Author Archives: Zach Flood

Herzen and the Paradox of Reinvention

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As is evident through the readings, Russia has repeatedly found itself reinvented through coercion, whether as a Tartar tributary state or a Western European power under Peter the Great’s direction. What I find interesting about Herzen’s article is how it addresses some key paradoxes endemic to this process in the context of imperial Russia. In his eyes, the Slavic character of the state is passive yet insurmountable, accepting all foreign implements yet being shaped by none of them (Herzen 185). He develops this idea with his portrayal of Moscow as a reconstructed, intrinsically Russian city in contrast with the Western-oriented St. Petersburg. Just as Herzen lauds St. Petersburg for its architecture and bustle, he condemns its literary culture (which produced Pushkin among other great writers and poets) as inferior to that of Moscow and the city’s lone publication (187). Likewise, his simultaneous enthusiasm for Russian history and belief that its rejection gives St. Petersburg charm (184–185) stands out. How can we make sense of these details?

As any country adopts international norms, some contingent of its populace will mourn the loss of indigenous customs and question the future of the state. This does not seem a sufficient understanding of Herzen’s vacillation. Rather, it is important to consider Herzen’s sardonic tone and use of irony. For instance, he presents the city’s flooding as a history-effacing perk (185); this example also works as an acknowledgment of Pushkin’s The Bronze Horse (intentional or not), a definitive work in the city’s history. Perhaps the humorous presentation makes light of the anxiety surrounding Russia’s mounting identity crisis (as covered in other blog posts). I also see a parallel to the riddling manner of older texts (e.g. The Lay of Igor’s Campaign). It is fitting to make use of an old Russian trope in discussing the character of Russia.

The final line about the railroad joining St. Petersburg and Moscow (191) offers a compelling frame: just as St. Petersburg overtook Moscow as Russia’s capital, so industry seemed poised to overtake the old Russian economy.

Examining Medieval Russian Womanhood in “The Tsar’s Bride”

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Russian gender roles, as observed through the texts for today, share many features with adjacent Western societies. “A Husband Must Teach His Wife How to Please God and Her Husband, Arrange Her Home Well, and Know All That Is Necessary for Domestic Order and Every Kind of Handicraft, So She May Teach and Supervise Servants,” the 29th entry in the Domostroi, emphasizes the parallel between the cult of domesticity in Ivan the Terrible’s Russia and that transmitted from Ancient Greece and Rome. Examining the Russian folk costumes, we can also see how Russian women were expected to dress increasingly modestly throughout their lives and conceal their hair except in the presence of their husbands and blood relatives, an Ancient Greek parallel. By contrast, the men’s attire has clear parallels to that of other steppe cultures, being suitable for manual labor yet vibrant enough for special occasions. It is not too hard to find other patriarchal trends in other Russian cultural outlets.

None of this is to dismiss the unique aspects of Russian patriarchy. What stood out to me with The Tsar’s Bride was how it acknowledged the hardships traceable to the above system. Granted, it is a difficult work to periodize: a 1960’s adaptation of a late 19th-century opera set in the 16th century. Still, I am not convinced that the subtext is exclusive to any one era. The men of the film leverage their authority to neglect any duty to the women and institutions around them. Both Grigori and Ivan the Terrible lust for Martha, sabotaging her impending marriage and ultimately unraveling her sanity. In the process, Grigori abandons Liubasha, giving her agony. When Liubasha sets out to thwart Grigori’s scheme to drug Martha and end his infatuation, she is assaulted by Bomeliy and coerced to love him. Her objections clearly surface. Her experience is not denied.

The Tsar’s Bride is not a feminist film — its characterization Martha and Liubasha is too rooted to the men and its attitude toward the brutality they face is too passive. If anything, I am most reminded of Princess Anna’s forced marriage to Vladimir in The Tales of Bygone Years: she voices her objections, yet the men around her overrule her liberty. I wonder if this acknowledgement of but ambivalence toward the hardships of Russian women will come up in other texts.

Revenge in Kievan Rus’

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Eupaty Kolovrat’s revenge against Batu’s forces features prominently in “Tale of the Destruction of Riazan,” wherein the monk authors laud his bravery in confronting an army much larger than his improvised force and slaying senior Mongol personnel. The sequence reminded me of Olga’s revenge Derevlians from The Tale of Bygone Years. There are a number of key differences between the stories, though these converge on a vital commonality. For starters, Olga employs perfidy against the Derevlians, murdering unsuspecting Derevlians through live burial and burning bathhouses. By contrast, Eupaty engages the Mongols in a conventional battle. Both courses of action apparently startle their targets, though whereas the Derevlians seek mercy from Olga, Batu displays mercy toward Eupaty’s compatriots. Furthermore, while Olga ultimately triumphs against her enemies, Eupaty dies in battle. In both cases, revenge serves to highlight virtue: Olga’s acts reveal her cunning, while Eupaty’s reveal his courage. In this way, revenge appears as a valid means of realizing acceptable (if not righteous) urges.

What struck me as contradictory is how revenge represents an exception to the Orthodox monks’ typical treatment of violence. In other contemporary works, devout Christians such as Yaroslav, Theodosius, Boris, and Gleb do not partake in the violence ascribed to their pagan predecessors; the latter three even accept brutal acts against them as expressions of God’s will or a test of devotion. Even the preceding portion of “Tale of the Destruction of Riazan” advances the theme of Christians passively accepting God’s judgement of their sins. However, Eupaty is not portrayed poorly for abdicating these values in the context of avenging Riazan. I wonder how this narrow toleration of violence entered the early Russian imagination and how it would evolve over the following periods.