At first our new visitors cheered us with a ccounts of the movement in Petersburg, of the savage antics of the full-fledged reaction, of trials and persecutions, of university and literary parties. Then, when all this had been told with the rapidity with which in such cases men hasten to tell all they know, a pause, a hiatus would follow ; our conversations became dull and monotonous.
'Can this,' I thought, 'actually be old age divorcing two generations? Is it the chill induced by years, by weariness, by ordeals?'
\Vhatever it might be due to, I felt that with the arrival of these new men our horizon was not widened but narrowed. The scope of our conversations was more limited. Sometimes we had nothing to say to one another. They were occupied with the details of tht>ir coteries, beyond which nothing interested them.
Having once related everything of intPrest about them, there was nothing to do but to repeat it, and they did repeat it. They took little interest in learning or in public affairs; they even read little, and did not follow the newspapers regularly. Absorbed in mPmoriPs and expectations, they did not care to step forth into other fields; while we had not air to breathe in that stifling atmosphere. \Ve had been spoiled by different dimensions and were smothered.
Moreover, even if they did know a certain stratum in Petersburg, tlwy did not know Russia at all and, though sincerely desirous of corning into contact with the people, they only approached them bookishly and theoretically.
\Vhat \Ve had in common was too general. Advance together, serve, as the French say, take action together \Ye might, but it was hard to stand sti ll with a rms folded and live together. It was useless even to think of a serious influence on them. A morbid and very unc('remonious vanity had long ago taken the bit betwepn its tt>eth.3 Sometimes, it is true, they did ask for a
:I Tlwir ,·anity was not so m uch gn•at as it was touchy and irritable'. and abon• all. unn•strainPd in \vords. Tlwv could conc<'al nPithPr thPir Pnvv nor a spPciill kind of punctilious insi�tPnce on rPSJH'Clful rPcognition �f tlw position thPy ascrihPrl to th('lllSPi n•s. At thP samp tinw tiH'Y look('(!
down on PYPrything awl \\'!'rP pPrp<•tually jPPring at onl' anothPr. which
"·as why tlwi1· friPndships ll<'YPr lasted longpr than a month.
The Free Russian Press and "The Bell"
557
programme, for guidance, but for all their sincerity there was no reality about this. They expected us to formulate their own opinions, and only assented when what we said did not contradict them in the least. They looked upon us as respected veterans, as something past and over, and were naively surprised that we were not yet so very much behind themselves.
I have always and in everything feared 'above all sorrows,'
mesalliances; I have always tolerated them, partly through humanity, partly through carelessness, and have always suffered
-
from them.
It was not hard to foresee that our new ties would not last long, that sooner or later they would be broken and that, considering the churlish character of our new friends, this rupture would not come off without disagreeable consequences.
The question upon which our rickety relationship came to grief was just that old question through which acquaintances tacked together with rotten threads usually come apart. I mean money. Knowing absolutely nothing of my resources nor of my sacrifices, they made demands upon me which I did not think i t right to satisfy. I f I had been able, through all our reverses, without the slightest assistance, to conduct the Russian propaganda for fifteen years, it was only because I had put a careful limit to my other expenses. My new acquaintances considered that all I was doing was not enough, and looked with indignation at a man who gave himself out for a socialist and did not distribute his property in equal shares among people who wanted money without working. Obviously they had not advanced beyond the impractical point of view of Christian charity and voluntary poverty, and mistook that for practical socialism.
The attempts to collect a 'Common Fund' yielded no results of importance. Russians are not fond of giving money to any common cause, unless it includes the building of a church, a banquet, a drinking-party and the approval of the higher authorities.
When the impecuniosity of the exiles was at its height, a rumour circulated among them that I had a sum of money entrusted to me for the purposes of propaganda.
It seemed perfectly right to the young people to relieve me of it.
To make the position clear, I must relate a certain strange incident that occurred in the year 1 857. One morning I received a very brief note from an unknown Russian; hP wrote to me that he 'urgently needed to see me,' and asked me to fix a time.
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558
I happened to be going to London at the time, and so instead of answering I went myself to the Sablonniere Hotel and inquired for him. He was at home. He was a young man who looked like a cadet, shy, very depressed, and with the peculiar rather rough-hewn appearance of the seventh or eighth son of a steppe landowner. Very uncommunicative, he was almost completely silent; it was evident that he had something on his mind, but he could not come to the point of putting it into words.
I \vent away, inviting him to dinner two or three days later.
Before that date I met him in the street.
'May I walk with you?' he asked.
'Of course ; there is no danger for me in being seen with you, though there is for you in being seen with me. But London is a big place.'
'I am not afraid'-and then all at once, taking the bit between his teeth, he hurriedly burst out: 'I shall never go back to Russia-no, no, I certainly shall not go back to Russia . . . .'
'Upon my word, and you so young?'
'I love Russia-! love it dearly; but there the people . . . I cannot live there. I want to found a colony on completely socialistic principles; I have thought it all over, and now I am going straight there.'
'Straight where?'
"To the Marquesas Islands.'
I looked at him in dumb amazement.
'Yes, yes; it is all settled. I am sailing by the next steamer, and so I am very glad that I have met you to-day-may I put an indiscreet question to you?'
'As many as you like.'
'Do you make any profit out of your publications? '
'Profit! I am glad to say that now the press pays its way.'
'\Veil, but what if it should not?'
' I shall make it up.'
'So that no sort of commercial aim enters into your propaganda? '
I laughed heartily.
'\Veil, but how a z·e you going to pay it off alone? And your propaganda is essential. Please forgive me ; I am not asking out of curiosity: \vhen I left Russia for ever, I had the thought in my mind of doing something useful for our country, and I de(ided
. . . well, I only wanted to know first from yourself about finances . . . yes, I decided to leave a small sum of money with you. Should your printing-press need it, or the Russian propagancla generally, then it would be at your disposal.'
Again I had to look at him in amazement.