الفصل الفصل 338 · 第338章

Seven years had passed. The storm-tossed sea of European history had

subsided within its shores and seemed to have become calm. But the

mysterious forces that move humanity (mysterious because the laws of

their motion are unknown to us) continued to operate.

Though the surface of the sea of history seemed motionless, the movement

of humanity went on as unceasingly as the flow of time. Various groups

of people formed and dissolved, the coming formation and dissolution of

kingdoms and displacement of peoples was in course of preparation.

The sea of history was not driven spasmodically from shore to shore as

previously. It was seething in its depths. Historic figures were not

borne by the waves from one shore to another as before. They now seemed

to rotate on one spot. The historical figures at the head of armies,

who formerly reflected the movement of the masses by ordering wars,

campaigns, and battles, now reflected the restless movement by political

and diplomatic combinations, laws, and treaties.

The historians call this activity of the historical figures “the

reaction.”

In dealing with this period they sternly condemn the historical

personages who, in their opinion, caused what they describe as the

reaction. All the well-known people of that period, from Alexander and

Napoleon to Madame de Staël, Photius, Schelling, Fichte, Chateaubriand,

and the rest, pass before their stern judgment seat and are acquitted or

condemned according to whether they conduced to progress or to reaction.

According to their accounts a reaction took place at that time in Russia

also, and the chief culprit was Alexander I, the same man who according

to them was the chief cause of the liberal movement at the commencement

of his reign, being the savior of Russia.

There is no one in Russian literature now, from schoolboy essayist to

learned historian, who does not throw his little stone at Alexander for

things he did wrong at this period of his reign.

“He ought to have acted in this way and in that way. In this case he did

well and in that case badly. He behaved admirably at the beginning of

his reign and during 1812, but acted badly by giving a constitution

to Poland, forming the Holy Alliance, entrusting power to Arakchéev,

favoring Golítsyn and mysticism, and afterwards Shishkóv and Photius.

He also acted badly by concerning himself with the active army and

disbanding the Semënov regiment.”

It would take a dozen pages to enumerate all the reproaches the

historians address to him, based on their knowledge of what is good for

humanity.

What do these reproaches mean?

Do not the very actions for which the historians praise Alexander I

(the liberal attempts at the beginning of his reign, his struggle with

Napoleon, the firmness he displayed in 1812 and the campaign of 1813)

flow from the same sources—the circumstances of his birth, education,

and life—that made his personality what it was and from which the

actions for which they blame him (the Holy Alliance, the restoration of

Poland, and the reaction of 1820 and later) also flowed?

In what does the substance of those reproaches lie?

It lies in the fact that an historic character like Alexander I,

standing on the highest possible pinnacle of human power with the

blinding light of history focused upon him; a character exposed to those

strongest of all influences: the intrigues, flattery, and self-deception

inseparable from power; a character who at every moment of his life

felt a responsibility for all that was happening in Europe; and not

a fictitious but a live character who like every man had his personal

habits, passions, and impulses toward goodness, beauty, and truth—that

this character—though not lacking in virtue (the historians do not

accuse him of that)—had not the same conception of the welfare of

humanity fifty years ago as a present-day professor who from his

youth upwards has been occupied with learning: that is, with books and

lectures and with taking notes from them.

But even if we assume that fifty years ago Alexander I was mistaken in

his view of what was good for the people, we must inevitably assume that

the historian who judges Alexander will also after the lapse of some

time turn out to be mistaken in his view of what is good for humanity.

This assumption is all the more natural and inevitable because, watching

the movement of history, we see that every year and with each new

writer, opinion as to what is good for mankind changes; so that what

once seemed good, ten years later seems bad, and vice versa. And what is

more, we find at one and the same time quite contradictory views as to

what is bad and what is good in history: some people regard giving a

constitution to Poland and forming the Holy Alliance as praiseworthy in

Alexander, while others regard it as blameworthy.

The activity of Alexander or of Napoleon cannot be called useful or

harmful, for it is impossible to say for what it was useful or harmful.

If that activity displeases somebody, this is only because it does

not agree with his limited understanding of what is good. Whether the

preservation of my father’s house in Moscow, or the glory of the Russian

arms, or the prosperity of the Petersburg and other universities, or the

freedom of Poland or the greatness of Russia, or the balance of power in

Europe, or a certain kind of European culture called “progress” appear

to me to be good or bad, I must admit that besides these things the

action of every historic character has other more general purposes

inaccessible to me.

But let us assume that what is called science can harmonize all

contradictions and possesses an unchanging standard of good and bad by

which to try historic characters and events; let us say that Alexander

could have done everything differently; let us say that with guidance

from those who blame him and who profess to know the ultimate aim of the

movement of humanity, he might have arranged matters according to

the program his present accusers would have given him—of nationality,

freedom, equality, and progress (these, I think, cover the ground). Let

us assume that this program was possible and had then been formulated,

and that Alexander had acted on it. What would then have become of the

activity of all those who opposed the tendency that then prevailed in

the government—an activity that in the opinion of the historians was

good and beneficent? Their activity would not have existed: there would

have been no life, there would have been nothing.

If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, the possibility of

life is destroyed.