1865 [1865]
In view of the difficult events of the past two years, we have had to express our opinions on more than one occasion, and, as we embark on a new year, we consider it unnecessary to repeat our creed and our protest.1 We are continuing our path, and not embarking on another.
The Bell will remain what it has been—an organ for the social development of Russia. As before, it will be against everything that hinders that development, and for everything that furthers it.
It is hindered by: military-bureaucratic governance, class-based laws, the ruling clergy, the ignorance of educated people, contradictory ideas, and idolatry of the government to whom everything is sacrificed—the welfare of individuals and the masses, and one's mind and heart. All of this taken together does not smash those foundations, deeply embedded in the life of the people, on which our hope is based. They were not smashed by Tatars, by Germans, by Moscow, or by Petersburg, no matter how much development was hindered, no matter how much it was distorted, sullying the people with unnecessary blood and undeserved filth.
Against these dark forces, which rely on the ignorance of some and the self-interest of others, we will fight as we did before, and, even more than before, we will issue a call for assistance.
It is time to concentrate our thought and our strength, to clarify our goals and take stock of our means.
It is clear that propaganda is splitting in two. On the one hand, there are words, advice, analysis, denunciation, and theory; on the other hand, there is the formation of circles, the organization of communications, and internal and external relations. We will dedicate all our activity, and all our devotion to the first of these. The second cannot take place abroad. It is something we await in the very near future.
Note
Source: "1865," Kolokol, l. 193, January 1, 1865; 18:313, 607-9.
1. For "creed" Herzen uses the ecclesiastical term simvol very.
* 68 ♦
The Bell, No. 197, May 25, 1865, was the first issue published in Geneva, where the Free Press had moved from London. The letter below was written after the death in April of the heir to the throne, Nikolay Alexandrovich. By the time the presses were set up in Switzerland, the shocking news of Lincoln's assassination had also reached Herzen. The more radical Russian emigres disapproved of any conciliatory gesture towards the imperial family, even though Ogaryov assured them it was not in any way an endorsement of the tsar and his current policies. The radicals were adamant about any future changes coming from below, making any direct address to the sovereign irrelevant. In his private correspondence, Herzen characterized the Romanov dynasty as having "come to nothing" (Let 4:121-22, 133-34). Alexander Nikitenko said in his diary that Herzen was in a bad mood because he had not been able to rouse the people with his Bell, and that the public letter was "the height of indecency" and not even very clever (Let 4:187).
A Letter to Emperor Alexander II [1865]
Sovereign, fate has touched you inexorably, dreadfully. It has reminded you in a formidable way that, despite the anointing, neither you nor your family are exempt from the general law, but are subject to it. Twice it has taken note of your family, once with the cutting edge of the scythe and once more with its dull side—the death of your son and the strange rumors concerning his brother.1
To the limitless number of Polish families who have been subjected to the deepest grief, having lost their sons, can be added one more family in mourning—your family, Sovereign. Your family is more fortunate than theirs, since no one will insult your grief. Among those of us who oppose your power, not one heartless scoundrel can be found who would accompany your son's casket with insults, who would wish to rip the mourning veils from his mother or sister, or who would remove the body and the tombstone in the presence of the tearful parents. all things that Muravyov has done and is still doing in Poland.
In the life of man there are moments of terrible solemnity, in which a person awakens from his daily cares, stands at full height, shakes off the dust, and is renewed. A believer does this with prayer, and a non-believer with thought. These moments are rare and irretrievable. Woe to the person who lets them go absentmindedly and without a trace! You are living in such a moment, Sovereign—seize it. Stop under the full weight of this blow, with the fresh wound on your chest, and think—without the Senate and the Synod, without ministers and the General Staff—think about what has happened, and where you are heading.
If the death of your son cannot rouse you and wrench you from the spectral environment in which your birth placed you, then what could possibly arouse you? Only being deprived of the throne, i.e., with the emptiness and melancholy leisure that inevitably accompanies a loss of this kind. However, such a late awakening might be good for you, but would be of no use for others. And these others, when one is speaking of you, are the entire Russian people. This is what compelled me to persist in writing to you once more.
My first letter to you was not written in vain.2 An involuntary shout of joy, torn from the depths of voluntary exile, had an effect on you. For a moment you forgot that by rank I had no right to speak with you.
The language of a free man was something new for you. In its sharp words you understood its sincerity and love for Russia—at that point you had not sent utopias off to hard labor, and were not tying human thought to a pillory. This was the honeymoon of your reign, and it concluded with the greatest act of your entire dynasty—the emancipation of the serfs.
The conquering Galilean, you were unable to make use of your victory. You didn't know how to stand firm on that height, on which the manifesto of February i9 had placed you. Your hesitancy was noticed, bad people surrounded you, and you were distracted. and you left your pedestal by the light of some sort of burning marketplace, placing your reliance on the secret police and an obviously corrupted journalism.3 Believing the absurd slander, you took fright, not suspecting that this was just slander, even when your inquisition and inquisitors, working up a sweat for an entire year, with a breadth of resources and the irresponsibility enjoyed by the Russian police, did not come up with even one guilty person.