Letters from France and Italy (1847-1852)

only exalted figures, triumphant gazes; all of a sudden the thunder of February 24 resounded and in its wake, thrones collapsed, crowned heads fled, tucking up their purple cloaks and elbowing one another on the high road.

The ironic spirit of the revolution has again led the man of the West to the summit, has shown him the republic in France, the barricades in Vienna, Italy in Lombardy, and again pushed him into the prison where, to punish him for this insolent dream, an extra iron ring was added to him. I saw it riveted, and again my letters, which had reflected the enthusiasm of 1848, become dark, and this darkness grows and grows until December 2, 1851, when the cry escapes: Long live death! When the last hope vanished, when there was nothing left but to bow one's head and receive in silence the blows that finish one, like the consequences of terrible events, instead of despair, the young faith of 1830 returned to my heart, and I turned back with hope and love.

These letters, with the book I published in Switzerland (From the Other Shore), form a whole cycle of my journey, of my pilgrim's odyssey. I began with a cry of joy while crossing the border, and I finished with my moral return to my homeland. Faith in Russia saved me on the edge of my moral ruin.