What Is to Be Done?

to him, and finally he was arrested; though nothing was really found against him, he was kept in prison for two years. A spy was introduced into his cell; but the worst that he could be charged with was that he said, “Now is the time, not to think, but to act.” But there were rumors of a Polish insurrection, and of risings among the serfs, and such a man was dangerous; therefore he was tried and condemned on forged documents. The reading of the sentence took place on the morning of the twenty-fifth of June, 1864, two years and two months after his incarceration. A great throng gathered, in spite of the rain, and just as the sentence was finished and the sabre was broken, according to the custom when a wellborn person is condemned, and while the executioner was fastening Chernyshevsky’s hands to the rings on the scaffold,2 a great bouquet fell at his feet. Tchernnishevsky was sent to the mines. At this time there were upwards of three thousand people imprisoned in Central Russia alone. Two years later occurred the attempt of Karakózof on the Emperor’s life. It happened on the fourth of April (O.S.); and by a singular coincidence Chernyshevsky’s novel was dated April 4, 1863. It was proposed to bring him back to trial as an accomplice. This absurdity was not carried out; but after Chernyshevsky had served seven years, Count Shuválof, the head of the police, had him excepted from the usual respite. Afterwards he was sent to Yakutsk, and imprisoned under the close guard of two gens d’armes and two Cossacks. In the words of the historian, “Thus Nikolay Gavrilovich Chernyshevsky was cut off from society and science.”

The story of Chernyshevsky’s imprisonment is heartrending. Even before he was sentenced, he was allowed to see his sick wife only after he had starved himself almost to death, and even then only in the presence of others. Afterwards he was allowed to write her once a year; but this privilege was taken away from him when some spies reported that there was a plot to have him rescued. He was not allowed to have books or writing material, and in sheer desperation he punctured a vein in his arm, and wrote in letters of blood on the wall of his cell. It was not strange that his mind⁠—one of the brightest minds that Russia ever produced⁠—was broken by such tortures. Chernyshevsky, at last accounts, was still living under police supervision in Astrakhan. A reporter of an English daily interviewed him a year or two ago, and found him still intelligent, but a mental wreck. Such action is worthy of the Austrian government towards dangerous Silvio Pellicos; but is it not incredible that a country in the nineteenth century should employ such means to deprive itself of a man who would have reflected more glory on the realm of its emperors than the emperors themselves?

The present translation has been made with great care, and it is hoped that it may be forgiven, even by that school of critics which lays down the commandment, “Thou shalt not commit translations.” One single change has been made, which it is right to mention, for the sake of those who believe that a ready-made coat must be worn without alteration, even if it does not fit. In one single scene Kirsánof’s character has been slightly mended, better to suit the American ideal of man. A very few Russian words have been retained, in cases where there was nothing corresponding to them in English. Such are sufficiently explained in the text. Chernyshevsky’s style is often exceedingly awkward. He sometimes strove after originality, at the expense of wisdom; but it cannot fail to be recognized that A Vital Question deserves a high rank among modern novels. Those who begin it will not be likely to lay it down unfinished.

Nathan Haskell Dole

S. S. Skidelsky

Philadelphia, June 4, 1886

What Is to Be Done?

A Vital Question

I

A Fool

On the morning of the 23rd of July, 1856, the servants of one of the largest hotels of Petersburg, near the Moscow railroad station, were in perplexity, and even partly in fear. On the previous evening, about nine o’clock, a gentleman arrived with a valise, took a room, gave his passport to be registered, asked for tea and a small cutlet, gave orders that they should not disturb him during the evening, because he was tired and wanted to sleep, but that they should wake him without fail at eight o’clock in the morning, because he had important business. Then he locked the door; and, after rattling his knife and fork, and jingling the tea-things for a time, nothing more was heard of him. He was apparently asleep. Morning came; at eight o’clock a servant knocked at the stranger’s door; the stranger did not answer. The servant knocked louder, very loud; still the stranger did not reply. Apparently he was very tired. The servant waited a quarter of an hour, again tried to arouse him, again was unsuccessful. He consulted with the other servants, with the butler.

“Can anything have happened to him?”

“We must break in the door.”

“No, that won’t do! If we break in the door, we must have a policeman.”

It was decided to try once more, still louder; if it failed this time, to send for the police.

They made their last endeavor; they could not arouse him. They sent for the police, and now they are waiting to see what the result will be.

About ten o’clock a policeman came; he himself knocked at the door, ordered the servants to knock; result the same as before.

“There is nothing to be done; burst in the door, children.”

They broke open the door. The room was empty.

“Look under the bed!”

But there was no one under the bed. The policeman went to the table; on the table lay a sheet