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The Bell, No. 221, June 1, 1866. Over the years Herzen had written and published several letters to the tsar (in 1855, on the ascension to the throne; in 1857, in connection with a publication about the Decembrists; and 1865, on the death of the heir), as well as one to the empress in 1858, about the education of the future tsar. Here he includes quota­tions from the three previous letters. Herzen assumes that this will be his final letter to Alexander II, as the expectation of serious political reform from above had faded. He wrote to his son as the issue was going to press that the letter "will create a lot of noise in both camps," and mentioned that he had mailed this issue of The Bell directly to the tsar (Let 4:267). Bakunin objected to the inference that anything beneficial to the people could come from the government, and his misgivings were echoed by other radicals who believed that The Bell was too personal an enterprise and its political orientation determined too much by chance (Let 4:282, 356-57).

A Letter to Emperor Alexander II [1866]

Sovereign,

There was a time when you read The Bell—now you do not read it. Which of the eras was better, the era of liberation and light, or the one of confine­ment and darkness? Your conscience will tell you. But whether or not you read us, you must read this sheet.

You are surrounded by deceit, and there is no honest person who would dare to tell you the truth. Torture is being carried out near you, despite your order, and you do not know this. You are assured that the unfortunate fel­low who shot at you was the instrument of a vast conspiracy, but there was no conspiracy at all, large or small; what they call a conspiracy is the aroused thought and untied tongue of Russia, its intellectual movement, your good name along with the emancipation of the serfs. You are led from one injus­tice to another, you will be led to destruction, if not in this life then in the future light of history. You will, in fact, be led to destruction by conspira­tors—the ones who surround you—not because that is what they wished, but because it is advantageous to them. They will sacrifice you the same way that they now sacrifice hundreds of innocent people of whose innocence they are aware, the way they sacrifice the honor of families, handing out prostitute tickets to honest women.¹

That this cannot please you I am certain, and that is why I resolved to write to you. But this is not enough. Find out the truth for yourself, and carry out your will, as you did at the time of the emancipation.

For the fourth time I have set out along the path that you are traveling, and have stopped on it, in order to turn your attention not to myself but to you.

"People expect from you mildness and a human heart," I wrote when you ascended the throne. "You are exceptionally lucky!" "And they are still waiting—faith in you has been maintained," I added two and a half years later.

Seven years went by, and how much happened during those seven years! I was in the south of France when your son expired. The first news that I heard in Geneva was news of his death. I did not hold back, and, although cursed by many, picked up my pen and wrote you a third letter, in which I said: "Fate has touched you inexorably, dreadfully; in human life there are moments of terrible solemnity. You are at such a moment, so seize it. Stop under the full weight of this blow and think, only without the Senate and the Synod, without ministers and the General Staff, think about what has happened and where you are heading. Decide now, do not await a second blow."

You did not make up your mind. Fate touched you a second time—let them call me crazy and weak, but I am writing to you because it is so dif­ficult for me to abandon the idea that you have been drawn by others to this historical sin, to this terrible injustice that is going on around you.

You cannot wish evil for Russia in return for its love for you. That would be unnatural. Stand up for it at full height, it is exhausted under the weight of slander and frightened by the secret court of law and by obvious arbitrariness.

In all likelihood this is my last letter to you, Sovereign. Read it. Only end­less and agonizing grief about the destruction of youthful, fresh strength under the impure feet of profane old men, having grown mean with their bribes, dirty tricks, and intrigues—only this pain could make me stop you once more on the road and once more raise my voice.

Pay attention, Sovereign, pay attention to matters at hand. Russia has the right to ask that of you.

Iskander

Geneva, May 31, 1866

Note

Source: "Pis'mo k Imperatoru Aleksandru II," Kolokol, l. 22i, June i, i866; i9:8i-82,

392-93.