Romanov Riches: Russian Writers and Artists Under the Tsars

Of course, one of the reasons for the popularity of Avvakum the writer was Avvakum the personality—the archpriest was a martyr writer, and that always impressed Russian readers. His oppositionist attitude toward earthly powers elicited respect and awe in the second half of the nineteenth century, after the long-awaited repeal of serfdom. Avvakum referred to the tsar, who was traditionally still called “God’s anointed,” as being “anointed with filth.”

When Tsar Alexei died in 1673, the triumphant Avvakum thundered curses from Pustozersk: “Poor, poor, mad little tsar! What have you done to yourself? … where is the purple porphyry and royal crown ornamented with beads and precious stones? … Go to hell, you son of a whore!”

The final punishment came in response to this and other attacks from Avvakum; the new tsar, Fedor, ordered 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.