Chapter I: Introduction (1)

Herzen’s own story of his life as a connected narrative breaks off with his arrival in London in 1852. A full description of his later years is given in the Reminiscences of Madame Ogaryov-Tutchkov, from which the following extracts are taken. As the latter is the central figure in the picture of those years, some account of her is essential.

Natalya Alexyevna Tutchkov was born in 1827, and came of a distinguished family. Her grandfather and his four brothers were highly cultured men, remarkable for their gifts and their character. Her father was a friend of the Decembrists, was slightly implicated in the conspiracy, and was for a time under arrest. When released, he settled on his estate in the province of Penza, where he was elected Marshal of Nobility and did much good work for the welfare of the peasants and the administration of the district. His two daughters, Elena and Natalie, had a happy childhood. In 1846 Ogaryov, an old friend of their father’s, came, after seven years’ absence, to his estate near the Tutchkovs. He saw a great deal of them, and the young girls became very fond of him. In 1847 the Tutchkovs went abroad, and Ogaryov gave them a letter of introduction to the Herzens, who were at that time in Rome.

The Herzens welcomed them warmly, and Natalie Herzen and Natalie Tutchkov became deeply attached to each other. Natalie Herzen called the young girl ‘Consuelo di mia alma,’ and many of her letters are addressed to her. She is said to have expressed a wish that in case of her death Natalie Tutchkov should have charge of her children.

After the happy time in Italy they all returned together to Paris, where they witnessed the terrible days of June 1848. Herzen (volume iv. pp. 11-13) describes the mournful parting between his wife and her ‘Consuelo’; the Tutchkovs went home to their estate in Penza, where Ogaryov was a frequent visitor. His affection for Natalya Alexyevna soon passed into love, and he tried to obtain a divorce from his first wife, Marya Lvovna, _née_ Roslavlov, who had left him several years before, and was living in Paris with the well-known painter, Vorobyev, but out of spite she refused to release him. In the end Natalie Tutchkov decided to dispense with the legal ceremony, and in 1850 settled with Ogaryov as his wife. In those days such a step required a good deal of courage, and her parents were greatly distressed, though they, like every one else, indeed, had a warm affection for Ogaryov. Not long afterwards Marya Lvovna died, and the Ogaryovs were legally married.

Herzen had, on his first arrival in London in 1852, settled near Primrose Hill with his son Sasha (Alexander), a boy of twelve, and his friend Haug. The latter had quarrelled and left him by 1854. The two girls, ‘Tata’ (Natalie) and Olga, had joined him with their governess, Malwide von Meysenbug, an excellent woman, well known in her own day as the authoress of _Memoirs of an Idealist_, but now remembered only for her correspondence with Nietzsche and Wagner.

Herzen repeatedly wrote to Ogaryov, begging him to come to London. At last Ogaryov, who had been living since his marriage in the province of Simbirsk, where he had a paper-mill, decided to go to England. It took him some time to obtain permission to leave Russia, but “on April the 9th, 1856,” Madame Ogaryov writes,

“we crossed from Ostend to Dover on a very rough sea; it was
all I could do not to be ill. Ogaryov is a very good sailor.
When at last the steamer came to a standstill before the dark,
endless cliffs of Dover, dimly visible through the thick yellow
fog, my heart sank: I felt everything about me somehow strange
and cold; the unfamiliar language ... everything overwhelmed me
and made me think of my home and my family so far away.... We
found our luggage, took a cab and drove to the station; there
we hardly had time to have our things put in and to take our
seats when the train moved off with incredible swiftness—it was
an express: the objects beside the line flashed by, making an
unpleasant impression on unaccustomed eyes. I was vexed that
we had not managed to get breakfast. It was so important for
Ogaryov, who might easily have had an attack from exhaustion
and impatience to see his friend.[1] Four hours later we saw
London—grand, gloomy, for ever wrapped in a fog, like a muslin
veil—London, the finest city I had ever seen. We hurriedly got
into a cab and set off to seek Herzen at the address given us
by Dr. Pikulin: Chomley Lodge, Richmond. But a cab is not an
express train, and we needed all our store of patience; at last
we arrived in Richmond; in spite of the rain, the place made
a great impression on me; it was buried in verdure, even the
houses were covered with ivy, wild vines, and other creepers;
in the distance we caught sight of a magnificent immense park;
I had never seen anything like it! The cab stopped at the gate
of Chomley Lodge; the cabman, muffled up in a great-coat, with
a number of collars each wider than the one above it, gave
a loud ring at the bell. A woman came out; scanning us with
evident curiosity, for we probably looked very different from
Londoners, she bowed very civilly to us. To Ogaryov’s enquiry
whether Mr. Herzen was living here, she replied with alacrity:

‘Yes, yes, Mr. Herzen used to live here, but he moved a long
time ago.’

‘Where to?’ Ogaryov asked dejectedly.

‘Where is he now?’ she rejoined. ‘Oh, a long way from here;
I’ll fetch you the address.’

She went off, and returned with the address on a scrap of
paper. Ogaryov read, Peterborough Villa, No. 21 Finchley Road,
London. The cabman bent over the paper and evidently read it
for his own benefit.

‘Oh ... oh!’ he said, shaking his head, ‘I’ll drive you back to
London, and there you must take another cab, my horse wouldn’t
get so far, it’s at the opposite end of the town, and he’s
tired already, here and back again’s a tidy journey.’

We sighed disconsolately and accepted his decisions without
protest. When we were back in London Ogaryov owned that he
would be glad to have a hasty meal, while our luggage was being
transferred to another cab; and we succeeded in obtaining
something to eat. Then we got into the second cab and drove
off again on the hard resounding road; we did not talk on the
way, but looked anxiously out of window, only from time to
time exchanging the same thought: ‘What if he is not there
either?’ At last we arrived. The cabman climbed down from
the box and rang the bell. We had a view of No. 21 above the
gate; the neat, prosaic brick house stood in the middle of a
flower-garden, surrounded by a high stone wall with bits of
broken glass on the top of it; the wall made the little garden
look like a deep bath. Herzen could not bear it and never sat
in the garden. The cook, François, a little, bald, middle-aged
Italian, opened the door of the house, looked at our trunks,
and closed it again; probably he was going to tell his master
of what he had seen. The impatient cabman rang again more
loudly. This time François came out briskly, ran down to the
garden gate, gave us a careless bow, and said in French:

‘_Monsieur pas à la maison._’

‘How annoying!’ Ogaryov answered quietly in French, and he
gave me his hand to step out of the cab, then bade the cabman
lift down the luggage and carry it into the house; then he
asked him his fare and paid it. François followed us in great
perturbation. In the hall Ogaryov turned to François and asked:

‘Where are the children?’

Herzen was standing at the top of the stairs. Hearing Ogaryov’s
voice, he ran down like a boy of twenty and rushed to embrace
him, then he turned to me. ‘Yes, Consuelo?’ he said, and kissed
me too.

At the sight of the general rejoicing, François at last
recovered; at first he stood thunderstruck, thinking the
Russians were taking the house by storm.

At Herzen’s summons the children appeared with their governess,
Malwide von Meysenbug. The younger, Olga, a little girl with
regular features, seemed lively and somewhat spoilt; the elder
girl, about eleven, was rather like her mother in her dark-grey
eyes, the shape of her forehead, and her thick eyebrows and
hair, though this was fairer than her mother’s. There was a
rather diffident, forlorn look in her face. She could not
readily express herself in Russian, and so was shy of speaking.
Later on she liked talking Russian to me at bedtime, and I
used often to sit by her little bed while we talked of her
dear mother. Herzen’s son, Alexander, a lad of seventeen, was
delighted to see us. He was at that stage when boyhood is over,
but the youth is not yet a young man. Until he left London, I
was like an elder sister to him, the friend to whom he confided
all that was in his heart.

For the first days after our arrival in London Herzen bade
François admit no visitors whatever; even the presence of
Malwide was irksome to him: he wanted to talk with us of all
that had been aching in his heart these last two years; he told
us all the details of the terrible blows he had endured, told
us of his wife’s illness and death.

Often the children or Malwide came in and interrupted our
conversation, and he preferred to begin talking when they had
all gone to bed, so we spent several nights without sleep, and
the dawn found us still up. I was only anxious on Ogaryov’s
account, but it could not be helped. Afterwards, when he had
relieved his heart and shared his sorrowful memories with us,
Herzen regained his liveliness and activity. He went about
London with us, showing us what had struck him at first,
among other things the London public-houses, where people sat
partitioned off from each other like horses in stalls, and the
markets on Saturday nights lighted up by torches, where only
the poor make their purchases, and where we heard on all sides:
‘Buy, buy, buy!’

A few days after our arrival, a little lodging, consisting of
two rooms, was found for us with a Mrs. Bruce, a few steps from
Herzen’s house.... We were very comfortable with that worthy
woman, but we spent the greater part of our time at Herzen’s.
There we met _émigrés_ from almost every part of Europe; there
were Frenchmen, Germans, Italians, Poles, but at that time
only one Russian, Ivan Ivanovitch Savitch, a cousin of the
Savitch who suffered for his political views, I believe, when
Herzen was a student; that is, many years before. Yet Ivan
Ivanovitch, simply because he was his cousin, felt that he was
under suspicion, and so was afraid to return to Russia. He had
suffered great hardships and privations, but when we arrived he
had work as a private teacher, and rarely asked for help from
Herzen, who assisted all the _émigrés_ indiscriminately....”

“Soon after our arrival the news came that the daring
revolutionary, Orsini, had escaped from an Austrian prison and
would soon be in London.... A few days afterwards Herzen, on
returning from his daily excursion into town, told us that
Orsini had arrived, that he had seen him, and that Orsini would
be dining with us next day. I had heard so much about him that
I looked forward with interest to seeing him.

We were by then living at Herzen’s; this is how it came to
pass. One day Ogaryov and Herzen had gone to town together,
and I was alone in my lodging. Suddenly Miss Mills, the old
housemaid, appeared with Herzen’s two little girls. The elder,
Natasha, with a happy face, threw her arms round my neck and
said: ‘She has gone and taken all her things.’ Miss Mills told
me that Fräulein Meysenbug had left the house. I could make
nothing of it and went back with the children; we were met by
their brother Alexander. He looked distressed, picked up little
Olga and kissed her; his eyes were full of tears.

‘What is it for? what is it for?’ he said.

Herzen was quite incensed at this typically German proceeding.

‘She might have explained and talked things over,’ he said.

Nothing would induce him to go and ask her to come back.

She lived henceforward in lodgings, and we moved into Herzen’s
house and said good-bye for ever to our dear Mrs. Bruce.

But to return to Orsini. He arrived at the hour fixed. He was a
typical Italian: tall, with black hair and eyes, with a small
black beard and regular but rather marked features. Most likely
he was even handsomer in Italian military uniform, but in
London he was in a frock-coat, and he wore it with the peculiar
_chic_ with which all military men wear civilian dress. When
he talked, he impressed one by his extraordinary earnestness,
vivacity, and fervour, and at the same time by knowing where to
draw the line and avoid saying more than he meant to. I asked
him about his escape from prison, and he readily told me what
he could....”

“I remember that we spent not more than six months at
Peterborough Villa. Herzen was fond of changing from one house,
and even from one neighbourhood, to another:[2] he soon became
aware of all the inconveniences of any house he had taken, and
could not bear seeing the same faces in the omnibuses that
plied backwards and forwards between the centre of the city and
the suburb. Peterborough Villa had besides a great drawback.
It was not a detached house, but was joined by a party wall to
another next door to it. On Sundays various circles gathered
at our house: Czernecki and Tchorszewski invariably, Germans,
Italians, Frenchmen. Sometimes one of them would bring a new
casual visitor. Gradually they all grew lively, some one would
begin playing the piano, sometimes they sang in chorus. The
children, too, took part in the singing, and soon there would
be laughter and an uproar of merriment. Then a knocking at the
wall would remind us that it was highly reprehensible to spend
a Sunday like this in England. That used to make Herzen very
indignant, and he would declare that there was no living in
England except in a house standing quite apart and alone. He
commissioned his friend Saffi, who often took long walks in the
remoter parts of the town, to look out for a detached house for
him. When Saffi at last found Tinkler’s or Laurel House (it was
called by both names), he invited Herzen to go over it with
him, and they were both very much pleased with it.

Laurel House was in every respect the opposite of Peterborough
Villa. With its iron roof painted red, it looked more like an
English farm than a town house, and on the side next the garden
it was entirely covered with greenery; ivy twined from the
bottom to the top of its walls; in front of the house there was
a big oval lawn with little paths round it; there were bushes
of lilac, fragrant syringa, and other flowering shrubs on all
sides; there were masses of flowers, and there was even a
little greenhouse.

Dear house, how happy we were in it, and how rapidly and
successfully all that made the life of the two friends
developed in it!

Every day Herzen’s elder daughter and I used to gather two
nosegays, putting a big fragrant white lily in the middle; one
was for the drawing-room, the other for Ogaryov’s room....”

“We moved into our new abode and settled in happily. Herzen
could go into London by rail, the station was only a few paces
away. And when he was too late for the train, he could take the
omnibus which went from Putney Bridge to the City every ten
minutes.

Herzen used to get up at six in the morning, which is very
early for London habits; but, not expecting the same early
rising from the servants, he used to read for some hours in
his study. He read for a little while, too, when he went to
bed; and we sat up till after eleven, sometimes even later, so
that he had hardly six hours’ sleep. After dinner, as a rule,
he was at home, and then he usually read aloud something from
history or literature within the grasp of his elder girl, and,
when she had gone to bed, he read aloud books suitable for his
son’s age. Herzen followed every new scientific discovery and
read everything new in the literary way that appeared in any
European country or in America.

At nine o’clock in the morning coffee was served in the
dining-room. Herzen used to drink a whole glass of very strong
coffee, in which he would put a tablespoonful of cream; he
liked very good coffee. Then he read _The Times_, made his
own deductions, and told us various bits of news. He did not
like the politics of _The Times_, but thought it essential to
read it. Then he went into the drawing-room, where he worked
without a break till lunch. Between one and two there was
lunch, consisting of two dishes, almost always cold meat and
something left from the previous day’s dinner. A jug of pale
ale and a little claret or sherry stood on the table. Herzen
was very fond of pale ale and drank it every day. Ogaryov was
always late in the morning; by the time that he came down to
the dining-room Herzen had always left it. But at lunch we all
gathered together, the door was thrown open into the garden,
and the children ran off to play in the open air. Then the
friends talked of their work, of the articles they had to
write, and so on. Sometimes one of them brought a finished
article and read it aloud.

One day, soon after we had moved into Laurel House, Ogaryov
said to Herzen after lunch, in my presence: ‘You know,
Alexandr, the _Polar Star_ and your _Past and Thoughts_ are all
very good, but that’s not what’s wanted; it’s not talking with
our own people; we ought to bring out a journal regularly, once
a fortnight, or once a month; we could state our views, our
hopes for Russia, and so on.’

Herzen was delighted with the idea. ‘Yes,’ he cried eagerly,
‘we will bring out a journal, we will name it the _Bell_, the
bell that calls men to council, we two together just as we were
only two together on the Sparrow Hills—and who knows, perhaps
some one will answer our call!’

From that day they began getting ready articles for the _Bell_;
soon afterwards the first number of the Russian paper appeared
in London. Trübner, who always bought Herzen’s works, or took
them on commission, took the _Bell_ also. He sent it about in
all directions, and soon it was heard of even in Russia. About
that time Turgenev arrived from Paris. Ogaryov and Herzen told
him the joyful tidings, and showed him the first number of the
_Bell_, but Turgenev did not at all approve of the plan. As a
refined writer with rare gifts and exceptionally elegant taste,
he was delighted at the publication of the _Polar Star_ and _My
Past and Thoughts_, but, never in close sympathy with political
views and movements, he refused to believe that two men living
isolated in England could carry on a real correspondence with
their far-away country, could find in themselves anything to
tell or could understand its needs.

‘No, it’s impossible,’ said Turgenev; ‘give up this fantastic
notion, don’t waste your energies; you have plenty of work as
it is, the _Polar Star_ and _My Past and Thoughts_, and there
are only you two.’

‘Well, the thing is begun now, and we must go on with it,’ they
answered.

‘It won’t and can’t be a success, and literature will lose a
great deal,’ Turgenev protested hotly.

But the friends did not take his advice, whether from a
presentiment that the _Bell_ would rouse many from their
slumber and find contributors, or from simple obstinacy, I
cannot say.

With Turgenev, Vassily Petrovitch Botkin, author of the
_Letters from Spain_, came to see us. I knew something of
him from Herzen’s description and from the sketch ‘Basil and
Armance,’[3] but I must own that he seemed to me more eccentric
than I had expected. He could speak of nothing without
theatrical affectation, and was, moreover, a great gourmand,
and moved, one may say, to tenderness at the sight of dishes
which he particularly liked. He presented a complete contrast
to our household, in which no one cared enough even to order
the daily dinner. François himself chose the menu and cooked
the dinner for eight o’clock in the evening. When anything was
particularly nice we all praised it, but no one except Herzen
criticised the cooking, and he only very rarely.

After lunch Herzen and Ogaryov went off, each in accordance
with his tastes and inclinations. Herzen would go by train
or omnibus as far as the crowded streets, and there stroll
about, looking at the brightly lighted shop windows, and he
watched and observed a great deal that went on in the street.
He went into different coffee-houses, generally asked for a
tiny glass of absinthe and a syphon of Seltzer water, and
read there newspapers of all kinds.... He often brought home
with him savouries or sauces, the choice of which he did not
care to leave to François’ taste. Often, too, he brought us
something we particularly liked, a lobster, or a special
cheese, occasionally curaçao, or sweet things for the children,
crystallised fruits or dried cherries. When he was in a very
good humour, he liked to make us all guess whom he had met in
London. I could read his mobile, expressive features so well
that I could always tell; and so he would exclude me, and I was
always left to guess last.

When Ogaryov went out of our peaceful suburb, Fulham, he
tried to find still more solitary places for his walks. He
lived in his inner life, people worried him, but he was fond
of them in his own way, was particularly compassionate and
excessively kind to every one. Instinctively he held aloof from
his fellow-men; but when chance threw him into contact with
them, he was so good-hearted and unconstrained that none of the
people who talked to him imagined how oppressive they all were
to him. Herzen, on the contrary, was fond of people, and though
he was sometimes irritated if some one came at the wrong time,
his interest was quickly aroused and he was glad to see them.
Company was necessary to him, he was only afraid of bores.

On Sunday everything in England is locked up. The whole of
London is transformed into a sort of huge cupboard; shops,
bakeries, coffee-houses, restaurants, even the milkshops, are
closed. Silence reigns in the streets, the only movement is in
the parks, and even there it is not like week-days. Here and
there in the distance one sees preachers surrounded by dense
crowds of people listening with strained attention in unbroken
silence. The children walk decorously, not one bowls a hoop
nor tosses a ball in the air—and all this irritated Herzen.
He did not like going out on Sundays, and was obliged to keep
in hiding from the unceremonious visitors who called all day
long from early morning. On such days he stayed longer at work,
while the two elder children and I entertained the boring
visitors in the garden. Little by little more interesting
people began to arrive, the bell never stopped ringing;
then Herzen at last joined us. When he came out everything
was transformed and animated; there was a continual flow of
entertaining talk, discussion and interesting news, mostly
political. He was for his circle what the sun is for nature. As
a rule he had extremely good health.... Once he caught a very
bad chill and had a high temperature and shooting pain in his
side; both Ogaryov and I were much alarmed and sent at once for
our doctor and friend, the exile Deville. The latter was very
fond of Herzen, and came several times a day while he was ill,
but in less than a week the patient was on his legs again.”

“At that period so many Russians came that the servants were
constantly making mistakes; at last Herzen arranged that
all newcomers should be shown into the other half of the
drawing-room, where I saw them and learned who they were, how
long they were to be in London, and so on. Those who had come
only for a day or two on purpose to deliver manuscripts, had to
see him at once, for they always had a great deal they wanted
to tell him by word of mouth.... When people arrived who were
already known to him personally, or through their works, Herzen
was overjoyed, and gladly left his work for their sakes; in
such cases I called him to see them at once, but as a rule I
gave him the visitor’s name, etc., and then asked them to come
when he was at leisure, that is, at two or three o’clock in the
afternoon. Then after sitting a little with his visitors, he
would suggest going with them into London, for he needed fresh
air and exercise after his sedentary work.

Herzen used to try to keep Russians away on Sundays, for
we sometimes had so many visitors on that day that it was
impossible to be sure that no spy made his way in with them.
But it was not easy to induce the Russians to be careful;
they often would come on Sundays all the same, and were often
unnecessarily open with everybody, mentioning their own
surnames, though all of us made it a rule when introducing
visitors from Russia to Poles or other Russians, to say: ‘Our
fellow-countryman whose name I have forgotten, or I have not
heard,’ and when introducing them to foreigners, we said: ‘Un
compatriote, le nom de famille est trop difficile à prononcer,
trop barbare pour les oreilles occidentales, appelez-le par le
nom de baptême—M. Alexandre,’ or some Christian name.

I believe that not a single person came to harm through
carelessness on the part of Herzen or any of his household. He
always refused to give a note in his own handwriting addressed
to anybody in Russia, and did not like giving his portrait,
maintaining that to do so was unnecessary imprudence.

Unhappily I cannot say the same for Bakunin; later on, when he
came to London, he was guilty of thoughtless actions which had
deplorable consequences; he was like a child playing with fire.”

“One day a short, rather lame Russian came to see Herzen, who
had a great deal of conversation with him. Now that he is no
longer in this world I may reveal a secret known only to me,
I may tell the reason which brought him to London. After his
first visit Herzen said to Ogaryov and me: ‘I am very glad N.
has come, he has brought us a treasure, only not a word must
be said about it in his lifetime. Look, Ogaryov,’ Herzen went
on, handing him a manuscript, ‘it’s the Memoirs of Catherine
the Second, written by her in French; look at the spelling of
the period; it’s an authentic copy.’ By the time the Memoirs of
Catherine were published, N. was in Germany. From Germany he
wrote to Herzen that he would like to translate these Memoirs
into Russian. Herzen was delighted to send him a copy, and a
month later the translation was published by Czernecki; I don’t
remember who translated the book into German and English, I
only know that the Memoirs of Catherine the Second appeared
simultaneously in four languages and made an extraordinary
sensation throughout Europe. The editions were quickly
exhausted. Many people maintained that Herzen had written the
Memoirs himself, others were puzzled to think how they came
into Herzen’s hands. Efforts were made to discover who had
brought them from Russia, but that was a secret known only to
N. himself and three other persons who had been trained to
silence under Nicholas the First.

I forgot to say when speaking of Herzen’s character, that he
was very impressionable. Though as a rule of a serene and
at times even gay and mirthful disposition, he was apt to
become suddenly gloomy if anything disagreeable happened. Such
depression was frequently caused by his carelessness, which
grew upon him in the trifling affairs of daily life; he was
very precise in business, and never forgot anything relating
to the printing-press, to money matters, or to any questions
affecting people. When he set off after lunch to London he
would think he had remembered everything; his letters and his
proofs were ready—he would say good-bye, looking cheerful, but
five minutes later there would be a terrific ring at the bell:
this was Herzen back again with a gloomy face and a voice of
exasperation. ‘I have forgotten everything,’ he would say in
despair, ‘and now the train will be gone before I can get back
to the station.’

‘Well, go by the omnibus, then,’ his son would tell him, unable
to help smiling at his despair.

We all rushed to look for what was lost, ran to the
drawing-room where he had been writing, or to his own room,
and sometimes came back unsuccessful; no letters, no proofs!
Occasionally it turned out that they were in his pocket;
unluckily, he had so many pockets in his coat and in the cloak
which he wore over it to keep off the London dust; then Herzen,
more wrathful than ever, would have to cross Fulham Bridge to
the omnibus office, and just as he approached it would see one
going off, and have to wait there ten minutes for the next.”

“At Laurel House Ogaryov and I once got up some theatricals for
the children.... I made two red shirts for Herzen and Ogaryov.
Sasha put on a fur-lined coat inside out to represent a bear,
and Ogaryov, in a red shirt, was the bear-leader. The red shirt
was very becoming to him. With his big fair beard and curly
head he looked a typical Russian peasant. On the other hand,
the red shirt did not suit Herzen at all, he looked like a
foreigner in it. Not supposing that he would mind, I blurted
this out, and Herzen would never put on the red shirt again.”

[Somewhere about 1856 Herzen sent his son, who had been a brilliant student of natural science in London, winning a silver and then a gold medal in examinations, to Geneva to study under his old friend, Karl Vogt. After six months in Geneva, the young man entered the University of Berne, and there lived in the family of old Professor Vogt. In 1859 Herzen’s cousin,[4] Madame Passek, visited Berne and saw the young student there. She writes:]

“In Berne we stopped for a few days at the Hôtel au Faucon,
and at once sent a note to Alexandr’s son, who was about to
take his final in medicine at the University of Berne, and was
living in the family of Professor Vogt, a man greatly respected
by every one. A few minutes later he arrived; he was a young
man with long fair hair, kind, pleasant face, and blue eyes
like his mother’s. He had left Russia as a child of seven, but
had not forgotten us; he was glad to see us, and at once made
such friends that with all the ardour and simplicity of youth
he confided to us his love for Emma, the thirteen-year-old
granddaughter of the Vogts. He said he had asked his father’s
permission to propose to her formally and after the engagement
to wait till she came of age; but his father would not consent,
and was vexed at his falling in love so young. ‘I reminded my
father,’ he said, ‘that he was not much older than I am when he
fell in love and married; he did not like this, and now we are
having a disagreeable correspondence.’

‘But why is your father against your love?’ I asked. ‘The Vogts
are an excellent family, he respects them, and is a friend of
their son, the famous naturalist, Karl Vogt.’

‘Well, you see, he has got it into his head that I should marry
a Russian, should live for Russia, love Russia. But how can one
love what one doesn’t know? I hardly remember Russia, it is a
foreign country for me, and what can I do for it? I am not a
politician, I am a man of peace. If I had a plot of land in
Switzerland, Emma, and my books, that would be enough for me.’

‘Do the Vogts know of your love for Emma, and what is their
attitude?’

‘They know and strongly disapprove—that makes my position all
the more difficult.’

We spent about a fortnight in Berne; Alexandr’s son spent
whole days with us. Through him we got to know the Vogts; they
treated us like old friends and often kept us to dinner. We
dined at their famous round family table, which had served
several generations of Vogts and Vollens.... The gifted
zoologist, Karl Vogt, came to see his parents while we were
in Berne. He was a man of clear, realistic intellect and of
the happiest disposition. He did not waste his energies in
yearning for impractical ideals; he was passionately fond of
nature, work was for him a pleasure, not a task, and he did not
ask from man or nature more than they could give.... In Berne
Alexandr’s son introduced us to Emma. With her grandmother’s
permission he brought her from Zurich, where she was at
boarding-school. She was still a child, fresh and rosy, with
bright, merry blue eyes—still a chrysalis, as Herzen said of
her.

After a fortnight in Berne we moved to Geneva.... Our young
friend soon came to see us there, and told us that he had
formally proposed to Emma, had informed her grandparents, and
obtained their consent, and had, as her recognised betrothed,
been with her to call on all their friends and relations. He
had done all this without his father’s knowledge, and now asked
me to break the news to him and try to settle it all peaceably.

It was settled peaceably—in appearance; but Alexandr was
planning to put an end to the engagement.

When his son came to London, however, with his fiancée to
introduce Emma to his family, Alexandr met them at the railway
station with a carriage and drove the betrothed child to his
house; everything there had been prepared for her reception,
and all the time she spent with him she was surrounded with
tenderness and attention; but this was all.

When Emma’s parents arrived in London, Alexandr received them
rather coldly, and advised them to take their daughter, till
she came of age, to live with them in South America, where they
were returning shortly. At the same time he sent his son on
a scientific expedition to Norway and Iceland, undertaken, I
believe, by Karl Vogt. During the years of parting the young
people wrote to each other; the letters from America did not
always reach their destination: the correspondence grew slacker
and slacker, and finally ceased.

I have heard that Emma married a rich banker in South America;
Alexandr’s son settled in Italy, where, later on, he married;
he has nine charming children, owns a villa near Florence, is
devoted to farming, does scientific work, and is well known
as a naturalist. The dreams of the boy of twenty have come
true.“[5]

[It seems probable that Natalya Alexyevna had cherished a girlish adoration[6] for Herzen during the time she spent in his company in Italy and in Paris. Now that she was in daily contact with him, this early passion revived, and soon eclipsed her feeling for Ogaryov. About the same time (possibly earlier) Ogaryov formed a permanent connection with an Englishwoman, Mary (her surname is never given), by whom he had two sons, Henry (born 1857) and ‘Toots.’ She seems to have been a kind, good woman, but not of much education nor of intellectual tastes. Herzen’s enemies have not hesitated to accuse him of treacherously seducing the wife of his best friend. It must be borne in mind that Ogaryov remained on the warmest terms with Herzen, continuing to live in his house so long as they were in England, and no trace of resentment can be discerned. It is, indeed, quite possible that his wife’s defection may have been rather a relief than a subject of regret to him. Moreover, the initiative and the responsibility seem to have been hers. At first no one but Ogaryov and Herzen’s elder children understood the real position, and Natalya Alexyevna’s daughter, Liza, as a child looked upon Ogaryov as her father. Twins, a boy and girl, were born in 1861. Herzen seems to have found little happiness in this new union, which was a constant source of anxiety and misery. He was morbidly sensitive in regard to the irregularity of the position, but accepted the tie as a binding obligation and responsibility. Except for short intervals of absence on business, or on visits to his children or his friends, he lived with Natalya Alexyevna to the end of his life, though he does in his letters to Ogaryov talk of escaping from his bondage.

In 1858, just after the birth of Liza, Natalya Alexyevna’s mother arrived.]

“Herzen now thought our house overcrowded, and shortly
afterwards took another, called Park House, also in Fulham and
not far away, with a big garden and a fairly large vegetable
patch. My mother moved with us and spent six weeks there.
Though Park House was in some respects very superior to Laurel
House, I regretted the beautiful flower-garden we had left.
There was a very spacious verandah along one whole side of the
new house looking into the garden, and there we used to spend
the greater part of the day. On the ground floor there were
the kitchen and a little room for washing up the crockery, and
another tiny closet with an open rack in which the plates were
stood to dry without being wiped. These adjuncts to the kitchen
are usual in all English houses; in fact, Herzen used to say
that English houses were so exactly alike in the arrangement
of the rooms and even of the furniture, that he could find any
room and any object in them with his eyes bandaged....”

[The difference between the Russian and the English attitude (at that period) in regard to law and punishment is well illustrated by the following domestic incident.]

“We had four servants in Park House ... and on Saturdays, as
in all English houses, a charwoman came to scrub and clean
everything, even the front doorsteps. Mazzini recommended
Herzen an Italian cook, Tassinari, a revolutionary and ardent
patriot ... a stout, fresh-looking man, in spite of his grey
hair and long white beard, with a clever, expressive face and
big bright black eyes. He was an excellent cook, and Herzen
was well satisfied with him ... but he had one great defect,
jealousy or envy—painful as it is to admit it, those two
feelings are closely akin. The Irish housemaid, who was very
much with us, as she looked after my little girl, aroused this
feeling particularly. He was always finding fault with her,
would not give her lunch in the morning if she did not come in
at once when the bell rang, and so on. We brought from Laurel
House with us a middle-aged German called Trina, who took the
children out and read German with them. She had been with us
for six months, and seemed to be fond of us. One day Jules,
our manservant, said to me: ‘Isn’t it sad for poor Trina,
madam; last Sunday she was taking the wages you paid her to her
sister’s, and in the crush in the omnibus she had her pocket
picked.’

‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I asked.

‘I expect she didn’t like to,’ answered Jules.

I went to Ogaryov and Herzen; they gave me the money and I
handed it to Trina. She thanked me, but seemed overcome with
confusion and did not look me in the face. I imagine it was
a clever trick on her part. Not long after this, Trina was
suddenly taken ill with acute rheumatism, and could not move
hand or foot; we sent for a doctor and a nurse, but she soon
begged to be taken to the hospital. Herzen hired an omnibus,
she was with the greatest care carried down on a mattress and
driven at a walking pace to the hospital. Some months later,
when she had completely recovered, she came back to us. That
was just when we were leaving Laurel House. Then Jules lost
his silver watch; he could not imagine who had taken it, but
was inclined to suspect the gardener and his wife. I was very
much annoyed at this suspicion, but I had no positive proofs
by which I could convince Jules that he was mistaken. We had
been for nearly two years at Laurel House, the same gardener
had been there all the time, and nothing had ever been missed.
After her return Trina went on visiting her sister, who kept, I
believe, a baker’s shop; she even took to asking me to let her
stay the night there, as it was a long way off; this was very
inconvenient, but I put up with it, as I liked her.

One day, when Trina was at her sister’s, Tassinari came into
the dining-room looking worried. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘they came
yesterday from the chandler’s, where we have an account; you
know they are also carriers, that is, they deliver parcels all
over the town.’

‘Well, what then?’ I asked.

‘You will see in a minute,’ our cook answered. ‘Do you know
this address, madam?’ and he handed me a piece of paper.

‘It’s Trina’s sister’s name,’ I answered, glancing at it.

‘They let us know,’ Tassinari went on, ‘parcels are very often
sent from Park House to that address, and that there is often
something that clinks in the parcels. It’s always the same box;
it comes back empty and is sent off from here full.... I told
them to keep back the box, which was to be sent to that address
yesterday; would not you like to look what there is in it,
madam?’

‘Of course not,’ I answered warmly, ‘you can’t open another
person’s boxes. Trina is sending something to her sister,’ I
said, with a simplicity certainly excessive at my years; but
the thought that she was capable of stealing did not enter
my head; besides, I imagined this was another instance of
Tassinari’s fault-finding ways. The Italian smiled.

‘Then shall I ask Monsieur Herzen?’ and he went off and knocked
at the drawing-room door.

Herzen listened to him and gave him leave to bring in the box.
Tassinari was triumphant; he quickly reappeared with the box,
deftly unfastened the lid, and began picking things out with a
gleeful face; there were curtains, ribbons, children’s smocks,
and I don’t know what else; I stood overwhelmed.

‘Herzen,’ I said, ‘could Trina really...?’

He looked at me with sympathy for my distress.

‘She could,’ he said.

He told Tassinari to pack the things in the box again, and put
it in the other half of the room, then dismissed him.

‘When Trina comes,’ said Herzen, ‘show her that box; we shall
see what explanation she gives. Of course, it is all very clear
and simple, but what matters is this: by English law we are
bound to prosecute a thief, or we are liable to a considerable
fine, and nothing would induce me to hand over a thief to the
police. Let her go back to Germany, for we can’t give her a
character....’

It was a long time before Trina returned; I suppose she was
waiting for the arrival of her box. At last she came into the
drawing-room, with apologies for having stayed away so long,
but turned pale and said no more when she saw the box on the
table. After listening to her protestations that she had done
wrong only once, I gave her Herzen’s advice to go back to
Germany, which she at once agreed to do. Three days later she
left our house, together with the Irish housemaid, who had been
in the secret, and had carried the box to the chandler’s.”

“Malwide von Meysenbug had all this time been living apart from
us, sometimes in lodgings and sometimes with friends, but she
looked forward to an independent life and to visiting Paris and
Italy, where she had never been. She suggested that she should
take Herzen’s younger daughter, Olga, with her on a visit to
Madame Schwabe, the widow of a wealthy banker with a large
family and a splendid estate in England. As Madame Schwabe was
going to Paris for the winter, Malwide asked Herzen to let Olga
go with them.... Soon afterwards Malwide left Madame Schwabe
and settled alone with little Olga.”

[Olga, who was devoted to Malwide, remained with her permanently. In a letter from Fräulein von Meysenbug to Wagner she gives a charming picture of the little girl’s enthusiasm at a performance in Paris of one of Wagner’s operas, and her audible indignation when some of the audience hissed the new music.]

“Among the Russians who came to see Herzen at Park House, I
cannot pass over Alexandr Serno-Solovyovitch, at that time
a very young man. Herzen liked him very much: it was evident
that, in spite of his youth, he had read and thought much; he
was intelligent and interested in all the important questions
of the day. I don’t remember where the rest of the family had
gone, but I know they were obliged to be out one day when
Serno-Solovyovitch particularly wanted to see the Zoological
Gardens. I went with him, taking Natasha, Olga, and my baby
Liza. Serno-Solovyovitch inspected the Gardens thoroughly,
and was very charming and attentive to the children. He spent
a few days more in London, continually seeing Herzen and
Ogaryov, and showing them the greatest warmth and respect. At
that time his bad qualities were slumbering, and circumstances
had not yet arisen to develop them. I shall have to speak of
him later.... It is painful to think how this intelligent
and cultured man perished in a strange land without being of
any service to his country, brought to ruin by vanity, envy,
and despair; but I must speak of him not so much on his own
account as because in his relations with him Herzen’s innate
characteristics—a magnanimity, kindness, and compassion almost
passing belief—were so strikingly displayed.”

[In the summer of 1859 Natalya Alexyevna, hearing from her sister, Madame Satin, that she was visiting Germany with her children, went to Dresden with her baby Liza and Natasha Herzen, then to Heidelberg with her sister, where she saw many old friends and met Madame Passek for the first time, and then to Berne to stay with the Vogts. On returning to London the following winter she found Herzen and Ogaryov installed in Orsett House, a large house of five storeys, in Westburn Terrace, Wimbledon.]

“Herzen told me that while I was away an artist, Madame
O’Connell, a complete stranger, had written asking him to give
her five sittings. At the first sitting she had been extremely
kind, and had told him that having heard a great deal about him
she wanted to paint a portrait of him for posterity.... What
became of the portrait I do not know.”

[In the summer of 1861[7] Herzen went with his daughter Natasha to Paris to see Olga, who was ill, and there]

“After long years of separation he met his cousin, Tatyana
Passek.[8] He told us a great deal about this, and said
that the Yakovlyevs[9] had treated her very badly and taken
possession of her share of the family property. When she had
been in need of money, Herzen had lent her what she wanted and
had never asked for repayment. In his views he had moved far
away from the friend of his youth. Madame Passek was religious,
and regarded the monarchy as the salvation of Russia.

They disputed hotly, both stoutly defending their convictions,
and parted with a smile, conscious that only the grave could
reconcile their divergent views, and that as long as they lived
they would be warriors in opposing camps.”

“Soon after Herzen’s return from France, he received visitors
who greatly interested us all—Sergey Ivanovitch Turgenev and
Lyov Nikolaevitch Tolstoy. The former we had known for years,
and we were used to his caprices and little peculiarities; the
latter we saw for the first time.

Not long before leaving Russia, Ogaryov and I had read
Tolstoy’s _Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth_, and tales of the
Crimean War, with enthusiasm. Ogaryov was constantly talking of
these tales and of their author.

When we came to London, we hastened to tell Herzen about this
new and exceptionally gifted writer. It turned out that Herzen
had read several of his works already, and was delighted with
them. He particularly admired the boldness with which Tolstoy
spoke of feelings so subtle and deeply concealed that no one
had put them into words, though many had perhaps experienced
them. As regards his philosophical views, Herzen thought them
feeble, misty, and often unsupported by evidence.

‘Tolstoy is in our house!’ Natasha and I thought, and we
hurried into the drawing-room to have a look at the illustrious
fellow-countryman, who was being read by all Russia. When
we went in Count Tolstoy was carrying on a heated argument
with Turgenev. Ogaryov and Herzen, too, were taking part in
the discussion. At that time (1861) Tolstoy looked about
thirty-five; he was of medium height, his features were ugly,
there was a piercing and yet dreamy look in his little grey
eyes. It was odd that his face never wore that expression of
childlike good-nature sometimes seen in Turgenev’s smile, and
so attractive in him.

As we went in, the usual introductions began. Of course,
Tolstoy had no idea that we were so excited at seeing him that
we hardly dared to speak to him, but only listened to what he
said to other people. He came to see us every day. It was soon
obvious that he was far more sympathetic as a writer than as
a thinker, for he was sometimes illogical; in defence of his
fatalism, he often had heated arguments with Turgenev, in the
course of which they said extremely disagreeable things to each
other. When there was no discussion going on, and when Tolstoy
was in a good humour, he would sit down at the piano and sing
us the soldiers’ songs composed in the Crimea during the war:

‘On the eighth day of September,
How the devil brought us here
To camp upon the mountains,’ etc.

We laughed as we listened, but in reality it was painful to
hear of what was done in the Crimea—the light-hearted way
in which the fate of thousands of soldiers was entrusted to
incompetent generals, and the incredible amount of thieving
that went on. Even lint was stolen and sold to the enemy, while
our long-suffering soldiers were dying.”

“Every year Turgenev paid one or two visits to London.

Once he came to see us soon after writing _Faust_. He read
it aloud to us, but neither Ogaryov nor Herzen liked it; the
latter was, however, very reserved in his observations, while
the former criticised it very severely. From that day Turgenev
lost all liking for Ogaryov.

I remember on one visit to London Turgenev was particularly
good-humoured and sweet to Herzen.

‘Do you know,’ he said to him, ‘I have not come alone this
time. Simply to see you, a queer fellow has set off on his
travels, without knowing a word of any foreign language, and
begged me to take him to London. Isn’t that heroic? Guess who
it is. But I tell you what,’ he went on, ‘perhaps you had
better call on him first: Ogaryov may not care much about
seeing him; there were some misunderstandings....’

‘Goodness,’ said Herzen, ‘surely it’s not Nekrassov? He knows
no foreign language. What makes him suppose I should care to
see him after the message he sent Ogaryov through you, Sergey
Ivanovitch?’

‘But you know he has come all the way from Russia on purpose to
see you!’

‘He can go back again,’ said Herzen, and he was not to be
moved. He was always far more ready to resent a slight to
Ogaryov than to himself.