that I set to work upon Hegel with new +zest. The worry of my uncertainty did not last long, the truth flashed +before my eyes and began to grow clearer and clearer; I inclined to my +opponent’s side, but not in the way she wished. + +‘You are perfectly right,’ I said to her, ‘and I am ashamed of having +argued against you; of course there is no personal spirit, nor +immortality of the soul, and that is why it has been so hard to prove +that there is. See how simple and natural it all becomes without those +gratuitous assumptions.’ + +She was troubled by my words but quickly recovered herself and said: +‘I am sorry for you, but perhaps it is for the best, you will not long +remain in that position, it is too empty and depressing, while,’ she +added, smiling, ‘our doctor is incurable, he has no fears, he is in such +a fog that he does not see one step before him.’ + +Her face was paler than usual, however. + +Two or three months later, Ogaryov passed through Novgorod. He brought me +Feuerbach’s _Wesen des Christenthums_; after reading the first pages I +leapt up with joy. Away with the trappings of masquerade, no more muddle +and equivocations! We are free men and not the slaves of Xanthos, there +is no need for us to wrap the truth in myth. + +In the heat of my philosophic ardour I began my series of articles on +‘Dilettantism in Science,’ in which, among other things, I paid the +doctor out. + +Now let us go back to Byelinsky. + +A few months after his departure to Petersburg in 1840 we too arrived +there. I did not go to see him. Ogaryov took my quarrel with Byelinsky +very much to heart; he knew that Byelinsky’s absurd theory was a passing +malady, and, indeed, I knew it too. But Ogaryov was kinder. At last by +his letters he brought about a meeting. Our interview was at first cold, +unpleasant, and strained, but neither Byelinsky nor I was very diplomatic +and in the course of trivial conversation I mentioned the article on ‘The +Anniversary of Borodino.’ Byelinsky jumped up from his seat and, flushing +crimson, said with great simplicity, ‘Well, thank God, we’ve come to it +at last. I am so stupid I did not know how to begin.... You’ve won the +day; three or four months in Petersburg have done more to convince me +than all the arguments. Let us forget that nonsense. It is enough to say +that the other day I was dining at a friend’s and there was an officer +of the Engineers there; my friend asked him if he would like to make my +acquaintance. “Is that the author of the article on ‘The Anniversary of +Borodino’?” the officer asked him in his ear. “Yes.” “No, thank you very +much,” he answered dryly. I heard it all and could not restrain myself. I +pressed the officer’s hand warmly and said to him: “You’re an honourable +man, I respect you....” What more would you have?’ + +From that moment up to Byelinsky’s death we went hand in hand. +Byelinsky, as was to be expected, fell upon his former theory with all +the stinging vehemence of his language and all his furious energy. The +position of many of his friends was not very much to be envied. _Plus +royalistes que le roi_, with the courage of misfortune they tried +to defend their theories, while not averse to an honourable truce. +All those who had enough sense and vitality went over to Byelinsky’s +side; only the obstinate formalists and pedants were left far behind. +Some of them reached such a point of German suicide through dead +and scholastic learning that they lost all living interest and were +themselves lost, leaving no trace. Others became orthodox Slavophils. +Strange as the combination of Hegel and Stefan Yavorsky[22] may appear, +it is more possible than might be supposed; the Byzantine theology is +just such a superficial casuistry and play with logical formulas as +Hegel’s dialectics, formally understood. Some of the articles in the +_Moskvityanin_ are a magnificent instance of the extremes to which, with +talent, the unnatural union of philosophy and religion can be brought. + +Byelinsky by no means abandoned Hegel’s philosophy when he renounced +his one-sided interpretation of it. Quite the contrary, it is from +this point that his living, apt, original combination of philosophical +with revolutionary ideas begins. I regard Byelinsky as one of the most +remarkable figures of the period of Nicholas. After the liberalism +which had somehow survived 1825 in Polevoy, after the gloomy article of +Tchaadayev, Byelinsky appears on the scene with his caustic scepticism, +won by suffering, and his passionate interest in every question. In a +series of critical articles he touches in season and out of season upon +everything, everywhere true to his hatred of authority and often rising +to poetic inspiration. The book he reviewed usually served him as a +starting-point, but he abandoned it half-way and threw himself into some +question. The line ‘That’s what kindred are’ in _Onyegin_ is enough for +him to summon family life before the judgment seat and to pick family +relations to pieces down to the last shred. Who does not remember +his articles on ‘The Tarantass,’[23] on ‘Turgenev’s Parasha,’[24] on +‘Derzhavin,’ on ‘Motchalov,’[25] and ‘Hamlet’? What fidelity there is to +his principles, what fearless consistency, what adroitness in navigating +between the sandbanks of the censorship, what boldness in his attacks on +the aristocracy of literature, on the writers of the first three grades, +on the high officials of literature who are always ready to defeat an +opponent if not by fair means by foul, if not by criticism then by +information to the police. Byelinsky scourged them mercilessly, goading +the petty vanity of the frigid mediocre writers of eclogues, lovers of +culture, benevolence, and sentimentality; he turned into derision their +precious ideas, the poetical dreams fostered by their elderly brains, +their naïveté, hidden under an Anna ribbon. + +How they hated him for it! + +The Slavophils on their side began their official existence with the war +upon Byelinsky; he drove them by his taunts to the _murmolka_ and the +_zipun_[26]; one need only recall that Byelinsky had formerly written in +_Notes of the Fatherland_, while Kireyevsky called his excellent journal +_The European_; no better proof than these titles could be found to show +that at first the difference was only between shades of opinion and not +between parties. + +Byelinsky’s articles were awaited with feverish expectation in Petersburg +and Moscow from the 25th of every month. Half a dozen times the students +would call in at the coffee-houses to ask whether the _Notes of the +Fatherland_ had been received; the heavy volume was snatched from hand to +hand. ‘Is there an article of Byelinsky’s?’ ‘Yes,’ and it was devoured +with feverish interest, with laughter, with argument ... and three or +four cherished convictions and reputations were no more. + +Sokobelev, the governor of the Peter-Paul fortress, might well say in +jest to Byelinsky when he met him on the Nevsky Prospect: ‘When are you +coming to us? I have a nice warm little cell all ready that I am keeping +for you.’ + +I have spoken in another book of Byelinsky’s development and of his +literary activity, here I will only say a few words about himself. + +Byelinsky was very shy and quite lost his head in an unfamiliar or very +numerous company; he knew this and did the most absurd things in trying +to conceal it. Ketscher persuaded him to go to visit a lady; as they +approached her house Byelinsky became more and more depressed, kept +asking whether they could not go another day, and talked of having a +headache. Ketscher, who knew him, would accept no excuse. When they +arrived Byelinsky set off running as soon as they got out of the sledge, +but Ketscher caught him by the overcoat and led him to be introduced to +the lady. + +He sometimes put in an appearance at Prince Odoevsky’s literary +diplomatic evenings. At these there were crowds of people who had nothing +in common except a certain apprehension of and aversion for each other: +clerks from the Embassies and Saharov[27] the archaeologist, painters +and A. Meiendorf,[28] several councillors of the cultured sort, Ioakinth +Bitchurin[29] from Pekin, people who were half gendarmes and half +literary men, others who were wholly gendarmes and not at all literary +men. A—— K—— was so much in evidence there that generals took him for an +authority. The hostess looked with inner grief upon her husband’s vulgar +tastes, and gave way to them much as Louis-Philippe at the beginning of +his reign indulged the tastes of his electors by inviting to the balls +at the Tuileries whole _rez-de-chaussées_ of brace-makers, grocers, +shopkeepers, shoemakers, and other worthy citizens. + +Byelinsky was utterly lost at these evenings, between some Saxon +ambassador who did not understand a word of Russian and some officer of +the secret police who understood even words that were not uttered. He was +usually ailing for two or three days afterwards and cursed the man who +had persuaded him to go. + +One Saturday, as it was New Year’s Eve, Odoevsky took it into his head +to mix punch _en petit comité_ when the principal guests had dispersed. +Byelinsky would certainly have gone away, but he was prevented by a +barricade of furniture; he was somehow stuck in a corner and a little +table was set before him with wine and glasses on it; Zhukovsky in the +white trousers of his uniform, with gold braid on them, was sitting +sideways opposite him. Byelinsky bore it in patience a long time, but, +seeing no chance of his lot improving, he began moving the table a +little; the table yielded at first, then lurched over and fell with a +bang on the floor, while the bottle of Bordeaux very deliberately began +to empty itself over Zhukovsky. He jumped up while the red wine began to +trickle down his trousers; there was a great fuss and to-do, one servant +rushed up with a napkin to rub the wine into the other parts of the +trousers, and another picked up the broken wine-glasses ... while this +bustle was going on Byelinsky disappeared and, though it was not long +before his end, ran home on foot. + +Dear Byelinsky! how angry and upset he was by such incidents long +afterwards, with what horror he used to recall them, walking up and down +the room and shaking his head without the trace of a smile. + +But in that shy man, that frail body, there dwelt a mighty spirit, the +spirit of a gladiator! Yes, he was a powerful fighter! he could not +preach or lecture, what he needed was disputation. If he met with no +objection, if he was not stirred to irritation, he did not speak well, +but when he felt stung, when his cherished convictions were touched upon, +when the muscles of his cheeks began to quiver and his voice broke, +then he was worth seeing; he pounced upon his opponent like a panther, +he tore him to pieces, made him ridiculous, made him a piteous object, +and incidentally developed his own thought, with extraordinary force, +with extraordinary poetry. The discussion would often end in blood which +flowed from the sick man’s throat; pale, gasping, with his eyes fixed +on the man with whom he was speaking, he would lift his handkerchief to +his mouth with shaking hand and stop, deeply mortified, crushed by his +physical weakness. How I loved and how I pitied him at those moments! + +Worried by the financial sharks of literature, morally fettered by the +censorship, surrounded in Petersburg by people little sympathetic to +him, and consumed by a disease to which the Baltic climate was fatal, +he became more and more irritable. He shunned outsiders, was savagely +shy, and sometimes spent weeks together in gloomy inactivity. Then the +publishers sent note after note demanding copy, and the enslaved writer, +grinding his teeth, took up his pen and wrote the venomous articles +quivering with indignation, the indictments which so impressed their +readers. + +Often, utterly exhausted, he would come to us to rest, and lie on the +floor with our two-year-old child; he would play with him for hours +together. While we were only the three of us things went swimmingly, but +if there came a ring at the bell, a spasmodic grimace passed over his +face and he would look about him uneasily, trying to find his hat; though +with Slav weakness he often remained. Then a word, an observation uttered +not to his liking would lead to the most original scenes and disputes.... + +Once he went in Passion Week to dine with a literary man and Lenten +dishes were served. ‘Is it long,’ he asked, ‘since you became so devout?’ +‘We eat Lenten fare,’ answered the literary gentleman, ‘simply for the +sake of the servants.’ ‘For the sake of the servants,’ said Byelinsky, +and he turned pale. ‘For the sake of the servants,’ he repeated, and +flung down his dinner napkin. ‘Where are your servants? I’ll tell them +that they are deceived, any open vice is more humane than this contempt +for the weak and uneducated, this hypocrisy in support of ignorance. And +do you imagine that you are free people? You are in the same boat with +all the tsars and priests and slaveowners. Good-bye, I don’t eat Lenten +fare for the edification of others, I have no servants!’ + +Among the Russians who might be classified as inveterate Germans, there +was one graduate of our university who had lately arrived from Berlin; +he was a good-natured man in blue spectacles, stiff and decorous; he had +come to a standstill for ever after upsetting and enfeebling his brains +with philosophy and philology. A doctrinaire and to some extent a pedant, +he was fond of holding forth in edifying style. On one occasion at a +literary evening in the house of the novelist who kept the fasts for the +sake of his servants, this gentleman was preaching some sort of _honnéte +et modéré_ twaddle. Byelinsky was lying on a couch in the corner and as +I passed him he took me by the lapel of my coat and said: ‘Do you hear +the rubbish that monster is talking? My tongue has been itching to answer +him, but my chest hurts and there are a lot of people. Be a father to me, +make a fool of him somehow, squash him, crush him with mockery, you can +do it better—come, comfort me.’ + +I laughed and told Byelinsky that he was setting me on like a bulldog at +a rat. I scarcely knew the man and had hardly heard what he said. + +Towards the end of the evening, the gentleman in blue spectacles, after +abusing Koltsov for having abandoned the national costume, suddenly began +talking of Tchaadayev’s famous letter and concluded his commonplace +remarks, uttered in that didactic tone which of itself provokes derision, +with the following words: ‘Be that as it may, I consider his action +contemptible and revolting: I have no respect for such a man.’ + +There was in the room only one man closely associated with Tchaadayev, +and that was I. I shall have a great deal to say about Tchaadayev later +on, I always liked and respected him and was liked by him; I thought it +was unseemly to let this absurd remark pass. I asked him dryly whether he +supposed that Tchaadayev had written his letter disingenuously or from +interested motives. + +‘Not at all,’ answered the gentleman. + +An unpleasant conversation followed; I mentioned that the epithets +‘revolting and contemptible’ were themselves revolting and contemptible +when applied to a man who had boldly expressed his opinion and had +suffered for it. He talked to me of the people making up one whole, of +the unity of the fatherland, of the crime of disturbing that unity, of +sacred things that must not be touched. + +All at once Byelinsky cut short my words, he leapt up from his sofa, +came up to me as white as a sheet and, slapping me on the shoulder, +said: ‘Here you have them, they have spoken out—the inquisitors, the +censors—keeping thought in leading-strings ...’ and so he went on and +on. With savage inspiration he spoke, interspersing grave words with +deadly sarcasms: ‘We are strangely sensitive: men are flogged and we +don’t resent it, sent to Siberia and we don’t resent it, but here +Tchaadayev, you see, has picked holes in the national honour, he mustn’t +dare to speak; to talk is impudence, a flunkey must never speak! Why +is it that in more civilised countries where one would expect national +susceptibilities to be more developed than in Kostroma and Kaluga words +are not resented?’ + +‘In civilised countries,’ replied the gentleman in blue spectacles with +inimitable self-complacency, ‘there are prisons in which they confine the +senseless creatures who insult what the whole people respect ... and a +good thing too.’ + +Byelinsky seemed to tower above us, he was terrible, great at that +moment. Folding his arms over his sick chest, and looking straight at his +opponent, he answered in a hollow voice: ‘And in still more civilised +countries there is a guillotine for those who think that a good thing.’ + +Saying this, he sank exhausted in an easy-chair and ceased speaking. At +the word guillotine our host turned pale, the guests were uneasy and a +pause followed. The blue-spectacled gentleman was annihilated, but it is +just at such moments that human vanity gets out of hand. Turgenev advises +that, when one has gone such lengths in argument that one begins to feel +frightened, one should move one’s tongue ten times round the inside of +one’s mouth before uttering a word. + +Our opponent, unaware of this homely advice, continued uttering feeble +trivialities, addressing himself rather to the rest of the company than +to Byelinsky. ‘In spite of your intolerance,’ he said at last, ‘I am +certain that you would agree with me....’ + +‘No,’ answered Byelinsky, ‘whatever you might say I shouldn’t agree with +anything!’ + +Every one laughed and went in to supper. The gentleman in blue spectacles +picked up his hat and went away. + +Suffering and privation soon completely undermined Byelinsky’s sickly +constitution. His face, particularly the muscles about his lips, and the +gloomily fixed look in his eyes testified equally to the intense workings +of his spirit and the rapid dissolution of his body. + +I saw him for the last time in Paris in the autumn of 1847; he was in +a very bad way, afraid of speaking aloud, and only at moments his old +energy revived and its ebbing fires glowed brightly. It was at such a +moment that he wrote his letter[30] to Gogol. + +The news of the revolution of February found him still alive; he died +taking its glow for the flush of the rising dawn. + + * * * * * + +So this chapter ended in 1854; since that time much has changed. I have +been brought much closer to that period, nearer to the more remote past, +through persons who are here, through the arrival of Ogaryov and two +books, Annenkov’s _Biography of Stankevitch_ and the two first parts of +Byelinsky’s complete works. From the windows suddenly thrown open the +fresh air of the fields, the young breath of spring has been wafted into +the hospital wards.... + +Stankevitch’s correspondence was unnoticed when it came out. It appeared +at the wrong moment. At the end of 1857 Russia had not yet come to +herself after the funeral of Nicholas, she was expectant and hopeful; +that is the worst mood for receiving reminiscences ... but the book is +not lost. It will remain one of the rare monuments from which any man +who can read can find what was buried without a word in the wretched +graveyard of those days. The dead years, from 1825 to 1855, will soon +be utterly lost; the human tracks, swept away by the police, will +have vanished, and future generations will come to a standstill in +bewilderment before the smooth level waste, seeking the lost channels of +thought which were really never interrupted. The current was apparently +checked, Nicholas tied up the main artery—but the blood flowed along +side-channels. And it is just these capillaries which have left their +trace in the works of Byelinsky and the correspondence of Stankevitch. + +Thirty years ago, the Russia of the future existed exclusively among +a few boys, hardly more than children, so insignificant and unnoticed +that there was room for them under the heels of the great boots of the +autocracy—and in them was the heritage of the 14th of December, the +heritage of a purely national Russia, as well as of the learning of all +humanity. This new life struggled on like the grass that tries to grow at +the mouth of the still smouldering crater. + +In the very jaws of the monster these children stand out unlike other +children; they grow, develop, and begin to live a different life. Weak, +insignificant, unsupported, on the contrary persecuted by all, they might +easily have perished, leaving no trace, but they survive, or, if they die +on their way, all does not die with them. They are the rudimentary germs, +the embryos of history, barely perceptible, barely existing, like embryos +in general. + +Little by little, groups of them are formed. What is more nearly akin to +them gathers round their centres; then the groups repel one another. This +splitting up gives them width and many-sidedness in their development; +after developing to the end, that is to the extreme, the branches unite +again by whatever names they may be called—Stankevitch’s circle, the +Slavophils, or our little circle. + +The leading characteristic of them all is a profound feeling of aversion +for official Russia, for their environment, and at the same time the +impulse to get out of it—and in some a vehement desire to get rid of it. + +The objection that these circles, unnoticed both from above and from +below, form an exceptional, a casual, a disconnected phenomenon, that the +education of the young people was for the most part exotic, alien, and +that they rather express the translation of French and German ideas into +Russian than anything of their own, seems to us quite groundless. + +Possibly at the end of last and the beginning of this century there was +in the aristocracy a sprinkling of Russian foreigners who had sundered +all ties with the national life; but they had neither living interests, +nor circles based on convictions, nor a literature of their own. They +died out without leaving fruit. Victims of the divorce from the people +brought about by Peter the Great, they remained eccentric and whimsical, +they were men not merely superfluous but undeserving of pity. The war +of 1812 put an end to them—the old generation lived on, but none of the +younger developed in that direction. To include among them men of the +stamp of Tchaadayev would be the greatest mistake. + +Protest, denunciation, hatred for one’s country if you will has a +completely different significance from indifferent aloofness. Byron, +lashing at English life, fleeing from England as from the plague, +remained a typical Englishman. Heine, trying through exasperation at the +loathsome political state of Germany to turn French, remained a genuine +German. The highest protest against Judaism—Christianity—is filled with +the spirit of Judaism. The separation of the states of North America +from England could lead to war and hatred, but it could not make the +Americans un-English. + +As a rule, it is with great difficulty that men abandon their +physiological memories and the mould in which they are cast by heredity; +to do so a man must either be peculiarly passionless and lacking in +individual characteristics or must be absorbed in abstract pursuits. The +impersonality of mathematics, the unhuman objectivity of nature do not +call forth those sides of the soul and do not awaken them; but as soon +as we touch upon questions of life, of art, of morals, in which a man is +not only an observer and investigator, but at the same time himself an +interested party, then we find a physiological limit—which it is very +hard to cross with old blood and brains unless one could erase from them +all traces of the songs of the cradle, of the fields and the hills of +home, of the customs and whole setting of the past. + +The poet or the artist in his truest work is always national. Whatever he +does, whatever aim and thought he may have in his work, he consciously +or unconsciously expresses some elements of the national character and +expresses them more deeply and more clearly than the very history of the +people. Even when renouncing everything national, the artist does not +lose the chief characteristics from which it can be recognised to what +people he belongs. Both in the Greek ‘Iphigenia’ and in the Oriental +‘Divan’ Goethe was a German. Poets really are, as the Romans called +them, prophets; only they do not foretell what is not and will be by +chance, but put into words what is unrecognised, what exists in the dim +consciousness of the masses, what is already slumbering in them. + +Everything that has existed from time immemorial in the soul of the +Anglo-Saxon peoples is drawn together as in a ring by one personality; +and every fibre, every hint, every attempt, fermenting from generation +to generation, unconscious of itself, has taken form and language. + +Probably no one supposes that the England of the Elizabethan times—the +majority of the people anyway—had a clear understanding of Shakespeare; +they have no distinct understanding of him even now—but then they have +no distinct understanding of themselves either. But I do not doubt +that when an Englishman goes to the theatre he understands Shakespeare +instinctively, through sympathy. At the moment when he is listening +to the play, something becomes clearer and more familiar to him. One +would have thought that a people so capable of rapid comprehension as +the French might have understood Shakespeare too. The character of +Hamlet, for instance, is so universally human, especially in the stage +of doubts and hesitation, in the consciousness of some black deeds being +perpetrated about him, some betrayal of what is great for the sake of +something that is mean and trivial, that it is hard to imagine that any +people could fail to understand him, but in spite of every trial and +effort, Hamlet remains alien to the Frenchman. + +If the aristocrats of the past century, who systematically despised +everything Russian, remained in reality incredibly more Russian than +the house-serfs remained peasants, it is even more impossible that the +younger generation could have lost their Russian character because they +studied science and philosophy and French and German books. A section +of the Slavs at Moscow reached the point of ultra-Slavism with Hegel in +their hands. + +The very circles of which I am speaking came into existence in natural +response to a deep inner need of the Russian life of that period. + +We have spoken many times of the stagnation that followed the catastrophe +of 1825. The moral level of society sank, development was interrupted, +everything progressive and energetic was struck out of life. Those who +remained—frightened, weak, distracted—were petty and insignificant; +the worthless creatures of the generation of Alexander occupied the +foremost place; little by little they changed into cringing officials, +lost the savage poetry of revelry and of the audacity of the privileged +class together with every shadow of independent dignity; they served +persistently, they served until they reached high positions, but they +never became great personages. Their day was over. + +Under this great world of society, the great world of the people +maintained an indifferent silence; nothing was changed for them—their +plight was bad, but no worse than before, the new blows fell not on their +scourged backs. Their time had not yet come. Between this roof and this +foundation children were the first to raise their heads, perhaps because +they did not suspect how dangerous it was; but, be that as it may, with +these children Russia, stunned and stupefied, began to come to life again. + +What impressed them was the complete contradiction of the words they were +taught with the facts of life around them. Their teachers, their books, +their university spoke one language and that language was intelligible +to heart and mind. Their father and mother, their relations, and all +their surroundings spoke another with which neither mind nor heart was +in agreement—but with which the dominant authorities and financial +interests were in accord. This contradiction between education and +ordinary life nowhere reached such proportions as among the nobility of +Russia. The shaggy German student with his round cap covering a seventh +part of his head, with his world-shaking sallies, is far nearer to the +German _Spitzburger_ than is supposed, while the French _collégien_, thin +with vanity and emulation, is already _en herbe l’homme raisonnable qui +exploite sa position_. + +The number of educated people amongst us has always been extremely +small; but those who were educated have always received an education, not +perhaps very thorough, but fairly general and humane: it made men of all +with whom it succeeded. But a man was just what was not wanted either +for the hierarchical pyramid or for the successful maintenance of the +landowning régime. The young man had either to dehumanise himself—and +the greater number did so—or to stop short and ask himself: ‘But is it +absolutely essential to go into the service? Is it really a good thing +to be a landowner?’ After that for some, the weaker and more impatient, +there followed the idle existence of a cornet on the retired list, the +sloth of the country, the dressing-gown, eccentricities, cards, wine; for +others a time of trial and inner travail. They could not live in complete +moral disharmony, nor could they be satisfied with a negative attitude of +withdrawal; awakened thought demanded an outlet. The various solutions +of these questions, all equally harassing for the young generation, +determined their distribution into various circles. + +Thus, for instance, our little circle was formed in the university and +found Sungurov’s circle there already. His, like ours, was concerned +rather with politics than with learning. Stankevitch’s circle, which came +into existence at the same time, was equally near both and equally remote +from both. He went by another path, his interests were purely theoretical. + +Between 1830 and 1840 our convictions were too youthful, too ardent +and passionate, not to be exclusive. We could feel a cold respect for +Stankevitch’s circle, but we could not be intimate with its members. They +traced philosophical systems, were absorbed in self-analysis, and found +peace in a luxurious pantheism from which Christianity was not excluded. +We were dreaming how to get up a new league in Russia on the pattern of +the Decembrists and looked upon knowledge itself as merely a means. The +government did its best to strengthen us in our revolutionary tendencies. + +In 1834 all Sungurov’s circle was sent into exile and—vanished. + +In 1835 we were exiled. Five years later we came back, hardened by our +experience. The dreams of youth had become the irrevocable determination +of maturity. This was the most brilliant period of Stankevitch’s circle. +Stankevitch himself I did not find in Moscow—he was in Germany; but it +was just at that moment that Byelinsky’s articles were beginning to +attract the attention of every one. + +On our return we measured our strength with them. The battle was an +unequal one; basis, weapons, and language—all were different. After +fruitless skirmishes we saw that it was our turn now to undertake serious +study and we too set to work upon Hegel and the German philosophy. When +we had sufficiently assimilated that, it became evident that there was no +ground for dispute between us and Stankevitch’s circle. + +The latter was inevitably bound to break up. It had done its work—and had +done it most brilliantly; its influence on the whole of literature and +academic teaching was immense—one need but recall the names of Byelinsky +and Granovsky; Koltsov was formed in it, Botkin, Katkov, and others +belonged to it. But it could not remain an exclusive circle without +passing into German formalism—men who are alive and Russian are not +capable of that. + +Besides Stankevitch’s circle, there was another circle, formed during +our exile and in the same relation with them as we; its members were +afterwards called Slavophils. The Slavophils approached from the opposite +side the vital questions which occupied us, and were far more absorbed in +living work and real conflict than Stankevitch’s circle. + +It was natural that Stankevitch’s society should split up between them +and us. The Aksakovs and Samarin joined the Slavophils, that is, Homyakov +and the Kireyevskys. Byelinsky and Bakunin joined us. The closest +friend of Stankevitch, the most nearly akin to him in his whole nature, +Granovsky, was one of us from the day he came back from Germany. + +If Stankevitch had lived, his circle would still have broken up. He would +himself have gone over to Homyakov or to us. + +By 1842 the sifting in accordance with natural affinity had long been +complete, and our camp stood in battle array face to face with the +Slavophils. Of that conflict we will speak in another place. + +In conclusion I will add a few words concerning the elements of which +Stankevitch’s circle was composed; that will throw a light on the strange +underground currents which were silently undermining the strong crust of +the Russo-German régime. + +Stankevitch was the son of a wealthy landowner of the province of +Voronezh, and was at first brought up in all the ease and freedom of a +landowner’s life in the country; then he was sent to the Ostrogozhsk +school (and that was something quite original). For fine natures a +wealthy and even aristocratic education is very good. Comfort gives +unfettered freedom and space for growth and development of every sort, +it saves the young mind from premature anxiety and apprehension of the +future, and provides complete freedom to pursue the subjects to which it +is drawn. + +Stankevitch’s development was broad and harmonious; his artistic, +musical, and at the same time reflective and contemplative nature showed +itself from the very beginning of his university career. Stankevitch’s +special faculty, not only for deeply and warmly understanding, but also +for reconciling, or as the Germans say ‘removing’ contradictions, was +due to his artistic temperament. The craving for harmony, proportion, and +enjoyment makes such people indulgent as to the means; to avoid seeing +the well they cover it over with canvas. The canvas will not stand a +push, but the yawning gulf does not vex the eye. In this way the Germans +reached pantheistic quietism and slumbered tranquilly upon it; but such a +gifted Russian as Stankevitch could not remain ‘tranquil’ for long. + +This is evident from the first question which involuntarily troubled +Stankevitch immediately after he left the university. + +His university studies were finished, he was left to himself, he was no +longer led by others, _but he did not know what he was to do_. There was +nothing to go on with, there was no one and nothing around that appealed +to a living man. A youth, taking stock of his surroundings and having had +time to look about him after school, found himself in the Russia of those +days in the position of a traveller awakening in the steppe; one might +go where one would—there were traces, there were bones of those who had +perished, there were wild beasts and the empty desert on all sides with +its dull menace of danger, in which it is easy to perish and impossible +to struggle. The one thing which could be pursued was study. + +And so Stankevitch persevered in the pursuit of learning. He imagined +that it was his vocation to be an historian, and began studying +Herodotus; it could be foreseen that nothing could come of that pursuit. + +He would have liked to be in Petersburg in which there was such a rush of +activity of a sort and to which he was attracted by the theatre and by +nearness to Europe; he would have liked to be an honorary superintendent +of the school at Ostrogozhsk. He determined to be of use in that ‘modest +career’—that was even less successful than Herodotus. He was in reality +drawn to Moscow, to Germany, to his own university circle, to his own +interests. He could not exist without intimate friends (another proof +that there were at hand no interests very near to his heart). The craving +for sympathy was so strong in Stankevitch that he sometimes invented +intellectual sympathy and talents and saw and admired in people qualities +which were completely non-existent in them.[31] + +But—and in this lay his personal power—he did not often need to have +recourse to such fictions, at every step he met wonderful people, he +had the faculty of meeting them, and every one to whom he opened his +heart remained his passionate friend for life; and to every such friend +Stankevitch’s influence was either an immense benefit or an alleviation +of his burden. + +In Voronezh Stankevitch used sometimes to go to the one local library +for books. There he met a poor young man of humble station, modest and +melancholy. It turned out that he was the son of a cattle-dealer who had +business with Stankevitch’s father over sales. Stankevitch befriended +the young man; the cattle-dealer’s son was a great reader and fond of +talking of books. Stankevitch got to know him well. Shyly and timidly +the youth confessed that he had himself tried his hand at writing verses +and, blushing, ventured to show them. Stankevitch was amazed at the +immense talent not conscious nor confident of itself. From that minute +he did not let him go until all Russia was reading Koltsov’s songs with +enthusiasm. It is quite likely that the poor cattle-dealer, oppressed by +his relations, unwarmed by sympathy or recognition, might have wasted his +songs on the empty steppe beyond the Volga over which he drove his herds, +and Russia would never have heard those exquisite, truly national songs, +if Stankevitch had not crossed his path. + +When Bakunin finished his studies at the school of artillery, he received +a commission as an officer in the Guards. It is said that his father was +angry with him and himself asked that he should be transferred into the +regular army. Cast away in some God-forsaken village of White Russia +with his battery, he grew morose and unsociable, left off performing +his duties, and would lie for whole days together on his bed wrapped in +a sheepskin. The commander of his battery was sorry for him; he had, +however, no alternative but to remind him that he must either do his +duties or go on the retired list. Bakunin had no suspicion that he had +a right to take the latter course and at once asked to be relieved of +his commission. On receiving his discharge he came to Moscow, and from +that date (about 1836) life began in earnest for him. He had studied +nothing before, had read nothing, and scarcely knew German. With great +dialectical abilities, with a gift for obstinate, persistent thinking, +he had strayed without map or compass in a world of fantastic projects +and efforts at self-education. Stankevitch perceived his talents and set +him down to philosophy. Bakunin learnt German on Kant and Fichte and then +set to work upon Hegel, whose method and logic he mastered to perfection, +and to whom did he not preach it afterwards? To us and to Byelinsky, to +ladies and to Proudhon. + +But Byelinsky drew as much from the same source; Stankevitch’s views on +art, on poetry and its relation to life, grew in Byelinsky’s articles +into that powerful modern criticism, into that new outlook upon the +world and upon life which impressed all thinking Russia and made all +the pedants and doctrinaires draw back from Byelinsky with horror. It +was Stankevitch’s lot to initiate Byelinsky into the mysteries; but the +passionate, merciless, fiercely intolerant talent that carried Byelinsky +beyond all bounds wounded the aesthetically harmonious temperament of +Stankevitch. + +And at the same time it was Stankevitch who encouraged the gentle, +loving, dreamy, and at that time melancholy Granovsky. Stankevitch was a +support and an elder brother to him. His letters to Granovsky are full of +charm and beauty—and how Granovsky loved him! + +‘I have not yet recovered from the first shock,’ wrote Granovsky soon +after Stankevitch’s death, ‘real grief has not touched me yet; I am +afraid of it in the future. Now I am still unable to believe that my loss +is possible—only at times there is a stab at my heart. He has taken with +him something essential to my life. To no one in the world was I so much +indebted. His influence over us was always unbounded and always fruitful +of good.’ + +And how many could say that! Perhaps have said it! + +In Stankevitch’s circle only he and Botkin[32] were well-to-do and +completely free from financial anxieties. The others made up a very +mixed proletariat. Bakunin’s relations gave him nothing; Byelinsky, the +son of a petty official of Tchembary, expelled from Moscow University +for ‘lack of ability,’ lived on the scanty pay he got for his articles. +Krassov,[33] on taking his degree, went to a situation at a landowner’s +in some province, but life with this patriarchal slaveowner so terrified +him that he came back on foot to Moscow with a wallet on his back, in +the winter, together with some peasants in charge of a train of wagons. +Probably a father or mother of each one of them when giving them their +blessing had said—and who dare reproach them for it—‘Come, mind you work +hard at your studies; and when you have taken your degree you must make +your own way, there is nobody to leave you anything, we’ve nothing to +give you either; you must make a career for yourself and think about us +too.’ On the other hand, Stankevitch had probably been told that he could +take a prominent position in society, that he was called by wealth and +birth to play a great part—while in Botkin’s household every one, from +his old father down to the clerks, urged upon him by word and example the +necessity of making money, of piling up more and more. + +What was it touched these men? what inspiration re-created them? They +had no thought, no care for their social position, for their personal +advantage, for their security; their whole life, all their efforts were +bent on the public good regardless of all personal interests; some forgot +their wealth, others their poverty, and went forward, without looking +back, to the solution of theoretical questions. The interests of truth, +the interests of learning, the interests of art, _humanitas_, swallowed +up everything. + +And note that the renunciation of this world was not confined to the +time at the university and two or three years of youth. The best men of +Stankevitch’s circle are dead; the others have remained what they were to +this day. Byelinsky, worn out by work and suffering, fell a fighter and a +beggar. Granovsky, delivering his message of learning and humanity, died +as he mounted his platform. Botkin did not, in fact, become a merchant +... not one of them ‘distinguished themselves’ in the government service. + +It was just the same in the two other circles, the Slavophils and ours. +Where, in what corner of the Western world of to-day, do you find such +groups of devotees of thought, of zealots of learning, of fanatics of +conviction—whose hair turns grey but whose enthusiasms are for ever young? + +Where? Point to them. I boldly throw down the challenge—and I only except +for the moment one country, Italy—and measure the paces for the conflict, +_i.e._, I will not let my opponent escape from statistics into history. + +We know how great was the interest in theory and the passion for truth +and religion in the days of such martyrs for science and reason as +Bruno, Galileo, and the rest; we know, too, what the France of the +Encyclopaedists was in the second half of the eighteenth century; but +later? Later _sta viator_! + +In the Europe of to-day there is no youth and there are no young men. +The most brilliant representative of the France of the last years of +the Restoration and of the July dynasty, Victor Hugo, has protested +against my saying this. He speaks especially of the young France of the +’twenties, and I am ready to admit that I have been too sweeping[34]—but +beyond that I will not yield one step even to him. I have their own +admissions. Take _Les Mémoires d’un Enfant du Siècle_, and the poems of +Alfred de Musset, recall the France depicted in George Sand’s letters, in +the contemporary drama and novels, and in the cases in the law courts. + +But what does all that prove? A very great deal; and in the first place +that the Chinese shoes of German manufacture in which Russia has hobbled +for a hundred and fifty years, though they have caused many painful +corns, have evidently not crippled her bones, since whenever she has +had a chance of stretching her limbs, such fresh young energies have +been apparent. That does not guarantee the future, but it does make it +extremely _possible_. + + + + +Chapter 26 + +WARNINGS—THE PROMOTION OFFICE—A MINISTER’S SECRETARIAT—THE THIRD +SECTION—THE STORY OF A SENTRY—GENERAL DUBBELT—COUNT BENCKENDORF—OLGA +ALEXANDROVNA ZHEREBTSOV—MY SECOND EXILE + + +Though we were so comfortable in Moscow, we had to move to Petersburg. +My father insisted upon it. Count Strogonov, Minister of Home Affairs, +commanded me to enter his secretariat, and we set off there at the end of +the summer of 1840. + +I had, however, been in Petersburg for two or three weeks in December +1839. + +It had happened in this way. When I was relieved from police supervision +and received the right to visit the ‘residence and the capital,’ as K. +Aksakov called Petersburg and Moscow respectively, my father definitely +preferred the ‘residence’ on the Neva to the ancient capital. Count +Strogonov, the director of the university, wrote to his brother and I had +to present myself to him. But that was not all. I had been recommended by +the governor of Vladimir for the grade of collegiate assessor; my father +wanted me to receive this grade as soon as possible. In the Promotion +Office the provinces take their turn; this turn comes with the pace of +a tortoise, unless special wires are pulled. They almost always are; +their cost is excessive because a whole province may be taken outside its +regular turn, but a single name must not. Therefore all have to be paid +for, ‘or else some would be getting an advantage for nothing.’ Usually +the officials to be promoted get up a subscription and send a delegate to +represent them; but on this occasion my father took all the expense upon +himself, and in that way several of the titular councillors of Vladimir +were indebted to him for becoming assessors eight months before the +proper time. + +When he sent me off to Petersburg to attend to this business, my father +repeated once more, as he said good-bye to me, ‘For God’s sake, be +careful; be on your guard with every one, from the conductor of the +_diligence_ to the acquaintances to whom I am giving you letters. Do not +trust any one. Petersburg nowadays is not what it was in our time. There +is sure to be a spy or two in every company. _Tiens-toi pour averti._’ +With this commentary on Petersburg life I got into a diligence of the +earliest pattern, _i.e._ having all the defects gradually eliminated from +later ones, and drove off. + +When I reached Petersburg at nine o’clock in the evening, I took a sledge +and drove to St. Isaac’s Square. I wanted that to be the place with which +I was to begin my acquaintance with Petersburg. Everything was covered +with deep snow, only Peter the Great on his horse, gloomy and menacing, +stood out sharply against the grey background and the darkness of the +night. + + ‘And looming black through mists of night + With stately poise and haughty mien, + Pointing afar with outstretched hand, + A warrior on a horse is seen, + A mighty figure, bold and free. + The steed is reined. It rears aloft + And paws the air imperiously, + So that its lord might further see....’[35] + +Why was it the conflict of the 14th of December took place on that +Square? Why was it from that pedestal that the first cry of Russian +freedom rang out? Why did the revolting troops cling round Peter the +First? Was it his reward ... or his punishment? The 14th of December 1825 +was the sequel of the work interrupted on the 21st of January 1725.[36] +Nicholas’s guns were turned upon the insurrection and upon the statue +alike; it is a pity that the grapeshot did not shoot down the bronze +Peter.... + +Returning to my hotel I found one of my cousins awaiting me, and after +talking to him of one thing and another, I touched, without thinking, +upon St. Isaac’s Square and the 14th of December. + +‘How is uncle?’ asked my cousin. ‘How did you leave him?’ + +‘Thank God, just as usual; he sends you his greetings.’ + +My cousin, without changing his expression in the least, telegraphed +reproach, advice, warning with his eyes alone; the direction of his +eyes made me look round. A man was putting wood into the stove; when he +had lighted it up, himself performing the duty of bellows as he did so, +and making a pool on the floor from the snow that melted off his boots, +he took an oven fork, the length of a Cossack’s lance, and went out. +My cousin at once fell to scolding me for having touched upon such a +‘scabrous’ subject, and in Russian too, before the man. As he went away +he said to me in an undertone: ‘By the way, before I forget it, there is +a barber comes here to the hotel, he sells all sorts of rubbish, combs +and rotten pomatums, please be on your guard with him. I am certain that +he is connected with the police and talks all sorts of nonsense. While I +was staying here I bought some trifles from him just to get rid of him.’ + +‘To encourage him. Well, and is the laundress in the ranks of the +gendarmes too?’ + +‘You may laugh, you may laugh, you’ll come to grief before any one; +you’re only just back from exile, and they will put a dozen nurses to +keep watch on you.’ + +‘Though they say that seven are enough for the child to grow up with one +eye.’ + +Next day I went to see the official who used in old days to look after my +father’s affairs: he was a Ukrainian, who spoke Russian with an appalling +accent, never listened to what was said to him, and showed his surprise +at everything by shutting his eyes and holding up his fat little paws +in a way that reminded one of a mouse.... He could not restrain himself +either, and seeing that I had taken up my hat, led me aside to the +window, looked about him, and said to me: ‘You mustn’t be angry. Just for +the sake of my old acquaintance with the family of your father and his +late brothers, you must not say much about what has happened to you. Upon +my word, just think yourself, what use is it? Now it has all passed like +smoke. You said something before my cook; she is a Finnish woman. Who can +tell what she is, and I was a little ... more than a little in fact ... +frightened.’ + +A pleasant town, I thought, as I left the frightened clerk.... The soft +snow was falling in big flakes, the damp, cold wind penetrated to the +very bones, and lifted one’s hat and coat. My driver, who could scarcely +see a step before him, screwing up his eyes and bending his head before +the snow, shouted, ‘’Ware, ’ware!’ I remembered my father’s advice. I +thought of my cousin, of the clerk, and of the travelling sparrow in +George Sand’s fable who asked the half-frozen wolf in Lithuania why he +lived in such a horrid climate. ‘Freedom,’ answered the wolf, ‘makes one +forget the climate.’ + +The driver was right—beware, beware! and how I longed to make haste and +get away. + +My stay was, in fact, brief on my first visit. In three weeks I had +finished all my business, and galloped back to Vladimir for the New Year. + +The experience I had gained in Vyatka was extremely useful to me in +the Promotion Office. I knew already that the Promotion Office was +something after the style of old St. Giles’ in London, the den of a +gang of officially recognised thieves, which no inspection, no reform +could change. To clear St. Giles’, they took a pick, pulled down the +houses, and razed them to the ground. That is what should be done with +the Promotion Office. Moreover, it is utterly useless—a sort of parasitic +service, the office of official promotion, a Ministry of grades and +ranks, an archaeological society for the investigation of letters of +nobility, a secretariat of secretariats. It need hardly be said that the +abuses there were bound to be on a higher scale. + +My father’s agent brought me a faded old man in a uniform, every button +of which was hanging by a thread; he was anything but clean, and had +already had a drop, though it was early in the day. This was the proof +corrector of the Senate Printing Press; after correcting grammatical +errors, he used to assist various secretaries in other errors behind +the scenes. Within half an hour I had come to terms with him, after +bargaining exactly as though we were discussing the purchase of a horse +or a piece of furniture. He could not, however, give me a positive answer +himself, but ran round to the Senate for instructions, and after getting +them at last, asked for a ‘deposit.’ + +‘But they will keep their promise?’ + +‘Oh, excuse me, they are not people like that. It never happens that +after taking a gratuity they do not discharge a debt of honour,’ answered +the proof corrector in a tone of so much offence that I thought it +necessary to soften him with a slight additional gratuity. + +‘There used,’ he observed, when I had thus propitiated him, ‘to be +a secretary in the Promotion Office who was a wonderful man. You’ve +maybe heard of him, he used to take bribes recklessly and never got +into trouble. Once a provincial official came to the office to talk +about his business, and as he said good-bye he gave him a grey note +on the sly, under cover of his hat. “But why do you make a secret of +it?” the secretary said to him—“upon my word, as though you were giving +me a love-letter. If it’s a grey one—all the better. Let the other +petitioners see it, it will encourage them when they know that I have +accepted two hundred roubles and settled your business for it.” And +smoothing out the note, he folded it up and put it in his waistcoat +pocket.’ + +The press corrector was right. The secretary discharged his debt of +honour. + +I left Petersburg with a feeling not very far from hatred, and yet there +was no help for it. I had to move to that unattractive town. + +I was not long in the service. I got out of my duties in every possible +way, and so I have not a great deal to tell about the service. The +secretariat of the Ministry of Home Affairs had the same relation to the +secretariat of the Vyatka government as boots that have been cleaned +have to those that have not; the leather is the same, the sole is the +same, but the one sort are muddy, while the others are polished. I did +not see clerks drunk in Petersburg. I did not see twenty kopecks taken +for looking up a reference, but yet I somehow fancied that under those +close-fitting dress-coats and carefully combed heads there was such a +nasty, black, envious, petty, and cowardly soul that the head-clerk +of my table in Vyatka seemed to me more of a man than any of them. As +I looked at my new colleagues, I recalled how, on one occasion, after +having a drop too much at the supper at the district surveyors, he played +a dance tune on the guitar, and at last could not resist leaping up with +his guitar and beginning to join in the dance; but these Petersburg +men were never carried away by anything. Their blood never boiled; +wine did not turn their heads. In some dancing class, in company with +German young ladies, they could walk through a French quadrille, pose +as disillusioned, repeat lines from Timofeyev[37] or Kukolnik[38] ... +they were diplomats, aristocrats, and Manfreds. It is only a pity that +Dashkov, the Minister, could not train these Childe Harolds not to stand +at attention and bow even at the theatre, at church, and everywhere. + +The Petersburghers laugh at the costumes seen in Moscow; they are +outraged by the caps and Hungarian jackets, the long hair and civilian +moustaches. Moscow certainly is a non-military city, rather careless +and unaccustomed to discipline, but whether that is a good quality or a +defect is a matter of opinion. The harmony of uniformity, the absence +of variety, of what is personal and whimsical, a traditional obligatory +dress and external discipline are all found on the largest scale in the +most inhuman condition in which men live—in barracks. The uniform and a +complete absence of variety are passionately loved by despotism. Nowhere +are fashions followed so respectfully as in Petersburg, and that shows +the immaturity of our culture; our clothes are alien. In Europe people +dress, but we dress up, and so are terrified if a sleeve is too full, +or a collar too narrow. In Paris all that people are afraid of is being +dressed without taste; in London all that they are afraid of is catching +cold; in Italy every one dresses as he likes best. If one were to show +an Englishman the battalions of fops on the Nevsky Prospect, all wearing +exactly similar, tightly buttoned coats, he would take them for a squad +of ‘policemen.’ + +I had to do violence to my feelings every time I went to the Ministry. +The chief of the secretariat, K. K. von Paul, _Herrnhuter_,[39] and a +virtuous and lymphatic native of the Island of Dago, induced a kind +of pious boredom in all his surroundings. The heads of the sections +ran anxiously about with portfolios and were dissatisfied with the +head-clerks of the tables; the latter wrote and wrote and certainly were +overwhelmed with work, and had the prospect before them of dying at those +tables, or, at any rate, if not particularly fortunate, sitting there +for twenty years. In the Registration Office there was a clerk who had +for thirty-three years been keeping a record of the papers and printed +parcels that went out. + +My ‘literary exercises’ were of some benefit to me here too; after +experience of my incapacity for anything else, the head of the section +entrusted me with the composition of a general report on the Ministry +from the various provincial secretariats. The foresight of the government +had led them to propound certain general deductions beforehand, not +leaving them to the chance risks of facts and figures. Thus, for +instance, in the sketch of the proposed report appeared the statement: +‘From the examination of the number and character of crimes’ (neither +their number nor their character was yet known) ‘your Majesty may be +graciously pleased to perceive the progress of national morality, and +the increased zeal of the officials for its improvement.’ Fate and Count +Benckendorf saved me from taking part in this faked report. It happened +in this way. + +At nine o’clock one morning, early in December, Matvey told me that the +superintendent of the local police-station wished to see me. I could +not guess what had brought him to me, and bade Matvey show him in. The +superintendent showed me a scrap of paper on which was written that I +was summoned at ten o’clock in the morning to the Third Section of His +Majesty’s Own Secretariat. + +‘Very well,’ I answered. ‘That is by Tsyepnoy Bridge, isn’t it?’ + +‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ he answered. ‘I have a sledge downstairs. I +will go with you.’ + +It is a bad look-out, I thought, and with a pang at my heart I went into +the bedroom. My wife was sitting with the baby, who had only just begun +to recover after a long illness. ‘What does he want?’ she asked. ‘I don’t +know, some nonsense. I shall have to go with him.... Don’t be anxious.’ + +My wife looked at me and said nothing; she only turned pale as though a +dark cloud had passed over her, and handed me the child to say good-bye +to it. + +I felt at that moment how much heavier every blow is for a man with wife +and children; the blow does not strike him alone, he suffers for all, and +unconsciously blames himself for their sufferings. + +The feeling can be conquered, overcome, concealed, but one must recognise +what it costs. I went out of the house in black misery. Very different +was my mood when six years before I had set off with the police-master +Miller to the Pretchistensky police-station. + +We drove over the Tsyepnoy Bridge and through the Summer Garden and +turned towards what had been Kotchubey’s house; in the lodge there, the +secular inquisition founded by Nicholas was installed: people who went in +at its back gates, before which we stopped, did not always come out of +them again, or, if they did, it was perhaps to be cast away in Siberia or +perish in the Alexeyevsky ravelin. We crossed all sorts of courtyards and +little squares, and came at last to the office. In spite of the presence +of the commissar, the gendarme did not admit us, but summoned an official +who, after reading the summons, left the police-superintendent in the +corridor and asked me to follow him. He took me to the director’s room. +At a big table near which stood several armchairs a thin, grey-headed old +man, with a sinister face, was sitting in complete solitude. To add to +his dignity, he went on reading a paper to the end, then got up and came +towards me. He had a star on his breast from which I concluded that he +was some sort of commanding officer in the army of spies. + +‘Have you seen General Dubbelt?’ + +‘No.’ + +He paused. Then, frowning and knitting his brows, without looking me +in the face, he asked me in a sort of threadbare voice (the voice +reminded me of the nervous, hissing notes of Golitsyn junior at the +Moscow commission of inquiry): ‘I think that you have not very long had +permission to visit Petersburg or Moscow?’ + +‘I received it last year.’ + +The old man shook his head. ‘And you have made a bad use of the Tsar’s +graciousness. I believe you’ll have to go back again to Vyatka.’ + +I gazed at him in amazement. + +‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘you’ve chosen a fine way to show your gratitude to +the government that permitted you to return.’ + +‘I don’t understand in the least,’ I said, lost in conjecture. + +‘You don’t understand? That’s just what is bad, too! What connections! +What pursuits! Instead of showing your zeal from the first, effacing +the stains left from your youthful errors, turning your abilities to +service—no, indeed, it’s nothing but politics and criticisms, and all +to the detriment of the government. This is what your talk has brought +you to! How is it you’ve learnt nothing from experience? How do you know +that among those who talk to you there is not always some scoundrel[40] +who asks nothing better than to come _here_ a minute later to give +information.’ + +‘If you can explain to me what it all means, you will greatly oblige me. +I am racking my brains and cannot understand what your words are leading +up to, or at what they are hinting.’ + +‘What they are leading to? Hm.... Come, did you hear that a sentry at the +Blue Bridge killed and robbed a man at night?’ + +‘Yes, I did,’ I answered with great simplicity. + +‘And perhaps you repeated it?’ + +‘I believe I did repeat it.’ + +‘With comments, I daresay?’ + +‘Very likely.’ + +‘With what sort of comments? There you see the disposition to attack the +government. I tell you openly, the one thing that does you credit is your +sincere avowal, it will certainly be taken into consideration by the +Count.’ + +‘Upon my word’ I said, ‘what is there to avow? All the town was talking +of the story; it was talked of in the secretariat, and in the Ministry +of Home Affairs and in the shops. What is there surprising in my having +spoken about the incident?’ + +‘The diffusion of false and mischievous rumours is a crime amenable to +the law.’ + +‘You seem to be charging me with having invented the story.’ + +‘In the note submitted to the Tsar it is merely stated that you assisted +in the propagation of this mischievous rumour, upon which the decision of +the Most High concerning your return to Vyatka has been taken.’ + +‘You are simply trying to frighten me,’ I answered. ‘How is it possible +to send a man with a wife and child a thousand miles away for such a +trivial matter, and, what’s more, to condemn and sentence him without +even inquiring whether it is true.’ + +‘You have admitted it yourself.’ + +‘But you say the report was submitted and the matter settled before you +spoke to me.’ + +‘Read for yourself.’ The old man went up to the table, fumbled among a +small heap of papers, coolly pulled out one and handed it to me. I read +it and could not believe my eyes; such complete absence of justice, such +insolent, shameless disregard of the law was amazing, even in Russia. + +I did not speak. I fancy that the old man himself felt that it was a very +absurd and extremely silly business, as he did not think it necessary to +defend it further, but after a brief silence asked: + +‘I believe you said you were married?’ + +‘I am married.’ + +‘It is a pity that we did not know that before. However, if anything can +be done, the Count will do it. I will repeat our conversation to him. _In +any case_ you will be banished from Petersburg.’ + +He looked at me. I did not speak, but felt that my face was burning. +Everything I could not utter, everything restrained within me could be +seen in my face. + +The old man dropped his eyes, paused, and in an apathetic voice, with an +affectation of refined politeness, said to me: ‘I will not venture to +detain you further. I most sincerely hope—however, you will hear later.’ + +I rushed home. My heart was boiling with a consuming fury—that feeling of +impotence, of having no rights, the position of a caged beast at which a +scornful street boy mocks, knowing that all the tiger’s strength is not +enough to break the bars. + +I found my wife in a fever; she was taken ill that day, and, having +another fright in the evening, was a few days later prematurely confined. +The baby only lived a day, and it was three or four years before she +fully recovered her strength. + +They say that that tender paterfamilias, Nicholas Pavlovitch, shed tears +when his daughter died.... And what strange passion induces them to +raise a hubbub, gallop full-speed, make such a fuss and do everything +in tearing haste, as though the town were on fire, the throne were +tottering, or the dynasty in danger, and all that without the slightest +necessity! It is the sense of romance of the police, the dramatic efforts +of the detective, the spectacular setting for the display of loyal +zeal.... The janissaries, the swashbucklers, the bloodhounds! + +On the evening of the day on which I had been to the Third Section, we +were sitting sorrowfully at a small table—the baby was playing with his +toys on it; we spoke little—and all at once some one pulled the bell so +violently that we could not help starting. Matvey rushed to open the +door, and a second later an officer of gendarmes, clashing his sabre and +jingling his spurs, darted into the room and began in choice language +apologising to my wife. He could not have imagined, he had had no +suspicion, no idea that there was a lady and children in the case. It was +extremely unfortunate.... Gendarmes are the very flower of courtesy; if +it were not for their duty, for the sacred obligations of the service, +they would never make secret reports, or even beat post-boys and drivers +at posting-stations. I know that from the Krutitsky Barracks where the +_désolé_ officer was so deeply distressed at being forced to feel in my +pockets. Paul Louis Courier[41] observed in his day that executioners and +prosecutors are the most courteous of men. ‘My dear executioner,’ writes +the prosecutor, ‘if it is not troubling you too much, you will do me the +greatest service if you will kindly undertake to chop off So-and-so’s +head to-morrow morning.’ And the executioner hastens to answer that he +esteems himself fortunate indeed that he can by so trifling a service do +something agreeable to the prosecutor and remains always his devoted and +obedient servant the executioner, and the other man, the third, remains +devoted without his head! + +‘General Dubbelt summons you to his presence.’ + +‘When?’ + +‘Upon my word! now, at once, this minute.’ + +‘Matvey, give me my overcoat.’ + +I pressed my wife’s hand—her face was flushed, her hand was burning. Why +this hurry at ten o’clock in the evening? Had a plot been discovered? Had +some one run away? Was the precious life of Nicholas in danger? I really +was unfair to that sentry, I thought. There was nothing to be surprised +at in one of the agents of this government murdering two or three +passers-by; the sentries of the second and third degree are no better +than their comrade on the Blue Bridge. And what about the head sentry of +all? + +Dubbelt had summoned me in order to tell me that Count Benckendorf +commanded my presence at eight o’clock next morning to inform me of the +decision of the Most High. + +Dubbelt was an original person; he was probably more intelligent than +the whole of the Third Section—indeed, of all the three sections of +His Majesty’s Own Secretariat. His sunken face, shaded by long, fair +moustaches, his fatigued expression, particularly the furrows on his +cheeks and on his brow, unmistakably betrayed that his breast had been +the battlefield of many passions before the pale-blue uniform had +dominated, or rather hidden, everything within it. His features had +something wolfish and even foxy about them, _i.e._, they expressed the +subtle shrewdness of beasts of prey; there was at once evasiveness and +conceit in them. He was always courteous. + +When I went into his study, he was sitting in a uniform coat, without +epaulettes, and smoking a pipe as he wrote. He rose instantly, and +asking me to sit down facing him, began with the following surprising +sentence: + +‘Count Alexandr Christophorovitch has given me this opportunity of making +your acquaintance. I believe you saw Sahtynsky this morning?’ + +‘Yes, I did.’ + +‘I am very sorry that the occasion that has forced me to ask you to see +me is not quite an agreeable one for you. Your imprudence has again +brought his Majesty’s anger upon you.’ + +‘I will say to you, General, what I said to Mr. Sahtynsky, I cannot +imagine that I am being exiled simply for having repeated a street +rumour, which you, of course, heard before I did, and possibly spoke of +just as I did.’ + +‘Yes, I heard the rumour, and I spoke of it, and in that we are alike; +but this is where the difference comes in—in repeating the absurd story +I swore that there was nothing in it, while you made the rumour a ground +for attacking the whole police. It is this unfortunate passion _de +dénigrer le gouvernement_—a passion that has developed in all of you +gentlemen from the fatal example of the West. It is not with us as in +France, where the government is at daggers drawn with the parties—there +it is dragged into the mud. Our government is paternal—everything is +done as privately as possible.... We do our very utmost that everything +should go as quietly and smoothly as possible, and here men, who in spite +of painful experience persist in a fruitless opposition, alarm public +opinion by repeating verbally, and in writing, that the soldiers of the +police murder men in the streets. Isn’t that true? You have written about +it, haven’t you?’ + +‘I attach so little importance to the matter that I don’t think it +necessary to conceal that I have written about it, and I will add to +whom—to my father.’ + +‘Of course, it is not an important matter, but see what it has brought +upon you. His Majesty at once remembered your name, and that you had +been in Vyatka, and commanded that you should be sent back there, and so +the Count has commissioned me to inform you that you must come to him +to-morrow at eight o’clock and he will announce to you the decision of +the Most High.’ + +‘And so it is left that I am to go to Vyatka with a sick wife and a sick +child on account of something that you say is not important?...’ + +‘Why, are you in the service?’ Dubbelt asked me, looking intently at the +buttons of my uniform coat. + +‘In the Ministry of Home Affairs.’ + +‘Have you been there long?’ + +‘Six months.’ + +‘And all the time in Petersburg?’ + +‘All the time.’ + +‘I had no idea of it.’ + +‘You see,’ I said, smiling, ‘how discreetly I have behaved.’ + +Sahtynsky did not know that I was married, Dubbelt did not know that I +was in the service, but both knew what I said in my own room, what I +thought, and what I wrote to my father.... What was really wrong was that +I was just beginning to be friendly with Petersburg literary men, and to +publish articles, and, worse still, had been transferred from Vladimir +to Petersburg by Count Strogonov without the secret police having been +consulted, and when I arrived in Petersburg had not presented myself +either to Dubbelt or to the Third Section, as worthy persons had hinted +that I should do. + +‘To be sure,’ Dubbelt interrupted me, ‘all the evidence that has been +collected about you is to your credit. Only yesterday I was speaking to +Zhukovsky and should be thankful to hear my son spoken of as he spoke of +you.’ + +‘And yet I am to go to Vyatka?’ + +‘You see it is your misfortune that the secret report has been handed +in already, and that many circumstances had not been taken into +consideration. You will have to go, there is no altering that, but I +imagine that it might be another town instead of Vyatka. I will talk it +over with the Count, he is going to-night to the Palace. We will try and +do all that can be done to make things easier; the Count is a man of +angelic kindness.’ + +I got up, Dubbelt escorted me to the door of the study. At that point I +could not restrain myself, and stopping, I said to him: + +‘I have one small favour to ask of you, General. If you want me, please +do not send constables or gendarmes. They are noisy and alarming, +especially in the evening. Why should my sick wife be more severely +punished than any one on account of the sentry business?’ + +‘Oh! good heavens, how unpleasant that is,’ replied Dubbelt, ‘how +tactless they all are! You may rest assured that I will not send a +policeman again. And so till to-morrow; don’t forget, eight o’clock at +the Count’s; we shall meet there.’ + +It was exactly as though we were agreeing to go to Smurov’s to eat +oysters together. + +At eight o’clock next morning I was in Benckendorf’s reception room. +I found five or six petitioners waiting there; they stood gloomy and +anxious by the wall, started at every sound, and then timidly drew +themselves in again, and bowed to every adjutant that passed. Among their +number was a woman in deep mourning, with tear-stained eyes. She sat +with a paper rolled up in her hand, and the roll trembled like a leaf. +Three paces from her stood a tall, rather bent old man of seventy, bald +and sallow, in a dark-green overcoat, with a row of medals and crosses +on his breast. From time to time he sighed, shook his head and murmured +something to himself. + +Some sort of ‘friend of the family,’ a flunkey, or a clerk on duty, sat +in the window, lolling at his ease. He got up when I went in, and looking +intently at his face I recognised him; that loathsome figure had been +pointed out to me at the theatre as one of the chief street detectives, +and his name, I remember, was Fabre. He asked me: + +‘Have you come with a petition to the Count?’ + +‘I have come at his summons.’ + +‘Your surname?’ + +I mentioned it. + +‘Ah,’ he said, changing his tone as though he had met an old +acquaintance, ‘won’t you be pleased to sit down? The Count will be here +in a quarter of an hour.’ + +It was horribly still and _unheimlich_ in the room, the daylight hardly +penetrated through the fog and frozen window-panes, no one said a word. +The adjutants ran quickly to and fro, and the gendarme standing at the +door sometimes jingled his accoutrements as he shifted from foot to foot. +Two more petitioners came in. The clerk on duty ran to ask each what +he had come about. One of the adjutants went up to him and began in a +half-whisper telling him some story, assuming a desperately roguish air +as he did so. No doubt it was something revolting, for they interspersed +their talk at frequent intervals with flunkeyish, noiseless laughter, +during which the worthy clerk, affecting to be quite helpless, and ready +to explode, repeated: ‘Do stop, for God’s sake stop, I can’t bear it.’ + +Five minutes later Dubbelt came in with his uniform unbuttoned as though +he were off duty, glanced casually at the petitioners, whereupon they all +bowed, and seeing me at the farther end said: ‘_Bonjour, Monsieur Herzen. +Votre affaire va parfaitement bien_ ... very well indeed.’ + +They would let me stay, perhaps! I was on the point of asking, but before +I had time to utter a word Dubbelt had disappeared. Next there walked +into the room a general, polished up and highly decorated, tightly laced +and stiffly erect, in white breeches, with a scarf across his breast. +I have never seen a finer general. If ever there is an exhibition of +generals in London as there now is a Baby Exhibition at Cincinnati, I +should advise his being sent from Petersburg. The general went up to the +door from which Benckendorf was to enter and became petrified in stiff +immobility; with great interest I scrutinised this sergeant’s ideal. A +lot of soldiers, I expect, he had flogged in his day for falling out of +step! Where do these people come from? He was born for rifle drill and +army discipline! He was attended by the most elegant cornet in the world, +probably his adjutant, a fair-haired youth, with incredibly long legs, +a tiny face like a squirrel’s, and that simple-hearted expression which +often persists in mamma’s darlings who have never studied anything, or, +at any rate, have never succeeded in learning anything. This eglantine in +uniform stood at a respectful distance from the model general. + +Dubbelt darted in again, this time looking dignified, with all his +buttons done up. He at once addressed the general, and asked him what +he had come about. The general, with the perfect correctness with which +privates speak when presenting themselves to their superior officers, +reported: ‘Yesterday I received through Prince Alexandr Ivanovitch the +command of the Most High to join the Army at the front at the Caucasus, +and esteemed it my duty to present myself to his Excellency before +leaving.’ + +Dubbelt listened with religious attention to this speech, and with a +slight bow as a sign of respect went out and returned a minute later. + +‘The Count,’ he said to the general, ‘sincerely regrets that he has not +time to receive your Excellency. He thanks you and has commissioned me +to wish you a good journey.’ Whereupon Dubbelt flung wide his arms, +embraced the general, and twice touched his cheeks with his moustaches. + +The general retreated at a solemn march, the youth with the face of a +squirrel and the legs of a crane strode after him. This scene made up to +me for a great deal of bitterness that day. The general’s attitude, the +farewell by proxy, and the sly face of _Reinecke Fuchs_ as he kissed the +brainless countenance of his Excellency was all so ludicrous that I could +scarcely contain myself. I fancied that Dubbelt noticed it and began to +respect me from that time. + +At last both folds of the double door were flung open and Benckendorf +walked in. There was nothing unpleasant in the appearance of the chief +of the gendarmes; his exterior was rather typical of a nobleman of the +Baltic provinces, and, indeed, of the German aristocracy generally. +His face looked creased and tired, he had the delusively good-natured +expression which is so often found in evasive and apathetic people. + +Possibly Benckendorf did not do all the harm he might have done, being +the head of that terrible police, standing outside the law and above the +law, having a right to meddle in everything. I am ready to believe it, +especially when I recall the insipid expression of his face. But he did +no good either, he had not enough will-power, energy, or heart for that. +To be timid of saying a word in defence of the oppressed is as bad as any +crime in the service of a man so cold and merciless as Nicholas. + +How many innocent victims passed through Benckendorf’s hands, how many +perished through his lack of attention, through his frivolity, because +he was engrossed in flirtation perhaps—and how many gloomy images and +painful memories may have haunted his mind and tormented him when, +prematurely collapsing and growing senile, he sailed off to seek, in +betrayal of his own religion, the protection of the Catholic Church with +its all-forgiving indulgences.... + +‘It has reached the knowledge of his Imperial Majesty,’ he said to +me, ‘that you take part in the diffusion of rumours injurious to the +government. His Majesty, seeing how little you have reformed, graciously +commanded that you should be sent back to Vyatka; but at the request of +General Dubbelt, and relying upon information collected about you, I +have reported to his Majesty on the subject of your wife’s illness, and +his Majesty was graciously pleased to alter his decision. His Majesty +forbids you to visit Petersburg and Moscow, and you will be under police +supervision again, but it is left to the Ministry of Home Affairs to fix +the place where you are to reside.’ + +‘Allow me to tell you frankly that even at this moment I cannot believe +that there is no other cause for my exile. In 1835 I was exiled on +account of a supper-party at which I was not present! Now I am being +punished for a rumour about which the whole town was talking. It is a +strange fate!’ + +Benckendorf shrugged his shoulders, and turning out the palms of his +hands like a man who has exhausted all the resources of argument, cut +short my speech. + +‘I make known to you the Imperial will, and you answer me with +criticisms. What profit will there be from all that you say to me, or +that I say to you? It is a waste of words. Nothing can be changed now. +What will be later partly depends on you, and since you have referred to +your first affair, I particularly recommend you not to let there be a +third. You will certainly not get off so easily a third time.’ + +Benckendorf gave me a gracious smile and turned towards the petitioners. +He said very little to them; he took their petition, glanced at it, then +handed it to Dubbelt, receiving the petitioners’ observations with the +same graciously condescending smile. These people had been for whole +months thinking about it, and preparing themselves for this interview, +upon which their honour, their fortune, their family depended; what +effort, what labour had been spent by them before they had succeeded in +getting an entrance, how many times they had knocked at the closed door +and been turned away by the gendarme or the porter. And how immense, how +poignant must the necessity have been that brought them to the head of +the secret police; no doubt all legal channels had been exhausted first. +And this man got rid of them with commonplaces, and probably some clerk +drew up some decision to pass the case on to some other department. And +what had he to preoccupy him? What need had he for haste? + +When Benckendorf went up to the old man with the medals, the latter +dropped on his knees and articulated: ‘Your Excellency, enter into my +position.’ + +‘How degrading!’ cried the Count; ‘you are disgracing your medals,’ and +full of righteous indignation he passed by without taking his petition. +The old man slowly got up, his glassy eyes were full of horror and +bewilderment, his lower lip quivered, he muttered something. + +How inhuman these people are when the whim takes them to be humane! + +Dubbelt went up to the old man and said: ‘Whatever did you do that for? +Come, give me your petition. I’ll look through it.’ + +Benckendorf had gone off to see the Tsar. + +‘What am I to do?’ I asked Dubbelt. + +‘Settle on any town you choose with the Minister of Home Affairs; we +will not interfere. We will send the whole case on there to-morrow. I +congratulate you on its having been so satisfactorily settled.’ + +‘I am very much obliged to you.’ + +From Benckendorf I went to the Ministry. Our director, as I have +mentioned, belonged to that class of Germans who have something of the +lemur about them, lanky, slow, and long drawn out. Their brains work +slowly, they do not catch the point at once, and pass through a long +process to reach any sort of conclusion. My story unfortunately arrived +before the communication of the Third Section; he had not expected it +at all, and so was completely bewildered, uttered incoherent phrases, +perceived the fact himself, and to set himself right said to me: +‘_Erlauben Sie mir deutsch zu sprechen_.’ Possibly his remarks were +grammatically more correct in the German language, but they were no +clearer and more definite in meaning. I perceived distinctly two feelings +struggling in him: he grasped all the injustice of it, but thought it +his duty as director to justify the action of the government; at the +same time, he did not like to appear a barbarian in my eyes, nor could +he forget the hostility which invariably existed between the Ministry of +Home Affairs and the secret police. So the task of expressing all this +jumble was in itself not easy. He ended by declaring that he could say +nothing until he had seen the Minister, and going off to see him. + +Count Strogonov sent for me, inquired into the matter, listened to the +story attentively, and said to me in conclusion: ‘It’s a police trick, +pure and simple—all right, I’ll pay them out for it.’ + +I actually imagined that he was going straight off to the Tsar to explain +the position to him; but ministers do not go so far. + +‘I have received the command of the Most High concerning you,’ he went +on—‘here it is. You see that it is left to me to select the place of your +exile and a post in the service for you. Where would you like to go?’ + +‘To Tver or to Novgorod,’ I answered. + +‘To be sure.... Well, since the choice of a place is left to me, and +it probably does not matter to you to which of those towns I send +you, I will give you the first councillor’s vacancy in the provincial +government. That is the highest position that you can receive in the +regular way of promotion, so order yourself a uniform with an embroidered +collar,’ he added jocosely. + +So that was how I scored, though not on my own play. + +A week later Strogonov recommended me to the Senate for an appointment as +councillor at Novgorod. + +It really is funny to think how many secretaries, assessors, district and +provincial officials had been scheming passionately, persistently, for +years to get that post; bribes had been given, the most solemn promises +had been received, and here, all at once, a Minister, to carry out the +commands of the Most High and at the same time to have a slap at the +secret police, _punished_ me with this promotion and, by way of gilding +the pill, flung this post, the object of ardent desires and ambitious +dreams, at the feet of a man who accepted it with the firm intention of +throwing it up at the first opportunity. + +From Strogonov I went to see a lady; I must say a few words about this +acquaintance. + +Among the letters of introduction given me by my father when I first +went to Petersburg was one which I had picked up a dozen times, turned +over and thrust back again into the table drawer, putting off my visit +until another day. The letter was addressed to a lady of seventy, of +high rank and great wealth, whose friendship with my father dated from +time immemorial; he had first made her acquaintance when she was at the +Court of Catherine II.; then they had met in Paris, had travelled here +and there together, and at last both had come to rest at home some thirty +years before. + +I disliked persons of consequence as a rule, particularly when they +were women, and even more so when they were seventy; but my father had +inquired for the second time whether I had called upon Olga Alexandrovna +Zherebtsov, so at last I resolved to swallow the bitter pill. A footman +led me into a rather gloomy drawing-room, poorly decorated, and looking +as though it were darkened and faded; the furniture, the hangings, +all had lost their colour, and all had evidently been standing for +ages in the same place. I was reminded of the atmosphere of Princess +Meshtchersky’s house; old age, no less than youth, puts its imprint +on all around it. I waited with resignation for the lady to make her +appearance, preparing myself for tedious questions, for deafness, for +a cough, for attacks on the younger generation, and perhaps moral +exhortations. + +Five minutes later a tall old woman, with a stern face that bore traces +of great beauty, walked in with a firm step; an unswerving will, a strong +character, and a strong intellect were apparent in her deportment, in +her movements and her gestures. She scanned me from head to foot with +a penetrating gaze, went up to the sofa, with one movement of her arm +pushed back the table, and said to me: ‘Sit in this armchair here, nearer +to me. I am a great friend of your father’s, you know, and I love him.’ +She opened the letter, and handed it to me, saying: ‘Please read it to +me; my eyes are bad.’ + +The letter was written in French and full of all sorts of compliments, +reminiscences, and allusions. She listened, smiling, and when I had +finished said: ‘His mind shows no signs of age, he is just the same as +ever; he was very charming and very caustic. And now, I suppose, he keeps +his room, wears his dressing-gown, and plays the invalid? Two years ago +I was passing through Moscow and then I went to see your father. “I can +hardly see any one,” he said. “I am breaking up,” and then he got into +talk and forgot his ailments. It’s all nonsense, he is not much older +than I am, two or three years at the most, though I doubt if he is that, +and I am a woman, yet I still keep on my legs. Yes, yes, much water has +flowed by since those days your father talks of. Why, only fancy, he and +I were among the leading dancers. The English dances were the fashion in +those days; Ivan Alexeyevitch and I used to dance at the late Empress’s. +Can you imagine your father in a full-skirted light blue French coat, +wearing powder, and me in a hoop and _décolletée_? It was very pleasant +to dance with him, _il était bel homme_, he was finer looking than +you—let me have a good look at you—yes, he really was finer.... Don’t +be angry, at my age I may tell the truth. Besides, I believe you don’t +care about that—of course, you are literary and learned. Ah, my goodness, +by the way, do tell me please what was all that business with you? Your +father wrote to me when you were sent to Vyatka. I did try to speak to +Bludov, but he did not do anything. They won’t say what they exiled you +for. They keep that a _secret d’état_.’ + +There was so much simplicity and genuineness in her manner that, contrary +to my expectation, I was at ease and unconstrained with her. I answered +between jest and earnest and told her all about our case. + +‘He makes war on students,’ she observed; ‘he has nothing in his head but +conspiracies, and, to be sure, they are pleased to oblige him; they think +of nothing but nonsense. They are such wretched little creatures about +him! Where did he get hold of them—no rank and no family. Well, _mon cher +conspirateur_, how old were you then?—sixteen, I expect.’ + +‘Just one and twenty,’ I answered, laughing genuinely at her utter +contempt for our political activities, both mine and Nicholas’s, ‘but +then I was the eldest.’ + +‘Four or five students scared _tout le gouvernement_, you see—what a +disgrace!’ + +After talking in this style for half an hour, I got up to go. + +‘Stay a little,’ said Olga Alexandrovna in a still more friendly tone. ‘I +have not finished my catechism; how was it you carried off your bride?’ + +‘How do you know?’ + +‘Oh, my dear, the world is full of rumour—youth, _des passions_. I talked +to your father at the time. He was still angry with you, but, there, +he is a sensible man, he understood.... Thank God you live happily. +What more does he want? “Well,” he said to me, “the boy came to Moscow +contrary to the Imperial decree. If he had been caught he would have been +sent to the fortress.” “But you see he wasn’t caught,” I said, “so you +ought to be thankful for that, and what is the use of talking nonsense +and imagining what might have been?” “Oh, you were always fearless,” he +told me, “and lived recklessly.” “Well, my dear sir, I am ending my days +no worse than other people,” I answered him—“and what’s the sense of your +leaving the young people without money? That’s beyond anything.” “Well,” +he said, “I’ll send them some. I’ll send them some. Don’t be angry.” +You’ll bring your wife to see me, won’t you?’ + +I thanked her, and said that I had not brought her with me to Petersburg +yet. + +‘Where are you staying?’ + +‘At Demouthe’s.’ + +‘And do you dine there?’ + +‘Sometimes there; sometimes at Dumais.’ + +‘Why restaurants—it’s expensive, and besides it’s not nice for a married +man. If it won’t bore you to dine with an old woman, come here. I am +really very glad to have made your acquaintance. I must thank your father +for having sent you to me; you are a very interesting young man, and have +a good understanding of things though you are young,—so you and I will +have a talk about one thing and another, for you know I am bored with +these courtiers; they can talk of nothing but the court, and who has +received a decoration; it is all so silly.’ + +In one volume of Thiers’ _History of the Consulate_ he gives a rather +detailed and rather correct account of the murder of Paul. There are +two references in his story to a woman, the sister of Count Zubov, who +was the last of Catherine’s favourites. The beautiful young widow of a +general (killed, I believe, during the war), a passionate and vigorous +character, spoilt by success, endowed with exceptional intellect and +masculine strength of will, she became the centre round which the +discontented rallied during the savage and senseless reign of Paul. The +conspirators met at her house; she incited them, their relations with the +English Embassy were carried on through her. Paul’s police suspected her +at last, and, warned in time, perhaps by Pahlen himself, she went abroad +before it was too late. The plot was by then matured, and while dancing +at a ball at the court of the Prussian king she received the news that +Paul had been killed. Not concealing her joy, she rapturously announced +the news to every one in the ball-room. This so scandalised the Prussian +king that he ordered her to be banished from Berlin within twenty-four +hours. + +She went to England. Brilliant, spoilt by court life, and devoured by +a consuming passion for a great career, she made her appearance as a +lioness of the first magnitude in London, and played an important part in +the reserved and exclusive society of the English aristocracy. The Prince +of Wales, _i.e._, the future King George IV., was her devoted adorer, and +soon more than that.... The years of her life abroad were spent amidst +noisy magnificence, but they passed, and glory after glory faded. With +old age came emptiness, misfortunes, loneliness, and the melancholy life +of memory. Her son was killed at Borodino; her daughter died leaving +her a grandchild, now Countess Orlov. Every August the old woman went +from Petersburg to Mozhaisk to visit her son’s grave. Loneliness and +misfortune had not broken her strong character, but only made it more +austere and angular. Like a tree in winter, she retained the outline of +her branches, the leaves had dropped, and the bare twigs were cold and +stiff as dry bones, but the gigantic stature and bold proportions were +but the more distinctly visible, and the trunk, silvered with hoar-frost, +stood proud and gloomy, and no wind, no storm could bend it. + +Her long life, so full of movement, the immense wealth of meetings, of +contrasts in it, had formed her disdainful view of the world, which had +its share of mournful truth. She had her own philosophy, resting upon a +profound contempt for her fellow-creatures, though, owing to her active +disposition, she could not abandon them altogether. + +‘You don’t know them yet,’ she would say to me, nodding her head towards +the retreating figures of various stout and thin senators and generals. +‘I have seen enough of them. It is not so easy to take me in as they +imagine; before I was twenty my brother was in the highest favour, and +the Empress was very kind to me, and very fond of me. So then, would +you believe it, old men, beribboned and decorated, who could scarcely +drag one leg after the other, were falling over one another to reach the +vestibule and hand me my pelisse and my warm shoes. The Empress died, +and next day my house was deserted. They ran from me as from the plague, +in the madman’s days, you know, and those the very same persons. I went +my way, I had no need of any one, I crossed the sea. After my return the +Lord visited me with great misfortunes, but I met with sympathy from no +one. There were two or three old friends who did not desert me, though. +Well, then, your reign has come. Orlov, you see, has influence, though +indeed I don’t know how far that is true ... they imagine it is, anyway. +They know that he is my heir and that my granddaughter loves me; so now +they are such friends again—again they are ready to hand me my cloak and +my goloshes! Ugh! I know them, but one is sometimes tired of sitting +alone; my eyes are bad, it is hard to read, besides one does not always +care to, so I let them come, they babble all sorts of nonsense; it amuses +me, and serves to pass an hour or two....’ + +She was a strange, original relic of another age, surrounded by +degenerate successors that had sprung up on the mean and barren soil of +Petersburg court life. She felt superior to it, and she was right. If she +had shared the Saturnalia of Catherine and the orgies of George IV., she +had also shared the dangers of the conspirators of Paul’s reign. + +Her mistake lay not in her contempt for these worthless people, but in +her taking this produce of the court kitchen-garden for the whole of our +generation. In the reign of Catherine, the court and the Guards really +did include all that was cultured in Russia; and this persisted, more or +less, until 1812. Since then Russian society has taken immense strides; +the war led to an awakening, and that awakening to the Fourteenth of +December. Society was divided in two from within: the worst part remained +on the side of the court; executions and savage punishments drove away +some, while the new tone prevailing drove away others. Alexander carried +on the traditions of culture of the reign of Catherine. Under Nicholas +the worldly aristocratic tone was replaced by one of frigid formality +and ferocious despotism on the one hand and boundless servility on +the other—a blend of the abrupt and rude Napoleonic manner with the +callousness of bureaucracy. A new society, the centre of which was in +Moscow, rapidly developed. + +There is a wonderful book which one cannot help recalling when one speaks +of Olga Alexandrovna—I mean the _Memoirs of Princess Dashkov_, published +twenty years ago in London. To the book are appended the memoirs of the +two sisters Wilmot who lived with Princess Dashkov between 1805 and 1810. +They were highly cultured Irishwomen, with a great gift of observation. I +should very much like their letters and memoirs to be known in Russia. + +When I compare Moscow society before 1812 with that which I left in 1847 +my heart throbs with joy. We have made tremendous strides forward. In +those days there was a society of the discontented—that is, of those +who had been left out, dismissed, or laid on the shelf; now there is a +society of independent people. The lions of those days were capricious +oligarchs, such as Count A. G. Orlov and Ostermann, ‘a society of +shadows’ as Miss Wilmot says, a society of political men who had died +fifteen years before in Petersburg, but went on powdering their heads, +putting on their ribbons, and appearing at dinners and festivities in +Moscow, sulking, giving themselves airs of consequence, and having +neither influence nor significance. After 1825 the lions of Moscow were +Pushkin, M. Orlov, Tchaadayev, Yermolov. In the earlier days society had +flocked with cringing servility to the house of Count Orlov, ladies ‘in +other people’s diamonds,’[42] gentlemen who dared not sit down without +permission; the Count’s serfs danced before them in masquerade attire. +Forty years later I saw the same society crowding about the platform of +one of the lecture-rooms of the Moscow University; the daughters of those +ladies in other people’s jewels, the sons of the men who had not dared +to sit down, were, with passionate sympathy, following the profound, +vigorous words of Granovsky, greeting with outbursts of applause +sentences that went straight to the heart from their boldness and +nobility. + +It was just the society that gathered from all parts of Moscow and +crowded about the platform on which the young champion of learning +delivered his earnest message and deciphered the future from the past—it +was just this society of the existence of which Madame Zherebtsov had +no suspicion. She was particularly kind and attentive to me because I +was the first example of a world unknown to her; she was surprised at +my language and at my ideas. She welcomed in me the coming of another +Russia, not that Russia whose only light filtered through the frozen +windows of the Winter Palace. Thanks to her for that! + +I could fill a whole volume with the anecdotes I heard from Olga +Alexandrovna; with whom had she not been on friendly terms, from Comte +d’Artois[43] and the Comte de Ségur[44] to Canning and Lord Granville, +and she looked at all of them independently, from her own point of view, +and a very original one. I will confine myself to one small incident +which I will try to repeat in her own words. + +She lived in the Morskaya. A regiment of soldiers happened one day to +pass along the street with a band. Olga Alexandrovna went to the window +and looking at the soldiers said to me: ‘I have a summer villa not far +from Gatchina. I sometimes go there for a rest in the summer. I ordered +a big lawn to be made there before the house, in the English style, you +know, covered with turf. Last year I went down there; only fancy: at six +o’clock in the morning I hear a dreadful beating of drums. I lie in bed +more dead than alive; it keeps coming closer and closer. I ring the bell, +my Kalmyk girl runs in. “What has happened, my good girl?” I ask; “what +is this noise?” “Oh, that,” says she, “Mihail Pavlovitch[45] is pleased +to be drilling his soldiers.” “Where is that?” “On our lawn.” He liked +our lawn, it was so smooth and green. Only fancy, with a lady living +there, old and ill, he came with the drums at six o’clock in the morning. +Well, I thought, that won’t do. “Call the steward,” I said. The steward +came and I said to him: “Have the cart got out at once, drive into +Petersburg, hire as many White Russians as you can find, and let them +begin digging a pond to-morrow.” Well, I thought, I hope they won’t hold +a Naval Review before my windows. They are all such ill-bred creatures!’ + +It was natural that I should go straight from Strogonov to Olga +Alexandrovna and tell her all that had happened. + +‘Good heavens! What folly; they go from bad to worse,’ she observed +when she heard my story. ‘How can a man with a family be dragged off to +exile for such nonsense? Let me talk to Orlov. I hardly ever ask him to +do anything, they all dislike it; but there, once in a way he may do +something for me. Come and see me in a couple of days, and I’ll tell you +his answer.’ + +Two days later she sent for me. I found several visitors with her. She +had a white batiste kerchief round her head instead of a cap; this was +usually a sign that she was out of spirits; she screwed up her eyes and +hardly took any notice of the privy councillors and generals who had come +to pay their respects to her. + +One of the visitors with a very complacent air took a document out of his +pocket and, handing it to Olga Alexandrovna, said: ‘I have brought you +yesterday’s Imperial letter to Prince Pyotr Mihailovitch. Perhaps you +have not yet read it.’ + +Whether she had heard him or not I do not know, but she took the paper, +opened it, put on her spectacles and, frowning, read with great effort: +‘Pri—nce Pyo—tr Mi—hailo—vitch!’ + +‘What’s this you have given me? It’s not for me, is it?’ + +‘I told you it’s an Imperial letter.’ + +‘Good heavens, my eyes are bad, I can’t always read the letters addressed +to me, and you make me read other people’s letters.’ + +‘Allow me, I’ll read it ... I didn’t think.’ + +‘You needn’t; why trouble yourself for nothing? What have I to do with +their correspondence? I am getting through my last days somehow, and my +head is full of something very different.’ + +The gentleman smiled as people smile when they have made a blunder, and +put the Imperial letter into his pocket. + +Seeing that Olga Alexandrovna was in a bad humour, in a very warlike one, +indeed, the visitors one after another took leave. When we were left +alone she said to me: ‘I asked you to come here to tell you that I have +made a fool of myself in my old age. I gave you a promise, and I have +done nothing; you know the peasants’ proverb: “Don’t step into the water +till you know how deep it is.” I spoke to Orlov about your case yesterday +and you’ve nothing to expect....’ + +At that moment a footman announced that Countess Orlov had arrived. + +‘Well, never mind, one of ourselves. I’ll tell you the rest directly.’ + +The Countess, a beautiful woman, still in the bloom of her age, went up +to kiss her hand and inquire how she was, to which Olga Alexandrovna +answered that she felt very poorly, then mentioning my name, added, +‘Come, sit down, sit down, my dear. How are the children—quite well?’ + +‘Quite well.’ + +‘Well, thank God—excuse me, I am just talking about what happened +yesterday. Well, you see, I told her husband to speak to the Tsar about +you, and ask what they are about with this nonsense. Not a bit of it! He +wouldn’t move hand or foot: “That’s Benckendorf’s affair,” he told me. +“I’ll talk to him if you like, but as for reporting on it to the Tsar, +I can’t, he doesn’t like it—besides, it isn’t done!” “What is there,” +I said, “in talking to Benckendorf? I can do that myself. Besides, he +is in his dotage; he doesn’t know what he is doing; his head is full of +actresses, though I should have thought his flirting days were over; some +wretched little secretary gives him all sorts of secret reports and he +hands them on. What would he do? No!” I said, “you had better not demean +yourself asking favours of Benckendorf, the whole nasty business is his +doing.” “It is the rule with us,” he said to me, and began telling me all +about it.... Well, I saw that he was simply afraid to go to the Tsar.... +“Whatever is he—a wild beast, or what, that you are afraid to approach +him, though you see him half a dozen times a day?” I said, and turned +away in disgust; it is no use talking to them. Look,’ she added, pointing +to Orlov’s portrait. ‘What a conquering hero he is there; yet he is +afraid to say a word!’ + +I could not resist looking at Countess Orlov instead of at the portrait; +her position was not very agreeable. She sat smiling, and sometimes +glanced at me as though to say: ‘Age has its privileges, the old lady is +irritated,’ but meeting my eyes, which did not assent, she pretended not +to notice me. She did not enter into the conversation, and that was very +wise of her. It would not have been easy to suppress Olga Alexandrovna, +the old woman’s cheeks were flushed, she would have given back more than +she got. There was nothing for it but to lie low and wait for the storm +to pass over one’s head. + +‘Why, I suppose down there where you’ve been, in that Vologda, the +clerks imagine Count Orlov is a man in favour, that he has power.... +That’s all nonsense. I’ll be bound it is his subordinates who spread +that rumour. None of them have any influence, they don’t behave so as to +have influence, and they are not on that footing.... You must forgive me +for meddling in what isn’t my business. Do you know what I advise you? +What do you want to go to Novgorod for? You had better go to Odessa; it +is farther away from them and almost like a foreign town, besides, if +Vorontsov isn’t corrupted, he is a man of a different stamp.’ + +Olga Alexandrovna’s confidence in Vorontsov, who was at that time in +Petersburg and came to see her every day, was not fully justified. He was +willing to take me with him to Odessa _if_ Benckendorf would give his +consent. + +Meanwhile the months passed, the winter was over, no one reminded +me about going away. I was forgotten and I gave up being _sur le +qui-vive_, particularly after the following meeting. Bolgovsky, the +military governor of Vologda, was at that time in Petersburg; being a +very intimate friend of my father, he was rather fond of me, and I was +sometimes at his house. He had taken part in the killing of Paul, as a +young officer in the Semyonovsky Regiment, and was afterwards mixed up in +the obscure and unexplained Speransky affair in 1812. He was at that time +a colonel in the army at the front. He was suddenly arrested, brought to +Petersburg, and then sent to Siberia. Before he had time to reach his +place of exile Alexander pardoned him, and he returned to his regiment. + +One day in the spring I went to see him; a general was sitting in a big +easy-chair with his back towards the door so that I could not see his +face, but only one silver epaulette. + +‘Let me introduce you,’ said Bolgovsky, and then I recognised Dubbelt. + +‘I have long enjoyed the pleasure of Leonty Vassilyevitch’s attention,’ I +said, smiling. + +‘When are you going to Novgorod?’ he asked me. + +‘I thought I ought to ask you that.’ + +‘Oh! not at all! I had no idea of reminding you. I simply asked the +question. We have handed you over to Count Strogonov, and we are not +trying to hurry you, as you see. Besides, with such a legitimate reason +as your wife’s illness....’ + +He really was the politest of men! + +At last, at the beginning of June, I received the Senate’s decree, +confirming my appointment as councillor in the Novgorod Provincial +Government. Count Strogonov thought it was time for me to set off, and +about the 1st of July I arrived in the ‘City in the keeping of God and of +Saint Sophia’—Novgorod—and settled on the bank of the Volhov, opposite +the very barrow from which the Voltaireans of the twelfth century threw +the wonder-working statue of Perun[46] into the river. + + + + +Chapter 27 + +THE PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT—I AM UNDER MY OWN SUPERVISION—THE DUHOBORS +AND PAUL—THE PATERNAL RULE OF THE LANDOWNERS—COUNT ARAKTCHEYEV AND THE +MILITARY SETTLEMENTS—A FEROCIOUS INVESTIGATION—RETIREMENT + + +Before I went away Count Strogonov told me that the military governor +of Novgorod, Elpidifor Antihovitch Zurov was in Petersburg, that he +had spoken to him about my appointment, and advised me to call upon +him. I found him a rather friendly and good-natured general, short, +middle-aged, and of very military appearance. We talked for half an hour, +he graciously escorted me to the door, and there we parted. + +When I arrived in Novgorod I went to see him and the change of scene +was amazing. In Petersburg the governor had been a visitor, here he was +at home; he actually seemed to me to be taller in Novgorod. Without +any provocation on my part, he thought fit to inform me that he would +not permit councillors to give their opinions and put their views in +writing, that it delayed business, and that, if anything were not right, +they could talk it over, but that if it came to giving opinions, one or +the other would have to take his discharge. I observed, smiling, that +it was hard to frighten me with that prospect, since the sole object of +my service was to get my discharge from it, and added that while bitter +necessity forced me to serve in Novgorod I should probably have no +occasion for giving my opinion. + +This conversation was quite enough for both of us. As I went away I made +up my mind to avoid getting into closer contact with him. So far as I +could observe, the impression I made on the governor was much the same as +that which he made upon me, _i.e._, we disliked each other as much as we +possibly could on so brief and superficial an acquaintance. + +When I looked a little into the work of the provincial government I +saw that my position was not only extremely disagreeable but very +risky. Every councillor was responsible for his section and shared +the responsibility for all the rest. To read the papers in all the +sections was absolutely impossible, one had to sign them on trust. +The governor, in accordance with his theory that a councillor should +never give counsel, put his signature, contrary to the law and good +sense, next after that of the councillor in whose section the case was. +This was excellent for me personally; in this signature I found some +guarantee, as he shared the responsibility, and because he often with +a peculiar expression talked of his lofty honesty and Robespierre-like +incorruptibility. As for the signatures of the other councillors they +were very little comfort to me. They were hardened old clerks who by +dozens of years of service had worked their way up to being councillors, +and lived only by the service, that is, by bribes. It is useless to blame +them for that; a councillor, I remember, received twelve thousand paper +roubles a year; a man with a family could not possibly exist in comfort +on that. When they perceived that I was not going to share with them in +dividing the booty, nor going to plunder on my own account, they began to +look upon me as an uninvited guest and dangerous witness. They did not +become very intimate with me, especially when they had discovered that +between the governor and me there existed an affection of a very lukewarm +character. They stood by one another and watched over one another’s +interests, but they did not care what became of me. Moreover, my worthy +colleagues were not afraid of getting into trouble, or of being fined or +of having to refund even large sums of money, because they had nothing. +They could risk it, and the more readily the more important the case +was; whether the deficit was of five hundred roubles or of five hundred +thousand did not matter to them. In case of a deficit, a fraction of +their salary went to the reimbursement of the Treasury, and the repayment +could be spread over two or three hundred years if the official lasted +so long. Usually either the official died or the Tsar did, and then in +the rejoicings at his accession the heir forgave the debts. Manifestoes +remitting such debts were also published on occasions such as a Royal +birth or coming of age; the officials reckoned upon them. In my case, on +the contrary, they would have taken my money and the part of the family +estate which my father had assigned to me. + +If I could have relied on my own head-clerks, things would have been +easier. I did a great deal to gain their attachment, treated them +politely and helped them with money, but my efforts only resulted in +their ceasing to obey me—they only stood in awe of the councillors who +treated them as though they were schoolboys—and they took to coming to +the office half-drunk. They were very poor men with no education and with +no expectations. All the imaginative side of their lives was confined to +wretched little taverns and strong drink. So I had to be on my guard in +my own section too. + +At first the governor gave me Section Four, in which all business +dealing with contracts and money matters took place. I asked him to make +a change, he would not, saying that he had no right to make a change +without the consent of the other councillor. In the governor’s presence +I asked the councillor in charge of Section Two, he consented and we +exchanged. The new section was less alluring; its work was concerned +with passports, circulars of all sorts, cases of the abuse of power by +landowners, of dissenters, forgers of counterfeit coin, and people under +the supervision of the police. + +Anything sillier and more absurd cannot be imagined; I am certain that +three-fourths of the people who read this will not believe it,[47] +and yet it is the bare truth that I, as councillor of the provincial +government, in control of the Second Section, every three months signed +the report of the police-master upon myself as a man under police +supervision. The police-master from politeness made no entry under the +heading ‘behaviour,’ and under that of ‘occupation’ wrote: ‘Engaged in +the government service.’ Such are the prodigies of absurdity that can +be reached by having two or three police departments antagonistic to +each other, official formalities instead of laws, and a field corporal’s +conception of discipline in place of a governing intelligence. + +This absurdity reminds me of an incident that occurred at Tobolsk some +years ago. The civil governor was on bad terms with the vice-governor, +a quarrel was carried on on paper, they wrote each other all sorts of +biting and sarcastic things in official form. The vice-governor was a +ponderous pedant, a formalist, a good-natured specimen of the divinity +student; he composed his malignant answers himself with immense labour +and, of course, made this feat the object of his life. It happened that +the governor went away to Petersburg for a time. The vice-governor took +over his duties and in the character of governor received an impudent +document from himself sent the day before; without hesitation he ordered +the secretary to answer it, signed the answer and, receiving it as +vice-governor, set to work again, racking his brains and scribbling +an insulting letter to himself. He regarded this as a proof of his +disinterested honesty. + +For six months I was in harness in the provincial government. It was +disagreeable and extremely tedious. Every morning at eleven o’clock I +put on my uniform, buckled on my civilian sword, and went to the office. +At twelve o’clock the military governor arrived; taking no notice of the +councillors, he walked straight to the corner and put down his sabre +there. Then, looking out of the window and straightening his hair, he +went towards his easy-chair and bowed to those present. Scarcely had +the sergeant with fierce, grey moustaches that stood up at right angles +to his lips solemnly opened the door and the clank of the sabre become +audible in the office, when the councillors got up and remained standing +with backs bent until the governor had bowed to them. One of my first +actions, by way of protest, was taking no part in this collective rising +and reverential expectation, but sitting quietly and only bowing when he +bowed to us. + +There were no great discussions or heated arguments; it rarely happened +that a councillor asked the governor’s opinion, still more rarely that +the governor put some business question to the councillors. Before +every one lay a heap of papers and every one signed his name, it was a +signature factory. + +Remembering Talleyrand’s celebrated injunction, I did not try to +distinguish myself by my zeal and attended to business only so far as was +necessary to escape reprimand or avoid getting into trouble. But there +were two classes of work in my section towards which I considered I had +no right to take so superficial an attitude; these were matters relating +to the dissenters and to the abuse of power by the landowners. + +Dissenters are not consistently persecuted in Russia, but something comes +over the Synod, or the Ministry of Home Affairs, all of a sudden, and +they make a raid on some dissenting convent, or some community, plunder +it, and then subside again. The dissenters usually have intelligent +agents in Petersburg who warn them of coming danger; the others at once +collect money, hide their books and their ikons, stand drink to the +orthodox priests, and stand drink to the orthodox police-captain and buy +themselves off; with that, the matter rests for ten years or so. + +In the reign of Catherine there were a great many Duhobors[48] in the +Novgorod Province. Their leader, the old head of the posting drivers, in +Zaitsevo, I think it was, enjoyed immense respect. + +When Paul was on his way to his coronation at Moscow he ordered the old +man to be summoned before him, probably with the idea of converting him. +The Duhobors, like the Quakers, do not take off their caps, and the +grey-headed old man went up to the Emperor of Gatchina with head covered. +This was more than the Tsar could put up with. A petty and meticulous +readiness to take offence was a particularly striking characteristic of +Paul and is, indeed, of all his sons except Alexander; having a monstrous +power in their hands, they have not even the wild beast’s sense of power +which keeps the big dog from attacking the little one. + +‘Before whom are you standing in your cap?’ shouted Paul, puffing and +showing every sign of frenzied rage: ‘do you know me?’ + +‘I do,’ answered the dissenter calmly, ‘you are Pavel Petrovitch.’ + +‘Put him in chains: to penal servitude with him! to the mines!’ the +chivalrous Paul exclaimed. + +The old man was seized and the Tsar ordered the village to be set fire +to on four sides and the inhabitants to be sent to exile in Siberia. At +the next station some one in attendance on the Tsar threw himself at his +feet and said that he had ventured to delay the carrying out of the will +of the Most High, and was waiting for him to repeat it. Paul was somewhat +more sober and perceived that setting fire to villages and sending men +to the mines without a trial was a queer way of recommending himself to +the people. He commanded the Synod to investigate the peasants’ case and +ordered the old man to be incarcerated for life in the Spasso-Yefimyevsky +Monastery; he thought that the orthodox monks would torment him worse +than penal servitude; but he forgot that our monks are not merely good +orthodox Christians but also men who are very fond of money and vodka; +while the dissenters drink no vodka and are not sparing of their money. + +The old man had the reputation of a saint among the Duhobors. They +came from all parts of Russia to do homage to him and paid with gold +for admission to see him. The old man sat in his cell, dressed all in +white, and his friends draped the walls and the ceiling with linen. +After his death they gained permission to bury his body with his kindred +and carried him in triumph upon their shoulders from Vladimir to the +province of Novgorod. Only the Duhobors know where he is buried. They are +persuaded that he had the gift of working miracles in his lifetime and +that his body is untouched by decay. + +I heard all this partly from the governor of Vladimir, I. E. Kuruta, +partly from the post-drivers in Novgorod, and partly from a lay-brother +in the Spasso-Yefimyevsky Monastery. Now there are no more political +prisoners in the monastery, though the prison is full of priests and +church servants of all kinds, disobedient sons of whom their parents have +complained, and so on. The archimandrite, a tall, broad-shouldered man in +a fur cap, showed us the prison yard. When he went in, a non-commissioned +officer with a gun went up to him and reported: ‘I have the honour +to report to your Reverence that all is well in the prison and that +the prisoners are so many.’ The archimandrite in answer gave him his +blessing—what a mix-up! + +The business relating to the dissenters was of such a nature that it +was best not to raise the subject again. I looked through the documents +referring to them and left them in peace.... On the other hand, those +relating to the abuse of the landowners’ power needed a thorough +overhauling. I did all I could and scored a few victories in that boggy +path; set one young girl free from persecution and put one naval officer +under arrest. These I believe were the only things I can boast of in my +official career. + +A certain lady was keeping a servant-girl in her house without any +documentary evidence of ownership; the girl petitioned that her claims +to freedom should be inquired into. My predecessor had very sagaciously +thought fit to leave her until her case was decided in complete bondage +with the lady who claimed her. I had to sign the documents; I turned to +the governor and observed that the girl would not be in a very enviable +position in her mistress’s house after lodging this petition. + +‘What’s to be done with her?’ + +‘Keep her in the police-station.’ + +‘At whose expense?’ + +‘At the expense of the lady, if the case is decided against her.’ + +‘And if it is not?’ + +Luckily at that moment the provincial prosecutor came in. A prosecutor +from his social position, from his official relations, from the very +buttons on his uniform, is bound to be an enemy of the governor, or at +least to thwart him in everything. I purposely continued the conversation +in his presence. The governor began to get angry and said that the whole +question was not worth wasting a couple of words on. The prosecutor +cared not a straw what became of the girl or how she was treated, but he +immediately took my side and advanced a dozen different points from the +code of laws in support of it. The governor, who in reality cared as +little, said to me, smiling ironically, that it was much the same whether +she went to her mistress or to the prison. + +‘Of course she will be better off in prison,’ I observed. + +‘It will be more consistent with the intention expressed in the code,’ +observed the prosecutor. + +‘Let it be as you like,’ the governor said, laughing more than ever. +‘You’ve done a service to your protégée: when she has been in prison for +a few months she will thank you for it.’ + +I did not continue the argument, my object was to save the girl from +domestic persecution; I remember that two months later she was released +and received her legal freedom. + +Among the unsettled questions in my department there was a complicated +correspondence lasting over several years, concerning the acts of +violence of a retired naval officer called Strugovshtchikov and his +various misdeeds in the management of his estate. The question was raised +on the petition of his mother, afterwards the peasants made complaints. +He had come to some arrangement with his mother, and himself charged +the peasants with intending to kill him, without, however, adducing any +serious proofs. Meanwhile it was clear from the evidence of his mother +and his house-serfs that the man was guilty of all sorts of lawless +violence. The business had been sleeping the sleep of the just for more +than a year; it is always possible to drag a case out with inquiries and +unnecessary correspondence and then, recording it settled, to file it on +the archives of the office. A recommendation had to be made to the Senate +that he should be put under restraint, but for this purpose the assent of +the Marshal of Nobility was necessary. As a rule, the Marshal of Nobility +evades giving it, being disinclined to lose a vote. It rested entirely +with me whether the case was pushed forward, but a _coup de grâce_ from +the marshal was essential. + +The marshal of the Novgorod Province, a nobleman with a Vladimir medal +who had served in the militia in 1812, tried to show that he was a +well-read man when he met me, by talking in the bookish language of the +period before Karamzin; on one occasion, pointing to a monument which +the nobility of Novgorod had raised _to itself_ in recognition of its +patriotism in 1812, he alluded with feeling to the severe and sacred +character of a marshal’s duties, and the flattering honour of so weighty +a trust. + +All that was to the good. The marshal came to the office in connection +with certifying the insanity of some church servitor; after all the +presidents of all the courts had exhausted their whole store of foolish +questions, from which the lunatic might well have concluded that they too +were a little deranged, and had finally certified him as insane, I drew +the marshal aside and described the case to him. The marshal shrugged +his shoulders, assumed an air of horror and indignation, and ended by +referring to the naval officer as an arrant scoundrel ‘who cast a black +shadow on the stainless reputation of the nobility of Novgorod.’ + +‘You would, of course,’ said I, ‘give us the same answer in writing, if +we appealed to you?’ + +The marshal, caught unawares, promised to answer conscientiously, adding +that ‘honour and uprightness were the invariable attributes of the +nobility of Russia.’ + +Though I had some doubts of the invariability of those attributes, I +pushed the case forward and the marshal kept his word. The case was +brought before the Senate, and I well remember the sweet moment when +the decree of the Senate reached my section, appointing trustees to +superintend the naval officer’s estate and putting him under the +supervision of the police. The naval officer was persuaded that the case +had been shelved, and, thunderstruck at the decree, came to Novgorod. He +was at once told how it had happened; the infuriated officer threatened +to fall upon me from behind a corner, to engage ruffians and lie in wait, +but, being unaccustomed to strategy on land, quietly disappeared from +sight in some distant town. + +Unfortunately the ‘attributes’ of brutality, debauchery, and violence +with house-serfs and peasants appear to be more ‘invariable’ than those +of ‘honour and uprightness’ among the nobility of Russia. Of course +there is a small group of cultured landowners who are not knocking their +servants about from morning to night, are not thrashing them every day, +but even among them there are ‘Pyenotchkins’[49]; the rest have not yet +advanced beyond the stage of ‘Saltytchiha’[50] and the American planters. + +Rummaging about, I found the correspondence of the provincial government +of Pskov concerning a certain Madame Yaryzhkin. She flogged two of +her maids to death, was tried on account of a third, and was almost +completely acquitted by the Criminal Court, who based their verdict among +other things on the fact that the third one did not die. This woman +invented the most surprising punishments, beating with a flat iron, with +gnarled sticks, or with a washing bat. + +I do not know what the girl in question had done, but her mistress +surpassed herself. She made the girl kneel down on some boards into which +nails had been driven; in this position she beat her about the back and +the head with a washing bat, and when she was exhausted, called the +coachman to take her place; luckily he was not at hand and she went out +to find him, while the girl, half frantic with pain and covered with +blood, rushed out into the street with nothing on but her smock and ran +to the police-station. The police-inspector took her evidence and the +case went its regular course. The police and the department of justice +were busy over it for a year; finally the court, obviously bribed, very +sagaciously decided to call the lady’s husband and to admonish him +to restrain his wife from such punishments, while, leaving her under +suspicion of having brought about the death of two servants, they forced +her to sign an undertaking not to punish the maids for the future. On +this understanding the unfortunate girl, who had been kept somewhere else +while the case was going on, was handed over to her mistress again. + +The girl, in terror of the future, began writing one petition after +another; the matter reached the ears of the Tsar; he ordered it to +be investigated, and sent an official from Petersburg. Probably the +Yaryzhkins’ means were not equal to bribing the Petersburg gendarmes and +officials from the various Ministries, and the case took a different +turn. The lady was exiled to Siberia, her husband was put under +restraint. All the members of the Criminal Court were sent for trial; how +their trial ended I don’t know. + +In another place[51] I have told the story of the man flogged to death by +Prince Trubetskoy and of the _Kammerherr_ Bazilevsky who was thrashed by +his own servants. I will add one more story of a lady. + +A serf-girl in the family of a colonel of gendarmes at Penza was carrying +a kettle full of boiling water. Her mistress’s child ran against the +servant, who spilt the boiling water, and the child was scalded. The +mistress to suit the punishment to the offence ordered the servant’s +child to be brought and scalded its hand from the samovar.... + +Pantchulidzev, the governor, hearing of this monstrous incident, +expressed his heartfelt regret that he was in somewhat strained relations +with the colonel of the gendarmes and consequently felt it improper to +take proceedings which might seem to be instigated by personal motives! + +And then sensitive hearts wonder at the peasants murdering their +landowners with their whole families, or at the soldiers of the military +settlement of Staraya Russa massacring all the Russian Germans and all +the German Russians. + +In the servants’ quarters and in the maids’ rooms, in the villages and +the police-cells, perfect martyrologies of terrible crimes lie buried; +the memory of them haunts the soul and in course of generations matures +into bloody and merciless vengeance _which it is easy to prevent_ now, +but it will hardly be possible to stop when it has begun. + +Staraya Russa, the military settlements! Terrible words! Can it be that +history (bought beforehand by Araktcheyev’s bribe[52]) will never pull +away the shroud under which the government has concealed the series of +crimes coldly and systematically perpetrated in establishing the military +settlements. There have been plenty of horrors everywhere, but in that +case they were marked by the peculiar imprint of Petersburg and Gatchina, +of German and Tatar influence. The beating with sticks and scourging with +lashes for the insubordinate went on for months together ... the blood +was never dry on the floors of the rural offices ... every crime that +may be committed by the people against their torturers on that tract of +land is justified beforehand. + +The Mongolian side of the Moscow period which distorted the Slav +character of the Russians, the inhumanity of army discipline which +distorted the Petersburg period, are embodied in the full perfection of +their hideousness in Count Araktcheyev. Araktcheyev was undoubtedly one +of the most loathsome figures that rose to the surface of the Russian +government after Peter the Great. That ‘flunkey of a crowned soldier,’ as +Pushkin said of him, was the model of an ideal corporal as seen in the +dreams of the father of Frederick the Second; he was made up of inhuman +devotion, mechanical accuracy, the exactitude of a chronometer, routine +and energy, a complete lack of feeling, as much intelligence as was +necessary to carry out orders, and enough ambition, spite, and envy to +prefer power to money. Such men are a real treasure to Tsars. Only the +petty resentment of Nicholas can explain the fact that he made no use of +Araktcheyev, but only employed his underlings. + +Paul discovered Araktcheyev through sympathy. So long as Alexander’s +sense of shame lasted he kept him at some distance; but, carried away by +the family passion for discipline and drill, he entrusted him with the +secretariat of the army. Of the victories of this general of artillery +we have heard little[53]; for the most part he performed civilian duties +in the military service, his battles were fought on the soldiers’ backs, +his enemies were brought him in chains, they were already conquered. In +the latter years of Alexander I. Araktcheyev governed all Russia. He +interfered in everything, he had a blank cheque giving him a right to +everything. As Alexander grew feebler and sank into gloomy melancholy, he +hesitated a little between Prince A. N. Golitsyn and Araktcheyev and in +the end naturally inclined towards the latter. + +At the time of Alexander’s Taganrog visit the house-serfs on +Araktcheyev’s estate in Gruzino killed the Count’s mistress; this murder +gave rise to the investigation of which to this day, _i.e._, seventeen +years later, the officials and inhabitants of Novgorod speak with +horror. The mistress of Araktcheyev, an old man of sixty, was one of his +serf-girls; she oppressed the servants, quarrelled and told tales, while +the Count thrashed them according to the stories she brought him. When +their patience was completely exhausted, the cook killed her. The crime +was so cleverly carried out that no clue to the guilty party could be +found. + +But a guilty party was essential for the vengeance of the doting old man; +he laid aside the affairs of the Empire and galloped off to Gruzino. +In the midst of tortures and blood, in the midst of groans and dying +shrieks, Araktcheyev, with the blood-stained kerchief which had been +taken from his mistress’s body tied round him, wrote touching letters +to Alexander, and Alexander replied: ‘Come and find rest from your +unhappiness in the bosom of your friend.’ Alexander’s doctor must have +been right when he declared that the Emperor had water on the brain +before his death. + +But the guilty parties were not discovered. The Russian has a wonderful +power of holding his tongue. + +Then, utterly infuriated, Araktcheyev made his appearance in Novgorod, +where a crowd of victims was brought. With his face yellow and livid, +with frenzied eyes, and still wearing the blood-stained kerchief, he +began a new investigation and the affair began to assume monstrous +proportions. Eighty persons were seized again, people were arrested in +the town on the strength of one word, on the slightest suspicion, for a +remote rumour. Persons passing through the town were seized and flung +into prison. Merchants and clerks were kept waiting for weeks to be +questioned.... The inhabitants hid in their houses and were afraid to go +out into the streets; no one dared to refer to the case. + +Kleinmihel, who served under Araktcheyev, took part in this +investigation.... + +The governor transformed his house into a torture chamber; people were +tortured near his study from morning till night. The police-captain of +Staraya Russa, a man accustomed to horrors, broke down at last, and when +he was ordered to question under the rods a young woman who was several +months gone with child he was not equal to the task. He went in to the +governor (it took place before old Popov, who told me about it) and told +him that the woman could not be flogged, that it was directly contrary +to the law; the governor leapt up from his seat and, mad with fury, +rushed to the police-captain brandishing his fist: ‘I order you to be +arrested at once, I will have you brought to trial, you are a traitor.’ +The police-captain was arrested and resigned his commission; I am truly +sorry I do not know his surname, but may his previous sins be forgiven +him for the sake of that minute—I say it in all seriousness—of heroism; +in dealing with these ruffians it was no trifling matter to show human +feeling. + +The woman was put to the torture, she knew nothing about the crime ... +but she died. + +And Alexander ‘of blessed memory’ died too. Not knowing what was coming, +these monsters made one last effort, and succeeded in finding the guilty +party; he, of course, was condemned to the knout. In the midst of this +judicial triumph came a command from Nicholas putting them all under +arrest and stopping the whole case. + +Orders were given that the governor[54] should be tried by the Senate +... even by them he could not be acquitted. Nicholas issued a gracious +manifesto remitting sentences after his coronation. The friends of Pestel +and Muravyov were not included under it, but this scoundrel was. Two or +three years later, he was condemned at Tambov for the abuse of power on +his own property. + +At the beginning of the year 1842 I was hopelessly weary of provincial +government and was trying to invent an excuse to get out of it. While I +was hesitating between one means and another, a quite external chance +decided for me. + +One cold, winter morning as I reached the office I found a peasant woman +about thirty standing in the vestibule; seeing me in uniform, she fell on +her knees before me and bursting into tears besought my protection. Her +master, Mussin-Pushkin, was sending her with her husband to a settlement, +while their son, a boy of ten, was to remain behind; she implored +permission to take the child with her. While she was telling me this, the +military governor came in; I motioned her towards him and repeated her +petition. The governor explained to her that children of ten or over may +be kept by the landowners. The mother, not understanding the stupid law, +went on entreating him; he was bored, while the woman, sobbing, clutched +at his legs, and, roughly pushing her away, he said: ‘What a fool you +are, don’t I tell you in plain Russian that I can do nothing? Why do you +persist?’ After that he went with a firm and resolute step to the corner, +where he put down his sabre. + +And I went too.... I had had enough.... Did not that woman take me for +one of _them_? It was high time to end the farce. + +‘Are you unwell?’ asked a councillor called Hlopin, who had been +transferred from Siberia for some shortcoming or other. + +‘I am ill,’ I answered, and I got up, made my bows and went out. The same +day I sent in a declaration that I was ill, and never set foot again in +the office of the provincial government. Then I asked for my discharge on +the ground ‘of illness.’ The Senate gave me my discharge accompanying it +with promotion to the grade of Court Councillor; but Benckendorf at the +same time informed the governor that I was forbidden to visit Petersburg +or Moscow and required to live in Novgorod. + +When Ogaryov returned from his first tour abroad, he did his utmost in +Petersburg to procure permission for us to return to Moscow. I had little +faith in the success of such a patron and was fearfully bored in the +wretched little town with the great historical name. Meanwhile Ogaryov +managed our business for us. On the 1st of July 1842 the Empress, on the +occasion of some family festivity, besought the Tsar’s permission for me +to live in Moscow in consideration of my wife’s illness and her desire +to return there. Nicholas gave his consent, and three days later my wife +received from Benckendorf a letter in which he informed her that I was +permitted to accompany her to Moscow in consequence of the Tsarina’s +intervention. He concluded the letter with the agreeable announcement +that I should remain under police supervision there also. + +I felt no regret at leaving Novgorod and made haste to get away as +soon as possible. Before I left it, however, almost the only agreeable +incident of my sojourn there occurred. + +I had no money! I did not want to wait for a remittance from Moscow and +so I commissioned Matvey to try and borrow fifteen hundred roubles for +me. Within an hour Matvey returned with an innkeeper called Gibin, whom +I knew, and at whose hotel I had stayed for a week. Gibin, a stout +merchant with a good-natured expression, handed me a roll of notes with a +bow. + +‘What rate of interest do you ask?’ I inquired. + +‘Well, you see,’ answered Gibin, ‘I am not a money-lender and I won’t +take interest, but since I heard from Matvey Savelyevitch that you are in +want of money for a month or two, and we are very much pleased with you, +and thank God have the money to spare, I have brought it along.’ + +I thanked him and asked him if he would like a simple receipt for the +money or an I O U, but to this, too, Gibin answered: ‘That is quite +unnecessary, I trust your word more than a piece of stamped paper.’ + +‘Upon my word, but I may die you know.’ + +‘Well then, in my distress at your decease I shouldn’t worry much about +the loss of the money.’ + +I was touched and pressed his hand warmly instead of giving him a +receipt. Gibin embraced me in the Russian fashion and said: ‘We see it +all of course, we know you were not serving of your own will and didn’t +behave yourself like the others, God forgive them, but stood up for us +and for the ignorant people, so I am glad of a chance to do you a good +turn too.’ + +As we were driving out of the town late in the evening our driver +pulled up the horses at the inn and Gibin gave me a cake the size of a +cart-wheel as provision for the journey.... + +That was my ‘medal for good service.’ + + + + +Chapter 28 + +GRÜBELEI—MOSCOW AFTER EXILE—POKROVSKOE—THE DEATH OF MATVEY—FATHER IOANN + + +Our life in Novgorod had not been a happy one. I had gone there not in +a spirit of self-sacrifice and determination, but with my heart full of +annoyance and exasperation. This second exile, with the vulgarity of its +attendant circumstances, irritated more than it distressed me; it was +not enough of a calamity to rouse the spirit, but was merely a worry, +without the interest of novelty or the stimulus of danger. The mere sight +of the provincial government office with its Elpidifor Antihovitch Zurov, +its councillor Hlopin, and its vice-governor Pimen Arapov, was enough to +poison my existence. + +I was ill-humoured; Natalie sank into melancholy. Her sensitive nature, +accustomed from childhood to tears and sadness, gave way again to +brooding depression. She dwelt on painful ideas and readily let slip +everything bright and joyful. Life was becoming more complex; there were +more chords in it and with them more anxiety. After Sasha’s illness had +come the shock of the secret police, her premature confinement, and the +loss of the baby. The death of a baby is scarcely felt by the father, +anxiety over the mother makes him almost forget the little creature +that has flitted away almost before it had time to cry and take the +breast. But to the mother the new-born child is something close and +familiar already; for months she has been _feeling_ him; there has been a +physical, chemical, nervous connection between them; moreover, the baby +makes up to the mother for the burden of pregnancy, for the sufferings of +childbirth; without him her agonies are motiveless and resented, without +him the unwanted milk affects the brain. + +After Natalie’s death I found among her papers a note which I had quite +forgotten. It consisted of a few lines I had written an hour or two +before Sasha’s birth. It was a prayer, a blessing, a dedication of the +unborn creature to ‘the service of humanity,’ his ‘consecration to the +path of hardship.’ + +On the other side was written in Natalie’s hand: ‘_January 1, +1841_.—Yesterday Alexandr gave me this; he could not have made me a +better present, those lines at once called up the whole picture of our +three years of unbroken, boundless happiness, resting on love alone. So +we have passed into a new year; whatever awaits us in it, I bow my head +and say for both of us, Thy Will be done! We welcomed the New Year at +home, in solitude, only A. L. Vitberg was with us. Little Alexandr was +missing from our party, he was so sound asleep, neither past nor future +exists for him yet. Sleep, my angel, free from care, I pray for you—and +for you too, my child unborn, whom I love with all a mother’s love. Your +movements, your tremors mean so much to my heart, and may your coming +into the world be glad and blessed!’ + +But the mother’s hope was not fulfilled: the babe was sentenced by +Nicholas. The deadly hand of the Russian autocrat intervened here +also—and here also destroyed a life! + +The baby’s death left its mark upon her soul. + +With sadness and rankling resentment we went to Novgorod. + +The _truth_ of that period, as it was seen at the time, without the +artificial perspective given by distance, without the cooling effect of +years, and the different light thrown on it by a series of other events +is preserved in a diary of the period. I had meant to keep a diary, had +begun it many times, but had never kept it up. On my birthday in Novgorod +Natalie gave me a white book in which I sometimes wrote down what was in +my heart, or my head. + +This book has been preserved. On the first page Natalie wrote: ‘May all +the pages of this book, and of all your life be bright and joyous!’ + +Three years later she added on the last page: ‘In 1842 I hoped that all +the pages of your diary might be bright and untroubled; three years have +passed since then, and looking back I do not regret that my hope has not +been fulfilled; both joy and suffering are essential for a full life, and +you will find peace in my love, in the love with which my whole being, my +whole life is filled. Peace to the past and a blessing for the future! +March 25th, 1845, Moscow.’ + +This was what was written on the 4th of April 1842: + +‘Oh Lord, what unbearable misery! Is it weakness or have I a right to +feel it? Must I reckon my life finished? Is all my readiness for work, +all my craving for self-expression to be crushed, till my yearnings are +stifled and I am ready for a life of emptiness? It might be possible +to exist with no object but one’s own inner development, but the same +awful depression comes over me in the midst of study. I must express +myself—perhaps from the same necessity as the grasshopper churrs ... and +for years to come I have to drag this weight.’ + +And as though frightened at my own words, I followed this with Goethe’s +lines:— + + ‘Gut verloren—etwas verloren, + Ehre verloren—viel verloren, + Musst Ruhm gewinnen, + Da werden die Leute sich anders besinnen. + Mut verloren—alles verloren, + Da wäre es besser nicht geboren’; + +and later:— + + ‘My shoulders are breaking but still they will bear!’ + +‘Will those who come after us understand, will they appreciate all +the horror, all the tragic side of our existence? And meanwhile our +sufferings are the soil from which their happiness will develop; will +they understand what makes us slothful, makes us seek all sorts of +pleasure, drink and so on? Why do we not lift our hands to great tasks, +why at the moment of rapture do we not forget our despondency? Let them +stop with musing and sadness before the stones under which we slumber: we +have deserved their mournful thoughts! + +‘I cannot go on for long in my position, I shall be stifled—and I don’t +care how I get out of it, if only I get out of it. I have written to +Dubbelt (I asked him to try and get leave for me to return to Moscow). +Writing that letter made me ill, _on se sent flétri_. I expect it is what +prostitutes feel when first they begin selling themselves.’[55] + +And it was just this vexation, this impatient cry of revolt, this +fretting for free activity, this feeling of fetters on the limbs that +Natalie misunderstood. + +Often I found her with tear-stained eyes by Sasha’s cot; she assured me +that it was nothing but nerves, that I had better not notice it, not +question her.... I believed her. + +One evening I returned home late; she was in bed when I went in, I was +feeling sick at heart. F—— had asked me to go and see him in order to +tell me that he suspected that one of our common acquaintances was in +relations with the police. That sort of thing usually sends a pang to the +heart, not so much from the possible danger as from the feeling of moral +repulsion. + +I walked up and down the room in silence, turning over what I had just +heard, when all at once I fancied that Natalie was weeping; I took her +handkerchief, it was soaked with tears. + +‘What is it?’ I asked, alarmed and distressed. + +She took my hand and in a voice full of tears said: + +‘My dear, I will tell you the truth; perhaps it is self-love, egoism, +madness, but I feel, I see, that I cannot distract your mind, you are +bored,—I understand it, I don’t blame you, but it hurts me, it hurts +me, and I cry. I know that you love me, that you are sorry for me, but +you don’t know what makes you depressed, what gives you that feeling of +emptiness, you feel the poverty of your life—and, indeed, what can I do +for you?’ + +I was like a man suddenly roused in the middle of the night and told +something terrible before he is quite awake: he is frightened and +trembling, though he doesn’t yet understand what is wrong. I was so +completely at peace, so sure of our deep, perfect love, that I never +spoke about it; it was the great assumption upon which all our life +rested; a serene consciousness, a boundless conviction of it excluding +doubt, even distrust of myself, was the fundamental basis of my +happiness. Peace, tranquillity, the aesthetic side of life, all that—as +before our meeting in the graveyard on the 9th of May 1838, as at the +beginning of our life in Vladimir—rested on her, on her, on her! + +My deep distress and my astonishment at first dissipated these clouds, +but in a month or two they began to return. I soothed and comforted +her; she smiled herself at the dark phantoms, and again the sunshine +brightened our corner; but as soon as I had forgotten them they raised +their heads again for no reason whatever, and when they had passed I +began to be afraid of their return. + +Such was the state of mind in which in July 1842 we moved to Moscow. + +Moscow life, at first too full of distractions, could have no beneficial +nor soothing effect. Far from helping her at that time I gave only too +much cause for her _Grübelei_ to grow deeper and more intense.[56] + + * * * * * + +Natalie became absorbed in melancholy, more and more her faith in me +wavered, her idol was shattered. It was a crisis, the painful transition +from youth to maturity. She could not get over the thoughts that fretted +her heart, she was ill, and grew thin—while terrified and reproaching +myself I stood beside her and saw that I had no longer the boundless +power with which I had once been able to exorcise the spirits of gloom. +It wounded me to see it, and I was immensely sorry for her. + +They say that children grow in illness; in this spiritual illness which +brought her to the verge of consumption she made colossal strides in +growth. From the slanting rays and glow of dawn she passed by this +sorrowful path into the clear bright light of midday. Her health was +equal to the strain and that was all that mattered. Without losing one +iota of her womanliness she developed intellectually with extraordinary +boldness and depth. Gently and with a smile of self-sacrifice she left +behind what was lost beyond recall, without sentimental repining, without +a sense of personal grievance, and on the other hand without conceited +satisfaction. + +It was not in a book, nor through a book, that she found her freedom, +but through living and clearness of vision. Unimportant incidents, +bitter experiences, which for many would have passed without a trace, +left a deep imprint on her soul and were enough to arouse her mind to +immense activity. A slight hint was sufficient for her to pass from one +deduction to another, till she reached that fearless grasp of the truth +which is a heavy burden even for a man to bear. Mournfully she parted +from her shrine in which had stood so many holy things, bathed in tears +of grief and joy; she left them without blushing as big girls blush at +the sight of their doll of yesterday. She did not turn away from them, +she let them go with anguish, knowing that she would be the poorer, the +more defenceless for the loss, that the soft light of the glimmering ikon +lamp would be followed by the grey dawn, that she must make friends with +harsh, callous forces, deaf to the murmur of prayer, deaf to the hopes of +immortality. She gently put them from her bosom like a dead child, and +gently laid them in the grave, respecting in them her past life, their +poetry and the comfort they had given at some moments. Even later she +disliked touching them coldly, just as we avoid wantonly stepping on a +grave. + +With this intense mental activity, with this shattering and rebuilding of +all her convictions, she naturally needed rest and solitude. + +We went away to my father’s estate near Moscow. + +And as soon as we found ourselves alone surrounded by trees and fields, +we breathed freely and looked clearly at life again. We stayed in the +country until late autumn. From time to time we had visitors from Moscow. +Ketscher stayed a month with us, all our friends arrived for the 26th of +August, Natalie’s nameday; then again peace and stillness and the woods +and the fields—and no one but ourselves. + +Pokrovskoe, standing solitary, surrounded by immense forest estates, was +of quite a different and much more serious character than Vassilyevskoe, +lying so sunnily with its villages on the bank of the Moskva. This +difference was even noticeable in the peasants. The Pokrovskoe peasants, +hemmed in by woods, were less like people living within reach of Moscow +than those of Vassilyevskoe, although as a fact they were fifteen miles +nearer the city. They were quieter, more unsophisticated, and hung +together very closely. My father moved a wealthy family of peasants from +Vassilyevskoe to Pokrovskoe, but the peasants of the latter place never +considered the family as belonging to their village, but always called +them ‘the settlers.’ + +With Pokrovskoe, too, I had been closely connected throughout my +childhood; I used to stay there when I was too young to remember, and +from the year 1821 we used to spend a few days there almost every summer +on our way to and from Vassilyevskoe. There lived old Kashentsov, +paralysed and in disgrace since 1813, who dreamed of seeing his master, +the Senator, in all his finery and regalia; there lived—and later in the +cholera of 1831 died—the venerable grey-headed corpulent village elder, +Vassily Yakovlyev, whom I remembered at all his stages with his beard +first dark brown and afterwards quite grey; there lived my foster-brother +Nikifor, who prided himself on the fact that he had for my benefit been +robbed of the milk of his mother, who died later on in a madhouse.... + +The little village of some twenty or twenty-five homesteads stood at some +distance from our rather large house. On one side lay a semicircular +meadow that had been cleared and fenced in, on the other there was a view +of the river, dammed up for the sake of a mill which they had intended to +build fifteen years before, and of an ancient wooden church all on the +slant, which my uncle the Senator and my father, who owned the estate in +common, had also been intending to repair for the last fifteen years. + +The house which had been built by the Senator was a very good one; there +were lofty rooms, big windows, and on both sides porches that were like +verandahs. It was built of choice thick logs, not covered with anything +either outside or in, but with the crevices stuffed up with tow and moss. +The walls smelt of resin, which oozed out here and there like drops of +amber. Before the house there was a small field and beyond that began +a dark forest of large trees, through which ran a track to Zvenigorod; +in the other direction a side-path ran like a thin, dusty ribbon by the +village and was lost in the rye, coming out through the Maikovsky factory +and going on to the Mozhaisk road. There was the forest stillness and +the forest sound, the incessant buzzing of flies, bees, and insects, +... and the fragrance ... that fragrance of grass and forest, made up +of the scents of plants, of leaves, but not of flowers ... which I have +so eagerly sought in Italy and in England, both in spring and in hot +summer, but scarcely ever found. Sometimes one gets a whiff of it in the +hay-field, or when the sirocco is blowing, or before a storm ... and it +brings back the little place before the house, on which, to the great +distress of the village elder and the house-serfs, I would not have the +grass clipped close; on the grass a boy of three, rolling in the clover +and the dandelions among the grasshoppers and ladybirds, and we ourselves +and youth and friendship! + +The sun has set, it is still very warm, we don’t want to go home, we +still sit on the grass. Ketscher sorts out the mushrooms and scolds me +for no reason. Can that be the tinkle of a bell? Is it something for +us? Perhaps—it is Saturday. ‘It must be the police-captain going off +somewhere,’ says Ketscher, suspecting that it is not. The troika rattles +through the village, rumbles over the bridge, disappears behind a knoll, +and the only road is towards us. While we run to meet it, it drives up +to the house; Shtchepkin has already rolled off it like an avalanche, +smiling, kissing his hand, and roaring with laughter, while Byelinsky, +cursing the distance from Pokrovskoe and the way that Russian carts and +Russian roads are made, is still alighting and stretching himself, and +already Ketscher is scolding them: ‘What devil has brought you at eight +o’clock in the evening, couldn’t you have come sooner, it is all that +perverse Byelinsky, he can’t get up early, what were you thinking about?’ + +‘Why, he is more of a savage than ever,’ says Byelinsky, ‘and what a head +of hair he has grown! You would do for the moving forest in _Macbeth_, +Ketscher. Wait a bit, don’t exhaust all your abuse, there are villains +coming later still.’ + +Another troika is already turning into the yard, Granovsky and Yevgeny +Korsh. + +‘Have you come to stay long?’ + +‘Two days.’ + +‘Splendid!’ and Ketscher himself is so pleased that he greets them almost +as Tarass Bulba greeted his sons. + +Yes, that was one of the happy periods of our life. Of past storms +nothing remained but a trace of vanishing cloud; at home among our +friends there was perfect harmony. + +But a senseless fatality very nearly spoilt it all. + +One evening Matvey, showing Sasha something on the dam where we too were +standing, slipped and fell into the water on the shallow side. Sasha +was terrified, he rushed up to him as he got out, held him tight in his +little arms and repeated tearfully: ‘Don’t go there, you’ll be drowned!’ +No one imagined that the child’s embrace was the last Matvey would +receive and that Sasha’s words were indeed a terrible prophecy. + +Drenched and covered with mud, Matvey went to bed and we never saw him +again. + +At seven o’clock next morning I was standing on the verandah when I +heard voices growing louder and louder, confused screams, and then +peasants came into sight running at full speed. ‘What has happened?’ ‘Oh, +something dreadful,’ they answered, ‘your man is drowning ... they pulled +one out in time but they can’t get the other.’ I rushed to the river, the +village elder was there with his boots off and his breeches tucked up; +two peasants were throwing a net from a canoe. Five minutes later they +shouted: ‘We have got him, we have got him!’ and dragged Matvey’s dead +body to the bank. The young man, so blooming, handsome, and rosy-cheeked, +lay with wide-open eyes in which there was no trace of life, and already +the lower part of his face was beginning to swell. The village elder laid +the body on the bank, sternly bade the peasants not to touch it, threw a +coat over it, set a man to watch it, and sent for the rural police.... + +When I returned home I met Natalie; she knew already what had happened +and ran to me sobbing. + +We were sorry, very sorry to lose Matvey. He had played so intimate a +part in our little family, he was so closely bound up with all the chief +events of its last five years, and he loved us so truly that we could not +easily get over his loss. + +‘Perhaps,’ I wrote at the time, ‘death may have been a blessing for him, +life had terrible blows in store for him and he had no way of avoiding +them. But it is dreadful to witness such a way of escape from the future. +He had developed under my influence, but in too great a hurry; his +development was a worry to him through its one-sidedness.’ + +The melancholy side of Matvey’s life lay precisely in the gulf which the +haphazard character of his education had brought with it, and in his +incapacity for filling it up, his lack of strength of will for overcoming +it. In him generous feelings and a tender heart were stronger than +intellect or character. Rapidly, like a woman, he assimilated a great +deal, especially of our outlook on life; but he was incapable of going +humbly back to the first elements, to the ABC, and filling in the blanks +and empty places by study. He did not like his calling and, indeed, he +could not like it. Social inequality is nowhere apparent in so degrading +and humiliating a form as in the relations between master and servant. +Rothschild in the street is far more on an equality with the beggar who +stands with a broom and sweeps away the mud before him than with his +valet in silk stockings and white gloves. + +The complaints made of servants, which we hear every day, are quite +as just as the servants’ complaints against their masters, and that +not because either class has grown worse than it was, but because they +are growing more and more conscious of their mutual relation. It is +oppressive to the servant and corrupting to the master. + +We are so accustomed to our aristocratic attitude to servants that we do +not notice it at all. How many good-natured and sensitive young ladies +there are in the world, ready to weep over a frozen puppy and to give +their last farthing to a beggar, who will yet drive through severe frost +to a fancy dress ball for the benefit of the destitute in Syria, or a +concert given for burnt-out villagers in Abyssinia, and will ask their +mother to stay for one more quadrille without a thought of the little +postillion boy on horseback with the blood freezing in his veins in the +night frost. + +The attitude of masters to their servants is loathsome. The workman at +any rate knows what his job is; he does something; he can do it more +quickly and then be free, besides he can dream of becoming his own +master. The servant can never finish his work, he is like a squirrel in +a wheel; life makes dirt, it makes dirt incessantly, and the servant is +incessantly cleaning up after it. He is obliged to take upon himself all +the petty discomforts of life, all its dirty and tedious aspects. He is +put into a livery to show he is not his own man but some one else’s. He +waits upon a man who is twice as strong and healthy as himself, he must +step into the mud that the other may go dry-shod, he must be cold that +the other may be warm. + +Rothschild does not make the starving Irishman look on at his feasts of +Lucullus, he does not send him to pour out Clos-de-Vougeot for twenty +persons, with the unspoken understanding that if he pours out a glass for +himself he will be turned away as a thief. The Irish peasant is luckier +too than the indoor slave because he does not know what soft beds and +fragrant wines are like. + +Matvey was fifteen when he came to me from Sonnenberg, with him I lived +in exile and with him in Vladimir; he was our servant at the time when +we were without money. He looked after Sasha like a nurse, and had a +boundless faith in me and a blind devotion to me, which came from his +understanding that I was not really a master. His relation to me was more +like that which existed in old days between the pupils of the Italian +artists and their _maestri_. I was often vexed with him, but not in the +least as a servant.... I felt worried about his future; oppressed by +his position and unhappy about it, he did nothing to escape from it. At +his age if he had cared to work he might have begun a new life; but to +do so needed persevering hard work, often tiresome and often childish. +His reading was confined to novels and poetry. His understanding and +appreciation of them was sometimes very correct, but serious reading +wearied him. He was slow and inaccurate in reckoning, and his writing was +bad and illegible. How often have I insisted on his working at arithmetic +and handwriting, but never could get him to do it: instead of Russian +grammar, he would at one time take up the French alphabet, at another +German dialogues; of course, that was waste of time and only discouraged +him. I used to scold him vigorously for it; he would be mortified, +sometimes shed tears and say that he was an unlucky man and that it was +too late to study; sometimes he would come to such depths of despair as +to wish for death, would fling up all his pursuits and would spend weeks, +even months in idleness and boredom. + +With modest abilities and not too wide an aim, all might yet have been +well. But unhappily in those spiritually sensitive but soft characters +the energy is mostly wasted on rushing ahead in spurts, and there is +no energy left for going forward steadily. From the distance they have +a vision of education and culture on their poetical side, they would +like to grasp them, forgetting their lack of technical equipment, of the +fingering without which no instrument is mastered. + +I often asked myself whether his half-education was not a poisoned gift; +what awaited him in the future? + +Fate cut the Gordian knot. + +Poor Matvey! Even his funeral was surrounded with all the gloomy +oppressiveness and horrible accompaniments which were yet typically +Russian. At midday the police-sergeant arrived together with his clerk +and our village priest, a very old man and a great drunkard. They saw +the body, asked questions and sat down to write the answers. The priest, +who was neither writing nor reading, put on a big pair of silver-rimmed +spectacles and sat in silence sighing, yawning, and making the sign of +the cross over his mouth, then suddenly turned to the village elder and +making a movement as though he had an insufferable pain in his back, +asked him: ‘I say, Savely Gavrilovitch, will there be a little bit of +lunch?’ + +The village elder, a dignified peasant, promoted to his position by the +Senator and my father, because he was a good carpenter, did not belong to +the village (consequently he knew nothing of what went on in it). He was +very handsome in spite of being sixty. He stroked his beard, which was +combed out like a fan, and as though he had nothing whatever to do with +the matter, answered in a deep bass, looking at me from under his brow: +‘About that we can give no information!’ + +‘There will,’ I answered, and called a servant. + +‘Thanks be to Thee, O Lord! and indeed it is high time; I get up early, +Alexandr Ivanovitch, and I am sick with hunger.’ + +The police-sergeant laid down his pen and, rubbing his hands, said, +preening himself: ‘I fancy Father Ioann is hungry; a good thing too, if +our host doesn’t mind, we might have a snack.’ + +The servant brought a cold lunch with sweet vodka, home-made liqueurs, +and sherry. + +‘Say a blessing, Father, since you are shepherd; set the example and we +sinners will follow you,’ observed the police-sergeant. + +With great haste and with an extremely condensed grace, the priest took +a wine-glass of sweet vodka, put a bit of crumb of bread into his mouth, +munched it, and at the same time drank off another glassful, and then +quietly and persistently set to work on the ham. + +The police-sergeant, too—and this is vividly impressed on my memory—was +particularly pleased with the sweet vodka, and after taking a second +glass, he turned to me with the air of a connoisseur and observed: ‘I +expect your _Doppelkümmel_ came from widow Rouget’s?’ + +I had no idea where the vodka had been bought, and told them to bring +the bottle; the vodka really had come from widow Rouget’s. What practice +a man must have had to be able to tell the name of the maker from the +bouquet of a vodka! + +When they had finished, the village elder put a bundle of oats and a +sack of potatoes in the police-sergeant’s cart; the clerk, who had had +a good deal to drink in the kitchen, got on the box, and he and the +police-sergeant drove away. With unsteady footsteps the priest set off +homewards, picking his teeth with a shaving. I was giving orders to the +servants about the funeral when suddenly Father Ioann stopped and began +waving his hands: the village elder ran up to him and then back to me. + +‘What has happened?’ + +‘Oh, the Father bade me ask your honour,’ answered the elder, not +concealing a smile, ‘“Who,” says he, “will arrange a memorial feast for +the dead man?”’ + +‘What did you tell him?’ + +‘I told him not to be anxious; there will be pancakes all right, I said.’ + +Matvey was buried, pancakes and vodka were given to the priest, and it +all left a long, dark shadow behind it. I still had a terrible task +before me—telling his mother. + +I cannot part from this worthy priest of the Church of the Veil of Our +Lady in the village of Pokrovskoe without saying a little more about him. + +Father Ioann was not a fashionable priest from the seminary; he did not +know the Greek declensions nor the Latin syntax. He was over seventy, +and he had spent half his life as a deacon in a big village belonging +to Elizaveta Alexeyevna Golohvastov, who induced the Metropolitan to +ordain him priest and appoint him to a vacancy in my father’s village. +Though he had tried all his life to accustom himself to taking an immense +quantity of strong drink, he could never get over its effect, and hence +was invariably drunk after midday. He drank to such an extent that often +after a wedding or a christening in neighbouring villages, which formed +part of his parish, the peasants would carry him out dead-drunk, lay him +like a sheaf of corn on his cart, tie the reins to the bar in front and +send him off under the sole supervision of his horse. The nag, who knew +the road well, brought him home without fail. His wife, too, got drunk +every time the Lord sent her the means. But what is more remarkable is +that his daughter at fourteen could toss off a whole teacupful of vodka +without turning a hair. + +The peasants despised him and all his family; on one occasion, they even +complained against him to the Senator and to my father, who asked the +Metropolitan to inquire into the matter. The peasants charged him with +being very extortionate in asking for money, with refusing for over three +days to bury a man without payment beforehand, and declining to perform +weddings altogether until he had been paid. The Metropolitan or the +Consistory found the peasants’ complaint a just one and sent Father Ioann +for two or three months to humbler duties. The priest returned from this +correction not only twice as drunken, but a thief as well. + +Our servants used to tell us that on the dedication day of the church an +old peasant, drinking with the priest when both were drunk, said: ‘You +are such a disgrace we had to bring it before his Reverence! You wouldn’t +mend your ways so they clipped your wings for you.’ The offended priest +is said to have replied: ‘Well, I pay you out, you rascals, for whether I +marry you or whether I bury you, it is the very worst prayers I say for +you.’ + +A year later, that is in 1844, we were again spending the summer in +Pokrovskoe. The grey-headed, thin, old priest was still drinking in the +same way, and still as unable to resist the effect of vodka. He got into +the habit of coming after service on Sundays to see me, drinking too much +vodka and sitting for two hours or more. I got sick of this. I told them +to tell him I was not at home, and actually hid in the wood to escape +from him. But even this did not settle him. ‘The master not at home?’ he +said, ‘but the vodka is at home, surely? I’ll be bound he did not take it +with him?’ My servant brought him out into the vestibule a large glass +of sweet vodka, and the priest, after drinking it and having a snack of +caviare, meekly went his way. + +At last our acquaintance was broken off completely. + +One morning the sacristan, a tall, lanky fellow with his hair done like +a woman’s, arrived to see me, together with his freckled young wife; +they were both in great excitement, both talked at once, both shed tears +simultaneously and wiped them away at the same moment. + +The sacristan in a sort of flat falsetto, his wife with a terrible lisp, +vied with each other in telling me that their watch had been stolen a few +days before and also a box in which there were fifty roubles, that the +sacristan’s wife had found the ‘fief’ and that this ‘fief’ was no other +than our worthy pastor and Father in Christ, Ioann. + +The proofs were conclusive; the sacristan’s wife had found a piece of +the lid of the stolen box amongst the rubbish swept out of the priest’s +house. They came to beg me to take their part. Although I explained +to them several times over the distribution of authority between the +spiritual and the secular powers, the sacristan still persisted and his +wife still wept; I did not know what to do. I felt sorry for them; they +valued their loss at ninety roubles. After thinking a little I ordered +the cart to be got ready and sent the village elder with a letter to +the police-captain; I asked him for the advice which the sacristan +hoped to get from me. Towards evening the village elder returned, the +police-captain had told him to give me a verbal message: ‘Drop the thing +or the Consistory will intervene and make a bobbery. Tell your master not +to interfere with the long-haired gentry if he does not want his hands +to stink.’ This answer, and the last observation particularly, Savely +Gavrilovitch delivered with great satisfaction. + +‘But that the Father stole the box,’ he added, ‘that is as sure as that I +am standing here.’ + +I regretfully repeated to the sacristan the answer of the secular +authority. The elder, on the contrary, said to him reassuringly: ‘Come, +why are you so down-hearted already? Wait a bit, we’ll be even with him +yet. Are you an old woman or a sacristan?’ + +And the elder with the help of others did get even with him. + +Whether Savely Gavrilovitch was a dissenter or not I do not know for +certain, but the peasants of the family brought from Vassilyevskoe when +my father sold it were all Old Believers. Sober, shrewd, and hard-working +people, they all hated the priest. One of them whom the peasants called +the corn-chandler had his own shop in Neglinny Street in Moscow. The +story of the stolen watch reached him at once; making inquiries, the +corn-chandler discovered that a deacon out of a place, a son-in-law of +the Pokrovskoe priest, had offered to sell or pawn a watch, and that this +watch was at the money-changer’s; the corn-chandler knew the sacristan’s +watch, he went to the money-changer’s and at once saw that it was the +very watch. Not sparing his horses in his delight, he arrived himself in +Pokrovskoe with the news. + +Then with the complete proofs in his hand, the sacristan went to the +head-priest of the district. Three days later I heard that the priest had +paid the sacristan a hundred roubles and they were reconciled. + +‘How was that?’ I asked the sacristan. + +‘The head-priest, as your honour heard, graciously sent for our Herod. He +kept him a long time and what passed I don’t know. Only afterwards he was +pleased to summon me and said to me sternly: “What is this silly quarrel? +For shame, young man, anything may happen in drink. The old man, as you +see, is old, he might be your father. He will give you a hundred roubles +to make it right. Are you satisfied?” “I am satisfied, your Reverence.” +“Well, if you are satisfied, then keep your jaw shut, there is no need +to set the bells ringing, he is over seventy, anyway; if you don’t, mind +I’ll make you smart too.”’ + +And this drunken thief, unmasked by the corn-chandler, came back to +perform his sacred duties before the same village elder who had so +confidently told me that he had stolen the box; within the choir the same +sacristan in whose pocket the celebrated watch was now for ever and ever +marking the fleeting hours; and—before the very same peasants! + +That happened in 1844, about thirty-five miles from Moscow, and I was an +eye-witness of it all! + +It would be no wonder if at the summons of Father Ioann the Holy Ghost, +as in Beranger’s ballad, refused to come down. + + ‘Non, dit l’esprit saint, je ne descends pas.’ + +How was it they did not dismiss him? + +A minister of the Church, our sages of Orthodoxy will tell us, can like +Caesar’s wife never be suspected. + + + + +Chapter 29 + +OUR FRIENDS + +THE MOSCOW CIRCLE—TABLE TALK—THE WESTERNERS (BOTKIN, RYEDKIN, KRYUKOV, +AND YEVGENY KORSH)—ON THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND + + +I + +With our visit to Pokrovskoe and the quiet summer we spent there begins +the harmonious, mature, and active part of our Moscow life, which lasted +till my father’s death and perhaps until we went abroad. + +Our nerves, overstrained in Petersburg and Novgorod, had recovered, our +spiritual storms had subsided. The agonising analysis of ourselves and of +each other, the useless reopening of recent wounds, the incessant going +back to the same painful subjects was over; and our shaken faith in our +own infallibility gave a truer and more earnest character to our lives. +My article _On a Drama_ was the last word of the sickness we had passed +through. + +On the external side, the only restriction we suffered from was police +supervision; I cannot say it was very oppressive, but the unpleasant +feeling of a Damocles’ cane wielded by the local police-constable was +very distasteful. + +Our new friends received us warmly, far more warmly than two years +before. Foremost among them stood Granovsky, he took the leading place +in those five years. Ogaryov was almost all the time abroad. Granovsky +filled his place for us. To him we are indebted for the happiest moments +of that period. There was a wonderful power of love in his nature. With +many I was more in agreement in opinion, but to him I was nearer—deep +down, somewhere in the soul. + +Granovsky and all of us were very busy, all hard at work, one lecturing +in the university, another contributing to reviews and magazines, +another studying Russian history; the first beginnings of all that was +done afterwards date from this period. + +By now we were far from being children; in 1842 I was thirty; we knew +only too well where our work was leading us, but we went on. We went +along our chosen path, no longer rashly but deliberately, with the calm, +even step to which experience and family life had trained us. This did +not mean that we had grown old, no, we were still young, and that is +how it was that some coming from the university lecture-room, others +publishing articles or editing newspapers were every day in danger of +being attested, dismissed, exiled. + +Such a circle of talented, cultured, many-sided, and pure-hearted people +I have met nowhere since, neither in the highest ranks of the political +nor on the summits of the literary and aristocratic world. Yet I have +travelled a great deal, I have lived everywhere and with all sorts of +people. I have been brought by the revolution into contact with all that +was foremost in culture, and I am honestly bound to say the same thing. + +The finished, self-contained personality of the Western European, which +surprises us at first by its specialisation, surprises us later by its +one-sidedness. He is always satisfied with himself, his self-sufficiency +offends us. He never forgets his personal views, his position is +altogether cramped and his morals only appropriate to paltry surroundings. + +I do not imagine that men were always like this here; the Western +European is not in a normal condition, _he is moulting_. Unsuccessful +revolutions have turned inwards, none of them have transformed him, +but each has left its trace and confused his ideas, while the natural +historical process has left in the foreground the slimy stratum of +the petty-bourgeois, under which the fossilised aristocratic classes +are buried and the rising masses submerged. Petty-bourgeoisdom is +incompatible with the Russian character—and thank God for it! + +Whether it is due to our carelessness, or our lack of moral stability +and of definite work, or our youth in the matter of culture, or the +aristocratic character of our bringing-up, any way we are on the one +hand far more artists in life, and on the other far simpler than Western +Europeans; we have not their specialised knowledge, but on the other hand +we are far more many-sided than they. Persons of culture are not common +amongst us, but their culture is richer, wider in its scope, free from +hedges and barriers. It is quite different in Western Europe. + +Talking to the nicest people here[57] you immediately reach +contradictions where there is nothing in common, and it is quite +impossible to convince. In this stubborn obstinacy and instinctive lack +of comprehension you seem to be knocking your head against the limits of +a completed world. + +Our theoretical differences, on the contrary, brought more living +interest into our lives, more craving for active exchange of opinions, +kept our minds more vigorous and helped us to progress; we grew in this +friction against each other, and in reality were the stronger for this +co-operation which Proudhon has so superbly described in the sphere of +mechanical labour. + +I love to dwell on that time of work in unison, of a full, throbbing +pulse, of harmonious order and manly struggle, on those years in which we +were young for the last time!... + +Our little circle met frequently, sometimes at the house of one, +sometimes of another, most often at mine. Together with chat, jests, +supper, and wine, there was the most active, the most rapid exchange of +ideas, of news, and of knowledge; every one handed on what he had read +or learned. Views came out in argument and what had been worked out by +each became the property of all. There was nothing of significance in any +sphere of knowledge, in any literature, or in any art, which did not come +under the notice of some one of us, and was not at once communicated to +all. + +It was just this character in our gatherings that dull pedants and +tedious scholars failed to understand. They saw the meat and the bottles, +but they saw nothing else. Feasting goes with fullness of life, ascetic +people are usually dry, egoistic people, we were not monks, we lived on +all sides, and, sitting round the table, gained more in culture and did +no less than those fasting toilers who grub in the backyards of science. + +I will not have anything said against you, my friends, nor against that +bright, splendid time; I think of it with more than love, almost with +envy. We were not like the emaciated monks of Zurbaran,[58] we did not +weep over the sins of the world, we only sympathised with its sufferings, +and were ready with a smile for anything, and not depressed with +forebodings of our sacrifices in the future. Ascetics who are for ever +austere have always excited my suspicion; if they are not pretending, +either their mind or their stomach is out of order. + + ‘You’re right, my friend, you’re right....’ + +Yes, you were right, Botkin—and far more so than Plato—when you sometimes +taught us, not in gardens and porticos (it is too cold in Russia without +a roof on) but round the friendly dinner-table, that a man may find +‘pantheistic enjoyment’ alike in contemplating the dance of the sea-waves +and of Spanish maidens, in listening to the songs of Schubert and in +sniffing the fragrance of turkey stuffed with truffles. + +Listening to your sage words, I appreciated for the first time the +democratic spirit of our language which talks of ‘hearing an odour,’ +putting smell on a level with sound. + +It was not for nothing that you left your lodging in Moroseika and +learned in Paris to respect the culinary art, and from the banks of the +Guadalquivir the religion not only of feet, but of calves, supreme and +sovereign, _soberana pantorrilla_! + +Yet Ryedkin was in Spain—but what good did he get from it? He went to +that land of historical lawlessness for the sake of making juridical +commentaries on Puchta[59] and Savigny.[60] Instead of looking at the +fandango and the bolero, he looked at the rising in Barcelona (which +ended exactly in the same way as every _cachucha_—that is in nothing) +and talked so much about it afterwards that the curator Strogonov shook +his head and began looking at Ryedkin’s lame leg and muttering something +about barricades, as though doubtful whether the radical jurist had +really hurt his leg falling out of the diligence on to the pavement in +loyal Dresden. + +‘What disrespect for learning! You know I don’t like such jokes,’ says +Ryedkin severely, not in the least vexed. + +‘That m—m—m—ay be so,’ observes Korsh, stammering, ‘but why is it you so +identify yourself with learning that one can’t make fun of you without +insulting it?’ + +‘Come now, there will be no end to it,’ says Ryedkin, and with the +determination of a man who has read the whole of Roteck[61] attacks the +soup, pelted lightly with Kryukov’s jests—elegantly modelled on an +antique pattern. + +But the attention of all has already abandoned them; it is bent upon the +sturgeon, which is expounded by Schtchepkin himself, who has studied the +flesh of contemporary fish more thoroughly than Agassiz did the bones of +antediluvian ones. Botkin glances at the sturgeon, screws up his eyes +and gently shakes his head, not from side to side but backwards and +forwards; only Ketscher, indifferent on principle to the splendours of +this world, lights his pipe and speaks of something else. Do not be angry +with these lines of nonsense; I will not go on with them, they dropped +almost unconsciously from my pen when I thought of our Moscow dinners; +for a minute I forgot both the impossibility of repeating jokes and the +fact that these sketches are living only for me, and for few, very few, +survivors. I feel terrified when I think how short a time ago the path +seemed so long, so very long before us all!... + +And now those who have gone rise up before my eyes, not with the cloud +of death about them, but young, full of strength. One of them, like +Stankevitch, died far away from home—I mean E. P. Galahov. + +How we used to laugh at his stories! It was not merry laughter, though, +but more like that which Gogol sometimes excites. Jests and witticisms +flashed from Kryukov and from Yevgeny Korsh like sparkling wine, +from their exuberance. There was nothing bright in Galahov’s humour, +it was the humour of a man out of harmony with himself and with his +surroundings, thirsting for peace and serenity, but with no great hope of +finding them. + +Having been brought up in the aristocratic fashion, Galahov very early +got into the Izmailovsky Regiment and also left it very early, and then +set to work to educate himself in earnest. With a vigorous, but more +impulsive and passionate than dialectic mind, he tried with petulant +impatience to wring out the truth, and the practical truth too, +immediately applicable to life. He did not notice, as the greater number +of Frenchmen do not, that truth can only be reached by method and remains +inseparable from it; truth as a result is but a truism, a commonplace. +Galahov sought not with modest self-abasement what was to be found, but +sought for a truth that was to be comforting, and it is no wonder that +it eluded his capricious pursuit. He was vexed and angry. People of that +type cannot live in negation, in analysis; dissection is hateful to them, +they seek for something ready-made, complete, creative. What could our +age, and in the reign of Nicholas too, give Galahov? + +He rushed hither and thither, knocking at every door, even at the +Catholic Church, but his living soul was revolted by the gloomy twilight, +the damp, grave-like, prison atmosphere of her comfortless crypts. +Leaving the old Catholicism of the Jesuits and the new of Buchez,[62] he +was beginning to approach philosophy, but her cold, inhospitable portals +repelled him, and for several years he found rest in Fourierism. + +The ready-made organisation, the obligatory regulations and almost +barrack-like discipline of the phalanstery, though the critical may +find little to like in it, has undoubtedly great attractions for those +tired people who beg almost with tears for Truth to take them in her +arms and lull them to sleep. Fourierism offers a definite aim—work, and +work in common. Men are very often ready to give up their own will for +the sake of being rid of hesitation and uncertainty. This occurs over +and over again in the most ordinary daily affairs. ‘Would you like to +go to the theatre to-day, or drive out of town?’ ‘As you like,’ answers +the other; they don’t know what to do and wait with impatience for some +circumstance to decide for them. This was the groundwork upon which +Cabet’s[63] settlement, the communistic convent, the Stauropigalian and +Icarian communities were formed in America. The restless French workmen, +educated by two revolutions and two reactions, began at last to be +exhausted and to be assailed by doubts, frightened by them; they were +glad of something new, renounced their aimless freedom, and submitted in +Icaria to a strict discipline and subordination which was certainly no +less severe than the monastic rule of the Benedictines. + +Galahov was too cultured and independent to be completely lost in +Fourierism, but for some years it attracted him. When I met him in Paris +in 1847 the feeling he cherished for the phalanstery was more like the +tenderness we feel for the school at which we have studied, for the house +in which we have spent some peaceful years, than that which believers +have for their church. + +In Paris Galahov was even more charming and original than in Moscow. His +aristocratic character, his generous, chivalrous ideas were wounded at +every step; he looked at the petty-bourgeois world surrounding him there +with the disgust with which fastidious people look at something dirty. +Neither the French nor the Germans impressed him, and he rather looked +down on many of the heroes of the day—with extreme simplicity pointing +out their petty triviality, mercenary views, and insolent conceit. In his +disdain for these people he even displayed a national haughtiness, really +quite foreign to him. Speaking, for instance, of a man whom he greatly +disliked, he would by his expression, by his smile and the screwing up +of his eyes, compress into the one word ‘German’ a whole biography, a +whole physiology, a regular series of the petty, coarse, clumsy failings +especially characteristic of the German race. + +Like all nervous people Galahov was very variable; he was sometimes +silent and dreamy, but _par saccades_ would talk freely and with heat, +would carry his listeners away by serious subjects on which he had felt +deeply, and sometimes made them roar with laughter at the unexpected +freakishness of phrase or startling aptness of the pictures he sketched +in two or three strokes. + +To repeat the things he said is almost impossible. I will recall as +best I can one of his stories, and that in a brief extract. In Paris +conversation somehow turned on the unpleasant feeling with which we cross +our frontier. Galahov began describing how he had travelled for the last +time to his estate; it was a _chef-d’œuvre_. + +‘I drive up to the frontier; rain, sleet, a log painted black and white +lying across the road; we wait, they won’t let us through. I look +out: a Cossack with a pike on horseback comes riding down upon us. +“Your passport, please.” I give it to him and say, “I’ll come to the +guard-house with you, brother, it is very wet here.” “You can’t go there, +sir.” “Why so?” “Kindly wait.” I turned towards the Austrian guard-house, +but that was no good either: another Cossack with the face of a Chinaman +seemed to spring out of the earth. “You can’t go there, sir!” What had +happened? “Kindly wait!” And the rain was pouring and pouring.... All +at once a sergeant shouts from the guard-house: “Lift it up!” There is +a clanking of chains and the striped guillotine begins rising; we drive +under it, the chains clank again and the beam descends. There, I thought, +I am caught. In the guard-house a military clerk is copying out my +passport: “Is this yourself?” he asks. I promptly give him a _zwanziger_. +Then the sergeant comes in; he says nothing, but I make haste and give +him a _zwanziger_. “Everything is correct, you can go on to the Customs.” +I get in, drive off ... only I still fancy they are pursuing me. I +look round—a Cossack with a pike—trot, trot, after me.... “What is it, +brother?” “I am escorting your honour to the Customs.” At the Customs a +clerk in spectacles looks through my books. I give him a _thaler_ and +say, “You needn’t trouble, the books are all scientific, medical!” “To be +sure they are: hey! porter, lock up the box again!” Again a _zwanziger_. + +‘They let me go at last. I take a _troika_, we drive past endless fields; +suddenly there is a glow in the distance, it grows redder and redder ... +a fire. “Look,” I say to the driver, “how dreadful!” “It is no matter,” +he answers, “it must be a cottage or a barn burning. Come, come, look +alive, get on!” Two hours later the sky is red on the other side; this +time I do not even ask, comforted by the reflection that it is a hut or a +barn on fire. + +‘I came to Moscow from the country in Lent. The snow had almost melted, +the sledge-runners grated on the cobbles, the street lamps were dimly +reflected in the dark pools, and the trace-horse flung up the frozen +mud in large clods straight into one’s face. And what is very queer, as +soon as the spring comes and there are four or five fine days, clouds of +dust appear instead of the mud; the police-master coughs, and standing +anxiously on his droshky points with dissatisfaction at it, while the +policemen bustle about and scatter powdered brick by way of laying the +dust!’ + +Galahov was extremely absent-minded, and in him absent-mindedness was as +charming a defect as stuttering was in Yevgeny Korsh; sometimes he was +a little vexed, but as a rule he laughed himself at the extraordinary +mistakes into which he was continually falling. + +Madame H—— once invited him to an evening party. Galahov went with us +to hear ‘Linda di Chamonix’; after the opera he went to Chevalier’s, and +after spending an hour and a half there drove home, changed his clothes, +and went off to Madame H——’s. There was a candle burning in the vestibule +and some baggage was lying about. He went into the dining-room—there was +no one there; he went into the drawing-room, there he found Madame H——’s +husband, who had just come from Penza and was still in his travelling +clothes. He looked with surprise at Galahov, who inquired what sort of +a journey he had had and quietly sat down in an armchair. He said that +the roads were very bad and that he was very tired. ‘And where is Marya +Dimitryevna?’ asked Galahov. ‘She has been asleep for hours.’ ‘Asleep? +Why, is it so late?’ he asked, beginning to suspect the truth. ‘Four +o’clock,’ answered H——. ‘Four o’clock!’ repeated Galahov. ‘Excuse me, I +only wanted to congratulate you on your safe arrival.’ + +Another time he came to an evening party at the same house; all the men +were in swallow-tails and the ladies in evening dress. Galahov either +had not received an invitation or had forgotten it, anyway he entered +the drawing-room in his overcoat; he sat down, took a candle, lighted +a cigar, and began talking without observing the visitors or their +costumes. Two hours later he asked me: ‘Are you going anywhere?’ ‘No.’ +‘But you are in evening dress?’ I burst out laughing. ‘Ough, how absurd!’ +muttered Galahov, snatched up his hat and went away. + +When my son was five years old, Galahov brought him for the Christmas +tree a wax doll as tall as the child himself. Galahov sat the doll at the +table and awaited the effect of the surprise. When the Christmas tree was +ready and the doors were opened, Sasha, breathless with joy, moved slowly +about, casting fascinated eyes on the tinsel and candles, but suddenly he +stopped—stood stock still, flushed crimson, and with a roar rushed back. +‘What’s the matter, what’s the matter?’ we all asked; bathed in bitter +tears he only repeated: ‘There is a strange boy there, I don’t want him, +I don’t want him.’ He saw in Galahov’s doll a rival, an _alter ego_, and +was deeply mortified at it, but Galahov was even more deeply mortified; +he caught up the unlucky doll, went home, and for a long time disliked +speaking about it. + +The last time I met him was in the autumn of 1847 in Nice. The Italian +movement was working up just then: he was carried away by it. In spite +of his ironical attitude he kept romantic hopes and still eagerly ran +after convictions. Our long conversations, our arguments led me to +think of recording them. _From the Other Shore_ begins with one of our +conversations. I read the beginning of it to Galahov; he was then very +ill, visibly wasting away and on the brink of the grave. Not long before +his death he sent me in Paris a long letter full of interest. It is a +pity that I have not got it, I would have published extracts from it. + +From his grave I pass to another, fresher and even more dear. + + +II + +ON THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND + + ‘_Generous and pure in spirit with a heart_ + _Tender as a caress.... And friendship with him_ + _Lives in my memory like a fairy tale._’ + +... In 1840 when I was passing through Moscow I met Granovsky[64] for +the first time. He had only just come back from foreign parts and been +appointed to the Chair of History in the university. He attracted me by +his noble, thoughtful appearance, his melancholy eyes under overhanging +brows, and mournfully good-natured smile; in those days his hair was +long, and he was wearing a dark blue Berlin overcoat of a peculiar cut, +with velvet revers and cloth fastenings. His features, dress, dark +hair—all gave so much grace and elegance to his figure as he stood at the +dividing line between youth and a richly developing manhood, that even a +man not easily enthusiastic could not have remained indifferent to him. +I have always respected beauty, and looked upon it as a talent and a +strength. + +I had but a passing glimpse of him then, and carried away with me to +Vladimir a noble image, and a conviction, perhaps founded on it, that +he would one day be my friend. My presentiment did not deceive me. Two +years later, after I had been in Petersburg and, at the end of my second +exile, returned to live in Moscow, a close and deep friendship was formed +between us. + +Granovsky was gifted with an amazing tact of the heart. His whole nature +was so remote from the irritability of diffidence, from pretentiousness, +so clear, so candid, that he was extraordinarily easy to get on with. +He did not oppress me with his friendship, and his love was deep and +equally free from jealous exactingness and unconcerned indifference. I +do not remember that Granovsky ever touched roughly or awkwardly upon +those delicate ‘capillary tissues’ that shrink from light and noise and +exist in every man who has really lived. That was why one was not afraid +to speak to him of the things of which it is hard to speak even with +those most near and dear, whom one trusts completely though some scarcely +audible chords in them are not tuned to the same pitch. + +In contact with his loving, serene, and indulgent spirit all the angular +discords vanished, the voice of over-sensitive vanity was almost mute. +He was a uniting link for many things and many people among us, and +often brought together in their sympathy with him whole circles mutually +hostile, and friends on the brink of separation. Granovsky and Byelinsky, +completely unlike each other, were among the noblest and most remarkable +figures of our circle. + +Towards the end of the oppressive period from which Russia is now +emerging, when everything was crushed to the earth, when only the voice +of official infamy dared make itself heard, when literature had been +brought to a standstill, and instead of humane learning a theory of +slavery was taught, when the censorship shook its head over the parables +of Christ and blotted out Krylov’s _Fables_—in those days, if one saw +Granovsky on the lecture platform one’s spirit was comforted. ‘All is not +lost yet if he still goes on speaking,’ every one thought, and breathed +more freely. + +And yet Granovsky was not a fighter like Byelinsky, nor a dialectician +like Bakunin. His strength lay not in keen polemic nor in bold +denunciation, but just in positive moral influence, in the absolute +confidence which he inspired, in the artistic completeness of his nature, +the calm serenity of his spirit, the purity of his character, and in his +constant and profound protest against the existing order in Russia. Not +only his words were effective but also his silence; his thought, denied +free utterance, came out to plainly in his face that it was hard not to +read it, especially in a land in which a narrow despotism has trained +us all to guess and to divine the hidden word. In the gloomy years of +persecution from 1848 down to the death of Nicholas, Granovsky succeeded, +not only in keeping his chair in the university, but also his independent +views—and that because a feminine delicacy, a softness of expression, +and the reconciling power of which we have spoken were harmoniously +combined with chivalrous courage and the complete devotion of passionate +conviction. + +Granovsky reminds me of a number of the reflectively calm preachers and +revolutionaries of the reformation—not those fierce, turbulent spirits +who ‘feel their life fully in their wroth’ like Luther, but the serene, +mild reformers who put the crown of glory on their heads as simply as the +crown of thorns. Their gentleness nothing can ruffle, they go forward +with firm step but with no loud tramping of feet; judges fear these men, +they are ill at ease with them; their smile of reconciliation leaves a +sting in their torturer’s conscience. + +Such was Coligny himself, such were the best of the Girondists; and +certainly Granovsky in all the harmonious moulding of his soul, in his +romantic bent, in his dislike of extremes, might more readily have +been a Huguenot or a Girondist than an Anabaptist or a follower of the +Montagnards. + +Granovsky’s influence on the university, and on the whole of the younger +generation, was immense, and outlived him; he left a long streak of light +behind him. I look with peculiar tenderness at the books dedicated to his +memory by his former students, at the warm, enthusiastic lines about him +in their prefaces and in magazine articles, at the good, youthful desire +to connect their new work with the spirit of that friend, to touch gently +on his grave as they begin, to claim their intellectual pedigree from him. + +Granovsky’s development had been different from ours. Educated in Oryol, +he went to the Petersburg University. As he received but little money +from his father he was obliged from a very early age to write ‘to order’ +for the papers. He and his friend Yevgeny Korsh, whom he met in his +university days and with whom he maintained the closest friendship up to +his death, used to work for Senkovsky, who needed fresh energies and +inexperienced lads in order to transform their conscientious work into +the effervescing wine of ‘The Library of Good Reading.’ + +There was no tempestuous period of passion and dissipation in his life. +When he had taken his degree the Institute of Pedagogy sent him to +Germany. + +In Berlin Granovsky met Stankevitch, and that was the most important +event of his youth. + +Any one who knew them both would understand how immediately Granovsky and +Stankevitch must have rushed at each other. There was in them so much +that was similar, in character, in tendency, in age ... and each bore +within him the fatal seed of premature death. But mere resemblance is not +enough to give men this close intimacy, this enduring sense of kinship. +Only that love is deep and lasting in which each completes the other: for +active love difference is as necessary as resemblance; without it the +feeling is lifeless and passive and passes into a mere habit. + +There was a vast difference in the abilities of the two young men and in +the direction of their energies. Stankevitch, from early years trained +by the Hegelian dialectic, had a conspicuous talent for speculative +thought, and if he brought the aesthetic element into his thinking, +he certainly brought philosophy as much into aesthetics. Granovsky, +who had deep sympathy with the intellectual tendencies of the day, had +neither love nor talent for abstract thought. His choice of history as +his chief pursuit showed a clear understanding of his own vocation. He +would never have made either a metaphysician or a remarkable naturalist. +He could never have endured the passionless impartiality of logic, nor +the passionless objectivity of nature; he could not have renounced +everything for the sake of thought, nor have renounced himself for the +sake of observation; the doings of men, on the contrary, interested him +keenly. And, indeed, is not history the same thought and the same nature +expressed in a different form? Granovsky thought in history, learned from +history, and later on made propaganda through history, while Stankevitch +in a natural and poetic way communicated to him, not only the theory of +contemporary learning but also its method. + +Pedants who estimate the value of thought by the sweat and labour it has +cost will doubt this.... But, we would ask them, what about Proudhon +and Byelinsky? Had not they a better grasp even of Hegel’s method than +all the scholastics who studied it until they went bald and wrinkled? +And yet neither of them knew German, neither of them had read one of +Hegel’s works, nor one of the dissertations of his followers of the left +or right wing, but had only talked sometimes about his method with his +disciples.... Granovsky’s life in Berlin with Stankevitch was, to judge +from the stories of the one and the letters of the other, one of the +most radiant periods of his existence, in which the exuberance of youth, +of energy, of the first passionate impulses, of fun and irony without +malice, went hand in hand with earnest intellectual work, all warmed and +fostered by a deep, ardent friendship such as is only found in youth. + +Two years later they were separated. Granovsky went to Moscow to take +the Chair of History at the university; Stankevitch went to Italy for +his health and died of consumption. The death of Stankevitch was a +great shock to Granovsky. Long afterwards in my presence he received a +medallion of his dead friend; I have rarely seen such quiet, speechless, +overwhelming sorrow. + +It happened soon after his marriage. The harmony that surrounded his new +life with peace and calm was overcast with mourning. It was long before +the traces of it passed away—indeed, I do not know whether they ever +passed entirely. + +His wife was very young and hardly yet formed; she retained that peculiar +element of youthful awkwardness, even of the apathy which is not +infrequently met with in young girls with flaxen hair, especially if they +are of German descent. These natures, often gifted and strong, cannot +readily come to full consciousness when they awaken. The shock that had +awakened the young girl had been so tender and so free from pain and +conflict, had come so early that she had scarcely noticed it. Her blood +still flowed slowly and serenely. + +Granovsky’s love for her was a quiet, gentle affection, rather deep and +tender than passionate. There was something serene and touchingly calm in +the atmosphere of their youthful household. It did the heart good to see +at times beside Granovsky engrossed in his work the tall, willowy figure +of his silent companion, deeply in love and happy. Looking at them, I +used to think of the serene chaste families of the early Protestants who +fearlessly sang forbidden psalms, ready to go hand in hand, calmly and +firmly, to face the inquisitor. + +They seemed to me like brother and sister, the more so as they had no +children. + +We quickly became friends and saw each other almost every day; we sat +through the nights until dawn talking of one thing and another.... It +is in those wasted hours and through them that people grow together +inseparably and irrevocably. + +It is dreadful and painful to me to think that later on Granovsky and +I were for a long time at variance over theoretical convictions. To us +they were not something extraneous but the real foundation of our lives. +But I hasten to add that if time proved that we could think differently, +could fail to understand and could wound each other, time has also proved +with redoubled force later on that we could neither part nor cease to be +friends, that even death could not divide us. + +It is true that, much later, a streak of bitterness was added to a +theoretical difference between Granovsky and Ogaryov, who loved each +other ardently and deeply, but we shall see that it too was, though late, +completely effaced. + +As for our disputes Granovsky himself put an end to them; he concluded +a letter from Moscow to me in Geneva on August 25th, 1849, with the +following words. With pride and reverence I repeat them: ‘What was best +and strongest in my soul has gone into my affection for you two (that +is Ogaryov and me). There is in it something of passion which set me +weeping in 1846 and blaming myself for being unable to break a tie which +apparently could not last. Almost with despair I discovered that you were +bound fast to my soul with threads which I could not cut without tearing +away the living flesh. This interval has not been profitless to me. I +have come out of it victorious over the _worse side_ of myself. _Of the +romanticism for which you blamed me not a trace is left._ On the other +hand, all that was romantic in my very nature has gone into my personal +attachments. Do you remember my letter about your _Krupov_? It was +written on a night that I well remember. A black shroud dropped off my +soul, your image rose up before me in all its brightness, and I stretched +out my hand to you in Paris as lightly and lovingly as I held it out in +the happy holy minutes of our life in Moscow. It is not your talent only +that had so great an effect on me. That play brought all of you back to +me with a rush. Once you wounded me by saying: “Don’t build anything on +the personal, believe only in the universal,” while I always laid so much +stress on the personal. But for me personal and universal are blended in +you, that is why I love you so warmly and completely.’ + +Let these lines be remembered when my account of our difference is +read.... + +At the end of 1843 I published my articles on ‘Dilettantism in Learning.’ +Their success was a source of childlike pleasure to Granovsky. He used +to go from house to house with _Notes of the Fatherland_, used to read +them aloud himself with comments, and was seriously vexed if anybody did +not like them. After that it was my lot to see Granovsky’s success, and +a success of a very different order. I am speaking of his first public +lectures on the ‘Mediaeval History of France and England.’ + +‘Granovsky’s lectures,’ Tchaadayev said to me as we came away from +the third or fourth, out of a lecture-hall packed to overflowing with +ladies and all the aristocratic society of Moscow, ‘are of historical +significance.’ I entirely agreed with him. Granovsky turned the +lecture-hall into a drawing-room, a place for meeting, for social +intercourse of the _beau monde_. To do this he did not deck out history +in lace and gauze, quite the contrary; his language was severe, extremely +grave, full of force, daring, and poetry, which roused his hearers and +had a powerful effect on them. His boldness passed without provoking +interference, not from any compromises he made but from the mildness +of expression which was natural to him, from the absence of sentences +_à la française_, putting big dots on tiny i’s like the moral after a +fable. As he laid the events of history before his audience, grouping +them artistically, he spoke _in them_ so that the thought unuttered, but +perfectly clear, was the more readily assimilated by his hearers that it +seemed to be their own thought. + +The end of the first lecture was the scene of a regular ovation, a thing +unheard of in Moscow University. When at the end, deeply moved, he +thanked the audience, every one leapt up in a sort of delirium, ladies +waved their handkerchiefs, others rushed to the platform, pressed his +hands, asked for his portrait. I myself saw young men with flushed cheeks +shouting through their tears: ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ There was no possibility +of getting out. Granovsky, pale as a sheet, stood with his arms folded +and his head a little bent; he wanted to say a few words more but could +not. The applause, the shouting, the fury of approbation was redoubled, +the students ranged themselves on each side of the stairs and left the +general public to make a noise in the lecture-room. Granovsky made +his way, exhausted, to the council-room; a few minutes later he was +seen leaving it, and again there was endless applause; he turned with +a deprecating gesture, and, ready to drop with emotion, went into the +office. There I flung myself on his neck and we wept in silence.... + +Tears as happy flowed down my cheeks when the hero Ciceruacchio,[65] +in the Coliseum, glorified by the last rays of the setting sun, +dedicated his youthful son to the Roman people, who had risen in armed +insurrection, a few months before they both fell shot without trial by +the armed assassins of the graceless youth[66] who wore the crown! + +Yes, those were precious tears; the first, born of my faith in Russia, +the second, of my faith in the Revolution! + +Where is that Revolution? Where is Granovsky? Gone together with the boy +with the black curls, and the broad-shouldered _popolano_, and the others +who were so near and dear. Faith in Russia is still left. Surely it will +not be my lot to lose that also? + +And why did a blind chance carry off Granovsky, that noble worker, that +deeply suffering spirit, on the very threshold of a new age for Russia, +as yet obscure but different, anyway? Why did not fate let him breathe +that fresh air of which we have a breath and which does not smell so +strongly of the torture-chamber and the barracks? + +The news of his death was a terrible blow to me. I was on my way to the +railway station at Richmond when the letter was given me. I read it as I +walked along and literally did not at first understand it. I got into the +railway carriage. I did not want to read the letter again, I was afraid +of it. Strangers with stupid, ugly faces kept coming in and going out, +the engine whistled, I looked at it all and thought: ‘But it is absurd! +What? That man in all the flower of his age, he whose smile, whose glance +is before my eyes now—he no more?...’ I was overcome by a heavy torpor +and I felt horribly cold. In London I met A. Talandier; after greeting +him I said I had a letter with bad news, and as though I had only just +heard it, I could not restrain my tears. + +We had had little intercourse in later days, but I needed to know that +there, far away in our native land, that man was living! + +Without him Moscow was empty, another tie was snapped!... Shall I alone, +far away from all, ever be able to visit his grave—it has hidden as much +strength, as much of the future, as many thoughts, as much love and life, +as another, not quite unknown to him, which I have visited! + +Here I add some lines of mournful reconciliation which are so precious to +me that I have begged them as a gift for our memoirs. + + TO A DEAD FRIEND + + ‘Amid the burial urns and stones + Upon that gloomy Autumn day, + Uneven, damp, and freshly strewn + The new-made grave before me lay. + The gifts of love, the gifts of grief, + Placed by thy pupils’ hands were seen: + Fresh wreaths bestowed with tender care + Of fragrant flowers and foliage green, + Above it, stretching, dark and grim, + Reflecting the Autumnal mood, + The ancient guardians of the graves, + The pine-trees, cold, indifferent, stood. + The river, lapping at the banks + With trackless waves went, flowing, by, + Without a pause, without an end, + On, on,—into eternity. + ... + Thy tenderness was lost to me: + For years our lives were spent apart, + And the last greeting from thy lips + I did not hear, to rend my heart. + Our angry silence kept so long + Perchance was bitter grief to thee, + And I was powerless to forget + Thy deep, unmeant offence to me. + My error I could not confess, + We each were sure that we were wronged, + And when I hastened to thy side, + To bare my heart before thee, longed, + That my repentance thou should’st learn + And grant me pardon in return, + It was too late.... + Upon that day + In gloomy Autumn did I grieve + Beside thy new-made grave alone, + And could not make myself believe.... + And shall I see my friend no more? + And shall thine eyes be closed for aye? + Thy voice be hushed in sorrow’s hour? + Shall no word speed me on my way, + No fond embrace, when I depart? + And will thy loving heart not learn + The true devotion of my heart? + ’Tis over now, for ever gone— + The fearful truth I cannot flee, + Some words distracted, vague and wild + Fall from my lips, unmeaningly, + My body trembles like a leaf, + Some words of sad reproach I hear, + With bitter sobs my breast is rent, + My heart is numb with grief and fear, + The blood is freezing in my veins, + Oh, let me breathe! Oh, give me light! + What fearful dream oppresses me? + What frenzied vision haunts my sight? + ... + But I survived. Mid work and leisure + From day to day my life I spend, + But in my heart the grief still lingers, + And tears with laughter closely blend. + One souvenir alone is left me: + His picture as he lay at rest, + I gaze upon it: Oh, my brother, + Thine image lives within my breast! + And suddenly the thought arrests me: + ’Tis but a passing dream, this pain, + He does but sleep, serenely smiling, + To-morrow he will wake again. + His noble voice, upraised, will newly + The sacred gifts to youth impart, + The spirit free, the faith undaunted, + To stir the mind and fire the heart. + But once again, that sad remembrance ... + The funeral urns, thy new-made bed, + The flowers and foliage strewn upon it, + The grim custodians at its head ... + The river lapping at the banks + With trackless waves, that passes by, + Without a pause, without an end, + On, on—into eternity....’[67] + +Granovsky was not persecuted; the lawless cruelty of Nicholas’s agents +halted before his glance of mournful reproach. He died surrounded by the +love of the younger generation, the sympathy of all cultivated Russia, +recognised even by his enemies. Nevertheless I adhere to my expression, +yes, he knew great suffering. Not chains of iron alone wear life away; +in the one letter Tchaadayev wrote to me abroad (July 1851), he speaks of +the way he is perishing, growing feeble and with rapid steps approaching +the end—‘not from the oppression against which men revolt, but from that +which they endure with a touching resignation, and which for that very +reason is even more fatal.’ + +Before me lie three or four letters which I received from Granovsky in +later years; what a consuming deadly sadness there is in every line! + +‘Our position,’ he writes in 1850, ‘grows more insufferable every +day. Every progressive movement in Western Europe is followed by some +repressive measure here. People are being denounced by thousands. They +have twice been getting up a case against me during the last three +months. But what does personal danger matter in comparison with the +universal oppression and suffering? It has been proposed to shut the +universities, but for the present they have confined themselves to the +following measures: they have raised the students’ fees, and diminished +their number by a law according to which no more than three hundred +must be attending a university. In Moscow there are fourteen hundred +university students, so we must expel twelve hundred to have the right +to admit a hundred new ones. The Institute of Nobility is closed; many +institutions are threatened with the same fate, the Lyceum for instance. +Despotism is crying aloud that it cannot make terms with enlightenment. +New programmes have been drawn up for the Cadet Schools. The Jesuits +might envy the military pedagogue who drew up the programme. The priest +is instructed to instil into the cadets that the greatness of Christ +lies pre-eminently in submission to authority. He is depicted as a +model of submission and discipline. The teacher of history is to unmask +the trumpery virtues of the ancient republics and to bring out the +grandeur—not yet grasped by historians—of the Roman Empire, which lacked +but one thing, the hereditary character!... + +‘It is enough to drive one mad. It is a blessing for Byelinsky that he +died in time. Many decent people have sunk into despair and look with +blank apathy at what is being done—when will this world fall to pieces? + +‘I have made up my mind not to resign, but to wait at my post what the +fates bring me. I can do a little; let them turn me out themselves. + +‘... Yesterday the news came of Galahov’s death, and the other day there +was a rumour that you were dead too. When they told me that I almost +burst out laughing. Though after all why shouldn’t you die? It would be +no more stupid than the rest.’ + +In the autumn of 1853 he writes: + +‘My heart aches at the thought of what we were in old days’ (_i.e._, when +I was there) ‘and what we have become now. We drink our wine from old +habit, but there is no gladness in our hearts; only at the thought of you +my spirit renews its youth. My best, most comforting dream now is to see +you once again—and even that is not likely to come true.’ + +He ends one of his last letters like this: ‘On all sides a low vague +murmur can be heard, but where is there strength? where is there +resistance? It is bitter, brother,—and there is no escape in this life.’ + +In our North the savage autocracy wears men out quickly. With a pang of +dread I look back—it is like a battlefield, there lie the dead and the +maimed.... + +Granovsky was not alone, he was one of a group of young professors who +came back from Germany while we were in exile. They did a great deal +for the advancement of the Moscow University. History will not forget +them. Men of conscientious erudition, they were pupils of Hegel, Gantz, +Ritter, and others, just at the period when the dry bones of dialectic +began to be clothed with flesh, when learning ceased to consider itself +antagonistic to life, when Gantz used to come to his lectures not with +an ancient folio in his hand, but with the latest number of a review +from Paris or London. They were trying at that time to solve historical +questions of the day by the dialectic method; it was an impossible task, +but it put the facts in a clearer light. + +Our professors brought with them their cherished dreams, their ardent +faith in learning, and in men; they preserved all the fire of youth, and +the lecturer’s chair was for them a sacred lectern from which they were +called to preach the truth. They took their stand in the lecture-room +not as mere professional savants, but as missionaries of the religion of +humanity. + +And what has become of that Pleiades of young professors, including the +best of them, Granovsky? Dear Kryukov, brilliant, intelligent, learned, +died at thirty-five. Petcherin, the Hellenistic scholar, struggled and +struggled in the terrible conditions of Russian life, till, unable to +endure it, he went away without aim, without means, ill and shattered, to +foreign lands, wandered homeless and forlorn, became a Jesuit priest and +is burning Protestant Bibles in Ireland. Ryedkin became a secular monk, +serves in the Ministry of Home Affairs, and writes divinely inspired +articles, interspersed with texts. Krylov—but enough. _La toile! La +toile!_ + + + + +Chapter 30 + +OUR ‘OPPONENTS’ + +THE SLAVOPHILS AND PANSLAVISM—HOMYAKOV—THE KIREYEVSKYS—K. S. AKSAKOV—P. +Y. TCHAADAYEV + + ‘_Yes, we were their opponents, but very strange ones. We had + the same love, but not the same way of loving—and like Janus or + the two-headed eagle we looked in opposite directions, though + the heart that beat within us was but one._’—‘_The Bell_,’ p. + 90. (_On the death of K. S. Aksakov._) + + +I + +Beside our circle were our opponents, _nos amis les ennemis_, or more +correctly, _les ennemis nos amis_—the Moscow Slavophils. + +The conflict between us ended long ago and we have held out our +hands to each other; but in the early ’forties we could not but be +antagonistic—without being so we could not have been true to our +principles. We might not have quarrelled with them over their childish +homage to the childhood of our history; but accepting their orthodoxy +as meant in earnest, seeing their ecclesiastical intolerance on both +sides—in relation to learning and in relation to sectarianism—we were +bound to take up a hostile attitude to them. We saw in their doctrines +fresh oil for anointing the Tsar, new chains laid upon thought, new +subordination of conscience to the slavish Byzantine Church. + +The Slavophils are to blame for our having so long failed to understand +the Russian people and its history; their ikon-painter’s ideals and +incense smoke hindered us from seeing the realities of the people’s +existence and the foundations of village life. + +The orthodoxy of the Slavophils, their historical patriotism and +over-sensitive, exaggerated feeling of nationality were called forth by +the extremes on the other side. The importance of their outlook, what +was true and essential in it, lay not in orthodoxy, and not in exclusive +nationalism, but in those elements of Russian life which they unearthed +from under the manure of civilisation. + +The ides of nationality is in itself a conservative idea—the demarcation +of one’s rights, the opposition of self to another; it includes both the +Judaic conception of superiority of race, and the aristocratic claim to +purity of blood, and right to ascendancy. Nationalism as a standard, as +a war-cry, is only surrounded with the halo of revolution when a people +is fighting for its independence, when it is throwing off a foreign yoke. +That is why national feeling with all its exaggerations is full of poetry +in Italy and in Poland, while it is vulgar in Germany. + +For us to display our nationalism would be even more absurd than it is +for the Germans; even those who abuse us do not doubt it; they hate us +from fear, but they do not refuse to recognise us, as Metternich did +Italy. We have had to set up our nationalism against the Germanised +government and its renegades. This domestic struggle could not be raised +to the epic level. The appearance of Slavophilism as a school, and as a +special doctrine, was quite in place; but if the Slavophils had found no +other standard than the banner of the church, no other ideal than the +_Domostroy_,[68] and the very Russian but cumbrously tedious life before +Peter the Great, they would have passed away as an eccentric party of +changelings and cranks belonging to another age. The strength and future +of the Slavophils lay elsewhere. Their treasure may have been hidden in +church vessels of old-fashioned workmanship, but its value lay not in +its form, though at first they did not separate what was precious from +what was external. + +To their own historical traditions were added the traditions of all the +Slav peoples. Our Slavophils took sympathy with the western Panslavists +for identity of cause and policy, forgetting that their exclusive +nationalism was at the same time the cry of a people oppressed by a +foreign yoke. Western Panslavism on its first appearance was taken by +the Austrian government itself for a conservative movement. It developed +at the melancholy epoch of the Congress of Vienna. It was a period of +restorations and resurrections of all sorts, a period when every kind +of Lazarus, fresh and decayed, rose up from the dead. Together with +Teutschthum,[69] which looked for the renaissance of the _happy days_ of +Barbarossa and the Hohenstaufens, Czech Panslavism made its appearance. +The governments were pleased with this movement and at first encouraged +the development of international hatreds; the masses rallied again round +the idea of racial kinship, the bond of which was drawn tighter, and +were again turned aside from general demands for the improvement of +their lot. Frontiers became more impassable, ties and sympathies between +peoples were broken. It need hardly be said that only among apathetic and +feeble peoples was nationalism allowed to develop, and only so long as it +confined itself to archaeological and linguistic disputes. In Milan and +in Poland where nationalism was not confined to grammar, a tight rein was +kept upon it. + +The Czech Panslavism provoked Slavonic sympathies in Russia. + +Slavism, or Russianism, not as a theory, not as a doctrine, but as a +wounded national feeling, as an obscure tradition and a true instinct, as +antagonism to an exclusively foreign influence, has existed ever since +Peter the Great cut off the first Russian beard. + +There has never been any interval in the resistance to the Petersburg +forcible imposition of culture; it reappears in the form of the mutinous +Stryeltsi, punished, quartered, hanged on the walls of the Kremlin and +there shot by Menshikov and other favourites of the Tsar, in the form of +the Tsarevitch Alexis poisoned in the dungeon of the Petersburg fortress, +as the party of the Dolgorukys in the reign of Peter II., as the hatred +for the Germans in the time of Biron, as Pugatchov in the time of +Catherine II., as Catherine herself, the Orthodox German in the reign of +the Russian Holsteiner Peter III., as Elizabeth who ascended the throne +through the support of the Slavophils of those days (the people in Moscow +expected all the Germans to be massacred at her coronation.) + +All the dissenters are Slavophils. + +All the clergy, both white and black, are Slavophils of another sort. + +The soldiers who demanded the removal of Barclay de Tolly[70] on account +of his German name were the precursors of Homyakov and his friends. The +war of 1812 greatly developed the national consciousness and love for +the Fatherland. But there was nothing of the Old Believers’ Slavonic +character in the patriotism of 1812 which we see in Karamzin and Pushkin, +and in the Emperor Alexander himself. Practically it was the expression +of that instinct of strength which all powerful nations feel when they +are attacked by others; afterwards it was the triumphant feeling of +victory, the proud sense of successful resistance. But it was weak +on the theoretical side; to show their love of Russian history the +patriots adapted it to European manners; they translated Greek and Roman +patriotism from French into Russian and did not go beyond the line ‘_Pour +un cœur bien né que la patrie est chère!_’ Shishkov[71] was raving even +then, it is true, about the restoration of archaic forms of language, but +his influence was limited. As for the real speech of the people, the only +person who showed a knowledge of it was the Frenchified Count Rostoptchin +in his proclamations and manifestoes. + +As the war was forgotten, this patriotism subsided and finally +degenerated on the one hand into the mean cynical flattery of the +_Northern Bee_, on the other into the vulgar patriotism of Zagoskin’s +calling Shuya Manchester, and Shebuev[72] Raphael, and boasting of the +bayonets and the spears from the ices of Torneo to the mountains of the +Crimea. + +In the reign of Nicholas patriotism became something associated with +the knout, with the police, especially in Petersburg, where the savage +government ended, in harmony with the cosmopolitan character of the town, +by the invention of a national hymn after Sebastian Bach[73] and in +Prokopy Lyapunov[74]—after Schiller![75] + +To cut himself off from Europe, from enlightenment, from the revolution +of which he had been terrified since the Fourteenth of December, Nicholas +on his side raised the banner of orthodoxy, autocracy, and nationalism, +remodelled after the fashion of the Prussian standard and supported by +anything that came to hand—the barbaric romances of Zagoskin, barbaric +ikon-painting, barbaric architecture, by Uvarov, by the persecution +of the Uniats[76] and by ‘The Hand of the Most High saved the +Fatherland.’[77] + +The existence of the Petersburg Slavophilism of Nicholas was very +unfortunate for the Moscow Slavophils. Nicholas was simply flying to +nationalism and orthodoxy to escape from revolutionary ideas. The +Slavophils had nothing in common with him but words. Their extremes and +absurdities were disinterestedly absurd, and had no connection with the +secret police, or the Committee of Security, which of course did not +prevent their absurdities from being excessively absurd. + +Thus, for instance, there was staying in Moscow towards the end of the +’thirties the Panslavist Gaj who afterwards played an ambiguous part as +a Croatian agitator and was at the same time closely connected with the +Ban of Croatia, Jellachich.[78] Moscow people as a rule put implicit +trust in a foreigner; Gaj was more than a foreigner, more than one of +themselves; he was both at once. He had no difficulty in touching the +hearts of our Slavophils with the fate of their suffering and orthodox +brothers in Dalmatia and Croatia; an immense subscription was raised in a +few days, and moreover Gaj was given a banquet in honour of all Serbian +and Ruthenian sympathies. At the banquet one of the mildest (both in +voice and pursuits) of the Slavophils, a man of the _reddest_ orthodoxy, +probably a little elevated by the toasts to the Montenegrin Bishop and +to all sorts of great Bosnians, Czechs and Slovaks, improvised a poem in +which the following not quite Christian expression occurred: + + ‘I will feast on the blood of the Magyar and German.’ + +All who were not a little deranged heard this phrase with horror. +Fortunately the witty statistician Androssov rescued the bloodthirsty +poet; he jumped up from his chair, clutched a dessert knife, and said: +‘Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll leave you for a moment: it occurs to me that +my landlord Dietz, an old piano-tuner, is a German. I’ll just run and cut +his throat and be back directly.’ + +A roar of laughter drowned the indignation. + +It was while I was in exile and living in Petersburg and Novgorod that +the Moscow Slavophils formed themselves into this party so bloodthirsty +in its toasts. + +Their passionate and polemical character was particularly marked after +the appearance of Byelinsky’s critical articles; though even before that +they had to close their ranks and take a definite stand on the appearance +of Tchaadayev’s letter and the commotion it caused. + +That letter was in a sense the last word, the dividing point. It was a +shot that rang out in the dark night; whether it was something perishing +that proclaimed its end, whether it was a signal or a cry for help, +whether it heralded the dawn or foretold that it would never be—anyway, +it forced all to awake. + +What, one may wonder, is the significance of two or three pages published +in a monthly review? And yet such is the strength of utterance, such is +the power of the spoken word in a land of silence, unaccustomed to free +speech, that Tchaadayev’s letter shook all thinking Russia. And well it +might. There had been nothing written since _Woe from Wit_ which made so +powerful an impression. Between that play and the letter there had been +ten years of silence, the Fourteenth of December, the gallows, penal +servitude, Nicholas. It was the first break in the national development +since the period of Peter the Great. The empty place left by the strong +men who had been exiled to Siberia was not filled up. Thought languished, +men’s minds were working, but nothing was reached. To speak was +dangerous, and indeed there was nothing to say; all at once a mournful +figure quietly rose and asked for a hearing in order calmly to utter his +_lasciate ogni speranza_. + +In the summer of 1836 I was calmly sitting at my writing table in Vyatka +when the postman brought me the latest number of the _Telescope_. One +must have lived in exile and in the wilds to appreciate a new book. I +abandoned everything, of course, and set to work to cut the _Telescope_. +I saw ‘Philosophical Letters Written to a Lady,’ unsigned. In a footnote +it was stated that these letters had been written by a Russian in French, +that is, that it was a translation. This rather put me against them, and +I proceeded to read the criticisms and other matter. + +At last the turn came for the letters; from the second or third page +I was struck by the mournfully earnest tone. Every word breathed of +prolonged suffering, by now grown calm, but still bitter. It was written +as only men write who have been thinking for years, who have thought +much and learned much from life and not from theory.... I read further, +the letter grew and developed, it turned into a gloomy denunciation of +Russia, the protest of one who for all he has endured longs to utter some +part of what is accumulated in his heart. + +Twice I stopped to take breath and collect my thoughts and feelings, and +then again I read on and on. And this was published in Russian by an +unknown author.... I was afraid I had gone out of my mind. Then I read +the letter to Vitberg, then to S——, a young teacher in the Vyatka High +School, then read it again to myself. + +It is very likely that exactly the same thing was happening in all sorts +of provincial and distant towns, in Moscow and Petersburg and in country +gentlemen’s houses. I learned the author’s name a few months later. + +Long cut off from the people, part of Russia had been suffering in +silence under the most stupid and prosaic yoke, which gave them nothing +in return. Every one felt the oppression of it, every one had something +weighing on his heart, and yet all were silent; at last a man had come +who in his own way told them what it was. He spoke only of pain, there +was no ray of light in his words, nor indeed in his view. Tchaadayev’s +letter was a merciless cry of reproach and bitterness against Russia; it +deserved the indictment; had it shown pity or mercy to the author or any +one else? Of course such an utterance was bound to call forth opposition, +or Tchaadayev would have been perfectly right in saying that Russia’s +past was empty, its present insufferable, and that there was no future +for it at all, that it was a blank sheet, a terrible lesson given to the +nations of the plight to which a people can be brought by isolation and +slavery. This was both penitence and accusation; to know beforehand the +path of reconciliation is not the task of penitence, nor the task of +protest—or consciousness of guilt becomes a jest, and expiation insincere. + +But it did not pass unnoticed; for a minute all, even the drowsy and the +crushed, were roused, alarmed by this menacing voice. All were astounded, +most were offended, a dozen men loudly and warmly applauded its author. +Talk in the drawing-rooms anticipated government measures, provoked them. +The Russian patriot of German origin Vigel (well known from Pushkin’s +unflattering epigram) set them going. + +The review was at once prohibited; Boldyrev, the censor, an old man, +and the Rector of the Moscow University, was dismissed; Nadyezhdin the +editor was sent to Ust-Sysolsk; Nicholas ordered Tchaadayev himself to +be declared insane, and made to sign an undertaking to write nothing. +Every Saturday he was visited by the doctor and the police-master; they +interviewed him and made a report, that is, gave out over his signature +fifty-two false statements in accordance with the command of the Most +High—an intelligent and moral proceeding. It was they of course who were +punished. Tchaadayev looked with profound contempt on these tricks of the +truly insane caprice of power. Neither the doctor nor the police-master +ever hinted what they had come for. + +I had seen Tchaadayev once before my exile. It was on the very day of +Ogaryov’s arrest. I have mentioned already that on that day there was a +dinner party at M. F. Orlov’s. All the visitors were gathered together +when a man, bowing coldly, walked into the room. His original appearance, +handsome with a striking air of independence, was bound to attract every +one’s attention. Orlov took me by the hand and introduced me, it was +Tchaadayev. I remember little of that first meeting, I had no thoughts +to spare for him; he was as always, cold, grave, clever, and malicious. +After dinner Madame Rayevsky, Orlov’s mother-in-law, said to me: ‘How is +it you are so melancholy? Oh you young people! I don’t know what has come +over you!’ ‘Then you do think,’ said Tchaadayev, ‘that there still are +young people?’—that is all that has remained in my memory. + +On my return to Moscow I made friends with him and from that time until I +went away we were on the best of terms. + +Tchaadayev’s melancholy and original figure stood out sharply like a +mournful reproach against the faded and dreary background of Moscow ‘high +life.’ I liked looking at him among the tawdry aristocracy, flighty +Senators, grey-headed rascals, and venerable nonentities. However dense +the crowd, the eye found him at once. The years did not mar his graceful +figure; he was very scrupulous in his dress, his pale delicate face was +completely motionless when he was silent, as though made of wax or of +marble,—‘a head like a bare skull,’—his grey-blue eyes were melancholy +and at the same time there was something kindly in them, though his thin +lips smiled ironically. For ten years he stood with folded arms, by some +column, by some tree on the boulevard, in drawing-rooms and theatres, at +the club and, an embodied veto, a living protest, gazed at the vortex of +faces senselessly twisting and turning about him. He became whimsical +and eccentric, held himself aloof from society, yet could not leave it +altogether, then uttered his message, quietly concealing it, just as +in his features he concealed passion under a layer of ice. Then he was +silent again, again showed himself whimsical, dissatisfied, irritated; +again he was an oppressive influence in Moscow society, and again he +could not leave it. Old and young alike were awkward and ill at ease with +him; they, God knows why, were abashed by his immobile face, his direct +glance, his gloomy mockery, his malignant condescension. What compelled +them to invite him ... still more to visit him? It is a very difficult +question. + +Tchaadayev was not wealthy, particularly in later years; he was not of +high rank—a retired captain with the iron Kulm cross on his breast. It is +true, as Pushkin writes, that he would + + ‘In Rome have been a Brutus, + In Athens Pericles, + But here, under the yolk of Tsars, + Was only Captain of Hussars.’ + +Acquaintance with him could only compromise a man in the eyes of the +police. To what did he owe his influence? Why did the ‘swells’ of the +English Club, and the patricians of the Tversky Boulevard flock on +Mondays to his modest little study in Old Basmanny Street? Why did +fashionable ladies peep into the cell of the morose thinker? Why did +generals who knew nothing about civilian affairs feel obliged to call +upon the old man, to pretend awkwardly to be people of culture, and +brag afterwards, distorting some phrase of Tchaadayev’s, uttered at +their expense? Why did I meet at Tchaadayev’s the savage Tolstoy, ‘the +American,’ and the savage Adjutant-General Shipov who destroyed culture +in Poland? + +Tchaadayev not only made no compromise with them, but worried them and +made them feel very clearly the difference between him and them.[79] Of +course these people went to see him and invited him to their gatherings +from vanity, but that is not what matters; what is important is the +involuntary recognition that thought had become a power, that it had +its honoured place in direct opposition to the authority of the Most +High. In so far as the authority of the ‘insane captain’ Tchaadayev was +recognised, the ‘insane’ power of Nicholas was diminished. + +Tchaadayev had his eccentricities, his weaknesses, he was embittered and +spoilt. I know no society less indulgent, or more exclusive than that of +Moscow; it is just that which gives it a provincial flavour and reminds +one that its culture is of recent growth. How could a solitary man of +fifty who had been deprived of almost all his friends, who had lost +his property, who lived a great deal in thought, and had suffered many +mortifications, fail to have his whims and habits? + +Tchaadayev had been Vassiltchikov’s adjutant at the time of the +celebrated Semyonovsky affair. The Tsar was at the time, if I remember +right, at Verona or Aachen for a Congress. Vassiltchikov sent Tchaadayev +to him with a report and he was somehow or other an hour behind time, and +arrived later than a courier sent by the Austrian ambassador Lebzeltern. +The Tsar, annoyed at the news, and at that time completely influenced +towards reaction by Metternich, who was delighted at the news of the +Semyonovsky affair, received Tchaadayev very harshly, reprimanded him, +lost his temper, and then recovering himself, directed that he should be +offered the post of an Imperial adjutant; Tchaadayev declined the honour +and asked only one favour—his discharge. Of course this was not liked, +but he received his discharge. + +Tchaadayev was in no haste to return to Russia; on relinquishing his gold +lace uniform he devoted himself to study. Alexander died—the Fourteenth +of December came—Tchaadayev’s absence saved him from almost certain +persecution[80]—about 1830 he returned. + +In Germany Tchaadayev made friends with Schelling; the acquaintance +probably did a great deal to turn him towards mysticism. In his case it +developed into revolutionary Catholicism to which he remained faithful +all his life. In his letter he attributes half the calamities of Russia +to the Greek Church, to its severance from the all-embracing unity of the +West. + +Strange as such a view is to us, we must not forget that Catholicism +has great power of attraction. Lacordaire preached Catholic Socialism +while remaining a Dominican monk; he was supported by Chevé,[81] +while remaining a contributor to the _Voix du Peuple_. In reality +neo-Catholicism is not worse than rhetorical deism, that rationalised +theology of the cultured bourgeois which is neither religion nor science, +but atheism surrounded by the institutions of religion. + +If Ronge[82] and the followers of Buchez were still possible after +1848, after Feuerbach and Proudhon and Pius IX. and Lamennais; if one +of the most energetic parties in the movement set a mystic formula on +its banner; if to this day there are men like Mickiewicz,[83] like +Krasinski,[84] who continue Messianists, there is no cause for wonder +in Tchaadayev’s bringing a similar doctrine from the Europe of the +’twenties. We have a little forgotten what it was like: one has but to +recall the affair of Volabella, the Letters of Lady Morgan,[85] the +memoirs of Andryane,[86] of Byron, and of Leopardi, to realise that it +was one of the most oppressive periods in history. The revolution had +turned out a failure, crude monarchy boasted cynically of its power, +while crafty monarchy chastely hid itself behind the parties; at most +and at rare intervals one heard the songs of the Greeks fighting for +their liberty or a vigorous speech from Canning or Royer-Collard.[87] + +In Protestant Germany a Catholic party was being formed at that time. +Schlegel[88] and Leo[89] changed their faith at that time, old Jahn[90] +and others were raving of a popular and democratic Catholicism. +People took refuge from the present in the Middle Ages, in mysticism, +read Eckartshausen, studied magnetism and the miracles of Prince +Hohenlohe[91]; Hugo, the enemy of Catholicism, did as much to assist its +revival as did Lamennais at that period, when he was horrified at the +soulless indifference of his time. + +On the Russian such Catholicism was bound to have an even stronger +effect. It formally contained all that was lacking in Russian life, left +to itself, oppressed only by the material power, and seeking a way out +by instinct alone. The stern discipline and proud independence of the +Western Church, its finished definiteness, its practical applications, +its unassailable confidence and supposed removal of all contradictions +by its higher unity, its eternal _fata Morgana_, its _urbi et orbi_, its +contempt for the temporal power, might easily dominate an ardent mind +which only began its education after reaching maturity. + +When Tchaadayev returned to Russia he found there a different society +and a different tone. Young as I was, I remember how conspicuously +aristocratic society deteriorated and became baser and more servile +with the accession of Nicholas. The brilliance and recklessness of the +officers of the Guards, the aristocratic independence of the reign of +Alexander, had all vanished from 1826 onwards. There were germs of a new +life springing up, young creatures, not yet conscious of themselves, +still wearing a lay-down collar _à l’enfant_, at boarding schools, or in +Lyceums. There were young literary men beginning to try their strength +and their pen, but all that was still hidden, and not in the world in +which Tchaadayev lived. + +His friends were in penal servitude; at first he was the only one left in +Moscow, then he was joined by Pushkin, and later on by Orlov too. Often +after the death of both these friends Tchaadayev used to show two small +patches on the wall above the sofa-back where they used to lay their +heads! + +It is infinitely sad to set side by side Pushkin’s two epistles to +Tchaadayev, separated not only by their life but by a whole epoch, the +life of a generation, racing hopefully forward and coarsely flung back +again. Pushkin as a youth writes to his friend: + + ‘Comrade, have faith. That dawn will break + Of deep intoxicating joy; + Russia will spring from out her sleep + And on the fragments of a fallen tyranny + Our names will be recorded,’[92] + +but the dawn did not rise; instead Nicholas rose to the throne, and +Pushkin writes: + + ‘Tchaadayev, dost thou call to mind + How in the past, by youthful ardour prompted, + I dreamt to add that fatal name + Unto the rest of those that lie in ruins? + ... But now within my heart by tempests chastened + Silence and lassitude prevail, unchallenged, + And with a glow of tender inspiration + Upon the stone by friendship sanctified + I write our names....’[93] + +Nothing in the world could be more opposed to the Slavophils than the +hopeless pessimism which was Tchaadayev’s vengeance on Russian life, the +deliberate curse wrung out of him by suffering, with which he summed up +his melancholy existence through a whole period of Russian history. He +could not but awaken intense opposition in them; with bitterness and +weary malice he insulted all that was precious to them, from Moscow +downwards. + +‘In Moscow,’ Tchaadayev used to say, ‘every foreigner is taken to look at +the great cannon and the great bell—the cannon which can never be fired +and the bell which fell down before it was rung. It is a strange town in +which the objects of interest are distinguished by their absurdity; or +perhaps that great bell without a tongue is a hieroglyph symbolic of that +immense dumb land, inhabited by a race calling themselves Slavs[94] as +though surprised at the possession of human speech.’[95] + +Tchaadayev and the Slavophils alike stood facing the unsolved Sphinx of +Russian life, the Sphinx sleeping under the overcoat of the soldier and +the watchful eye of the Tsar; they alike were asking: ‘What will come of +it? To live like this is impossible: the oppressiveness and absurdity of +the present position is obvious and unendurable—where is the way out?’ + +‘There is none,’ answered the man of the Petersburg period of exclusively +Western civilisation, who, in Alexander’s reign, had believed in the +European future of Russia. He mournfully pointed out to what the efforts +of a whole age had led. Culture had only given new methods of oppression, +the church had become a mere shadow under which the police lay hidden; +the people bore all, endured all, the government crushed all, oppressed +all. ‘The history of other nations is the story of their emancipation. +Russian history is the development of serfdom and autocracy.’ Peter +the Great’s upheaval had made us into the worst that men can be made +into—enlightened slaves. We had suffered enough, in this oppressive, +troubled moral state, misunderstood by the people, struck down by the +government—it was time to find rest, time to find peace for the soul, +to find support in something ... this almost meant ‘time to die,’ and +Tchaadayev thought to find in the Catholic Church the peace promised to +all who are weary and heavy-laden. + +From the point of view of Western civilisation in the form in which it +found expression at the time of the restoration, from the point of view +of the Russia of the Petersburg period, this attitude was completely +justified. + +The Slavophils solved the question in a different way. + +Their solution implied a true recognition of the living soul in the +people; their instinct was more penetrating than their reasoning. They +saw that the existing condition of Russia, however oppressive, was +not a moral disease. And while Tchaadayev had a faint glimmer of the +possibility of saving individuals but not the people, the Slavophils +had a clear perception of the ruin of individuals in the grip of the +existing order and faith in the salvation of the people. + +‘The way out is with us,’ said the Slavophils, ‘the way out lies in +renouncing the Petersburg period, in going back to the people from whom +we have been cut off by foreign education and foreign government; let us +return to the old ways!’ + +But history does not turn back; life is rich in materials, it has no +need to remake old clothes. All renaissances, all restorations have been +masqueraders. We have seen two; the Legitimists did not go back to the +days of Louis XIV. nor the Republicans to the 8th of Thermidor. What has +once happened is stronger than anything written; no axe can hew it away. + +Moreover, we have nothing to which to go back. The political life of +Russia before Peter the Great was grotesque, poor, savage, yet it was to +this that the Slavophils wanted to return, though they did not admit the +fact; how else are we to explain all their antiquarian revivals, their +worship of the manners and customs of old days, and their attempts to +return, not to the existing (and excellent) dress of the peasants but to +the old-fashioned and clumsy costumes? + +In all Russia no one wears the _murmolka_ but the Slavophils. K. S. +Aksakov wore a dress so national that the peasants in the street took him +for a Persian, as Tchaadayev used to tell as a joke. + +They took the going back to the people in a very crude sense too, as the +majority of Western democrats did also, accepting the people as something +complete and finished. They imagined that to share the superstitions +of the people meant being at one with them, that it was a great act of +humility to sacrifice one’s reason instead of developing reason in the +people. This led to an affectation of devoutness, the observance of rites +which are touching when there is a naïve faith in them and insulting +where an ulterior motive can be discerned. The best proof of the lack +of reality in the Slavophils’ return to the people lies in the fact that +they did not arouse the slightest sympathy in the people. Neither the +Byzantine Church nor the Granovitaya Palata[96] will do anything more for +the future development of the Slav world. To go back to the village, to +the workmen’s guild, to the meeting of the mir, to the Cossack system is +a different matter; but we must return to them not in order to strengthen +them in immovable Asiatic crystallisations but to develop and set free +the elements on which they were founded, to purify them from all that +is extraneous and distorting, from the rank growths with which they are +overgrown—that, of course, is what we are called to do. But we must make +no mistake, all this lies outside the sphere of the State: the Moscow +period is of as little use here as the Petersburg, indeed it was at no +time better. The Novgorod[97] bell which used to call the citizens to +their ancient mote was merely melted into a cannon by Peter, but had +been taken down from the belfry by Ivan III.; serfdom was only confirmed +by the census under Peter but was introduced by Boris Godunov; in the +_Ulozhenie_[98] there is no mention of sworn witnesses, and the knout, +the rods, and the lash made their appearance long before the day of +_Spitzruten_ and _Fuchteln_. + +The mistake of the Slavophils lies in their imagining that Russia once +had an individual culture, obscured by various events and finally by +the Petersburg period. Russia never had this culture, never could have +had it. That which is only now reaching our consciousness, that of which +we are beginning to have a presentiment, a glimmer in our thoughts, that +which existed unconsciously in the peasants’ hut and in the open country, +is only now beginning to grow in the fields of history, enriched by the +blood, the tears, the sweat of twenty generations. + +The foundations of our life are not memories, they are the living +elements, existing not in chronicles but in the actual present; but +they have merely survived under the hard historical process of building +up a single state and under the yoke of the state they have only been +preserved not developed. I doubt, indeed, whether the inner strength for +their development would have been found without the Petersburg period, +without the period of European culture. + +The primitive foundations of our life are insufficient. In India there +has existed for ages and exists to this day a village commune very like +our own and founded on a division of fields; yet the people of India have +not gone very far, even with it. + +Only the mighty thought of the West to which all its long history has +led up is able to fertilise the seeds slumbering in the patriarchal +mode of life of the Slavs. The workmen’s guild and the village commune, +the sharing of profits and the division of fields, the mir meeting +and the union of villages into self-governing _volosts_, are all the +corner-stones on which the temple of our future, freely communal +existence will be built. But these corner-stones are only stones ... and +without the thought of the West our future cathedral will not rise above +its foundations. + +This is what happens with everything truly _social_, it inevitably draws +the nations into mutual interdependence.... Holding themselves aloof, +cutting themselves off, some remain at the barbaric stage of the commune, +others get no further than the abstract idea of communism, which, like +the Christian soul, hovers over the decaying body. + +The receptive character of the Slavs, their femininity, their lack of +initiative, and their great capacity for assimilation and adaptation, +make them pre-eminently a people that stands in need of the other +peoples; they are not fully self-sufficing. Left to themselves the +Slavs readily ‘lull themselves to sleep with their own songs’ as a +Byzantine chronicler observed. Awakened by others they go to the furthest +consequences; there is no people which could more deeply and completely +absorb the thoughts of other peoples while remaining true to itself. The +persistent misunderstanding which exists to-day, as it has for a thousand +years, between the Germanic and the French peoples does not exist between +them and the Slavs. The craving to give itself up and be carried away is +innate in their sympathetic, readily assimilative, receptive nature. + +To be formed into a princedom, Russia needed the Varangians[99]; to be +formed into a kingdom, the Mongols. + +Contact with Europe developed the kingdom of Muscovy into the colossal +empire ruled from Petersburg. + +‘But for all their receptiveness, have not the Slavs shown everywhere +a complete incapacity for developing a modern European political order +without continually falling into the most absolute despotism, or hopeless +disorganisation?’ + +This incapacity and this incompleteness are great _talents_ in our eyes. + +All Europe has now reached the inevitability of despotism in order to +preserve the existing political order against the pressure of social +ideas striving to create a new order, towards which Western Europe, for +all its terror and resistance, is being carried with incredible force. + +There was a time when the half-free West looked proudly at Russia crushed +under the throne of the Tsars, and cultivated Russia, sighing, gazed at +the happiness of its elder brothers. That time has passed. The equality +of slavery prevails. + +We are present now at an amazing spectacle; even those lands in which +free institutions have survived are striving for despotism. Humanity +has seen nothing like it since the days of Constantine when free Romans +sought to become slaves to escape civic burdens. + +Despotism or socialism—there is no other alternative. Meanwhile, Europe +has shown a surprising incapacity for social revolution. + +We believe that Russia is not so incapable of it, and in this we are at +one with the Slavophils. On this our faith in its future is founded, it +is the faith which I have been preaching since the end of 1848. + +Europe has chosen despotism, has preferred Imperialism. Despotism +means military discipline, Empires mean war, the Emperor is the +commander-in-chief. Every one is under arms, there will be war, but where +is the real enemy? At home—down below in the depths—and yonder beyond the +Niemen. + +The war now beginning[100] may have intervals of truce but will not end +before the beginning of the general revolution which will shuffle all +the cards and begin a new game. It is impossible that the two great +historical powers, the two veteran champions of all West European +history, representatives of two worlds, two traditions, two principles—of +state and of personal freedom—should not crush the third, which, dumb, +nameless, and bannerless, comes forward so opportunely with the rope of +slavery on its neck and rudely knocks at the doors of Europe and the +doors of history, with an insolent claim to Constantinople, with one foot +on Germany and the other on the Pacific Ocean. + +Whether these three will try their strength and crush each other in +the trying; whether Russia breaks up into pieces or Europe, enfeebled, +sinks into Byzantine decay; whether they are reconciled and go hand +in hand forward into a new life or slaughter each other endlessly—one +thing we have discovered for certain and it will not be rooted out of +the consciousness of the coming generations; that is: that the _free and +rational development of Russian national existence is at one with the +ideas of Western Socialism_. + + +II + +On my return from Novgorod to Moscow I found both parties at the barrier. +The Slavophils were in full fighting formation, with their light cavalry +under the leadership of Homyakov and extremely heavy infantry under that +of Shevyryov[101] and Pogodin, with their sharpshooters, chasseurs, +ultra-Jacobins who renounced everything later than the Kieff period, and +moderate Girondists who renounced nothing but the Petersburg period; +they had their chairs in the university and their monthly review, which +was always two months late in appearing but still did appear. The main +body was reinforced by orthodox Hegelians, Byzantine theologians, mystic +poets, a great number of women, and so on. + +Our warfare greatly interested the literary drawing-rooms of Moscow, +which was at that time just entering the period of enthusiasm over +intellectual subjects when, political questions being impossible, +literary ones become the problems of life. The appearance of a remarkable +book, for instance, _Dead Souls_, was an event. Criticisms favourable +and unfavourable were read and commented upon with the attention with +which parliamentary debates used to be followed in England or France. The +suppression of all other spheres of human activity threw the cultured +section of society into the world of books, and only in it was heard in +muffled undertones the protest against the yoke of Nicholas, the protest +which we heard more loudly and openly the day after his death. + +In the person of Granovsky Moscow society welcomed Western thought +breaking its way to freedom, the idea of intellectual independence and +struggle for it. In the persons of the Slavophils it protested against +the outrage done to its feelings of nationalism by the Biron-like +arrogance of the Petersburg government. + +Here I must make a digression. + +I knew two circles in Moscow, the two opposite poles of its social life, +and can only speak of them. At first I was lost in the society of old +people, officers of the Guards of the time of Catherine, comrades of +my father, and other old gentlemen who had found a quiet haven in that +almshouse, the Senate, comrades of his brother. Afterwards I knew only +the young literary and social Moscow and I speak only of it. I knew +nothing and cared to know nothing of what lived or vegetated between the +veterans of the pen and the sword who were awaiting their funerals in +order of rank, and their sons and grandsons who sought no rank and cared +only for books and ideas. That world that stood between them, the real +Russia of Nicholas, was colourless and vulgar, without the originality of +the times of Catherine, without the dash and daring of the men of 1812, +without our strivings and interests. It was a pitiful, crushed generation +in which a few martyrs struggled, were suffocated, and perished. When I +speak of the Moscow drawing-rooms and dining-rooms, I speak of those +in which Pushkin once reigned supreme; in which up to our own day the +Decembrists set the tone; in which Griboyedov laughed; in which M. F. +Orlov and A. P. Yermolov met a friendly welcome because they were under +the ban; in which Homyakov argued from nine in the evening until four +o’clock in the morning; in which K. S. Aksakov[102] with a _murmolka_ +in his hand fiercely defended Moscow though no one had attacked it, and +never took a glass of champagne in his hand without secretly repeating +a prayer and a toast which every one knew; in which Ryedkin logically +deduced a personal God _ad majorem gloriam Hegelii_; in which Granovsky +appeared with his firm and gentle speech; in which every one remembered +Bakunin and Stankevitch; in which Tchaadayev with his delicate wax-like +face, scrupulously dressed, enraged the nonplussed aristocrats and +orthodox Slavophils by biting sarcasms, always cast in original form +and carefully iced; in which A. I. Turgenev,[103] young in spite of +his age, gossiped charmingly about all the celebrities of Europe, from +Chateaubriand and Récamier to Schelling and Rahel Varnhagen; in which +Botkin and Kryukov _pantheistically_ enjoyed M. S. Shtchepkin’s stories; +and into which Byelinsky sometimes fell like Congreve’s rocket, setting +fire to everything he touched. + +Life in Moscow is more like life in the country than in the town, the +only difference is that the houses are nearer each other. Everything in +it is not on the same pattern, but specimens of different ages, cultures, +social strata, of the length and breadth of Russia, live after their own +fashion. In it the Larins[104] and the Famussovs calmly live out their +days; and not only they but Vladimir Lensky and our eccentric Tchatsky, +and indeed there are even too many Onyegins. With little to do they all +live without haste, without special anxieties, without pulling up their +sleeves. The easy-going ways of the Russian country gentleman are, we +must own, dear to our hearts; there is a breadth about them which we do +not find in the petty-bourgeois life of the West. The servile dependence +on the rich and powerful, of which Miss Wilmot speaks in the _Memoirs +of Princess Dashkhov_, and which I myself remember, did not exist in +the circles of which I am speaking. The rank and file of this society +was composed of landowners not in the service, or serving not on their +own account but to pacify their relations, of young literary men and +professors. This society had the freedom and fluidity of relations and +habits that had not been reduced to a rigid tradition, a freedom which +is not found in the old European life, and at the same time it retained +the traditions of Western politeness instilled into us by education +and now vanishing in the West; this courtesy, blended with the Slav +_laisser aller_, and at times with riotous merriment, made up the special +Russian character of Moscow society, to its great regret, because it was +desperately anxious to be Parisian and probably still is so. + +We still only know of Europe as it was in the past; we are still haunted +by the days when Voltaire reigned supreme over the Parisian salons and +people were invited to hear Diderot arguing, as to partake of a sturgeon; +when the arrival of David Hume in Paris was an epoch and all the +countesses and viscountesses hung about him and flirted with him till +another spoilt darling, Grimm, sulked and thought it quite out of place. +We still think of the soirées of Baron d’Holbach[105] and the first +performance of _Figaro_, when all the aristocracy of Paris stood in a +queue for whole days, and fashionable ladies missed their dinner and ate +dry buns to get a seat and see the revolutionary play, which was to be +performed a month later at Versailles with the Count de Provence, _i.e._, +the future Louis XVIII., in the part of Figaro and Marie Antoinette in +the part of Suzanne! + +_Tempi passati_ ... past are not only the salons of the eighteenth +century, those marvellous salons in which under powder and lace +aristocrats dandled and fed on aristocratic milk the young lion from whom +sprang a titanic revolution. There are not even such salons as those, for +instance, of Madame de Staël or Récamier, in which all the celebrities of +aristocracy, literature, and politics gathered. Literature is feared, and +indeed there is none, while the parties have drifted so far apart that +people of different shades of opinion cannot meet with civility under the +same roof. + +One of the last attempts at a salon, in the old sense of the word, failed +and flickered out together with its hostess. Delphine Gay[106] exhausted +all her talents and brilliant intelligence in the attempt to preserve a +decorous peace between guests who suspected and hated each other. Can +there be any pleasure in a strained, uneasy state of truce, in which the +host as soon as he is alone throws himself exhausted on the sofa and +thanks heaven that the evening has passed off without unpleasantness? + +Indeed, Western Europe (and particularly France) has no thought to +spare for literary gossip, for _bon ton_ and elegant manners. Covering +the terrible gulf with the bee-embroidered Imperial mantle, bourgeois +generals, bourgeois bankers, bourgeois ministers are carousing, +piling up millions, losing millions, while they await the Nemesis of +liquidation.... They need not light _causerie_ but heavy orgies and +colourless wealth, in which, as in the first Empire, art is driven out by +gold, the lady by the _lorette_, the literary man by the stock-exchange +gambler. + +This dissolution of society was not confined to Paris. George Sand was +the living centre of all her neighbourhood at Nohant. Acquaintances of +all sorts visited her with no great ceremony whenever they liked, and +spent the evening extremely elegantly. There would be music, reading, and +dramatic improvisations, and above all there was George Sand herself. +From the year 1852 the tone began to change, the good-natured neighbours +no longer came to rest and laugh, but with malice in their eyes, brimming +over with spite, attacked one another openly and secretly; some displayed +their new livery, while others dreaded being denounced to the government; +the lack of restraint which had made jest and gaiety light and charming +had vanished. The continual effort to appease, to soften and to part the +combatants, so harassed and wearied George Sand that she made up her mind +to give up her evenings at Nohant and reduced her circle to two or three +old friends.... + +They say that Moscow—young Moscow—has grown old, has not survived +Nicholas, that even the university has become petty, and that the +landowning temper has come out in too strong relief in face of the +question of emancipation; that its English club has become less +English than ever, that in it Sobakevitches[107] are clamouring +against emancipation and Nozdryovs noisily maintaining the natural and +inalienable rights of the nobility. Perhaps!... But the Moscow of the +’forties was not like that, and it was that Moscow that took active sides +for and against the _murmolka_; girls and ladies read very boring essays, +listened to very long arguments, and argued themselves in defence of K. +S. Aksakov or Granovsky, only regretting that Aksakov was too Slavophil +and Granovsky not sufficiently patriotic. + +The arguments were renewed at every literary and non-literary evening +at which we met, and that was two or three times a week. On Monday we +assembled at Tchaadayev’s, on Tuesday at Sverbeyev’s, on Sundays at +Madame A. P. Yelagin’s.... Besides those who took part in the arguments, +besides the people who had opinions, men and even women would come to +these evenings and sit until two o’clock in the morning to see which of +the matadors would dispatch the other, and how he would be dispatched +himself; they came as in old days people used to go to prize fights, and +to the amphitheatre behind the Rogozhsky Gate. + +The champion who impressed all on the side of orthodoxy and Slavophilism +was Alexey Stepanovitch Homyakov, ‘Gorgias the immemorial questioner of +the world,’ to use the expression of the half-crazy Moroshkin. Gifted +with a powerful and mobile intelligence, a good memory, and power of +rapid reflection, rich in resources and indiscriminate in the use of +them, he spent his whole life in heated and inexhaustible argument. An +unwearying and unresting fighter, he dealt blows and thrusts, attacked +and pursued, pelted with witticisms and quotations, terrified and drove +into a maze from which there was no escape without prayer—in short, if he +attacked a conviction the conviction was lost, if he attacked a man’s +logic his logic was gone. + +Homyakov really was a dangerous opponent; a hardened old duellist +of dialectics, he took advantage of the slightest inadvertence, the +slightest concession. An extraordinarily gifted man, with formidable +stores of erudition at his disposal, he was like the mediaeval knights +who guarded the Madonna and slept fully armed. At any hour of the day or +the night he was ready for the most intricate argument, and to secure +the triumph of his Slavophil views turned everything in the world to +use, from the casuistry of Byzantine theologians to the subtleties of a +tricky lawyer. His refutations, often only apparent, always dazzled and +confounded his opponent. + +Homyakov was very well aware of his strength, and played with it; he +pelted people with words, intimidated them by his learning, mocked +everything, made a man laugh at his own theories and convictions, leaving +him in doubt whether he really had anything left which was sacred. In +masterly fashion he caught those who had halted half-way and roasted +them on the dialectical grid-iron, terrified the timid, reduced the +dilettante to despair, and, with all that, laughed, _as it seemed_, +simply and candidly. I say ‘as it seemed,’ because there was in his +somewhat Oriental features a look as of something concealed and a sort of +simple-hearted Asiatic cunning together with the Russian canniness. As a +rule he rather confused his opponent than convinced him. + +His philosophical contentions rested on rejecting the possibility of +attaining truth by reason; he attributed to reason a formal faculty +only, the faculty of developing rudiments received in other ways and +relatively complete (_i.e._, imparted by revelation or accepted through +faith). If reason is left to itself, then, wandering in empty space, and +building category after category, it may throw light on its own laws, +but will never reach the conception of the spirit, nor the conception +of immortality—and so on. On this basis Homyakov confuted people who +halted between religion and science. However they struggled in the +fetters of the Hegelian method, whatever deductions they made, Homyakov +went with them step by step and in the end blew down the house of cards +built of logical formulas or gave them a kick and sent them falling into +‘materialism’ which they shamefacedly renounced, or into ‘atheism’ of +which they were simply afraid. Homyakov triumphed! + +As I had several times been present while he was arguing, I noticed +this device, and the first time that it was my lot to try my strength +with him I myself drew him to these deductions. Homyakov screwed up his +slanting eyes, shook his pitch-black curls, and smiled in anticipation. +‘Do you know,’ he said suddenly, as though surprised by a new idea, +‘it is not merely impossible by reason alone to arrive at a rational +spirit developing nature, but by reason alone you can reach no other +interpretation of nature than that of a simple, uninterrupted ferment +which has no aim and may either go on or come to a stop? And if that is +so, you cannot even prove that history will not be cut short to-morrow, +will not perish together with the human race, together with the planet.’ + +‘I didn’t say,’ I answered, ‘that I undertook to prove it. I know very +well that it is impossible.’ + +‘What?’ said Homyakov, somewhat surprised, ‘you can accept these terrible +results of the theory of immanence pushed to this ferocious extreme and +nothing in your soul is revolted?’ + +‘I can, because the deductions of reason are independent of whether I +desire them or not.’ + +‘Well, you at any rate are consistent. But what violence a man must do to +his soul to resign himself to these gloomy deductions of your science, +and to accustom himself to them.’ + +‘Prove that your non-science is more true, and I will accept it as +frankly and fearlessly, whatever it may lead me to, even to the Iversky +Madonna.’ + +‘For that you must have faith.’ + +‘But, Alexey Stepanovitch, you know the saying: “If you haven’t got a +thing, it’s not your fault.”’ + +Many people thought—indeed I sometimes did myself—that Homyakov argued +from an artistic pleasure in argument, that he had no deep convictions; +and his manner, his everlasting laugh, and the superficiality of his +critics were responsible for that idea. I don’t think that any one of the +Slavophils did more to gain acceptance for their theories than Homyakov. +His whole life—and he was a very wealthy man and not in the service—was +devoted to propaganda. Whether he laughed or wept was a question of his +nerves, of the cast of his mind, of the way he had been formed by his +environment and had reflected it; it had nothing to do with depth of +conviction. + +Perhaps in continual preoccupation with the trivial activity of +discussion and the busy idleness of polemic Homyakov stifled the feeling +of emptiness which, on the other hand, stifled everything joyous in his +comrades and nearest friends, the Kireyevskys. + +That these people were crushed and crippled by the age of Nicholas was +unmistakable. In the heat of argument one might sometimes forget it—to do +so now would be weak and pitiful. + +The two Kireyevsky brothers stand like melancholy shades at the dividing +line of the national renaissance; not recognised by the living, not +sharing their interests, they never dropped the shroud. + +The prematurely aged face of Ivan Kireyevsky bore unmistakable traces of +the suffering and conflict which had been followed by the gloomy calm of +the sea rippling above a foundered ship. His life was a failure. He threw +himself with ardour—in 1833, if I remember right—into a monthly review, +_The European_. The two numbers that appeared were excellent, but on the +publication of the second _The European_ was prohibited. He inserted an +article upon Novikov[108] in the _Dennitsa_. The _Dennitsa_ was seized +and the censor, Glinka, was put under arrest. Kireyevsky, who had lost a +great deal of his fortune over _The European_, retired despondently into +the wilderness of Moscow life: there was nothing for him to do there; he +could not endure it, and went away to the country, burying in his heart +profound unhappiness and a painful yearning for activity. This man, too, +firm and true as steel, was consumed by the rust of that terrible period. +Ten years later he went back to Moscow from his seclusion, a mystic and a +believer in the church. + +His position in Moscow was a hard one. He found no complete intimacy or +sympathy either in his friends or in us. Between him and us stood the +barrier of the church. A worshipper of liberty and of the great age of +the French Revolution, he could not share the disdain of the new ‘Old +Believers’ for everything European. He once said with intense sadness to +Granovsky: ‘In heart I am closer to you, but I do not share many of your +convictions; I am nearer in belief to our party, but just as far from +them on the other side.’ And he really was fading out of life, lonely in +his own family.[109] Beside him stood his brother and friend, Pyotr. Both +the brothers took part in conversations sadly, as though their tears were +not yet dried, as though misfortune had visited them the day before. I +looked at Ivan Kireyevsky as at a widow, as at a mother who had lost her +son; life had cheated him, all was emptiness in the future and the only +consolation: + + ‘Wait a little, + Thou too shalt rest!’[110] + +One was sorry to disturb his mysticism. I used to feel the same scruple +in the old days with Vitberg. The mysticism of both was aesthetic; it +was as though the truth had not disappeared altogether behind it, but +was hidden in fantastic outlines and monastic cassocks. One only feels a +ruthless desire to shake a man out of his theories when his madness takes +a polemical form or when he is so near one that any dissonance rends the +heart and gives one no peace. + +And what argument could one use to a man who said things like this: ‘I +once stood at a shrine and gazed at a wonder-working ikon of the Mother +of God, thinking of the childlike faith of the people praying before +it; some women and infirm old men knelt, crossing themselves and bowing +down to the earth. With ardent hope I gazed at the holy features, and +little by little the secret of their marvellous power began to grow clear +to me. Yes, this was not simply a painted board ... for whole ages it +had absorbed these streams of passionate aspiration, the prayers of the +afflicted and unhappy; it must have been filled with power which emanates +from it, is reflected from it, upon the believing. It had become a living +organism, a meeting-place between the Creator and men. Thinking of this, +I looked once more at the old men, at the women and children prostrate +in the dust, and at the holy ikon—then I myself saw the features of the +Mother of God suffused with life, she looked with love and mercy at +these simple folk ... and I sank on my knees and meekly prayed to her.’ + +Pyotr Kireyevsky was even more incorrigible and went to even greater +lengths in orthodox Slavophilism; his was perhaps a less gifted nature, +but he was single-minded and strictly consistent. He did not, like his +brother Ivan or the Slavophil Hegelians, try to reconcile religion with +science, and the Western civilisation with nationalism; on the contrary +he rejected all compromises. Firmly and independently he stood his +ground, neither seeking arguments nor avoiding them. He had nothing to +fear: he was so entirely devoted to his idea and so bound up with it in +sorrowful sympathy for the Russia of his day that his position was easy. +It was as impossible to agree with him as with his brother; but it was +easier to understand him, as it is easier to understand every ruthless +extreme. He had discerned (and this I only realised long afterwards) some +part of the bitter, crushing truths concerning the social condition of +Western Europe which we only came to see after the upheavals of 1848. He +perceived them with melancholy clear-sightedness, divined them through +hatred and resentment for the evil wrought by Peter the Great in the +name of Western civilisation. That is why Pyotr Kireyevsky had not, as +his brother had, together with his orthodoxy and Slavophilism, yearnings +towards some humane and religious philosophy in which his lack of faith +in the present would be resolved. No, his austere nationalism involved +complete, final estrangement from all that was Western. + +It was their common misfortune that they had been born either too early +or too late; the Fourteenth of December found us children, but them young +men. That made a great difference. At that time we were at our lessons, +knowing nothing at all of what was really being done in the practical +world. We were full of theoretical dreams, we were Gracchi and Rienzi +in the nursery; afterwards confined to a small circle we spent our +academic years together; as we passed out of the gates of the university +we entered the gates of prison. Prison and exile in youth, in the grey +and stifling days of persecution, are extremely beneficial; they are a +hardening process; only feeble organisms are subdued by prison, those in +whom resistance was the passing impulse of youth and not a talent, not +a spiritual necessity. To be the object of open persecution strengthens +the desire for resistance, increased danger trains to endurance and +moulds conduct. All this provides an interest, a distraction, and excites +irritation and anger; with the prisoner or the exile moments of fury are +more frequent than the exhausting hours of listless, impotent despair of +men in freedom but helpless in vulgar and oppressive surroundings. + +When we came back from exile a new spirit was already stirring in the +university, in literature, in society itself. Those were the days of +Gogol and Lermontov, of Byelinsky’s articles, the lectures of Granovsky +and the young professors. + +It was very different with our predecessors; they were coming of age when +the bell tolled for the execution of Pestel and pealed for the coronation +of Nicholas; they were too young to take part in the conspiracy of +December the Fourteenth, and not young enough to be at school after it. +They were faced with the ten years which ended in Tchaadayev’s gloomy +letter. Of course they could not grow old in those ten years, but +they were crushed and stifled, surrounded by a society with no living +interests, paltry, cowardly, cringing. And those were the first ten +years of manhood! Inevitably a man was driven, like Onyegin, to envy +the paralysis of the Tula assessor, to go to Persia like Lermontov’s +Petchorin, to become a Catholic like the real Petchorin, or to throw +himself into desperate orthodoxy or violent Slavophilism, if he had no +desire to get drunk, to flog peasants, or to play cards. + +When first Homyakov was conscious of this emptiness he went for a tour +in Europe, during the dull and sluggish reign of Charles X.; after +finishing in Paris his forgotten tragedy, _Yermak_, and talking to +various Czechs and Dalmatians on the way home, he returned. Everything +was dull! Fortunately the Turkish war broke out; he, quite superfluously, +quite aimlessly, joined a regiment and went to Turkey. The war ended, and +another forgotten tragedy, _Dmitri the Pretender_, was finished. Dullness +again! + +In this boredom, in this depression, in the midst of terrible environment +and terrible emptiness a new thought flashed upon him: it was greeted +with derision as soon as it was uttered; that only made Homyakov fly the +more furiously to defend it, and made it enter the more deeply into the +very flesh and blood of the Kireyevskys. + +The seed was scattered; their energies all went into the sowing and the +guarding of the young crops. Men were needed of another generation, +not warped and distorted, by whom their thought could be accepted and +inherited, not come to by suffering and sickness as they themselves had +reached it. Young men responded to their summons, men of Stankevitch’s +circle joined them, and among them were such powerful personalities as K. +Aksakov and Yury Samarin. + +Konstantin Aksakov did not laugh like Homyakov and was not engrossed in +hopeless grieving like the Kireyevskys. He threw himself with energy into +the work, as a youth on the threshold of manhood. There was no uncertain +testing of his ground, no melancholy sense of being a voice crying in the +wilderness, no gloomy sighing, no faint hope about him, but a fanatical +faith, intolerant, narrow, one-sided, that faith which paves the way to +victory. Aksakov was one-sided like every fighter; a calmly balanced +eclecticism is no equipment for battle. He was surrounded by hostile +elements, powerful elements, that had great advantages over him, he had +to fight his way through a succession of all sorts of enemies, and to +hoist his flag. How could he be tolerant! + +His whole life was an uncompromising protest against the Russia +of officialdom, against the Petersburg period, in the name of the +unrecognised, oppressed Russian people. His dialectical powers were +inferior to those of Homyakov, and he was not a poet and thinker like +Ivan Kireyevsky, but he was ready to go out into the market-place for +his faith; he would have gone to the stake, and when that is felt behind +a man’s words they become terribly convincing. Early in the ’forties he +was preaching the village commune, the mir, and the workmen’s guild. He +taught Haxthausen[111] to understand them, and, consistent to the point +of childishness, was the first to put his trousers inside his high boots, +and to wear a shirt with a collar fastened at the side. ‘Moscow is the +capital of the Russian people,’ he used to say, ‘while Petersburg is +only the residence of the Emperor.’ ‘And observe,’ I answered, ‘to what +lengths the distinction goes—in Moscow they invariably put you in the +lock-up, while in Petersburg they take you to the _Hauptwacht_.’ + +To the end of his days Aksakov remained an everlastingly enthusiastic and +boundlessly generous youth; he carried away and was carried away, but was +always perfectly single-hearted. In 1844 when our differences had reached +such a point that neither the Slavophils nor we cared to go on meeting, I +was walking along the street when I saw K. Aksakov in a sledge. I bowed +to him in a friendly way. He was on the point of driving by, but he +suddenly stopped the coachman, got out of his sledge, and came towards +me. ‘It hurts me too much,’ he said, ‘to pass you and not say good-bye. +You understand that after all that has happened between your friends and +mine I am not coming to see you; I am sorry, very sorry, but there is no +help for it.’ He went rapidly towards his sledge, but suddenly turned +round. I was standing still; I was sad; he rushed up to me, threw his +arms round me and kissed me warmly. I had tears in my eyes. How I loved +him at that moment of strife! + +The quarrel in question was the result of the discussions of which I have +spoken. + +Granovsky and I still managed to get on with them somehow, without giving +up our principles; we did not make a personal question of our difference +of opinion. Byelinsky, passionate in his intolerance, went further and +bitterly reproached us. ‘I am a Jew by nature,’ he wrote to me from +Petersburg, ‘and cannot eat at the same table with the Philistines.... +Granovsky wants to know whether I have read his article in the +_Moskvityanin_. No, and I am not going to read it; tell him I am not fond +of meeting my friends in improper places, and I don’t make appointments +with them there.’ + +On the other hand, the Slavophils were ruthless in their treatment of +him. The _Moskvityanin_, irritated by Byelinsky, by the success of the +_Notes of the Fatherland_ and of Granovsky’s lectures, used any weapon +that came to hand in self-defence, and spared Byelinsky least of all, +speaking of him in so many words as a dangerous man who thirsted for +destruction and rejoiced at the sight of the conflagration. + +The _Moskvityanin_, however, was pre-eminently the organ of the +university doctrinaire section of the Slavophils. This section might +be described not merely as the university, but to some extent as the +government party. That such a party should find expression was a great +novelty in Russian literature. Among us servility either keeps quiet, +takes bribes, and can barely read or write, or, disdainful of prose, +strikes chords on the lyre of loyalty and patriotism. + +Bulgarin and Gretch[112] are in no way typical, no one was deceived by +them, no one mistook the cockade of their livery for the badge of any +shade of opinion. + +Pogodin and Shevyryov, the editors of the _Moskvityanin_, were on the +contrary conscientiously servile: Pogodin from hatred of the aristocracy, +Shevyryov I do not know why, possibly influenced by the example of his +ancestor, who, in the midst of the tortures and agonies of the reign of +Ivan the Terrible, sang psalms and almost prayed for the ferocious old +man’s days to be prolonged. + +There are periods at which thinkers are on the side of authority, but +that is only when authority is progressive, as in the days of Peter the +Great, is defending the country as in 1812, or is healing its wounds and +letting it rest as in the reign of Henry IV. of France and perhaps of +Alexander ii. But to select the most arid and narrow epoch of Russian +autocracy and, leaning upon the Little Father the Tsar, take up arms +against the individual misdeeds of the aristocracy, which is developed +and supported by the power of that same Tsar, is absurd and harmful. + +I shall be told that under the aegis of devotion to the Imperial power +the truth can be spoken more boldly. Why then did they not speak it? + +Pogodin was a useful professor who appeared, with energy that was new and +a Guerin that was not, on the débris of Russian history, which had been +whittled away and turned to smoke and ashes by Katchenovsky.[113] But as +a writer he was of little importance in spite of the fact that he wrote +everything, even _Götz von Berlichingen_, in Russian. His unswept and +unpolished style, coarse manner of throwing out gnawed and ragged remarks +and undigested thoughts, inspired me in old days, and I wrote a parody +of him, a little fragment of _Vedrin’s Notes of Travel_. Strogonov (the +Director of Moscow University), after reading it, said: ‘Pogodin will +certainly imagine that he wrote it himself.’ + +It is doubtful whether Shevyryov did anything at all as a professor. As +for his literary articles, I do not remember a single original idea or +a single independent opinion in anything he wrote. His style was quite +the opposite of Pogodin’s, being windy, spongy, rather like too limp a +blancmange in which the almond flavouring has been forgotten, although +under his treacle a vast amount of jaundiced, conceited irritability +was masked. As one reads Pogodin one feels as though he were swearing +and looking round to see whether there are ladies in the room. Reading +Shevyryov one slumbers and keeps dreaming of something quite different. + +Speaking of the style of these Siamese twins of Moscow journalism +inevitably reminds one of George Foster the celebrated companion of +Captain Cook in the Sandwich Islands and of Robespierre in the Convention +of the one and indivisible Republic. Being professor of botany in Vilna +and listening to Polish so rich in consonants, he remembered his friends +in Otaheite who spoke almost entirely in vowel sounds and observed: ‘If +those two languages were mixed what a smooth and sonorous tongue it would +make!’ + +However, badly as they wrote, the co-editors of the _Moskvityanin_ began +attacking not only Byelinsky but also Granovsky for his lectures, and +always with the same unhappy lack of tact which set all decent people +against them. They accused Granovsky of partiality for Western culture, +for a certain ‘order of ideas’ for which Nicholas from ‘an idea of order’ +clapped men in fetters and sent them to Nertchinsk. + +Granovsky took up their challenge, and his bold and noble reply put them +to shame. He asked his accusers publicly from the lecturer’s platform why +he ought to hate Western Europe, and if he did hate Western culture what +inducement would he have to lecture on its history. + +‘I am accused,’ said Granovsky, ‘of using history merely as a means of +expressing my own views. That is partly true; I have convictions and I +bring them forward in my lectures. If I had none I should not appear +before you in public simply in order, more or less interestingly, to +describe a succession of events.’ + +Granovsky’s answers were so simple and manly, and his lectures so +attractive, that the Slavophil doctrinaires subsided, while the young +people applauded no less than we. At the end of the course an effort was +even made at reconciliation. We gave Granovsky a dinner after his final +lecture. The Slavophils wanted to join us in it, and Yury Samarin was +chosen by them (as I was by our side) as steward. + +The banquet was a success; at the end of it, after many toasts, not only +unanimous but drunk with zest, we embraced the Slavophils and kissed +them in the Russian style. Ivan Kireyevsky only begged me one thing, +that I would alter the spelling of my name, and by changing the _e_ into +a Slavonic vowel make it more Russian to the ear. But Shevyryov did not +even insist on that, on the contrary as he embraced me he repeated in +his soprano: ‘He is a good man even with an _e_, he is a Russian even +with an _e_.’ On both sides the reconciliation was genuine and without +reservations, which, of course, did not prevent us from disagreeing more +than ever a week later. + +Reconciliations as a rule are only possible when they are unnecessary, +_i.e._ when personal exasperation is over, or when opinions have +approximated and when people see themselves that they have nothing to +quarrel about. Otherwise every reconciliation involves weakening on +both sides, they both fade, that is, lose their distinctive colouring. +The efforts of our peace conference very soon turned out to be +impracticable, and the conflict raged with fresh exasperation. On our +side it was impossible to rope in Byelinsky; he sent us threatening +letters from Petersburg, excommunicated and anathematised us, and wrote +more angrily than ever in the _Notes of the Fatherland_. At last he +pointed a triumphant finger at the ‘dodges’ of Slavophilism and repeated +reproachfully, ‘there you have them,’ while we hung our heads in +contrition. Byelinsky was right! + +A poet,[114] at one time a favourite, who became a Slavophil through +family connections and a sanctimonious bigot through illness, tried +with his dying hand to have a lash at us; but unluckily the police whip +was again the means chosen for the purpose. In a play entitled _Our +Opponents_, he called Tchaadayev a renegade from orthodoxy, Granovsky a +false teacher corrupting the young, me a footman wearing the gorgeous +livery of Western culture, and all three of us traitors to our country. +Of course, he did not mention our names; those were put in by the readers +who enthusiastically carried this spy’s report in verse from drawing-room +to drawing-room. K. Aksakov indignantly answered him also in verse, +branding with emphatic disapproval his spiteful attacks, and saying that +their real opponents were the Slavophils who played the gendarmes in the +name of Christ. + +This incident added much bitterness to our relations. The poet’s name, +the name of the man who recited the poem, the circle in which he lived, +the circle which was enthusiastic over it—all helped to increase the +irritation caused by it. + +Our dissensions very nearly led to a terrible calamity, to the ruin of +the two purest and best representatives of the two parties. All the +efforts of their friends were needed to patch up the quarrel between +Granovsky and Pyotr Kireyevsky which very nearly came to a duel. + +In the midst of these circumstances Shevyryov, who could never resign +himself to the colossal success of Granovsky’s lectures, had the happy +thought of trying to beat him in his own field, and announced a course +of public lectures. He lectured on Dante, on Nationalism in Art, on +Orthodoxy and Culture, and so on; his audience was numerous, but it +remained cold. He displayed boldness at times and this was very much +appreciated, but the general effect was negligible. One lecture has +remained in my memory, the one in which he talked of Michelet’s _Le +Peuple_ and George Sand’s story _La Mare au Diable_, because in it he +touched vividly on a living and contemporary interest. It was difficult +to arouse sympathy when talking of the charms of the ecclesiastical +writers of the Eastern Church and lauding the Greco-Russian Church. Only +Fyodor Glinka[115] and his wife Yevdokia, who wrote of ‘the milk of the +Holy Virgin,’ usually sat side by side in the front row, modestly casting +down their eyes when Shevyryov was immoderate in his praises of the +Orthodox Church. + +Shevyryov spoilt his lectures, just as he spoilt his articles, by sallies +against ideas, books, and persons, whom one could hardly have defended +without being clapped in prison. + +Meanwhile, ‘in spite of all the devices invented to make a success’ of +the _Moskvityanin_, it was definitely a failure. To make a polemical +journal living one must have the instinct of modernity, one must have +that delicate sensitiveness of the nerves which is at once stimulated +by all that stimulates society. The editors of the _Moskvityanin_ were +entirely destitute of this intuitive vision and, however they turned +and twisted poor Nestor and poor Dante, they were at last themselves +convinced that in our depraved age you could have no success, either +with the roughly chopped phrases of Pogodin or the sing-song suavity +of Shevyryov’s eloquence. After much consideration they determined to +offer the editorship to Ivan Kireyevsky. The choice of Kireyevsky was a +particularly happy one, not only because of his intelligence and talents, +but also on the financial side. There is no one in the world with whom I +should so much like to transact business as with Kireyevsky. + +To give an idea of his commercial philosophy I will relate the following +anecdote. He had a stud-farm from which horses were brought to Moscow, +valued, and sold. On one occasion a young officer came to buy a horse +to which he had taken a great fancy; the coachman, seeing this, put up +the price. After some bargaining the officer agreed to his terms and +went to Kireyevsky. The latter after receiving the money looked in the +list and observed to the officer that the horse was priced at eight +hundred roubles, not at a thousand, and that the coachman must have made +a mistake. This so dumbfoundered the officer that he asked permission +to look at the horse again, and after examining it refused to buy it, +saying: ‘It must be a nice sort of horse, if the owner is ashamed to take +the price agreed on for it....’ Where could one find a better editor? + +He set to work zealously, wasted a great deal of time and moved to +Moscow on account of it, but for all his talent he could do nothing with +the magazine. The _Moskvityanin_ did not respond to any living widely +diffused demand, and therefore could not have any circulation except in +its own coterie. Its failure must have been a great disappointment to +Kireyevsky. + +The _Moskvityanin_ did not recover after its second breakdown, and the +Slavophils themselves perceived that they could not make much headway on +that boat. They began to think of another magazine. + +This time it was not they who came off victorious. Public opinion +clamorously decided in our favour. In the dark night when the +_Moskvityanin_ was sinking and the _Lighthouse_ was no longer lighting it +up from Petersburg, Byelinsky, who had fed the _Notes of the Fatherland_ +with his own blood, set their illegitimate offspring on its feet and +gave them both such a shove that they were able for some years to keep +on their way with no staff but proof-correctors, printers, and the +publicans and sinners of literature. Byelinsky’s name was enough to make +the fortune of two shops and to concentrate all that was best in Russian +literature in the publications in which he took part, while Kireyevsky’s +talent and Homyakov’s contributions could bring neither circulation nor +readers to the _Moskvityanin_. + +Such was the field of battle when I left it and went away from Russia. +Both sides expressed themselves fully once more,[116] and all the +questions have been thrown into a new light by the great events of 1848. + +Nicholas is dead; a new life has drawn the Slavophils and us beyond the +limits of our feud. We have stretched out our hands to them, but where +are they? Gone! And K. Aksakov is gone, and those ‘opponents’ who were +dearer to us than many of our own side are no more. + +It was a hard life that burnt men away like a candle set in the wind of +autumn. + +They were all living when I wrote this chapter the first time. This time +let it end with the following lines spoken on the death of Aksakov: + +‘The Kireyevskys, Homyakov, and Aksakov have done their work; whether +their lives were short or long, they could, as they closed their eyes, +say to themselves with full conviction that they had done what they meant +to do, and, though they could not stop the express troika which Peter the +Great had sent flying on its way and in which Biron sat urging the driver +with blows to drive over cornfields and crush the people, they did bring +public opinion to a halt and made all earnest people reconsider their +position. + +‘With them a new era of Russian thought begins and, when we say that, it +seems impossible to suspect us of partiality. + +‘Yes, we were their opponents, but very strange ones. We had the same +love, but not the same way of loving. + +‘Both they and we had been from earliest years possessed by one +unaccountable, physiological, passionate feeling, which they took as +memory and we as prophecy—a feeling of boundless, absorbing love for the +Russian people, Russian manner of life, Russian mode of thought. And like +Janus, or the two-headed eagle, we looked in different directions while +one heart throbbed within us. + +‘They laid all their love, all their tenderness at the feet of their +oppressed mother. In us, brought up away from home, the tie was weaker. +We had been in the charge of a French governess, and only learned later +on that not she was our mother but a downtrodden peasant woman, and we +ourselves divined it from the likeness in our features and because her +songs were dearer to us than the vaudevilles. We loved her dearly, but +her life was too narrow. We were stifled in her narrow dwelling with +everywhere tarnished faces behind the silver setting, where she lived +terrified by priests and church servitors, and bullied by soldiers and +clerks. Even her everlasting wailing for her lost happiness rent our +hearts, we knew she had no bright memories, we knew something else too, +that her happiness lay in the future, that the new life was stirring +under her heart, our younger brother, to whom without the mess of pottage +we would yield our heritage. And meanwhile: + + “Mutter, Mutter, lass mich gehen + Shweifen auf die wilden Höhen!” + +‘Such were our family dissensions fifteen years ago. Much water has +flowed away since then, and we have met the _mountain spirit_ that has +checked our flight, while they have stumbled out of a world of relics +on to living Russian problems. It would be strange for us to adjust +accounts, we have no monopoly of understanding; time, history, and +experience have brought us nearer, not because we have drawn them to us, +nor they us to them, but because both they and we are nearer to a true +outlook now than we were then, when we attacked each other unsparingly +in magazine articles, though even then I do not remember that we ever +doubted the warmth of their love for Russia, nor they ours. + +‘This faith in one another, this common love gives us, too, the right to +do homage at their tombs and to throw our handful of earth upon their +dead, in the sacred hope that on their graves and ours, young Russia may +blossom into light and power.’ + + + + +Chapter 31 + +MY FATHER’S DEATH—MY HERITAGE—THE PARTITION—TWO NEPHEWS + + +From the end of the year 1845, my father’s strength grew steadily less; +he changed unmistakably after the loss of the Senator, whose death was +completely in keeping with his whole life, taking place casually and +almost in his carriage. In 1839 he spent one evening as usual with my +father; he had come from some School of Agriculture, brought with him a +model of some agricultural machine, the use of which I imagine could have +very little interest for him, and at eleven o’clock in the evening he +went home. + +It was his habit to take a very light repast and to drink a glass of red +wine on reaching home; that evening he declined to take anything and +told my old friend Calot that he was rather tired and would go to bed. +Calot helped him undress, put a candle by his bedside and went out; he +had scarcely reached his room and taken off his coat when the Senator +rang the bell; Calot ran, the old man was lying dead on the floor by the +bed. This was a great shock to my father and very much alarmed him. His +solitude was even more complete, his own turn was terribly near, his +three elder brothers were in their graves; he was gloomier, and though, +as his habit was, he concealed his feelings and maintained his frigid +pose, yet his muscles failed him; I say muscles intentionally, for his +brain and his nerves remained unchanged to the very end. + +In April 1845, the old man’s face looked as though he were near his +death, his eyes had lost their lustre; he was by now so thin that +sometimes, showing me his hands, he would say: + +‘The skeleton is quite ready, you have only to take off the skin.’ + +His voice was weaker, he spoke more slowly; but his mind, his memory, +and his will were the same as ever, there was the same irony, the same +continual dissatisfaction with every one. + +‘Do you remember,’ one of his old friends asked ten days before his +death, ‘who was our _chargé d’affaires_ in Turin after the war? You used +to know him abroad.’ + +‘Syeverin,’ answered the old man after thinking a few seconds. + +On the 3rd of May I found him in bed, his cheeks were flushed with fever, +which had scarcely ever happened to him before; he was restless and said +that he could not get up; then he ordered leeches to be applied and, as +he lay in bed, continued his biting remarks during that operation. + +‘So you are here,’ he said, as though I had only just come in; ‘you had +much better go off somewhere and amuse yourself, my dear fellow, it is a +very melancholy spectacle to watch a man’s dissolution, _cela donne des +pensées noires_, but first give the lad ten kopecks for vodka.’ + +I fumbled in my pocket and found nothing less than a twenty-five-kopeck +piece and would have given it, but the sick man saw it and said: ‘How +tiresome you are, I said ten kopecks.’ + +‘I haven’t got it.’ + +‘Give me my purse out of the bureau,’ and after a long search he found a +ten-kopeck piece. + +Golohvastov, my father’s nephew, came in; the old man did not speak. In +order to say something, Golohvastov observed that he had just come from +the governor-general’s; at that word my father put his finger to his +black velvet skull-cap, like a soldier saluting. I had studied all his +gestures so thoroughly that I knew at once what was wrong; Golohvastov +ought to have said: ‘From Shtcherbatov’s.’ + +‘Only fancy, how strange,’ the latter went on, ‘it turns out that he has +gallstones.’ + +‘Why is it strange that the governor-general should have gallstones?’ the +invalid asked slowly. + +‘Well, _mon oncle_, he is over seventy, and it is the first time he has +suffered in that way.’ + +‘Well, but here am I, though I am not governor-general, still it is just +as strange; I am seventy-six and it is the first time I am dying.’ + +He was fully aware of his position and that gave his irony a _macabre_ +character, which made one smile while petrified with horror. His valet, +who always reported on small domestic matters to him in the evenings, +told him that the bridle was in a very bad condition and that they would +have to buy a new one. + +‘What a queer fellow you are,’ my father answered; ‘a man is passing away +and you talk to him about a bridle. Wait a day or two till you have put +me on the drawing-room table, then tell him (pointing to me), he’ll bid +you buy a saddle and reins as well, though they are not wanted.’ + +On the 5th of May his temperature was higher, his features were more +sunken and began to look black, the old man was visibly wasting away from +the burning fever. He spoke little but with perfect collectedness. In +the morning he asked for coffee and for broth, and frequently drank some +sort of tisane. In the dusk, he called me to him and said: ‘It is over,’ +passing his hand over the quilt like a sword or a scythe as he spoke. I +pressed his hand to my lips, it was burning. He tried to say something, +was beginning ... and, without having said anything, ended: ‘But there, +you know.’ And he turned to G—— I—— who was standing on the other side of +the bed: ‘Very bad,’ he said to him and rested his weary eyes upon him. + +G—— I——, an extremely honest man who at that time was managing my +father’s business affairs and was more trusted by him than any one, bent +down to him and said: ‘All the measures you have tried hitherto have been +useless, allow me to advise you to resort to another remedy.’ + +‘What remedy?’ asked the sick man. + +‘Won’t you send for the priest?’ + +‘Oh,’ said my father, turning to me, ‘I thought G—— I—— really had some +remedy to advise.’ + +Soon afterwards he fell into a sleep which lasted till next morning; I +suppose it must have been a state of unconsciousness. His illness made +fearful progress during the night; the end was near, at nine o’clock I +sent a horse messenger for Golohvastov. + +At half-past ten my father asked to be dressed. He could not stand up +nor hold anything securely in his hand, but he noticed at once that the +silver buckle with which his trousers were fastened was missing and asked +for it. When he was dressed he moved, supported by us, into his study. +There was a big Voltairian armchair and a hard, narrow couch in the +room; he bade us lay him down on the latter and at once uttered a few +unintelligible and incoherent words, but five minutes later opened his +eyes, and meeting Golohvastov’s gaze asked him: ‘Why have you come so +early?’ + +‘I happened to be close by, uncle,’ answered Golohvastov, ‘so I looked in +to ask how you are.’ + +The old man smiled as though he would say, ‘You don’t take me in, my dear +fellow!’ Then he asked for his snuff-box. I handed it him and opened +it, but, though he made great efforts, he could not control his fingers +sufficiently to take a pinch; this seemed to strike him, he looked +gloomily around him, and again his brain seemed clouded, he uttered a few +inarticulate words, then asked: ‘What do you call those pipes that are +smoked through water?’ + +‘Hookahs,’ observed Golohvastov. + +‘Yes, yes ... my hookah’—and that was all. + +Meanwhile Golohvastov outside the door was getting the priest ready with +the sacrament. He asked the sick man in a loud voice whether he would +receive him; my father opened his eyes and nodded. K—— opened the door +and the priest walked in ... my father was unconscious again, but a few +words intoned by the priest and still more the smell of the incense +aroused him, and he crossed himself; the priest went up to him; we moved +away. + +After the ceremony my father saw Dr. Levental zealously writing a +prescription. + +‘What are you writing?’ he asked. + +‘A prescription for you.’ + +‘What prescription, musk or something? You ought to be ashamed, you had +better prescribe opium to help me off peacefully.... Lift me up, I want +to sit in the armchair ...’ he added, turning to us. Those were almost +the last coherent words he uttered. We lifted up the dying man and sat +him in the chair. ‘Push me up to the table.’ We did so. He looked feebly +at all. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, indicating M—— K——. I mentioned his name. + +He wanted to rest his head on his hand, but his arm gave way and fell +as though lifeless on the table; I put mine in its place. Twice he +bent a weary sick glance on me as though asking for help, a more and +more peaceful and serene expression came into his face ... there was a +sigh—another sigh, and the head that was so heavy on my arm began to grow +stiff.... Everything in the room preserved for some minutes a deathly +silence. + +This was on the 6th of May 1846, about three o’clock in the afternoon. + +He was buried in the Dyevitchy Monastery with great pomp and ceremony; +two families of peasants who had been set free by him came from +Pokrovskoe to bear the coffin. We followed them, with torches, +choristers, priests, archimandrites, bishops ... and the heart-rending +‘With thy Saints give rest,’ and then the grave and the heavy falling of +the earth on the coffin lid, and with that was ended the long life of the +old man who had so obstinately and powerfully maintained his authority +over his household, who had so weighed on all who surrounded him; and now +all at once his authority had vanished, his power was removed, he was +gone, utterly gone! + +Earth was scattered on the grave, the priests and monks were taken off to +dinner. I did not join them, but went home. The carriages drove away, the +beggars pressed round the monastery gates, the peasants stood in a group, +wiping the sweat from their faces; I knew them all well, said good-bye to +them, thanked them and drove away. + +Before my father’s death we had almost entirely moved out of the little +house into the big one in which he was living; and so it was natural that +in the bustle of the first few days I had not had time to look round. +But what I saw now on returning from the funeral sent a strange pang to +my heart; in the courtyard and in the porch I was met by the servants, +men and women, begging my favour and protection (why, I will explain at +once). There was a smell of incense in the drawing-room. I went into the +room in which my father’s bed used to stand, it had been carried out; the +door, which had for so many years been approached with cautious steps, +not only by the servants but even by myself, was wide open, and the maid +was setting a small table in the corner. Every one turned to me for +orders. My new position was detestable, revolting to me—this house and +everything in it belonged to me because some one was dead, and that some +one was my father. It seemed to me that in this coarse taking possession +there was something unclean, as though I were robbing the dead man. + +There is something profoundly immoral in inheritance; it distorts +the legitimate grief at the loss of one near to us by entering into +possession of his belongings. Fortunately we avoided other revolting +consequences—the savage recriminations and hideous quarrelling of those +who share the booty. The division of all the property was complete in +a couple of hours, during which no one raised his voice or uttered a +single cold word, and after which all present separated with increased +respect for one another. This fact, the chief credit for which is due to +Golohvastov, deserves a few words of explanation. + +During the lifetime of the Senator, he and my father made wills +bequeathing the ancestral estate to each other, on condition that the +survivor would leave it to their nephew Golohvastov. Part of his own +estate my father sold and assigned the sum he received from it to us. +Afterwards he gave me a little estate in the province of Kostroma, doing +so because Olga Alexandra Zherebtsov insisted upon it. The government +sequestered this estate contrary to the law before any inquiry was +made of me whether I intended to return. My father sold, after the +Senator’s death, the latter’s Tver estate. So long as my father’s own +estates covered what he sold of the property belonging to his brother, +Golohvastov said nothing. But when the idea occurred to the old man to +give me the estate in the Moscow province on condition that I should, in +accordance with his instructions, pay a sum of money for it, partly to +my brother and partly to other persons, then Golohvastov observed that +this was inconsistent with the wishes of the Senator who had intended the +estate to pass to him. The old man, who could not endure the slightest +opposition, especially in plans which he had long cherished and therefore +considered beyond all criticism, heaped sarcasms upon his nephew. +Golohvastov refused to have anything to do with his affairs, above all +to act as his executor. The misunderstanding was at first so acute that +they broke off all relations. + +This was a serious blow to my father. There were few people in the world +that he really liked and Golohvastov was one of them. He had grown up +before his eyes, the whole family was proud of him. My father put great +trust in him, and always held him up to me as a model, and now, all of +a sudden, ‘Mitya, sister Lizaveta’s son,’ was on bad terms with him, +was refusing to carry out his arrangements, was putting his veto on his +plans, and already he could see behind him the ironical eyes of ‘the +Chemist,’ as with a smile he rubbed his nose with fingers burnt with acid. + +As his habit was, my father showed not the faintest sign of his +mortification; he avoided talking about Golohvastov, but became +perceptibly more morose and uneasy and talked more often of ‘this awful +age in which all ties of relationship have grown lax, and age no longer +meets with the respect with which it was surrounded in happier days,’ I +suppose when Catherine II. was the representative of all the domestic +virtues! + +At the beginning of the quarrel I was at Sokolovo and scarcely heard of +it, but the day after my return to Moscow Golohvastov called upon me +early in the morning. Being an extremely pedantic and formal person, +he told me all about it at very great length and in fine and correct +language, adding that he had made haste to come to me expressly to warn +me what was wrong before I should hear anything of the quarrel. + +‘I may well be called Alexander,’ I said jocosely, ‘I will cut the +Gordian knot for you at once. Whatever happens, you must be reconciled, +and, to remove all subject of dispute, I tell you plainly and directly +that I refuse to accept Pokrovskoe; and the forest there alone will be +enough to cover the loss of the Tver estate.’ + +Golohvastov was a little embarrassed and therefore proceeded to prove to +me even more circumstantially all that I had thoroughly grasped from his +first few words. We parted on the best of terms. + +One evening a few days later my father began of his own accord speaking +of Golohvastov. As his way was, when he was displeased with any one, he +did not leave him a leg to stand on. The ideal which he had held up to +me since I was ten years old, the model son, the exemplary brother, the +best of nephews, and the man who dressed so well that the knot of his +cravat was never too large or too small, appeared now, as though in some +photographic negative, with all the hollow places prominent and all the +white spots black. + +The change to simple abuse would have been too abrupt and conspicuous +without all sorts of fine shades, transitions, and connections. My father +was too clever to be so inconsequent. + +‘Oh, tell me, by the way, I keep forgetting to ask you, have you seen +Dmitry Pavlovitch’ (he had always called him ‘Mitya’) ‘since you came +back?’ + +‘Yes, once.’ + +‘Well, how is his Excellency?’ + +‘Oh, he is quite well.’ + +‘It’s quite right that you should see him; one ought to stick to such +people. I like him and have always liked him and, indeed, he deserves to +be liked. Of course he, too, has many absurd failings.... But God alone +is without sin. Making his career so rapidly has turned his head.... +Well, he is young for the Anna ribbon; besides he has such duties; he as +curator goes to scold the schoolboys and so he has got into the way of +talking to people as though they were inferiors ... he lectures and the +pupils stand at attention and listen to him ... he imagines that he can +talk in that tone to every one. I don’t know whether you have noticed +it, but his voice even is different. I remember under the late Empress, +Prince Prozorovsky used to give commands to his orderlies in just that +harsh voice. Ridiculous as it seems, he came here to give me a lecture. I +listened to him and thought, “What if my sister Lizaveta could have seen +it!” I gave her away to Pavel Ivanovitch on their wedding day, and here +was her son shouting: “Well, uncle, if that is how it is, you had better +apply to Alexey Alexandrovitch, but I beg you to excuse me.” I have one +foot in the grave, as you know, and no end of worries and infirmities; I +am a long-suffering Job, in fact. And he shouts at me and gets crimson in +the face.... _Quel siècle!_ I know that he is accustomed to _décastères_. +Why, he never goes anywhere, but likes to sit at home giving orders to +his elders and stable-boys, and then those wretched little clerks with +“your Excellency this,” and “your Excellency that!” Why, it has turned +his brain....’ + +In short, just as by slightly changing the features in the portrait +of Louis Philippe you can finally get from a fine-looking old man +to a rotten pear, so the model Mitya passed point by point into a +Cartouche[117] or a Shemyaka. + +When the last touches had been put in, I told him all my conversation +with Golohvastov. The old man listened attentively, scowled, and then, +after deliberately, carefully, methodically taking pinches of snuff, said +to me: + +‘Pray don’t imagine, my dear fellow, that you are troubling me by +refusing Pokrovskoe.... I am not bowing down and begging any one to +take my estate, and I am not going to beg you to. There are plenty who +would be glad of it. Every one thwarts my plans; I am sick of it; I will +give everything to a hospital—the patients will be glad to have it. As +though Mitya were not enough, here are you teaching me what to do with my +property, and it is only the other day that Vera was washing you in a +tub. No, I am tired of it, it is time I was out of the way; I had better +go to the hospital myself.’ + +So the conversation ended. + +At eleven o’clock next morning my father sent his valet for me. This +happened very rarely; as a rule, I went in to see him before dinner or, +if I were not dining with him, went round to tea. + +I found the old man at his writing-table with his spectacles on and some +papers in front of him. + +‘Come here and, if you can spare me an hour, help me to put some of these +papers in order. I know you are busy, you are for ever writing your +articles, you are a literary man.... I saw your article in the _Post +of the Fatherland_, I couldn’t make anything of it. It is full of such +learned expressions. I don’t know what literature is coming to.... In old +days Derzhavin and Dmitriev used to write, but nowadays it is you ... +and our cousin Ogaryov. Though, after all, it is better to stay at home +and write nonsense than to be always driving about, going to Yar’s and +drinking champagne.’ + +I listened and could not imagine what this _captatio benevolentiae_ was +leading up to. + +‘Sit down here, read this document and tell me your opinion.’ + +It was his will and a few codicils added to it. From his point of view +this was the greatest mark of confidence he could have shown me. + +A strange psychological fact. From what I read and from what he said I +drew two conclusions: first, that he was longing to be reconciled to +Golohvastov, and secondly, that he greatly appreciated my refusing to +take the estate; and, indeed, from that time, that is, from October 1845 +up to the time of his death, he not only put confidence in me in every +case, but sometimes asked my advice and on two occasions even acted upon +it. + +Yet what would a man have thought who had overheard our conversation +the day before? I have not altered one word of my father’s answer about +Pokrovskoe, I remember it well. + +The will in itself was clear and simple; he left all his real property to +Golohvastov, all his personal belongings, money, and houses to my mother, +my brother, and me, to be divided equally among us. On the other hand, +the codicils, written on all sorts of scraps of paper and undated, were +far from being simple. The responsibility he laid upon us, and especially +upon Golohvastov, was extremely unpleasant. These codicils contradicted +each other and had that character of indefiniteness which commonly leads +to ugly quarrels and recriminations. + +For instance, the following words occurred in one: ‘I set free all the +house-serfs who have served me well and zealously and I charge you to +give them rewards and money according to their deserts.’ + +In one the old brick house was left to G—— I——. In another the house +was disposed of differently, and money was left to G—— I——, but it was +nowhere stated that this money was to be instead of the house. In one +codicil my father left a certain sum of ten thousand silver roubles to a +cousin, while in another he left this cousin’s sister a small estate on +condition that she paid her brother out of it this ten thousand roubles. + +I must observe that I had heard beforehand from him of half of these +arrangements, and not I alone. The old man had, for instance, spoken +several times before me of leaving the house to G—— I——, and had even +advised him to move into it. + +I suggested to my father that he should invite Golohvastov and commission +him and G—— I—— to put all these notes together into one codicil. + +‘Of course,’ he said, ‘Mitya might be of use, but then he is very busy. +You know these political gentlemen.... What does he care about his dying +uncle? He is always inspecting seminaries.’ + +‘He’ll be sure to come,’ I observed, ‘it’s a matter of so much +consequence for him.’ + +‘I am always glad to see him. Only my head is not always strong enough +to talk business. Mitya, _il est très verbeux_—talks my head off, and my +thoughts will be in a whirl directly; you had better take him all these +papers and let him first make his comments on the margin.’ + +Two or three days later Golohvastov came himself; being extremely +methodical, he was more alarmed by the confused state of the will than +I was, and being a classical scholar he expressed his feelings thus: +‘_Mais, mon cher, c’est le testament d’Alexandre le Grand_.’ + +My father, as he always did in such circumstances, affected to be twice +as ill as usual, aimed indirect shafts of sarcasm at Golohvastov, then +embraced him, touched his cheek with his own, and the family Campo +Formio[118] was concluded. + +So far as we could, we persuaded the old man to revise his supplementary +notes and to turn them into a single codicil. He meant to write this +himself, and in six months had not finished it. + +After the division of the property, the question naturally arose who +were to receive their freedom and who not. As for the money gratuities, +I had persuaded my father to fix a definite sum; after long discussions +he had fixed three thousand silver roubles. Golohvastov told the servants +that, not knowing which of them had served in the house and how they had +served, he left the selection to me. I began by putting on the list all +who were serving in the house. But when news of my list spread abroad, +a perfect stream of serfs of past generations burst upon me from all +parts—old men with grey unshaven chins and bald heads, clad in rags, +with that tremulous shaking of the head and hands which is the fruit of +twenty or thirty years of drunkenness; wrinkled old women wearing caps +and huge flounces; and children to whom I had stood godfather by proxy +though I had no conception of their existence. Some of these people +I had never seen at all, others I remembered faintly as in a dream; +finally some turned up who had, I knew for a fact, never served in our +house, but had always lived away with a passport, and others who had +once lived not in our house but in the Senator’s, or had spent all their +days in the country. If these hobbling old men and old women, shrunken +and blackened with age, had wanted freedom for themselves, they would +have been no great loss; but on the contrary they were quite ready to +end their days in the service of Dmitry Pavlovitch, but each of them had +sons, daughters, grandchildren. I pondered and pondered, and in the end +put down all their names. Golohvastov was perfectly aware that half of +these strangers had never been in our service, but, seeing my list, he +gave orders that deeds of freedom should be drawn up for all of them; +as we signed them, he passed his finger through his hair and said to +me, smiling: ‘I fancy we have set free several serfs belonging to other +people.’ + +Golohvastov too was an original person in his own way, like all my +father’s family. + +My father’s younger sister had been married to Pavel Ivanovitch +Golohvastov, an old, old-fashioned, and very wealthy Russian gentleman +of ancient lineage. There are glimpses of Golohvastovs here and there in +Russian history from the days of Ivan the Terrible; their names are met +with in the days of the False Dmitri and in the Time of Trouble. Avraamy +Palitsyn[119] brought upon himself first the anger of Dmitry Pavlovitch +and afterwards a very long critical article through having incautiously +referred to one of the latter’s ancestors in his account of the Siege of +the Troitse-Sergievsky Monastery. + +Pavel Ivanovitch was a morose and niggardly but extremely honest and +business-like man. I have described already how he hindered my father +from getting out of Moscow in 1812 and how he died afterwards in the +country from a stroke. + +He left two sons and a daughter. They lived with their mother in the +very same big house on the Tversky Boulevard the fire in which had so +astonished their old father. The rather strict, niggardly, and oppressive +tone characteristic of the old father survived him. + +An elaborate, solemn dullness and affectation of courteousness and +benevolence always reigned in their house, together with a sense of their +own dignity which, _à la longue_, was excessively boring. The spacious +and well-kept rooms were too empty and silent. The daughter would sit in +silence at her work; the mother, who preserved traces of great beauty and +was still a youngish woman, forty-five or thereabouts, was in failing +health and usually lay on the sofa; both spoke in a drawling, rather +sing-song tone, as Moscow ladies generally did in those days. Dmitry +Pavlovitch at eighteen was like a man of forty. The younger brother was +livelier, but then he scarcely ever put in an appearance.... + +And all that has passed away ... while I still remember Dmitry +Pavlovitch’s mother making a solemn presentation to him of a horse and +droshky for his exclusive use. Their former tutor, Marshal, an excellent +man, who served me as the model for Joseph in _Who is to Blame?_ used to +give me lessons after Bouchôt left us. + +However one may try to evade or disguise them, however cleverly one may +settle these agitating questions of life and death and destiny, there is +still no escaping them with their funeral crosses and with that smile on +the grinning jaws of the dead face that seems so inappropriate! + +Though indeed, on second thoughts, one sees that there is nothing for it +but to smile. Take the fate of those two brothers, for instance—thinking +about them leads one to strange reflections! + +The difference between my father and the Senator pales before the sharp +contrast between the Golohvastovs, though they grew up in the same room, +had the same tutor, the same teachers, the same surroundings. + +The elder brother had fair hair with a British shade of red in it, light +grey eyes which he was fond of screwing up and which were suggestive of +the steely imperturbability of his soul. With advancing years his figure +became more and more expressive of a feeling of complete respect for +himself and of a comfortable digestion in a spiritual sense. By that time +he had begun not merely to screw up his eyes, but also his nostrils, +which were of a peculiar, rather attractive cut. As he talked, he used to +pass the third finger of his left hand through the hair on his temples, +which was always curled and carefully arranged, while he kept his lips +perpetually curved in a benevolent smile; the latter trick he inherited +from his mother and from Lampi’s[120] portrait of Catherine II. His +regular features together with his graceful and rather tall figure, his +carefully rounded movements, and his neckerchief, the knot of which ‘was +never too big nor too small,’ gave him the somewhat majestic comeliness +of the man who gives the bride away at a wedding, of an honourable +witness, of a man who has to distribute prizes to the best schoolboys, +or at the very least of a man who has come to congratulate, to wish one a +happy Christmas or New Year. But for the daily round, for workaday life, +he was too elegant. + +His whole life was a series of rewards for success and morality. He fully +deserved them. Marshal, whose hair had been turned white by his younger +brother, could not find words strong enough for Dmitry Pavlovitch’s +merits and had absolute confidence in the impeccability of his French +syntax. He did in fact speak French with that inapproachable correctness +with which Frenchmen never speak the language (probably because the sense +of the immense importance of knowing the French grammar is not so highly +developed in them). At fourteen he not only took part in the management +of the estate, but translated the whole of Heraskov’s _Rossiad_ into +French prose by way of an exercise in style. Most likely his old father +in the other world was more delighted at hearing of this than the ‘Swan +on the waters of the Meander.’ But Golohvastov did not merely speak +French and German correctly and know Latin well, he knew Russian and +spoke it well and correctly. + +Just as Marshal considered him his best pupil, so his mother considered +him her best son, his uncles thought him their best nephew, and Prince +Dmitry Vladimirovitch Golitsyn, whose department he entered, esteemed +him the best of his subordinates. And what is still more important, all +this really was true. Yet, strange to say ... one felt the absence of +something in him. He was an intelligent, competent man, he had read and +remembered a great deal—what more, one may say, could one ask? + +I have since more than once met these characters, these ‘level’ minds, +these brains so clearly comprehending—in a certain sphere and to a +certain depth. They are so intelligent in their judgments, never +deviating from their data; they are still more intelligent in their +conduct, never stepping aside from the beaten track; they are the true +contemporaries of their age, of their circle. Everything they say is +true, but they might say something different; everything they do is good, +but they might do something else. They are usually moral, but the evil +spirit whispers in one’s ear: ‘But are they capable of being immoral?’ +The Germans would call such people ‘reasonable’; you find them among the +Whigs in England, of whom the genius and highest representative now is +Macaulay and in old days was Sir Walter Scott, among the followers of +the practical philosophy of the ‘hermit _de la Chausseé d’Antin_’[121] +and of the philosophical disquisitions of Weiss.[122] Everything in +these gentlemen is correct, decorous, distinguished, in place; they very +properly love virtue and avoid vice; everything about them has the charm +of a grey summer day—free from rain and sun; but something is lacking, a +trifle, a nothing, as with the daughters of Tsar Nikita ... but + + ‘That was just what was missing,’ + +and without it all the rest is no use. + +Golohvastov’s younger brother was born a cripple; this circumstance +alone deprived him of the possibility of attaining the antique pose +and Versailles deportment of his elder brother. Moreover he had black +hair and big black eyes which he never screwed up. This vigorous and +handsome exterior was all there was; within, rather unbalanced passions +and confused ideas strayed at random. My father, who thought nothing of +him, would say when he was particularly displeased with him: ‘_Quel jeu +intéressant de la nature_ to see on Nikolasha’s shoulders’—and the old +man shrugged his own—‘the head of the Shah of Persia!’ + +While his elder brother could never find a minute’s leisure and was +continually doing something, Nikolay Pavlovitch did absolutely nothing +all his life. In his youth he did not study; at twenty-three he was +married, and in a very amusing fashion. He eloped with himself. Having +fallen in love with a poor girl of no rank, who was like an extremely +charming Greuze head or elegant Sèvres china doll, he asked permission +to marry her, and at that I am not surprised. His mother, who was +filled with aristocratic prejudices and imagined that no one less +than a Rumyantsov or an Orlov would be a fitting bride for one of her +sons—and even such a bride would have had to bring a whole population +of the province of Voronezh or Ryazan as a dowry—of course refused her +consent. But in spite of his brother’s persuasions and his uncles’ +and aunts’ admonitions, the young girl’s bright eyes gained the upper +hand. Our Werther, seeing that he could not alter the decision of his +relations, one night let down from his bedroom-window a box, some linen, +and his valet Alexandr, then let himself down, leaving his door locked +on the inner side. By the time the door was opened at the dinner hour +next day he was already married. His mother was so distressed at the +secret marriage that she took to her bed and died, laying her life as a +sacrifice on the altar of etiquette and decorum. + +A deaf and grumbling old lady with a little moustache, the widow of an +officer who had been in command of the fortress of Orsk in the time of +the plague and of Pugatchov, lived in their house. She often used to tell +me afterwards about the terrific incident of the elopement, and every +time added: ‘My good sir, ever since he was a little boy I have seen that +Nikolay Pavlovitch would never come to any good and would never be a +comfort to Elizaveta Alexeyevna. He was twelve years old, you know, when +he came running to me—I shall never forget it—laughing till the tears +came into his eyes, and saying, “Nadyeshda Ivanovna, Nadyeshda Ivanovna, +make haste, look out of the window and see what has happened to our cow!” +I ran to the window and fairly groaned. Why, only fancy, sir, the dogs, I +suppose it was, had torn her tail off, anyway the poor darling was left +without a tail.... It was a Tyrolese cow.... I couldn’t help saying, “So +this is how you laugh at your mamma’s cow, and your own property! Well, +you will come to no good!” And I gave up all hope of him from that day.’ + +The prediction so strangely based upon a cow’s tail not being in its +proper place was quickly fulfilled. The brothers divided the property and +the younger one proceeded to waste his in riotous living. + +Every one knows the series of sketches in which Hogarth represents side +by side the lives of the industrious man and the idler. The industrious +man yawns in church while the idler is playing knuckle-bones; the +industrious man reads an edifying book in the family circle while the +idler is drinking gin, and so on. Except for the difference in social +position, the parallel was true of the two brothers. One of Hogarth’s +heroes begins by stealing and ends on the gallows, while the other spends +his whole life in dullness and lectures his friends to death. Thieving +was a _hors-d’œuvre_, it was not the thief’s fault that his mother did +not leave him two thousand souls in the Kaluga province and half a +million of money, as Elizaveta Alexeyevna did her son. He would hardly in +that case have put himself to so much trouble and effort, for thieving +is far from a recreation, it is a very unpleasant and extremely risky +pursuit. + +On dividing the property, both brothers set zealously to work, one to +improve his estate, the other to ruin his; I do not know whether Dmitry +Pavlovitch added a hundred roubles to his fortune by his unflagging +efforts, but within ten years Nikolay Pavlovitch had debts of more than a +million. + +Soon after his mother’s death Dmitry Pavlovitch, after establishing +his sister, that is, marrying her off, went to Paris and London to see +Europe; while Nikolay Pavlovitch set about showing himself to Moscow: +balls, dinners, entertainments followed one another; his house was packed +from morning to night with gourmands fond of a good dinner, connoisseurs +of good wine, young people fond of dancing, interesting Frenchmen, +officers of the Guards—wine flowed, bands played, and he even sometimes +fêted local divinities of the first magnitude, such as Prince D. V. +Golitsyn and Prince Yussupov. + +Meanwhile Dmitry Pavlovitch, still unmarried, after duly inspecting +Europe and learning English, returned, furnished with plans of Devonshire +farms and Cornwall stud-stables and accompanied by an English groom and +two immense thoroughbred Newfoundland dogs of incredible stupidity with +long hair and shaggy paws. Sowing and winnowing machines, extraordinary +ploughs, and models of all sorts of agricultural devices were brought by +sea. + +While Dmitry Pavlovitch was studiously introducing the four-field system +of husbandry, which does not suit our soil, and sowing our orthodox +meadows with clover, while he was giving English training to colts of +Russian parentage and studying Thiers, Nikolay Pavlovitch—and this I +consider the worst and silliest part of his conduct—managed to get +tired of his wife and, as though he thought balls and dinner-parties +not a sufficiently rapid means for reaching ruin, took as a mistress a +stage-dancer who was certainly not worthy to tie his wife’s stay-lace. +From that moment everything went like wildfire; an inventory was made of +the estate, his wife pined and grieved over the fate of her children and +herself, caught a cold and died after a few days’ illness—the family was +ruined. + +Seeing this, Dmitry Pavlovitch took vigorous measures to prevent his +estate, too, going to his brother’s creditors—he made up his mind to get +married. He carefully selected a sensible and careful wife, his marriage +was not the fruit of unbridled passion; from dynastic considerations he +desired direct heirs in order to secure the property of his ancestors. + +His brother’s marriage bitterly chagrined Nikolay Pavlovitch. He had not +expected such a surprise from him; they were destined, it seemed, to +astonish each other by their matrimonial alliances. To console himself he +was wilder than ever in his debauchery. Slow as such processes are with +us, at last the day came when his estate was to be sold by auction. I +do not imagine that Dmitry Pavlovitch would have been greatly concerned +over his brother’s fate, but here again dynastic considerations came in +and led him, with the assistance of his uncles, to attempt to save his +brother. They began buying up all sorts of bills, paying forty kopecks +in the rouble, that is practically threw a large sum of money into the +fire, and only saw afterwards that it was quite useless, for the bills +were so many. One episode in this story has remained in my memory. At +the division of the family property Nikolay Pavlovitch had received his +mother’s diamonds, and these too he had in the end pawned. To see the +diamonds that had once decked the majestic form of Elizaveta Alexeyevna +sold to some merchant’s wife was more than Dmitry Pavlovitch could +stand; he represented to his brother all the iniquity of his conduct; +the latter wept and swore that he was penitent; Dmitry Pavlovitch gave +him an I O U and sent him to the pawnbroker’s to redeem the diamonds. +Nikolay Pavlovitch asked his permission to bring the diamonds to him that +he might keep them in safety as the sole heritage of his daughters. He +did redeem the diamonds and was taking them to his brother, but probably +changed his mind on the way; for instead of taking them to his brother, +he went to another pawnbroker and pawned them again. The reader must +imagine the amazement of the Senator, the annoyance of Dmitry Pavlovitch, +and my father’s abundant reflections on the subject to understand how +heartily I laughed over this extremely comic incident. + +When all his resources were completely exhausted, when the estate +was sold and the house was for sale, the servants scattered in all +directions, and the diamonds not redeemed a second time, when Nikolay +Pavlovitch had actually given orders for his garden to be cut down for +firewood to heat his stove, the same kindly fate that had spoiled him +all his life came to his help again. He drove over to his cousin’s +summer villa and there went out for a walk, stopped in the middle of a +conversation, put his hand to his head, fell down and died. + +In those latter years the _diligent_[123] Dmitry Pavlovitch had left his +plough like Cincinnatus and was administering the republic of learning +in Moscow. This is how it came to pass. The Emperor Nicholas, assuming +that Major-General Pissarev had cropped the students’ hair sufficiently +and trained them to button up their uniforms, wished to replace the +military rule of the university by civilian control. On the road between +Moscow and Petersburg he appointed Prince Sergiey Mihailovitch Golitsyn +director of the university—on what grounds it would be difficult to say, +probably he could not have explained even to himself why he did it. +Possibly he appointed him in order to prove that the post of director +was altogether superfluous. Golitsyn, whom the Tsar had taken with him, +half-dead already at being driven at break-neck speed, was so terrified +at his new appointment that he tried to refuse it. But in these cases it +was impossible to argue with Nicholas; his obstinacy was like the morbid +persistence of pregnant women when they have a craving for something. + +When Vrontchenko was made Minister of Finance he flung himself at the +Tsar’s feet protesting his incapacity for the position. Nicholas made him +the profound answer: ‘That’s all nonsense; I never governed an empire +before, but here you see I have learned and you will learn too.’ And +Vrontchenko willy-nilly remained Minister to the great delight of all the +‘protected females’[124] of Myestchansky Street, who illuminated their +windows, saying, ‘Our Vassily Fyodorovitch has become a Minister!’ + +After galloping another hundred versts Golitsyn, still more crushed, +determined to enter upon negotiations and announced that he would only +accept the post if he should have a trustworthy colleague who could help +him to shepherd the university flock. Fifty versts farther on the Tsar +told him to find a colleague for himself; so they reached Petersburg +without disaster. + +After taking a month’s rest to recover from the journey, Golitsyn drove +slowly to Moscow and set to work to find a colleague. He had an assistant +in the university, Count A. Panin, the most exalted of mortals next to +his own brother and the drum-major of the Preobrazhensky Regiment; but he +was really too exalted for the little old gentleman to select him. After +looking about him in Moscow, Golitsyn’s eye fell upon Dmitry Pavlovitch. +From his own point of view he could have made no better choice. Dmitry +Pavlovitch had all the qualities which those in power seek in a man of +our day without the defects for which they persecute him—education, good +family, wealth, knowledge of scientific agriculture, and a complete +absence, not merely of ‘unsound ideas’ but any sort of incident in his +life. Golohvastov had had no single love intrigue, had never fought +a duel, had never played a game of cards in his life, and had never +once been drunk, while on the other hand he frequently went to mass on +Sundays—and not to mass just anywhere, but to mass in Prince Golitsyn’s +private chapel. To this distinction must be added a masterly knowledge of +the French language, polished manners, and only one passion, a perfectly +innocent one—a passion for horses. No sooner had Golitsyn thought of him +than Nicholas raced headlong to Moscow again. There Golitsyn caught him +before he sped on to Tula and presented to him Dmitry Pavlovitch. The +latter left the Tsar’s presence assistant director. + +From that day Dmitry Pavlovitch began to grow perceptibly fatter, his +deportment was still more expressive of dignity. He took to speaking +through his nose more than ever and began to wear a more ample +dress-coat, with no star as yet but with an unmistakable anticipation of +one. + +Until his university appointment we were as intimate as the difference of +our years permitted (he was sixteen years older than I). At this point +I almost quarrelled with him, at least for ten years we looked on each +other with chilly hostility. + +There was no private reason for this. His behaviour to me was always +full of delicacy, equally free from unnecessary intimacy and mortifying +aloofness. This deserves to be noted, since my father in his efforts to +bring us together did everything that was calculated to make us dislike +each other. + +He was continually impressing upon me that the Senator and Dmitry +Pavlovitch were my _natural protectors_, that I ought to _cling_ to them, +that I ought to appreciate the kindness they showed me as relations. To +this he would add that of course all their attentions were really for +his sake and not for mine. As regards the old Senator, to whom I was +almost as much used as to my father, with the difference that I was not +afraid of him as of my father, these words had no effect upon me, but +they did tend to make me avoid Golohvastov, and that they did not succeed +in doing so was thanks to the tact with which Golohvastov always behaved. + +My father used to say these things to me not in moments of vexation but +when he was in his very best humour, and he said them because in the days +of Catherine patronage was the regular thing; subordinates dared not +resent familiarity from a superior, and every one in the world openly +sought patrons and protectors. + +When Dmitry Pavlovitch received his university appointment I thought, +like Golitsyn, that it would be a very good thing for the university; +it turned out quite the other way. If Golohvastov had become a governor +or a chief prosecutor it may be presumed that he would have been better +than many governors or many chief prosecutors. The post in the university +was not at all the right one for him; his frigid formalism, his pedantry +led him into making petty regulations and treating the students like +schoolboys; there had not been so much interference in the life of the +lecture-room and so much discontent even under Pissarev. And what made it +worse was that Golohvastov was on the moral side what Panin and Pissarev +had been only in regard to hair and buttons. + +Till then, in spite of all his Toryism of the Russian provincial stamp, +there had always been something cultured and liberal about him—a love +for legality, an indignant resentment of arbitrary tyranny and official +plundering. When he received his university post he ranged himself _ex +officio_ on the side of every oppressive measure; he considered this +inevitable in his position. My time as a student was the period of the +greatest political enthusiasm; could I remain on good terms with so +zealous a servant of Nicholas? + +His pedantry and the everlasting ceremonial solemnity, the _mise en +scène_ of himself, sometimes brought him into the most amusing situations +from which, everlastingly occupied with keeping up his dignity and +invariably self-satisfied, he could never extricate himself adroitly. + +As president of the Moscow censorship committee he was, of course, an +oppressive burden upon it and was the cause of books and articles being +sent for censorship to Petersburg. There was an old fellow in Moscow +called Myasnov, a great amateur of horseflesh, who had compiled some sort +of genealogy of pedigree horses, and anxious to gain time asked leave +to send to the censor the proofs instead of the manuscript, in which +he wanted probably to make corrections. Golohvastov made difficulties, +delivered a long speech in which he very verbosely expounded the +arguments for and against granting permission, and ended by saying that +he might, however, sanction the proofs being sent for censorship if the +author would guarantee that there was nothing in his book opposed to the +government, religion, or morality. + +Myasnov, a choleric and irritable old man, got up and said with a grave +face: ‘Since the responsibility rests upon me, I think it is essential to +explain that there is of course not one word opposed to the government +in my book, nor opposed to morality, but as regards religion I am not so +certain.’ + +‘You don’t say so?’ said Golohvastov, surprised. + +‘Well, you see, there is a text in the Book of Moral Precepts that says: +“They that swear over earthen pots, they that plait their hair and that +go to the coursing of steeds shall be accursed”; and since I say a very +great deal in my book about the coursing of steeds, I really don’t know——’ + +‘That can be no obstacle,’ observed Golohvastov. + +‘I humbly thank you for setting my mind at rest,’ said the sarcastic old +man, bowing himself out. + +When I came back from my second exile Golohvastov’s position in the +university was not the same. The post that had been filled by Prince +_Sergiey_ Mihailovitch Golitsyn was by then held by Count _Sergeyey_ +Grigoryevitch Strogonov. Strogonov’s ideas, though confused and not +clear, were still incomparably more cultured. He wanted to raise the +significance of the university in the eyes of the Tsar, he defended its +rights, protected the students from police raids, and was liberal so +far as it was possible to be liberal while wearing the epaulettes of +an adjutant-general on his shoulders and being the humble possessor of +the Strogonov estates. In such cases one must not forget _la difficulté +vaincue_. + +‘What a terrible story that is of Gogol’s, _The Overcoat_,’ Strogonov +said once to Yevgeny Korsh. ‘That ghost on the bridge, you know, simply +pulls the greatcoat off the shoulders of nearly every one of us. Put +yourself in my place and then look at that story.’ + +‘That’s v—very d—difficult for me,’ answered Yevgeny Korsh. ‘I am not +used to looking at things from the point of view of a man who has thirty +thousand souls.’ + +Indeed, with two such blind spots in the eye as the estates and the +adjutant-general’s epaulettes it is hard to look clearly at the light +of day, and Count Strogonov did sometimes step over the traces and +behave like a regular adjutant-general, that is, with stupid coarseness, +particularly when his liver was out of order; but he could not keep up +the deportment of a general, and in that again the good side of his +nature was apparent. To explain what I mean I will quote an example. + +On one occasion a student from among those educated at government expense +who had finished his studies very successfully and had afterwards +received a post as a senior master in a provincial high school, hearing +that there was a vacancy in one of the Moscow high schools for a junior +master in his subject, came to beg the Count to transfer him. The young +man’s object was to continue his studies, for which he had not the means +in the provincial town; but unluckily Strogonov came out of his room as +yellow as a church candle. + +‘What right have you to this post?’ he asked. + +‘I ask for the post, Count, because there is a vacancy.’ + +‘Yes, and there is another vacancy,’ the Count interrupted, ‘that of the +Russian ambassador to Constantinople. Wouldn’t you like that?’ + +‘I did not know that it was in your Excellency’s gift,’ answered the +young man. ‘I will accept the post of ambassador with genuine gratitude.’ + +The Count looked more jaundiced than ever but asked him civilly into his +study. + +My personal relations with him were very curious; our very first +interview was not without the peculiar flavour typically Russian. + +One evening in Vladimir I was sitting at home; all at once the German +teacher at the high school, a doctor of the Jena University called +Delitch, called upon me, wearing his uniform. He informed me that the +director of the university, Count Strogonov, had arrived from Petersburg +that morning, and had sent him to invite me to call upon him at ten +o’clock next day. + +‘It’s impossible; I don’t know him at all and you must have made a +mistake.’ + +‘That is not possible. _Der Herr Graf geruhten aufs freundlichste sich +bei mir zu beurkunden über ihre Lage hier._ You will go?’ + +Being a Russian, I went on arguing with Delitch, convinced myself still +more thoroughly that it was quite unnecessary to go, and went next +morning. + +Alfieri, not being a Russian, acted differently when the French marshal +who had taken Florence, and to whom he was a stranger, invited him. He +wrote to him that if this was simply a private invitation he was very +much obliged for it but begged to be excused, as he never visited persons +with whom he was unacquainted; but if it were a command, then knowing the +military position of the town he _se constituera prisonnier_ at eight +o’clock in the evening without fail. + +Strogonov invited me as a curiosity connected in the past with the +university, as a reprobate graduate. He simply wanted to see me, and, +moreover, such is the weakness of the heart of man even under the finery +of a general, to boast to me of his reforms in the university. + +He gave me a very good reception. He paid me a lot of compliments and +quickly reached the point desired: ‘It is a pity you can’t be in Moscow, +you would not recognise the university now; from the buildings and +the lecture-rooms to the professors and the curriculum, everything is +changed,’ and so on, and so on. + +To show that I was listening attentively and that I was not a vulgar fool +I very modestly observed that I supposed the curriculum was so changed +because many new professors had returned from foreign parts. + +‘No doubt,’ answered the Count, ‘but besides that, there is the spirit of +the administration, the unity, you know, the moral unity....’ + +To give him his due, however, he did more good to the university with +his ‘moral unity’ than Zemlyanika[125] to his hospital by ‘honesty and +discipline.’ The university was very much indebted to him, but still one +cannot but smile at the thought that he boasted of it to a man who was +under police supervision for political offences. It is just as absurd +that a man exiled for political offences should have gone with no sort of +necessity at the summons of an adjutant-general. Oh, Russia!... It is no +wonder that foreigners can make nothing of us! + +I saw him for the second time in Petersburg, just at the moment when I +was being exiled to Novgorod. Sergeyey Grigoryevitch was staying with +his brother, the Minister of Home Affairs. I went into the drawing-room +just as he was going out. He was in white breeches and in all his court +finery, with a ribbon across his shoulder; he was going to the palace. +Seeing me, he stopped and drawing me aside began questioning me about my +case. His brother and he were revolted at the iniquity of my exile. + +This was at the time of my wife’s illness, a few days after the birth of +a baby who died. I suppose great indignation or irritability was apparent +in my eyes and my words, for he suddenly began persuading me to bear my +trials with Christian meekness. + +‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘it falls to the lot of every man to bear a cross.’ + +‘A good many sometimes indeed,’ I thought, looking at the crosses of all +sorts and sizes that covered his breast, and I could not help smiling. + +He divined my thought and flushed crimson. + +‘I daresay you think,’ said he, ‘that it is very well for me to preach. +Believe me that _tout est compensé_.’ + +Besides preaching to me he joined Zhukovsky in actively exerting himself +on my behalf, but the jaws of the bulldog that had me in its grip would +not readily loose their hold. + +When I settled in Moscow in 1842 I visited Strogonov from time to time. +He was well disposed to me but was sometimes sulky. I very much liked +these ebbs and flows in him. When he was in a liberal frame of mind +he used to talk of books and magazines, extol the university, and was +continually comparing its present state with the pitiful condition in +which it had been in my day. When he was in a conservative mood he +reproached me for not being in the service and for having no religion, +abused my articles, saying that I was corrupting the students, abused the +young professors and declared that they were more and more set on forcing +him to be false to his oath or to close their lecture-rooms. + +‘I know what an outcry that would excite; you will be the first to call +me a vandal.’ + +I bowed my head in assent and added: ‘You will never do that, and so I +can thank you most sincerely for your good opinion of me.’ + +‘I certainly shall,’ muttered Strogonov, pulling his moustaches and +turning yellower. ‘You will see.’ + +We all knew that he would never do anything of the sort and so could let +him threaten it periodically, especially when we remembered his enormous +estates, his rank, and his liver. + +Once he was so carried away in talking to me that, abusing everything +revolutionary, he told me how on the Fourteenth of December Trubetskoy +left the square, ran distracted to his father’s house and, not knowing +what to do, went to the windows and began drumming on the panes; and so +spent some time. ‘A Frenchwoman who was governess in their family could +not refrain from saying to him aloud, “For shame! Is this your place +when the blood of your friends is flowing in the square? Is this how +you understand your duty?” He snatched up his hat and went—where do you +think?—to hide in the Austrian embassy.’ + +‘Of course he ought to have gone to the police and given information,’ I +said. + +‘What!’ cried Strogonov amazed, and he almost drew back in horror. + +‘Why, do you think like the Frenchwoman,’ I said, ‘that it was his duty +to go to the square and shoot at Nicholas?’ + +‘You see,’ observed Strogonov, shrugging his shoulders and looking +instinctively towards the door, ‘what an unfortunate turn of mind you +have.... I am only saying that with these people ... when there are no +true moral principles based on faith, when they leave the straight path +... everything is in a tangle. You will see all that as you get older.’ + +That age I have not yet reached, but this lack of readiness in Strogonov +at which Tchaadayev used often to mock maliciously is to my mind greatly +to his credit. + +They say that during the time when the spirit of our Saul of the Neva was +completely darkened, after the February revolution, Strogonov too was +carried away. He is said to have insisted in the new censorship committee +on prohibiting everything written by me. I take that as a genuine sign of +his goodwill to me; when I heard of it I set up a Russian printing press. +But our Saul went much further. The reaction overtook and outstripped the +Count, he would not take part in strangling the university and resigned +his position as director. But that is not all. Two or three months after +Strogonov’s resignation Golohvastov too resigned, horrified by a series +of senseless measures dictated to him from Petersburg. + +So ended the public career of Dmitry Pavlovitch, and having cast off the +burden of state affairs he settled down to dignified repose like a true +Muscovite, busying himself with looking after his land and surrounded by +his family, his trotting horses, and his well-bound books. + +In his private life all had gone well during the period of his +curatorship, that is, children had come into the world in due season +and had cut their teeth in due season. His estate was provided with +lawful heirs. Moreover, the last ten years of his life were soothed +and delighted by another personage. I mean Bytchok the trotter, who +for speed, beauty, muscles, and hoofs was the champion not only of +Moscow but of all Russia. Bytchok furnished the poetic side of Dmitry +Pavlovitch’s serious existence. Several portraits of Bytchok in oils +and in water-colours hung in his study. Just as Napoleon is represented +first as a thin consul with long, damp locks; then as a fat emperor with +a tuft of hair on his forehead and little short legs, sitting astride on +a chair; then as an emperor retired from business, standing, his hands +folded behind his back, on a rock in the midst of the splashing ocean—so +Bytchok was represented at the various moments of his brilliant career: +in the stall in which he spent his youth; in the fields, free, with only +a little bridle on; and finally in light hardly visible harness with a +minute box on runners and beside him a coachman in a velvet cap and a +blue, full coat, with a beard combed as regularly as an Assyrian bull +god—the very coachman who had won upon him I do not know how many goblets +of Sazin workmanship which stood under glass cases in the drawing-room. + +One would have thought that, free from the tedious cares of his +university work, with an immense estate and an immense income, Dmitry +Pavlovitch might well have lived and lived long. Fate decreed otherwise; +soon after his retirement he, a strong, healthy man, a little over fifty, +began to ail, got worse and worse, developed consumption of the throat, +and after a painful illness died in 1849. + +And here I cannot help pausing to reflect over those two graves, and the +series of strange questions to which I have referred already rise up in +my mind again. + +Death brought the two unlike brothers to the same level. Which of them +made the best use of his interval between the two mute and blank abysses? +One wasted both himself and his property, but he had his brief time +of honey of the best lime-flower flavour. Let us admit that he was a +useless man, but he did no intentional harm to any one. He left his +children in poverty; that was bad, but still they received an education +and were bound to get something from their uncle. And how many men who +have worked hard all their lives breathe their last with bitter tears in +their eyes, looking at their children for whom they could secure neither +education nor provision. Carlyle, to comfort people who are too much +touched at the fate of the luckless son of Louis XV., tells them: ‘It is +true that he was trained as a shoemaker, that is, he received the poor +education which millions of children of poor villagers and workmen have +received and are receiving now.’ + +The other brother did not live at all, he ‘served’ life just as priests +serve the mass, that is, with extraordinary dignity performed an +accustomed ritual, more ceremonial than profitable. He no more paused +to consider why he was performing it than his brother. If from Dmitry +Pavlovitch’s life two or three things, such as Bytchok, races, the +goblets, and two or three entrances and exits—for instance when he +entered the university with consciousness that he was in control of it, +when he went out of the room for the first time wearing his star, when +he was presented to his Imperial Majesty and when he led his Imperial +Majesty through the lecture-rooms—all that is left is prose: nothing but +a stiff and constrained official business morning. No doubt the thought +of the importance of his share in the affairs of state afforded him +satisfaction: etiquette is a poetry of a sort, an artistic gymnastic of +a sort like parades and dances; but what a poor sort of poetry compared +with the sumptuous feasts in which his brother spent his life after +secretly marrying a pretty girl with enchanting eyes. + +And to complete it all, Dmitry Pavlovitch’s regular life, his exemplary +behaviour in the moral, the official, and the hygienic sphere, did not +even win him health or length of years and he died as suddenly as his +brother, only with far greater suffering.[126] + +Well, and _all right_[127] too! + + + + +Chapter 32 + +THE LAST VISIT TO SOKOLOVO—THE THEORETICAL RUPTURE—A STRAINED +POSITION—DAHIN! DAHIN! + + +After the reconciliation with Byelinsky in 1840 our little group of +friends went on without any important disagreement: there were shades of +opinion, personal views, but what was of most importance and common to +all was based on the same principles. I do not think it could have gone +on like that for ever. We were bound to reach a line, a limit at which +some would halt while others would pass over it. + +Three or four years later I began with profound regret to notice that +though we started from the same first principles we were reaching +different conclusions—and not because we interpreted them differently but +because not all of us _liked_ them. At first these disputes were half in +jest. We used to laugh, for instance, at the Little Russian obstinacy +with which Ryedkin tried to deduce a logical proof of a personal soul. I +remember one of the last jests of dear, kind-hearted Kryukov about it. He +was very ill and Ryedkin and I were sitting by his bedside. It had been a +dull, cloudy day, and all at once there was a flash of lightning followed +by a loud clap of thunder. Ryedkin went to the window and let down the +blind. ‘Will that do any good?’ I asked him. ‘Why,’ Kryukov answered for +him, ‘Ryedkin believes in _die Persönlichkeit des absoluten Geistes_, and +so covers the window that He may not see where to aim if He should think +fit to shoot at us.’ + +But it may well be imagined that such an essential difference in outlook +would not long remain a jesting matter. + +I find in a diary of that period the following sentence written +with evident _arrière-pensée_: ‘Personal relations are very bad for +straightforward thinking. Through respect for the excellent qualities of +individuals we sacrifice the sharp clarity of thought for their sakes. It +needed great strength to weep and yet be able to sign the death-warrant +of Camille Desmoulins.’ + +The germs of the angry dissensions of 1846 were already latent in this +envy of Robespierre’s strength. + +The questions upon which we came in collision were not casual ones; +like fate, there was no escaping them. They are the stumbling-blocks +on the road of knowledge which have been the same in all ages, +terrifying men and alluring them. And just as liberalism carried out +consistently inevitably brings a man face to face with the social +question, so philosophy—if only a man trusts himself to it without +anchorage—inevitably beats him with its waves upon the grey rocks +upon which all who have had the temerity to think—from the seven wise +men of Greece up to Kant and Hegel—have been cast. Instead of simple +explanations almost all have tried to get round them and have only +covered them with fresh layers of symbols and allegories, and that is how +it is that even now they stand as menacingly, while navigators are afraid +to make straight for them and to convince themselves that they are not +rocks at all but only fog seen in a fantastic light. + +This step is not easy, but I believed both in the strength and in the +will of our friends; they had not to seek anew the way out as Byelinsky +and I had. He and I had spent weary hours struggling in the squirrel’s +wheel of dialectic repetition and had leapt out of it in the end at our +own risk. They had our example before their eyes and Feuerbach in their +hands. For a long time I could not believe it, but at last I reached +the conviction that though our friends did not share Ryedkin’s method +of proof they were yet in reality more in agreement with him than with +me, and that, for all the independence of their minds, there were +still truths of which they were frightened. I differed from all except +Byelinsky, even from Granovsky and Yevgeny Korsh. + +This discovery filled me with deep regret; the limit at which they +hesitated, once recognised in words, could no longer be ignored. +Discussions arose from the inner need to reach the same standard again; +to do so we had, so to speak, to call to each other to find out where +each one stood. + +Before we ourselves brought our theoretical split into the light of day +it had been noticed by the younger generation, who stood much nearer to +my standpoint. Not only in the university and the Lyceum but even in +the clerical schools young people were eagerly reading my articles on +‘Dilettantism in Philosophy’ and my letters on the ‘Study of Nature.’ +This last fact I learned from Count S. Strogonov to whom Filaret +complained of it, threatening to take precautionary measures against such +pernicious spiritual fare. + +About the same time I learned of their success among seminarists from a +different source. This incident gives me so much pleasure that I cannot +pass it over. + +The son of a priest of our acquaintance living in the Moscow province, +a young man of seventeen, came several times to me for the _Notes of +the Fatherland_. He was shy, scarcely spoke, blushed, was confused, and +in haste to get away. His open and intelligent face was eloquent in his +favour, and at last I overcame his youthful diffidence and began talking +to him about the _Notes of the Fatherland_. It was the philosophical +articles that he read with great attention and assiduity. He told me how +eagerly the seminary students in the higher course read my historical +exposition of the philosophical systems and how it astonished them after +the philosophic manuals of Burmeister and Wolf. + +The young man took to coming to see me sometimes, and I had ample +opportunity for gauging his ability and capacity for work. + +‘What do you intend doing when you have finished your studies?’ I asked +on one occasion. + +‘Enter the priesthood,’ he answered, blushing. + +‘Have you thought seriously of the life that awaits you if you go into +the priesthood?’ + +‘I have no choice, my father definitely objects to my taking up any +secular calling. I shall have leisure enough for my studies.’ + +‘You must not be angry with me,’ I replied, ‘but I cannot help telling +you my opinion openly. Your conversation, your way of thinking, which you +have not concealed from me, and the liking you have for my work—all that, +and besides the sincere interest I take in your future together with my +age, gives me the right to speak. Think again a hundred times before +you put on the cassock. It will be far more difficult to take it off +afterwards, and perhaps it will be hard for you to breathe in it. I will +ask you one very simple question: Tell me, is there in your soul faith in +any one dogma of the theology you are being taught?’ + +The young man, dropping his eyes, said after a pause: ‘I am not going to +lie to you—no!’ + +‘I knew that. Only think now of your future position. You will have every +day for the whole of your life to lie aloud in the face of the people, +to be false to truth; why, that is the sin against the Holy Spirit, +conscious, premeditated sin. Will you be able to face such duplicity? +Your whole social position will be a falsehood. How will you look into +the eyes of one who is praying in earnest; how will you comfort the dying +with heaven and eternal life; how will you absolve men’s sins. And you +will be forced to convert heretics too, and to condemn them for their +heresy.’ + +‘That is awful! awful!’ said the young man, and he went away perturbed +and agitated. + +He came back the next evening. + +‘I have come to tell you,’ said he, ‘that I have thought a great deal +about what you said. You are perfectly right, the priestly calling is +out of the question for me and I assure you that I would sooner go for a +soldier than allow myself to be made a priest.’ + +I pressed his hand warmly and promised that when the time came I would do +my utmost to persuade his father to agree to his wishes. + +So I in my time have saved a soul alive or have at least assisted in its +salvation. + +I was able to get a nearer view of the bent of the students for +philosophy. Through the whole academic year of 1845 I attended the +lectures on comparative anatomy. In the lecture-room and the dissecting +theatre I became acquainted with a new generation of young people. Their +prevailing tendency was absolutely realistic, _i.e._, that of positive +science. It is remarkable that this was the tendency of almost all the +students who came from the Tsarskoe-Syelo Lyceum. The Lyceum, turned by +the suspicious and petrifying despotism of Nicholas out of its beautiful +park, was still the same great nursery of talent; Pushkin’s bequest, the +poet’s blessing, survives the coarse blows of ignorant force.[128] + +With joy I welcomed a new, vigorous generation in these Moscow students +from the Lyceum. + +Well, it was these young university students, devoted with all the +impatience and fire of youth, with all the flush of health, to the world +of realism that was opening before them, who discerned, as I have said, +the point of difference between us and Granovsky. Passionately as they +loved him, they were beginning to revolt against his ‘romanticism.’ They +urgently desired that I should bring him over to our side, regarding +Byelinsky and me as the representatives of their philosophical opinions. + +This was the position in 1846. Granovsky was beginning a new course +of public lectures. Again all Moscow gathered round his platform, +again his plastic, dreamy eloquence set all hearts quivering; but the +completeness, the enthusiasm there had been in his first course was +lacking, as though he were tired or as though some idea with which he +could not cope were absorbing and hindering him. That was just how it +was, as we shall see later. + +At one of these lectures in March one of our common acquaintances ran in +headlong to tell us that Ogaryov and S—— had arrived from foreign parts. + +We had not met for several years and very rarely corresponded.... What +would they be like?... How would they stand?... With beating hearts +Granovsky and I dashed off to Yar’s where they were staying. And here +they were at last—and how changed, and what a beard—and we had not seen +each other for some years; we fell to looking at trifles and talking of +trifles though we felt that we wanted to talk of something else. + +At last our little circle was almost all assembled—now we would have a +life! + +We had spent the summer of 1845 at a villa in Sokolovo. It is a beautiful +corner of the Moscow district, some fifteen miles from the town on the +Tver road. There we took a little country house standing almost in the +park which sloped away downhill to a little river. On the one side +stretched our Great Russian ocean of cornfields; on the other there was a +wide view into the distance, for which reason the owner of the house had +not failed to call the arbour placed there ‘Belle Vue.’ + +Sokolovo belonged at one time to the Rumyantsovs. The wealthy landowners +and aristocrats of the eighteenth century with all their faults were +possessed of a breadth of taste which they have not transmitted to their +heirs. The old-fashioned villages and homesteads on the banks of the +river Moskva are exceptionally fine, especially those in which the last +two generations have made no reforms and no changes. + +We had spent our time happily there. No serious cloud darkened the +summer sky; we lived in our park, working hard and going for long walks. +Ketscher grumbled less, though he did sometimes lift his eyebrows very +high and utter weighty sayings with vivid mimicry. Granovsky and E—— +used to come for the night almost every Saturday and sometimes used +to stay till Monday. Shtchepkin had taken another villa a little way +off. He often walked over, wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a white coat +like Napoleon at Longwood, with a basket of gathered mushrooms; he made +jokes, sang Little Russian songs, and was almost the death of us with +his stories, which I do believe would have made Ioann the Sorrowful, +who spent his life weeping over the sins of this world, shed tears of +laughter.... + +Sitting in a friendly group in a corner of the park under a big lime +tree, we used to regret nothing but Ogaryov’s absence. Well, here he was, +and in 1846 we went again to Sokolovo and he with us; Granovsky took +a little lodge for the whole summer, and Ogaryov was installed in the +entresol over the steward, a naval officer who had lost one ear. + +And for all that, two or three weeks later an undefined feeling was +whispering to me that our _villeggiatura_ would not be a success and that +there was no help for it. Who has not had the experience of preparing +some festivity, rejoicing at the coming gaiety of his friends, and +when they arrive everything goes well, there is nothing amiss, yet the +expected gaiety does not come off. Life only passes well and briskly when +one does not feel the blood circulating in one’s veins and does not think +how the lungs rise and fall. If every shock is felt, you may be sure +there will be pain, a disharmony which one cannot always overcome. + +The first days after our friends’ arrival were spent in the enthusiasm +and cordiality of festivities; before they were over my father was taken +ill. His death and all the worries and business that followed distracted +us from theoretical questions. In the peace of our life at Sokolovo our +divergencies were bound to come to the surface. + +Ogaryov, who had not seen me for four years, was absolutely of the same +tendency as I was. We had moved over the same ground by different paths +and found ourselves together. Natalie, too, was with us. Our serious and +at first sight overwhelming deductions did not alarm her; she gave a +special poetical turn to them. + +Arguments became more frequent and came back in a thousand variations. +One day we were dining in the garden. Granovsky was reading in the _Notes +of the Fatherland_ one of my letters on the study of nature (it was the +one on the Encyclopaedists, I remember) and was delighted with it. + +‘But what is it you like?’ I asked him. ‘Can it be only the method of +exposition? You cannot possibly agree with the underlying implications of +it.’ + +‘Your opinions,’ answered Granovsky, ‘are just as much an historical +moment in the study of thought as the writings of the Encyclopaedists +themselves. I like in your articles just what I like in Voltaire or +Diderot; they stir vividly and sharply questions which rouse a man and +urge him forward, and as for the one-sidedness of your views I don’t want +to go into that. Does any one talk of Voltaire’s theories nowadays?’ + +‘Do you mean to say that there is no standard of truth and that we rouse +men only to talk nonsense to them?’ + +The conversation continued for some time on these lines. At last I +observed that the development of science, its contemporary condition, +_obliges us_ to accept certain truths apart from whether we like them +or not; that, once recognised, they cease to be historical problems and +become simply irrefutable facts of knowledge like the theories of Euclid, +like the laws of Kepler, like the connection of cause and effect and the +indivisibility of spirit and matter. + +‘All that is so far from being obligatory,’ answered Granovsky with a +slight change in his face, ‘that I never shall accept your dry, cold +idea of the unity of soul and body; with it the immortality of the soul +disappears. You may not need it, but I have buried too much to give up +that belief. Personal immortality is essential for me.’ + +‘Life would be a splendid affair,’ I said, ‘if anything any one wants +were always true at once as in fairy tales.’ + +‘Only think, Granovsky,’ added Ogaryov, ‘why, it’s a sort of running away +from unhappiness.’ + +‘Listen,’ answered Granovsky, turning pale and assuming the air of a +disinterested outsider, ‘you will greatly oblige me if you will never +speak to me again on these subjects; there are plenty of interesting +things of which we can talk with far more profit and pleasure.’ + +‘Certainly, I shall be delighted,’ I said, feeling a cold chill on my +face. Ogaryov said nothing, we all glanced at one another and that glance +was quite enough; we all loved one another too much not to gauge to the +full what had happened. Not a word more was said. The discussion was not +resumed. Natalie tried to cover up the incident and set things right. We +came to her help. Children, who always come to the rescue in such cases, +served as a subject of conversation, and the dinner ended so peacefully +that no outsider coming in would have noticed anything wrong.... + +After dinner Ogaryov jumped on his horse Kortik while I mounted the +gendarme’s discarded nag and we rode out into the open country. We +were as sad as though some one near and dear were dead; for till then +Ogaryov and I had expected that we should come to an agreement, that our +friendship would blow away our differences like dust, but the tone and +meaning of Granovsky’s last words had revealed a distance between us such +as we had never imagined. So here was the boundary line, the limit, and +with it the censorship. Neither he nor I spoke all the way. As we came +home, we shook our heads sadly and both said with one voice: ‘And so it +seems we are alone again.’ + +Ogaryov took a chaise and three horses and drove to Moscow; on the way he +composed a little poem from which I extract the following lines: + + ‘... For neither grief nor tedium can exhaust me, + The truth I’ve spoken fearlessly in gatherings of my friends, + And friends have fled from me in childish terror. + He too has gone, whom like a brother + Or like a sister, haply, I fondly loved and cherished.... + ... + Once more we will set out alone upon our cheerless journey, + Speaking of truth, unwearied and undaunted, + And let the dreams and people pass us by.’[129] + +I met Granovsky the next day as though nothing had happened, a bad sign +on both sides. The pain was still so keen that it could find no words; +and dumb pain that has no outlet like a mouse in the stillness gnaws away +thread after thread.... + +Two days later I was in Moscow. Ogaryov and I went to see Korsh. He was +as solicitously gracious and mournfully sweet with us as though he were +sorry for us, but, hang it all, had we committed some crime? I asked +Korsh straight out, had he heard of our discussion. He had; he said that +we had all been too hot over abstract subjects; pointed out that the +perfect identity between people and between opinions of which we dreamed +did not exist, that people’s sympathies, like chemical affinity, have +their limit of saturation which could not be exceeded without stumbling +upon aspects on which men were strangers again. He jested at our being +so young when over thirty, and he said all this with friendliness and +delicacy, one could see that he did not find it easy. + +We parted peacefully. Blushing a little I thought of my ‘naïveté,’ and +afterwards when I was left alone I felt as I lay in bed that another bit +of my heart had been torn away—skilfully, painlessly, but it was gone! + +Nothing further happened ... only everything seemed clouded over with +something dark and colourless; the freedom from constraint, the complete +_abandon_ had vanished from our circle. We became more careful, we edged +round certain questions, that is, we really did retire at ‘the limit of +chemical affinity’—and all this gave us the more pain and bitterness +because we had great and genuine love for one another. + +I may have been too intolerant, may have argued conceitedly and answered +sarcastically ... perhaps so ... but in reality I am convinced even now +that for really intimate relations it is essential to have the same +religion, to be at one in the theoretical convictions that really matter. +Of course theoretical agreement alone is not enough for intimacy between +men; I was nearer in sympathy, for instance, to Ivan Kireyevsky than to +many of my own set. What is more, one may be a good and faithful ally +agreeing in some definite cause and differing in opinions. I was on such +terms with men for whom I had the greatest respect, though I differed +from them on many subjects—for instance, with Mazzini and with Worcell. +I did not try to convince them nor they me, we had enough in common to +go the same way together without quarrelling. But between us brothers of +one family, who had been so near and had lived one life together, it was +impossible to differ so deeply. + +If only we had had some inevitable work which would have absorbed us +completely; but as it was, all our activity lay precisely in the sphere +of thought and the propaganda of our convictions ... how was compromise +possible in that realm?... + +The little rift in one of the walls of our temple of friendship grew +wider, as is always the case, through trifles, misunderstandings, +unnecessary openness where it would have been better to be silent and +harmful silence where it was essential to speak; these things are decided +only by the tact of the heart, there are no rules to guide one. + +Soon afterwards everything was at sixes and sevens among the ladies +too.... + +There was no help for it at the moment. + +To go away, far away, for years, only to go! But it was not easy to go. +The fetters of police supervision were on my legs, and without permission +from Nicholas a foreign passport could not be got. + + + + +Chapter 33 + +A POLICE-OFFICER IN THE PART OF A VALET—THE POLICE-MASTER +KOKOSHKIN—‘DISORDER IN ORDER’—DUBBELT ONCE MORE—THE PASSPORT + + +A few months before my father’s death Count Orlov was appointed to +succeed Benckendorf. I wrote at the time to Olga Alexandrovna to ask +whether she could procure me a passport for abroad or permission on some +pretext or other to visit Petersburg in order to get one for myself. +My old friend answered that the latter was easier to manage, and a few +days later I received from Orlov the ‘Most High’ permission to visit +Petersburg for a short time to arrange my affairs. My father’s illness, +his death, arranging my affairs in reality, and some months spent in +the country delayed me till winter. At the end of November I set off +for Petersburg, having first sent a petition for a passport to the +governor-general. I knew that he could not grant it because I was still +under _strict_ police supervision, all I wanted was that he should send +on the petition to Petersburg. + +On the day of my departure I sent in the morning to get a permit from +the police, but instead of a permit a policeman came to say that there +were certain difficulties and that the local police-superintendent +himself would come to me. He did come, and asking me to see him alone +he mysteriously informed me that five years ago I had been forbidden to +visit Petersburg and without the ‘Most High’ orders he could not sign the +permit. + +‘That won’t stand in our way,’ I said, laughing, and took the letter out +of my pocket. + +The police-superintendent, greatly astonished, read it, asked permission +to show it to the police-master, and two hours later sent me my permit +and the letter. + +I must mention that my police-superintendent carried on half the +conversation in extraordinarily polished French. How mischievous it is +for a police-superintendent, or indeed any Russian policeman, to know +French, he had learnt by very bitter experience. + +Some years previously a French traveller, the legitimist Chevalier +Preaux, arrived in Moscow from the Caucasus. He had been in Persia and +in Georgia, had seen a great deal, and was so incautious as to criticise +severely the military operations in the Caucasus, and still more severely +the administration of government there. Afraid that Preaux would say the +same thing in Petersburg, the governor-general of the Caucasus prudently +wrote to the Minister of War that Preaux was a very dangerous military +agent of the French government. Preaux was living quite happily in Moscow +and was very well received by Prince D. V. Golitsyn, when suddenly the +latter received orders to send the Frenchman from Moscow to the frontier +accompanied by a police-officer. To do anything so stupid and so rude is +always more difficult to an acquaintance, and so Golitsyn after two days +of hesitation invited Preaux to his house, and beginning with an eloquent +introduction told him at last that reports of some sort about him, +probably from the Caucasus, had reached the Tsar, who had ordered that he +should leave Russia, that they would, however, give him an escort.... + +Preaux, incensed, observed to Golitsyn that, seeing that the government +had the right to eject him, he was prepared to go, but that he would not +accept an escort, since he did not consider himself a criminal who needed +to be guarded. + +Next day when the police-master came to Preaux the latter met him with a +pistol in his hand and told him point-blank that he would not permit a +police-officer to enter his room or his carriage, and that he would send +the bullet through his head if he attempted to enter by force. + +Golitsyn was a very decent man, which made it the more difficult for him; +he sent for Veiller, the French consul, to ask his advice. The latter +found a way out of the difficulty; he asked for a police-officer who +spoke French well and promised to present him to Preaux as a traveller +who begged Preaux for a place in his carriage on condition of paying half +the travelling expenses. + +From the consul’s first words Preaux guessed what it meant. + +‘I don’t sell seats in my carriage,’ he said to the consul. + +‘The man will be in despair.’ + +‘Very well,’ said Preaux, ‘I will take him for nothing, but he must +undertake a few little services in return; he’s not an ill-humoured +fellow I suppose, if he is I will leave him on the road.’ + +‘The most obliging man in the world; he will be entirely at your +disposition. I thank you on his behalf.’ And the consul galloped off to +Prince Golitsyn to announce his success. + +In the evening Preaux and the _bona fide_ traveller set off. Preaux did +not speak all the way; at the first station he went indoors and lay down +on the sofa. ‘Hey,’ he shouted to his companion, ‘come here and take off +my boots.’ ‘Upon my word, what next?’ ‘I tell you, take off my boots, +or I will turn you out on the road; I am not going to keep you.’ The +police-officer took off the boots. ‘Brush them and polish them!’ ‘That’s +really too much!’ ‘Very well, you can stay here.’ The officer polished +the boots. + +At the next station there was the same story with his clothes, and so +Preaux went on tormenting him till they reached the frontier. To console +this martyr of the secret service, the Sovereign’s special attention was +drawn to him and in the end he was made a police-superintendent. + +The third day after my arrival in Petersburg the house porter came +to ask me from the local police: ‘With what papers had I come to +Petersburg?’ The only paper I had, the decree concerning my retirement +from the service, I had sent to the governor-general with my petition +for a passport. I gave the house-porter my permit, but he came back +with the remark that it was valid for leaving Moscow but not for +entering Petersburg. Then a police-officer arrived with a summons to the +police-master’s office. I went to Kokoshkin’s office, which was lighted +by lamps though it was daytime, and within an hour he arrived. Kokoshkin +more than other persons of the same order was a servant of the Tsar, +a man in favour, ready to do any dirty job, with no distinct aims, no +conscience, no reflection. He served and made his pile as naturally as +birds sing. + +Pokrovsky told Nicholas that Kokoshkin was a terrible bribe-taker. ‘Yes,’ +answered Nicholas, ‘but I sleep soundly at night knowing that he is +police-master in Petersburg.’ + +I looked at him while he was talking to other people.... What a battered +old decrepitly dissolute face he had; he was wearing a curled wig which +was glaringly incongruous with his sunken features and wrinkles. + +After conversing with some German women in German and with a familiarity +showing that they were old acquaintances, which was evident, too, from +the way the women laughed and whispered, Kokoshkin came up to me, and +looking down asked in a rather gruff voice: ‘Why, are not you forbidden +to enter Petersburg by the “Most High”?’ + +‘Yes, but I have a permit.’ + +‘Where is it?’ + +‘I have it here.’ + +‘Show it. How’s this? You are using the same permit twice.’ + +‘Twice?’ + +‘I remember that you came before.’ + +‘I didn’t.’ + +‘And what is your business here?’ + +‘I have business with Count Orlov.’ + +‘Have you been to the Count, then?’ + +‘No, but I have been to the secret police.’ + +‘Have you seen Dubbelt?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Well, I saw Orlov himself yesterday and he told me that he had sent you +no permit.’ + +‘You have it in your hand.’ + +‘God knows when that was written, and the time has passed.’ + +‘It would be strange on my part to come without permission and begin with +a visit to General Dubbelt.’ + +‘If you don’t want to get into trouble you will kindly go back, and no +later than within the next twenty-four hours.’ + +‘I was not proposing to remain here long ... but I must wait for Count +Orlov’s answer.’ + +‘I cannot give you leave to do so, besides Count Orlov is much displeased +at your coming without permission.’ + +‘Kindly give me my permit and I will go at once to the Count.’ + +‘It must remain with me.’ + +‘But it is a letter to me, addressed to me personally, the only document +on the strength of which I am here.’ + +‘The document will remain with me as a proof that you have been in +Petersburg. I seriously advise you to go to-morrow that nothing worse may +befall you.’ + +He nodded and went out. Much good it is talking to them! + +The old General Tutchkov had a lawsuit with the Treasury. His village +elder undertook some government contract, he did something dishonest and +made away with the money entrusted to him. The court ordered that the +money should be paid by the landowner who had given the village elder the +authorisation. But no authorisation in regard to the undertaking ever had +been given and Tutchkov stated this in his answer. The case was brought +before the Senate, and the Senate again decided: + +‘Inasmuch as retired Lieutenant-General Tutchkov gave an authorisation +...’ and so on. To which Tutchkov again answered: ‘Inasmuch as retired +Lieutenant-General Tutchkov gave no authorisation ...’ and so on. A year +passed, again the police appeared with a stern repetition: ‘Inasmuch +as retired Lieutenant-General, etc.,’ and again the old man wrote the +same answer. I don’t know how this interesting case ended. I left Russia +without waiting for the conclusion. + +All that is not at all exceptional but quite the normal thing. Kokoshkin +holds in his hands a document of the genuineness of which he has no +doubt, on which there is a number and date so that it can be easily +verified, in which it is written that I am permitted to visit Petersburg, +and says: ‘Since you have come without permission you must go back,’ and +puts the document in his pocket. + +Tchaadayev was right indeed when he said of these gentry: ‘What rogues +they all are!’ + +I went to the Third Section and told Dubbelt what had happened. He roared +with laughter. ‘What a muddle they always make of everything! Kokoshkin +told the Count you had come without permission and the Count said you +were to be sent away, but I explained the position to him afterwards; you +can stay as long as you like. I’ll have the police written to at once. +But now about your petition; the Count does not think it would be of any +use to ask permission for you to go abroad. The Tsar has refused you +twice, the last time it was Count Strogonov who interceded for you; if he +refuses a third time, you won’t get to the waters during this reign, for +certain.’ + +‘What am I to do?’ I asked in horror, for the idea of travel and freedom +had taken deep root in my heart. + +‘Go to Moscow: the Count will write a private letter to the +governor-general telling him that you want to go abroad for the sake of +your wife’s health, assuring him that he knows nothing but what is good +of you, and asking him whether he thinks it would be possible to relieve +you from police supervision. He can make no answer but “yes” to such a +question. We will report to the Tsar the removal of police supervision, +and then you take a passport for yourself like anybody else, and you can +go to any watering-place you like, and good luck to you.’ + +All this seemed to me extremely complicated, and indeed I fancied it was +a device simply to get rid of me. They could not refuse me point-blank, +it would have brought down upon them the wrath of Olga Alexandrovna, whom +I visited every day. When once I had left Petersburg I could not come +back again; corresponding with these gentry is a difficult business. +I communicated some part of what I was feeling to Dubbelt; he began +frowning, that is, grinning more than ever with his lips and screwing up +his eyes. + +‘General,’ I said in conclusion, ‘I do not know, but the fact is I do not +feel certain that Strogonov’s representation reached the Tsar.’ + +Dubbelt rang the bell and ordered the papers relating to my case to be +brought, and while waiting for them said to me good-naturedly: ‘The Count +and I are suggesting to you the course of proceeding by which we think +you most likely to get your passport; if you have better means at your +disposal, make use of them, you may be sure that we will not hinder you.’ + +‘Leonty Vassilyevitch is perfectly right,’ observed a sepulchral voice. +I turned round; beside me, looking older and more grey-headed than ever, +stood Sahtynsky, who had received me five years before in the same Third +Section. ‘I advise you to be guided by his opinion if you want to go.’ I +thanked him. + +‘And here’s the case,’ said Dubbelt, taking a thick manuscript from the +hands of a clerk (what would I not have given to read the whole of it! In +1850 I saw my ‘dossier’ in Carlier’s office in Paris; it would have been +interesting to compare them). Turning the pages, he handed it to me open; +there was Benckendorf’s entry after Strogonov’s letter petitioning for +permission for me to go for six months to a watering-place in Germany. On +the margin was written in big letters in pencil: ‘Too soon.’ The pencil +marks were glazed over with varnish, and below was written in ink: ‘“Too +soon,” written by the hand of his Imperial Majesty.—Count A. Benckendorf.’ + +‘Do you believe now?’ asked Dubbelt. + +‘Yes, I do,’ I answered, ‘and I believe in your advice so fully that I +will go to-morrow to Moscow.’ + +‘Well, you can stay and amuse yourself here a little, the police will not +worry you now, and before you go away, look in and I will tell them to +show you the letter to Shtcherbatov. Good-bye. _Bon voyage_, if we don’t +meet again.’ + +‘A pleasant journey,’ added Sahtynsky. + +We parted, as you see, on friendly terms. + +On reaching home I found a summons from the superintendent of the Second +Admiralty Police-Station I believe it was. He asked me when I was going. + +‘To-morrow evening.’ + +‘Upon my word, but I believe, I thought ... the general said to-day. His +Excellency will put it off, of course. But will you allow me to make +certain of it?’ + +‘Oh yes, oh yes; by the way, give me a permit.’ + +‘I will write it in the police-station and send it to you in two hours’ +time. By what diligence are you thinking of going?’ + +‘The Serapinsky, if I can get a seat.’ + +‘Very good, and if you do not succeed in getting a seat kindly let us +know.’ + +‘With pleasure.’ + +In the evening the policeman turned up again; the superintendent sent to +tell me that he could not give me the permit, and that I must go at eight +o’clock next morning to the chief police-master’s. + +What a plague and what a bore! I did not go at eight o’clock, but +in the course of the morning I looked in at the office of the chief +police-master. The police-station superintendent was there; he said to +me: ‘You cannot go away, there is an order from the Third Section.’ + +‘What has happened?’ + +‘I don’t know. The general gave orders you were not to be given a permit.’ + +‘Does the office-manager know?’ + +‘Of course he knows,’ and he pointed out to me a colonel in a uniform and +wearing a sword sitting at a big table in another room; I asked him what +was the matter. + +‘To be sure,’ he said, ‘there was an order concerning you, and here it +is.’ He read it through and handed it to me. Dubbelt wrote that I had a +perfect right to come to Petersburg and could remain as long as I liked. + +‘And is that why you won’t let me go? Excuse me, I can’t help laughing; +yesterday the chief police-master was sending me away against my will, +to-day he is keeping me against my will, and all this on the ground that +the document gives me leave to remain as long as I like.’ + +The absurdity was so evident that even the colonel-manager laughed. + +‘But why should I pay for a place in the diligence twice over? Please +tell them to write me a permit.’ + +‘I cannot, but I will go and inform the general.’ + +Kokoshkin told them to write me a permit, and as he walked through the +office said to me reproachfully: ‘It’s beyond anything. First you want to +stay, then you want to go; why, you have been told that you can stay.’ + +I made no answer. + +When we had driven out of the city gates in the evening and I saw once +more the endless plain stretching in all directions, I looked at the sky +and vowed with all my heart never to return to that city of the despotism +of blue, green, and variegated police, of official muddle, of flunkeyish +insolence, of gendarme romance, in which the only civil man was Dubbelt, +and he a chief of the secret police. + +Shtcherbatov answered Orlov somewhat reluctantly. He had at that time +a secretary who was not a colonel but a pietist, who hated me for my +articles as an ‘atheist and Hegelian.’ I went myself to talk to him. The +pious secretary, in an oily voice and with Christian unction, told me +that the governor-general knew nothing about me, that he did not doubt my +lofty moral qualities, but that he would have to make inquiries of the +head police-master. He wanted to drag the business out; moreover, this +gentleman did not take bribes. In the Russian service disinterested men +are the most terrible of all; the only ones who do not take bribes in all +simplicity are Germans; if a Russian does not take money he will take it +out in something else and be a villain and a terror into the bargain. +Fortunately the head police-master Luzhin gave me a good character. + +Ten days later on returning home I stumbled upon a gendarme at my +door. The appearance of a police-officer in Russia is as bad as a tile +falling upon one’s head, and therefore it was not without a particularly +unpleasant feeling that I waited to hear what he had to say to me; he +handed me an envelope. Count Orlov informed me that his Imperial Majesty +commanded that I should be relieved from police supervision. With that I +received the right to a foreign passport. + + ‘Rejoice with me, for I am free at last! + Free to set forth to foreign lands at will! + But is it not a dream, deceiving me? + Not so! To-morrow come the post-horses, + And then “vom Ort zu Ort” I’ll gallop on, + Paying for passports what the price may be.... + Well, I’ll set forth! And then—what shall I find? + I know not! I have faith! And yet—and yet— + God knows alone what still may be my fate.... + With fear and doubt I stand before the gate + Of Europe. And my heart is full + Of hope, of troubled shadowy dreams.... + I am in doubt, my friend, you see, + I shake my head despondingly....’ + + OGARYOV: Humorous Verse.[130] + +Six or seven sledges accompanied us as far as Tchorny Gryaz. There for +the last time we clinked glasses and parted, sobbing. + +It was evening, the covered sledge crunched through the snow ... you +looked mournfully after us but did not guess that it meant a funeral and +eternal separation. All were there, only one was missing, the nearest of +the near: he was ill, and by his absence, as it were, washed his hands of +my departure. + +It was the 21st of January 1847.... + +The sergeant gave me back our passports: a small, old soldier in a clumsy +casque covered with American leather, carrying a gun of disproportionate +size and weight, lifted the barrier; an Ural Cossack with narrow little +eyes and broad cheek-bones, holding the reins of his little, shaggy, +dishevelled nag, which was covered all over with little icicles, came up +to wish me a happy journey; the pale, thin, dirty little Jewish driver +with rags twisted four times round his neck clambered on the box. + +‘Good-bye! Good-bye!’ said our old acquaintance, Karl Ivanovitch, who was +seeing us as far as Taurogen, while Tata’s wet nurse, a handsome peasant +woman, dissolved in tears as she said farewell. + +The little Jew whipped up his horses, the sledges moved off. I looked +back, the barrier had been lowered, the wind swept the snow from Russia: +on to the road and blew the tail and mane of the Cossack’s horse to one +side. + +The nurse in a sarafan and a sleeveless jacket was still looking after +us and weeping; Sonnenberg, that symbol of the parental home, that comic +figure from the days of childhood, waved his silk handkerchief—all around +was the endless plain of snow. + +‘Good-bye, Tatyana! Good-bye, Karl Ivanovitch!’ + +Here was a milestone and on it, covered with snow, a thin and +single-headed eagle with outspread wings ... and it is so much to the +good that it is one head less. + + + + +Appendix + +(To Chapter 29) + + +I + +N. H. KETSCHER (1842-1847) + +I must speak of Ketscher again, and this time in far more detail. On my +return from exile I found him as before in Moscow—though, indeed, he had +become so rooted in Moscow and so much a part of the life there that I +cannot imagine Moscow without him, or him in any other city. He did try +moving to Petersburg, he could not stand six months of it, threw up his +position and reappeared on the banks of the Neglinny in Bazhanov’s café +to preach free-thought to officers as they played billiards, to teach +actors dramatic art, to translate Shakespeare, and to love and worry his +old friends. It is true that he had now a new circle, _i.e._, the circle +of Byelinsky and Bakunin; but though he lectured them day and night, he +was still heart and soul with us. + +He was then going on for forty, but he remained absolutely an old +student. How did that happen? It is just that that we must investigate. + +Ketscher is a perfect example of the class of strange personalities that +were developed in the stagnant swamp of the Russia of the Petersburg +period, especially after 1812, who were the consequence of it, the +victims of it, and indirectly the stepping-stones from it to other +things. These people broke away from the wearisome and ignoble common +track and never found one of their own, spent their lives in seeking it +and got no farther than the search. The characteristics of these victims +are very varied; they are not all like Onyegin or Petchorin they are +not all idle and superfluous people; there are people who work hard and +yet accomplish nothing, people who are failures: I have been tempted a +thousand times to describe a whole series of original figures, to draw +striking portraits taken from life, but I have stopped short, overwhelmed +by my material. There is nothing of the herd, of the rank and file +about them; they are of all shapes and figures, but one common feature +or rather one _common misfortune_ connects them all. Looking into the +dark grey background, they see soldiers under the stick, serfs under the +lash, faces that betray a stifled moan, carts on their way to Siberia, +prisoners trudging in the same direction, shaven heads, branded faces, +helmets, epaulettes, plumes ... in short, the Russia of Petersburg. It is +that that torments them; they have neither the strength to accept it nor +to tear themselves away nor to alter things. They try to escape from that +background and cannot—they have no ground under their feet; they try to +cry out against it—they have no voice, nor are there ears to hear them. + +It is no wonder that with this loss of balance there are among them +more original and eccentric than practically useful and perseveringly +industrious people, that there is as much that is inharmonious and +senseless in their lives as there is good and humane. + +Ketscher’s father was a scientific instrument-maker. He was famed for +his surgical instruments and extreme honesty. He died early, leaving +his widow a large family to bring up and business affairs in confusion. +Consequently there could be in Ketscher’s case no question of real +contact, that is, of direct contact with the simple people such as +is, even in a wealthy household, absorbed with one’s foster-mother’s +milk, with one’s earliest games. The foreign manufacturers and traders, +craftsmen and their employers, make up a narrow circle, cut off by +habits, interests, and everything else both from the lower and the +upper classes of Russia. Often in those circles the family life is pure +and moral in comparison with the savage tyranny and hidden vice of our +merchants, with the sad and dreary drunkenness of our workmen, and with +the narrow, filthy life of our government clerks which rests entirely on +thieving. It is, nevertheless, entirely alien to the world surrounding +it, it is foreign, and from the very first gives a different _pli_ and +different fundamental principles. + +Ketscher’s mother was a Russian, and I imagine that it was owing to +that fact that Ketscher did not grow up a foreigner. I do not think she +took any part in the children’s education, but what was of the greatest +consequence was that they were baptized into the Orthodox Church, which +meant that they had no religion whatever. Had they been Lutherans or +Catholics they would have been drawn in the German direction. They would +have gone to one or other _Kirche_, and would insensibly have passed into +its _Gemeinde_, with its alienating and isolating influence, with its +rival coteries and its parochial interests. No one sent Ketscher to the +Russian Church, of course; besides, even if he had been in the habit of +going to it sometimes as a child, it has not the spider-like character of +its sister churches, especially with foreigners. + +It must be remembered that the period of which I am speaking knew nothing +of hysterical orthodoxy. The Church, like the State, did not fly to any +weapon for its defence and was not jealous of its rights, perhaps because +no one was attacking them. Every one knew what these two beasts were like +and no one put a finger in the jaws of either. They, for their part, did +not snatch at the strangers within their gates, being doubtful of their +orthodoxy or of their loyalty. When the Chair of Theology was founded in +the Moscow University, old Professor Heym, famous for his lexicons, said +with horror in the university hall: ‘_Es ist ein Ende mit der grossen +Hochschule Ruthenias_.’ Even Magnitsky’s and Runitch’s savage epidemic of +bigotry, senseless, flagrant as it was, and (as always with us) carried +out by spies and policemen, passed over like a malignant storm-cloud, +broke over the people who happened to be on the road, and vanished in +the shape of diverse Fotys and countesses.[131] In the high schools +and boarding-schools the catechism was taught as a form and for the +examinations, which always began with ‘Scripture.’ + +In due time Ketscher entered the Academy of Medicine and Surgery. That +was also a purely foreign institution and also not particularly orthodox. +One of the lecturers there was Just Christian Loder, the friend of +Goethe and the teacher of Humboldt, one of the pleiades of free and +vigorous thinkers who have raised Germany to a height of which she never +dreamed. For these men science was still a religion and propaganda a +warfare; freedom from the fetters of theology was new for them; they +still remembered the struggle for it, they had faith in their conquest +of it and were proud of it. Loder would never have consented to teach +anatomy according to the catechism of Filaret. Beside him stood Fischer +of Waldheim and the surgeon Hildebrandt, of whom I have spoken in another +place. There was never one word of Russian nor one Russian face in the +Academy, but there were various other German laboratory assistants, +demonstrators, and chemists: everything Russian was thrust into the +background. There is only one exception that we remember, _i.e._, +Detkovsky. Ketscher cherished his memory, and he probably had a good +influence on the students. The medical students, however, made up of two +species, Germans and seminarists, did not even in later days take part in +the common life of the universities, but confined themselves to their own +affairs. + +Those affairs seemed of little account to Ketscher, which is the best +proof of his not being a genuine German and not putting his profession +before everything. + +His own family circle could have no special attraction for him, and from +early years he had preferred to live apart. The rest of his surroundings +could only repel and jar upon him. He set to reading and re-reading +Schiller. + +In later years Ketscher translated the whole of Shakespeare, but Schiller +left indelible traces upon him. + +Schiller was exactly the right author for our students. Posa and Max, +Karl Moor and Ferdinand were students, robber-students: it is all the +protest of the first dawn, of the first revolt. More swayed by his +heart than his intellect, Ketscher understood and absorbed the poetical +theorising of Schiller, the revolutionary philosophy in his dialogue, and +there he stopped. He was satisfied: criticism and scepticism were utterly +alien to him. + +A few years after his first reading of Schiller he came upon another +gospel and his moral life was determined for ever. Everything else +interested him little and passed without leaving a trace. The revolution +of the ’nineties, that vast, colossal tragedy in the style of Schiller, +with its bloodshed and its side issues, with its gloomy virtues and its +bright ideals, with the same character of dawn and protest, absorbed him +entirely. In this, too, Ketscher did not attempt to analyse. He accepted +the French Revolution as though it were a biblical legend, he believed +in it, he loved its leading figures, he had his personal preferences and +dislikes among them; nothing drew him behind the scenes. + +Such he was when I met him at Passek’s in 1831, and such he was when I +parted from him in 1847 on the high road at Tchorny Gryaz. + +This—not romantic, but so to speak ethico-political—dreamer could hardly +have found the surroundings he was seeking in the Academy of Medicine +and Surgery of those days. A worm was gnawing at his heart and medical +science could not stifle it. Withdrawing from the persons surrounding +him, he took to living more and more in one of the characters with which +his imagination was filled. Continually coming into contact with very +different interests and petty people, he began to shun society, got +into the way of scowling, telling bitter truths that were uncalled for, +and truths that every one knew, and tried to live like La Fontaine’s +‘Sonderling,’ or ‘Robinson Crusoe’ in Sokolniky. In the little garden +of their house there was an arbour, and here ‘the apothecary Ketscher +took refuge to translate the apothecary Schiller’ as N. A. Polevoy used +to jest in those days. The door of the arbour had no lock and there was +hardly room to turn round in it, but that was just right for him. In the +morning he used to dig in the garden, plant and transplant flowers and +shrubs, treat the poor of his district gratis, correct the proofs of ‘The +Robbers’ and of ‘Fiesco,’ and instead of evening prayers would recite +speeches of Marat and of Robespierre. In fact, if he had worked less with +books and more with his spade, he would have been just what Rousseau +wished every man to be. + +Ketscher made our acquaintance through Vadim in 1831. In our circle, +which consisted in those days of Sazonov, the elder Passeks, and two or +three other students, besides Ogaryov and me, he saw the first promise +of the accomplishment of his cherished dreams, the first signs of new +growth on the fields that had been mown so thoroughly in 1826, and so +he attached himself to us. Being older than we, he soon acquired ‘the +rights of censorship’ and would not let us take a step without comments +and sometimes reproofs. He believed that he was a practical man and more +experienced than we; moreover, we liked him, liked him very much in fact. +If any one fell ill, Ketscher was like a sister of mercy, and never +left the invalid till he recovered. When Kolreif, Antonovitch and the +others were arrested, Ketscher was the first to get into the barracks to +see them, did his best to entertain them, lectured them, and went so far +that Lissovsky, the general of the gendarmes, sent for him and impressed +upon him that he must be more careful and must remember his position (he +was an army doctor). When Nadyezhdin, who was theoretically in love, +wanted to be secretly married to a young lady whose parents forbade her +to think of him, Ketscher undertook to assist him and arrange a romantic +elopement, and, wrapped in his celebrated black cloak lined with red, sat +on a seat in the Rozhdestvensky Boulevard with Nadyezhdin waiting for +a secret signal. For a long time they waited in vain; Nadyezhdin grew +weary and disheartened. Ketscher stoically consoled him; despair and +his consolations had a singular effect on Nadyezhdin, he fell asleep. +Ketscher scowled and strode gloomily up and down the boulevard. ‘She +isn’t coming,’ said Nadyezhdin, half asleep, ‘let us go home to bed.’ +Ketscher scowled more than ever, shook his head gloomily, and led the +sleepy Nadyezhdin home. When they had gone, the girl came out into the +porch of her house and the signal agreed upon was repeated not once but +a dozen times, and she waited an hour or two; all was quiet and she +more quietly still returned to her room, probably shedding tears but +completely cured of her love for Nadyezhdin. It was a long time before +Ketscher could forgive Nadyezhdin his sleepiness; he would shake his +head, while his lower lip quivered, and say: ‘He did not love her.’ + +The sympathy Ketscher showed at the time of our imprisonment and at +the time of my marriage has been described already. For the five years +from 1834 to 1840, in which he was almost the only one of our circle +left in Moscow, he represented it with pride and glory, preserving our +tradition, and not changing it in a single detail. So we found him, +some of us in 1840 and some of us in 1842. In us exile, contact with a +different world, reading, and work had made many changes. Ketscher, our +irremovable representative, remained the same as ever. Only instead of +Schiller he was translating Shakespeare. + +One of the first things which Ketscher, who was extremely delighted at +having his old friends gathered together again in Moscow, did was to +renew his censorship _morum_—and this was the occasion of the first signs +of friction, which for a long time he failed to notice. His scolding +sometimes angered us, which had never happened in old days, and sometimes +bored us. In the past we had lived at such high pressure and so much +in common that no one had paid attention to little stumbling-blocks in +the pathway. Time, as I have said, had made many changes; character +had developed in different directions—and the part of a kind but +fault-finding uncle was often worse than absurd. Every one tried to turn +it into a jest, to cloak his superfluous candour and critical love under +his friendliness and good intentions, and they made a great mistake. +Yes, what was amiss was that it was necessary to cloak, to explain away, +to practise restraint. If he had been checked from the very first, +those unhappy misunderstandings with which our Moscow life ended at the +beginning of 1847 would never have arisen. + +Our new friends, however, were not quite so indulgent as we were, and +even Byelinsky, as intolerant of injustice as Ketscher himself, would +sometimes lose all patience and, though he was very fond of him, would +give him severe lessons, refusing to argue with him for months together. +Cold or indifferent Ketscher never was. He was invariably either +violently aggressive or ardently affectionate, passing rapidly from +being the warmest of friends into being the sternest of judges; this, of +course, made coldness and silence harder for him to bear than anything. + +Immediately after a quarrel or a series of violent attacks Ketscher’s +attention was distracted, his anger passed without leaving a trace, +probably he was inwardly dissatisfied with himself, but he never admitted +it; on the contrary, he tried to turn everything into a joke and again +overstepped the limit beyond which a joke ceases to be amusing. It was +the everlasting repetition of the famous ‘gander’ in the reconciliation +of Ivan Ivanovitch with Ivan Nikiforovitch.[132] Every one must have seen +children who once they have yielded to temptation are nervously unable to +stop short of any naughtiness, the conviction that they will be punished +seems to intensify the temptation. Feeling that he had again succeeded +in irritating some one into cold and biting replies, he returned to an +utterly gloomy frame of mind, raised his eyebrows, strode about the room, +became a tragic figure from some play of Schiller’s, a juryman from +the court of Fouquier-Tinville,[133] in a ferocious voice brought out +a series of accusations against all of us, accusations for which there +was not the slightest foundation, convinced himself in the end of their +truth, and, overwhelmed with grief that his friends were such scoundrels, +went morosely home, leaving us dumbfoundered and furious, until wrath +gave way to mercy and we laughed like lunatics. + +Early next morning, Ketscher, mild and mournful, was pacing up and down +his room, savagely smoking his pipe, waiting for one of us to come to +scold him and be reconciled. He would make it up, always, of course, +preserving his dignity as of an old, though exacting, uncle. If no one +appeared, Ketscher, concealing a mortal dread in his heart, would go +mournfully to a café in Neglinny Street, or to the bright, peaceful +haven in which he was always met by a good-natured laugh and a friendly +greeting, _i.e._, to M. S. Shtchepkin’s, and there stay till the storm he +had raised abated. He complained of us, of course, to Schtchepkin. The +kind-hearted old man gave him a good scolding, told him that he talked +nonsense, that we were not such miscreants as he made out, and offered to +take him at once to see us. We knew that Ketscher was miserable after his +outbursts, and understood, or rather forgave, the feeling which prevented +him from saying simply and directly that he was wrong and so effacing at +the first word all traces of discord. The ladies, who almost always took +his part, were foremost in making approaches to him. They liked his open +simplicity, which went as far as rudeness (he never spared them), and +regarded it as eccentricity. Their support convinced Ketscher that that +was the way to behave, that it was charming and was, moreover, his duty. + +Our quarrels and disputes at Pokrovskoe were sometimes full of absurdity, +and at the same time whole days were overshadowed by them. + +‘Why is the coffee not nice?’ I asked Matvey. + +‘It has not been properly made,’ answered Ketscher, and suggested that +his method should be tried. The coffee so made was just the same. + +‘Bring the spirit-lamp and coffee here. I will make it myself,’ said +Ketscher, and set to work. The coffee was no better, as I observed +to Ketscher. He tried it and, fixing his eyes upon me from under his +spectacles, asked in a voice already a little bit excited: ‘So in your +opinion this coffee is no better?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Well, it is really amazing that even in such a trifle you refuse to +change your opinion.’ + +‘It is not I, but the coffee.’ + +‘Really it is beyond anything, this miserable vanity.’ + +‘Upon my word, I didn’t make the coffee and I didn’t make the +coffee-pot....’ + +‘I know you, anything to prove your point; what pettiness over the +beastly coffee—it’s hellish vanity!’ He could say no more; heartbroken at +my despotism and vanity in matters of taste, he thrust his cap down on +his head, snatched up a bark basket and went off into the woods. He came +back towards evening, having walked fifteen miles; a successful search +for edible fungi had dispelled his gloomy mood. I, of course, made no +reference to coffee, but paid various civilities to the fungi. + +Next morning he tried to raise the coffee question again, but I declined +to take up the challenge. + +One of the chief subjects of our disputes was the education of my son. +Education shares the fate of medicine and philosophy: on those subjects +every one in the world has positive and sharply defined opinions, except +the few who have devoted a long and serious study to them. Ask about +the building of a bridge or draining of a swamp, and a man will tell +you frankly that he is not an engineer or an agricultural expert. Begin +talking about dropsy or consumption, he will suggest a remedy, one that +he remembers, has heard spoken of, or that has benefited his uncle. But +in questions of education he goes farther still. ‘That is my principle’ +he tells you, ‘and I never depart from it; I don’t like trifling in +matters of education, it is a subject I feel too keenly about.’ + +What ideas Ketscher was bound to have about education may be gathered to +the minutest detail in the sketch we have given of his character. In this +he was consistent, which is more than can be said of people who discourse +on education as a rule. Ketscher’s ideas were those of Rousseau’s +‘Émile,’ and he firmly believed that the negation of everything which is +done with children now would of itself be excellent education. He wanted +to wrest the child from artificial life and consciously restore him to +a savage condition, to that primitive independence in which equality is +carried so far as to wipe out the distinction between man and the monkey. + +We were ourselves not so very far removed from this view, but in him, +like everything that he had once assimilated, it was a fanatical creed +which admitted neither of doubt nor argument. A very real and genuine +need is felt for something very different from the old-fashioned +theological, scholastic, aristocratic education in which dogmatism, +formalism, strained pedantic classicism, and external discipline are +considered of more importance than moral development. Unluckily, in +education as in everything else, the violent and revolutionary method, +while breaking down the old, has given us nothing to replace it. The +wild assumption of the ‘normal man,’ which the followers of Jean Jacques +adopted, cut the child off from his historical surroundings, made him a +foreigner in them, as though education were not the development of the +life of the race in the individual. + +The arguments about education were rarely confined to the theoretical +field, the application was too near at hand. My son, at that time seven +or eight years old, was a delicate child, very liable to attacks of fever +and dysentery. This weakness lasted until our visit to Naples, or rather +till we met at Sorrento a doctor of whom we knew nothing, who altered the +whole system of diet and treatment. Ketscher wanted to harden him all at +once like tempered steel. I would not allow it, and he was furious: ‘You +are a conservative,’ he shouted angrily, ‘you are ruining the unfortunate +child, you are turning him into an effeminate little gentleman and at the +same time a slave.’ + +The child was naughty and shouted when his mother was ill. I checked him: +apart from the plain necessity of doing so, it seemed to me perfectly +right to make him restrain himself for the sake of somebody else, for the +sake of his mother who loved him beyond measure; but Ketscher said to me +gloomily: + +‘What right have you to check his shouting? He ought to shout, it is no +life at all. The accursed authority of parents!’ + +These discussions, however lightly I took them, made our relations +difficult and threatened a serious estrangement between Ketscher and +his friends. If this had come about, he would have been more severely +punished than any one, both because he was very much devoted to us +all and because he did not know how to live alone. His character was +eminently expansive and not at all self-centred. Some one was necessary +to him. His very work was a continual conversation with some one else, +that some one else was Shakespeare. After working the whole morning he +felt dull. In the summer he could walk in the country or work in his +garden; but in winter there was nothing left for him but to put on his +famous cloak or his rough, camel-coloured overcoat and go from near +Sokolniky to us, to Arbat, or to Nikitsky Street. + +His captious intolerance was due to the fact that he never had the +intellectual exercise of verifying, analysing, and making problems +clear: for him there were no problems; all was settled and he went +straight forward without looking back. Perhaps if he had been engaged +in practical work this might have been a good thing, but he had none. +Active participation in active affairs was impossible, only the three +uppermost grades in the service take part in them in Russia. And he +transferred his thirst for activity to the private life of his friends. +We were spared by theoretical work from the emptiness which gnawed at his +heart. Ketscher settled all questions summarily, straight off, in one +way or another—which did not matter; having once settled them, he went +on without hesitating at anything, remaining obstinately faithful to his +conviction. + +For all that there was no serious estrangement between us till 1846. +Natalie was very fond of Ketscher, he was inseparably connected with +the memory of the 9th of May 1838. She knew that a tender affection lay +hid under his hedgehog-like prickles and was unwilling to see that the +prickles were growing and sending their roots farther and farther down. + +A quarrel with Ketscher seemed to her something sinister; she fancied +that if time could file away, and with such a tiny file, one of the +links that had held so firmly throughout our youth, it would next attack +another, and the whole chain would be broken. In the midst of sullen +words and harsh answers I used to see her turn pale and entreat me with +her eyes to stop, she would shake off her momentary vexation and hold out +her hand. Sometimes this touched Ketscher, but he made tremendous efforts +to show that he did not really care, that he was ready to make it up, but +that he would perhaps go on quarrelling. + +The dreadful fluctuating relation of bullying affection and yielding +affection might have been prolonged at this stage for years. But new +circumstances which complicated Ketscher’s life brought things to a head. + +He had a love affair, as queer as everything else in his life, which made +him settle down quickly in rather clammy domesticity. Ketscher’s life, +which was based on the utmost simplicity, on the elementary requirements +of a student’s Bohemian existence among his comrades, was suddenly +transformed. A woman appeared in his home, or to be more correct a home +appeared because in it there was a woman. Till then no one had conceived +of Ketscher as a domestic character, for in his _chez soi_ he liked +to be irregular in everything, to walk about as he lunched, to smoke +between the soup and the beef, to sleep in any bed but his own, so that +Konstantin Aksakov observed jestingly ‘that Ketscher was distinguished +from the human species by the fact that men dine while Ketscher feeds.’ +All at once he had a dwelling, a domestic hearth, a roof of his own! + +This was how it happened. + +A few years before, Ketscher, as he walked every day between Sokolniky +and Basmanny Street, used to meet a poor, almost destitute little girl. +She used to return that way, tired out and depressed, from some workshop. +She was plain, shy, scared, and pathetic. No one noticed her existence, +no one pitied her. Without parents or relations she had been taken for +the sake of Christian charity into some dissenting community, there grew +up, and left it to go to hard work with no defence or support, alone in +the world. Ketscher got into conversation with her and taught her not +to be afraid of him, questioning her about her sorrowful childhood and +wretched existence. He was the first person in whom she found sympathy +and warmth, and she attached herself to him body and soul. His life +was lonely and cheerless; behind all the noise of suppers with his +friends, of first nights at the Moscow theatres, and of the Bozhanovsky +coffee-house, there was an emptiness in his heart which he would, of +course, not have admitted to himself, but which made itself felt. The +poor, colourless flower fell of itself on his bosom—and he accepted +it, not thinking much about the consequence and probably not attaching +special importance to the incident. + +In the best and most progressive men there still exists something akin to +the property qualification for the franchise in their attitude to women, +and there are classes below it which are regarded as naturally destined +to be victims. We have all treated them as of no account, so there is +hardly any one who can dare to throw a stone. + +The orphan was passionately devoted to Ketscher. Being brought up in +a dissenting community had left its traces on her: she had gained +from it a capacity for blind faith, for idol-worship, a capacity for +persistent, concentrated fanaticism and boundless devotion. Everything +that she had loved and worshipped, everything she had feared, everything +she had obeyed, Christ and the Mother of God, the holy saints and the +wonder-working ikon—all that she found now in Ketscher, the man who was +the first to pity her, the first to be kind to her. And all this was +half-hidden, half-buried, dared not express itself. + +She had a child; she was very ill, the baby died.... The bond which +should have strengthened the tie between them broke it. Ketscher grew +colder to S——, went to see her less often, and then abandoned her +altogether. That this child of nature would not ‘cease to love him +easily’ might have been confidently predicted. What had she left in all +the wide world but her love? There was nothing else but to throw herself +in the river Moskva. The poor girl used to go out when her day’s work +was done, scantily clothed in her poor garments, regardless of rain or +cold, along the road leading to Basmanny Street, and would wait for +hours together to meet him, to watch him pass, and then to weep, to weep +the whole night through; as a rule she hid herself, but sometimes she +bowed and spoke. If he answered kindly, S—— was happy and ran home in +good spirits. Of her ‘misfortune,’ of her love she dared not speak, she +was ashamed. Two years or more passed like this. In silence, without +repining, she endured her fate. In 1845 Ketscher moved to Petersburg. +This was too much for her. Not to see him even in the street, not to +observe him from a distance and watch him pass, to know that he was +hundreds of miles away among strangers and not to know whether he was +well or whether any trouble had befallen him—this she could not bear. +Entirely without means and without assistance, S—— began saving up her +kopecks, devoted all her efforts to this one object, worked for months, +then vanished and made her way somehow or other to Petersburg. There, +tired, thin, and hungry, she went to Ketscher, imploring him not to spurn +her but to take her, telling him that she wanted nothing, that she would +find a corner for herself, would find work and live on bread and water, +if only she could stay in the city where he was and might sometimes see +him. Only then Ketscher fully understood what a heart beat in her bosom. +He was shattered, overwhelmed. Pity, remorse, the consciousness of being +so loved changed his attitude: now she should remain there with him, this +should be her home, he would be her husband, her friend, her protector. +Her dreams had come true; forgotten were the cold autumn nights, +forgotten the terrible journey and the tears of jealousy and bitter sobs: +she was with him and would certainly never be parted from him living. +Before Ketscher came back to Moscow no one knew all this story except +Mihail Semyonovitch Shtchepkin, now it was neither possible nor necessary +to conceal it; we two and all our circle received with open arms this +child of nature who had performed so heroic a feat. And this girl, full +of love for him as she was, did Ketscher an infinite amount of harm with +her absolute devotion and submission. On her lay all the blessing and all +the curse that lies upon the proletariat, especially upon ours. + +We in our turn did her almost as much harm as she did Ketscher. + +And in both cases it was done in complete ignorance and with the purest +intentions. She completely ruined Ketscher’s life as a child may ruin +a fine engraving with his paint-brush, supposing that he is adorning +it. Between Ketscher and S——, between S—— and our circle, lay a vast, +terrible chasm, steep and precipitous, and with no bridge, no pass to +cross it. We and she belonged to different ages of mankind, to different +geological formations, to different volumes in the history of the world. +We were the children of New Russia fresh from the university and the +academy, we were fascinated by the political splendour of the West and +religiously cherished our infidelity, openly denying the Church, while +she had been brought up in a dissenting community, in a Russia of the +days before Peter, in all the bigotry of sectarianism, with all the +superstitions of a hidden religion, with all the legendary marvels of +old-world Russian life. + +Having by an extraordinary effort of will fastened the severed ties +again, she kept tight hold of the knot. Ketscher could not escape +now. But indeed he did not wish to. Blaming himself for the past, he +strove sincerely to efface it; S——’s stupendous effort had won him. +Yielding before it, he knew that he too was making a sacrifice, but, +being an extremely pure and generous nature, he was glad to make it as +an atonement. But he knew only the material side of the sacrifice: the +practical restriction of his freedom. The incongruity of an old student +with Schilleresque dreams living with a woman for whom not merely the +world of Schiller but even the world of reading and writing, of all +secular education, did not exist, never entered his head. + +People may say what they like, but the saying _inter pares amicitia_ is +perfectly true and every _mésalliance_ is foredoomed to unhappiness. +A great deal that is stupid, supercilious, and bourgeois is implied +in the saying, but in essence it is true. In the worst of all forms +of inequality, the inequality of culture, there is one salvation: the +education of one person by the other; but for that two rare gifts are +needed: one must know how to educate and the other must know how to be +educated; one must be able to lead, the other to follow. + +Far more often the companionship of an undeveloped personality, confined +to the pettiness of personal life with no other interests to engross +the heart, weighs the other down, induces foolishness and fatigue; +imperceptibly he grows petty and narrow, and though he feels ill at +ease, yet, entangled in nets and meshes, he reconciles himself to it. +Sometimes it happens that neither of them yields, and then the marriage +turns into a permanent war, an everlasting duel in which they grow set +and remain for ever in fruitless efforts on the one side to lift up, on +the other to drag down: that is, both trying to defend their several +positions. When their strength is equal, this conflict swallows up their +whole life and the strongest natures are exhausted and sink helpless by +the way. The more cultured nature is the first to succumb, the aesthetic +feelings are deeply wounded by the difference of level. The best moments, +which should be bright and musical, are poisoned by it: expansive natures +passionately desire that all who are near and dear to them should be near +to their thoughts, to their religion; this is taken for intolerance. For +them the proselytism of the home is the continuation of their apostolic +work, their propaganda; their happiness is limited where they are not +understood ... and most often there is no wish to understand them. + +To educate a mature woman is a very difficult task; it is especially +difficult in those marriages which are the consequence and not the +commencement of intimate relations. Ties that have been lightly, +frivolously begun rarely rise above the level of the bedroom and the +kitchen. The common roof comes too late for education under it to be +possible; only now and then some misfortune will rouse a soul that sleeps +but is capable of awakening. For the most part _la petite femme_ never +becomes a full-sized one, never becomes wife and sister together; she +either remains mistress and courtesan, or becomes cook and mistress. + +Living under the same roof is in itself a terrible thing over which +half the marriages come to ruin. Living cramped up together, people +come too close to each other, see each other too minutely, too much in +deshabille, and gradually petal by petal tear away all the flowers of +the wreath that crowned each with grace and poetry. But similarity of +culture goes a long way to smooth things over. If it is absent and there +is idle leisure, one cannot be for ever babbling nonsense, talking of +housekeeping or paying compliments; and what is to be done with a woman +when she is something between an odalisque and a servant, a creature +bodily near and intellectually remote. She is not wanted by day and she +is for ever on the spot; a man cannot share his interests with her and +she cannot share her gossip with him. + +Every uneducated woman living with an educated husband reminds me of +Delilah and Samson, she cuts off his strength and there is no guarding +oneself from her. Between dinner, even if it is late, and bed, even if +one goes to it at ten o’clock, there is an endless period in which one +does not want to go on working and yet is not ready for sleep, when the +linen has been counted and expenses reckoned up. It is in those hours +that the wife drags the husband down into the narrow circle of her +trivialities, into the world of irritable resentments, tittle-tattle, and +spiteful insinuations. This is bound to leave its traces. Relations of +cohabitation between a man and a woman without equality of culture are +sometimes enduring when they rest on convenience, on common housekeeping, +I had almost said on hygiene. Sometimes these working associations are a +mutual help combined with mutual satisfaction; for the most part a wife +is taken as a nurse, as a good housewife _pour avoir un bon pot-au-feu_ +as Proudhon said to me. The formula of the old jurisprudence is very +clever, _a mensa et toro_; destroy the common bed and common board and +they will separate with untroubled conscience. + +These business-like marriages are scarcely better. The husband is +continually at his work, professional or commercial, at his office, his +counting-house, or his shop. His wife is continually busy with the linen +and the stores. The husband returns tired; everything is ready for him, +and everything goes with the same little even trot, to the gates of the +cemetery to which their parents have preceded them. This is a purely town +phenomenon and it is more often met with in England than anywhere; this +is the petty-bourgeois happiness preached by the moralists of the French +stage and dreamt of by the Germans[134]; different stages of culture +can live together more easily within a year after the man leaves the +university; there is a division of work and precedence given to the man. +The husband, particularly if he has money, becomes what the popular sense +calls him, _mon bourgeois_ of his wife. By this path and, thanks to the +laws of inheritance, it is a path that never gets overgrown with grass, +every woman remains perpetually a _kept woman_, her husband’s if not some +other man’s. She knows this. + + ‘Dessen Brot man isst, + Dessen Lied man singt.’ + +But these marriages have a moral unity of their own, they have a +similarity of outlook, a similarity of object. Ketscher himself had no +object and was incapable of being either the ‘bourgeois’ or the tutor. +He could not even struggle with S——, she always gave way. He frightened +her with his loud voice and his grumbling temper. Though her heart +was developed she had a heavy, stubborn intelligence, that stagnancy +of brain which we often meet with in those who are quite unaccustomed +to abstract thought, and which is one of the distinguishing traits +of the period before Peter the Great. United to the man she loved so +intensely, so devotedly, she desired nothing and feared nothing. And +indeed what had she to fear? Poverty? but had she not been poor all +her life, had she not suffered destitution, that humiliating poverty. +Work? but she had toiled from morning till night in a workroom for a few +coppers. Quarrelling, separation? Yes, that last had terrors, and great +terrors too; but she so utterly abandoned all personal will that it was +really difficult to quarrel with her, and ill-humour she would put up +with, maybe she would have put up with blows even, so long as she were +satisfied that he loved her a little and did not want to part with her. +And that he did not want, and there was a fresh reason for not wanting it +on the top of everything else. With the instinct of love S—— understood +it very well. Dimly aware that she could not fully satisfy Ketscher, she +took to making up for what she lacked by continual waiting upon him and +solicitude for him. + +Ketscher was over forty. He had not been spoilt in regard to domestic +comfort. He had spent all his life at home as the Kirghiz in his cart, +with no property and no desire to possess it, with no conveniences of +any sort and no craving for them. By degrees everything was changed; he +was surrounded by a network of attention and services, he saw a childish +delight when he was pleased with anything, alarm and tears when he +raised his eyebrows, and this went on every day from morning till night. +Ketscher took to staying at home more often; he was sorry to leave her +continually alone. Besides, it was hard for him not to be struck by the +difference of her absolute submission and our growing opposition. S—— +endured his most unjust outbursts with the gentleness of a daughter who, +concealing her tears, smiles to her father and waits _sans rancune_ till +the storm is over. S——, submissive, slavishly meek, trembling, ready to +weep and kiss his hand, had an immense influence on Ketscher. Intolerance +is fostered by giving way to it. + +Did not Rousseau’s Thérèse, poor, stupid Thérèse, turn the prophet of +equality into a petty vulgarian, perpetually absorbed in preserving his +own dignity? + +S——’s influence on Ketscher showed itself in the way Diderot describes +when he complains of Thérèse. Rousseau was suspicious; Thérèse developed +his suspiciousness into a petty readiness to take offence, and with no +intention of doing so estranged him from his best friends. Remember that +Thérèse could not read properly and could never be taught to read the +time on the clock—which did not prevent her from fostering Rousseau’s +hypochondria till it passed into gloomy madness. In the morning Rousseau +would go to see Baron d’Holbach. A servant would bring in lunch and set +places for three—Holbach, his wife, and Grimm; engaged in conversation, +no one would notice it but Jean Jacques. He would pick up his hat. ‘But +you must stay to lunch,’ Madame d’Holbach would say and order another +place to be laid; but by then it was too late to set things right. +Rousseau, livid with vexation and gloomily cursing the whole human race, +would run home to Thérèse and tell her that no plate was set for him +as a hint for him to go. Such tales were just to her taste, she could +take warm interest in them, they put her on a level with him and indeed +a little above him, and she herself began talking scandal, sometimes +against Madame d’Houdetot, sometimes against David Hume, sometimes +against Diderot. Rousseau would rudely break off all relations, would +write senseless and insulting letters, sometimes calling forth terrible +replies (for instance, from Hume), and withdrew to Montmorency abandoned +by every one, and for lack of human beings cursing the sparrows and the +swallows to whom he threw grain. + +Once more:—without equality there can be no real marriage. The wife who +is excluded from all the interests that occupy her husband, who is apart +from them and does not share them, may be a concubine, a housekeeper, a +nurse, but not a wife in the full, honourable sense of the word. Heine +said of his ‘Thérèse’ that she ‘does not know and never will find out +what he wrote about.’ This was thought charming, amusing, and it never +occurred to any one to ask: ‘Why, then, was she his wife?’ Molière, who +read his comedies aloud to his cook, was a hundred times more humane, but +Madame Heine quite unintentionally paid her husband back. During the last +years of his martyred existence she surrounded him with her own friends, +faded _dames aux camellias_ of a past season, grown moral as they grew +wrinkled, and their washed-out, grey-headed adorers. + +I do not mean to say that a wife must necessarily do and like what +her husband does and likes. The wife may prefer music and the husband +painting, that does not disturb their equality. I have always thought +that the official trailing of husband and wife about together was +dreadful, absurd, and senseless, and the higher placed they are the more +ludicrous it is. Why should the Empress Eugénie appear at cavalry drill, +and why should Victoria draw her husband to the opening of parliament +with which he had nothing to do? Heine did well not to take his +better-half to the receptions at the Court functions of Weimar. The prose +of their marriage did not lie in that, but in the absence of any common +ground, any common interest to unite them apart from sexual attraction. + +I will pass to the harm which we did to poor S——. The mistake we made +was again the mistake of all Utopias and idealisms. When one side of a +question is correctly grasped, no attention is commonly paid to that +to which that side adheres and whether it can be separated from it, no +attention to the vast network of veins connecting the raw flesh with the +whole organism. We still think like Christians that we have but to say to +the lame man: ‘Take up thy bed and walk.’ + +At one stroke we flung the solitary and half-savage S——, who had seen no +one, from her loneliness into our circle. We liked her originality, we +wanted to preserve it, and we destroyed the last chance of her developing +by removing all desire for improvement, assuring her that she was all +right as she was. But she did not herself care to remain simply as she +was. What was the result? We—revolutionaries, socialists, champions +of the emancipation of women—turned a naïve, devoted, simple-hearted +creature into a Moscow petty-bourgeoise! + +Did not the Convention, the Jacobins, and the Commune itself turn France +into a petty-bourgeoise, turn Paris into an _épicier_? + +The first house that was opened with love and warm-heartedness to S—— +was ours. Natalie went to see her and forcibly brought her to us. For a +year S—— behaved quietly and was shy of strangers; timid and reserved as +before, she was full of the poetical charm of the peasant in a way. There +was not the faintest desire to attract attention by her strangeness; on +the contrary there was the desire to be unnoticed. Like a child or a weak +little wild animal she took refuge under Natalie’s wing; her devotion +in those days knew no bounds. She loved playing with Sasha for hours +together and used to tell him and us details of her childhood, her life +among the _raskolniks_, her suffering as an apprentice, _i.e._, in the +workroom. + +She became the plaything of our circle; that, of course, she liked; she +saw that her position, that she herself was original, and from that +time she was lost; no one could have saved her. Natalie alone thought +seriously of her education. S—— did not belong to the common herd; she +had escaped a number of mean defects; she was not fond of fine clothes, +did not care for luxury, for expensive things, nor for money—so long +as Ketscher was satisfied and found nothing wanting she did not mind +about anything else. At first S—— loved to have long, long talks with +Natalie and trusted her, meekly listened to her advice, and tried to +follow it.... But after she had looked about her and was at home in our +circle, perhaps worked up by others who were amused at her oddities, +she began to display a sort of injured antagonism and would answer any +criticism very far from naïvely: ‘Oh, I am such a poor creature, how +could I change or improve? It seems I must go down to my grave just as +silly and foolish.’ In these words there was a note of wounded vanity, +conscious or not conscious. She ceased to feel free with us and came less +and less often to see us. ‘Natalya Alexandrovna, God bless her,’ she +would say, ‘no longer likes poor me.’ It was not natural to Natalie to be +hail-fellow-well-met with everybody or to be effusive like a schoolgirl; +an element of deep serenity and great aesthetic feeling was always +predominant in her. S—— did not understand the value of the difference +between Natalie’s attitude to her and that of others, and forgot who had +been the first to hold out a hand to her and warmly welcome her; with +her Ketscher too drew away from us and grew more and more morose and +irritable. + +His suspiciousness greatly increased. In every careless word he saw an +intention, a spiteful motive, a desire to wound, and not to wound him +only but also S——. She for her part wept, complained of her lot, resented +slights to Ketscher, and by the law of moral reverberation his own +suspicions returned to him multiplied tenfold. His scolding affection +began to change into a desire to find us in fault, into a supervision, a +continual espionage, and the petty faults of his friends came more and +more to eclipse all their other qualities in his eyes. Our pure, lofty, +mature circle began to be invaded by the tittle-tattle of servant girls +and the bickerings of provincial government clerks. + +Ketscher’s irritability became infectious; continual accusations, +explanations, reconciliations, poisoned our gatherings. This corrosive +dust settled in every crevice and by degrees dissolved the cement that +united so firmly our relations with our friends. We all succumbed to the +influence of gossip. Even Granovsky grew ill-humoured and irritable, took +Ketscher’s part unfairly, and lost his temper. Ketscher used to go to +Granovsky with his accusations against Ogaryov and me. Granovsky did not +believe them, but pitying Ketscher, ‘who is ill, wounded and yet so fond +of you,’ took his side emphatically and was angry with me for want of +tolerance. ‘Why, you know what he is like; it’s an illness. The influence +of S——, who is good-natured but uneducated and tiresome, is driving him +farther and farther in that unfortunate direction.’ + +To end this melancholy tale I will quote two instances.... They show +vividly how far we had got from the theory of making coffee at Pokrovskoe. + +One evening in the spring of 1846 we had five intimate friends with us, +and among them Mihail Semyonovitch Shtchepkin. ‘Have you taken the house +at Sokolovo this year?’ he asked. ‘Not yet,’ I answered, ‘I haven’t the +money and one has to pay the rent in advance.’ ‘Surely you are not going +to stay all the summer in Moscow?’ ‘I shall wait a little, then we shall +see.’ That was all. No one took any notice of this conversation, and +other subjects followed peacefully a second afterwards. We were intending +to go next day after dinner to Kuntsovo, which we had loved from +childhood. Ketscher, Korsh, and Granovsky went with us. The excursion +took place, and everything went well except that Ketscher raised his +eyebrows more gloomily than ever. But in the end we all came in for a +storm. + +It was a spring evening, warm but not scorchingly hot; the trees had +only just come out into leaf. We sat in the garden jesting and talking. +All at once Ketscher, who had been silent for half an hour, got up and +stood facing me. With the face of a prosecutor of the Vehme,[135] and +with his lips quivering with indignation, he said: ‘I must say that you +were clever in the way you reminded Mihail Semyonovitch yesterday that he +hadn’t paid you the nine hundred roubles he borrowed from you.’ + +I really did not understand; especially as I certainly had not thought of +Shtchepkin’s debt for the last four months. + +‘It was delicate I must say: the old man has no money now and he is just +going to the Crimea with his immense family, and here you tell him in the +presence of five persons: “I haven’t the money to take a summer villa.” +Ough, how disgusting!’ + +Ogaryov took my part. Ketscher flew at him and there was no end to the +absurd accusations he brought against him; Granovsky tried to soothe him +but could not and went away together with Korsh before the rest of us. I +felt incensed and humiliated and answered very harshly. Ketscher looked +at me from under his brows and without saying a word went back to Moscow +on foot. We were left alone and in a state of something like pitiful +irritability drove home. I wanted this time to give Ketscher a good +lesson and to drop relations with him for a time, if I did not break them +off altogether. He was penitent and shed tears: Granovsky insisted on our +making peace, talked to Natalie, and was deeply distressed. I made it up, +but not light-heartedly, and said to Granovsky: ‘You see, it will last +for three days.’ + +That was one pleasure excursion, here is another. + +Two months later we were at Sokolovo. Ketscher and S—— were going back +to Moscow in the evening. Ogaryov rode part of the way with them on his +Circassian horse, Kortik. There was no shadow of misunderstanding or +ill-humour. + +Ogaryov came back two or three hours later; we laughed together at the +day having passed off so peacefully, and separated for the night. + +Next day Granovsky, who had been in Moscow overnight, met me in our park; +he was thoughtful and more melancholy than usual, and at last he told me +he had something on his mind and wanted to talk to me. We went by the +long avenue and sat down on the seat, the view of which is familiar to +every one who has been at Sokolovo. + +‘Herzen,’ Granovsky said to me, ‘if only you knew how difficult, how +painful it is to me ... how I love you all in spite of everything, and +I see with horror that everything is dropping to pieces. And now, as +though in mockery, these petty mistakes, damnable carelessness, lack of +delicacy....’ + +‘But tell me please what has happened,’ I asked, genuinely alarmed. + +‘Why, Ketscher is furious with Ogaryov, and indeed, to tell the truth, +it would be hard not to be; I try, I do what I can, but I haven’t the +strength, particularly when people don’t care to do anything themselves.’ + +‘But what is the matter?’ + +‘Why, this: yesterday Ogaryov rode part of the way with Ketscher and S——.’ + +‘It was arranged in my presence, and indeed I saw Ogaryov in the evening +afterwards and he did not say a word.’ + +‘On the bridge Kortik shied and began rearing, and Ogaryov pulling him +up was so vexed that he swore before S—— and she heard and Ketscher +heard too. I dare say he didn’t think, but Ketscher asks why he never +happens to be so careless in the presence of your wife and mine. What is +one to say to that?... And besides, for all her simplicity S—— is very +sentimental, which is quite natural in her position.’ + +I said nothing. This was beyond all bounds. + +‘What’s to be done?’ + +‘It’s very simple,’ I said. ‘We must break off all acquaintance with +scoundrels who are capable of intentionally forgetting themselves before +a woman. To be the intimate friend of such people is contemptible....’ + +‘But he doesn’t say that Ogaryov did it intentionally.’ + +‘Then what’s the talk about? And you, Granovsky, Ogaryov’s friend, repeat +the ravings of a madman who ought to be put in an asylum. For shame!’ + +Granovsky was disconcerted. + +‘My God!’ he said, ‘is it possible that our little group of friends—the +one place where I found hope, repose, and love, where I took refuge from +our oppressive environment—will break up in hatred and anger?’ + +He covered his eyes with his hand. I took the other hand; my heart was +very heavy. + +‘Granovsky,’ I said to him, ‘Ketscher is right: we have all come too +close to each other, we are too cramped and we have stepped over each +other’s traces.... _Gemach!_ my friend, _gemach!_ We need airing, +refreshing. Ogaryov is going to the country in the autumn. I am soon +going abroad—we will part without hatred and anger; what was true in our +friendship will be set right, will be purified by absence.’ + +Granovsky wept. With Ketscher I had no explanation on that subject. +Ogaryov did, as a fact, go to the country in the autumn, and afterwards +we too went away. + +News of our Moscow friends reached us more and more rarely. Frightened +by the terror that followed 1848, they waited for a safe opportunity to +send letters. These opportunities were rare, passports were hardly ever +given. From Ketscher we had not a word for years together; he was never +fond of writing, however. + +The first living news was brought me in 1855 after I had moved to London. +Ketscher, I heard, was in his element, conspicuous at banquets in honour +of the heroes of Sebastopol, embracing Pogodin and Kokorev, embracing +the sailors from the Black Sea, making an uproar, scolding, admonishing. +Ogaryov, who had come straight from the graveside of Granovsky, told me +little; what he did tell was gloomy. + +Another year and a half passed. During that time I had finished this +chapter, and to whom first of outsiders was it read? + +Yes—_habeant sua fata libelli_. + +In the autumn of 1857, Tchitcherin came to London; we were expecting him +with impatience: once one of Granovsky’s favourite pupils and a friend of +Korsh and Ketscher, he seemed to us one of our intimate circle. We had +heard of his rudeness, his conservative leanings, his boundless vanity, +and his _doctrinaire_ attitude, but he was still young ... many angles +are rubbed down by the passage of time. + +‘I have long hesitated whether I should come and see you or not; so many +Russians visit you now that one needs more courage not to come than to +come; I, as you know, though fully respecting you, do not agree with you +in everything.’ + +That was how Tchitcherin began. + +He made his approach not simply, not in the spirit of youth; he had +stones hidden in his bosom, the light in his eyes was cold, there was a +challenge and a dreadful, repellent conceit in the tones of his voice. +From the first words I saw that this was not an opponent but an enemy; +but I stifled the instinctive warning and we got into conversation. + +Our talk soon passed to reminiscences and to questions from me. He +described the last months of the life of Granovsky, and when he went away +I felt better pleased with him than at first. + +After dinner next day conversation turned on Ketscher. Tchitcherin spoke +of him as a man whom he liked, laughing without malice at his sallies; +from the details he told me I learned that his affection for his friends +was still as denunciatory, that S——’s influence had reached such a point +that many of his friends were up in arms against her, avoided their +society, and so on. Carried away by the stories he told me and my own +recollections, I offered to read Tchitcherin my unpublished chapter about +Ketscher and read aloud the whole of it. I have many times repented doing +this, not because he made a bad use of what I read, but because I was +vexed and pained that at forty-five I was capable of exposing our past +before a coarse man who afterwards jeered with such merciless impudence +at what he called my ‘temperament.’ + +The wide differences that separated our views and our temperaments were +soon made plain. + +From the first days an argument sprang up from which it was clear that +we differed in everything. He was a disciple of the French democratic +order and had a dislike for English freedom, not reduced to any logical +order. He saw in the empire the education of the people, and advocated a +powerful state and the abasement of the individual before it. It will be +readily understood what these ideas became when applied to Russia. He was +a governmentalist, looked upon the government as far superior to society +and its movements, and took the Empress Catherine II. for almost the +ideal of what Russia needed. All this theory came from a regular edifice +of dogma from which he could always and at once deduce his theosophy of +bureaucracy. + +‘Why do you want to be a professor,’ I asked him, ‘and try to get a +lecturer’s chair? You ought to be a Minister and try to get a portfolio.’ + +Arguing with him, we saw him off at the railway station and parted +agreeing about nothing but our mutual respect. + +A fortnight later he wrote to me from France with enthusiasm about +the working classes, about the institutions. ‘You have found what you +were looking for,’ I answered, ‘and very quickly; that comes of going +there with ready-made views.’ Then I suggested that we should begin a +correspondence in print and wrote the beginning of a long letter. + +He did not care to do so and said that he had no time and that such an +argument would do harm.... + +A remark made in the _Bell_ concerning doctrinaires in general he took +as aimed at himself; his _amour-propre_ was stung, and he sent me his +‘denunciation,’ which made a great talk at the time. + +Tchitcherin got the worst of the campaign, of that I have no doubt. The +outburst of indignation invoked by his letter printed in the _Bell_ was +universal in the younger generation and in literary circles. I received +dozens of articles and letters, one of which was published. We were still +mounting an uphill path in those days, and had no need of Katkov’s[136] +drags to hold us back. The coldly offensive, insolently smooth tone, +more perhaps than was actually said, incensed the public and me alike; +it was something new in those days. On the other hand, those who took +Tchitcherin’s side were: Elena Pavlovna, the Iphigenia of the Winter +Palace; Timashov, the head of the Third Section; and N. H. Ketscher. + +Ketscher remained true to the reaction, not because he ‘preferred +Grandison to Lovelace’ but because carried without a guiding compass _à +la remorque_ of a circle he remained true to it without noticing that +it was sailing in the opposite direction. The man of a coterie, for him +questions followed the banner of personalities and not the other way +about. + +Never having worked through to a single clear understanding or to a +single clear conviction, he advanced with noble aspirations and bandaged +eyes, and was continually beating his enemies, not noticing that the +positions were changed and that in their game of blind-man’s buff he beat +us, beat others, is even now beating some one, even now imagining that he +is accomplishing something. + +I append the letter I wrote to Tchitcherin as the beginning of a friendly +discussion which was prevented by his attacking me like a prosecutor: + + ‘MY LEARNED FRIEND,—It is impossible for me to argue with you; + you know so much, you know it so well, everything in your + brain is fresh and new, and what matters most is that you are + convinced you do know it, and so, untroubled, you resolutely + await the rational development of events in accordance with + the programme revealed by science. You cannot be in disharmony + with the present; you know if the past was this and that, the + present is bound to be this and that, and is bound to lead to + this and that in the future; you are able to reconcile yourself + to it through your ideas and your interpretation of it. Yours + is the happy lot of a priest, comforting the sorrowful with + the eternal truths of your theory and with your faith in them. + All these advantages you derive from your dogmatic belief, + because dogma excludes doubt. Doubt means that a question is + open; dogma, that the question is closed, settled. And so + every dogma is exclusive and uncompromising, while doubt can + never attain so sharp a finality; it is the very essence of + doubt to be ready to agree with the speaker or conscientiously + to seek significance in his words, even to the extent of + losing precious time needed for finding objections. Dogma sees + truth from a definite angle, accepted as the sole stronghold + of salvation, while doubt strives to escape from all angles, + looks all round, returns on its tracks, and often paralyses all + action by its humility before truth. You, my learned friend, + know definitely in what direction to go, how to lead; I do not + know. And so I feel that it is for us to observe and study, + and for you to teach others. It is true that we can say what + ought not to be done, we can unite men to act, rouse thought, + set it free from chains, dispel the phantoms of church and + police-station, of academy and criminal court—that is all; but + you can say what ought to be done. + + ‘The attitude of dogma to its object is the religious attitude, + that is the attitude from the point of view of eternity; + the temporary, the transitory, persons, events, generations + scarcely enter into the _Campo Santo_ of philosophy, or, if + they enter, it is only when purified from real life in the + form of an herbarium of logical shadows. Dogma as a whole + lives really in all times, and lives in its own period as + though it were the past, not spoiling its theoretical attitude + by too passionate an interest in it. Knowing the necessity + of suffering, dogma keeps itself as a Simeon Stylites on a + pedestal, sacrificing everything temporary to the eternal, the + living particulars to general ideas. In short, the dogmatists + are first of all historians, while we, together with the crowd, + are your substratum; you stand for history _für sich_, we—for + history _an sich_. You explain to us where our disease lies, + but are we diseased? You bury us, reward us, or punish us after + our death, you are our doctors and priests; but are we sick or + dying? + + ‘This antagonism is nothing new and it is of great value for + progress, for development. If all mankind could believe you, it + might be rational, but would die of universal boredom. The late + Filiminov put as an inscription on his “fool’s cap”: _Si la + raison dominait le monde, il ne s’y passerait rien_. + + ‘The geometrical dryness of dogma, the algebraic impersonality + of it, gives it the widest power of generalisation; it must + shun sensations and, like Augustus, command Cleopatra to be + veiled. But for active intervention passion is more essential + than dogma, and man has no algebraic passions. The general + he can understand, but it is the particular that he loves or + hates. Spinoza with all the outspoken vigour of his genius + maintained the necessity of reckoning as essential only the + incorruptible, the eternal, the unchanging substance, and + not resting one’s hopes on the fortuitous, the relative, + the personal. Every one understands this in theory, but man + attaches himself only to the particular, the personal, to the + accomplished fact; in the reconciling of these extremes, in + their harmonious combination, lies the highest wisdom of life. + + ‘If from this general definition of our opposite points of view + we pass to particular examples we shall find that though our + goal is the same, there is no less antagonism between us; even + in those instances in which we start from agreement. An example + will make this clear. We are completely agreed in our attitude + to religion; but this only goes so far as the denial of + supernatural religion, but as soon as we come into contact with + _sublunary_ religion the distance between us is immense. You + have moved from the dark, incense-laden walls of a cathedral + to a well-lighted government office, from Guelph you have + turned Ghibelline, you have replaced the hierarchies of heaven + by grades in the service, the absorption of the individual + soul in God by its absorption in the State, God is replaced by + centralisation, the priest by the police-inspector. + + ‘You see in this change an advance, a triumph, we see new + chains. We want to be neither Guelphs nor Ghibellines. Your + secular, civic, and legal religion is the more terrible + for being deprived of all that is poetical, fantastic, of + all that is childlike in character; in place of which you + have the red-tape of officialdom, the idol of the State with + the Tsar at the top and the hangman at the bottom. You want + man set free from the church to hang about for a couple of + centuries in the hall of a government office, while the caste + of high-priest officials and monks of dogma decide in what way + and to what degree he is to be free, like our committees for + the emancipation of the peasants. And all that repels us; we + can accept a great deal, make concessions, sacrifice something + to circumstance; but for you it is not a sacrifice. Of course + in that too you are happier than we. Losing your religious + faith you are not left without any support; and finding that + faith in the State may take the place of Christianity for + mankind, you have accepted it, and you have done very well for + your moral hygiene, for your peace of mind. But this remedy + sticks in our throat and we hate your government offices, + your centralisation, quite as much as the Inquisition, the + Consistory, the Book of Precepts. + + ‘Do you grasp the difference? You, as a teacher, want to + teach, to direct, to herd your flock. We, like a flock that + is becoming conscious, do not want to be herded, but want + to have our own village courts, our own representatives, + our own delegates, to whom we can entrust the management of + our affairs. That is why the authority of the government is + an insult to us at every step, while you applaud it as your + predecessors the priests applauded the temporal power. You may + even differ from it as the clergy has sometimes differed from + it or like people quarrelling on board ship: however great the + distance between you may be, you are still in the same boat, + and for us, laymen, you are still on the side of the government. + + ‘Civic religion—the apotheosis of the State—is a purely Roman + idea and in the modern world, principally French. It is + consistent with a strong state, but is incompatible with a + free people; through it you may get splendid soldiers, but + you cannot have independent citizens. The United States, on + the contrary, have, so far as it is possible, abolished the + religious character of the police and the administration.’ + + +EPILOGUE + +On re-reading the chapter about Ketscher I cannot help reflecting on +the original, eccentric characters who live or have lived in Russia. +What whimsical personalities occur again and again in the history of our +culture! In what countries, under what degrees of latitude and longitude +could a figure be found as angular, as rugged, as captious and erratic, +as good-natured and ill-natured, as noisy and unmanageable as Ketscher’s +except in Moscow? + +And how many of these original figures have I watched ‘in all their +varied kinds,’ from my father to Turgenev’s ‘Children.’ ‘This is how +the Russian oven turns them out,’ Pogodin said to me. And indeed, what +marvels it does turn out, especially when the head is made on the +German pattern ... from Russian buns and bread-rings to Orthodox loaves +flavoured with Hegel, and French rolls _à la quatre-vingt-treize_! It +would be a pity if all these original products should be lost and leave +no trace. We usually dwell only upon the leading figures. + +But in them the effect of the Russian oven is less obvious; in them +its peculiarities are corrected and redeemed; they are examples of the +Russian type of intelligence rather than of the influence of their +environment. These are followed by all sorts of unattached individuals +who have lost their way; the eccentric figures among them are beyond all +reckoning. The tiny connecting links that make up the chain of historical +movements, the particles of yeast which are lost in the dough, they have +raised it, not for their own benefit. Men who awoke early in the dark +night and groped feeling their way to work, stumbling against everything +in their road, they awakened others to quite different labours. + +... I will try some day to save two or three more profiles from complete +oblivion. They are almost lost already in the grey fog from which only +the mountain tops and high crags stand out. + + +II + +BASIL AND ARMANCE + +(_An episode of the year 1844._) + +A very characteristic episode is connected with our second +_villeggiatura_; it would really be a pity not to put it in, although +Natalie and I had very little to do with it. This episode might be +called: ‘Armance and Basil, or the philosopher from civility, the +Christian from courtesy, and George Sand’s “Jacques” turned into the +Jacques of Destiny.’ It began at a French fancy dress ball. + +In the winter of 1843 I went to a fancy dress ball. There were a mass of +people there, five thousand if I remember right, and scarcely any one I +knew. Basil was whirling round with a masked lady, he had no thoughts +to spare for me. He was slightly shaking his head and screwing up his +eyelashes, as connoisseurs do when they find the wine excellent and the +grouse marvellous. + +The ball took place in the hall of a reputable society. I walked about +and sat down a little, looking at Russian aristocrats dressed up as +pierrots of all sorts, zealously doing their best to look like Parisian +shopmen and desperate dancers of the _cancan_, and went upstairs to +supper; there Basil sought me out. He was in an utterly abnormal state, +and in the first glow of the acute period of love; it was more acute as +Basil was about that time forty and his hair was beginning to be thin on +his lofty brow. He talked to me incoherently of some French ‘Mignon,’ +with all the simplicity of a Klärchen and all the playful charm of a +Parisian _grisette_. + +At first I imagined that this was one of those romances in one chapter +in which there is a conquest on the first page and a bill to pay on the +last. But I became convinced that this was not the case. Basil saw his +Parisian girl a second or third time and followed circumvolutionary +tactics without making a direct attack. He introduced me to her. Armance +really was a lively, charming child of Paris, who took after her parent. +From her language to her manners and the special shade of independence +and boldness—everything about her was characteristic of the respectable +working-class of the great city, she was still a work-girl not a +petty-bourgeoise. This type has never existed among us. The careless +gaiety, the easy manners, freedom, mischief, were all combined with the +instinct of self-preservation, the instinctive feeling of danger and +honour. Flung as children sometimes from ten years old into the battle +of poverty and temptation, defenceless, surrounded by the pestilential +infection of Paris and snares of all sorts, they become their own +providence and protection. Such girls may readily give themselves, but it +is hard to take them by surprise, unawares. Those of them who might be +bought never get into this class of working girls; they are bought before +they reach that stage, are whirled off and engulfed in another type, +sometimes for ever, sometimes to reappear six or seven years later in +their carriage in Longchamps or in the box at the opera—_mit Perlen und +Diamanten_. + +Basil was over head and ears in love. A theorist in music and a +philosopher in painting, he was one of the most complete representatives +of the ultra-Hegelians. He spent his whole life soaring in an aesthetic +heavens among philosophical and critical niceties. He looked upon life as +he did upon Shakespeare, reducing everything in life to its philosophical +significance, making everything lively boring and everything fresh +stale; in fact, leaving no emotion of the heart in its directness and +simplicity. This attitude, however, was characteristic in varying degrees +of almost every circle of that period; some broke loose from it by +talent, others from liveliness, but traces of it persisted for a long +time with all—some kept the jargon, others the philosophy itself. + +‘Let us go’ Bakunin said to T—— in Berlin at the beginning of the +’forties, ‘and plunge into the gulf of real life, let us fling ourselves +into the waves’; and they went to ask Varnhagen von Ense to dip them like +a dexterous bathing man into the gulf of practical life and to present +them to a pretty actress. It will be readily understood that with such +preparations there is no reaching a plunge into the passions that ‘devour +the secret sources of our spirit,’ nor indeed to any action whatever. The +Germans too do not get to action; but then Germans do not seek action, +but simply tranquillity. Our temperament on the other hand cannot endure +this attitude—_des theoretischen Schweigens_—gets entangled, stumbles, +and trips up more funnily than seriously. And so our philosopher in love +at forty began, screwing up his eyes, to collate all the speculative +theories on the demonic power of love which drew Hercules and the +frail youth alike to the feet of Omphale, began to explain to himself +and others the moral idea of the family, the foundations of marriage +(Hegel’s _Philosophy of Law_, Chapter _Sittlichkeit_). There was no +impediment on the side of Hegel. But the phenomenal world of fortuity and +appearances—the world of the spirit not yet freed from tradition—was +not so accommodating. Basil had a father, Pyotr Konytch, a wealthy man +who had himself been married three times in succession and had had three +children by each marriage. On learning that his son, and the eldest one +too, wanted to marry a Catholic, a poor girl, and a French one, coming +moreover from Kuznetsky Bridge, he resolutely refused his blessing. +Basil, who had adopted the _chic_ and manners of scepticism, might have +perhaps dispensed with the parental blessing; but the old man associated +with the blessing not only consequences _jenseits_ (in the other world), +but also _diesseits_ (in this world), to wit, his inheritance. + +The old man’s opposition hurried things on, as is always the case, and +Basil began to think of hastening the _dénouement_. The only thing left +to do was to get married without wasting words, and later on to make the +old man accept _un fait accompli_, or to conceal the marriage from him +in the expectation that before long he would neither bless nor curse nor +dispose of his fortune. + +But the unenlightened world of tradition had to be reckoned with even +then. To be married on the quiet in Moscow was not easy and was extremely +expensive, and the wedding would have reached his father’s ears at once +through deacons, sacristans, church servitors, match-makers, clerks, +shopboys, and gossips of all sorts. It was proposed to sound our Father +Ioann in the village of Pokrovskoe, known to my readers from the scandal +of his stealing when inebriated a silver watch and box from the sacristan. + +Father Ioann, on learning that the disobedient son was about forty, +that the bride was not Russian and that her parents were not here, +that, besides me, a university professor would sign as a witness, began +thanking me for this kind service, probably supposing that I was trying +to marry Basil in order to secure him a two-hundred rouble note. He was +so touched that he shouted to the next room: ‘Wife, wife, bring out two +or three eggs,’ and a bottle wrapt in paper out of the cupboard, in order +to regale me. + +Everything went well. + +The day of the wedding and other details were not fixed: Armance was to +come to Pokrovskoe to stay with us. Basil who meant to accompany her was +to return to Moscow and, after making the final arrangements, to come +from his father’s curse to receive the drunken blessing of Father Ioann. + +In expectation of _i promessi sposi_ we ordered supper to be got ready +and sat down to wait for them. We waited and waited: it struck twelve +o’clock at night. No one came.... One o’clock—still no one. The ladies +went to bed. A—— and Ketscher and I set to upon the supper. _Le ore +suonan al quadriano, e una e due e tre_ ... but ... still no sign of them. + +At last the tinkle of a bell came nearer and nearer, there was the rumble +of wheels over the bridge. We rushed into the porch. A coach drawn by +three horses drove rapidly into the yard and stopped, Basil came out. I +went up to give my hand to Armance; she seized my hand at once, but with +such force that I almost cried out—and then flung herself on my neck +repeating with a giggle, ‘Monsieur Herstin’ ... it was no other than +Vissarion Grigoryevitch Byelinsky in _propria persona_. + +There was no one in the coach but Byelinsky who was laughing till he +coughed and Basil who was crying till he had a cold in his nose. We +looked at one another in amazement. I must observe that, to add to the +effect, there had been no trace of Byelinsky in Moscow till two days +before. ‘Give me something to eat,’ Byelinsky said at last, ‘I’ll tell +you then what marvels have been happening among us; I must defend poor +Basil, who is more afraid of you than of Armance.’ + +This is what had happened. Seeing that things were moving rapidly to a +climax Basil took fright; he began to reflect and was utterly overwhelmed +as he pondered on the mercilessly fatal character of marriage, its +indissolubility according to the code of Russian law and the code +of Hegel; he locked himself up, a victim to the spirit of agonising +investigation and ruthless analysis. His terror grew from hour to hour, +the more so as the way of retreat was not easy either, and to decide to +take it needed almost as much character as the marriage itself. This +terror grew till Byelinsky, who on arriving from Petersburg went straight +to see him, knocked at his door. Basil described to him all the horror +with which he was going to meet his happiness, and all the aversion with +which he was entering upon marriage with love—and asked his advice and +help. + +Byelinsky answered that he must be mad after this—consciously and knowing +beforehand what it would be—to take such fetters upon himself. ‘Herzen +now,’ he said, ‘got married and eloped with his wife, and came from exile +to get her; but ask him: he never once reflected whether he ought to +do so or not and what the consequence would be. I am sure it seemed to +him that he could do nothing else. Well! But you want to do the same, +analysing and reflecting.’ + +This was all Basil wanted; he wrote to Armance that very night, a +dissertation upon marriage, upon his luckless theorisings, upon the +impossibility of simple happiness, from an analytic spirit, he laid +before her all the disadvantages and dangers of their union and asked her +advice—what they should do now. + +He brought her answer with him. + +In Byelinsky’s account and in Armance’s letter their two natures, +hers and Basil’s, came out vividly. A marriage between persons of +such opposite temperaments would certainly have been strange. Armance +wrote sorrowfully: she was surprised, wounded, did not understand his +reflections, and saw in them a pretext and a sign of cooling love. She +said that, since it was so, there must be no talk of marriage, gave him +back his promise, and concluded by saying that after what had happened +they had better not meet. ‘I shall remember you with gratitude,’ +she wrote, ‘and do not blame you in the least. I know that you are +exceedingly good, but even more exceedingly weak! Good-bye, and may you +be happy.’ + +Such a letter could not have been altogether agreeable to receive. In +every word there was strength, vigour, and haughtiness. The child of +splendid plebeian stock, Armance was worthy of her origin. Had she been +an Englishwoman, what a tight hold she would have kept of Basil’s letter, +how by the lips of her virtuous solicitor she would have described with +indignation and shamefaced modesty his first pressure of her hand, his +first kiss, and how her lawyer with tears in his eyes and chalk on his +wig would have exhorted the jury to compensate injured innocence with a +couple of thousand pounds. + +The French woman, the poor sewing girl never thought of that. + +The two or three days they spent at Pokrovskoe were depressing for the +ex-bridegroom. He was like a school-boy who has disgraced himself in +class, and is afraid both of the teacher and his comrades. He wrote me +a letter which showed confusion and dissatisfaction with himself and +asked me to come and say good-bye. At the beginning of August I went from +Pokrovskoe to Moscow; while I was away Natalie received at Pokrovskoe a +new dissertation from him. I went to Basil’s and came straight in upon +a farewell banquet. They were drinking champagne, and in the toasts and +good wishes there were strange hints. ‘Of course you don’t know,’ Basil +murmured into my ear: ‘You see I ... er ...’ and he added in a whisper: +‘you see Armance is going with me. What a girl; only now I have learned +to know her,’ and he shook his head. + +This was as great a surprise as Byelinsky’s unexpected appearance. + +In the letter to Natalie he explained to her at great length that thought +and reflection upon marriage had brought him to hesitation and despair; +he doubted both of his love for Armance and his suitability for family +life; that in that way he had come to the agonising feeling that he ought +to break off everything and flee to Paris, that in that state of mind he +had come, pitiful and ridiculous, to Pokrovskoe. After he had reached +this decision he had read the letter of Armance over again and made a +fresh discovery, to wit, that he loved Armance very much, and he had +therefore asked her to see him and had again offered her his hand. He had +thought again of the priest at Pokrovskoe, but the proximity of Mamonov’s +factory frightened him. He was intending to be married in Petersburg and +at once to set off for France. ‘Armance is as happy as a child!’ + +In Petersburg Basil thought fit to be married in the Kazan cathedral. +That philosophy and learning might not be forgotten, he asked the chief +priest Sidonsky, the learned author of the _Introduction to the Study +of Philosophy_, to perform the ceremony. Sidonsky had long known Basil +from his learned articles as a free and worldly thinker and a disciple of +the German philosophy. After all the strange things that had happened to +Armance, she had the honour rarely vouchsafed to any of serving as the +occasion for one of the most comic meetings of two sworn foes, learning +and religion. + +To show off his worldly culture Sidonsky began before the wedding talking +of the latest philosophic _brochures_, and when everything was ready and +the sacristan held up the epitrahil which, stooping, he began to put on, +he said to Basil, dropping his eyes: ‘Pardon me, it is a ceremony; I +know very well that the Christian ritual has outlived its time, that....’ + +‘Oh, no, no,’ Basil interrupted in a voice full of sympathy and +compassion: ‘Christianity is eternal; its essence, its substance, cannot +pass away.’ + +Sidonsky, with a chaste glance, thanked his ‘chivalrous’ antagonist, +turned to the choir and chanted: ‘Blessed be the name of the Lord, now +and for ever and ever!’ ‘Amen,’ boomed the choir, and the ceremony went +on in due order, and Sidonsky led Basil in a crown and Armance in a crown +round the lectern ... making Isaiah rejoice. + +From the cathedral Basil took Armance home and leaving her there spent a +literary soirée at Krayevsky’s. Ten days later Byelinsky saw the happy +pair into the steamer. At this point it will be supposed that the story +is certainly ended. + +Not a bit of it. + +Things went very well as far as the Cattegat; but at that point George +Sand’s accursed novel _Jacques_ turned up. + +‘What do you think of _Jacques_?’ Basil asked Armance as she was +finishing the novel. + +Armance told him her opinion of it, Basil informed her that it was quite +mistaken, that her criticism wounded his spirit on its deepest side, and +that his philosophy of life had nothing in common with hers. + +The sanguine Armance was unwilling to change her philosophy of life, so +they both crossed the Belt. + +When they came out into the German Ocean Basil felt more at home, and +made another attempt to persuade Armance to take a different view of +_Jacques_ and to change her philosophy of life. + +Almost dying of sea-sickness, Armance with a last effort declared that +she would not change her opinion of _Jacques_. + +‘What have we in common after that?’ observed Basil, flying into a rage. + +‘Nothing,’ answered Armance, ‘and _si vous me cherchez, querelle_, then +let us simply part as soon as we touch land.’ + +‘You have decided,’ said Basil, very high and mighty; ‘you prefer....’ + +‘Anything in the world to living with you; you are an insufferable man, +weak and tyrannical.’ + +‘Madame!’ + +‘Monsieur!’ + +She went to the cabin, he remained on deck. Armance kept her word. From +Havre she went to her father, and a year later returned to Russia and +indeed went on to Siberia. + +This time I believe the story of this intermittent marriage is ended. + +Though indeed Barère[137] has said: + + ‘Only the dead do not return.’ + + + _Written 1857_, + LAUREL HOUSE, PUTNEY. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +[1] Kaunitz (1711-1794) was for over forty years the leading statesman of +Austria under Maria Theresa and Joseph II., and one of the most prominent +figures in European politics.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[2] Among my papers are several letters of Sasha’s written between 1835 +and 1836. Sasha was left behind in Moscow while her friend was in the +country with the princess. I cannot read this simple and passionate +whisper of the heart without deep feeling. ‘Can it be true,’ she writes, +‘that you are coming? Ah, if you really did come, I don’t know what +would happen to me. You would not believe how often I am thinking of +you, almost all my desires, all my thoughts, all, all, all are with +you.... Ah, Natalya Alexandrovna, how splendid you are, how sweet, how +noble!—but I cannot express it. Truly, these are not studied words, they +are straight from the heart....’ + +In another letter she thanks Natalie for writing so often. ‘It is really +too good, but there, that’s you, you,’ and she ends the letter with the +words: ‘They keep interrupting me, I embrace you, my angel, with true +immeasurable love. Give me your blessing!’ + +[3] Skalozub, a character in Griboyedov’s celebrated play, ‘Woe from Wit’ +(or perhaps better, ‘Sorrow comes from having Sense’), is the typical +coarse, ignorant, blustering military bully.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[4] I know very well how affected the French translation of names sounds, +but a name is a traditional thing and how is one to change it? Besides, +all unslavonic names are with us, as it were, shortened and less musical; +we, educated to some extent, ‘not in the law of our fathers,’ in our +youth ‘romanticised’ names, while the powers in authority ‘Slavonised’ +them. As a man is promoted and attains to influence at court, the letters +in his name are changed—thus, for instance, Count Strogonov remained +to the end of his days Sergeyey Grigoryevitch, but Prince Golitsyn +was always called Sergiey Mihailovitch. The last example of such a +transformation we saw in General Rostovtsov, celebrated in connection +with the Fourteenth of December; throughout the reign of Nicholas he was +Yakov, as was Yakov Dolgoruky, but with the accession of Alexander II. he +became Iakov, the same as the brother of our Lord! + +[5] Xavier Saintine (1798-1865), a French writer of whose many plays +and stories only _Picciola, or the Prisoner’s Flower_ is still well +known.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[6] From Pushkin’s _Yevgeny Onyegin_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[7] The reference is probably to Bulgarin, a journalist in close +relations with Benckendorf (Chief of the Secret Police). This Bulgarin +made many petty personal attacks on Pushkin, who in a well-known poem +addresses him by the name Vidok-Figlyarin.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[8] Shemyaka was a prince of ancient Russia, whose injustice is +still remembered in the proverbial expression, a ‘Shemyaka’s +judgment.’—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[9] The difference between the style of Natalie’s letters and mine +is very great, especially in the early part of our correspondence; +afterwards it was less unequal and in the end becomes similar. In my +letters, together with genuine feeling there are affected expressions, +far-fetched high-flown phrases, the influence of the school of Hugo and +the new French novelists is apparent. There is nothing of the sort in her +letters, her language is simple, poetic, and sincere, the only influence +that can be discerned in it is the influence of the Gospel. At that time +I was still trying to write in the grand style and wrote badly, because +it was not my own language. A life in spheres cut off from practical +experience, and too much reading prevents a young man for years from +speaking and writing naturally and simply. Intellectual maturity only +begins when the style is established and has taken its final form. + +[10] On the other hand, the enlightened government appointed as French +master in the same Vyatka high school the celebrated Orientalist +Vernikovsky, who was a colleague of Kovalevsky’s and Mickiewicz’s, and +was exiled in connection with the Philarets’ case.[11] + +[11] The Philarets or ‘lovers of virtue’ were a students’ society of +the Vilna University in the first quarter of the nineteenth century. +Their object was to promote learning, to help the poor, and to preach +ideals of goodness and justice. Tovjanski and Mickiewicz were members of +it.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[12] A fragment of this chapter was published in the _Polar Star_, vol. +i. page 79, together with the following note: + +Who is entitled to write his reminiscences? + +Every one. + +Because no one is obliged to read them. + +In order to write one’s reminiscences it is not at all necessary to be +a great man, nor a notorious criminal, nor a celebrated artist, nor +a statesman—it is quite enough to be simply a human being, to have +something to tell, and not merely to desire to tell it but at least some +little ability to do so. + +Every life is interesting; if not the personality, then the environment, +the country are interesting, life itself is interesting. Man likes to +enter into another existence, he likes to touch the subtlest fibres +of another’s heart, and to listen to its beating ... he compares, he +checks it by his own, he seeks in himself confirmation, justification, +sympathy.... + +But may not memoirs be tedious, may not the life described be colourless +and commonplace? + +Then we shall not read it—there is no worse punishment for a book than +that. + +Moreover, that is no drawback to the writing of memoirs. Benvenuto +Cellini’s _Diary_ is not interesting because he was an excellent worker +in gold but because it is in itself as interesting as any novel. + +The fact is that the very word ‘entitled’ to this or that form of +composition does not belong to our epoch, but dates from an era of +intellectual immaturity, from an era of poet-laureates, doctors’ caps, +peddling savants, certificated philosophers, diplomaed metaphysicians +and other Pharisees of the Christian world. Then the act of writing +was regarded as something sacred, a man writing for the public used a +high-flown unnatural choice language, he ‘expounded’ or ‘sang.’ + +We simply talk; for us writing is the same sort of secular pursuit, +the same sort of work or amusement as any other. In this connection it +is difficult to dispute ‘the right to work.’ Whether the work will win +recognition and approval is quite a different matter. + +A year ago I published in Russia part of my memoirs under the title of +_Prison and Exile_. I published it in London at the beginning of the war. +I did not reckon upon readers nor upon any attention outside Russia. +The success of that book exceeded all expectations: the _Revue des Deux +Mondes_, the most chaste and rigid of journals, published half the book +in a French translation; the clever and learned _Athenaeum_ printed +extracts in English; the whole book has appeared in German and is being +published in England. + +That is why I have ventured to print extracts from other parts. + +In another place I speak of the immense importance my memoirs have for +me personally, and the object with which I began writing them. I confine +myself now to the general remark that the publication of contemporary +memoirs is particularly useful for us Russians. Thanks to the censorship, +we are not accustomed to anything being made public, and the slightest +publicity frightens, checks, and surprises us. In England any man who +appears on any public stage, whether as a huckster of letters or a +guardian of the press, is liable to the same hisses and applause as the +actor in the lowest theatre in Islington or Paddington. Neither the Queen +nor her husband are excluded. It is a mighty curb! + +Let our Imperial Actors of the secret and open police, who have been so +well protected from publicity by the censorship and paternal punishments, +know that sooner or later their deeds will come into the light of day. + +[13] Jeanne Deroin was a disciple of Saint Simon who published an +_Almanach des Femmes_ in 1851.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[14] These little notes were kept by Natalie, and on many of them she +wrote a few words in pencil. I could not preserve any of the letters she +wrote to me in prison. I was obliged to destroy them all at once. + +[15] I omit it. + +[16] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[17] Arnold Ruge (1802-1880) began his political career with six years’ +imprisonment in connection with the _Burschenschaft_ movement, founded +the _Deutsche Jahrbücher_, the journal of the Young Hegelian School, +and some ten years later _Die Reform_, a more definitely political +paper. From 1849 he lived in England, advocated a universal democratic +state, and wrote many books, of which his autobiography is now of most +interest.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[18] Tovjanski was a Pole, and at one time a member of the Society of +Philarets. He held that there were many Messiahs, of whom Napoleon was +one and himself another.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[19] His real name was Gaunot, and he was an adventurer well known in +Paris between 1830 and 1850. He went in for being a god and called his +religion _evadisme_ (from Eve and Adam), and himself Mapah from _mater_ +and _pater_. He suggested to Dumas that the latter should become his +chief disciple. + +[20] Théroigne de Méricourt, called ‘l’Amazone de la liberté,’ assisted +at the taking of the Bastille and became a popular heroine. Later on +she was publicly whipped by a crowd of women, and lost her reason in +consequence of this outrage.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[21] Carus, K. G. (1789-1869), a distinguished German physiologist, +author of numerous works on anatomy, physiology, and allied +subjects.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[22] Stefan Yavorsky was a famous monk and theologian of the eighteenth +century.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[23] ‘The Tarantass,’ a story by Count Sologub, author of various +comedies and novels satirising the official class. + +[24] Parasha, an early poem of Turgenev’s. + +[25] Motchalov, the great Russian actor, was particularly famous for his +playing of Hamlet. + +[26] _Murmolka_, a peasant cap, and _zipun_ a long homespun peasant +coat.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[27] Saharov, Ivan Petrovitch (1807-1863), a well-known archaeologist and +ethnographist, was a doctor of medicine and lecturer on palaeology. His +discoveries are now regarded somewhat sceptically, but he did much for +Russian antiquarian study. + +[28] Meiendorf, Alexander Kazimirovitch (1788-1865), a writer on +historical and geographical subjects. + +[29] Ioakinth Bitchurin (1777-1853), a monk and at one time an +archimandrite, head of the Orthodox Mission to Pekin, and later on a +translator from the Chinese in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was an +authority on Chinese language and history.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[30] The reference is to the open letter in which Byelinsky expressed his +passionate indignation at the _Correspondence with Friends_, published by +Gogol.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[31] Klyutchnikov vividly expressed this in the following image: +‘Stankevitch is a silver rouble that envies the size of a copper +piece.’—Annenkov, _Biography of Stankevitch_, p. 133. + +[32] Botkin, Vassily Petrovitch (1810-1865), the self-taught son of a +merchant, was a fine critic and authority on art and literature. His +criticism was greatly valued by his friends, and his writings (chiefly +articles in magazines) give no idea of his real importance in the history +of Russian culture. His brother was the great physician. + +[33] Krassov, Vassily Ivanovitch (1810-1855), a poet, at one time +professor of literature in Kiev. His brother Ivan was a teacher of +history in the Petersburg secondary schools.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[34] Victor Hugo, after reading _My Past and Thoughts_, in the French +translation, wrote me a letter in defence of the youth of France at the +period of the Restoration. + +[35] Translated by Juliet M. Soskice. + +[36] Date of Peter the Great’s death.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[37] Timofeyev, a sixth-rate writer of forgotten poems. + +[38] Kukolnik, Nestor (1805-1868), was a schoolfellow of Gogol’s, and a +very popular writer of stories and dramas in the most extreme romantic +style—fearfully bombastic and unreal, and hyper-patriotic. + +[39] The Moravian Brethren, called _Herrnhuter_ from the little town of +Herrnhut in Saxony, where they settled in 1722, are a Protestant sect who +abjure military service, the taking of oaths, and all distinctions of +rank.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[40] I declare, on my word of honour, that the word ‘scoundrel’ was used +by this worthy old person. + +[41] Paul Louis Courier (1772-1825), a learned and brilliant writer of +political pamphlets and letters, who discovered a complete manuscript +of Longus’s _Daphnis and Chloe_, of which he published a French +translation.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[42] Miss Wilmot’s words. + +[43] The Comte d’Artois—afterwards Charles X. + +[44] The Comte de Ségur (1753-1830) was French ambassador in Petersburg +and a favourite of Catherine II. He was a man of action as well +as a spirited writer, served in the American War of Independence, +welcomed every movement on the side of liberty, and wrote a charming +account of his times in his _Galerie Morale et Politique_, and his +_Mémoires_.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[45] The Grand Duke, brother of Nicholas I., is meant.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[46] Perun was the God of sky and of thunder, the chief God of the +ancient Slavs.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[47] This is so true that a German who has abused me a dozen times in the +_Morning Advertiser_ adduced as proof that I had never been exiled the +fact that I had the post of councillor in the provincial government. + +[48] I am not certain whether these dissenters were Duhobors. + +[49] The landowner in ‘The Agent,’ one of Turgenev’s ‘Sportsman’s +Sketches.’ + +[50] Saltytchiha was a lady notorious in the reign of Catherine +for her cruelty to her serfs. She was eventually brought to +justice.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[51] _Property in Serfs._ + +[52] Araktcheyev left, I believe, a hundred thousand roubles to be paid a +hundred years later, together with the accumulated interest, to the man +who should write the best history of the reign of Alexander I. + +[53] Araktcheyev was a pitiful coward, as Count Toll tells us in his +memoirs, and the Secretary of State Martchenko in a little story of the +Fourteenth of December published in the _Polar Star_. I have heard that +he was in hiding during the Staraya Russa rising, and was in deadly +terror of Reihel the general of Engineers. + +[54] I am extremely sorry that I have forgotten the Christian name of the +worthy gentleman. I remember his surname was Zherebtsov. + +[55] These extracts are inserted here by the author in a slightly altered +form.—_Note to Russian edition._ + +[56] Here Herzen describes how, returning late one evening after a +festive supper party with his friends, he was tempted by a maidservant, +who, half undressed, opened the door to him. This transgression came to +the knowledge of Natalya Alexandrovna.—_Note to Russian edition._ + +[57] Written in England.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[58] Zurbaran, a Spanish painter of religious subjects. A well-known +picture of his is of a monk castigating himself before an effigy of the +Madonna.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[59] Puchta, a German professor and authority on Roman law. + +[60] Savigny, a German university teacher, of French origin, and an +authority on modern jurisprudence. + +[61] Roteck, a German university teacher and authority on Roman +law.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[62] Buchez, Philippe (1796-1865), a French philosopher and political +writer; at first a follower of Saint Simon, afterwards an advocate of +what he called Christian Socialism.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[63] Cabet, Étienne (1788-1856), was a French communist, one of the +leaders of the Carbonari, and author of a philosophical and social +romance _Voyage en Icarie_, describing a Communist Utopia. In 1848 +a band of French workmen went out to found an ‘Icarian colony’ in +Texas.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[64] Readers of _The Possessed_ may be interested to know that Dostoevsky +is supposed (I cannot say whether on sufficient evidence) to have +modelled the character of Stepan Trofimovitch in the earlier chapters of +that novel on Granovsky.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[65] Ciceruacchio, a popular leader (his real name was Angelo Brunetti) +in Rome, who had great influence from 1847, supporting the reforms of +Pius IX., and active in bringing about the proclamation of a republic in +February 1849. He was captured and shot with his sons the following July. + +[66] The late Emperor of Austria, Francis Joseph.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[67] Translated by Juliet M. Soskice. + +[68] The _Domostroy_ was a sixteenth-century book of moral precepts and +practical advice written by the priest Sylvester, the adviser of Ivan the +Terrible.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[69] Deutschthum was the nationalist movement in Germany. It was +considered more patriotic to spell it Teutschthum.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[70] Barclay de Tolly was one of the ablest of the Russian generals +of 1812. He was, as a matter of fact, of Scottish not of German +descent.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[71] Shishkov, born 1754, began his career as a naval officer and +attained the rank of vice-admiral, but, disapproving of the reforms of +the early years of Alexander’s reign, left the navy. From 1812 he became +prominent as a writer and president of the Academy, and from 1824 to 1828 +was Minister of Public Instruction. Intensely conservative and patriotic, +he bitterly opposed every new movement in literature and politics. + +[72] Shebuev (1776-1855) was a well-known painter of historical pictures +in the pseudo-classical style.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[73] At first the national hymn was very naïvely sung to the tune of ‘God +save the King,’ and indeed it was scarcely ever sung. It was among the +innovations of Nicholas. From the time of the Polish War the national +hymn composed by Colonel Lvov of the _Corps of gendarmes_ was, by +Imperial command, sung at all the royal festivities and at large concerts. + +The Emperor Alexander was too well educated to like crude flattery; he +listened with disgust in Paris to the Academicians’ despicable speeches +grovelling at the feet of the Conqueror. On one occasion meeting +Chateaubriand in his vestibule he showed him the last number of the +_Journal des Débats_, and added: ‘I assure you I have never once seen +such dull abjectness in any Russian paper.’ But in the time of Nicholas +there were literary men who fully justified his Imperial confidence, and +outdid all the journalists of 1814 and even some of the prefects of 1852. +Bulgarin wrote in the _Northern Bee_ that among the other advantages of +the railway between Moscow and Petersburg, he could not think without +emotion that the same man would be able to hear a service for the health +of his Imperial Majesty in the morning in the Kazan Cathedral, and in +the evening in the Kremlin! One would have thought it difficult to excel +this awful absurdity, but there was found a literary man in Moscow who +surpassed its author. On one of Nicholas’s visits to Moscow a learned +professor wrote an article in which, speaking of the immense mass of the +people crowding before the palace, he added that the Tsar had but to +express the faintest desire—and those thousands rushing to carry it out +would gladly fling themselves into the river Moskva. The sentence was +erased by S. G. Strogonov, who told me this charming anecdote. + +[74] Lyapunov, a national hero who fought the Poles in the ‘Time of +Trouble.’ Several plays were written about him—one by Gedeonov, on which +Turgenev wrote a criticism. Kukolnik’s play is meant here.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[75] I was at the first performance of Lyapunov in Moscow and saw the +hero tuck up his sleeves and say something like, ‘I’ll wash my hands in +Polish blood.’ A hollow moan of repulsion broke from the whole body of +the theatre; even the gendarmes, policemen, and people in stalls, the +numbers on whose seats had somehow been rubbed off, could not summon up +the pluck to applaud. + +[76] The Uniats are members of the Greek Church who accept the supremacy +of the Pope. + +[77] ‘The Hand of the Most High saved the Fatherland’ is the title of a +play by Kukolnik. + +[78] Baron Joseph Jellachich, an Austrian general, who was also a poet +and politician. In 1848 he was appointed Ban of Croatia, and took part in +suppressing the revolt of the Hungarians.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[79] Tchaadayev was often at the English Club. On one occasion Menshikov, +Minister of Naval Affairs, went up to him with the words: ‘How is it, +Pyotr Yakovlevitch, you don’t recognise your old acquaintances?’ ‘Oh, it +is you,’ answered Tchaadayev, who really had not recognised him, ‘but how +is it you are wearing a black collar? I fancy that you used to wear a red +one.’ ‘Why, don’t you know I am Minister of Naval Affairs?’ ‘You! why, I +imagine you have never steered a boat.’ ‘You don’t need much wit to bake +a pot, you know,’ answered Menshikov, a little bit displeased. ‘Oh well, +if it is on that principle ...’ answered Tchaadayev. + +A Senator was making great complaints of being very busy. ‘With what?’ +asked Tchaadayev. ‘Upon my soul, the mere reading of the notes and +papers!’ and the Senator made a gesture indicating a pile a yard from the +floor. ‘But you don’t read them?’ ‘Oh yes, sometimes I do, and besides, +it is often necessary to give my opinion on them.’ ‘Well, I don’t see the +necessity,’ answered Tchaadayev. + +[80] We now know for certain from Yakushkin’s _Diary_ that Tchaadayev was +a member of the Decembrist society.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[81] Charles François Chevé (1813-1875) was a political writer, at one +time a follower of Proudhon, but afterwards a Catholic. + +[82] Ronge was the founder of a school of Liberal Catholicism. + +[83] Mickiewicz (1798-1855), the great Polish poet, author of _Pan +Tadeusz_, spent some time in Russia and was a friend of Pushkin and his +circle. + +[84] Sigismund Krasinski (1812-1859), a Polish poet, author of _Nieboska +Komedeja_, the _Undivine Comedy_. + +[85] Lady Morgan (_née_ Sydney Owenson) (1789-1859), a lively Irish +authoress (and something of an adventuress), published many novels as +well as entertaining memoirs. + +[86] _Mémoires d’un Prisonnier d’État au Spitzberg_, by Alexandre +Andryane, is probably the work here referred to.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[87] Royer-Collard, Pierre Paul (1763-1845), was in 1811 Professor of +Philosophy in Paris, opposed materialism, supported the Scottish School +of Reid and Stewart, and originated the ‘Doctrinaire’ School of which +Jouffroy and Cousin were afterwards representative. + +[88] Friedrich Schlegel, German critic, author of _Lectures on the +Philosophy of History_, and _History of Literature_, joined the Roman +Catholic Church. + +[89] Heinrich Leo (1799-1878), originally a Radical, went over to the +reactionary side on hearing of the murder of Kotzebue. He was much +influenced by Herder, and was suspected of leanings towards Catholicism. + +[90] Friedrich Ludwig Jahn (1778-1852), commonly called ‘Vater Jahn,’ is +chiefly known for his advocacy of gymnastic clubs. He was also connected +with the formation of the _Burschenschaft_, a students’ association +persecuted by the government authorities. He was in prison from 1819 to +1825. + +[91] Prince Hohenlohe, nicknamed the ‘miracle-worker,’ was brought up by +Jesuits, became a priest, preached in Munich and other towns, and set out +to heal diseases. He was checked in his activities both by the Pope and +the police.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[92] Translated by Juliet Soskice. + +[93] Translated by Juliet Soskice. + +[94] The name _Slav_ is derived from _Slovo_, _word_, +_language_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[95] ‘Moreover,’ he said to me in the presence of Homyakov, ‘they boast +of speech, but in the whole race Homyakov is the only one who speaks.’ + +[96] Granovitaya Palata, the hall in the Kremlin in which the Tsar and +his councillors used to meet before the time of Peter the Great. + +[97] Novgorod, the most famous city in the earliest period of Russian +history, was to some extent a republic under the rule of its princes from +Rurik upwards. It was almost destroyed and was deprived of its liberties +by Ivan III. in 1471. + +[98] The Ulozhenie is the code of laws of Tsar Alexis Mihailovitch +(father of Peter the Great), compiled in the seventeenth +century.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[99] The Varangians were Scandinavian and Norman tribes, whose rulers +were, according to tradition, summoned in 862 by the Northern Slavs to +rule over them.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[100] Written at the time of the Crimean War. + +[101] Shevyryov, professor of literature in Moscow University and author +of a _History of Poetry_, in which he advances many fantastic theories. +Pogodin was professor of history, and they were co-editors of the +_Moskvityanin_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[102] Konstantin and Ivan Aksakov were the sons of Sergey Timofeyevitch +Aksakov (1791-1859), a writer of the first rank, some of whose charming +pictures of the country and old-fashioned Russian life are now accessible +in excellent translations by J. D. Duff. + +[103] Alexandr Ivanovitch Turgenev, a distinguished person in his own +day, now chiefly remembered for having been a very good friend to +Pushkin, was one of the Turgenevs of Simbirsk, and not related to the +famous Turgenev, who has left among his critical articles an obituary +notice of this Alexandr Ivanovitch.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[104] The Larins and Lensky are characters in Pushkin’s _Yevgeny +Onyegin_. Tchatsky is the hero of Griboyedov’s _Woe from Wit_, and +Famussov is a character in the same play.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[105] Baron d’Holbach (1723-1789), of German origin, one of the French +encyclopaedists, was the social centre round which all the leading +literary and philosophic celebrities of Paris gathered. He was a +passionate atheist, and an extremely good-hearted man, giving shelter to +his worst enemies, the Jesuits, when they were persecuted. + +[106] Delphine Gay (Mme. de Girardin) wrote witty verses, novels, and +plays.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[107] Sobakevitch and Nozdryov are characters in Gogol’s _Dead +Souls_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[108] Novikov, a man of letters and mystic of the time of Catherine, was +imprisoned and exiled for advocating the emancipation of the serfs. + +[109] The Kireyevskys’ mother did not share their views. This is the only +explanation I can discover for his being described as ‘lonely in his own +family.’—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[110] From Lermontov’s translation of Goethe’s poem.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[111] Baron Haxthausen was a learned German who after a visit to +Russia at this period wrote an account of the Russian system of land +tenure.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[112] Both were authors of a very low order; Gretch, a trifle more +stupid and less unscrupulous than Bulgarin, who was scurrilous in his +attacks on Pushkin, and commonly believed to be in the pay of the +police.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[113] Katchenovsky, Mihail Trofimovitch (1775-1842), of humble origin +and largely self-educated, became editor of the _Vyestnik Yevropi_, and +professor of Fine Arts, of Literature, and later on of History in Moscow +University. His sceptical attitude on historical subjects gave offence, +and he was superseded in the Chair of History by Pogodin.—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[114] Yazykov, a friend of Pushkin’s.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[115] This Glinka, one of the founders of the League of Public Welfare, +out of which the Decembrist movement developed, was exiled in 1826, but +allowed to return later. He was a literary character of the mild and +pious type.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[116] K. Kavélin’s article, and Yury Samarin’s reply to it. They are +dealt with in the _Développement des Idées Révolutionnaires en Russie_. + +[117] The famous chief of a band of robbers whose feats have passed into +a legend. He flourished in France during the early part of the eighteenth +century.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[118] The peace between France and Austria in 1797 was concluded at Campo +Formio, a village in Italy.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[119] In the Time of Trouble at the beginning of the seventeenth century +the famous Troitse-Sergievsky Monastery made an heroic resistance against +the Poles. Avraamy Palitsyn, the Father Superintendent, together with the +Abbot, issued manifestoes calling on the people to drive out the Poles +and elect a Tsar.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[120] Lampi, J. B., was an Austrian painter who came to Petersburg +in 1792, and painted portraits of Catherine, Potyomkin, and various +distinguished persons.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[121] The popular writer Victor Joseph Étienne de Jouy (1754-1846) was +known as the ‘hermit of the Chausseé d’Antin,’ the name of his most +widely read prose work. + +[122] Weiss, Bernhard (1827-1892), a learned German, who became adviser +to the government in spiritual concerns, and author of many theological +works.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[123] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[124] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[125] A character in Gogol’s _Inspector General_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[126] I think while I am speaking of Dmitry Pavlovitch I ought not to +omit to mention his last action in regard to me. After my father’s death +he was left owing me forty thousand silver roubles. I went abroad without +claiming this money. When he died, he directed his executors that I +should be the first of his debtors to be paid, because I could officially +claim nothing. I received the money by the next post after that by which +I heard of his death. + +[127] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[128] The story of how one of the students got into the university is +so full of the native flavour of the Nicholas period that I cannot +resist telling it. The anniversary day with which we are all familiar +from Pushkin’s superb verses was celebrated annually in the Lyceum. As +a rule, on this day of parting from companions and seeing again former +schoolfellows the young people were allowed to make merry. On one of +these anniversaries a youth who had not yet finished his studies in a +light-hearted moment flung a bottle at the wall; unluckily, the bottle +struck a marble slab on which was inscribed in gold letters: ‘His +Imperial Majesty the Emperor graciously deigned to visit us on such and +such a date ...’ and broke a piece off it. A superintendent ran up, fell +upon the culprit with terrible abuse, and tried to remove him. The youth, +insulted before his comrades and exhilarated by the wine, tore the cane +out of his hand and struck him with it. The superintendent promptly +reported the incident; the youth was arrested and kept in detention on +the terrible charge not merely of striking a superintendent but also +of sacrilegious disrespect for a slab on which the sacred name of the +monarch was inscribed. + +He might very easily have been sent for a soldier had not another +calamity saved him. At that very time his elder brother died. His mother, +overwhelmed with grief, wrote to him that he was now her only hope and +support, and urged him to make haste and finish his studies and come to +her. The principal of the Lyceum, General Bronevsky I believe it was, was +touched on reading this letter and resolved to save the youth without +bringing it to the knowledge of Nicholas. He told the Grand Duke Michael +of the incident, and the latter directed that he should be expelled +from the Lyceum privately, and that that should end the matter. The +youth left the Lyceum with a certificate on which he could not enter any +educational institution, that is, almost every career was barred to him +for he was not at all wealthy, and all this for damaging a slab adorned +with the Imperial name! And even this was only thanks to the peculiar +favour of Providence which killed his brother at the right moment, to a +tenderness unheard of among generals, and an indulgence almost incredible +in a grand duke! Being a young man of exceptional talent, he succeeded +long afterwards in obtaining the right to attend lectures in the Moscow +University. + +[129] Translated by Juliet M. Soskice. + +[130] Translated by Juliet M. Soskice. + +[131] See p. 335, Vol. I.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[132] One of Gogol’s Mirgorod stories. + +[133] Public prosecutor of the revolutionary tribunal under the +Terror.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[134] There is no difference of culture between husband and wife among +the proletariat or the peasants, but there is a terrible equality of +slavery and terrible inequality of power between the husband and the wife. + +[135] The _Vehme_ or _Vehmgerichte_ were mediaeval German tribunals +which tried capital charges and were greatly dreaded for their +severity.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[136] Katkov, one of Stankevitch’s circle, afterwards became a +Slavophil of the most reactionary type and editor of the _Moscow +Gazette_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[137] Barère de Vieuzac (1753-1841), a member of the Committee of Public +Safety, nicknamed the Anacreon of the Guillotine.—(_Translator's Note._) + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78332 *** |