Russian Literature: A Very Short Introduction

18. A Circassian warrior: here the manly hero is portrayed by a nineteenth-century British artist.

We buried her behind the fortress, by a stream and near the place where she was sitting that last time. Now the bushes have grown up round her grave, white acacia and elder. I wanted to put a cross up, but, well, you know, I felt a bit uncomfortable about it; after all, she wasn’t a Christian . . .

There is a grating contrast between this passage and Pechorin’s formulaically cynical verdict on Bela when he has tired of her: ‘The love of a female savage is scarcely more appealing than that of a young lady of high society: the ignorance and simplicity of the one grow as boring as the coquetry of the other.’ Even Pechorin’s response to Bela’s death is stereotypical: in the words of Maksim Maksimych, ‘He raised his head and laughed . . . That laugh raised goosepimples all over me.’ For all Pechorin’s tribal play-acting, he remains as distant from the spirit of the mountains and from that of their inhabitants as does the dilettante ‘travel writer’ narrator who discovers Pechorin’s journals and decides to make a literary sensation by publishing these, and who provides the second layer of commentary in Lermontov’s multi-perspective novel.

Lermontov’s novel, then, juxtaposed the Romantic dandy’s pose of assimilation with the mundane man of action’s respect for difference, and the metropolitan gentleman’s mourning of the supposedly impassable barrier between ethnic groups with the lower-class settler’s conviction that such a barrier was an illusion. At the same time, Pechorin’s own confrontation with the Caucasus and the world of the Orient was not straightforward: it ended with his death in Persia, and before that he was repeatedly threatened with physical and mental disintegration. As Susan Layton has pointed out, Russian writers found it more difficult to believe in the ‘alterity of Orient’ than did their counterparts in Western Europe (with the exception of Spain, one might add), because of their country’s absorption of waves of invaders (the Pechenegs, the Tartars) and the assimilation of ‘Orientals’ into their own culture.

19. A Cossack soldier. Note the ‘orientalized’ appearance of this man and his wife, portrayed by a minor nineteenth-century Russian artist.

The labile, fluid character of Russian national feeling was never more clearly indicated than in the publication of the merchant Afanasy Nikitin’s remarkable fifteenth-century account of his visit to India, Voyage Beyond Three Seas, in Karamzin’s epoch-making History of the Russian State (1818). At the heart of a history that celebrated the creation of a puissant Russia stood a text ending with an almost exact transcription of the prayer spoken by converts to Islam. The publication of Nikitin’s narrative in Karamzin’s showed the uncertainty at the centre of Russian national identity and illustrated how the result of contact with ‘the other’ could be a sense of Russia’s closeness to the East, rather than of the gulf between Russia as part of Europe and the further territories.

This sense of closeness had resonance not only in the foundation, during the 1820s, of an outstanding tradition of scholarly investigation directed at the languages and cultures of the Eastern Empire, but also in philosophy and in artistic representations, culminating in the ‘Eurasianism’ of the early twentieth century. Blok’s important cycle of lyric poems ‘At Kulikovo Field’ (1908) was a highly original interpretation of a famous victory over the Tartars in 1380, a battle as crucial to triumphalist national history as Borodino (or, in English tradition, Agincourt). The imagery of Blok’s cycle recalled not only the Zadonshchina, a late fourteenth-century text celebrating the victory at Kulikovo, but also The Lay of Igor’s Campaign, a still more famous twelfth-century text eulogizing a glorious Russian defeat. This intertextual double-exposure was only one of many layers of ambiguity in a text whose perspective slipped between the fourteenth century and the time of its composition, and which – as was revealed by Blok’s contemporaneous essay ‘The People and the Intelligentsia’ – was also intended as a lament for the ‘infrangible boundary’ between the ‘Tatar’ intelligentsia and the ‘true Russian’ lower classes.