Author Archives: Jacob Baltaytis

Russia’s Existential Crisis Through Yevgeny’s Plight in The Bronze Horseman

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Is Russia part of East or West? Is it European or Asian? These questions have long been central to the identity of the country. While originally ruled by a Scandinavian dynasty lasting over several centuries, texts we have studied attribute their origins to the Scythians, the Greeks by way of their faith, and other civilizations littering the Eurasian supercontinent.

The Bronze Horseman begins by recounting the mythical founding of St. Petersburg, a city meant to open the door to Europe for Russia. The city was founded on Finnish farmland by the River Neva, and Pushkin belligerently warns the Swedes shortly thereafter. Following this account, we are introduced to the serf Yevgeny who falls in love with a woman named Parasha. Parasha serves as metaphor for the European door St. Petersburg was meant to unlock. While still living, Yevgeny is sure this is the woman with whom he wants to start a family. This is analogous to Petropolis’s founding; Peter and the Russian aristocracy were certain this was the direction in which the country was heading, his westernization of Russia speaking for itself. Following her death, however, Yevgeny paces around the city aimlessly and mad. Both doors, St. Petersburg and implicitly, Parasha, were also both destroyed as the Neva flooded. As the doors close, this question of identity stumps Russian thinkers as it has evidently stumped Yevgeny.

The irony of it all is that Peter’s statue, the lasting tangible legacy of the great Tsar and all of his modernization, chases Yevgeny around the city towards the end of the account. This almost urges him, and analogously the Russian state, to not lose sight of why St. Petersburg was founded—a portal to the west.

The Promulgation of Fear as a Means to Support a Culture of Patriarchy in The Domostroi

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A recurring theme throughout many Ancient Rus texts after the baptism of Vladimir has been the inevitable Judgement Day promised by monks and other authors of these texts. The purpose of this may be multifactorial: to instill reverence of the clergy among the common people, to create stability amongst the ruling class or to foster a culture with common values of decency and respect. However, The Domostroi pushes the narrative of a doomsday and a fear of God, the Boyars, and Tsar Ivan the Terrible as a means to suppress women, and indeed, bolster patriarchal rule.

The text argues, good wives, “should not eat or drink without her husband’s knowledge, nor conceal food or drink from him. Nor should she have secrets from her husband.” (pp, 138). Societal rules under Tsar Ivan the Terrible gave women no autonomy, authority or even a way to sustain life unless their husbands agreed. Women were not allowed to drink alcohol in public or in the privacy of their homes. Instead, they were relegated to drinking kvass and other weakly-alcoholic beverages.

Legislation is nothing, however, without an executive that enforces it. Recognizing this, The Domostroi begins by exclaiming you should speak to the Tsar, “as if you spoke to God himself,” and, “if you serve the earthly king righteously and fear him, you will learn to fear the Heavenly King also.” (pp. 71). This fear-eliciting rhetoric continues when the text outlines how women specifically should act. On the topic of whom to let into the house, women are given strict guidelines to obey. Otherwise, their “practices [may] spawn many evils.” (pp. 132).

All of this fearmongering plays to the commoner’s anxiety of a judgement day or being suaded by evils. The text states that only obedient followers will receive, “answers on Judgement Day.” (pp. 92). Thus, through the creation of a potential doomsday event and outlining a means to avoid it, The Domostroi suppresses women and solidifies the claim to the throne of the patriarch Tsar Ivan.

The Pagan Invasion of Russia: A Terrestrially Religious Account

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Continuing to call upon the land trope exhibited in The Lay of Igor’s Campaign, the Tale of the Destruction of Riazan employs literary techniques to link land, religion, and for the Slavs, identity.

The tale begins by exclaiming, “… the godless Emperor Batu invaded the Russian land…” (pp. 82), which pits the religious beliefs of each side against one another. This is similar to the image illustrated in Igor’s Campaign, with the land beyond the rivers—Pagan land inhabited by the Kumans—being eerily described as dark, unholy and foreign. This imagery evolves as the Tartar’s are victorious in battle. Suddenly, instead of Rus land being holier-than-thou, it is described as being barren, frozen and covered in snow. Implicitly, the Mongols by way of their faith brought this frost.

Relatedly, as the Orthodox warriors fall in battle, they all drink “…the same bitter cup to the dregs.” Dying men finishing their distasteful drinks so as not to be wasteful of their land’s resources shows that land is part of the Russian identity. The narrator diligently includes this before the death of each Slav, especially the prominent ones, to highlight their respect for the land they fatally defend.

The text is also awfully incriminating during the sacking of Riazan, “Neither father nor mother could mourn their dead children, nor the children their fathers or mothers. Nor could a brother mourn the death of his brother, nor relatives their relatives. All were dead.” (pp. 84). The Tartars ravished the city, their behavior and reverence of the land is directly antithetical to the Rus—they were external.

Through the use of a Christian/Pagan land dichotomy, the text pushes the narrative that only land inhabited by good, humble, Orthodox people can be Russian land. Otherwise, it is barren, pagan and foreign.