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diff --git a/78336-0.txt b/78336-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9f1b17 --- /dev/null +++ b/78336-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10617 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78336 *** + + + + +THE MEMOIRS OF ALEXANDER HERZEN + +III + + + + +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 III + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + ALFRED A. KNOPF + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + T. & A. CONSTABLE LTD. EDINBURGH + * + ALL RIGHTS + RESERVED + + FIRST PUBLISHED 1924 + + + + +PART V + +PARIS—ITALY—PARIS + +(1847-1852) + + +As I begin to publish yet another part of _My Past and Thoughts_, I pause +in hesitation at the fragmentariness of my narratives, my pictures, and +the running commentary of my reflections. There is less external unity +about them than about those of the earlier parts. I cannot weld them into +one. In filling in the gaps, it is very easy to give the whole thing a +different background and a different lighting—the truth of the period +would be lost. _My Past and Thoughts_ is not an historical monograph, +but the reflection of historical events on a man who has accidentally +been thrown into contact with them. That is why I have decided to leave +my disconnected chapters as they were, stringing them together like the +mosaic pictures in Italian bracelets—all of which refer to one subject +but are only held together by the setting. + +My _Letters from France and Italy_ are essential for completing this +part, especially in regard to the year 1848; I had meant to make extracts +from them, but that would have involved so much reprinting that I did not +attempt it. + +Many things that have not appeared in _The Polar Star_ have been put into +this edition, but I cannot give everything to my readers yet, for reasons +both personal and public. The time is not far off when not only the pages +and chapters here omitted, but the whole volume, which is most precious +to me, will be published. + + GENEVA, _29th July 1866_. + + + + +_SECTION ONE_ + +BEFORE THE REVOLUTION AND AFTER IT + + + + +Chapter 34 + +THE JOURNEY + +THE LOST PASSPORT—KÖNIGSBERG—THE HAND-MADE NOSE—WE ARRIVE!—AND DEPART + + +In Lautzagen the Prussian gendarmes invited me into their office. The +old sergeant took the passports, put on his spectacles, and with extreme +distinctness began reading aloud all that was unnecessary: + +_Auf Befehl s.k. M. Nikolai des Ersten ... allen und jeden, denen daran +gelegen_, etc. etc.... _Unterzeichner Peroffski, Minister des Innern, +Kammerherr, Senator und Ritter des Ordens St. Wladimir ... Inhaber eines +goldenen Degens mit der Inschrift für Tapferkeit...._ + +This sergeant who was so fond of reading reminded me of another one. +Between Terracino and Naples a Neapolitan carbineer came to the diligence +four times, asking every time for our visas. I showed him the Neapolitan +visa: this and the half _carlino_ were not enough for him; he carried off +the passports to the office, and returned twenty minutes later insisting +that my companion and I should go before the brigadier. The latter, a +drunken old officer, asked me rather rudely, ‘What is your surname and +where do you come from?’ ‘Why, that is all in the passport.’ ‘I can’t +read it.’ We conjectured that reading was not the brigadier’s strong +point. ‘By what law,’ asked my companion, ‘are we bound to read aloud +our passports? We are bound to have them and to show them, but not to +dictate them; I might dictate anything.’ ‘_Accidenti_,’ muttered the old +man, ‘_va ben, va ben!_’ and he gave back our passports without writing +anything. + +The learned gendarme at Lautzagen was of a different type; after reading +three times in the three passports all the decorations of General +Perovsky, including his buckle for an unblemished record, he asked me: +‘But who are you, _Euer Hochwohlgeboren_?’ I stared, not understanding +what he wanted of me. ‘_Fräulein Maria E._, _Fräulein Maria K._, _Frau +H._—they are all women, there is not one man’s passport here.’ I looked: +there really were only the passes of my mother and two of our friends who +were travelling with us; a cold shudder ran down my back. + +‘They would not have let me through at Taurogen without a passport.’ + +‘_Bereits so_, but you can’t go on further.’ + +‘What am I to do?’ + +‘Perhaps you have forgotten it at the office. I’ll tell them to harness a +sledge for you; you can go yourself, and your family can keep warm here +meanwhile. _Heh! Kerl! Lass er mal den Braunen anspannen._’ + +I cannot remember that stupid incident without laughing, just because I +was so utterly disconcerted by it. The loss of that passport of which I +had been dreaming for years, which I had been trying to obtain for two +years, the minute after crossing the frontier, overwhelmed me. I was +certain I had put it in my pocket, so I must have dropped it—where could +I look for it? It would be covered by snow.... I should have to ask for +a new one, to write to Riga, perhaps to go myself: and then they would +send in a report, would notice that I was going to the mineral waters in +January. In short, I felt as though I were in Petersburg again; visions +of Kokoshkin and Sartynsky, Dubbelt and Nicholas, passed through my mind. +Good-bye to my journey, good-bye to Paris, to freedom of the press, +to concerts and theatres ... once more I should see the clerks in the +ministry, police—and every other sort of—officers, town constables with +on their back the two bright buttons with which they look behind them +... and first of all I should see again the little wrinkled soldier in +a heavy casque with Number 4 mysteriously inscribed on it, the frozen +Cossack horse.... I might even see the nurse again at ‘Tavroga,’ as she +had called it. + +Meanwhile they put a big, melancholy, angular horse into a little sledge. +I got in beside a driver in a military overcoat and high boots, he gave +the traditional lash with the traditional whip—when suddenly the learned +sergeant ran out into the porch, in his shirt-sleeves, and shouted: +‘_Halt! Halt! Da ist der vermaledeite Pass_,’ and he held it unfolded in +his hands. + +I was overtaken by hysterical laughter. + +‘What are you doing with me? Where did you find it?’ + +‘Look,’ he said, ‘your Russian sergeant folded them one inside the other: +who could tell it was there? I never thought of unfolding them.’ + +And yet he had three times over read: _Es ergehet deshalb an alle hohen +Mächte und an alle und jede, welchen Standes und welcher Würde sie auch +sein mögen...._ + +I reached Königsberg tired out by the journey, by anxiety, by many +things. After a good sleep in an abyss of feathers, I went out next +day to look at the town. It was a warm winter’s day: the hotel-keeper +suggested that we should take a sledge. There were bells on the horses +and ostrich feathers on their heads ... and we were gay; a load was +lifted from our hearts, the unpleasant sensation of fear, the gnawing +feeling of suspicion, had vanished. Caricatures of Nicholas were exposed +in the window of a bookshop; I rushed in at once to buy a stock of them. +In the evening I went to a small, dirty, and inferior theatre, and +came back from it excited, not by the actors but by the audience, which +consisted mostly of workmen and young people; in the intervals between +the acts every one talked freely and loudly, all put on their hats (a +very important thing, as important as the right to wear a beard, etc.). +This ease and freedom, this element of greater serenity and liveliness +impresses the Russian abroad. The Petersburg government is still so +coarse and crude, so absolutely nothing but despotism, that it positively +likes to inspire fear; it wants everything to tremble before it—in +fact, it desires not only power but the theatrical display of it. To +the Petersburg Tsars the ideal of public order is the discipline of the +waiting-room and the barracks. + +... When we were setting off for Berlin I got into the carriage, and a +gentleman muffled up in wraps took the seat beside me; it was evening, I +could not see him distinctly. Learning that I was a Russian, he began to +question me about the strictness of the police and about passports; I, of +course, told him all I knew. Then we passed to Prussia; he spoke highly +of the disinterestedness of the Prussian officials, the excellence of the +administration, praised the king, and finally made a violent attack on +the Poles of Posen on the ground that they were not good Germans. This +surprised me; I argued with him, I told him bluntly that I did not share +his views, and then said no more. + +Meanwhile it was getting light; only then I noticed that my neighbour, +the conservative, spoke through his nose, not because he had a cold in +it, but because he had not one at all, or at least had not the most +conspicuous part. He probably noticed that this discovery did not afford +me any special satisfaction, and so thought fit to tell me, by way of +apology, the story of how he had lost his nose and how it had been +restored. The first part was somewhat confused, but the second was very +circumstantial: Diffenbach himself had carved him a new nose out of his +hand; his hand had been bound to his face for six weeks; _Majestät_ had +come to the hospital to look at it, and was graciously pleased to wonder +and approve. + + ‘A dit: c’est vraiment étonnant, + Le roi de Prusse en le voyant.’ + +Apparently Diffenbach had been preoccupied with something else and had +carved him a very ugly nose. But I soon discovered that his hand-made +nose was the least of his defects. + +Getting from Königsberg to Berlin was the most difficult part of our +journey. The belief has somehow gained ground among us that the Prussian +posting service is well organised: that is all nonsense. Travelling by +post-chaise is only pleasant in France, Switzerland, and England. In +England the post-chaises are so well built, the horses so elegant, and +the drivers so skilful that one may travel for pleasure. The carriage +moves at full speed over the very longest stages, whether the road runs +uphill or downhill. Now, thanks to the railway, this question is becoming +one of historical interest, but in those days we learned by experience +what German posting chaises and horses could be. They were worse than +anything in the world except perhaps the German post-drivers. + +The way from Königsberg to Berlin is very long; we took seven places in +the diligence and set off. At the first station the conductor told us to +take our luggage and get into another diligence, sagaciously warning us +that he would not be responsible for our things being safe. I observed +that I had inquired at Königsberg and was told that we should keep the +same seats: the conductor spoke about snow, and said that we had to get +into a diligence provided with runners; there was nothing to be said to +that. We had to transfer ourselves with our goods and our children in +the middle of the night in the wet snow. At the next station there was +the same business again, and the conductor did not even trouble himself +to explain the change of carriages. We did half the journey in this way; +then he informed us quite simply that we ‘should be given only five +seats.’ + +‘Five? Here are my tickets.’ + +‘There are no more seats.’ + +I began to argue; a window in the posting station was thrown open with +a bang and a grey-headed man with moustaches asked rudely what the +wrangling was about. The conductor said that I demanded seven seats, +and that he had only five; I added that I had tickets and a receipt for +the fares for seven seats. Paying no attention to me, he said to the +conductor in an insolent, husky, Russo-German military voice: ‘Well, +if this gentleman does not want the five seats, throw his things out; +let him wait till there are seven seats free.’ Whereupon the worthy +stationmaster, whom the conductor addressed as _Herr Major_, and whose +name was Schwerin, shut the window with a slam. On considering the +matter, we, as Russians, decided to go on. Benvenuto Cellini in like +circumstances would, as an Italian, have brought out his pistol and shot +the stationmaster. + +Our friend who had been repaired by Diffenbach was at the time in the +restaurant; when he clambered on to his seat and we set off, I told him +what had happened. He was in a very genial mood, having had a drop too +much; he showed the greatest sympathy with us, and asked me to give him +a note on the subject when we got to Berlin. ‘Are you an official in the +posting service?’ I asked. ‘No,’ he answered, still more through his +nose; ‘but that doesn’t matter ... you ... see ... I am in what is called +here the central police service.’ + +This revelation was even more distasteful to me than the hand-made nose. + +The first person to whom I expressed my liberal opinions in Europe was a +spy—but he was not the last. + +Berlin, Cologne, Belgium—all passed rapidly before our eyes; we looked at +everything half absent-mindedly, in passing; we were in haste to arrive, +and at last we did arrive. + +... I opened the heavy, old-fashioned window in the Hôtel du Rhin; before +me stood a column: + + ‘... with a cast-iron doll, + With scowling face and hat on head, + And arms crossed tightly on his breast.’ + +And so I was really in Paris, not in a dream but in reality: this was the +Vendôme column and the Rue de la Paix. + +In Paris—the word meant scarcely less to me than the word ‘Moscow’! Of +that minute I had been dreaming from childhood. If I might only see +the Hôtel de Ville, the Café Foy in the Palais Royal, where Camille +Desmoulins picked a green leaf and, fixing it on his hat for a cockade, +shouted ‘_A la Bastille!_’ + +I could not stay indoors; I dressed and went out to stroll about the +streets ... to look up Bakunin, Sazonov: here was Rue St. Honoré, the +Champs-Élysées—all those names which had been familiar for long years ... +and here was Bakunin himself.... + +I met him at a street corner; he was walking with three friends and, +just as in Moscow, discoursing to them, continually stopping and waving +his cigarette. On this occasion the discourse remained unfinished; I +interrupted it and took him with me to find Sazonov and surprise him with +my presence. + +I was beside myself with happiness! + +And at that happiness I will stop here. + +I am not going to describe Paris once more. My first acquaintance with +European life, the glorious tour in Italy just awakened from sleep, +the revolution at the foot of Vesuvius, the revolution before St. +Peter’s, and finally the news—like a flash of lightning—of the 24th of +February—all that I have described in my _Letters from France and Italy_. +I could not with the same vividness reproduce now impressions half +effaced by time and overlaid by others. They make an essential part of my +_Records_—what is a letter but a record of a brief period? + + + + +Chapter 35 + +THE HONEYMOON OF THE REPUBLIC + +THE ENGLISHMAN IN THE FUR-JACKET—THE DUC DE NOAILLES—FREEDOM AND HER BUST +IN MARSEILLES—THE ABBÉ SIBOUR AND THE UNIVERSAL REPUBLIC IN AVIGNON + + +‘_To-morrow we are going to Paris; I am leaving Rome full of life and +excitement. What will come of it all? Can it last? The sky is not free +from clouds; at times there is a chilly blast from the sepulchral vaults +bringing the smell of death, the odour of the past; the historical_ +tramontano _is strong, but whatever happens I am grateful to Rome for the +five months I have spent there. The feelings I have passed through remain +in the soul, and the reaction will not extinguish quite everything._’ + +This is what I wrote at the end of April 1848, sitting at my window in +the Via del Corso and looking out into the ‘People’s square,’ in which I +had seen and felt so much. + +I left Italy in love with her and sorry to leave her: there I had met not +only great events but also the very nicest people—but still I went. It +would have seemed like being faithless to all my convictions not to be in +Paris when there was a republic there. Doubts are apparent in the lines +I have quoted, but faith got the upper hand, and with inward pleasure I +looked in Cività at the consul’s seal on my visa on which was engraved +the imposing words, ‘République Française’—I did not reflect that the +very fact that a visa was needed showed that France was not a republic. + +We went by a mail steamer. There were a great many passengers on +board, and as usual they were of all sorts: there were passengers from +Alexandria, Smyrna, and Malta. One of the terrible winds common in +spring blew up just after we passed Leghorn: it drove the ship along +with incredible swiftness and with insufferable rolling; within two or +three hours the deck was covered with sea-sick ladies; by degrees the +men too succumbed, except a grey-headed old Frenchman, an Englishman +from Canada in a fur-jacket and a fur-cap, and myself. The cabins, too, +were full of sufferers, and the stuffiness and heat in them were enough +alone to make one ill. We three sat at night on our portmanteaus, covered +with our overcoats and railway rugs, in the howling of the wind and the +splashing of the waves, which at times broke over the fore-deck. I knew +the Englishman; the year before I had travelled in the same steamer with +him from Genoa to Cività Vecchia. It happened we were the only two at +dinner; he did not say a word all through the meal, but over the dessert, +softened by the marsala and seeing that I on my side had no intention of +entering upon a conversation, he gave me a cigar and said that he had +brought his cigars himself from Havana. Then we talked: he had been in +South America and California, and told me that he had long been intending +to visit Petersburg and Moscow, but should not go until there were +_proper_ means of communication and a direct route between London and +Petersburg.[1] + +‘Are you going to Rome?’ I asked, as we approached Cività. + +‘I don’t know,’ he answered. + +I said no more, supposing that he considered my question impertinent, but +he immediately added: + +‘That depends on whether I like the climate in Cività.’ + +‘Then you are stopping here?’ + +‘Yes; the steamer leaves to-morrow.’ + +At that time I knew very few Englishmen, and so I could hardly conceal +my laughter, and was quite unable to do so when I met him next day, +walking by the hotel in the same fur-coat, carrying a portfolio, a +field-glass, and a little dressing-case, followed by a servant laden with +his portmanteau and various belongings. + +‘I am off to Naples,’ he said as he came up to me. + +‘Why, don’t you like the climate?’ + +‘It’s horrid.’ + +I forgot to mention that on our first journey together he occupied the +berth which was directly over mine. On three occasions during the night +he almost killed me, first from fright, and then with his feet; it was +fearfully hot in the cabin, he went several times to have a drink of +brandy and water, and each time, climbing down and climbing up, he trod +on me and shouted loudly, in alarm: ‘Oh—beg pardon—_J’ai avais soif._’ +‘_Pas de mal!_’ + +Consequently we met this time like old friends; he spoke with the +greatest approbation of my immunity from sea-sickness, and offered me his +Havana cigars. As was perfectly natural, the conversation soon turned on +the revolution of February. The Englishman, of course, looked upon the +revolution in Europe as an interesting spectacle, as a source of new and +curious observations and experiences, and he described the revolution in +New Colombia. + +The Frenchman took a different interest in these matters ... within +five minutes an argument had sprung up between him and me: he answered +evasively, cleverly, and with the utmost courtesy, yielding nothing, +however. I defended the republic and revolution. Without directly +attacking it, the old gentleman championed the traditional forms of +government as the only ones durable, popular, and capable of satisfying +the just claims of progress and the necessity of settled security. + +‘You cannot imagine,’ I said to him in joke, ‘what a peculiar +satisfaction you give me by your implied criticisms. I have been for +fifteen years speaking about the monarchy just as you speak about +the republic. The parts are changed; in defending the republic, I am +the conservative, while you, defending the legitimist monarchy, are a +_perturbateur de l’ordre politique_.’ + +The old gentleman and the Englishman laughed. A tall, gaunt gentleman, +whose nose has been immortalised by _Charivari_[2] and Philipon, the +Comte d’Argout,[3] came up to us. (_Charivari_ used to declare that +his daughter did not marry because she did not want to sign herself +‘So-and-so, _née d’Argout_.’) He joined in the conversation, addressed +the old gentleman with deference, but looked at me with a surprise not +far removed from repulsion; I noticed this, and began to be at least four +times as _red_ in my remarks. + +‘It is a very remarkable thing,’ the grey-headed old Frenchman said to +me: ‘you are not the first Russian I have met of the same manner of +thinking. You Russians are either the most absolute slaves of your Tsar, +or—_passez-moi le mot_—anarchists. And it follows from that, that it will +be a long time before you are free.’ Our political conversation continued +in that strain.[4] + +When we were approaching Marseilles and all the passengers were busy +looking after their luggage, I went up to the old gentleman and, giving +him my card, said that I should like to think that our discussion on the +swaying boat had left no unpleasant impression. The old gentleman said +good-bye to me very charmingly, delivered himself of another epigram +at the expense of the republicans whom I should see at last at closer +quarters, and gave me his card. It was the Duc de Noailles, the kinsman +of the Bourbons, and one of the leading counsellors of Henry the Fifth.[5] + +Though this incident is quite unimportant, I describe it for the benefit +and education of our ‘dukes’ of the three highest ranks. If some senator +or privy councillor had been in Noailles’ place he would simply have +taken what I said for insolence and breach of discipline and would have +sent for the captain of the boat. + +A Russian minister of the year 1850[6] sat with his family in his +carriage on the steamer to avoid all contact with passengers who were +common mortals. Can one imagine anything more ridiculous than sitting in +an unharnessed carriage ... and on the sea, too, and for a man double the +ordinary size into the bargain! + +The arrogance of our great dignitaries is not due to aristocratic +feeling—the grand gentleman is dying out; it is the feeling of liveried +and powdered flunkeys in great houses, extremely abject on one side and +extremely insolent on the other. The aristocrat is a personality, while +our faithful servants of the throne are entirely without personality; +they are like Paul’s medals, which bear the inscription: ‘Not to us, +not to us, but to thy name.’ Their whole training leads up to this: the +soldier imagines that the only reason why he must not be beaten with +sticks is that he wears the Anna ribbon; the station superintendent +considers his position as an officer the barrier that protects his cheek +from the traveller’s hand; an insulted clerk points to his Stanislav or +Vladimir ribbon—‘not for ourselves, not for ourselves ... but for our +rank!’ + +On leaving the steamer at Marseilles, I met a great procession of the +National Guard, which was carrying to the Hôtel de Ville the figure +of Liberty, _i.e._ of a woman with immense curls and a Phrygian cap. +With shouts of ‘_Vive la République!_’ thousands of armed citizens were +marching in it, and among them workmen in blouses who had been enrolled +in the National Guard. I need hardly say that I followed them. When the +procession reached the Hôtel de Ville, the general, the mayor, and the +commissaire of the Provisional Government, Démosthène Ollivier, came +out into the portico. Démosthène, as might be expected from his name, +prepared to deliver an oration. An immense circle formed about him: +the crowd, of course, moved forward, the National Guards pressed it +back, the crowd would not yield; this offended the armed workmen, they +lowered their guns and, turning round, began with the butt-ends hitting +the toes of the people who stood in front; the citizens of the ‘one and +indivisible republic’ stepped back.... + +This proceeding surprised me the more because I was still completely +under the influence of the manners of Italy, and especially of Rome, +where the proud sense of personal dignity and the inviolability of the +person is fully developed in every man—not merely in the _facchino_ +and the postman, but even in the beggar who holds out his hand for +alms. In Romagna such insolence would have been greeted with twenty +_coltellate_.[7] The French drew back—perhaps they had corns? + +This incident made an unpleasant impression on me. Moreover, when I +reached the hotel I read in the newspapers what had happened at Rouen.[8] +What could be the meaning of it? Surely the Duc de Noailles was not +right? + +But when a man wants to believe, his belief is not easily uprooted, and +before I reached Avignon I had forgotten the butt-ends at Marseilles and +the bayonets at Rouen. + +In the diligence with us there was a thick-set, middle-aged abbé of +dignified deportment and attractive exterior. For appearance’ sake he +took up his breviary, but to avoid dropping asleep put it back soon +afterwards in his pocket and began talking charmingly and intelligently, +with the classical correctness of the language of Port-Royal and the +Sorbonne, and with many quotations and chaste witticisms. + +Indeed, it is only the French who know how to talk. The Germans can make +declarations of love, confide their secrets, give lectures, and scold. +In England routs are so much liked just because they make conversation +impossible ... there is a crowd, no room to move, every one is pushing +and being pushed, no one knows anybody; while if people come together in +a small party they immediately have wretchedly poor music, singing out of +tune, or boring little games, or with extraordinary heaviness the hosts +and guests try to keep the ball of conversation rolling, with sighs and +pauses reminding one of the luckless horses who almost at their last gasp +under the whip drag a heavy-laden barge against the stream. + +I wanted to taunt the abbé with the republic, but I did not succeed. He +was very glad that liberty had come without excesses, above all without +bloodshed and fighting, and looked upon Lamartine as a great man, +something in the style of Pericles. + +‘And of Sappho,’ I added, without, however, entering upon an argument. I +was grateful to him for not saying a word about religion. So talking, we +arrived at Avignon at eleven o’clock at night. + +‘Allow me,’ I said to the abbé as I filled his glass at supper, ‘to +propose a rather unusual toast: “To the republic, _et pour les hommes +d’église qui sont républicains_.”’ The abbé got up, and concluded some +Ciceronian sentences with the words: ‘À la République future en Russie.’ + +‘À la République universelle!’ shouted the conductor of the diligence and +three men who were sitting at the table. We clinked glasses. + +A Catholic priest, two or three shopmen, the diligence conductor, and +Russians—we might well drink to the universal republic! + +But it really was very jolly. + +‘Where are you bound for?’ I inquired of the abbé, as we took our seats +in the diligence again, and I asked his pastoral blessing on a cigar. + +‘For Paris,’ he answered; ‘I have been elected to the National Assembly. +I shall be delighted to see you if you will call; this is my address.’ +He was the Abbé Sibour, _doyen_ of something or other and brother of the +Archbishop of Paris.[9] + +A fortnight later there came the fifteenth of May, that sinister +_ritournelle_ which was followed by the terrible days of June. That all +belongs not to my biography but to the biography of mankind.... + +I have written a great deal about those days. I might end here like the +old captain in the old song:— + + ‘Ici finit tout noble souvenir, + Ici finit tout noble souvenir.’ + +But with those accursed days the last part of my life begins. + + + + +Appendix I + +(_From ‘West European Sketches—Notebook I.’_) + + +I + +THE DREAM + +Do you remember, friends, how lovely was that winter day, bright and +sunny, when six or seven sledges accompanied us to Tchornaya Gryaz, when +for the last time we clinked glasses and parted, sobbing? + +... Evening was coming on, the sledge crunched through the snow, you +looked mournfully after us and did not divine that it was a funeral and +a parting for ever. All were there but one, the dearest of all; he alone +was far away, and by his absence seemed to wash his hands of my departure. + +That was the 21st of January 1847. + +Seven years[10] have passed since then, and what years! Among them were +1848 and 1852. + +All sorts of things happened in those years, and everything was +shattered—public and personal: the European revolution and my home, the +freedom of the world and my individual happiness. + +Of the old life not one stone remained standing. At that time my powers +had reached their fullest development; the previous years had given +me pledges for the future. I left you full of daring and reckless +self-reliance, with haughty confidence in life. I was in haste to tear +myself away from the little group of people who had been so closely knit +together and had come so close to each other, bound by a deep love and +a common grief. I was lured by distance, space, open conflict, and free +speech. I was seeking an independent arena, I longed to try my powers in +freedom.... + +Now I expect nothing: after what I have seen and experienced, nothing +will move me to much wonder or to deep joy; joy and wonder are curbed by +memories of the past and fear of the future. Almost everything has become +a matter of indifference to me, and I desire as little to die to-morrow +as to live long years; let the end come as accidentally and senselessly +as the beginning. + +And yet I have found all that I sought, even recognition from this old +self-complacent world—and at the same time I have lost all my faith, all +that was precious to me, have met with betrayal, treacherous blows from +behind, and indeed a moral corruption of which you in Russia have no +conception. + +It is hard for me, very hard, to begin this part of my story; avoiding +it, I have written the preceding parts, but at last I am brought face to +face with it. But away with weakness: what one could live through, one +must have the strength to remember. + +From the middle of the year 1848 I have nothing to tell of but agonising +experiences, unavenged insults, undeserved blows. My memory holds nothing +but melancholy images, my own mistakes and other people’s: mistakes of +individuals, mistakes of nations. When there was hope of salvation, death +crossed the path.... + +... The last days of our life in Rome conclude the happy part of my +memories, that begin with the awakening of thought in childhood and +youthful vows on the Sparrow Hills. + +Alarmed by the Paris of 1847, I had opened my eyes to the truth for a +moment, but was carried away again by the current of events seething +about me. All Italy was ‘awakening’ before my eyes! I saw the King of +Naples tamed and the Pope humbly asking the alms of the people’s love—the +whirlwind which set everything in movement carried me, too, off my feet; +all Europe took up its bed and walked—in a fit of somnambulism which we +took for awakening. When I came to myself, all was over; la Sonnambula, +terrified by the police, had fallen from the roof; friends were scattered +or were furiously slaughtering one another.... And I found myself alone, +utterly alone, among the graves and the cradles—their guardian, defender, +avenger, and I could do nothing just because I tried to do more than the +common. + +And now I sit in London where chance has flung me—and I stay here because +I do not know what to do. An alien race swarms about me and hurries +hither and thither, wrapped in the heavy breath of ocean; a world +dissolved into chaos, lost in a fog in which all outlines are blurred, in +which light becomes a murky glimmer. + +... And that other land—washed by the deep blue sea under the canopy of +deep blue sky ... it is the one bright spot left on this side of the +grave. + +O Rome, how I love to return to your deceptions, how gladly I recall day +by day the time when I was intoxicated with you! + +... A dark night. The Corso is filled with people, here and there are +torches. It is a month since a republic has been proclaimed in Paris. +News has come from Milan—there they are fighting, the people demand war, +there is a rumour that Charles Albert is on the way with troops. The +talk of the angry crowd is like the intermittent roar of waves which +alternately break with a splash and pause for a breathing space. The +crowds form into ranks. They go to the Piedmont Ambassador to find out +whether war has been declared. + +‘Fall in, fall in with us,’ shout dozens of voices. + +‘We are foreigners.’ + +‘All the better; Santo Dio, you are our guests.’ + +We joined the ranks. + +‘The front place for the guests, the front place for the ladies, _le +donne forestiere_!’ + +And with passionate shouts of approval the crowd parted to make way. +Ciceruacchio and with him a young Roman poet, the author of the people’s +songs, pushed their way forward with a flag, the tribune shook hands with +the ladies and with them stood at the head of ten or twelve thousand +people—and all moved forward in that majestic and harmonious order which +is peculiar to the Roman people. + +The leaders went into the Palazzo, and a few minutes later the +drawing-room doors opened on the balcony. The ambassador came out to +appease the people and to confirm the news of war; his words were +received with frantic joy. Ciceruacchio was on the balcony in the glaring +light of torches and candelabra, and beside him under the Italian flag +stood four young women, all four Russians—was it not strange? I can see +them now on that stone platform, and below them the swaying multitude, +mingling with shouts for war and curses for the Jesuits, ‘_Evviva le +donne forestiere!_’ + +In England, they and we should have been greeted with hisses, abuse, +and perhaps stones. In France, we should have been taken for _agents +provocateurs_. But here the aristocratic proletariat, the descendants of +Marius and the ancient tribunes, gave us a warm and genuine welcome. We +were received by them into the European struggle ... and with Italy alone +the bond of love, or at least of warm memory, is still unbroken. + +And was all that ... intoxication, delirium? Perhaps—but I do not envy +those who were not carried away by that beautiful dream. The sleep could +not last long in any case: the ruthless Macbeth of real life had already +raised his hand to murder sleep and.... + +_My dream was past—it has no further change._[11] + + +II + +IN THE STORM + +On the evening of the 24th of June, coming back from the Place Maubert, +I went into the Quai d’Orsay. A few minutes later I heard a discordant +shouting, and the sound came nearer and nearer. I went to the window: +a grotesque comic _banlieu_ marched in from the suburbs to the support +of order; clumsy, rascally fellows, half peasants, half shopkeepers, a +little bit drunk, in wretched uniforms and old-fashioned casques, they +moved rapidly but in disorder, with shouts of ‘_Vive Louis-Napoléon!_’ + +It was the first time I heard that ill-omened shout. I could not restrain +myself, and when they reached the café I shouted at the top of my voice: +‘_Vive la République!_’ Those standing near the windows shook their fists +at me, an officer muttered some word of abuse, brandishing his sword; +and for a long time afterwards I could hear the shouts of welcome to the +man who had come to strangle half the revolution, to destroy half the +republic, to inflict himself upon France, as a punishment for forgetting +in her hysteria both other nations and her own proletariat. + +At eight o’clock in the morning of the 26th of June, Annenkov and I went +out to the Champs-Élysées. The cannonade we had heard in the night had +ceased; only from time to time there was an interchange of shots and +the beating of drums. The streets were empty, but the National Guards +stood on each side of them. On the Place de la Concorde there was a +detachment of the _Garde mobile_; near them some poor women with brooms, +some ragpickers and _concierges_ from the houses near, were standing. The +faces of all were gloomy and horror-stricken. A lad of seventeen leaning +on his gun was telling them something; we joined them. He and all his +comrades, boys like himself, were half drunk, their faces blackened with +gunpowder and their eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights and drink; many +were dozing with their chins resting on the muzzle of their gun.... +‘And what happened then there’s no need to describe.’ After a pause he +went on: ‘Yes, and they fought well, too, but we paid them out for our +comrades! What lots of them fell! I stuck my bayonet up to the hilt in +five or six of them; they’ll remember us,’ he added, trying to assume the +air of a hardened criminal. The women were pale and silent; a man who +looked like a _concierge_ observed: ‘Serve them right, the blackguards!’ +... but this savage comment evoked not the slightest response. They were +all of too ignorant a class to be moved to pity by the massacre and by +the wretched boy whom others had turned into a murderer. + +Silent and mournful, we went on to the Madeleine. Here we were stopped by +the National Guards. At first, after searching our pockets, they asked +where we were going, and let us through; but the next cordon beyond the +Madeleine refused to let us through and sent us back; when we went back +to the first cordon, we were stopped again. ‘But you saw us pass here +just now!’ ‘Don’t let them pass,’ shouted an officer. ‘Are you laughing +at us, or what?’ I asked. ‘It’s no use your talking to me,’ answered the +shopman in uniform rudely. ‘Take them to the police: I know one of them’ +(he pointed to me); ‘I have seen him more than once at meetings. I dare +say the other is the same sort too; they are neither of them Frenchmen, +I’ll answer for it—march.’ Two soldiers in front, two behind, and one +on each side escorted us. The first man we met was a _représentant du +peuple_ with the silly badge in his button-hole; it was De Tocqueville, +the writer on America. I appealed to him and told him what had happened: +it was not a joking matter; they kept people in prison without any sort +of trial, threw them into the cellars of the Tuileries, and shot them. De +Tocqueville did not even ask who we were; he very politely bowed himself +off, delivering himself of the following banality: ‘The legislative +authority has no right to interfere with the executive.’ He might well be +a minister under Napoleon III.! + +The ‘executive authority’ led us down the boulevard to the Chaussée +d’Antin to the _commissaire de police_. By the way, it may not be out of +place to observe that neither when we were arrested, nor when we were +searched, nor when we were on our way, did I see a single policeman; +all was done by the bourgeois soldiers. The boulevard was completely +empty, all the shops were closed; the inmates rushed to their doors and +windows when they heard our footsteps, and kept asking who we were: ‘_Des +émeutiers étrangers_,’ answered our escort, and the worthy bourgeois +looked at us and gnashed their teeth. + +From the police-station we were sent to the Hôtel des Capucines; the +Ministry of Foreign Affairs has its quarters there now, but at that +time there was some temporary police committee there. We went with our +escort into a large study. A bald old gentleman in spectacles, dressed +entirely in black, was sitting alone at a table; he asked us over again +all the questions that the commissaire had asked us. ‘Where are your +passports?’ ‘We never carry them with us when we go for a walk.’ He took +up some manuscript book and spent a long time looking in it, apparently +found nothing, and asked one of our convoy: ‘Why did you arrest them?’ +‘The officer gave the order; he says that they are very suspicious +characters.’ ‘Very well,’ said the old man; ‘I will inquire into the +case; you can go.’ + +When the escort had gone, the old man asked us to explain the cause of +our arrest. I put the facts before him, adding that the officer might +perhaps have seen me on the fifteenth of May near the Assembly; and +then described the incident of the previous day. I had been sitting in +the Café Comartine when suddenly there was a false alarm, a squadron of +dragoons rushed by at full speed, the National Guard began to form ranks. +Together with some five people who happened to be in the café, I went +up to the window; a National Guard standing below shouted rudely, ‘Did +you hear that the windows were to be shut?’ His tone justified me in +supposing that he was not addressing me, and I did not take the slightest +notice of his words; besides, I was not alone, though I happened to be +standing in front. Then the defender of order raised his gun, and, as all +this took place in the _rez-de-chaussée_, tried to thrust at me with his +bayonet, but, seeing his movement, I stepped back and said to the others: +‘Gentlemen, you are witnesses that I have done nothing—is it the habit of +the National Guard to stick foreigners!’ ‘_Mais c’est indigne, mais cela +n’a pas de nom!_’ my neighbours chimed in. The panic-stricken café-keeper +rushed to shut the windows; a vile-looking sergeant commanded him to turn +every one out of the café—I fancied he was the same man who had ordered +us to be detained. Moreover, the Café Comartine was but a few steps from +the Madeleine. + +‘So that’s how it is, gentlemen: you see what imprudence leads to. Why +walk out at such a time?—minds are exasperated, blood is flowing....’ + +At that moment a National Guard brought in a maidservant, saying that +an officer had caught her in the very act of trying to post a letter +addressed to Berlin. The old man took the envelope and told the soldier +he could go. + +‘You can go home,’ he said to us; ‘only, please do not go by the same +streets as before, and especially not by the cordon which arrested you. +But stay, I will send some one to escort you; he’ll take you to the +Champs-Élysées—you can get through that way.’ + +‘And you,’ he said, addressing the servant, giving her back the letter, +which he had not touched, ‘post it in some letter-box further away.’ + +And so the police protected us from the armed bourgeois! + +On the night between the 26th and the 27th of June, so Pierre Leroux +relates, he went to Sénart to beg him to do something for the prisoners +who were being suffocated in the cellars of the Tuileries. Sénart, a man +well known as a desperate conservative, said to Pierre Leroux: ‘And _who_ +will answer for their lives on the way? The National Guard will kill +them. If you had come an hour earlier you would have found two colonels +here: I had the greatest difficulty in bringing them to reason, and +ended by telling them that if these horrors went on I should give up the +president’s chair in the Assembly and take my place in the barricades.’ + +Two hours later, on returning home, the _concierge_ made his appearance +accompanied by a stranger in a dress coat and four men disguised as +workmen, though they had the moustaches of _municipales_ and the +deportment of gendarmes. The stranger unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat +and, pointing with dignity to the tricoloured scarf, said that he was the +commissaire of police, Barlet (the man who on the 2nd of December, in +the National Assembly, took by the collar the man who had himself taken +Rome—General Oudinot), and that he had orders to search me. I gave him my +key, and he set to work exactly as Police-master Miller did in 1834. + +My wife came in: the commissaire, like the officer of gendarmes who +once came to us from Dubbelt, began apologising. My wife looked calmly +and directly at him, and when at the end of his speech he begged her +indulgence, said: ‘It would be cruelty on my part not to enter into your +position; you are sufficiently punished by being forced to do what you +are doing.’ + +The commissaire blushed, but did not say a word. Rummaging among the +papers and laying aside a whole heap of them, he suddenly went up to +the fireplace, sniffed, touched the ashes, and, turning to me with an +important air, asked: ‘What was your object in burning your papers?’ + +‘I haven’t been burning papers.’ + +‘Upon my word, the ash is still warm.’ + +‘No, it is not warm.’ + +‘_Monsieur, vous parlez à un magistrat!_’ + +‘The ash is cold, all the same, though,’ I said, flaring up and raising +my voice. + +‘Why, am I lying?’ + +‘What right have you to doubt my word? ... here are some honest workmen +with you, let them try it. Besides, even if I had burnt papers: in the +first place, I have a right to burn them; and in the second, what are you +going to do?’ + +‘Have you no other papers?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘I have a few letters besides, and very interesting ones; come into my +room,’ said my wife. + +‘Oh, your letters....’ + +‘Please don’t stand on ceremony ... why, you are only doing your duty; +come along.’ The commissaire went in, glanced very slightly at the +letters, which were for the most part from Italy, and was about to go.... + +‘But you haven’t seen what is below—a letter from the Conciergerie, from +a convict, you see; don’t you want to take it with you?’ + +‘Really, Madame,’ answered the policeman of the republic, ‘you are so +prejudiced; I don’t want that letter at all.’ + +‘What do you intend to do with the Russian papers?’ I asked. + +‘They will be translated.’ + +‘The point is, where you will take your translator from. If he is from +the Russian Embassy, it will be as good as betraying people to the +Russian Government; you will ruin five or six people. You will greatly +oblige me if you will mention at the _procès-verbal_ that I beg most +urgently that a Polish _émigré_ should be chosen as a translator.’ + +‘I believe that can be done.’ + +‘I thank you; and I have another favour to ask of you: do you know +Italian at all?’ + +‘A little.’ + +‘I will show you two letters; in them the word France is not mentioned. +The man who wrote them is in the hands of the Sardinian police; you will +see by the letters that it will go badly with him if they get into the +hands of the police.’ + +‘_Mais, ah ça!_’ observed the commissaire, his dignity as a man beginning +to be aroused; ‘you seem to imagine that we are connected with the police +of all the despotic powers. We have nothing to do with other countries. +We are unwillingly compelled to take measures at home when blood is +flowing in the streets and when foreigners interfere in our affairs.’ + +‘Very well, then, you can have that letter.’ + +The commissaire had not lied; he certainly did know _very little_ +Italian, and so, after turning the letters over, he put them in his +pocket, promising to return them. + +With that his visit ended. The Italian letters he gave back next day, +but my papers vanished completely. A month passed; I wrote a letter to +Cavaignac,[12] inquiring why the police did not return my papers nor say +what they had found in them—a matter of very little consequence to them, +perhaps, but of the greatest importance for my honour. + +What gave rise to this last phrase was as follows. Several persons of my +acquaintance had intervened on my behalf, considering the visit of the +commissaire and the retention of my papers outrageous. ‘We wanted to make +certain,’ Lamoricière[13] told them, ‘that he was not _an agent of the +Russian Government_.’ This was the first time I heard of this abominable +suspicion; it was something quite new for me. My life had been as open, +as public, as though it were lived in a glass hive, and now all at once +this terrible accusation, and from whom?—from a republican government! + +A week later I was summoned to the prefecture. Barlet was with me. +We were received in Ducou’s room by a young official very like some +Petersburg head-clerk of the free-and-easy type. ‘General Cavaignac,’ he +told me, ‘has charged me to return your papers without examination. The +information collected concerning you renders it quite superfluous; no +suspicion rests upon you; here is your portfolio. Will you please first +sign this?’ + +It was a receipt stating that all the papers had been returned to me +complete. + +I stopped and asked whether it would not be more in order for me to look +through the papers first. + +‘They have not been touched. Here is the seal, indeed.’ + +‘The seal has not been broken,’ observed Barlet soothingly. + +‘My seal is not here. Indeed, it was not put on them.’ + +‘It is my seal, but you know you had the key.’ + +Not wishing to reply with rudeness, I smiled. This enraged them both: the +head-clerk became the head of a department; he snatched up a penknife +and, cutting the seal, said in a rather rude tone: ‘Pray look, if you +don’t believe, but I have no time to waste,’ and walked out with a +dignified bow. Their resentment convinced me that they really had not +looked at the papers, and so, after a cursory glance at them, I signed +the receipt and went home. + + + + +Chapter 36 + +LA TRIBUNE DES PEUPLES—MICKIEWICZ AND RAMON DE LA SAGRA—THE CHORUS OF THE +REVOLUTION OF JUNE 13, 1848—CHOLERA IN PARIS—DEPARTURE + + +I left Paris in the autumn of 1847, without having formed any ties +there; I remained completely outside the literary and political circles. +There were many reasons for that. No direct occasion of contact with +them occurred, and I did not care to seek it. To visit them simply +in order to stare at celebrities, I thought unseemly. Moreover, I +particularly disliked the tone of condescending superiority which +Frenchmen assume with Russians: they approve of us, encourage us, commend +our pronunciation and our wealth; we put up with it all, and behave as +though we were asking them a favour, or even apologising for ourselves, +delighted when, from politeness, they affect to take us for Frenchmen. +The French overwhelm us with a flood of words, we cannot keep pace with +them; we think of an answer, but they do not care to hear it; we are +ashamed to show that we notice their blunders and their ignorance—they +take advantage of all that with hopeless self-complacency. + +To get on to a different footing with them, one would have to impress +them with one’s consequence; to do so, one must possess all sorts of +privileges, which I had not at that time, and of which I took advantage +at once when they were at my disposal. + +Moreover, it must be remembered that there are no people in the world +with whom it is easier to strike up a nodding acquaintance than the +French—and no people with whom it is more difficult to get on to really +intimate terms. A Frenchman likes to live in company, so as to display +himself, to have an audience, and in that respect he is as much a +contrast to the Englishman as in everything else. An Englishman is +always looking at people because he is bored; he looks at men as though +from a stall in a theatre; he makes use of people as an entertainment, +or as a means of obtaining information. The Englishman is always asking +questions, the Frenchman is always giving answers. The Englishman is +always wondering, always thinking things over; the Frenchman knows +everything for certain, he is finished and complete, he will go no +further: he is fond of preaching, talking, holding forth—about what, to +whom, he does not care. He feels no need for personal intimacy, the café +satisfies him completely. Like Repetilov in _Woe from Wit_, he does not +notice that Tchatsky is gone and Skalozub is in his place, that Skalozub +is gone and Zagoretsky is in his place—and goes on holding forth about +the Chamber, about the jury, about Byron (this he pronounces as though it +were a French name), and other important matters. + +Coming from Italy, with the enthusiasm of the February revolution still +fresh in my heart, I stumbled on the 15th of May, then passed through +the agony of the June days and the state of siege. It was then that +I obtained a deeper insight into the _tigre-singe_ of Voltaire—and I +lost even the desire to become acquainted with the mighty ones of this +republic. + +On one occasion a possibility arose of common work which would have +brought me into contact with many persons, but that did not come off. +Count Xaveri Branicki gave seven million francs for a magazine to deal +with foreign politics and other nations, and especially with the Polish +question. The usefulness and appropriateness of such a magazine were +obvious. French papers show little interest or knowledge in dealing with +what is happening outside France; during the republic, they thought it +sufficient to encourage from time to time all the nations of the world +with the phrase _solidarité des peuples_, and the promise that as soon +as they had time to turn round at home they would found a world-wide +republic resting upon universal brotherhood. With the means at the +disposal of the new magazine, which was to be called _La Tribune des +Peuples_, it might have been made the _Moniteur_ of the international +movement and progress. Its success was the more certain as there was no +other international periodical; there are sometimes excellent articles in +_The Times_ and the _Journal des Débats_ on special subjects, but they +are occasional and disconnected. The _Augsburg Gazette_ would be the most +international organ if its _black-and-yellow_ proclivities were not so +glaringly conspicuous. + +But it seems that all the excellent projects of the year 1848 were doomed +to be prematurely born and to perish before cutting their first tooth. +The magazine turned out poor and feeble—and died at the slaughter of the +innocents after the 14th of June 1849. + +When everything was ready and on the point of beginning, a house was +taken and fitted up with big tables covered with cloth and little +sloping desks; a lean French _littérateur_ was engaged to watch over +the international mistakes in spelling; to edit it, a committee was +nominated from former Polish nuncios and senators, and at the head of +this Mickiewicz was appointed, with Hoetsky as his assistant;—all that +was left to arrange was a triumphal opening ceremony, and what date could +be more suitable for that than the anniversary of February the 24th, and +what form could it more suitably take than that of a supper? + +The supper was to take place at Hoetsky’s. When I arrived I found many +of the guests already there, and among them scarcely a single Frenchman; +on the other hand, other nationalities, from the Sicilians to the +Croats, were fully represented. I was really interested in one person +only—Adam Mickiewicz; I had never seen him before. He was standing by +the fireplace with his elbow on the mantelpiece. Any one who had seen his +portrait in the French edition of his works, taken, I believe, from the +medallion executed by David d’Angers,[14] could recognise him at once +in spite of the great change wrought by the years. Many thoughts and +sufferings had left their trace on his face, which was rather Lithuanian +than Polish. The whole impression made by his figure, his head, his +luxuriant grey hair and weary eyes, was suggestive of past suffering, +of acquaintance with spiritual pain, and of the exaltation of sorrow—he +was the plastic embodiment of the destiny of Poland. The same impression +was made on me later by the face of Worcell, though the features of the +latter, in spite of being even more expressive of suffering, were more +animated and gracious than those of Mickiewicz. It seemed as though +Mickiewicz were held back, preoccupied, distracted by something: that +something was the strange mysticism into which he retreated further and +further away. + +I went up to him. He began questioning me about Russia: his information +was fragmentary; he knew little of the literary movement after Pushkin, +having stopped short at the time when he left Russia. In spite of +his leading idea of a fraternal league of all the Slavonic peoples—a +conception he was one of the first to develop—he retained some hostility +to Russia. And, indeed, it could hardly be otherwise after all the +atrocities perpetrated by the Tsar and his satraps; besides, we were +speaking at a time when the terrorism of Nicholas was worse than ever +before. + +The first thing that surprised me disagreeably was the attitude to him +of the Poles, his followers: they approached him as monks approach an +abbot, with self-abasement and reverent awe; some of them kissed him on +the shoulder. I suppose he was accustomed to these expressions of servile +devotion, for he accepted them with the greatest _laisser aller_. To be +recognised by people of the same way of thinking, to have influence on +them, to see their affection, is desired by every one who is devoted, +body and soul, to his cause and lives in it; but external signs of +sympathy and respect I should not like to receive—they destroy equality +and consequently freedom. Moreover, in that respect we can never compete +with bishops, heads of departments, and colonels of regiments. + +Hoetsky told me that at the supper he was going to propose a toast ‘to +the memory of the 24th of February 1848,’ that Mickiewicz would respond +with a speech in which he would expound his views and the spirit of the +new magazine; he wished me as a Russian to reply to Mickiewicz. Not being +accustomed to public speaking, especially without preparation, I declined +his invitation, but promised to propose the health of Mickiewicz and to +say a few words describing how I had drunk his health before in Moscow at +a public dinner given to Granovsky in the year 1843. Homyakov had raised +his glass with the words, ‘To the great Slavonic poet who is absent!’ The +name (which we dared not pronounce) was not needed; every one got up, +every one raised his glass and, standing in silence, drank to the health +of the exile. Hoetsky was satisfied. Having thus arranged our _extempore_ +speeches, we sat down to the table. At the end of the supper, Hoetsky +proposed his toast. Mickiewicz got up and began speaking. His speech +was elaborate, clever, and extremely adroit—that is to say, Barbès[15] +and Louis-Napoleon could both have applauded it with perfect sincerity; +it made me wince. As he developed his thought I began to feel uneasy and +oppressed, and, that not the slightest doubt might be left, waited for +one word, one _name_—it was not slow to appear! + +Mickiewicz worked up to the theme that democracy was now entering upon +a new open campaign, at the head of which stood France; that it would +_again_ hasten to the liberation of all oppressed nationalities under +the same eagles, under the same standards, at the sight of which all +principalities and powers had trembled; and that it would be led by a +member of that dynasty which has been crowned by the people, and, as +it seemed, ordained by Providence itself to guide revolution by the +well-ordered path of authority and victory. + +When he had finished, except for two or three exclamations of his +adherents, a general silence followed. Hoetsky was very well aware of +Mickiewicz’s blunder, and, wishing to efface the impression of it as +quickly as possible, came up with a bottle and, as he filled my glass, +whispered to me, ‘Well?’ ‘I am not going to say a word after that +speech.’ ‘Please do say something.’ ‘Nothing will induce me.’ + +The silence continued; some people kept their eyes fixed on their plates, +others scrutinised their glasses, others fell into private conversation +with their neighbours. Mickiewicz’s face changed colour, he wanted to say +something more, but a loud ‘_Je demande la parole_’ put an end to the +painful position. Every one turned to the man who had risen to his feet. +A rather short man of seventy, with a fine vigorous face, stood with a +glass in his trembling hand; anger and indignation were apparent in his +large black eyes and his excited face. It was Ramon de la Sagra.[16] ‘To +the 24th of February,’ he said: ‘that was the toast proposed by our host. +Yes, to the 24th of February, and to the downfall of every despotism, +whether of king or emperor, of a Bourbon or a Bonaparte. I cannot share +the views of our friend Mickiewicz—he looks at things like a poet, and +is right from his own point of view; but I don’t want his words to pass +without protest in such a gathering’; and so he went on and on, with all +the fire of a Spaniard and the authority of an old man. + +When he had finished, twenty glasses, among them mine, were held out to +clink with his. + +Mickiewicz tried to retrieve his position, said a few words of +explanation, but they were unsuccessful. De la Sagra did not give way. +Every one got up from the table, and Mickiewicz went away. + +There could scarcely have been a worse omen for the new journal; it +succeeded in existing after a fashion till the 13th of June, and its +disappearance was as little noticed as its existence. There could be no +unity in the editing of it. Mickiewicz had rolled up half of his imperial +banner _usé par la gloire_. The others did not dare to unfurl theirs; +hampered both by him and by the committee, many of the contributors +abandoned the journal at the end of the month; I never sent them a single +line. If the police of Napoleon had been more intelligent, the _Tribune +des Peuples_ would never have been prohibited on account of a few lines +referring to the 13th of June. With Mickiewicz’s name and devotion to +Napoleon, with its revolutionary mysticism and dream of the democracy +in arms, with the Bonapartes at its head, the journal might have been a +veritable treasure for the President, a clean organ of an unclean cause. + +Catholicism, so alien to the Slavonic genius, has a shattering effect +upon it. When the Bohemians no longer had the strength to resist +Catholicism, they were crushed; in the Poles, Catholicism has developed +that mystical exaltation which keeps them perpetually in the world of +dreams. If they are not under the direct influence of the Jesuits, they +either create some idol for themselves, or give themselves up to the +influence of some visionary instead of working for freedom. Messianism, +that mania of Wronski’s, that delirium of Tovjanski’s, had turned the +brains of hundreds of Poles, among them of Mickiewicz himself. The +worship of Napoleon takes a foremost place in this insanity. Napoleon had +done nothing for them; he had no love for Poland, but he liked the Poles +who shed their blood for him with the poetic titanic courage displayed in +their famous cavalry attack of Sommo Sierra.[17] In 1812 Napoleon said to +Narbonne: ‘I want a camp in Poland, not a forum. I will not permit either +Warsaw or Moscow to open a club for demagogues’—and of him the Poles made +a military incarnation of God, setting him on a level with Vishnu and +Christ. + +Late one winter evening in 1848, I was walking with one of the Polish +followers of Mickiewicz along the Place de la Vendôme. When we reached +the column the Pole took off his cap. ‘Good heavens!...’ I thought, +hardly daring to believe in such idiocy, and meekly asked what was his +reason for taking off his cap. The Pole pointed to the bronze figure +of the emperor. How can we expect men to refrain from domineering or +oppressing others when it wins so much devotion! + +Mickiewicz’s private life was gloomy; there was something unfortunate +about it, something dark, some ‘visitation of God.’ His wife was for +a long time out of her mind. Tovjanski recited incantations over her, +and is said to have done her good; this made a great impression on +Mickiewicz, but traces of her illness remained ... things went badly with +them. The last years of the great poet, who outlived himself, were spent +in gloom. He died in Turkey while taking part in an absurd attempt to +organise a Cossack legion, which the Turkish Government would not permit +to be called Polish. Before his death he wrote a Latin ode to the honour +and glory of Louis-Napoleon. + +After this unsuccessful attempt at journalism I withdrew even more +completely into a small circle of friends, enlarged by the arrival of +new exiles. At first I had sometimes visited a club, and taken part in +three or four banquets, _i.e._ had eaten cold mutton and drunk sour +wine, while I listened to Pierre Leroux or Father Cabet and joined in +the Marseillaise. Now I was sick of that, too. With deep pain I watched +and recorded the success of the forces of dissolution and the decadence +of the republic, of France, of Europe. From Russia came no gleam of +light in the distance, no good news, no friendly greeting: my people +had given up writing to me; personal, intimate, family relations were +suspended. Russia lay speechless, bruised as though dead, like an unhappy +peasant-woman at the feet of her master, beaten by his heavy fists. +She was then entering upon that terrible five years from which she is +emerging now to follow the coffin of Nicholas.[18] + +Those five years were for me, too, the most unhappy period of my +life; I have no longer such treasures to lose, such convictions to be +shattered.... + +... The cholera raged in Paris; the heavy air, the sunless heat, +made one depressed; the sight of the luckless, terrified people, and +rows of funeral hearses which raced each other as they drew near the +cemeteries—all this was in harmony with the political events. + +The victims of the epidemic fell near at hand, at one’s side. My mother +went to St. Cloud with a friend, a lady of five-and-twenty. As they +were coming back in the evening, the lady felt rather unwell; my mother +persuaded her to stay the night. At seven o’clock the next morning they +came to tell me that she had cholera. I went in to see her, and was +aghast. Not one feature was unchanged; she was still handsome; but all +the muscles of her face were drawn and contracted, dark shadows lay +under her eyes. With some difficulty I succeeded in finding Rayer[19] at +the Institute, and brought him home with me. After glancing at the sick +woman, Rayer whispered to me: ‘You can see for yourself all there is to +be done here.’ He wrote a prescription and went away. + +The sick woman called me and asked: ‘What did the doctor say? He did tell +you something, didn’t he?’ ‘He sent for some medicine.’ She took my hand, +and her hand amazed me even more than her face: it had grown thin and +angular as though she had been seriously ill for a month: and fixing her +eyes upon me full of suffering and horror, she said: ‘Tell me, for God’s +sake, what he said ... is it that I am dying?... You are not afraid of +me, are you?’ she added. I felt fearfully sorry for her at that moment; +that terrible consciousness not only of death, but of the infectiousness +of the disease that was rapidly sapping her life, must have been +intensely painful. Towards the morning she died. + +Ivan Turgenev was about to leave Paris, the lease of his flat was up; he +came to us for a night. After dinner he complained of the heat; I told +him that I had had a bathe in the morning; in the evening he too went for +a bathe. When he came back he felt unwell, drank some soda-water with a +little wine and sugar in it, and went to bed. In the night he woke me. +‘I am a lost man,’ he said; ‘it’s cholera.’ He really was suffering from +sickness and spasms; happily, he escaped with ten days’ illness. + +After burying her friend, my mother went away to the Ville d’Avray. +When Turgenev was taken ill, I sent Natalie and the children to her and +remained alone with him, and when he was a great deal better I moved +there too. + +On the morning of June the 12th, Sazonov came to see me there. He was +in a very enthusiastic mood: talked of the popular outbreak that was +impending, of the certainty of its being successful, of the glory +awaiting those who took part in it, and pressed me urgently to join in +reaping the laurels. I told him that he knew my opinion of the present +position—that it seemed to me stupid, without believing in it, to +co-operate with people with whom one had hardly anything in common. + +To this the enthusiastic agitator replied that it was of course more +safe and peaceful to stay at home and write sceptical articles while +others were in the market-place championing the liberty of the world, the +solidarity of peoples, and many other good things. + +A very despicable feeling, but one which has led and will lead many men +into making great mistakes—even committing crimes—impelled me to say: +‘What makes you imagine I am not going?’ + +‘I concluded that from what you have just said.’ + +‘No; I said it was stupid, but I did not say that I never do anything +stupid.’ + +‘That is just what I wanted! That’s what I like in you! Well, it’s no +use losing time; let us go to Paris. This evening the Germans and other +refugees are assembling at nine o’clock; let us go first to them.’ + +‘Where are they meeting?’ I asked him in the train. + +‘In the Café Lamblin, in the Palais Royal.’ + +This was my first surprise. + +‘In the Café Lamblin?’ + +‘The “reds” usually meet there.’ + +‘For that very reason I should have thought that they ought to meet +somewhere else.’ + +‘But they are all used to going there.’ + +‘I suppose the beer is very good!’ + +Various _habitués_ of the revolution were sitting with dignity at a +dozen little tables, gloomily and significantly looking about them from +under wide-brimmed felt hats and short-peaked caps. These were the +perpetual suitors of the revolutionary Penelope, the invariable actors +who take part in every popular demonstration and form its _tableau_, +its background, and who are as terrifying in the distance as the paper +dragons with which the Chinese tried to scare the English. + +In the troubled times of social storms and reconstructions in which +states move out of their common routine for a long period, a new kind of +people spring up who may be called the chorus of the revolution; grown +on shifting and volcanic soil, nurtured in an atmosphere of anxiety when +every sort of work is suspended, they grow inured from their earliest +years to the conditions of political ferment, and like the theatrical +setting of it, its impressive and brilliant _mise en scène_. Just as to +Nicholas drill was the most important part of the military art, to them +the everlasting banquets, demonstrations, protests, collections, toasts, +banners, are the most important part of the revolution. + +Among them there are good, valiant people, sincerely devoted and ready +to face a bullet; but for the most part they are very unintelligent and +extremely pedantic. Immovable conservatives in everything connected with +revolution, they stop short at some programme and never advance beyond it. + +Discussing all their lives a small number of political ideas, they only +know their rhetorical side, so to speak, their ceremonial trappings, +_i.e._ the commonplaces which are invariably brought on the scene _à tour +de rôle_, like the ducks in a well-known children’s toy—in newspaper +articles, in speeches, at banquets and in parliamentary sallies. + +In addition to the naïve people and the revolutionary doctrinaires, +unappreciated artists, unsuccessful literary men, students who finished +their studies without taking their degree, briefless barristers, actors +with no talents, persons of great vanity but of little capacity, with +vast pretensions but no perseverance or power of work, are all naturally +drawn into this circle. The external authority which guides the human +herd in ordinary times is weakened in times of revolution; people, +left to themselves, do not know what to do. The younger generation is +impressed with the apparent ease with which men attain celebrity in times +of revolution, and rushes into futile agitation; this accustoms the young +to violent excitements and destroys the habit of work. Life in the clubs +and cafés is attractive, full of movement, flattering to vanity and free +from restraint. There is no fear of being late, there is no need to work: +what is not done to-day may be done to-morrow, or may not be done at all. + +The chorus of the revolution, like the chorus of a Greek play, is divided +into two halves; the botanical classification may be applied to them: +some of them may be called cryptogamous and others phanerogamous. Some +become eternal conspirators, are continually changing their lodgings +and the shape of their beards. They mysteriously invite one to some +extraordinarily important interview, if possible at night, or in some +inconvenient place. Meeting their friends in public, they do not like +saluting them with a bow, but greet them with a significant glance. Many +of them keep their address a secret, never tell one what day they are +going away, never say where they are going, write in cypher or invisible +ink news which is printed openly in the newspapers. + +In the days of Louis-Philippe, so I was told by a Frenchman, E., who had +been mixed up in some political affair, was in hiding in Paris. With all +its attractions such a life becomes _à la longue_ wearisome and tedious. +Delessert,[20] a _bon vivant_ and a rich man, was at that time prefect; +he served in the police not from necessity but for the love of it, and +liked at times a festive dinner. He and E. had many friends in common. +One day ‘between the peas and the cheese,’ as the French say, one of +them said to him: ‘What a pity it is that you persecute poor E.! We are +deprived of a capital talker, and he is obliged to hide like a criminal.’ + +‘Upon my soul,’ said Delessert, ‘his case is completely forgotten! Why is +he in hiding?’ + +His friends smiled ironically. + +‘I will try to convince him that it is all nonsense—and you, too.’ + +On reaching home he called one of his chief spies and asked him, ‘Is E. +in Paris?’ ‘Yes,’ answered the spy. ‘Is he in hiding?’ asked Delessert. +‘Yes,’ answered the spy. ‘Where?’ asked Delessert. The spy took out his +notebook, looked in it, and read E.’s address. ‘Well, then, go to him +to-morrow early in the morning and tell him that he need not be anxious, +that we are not looking for him, and he can live in peace at his flat.’ + +The spy carried out his task exactly, and two hours after his visit E. +mysteriously informed his friends that he was leaving Paris and would be +in hiding in a remote town, because the prefect had found out the place +where he was concealed! + +Just as the conspirators try to conceal their secret with a transparent +veil of mystery and an eloquent silence, the phanerogamous try to display +and blurt out all they possess. + +They are the permanent tribunes of the clubs and cafés; they are +perpetually dissatisfied with everything, they repeat everything—even +things that have not happened, while things that have happened are +by them squared and cubed and distorted out of all proportion, like +the mountains on a relief map. One is so used to seeing them that one +unconsciously looks for them in every row in the street, at every +demonstration, at every banquet. + +... The spectacle at the Café Lamblin was still new to me; at that time +I was not familiar with the back premises of the revolution. It is +true that in Rome I had been in the Cafe delle Belli Arti and in the +square, I had been in the Circolo Romano and in the Circolo Popolare; +but the movement in Rome had not then that exotic character which became +particularly apparent after the failure of 1848. Ciceruacchio and his +friends had a _naïveté_ of their own, their southern expressiveness +which strikes one as affectation and their Italian phrases which seem +to us theatrical; but they were in a period of youthful enthusiasm, +they had not yet fully awakened from their three centuries of sleep. +_Il popolano_ Ciceruacchio was not in the least a political agitator by +trade; he liked nothing better than to retire in peace to his little +house in Strada Ripetta and to carry on his trade in wood and timber like +a _pater familias_ and free _civis romanus_. + +The men surrounding him were free from all traces of that vulgar, +babbling pseudo-revolutionism, of that _taré_ character which is so +depressingly common in France. + +I need hardly say that in speaking of the café agitators and +revolutionary lazzaroni I was not thinking of those mighty workers for +the emancipation of humanity, of those martyrs for the love of their +fellow-creatures and fiery champions of independence whose words could +not be suppressed by prison, nor exile, nor banishment, nor poverty—of +those creators of events, by whose blood and tears and words a new +historical order is established. I am talking about the stagnant margin +covered with barren weeds, to whom agitation itself is goal and reward, +who like the process of revolution for its own sake, as Tchitchikov’s +Petrushka[21] liked the process of reading, or as Nicholas liked drill. + +There is nothing for reaction to rejoice at in this—it is overgrown with +worse weeds and toadstools, not only at the margin but everywhere. In +its ranks are whole multitudes of officials who tremble before their +superiors, scurrying spies, volunteer assassins ready to murder on either +side, officers of every loathsome kind from the Prussian junker to the +rapacious French Algerian, from the guard to the _page de chambre_—and +that is only touching on the secular side, saying nothing of the +mendicant fraternity, the intriguing Jesuits, the priests who act as +police, and the other members of the ranks of angels and archangels. + +If there are among reactionaries any who resemble our dilettante +revolutionaries, they are the courtiers employed for ceremonies, the +people who are conspicuous at levees, christenings, royal weddings, +coronations, and funerals, the people who exist for the uniform, for gold +lace, who make up the aureole and fragrance of power. + +In the Café Lamblin, where the desperate _citoyens_ were sitting over +their _petits verres_ and big glasses, I learned that they had no sort of +plan, that the movement had no real centre and no programme. They were +waiting for inspiration to descend upon them as the Holy Ghost descended +upon the heads of the apostles. There was only one point on which all +were agreed—_to come to the meeting-place unarmed_. After two hours of +empty chatter, we went off to the office of the _True Republic_, agreeing +to meet at eight o’clock next morning at the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, +facing the Château d’Eau. + +The editor was not at home: he had gone to the ‘montagnards’ for +instructions. About twenty people, for the most part Poles and Germans, +were in the big, grimy, poorly lighted and still more poorly furnished +room which served as an assembly hall and a committee room. Sazonov took +a sheet of paper and began writing something; when he had written it, he +read it aloud to us: it was a protest in the name of the _émigrés_ of all +nationalities against the occupation of Rome, and a declaration of their +readiness to take part in the movement. Those who wished to immortalise +their names by associating them with the glorious morrow he invited to +sign it. Almost all wished to immortalise their names, and signed it. The +editor came in, much dejected, anxious to impress on every one that he +knew a great deal but was bound to keep silent; I felt convinced that he +knew nothing at all. + +‘_Citoyens_,’ he said, ‘_la Montagne est en permanence._’ Well, who +could doubt its success—_en permanence_! Sazonov gave the editor the +protest of the democracy of Europe. The editor read it through and said: +‘That’s splendid, splendid! France thanks you, _citoyens_; but why the +signatures? There are so few, that if we are unsuccessful our enemies +will vent all their anger upon you.’ + +Sazonov insisted on the signatures remaining; many agreed with him. ‘I +won’t take the responsibility for it,’ said the editor; ‘excuse me, I +know better the people we have to deal with.’ With that he tore off the +signatures and delivered the names of a dozen candidates for immortality +to the flame of the candle, while he sent the protest itself to the +printer. + +It was daybreak when we left the office; groups of ragged boys and +wretched, poorly dressed women were standing, sitting, and lying on the +pavement near the various newspaper offices, waiting for the piles of +newspapers—some to fold them, and others to run with them all over Paris. +We walked out on to the boulevard: there was absolute stillness; now and +then one came upon a patrol of National Guards and police-sergeants, +strolling about and looking slyly at us. + +‘How free from care the city sleeps,’ said my comrade, ‘with no +foreboding of the storm that will waken it to-morrow!’ + +‘Here are those who keep vigil for us all,’ I said to him, pointing +upwards—that is, to the lighted window of the _Maison d’Or_. + +‘And very appropriately, too. Let us go in and have an absinthe; my +stomach is a bit upset.’ + +‘And I feel empty; it wouldn’t be amiss to have some supper too. How they +eat in the Capitole I don’t know, but in the Conciergerie the food is +abominable.’ + +From the bones left after our meal of cold turkey, no one could have +guessed either that cholera was raging in Paris, or that in two hours’ +time we were going to change the destinies of Europe. We ate at the +Maison d’Or as Napoleon slept before Austerlitz. + +Between eight and nine o’clock, when we reached the Boulevard Bonne +Nouvelle, many groups of people had already gathered there, evidently +impatient to know what they were to do; their faces showed perplexity, +but at the same time something in their aspect betrayed great +exasperation. Had those people found real leaders the day would not have +ended in a farce. + +There was a minute when it seemed to me that something was really going +to happen. A gentleman rode on horseback down the boulevard rather +slowly. He was recognised as one of the ministers (Lacroix), who was +probably taking horse exercise so early not merely for the sake of fresh +air. He was surrounded by a shouting crowd, who pulled him off his horse, +tore his coat, and then let him go—that is, another group rescued him and +escorted him away. The crowd grew; by ten o’clock there may have been +twenty-five thousand people. No one we spoke to, no one we questioned, +knew anything. Chersosi, a _carbonaro_ of old days, assured us that the +_banlieu_ was coming through the Arc de Triomphe with a shout of ‘_Vive +la République!_’ + +‘Above all,’ the elders of the democracy repeated again, ‘be unarmed, or +you will spoil the character of the whole thing—the all-powerful people +ought to show the National Assembly its will peacefully and solemnly so +as to give the enemy no occasion to blaspheme.’ + +At last columns were formed; we foreigners made up a guard of honour +immediately behind the leaders, among whom were E. Arago[22] in the +uniform of a colonel, a former minister, Bastide,[23] and other +celebrities of 1848. We moved down the boulevard, shouting various things +and singing the Marseillaise. One who has not heard the Marseillaise sung +by thousands of voices in that state of nervous excitement and suspense +which is inevitable before a struggle can hardly realise the overwhelming +effect of the revolutionary hymn. + +At that minute there was really something grand about the demonstration. +As we slowly moved down the boulevards all the windows were thrown open; +ladies and children crowded at them and came out on to the balconies; the +gloomy and agitated faces of their husbands, the fathers and proprietors, +peeped out from behind them, not observing that in the fourth storeys and +attics other heads, those of poor seamstresses and working girls, were +thrust out—they waved handkerchiefs, nodded, and greeted us. From time to +time as we passed by the houses of well-known people all sorts of shouts +were uttered. + +In this way we reached the point where the Rue de la Paix joins the +boulevards; it was closed by a platoon of the Vincennes Chasseurs, and +when our column came up to it the chasseurs suddenly moved apart like +the scenery in a theatre, and Changarnier,[24] mounted upon a small +horse, galloped up at the head of a squadron of dragoons. With no summons +to the crowd to disperse, with no beating of the drums or other legal +formalities, he scattered the foremost ranks, cut them off from the +others, and, changing the dragoons into open formation, ordered them +to clear the street at full speed. The dragoons with positive zest fell +to riding down people, striking them with the flat of their swords and +using the edge at the slightest resistance. I hardly had time to take in +what was happening when I found myself nose to nose with a horse which +was snorting in my face, and a dragoon swearing also right in my face +and threatening me with a blow if I did not move away. I retreated to +the right, and in one instant was carried away by the crowd and squeezed +against the railings of the Rue Basse des Remparts. Of our rank the only +one left besides me was M. Strübing. Meanwhile the dragoons pressed upon +the foremost ranks with their horses, and the people, unable to get away, +were thrust back upon us. E. Arago leaped over into the Rue Basse des +Remparts, slipped, and dislocated his leg; Strübing and I jumped down +after him. We looked at each other in a sort of frenzied indignation; +Strübing turned round and shouted aloud: ‘_Aux armes! Aux armes!_’ A man +in a workman’s blouse caught him by the collar and, shoving him out of +the way, said; ‘Have you gone mad? Look there!’ A thick brush of bayonets +was moving down the street—the Chaussée d’Antin it must have been. ‘Get +away before they hear you and cut off all escape. All is lost, all!’ +he added, clenching his fist; and, humming a tune as though there were +nothing the matter, rapidly walked away. We made our way to the Place de +la Concorde. In the Champs-Élysées there was not a single platoon from +the _banlieu_; why, Chersosi must have known that there was not. It had +been a diplomatic lie to save the situation, though it would perhaps have +been fatal if any had believed it. + +The shamelessness of attacking an unarmed crowd aroused great resentment. +If anything really had been prepared, had there been leaders, nothing +would have been easier than for fighting to have begun in earnest. +Instead of showing itself in its full strength, the _Montagne_, on +hearing how absurdly the sovereign people had been dispersed by horses, +hid itself behind a cloud. Ledru-Rollin carried on negotiations with +Guinard.[25] Guinard, the artillery commander of the National Guard, +wanted to join the movement, wanted to give men, but would not on any +consideration give ammunition—he seems to have wished to act by the moral +influence of cannons; Forestier[26] was doing the same with his legion. +Whether it helped them much, we saw by the Versailles trial. Every one +wanted to do something, but no one ventured; the most foresight was shown +by some young men who built their hopes on the new regime—they ordered +themselves prefects’ uniforms, which they declined to take after the +movement failed, and the tailor had to put them up for sale. + +When the hurriedly rigged-up government was installed at the _Arts et +Métiers_, the workmen, after walking about the streets with inquiring +faces and finding neither advice nor leadership, went home, convinced +once more of the ineffectiveness of the _Montagnard_ fathers of the +country; perhaps they gulped down their tears like the man who said +to us, ‘All is lost!’—or perhaps laughed in their sleeves at the +discomfiture of the _Montagne_. + +But the dilatoriness of Ledru-Rollin, the pedantry of Guinard—these were +the external causes of the failure, and were as _appropriate to the +occasion_ as decisive characters and fortunate circumstances when they +are needed. The internal cause was the poverty of the republican idea in +which the movement originated. An idea that has outlived its day may +hobble about the world for years—may even, like Christ, appear after +death once or twice to its devotees; but it is hard for it ever again +to lead and dominate life. Such ideas never gain complete possession of +a man, or gain possession only of incomplete people. If the _Montagne_ +had been victorious on the 13th of June, what would it have done? +There was nothing new they could call their own. It would have been an +insipid reproduction of the gloomy Rembrandt or Salvator Rosa picture +of 1793 without the Jacobins, without the war, without even the naïve +guillotine.... + +After the 13th of June and the attempted rising at Lyons, arrests +followed. The mayor came with the police to us at the Ville d’Avray to +look for Karl Blind[27] and Arnold Ruge; some of our friends were seized. +The Conciergerie was full to overflowing. In one small room there were +as many as sixty men; in the middle stood a large slop-bucket, which was +emptied once in the twenty-four hours—and all this in civilised Paris, +with the cholera raging. Having no desire to spend some two months in +such pleasant surroundings, fed on rotten beans and putrid meat, I +borrowed a passport from a Moldav-Wallachian and went to Geneva.[28] + +Transport in France was in the hands of Laffitte and Calliard in those +days. The diligences were put on the railway lines, then taken off—at +Châlons, I remember—then put on the rails again. A lean, sunburnt +gentleman with a clipped moustache and a rather unpleasant appearance +got into the carriage with me, and looked at me suspiciously; he had a +small travelling-bag, and a sword wrapped up in American leather. He was +obviously a police-sergeant in disguise. He scanned me carefully from +head to foot, then retreated into the corner and did not utter a single +word. At the first station he called up the conductor and told him that +he had left behind an excellent map, and would be grateful for a scrap +of paper and an envelope. The conductor said they only had three minutes +before the bell would ring; the sergeant jumped out, and returning +looked at me more suspiciously than ever. For four hours the silence +continued: my permission to smoke he even asked without speaking; I +answered in the same way with my head and my eyes, and took out a cigar. +When it began to get dusk he asked me, ‘Are you going to Geneva?’ ‘No, +to Lyons,’ I answered. ‘Ah!’ With that the conversation ended. A little +while later the door opened and the conductor with difficulty thrust +in a bald-headed, immensely corpulent individual, in a roomy pea-green +overcoat and a bright-coloured waistcoat, with a thick stick, a sack, and +an umbrella. When this typical figure of the virtuous uncle installed +himself between the sergeant and me, I asked him before he had time to +recover his breath: ‘_Monsieur, vous n’avez pas d’objection?_’ Coughing, +mopping his face, and tying a silk handkerchief round his head, he +answered: ‘Not in the least, by all means; my son who is in Algiers is +always smoking, _il fume toujours_’; and with this good opening he began +chatting and telling us stories. Half an hour later, he asked me where I +had come from and where I was going. Hearing that I came from Wallachia, +he added with characteristic French politeness, ‘_Ah, c’est un beau +pays_,’ though he did not know for certain whether it was in Turkey or in +Hungary. + +My neighbour answered his questions very laconically. ‘_Monsieur est +militaire?_’ ‘_Oui, monsieur._’ ‘_Monsieur a été en Algérie?_’ ‘_Oui, +monsieur._’ ‘My eldest son, too, he is there now. In Oran,[29] I +suppose?’ ‘_Non, monsieur._’ ‘And in your country are there diligences?’ + +‘Between Jassy and Bucharest,’ I answered with inimitable assurance. +‘Only, with us, diligences are drawn by oxen.’ + +This greatly astonished my neighbour, and I am sure he would have taken +his oath that I was a Wallachian; after this happy detail, even the +sergeant was softened and became more conversational. + +At Lyons I got out of the diligence and at once went to another +booking-office, climbed upon the roof of another diligence, and five +minutes later was dashing along the road to Geneva. At the last big town +before the frontier, a commissaire of police was sitting with a clerk in +the square before the police-station; gendarmes were standing about, and +a preliminary examination of passports was held. The description in my +passport did not quite fit me, and so, getting down from the knife-board, +I said to the gendarme: ‘_Mon brave_, where could we quickly get a drink +of wine together? Show me; the heat is insufferable.’ + +‘Why, there’s my sister’s café not two steps away.’ + +‘But what about my passport?’ + +‘Give it here, I’ll hand it over to my comrade; he will bring it back to +us.’ + +A minute later the gendarme and I were sitting over a bottle of Beaune +in his sister’s café, and five minutes later his comrade brought the +passport. I offered him a glass, he put his hand to his hat, and we +returned to the diligence friends. So far all was well. We reached the +frontier; there was a river, over the river a bridge, and on the other +side of the bridge the Piedmontese custom-house. French gendarmes were +sauntering in all directions on the bank, looking for Ledru-Rollin, who +had crossed the frontier long before, and for Félix Pyat,[30] who would +nevertheless cross it later, and like me with a Wallachian passport. + +The conductor observed that here they would examine our passports +finally, that this would take rather a long time—half an hour—and so +he advised us to have something to eat at the posting inn. We went in, +and had no sooner sat down than another Lyons diligence drove up; the +passengers came in, and foremost among them was my sergeant. Ough! what +luck! And I had told him that I was going to Lyons. We bowed frigidly; +he, too, seemed surprised; however, he did not say a word. + +A gendarme came in, distributed passports; the diligences were already +on the other side of the river. ‘Kindly cross the bridge on foot, +gentlemen.’ Now there will be a bobbery, I thought. We went out ... +and here we are on the bridge—no trouble; and now we were over the +bridge—still no trouble. + +‘Ha—ha—ha!’ the sergeant laughed nervously. ‘So we’ve got across! Ough! +it’s like a load off one’s back.’ + +‘What?’ said I, ‘are you....’ + +‘Why, you too, it seems?’ + +‘Upon my word,’ I answered, laughing heartily, ‘I am straight from +Bucharest; came all the way with oxen.’ + +‘It’s your luck!’ the conductor said to me, holding up his finger. ‘You +must be more careful next time. Why did you give two francs to the boy +who brought you to the inn? It’s a good thing he is _one of us_ too; he +said to me at once, “He must be a red; he didn’t stop a minute at Lyons, +and he was so pleased to get a seat that he gave me two francs.” “You +hold your tongue, it’s not your business,” I said to him, “or some beast +of a gendarme will overhear you and maybe stop him.”’ + +Next day we reached Geneva, the old haven of refuge for the persecuted. +‘At the time of the king’s death, a hundred and fifty families,’ says +Michelet in his history of the 16th century, ‘escaped to Geneva; a +little later, another fourteen hundred. The refugees from France and the +refugees from Italy founded the real Geneva, that wonderful sanctuary +between three nations; with no support, afraid of the Swiss themselves, +it maintained itself by its moral force alone.’ + +Switzerland was at this time the meeting-place in which the survivors +left from European revolutions gathered together from all parts. +Representatives of all the unsuccessful risings were shifting about +between Geneva and Basle, crowds of the insurgents were crossing the +Rhine, others were descending the St. Gothard or coming from beyond the +Jura. The cowardly Federal Government did not dare yet to turn them out; +the cantons still clung to their ancient holy right of sanctuary. + +All the people whose names were on everybody’s lips, whom I loved at a +distance and was now eager to meet, were passing through Geneva as though +on parade at a review, stopping there to rest and going on again.... + + + + +Chapter 37 + +A BABEL OF TONGUES—THE GERMAN UMWALZUNGSMÄNNER—THE FRENCH RED +MONTAGNARDS—THE ITALIAN FUORUSCITI IN GENEVA—MAZZINI, GARIBALDI, AND +ORSINI—THE ROMAN AND THE GERMAN TRADITIONS—A TRIP ON ‘THE PRINCE RADETSKY’ + + +There was a time when in a fit of irritation and bitter mirth I thought +of writing a pamphlet in the style of Grandville’s[31] Illustrations: +_Les réfugiés peints par eux-mêmes_. I am glad I did not do it. Now that +I look at it more calmly, I am less moved to laughter and indignation. +Besides, exile both lasts too long and weighs too heavily on men.... + +Nevertheless, I do say even now that exile, not undertaken with any +definite object, but forced upon men by the triumph of the opposing +party, checks development and draws men away from the activities of life +into the domain of fantasy. Leaving their native land with concealed +anger, with the continual thought of going back to it on the morrow, men +make no advance, but are continually thrown back upon the past; hope +hinders them from settling down and undertaking any permanent work; +irritation and trivial but exasperated disputes prevent their escaping +from the familiar circle of questions, thoughts, and memories which make +up an oppressive binding tradition. Men in general, and especially men +in an exceptional position, have such a passion for formalism, for the +coterie spirit, for looking their part, that they immediately fall into +a groove and acquire a doctrinaire stamp. + +All exiles, cut off from the living environment to which they have +belonged, shut their eyes to avoid seeing bitter truths, and grow more +and more used to a narrow, fantastic circle consisting of inert memories +and hopes that will never be realised. + +Add to this, aloofness from all who are not exiles and an element of +exasperation, suspicion, exclusiveness, and jealousy, and this new +stiff-necked Israel becomes perfectly comprehensible. + +The exiles of 1849 did not yet believe in the permanence of their +enemy’s triumph; the intoxication of their recent successes had not +yet passed off, the applause and songs of the victorious people were +still ringing in their ears. They firmly believed that their defeat was +a momentary reverse, and did not unpack their trunks. Meanwhile Paris +was under police supervision, Rome was falling under the onslaught of +the French, the brother of the Prussian King was brutally triumphing in +Baden,[32] while Paskevitch in the Russian style had outwitted Görgei[33] +in Hungary by bribes and promises. Geneva was full to overflowing with +refugees; it became the Coblenz[34] of the revolution of 1848. There +were Italians from all parts; Frenchmen escaping from the Bauchart[35] +inquiry and from the Versailles trial; Baden insurgents, who entered +Geneva marching in regular formation with their officers and with Gustav +Struve; men who had taken part in the rising of Vienna; Bohemians; Poles +from Posen and Galicia. All these people were crowded together between +the Hôtel de Bergues and the Post Office Café. The more sensible of +them began to suspect that this exile would not soon be over, talked of +America, and went away. It was quite the opposite with the majority, and +especially with the French, who, true to their temperament, were in daily +expectation of the death of Napoleon and the birth of a republic—some +looking for a republic both democratic and socialistic, others for one +that should be democratic and not at all socialistic. + +A few days after my arrival, as I was walking in Les Paquis, I met an +elderly gentleman who looked like a Russian village priest, wearing a low +wide-brimmed hat and a _black_ white coat, and walking along with a sort +of priestly unction; beside him stepped a man of terrific proportions, +who looked as though he had been casually put together of immense blocks +of human flesh. F. Kapp,[36] the young writer, was with me. + +‘Don’t you know them?’ he asked me. + +‘No; but, if I’m not mistaken, it must be Lot or Noah out for a walk +with Adam, who has put on a coat several sizes too large instead of his +fig-leaves.’ + +‘They are Struve and Heinzen,’ he answered, laughing: ‘would you like to +make their acquaintance?’ + +‘Very much.’ He introduced me. + +The conversation was trivial. Struve was on his way home, and invited us +to come in; we went with him. His small lodging was crowded with exiles +from Baden. A tall woman, from a distance very good-looking, with a mass +of luxuriant hair flowing loose in an original fashion, was sitting in +the midst of them; this was his wife, the celebrated Amalie Struve. + +Struve’s face made a strange impression on me from the very first; it +expressed that moral rigidity which superstitious bigotry gives to +fanatics and dissenters. Looking at his strong, narrow forehead, at the +untroubled expression of his eyes, at his uncombed beard, his slightly +grizzled hair, and his whole figure, I could have fancied that this +was either a fanatical pastor of the army of Gustavus Adolphus who +had forgotten to die, or a Taborite[37] preaching repentance and the +sacrament under two aspects. There was a surly coarseness about the +appearance of Heinzen,[38] that Sobakevitch of the German revolution; +full-blooded and clumsy, he kept looking angrily from under his brows, +and was sparing of words. He wrote later on that it would be sufficient +to _massacre_ two millions of the inhabitants of the globe and the cause +of revolution would go swimmingly. Anybody who had once seen him would +not be surprised at his writing this. + +I cannot refrain from relating an extremely funny incident which occurred +to me in connection with this cannibalistic project. There was, and +indeed still is, living in Geneva a Dr. R., one of the most good-natured +men in the world and one of the most constant and platonic lovers of the +revolution, the friend of all the refugees; he doctored them gratis as +well as giving them food and drink. However early one might arrive at the +Café de la Poste, the doctor would already be there and already reading +his third or fourth newspaper; he would beckon one mysteriously and +murmur in one’s ear: ‘I fancy it will be a hot day in Paris to-day.’ ‘Why +so?’ ‘I can’t tell you from whom I heard it, but it was a man in close +relations with Ledru-Rollin; he was here on his way through....’ ‘Why, +you were expecting something yesterday and the day before yesterday too, +weren’t you, Doctor?’ ‘Well, what of that? _Stadt Rom war nicht in einem +Tage gebaut._’ + +So it was to him as a friend of Heinzen’s that I appealed in the very +same café when the latter published his philanthropic programme. ‘Why,’ +I said to him, ‘does your friend write such pernicious nonsense? The +reaction is making an outcry, and indeed it has every reason to: he’s a +regular Marat in a German setting! And how can one ask for two million +heads?’ + +R. was confused, but did not like to give his friend away. ‘Listen,’ +he said at last: ‘you have lost sight of one fact, perhaps: Heinzen is +speaking of the whole human race; in that number there would be at least +_two hundred thousand Chinese_.’ ‘Oh, well, that’s a different matter; +why spare them?’ I answered; and for long afterwards I could never think +of this reassuring fact without bursting into laughter. + +Two days after our meeting in Les Paquis, the _garçon_ of the Hôtel de +Bergues, where I was staying, ran up to my room and announced with an air +of importance: ‘General Struve and his adjutants.’ I imagined either +that some one had sent the _garçon_ up as a joke, or that he had made +some blunder; but the door opened and— + + ‘Mit bedächtigem Schritt + Gustav Struve tritt ...’ + +and with him four gentlemen: two were in the military uniform worn in +those days by German students, and had in addition red armlets adorned +with various emblems. Struve presented his suite to me, democratically +referring to them as ‘brothers in exile.’ I learnt with delight that +one of them, a young man of twenty, who looked like a _Bursch_ who had +recently emerged from the ‘_fuchs_’[39] stage, was now successfully +filling the post of minister of home affairs _per interim_. + +Struve at once began instructing me in his theory of the seven scourges, +_die sieben Geissel_—Popes, priests, kings, soldiers, bankers, etc.—and +of the establishment of some new democratic and revolutionary religion. +I observed that if it depended upon us whether to establish a new +religion or not, it would be better not to establish any, but to leave +it to the will of God, as, from the very nature of the case, it was more +His concern. We argued. Struve made some remark about the _Weltseele_; +I observed that in spite of Schelling’s having so clearly defined the +world-soul by calling it _das Schwebende_, I found great difficulty in +grasping it. + +He jumped up from his chair and, coming as close to me as possible, with +the words, ‘Excuse me, allow me,’ began tapping my head with his fingers, +and pressing it with them, as though my skull had been composed of the +keys of a concertina. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he commented, addressing his four +brothers in exile, ‘_Bürger Herzen hat kein, aber auch gar kein Organ +der Venerazion!_’ All were satisfied with the lack of the ‘bump of +reverence’ in me, and I was equally so. + +Hereupon he informed me that he was a great phrenologist, and had not +only written a book on Halle’s system but had even selected his Amalie +from it, after first feeling her skull. He assured me that the bump of +the passions was completely absent in her, and that the back part of +the skull where they are located was almost flat. On these grounds, +sufficient for a divorce, he married her. + +Struve was a very queer fish: he ate nothing but Lenten food, with +the addition of milk, drank no wine, and kept his Amalie on a similar +diet. This was not enough for him: he went every day to bathe with her +in the Arve, the water of which scarcely reaches the temperature of +eight degrees in the middle of summer, as it flows so swiftly from the +mountains that it has not time to get warm. + +Later on it often happened that we talked of vegetarianism. I raised the +usual objections: the formation of the teeth, the great loss of energy in +the digestion of vegetable fibre, and the lower development of the brain +in herbivorous animals. He listened blandly without losing his temper, +but stuck to his opinion. In conclusion, apparently wishing to impress +me, he said: ‘Do you know that a man always nourished on vegetarian diet +so purifies his body as to be quite free from smell after death?’ ‘That’s +very pleasant,’ I replied; ‘but what advantage will that be to me? I +won’t be sniffing myself after death.’ Struve did not even smile, but +said to me with serene conviction: ‘You will speak very differently one +day!’ ‘When my bump of reverence develops,’ I added. + +At the end of 1849 Struve sent me the calendar he had newly devised for +‘free’ Germany. The days, the months, everything had been translated into +an ancient German jargon difficult to understand; instead of saints’ +days, every day was dedicated to the memory of two celebrities—for +instance, to Washington and Lafayette; but, on the other hand, every +tenth day was devoted to the memory of the enemies of mankind—for +instance, Nicholas and Metternich. The holidays were the days when +particularly great men such as Luther and Columbus were commemorated. +In this calendar Struve had the gallantry to replace Christmas on the +twenty-fifth of December by the festival of Amalie! + +Meeting me one day in the street, he said among other things that we +ought to publish in Geneva a journal common to all the exiles, in +three languages, which would carry on the struggle against the ‘seven +scourges’ and maintain the ‘sacred fire’ of the peoples, now crushed by +the reaction. I answered that it would, of course, be a very good thing. +The publishing of papers was at that time an epidemic disease: every +two or three weeks new schemes were started, specimen copies appeared, +prospectuses were sent about, then two or three numbers would come +out—and would all disappear, leaving no trace. People who were incapable +of anything considered themselves competent to edit a paper, scraped +together a hundred francs or so, and spent them on the first and last +number. So I was not in the least surprised at Struve’s intention; but I +was very much surprised by his calling upon me at seven o’clock the next +morning. I thought some misfortune had happened, but Struve, after calmly +settling himself in a chair, brought a sheet of paper out of his pocket +and, preparing to read it, said: ‘_Bürger_, since we agreed yesterday as +to the necessity of publishing a journal, I have come to read you the +prospectus of it.’ + +When he had read it he informed me that he was going to Mazzini and +many others to invite them to meet at Heinzen’s for deliberation on the +subject. I, too, went to Heinzen’s: he was sitting with a ferocious air +at the table, holding a manuscript in one gigantic paw; the other he +held out to me, muttering thickly, ‘_Bürger, platz!_’ + +Some eight persons, French and German, were present. Some +ex-representative of the people in the French National Assembly was +making an estimate of the cost, and writing something in slanting lines. +When Mazzini arrived, Struve proposed reading the prospectus that had +been written by Heinzen. Heinzen cleared his throat and began reading it +in German, although the only language common to all was French. + +Since they had not the faintest shadow of a new idea, the prospectus was +only the thousandth variation of those democratic lucubrations which are +the same sort of rhetorical exercise on revolutionary texts as church +sermons are on those of the Bible. Indirectly guarding himself from a +charge of socialism, Heinzen said that the democratic republic would of +itself solve the economic question to the general satisfaction. The man +who did not flinch at the demand for two million heads was afraid that +his organ would be considered communistic. + +I urged some objection to this when the reading was finished, but from +his abrupt replies, from Struve’s intervention, and from the gestures of +the French deputy, I perceived that we had been invited to the council +to accept Heinzen’s and Struve’s prospectus, not to deliberate upon it; +it was in strict harmony with the theory held by Elpidifor Antiohovitch +Zurov, the military governor of Novgorod.[40] + +Mazzini listened with a melancholy air, but agreed, and was almost the +first to subscribe for two or three shares. ‘_Si omnes consentiunt ego +non dissentio_,’ I thought _à la_ Schufterle in Schiller’s _Robbers_, and +I too subscribed. + +But the subscribers appeared to be few in number; however often the +French deputy added and subtracted, the sum subscribed was insufficient. + +‘Gentlemen,’ said Mazzini, ‘I have thought of a way of getting over the +difficulty: publish the journal at first only in French and German; as +for the Italian translation, I shall put all articles of _interest_ in my +_Italia del Popolo_—that will save you one-third of the expenditure.’ + +‘To be sure! what could be better!’ Mazzini’s proposition was accepted +by all. He grew a little more cheerful. I was awfully amused, and very +eager to show him that I had seen the trick he had played. I went up to +him and, watching for a moment when no one was near us, I said: ‘How +capitally you got out of the journal!’ + +‘Well,’ he observed, ‘an Italian part is really superfluous, you know.’ + +‘So are the two others!’ I added. + +A smile glided over his face and vanished as quickly as though it had +never been there. + +That was the second time of my seeing him. Mazzini, who knew of my stay +in Rome, wanted to make my acquaintance. One morning I went with L. Spini +to see him in Les Paquis. + +When we went in Mazzini was sitting dejectedly at the table listening +to what was being said by a rather tall, graceful, and handsome young +man with fair hair. This was the daring companion-in-arms of Garibaldi, +the defender of Vascello, the leader of the Roman legionaries, Giacomo +Medici. Another young man with an expression of melancholy preoccupation +sat plunged in thought, paying no attention to what was going +forward—this was Mazzini’s colleague in the triumvirate, Marco Aurelio +Saffi. + +Mazzini got up and, looking me straight in the face with his piercing +eyes, held out both hands in a friendly way. Even in Italy a head so +severely classical, so elegant in its gravity, is rarely to be met with. +At moments the expression of his face was harshly austere, but it quickly +grew soft and serene. An active, concentrated intelligence sparkled in +his melancholy eyes; there was an infinity of persistence and strength +of will in them and in the lines on his brow. All his features showed +traces of long years of anxiety, of sleepless nights, of past storms, +of powerful passions, or rather of one powerful passion, and also some +element of fanaticism—perhaps of asceticism. + +Mazzini is very simple and amiable in his manner, but the habit of +rule is apparent, especially in argument; he can scarcely conceal his +annoyance at contradiction, and sometimes does not conceal it. He +knows his strength, and genuinely despises all the external trappings +of dictatorial authority. His popularity was at that time immense. In +his little room, with the everlasting cigar in his mouth, Mazzini at +Geneva, like the Pope in the old days at Avignon, held in his hands the +threads that like a spiritual telegraph system brought him into living +communication with the whole peninsula. He knew every heart-throb of his +party, felt the slightest tremor in it, promptly responded to everything, +and with amazing tirelessness gave general guidance to everything and +every one. + +A fanatic and at the same time an organiser, he covered Italy with a +network of secret societies connected together and devoted to one object. +These societies branched off into arteries that defied detection, split +up, grew smaller and smaller, and vanished in the Apennines and the +Alps, in the regal palazzi of aristocrats and the dark alleys of Italian +towns into which no police can penetrate. Village priests, diligence +conductors, the _principe_ of Lombardy, smugglers, innkeepers, women, +bandits, all were made use of, all were links in the chain that was +bound to him and that was subject to him. From the times of Menotti[41] +and the brothers Bandiera,[42] enthusiastic youths, vigorous men of the +people, vigorous aristocrats, sometimes old men, come forward in constant +succession ... and follow the lead of Mazzini, consecrated by the elder +Buonarotti, the comrade and friend of Gracchus Babeuf,[43] and advance +to the unequal combat, disdainful of chains and the block, and sometimes +at the point of death adding to the shout of ‘_Viva l’Italia!_’ that of +‘_Viva Mazzini!_’ + +There has never been such a revolutionary organisation anywhere, and it +would hardly be possible anywhere but in Italy, unless in Spain. Now +it has lost its old unity and old strength, it is exhausted by the ten +years of martyrdom, it is worn out by loss of blood and the anguish of +suspense, its thought has grown older; and yet what outbursts, what +heroic examples, there are still: Pianori, Orsini, Pisacane! + +I do not think that by the death of one man a country could be raised +from such degradation as France has fallen into now.[44] + +I do not justify the plan on which Pisacane made his attempt;[45] it +seemed to me as ill-timed as the two previous risings in Milan: but +that is not the point. I only mean to speak here of the way in which it +was actually carried out. These men overwhelm one with the grandeur of +their tragic poetry, their terrible strength, and silence all blame and +criticism. I know no instance of greater heroism, among either the Greeks +or the Romans, among the martyrs of Christianity or of the Reformation! + +A handful of vigorous men sail to the luckless shore of Naples, bearing +a challenge, an example, a living witness that all is not yet dead in +the people. The handsome young leader is the first to fall, with the +flag in his hand—and after him the rest fall, or worse still are caught +in the clutches of the Bourbon. The death of Pisacane and the death of +Orsini were like two fearful thunderclaps in a sultry night. Latin Europe +shuddered—the wild boar,[46] terrified, retreated to Caserta and hid +himself in his lair. + +Pale with horror, the man who was driving France in her funeral hearse to +the graveyard trembled in his seat. + +Pisacane’s attempt might well be described among the people in these +poetical lines:—[47] + + ... + Sceser con l’armi, e a noi non fecer guerra, + Ma s’inchinaron per bacciar la terra: + Ad uno ad uno li gardai nel viso: + Tutti aveano una lagrima e un sorriso, + Li disser ladri usciti dalle tane, + Ma non portaron via nemmeno un pane; + E li sentii mandare un solo grido: + Siam venuti a morir pel nostro lido— + Eran trecento, eran giovani e forti: + E sono morti! + + Con gli occhi azzuri, e coi capelli d’oro + Un giovin camminava innanzi a loro. + Mi feci ardita, e, presol per la mano, + Gli chiesi: Dove vai, bel capitano? + Guardommi e mi rispose: O mia sorella, + Vado a morir per la mia patria bella! + Io mi sentii tremare tutto il core; + Nè potei dirgli: V’ aiuti ’l Signore; + Eran trecento, eran giovani e forti: + E sono morti! + + ... + + (L. Mercantini, _La Spigolatrice di Sapri_.) + +In 1849 Mazzini was a power, and it was not for nothing that the +governments feared him; his star was then in its full brilliance—but +it was already setting. It might have maintained itself for long years +yet, growing paler little by little; but after repeated failures and +desperate efforts, it began to decline rapidly. + +Some of Mazzini’s friends allied themselves with Piedmont, others with +Napoleon. Mazzini went his revolutionary bypath, the party split up +into factions, the federal character of the Italians showed itself more +conspicuously. + +Garibaldi himself, in spite of his own feelings, pronounced a severe +criticism on Mazzini, and, influenced by the enemies of the latter, +published a letter in which he indirectly blamed him. + + * * * * * + +This is what has turned Mazzini grey and made him old, this is what has +given a look of bitter intolerance, even exasperation, to his face, to +his glance. But such men do not give in, do not yield; the worse things +go with them, the higher they hold the flag. If Mazzini loses friends +and money, and barely escapes one day from chains and the gallows, on +the next he takes his stand more obstinately and resolutely than ever, +collects fresh money, seeks fresh friends, denies himself everything, +even sleep and food, ponders whole nights over new plans and every time +actually creates them, flings himself again into the conflict, and, again +beaten, sets to work once more with feverish ardour. + +In this unyielding steadiness, in this faith which runs far ahead of +facts, in this inexhaustible activity which failure only incites and +provokes to fresh effort, there is something of grandeur, and, if you +like, something of madness. Often it is just that grain of madness which +is the essential condition of success. It acts on the people’s nerves and +carries them away. A great man acting directly is bound to be a great +maniac, especially with such enthusiastic people as the Italians, who, +moreover, preserve the religious conception of nationality. Only the +sequel can show whether Mazzini has lost his magnetic power over the +Italian masses through his ill-timed and unsuccessful attempts. It is not +reason, it is not logic that leads nations, but faith, love, and hatred. + +The Italian refugees were not superior to the other refugees either in +talent or education. The greater number of them knew nothing, indeed, +but their own poets and their own history. But they were free from the +stereotyped, commonplace stamp of the rank and file of French democrats +(who argue, declaim, and feel exactly the same thing in herds, all going +into ecstasies at once), as well as from the uncouth, coarse, pothouse +character typical of the German refugees. The ordinary French democrat is +a bourgeois _in spe_; the German revolutionary, like the German _Bursch_, +is just the philistine over again in a different stage of development. +The Italians are more original, more individual. + +The French are turned out ready-made by thousands on the same pattern. +The present government was not originally responsible for this +curtailment of individuality, but it has grasped the secret of it. +Absolutely in the French spirit, it has organised public education—that +is, all education, for there is no home education in France. In every +town of the empire the same thing is being taught on the same day, at the +same hour, from the same books. At all examinations the same questions +are asked, the same examples set; teachers who make any departure from +the text, or make any change in the syllabus, are promptly removed. +This soulless uniformity of education has only put into a compulsory +hereditary form what existed unformulated in men’s minds already. + +It is the conventional democratic notion of equality applied to +intellectual development. There is nothing of the sort in Italy. The +Italian, a federalist and an artist by temperament, flies with horror +from every sort of barrack discipline, uniformity and geometrical +regularity. The Frenchman is innately a soldier; he loves discipline, +command, the uniform; he loves to inspire terror. The Italian, if it +comes to that, is rather a bandit than a soldier, and by that I do not +mean anything at all to his discredit. He prefers at the risk of capital +punishment to kill his enemy at his own impulse rather than to kill +by order; but it is without throwing any responsibility on others. He +prefers a meagre livelihood in the mountains, concealing smugglers, to +honoured service in the gendarmerie, discovering them. + +The educated Italian, like us, is developed of his own accord by life, +by his passions, by the books that have happened to come into his hands, +and so attains to understanding of one sort or another. This is why there +are gaps, discords, both in his culture and in ours. Our culture, like +his, is in many respects inferior to the specialised finish of the French +and the theoretical learning of the Germans; but, on the other hand, the +colour is more brilliant both in us and in the Italians. + +We even have the same defects as they. The Italian has the same tendency +to laziness as we: he does not think of work as an enjoyment; he does not +like the worry of it, the weariness of it, the lack of leisure. Industry +in Italy is almost as backward as among us; the Italians, like us, have +treasures lying under their feet and they do not dig them up. Manners in +Italy have not been influenced by the modern bourgeois tendency to the +same degree as in France and in England. + +The history of the Italian petty-bourgeois is quite unlike the +development of the bourgeoisie in France and in England. The wealthy +bourgeois, the descendants _del popolo grasso_, have more than once +successfully rivalled the feudal aristocracy, have been rulers of cities, +and therefore they have been not further from but nearer to the plebeians +and _contadini_ than the rapidly enriched vulgarians of other lands. The +bourgeoisie in the French sense is represented in Italy by a special +class which has come into existence since the first revolution, and which +might be called, as in geology, the Piedmont strata. It is distinguished +in Italy as in the whole continent of Europe by being invariably +liberal in _many_ questions, though in _all_ afraid of the people and +of indiscreet talk about labour and wages, and, what is more, by always +giving way to the enemy above and never to their followers below. + +The Italian exiles were drawn from every possible stratum of society. +There were all sorts to be found about Mazzini, from the old names +that occur in the chronicles of Guicciardini and Muratori to which the +people’s ear has been accustomed for centuries, such as Litti, Borromeo, +del Verme, Belgiojoso, Nani, Visconti, to some half-savage runaway Romeo +from the Abruzzi with his dark olive-coloured face and irrepressible +rashness! Here were clericals too, like Sirtori, the heroic priest who, +at the first firing in Venice, tucked up his cassock, and all through +the siege and defence of Marghera fought, gun in hand, in the foremost +ranks under a shower of bullets; here, too, were the brilliant staff +of Neapolitan officers, such as Pisacane, Cosenz, and the brothers +Mezzocappa. Here, too, were peasants from Trasteverina, faithful and +hard as steel in privation, stern, austere, dumb in calamity, modest +and indomitable like Pianori; and beside them, Tuscans, effeminate even +in pronunciation, but ready for the struggle too. Lastly, there were +Garibaldi, a figure taken straight out of Cornelius Nepos, with the +simplicity of a child and the daring of a lion; and Felice Orsini, whose +beautiful head has so lately rolled from the steps of the scaffold. + +But at their names I must pause. + +I made Garibaldi’s acquaintance in 1854 when he sailed from South America +as the captain of a ship and stayed in the West India Docks; I went to +see him accompanied by one of his comrades in the Roman war, and by +Orsini. Garibaldi, in a thick, light overcoat, with a bright-coloured +scarf around his neck and a cap on his head, struck me as more of +a genuine sailor than as the glorious leader of the Roman legion, +statuettes of whom in fantastic costume were being sold all over the +world. The good-natured simplicity of his manner, the absence of all +affectation, the cordiality with which he received us, all disposed me in +his favour. His crew consisted almost entirely of Italians; he was their +head and chief, and I am sure he was a strict one, but they all looked +happily and affectionately at him; they were proud of their captain. +Garibaldi gave us lunch in his cabin, regaling us with specially prepared +oysters from South America, dried fruits, port—when suddenly he leaped +up, saying, ‘Wait a bit! We will drink a different wine with you,’ and +ran up on deck; then a sailor brought in a bottle; Garibaldi looked at it +with a smile and filled our glasses.... One might have expected anything +from a man who had crossed the ocean, but it was nothing more nor less +than a bottle with the label of his native town Nice, which he had +brought with him to London from America. + +Meanwhile, in his simple and unceremonious talk one was more and more +conscious of the presence of strength; without phrases and commonplaces, +the people’s leader, who had amazed all old soldiers by his valour, was +revealed, and it was easy to recognise in the ship-captain the wounded +lion who, fighting at every step, retreated after the taking of Rome +and, as he lost his followers, gathered together again at San Marino, +at Ravenna, in Lombardy, in the Tyrol, in Tessino, soldiers, peasants, +bandits, any one of any sort to strike back at the foe—and all this +beside the body of his wife, who had succumbed to the hardships and +privations of the march. + +In 1854 his opinions were widely divergent from those of Mazzini, +although he was on good terms with him. He told him in my presence that +Piedmont ought not to be irritated, that the chief aim now was to shake +off the Austrian yoke, and he greatly doubted whether Italy was as ready +for union and a republic as Mazzini imagined. He was entirely opposed to +all projects and attempts at insurrection. + +When he was about to sail for coal to Newcastle-on-Tyne and was from +there setting off to the Mediterranean, I told him how immensely I liked +his seafaring life, and that of all the exiles he was the one who had +chosen the better part. + +‘And who forbids them doing the same?’ he replied with warmth. ‘This +was my cherished dream; you may laugh at it if you like, but I cherish +it still. I am known in America: I could have three or four such boats +under my command. I could take all the refugees on them: the sailors, +the lieutenants, the workmen, the cooks, might all be exiles. What can +they do now in Europe? Grow used to slavery and be false to themselves, +or go begging in England. Settling in America is worse still—that’s the +end, that’s the country “of forgetting the fatherland”: it is a new +fatherland, there are new interests, everything is different; men who +have settled in America fall out of the ranks. What is better than my +idea?’ (his face beamed): ‘what could be better than gathering together +round a few masts and floating over the ocean, hardening ourselves in the +rough life of sailors, in conflict with the elements and with danger? +A floating revolution, ready to land on any shore, independent and +unassailable!’ + +At that moment he seemed to me a hero of antiquity, a figure out of the +_Æneid_ ... who—had he lived in other ages—would have had his legend, his +‘Arma virumque cano!’ + +Orsini was a man of quite a different type. He showed to the full his +wild strength and terrific energy on the 14th of January 1858, in the +rue Lepelletier; they won him a great name in history, and brought +his head under the knife of the guillotine at thirty-six. I made the +acquaintance of Orsini at Nice in 1851; at times we were even very +intimate, then drifted apart, came together again, and in the end ‘a +grey cat ran between us’ in 1856, and, though we were reconciled, we +never felt the same to each other again. Such types as Orsini are only +developed in Italy; on the other hand, they appear there at all times, +in all ages: they are conspirators and artists, martyrs and adventurers, +patriots, _condottiere_, Teverina and Rienzi, anything you like, but +not vulgar, petty, commonplace, bourgeois. Such characters stand out +vividly in the chronicles of every Italian city. They amaze us by their +goodness, they amaze us by their wickedness, and they impress us by the +strength of their passions and by the strength of their will. The yeast +of restlessness is fermenting in them from early years—they must have +danger, they must have laurels, glory, fame; they are purely southern +natures, with hot blood in their veins, with passions almost beyond +our understanding, ready for any privation, for any sacrifice, from a +sort of thirst of enjoyment. Self-denial and devotion in them go hand +in hand with revengefulness and intolerance; they are simple in many +ways and cunning in many ways. Reckless as to the means they use, they +are reckless, too, of danger; descendants of the Roman patricians and +children in Christ of the Jesuit fathers, reared on classic memories +and the traditions of mediæval turmoils, a mass of ancient virtues and +catholic vices are fermenting in their souls. They set no value on their +own lives nor on the lives of others either; their terrific persistence +is on a level with Anglo-Saxon obstinacy. On the one hand there is a +naïve love of the external, an _amour propre_ bordering on vanity, a +voluptuous desire to have their fill of applause, of glory; on the other, +all the Roman heroism in face of privation and death. + +People of this energy can only be checked by the guillotine. Scarcely do +they escape from the gendarmes of Sardinia before they begin hatching +plots in the very claws of the Austrian hawk; and the day after a +miraculous rescue from the dungeons of Mantua they begin, with hands +still bleeding from the leap to freedom, to sketch a plan of grenades, +then, face to face with danger, fling them under a carriage. In the hour +of failure they rise to titanic heights, and by their death deal a blow +more powerful than a bursting grenade.... + +As a young man Orsini had fallen into the hands of the secret police +of Pope Gregory XIV.; he was condemned for taking part in the movement +in Rome and sentenced to the galleys, and remained in prison till the +amnesty of Pius IX. From this life with smugglers, with bravoes, with +survivors of the Carbonari, he gained a temper of iron and an immense +knowledge of the national spirit. From these men, who were daily in +conflict with the society which oppressed them, he learnt the art of +self-control, the art of being silent not only before a judge but even +with his friends. + +Men of Orsini’s stamp have a great influence on others: people are +attracted by their reserved character and at the same time are not at +home with them; one looks at them with the nervous pleasure, mingled with +uneasiness, with which one admires the graceful movements and velvety +gambols of a panther. They are children, but not good children. Not only +Dante’s hell is ‘paved’ with them, but all the later centuries nurtured +on his sinister poetry and the malignant wisdom of Machiavelli are full +of them. Mazzini, too, belongs to their family, in the way that Cosimo +Medici did; Orsini, in the way that Giovanni Procida did. One cannot even +exclude from them the great ‘adventurer of the sea,’ Columbus, nor the +still greater ‘bandit’ of later days, Napoleon Buonaparte. + +Orsini was strikingly handsome; his whole appearance, elegant and +graceful, could not but attract attention; he was quiet, spoke little, +gesticulated less than his fellow-countrymen, and never raised his voice. +The long black beard, as he wore it in Italy, made him look like some +young Etruscan priest. His whole head was extraordinarily beautiful, only +a little marred by the irregular line of the nose.[48] And all the same +there was something in Orsini’s features, in his eyes, in his frequent +smile and his gentle voice, that checked intimacy. It was evident that +he was holding himself in, that he never fully let himself go and was +wonderfully self-controlled; it was evident that not one word fell from +those smiling lips without intention, that there were depths behind those +inwardly shining eyes, that, where we should hesitate and step back, +he would smile and without a change of face or tone of voice, would go +forward, remorseless and undoubting. + +In the spring of 1852 Orsini was expecting very important news in +regard to his family affairs: he was worried at not getting a letter; +he told me so several times, and I knew in what anxiety he was living. +At dinner-time one day, when two or three outsiders were present, the +postman came into the entry: Orsini sent to ask if there was a letter for +him; it appeared that there was; he glanced at it, put it in his pocket, +and went on with the conversation. An hour and a half later, when we were +alone with him, Orsini said to us: ‘Well, thank God, at last I have +got the answer, and it is all very good news.’ We, knowing that he was +expecting a letter, had not guessed that this was it, with so unconcerned +an air had he opened it and then put it into his pocket. A man like that +is a born conspirator. And he was one, indeed, all his life. + +And what was accomplished by him with his energy, by Garibaldi with +his daring, by Pianori with his revolver, by Pisacane and the other +martyrs whose blood is not yet dry? Italy will be delivered from the +Austrians, if at all, by Piedmont; as it was from the Bourbon of +Naples by fat Murat, both under the protection of a Buonaparte. Oh, +_divina Commedia_?—or simply _Commedia_! in the sense in which Pope +Chiaramonti[49] said it to Napoleon in Fontainebleau.... + +I became very intimate later on with the two men of whom I spoke when +describing my first meeting with Mazzini. + +Medici was a Lombard. In his early youth, unhappy at the hopeless +position of Italy, he went to Spain, afterwards to Monte Video and to +Mexico; he served in the ranks of the Cristinos[50]—was, I believe, a +captain—and at last returned to his native place after the election +of Mastai Ferretti.[51] Italy was showing signs of life; Medici threw +himself into the movement. He performed miracles of valour at the head +of the Roman legionaries during the siege; but the French hordes entered +Rome all the same over the bodies of many noble victims—over the dead +body of Laviron, who, as though to atone for the crime of his country, +was fighting against it, and fell, struck down by a French bullet at the +gates of Rome. + +One would imagine a tribune and warrior like Medici as a _condottiero_ +bronzed by gunpowder and the tropical sun, with bold features, with +abrupt words and vigorous gesticulation. Pale, fair, with soft features, +eyes full of gentleness, and elegant manners, Medici was more like a man +who has spent his whole life in the society of ladies than a guerilla +chieftain and an agitator. A poet, a dreamer, at that time passionately +in love—everything about him was elegant and attractive. + +The few weeks spent with him at Geneva did me a great deal of good. It +was the very blackest period for me, in 1852, six weeks after the burial +of my wife. I was utterly shattered: every signpost, every guiding clue +was lost; I do not know whether I was even then like one demented, as +Orsini said in his diary, but I was certainly in a bad way. Medici was +sorry for me; he did not say so, but late in the evening, at twelve +o’clock, he sometimes knocked at my door and came in to talk with me, +sitting on my bed. (Once when we were chatting like this we caught a +scorpion on the quilt.) He would sometimes knock, too, between six +and seven in the morning, saying, ‘It’s a lovely day, let us go to +Albaro’—that was where the Spanish beauty lived with whom he was in love. +He had no hope of a speedy change of circumstances; before him was a +prospect of years of exile, everything was growing worse and gloomier; +but there was something youthful, gay, sometimes naïve, about him. I have +noticed the same thing in almost all characters of that mould. + +On the day of my departure several friends came to dine with me—Pisacane, +Mordini, and Cosenz.[52] ... ‘Why is it,’ I asked in jest, ‘that our +friend Medici, with his fair hair and northern aristocratic face, reminds +me more of a Vandyck cavalier than of an Italian?’ ‘That’s natural,’ +Pisacane went on, still in jest: ‘Giacomo is a Lombard, he is descended +from some German Ritter.’ ‘Fratelli,’ said Medici, ‘there is not a single +drop of German blood in these veins!’ ‘It’s all very well for you to +talk; no, you must bring proofs, explain why you have the features of +a northerner,’ the former went on. ‘Oh, well,’ said Medici, ‘if I have +the features of a northerner, I suppose one of my ancestresses must have +forgotten herself with a Pole!’ + +Saffi had the purest and most candid nature that I have met in a man not +Russian. The men of Western Europe are often not very intelligent, and +so seem simple and slow-witted; but gifted natures are rarely simple. +In Germans one meets with the disgusting simplicity of immaturity in +practical life; among the English the simplicity that is due to slowness +of mind, to their always seeming half asleep and not being able to wake +up properly. On the other hand, the French are for ever taken up with +_arrière-pensées_, and absorbed in playing their part. Together with +the lack of simplicity they have another defect: they are all very poor +actors, and do not know how to conceal their little game. Affectation, +boasting, and a habit of fine phrases have so entered into their flesh +and blood that men have perished, have paid with their lives, for the +part they were playing, and yet their sacrifice has been all falsity. +These are terrible things, and many are indignant at their being put +into words, but it is still more terrible to deceive oneself. That is +why it is so comforting, so easy to breathe, when in this jostling +crowd of pretentious mediocrities and insufferable, affected, and +self-glorifying talents one meets a strong man free from the slightest +artificiality, free from pretentiousness, free from the vanity that jars +like a knife scratching on a plate. It is like coming out of a stuffy +theatre-corridor lighted by lamps, after an afternoon performance, into +the sunshine—breathing fresh, wholesome air and seeing real lime trees +after cardboard magnolias and sailcloth palm trees. Saffi is one of these +men. Mazzini, old Armellini, and he were the triumvirate in the time of +the Roman Republic. Saffi was in charge of the ministry of home affairs, +and, up to the end of the struggles with the French, was in a foremost +place, and that meant then under the bullets and cannon-shot. + +He returned from exile and once more crossed the Apennines; he made this +sacrifice with no faith in it, from a sense of duty, from a feeling of +great devotion, that he might not wound some, that his absence might +not be a bad example. He spent some weeks in Bologna, where he would +have been shot within twenty-four hours if he had been caught; his task +was not simply to conceal himself—he had to act, to prepare for action, +whilst awaiting news from Milan. I never heard from him about the details +of this part of his life. But I did hear about it, a great deal about +it, from a man who might well be a good judge of deeds of daring, and I +heard it at a time when their personal relations were greatly strained. +Orsini had accompanied him across the Apennines; he used to tell me with +enthusiasm of the even, calm serenity, of the light, almost gay, mood of +Saffi at the time when they were going down the mountains on foot; with +the enemy almost within sight, Saffi would carelessly sing folk-songs and +repeat verses of Dante.... I imagine he would have gone to the stake with +the same verses and the same songs on his lips, with no thought at all of +his heroism. + +In London, at Mazzini’s or at his friends’, Saffi was mostly silent; he +rarely took part in argument, sometimes grew eager for a minute and then +subsided again. They did not understand him, that was clear to me, _il +ne savait pas se faire valoir_ ... but I never heard from one of the +Italians who fell away from Mazzini one word, one slightest hint, against +Saffi. + +One evening an argument sprang up between Mazzini and me about Leopardi. + +There are poems of Leopardi with which I am passionately in sympathy. +Much of his work, like Byron’s, is spoilt by theorising, but sometimes a +line of his, like one of Byron’s, stabs, hurts, wrings the heart. There +are such words, such lines, in Lermontov; there are some in the iambics +of Barbier.[53] + +Leopardi was the last book read, looked at before her death, by +Natalie.... + +To men of action, to agitators who move the masses, these bitter +hesitations, these heartrending doubts are incomprehensible. They see in +them nothing but profitless lamentation, nothing but feeble despondency. +Mazzini could not like Leopardi—that I knew beforehand; but he attacked +him with a sort of exasperation. I felt very much vexed; of course, +he was angry with him for being of no use for propaganda. In the same +way Frederick II. might have been angry with him ... I do not know ... +well, for instance, because he would be of no use as a soldier. It is +the revolting desire to restrict the free play of personality, to force +men into categories and ranks—as though political activity were like +serf-labour to which the bailiffs drive weak and strong, willing and +unwilling alike, without consulting their wishes. Mazzini was angry. Half +in jest and half in earnest, I said to him: ‘I believe you have a grudge +against poor Leopardi for not having taken part in the Roman revolution; +but you know he has an excellent reason to urge in his defence—you keep +forgetting it!’ + +‘What reason?’ + +‘Why, the fact that he died in 1836.’ + +Saffi could not resist defending the poet whom he loved even more than I +did and of course understood even more deeply: he analysed him with that +æsthetic, artistic feeling in which a man rather reveals aspects of his +spirit than ‘thinks.’ + +From this conversation, and from a few more like it, I saw that their +path was not really the same. The thought of one is seeking means, +concentrated on means alone—that is, in a sense running away from doubt; +it thirsts for nothing but practical activity, and that is in a way +indolence. To the other, objective truth is precious and his mind is +working; moreover, to an artistic nature art is precious in itself, apart +from its relation to reality. + +Leaving Mazzini, we talked for a long time yet of Leopardi. His poems +were in my pocket; we went into a café and read several of my favourite +ones. + +That was sufficient. When men are in sympathy, in the finer shades, they +need not speak of many things—it is clear that they are at one about +vivid colours and deep shadows. + +Speaking of Medici, I mentioned a deeply tragic figure, Laviron. My +acquaintance with him was brief; he flashed by me and vanished in a cloud +of blood. Laviron was an engineer and an architect who had completed his +studies at the Polytechnique. I made his acquaintance in the very heyday +of the revolution, between the 24th of February and the 15th of May (he +was then a captain in the National Guard). The vigorous, stern where +necessary, and gay, good-natured Gallo-Frankish blood of the ’nineties +coursed unmixed in his veins. I imagine that the architect Kleber +was of the same stamp when he carried earth in a wheelbarrow with the +young actor Talma clearing a space for the festival of the Federation. +Laviron belonged to the small number of men who were not intoxicated by +the victory of the 24th of February and the proclamation of a republic. +He was at the barricades when they were fighting, and in the Hôtel de +Ville when those who had not fought were electing dictators: when a new +government came into the town-hall like a _deus ex machina_, he loudly +protested against its composition, and, together with a few vigorous men, +asked where it had come from, why it was the government? With perfect +consistency, on the 15th of May Laviron burst with the Parisian populace +into the bourgeois assembly and, with an unsheathed sword in his hand, +forced the president to admit the orators of the people to the tribune. +The cause was lost and Laviron was forced into hiding. He was judged and +condemned _par contumace_. The reaction was drunk with success; it felt +strong for combat and soon strong for conquest—then came the June days, +proscriptions, exiles, the _Blue_ terror. It was just at that period that +I was sitting one evening on the boulevard in front of Tortoni’s in a +crowd of all sorts of people, and, as is always the case in Paris—under +constitutional and unconstitutional monarchy, under the republic and +under the empire—spies were scattered about everywhere amongst them. +Suddenly—I could not believe my eyes—Laviron walked up to me. ‘How are +you?’ he said. ‘What madness is this?’ I answered in an undertone, and +taking him by the arm I walked away from Tortoni’s. ‘How can you expose +yourself like this, and especially just now?’ + +‘If only you knew how dreary it is to sit shut up in hiding! it’s enough +to drive one crazy.... I sat thinking and thinking, and then went out for +a walk.’ + +‘But why on the boulevard?’ + +‘That makes no difference. I am less known here than on the other side +of the Seine, and who would dream of my walking about by Tortoni’s? I am +going away, though.... + +‘Where?’ + +‘To Geneva. Everything is so dreary and sickening; we have terrible +calamities ahead of us. Everywhere there is change for the worse, and +pettiness is everywhere and in everything. Well, good-bye—good-bye; and +may our next meeting be a more cheerful one.’ + +In Geneva Laviron worked as an architect, and was building something when +suddenly war was declared ‘for the Pope’ against Rome. The French made +their treacherous attack on Cività Vecchia, and were approaching Rome. +Laviron threw down his calipers and galloped off to Rome. ‘You need an +engineer, an artilleryman, a soldier. I am a Frenchman. I am ashamed of +France, and go to fight against my countrymen,’ he said to the triumvirs, +and joined the ranks of the Romans as a sacrifice of atonement for his +country. With gloomy daring he headed the advance; when everything was +lost he still fought on, and fell at the gates of Rome, shot down by a +French bullet. + +The French newspapers greeted his death with a shower of abuse, claiming +that it was the judgment of God on an infamous traitor to his country!... + +When a man who has long been watching black curls and black eyes suddenly +turns to a fair-haired woman with light-coloured eyebrows, pale and +nervous, his eyes always receive a shock and cannot at once get over it. +The difference of which he has not been thinking, which he has forgotten, +produces an involuntary physical effect upon him. + +Exactly the same thing happens when one turns quickly from the Italian +circles to the German. + +Undoubtedly the Germans are more developed on the theoretical side +than any other people, but they have not gained much by it so far. +From Catholic fanaticism they have passed to the Protestant pietism of +transcendental philosophy and the romance of philology, and are now +gradually making the transition to exact science; the German ‘studies +diligently at all his stages,’ and his whole history is summed up in +that, and he will get marks for it on the Day of Judgment. The common +people of Germany, who have studied less, have suffered a great deal; +they bought the right to Protestantism by the Thirty Years’ War, the +right to an independent existence—that is, to a colourless existence +under the supervision of Russia—by the struggle with Napoleon. The +emancipation in 1814 and 1815 was the complete victory of the reaction; +and when, in place of Jerome Buonaparte, _der Landesvater_ appeared in +a powdered wig and an old-fashioned uniform long laid by, and announced +that next day was fixed, let us say, for the forty-fifth parade (the one +before, the forty-fourth, had taken place before the revolution), then +all the emancipated people felt as though they had suddenly lost touch +with the present and gone back to another age, and every one felt his +head to see if he had grown a pigtail with a ribbon on it. The people +accepted this with simple-hearted foolishness, and sang Körner’s songs. +Science and learning advanced. Greek tragedies were performed in Berlin, +there were dramatic triumphs for Goethe in Weimar. + +The most radical men among the Germans remain philistines in their +private life. Bold as they are in logic, they feel no obligation to +be consistent in practice, and fall into glaring contradictions. +The German mind, in matters revolutionary as well as in everything +else, accepts the general idea in its unconditional—of course, that +is, unreal—significance, and is satisfied with working it out +intellectually, imagining that a thing is done when it is understood, and +that the fact as easily follows the thought as the meaning of the fact is +grasped by the consciousness. + +The English and the French are full of prejudices, while a German is +free from them; but both French and English are more consistent in their +lives—the rule they follow is perhaps absurd, but it is what they have +accepted. The German accepts nothing except reason and logic, but he is +ruled in many things by _other considerations_—this is selling the soul +for bribes. + +The Frenchman is not morally free: though rich in initiative in practical +life, he is poor in abstract thought. He thinks in received conceptions, +in accepted forms; he gives a fashionable cut to commonplace ideas, and +is satisfied with them. It is hard for him to take in anything new, +although he does rush at it. The Frenchman oppresses his family and +believes it is his duty to do so, just as he believes in the ‘Legion +of Honour’ and the authority of the law-courts. The German believes in +nothing, but takes advantage of public prejudices where it suits him. He +is accustomed to trivial comfort, to _Wohlbehagen_, to peace and quiet, +and, as he goes from his study to the _Prunkzimmer_ or his bedroom, +sacrifices his free thought to his dressing-gown, to his peace and +quiet, and to his kitchen. The German is a great Sybarite, though this +characteristic is not noticed in him, because his poor and narrow luxury +and petty mode of life are not very much to look at; but the Eskimo who +is ready to sacrifice everything for fish-fat is as much an epicurean +as Lucullus. Moreover, the German, lymphatic by temperament, soon grows +heavy and sends down a thousand roots into his familiar mode of life; +anything that might disturb him in his habits terrifies his philistine +temper. + +All the German revolutionaries are cosmopolitans, _sie haben überwunden +den Standpunkt der Nationalität_, and are filled with the most touchy, +most obstinate patriotism. They are ready to accept an all-world +republic, to abolish the frontiers between states, but Trieste and Danzig +must belong to Germany. The Vienna students were not above setting +off for Lombardy under the command of Radetsky; they even, under the +leadership of some professor, took a cannon, which they presented to +Innsbrück. With this conceited and martial patriotism, Germany has, +from the time of the first revolution and up to this day, looked with +horror to the right and with horror to the left. On this side, France +with standards unfurled is crossing the Rhine; on that side, Russia is +crossing the Niemen, and the people numbering twenty-five millions finds +itself utterly forlorn and deserted, is scolding with terror, full of +hatred from terror, and to comfort itself proving theoretically from +authentic sources that the existence of France is no longer existence, +while the existence of Russia is not yet existence. + +The ‘council of war’ assembled in St. Paul’s Church in Frankfort, +and consisting of various worthy doctors, theologians, chemists, +philologists, and professors, _sehr ausgezeichneten in ihrem Fache_, +applauded the Austrian soldiers in Lombardy and oppressed the Poles +in Posen. The very question of Schleswig-Holstein (_stammverwandt!_) +was only a subject of interest to them from the point of view of +‘_Teutschtum_.’ The first free word, uttered after centuries of silence +by the representatives of emancipated Germany, was in opposition to weak +and depressed nationalities. This incapacity for freedom, these awkwardly +revealed inclinations to retain what had been unjustly acquired, provoke +irony: one forgives insolent pretensions only when accompanied by +vigorous actions, and those were absent. + +The revolution of 1848 had everywhere the character of hastiness and +precipitate action, but there was scarcely anything absurd about it in +France and in Italy; in Germany, however, everywhere except in Vienna, +it had a farcical character, incomparably more comic than the humour of +Goethe’s wretched farce, _Der Bürgergeneral_. + +There was not a town, not a spot in Germany where at the time of the +rising there was not an attempt at a ‘committee of public safety’ with +all its principal characters: with a frigid youth as Saint-Just, with +gloomy terrorists, and a military genius representing Carnot. I knew two +or three Robespierres personally: they always put on clean shirts, washed +their hands, and had clean nails. On the other hand, there were also +dishevelled Collots d’Herbois; and if there happened to be a man in the +club fonder of beer than the rest and more openly given to dangling after +_Stubermädchen_—he was the Danton, _eine schweigende Natur_! + +French weaknesses and defects are partly dissipated by their light and +fugitive character. In the German the same defects assume a more solid +and fundamental character, and hence are more striking. One must see for +oneself these German efforts to play _so einen burschikosen Kamin de +Paris_ in politics in order to do them justice. I was always reminded +of the playfulness of a cow when that excellent and respectable animal, +adorned with all the domestic virtues, takes to frisking and galloping in +the meadow, and with a serious face kicks up her two hind legs or gallops +sideways chasing her own tail. + +After the Dresden affair, I met in Geneva one of the agitators who had +taken part in it, and began at once questioning him about Bakunin. He +lauded him up to the skies, and began describing how he had himself +commanded a barricade under his instructions. Inflamed by his own +narrative he went on: ‘A revolution is a thunderstorm; in it one must +listen neither to the dictates of the heart nor to considerations of +ordinary justice.... One must oneself have taken part in such events +fully to understand the Montagne of 1794. Only imagine: we suddenly +observe a vague movement in the royalist party, false reports were +intentionally circulated, suspicious-looking men appeared. I reflected +and reflected, and at last resolved to _terrorise_ my street. “_Männer!_” +I said to my company, “under pain of court-martial, which may at once +sentence you to death in case of disobedience, I command you to seize +every one, regardless of sex, age, or calling, who attempts to cross the +barricade, and to bring him under close guard to me.” This was kept up +for more than twenty-four hours. If the _Bürger_ who was brought to me +was a good patriot, I let him go; but if he was a suspicious character, +then I gave the signal to the guard.’ + +‘And,’ I said with horror, ‘and they?’ + +‘And they accompanied him home,’ the terrorist replied with pride and +satisfaction. + +I will add another anecdote illustrating the character of the German +champions of freedom. + +The youth whom I mentioned, when describing my visit to Gustav Struve, as +filling the post of minister of home affairs wrote me a note a few days +later in which he asked me to find him work of some sort. I suggested +that he should copy for the press the manuscript of my _Vom anderen +Ufer_ from the handwriting of Kapp, to whom I had dictated it in German +from the Russian original. The young man accepted the proposal. A few +days later he told me that he was so uncomfortably lodged with several +students that he had neither space nor quiet to work, and asked leave to +copy it in Kapp’s room. Even there the work made little progress. The +minister _per interim_ arrived at eleven o’clock in the morning, lay on +the sofa, smoked cigars, drank beer ... and went off in the evenings to +gatherings and consultations at Struve’s. Kapp, a man of the greatest +delicacy, was ashamed of him. A week or more passed in this way. Kapp +and I said nothing, but the ex-minister broke the silence: he wrote me a +note asking me for _a hundred francs in advance_ for the work. I wrote +him that he was working so slowly that I could not give him such a sum in +advance, but that since he was in great need of money I was sending him +twenty francs, although he had not yet done ten francs’ worth of copying. + +In the evening the minister appeared at the gathering at Struve’s and +reported on my anti-civic action and my misuse of my fortune. The +worthy minister considered that socialism consisted not in a social +organisation, but in a senseless partition of senselessly acquired +property! + +In spite of the amazing chaos prevailing in Struve’s brains, he did, +being an honest man, consider that I was not altogether to blame, and +that it might be better for the _Bürger und Bruder_ to copy more and ask +less money in advance. He persuaded him not to make a great outcry over +the story. + +‘Well, then, I shall send him back the money—_mit Verachtung_,’ said the +minister. + +‘What nonsense!’ cried a student. ‘If the _Bruder und Bürger_ does not +care to take the money, I suggest that we spend it on beer and send out +for some at once to drink to the perdition _der Besitzenden_.’ + +‘Do you agree?’ + +‘Yes, yes, we all agree—bravo!’ + +‘We will drink,’ cried the orator, ‘and pledge ourselves not to bow to +the Russian aristocrat who has insulted the _Bruder_.’ + +‘Yes, yes, we must not bow to him.’ + +And so they drank the beer and gave up bowing to me. + +All these absurd failings, together with the peculiar _Plumpheit_ of +the Germans, jar upon the southern nature of the Italians and excite a +physical, racial hatred in them. The worst of it is that the good side +of the Germans, that is, their philosophical culture, is either of no +interest to the Italian or beyond his ken; while the vulgar, ponderous +side is always conspicuous. The Italian often leads the most frivolous +and idle life, but with a certain artistic, rhythmic grace about it, and +that is why he can least put up with the bear-like joking and clumsy +familiarity of the jovial German. + +The Anglo-Germanic race is far coarser than the Franco-Roman. There is +no help for that: it is its physical characteristic; it is absurd to +be angry with it. The time has come to accept once for all that the +different races of mankind, like different species of animals, have their +different characteristics and are not to blame for them. No one is angry +with the bull for not having the beauty of the horse or the swiftness of +the stag; no one reproaches the horse because its flesh is not so good to +eat as that of the ox: all that we can ask of them in the name of animal +brotherhood is to graze peaceably in the same field without kicking +or goring each other. In nature, everything attains to whatever it is +capable of attaining to, is formed as chance determines, and so takes +its generic _pli_: training goes some distance, corrects one thing and +develops another; but to expect beef-steaks from horses, or horses’ paces +from bulls, is nevertheless absurd. + +To grasp concretely the difference between the two opposite traditions +of the European races, one has but to glance at the street-boys in Paris +and in London; I take them as an example because they are absolutely +spontaneous in their rudeness. + +Look how the Parisian _gamins_ jeer at any queer Englishman, and how the +London street-boys mock at a Frenchman; in this little instance the two +opposite types of two European races are sharply defined. The Parisian +_gamin_ is insolent and persistent, he can be insufferable: but, in the +first place, he is witty, his mischief is limited to jests, and he is as +amusing as he is annoying; and, in the second, there are words at which +he blushes and at once desists, there are words which he never uses; it +is difficult to stop him by roughness, and if the victim lifts his stick +I would not answer for the consequences. It must be noted, too, that the +French boys need something to attract their attention: a red waistcoat +with blue stripes, a brick-coloured coat, a strange-looking muffler, a +flunkey carrying a parrot or a dog, things only done by Englishmen and, +take note, only outside England. To be simply a foreigner is not enough +to make them mock and run after you. + +The wit of the London street-boys is simpler. It begins with guffawing at +the sight of a foreigner,[54] if only he has a moustache, a beard, or a +wide-brimmed hat; then they shout some twenty times: ‘_French pig! French +dog!_’ If the foreigner turns to them with some reply, the neighings and +bleatings are redoubled; if he walks away, the boys run after him—then +all that is left is the _ultima ratio_ of lifting a stick, and sometimes +bringing it down on one of them. After that the boys run away full speed, +dropping oaths and sometimes throwing mud or a stone from a distance. + +In France, a grown-up workman, shopman, or woman selling wares in the +street never takes part with the _gamins_ in the pranks they play upon +foreigners; in London, all the dirty women, all the grown-up shopmen +grunt like pigs and abet the boys. + +In France there is one shield which at once checks the most persistent +boy—that is, poverty. In the country that knows no word more insulting +than the word _beggar_, the foreigner is the more persecuted the poorer +and more defenceless he is. One Italian refugee, who had once been an +officer in the Austrian cavalry and had left his country after the war, +completely destitute, when winter came, wore his greatcoat of a military +officer. This excited such a sensation in the market-place through which +he had to pass every day, that the shouts of ‘Who’s your tailor?’ roars +of laughter, and finally tugging at his collar, forced the Italian at +last to give up his greatcoat and, shivering to the marrow of his bones, +to go about in his jacket. + +This coarseness in street mockery, this lack of delicacy and tact in the +common people, helps to explain how it is that women are nowhere beaten +so often and so badly as in England,[55] how it is that an English father +is ready to cast dishonour on his own daughter and a husband on his wife +by taking legal proceedings against them. + +The rude manners of the English streets are a great offence at first to +the French and the Italians. The German, on the other hand, receives them +with laughter and answers with similar rudeness; an interchange of abuse +is kept up, end he is very well pleased with it. They both take it as a +civility, a pleasant joke. ‘Bloody dog!’ the proud Briton shouts at him, +grunting like a pig. ‘Beastly John Bull!’ answers the German, and each +goes on his way. + +This behaviour is not confined to the streets: one has but to look at +the polemics of Marx, Heinzen, Ruge, _et consorts_, which were unceasing +from 1849, have never ceased, and are still kept up on the other side of +the Atlantic Ocean. We are unaccustomed to see in print such expressions, +such accusations: nothing is spared, no respect is paid to personal +honour, to the privacy of the family or the inviolability of a secret. + +Among the English, coarseness disappears as we rise higher in the +scale of intelligence or aristocratic breeding; among the Germans it +never disappears. The greatest poets of Germany (with the exception of +Schiller) fall into the most uncouth vulgarity. + +One of the reasons of the _mauvais ton_ of Germans is that breeding in +our sense of the word does not exist in Germany at all. Germans are +taught, and taught a great deal, but they are not educated at all, +even in the aristocracy, in which the manners of the barracks, of the +_Junker_, are predominant. They are completely lacking in the æsthetic +sense in daily life. The French have lost it, just as they have lost the +elegance of their language; the Frenchman of to-day rarely knows how to +write a letter free from legal or commercial expressions—the counter and +the barrack-room have distorted their manners. + +To conclude this comparison, I will describe an incident in which I saw +with my own eyes and face to face the gulf which separates the Italians +from the _Tedeschi_, and which there will be no bridging for years to +come by any number of amnesties or manifestoes of the brotherhood of +nations. + +I was travelling with Tessier du Mothe, in 1852, from Genoa to Lugano. We +reached Arona by night, and, inquiring when the steamer started, learned +that it was at eight o’clock next morning, and went to bed. At half-past +seven the porter came to take our trunks, and by the time we reached the +landing-stage they were already on deck. But in spite of that we looked +at each other with some perplexity instead of going on board. + +A huge white flag with the two-headed eagle on it was fluttering over +the hissing and swaying steamer, and on the stern was painted the name, +_Fürst Radetsky_. We had forgotten to ask overnight what steamer was +going, whether an Austrian or a Sardinian. Tessier had at the Versailles +trial been condemned _in contumaciam_ to deportation. Though Austria had +nothing to do with that, yet surely it would seize the opportunity to +keep him in prison for six months, at any rate, while making inquiries. +The example of Bakunin showed what they were capable of doing with me. +By agreement with Piedmont, the Austrians had not the right to demand +passports from those who without landing on the Lombard shore went to +Mogadino, which belongs to Switzerland; but I imagine they would not, +if opportunity arose, disdain so simple a means of seizing Mazzini or +Kossuth. + +‘Well,’ said Tessier, ‘to go back is absurd!’ + +‘Well, let’s go ahead, then!’ and we went on deck. + +Just before starting, the passengers were surrounded by a detachment +of soldiers armed with guns—what for? I do not know. Two small cannon, +fastened in a special way, stood on the steamer. When the steamer set +off the soldiers were dismissed. On the cabin walls hung regulations: +among them was the statement that those passengers who were not going to +Lombardy need not show their passports; but it was added that if any one +of such persons were guilty of any offence against the K.K. (Kaiserlich +Königlichen) police regulations he must be judged according to the laws +of Austria. _Or donc_, wearing a Calabrian hat or a tricolor cockade was +a crime against Austria. Only then I fully appreciated what clutches +we were caught in. However, I am far from regretting my trip; nothing +special happened during our journey, but I gathered a rich store of +observations. + +Several Italians were sitting on deck; they were smoking cigars in gloomy +silence, looking with concealed hatred at the fair-haired officers +dressed in white jackets who were bustling about on all sides without the +slightest necessity. I must observe that among them were lads of twenty, +and they were mostly young men; I can hear now the jarring, guttural, +barrack-room voices, the insolent laughter that was like coughing, +besides the loathsome Austrian accent in speaking German. I repeat that +there was nothing dreadful about it, but I felt that for their manner of +standing and turning their backs in our very faces, giving themselves +airs and showing off, ‘We are the victors—our side has won,’ they ought +to have been flung into the water; and even more, I felt that I should +have been delighted to have seen it done, and would eagerly have helped. + +Any one who had taken the trouble to look for five minutes at these two +groups of men could not fail to understand that there can be no talk +of reconciliation, that in the very blood of these people there lies +a hatred for each other which it will take centuries to dissipate, to +soften and to reduce to an inoffensive racial difference. After midday +some of the passengers went down to the cabin, others asked to have lunch +on deck. Here the racial difference was still more strikingly apparent. +I looked at them with amazement—not a single gesture was the same. The +Italians ate little, with the innate natural grace with which they do +everything. The officers tore off pieces, chewed them loudly, threw down +the bones, shoved their plates; some, bending right down to the table, +with peculiar agility and extraordinary rapidity splashed the soup from +the spoon into their mouths; others ate butter _from a knife_—without +bread or salt. I looked at these performers and, glancing at an Italian, +smiled—he understood me at once, and, responding with a sympathetic +smile, betrayed his intense disgust. Another observation: while the +Italians asked with a smile and gentle manner for a plate or for wine, +every time thanking the waiter with a nod or a glance, the Austrians +treated the attendants with revolting rudeness, just as retired Russian +cornets and lieutenants treat their serfs in the presence of strangers. + +By way of a finishing touch, a lanky young officer with pale yellowish +hair called up a soldier, a man of fifty, who looked like a Pole or a +Croat, and began abusing him for some negligence: The old man stood at +attention and, when the officer had finished, tried to say something; +but he had scarcely brought out ‘Your honour,’ when ‘Hold your tongue +and be off!’ the pale yellow youth shouted at him in a husky voice. +Then, turning to his comrades as though nothing had happened, he fell to +drinking beer again. With what object was all this done before us? And +was it not all done expressly for our benefit? + +When we landed at Mogadino our long-suffering hearts could be restrained +no longer, and, turning towards the steamer, which had not moved away, +we shouted, ‘_Viva la Republica!_’—while one Italian, shaking his head, +repeated, ‘_E brutissimi, brutissimi!_’ + +Is it not premature to talk so rashly of the solidarity and brotherhood +of the nations, and will not any artificial covering up of their +hostility be a mere hypocritical truce? I believe that national +peculiarities will lose their offensive character just so far as they +have lost it in cultivated society; but for such breeding to permeate the +depths of the masses needs time. When I look at Folkestone and Boulogne, +at Dover and Calais, then I feel full of dread and want to say—many +centuries. + + + + +Chapter 38 + +SWITZERLAND—JAMES FAZY AND THE REFUGEES—MONTE ROSA + + +The agitation in Europe was still so violent in 1849 that it was +difficult, living in Geneva, to fix the attention on Switzerland alone. +Moreover, political parties are rather like the Russian Government in the +skill with which they divert the attention of the traveller. If he falls +under their influence, he sees everything, but sees it all not simply but +from a certain angle; he cannot get out of an enchanted circle. His first +impression is prearranged, suborned, and does not belong to himself. +The prejudiced view of the party catches him unawares, unprepared, +indifferent, and, so to say, disarmed, and before he has taken his +bearings it becomes his view. In 1849 I knew only Radical Switzerland, +that Switzerland which brought about a democratic revolution, which in +1847 suppressed the _Sonderbund_.[56] Then more and more surrounded +by the refugees, I shared their indignation with the cowardly Federal +Government and the pitiful part it was playing in the face of its +reactionary neighbours. + +I learnt more about Switzerland and got to understand it better on later +visits, and most of all in London. In the dreary leisure of the years +1853 and 1854 I learnt a great deal, and formed a different view of many +things that I had experienced or seen in the past. + +Switzerland was passing through a difficult ordeal. Among the ruins of +the whole world of free institutions, among the fragments of foundering +civilisations grinding each other into dust, amidst the destruction of +all conditions of human life, of all political forms, for the benefit of +a brutal despotism, two countries remained as they were—one behind its +sea, the other behind its mountains, both mediæval republics, both firmly +rooted in the soil by the traditions of ages. + +But what a difference of power and position between England and +Switzerland! If Switzerland, too, is like an island behind her mountains, +her position, shut in by other countries, and her national spirit compel +her to steer her course with care, and also make her politics far +from simple. In England the common people do not stir, they are three +centuries behindhand. Activity in England is confined to a certain class: +the majority of the people are outside any movement; they are scarcely +stirred by Chartism, and even that is confined exclusively to the town +workmen. England stands aside, flings its inflammable material across +the ocean as it accumulates, and there it grows triumphantly. Ideas do +not crowd upon her from the Continent, but enter slowly, adapted to her +manners and translated into her language. + +It is utterly different in Switzerland: she has no ruling caste, nor +even striking differences between the town and country. The patriarchal +patricians of the cantons could not hold out against the first pressure +of democratic ideas. Every doctrine, every idea passes backwards and +forwards across Switzerland, and they all leave their traces on her: she +speaks three languages. Calvin preached there; the tailor Weitling[57] +preached there; there Voltaire laughed and Rousseau was born. That land +in which every man from the ploughman and the workman upwards has a +hand in the government, which is oppressed by powerful neighbours, has +no standing army, no bureaucracy, and no dictatorship, remains after +the storms of revolution and the saturnalia of reaction the same free +republican federation as before. + +I should very much like to know how conservatives explain the fact +that the only countries in Europe that are tranquil are those in which +personal freedom and freedom of speech are the least restricted. While +the Austrian Empire, for instance, is kept up by a series of _coups +d’état_ with the stimulant of galvanic shocks and administrative +revolutions, and the French throne is only maintained by terrorism and +the abolition of all legality, in Switzerland and England even the absurd +and antiquated forms that have grown up with their freedom are preserved +unshaken under its mighty canopy. + +The behaviour of the Federal Council in regard to political refugees, +whom they turned out at the first request from Austria and from France, +was disgraceful. But the responsibility for it falls exclusively on the +Government; questions of foreign policy are by no means so near the +heart of the people as domestic problems. In reality all nations are +only interested in their own affairs; everything outside is confined to +a remote preference or simply a rhetorical exercise, sometimes sincere, +but even then rarely affecting practice. The nation which has gained a +reputation by its humane sympathy with all and everything knows less +geography than any and is more than any tainted with insufferably +susceptible patriotism. Moreover, the Swiss is by nature itself not +drawn to distant horizons: he is confined to his native valley by his +mountains, as the dweller by the sea to its shore, and as long as he is +not interfered with in it he says nothing. + +The right, assumed by the Federal Government, of dealing with the +refugees did not really belong to the Swiss central government at all; +according to its law, the question of the exiles was in the jurisdiction +of each canton. The Swiss Radicals, carried away by French theories, +tried to strengthen the central government in Berne, and made a great +mistake. Fortunately, the attempts at centralisation, except in those +instances in which its practical benefit is obvious, such as the +organisation of the post and maintenance of roads and currency, were +not at all popular in Switzerland. Centralisation may do a great deal +for order and for various public undertakings, but it is incompatible +with freedom. It easily brings a nation to the position of a well-tended +flock, or a pack of hounds cleverly kept in order by a huntsman. + +That is why the Americans and the English hate it as much as the Swiss. + +Numerically weak, uncentralised Switzerland is a many-headed hydra, a +Briareus; you cannot vanquish her at one blow. Where is her head? Where +is her heart? Moreover, one cannot imagine a king without a capital +city. A king is as great an absurdity in Switzerland as the grades of +the Russian civil service in New York. The mountains, republicanism, and +federalism have reared and preserved in Switzerland a mighty, vigorous +breed of men, as sharply differentiated from each other as the soil is by +the mountains, and as united by them as it is. + +It is worth seeing the representatives of various cantons gathered +together at some federal shooting competition, with their several +standards, in their several costumes, with carbine on shoulder. Proud +of their separate individuality and of their unity, coming down from +their native mountains, they greet each other with brotherly shouts and +salute the federal standard (which is kept in the town where the last +competition was held), and yet remain distinct. + +In these festivals of a free people, in the military games, free +from the offensive _étalage_ of monarchy and the gorgeous setting of +gold-embroidered aristocracy and dazzling guards, there is something +impressive and powerful. On all sides speeches are delivered, home-made +wine flows, there are sounds of shouting, singing, and bands; and all +are conscious that there is no leaden weight, no oppressive burden of +authority, on their shoulders.... + +In Geneva soon after my arrival a banquet was given at the end of the +term to the pupils of all the schools. James Fazy, the president of the +canton, invited me to this fête. A big pavilion had been put up in an +open space in Carouge. The council and all the leading figures in the +canton were present, and dined with the children. A number of citizens, +those whose turn it was, in uniform and carrying guns, had been summoned +for a guard of honour. Fazy delivered a speech of a thoroughly radical +character, congratulated the prize-winners, and proposed the health of +‘The future citizens!’ to the strains of music and the firing of cannon. +After this the children filed past him, two by two, to the field where +various sports had been prepared, air-balloons, acrobatic performances, +and so on. The armed citizens—that is, the fathers, uncles, and elder +brothers of the school-children—formed an avenue, and as the head of the +column passed they presented arms.... Yes! presented arms before their +sons and the orphans brought up at the expense of the canton.... The +children were the honoured guests of the town, its ‘future citizens.’ +All this was strange to such of us as had been present at Russian school +anniversaries and similar ceremonies. + +It seems strange to us, too, that all the workmen, all the grown-up +peasants, the waiters in restaurants as well as the restaurant-keepers, +those who live in mountains and those who live in marshes, have a very +good knowledge of the affairs of the canton, take an interest in them, +and belong to one or other party. Their language, their degree of +culture, is very different; and if a Geneva workman sometimes reminds +one of a member of some Lyons club, while the simple mountaineer is to +this day like the men who surrounded Schiller’s William Tell, that does +not prevent their both taking the warmest interest in public affairs. In +France there are offshoots and branches of political and social societies +in the towns; their members are interested in the revolutionary question, +and incidentally know something of the actual government. But, on the +other hand, those who are outside these associations, and especially the +peasants, know nothing and care nothing either for the affairs of France +or for the affairs of the department. + +Lastly, both we Russians and the French are struck by the absence of +all sorts of trappings and vestments, all the operatic setting of a +government. The president of a canton, the president of the Federal +Assembly, the state secretaries (_i.e._ the ministers), and the federal +colonels go to the café like simple mortals, dine at the common table, +discuss public affairs, argue with workmen and argue before them among +themselves, and they all drink the same wine and _kirsch_. + +From the beginning of my acquaintance with James Fazy, I was impressed +by this democratic simplicity, and it was only later on that I perceived +that in all matters relating to the law the government of the canton +was anything but weak, in spite of its lack of wardrobe grandeur, of +stripes on trousers, of plumage, of beadles with staves, of sergeants +with moustaches, and all the other gewgaws and superfluities of the royal +_mise en scène_. + +In the autumn of 1849 the persecution of refugees who had sought +shelter in Switzerland began; the government was in the weak hands of +doctrinaires, the federal ministers lost their heads. The intimidated +Confederation, which had once refused Louis-Philippe’s request for +the deportation of Louis-Napoleon, now at the command of the latter +turned out those who sought a refuge, and performed the same gracious +act for Austria and Prussia. Of course, the Federal Government had on +this occasion to deal not with a fat old king who disliked extreme +measures, but with men whose hands were wet with blood and who were in +the fury of savage reprisals. But what was the Federal Assembly afraid +of? If it had been capable of looking beyond its mountains, it would +have perceived how much secret alarm lay hidden under the insolence and +menaces of the neighbouring governments. Not one of them had in 1849 a +sufficiently stable position and sense of its own power to begin a war. +The Confederation need only have shown its teeth and they would have +desisted; the doctrinaires preferred timid submission, and began a petty, +unworthy persecution of men who had nowhere to go to. + +For a long time some of the cantons, and among them that of Geneva, +maintained their opposition to the Federal Assembly, but at last even +Fazy was drawn, _nolens volens_, into persecuting the refugees. + +His position was very unpleasant. The transition from being a conspirator +into being a member of the government, however natural it may be, has its +comic and vexatious sides. In reality, it must be said that it was not +Fazy who went over to the government, but the government who went over to +Fazy; nevertheless, the former conspirator was not always at one with the +president of the canton. He had to strike at his own people, or at times +openly to disregard the Federal decrees, or to take measures against +which he had been declaiming for the last ten years. He followed the one +or the other course as the caprice took him, and so excited the hostility +of both sides. + +Fazy was a man of great energy and of great administrative abilities, +but too much of a Frenchman not to like hard-and-fast measures, +centralisation, authority. He had spent his whole life in the political +struggle. As a young man we meet him on the Paris barricades of 1830, +and then in the Hôtel de Ville among the young people who, in opposition +to Lafayette and the bankers, demanded the proclamation of a republic. +Périer[58] and Laffitte[59] considered that the ‘best republic’ was +the Duc d’Orléans; he was made king, while Fazy threw himself into the +extreme republican opposition. Then he was associated with Godefroy +Cavaignac[60] and Marrast,[61] with the Société des Droits de l’Homme +and with the Carbonari, was mixed up with Mazzini’s Savoy expedition, +and published a journal which after the French fashion was suppressed by +successive fines.... + +Convinced at last that there was no doing anything in France, he +bethought himself of his native land, and transferred all his energy and +all the experience he had gained as a politician, a journalist, and a +conspirator to the advancement of his ideas in the canton of Geneva. He +thought out a radical revolution in it, and carried it through. Geneva +rose up against its old government. Debates, attack and counter-attack, +passed from private rooms and newspapers into the market-place, and +Fazy appeared at the head of the rebellious part of the town. While he +was organising and stationing his armed friends, a grey-headed old man +looked out of a window and, having been an officer by profession, could +not resist giving advice where to station a cannon or a company. Fazy +obeyed him. The advice was excellent—but who was this officer? Count +Osterman-Tolstoy, commander-in-chief of the allied armies at Kulm, who +had left Russia on the accession of Nicholas and had lived afterwards +almost permanently at Geneva. + +During this revolution Fazy showed that he possessed to the full not +merely tact and judgment, but also the audacity which Saint-Just +considered necessary in a revolutionary. Having vanquished the +Conservatives almost without bloodshed, he appeared before the Grand +Council and informed it that it was dissolved. The members wanted to +arrest him, and asked with indignation: ‘In whose name dare he speak like +that?’ + +‘In the name of the people of Geneva, who are sick of your bad government +and are with me,’ and thereupon Fazy pulled back the curtain on the +council-room door. A crowd of armed men filled the hall, ready at Fazy’s +first word to lower their guns and fire. The old ‘patricians’ and +peaceful Calvinists were disconcerted. ‘Go, while there is yet time!’ +observed Fazy, and they meekly trudged home, while Fazy sat down at the +table and wrote a decree or _plébiscite_ announcing that the people of +Geneva, having dissolved the old government, were assembling to elect a +new one and to frame a new democratic code, and in the meantime were +entrusting the executive power to James Fazy. This was his eighteenth of +Brumaire for the benefit of democracy and the people. Though he did elect +himself dictator, the choice was undoubtedly a very good one. + +From that time—that is, from the year 1846—he had been governing Geneva. +Since, in accordance with the constitution, the president is elected for +a period of two years and cannot be elected twice in succession, the +people of Geneva appointed every two years some inconspicuous adherent of +Fazy’s, and in this way he remained _de facto_ president, to the great +distress of the Conservatives and Pietists, who always remained in the +minority. + +Fazy displayed new abilities during the period of his dictatorship. +Administration, finance, everything made rapid progress; the resolute way +in which radical principles were put into practice won the attachment of +the people: Fazy showed himself as vigorous in organisation as he had +been in destruction. Geneva flourished under his rule. This I was told +not only by his friends but by people completely disinterested, among +others by the celebrated victor of Kulm, Osterman-Tolstoy. + +Abrupt and irritable, hasty and intolerant by disposition, Fazy always +had despotically republican leanings; as he grew used to authority, the +despotic _pli_ sometimes got the upper hand. Moreover, events and ideas +after 1848 caught Fazy unawares; he was perplexed on the one hand and +circumvented on the other. Here it was the republic of which he had +dreamed with Godefroy Cavaignac and Armand Carrel ... and yet there +was something wrong about it. His old comrade Marrast, as president of +the National Assembly, observed to him that he had made an incautious +reference to Catholicism ‘at lunch in the presence of the secretary,’ +and told him that religion must be respected in order that the priests +might not be incensed; when the ex-editor of the _Nationale_ passed from +room to room in the president’s house, two sentries saluted him. Another +friend and _protégé_ of Fazy’s went further still: he became himself +president of the republic, but would not recognise his old comrade, and +aimed at being a Napoleon. + +‘Was the republic in danger?’ And meanwhile the workers and the leading +men were not interested in it; they were all talking of socialism. So +that was what was to blame—and with obstinacy and exasperation Fazy +fell upon socialism. That meant that he had reached his limit, his +_Kulminationspunkt_, as the Germans say, and was going downhill. + +Mazzini and Fazy, who had been socialists in the days before socialism, +became its enemies when it began to pass from general tendencies into a +new revolutionary force. Many a lance I have broken with both of them, +and I have seen with surprise how little can be done by logic when a man +does _not want_ to be convinced. If in both these men it was policy, +a concession to the necessity of the times, what need had they to get +so hot about it? What need had they to play their parts so well even +in private conversation? No, there was something else in it, a sort of +grudge against a doctrine formulated _outside_ their own circle: there +was a spite against the very name. I once suggested to Fazy that in +our conversations I should call socialism Cleopatra, that he might not +be angered by the word and prevented from understanding by the sound +of it. Mazzini’s _brochures_ against socialism later on did the famous +agitator far more harm than did Radetsky,—but that is not the point under +discussion here. + +One day on reaching home I found a note from Struve—he informed me that +Fazy was turning him out, and very abruptly. The Federal Government had +long before decreed the deportation of Struve and Heinzen; Fazy had +confined himself to communicating the fact to them. What new incident had +occurred? + +Fazy did not want Struve to publish his ‘international’ journal in +Geneva; he was afraid—and perhaps he was right—that Heinzen and Struve +would publish such dangerous nonsense as to provoke again threats from +France, to raise a howl from Prussia, and set Austria gnashing its +teeth. How a practical man could imagine that the journal would come +into existence I do not know; anyway, he offered Struve the choice of +giving up the journal or of leaving Geneva. To give it up when Struve +was fanatically dreaming that by means of his journal he would finally +vanquish ‘the seven scourges of mankind’ was too much for the Baden +revolutionary. Then Fazy sent a policeman to him with the order to leave +the canton at once. Struve received the policeman frigidly, and announced +that he was not yet ready for departure. Fazy resented the treatment of +the policeman, and ordered the police to turn Struve out. To enter a +house without a legal warrant was impossible; the measures taken in Berne +had been by the police and not by a legal tribunal (what the French call +_mesures de salut publique_). The policeman knew that, but, wishing to +oblige Fazy, and probably to pay Struve back for his rude reception, got +a carriage ready and sat down with a comrade under a lime-tree not far +from Struve’s house. + +Struve, secretly delighted that the era of persecution and martyrdom was +beginning again, and convinced beforehand that nothing of importance +would be done to him, sent notes concerning the proceedings to all +his acquaintances. While awaiting their fervent sympathy and ardent +indignation he could not resist going out to visit his friend Heinzen, +who had received a similar polite _billet-doux_ from Fazy. As Heinzen +lived close by, Struve, _ganz gemüthlich_, went off to him wearing his +indoor clothes and slippers. He had scarcely reached the lime-tree +behind which the crafty son of Calvin was concealed, when the latter +barred his way and, showing the order of the Federal Council, asked +Struve to follow him. Two policemen reinforced the urgency of his +invitation. The astonished Struve, cursing Fazy and putting him on the +list of the ‘seven scourges,’ got into the carriage and was driven off +with the policeman to the canton of Vaud. + +Since Fazy had been dictator, nothing of the sort had happened in Geneva. +There was something coarse, unnecessary, and even clownish about it. I +was returning home between eleven and twelve that evening, boiling with +indignation: at the Pont des Bergues I met Fazy; he was walking along in +excellent spirits, accompanied by a few Italian refugees. + +‘Ah, good evening; any news?’ he said, seeing me. + +‘A great deal,’ I answered with elaborate frigidity. + +‘Why, what?’ + +‘Why, here for instance in Geneva, just as in Paris, men are seized in +the street, carried off by force; _il n’y a plus de sécurité dans les +rues_—I am afraid to walk about....’ + +‘Oh, you are referring to Struve ...’ answered Fazy, already so angry +that his voice began to break. ‘What is one to do with these nonsensical +people? I am tired of them: I’ll show these gentry what it means to treat +the law with contempt, to be openly disobedient to the orders of the +Federal Council....’ + +‘A right,’ I observed, smiling, ‘which you reserve for yourself alone.’ + +‘Am I to expose the canton and myself to danger for the sake of every +lunatic broken out of Bedlam, and to do it under present circumstances +too? And, what’s more, one gets no thanks but only rudeness from them. +Only fancy, gentlemen: I sent a _commissaire_ of the police to him, and +he all but kicked him out—it’s beyond anything! They don’t understand +that an official (_magistrat_) coming in the name of the law must be +treated with respect, mustn’t he?’ + +Fazy’s companions nodded their heads affirmatively. + +‘I don’t agree,’ I said, ‘and see no reason at all to respect a man for +being a policeman and for coming to announce some nonsense written by +Fourrère or Drouey[62] in Berne. There is no need to be rude, but why +should one lavish civilities on a man who comes to one as an enemy, and, +what’s more, an enemy supported by force?’ + +‘I never heard such things in my life,’ remarked Fazy, shrugging his +shoulders and flashing a withering glance at me. + +‘It’s new to you because you have never thought about it. To imagine that +officials are sacred personages is something thoroughly monarchical.’ + +‘You refuse to see the difference between respect for the law and +slavish servility, because with you the Tsar and the law are the same +thing—_c’est parfaitement russe_!’ + +‘But how is one to see it when your respect for the law means respect for +a constable or a police-sergeant?’ + +‘Are you aware, sir, that the _commissaire_ of police whom I sent is not +merely a very honest man, but one of the most devoted patriots? I have +seen him in action....’ + +‘And an exemplary father of a family,’ I went on; ‘only, that has nothing +to do with either me or Struve; we are not acquainted with him, and +he came to Struve not as a model citizen but as the instrument of an +oppressive power....’ + +‘Why, upon my soul,’ observed Fazy, growing more and more irate, ‘what +do you care for that Struve? Only yesterday you were laughing at him +yourself....’ + +‘I should not laugh to-day if you were to hang him.’ + +‘Do you know what I think——?’ He paused. ‘It’s my opinion that he is +simply a Russian spy.’ + +‘Oh, Lord, what nonsense!’ I said, bursting into laughter. + +‘Nonsense, indeed!’ shouted Fazy still more loudly; ‘I tell you that in +earnest!’ + +Knowing the unbridled hastiness of my Geneva tyrant, and knowing that +with all his irritability he was in reality a hundred times better than +his words and not an ill-natured man, I might perhaps have let his +shouting pass; but there were other people listening. Besides, he was +president of the canton, and I was just such another vagrant without a +passport as Struve himself, and therefore I responded in a stentorian +voice: + +‘Do you imagine because you are president that, if you say a thing, +that’s enough for every one to believe it?’ + +My shouting produced its effect: Fazy lowered his voice, but, mercilessly +beating his fist against the parapet of the bridge, he observed: ‘Why, +there was his uncle too, Gustav Struve, a Russian attorney in Hamburg.’ + +‘That’s as good as “The Wolf and the Lamb.” I had better be going home. +Good-bye!’ + +‘Yes, indeed, we had better go to bed instead of arguing, or we shall end +by quarrelling,’ observed Fazy with a forced smile. + +I went to the Hôtel des Bergues; Fazy and the Italians crossed the +bridge. We had been shouting so excitedly that several of the windows +of the hotel had been opened, and an audience consisting of waiters and +tourists had been listening to our discussion. + +Meanwhile the policeman and very honest citizen who had carried Struve +off returned, not alone but still accompanied by Struve. A very amusing +incident had occurred in the first little town in the canton of Vaud, +near Coppet, where Madame de Staël and Madame Récamier once lived. The +prefect of the police, an ardent republican, hearing how Struve had been +seized, declared that the Geneva police had acted illegally, and not only +refused to send him on further, but turned him back. + +The fury of Fazy may be imagined when, to put the finishing touch to +our conversation, he heard of Struve’s safe return. After exchanging +abuse with the ‘tyrant’ by letter and by word of mouth, Struve departed +to England with Heinzen; there the latter formulated his demand for +two million heads, and then peacefully sailed off with his Pylades to +America, at first with the object of founding a _school for young girls_, +afterwards to edit in St. Louis _The Pioneer_, which is sometimes too +strong for elderly men to stomach. + +Five days after our conversation on the bridge I met Fazy in the Café de +la Poste. + +‘Why is it I have not seen you for so long?’ he asked; ‘surely you are +not still angry? Well, I must own all this business with the refugees +is enough to drive one out of one’s mind! The Federal Council keeps +bombarding me with one note after another, and here the accursed +_sous-préfet_ of Gex is simply staying here on purpose to see whether +the French are interned. I try to satisfy every one, and for that my own +people are angry with me. Here’s a new trouble now, and a very nasty +one; I am sure they’ll abuse me, and what am I to do?’ He sat down at my +little table and, dropping his voice, went on: ‘This is not a question of +talk: it’s not socialism, it’s simply robbery!’ + +He handed me a letter. Some German feudal prince complained that when his +little town had been taken by the students various objects of value had +been seized by them, and among other things some ancient vessel of rare +workmanship; that it was in the possession of the late commander of the +legion, Blenker;[63] and as it had come to the knowledge of his highness +that Blenker was living in Geneva, he asked for the co-operation of Fazy +in recovering the stolen articles. + +‘What do you say?’ asked Fazy in a solemn voice. + +‘Nothing. Lots of things happen in war-time.’ + +‘What ought I to do, do you think?’ + +‘Take no notice of the letter, or write to the fool that you are not his +detective in Geneva. What have you to do with his crockery? He ought +to be glad Blenker did not hang him, and here he is worrying about his +goods.’ + +‘You are a very dangerous sophist,’ said Fazy, ‘and you don’t think what +discredit such things cast on our party.... We can’t leave it like that.’ + +‘I don’t know why you take it to heart so much. Far worse things are done +in the world. As for the party and its honour, I dare say you will say +again that I am a sophist—but think for yourself, will you do any good +by giving publicity to the matter? Don’t take any notice of the German +prince’s accusation and it will be taken as a calumny; but if people +add to the rumour about it that you sent to make a police search—what +is more, if by ill-luck anything is found—then it will be difficult to +exonerate Blenker and the whole party.’ + +Fazy was genuinely amazed at the Russian irregularity of my views. The +Blenker affair ended most fortunately. He was not in Geneva: on the +arrival of the police and investigating magistrates, his wife calmly +showed all their possessions and their money, described where they had +got them from, and, hearing about the vessel, found it herself—it was a +very ordinary silver vessel. It had been taken by some young men in the +legion and brought to their colonel as a souvenir of the victory. + +Later on, Fazy apologised to Blenker, admitting that he had been over +hasty in the matter. The immoderate passion for discovering the truth, +for going into every detail in criminal cases, for pursuing the guilty +with fury and crushing them, is a purely French failing. The judicial +process is for them a bloodthirsty sport like bull-baiting for the +Spaniards; the prosecutor, like a skilful toreador, is humiliated and +mortified if the baited beast escapes unharmed. In England there is +nothing of the kind: the judge looks with cool unconcern at the prisoner +in the dock, shows no zeal, and is almost pleased when the jury acquit +him. + +The refugees, on their side, tormented Fazy and poisoned his existence. +That was all very natural, and one must not be too severe upon it. The +passions unloosed during revolutionary movements are not appeased by +failure, and, having no other outlet, find a vent in peevish restlessness +of spirit. These men had a mortal longing to speak just when they had to +hold their tongues, to keep in the background, to efface and concentrate +themselves; they, on the contrary, were trying not to disappear from +the footlights, but to advertise their existence by every means in +their power. They wrote pamphlets, wrote to the newspapers, talked +at meetings, talked in cafés, spread false news, and frightened the +foolish governments by expectations of an immediate insurrection. The +majority of them belonged to the class of very harmless persons who +make up the chorus of revolution; but the terrified governments with +equal senselessness believed in their power, and, unaccustomed to free, +bold speech, made an outcry about the inevitable danger, the menace to +religion, the throne, and the family, and insisted that the Federal +Council should expel these terrible advocates of disorder and destruction. + +One of the first measures taken by the Swiss Government was the removal +from the French frontier of those of the refugees who were specially +disliked by Napoleon. It was particularly disagreeable to Fazy to carry +out this measure; he was personally acquainted with almost all of them. +After informing them of the order to leave Geneva, he did his best not +to know who had gone and who had not. Those who remained had to keep +away from the principal cafés, from the Pont des Bergues, and that was +the very concession they would not make. This led to ludicrous scenes, +suggestive of a boarding-school, scenes in which the performers on +the one side were the representatives of the people, grey-headed men, +well-known literary men over forty, and on the other, the president +of a free canton and the police agents of the servile neighbours of +Switzerland. + +Once, in my presence, the _sous-préfet_ of Gex asked Fazy in an ironical +tone: ‘Tell me, M. le président, is So-and-so in Geneva?’ ‘He has been +gone a long time,’ Fazy answered abruptly. ‘I am very glad to hear it,’ +said the _sous-préfet_, and went on his way. And Fazy, clutching my arm +convulsively and pointing furiously at a man who was calmly smoking a +cigar: ‘There he is! there he is! Let us move to the other side, so as +not to meet the villain. This is hell—there is no other word for it!’ + +I could not help laughing. Of course, it was a refugee who had been +expelled, and he was promenading up and down the Pont des Bergues, which +is for Geneva what the Tverskoy Boulevard is for Moscow. + +I stayed in Geneva till the middle of December. The measures which the +Russian Government was stealthily beginning to take against me compelled +me to go to Zurich to try to save my mother’s property, upon which the +Tsar ‘of eternal memory’ was beginning to lay his Imperial claws. + +This was a terrible period of my life. A lull between two thunderclaps, +an oppressive, painful, but not eventful calm ... there were menacing +omens, but I still, even then, turned away from them. Life was troubled, +inharmonious, but there were bright days in it; for those I was indebted +to the grand natural scenery of Switzerland. + +Remoteness from men, and beautiful natural surroundings have a +wonderfully healing effect. From experience I wrote in _A Wreck_:— + +‘When the soul bears within it a great grief, when a man has not mastered +himself sufficiently to grow reconciled with the past, to grow calm +enough for understanding, he needs distance and mountains, the sea and +warm mild air. He needs them that sadness may not pass into bitterness +and despair, that he may not grow hard....’ + +I was longing for a rest from many things even then. A year and a half +spent in the centre of political upheavals and dissensions, in continual +irritation, in the midst of bloody sights, terrible downfalls, and petty +treacheries, had left much bitterness, misery, and weariness at the +bottom of my soul. Irony began to take a different character. Granovsky +wrote to me after reading _From the Other Shore_, which I wrote just at +that time: ‘Your book has reached us. I read it with joy and a feeling +of pride ... but, for all that, there is something of fatigue about it; +you stand too much alone, and perhaps you will become a great writer, +but what was in Russia living and attractive to all in your talent seems +to have disappeared on foreign soil....’ Then Sazonov, who, just before +I left Paris in 1849, read the beginning of my story, _Duty before +Everything_, written two years previously, said to me: ‘You won’t finish +that story, and you will never write anything more like it. Your bright +laughter and good-natured jesting are gone for ever.’ + +But could a man pass through the ordeal of 1848 and 1849 and remain +the same? I was myself conscious of the change. Only at home, when no +outsiders were present, there were sometimes moments as of old, not of +‘bright laughter’ but of bright sadness; recalling the past and our +friends, recalling recent scenes of our life in Rome, beside the cots of +our sleeping children or watching their play, the soul was attuned to the +mood of old days—there came a breath of freshness, of youthful poetry, of +gentle harmony, there was peace and content in the heart, and under the +influence of such an evening life was easier for a day or two. + +These minutes were not frequent; a wretched, depressing distraction +prevented them. The number of visitors kept increasing about us, and +towards evening our little drawing-room in the Champs-Élysées was full of +strangers. For the most part, these were newly arrived refugees, good and +unfortunate people, but I was intimate with only one man.... And why was +I intimate with him!... + +I was delighted to leave Paris, but in Geneva we found ourselves in the +same society, though the persons in it were different and it was on a +narrower scale. In Switzerland everything at that time had rushed into +politics; everything—_tables d’hôte_ and coffee-houses, watchmakers and +women—all were divided into parties. An exclusive preoccupation with +politics, particularly in the painful stagnation which always follows +unsuccessful revolutions, is extremely wearisome with its arid barrenness +and monotonous censure of the past. It is like summer-time in big cities +where everything is hot, dusty, airless, where through pale trees the +walls and the hot paving-stones reflect the glaring sun. A living man +craves for air which has not been breathed over a thousand times, free +from the smell of the refuse of life, from the sound of discordant +jangling, from the dirty, putrid stench and everlasting noise. + +Sometimes we did in fact tear ourselves away from Geneva, visit the +shores of Lake Léman and the foot of Mont Blanc; and the frowning, gloomy +beauty of mountain scenery with its intense shadows screened all the +vanity of vanities from one’s eyes, refreshing soul and body with the +cold breath of its everlasting glaciers. + +I do not know whether I should like to stay for ever in Switzerland. We +dwellers in the plains and prairies after a time feel the mountains a +restriction; they are too immense and too close, they hem us in, limit +us; but sometimes it is good to stay a while in their shadow. Moreover, +a pure and good-hearted race live in the mountains, a race of people +poor but not unfortunate, with few wants, accustomed to a life of sturdy +independence. The froth of civilisation, its verdigris, has not settled +on these people; historical changes have passed like clouds beneath +their feet, scarcely touching them. The Roman world still persists +in Graubünden, the times of the peasant wars have scarcely passed in +Appenzell. Perhaps in the Pyrenees, in the Tyrol, or other mountains, the +same sturdy type of population may be found, but it no longer exists in +Europe as a whole. + +In the north-east of Russia, however, I have seen something like it. In +Perm and Vyatka I have come upon people of the same stamp as in the Alps. + +Exhausted by the long, unbroken climb step by step up the mountain, my +companion and I, travelling to Zermatt, stopped to give our horses a +rest, and went into a small inn a little above St. Niklaus, if I remember +right. The hostess, a tall, thin, but muscular old woman, was all alone +in the house. Seeing guests, she bustled about, complaining of the +scantiness of her stores, and, after rummaging here and there, brought +out a bottle of _kirsch_, some bread hard as a stone (bread is not a +simple matter in the mountains; it is brought up from the villages on +asses), some smoked mutton (also very dry), some cheese and goat’s milk, +and then proceeded to make us a sort of sweet omelette which I could not +eat; but the mutton, the cheese, and the _kirsch_ were very good. The +woman regaled us as though we were invited guests, put choice morsels +before us with a good-natured air, and kept apologising. Our guides, too, +ate and drank _kirsch_. As I was going away I asked her what we owed her. +The woman pondered for a long time, even went into the other room to +collect her thoughts, and then, after some preliminary remarks about the +dearness of provisions and the difficulty of transport, ventured to say +_five francs_. ‘What!’ I commented, ‘with the horses’ food, too?’ She did +not understand what I meant, and made haste to add: ‘Well, four will be +enough.’ + +When I was being taken from Perm to Vyatka, in a village where we changed +horses I asked a woman who was sitting on a log beside her hut for some +_kvass_. ‘It’s dreadfully sour,’ she answered; ‘but here, I’ll bring +you some home-made beer; it’s left from the holiday, you see.’ A minute +later she brought me an earthenware jug wrapped in a rag, and a dipper. +The gendarme and I drank to our hearts’ content. As I handed the dipper +back to the old woman I gave her ten or fifteen kopecks, but she would +not take the coin, saying: ‘God bless you! to think of taking from a +travelling man, and you going as you are,’ glancing at the gendarme. ‘But +why should we drink your good beer for nothing, auntie? Take it for cakes +for the children.’ ‘No, kind sir, don’t you think it; but if you’ve money +to spare, give it to the poor or put up a candle to God.’ + +Another similar incident happened to me on the Great River near Vyatka. +I had gone to look at the curious procession in which the _ikon_ of +St. Nicholas of Hlynov is taken down the river to pay a visit. On the +way back, I went with my driver into a hut where he got some oats. The +people of the house and three pilgrims were sitting down to dinner; there +was a strong smell of cabbage soup, and I asked for some for myself. +A young woman brought me a wooden bowl of soup, a hunk of bread, and +a huge salt-cellar. When I had eaten I gave the master of the house a +quarter-rouble. He looked at me and scratched the back of his head, +saying: ‘That won’t do, you know; here you’ve eaten two-ha’porth and +given me a quarter-rouble; it’s not right for me to take it—it’s a sin +before God and a shame before men.’ + +I remember I have somewhere mentioned the Perm peasant habit of putting a +piece of bread with _kvass_ or milk outside the window at night, in case +an _unfortunate_—that is, an exile—should be making his way back from +Siberia and be afraid to knock, so that he might find nourishment without +making a noise. I have found a like custom on the Swiss mountains; only, +not being near Siberia, there it is done simply for the benefit of +travellers. On the rather high peaks, where life is scanty, where the +rock stands out like the skull of a man beginning to grow bald, and an +icy-cold wind blows on the vegetation, as dried and withered as the herbs +in a chemist’s shop—there I came upon huts, empty, but with unlocked +doors, that a traveller who had lost his way or had been overtaken by +bad weather might find hospitality even without a host. All sorts of +peasant wares were there, and, on the table, cheese, bread, and goat’s +milk. Some after eating leave a coin on the table, others leave nothing, +but evidently nobody steals. Of course, very few strangers reach them, +but nevertheless these unlocked doors amaze a townsman. + +Since I am talking of mountains and heights, I will describe my visit to +Monte Rosa. How can I better finish my chapter on Switzerland than on a +height of seven thousand feet? + +From the hut of the old woman who was ashamed to take five francs for +feeding four men and two horses, including a whole bottle of _kirsch_, +we were climbing till late evening up a narrow pass, in places hardly +more than a yard wide, to Zermatt; on the rocky and uneven little path +the accustomed horses moved carefully at a walking pace, picking out the +spot to put their hoof on. The guides were continually reminding us not +to touch the reins, but to let the horse go as it would. On one side was +a steep precipice, some three thousand feet or more. At the bottom below, +the Visp roared and raced along with a sort of senseless haste, as though +trying to find a more open channel to break away from its narrow, stony +bed. Its foaming and whirling surface could be seen here and there; on +its mountainous banks there were regular pinewoods which looked like moss +from the height on which we were moving. On our other side there was a +bare, stony height here and there hanging over our heads. For whole hours +one goes on and on ... the hoofs ring on the stone, the horse slips, the +Visp roars, and still there are the same rocks on one side, beyond which +nothing can be seen, and on the other the abyss below already growing +dim with the twilight—it produces a feeling of dreariness, of nervous +fatigue. I should not care to repeat that journey often. + +Zermatt is the highest spot on which several families are living: it +stands as though in a cauldron; huge masses of mountains surround it. One +of the people there takes in the few travellers; we found in his house +a Scotsman, a geologist. It got quite dark while they were setting our +supper; the nearness of the mountains made the evening twice as dark. +Between ten and eleven our hostess, listening at the window, said: ‘Why, +there’s the sound of hoofs, and I can hear the shout of the guides ... +who would care to travel at night-time on such a path?’ The tramp of +hoofs came slowly nearer; the hostess took a lantern and went out with it +to the entrance. I followed her; something began to stand out against the +black darkness, figures appeared in the streak of light from the lantern, +and at last two horses came up to the entrance. On one horse sat a tall, +middle-aged woman, on the other a boy of fourteen. The lady alighted from +the horse as calmly as though she had returned from a ride in Hyde Park, +and went into the common room. She had met the Scotsman before, and so +began talking to him at once. After asking for something to eat, she sent +her son to find out from the guides how long the horses must rest. They +said that two hours would be enough. ‘Surely you are not going on without +waiting for daylight?’ asked the Scotsman. ‘One can’t see an inch before +one’s face, and you’ll be going down by a new road.’ + +‘This is the time I’ve allowed for it.’ + +Two hours later the Englishwoman and her son began the descent on the +Italian side, and we went to bed for two or three hours. At dawn we took +as a third guide a botanist who knew all the paths and whistled the +Alpine airs in a wonderful way, and began our ascent of one of the nearer +peaks, climbing towards a sea of ice and the Matterhorn. + +At first a greyish mist hid everything and wetted us with a fine rain; +we went up and up and it sank lower; soon it became glaringly bright and +the air became extraordinarily pure and clear. + +Hugo describes somewhere ‘what can be heard on the mountains’; his +mountain could not have been a high one. I was struck, on the contrary, +by the complete absence of sound; there was absolutely nothing to +be heard except the light, intermittent grinding from the slipping +avalanches, and that only at rare intervals ... as a matter of fact, the +stillness is deathly, _transparent_—I use the word intentionally,—an +extraordinary rarefaction of the air seems to make _visible_, audible, +this absolute dumbness, this eternal, inanimate, elemental sleep[64] of +primeval ages. + +Life is noisy—but everything living is below and hidden in the clouds. +Here are no plants, only grey rough lichen is found here and there +upon the stones. Higher still it is even fresher, and the region of +never-melting frost begins: here there is the dividing line, here is +nothing; only the most inquisitive of all animals crosses it to peep for +a minute at that desert of emptiness, to look at the highest outposts of +the planet, and hastens to descend to his own domain, full of vanities, +of trivial bustle—where he is at home. + +We halted before that sea of snow and ice which lay stretched between +us and the Matterhorn; ringed round by mountains that were bathed in +sunshine, dazzlingly white, it looked like the frozen arena of some +titanic coliseum. Hollowed out in places by the winds into the form of +waves, it seems to have grown stiff at the very moment of movement; the +curves of the billows are frozen before they have had time to sink. + +I got off my horse and lay down on a granite boulder moored to the shore +by the snowy billows ... mute, motionless whiteness, boundless on all +sides ... a light wind lifted a fine white powder, wafted it away, set +it whirling ... it fell, and all again passed into stillness; but twice +the avalanches breaking away with a hollow reverberation rolled down in +the distance, clinging to the rocks, clashing against them and leaving a +cloud of snow behind them.... + +A man feels strange in this setting—a visitor, superfluous, an outsider; +and on the other hand he breathes more freely, and as though from the +colour surrounding him grows whiter and purer within ... earnest and full +of a sort of devout gravity!... + +What melodramatic rhetoric I should be charged with if I concluded +this picture of Monte Rosa by saying that in that world of whiteness, +freshness, and silence, of the two travellers stranded on that height, +reckoning each other dear friends, one was plotting black treachery +against the other! + +Yes, life sometimes plays us melodramatic tricks—it has its _coups de +théâtre_ which are very artificial. + + + + +Appendix II + +(_From ‘West European Sketches—Notebook II.’_) + + +I + +IL PIANTO + +After the days of June, I saw that the revolution was vanquished, but +I still believed in the vanquished, in the fallen, I believed in the +wonder-working powers of the relics, in their moral strength. In Geneva +I began to understand more and more clearly not only that the revolution +was vanquished, but that it was bound to be vanquished. + +My head was dizzy with my discoveries, an abyss was opening before my +eyes, and I felt that the ground was giving way under my feet. + +It was not the reaction that vanquished the revolution. The reaction +showed itself everywhere densely stupid, cowardly, in its dotage; +everywhere it shamefully retreated into safety before the onrush of the +popular tide, furtively biding its time in Paris, in Naples, in Vienna, +and in Berlin. The revolution fell, like Agrippina, under the blows +of her own children, and, what was worst of all, without their being +conscious of it; there was more heroism, more youthful self-sacrifice, +than good judgment; and the pure, noble victims fell, not knowing why. +The fate of the survivors was almost more grievous. While absorbed +in dissensions among themselves, in personal disputes, in melancholy +self-delusion, and consumed by unbridled vanity, they kept dwelling on +their unexpected days of triumph, and were unwilling to take off their +faded laurels or wedding garments, though it was not the bride who had +deceived them. + +Misfortunes, idleness, and poverty induced intolerance, obstinacy, +nervous irritability.... The exiles broke up into little groups, rallying +not round principles but round names and hatreds. The fact that their +thoughts continually turned to the past, and that they lived in an +exclusive, narrow circle, began to find expression in speech and thought, +in manners and in dress; a new class—the class of refugees—was formed, +and grew as stiff and rigid as the rest. And just as once St. Basil the +Great wrote to St. Gregory Nazianzen that he ‘gloated over fasting and +revelled in privations,’ so now there were voluntary martyrs, victims by +vocation, unhappy as a profession, and among them were very conscientious +people; and indeed St. Basil was quite sincere when he wrote to his +friend of his orgies of mortifying the flesh and of the voluptuous +ecstasy of persecution. With all that, ideas did not move a step forward, +thought slumbered.... If these people had been awakened by the blast of a +new trumpet and a new call to battle, they would, like the nine sleeping +maidens, have been the same as on the day on which they fell asleep. + +These bitter truths made my heart sink with despondency; I had to live +through a hard stage of my education. + +I was sitting mournfully one day in my mother’s dining-room in gloomy, +disagreeable Zurich; it was at the end of December 1849. I was going next +day to Paris. It was a cold, snowy day; two or three logs smoking and +crackling burned reluctantly on the hearth. All were busy with packing. +I sat utterly alone. My life in Geneva floated before my mind; the whole +future looked dark; I felt afraid of something, and I was so insufferably +miserable that if I could I would have fallen on my knees and wept and +prayed; but I could not, and instead of prayer I wrote my curse—my +_Epilogue_ to 1849. + +‘Disillusionment, fatigue, _Blasiertheit_!’ The democratic critics said +of those lines, wrung out of me by pain. Yes, disillusionment! Yes, +fatigue!... Disillusionment is a vulgar, hackneyed word, the veil under +which the sloth of the heart, egoism posing as love, the noisy emptiness +of vanity with pretensions to everything and strength for nothing, lie +hidden. All these exalted, misunderstood characters, thin with envy +and miserable with superciliousness, have wearied us for years past, +both in life and in novels. All that is perfectly true; but is there +not something real, characteristic of our times, at the bottom of these +spiritual sufferings which degenerate into absurd parody and vulgar +masquerade? + +The poet who found words and voice for this malady was too proud to pose +and to suffer for the sake of applause; on the contrary, he often uttered +his bitter thought with so much humour that simple-hearted readers were +convulsed with merriment. Byron’s disillusionment was more than caprice, +more than a personal mood; Byron was shattered because life deceived him. +And life deceived him not because his demands were unreal, but because +England and Byron were of different ages, were of different educations, +and met just at the epoch when the mist was being dissipated. + +This divergence has existed in the past, but in our age it has come to +consciousness; in our age the impossibility of any conviction bridging +the gulf has become more and more evident. After the Roman break-up came +Christianity; after Christianity—the belief in civilisation, in humanity. +Liberalism is the _latest religion_, though its church is not of the +other world but of this. Its theology is political theory; it stands upon +the earth and has no mystical conciliations, it aims at conciliation in +real life. Triumphant and then defeated liberalism has revealed the rift +in all its nakedness; the painful consciousness of this is expressed in +the irony of the modern man, the scepticism with which he sweeps away the +fragments of his shattered idols. + +Irony gives expression to the vexation aroused by the fact that +logical truth is not the same as the truth of history, that apart from +dialectical development it has its own development through chance and +passion, that apart from reason it has its romance. + +Disillusionment[65] in our sense of the word was not known before the +Revolution; the eighteenth century was one of the most religious periods +of history. I am not speaking now of the great martyr Saint-Just or +of the apostle Jean-Jacques; but was not the pope Voltaire, blessing +Franklin’s grandson in the name of God and Freedom, a fanatic of his +religion of humanity? + +Scepticism was proclaimed together with the republic of the 22nd of +September 1792. + +The Jacobins and revolutionaries in general belonged to a minority, +separated from the life of the people by their culture: they formed +something like a secular clergy ready to shepherd their human flocks. +They represented the _highest_ thought of their time, its _highest but +not its common consciousness_, not the _thought of all_. + +This new clergy had no means of coercion, neither physical nor +supernatural: from the moment that the governing power dropped out of +their hands, they had only one weapon—conviction. But for conviction +to be _right_ is not enough; their whole mistake lay in supposing so; +something more was necessary—_mental equality_. + +So long as the desperate conflict lasted to the strains of the hymn of +the Huguenots and the hymn of the Marseillaise, so long as men were burnt +at the stake and blood was flowing, this inequality passed unobserved. +But at last the oppressive edifice of feudal monarchy fell, and slowly +the walls were shattered, the locks torn off the gates ... one more blow +struck, and the brave men advance, the gates are flung open and the crowd +rushes in. But it was not the crowd they expected. Who are these men; to +what age do they belong? These are not Spartans, not the great _populus +Romanus_. _Davus sum, non Œdipus!_ An overwhelming wave of filth flooded +everything. The inner horror of the Jacobins was expressed in the Terror +of 1793 and 1794: they saw their fearful mistake, tried to correct it +with the guillotine; but, however many heads they cut off, they still had +to bow their own before the might of the class of society that was rising +to the top. Everything gave way before it; it overpowered the Revolution +and the Reaction, it filled up the old forms and submerged them because +it made up the one effective majority of its day. Sieyès was more right +than he thought when he said that the petty-bourgeoisie _was everything_. + +The petty-bourgeois were not produced by the Revolution; they were ready +with their codes and their traditions, in a different way discordant with +the revolutionary idea. The aristocracy had held them down and kept them +in the background; set free, they passed over the dead bodies of those +who had freed them and established their own regime. The minority were +either crushed or swallowed up among the bourgeois. + +A few men of each generation were, in spite of events, left the obstinate +guardians of the idea; these Levites, or perhaps Aztecs, are unjustly +punished for their monopoly of exclusive culture, for the mental +superiority of the well-fed caste, the leisured caste that had time to +work not only with muscles. + +We are angered, moved to fury, by the absurdity, by the injustice of this +fact. As though some one (apart from ourselves) had promised us that +everything in the world should be just and beautiful and go easily. We +have marvelled enough at the abstract wisdom of nature and of historical +development; it is time to perceive that in nature as in history there +is a great deal that is fortuitous, stupid, unsuccessful, and confused. +Reason, fully developed thought, comes last. Everything begins with the +foolishness of the newborn child; possibility and striving are innate in +him, but before he reaches development and consciousness he is exposed to +a series of external and internal influences, checks and obstacles. One +has water on the brain, another falls and flattens his skull—both remain +idiots; the third does not fall nor die of scarlet fever—and becomes a +poet, a military leader, a bandit, or a judge. We know as a rule far +more of the successes in nature, in history, and in life: we are only +now beginning to feel that all the cards are not so well shuffled as we +thought, because we are ourselves a losing card, a failure. + +It mortifies us to find that the idea is impotent that truth has no +compelling force over the world of actuality. A new sort of Manichæism +takes possession of us, we are led, _par dépit_, to believe in rational +(that is, purposive) evil, as we did believe in rational good—that is the +last tribute we pay to idealism. + +The anguish will pass with time; its tragic and passionate character will +be softened: it scarcely exists in the new world of the United States. +That young people, enterprising and more practical than intelligent, is +so occupied in the organisation of its own life that it knows nothing +at all of our agonies. Moreover, there are not two cultures there. The +persons who make up the classes in that society are incessantly changing, +they rise and fall with the bank account of each. The sturdy race of +English colonists is multiplying terribly; if it gets the ascendency, +people will not be the happier for it, but they will be more comfortable. +That comfort will be duller, poorer, more arid than that which floated +in the ideals of romantic Europe; but with it there will be neither +Tsar nor centralisation, and perhaps there will be no hunger either. Any +one, who can put off the old Adam of Europe from himself and be born +again a new Jonathan, had better take the first steamer to some place +in Wisconsin or Kansas; there he will certainly be better off than in +decaying Europe. + +Those who _cannot_, remain to live out their lives, representatives of +the fair dream with which men lulled themselves to sleep. They have lived +too much in fantasies and ideals to fit into the age of American good +sense. + +There is no great loss in that; we are not many, and we shall soon be +extinct. + +But how is it men grow up so out of harmony with their environment?... + +Imagine a hothouse-reared youth—the one, for instance, who has described +himself in _The Dream_; imagine him face to face with the most boring, +with the most tedious society, face to face with the monstrous Minotaur +of English life, uncouthly welded together of two beasts—the one sinking +into decrepitude, the other knee-deep in filthy mire, weighed down like +the Caryatides whose everlastingly strained muscles leave not a drop of +blood to spare for the brain. If he could have adapted himself to this +life, he would, instead of dying at thirty in Greece, by now have been +Lord Palmerston or Lord John Russell. But since he could not, there is +nothing surprising in his saying, like his Harold to his ship: + + ‘Nor care what land thou bearest me to, + But not again to mine.’ + +But what awaited him in the distance? Spain devastated by Napoleon, +Greece sunk back into barbarism, the general resurrection after 1814 +of all the stinking Lazaruses; there was no getting away from them in +Ravenna or in Diodati. Byron could not be satisfied like a German with +theories _sub specie æternitatis_, nor like a Frenchman with political +chatter; he was crushed, but crushed like a menacing Titan, flinging his +scorn in men’s faces and not troubling to soften the blow. + +This discordance and disharmony, of which Byron as a poet and a genius +was conscious forty years ago, has, after a succession of painful +experiences, after the filthy transition from 1830 to 1848, and the +infamous one from 1848 to the present, overwhelmed many of us to-day. And +we, like Byron, do not know what to do with ourselves, where to lay our +heads. + +The realist Goethe, like the romantic Schiller, knew nothing of this +rending of the spirit. The one was too religious, the other too +philosophical. Both could find peace in abstract spheres. When the +‘spirit of negation’ appears as such a jester as Mephistopheles, then +the disharmony is not yet tragic; his mocking and for ever contradictory +nature is still blended in the higher harmony, and in its own due time +will chime in with everything—_sie ist gerettet_. Lucifer in _Cain_ is +very different; he is the gloomy angel of darkness, on whose brow shines +with dim lustre the star of bitter thought, full of inner discords which +can never be harmonised. + +He does not jest with negation, he does not amuse with the impudence of +his infidelity, he does not allure by sensuality, he does not procure +simple maidens, wine, and diamonds, but calmly impels to murder, by some +inexplicable force, like the lure of still moonlit water, that promises +nothing but death in its comfortless, cold, glimmering embraces. + +Neither Cain nor Manfred, neither Don Juan nor Byron, has any deduction, +any solution, any ‘moral.’ Perhaps from the point of view of dramatic art +this is a defect, but it gives a stamp of sincerity and shows the depths +of the gulf. Byron’s epilogue, his last word, if you like, is _The +Darkness_; that is the logical conclusion of a life that begins with _The +Dream_. Complete the picture for yourselves. + +Two enemies, hideously disfigured by hunger, are dead, they are devoured +by some crab-like monsters ... a ship is rotting—the tarred rope sways in +the muddy waters in the darkness, there is fearful cold, the animals are +dying out, history has already perished and the place is cleared for new +life: our period will be reckoned as the fourth formation—that is, if the +new world arrives at being able to count up to four. + +Our historical vocation, our work, lies in the fact that by our +disillusionment, by our sufferings, we reach resignation and humility in +face of the truth, and spare following generations from these troubles. +With us humanity is regaining sobriety, with us recovering from its +drunken orgy; we are its birth-pangs. If the birth-agony ends well, all +is for the best; but we must not forget that the child or mother, or +maybe both, may die by the way, and then—well, then history, like the +Mormon it is, will begin the process over again.... _E sempre bene_, +friends! + +We know how Nature disposes of the individual: whether sooner or later, +whether without sacrifice or over the bodies of the dead, she cares not; +she goes her way, or goes any way that chances. Ten thousands of years +she builds up a coral reef, every spring abandoning to death the foremost +ranks. The polypi die without suspecting that they have served the +_progress_ of the reef. + +We, too, shall serve something. Entering into the future as an element +in it does not mean that the future will fulfil our ideals. Rome did not +carry out Plato’s idea of a republic nor the Greek idea in general. The +Middle Ages were not the development of Rome. Modern Western thought will +pass into history and be incorporated in it, will have its influence in +its place, just as our body passes into the composition of grass, of +sheep, of cutlets, and of men. We do not like that kind of immortality, +but what is there to be done about it? + +Now I am accustomed to these thoughts, they no longer terrify me. But at +the end of 1849 I was overwhelmed by them; and in spite of the fact that +every event, every meeting, every contact, every person seemed bent on +tearing away the last green leaves, I still frantically and obstinately +sought a _way of escape_. + +That is why I prize now so highly the courageous thought of Byron. He saw +that there is _no escape_, and proudly said so. + +I was unhappy and perplexed when these thoughts began to haunt me; I +tried by every means to run away from them ... like a lost traveller, +like a beggar, I knocked at every door, stopped every one I met and asked +my way, but every meeting and every event led to the same result—to +_humility_ in the face of the _truth_, to meek acceptance of it. + +Three years ago I sat by Natalie’s sick-bed and saw death drawing her +mercilessly, step by step, to the grave; that life was all that was +precious to me. About me all was darkness; I sat alone in dull despair, +but did not comfort myself with hopes, did not betray my grief for one +moment by the narcotic thought of meeting beyond the grave. + +So it is hardly likely that I should be false to myself over the +impersonal problems of life. + + +II + +POST SCRIPTUM + +I know that my outlook on Europe will meet with a bad reception at +home. We for our own comfort _want_ a different Europe and believe in +it as Christians believe in Paradise. Dissipating dreams is always a +disagreeable thing to do, but some inner force which I cannot overcome +makes me tell the truth even when it does me harm. + +As a rule we know Europe from school, from literature—that is, we do not +know it, but judge it _à livre ouvert_, from books and pictures, just as +children judge the real world from their _Orbis pictus_, imagining that +all the women in the Sandwich Islands hold their hands above their heads +with a sort of tambourine, and, wherever there is a naked negro, there is +sure to be standing five paces from him a lion with a dishevelled mane or +a tiger with fierce eyes. + +Our _classic_ ignorance of the Western European will be productive of a +good deal of harm; race hatreds and bloody collisions will develop from +it later on. + +In the first place, we know nothing but the top, _cultured_ layer of +Europe, which conceals the heavy substratum of popular life formed by the +ages, and evolved by instincts and by laws that are little understood +in Europe itself. European culture does not penetrate into those +foundations in which, as in the works of the Cyclops, the hand of man is +indistinguishable from that of nature and history passes into geology. +The European states are welded together of two different peoples whose +special characteristics are maintained by utterly different educations. +There is here none of the Oriental unity which makes the Turk who is a +Grand Vizier and the Turk who hands him his pipe just like each other. +Masses of the country population have, since the religious wars and the +peasant risings, taken no active part in events; they have been swayed by +them to right and left like growing corn, never for a minute leaving the +ground in which they are rooted. + +Secondly, that stratum with which we do become acquainted, with which we +do enter into contact, we only know historically, not as it is to-day. +After spending a year or two in Europe we see with surprise that the men +of the West do not correspond as a rule with our conception of them, that +they are _greatly inferior_ to it. + +Elements of truth enter into the ideal we have formed, but either these +no longer exist or they have completely changed their character. The +valour of chivalry, the elegance of aristocratic manners, the stern +decorum of the Protestants, the proud independence of the English, +the luxurious life of Italian artists, the sparkling wit of the +Encyclopedists and the gloomy energy of the Terrorists—all that has been +melted down and transmuted into one dead level of universally predominant +_bourgeois manners_. They make up a complete whole—that is, a finished, +self-contained outlook upon life with its traditions and rules, with its +own good and evil, with its own manners and its own morality of a lower +order. + +As the knight was the leading type of the feudal world, so the merchant +has become the leading type of the new world; feudal lords are replaced +by employers. The merchant in himself is a colourless intermediate +figure; he is the middle-man between the producer and the consumer; he +is something of the nature of a means of communication, of transport. +The knight was more in himself, more of a person, and kept up his +dignity as he understood it, which made him in reality not dependent +either on wealth or on position; his personality was what mattered. In +the petty-bourgeois the personality is concealed or does not stand out, +because it is not what matters; what matters is the ware, the produce, +the thing, what matters is _property_. + +The knight was a terrible ignoramus, a bully, a duellist, a bandit +and a monk, a drunkard and a pietist, but he was open and genuine in +everything: moreover, he was always ready to lay down his life for what +he thought right; he had his moral tradition, his code of honour—very +arbitrary, but one from which he did not depart without loss of his own +respect or the respect of his peers. + +The merchant is a man of peace and not of war, stubbornly and +persistently sticking to his rights, but weak in attack; calculating, +parsimonious, he sees trade in everything, and, like the knight, enters +into single combat with every one he meets, but measures himself with him +in cunning. His ancestors—mediæval townsmen—were forced to be sly to save +themselves from violence and robbery; they purchased peace and wealth by +evasiveness, by secretiveness and pretence, keeping themselves close and +holding themselves in check. His ancestors, cap in hand and bowing low, +cheated the knight; shaking their heads or sighing, they talked to their +neighbours of their poverty, whilst they secretly buried their hoards +in the earth. All this has naturally passed into the blood and brains +of their descendants, and has become the physical characteristic of a +special human species known as the _middle class_. + +While it was in a difficult position and joined with the enlightened +aristocracy in defending its faith, in fighting for its rights, it was +full of greatness and poetry. But this was not for long, and Sancho +Panza, having gained his place and lolling simply at his ease, let +himself go and lost his peasant honour, his commonsense; the vulgar side +of his nature got the upper hand. + +Under the influence of petty-bourgeoisie everything is changed in Europe. +Chivalrous honour is replaced by the honesty of the book-keeper, elegant +manners by propriety, courtesy by stiff decorum, pride by a readiness to +take offence, parks by kitchen gardens, palaces by hotels, open to _all_ +(that is, all who have money). + +The old, out-of-date, but consistent conceptions of relations between +men have been shaken, while no new recognition of the _true_ relations +between men has appeared. This chaotic void has greatly contributed to +the development of all the bad and petty sides of bourgeoisie under the +all-powerful influence of unbridled acquisitiveness. + +Analyse the moral principles current for the last half-century, and what +a medley you will find! The Roman conception of the state together with +the Gothic division of powers, Protestantism and political economy, +_salus populi_ and _chacun pour soi_, Brutus and Thomas à Kempis, +the Gospel and Bentham, the balancing of income and expenditure and +Jean-Jacques Rousseau. With such a hotch-potch in the head and with a +magnet in the breast, for ever attracted by gold, it was not hard to +arrive at the absurdities reached by the foremost countries of Europe. + +The whole of morality has been reduced to the duty of him who has not by +every possible means to acquire, and of him who has to preserve and to +increase his property; the flag which they run up in the market-place +when trading begins has become the banner of a new society. The man has +_de facto_ become the appurtenance of property; life has been reduced to +a perpetual struggle for money. + +The political question since 1830 is becoming exclusively the +petty-bourgeois question, and the age-long struggle is expressed in the +passions and tendencies of the ruling class. Life is reduced to a gamble +on the Stock Exchange; everything—the publication of newspapers, the +elections, the legislative chambers—all have become money-changers’ shops +and markets. The English are so used to putting everything into shop +language that they call their old English Church the _Old Shop_. + +All parties and shades of opinion in the petty-bourgeois world +have gradually divided into two camps: on one hand the bourgeois +property-owners, obstinately refusing to abandon their monopolies; on +the other the petty-bourgeois who have nothing, who want to tear the +wealth out of the others’ hands but have not the power—that is, on the +one hand _avarice_, on the other hand _envy_. Since there is no real +moral principle in all that, the part taken by any individual on one +or the other side is determined by external conditions of fortune and +social position. One wave of the opposition after the other triumphs—that +is, attains to property or position—and passes naturally from the side +of envy to the side of avarice. Nothing can be more favourable for +this transition than the fruitless swing backwards and forwards of +parliamentary parties—it gives movement and sets limits to it, provides +an appearance of _doing something_, and an external show of public +interest in order to attain their private ends. + +Parliamentary government, not as it follows from the popular foundations +of the Anglo-Saxon _Common Law_, but as it has taken shape in the law +of the state, is simply the wheel in a squirrel’s cage, and the most +colossal one in the world. Could a show of a triumphant march forward +whilst remaining majestically in the same spot be possibly achieved more +perfectly than it is by the two English Houses of Parliament? + +But just that maintenance of the show is the great point. Upon everything +belonging to contemporary Europe, two characteristics obviously +derived from the shop are deeply imprinted: on one hand, hypocrisy +and secretiveness; on the other, ostentation and _étalage_. It is all +window-dressing, buying at half-price, passing off rubbish for the real +thing, show for reality, concealing some condition, taking advantage of +a literal meaning, seeming instead of being, behaving properly instead +of behaving well, keeping up external _Respektabilität_ instead of inner +dignity. + +In this world everything is so much a stage sham that even the coarsest +ignorance assumes an air of education. Which of us has not blushed for +the ignorance of Western European society? I am not here speaking of men +of learning, but of the people who make up what is called society. There +can be no serious theoretical education; it takes too much time and is +too distracting from _business_. Since nothing that lies outside trading +operations and the ‘exploitation’ of their social position is essential +in the petty-bourgeois world, their education is bound to be limited. +That is what accounts for the absurdity and slowness of mind which we see +in the bourgeois, whenever he has to step off the common beaten track. +Cunning and hypocrisy are by no means so clever and so far-sighted as is +supposed; their range is poor, and they are soon out of their depth. + +The English are aware of this, and so do not leave the beaten track, +and put up with the not merely burdensome but, what is worse, absurd +inconveniences of their mediævalism through fear of any change. + +The French petty-bourgeois have not been so prudent, and for all their +slyness and duplicity have fallen headlong into an empire. + +Full of confidence in their victory, they proclaimed universal suffrage +as the basis of their new regime. This arithmetical standard suited their +taste; the truth is determined by addition and subtraction, it could be +reckoned up and put down in figures. + +And what did they put to the decision of the votes of all in the present +state of society? The question of the existence of the republic. They +wanted to crush it by means of the people, to make of it an empty word, +because they did not like it. Is any one who respects the truth going +to ask the opinion of the first stray man he meets? What if Columbus or +Copernicus put America or the movement of the earth to the vote? + +It was shrewdly conceived, but in the end the good souls overshot their +mark. + +The gap between the _parterre_ and the actors, covered at first by the +faded carpet of Lamartine’s eloquence, has grown wider and wider; the +blood of June has washed the channel deeper; and then the question of the +president was put to the irritated people. As answer to the question, +Louis-Napoleon, rubbing his sleepy eyes, stepped out and took everything +into his hands—that is, even the petty-bourgeois, who fancied, from +memory of old days, that he would reign and they would govern. + +What you see on the great stage of political events is repeated in +microscopic form on every hearth. The corruption of petty-bourgeoisie has +crept into all the secret places of the family and private life. Never +has Catholicism, never have the ideas of chivalry, been impressed on men +so deeply, so many-sidedly, as the bourgeois ideas. + +Noble rank had its obligations. Of course, since its rights were partly +fantastic, its obligations were fantastic too, but they did provide a +certain mutual security between equals. Catholicism laid still more +obligations. Feudal knights and believing Catholics often failed to carry +out their obligations, but the consciousness that, by so doing, they were +guilty of a breach of the social bonds recognised by themselves prevented +them from being free in their lapses and from justifying their behaviour. +They had their holiday attire, their official setting which was not false +but rather their ideal. + +We are not now concerned with the nature of those ideals. They were +tried and their cause was lost long ago. We only want to point out that +petty-bourgeoisie on the contrary involves no obligations, not even the +obligation to serve in the army, so long as there are volunteers; or +rather, its only obligation is _per fas et nefas_ to have property. Its +gospel is brief: ‘Heap up wealth, multiply thy riches till they are like +the sands of the sea, use and misuse thy financial and moral capital, +without ruining thyself, and in comfort and honour thou wilt attain +length of years, marry thy children well, and leave an honoured memory +behind thee.’ + +The destruction of the feudal and Catholic world was essential, and was +the work not of the petty-bourgeois but simply of free men—that is, +of men who had set themselves free from all wholesale classification. +Among them were knights like Ulrich von Hutten, gentlemen like Voltaire, +watchmakers’ apprentices like Rousseau, army doctors like Schiller, +and merchants’ sons like Goethe. The petty-bourgeois took advantage of +their work and showed themselves emancipated, not only from monarchs and +slavery but from all social obligations, except that of contributing to +the hire of the government who guarded their security. + +Of Protestantism they made _their own_ religion, a religion that +reconciles the conscience of the Christian with the practice of the +usurer, a religion so bourgeois that the common people, who shed their +blood for it, have abandoned it. In England the working class goes to +church less than any. + +Of the Revolution they tried to make their own republic, but it slipped +between their fingers, just as the civilisation of antiquity slipped away +from the barbarians—that is, with no place in real life, but with hope +for _instaurationem magnam_. + +The Reformation and the Revolution were both so terrified by the +emptiness of the world which they had come into that they sought +salvation in two forms of monasticism—the cold, dreary bigotry of +Puritanism and the frigid, artificial civic morality of republican +formalism. + +Both the Quaker[66] and the Jacobin forms of intolerance were based on +the fear that the ground was not firm under their feet; they saw that +they needed to take strong measures, to persuade men in the one case that +this was the church, in the other that it was freedom. + +Such is the general atmosphere of European life. It is most oppressive +and insufferable where the modern Western system is most developed, +where it is most true to its principles, where it is most wealthy and +most _cultured_—that is, most industrial. And that is why it is not so +unendurably oppressive to live in Italy or Spain as it is in England or +France.... And that is why poor, mountainous, rustic Switzerland is the +only corner of Europe into which one can retreat in peace.[67] + + + + +Chapter 39 + +MONEY AND POLICE—THE EMPEROR JAMES ROTHSCHILD AND THE BANKER NICHOLAS +ROMANOV—POLICE AND MONEY + + +In the December of 1849 I learnt that the authorisation for the mortgage +of my estate sent from Paris and witnessed at the Embassy had been +destroyed, and that after that an injunction had been laid on my mother’s +fortune. There was no time to be lost, and, as I have mentioned in a +previous chapter, I at once left Geneva and went to my mother’s. + +It would be hypocritical to affect to despise property in our time of +financial disorganisation. Money is independence, power, a weapon. + +And no one flings away a weapon in time of war, though it may have come +from the enemy or be ever so rusty. The slavery of poverty is awful; I +have studied it in all its aspects, living for years with men who have +escaped from political shipwrecks in the clothes they stood up in. And so +I thought it right and necessary to take every measure to snatch what I +could from the bear’s claws of the Russian Government. + +Even so, I was not far from losing everything. When I left Russia I had +no definite plan; I only wanted to remain abroad as long as possible. +The Revolution of 1848 arrived and drew me into its whirlpool before +I had done anything to secure my property. Worthy persons have blamed +me for throwing myself headlong into political movements and leaving +the future of my family to the will of the gods. Perhaps it was not +altogether prudent; but if, living in Rome in 1848, I had sat at home +considering ways and means of saving my property while revolting Italy +was surging before my windows, then I should probably not have remained +in foreign countries, but have returned to Petersburg, have entered the +service again, might have become a vice-governor, have sat at the head +prosecutor’s table, and should have addressed my secretary with insulting +familiarity and my minister as ‘Your High Excellency.’ + +I had no such self-restraint and good sense, and I am infinitely thankful +for it now. My heart and my memory would be the poorer if I had missed +those bright moments of faith and enthusiasm! What could have made up to +me for the loss of them? Indeed, why speak of me? What would have made up +for it to her whose broken life was nothing afterwards but suffering that +ended in the grave? How bitterly would my conscience have reproached me +if, from prudent caution, I had robbed her of almost the last minutes of +untroubled happiness! And after all I did succeed in saving almost all +our property except the Kostroma estate. + +After the June days my position was becoming dangerous. I made the +acquaintance of Rothschild, and asked him to change for me two Moscow +Bank bonds. Business then was not flourishing, of course; the exchange +was in a very bad way; his terms were not good, but I at once accepted +them, and had the satisfaction of seeing a faint smile of compassion on +Rothschild’s lips—he took me for a reckless _prince russe_ who had run +into debt in Paris, and so fell to calling me _Monsieur le Comte_. + +On the first bonds the money was promptly paid; but on the later ones +for a much larger sum, though the payment was made, Rothschild’s +representative informed him that an injunction had been laid on my +capital—luckily I had withdrawn it all. + +And so I found myself in Paris with a large sum of money in the midst of +general upheaval, without experience or knowledge what to do with it. +Yet everything was fairly well arranged. As a rule, the less excitement, +uneasiness, and anxiety there is in financial matters, the better they +succeed. Greedy money-grubbers and financial cowards are as often ruined +as spendthrifts. + +By the advice of Rothschild, I bought myself some American shares, a few +French ones, and a small house in the Rue Amsterdam, tenanted by the +Havre Hôtel. + +One of my first revolutionary steps, which cut me off from Russia, +plunged me into the respectable class of conservative idlers, brought +me acquainted with bankers and notaries, taught me to look at the Stock +Exchange news—in fact, turned me into a West European _rentier_. The +disharmony between the modern man and the environment in which he lives +brings a dreadful confusion into private behaviour. We are in the very +middle of two currents in conflict with each other; we are flung and +shall continue to be flung first in one and then in the other direction, +until one or the other finally overpowers us, and the stream, still +restless and turbulent but flowing in one direction only, makes things +easier for the swimmer by carrying him along with it. + +Happy the man who knows how to steer so that, yielding to the waves and +swaying with them, he still swims his own course! + +On the purchase of the house I had the opportunity of looking more +closely into the business and bourgeois world of France. The bureaucratic +pedantry over completing a purchase is not inferior to ours in Russia. +The old notary read me several documents, the statute concerning the +reading of them _main levée_, then the actual statute itself—all of this +making up a complete folio volume. In our final negotiation concerning +the price and the legal expenses, the owner of the house said that he +would make a concession and take upon himself the very considerable +expenses of the legal conveyance, if I would immediately pay the whole +sum to him personally. I did not understand him, since from the very +first I had openly stated that I was buying it for ready money. The +notary explained to me that the money must remain in his hands for at +least three months, during which its sale would be advertised and all +creditors who had any claims on the house would be called upon to state +their case. The house was mortgaged for seventy thousand, but there +might be further mortgages in other hands. In three months’ time, after +inquiries had been made, the _purge hypothécaire_ would be handed to the +purchaser and the former owner would receive the purchase money. + +The owner declared that he had no other debts. The notary confirmed this. +‘Your honour and your hand on it,’ I said to him—‘you have no other debts +which could be secured by the house?’ + +‘I will readily give you my word of honour.’ + +‘In that case, I agree, and will come here to-morrow with Rothschild’s +cheque.’ + +When I went next day to Rothschild’s, his secretary flung up his hands in +horror: ‘They are cheating you! This is impossible; we will stop the sale +if you like. It’s something unheard of, to buy from a stranger on such +terms.’ + +‘Would you like me to send some one with you to look into the business?’ +Baron James himself suggested. + +I did not care to play the part of an ignorant boy, so said that I had +given my word, and took the cheque for the whole sum. When I reached +the notary’s I found there, besides the witnesses, the creditor who had +come to receive the seventy thousand francs. The deed of purchase was +read over, we signed it, the notary congratulated me on being a Parisian +house-owner—there was nothing left to do but to hand over the cheque.... + +‘How vexing!’ said the house-owner, taking it from my hands; ‘I forgot to +ask you to draw it in two cheques. How can I pay out the seventy thousand +now?’ + +‘Nothing is easier: go to Rothschild’s, they’ll give it you in two +cheques; or, simpler still, go to the bank.’ + +‘I’ll go if you like,’ said the creditor; the house-owner frowned and +answered that that was his business, that he would go. + +The creditor frowned. The notary good-naturedly suggested that they +should go together. + +Hardly able to refrain from laughter, I said to them: ‘Here’s your +receipt; give me back the cheque, I will go and change it.’ + +‘You will infinitely oblige us,’ they said with a sigh of relief; and I +went. + +Four months later the _purge hypothécaire_ was sent me, and I gained ten +thousand francs by my rash trustfulness. + +After the 13th of June 1849, the Prefect of Police, Rébillaud, made some +report against me; probably in consequence of his report, strange steps +were taken by the Petersburg Government in regard to my estate. It was +these steps, as I have said, that compelled me to go with my mother to +Paris. + +We travelled through Neufchâtel and Besançon. Our journey began with my +forgetting my greatcoat in the posting-station yard at Berne; as I had a +warm overcoat and warm overshoes with me, I did not go back for it. All +went well till we reached the mountains, but in the mountains we were met +by knee-deep snow, eight degrees of frost, and the cursed Swiss _bise_. +The diligence could not go on, the passengers were transferred by twos +and threes into small sledges. I do not remember having ever suffered so +much from cold as on that night. My legs were simply in agony. I stuffed +them into the straw; then the post driver gave me a collar of some sort, +but that was not much help. At the third station I bought from a peasant +woman her shawl for fifteen francs, and wrapped myself in it; but by that +time we were already on the descent, and with every mile it grew warmer. + +This road is magnificently fine on the French side; the vast amphitheatre +of immense mountains, so varied in outline, accompanies one up to +Besançon itself; here and there on the crags stand the ruins of fortified +feudal castles. In this landscape there is something mighty and austere, +resolute and morose; gazing at it, a peasant boy grew up and was formed, +the descendant of old country stock, Pierre Joseph Proudhon. And indeed +one may say of him, though in a different sense, what was said by the +poet of the Florentines: + + ‘E tiene ancor del monte e del macigno.’ + +Rothschild agreed to take my mother’s bond, but would not cash it in +advance, on account of Gasser’s letter. The Board of Trustees did in +fact refuse the payment. Then Rothschild instructed Gasser to demand +an interview with Nesselrode and to inquire of him what was wrong. +Nesselrode replied that though there was no doubt about the bonds and +Rothschild’s claim was valid, the Tsar had commanded that the money +should be retained on secret political grounds. + +I remember the amazement in Rothschild’s office on the reception of this +reply. The eye involuntarily glanced to the bottom of the statement +for the sign of Alaric or the seal of Genghis Khan. Rothschild had not +expected such a trick even from so celebrated a master of despotic action +as Nicholas. ‘It is little matter for wonder to me,’ I said to him, ‘that +Nicholas should try to carry off my mother’s money to punish me, or to +catch me with it as a bait; but I could not have imagined that your name +would have so little weight in Russia. The bonds are yours and not my +mother’s; when she signed them she gave them to bearer (_au porteur_), +but since you endorsed them that _porteur_[68] is you; and you are +insolently answered, “The money is yours, but the master has told me not +to pay it.”’ + +My words produced their effect. Rothschild began to lose his temper, and +walking about the room said: ‘No, I won’t allow myself to be treated +like that; I will bring an action against the bank; I will insist upon a +definite answer from the Minister of Finance!’ + +‘Well,’ thought I, ‘Vrontchenko won’t understand this gentleman. A +“confidential” reply would have been a favour, but a “definite” one is +too much!’ + +‘Here you have a sample of how familiarly and _sans gêne_ the autocracy, +upon which the reaction is building such hopes, disposes of property. +The communism of the Cossack is almost more dangerous than that of Louis +Blanc.’ + +‘I will think what to do,’ said Rothschild; ‘we can’t put up with this.’ + +Three days after this conversation, I met Rothschild on the boulevard. + +‘By the way,’ he said, stopping me, ‘I was speaking of your business +yesterday to Kisselyov.[69] You must excuse me, but I ought to tell you +that he expressed a very unfavourable opinion of you, and does not seem +willing to do anything for you.’ + +‘Do you often see him?’ + +‘Sometimes at evening parties.’ + +‘Be so good as to tell him that you have seen me to-day, and that I have +the worst possible opinion of him, but that at the same time I don’t +think it would be fair to rob his mother on that account.’ + +Rothschild laughed; I think that from that time he began to surmise that +I was not a _prince russe_, and he took to addressing me as Baron; he +elevated me to this rank, I imagine, to make me worthy of conversing with +him. + +Next day he sent for me; I went at once. He handed me an unsigned letter +to Gasser, and added: ‘Here is our proposed letter; sit down and read it +attentively, then tell me whether you are satisfied with it. If you want +to add or change anything, we will do so at once. Meanwhile, allow me to +go on with my work.’ + +First I looked about me. Every minute a small door opened and one +Bourse agent after another came in, uttering a number in a loud +voice; Rothschild, still reading, muttered without raising his eyes: +‘Yes,—no,—good,—perhaps,—enough,—’ and the number walked out. There were +various persons in the room, capitalists of the common sort, members of +the National Assembly, two or three exhausted tourists with youthful +moustaches and elderly cheeks, those everlasting figures that are seen +drinking wine at watering-places and presenting themselves at courts, +the feeble and lymphatic scions of effete aristocratic families, who +yet presume to pass from the gaming table to the Bourse. They were all +talking together in undertones. The Jewish autocrat sat calmly at his +table, looking through papers and noting something down on them, probably +millions, or at least hundreds of thousands. + +‘Well,’ he said, turning to me, ‘are you satisfied?’ + +‘Perfectly,’ I answered. + +The letter was excellent, curt and emphatic as it should be when one +power is addressing another. He wrote to Gasser that the latter must at +once demand an audience with Nesselrode and the Minister of Finance; that +he must tell them that Rothschild is not interested to know to whom the +bonds did belong; that he has bought them and insists on payment, or a +clear legal statement of the reason why payment is deferred; that, in +case of refusal, he would put the matter before the legal authorities, +and he advised them to weigh carefully the consequences of a refusal, +which seemed particularly strange to him when the Russian Government was +negotiating through him for the conclusion of a new loan. Rothschild +wound up by saying that in case of further delay he would be impelled +to give the matter publicity through the newspapers to warn other +capitalists. He recommended Gasser to show this to Nesselrode. + + * * * * * + +We were interrupted.... Schomburg asked me to look in half an hour later. + +When half an hour later I was mounting the staircase of the Winter Palace +of Finance in the Rue Laffitte, the rival of Nicholas was coming down it. + +‘Schomburg has told me,’ said His Majesty, smiling graciously, and +holding out his own august hand, ‘the letter has been signed and sent +off. You will see how they will come round. I’ll teach them to play +tricks with me.’ + +I felt inclined to drop on my knees and to offer an oath of allegiance +together with my gratitude, but I confined myself to saying: ‘If you feel +perfectly certain of it, allow me to open an account, if only for half of +the sum.’ + +‘With pleasure,’ answered the gracious autocrat, and went his way into +the Rue Lafitte. + +I made my obeisance to His Majesty, and, being so near, went into the +_Maison d’Or_. + +Within a month or six weeks Nicholas Romanov, that Petersburg merchant of +the first guild, who had been so reluctant to pay up, terrified by the +prospect of a meeting of creditors and the publication in the newspapers, +did at the Imperial command of Rothschild pay up the illegally detained +money, together with the interest and the interest on the interest, +apologising for his ignorance of the law, which he certainly could not be +expected to know in his social position. + +From that time forth I was on the best of terms with Rothschild. He +liked in me the field of battle on which he had beaten Nicholas; I was +for him something like Marengo or Austerlitz, and he several times +described the details of the business in my presence, smiling faintly, +but magnanimously sparing his vanquished opponent. + +While this business was going on—and it occupied about six months—I was +staying at the Hôtel Mirabeau, Rue de la Paix. One morning in April I was +told that a gentleman was waiting for me in the hall and particularly +wished to see me. I went out. An abject old individual who looked like a +government clerk was standing in the hall. + +‘The Commissaire of Police of the Tuileries Arrondissement So-and-so.’ + +‘Pleased to see you.’ + +‘Allow me to read you the decree of the Ministry of Home Affairs, +communicated to me by the Prefect of Police, and relating to you.’ + +‘Pray do so; here is a chair.’ + +‘We, the Prefect of Police:[70]—In accordance with paragraph seven of the +law of the 13th and 21st of November and 3rd of December of 1849, giving +the Ministry of Home Affairs the power to expel (_expulser_) from France +any foreigner whose presence in France may be subversive of order and +dangerous to public tranquillity, and in view of the ministerial circular +of the 3rd of January 1850, + + ‘Do command as follows: + +‘The here-mentioned’ (_le N——é_, that is, _nommé_, but this does not +mean ‘aforesaid’ because nothing has been said about me before; it is +merely an ungrammatical attempt to designate a man as rudely as possible) +‘Herzen, Alexandre, age 40’ (they put me on two years), ‘a Russian +subject, living in such a place, is to leave Paris at once on receiving +this announcement, and to depart from the frontiers of France within the +shortest possible time. + +‘It is forbidden for him to return in future under pain of the penalties +laid down by the eighth paragraph of the same law (imprisonment from one +to six months and a money fine). + +‘All necessary measures will be taken to secure the execution of these +orders. + + ‘_Fait_ in Paris, April 16, 1850. + + ‘Prefect of Police, + ‘A. CARLIER. + + ‘Confirmed by the general secretary of the Prefecture. + + ‘CLÉMENT REYRE.’ + +On the margin: + + ‘Read and approved April 19, 1850, + + Minister of Home Affairs, + G. BAROCHE. + +‘In the year eighteen hundred and fifty, April the twenty-fourth. + +‘We, Émile Boulay, Commissaire of Police of the City of Paris and in +particular of the Tuileries Arrondissement, in execution of the orders of +M. le Prefect of Police of April 23rd: + +‘Have notified the Sieur Alexandre Herzen, telling him in words as +written herewith.’ Here follows the whole text over again. It is just as +children tell the story of the White Bull, prefacing every fresh incident +with the same phrase: ‘Shall I tell you the tale of the white bull?’ + +Then: ‘We have summoned _le dit Herzen_ to present himself in the course +of the next twenty-four hours at the Prefecture for the reception of a +passport and the assignment of a frontier through which he will leave +France. + +‘And that _le dit Sieur Herzen n’en prétende cause d’ignorance_ (what a +jargon!) _nous lui avons laissé cette copie tant du dit arrêté en tête de +cette présente de notre procès-verbal de notification_.’ + +Oh, my Vyatka colleagues in the secretariat of Tyufyaev; oh, Ardashov, +who would write a dozen sheets at one sitting; Veprev, Shtin, and my +drunken head clerk! Would not their hearts rejoice to know that after the +days of Voltaire, of Beaumarchais, of George Sand, and of Hugo, documents +are written like this in Paris? + +And, indeed, not only they would be delighted, but also my father’s +village foreman, Vassily Epifanov, who from the deepest sentiments +of politeness would write to his master: ‘Your commandment by this +present preceding post received, and by the same I have the honour to +announce....’ This stupid and vulgar temple _des us et coutumes_, only +fitting for a blind and doting old goddess like Themis, ought surely to +be razed to the ground. + +The reading of this document did not produce the result expected; a +Parisian imagines that exile from Paris is as bad as the expulsion of +Adam from Paradise, and without Eve into the bargain. To me, on the +contrary, it was a matter of indifference, since I had already begun to +be sick of Parisian life. + +‘When am I to present myself before the Prefecture?’ I asked, assuming a +polite air in spite of the wrath which was filling me. + +‘I advise ten o’clock to-morrow morning.’ + +‘With pleasure.’ + +‘How early the spring is beginning this year!’ observed the _commissaire_ +of the city of Paris and in particular of the Tuileries arrondissement. + +‘Exceedingly.’ + +‘This is an old-fashioned hotel. Mirabeau used to dine here; that is why +it bears his name. You have no doubt been well satisfied with it?’ + +‘Very well satisfied. Only fancy what it must be to leave it so abruptly!’ + +‘It’s certainly unpleasant.... The hostess is an intelligent and +excellent woman—Mlle. Cousin; she was a great friend of the celebrated Le +Normand.’[71] + +‘Imagine that! What a pity I did not know it! Perhaps she has inherited +her art of fortune-telling and might have predicted my _billet doux_ from +Carlier.’ + +‘Ha, ha!... It is my duty, you know. Allow me to wish you good-day.’ + +‘To be sure, anything may happen. I have the honour to wish you good-bye.’ + +Next day I presented myself in the Rue Jérusalem, more celebrated than +Le Normand herself. First, I was received by some sort of a youthful +spy, with a little beard, a little moustache, and all the manners of an +abortive journalist and an unsuccessful democrat. His face, the look in +his eyes, all wore the stamp of that refined corruption of soul, that +envious hunger for enjoyment, power, acquisition, which I have learned +to read so well on Western European faces, though it is completely +absent from that of the English. He had probably only recently received +his post; he still took pleasure in it, and therefore spoke a little +condescendingly. He informed me that I must leave within three days, and +except for particularly important reasons it was impossible to defer the +date. His impudent face, his accent and his gestures, were such that +without entering into further discussion with him I bowed and then asked, +first putting on my hat, when I could see the Prefect. + +‘The Prefect only receives persons who have asked him for an audience in +writing.’ + +‘Allow me to write to him at once.’ + +He rang the bell; an old _huissier_ with a chain on his breast walked in; +saying to him with a dignified air, ‘Pen and paper for this gentleman,’ +the youth nodded to me. + +The _huissier_ led me into another room. There I wrote to Carlier that +I wished to see him in order to explain to him why I had to defer my +departure. + +On the evening of the same day I received from the Prefecture the laconic +answer: ‘M. le Préfet is ready to receive So-and-so to-morrow at two +o’clock.’ + +The same disgusting youth met me next day: he had his own room, from +which I concluded that he was something in the nature of a head clerk. +Beginning his career so early and with such success, he will go far, if +God grants him long life. + +On this occasion he led me into a big office. There a stout, tall, +rosy-cheeked gentleman was sitting in a big easy-chair at an immense +table. He was one of those persons who are always hot, with sleek, white, +but flabby flesh, with fat but carefully groomed hands, with a necktie +reduced to a minimum, with colourless eyes, with that jovial expression +which is usually found in men who are completely drowned in love for +their comfort, and who can rise coldly and without great effort to the +utmost infamies. + +‘You wish to see the Prefect,’ he said to me; ‘but he asks you to excuse +him; he has been obliged to go out on very important business. If I can +do anything for your benefit I ask nothing better. Here is an easy-chair: +will you sit down?’ + +All this he brought out smoothly, very politely, screwing up his eyes a +little and smiling with the little cushions of flesh which adorned his +cheek-bones. ‘Well, this fellow has been for years in the service,’ I +thought. + +‘You probably know what I’ve come about.’ He made that gentle movement of +the head which every one makes on beginning to swim, and did not answer. + +‘I have received an order to leave within three days. As I know that your +minister has the right of expulsion without giving reasons or making +investigations, I am not going to inquire why I am being expelled, nor to +defend myself; but I have, besides my own house....’ + +‘Where is your house?’ + +‘Fourteen, Rue Amsterdam ... very important business in Paris, and it is +difficult for me to leave at once.’ + +‘Allow me to ask, what is your business? Is it to do with the house +or...?’ + +‘My business is with Rothschild. I have to receive four hundred thousand +francs.’ + +‘What?’ + +‘A little over a hundred thousand silver roubles.’ + +‘That’s a very large sum!’ + +‘_C’est une somme ronde._’ + +‘How much time do you need for completing your business?’ he asked, +looking at me more tenderly, as people look at pheasants stuffed with +truffles in the shop windows. + +‘From a month to six weeks.’ + +‘That is a terribly long time.’ + +‘My business is being settled in Russia. I should not wonder if it is on +that account I am leaving France, indeed.’ + +‘How so?’ + +‘A week ago Rothschild told me that Kisselyov spoke ill of me. Probably +the Petersburg Government wishes to hush up the business; I dare say the +ambassador has asked for my expulsion as a favour.’ + +‘_D’abord_,’ observed the offended patriot of the Prefecture, assuming +an air of dignity and profound conviction, ‘France permits no other +Government to interfere in her domestic affairs. I am surprised that +such an idea could enter your head. Moreover, what can be more natural +than that the Government, which is doing its utmost to restore order to +the suffering people, should exercise its right to expel from the country +in which there is so much inflammatory material, foreigners who abuse the +hospitality she has shown them?’ + +I determined to get at him by money. This was as sure a method of attack +as the use of texts from the Gospel in discussion with a Catholic, and so +I answered with a smile: ‘I have paid a hundred thousand francs for the +hospitality of Paris, and so consider I have almost settled my account.’ + +This was even more successful than my _somme ronde_. He was embarrassed, +and saying after a brief pause, ‘We cannot help it, we are obliged to +do our duty,’ he took from the table my _dossier_. This was the second +volume of the novel, the first part of which I had once seen in the hands +of Dubbelt. Stroking the pages, as though they were good horses, with his +plump hand: ‘You see,’ he observed, ‘your connections, your association +with seditious journals’ (almost word for word what Sahtynsky had said to +me in 1840), ‘and the considerable subventions which you have given to +the most pernicious enterprises, have compelled us to resort to a very +unpleasant but necessary step. That step can be no surprise to you. Even +in your own country you brought political punishment upon yourself. Like +causes lead to like results.’ + +‘I am certain,’ I said, ‘that the Emperor Nicholas himself does not +suspect this solidarity; you cannot really approve of his Government.’ + +‘_Un bon citoyen_ respects the laws of his country, whatever they may +be....’[72] + +‘Probably on the celebrated principle that it is in any case better +there should be bad weather than no weather at all.’ + +‘To prove to you that the Russian Government has absolutely nothing to +do with it, I promise to obtain from the Prefect a postponement for one +month. You will certainly not think it strange if we make inquiries of +Rothschild concerning your business; it is not so much a question of +doubting....’ + +‘Do by all means make inquiries. We are at war, and if it had been of +any use for me to have resorted to stratagem in order to remain, do you +suppose I should not have employed it?’ + +But the worldly and amiable _alter ego_ of the Prefect would not be +outdone. + +‘People who talk like that never say what is untrue,’ he replied. + +A month later my business was still unfinished. We were visited by an old +doctor, Palmier, whose agreeable duty it is to make a weekly examination +of an interesting class of Parisian women at the Prefecture. Since he +gave such a number of certificates of health to the fair sex, I imagined +he would not refuse to give me a certificate of illness. Palmier was +acquainted, of course, with every one in the Prefecture: he promised +me to give X. personally the history of my indisposition. To my great +surprise Palmier came back without a satisfactory answer. This incident +is worth noting because it shows a brotherly resemblance between the +Russian and the French bureaucracies. X. had given no answer, but had +replied evasively, offended at my not having come in person to inform him +that I was ill, in bed, and could not get up. There was no help for it: I +went next day to the Prefecture, glowing with health. + +X. asked me with the greatest sympathy about my illness. As I had not +had the curiosity to read what the doctor had written, I had to invent +an illness. Luckily I remembered Sazonov, who, with his bulky figure +and inexhaustible appetite, complained of aneurism—I told X. I had heart +disease and that travelling might be very bad for me. + +X. was sorry for me, and advised me to be very careful; then he went +into the next room, and returned a minute later, saying: ‘You may remain +another month. The Prefect has commissioned me at the same time to tell +you that he hopes and desires that your health may be restored during +that period; if this were not the case, he would greatly regret it, for +he will not be able to postpone your departure a third time.’ + +I understood that, and made ready to leave Paris about the 20th of June. + +I came across the name of X. once more a year later. This patriot and +_bon citoyen_ quietly withdrew from France, forgetting to account for +some thousands of francs belonging to people of the poor or lower-middle +class who had taken tickets in a Californian lottery run under the +patronage of the Prefecture! + +When the worthy citizen saw that in spite of all his respect for the +laws of his country he might get into the galleys for swindling, then he +preferred to take a steamer to Genoa. He was a consistent person, who did +not lose his head with failure. He took advantage of the notoriety he +gained by the scandal of the Californian lottery to proffer his services +to a society of speculators which had been formed at that time at Turin +for building railways; the society hastened to accept the services of so +reliable a gentleman. + +The last two months I spent in Paris were insufferable. I was literally +_gardé à vue_; my letters arrived a day late and insolently unsealed; +wherever I went I was followed in the distance by a loathsome individual, +who at the corners passed me on with a wink to another. + +It must not be forgotten that this was the time of the most feverish +activity of the police. The stupid conservatives and revolutionists of +the Algiers-Lamartine persuasion helped the rogues and knaves surrounding +Napoleon himself to prepare a network of espionage and supervision, so +that, stretching them over the whole of France, they might at any given +minute catch by telegraph, by the Ministry of Home Affairs and the +Élysée, all the active forces of the country and strangle them. Napoleon +III. cleverly turned the weapon entrusted to him against these men +themselves. The 2nd of December meant the promotion of the police to the +position of the executive power. + +There has never anywhere, even in Austria or in Russia, been such a +political police as existed in France from the time of the Convention. +There are many causes for this, apart from the peculiar _national_ +propensity for police activity. Except in England, where the police have +nothing in common with Continental espionage, the police are everywhere +surrounded by hostile elements and consequently thrown on their own +resources. In France, on the contrary, the police is the most popular +institution. Whatever government seizes power, its police is _ready_; +a part of the people will help it with a zest and a fanaticism which +have to be restrained and not intensified, and will help, too, with +all those terrible means at the disposal of private persons which are +impossible for the police. Where can a man hide from his shopkeeper, his +house-porter, his tailor, his washerwoman, his butcher, his sister’s +husband, his brother’s wife, especially in Paris, where people do not +live in separate houses as they do in London, but in something like coral +reefs or hives with a common staircase, a common courtyard, and a common +porter. + +Condorcet escapes from the Jacobin police and successfully makes his way +to some village near the frontier; tired and harassed, he goes into a +little inn, sits down before the fire, warms his hands, and asks for +a piece of chicken. The good-natured old woman who keeps the inn, and +who is a great patriot, reasons like this: ‘He is covered with dust, so +he must have come a _long way_; he asks for chicken, so he must have +_money_; his hands are white, so he must be an _aristocrat_.’ Leaving +the chicken on the stove, she goes to the next inn; there patriots are +sitting—a Mucius Scaevola, the innkeeper—some _citoyen_, a Brutus—a +Timoleon, the tailor. They ask for nothing better, and ten minutes later +one of the wisest leaders of the French Revolution is in prison and +handed over to one of the police of Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality! + +Napoleon, who had the police talent highly developed, turned his +generals into spies and informers. The butcher of Lyons, Fouché, founded +a complete theory, system, science of espionage—through the prefects, +behind the prefects, through prostitutes and virtuous shopkeepers, +through servants and coachmen, through doctors and barbers. Napoleon +fell, but his tool remained, and not only his tool but the man who +wielded it. Fouché passed over to the Bourbons; the strength of the spies +lost nothing—on the contrary, they were reinforced by monks and priests. +Under Louis-Philippe, in whose reign bribery and corruption became one +of the moral forces of government, half the petty-bourgeois became his +spies, his police chorus, a result to which service in the National +Guard—in itself a police duty—greatly contributed. + +During the February republic three or four branches of genuinely secret +police and several of professedly secret ones were formed. There was +the police of Ledru-Rollin and the police of Caussidière, there was the +police of Marrast and the police of the provisional government, there was +the police of order and the police of disorder, the police of Napoleon +and the police of the Duc d’Orléans. All were on the look-out, all were +watching each other and reporting on each other; assuming that these +secret reports were made with conviction, with the best of motives, for +no money gain, yet they were still secret reports.... This fatal habit, +meeting on the one hand with mournful failures, and on the other morbid, +unbridled lust of gold or pleasure, corrupted a whole generation. + +We must not forget, too, the moral indifference, the instability of +opinion, which was left like a sediment by successive revolutions and +restorations. Men had grown used to regarding as heroism and virtue +on one day what would on the morrow be a crime punished with penal +servitude; the laurel wreath and the brand of the convict alternated +several times on the same head. By the time they had become accustomed to +this a nation of spies was created. + +All the latest discoveries of secret societies and plots, all the latest +denunciations of refugees were made by false members of societies, bribed +friends, men who had won confidence with the object of treachery. + +There were examples on all hands of cowards who, through fear of prison +and exile, revealed secrets and ruined their friends—as a faint-hearted +comrade ruined Konarski. But neither among us nor in Austria was there a +legion of young men, cultured, speaking _our_ language, making inspired +speeches in clubs, writing revolutionary articles and serving as spies. + +Moreover, the government of Napoleon was excellently placed for making +use of informers of all parties. It represents the revolution and the +reaction, war and peace, the year 1789 and Catholicism, the fall of the +Bourbons and the 4½ per cents. It is served both by Falloux the Jesuit, +and Billault the socialist, and La Rochejacquelein the legitimist, and +the mass of the people to whom Louis-Philippe had been a benefactor. The +refuse of all parties and shades of opinion naturally flows together and +ferments in the Palace of the Tuileries. + + + + +Chapter 40 + +THE EUROPEAN COMMITTEE—THE RUSSIAN CONSUL AT NICE—LETTER TO A. F. +ORLOV—PERSECUTION OF A CHILD—THE VOGTS—TRANSFERENCE FROM THE GRADE OF +UPPER COURT COUNCILLOR TO THAT OF SIMPLE PEASANT—RECEPTION AT CHÂTEL +(1850-1851) + + +A year after our arrival in Nice from Paris I wrote: ‘_In vain I rejoiced +at my quiet seclusion, in vain I drew the pentagram on my doors: I have +not found a quiet haven nor the peace I desired. Pentagrams protect us +from unclean spirits—no polygons protect us from unclean men, unless +perhaps the square of the prison-cell window._ + +‘_A tedious, wearisome, and extremely empty period, the exhausting +journey between the halting place of 1848 and the halting place of +1852,—there is nothing new except perhaps some personal misfortune +breaking the heart, another vital spring snapped._’—(‘Letters from France +and Italy,’ June 1, 1851.) + +Indeed, going over that time makes my heart ache as it does at the memory +of funerals, operations, agonising illnesses. Without touching here upon +my inner life, which was more and more overcast by dark storm-clouds, +public events and the news in the papers were enough to make any one flee +into the desert. France was dropping with the swiftness of a falling +star to the 2nd of December. Germany lay at the feet of Nicholas, to +which Hungary, sold and unhappy, had dragged her. The _condottieri_ of +the police met at their œcumenical councils, and secretly consulted +together concerning common measures of international espionage. The +revolutionaries maintained their empty agitation. The men at the head +of the movement, disappointed in their hopes, lost their heads. Kossuth +returned from America somewhat less nationalistic, Mazzini together +with Ledru-Rollin and Ruge was founding in London the Central European +Committee ... while the reaction was growing more and more ferocious. + +After our meeting in Geneva, and then again in Lausanne, I saw Mazzini +in 1850; he was secretly in France, staying in some aristocratic family, +and sent one of his intimate associates to fetch me. Then he told me of +his project of an international league in London, and asked whether I +would like to take part in it _as a Russian_; I made no definite answer. +A year later Orsini came to me in Nice, handed me the programme, various +manifestoes of the European Central Committee, and a letter from Mazzini +renewing his proposition. I did not dream of joining the Committee; what +element of Russian life could I have represented at that time, completely +cut off from everything Russian as I was? But this was not the only +reason why the European Committee did not attract me. It seemed to me +that its basis lacked depth of thought and unity, that there had been no +necessity for its foundation, and that its form was simply a mistake. + +The side of the movement which the Committee represented—that is, the +revolt of the oppressed nationalities—was not strong enough in 1851 to +be openly represented by a league. The existence of such a Committee +showed nothing but the tolerance of the English constitution, and partly +too that the English Government did not believe in its power or they +would have suppressed it, either by an alien bill or by a motion for the +suspension of _habeas corpus_. + +The European Committee, though it scared all the governments, did +nothing, without perceiving that fact. Even the most earnest people +are terribly easily led away by formalism, and persuade themselves +that they are doing something by having periodical meetings, issuing +masses of papers, minutes, motions, voting, accepting resolutions, +printing manifestoes, _professions de foi_, and so on. The revolutionary +bureaucracy dissolves things into words and forms just as our official +bureaucracy does. In England there are masses of all sorts of +associations which hold impressive meetings attended by dukes and lords, +clergymen and secretaries. Treasurers collect funds, literary men write +articles, and all of them together do absolutely nothing. These meetings, +for the most part philanthropic and religious, on the one hand serve as +an entertainment, on the other soothe the Christian conscience of people +who are given up to worldly interests. But a revolutionary senate in +London could not _en permanence_ maintain this meek-and-mild character. +It was a public conspiracy, a conspiracy with open doors—that is, an +impossible one. + +A conspiracy is bound to be secret. The period of secret societies is +over only in England and America. Everywhere where there is a minority, +in advance of the understanding of the masses and hoping to realise an +idea they have grasped, secret societies will be formed, if there is +no freedom of speech or right of free assembly. I speak of this quite +impartially; after my youthful attempts, ending in my exile in 1835, I +have _never been a member of any secret society_, but not at all because +I consider the spending of energy on individual effort more worth while. +I have not been a member of such societies because I have not happened to +come upon a society which was in harmony with my own aims, and in which I +could have achieved anything. If it had been my lot to be in touch with +Pestel’s or Ryleyev’s society,[73] I should have flung myself into it +heart and soul. + +Another error or another misfortune of the Committee lay in its lack +of unity. This focussing together of heterogeneous ideals could only +have developed the power of its component parts by common action. If +each member of the Committee had brought nothing but his exclusive +nationality, that would not have mattered; they would have had a unity in +their hatred for the chief enemy they had in common, the Holy Alliance. +But their views, agreed on two negative principles, opposition to +monarchy and to socialism, differed on every other subject. To act in +unison they must have made compromises, and compromises of that kind +are destructive of the one-sided force of each, for the sake of common +accord, tying just the strings which sound most sharply, and so making +the combined effect colourless, blurred, and hesitating. + +After reading the papers which Orsini had brought me, I wrote the +following letter to Mazzini:— + + ‘DEAR MAZZINI,—I have a sincere respect for you, and so I am + not afraid to tell you my opinion frankly. In any case you will + give me a patient and indulgent hearing. + + ‘You are perhaps one of the chief political leaders of recent + times whose name has remained surrounded by sympathy and + respect. One may differ from you in opinion, in method, but + cannot fail to respect you personally. Your past, the Rome + of 1848 and 1849, compel you to bear proudly your great + bereavement until events call back their champion who is in + advance of them. That is why it is painful to me to see your + name coupled with the names of men of no ability who have + ruined the cause, with names which only recall the calamities + they have brought upon us. + + ‘Is an organisation with these elements possible? It can lead + to nothing but confusion. + + ‘These men are of no use to you nor to history; all that one + can do for them is to forgive them their transgressions. You + want to cover them with your name, you want to share with them + your influence and your past; they will share with you their + unpopularity and their past. + + ‘What is there new in the manifestoes, what is there new in + the _Proscrit_? Where are the signs of the terrible lessons + that should have been learnt from the twenty-fourth of + February? This is the continuation of the old liberalism and + not the beginning of a new freedom—it is an epilogue and not + a prologue. Why is there not in London the organisation you + desire? Because it cannot be formed on the basis of indefinite + ideals, but only on a great idea held in common: and where is + that? + + ‘The first publication made under such conditions as the + manifesto you have sent ought to have been full of sincerity, + but who can read without a smile the signature of Arnold Ruge + on a manifesto which speaks in the name of Divine Providence? + From 1838 Ruge has been preaching philosophic atheism; for him + (if his brain is constructed logically) the idea of Providence + ought to present itself as everything reactionary in embryo. + It is a compromise, a bit of diplomacy, of policy, a weapon in + the hands of our enemies. Moreover, all that is unnecessary. + The theological part of the manifesto is a pure luxury; it adds + neither to its meaning nor to its popularity. The common people + have a positive religion and church. Deism is the religion of + the rationalists, the representative system applied to faith, + religion surrounded by atheistic institutions. + + ‘For my part, I advocate a complete rupture with incomplete + revolutionaries. One scents the reaction a hundred yards from + them. Having taken the burden of a thousand blunders on their + shoulders, they go on justifying them to this day—the surest + proof that they will repeat them. + + ‘In the _Nouveau Monde_ there is the same _vacuum horrendum_; + the same melancholy chewing over of the cud, at once green and + dry, which still is not digested. + + ‘Please do not imagine that I am saying this in order to get + out of doing anything. No, I am not sitting with my arms + folded. I have too much blood in my veins and energy in my + character to be satisfied with the part of a passive spectator. + From my thirteenth year I have served the same idea and the + same standard—of war against every oppressive power, against + every form of slavery in the name of absolute personal freedom. + I should like to continue my little guerilla warfare—like a + true Cossack ... _auf eigene Faust_, as the Germans say, beside + the great revolutionary army—not entering into its regular + ranks until they are completely formed. + + ‘In the interval of waiting, I am writing. Perhaps that + interval of waiting will last long—it is not in my power to + change the fitful development of men; but to speak, to appeal, + to persuade is in my power—and I am doing this with all my + heart and with all my mind. + + ‘Forgive me, dear Mazzini, both the candour and the length of + my letter, and do not cease to love me a little and to reckon + me a man devoted to your cause—but also devoted to his own + convictions.’ + + ‘NICE, _September 13, 1850_.’ + +To this letter Mazzini answered with a few friendly lines in which, +without touching on the essential point, he spoke of the necessity of +uniting all forces in one activity, deplored the difference of men’s +views, and so on. + +In the same autumn in which Mazzini and the European Committee remembered +me, the anti-European Committee of Nicholas remembered me too, at last. + +One morning our maid, with a somewhat anxious look, told me that the +Russian consul was downstairs and asking whether I could see him. I +looked upon my relations with the Russian Government as so completely at +an end that I was surprised at this honour, and could not imagine what he +wanted of me. + +A German-looking official of the second order walked in. + +‘I have the honour to make a communication to you.’ + +‘Although,’ I replied, ‘I do not know of what nature, I am almost certain +that it will be unpleasant. I beg you to be seated.’ + +The consul flushed, was a little disconcerted; then sat down on the sofa, +took a document out of his pocket, and after reading, ‘Adjutant-General +Count Orlov has notified to Count Nesselrode and His Im...,’ rose to his +feet again. + +At that point I fortunately remembered that the secretary in our Embassy +in Paris had risen from his chair on announcing to Sazonov the Tsar’s +command that he should return to Russia, and Sazonov suspecting nothing +had also got up from his chair, though the secretary had done this from +a deep sense of duty which required that a loyal subject should be on +his legs with his head a little bowed when conveying the sovereign’s +will; and therefore, the more stiffly erect the consul stood, the more +comfortably I buried myself in my armchair, and, wishing him to observe +the fact, said with a nod: ‘Pray go on; I am listening.’ + +‘...perial Majesty,’ he went on, resuming his seat, ‘has been graciously +pleased to command that So-and-so shall promptly return to Russia and +should be informed thereof, accepting from him no reasons for delaying +his departure and granting him no postponement under any circumstances.’ + +He paused. I continued sitting without saying a word. + +‘What am I to answer?’ he asked, folding up the paper. + +‘That I am not going.’ + +‘How do you mean “not going”?’ + +‘What I say: simply I’m not going.’ + +‘Have you considered that such a step...?’ + +‘I have considered.’ + +‘But this is beyond anything.... Kindly tell me what I am to write. For +what reason...?’ + +‘You have been commanded not to accept any reasons.’ + +‘What am I to say, then? Why, this is disobedience to the will of His +Imperial Majesty!’ + +‘Say so, then.’ + +‘This is impossible. I should never venture to write that ...’ and he +crimsoned more than ever. ‘Really, you had better change your mind while +it is all still within four walls.’ (The consul evidently thought the +Third Section was a monastery.) + +Philanthropic as I am, I was not willing, for the sake of facilitating +the correspondence of the consul at Nice, to go into one of Father +Leonty’s cells of the Peter-Paul Fortress or to Nertchinsk, especially as +there seemed no prospect that Nicholas would sink into a decline. + +‘Surely,’ I said to him, ‘when you were coming here you could not for +one second have imagined that I should go? Forget that you are a consul +and consider the position yourself. My estate has been sequestrated, my +mother’s fortune was detained, and all that without asking me whether I +wished to return. Can I go back after that without taking leave of my +senses?’ + +He hesitated, continually flushing, and at last hit on a clever, adroit, +and above all new idea. + +‘I cannot,’ he said, ‘enter into ... I understand the difficulty of your +position; on the other hand, the gracious mercy of the Sovereign!...’ + +I looked at him; he blushed again. ‘... Besides, why cut off all way of +retreat. Write to me you are very ill; I’ll send that to the Count.’ + +‘That’s too stale; besides, what is the object of telling a lie for +nothing?’ + +‘Well, then, will you be so kind as to give me your answer in writing.’ + +‘Certainly. Can you leave me a copy of the notice you read to me?’ + +‘That is not usual.’ + +‘What a pity! I am making a collection of them.’ + +Simple as my written answer was, the consul was alarmed by it. He seemed +to think that he might be transferred on account of it to Beyrout or +Tripoli, or I do not know where; he positively declined to venture, +either to accept or to forward it. In spite of my assurances that no +responsibility could fall on him, he refused, and begged me to write +another letter. + +‘That’s impossible,’ I answered. ‘I am not taking this step as a joke, +and I am not going to write nonsensical reasons: here is the letter for +you, and you can do what you like with it.’ + +‘Excuse me,’ said the mildest consul since the days of Junius Brutus and +Calpurnius Bestia: ‘you write the letter, not to me but to Count Orlov, +and I’ll simply forward it.’ + +‘That’s an easy matter; I’ve only to put _M. le Comte_ instead of _M. le +Consul_. I agree to that.’ + +As I was copying my letter it struck me that there was no need for me to +write to Orlov in French. If it were in Russian some cantonist in his +office or in the office of the Third Section might read it; it might +be sent to the Senate, and a young head secretary might show it to his +clerks: why deprive them of this satisfaction? And so I translated the +letter, and here it is:— + + ‘DEAR SIR, COUNT ALEXEY FYODOROVITCH,—The Imperial Consul at + Nice has notified me of the will of the Most High concerning my + return to Russia. With every inclination to do so, I find it + impossible to comply with it without making my position clear. + + ‘Before any summons to return, more than a year ago, an + injunction was placed on my estate, my business papers in + private hands were confiscated, and, finally, money, a sum + of ten thousand francs sent to me from Moscow, was seized. + Such severe and extreme measures against me prove that I am + not merely accused of some crime, but, before any inquiry, + any trial has been held, am found guilty and punished by the + deprivation of part of my property. + + ‘I cannot hope that my mere return can save me from the + melancholy consequences of a political trial. It is easy for me + to explain every one of my actions, but in cases of that kind + it is opinions and theories that are on trial. It is upon them + that verdicts are based. Can I, should I, expose myself and all + my family to such a trial?... Your Excellency will appreciate + the simplicity and candour of my answer, and will bring to the + consideration of the Most High the reasons that compel me to + remain in foreign parts in spite of my deep and genuine desire + to return to my country.’ + + ‘NICE, _September 23, 1850_.’ + +I really do not know whether it was possible to answer more simply and +discreetly; but the habit of slavish silence is so deeply rooted among us +that the consul at Nice thought even this letter monstrously audacious, +and probably Orlov himself thought the same. + +To be silent, not to laugh and not to cry, and to answer on a set +pattern, without praise or criticism, without signs of pleasure or grief, +is the ideal to which despotism tries to reduce its subjects and has +reduced the soldiers; but by what means? Well, I will tell you. + +On one occasion, Nicholas, seeing a fine young soldier wearing a cross +at a review, asked him: ‘Where did you receive your cross?’ Unluckily +this soldier was a seminarist sent for a soldier in punishment for some +prank, and, wishing to take advantage of the opportunity to display his +eloquence, he answered: ‘Under the victorious eagles of Your Majesty.’ +Nicholas looked sternly at him and at the general, pouted, and went on. +When the general following him reached the soldier, white with rage he +shook his fist in his face and said: ‘I’ll beat you into your coffin, you +Demosthenes!’ + +Is it strange that eloquence does not flourish with such encouragement? + +Having got rid of the emperor and the consul, I wanted to get out of the +class of persons living without a passport. + +The future was dark and gloomy.... I might die, and the thought that that +same blushing consul would arrive to dispose of everything in my house, +and to seize my papers, compelled me to think of obtaining the rights of +citizenship somewhere. I need hardly say that I fixed upon Switzerland, +in spite of the fact that just about that time the Swiss police had been +playing pranks with me. + +Within a year after the birth of my second son we noticed with horror +that he was completely deaf. Various consultations and experiments soon +proved that it was impossible to cure the deafness. But then the question +arose whether we ought to leave him to become dumb, as is usually done. +The schools I had seen in Moscow had seemed to me far from satisfactory. +Talking on one’s fingers and by signs is not conversation; talking must +be by the mouth and the lips. I knew by what I had read that attempts had +been made in Germany and Switzerland to teach deaf mutes to speak as we +speak, and to listen by watching the lips. In Berlin I saw for the first +time an oral lecture given to deaf mutes and heard them recite verses. +This was an immense step in advance of the method of the Abbé de l’Epée. + +This teaching was carried to great perfection in Zurich. My mother, who +was passionately fond of Kolya, determined to settle with him for a few +years in Zurich in order to send him to the school. + +The child was gifted with exceptional abilities: the everlasting +stillness about him, by concentrating his lively, impulsive character, +assisted his development in a wonderful way, and at the same time +encouraged an exceptional power of plastic observation. His eyes glowed +with intelligence and interest; at five years old he could imitate every +one who came to see us with intentional caricature, and with such comic +mimicry that no one could help laughing. + +In six months he had made great progress at the school. His voice was +_voilée_; he scarcely marked the accent, but already spoke German very +fairly and understood everything said to him slowly; nothing could have +been better. On my way through Zurich I thanked the director and council +of the school and paid them various civilities, and they did the same to +me. + +But after I had gone away the elders of the town of Zurich learnt that I +was not a Russian count but a Russian _émigré_, and, moreover, friendly +with the radical party, which they could not endure; and, what is more, +with socialists, whom they hated; and, what was worse than all that put +together, that I was not a religious man and openly admitted the fact. +This last they learned from an awful little book, _Vom andern Ufer_, +which had, as though to mock them, come out under their very noses with +the imprint of the best Zurich firm of publishers. On learning this +their conscience troubled them at the thought that they were giving an +education to the son of a man who believed neither in Luther nor in +Loyola, and they set to work to find means to get rid of him. Since +Providence was particularly interested in the question, it at once showed +them the way. The town police suddenly demanded the _child’s passport_; +I answered from Paris, supposing that it was a simple formality, that +Kolya certainly was my son, that his name was on my passport, but that +I could not obtain a separate one for him from the Russian Embassy, +because I was not on the best of terms with them. The police were not +satisfied, and threatened to turn the child out of the school and out of +the town. I spoke of this in Paris; one of my acquaintances published +a paragraph about it in the _National_. Put to shame by publicity, the +police said that they did not insist on turning the child out, but only +on the payment of an insignificant sum of money as a guarantee that the +child was himself and not somebody else. What guarantee is there in a few +hundred francs? On the other hand, if my mother and I had not had the +money, the child would have been turned out. (I asked them about that +through the _National_.) And this could happen in the nineteenth century +in free Switzerland! After what had taken place I disliked the idea of +leaving the child in this den of asses. + +But what was to be done? The best teacher in the institution, a young +man who devoted himself enthusiastically to the training of deaf mutes, +a man of a thorough university education, luckily did not share the +views of the police Sanhedrin, and was a great admirer of the very book +which had so stirred the wrath of the pious police-constables of the +canton of Zurich. We suggested to him that he should leave the school, +enter my mother’s household as tutor, and go with her to Italy. He of +course consented. The authorities of the school were furious, but could +do nothing. My mother prepared to go with Kolya and with this young man, +Spielmann, to Nice. Before leaving she sent for her deposit; it was not +given to her, on the pretext that Kolya was still in Switzerland. I +wrote from Nice. The Zurich police demanded proofs that Kolya had the +legal right to live in Piedmont. + +This was too much, and I wrote the following letter to the president of +the Zurich canton:— + + ‘M. LE PRÉSIDENT,—In 1849, I placed my son, aged five years, in + the Zurich School for the Deaf and Dumb. A few months later the + Zurich police asked my mother for his passport. Since among us + passports are not required for newborn babies or for children + going to school, my son had not a separate one but was entered + upon mine. This explanation did not satisfy the Zurich police. + They demanded a deposit. My mother, fearing that the child who + had brought down upon himself such dangerous suspicions on the + part of the Zurich police would be expelled, paid it. + + ‘In August 1850, my mother, wishing to leave Switzerland, + asked for the deposit, but the Zurich police did not return + it; they wished to ascertain first that the child had actually + left the canton. On reaching Nice my mother asked Messieurs + Avigdor and Schultgess to receive the money, giving them a + proof that we, and above all my suspicious six-year-old son, + were in Nice and not in Zurich. The Zurich police, keeping + a tight hold on the deposit money, then demanded another + certificate, to be witnessed by the police here, “that my son + is officially permitted to live in Piedmont” (_que l’enfant est + officiellement toléré_). M. Schultgess communicated this to M. + Avigdor. + + ‘Seeing this eccentric curiosity on the part of the Zurich + police I refused M. Avigdor’s proposal to send a new + certificate, which he very graciously offered to take for + me himself. I did not want to afford the Zurich police this + satisfaction, since, for all the dignity of its position, it + has no right to constitute itself an international police, and + because its demand is insulting not only to me but to Piedmont. + + ‘The Sardinian Government, M. le Président, is a free and + civilised one; how is it possible that it should not permit + (_ne tolérera pas_) an invalid child of six years old to live + in Piedmont? I am really at a loss as to how I am to regard + this demand of the Zurich police, whether as a strange joke or + as the result of a partiality for deposits in general. + + ‘Presenting this affair for your scrutiny, M. le Président, I + beg you as a special favour, in case of another refusal, to + explain the proceeding, which is so curious and interesting + that I do not think I shall be justified in concealing it from + the knowledge of the public. + + ‘I have written again to M. Schultgess to receive the money, + and I can confidently assure you that neither my mother nor + myself nor the child who is the object of suspicion have the + smallest inclination to return to Zurich after these unpleasant + attentions from the police. There is not the faintest risk of + it.’ + + ‘NICE, _September 9, 1850_.’ + +I need hardly say that after that the police of the town of Zurich, in +spite of their œcumenical pretensions, paid the deposit. + +Except my Swiss naturalisation, I would not have accepted citizenship +in any European country, not even England; I disliked the idea of +voluntarily becoming anybody’s subject. I did not want to change a bad +master for a good one, but to escape from serfdom into being a free +tiller of the soil. This was only possible in two countries: America and +Switzerland. + +America—I greatly respect. I believe that she is destined to a great +future, I know that she is now twice as near to Europe as she was; but +American life is distasteful to me. It is very likely that her angular, +coarse, dry elements will be welded together into something different. +America has not yet settled down, she is an unfinished edifice. Labourers +and workmen in their workaday clothes are dragging about beams and +stones, sawing, hewing, hammering. Why should outsiders settle in it +before it is dry and warm? + +Moreover, America, as Garibaldi said, is the ‘land for forgetting home’; +let those who have no faith in their fatherland go there—they ought to +get away from their graveyards. It was quite the contrary with me: the +more I lost all hope of a Latin-German Europe, the more my belief in +Russia revived again; but to dream of returning there while Nicholas was +Tsar would have been madness. + +And so there was nothing left for it but to ally myself with the free men +of the Helvetian Confederation. + +As early as 1849, Fazy had promised to naturalise me in Geneva, but kept +putting it off; perhaps he simply did not want to add to the number of +socialists in his canton. I got sick of this. I was passing through a +black period, the very walls were tottering and might crumble about my +head, misfortune is never far off.... Karl Vogt offered to write about +my naturalisation to J. Schaller, who was at that time president of the +Freiburg canton and leader of the radical party. But, having mentioned +Vogt, I must say something about him first. + +In the monotony of the shallow and slow-moving life of Germany one meets +at times, as though to redeem it, sturdy, healthy families full of +strength, persistence, and talent. One generation of gifted persons is +followed by another more numerous, still preserving the same sturdiness +of mind and body. Looking at some dingy, old-fashioned house, in a dark, +narrow side-street, it is hard to believe how many have been the young +lads, in a hundred years, who have come down the worn stone steps of its +staircase with a wallet on their shoulder and all manner of souvenirs, +made of hair or of flowers in it, followed by the blessings and tears +of their mother and sisters ... and have gone out into the world with +nothing but their own strength to look to, and have become distinguished +men of science, celebrated doctors, naturalists, and literary men. And +the little house, covered with tiles, is filled up again in their absence +by a new generation of students, eagerly pressing forward into the +unknown future. + +In the lack of any other there is the inheritance of example, the +inheritance of the family fibre. Each one begins for himself, and knows +that the time will come when his old grandmother will lead him down the +worn stone staircase: the grandmother who has seen three generations +into the world, washed them in the little bath, and seen them off with +full confidence in them. He knows that the proud old woman is sure of +him, too, sure that he will do something ... and he invariably does do +something. + +_Dann und wann_ after many years all this scattered population is in the +little old home again, all the originals—grown older—of the portraits +hanging in the little drawing-room, in which they are wearing students’ +_bérets_ and are wrapped in cloaks with a Rembrandt intention on the +part of the artist: then there is bustle again in the little house, the +two generations get to know each other, become intimate ... and then all +go back to work again. Of course, with all this some one is bound to be +in love with somebody; of course, sentimentality, tears, surprises, and +sweet tarts are the inevitable accompaniment; but all that is effaced +by the real, purely living poetry, full of strength and muscle such +as I have rarely met with in the degenerate, rickety children of the +aristocracy, and still less among the petty-bourgeois, who strictly check +the number of their children in accordance with their account-book. + +The ancestral home of Vogt belonged to this class of blessed ancient +German families. + +Vogt’s father was an extremely gifted professor of medicine in Berne; +his mother was one of the Vollens, that eccentric Swiss-German family +which was so much talked of at one time. The Vollens were leaders of +Young Germany at the period of _Tugendbunds_ and _Burschenschafts_, +of Karl Sand and of the political _Schwärmerei_ of 1817 and 1818. One +Vollen was thrown into prison for the Wartburg celebration in memory of +Luther: he certainly did deliver an incendiary speech, after which he +made a bonfire of Jesuitical and reactionary books and various symbols +of autocracy and the Papal power. The students dreamed of making him +emperor of a one and undivided Germany. His grandson, Karl Vogt, actually +was one of the _vicars of the empire_ in 1849. Healthy blood must have +flowed in the veins of the son of the Berne professor, in the grandson +of the Vollens—_au bout du compte_, everything depends on the chemical +combination and the quality of the elements. Karl Vogt is not the man to +dispute that with me. + +In 1851 I was passing through Berne. Straight from the posting-chaise, I +went to Vogt’s father with a letter from his son. The elder Vogt was at +the university. His wife, a hospitable, lively, and extremely intelligent +old woman, met me; she received me as her son’s friend, and at once +took me to see his portrait. She did not expect her husband home before +six o’clock; I very much wanted to see him, and came back at that time, +but he had already gone to some patients for a consultation. The old +lady greeted me the second time like an old friend, and led me into the +dining-room, wishing me to take a glass of wine. One part of the room +was filled by a large round table fixed immovably into the floor; I had +heard of this table long ago from Vogt, and so was delighted to make its +personal acquaintance. Its inner part moved on an axle: various dishes +were placed upon it; coffee, wine, and everything wanted, such as plates, +mustard, salt, so that any one could turn what he wanted to himself, ham +or preserves, without troubling any one and without the aid of servants. +The only thing was that it would not do to be too dreamy or to talk too +much, or one might put a spoon into the sugar-basin instead of into the +mustard-pot ... if any one had turned the disc. In this large population +of brothers and sisters, intimate friends and relations, in which every +one was differently engaged, and had to keep to fixed hours, a common +dinner in the evening was difficult to arrange. Any one who came in, and +wanted something to eat, sat down to the table, twirled it to the right +or twirled it to the left and managed capitally. The mother and sisters +superintended, and ordered this or that to be brought in. + +I could not stay with them; Fazy and Schaller, who were in Berne at the +time, wanted to come and see me in the evening. I promised to visit the +Vogts again if I should stay another half-day, and, after inviting the +younger brother, the law student, to supper with me, went home. I felt +it was out of the question to invite the old father so late, and after +such a day. But about twelve o’clock the waiter, respectfully opening the +door to usher him in, announced: ‘Der Herr Professor Vogt.’ I got up from +the table and went to meet him. A rather tall old man, extremely well +preserved, with a clever, expressive face, walked into the room. + +‘Your visit,’ I said, ‘is doubly welcome; I had not dared to ask you so +late after your labours.’ + +‘I did not want to let you pass through Berne without seeing you. Hearing +that you had been to us twice, and that you had invited Gustav, I invited +myself. I am very, very glad to see you, both from what Karl writes of +you, and, flattery apart, I wanted to make the acquaintance of the +author of _From the Other Shore_.’ + +‘I thank you most truly: here is a place, please sit down with us; we are +in the middle of supper: what will you take?’ + +‘I want nothing to eat, but I will drink a glass of wine with pleasure.’ + +There was so much ease and freedom in his appearance, words, and +movements, together with not that good-heartedness characteristic +of flabby, mawkish, and sentimental people, but with that special +good-heartedness we see in strong natures confident in themselves. His +appearance was not the least constraint to us; on the contrary, it made +everything livelier. + +The conversation passed from subject to subject; everywhere and in +everything he was at home, intelligent, _éveillé_, original. The talk +touched on the Federal concert which had been given in the morning in the +Berne Cathedral, at which all had been present except Vogt. The concert +was on an immense scale; musicians and singers had come from all parts +of Switzerland to take part in it. It had, of course, been a concert of +sacred music. Haydn’s celebrated composition had been performed with +talent and understanding. The audience was attentive but cold; it walked +out of the cathedral as people walk out of the morning service; I do +not know how much reverence there was, but there was no enthusiasm. I +experienced the same thing myself. In a moment of candour I said so to +the friends with whom I had gone. Unluckily, they were orthodox, learned, +ardent musicians; they fell upon me, declared I was a profane outsider +who did not know how to listen to deep and serious music. + +‘You care for nothing but Chopin’s mazurkas,’ they said. + +‘There is no great harm in that,’ I thought, but, considering myself not +a very competent judge, I held my peace. + +One needs considerable courage to acknowledge impressions which run +counter to the generally accepted prejudice or opinion. It was a long +while before I could bring myself to say, in the presence of outsiders, +that _Jerusalem Delivered_ was dull, that I could not finish reading the +_New Héloïse_, that _Hermann and Dorothea_ was a masterly production but +disgustingly tedious. I said something of the sort to Vogt, telling him +what I had observed about the concert. + +‘Well,’ he asked, ‘do you like Mozart?’ + +‘Extremely! without reservation.’ + +‘I knew as much, for I am in complete sympathy with you. How is it +possible for an awakened modern man to force himself artificially into +the religious mood which would make his enjoyment of it natural and +complete? There is no sacred music for us, just as there is no religious +literature; for us it has only an historical interest. In Mozart, on the +other hand, we hear the note of the life familiar to us, he is singing +out of the fulness of feeling and passion, not praying. I remember when +_Don Giovanni_ and the _Nozze di Figaro_ were new, what a delight they +were, what a revelation of a new source of enjoyment! Mozart’s music +created an epoch, a revolution in men’s minds, like Goethe’s _Faust_, +like the year 1789. We saw in his compositions the enlightened thought of +the eighteenth century with its secularisation of life invading music; +with Mozart the revolution and the new age have entered into art. How can +we read Klopstock after _Faust_, or listen to these musical liturgies +without faith?’ + +The old man talked at length and extraordinarily interestingly. He grew +animated; twice I filled his glass, he did not refuse it, and was in no +haste to drink. At last he looked at his watch: ‘Bah! it’s two o’clock; +good-bye, I have to be with a patient at nine!’ + +With real affection I escorted him home. + +Two years later he showed how much vigour was left in his grey head and +how _real_ his theories were—that is, how close to practice. A Viennese +refugee, Dr. Kudlich, courted one of Vogt’s daughters: the father +consented to the marriage; but, all at once, the Protestant Consistory +demanded the bridegroom’s certificate of baptism. Of course, as an +exile, he could get nothing from Austria, and he presented the sentence +which had been passed upon him in his absence. The mere testimony and +permission of Vogt would have been sufficient for the Consistory, but +the Berne pietists, instinctively hating Vogt and all exiles, persisted. +Then Vogt gathered together all his friends, the professors and various +leading personages of Berne, told them the position, then called his +daughter and Kudlich, took their hands, made them clasp hands, and said +to those present: ‘I call you, friends, to witness that I as father bless +this marriage and give my daughter at her desire to this man.’ + +This action petrified the pious society of Switzerland; it looked with +indignation and horror at the precedent created not by a hot-headed +youth, nor a homeless refugee, but by an old man of irreproachable +character, respected by every one. + +Now let us pass from the father to the elder son. + +I made his acquaintance in 1847, at Bakunin’s, but we became particularly +intimate during the two years of our life at Nice. He had not only a +serene intelligence, but one of the serenest characters of all the men I +have seen. I should reckon him a very happy man if I knew that he would +not live long; but there is no counting upon fate, though she has spared +him hitherto, letting him off with nothing worse than a few migraines. +His realistic temperament, full of life and open to everything, has much +to ensure enjoyment, everything to make dullness impossible, and almost +nothing to cause inner torment, the fretting of intellectual discontent, +the suffering from theoretical doubt, and disappointment in practical +life over dreams that cannot be fulfilled. A passionate worshipper of +the beauties of nature, an indefatigable worker in science, he did +everything with extraordinary ease and success; he was not in the least +a dry pedant, but an artist in his own work, he enjoyed it; a radical +by temperament, a realist by constitution, and a humane man through his +clear and good-heartedly ironical outlook, he lived precisely in that +sphere of life to which alone Dante’s words—_Qui è l’uomo felice_—apply. + +He spent his life actively and carelessly, never lagging behind, but +everywhere in the foremost rank. He had no fear of bitter truths, and +looked as steadily at men as at polypi and medusæ, expecting nothing from +either but what they could give. His researches were not superficial, +but he felt no impulse to pass beyond a certain depth below which +everything clear ends, and which is in truth, after a fashion, an escape +from reality. He was not lured into those sloughs of despond in which +men revel in their neurotic sufferings. His clear and simple attitude +to life excluded from his healthy outlook the poetry of melancholy, the +ecstasies and morbid humours, which we love as we do everything thrilling +and pungent. His irony, as I observed, was good-natured, his mockery was +light-hearted; he was the first to laugh, and from his heart, at his +own jokes, with which he poisoned the ink and the beer of the pedantic +professors and his parliamentary colleagues _in der Paul’s Kirche_. + +This living realism was the common bond of sympathy between us, though +our lives and development had been so different that we disagreed about +many things. + +I had not and could not have the harmony and unity that Vogt had. His +education had been as regular as mine had been unsystematic; neither +family continuity nor theoretical growth had ever been interrupted in +him; he was carrying on the tradition of his family. His father stood +beside him an example and a helper; following him, he took up the study +of natural science. Among us each generation is usually at variance with +the one before; there is no common moral tie between us. From my earliest +years I was inevitably struggling against the outlook of every one +surrounding me; I was in opposition in the nursery, because our elders, +our grandfathers, were not Vollens but serf-owners and senators. When I +left it, I flung myself with the same impetuosity into another struggle, +and, as soon as I had finished at the university, was in prison and then +in exile. My continuity of learning was destroyed by this, but it gave me +another kind of training, experience of a world on the one hand wretched, +and on the other hand dirty. + +When I was sick of the study of this pathology, I flung myself greedily +upon philosophy, for which Vogt felt an invincible aversion. When he had +completed the medical course and had received his doctor’s diploma, he +could not bring himself to practise, saying that he had not sufficient +faith in the medical hocus-pocus, and devoted himself entirely to +physiology again. His work very soon attracted the attention not only of +German scientists but also of the Parisian Academy of Science. He was +already Professor of Comparative Anatomy in Giessen and the colleague of +Liebig (with whom he afterwards carried on a furious chemico-theological +controversy), when the revolutionary hurricane of 1848 tore him from his +microscope and flung him into the Frankfort Parliament. + +I need hardly say that he was in the most radical section, that he +made speeches full of wit and daring, and exhausted the patience of +the mast moderate progressives, and sometimes even of the immoderate +Prussian King. Being by no means a politician, he became, through his +atomic weight, one of the leaders of the opposition; and when Archduke +Johann, who had been a vicar of the Empire, finally threw off the +mask of good-nature and popularity won by marrying the daughter of a +stationmaster and sometimes wearing a frock-coat, Vogt and four others +were elected in his place. Then the fortunes of the German revolution +went rapidly downhill: the governments had attained their object, had +gained time (as Metternich advised), and had no longer need to spare the +parliament. Banished from Frankfort, the parliament had a brief, shadowy +existence at Stuttgart under the melancholy title of _Nach-parlament_. +And there the reactionaries made an end of it. There was nothing left for +the vicars of the Empire but to get away as best they could from certain +prison and penal servitude.... When he crossed the Swiss mountains +Vogt shook the dust of the Frankfort assembly from off his feet, and +inscribing himself in the traveller’s book as ‘K. Vogt, runaway vicar of +the German Empire,’ set to work again upon natural science with the same +untroubled serenity, light-hearted temper, and unwearying industry. He +came to Nice in 1850, with the object of studying marine zoophytes. + +Although we started from different directions and came by different +paths, we met in sober maturity in science. + +Was I as consistent as Vogt—and in life, did I look at it as soberly? +Now I fancy not. Though indeed I do not know whether it is good to begin +with being sober; it wards off not only many calamities, but also the +best moments of life. It is a difficult question which luckily is settled +for each man, not by choice nor by considerations of what is best, but +by constitution and circumstance. It was not that I tried to retain all +sorts of inconsistent convictions, but _they remained of themselves_, +though I was theoretically emancipated. I outlived the romanticism of +revolution, the mystic belief in progress and in humanity lasted longer +than other theological dogmas; but when I had outlived them, I still +had left a religious belief in individuals, a faith in two or three +men, a confidence in myself, in the human will. There were, of course, +contradictions in this; inner contradictions lead to misfortunes, the +more painful and mortifying because they are deprived of the last comfort +of man, justification in his own eyes.... + +In Nice, Vogt set to work with extraordinary zeal.... The calm, warm bays +of the Mediterranean Sea is a rich breeding-ground for all _frutti di +mare_, the water is simply full of them. At night the streaks of their +phosphorescent light trail gleaming after a boat and drip from the oar, +the _salpi_ can be picked up with the hand or with any cup or dish. So +he had no lack of material. From early morning Vogt would sit at the +microscope, would watch, would draw, write, or read, and at five o’clock +rush, sometimes with me, into the sea (he swam like a fish); then he +would come to us to dine, and, everlastingly good-humoured, was ready for +a learned discussion or for any sort of nonsense, sang killing songs, +accompanying them on the piano, or told the children stories with such +masterly art that they listened to him for hours without moving. + +Vogt possessed an immense talent for exposition. Half in joke he +delivered several lectures on ‘physiology for ladies’ in our house. +Everything came out so living, so simple, and so artistically expressed, +that all the ground he had covered before attaining this clarity was not +suspected. That is the whole problem in teaching—to render science so +intelligible and well assimilated as to make it speak a simple, everyday +language. + +There are no difficult sciences; the difficulty lies in the exposition +which is not fully digested. The language of learning, a technical +language with coined words, a shorthand, temporary language, is of use +for students; the meaning is concealed in its algebraic formulæ in order +that in explaining the law the same thing may not be repeated a hundred +times over. Passing through a series of scholastic methods, science has +been overgrown by all this rubbish of the schools, where pedants have +grown so accustomed to the monstrous jargon that they use no other, and +it seems intelligible to them: in former years they even prized it as +something won by hard labour and distinguished from the vulgar tongue. As +we pass from students to real knowledge, props and scaffoldings become +distasteful, and we look for simplicity. Who has not observed that +beginners as a rule make use of many more abstruse words than those who +have mastered the subject? + +A second cause of obscurity in science arises from the +unconscientiousness of those who teach it, shown in trying to conceal +part of the truth and to avoid risky questions. Science which has any +object except the knowledge of the truth is not science. It ought to +have the courage of direct, open speech. No one could charge Vogt with +lack of candour, with timid compromise. ‘Sensitive souls’ more readily +reproach him with telling too directly and too simply what he holds for +the truth, in direct contradiction with the generally received deception. +The Christian attitude has trained us to dualism, to ideal imagery, so +thoroughly that everything naturally healthy strikes us unpleasantly. +Our intelligence, warped through ages, is disgusted by naked beauty, by +daylight, and craves for twilight and a veil. + +Many when reading Vogt are offended at his accepting the most startling +consequences so readily, at his finding it so easy to sacrifice things, +at his having to make no effort, at his not worrying to try to reconcile +theology with biology; it is as though he had nothing to do with the +former. + +As a matter of fact, Vogt’s temperament was such that he never had +thought differently and was incapable of thinking differently; that was +just where his direct realism came in. Theological objections could +have for him only an historical interest; the absurdity of dualism was +so clear to his simple outlook that he could not enter into serious +controversy with it, just as his opponents—the theologians of chemistry +and the holy fathers of physiology—cannot seriously discuss magic or +astrology. Vogt brushed aside their attacks with a jest—and, unluckily, +that is not enough. + +The nonsense with which they answered him is the nonsense believed all +the world over, and for that reason very important. The childishness of +the human brain is such that it will not accept the simple truth; for +vague, muddled, and incoherent minds nothing is intelligible but what is +incomprehensible, what is impossible or absurd. + +There is no need to go to the common herd for examples; literary +and cultivated circles, legal and learned institutions, governments +and revolutionaries, vie with each other in maintaining the innate +senselessness of mankind. And just as seventy years ago the frigid deist +Robespierre executed Anacharsis Cloots,[74] so the Wagners and their like +would to-day hand Vogt over to the hangman. + +The struggle is impossible; all the strength is on their side. Against +a handful of scientists, naturalists, doctors, two or three thinkers +and poets, stands the whole world, from Pius IX. with the Immaculate +Conception to Mazzini with the Republican Iddio; from the Moscow orthodox +hysterics of Slavophilism to Lieutenant-General Radowitz, who when he +was dying bequeathed to Wagner, the professor of physiology, what it +had never occurred to any one to bequeath before—the immortality of the +soul, and its defence; from American spiritualists who call up the dead, +to English missionary colonels who preach the Word of God to Indians on +horseback at the head of their soldiers. There is nothing left for free +men but the consciousness of being right, and hope in future generations. + +And suppose it is proved that this senselessness, this religious mania, +is the essential condition of organised society, that for men to live +quietly side by side they must be driven out of their wits and terrified, +that this mania is the one dodge by which history is created? + +I remember a French caricature aimed at some time or other against the +Fourierists with their _attraction passionnée_; it represents an ass with +a stick fixed upon its back, and a wisp of hay hung on the stick so that +he can see it. The donkey, thinking to reach the hay, is obliged to move +forward—the hay, of course, moves too, and he follows it. Perhaps the +worthy animal might progress in that way, but all the same he would be +made a fool of! + +I will pass now to an account of how hospitably I was received by one +country when another had just turned me out for no reason whatever. +Schaller promised Vogt to take steps about my naturalisation—that is, +to find a commune which would consent to receive me and then to support +the case in the Great Council. For naturalisation in Switzerland it is +essential that some town or village commune should previously agree +to accept the new citizen, a regulation quite in keeping with the +self-government of each canton and each little district. The village +of Châtel near Morat (Murten) agreed to receive my family into the +number of its peasant families for a small money contribution to the +village society. This village is not far from the lake of Murten, the +neighbourhood of which was the scene of the defeat and slaying of Charles +the Bold, whose unhappy death and name were so adroitly used by the +Austrian censorship (and afterwards the Petersburg one) to replace the +name of William Tell in Rossini’s opera. + +When the case came before the Great Council, two Jesuitical deputies +raised their voices against me, but did nothing. One of them said that it +ought to be ascertained why I was in exile, and how I had provoked the +anger of Nicholas. ‘Why, but that’s a recommendation in itself!’ somebody +answered, and they all laughed. Another, from far-sighted prudence, +asked for fresh guarantees that in case of my death the education and +maintenance of my children would not fall on the poor commune. This son +in Jesus too was satisfied by Schaller’s answer. My rights of citizenship +were accepted by a vast majority, and I was transformed from an upper +court councillor to a peasant of the village of Châtel near Murten, +_originaire de Châtel près Morat_, as the Freiburg clerk wrote on my +passport. + +Naturalisation, however, is no hindrance to a career in Russia. I have +two illustrious examples before my eyes: Louis-Napoleon became a citizen +of Thurgovie, and Alexander the Second a burgher of Darmstadt; both +became emperors after their naturalisation. I am not going so far as that. + +On receiving the news of the ratification of my rights, it was almost +necessary for me to go and thank my new fellow-citizens and to make their +acquaintance. Moreover, just at that time I had an intense craving to be +alone, to look into myself, to revise the past, to discern something in +the mist of the future, and I was glad of this external reason. + +On the eve of my departure from Nice, I received a summons from the head +of the police _di la Sicurezza publica_. He informed me that I was +ordered by the Minister of the Interior to leave immediately the domains +of Sardinia. This strange step on the part of the tame and evasive +Sardinian Government surprised me far more than my banishment from Paris +in 1850; besides, there was no sort of occasion for it. + +I am told that I was indebted for it to the zeal of two or three faithful +Russian subjects living in Nice, and among them it is pleasant for me to +name the Minister of Justice, Panin; it was more than he could tolerate +that a man who had brought upon himself the Imperial wrath of Nicholas +was not only living in peace and in the same town as himself, but was +actually writing articles, though aware that the Most High did not look +upon this with favour. When he went to Turin, this Minister of Justice, I +am told, asked the minister Azeglio, as a friend, to banish me. Azeglio’s +heart, probably, had some intuition that when I was learning Italian in +the Krutitsky Barracks I had read his _La Disfida di Barletta_—a novel +neither ‘classical nor old-fashioned,’ though nevertheless tedious; and +so he did nothing, or perhaps he hesitated to send me out because such +friendly attentions should have been preceded by the sending of a Russian +ambassador, and Nicholas was still sulking over the revolutionary ideas +of Charles Albert. + +On the other hand, the chief of police in Nice and the ministers in +Turin took advantage of the suggestion at the first opportunity. Some +days before I was turned out, there was a popular demonstration in Nice, +in which the boatmen and shopkeepers, carried away by the eloquence of +the banker Avigdor, protested, and rather audaciously too, against the +suppression of the free port, talking of the independence of the duchy of +Nice, and its inalienable rights. The imposition of a light customs-duty +on the whole kingdom diminished their privileges, regardless of the +‘independence of the duchy of Nice,’ and its rights ‘inscribed on the +scrolls of history.’ + +Avigdor, that O’Connell of the Paillon (that is the name of the dry +river that runs through Nice), was thrown into prison, patrols paraded +the streets at night, and so did the people, and both sang songs, the +same songs too; and that was all. Need I say that neither I nor any +other foreigner took any part in this domestic quarrel over tariffs and +customs-duties? Nevertheless, the _Intendant_ pitched upon several of the +refugees as ringleaders, and among them, upon me. The ministry, wishing +to set an example of salutary severity, ordered me to be turned out +together with the rest. + +I went to the _Intendant_ (a Jesuit), and, observing to him that it was a +superfluous luxury to turn a man out when he was going of himself and had +his passport already viséd in his pocket, asked him what was wrong. He +declared that he was as surprised as I was, and that the measure had been +taken by the Ministry of the Interior without any preliminary reference +to himself. At the same time, he was so extremely polite that I had no +doubt in my mind that he was responsible for the whole nasty business. +I reported my conversation with him to the well-known deputy in the +opposition, Lorenzo Valerio, and went off to Paris. + +Valerio made a savage attack upon the minister in his interpellation, and +demanded the reasons for my deportation. The minister was disconcerted, +denied any influence of the Russian diplomacy, threw everything upon the +report of the _Intendant_, and meekly concluded by saying that if the +ministry had acted too hastily and imprudently it would with pleasure +alter its decision. + +The opposition applauded; consequently, _de facto_, the prohibition +was withdrawn, but though I wrote to the minister he made no answer. +I read Valerio’s speech and the answer to it in the newspapers, and +resolved to go simply to Turin on the return journey from Freiburg. +That I might not be refused a visa, I went without a visa; on the Swiss +border of Piedmont, passports are not examined with the savage zeal of +French gendarmes. In Turin I went to the Minister of the Interior: I was +received by his deputy, who superintended the superior police, Count +Pons de la Martino, a man well known in those parts, clever, crafty, and +devoted to the Catholic party. + +His reception surprised me. He said to me everything I had meant to say +to him; something similar had happened to me in one of my interviews with +Dubbelt, but Count Pons far outdid that. + +He was a very elderly, thin, sickly-looking man of most unprepossessing +appearance, with malicious, sly-looking features, rough grey hair, and +a rather clerical aspect. Before I had time to say a dozen words in +regard to the reason of my asking for an interview with the minister, he +interrupted me with the words:— + +‘Why, upon my word, what doubt can there be about it?... Go to Nice, +go to Genoa, stay here—only without the slightest _rancune_ ... it was +all the doing of the _Intendant_ ... you see, we are still learning our +business, we are not accustomed to legality, to constitutional order. If +you had done anything contrary to the law, there is a law-court for that; +then you would have no cause to complain of injustice, would you?’ + +‘I quite agree with you, I should not.’ + +‘Instead of that _they take_ steps which cause irritation ... and excite +an uproar—and without any need whatever!’ + +After this speech against _himself_, he hastily snatched up a piece of +paper with the ministerial imprint, and wrote: _Si permette al Sig. A. H. +di ritornare a Nizza e di restarvi quanto tempo credera convienente. Per +il ministro S. Martino—12 Giulio 1851._ ‘Here, take this to provide for +all possibilities, though you may rest assured that you will never need +it. I am very glad, very glad indeed, that we have settled this business +with you.’ + +As this was equivalent, in the vulgar tongue, to ‘Go, and God bless you,’ +I left my Pons, smiling at the thought of the face of the _Intendant_ at +Nice; but Providence did not favour me with the sight of it—he had been +transferred. + +But to return to Freiburg and its canton: when, like all mortals who have +been in Freiburg, we had listened to the celebrated organ and driven +over the celebrated bridge, we set off for Châtel, accompanied by a +good-natured old man, the treasurer of the Freiburg canton. At Murten +the prefect of police, a vigorous man and a radical, asked us to stay +with him, telling us that the village elder had charged him to send word +beforehand of our arrival, as he and the other householders would be very +much disappointed if I came without letting them know; and they were all +in the fields at work when I arrived. After walking about Morat or Murten +for a couple of hours, we set off, and the prefect with us. + +Near the elder’s house several old peasants were awaiting us, headed by +the elder himself, a tall, venerable, grey-headed, and rather bent but +muscular old man. He stepped forward, took off his hat, held out his +broad, strong hand to me, and saying, ‘_Lieber Mitbürger ..._,’ delivered +a speech of welcome in such Swiss-German that I did not understand a word +of it. It was possible to make a rough guess at what he could say to me, +and therefore, reflecting that if I concealed that I did not understand +him, he would conceal that he did not understand me, I boldly answered +him:— + +‘Dear Citizen Elder, and dear fellow-citizens of Châtel! I am come to +thank you for giving a refuge to me and my children in your commune, +and putting an end to my homeless wandering. I, dear citizens, did not +leave my native land to seek another; I loved the Russian people with my +whole heart, but I left Russia because I could not be a dumb, inactive +witness of oppression. I left it after exile pursued by the ferocious +despotism of Nicholas. His powerful arm, which has reached me everywhere +where there is a king or a lord, is not long enough to reach me in your +commune! Without fear I put myself under your protection, as in a haven +where I can always find peace. You, citizens of Châtel, you a handful of +men, you taking me amongst you, have been able to arrest the lifted hand +of the Russian Emperor armed with a million bayonets. You are stronger +than he! But you are strong only through the free republican institutions +that have been yours for ages! With pride I enter into your commune, and +hurrah for the Helvetian Republic!’ + +‘_Dem neuen Bürger hoch! Es lebe der neue Bürger!_’ answered the old men, +and warmly pressed my hand; I myself was somewhat agitated! + +The village elder invited us into his house. + +We went in, and sat down on benches at a long table on which there was +bread and cheese. Two peasants dragged in a bottle of terrific size, +larger than those famous bottles which are snugly stored away for whole +winters in our old-fashioned houses in some corner by the stove, filled +with home-made liqueurs and cordials. This bottle was covered with +basket-work, and full of white wine. The village elder told us that this +was the local wine, but that it was very old, that he remembered the +bottle for over thirty years, and that this wine was only drunk on very +special occasions. All the peasants sat down with us to the table except +two, who were busy with the cathedral-like bottle. They poured wine from +it into a large jug, and the village elder poured it from the jug into +the glasses; there was a glass before every peasant, but he brought me +a grand crystal goblet, observing as he did so to the treasurer and the +prefect: ‘You must excuse me on this occasion; to-day we offer the cup of +honour to our fellow-citizen; you are old friends.’ + +While the elder was filling the glasses, I noticed that one of the +company, dressed not quite like a peasant, was very restless, mopping his +face, turning crimson, and seeming ill at ease; when the village elder +proposed they should drink my health, he leaped on his feet with the +courage of despair, and addressing me began a speech. ‘That,’ the elder +whispered in my ear with a significant air, ‘is the citizen teacher in +our school.’ I stood up. + +The teacher spoke not Swiss but German, and not simply but on the model +of particularly famous orators and writers: he referred both to William +Tell and to Charles the Bold (what would the Austrian and Russian stage +censorship have done?—perhaps they would have called them William the +Bold and Charles Tell), and at the same time did not forget the less new +than expressive comparison of bondage with a gilded cage from which the +bird will still strive to be free. Nicholas caught it hot from him; he +ranked him with very disreputable persons from Roman history. I almost +interrupted him at that point to say, ‘Don’t insult the dead,’ but, as +though from a presentiment that Nicholas would soon be among them, held +my peace. + +The peasants listened to him, craning their wrinkled sunburnt necks and +putting up their hands to their ears like sunshades; the treasurer had a +little nap, and to conceal the fact was the first to praise the orator. + +Meanwhile the village elder was not sitting idle, but zealously filling +up glasses and preparing toasts like the most practised master of +the ceremonies—‘To the Confederation!’ ‘To Freiburg and its radical +government!’ ‘To President Schaller!’ + +‘To my kindly fellow-citizens of Châtel!’ I proposed at last, feeling +that the wine, though its taste was not strong, was far from weak in its +effects. All rose to their feet.... The elder said: ‘No, no, _lieber +Mitbürger_, a full glass, as we drank a full glass to you.’ My venerable +friends were becoming expansive, the wine was warming them up.... ‘Bring +your children,’ said one. ‘Yes, yes,’ others chimed in; ‘let them see how +we live: we are simple people, they will learn no harm from us, and we +shall have a look at them.’ + +‘Certainly!’ I answered, ‘certainly!’ + +Then the village elder began apologising for the poorness of their +reception, saying that it was all the treasurer’s fault, that he ought +to have let them know two days beforehand, that then it would have been +very different, they might have provided a band, and that they would have +welcomed and escorted me with gun-shots. I very nearly said to him, _à +la_ Louis-Philippe: ‘After all, what has happened?—only one peasant more +in Châtel.’ + +We parted great friends. I was rather surprised that I had seen not one +woman or girl, nor even one young man. It was a working day, however. It +is noteworthy, too, that to a festivity so unusual for them the pastor +had not been invited. + +I felt greatly indebted to them for that. The pastor would certainly have +spoilt it all; he would have delivered a stupid sermon, and with his +decorous propriety would have been like a fly in a glass of wine which +must be removed before you can drink with pleasure. + +At last we were seated again in the treasurer’s little carriage, or +rather chaise; we took the prefect to Morat, and set off for Freiburg. +The sky was covered with storm-clouds; I felt sleepy and giddy. I tried +not to go to sleep: surely it cannot be their wine? I wondered with some +contempt for myself.... The treasurer smiled slyly, and then himself +began dozing; drops of rain began falling, I covered myself with my +overcoat, must have fallen asleep ... then woke up at the contact of cold +water.... The rain was pouring in bucketsful, black storm-clouds seemed +striking fire from craggy heights, far-away peals of thunder came rolling +over the mountains. The treasurer was standing in the hall laughing +loudly and talking with the host of the Zöringer Hof. + +‘Well,’ the host asked me, ‘it seems our simple peasant wine is very +different from the French, eh?’ + +‘Why, can we have arrived?’ I asked, emerging drenched from the chaise. + +‘There’s nothing strange in that,’ observed the treasurer; ‘what is +strange is that you have slept through a storm such as we have not had +for a long time. Did you really hear nothing?’ + +‘Nothing!’ + +Afterwards I found out that the simple Swiss wines, which do not taste +at all strong, acquire great strength with age and act powerfully on +those unaccustomed to them. The treasurer avoided telling me this on +purpose; besides, even if he had told me I could not have refused the +peasants’ good-natured hospitality and their toasts, still less could I +have ceremoniously moistened my lips and made difficulties. That I did +the right thing is proved by the fact that when a year later, on my way +from Berne to Geneva, I met the prefect of Morat at the station, he said +to me: ‘Do you know how you acquired great popularity among our Châtel +peasants?’ ‘No!’ ‘To this day they tell with proud self-satisfaction how +their new fellow-citizen, after drinking their wine, slept through a +storm and drove in a downpour of rain from Morat to Freiburg, knowing +nothing about it.’ + +And so that is how I became a free citizen of the Swiss Confederation and +got drunk on Châtel wine.[75] + + + + +Chapter 41 + +P. J. PROUDHON—PUBLICATION OF THE ‘VOIX DU PEUPLE’—CORRESPONDENCE—THE +SIGNIFICANCE OF PROUDHON + + +After the June barricades had fallen the printing-presses fell too. The +panic-stricken journalists held their peace. Only old Lamennais rose up +like the gloomy shadow of a judge, cursed Cavaignac—the Duc d’Alba of the +June days—and his companions, and gloomily told the people: ‘And you be +silent: you are too poor to have the right to speak!’ + +When the first alarm at this state of siege was over and the newspapers +began coming to life again, they found themselves confronted, not with +violence, but with a perfect arsenal of legal quibbles and judicial +traps. The old baiting, _par force_, of editors, the process in which the +ministers of Louis-Philippe so distinguished themselves, began again. +Its method was to exhaust the guaranteed fund by a series of lawsuits +invariably ending in prison and a money fine. The fine is paid out of +the fund; until that is made up again, the paper cannot be published; +as soon as it is made good, there is a new lawsuit. This game is always +successful, for the legal authorities are always hand in glove with the +government in all political prosecutions. + +At first Ledru-Rollin, and afterwards Colonel Frappoli[76] as the +representative of Mazzini’s party, contributed large sums of money, but +could not save _La Réforme_. All the more outspoken organs of socialism +and republicanism were destroyed by this method. Among these, and at the +very beginning, was Proudhon’s _Le Représentant du Peuple_, and later on +_Le Peuple_. Before one prosecution was over, another began. + +One of the editors—it was Duchesne, I remember—was three times brought +out of prison into the law-courts on fresh charges; and every time +was again sentenced to prison and a fine. When on the last occasion +before the ruin of the paper the verdict was declared, he said to the +prosecutor: ‘_L’addition, s’il vous plaît!_’ As a matter of fact, it +amounted to ten years of prison and fifty thousand francs fine. + +Proudhon was on his trial when his newspaper was suppressed on the 13th +of June. The National Guards burst into his printing-office on that day, +broke the printing-press, dispersed the type, as though to assert, in the +name of the armed bourgeois, that the period of the utmost violence and +police tyranny had come in France. + +The irrepressible gladiator, the stubborn Besançon peasant, would not +lay down his arms, but at once contrived to publish a new journal, _La +Voix du Peuple_. It was necessary to obtain twenty-four thousand francs +for the guarantee fund. E. Girardin would have been ready to give it, +but Proudhon did not want to be dependent on him, and Sazonov suggested +that I should contribute the money. I owed a great deal to Proudhon in my +intellectual development, and, after a little consideration, I consented, +though I knew that the fund would soon be gone. + +Reading Proudhon, like reading Hegel, cultivates a special faculty, +sharpens the weapon, and furnishes not results but methods. Proudhon is +pre-eminently the dialectician, the controversialist of social questions. +The French seek experimental solutions in him, and, finding no plans of +the phalanstery nor of the Icarian community, shrug their shoulders and +lay the book aside. + +It is Proudhon’s own fault, of course, for having put as the motto on +his _Contradictions_: ‘_Destruo et ædificabo_’; his strength lay not in +construction but in criticism of the existing state of things. But this +mistake has been made from time immemorial by all who have broken down +what was old. Man dislikes mere destruction: when he sets to work to +break things down, he is unconsciously haunted by some ideal of future +construction, though sometimes this is like the song of a mason as he +pulls down a wall. + +In the greater number of sociological works the ideals advocated, +which almost always are either unattainable at present or lead to some +one-sided solution, are of little consequence; what is of importance +is that, in working up to them, the _problem_ is stated. Socialism has +to deal not only with the solutions of the old empirically religious +tradition, but also with the conclusions of one-sided science; not only +with the juridical deductions resting on traditional legislation, but +also with the deductions of political economy. It is confronted with the +rational system of the epoch of guarantees and of the bourgeois economic +regime, as its immediate predecessor, just as political economy is +related to the theoretically feudal state. + +It is in this denial, this destruction of the old social tradition, that +the great power of Proudhon lies; he is as much the poet of dialectics as +Hegel is, with the difference that the one rests on the calm heights of +the philosophic movement, while the other is thrust into the turmoil of +popular passions and the hand-to-hand struggle of parties. + +Proudhon is the first of a new set of French thinkers. His works mark +a transition period, not only in the history of socialism but also in +the history of French logic. He has more strength and freedom in his +argumentative tenacity than the most talented of his fellow-countrymen. +Intelligent and single-minded men like Pierre Leroux[77] and +Considérant[78] do not grasp either his point of departure or his method. +They are accustomed to play with ideas as with marked cards, to walk +in a certain attire along the beaten track to familiar spots. Proudhon +often presses on without hesitating to crush anything on the way, without +fearing to destroy or to go too far. + +He has none of that sensitiveness, that rhetorical revolutionary +chastity, which takes the place of Protestant pietism in the French ... +that is why he remains a solitary figure among his own people, rather +alarming than convincing them. + +People say that Proudhon has a German mind. That is not true; on +the contrary, his mind is absolutely French: he has that racial +Gallo-Frankish genius which appears in Rabelais, in Montaigne, in +Voltaire, and in Diderot ... even in Pascal. It is only that he has +assimilated Hegel’s dialectical method, as he has assimilated all the +methods of Catholic controversy. But neither the Hegelian philosophy +nor the Catholic theology furnished the content nor the character of +his writings; for him these were only weapons with which he tested his +subject, and these weapons he mastered and adapted to his own purposes +just as he adapted the French language to his powerful and vigorous +thought. Such men stand much too firmly on their own feet to be dominated +by anything or to allow themselves to be caught in any net. + +‘I like your system very much,’ an English tourist said to Proudhon. + +‘But I have no system,’ Proudhon answered with annoyance, and he was +right. + +It is just that that puzzles his fellow-countrymen, accustomed to a +moral at the end of the fable, to systematic formulas, to classification, +to abstract binding precepts. + +Proudhon sits by a sick man’s bedside and tells him that he is in a very +bad way for this reason and for that reason. You do not help a dying man +by constructing an ideal theory of how he might be perfectly well if he +were not ill, or by suggesting remedies, excellent in themselves, which +he cannot take or which are not to be had. + +The external signs and manifestations of the financial world serve him, +just as the teeth of animals served Cuvier as a ladder by which he +descends into the mysteries of social life; by means of them he studies +the forces that are dragging the sick body on to decomposition. If after +every such observation he proclaims a new victory for death, is that his +fault? In this case there are no relatives whom one is afraid to alarm: +we are ourselves dying this death. The crowd shouts with indignation: +‘Remedies! Remedies! Or don’t speak of the disease!’ But why not speak of +it? It is only under despotic governments that we are forbidden to speak +of crops failing, of epidemic diseases, of the numbers slain in war. +The remedy, it seems, is not easily to be found; they have made plenty +of experiments on France since the days of the copious blood-letting of +1793; they have tried victories and violent exercise with her. Setting +her marching to Egypt and to Russia, they have tried parliamentarianism +and _agiotage_, a little republic and a little Napoleon—and has anything +done any good? Proudhon himself once tested his pathology and came +to grief over the People’s Bank—though in itself his idea was good. +Unluckily, he did not believe in magical formulas, or else he would have +been singing out to everybody: ‘League of Nations! League of Nations! +Universal Republic! Brotherhood of all the World! _Grande Armée de la +Démocratie!_’ He did not use these phrases, he did not spare the Old +Believers of the revolution, and for that reason the French look upon him +as an egoist, as an individualist, almost as a renegade and a traitor. + +I remember Proudhon’s works, from his reflections _On Property_ to +his _Financial Guidance_; many of his ideas have changed—a man could +hardly live through a period like ours and whistle the same duet in A +minor like Platon Mihailovitch in _Woe from Wit_. What is so startling +in the midst of these changes is the inner unity that holds them all +together, from the essays written as a school task in the Besançon +Academy to the _carmen horrendum_ of Stock Exchange depravity, which +has lately appeared; the same order of thought developing, changing in +form, reflecting events, runs through the _Contradictions of Political +Economy_, and through his _Confessions_, and through his _Journal_. + +Inertia of thought is characteristic of religion and doctrinarianism; +they presuppose a persistent narrowness, a finished limitedness, living +apart or in its own narrow circle, rejecting everything new that life +offers ... or at any rate not troubling about it. The real truth must be +found under the influence of events, must reflect them, while remaining +true to itself, or it would not be the living _truth_, but an eternal +truth, at rest from the agitations of this world in the deadly stillness +of holy stagnation.[79] Where, and in what case, I have sometimes asked, +was Proudhon false to the fundamental principles of his philosophy? I +have always been answered that he was so in his political mistakes, his +blunders in revolutionary diplomacy. For his political mistakes he was, +of course, responsible as a journalist; but even in that case he was not +false to himself: on the contrary, some of his mistakes were due to his +believing more in his principles than in the party to which he, against +his own will, belonged, with which he had nothing in common, and with +which he was only associated by hatred for a common foe. + +It was not in political activity that his real strength lay; it was +not there that he found the basis of the thought which he clad in +all the armour of his arguments. On the contrary, it is everywhere +clearly evident that politics in the sense of the old liberalism and +constitutional republicanism were, in his eyes, of secondary importance, +as something half over, passing. He was not greatly concerned over +political questions, and was ready to make compromises because he did +not attach special significance to the forms, which in his view were +not essential. All who have abandoned the Christian point of view take +up a similar attitude to religious questions. I may recognise that the +constitutional religion of Protestantism is somewhat freer than the +autocracy of Catholicism, but I cannot take to heart any questions in +regard to church and denomination; probably I should make mistakes, and +concessions in consequence, which the most ordinary graduate in divinity +or parish priest would avoid. + +Doubtless, there was no place for Proudhon in the National Assembly +as it was constituted, and his individuality was lost in that den of +petty-bourgeois. In the _Confessions of a Revolutionary_ Proudhon tells +us that he was completely at a loss in the Assembly. And indeed, what +could be done there by a man who said of Marrast’s constitution, that +sour fruit of seven months’ work of seven hundred heads: ‘I give my vote +against your constitution, not only because it’s bad, but because it’s a +constitution.’ + +The parliamentary dregs greeted one of his speeches: ‘The speech to the +_Moniteur_, the orator to the madhouse!’ I do not think that in the +memory of man there had ever been such parliamentary scenes from the days +when the Archbishop of Alexandria brought to the Œcumenical Councils +monks armed with clubs in the name of the Virgin, up to the days of the +Washington senators who proved the benefits of slavery on each other with +sticks. + +But even there Proudhon succeeded in rising to his full height, and +in the midst of the wrangling displayed a brilliance that will not be +forgotten. + +Thiers in rejecting Proudhon’s financial scheme made some insinuations as +to the moral depravity of the men who advocated such theories. Proudhon +mounted the tribune, and with his stooping figure and his menacing air +of a sturdy field-worker said to the smiling old creature: ‘Speak of +finance, but do not speak of morality: I may take that as personal, +I have told you so in committee. If you will persist, I—I will not +challenge you to a duel’ (Thiers smiled); ‘no, your death is not enough +for me—that would prove nothing. I challenge you to another sort of +contest. Here from this tribune I will tell the whole story of my life, +fact by fact—any one can pull me up if I forget or omit anything; and +then let my opponent tell the story of his!’ The eyes of all were turned +upon Thiers; he sat scowling, with no trace of a smile on his face, and +made no answer either. + +A hostile Chamber sank into silence while Proudhon, looking +contemptuously at the champions of religion and the family, came down +from the platform. That was where his strength lay. In his words one +hears clearly the language of the new world with its new standards and +its new penalties. + +From the revolution of February Proudhon foretold what France had come +to; to a thousand different tunes he kept repeating, ‘Beware, do not +trifle; “this is not Catiline at your gates, but death.”’ The French +shrugged their shoulders. The skull, the scythe, the hour-glass—all the +trappings of death—were not to be seen. How could it be death?—it ‘was +a momentary defeat, the after-dinner nap of a great people!’ At last +many people discerned that things were in a bad way. Proudhon was less +downcast than others, less panic-stricken, because he had foreseen it; +then he was accused of callousness and even of having invited disaster. +They say the Chinese Emperor pulls the Court star-gazer’s hair every year +when the latter announces that the days are beginning to draw in. + +The genius of Proudhon is really antipathetic to the rhetorical French, +his language is offensive to them. The revolution developed its own +special puritanism, narrow and intolerant, its own obligatory jargon; +and patriots resent everything not written in the official form, just +as the Russian judges do. Their criticism stops short at their symbolic +books, such as the _Contrat Social_ and _Declaration of the Rights of +Man_. Men of faith, they hate analysis and doubt; conspirators, they +do everything in common and turn everything into a party question. An +independent mind is hateful to them as a disturber of discipline, they +dislike original ideas even in the past. Louis Blanc is almost vexed +with the eccentric genius of Montaigne.[80] It is upon this Gallic +feeling, which seeks to subject individuality to the herd, that their +partiality for _equalising_, for the dead level of military discipline, +for centralisation—that is, for despotism—is based. + +The blasphemy of the French, their sweeping judgments, are more due +to mischief, caprice, the pleasure of mockery, than the craving for +analysis, than the scepticism that frets the soul. The Frenchman has +an endless number of little prejudices, minute religions, and these he +will defend with the persistence of a Don Quixote, the pertinacity of +a _raskolnik_. That is why they cannot forgive Montaigne or Proudhon +for their free-thinking and lack of reverence for generally accepted +idols. Like the Petersburg censorship, they permit a jest at a titular +councillor, but you must not touch a privy councillor. In 1850 E. +Girardin printed in the _Presse_ a bold and new idea, that the principles +of law are not eternal but go on evolving in different forms with the +development of history. What an uproar this article excited! The campaign +of abuse, of cries of horror, of charges of immorality begun by the +_Gazette_ of France was kept up for months. + +To assist in restoring such an organ as the _Peuple_ was worth a +sacrifice; I wrote to Sazonov and Hoetsky that I was ready to supply the +guarantee fund. + +Until then I had not seen much of Proudhon; I had met him twice at the +lodgings of Bakunin, with whom he was very intimate. Bakunin was living +at that time with A. Reihel in an extremely modest lodging at the other +side of the Seine in the Rue de Bourgogne. Proudhon often went there +to listen to Reihel’s Beethoven and Bakunin’s Hegel—the philosophical +discussions lasted longer than the symphonies. They reminded me of the +famous all-night arguments of Bakunin with Homyakov at Tchaadayev’s and +at Madame Yelagin’s, also over Hegel. In 1847, Karl Vogt, who also lived +in the Rue de Bourgogne, and often visited Reihel and Bakunin, was bored +one evening with listening to the endless discussions on phenomenology, +and went home to bed. Next morning he went round for Reihel, as they +were to go to the Jardin des Plantes together; he was surprised to +hear conversation in Bakunin’s study at that early hour. He opened the +door—Proudhon and Bakunin were sitting in the same places before the +burnt-out embers in the fireplace, finishing their brief summing-up of +the argument begun overnight. + +At first, afraid of the humble rôle of our fellow-countrymen, of being +patronised by great men, I did not try to become more intimate even +with Proudhon himself, and I believe I was not altogether wrong there. +Proudhon’s letter in answer to mine was courteous, but cold and somewhat +reserved. + +I wanted to show him from the very first that he was not dealing with +a mad _prince russe_ who was giving the money from revolutionary +dilettantism, and still more from ostentation, nor with an orthodox +admirer of French journalists, deeply grateful for their accepting +twenty-four thousand francs from him, nor with a dull-witted _bailleur +de fonds_ who imagines that providing the guarantee funds for such a +paper as the _Voix du Peuple_ is a serious business investment. I wanted +to show him that I knew very well what I was doing, that I had my own +definite aim in it, and so wanted to have a definite influence on the +paper. While I accepted unconditionally all that he wrote about money, +I demanded in the first place the right to insert articles, my own and +other people’s; secondly, the right to superintend all the foreign part, +to recommend editors, correspondents, and so on for it, and to insist on +payment for the latter for articles inserted. This last may seem strange, +but I can confidently assert that the _National_ and the _Réforme_ would +open their eyes with astonishment if any foreigner ventured to ask to +be paid for an article. They would take it for impudence or madness, as +though for a foreigner to see himself in print in a Parisian paper were +not + + ‘_Lohn der reichlich lohnet_.’ + +Proudhon agreed to my conditions, but still they made him wince. This +is what he wrote to me in Geneva on the 29th of August 1849: ‘And so +the thing is settled: under my general direction you have a share in +the editorship of the paper; your articles must be accepted with _no +restriction_, except that to which the editors are bound by respect for +their _own opinions_ and fear of legal responsibility. Agreed in ideas, +we can only differ in deductions; as regards the criticism of foreign +events, we leave that entirely to you. You and we are missionaries of +one idea. You will see our line in general discussion, and you will have +to support it: I am sure I shall never have to _correct your views_; I +should regard that as the greatest calamity. I tell you frankly, the +whole success of the paper depends on our agreement. The democratic +and social question must be raised to the level of an undertaking by a +European League. To presuppose that we shall not agree means to assume +that we have not the essential conditions for publishing the paper, and +that _we had better be silent_.’ + +To this severe missive I replied by the despatch of twenty-four thousand +francs and a long letter, quite friendly, but firm. I told him how +completely I agreed with him theoretically, adding that, like a true +Scythian, I saw with joy that the old world was falling into ruins, +and believed that it was our mission to announce to it its speedy end. +‘_Your fellow-countrymen are far from sharing these ideas._ I know one +free Frenchman—that is you. Your revolutionists are conservatives. They +are Christians without recognising it, and monarchists fighting for a +republic. You alone have raised the question of negation and revolution +to a scientific level, and you have been the first to tell France that +there is no salvation for the edifice that is crumbling from within, and +that there is nothing worth saving from it; that its very conceptions of +freedom and revolution are saturated with conservatism and reaction. As a +matter of fact, the political republicans are but one of the variations +on the constitutional tune of which Guizot, Odilon Barrot, and the rest +play their several versions. This is the view that should be followed +in the analysis of the latest European events, in attacking reaction, +Catholicism, monarchism, not in the ranks of our enemies—that is +extremely easy—but in our own camp. We must unmask the mutual guarantees +existing between the democrats and the powers that be. Since we are not +afraid to attack the victors, let us not from false sentimentality be +afraid to attack the vanquished also. + +‘I am thoroughly convinced that if the inquisition of the republic does +not kill our newspaper, it will be the best newspaper in Europe.’ + +I think that even now. But how Proudhon and I could imagine that +Napoleon’s government—they never stood on ceremony—would put up with a +paper like that, it is difficult to explain. + +Proudhon was pleased with my letter, and wrote to me on the 15th of +December from the Conciergerie: ‘I am very glad to have been associated +with you in the same work. I, too, wrote something in the nature of a +philosophy[81] under the title of the _Confessions of a Revolutionary_. +You will not perhaps find in it the _verve barbare_ to which you have +been trained by German philosophy. Do not forget that I am writing for +the French, who, for all their revolutionary ardour, are, it must be +confessed, far inferior to their rôle. However limited my view may be, +it is a hundred thousand times higher than the loftiest heights of our +journalistic, academic, and literary world. I have enough in me to be a +giant among them for another ten years. + +‘I completely share your opinion of the so-called republicans; of course, +they are only one species of the genus doctrinaires. As regards these +questions there is no need to convince each other; you will find in me +and my colleagues men who go hand in hand with you.... + +‘I too think a peaceful methodical advance by imperceptible transitions, +as the political economists and philosophical historians would have it, +is no longer possible for the revolution; we must make terrible leaps. +But as journalists foreseeing the coming catastrophe, it is not for us +to present it as something inevitable and just, or we shall be hated and +kicked out; and we have got to live....’ + +The paper was a wonderful success. Proudhon from his prison cell +conducted his orchestra in masterly fashion. His articles were full of +originality, fire, and that irritability which prison inflames. + +‘What are you, _M. le Président_?’ he writes in one article, speaking +of Napoleon; ‘tell me—man, woman, hemaphrodite, beast, or fish?’ And we +still imagined that such a paper might be kept going! + +The subscribers were not numerous, but the street sales were large; +thirty-five thousand to forty thousand were sold per day. The circulation +of particularly attractive numbers—for instance, of those in which +Proudhon’s articles appeared—was even larger; fifty thousand to sixty +thousand were printed, and often on the following day copies were being +sold for a franc instead of a sou.[82] + +But for all that, by the 1st of March—that is, in six months’ time—not +only was there no cash in hand, but already part of the guarantee fund +had gone in payment of fines. Ruin was inevitable; Proudhon hastened it +considerably. This was how it happened. On one occasion at his rooms in +Ste. Pélagie I found D’Alton-Shee and two of the editors. D’Alton-Shee, +that peer of France who scandalised Pacquier and frightened all the +peers by answering from the platform the question, ‘Why, are you not a +Catholic?’ ‘No! and what’s more, I am not a Christian at all, and I don’t +know whether I am a deist.’ He was saying to Proudhon that the last +numbers of the _Voix du Peuple_ were feeble: Proudhon was looking through +them and growing more and more morose; then, thoroughly incensed, he +turned to the editors: ‘What is the meaning of it? You take advantage of +my being in prison, and go to sleep there in the office. No, gentlemen: +if you go on like this I will refuse to have anything to do with the +paper, and will publish the grounds for my refusal. I don’t want my name +to be dragged in the mud; you need some one to stand behind you and +overlook every line. The public takes this for my newspaper: no, I must +put a stop to this. To-morrow I will send an article to efface the ill +effects of your scribbling, and I will show how I understand what ought +to be the spirit of my paper.’ + +Seeing his irritation, it might well be anticipated that the article +would not be the most moderate, but he surpassed our expectations: his +_Vive l’Empereur!_ was a rhapsody of irony—malignant, terrible irony. + +In addition to a new action against the paper, the government revenged +itself on Proudhon in its own way. He was transferred to a horrible +room—that is, given a far worse one than before: the window was half +boarded up so that nothing could be seen but the sky; no one was admitted +to see him, and a special guard was put at the door. And these measures, +unseemly for the correction of a naughty boy of sixteen, were taken seven +years ago against one of the greatest thinkers of our age. Men have grown +no wiser since the days of Socrates, no wiser since the days of Galileo; +they have only become more petty. This disrespect for genius, however, is +a new phenomenon that has reappeared during the last ten years. From the +time of the Renaissance talent has to some extent become a protection; +neither Spinoza nor Lessing was shut in a dark room or stood in a +corner. Such men are sometimes persecuted and killed, but they are not +humiliated in trivial ways; they are sent to the scaffold, but not to the +workhouse. + +Bourgeois imperial France is fond of equality. + +Though persecuted, Proudhon still struggled in his chains; he still made +an effort to bring out the _Voix du Peuple_ in 1850; but that attempt was +soon crushed. My guarantee money had been seized to the last farthing; +the one man in France who still had something to say had no choice but to +be silent. + +The last time I saw Proudhon in Ste. Pélagie, I was being turned out +of France, while he still had two years of prison. We parted gloomily; +there was no trace of hope in the near future. Proudhon maintained a +concentrated silence, whilst I was boiling with vexation; we both had +many thoughts in our minds, but no desire to speak. + +I had heard a great deal of his roughness, _rudesse_, and intolerance; +I never had any experience of it in my own case. What soft people call +his harshness was the tense muscle of the fighter; his scowling brow +showed only the intense workings of his mind: in his anger he reminded +me of a wrathful Luther or of Cromwell jeering at an opponent. He knew +that I understood him, and, knowing, too, how few did understand him, +appreciated it. He knew that he was considered an undemonstrative man; +and hearing from Michelet of the unhappy death of my mother and Kolya, +he wrote to me from Ste. Pélagie, among other things: ‘Is it possible +that fate should attack us on that side too? I cannot get over the shock +of this terrible accident. I love you, and carry your image deep here in +this heart which so many think is of stone.’ + +After that I did not see him:[83] in 1851, when, thanks to Léon Faucher, +I visited Paris for a few days, he had been sent away to some central +prison. A year later, when I was passing through Paris in secret, +Proudhon was ill at Besançon. + +Proudhon had his weak spot, and there he was incorrigible; there the +limit of his character was reached, and, as is always the case, beyond it +he was a conservative and a follower of tradition. I am speaking of his +views of family life, and of the significance of woman in general. ‘How +lucky is our friend N.!’ Proudhon would say jestingly; ‘his wife is not +so stupid that she can’t make a good _pot-au-feu_, and not clever enough +to discuss his articles. That’s all that is wanted for domestic bliss.’ + +In this jest Proudhon expressed, laughing, what was the serious basis +of his views on woman. His conceptions of family relations were coarse +and reactionary, but they betrayed, not the bourgeois element of the +townsman, but rather the stubborn feeling of the rustic paterfamilias, +haughtily regarding woman as an inferior, and a servant, and himself as +the autocratic head of the family. + +A year and a half after this was written, Proudhon published his great +work on _Justice in the Church and Revolution_. + +This book, for which France, sunk into barbarism, condemned him again to +three years’ imprisonment, I read through attentively, and I closed the +third volume weighed down by gloomy thoughts. + +It is a terrible ... terrible time!... The atmosphere of decomposition +stupefies the strongest.... + +This ‘brilliant fighter,’ too, could not resist it, and was broken: in +his last work I see the same controversial power, the same mighty stroke; +but it brings him now to preconceived results—it is no longer free in the +very fullest sense. Towards the end of the book I watched over Proudhon +as Kent watched over King Lear, expecting him to recover his reason, but +he talked more and more wildly—there were the same fits of intolerance, +of unbridled speech, as in Lear; and at the same time ‘_every inch_’ +betrays talent, but ... a talent that is ‘_touched_’ ... and he runs +with the corpse, not of a daughter but of a mother, whom he takes to be +living.[84] + +Latin thought, religious in its very negation, superstitious in doubt, +rejecting one set of authorities in the name of another, has rarely gone +further, rarely plunged more deeply _in medias res_ of reality, rarely +freed itself from all tangles, with such dialectic boldness and certainty +as in this book. In it, not only the crude dualism of religion but the +more subtle dualism of philosophy is cast off; the mind is set free not +only from heavenly phantoms but from those of the earth, it passes beyond +the sentimental apotheosis of humanity and the fatalism of progress, has +none of the everlasting litanies of brotherhood, democracy, and progress, +which are so pitifully wearisome in the midst of rancour and violence. +Proudhon sacrificed the idols and the language of revolution to the true +understanding of it, and put morality on its only real basis—the heart of +man, recognising no idols, nothing but reason, ‘if it.’ + +And after all that, the great iconoclast was frightened of human nature +being set free; for, having freed it abstractly, he fell back again +into metaphysics, endowed it with _incredible will_, could not manage +it, and led it to be immolated on the altar of the cold, inhuman God of +_justice_—the God of equilibrium, of stillness and peace, the God of the +Brahmins, who seek to lose all that is personal and to be dissolved, to +come to rest in an infinite ocean of annihilation. + +On the empty altar scales were set up. This would be a new Caudine Forks +for humanity. + +The ‘justice’ which is his goal is not even the artistic harmony of +Plato’s Republic, the elegant equilibrium of passion and sacrifice; the +Gallic tribune takes nothing from ‘anarchic and frivolous Greece’; he +stoically tramples personal feelings under foot, and does not seek to +harmonise them with the demands of the family and the commune. His ‘free +man’ is a sentry on guard, and a workman who can never rise; he must +serve and stand on guard until he is relieved by death; he must stifle +in himself all personal passion, everything outside duty, because he is +not himself: his meaning, his essence, lies outside himself; he is the +instrument of justice; he is predestined, like the Virgin Mary, to bear +the idea in suffering and to bring it into the world for the salvation of +the state. + +The family, the first embryo of society, the first cradle of justice, +is doomed to everlasting, hopeless toil; it is to serve as the means of +purification of the personal; in it the passions are to be stamped out. +The austere Roman family in the workshop of to-day is Proudhon’s ideal. +Christianity has softened family life too much for him: it preferred Mary +to Martha, the dreamer to the housewife: it forgave the sinner and held +out a hand to the penitent, because she loved much; but in Proudhon’s +family, just what is essential is to love little. And that is not all: +Christianity puts the individual far higher than his family relations. +It says to the son: ‘Forsake father and mother and follow me’—to the son +who in the name of Proudhon’s _realisation of justice_ must be put back +into the fetters of absolute paternal power, who in his father’s lifetime +can have no freedom, least of all in the choice of a wife. He is to be +inured to slavery, to become in his turn a tyrant over the children who +are born without love through duty for the continuation of the family. In +this family marriage will be indissoluble, but it will be cold as ice. +Marriage is simply a victory over love; the less love there is between +the cook-wife and the workman-husband the better. And to think that I +should meet these old shabby bogeys from the Hegelianism of the right +wing in the writings of Proudhon! + +Feeling is banished, everything is frozen, the colours are gone, nothing +is left but the dull, exhausting toil of the proletariat of to-day, +the toil from which the aristocratic family of ancient Rome, based on +slavery, was at least free: gone is the poetic beauty of the Church, +the delirium of faith, the hopes of paradise; even poetry in those days +‘will be written no more,’ so Proudhon asserts. On the other hand, +labour will become ‘more severe.’ For individual freedom, for the right +of initiative, for independence, one may well sacrifice the lullabys of +religion; but to sacrifice everything for the realisation of the idea of +justice—what nonsense! + +Man is doomed to toil, he must labour till his hand drops and the son +takes from the cold fingers of the father the plane or the hammer and +carries on the everlasting work. But what if among the sons there happens +to be one with a little more sense who lays down the drill and asks: ‘But +what are we wearing ourselves out for?’ ‘For the triumph of justice,’ +Proudhon tells him. And the new Cain answers: ‘But who made me the keeper +of the triumph of justice?’ ‘Who?—why, is not your whole vocation, your +whole life, the realisation of justice?’ ‘Who has set up that object?’ +Cain will answer. ‘It is too stale; there is no God, but the Commandments +remain. Justice is not my vocation; work is not a duty but a necessity; +the family is not for me the fetters of life but the setting for my life, +for my development. You want to keep me in slavery, but I rebel against +you. I revolt against you, against your steel-yard, just as you have been +revolting all your life against bayonets, capital, and Church, just as +all the French revolutionists rebelled against the feudal and Catholic +tradition. Or do you imagine that after the taking of the Bastille, +after the terror, after the war and the famine, after the bourgeois +king and the bourgeois republic, I am going to believe you when you +tell me that Romeo had no right to love Juliet because those old fools +of Montagues and Capulets kept up an everlasting feud, and that, even +at thirty or forty, I must not choose the companion of my life without +my father’s permission, that a woman who has been unfaithful must be +punished and disgraced? Why, what do you take me for with your justice?’ + +And in support of Cain we would add, from the dialectical side, that +Proudhon’s whole conception of an _aim_ is utterly inconsistent. This +teleology is also theology; this is the republic of February—that is, the +same as the monarchy of July, but without Louis-Philippe. What difference +is there between predetermined teleology and providence?[85] + +After emancipating human nature to the last limit, Proudhon took +fright looking at his contemporaries, and, that these convicts, these +_ticket-of-leave men_, might do no mischief, he catches them in the +rat-trap of the Roman family. + +The doors of the restored _atrium_, free from _Lares_ and _Penates_, +have been flung open; but not Anarchy, not the annihilation of authority +and the state, is seen seated in the midst, but stern Order, with +centralisation, with regulation of family relations, with inheritance +and deprivation of it as a punishment; and with these things all the old +Roman sins peep out of every crevice with the dead eyes of statues. + +The family of antiquity naturally implies the ancient conception of the +fatherland with its jealous patriotism, that ferocious virtue which has +shed ten times more blood than all the vices put together. + +Man bound in serfdom to the family becomes again the bondslave of the +soil. His movements are restricted, he puts down roots into his land; +only upon it he is what he is: ‘the Frenchman living in Russia,’ says +Proudhon, ‘is a Russian, and not a Frenchman.’ No more colonies, no more +settlements abroad; every man must live where he is.... + +‘Holland will not perish,’ said William of Orange in the years of terror; +‘it will go aboard ships and will sail off to Asia, and here we will lift +up the sluices.’ It is people like that who are free. + +The English are like that: as soon as they begin to be oppressed, they +sail over the ocean and there found a younger, freer England. And yet +nobody could say of the English that they do not love their country, or +that they are lacking in national feeling. Emigrating in all directions, +England has peopled half the world; while France, lacking in vitality, +has lost one set of colonies and does not know what to do with the rest. +She does not need them; France is pleased with herself and clings more +and more to her centre, and the centre to its master. What independence +can there be in such a country? + +On the other hand, how can one abandon France, _la belle France_? ‘Is +not she even now the freest country in the world, is not her language +the finest language, her literature the finest literature, is not her +syllabic line more musical than the Greek hexameter!’ Moreover, her +universal genius absorbs the thought and the literature of all ages and +all countries: ‘has not France made Shakespeare and Kant, Goethe and +Hegel her own?’ And what is more: Proudhon forgot that they corrected +them and dressed them up, as landowners dress up the peasants when they +take them to Court. + +Proudhon concludes his book with a Catholic prayer adapted to socialism; +all he had to do was to secularise a few Church phrases and to put +the Phrygian cap in the place of the mitre, for the prayer of the +‘Byzantine’ bishops to be the very thing for the bishop of socialism. +What a chaos! Proudhon, emancipated from everything except reason, still +wants to remain not only a husband after the style of Bluebeard, but also +a French nationalist—with his literary chauvinism and his unlimited power +of the father; and so behind the strong, vigorous words of a free thinker +one seems to hear the voice of the savage old man, dictating his will, +and trying now to preserve for his children the decrepit temple he has +been undermining all his life. + +The Latin world does not like freedom, it only likes to struggle for it; +it sometimes finds the force for setting free, never for freedom. Is it +not melancholy to see such men as Auguste Comte and Proudhon setting up +as their last word, the one a sort of mandarin hierarchy, the other his +domestic penal servitude and apotheosis of an inhuman _pereat mundus, +fiat justitia_! + + + + +Appendix + +(To Chapter 41) + + +I + +... On the one hand we have the Proudhon family, irrevocably welded +together and nailed down, indissoluble marriage, the absolute power of +the father—a family in which for the sake of society all the persons +except one are brought to misery, the savage marriage in which unchanging +feeling, the magic power of a vow, are assumed; on the other hand, the +theories that are coming into vogue, in which marriage and the family are +no longer binding, the irresistible force of passion is assumed, the past +is thought to lay no obligations, and the complete independence of the +individual is asserted. + +On the one hand we have woman almost stoned for faithlessness; on the +other, jealousy itself put _hors la loi_ as a morbid, abnormal feeling of +egoism and ownership and the romantic distortion of healthy and natural +ideas. + +Where is the truth ... where is the middle line? Twenty-three years ago I +was already seeking a way out of this forest of contradictions. + +We are bold in denial and always ready to fling any of our idols into +the river, but the gods of home and family are somehow ‘waterproof’—they +always rise again. Perhaps there is no sense left in them, but there is +still life in them; it seems as though the weapons used against them have +simply glided over their snaky scales, felled them, stunned them ... but +have not killed them. + +Jealousy ... Fidelity ... Infidelity ... Chastity ... Dark forces, +menacing words, thanks to which rivers of tears, rivers of blood have +flowed—words that set us shuddering like the memory of the Inquisition, +of torture, of the plague ... and yet they are the words under the +shadow of which, as under the sword of Damocles, the family has lived and +is living. + +There is no turning them out of doors by abuse or by denial. They remain +round the corner, slumbering, ready at the slightest call to ruin +everything near and far, to ruin us ourselves.... + +It seems as though we must abandon the excellent intention of +extinguishing these smouldering embers and confine ourselves humbly to +mitigating and humanely directing the destructive fire. You can no more +bridle passions with logic than you can justify them in the law-courts. +Passions are facts and not dogmas. + +Moreover, jealousy has always enjoyed special privileges. In itself a +strong _absolutely natural_ passion, it has hitherto only been encouraged +instead of being restrained and softened. The Christian doctrine making, +through hatred of the body, everything fleshly of extraordinary value, +and the aristocratic worship of blood, of purity of race, have developed +to the point of absurdity the conception of insulted honour, of a blot +that cannot be effaced. Jealousy has received the _jus gladii_, the +right of judgment and revenge. It has become a duty of _honour_, almost +a virtue. All that will not stand a moment’s criticism—but yet there +still remains at the bottom of the heart a very real insurmountable +feeling of pain, of unhappiness called jealousy, a feeling as elementary +as the feeling of love itself, resisting every effort to deny it, an +‘irreducible’ feeling. + +... Here again are the everlasting limits, the Caudine Forks into which +history drives us. On both sides there is truth, on both there is +falsehood. The bold asking for a clear alternative will lead you nowhere. +At the moment of complete denial of one of the terms, it comes back—just +as after the last quarter of the moon the first appears on the other side. + +Hegel removed the boundary-posts of human reason, by rising +to the _absolute spirit_; in it they did not vanish but were +_transformed_—_fulfilled_, as the German theological philosophy expresses +it: this is mysticism, philosophical theodicy, allegory, and reality +purposely mixed up. All religious reconciliations of the irreconcilable +are won by means of _redemption_—that is, by sacred transmutation, a +sacred deception, a solution which solves nothing but rests on faith. Can +anything be more opposite to free-will than necessity?—but by faith they +are easily reconciled. Man will accept without a murmur the justice of +punishment for an action which was pre-ordained. + +Proudhon himself, in a different range of questions, was far more +humane than German philosophy. From economic contradictions he escapes +by the recognition of both sides under the restraint of a higher +principle. Property as a right and property as a theft are set side by +side in everlasting balance, everlastingly complementary, under the +ever-growing dominance of _justice_. It is clear that the argument and +the contradictions are transferred to another sphere, and that it is the +conception of justice we have to criticise rather than the rights of +property. + +The simpler, the less mystic, and the less one-sided, the more real and +practically applicable the higher principle is, the more completely it +brings the contradictory terms to their lowest denomination. + +The absolute, ‘all-embracing’ spirit of Hegel is replaced in Proudhon +by the menacing idea of justice. But the problem of the passions is not +likely to be solved by that either. Passion is intrinsically unjust; +justice is remote from the personal, it is impersonal—passion is only +individual. + +The solution here lies not in the law-courts but in the humane +development of individual character, in its escape from lyrical +self-centredness into the light of day, in the development of common +human interests. + +The radical elimination of jealousy implies eliminating love for the +individual, replacing it by love for woman or for man, by love of the +sex in general. But it is just the personal, the individual, that is +attractive; it is just that which gives colour, tone, intensity to the +whole of our life. Our emotion is personal, our happiness and unhappiness +are personal happiness and unhappiness. + +Rationalism with all its logic is as little comfort in personal sorrow as +the consolations of the Romans with their rhetoric. Neither the tears of +loss nor the tears of jealousy can be wiped away, nor should they be, but +it is right and possible that they should flow humanely ... and that they +should be equally free from monastic poison, the ferocity of the beast, +and the wail of the man robbed of his property.[86] + + +II + +To reduce the relations of man and woman to a casual sexual connection +is just as impossible as to exalt and distort them into marriage +indissoluble to the grave. The one and the other may be met at the +extreme of sexual and marriage relations, as a special case, as an +exception but not as a general rule. The casual relation will be broken +off or will continually tend to a closer and firmer union, just as the +indissoluble marriage will tend to grow more and more free from external +bonds. + +People have continually protested against both extremes. Indissoluble +marriage has been accepted by them hypocritically, or in the heat of the +moment. Casual relations never have had complete recognition; they have +always been concealed, just as marriage has been a subject of boasting. +All attempts at the official regulation of brothels, although aiming at +their restriction, are offensive to the moral sense of society, which +sees in organisation, recognition. The scheme elaborated by a gentleman +in Paris, in the days of the Directorate, of establishing privileged +brothels with their own hierarchy and to on, was even in those days +received with hisses and overwhelmed by a storm of laughter and contempt. + +The normal life of man is as remote from the monastery as from the +cattle-yard; from the sexlessness of the monk, which the Church esteems +above marriage, as from the childless gratification of passion.... + +Marriage is for Christianity a concession, an inconsistency, a weakness. +Christianity regards marriage as society regards concubinage. The monk +and the Catholic priest are condemned to perpetual celibacy by way of +reward for their foolish triumph over human nature. + +Christian marriage in general is gloomy and unjust; it establishes +inequality against the teaching of the Gospel, and delivers the wife +into slavery to the husband. The wife is sacrificed, love (hateful +to the Church) is sacrificed; after the Church ceremony it becomes a +superfluity, and is replaced by duty and obligation. Of the brightest and +most joyous of feelings Christianity has made a pain, a weariness, and a +sin. The human race had either to die out or be inconsistent. Outraged +nature protested. + +It protested not only by acts followed by penitence and stings of +conscience, but by sympathy, by rehabilitation. The protest began in +the very heyday of Catholicism and chivalry. The terrible husband, the +Bluebeard in armour with the sword, tyrannical, jealous, and merciless; +the barefoot monk, sullen, senseless, superstitious, ready to avenge +himself for his privations, for his useless struggle; jailers, torturers, +spies, ... and in some cellar or turret a sobbing woman, a page in +chains, for whom no one intercedes. All is darkness, savagery, blood, +bigotry, violence, and Latin prayers chanted through the nose. + +But behind the monk, the confessor, and the jailer, who, with the +terrible husband, the father, and the brother, guard the sanctity of +marriage, the folk-legend is forming in the stillness, the ballad is +heard carried from place to place, from castle to castle, by troubadour +and minnesinger—it champions the unhappy woman. The judge condemns, +and the song absolves. The Church hurls its anathema at love outside +marriage, the ballad curses marriage without love. It champions the +love-sick page, the fallen wife, the oppressed daughter, not by argument +but by sympathy, by pity, by lamentation. The song is for the people its +secular prayer, its other escape from the cold and hunger of life, from +spiritual misery and heavy toil. + +On holidays the litanies to the Madonna were replaced by the mournful +strains _des complaintes_, which did not heap shame on the unhappy +woman, but wept for her, and set above all the Virgin of Sorrows, +beseeching Her intervention and forgiveness. From ballads and legends +the protest grows into the novel and the drama. In the drama it becomes +a force. In the theatre outraged love, the gloomy secrets of family +injustice, find their tribune, their court of appeal. The hearing of +their case has moved thousands of hearts, wringing tears and cries of +indignation against the serfdom of marriage and the forcible bondage of +the family. The jury of the stalls and the boxes have over and over again +acquitted individuals and found institutions guilty. + +Meanwhile, in the period of political reconstructions and secular +tendencies in thought, one of the two strong props of marriage is +beginning to break down. As it becomes less and less of a sacrament—that +is, loses its ultimate foundation—it has leaned more and more on the +police. Only by the mystic intervention of a higher power can Christian +marriage be justified. There is a certain logic in that, senseless, +but still logic. The police-officer, putting on his tricolor scarf and +celebrating the wedding with the civil code in his hand, is a far more +absurd figure than the priest in his vestments, surrounded by incense, +holy images, and miracles. Even the First Consul, Napoleon, the most +bourgeois politician in matters of love and the family, perceived that +marriage at the police-station was a poor affair, and tried to persuade +Cambacérès[87] to add some obligatory phrase, some moral sentence, +particularly one that would impress upon the bride her duty to be +faithful to her husband (not a word about his) and to obey him. + +As soon as marriage emerges from the sphere of mysticism, it +becomes _expédient_, an external arrangement. It was introduced +by the panic-stricken ‘Bluebeards’ (shaven nowadays, and changed +into ‘blue-chins’) in judges’ wigs, and academic coats, popular +representatives and liberals, the priests of the civil code. Civil +marriage is simply a state measure of economy, freeing the state from +responsibility for the children and binding men more closely to property. +Marriage without the intervention of the Church became a contract for +the bodily enslavement of each to the other for life. The legislator +has nothing to do with faith, with mystic fantasies, so long as the +contract is fulfilled, and if not he will find means of punishment and +enforcement. And why not punish it? In England, the traditional country +of juridical development, a boy of sixteen, made drunk with ale and gin +and enrolled in a regiment by an old recruiting sergeant with red ribbons +on his hat, is subjected to the most horrible tortures. Why not punish a +girl? Why not punish with shame, ruin, and forcible restoration to her +master the girl who, with no clear understanding of what she is about, +has contracted to love for life, and has permitted something _extra_, +forgetting that the season-ticket is not transferable. But these new +Bluebeards too have been attacked by the troubadours and novelists. +Against the marriage of legal contract, a pathological, physiological +dogma has been set up, the dogma of _the absolute infallibility of the +passions and the incapacity of man to struggle against them_. + +Those who were yesterday the slaves of marriage are now becoming the +slaves of love. There is no law for love, there is no strength that can +resist it. + +With that, all rational control, all responsibility, every form of +self-restraint is effaced. That man is in subjection to irresistible and +overwhelming forces is a theory utterly opposed to rational freedom and +to reason, to that formation of the character of a free man which all +social theories aim at attaining by different paths. + +Imaginary forces, if men accept them as real, have as much power as real +ones, and that is because man’s power of response is the same whatever +force acts on him. The man who is afraid of ghosts is afraid in exactly +the same way as the man who is afraid of mad dogs, and may as easily die +of fright. The difference is that in one case the man may be shown that +his fears are groundless, and in the other he cannot. + +I refuse to admit the sovereign position given to _love_ in life, I deny +its autocratic power and protest against the pusillanimous excuse of +having been carried away by it. + +Surely we have not freed ourselves from every restraint on earth, from +God and the devil, from the Roman and the criminal law, and proclaimed +reason as our sole guide and standard, in order to lie down humbly, like +Hercules at the feet of Omphale, or to fall asleep in the lap of Delilah? +Surely woman has not sought to be free from the yoke of the family, +from perpetual tutelage and the tyranny of father, husband, or brother, +has not striven for her rights to independent work, to learning and the +position of a citizen, only to begin over again cooing like a dove all +her life and pining for a dozen Leone Leonis[88] instead of one. + +Yes, it is for woman that I am most of all sorry in this question; +she is hopelessly torn and destroyed by the all-devouring Moloch of +love. She puts more faith in it, she suffers more from it. She is more +concentrated on the sexual relation, more driven to love.... She is both +intellectually more unstable and intellectually less trained than we. + +I am sorry for her. + + +III + +Has any one made a serious and honest attempt to break down conventional +prejudices in female education? They are only broken down by experience, +and so it is life and not convention that suffers. + +People go round the questions we are discussing, as old women and +children go round a graveyard or a place where a crime has been +committed. Some are afraid of impure spirits, others of the pure truth, +and are left in fantastic disorder and inconsistent chaos. There is +as little serious consistency in our view of sexual relations as in +practical spheres. We are still haunted by the possibility of combining +Christian morality, which starts from negation of the flesh and leads +towards the other world, with the realistic earthly morality of this +world. People are annoyed at the two moralities not harmonising, and, +to avoid spending time in worrying over the solution of the problem, +pick out according to their tastes and retain what they like of the +Church teaching, and reject what they do not care for; just as those +who do not keep the fasts will zealously eat pancakes, and avoid dull +religious services, whilst still observing religious festivities. Yet I +should have thought it was high time to bring more harmony and manliness +into conduct. Let him who respects the law remain under the law and not +break it, but let him who does not accept it show himself openly and +consciously independent of it. + +A sober view of human relations is far more difficult for women than for +us—of that there can be no doubt; they are more deceived by education, +and know less of life, and so they more often stumble and break their +heads and hearts than free themselves. They are always in revolt, and +remain in slavery, strive for revolution, while most frequently they are +propping up the existing regime. From childhood the girl is frightened of +the sexual relation as of some _fearful unclean secret_ from which she +is guarded and scared off as though it were a sin that had some magical +power; and afterwards this same monstrous thing, this same _magnum +ignotum_ which leaves an ineffaceable stain, the remotest hint at which +is shameful and sets her blushing, is made the object of her life. As +soon as a boy can walk, he is given a toy sword to train him to murder, +he is promised an hussar’s uniform and epaulettes; while the girl is +lulled to sleep with the hope of a rich and handsome bridegroom, and she +dreams of epaulettes not on her own shoulders but on the shoulders of her +predestined husband. + + ‘Dors, dors, mon enfant, + Jusqu’à l’age de quinze ans, + A quinze ans faut te réveiller, + A quinze ans faut te marier.’ + +One must marvel at the fine human nature which is not ruined by such an +education—we might have expected that all the little girls so lulled for +fifteen years would set to work speedily to replace those slain by the +boys who have been trained from childhood with weapons of slaughter. + +The Christian teaching imposes the terror of the ‘flesh’ before the +creature is conscious of its sex; it awakens the dreadful question in +the child, instils terror into the adolescent soul, and when the time to +answer it is come—another doctrine, as we have said, raises her sexual +calling to the sought-for ideal for the girl: the schoolgirl becomes the +bride, and the same mystery, the same sin but purified and sanctified, +becomes the crown of her education, the hope of her relations, the goal +of all her efforts, almost a social duty. Accomplishments, learning, +education, intelligence, beauty, wealth, grace, all are devoted to her +_sanctioned_ fall ... to the very same sin, the thought of which was +looked on as a crime but which has now changed its essential nature by a +miracle like that by which the Pope, when held up on a journey, changed a +meat dish into a Lenten dish by his blessing. + +In short, the whole training—negative and positive—of a woman remains +a training for sexual relations; round them all her subsequent life +turns. From them she runs, towards them she runs, by them is disgraced, +by them is made proud.... To-day she preserves the negative holiness of +sexlessness, to-day she can only whisper, blushing, of love to her bosom +friend; to-morrow, in the face of the crowd, in glare and noise, in the +light of chandeliers and strains of music, she is flung into the arms of +a man. + +Bride, wife, mother, only in old age as grandmother a woman is set free +from sexual life, and then becomes an independent creature, especially +if the grandfather is dead. Woman, struck down by love, does not soon +escape.... Pregnancy, suckling, child-rearing are all the development of +the same mystery, the same act of love; in woman it persists not in the +memory only, but in blood and body, in her it ferments and matures and +rends without breaking its tie. + +Christianity breathed with its feverish monastic asceticism, with its +romantic nonsense, upon this physiologically strong, deep relation, and +blew it into the frenzied and destructive flames of jealousy, revenge, +punishment, and insult. + +For a woman to extricate herself from this chaos is an heroic feat—only +rare and exceptional natures accomplish it; other women are tortured, and +if they do not go out of their minds it is only thanks to the frivolity +with which we all live without over-subtlety in the face of terrible +catastrophes and misfortunes, senselessly passing from day to day, from +one chance event to another and from one contradiction to another. + +What breadth, what beauty and power of human nature and development there +must be in a woman to get over all the fences, all the barriers, within +which she is held captive! + +I have seen one such struggle and one such victory.... + + + + +Chapter 42 + +THE COUP D’ÉTAT—THE PROCUREUR OF THE LATE REPUBLIC—THE VOICE OF THE COW +IN THE WILDERNESS—BANISHMENT OF THE PROCUREUR—ORDER AND CIVILISATION +TRIUMPHANT + + +‘Vive la mort, _friends! And a happy new year! Now we shall be +consistent, now we shall not be false to our own ideas, shall not be +terrified at the realisation of what we have foreseen, shall not abjure +the knowledge we have reached by the path of tribulation. Now we shall be +strong and stand up for our convictions._ + +‘_We saw death approaching long ago; we may grieve, we may feel sympathy, +but we cannot be surprised, we cannot be despairing or downcast. Quite +the contrary, we ought to lift up our heads, we are justified. We have +been called birds of ill omen invoking disaster, we have been reproached +for heresy, for ignorance of the people, for proud isolation, for +childish resentment, while we have only been guilty of seeing the truth +and speaking it openly. Our words, which are still the same, are now the +consolation, the encouragement of those who are terrified by the events +in Paris._’—(‘Letters from France and Italy,’ No. 14. Nice, December 31, +1851.) + +One morning (I remember it was the 4th of December) our cook, Pasquale +Rocca, came in to me, and with a look of pleasure announced that +flysheets were being sold in the streets with the news that ‘Buonaparte +has dismissed the Assembly and appointed a red government.’ Who were the +zealous servants of Napoleon who spread such rumours among the people +even outside France (Nice was at that time Italian), I do not know; but +what numbers there must have been of agents of all sorts, political +stokers, whipping the public up end raising the temperature, since there +were enough of them even for Nice! + +An hour later Vogt, Hoetsky, Mathieu, and others turned up: all were +surprised ... Mathieu, a typical specimen of a French revolutionary, was +beside himself. + +Bald, with a skull the shape of a walnut—that is, a typically Gallic +skull, not spacious but obstinate—with a big, dark, unkempt beard, a +rather good-natured expression, and little eyes, Mathieu was like a +prophet, like a crazy saint, like an augur, and like his bird. He was +a lawyer, and in the happy days of the February republic had been a +_procureur_ or a deputy _procureur_ somewhere. He was a revolutionary to +the tips of his finger-nails; he gave himself up to the revolution as +people give themselves up to religion, with implicit faith, never dared +either to understand or to doubt or to be over-subtle, but loved and +believed, called Ledru-Rollin ‘Ledru,’ and Louis Blanc simply ‘Blanc,’ +used the word _citoyen_ whenever he could, and was perpetually conspiring. + +On receiving the news of the 2nd of December he disappeared, and returned +two days later completely convinced that France was rising, _que cela +chauffe_, and especially in the south, in the department of Var near +Draguignan. The great thing to be done was to enter into relations with +the leaders of the insurrection.... He had seen some of them, and had +settled with them overnight, passing through Var, to collect trustworthy +and important persons together at a certain spot, for consultation.... +But that the gendarmes might not get wind of it, it was settled on both +sides to give as a signal the moo of a cow. If things went well, Orsini +meant to bring all his friends, and, though not quite confident that +Mathieu’s view of the position was correct, he set off with him to cross +the frontier. Orsini came back shaking his head, though, true to his +revolutionary and somewhat _condottieri_ temperament, he proceeded to +prepare his comrades and collect arms. Mathieu vanished. + +Twenty-four hours later, Rocca woke me at four o’clock in the morning: +‘Two gentlemen just arrived from a journey; they urgently want to see +you, they say. One of them gave me this note.’ ‘_Citoyen_, for God’s sake +give bearer three or four hundred francs at once, if possible; urgently +necessary.—MATHIEU.’ + +I snatched up the money and went downstairs: two remarkable individuals +were sitting in the half-dark by the window; accustomed as I am to all +the uniforms of revolution, I was yet struck by the appearance of my +visitors. Both were covered with mud and clay to their knees; one was +wearing a thick red woollen scarf; both had shabby overcoats, a sash +round their waistcoats, and big pistols in the sash; and the rest was as +usual—unkempt shocks of hair, big beards, and tiny pipes. One of them, +beginning with the word _citoyen_, delivered a speech in which he touched +upon my civic virtues and the money expected by Mathieu. I gave him the +money. ‘Is he in safety?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ answered his ambassador; ‘we’re +going to join him at once on the other side of the Var. He is buying a +boat.’ + +‘A boat! what for?’ + +‘Citoyen Mathieu has the whole plan for landing—the infamous coward of a +boatman would not let us have the boat on credit....’ + +‘What, a landing in France ... with one boat...?’ + +‘It is a secret, _citoyen_, for the time.’ + +‘_Comme de raison._’ + +‘Would you like a receipt?’ + +‘Oh, no need of that!’ + +Next day Mathieu himself appeared, also muddy to the ears, and worn out +with fatigue; he had been mooing like a cow all night, had several times +fancied he heard an answer, went towards it, and found a real bull or a +cow. Orsini, who had been waiting somewhere for him for ten hours at a +stretch, also came back. The difference between them was that Orsini, +washed, and as always, dressed neatly and tastefully, looked like a +man who had just walked out of his bedroom; while Mathieu bore all the +outward signs of destroying the peace of the state, and attempting to +raise a rebellion. Then the boat question had to be considered. Trouble +is never far off, and he might easily ruin half a dozen of his own +countrymen and half a dozen of the Italians. To stop or dissuade him was +impossible. The leaders who had come to me in the night appeared with +him; one might be certain that he would compromise not only the French +but all of us in Nice. Hoetsky undertook to manage him, and did so like +an artist. + +Hoetsky’s window, with a little balcony, looked straight out on the +sea-shore. In the morning he saw Mathieu wandering with a mysterious air +along the beach.... Hoetsky began making signs to him; Mathieu saw them +and signed that he would come to him presently; but Hoetsky, assuming +an air of the most terrible alarm, telegraphed to him with his fingers +that danger was imminent, and insisted on his coming up to the balcony at +once. Mathieu, looking round him, stole up on tiptoe. ‘You don’t know?’ +Hoetsky asked him. ‘What?’ ‘A squadron of French gendarmes has come into +Nice.’ ‘You don’t say so!’ + +‘Sh—sh—sh.... They are looking for you and your friends. They mean to +make a house-to-house search among us—you will be caught at once; don’t +go out into the street.’ + +‘_Violation du territoire_ ... I shall protest.’ + +‘Of course; only, now you must escape.’ + +‘I will go to Ste. Hélène, to Herzen’s.’ + +‘You must be mad! That’s simply giving yourself up to them. His villa is +on the frontier, with a huge garden, and no one will even know that you +have been arrested—besides, Rocca saw two gendarmes at the gate, even +yesterday.’ + +Mathieu sank into thought. + +‘Go by sea to Vogt’s, hide there for the time, and he, by the way, will +give you the best advice.’ + +Mathieu went by the sea-coast—that is, twice as far round—to Vogt’s, +and began telling him word for word his conversation with Hoetsky. Vogt +instantly grasped the position and observed to him: ‘The great thing, +dear Mathieu, is not to lose one instant. Within two hours you must go +to Turin: the diligence passes the other side of the hill; I will take a +seat, and take you there by the path.’ + +‘I’ll run home for my things ...’ and the _procureur_ of the republic was +a little flustered. + +‘That’s even worse than going to Herzen’s. Why, you must be +crazy—gendarmes, agents, spies, I don’t know what, are after you ... and +you want to run home to kiss your fat Provençale! What a Celadon![89] +Porter!’ shouted Vogt (his house-porter was a minute German, a killing +person, very much like a coffee-pot that had not been washed for months, +and absolutely devoted to Vogt). ‘Make haste and write that you want a +shirt, handkerchiefs, clothes; he’ll fetch them, and if you like bring +your Dulcinea too so that you may kiss and weep to your heart’s content.’ + +Mathieu was so overcome with feeling that he embraced Vogt. + +Hoetsky arrived. ‘Make haste, make haste!’ he said with an ominous air. + +Meanwhile the porter came back, his Dulcinea came also—they had only to +wait for the diligence to come into sight beyond the hill. The seat had +been taken. + +‘I suppose you are cutting up rotten dogs or rabbits again?’ Hoetsky +asked Vogt; ‘_quel chien de métier...!_’ + +‘No, I’m not.’ + +‘Upon my soul, the stench in your room is like the catacombs at Naples.’ + +‘I notice it myself, but I can’t make it out; it comes from the +corner.... There must be a dead rat under the floor—it’s an awful stink,’ +and he picked up Mathieu’s overcoat lying on a chair. It appeared that +the smell came from the overcoat. + +‘What the devil have you got in your overcoat?’ Vogt asked him. + +‘Nothing!’ + +‘Oh, it must be my fault,’ observed Dulcinea, blushing, ‘I put a pound of +Limburg cheese, _un peu trop fait_, in his pocket for the journey.’ + +‘I congratulate your neighbours in the diligence,’ shouted Vogt, laughing +as no one else in the world can laugh. + +‘Well, it’s time to start—march!’ + +And Hoetsky and Vogt saw the agitator off on his way to Turin. + +In Turin Mathieu presented himself before the Minister of the Interior +with a protest. The latter received him with irritation and laughter. +‘How could you imagine that French gendarmes could arrest people in the +kingdom of Sardinia? You must be unwell.’ + +Mathieu referred to the testimony of Vogt and Hoetsky. + +‘Your friends,’ said the Minister, ‘have been having a joke at your +expense.’ + +Mathieu wrote to Vogt; he reeled off a string of nonsense, I do not know +what, in answer. But Mathieu was offended, particularly with Hoetsky, and +a few weeks later wrote a letter to me in which, among other things, he +said: ‘You, _citoyen_, alone among these gentlemen, took no part in this +treacherous intrigue against me....’ + +What adds to the characteristic oddity of the affair is that there was +a very serious rising in Var, that masses of the population really did +revolt, and that the rising was suppressed with the habitual French +bloodthirstiness. How was it Mathieu and his bodyguard, for all their +zeal and their mooing, did not know how to get in contact with the +rebels? No one suspects him or his comrades of intentionally going to +mess about in the mud and not wanting to go where there was danger—far +from it. That is not in the spirit of the French, of whom Delphine Gay +said that ‘they are afraid of everything except bullets,’ and still less +in the spirit _de la démocratie militante_ and the red republic.... Why +did Mathieu go to the right when the revolting peasants were on the left? + +A few days later—like yellow leaves driven before the wind—the luckless +victims of the suppressed rising began streaming into Nice. There were +so many of them that the Piedmont government allowed them to remain for +a time in a sort of bivouac or gypsy camp near the town. How many ruined +fortunes and privations have we seen in these camps!—that is the horrible +side behind the scenes of civil wars; usually concealed behind the big +framework and gay scene-painting of such events as the 2nd of December. + +Here were simple peasants, gloomily pining for home, for their land, and +naïvely saying: ‘We are not rebels at all—and not “_partageux_”; we tried +to defend public order as good citizens: _ce sont ces coquins_ who called +us out’ (_i.e._ the officials, mayors, and gendarmes)—‘they were false +to their oath and their duty, and must we now die of hunger in a foreign +land or face a court-martial?... Where’s the justice in that?’ + +And indeed, a _coup d’état_ like the 2nd of December destroys more than +men: it destroys all morality, every conception of good and evil in a +whole population; it is a lesson of corruption which cannot pass without +effect. Among them were soldiers too, _troupiers_, in a permanent state +of wonder at finding themselves, contrary to all discipline and their +captains’ orders, on a different side from their flag and their regiment. +The number of these was not great, however. There were also simple +bourgeois of humble means, who never make the same repulsive impression +on me as the more pretentious—pitiful, narrow-minded people, they had +somehow, in the midst of the petty cheating of trade, laboriously +assimilated two or three notions or half-notions of their duties, and +they had risen in defence of them when they saw their holy things +trampled upon. + +‘It is the triumph of egoism,’ they said; ‘yes, yes, of egoism, and where +there is egoism there is vice; every one ought to do his duty without +egoism.’ + +There were, too, of course, town workmen, the real genuine element of +revolution, striving to obtain _la sociale_ by decree—and to pay out the +bourgeois and the aristocrat as they paid them out. + +Of course, among them there were wounded, terribly wounded, too. I +remember two middle-aged peasants who had crawled, leaving a track of +blood, from the frontier to a suburb where the inhabitants picked them up +half dead. A gendarme had been chasing them, and, seeing the frontier was +not far off, he fired at one and shattered his shoulder.... The wounded +man still ran on.... The gendarme fired once more, the wounded man fell; +then he galloped after the other and overtook him, first with a bullet +and then himself. The second wounded man surrendered; the gendarme tied +him in haste to his horse, and all at once missed the first man ... +he had crawled to a copse and started running.... To overtake him on +horseback was difficult, especially with the other wounded man; to leave +the horse behind impossible.... The gendarme shot his prisoner ‘_à bout +portant_’ from the top of his head downwards; the man fell unconscious: +the bullet tore open the whole right side of his face, splintering the +bones. When he came to himself there was no one there; he made his way +along familiar paths trodden by the smugglers as far as Var, and crossed +it and passed through it almost bleeding to death; there he found his +comrade utterly exhausted, and with him succeeded in _surviving_ as +far as the first houses of Ste. Hélène. There, as I have said, the +inhabitants took care of them. The first man said that after being shot +he had hidden in some bushes, that afterwards he had heard voices, that +the pursuing gendarmes had probably come upon others and so made off. + +How zealous are the French police! + +This example was followed by the zealous _maires_ and their deputies, +the _procureurs_ of the _republic_ and prefects; the zeal was displayed +in the elections and counting of votes: all this was typically French, +and familiar to everybody. I will only say that in remote parts the +steps taken for attaining an immense majority at the polls were of a +rustic simplicity. On the farther side of the Var, in the first village, +the _maire_ and brigadier of gendarmes sat beside the urns and looked +at every ballot-paper any one put in, saying on the spot that they +would make mince-meat of any rebel. The government voting-papers were +printed on special paper—so it worked out that there were in the whole +village only some five or six bold, unruly spirits who voted against the +plebiscite; the rest, and with them the whole of France, voted for the +Empire _in spe_. + + + + +_SECTION TWO_ + +RUSSIAN SHADOWS + + +I + +N. I. SAZONOV + +Sazonov, Bakunin, Paris. Those names, those men, that city, take me back +... back into the far-away past, to the days of youthful conspiracies, to +the days of the cult of philosophy and the worship of revolution. + +My youth with each is too precious for me not to pause over it.... With +Sazonov, early in the ’thirties, I shared our boyish dreams of a plot _à +la_ Rienzi ... with Bakunin, ten years later, in the sweat of my brains, +I mastered Hegel. + +Of Bakunin I have spoken already and shall have much more yet to say. +His striking personality, his eccentric and vigorous appearance, +everywhere—in the circle of Moscow youth, in the lecture-room of the +Berlin University, among Weitling’s communists, and Caussidière’s +Montagnards—his speeches in Prague, his leadership in Dresden, his trial, +imprisonment, sentence to death, torture in Austria, deportation to +Russia—where he vanished behind the terrible walls of the Alexeyevsky +Ravelin—make of him one of those individual figures which neither the +contemporary world nor history can overlook. + +That man had within him the latent power of a colossal activity for +which there was no demand. Bakunin was capable of becoming an agitator, +a tribune, a preacher, the head of a party or of a sect, an arch heretic +or a fighter. Put him down anywhere you like, at any extreme point—an +Anabaptist, a Jacobin, a comrade of Anacharsis Cloots or a friend of +Gracchus Babeuf—and he would have won over the masses and shaken the +destinies of nations. + + ‘But here under the yoke of Tsars,’ + +a Columbus without an America or a ship, after against his will +serving two years in the artillery and two more in the ranks of Moscow +Hegelianism, he made haste to leave the country in which an idea is +persecuted as an evil intention, and an independent word as an offence +against social morality. + +After tearing himself from Russia in 1840, he did not return there until +a picket of Austrian dragoons handed him over to a Russian officer of +gendarmes in 1849. + +The worshippers of teleology, the charming fatalists of rationalism, are +still surprised at the provident appropriateness with which great talents +and leaders appear as soon as there is a need for them; forgetting +how many germs perish, are stifled without seeing the light, how many +faculties and powers waste away because they are not wanted. + +Sazonov’s example is still more striking. Sazonov has passed without +leaving a trace, and his death has been as unnoticed as the whole of his +life. He died without carrying out one of the hopes that his friends +built upon him. + +It is easy to say he was to blame for his fate; but how can we weigh +or appraise how much of the blame rests on the man and how much on his +environment? + +The age of Nicholas was a soul-destroying age; it murdered not only with +labour in the mines and ‘white straps,’ but with its stifling, degrading +atmosphere, with its, so to say, negative blows. + +To deliver the funeral oration over the submerged beings of that period, +worn out with striving to drag our ship off the sandbanks where it has +foundered so deeply, is my speciality. For them I play the part of +Domazhirov, the old retired orderly of Prozorovsky’s, now forgotten by +everybody, but at one time a familiar figure in Moscow. With a powdered +head, wearing a light green uniform of the days of Paul, he used to turn +up at all the funerals in which a bishop officiated, and, taking the +foremost place, led the procession, imagining that he was doing something +important. + +... In our second year at the university—that is, in the autumn of +1831—in the lecture-room of the faculty of physics and mathematics, +Ogaryov and I met, among our new comrades, two with whom we became +particularly intimate. + +Our likings, our sympathies and antipathies, were all derived from the +same source. We were fanatics and lads: learning, art, connections, home, +and social position, everything was subordinated to one idea and one +religion. Wherever there was an opening for appeal and propaganda, there +we were on the spot with all our heart and understanding, persistently, +indefatigably, devoting time, work, and even efforts to please. + +We went into the lecture-room with the firm determination of founding +in it the nucleus of a society in the image and semblance of the +Decembrists, and so sought proselytes and followers. The first of our +comrades to understand this clearly was Sazonov; we found him completely +prepared, and at once made friends. He gave us his hand with full +understanding, and next day brought us another student. + +Sazonov had conspicuous gifts and conspicuous pride. He was eighteen or +rather less, but in spite of that he had studied a great deal and had +read everything in the world. He tried to dominate his comrades, and put +no one on a level with himself. That was why he was more respected than +loved by them. His friend, as handsome and soft as a girl, seemed asking +sympathy and support; full of love and devotion, fresh from under his +mother’s wing, with noble impulses and half-childish dreams, he longed +for warmth and tenderness, he clung to us and gave himself up entirely to +us and our idea—his was the character of Vladimir Lensky, the character +of Venevitinov. + +... The day on which we sat side by side on one of the benches of the +amphitheatre, glanced at each other with the full consciousness of our +dedication to our league, our secret, our readiness to face death, our +faith in the sacredness of our cause—and glanced with loving pride at the +multitude of handsome young heads about us, as at a band of brothers—was +a great day in our life. We gave each other our hands and _à la lettre_ +went out to preach freedom and struggle in all the four quarters of our +youthful ‘universe,’ like the four deacons who go on Easter Day with the +Four Gospels in their hands. + +We preached in every place at every time ... exactly what it was we +preached it is hard to say. Our ideas were vague: we preached the +Decembrists and the French Revolution, then advocated St. Simonism +and the same revolution; we advocated a constitution and a republic, +the reading of political works and the concentration of forces in one +society. Most of all we preached hatred for every form of violence, for +every sort of arbitrary tyranny practised by governments. + +Our society in reality was never formed; but our propaganda sent down +deep roots in all the faculties, and extended far beyond the university +walls. + +Since those days our propaganda has gone on uninterrupted, all our lives, +from university lecture-room to London printing-press. Our whole life has +been the carrying out of our boyish programme as far as lay in our power. +It is not hard to follow the connecting thread through the questions we +have touched upon, through the interests aroused by us, in journals, +in lectures, in literary circles.... Though it took different forms +and developed, our propaganda remained true to itself and retained its +individual character in every surrounding. + +Punishment lifted us up and gave us the prestige of prison and exile. We +came back to Moscow, ‘authorities’ at five-and-twenty. We were joined by +Byelinsky, Granovsky, and Bakunin, while through our articles in _Notes +on the Fatherland_ we ourselves joined the Petersburg movement of the +Lyceum students and the young literary men. The Petrashev group were our +younger brothers as the Decembrists were our elder ones. To be silent +about the importance of our circle because I belonged to it would be +hypocritical and stupid. Quite the contrary: whenever in my memoirs I +come upon those days, on old friends of the ’thirties and the ’forties, I +purposely pause and speak regardless of repetition if only I can make the +younger generation better acquainted with them. It does not know them, +it has forgotten them, it does not care for them, and denounces them as +unpractical and unbusinesslike, as men who did not know so well where +they were going; it is angry with them, and rejects them wholesale as out +of date, as idle and superfluous men, as fantastic dreamers, forgetting +that the value of men of the past, their significance and the hall-mark +of them, depends less on the comparison of the sum of knowledge, and +the manner of formulating problems of the old period and of the new, +than on the energy and strength they brought to their solution. I have +a desperate longing to save the younger generation from the ingratitude +of history, and even from the mistakes of history. It is time for the +fathers to cease devouring their children like Saturn, but it is time +for the children, too, to cease following the example of the natives of +Kamschatka, who kill off their old people. + +Boldly, and with full conviction, I say once more of our comrades of +those days ‘that they were a wonderful set of young men, that such a +circle of talented, pure-hearted, cultured, intelligent, and devoted men +I have never met,’ and I have wandered pretty widely about the world +among all classes, and especially the revolutionary ones. I am not only +speaking of my own circle of intimate friends; I am bound to say the same +thing as emphatically of Stankevitch’s circle and the Slavophils. Young +men, horror-stricken by the infamies of the life about them, surrounded +by gloom and oppressive misery, gave up all and went in search of a way +out. They sacrificed everything that others strive after—social position, +wealth, everything which the traditional life offered them, to which +environment and example drew them, to which their family urged them—for +the sake of their convictions, and they remained true to them. Such men +cannot be simply put on the archives and forgotten. + +They are persecuted, arrested, put under police supervision, +exiled, dragged from place to place, overwhelmed with insults and +humiliations—they remain the same: ten years pass—they are still the +same: twenty, thirty years pass—they are still the same. I demand that a +recognition be accorded them and justice be done to them. + +To this simple demand I have heard a strange objection, and more than +once, too: ‘You, and even more the Decembristi, were the dilettanti +of revolutionary ideas; interest in the cause was for you a luxury, +something romantic; you say yourselves that you all _sacrificed_ social +position; you had means, so for you the revolution was not a question +of bread and butter and of human existence, the question of life and +death....’ + +‘I imagine,’ I answered once, ‘that for those who were executed it +was....’ + +‘Anyway, they were not momentous, inevitable questions for you. You like +to be revolutionaries, and that of course is better than if you like to +be senators or governors; for us the struggle with the existing order is +not a matter of choice, it is due to _our_ social position. Between you +and us there is the difference between the man who has fallen into the +water and the man who is bathing; both have to swim, but one does it from +necessity and the other for pleasure.’ + +To refuse recognition to men because they have done from inner impulse +what others _are going_ to do from necessity is remarkably like the +monastic asceticism which only attaches value to duties the fulfilment of +which is very disgusting. + +Extreme views of this sort easily take root among us; and though the +roots do not go deep, they are as hard to eradicate as horse-radish. + +We are greatly given to theoretical pedantry and argumentativeness. +This German propensity is in us associated with a special national +element—which we might call the Araktcheyev element—a ruthlessness, a +passionate rigidity, and an eagerness to despatch our victims. To satisfy +his grenadier ideal, Araktcheyev flogged living peasants to death; we +flog to death ideas, arts, humanity, past leaders, anything you like. In +dauntless array we advance step by step to the limit and overshoot it, +never sinning against logic but only against _truth_; unaware, we go on +further and further, forgetting that real sense and real understanding of +life are shown precisely in stopping short before the extreme ... that +is the _halte_ of moderation, of truth, of beauty, that is the perfect +balance of the organism. + +The oligarchic pretension of the have-nots to be the exclusive sufferers +from the social system and to possess a monopoly of the feeling of social +injustice is as unjust as all forms of exclusiveness and monopoly. +Neither through Christian mercy nor through democratic envy will you +ever get beyond charity and violent spoliation, the division of property +and universal poverty. In the Church it has remained a theme for rhetoric +and a sentimental exercise in compassion; in the ultra-democrats, as +Proudhon has observed, it is confined to the feeling of envy and hatred; +and in neither case has it gone on to any constructive ideas, to any +practical result. + +In what way are men to blame who understood the pain of the sufferers +before they themselves did, and showed it them, and, what was more, the +way of escape too? It was not through starvation that St. Simon the +descendant of Charlemagne, and Robert Owen the manufacturer, either of +them became apostles of socialism. + +This view will not persist; it lacks warmth, goodness, breadth. I should +not have referred to it if these critics had not included on their black +lists, not only our names, but those of the men who sowed the first seeds +of all that has come up and will come up—the Decembrists whom we so +deeply honour. + +This digression is hardly in place here. + +Sazonov was, in fact, an idle man, and wasted immense abilities; +frittering his life away in all sorts of trivialities abroad, he was lost +like a soldier taken prisoner in his first battle and never able to get +home again. + +When we were arrested in 1834 and clapped into prison, Sazonov and +Ketscher were, by some miracle, untouched. They both lived almost +uninterruptedly in Moscow, and talked a great deal but wrote little, and +no letters of theirs were found in the possession of any of us. We were +sent into exile; Sazonov’s mother succeeded in getting a passport for him +to go to Italy. His going abroad and being separated from us may have +laid the foundation of all that followed in his life, which was that of a +star with no fixed orbit, falling and leaving no trace. + +A year later he returned to Moscow; it was just at one of the most +stifling and oppressive periods of the last reign. In Moscow he was met +by a dead level calm, nowhere a shade of sympathy, nowhere a word of +life. We, in the _reserves_ of exile, were cherishing our past life, were +living in hope and memory, were working and learning something of the +coarse realities of provincial existence. + +In Moscow everything reminded Sazonov of our absence. Of his old friends, +the only one on the spot was Ketscher, with whom Sazonov, a man of stiff +and aristocratic manners, was less able to be intimate than with any +of the rest. Ketscher, as we have said, was an intellectual savage—a +cultured one, a pioneer from Fenimore Cooper, returning intentionally to +the primeval state of the human race, rude on principle, slovenly through +theory, a student of five-and-thirty in the part of a Schilleresque +youth. Sazonov struggled on and on in Moscow—he was consumed by boredom, +he had no motive for work, for activity. He tried moving to Petersburg; +that was even worse: _à la longue_ he could not stand it, and went to +Paris with no definite plan. Those were the days when France and Paris +still had a spell of magic for us. Our tourists glided over the polished +surface of French life, knowing nothing of its rough side, and were in +raptures over everything—over the liberal speeches, over the songs of +Béranger and the caricatures of Philipon. It was the same with Sazonov. +But he found nothing to do there either. Noisy, lively idleness succeeded +to his life of dumbness and oppression. In Russia he had been bound hand +and foot, here he was a stranger to every one and everything. Another +long series of years of aimless excitement and over-stimulated nerves +began for him in Paris. He was incapable of concentrating, of devoting +himself to intellectual work without waiting for some impelling force +from outside; it was not in his character. The impersonal interest in +science was not strong enough in him; he was looking for some activity, +and would have been ready for any amount of work so long as it was +conspicuous, so long as it could be rapidly applied and realised in +practice—and it must have been, too, with noise and acclamation, amidst +applause and the outcry of his enemies. Not finding such work, he flung +himself into the dissipations of Paris. + +... Yet his eyes, too, glowed and filled with tears at the memories of +our dreams as students. In the recesses of his deeply wounded vanity +there still was faith that the revolution in Russia was close at hand, +and that he was called to play a great part in it. It seemed as though +he were carousing only _meanwhile_, in the wearisome suspense of waiting +for the great work before him, and were convinced that one fine evening +he would be summoned from the table in the Café Anglais and borne off +to govern Russia.... He kept intent watch on what was being done, and +impatiently awaited the moment when he would have to take part in earnest +and utter the last decisive word. + +After my first noisy days in Paris, more serious conversation began, +and at once it was evident that we were tuned to very different keys. +Sazonov and Bakunin were (like Wysocki and the members of the Polish +Central Committee later on) displeased that the news I brought was more +concerning the literary and university world than political spheres. They +were expecting to be told about parties, secret societies, ministerial +crises (under Nicholas!), the opposition (in 1847!), while I talked about +professorships, about Granovsky’s public lectures, about Byelinsky’s +articles, about the state of mind of the students and even of the +seminarists. They had been too long divorced from Russian life, and had +entered too thoroughly into the interests of the ‘all-world’ revolution +and French problems to remember that among us the appearance of _Dead +Souls_ was an event of far more consequence than the appointment of a +couple of Paskevitches as field-marshals and a couple of Filarets as +metropolitans. With no Russian books and papers and no regular means of +communication, they judged of everything in Russia theoretically and from +memory, which throws an artificial light on everything far away. + +The difference of our views almost led to a breach between us. It +happened like this. On the day before Byelinsky left Paris we saw him +home in the evening, and went for a walk in the Champs-Élysées. I saw +with terrible clearness that all was over for Byelinsky, that I was +pressing his hand for the last time. The mighty, passionate fighter had +burnt himself out, death had laid its unmistakable imprint on his face, +wan with suffering; he was in acute consumption, but still full of holy +energy and holy indignation, still full of his agonising, angry love +for Russia. I had a lump in my throat and for a long time I walked in +silence, when the unlucky argument which had been ten times already _sur +le tapis_ was renewed once more. + +‘It is a pity,’ observed Sazonov, ‘that Byelinsky has had no career but +journalistic work, and under the censorship, too.’ + +‘I think it is hard to reproach him, of all people, for doing little,’ I +answered. + +‘Well, with abilities like his he might in other circumstances and in +another field have done rather more....’ + +I felt vexed and wounded. ‘But do tell me, please, you now, who are +not under the censorship, who are so full of faith in yourselves, so +full of strength and talent, what have you done? Or what are you doing? +Surely you don’t imagine that walking from one end of Paris to the other +every day to discuss the boundaries of Poland and Russia with Sluzalski +or Chotkewicz is doing something? Or that your talks in cafés and at +home, where five fools listen and understand nothing, while another five +understand nothing and talk, is doing something?’ + +‘Wait a bit, wait a bit,’ said Sazonov, by now considerably nettled: ‘you +forget our position.’ + +‘What position? You have been living here for years in freedom, in no +dire extremity: what more do you want? Positions are created. Strong men +make themselves acknowledged and force themselves in. Come, come: one +critical article of Byelinsky’s is of far more value for the younger +generation than playing at being conspirators and politicians. You are +living in a sort of delirium and somnambulism, in a perpetual optical +illusion with which you deceive your own eyes....’ + +I was particularly irritated at the time by the two different standards +which not only Sazonov but Russians in general applied in appreciating +people. Their severe criticism of their own people was transformed into +slavish worship before French celebrities. It was annoying to see our +friends kow-tow before those champion babblers, who flung them a word, +a phrase, a commonplace, uttered with _vitesse accélérée_; and the more +meekly the Russians behaved, the more they blushed and tried to conceal +their idols’ ignorance (as tender parents and sensitive husbands do), +the more the latter gave themselves airs and swaggered before their +hyperborean Anarchases.[90] + +Sazonov even as a student in Russia had been fond of surrounding +himself with a retinue of all sorts of mediocrities, who listened to +him and followed his lead; and here, too, he was surrounded by all +sorts of _lazzarone_ of the literary haunts, feeble in mind and body, +penny-a-liners, journalistic scavengers such as the gaunt Jules Vécourt, +the half-crazy Tardif de Melot, the unknown but great poet Bouilhet;[91] +in his chorus, too, were the most narrow-minded Poles, followers of +Towjanski, and dull-witted German atheists. How it was they did not bore +him is his secret. He almost always brought one or two attendants from +his chorus even when he came to me, although I was always bored by them +and did not conceal the fact. It seemed particularly odd, too, that he +himself was in the position of a Jules Vécourt in his relation to the +Marrasts, the Ribeyrolles,[92] and even lesser celebrities. + +All this is not quite intelligible for contemporary visitors to Paris. It +must not be forgotten that the present Paris is not the _real_ Paris, but +a new one. + +Having become a sort of gathering-place for the whole world Paris has +ceased to be a pre-eminently French city. In old days all France was in +Paris, and nothing besides; now all Europe is there, and the two Americas +besides, but there is less of itself: it has become merged in its +function of a world-hotel, a caravanserai, and has lost its individual +personality, which once inspired ardent love and burning hate, boundless +respect and unlimited aversion. + +I need hardly say that the attitude of foreigners to modern Paris has +changed. The Allied troops who bivouacked in the Place de la Révolution +knew that they had taken a foreign town. The tourist who puts up there +now regards Paris as his own; he buys it, he plays with it, and knows +very well that he is essential to Paris, and that the old Babylon has +rigged herself out, rouged and powdered, not for her own sake but for his. + +In 1847 I found still the old Paris—moreover, Paris with a quickened +pulse, that had been singing Béranger’s songs, with the chorus ‘_Vive la +réforme!_’ changed unawares into ‘_Vive la République!_’ + +Russians still in those days lived in Paris with an ever-present sense of +thankfulness to Providence (and to the regular despatch of remittances) +that they were living in it, that they were strolling in the Palais +Royal and visiting French people. They frankly worshipped lions and +lionesses of every description—celebrated doctors and dancing-girls, the +dentist Désirabode and the mad Ma-Pa, and all the literary charlatans and +political jugglers of the day. + +I hate the systematic, _prémédité_ insolence which is the fashion among +us. I recognise in it the family traits of the old bullying and arrogance +of our officers and landowners, adapted to the manners of Vassilyevsky +Island and its streets. But it must not be forgotten that our cringing +before West European authorities has come out of the same barracks, the +same government offices, the same antechambers, though it has come out +of the other door and is addressed to the grand gentleman, the office +chief or the commanding officer. In our lack of anything whatever to +which to do homage, except brute force and its symbols, stars and ranks +in the service, the craving for some table of grades of merit is easy +to understand; but, on the other hand, to what men have not the best of +our contemporaries bowed down with tender devotion! Even before Werder +and Ruge, those mighty dullards of Hegelianism. From this reverence for +Germans it may easily be gathered how far they went in their attitude +to Frenchmen, to men who are really remarkable—to Pierre Leroux, for +instance, or George Sand herself.... + +I am ashamed that I was at first carried away, and thought that to talk +in a café with the historian of the _Ten Years_,[93] or at Bakunin’s +with Proudhon, was something like a promotion, an honour; but in me all +attempts at idolatry and fetish-worship do not last long, and very soon +give way to complete scepticism. + +Three months after I arrived in Paris I began strenuously attacking this +form of snobbery, and it was just when my opposition to it was at its +height that the argument about Byelinsky took place. Bakunin, with his +usual good-heartedness, half assented and laughed; but Sazonov resented +it, and continued to regard me as a profane outsider in questions of +practical politics. Shortly afterwards I confirmed him in this conviction. + +The revolution of February was a complete triumph for him; his +journalistic friends received posts in the government, thrones were +tottering and leaning for support on poets and doctors. German +princelings were asking advice and help from professors and journalists, +who only the day before had been persecuted. The Liberals taught them how +to fit their narrow crowns on more firmly, that they might not be carried +off by the rising hurricane. Sazonov wrote to me in Rome, letter after +letter, urging me to come _home_, to Paris, to the one and indivisible +republic. + +On my return from Italy I found Sazonov preoccupied. Bakunin was not +there; he had already gone off to stir up the Western Slavs. + +‘You don’t mean to say,’ Sazonov said to me at our first interview, ‘that +you don’t see that our _time has come_?’ + +‘How do you mean?’ + +‘The Russian Government is in an _impasse_.’ + +‘Why! what has happened? A republic has not been proclaimed in the +Peter-Paul Fortress, has it?’ + +‘_Entendons-nous_, I don’t imagine that we shall have a twenty-fourth +of February to-morrow in Russia. No, but the state of public opinion, +the torrent of liberal ideas, Austria broken to pieces, Prussia with +a constitution, will force the men about the Winter Palace to think a +little. They cannot do less than dole out some sort of constitution, +_un simulacre de charte_: well, and with that,’ he added with a certain +impressiveness, ‘they must have a liberal, cultured ministry who can +speak the language of to-day. Have you thought of that?’ + +‘No!’ + +‘You queer fellow! Where are they going to get cultured ministers?’ + +‘Oh, they’ll find them right enough if they want them; but I fancy they +won’t look for them.’ + +‘This scepticism is quite out of place now; _history is being made_, and +very rapidly too. Think a minute—the government will have no choice but +to appeal to _us_.’ + +I looked at him, trying to make out whether he was joking. His face was +quite serious, it looked a little flushed and nervous with excitement. + +‘You mean literally to _us_?’ + +‘Whether to us personally or to our circle does not matter. But just +think again: to whom else can they turn?’ + +‘Which portfolio will you undertake?’ + +‘It’s silly of you to laugh. It’s our misfortune that we don’t know +how to take advantage of opportunities, _ni se faire valoir_. You keep +thinking about your little articles: articles are all very well, but +times are changed now; one day in power is worth more than a whole volume +of them.’ + +Sazonov looked with compassion on my unpracticalness, and at last found +less sceptical people who put faith in his approaching advent to power. +At the end of 1848, two or three German refugees were very regular +visitors at the little evening gatherings that were held at Sazonov’s. +Among them was an Austrian lieutenant who had distinguished himself as +a staff-officer under Messenhauser.[94] Once as he was going out at two +o’clock at night in a heavy downpour of rain, the officer complained of +his hard lot, reflecting on the considerable distance between the Rue +Blanche and the Quartier Latin. + +‘Why were you forced to trudge all that way in such weather?’ + +‘Of course, I was not forced; but, you know, Herr von Sessanoff is vexed +if one does not turn up, and I believe that we ought to maintain good +relations with him. You know better than I do that with his talent and +intellect ... with the position he occupies in his party, what he may +rise to be in the coming revolution in Russia....’ + +‘Well, Sazonov,’ I said to him next day, ‘you have found Archimedes’ +point; there is a man who believes in your future portfolio, and that man +is Lieutenant So-and-So.’ + +Time passed, the revolution in Russia did not come off, and no one sent +envoys to fetch us home. The sinister days of June had come; Sazonov +undertook to write a leading article for the _Epoch_. He spent a long +time working at it; read aloud a few fragments, made corrections and +alterations, and only just finished it by the winter. He thought it +essential ‘to explain the last revolution to Russia.’ ‘Do not expect +me,’ he wrote at the beginning, ‘to describe events; others will do that +better than I could. I am giving you the significance, the idea of the +revolution which has taken place.’ Humble work was not enough for him; +whenever he did take up the pen, he wanted to do something extraordinary, +something momentous; his mind was always haunted by Tchaadayev’s letter. +The article reached Petersburg, was read in friendly circles, and made no +impression. + +In the summer of 1848, Sazonov founded an International Club. To it he +brought all his Tardifs, Germans, and Messianists. With a beaming face he +walked up and down the empty room in a dark blue dress-suit. He opened +the International Club with a speech addressed to five or six listeners +(of whom I was one[95]) by way of audience, the rest of the party being +on the platform in the capacity of committee. Sazonov was followed by +Tardif de Melot, a dishevelled figure looking half-asleep, who stood up +and boomed off a poem in honour of the Club. + +Sazonov frowned, but it was too late to stop the poet. + + ‘_Worcel, Sassonoff, Elinski, Del Balzo, Léonard...._ + _Et vous tous...._’ + +Tardif de Melot bawled with a sort of ecstatic exasperation, unaware of +the laughter. + +Two or three days afterwards Sazonov sent me one thousand copies of the +programme of the opening ceremony; with that the Club ended. Only later +on we heard that one of the representatives of humanity, who at that +congress represented Spain in particular, and delivered a speech in which +he called the executive power _potence ehécoutive_, supposing that was +French, narrowly escaped the gallows in England and was sentenced to +penal servitude for forging some document. + +The failure to become a minister and the collapse of the Club were +followed by more modest but far more possible attempts as a journalist. +When _La Tribune des Peuples_ was established with Mickiewicz as chief +editor, Sazonov took a leading position on the paper, wrote two or three +very good articles ... and then ceased, and before the failure of the +_Tribune_—that is, before the 13th of June 1849—he was on bad terms +with all the staff. To him it all seemed petty and poor, _il se sentait +dérogé_, was vexed at it, finished nothing, dropped what he had begun and +flung aside what was half done. + +In 1849 I suggested to Proudhon to give the post of foreign editor of the +_Voix du Peuple_ to Sazonov. With his knowledge of four languages, of +literature, of politics, of the history of all the European nations, and +his wide acquaintance with political parties, he might have done wonders +for the French with this part of the paper. Proudhon had nothing to do +with the internal arrangements of the foreign news department, it was +in my hands, but I could do nothing from Geneva. A month later Sazonov +handed the foreign editorship to Hoetsky and severed his connection with +the paper. ‘I have a great respect for Proudhon,’ he wrote to me in +Geneva, ‘but there is not room on one journal for two such personalities +as mine and his.’ + +A year later Sazonov joined _La Réforme_, then being revived by the +followers of Mazzini. Lamennais was the chief editor. But on that paper +also there was not room for two great men. Sazonov worked on it for three +months, and then threw up _La Réforme_. With Proudhon he had fortunately +parted peacefully, but he quarrelled with Lamennais. Sazonov charged the +niggardly old man with using the funds of the paper for his personal +ends. Lamennais, recalling the habits of his clerical youth, resorted +to what is the _ultima ratio_ in Western Europe, and spread concerning +Sazonov the suggestion that he might be an agent of the Russian +Government. + +The last time I saw Sazonov was in Switzerland in 1851. He had been +deported from France, and was living in Geneva. This was at the very +greyest, most oppressive period; a brutal reaction was triumphant +everywhere. Sazonov’s faith in France and in the coming change in the +ministry in Petersburg was shaken. He was bored and worried by his +idle life, did not succeed with any work, caught at everything without +perseverance, lost his temper, and drank. Moreover, the life of petty +cares and the everlasting struggle with creditors, the effort to obtain +money, together with the talent for flinging it away and the incapacity +for ordering his life, brought a great deal of nervous irritability and +dismal prose into Sazonov’s daily existence; by then his life of reckless +gaiety was no longer an enjoyment but a habit, while in old days he +really had known how to enjoy himself. + +A few words about his domestic life will not be out of place, especially +as it was distinguished by the same note of gay recklessness, and was not +without its striking contrasts in colour. + +In the early years of his Parisian life Sazonov met a wealthy widow, and +his connection with her drew him still further into a life of luxury. She +went off to Russia, leaving him plenty of money and their daughter to +bring up. The widow had scarcely had time to reach Petersburg when her +place was filled by a buxom Italian with a voice at which the walls of +Jericho would have fallen once more. + +Two or three years later the widow took it into her head to pay her +friend and her daughter a quite unexpected visit. She was struck by the +Italian woman. + +‘What person is this?’ she asked, scanning her from head to foot. + +‘Lili’s nurse, and a very good one.’ + +‘But how can she teach her to speak French with such an accent? That’s a +pity. I had better find a Parisian and you get rid of this one.’ + +‘_Mais, ma chère_....’ + +‘_Mais, mon cher_ ...’ and the widow took her daughter away. + +This was not only an emotional but a financial crisis. Sazonov was +far from being poor; his sisters sent him twenty thousand francs a +year from the revenue of his estate. But, being accustomed to spend +it recklessly, he did not think of diminishing his establishment, but +resorted to borrowing. He borrowed right and left, got what he could from +Russia out of his sisters, borrowed from friends and enemies, borrowed +from money-lenders, from fools, from Russians and non-Russians. For a +long time he managed and kept afloat in this way, but at last got into +trouble, and was thrown into Clichy, as I have mentioned already. + +It was during this period that his elder sister’s husband died. Hearing +that their brother was in prison, the two sisters came to get him out. +As is always the case, they knew nothing of the manner of life of their +Nikolinka. The two sisters adored him, regarded him as a genius, and were +impatiently awaiting the moment when he would appear to the world in all +his power and glory. + +They were met by various disillusionments which surprised them the more +as they were so unexpected. On the morning after their arrival, taking +with them Count Chotkewicz, a friend of Sazonov’s, with them, they went +to buy him out as a surprise. Chotkewicz left them in the carriage and +went away promising to return in a minute with their brother. Hour after +hour passed, Nikolinka did not appear ... no doubt the formalities take +a long time, thought the ladies waiting wearily in the cab.... At last +Chotkewicz ran up alone, flushed in the face, and smelling strongly of +spirituous liquor. He announced that Sazonov would be with them directly; +that he was just giving a farewell lunch to his companions and treating +them to wine; that this was the usual thing. This was rather a stab to +the tender hearts of the fair travellers ... but ... but here at last +their Nikolinka, solid, stout, and perspiring, flung himself into their +arms, and they set off homewards satisfied and happy. + +They had heard something ... about some Italian woman ... an ardent +daughter of Italy, unable to resist the genius from the hyperborean +north, who had been enchanted by her southern voice and the fire of her +eyes.... Blushing and abashed, they indicated the timid desire to make +her acquaintance. He agreed to everything, and went home. Two days later +the sisters planned a second surprise for their brother, which was even +less successful than the first. + +At eleven o’clock one hot morning the sisters set off to have a look at +this Francesca da Rimini and her _ménage_ with Nikolinka. The younger +sister opened the door, and stopped short.... In the small drawing-room +Sazonov was sitting on the carpeted floor in extreme deshabille, +and beside him the stout Signora P., scantily veiled in a light +dressing-gown. The signora was laughing with the full force of her lusty +Italian lungs at something Nikolinka was telling her. Beside them stood a +pail of ice, and in it, tilted on one side, was a bottle of champagne. + +What happened next I do not know, but the effect produced was strong and +lasting. The younger sister came to consult me about this incident, of +which she spoke with tears and sobs. I tried to comfort her by assurances +that the first days after Clichy were different from the average. + +All this was followed by a prosaic move into smaller lodgings.... The +valet, who was a master at putting on a cravat of impenetrably solid silk +and adroitly sticking a pearl pin into it, was dismissed, and after him +the pin itself appeared in a shop window. + +So passed another five years. Sazonov went to Paris from Switzerland, and +then went back again from Paris to Switzerland. To get rid of the buxom +Italian, he devised the most original plan—he married her and then left +her. + +Something had come between us; he did not treat me openly in a matter +that was very dear to my heart. I could not get over it. + +Meantime a new epoch was beginning for Russia, Sazonov was eager to take +part in it: wrote articles[96] that were unsuccessful, tried to return +to Russia and did not succeed, and finally left Paris. For a long while +nothing was heard of him. + +One day a Russian who had just come from Switzerland to London said to +me: ‘An old friend of yours was buried the day before I left Geneva.’ + +‘Who was that?’ + +‘Sazonov; and only fancy, there was not one Russian at his funeral.’ + +And it sent a stab to my heart to think with remorse that I had abandoned +him for so long.... + + (_Written in 1863._) + + +II + +THE ENGELSONS + +They are both dead. He was not more than thirty-five; she was younger. + +He died ten years ago in Jersey: his coffin was followed to the grave by +his widow, his child, and a sturdily built, dishevelled-looking old man +with large, marked, rough features; in his face were mingled genius and +frenzy, fanaticism and irony, the intensity of an Old Testament prophet +and a Jacobin of the year 1793. That old man was Pierre Leroux. + +She died at the beginning of 1865 in Spain. I heard of her death a few +months later. + +I have not heard where the child is. + +The man of whom I am speaking was once near and dear to me; he first +tended deep wounds when they were fresh; he was a brother, a sister to +me. She, scarcely knowing what she was doing, estranged him from me. He +became my enemy.... + +The news of her death brought them back to my memory again.... + +I took up the manuscript I had written about them in 1859, and read it +through by way of psalter over the dead. + +For a long time I hesitated whether to print it or not, and only lately +decided to do so. My intention is good, and my story is true. I do not +want to cast reproaches on their grave, but together with the reader to +trace once again, in fresh instances, the intricate, morbid warping of +character in the last generation under Nicholas. + + CHÂTEAU BOISSIÈRE, _December 31, 1865_. + + +I + +At the beginning of 1850 a Russian arrived in Nice with his wife. They +were pointed out to me on the parade. They both belonged to the class who +were waiting for the turn of the tide: he was thin, pale, consumptive, +with reddish fair hair; she was a beauty who had faded early, worn-out, +half-shattered, exhausted. + +A doctor living in the household of a Russian lady told me that the fair +gentleman had been a Lyceum student, that he was reading _Vom andern +Ufer_, that he had been mixed up in the Petrashev case, and consequently +wished to make my acquaintance. I answered that I was always glad to meet +a good Russian, especially a Lyceum student, and one who had had a hand +in a case of which I knew little, but which had been for me like the +olive branch brought by the dove to Noah’s ark. + +Some days passed without my seeing either the doctor or the new Russian. +Suddenly between nine and ten one evening a card was brought me; it was +he. Karl Vogt and I were sitting in the dining-room. I told the servant +to ask the visitor upstairs into the drawing-room, and went upstairs +before the rest. There I found him, pale, trembling, apparently in a +feverish condition. He could scarcely tell me his name; when he was a +little calmer, he jumped up from his chair, rushed at me, kissed me +effusively, and before I could quite recover myself, with the words, ‘So +at last I am really seeing you,’ he kissed my hand. ‘What are you about? +Upon my soul!’ I said, but by then he was in tears. + +I looked at him in perplexity; was this nervous instability or simply +madness? + +Apologising and showering compliments on me, he told me with +extraordinary rapidity and much gesticulation that I had saved his life, +and this was how. Desperate with acute depression in Petersburg, expelled +from the Lyceum for some nonsense or other, disgusted with a job in the +service which he had been obliged to accept, and seeing no solution +for himself personally, nor for things in general, he had made up his +mind to poison himself, and a few hours before carrying out his design +went wandering aimlessly about the streets: came to Izler’s and picked +up a volume of the _Notes of the Fatherland_. My article, ‘A propos of +a Drama,’ was in it. Reading it gradually absorbed his attention; he +felt better, he felt ashamed of having so weakly given in to sorrow and +despair when public interests were springing up on all sides and calling +for all who were young, for all who had strength, and instead of taking +poison Engelson asked for half a bottle of madeira, read the article over +again, and from that time became my ardent admirer. + +He sat on till late at night, and went away asking leave to come again +soon. Through his tangled talk, continually interspersed with anecdotes +and digressions, one could see a richly endowed brain, unmistakable +dialectic ability, and, still more clearly, something warped and +distorted that flung him from one extreme to the other, from an +indignation intensified by sorrow, and made poignant by misfortune, to +ironical clowning, from tears to affectation. + +He left me with a strange impression. At first I did not quite believe in +him, then I was tired by him—he seemed to affect one’s nerves too much; +but by degrees I grew used to his oddities, and was glad of an original +person to break the monotonous boredom induced by the vast majority of +Western Europeans. + +Engelson had read a great deal and studied a great deal, he was a +linguist and a philologist, and brought into everything the scepticism +with which we are so familiar, and which exacts so high a price for the +pain it leaves. In old days they would have said of him that he had read +himself silly. His over-stimulated intellectual activity was too much for +the strength of his frail organism. Wine, with which he conquered fatigue +and stimulated himself, fanned his thoughts and imagination into long, +bright tongues of fire, that were rapidly consuming his sick body. + +His disorderly living and drinking, his perpetual, irritable mental +activity, his conspicuous many-sidedness and his conspicuous futility, +his utter idleness, his extreme violence of feeling and extreme apathy, +vividly recalled the past to me, in spite of the immense difference +between all this and our old ways in Moscow. Again I heard the sounds not +only of my own language but of my own thought. He had been a witness of +the reign of terror in Petersburg after 1848, and he knew the literary +circles. Entirely cut off from Russia as I was at that time, I listened +greedily to his accounts. + +We took to seeing each other often, nearly every evening. + +His wife, too, was a strange creature. Her face, by nature handsome, +was racked by neuralgic pains and a sort of restless anxiety. She was a +Russified-Norwegian, and spoke Russian with a slight accent which suited +her. As a rule she was more silent and reserved than he. Their home life +was not cheerful: there was something nervous, _unheimlich_, strained, +about them; there was something lacking in their life, and something +superfluous in it, and one felt this continually like electricity, unseen +and menacing, in the air. + +I often found them in the large room which served them as bedroom and +sitting-room in the hotel, in a state of utter prostration. She, with +tear-stained eyes, helpless in one corner; he pale as death, with white +lips, distraught, and silent in the other.... So they would sit at times +for whole hours, whole days together, and that a few yards from the dark +blue Mediterranean, from groves of orange-trees, to which everything—the +sapphire sky and the bright noisy gaiety of southern life—invited +one. They did not actually quarrel; it was not a case of jealousy nor +estrangement, nor any tangible cause, indeed.... He would suddenly get +up, go to her, fall on his knees and sometimes with sobs repeat: ‘I have +been your ruin, my child, your ruin!’ and she would weep and believe that +he had been her ruin. ‘When shall I die and leave him in freedom?’ she +used to say to me. + +All this was new to me, and I felt so sorry for them that I wanted to cry +with them, and even more to say to them: ‘Oh, come, come, you are not +so miserable and not so bad, you are both splendid people; let us take +a boat and drown sorrow in the dark blue sea.’ I did do this sometimes, +and succeeded in drawing them out of themselves. But by next morning the +paroxysm would return.... They were somehow so on each other’s nerves, +and had reached such an hysterical _impasse_, that the slightest word +destroyed the harmony and, as it were, called up furies again from the +bottom of their hearts. + +I sometimes fancied that, continually tearing open their wounds, they +found a sort of stinging enjoyment in the pain; that this gnawing at +each other had become necessary to them, like vodka or pickle. But +unfortunately the physique of both was unmistakably beginning to be +exhausted; they were on the high road to the lunatic asylum or the grave. + +Her mind, by no means without talents, was undisciplined and at the same +time depraved; her character was far more complex, and in a certain +sense she had far more fortitude and strength than he had. Moreover, she +had not a shade of the unity, the consistency, that unhappy consistency +which he retained even in the most violent extremes and the sharpest +contradictions. In her, side by side with her despair, her desire to +die, her habit of moaning and groaning, there was a thirst for worldly +pleasures and a concealed coquetry, a love for dress and luxury, denied +as it were intentionally, to spite herself. She was always dressed +becomingly and with taste. She longed to be an emancipated woman +according to the ideas of the period, and the victim of an immense, +original, psychic unhappiness, like George Sand’s heroines ... but her +old accustomed, traditional life dragged her like a heavy weight towards +quite a different sphere. + +What gave poetic charm to Engelson, and did much to make up for his +defects, and what served as a safety-valve for himself, she could +not understand. She could not follow his racing thought, his rapid +transitions from despair to wit and laughter, from candid mirth to +candid tears. She lagged behind, losing the thread, distracted.... His +caricatures of his own gloomy thoughts were beyond her comprehension. +When Engelson, after a perfect feast of puns and jokes, mockery and +teasing, getting more and more into the spirit of the thing, began acting +regular scenes at which one could only laugh helplessly, she would go out +of the room, exasperated; she was offended at ‘his unseemly behaviour +before outsiders.’ He usually noticed this, and as nothing could stop him +when once he was set going, he would play the fool more extravagantly +than ever, and then waltz round with her and ask her with glowing cheeks +and perspiring brows: ‘_Ach, mein lieber Gott, Alexandra Christianovna, +war es denn nicht respectabel?_’ She would weep more than ever, till he +suddenly changed, grew gloomy and morose, drank glass after glass of +brandy, and went home, or simply fell asleep upon the sofa. + +Next day I had to reconcile them and make the peace, and he so earnestly +kissed her hands and so funnily asked to be forgiven his sins, that even +she could not restrain herself sometimes and laughed with us. + +I must explain in what these performances, which were such a source of +woe to poor Alexandra Christianovna, consisted. Engelson’s comic talent +was unmistakable and immense; such biting satire was never equalled by +Levassor, hardly by Grasso at his best, and Gorbunov in some of his +stories. Moreover, half of it was improvised; he would bring in additions +and variations while preserving the same framework. If he had cared +to train and develop this gift, he would certainly have been in the +foremost ranks of _satirical_ comedians, but Engelson never trained nor +developed anything in himself. Talents shot up like vigorous wild plants +and were choked in his unstable soul, both by domestic cares which took +up half his time, and by his habit of catching at everything in the world +from philology and chemistry to political economy and philosophy. In +this respect Engelson was a typical Russian, although his father was of +Finnish extraction. + +He acted everything in the world—officials and Russian gentlemen, priests +and police-constables; but the best of his performances were concerned +with Nicholas, for whom he had a profound, sincere, and active hatred. +He would take a chair _à la_ Napoleon, sit astride it, and sternly ride +up to a corps on parade ... epaulettes, hats, casques shaking all round +him ... it is Nicholas at a review; he is moved to wrath, and, turning +his horse, says to the commanding officer, ‘Bad’; the commanding officer +listens with reverent awe, looks after Nicholas, and then, dropping his +voice and gasping with fury, whispers to the general of the division: +‘You appear, your Excellency, to be busy about something else and not +your duties. What a wretched division! what regimental commanders! I’ll +teach them.’ + +The general of the division turns redder and redder, and pounces on the +first colonel he comes across, and so from one grade to the next, with +incredibly true, almost imperceptible nuances, the Imperial ‘bad’ passes +down to the sergeant, at whom the squadron commanding officer swears like +a trooper, and who, without answering, pokes the scabbard of his sword +with all his might into the ribs of the nearest soldier, who has done +nothing. + +Engelson would portray with amazing fidelity, not only the +characteristics of each rank, but also each man’s movement as he tugged +at his horse in his fury and then raged at it for not standing still. + +Another performance was of a more peaceful kind. The Emperor Nicholas +is dancing the French quadrille. _Vis-à-vis_ is a foreign diplomat, on +one side a general, stiff as on parade, on the other a civilian grandee. +This was a perfect _chef-d’œuvre_. Engelson would take one of us for his +partner. The flower of it all was Nicholas—playing the autocratic Tsar +over the quadrille, the conscious firmness of every step, the brilliant +perfection of each movement, together with the indulgent and gracious +glance at his partner, which is transformed at once into a command to the +general, and warning not to forget himself to the civilian gentleman. +To describe this in words is impossible. The general, who, rigidly +erect, with his elbows a little rounded, with strained attention walks +in time through the figures under the stern observation of his gracious +monarch, and the distracted civilian with his legs shaking under him from +terror, with a smile on his face and almost a tear in his eye—all this +was performed so that a man who had never seen Nicholas could thoroughly +grasp the agonising ordeal of an imperial quadrille, and the danger of +having the Most High as a _vis-à-vis_. I forgot to say that the foreign +diplomat was the only one who danced with studied negligence and great +finish, concealing the uncomfortable feeling of uneasiness of which the +most valiant is conscious when he has a lighted cigar close to a barrel +of gunpowder. + +But although Engelson’s grimacing and foolery roused his wife’s +indignation, it does not follow that there was any more unison or harmony +about her; quite the contrary, there was an absolute chaos in her head, +that was destructive of all order, of all consistency, and made her +impossible to cope with. In her case I learnt for the first time how +little you can do with logic in discussion with a woman, especially +when the discussion relates to practical affairs. In Engelson the lack +of harmony was like the mental confusion after a fire, after a funeral, +after a crime perhaps; but in her case it was like an untidy room in +which everything is flung about higgledy-piggledy—children’s toys, +a wedding dress, a prayer-book, a novel of George Sand’s, slippers, +flowers, plates. In her half-conscious ideas and half-undermined beliefs, +in her claims to an impossible freedom and to independence of all +customary external bonds, there was something suggestive of a child of +eight, a girl of eighteen, and an old woman of eighty. Many times I told +her that. And, strange to say, even her face was prematurely faded; it +looked old from the absence of some of her teeth, and at the same time it +retained a childish expression. + +Engelson was entirely to blame for the chaos in her mind. + +His wife was the spoilt child of a mother who had adored her. An elderly, +phlegmatic official of Swedish origin sought her in marriage when she was +eighteen. In a moment of childish caprice and vexation with her mother, +she agreed to marry him. She wanted to be her own mistress and sit at the +head of the table. + +When the honeymoon of freedom, visits, and fine clothes was over, the +bride was insufferably bored; although her husband behaved with strict +propriety, took her to the theatre and arranged evening tea-parties +for her, she had an aversion for him; she struggled with him for three +or four years, grew tired of it, and went back to her mother. They +were divorced. Her mother died, and she was left alone, suffering and +melancholy, with her health prematurely broken in the struggle with her +absurd marriage, with emptiness and hunger in her heart and an idle brain. + +It was just at this time that Engelson was expelled from the Lyceum. He +was nervous, irritable, and, with a passionate yearning for love and a +morbid lack of confidence in himself, was consumed by _amour-propre_.... +He had made her acquaintance while her mother was living, and they became +great friends after her death. It would have been strange if he had not +fallen in love with her. Whether the feeling were likely to be lasting or +not, he was bound to love her passionately; everything helped to bring +this about ... the fact that she was a woman without a husband, a widow +and not a widow, a bride and not a bride, and that she was pining for +something, was in love with another man, and made miserable by her love. +This other was an ‘energetic young fellow,’ an officer and a literary +man, but a desperate gambler. They quarrelled over this invincible +passion for play; later on, he shot himself. + +Engelson never left her side; he comforted her, amused her, occupied her. +It was his first and last love. She wanted to study, or rather to learn +without studying; he undertook to be her Mentor—she asked for books. + +The first book Engelson gave her was Feuerbach’s _Das Wesen des +Christenthums_. He took the place of commentator, and day by day he +pulled from under the feet of his Héloïse, who could not step on firm +ground for the Chinese shoes of her early Christian training, the prop by +means of which she might somehow have kept her balance. + +Emancipation from the traditional morality, said Goethe, never leads to +good unless the mind has grown strong; indeed, only reason is worthy to +replace the religion of duty. Here was a woman sleeping the deep slumber +of moral security, lulled by traditions and full of the dreams natural +to a patriarchal soul, tinged with Christianity, tinged with romantic +and moral notions; and Engelson tried to educate her at one blow on the +method of English nurses, who, when the baby screams from stomach-ache, +pour a glass of gin into its mouth. He flung into her immature, childish +conceptions a rankling ferment with which men are rarely equal to coping, +which he himself could not cope with but only understand. + +Overwhelmed by the overthrow of all her moral conceptions and all her +religious convictions, and finding in Engelson himself nothing but doubt, +nothing but irony and denial of the old, she lost the only compass, the +only guide she had left, and was like a boat adrift at sea, twisting and +turning without a rudder. The equilibrium arrived at by life itself, +resting—like the opposite weights of a pendulum—on absurdities which +exclude each other and are maintained by so doing, was broken. + +She flung herself into reading with avidity, understanding and not +understanding, and mixing up the philosophy of her nurses with the +philosophy of Hegel, sentimental socialism with the economic conceptions +of conventional housekeeping. With all that, her health grew worse, +boredom and misery continued; she pined and grew thin, had a desperate +longing to go abroad, and was afraid of persecutions and enemies of some +sort. + +After a prolonged struggle, Engelson, rallying all his forces, said to +her: ‘You want to travel; how can you go alone?... You will meet with all +sorts of unpleasantness, you will be lost without a friend, without a +protector with the right to protect you. You know that I would lay down +my life for you ... give me your hand—I will care for you, soothe you, +watch over you.... I will be your father, your mother, your nurse, and +your husband, but it must be legally. I will be with you, near you....’ + +This was said by a man under thirty, and passionately in love. She was +touched, and accepted him as her husband unconditionally. A short time +afterwards they went abroad. + +Such was the past of my new acquaintances. When Engelson told me all +this, when he bitterly complained that this marriage had been the ruin +of them both, and I saw for myself how they were fretting away in a +sort of moral furnace which they intentionally fanned, I came to the +conviction that this unhappiness was due to their having known too little +of each other beforehand, their being too closely bound together now, +their having built their life too much on personal feeling, and their +putting too much faith in being husband and wife. If they could have +parted, each might have sighed in freedom, have grown calm, and perhaps +begun to blossom afresh. Time would have shown whether they were really +so necessary to each other; in any case, the delirium would have been +broken for a time without catastrophe. I did not conceal my opinion from +Engelson; he agreed with me. But all this was a _mirage_; in reality he +had not the strength to leave her, nor she to take the plunge.... They +secretly _wanted_ to hover on the brink of these resolutions without +carrying them into execution. + +My view was too sane and simple to be correct in regard to such +intricately pathological characters and such sick nerves. + + +II + +The type to which Engelson belonged was at that time rather new to me. +At the beginning of the ’forties I had seen such a type only in embryo. +It developed in Petersburg towards the end of Byelinsky’s career, and +was formed after I left and before Tchernyshevsky appeared. It was the +type of the Petrashev group and their friends. That group was made up of +young and gifted men, extremely intelligent and extremely cultured, but +nervous, morbid, and warped by their surroundings. Among them there was +no example of striking stupidity, no one who wrote ungrammatically—those +types belong to quite a different period; but in them there was something +degenerate, abnormal. + +The followers of Petrashev made a bold and ardent dash into activity, and +astonished all Russia by the _Dictionary of Foreign Words_. The intense +mental activity of the ’forties was their heritage, and they passed +straight from German philosophy into Fourier’s phalanstery, into becoming +followers of Kant. + +Surrounded by petty and worthless people, proud of the attentions of +the police, and conscious of their own superiority, from the very time +they left school they prized too highly their negative achievement, or +rather their possible achievement. This led to immoderate vanity—not that +youthful healthy vanity becoming in a lad who dreams of a great future, +becoming in a man in the fulness of his powers and in the fulness of +activity, not that which in old days has led men to perform miracles +of daring and to endure chains and death for the sake of glory, but, +on the contrary, a morbid vanity, hindering all work through its vast +pretensions, irritable, ready to take offence, conceited to the point of +rudeness, and at the same time diffident. + +Between their pretensions and their appreciation by their neighbours the +distance was immeasurable. Society will not accept blank cheques for +the future, but insists on work being completed before giving personal +recognition. They had little power of hard work and perseverance; +they only had enough of each for understanding and assimilating what +had been worked out by others. They wanted to have harvests for the +intention of sowing, and to be rewarded for having their granaries full. +‘The insulting way in which they were overlooked by society’ worried +them, made them unjust to others, and reduced them to despair and +_Fratzenhaftigkeit_. + +In the person of Engelson I studied the difference between that +generation and our own. Later on I met many men not so talented, not +so cultured, but with the same obviously morbid warp in all their +composition. + +A terrible sin lies at the door of the government of Nicholas in this +moral destruction of a generation, in this spiritual depraving of its +children. The wonder is that the strong and healthy, though warped, still +survived. Every one knows the celebrated list of instructions to teachers +in the Cadet Corps. In the Lyceum things were better, but of late years +it, too, had incurred the hatred of Nicholas. The whole system of +government education lay in instilling the religion of obedience, leading +up to power as its reward. The feelings of the young, naturally radiant, +were coarsely driven inwards, and replaced by ambition and jealous, +envious rivalry. What did not perish came out sick, deranged.... Together +with burning pride, they were inoculated with a sort of spiritlessness, +a sense of impotence, of fatigue before beginning work. Young men +became hypochondriacal, suspicious, tired before they were twenty. They +were all tainted with the passion for introspection, self-analysis, +self-accusation; they scrupulously believed their psychic experiences, +and loved making endless confessions and giving descriptions of neurotic +incidents of their lives. In later years it happened to me several times +to receive the confessions not only of men but of women belonging to this +category. After watching with sympathy their remorse, their pathological +self-castigation, which approached gross calumny upon themselves, I at +last came to the conviction that this was only one of the forms of the +same vanity. One had but to cease protesting and sympathising and to +agree with the repentant sinners, to see how readily malignant and how +mercilessly vindictive these Magdalens—of both sexes—became. With them, +like the Christian priest before the mighty of this world, you are only +privileged solemnly to absolve their sins and to keep silent. + +These nervous people, though excessively ready to take offence, +shuddering like a sensitive plant at the faintest rough handling, +are incredibly harsh in their own language. As a rule, when it came +to revenging themselves, there was no moderation in their language—a +terrible defect of taste, which betrays a profound contempt for the +person addressed and an insulting indulgence for self. This lack of +restraint among Russians comes from the homes of landowners, from +government offices and army barracks; but how is it that it has survived +and developed in the younger generation whilst skipping ours? That is a +psychological problem. + +In our old student circles we scolded each other roundly, argued roughly +and emphatically, but in the most violent fray something remained +outside the pale.... For our nervous friends of Engelson’s generation +this limit did not exist, they did not think it necessary to restrain +themselves; for the sake of a vain and momentary vindictiveness, for the +sake of getting the upper hand in an argument, they spared nothing, and +I have often, with horror and amazement, seen them—including Engelson +himself—without a trace of pity, fling the most precious pearls into the +corrosive fluid of their bitterness, ‘and weep afterwards.’ With the +change of the nervous current, remorse would follow, and entreaties for +forgiveness from the outraged idol. They are not fastidious, and pour +filth into the very cup from which they drink. + +Their repentances are sincere, but do not prevent repetitions of the +offence. Some spring regulating and controlling the action of the wheels +within them is broken; the wheels turn with tenfold swiftness, doing no +work, but injuring the machine; harmonious combination is broken, the +æsthetic mean is lost; there is no living with them, and there is no +living for them themselves. + +Happiness does not exist for them, they are not able to take care of it. +The slightest cause provokes them to ruthless antagonism and makes them +behave rudely with every one near them. By irony they have ruined and +spoilt as much in life as the Germans have by mawkish sentimentality. +Strange to say, these people are greedily anxious to be loved, they seek +enjoyment, and when they lift the cup to their lips some evil spirit jogs +their arm, the wine is spilt upon the floor, and the cup, passionately +flung down, rolls in the mud. + + +III + +The Engelsons soon went away to Rome and Naples; they meant to be away +for six months, and returned in six weeks. Seeing nothing, they trailed +their boredom about Italy, sorrowed in Rome and grieved in Naples, and at +last made up their minds to come back to Nice—‘to you for healing,’ he +wrote to me from Genoa. + +Their gloomy depression had increased while they were away. In addition +to their nervous hysteria, there were now quarrels which assumed a more +and more exasperated and envenomed character. Engelson was to blame for +his unrestrained language and cruel words, but she always provoked them, +provoked them intentionally, with secret spite and peculiar success in +his most good-natured moments; he was never allowed to forget himself for +an instant. + +Engelson was incapable of holding his tongue; talking to me was a comfort +to him, and so he used to tell me everything, even more than he ought, +which was awkward for me. I felt that I could not be so open with them as +they were with me. Talking came easy to him, complaining comforted him +for a time—it did not me. + +One day, sitting in a little tavern with me, Engelson said that he was +being worn out in the daily struggle, that there was no way of escape +from it, that again the thought of cutting short his life seemed to him +the only salvation.... With his nervous impulsiveness it might well be +expected that if a pistol or a glass of poison did come in his way he +would sooner or later make an attempt with one or the other. + +I was sorry for him. And both of them were to be pitied. She might have +been a happy woman if her husband had been a man of serene temper who +would have known how to develop her slowly, to be light-hearted in his +merriment, and in case of need to influence her, not merely by persuasion +but also by authority—grave authority, without irony. There are immature +natures which cannot guide themselves, just as there are persons of +lymphatic constitution who need a corset to escape curvature of the spine. + +While I was thinking of that, Engelson, going on with his talk, came to +the same conclusion himself. ‘That woman does not love me,’ he said, +‘and cannot love me; what she does understand and looks for in me is +bad, and what is good in me is so much Chinese to her. She is corrupted +by bourgeois ideas, by her external _Respektabilität_, her petty +domesticity. We torment each other, we are tormenting each other to +death; I see that clearly.’ + +It seemed to me that if a man could talk in that way of the woman nearest +to him, the chief tie between them was broken. And so I admitted to him +that, having watched their life together for a long time past with deep +sympathy, I had often asked myself why they went on living together. +‘Your wife is pining for Petersburg, for her brothers and her old nurse; +why don’t you arrange for her to go home, and you to remain here?’ + +‘I’ve thought of it a thousand times; it’s the one thing I wish for. But +in the first place, she has no one to go with; and in the second, she +would be bored to death in Petersburg.’ + +‘Well, but she’s bored to death here. As for having no one to send her +with, that’s a relic of our old Russian notions. You can take your wife +to the steamer at Stettin, and the steamer will find its way by itself. +If you haven’t the money, I’ll lend it you.’ + +‘You’re right, and that’s what I shall certainly do. I am sorry for her, +my heart aches for her, all the love I have in me I have concentrated on +her. I sought in her not only a wife, but a creature whom I could develop +and educate after my own fancy. I thought that she would be my child—the +task was beyond my strength. But who could have guessed that I should +find such contradictions, such stubbornness?’—he paused, and then added: +‘To tell you all I think—she needs a different husband ... if a man +turned up worthy of her whom she could love, I would give her up to him, +and we should both recover—that would be better than Petersburg.’ + +I took all this _au pied de la lettre_. That he was sincere, there is no +doubt. That is just the difficulty with these impulsive, uncontrolled +creatures; they can, like good actors, enter so thoroughly into different +parts, and so identify themselves with them, that a cardboard dagger +seems to them the real thing, and they shed genuine tears over ‘Hecuba.’ + +We were then living together at Ste. Hélène. Two days after my +conversation with Engelson, Madame Engelson, with a tear-stained face, +came into the drawing-room late in the evening, a candle in her hand; she +set the candle on the table, and said she wanted to have a little talk +with me. We sat down ... after a brief and obscure prelude touching upon +the fate which pursued her, on Engelson’s unfortunate character and her +own, she announced that she had made up her mind to return to Petersburg, +and did not know how to do it. ‘You alone have influence over him; +persuade him to let me go really. I know that in moments of vexation he +is ready in words to put me in the posting-chaise at once, but all that +is only words. Persuade him, save us both, and give me your word to look +after him just at first, comfort him ... it will be hard for him, he is +ill and nervous.’ And again sobbing, she hid her face in her handkerchief. + +I did not believe in the depth of her woe, but I saw very clearly what a +false move I had made by speaking openly to Engelson; it was evident to +me that he had repeated our conversation to her. + +I had no choice left; I repeated my own words to her, softening them in +form. She got up, thanked me, and added that if she did not go she would +throw herself into the sea; that she had that evening been burning a +great many papers, and wished to put some others in a sealed packet in +my keeping. It was clear to me that she was by no means so passionately +anxious to go away, but through some self-indulgent caprice wanted to +drag on and pine away in melancholy. Moreover, I saw that, if she were +wavering without any settled plan, he was not wavering but distinctly +did not want her to go. She had great power over him; she knew this, +and, building upon it, allowed him to rage, to rear, to foam at the bit, +knowing that, however he might jib, things would go not as he willed but +as she willed. + +She never forgave me for my advice; she feared my influence, though she +had unmistakable proof of my powerlessness. + +For ten days there was no talk about going away. Then followed periodical +skirmishes. Once or twice a week she would come to me with tear-stained +eyes and announce that now all was over, and that next day she would get +ready to go to Petersburg or to the bottom of the sea. Engelson would +come out of his room, twitching convulsively, with a green face and +trembling hands; he would vanish for some ten hours, and would come back +covered with dust, exhausted and rather drunk, would take a passport to +be viséd, or obtain a permit for Genoa; then it would all subside again +and fall back into the everyday routine. + +Externally, Madame Engelson was completely reconciled with me, but from +that time she began to conceive something like a hatred for me. Before +that she had disputed with me and been angry without concealing it ... +now she became extraordinarily amiable. She was annoyed that I had seen +through something; that I had not been touched by her tragic destiny or +taken her for an unhappy victim, but had looked on her as a capricious +invalid; that, far from shedding tears of platonic sympathy with her, I +doubted whether she did not find enjoyment rather than distress in tears, +heartrending scenes, explanations lasting several hours, and so on and so +on. + +Time passed, and by degrees much was changed. With the rapidity which +only occurs in nervous invalids she regained her health, became more +lively, and even more careful of her dress. And although the most +nonsensical things would lead again to the old scenes between her and +Engelson, to a farewell _à la_ Socrates before the hemlock, and to a +readiness to follow in Sappho’s footsteps to the bottom of the sea, yet +on the whole things went better. The woman who had been for ever lying +down from weakness, for ever exhausted, drew herself up as erect as +Sixtus V., and began to grow so stout that one day poor Kolya, sitting at +dinner and looking at her full bosom, said, shaking his head: ‘_Sehr viel +Milch_.’ + +It was evident that some new interest was occupying her, that something +had awakened her from her morbid lethargy. From the time of my open +explanation with her, she had begun a persistent game, thinking over +every move, like the gamblers _du Café Régent_, and patiently correcting +her mistakes. Sometimes she betrayed herself and made a blunder, carried +too far in one direction or the other, but she steadily returned to her +original plan. This plan went now beyond the tightening of her grip +over Engelson, and beyond revenging herself on me; she aimed at nothing +less than getting us all, the whole household, in her power, and taking +advantage of Natalie’s being more and more seriously ill to control the +education of the children and our whole life—or, if she failed, breaking +off my relations with Engelson at all costs. + +But before she could obtain complete success, there were many very +difficult moves to be taken, painful concessions, cat-like tactics, and +much patient waiting: she accomplished a great deal, but not everything. +Engelson’s incessant chatter hindered her as much as my open eyes. + +She might have made a better use of the energy, the force and the +persistence which she wasted on her craftily interwoven schemes ... but +personal feeling and vanity intoxicate people, and, once entering upon +the dark game of intrigue, it is hard to stop and hard to see anything +clearly. As a rule, light is only brought into the room after the crime +has been committed; that is how it is that both the catastrophe and the +sting of conscience are irremediable. + + +IV + +... Of the misfortunes that fell upon me in 1851 and 1852 I speak in +another place. Engelson brought me much comfort in my sorrow. I should +have stayed a long time with him near the graveyard, but the restless +vanity of his wife had no pity even on mourning. + +Some weeks after the funeral, Engelson, agitated and melancholy, with +evident reluctance and evidently not of his own initiative, asked me +whether I were not thinking of entrusting the education of my children to +his wife. + +I answered that the children, except the eldest, Sasha, were going to +Paris with Marya Kasparovna Reihel, and I openly admitted that I could +not accept his suggestion. + +My answer wounded him, and it hurt me to wound him. ‘Tell me,’ I said, +‘speaking honestly, do you think your wife competent to educate children?’ + +‘No,’ Engelson answered, ‘but ... but perhaps it’s a _planche de salut_ +for her; she is just as wretched as ever, and it would mean your trusting +her, and a new duty.’ + +‘Yes, but if the experiment didn’t answer?’ + +‘You are right; let us say no more about it; it is sad.’ + +Engelson really agreed with me, and said no more. But she had not +expected so simple an answer; on this question I would not give in, and +she would not, and, beside herself with vexation, she immediately made up +her mind to take Engelson away from Nice. Three days later he told me he +was going to Genoa. + +‘What is the matter?’ I asked; ‘and why are you going so soon?’ + +‘Well, you see for yourself my wife does not get on with you, nor with +your friends, so I’ve made up my mind ... and perhaps it is for the best.’ + +And next day they went away. + +Afterwards I left Nice. On my way through Genoa we met peaceably. +Surrounded by our friends, among whom were Medici, Pisacane, Cosenz, and +Mordini, she seemed calmer and better in health. Nevertheless, she could +not let slip any chance for having a spiteful dig at me. I moved away, +said nothing; that was no use. Even when I had gone to Lugano she kept +up her poisoned _petits points_, and this in the rare postscripts to her +husband’s letters, as though with his _visa_. + +At last these pin-pricks, at a time when I was utterly crushed by grief +and distress, drove me out of all patience. I had done nothing to deserve +them, nothing to provoke them. On getting one of her spiteful postscripts +saying that Engelson would still have to pay dearly for his whole-hearted +devotion to friends who would do nothing for him, I wrote to Engelson +that it was time to put a stop to this. + +‘I do not understand,’ I wrote, ‘why your wife has got a grudge against +me. If it is because I did not give my children into her keeping, +surely that is no justification for it?’ I reminded him of our last +conversation, and added: ‘We know that Saturn devoured his own children, +but for any one to show his gratitude to his friends for their sympathy +by bestowing his children’s education on them is something unheard of.’ + +She never forgave me that sally, but, what is far more remarkable, he +never forgave me for it either, though at first he showed no sign of +resenting it ... but he reproached me with those words a year later.... + +I went to London; Engelson settled for the winter in Genoa, and +afterwards moved to Paris.[97] + + +V + +The proverb, ‘He who has not been in the sea has not prayed to God,’ may +be varied in this way: the woman who has not had children does not know +what disinterested devotion is, and this is particularly true of married +women; in them childlessness almost always develops a coarse egoism—if, +that is, some impersonal interest does not incidentally save them. The +old maid has some belated yearnings that soften her, she is still seeking +and still hoping: the childless woman with a husband has reached her +haven successfully; at first she instinctively grieves at having no +children, then she takes comfort and lives for her own pleasure, and, +if she is not successful in that, for _her own sorrow_, or for somebody +else’s displeasure, somebody else’s sorrow, if it is only her maid’s. The +birth of a child may save her. A child trains its mother in sacrifice, in +giving way, in eagerly spending her time not on herself, and trains her +to indifference to all external reward, recognition, gratitude. A mother +does not keep an account with a baby; she requires nothing from it but to +be well, to be hungry, to sleep—and to smile. Without drawing the woman +out of the home, the baby transforms her into a citizen. + +It is quite a different thing when another woman’s child comes for +any reason whatever, and especially unavoidably, into the house of a +childless woman. She will perhaps dress it up and play with it, but only +when she cares to; she will spoil it when she is pleased to; at all other +times the child will knock in vain at the doors of the heart that has +grown hard or slothful from self-indulgence. In short, the child can +reckon upon all the spoiling and pampering which would be given to a dog +or a canary, but nothing more. + +One of our friends had a daughter whose mother was a young widow. With a +view to the mother’s marrying again, an attempt was made to get the child +away, and she was kidnapped in the father’s absence. After a prolonged +search the little girl was found; but the father, having been turned out +of France, could not come to Paris to fetch her, and besides he had not +the money. Not knowing what to do with her, he asked Engelson to take +her for a little while. Engelson consented, but very quickly regretted +it. The child was naughty—indeed, considering the irregular way in which +she had been brought up, it is quite likely she was very naughty; but, +all the same, her naughtiness was that of a child of five years old, +and Engelson was too humane and understanding to be capable of turning +against a child for naughtiness. And indeed the trouble was not that she +was naughty; the child hindered, not him so much as his wife, though she +never did anything. Engelson, with a sort of exasperation, complained to +me in his letters of the child! + +In regard to her father, Engelson wrote to me: ‘Is it not strange that +H., who once agreed with you that my wife was _not a suitable person to +bring up your children_, has entrusted his _own daughter to her_?’ + +He knew perfectly well that the father had not chosen Madame Engelson to +bring up his little girl, but had been forced by actual necessity to have +recourse to her assistance. There was something so cruel, so ungenerous +in this remark that it sent a pang to my heart. I could not get used to +this lack of mercy, this brutality of language which did not hesitate +at anything! Intensely malignant insinuations which may in a moment of +irritation occur to any one’s mind, but which we could not bring our lips +to utter, are spoken by people like Engelson with readiness and enjoyment +at the slightest tiff. + +Giving full vent to his irritation, Engelson in his letter incidentally +attacked Tessier too, and other friends, and even Proudhon, for whom +he had a great respect. Together with Engelson’s letter came one from +Tessier, who was also in Paris; he made some friendly jests about +Engelson’s ‘tempers and tantrums,’ without suspecting that the latter had +been writing about him. I disliked the position of a sort of negative +treachery, and I wrote to Engelson that it was a shame to talk in that +abusive way of men with whom life itself has brought us into intimate +relations; that they were, any way, good people, as he knew himself. +In conclusion, I told him that it was a shame to exaggerate everything +so, and to be sighing and groaning and reduced to despair over the +naughtiness of a child of five. + +This was enough. My ardent admirer, the friend who had kissed my hand in +his enthusiasm, who came to me to share every grief and offered to shed +his blood and lay down his life for me, not in word but in deed ... this +man, bound to me by his own confession and by my misfortunes, of which +he was the witness, by the coffin which we had followed together, forgot +everything. His vanity was wounded ... he wanted to revenge himself, and +he did revenge himself. + +Four days later I received from him the following reply:— + + ‘_February 2nd, 1853._ + + ‘There are rumours that you have decided to come here;—Marya + Kasparovna is, I believe, recovering (last week, any way, she + seemed in better spirits, got up for five minutes, and has an + appetite). Concerning the commission you gave me in regard to + T., all I have to tell you is that the things the General asks + him to get ready are not at T.’s, but were left by them at + Vogt’s in Geneva, and that Madame T. thinks your silence _peu + gracieux_, and adds that a correspondence with you could not + cause them any inconvenience. + + ‘In short, I need not have written before you come if it had + not occurred to me that silence may often be taken as a sign of + assent. I do not wish to mislead you or keep you in error in + regard to me: I do not agree with what you said in your last + letter to me of January 28th. + + ‘These were your words: “Come, now, is it worth while to get + into such a state—‘and oh, the baby—and oh dear, oh dear—and + good God, what am I to do?’ Just think; isn’t it beneath you? + surely, it’s nothing new to you! You have seen life and know + what people are. Every day I grow more indulgent and more aloof + from others.” + + ‘To this I answer, without for the present going off into a + dissertation on respectability in general, and without even + congratulating you on your satisfaction with yourself, that of + course a man is absurd who falls into a rage and a frenzy when + he is bitten by gnats or bugs, but the man is even more absurd + who under the same circumstances forces himself to assume an + air of stoical indifference. + + ‘You perhaps do not agree with this, for you put playing a part + above everything. Don’t be angry! Wait a minute! Let me finish. + In the first chapter of your _Vom andern Ufer_ in the Russian + and German versions these are your words: “Man likes to produce + an effect, to play a part, especially a tragic one; to suffer + is good and noble, it presupposes unhappiness; suffering is a + distraction, a comfort ... yes, yes, it is a comfort.” As I + have said to you already in Nice, I was at first inclined to + take this _dictum_ of yours as a careless oversight, and not a + happy one. At the time you answered that you did not remember + the words. + + ‘Though by no means applying those words exclusively to + you—that is, not assuming that you judged in this case of + men in general by yourself—I had hitherto imagined that + this _dictum_ of yours, like most of the _Réflexions de + La Rochefoucauld_, which it greatly resembles, like the + description of the talented men of our period, once drawn in + a masterly fashion by Byelinsky, was an “hyperbole, a jest.” + And so when I learnt that H. in Switzerland was indignant with + the General for the way he behaved in your affair, I took his + indignation, not for playing a part, but for real feeling, and + wrote to you: “Yes, I see H. is a brother to me.” When T., in + the presence of a witness, declared that he had been sentenced + for life—plus two years, I believed him too, and even repeated + this to several people. Yesterday Madame T. told me her husband + had never been sentenced at all. _Ergo_, in the eyes of the + persons to whom I repeated his lie I am just such a _blagueur_ + as he. I do not like it. Who is to blame? I am, of course, + because I was “young and credulous”; but they are to blame too, + because they told a lie. I have never in Russia, nor anywhere, + met such _blagueurs_ as in Nice. In my letter to you of the + 19th of January I told you that I want without _esclandre_ to + get away from these people; they are antipathetic to me. I + wrote this to you because I wanted to be open with you. But + _absorbed in yourself_ you could not grasp this very simple + idea. Or you would hardly, I suppose, have given me a most + trivial commission to T. You, too, say that you are holding + yourself aloof from people, but at the same time you ask them + to write to you. I do not understand that sort of aloofness. + + ‘Assuming that in serious matters to be frank is an essential + condition of honesty, I have to tell you this, too, without + loss of time. You write to me that when you have despatched the + General to Australia, and dismissed every one else, you will + be left with me and with your enemies—and that if, moreover, + I were a little more stable, and less dependent upon my own + and other people’s nervous caprices and agitations, you would + be disposed to make _un bout de chemin_ with me. To this I am + obliged to reply that, feeling in myself neither a taste nor + a talent for playing parts, and especially tragic ones, I am + ready to serve you with my advice, but not with my company.’ + +Of course, I had not supposed that a man who with tears and sobs had led +me on to confidences difficult to utter, a man who had come so near +to me and on whom I had leaned as on a brother in moments of weakness +and helplessness, when my pain was beyond human endurance, that the +eyewitness of all that had happened could regard my misery as stage +trappings and scenery, of which I should take advantage to play a tragic +part. In his ecstasies over my book he had been picking out stones in +it and laying them up in his bosom to fling them at me when the chance +might come. It was not enough for him to tear the present to pieces—he +defiled and vulgarised the past: breaking with me, he could not show it +the respect of dejected silence, but covered it with merciless abuse and +ironical jeering. + +This letter wounded me, wounded me very much. + +I answered him sadly, with suppressed tears; I said good-bye to him, and +asked him to break off our correspondence. + +That was followed by complete silence between us.... + +With Engelson once more something seemed to have snapped within me. I was +even poorer, more isolated; there was coldness all about me, nothing near +me.... At times a hand seemed held out to me more warmly; some fanatic of +no understanding, not even seeing that we were not of the same religion, +would approach hurriedly, and as hurriedly turn away. Though indeed I did +not seek closer intimacy with any, I had grown accustomed to men coming +and going, to all sorts of nonentities of whom one expected nothing, and +to whom one gave nothing except a cigar, wine, and sometimes money. My +one salvation lay in work; I was writing _My Past and Thoughts_, and was +setting up a Russian printing-press in London. + + +VI + +A year passed: the printing-press was in full swing, it was being noticed +in London and feared in Russia. In the spring of 1854 I received a short +manuscript from Marya Kasparovna. It was not difficult to guess it had +been written by Engelson. I published it at once. + +Then came a letter from him asking me to put an end to our unhappy +misunderstanding and to let us meet again in common work. Of course, I +held out both hands to him. + +Instead of an answer he arrived in London himself for a few days, and +stayed with me. Sobbing and laughing, he begged me to forget the past, +was lavish in words of affection, and again seized my hand and pressed it +to his lips. I embraced him, deeply touched, in the firm conviction that +the quarrel would not be renewed. + +But only a few days later clouds foreboding little good appeared on the +horizon. The shade of fatalism, of Buonapartism, which had peeped out in +his letters from Geneva had developed. From hatred for Nicholas and the +rank and file of the French Revolution of 1848, he had passed over _armes +et bagages_ into the enemy’s camp. We argued; he was obstinate. Knowing +that he always rushed to extremes and came back as quickly, I waited for +the turn of the tide, but it did not come. + +Unhappily, Engelson was busy at that time with an amazing project with +which he was passionately in love. + +He had made a plan for an air battery—that is, a battery of balloons +loaded with explosives and at the same time with printed proclamations. +This was at the beginning of the Crimean War. Engelson proposed letting +off such balloons from ships on the coast of the Baltic. I greatly +disliked this scheme; what could one make of propaganda with projectiles? +Where was the sense in it for us Russians to burn Finnish villages +and help Napoleon and England? Moreover, Engelson had discovered no +new means of steering balloons. I made little opposition to his plan, +supposing he would drop this nonsense of himself. + +But not at all. He went off with his plan to Mazzini and Worcell. +Mazzini said that things of that sort were not in his line, but that +he was ready through his friends to send his plans to the Minister of +War. The War Office gave an evasive reply, and put the project aside +without a definite refusal. He asked me to gather together two or three +of the military men among the refugees and put the balloon question to +them. All were against it, and I told him over and over again that I, +too, was against it; that our work, our strength, lay in propaganda, +nothing but propaganda; that we should lose in moral prestige by siding +with Napoleon, and should ruin ourselves in the eyes of Russia _faisant +cause commune_ with her enemies. Engelson lost his temper and was beside +himself. He had come to London confident of a triumph, and, meeting with +opposition even from me, imperceptibly returned to his hostile attitude. +Soon afterwards he went to fetch his wife, and brought her in May to +London. A complete transformation had taken place in their relations; she +was expecting to be a mother, and he was rapturously delighted at the +prospect of a child. Misunderstandings, quarrels, and explanations were +all a thing of the past. She with a sort of insane, half-mad mysticism +was turning tables and absorbed in spiritualism. The spirits told her +many things, and among others predicted my speedy demise. He was reading +Schopenhauer, and told me with a smile that he was doing all he could +to encourage her mystic tendencies, that this faith and exaltation was +bringing peace and calm into her soul. + +With me she behaved affectionately, perhaps in expectation of my +approaching death; would come to me with her work, and make me read +aloud articles and chapters from _My Past and Thoughts_. When a +month later differences arose again over Engelson’s Buonapartism and +air-balloons, she took the part of the reconciler—came to me begging me +to spare a poor invalid, and assuring me that every spring Engelson was +attacked by a hypochondriacal condition in which he did not know himself +what he was doing. + +Her serene gentleness was the gentleness of the conqueror, the mercy of +complete triumph. Engelson, imagining that he held her under control by +turning tables, lost sight of one thing—that she was not only twisting +tables with her fingers, but him round her finger, and that he always +gave the answers she wanted better than the tables did. + +One evening Engelson began discussing his balloons again with a +Frenchman, and said all sorts of biting things to him; the latter replied +with irony, and of course that infuriated Engelson more than ever. He +snatched up his hat and ran away. In the morning I went round to have it +out with him on the subject. + +I found him at his writing-table, his face still completely distorted +with fury, and a frenzied expression in his eyes. He told me that the +Frenchman (a refugee whom I had known for years and know still) was a +spy, that he would unmask him, would kill him; and he gave me a letter he +had only just written to a doctor of medicine in Paris; in the letter he +implicated persons living in Paris, and slandered the refugees in London. +I was dumbfoundered. + +‘And do you mean to send that letter?’ + +‘At once.’ + +‘And by post?’ + +‘Yes, by post.’ + +‘That’s treachery,’ I said; and flung his scrawl on the table. ‘If you +send that letter....’ + +‘Well, what?’ he shouted, interrupting me in a wild, hoarse voice—‘what +are you trying to threaten me with? I’m not afraid of you nor of +your nasty friends.’ With this he leapt up, opened a big knife, and +brandishing it about, shouted gasping: ‘Come, come, show your mettle ... +I’ll teach you ... wouldn’t you like to try ... come on!’ + +I turned to his wife, and saying, ‘Has he gone quite out of his mind? You +had better get him away somewhere ...,’ went out of the house. + +On this occasion, too, Madame Engelson played the part of peacemaker. She +came to me in the morning entreating me to forget what had passed the day +before. He had torn up the letter—was ill and gloomy. She took it all as +a calamity, as physical derangement, was afraid that he was seriously +ill, and shed tears. I yielded to her entreaties. + +After that we moved to Richmond, and Engelson did the same. The birth of +a son and the first months of looking after him gave Engelson new life; +he was off his head with joy. When the baby was born he embraced and +kissed effusively first the maid and then his old landlady. Anxiety over +the baby’s health, the novelty of paternal feeling, the novelty of the +baby himself, occupied Engelson for some months, and all went well again. + +All at once I got a big envelope from him, accompanied by a note asking +me to read the enclosed document and tell him my opinion candidly. It +was a letter to the French Minister of War. In it he again proposed +air-balloons, bombs, and manifestoes. I thought it all bad, from the +quarter to which he was appealing down to the language, which was lacking +in dignity, and I told him so. + +Engelson answered by a rude note and began to sulk. + +After that he gave me another manuscript to publish. I did not conceal +from him that it would produce a very bad effect on Russian readers, +and that I did not advise publishing it. Engelson reproached me with +wanting to set up a censorship, and said that he supposed I had founded +the printing-press exclusively to publish my own immortal works. I did +publish the manuscript, but my instinct had been right. It aroused +general indignation in Russia. + +All this indicated that a new rupture was not far off. I must own that +this time I felt no great regret. I was weary of this fever varied by +paroxysms of friendship and hatred, of having my hands kissed and then +getting a moral box on the ears. Engelson had overpassed the limit +beyond which not even memories nor gratitude could save the situation. I +liked him less and less, and waited coolly for what was to come. At that +point an event occurred so important that for a time all quarrels and +dissensions were eclipsed by a single feeling of joy and expectation. + +On the morning of the fourth of March I went as usual at eight o’clock +into my study, opened the _Times_, read a dozen times and did not +understand, did not dare to understand, the grammatical sense of the +words at the head of the news column: _The death of the Emperor of +Russia_. + +Hardly knowing what I was doing, I rushed with the _Times_ in my hands +into the dining-room; I looked for the children and the servants to tell +them the great news, and with tears of joy in my eyes gave them the +newspaper.... I felt as though several years had rolled off my shoulders. +It was impossible to stay indoors. Engelson was at that time living in +Richmond. I hurriedly put on my coat and hat and was about to go to him, +but he anticipated me, and was already in the hall; we fell on each +other’s necks and could say nothing but: ‘Well, at last he is dead!’ +Engelson, as his way was, capered about, kissed every one in the house, +sang and danced; and we had hardly recovered ourselves when a carriage +suddenly stopped at the front door and some one gave a violent tug at +the bell: three Poles had driven full speed from London to Twickenham, +without waiting for a train, to congratulate me. + +I ordered champagne; no one reflected that it was only eleven o’clock +in the morning, or earlier. Then, quite aimlessly, we all went off to +London. In the streets, on the Exchange, in the restaurants, people were +talking of nothing but the death of Nicholas; I did not see one man who +did not breathe more easily from knowing that that sore was taken out of +the eye of humanity, and did not rejoice that that oppressive tyrant in +the big boots had at last returned to clay. + +On Sunday my house was full all day; French and Polish refugees, Germans, +Italians, even English acquaintances kept coming and going with beaming +faces. It was a bright, warm day; after dinner we went out into the +garden. + +Some lads were playing on the bank of the Thames. I called them up to +the railing and told them we were celebrating the death of their enemy, +and flung them a handful of small silver for beer and sweets. ‘Hurrah! +hurrah!’ shouted the lads. ‘Impernikel is dead! Impernikel is dead!’ + +My visitors too began flinging them sixpences and threepenny-bits; the +lads bought ale and tarts and cakes, got hold of a concertina, and +began dancing. After that, as long as I lived at Twickenham, the lads +used to take off their caps when they met me in the street, and shout: +‘Impernikel is dead! hurrah!’ + +The death of Nicholas multiplied our hopes and energies tenfold. I at +once wrote the letter to the Emperor Alexander, afterwards published, and +made up my mind to bring out the _Polar Star_ at once. + +‘May reason prevail!’ broke involuntarily from my tongue at the head +of my programme. ‘The _Polar Star_[98] has been hidden behind the +storm-clouds of the reign of Nicholas; Nicholas has gone, and the _Polar +Star_ appears again on the day which is our Good Friday, the day on which +five gibbets became for us five crucifixes.’ + +It was a powerful, stimulating impetus; we set to work with redoubled +energy. I announced that I was bringing out the _Polar Star_; Engelson +at last took up his article on socialism about which he had been talking +in Italy. It might have been expected that we should go on working for a +couple of years or more ... but his irritable vanity made any work with +him insufferable. His wife encouraged his infatuation. ‘My husband’s +article,’ she used to say, ‘will be taken as a new epoch in the history +of Russian thought. If he writes nothing else, his place in history will +be assured.’ + +The article, ‘What is the State?’ was good, but its success did not +justify his wife’s anticipations. Moreover, it appeared at the wrong +moment. Awakening Russia demanded, just at that time, practical advice, +and not philosophical treatises _à la_ Proudhon and Schopenhauer. + +The whole of the article had not yet been published, when a new quarrel +of a different character from all the preceding ones almost completely +severed all relations between us. + +One day when I was with them I spoke jestingly of their having sent for +the third time for a doctor for their baby, who had a cold in its head +and a slight chill. + +‘So because we are poor,’ said Madame Engelson, and all her old spiteful +hatred a hundred times intensified flamed in her face, ‘our little one is +to die without medical assistance? And you say that? You, a socialist +and the friend of my husband, who refuse him fifty pounds, and are +exploiting him over his lessons.’ + +I listened in amazement, and asked Engelson whether he shared this view +or not. He was embarrassed, his face flushed in patches, he besought her +to be silent.... She went on. I got up and, interrupting her, said: ‘You +are ill and are nursing your baby, I am not going to answer you, but I am +not going to listen either.... You will hardly think it strange that I +shall not set foot in your house again.’ + +Engelson, distraught and melancholy, caught up his hat and came out into +the street with me: ‘Don’t take _au pied de la lettre_ the unbridled +language of an hysterical woman....’ He went off into a muddle of +explanations. ‘I will come and give my lesson to-morrow,’ he said. I +shook hands with him and went home without a word. + +All this calls for explanations, and the most painful ones, too, relating +not to opinions and public affairs but to the kitchen and account +books. Nevertheless, I will make an effort to clear up this side of our +relations too. Squeamishness, that sentimentalism of purity, is out of +place in pathological investigation. + +The Engelsons were scarcely entitled to reckon themselves poor people. +They received ten thousand francs a year from Russia, and he could easily +earn another five thousand by translations, reviews, and school-books; +Engelson was a proficient linguist. Trübner’s, the booksellers, had +ordered a lexicon of Russian roots and a grammar from him; he could, like +Pierre Leroux, like Kinkel, like Esquiros, give lessons. But, like a +regular Russian, he took up everything—the dictionary, the translations, +and the lessons—never finished anything, never put himself out, and never +earned a farthing. + +Neither husband nor wife was prudent or capable of managing their +affairs. The continual fever in which they lived prevented them from +thinking about household management. He had come from Russia with no +definite plan, and remained in Europe with no definite object. He had +taken no steps whatever to secure his property, and _un beau jour_, +panic-stricken, made a hasty arrangement of some sort by which he limited +his income to ten thousand francs, a sum which he did not receive quite +punctually, but always received sooner or later. + +That Engelson would not make both ends meet with his ten thousand francs +was evident; that he would not know how to economise was equally clear; +all that was left for him was to work or to borrow. At first, after +coming to London, he borrowed about forty pounds from me ... a little +time afterwards he asked for money again.... I had a serious and friendly +talk with him about this, and told him I was ready to help him, but that +I absolutely refused to lend him more than ten pounds a month. Engelson +frowned. However, he did twice take a ten-pound note; then suddenly he +wrote to me that he needed fifty pounds, and, if I did not care to lend +it him or did not trust him, he begged me to get it for him by pawning +some diamonds. All this could hardly be taken seriously; if he had +really wanted to pawn the diamonds, he ought to have taken them to some +pawnbroker and not to me.... Knowing him and being sorry for him, I wrote +that I would pawn the diamonds for fifty pounds, if they would give that, +and would send him the money. Next day I sent a cheque, but the diamonds, +which he would certainly have sold or pawned, I put away to keep for him. +He took no notice of the fact that no interest was asked for the fifty +pounds, and believed that I had pawned the diamonds. + +The second point relating to the lessons is even simpler. While I was in +London, S. gave Russian lessons to my children, charging four shillings +an hour. In Richmond, Engelson offered to take S.’s place. I asked him +about terms; he answered that it was difficult for him to talk of terms +with me, but that, as he had no money, he would take what I had paid S. + +On reaching home I wrote a letter to Engelson: I reminded him that he had +himself fixed the terms for the lessons, but that I begged him to take +double the amount for all the lessons in the past. Then I wrote what had +led me to keep his diamonds, and sent them back to him. + +He sent a confused answer, thanked me, expressed vexation, and came in +the evening himself, and went on coming as before. His wife I did not see +again. + + +VII + +A month later, Zeno Swentoslawski, and with him Linton,[99] the English +republican, were dining with me. Engelson came in towards the end of +dinner. Swentoslawski, the purest-hearted and best of men, a fanatic who +at over fifty retained the reckless fire of a Pole and the impulsive +impetuosity of a boy of fifteen, was urging the necessity of our +returning to Russia and beginning a keen propaganda in print there. He +undertook to convey the type, and so on. + +After listening to him, I said half in jest to Engelson: ‘I say, you +know, _on nous accusera de lâcheté_ if he goes alone.’ + +Engelson made a grimace and went away. + +Next day I went up to London and did not come back till the evening; +my son, who was lying down with a feverish attack, told me, in great +excitement, that Engelson had come in my absence, that he had abused me +terribly, had said that he would pay me out, that he was not going to put +up with my authority any longer, and that he did not need me now _since +his article had been published_. I did not know what to think, whether +Sasha was delirious from fever or Engelson had come in dead drunk. + +From Malwida von Meysenbug[100] I learnt more. She told me with horror +of his violence. ‘Herzen,’ he had shouted in a nervous, gasping voice, +‘called me _lâche_ yesterday in the presence of two strangers.’ Malwida +interrupted him, saying that I had not been talking about him at all, +that I had said ‘_on nous taxera de lâcheté_,’ speaking of all of us +generally. ‘If Herzen feels that he is doing something mean, let him +speak for himself, but I will not allow him to speak like that of me, and +in the presence of two blackguards too.’ + +My elder girl, then ten years old, had run in at the sound of his shouts. +Engelson had gone on: ‘No, this is the end of it, it is enough. I am not +accustomed to it, I will not allow myself to be trifled with, I will +show him whom he has to deal with ...,’ pulled a revolver out of his +pocket and went on shouting, ‘It is loaded, it is loaded, I will wait for +him....’ + +Malwida got up and told him that she insisted on his leaving her, that +she was not obliged to listen to his wild ravings, that she could only +put down his behaviour to illness. ‘I am going,’ he said; ‘don’t trouble; +but first I want to ask you to give Herzen this letter.’ He opened it +and began reading it aloud; the letter was a string of abuse. + +Malwida von Meysenbug refused the commission, asking him why he expected +her to act as an intermediary in forwarding such a letter. + +‘I will find means without your help,’ observed Engelson, and went away. + +He did not send the letter, but a day later he sent me a note; in it, +without saying one word about what had passed, he wrote that he had an +attack of hæmorrhage, that he could not come to me, and begged me to send +the children to him. + +I said that there was no answer, and again all diplomatic relations were +broken off; hostile relations remained. Engelson did not let slip a +chance of turning them to account. + +From Richmond I moved in the autumn of 1855 to St. John’s Wood. Engelson +was forgotten for some months. Suddenly, in the spring of 1856, I +received a note, suggestive of a duel, from Orsini, whom I had seen two +days previously. + +Coldly and courteously, he asked me to let him know whether it was the +truth that Saffi and I were spreading a rumour that he was an Austrian +spy. He asked me either to give an unqualified _démenti_, or to indicate +from whom I had heard this abominable calumny. + +Orsini was justified; I should have done the same in his place. Perhaps +he ought to have had more confidence in Saffi and in me—but the insult +was terrific. + +Any one who knew anything of Orsini’s character would understand that +such a man, attacked in the most holy of holies of his honour, could not +stop short at half measures. The affair could only be settled by our +_absolute_ innocence or by the death of some one. + +From the first minute it was clear to me that the blow came from +Engelson. He no doubt reckoned on one side of Orsini’s character, but +fortunately there was another which he had overlooked. Orsini combined +with violent passions an intense power of self-control; he was cautious +among dangers, thought over every step he took, and never reached a +decision on the spur of the moment, because when once he had reached a +decision he wasted no time in criticism, in doubt, in reconsideration, +but carried it out. We saw this later in the Rue Lepelletier. He acted in +the same way now. He tried without haste to investigate the matter, to +find out who was guilty, and then, if he succeeded, to kill him. + +Engelson’s second mistake lay in quite unnecessarily bringing in Saffi. + +The facts were these. Six months before my rupture with Engelson I +happened to be one morning at the house of Mrs. Milner-Gibson (the wife +of the minister): there I found Saffi and Pianciani; they were saying +something to her about Orsini. As I went away I asked Saffi what they +had been talking about. ‘Only fancy,’ he answered: ‘Mrs. Milner-Gibson +had been told in Geneva that Orsini had been bribed in Austria....’ On +reaching home at Richmond I had repeated this to Engelson. We were both +then dissatisfied with Orsini. ‘The devil take him entirely!’ observed +Engelson, and nothing more was said on the subject. When Orsini made +his marvellous escape from Mantua we thought in our own circle of the +accusation heard by Mrs. Milner-Gibson. The arrival of Orsini himself, +his story, his wounded foot, entirely effaced this absurd suspicion. + +I asked Orsini to give me an interview. He asked me to go the following +evening. In the morning I went to Saffi and showed him Orsini’s note. He +at once offered to go with me, as indeed I expected he would. Ogaryov, +who had only just arrived in London, was a witness of this interview. + +Saffi described the conversation at Mrs. Milner-Gibson’s with the +simplicity and straightforwardness which are his distinguishing +characteristics. I filled in the rest of the story. Orsini thought a +minute, and then said: ‘Well, may I ask Mrs. Milner-Gibson about this?’ + +‘Of course,’ answered Saffi. + +‘Yes, I believe I have been too hasty; but,’ he asked me, ‘tell me, why +did you speak of it to an outsider instead of warning me?’ + +‘You forget, Orsini, the time when it happened, and that the _outsider_ +to whom I spoke was at that time not an outsider; you know better than +most people what he was then to me.’ + +‘I have mentioned no one....’ + +‘Let me finish. Why, do you suppose it is easy for a man to repeat such +things? If these rumours had spread, perhaps I ought to have warned +you—but who is speaking about it now? As for your having mentioned no +one’s name, you are making a great mistake there. Bring me face to face +with my accuser, then it will be still more evident what part each has +played in these slanders.’ + +Orsini smiled, got up, came to me, embraced me, embraced Saffi, and said: +‘_Amici_, we will end the matter; forgive me, let us forget all about it +and talk of something else.’ + +‘That’s all very well, and you were perfectly right to ask me for an +explanation, but why do you not name my accuser? In the first place, it +is useless to conceal it ... it was Engelson told you this.’ + +‘Give me your word that you will drop the matter?’ + +‘I will give you my word before two witnesses.’ + +‘Well, you have guessed right.’ + +I anticipated this confirmation, yet it sent a pang to my heart as though +I had still doubted it. + +‘Remember what you have promised,’ Orsini added, after a brief silence. + +‘You need not worry about that. But to make up to me and to Saffi you +might tell us how it happened; you see, we know all that matters.’ + +Orsini laughed. ‘What curiosity!’ he said. ‘You know Engelson. He +came to me the other day: I was in the dining-room’—(Orsini lived in +a boarding-house)—‘and having dinner alone. He had already dined. I +asked for a bottle of sherry for him; he drank it, and at once began +complaining of you—that you had ill-treated him, that you had broken off +all relations with him—and after gossiping about all sorts of things +asked how you had received me on my return. I answered that you had +given me a very friendly welcome, that I had dined with you, and that I +had been to you in the evening.... Engelson all at once began shouting: +“That’s just like them ... I know those gentry; it’s not long since he +and his friend and admirer Saffi were saying that you were an Austrian +spy, but now you’re famous again and in the fashion, and he is your +friend!” “Engelson,” I observed, “do you fully understand the gravity of +what you’ve just said?” “Fully, fully,” he repeated. “Will you be ready +under all circumstances to repeat your words?” “Under all circumstances!” + +‘When he had gone I took a sheet of paper and wrote you a letter. That’s +the whole story.’ + +We all went out into the street. Orsini, as though guessing what was +passing within me, said by way of consolation, ‘He’s crazy.’ + +Soon afterwards Orsini went to Paris, and his beautiful classical head +rolled bleeding on to the platform of the guillotine. + +The first news of Engelson was the news of his death in Jersey. + +No word of reconciliation, no word of remorse reached me.... + + (1858.) + +_P.S._—In 1864 I received a strange letter from Naples. It spoke of the +apparition of my wife’s soul, and of her having appealed to me to turn to +religion and purify my soul with it, and to abandon worldly vanities.... + +The writer said that it was all written at the dictation of the spirit; +the tone of the letter was warm, friendly, and ecstatic. + +The letter was unsigned; I recognised the handwriting; it was from Madame +Engelson.[101] + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +[1] There is this now.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[2] _Le Charivari_ was the French _Punch_ (earlier in date, however, +_Punch_ being called ‘The London Charivari’ as a sub-title), founded in +1831 by Charles Philipon, a caricaturist of great talent. + +[3] The Comte d’Argout had much to do in bringing about the fall of +Charles X., and held several important ministerial appointments under +Louis-Philippe.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[4] I have heard this criticism a dozen times since.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[5] The Comte de Chambord, grandson of Charles X., was by the royalists +called Henri Cinq.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[6] The celebrated Victor Panin.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[7] _I.e._ stabs with a dagger. + +[8] At the Rouen elections for the Constituent Assembly in April, the +Socialist candidates were heavily defeated; the workmen, suspecting some +fraud, assembled, unarmed, before the Hôtel de Ville, to protest. They +were attacked by soldiers and National Guards; eleven were killed and +many wounded.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[9] Sibour, Marie Dominique Auguste (1792-1857), was appointed on 10th +of July 1848, by General Cavaignac, to the archi-episcopal see of +Paris to replace Affre, who died of wounds received in the June days. +He was himself assassinated in church by the Abbé Vergur, whom he had +interdicted.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[10] Written at the end of 1853. + +[11] English in the original.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[12] Cavaignac, Louis-Eugène (1802-1857), the youngest of the three +distinguished Frenchmen of that name, was commander-in-chief in 1848, +and an unsuccessful candidate for the presidency of the Republic when +Louis-Napoleon (afterwards Napoleon III.) was elected on 10th December +1848. + +[13] Lamoricière, Louis de (1806-1865), a prominent politician and +general, was exiled in December 1848, and afterwards took command of the +Papal troops.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[14] David (d’Angers), Pierre-Jean (1789-1856), must not be confounded +with the great painter Louis David. David d’Angers was a celebrated +sculptor of republican principles, who executed busts or medallions of +most of the eminent men of his day. He was a great friend of Hugo, who +wrote of him in _Les Rayons et les Ombres_: ‘La forme, ô grand sculpteur, +c’est tout et ce n’est rien. Ce n’est rien sans l’esprit, c’est tout avec +l’idée!’—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[15] Barbès, Armand (1809-1870), called the ‘Bayard de la démocratie,’ +was a people’s representative in 1848, imprisoned in 1849, and set free +in 1854.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[16] Ramon de la Sagra (1798-1871), a Spanish economist, took part in +the revolutionary movement of 1848 in France, and wrote advocating the +views of Proudhon. In 1854 he returned to Spain, and was several times +elected a member of the Cortes. He was, of course, not seventy, as Herzen +mistakenly assumes, but fifty, in 1848.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[17] A mountain chain of Old Castile, where the French defeated the +Spanish in 1808.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[18] Written in 1856. + +[19] Rayer, P. F. O., was a distinguished French physician, and author of +numerous medical works.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[20] Delessert, Gabriel, born 1786, was prefect of police of the town of +Paris for twelve years from 1836.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[21] A character in Gogol’s _Dead Souls_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[22] Arago, Emmanuel (1812-1896), the son of the more distinguished +F. D. Arago, who was one of the members of the Provisional Government +formed after the _coup d’état_ of 24th February 1848. The others were +Ledru-Rollin, Dupont de l’Eure, Garnier-Pagès, Lamartine, Crémieux, +Marrast, Flocon, and Louis Blanc.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[23] Bastide, Jules (born 1800), a publicist and politician, was minister +for foreign affairs in 1848. He had had an eventful career, and for two +years took refuge in England after escaping from prison, where he was +thrown for taking part in the riots that followed the funeral of Lamarque +in 1832. + +[24] Changarnier, Nicolas (1793-1877), a prominent politician and +general, was exiled at the _coup d’état_ of 1851, but lived to serve in +the Franco-German War of 1870.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[25] Guinard, Auguste-Joseph (born 1799), had been one of the first to +proclaim the republic in February 1848, and at the head of the 8th Legion +had occupied the Hôtel de Ville. + +[26] Forestier, Henri-Joseph (born 1787), was a painter of merit. He was +colonel of the 8th Legion of the National Guard.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[27] Karl Blind (born 1826), a writer and revolutionist, was for the +part he took in the insurrections in South Germany sentenced to eight +years’ imprisonment, but was rescued by the mob. He settled in England, +where he continued journalistic and propaganda work up to the time of his +death.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[28] How well founded my apprehensions were was shown by a police raid on +my mother’s house at the Ville d’Avray. They seized all the papers, even +the correspondence of her maid with my cook. I thought it inopportune to +publish my account of the 13th of June at the time.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[29] Oran, a province of Algeria in which the French carried on a +successful campaign against Abd-el-Kader in 1847.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[30] Pyat, Félix (1810-1889), a journalist, dramatic writer, and +communist leader, supported Ledru-Rollin’s appeal to the French people +in 1849, and on its failure escaped to Switzerland and then to London, +where he was a member of the ‘European Revolutionary Committee.’ He +returned to France at the amnesty of 1870, and was in 1871 one of the +leaders of the Commune, on the fall of which he again escaped to London. +He was condemned to death in his absence, but was again pardoned in +1880.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[31] Grandville, Jean-Ignace-Isidore (born 1802), was one of the most +celebrated book-illustrators of his time. Perhaps his most famous book +is _Les animaux peints par eux-mêmes_. He was deeply interested in +animals, insects, and fishes, and drew them wonderfully. He edited _La +Caricature_, in which all the most eminent people of his time in Paris +are depicted. He died, insane, in 1850.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[32] In 1848 there was an insurrection in Baden, headed by Struve and +Hecker, which aimed at establishing a republic. The troops sided with the +insurgents, the Grand Duke fled, and in May 1848 a Constituent Assembly +was called. After several battles the Grand Duke was by Prussian aid +reinstated in July of the same year. + +[33] Görgei, Arthur (1818), was commander-in-chief of the Hungarian +forces in 1848, was victorious over the Austrians in the spring of +that year, but was defeated early in August by the Russian general +Paskevitch, and on the 13th of that month surrendered the Hungarian army +unconditionally to Rüdiger, another Russian general. He was accused of +treachery. + +[34] Coblenz was one of the chief centres to which the _émigrés_ of the +great French revolution flocked from 1790 onwards.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[35] The Commission of Inquiry was presided over by Odilon Barrot; +the report, drawn up by one Bauchart, is described as a ‘_monument +impérissable de mauvaise foi et de basse fureur_.’ + +[36] Kapp, Friedrich (1820-1884), a German historian, after the +revolution of 1848 went to New York, but returned to Berlin in 1870, +became a Liberal member of the Reichstag.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[37] The more thoroughgoing of the followers of John Huss were called +Taborites, from their headquarters at Mt. Tabor in Bohemia. + +[38] Heinzen, Karl Peter (1827-1880), wrote for the _Leipziger +Allgemeine Zeitung_ and the _Rheinische Zeitung_, and his articles led +to the suppression of these two papers. He published an attack on the +government, ‘Die prussische Bureaucratie,’ for which he was prosecuted. +In 1848 he was one of the leaders of the Baden revolution. Later on he +escaped to America, where he edited _The Pioneer_.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[39] Undergraduates in their first year were called ‘foxes’ in German +universities.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[40] See Vol. II. Chapter 27. + +[41] The ‘Bolognese insurrection’ began on 2nd February 1831 at the house +of Ciro Menotti at Modena. There thirty-one conspirators surprised by the +ducal troops held the soldiers at bay for hours. + +[42] Attilio and Emilio Bandiera, two young Venetians, lieutenants in the +Austrian navy, attempted an insurrection in 1843. On its failure they +escaped to Corfu; but, misled by false information, landed in Calabria +with twenty companions, were caught and shot at Cosenza in July of the +same year. Their letters to Mazzini in London had been opened by the +English authorities, who then resealed them and sent the information so +gained to the Austrian Government. Sir James Graham and Lord Aberdeen +were principally responsible. + +[43] Babeuf, François-Émile, nicknamed Gracchus (1760-1797), conspired +against the Directoire, was condemned to death, but stabbed himself. He +advocated a form of communism called _babouvisme_. + +[44] The reference is to Orsini’s attempt to assassinate Napoleon III. on +14th January 1858.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[45] ‘In 1857 Pisacane seized the _Cagliari_ steamer, freed the political +prisoners in the island of Ponza, and with a small force effected a +landing on the Neapolitan coast at Sapri, hoping to join others of the +republican party. Met by overwhelming numbers, he fell at the head of his +men, most of them falling with him.’ + +[46] The ‘wild boar’ meant is, of course, Ferdinand II. of Naples, +nicknamed Bomba because of the cruel bombardment of Naples and other +cities during the suppression of the insurrection.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[47] Here is a poor prose translation of these wonderful lines, which +have passed into a popular legend:— + +‘They gathered with weapons in their hands, but they did not war with +us; they threw themselves on the earth and kissed it, the tear quivered +in their eyes, and all wore a smile. We were told they were robbers who +had come out of their dens; but they took nothing, not even a crust of +bread, and we heard from them one cry only: “We have come to die for our +country!” They were three hundred, they were young and strong! And they +are dead! + +‘At their head came a young leader with golden hair and blue eyes.... +I made so bold I took him by the hand and asked: “Whither goest thou, +splendid leader?” He looked at me and said: “My sister, I go to die for +my country!” and my heart ached; I had not strength to say: “God be thy +help!” + +‘They were three hundred, they were young and strong! And they are dead!’ + +And I knew the _bel capitano_, and more than once talked with him of the +fortunes of his distressful country.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[48] Napoleon, so the newspapers wrote, ordered Orsini’s head to be +steeped in sulphuric acid that it might be impossible to take a death +mask from it. What progress in humanity and chemistry since the days when +the head of John the Baptist was given on a golden dish to the daughter +of Herod!—(_Author’s Note._) + +[49] Pope Pius VII. signed the Concordat of 15th July 1801 with Napoleon, +was forced by the latter to come to Paris to consecrate him as Emperor in +1804, was later on kept prisoner in Fontainebleau, and only returned to +Rome in 1814. + +[50] The Cristinos were the supporters of the Spanish Queen Regent +Cristina against the Carlists. + +[51] Cardinal Mastai Ferretti, elected Pope in 1846, known as Pius +IX.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[52] Cosenz (born 1820) was an Italian general who defended Venice +against the Austrians in 1848, joined Garibaldi in 1859, was minister +of war under the latter’s dictatorship in Naples, later on was several +times elected to the Chamber of Deputies, and was a senator after +1872.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[53] Barbier, Henri-Auguste (1805-1882), a French poet, was the author of +a volume of verses called _Iambes_.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[54] All this has greatly changed since the Crimean War +(1866).—(_Author’s Note._) + +[55] _The Times_, two years ago, reckoned that on an average in every +police district in London (there are ten) there were two hundred cases +of assaults on women and children per annum; and how many assaults never +lead to proceedings?—(_Author’s Note._) + +[56] The _Sonderbund_ was the alliance of the seven Catholic cantons of +Switzerland, which aimed at separation from the Federal Government. It +was dissolved after a brief civil war.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[57] Weitling, Wilhelm (born 1808), got into touch with communists in +Paris and Switzerland during his wanderings as a journeyman tailor, was +prosecuted for propaganda of his ideas in Germany, escaped to America, +where he became the head of a communist colony in the state of Iowa, +wrote _Das Evangelium des armen Sünders_, _Garantien der Harmonie und +Freiheit_ (1842), and _Die Menschheit wie sie ist und wie sie sein +sollte_ (1845).—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[58] Périer, Casimir-Pierre (1777-1832), was a wealthy banker who +supported the Liberal opposition under Charles X., and after the Paris +revolution of 1830 became Minister of the Interior under Louis-Philippe, +in which capacity he vigorously suppressed risings in Paris and Lyons. + +[59] Laffitte, Jacques (1767-1844), was a French financier who took +an active part in bringing about the revolution of 1830, and was at +first the most influential minister of Louis-Philippe’s government. He +was dismissed by the king because he wished the French to go to the +assistance of Italy in her effort to throw off the Austrian yoke, and was +succeeded by Périer. + +[60] Cavaignac, Godefroy (1801-1845), the eldest son of J. B. Cavaignac, +the member of the Convention, took a leading part in the July revolution +of 1830, was tried and acquitted, again arrested in 1834, and escaped to +England. In 1841 he returned to France and became one of the most active +editors of _La Réforme_. His popularity greatly favoured the rise of his +brother, Louis-Eugène, the general, who, though he put down the June +rising in 1848, remained under a cloud under Napoleon III. because he +refused to take the oath of allegiance. + +[61] Marrast, Armand (1801-1852), a journalist, was a member of the +Provisional Government of 1848, and then mayor of Paris and president of +the National Assembly.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[62] Drouey (1799-1855) led the revolution in his canton in 1845, in +1849 was elected vice-president of the Swiss Federal Union, and in 1850 +president.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[63] Blenker, Ludwig (born 1812), served in 1832 in Greece in the +Bavarian legion of King Otto, and was afterwards a wine merchant in +Worms. In 1848 he became a prominent figure of the revolutionary party +in Rheingessen, and as a leader of the insurgents took Worms and stormed +Landau. When the Baden rising was suppressed he escaped to Switzerland, +whence he was expelled, and then went to America, where during the Civil +War in 1861 he collected a troop of German _Jäger_ and saved Washington +from the enemy, became a general, but afterwards for some negligence in +the commissariat was forcibly retired with M’Clellan, and spent the rest +of his days peacefully on his farm.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[64] Here I seem to have justified the famous ‘I hear the silence!’ of +the Moscow police-master. + +[65] As a matter of fact, _our_ scepticism was not known in the last +century; England and Diderot alone are the exceptions. In England +scepticism has been at home for long ages, and Byron follows naturally on +Shakespeare, Hobbes, and Hume.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[66] Here Herzen ignorantly uses the word ‘Quaker’ as equivalent to +‘Nonconformist,’ or perhaps ‘Puritan.’ It is needless to point out that +tolerance is one of the most prominent principles of the Society of +Friends.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[67] These fragments, printed in vol. iv. of _The Polar Star_, ended with +the following dedication, written before the arrival of Ogaryov in London +and before the death of Granovsky: + +‘... Accept this skull—it belongs to you by right’ (_Pushkin_). + +Here for the time we will stop. Some day I shall publish the chapters I +have omitted and shall write others, without which my narrative remains +unintelligible, incomplete, perhaps useless, and in any case will not be +what I meant. But all that must be later, much later.... + +Now let us part; and one word at leave-taking, to you friends of my youth. + +When everything had been buried, when even the clamour partly provoked by +me, partly spontaneous, had subsided about me, and people had dispersed +to their homes, I lifted up my head and looked around me; I had nothing +living, nothing akin to me but my children. Wandering among strangers, +watching them more closely, I gave up seeking _friends_ and held +aloof—not from men but from intimacy with them. + +It is true, at times it seems that I have still feelings in my heart, +words which it is a pity not to utter, which might do good or at +least bring comfort to the listener, and one is sorry that it must +all be smothered and lost in the soul, as the eye loses itself in the +empty distance ... but that is the rapidly fading glow of sunset, the +reflection of the retreating past. + +It is to that that I have turned back. I have left the world alien to +me and have come back to you; and again we have been living together as +in old times, are meeting every day, and nothing is changed, no one has +grown older, no one is dead—and I am as at home with you, and it is as +clear that I have no other standpoint than ours, no vocation but that to +which I dedicated myself from childhood. + +My story of the past is, maybe, dull and feeble, but you, friends, will +give it a warm reception; this work has helped me to live through a +terrible period, it has lifted me out of the idle despair in which I was +perishing, it has brought me back to you. With it I enter upon my winter, +not _gaily_ but _calmly_ (in the words of the poet whom I love beyond +measure):— + +‘_Lieta no ... ma sicura!_’ said Leopardi of death in his _Ruysch e le +sui mummie_. + +So all unwittingly you have saved me: accept this skull—it belongs to you +by right. + + ISLE OF WIGHT, VENTNOR, _October 1, 1855_. + +[68] This endorsement is done for security in sending cheques in order +that no one else should be able to receive the money. + +[69] This was not P. D. Kisselyov, who was in Paris later, the well-known +minister of crown property, a very decent man; but the other one, +afterwards transferred to Rome.—(_Author’s Notes._) + +[70] I translate it word for word.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[71] Mlle. Le Normand (1772-1843) was a well-known fortune-teller of the +period.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[72] Later on Professor Tchitcherin preached a doctrine somewhat similar +in the Moscow University.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[73] Pestel was the leader of the Union of the South, and Ryleyev of +the Union of the North, which combined in the attempt to overthrow the +autocracy and establish constitutional government in Russia on December +14, 1825.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[74] A French revolutionist, one of the founders of the _culte de la +raison_, beheaded in 1794.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[75] I cannot forbear adding that I had to correct this very page at +Freiburg, and in the same Zöringer Hof. And the host was still the same, +looking like a regular innkeeper, and the dining-room in which I sat with +Sazonov in 1851 was the same, and the room in which a year later I wrote +my will, making Karl Vogt my executor: and this page brings back to me so +many details. + +Fifteen years! + +Unconsciously, unaccountably, one is seized with terror.... + + _14th October 1866._—(_Author’s Note._) + +[76] Frappoli, Ludovico (1815-1878), an Italian politician who took part +in the revolutionary movement of 1848, was a partisan of Garibaldi’s, and +always on the extreme left in the Italian Parliament. He reintroduced +Freemasonry into Italy.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[77] Leroux, Pierre (1797-1871), a prominent follower of St. Simon. + +[78] Considérant, Victor (1808-1893), a philosopher and political +economist, advocate of Fourierism.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[79] In Stuart Mill’s new book _On Liberty_, he uses an excellent +expression in regard to these truths settled once and for ever: ‘the deep +slumber of a decided opinion.’—(_Author’s Note._) + +[80] _Histoire de la Révolution Française._ + +[81] I had then published _Vom andern Ufer_.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[82] My answer to the speech of Donozo Cortes, of which fifty thousand +copies were printed, was all sold out; and when two or three days later +I asked for a few copies for myself, they had to be bought through the +bookshops.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[83] After this was written I met him again in Brussels.—(_Author’s +Note._) + +[84] I have to some extent modified my opinion of this work of Proudhon +(1866).—(_Author’s Note._) + +[85] Proudhon himself said: ‘_Rien ne ressemble plus à la préméditation +que la logique des faits._’ + +[86] As I was correcting the proofs of this, I came upon a French +newspaper with an extremely characteristic incident in it. Near Paris +a student had a liaison with a girl, which was discovered. The girl’s +father went to the student and on his knees besought him, with tears, to +vindicate his daughter’s honour and marry her; the student refused with +contumely. The kneeling father gave him a slap in the face, the student +challenged him, they shot at each other; during the duel the old man had +a paralytic stroke. The student was disconcerted, and ‘decided to marry,’ +and the girl was grieved, and also decided to marry. The newspaper +adds that this happy _dénouement_ will no doubt do much to promote the +old father’s recovery. Can this have happened outside a madhouse? Can +China or India, at whose grotesque absurdities we mock so much, furnish +anything uglier or sillier than this story? I will not say more immoral. +This Parisian romance is a hundredfold more wicked than the burning of +a widow or the burying of a vestal virgin. In those cases there was +religious faith, removing all personal responsibility, but in this case +there is nothing but conventional, shadowy ideas of external honour, of +external reputation.... Is it not clear from this story what the student +was like? Why should the girl’s life be bound to his _à perpétuité_? Why +was she ruined to save her reputation? Oh, Bedlam! (1866.)—(_Author’s +Note._) + +[87] Cambacérès, Jean-Jacques (1753-1824), one of the nearest advisers +of Napoleon, and compiler of the _Code Civil_. He attempted to dissuade +Napoleon from the invasion of Russia.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[88] Leone Leoni is the hero, or rather villain, whose name supplies the +title of one of George Sand’s earlier novels.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[89] A character in the famous romance _Astrée_ by Victor d’Urfé +(1568-1626), adopted into the Russian language as the type of the +faithful and devoted swain.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[90] The reference is to the _Voyage du jeune Anarchasis_, by Barthélemy +(1779).—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[91] Bouilhet, Louis, was a great friend of Flaubert, with whom he +collaborated. His own works include _Hélène Peyron_, and a very +successful drama, _La Conjuration d’Amboise_. + +[92] Ribeyrolles, a talented writer on _La Réforme_, the organ of the +Extreme Left, of which Flocon was editor.—(_Translator’s Notes._) + +[93] Louis Blanc, author of _L’Histoire de Dix Ans_, one of the most +widely read books of the epoch.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[94] The real name of Messenhauser was Cæsar Wengel, a soldier and +writer, who took an active part in the rising of 1848, first in Lemberg +and then in Vienna. On the suppression of the rising he was sentenced to +be shot, and asked that as an officer he might give the word of command +to the soldiers who were to shoot him, and so conducted the business of +his own execution with remarkable composure.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[95] I was in those days what the Poles call a ‘passport man,’ and had +not yet cut off all possibility of return to Russia.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[96] His article on ‘The Position of Russia in the All-World Exhibition’ +was published in vol. ii. of the _Polar Star_.—(_Author’s Note._) + +[97] A series of very remarkable letters of his, of which I propose to +publish a considerable number some day, date from this period.—(_Author’s +Note._) + +[98] The _Polar Star_ is the name of the paper edited by Ryleyev, one of +the five Decembrists hanged by Nicholas in 1825. On the anniversary of +their execution Herzen brought out the first number of his paper of the +same name.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[99] W. J. Linton, a friend of Mazzini, and author of a series of +sketches of Italian, French, and Polish exiles, and of Herzen, called +_European Republicans_. His wife, Mrs. Lynn Linton, a prominent figure +some forty years ago, wrote several novels, and created a journalistic +sensation by an onslaught on ‘The Girl of the Period.’—(_Translator’s +Note._) + +[100] Baroness Malwida von Meysenbug, authoress of _Memoirs of an +Idealist_, was a great friend of Wagner, and also of Nietzsche, whom she +cared for at times with motherly kindness. At this date she was living in +Herzen’s house as the governess of his children, the youngest of whom, +Olga, remained in her charge for many years.—(_Translator’s Note._) + +[101] With this ends that part of _My Past and Thoughts_ which was +corrected by the author in its final form and published in four volumes. +The chapter which follows (in the next volume) is now published for the +first time, and is that for which, as Herzen himself more than once says, +he wrote all the rest.—(_Note to the Russian edition_, 1921.) + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78336 *** |