At first, Joseph Brodsky’s choice to begin A Guide to a Renamed City with an excerpt by Susan Sontag confused me. What could a quote about photography have anything to do with St. Petersburg? As I continued to read, I began to realize that the line actually illustrates the relationship between ‘Peter’(St. Petersburg) and his people, specifically their excessive pride in themselves and their city and St. Petersburg’s ability to give Russians a space to subjectively analyze their country. In his description of the Neva River, Brodsky writes, “The … Neva… provides this city with such a quantity of mirrors that narcissism becomes inevitable”. (77) Though ‘quantity of mirrors’ does not directly reference a camera, I interpreted ‘mirror’ to be synonymous to lens in this instance. This line shows that if St. Petersburg’s inhabitants are constantly viewing snapshots of themselves, they are “re-experience[ing] the unreality and remoteness of the real” as Susan Sontag writes. Sontag’s line demonstrates that St. Petersburg’s citizens view themselves only in a flash of time instead of as an integral part of Russia’s vast history and as separate from the ‘real’, or Moscow/the rest of Russia. Even though Brodsky effectively conveys this quality in his reading, the Susan Sontag line offers a new and exciting way to read his piece. He continues the photography motif when describing St. Petersburg after the capital moved to Moscow: “Petersburg, having nowhere to withdraw to, came to a standstill-as though photographed in its nine teenth-century posture.” (88) The line ‘came to a standstill’ shows that once Moscow became the capital, St. Petersburg, a reformative city, did not revert with the rest of the country into Russia’s old conservative ways. St. Petersburg instead stood in contrast to Russia and became a place for Russians to experience a reality that did not exist in the rest of the country, therefore, accentuating the ‘remoteness of the real’, or offering an opportunity to properly assess the rest of the country. 

Herzen quickly characterizes the dichotomy between Moscow and St. Petersburg through their residents, the habitants’ ways of life and the general feel of the city. However, after reading A Guide to a Renamed City by Joseph Brodsky, its blatantly obvious Herzen missed yet another dichotomy: globalization pit against xenophobia.

Brodsky is awfully critical of St. Petersburg in his account, but he does concede that the city is uncharacteristically welcoming of foreigners, relative to the rest of the country. This follows from Peter’s original mandate for the city, “[he] wanted a gate, and he wanted it ajar” (pp. 72). In other words, he did not want to simply emulate the West; rather, he wanted a portal to access it. Brodsky classifies Petersburg as, “an international city, with large French, German, Dutch and English colonies” (pp. 82). Additionally, he includes what Pushkin had prophesied, “‘All flags will come to us as guests!’” (pp. 82). Thus, instead of simply being a medium through which the West and Russia could interact, Petersburg was designed to foster globalization.

Moscow, according to Herzen, is more traditional and spiritual. This is echoed in Brodsky’s account, who acknowledges the existence of, “traditional Russian xenophobia” (pp. 83). Implicitly, he is stating that Russian traditionalism and xenophobia are intrinsically intertwined. This inference becomes more explicit when Brodsky recounts the reinstatement of Moscow as the capital under Lenin, “as the country, with its capital returned to Moscow, retreated to its womblike, claustrophobic, and xenophobic condition” (pp. 88). Brodsky clearly states his association of traditionalism and xenophobia with Moscow, noting the country profoundly regresses under this change. However, he also gives Lenin credit for, “sparing St. Petersburg both ignoble membership in the global village…” (pp. 85). Hypocritically, he praises Lenin’s capital move for its isolationism while calling traditional Russians xenophobes several times in the text.

Intentionally overlooking the hypocrisy, it is clear Brodsky paints another dichotomy between the two largest Russian cities: future globalization and traditional xenophobia.

The Bronze Horseman: A Tale of Petersburg by Alexander Puskin serves as continuation of similar texts we’ve covered on Russian national consciousness and pride, specifically Russian glory and cunning, and historical counts that seem like myths. The mythic language is so strong that the narrative begins with a disclaimer that the story is based on trut . Pushkin’s use of analogy to describe the birth of St. Petersburg contained poetic language reminiscent of those in The Tale of Bygone Years. This lyrical element is especially present in the descriptions of the capital’s shift from Moscow to St. Petersburg. He writes,  “From swamps and gloomy forest prison,/ Crown gem and marvel of the North.” The words ‘swamps’, ‘gloomy’, and ‘prison’ effectively demonstrate the dismal attitude of Russians at this time towards Moscow. At this time, Moscow is the location of the end of Rurik’s lineage, so it makes sense that pushkin would view it so negatively. ‘Prison’ especially works to exhibit the way that Russian feel held back by Moscow’s somber past. Pushkin’s description of Moscown as a ‘Crown gem’ and ‘marvel’ work to illustrate the shift that Peter the Great’s reforms brought to the Russian people. Peter and his city renewed Russian’s sense of pride and glory.  

In reading Alexander Pushkin’s The Bronze Horseman, I find that the story carries on in an effortless, intriguing way with the help of Pushkin’s use of imagery. Pushkin’s retelling of St. Petersburg’s transition from a swamp to a thriving city makes for a magnetic and immersive experience for the reader. Specifically, his personifications of nature (rivers, fog, dark forests, sun rays) continues to build upon a different perspective founded in ecocentrism and creativity as he intertwines the beauty of nature to highlight the industrialization of St. Petersburg. In this way, his ideas and descriptions further complement his portrayal of contemporary Russia (for his time).

On a similar note, his use of specificity– like Yevgeny, Parasha, and Neva, and Mars Field, as well as referencing different works–strengthens  the reader’s understanding of St. Petersburg that wouldn’t necessarily stand out in any other context. I think Pushkin’s allusions to events and places within his work also helps to bring a stronger connection with the reader. In a way, it may be a mild form of nationality in creating a shared sense of knowledge between those who are familiar with the places and events mentioned within The Bronze Horseman. Overall, I believe that Pushkin’s portrayal of St. Petersburg has a deeper meaning and provokes a stronger emotional reaction from his audience through his use of imagery.

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.

My greatest fascination with The Bronze Horsemen stems from its enormous pervading religiosity. There is something biblical about the way the city is engulfed by a flood, leaving nothing but a lone Idol in the watery desolation, futile in its passed glory.  The Bronze Horsemen seems to be an almost cautionary tale of human glory, reflecting many of the religious stories we now know today such the account of Bable and Sodom and Gomorrah.

Indeed, Russian culture has a fantastic way of walking the line between humbleness and self-glorification. The Bronze Horsemen highlights the immense majesty of Saint Petersburg as a bastion of Russian culture. Its imagery of the great bronze statue is sweeping, and the poem ends with it being the last thing standing. It embodies Russia in the sense that it remains glorious in in the face of terrible forces beyond its power to fully overcome. In the poem, such a force is the Neva river. It consumes Saint Petersburg in a fantastic way, glorifying it while bringing it to its knees. By painting the destruction of the Russian Spirit, Pushkin is idolizing it, and this reminded me of many of the other works we have encountered during this class.

First and foremost, I was reminded of the Birth of Peter I Secondary reading. It seemed to have a remarkable fascination with all the suffering and sin that had infected Russia at the time of Peter’s birth. When I first read the text, I simple wrote it off as the cultivation of a Messianic figure. But it seems a bit more complicated than that. The volume of time spent describing the ailments of Russia in this text tell me that the writer had a deep fascination with it. This is also true of the life of Theodosius reading, which more explicitly glorifies suffering in a religious sense.

Overall, perhaps it is safe to say that Russian culture has a fascination with its own suffering because it is somehow empowering. Perhaps it is safe to say that suffering in Russian culture leaves the possibility of people rising above and overcoming said suffering. But once again, this seems like an oversimplification. Indeed, the tale of Theodosius describes how the monk suffered in the flesh so that his spirit would be let free, and ultimately provided a positive portrayal of the fate of the long suffering. But Boris Godunov does no such thing.

The introduction of Pushkin’s The Bronze Horseman serves as a powerful account of the reawakening of Russian culture and greatness.  After centuries of isolation at the hand of the Mongols and a time of instability throughout the Time of Troubles, Russia is ready to embark on a process of modernization.  

The city of St. Petersburg and the reforms of Peter the Great serve as tangible examples of the new Russia that is beginning to emerge.  St. Petersburg “shall break a window to the west” and “outsh[i]ne old Moscow”. Furthermore, the language Pushkin uses paints an idealized portrait of St. Petersburg–a portrait consisting of rivers, gardens, love, and greatness.  Additionally, Pushkin remarks that the city will be built in “defiance of the haughty neighbor” and stretch from “the four corners of the world” signaling an international outlook not seen since ancient Kievan Rus. The Bronze Horseman, in a sense, articulates a renaissance of sorts in Russia at the hands of Peter of Great.  

However, the city is later destroyed by a flood, and Evengii is eventually left surrounded by nothing but water–and the bronze statue of Peter the Great looking down on him. This image, to me, was a powerful one that paints Peter in an almost god-like, transcendent nature.  The flood in particular reminds me of the biblical story of Noah’s ark, with the world destroyed by a flood with God looking down upon it. I’m not sure if those to images are supposed to be related, but it was a similarity that fascinated me nonetheless. I was particularly intrigued and somewhat confused by the statue coming to life and would like to discuss its significance in class.  

The Bronze Horseman articulates Russia’s new role in the world, signaling a nation eager to emerge from its centuries of isolation as well as little social and cultural progress relative to the West.

The founding of St. Petersburg, chronicled in The Bronze Horseman, highlights the intention of St. Petersburg to be the catalyst for a new Russia. This modern Russia would be Peter’s gateway to Western Europe, opening up a path for Russia to develop what they had not during the Mongol occupation. In The Bronze Horseman, it’s easy to see how Yevgeny, the character that the poem focuses on, is seeing St. Petersburg open to Western Europe. However, following the disastrous flood of the River Neva, it seems like both Yevgeny and St. Petersburg have an ambiguous, if not tragic, ending. Yevgeny goes mad, chased by the main icon of St. Petersburg. St. Petersburg fairs slightly better than Yevgeny, left on a neutral note of possible success (or, at least, the continuation of opening the door to Europe). The poem ends with, “and here in charity they buried the chill corpse in a pauper’s grave,” and yet, on the page before, brings up that “there still would pound with ponderous clatter The Bronze Horseman is his wake.” Buried is the cold corpse, but the bronze horseman in St. Petersburg is always there. 

This contrast of the success of St. Petersburg (and the still-obvious identity crisis St. Petersburg caused) is apparent in Andrew Herzen’s Moscow and Petersburg. Herzen lives in Petersburg, describing the city as being the notion of a capital city without the history of one. It has all the politics and is where people are the busiest, but the people awful. Moscow, however, has kind people and the old culture of Russia but has been left behind in the modern world. There is this division of a new, politically active Russia that lacks its history and an old Russia that retains its old ways but is left behind by modern Europe.

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 Bronze Horseman” starts with a prologue giving background to Peter the Great and St. Petersburg. A young child, Yevgeny, is pointed out to be a hero in the story and save the town. As the story continues, St. Petersburg is destroyed by the great storm and flood. Every man-made object in the town is destroyed including cabins, town halls, and many others. Even people of the town were killed in the disaster. The story kept going back to Yevgeny and I anticipated a wondrous act that would save the town from such disaster. The girl that Yevgeny is in love with was killed in the storm. Yevgeny could not do anything to stop this or save something important to him. He becomes very angry and lives in anguish for a year following it. The story doesn’t end with a tremendous event that saves the town of St. Petersburg from the wrath of nature. The relationship between nature and humans is completely one sided. Humanity cannot stop nature and the weather that can whipe out an entire town in one night. Nature has all the power in the relationship and can choose to assert it whenever.

I noticed that the architecture of St. Petersburg was different that of Moscow. The Cathedral in Moscow had the pointy, tear drop structures more often in the architecture. The palaces in St. Petersburg are massive and beautiful. It is interesting to see the difference in architecture between St. Petersburg and Moscow.