It is easy to follow one line when you are dealing with a mature order of things and consistent types of activity. What's hard about taking a sharply defined position in relation to the English government or the French imperial house? Would it have been hard to be consistent under the last tsar?
But we do not find unity in Alexander II's actions; first he represents himself as the liberator of the serfs and a reformer, and then defends the
Nicholaevan harness and threatens to trample the shoots that have just emerged.
How can one reconcile the speech to the Moscow nobility with Governor- General Zakrevsky?1
How to reconcile the easing of censorship with the ban on writing about the liberation of the serfs with land?
How to reconcile the amnesty and the desire for open discussion with Rostovtsev's project and Panin's power?2 [. . .]
The instability of the government is reflected in our articles. In following the government we lost our way, and did not hide the fact that we were annoyed at ourselves. In this there was a kind of link with our readers. We had not led, but had walked alongside them; we had not taught, but had served as an echo of thoughts and ideas suppressed at home. Swept up in the contemporary movement of Russia, we were carried rapidly along by the changing winds blowing from the Neva.
Of course, a person who silently awaits the outcome, stifling both hope and fear, will never make a mistake. History—that graveside oration—is better protected against blunders than any participant in ongoing events. [. . .] While lacking an exclusive system or a party spirit that repels everything else, we do have an unshakable foundation and ardent feelings that have guided us from childhood to old age, and in them there is no frivolity, hesitation, or compromise! The rest seems secondary to us; there are many different ways to implement what is agreed upon. in this is the poetic ca- priciousness of history and it is impolite to meddle.
The emancipation of the serfs with land is one of the most important and substantial questions for Russia and for us. Whether this emancipation is "from above or below"—we will back it! If the liberating is done by peasant committees made up of the accursed enemies of emancipation— we will sincerely and wholeheartedly bless them. If the peasants liberate themselves first from the committees and then from those landowners who constitute the committees—we will be the first to congratulate them in a brotherly way and from the heart as well. Finally, if the tsar orders the removal of estates from subversive aristocrats and sends them somewhere beyond the Amur River to Muravyov—we will say equally from the heart: "Let it be as you command."3
It does not follow from this that we recommend these means, that there are no others, or that these are the best—not at all. Our readers know what we think on this subject.
However, since the most important matter is for the peasants to be freed with land, we will not argue over means.
In the absence of a binding doctrine, leaving it, so to speak, to nature itself to act as we cheer on every step that is consistent with our views, we may often make mistakes. We will always be glad for "our learned friends," sitting calmly in lodges on the shore, to shout out for us to keep "to the right or to the left"; but we hope that they do not forget that it is easier for them to observe the strength of the waves and the weakness of the swimmers than it is for us to swim. especially so far from shore. [. . .]
Notes
Source: "Nas uprekaiut," Kolokol, l. 27, November 1, 1858; 13:361-63, 587.
The speech on the need for the emancipation was delivered March 30 (April 11), 1856.
In the coronation manifesto issued by Alexander II on August 26, 1856, the surviving Decembrists and other political prisoners were granted amnesty. During the summer of 1858 there was discussion of Rostovtsev's proposal to set up temporary governor-generals in case of peasant agitation when the reforms were carried out. The project, supported by Alexander II, was opposed by Minister of the Interior Lanskoy. By taking this stance, Lanskoy risked dismissal, and foreign newspapers mentioned possible successors.
Count Nikolay N. Muravyov-Amursky (1809-1881) was governor-general of eastern Siberia from 1847 to 1861.
21 +
The Bell, No. 29, December 1, 1858. Konstantin Kavelin wrote to Chicherin early in 1859, criticizing the bureaucratic tone Chicherin took with Herzen and questioning his right to speak so condescendingly to a man who wanted the reforms to succeed without casualties. Chicherin forwarded Kavelin's letter and others written in a similar spirit to Herzen, who refused to publish them for fear of compromising the authors.
"A Bill of Indictment," which continues the open discussion with Chicherin, is one of several in which Herzen refers to irony as a distinctive characteristic of his writing and a deliberate choice in making his political message more effective. By March 1859 Herzen was ready to bring an end to this particular polemic. He continued to receive letters of support, including one from the Slavophile editor Alexander Koshelev (18061883), who described the "sobering" effect of uncensored free speech coming from London, and advised Herzen to pay no attention to the criticism of "doctrinaire liberals." In the May 1859 issue of The Contemporary, Chernyshevsky managed to weave support for Herzen into a review of Chicherin's writings (Let 3:15-16, 20, 38, 42, 46).
A Bill of Indictment [1858]
I appear before our readers with a bill of indictment in my hands.
This time the accused is not Panin or Zakrevsky—the accused is me.
This accusation, expressed on behalf of "a significant number of thinking people in Russia," has great importance for me. Its final word is that all my activity, that is, my life's work, is bringing harm to Russia.
If I believed this, I would find the selflessness to hand over my work to others and disappear somewhere in the back of the beyond, lamenting how my entire life had been a mistake. But I am not the judge of my own case; there are too many maniacs who are sure that they are doing the right thing, and you cannot prove a case with ardent love, pure intentions, or your entire life. Therefore, I will turn over the accusation to the court of public opinion.
Until the time when the public speaks loudly on the side of the accuser, I will stubbornly follow the path along which I have been traveling.
Until the time when I receive dozens of ardent expressions of sympathy with the accusatory letter, I will persist.
While the number of readers continues to grow—as it is now growing— I will persist.
While Butenev in Constantinople, Kiselev in Rome, and I don't know who in Berlin, Vienna, and Dresden wear themselves out rushing about to viziers and pashas, to ministers' secretaries and cardinals' assistants, asking and begging for the suppression of The Bell and The Polestar, and until the Allgemeine Zeitung and Gerlach's Kreuz-Zeitung stop bewailing the fatal influence of The Bell on the nerves ofPetersburg dignitaries, I will carry on.1
I stand before you in my "hopelessly incorrigible state," as Golitsyn junior characterized me in 1835, when I was being judged by a committee of inquiry.2 Be as strict, cruel, and unjust as you wish, but I ask of you one thing: in the English manner, let us stick to business and leave personalities out of it.
I am prepared to print everything that is possible in terms of quality and quantity.
The "Accusatory Letter" which we have published today differs substantially from previous letters opposing The Bell. In those letters there was a friendly reproach and the kind of friendly indignation in which could be heard a familiar native sound.