Romanov Riches: Russian Writers and Artists Under the Tsars

that Avvakum and his three friends be burned alive in 1682 “for great slander on the Royal House.” In the following years, tens of thousands of Old Believers all over Russia, inspired by the example of Avvakum, perished in “gari,” mass self-immolations. No writer could have ever dreamed of such grandiose and terrifying fiery memorials.

In the year of Avvakum’s horrible death, a lively and intelligent ten-year-old boy named Peter took the throne; he grew up to be a six-foot-six colossus and did not physically resemble his “Most Gentle” father in the least. Peter I was a muscular man with a springy step, and swung his arms so wildly as he walked that he frightened people. The effect was intensified by his huge bulging eyes and the nervous tic that marred his face at the slightest bit of agitation or tension.

Perhaps it was because of this marked contrast with the corpulent and kindly Tsar Alexei that people refused to recognize Peter as his true son: “The Sovereign is not of Russian stock and not the son of Tsar; the real son was switched in infancy with a foreigner in the German quarter.”²⁵

Another popular legend had the real Peter immured in Riga, his place on the throne taken by a foreign impostor. They also called Peter the Antichrist. There was a death penalty for such talk in Russia, but the rumors did not cease, especially among the Old Believers.

Ironically, for all the external differences, Peter I inherited a lot from his father. Like his father, he had a volatile temper; he loved to read and write; he was curious about foreign marvels; and he also shared Alexei’s dislike of overly power-hungry church officials and his love of all things military.

All the Romanovs, without exception, were particularly interested in military issues. That is quite understandable. As leaders of an enormous kingdom, they were obliged to care about its security and interests. Russia was continually defending itself or expanding. A mighty army was necessary, and its preparedness was always the main concern of Russian rulers.

No army exists in a social vacuum. It always mirrors the general state of affairs in the country, its social fabric, and the state of its economy, trade, and education. While examining the Romanovs’ attitude toward Russian culture, we should always remember that the majority of the important cultural initiatives of all the Russian monarchs were propelled by interests of state security (and personal security as well).

In that sense Peter’s father was no exception. Foreigners reported that “in military matters he is knowledgeable and fearless.”²⁶ Tsar Alexei participated in several military campaigns and saw with his own eyes his army’s shortcomings. That led to his attempts to reform it: he invited foreign mercenaries to Russia, and from Europe he purchased cannons with iron cannonballs, thousands of muskets, and tons of gunpowder.

In Alexei’s reign, Russia started building weapons factories—and needed foreigners again. A long line of unemployed European masters in the most varied professions made its way to Russia: foundry workers, stonemasons, weavers, clockmakers. And after them came architects, painters, teachers of languages, “politesse,” and dance. As Kliuchevsky summarized it, “They started with foreign officers and German cannons and ended with German ballet.”²⁷

Thus, the famous reforms of Peter I did not come out of thin air, but followed his father’s lead. In that sense, Peter can be considered a good son. It is another matter that Peter’s reforms took on an incredible acceleration, which created the illusion of a radical break with Russia’s past.

Instead of the break metaphor, some contemporary scholars offer another—a single flow, albeit rather turbulent at times. In the framework of that current, both national traditions and European innovations coexisted and interacted in Russia in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

According to the populist critic Nikolai Dobroliubov, Peter I “cast off the ancient, obsolete forms in which the highest authority existed before him; but the essence remained the same even under him … In a sailor’s jacket, with an ax in his hand, he held his kingdom just as terrifyingly and powerfully as had his predecessors dressed in porphyry and seated on a golden throne with a scepter in their hands.”²⁸

Peter’s attitude toward culture in general, and literature and art in particular, was utilitarian. His main goal was the creation of a strong, modern army and navy. This attitude was reflected in the books of Peter’s personal library, in which most of the more than fifteen hundred volumes were devoted to military studies and shipbuilding, followed by historical works and books on architecture and parks.

In his desire to strengthen “order and defense,” Peter shook up the country. His radical cultural initiatives were part of that shake-up. Merely a listing of those initiatives is impressive: an unprecedented secularization of culture; the establishment in 1703 of Russia’s first printed newspaper, Bulletin on Military and Other Affairs, Worthy of Being Known and Remembered, Occurring in the Muscovite State and Other Neighboring Countries; and the expansion of the network of printing presses that began producing “civil” books— that is, set in the new, simplified type.

Later, the great scientist and poet Mikhail Lomonosov drew a parallel between this last innovation and the tsar’s enforced Europeanization of his subjects’ appearance: “Under Peter the Great not only the boyars and their wives, but even the letters threw off their wide fur coats and dressed in summer clothing.”²⁹

One of the most notable steps in the change of Russia’s political and cultural image was the establishment in 1703 of the city of St. Petersburg in the mouth of the Neva River; it became the official new capital in 1712. The tsar was particularly proud of that action, fantastic in both its boldness and irrationality, and he never failed to include it in lists of his main achievements. In terms of culture, St. Petersburg became a laboratory for elaborating the architectural and behavioral models that Peter wanted to extend throughout the country.

Private brick buildings, European-style parks, and streets paved with stones and illuminated by streetlamps first appeared in Russia in St. Petersburg. Peter’s favorite creation was the Summer Garden, which abutted his summer residence; he had personally drawn the original plans for it. An inveterate teacher, the tsar told his gardener, “I want people who stroll here in the garden to find something edifying.”³⁰

Rejecting the gardener’s suggestion to place books on the benches, Peter ordered sculptural groups depicting the characters of Aesop’s fables, which he loved, for the park. The groups ornamented the fountains. A metal sign at each fountain gave the fable’s text in large letters. Peter liked to gather strollers and explain the meanings of the depicted stories.

Another educational measure was the installation of a Roman marble statue of Venus, bought on Peter’s orders in Italy in 1719. This was a direct challenge to the Orthodox Church, which banned sculptural depictions of people in general (it was considered pagan idolatry), and of naked women in particular.

In Russia, the marble Venus was immediately dubbed the “white she-devil,” and of course would have been vandalized if Peter had not prudently posted guards. Bringing stunned (and probably secretly indignant) guests over to his beloved Venus, Peter tried to teach them the basics of mythology, which he knew rather well.

Still, Peter’s erudition was basically utilitarian. The great German philosopher and mathematician Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibnitz, at one time Peter’s adviser, recalled the tsar’s statement that he found more beauty in well- working machinery than in lovely paintings. According to Alexandre Benois, Peter made a great mistake: wanting to reform Russian art, he took as his model provincial Dutch culture, bringing in second-rate masters and thereby