LORD NOVGOROD THE GREAT
Departure from Ivanofka and Arrival at Novgorod--The Eastern Half of
the Town--The Kremlin--An Old Legend--The Armed Men of Rus--The
Northmen--Popular Liberty in Novgorod--The Prince and the Popular
Assembly--Civil Dissensions and Faction-fights--The Commercial Republic
Conquered by the Muscovite Tsars--Ivan the Terrible--Present Condition
of the Town--Provincial Society--Card-playing--Periodicals--"Eternal
Stillness."
Country life in Russia is pleasant enough in summer or in winter, but
between summer and winter there is an intermediate period of several
weeks when the rain and mud transform a country-house into something
very like a prison. To escape this durance vile I determined in the
month of October to leave Ivanofka, and chose as my headquarters for the
next few months the town of Novgorod--the old town of that name, not
to be confounded with Nizhni Novgorod--i.e., Lower Novgorod, on the
Volga--where the great annual fair is held.
For this choice there were several reasons. I did not wish to go to St.
Petersburg or Moscow, because I foresaw that in either of those cities
my studies would certainly be interrupted. In a quiet, sleepy provincial
town I should have much more chance of coming in contact with people who
could not speak fluently any West-European languages, and much better
opportunities for studying native life and local administration. Of the
provincial capitals, Novgorod was the nearest, and more interesting than
most of its rivals; for it has had a curious history, much older than
that of St. Petersburg or even of Moscow, and some traces of its
former greatness are still visible. Though now a town of third-rate
importance--a mere shadow of its former self--it still contains about
21,000 inhabitants, and is the administrative centre of the large
province in which it is situated.
About eighty miles before reaching St. Petersburg the Moscow railway
crosses the Volkhof, a rapid, muddy river which connects Lake Ilmen with
Lake Ladoga. At the point of intersection I got on board a small steamer
and sailed up stream towards Lake Ilmen for about fifty miles.* The
journey was tedious, for the country was flat and monotonous, and the
steamer, though it puffed and snorted inordinately, did not make more
than nine knots. Towards sunset Novgorod appeared on the horizon.
Seen thus at a distance in the soft twilight, it seemed decidedly
picturesque. On the east bank lay the greater part of the town, the sky
line of which was agreeably broken by the green roofs and pear-shaped
cupolas of many churches. On the opposite bank rose the Kremlin.
Spanning the river was a long, venerable stone bridge, half hidden by a
temporary wooden one, which was doing duty for the older structure while
the latter was being repaired. A cynical fellow-passenger assured me
that the temporary structure was destined to become permanent, because
it yielded a comfortable revenue to certain officials, but this sinister
prediction has not been verified.
* The journey would now be made by rail, but the branch line
which runs near the bank of the river had not been
constructed at that time.
That part of Novgorod which lies on the eastern bank of the river, and
in which I took up my abode for several months, contains nothing that
is worthy of special mention. As is the case in most Russian towns, the
streets are straight, wide, and ill-paved, and all run parallel or
at right angles to each other. At the end of the bridge is a spacious
market-place, flanked on one side by the Town-house. Near the other side
stand the houses of the Governor and of the chief military authority
of the district. The only other buildings of note are the numerous
churches, which are mostly small, and offer nothing that is likely to
interest the student of architecture. Altogether this part of the town
is unquestionably commonplace. The learned archaeologist may detect in
it some traces of the distant past, but the ordinary traveller will find
little to arrest his attention.
If now we cross over to the other side of the river, we are at once
confronted by something which very few Russian towns possess--a kremlin,
or citadel. This is a large and slightly-elevated enclosure, surrounded
by high brick walls, and in part by the remains of a moat. Before the
days of heavy artillery these walls must have presented a formidable
barrier to any besieging force, but they have long ceased to have any
military significance, and are now nothing more than an historical
monument. Passing through the gateway which faces the bridge, we find
ourselves in a large open space. To the right stands the cathedral--a
small, much-venerated church, which can make no pretensions to
architectural beauty--and an irregular group of buildings containing the
consistory and the residence of the Archbishop. To the left is a long
symmetrical range of buildings containing the Government offices and the
law courts. Midway between this and the cathedral, in the centre of
the great open space, stands a colossal monument, composed of a massive
circular stone pedestal and an enormous globe, on and around which
cluster a number of emblematic and historical figures. This curious
monument, which has at least the merit of being original in design, was
erected in 1862, in commemoration of Russia's thousandth birthday,
and is supposed to represent the history of Russia in general and of
Novgorod in particular during the last thousand years. It was placed
here because Novgorod is the oldest of Russian towns, and because
somewhere in the surrounding country occurred the incident which
is commonly recognised as the foundation of the Russian Empire. The
incident in question is thus described in the oldest chronicle:
"At that time, as the southern Slavonians paid tribute to the Kozars, so
the Novgorodian Slavonians suffered from the attacks of the Variags. For
some time the Variags exacted tribute from the Novgorodian Slavonians
and the neighbouring Finns; then the conquered tribes, by uniting their
forces, drove out the foreigners. But among the Slavonians arose strong
internal dissensions; the clans rose against each other. Then, for the
creation of order and safety, they resolved to call in princes from a
foreign land. In the year 862 Slavonic legates went away beyond the
sea to the Variag tribe called Rus, and said, 'Our land is great and
fruitful, but there is no order in it; come and reign and rule over us.'
Three brothers accepted the invitation, and appeared with their armed
followers. The eldest of these, Rurik, settled in Novgorod; the second,
Sineus, at Byelo-ozero; and the third, Truvor, in Isborsk. From them our
land is called Rus. After two years the brothers of Rurik died. He alone
began to rule over the Novgorod district, and confided to his men the
administration of the principal towns."
This simple legend has given rise to a vast amount of learned
controversy, and historical investigators have fought valiantly with
each other over the important question, Who were those armed men of Rus?
For a long time the commonly received opinion was that they were Normans
from Scandinavia. The Slavophils accepted the legend literally in this
sense, and constructed upon it an ingenious theory of Russian history.
The nations of the West, they said, were conquered by invaders, who
seized the country and created the feudal system for their own benefit;
hence the history of Western Europe is a long tale of bloody struggles
between conquerors and conquered, and at the present day the old enmity
still lives in the political rivalry of the different social classes.
The Russo-Slavonians, on the contrary, were not conquered, but
voluntarily invited a foreign prince to come and rule over them!
Hence the whole social and political development of Russia has been
essentially peaceful, and the Russian people know nothing of social
castes or feudalism. Though this theory afforded some nourishment for
patriotic self-satisfaction, it displeased extreme patriots, who did not
like the idea that order was first established in their country by men
of Teutonic race. These preferred to adopt the theory that Rurik and his
companions were Slavonians from the shores of the Baltic.
Though I devoted to the study of this question more time and labour than
perhaps the subject deserved, I have no intention of inviting the reader
to follow me through the tedious controversy. Suffice it to say that,
after careful consideration, and with all due deference to recent
historians, I am inclined to adopt the old theory, and to regard the
Normans of Scandinavia as in a certain sense the founders of the Russian
Empire. We know from other sources that during the ninth century there
was a great exodus from Scandinavia. Greedy of booty, and fired with
the spirit of adventure, the Northmen, in their light, open boats, swept
along the coasts of Germany, France, Spain, Greece, and Asia Minor,
pillaging the towns and villages near the sea, and entering into the
heart of the country by means of the rivers. At first they were mere
marauders, and showed everywhere such ferocity and cruelty that they
came to be regarded as something akin to plagues and famines, and the
faithful added a new petition to the Litany, "From the wrath and malice
of the Normans, O Lord, deliver us!" But towards the middle of the
century the movement changed its character. The raids became military
invasions, and the invaders sought to conquer the lands which they had
formerly plundered, "ut acquirant sibi spoliando regna quibus possent
vivere pace perpetua." The chiefs embraced Christianity, married the
daughters or sisters of the reigning princes, and obtained the conquered
territories as feudal grants. Thus arose Norman principalities in the
Low Countries, in France, in Italy, and in Sicily; and the Northmen,
rapidly blending with the native population, soon showed as much
political talent as they had formerly shown reckless and destructive
valour.
It would have been strange indeed if these adventurers, who succeeded
in reaching Asia Minor and the coasts of North America, should have
overlooked Russia, which lay, as it were, at their very doors. The
Volkhof, flowing through Novgorod, formed part of a great waterway which
afforded almost uninterrupted water-communication between the Baltic and
the Black Sea; and we know that some time afterwards the Scandinavians
used this route in their journeys to Constantinople. The change which
the Scandinavian movement underwent elsewhere is clearly indicated
by the Russian chronicles: first, the Variags came as collectors of
tribute, and raised so much popular opposition that they were expelled,
and then they came as rulers, and settled in the country. Whether they
really came on invitation may be doubted, but that they adopted the
language, religion, and customs of the native population does not
militate against the assertion that they were Normans. On the contrary,
we have here rather an additional confirmation, for elsewhere the
Normans did likewise. In the North of France they adopted almost at
once the French language and religion, and the son and successor of
the famous Rollo was sometimes reproached with being more French than
Norman.*
*Strinnholm, "Die Vikingerzuge" (Hamburg, 1839), I., p. 135.
Though it is difficult to decide how far the legend is literally true,
there can be no possible doubt that the event which it more or less
accurately describes had an important influence on Russian history. From
that time dates the rapid expansion of the Russo-Slavonians--a movement
that is still going on at the present day. To the north, the east, and
the south new principalities were formed and governed by men who all
claimed to be descendants of Rurik, and down to the end of the sixteenth
century no Russian outside of this great family ever attempted to
establish independent sovereignty.
For six centuries after the so-called invitation of Rurik the city on
the Volkhof had a strange, checkered history. Rapidly it conquered the
neighbouring Finnish tribes, and grew into a powerful independent state,
with a territory extending to the Gulf of Finland, and northwards to the
White Sea. At the same time its commercial importance increased, and it
became an outpost of the Hanseatic League. In this work the descendants
of Rurik played an important part, but they were always kept in strict
subordination to the popular will. Political freedom kept pace with
commercial prosperity. What means Rurik employed for establishing
and preserving order we know not, but the chronicles show that his
successors in Novgorod possessed merely such authority as was freely
granted them by the people. The supreme power resided, not in the
prince, but in the assembly of the citizens called together in the
market-place by the sound of the great bell. This assembly made laws
for the prince as well as for the people, entered into alliances with
foreign powers, declared war, and concluded peace, imposed taxes,
raised troops, and not only elected the magistrates, but also judged and
deposed them when it thought fit. The prince was little more than
the hired commander of the troops and the president of the judicial
administration. When entering on his functions he had to take a solemn
oath that he would faithfully observe the ancient laws and usages, and
if he failed to fulfil his promise he was sure to be summarily deposed
and expelled. The people had an old rhymed proverb, "Koli khud knyaz,
tak v gryaz!" "If the prince is bad, into the mud with him!", and they
habitually acted according to it. So unpleasant, indeed, was the task of
ruling those sturdy, stiff-necked burghers, that some princes refused to
undertake it, and others, having tried it for a time, voluntarily laid
down their authority and departed. But these frequent depositions and
abdications--as many as thirty took place in the course of a single
century--did not permanently disturb the existing order of things. The
descendants of Rurik were numerous, and there were always plenty of
candidates for the vacant post. The municipal republic continued to
grow in strength and in riches, and during the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries it proudly styled itself "Lord Novgorod the Great" (Gospodin
Velilki Novgorod).
"Then came a change, as all things human change." To the east arose
the principality of Moscow--not an old, rich municipal republic, but a
young, vigorous State, ruled by a line of crafty, energetic, ambitious,
and unscrupulous princes of the Rurik stock, who were freeing the
country from the Tartar yoke and gradually annexing by fair means and
foul the neighbouring principalities to their own dominions. At the same
time, and in a similar manner, the Lithuanian Princes to the westward
united various small principalities and formed a large independent
State. Thus Novgorod found itself in a critical position. Under a
strong Government it might have held its own against these rivals and
successfully maintained its independence, but its strength was already
undermined by internal dissensions. Political liberty had led to
anarchy. Again and again on that great open space where the national
monument now stands, and in the market-place on the other side of the
river, scenes of disorder and bloodshed took place, and more than once
on the bridge battles were fought by contending factions. Sometimes it
was a contest between rival families, and sometimes a struggle between
the municipal aristocracy, who sought to monopolise the political
power, and the common people, who wished to have a large share in the
administration. A State thus divided against itself could not long
resist the aggressive tendencies of powerful neighbours. Artful
diplomacy could but postpone the evil day, and it required no great
political foresight to predict that sooner or later Novgorod must become
Lithuanian or Muscovite. The great families inclined to Lithuania, but
the popular party and the clergy, disliking Roman Catholicism, looked to
Moscow for assistance, and the Grand Princes of Muscovy ultimately won
the prize.
The barbarous way in which the Grand Princes effected the annexation
shows how thoroughly they had imbibed the spirit of Tartar
statesmanship. Thousands of families were transported to Moscow, and
Muscovite families put in their places; and when, in spite of this, the
old spirit revived, Ivan the Terrible determined to apply the method of
physical extermination which he had found so effectual in breaking the
power of his own nobles. Advancing with a large army, which met with no
resistance, he devastated the country with fire and sword, and during a
residence of five weeks in the town he put the inhabitants to death
with a ruthless ferocity which has perhaps never been surpassed even by
Oriental despots. If those old walls could speak they would have many
a horrible tale to tell. Enough has been preserved in the chronicles to
give us some idea of this awful time. Monks and priests were subjected
to the Tartar punishment called pravezh, which consisted in tying the
victim to a stake, and flogging him daily until a certain sum of money
was paid for his release. The merchants and officials were tortured with
fire, and then thrown from the bridge with their wives and children
into the river. Lest any of them should escape by swimming, boatfuls
of soldiers despatched those who were not killed by the fall. At the
present day there is a curious bubbling immediately below the bridge,
which prevents the water from freezing in winter, and according to
popular belief this is caused by the spirits of the terrible Tsar's
victims. Of those who were murdered in the villages there is no record,
but in the town alone no less than 60,000 human beings are said to have
been butchered--an awful hecatomb on the altar of national unity and
autocratic power!
This tragic scene, which occurred in 1570, closes the history of
Novgorod as an independent State. Its real independence had long
since ceased to exist, and now the last spark of the old spirit was
extinguished. The Tsars could not suffer even a shadow of political
independence to exist within their dominions.
In the old days, when many Hanseatic merchants annually visited the
city, and when the market-place, the bridge, and the Kremlin were often
the scene of violent political struggles, Novgorod must have been an
interesting place to live in; but now its glory has departed, and in
respect of social resources it is not even a first-rate provincial town.
Kief, Kharkof, and other towns which are situated at a greater distance
from the capital, in districts fertile enough to induce the nobles to
farm their own land, are in their way little semi-independent centres of
civilisation. They contain a theatre, a library, two or three clubs, and
large houses belonging to rich landed proprietors, who spend the
summer on their estates and come into town for the winter months. These
proprietors, together with the resident officials, form a numerous
society, and during the winter, dinner-parties, balls, and other social
gatherings are by no means infrequent. In Novgorod the society is much
more limited. It does not, like Kief, Kharkof, and Kazan, possess a
university, and it contains no houses belonging to wealthy nobles. The
few proprietors of the province who live on their estates, and are rich
enough to spend part of the year in town, prefer St. Petersburg for
their winter residence. The society, therefore, is composed exclusively
of the officials and of the officers who happen to be quartered in the
town or the immediate vicinity.
Of all the people whose acquaintance I made at Novgorod, I can recall
only two men who did not occupy some official position, civil or
military. One of these was a retired doctor, who was attempting to farm
on scientific principles, and who, I believe, soon afterwards gave up
the attempt and migrated elsewhere. The other was a Polish bishop who
had been compromised in the insurrection of 1863, and was condemned to
live here under police supervision. This latter could scarcely be said
to belong to the society of the place; though he sometimes appeared
at the unceremonious weekly receptions given by the Governor, and was
invariably treated by all present with marked respect, he could not but
feel that he was in a false position, and he was rarely or never seen in
other houses.
The official circle of a town like Novgorod is sure to contain a good
many people of average education and agreeable manners, but it is
sure to be neither brilliant nor interesting. Though it is constantly
undergoing a gradual renovation by the received system of frequently
transferring officials from one town to another, it preserves
faithfully, in spite of the new blood which it thus receives, its
essentially languid character. When a new official arrives he exchanges
visits with all the notables, and for a few days he produces quite a
sensation in the little community. If he appears at social gatherings
he is much talked to, and if he does not appear he is much talked about.
His former history is repeatedly narrated, and his various merits and
defects assiduously discussed.
If he is married, and has brought his wife with him, the field of
comment and discussion is very much enlarged. The first time that Madame
appears in society she is the "cynosure of neighbouring eyes." Her
features, her complexion, her hair, her dress, and her jewellery are
carefully noted and criticised. Perhaps she has brought with her, from
the capital or from abroad, some dresses of the newest fashion. As soon
as this is discovered she at once becomes an object of special curiosity
to the ladies, and of envious jealousy to those who regard as a personal
grievance the presence of a toilette finer or more fashionable than
their own. Her demeanour, too, is very carefully observed. If she is
friendly and affable in manner, she is patronised; if she is distant and
reserved, she is condemned as proud and pretentious. In either case
she is pretty sure to form a close intimacy with some one of the older
female residents, and for a few weeks the two ladies are inseparable,
till some incautious word or act disturbs the new-born friendship, and
the devoted friends become bitter enemies. Voluntarily or involuntarily
the husbands get mixed up in the quarrel. Highly undesirable qualities
are discovered in the characters of all parties concerned, and are made
the subject of unfriendly comment. Then the feud subsides, and some new
feud of a similar kind comes to occupy the public attention. Mrs. A.
wonders how her friends Mr. and Mrs. B. can afford to lose considerable
sums every evening at cards, and suspects that they are getting into
debt or starving themselves and their children; in her humble opinion
they would do well to give fewer supper-parties, and to refrain from
poisoning their guests. The bosom friend to whom this is related retails
it directly or indirectly to Mrs. B., and Mrs. B. naturally retaliates.
Here is a new quarrel, which for some time affords material for
conversation.
When there is no quarrel, there is sure to be a bit of scandal afloat.
Though Russian provincial society is not at all prudish, and leans
rather to the side of extreme leniency, it cannot entirely overlook les
convenances. Madame C. has always a large number of male admirers, and
to this there can be no reasonable objection so long as her husband does
not complain, but she really parades her preference for Mr. X. at balls
and parties a little too conspicuously. Then there is Madame D., with
the big dreamy eyes. How can she remain in the place after her husband
was killed in a duel by a brother officer? Ostensibly the cause of the
quarrel was a trifling incident at the card-table, but every one knows
that in reality she was the cause of the deadly encounter. And so on,
and so on. In the absence of graver interests society naturally
bestows inordinate attention on the private affairs of its members; and
quarrelling, backbiting, and scandal-mongery help indolent people to
kill the time that hangs heavily on their hands.
Potent as these instruments are, they are not sufficient to kill all the
leisure hours. In the forenoons the gentlemen are occupied with their
official duties, whilst the ladies go out shopping or pay visits,
and devote any time that remains to their household duties and their
children; but the day's work is over about four o'clock, and the long
evening remains to be filled up. The siesta may dispose of an hour or an
hour and a half, but about seven o'clock some definite occupation has to
be found. As it is impossible to devote the whole evening to discussing
the ordinary news of the day, recourse is almost invariably had
to card-playing, which is indulged in to an extent that we had no
conception of in England until Bridge was imported. Hour after hour
the Russians of both sexes will sit in a hot room, filled with a
constantly-renewed cloud of tobacco-smoke--in the production of
which most of the ladies take part--and silently play "Preference,"
"Yarolash," or Bridge. Those who for some reason are obliged to be alone
can amuse themselves with "Patience," in which no partner is required.
In the other games the stakes are commonly very small, but the sittings
are often continued so long that a player may win or lose two or three
pounds sterling. It is no unusual thing for gentlemen to play for eight
or nine hours at a time. At the weekly club dinners, before coffee had
been served, nearly all present used to rush off impatiently to the
card-room, and sit there placidly from five o'clock in the afternoon
till one or two o'clock in the morning! When I asked my friends why they
devoted so much time to this unprofitable occupation, they always gave
me pretty much the same answer: "What are we to do? We have been reading
or writing official papers all day, and in the evening we like to have
a little relaxation. When we come together we have very little to talk
about, for we have all read the daily papers and nothing more. The best
thing we can do is to sit down at the card-table, where we can spend our
time pleasantly, without the necessity of talking."
In addition to the daily papers, some people read the monthly
periodicals--big, thick volumes, containing several serious articles on
historical and social subjects, sections of one or two novels, satirical
sketches, and a long review of home and foreign politics on the model
of those in the Revue des Deux Mondes. Several of these periodicals
are very ably conducted, and offer to their readers a large amount of
valuable information; but I have noticed that the leaves of the more
serious part often remain uncut. The translation of a sensation novel by
the latest French or English favourite finds many more readers than an
article by an historian or a political economist. As to books, they seem
to be very little read, for during all the time I lived in Novgorod I
never discovered a bookseller's shop, and when I required books I had to
get them sent from St. Petersburg. The local administration, it is true,
conceived the idea of forming a museum and circulating library, but in
my time the project was never realised. Of all the magnificent projects
that are formed in Russia, only a very small percentage come into
existence, and these are too often very short-lived. The Russians
have learned theoretically what are the wants of the most advanced
civilisation, and are ever ready to rush into the grand schemes which
their theoretical knowledge suggests; but very few of them really
and permanently feel these wants, and consequently the institutions
artificially formed to satisfy them very soon languish and die. In the
provincial towns the shops for the sale of gastronomic delicacies spring
up and flourish, whilst shops for the sale of intellectual food are
rarely to be met with.
About the beginning of December the ordinary monotony of Novgorod life
is a little relieved by the annual Provincial Assembly, which sits
daily for two or three weeks and discusses the economic wants of
the province.* During this time a good many landed proprietors, who
habitually live on their estates or in St. Petersburg, collect in
the town, and enliven a little the ordinary society. But as Christmas
approaches the deputies disperse, and again the town becomes enshrouded
in that "eternal stillness" (vetchnaya tishina) which a native poet has
declared to be the essential characteristic of Russian provincial life.
* Of these Assemblies I shall have more to say when I come
to describe the local self-government.