* As an illustration of this, the following anecdote is told:  One number of the Kolokol contained a violent attack on an important personage of the court, and the accused, or some one of his friends, considered it advisable to have a copy specially printed for the Emperor without the objectionable article.  The Emperor did not at first discover the trick, but shortly afterwards he received from London a polite note containing the article which had been omitted, and informing him how he had been deceived.

But where were the Conservatives all this time?  How came it that for two or three years no voice was raised and no protest made even against the rhetorical exaggerations of the new-born liberalism?  Where were the representatives of the old regime, who had been so thoroughly imbued with the spirit of Nicholas?  Where were those ministers who had systematically extinguished the least indication of private initiative, those “satraps” who had stamped out the least symptom of insubordination or discontent, those Press censors who had diligently suppressed the mildest expression of liberal opinion, those thousands of well-intentioned proprietors who had regarded as dangerous free-thinkers and treasonable republicans all who ventured to express dissatisfaction with the existing state of things?  A short time before, the Conservatives composed at least nine-tenths of the upper classes, and now they had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.

It is scarcely necessary to say that in a country accustomed to political life, such a sudden, unopposed revolution in public opinion could not possibly take place.  The key to the mystery lies in the fact that for centuries Russia had known nothing of political life or political parties.  Those who were sometimes called Conservatives were in reality not at all Conservatives in our sense of the term.  If we say that they had a certain amount of conservatism, we must add that it was of the latent, passive, unreasoned kind—­the fruit of indolence and apathy.  Their political creed had but one article:  Thou shalt love the Tsar with all thy might, and carefully abstain from all resistance to his will—­especially when it happens that the Tsar is a man of the Nicholas type.  So long as Nicholas lived they had passively acquiesced in his system—­active acquiescence had been neither demanded nor desired—­but when he died, the system of which he was the soul died with him.  What then could they seek to defend?  They were told that the system which they had been taught to regard as the sheet-anchor of the State was in reality the chief cause of the national disasters; and to this they could make no reply, because they had no better explanation of their own to offer.  They were convinced that the Russian soldier was the best soldier in the world, and they knew that in the recent war the army had not been victorious; the system, therefore, must be to blame.  They were told that a series of gigantic reforms was necessary in order