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Vagrancy, law, and the limits of verisimilitude in Russian literature
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Vagrancy, law, and the limits of verisimilitude in Russian literature
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Vagrancy, Law, and the Limits of Verisimilitude in Russian Literature
by
Olga Seliazniova
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(Slavic Languages and Literatures)
August 2021
Copyright [2021] Olga Seliazniova
ii
Acknowledgments
This dissertation was born out of a transient question. Thinking about numerous
“cripples” in Vladimir Mayakovsky: A Tragedy, I wondered how many homeless and disabled
people there actually were in Moscow in 1913. Just for fun, I outlined a few questions in my
notebook for a potential future research paper and titled it “Brodiagi.” A few months later,
during my yearly review, I unexpectedly brought up this subject among several others as a
possible topic of my dissertation. Vagrancy struck a chord. All members of the review committee
began an animated debate among themselves: “Is Ostap Bender a vagrant?”; “What about
nomads and the holy fools?”; “Pushkin’s Tsygany?”; “Well, of course there is always Gorky!” In
short, the topic was deemed too broad and too vague, and the faculty unanimously agreed that I
was to begin working on it immediately. Their decision pleased me: A contrarian at heart, I
reveled in the idea that my dissertation was condemned for being no less than a bottomless pit.
Besides, this saved me a lot of time. I had my topic, and I did not need to think about it any
further. For that, I am thankful to those who presided at that fateful meeting: Tom Seifrid, Greta
Matzner Gore, Alik Zholkovsky, John Bowlt, Anna Krakus, and Sally Pratt.
I am very grateful to my committee members — Colleen McQuillen and Veli Yashin —
for reading and commenting on my dissertation during various stages of its completion, for
sending me sources about vagrants, and for giving me good advice and kind words; mostly,
however, simply for being there for me. I am most grateful to my advisor Thomas Seifrid, who
had to wrestle with many drafts in different stages of their “baked-ness.” Many of them were a
waste of his time, but he was gracious enough not to point that out to me and instead just pushed
me to develop my ideas. He did so kindly and patiently. Being a fan of expediency, I never had
to wait long for his feedback, and for that I am also very appreciative! I am also thankful to
iii
James Polk, who proofread my chapters riddled with numerous typos with such grace and always
had something funny to say and lighten my mood.
I would like to express my gratitude to my friends and peers at USC. Maria Salnikova
and Nikita Allgire began dissertating at the same time, and our worries and anxieties often
coincided. They were always reliable when I needed commiseration. Natalia Dame has read my
proposal several times, discussed it with me, and helped me stay focused. Ksenia Radchenko
offered a lot of emotional support and found many creative ways to include me in various
academic projects. Her friendship is a true godsend! I am also thankful to Dasha Ivanova, Laurel
Schmuck, and Mac Watson for making me feel included at USC, when I first arrived in LA, and
to Dmitrii Kuznetsov for sustaining in me a sense of belonging in the USC community after I left
for Seattle. I would like to extend my deepest gratitude and love to James Fortney for being a
great friend and never sparing me and my feelings from his candid advice and recommendations.
I have been very fortunate to receive abundant help outside of USC. Galya Diment and
her academic “crew”—most importantly Erin Gilbert, Slaven Svetinovic, Richard Boyechko—
accepted me in their intellectual circles, read my work, commented on it, and kept me on track
for two whole years, one of which was an especially lonely year in the pandemic. I am also very
grateful to Tom Roberts for continuing to help me over the years, but especially for giving me
invaluable recommendations for strengthening my chapter on Leskov. I hope he will not be too
disappointed with the final version of that chapter.
Several people from the University of Illinois at Chicago deserve mention too. I am
thankful to Tetiana Dzyadevych for her willingness to read my work and for supporting me and
my ideas; to Colleen McQuillen for helping me in so many ways through the years and for
continuing to provide academic guidance and (most importantly) emotional support; to Anton
iv
Svynarenko for making some of my translations from Russian into English intelligible and for
gamboling and cutting capers with me in the badlands of academia. I am forever indebted to
Julia Vaingurt, who changed me for the better, helped me along the way, and always supported
me and my projects. Words cannot express the full extent of my gratitude to her.
I am also thankful to my parents for staying healthy and not worrying me too much. And
finally, to my wonderful husband Giovanni, who supported me and made sure that I finished this
dissertation sooner rather than later. In a way, he worked just as hard as I did on realizing this
project.
Seattle, WA.
v
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements.……………………..…………………………………………………..……ii
Abstract………….. ……………………………….…..…………………………………..……..vii
Introduction……………………………….…..………………………………………………...…1
On the Margins of Scholarly Inquiries………………..………………….……….6
Discontents of Inadequate Policing....……………..…………………………….10
The Russian Path or Russian Volia…………………………………………...….13
Vagrancy and Orthodoxy…………………………………………….………..…19
Vagrants as Mirrors ………………..……………………………..……………...20
Chapter 1: Brodiagi in Law and History: How Russians Created Vagrancy
and Then Struggled to Curb It………………………………………………………..23
How Did Brodiaga Become an Outlaw?………………..…………………….....24
The Criminalization of Brodiagi …………………..…………………………….30
An Important Distinction: Who Vagrants are Not …...……………..……...……35
Defining Brodiagi …………………..………………………………..……….....40
Chapter 2. Vagrancy in Literature of the Nineteenth Century…………………………………...58
Malcontents as Vagrants ……………………….………………………………..58
The Turning Point……………………..……...………………………………….66
The Rise of Ethnography…. ………………..………………………………..….71
Penal Prose……………………..………………………………..……………….75
The Heyday of Vagrant Literature…..………………..………………………….85
A Literary Type Without a Genre……………………..…………………………91
Chapter 3. Quo Vadis: Vagrancy and Religion…………………………………………………..97
Boris Godunov………………………..……………………………………..….102
Vagrants in the Antiworld……………………..……………………………......108
Bobyl’ and Chelkash……………………..……………………………………..116
Harm…………………………………..…………………………………..……121
Chapter 4. In Defense of Domesticity: Figurations of Vagrancy in
Dmitrii Grigorovich’s Oeuvre………………………………………………………131
Social Critique………………………..………………………………………...132
Born Bad, Scientifically Speaking………………..……………………….……137
Social Types …………………………………..………………………………..145
Who Deserves to Reap the Fruits of Serfs’ Labor? ………………...………….148
Domesticity ………………………………..………………………….………..156
vi
Chapter 5. Self-Serving Patriotism and the Limits of Social Critique in Nikolai Leskov’s The
Enchanted Wanderer and Other Works……………………………………………..161
The Genealogy of the Protagonist ………………………………..…………….163
Apropos Speaking…………………..…………………………………….…… 169
On the Authenticity of Patriotism …………………..…………………...……..179
Apropos Civil Order……………………..………………………………….….185
Chapter 6. Maxim Gorky: Vagrancy, Revolution, and the Question of Authenticity………….196
Is Gorky an Innovator?........................................................................................197
Maksim Narrates……………………..…………………………………...…….201
Gorky, Vagrancy, Revolution ………………..…………………………..…….215
Gorky’s Brodiagi………………………..………………………………..…….218
Luka……………………....……………..…………………………...…………227
Conclusion…………………………………..…………………….……………………………238
1917 Onward……………………..…………………….……………………….242
Bibliography…………..……………………………………………..…………………………250
vii
Abstract
This dissertation examines the figure of brodiaga (vagrant) as a popular literary character type
throughout the nineteenth century. Unlike many other marginal or peripatetic literary types, such
as Romantic or religious wanderers, holy fools, or tricksters, vagrants were largely omitted from
the purview of literary criticism, mainly because they were recognized as social, rather than
literary, types. With this dissertation, I rectify this notion and, by drawing on a wide range of
literary and historical scholarship, prove that vagrant figures were becoming increasingly
popular. In fact, Alexander Pushkin, Dmitrii Grigorovich, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy,
Nikolai Leskov, Vladimir Korolenko, and Maxim Gorky all engaged with vagrancy in their
literary works. On the one hand, this occurred because more and more writers came in contact
with vagrants when they were in Siberian exile or during ethnographic expeditions popular
among writers at the time. These encounters unquestionably made an enormous impact on the
number of works dedicated to vagrancy. On the other hand, writers recognized that vagrants —
as mobile, rootless, freedom-loving, criminal social outcasts — could be instrumental in making
broader moral, political, and religious points about the Russian society. In my dissertation, I
address the rapid evolution of the modes of representation, which this burgeoning interest in
vagrancy by the writers and the reading public inadvertently promoted. In addition to examining
the development of vagrancy as a theme in Russian literature, I also survey Russian history and
laws and trace the onset of vagrancy as a criminal offense. I find that equivocal definitions and
unnecessarily cruel punishments designed to curb vagrancy, promulgated it instead. I note the
same issue of vague definitions in the literary representations of brodiagi. More often than not,
writers who wished to represent vagrants authentically inadvertently reiterated stereotypes and
derivative associations instead. Conversely, some of these associations, with which so many
writers insistently engaged, produced unexpected cultural codes of their own. For instance, a
consistent correlation between vagrancy and volia (freedom) confirmed the stable conclusion
that while freedom may be a relative term, true freedom for those who cannot be tamed or
domesticated can only be found in death. Most importantly, however, I demonstrate that while
representations of vagrants often raise questions of authenticity, it is precisely the way most
writers engage with this theme that most tellingly revels authors’ personal anxieties,
preoccupations, and political allegiances.
1
Introduction
In 1859, a then just twenty-year-old composer Modest Mussorgsky, who by that time was
already a member of the Mighty Handful (Moguchaia kuchka), gave the following description of
his impressions of Moscow and its beggars in a letter:
I ascended the “Ivan the Great” tower from the top of which I had a wonderful view.
Roving through the streets I remembered the dictum “All Muscovites bear a distinctive
hallmark.” This is certainly true of the common people. Nowhere else in the world could
beggars and rogues of the same kind be found. They have a strange demeanor, a
nimbleness of motion that struck me particularly. In short I feel as if I had been carried
into a new world, the world of yore — an unclean one, but one which nevertheless
impresses me most favorably. You know I was a cosmopolitan; now I feel reborn and
quite close to all that is Russian.
1
Perhaps somewhat naïve, Mussorgsky’s emotional response to Moscow’s beggars and rogues
definitely resonated with the overall sentimental aura that permeated the country at the time.
Soon after the failed Decemberist revolution, Russian intellectuals began to look inward in the
hope of reclaiming lost Russian roots and reuniting with the native Russian community — the
Russian narod. Before the emancipation, many of them, including such writers as Nikolai
Nekrasov, Sergei Aksakov, Dmitrii Grigorovich, and Ivan Turgenev painstakingly employed
their literary talents to liberate the Russian serfs. Even though the Russian intellectuals were
above all captivated by the image of the forgotten, violated, disrespected, yet dignified and
hardworking peasant, they could not help but accept some other destitute types that the notion of
narod encompassed due to the inseparable nature of this particular collective. That maybe is why
Mussorgsky had such an enthusiastic response towards the sightings of beggars, whom he
1
Quoted from: Joseph Bradley, Muzhik and Muscovite: Urbanization in Late Imperial
Russia, (Berkley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985), 253.
2
seemingly observed from the top of a tower.
Conversely, refined culture is highly dependent of the sense of sight because it provides a
necessary distance from the surrounding reality and mediates or even protects one from close
encounters with what culture deems to be offensive. Using this safe distance Mussorgsky first
marvels at the beggars’ and rogues’ otherness. He then begins to mythologize them, mentally
transporting himself from the geographical Moscow of the present to the fantastical Moscow of
the past, when it was not yet stained by foreign influences. The sight achieves two things
simultaneously: it prevents Mussorgsky from coming into close physical contact with these
people and it allows him to unite with them cerebrally, transforming his cosmopolitanism (which
can be viewed as either belonging or unbelonging) into the heightened realization of
Russianness.
Evidently, this new focus on poverty as the true Russian reality and on the poor as
paragon exemplars of what is innately Russian types was quickly integrated into the mindset of
the Russian intelligentsia and welcomed by Russian youth. In the 1860s Russia was flooded with
ideas of narodnichestvo, a populist movement that, due to the Russian society’s dissatisfaction
with the emancipation reforms, wished to galvanize the masses of peasants and bring
revolutionary socialism to Russia.
2
The core philosophies of this movement, shaped by Mikhail
Bakunin, Pëtr Lavrov, Nikolai Dobroliubov, Alexander Herzen, and Nikolai Chernyshevskii,
evidently inspired numerous representatives of the intelligentsia, many of whom were
particularly taken by the idea of “going to the people” (khozhdenie v narod). Khozhdenie v narod
2
See, Anne Pedler, “Going to the People. The Russian Narodniki in 1874-5,” The
Slavonic Review, 6, no. 16 (1927): 130-41. Accessed online:
http://www.jstor.org/stable/4202141.
3
was first and foremost a method for dispersing propaganda and mobilizing the uneducated
masses to unite and lead the country to a socialist future; at the same time, it also coincided and,
in many ways, coalesced with the burgeoning popularity of ethnography, which also put great
store on travelling across the country with a purpose of collecting materials about the Russian
culture. In order to do so, many narodniks and ethnographers dressed in peasant clothes, hoping
to fit in with the common folk and, thus, to be more effective in their respective efforts.
In various ways, these ideas resonated with members of such renowned groups in the
world of the arts as the Itinerants (Peredvizhniki) and the Mighty Handful in music, who also
considered mobility essential for their creative and philanthropic endeavors. Moreover,
khozhdeniia v narod did not lose its creative potency even in the 1890s. Anton Chekhov, for
example, advised Nikolai Teleshov to travel and eavesdrop on the lives of the poor for
inspiration:
Поезжайте куда-нибудь далеко, верст за тысячу, за две, за три. Ну, хоть в Азию, что
ли, на Байкал. <…> Перешагните непременно границу Европы, чтобы
почувствовать под ногами настоящую азиатскую землю... Сколько всего узнаете,
сколько рассказов привезёте! Увидите народную жизнь, будете ночевать на глухих
почтовых станциях и в избах, совсем как в пушкинские времена, и клопы вас будут
заедать. Но это хорошо. После скажете мне спасибо. Только по железным дорогам
надо ехать непременно в третьем классе, среди простого народа, а то ничего
интересного не услышите. Если хотите быть писателем, завтра же купите билет до
Нижнего.
3
Go somewhere far, a thousand, two, three thousand miles away. To Asia or Baikal. <…>
Be sure to step over the border of Europe to feel the real Asian land under your feet...
How much will you learn, how many stories you will bring back! You will see the life of
the people, you will spend your nights in remote post stations and huts, just like it was in
Pushkin's times, and the bedbugs will plague you. But it's all good. Then you will thank
me. Only on the railways you must certainly go in the third class, among the common
3
N. D. Teleshov, “A. P. Chekhov,” Chekhov v vospominaniiakh sovremennikov,
(Мoskva: Khud. lit., 1960), 473.
4
folk, otherwise you won’t hear anything interesting. If you want to be a writer, buy a
ticket to Nizhny tomorrow.
4
Remarkably, just like Mussorgsky before him, Chekhov found the essence of Russia in its
griminess, which he also imagined as capable of a kind of temporal coalescence of the past and
the present: according to Mussorgsky, griminess allowed one to return to a paradoxical “new
world of yore”; according to Chekhov, bedbugs in peasant huts encompassed in and of
themselves the atmosphere of the 1820s and 1830s and could transport one back in time.
However, whereas Mussorgsky only observes the uncleanness in 1859, Chekov in the early
1890s suggests intensifying these temporal experiences and the ensuing unity with Russia by
direct and unmediated physical contact with atemporal yet bloodthirsty parasites. Consequently,
much like Chekov himself and so many others who went into the depths of Russia for
inspiration, Teleshov heeded to Chekhov’s advice and went to Siberia.
5
By the end of the nineteenth century, the Russian intelligentsia seemed to be enamored
with the idea of wandering and vagrancy more than with serene peasant life, since all
connections of peasants to the land necessitated a great deal of toiling and, most importantly,
staying in one rural place. Domesticity, however, did not fit well with revolutionary ideas of
awaking and mobilizing the masses. Nor were periods of prolonged stasis very useful for
collecting ethnographic material. Hence, wanderers with academic pursuits often had to move
forward in their undertakings. What also suggests that vagrancy and wandering were en vogue at
the turn of the century is that the intellectual society did not stop at merely walking across Russia
4
All translations are mine, unless noted otherwise.
5
The same parallel can be observed in literature. In the 1850s someone like Grigorovich
wrote of vagrancy from the comfort of his estate, whereas in 1890s Vladimir Giliarovskii and
Maksim Gorky became a vagrant in order to understand this phenomenon.
5
in peasant attire, but instead adopted pseudonyms with wandering connotations, such as
Bezpriutnyi Strannik (pseudonym of F. D. Nefedov), Iulia Bezrodnaia (Iu. Iv. Iakovleva),
Volzhskii strannik (journalist Georgii Dem’ianov), Skitalets (journalist Osip Blotermants), Egor
Brodiachii (E. Bogolskovskii), Skitalets (Stepan Pertov), Ivan Strannik (Anna Anichkova), E.
Bezdomnyi (pseudonym of Evsei Ulanov), V. Vol’nyi (Vl. Val’ter).
In addition to wandering across Russia and adopting playful, attention-grabbing pen
names, writers and artists also represented vagrants and wanderers in their works. Vasilii Perov
alone, for example, produced a number of paintings and sketches that featured vagrants and
wanderers. Such would be his cycle of paintings entitled Strannik (Wanderer), painted in 1859,
1869, 1870, as well as his paintings Chaepitie v Mytishchakh bliz Moskvy (The Party of
Mytishchi near Moscow) (1862), Deti-siroty na klatbishche (Orphans at the Cemetery) (1864),
Priëm strannika (Receiving Wanderer) (1874) and his sketches “Khodoki prositeli” (Wanderers-
beggars”) (1880), the paintings “Strannitsa v pole” (Wanderer in a field”) (1879) and “Putnik”
(“Wayfarer”) 1874. Besides Perov, vagrants were represented in Yakov Sharvin’s study
“Brodiaga” (“Vagrant”) (1872), P. P. Sokolov’s Nishchie Stranniki (Paupers-Wanderers) (1872),
V. M. Vasnetsov’s Nishchie pevtsy (Impoverished Singers) (1873); Ivan Kramskoi’s painting
Sozertsatel’ (A Meditator) (1876), to name a few. Celebrated photographers Karl Bulla and
Maksim Dmitriiev also captured images of many Russian bosiaki in a number of their photos.
6
Sergei Maksimov, Dmitrii Grigorovich, Fëdor Dostoevsky, Vladimir Korolenko, Nikolai
Leskov, Maxim Gorky, among many others, depicted numerous vagrants and wanderers in their
literary works and pondered the phenomenon of vagrancy. In other words, from the mid
nineteenth century on, poverty, wandering, itinerancy and everything it entails was of the utmost
6
Bosiaki (“the barefoot ones”) is another common word for vagrants.
6
interest to intellectuals who examined it regularly and painstakingly.
In the present study, however, I focus on the literary manifestations of one specific
itinerant figure — the Russian brodiaga (vagrant) and try to trace the origins and the
development of this literary type in the works produced in the nineteenth and early twentieth
century. In order to position brodiagi in Russian culture, I examine not only literary and artistic
productions of the time, but also the history and laws of Imperial Russia. As my dissertation will
show, authors often thought about vagrancy laws when they were writing their narratives. Laws
even inspired one particularly widespread trope — the theme of “passportlessness.” The lack of
travel paperwork, in effect, became one of the central symbols of vagrancy. As such, it was often
weaved into conversations between vagrants, thereby showing that it occupied the minds of
many vagrants. On occasion, “undocumentedness” even influenced the course of events.
In my examination of this theme, I will raise the following questions: When and why did
brodiagi spark interest in the intellectuals of the nineteenth century? What is the role of such
characters in literary texts? How, if at all, did vagrant types evolve over the nineteenth and early
twentieth century? Is there a stable theme of vagrancy in literature? Is there a vagrant genre?
And, importantly, were vagrants merely used as pawns for social critique?
On the Margins of Scholarly Inquiries
Even though there are many literary and artistic works that feature vagrants, to my
knowledge there has not yet been a study of the cultural representations of vagrancy in the
Russian culture. The majority of scholarship that deals with manifestations of itinerancy,
homelessness, or deviancy do not touch on brodiagi specifically. Some important studies on the
contiguous literary types or ideas, however, should be mentioned. One such study is The
7
Literature of Roguery by Marcia A. Morris. In her book, Morris delineates Russian rogue
literature from the Western picaresque genre and suggests a modal analysis over the generic one
(particularly when the picaresque genre is concerned), since, to put it in her own words, “modes
to do not impose a particular form on a work of fiction.”
7
Ingrid Kleespies, in A Nation Astray:
Nomadism and National Identity in Russian Literature looks at various manifestations of
wandering as a metaphor connected to the search for national identity. Kleespies engages a
number of important modes of itinerancy, such as nomadism, strannichestvo (wandering),
iurodivost’, and travelling, yet she does not acknowledge vagrancy as an important facet of
wandering in Russia.
8
The Russian trickster is perhaps one of the most recognized and well-
researched literary types, and was studied by Aleksander Zholkovsky
9
and Mark Lipovetsky.
10
Likewise, several important works on peripatetic or homeless types were written by historians.
Most influential for this study are Sergei Ivanov’s Holy Fools in Byzantium and Beyond and
Russell Zguta’s Russian Minstrels: A History of the Skomorokhi. Perhaps the most important
recent study of vagrancy was done by Andrew Gentes. His articles and books about vagrancy,
exile, and Siberian penology provide an in-depth study of the legal system in the Russian
Empire.
7
Marcia A. Morris, The Literature of Roguery in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth- Century
Russia, (Evanston (IL): Northwestern UP, 2000), 4.
8
Ingrid Kleespies, A Nation Astray: Nomadism and National Identity in Russian
Literature, (DeKalb (IL): NIU Press, 2012).
9
See, Aleksander Zholkovsky’s articles “Chelovek na chasakh” Leskova: Vertikal’
smysla,” accessed online: https://dornsife.usc.edu/alexander-zholkovsky/vroon-sta; “Sekrety
‘Etoi svin’i Morena’,” accessed online https://magazines.gorky.media/nlo/2013/4/sekrety-etoj-
svini-morena.html.
10
Mark Lipovetsky. Charms of the Cynical Reason: The Trickster's Transformations in
Soviet and Post-Soviet Culture. Academic Studies Press, 2011.
8
Conversely, contemporary British scholarship on vagrancy proved indispensable for
beginning to understand vagrancy as an important social, cultural, and legal phenomenon. The
two most illuminating studies are Cast Out: Vagrancy and Homelessness in Global and
Historical Perspective, edited by Paul Ocobock and A. L. Beier,
11
and Vagrancy, Homelessness,
and English Renaissance Literature by Linda Woodbridge. Looking at the legal connotation of
the word, for instance, Paul Ocobock states that from their very onset English vagrancy laws
targeted one’s socio-economic status and the mode of living, rather than specific unlawful
actions. Just appearing idle, unemployed, homeless, or undocumented was sufficient for the
authorities to arrest someone. “Over time,” Ocobock explains, “particularly in the twentieth
century, vagrancy became a catchall category favored for a ‘procedural laxity’ that allowed the
state to convict a ‘motley assortment of human troubles.’”
12
In other words, vagrancy in Britain
became an umbrella term for whatever was considered deviancy. The motivations for it were in
part economic. By arresting idle but able-bodied homeless people and subjecting them to
compulsory labor, the state gained in them unpaid workers, which allowed it to boost its
economy. Yet, economic reasons were hardly the only cause of criminalization of vagrancy.
Rapid social shifts in Renaissance society, when more value was given to such notions as
property, domesticity, and success, altered the public's outlook on poverty.
13
Once associated
with sanctity and promised salvation, by the fourteenth century the poor were being equated with
inactivity, immorality, and sloth. From then on, as Beier writes, “St. Paul’s dictum that a good
11
A. L. Beier and Paul Ocobock, Cast Out: Vagrancy and Homelessness in Global and
Historical Perspective, (Ohio UP, 2008).
12
Paul Ocobock, “Introduction.” Vagrancy and Homelessness in Global and Historical
Perspective, 2.
13
Beier, 4.
9
Christian worked to pay his way” was adopted.
14
Both Woodbridge and Beier agree that the poor
at the time were split into two distinct groups: the “deserving” and the “undeserving” poor. The
deserving ones were genuinely destitute; the “undeserving” were those who feigned poverty or
disability in order to avoid honest work. It was necessary to identify the undeserving poor and
force them to be productive. Moreover, Renaissance society, much like Russia from the
seventeenth century on, became increasingly suspicious of mobility. Woodbridge says that
vagrants “shifted roles and identities in an age that was officially committed to rigid occupational
categories and was starting to be concerned about the stability of identity.”
15
Mobility promoted
visibility, yet such a disagreeable contribution to landscapes as the “human refuse limping
around the streets, running sores disfiguring their naked bodies”
16
offended the senses of the
Humanists, who were influenced by the classical ideas of aesthetic harmony and order. In fact,
the same can be said of seventeenth- and eighteenth- century Russia, where authorities prohibited
destitute vagrants on the streets of the capital, as they too found poverty unsightly.
But as much as the society opposed the vagrants, they were still useful as they helped
create an opposition to the desired lifestyle and, hence, proliferate a positive image of the epoch.
Woodridge notes:
… religious reformers, humanist, central governments, and promoters of domesticity
define their own identities in opposition to the identity of vagrants, whose image became
distorted because rather than being based on observation it was often constructed by
projection. The respectable projected on the grands qualities they disowned him
themselves–social ability, linguistic innovation, sexual misconduct, sedition, idleness.
17
14
Ibid, 5.
15
Linda Woodbridge, Vagrancy, Homelessness, and English Renaissance Literature,
(Urbana and Chicago (IL): University of Illinois Press, 2001), 55-56.
16
Woodbridge, 13
17
Woodbridge, 16.
10
The same cannot be said about the Russian writers and artists of the nineteenth century, however,
since most of them cherished the ideas of observation. Even though the emphasis that some
Russian writers placed on verisimilitude and realism was strong, many of their representations
were marred by authorial subjectivities.
18
Still, the raison d’être of the Russian vagrants is akin to that of the British vagrants. The
similarities are so striking that it would be reasonable to ponder whether seventieth-century
Russian lawmakers conceived vagrant laws on their own or borrowed them from their Western
colleagues.
19
Although I am not concerned much with the notion of borrowing, I find that
already in the seventeenth century there were several important religious and political shifts that
led to the criminalization of vagrants and that this criminalization, although similar in essence
with the Western counterpart, was still evolving under pressure from the Russian legal system
and social changes.
Discontents of Inadequate Policing
Paradoxically, the state that hoped to curb itinerancy consistently created vagrants and
then eagerly prosecuted them by sending them to military service and Siberian exile. Michel
Foucault and Giorgio Agamben provide very convincing theories on different techniques that
18
One major difference in the representations of vagrants in Russia and England is the
representation of vagrant sexual misconduct, by which English rogues, as Woodbridge suggests,
are often defined. In the Russian literature this connection is made infrequently and only by the
end of the nineteenth century, in the short stories by Vladimir Korolenko, Aleksandr
Amfiteatrov, and Semën Pod’iachev.
19
George Weickhardt does not agree that Ulozhenie was influenced by the Western
laws., whereas Kliuchsvsky, for example, does. George Weickhardt, “Modernization of Law in
Seventeenth-Century Muscovy,” in Modernizing Muscovy, (London and New York:
RutledgeCurzon, 2004).
11
modern Western states employed in order to regulate society which they governed. Foucault
argues that through the use of governmentality and bio-politics modern states shape or transform
their subjects into what the philosopher calls “docile bodies” — subjects that are conditioned to
exercise self-control and to comply with the established norms of their own volition. As Foucault
notes, the state that exercise power over life is “centered on the body as a machine: its
disciplining, the optimization of its capabilities, the extortion of its forces, the parallel increase of
its usefulness and its docility, its integration into systems of efficient and economic controls.”
20
Those reluctant to participate actively and, more importantly, willingly in the economic
development of their state and capitalism more generally are seen as a hindrance. All subjects
that are not immediately useful can therefore be stripped of their rights and then either eliminated
or forced to be useful. Unless they are arrested and forced to work, vagrants, do not fit well into
the category of docile subjects, as they break the established order by their sheer illicit existence.
Moreover, even though Russian writers often represented vagrants as a precarious
workforce, vagrants were rarely portrayed as those who could easily be captured by the
authorities. Instead, they often appear as wandering in villages and forests, that is outside the
prison walls or military barracks. Moreover, some texts, as Dostoevsky’s Notes from the House
of the Dead, A. Maksimov’s “Brodiaga Mit’ka Greshnyi,” Korolenko’s “Sokolinets,”
Nemirovich-Danchenko’s short story “Schast’e Ivana Nepomniashchego” and a poem “Brodiaga
na otdykhe” show vagrants that escape from prison. Although many of them die in the end, their
escape from prison is portrayed as a simple undertaking, whereas their demise comes much later
and is precipitated by unfortunate happenstances, such as coming across wild animals. Russian
20
Michel Foucault and Paul Rabinow (ed), The Foucault Reader, (Vintage Books
Edition, New York, 2010), 261.
12
authorities, in contrast, are represented as inattentive, largely inefficient and, if they are mere
bureaucrats, also corrupt.
21
In other words, while the Russian state might have tried to put to use
various itinerant types, writers often represented the efforts of the authorities as both inhumane
and derisory.
Drawing on Foucault, Agamben provides an explanation of the modes that modern states
employed in order to strip citizens of their rights. By elucidating the differences between the idea
of bare life (zoe), and the good or public life (bio), he argues that by stripping a certain group of
their nationality and their civil rights, the state is capable of reducing the status of these people to
the status of bare life, or that of a homo sacer — the man who can be killed, but whose murder
cannot be considered a homicide under the rule of law. The devaluation of life does not
necessarily suggest that all subjects who lose their rights must be subsequently killed, yet these
same actions can potentially subjugate individuals for a life-time labor or military service. In the
Russian Empire this process seemed to be streamlined, since there was no constitution or any
other document before the twentieth century that granted any kind of civil right to the majority of
its citizens. In fact, before the emancipation the passage from serfdom to vagrancy did not seem
to differ significantly from the standpoint of civil status. That is probably why writers were so
interested in vagrant figures.
21
The inadequacy and corruption of the Russian authorities are amply represented in
vagrant texts, including Leskov’s The Enchanted Wanderer. Aleksei Budishchev’s “Persona”
(1897), for instance, uses the figure of vagrant to mock society’s trepidation over higher ranks
and the authorities’ overall inaptitude. The short story speaks about a quick shift in positions that
occurs when a young bailiff Funtikov meets a man who was arrested on vagrancy charges and
who claims to be an illegitimate son of a housekeeper and a duke Pugach-Vykrutasov. By the
end of the conversation, Funtikov’s respect for the alleged nobility of the vagrant man grows so
much that even his language defies him: He begins to address the passportless man with the use
of the so-called “slovoers” — an abbreviation of the word “lord” and “sovereign” that was used
to show respect to the interlocutor. Aleksei Budishchev. “Persona.” In Stepnye volki: Dvadtsat’
rasskazov, accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/b/budishew_a_n/text_1897_05_persona.shtml.
13
First of all, unlike that of Russian peasants, the scope of vagrant adventures was
significantly wider by the mere fact that they were mobile. Secondly, because of their social and
legal position, vagrants often came in contact with the authorities and had an ability to negotiate
their way out of prison or at least escape it. In other words, it is precisely this desire and a
simultaneous failure of the Russian authorities to curb physical mobility, put deviants to good
use, or at least to guard vagrants successfully in prisons, that writers found so attractive and
which they often brought to light in their fictional stories fraught with social criticism. From the
onset of the nineteenth century, vagrants were presented as important and threatening political
bodies, capable of mutiny and murder. As many texts overtly suggest, vagrants were also capable
of growing their communities.
Chapter 1 of my dissertation is entirely dedicated to the rich history of criminalization of
vagrancy and the evolution of vagrancy laws in both the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union.
In this chapter I look not only at specific laws, but also at the reasons for their promulgation. I
argue that the state created vagrancy laws in an attempt to curb physical and social mobility; yet,
paradoxically, rather than halting undesirable forms of wandering, these laws stimulated them.
As vagrancy became a substantial and clearly visible social and economic problem that Russia’s
existing methods of policing could not prevent, the discourse around this issue became more
contentious. By the mid-nineteenth century it was not only public servants who tried to define
vagrancy but also Russian intellectuals, who eagerly turned their attention to it.
The Russian Path or Russian Volia
The narrator in Nikolai Gogol’s Dead Souls posed several perceptive questions to his
own country: “Русь! чего же ты хочешь от меня? какая непостижимая связь таится между
14
нами? Что глядишь ты так, и зачем все, что ни есть в тебе, обратило на меня полные
ожидания очи?” (Rus! What do you want from me? What incomprehensible connection hides
between us? Why do you stare so, and why did everything that embodies you turn your eyes
filled with expectation on me?”) and “Русь, куда ж несёшься ты?” (“Rus, where are you
rushing to?”).
22
Russia, famously, did not respond. Gogol’s narrator, whose sole desire lies in
solving the riddle of Russia’s longing, perceives its path in spatial terms. Sensing the country’s
plea for understanding, he hopelessly submits to his ineffectiveness and echoes the question, now
asking Rus to clarify its own direction. These questions, devoid of all sarcasm, occupied Russian
minds long before and long after Gogol immortalized them in his work. The vast Russian land
had to be explored by its citizens, so they could finally “comprehend it cerebrally,” — a task that
Fyodor Tiutchev deemed both impossible and largely unnecessary, providing an alternative and
passive option of faith.
23
In fact, while mobility in Russia was legally halted for several
centuries, on a philosophical level Russa was always on the move—in search of its own special
path (put’).
Generally associated with the early nineteenth century, the idea of the Russian path
harkens back to the Christianization of Rus. Gesturing towards the medieval religious texts,
Viktor Zhivov argues that Eastern Slavs perceived Russian Orthodoxy as a separate, if not
superior, religion early on, yet by the fifteenth century Rus assumed the role of the Third Rome,
as the last center of pure faith and correct
religious practices.
24
This notion gestured explicitly at
22
Nikolai Gogol’, Mërtvye Dushi, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v 14 tomakh. (AN SSSR,
1937-52), accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/g/gogolx_n_w/text_0140.shtml.
23
Fëdor Tiutchev, “Umom Rossiiu ne poniat’,” (1866), accessed online:
http://www.ruthenia.ru/tiutcheviana/stihi/bp/281.html.
24
Viktor Zhivov, “Osobyi put’ i puti spaseniia Rossii,” Timur Antashev et al, “Osobyi
put’”: Ot Ideologii k metodu, (Moskva: Novoe Literaturnoe Obozrenie, 2018), Kindle Books.
15
the state’s unique purpose. In the seventeenth century, however, the importance of the Church
slowly began to wane. Not long after the raskol
25
the era of rapid modernization under Peter I
began, which further weakened the role of the Church in the Russian political arena and, as a
consequence, Russian society. David Bethea believes that the actual raskol happened during
Peter’s reign, because in the eyes of the Old Believers Peter I was the Antichrist incarnate, who
“spelled his name with a foreign alphabet” and preferred “European spires over Orthodox
cupolas,” which were “un-Russian and thereby unholy.”
26
Reasonably, this destabilized Peter’s
position as basileus, that is God’s appointee to rule Russia, at least in the eyes of the Old
Believers. The myth of the tsar as the Antichrist coincided with yet another and, initially,
independent myth of “Holy Russia” (Sviataia Rus’)” as the land of salvation and its people as the
Holy Russian folk (sviatoi russkii narod).
27
This myth further challenged the position of the tsar
since it implied that tsars die, whereas the land and its people remain. In order to preserve its
salvific qualities, however, the people had to resist transformation, basing their opinions on the
idea that difference is unholy. The two diverse paths that Russia was taking — one secular and
one spiritual —placed Russia at the crossroads. Yet, choosing one path instead of the other
implied a possibility of severe repercussions, whether on Earth on in the afterlife.
Like Zhivov, Bethea relates the Russian path (put’) to Orthodoxy. He argues that this
path is determined by Russian eschatological thinking, noting the ever-present lack of direction
25
Raskol (schism), occurred due religious reforms in the Russian Orthodox church.
Those who refused to adopt new religious rites split from the official institution and formed a
separate religious movement commonly known as the Old Believers.
26
David Bethea, The Shape of Apocalypse in Modern Russian Fiction, (Princeton (NJ):
Princeton UP, 2014), 21.
27
Ibid, 21.
16
in Russia. Referring to Yurii Lotman and Boris Uspenskii’s “Binary Models,” Bethea considers
this path both spatially and temporally. He writes:
In effect, the notions of progress and enlightenment championed by the new cultural
spokesmen carried with them the spatial image of futurity, the put’ (path) that was to
become the root metaphor for directing and marshalling the “historical present” … in the
collective imagination of the emerging intelligentsia. What was totally “new” or “reborn”
had to go somewhere, to look for something. … The almost hypnotic attraction of the
put’, with its spatialization of temporal desire, is an essential ingredient in the messianic
and apocalyptic roles that the nineteenth-century intelligentsia assigned to the long-
suffering narod. It was felt that the various roads, paths, and ways invoked to describe
Russian historical time should in the end, and at the end, have a destination.
28
To support his view, Bethea refers to Nikolai Berdyaev’s article “The Russian Idea.” The author
of the article notes a strong presence of eschatological thinking in the Russian mentality. He
defends his idea by arguing that Russian people are prone to wandering, and that wandering
(strannichestvo) is an innately Russian phenomenon that has no true Western equals. Berdiaev
defines Russian people as “runners and bandits” (“beguny i razboiniki”) and suggests that the
people distinguished such wanderers among themselves, and that eschatological thinking, which
goes hand in hand with wandering — physical and spiritual — has always been a distinctive trait
of the Russian identity. The wanderer (strannik), according to Berdiaev,
ходит по необъятной̆ русской̆ земле, никогда не оседает и ни к чему не
прикрепляется. Странник ищет правды, ищет Царства Божьего, он устремлён
вдаль. Странник не имеет на земле своего пребывающего града, он устремлён к
Граду Грядущему.
29
28
Ibid, 26–27.
29
Nikolai Berdiaev, Russkaia ideia, (Sankt Peterburg: Azbuka-klassika, 2008),
https://nnov.hse.ru/data/2018/02/20/1165426589/Бердяев%20Николай.%20Русская%20идея%
20-%20royallib.ru.pdf.
17
walks the boundless Russian land and never settles down [osedaet], never becomes
attached to anything. The wanderer searches for the truth, for the Kingdom of Heaven; he
is directed into the distance. The wanderer has no abiding earthly city but is directed
towards the City-to-Come [Grad Griadushchii].
30
Considering the majority of the texts about vagrants produced in the nineteenth century, the idea
that peripatetic figures searched for an ideal future beyond the imperfect earthly one or that they
even seriously entertained such philosophical ideas appears improbable. When speaking about
vagrants, most authors, including Dostoevsky in the early 1860s, focused on a more pragmatic
concept of freedom, which could be linked to the liberation of serfs and intellectuals’ desire for a
stronger political voice. As such, this focus on freedom satisfied both the philosophical musings
about the Russian concept of volia (literally, “freedom” or “will”) and a struggle for radical
social changes.
Moreover, as represented in nineteenth-century literature, to some extent vagrancy
challenges one other largely accepted notion that Russian people had a propensity to identify as a
part of the whole, rather than as individuals.
31
This lack of individualism was intertwined with
the cultural view of sin, which was considered as an inevitable part of human existence.
Criminals, in contrast, were seen as the real victims of “existence in the woeful world,” and thus
30
Nikolai Berdiaev, Russkaia idea. The text in translation is quoted from Bethea, The
Shape of Apocalypse in Modern Russian Fiction, 27.
31
Appealing to Michel Foucault’s idea of “the technologies of the self,” for example,
Zhivov argues that the system of religious confession in Russia, as opposed to Europe, was
underdeveloped. Within the European system, the confessor must recall their daily intercessions
and analyze them and, as a result, create a personal narrative that promotes a sense of
individualism. Since this practice was not mandatory in the Russian Orthodox Church,
individualistic thinking never became a defining feature of the Russian character. The
introduction of disciplinary reforms failed to reinvent traditional understanding of individual sin
in Russia or produce more individualistic citizens. (See, Zhivov, “Osobyi put’ i puti spaseniia
Rossii.”)
18
they evoked feelings of pity, rather than antipathy.
32
Because homeless wanderers were a living
testament to the all-encompassing hardship of earthy existence, Russian people were willing to
extend their helping hand to them as well. Russian writers, however, found a much more
practical explanation to this manifestation of charity. As evidenced by “Ocherki russkikh nravov
v starinnoi Sibiri” (1867) by S. Serafimovich and “Zapiski o Sibiri. Okhota na brodiag” (1882)
by Blagoveshchenskii
33
or such short stories as Vasilii Nemirovich-Danchenko’s “Schast’e Ivana
Nepomniashchego” (1892) and Teleshov’s “Protiv obychaia” (“Against Tradition”) (1894),
people helped vagrants not out of inherent kindness but as a preventive measure. By giving out
alms, peasants tried to avoid theft and other even more serious troubles that hungry vagrant
criminals, many of whom were absconding convicts, could cause.
In Chapter 2, I provide an overview of the literary and artistic development in the theme
of vagrant in the nineteenth century Russian culture. I show that the growing popularity of this
theme stemmed from several important shifts in both literature and society, such as an interest in
ethnography, in social critique, and in social types and their portrayal. Most of all, these
investments originated in many writers’ proximity to vagrants in Russian prisons. Because so
many writers tried to codify vagrancy, I argue that there is a correlation between its legal and
literary definitions. This correlation is, perhaps, best exemplified in Nikolai Karamzin’s
influential text Istoriia gosudarstva Rossiiskogo (History of the Russian State), which I view as a
civic document that bridged legal and fictional texts. It is with this work, I believe, that the era of
literary exploration of vagrancy in Russia began. In this chapter I also examine the concept of
volia (freedom), which writers consistently related to vagrancy. More often than not, however,
32
Ibid.
33
Pseudonim of Ivan Pryzhov.
19
they perceived death, rather than eventual settlement and tranquil life, as the ultimate attainment
of freedom for most vagrant figures. Furthermore, I argue that because texts about vagrants are
so intimately connected to the legal standing of their characters, they always act as social and
political commentary.
Vagrancy and Orthodoxy
Russian legislators were not at all supportive of any kinds of peripatetic types. While
culturally the distinction between religious and non-religious wandering was still made, legally
wandering for religious purposes had little currency if it was not reaffirmed documentarily.
Neither did the state consider peripatetic types as the carriers of the wholesome spirit of the
Russian folk; nor did it see in them any promise of future salvation. Conversely, the state
continued to tighten rules on travel. This caused a slow yet methodical removal of all distinctions
between religious and non-religious wandering and a unification of assorted wandering poor
under one term—brodiaga. At the same time, even though the religious aspect of wandering was
methodically restrained by the legislative system, it neither disappeared nor weakened. Instead,
these restrictions helped produce just the opposite effect. Vagrants began to acquire spiritual
undertones.
In Chapter 3, I discuss the intersection of vagrancy and religion as a common theme and
study the main questions that it raises. I show that brodiagi often occupy a liminal position vis-à-
vis religion. Even though the aura of spirituality is ever-present in many vagrant stories,
vagrants’ individual spirituality is unstable, feigned, or outright absent. Yet, in many cases it is
precisely from that space of negated religiosity that vagrant figures inadvertently expose false
religious sentiments with which the world is beset. By reading Pushkin’s Boris Godunov, Dmitrii
20
Grigorovich’s “Bobyl’,” Maxim Gorky’s “Chelkash,” and Semën Pod’iachev’s “Zlo” (“Harm”),
I show that vagrants can easily shift from secular to religious positions, and that they can even
act as beacons of truth, while still remaining hardened criminals. In my analysis, I turn to Dmitrii
Likhachev’s concept of the antinworld and Mikhail Bakhtin’s definition of Menippean satire to
argue that many texts in which vagrancy and religion are interconnected can be understood as
satire. As such, the focus of these works lies in uncovering the truth and exposing inauthentic
displays of religious piety.
Vagrants as Mirrors
Chapter 4 is dedicated to one of the first serious writers about vagrancy, Dmitrii
Grigorovich, who relied heavily on physiognomy and phrenology to represent vagrants. By
looking at several of his works, I argue that this empirical approach to representation restricted,
rather than enhanced, the verisimilitude of his writings. Moreover, I concentrate on his novel
Pereselentsy, which focuses on the plight of the Russian serfs, who suffered not only from
imprudent landowners, but also from devious vagrants. Grigorovich, in fact, described the two
social groups in comparable terms. For example, both vagrants and landowners lived to
accumulate material wealth. The difference between them was also clearly evident in the
language they spoke, as vagrants used vagrant cant and landowners spoke French. Both groups,
unlike Russian serfs, were relatively mobile. Despite many similarities, I argue that Grigorovich
still favored landowners, who could redeem themselves by coming back to their estates. Most
vagrants, in contrast, could not transcend their criminal status and atone for previous
transgressions. This attitude can be explained by the writer’s strong partiality to domesticity,
calm hard-working village life, and the idea of the familial nest.
21
In Chapter 5, I analyze Nikolai Leskov’s “Ocharovannyi strannik” and “Vdokhnovennye
brodiagi.” By reading these two works together, I challenge the generally accepted idea that the
protagonist of “Ocharovannyi strannik,” Ivan Fliagin, is the most Russian of the Russians, a true
national hero, a superman, and a religious pilgrim. Instead of relying on the title of the novel,
which implies that Fliagin is a religious wanderer, I scrutinize his legal and social status and
prove that he should be regarded a vagrant. While this detail may seem inconsequential, in effect
it complicates not only the interpretations of Leskov’s novel and the writer’s motivation for
creating this character, but also serves as a reference in tracing the evolution in Leskov’s
treatment of vagrancy between the 1870s and 1890s.
In Chapter 6 I study Maxim Gorky’s writings. The status of a vagrant and a writer of
vagrancy allowed Gorky to speak of the downtrodden with a great deal of authority. This focus
on the social nadir was provocative in and of itself at the time, yet the writer continued to cross
the lines of what was permissible in print. Fraught with revolutionary potential, his texts angered
censors, who found Gorky’s writings too tendentious. And even though most vagrants in
Gorky’s stories had little in common with the revolutionaries, due to the nature of the texts in
which they appeared, this connection became quite strong. In this chapter, apart from delving
into the revolutionary potential of his works I concentrate on the figure of the author-narrator
Maksim. I argue that this character allowed Gorky to develop the theme of vagrancy further and
even advance the literary category of the author-narrator in Russian literature. In the second part
of the chapter, I concentrate on the issue of authenticity and verisimilitude, which I believe
began to preoccupy Gorky after he surpassed his social status as a vagrant and became a famous
author. This uneasiness over his new status became a hallmark of his early works and can be
detected in the writer’s peculiar relationship to the idea of truth.
22
Although I do not say it directly, my last three chapters essentially show that writings
about vagrancy reveal more about the writers of these texts than about the vagrants themselves.
Grigorovich, for instance, who lives in a village at the time of writing Pereselentsy, seeks to
convince landowners to return to their country estates and begin to take seriously their
responsibilities to their serfs. By doing so, according to Grigorovich, landowners will be able to
improve the lives of their serfs and thus gain a sense of self-fulfilment. By looking at Leskov’s
treatment of vagrants over the span of twenty years, it is easy to see how his attitude towards
dissent, opposition, and radicalism evolves in time. He views brodiagi as offenders of civil order.
Gorky’s brodiagi, particularly Gorky’s old vagrant Luka in Na Dne, underscores Gorky’s
complex relationship to the truth.
In my concluding remarks, I look forward and show that vagrancy did not disappear after
the revolution even though the conversations about it slowly began to evolve. Vagrant children
(besprizorniki), for example, were prioritized and even gained their own place in the Soviet
literature and culture. As I show, at the turn of the century, vagrancy started to acquire more
mythical traits. Vagrants were becoming less individualized, but instead were portrayed as a
collective demonic or revolutionary force, the reverberations of which could be found in writings
of Aleksandr Blok, Andrei Bely, Boris Pil’niak, and Andrei Platonov, to name just a few.
23
Chapter 1
Brodiagi in Law and History:
How Russians Created Vagrancy and Then Struggled to Curb It
“Прибыл я в город Глупов, — писал он, — и хотя увидел жителей,
предместником моим в тучное состояние приведённых, но в законах
встретил столь великое оскудение, что обыватели даже различия никакого
между законом и естеством не полагают. И тако, без явного светильника, в
претёмной ночи бродят. В сей крайности спрашиваю я себя: ежели кому из
бродяг сих случится оступиться или в пропасть впасть, что их от такового
падения остережёт? Хотя же в Российской Державе законами изобильно, но
все таковые по разным делам разбрелись, и даже весьма уповательно, что
большая их часть в бывшие пожары сгорела. И того ради, существенная
видится в том нужда, дабы можно было мне, яко градоначальнику, издавать
для скорости собственного моего умысла законы, хотя бы даже не первого
сорта (о сем и помыслить не смею!), но второго или третьего. В сей мысли
ещё более меня утверждает то, что город Глупов, по самой природе своей,
есть, так сказать, область второзакония, для которой нет даже надобности в
законах отяготительных и многосмысленных.”
34
Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin. Istoriia odnogo goroda.
Defining the word vagrant (brodiaga in Russian) is seemingly easy. It is sufficient to
name only a few traits that characterize such persons: poor, homeless, migratory. The word is
often used as a mild derogatory for a destitute-looking individual or even an unruly domestic
animal with a penchant for occasional desertion. While nowadays this word may have lost some
34
Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin, Istoriia odnogo goroda, Accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/s/saltykow_m_e/text_0010.shtml. (“’I arrived in the town of Foolov,’ he wrote,
‘and although I saw residents who had been rendered obese by my predecessor, I encountered a
scarcity of laws, so great that the townsfolk do not even differentiate between Law and Nature.
And so they wander in darkest night, with no visible lamp. In his extremity I ask myself: If it
happen to any of these wanderers to stumble or to fall into the bottomless pit, what will guard
them from such a fall? Although the Russian realm abounds in laws, they are all scattered
through various files, and one can never be very sure that the majority of them have been burned
up in past fires. That being so, there appears to be an essential need for me as town governor to
be able for the sake of speed to promulgate laws of my own design, even if not of the first class
(I do not dare even think of this!), but of second or third class. I am the more firmly convinced of
this idea by the fact that the town of Foolov is by its very nature a Deuteronomic domain, so to
speak, and domain of secondary law, which does not even need burdensome or over-wise laws.’”
Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov and Susan Brownsberger (tr), The History of a Town or, The
Chronicle of Foolov, (Ardis, 1982), 117).
24
of its potency, historically vagrancy (brodiazhnichestvo) was considered to be a serious criminal
offense that led to severe punishment such as flogging, years of military service, an indefinite
exile, and imprisonment. The reasons for such harsh punishment for a fairly innocuous crime,
which some could view as nothing more than an unfortunate circumstance, can be found in the
rich history of vagrancy in Russia, which is intimately connected to centuries of failing
legislative decisions, Imperial greed, and even inadequate legal definitions of vagrancy.
How Did Brodiaga Become an Outlaw?
The earliest written law that mentions vagrants appeared in the Muscovite Law Code
(Moskovskoe Sobornoe Ulozhenie) of 1649:
А на которого человека в роспросе и с пытки язык говорит в розбое, или в татьбе, и
на очной ставке его познает, а учнет на него говорить с очей на очи тоже, а тот
будет человек бродящей, а о обыску бити челом не учнет, а скажет, что его нигде
не знают, и того человека по язычной молке пытати. А будет на себя с пытки в
розбое и в татьбе учнет говорити в убойстве на том розбое, или дворовой пожог
был, и его казнити смертью, а не учнет на себя говорили, и его дать на чистую
поруку з записью, а не будет поруки, и его посадити в тюрму, докуды по нем
порука будет.
35
If an informer accuses someone of robbery or theft in an interrogation and under torture,
and recognizes him in a visual confrontation; and he proceeds to testify the same thing
against him during the eye-to-eye [confrontation]; and if that man is a vagrant and does
not proceed to petition for an investigation, but testifies that nobody knows him: torture
that person on the basis of the informer’s denunciation. If under torture for robbery and
theft he proceeds to testify against himself about a homicide during that robbery, or that
home arson was [committed]: punish him with death. If he does not proceed to testify
against himself, release him on a written cash bond. If there is no bond, imprison him
until there is bond for him.
36
35
Sobornoe Ulozhenie 1649 goda, Vyvereno po izd. M. N. Tikhomirov, P.P. Epifanov,
(Moskva, Izd. Moskovskogo universiteta, 1961), accessed online:
http://www.hist.msu.ru/ER/Etext/1649/whole.htm.
36
Richard Hellie
(tr), “Chapter 21: Robbery and Theft Cases. In It Are 104 Articles,” in
The Muscovite Law Code (Ulozhenie) of 1649, accessed online:
https://pages.uoregon.edu/kimball/1649-Ulj.htm.
25
While it may seem that vagrants in this document are mentioned mostly in connection with other,
more serious crimes, this is hardly a trivial reference. On the contrary, this brief comment marks
the beginning of a four-century-long persecution of various forms of itinerant behavior in Russia,
and it is not accidental. As the ground for reducing mobility and officially introducing serfdom in
Russia was being prepared long before 1649, the diversity of itinerant types suddenly became a
preoccupation of the government.
In the seventeenth century there were many different social types who in one way or
another could be considered itinerant. For example, there were the so-called guliashchie liudi.
Literally, “strolling” or “itinerant” people (from the verb guliat’ — to stroll, to walk), the term
“guliashchie” was not a derogatory designation but instead a social one. Historically, guliashchie
were people of humble origins who did not have any financial obligations to landowners or the
state. They performed odd jobs to survive and, in order to find employment, had to travel.
Perhaps because of that they received such a label. Because their status allowed them to move
more or less freely, many of them moved away from central parts of Russia during the Times of
Troubles. Soon after the Ulozhenie had passed, however, guliashchie were distinguished from
brodiagi only nominally. In actuality, guliashchie liudi were soon named in vagrancy laws and
subjected to the same punishments.
37
37
See, “1503, punkt 3,” Polnoe sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi imperii s 1649 goda (1689-
99). T. 3, (Sankt Pererburg: Tip. II Otdeleniia Sobstvennoi Ego Imperatorskogo Velichestva
Kantseliarii, 1830), 193; “1654 punkt 18,” Polnoe sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi imperii s 1649
goda (1689-99), T. 3, (Sankt Pererburg: Tip. II Otdeleniia Sobstvennoi Ego Imperatorskogo
Velichestva Kantseliarii, 1830), 513; “1655 punkt 5,” Polnoe sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi
imperii s 1649 goda (1689-99). T. 3, (Sankt Pererburg: Tip. II Otdeleniia Sobstvennoi Ego
Imperatorskogo Velichestva Kantseliarii, 1830), 520; “3369,” Polnoe sobranie zakonov
Rossiiskoi imperii s 1649 goda (1689-99). T. 3, (Sankt Pererburg: Tip. II Otdeleniia Sobstvennoi
Ego Imperatorskogo Velichestva Kantseliarii, 1830), 698.
26
Another group that fell out of favor around the same time was the Russian minstrels —
skomorokhi in Russian, a group that could shine a lot of light on the history of vagrancy in
Russia. These were professional performers skilled in a variety of arts: musicians, composers of
songs, dancers, comedians, and even bear trainers. All in all, they have made an enormous
impact on the development of Russian culture. It is with Russian skomorokhi, I argue, that the
centuries of vagabond oppression began in Russia.
Before the middle of the sixteenth century, the majority of skomorokhi resided primarily
in Novgorod. When Ivan IV attacked the city in 1570, as Russel Zguta explains, many
skomorokhi “lost what little economic security they had and were forced to go on the road as
travelling entertainers or virtual beggars.”
38
Some were sent to Moscow to serve the tsar.
Previously contained within one specific location, however, many more such professionals ended
up wandering around Russia, performing on their way in order to survive.
According to Zguta, skomorokhi were associated with magic and sorcery, which of
course are pagan, rather than Christian practices. Zguta notes that skomorokhi most probably
evolved from the pagan priests, whose responsibilities ranged “from fortune telling and healing
to presiding over their sundry community festivals and celebrations.”
39
Besides entertainment,
skomorokhi must have also performed various rites, considering that they played a fundamental
role in such folk festivals as Rusaliia or Koliada. Valued by the community for the diversity of
their skills, they were often invited to take part in weddings, in which they appeared beside
38
Russell Zguta, Russian Minstrels: A history of the Skomorokhi, (Philadelphia (PA):
University of Pennsylvania Press, 1978), 53.
39
Zguta, 15.
27
Orthodox priests.
40
The Church, unsurprisingly, considered them to be a nuisance and eventually
excommunicated them in 1657.
41
Yet, the profession began to fall out of favor much earlier. First of all, not all skomorokhi
were equal. Those who settled and paid their dues to the state were viewed much more favorably
than their itinerant colleagues who, it was believed, consistently evaded taxes. Secondly, and
more importantly, the Orthodox church waged war against them as early as 1551, when it
decried skomorokhi in different chapters of The Book of One Hundred Chapters, or Stoglav in
Russian. This ecclesiastical document accused skomorokhi of pagan activities, of roaming in
very large groups and stealing from villagers. These accusations may not have been completely
baseless as the itinerant skomorokhi were often impoverished and could have stolen from others,
but their vices and crimes were certainly exaggerated. Following the issuance of this document,
many of them were forbidden to reside in “any town or village under the jurisdiction of the
monastery.”
42
Remarkably, in the hundredth chapter of the Stoglav, young wanderers happened
to appear beside the delinquent skomorokhi. In the Stoglav, the former Metropolitan Iosif notes
that there has not been any discussion of the young vagrants, who wander not for religious but
for personal reasons, and asks the Tsar to advise these people against vagabondism:
Не написано, государь, в спискех о молодых строех, которые волосаты ходят по
миру. Кое бы их, государь, тебе велети их возвестити — не ходили бы по миру
молодые робята, се есть не бога ради скитаются, свою волю деют, а мир
соблажняют.
40
As argued by Yurii Lotman and Boris Uspenskii, Slavic paganism, though denounced
by the religious and secular authorities alike, was never eradicated in the Slavic world, but
instead managed to exist alongside Orthodox Christianity. See, Yu. M. Lotman and B.A.
Uspenskij, “The Role of Dual Models in the Dynamics of Russian Culture,” in Semiotics of
Russian Culture, (Ann Arbor (MI): U of Michigan Press, 1984).
41
Zguta, 63.
42
Zguta, 46.
28
О скоморосех. Бога ради, государь, вели их извести, кое бы их не было в твоем
царстве. Се тебе, государь, великое спасение, аще бесовская игра их не будет.
43
It is not written, oh Tsar, of those sturdy fellows who, with long hair, wander through the
country. Order that these young people be warned that they must not wander in the world,
as it is not for the love of God that they wander, but to seduce others.
Apropos minstrels. For the love of God, oh Tsar, order that they be driven out, that they
disappear from your kingdom: you assure your salvation, if you put an end to their
diabolical antics.
Evidently, while the Church distinguished between different types of wandering, vagrancy as
such was not yet considered a serious problem in comparison with a slew of crimes and devilish
games of the skomorokhi.
In 1648, a year that saw many uprisings, Tsar Alexei issued an order to ban skomorokhi
altogether. Alexei was a pious person and may have been influenced by the pleas that were
coming from the men of faith on account of minstrels and their pagan practices. Conversely,
Anatolii Belkin posits that both the Church and the state were not as much threatened by the
pagan aspect of their acts, as by the lifestyle they promoted.
44
Frequent merriment demanded
heavy drinking and other types of questionable behavior. As such, it distracted people from
righteous activities like working or attending church. Guliashchie people, similarly, were blamed
for the same type of disorderly behavior.
45
What becomes clear, however, is that at the time the state was faced with uprisings and
riots, various itinerant people were suspected of possible crimes, scrutinized, equated with
lawlessness, and accused of debauchery. The political turmoil was, in fact, one of the significant
motivations for the establishment of vagrancy laws in Russia.
43
Stoglav. Sobor byvshii v Moskve pri velikom gosudare tsare i velikom kniaze Ivane
Vasil’iviche (v leto 7059), (London: Trübner and Co., Paternoster Row, 1860), 234.
44
Anatolii Belkin, Russkie skomorokhi, (Moscow: Nauka, 1975).
45
Belkin, 93-5.
29
Vasily Kliuchevsky states that the Ulozhenie of 1649 was in part a response to the riot in
Moscow in 1648, and the reason for which it was written “hurriedly and haphazardly” was
because during the time when “the Ulozhenie was being drawn up, alarming news of riots came
from Solvychegorsk, Kozlov, Talitsk, Ustiug, and other towns, following the Moscow munity in
June.”
46
Evidently, in order to institute the new order, the lawmakers had to prohibit mobility
within the masses even further and to prevent sedition and riots that could stem from people of
questionable origin and residence. Furthermore, as Walker G. Moss argues, the tsar was well-
aware of the rebellions against the rule of Charles I that were happening in England at the time.
Perhaps as one of the preemptive measures, the tsar banned skomorokhi and everything that was
associated with them.
47
Despite the prohibition, the minstrels “continued to practice their time-
honored profession largely unmolested, if only in the more remote areas of Muscovy.”
48
Thus, the seventeenth century could still be characterized by incessant movement.
Skomorokhi, guliashchie, brodiagi, the Old Believers, were all leaving Moscow and moving
away from the center to sustain their lives and to find freedom. Over time, in order to bring this
mobility to a halt, the state, which was responsible for the dissemination of these socially
marginalized and impoverished peoples, began to draft even more laws to restrict social
mobility. Instead of remedying the situation, however, these catchall laws helped generate an
unsurmountable number of brodiagi in Russia.
46
V.O. Kliuchevsky, A Course in Russian History, (London: Routledge, 1994), 145-6.
47
Walter G. Moss, A History of Russia, vol. 1: to 1917, (London: Anthem Press, 2003),
162.
48
Zguta, 48.
30
The Criminalization of Brodiagi
The Muscovite Law Code of 1649 was meant to clarify matters of rank, instill discipline
within the society, and also to make sure that the state received benefits from its citizens in the
form of taxation. Kliuchevsky observes that with the Ulozhenie personal freedom became
obligatory, yet it was a negative, rather than a positive change.
49
Under the new laws, free people
could no longer sell themselves into bondage even if they wished to do so, but they could only
choose between going into military service or performing odd jobs in order to pay taxes to the
state. In other words, it was still a type of bondage, but it served the interest of the state, rather
than that of a private landowner. Despite the ideas of freedom and liberty firmly associated with
vagrants that roamed the vast Empire, these people were not necessarily free from a legal
standpoint. When apprehended, some of them were recognized and returned home. If they were
serfs, they were returned to their masters and most likely subsequently flogged for absconding.
The authorities were instructed to restrain people whose identities could not be established and to
put them to use for the greater good of the Russian Empire.
As Andrew A. Gentes argues in Exile to Siberia, 1590-1822, the Russian state benefited
greatly from the free labor and military service provided by convicts. The jobs that vagrants
performed in Siberia, a place of their exile, ranged from mining to hunting for furs. At the same
time they also helped increase the population in the area since not many people voluntarily
moved there from the European part of Russia. Gentes explains:
Penal laborers were part and parcel of Russia’s transformation from principality to
empire, but katorga cannot be said to have been sui generis. Rather, it evolved out of the
post-1649 notion that even criminals should continue to serve the state. By the early
1700s mining and construction were fast displacing fur collection as the major sources of
Russia’s empowerment, and the greater rigidity of the industrial workplace led to a more
49
Kliuchevskii, 145-146.
31
systematic use of labor as the goal of economic autarky linked the Petrine to the
Muscovite era and ensured a continuing commodification of imperial subjects.
50
It is evident that the growing number of convicts, many of whom were arrested for vagrancy,
was an essential factor for the sustainability of this country’s economy as well as for the
realization of its Imperial ambitions.
51
The state found in vagrants a virtually free labor force that
was easily generated as well as dispensable. As Gentes demonstrates, vagrancy had become a
political issue in Russia as early as the sixteenth century and “culminated with the 1649 Law
Code (Ulozhenie) that definitively eliminated serfs’ migratory rights” and “designated Siberia as
a destination for exiles.”
52
Faced with external threats and wars during the reign of Peter I, the state required more
military recruits, and under the decriminalization laws, brodiagi were “drafted by the military,
assigned to a new penal labor regime called katorga, or exiled to Siberia.”
53
Peter believed that
all of his subjects had to serve the state in some capacity, rather than wander around its vast
territory; hence, even brodiagi who showed little promise of meaningful contribution were
accounted for and forced to work.
The situation changed in 1823 under the rule of Alexander I, whose legislative order – the
Brodiagi Regulation (Ustav o Brodiagakh) – provoked a rapid increase in Siberian exiles. The
ruler disallowed brodiagi from serving in the military as he believed they undermined the overall
morale of the Russian army. It is important to note that a little over a decade earlier, on 5 July
50
Andrew Gentes, Exile to Siberia, 1590-1922, (London: Pelgrave Macmillan, 2008), 92.
51
Gentes, Exile to Siberia, 92.
52
Andrew Gentes, “Vagabondage and Siberia: Disciplinary Modernism in Tsarist
Russia,” Cast Out: Vagrancy and Homelessness in Global and Historical Perspective, (Athens:
Ohio University Press, 2014), 132.
53
Andrew Gentes, “Vagabondage and Siberia: Disciplinary Modernism in Tsarist
Russia,” 132.
32
1811, another law on this issue was passed. It stated that all crimes should be divided into three
categories. Murder, robbery, corruption (likhoimstvo) belonged to the first category of crimes
and were punishable by death or katorga. Theft of more than one hundred rubles, repeated theft,
vagrancy, and harboring of vagrants were associated with the second category. The third
category was reserved for minor crimes, such as fraud, drunkenness, willfulness (svoevol’stvo) or
disobedience. Criminals who belonged to the second category were either sent to live in Siberia
(na poselenie) or forced to serve in the military. Pëtr Iakobi maintains that lawmakers of 1811
did not consider vagrants to be criminals and wished to send them to Siberia with the intention of
making use of them there, since these people committed no serious crimes and as such posed no
threat to society; on the other hand, the law passed in 1823 already recognized brodiazhnichestvo
as a serious offense.
54
Bearing in mind that the law of 1811 placed vagrancy in the second
category of crimes, and also considering the outlook on vagrancy in the eighteenth century, it is
hard to fully agree with Iakobi’s premise that before 1823 vagabondage alone was not considered
a criminal act. It is true, however, that the laws often specified that vagrants who committed no
other crimes should be tried in accordance with vagrancy laws only. As a result, the laws seemed
to suggest that the punishment for this relatively minor crime be more lenient than it might
otherwise have been.
According to Gentes, the regulation of 1823 increased the number of both brodiagi and
exiles because many of those who deserted the army could later be prosecuted under vagrancy
laws: “In 1834 only 5 percent of brodiazhestvo cases were acquitted … Between 1827 … and
1846 they made up 62 percent (48,566) of administrative exiles (77,909) and 30 percent of all
54
Pëtr Iakobi, "Nashe Zakonodatel’stvo O Brodiazhnichestve," Vestnik Prava, (May-
June 1903), accessed online: https://www.prlib.ru/item/323939.
33
exiles (159,755).”
55
One reason for such large numbers stemmed from the abuses of the system
by landowners and peasants alike, as they reported various kinds of undesirables (people with
intellectual or mental disabilities, old, sick, and those who exhibit bad or deviant behavior) as
brodiagi in order to eliminate them. The laws that mention vagrancy after 1823 and up until
1829 are in fact more concerned with the particular instances that arose during the processing of
vagrants. Often, the petitioners asked what they should do with the vagrants who were blind,
mute, or deaf or who should pay for the newspaper ads about vagrants, whose masters could not
be located.
56
In 1829, during the reign on Nicholas I, the laws again mention brodiagi being sent
into military service, provided that they were physically capable.
57
The shifts in the law were
undeniably influenced by the change in leadership, yet for the most part even minor changes
occurred slowly, whereas vague definitions did not become clearer with time.
Another significant reason for the criminalization of brodiagi lies in the aesthetic aspect
of poverty. Around the time the first vagrancy laws appeared, manufacturing, international trade,
and even the printing press began to develop in Muscovy. These innovations paved the way to
the era of Enlightenment in Russia, which began to bring an influx of new ideas, changes in
perspectives, and outlooks on self and others. With that came a similar sentiment experienced by
the Western Renaissance society about the visual aspects of destitution, which was equated with
disease.
55
Andrew Gentes, “Vagabondage and Siberia: Disciplinary Modernism in Tsarist
Russia,” 135.
56
Here I refer to laws number 1280 in Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii.
Zakony s 1825-1881, T. 2, 643, and 1021 in Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii. Zakony
s 1825-1881, T. 2, 349.
57
“3236,” n. 1 and 2 in Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii. Zakony s 1825-
1881, T. 4, 726.
34
By the last decade of the century, in 1698 under the rule of Peter I, the aesthetic side of
poverty, unsightly and dull, was also brought up in the edicts. For example, an unflattering image
of guliashchie liudi was forever imprinted in the Russian seventeenth-century laws:
А которые придут на кабак гулящие люди, которые по городу бродят без одежды и
работать не хотят, а достанут себе денег небольшую часть приезжих или тутошных
людей подаянием или иным каким необидным случаем, и вместо того, что было
ему на те деньги себе купить нужныя одежонки, пропивают последнее и по
кабакам валяются безобразно, всем иноземцам на соблазн и на руганье и пьют до
тех мест, пока осталую копейку пропьют.
And those guliaschie people, who come to a tavern and who wander around the town
without clothes and do not wish to work, but who instead get a little sum of money from
the visitors or the local people by begging or in some other inoffensive way, and yet
instead of using this money to buy the needed clothing, they drink away the last and
wallow at the tavern disgustingly. And they drink till they finish their last kopek, while
foreigners either criticize such a sight, or they are tempted by it.
58
The vivid description of these people as drunkards shows that in principle the legislators were to
some extent concerned that the image of the country could be tainted by its very citizens — those
that lacked both the attire and the decorum and who presented themselves before the eyes of
foreigners. After all, during Muscovy’s economic expansion, foreigners were not rare, and their
opinion mattered. Notably, foreign persons were also required to act in dignified ways since
according to the Russian vagrancy laws they too could be prosecuted if they had been previously
exiled from Russia and came back again without necessary permits.
Despite the abundance of vagrancy laws ratified over the decades, the state was
seemingly hopeless in solving the issue of vagrancy. By the nineteenth century, as stated in one
of the laws, even Tsar Nicholas I, was pestered at least on one occasion by people on the street
58
“1655 punkt 5,” Polnoe sobranie zakonov..., 520.
35
who had wandered away from their places of dwelling in order to make a plea to the tsar. While
it is unfortunate that the law does not disclose what the questions and requests were that these
destitute people made, one thing becomes clear — Nicholas I was not pleased with this
unarranged meeting. The police were ordered to prevent the people from wandering away from
their towns and to prohibit them from entering Saint Petersburg. In fact, the two Russian capitals
often figured in vagrant laws, which stressed the need to constrain the mobility of vagabonds
within the limits of the cities by sending them away, to the periphery, where they would not be
seen. The new Russian capital, Saint Petersburg, was the epitome of order and beauty, and
vagrants had no place there. Through their scorn for the poor, Russian nobles could at last flaunt
their Western sensibilities.
An Important Distinction: Who Vagrants are Not
By looking through the cultural lens, this dissertation seeks to establish what vagrants
were for the Russian people. While the task at hand is to understand how the figure of the
vagrant was constructed, for the purposes of the future literary analysis it is also very important
to distinguish and to some extent separate the Russian brodiaga from other types of Russian poor
and wandering individuals. For example, vagrants were not actually holy fools (iurodivye),
despite the fact that after the eighteenth century, when the holy fools were intensely scrutinized
by the state, the law did not distinguish between the two types of destitution.
With the adoption of Christianity, Russian culture also inherited the idea of holy
foolishness (iurodstvo) from Byzantium. Holy fools, as discussed by Aleksandr Panchenko,
Dmitrii Likhachev, Natalia Ponyrko and later by Sergei Ivanov, were idolized by the Russian
people because they were believed to be the prophets of God. Theoretically speaking, the holy
36
fools were not actually vagrants. Unlike the peripatetic vagrants, they were generally associated
with one specific place, usually with a church or a monastery, as is the case with Procopius of
Ustyug or Basil the Blessed in Moscow. Moreover, unlike brodiagi, holy fools were usually
distinguished by eccentricity of behavior and madness. They were famously known for their
ardent and ideally unpunished criticism and even denunciation of those in power. Brodiagi, in
contrast, at least those who appear in literature, do not actively pester or taunt rulers. In fact,
while some of them actually come from the ruling class — Tolstoi’s father Sergius or Maksim
Gorky’s Viktor Tuchkov in “Tovarishchi” (“Comrades”) — they rarely cross paths with
noblemen, let alone with the Russian rulers. Instead, they predominantly meander at the lower
strata of society.
Naturally, while Russian people and even the Orthodox Church differentiated between
brodiagi and iurodivye, the secular law did not. Peter the Great, who according to Panchenko
was a committed opponent of holy foolishness, was the first to wage war against the holy fools
and subject them to repressions.
59
Empress Anna Ioannovna continued his efforts and ordered the
younger holy fools to be considered for military service. The older ones were to be sent to
monasteries. With that, albeit only legally, the term brodiagi engulfed yet another distinct type of
wandering poor. Conceptually and culturally, however, brodiaga and iurodivyi should not be
used interchangeably, even if they have a few traits in common.
Likewise, brodiagi are not wanderers (stranniki). Having a positive undertone, the term
wanderer is generally attributed either to a hero of Romantic or Sentimentalist works, or to a
religious traveler. In comparing stranniki to pilgrims, for example, Charles Arndt demonstrates
59
Aleksandr Panchenko, “Iurovstvo kak zrelishche,” Smekh v Drevnei Rusi, (Leningrad,
1984). See also, Sergei Ivanov, Blazhennye pokhaby: Kul’turnaia istoriia iurodstva. (Moskva:
Corpus, 2019).
37
that unlike pilgrims, stranniki make a more radical break with the secular world. They lead
ascetic lives and do not cease to wander after they complete their religious journey.
60
Perpetual
movement, thus, is what makes stranniki and brodiagi comparable, yet the religious component
in the wandering of the latter, at least as understood by the Russian intellectuals, is either absent
altogether, or is arbitrary. For instance, Nikolai Gogol uses the word brodiagi in order to separate
the righteous people from their antipodes — the godless heathens. In his gothic short story
entitled “Strashnaia Mest’” (“A Terrible Vengeance”) (1831), the protagonist Danilo blames
brodiagi for roving elsewhere, while Orthodox Christians fight their wars to the death. Danilo
understands brodiagi to be non-believers and social parasites, unwilling to make sacrifices for
the preservation of the Orthodox world yet still benefiting from living in it.
61
The opposition
created by Gogol, in which brodiagi represent the direct opposite of the holy wanderers,
nevertheless ties them to the problematics of religion and faith in Russia, rather than reducing
them to a secular, non-religious position.
In Dostoevsky’s Podrostok (The Adolescent) (1875), the discussion of stranniki and
brodiagi takes a different direction. In one of the passages, when a doctor speaks to Makar, the
doctor conflates the two terms at hand and uses them interchangeably: “Ведь вы - так
называемый странник? Ну, а бродяжество в нашем народе почти обращается в страсть.
Это я не раз заметил за народом. Наш народ - бродяга по преимуществу”
62
(“Aren’t you
what’s known as a wanderer? Well, and with our people vagrancy almost turns into a passion.
60
Arndt, Charles, "Wandering in Two Different Directions: Spiritual Wandering as the
Ideological Battleground in Dostoevsky's The Adolescent,” Slavic and East European
Journal 54, no. 4, (2010), 608.
61
Nikolai Gogol’, “Strashnaia Mest’,” (Moskva: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1977).
62
Fëdor Dostoevskii, Podrostok, (Moskva: T8RUGRAM, 2018), 463.
38
I’ve noticed it more than once in our people. Our people are mostly vagrants.”).
63
Arkadii,
however, disagrees with the doctor and distinguishes between these two words. As Charles Arndt
aptly demonstrates, the religious component that one of these words has is very strong, he says:
Thus, Makar . . . in spite of his itinerant lifestyle, is more “firmly rooted” due to the
relative clarity and stability of his faith in God and his devotion to the Russian land,
whereas . . . the members of the educated class, are the real “vagrants” because of their
lack of attachment to are liable, age-old ideal, and their preference for following the
ideological trends of the West.
64
Dostoevsky employs this terminological opposition and elevates it to a dialogue between the
Westernizers and the Slavophiles.
65
Yet, the protagonists, and by extension Dostoevsky, do not
argue against the doctor’s words, that Russian people have a propensity to wander.
It is important to note that the term stranniki began to evolve with the onset of
Romanticism in Russia. This cultural shift, proliferated by writers and poets, altered the
denotation of the word. The Romantic wanderer is a pensive intellectual who contemplates life
and death during his travels, which can be both cerebral and physical. At the same time, this is
not at all a religious mendicant that rummages for free food on the way to the next sacral point of
63
Fyodor Dostoevsky, Richard Pevear and Larisa Volokhonsky, The Adolescent (New
York: Vintage, 2004), 371.
64
Arndt, 617.
65
Osip Mandelstam seems to agree with Dostoevsky in his discussion of Përt
Chaadaev, when in 1915 he writes: Having endowed us with inner freedom, Russia gives us a
choice, and those who made this choice are real Russian people, no matter where they go. But
woe to those who, having circled around their native nest, come back cowardly!” (“Наделив нас
внутренней свободой, Россия предоставляет нам выбор, и те, кто сделал этот выбор, —
настоящие русские люди, куда бы они ни примкнули. Но горе тем, кто, покружив около
родного гнезда, малодушно возвращается обратно!”). Osip Mandel’shtam, “Pëtr Chaadaev,”
Slovo i kul’tura, (Moskva: Sovetskii pisatel’, 1987), accessed online:
https://rvb.ru/20vek/mandelstam/slovo_i_kultura/01text/02annex/46.htm.
39
destination. Remarkably, the word stranniki was used in relation to several other types of
wanderers: religious wanderers kaliki perekhozhie as well as a sectarian group alternatively
called the runners (beguny). While kaliki perekhozhie walked from one holy shrine to the next on
the way to Jerusalem, beguny were a sectarian group that was formed in the late eighteenth
century. De jure, all undocumented travelers were treated under the same laws without much
regard to the specificity of their circumstances or profundity of their faith. This particular group
of beguny, however, warrants a brief discussion because their practices were related to the
practices of non-sectarian vagabonds.
The runners were a sect of Priestless Old Believers (Bezpopovtsy) founded by a man from
Periiaslavl’, Evfimii. The reason for organizing a sect lay in Evfimii’s aversion to the duplicity
of the Christian people who subscribed to serve both God and the state. Influenced by the old
theories of Old-Believers, who identified Emperor Peter I as the Antichrist incarnate, Evfimii
projected these ideas on Peter’s successors and decided to resist the evil imposition of
authorities. As he was unable to oppose the state directly, he chose to run away from society and
wander around. This act could satisfy two goals: it was a form of protest and a way to salvation.
Subsequently, Evfimii formed a following and settled in the outskirts of Yaroslavl’.
After his death in 1792, his following was not disbanded. On the contrary, armed with
texts authored by their founding father, the sect grew in number. Soon, however, the members of
the runners began to worry that their membership would attract vagrant poor and beggars, rather
than rich people, so they openly enticed some well-to-do persons to enter their ranks. For the
most part, these people did not have to abandon their homes and begin to wander. Instead, they
were asked to support the runners and provide them with shelter and food. These shelters,
according to The Brockhaus and Efron Encyclopedic Dictionary, were hidden within the houses
40
of the beguny’s supporters: “Тайники бывают в виде ям под лестницами, чуланами, иногда
за стеной или под двойной крышей; тайник одного дома соединяется с тайником другого,
третьего и т. д., а тайник последнего дома выходит куда-нибудь в сад, перелесок, на
большую дорогу” (“A hideout can be in the form of hollow spaces under staircases, pantries,
sometimes behind a wall or under a double roof; the hideout of one house can be connected to
the hideouts of the second, and the third houses, etc., whereas the hideout of the last house leads
somewhere into a garden, a copse, or the main road.”)
66
As will be discussed later in more detail
as part of literary text analysis, beyond prohibiting illicit mobility, the Russian Imperial laws also
prevented the general population from harboring vagrants. Evidently, these catchall vagrancy
laws were enforced effectively enough if the Imperial subjects went to such intricate and secret
lengths to protect the runners.
Defining Brodiagi
What becomes apparent from looking at the vagrancy laws passed in the Russian Empire
from the early eighteenth century to the demise of the Empire, is that laws consistently avoided
well-defined or detailed explanations of what brodiagi actually were. The decrees simply stated
that people found thirty versts (around twenty miles) away from their homestead without
appropriate itinerary passports or documentation had to be punished in accordance with the
current vagrant laws. This definition seems fairly straightforward. At the same time, it is also
overly general since it could apply to a large number of people who had reasonable explanations
for being more than twenty miles away from their homestead. One petition, for example,
66
“Stranniki,” Entsiklopedicheskii slovar’ F. A. Brokgauza i I. A. Efrona, (Sankt
Peterburg, 1890-1907), accessed online: http://www.vehi.net/brokgauz.
41
suggests that due to the poor economic conditions in Mogilev and Vitebsk (towns located in the
present-day Belarus), some people should be allowed to trade or visit family members in the
neighboring towns, which are situated slightly outside the 30 versts perimeter.
67
The laws, however, were uncompromising, and hardly any leeway was given to those
whose livelihood depended on travel. Evidently, these bare definitions caused a lot of confusion
within the population over the centuries. Lack of clarity in the laws often coincided with the
people’s reluctance to view vagrants as criminals by default. And while it did not prevent some
people from turning their towns’ undesirables in to the authorities, there can be found many
appeals from those who were supposed to enforce the law but struggled with its ambiguity; some
of these petitions show empathy toward brodiagi. For instance, in the first decade of the
nineteenth century, one petitioner from Ukraine inquired about female vagrants.
68
The law, he
suggests, does not properly consider gender differences, and as such it becomes unclear whether
to send women without identification directly to Siberia or to work in the nearest fortresses. The
petitioner also indirectly proposes that such women be left in the place of their discovery and that
they be given a chance to redeem themselves by working and providing for themselves, that is,
of course, if they have not committed any crimes and unless they cannot remember who they are
and where they come from.
The State Senate (Prаvitelstvuiushchii Senat) was ahead of its time in questions of gender
equality and ruled that there was no need to discriminate between men and women, and that both
67
“399. O nepriznavanii brodiagami liudei, v’ezzhaiushchikh dlia raznykh nadobnostei
bez pasportov v seleniia i goroda sosedstvennoi gubernii, i o poiasnenii: kogo schitat’
brodiagami, podlezhashchimi otpravleniia v Sibir’ na poseleniia,” Polnoe Sobranie zakonov
Rossiiskoi Imperii. Zakony s 1827-1881, T. 1, 454.
68
“22.844.” Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii. Zakony s 1825-1881. “Ob
otdache nepomniashchikh rodstva zhenok’ i devok’ vsiakago vozrasta v’ blizhaishiia seleniiia
kres’ianam i prochim’ chinam’ v’ domy ili na fabriki v usluzhenie,” (28 fevralia, 1808), 96-97.
42
genders should face the law in a similar manner. Yet, in order to prevent the overpopulation of
cities’ prisons, the law suggested that the female vagrants either be returned to their previous
masters, if the latter do not reside too far, or attached to landowners in the towns in which they
were discovered. Besides, those women who were not claimed by anyone should be sent to work
in factories.
Similar petitions were often sent to the State Senate to inquire about ways to deal with
vagabonds with disabilities, or with those who were too old or too young. While basic law
provided only a few traits of vagrants, law enforcement officials consistently asked for more
detailed definitions. Occasionally, such specificity was provided. Under the rule of Catherine II,
two decrees were passed about vagrants that belonged to religious ranks, such as priest, deacons,
or monks. The article passed in 1765 ruled that those individuals who allowed in their private
homes or in the military stations religious persons not assigned to a specific religious institution
were to be fined 50 rubles.
69
The second law adopted under Catherine II similarly described vagrants who possessed
religious ranks but wandered under assumed names. The law forbade such wandering to the
Russian capitals and instructed others not to harbor these fugitives in their homes.
70
There is a
famous literary example, even though it does not relate to the reign of Catherine II, that describes
such men of faith. In Aleksandr Pushkin’s Boris Godunov, two vagrant monks (brodiagi-
chernetsy), Misail and Varlaam, ran away from the monastery. While technically they still have a
religious rank, it can be said that they also impersonate monks that collect money for the
69
“12493. O nederzhanii nikomu v Stolicax brodiashchikh sviashchenno- i tserkovno-
sluzhitelei, i ob otsylke ikh v Dukhovnyia Konsistorii” Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi
Imperii. Zakony s 1825-1881, 361.
70
“13764. O nedopuskanii Sviashchenno i tserkovnosluzhitelei do brodiazhnichestva,”
Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii. Zakony s 1825-1881. (1772, 20 Fevral’), 451.
43
monastery, but instead of delivering the collected funds, they waste it on alcohol. According to
Varlaam, the happiness of both men depends on the availability of wine. Besides, he adds that
they no longer have an attachment to a specific national territory.
71
In its war against brodiazhnichestvo (vagrancy), the state was also preoccupied with the
so-called perederzhateli or pristanoderzhateli — people who harbored fugitives in their homes.
For example, the law passed in 1739 stated that nobody was allowed to shelter vagrants; instead,
vagrants were to be delivered to the authorities:
… во всех местах публиковать дабы обыватели никаких людей не принимали и
пристани не держали, особливо ж где уведают воровское собрание, или каких
шатающихся, оных ловили, и в надлежащия места отсылали, без замедления за
крепкими караулы, и о том о всем обывателям с запискою под страхом смертныя
казни объявить, дабы впредь никто не отговаривался.”
… publicize everywhere, that the townsfolk are not to accept and shelter any people,
especially if they realize that there is an assembly of thieves or some other staggers,
because such people must be caught and, without delay, sent to the proper places with
guards; this law, under pain of death, must be announced to all townsfolk, so they do not
feign ignorance of it henceforth.
72
Punishment for this type of offence ranged from death by execution, to arguably milder forms of
corporal punishment, such as whipping, and monetary fines. The law of 1811 discussed above
ruled that such people had to be sent to Siberia or serve in the military. Dozens of laws that
reference various punishments for these types of offences once again corroborate the idea that
the general population was reluctant to comply with the law and willingly provided shelter to
those who needed it. The inhumanity of this law was reflected in literature. In Dmitry
71
Alexander Pushkin, James E. Falen (tr) et al. Boris Godunov and Other Dramatic
Works, (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2007).
72
“7840,” Polnoe Sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi Imperii. Zakony s 1825-1881, T. 10, 808.
44
Grigorovich’s short story “Bobyl’,” Sofiia Ivanovna insists that the old vagrant man who on his
deathbed comes to Mar’ia Petrovna’s house, be taken away from the estate immediately. On the
one hand Mar’ia Petrovna tries to show her kindness to the destitute old man, but on the other
hand her friend and her serfs warn her about consequences that may follow if the authorities
should become involved.
Waging war against brodiazhnichestvo, the State Senate often ruled against additional
changes to judicial law, referring the petitioners to the laws passed previously. Time and again
the state legislature disregarded the fact that these laws were the core of the problem as they
were too concise and provided little help for people who were faced with individual and unique
cases. This, of course, does not mean that the Russian society as a whole did not benefit from
these laws; as Gentes shows, people often found them valuable as they helped them to dispose of
the undesirable elements in their own homesteads.
73
It would be unfair, however, to say that the
Russian society was wholeheartedly aiding the state in the persecution of brodiagi. Various legal
decrees demonstrate that the society was willingly providing help at times when the laws firmly
forbade such assistance. Attitudes of the Russian people to individual cases much like the regular
abuse of these laws were unquestionably related to the ambiguity of legal definitions, which in
fact outlasted even the Russian Empire.
The encyclopedias published from 1890 to the 1970s show that different political regimes
had diametrically opposing ideas on brodiazhnichestvo. This issue, nevertheless, was
consistently politicized. The Brockhaus and Efron Encyclopedic Dictionary, published in
Imperial Russia in 1890, could serve as an example. The author of the explanatory note on
brodiazhnichestvo states that vagabondage is, above all, a legal term, the definition of which
73
Gentes, “Vagabondage and Siberia: Disciplinary Modernism in Tsarist Russia.”
45
depends on each country’s own understanding of the phenomenon. The author further
distinguishes Russian brodiagi from their German and French counterparts and defines the
German vagabondage (Landstreicherei) as one’s habitual wandering from place to place with no
means of support and a refusal to gain such means by honest labor. The French, the encyclopedia
claims, similarly consider poverty to be a transgression that necessitates punishment.
74
The Russian legal system is described in greater detail in the article. The crime of
vagrancy was said to be a serious offence, and the punishment for it was more severe in Russia.
What makes Russian laws unique, therefore, was the fact that it was not poverty or idleness that
was put on trial, but rather the unlawful movement of the person, whose identity could not be
established or verified by any supporting documents. Movement and obscured identity were thus
problematized, whereas the factual poverty, visible throughout Russia, was not considered to be
a vice in itself. The last point is stressed in the encyclopedia, hinting that the Russian legal
system was superior in that regard. Another indirect suggestion in the same vein can be seen in
the entry’s insistence that vagrants were tried for vagrancy only and with no regard to other
crimes that might have committed. The punishment for vagrancy that the article cites consisted
of four years of corrective labor with subsequent exile to Siberia and, in some cases, birching.
Over half a century later, under the Soviet regime, Russia was free of vagrants, at least
The Great Soviet Encyclopedia so maintained. In the edition of 1951, vagrancy was used as an
example to distinguish Russia and its superiority in this particular area. Yet, the language used
was more straightforward, and the comparison was drawn not only between Soviet Russia and
various Western countries, but also between Soviet Russia and Russia’s bourgeois past, in which
exploitation of workers was ubiquitous.
74
Slovar’ Brokgausa i Efrona, 695.
46
In fact, to gain currency in the discussion of vagrancy, the article evokes Karl Marx’s
ideas on vagabondism. Marx found that the root of vagabondism was in the precariousness of
labor and suggested that vagabonds once were children of the displaced workers.
75
He believed
that the first laws against vagabondism, which converted precarious workers into vagabonds and
subsequently into slaves, were developed in England, and that France and the Netherlands soon
acquired analogous laws. In 1927, citing Marx’s ideas, the entry on vagrancy in The Great Soviet
Encyclopedia did not have a clear definition of vagrancy. Instead, the writer of the entry A.
Estrin presented vagrants as precarious laborers who, due to their poverty, “turned into vagrants
and rogues.” While the entry did not suggest that poverty was eradicated in the Soviet Union, it
still made a clear delineation between the Soviet state and the capitalist societies: “In the current
period of transition, when the unemployment has not yet been eliminated, the Soviet power does
not resort to meaningless measures of criminal repressions in the batter with the social ills.”
76
In
the 1951 edition, on the other hand, the Great Soviet Encyclopedia is unequivocal, as it states
that vagrancy is “characterized by a constant movement from place to place of persons deprived
of an opportunity of engaging in the productive work,” and proceeds to explain that modern
capitalist societies, which are the main causes of vagrancy, consider it to be a criminal offence.
77
It names England and the United States, and describes the injustice done to the people by the
capitalist society that first produced these impoverished elements and then tried to suppress them
75
Karl Marx, Samuel Moore (tr), et al, “Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bloody Legislation
Against the Expropriated, from the End of the 15th Century. Forcing Down of Wages by Acts of
Parliament,” Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, vol. 1, (Mineola (NY): Dover
Publications, Inc., 2019).
76
A. Estrin, “Brodiazhnichestvo,” O. Iu. Shmidt (gl. red.). Bol’shaia Sovetskaia
Entsiklopediia, T. 7, (Moskva: Aktsionernoe obshchestvo “Sovetskaia entsiklopediia,” 1927),
560-61.
77
“Brodiazhnichestvo,” S. I. Vavilov (glav. red.), Bol’shaia Sovetskaia Entsiklopediia, II
izdanie, T. 6, (Gosudarstvennoe nauchnoe izdatel’stvo: “BSE,” 1951), 126.
47
by the use of force and imprisonment.
78
Notably, the article perceptively points out that the
United States legislature often does not have a clear definition of what constitutes a vagrant, thus
allowing the concept to be applied to “anyone who travels out of state in search of a job.”
79
The
Russian misguided past is also very briefly brought up in order to restate in the two concluding
remarks: “In the USSR there are no conditions that could generate vagrancy. In the Soviet
legislation there is no such concept as vagrancy.”
80
Perhaps the most noteworthy encyclopedic entry on the subject of brodiazhnichestvo was
published two decades later, in 1971 in The Great Soviet Encyclopedia. Contentious and self-
contradictory, this entry is much lengthier than the 1951 version and serves as a testament of a
clash between reality and ideological correctness and the discord in thought processes that it
creates. Simultaneously, it shows the adoptability of information to the recent changes in laws at
the time. Like the earlier Soviet version, the entry defined brodiazhnichestvo as the outcome of
the precarity and an inability to participate in productive labor. The same passage, however,
added that brodiazhnichestvo was also a lifestyle (“obraz zhizni”), characterized by perpetual
movement and a propensity to live on alms, thus undermining the notion that all vagrants were
displaced workers in search of gainful employment opportunities. After reiterating Marx’s ideas
about the causes of vagrancy and providing a few standard examples from Russia’s “misguided”
Imperial past, the entry focused on the definitions given in the vagrancy laws of Italy, England,
and the Unites States, with particular attention given to those of California. It determined that
78
Ibid.
79
Ibid.
80
Ibid.
48
vague definitions allowed these countries to target the poor and the unemployed, as well as to
repress those individuals who “protest against hard social conditions.”
81
Unlike the earlier article, the 1971 edition did not end with a censure of the capitalist
countries. The entry went on to argue that in the USSR, where no conditions that may produce
vagrancy exist, brodiazhnichestvo as a social phenomenon was obviated. Paradoxically, the same
passage continues to discuss vagrants who, against all odds, live in the Soviet space. Labeled
“antisocial elements,” such individuals were thought to avoid work, and have “a parasitical
pursuit to live at the expense of the society, avoiding legal responsibility for criminal offences.”
82
The article stresses that there are a lot of vagrants among those who avoid paying alimony.
Notably, if The Brockhaus and Efron Encyclopedic Dictionary made a point that the Russian
legal system was more just because it prosecuted persons for vagrancy rather than for merely
presumed potential crimes, The Great Soviet Encyclopedia underscores the exact opposite—by
feigning poverty brodiagi oftentimes conceal serious crimes. What is more, the entry ultimately
reveals that under the existing laws there were legal consequences for committing the crime of
brodiazhnichestvo. Being found guilty of such crimes for the first time could result in
imprisonment for up to two years. Ironically, the definition of brodiazhnichestvo as “a periodical
change of habitation with an aim to avoid socially-beneficial work (obshchestvenno-poleznyi
trud)” is no more comprehensive than its Western counterpart discussed in the same entry.
83
The reasons for such contradictions were twofold. First of all, the ideas of Marx that were
relied upon by the Soviet administration proved to be merely theoretical. Using examples from
81
“Brodiazhnichestvo,” A. M. Prokhorov (glav. red), Bol’shaia Sovetskaia
Entsiklopediia, III izdanie, T. 4, (Moskva: Izdatel’stvo: “Sovetskaia entsiklopediia,” 1971), 42.
82
Ibid.
83
Ibid.
49
history, Marx attempted to explain the onset of vagrancy and vagrancy laws, but he did not dwell
on this complex issue in his research. His ideas accounted only for vagrancy that developed from
economic instability, but failed to recognize any deeply-rooted psychological, physical, or social
causes that could drive one towards vagrancy. Followers of Marx believed that moving away
from the capitalist system and providing employment for the job-seeking vagrants would reverse
and even eliminate this problem once and for all.
The other reason for this contradiction stemmed from the fact that state officials were
painfully aware that almost half a century had passed since the revolution, but brodiazhnichestvo
was not at all eradicated. Debates on the issue and secret resolutions were passed year after year;
the general public, however, was by and large kept in the dark. The masses were led to believe
that vagrancy no longer plagued Russia. Some vigilant individuals did notice vagabonds and
beggars on the street and complained about them to the authorities. These complaints were not
readily publicized, as any open acknowledgement of the problem would go against all previous
political pronouncements.
In point of fact, Soviet Russia and brodiazhnichestvo had a very long and complicated
history. Immediately after the revolution brodiagi were considered to be victims of the past
regime and had to be reeducated to reenter the workforce. In practice, this was not easy to
achieve. Individuals who exhibited so-called “asocial behavior” (many of them being factory
workers in their early twenties), did not readily surrender to the “educational process” and did
not willingly become conscious members of the socialist society. That is why the 1920s
experienced an outbreak of hooliganism. Growing rapidly, it posed a significant threat to the
social order and compelled the authorities to seek countermeasures. Already in 1926, programs
that aimed to fight the “social anomalies,” such as prostitution, pauperism, juvenile homelessness
50
(besprizornost’), and alcoholism, were established.
84
But, as Elena Zubkova and Tatiana
Zhukova argue, by 1929 the rhetoric of the state began to change:
According to the ideological canon, the Soviet regime could not engender social
anomalies, which were considered “the inheritance of the past.” However, asocial
elements and asocial behavior were as much a reality as they had been before in the pre-
revolutionary Russia. Therefore, initially, the authorities tried to hide this rather ugly side
of Soviet life: in the 1930s the condition of the social marginals became a forbidden
subject for both the press and for the sociological inquiries.
85
Repressions against the “socially harmful elements” (sotsial’no vrednye elementy) began in 1935
with the NKVD order number 00192.
86
Brodiagi became a target of these repressions as well.
Since it was hardly possible to link many of them to the pre-revolutionary past due to their age,
these malefactors of anti-social behavior were regarded as products of an underlying character
deficiency.
87
The first significant step towards the regulation of Soviet society, however, had begun
several years earlier, in December of 1932, with the reinstatement of the passport system.
88
This
step put a major halt to mobility and put particular strain on the residents of remote villages, as
84
E. Iu. Zubkova, T. Iu. Zhukova, Na “kraiu” sovetskogo obshchestva: sotsial’nye
marginaly kak ob’ekt gosudarstvennoi politiki: 1945-1960-e gg, Seriia: Dokumenty sovetskoi
istorii, (Moskva: ROSSPEN, 2010), 15.
85
Ibid, 16.
86
Ibid, 17.
87
Ibid, 18.
88
V. Popov, “Pasportnaia sistema sovetskogo krepostnichestva,” Novyi Mir, N. 6. (1996),
accessed online: https://magazines.gorky.media/library/valerij-popov-pasportnaya-sistema-
sovetskogo-krepostnichestva.
51
they were not provided with passports and thus could not leave their homes in pursuit of different
jobs. Initially, the mass mobility of the population did not subside, and as a result the laws that
regulated relocation began to tighten. By 1935 it was no longer possible to reside in a place or
gain employment without a passport and appropriate registration at a specific address
(propiska).
89
The lack of a passport provided enough grounds for arrest and subsequent
accusations of crimes akin to brodiazhnichestvo. In point of fact, these methods of regulating
mobility, although sometimes differently-worded, were almost identical to the ones employed
several centuries earlier in Imperial Russia.
Finding similarities between Soviet and Imperial outlooks on social mobility, Sheila
Fitzpatrick notes one other reason for the spread of brodiazhnichestvo in the politics of
dekulakization:
The kulak deportations that accompanied collectivization brought something like
vagrancy back into the foreground as an administrative problem, since one of their by-
products was that many of the deported tried to escape the settlements they had been sent
to and return home. Then, with the reintroduction of internal passports in 1933, large
numbers of “socially-dangerous” individuals were expelled from big cities after the
police refused to issue them with new passports and urban residence permits. Thus once
again (as in Imperial times) absence of documentation of social position (in this case,
however, not willful) provided the pretext for punishment.
90
It is evident that the state policies passed during the late 1930s were principally responsible for
the large number of people labeled as vagrants and prosecuted for it. In other words, the state
artificially created vagrants and then worked on finding measures to dispose of them.
89
Ibid.
90
Sheila Fitzpatrick, “Social Parasites: How Tramps, Idle Youth, and Busy Entrepreneurs
Impeded the Soviet March to Communism,” Cahiers du Monde russe. Vol. 47, N. 1/2,
(2006),379.
52
The Second World War created its own marginal figures. Despite the fact that after the
war the Soviet people were longing for stability, juvenile homelessness, vagrancy, and other
types of marginalized people became problematic yet again. The devastation caused by the war
was further aggravated by the famine in 1946, caused by a bad crop production that year.
91
And
while the authorities employed various methods to resolve this problem, by the 1950s vagrants
and beggars were still present in the country:
If initially, after the end of the war, pauperism could be explained in the vein of the
popular ideologeme of “temporary hardships,” this unpleasant side of reality later on
began to damage the “façade” of Soviet life. Large numbers of paupers provoked
questions and indignancy from the Soviet citizens and the rare foreign guests alike.
92
The preoccupation with the outlook foreign citizens had on Russia was a major concern of the
Soviet people. In that, they were not radically different from their seventeenth-century
predecessors who, during the reign of Peter I, were aware of the message the uncouth impression
of drunken and rowdy guliashchie liudi made on foreign visitors. Yet, while the Muscovites were
equally worried that some foreigners would be tempted to follow such bad examples, the Soviets
during the Cold War period were mainly worried that guests in the country, labeled as “the
enemies,” would misinterpret this visual information. As one of the documents from 1952 shows,
they feared that foreigners would inadvertently use their observations as propaganda against the
Soviet state: “Pointing at crippled beggars, who sit on all streets and crossroads of the city, they
will scream about poverty in the Soviet Union, about the joyless situation of invalids and
orphans, about the Soviet state’s indifference towards them, and so on and so forth.”
93
The
91
Zhukova, 20.
92
Ibid, 23.
93
Ibid, 103.
53
overall rhetoric of such documents could be summarized in one short sentence: By not helping
our own people with disabilities, we help our enemy.
The fear of the Other, a potential aggressor, coalesced with yet another upsetting
discrepancy between reality and ideology. An ideal Soviet life, systematically professed in the
newspapers, literary works, and films, could hardly coincide with the dreadfulness of vagrancy
and destitution that was present “on all streets and crossroads of the city.”
94
The utopian
aesthetics with which the Soviet rhetoric was imbued rested on the ideas of beauty, health,
cleanliness, and order, and as such it stood in opposition to all manifestations of ugliness. The
alternatively created reality claimed to be devoid of vagrants as а class because even the idea of
their existence undermined this perfect outlook. The mundane reality suggested the opposite,
thereby creating discord in interpreting the information received from different sources: the state
propaganda and one’s personal experiences. As the Soviet citizens became more aware of the
inconsistency of these viewpoints and began to question it, even if they did so with utmost
caution, the authorities initiated a fierce campaign against various marginal figures.
On July 23, 1951 a secret act against anti-social and parasitic elements was signed, and
with that began a new wave of repressions against vagrancy, pauperism, and prostitution. The
decree was concise. It concerned all vagrant men from 18 to 55 years of age and vagrant women
between 18 and 55 years of age, who “did not have any clear occupation (opredelennyh zaniatii)
and residency.”
95
In the first several years after the law was passed, Soviet authorities chose to
force their “undesirables” out of major cities, maximally isolate or conceal them from the Soviet
94
Ibid, 103.
95
Ibid, 61.
54
society — such people were mandated to live one hundred kilometers away from major cities for
up to five years.
Despite the harsh repressive measures, this new decree failed yet again to resolve the
problem of vagrancy in the Soviet Union. Soviet law enforcement was instructed to apprehend
vagrants and tramps, but the nature of the crime was very rarely actually explained to the
officers. It was very unclear who should be considered a vagrant. This is because, as Zhukova
and Zubkova note, the Soviet legislature lacked the definition of brodiazhnichestvo, and so law
enforcement had to act according to their own understanding of the offence.
96
This fact led to a
large number unlawful arrests and various other violations on the part of the law.
97
In 1953, after the death of Joseph Stalin, the policy concerning the marginal figures
changed. As Zhukova and Zubkova show, the state chose to incorporate the marginal figures
back into Soviet society as part of the larger policy of the Thaw.
98
In practice, these political
decisions were underwhelmed by the rise of criminal activity brought on by the March amnesty
of 1953. Soviet people and officials were weary of ex-convicts, and that in turn negatively
affected the subsequent employment of the latter.
99
This alone proved to instill financial hardship
on newly-released prisoners and as a result encouraged begging and other anti-social behavior.
Furthermore, after 1953, the Soviet society was to assume responsibility for those Soviet people
who had strayed away from the right path. The court of comrades (tovarishchiskii sud) was
introduced as a measure for dealing with various non-violent transgressions of the Soviet people.
It quickly became widespread, and its aim was to discipline and to correct deviant behavior on
96
Ibid, 38.
97
Ibid, 38.
98
Ibid, 26.
99
Ibid, 28.
55
site without immediately resorting to law enforcement for help. According to Birgit Beumers and
Mark Lipovetsky,
the creation of the Burlaw Court (‘court of comrades’), the expansion of the functions of
the Voluntary People’s Guards (DND, Dobrovol’naia narodnaia druzhina), the
campaigns against dandies (stiliagi), parasites (tuneiadtsy) and any other manifestation of
heterodoxy, as well as the general tightening of criminal punishment, led to an increased
social pressure of the ‘collective’ and the formation of a structure that resembled the
classical panopticon.
100
To some extent this could be considered a significant moment in the history brodiazhnichestvo
because in the 1950s the role of the Russian people in relation to their poor reversed. Whereas in
the Imperial times the people (narod) acted as the benefactors of brodiagi, even at the expense of
their own wellbeing, the Soviet people in Khrushchev’s and Brezhnev’s era had to assume the
role of watchmen, whose purpose was to discipline marginal figures rather than help them.
Culturally, these social changes were palpable at well. For example, in Sverstnitsy (Age-
Mates) (1959), a film directed by Vasilii Ordynskii, social parasitism is at the core of the story.
Young Svetlana fails her university entrance exams and spends her time with other tuneiadtsy.
The court of comrades is what saves her from potential ruin. After she is reprehended by her
comrades and forced to work at a watch factory, she finds love and eventually turns her life
around.
A better example yet is Leonid Gaidai’s 1965 legendary comedy Operatsiia “Y” i drugie
prikliucheniia Shurika (Operation Y and Shurik’s Other Adventures). In “Naparnik”
(“Workman”), the first part of the three-part film, an inveterate tuneiadets Fedia is arrested for
100
Birgit Beumers and Mark Lipovetsky, Literary and Theatrical Experiments of New
Russian Drama, (Chicago (IL): University of Chicago Press, 2009), 53.
56
drunken and disorderly conduct and assigned to work at a construction site for fifteen days. In
spite of the police orders, Fedia is unwilling to work. He procrastinates, drinks alcohol, and
harasses his workmate Shurik. Shurik is a student who only works part-time; yet, he is assigned
to work alongside Fedia and to some extent even manage him. After Shurik realizes that Fedia’s
unruliness cannot be contained either by hard work or by, he overtakes Fedia and punishes him.
This comedy, however, is tongue-in-cheek. While symbolically Shurik stands to represent the
court of comrades, in actuality he takes matters into his own hands even though initially even his
status as a part-time employee raises some questions with the police. Moreover, the film insists
that neither the administrative arrests and forced labor nor discourse about Soviet ideals, which
are presented in the form of lengthy exhortations of the cultured construction foreman, can
transform Fedia into a well-behaved Soviet citizen. That is why, in order to educate Fedia,
Shurik resorts to the only reliable and time-tested form of punishment for such cases — flogging.
Immediately before the execution of the punishment, Fedia even reiterates the foreman’s words
about Soviet ideals and the cosmonauts, but these words leave no impression on his punisher. In
other words, while the Russian Empire may have dissolved, its core principles and practices
remained virtually unchanged.
It would be wrong to say that in the 1950s the state relied solely on its citizens to solve
the issue of vagrancy. For over five years, the Soviet government worked on a project that dealt
with an assortment of social ills that plagued the country. This project culminated in the
infamous 1961 law against social parasites. This was a catch-all law that encompassed a large
variety of “anti-social elements.” Even if they were not directly mentioned in the text of the
decree, the brodiagi were also affected, as they did not have any permanent employment. Apart
from that, however, they were featured in one other legal document. The new Criminal Code of
57
RSFSR that was adopted in January of 1961 and which lasted for over 30 years, until 1997, had
an article pertaining directly to brodiazhnichestvo. It provided that any systematic vagabondism
that “continues after the second warning, made by administrative authorities, will be punished
with imprisonment of up to two years or from six months to one year of corrective labor.”
101
This
shows that brodiazhnichestvo was a consistent and unresolved issue in the USSR. As it lingered
in the legal books as a criminal offense under the Soviet regime, the authorities still approached
it with the utmost secrecy, which is why the Soviet masses were led to believe that this social
problem has disappeared in the socialist state, just as Karl Marx had once argued.
101
Zubkova, 752.
58
Chapter 2
Vagrancy in Literature of the Nineteenth Century
Нет, легче жить в тюрьме, рабом,
Чем быть свободным человеком
И упираться в стену лбом,
Не смея спорить с рабским веком!
Pëtr Iakubovich (1900)
102
Nineteenth-century Russian literature saw a rapid increase in vagrant characters.
However, if at the beginning of the century brodiagi were mentioned rarely and only as a
pejorative designator for those who in any way opposed legitimate power, by the 1840s vagrants
were studied by members of the natural school as one of the social types, alongside hurdy-gurdy
players and town policemen. By the 1890s, vagrant characters became fairly common and could
be easily found in novels, shorts stories, poems, and plays of many popular writers, such as Lev
Tolstoi, Anton Chekhov, Vladimir Korolenko, Maxim Gorky, Aleksandr Amfiteatorov, among
many others. My aim for this chapter is twofold. First of all, I seek to demonstrate that the
interest in vagrancy grew exponentially through the nineteenth century; secondly, I attempt to
explicate some of the reasons that led to this growing cultural interest in vagrancy.
Malcontents as Vagrants
In the first two decades of the nineteenth century brodiagi rarely became objects of
literary inquiry, while the word “brodiaga” was only occasionally mentioned in memoirs or
102
(“No, it’s easier to live in prison, as a slave/ Than live as a free man/ And hit your
head against a wall/ Not daring to disagree with the slavish age!”). Pëtr Iakubovich, “Net,
luchshe zhit’ v tiur’me, rabom,” (1900), accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/j/jakubowich_p_f/text_0050.shtml.
59
history books.
103
More often than not, it was used as a derogatory term to label protesters,
insurgents, offenders of civil order, and even illegitimate pretenders to the Russian throne.
Numerous examples of such use can be found in Nikolai Karamzin’s Istoriia gosudarstva
Rossiiskogo (History of the Russian State), a work that is considered instrumental in fostering a
sense of national identity in the country. For example:
<. . .> Лука, набрал шайку бродяг и, разорив множество деревень в Заволочье, по
Двине и Baгe, основал для своей безопасности городок Орлец на реке Емце. Его
умертвили жители как разбойника; но чернь Новогородская, преданная ему,
думала, что он убит слугами Посадника Феодора, и требовала мести.
104
<. . .> Luka recruited a gang of vagabonds and, having ransacked many villages in
Zavolochye, along Dvina and Vaga, he founded the town of Orlets on the river Emets to
ensure his own safety. Its inhabitants killed him like a rogue; but the rabble of Novgorod
that was loyal to him thought that he was killed by the servants of Posadnik Feodor
105
and demanded revenge.
Уже осенью в 1441 году открылась новая вражда между Великим Князем и
Димитрием Шемякою, который, сведав о приближении Московского войска к
Угличу, бежал в Новогородскую область и, собрав несколько тысяч бродяг, вместе
с Князем Александром Черторижским, выехавшим к нему из Литвы, внезапно
подступил к Москве.
106
Already in the fall of 1441, a new animosity ensued between the Grand Duke and Dmitrii
Shemiaka, who, having learned that the Muscovite army approached Uglich, fled to the
Novgorod region. There he gathered several thousand vagrants and, together with Prince
Aleksandr Chertorizhskii who came to him from Lithuania, suddenly advanced toward
Moscow.
103
One work about a vagrant that stands out is V. T. Narezhnyi’s novel Rossiiskii
Zhilblaz, ili Pokhozhdeniia kniazia Gavrily Chistiakova (1814) — a literary transplantation of
the Western picaresque novel L’Histoire de Gil Blas de Santillane (p. 1715-1735) by Alain-René
Lesage to Russian environs.
104
Nikolai Karamzin, Istoriia gosudarstva Rossiiskogo: v 12 tomakh, T. 3-4, izdanie
shestoe, (Sankt Peterburg: Izd. A. Smerdina, 1851-52), 264.
105
Posadnik was a title attributed to Novgorod’s and Pskov’s mayors.
106
Nikolai Karamzin. Istoriia gosudarstva Rossiiskogo: v 12 tomakh, T. 5-6, izdanie
shestoe, (Sankt Peterburg: Izd. A. Smerdina, 1852), 295.
60
Сию мысль вселил в него, как уверяют, Голландский доктор Елисей Бомелий,
негодяй и бродяга, изгнанный из Германии: снискав доступ к Царю, он полюбился
ему своими кознями; питал в нем страх, подозрения; чернил Бояр и народ,
предсказывал бунты и мятежи, чтобы угождать несчастному расположению души
Иоанновой.
107
They say that this idea was instilled in him by the Dutch doctor Eliseus Bomelius, who
was a scoundrel and a vagabond and who was expelled from Germany. Having gained
access to the Tsar, who liked him for his wiles, he fueled in him fear and suspicion; he
vilified the Boyars and the people; he prophesied riots and rebellions to please the
unfortunate disposition of Ivan IV’s soul.
Karamzin uses the word “brodiagi” as a signifier of illegitimate forces that impede the
development of the country throughout his book. Even in his discussion of Ivan IV, Karamzin
underscores the illegitimacy of Bomelius by calling him a brodiaga because he steered the Tsar
in the wrong direction. According to Kevin Platt, Karamzin’s History transformed Russians’
views of Ivan IV from that of “a severe but pious ruler” to an intemperate despot.
108
Even though
Karamzin had a seemingly negative outlook on Ivan IV, he still portrayed him as a man affected
by these foreign illegitimate influences embodied in the figure of Bomelius, which were harmful
to the nation.
It seems that at the time the term “brodiagi” was used to designate the opposition to the
state and various official decisions customarily. In his autobiography Povest’ o rozhdenii
107
Nikolai Karamzin, Istoriia gosudarstva Rossiiskogo: v 12 tomakh, T. 9-10, izdanie
shestoe, (Sankt Peterburg: Izd. A. Smerdina, 1852), 140.
108
Kevin M. F. Platt, Terror and Greatness: Ivan and Peter and the Russian Myths,
(Ithaca and London: Cornell UP, 2011), 22.
61
moëm… (The story of my birth…)
109
, Prince Ivan Mikhailovich Dolgorukov (1764-1823), for
example, calls rioters vagrants:
Чума породила другое пагубное зло. Народ, видя ежеминутно смерть пред собою,
не имел другого прибежища, как богомолие пред иконами. Из сих всех более
прославилась Боголюбская, что на Варварских воротах <. . .> Правительство сочло
необходимым пресечь такой приток народу к одному месту — образ тихо ночью
вывезен. Чернь, узнав о сем, взволновалась. Открылся общенародный бунт, и 14
сентября московский архиерей, служивший в Донском монастыре литургию, убит
разъяренною сволочью . Шайка бродяг вломилась во храм. <. . .> Один генерал-
поручик Петр Дмитриевич Еропкин <. . .> принял начальство, расставил в
городских воротах орудии и палил по черни. Толпы пьяниц и бродяг, потерявших
рассудок, падали под ядрами, и смерть другого рода, начав истреблять народ
московский, наконец остатки его утишила. Таким образом остановлен быстрый ход
мятежа! В Москве начался бунт — в ней и заглушён.
110
The plague has spawned another pernicious evil. Seeing death before them every minute,
the people had no other refuge than worshipping God before the icons. Of these, the most
famous was the Bogoliubskaia icon, which was at the Varvarskie Gate <. . .> The
government considered it necessary to prevent such an influx of people into one place,
and the image was quietly removed at night. The rabble, having learned about this,
became agitated. A riot broke out and, on September 14, the Moscow bishop, who served
the liturgy in the Donskoi Monastery, was killed by the angry scum. A gang of vagrants
broke into the temple. <. . .> One Lieutenant-General Pëtr Dmitrievich Eropkin <. . .>
took over the leadership, placed cannons in the city gates and fired at the rabble. Crowds
of drunkards and vagabonds, who had lost their minds, fell under the cannonballs. Death
of a different kind began to exterminate the people of Moscow and finally pacified the
rest of them. Thus, the high speed of the rebellion was stopped! A riot began in Moscow
— and it was quashed there.
109
Full title: Повесть о рождении моем, происхождении и всей жизни, писанная
мной самим и начатая в Москве 1788-го года в августе месяце, на 25-ом году от
рождения моего. В книгу сию включены будут все достопамятные происшествия,
случившиеся уже со мною до сего года и впредь имеющие случиться. Здесь же впишутся
копии с примечательнейших бумаг, кои будут иметь личную со мною связь и к
собственной истории моей уважительное отношение. First published in 1916.
110
Kniaz’ I. M. Dolgorukov. Povest’ o rozhdenii moëm… T.1, (Sankt-Peterburg: Nauka,
2004), 25, accessed online:
https://imwerden.de/pdf/dolgorukov_povest_o_rozhdenii_moem_tom1_2004_text.pdf.
62
Dolgorukov uses the word brodiagi as a synonym for such words as a “crowd” and
“townspeople.” It is notable that the shift from people (narod) to vagrants occurs immediately
after these Muscovites begin to demonstrate their opposition to the state’s decision and rebel
against it. The irony of the fact that in an attempt to protect the people from dying, the state kills
them, seems to escape Dolgorukov altogether.
Culturally, the association between vagrancy and defiance can be observed in the cases of
Grigorii Otrep’ev, Stepan Razin, and Emel’ian Pugachëv. Grigorii Otrep’ev (c.1581-1606) was a
monk, in whom many historians see the figure of False Dmitrii I — a pretender to the Russian
throne and a usurper, who reigned between 1605 and 1606. A Cossack Stepan Razin (c. 1630-
1671) led a major uprising against the Romanovs’ rule between 1667 and 1671. A century after
Razin’s death, another Cossack, Emel’ian Pugachëv, led another uprising (1773-75) and even
passed himself off as Peter III, who was the late husband of Catherine II.
111
All three of these
historical figures were executed and excommunicated, and even though Razin and Pugachëv
were revered by common folk, the official culture in the nineteenth century denounced them and
deemed them lawless vagrants. The derogatory designation of a vagrant was not a mere
expression of outrage of the ruling power towards rebel leaders, but rather a political ploy meant
to render these political entities as well as their claims illegitimate and even treasonous.
In the Russian literature of the early nineteenth century, the term brodiaga is applied to
these historical figures with notable frequency. Karamzin, for instance, addresses Otrep’ev
almost exclusively as a vagrant in his History of the Russian State,
112
whereas Stepan Razin, who
111
Aleksandr Pushkin, “Istoriia Pugachëva,” Sobranie sochinenii v 10 tomakh, T. 7,
(Moskva: GIKhL, 1959-62), accessed online:
https://rvb.ru/pushkin/01text/08history/01pugatchev/1063-02.htm.
112
Nikolai Karamzin, Istoriia gosudarskva Rossiiskogo, T. XI. Accessed online:
https://онлайн-читать.рф/карамзин-история-государства-российского/12#4.
63
was a frequent subject of Russian folklore, is occasionally called brodiaga in folk songs.
113
Even
though this suggests that Razin was not well-liked by the Russian people, Maria Shibanova
argues that folk songs about Razin vacillate between depicting him as a hero or a despot, and as
such do not provide a succinct portrait of the Cossack. This lack of uniformity, Shibanova notes,
suggests that the songs about the “leader of the peasant movement” were likely composed by
people from “different strata of society.”
114
In other words, it is likely folk songs that depict
Razin negatively reflect the opinions of the nobility. Pugachëv was treated similarly. For
example, Prince Dolgorukov in his memoirs writes that Cossack Pugachëv gathered around
himself a “vagrant mob” (“shaiku brodiag”) and “began to pillage all villages and hamlets,
gather up people and seduce them with freedom <. . .> and in some places they began to kill and
torturously exterminate noblemen” (“начал грабить все веси и селении, подбирать к себе
народ, обольщать его свободой <. . .> и по местам стали резать и мучительски истреблять
дворян”).
115
Thus, the link between insurgents and vagrancy is present even autobiographical
accounts, which in a way reflect and reproduce the official language and opinions.
One writer who engaged with all three of these historical figures in his literary
productions was Aleksandr Pushkin. He wrote three songs about Razin, but in none of them did
he call the Cossack a vagrant. Perhaps because of this non-denunciatory attitude, all three songs
were rejected for publication in 1827. In his decision letter Count Benkendorff explained: “Songs
about Sten’ka Razin are, notwithstanding their poetic worth, inappropriate for publication on
account of their content. Besides, the church has cursed Razin, just like Pugachëv” (“Песни о
113
M. P. Shibanova, “Istoricheskie pesni i pesni A. S. Pushkina o Stepane Razine,”
Fol’klor i literature: problemy izucheniia, (Voronezh: Voronezhskii gosudarstvennyi universitet,
2001), 80, accessed online: http://folk.phil.vsu.ru/publ/sborniki/sb_st2001.pdf.
114
Ibid, 80.
115
Kniaz’ I. M. Dolgorukov, Povest’ o rozhdenii moëm…, 35.
64
Стеньке Разине при всем поэтическом своём достоинстве по содержанию своему не
приличны к напечатанию. Сверх того церковь проклинает Разина, равно как и
Пугачева”).
116
In 1825, Pushkin interpreted Grigorii Otrep’ev in his play Boris Godunov. In the play,
Otrep’ev is often addressed as a vagrant by Prince Shuiskii and Marina Mniszech. Since
vagrancy was not criminalized at the time, and since Otrep’ev had clear objectives and plans that
included travel, it is likely that Pushkin employed the term to complicate Otrep’ev’s character
and gesture towards his illegitimacy in the eyes of others. Conversely, in the Russian folklore
Otrep’ev was not addressed as a vagrant, even though the general attitude of the Russian people
toward him was negative. In the folk songs he is occasionally called a “child-killer,” because
some thought that he was the one responsible for Prince Dmitry’s death; other times, he is called
a thief, accused of blasphemy and a foreigner.
117
As Chester Dunning perceptively argues, in his
play Pushkin was going against the accepted negative opinion of Otrep’ev, which was in part
transmitted by Karamzin.
118
Still, it is likely that his choice of the word “brodiaga,” uttered by
antagonists Shuiskii and Marina, was gleaned from Karamzin’s History of the Russian State.
119
Remarkably, this attribution stuck. Faddei Bulgarin in his novel (1830) and Aleksei Khomiakov
116
Michael Wachtel, A Commentary to Pushkin’s Lytic Poetry, 1826-1836, (Madison
(WI): The University of Wisconsin Press, 2011), 17.
117
“Pesnia pro Dmitriia-Tsarevicha,” in V. I. Ignatov, Russkie istoricheskie pensi.
Khrestomatiia, (Moskva: Vysshaia shkola, 1970), 116-7. See also: Ibid, “Grishka rasstriga”
(120-22); “Pop Emelia” (124). Accessed online:
https://www.booksite.ru/fulltext/hrestom/text.pdf.
118
This negative opinion is transmitted, for instance, in A. P. Sumarokov’s tragedy
Dmitrii Samozvanets (1771).
119
Chester Dunning, “The Exiled Poet-Historian and the Creation of His Comedy,” in
Chester Dunning, et al. The Uncensored “Boris Godunov”: The Case for Pushkin’s Original
“Comedy,” with Annotated Text and Translation, (Madison (WI): The University of Wisconsin
Press, 2005).
65
in his tragedy (1832), both of which were entitled Dmitrii Samozvanets (Dmitry The Pretender),
also selected the word “brodiaga” as an appropriate noun to describe Otrep’ev.
120
The Cossack Pugachëv became a central figure in two of Pushkin’s major works of
literature: a historical monograph Istoriia Pugachëva (The History of Pugachev) (1833-1834)
and a historical novel Kapitanskaia dochka (The Captains Daughter) (1836). In both of these
works, Pugachëv is referred to as a vagrant on many occasions, yet in this specific case the word
is not used solely in a pejorative sense. According to Aleksandr Bibikov, who led the
suppression of Pugachëv’s uprising and whom Pushkin cites, Pugachëv was apprehended in
1773 and sentenced to exile “as a vagrant.” Bibikov writes:
6-го мая 1773 года по решенію сего суда определено было: “оному Пугачеву за
побегъ его за границу въ Польшу и за утайку по выходе его оттуда въ Россію о
своем названіи, а темъ больше за говореніе возмутительныхъ и вредныхъ словъ,
касающихся до побeга всeхъ Яицкихъ козаковъ въ Турецкую область, учинить
наказаніе плетьми и послать, такъ какъ бродягу и привыкшаго къ праздной и
продерзкой жизни, въ городъ Пелымъ, где употреблять его въ казенную работу.” 19
го іюня, за три дня до полученія сего приговора, утвержденнаго въ С. Петербурге,
по безпечности и слабому присмотру, съ помощію раскольничьяго попа
подговоривъ стоящаго у него на карауле часоваго, Пугачевъ вместе съ нимъ
бежалъ.
121
On May 6, 1773, by the decision of this court, the following was determined: “to the man
Pugachëv, for fleeing abroad to Poland and for concealing his name upon his departure
from there to Russia, and all the more for speaking outrageous and harmful words
concerning all Yaitsk Cossacks to the Turkish region, to administer punishment with
lashes and send, as a vagabond accustomed to an idle and impudent life, to the city of
Pelym, and to use him there as laborer for the state.” On June 19, three days prior to
receiving the verdict confirmed in St. Petersburg, due to carelessness and weak
supervision, Pugachëv and a schismatic priest persuaded a watchman on guard to release
him, and they fled together.
120
The same word is attributed to Otrep’ev in N. N. Alekseev’s novel Lzhetsarevich
(1899).
121
A. A. Bibikov, Zapiski o zhizni i sluzhbe Aleksandra Il’icha Bibikova synom ego
senatorom Bibikovym, (Moskva: V universitetskoi tipografii (Katkov i Ko), 1865), 111-112.
66
Calling Pugachëv a vagrant, therefore, was justified since the designation was historically
accurate. Interestingly, Pushkin plays with this word in connection to Pugachëv. In Istoriia
Pugachëva, for example, he uses the word as both a descriptor and a historical fact, which he
justifies by citing Bibikov. In Kapitanskaia dochka, in contrast, the narrator Pëtr Grinëv, who
meets Pugachëv during a snowstorm, calls him “moi brodiaga” (my vagrant) and as such uses
this word to express endearment and familiarity. Conversely, when Pugachëv asks Grinëv to
acknowledge him as the rightful ruler, the initial familiarity that the word used to represent is
replaced by bewilderment. Grinëv explains: “I was perplexed: I could not recognize a vagrant as
a sovereign: it seemed to me unforgivable cowardice” (“Я смутился: признать бродягу
государем был я не в состоянии: это казалось мне малодушием непростительным”).
122
Hence, Pushkin engages several meanings of the word “brodiaga” and even appeals to the legal
interpretation of vagrancy. Therefore, Pugachëv can be seen as one the first actual vagrants
whose legal and social status was interwoven into the narrative.
123
The Turning Point
Vagrancy experienced a so-called “boom” in Russian literature of the mid-nineteenth
century. Several factors motivated this interest in homeless criminal wanderers. One of them is
122
Aleksandr Pushkin, Kapitanskaia dochka, in Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v 10 tomakh.
T. 6, (Leningrad: Nauka, 1977-79), accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/p/pushkin_a_s/text_0430.shtml.
123
In spite of the failure of Otrep’ev, Razin, and Pugachëv secure the government, a
reversal of the polar opposites — in this case illegitimate vagrants and legitimate rulers — was
still realized on a symbolic level. In the Russian cultural consciousness and in part in Pushkin’s
historical fiction, all three of these historical figures appear in a positive light, whereas the
legitimate power is almost ubiquitously considered oppressive and inhumane.
67
legislative, mainly the Brodiagi Regulation (Ustav o Brodiagakh) passed in 1823, which began
the age of mass exile of vagrants to Siberia and was likely discussed by the intellectuals at the
time. Other reasons for this shift can be tied to historical events, such as the Russian victory in
the Patriotic War of 1812 and the subsequent Decembrist uprising in 1825. The victory in the
war with Napoleon pushed Russian nobility to reevaluate its own culture and relationship with
the West, which in turn promoted a cultural revival in Russia. The aftermath of the Decembrist
uprising, on the other hand, radically transformed Russian civic consciousness. Susanna Rabow-
Edling explains:
Whereas in the Napoleonic Wars, the highest form of idealism had been to serve in the
army, after the defeat of the Decembrists, this was regarded as a betrayal of all idealism
and humanity. As a result of this change of attitude, young noblemen enrolled in
universities rather than choosing a military or bureaucratic career, and Russia’s cultural
elite came to be associated with universities rather than the court or the military.
124
These historical events coupled with an interest in German Romantic philosophy fostered in
Russian intellectuals of the time a sense of honor, morality, and justice. With that, the Russian
educated classes became more attentive to the fate of the Russian people (narod) and yearned to
liberate them from the fetters of serfdom.
These attitudes evolved alongside various literary explorations and developments, such as
the advent of the natural school in the early 1840s. Its representatives, among whom were
Dmitrii Grigorovich, Ivan Turgenev, Vladimir Dal’, Fëdor Dostoevskii, and Nikolai Nekrasov
had a keen interest in the lives of the lower classes and the social issues in Russia. In fact, several
writers associated with the natural school are among the first to depict the vagrant type in their
124
Susanna Rabow-Edling, “Modernization and cultural authenticity,” Liberalism in Pre-
revolutionary Russia: State, Nation, Empire, (New York: Routledge, 2018), 59.
68
works, most notable of them being Grigorovich, whose works I discuss in a separate chapter.
Influenced by the French physiologie, these writers turned to writing physiological sketches
(fiziologicheskie ocherki), which soon became fairly widespread.
125
According to A. G. Tseitlin,
intellectuals of the time saw an immense potential in natural sciences and in physiology in
particular. Not only did it promise to shine some light on the way of life as it was, especially
when studied in tandem with other sciences like chemistry or sociology, but it also appeared to
have all the necessary tools for solving diverse social problems. The main responsibility of
writers who adhered to the principles of physiology, in theory, was to observe these social types
in their environment and, in a scientific and objective way, then make reports on them.
Unsurprisingly, the writers who took part in this scientifically driven endeavor were considered
the anatomists or physiologists of society.
126
Yet, the will to analyze and comprehend life with scientific precision also demanded
voluminous research and thus required more contributors. In his “Introduction” to Physiology of
Petersburg (1845), Vissarion Belinskii lamented the state of Russian literature at the time. In it,
he noted a certain degree of mediocrity in the majority of his contemporaries, who were unable
to perceive “the mystery of Russian reality (deistvitel’nosti),” unlike such genius authors as
Nikolai Gogol or Aleksandr Griboedov. Still, he urged writers to produce more works that
characterized Russian types and to provide a commentary on life within the country.
127
The
emphasis was placed not only on the description of social types as such, but on the types that are
125
The genre of physiological sketch was developed in France and England the
eighteenth century, and Russian writers initially emulated the West, adopting the genre for
analyzing the Russian reality. Promoted by such respectable men of letters as Belinskii and
Nekrasov, physiological sketches became quite widespread. A. G. Tseitlin, Stanovlenie realizma
v russkoi literature, (Moskva: Nauka. 1965), 31.
126
A. G. Tseitlin, Stanovlenie realizma v russkoi literature, 102.
127
Vissarion Belinksii, “Vvedenie,” Fiziologiia Peterburga, (Moskva: Nauka, 1991), 8.
69
innate to the country in which they appeared.
128
While emulating the French genre was
permissible, the inauthenticity of these types, or rather their striking similarity to their French
counterparts, was sharply criticized. As Tseitlin notes, everything at the time was permeated with
the aura of observation (dukh “nabliudatel’nosti”), yet this outsight was not always endowed
with style or originality.
129
And even though initially the writers’ attention was directed towards
the urban types, this newfound interest in the lower strata of society was a crucial step in the
direction of representing vagrant communities.
Even though these sketches became more and more popular during the 1840s, they did
not appeal to everyone. Writings about disreputable aspects of human existence were frequently
criticized by those who believed that literature should concentrate on aesthetically pleasing and
elevated themes. Their outrage was understandable. After all, physiological sketches
concentrated on the lower-ranking representatives of society — clerks, hurdy-gurdy players,
street sweepers, — in short, on those who had seldom appeared in works of fiction before. When
such types of people did appear on pages of books, they were depicted as tidy and dignified, and
not as the ones who, as Belinsky once put it, “wear bast shoes” and “reek of cheap vodka
(sivukha).”
130
The new generation of writers aimed to rectify these flaws of past representations
by describing an unembellished reality.
128
Not only writers were interested in capturing human “types.” Photographers were
taking pictures of social types even in the early 1900s. A renowned Russian photographer
Maksim Dmitriev, for example, produced many photographs entitled “Type of a peasant,”
“Types of Old Believers,” “Ethnic Types” (“Tipy inorodtsev”), etc. See, M. P. Dmitriev, Andrei
Baskakov et al. Maksim Dmitriev — fotografii, (Moskva: Planeta, 1996). See also, Maksim
Dmitriev, “Types of Pomorian dissenters, of Karelia” and “Types of Old Believers,” The J. Paul
Getty Museum Collection. Accessed online:
https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/artists/33897/maxim-dmitriev-russian-1858-1948/.
129
A. G. Tseitlin, Stanovlenie realizma v russkoi literature, (Moskva: Nauka. 1965), 103.
130
Ibid, 96.
70
John C. Hartsock, however, cautions against treating physiological sketches as
documentary, saying that “this was a time when the divide between fiction and nonfiction was
not always clear.”
131
Naturally, the factuality of any such sketch was heavily reliant on the
integrity of its author and what he or she considered to be scientific or factual. In fact, the subtitle
ocherk became a kind of label for those authors who wanted to gesture towards their artistic
production’s reliability due to its faithfulness to the reality of life. For example, in her discussion
of Ivan Panaev’s The Onager, Ruth Sobel points out that “Panaev’s later works were subtitled
‘Ocherk’ (or ‘Sketch’), thus emphasizing their ‘realistic’ (the ocherk) rather than imaginative
(the povest’) thrust.”
132
The same can be said about Ivan Aksakov’s long poem “Brodiaga:
Ocherk v stikhakh” (“A Vagrant: A Poetic Sketch”) (p. 1852) or Nikolai Blagoveshchenskii’s
work “Stranniki-brodiagi: Ocherk s natury” (“Wanderers-Vagrants: Sketch from life”), published
in 1865 in Russkoe slovo.
133
The subtitle of the latter, “a sketch from life” (“ocherk s natury”), is
likely a borrowing from the language of artists, and as such it lays claim to being a truthful
representation of reality. In reality, however, it is indubitably a dramatized account of events that
occurred in the middle of the night in a barn full of vagrants. In other words, it is very unlikely
that the author witnessed any of these events first-hand. What should be stressed here is that the
practice of writing sketches and a tendency continued well into the 1890s and 1900s. Consider,
for example, Mikhail Chulitskii’s Peterburgskie brodiagi: Iz zapisnoi knizhki byvshago
131
John C. Hartsock, “Literary Reportage: The “Other” Literary Journalism,” in Literary
Journalism Across the Globe” Journalistic Traditions and Transnational Influences, edited by
John S. Bak and Bill Reynolds, (Cambridge (MA): MIT Press, 2011), 27.
132
Ruth Sobel, “I. I. Panaev’s ‘The Onager’ — a Hybrid between Society Tale and
Physiological Sketch,” The Society Tale in Russian Literature: From Odoevskii to Tolstoi,
Amsterdam — Atlanta (GA): Rodopi B. V.), 76.
133
N. Blagoveshchenskii, “Brodiagi-stranniki,” Russkoe slovo, (1865. Iiun’), accessed
online:https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nyp.33433081909974;view=1up;seq=795.
71
sudebnago deiatelia (1904) that presents sketches of different vagrants, from Chinese to Italian,
who were apprehended by the authorities in Saint Petersburg.
134
Besides, the writers’ inclination
to present fiction as reality and artifice as journalism persevered and can be perceived, for
example, in the stories about vagrants by Maxim Gorky, in which the line between journalism
and fiction is blurred. According to Aleksandr Amfiteatorov, the same tendency to veil reality in
artistic form when talking about the poor had a place in Tolstoi’s “Tak chto zhe nam delat’?”
The Rise of Ethnography
Another factor that moved writers towards representing vagrants in their works arose from the
growing popularity of ethnography. Hoping to reconnect with the Russian roots, Vladimir Dal’,
Pavel Iakushkin, Grigorii Danilevskii, Pavel Rybnikov, Aleksandr Levitov, Sergei Maksimov
and many others travelled all over Russia and collected folklore, studied various dialects, and got
to know the Russian narod.
135
It is possible that during these travels ethnographers encountered
many vagrants since vagrants were often mentioned in the writings of these ethnographers. In
1862, Danilevskii, for instance, wrote a gripping ethnographic novel titled Beglye v Novorossii
(Runaways in Novorossiia) about vagrants that worked and lived near the Azov sea. The
popularity of the book prompted the writer just one year later to complete a sequel titled Volia
(Freedom). In Beglye v Novorossii, Danilevskii shows that Novorossiia’s economy and its
134
Mikhail Chulitskii, Peterburgskie brodiagi: Iz zapisnoi knizhki byvshago sudebnago
deiatelia, (Sankt-Peterburg: Gosudarstvennaia tipografiia, 1904).
135
L. M. Lotman shows that there was interest in ethnography as early as the 1820s, yet
this discipline faced a lot of push back from Russian officials who were skeptical of the
discipline. In the 1850s, however, the government decided to take ethnography under its control.
L. M. Lotman, “Roman iz narodnoi zhizni. Etnograficheskii roman.” Istoriia russkogo romana v
2kh tomakh, T. 2, (Moskva, Leningrad: Nauka, 1964), 400-402, accessed online:
https://imwerden.de/pdf/istoriya_russkogo_romana_tom2_1964__ocr.pdf.
72
overall sustainability depended on the hard work of vagrants, as they were regularly employed
by the local landowners. Danilevskii presents vagrants in a positive light as precarious yet
diligent laborers who withstand years of abuse and underpayment.
Engaging a completely different genre, Sergei Maksimov also examined vagrants and
other wanderers in his influential works of nonfiction Sibir’ i katorga (Siberia and Hard Labor)
(1871) and Brodiachaia Rus’ Khrista Radi (Russia Wandering in the Name of Christ) (1877).
Maksimov’s copious and fairly popular study of various forms of wandering in Russia provided
a comprehensive look into the reasons and hardships associated with itinerancy. Vasilii
Nemirovich-Danchenko described vagrants in his travel prose, including a short sketch
“Brodiazhka” (1874) — a rare description of a female vagrant, who nevertheless defines herself
as both a vagrant and a religious pilgrim and in a short story “Schast’e Ivana-Nepomniashchego”
(“Happiness of Ivan-Memoryless”) (1892). Direct and indirect discussions of vagrancy can be
found in Ivan Pryzhov’s book Nishchie na sviatoi Rusi
136
(The destitute in the Holy Rus’), which
he wrote in 1862, and in his collection of stories entitled Twenty-six Moscow false prophets,
pseudo-holy fools, and fools of male and female gender (1864). In 1867, notable nihilist Nikolai
Shelgunov brought up the issue of vagrancy in a periodical Delo (Affair), in his opinion piece
“Brodiagi i nishchie” (“Vagrants and Paupers”) in which he distinguished vagrants from the
poor, since the poor did have homes. Shelgunov found the root of the problem in the Russian
economy by saying that “бродяжество и нищенство есть не дeйствие, а состояние; это
136
Full title: Nishchie na sviatoi Rusi: dlia istorii obshchestvennogo i narodnogo byta v
Rossii.
73
низкая ступень экономическаго быта народов” (“vagrancy and pauperism are not an action
but a condition; it is a low economic level of the people.”)
137
One of the ethnographers of the time, Pavel Iakushkin, is of interest to this study, but not
because of his literary contributions to the theme on vagrancy in literature, but because of his
persona. Born into a wealthy noble family and having studied at Moscow University (1840-45),
Iakushkin collected ethnographic material for the Russian Slavophile Petr Kireevsky. Shelgunov
describes this period as follows:
Among the Slavophiles, a very prominent position was occupied by P. V. Kireevskii and
M. P. Pogodin <. . .> These were “practical” Slavophiles who collected “materials.” At
this time (1840), Iakushkin was a student at Moscow University, and upon learning that
Kireevskii was collecting folk songs, Iakushkin recorded one and sent it to him.
Kireevskii paid him 15 rubles for it. Iakushkin repeated the experiment, and after the
third song was sent out, he received an invitation from Kireevskii to meet in person.
Finding in Iakushkin a capable worker, Kireevskii sent him for research to the northern
Volga provinces.
138
During this and the subsequent trips, Iakushkin dressed as a travelling seller of lubok. His
disguise allowed him, as his biographer put it, to meet daringly “eyes with the people” (glaz na
glaz s narodom).
139
When Iakushkin arrived in Petersburg in 1858, he stunned the polite society because of
his odd attire. He was clad in peasant-like clothing and wore glasses and a beard. According to
Shelgunov, Peterburg’s society saw in him “the new kind of man” (novyi chelovek), whereas
137
N. V. Shelgunov, “Brodiagi i nishchie,” Delo, N. 6. (1867), accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/s/shelgunow_n_w/text_1867_brodyagi_i_nischie_oldorfo.shtml.
138
Nikolai Shelgunov, “Narodnik Iakushkin,” Shelgunov N. V. Literaturnaia kritika,
(Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1974), accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/s/shelgunow_n_w/text_1883_yakushkin.shtml.
139
Ibid.
74
Russian peasants were dumbfounded by the sight of a peasant in glasses and assumed that he was
a mummer.
140
What is more, in 1859 ethnographer Iakushkin was briefly arrested as a vagrant in
Pskov, which caused a public outcry. The literary and scientific journal Russkoe slovo published
several indignant articles and letters about Iakushkin’s arrest and presented the unfortunate
situation that transpired in Pskov in great detail. The issue included a response to the events of
the editors of the journal, an opinion piece by Shelgunov, Iakushkin’s own account of the events,
a response of the police officer in charge Valerian Gempel’, and Iakushkin’s reponse to Gempel’
letter. According to Iakushkin, he was in Pskov at the time on assignment from the journal
Russkaia Beseda, for which he was writing. In Pskov, he was arrested several times for wearing
peasant dress. The police thought Iakushkin was suspicious-looking and dismissed his
documents as fraudulent on this basis alone. Evidently, they suspected that he was concealing his
identity in order to hide other crimes. An explanation that he gave for wearing such clothes did
not satisfy Pskov’s officials. Discussing the inhumane treatment that he received from the Pskov
police, Iakushkin also noted the terrible state of Russian jails and the frivolity with which one
could be arrested as a vagrant. The ethnographer used his own story and the story of other people
he encountered during his arrest to support his claims and illustrate them further.
This whole indecent was treated with the utmost seriousness, and it allowed various
editorials not only to uncover the dire state of affairs in the Russian legal system, but also to
denounce the police, conditions in Russian prisons, and the unsurmountable difficulty of being
an ethnographer in Russia due to the country’s innate backwardness:
140
In his review, Shelgunov quotes Nikolai Leskov’s recollections of Iakushkin:
“Already at that time, he [Iakushkin —OS] ‘walked as a peasant,’ but he wore glasses. Because
of these glasses real peasants thought that he was ‘some sort of a mummer’” (“Он [Iakushkin —
OS] уже тогда ‘ходил мужиком’, но носил очки, из-за которых настоящие мужики думали,
что он ‘кто-то ряженый’”). Ibid.
75
Such ethnographic expeditions in Russian provinces require almost the same amount of
bravery and courage and they are full of the same dangers as an expedition into the
depths of Africa, Patagonia, to the wild ones of New Holland, Cherokees or
Botocudos.
141
One thing was also clear to the Russian intellectuals who were eager to reconnect with their
Russian roots: The Russian legal and bureaucratic systems discriminated against Russian
peasants and considered those who wore Russian peasant dress with suspicion and little respect.
Iakushkin, in the meantime, became one of the pioneers of undercover journalistic wandering, a
practice later adopted by Vladimir Giliarovskii and Maxim Gorky.
Penal Prose
But the Russian writers of the nineteenth century would have probably never paid so much
attention to vagrants were it not for their direct experiences of arrests and exile. In fact, Siberia
provided many opportunities for exiled intellectuals to get acquainted with vagrants. As Andrew
Gentes notes, around 118,500 of brodiagi “were deported to Siberia during the period 1827–
98.”
142
Represented in such large numbers in Siberian prisons, vagrants could not have been
overlooked by those who wrote penal prose. Thus, for example, Dostoevskii, who was sentenced
to several years of hard labor in Siberia for being a member of the Petrashevsky circle and
reading banned literature, included episodes from the lives of vagrants in Zapiski iz mërtvogo
doma (The House of the Dead) (1862). In it, Dostoevskii’s narrator Aleksandr Petrovich
141
Pavel Iakushkin et al, “Pronitsatel’nost’ i userdie gubernskoi politsii (Pis’mo k
redaktoru Russkoi Besedy),” Russkoe slovo (1859), 110.
142
Aandrew A. Gentes. “Vagabondage and the Tsarist Siberian exile system: power and
resistance in the penal landscape.” Central Asian Survey. 30:3-4. 407-421. P. 409.
76
Gorianchikov contemplates his experience in a Siberian labor camp, retells various stories from
prison life and, albeit in passing, also reflects on the phenomenon of vagrancy. After the
publication of The House of the Dead, Dostoevskii continued to mention peripatetic characters in
many of his other works, including Prestuplenie i nakazanie (Crime and Punishment) (1866),
Besy (Demons) (1872), and Podrostok (The Adolescent) (1875).
Nikolai Iadrintsev, who was arrested for Siberian separatism, dedicated to brodiagi an
entire chapter titled “Ssyl’noe brodiachee naselenie Sibiri” (“Exiled vagrant population in
Siberia”) in his book Russkaia obshchina v tiur’me i ssylke (Russian Commune in Prison and
Exile) (1872).
143
A member of Nechaev’s circle, writer and ethnographer Pryzhov considered
vagrants once again in his piece “Zapiski o Sibiri. Okhota na brodiag” (“Notes about Siberia:
The Hunt for Vagrants”) (1882), while living in exile. Pryzhov argued that the Siberian
population took advantage of vagrants regularly by underpaying them for their labor or by
robbing and murdering them.
144
To support his shocking claims, Pryzhov cites the work of S.
Serafimovich (pseudonym of Serafim Shashkov), who was a Siberian native and, coincidentally,
a member of the so-called “Siberian circle” led by Iadrintsev and Grigorii Potanin. Discussing
the Siberian population, Shashkov in fact touched upon the animosity between vagrants and
Siberian peasants and mentioned grisly murders of vagrants by peasants in his article published
in Otechestvennye zapiski in 1867.
145
Even after his exile, Shashkov continued to discuss
143
For more on Iadrintsev and Siberian separatism, see Dimitri Von Mohrenschildt,
Toward a United States of Russia, (East Brunswich (NJ): Associated University Presses, 1981).
144
Ivan Pryzhov (Blagoveshchenskii), “Zapiski o Sibiri. Okhota na brodiag,” Vestnik
Evropy, Kn. 9, 1882, accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/p/pryzhow_i_g/text_1882_01_zapiski_o_sibiri.shtml.
145
S. Serafimovich, “Ocherki russkikh nravov v starinnoi Sibiri,” Otechestvennye zapiski.
1867, N. 11, accessed online: https://vivaldi.nlr.ru/pm000022210/view/?#page=203.
77
vagrancy in his works of nonfiction.
146
In the 1890s, Sergei Elpat’evskii, exiled as a member of a
revolutionary group “Narodnaia volia,” also reflected upon the phenomenon of vagrancy in his
Ocherki Sibiri (Sketches of Siberia).
Another important work of penal prose is Pavel Iakubovich’s
147
V mire otverzhennykh
(World of the Outcasts) (1896).
148
This work is an attempt to illustrate drastic changes that the
Russian penal system underwent since the time Dostoevskii published his celebrated Zapiski iz
mërtvogo doma. Gorky, who in a letter to Ekaterina Peshkova allied himself with the portrayal of
convicts penned by Dostoevskii rather than Iakubovich, differentiated between the two writers’
viewpoints by saying:
В отношении Достоевского и Мельшина-Якубовича к миру “уголовных” серьёзное
разноречие: первый изображает “преступников” людьми преимущественно
грамотными и талантливыми, второй же — через 50 лет — видит их в большинстве
без- или малограмотными и “вырожденцами,” дегенератами.
149
There is a serious difference in the attitude of Dostoevskii and Mel’shin-Iakubovich to
the world of “criminals”: the first one portrays “criminals” as mostly literate and talented
people, while the second one — 50 years later — sees them mostly as illiterate or semi-
literate and “retrogrades,” degenerates.
Iakubovich, in contrast, argues that despite his own reverence for Dostoevskii’s work, his fellow-
convicts, to whom Iakubovich allegedly read excerpts from Zapiski is mërtvogo doma,
146
See, for instance, S. Shashkov, Istoricheskie sud’by zhenshchiny, detoubiistvo i
prostitutsiia, (S-Peterburg: Izd. Shigina, 1871).
147
Iakubovich was a member of “Narodnaia volia.” He was arrested in 1884 and
sentenced to death in 1887 in “The Trial of the Twenty-One.” The original sentence was changed
to eighteen years of hard labor.
148
The work was originally published under the pseudonym of L. Mel’shin.
149
Maksim Gor’kii, “148. E. P. Peshkovoi,” In Polnoe sobranie sochinenii v 30 tomakh,
T. 28, (Moskva: Gos. Izd. Khud. Lit., 1954), 162.
78
disapproved of the work and even accused Dostoevskii of revealing their trade secrets to the
authorities and, ipso facto, making prisoners’ life much harder.
150
Although many of these writings consider vagrants only in passing, they do reinforce the
link between vagrancy and the penal system. Typically imagined as those who wander freely,
vagrants who are imprisoned are depicted in a period of stasis: they all have a vagrant past or a
vagrant future. What unites them, however, is the longing for the freedom (volia), which
becomes a ubiquitous notion associated with vagrancy and with penal prose in particular. It
should be noted that even though there is a more general traditional association between volia
and narod, the concept is also often attributed to specific groups, such as prisoners, serfs, or the
free Cossacks (vol’nye Kazaki). Interestingly, the connotations of volia change depending on the
group. The serfs can only long for volia and transmit their longing through traditional lore,
whereas the free Cossacks regularly fight to defend their free status. Prisoners, on the other hand,
endow the word with a more straightforward signification and divide the world into two separate
spaces akin to heaven and hell: nevolia, which can roughly be translated as “captivity” or
“prison,” and volia, i.e. the world outside of prison walls.
Having several similar significations, such as “freedom,” “liberty,” and “volition,” the
word volia has long been examined and theorized as an important concept for the Russian
culture. Writer and pedagogue Konstantin Ushinskii, for example, considered volia a
psychological phenomenon that motivates people to seek svoboda (freedom) and therefore
cautioned against using these two words interchangeably.
151
Dmitrii Likhachev noted the innate
150
Pëtr Iakubovich, V mire otverzhennykh, accessed online.
http://az.lib.ru/j/jakubowich_p_f/text_0012.shtml.
151
Konstantin Ushinskii, “XLV. Volia, kak protivopolozhnost’ nevoli: Stremlenie k
svobode,” Chelovek kak predmet vospitaniia, T. 2, (S-Peterburg: Tip. Kotomina, 1871).
79
Russianness of this concept by connecting it to the idea of space, in particular to the vast Russian
expanse. He says:
Широкое пространство всегда владело сердцами русских. Оно выливалось в
понятия и представления, которых нет в других языках. Чем, например, отличается
воля от свободы? Тем, что воля вольная — это свобода, соединенная с простором, с
ничем не прегражденным пространством. <. . .> Воля — это большие пространства,
по которым можно идти и идти, брести, плыть по течению больших рек и на
большие расстояния, дышать вольным воздухом, воздухом открытых мест, широко
вдыхать грудью ветер, чувствовать над головой небо, иметь возможность двигаться
в разные стороны — как вздумается.
152
A wide space has always ruled the hearts of Russians. It poured into concepts and
representations that do not exist in other languages. What, for example, is the difference
between volia (will) and freedom? The fact that unrestrained volia is the freedom
combined with spaciousness, with space that is not obstructed by anything <. ... .> Volia
is large spaces through which one can walk and walk, wander, swim with the flow of
large rivers and over long distances, breathe the air of freedom, the air of open places,
inhale the wind deeply with your chest, feel the sky over your head, be able to move in
different sides—as you desire.
Building in part on the ideas of Likhachev, John Givens also points out the rootedness of volia in
the Russian traditions and similarly distinguishes between volia from svoboda:
Volia (meaning primarily “will”) is freedom in the sense of nonconstraint, release,
liberation, doing whatever one likes: a kind of anarchic freedom <. . .> It is therefore
distanced from the narrower, civic meanings attached to the idea of svoboda and reflects,
instead, a much more vague and emotional concept, one as broad and inexplicable as the
expanses of central Russia and Siberia where the peasant made his home. Volia in this
sense is a bit of a folk liberty, and as such it is tied to the peasant’s desire to overcome the
burdens he has carried from time immemorial.
153
152
Dmitrii Likhachev, “Prostory i prostranstva,” Zametki o russkom, (Moskva:
Sovetskaia Rossiia, 1984), 10, accessed online:
https://imwerden.de/pdf/likhachev_zametki_o_russkom_1984__ocr.pdf.
153
John Givens, Prodigal Son: Vasilii Shuksin in Soviet Russian Culture, (Northwestern
University Press, 2000), 174-5.
80
In spite of such strong traditional and folkloric roots, the concept of volia was developing in
parallel in the Russian high culture. In her study of Pushkin’s poem “Pora, moi drug, pora…”
Natalia Mazur notes that volia was a crucial element of the triad “happiness—tranquility—
freedom” (“schast’e—pokoi—svoboda/volia”) in the philosophy of happiness of the eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries.
154
Mazur notes that true happiness, as envisioned by the man of
letters of the time, could be attained in rural spaces, such as small tranquil villages with their
modest houses and fruit gardens.
155
The use of volia within this particular model accounts for a
variety of meanings that the word encompasses: it can mean both one’s freedom, expression of
one’s will, and the vast Russian expanse, which in turn reenforces the word’s spatial
connotations. A similar — albeit perversely modified — conceptual literary triad can be found in
the penal literature, in which high and low cultures coalesced.
In a general sense, the connection between vagrancy and volia is always already present.
This relationship is paradoxical, since even when vagrants are not in prison, undocumented and
lacking resources, they can never wander freely. In the Russian cultural imagination that is often
transmitted through literature, this association is nevertheless regularly reiterated. Perhaps the
closest example from the penal prose about vagrants to the classical triad examined by Mazur
may be found in Sergei Elpat’evskii’s “Ocherki o Sibiri” (Sketches about Siberia) (1897). In a
conversation with vagrant and prisoner Savelii, the narrator says:
Только тут я понял все. Понял, что это — страстная, неотвязная дума о волe, тоска
сердца, двадцать лeт закованнаго в желeзо, истомившагося в тюремной и
154
N. N. Mazur, “’Pora moi drug, pora! Pokoia serdtse prosit…’ Istochniki i konteksty,”
Pushkin i ego sovremenniki, Vypusk 4 (43), (Sankt-Peterburg: SPbII RAN “Nestor Istoriia,”
2005), 384.
155
Ibid, 385.
81
каторжной неволe, изстрадавшагося в бродяжьей жизни, — сердца, страстно
потянувшагося к волe, к теплу и уюту своего угла, своего вольнаго мeста.
156
Only now I understood everything. I understood that this passionate, stubborn
contemplation of freedom and the longing of the heart, which was bound by iron
shackles, languished in the prison and hard labor captivity, and which suffered from
vagrant life; the heart was passionately drawing towards freedom, towards the warmth
and coziness of its one corner, its own free place.
Interestingly, the model of “happiness—tranquility—freedom” in this case is the closest to the
eighteenth-century model and is complicated only slightly by the connotation of the word volia,
which is an antonym of captivity. The heart of a prisoner and a vagrant does not seek the vast
Russian expanse but instead looks for the “non-captivity” and, most importantly, private property
within that space. Savelii’s desires, at least in the way the narrator interprets them, are not too
different from those of Pushkin or Antioch Kantemir.
Volia as ownership, privacy, and an ability to choose for oneself was also considered by
Dostoevskii in The House of the Dead. In his description of the summertime in katorga,
Dostoevskii’s narrator Gorianchikov underscores the difficulty of summer labor and, in passing,
observes the exodus of vagrants in the early spring. He says:
в это весеннее время по Сибири и по всей России с первым жаворонком начинается
бродяжество: бегут божьи люди из острогов и спасаются в лесах. После душной
ямы, после судов, кандалов и палок бродят они по всей своей воле, где захотят, где
попригляднее и повольготнее; пьют и едят где что удастся, что бог пошлёт, а по
ночам мирно засыпают где-нибудь в лесу или в поле, без большой заботы, без
тюремной тоски, как лесные птицы, прощаясь на ночь с одними звёздами
небесными, под божьим оком.
157
156
S. Elpat’evskii, Ocherki o Sibiri, 2 izd., (Red. zhurnala “Russkoe bogatstvo” Sankt-
Peterburg: Tipo-Litografiia B. M. Vol’fa, 1897), accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/e/elpatxewskij_s_j/text_0020oldorfo.shtml.
157
F. M. Dostoevskii, Zapiski iz mërtvogo doma, in Sobranie sochinenii v 10 tomakh.
(Moskva: Khud. lit., 1954), accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/d/dostoewskij_f_m/text_0030.shtml.
82
With the fist skylark, vagrancy begins all over Russia and Siberia: God’s people escape
from prison and take to the forests. After airless dungeons, after courtrooms, fetters and
floggings they wander at will, wherever they choose, wherever looks most attractive and
most favourable; they eat and drink whatever they can find, whatever God sends them,
and at night they fall asleep somewhere in the forest of the fields, free of their great
trouble, free of the anguish of prison, like the birds of the forest, with no one but the stars
to say good-night to, under the eye of God.
158
Dostoevskii’s narrator represents these fugitives not as hardened convicts, but as God’s people
who rely on divine providence and seek salvation in the Edenic Russian forests. He uses volia
here not as freedom, but as the expression of one’s own will, as well as a rejection of the routine
in prison, which in contrast resembles hell. In spite of any potential hardships, he imagines the
life in forests as happy and tranquil. It can be seen in his use of the words “mirno” (tranquilly),
“bez zaboty” (without worries), “bez toski”
159
(without yearning).
160
Even the return of vagrants back to prison, which can be understood as nothing more than
a pragmatic desire to avoid challenging summer labor and the severity of winter,
161
is still
endowed with some romantic lyricism of their future escape:
Все эти бегуны <. . .> к осени, если их не изловят предварительно, большею частию
сами являются густыми толпами в города и в остроги, в качестве бродяг, и садятся
в тюрьмы зимовать, конечно не без надежды бежать опять летом.
162
<. . .> when autumn comes, most of them, if they have not already been caught, will
come crowding into the fortresses and prisons and give themselves up. The charge will be
158
Fyodor Dostoevsky and David McDuff, The House of the Dead, (London: Penguin
Books Limited, 2004), E-book.
159
In his considerations of volia, Likhachev treats toska as the opposite of volia: “And the
notion of toska, in contrast, is united with the idea of tightness, with one’s deprivation of space”
(“А понятие тоски, напротив, соединено с понятием тесноты, лишением человека
пространства”). Likhachev, 10.
160
F. M. Dostoevskii, Zapiski iz mërtvogo doma.
161
Dostoevskii also notes that many fugitives ran away in order to change their initial
long sentences and, if caught again, returned to prison on vagrancy charges. Ibid.
162
F. M. Dostoevskii, Zapiski iz mërtvogo doma.
83
vagrancy, and they will go into the gaols to spend the winter, not of course, without the
hope of escaping again the following summer.
163
The same perverted triad can be seen in Korolenko’s “Sokolinets” (“A Saghalinian: The Tale of
a Vagrant”) (1885). In this story, a group of prisoners convince a seasoned vagrant Buran, who
escaped this prison in the past, to lead them to freedom. Even though the escape is successful, the
old man gets shot and dies. Buran’s death, however, occurs outside of the prison walls, and he
gets buried under a picturesque cedar tree. The innate lyricism of the story evidently affects the
frame narrator of “Sokolinets.” He says:
И почему, спрашивал я себя, этот рассказ запечатлевается даже в моем уме — не
трудностью пути, не страданиями, даже не “лютою бродяжьей тоской”, а только
поэзией вольной волюшки? Почему на меня пахнуло от него только призывом
раздолья и простора, моря, тайги и степи? И если меня так зовёт она, так манит к
себе эта безвестная даль, то как неодолимо должна она призывать к себе бродягу,
уже испившего из этой отравленной неутолимым желанием чаши?
164
And what was there in this story, I asked myself, that made such an impression upon my
whole being? It was not the difficulties overcome on the way, nor the sufferings endured,
nor that “vagrant homesickness”; but it was the incomparable poetry of liberty. And why
was it that I heard only the voice of freedom as expressed in the measureless expanse, in
the woods, in the steppes, and in the ocean? If this so strongly appealed to me, how much
more so to the vagrant, who had already tasted the poisoned cup of unsatisfied desire.
165
The perpetual vagrant’s yearning (toska) and a ceaseless search for volia are mythologized and
perceived in the literary imagination as a kind of state of mind or existence. The longing,
163
Fyodor Dostoevsky and David McDuff, The House of the Dead.
164
V. G. Korolenko, “Sokolinets,” Sibirskie rasskazy i ocherki, (Moskva: Khud. lit.,
1980), accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/k/korolenko_w_g/text_0070.shtml.
165
Vladimir Korolenko and Aline Delano (tr.), “A Saghalinian: The Tale of a Vagrant,”
(Standard Ebooks, 2020), accessed online: https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/vladimir-
korolenko/short-fiction/aline-delano_sergius-stepniak_william-westall_thomas-seltzer_the-
russian-review_marian-fell_clarence-manning/text/a-saghalinian.
84
however, can be satisfied through death, as is the case with Korolenko’s Buran. His death, in
fact, is an example of the altered existing literary model of “happiness—tranquility—freedom,”
since in Korolenko’s story happiness becomes equated with death.
The death of a vagrant outside of captivity, however, is not always presented in a
romantic light. Consider, for example, the text “Brodiaga Mit’ka Greshnyi” (p. 1898) by an
ethnographer, writer, and traveler Aleksandr Maksimov’s. In Maksimov’s story, an experienced
vagrant Mit’ka Greshnyi is seduced by a song of a cuckoo, which he interprets as a call to run
away:
«Пора, пора!» чудится Митьке в песне кукушки: — “Сбрасывай кандалы, беги в
тайгу!... она не заморозит тебя!... Тепло, хорошо в тайге!.. Она пропитает тебя — не
умрешь с голода!.. Чего задумываться? Беги!.. Худая воля лучше хорошей
неволи!..”
166
“It’s time, it’s time!” hears Mit’ka in the song of the cuckoo, “Throw off your shackles
and run to taiga!... It will not freeze you! It is warm and nice in taiga! It will nourish you
— you will not starve to death! Why doubt? Run! Bad freedom is better than good
captivity!
He takes with him another prisoner, Maidanshchik, and they both run away at night. Outside of
prison walls their life is described as unbearable: they are hurt, cold, thirsty, and hungry, and
constantly bitten by taiga midges. Their troubles, however, soon come to an end. A bear kills and
eats Maidanshchik. Disturbed by the loss of his companion, Mit’ka Greshnyi begins to reflect on
his past and commits suicide. The romanticism of vagrancy, with which their story begins, soon
fades and gets replaced by the vivid descriptions of various adversities. An escape from prison
and, by association, the idea of volia are presented as futile and dangerous.
166
Aleksandr Maksimov, “Brodiaga Mit’ka Greshnyi,” Na dal’nem vostoke. Polnoe
sobranie sochinenii. Kn 1—10, Kn. 1, (Sankt-Peterburg: M. K. Maksimova, 1898), 190-191.
85
The story ends on a glum note. A Gilyak man
167
finds Mit’ka Greshnyi’s body, but lets it
hang on the tree and serve as food for wild animals and birds. In other words, death is
represented as the only solution that can satisfy Mit’ka Greshnyi’s penchant for wandering and
longing for volia. The lack of a romantic finale can perhaps be explained by the differences in
the experiences of traveler Maksimov as opposed to those of the imprisoned and exiled.
Conceptually, however, all these writers engage the idea of volia in connection with vagrancy
and further mythologize it by using it not only as a marker of freedom or will, but as a primary
motive of the vagrant’s wandering and, as a result, also a driver of vagrant narrative. While the
cultural imagination of the eighteenth-century literature understood volia as an important
element for achieving happiness, in the penal prose about vagrants volia often functions as a
distant, unattainable utopia that can sometimes be achieved in death.
The Heyday of Vagrant Literature
From the 1880s onward, vagrants in various literary productions were no longer rare. Chekhov
portrayed them in his one-act play “Na bol’shoi doroge” (“On the Open Road”) (1884) and in his
short story “Mechty” (“Daydreams”) (1886). The writer returned to vagrants in his travelogue
Ostrov Sakhalin (Sakhalin Island) (p. 1893-94). Korolenko examined vagrancy in his stories
“Ubivets” (“Murderer”) (1882), “Fëdor Bespriutnyi” (“Fyodor the Shelter-less”) (1886),
“Sokolinets,” and “Marusina zaimka” (1899). Even in his novella “Bez iazyka” (“Without
Language”) (1895), which takes place in America, the protagonist (an immigrant from the
Russian Empire) becomes a vagrant for a brief time. Particularly remarkable is Korolenko’s
work “V durnom obshchestve” (“In bad company”) (1885), which tells the story of an unlikely
167
The Giliaks or the Nivkhs are Siberian indigenous people.
86
friendship between the son of a judge and a vagrant community. Vagrants in this story act as a
positive force that helps restore a failing relationship between the boy and his father.
168
Akin to
Chekhov and Korolenko, Nikolai Teleshov engaged with vagrancy in his short story “Protiv
obychaia” (“Against Tradition”) (1894).
169
“Protiv obychaia” deals with the increased
enforcement of vagrancy laws, such as prohibiting peasants from giving alms to vagrants, and
the effects of this policy. Vasilii Nemirovich-Danchenko wrote a poem titled “Brodiaga na
otdykhe” (“A Vagrant at Rest”) (1881), in which he described a vagrant during a short period of
rest in the forest. The vagrant, who evidently escaped from prison, is depicted as angry with
humanity as a whole. He wonders if he will ever be able to “take revenge without fear / on
people for their long and wicked persecutions” (“отомстить без боязни / людям за долгие,
лютые казни”).
170
The poet then goes on to describe several scenarios of the future for this
vagrant, all of which are bleak. The poem ends with a nightmare, in which the vagrant sees
himself at the scaffolds being punished by lashes. Just like the majority of works that feature
vagrants, this poem has an unequivocal social critique. In fact, the vagrants’ actual crimes
become irrelevant to the story. The antagonist in this specific poem is the oppressive system that
sanctions corporal punishment and regular abuse.
168
The structure of “Bez iazyka” with its first-person narration is what allows the work to
be seen as an intermediary link between Turgenev’s noble narrator in Zapiski Okhotnika and
Maxim Gorky’s vagrant narrator Maksim, the protagonist of many of Gorky’s stories. Due to his
young age, the boy is able to traverse the difference in social status and, for a time, to become
accepted in the vagrant community. It is the acceptance of the vagrant community that Gorky’s
narrator seeks in his short stories. Notably, Gorky held Korolenko in high regard and considered
him one of his literary mentors.
169
Gorky met Teleshov in 1899 and, with several other authors, they founded a literary
circle known as “Sredy Teleshova” (Teleshov’s “Wednesdays”).
170
Vasilii Nemirovich-Danchenko, “Brodiaga na otdykhe,” Russkaia rech’, n. 1, 1881,
Accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/n/nemirowichdanchenko_w_i/text_1881_brodyaga_oldorfo.shtml.
87
After observing the Moscow census of 1882, Tolstoi touched upon vagrancy, albeit
indirectly, in his treatise “Tak chto zhe nam delat’?” (“What then Must We Do?”) (1884-86), in
which he described the dire living conditions of the Russian poor and critiqued the Russian rich
for exploiting peasants and workers. Soon after that, Tolstoi began to work on his short story
“Otets Sergii” (“Father Sergius”) (completed in 1898). The story ends with the descent of the
protagonist, Kasatskii, into vagrancy, his subsequent arrest on vagrancy charges, and his exile to
Siberia. This ending is significant. On the one hand, vagrancy as a mode of wandering as well as
the illegality associated with it can be interpreted as the closest form to asceticism and, ipso
facto, proximity to God that Kasatskii can achieve; on the other hand, the legal aspect of
vagrancy is also important since generally such arrests led to exile in Siberia, which in the
Russian cultural imagination bore a promise of spiritual and moral regeneration or, to use Galya
Diment’s words, was viewed as “the last bastion of moral decency.”
171
Tolstoi employed
vagrancy as a necessary transitional phase between Kasatskii’s religious wandering in search of
God and his salvation, moral regeneration, and peace.
172
Interestingly, it is the secular legal
aspect of vagrancy that could facilitate it.
171
Galya Diment, “Introduction: Siberia as Literature,” Between Heaven and Hell: The
Myth of Siberia in Russian Culture, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1993), 10.
172
Tolstoi’s observations of the undocumented vagrants in “Tak chto zhe nam delat’?” in
some sense correspond to this idea. Recounting his conversation with a vagrant man, Tolstoi says
that the man “is only waiting for the rounds of the policeman, who will take him away to prison
and send him with police escort to his place of residence, as a passportless vagrant <. . .> (Prison
and transit with police escort he imagines as the promised land)” (“Ждёт только обхода
полицейского, который, как беспаспортного, заберет его в острог и отправит по этапу на
местожительства <. . .> (Острог и этап представляются для него обетованной землей.”)
Lev Tolstoi, “Tak chto zhe nam delat’?” Sobranie sochinenii v 22 tomakh, T. 16, (Moskva:
Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1983), Accessed online:
https://rvb.ru/tolstoy/01text/vol_16/01text/0346.htm.
88
Aleksandr Amfiteatrov depicted a vagrant in one of his early works titled “Elena
Okrutova” (1894). The story, in which vagrant Aver’ian Krasnonosov rapes a young lady, seems
to draw on Guy de Maupassant’s “Le Vagabond” (1887), in which a vagrant sexually assaults a
milkmaid. Notably, it was during the same year in which Amfiteatrov completes his “Elena
Okrutova” that Tolstoi, in his letter to E. I. Popov, rejected Maupassant’s story and called the
scene of the rape “vile.”
173
In “Elena Okrutova” the scene of violence is elided, yet the trigger for
it remains the same. In both Maupassant and Amfiteatrov, vagabonds commit their crimes after
they satisfy their hunger for food. Amfiteatrov is in a conversation with Maupassant. Even
though he seems to agree that satisfaction of hunger and thirst precede sexual desire, he
nevertheless stresses not the perpetration of the crime itself, but its ramifications. That is why he
begins, rather than ends, the story with an encounter of Elena Okrutova with the perpetrator.
174
To provide a realistic portrait for his vagrant and describe him as the Russian type,
Amfiteatrov mentions the Khitrov market in connection with his vagrant character.
175
Located on
the Khitrovskaia square, Khitrov market (or “Khitrovka”) was a notorious place in the center of
Moscow. The market had acted as a hub for the homeless poor since the 1860s. In the vicinity
were several night shelters for the homeless (nochlezhki) and an employment agency. After the
emancipation of serfs, unskilled and often undocumented laborers from all over Russia poured
into cities. Many of those who went to Moscow in hope of finding employment ended up in the
Khitrov marketplace. Because of that, poverty, vagrancy, and homelessness became even more
173
Tolstoi writes: “<. . .> and the scene of the vagrant and a woman is vile” (“сцена
бродяги с женщиной гадка”). Lev Tolstoi, “E. I. Popovu. 22 Oktiabria, 1894,” Accessed
online: http://tolstoy-lit.ru/tolstoy/pisma/1894/letter-204.htm.
174
This particular crime perpetrated by a vagrant is later explored by Semën Pod’iachev
in his short story “Zlo” (“Harm”) (1909).
175
A. V. Amfiteatrov, “Elena Okrutova,” Sobranie sochinenii v 10 tomakh, T. 3,
Accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/a/amfiteatrow_a_w/text_1894_elena_okrutova.shtml.
89
pulpable in the major city of Russia. As a student, Amfiteatrov worked as a census taker under
the direction of Tolstoi for the Moscow census of 1882, and thus had a chance to get acquainted
with this locale and its inhabitants quite intimately.
176
Tolstoi, as a matter of fact, also shared his
impressions of the place in “Tak chto zhe nam delat’?” and called Khitrov market a “center of
the urban poor” (“tsentr gorodskoi nishchety”).
177
The market was no less than a mythical
wonder and a mecca of inspiration for the socially-minded members of the Russian intelligentsia.
The place was bursting with vagrants, displaced workers, thieves, prostitutes, murderers,
drunkards and it therefore promised a great deal of interesting material for various literary and
artistic productions. Besides, the market was conveniently located. Those who had a sudden but
perhaps fleeting interest in the destitute no longer had to travel far to satisfy it. That is why
photographers, artists, writers, journalists, and even artists of the theater were all attracted by this
almost mythical social underworld.
This riveting interest in the life and mores of the dwellers of the Khitrov market is best
illustrated by Konstantin Stanislavskii’s memoirs, in which he speaks about a trip to the market
that he and several other members of the Moscow Art Theatre troupe undertook for the purposes
of research. At the time they were working on a stage production of Maxim Gorky’s play Na
Dne (At the Lower Depths). Stanislavskii says:
176
In 1928 Amfiteatrov wrote an article titled “Lev Tolstoi ‘na dne’” (“Leo Tolstoy ‘at
the lower depths’”) about his time working as a census taker under Tolstoi’s leadership. In this
article, Amfiteatrov comments on Tolstoi’s “O moskovskoi perepisi” (1882) and his later work
“Tak chto zhe nam delat’?” Amfiteatrov undermines some of Tolstoi’s conclusions and views,
and notes that some of Tolstoi’s observations were not precise representations of experienced
reality, but only fictionalized generalizations. A. V. Amfiteatrov. “Lev Tolstoi ‘na dne’.”
Vozrozhdenie. 1928. 9 Sentiabria. Accessed online:
http://dugward.ru/library/tolstoy/amfiteatrov_tolstoy_na_dne.html.
177
Lev Tolstoi, “Tak chto zhe nam delat’?”
90
Рассказы Горького разожгли нас, и нам захотелось видеть самую гущу жизни
бывших людей. Для этого была устроена экспедиция, в которой участвовали
многие артисты театра, игравшие в пьесе, В. И. Немирович-Данченко, художник
Симов, я и др. Под предводительством писателя Гиляровского, изучавшего жизнь
босяков, был устроен обход Хитрова рынка. Религия босяка — свобода; его сфера
— опасности, грабежи, приключения, убийства, кражи. Все это создаёт вокруг них
атмосферу романтики и своеобразной дикой красоты, которую в то время мы и
искали. <. . .> Экскурсия на Хитров рынок лучше, чем всякие беседы о пьесе или
её анализ, разбудила мою фантазию и творческое чувство. Теперь явилась натура, с
которой можно лепить, живой материал для творчества людей и образов. <. . .>
Главный же результат экскурсии заключался в том, что она заставила меня
почувствовать внутренний смысл пьесы.
Gorky’s stories ignited us, and we wanted to see the depth of life of the former people.
For that an expedition was organized, in which many artists of the theater who were part
of the play, such as V. I. Nemirovich-Danchenko, artist Simov, I, and others participated.
A tour was arranged under the guidance of a writer Giliarovskii, who studied the life of
vagrants. The religion of the vagrant is freedom; his sphere is danger, robberies,
adventures, murders, and theft. All of that creates around them an atmosphere of
romanticism and a particular wild beauty, which we were seeking at the time <. . .> The
excursion to the Khitrov market awakened my imagination and creative feeling much
better than any conversations about the play or its analysis could have done. Now there is
a nature with which you can sculpt, living material for the creation of people and images.
<. . .> The main result of the excursion was that it made me feel the inner meaning of the
play.
178
Notably, Stanislavskii calls the visit to the market “an expedition” or “an excursion,” thereby
presenting the market as an alien yet thrilling underworld, akin to Dante’s “Inferno.” Much like
the Italian poet’s descent into hell, the artists’ visit to the market in Moscow also required a
guide that could facilitate the trip, explain some confusing practices, customs, or words, and
most importantly ensure the safety for “the tourists.”
This educational exploration of the “lower depths” was also filled with excitement and
adventure. The artist Simov, according to Stanislavskii, was almost killed by the tramps for
178
Konstantin Stanislavskii, Moia zhizn’ v iskusstve. In Sobranie sochinenii v vos’mi
tomakh, T. 1, (Moskva: Gos. izd. “Iskusstvo”, 1954), Accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/s/stanislawskij_k_s/text_0010.shtml.
91
being insensitive to their artistic tastes: “They turned crimson, lost control of themselves and
resembled wild beasts. Curses rained down, some of them grabbed a bottle, others a stool, they
swung and rushed at Simov... One second — and he would not have survived” (“Они
побагровели, перестали владеть собой и озверели. Посыпались ругательства, схватили —
кто бутылку, кто табурет, замахнулись, ринулись на Симова... Одна секунда — и он не
уцелел бы.”)
179
Although these memoirs were written two decades after the fact, the highly
dramatized if somewhat humorous descriptions of events, which had a fortunate yet equally
bombastic resolution, seem to be exemplary of the established cultural outlook on the dwellers of
the social nadir. The foundation for this exoticization of the vagrant poor was being prepared
long before Gorky wrote his famous play.
A Literary Type Without a Genre
The ever-growing interest in the vagrant communities in literature and art was steeped in
the ideas of social and economic reforms. The Russian intelligentsia evidently understood that
vagrants were a product of systematic oppression mainly encompassed in serfdom, inadequate
welfare and judicial systems, draconian vagrancy laws, and an ailing economy early on. Because
of this association, vagrant characters were instrumental in pointing to various defects of the
official systems, such as the relative ease with which convicts could escape from prison, as
described in Maksimov’s “Mit’ka Greshnyi,” Dostoevskii’s Zapiski iz mërtvogo doma, and
Korolenko’s “Sokolinets,” or the acquisition of counterfeit documents, which Nikolai Leskov
represented in “Ocharovannyi strannik.” Because the raison d’etre of many of these texts was
social criticism, it was the different negative experiences of vagrants during their wanderings that
179
Ibid.
92
were important. It is through vagrants’ adventures, life stories, and unfortunate yet exciting
twists of fate that literature could provide a glimpse into the issues of the day. Vagrancy, even in
the most superficial manifestations like the ones in Korolenko’s “Bez iazyka” or Tolstoi’s “Otets
Sergii,” provided an opportunity to enhance narratives by portraying the social deterioration of
characters.
Even though many authors often referred to the same characteristics, motifs, and even
situations for the portrayal of brodiagi, the works about vagrants have not solidified into a
specific well-defined genre, as did the picaresque novel, for instance. Vagrants appear in both
poetry and prose, and can traverse formal genres such as novels, short stories, plays, literary
sketches, and even songs written by and about vagrants. They can be protagonists as in
Maksimov’s “Mit’ka Greshnyi,” Korolenko’s “Sokolinets,” or Maxim Gorky’s “Konovalov,”
and minor characters, as in Korolenko’s “V durnom obshchestve” or Dostoevskii’s Zapiski iz
mertvogo doma. Vagrancy can also manifest as a fleeting moment in the biography of a
protagonist, as in Tolstoi’s “Otets Sergii” or Korolenko’s “Bez iazyka.” Some works concentrate
on single individuals, while others describe a vagrant community, as is done in
Blagoveshchenskii’s sketch “Brodiagi-stranniki,” in Pereselentsy by Grigorovich, or in
Korolenko’s “V durnom obshchestve.” Moreover, there is no uniformity of opinions about
vagrants. Korolenko and Gorky, for example, often portray vagrants as unruly and adventurous
but also as genuine and decent people. Blagoveshchenvskii in “Brodiagi-stranniki,” and
Grigorovich in Pereselentsy, in contrast, vilify vagrants for being immoral, larcenous rogues.
While brodiagi often participate in roguish activities, they should not be confused with
rogues, which was a Russian literary type established in the seventeenth century. According to
93
Marcia A. Morris, the literature of roguery presents rogues as ambitious characters, who never
admit defeat.
180
This type of literature, she argues,
persistently questions identity by transforming paupers into princes and prosperous
bourgeois pillars of society into thieves and philanderers. Men become women, daughters
become wives, peasants become prophets. More significantly, the protagonist of each
rogue work is invited to change his or her life, to assume a new identity.
181
Vagrants, as a rule, are almost anti-ambitious. In many of the abovementioned works about
vagrants, the only potential end-goal is an idealistic desire to attain freedom, peace, or at least
some comfort.
Likewise, vagrants should not be subsumed under an umbrella of the picaresque genre,
which J. A. Garrido Ardila defines as “a form of Bildungsroman that reflects on men’s place in
society and how they came to understand and accept their status,” or viewed as similar to the
picaro type, which “was conceived as <. . .> a social outsider who rebels against the
establishment.”
182
Unlike picaros, vagrants do not necessarily rebel against the established order,
but are presented as the victims of it. Even Leskov’s “Ocharovannyi strannik,” which was
influenced by the picaresque novel and can even be considered a Bildungsroman — as one of the
key features of the picaresque genre — cannot be read as a story about a man rising against the
political system of the Russian Empire or any traditional ways of life. In contrast with the typical
picaros, Fliagin comes across social injustices and accepts them habitually. He does not even
180
Marcia A. Morris, The Literature of Roguery in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century
Russia, (Evanston: Northwestern UP, 2000), 1.
181
Ibid, 13-14.
182
J. A. Garrido Ardila, “Origins and definitions of the picaresque genre,” The
Picaresque Novel in Western Literature: From the Sixteenth Century to the Neopicaresque,
(Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2015), 17.
94
seem cognizant of various social changes that concern him directly, as despite all his adventure
and experiences, he neither progresses socially nor aspires to do so.
It would be wrong to assume, however, that the objectives of many of these texts are
apolitical. Quite the contrary. More often than not, texts about vagrancy illuminate flaws in
established order, laws, and bureaucratic practices. In Beglye v Novorossii, for example,
backward Imperial practices and gross mismanagement of land by the nobles are presented as
key factors in the growth of illegality in the region. “Protiv obychaia” argues that harsh vagrancy
laws do not solve the problem of vagrancy but only cause retaliation. Zapiski iz mërtvogo doma,
“Sokolinets,” and “Mit’ka Greshnyi” show the relative ease with which convicts could escape
from penal colonies. In fact, prison confinement does not help Mit’ka Greshnyi understand and
bewail his crimes. The realization of his wrongdoing comes when the man breaks away from
prison and experiences a moral crisis after meeting various adversities of life in taiga.
“Ocharovannyi strannik” limns the habitualness with which state officials trade in forged travel
documents. Most of Gorky’s stories reveal the dire work conditions of undocumented people and
the general precarity of labor in Russia. Even in “Elena Okrutova” there is a suggestion that a
course of justice may be perverted because of the prosecutor’s familial relation to the defendant.
Yet, all of these things are implied indirectly, rather than actively argued by vagrants themselves.
That said, both the vagrant character and the picaro seem to have emerged from similar
social conditions. Discussing Lazarillo de Tormes (1554), Alexander Samson argues that the
picaresque novel arose from various social and economic changes in early sixteenth-century
Spain that led to a staggering growth in poverty and vagrancy in the country.
183
Engaged with
183
Alexander Samson, “Lazarillo de Tormes and the dream of a world without poverty,”
J. A. Garrido Adrila (ed.), The Picaresque Novel in Western Literature: From the Sixteenth
Century to the Neopicaresque (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2015), 28.
95
various aspects of reality of the day, the picaresque lays bare the social and religious hypocrisies
and subverts them from within. As such, it is deeply political. Samson explains:
It is not just that the picaresque is a form of confession, but that it is about how that
confession is made politically and publicly legible, through its incorporation within the
bureaucratic apparatus of state. In this sense it is a form of political writing,
verisimilitude as reportage, whether mediating the relationship between the individual
and state power or intervening within an economy of favours and exchanges, binding a
particular subject to one interested group or another. The constitution of the modern
subject relies on the rule of law and how this interacts with cultures of patronage. <. . .>
The degradation and fall of its protagonists reflects and critiques society’s failings and
failures, while their redemption and salvation follows an ideal pattern of Christian
resurrection and spiritual reawakening.
184
Despite some similarities in origin, such as the fact that the Spanish picaro is in part a product of
vagrancy, and the political facets associated with both literary types, the Russian brodiaga
developed under somewhat different conditions. Therefore, the character served as a beacon of
very different cultural tensions.
Although the emancipation of serfs led to a surge of mobility and an influx of peasants
into the urban spaces, which made vagrants much more visible, brodiagi, as I argued above,
began to appear in the works of Russian literature much earlier. Therefore, their literary
manifestation cannot be viewed as a reaction towards the growing poverty in the country.
Moreover, while the “confession” is occasionally present in some vagrant narratives (vagrants
are often pictured as narrating their own life stories), two important elements that define the
picaresque — Bildung and satire — are not common for Russian texts that feature vagrants. In
fact, vagrants often seem to have a different function from simply laying bare a number of social
ills.
184
Ibid, 31.
96
The interest in the brodiaga type can perhaps be found in a staggering realization by
intellectuals that freedom is a relative term, and that in and of themselves even the intellectuals
themselves constitute this social paradox: on the one hand they have various freedoms, but on the
other they cannot practice them. Numerous arrests and exiles of intellectuals for their political
views served as constant reminders of this throughout the nineteenth century. It is likely that
vagrants attracted many writers because they also emblematized this paradox and, in a way,
served as counterparts to the Russian intelligentsia. This overall pessimistic realization of the
educated class bore marks on the vagrant type in literature. As I argued above, vagrants do not
actively rebel against reality, poverty, religion, or the establishment. Even in Teleshov’s “Protiv
obychaia,” in which vagrants caught and whipped assessor Volynskii, vagrants acted harshly in
order to restore balance and order that previously existed, and which Volynskii carelessly
dismantled by targeting vagrants. Instead, the majority of vagrant characters have an idealistic
longing for volia, which is often concealed in vagrants’ unquenchable peripatetic desire. It is the
critique of the establishment and the ever-present advocacy of freedom, as the two uniting
elements for the largely heterogeneous vagrant literature, which makes vagrant narratives so
politically charged.
97
Chapter 3
Quo Vadis:
Vagrancy and Religion
In the nineteenth century Russia experienced a spiritual crisis: members of the
intelligentsia were contemplating the existence of God, scrutinizing religious beliefs, and
reconsidering their attitudes towards the Church. As Victoria Frede maintains, already “by the
1840s, religious doubt had come to be seen as a core part of the spiritual life” in the intellectual
circles.
185
By the 1860s, these attitudes evolved and became even more palpable. This was
precipitated in part by the atheistic and nihilist ideas that were popular among the young,
educated people. A growing revolutionary mood on the one hand, and the pressure placed on the
clergy by the state on the other exacerbated the situation. Gregory Freeze explains: “Emulating
Western models, the Russian state had attempted to use the clergy as a spiritual arm of the state,
requiring them to report on schismatics, compile vital statistics, read state laws aloud in Church,
even violate the confidence of confession if a parishioner revealed ‘evil intentions’.”
186
Revolutionaries of the 1860s understood that their conspiratorial activities were incompatible
with the traditional practices of the Orthodox rites, “as long as priests remained loyal to the
state.”
187
A mounting criticism of the clergy, for example, can be seen in Vasilii Perov’s
paintings Sel’skii krëstnyi khod na Paskhe (Easter Procession in a Village) (1861), Chaepitie v
Mytishchakh, bliz Moskvy (Tea-Party in Mytishchi near Moscow) (1862), and Trapeza (A Meal
in the Monastery) (1865-76), or Ilya Repin’s Krestnyi khod v Kurskoi gubernii (A Religious
185
Victoria Frede, Doubt, Atheism, and the Nineteenth-Century Russian Intelligentsia,
(Madison (WI): University of Wisconsin Press, 2011), 92.
186
Freeze, Gregory, The Parish Clergy in Nineteenth-Century Russia: Crisis, Reform,
Counter-Reform, (Princeton University Press, 1983), 7.
187
Frede, 164.
98
Procession in Kursk Gubernia) (1880-83). In spite of this religious crisis and mistrust of the
religious institution — perhaps even because of it — questions that touch upon various matters
of faith, religion, and the Church were especially topical, and many Russian writers engaged
with them with quite the fervor. Vagrants, unsurprisingly, often figured in the text that pondered
religious questions. These texts, which propose to treat as Menippean satire, critiqued the Church
as an institution and those who sought to profit from it unfairly.
Vasilii Perov, Easter Procession in a Village (1861)
Vasilii Perov, Tea-Party in Mytishchi near Moscow (1862)
99
Within the Orthodox Christian tradition, there seems to be a demarcation between
vagrancy and religious wandering. In the biblical story of Cain and Abel, Cain is punished for
the murder of his brother by being subjected to eternal wandering. Unlike the pilgrimage of
saints and religious wanderers to holy places, who worship God by wandering, Cain’s wandering
is presented as a punishment for his sin. In the imagination of the Russian Orthodox Christians,
Cain’s vagrancy was evidently understood as both a symbol of sin and divine punishment.
Writers of the nineteenth century repeatedly referred to this biblical figure in relation to vagrants
who committed serious crimes. In Leskov’s “Ocharovannyi strannik,” for example, Fliagin
recalls that after killing Grusha he fled the scene of the crime and felt as if he was chased by
Cain. This association can be found in Gleb Uspenskii’s Poezdki k pereselentsam (1889),
Korolenko’s “Ubivets,” Chekhov’s Na bol’shoi doroge, and Lidia Charskaia’s “Zolotaia rota”
(1911).
Vagrancy as divine punishment can be seen in another Russian literary work from the
seventeenth century. In Povest’ o Gore Zlochastii (The Tale of Woe and Misfortune), a young
man experiences vagrancy intermittently, in between his settled life with his parents, his own
family, and the monastery. Vagrancy is represented in a negative light as yet another misfortune
that befalls the protagonist, who tries to run away from his bad luck. Wandering in The Tale is
represented as a destructive and agonizing experience that the man has brought upon himself by
disobeying his parents. The ending of the tale proves that only faith and settled life in a
monastery can finally release one from the hardships of life. In this tale, the movement itself falls
under scrutiny. In order to remedy it, the misery of itinerancy must give way to peaceful stasis
behind the monastery walls and devout service to God. Likely written in the seventeenth century,
100
The Tale’s negative outlook on movement and disobedience could also be explained by socio-
political shifts and the state’s decision to restrict mobility and enslave Russian peasants.
The majority of fictional brodiagi in the Russian literature of the nineteenth century are
not detached from religious questions either. On the contrary, their proximity to religion and the
Church is often accentuated, problematized, and frequently serves as a means of questioning
both human intentions and the validity of faith and religious institutions. Notably, the distinction
between religious wandering and vagrancy is often blurred. Most literary texts that unify
vagrancy and religion thematically are fairly dissimilar in their goals, however. Some such texts,
for instance, Grigorovich’s “Bobyl’” (1847), Gorky’s “Chelkash” (1895), or Semën Pod’iachev’s
“Zlo” (“Harm”) (1909) aim to undermine false Christian piety. In other texts, characters are
represented in a marginal state of both religious wandering and vagrancy. This can be seen in
Tolstoy’s “Otets Sergii” or Vasillii Nemirovich-Danchenko’s “Brodiazhka.”
188
On the other
hand, Pushkin’s Boris Godunov, Blagoveshchenskii’s “Brodiagi-stranniki,” Gorky’s
“Prokhodimets,” or Grigorovich’s vagrant Verstan in Pereselensty point up and even denounce
the vagrant poor who exploit religion and Christian goodwill.
The texts that I examine in this chapter — namely Pushkin’s Boris Godunov,
Blagoveshchenskii’s “Brodiagi-stranniki,” Grigorovich’s “Bobyl,” Gorky’s “Chelkash,” and
Pod’iachev’s “Zlo,” — seek to reveal the hidden truth and, to some extent, make a salient point
about the limitations of religion and human piety. Because critique of the Church and its false
followers is central in these texts, they may be considered as examples of Mennipean satire.
According to Mikhail Bakhtin, Menippean satire (mennipea) originated during the time of
188
Vasillii Nemirovich-Danchenko, Solovki: Vospominaniia i rasskazy iz poezdki s
bogomol’tsami (1874), In Na kladbishchakh. Vospominaniia i vpechatleniia, (Moskva: Russkaia
kniga, 2001). http://az.lib.ru/n/nemirowichdanchenko_w_i/text_0020.shtml.
101
transformation, in “an epoch when national legend was already in decay,” and old values were
being reconsidered.
189
Because culture was on the brink of change, the focus of literature shifted.
Instead of focusing on an individual, the genre became more concerned with the idea of truth.
190
Bakhtin says that menippea is characterized by the “freedom of plot and philosophical
invention,”
191
oxymoronic combinations (such as “moral downfalls and purifications, luxury and
poverty, the noble bandit”), and an interest in “the ideological issues of the day.”
192
Within
Menippean satire fantastic or religious elements effortlessly intertwine with “slum naturalism,”
and that alone allows “the adventures of truth” to happen anywhere, including brothels and
taverns.
193
I argue that Russian writers who connected vagrancy and religion also strove to reveal the
truth and expose and denounce the deceitful nature of the visible world and false Christian piety.
Vagrants and vagrancy, on the other hand, became tools of satire in these literary texts. Like their
literary predecessors, Russian writers of the nineteenth and early twentieth century centered on
the issues of the day, such as, for example, the weakening position of the church or people’s
spiritual hollowness; moreover, these writers also played with oxymoronic combinations, amply
represented scandalous scenes, people’s erratic behavior or insanity. It should be noted, however,
that few Russia works to which I apply this generic term are comical in nature. In fact, humor is
not a prerequisite for the menippea. Bakhtin, who finds the reverberations of the Menippean
satire in Dostoevsky’s poetics, says:
189
Mikhail Bakhtin, “Characteristics of Genre and Plot Composition in Dostoevsky’s
Works,” Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984),
119.
190
Ibid, 114–5.
191
Ibid, 114.
192
Ibid, 118.
193
Ibid, 115.
102
The phenomenon of reduced laughter is of considerable importance in world literature.
Reduced laughter is denied direct expression, which is to say “it does not ring out,” but
traces of it remain in the structure of an image or a discourse and can be detected in it.
Paraphrasing Gogol, one can speak of “laughter invisible to the world.”
194
Although not all of writers that I discuss in the present chapter resort to humor, all of them play
with an opposition of sacred and profane. That is why, in my analysis, I engage Dmitrii
Likhachev’s theory of kromeshnyi mir (an antiworld) to show that this opposition helps writers
construct their own Menippean satires and, by doing so, test and reveal their own truths.
Boris Godunov
In his drama Boris Godunov (1825), Pushkin considered an entirely different turn of
events from that presented in The Tale of Woe and Misfortune. Pushkin imagines a cultural
moment in which men don’t seek faith, but instead run away from it. In the play, two vagrant-
monks (brodiagi-chernetsy), Misail and Varlaam, arrive at a tavern with Grigorii Otrep’ev and
sit down to drink wine. The way Pushkin constructs their identity is important. In order to sustain
their lives, these men claim to be peripatetic monks who collect money for their impoverished
monastery. In actuality, as they soon reveal to Grigorii, they have wandered around and deceived
people ever since they fled the monastery in order to get free alcohol and lodgings.
The protagonist of the play, Grigorii, is not markedly different from the two vagrant-
monks. Much like them, he left the monastery and travelled to the Lithuanian border under a
false identity. In fact, he is the one who is consistently called a vagrant by various other
characters in the play, despite the fact that at the time the action in the play takes place (circa
194
Ibid, 178.
103
1601), vagrancy was not illegal. By engaging this particular word, Pushkin applies a
contemporary (to him) construct to describe a distant historical event. Besides the political and
historical implications of the author’s engagement with the idea of vagrancy in the play, which I
discuss in chapter Two, there is also religious criticism. Even though Pushkin defines Varlaam
and Misail as the wandering monks (brodiachie chernetsy), he likely used the word “brodiachie”
to signal and underscore the two monks’ estrangement from the Church. Instead of being pious
and humble, they are depicted as fools, liars, and drunkards.
Misail, for example, speaks little and repeats some of his short lines twice. He is
portrayed as the one with a more agreeable nature. This representation seems to be grounded in a
historical account of Misail’s character. Discussing the “Time of Troubles,” Ruslan Skrynnikov
writes: “Московские власти уже при Борисе объявили, что у вора Гришки Отрепьева «в
совете» с самого начала имелось двое сообщников — Варлаам и Мисаил Повадьин.
Мисаил был ‘прост в разуме’” (“Already under Boris, Moscow officials announced that from
the very beginning the thief Grishka Otrep’ev had had two accomplices ‘in his council’
— Varlaam and Misail Povad’in. Misail was “simple-minded.”)
195
The dishonest nature of Varlaam is stressed by his changing speech patterns. His speech
is pronounced and diverse. When Varlaam speaks to Misail or Grigorii, he uses a lot of
borderline vulgarities and trivial rhymes about drinking: “выпьем же чарочку за шинкарочку,”
(“let’s raise a glass to the hostess lass”) “когда я пью, я трезвых не люблю” (“a drink in my
hand, the sober be damned), “ино дело пьянство, а иное дело чванство” (“it’s one thing to
195
Ruslan Skrynnikov, “Smutnoe vremia,” Sviatiteli i vlasti, (Leningrad: Lenizdat, 1990),
171.
104
tope but another to mope”), and so on.
196
As he addresses the hostess of the tavern and the
guards, his language becomes exaggeratingly mawkish and servile. It is peppered with blessings,
expressions of false modesty, and lies: “Плохо, сыне, плохо! ныне христиане стали скупы;
деньгу любят, деньгу прячут. Мало богу дают”
197
(“Bad, son, bad! Christians these days have
turned stingy; they love their money, they do, and they hide it. Don’t give much to God.”)
198
The
language becomes the tool of their trade.
Sergei Fomichov and Caryl Emerson both note that Varlaam’s rhymes, jokes, and songs
are reminiscent of those of Russian minstrels skomorokhi.
199
As discussed in the first chapter,
skomorokhi were associated with paganism and the profane and as such won a lot of disapproval
from the Church and the state even before the seventeenth century. It is possible that the state’s
persecution of minstrels also led to the criminalization of all vagrants in the mid-seventeenth
century. Emerson notes that censorship was critical of this scene:
Varlaam’s rogue completion of the proverb “Freedom for the free / and Paradise for the
drinker [as opposed to saved]” was singled out for censure, with the comment that
although the episode of the vagrant monks is found in Karamzin, “debauchery and
drinking sprees ought not to be ennobled in poetry, especially as regards the calling of
monks.”
200
196
Ibid, 306. All English translations of the work are from Alexander Pushkin, James E.
Falen (tr) et al. Boris Godunov and Other Dramatic Works, (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2007), 30.
197
Ibid, 307.
198
Alexander Pushkin et al, 32.
199
See, Sergei Fomichev, “The World of Laughter in Pushkin’s Comedy,” The
Uncensored Boris Godunov: The Case for Pushkin’s Original Comedy, with Annotated Text and
Translation, (Madison (WI): The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 144; Caryl Emerson,
“The Ebb and Flow of Influence: Muffling and Comedic in the Move towards Print,” The
Uncensored Boris Godunov: The Case for Pushkin’s Original Comedy, with Annotated Text and
Translation, (Madison (WI): The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 216.
200
Emerson, 217.
105
Furthermore, she casts doubt on the monasticism of these two comical characters, whose main
preoccupations are radically different from the conventional behavior of clergymen, and labels
Varlaam “a profligate and a coward.”
201
At the same time, Emerson argues that Varlaam’s song
in the tavern is an allusion to Grigorii’s biography and a “caricature of Grigory’s career, from
boredom behind the monastery wall through escape, a leap into freedom, and introduction to
profane delights.”
202
Thus, the perceived deceit plays a dual role: a comedic relief and a clue to
what is the true nature of Grigorii’s aspirations. The ambiguity of the vagrant monks’ identity
and status thus suggests that Pushkin carefully positions these two characters on the margins of
religion and vagrancy, making them much more fluid than they appear at first.
The moral degradation of the vagrant monks is further evident in their missing patriotism
— a notion that was coming to the fore at the time Pushkin was writing his drama. As Varlaam
admits to Grigorii, “Литва ли, Русь ли, что гудок, что гусли: все нам равно, было бы вино...
да вот и оно”
203
(“Poland or Russia, a lute or a flute; just give us some wine, and life’ll be fine.
And here it comes!”)
204
Conversely, the monks do not intend to cross the border, unlike Grigorii.
In her discussion of Pushkin, Ingrid Kleespies shows that in Pushkin’s oeuvre border crossing is
a recurrent motif, which often becomes an impossible task because of the character’s identity. On
the example of “The Prisoners of the Caucasus” and Aleko from “The Gypsies,” Kleespies says:
“Aleko and the Prisoner also function as emblematically Russian figures, representatives of an
identity formed by a society at odds with itself — not fully part of Europe, yet not fully separate
201
Ibid, 217.
202
Ibid, 220.
203
A. S. Pushkin, A. S. Pushkin. Sobranie sochinenii v odnom tome. (Moskva:
Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1984), 306.
204
Pushkin and Falen, 29.
106
either.”
205
The Russian Romantic hero, in other words, was marked by his inadaptability to new
cultures that are distinctly non-European. Even though Godunov’s Russia was not experiencing a
crisis of national identity, the author of the play deliberately chose the Lithuanian border for the
dramatic scene in a tavern. Even if Lithuania was not far-removed culturally from central Russia,
it nevertheless practiced Catholicism, and therefore was a fruitless land for vagrants and religious
pilgrims who survived on donations given for the benefit of Orthodox churches.
A successful border crossing in Boris Godunov, however, was necessary for preserving
some historical accuracy. Initially, Grigorii tries to escape punishment by leading the guards to
believe that Grigorii Otrep’ev, whom the tsar wishes to execute by hanging, is in fact Varlaam.
The unheroic behavior that Grigorii exhibits in this minor episode is the first instance from
which he becomes morally equated with Boris Godunov or Shuiskii in their struggle for power.
Being in a position between a man of faith and a lawless vagrant, Grigorii first oversteps moral
boundaries, a move that is particularly unsuitable for a man of faith, and subsequently crosses the
physical border into Lithuania, a border that in some sense attests to his loss of Russian identity.
Cooke and Dunning argue that even though Boris Godunov is loaded with religious
imagery, Pushkin’s attitude towards it is far from sympathetic:
Given Pushkin’s expressed bitterness regarding his punishment for perceived religious
misbehavior, it stands to reason that his concerns regarding religiosity should figure
prominently in the play. He drew besy (devils) in the margins and filled the work with
images critical of Russian Orthodoxy.
206
205
Ingrid Kleespies, A Nation Astray: Nomadism and National identity in Russian
Literature, (DeKalb (IL): NIU Press, 2012), 97.
206
Brett Cooke and Chester Dunning, “Tempting Fate: Defiance and Subversion in the
Writing of Boris Godunov,” Pushkinskii Vestnik, (N. 3. 2000), 59.
107
In the construction of the two monks, however, this criticism can still be considered veiled. Even
though Pushkin consulted Nikolai Karamzin’s History of the Russian State for the historical
background, he did not precisely follow Karamzin’s assessment of events. According to
Karamzin, Misail and Varlaam left the Chudov monastery along with Grigorii. He writes that as
vagrant-monks were common at the time, the three fellow-travelers had no trouble finding
shelter and victual.
207
Pushkin, however, reimagines the role of Misail and Varlaam and their
relationship with Grigorii. No longer Grigorii’s accomplices, the two men in Pushkin’s rendition
are transformed into vagrant-imposters (much like Grigorii himself), who almost fall victim to
the Pretender’s deception. Thus, where a drunkard monk could suggest the open criticism of
church as an institution, the reimagined historical figures Varlaam and Misail sever their
connection to the Church by willingly abandoning it in order to pursue earthly pleasures.
According to Ivan Pryzhov, in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries monks would often
produce and consume wine in considerable quantities in the confines of their monasteries, rather
than outside of them. The men of faith were the largest legitimate producers of alcohol in Russia
at the time and often maintained taverns nearby, even if this was theoretically prohibited by the
state.
208
The state began to appropriate the alcohol industry (vinokurenie) only in the second half
of the seventeenth century. In other words, the apparent goals of the monks as presented in the
play seem unjustified and informed by the author’s contemporary beliefs.
Despite monks’ being historical figures from Russia’s relatively remote past, such
portrayal of the two clergy could not have been advantageous to the Church in the 1830s: either
Pushkin revealed what should be left behind the monastery wall, or he denounced the Church as
207
Nikolai Karamzin, “Tsarstvovanie Borisa Godunova,” Izbrannye sochineniia v drukh
tomakh, T. 2, (Moskva-Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1964), 484.
208
I. G. Pryzhov, Istoriia kabakov v Rossii, (Moskva: Druzhba narodov, 1992), 68-69.
108
an institution that promote problematic behavior and portrayed clergy as slothful beggars. This
connection that Pushkin makes between the past and the present can be viewed as an element of
Menippean satire, since it is defined by its focus on the current ideologies. Moreover, the play
has many other details that support this idea. For example, there are several oxymoronic
combinations, such as a tramp who is a prince and monks who are tramps. There are also
numerous comedic scenes in a play that is essentially is a tragedy, including a depiction of a
scandalous one, in which monks get drunk in a tavern. As Bakhtin points out, scandals and
eccentricities, such as the behaviors of Misail and Varlaam, are characteristic to the genre
because they “destroy the epic and tragic wholeness of the world, they make a breach in the
stable, normal (“seemly”) course of human affairs and events, they free human behavior from the
normal and motivations that predetermine it.”
209
Importantly, the scandal occurs in a tavern,
which, according to Likhachev, is an important symbolic double to the monastery.
Vagrants in the Antiworld
A belletrist and an ethnographer, Nikolai Blagoveshchenskii (1837-1889) was not
impartial to questions of theology and monasticism. The son of a clergyman, Blagoveshchenskii
was a seminary student in Saint Petersburg and, after finishing the seminary, travelled to Mount
Athos and Jerusalem in 1858–59. In 1864 he became an editor of Russkoe slovo, where he
published several of his own works, including “Brodiagi-stranniki: Ocherk s natury,”
(“Vagrants-Wanderers (A Sketch from Life”).
210
The plot of this physiological sketch is fairly
simple: nearing the day of a religious holiday, about twenty wanderers find overnight shelter in
209
Bakhtin, 117.
210
Entsiklopedicheskii slovar’ Brokgauza i Efrona. T. 4. (Peterburg. 1891), 44.
109
the barn of an innkeeper.
211
Before falling asleep, however, they get acquainted, share their
stories with each other, and even boast about their possessions, many of which they believe to be
holy. In the morning, some of them realize that they have been robbed of their valuables by one
of their own. The mendicant poor in this sketch are portrayed as dim, blasphemous, superstitious,
and morally corrupt people who take advantage of religion and each other by feigning piety. The
goal of the sketch, therefore, is to show the life of religious wanderers and vagabonds from the
inside and reveal them for who they are.
212
The negative view of the wandering poor in the sketch becomes apparent early on, when
the poor at the innkeeper’s barn are described for the first time:
То была партия нищих-странников, пробирающихся в соседний монастырь на
храмовый праздник. Тут были и старые, и малые, с бородами и без бород,
пришельцы из каких-то неведомых обителей, нищие с искалеченными, для
возбуждения жалости, членами, разные хвостотрепки и оборвыши, — словом, тот
жалкий, нищенствующий люд, который богомолье обратил для себя в хлебный
промысел и прикрывает своё безделье разными религиозными побуждениями.
This was a group of paupers-wanderers that were plodding to the nearby monastery for
the church holiday. Among them were the old and the young, men with and without
beards, comers from some kinds of mysterious dwellings, beggars with maimed limbs,
which are helpful for stirring feelings of pity in others, various fallen women and
ragamuffins, — in short, a miserable mendicant lot, which turned pilgrimage into a
profitable trade, using religious motivations to cover up their idleness.
213
211
In the text, this holiday is simply termed a “church holiday” (khramovyi prazdnik)
meaning that this holiday is dedicated to the Saint, after which the church is named.
212
The aim of such text was likely social, as hope to influence the opinion of the general
public of the poor that asks for alms by monasteries and churches. A similar outlook on the
vagrant poor and religious wanderers was shared by Ivan Pryzhov, who wrote extensively on this
issue, blaming both religion and society for encouraging begging.
213
See, N. Blagoveshchenskii, “Brodiagi-stranniki” Russkoe slovo, (1865. Iiun’), 187.
https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nyp.33433081909974;view=1up;seq=795.
110
This brief introduction serves as an exposé of the needy and sets the tone for the rest of the story.
The illicitness of these men is underscored throughout the passage. This can be seen in the use of
the verb “probirat’sia,” which could either suggest that the terrain that surrounds the monastery
is difficult to cross or that these wandering people treaded clandestinely to reach it from their
“mysterious dwellings.”
214
Their deceitfulness is more directly implied in the idea that wanderers
would injure themselves in order to secure higher earnings. Statements like that aimed to vilify
the poor and indirectly advise readers to suspect them of wrongdoing. The severity of their
dishonesty is further exacerbated by the mere proposition that these “idle men” exploit religion
by using it as a source of income. The rest of the story sets out to prove this initial assessment.
The verisimilitude of this “ocherk s natury” is achieved through the intimate dialogues of
vagrants who evidently identify as a vagrant community or a class (“zdes’ svoi ved’”),
215
and
thus expect each other to be authentic behind closed doors. Not only the settings, but also the
characters themselves, call for honesty. A conversation between Ipatii and Savelii, for example,
begins because both condemn their noisy and vulgar neighbors. Savelii, who will soon rob his
fellow barn-lodgers, reproaches others for their inauthenticity: “and tomorrow, no doubt, they
will be making sanctimonious faces” (“a завтра, небось, рожи постные корчить станут”).
216
Conversely, even though the “vagrants-wanderers” associate themselves with each other and see
each other as belonging to the same class or group, they are not all the same.
A glimpse into the vagrants’ lives is given through their dialogues. At first, some
vagrants pass for devout religious wanderers. A conversation between Savelii and Ipatii, for
example, at first appears to be similar to an interrogation by the police and verification of
214
Ibid, 187.
215
Ibid,189.
216
Ibid, 191.
111
identity and status: “And who are you?” “I am Sevelii.” “Where from?” “From Tikhvin.” “How
long have you been going on a pilgrimage?” “This is the third summer.”
217
The conversation,
however, soon turns into an exchange of complaints about the worsening conditions of
panhandlers. As Savelii from Tikhvin explains, his profits diminished due to the influx оf poor
persons and therefore growing competition in his hometown. Notably, even though Savelii used
to beg in his hometown, which did not involve much travel, he still presents himself as a
religious wanderer. Soon, however, Savelii tells an anecdote from his life and divulges that he
was arrested for vagrancy for impersonating a Greek pilgrim who travelled to Jerusalem.
Later, as Savelii criticizes the rules of the secular world by contrasting it to the high
standards of religious domain, he also equates himself with several Christian Saints, whom he
leaves unnamed, yet whose descriptions suggest that they are Alexius of Rome, Anthony the
Great, and Saint Francis of Assisi. Even though not all of them were venerated by the Orthodox
church, these saints are nevertheless closely connected to religious wandering and, as is the case
of Alexius of Rome, even to holy foolishness — a religious feat that was well-respected and
amply represented in Russian history. There are in fact two holy fools in the inn-keeper’s barn:
Nikita Mnogogreshnyi (literally — “a man of many sins”), who cries and prays loudly and
reveals that he will go into villages and “teach them how to live according to the Gospels”
(“научу вас, как надо жить по евангелию”) and Aksënka, who taunts others by reducing their
words to absurdity. Among these vagrants, wanderers, and holy fools there is also a retired
sexton (d’iak), who is a drunkard. Therefore, being accepted into this group as one of their own
would indicate not its member’s religious devotion, but instead his disorderliness and dishonesty.
Although this vagrant community is only temporary, its members still distinguish
217
Ibid, 191.
112
between imposters and saints within the group, showing more respect for those whom they
believe to be close to God. For example, one vagrant justifies Nikita Mnogogreshnyi’s intense
prayers by simply stating that “this is a saint, and that is why he is miserable (ubogoi)” (“это
святой человек, потому убогой”).
218
Although the word ubogii could imply a physical or
intellectual disability, it may also be used as a synonym for the holy fool (iurodivyi). Nikita
himself, however, seems to identify as a prophet and strives to reform and educate others.
Aksënka, on the other hand, acts as a buffoon who torments others with his unnecessary
questions and laughs at the objects that other vagrants deem to be holy. Although his behavior is
not extraordinary for a holy fool, his companions still tell him to stop acting like a fool: “Молчи
Аксёнка, <. . .> тут нечего уродствовать: вишь святыня” (“Quiet, Aksënka, <…> no need for
idiocy: see, it’s holy”).
219
As if to support the authenticity of his subversive behavior, however,
Aksënka does not end his act.
This behavior, on the other hand, is justified by the role he is playing. Symbolically, the
barn with its temporary dwellers can be viewed as an antiworld (antimir or kromeshnyi mir).
According to Dmitrii Likhachev, the antiworld is an upside-down world, which represents the
social and moral nadir and anti-culture. The earliest literary examples suggest that it was
conceived as an opposition between Heaven and Hell, good and evil, the world of the pious and
that of the sinners. By the seventeenth century, in part due to the changing social conditions and
a starker difference between social classes, the two worlds reversed. Likhachev explains:
This “critique” of the prosperous world became possible due to the fact that the
ridiculous, pitch-black world has become real, true, familiar, close, and the orderly and
prosperous world has become foreign. The absurdity of the one and the absurdity of the
218
Ibid, 189.
219
Ibid, 196.
113
other have taken on different functions. The orderly and prosperous world is unfair and
therefore evokes the feelings of hatred, whereas the world of poverty is their own; and the
author, who is on the side, writes on behalf of the naked and poor and sympathizes with
them.
220
In and of themselves, therefore, the world and the antiworld are not static, whereas the key
function of their opposition seems to identify the place of morality in any given age, class, and
culture. The barn in “Brodiagi-stranniki” can be considered such an antiworld. However, this
particular antiworld does not seem to have a viable opposition from the point of view of
“normality” or “morality.”
The monastery, which is what the inhabitants hope to reach, can be read as the “orderly”
world against which the barn’s antiworld is constructed. The idea that the antiworld is “the world
of darkness” (“mir t’my”)
221
is particularly fitting. As a rule, barns are not equipped with
windows; moreover, the landowner strictly prohibits the use of fire inside it. As in the monastery,
prayers are continuously recited. Conversely, the deviant behavior of the vagrants is
underscored. They eagerly engage in profane conversations, propound blasphemous riddles, such
as the one about God eating meat upon meeting Abraham, and even tell apocryphal-sounding
stories about the Holy Virgin, who once turned peas into stones in order to punish a greedy
farmer.
At the same time, the men play-act the monastery. While aware of each other’s
220
(“Эта “критика” мира благополучия стала возможна благодаря тому, что
нелепый, кромешный мир стал миром действительным, реальным, своим, близким, а мир
упорядоченный и благополучный — чужим. Нелепость одного и нелепость другого
приобрели разные функции. Мир упорядоченный и благополучный несправедлив, а
поэтому вызывает ненависть, мир же бедности — свой, автор на его стороне, пишет от
лица голых и небогатых и им сочувствует.”) Dmitrii Likhachev, “Bunt kromeshnogo mira” //
Smekh kak mirovozrenie, (Leningrad: Nauka, 1984). Accessed online:
http://philologos.narod.ru/smeh/smeh-lihach.htm#4.
221
Ibid.
114
insignificance and the low probability of receiving any divine blessings in their lives, they
genuinely believe in religious miracles and sacred objects. This explains why they are in awe
when they examine each other’s allegedly holy possessions. The men eagerly showcase their
treasures and explain the history and religious significance of these miscellaneous objects. A
twig from an olive tree from Gethsemane, a small bone that may have belonged to Pontius Pilate,
some soil from Golgotha “on which the blood of the Savior was spilled” (“на которую кровь
Спасителева проливалась”) are scrutinized and appraised by fellow-vagrants.
222
A silver
crucifix with a relic of the Holy Cross that emits a sweet smell of rose oil and several documents
that, as their owner claims, can absolve one of all sins, leave Ipatii’s restless. While trying to fall
asleep, he contemplates stealing these things. Yet, despite his bouts of envy, his imagination
leads him to consider the earthy repercussions for sinning:
и вот он уже предчувствует общую суматоху, все на него накинутся, крик подымут,
станут бить и калечить его, приговаривая: “не воруй, не кощунствуй!” и т. п. И
мороз по коже подирает его от этих дум. <. . .> Нет, лучше спать лягу, подальше от
греха будет.
And so, he already forefeels the general commotion; everyone will pounce at him and
yell, they will begin to beat him, iterating: “do not steal, do not blaspheme!” and so on.
And the chills go down his spine from such thoughts. <. . .> No, I better go sleep and
prevent myself from sinning.
223
Ipatii’s most intimate desires, in contrast, are neither ordinary nor secular. Instead of attaining
financial security after selling his prized holy possessions, he wishes to transform his present
status of a vagrant and become a famous saint, similar to the ones found in hagiographies:
222
Ibid, 197.
223
Ibid, 199.
115
“А как получу деньги, стану жить, как древние святители жили: уйду сейчас в
какую-нибудь пустынь, игуменом сдeлаюсь через нeсколько лeт, спасаться в
строгости стану, и народ будет eздить ко мнe для наставлений...” И воображение
рисует Ипатию картины одна другой заманчивее. Вот он прославился на земле
своими подвигами; народ к нему так и валит, в землю ему кланяется, руки целует;
от головы у него лучами сиянье вокруг идёт и чудеса он разные делать может: что
только он пожелает, то сейчас и явится перед ним, потому — святой человек. И
имя его стало известно по всем монастырям; везде узнали, что Ипатий святым
сделался, сами архиереи к нему на поклон ехать собираются... Вот он помер;
ангелы взяли душу его и понесли в рай, а в раю цветы да фрукты разные, и сидит
Ипатий на цветах и яблоки разные ест... А на земле его мощи открылись: от них
благоухание идёт во все стороны; попы в ризах поют акафисты...
“And when I get the money, I will live as the ancient saints lived: I’ll go to some
hermitage, become a hegumen in a few years, and lead an austere life to save my soul;
people will come to me for guidance…” And Ipatii’s imagination paints pictures for him,
one more beguiling than the other. Now he becomes recognized on Earth for his
asceticism; people are just flocking to him, bowing to the ground, and kissing his hands;
a glow radiates from his head and he can perform different miracles: no matter what he
desires it will at once appear right in front of him — and that’s why he is a saint. His
name is now recognized in all monasteries; now everywhere they know that Ipatii
became a saint, even Archpriests are thinking of coming and bowing to him… Now he is
dead: angels took his soul and brought it to Heaven; and in Heaven there are all kinds of
flowers and fruits, and so Ipatii sits on these flowers and eats various apples… while on
Earth his relics are unsealed: and they release a fragrant smell all around; and priests in
chasubles sing hymns.
224
Even though Ipatii’s fantasies appear sentimental, they are not at all innocent. The ideal religious
life that he envisions renders the existence of God moot. First of all, it is not divine powers that
sanction his sainthood, but instead the money he hopes to receive from trading in items of
questionable religious value. Secondly, the ascetic life, which in his view will allow him to reach
fame, cannot be considered a religious feat since as a vagrant he is already accustomed to such
life. Third, the use of his divine powers is self-serving since he dreams of performing miracles on
a whim and emitting a halo. In his imagination, however, Ipatii commits one of the seven deadly
sins — the sin of Pride, which challenges the divine authority of God: he pictures himself eating
224
Ibid, 200.
116
apples in Heaven without any debilitating consequences for doing so. Just like Adam and Eve
before him, however, he gets expelled from his Garden of Eden, and his sacrilegious daydreams
get crushed completely after he realizes that Savelii robbed him during the night.
Despite Ipatii’s rude awakening, the clear inauthenticity of religious wanderers and their
religious tokens, the text still does not provide any definite conclusions about the world proper,
which exists outside of the barn, the existence of God, or the authenticity of holy relics that
belong to the real monastery. While the antiworld is constructed against the backdrop of the
pious world and monastery, it acts as a closed system that does not reflect, comment on, or
criticize religion. The goal of the text, I propose, lay in unmasking and even denouncing
dishonest vagrants, rather than validating or endorsing religion.
Bobyl’ and Chelkash
Apart from attacking religious institutions by representing them as hotbeds of drunkenness and
vagabondism or portraying vagrants as unworthy and idle panhandlers who take advantage of
Christian goodwill, faith and vagrancy are also often counterposed to unmask the emptiness of
religious sentiments and prayers of laypersons. “Bobyl’” by Grigorovich, “Chelkash” by Gorky,
and “Zlo” by Pod’iachev are good examples of that. Besides the theme of unmasking false piety,
there is another common thread between these three works. Vagrants in these stories do not
actively seek to discredit anyone. Instead, the meaninglessness of religious doctrines and blatant
misuse of prayers become manifest by the mere interaction with a vagrant.
Grigorovich’s “Bobyl’” is the earliest and perhaps the most direct example of vagrancy
unintentionally unmasking false piety. The story begins with a landlady, Mar’ia Petrovna,
lamenting to her guest, Sof’ia Ivanovna, about poverty: “Ох, сколько я думаю Софья
117
Ивановна, бездомных-то сироточек идут теперь по миру в такую-то погодушку <…> и
пристанища-то у них, бедненьких, нету…” (“Oh, Sof’ia Ivanovna, I imagine how many
homeless orphans now straggle around in such bad weather, <…> and they don’t have any
shelter at all, poor things…”).
225
Soon after she says that, a very sick man wanders into her estate
and asks her for shelter. The old man accompanies his pleas for shelter with promises of eternal
prayers to God for the landlady’s health and wellbeing, yet his pleas go unanswered. Initially, the
landlady wants to help, but when she realizes that he could die and become a liability, she tells
him to go elsewhere. The next morning his body is found on a field that belongs to a different
landowner. This news relieves her of all worries on the subject, moves her to tears, and even
prompts her to thank the Virgin Mary and St. Sergius of Radonezh for such timely and positive
resolution.
Maria Petrovna’s piety is mainly emphasized through her speech. Once and again she and
her servants appeal to God to save them from various troubles and material losses. These appeals
are often trivial:
“Господи благослови,” — продолжала она, — “с ума они сошли, что ли? того и
смотри деревню сожгут...” (“God bless,” — she continued, — “have they lost their
minds? They can burn the village down…”)
226
;
Невзирая ни на какие убеждения со стороны Марьи Петровны, упрашивавшей
Христом-богом соседку погостить еще денечек, она осталась непоколебимою в
своем намерении. (“Regardless of all persuasions brought forth by Mar’ia Petrovna who
begged her neighbor to stay for another day in the name of Christ the Savior, she (the
neighbor — OS) remained unwavering in her intentions”).
227
225
D. V. Grigorovich, “Bobyl’.” Izbrannye proizvedeniia, (Leningrad: Gos. izd. khud. lit.
1959). Accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/g/grigorowich_d_w/text_1847_bobyl.shtml.
226
Ibid.
227
Ibid.
118
“Ну, слава богу, сударыня, что отделались мы от него... такую было беду заварил.”
(“Thank God, madame, that we got rid of him… he would have caused such trouble.”)
228
“Вот что, старик <…> ступай-ка ты лучше от нас с богом, мы те проводим, а то
пришел ты, господь тебя знает, отколе... неравно еще беда с тобой случится, всем
нам хлопот наживешь... ступай, до греха...” (“Listen, old man, <…> you better go
away from here with God, we will see you off, because only God knows where you came
from… what if some misfortune will happen to you, and you will cause trouble for all of
us… go, before the worst happens…”)
229
“Кажись, все теперь,” — прибавила она, торопливо надевая мешок на плечи
старика и нахлобучивая ему на глаза шапку. “Ну, теперь господь с тобой,
дядюшка!... Ступай от нас!...” (“I guess that’s it,” she added, hastily putting a sack on
the old man’s shoulders and pulling his hat over his eyes. “Well, now, God is with you,
uncle! ... Go away from us!”)
230
By the end of the story, Mar’ia Petrovna, her friends and servants remain unaware or their lack
of empathy and Christian goodwill. These behaviors are laid bare for the reader to make
appropriate conclusions about Christian charity and humanity, more generally.
While in “Bobyl’” both the old man and the landlady appeal to God for salvation from
physical or material harm and trouble, in Gorky’s “Chelkash” this role is reserved only for
peasant Gavrila. Gavrila is a Godfearing, humble peasant who wants to earn money and secure
his future. He seems to be the opposite of a seasoned thief and a vagrant Chelkash, who
effortlessly deceives gullible Gavrila and turns him into his accomplice. Once Gavrila realizes
that he is now involved in a crime, he begs Chelkash to let him go and says:
Слушай, отпусти ты меня! Христом прошу, отпусти! Высади куда-нибудь! Ай-ай-
ай!.. Про-опал я совсем!.. Ну, вспомни бога, отпусти! Что я тебе? Не могу я этого!..
Не бывал я в таких делах... Первый раз... Господи! Пропаду ведь я! Как ты это,
брат, обошёл меня? а? Грешно тебе!.. Душу ведь губишь!.. Ну, дела-а...
228
Ibid.
229
Ibid.
230
Ibid.
119
Listen, let me go! I’m asking you in the name of Christ! Let me get off somewhere! Oh,
no!... I’m a ruined man!.. Please, think of God, and let me go! What am I to you? I
can’t!.. I have never been a part of such things… First time!... Oh, God! I’ll be ruined!
Why did you, brother, trick me this way? Why? It is a sin! You are ruining a soul! Oh,
goodness…
231
After the matter, however, Gavrila becomes seduced by the easy money and implores Chelkash
to give it all to him. His pleas are peppered with similar religious cliches that failed him earlier,
when he wanted to break free from Chelkash:
Голубчик!.. Дай ты мне эти деньги! Дай, Христа ради! Что они тебе?.. Ведь в одну
ночь — только в ночь... А мне — года нужны... Дай — молиться за тебя буду!
Вечно — в трех церквах — о спасении души твоей!.. Ведь ты их на ветер... а я
бы — в землю! Эх, дай мне их! Что в них тебе?.. Али тебе дорого? Ночь одна — и
богат! Сделай доброе дело! Пропащий ведь ты... Нет тебе пути... А я бы — ох! Дай
ты их мне!
My dear man, give me the money! Give it to me, for Christ’s sake! What is it to you?...
Because you’ll spend it in one night…. One night!... And I — years I’ll need… Give it to
me, I’ll pray for you! Forever, in three churches, I’ll pray for your soul’s redemption.
Because you will send it down the drain… and I’d — into the land! Oh, give it to me!
What’s in it to you? Does it cost you? One night and you are rich! Do a kind deed! You
are a lost man… there is no place for you… and I would, oh! Give it to me!
232
Голубчик!.. Спаси Христос тебя! Ведь это теперь у меня что?.. я теперь...
богач!.. <…> Эх ты, милый!.. Вовек не забуду!.. Никогда!.. И жене и детям
закажу — молись!
My dear man! Christ will save you! What do I have now? I’m now… a rich man! <…>
Oh, you, my dear!... I will never forget this!... Never!... and I’ll tell my wife and children
— pray!
233
These persistent appeals to God, promises of unceasing prayer for the thief’s soul, and even
231
Ibid.
232
Ibid.
233
Ibid.
120
explanations of Chelkash’s superfluity by means of religion are all viewed by Gavrila as
bargaining chips for getting his way or receiving material gains. In fact, Gavrila’s relationship
with God is patently transactional. He promises, for example, to force his future family to pray
for Chelkash only if the thief gives up the dishonestly acquired capital. In other words, Gavrila’s
faith is represented as devoid of spiritual values, as its main role is denigrated to mere reiteration
of symbols and rites, which in turn are rendered meaningless by improper application.
Gavrila is quickly seduced by the money. With his judgment clouded by greed, he
contemplates a capital crime without considering any Christian ramifications:
Ведь я что думал? Едем мы сюда... думаю... хвачу я его — тебя — веслом... рраз!..
денежки — себе, его — в море... тебя-то... а? Кто, мол, его хватится? И найдут, не
станут допытываться — как да кто. Не такой, мол, он человек, чтоб из-за него шум
подымать!.. Ненужный на земле! Кому за него встать?
‘Coz, what did I figure? We come here… I figure… I will strike him — you — with an
oar… W-wham!.. the cash — I take, and he — into the sea… you, that is… yeah? Who,
you know, will miss him? If they find him, they won’t be asking… who and how. He’s
not the kind of man, you know, to make a fuss over. He is not needed on Earth. Who’ll
stand up for him?
234
After both men habitually address each other as brothers, Gavrila becomes envious and
greedy and nearly kills Chelkash. Chelkash, on the other hand, survives, forgives Gavrila, and
gives him most of the money. Such denouement can be seen as a reimagination of the biblical
story of Cain and Abel, in which both men seek money rather that God’s approval. In fact,
despite Gavrila’s prayers, God in Gorky’s text is either absent entirely or at least unresponsive.
By the end of this story, the archetypal positions of the two men are reversed. Not only is
Chelkash the true victim of the situation, but he is also the one who forgives his perpetrator and
234
Ibid.
121
gives up his share of the money. As such, the vagrant stands to occupy a position of moral
superiority.
What is more, the vagrant takes on the function generally ascribed to holy fools
(iurodivye). In a sense this function that the vagrant begins to play is artificial, since as a secular
figure, he does not possess any divine knowledge, and does not necessarily aim to reveal
anything. According to Sergei Ivanov, historically the holy fools revealed to others the true yet
hidden nature of things and, by doing so, they reinforced a traditional Orthodox Christian belief
that “мир не просто не таков, каким кажется — его истинная природа диаметрально
противоположна видимости” (“the world is not simply different from what it seems, but that
its real nature is diametral opposed to its appearance”).
235
What is remarkable is that although
holy foolishness during the late nineteenth century was significantly abated particularly in
literary works, in which the validity of God’s existence is placed under scrutiny, the device itself
remained. Whereas holy fools act bizarre because they recognize the true essence of things and
can distinguish between the holy and the demonic, in Gorky’s text this power is transferred onto
vagrants who — not deliberately — show what lies beneath Gavrila’s piety without possessing
any theurgic powers. Moreover, he is also the one who demonstrates the real Christian virtues by
forgiving his offender and showing his detachment from material possessions.
Harm
The detachment from the worldly and material is one of the important underlying themes
in a vagrant story “Zlo” by Semën Pod’iachev. Just like in Maupassant’s “Le Vagabond” and
235
Sergei Ivanov, Blazhennye pokhaby: Kul’turnaia istoriia iurodstva, (Corpus “AST.”
2005). Accessed online: https://predanie.ru/book/91934-blazhennye-pohaby/#/toc5.
122
Amfiteatrov’s “Elena Okrutova,” this is a narrative about a rape by a vagrant. However, if in
Maupassant’s story the vagrant is the protagonist, whose hardships, feelings, and intentions are
revealed, in Pod’achev’s “Zlo” the vagrant is an episodic character whose actions are
opportunistic but whose thoughts and life story are inconsequential. Instead, the text centers on a
peasant woman Agaf’ia, who is sexually assaulted and impregnated by a vagrant. After her
husband Levon learns about the attack, he gets overwhelmed by jealousy, turns to alcohol, and
begins to abuse Agaf’ia physically. When she is due to give birth, Levon chooses not to call for a
midwife, and Agaf’ia dies in childbirth. Shocked, he kills the newborn and only then realizes the
full weight of the harm he has done.
The vagrant is the catalyst in the story, since his crime initiates a succession of other
wrongdoings, which in turn trigger a shift in the worldview of the heroine, as she loses interest in
all earthly possessions. The change in Agaf’ia is stark and central to the story. At the beginning,
she is portrayed as a devout person who, just like Gavrila in “Chelkash,” completes religious
rites diligently, albeit mechanically:
Она начала молиться богу, то и дело бултыхаясь в землю и громко шепча что-то
такое, понятное только ей, где то и дело слышалось то “заступница, матушка”; то
“Суси,” то “андел господний,” и в то же время, шепча молитвы, часто зевала,
торопливо крестила рот и скребла голову двумя пальцами левой свободной руки,
подправляя волосы под повойник...
236
She began her prayers, now and then flopping to the ground and loudly whispering
something that could only be understood by her. Such words as “patroness, mother,” and
“Esus,” and “andel of the Lord” could be heard time and again. And at the same time,
while whispering prayers, she yawned endlessly, crossed her mouth hastily, and scraped
her head with two fingers of her free left hand, while tucking her hair inside her
headdress...
236
Semën Pod’iachev, “Zlo.” Izbrannye proizvedeniia, (Moskva: Moskovskii rabochii,
1951), http://az.lib.ru/p/podxjachew_s_p/text_1909_zlo.shtml.
123
Yet, as is later revealed, Agaf’ia’s prayers are devoid of good intentions. Her objectives for the
day involve various cheating schemes, which she invents in order to build a house and better her
living situation:
Агафья перекрестилась и пошла ещё шибче. <…> Она шла и думала, как придёт в
город к своей пожилой, вдове бездетной, давно уже живущей у председателя
управы в кухарках, сестре, как подарит ей “гостинец,” расскажет про своё житье,
заплачет, будет просить леску на стройку.
“Матушка, сестрица, — шептала она, заранее сочиняя слёзную просьбу, — проси
ты, родная, барина своего за нас... попроси ты леску у него... скажи: валится, мол,
стройка... подняться, мол, нечем... Попроси ты его... у него много... а ему господь
за это веку продлит...” <…> “Уж только бы дал-то, — в это же время думала она,
— посыкнулся бы только... увезти бы нам только из рощи-то, а там жди —
заплатили!.. Нету, да и все... отдадим... должен, не спорю, а отдам не скоро... На
что ему, гладкому, деньги-то?.. Жаны нет, ни детей... Живет аки хлыст какой...
брюхо ростит... На что ему?.. Подохнет — с собой не возьмет... И чтой-то, господи
Суси, за счастье им такое... всего по горло... за что? <…> Схожу к мельнику,
выпрошу у него в долг... в ногах буду валяться, а уж не отстану...”
237
Agaf’ia crossed herself and began to walk faster. <. . .> She walked and thought how she
would come to the city to visit her elderly sister, that childless widow who had long been
living as a cook with a chairman of the council; how she would give her a “gift,” tell her
about her life, then weep and ask her for timber for the construction. “Beloved sweet
sister, — she whispered, composing a tearful request in advance, — ask, my dear, your
master for us... ask him for some timber... tell him: the building is falling and, you see,
there is nothing to bring it back up... You ask him... he’s got a lot... and God will prolong
his life for this” <. . .> “Oh, if only he’d give it,” she thought at the same time, “he’d only
try something... if we could only move the timber from the grove… and then sure, keep
waiting that we’d pay!.. We don’t have no money, and that's that... paying up... Yes, I do
owe it, I don’t deny it, but I won’t give it back soon... And what does he even need
money for? He’s got no wife, no kiddies... He lives like some kind of Khlyst
238
… grows
his gut... What for? If he croaks, he won't be taking it with him... And why, Lord-Esus,
they get all these blessins... they’ve got it all... and for what?” <…> “I will go to the
miller, beg him for a loan… I will grovel at his feet, but I won’t give up…”
237
Ibid.
238
Khlysts were a religious sect.
124
Much like Gavrila, Agaf’ia examines other people’s material fortunes through the lens of
Christian doctrines. That is why, for example, she links the futility of earthly wealth and the
inevitable mortality of the rich chairman. Instead of meekly accepting her Christian fate, she
reasons with God by pondering why others have all the material fortunes. Religion, therefore,
serves as a type of methodology through which the unfairness of the world is perceived and
negotiated.
However, after being violated by a vagrant and enduring abuse from her jealous husband,
she begins to look at material wealth in a different light: “Все её хозяйство: корова, лошадь,
телёнок, овцы, куры, все эти плошки, ложки, лоханки, чугуны, ухватья, — все как-то сразу
отошло от неё, сделалось чужое, ненужное” (“Her entire household: a cow, a horse, a calf,
sheep, chickens, all of those bowls, spoons, tubs, cast iron pots, potholders, — all of that
immediately moved away from her, became foreign, unnecessary.”)
239
Less and less concerned
with wealth, she changes from a dynamic figure with agency into a kind of Christian martyr
whose suffering ends in death.
This shift is justified, as the text is more steeped in religious symbolism than it may first
appear. In fact, the text is fraught with religious signification. The vagrant, for example, hides his
criminal nature behind religious robes: “An empty bag dangled behind the back of this pauper…
he held a stick in his hands. He was clad in a long monachal cassock” (“За спиной у этого
нищего болтался пустой мешок... в руках была палка. Одет он был в длинный
монастырский подрясник”).
240
Such description may be seen as a trope that communicates
suspicion towards both vagrants and religious wanderers alike. While Agaf’ia does not
239
Ibid.
240
Pod’aichev, “Zlo.”
125
necessarily associate the man with a monk and in fact at first confuses him with a woman, in
order to prevent violence, she still implores the perpetrator not to hurt her by appealing to
religious deities and calling the vagrant “Khristosik” (“little Jesus”) and “batiushka”
(“father”).
241
The vagrant, however, does not heed her pleas.
Even the settings of the text suggest that. On the way to her sister, for example, Agaf’ia
passes a conspicuously white church with a brightly illuminated gilded cross. At the edge of the
village, however, the scenery is replaced with a tavern (traktir). In a conventional understanding
of the antiworld, the opposition between the church and the tavern are often used as a telling
example. Likhachev says: “The church that is turned inside out is a tavern — a kind of ‘anti-
paradise,’ in which everything is the other way around, and in which barkeepers compare to
angels” (“Вывернутая наизнанку церковь — это кабак, своеобразный ‘антирай,’ где все
наоборот, где целовальники соответствуют ангелам”).
242
Yet, both institutions are only
symbolically present, since Agaf’ia does not enter either of them. Instead, the violent act takes
place in the forest — a space of neutrality vis-à-vis the binary opposition between the world and
the antiworld.
The forest, in turn, has a complex dichotomous symbolism. On the one hand, it can be
seen as having salvific and protective potentials, as a safe haven and a plentiful source of food
for those in need; on the other, it is also a place of imminent danger, since a threat can come as
much from wild animals as from ill-intentioned humans. Traditionally, Eastern Slavs linked the
forest, as a place of raw, uninhibited nature, to paganism and imagined it as a place inhabited by
countless forest spirits. Because of this established mythical and cultural connection, rhetorically
241
Ibid.
242
Likhachev, “Smekhovoi mir v drevnei rusi,” Accessed online:
http://philologos.narod.ru/smeh/smeh-lihach.htm#4.
126
speaking, the forest can defy Christian codes and ethics. In this context, the forest can be
understood as a neutral zone with its own complex system that may (but does not have to) stand
in opposition not to Christianity as such, but to the binary relation of world and antiworld.
According to Likhachev, one of the functions of the antiworld lies in provoking laughter,
in subverting the normalized behavior, and in challenging what is traditionally viewed as sacred
in order to reveal what lies beneath the façade of the “real” and “orderly” world and contest its
superiority. At the same time, the antiworld is neither indifferent nor autonomous, as it is still
grounded in the laws established by the primary system which engendered it:
Позади изнаночного мира всегда находится некий идеал, пусть даже самый
пустяшный — в виде чувства сытости и довольства. Антимир Древней Руси
противостоит поэтому не обычной реальности, а некоей идеальной реальности,
лучшим проявлениям этой реальности. Антимир противостоит святости — поэтому
он богохулен, он противостоит богатству — поэтому он беден, противостоит
церемониальности и этикету — поэтому он бесстыден, противостоит одетому и
приличному — поэтому он раздет, наг, бос, неприличен; антигерой этого мира
противостоит родовитому — поэтому он безроден, противостоит степенному—
поэтому скачет, прыгает, поет веселые, отнюдь не степенные песни.
243
Behind the upside-down world there is always a certain ideal, even the most trivial one,
such as a feeling of satiety and contentment. The antiworld of Ancient Rus’ is therefore
not opposed to ordinary reality, but to some kind of ideal reality, or the best
manifestations of this reality. The antiworld is opposed to holiness, therefore it is
blasphemous; it is opposed to wealth, therefore it is poor; it is opposed to ceremony and
etiquette, therefore it is shameless; it is opposed to the dressed and decent, therefore it is
undressed, naked, barefoot, indecent. The antihero of this world opposes the noble one;
therefore he is rootless. He also opposes the sedate ones, and therefore he cavorts, jumps,
sings merry yet by no means dignified songs.
243
Ibid.
127
As Pod’iachev’s text proposes, however, this religiously charged opposition can still play out in
this neutral zone of the forest, yet the moral message that various Christian narratives usually
convey gets lost. Thus, in a scene of sexual violence in “Zlo,” the weight of the Christian lesson
of morality is either absent altogether or considerably obscured, whereas the senselessness of
violence is amplified. Not only is violence uninterrupted, it is also unpunished. Pod’iachev’s
realistic representation of violent rape is completely devoid of all humorous elements common to
medieval Russian texts, however. Both the vagrant’s monastic cassock and the name
“Khristosik” by which Agaf’ia calls her perpetrator are bereft of absurd or carnivalesque
features. Rather than underscoring the playfulness of parodic perversion, these religious referents
only intensify the woman’s unbridled fear and desperation and the heinousness of the act. auThis
is also one of the important differences between Maupassant’s “Le vagabond” and Pod’achev’s
“Zlo.” Whereas Maupassant downplays the weight of sexual violence by representing a servant
girl who “screamed lustily” as she gets raped by the “young, ardent” vagrant, Pod’iachev
represents sexual violence as a vicious and merciless act with lasting consequences.
244
Not only
does Agaf’ia suffer physical pain, her moral and social states are also afflicted: She feels
dishonored and cast out. As if gesturing towards Maupassant’s narrative, however, the vagrant
accuses Agaf’ia of lying to him and pretending that she did not enjoy the sexual act.
As part of the antiworld, the vagrant is not simply dressed like a monk, he also plays a
symbolic role of an anti-monk. Instead of representing a peaceful stasis enclosed in the confines
of a church, the vagrant is a peripatetic figure with no stable ideals or morals. In fact, as if
perverting the idea of the sanctity of confession, he orders Agaf’ia to keep quiet about the rape.
244
Guy de Maupassant, “A Vagabond,” The Short stories of Guy de Maupassant,
(Roselyn (NY): Wildside Press, 2007), 145.
128
The rape, therefore, reveals that the ideal world is broken or even inexistent. Conversely, an
interaction with him seems to be contagious. After the rape, Agaf’ia is cast out by her once
loving husband. She loses interest in her house and worldly possessions. Her husband Levon also
begins to avoid the house and spends most of his time in a tavern. Symbolically, therefore, the
vagrant anti-monk inadvertently acquires a kind of flock. In other words, “Zlo” portrays a vision
of a broken world, which gets revealed by a violent act committed by a vagrant.
That is why, despite the burgeoning religious skepticism typical for the early twentieth
century, the text does not necessarily reproach religious inefficacy. Instead, it creates a secular
world that abuses religious rites, practices, and lingo. In fact, outside the forest boundaries lies a
typical antiworld. The widowed barkeeper Iudikha, for example, appeals to God only when she
needs to curse her debtors and offenders:
“Мотри, мужик, — сказала Юдиха, — грех тебе будет, коли обманешь вдову...
господь с тебя взыщет... потеряешь впятеро” (“Watch out, man,” said Iudikha, “you’ll
sin if you cheat a widow… God will take from you… you’ll lose five times over.”)
245
“Всякой придёт, лается!.. Иди, пока цел, а то, истинный господь, изворочаю
поленом до смерти и в ответе не буду” (“Nobodies come here and brawl!.. Go while
you still can… or, God be my witness, I’ll beat you to death with a log and won’t answer
for it.”)
246
Similarly, Agaf’ia asks God do deliver her from her troubles and tribulations by either killing her
or by blessing her with the death of her unborn child: “Каждый раз, забравшись на перевод,
прежде чем прыгнуть, Агафья крестилась и шептала: ‘Господи, благослови,’ и тогда уже
прыгала” (“Each time, before jumping as she climbed up the outbuilding, Agaf’ia crossed
245
Pod’iachev.
246
Ibid.
129
herself and whispered: ‘God, bless me,’ and only then would she jump.”)
247
She also consistently
asks God to punish her husband and deliver her through death. In other words, the normalized
practice of God’s veneration becomes problematic, and the text points at this issue repeatedly.
“Zlo” takes the “world—antiworld” opposition and, perhaps in the spirit of Realist
representation, completely strips it of laughter, which was one of its primary functions in the
medieval literature. The world is presented instead without stable ideals or clear resolutions for
anyone: the vagrant anti-monk does not have a functional model in the text and his crime goes
unpunished; the heroine cannot be saved; Levon murders a child and becomes deranged;
248
Agaf’ia’s and Levon’s only living child is left without a future. Conversely, the text is still
didactic, as it points at flawed human nature and seeks to rectify it. As Menippean satire, the
work seeks the truth, and it the same time it is not concerned with characters’ spiritual growth or
their individuality; instead, it looks at the bigger picture of humanity. The vagrant rape becomes
a catalyst, which alters Agaf’ia’s life and changes her status to something similar to that of a
martyr heroine who, however, does not suffer for her aspirations. By the end of her story and
seemingly also by the laws of the antiworld, her disheartening prayers are answered.
* * *
Narratives in which vagrancy is set against religion are fairly common, yet heterogeneous. As I
showed in this chapter, vagrant characters exist more often than not outside of proper religious
settings, yet they still engage with religious rites and symbols and even mimic the religious realm
247
Ibid.
248
Bakhtin notes that Menippean satire is characterized by “a representation of the
unusual, abnormal moral and psychic states of man—insanity of all sorts (the themes of the
maniac), split personality, <…> passions bordering on madness, suicides, and so forth.” Bakhtin,
116.
130
by enacting and performing its rites. At the same time, vagrants represent an antiworld with a
specific goal of revealing the true nature of people and the depth of their faith. Even such vagrant
figures as the old man in “Bobyl’” and Chelkash, who do not claim to be religious wanderers or
monks, still help replay the same revelatory, if not denunciatory, narratives. Yet, vagrants do not
denounce faith and the Church. Unlike holy fools, vagrants represent the secular realm, and their
actions concern earthly, lowly matters. Moreover, revelation and denunciation are never their
goals, but only the effects of their actions. Arguably, such representations of vagrants could be
understood as a kind of basic reaction to the growing secularization and the weakening belief in
God in nineteenth century Russia on the one hand, and an inability to produce a new substitution
for various important religious symbols such as the divine interventions, holy relics, or the holy
fools. Thus, the vagrant stood in as a secular marginal figure that could perform functions, albeit
somewhat abased, which were traditionally performed by holy fools or church clerics.
131
Chapter 4
In Defense of Domesticity:
Figurations of Vagrancy in Dmitrii Grigorovich’s Oeuvre
A champion of Russian peasants and oppressed serfs, Dmitrii Grigorovich (1822-1899)
was one of the first realist writers to engage the theme of vagrancy in Russian literature.
249
In the
first half of the nineteenth century, he returned to representations of vagrants on more than one
occasion and as a result brought to light vagrant communities and even made substantial
contributions to the development of vagrant character types. Because he is one of the early and
most prolific writers of vagrant figures, it is possible to suggest that his works helped shape
public opinion on matters of vagrancy at the time as well. Although he held distinct views on
vagrancy, his vagrant characters were not all alike. In his short stories “Derevnia” (“The
Village”) (1846) and “Bobyl’” (“The Laborer”) (1848), and in his novels Anton Goremyka
(1847) and Pereselentsy (Emigrants) (1855-1856), Grigorovich approached vagrancy and
poverty more generally from different angles, as he evidently strove to be comprehensive and
imaginative in his engagement with this theme. This approach allowed the writer to achieve
several important goals. On the one hand, the legal and social status of vagrants allowed him to
highlight the inadequacies of the Imperial system and point out the state’s responsibility for the
249
Morozov, for instance, says: “Григорович с честью разделил с Тургеневым ту
роль, какая выпала на его долю в литературной подготовке умов, к великой реформе
освобождения крестьян. В этом его крупная и незабвенная заслуга” (“It is with honor that
Grigorovich shared with Turgenev the role that fell to his lot in a preparation of minds by means
of literature for the great reform on the emancipation of the serfs.”) Morozov, “Nekrolog
Grigorovicha,” V. Pokrovskii (sostavitel’), Dmitrii Vasil’evich Grigorovich: ego zhizn’ i
sochineniia. Izd. 2, (Moskva: Sklad v knizhnom magazine V. Spiridonova i A. Mikhailova,
1910), 20.
132
poverty and destitution of its people. On the other, vagrants provided endless opportunities to
represent a negative model of poverty and to some degree shift some responsibility from the
nobility in the impoverishing of the Russian narod to the “undeserving” poor.
It could be said that Grigorovich was a pioneer of the vagrant theme, yet his general
outlook on vagrant communities was largely negative. He understood vagrancy as either an
inborn criminal character trait or an acquired, debilitating behavior. As the same time, the writer
created many distinct vagrant characters and even engaged many different motifs in his portrayal
of them, such as feigned illness, vagrant greed, and the use of vagrant cant. By employing ideas
of phrenology and physiognomy, which were fashionable at the time, he managed to devise a
fairly stable type, which he then used in many of his works. This vagrant type allowed
Grigorovich to make some of his larger points. As I argue in this chapter, Grigorovich’s vagrants
illustrate the writer’s most intimate preoccupation and beliefs, mainly his distrust of mobility and
his support of the static order. To do that, Grigorovich counterposed vagrants to rootless nobles
who abandoned their country estates and left their serfs without protection. In fact, there are
many similarities between the two types, as many of the vagrant motifs the writer employs can
be applied to the Russian nobility and vagrants alike. It is likely that Grigorovich, who was first
and foremost concerned with the plight of peasants, wished to look at peasants’ predicaments
comprehensively and identify other problems that exacerbated the situation. By identifying
vagrants as such a problem and representing them as a type, however, Grigorovich created a
model in which the poor share the blame for the oppression of serfdom with the nobles.
Social Critique
In Grigorovich’s works, vagrancy plays an important part in the representation of
133
serfdom since all the vagrants he created were once serfs. Before discussing the novel
Pereselentsy, in which vagrancy is at the core of the plot, it is important to look at some transient
manifestations of vagrancy that appear in the two short stories “Derevnia” and “Bobyl’.” In
“Derevnia,” for example, vagrancy does not actually occur, but the threat of it lingers throughout
the text about a young, orphaned girl Akulina, who is abused first by her adoptive parents and
then by her husband and his family. Descriptions of Akulina’s tormentors and their severity in
the text are usually supplemented by such colloquial idiomatic expressions as “von iz izby
begi”
250
and “tak luchshe begi iz doma von,” which literally translate as “run away from the hut”
and “it’s better to run away from home.”
251
While the idiomatic connotation of these two similar
phrases can simply be reduced to the word “unbearable,” the choice of these specific phrases
nonetheless suggests that running away becomes a reasonable option, and thus consistently hints
at the possibility of Akulina’s eventual escape. These phraseological repetitions are further
reinforced by a description of Akulina’s occasional conversations with wanderers that pass
through her village:
Калики и побирушки перехожие, заносимые иногда бог знает каким ветром в их
деревню, чаще всего поставляли Акуле такие случаи. Когда две или три такие
старушонки, преследуемые по всей улице воем и лаем собак, останавливались
перед окнами скотного двора, затягивая общим голосом обычную свою стихеру . . .
Акуле уже не сиделось на месте, так её и подмывало.
252
Kaliki and wandering beggars, who were brought into their village by God knows what
wind, most often provided Akulina with such occasions. When pursued across the street
by howling and barking dogs, two or three such old women would stop in front of the
windows of the barnyard and begin to sing the usual song with their communal voice. . .
Akulina could no longer sit still, she was tempted to talk to them.
250
D. V. Grigorovich, “Derevnia,” Izbrannye proizvedeniia. (Gos. izd. khud. lit.
Leningrad. 1959), 27.
251
Ibid, 41.
252
Ibid, 39.
134
The text perpetually leads readers to believe that Akulina will escape. It is even suggested in the
epigraph from Alexei Kol’tsov’s poem “Tak i rvëtsia dusha…,” (“The soul is longing to break
away…”) used in one of the chapters and in her brief disappearance after she visits her mother’s
grave.
253
Initially, even her marriage seems like a form of escape from her adoptive family. As is
soon revealed, however, this marriage is a false deus ex machina, as it quickly betrays readers’
expectations. In fact, the entire marriage is represented as a whim of the landowners, who choose
their serfs arbitrarily and force them into marriage with each other.
Even though the text leads readers to conclude that running away is the only possible
solution for Akulina, it does so indirectly, without having to talk about the female serf abrogation
of her responsibilities to the landowners. The possibility of such an escape was, of course,
minimal. It was unlikely for a female serf to obtain any travel documents, whereas
undocumented wandering was very risky. If caught, Akulina would either be returned to her
village by the authorities or flogged and potentially even sent away to Siberia. While the text
does not suggest that Akulina’s fears stem from her awareness of the legalities of wandering in
Russia and all the possible outcomes that would follow, Grigorovich’s educated contemporary
readers would have been well-informed about the punishments that serfs received for running
away. Focusing mainly on the quotidian atrocities of the common folk, the text seemingly aims
to highlight the flaws in the system that promotes abuse.
A similar critique of the social system can be found in “Bobyl’.” According to Iurii
Lotman, soon after the publication of the story in Sovremennik (The Contemporary) in 1848,
253
Ibid, 40. The first stanza of the poem reads: “Так и рвётся душа / Из груди
молодой! / Хочет воли она, /Хочет жизни другой!” (“The soul is longing to break away / from
the young chest! / It wants freedom, / It wants a different life!”).
135
count Stroganov argued that Grigorovich’s “Bobyl’” and Anton Goremyka carried “noxious
ideas” and disseminated radical philosophies.
254
Confronted by the possibility of a revolution,
which at the time was raging in the West, Nicholas I was not sympathetic to incendiary remarks
that touched upon matters of exploitation and the mistreatment of serfs. What is more,
Grigorovich presented a case in which responsibility was only slightly shifted from a few cruel
landowners to the state and its laws, which created and fostered an oppressive and dehumanizing
environment. The short story points out the exacerbated precariousness serfs found themselves in
after they were released from work due to age or illness. In “Bobyl’,” Grigorovich demonstrates
the streamlined process by which the system disposal of inutile people, who are driven to
vagrancy and pauperism and who cannot expect any help from the state or its citizens. In fact,
“Bobyl’” is as much about a lack of morality and humanism as it is about the broken Imperial
laws. The landlady’s reluctance to help a dying man does not simply rest in her potential innate
cruelty but is reinforced by her apprehensiveness about potential legal consequences.
There may have been at least two legal reasons which could make one disinclined to help
a dying person. One of these reasons can be deduced from the epigraph, for which Grigorovich
chose a few lines from Pushkin’s “Utoplennik” (“The Drowned Man”) (1828), a narrative poem
about a fisherman who sends a corpse that was washed ashore back into the river instead of
giving the dead man a proper Christian burial.
255
The reason the fisherman decides to send the
corpse down the river is not religious, but it is instead related to his fear of the authorities: “Суд
254
Iurii Lotman, “Posleslovie,” In, D. V. Grigorovich. Izbrannye proizvedeniia, (Gos.
izd. khud. lit. Leningrad, 1959), 715.
255
Interestingly, a year later, when the drowned man comes back to haunt him, the
fisherman calls him “Cain” for wandering at night, and thus indirectly accuses the dead man of
vagrancy.
136
наедет, отвечай-ка; / С ним я ввек не разберусь”
256
(“Dead! The court will want an answer. /
I’ll be plagued by them forever…”).
257
Coincidentally, these are the very two lines that
Grigorovich chose for the epigraph to the story. This fear, which was seemingly ubiquitous in
Russia, was based on the premise that the authorities were inadequate in matters of investigation
yet very efficient in matters of discipline and corporal punishment. Pushkin’s fisherman, who
would have to report the incident prior to giving the drowned man a burial would inadvertently
subject himself if not to charges for murder then, undoubtedly, to the official red tape that would
take a lot of time to resolve.
258
The landlady of Komkovo, Mar’ia Petrovna, can hardly be compared to the defenseless
fisherman, yet her unwillingness to help the old man still stems from anxiety about criminal
investigations that would ensue were the man to die on her land. The text points to this reasoning
through the warnings that others give Mar’ia Petrovna. Without providing any specific details,
Sof’ia Ivanovna ominously mentions someone named Egor Ivanovich Redechkin, who had to
deal with similar troubles three years prior. The trepidations reach their apogee when her helper
Fëkla notes that the authorities will be convinced that someone in her village murdered the old
man. The landlady calms down only after she receives news that the old man died in the nearby
village and that the police went there to investigate.
Another reason that could have prevented Mar’ia Petrovna from exercising her Christian
goodwill is also legal. The Imperial law was unequivocal when it came to harboring vagrants or
256
Aleksandr Pushkin, “Utoplennik,” (Moskva: Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1984), 88.
257
Alexander Pushkin and Ephim G. Fogel, “The Drowned Man,” The Slavonic and East
European Review 26, no. 66 (1947): 3-5. www.jstor.org/stable/4203901.
258
Conversely, it is also possible to argue that the idea that the authorities are unhelpful
can be used as a convenient excuse not to help anyone in need.
137
helping them in any way. This, in turn, prompted potential benefactors to think twice before
offering any kind of support to the undocumented people. This issue is also indirectly brought up
in “Bobyl’.” When the old man explains the reasons for his homelessness, he mentions that he
travelled ninety versts (approximately sixty miles) on foot but was unable to find any long-term
solutions and shelter along the way. Thus, the focal point of this text is not the man’s death as
such, but that the man is forced into poverty and homelessness and dies in a field, outside his
own home. Grigorovich, evidently, found it unacceptable. As I will discuss later, Grigorovich
considered rootedness and belonging a great virtue, and that is why, these themes are at the
center of several of his other works.
Born Bad, Scientifically Speaking
Considering “Bobyl’,” alone, however, it would be wrong to assume that Grigorovich
was fond of vagrants. Quite the contrary. Looking at a motley of Grigorovich’s vagrants it is
impossible to say definitively whether vagrancy according to Grigorovich stemmed from the
socio-political climate in the country, from a childhood spent in vagrancy, or simply from inborn
character traits. By and large, however, Grigorovich’s texts suggest that the majority of hardened
brodiagi are morally corrupt people with a general disregard for meaningful labor. And if in
“Bobyl’” the old man’s slip into vagrancy at the end of his life is presented as an insurmountable
tragedy and serves as a sign of social inequality and failure of the state to provide social support,
vagrants in Anton Goremyka and Pereselentsy are mostly portrayed as ruthless criminals and
undeserving poor.
In Pereselentsy, vagrants play several key roles. First of all, they drive the narrative of the
adventure novel forward by wandering, kidnapping children, and trying to escape from the
138
authorities. In fact, it is possible to suggest that Grigorovich is one of the first writers in Russia to
pen a vagrant adventure novel, another important example of which would be Danilevskii’s
Beglye v Novorossii published a few years later. The attitudes of Grigorovich and Danilevskii to
vagrants, however, are different, since Danilevskii’s vagrants are largely righteous rogues. This
distinction is important. Vagrants allow Grigorovich to portray deserving and underserving serfs
and thus restate the idea previously voiced in “Derevnia” and Anton Goremyka that Russian serfs
suffer as much, if not more, from each other as from their landowners.
Judging by several of Grigorovich’s works, it appears that the writer considered vagrancy
a vice, the roots of which lie within human character and psychology. Even though he
undeniably contemplated various circumstances that could force decent people into meandering
and begging, as can be seen in “Bobyl’,” the distinction between the two types of vagrant poor
were unequivocal: while circumstances for being poor may be different, only morally corrupt
people would willingly choose a vagrant lifestyle. That is why, even though in Anton Goremyka
and in Pereselentsy Grigorovich depicts an assortment of vagrant types whose reasons for
becoming vagrants were different, most of the vagrants act as antagonists. For example, the two
key vagrant characters in Anton Goremyka are Ermolai, who is the brother of the protagonist of
the story Anton, and Ermolai’s companion, Petrukha. The reason for Ermolai’s vagrancy can be
traced back to his brother Anton. The only literate person in the village, Anton helps other serfs
to write a petition letter to the landowners against the estate’s ruthless property manager
(upravliaiushchii) Nikita Fëdorych. After Nikita Fëdorych finds out about the letter, he retaliates
and sends Anton’s brother Ermolai to serve in the military. Within several years of service,
however, Ermolai deserts the military with his friend Petrukha, and both become rogues. Yet, it
was not just a tragic coincidence that turned the serf Ermolai into a rogue and a vagrant, since
139
Anton suggests that Ermolai was a drunkard who refused to work hard. Ermolai accepted his
new vocation and has no apparent qualms about his criminal existence. The term brodiaga that is
applied to him does not necessarily bear any legal connotation but is instead used as a marker of
the man’s dishonest nature. In fact, Ermolai’s sudden return to the village serves as a final blow
in for downfall of the protagonist Anton. As a vagrant, he stands in opposition to serfs that Anton
epitomizes alongside the manager Nikita Fëdorych who abuses his power and even the unjust
legal system.
In Grigorovich’s texts, the idea of imperfect brotherhood, as well as the diametric
difference between siblings, in which one is good and one is bad, is not unusual, and it is played
out again in Pereselentsy. The relationship between Lapsha and Filipp is almost identical to that
of Anton and Ermolai. Just as Ermolai is responsible for Anton’s imprisonment, vagrant Filipp in
Pereselentsy devastates Lapsha’s life. In fact, he is a decidedly antagonistic character, and all his
actions are driven purely by financial gains. Unlike the story of Ermolai in Anton Goremyka,
however, Filipp’s story is presented in much more detail. After his escape from prison, he
kidnaps his son Stëpka and begins to live as a tramp and a thief. Perhaps the only similarity
between the two brothers is their apparent disregard for physical or, rather, productive work.
Even though Lapsha does not steal or lie for a living as his brother does, the welfare of his family
and much of its financial stability rests almost entirely on his wife Katerina. This detail is
significant because it is a singular thing that attests to the biological relation between the two
brothers. Physically, in contrast, they appear unrelated: one is tall, scrawny, with thin, blond hair,
while the other, Filipp, has thick, dark, curly hair and a face that could be considered handsome.
These descriptive markers that on the one hand disunite the two brothers based on appearances
and at the same time point towards the differences in their characters, are dictated by the
140
authorial interest in physiognomy, which of course at the time was a very popular tool in
compartmentalizing criminals. Unsurprisingly, the novel contains the physiognomic description
that attests to the man’s nature and his lifestyle:
… лицо его, оканчивавшееся коротенькой, но густой бородкой, было бы красиво,
если б не портил его тот отвратительный болезненно-бурый цвет кожи, местами
покрытый свинцовыми оттенками, цвет, исключительно почти свойственный
бродягам, арестантам или людям, ведущим самую беспорядочную, неправильную
жизнь. Небольшие серые глаза, оттенённые жёсткими бровями со множеством
маленьких вихров (знак строптивого, беспокойного нрава), отличались
подвижностью, и если останавливались на одном предмете, то смотрели
невыразимо плутовато и бойко. Бойкость взгляда не совсем, однакож, отвечала
общему выражению физиономии: не было черты, которая обозначала бы
решимость, энергию; все в ней было как-то мелко, хоть правильно, и выказывало
природу в высшей степени порочную, хитрую, но лишённую настоящей отваги и
смелости. Голова его, приплюснутая с боков, отвесно почти срезанная на затылке,
была резко заострена на макушке . . . грязь, покрывавшая лапти незнакомца,
невольно заставила подозревать о случайной ходьбе, то есть такой, которая
вынуждала его оставлять бойные, всеми посещаемые дороги и пробираться
полями.
. . . his face, that finished with a short, but very thick beard, could have been beautiful, if
not for that ghastly and sickly-looking brown skin color, that was partially covered with
grey hues. Such a skin tone is almost exclusively inherent to vagabonds, prisoners or
people who lead the most disorderly and abnormal life. Small grey eyes, contrasted by
the bushy eyebrows with a multitude of tiny whorls (a sign of obstinate, impatient
temper), were distinguished by the swiftness of movement, and if these eyes did rest on
just one object, then they looked at it in an inexpressively roguish and brisk way. The
briskness of his gaze, however, did not entirely correspond to the general expression of
his face (fizionomii): in it, there was not one trait that would indicate his determination,
his energy; everything in it was somehow small, even if proper, and showed the most
vicious, cunning human nature, devoid of courage and bravery. His head, squished from
the sides, while endwise almost chamfered at the nape, was sharply pointed at the top . . .
dirt, which covered the bast shoes of the stranger, unwittingly forced one to suspect а
haphazard walking, the kind that forced him to leave main roads and wade through the
fields.
259
259
Grigorovich, Pereselentsy, (Mashinnyi fond russkogo iazyka),
http://az.lib.ru/g/grigorowich_d_w/text_1856_pereselentzy.shtml.
141
Describing Filipp in such a way, Grigorovich turns to physiognomy and phrenology, two
pseudo-sciences that were popular at the time. Greta Matzner-Gore notes that in the early 1840s,
The study of physiognomy and its offshoot, phrenology, were becoming increasingly
popular in Russia as well. With the help of the phrenologist’s chart, even the inner
workings of a person’s character (his intelligence, assertiveness, and capacity for love)
became externally visible to the empirical observer of his skull shape and size.
260
Although phrenology may have been considered more scientific, at times it was used together
with or as an extension of physiognomy, all in order to gain, as Kamila Pawlikowska aptly puts
it, “knowledge encoded in readable flesh.”
261
Potentially, such details could help readers identify
or at least suspect early on the true nature of fictional characters. To make the descriptions of his
characters appear more scientific, Grigorovich even names the most renowned expert of
physiognomy, Johann Caspar Lavater, when he describes the character of a landowner Sergei
Vasil’evich Belitsyn. The fact that Belitsyn is a positive character and Filipp is not, however,
could be discerned without additional “scientific” support. So, why does Grigorovich appeal to
phrenology and physiognomy, and what does his engagement with these theories reveal?
According to Pawlikowska, both physiognomy and phrenology reached Russia from the
West through Aleksandr Radishchev and Nikolai Karamzin, but it saw an increase in popularity
among men-of-letters about fifty years later. Predictably, these pseudo-sciences did not fail to
impress the Russian public, as they possessed all the necessary ingredients to do so: one simply
needed to read a book or two on the subject to become well-qualified to compartmentalize
260
Greta Matzner-Gore, “Dmitry Grigorovich and the Limits of Empiricism,” The
Russian Review, Vol. 77, Issue 3. July 2019, 360.
261
Kamila Pawlikowska, “Introduction.” Anti-Portraits: Poetics of the Face in Modern
English, Polish and Russian Literature (1835-1965), (Brill Rodopi: Leiden, Boston. 2015), 1.
142
different types of people and make “learned” judgments on virtues and mental capabilities of
individuals, various groups of people, and even whole human races. Pawlikowska suggests that
the impact of these studies on Russian culture was quite tangible. She says:
Since the publication of Fragmente,
262
the face has been perceived (more readily than
earlier) as a shortcut to character. The “face” and the “person” came to be regarded as a
fixed binary structure. Late eighteenth- and nineteenth- century novelists frequently
replaced the word “face” with “physiognomy”, and in this way coerced the readers into
physiognomic practice. Likewise, literary critics who have used “physiognomy” and
“face” interchangeably (now and in the past), have encouraged an assumption that
fictional faces, like real ones, are physiognomically articulate. In this way, authors of
fiction and criticism have created a ‘cultural influence’ which invisibly determined “the
assumptions about the mind, the body and the universe”, and which Gunnar Myrdal aptly
termed a “cultural fog.”
263
Though it is true that the description of Filipp does not divulge any particularly insightful
information about his character, apart from enhancing his overall portrait, it is also true that such
descriptions suggest that it is possible to classify men by merely assessing their physical traits.
Notably, Grigorovich linked phrenology and criminality much earlier than Cesare Lombroso,
who famously linked physical traits and the shape of the human skull to criminal behavior. On
the other hand, this distinction, if not discrimination, between good and bad serfs allowed
Grigorovich to present a more diversified world of the poor. Most importantly, however,
phrenology and physiognomy were convenient narrative devices, as they eliminated the need for
motivation of actions. Thus, Filipp’s crimes can all be explained by his innate wickedness and
greed, rather than for instance, love, revenge, or a higher end goal. He can act as a catalytic force
that drives events forward as a secondary character, without having a compelling story.
262
The author refers to Johann Caspar Lavater’s work entitled Physiognomische
Fragmente (1775-78).
263
Pawlikowska, 13.
143
Vagrancy further enhances Filipp’s character. First, it allows the character to appear and
disappear at any moment; in fact, his presence in the moment is minimal, whereas the anxiety of
his presence looms throughout the text. Secondly, his mischief is intensified by his state of
vagrancy and rootlessness in a novel, which distinctly favors family and belonging. Filipp is not
simply a vagrant himself, however, but he is the one who recruits, both directly and indirectly,
his family members into vagrancy. Thus, for example, he teaches Stëpka criminal trade and, by
the end of the novel, Stëpka even supersedes his father in cruelty. Being well-aware of his
brother’s injudiciousness and, above all else, dire economic situation, Filipp sends a gang of
vagrants to Lapsha to buy Petia. Instead of giving Lapsha the money, however, vagrants take
Petia and chase his father away. By selling Petia into vagrancy, both Filipp and Lapsha betray
their family and are later punished for it. The punishment for these transgressions is very grave:
On the way home, Lapsha falls into a ravine and injures his chest. After many agonizing months
of pain and suffering in a new place to which he and his family emigrated, he dies four hundred
versts away from his home and his family as if he were a vagrant. Filipp and his son, on the other
hand, are caught and sent to Siberia yet again. Thus, in his novel vagrancy acts as a debilitating
and quickly-spreading force that leads to the collapse of those who succumb to it in different
ways.
The limitation of these ideas lies in the fact that no amount of personal experience can
change one for the better or for worse. In the novel, ideas naturally affect character development
in a narrative. By the end of the novel, only the Belitsyns and the rich fop Kariakin change some
of their opinions for the better. The rest of the characters, all of whom are serfs and vagrants, are
left virtually unchanged despite all their troubles and tribulations. For example, after months of
wandering with the vagrants, family-loving Petia never accepts the illicit life-style; Petia’s father
144
Lapsha remains true to his character even after he unsuccessfully sells his son to vagrants; old
man Mizgir’ cannot help but accumulate more money; even after losing everyone, the blind man
Fufaev refuses to trade his peripatetic life for a settled life in a village. Thus, the text does not
simply indulge in an idea that certain physical features can be used to determine a character of
people, but it suggests that character is predetermined and can hardly change with time. And
since an asymmetrical skull that is “squished from the sides” is an indicator of inborn
immorality, redemption or improvement of character is impossible. A social aspect is also
relevant here, since the people of the lower classes are denied character growth even if their
experiences in the novel are greater. With vagrant types, Grigorovich inadvertently creates
stereotypes, which he then also reinforces by interpolating these types in his other works. By
doing that, in turn, he also helps shape social attitudes towards the vagrant poor.
However, while representation of human types was, undeniably, affected by the
concurrent scientific trends in society, by the mid 1850s such representations were largely
viewed as outmoded. As Matzner-Gore argues, Grigorovich was aware of the limitations of
empiricism in novelistic representations even though he was unable to find new approaches to
writing.
264
What is more, by the 1860s, the intellectual community around him largely dismissed
empirical style, and some even “labeled Grigorovich a chief offender” who could produce
“’daguerreotype-like verity’” but lacked depth.
265
At the same time, this insistence on creating
types could be explained by the virtual absence of information about the vagrant poor on the one
hand, and the lack of proximity that Grigorovich had to vagrant communities on the other.
Types, therefore, served an important purpose: they allowed Grigorovich to translate brief
264
Matzner-Gore, 361.
265
Ibid, 373.
145
observations into long-lasting models and then use these models in his work, which make strong
points about human nature and society. Notably, although typecasting initially served to
introduce people of different professions, races, social classes, or nationalities to the reading
public, it could be also used to segregate people or groups based on these factors alone. In fact, it
Grigorovich’s portrayal of vagrants suggest vagrants should be imprisoned. Moreover, because
empirical language helped veil Grigorovich’s nodding acquittance with the subject-matter, social
‘types’ allowed him to depict Russian society according to already-made templates, and thus
render further observations moot.
Social Types
What also made an impact on the novel was the author’s tendency to present types rather
than individuals, a tendency that harkens back to the early stages of his career as a writer of
physiological sketches. The presentation of types necessitated both the abundance of information
and the simplified statements made from processing the collected material. The majority of
general assumptions that helped create a seemingly realistic image of vagrants can be seen in the
traits with which Grigorovich endowed Verstan and his fellows. As the social types the author
seems to have considered to be aberrant and parasitic in nature, the three peripatetic men and two
boys satisfied the majority of stereotypical beliefs that most educated people must have had
about vagrants at the time. According to such suppositions, vagrants feigned disability, possessed
their own special cant, kidnapped children, and could easily steal from or even murder someone.
In Grigorovich’s Pereselentsy, for example, Verstan and Mizgir’ feign blindness and beg
for alms together with Fufaev, who is actually a blind man. Fufaev is aware of the scheme, and
in a conversation with Filipp insinuates that Verstan and Mizgir’ have “selective” sight:
146
Экой ты, братец! — воскликнул Фуфаев, — видит-то он лучше быть нельзя! брось
полушку на траву — его будет, уж это беспременно!.. А все без вожака все нельзя
никак. Ну, кто буде его по деревням-то водить?.. ведь уж такая напасть на него:
покажись только околица - сейчас ослепнет! Ей-богу, так!.. Вот дядя Мизгирь, так
тот ещё за версту от околицы ничего уж не видит; сердечный, совсем слепой
сделается.
Ain’t you something else, brother! — exclaimed Fufaev, — he sees better than can be.
Throw a halfpence in the grass — it will be his, that’s for sure!... But without a guide it is
decidedly impossible. Well, who will bring him around villages?... After all, he has such
an affliction: just as the outskirts appear, he immediately goes blind! I swear to God!...
Uncle Mizgir’, he doesn’t see anything already half a mile before the outskirts; poor
wretch becomes completely blind.
266
In order for the scheme to work, Verstan needs a child who can pretend to guide him and as such
complete the visual effects of Verstan’s cunning act.
Illarion Prianishnikov, Kaliki Perekhozhie (1870)
267
266
Dmitrii Grigorovich, Pereselentsy.
267
Illarion Prianishnikov, Kaliki Perekhozhie (1870). Accessed online:
http://vsdn.ru/museum/catalogue/exhibit6865.htm.
147
Nikolai Iaroshenkо, Sleptsy (The Blind) (1879)
268
In the nineteenth century, children were used as guides for blind wanderers frequently, so
much so that they appeared in Illarion Prianishnikov’s painting Kaliki Perekhozhie (1870),
Nikolai Iaroshenko’s Sleptsy (The Blind) (1879), and Pëtr Sokolov’s Nishchie Stranniki
(Wanderers) (1872). In light of the virtual absence of any child protection laws, these artworks
likely aimed to raise public awareness of this social issue. In Pereselentsy, Grigorovich puts the
responsibility for children’s suffering on the families of the children rather than on the economic
and social disparity in the country. Hence, even though Petia is kidnapped, it is his father and
uncle who are responsible for the crime. Misha, on the other hand, was given away to vagrants
by his family voluntarily. The boy says,
А меня так отдали, — проговорил Миша с детским простодушием, — мачеха
отдала; отца уговорила — он послушал да и отдал... То-то житье-то было худое!
хуже, кажись, здешнего! - подхватил он, потряхивая головою, — мой по крайности,
вот слепой-то, видел?.. этот хоть не дерётся, смирен; а мачеха-то, бывало, нет
такого дня, чтоб не прибила. Раз так кулаком вот сюда, в грудь, ударила... до сих
пор больно...
269
268
Nikolai Iaroshenko, Sleptsy (The Blind) (1879). Accessed online:
https://regnum.ru/pictures/2355791/42.html.
269
Dmitrii Grigorovich, Pereselentsy.
148
“And I was just given away,” said Misha with childish innocence, “my stepmother gave
me away. She persuaded my father, and he listened to her and gave me away. . . But my
life was bad! Worse, it seems, than here! —He continued, shaking his head, — at least
my blind one, have you seen? He at least does not fight, he is not violent; but my
stepmother, there wasn’t a single day she didn’t hit me. One time she hit me with a fist
here, in the chest, she hit ... it still hurts ...
Grigorovich did not find many possible justifications for vagrancy. He portrayed child vagrancy
an abhorrent phenomenon that corrupted children, potentially debilitated their senses of morality,
and prevented them from learning the value of work and becoming productive members of
peasant society. One of the children irreversibly affected by vagrancy is Fillip’s son Stëpka.
After several years of wandering with his roguish father, he becomes almost completely inhuman
and merciless. Little Misha, on the other hand, is a positive character who was given up into
vagrancy but cannot integrate well into it, and thus must succumb to his illness and die of
exhaustion on the road.
Who deserves to reap the fruits of serfs’ labor?
For the vagrant community in the novel, children mean higher earnings. When the group
approaches a village, they split and ask for alms individually by singing lament songs. Singing
these songs was a traditional practice of blind wanderers. Taken from Russian folklore, some
songs evidently referred to biblical themes. Such practice of peripatetic singing of songs received
a name — “to sing Lazarus” (“pet’ Lazaria”), — a phrase that connoted one’s excessive
lamentation and complaining about dreadful life circumstances. The phrase stems from the
biblical story found in the Gospel of Luke (16:19-31), which speaks of the poor man Lazarus
who lived in dire poverty on the steps of a rich man’s house and was also plagued by sores. After
149
both Lazarus and the rich man die, however, poor Lazarus ascends to be with Abraham in
Heaven and the rich man descends to Hell, where he is subjected to eternal torment. When the
rich man asks Abraham to allow Lazarus to give him some water, Abraham denies this request
and reminds him of the past, in which the rich man had everything, and Lazarus had nothing.
This story was evidently popular in Russia, since it was reworked into a spiritual song.
270
In the song the two men are not unrelated, but instead are represented as two blood brothers and
each other’s doubles, as they are even named identically. After multiple unrequited pleas for
food and clothes, the younger and deprived brother asks God to bring death upon both him and
his brother and then punish the rich brother, so he, the poor one, can finally rejoice: “chto b moia
dushen’ka potsarstvovala” (“So my own soul could reign for a while”).
271
Forcing the idea of
brotherhood onto these two men curtails the distance between the rich and the poor and binds
them with additional responsibilities for each other. Breaking these familial bonds becomes
particularly outrageous and inhumane. In fact, as Nikolai Fëdorov notes in his article “Nedelia o
Lazare” (“Lazarus’ Week”) the idea that the rich man treats the poor man cruelly is somehow
less cruel when compared to the reversal of the rich man’s fortune, in which the poor man in the
biblical text remains unmoved by the rich man’s cries for mercy: “Если в нашем грешном мире
хотя немногие крупицы от богачей доходят до бедняков, то в ‘другом’ мире от Лазарей до
бывших богачей не доходит и одной капли студёной воды” (“If in our sinful world at least a
270
This verbal coinage (pet’ Lazaria) appears in numerous works written in the 1850s
and 1860s and figures in Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons, Dostoevskii’s Crime and Punishment,
Iakushkin’s Muzhitskii god, Leskov’s Bozhedomy. The story of the rich Lazarus is brought up in
Gleb Uspenskii’s “Nikitich” (in Storona nasha ubogaiai) and Saltykov-Shchedrin Satiry v proze,
among many other works.
271
I am using the rendition of the spiritual song found in: “Dukhovnye stikhi: “O
strashnom sude,” “Voznesenie,” “O dvukh brat’iakh Lazariakh”.” Slovo o Volgogradskom krae:
za tremie volokami. Sost. S. Iu. Baranov, (Vologda, 2003), 64-71.
https://www.booksite.ru/fulltext/slo/voo/vol/ogde/2.htm#16.
150
few crumbs from the wealthy reach the poor, in the ‘other’ world not even a drop of cold water
from Lazaruses will reach those who used to be rich.”)
272
Both biblical story and even more so
the spiritual song offer an important lesson in Russian culture that poverty and charity are a sure
way of succeeding in the afterlife. Yet, when applied to Grigorovich’s nineteenth-century-
educated thinking, the relationship between the poor and the rich becomes much more
complicated.
As evident in both Anton Goremyka and Pereselentsy, Grigorovich viewed vagrants as
antipodes of the Russian serfs. Setting brodiagi against impoverished and overworked peasants,
the writer seemingly attempted to discredit the former in the eyes of his readership, generally
portraying vagrants as shameless liars, thieves, and murderers, who neither respect nor pity the
Russian serfs, but who do not mind living off the serfs’ hard work. Incidentally, the majority of
the landowners were guilty of the same thing. In fact, idle and rootless, vagrants could easily be
compared with the Russian nobility, which at the time was perceived by some as both idle and
wasteful — an image that was immortalized by Ivan Goncharov in Oblomov in 1859. Brodiagi,
on the other hand, allowed Grigorovich to divert the attention from the aristocrats’ responsibility
for the serfs’ plight and place part of the blame on the underserving vagrant poor.
Even though landowners and vagrants are comparable, and the two social classes do not
usually intermingle, a few very brief interactions between members of Verstan’s group and the
Belitsyns still reveal a disparity in thinking of the two groups and the complete lack of
understanding between them. For example, after their brief exchange with Belitsyn, a blind
vagrant Fufaev becomes irritated with the rich man’s pathetic advice, whereas Belitsyn hastily
272
Nikolai Fëdorov. “Nedelia o Lazare.” Published online:
http://dugward.ru/library/fedorov/fedorov_relig.html#nedel.
151
gives alms to vagrants so to avoid their company. Yet, the plot of Pereselentsy, as the title
suggests, centers on the lives of the peasant family rather than on vagrants or landlords. In fact, it
is peasants, such as Lapsha’s entire family, for instance, who suffer the most from vagrants’
greed and mischief. As such, the idea behind the folk song about the two Lazaruses becomes
obsolete, since a third figure, that of a peasant, enters the cultural scene and begins to play the
role of an intermediary, who on the one hand mediates the relationship between the rich
landowners and the destitute vagrants (mostly by keeping them away from each other), and on
the other supports both of them economically. In other words, if in the story of Lazarus the
mendicant received his breadcrumbs directly from the table of the rich, in Imperial Russia both
the homeless beggar and the rich man received their victuals from the table of an exhausted serf.
This similarity and in some sense even an erasure of the distinction between vagrants and
aristocrats can be stretched even beyond the sources of income for the two types. There are
several definite traits that can equally be applied to both groups. For instance, the idea of
separation from the people (otorvannost’) can be used to describe both the noble class and the
vagrants in equal measure. While it may be true that vagrants had a much closer relationship to
narod than did the Saint Petersburg noblemen due to their poverty, theoretically speaking,
vagrants could be seen as foils of noblemen rather that the serfs. Although both vagrants and
noblemen depended on the yields of harvests, they were not necessarily preoccupied about it.
Besides, both vagrants and noblemen could travel even if to various degrees, which still was an
unthinkable luxury for the majority of serfs.
Another uniting parallel can be found in the language and its incomprehensibility. While
it is possible that some vagrant jargon words existed, the idea that vagrants had their own cant is
merely a literary construct. The vast Russian Empire had numerous dialects and even languages
152
that at times could hinder mutual comprehension of its citizens. Writers of the nineteenth
century, especially those who wanted to recover Russia’s cultural heritage, had a keen interest in
these dialects. It is likely that at the time Grigorovich was writing his novel, all non-literary and
non-standardized Russian sounded exotic, exciting, and, most importantly, innately Russian to an
educated ear; moreover, a still nascent interest in Russian folklore and dialects went along with a
contemporary trend of demarcating lower and upper classes through speech in pursuit of
verisimilitude, as representing peasant and noble speech patterns as identical was less and less
acceptable in the Russian literature. Like many Russian intellectuals of his time, including
Vladimir Dal’ and Ivan Turgenev, Grigorovich engaged with this trend and included a few
dialecticisms in his works. In Pereselentsy, as if to educate his readers, he included in-text
commentaries to define some of them and perhaps also make his work sound more authentic and
its author more knowledgeable of the subject. The following authorial explanatory note, for
example, states:
Щадни — гости, на условном языке тульских и рязанских нищих, которые как бы
составляют одну семью. Здесь, разумеется, исключительно говорится о нищих по
ремеслу. Мы не долго будем пользоваться терпением читателя и приведём только
несколько образчиков этого языка, бог весть откуда взявшегося и кем созданного.
Shchadni – are guests that in the conventional language of paupers from Tula and
Ryazan’, in some way, constitute one family. The poor that are considered here, of
course, are the ones who made poverty into their profession. We are not going to exhaust
the patience of the reader and will provide just a few more examples from the language,
which came from God knows where and was created by God knows whom.
273
Whether or not actual beggars and vagrants used a professional jargon remains a mystery.
Such explanatory footnotes, however, were not unique to Grigorovich’s descriptions of
273
Ibid, Pereselentsy, glava 5, “Priton.”
153
vagrants. On the contrary, he employed this device in his earlier novel Rybaki (Fishermen),
published in 1853. According to Matzner-Gore, such footnotes contributed “to the air of
ethnographic accuracy” of the novel.
274
Seemingly, however, the writer makes a minimal effort
in representing the vernacular since, as the footnote suggests, the readers are spared from
struggling with too many alien manifestations of the Russian language. This narrator’s remark
muddies the verisimilitude of the novel: on the one hand this remark lays bare the device by
acknowledging that the text has been edited for the sake of the reader; on the other, it
overemphasizes the truthfulness of the story, since the narrator was transparent about his
modifications of the vagrant cant. Another reason to include this note was more pragmatic, as it
allowed the author to spotlight the unbelonging of vagrants and their language to the main
Russian community and once again suggest to readers not to trust them. Notably, the word he
uses denotes a community of the vagrant poor, which in and of itself adds weight to their
existence as a kind of menacing anti-society, the language of which can be deciphered by the
select few.
It is fair to say that average Russian noblemen could find it hard to understand diverse
Russian dialects sometimes even belonging to their own serfs, let alone a surreptitious cant used
by some criminals. At the same time, even though Russian serfs might have found it difficult to
comprehend a vagrant who spoke a different Slavic language, for instance Ukrainian or
Belarussian, they certainly struggled even more to understand French, which was for a long time
the preferred language of the Russian noblemen. Yet, while a specific vagrancy cant could hardly
evolve beyond a few jargon words, the use of French by noblemen was a historical fact and the
274
Matzner-Gore, 370.
154
misunderstandings as well as their appearance in the novel were widespread.
275
In Pereselentsy,
Grigorovich addresses this issue also on more than one occasion:
—А! вот посмотри, Alexandrine, посмотри... — заговорил он опять по-французски и
указал жене на старого управителя, который дожидался подле ворот, — вот наш
старый, добрый наш Герасим...
— Tiens, quel drole de nom: Karassin! Karassin! — произнесла француженка,
раскрывая удивлённые глаза. Помещик, его жена и даже дочка засмеялись; но
мысль, что смех может быть растолкован окружающими в обидную сторону,
возвратила тотчас же на лица супругов спокойное выражение.
“Ah! Look, Alexandrine, look…” — he spoke in French again and pointed his wife to the
old estate manager, who was waiting at the gate, — “here is our good old Gerasim.”
“Tiens, quel drole de nom: Karassin! Karassin!” - said the Frenchwoman, opening her
surprised eyes widely. The landowner, his wife, and even his daughter laughed; but the
thought that their laughter could be interpreted by others as something offensive
immediately restored on the faces of the spouses a calm expression.
In other words, Grigorovich gestures towards the fact that the languages of two social groups
differ from the language used by the Russian narod, and as such he juxtaposes vagrants and
noblemen. However, by including innocent and endearing misunderstandings in French, he
makes a qualitative judgement in favor of the nobles. As a result, Grigorovich seems to place
more blame for the struggles of the poor peasants onto vagrants and other so-called undeserving
poor than on the noblemen, whose claim to their serfs’ labor may not be fully justified, but which
is nevertheless legitimate. Vagrants, therefore, allow Grigorovich to compare the two evils
responsible for the plight of the Russian narod and, to some extent, even to re-assign blame for
poverty on the vagrant poor.
Even though it is generally accepted that the Russian intelligentsia in the nineteenth
275
See, for instance, my comments on the word “koneser” in Leskov’s The Enchanted
Wanderer.
155
century was preoccupied with the troubles of the narod, the fact that the ruling classes were still
unprepared to lose their free labor force should not be discounted. In fact, Pereselentsy reveals
this anxiety, which seeks to champion the hard-working yet maltreated serfs and yet shows
reservation in putting the blame on the nobility. Instead, the novel takes a path of didacticism and
reminds the reading public of the value of traditions and domesticity, urging them to take better
care or their serfs. What it more, the novel points at a different illegitimate community that takes
advantage of the serfs and that must be curbed. By finding another scapegoat to blame for the
serfs’ sufferings, Grigorovich theoretically reduced the burden of moral responsibility that the
intelligentsia placed upon the upper classes (or, essentially, upon themselves) at a time when
society was preparing for major social changes. As if to overstate vagrants’ responsibility,
Grigorovich portrays them as culpable for enslavement. Before Verstan kidnaps Petia, for
example, he makes Lapsha obtain a travel document for the boy and later uses the document as
leverage: Verstan presents it to Vasilii and proves his right to keep the boy as his guide. In a
way, Verstan finds a semi-legal way of becoming a slave owner, and at the same time he has no
legal obligations to treat him well. This particular episode shows how easy it was to enslave
somebody in Russia and at the same time highlights the immorality of the vagrant communities:
they enslaved a child who, incidentally, was already Belitsyn’s serf.
This bewilderment over the proliferating social parasitism was further exacerbated by yet
another myth represented in the novel — the idea that vagrants were anything but financially
deprived. In the eyes of the nobility, which often had to feign financial stability just to keep
appearances, pretending to be poor for profit was considered disgraceful, and greedy types, such
as Gogol’s Pliushkin in Dead Souls or Balzac’s Gopseck, were scorned. In Anton Goremyka, for
example, this role is occupied by Arkharovna. Even though the old woman is not actually a
156
vagrant, her lifestyle certainly points to vagrancy: she walks long distances from house to house,
begs for food and money, and collects beyond what she actually needs to survive. When her
dishonesty is discovered and her status shifts from deserving to undeserving poor, she loses her
temper and further reveals her true nature. In Pereselentsy, the miser is Mizgir’. He does not
indulge in anything he evidently enjoys, such as drinking, and leads a life of complete
deprivation in order to save money. His aimless parsimony brings his downfall: his companion
Verstan kills him for the money. Remarkably, Mizgir’ has an unlikely counterpart. While the
beggar never spends the money that he procured overtime, the landowner Belitsyn does exactly
the opposite and spends far beyond his means without any particular good reason or justification
in mind.
Unlike Mizgir’, Belitsyn is mostly redeemed at the end of the novel. Despite the hard
work of Belitsyn’s wife Aleksandra in managing the estate and, therefore, leading her family in
the right direction, the metamorphosis of the landowners is not completely successful. Even
though the Belitsyns seemingly reevaluated their life choice and made important adjustments,
they still leave their estate for the winter and go to Saint Petersburg, thus never fully abandoning
their former living habits.
Domesticity
The comparison between vagrants and aristocrats is not altogether arbitrary. American
journalist Josiah Flynt, for example, ends his assessment of vagrancy in Russia in his Tramping
with Tramps: Studies and Sketches of Vagabond Life (1899) by quoting an unnamed Russian
prince who believed that vagabondage in Russia could not be alleviated due to the national
character of its people, which in turn was determined by the imperialist system:
157
We are all beggars, every mother’s son of us. The aristocrat begs a smile of the czar, and
others ask for honors, positions, decorations, subsidies, and pensions, and it is these
beggars who are the most persistent of all Russia is the land of na chai [“for tea,” like
pour boire in French and Trinkgeld in German], and no laws or imperial ukase will ever
make it any different.
276
The prince’s assessment can easily be extended to the Russian landowners who did not live on
their estates and neglected their duties. Such landowners, therefore, could be equated with
rootless vagrants who willingly rejected their origins.
This parallel between brodiagi and landowners is particularly striking in Pereselentsy.
Extoling the importance of family and the responsibility all landowners have to their serfs, the
author finishes the novel on a high note — an idyllic ending that is achieved by the timely return
of the landowners Belitsyns to their estate and the homecoming of the vagrant boy Petia to his
family. This emphasis on “settled-ness” or “belonging” to an exact familial place — the
sentiment he shared with Sergei Aksakov, Ivan Goncharov, and Ivan Turgenev who were
attached to the notion of “dvorianskoe gnezdo” (literally “a noble nest”) — becomes quite
palpable in both “Bobyl’” and “Derevnia.” The bad type of brodiagi, as Grigorovich presents
them, are not the victims of unfortunate circumstances, but those who choose the itinerant life
voluntarily. What exonerates Petia, little Misha, or the old man in “Bobyl’,” as those who fall
into vagrancy because of bad luck, is that they long for or seek out domesticity and belonging
and do not slip into an everlasting wandering.
277
The authorial preference for familial belonging and stasis, rather than an escape into the
276
Josiah Flynt, Tramping with Tramps: Studies and Sketches of Vagabond Life, (San
Bernardino (CA), 2018).
277
The theme of child vagrancy and the benefits of domesticity will again be developed
in 1901 by Aleksei Svirskii in his book for children “Ryzhik.”
158
world of wandering or a simple detachment from one’s origin is manifest. Ermolai in Anton
Goremyka and Filipp in Pereselentsy, for example, are both fugitives who cannot openly come
back to their families. Even though they still return to their villages, they do so not to reestablish
their connection with their family members but to terrorize them. They lose a connection with
their communities, and because of their mischief, cannot be reintegrated in them. In both novels,
these men are apprehended by the authorities and sent to Siberia.
In fact, a pattern can be discerned in in Grigorovich’s works: the roguish vagrant
characters who defy the norms of the society by willingly abandoning their families are usually
removed from these communities for good (Ermolai, Filipp); alternatively, characters like little
Misha in Pereselentsy, the old man in “Bobyl’,” and even Lapsha, all of whom can neither
accept vagrancy as a way of life nor find a home and reintegrate into their community, usually
die outside its boundaries, far away from their homes. Yet, if the rogues’ exile is presented as
just punishment, the deaths of Lapsha, Misha, and the old men are represented as the release
from suffering as well as the only possible solution for those who occupy a liminal position. In
contrast, even though the noble Belitsyns are equally scrutinized in Pereselentsy for neglecting
their familial estate, they do not die or get arrested. They gradually reclaim their heritage instead,
and as the result of their transformation, reach true equilibrium in their lives. The Belitsyns,
therefore, serve as exemplars for the reading public, who by the virtue of this novel are urged to
reevaluate their own relationship with the serfs and their estates. Domesticity and belonging, as
the novel Pereselentsy demonstrates, are key to living a fulfilling life.
There is, however, one character in the novel who evades the same clear-cut resolutions.
Vagrant Fufaev neither dies nor is sent away to Siberia. As such, he may seem like an outlier,
even though he is not. Instead, he is considered to be a deserving poor because his blindness is
159
real. Unlike able-bodied individuals who must uphold, or at least long for familial values and
laws of domesticity, Fufaev has the moral right to wander and ask for alms. Moreover, he is also
endowed with other positive traits, such as empathy and kindness. Interestingly, both the
freedom-loving vagrant Fufaev and the nobles who had previously forsaken their responsibilities
only partially transform or redeem themselves. By the logic of the novel, the transformation can
be realized through a completely settled way of life. Even though Fufaev refuses to live in the
village permanently, he nevertheless begins to frequent the place, thereby establishing a kind of
safe haven for himself and once again defending his positive character.
* * *
By and large both vagrants and nobles are represented in a negative light, and it is only
through wanting to belong to a particular place and community that they can reclaim their
humanity and lead honest lives. As the text shows, any exposure to vagrancy can make a long-
lasting impact on character. In the conclusion of the novel the narrator comes back to Petia:
Добрые начала, посеянные в нем матерью, были так прочны, что в душе его не
осталось следа от бродячей жизни: он вынес из неё только рассказы, и в досужее
время стоило появиться где-нибудь Пете, чтоб тотчас же составилась вокруг него
толпа жадных слушателей.
The goodness that his mother planted in him was so solid that in his soul there was not
even a trace of the vagrant life: he took from it only the tales, and during leisure time
when Petia would appear somewhere he would be encircled by a group of greedy
listeners at once.
278
The text exonerates Petia of his prior vagabondage. Like Fufaev, Petia and his friend Misha are
278
Ibid, 702.
160
not at fault for their wandering. Whereas Misha is not suited for a vagrant lifestyle and therefore
must die to preserve his innocence and goodness, Petia survives because the bond between him
and his mother is strong, and he is determined to return to her. Yet, because the narrator notes the
boy’s ability to tell stories, a trait with which Grigorovich evidently endowed all vagrants, it
becomes clear that vagrancy still left a mark on Petia. Yet, because of his tumultuous peripatetic
past, he also learned to appreciate the value of family.
Grigorovich strove to depict vagrancy as a complex phenomenon that needed to be
addressed. On the one hand, he created and promoted the image of seasoned brodiagi as men of
no morals, who would easily betray their families, abuse children, steal, and even kill their
companions. On the other hand, the writer acknowledged that some people fell into vagrancy
because of inadequate laws and general insensibility of the people. As I have tried to show,
however, the tropes and motifs that Grigorovich employs in his writings inadvertently highlight a
paradoxical similitude between vagrants and nobles, which suggests that vagrants and nobles
rely on serfs for sustenance. Conversely, because Grigorovich appeals to phrenology and
physiognomy to support the idea that some people have an inborn ill nature and cannot be
redeemed, he creates a cultural precedent, in which vagrant poor, many of whom were serfs
themselves, share the most responsibility for the suffering of the Russian narod.
161
Chapter 5
Self-Serving Patriotism and the Limits of Social Critique
in Nikolai Leskov’s The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Works
In 1894, Nikolai Leskov wrote a curious editorial piece entitled “Vdokhnovennye brodiagi”
(“The inspired vagrants”), in which he describes “the tales of the daredevils” (“udaletskie
skaski”). Unlike skazki (fairytales), udaletskie skaski were non-fictional oral and written genre
that was once produced by pilgrims, travelers, wanderers, some of whom may have been
undocumented. The title of Leskov’s article is evidently sarcastic because, as Leskov maintains,
it was not inspiration that moved these persons to create literature, but rather pure greed. Leskov
argued that the authors of such works had used literature as a tactic for finding gullible
benefactors — noblemen and even monarchs — from whom they then solicited money or asked
for help to remedy their legal situation. Literature therefore became a tool capable of redeeming
criminals from various offences, including that of vagrancy, which in Imperial Russia was
considered a serious crime.
Remarkably, one of the individuals whom the author so vehemently criticized in this
essay and whom he considered nothing but a lawless vagabond had found his way into Leskov’s
own novel (povest’) “Ocharovannyi strannik” (The Enchanted Wanderer) (1873) and served as a
source of inspiration for the novel’s protagonist, Ivan Fliagin. This was a townsman
(meshchanin) by the name of Vasil’ Baranshchikov whose travels were preserved in the book
Neshchastnye prikliucheniia Vasi’ia Baranshchikova, meshchanina Nizhenego Novgoroda, v
trëkh chastiakh sveta: V Amerike, Azii i Evrope s 1780 po 1787 g. (The Unfortunate Adventures
of Vasil’ Baranshchikov, the Townsman of Nizhnii Novgorod in Three Parts of the World:
America Asia and Europe from 1780 to 1787), first published in 1787. Paradoxically, despite
162
many similarities with Baranshchikov, Fliagin is portrayed in such a positive light that literary
scholars compare Ivan Fliagin to Il'ia Muromets and regard him as a patriot, a devout Orthodox
Christian, and a truly Russian person, who is strong, daring and for the most part, just. More
recently, Olga Maiorova and Andrey M. Ranchin proposed different approaches to discussing the
novel. Engaging and extending the arguments proposed by Maiorova, Ranchin, for example,
considers the novel with reference to the canon of hagiographical codes and finds the protagonist
to be simultaneously a hero and an antihero. In doing so, both researchers question the
unanimously positive interpretation of Fliagin’s character, particularly within the religious
context.
279
Considering the harshness of vagrancy laws in nineteenth-century Russia, the
characterization of runaway serf Fliagin solely as a religious wanderer becomes problematic.
The aim of this paper is therefore threefold. First, it is important to demonstrate that
Fliagin’s social status is directly related to vagabondage, as opposed to religious or Romantic
wandering (strannichestvo). Second, looking at the problems through the prism of vagrancy, I
challenge Alexander Etkind’s interpretation of The Enchanted Wanderer, in which he essentially
views Fliagin as a serf with agency, a phenomenon that in Etkind’s view can exist within the
realm of self-colonizing Imperial Russia. Instead, I argue that Fliagin is a masterfully constructed
character that encompasses the authorial perception of the Russian serfs as devoted supporters of
Tsarism. Third, I discuss Leskov as an imperial agent, who by means of literature denies others
279
Andrey M. Ranchin, “Transformations of the Hagiographic Code in The Enchanted
Wanderer and the Principle of Ambivalence in the Poetics of Nikolai Leskov,” Slovene, 2017
(N.2); Olga Maiorova, “Opyt reinterpretatsii ‘Ocharovannogo strannika’ N. S. Leskova,”
Russko-frantsuzskii razgovornik, ili / ou Les Causeries du 7 Septembre: Sbornik statei v chest’ V.
A. Mil’chinoi, E. Liamina, O. Lekmanov (eds.), (Moskva, 2015), 352-63.
163
legal and social representation and thus contributes to the marginalization process of vagrant
communities.
The Genealogy of the Protagonist
Leskov was a master of reworking the stories he encountered in real life and in literature.
In his letter to P. K. Shebal’skii, he writes:
У меня есть наблюдательность и, может быть, есть некоторая способность
анализировать чувства и побуждения, но у меня мало фантазии. Я выдумываю
тяжело и трудно, и потому я всегда нуждался в живых лицах, которые могли меня
заинтересовать своим духовным содержанием. Они мною овладевали, и я старался
воплощать их в рассказах, в основу которых тоже весьма часто клал
действительное событие.
I am very observant, and maybe I also have an ability to analyze feelings and
motivations, but I have little imagination. I invent things with great difficulty, and that is
why I always needed real faces, which could interest me because of their spiritual
content. They took possession of me, and I tried to represent them in my stories, which I
oftentimes also based on real events.
280
In fact, as is evident from numerous studies produced on the subject, Leskov used various
resources in creating his novel The Enchanted Wanderer, and this is what makes the novel’s
genome so highly complex. For example, Leskov’s original title for the novel, “Chernozemnyi
Telemakh” (“A Black-Soil Telemachus”), immediately suggests a connection with François
Fé nelon’s The Adventures of Telemachus, in which the protagonist goes on a journey to find his
father.
281
Yet, while the Western European source may have informed the author, the main
objective of this work seems to lie in the representations to Russian life with its distinct history
280
Nikolai Leskov, “Avtorskoe priznanie: Otkrytoe pis’mo k P. K. Shebal’skomu”
(1884). Perepiska. (Litres. 2016), https://www.litres.ru/nikolay-leskov/ perepiska/.
281
G. A. Kosykh, “Pravednost’ i pravedniki v tvorchestve N. S. Leskova 1870-kh
godov,” (Volgograd, 1999), 142-68.
164
and issues. After all, this was not Leskov’s first attempt to engage with a famous title. Speaking
of Leskov’s Ledi Makbet Mtsenskogo Uezda (Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District) (1865),
Hugh McLean notes: “The point of such titles is to juxtapose a Shakespearean archetype at a
high level of psychological universalization with a specific, local, utterly Russian, and
contemporary milieu.”
282
In order to achieve an artful representation of “utterly Russian milieu” with its people and
its problems, however, Leskov consults Russian literary sources, which allow him to supply his
own work with innately Russian elements. That is why echoes of the Russian folkloric traditions
alongside the reverberations of Russian medieval works are so prominent in the text. The
majority of the Russian sources that are so easily recognizable in the material of the novel,
however, are taken predominately from works created between the seventeenth and the
nineteenth century, the three centuries marked by serfdom, vagrancy laws, and unresolved
ramifications of the Orthodox Schism. Fliagin, as I will show, is portrayed as both a modern
folk-hero and a product of the socio-historical condition of his country.
It is hardly incidental, for example, that the narrator who frames Fliagin’s story likens
him to Il’ia Muromets. The Il’ia that he has in mind, however, comes not from traditional byliny
but from Leskov’s contemporaries: A. K. Tolstoy’s poem “Il’ia Muromets” and a painting by V.
P. Vereshchiagin entitled Il’ia Muromets na piru u kniazia Vladimira (Ilya Muromets at the
Feast of Prince Vladimir) and displayed in Vladimir Palace in Saint Petersburg. Both were
completed in 1871, a year before Leskov began to write his novel. These works are united by the
282
Hugh McLean, Nikolai Leskov: The Man and His Art. (Cambridge (MA), London:
Harvard University Press, 1977), 146.
165
same overarching theme and seem to speak to each other. Vereshchagin’s painting represents the
first encounter of Il’ia Muromets with Prince Vladimir immediately after Il’ia defeats and
captures Solovei the Brigand. Il’ia is portrayed raising his cup to Prince Vladimir and his guests.
The settings of Tolstoy’s poem are the same, yet the context is completely reversed. Very loosely
based on the original version of the epic, the poem speaks of the older, disgruntled Il’ia who,
upon leaving Vladimir’s feast in dismay, bewails and reproaches the prince for mistreating him:
“no obnës menia ty charoi / v ochered’ moiu” (“but you let the cup pass from me / when it was
my turn’).
283
As opposed to the famous bylina, which tells the story of Il’ia’s unannounced
arrival in Kyiv and the ensuing debauchery, the poem presents Il’ia as a man who becomes
weary of courtly life and leaves it for the sake of personal freedom. Tolstoy portrays Il’ia not as
an unruly folk character of tremendous strength, but as a patriot who is loyal and unwaveringly
committed to his land and who is not seduced by wealth and power. Perhaps in order to conform
to the characteristics of the true national hero that the nineteenth century public mandated, Il’ia’s
traditional portrayal undergoes significant transformation, in which his negative character traits
are considerably assuaged. This allowed Tolstoy to present Il’ia as a victim of the political power
that no longer requires his services. Correspondingly, Leskov’s Fliagin is also mistreated by his
state. After over a decade of military service, Fliagin is discharged with honors, but ultimately
demoted and left to his own devices.
Il’ia Muromets, however, was not the only Russian source of inspiration for Leskov. As
discovered by Faith Wigzell, The Enchanted Wanderer bears a lot of contextual similarities to
The Tale of Woe and Misfortune — an anonymous work written in the seventeenth century and
283
A. K. Tolstoy, “Ilya Muromets,” https://www.culture.ru/poems/47985/ilya-muromec.
166
rediscovered in 1856.
284
Wigzell finds key parallels between the two texts already in the
exposition of the stories, where young men, akin to prodigal sons, leave their parents but soon
realize that life is much harder than they imagined it to be. These two narratives rest on a
succession of difficult situations that befall the two protagonists over the years, and from which
these men try to escape even by contemplating suicide as a potential deliverance from their
troubled circumstances. After years of wandering, both men find themselves behind monastery
walls. Monasticism allows the protagonist of The Tale to escape from Woe, as it cannot cross
over to the religious realm; Leskov’s Fliagin similarly seeks peace at the monastery, the routine
life, which he compares to life in the army.
Wigzell calls Fliagin a pilgrim whose life of wandering was merely a preamble to
fulfilling his destiny, and says: “notwithstanding the limitation of the religious community,
monastic life helps to fulfil maternal covenant, according to which his [Fliagin’s – O.S.] own life
was dedicated to God, which it itself symbolizes the act of serving Russia.”
285
This conclusion
neatly organizes an otherwise very intricate, if not convoluted text. In it, however, Wigzell does
not take into account Leskov’s other sources that complicate if not undermine the spiritual
resolution of the novel, nor does she scrutinize the function of wandering (strannichestvo) in the
text as a secular, rather than religious, act.
Noting Leskov’s penchant for and appreciation of Romantic literature, Boris Eikhenbaum
writes:
284
F. Wigzell, “Bludnye synov’ia ili bluzhdaiushchie dushi: “Povest’ o Gore-Zlochastii”
i “Ocharovannyi strannik” Leskova,” Trudy otdela drevnerusskoi leteratury, 50. (Sankt-
Peterburg, 1996), 754–762.
285
Ibid, 760.
167
На фоне русской прозы 60—70-х годов Лесков выглядит писателем, сохранившим
и продолжающим некоторые литературные традиции 30-х годов (Гоголя, Даля,
Вельтмана) — вплоть до интереса к ритмической прозе, к сказу, к иконописи и
лубку, к народному эпосу, к бесконечно развертывающейся фабуле, к анекдоту и к
фантастике. В годы юности, проведенные в Киеве, он близко познакомился с
украинской и польской литературой и сохранил на всю жизнь любовь к поэзии
Шевченко, к произведениям польских романтиков. Он любил В. Гюго (особенно
роман “Труженики моря”), хорошо знал Шелли, Лонгфелло и восторгался
Лермонтовым, видя в нем «сильный и настоящий поэтический характер».
Unlike the majority of the Russian prose writers of the 60-70s, Leskov looks like a writer
who has preserved and continued some of the literary traditions of the 1830s (Gogol,
Dal’, Vel’tman) such as an interest in rhythmic prose in the tale; in icon painting and
popular print in the folk epos; to an endlessly unfolding plot, an anecdote and
phantasmagoria. During the years of his youth spent in Kiev, he became closely
acquainted with Ukrainian and Polish literature and retained for life his love of
Shevchenko’s poetry and works of Polish romantics. He loved Victor Hugo (especially
the novel Les Travailleurs de la mer), he knew Shelley and Longfellow well, and he
admired Lermontov, seeing in him “a strong and real poetic character.”
286
This interest in Romantic literature is significant because by calling his protagonist a wanderer
(strannik), Leskov taps into two major worlds for which this word can account: religious and
Romantic wandering. His novel, undeniably, accounts for both of them. As a religious wanderer,
the protagonist Ivan Fliagin can reach the monastery and transform into a religious prophet,
whereas as a Romantic wanderer he can come close to participating in the Imperialist discourse
similar to Aleksandr Pushkin’s character from Prisoner of the Caucasus and The Gypsies or
Mikhail Lermontov’s Grigory Pechorin from A Hero of Our Time.
286
Boris Eikhenbaum, “N.S. Leskov (k 50-letiiu so dnia smerti),” Accessed online
http://feb-web.ru/feb/classics/critics/eixenbaum/eih/eih-346-.htm?cmd=p.
168
In the context of Romanticism, strannik is used to describe “figures of Romantic
alienation: homeless spirits cast out of their social milieu and, seemingly, the universe.”
287
Although The Enchanted Wanderer cannot be regarded as a Romantic novel, it nevertheless
borrows from this literary period several tropes that point to the writer’s inadvertent expression
of Imperialist aspirations. The captivity of the protagonist, for example, is one such trope. A
more important trope in the case of Leskov’s novel, however, can be seen in the episode of
Grusha’s death. Famously, as the Romani beauty realizes that her love for a Russian prince is
unrequited, she asks Fliagin to kill her. Alexander Etkind argues that this episode is an example
of a sacrificial plotline, which in turn is a ubiquitous trope in Romantic literature. In fact, it can
be read as a reiteration of stories such as that of Lermontov’s Bela or of Pushkin’s young
Circassian woman. Both of these non-Russian women die after they fall in love with Russian
officers who grow tired of their lovers or do not reciprocate their love.
288
And while Turgenev in
“The End of Chertopkhanov” (1872) “exploded Lermontov <. . .> by reversing the sexual roles,”
Leskov “has rescued the male honor” and “paid a last tribute to romanticism.”
289
As McLean
argues, however, unlike the Romantic heroes, Leskov’s prince is soon “thoroughly deflated and
made to appear <. . .> childish and foolish.”
290
What separates Leskov’s novel from those of Lermontov or Pushkin even further is that it
is Fliagin, rather than the Prince, who is a wanderer in the story. Fliagin’s wandering, unlike that
287
Andrew Kahn et al, “Romantic outcasts, superfluous men,” A History of Russian
Literature, (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2018), 462.
288
Alexander Etkind, Internal Colonization: Russian Imperial Experience, (Cambridge,
England; Malden, Massachusetts: Polity; 2011).
289
McLean, 253
290
McLean, 253
169
of Lermontov’s Pechorin, for example, is necessitated by the volatility of life and fate, rather
than mere ennui. Likewise, while Fliagin can be captured by the Tatars in the Romantic tradition,
he can only prosaically father children with the Tatar women, but he can neither be an object of
beautiful Grusha’s desire, nor the reason for her suicide. His low social status allows him to be
an actor only in a perverted version of the Romantic narrative.
Equally, Fliagin’s humble origin in this case must be underscored. Born around 1820,
Fliagin is a serf whose formative years occur before the emancipation of serfs in 1861. Fliagin’s
absence of agency is furthermore exacerbated by his belief that he is enchanted, promised to God
by his mother. In a sense this releases Fliagin from much responsibility for both himself and
others. The protagonist’s approach to life coincides with the general and not exactly favorable
opinion his author on the Russian serfs, which — despite Leskov’s criticism of serfdom or his
close bond with Leo Tolstoy later in life — has not changed with time. McLean writes:
Leskov seems to take delight in painting the spiritual darkness of the peasants as black as
possible. Not only has the severity and totality of their benightedness a certain aesthetic
shock value of its own, but it serves as an antidote to the romantic idealization of le
paysan russe popularized a generation earlier in the stories of Grigorovich, and even to
the more sober appreciation of peasant talent and virtue in Turgenev’s A Sportsman’s
Sketches.
291
In other words, in his engagement with the Romantic tropes Leskov stays faithful to the rigidity
of the social roles that unambiguously dictate what Leskov’s actors can and cannot transcend
even within the realm of fictional literature.
Apropos Speaking
291
McLean, 97.
170
In his thought-provoking book Internal Colonization, Alexander Etkind applies ideas on
the subaltern of Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak to Leskov’s novel and argues that Fliagin “is both a
witness and an agent of colonialism” and the natives are “both colonized and colonizing, as they
did speak.” Etkind, however, does not figure into his assessment of The Enchanted Wanderer
Leskov’s later essay “The Inspired Vagrants,” which changes not only the interpretation of the
novel itself, but also Leskov’s own role in the silencing of the subaltern.
In “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Spivak reflects on the issue of Western representations of
Hindu cultural practices and asks whether or not marginalized people can be heard by dominant
powers. Western intellectuals, in her view, interpret practices of colonial subjects through the
prism of Western ideals and in ways that suit western economical preoccupations. As a result,
they become “complicit in the persistent constitution of the Other as the Self's shadow.”
292
She
argues that the subaltern subjects whose place in relation to power is complicated, cannot speak
within the dominant discourse. Applying this idea to the Russian literature of the nineteenth
century, Etkind claims that the unique position of Russian serfs allowed them to “speak” in spite
of their subaltern status. In my view, however, The Enchanted Wanderer is not representative of
the idea that serfs had a particular voice in the Russian Empire — coincidentally, Leskov did not
see Russian peasants as carriers of the higher wisdom. Instead the novel can be considered an
overview of Russia’s social and legal backwardness as perceived by its author. The authorial
voice, by use of literary devices, is in fact carefully hidden under the stylized speech of a
representative of the lower classes. But, before moving in the direction of discussing Fliagin’s
292
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” The Norton Anthology of
Theory and Criticism, Vincent B. Leitch (ed), (New York (NY): W. W. Norton and Company.
2001), 2197.
171
potential ability to speak within the Russian Imperial discourse, it should be established whether
or not Fliagin even falls under the definition of a Russian serf.
In order to respond to this question, it must be stressed that Fliagin’s status is volatile
throughout the novel, and his social and legal standing changes on several occasions. While
strictly speaking the title of Leskov’s work suggests that Fliagin is a religious or romantic
strannik, in actuality his claim to strannichestvo is questionable, since it is weakened by his legal
status, and that is underscored in the novel multiple times.
Even contextually, the narrative is driven not so much by any supernatural or
metaphysical calamities akin to the ones found in The Tale of Woe and Misfortune or any unique
spiritual or Imperialist pursuits, as by the fact that Fliagin is an undocumented vagrant. This can
be read as a very significant aspect of the social and political preoccupations of the novel and
cast doubt on Fliagin’s new-fangled religious calling, especially since the nineteenth-century
literature often represented vagrants as untrustworthy people who flocked to churches and
exploited Christian goodwill. On account of Leskov’s relation even to religious mendicants,
McLean explains:
Though poverty had been celebrated as a virtue and a means of spiritual therapy, in a
medieval tradition still strong in Russia <…> Leskov became increasingly suspicious of
the very idea of the holy mendicant <. . .> In Russia’s ‘holy people’ who wandered from
shrine to shrine and monastery to monastery Leskov saw more superstition, sloth, and
chicanery than sanctity.
293
293
McLean, 358-9.
172
It is economic independence and self-sufficiency, according to McLean, that alleviates Fliagin’s
itinerant lifestyle and pilgrimages. Still, establishing Fliagin’s social and legal status and
showing how it fluctuates over time is imperative for understanding the novel.
Legally, Fliagin falls under the category of vagrant, even though he is not prosecuted for
this crime. The story of his undocumented wandering begins with a failed attempt to commit
suicide caused by his wounded pride: after he mutilates a cat that belongs to the estate, he gets
physically punished and demoted to crushing stone on the estate. While the Romani thief that
prevents Fliagin’s suicide is a nomad, he nevertheless demarcates himself from the runaway serf
by saying: “И отстань, брат, Христа ради, потому что ты беспачпортный, еще с тобою
спутаешься” (“Do leave me, brother, for Christ’s sake, because you’ve got no passport, and I
could get in trouble with you”).
294
From then on, the lack of documentation becomes a legal
issue and a driving force of Fliagin’s future escapades.
A key episode, for example, deals with his procurement of counterfeit documentation, for
which he pays with his silver cross. In it, Leskov unites religious and legal transgressions, so as
to comment on the declining, decadent Russian reality. Primarily, however, it serves as a
depiction of the corrupt civil servants. Whereas Fliagin initially wants to turn himself in, the
clerks actually incite him and those in need to commit crimes. The first local clerk with whom he
speaks offers to sell him some form of identification illegally and then gives him some advice for
the future: “уходи в Николаев, там много людей нужно, и страсть что туда от нас бродяг
бежит” (“You can go to Nikolaev — they need people there, and hordes of vagrants flee there
294
Nikolai Leskov, “Ocharovannyi strannik.” Ledi Makbet Mtsenskogo uezda: poversti,
rasskazy, (SPb.: Azbuka, Azbuka-Attikus, 2016), 73. (Nikolai Leskov, Richard Pevear (tr),
Larissa Volokhonsky (tr), The Enchanted Wanderer: And the Other Stories, (New York: Vintage
Classics, 2014).
173
from us”).
295
Soon, Fliagin reiterates the words of the clerk, applying the term vagrant to himself:
“Народу наёмного самая малость вышла – всего три человека, и тоже все, должно быть,
точно такие, как я, полубродяжки” (“There were very few people up for hire — three men in
all — and all of them must have been the same as me, half vagrants”).
296
Later on he loses his
position as a child caretaker in Nikolaev not because he betrays his previous employer, but
because his documentation is not in order, and his new employer does not wish to be associated
with him.
297
These episodes can all be treated as criticism of the Imperial bureaucracy the roots
of which, lie in the broadly unjust system.
Fliagin’s undocumented status is rediscovered yet again after his escape from a decade-
long Tatar captivity. He is sent back to the estate to his father as a runaway serf and then
provided with a new passport and released on obrok: “I was delighted that, after so many years, I
was a completely free man, with legal papers, and I left. I had no definite intentions, but it was
my fate that God sent me employment.”
298
After only several years of legal employment, Fliagin
kills Grusha, runs away, relinquishes his own name, and enlists in the army where he
subsequently serves for fifteen years. While he functions under a false name, however, his
underlying real status is that of a vagrant.
The name change, of course, is an important detail, which was reiterated in vagrancy
laws and literary works about vagrants. There was an assumption that vagrants who change or
forget their names potentially hide serious crimes. The murder of Grusha can be viewed as one
such crime. Name change also goes against Orthodox Christian traditions and the sacrament of
295
Leskov et al, The Enchanted Wanderer: And the Other Stories, 130.
296
Ibid 130.
297
Leskov, The Enchanted Wanderer, 137.
298
Ibid, 169.
174
baptism, which Fliagin however tries to honor by praying to John the Baptist once a year. Later,
Fliagin changes his name once more at the monastery to “Ismail” even though he does not take
his vows and, more importantly, wishes to lose his monastic robes for the uniform in the future.
Interestingly, Ismail is a very popular name in Islam and Judaism, but less so in Orthodox
Christianity. Arguably, this can be seen as yet another gesture towards Fliagin’s life in captivity.
In other words, the behavior of a vagabond prevails even after he resides at the monastery.
It is not just the legal status, however, that points to Fliagin’s vagabondism. His
difference or Otherness is also striking, as it manifests itself in various ways including his
appearance:
Это был человек огромного роста, с смуглым открытым лицом и густыми
волнистыми волосами свинцового цвета: так странно отливала его проседь. Он был
одет в послушничьем подряснике с широким монастырским ременным поясом и в
высоком чёрном суконном колпачке. Послушник он был иди постриженный
монах — этого отгадать было невозможно <…> Этому новому нашему сопутнику,
оказавшемуся впоследствии чрезвычайно интересным человеком, по виду можно
было дать с небольшим лет за пятьдесят; но он был в полном смысле слова
богатырь, и притом типический, простодушный, добрый русский
богатырь, напоминающий дедушку Илью Муромца в прекрасной картине
Верещагина и в поэме графа А. К. Толстого. Казалось, что ему бы не в ряске
ходить, а сидеть бы ему на “чубаром” да ездить в лаптищах по лесу и лениво
нюхать, как “смолой и земляникой пахнет тёмный бор.”
He was a man of enormous stature, with an open and swarthy face and thick, wavy hair
of a leaden color so strangely was it streaked with gray. He was wearing a novice’s
cassock, with a wide monastic leather belt and a tall, black broadcloth cap. Whether he
was a novice or a tonsured monk it was impossible to tell . . . This new companion of
ours, who later turned out to be an extremely interesting man, looked as if he might be a
little over fifty; but he is a mighty man in the fullest sense of the word, and a typical,
artless, kind Russian mighty man at that, reminiscent of old Ilya Muromets in the
beautiful painting by Vereshchagin and in the poem of Count A. K. Tolstoy. It seemed
that he should not be going around in a cassock, but riding through the forest in huge bast
shoes, mounted on his “dapple gray,” and lazily scenting “how the dark thicket smells of
resin and wild strawberry.
299
299
Leskov et al, The Enchanted Wanderer, 110-111.
175
This description shows that the observers cannot identify Fliagin’s monastic rank, as it is
obscured by several contradicting elements of his attire. Coincidentally, the narrator finds
Fliagin’s monastic robes to be out of place and envisages the man to be a bogatyr’ Il’ia
Muromets — the Russian folk hero and a decidedly peripatetic figure. As the audience finds out
later, Fliagin’s attire is only temporary. He says that he is willing to exchange it for the uniform
in case of a war, which according to him is imminent.
Fliagin is incapable of enduring peaceful stasis; in most places and situations – be it
during his service as a nanny, his life in the steppe, or his work as an actor – he complains about
boredom. War thus becomes the only environment in which he can apply himself. The novel
famously ends with the following exchange:
Вот меня и отпустили, и я теперь на богомоление в Соловки к Зосиме и Савватию
благословился и пробираюсь. Везде был, а их не видал и хочу им перед смертью
поклониться.
– Отчего же "перед смертью"? Разве вы больны?
– Нет-с, не болен; а все по тому же случаю, что скоро надо будет воевать. <…>
– Стало быть, вам "Благое молчание" не помогло?
Не могу знать-с: усиливаюсь, молчу, а дух одолевает. – Что же он?
– Все своё внушает: "ополчайся".
– Разве вы и сами собираетесь идти воевать?
– А как же-с? Непременно-с: мне за народ очень помереть хочется. – Как же вы: в
клобуке и в рясе пойдёте воевать?
— Нет-с; я тогда клобучок сниму, а амуничку надену.
300
“So they released me, and now I have a blessing to go to Solovki and pray to Zosima and
Sabbatius, and I’m on my way there <. . .> I want to bow down to them before I die.”
“Why ‘before I die’? Are you ill?”
“No, sir, I’m not. It’s still on this same chance that we’ll soon have to go to war.”
<…>
“So the “Blessed Silence” didn’t help you?”
“That’s not for me to know, sir. I try my best to keep silent, but the spirit wins out”.
300
Leskov, “Ocharovannyi strannik,” 181.
176
“What does he say?”
“He keeps exhorting me to ‘take up arms’.”
“Are you prepared to go to work yourself?”
“What else, sir? Certainly: I want very much to die for my people.”
“So you mean to go to war in your cowl and cassock?”
“No, sir, I’ll take the cowl off and put on a uniform.”
301
Religion serves as an intermediary status rather than the end goal, as it does in the medieval
example of The Tale of Woe and Misfortune. Fliagin’s itinerant behavior, on the other hand, is
left virtually unchanged. In other words, while Fliagin does have direct connection to serfdom,
he can hardly be considered a serf even before the emancipation. Occupying the position of a
vagrant, however, denigrates his social status within the Imperialist system and further
diminishes his civil rights. This, in theory, places serfs and not vagrants in a more advantageous
position.
Secondly, what should not be ignored in a conversation of the subaltern agency in
Imperial Russia is that The Enchanted Wanderer is a work of literary fiction, whereas its creator
is an established author rather than a subaltern serf. Although this detail is seemingly minor, in
actuality it creates an impasse: Even if this fictional character does “speak,” the words he utters
belong to the author. The author, on the other hand, does not merely mediate the speech of a serf
by, for instance, transcribing it, but he invents it and, by writing the novel in the form of skaz,
fashions it to imitate the speech of the lower classes for a more genuine effect. Mikhail Bakhtin
defines Leskov’s use of skaz in the following way:
It seems to us that in most cases skaz is introduced precisely for the sake of someone
else's voice, a voice socially distinct, carrying with it precisely those points of view and
evaluations necessary to the author. What is introduced here, in fact, is a storyteller, and a
301
Leskov, The Enchanted Wanderer, 231.
177
storyteller, after all, is not a literary person; he belongs in most cases to the lower social
strata, to the common people (precisely this is important to the author) – and he brings
with him oral speech. <. . .> Leskov, we believe, resorted to a narrator largely for the
sake of a socially foreign discourse and socially foreign worldview, and only secondarily
for the sake of skaz.
302
One implication of Bakhtin’s assessment is that by trying to represent Russian lower classes
through speech, Leskov inadvertently creates the figure of the Other. In this particular case, this
figure is that of a Russian serf, whom his Russian interlocutors find curious, yet whose language
they cannot fully comprehend.
Fliagin’s speech, indeed, is spotlighted on several occasions. The man’s lexicon contains
words that are unfamiliar to all his listeners (as we as to the readers of the novel), and so they
continuously ask Fliagin for clarification:
– Я конэсер.
– Что-о-о тако-о-е?
– Я конэсер-с, конэсер, или, как простонароднее выразить, я в лошадях знаток.
303
– Подщетинен я был после первого раза.
– Как это?.. Извините, пожалуйста, мы не совсем понимаем, что это значит, что вы
были подщетинены?
304
– Я же вам объяснял, что выходы у меня бывали.
– А что это значит выходы?
– Гулять со двора выходил-с. <. . .>
– Это значит — запьёте?
– Да-с; выйду и запью.
305
302
Mikhail Bakhtin and Caryl Emerson (Tr.), Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics,
(Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. 1984), 192.
303
Leskov, “Ocharovannyi strannik,” 58. (“I’m a conosoor.” “A wha-a-at?” “A conosoor,
sir, a conosoor, or, as plain folk put it, a good judge of horseflesh . . .” Leskov et al, 115).
304
Ibid, 95. (“They bristled me up after the first time.” “How’s that? ... Forgive us,
please, we don’t quite understand what you mean by bristled up.” Ibid, 150).
305
Ibid, 122. (“I already explained to you that I used to have these outings.” “And what
do you mean by ‘outings’?” “I’d go carousing, sir. <...>” “Meaning you’d start drinking?” “Yes,
sir, I’d go and drink.” Ibid, 175).
178
– Долго очень без места ходил, а потом на фиту попал, и оттого стало еще хуже.
– Как на фиту? что это значит?
306
The first example is particularly interesting because the word that he uses and makes his own in
actuality refers back to the language of the Russian nobility – the French language. The word
“conosoor” (in Russian – koneser) comes from French connoisseur and means “an expert.” Ivan,
however, considers this word to be a cognate of the Russian word kon’ (a horse) and presents it
to the public as part of professional jargon and designation. Notably, an apparent existence of a
jargon word significantly elevates Fliagin’s profession, as it lends it a flavor of importance that
may suffer some devaluation if rendered in the vernacular of the “plain folk.” Evidently, Ivan’s
language differs from that of his immediate audience, even in cases when words are borrowed
from the dominant culture, which some of his interlocutors represent. Yet, the Russian pun on a
French word as well as the explanation with which Fliagin supplies it, ultimately rest on
Leskov’s readers’ familiarity with the French language and their perceptiveness. In other words,
carefully crafted by the author, the humor of the pun can only be revealed to a more learned
readership. Fliagin, on the other hand, does not realize the underlying comical effect of his
terminology.
The initial social position of Fliagin or the region of his birthplace that hypothetically
should influence his speech is complicated by the oscillation of his status: born as a serf, he was
also a fugitive, a vagrant, a free man, a dead man, an officer, and even a novice at a monastery.
While his speech is not seen as a criminal cant, it is still noticeably removed from conventional
language or a specific dialect. Marked by strangeness, the distinctiveness of his language does
306
Ibid, 170. (“I was without a post for a very long time, and then I landed on theta, and
that made everything worse.” “On theta? What does that mean?” Ibid, 221).
179
not possess a specific locus. This uniqueness and otherness readily confirms the author-narrator’s
observation that Fliagin is someone who “had seen much” and “had been around.”
307
Thus,
Fliagin is portrayed not as a serf but as a vagrant not only by means of the fabula, but also
through a careful construction of his speech that does not require dialectal specificity and which
rests upon puns and terms that essentially correspond to other languages, cultures, and social
strata. As a consequence, the verisimilitude of Fliagin’s words and views should not be
considered outside of Spivak’s essential warnings. Being a fictional character, Fliagin actually
functions as a mouthpiece designed to reproduce his author’s personal version of reality. So,
what was Leskov’s version of reality and most importantly what was his attitude towards
vagrants?
On the Authenticity of Patriotism
Another source that should be addressed in relation to the creation of Fliagin’s character
is The Unfortunate Adventures of Vasil’ Baranshchikov. Written by someone with initials “S. K.
R,” the book was initially published in 1787 and then republished anew on three more occasions.
The popularity of the work may be explained by the eighteenth-century Russian public’s
fondness for adventure and picaresque novels which, unlike their prototypes, are situated not in
Western European, but in Russian settings and directly relate to the lives of the main consumer
of such literature — the Russian middle class (meshchanstvo). Baranshchikov’s story fits well
within this scope of the genre. The enticing title of the work immediately suggests that the
protagonist is not a foreigner but a Russian urbanite, who travelled well beyond the borders of
his country and became a victim of a succession of unfortunate events.
307
Leskov et all, The Enchanted Wanderer, 111.
180
The work in fact is replete with trials and misfortunes that befall Baranshchikov in
January of 1780, only two weeks after he receives a travelling passport for a term of one year
and travels to Rostov’s fair to sell leather goods. After the fair he gets robbed, and instead of
returning to Nizhnii Novgorod, he goes to Saint Petersburg and finds a job as a sailor. During the
course of seven years, he travels around the world and visits Copenhagen, Jerusalem,
Constantinople, Venice, and Puerto Rico among many other places. While abroad, he works a
variety of menial jobs, converts to Islam twice, undergoes circumcision, gets branded and
tattooed. Finally, he manages to come back to Nizhnii Novgorod to his impoverished wife and
children, yet instead of a heart-warming welcome he gets reproached by the society for his
extensive debts and his vagrancy.
308
Dmitrii Neustroev discusses the textual similarities between the two works and notes that
Leskov had a copy of the book in his personal library.
309
Contextually, there are indeed many
parallels. At the beginning of their stories both men fall victim to delinquent malefactors
(zloumyshlenniki) and are subsequently forced into years of meandering in a very comparable
fashion. For considerable lengths of time, both men live in captivity far from home and even
practice Islam — their captors’ religion. Fliagin claims that he did not convert to Islam, even
though much like Baranshchikov he shaved his head while in captivity, which goes against
Christian Orthodox traditions and instead complies with Islamic religious practices. Similarly,
308
Vasil’ Baranshchikov, Neshchastnye prikliucheniia Vasi’ia Baranshchikova,
meshchanina Nizhenego Novgoroda, v trëkh chastiakh sveta: V Amerike, Azii i Evrope s 1780 po
1787 g. Accessed online: < http://www.drevlit.ru/texts/b/b_baraban_text.php >.
309
Dmitrii Neustroev. “Istochniki povestei N.S. Leskova ‘Ocharovannyi strannik’.”
Filologicheskie etiudy, Vyp. 10, ch. 1-2, (Saratov, 2007), 77-82.
181
Fliagin entered in into polygamous relationships with Muslim women and even fathered eight
children with them, all of whom however were later abandoned out of religious sentiments.
310
Baranshchikov’s story also echoes in The Enchanted Wanderer in various minor details.
First of all, both Ivan Fliagin and his nonfictional counterpart change their names. Secondly,
both men are punished for attempting to escape from their captors in a nearly identical manner.
Fliagin is rendered immobile by being “bristled up” by the Tatars who sewed horse-hair under
the skin of his foot soles, whereas Baranshchikov is “больно был бит шамшитового дерева по
пятам палками и не мог ходить более месяца, но ползал” (“painfully hit with boxwood tree
sticks on the heels of his feet, so he could not walk for over a month, but crawled”).
311
Yet another detail emerges when Fliagin is lowered into a pit for his transgressions at the
monastery, the monks order him to grind salt. Not incidentally, this happens to be exactly the
same punishment that Baranshchikov seeks to evade at all costs upon returning to Nizhnii
Novgorov. Even in his essay, Leskov places particular emphasis on this story and dramatizes it
far beyond what is provided in the original text:
Баранщиков бросился искать помощи у нижегородского духовенства <…> Он
хотел говеть и исповедаться во всём на духу и получить прощение в своих грехах;
но русское духовенство совсем не было так великодушно <…> Нижегородские
священники или были неопытны в этой практике, или же держали сторону
общества, и совсем не захотели принимать Баранщикова на исповедь, потому что
он был обрезан и жил с женою в магометанском законе. Но всё-таки по этому
поводу возник вопрос, а пока об этом рассуждали, отправка Баранщикова в
Балахну, на соляные варницы, замедлилась, а ему это и было нужно.
Baranshchikov hastily sought help from the Nizhny Novgorod clergy <. . .> He wanted to
fast and confess everything in spirit and then to be absolved of his sins; but the Russian
310
Vasil’ Baranshchikov. Accessed online: <
http://www.drevlit.ru/texts/b/b_baraban_text.php >.
311
Vasil’ Baranshchikov. Accessed online:
http://www.drevlit.ru/texts/b/b_baraban_text.php.
182
clergy were not as generous <. . .> The Nizhny Novgorod priests were either
inexperienced in this practice, or they sided with society, and did not want to accept
Baranshchikov for confession, because he was circumcised and lived with his wife in
Mohammedan law. Nevertheless, a question about this arose, and while discussions were
taking place, the dispatching of Baranshchikov to the saltworks in Balakhna slowed
down, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
312
Leskov’s Fliagin, on the other hand, pays the dues that Baranshchikov manages to avoid and he
does so for the offences that he committed already at the monastery, rather than his former
misdeeds as it was the case with Baranshchikov who, in contrast, cleverly engaged religious laws
to avoid punishment.
What is especially true in relation to the published novel and the literary preferences of
the eighteenth-century public is that such ingenious and flagrant trickery on Baranshchikov’s
part was justified by the time in which he lived and by his social standing, yet it could hardly be
appropriate for a rightless nineteenth century serf. Baranshchikov is decidedly more perceptive
of the way Russian society functions and more certain of his rights. For example, while he may
not look Russian upon his return — “одет был в странное платье и с не выросшими ещё на
бритой голове волосами” (“he was clad in a strange dress and with still not fully-grown hair on
his shaven head”) — he nevertheless takes a strong claim to his national identity and his civil
rights. That is why he demands and soon attains his full reinstatement in the Russian Orthodox
Church.
313
Ivan’s Russianness, on the other hand, is almost hyperbolized. He looks like a bogatyr’
and he is a Russian serf, which in and of itself is an epitome of the Russian people. Yet, he has
312
Leskov, 207.
313
Neshchastnyia prikliucheniia Vasil’ia Baranshchikova, Vtoroe izdanie s
dopolneniiami I figurami, (Sankt Peterburg, tip. Vil’kovskogo i Galchenkova, 1787), 77.
183
no rights to which he is legally entitled but is instead often physically punished for various
transgressions. Fliagin, however, does not bemoan the oppressive system. On the contrary, he
seems to support it. Remarkably, Fliagin’s patriotic declarations often rest on the three principles
that are similar to those encompassed in Sergei Uvarov’s maxim “Orthodoxy, Autocracy, and
Nationality.”
314
Several of Fliagin’s assertions in fact support this theory. Besides Orthodoxy, which
Fliagin evokes throughout the novel, he does identify most enthusiastically with the Russian
community even after living with the Tatars for over a decade: “Я их как увидал, взрадовался,
что русских вижу, и сердце во мне затрепетало, и упал я им в ноги и зарыдал” (“when I
caought sight of them, I rejoinced at seeing Russians, and my heart throbbed inside me, and I fell
at their fee and wept”)
315
; “очень домой в Россию хотелось” (“I wanted very much to go home
to Russia”)
316
; “и я исполнился страха за народ свой русский и начал молиться” (“and I was
filled with fear for our Russian people and began to pray”)
317
; “и все мне так радостно было,
что я опять на святой Руси” (“and it was so joyful to me that I was back in Holy Russia”).
318
His pledge to autocracy goes beyond his service in the army. After Fliagin foresees an imminent
war, he urges all Russia’s enemies to submit to his ruler’s will:
And here my prayer was answered, and all at once I understood that the saying, ‘If they
talk of peace, suddenly will the all-destroyer come upon them,’ was coming true, and I
was filled with tears for our Russian people and began to pray and with tears exhorted all
those who came to my pit to pray for the subjugation under the feet of our tsar of all
314
On the subject of Leskov’s possible engagement with S. Uvarov’s ideas, see I. G.
Abashin, “Politiko-filosofskie vozzreniia N. S. Leskova: Natsional’naia identichnost’,” Accessed
online: https://www.science-education.ru/pdf/2013/2/8635.pdf.
315
The Enchanted Wanderer, 159.
316
Ibid, 155.
317
Ibid, 230.
318
Ibid, 168.
184
enemies and adversaries, for the all-destroyer was near. And I was granted tears in
wonderous abundance! ... I kept weeping over our native land.
319
In other words, Fliagin’s patriotism rests primarily on the overarching political ideologies of the
time in which he was brought up. These ideologies may also be understood as colonialist in
nature, as Fliagin hopes that Russia’s enemies submit to the will of the tsar, rather than simply
retreat or cease their aggression toward the country. It should be noted that Fliagin was 35 years
old when Nicholas I died in 1855. It is also around the same time (1855-56) that he enlisted in
the army under a false identity where he spent over a decade in the service; ironically, it is
exactly the punishment he would have gotten for being caught as an undocumented vagrant.
Even though he narrates his story in the early 1870s, the majority of the events of which he
speaks occur during the reign of Nicholas I. Still, Fliagin does not make any specific mention of
the ruling power, nor does he make note of the major social shifts that occurred in the early
1860s.
Furthermore, the sentiments that Fliagin voices are not directed exclusively towards his
love and service to the country but also towards the political regime, which in effect coincide
with Leskov’s understanding of peasant’s mindset. As McLean puts it, “the peasants as Leskov
knew them, however hostile they might feel towards their masters, remained loyal subjects of the
tsar.”
320
The same sentiment, interestingly, can be attributed to Leskov himself. In the analyses
of “Episcopal Justice,” a story about the Imperial project of Russifying Jewish boys by forcibly
inducting them into the army, McLean notes that Leskov may have experienced moral conflicts
“in his days as a recruiting clerk,” yet in Leskov’s own assessment of this cruelty the author still
319
Leskov, 230.
320
McLean, 66.
185
tried “to shift the responsibility for this suffering from the Russian government, which in fact
caused it, to the Jewish community.”
321
It is possible therefore that Leskov recognized this
logical oversight on the part of the serfs, as well as the fact that such fallacy — be it self-serving
or unwitting — was commonplace. That is why it was not surprising that Leskov created a
nineteenth-century subject that unquestionably believes in the governing system, especially
under the rule of Alexander II the Liberator, who coincidentally was greatly admired by Fliagin’s
author.
Apropos Civil Order
In his article “The Inspired Vagrants,” Leskov takes issue with three written accounts that are
autobiographical in nature. He scrutinizes these stories, noting in them various exaggerations and
fictional inclusions. After some assessment, Leskov argues that these accounts — particularly the
ones written by Moshkin in 1643 and Baranshchikov in 1787 — are riddled with blatant lies. The
writer’s objective for writing this essay is seemingly twofold: on the one hand he scorns vagrants
who serve as models of dishonest behavior, and on the other he confronts publishers who
mislead the reading public by disseminating flawed, unscientific information.
There was another reason for writing this essay, however. The article is an exposé of
Leskov’s contemporary, Nikolai Ashinov. Often described in a rather Romantic fashion as an
adventurer or a “political knight of fortune,” Ashinov travelled to Abyssinia in the 1880s, and
upon returning to Russia began a campaign that essentially aimed to colonize the Orthodox
321
McLean, 38.
186
African country. While his motives were questionable, the campaign became quite famous and
even popular in Russia up until the time that if failed, causing an international scandal.
322
According to Leskov, who in a letter to A. S. Suvorin called Ashinov “a real thief,” the
self-proclaimed “free Cossack” Ashinov achieved commendable results by means of mainstream
publicity.
323
As Leskov shows in his article, Russian publicist Mikhail Katkov promoted Ashinov
in the newspaper Moskovskie vedomosti, thereby helping the man gain some recognition and
admiration from the high nobility.
324
In that act alone Leskov sees an eerie evolution: While in
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries vagrants wrote and published their chelobitnye or their
travelogues after they returned from trips, his own contemporaries began to publicize their
transgressions even before committing crimes. This progression brings Leskov to a prediction
that rests on the suspicion that neither these vagrants nor the press respect civil order and laws:
“If such elements will still exist in the twentieth century, it is possible that the phenomenon will
be repeated, and that the twentieth century will also put forth his successor to Moshkin,
Baranshchikov, and Ashinov.” Looking at the picture presented by Leskov, the changes in the
treatment of vagrants in pre-Imperial and Imperial Russia become apparent. Whereas Moshkin
with his manifestly manufactured story easily won favor with the Russian community in 1643
(when vagrancy was not encouraged, yet was still not illegal), in the eighteenth century
322
N. V. Malygina. “Pervye popytki proniknoeniia v Efiopiiu.” Accessed online: http:/
/ricolor.org/rz/afrika/efp/efr/2/.
323
Nikolai Leskov, “Letter to A. S. Suvorin. 20 Dec. 1888.” Marcadé Jean-Claude. In
Revue des é tudes slaves, tome 58, fascicule 3, 1986, 463-4. Some publications cite several other
essays that Leskov published about Ashinov in “Peterburgskaia gazeta.”
324
Nikolai Leskov, “Vdokhnovennye Brodiagi,”
http://az.lib.ru/l/leskow_n_s/text_0390.shtml.
187
Baranshchikov was accused of vagrancy by the housekeeper of the Russian minister Yakov
Bulgakov in Constantinople.
325
Notwithstanding the specifics of their stories, the men whom Leskov censures appear to
be people with a lot of creative potential and the possibility to publish their first-hand accounts
even if with some help from a third party. The accounts of these men, as the writer astutely
points out, developed and evolved in accordance with historical changes in Russia: Not only the
medium that they used has changed — from chelobitnye (petitions for forgiveness) to
newspapers articles — but also the timing and engagement with the authority underwent some
transformation.
The general tone of the piece suggests that Leskov would prefer that the “inspired”
Moshkin, Baranshchikov, and Ashinov be tried and punished for their exploits, even if the laws
under which they wandered or which they disobeyed in some ways were distinctly different. In
fact, none of these people were arrested and tried for vagrancy specifically, despite Leskov’s
insistence on calling all of them vagrants. Leskov’s definition, on the other hand, is not very
different from the vague legal definitions of vagrants in the Russian Empire. Consequently, by
identifying these men as vagrants, Leskov devalues their contribution to Russian literature,
history, and culture, and to some extent helps suppress their voices by diminishing the accuracy
and reliability of their accounts. As a result, whether consciously or not, the writer participates in
the Imperialist game – a process of stripping undesirable people of legal and social
representation.
325
Neshchastnye prikliucheniia Vasil’ia Baranshchikova, 40.
188
While recently Ilya Gerasimov showed that the Russian subaltern people can actually
speak even if merely through the use of their bodies or through their rituals,
326
the response to
Spivak’s question still remains largely negative. This is so especially since rituals must still be
deciphered by discerning cultural readers. But what can be done with the subaltern that do not
only aspire to speak but also publish their words for posterity? Are they subaltern? Or, rather, are
vagrants — persons that are ethnically unrelated and cannot be classified by the class of their
upbringing or even gender — subaltern?
Looking at the figure of Baranshchikov, whose story most definitely inspired Leskov, it
would be fair to say that he is not subaltern. It is generally agreed in the postcolonial studies that
the term subaltern is used to describe not simply those who are oppressed, but also those people
who lack any and all political representation. Baranshchikov, interestingly, can hardly be
classified as oppressed. Prior to undertaking the voyage, he was a merchant with a family, a
house. He even was able to secure funds from several lenders for his trading endeavors. In fact,
vagrancy in his case is actually arguable. First of all because during the majority of his travels he
had some form of identification. His first travel passport was given to him for a year, while by
the time he came to the house of Bulgakov he claimed to have two other passports from Venice
and Puerto Rico. Secondly, he maintained that he was a captive on foreign soil, but not at all a
vagrant. Thus, this inauspicious label was by and large given to him by Leskov who harshly
reproached and criticized Baranshchikov and others with comparable stories for a multitude of
offences against social order.
326
Ilya Gerasimov. Plebeian Modernity. Social Practices, Illegality, and the Urban Poor
in Russia, 1906-1916. (Rochester (NY): University of Rochester Press, 2018).
189
Leskov’s qualms on account of these men’s patriotic feelings should not be overlooked.
Patriotism is a manifestation or even an act of citizens’ participation in the life of their country.
As such, in a reciprocal way, it becomes a gateway to political representation and inclusion.
Patriots, who actively voice their allegiances and pride to their nation, therefore, cannot be
viewed as subaltern. On the other hand, scrutinizing or outright denying the authenticity of one’s
feelings of national loyalty is tantamount to accusing this individual of treason. Leskov, in fact,
argues that not only are the three “inspired” vagrants unpatriotic, their actions go against civil
laws in Russia and against the wishes of the simple folk. Instead of being imprisoned for
vagrancy, debts, and squandering money upon their return to Russia, they receive financial help
and even praise from the reading public. That is why, in his assessment of stories by Moshkin
and Baranshchikov, Leskov warns people about wholeheartedly embracing their stories and
says:
Литературная выходка Баранщикова до сей поры не обратила на себя внимания
исторических обозревателей нашей письменности, а она этого стоит, ибо это едва
ли не верный опыт “импонировать” обществу посредством печати. В то же время
это есть и первый опыт шантажа книгою. Во всяком случае, скаска Баранщикова
представляет собою очень характерное явление, которое показывает, как русское
общество выросло за сто лет со времени скаски, поданной Мошкиным царю
Михаилу, а в симпатиях к бродягам и в недружелюбии к “положениям закона
гражданского” не изменилось. По существу, и по целям составления, обе
показанные скаски совершенно одинаковы: та же манера бедниться, канючить и
выставлять на вид свою удаль, хвалить верность, благочестие и свои страдания.
So far, Baranshchikov's literary stunt has not attracted any attention of our literary
historians, even though it is worth it, because it is perhaps the one sure attempt to
“impress” society by means of the press. At the same time, this is the first attempt at
blackmail by writing a book. In any case, Baranshchikov’s skaska is a very characteristic
phenomenon, which shows how Russian society has grown over one hundred years since
the time Moshkin gave it to Tsar Mikhail, yet it has not changed in sympathy for vagrants
and in an animosity towards “the provisions of civil law.” In their substance and in the
aims of their composition, the two skaski are exactly the same: the same manner of crying
190
the blues, begging, and showing off one’s own prowess, praising one’s own loyalty,
piety, and one’s own suffering.
327
Likewise, the writer argues against an opinion of his contemporaries that these vagrants’ writings
portray “predpriimchivost’, beskorystie, i patriotism russkikh liudei” (“Enterprise,
disinterestedness, and patriotism of Russian people”).
328
Assessing the life-story and choices of
Baranshchikov, Leskov believes the man to be an opportunistic and indolent person. He
unequivocally agrees with the judgement of Baranshchikov’s acquaintances who, he writes,
“’Lazariu,’ kotorogo on raspeval, ne poverili, a potianuli ego k rasprave” (“Did not believe
‘Lazarus’s songs,’ which he sang, and dragged him to face justice”) for absconding with their
money and returning after seven years emptyhanded.”
329
Fliagin’s character is, in effect, written with some regard to the ideas Leskov voiced so
fervently two decades later. Much like Baranshchikov and Moshkin, he does “show off” his
fidelity, faith, and prowess and, much like them, he tells his life story to most people he
encounters. More often than not, however, after his listeners offer him their help, he betrays their
expectations. This can be seen for instance in the episode, in which a man unwisely entrusted his
daughter to Fliagin, or with the monks at the monastery who accepted him but then suffered
considerable losses through his actions. On a literary plain, this can suggest picaresque traits that
aided in the construction of the character. Conversely, this also feeds into the idea that Leskov
saw Russian serfs as unruly fatalists prone to rash decisions, alcoholism, and arbitrary violence.
As the narrator of his own stories, however, Fliagin portrays himself as a man of many
courageous acts and accomplishments: he saves his landowner from immanent death, survives
327
“Vdokhnovennye brodiagi,” 209.
328
Ibid, 192.
329
Ibid, 192.
191
many severe beatings and captivity abroad, acts heroically in the army. Similarly, he paints
himself as a perceptive cultural reader who can achieve what many others cannot. For example,
unlike Russian missionaries who show little interest in helping their compatriot and also fail to
accomplish their primary goal, Fliagin turns out to be the only one capable of “converting” the
unruly Tatars to the faith of “the white tsar.” His methods, however, are unorthodox. Not only
does he convert these people by the use of trickery and force, but he also does so without any
religious education or sanction. Coincidentally, this episode can be understood as yet another
instance where Fliagin acts as an Imperialist: He finds subjects of colonization, claims to
understand them well, and then hopes to submit them to the rule of the Russian tsar.
It is surprising that Leskov vehemently rejects the accuracy and sincerity of these so-
called vagrant-writings and, even though Baranshchikov and Moshkin do not view themselves as
vagrants, he does not mention his own fictional account that was to some extent inspired by the
writings of one of them. This could be explained by the fact that in the early 1870s his aim was
different. Central themes at the time seem to be spirituality, problematics of emancipation,
backwardness of both Russian life and its administrative system. Vagrancy, which in the 1890s
Leskov uses liberally as a derogatory term, may not have been understood by the writer in such
negative light in the 1870s. The 1880s, the decade when Ashinov’s affair that most certainly
struck a different chord in Leskov’s views occurred, was marked by a lot of unrest in Russia:
several terrorist acts by revolutionaries, the assassination of the emperor. These social and
political tribulations may have transformed Leskov’s understanding of order, his views on
vagrancy, and the role of literature in the dissemination of noxious ideas.
O. V. Ankudinova examines Leskov’s satire and notes that works written in the 1890s are
dissimilar from his previous works. She says that at the time the writer strove to bare Russia’s
192
spiritual poverty and paint a picture of Russian society “ведущими чертами которого стали
‘голод ума,’ ‘голод сердца’.”
330
Ashinov, she argues, often appeared on the pages of Leskov’s
satirical writings that severely criticized contemporary morals and principles:
Можно сказать, что образ Ашинова становится сквозным в произведениях писателя
этих лет. Лесков рассказывает о нем в “Неоценённых услугах” (очерк имел и
другое название “Нашествие варваров”), вспоминает в “Загоне,” где по ассоциации
с ним возникает вымышленный персонаж Ефим, и, наконец, специально
обращается в очерке “Вдохновенные бродяги.” <…> Но Ашинов интересует
Лескова не столько сам по себе, сколько как определённое знамение времени,
проявляющее состояние общественного сознания.
It can be said that the image of Ashinov becomes cross-cutting in the works of the writer
at the time. Leskov talks about him in "Invaluable Services" (the essay had another title –
"Invasion of the Barbarians"). He recalls him in “The Cattle-pen,” where in association
with him appears a fictional character, Еfim, and, finally, he specifically addresses him in
the essay “The Inspired Vagrants.” <…> But Ashinov interests Leskov not so much as a
man himself, but as a definite sign of the time and the state of public consciousness that it
represents.
331
As Ankudinova points out, the author-narrator of Leskov’s later sketches acts as a judge and
critic of Russian society. The points of view of the narrators in the abovementioned works seem
to coincide with those of the author, who saw Ashinov himself as an embodiment of immorality
and his ascent to power and fame – a perfect reflection of the contemporary affairs in Russia,
where ethical and cultural values are turned upside down. This notorious Cossack in Leskov’s
view was an outlaw, who caused nothing but civil disturbances. That is why, in “Neotsenennye
uslugi” Leskov’s narrator calls him “bespasportnym “vorovskim kazakom”” and “brodiagoiu.”
Perhaps this label is given to him to an extent because Cossacks were historically associated with
330
O. V. Ankudinova. “Svoeobrazie satiry N. S. Leskova 1890-kh godov.” Russkaia
filologiia. Vestnik Khar’kovskogo national’nogo pedagogicheskogo universiteta imeni G. S.
Skovorody. N. 4. (Khar’kov, 1995), 15-18.
331
O. V. Ankudinova, “Svoeobrazie satiry N. S. Leskova 1890-kh godov,” 17.
193
delinquency. For the most part, however, vagrancy in this context acts as a marker and even a
synonym of lawlessness and roguery that should be legally contained.
Akin to Ankudinova, who observes change in the direction that Leskov’s satire takes in
the 1890s, Maiorova sees a significant transformation in the author’s political views.
332
If in the
1870s Leskov shared Mikhail Katkov’s right-wing political attitudes, in the 1890s he
painstakingly confronted them from the literary platform. This evolution of thought seemingly
encompassed Leskov’s attitudes on vagrancy as well. If in the 1870s Leskov depicts a vagrant
who roams the vast Russian open spaces, observes the world around him and, despite some of his
lapses, has an overall likable character with pan-Slavic sentiments, in the 1890s, Leskov begins
to see vagrancy as an odious crime and accuses his ideological opponents, including even
historical figures like Moshkin and Baranshchikov, of vagrancy.
Vagrancy is marked by its versatility and at the same time ambiguity, as the public
perception of it constantly vacillates between the ideas of criminality and sanctity. As a result, it
allows very dissimilar facets of human existence to be bridged: religious, social, and political
alike. When Leskov wrote his novel, many nineteenth-century writers already employed
vagabonds in their work in an effort to shine light on various social ills. With his propensity to
raise contentious social and political issues, Leskov was indubitably aware of vagrancy’s
potential to serve as a gateway to discussion of a wide array of subjects such as Russian
monasticism and spiritual wandering or more secular, political ones like the penal system, exile,
and official bribery. At the same time, because vagrancy was a criminal offence, he could write a
332
Olga Maiorova, “Vstupitel’naia stat’ia k N. S. Leskov. Neotsenennye uslugi.”
(Znamia, 1992). Accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/l/leskow_n_s/text_0245.shtml.
194
narrative that was equally invested in the propagation of the Imperialist discourse. In his novel he
employed all these themes, and as a result to a large degree obfuscated the meaning.
Fliagin’s likeability, however, is built in accordance with concurrent popular tropes. In
the novel, Leskov regurgitates the key motifs used almost ubiquitously to construct vagrant
figures. These tropes are the concealment of vagrants’ true identity, their particularity of speech
and ambiguity of social standing, their reliance on church for refuge and material gains, and also
their ability to tell interesting stories about remote parts of Russia. Leskov’s interest in many
such tropes can be seen in his review of Sergei Turbin’s book Strana izgnaniia, published in
1872. In the review Leskov quotes an entire conversation that Turbin has with a vagrant whom
he encounters by chance. The questions Turbin’s narrator asks are stereotypical in nature and
correspond well to the established norms of writings about vagrants. The vagrant is portrayed as
a tall and strong man (roslyi detina) who asks for alms in the name of Christ. The narrator, who
marvels at the Kherson-born vagrant’s ability to speak Russian, interrogates the man about his
military past and asks whether or not he conceals his identity. This short episode checks many
boxes of vagrancy tropes, including occasional inaccuracies in pronunciation.
333
The same tropes
are developed in The Enchanted Wanderer and that shows that in the 1870s Leskov did not stray
away from the popular approach for representing vagrants.
333
Turbin’s vagrant Skliarov, for example, says ‘antiresuetes’’ instead of ‘interesuetes’’
(for ‘interested’) and ‘marshlut’ instead of ‘marshrut’ (route). Skliarov explains that vagrants are
more adapted to living in convict detachments (arestantskie roty) than working in industrial
townships (zavody). He says: “На заводах дадут тебе паёк, жалованье, — распоряжайся, как
знаешь. А наш брат, известно, жалованье в кабак <. . .> А в арестантской роте я сыт, обут,
одет; сидеть под замком привык с измала’ [‘At the factory they give you food rations, a
salary, and you can use it as you want. And our brother, naturally, brings his salary to the tavern.
<. . .> Whereas in convict detachment I am fed, shod, dressed; I am used to being locked up from
childhood.] Ibid, 58. Leskov’s Fliagin speaks of the life in the army and at the monastery in
similar terms.
195
While Leskov reproaches publishers who take a keen interest in various political
eccentrics, he himself also serves as an intermediary for vagrants. The only caveat is that while
publishers like Katkov and those unnamed individuals who promoted Baranshchikov and
Moshkin dealt with real persons and published their first-hand accounts, Leskov occupied a
different position. First of all, he creates his own vagrant figure in accordance with the recently
established canon. Within this work he inserts an intermediary character between the vagrant and
the readers. This intermediary directs the story and even helps translate the idiosyncrasies of
vagrants’ speech even if by simply asking follow-up questions. By doing that, he creates screens
that serve to distance the reader from an unkempt even if fictional figure of a vagrant. This
distance also allows the vagrant to be presented in a much more pleasant light. However, as
Leskov grows weary of radicals’ thinking and their influence on civil law and order in Russia, he
inadvertently acts as a supporter of criminalization of vagrancy, which can hardly be held
responsible for any revolutionary activity. And so, the kinds of screens that Leskov created in the
1870s to improve the image of vagrancy for his readers, in the 1890s turn into screens that aimed
to marginalize political figures and ostracize them from the civic communities.
196
Chapter 6
Maxim Gorky:
Vagrancy, Revolution, and the Question of Authenticity
Maxim Gorky (1868-1938) is perhaps the most celebrated writer about vagrancy in
Russia. His short stories “Chelkash,” “Konovalov,” “Tovarishchi,” “Moi sputnik,”
“Prokhodimets,” “Kain i Artëm,” “Odnazhdy osen’iu,” and his play Na dne (The Lower Depths)
are just a few works that feature memorable vagrant figures. As a literary heir of Vladimir
Korolenko, Sergei Maksimov, Ivan Pryzhov, and Vladimir Giliarovskii — writers that very often
addressed vagrancy in their works — Gorky soon surpassed his predecessors and became the
leading writer in this literary niche. To some degree, such success could be explained by the
sheer volume of literary works that Gorky dedicated to the subject.
It is important to stress that vagrancy as a social theme was beginning to garner a lot of
attention in literature by the end of the nineteenth century. However, by the early 1890s, when
Gorky was first embarking on his literary career, the writings on vagrancy could be generally
divided into two main categories: works of fiction that featured some vagrant figures, and
ethnographic, journalistic, or sociological works that centered on vagrancy as a social issue.
Gorky, in contrast, was able to fuse both of these methods of writing. On the one hand, he
unswervingly assures his readers that the majority of his protagonists are based on real people
and that he has first-hand knowledge about these people’s lives; on the other hand, he uses
fiction as a tool for creating highly affective texts that examine vagrancy from psychological,
philosophical, sociological, and political perspectives.
Interestingly, in his early short stories written between the 1890s and the early 1900s,
Gorky did not betray the tropes and motifs previously established by his predecessors. Instead,
197
by engaging with the recently developed traditions, he tried to comprehend the roots of vagrancy,
and by doing so, he broke some of the stereotypes, while reinforcing others. His vagrant
characters, in turn, helped him explore the ambivalence of life, establish his literary persona, and
make larger social and political points.
Is Gorky an Innovator?
In a critical literary review of Gorky’s work and biography, Ivan Strannik (pseudonym of
Anna Anichkova) claims that Gorky was the first Russian author to address vagrancy in
literature:
Появление бродяг в литературе является огромным нововведением Горького.
Русские писатели сначала интересовались культурными слоями общества; потом
они подошли к мужику. "Мужицкая литература" приняла общественное значение
<. . .> Однако оставался в темноте ещё один класс, класс бродяг, обширный,
разнородный, распространённый, многочисленный и очень характерный. Правда,
он составляется из всех других классов, из дворян, купцов, крестьян, духовенства,
но с того момента, когда отбившийся от своего общества увеличивает собою
разнокалиберную огромную семью бродяг, постоянно старающихся достать себе
хлеба и готовых взяться за какое угодно занятие, он образует со своими новыми
братьями действительное единое звено, не только по тожеству материального
положения, но и по общему строю духа, которым можно его определить.
Очевидно, подобных людей очень трудно изучить; они не пишут, говорят мало; то,
что они говорят, просто, хотя мысли их сложны. Чтобы понять их, надо долго
прожить вместе с ними, быть с ними в полной дружбе, товариществе, чтобы они не
могли укрыться, притвориться; а чтобы обрисовать их, надо обладать особенной
мощью слова. Эта такая трудная задача нашла в Горьком своего специального
работника: к этому его предназначили обстоятельства его жизни и собственный
гений.
334
The emergence of vagabonds in literature happens to be Gorky's enormous innovation.
Russian writers were first interested in the cultural layers of society; then they
approached the peasant. "Peasant literature" acquired a social significance <. . .>
334
Ivan Strannik, “Maksim Gor’kii: Kritiko-biograficheskii ocherk,” http://gorkiy-
lit.ru/gorkiy/kritika/anichkova-maksim-gorkij.htm.
198
However, another class remained in the dark: the vagabond class — vast, heterogeneous,
widespread, numerous and very distinctive. It is true that it is made up of all other
classes, of noblemen, merchants, peasants, clergy. Yet, from the moment one who has
strayed from society to join a diverse and multi-caliber family of vagabonds, which
constantly tries to get bread and is ready to take up any occupation, he forms with his
new brothers a real single link; they are linked not only by the identity of their material
situation, but also by the general structure of the spirit by which they can be defined.
Evidently, such people are very difficult to study; they do not write, they speak little;
what they say is simple, although their thoughts are complex. To understand them, one
must live with them for a long time, be with them in a close friendship and partnership,
so that they cannot hide or pretend; in order to describe them, one must possess the
exceptional power of the word. This difficult task found in Gorky its special worker.
Gorky was destined to do this by circumstance of his life and by his own genius.
This assessment of Gorky’s contribution to literature on vagabonds was fairly popular at the
time, yet it was hardly accurate. Perceptively pointing out that vagrants do form vagrant
communities, which could have been thoroughly examined, Ivan Strannik overestimated Gorky’s
originality. While it is true that the writer’s investigation of vagrancy stemmed from his own
vagabondage, of which he openly speaks in his copious autobiography, he can hardly be
considered a pioneer in that respect, since exploring Russia on foot had been in vogue at least
since the 1850s. Young writers and ethnographers like Pavel Iakushkin, Pavel Rybnikov,
Aleksandr Levitov, Vasilii Sleptsov, and Sergei Maksimov (among many others) went on
ethnographic expeditions to collect folk songs and folktales, dialectal vocabulary, and more
generally to study Russia and Russians from within.
335
Subsequently, these men wrote down and
published their impressions, often as literary sketches and travelogues. Their novel approach to
writing definitely stood out. For example, in 1864, the periodical Iskra (A Spark) published a
caricature facetiously titled “Vagrants-wanderers” (“Kaliki-perekhozhie”) that featured these
335
See also, Aleksandr Pypin, Istorii Russkoi etnografii v 4 tomakh, (Sankt Peterburg
(Vas. Ostrov): Tipografiia M. M. Stasiulevicha, 1890-1892).
199
writers together. In the caricature they appear to be meeting next to a wooden pole with compass
directions, before continuing their travels.
336
“Kaliki Perekhozhie.” Iskra, N. 9, 1864.
These writers were not actual vagrants, yet their actions inadvertently rattled a typical
model of the Author.
337
The new ideal author was one who actively explored and even
experienced real life, rather than someone who preached about the troubles of the Russian narod
from the comfort of their country estate. Comparably, a humble upbringing and close proximity
to peasants during childhood were no longer concealed by somebody like Nikolai Leskov, as an
example. Although such biographical facts could potentially reveal an author’s anxiety and
inferiority complex, they were actually used to communicate a superiority of experience and,
ipso facto, an authority in matters that concerned Russian reality. It is not surprising that the
336
Karikatura “Kaliki Perekhozhie.” Iskra, N. 9. (Sankt-Peterburg, 1864).
337
This reinterpretation of the authorial position vis-à-vis the Russian narod was not
merely a phenomenon found in literature. Around the same time a number of Russian artists
created an artistic group “Peredvizhniki” (“The Itinerants”). Taking on a variety of social issues
as the focus of their art, Peredvizhniki wished to establish travelling exhibitions all around the
Russian Empire in order to acquaint those who lived in the periphery with Russian art.
200
same kind of experience slowly turned into an implicit requirement for many Russian authors
who aspired to lay bare the lives of the lower classes and make social changes.
Much like many people of his generation, Gorky was well-versed in the literary
productions and socio-political views of these authors. In “Conversations about the Craft,” he
writes:
Я снова и внимательно перечитал всю литературу шестидесятых–семидесятых
годов. Она разделилась предо мною на два ряда: в одном — озлобленный и грубый
“натуралист” Николай Успенский, мрачный Решетников “Подлиповцев” и “Николы
Знаменского” <…> Во втором ряду: сладкогласный “обманщик” Златовратский <. .
.> унылый Засодимский, Бажин, Мих. Михайлов, Мамин-Сибиряк <. . .> Критика,
стараясь поставить меня как писателя в определённый угол, указывала на мою
зависимость от целого ряда влияний, начиная с “Декамерона,” Ницше и кончая уже
не помню кем <…> Я думаю, что на моё отношение к жизни влияли — каждый по-
своему — три писателя: Помяловский, Глеб Успенский и Лесков. <…> Я думаю,
что именно под влиянием этих трёх писателей решено было мною самому пойти
посмотреть, как живёт “народ.”
338
I’ve reread all the literature of the sixties and seventies again carefully. For me it was split
into two rows: in the first were the embittered and rude “naturalist” Nikolai Uspenskii, the
gloomy Reshetnikov of “Podlipovtsy” and “Nikola Znamensky” <…> In the second were
the sweet-voiced “liar” Zlatovratskii <…> dull Zasodimsky, Bazhin, Mikhail Mikhailov,
Mamin-Sibiryak <…>Trying to put me as a writer in a certain corner, literary critics
pointed to my dependence on a number of influences, starting with The Decameron,
Nietzsche, and ending with I no longer recall who else <…> I think that the three writers
who did influence my attitude to life — each in their own way — were Pomyalovsky,
Gleb Uspensky and Leskov <…> I think that it was under the influence of these three
writers that I decided to go see for myself how the “people” live.
Ideas gleaned from the literature of the 1860s could hardly resound any louder with the educated
young vagabonds and menial laborers like Gorky.
338
Maksim Gor’kii, “Besedy o remesle,” Sobranie Sochinenii v 30 tomakh. T. 25. Stat’i,
rechi, privetstviia. 1929-1931, (Moskva: Goslitizdat, 1953), 347.
https://aldebaran.ru/author/gorkiyi_maksim/kniga_besedyi_o_remesle/read/pagenum-11/.
201
In fact, by the time Gorky began his literary career, some writers had also started to
emerge from the ranks of practically homeless menial laborers. This was the case both in Russia
and abroad. The most notable foreign literary writers who explored vagabondism from the inside
at the time were the Norwegian Knut Hamsum (1859-1952) and the American sociologist Josiah
Flynt Willard (1869-1907). The leading vagrant-writer in Russia at the time was Vladimir
Giliarovskii or, as he was commonly known, Uncle Giliai (1855-1935). There are several reasons
for which these authors fell into vagrancy or destitution. Hamsum and Gorky were driven to this
lifestyle by difficult familial situations. Giliarovskii and Flynt, in contrast, chose to become
vagrants out of curiosity. Regardless of the reasons, these writers treated vagrancy as a type of
field research. This life of deprivation and adventure was not merely lived and endured, but
simultaneously treated as a valuable resource for potential literary endeavors. Leaning towards
fictional literature, Hamsun and Gorky used this material for their literary prose, whereas Flynt
and Giliarovskii chose a more journalistic, sociological route.
Maksim Narrates
As can be deduced from Ivan Strannik’s criticism (published in the Russian translation in
1903), Gorky’s direct involvement in and association with vagrants promoted him fairly early in
his career to a position of expert in matters of vagrancy and homelessness. Such confidence in
his expertise could have risen not simply from his biography, but instead from the formal
elements of his stories. In many of them, he included the first-person narrator by the name of
Maksim,
339
thereby implying that the author and the narrator are the same person. While the
339
In some stories, Maksim is represented by the author’s name “Aleksei Maksimych.” I
treat both of them as one single narrator, as both correspond with the figure of the author.
202
first-person narrator is in no way an exceptional literary device in itself, Gorky’s speaker
nevertheless stands out from the storytellers of a slew of writers who employed this formal
element in their writings. Moreover, even though it is not easy to dispute Ivan Strannik’s
suggestion that vagrants speak little when talking about real people, this statement can hardly
apply to vagabond literary characters. The two vagrant monks in Pushkin’s Boris Godunov,
Leskov’s Fliagin, Anton Chekhov’s nameless vagrant in “Mechty” (1886), Vladimir Korolenko’s
Fëdor Bespriiutnyi in the eponymous short story, or even vagrant figures in Gorky’s own
“Prokhodimets” and “Moi sputnik,” are all rather loquacious. Often, these persons speak in long
monologues and provide readers with detailed accounts of their lives. The literary function of
such monologues is in providing voice to those who were previously overlooked and silenced. In
addition, they are often presented as trustworthy accounts of raw life in Russia.
Ivan Strannik, much like the writer himself, separates Gorky from these people, painting
him as a writer who cohabitates with the vagrants but who is not actually one of them. In other
words, one could not both be a lawless vagrant and simultaneously occupy a position of moral
authority associated with writing literature. To mitigate this dichotomous possibility, Ivan
Strannik chose to see Gorky as an inquisitive infiltrator. It is possible that the mental division the
critic makes between vagrants and the author could have stemmed from Ivan Strannik’s own
idealism and cultural biases, which consequently manifested as a hesitation to conflate the two
distinct societal roles. It is equally possible, however, that it was motivated by the image of the
narrator that Gorky carefully created. After all, the figure of Maksim, the first-person narrator, is
often woven into the pattern of the text. Gorky allows his readers to perceive Maksim as a very
complex author-narrator. He is a poor young man who has some education and who recognizes
and aspires to live by high moral codes. His idiosyncrasies, actions, ideas, worries, and thoughts
203
are prostrated before the reader, but he is never on trial. Moreover, as a kind of alter ego of the
author, the first-person narrator is able to traverse from one short story to the other quite
seamlessly: the settings change, but Maksim’s morals remain the same. Even when his
manifestation in these stories is only cursory, he is still the most interesting actor in these works,
and that is why he should be examined closely.
In nineteenth-century Russian literature, the first-person narrators who tell a story about
vagabonds, as a rule, appear to be educated, well-to-do individuals. Their narratives often share
very similar settings. Such narrators speak about accidental and brief, yet memorable encounters
with vagrants, which they find worthy of recording in written form. Ivan Turgenev’s Zapiski
okhotnika (1852) is perhaps one of the more famous of such examples. In the stories, the first-
person narrator is a nobleman who goes hunting and, in the meantime, takes note of the life of
Russian serfs.
340
It is likely that Zapiski okhotnika, with its distinctive structure and its prominent first-
person narrator, became a model for those writers who chose to write about the Russian poor.
Yet, later works of Russian literature that featured both vagrancy and a first-person narration
diminished the need for a strong presence of an affluent man as an observer of the Russian poor.
The first-person narrators began to serve a slightly more perfunctory function as frame narrators,
whose identity, status, and even beliefs are unimportant. They introduced settings in which an
encounter with vagrants occurred and occasionally asked follow-up questions regarding
340
While the primary concern for Turgenev’s narrator is the peasants, he touches even on
the theme of vagrancy. Thus, in the short stories Kas’ian in “Kas’ian s Krasivoi Mechi” and
Ermolai in “Ermolai i mel’nichikha” are compared to vagrants, whereas Morgach in “Pevtsy,” it
is said, even briefly explored the vagrant lifestyle. Turgenev’s brief remarks concerning vagrants
carry negative undertones: Morgach is described as sly and cunning, while serf Ermolai is
portrayed as pitiful.
204
vagrancy life. The focus, in other words, shifted from the point of view of highly educated
persons on the subject matter to that of vagrants. To an extent, this shift can be perceived in
Strana izgnaniia i ischeznuvshie liudi (The Land of Exile and the Vanished People) (1872) by
Sergei Turbin (1821-1884). The narrator of these Siberian literary sketches recounts his meetings
with vagrants in the form of a dialogue, in which vagrants divulge details of their lifestyle and
practices. Similarly, the same increasing emphasis on the figure of the vagrant who narrates his
own story, and a cursory role of the first-person narrator can be observed in Leskov’s The
Enchanted Wanderer, and in Aleksandr Amfiteatrov’s short story “Skitalets” (1911).
341
In comparison with these examples, Gorky’s narrator, Maksim, can be considered as the
next step in the evolution of the structure previously developed by Turgenev in Zapiski
okhotnika. First of all, unlike that of Turgenev, Gorky’s narrator is not bound by a single
collection of short stories. Second, instead of being an affluent individual, Maksim is only a
literate vagrant, and this aspect becomes central to his character. Third, Maksim often acts as the
protagonist of his vagrant stories, rather than as a more passive first-person narrator or an
interlocutor. Paradoxically, he functions as an insider and an outsider in the texts, in which he
vacillates between these two statuses. Similar ambiguity of status can be seen in Isaac Babel’s
Konarmiia (Red Cavalry). In it, the first-person narrator, war journalist Liutov, similarly moves
from one short story to another, thereby uniting them. Like Maksim, he occupies a dual position:
on the one hand he is accepted by the uncivilized and often violent soldiers, and on the other he
is an intellectual who takes note of everything he observes. Notably, Babel can be regarded as
341
Recently, the same structure was employed by Artur Kteiants’ in “Brodiaga” (2020), a
contemporary poem about a philosophizing vagrant, whom the poet meets next to a grocery
store. Artur Kteiants, “Brodiaga.” Accessed online:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eenV8O2tDZ8
205
Gorky’s literary heir since, according to Babel’, Gorky encouraged him to keep writing, but
advised him to go “v liudi” (“to the people”), evidently to gain more wisdom about Russian
people.
342
It is possible, therefore, to view Gorky’s vagrant short stories not simply as a
development of realist narrative strategies, but as a bold move towards modernism. In any case,
Maksim’s unique dual state as both an intellectual and a lawless vagrant can at least be viewed as
a bridge between realist and modernist representations of characters. The importance of this dual
state is its function. It adds additional authenticity to Maksim’s words. Whereas most stories
suggest that sooner or later vagrants accepted Maksim in their ranks as their equal, readers are
simultaneously reassured that Maksim’s critical thinking and inquisitiveness remain superior to
those of his companions. Intellectually, therefore, he always stands above the people whom he
studies. On occasion, this dichotomous position is communicated by the narrator himself. In
“Konovalov” (1897), for example, Maksim stands before the reader as a bibliophile who knows
and speaks a lot, and who can explicate how social, political, and historical reasons predetermine
the development of vagrancy in Russia. In “Emel’ian Piliai” (1893), Maksim explains that
vagrant Emel’ian thought highly of him mostly because Maksim wore glasses. The same
sentiment is reiterated in “Na soli.”
Тhis superficiality of glasses as a marker of Maksim’s intelligence echoes the vagrants’
relation to the works of fiction that Maksim reads to them. While Konovalov and Emel’ian Piliai
may admire fictional literature as a craft, they still dismiss these stories for their artificiality.
Along with works of fiction, they also dismiss learned Maksim for his obtuse understanding of
342
Isaac Babel’. “Nachalo.” Vospominaniia, portrety, stat’i, (Moskva: Pravda, 1990).
Accessed online: http://lib.ru/PROZA/BABEL/memoirs.txt
206
reality. Reproaching Maksim, for example, Emel’ian Piliai says: “What people! He reads books,
he even carries them with him, but he cannot understand a person! Four-eyed freak!” (“Люди
тоже! Читает книжки, с собой их носит даже, а понимать человека не умеет! Кикимора
четырехглазая!”)
343
Notably, Emel’ian Piliai begrudges Maksim the eyewear, as it still acts as
physical evidence of one’s intelligence.
344
Although his words can be read as a common nineteenth-century Russian literary trope of
representing the sacred Russian people and their innate higher knowledge of life, Gorky at least
in part subverts it later in the text. A curious anecdote from his life that Emel’ian Piliai recounts
to Maksim seems to be nothing but an alternative version of Nikolai Karamzin’s “Poor Liza.” In
the vagrant’s rendition a scorned rich woman by the name of Liza goes to the bridge to commit
suicide by drowning, but then she meets Emel’ian Piliai and chooses life instead. This story
muddles the relationship between reality and realistic representation of life and even suggests
343
PSS. “Emel’ian Piliai.” T. 1, 37.
344
Possibly inspired by Gorky’s stories, Babel develops this theme further in his
Konarmiia. In the case of Liutov, glasses are not mere markers of intelligence or envy from the
less uneducated people; instead, they become an object of intense hatred from the Cossacks.
Consider, for instance, the following two passages: “You see we have a thing about spectacles
here, there ain’t nothing you can do! A man of high distinguishings they’ll chew up and spit
out.” (“Канитель тут у нас с очками и унять нельзя. Человек высшего отличия — из него
здесь душа вон”) (“Moi pervyi gus’”); “You look at the world through your spectacles,” he told
me, looking at me with hatred. <…> “I look at it through the miserable life of a worker” (“Ты
через очки смотришь на свет, — сказал он, глядя на меня с ненавистью <…> Я смотрю
через несчастную нашу рабочую жизнь”) (“Ikh bylo deviat’”). (Isaac Babel, Peter Constantine
(tr.). Red Cavalry. W. W. Norton, 2003; Isaak Babel’. Konarmiia. (Moskva: Pravda, 1990).
Accessed online: http://lib.ru/PROZA/BABEL/konarmia.txt.) At the same time, when Babel’
recalls his first meeting with Gorky, he speaks of his glasses as if it were a weapon: “был
вооружён очками, замотанными вощеной ниткой” (“was armed with glasses, wrapped by a
waxed thread.”) (Issak Babel’. “Nachalo.”).
207
that vagrants are unreliable narrators with a penchant for fictional accounts. Incidentally,
Maksim underscores vagrants’ desire to tell implausible stories on many occasions. Vagrant
characters in “Chelkash,” “Moi sputnik,” “Delo s zastëzhkami,” “Prokhodimets,” “Ded Arkhip i
Lën’ka” show various degrees of dishonesty, whereas in “Konovalov” Maksim notes that most
vagrants tell tall tales:
Я слышал и раньше истории в этом духе. Почти у каждого босяка есть в прошлом
“купчиха” или “одна барыня из благородных,” и у всех босяков эта купчиха и
барыня от бесчисленных вариаций в рассказах о ней является фигурой совершенно
фантастической, странно соединяя в себе самые противоположные физические и
психические черты. <…> И обыкновенно босяк рассказывает о ней в скептическом
тоне, с массой подробностей, которые унижают ее.
345
I have heard stories like this before. Almost every tramp has a “merchant’s wife” or “a
lady from the noble kind” in the past, and for all tramps, this merchant’s wife and lady,
from countless variations of the stories about her, is a completely fantastic figure and a
strange combination of opposite physical and mental traits. <…> Usually, the tramp talks
about her in a skeptical tone, with a lot of details that debase her.
But being himself a vagrant, is Maksim any different?
Notwithstanding the semblance these stories’ bear to autobiography and Maksim’s
connectedness to the author, Gorky’s short stories are fictitious even when they are inspired by
true events or persons. Thus, Konovalov, who inspired the eponymous short story, did not
actually commit suicide but died in a hospital in 1902, six years after Gorky wrote the story.
346
The man whom Gorky represented in “Moi sputnik” by the name of “Shakro” later argued in a
local newspaper that he did not in fact abandon Gorky upon their arrival into Tiflis (Tbilisi).
347
Despite varying degrees of invention, many of Gorky’s stories about vagrants appear be non-
345
PSS, “Konovalov,” T. 3, 16.
346
PSS, T3, 543.
347
PSS, Т. 1, 540.
208
fictional and even autobiographical. Comparably, many of them are also unified by the figure of
the same narrator, whose portrait has distinct features. In some stories, this narrator as important
as the figures of various protagonists.
The narrator is not as much defined by his physical features, as by his belief-system. In
most, if not all, of the vagrant stories in which he appears, Maksim acts as a bearer of truth and a
moral compass. His youthful passion for fairness coupled with compassion and longing to
reorganize the society for the better is consistently transmitted — so much so that even when
Gorky reminisces about working in Semyonov’s bakery in “Moi universitety” (1923), he
pointedly underscores his altruistic aspirations of “enlightening” the downtrodden, providing the
overworked bakers with a glimmer of hope for a better life through dialogue and storytelling.
348
Similarly, in the short stories, Maksim’s encounters with vagrants often turn into philosophical
discussions. And while Maksim does appear fairly didactic and even sanctimonious, he also
represents order and good moral values. In other words, he presents himself as a stable,
inoffensive, and unthreatening character as opposed to his unpredictable, unscrupulous
counterparts.
Such contrast is manifested differently in many of Gorky’s stories, but perhaps the most
telling one is “Moi sputnik.” As Maksim helps lazy and ignorant Georgian prince Shakro to get
home from Odessa, he consistently calls Shakro “wild” and vividly counterpoises man’s
insatiable nature with his own self-sacrificing one. According to Maksim, Shakro prefers loud
contemporary songs to Pushkin’s poetry, eats excessively, does not admire the beauty of nature,
justifies murder and violence. Maksim does not describe himself, yet his character can be defined
as the opposite of Shakro’s.
348
Moi universitety, Т. 16, 37.
209
“Moi sputnik” can be read as a story of experimental self-enslavement. Maksim
volunteers to bring Shakro to Tiflis and does not leave him behind, even after he realizes that
Shakro takes advantage of him. Maksim’s actions seem to serve a higher, nationalist purpose.
His ultimate goal lies not in sparing the prince from Georgia from the perils of vagrancy, but in
improving “the spontaneous man” (“chelovek-stikhiia”), making him less wild and more
civilized. Soon, however, Maksim begins to grasp that transformation is impossible and that
nature cannot be tamed:
Из-за мыса, рассекая волны, выплыл громадный пароход и, важно качаясь на
взволнованном лоне моря, понесся по хребтам волн, бешено бросавшихся на его
борта. Красивый и сильный, блестящий на солнце своим металлом, в другое время
он, пожалуй, мог бы навести на мысль о гордом творчестве людей, порабощающих
стихии... Но рядом со мной лежал человек-стихия.
349
Cutting through the waves, a huge steamer sailed out from behind the cape, and, swaying
proudly on the agitated bosom of the sea, it dashed along the ridges of the waves that
were furiously rushing on its sides. Handsome and strong, shining in the sun with his
metal, at another time it, perhaps, could have suggested the idea of the proud work of
people that enslaved the elements of nature... But next to me lay a man-element.
By equating Shakro with unruly nature, Maksim, who frequently places himself in opposition to
his companion, reinforces his position on the side of culture and civilization. Not only does he
declare his intellectual superiority over Shakro, but he also amplifies his intellectual worth in the
eyes of the reader by beginning to lament the loneliness of sagacity:
А я под его говор думал о великом несчастии тех людей, которые, вооружившись
новой моралью, новыми желаниями, одиноко ушли вперёд и встречают на дороге
своей спутников, чуждых им, не способных понимать их... Тяжела жизнь таких
одиноких! Они — над землёй, в воздухе... Но они носятся в нем, как семена добрых
349
“Moi sputnik” Т. 1. S. 146.
210
злаков <…>.
350
Listening to the sound of his voice I was thinking about the great misfortunes of people,
who were armed with new morals and new desires, but who were very lonely as they
walked ahead; on their way these people encounter companions who are alien to them,
unable to understand them ... The life of such lonely individuals is hard! They are above
the ground, in the air ... But they rush around in the air like seeds of good grains <…>.
Maksim undoubtedly speaks of himself when he evokes an image of the new men and their “new
morals and new desires,” by which he likely means the altruism of revolutionary socialist ideals.
While he is not explicit, it is possible that the loneliness of such individuals stems from their
intellectual and moral superiority over the majority. Yet, the rest of the work suggests that this
loneliness is also interconnected with Maksim’s pedagogical failure, as his insistence on
(re)educating Shakro bears no fruit: “my argumentation had no power” (“moi dovody
bessil’ny,”); “seeing that his heart does not listen to me, I would again appeal to his reason <…>
but my argumentation would crash to dust” (“видя, что меня не слушает его сердце, я снова
обращался к его уму <…> но мои доводы разбивались в пыль”).
351
The same aspiration to be
an effective ideologist, as well as the difficulties of the vocation, are repeated in Gorky’s other
short stories:
В ответ на это я прочитал ему целую лекцию... Но — увы! — она не произвела того
впечатления, на которое я рассчитывал.
(I gave him a whole lecture in response... But - alas! — it did not make the impression
that I expected.)
352
350
Ibid, 145.
351
Ibid, 126-7.
352
“Konovalov,” 21.
211
Я <…> начал рассказывать о заграничных империях, пытаясь доказать ему, что его
сведения об управлении облаками и солнцем относятся к области мифов. <…>
Емельян почти не слушал меня, упрямо глядя в даль перед собою.
(I <…> began to talk about foreign empires, trying to prove to him that his ideas about
the control of the clouds and the sun belongs to the realm of myths. <...> Emel’ian hardly
listened to me as he stubbornly looked into the distance in front of him.)
353
Maksim’s improvised lectures, however, are not given within the text. On the contrary, they are
usually provided in passing. For example, while in “Konovalov” the narrator repeatedly alludes
to long tirades about social injustice, he does not provide the transcript of these speeches. Hence,
the reader can neither agree nor disagree with the narrator’s points:
Я разозлился и рассказал ему о наградах сочинителям...
(I got angry and told him about the awards to writers…).
354
Тогда я начал говорить о роковой роли кабака в жизни русского литератора, о тех
крупных и искренних талантах, что погибли от водки — единственной утехи их
многотрудной жизни.
(Then I began to speak about the fatal role of the tavern in the life of a Russian writer,
about those great and sincere talents who perished from vodka — the only joy of their
hard life.)
355
Я начал говорить об условиях и среде, о неравенстве, о людях — жертвах жизни и
о людях — владыках её.
(I began to talk about conditions and the environment, about inequality, about people
who were victims of life and about those who were life's rulers.)
356
Similarly, in “Dva bosiaka” Maksim’s ideas are restated indirectly by a vagrant who cannot
recall Maksim’s actual words: “Maksim says…. The man, he says, must take care of his soul….
353
“Emel’ian Piliai” T. 1, 37.
354
“Konovalov,” 22.
355
Ibid, 22.
356
Ibid, 23.
212
That is to teach… or what was that?” (“Вот Максим говорит… человек, говорит, должен
свою душу беречь… то есть учить… или как там?»).
357
This lack of specificity in Maksim’s speeches allows the character to appear as a socially-
minded and learned young man, an intellectual, and simultaneously it permits him to preserve
some mystery in his character. On the other hand, this vagueness also spares Maksim from
potential criticism from Gorky’s readers and, more importantly, censors, be it for lapses in
logical conclusions or for the flagrant broadcast of noxious ideas in a literary text. In effect, one
of the abovementioned quotes about the “award to writers” was not Gorky’s own, but rather the
result of the censorial revisions.
358
While all clarifications of what Maksim meant by these
“awards” were omitted, the implications were left unchanged, and Maksim’s character gained an
additional layer of politicization. Still, while the authorities could definitely censor Maksim’s
words, they were unable to send this fictional tramp to prison. Hence, due to Gorky’s authorial
decisions as well as the demands of his censors, Maksim appears to be partially removed from
being on trial — so much so, that he is not judged even for masquerading as a vagrant. The
reader remains unaware of the reasons Maksim wanders as a vagrant, and his actions are not
problematized up until the time Maksim himself posits this as an issue.
“Dva bosiaka” ends with the vagrant Stepok confronting Maksim for becoming a writer
and abandoning his vagrant existence: “So, you were not naturally a vagrant... but out of
357
“Dva bosiaka” T. 2, 161.
358
The clarifications, that is “…to those burned at the stake, who rotted in prisons, killed
by slander, driven to madness, who were vulgarized and betrayed themselves — about the best
people of the earth who were driven to exhaustion in various ways, whose names and lives I
knew at that time” (“…о сожжённых на кострах, гнивших в тюрьмах, погибших от клеветы,
доведённых до безумия, опошленных и изменивших себе – о всех разнообразно
измученных лучших людях земли, имена и жизнь которых я в ту пору знал”). Maksim
Gor’kii, Sobrnie Sochinenii v 30 tomakh. T. 3. Rasskazy. 1896-1899, (Moskva: Godlitizdat.
1950), 526.
213
curiosity? <…> So, for no reason… just wandered a bit and went home?” (“Не по природе ты
босяком-то был…. а так, из любопытства? <…> Без всякой задачи, значит… Походил и
домой?”).
359
This conversation is a central moment in Maksim’s self-presentation. As Maksim
removes himself physically from the vagrant community, his self-identification also changes. He
is no longer a vagrant; he is a writer now. His removal from the vagrant community clearly
resounds in his use of pronouns:
“Нет, задача была. Хотел узнать, что за люди…” <…>
“Про нас?!”— Степок широко улыбнулся и ехидно поднял брови.
“Про вас...”
(“No, there was a reason. I wanted to know, what these people are…” <…>
“About us?!” — Stepok smiled widely and raised his eyebrows spitefully.
“About you…”)
360
Seemingly, there is nothing shameful in Maksim’s success, and with his progression on the
social ladder his belonging to a different group is also justified. Yet, a number of questions arise
from this exchange: Was Maksim’s vagrancy real or was he feigning poverty? Is his exit from
vagrancy a betrayal? Can one be both a writer and a vagrant? Must the writer be a vagrant to
understand vagrants and if Maksim is only pretending, can he be trusted? In fact, this brings the
discussion back to Gorky’s reader and critic Ivan Strannik, for whom this unity of being is
unfathomable, and who believed that Gorky’s vagrancy should be treated as an assignment. Most
importantly, however, this exchange asks the ultimate question: What is vagrancy? Is it a
psychological state, a lifestyle, a socio-economic problem, or a vocation? While most of these
questions can be seen as rhetorical, the last one is consistently explored by the writer himself in
359
“Dva bosiaka,” T. 2, 179.
360
Ibid, 179.
214
most of his vagrant stories. Conversely, on the level of verisimilitude, Gorky’s vagrants — as
opposed to Pushkin’s, Grigorovich’s, Danilevskii’s. Dostoevskii’s, or even Korolenko’s — can
still be regarded as the most authentic, simply because Gorky experienced vagrancy first-hand.
At the same time, Gorky’s engagement with vagrancy can be looked at from the point of
view of performativity. In her discussion of gender performativity, Judith Butler argues that
gender is not a stable inherent identity or category, but that it is instead “an identity instituted
through a stylized repetition of acts.”
361
Gender identity rests on a continuous performance, “a
compelling illusion, an object of belief,” and “a performative accomplishment compelled by
social sanction and taboo.”
362
It is possible to apply Butler’s theory to construction of social class
and social identities an consider these categories in terms of performance or an act.
Butler demarcates stage performance and gender performativity, noting that the two have
different implications: “the sight of a transvestite onstage can compel pleasure and applause
while the sight of the same transvestite on the seat next to us on the bus can compel fear, rage,
even violence.” The same kind of performance can in fact be observed in Gorky’s and
Giliarovskii’s vagrancy, as it can be understood in terms of performativity of social identity,
rather than a deep, mythical calling. An instability of the social status is also evident, since
Gorky transcends it quite seamlessly, when he begins to perform his new social status—that of
the writer—and wears new hat and clothes, of which he speaks in “Dva bosiaka.” This limits of
performativity and Gorky’s arguable vagrancy may be also found in the episode of staging Na
Dne, which I briefly discuss in Chapter 2. Instead of relying on vagrant past or experiences of
vagrancy of Gorky or Giliarovskii, Stanislavsky asked Giliarovskii to help him organize an
361
Judith Butler, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in
Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” Theatre Journal. (Vol. 40, N. 4, 1988), 519.
362
Butler, 520.
215
excursion to Khitrov market, where Stanislavsky and his troupe hoped to learn about the vagrant
poor. As Maria Shevtsova notes, this excursion authenticated Gorky’s “reality” and stimulated
“the actors’ imagination so that they could come to grips with characters out of their normal
range of experience.”
363
In other words, Stanislavskii did not regard the two writers Gorky and
Giliarovskii as actual vagrants and did not think of studying them directly.
Gorky, Vagrancy, Revolution
The twentieth century in Russia ushered in progressive ideas, social unrest, terrorist acts,
and the perpetual anticipation of the revolution. In the cultural imagination of the country,
revolution emerged as a mythical, spontaneous, elemental force even before it transpired.
Already in 1901, for example, Gorky himself produced one of the most powerful revolutionary
pieces of writing in which he glorified an image of a fearless and noble rebel in “Pesnia o
Burevestnike” (“The Song of the Stormy Petrel”). Since then, in the Russian culture, the stormy
petrel as the herald of revolution is comfortably positioned alongside other symbolic birds, such
as the white dove — a symbol of peace, or the double-headed eagle as a symbol of empire. The
image of the revolutionary, on the other hand, seems to have evolved from a much less noble
association in Russian thought. Historically, mutineers and revolutionaries in Russia were
considered no more than brodiagi. The state had long regarded notorious offenders of law and
order such as Grigorii Otrep’ev, Stepan Razin, and Emelyan Pugachëv as vagrants. This semi-
official designation intentionally denigrated these offenders. It was then reiterated in numerous
songs and works of literature about them over the centuries. Pushkin, for example, used this
363
Maria Shevtsova, Rediscovering Stanislavsky, (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2019),
202.
216
word in connection with both Grigorii Otrep’ev in Boris Godunov and Pugachëv in The
Captain’s Daughter. Notably, even the revolutionary stormy petrel is closely connected to this
theme since its creator self-fashioned himself as a vagrant.
The correlation between revolt and the lawless nature of its architects grew stronger in
the second part of the nineteenth century. Consider, for example, the figure of Rakhmetov in
Nikolai Chernyshevskii’s novel What Is to Be Done? (1862). Rakhmetov, a prototype of an ideal
revolutionary, chooses to become a wanderer during his formative years and even works as a
barge hauler for some time. According to Vladimir Giliarovskii, vagrants worked a variety of
odd menial jobs, and hauling barges was a popular choice. In an autobiographical work Moi
skitaniia, Giliarovskii admits that he wanted to become a vagrant and experience barge hauling
(“liamku poprobovat’”) because he was inspired by Chernyshevskii’s Rakhmetov and wished to
emulate him.
364
A similar connection between revolutionaries and vagabondism can be observed in
Sergei Nechaev’s manifesto “Catechism of a Revolutionary” (1869): “A revolutionary is a
doomed person. He has no interests, no affairs, no feelings, no attachments, no property, not
even a name” (“Революционер — человек обречённый. У него нет ни своих интересов, ни
дел, ни чувств, ни привязанностей, ни собственности, ни даже имени.)
365
This definition can
be easily applied to vagrants, who also lack property, names, and attachments. By the late
nineteenth century, revolutionaries were being associated with vagrants, and because of this
association the brodiaga, who “goes wandering around Russia to breathe air of liberty” (“пойдет
364
V. Giliarovkii, Moi skitaniia. Povest’ o brodiazhnoi zhizni, (Moskva: Izd.
“Federatsiia”: 1928), 26, 47.
365
S. G. Nechaev, “Katekhizis revoliutsionera,” Accessed online:
http://www.hist.msu.ru/ER/Etext/nechaev.htm.
217
бродить по Рассеюшке, воздухом надышится вольным”) began to acquire sinister political
undertones.
366
This link between revolutionaries and vagrants, which could be seen as damaging
to both parties, underscored the illegality of the revolutionaries and at the same time made them
appear even more threatening, irrational, and almost demonic.
Late nineteenth-century Russian literature became more and more accustomed to images
of menacing vagabonds, lawless terrorists and revolutionaries, bloodthirsty criminals (among
whom students ranked as some of the worst), and hordes of starving “former people.” And as
Dostoevsky, Grigorovich, Leskov, Saltykov-Shchedrin, Chekhov, Amfiteatrov, Korolenko,
Giliarovsky, and even Leo Tolstoy all raised the question of vagrancy in their writings, the
society became more and more familiar with it as a criminal force to be reckoned with. In other
words, the ground was slowly being prepared for the discussion of vagrants if not as heroes of
their own genre, then at least as central figures or even narrators of their own stories. Thus, while
Gorky’s entrance into the world of vagrants may have been accidental and personal, his focus on
vagrancy was nevertheless timely, not simply because literature about harrowing criminal
activities and the dazzling underworld of Russian society was in high demand, but mainly
because Gorky was socially minded and loudly welcomed the revolution, which also appealed to
the reading masses. The same masses no longer wished to read about an insignificant or a
superfluous man. What appealed to the public at the time was a classless loner, who possibly was
a devious person with a heightened sensitivity to the truth and a hidden potential for destruction
of the status quo.
Yet, it was not just with his writings that Gorky was trying to “stir the pot.” In 1902,
366
Andrei Belyi, Serebriannyi golub’, Accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/b/belyj_a/text_0032.shtml. (The word Rаsseiushka is a nonstandard word for
“Russia.” It can be used as a term of endearment or sarcasm).
218
Gorky became the de facto head of “Znanie” (“Knowledge”) publishing house. He succeeded in
revolutionizing the publisher by shifting its focus from popular science to fictional literature and
by giving most of the profits back to the authors.
367
While there was initially no ideological
pressure on writers, by 1905 “Znanie” had nevertheless become politicized. As Pavel Basinskii
notes:
В “Библиотеке” организуется отдел марксистской литературы и создаётся
специальная редакционная комиссия для отбора книг для народа. Её состав говорит
сам за себя: В. И. Ленин, В. В. Воровский, Л. Б. Красин, А. В. Луначарский… Не
просто марксисты, но именно большевики.
Within the “Library” [“Affordable Library” (Deshevaia biblioteka) — OS] a department
of Marxist literature is organized, and a special editorial committee to select books for the
public is created. Its organization speaks for itself: Vladimir Lenin, Vatslav Vorovskoy,
Leonid Krasin, Anatoly Lunacharsky… Not just the Marxists but, in fact, the
Bolsheviks.
368
As a representative of vagrant communities turned influential literary figure Gorky consistently
reinforced the idea that vagrancy forged politically-subversive forces that steadily prepared the
ground for the revolution.
Gorky’s Brodiagi
Not sparing any scathing remarks, Kornei Chukovskii expressed his frustration with
Gorky’s repetitiveness and his clear-cut oppositions of good and evil:
Написав однажды “Песнь о Соколе,” он ровненько и симметрично, как по
линеечке, разделил все мироздание на Ужей и Соколов, да так всю жизнь, с
367
Pavel Basinskii, “Gor’kii i ‘Znanie,’” Gor’kii (Moskva: Molodaia gvardiia, 2005), 62.
368
Ibid, 63.
219
монотонной аккуратностью во всех своих драмах, рассказах, повестях — и
действовал в этом направлении.
369
Having written once “Song of the Falcon,” he evenly and symmetrically, as if with a
ruler, divided the whole universe into Grass Snakes and Falcons, and so all his life, with
monotonous accuracy in all his dramas, stories, and novellas he proceeded in this
direction.
While Chukovskii’s criticism may have some validity, such straightforward duality is hardly the
case when applied to Gorky’s early vagrant characters. Not only do Gorky’s vagrants serve as
agents that expose the ambivalence of life, truths, and human character, but their reasons for
existence are also hardly ever the same as well.
The diverse range of vagrant characters and their background suggest that Gorky does not
try to fit all vagrants into the same category; on the contrary, it implies that he aspires to
understand what drives people to vagrancy. The narrator of many of these stories, for example,
only acts as a brodiaga. As Stëpka in “Dva bosiaka” notes, Maksim only feigns vagrancy. Such
an accusation is complex in and of itself, since it indicates that a genuine need must drive one to
vagrancy and that one cannot become a vagrant on a whim. With an array of different vagrant
figures, Gorky demonstrates that this “need” is indeed never the same. Although in a
conversation with Konovalov Maksim maintains that vagrancy stems from systemic social
injustice and economic disparity, most of the characters that Gorky portrays fall into poverty and
wandering for other reasons.
It is true that some characters, such as little boy Lën’ka in “Ded Arkhip i Lën’ka” or a
little girl in “Nishchenka,” are born into poverty. For others the life of the brodiazhnichestvo
begins after a series of unfortunate events or injudicious decisions. Emel’ian Piliai, for instance,
369
Kornei Chukovskii, “Maksim Gor’kii,” Rodnaia zemlia, (St. Peterburg, Mart 1907).
Accessed online: http://gorkiy-lit.ru/gorkiy/about/chukovskij-gorkij.htm
220
was ruined because of his alcohol dependency; prince Shakro was robbed by his friend; a
dissolute nature of character drove Promtov (“Prokhodimets”) to a peripatetic lifestyle; Viktor
Aleksandrovich (“Tovarishchi”) squandered his inheritance money and gradually descended into
vagrancy. What is crucial, however, is that all the abovementioned vagrants originate from
different social strata of society. Speaking of Promtov, for example, Maksim states that many
brodiagi come from the educated class: “It was clear that this is a so-called ‘member or
intelligentsia.’ There are many of them among vagrants, and all of them are dead people, who
lost all self-respect” (“Было ясно, что это так называемый ‘интеллигентный человек.’ Их
много среди бродяг, все они — мёртвые люди, потерявшие всякое уважение к себе.”)
370
Strikingly, the majority of these people choose to remain brodiagi. Chelkash, Konovalov,
Artëm (“Kain i Artëm”), and Promtov (“Prokhodimets”) at various times have access to
sufficient funds, yet they do not wish to settle down. Homelessness and the peripatetic lifestyle
seem to be ingrained in their character. The world with its rules and responsibilities, on the other
hand, is understood as too narrow and too restricting. Thus, Konovalov wants a human being to
live the life in which it is “bright and not tight in the world” (“чтобы ему было и светло и не
тесно на земле”).
371
Promtov argues that “there is something imbibing, consuming in a vagrant
life” and that “it’s nice to feel free of responsibilities from the various little ropes that tie your
human existence among other people...” (“в бродяжьей жизни есть нечто всасывающее,
поглощающее. Приятно чувствовать себя свободным от обязанностей, от разных
маленьких верёвочек, связывающих твоё существование среди людей...”). Echoing the
words of Konovalov about the lack of space on earth, Promtov also complains that he is bored in
370
“Prokhodimets,” Т. 4, 33.
371
“Konovalov,” T. 3, 43.
221
Russia: “Because in Russian I am bored at this point. In it — ‘everything I could I’ve done
already’” (“Ибо в России — уже скучно мне. И в ней — ‘все, что мог, я уже совершил’”).
372
“Bсе, что мог, я уже совершил’” is an inexact quote from Nikolai Nekrasov’s “Razmyshleniia
u paradnogo pod’ezda” (“Reflections at the Main Entrance”).
373
In his poem Nekrasov addresses
these words to the Russian poor and asks whether they will “wake up” or continue to remain in
the state of longsuffering obedience. Promtov’s use of these words is curious because he
responds to a question posed to a collective as an individual, and as such he seemingly separates
his voice from the hum of the crowd. Yet, at the same time he presents himself as part of the
oppressed Russian narod despite being an educated person who can easily improve his social
conditions. This duality, therefore, makes Promtov a foil of the narrator Maksim, who
comparingly wavers between social classes, and whose actual belonging undergoes reasonable
scrutiny. Whereas Promtov’s story is the story of decline, the story of Maksim is that of mental
and moral strength, perseverance, success, and an eventual departure from the bounds of
destitution.
As a literary type, misanthropic Promtov is a trickster, for whom an intricate performance
and the art of deception play a crucial role in his itinerant lifestyle. He notes that from the early
age he had a proclivity to lying and debauchery; as such, he can be compared to Grigorovich’s
vagrant characters from Pereselentsy, since most of the criminals in Grigorovich seem to have
been born delinquent. Unlike despotic villains in Pereselentsy, however, Promtov is an educated
man who may have been arrested for reading banned literature and mingling in liberal circles.
Even though Promtov deems himself an unreliable narrator, he nevertheless expounds on his
372
“Prokhodimets,” T 4, 59.
373
Nikolai Nekrasov, “Razmyshleniia u paradnogo pod’ezda,” accessed online:
https://ilibrary.ru/text/1026/p.1/index.html.
222
own elaborate philosophy of life and even fashions himself as a superfluous man who sinks into
vagrancy, which is a plausible resolution for this literary type. Endowed with acting talents and a
good imagination, he resorts to deceit to support himself financially. Promtov’s story is a portrait
of a vagrant who willfully chooses a vagrant lifestyle because it allows him to avoid exercising
existing social norms, yet it does not offer any lofty conclusions on morality.
The same cannot be said about Gorky’s “Chelkash.” The protagonist is both a devil and a
saint, whose function is to expose the greediness of “honest” people, the corruptible nature of
men, and the ineffectiveness of religious doctrines. This openly lawless thief acts not as the
moral authority, but as a foil to devout peasant Gavrila, who repeatedly invokes God in his
speech, yet soon after committing his first criminal offense, nearly murders Chelkash for money.
By the end of the text, it is the vagrant Chelkash who rises above by simply being transparent
about his intentions, whereas Gavrila’s religious incantations and sorrows are rendered
meaningless and insincere. Yet, with this short story Gorky does not seek to whitewash or
admonish any social group, but instead to equalize them by endowing vagrants with complex
personalities. Vagrant Chelkash, like peasant Gavrila, can be simultaneously good and bad,
generous and greedy, murderous and merciful. By rendering Gavrila as a religious man who can
easily violate Christian doctrines, on the other hand, Gorky indirectly challenges the popular
notion that Russian peasants, unlike dishonest vagrants who feign piety for profit, are true
believers.
Not all Gorky’s vagrants are hardened criminals, however. Some of them are
pronouncedly harmless individuals, whose stories permit the author to explore the question of
crime and punishment. For instance, in “Ded Arkhip i Lën’ka,” the gravity of theft as a criminal
offense is being reevaluated in light of the destitution of the old man Arkhip and a little boy
223
Lën’ka as well as the ultimate punishment for the old man’s petty theft — deaths of both
characters.
Conversely, there is one feature that prevails in most Gorky’s vagrants. Konovalov,
Emel’ian Piliai, Pliashi noga and Upovaiushchii in “Druzhki” (“Friends”), Stepok and Maslov
(“Dva bosiaka”), Sëmka Karguza and Mishka (“Delo s zastëzhkami”), and Maksim himself are
all hardworking people. More often than not they are found working or looking for odd menial
jobs in salt mines, bakeries, and agricultural fields. This connection is not insignificant. In the
1930s, in a response to his younger readers, Gorky outlined the most essential personal quality of
Konovalov:
Работать он действительно любил, работал честно, чистоплотно, в тесто не плевал,
как это делали многие другие пекаря, обозлённые тяжкой работой по 14–16 часов в
сутки. Любовь к работе, честное отношение к ней — это качество социально
высокоценное, и вот в этом вам следует подражать Коновалову.
374
He definitely loved to work, he worked honestly, neatly, he did not spit in the dough, as
did many other bakers who were irritated because they had to work hard for 14–16 hours
a day. Love for work and an honest attitude towards it is a quality that is valued highly in
society, and it is this quality of Konovalov that you should imitate.
The consistency with which Gorky reiterated vagrants’ participation in productive labor and
these people’s readiness to earn money was undoubtedly directed at improving the public
opinion on the matter. Ironically, it can be said that even some of the roguish characters are
respecting of labor. Promtov, for instance, almost always finds work in churches, theatres, and
the police, whereas stealing in “Chelkash” is represented as a labor-intensive and elaborate
undertaking.
374
PSS. T. 3, 543.
224
Presenting vagrants not only as individuals but also as the precarious working class that
functions in the shadows is what allowed Gorky to be so effective in his social argument at the
time, when socialist sentiments were in the air. It is, perhaps, what unnerved Gorky’s publishers
and frustrated his censors. Evidently, this shift in emphasis was not minor and was perceived
immediately. Censor M. S. Verzhbitskii, for instance, argued that Gorky’s vagrant is no longer a
“temporary vagrant who, according to the Russian laws, must be transferred back to his place of
residence” (“временный бродяга, который по законам русским подлежит водворению на
место жительства”), but instead he is “an ideologist, who only seeks freedom” (“человек идеи,
который ищет только свободы”).
375
Although his assessment may appear positive,
Verzhbitskii’s conclusions, in which he also called Gorky’s ideas “tendentious,” were not in the
writer’s favor. In 1898, Gorky received a similar quasi-positive evaluation from the censorship
committee that was formed to consider the termination of Novoe slovo journal. Their decision
was not in favor of the publication, and Gorky’s texts may have played a role in their decision:
376
В беллетристическом отделе первое место даётся таким произведениям, в которых
раскрывается борьба классов и бедственное состояние рабочего люда. С особою
яркостью эта тема разработана в талантливых повестях Горького (псевдоним
Пешкова) “Коновалов” и “Бывшие люди.”
377
In the fiction section, the most consideration is given to works which illustrate the
struggle of classes and the plight of the working people. This theme was developed
especially colorfully in the masterful stories “Konovalov” and “Former People” by Gorky
(pseudonym of Peshkov).
375
PSS. T3. P. 539. The equivocation here is notable. The censor slyly omits the other
forms of punishment for vagrancy prescribed by the Russian law. His words, therefore, suggest
that vagrants do have a legal place of residence to which they can be returned.
376
Ministers Konstantin Pobedonostsev, Ivan Goremykin, Nikolai Murav’ëv and Ivan
Delianov were members of this committee (Maksim Gor’kii, Sobranie sochinenii. Т. 3, 539).
377
PSS. T. 3, 539.
225
This assessment should not be reduced to mere work of the bureaucratic machine that mindlessly
grinded even those authors that it esteemed. Gorky’s work was dangerous, and it was published
in spite of censorship precisely because it pushed the boundaries of the permissible. This can be
deduced from the enthusiasm with which editors of Novoe slovo wrote to Gorky about
“Konovalov,” who were clearly aware of the work’s revolutionary charge:
Ваша по весть привела всех читавших её в редакции в восторг. Но, ради Христа,
нельзя ли сделать её хоть сколько-нибудь цензурною? Эпизод со Стенькой
Разиным и особенно сопоставление его с Пугачевым — в печати совершенно
немыслимы. Не измыслите ли как-нибудь вытравить из повести этого страшного
российского революционера? Ведь и без него в ней много замечательного, что
читается с большим интересом и наслаждением.
Your short story thrilled everyone who has read it in the editorial office. But, for the love
of Christ, could it be possible to make it at least somewhat censorial? The episode with
Stenka Razin and especially his comparison with Pugachëv — these are absolutely
unthinkable in print. Wouldn't you ruminate on the possibility of etching this terrible
Russian revolutionary out of the story? After all, even without him, there are many
wonderful things in it, which are read with great interest and pleasure.
Thus, the editors acknowledge that “Konovalov” was sufficiently subversive even without the
ever-present shadow of Pugachëv, which evidently continued to pose threat to the Imperial
government over a century after his death and note that by removing the obvious markers of
revolution Gorky’s text may actually be published. But is “Konovalov” a work about a
revolutionary?
Considering the Marxist theories, however, Gorky’s “hard-working” vagrants fall under a
category of Lumpenproletariat — a declassed group of people that performed hard labor but
lacked class consciousness and thus could not be organized for the purposes of the revolution.
And if for average contemporaneous readers Gorky’s early works appealed because “they sang
hymns to Man who can make life what he wills it to be, and they despised those who were
226
chained to their occupations, particularly the peasant, slave of the soil,” for Marxist purists such
apologist literature was deemed misguided.
378
For example, according to political theorist and
revolutionary Viktor Chernov, the Lumpenproletariat were essentially a mob that “supplied the
contingents for those sporadic mass outbursts, pogroms, anti-Jewish [sic!] and others, for which
old Russia was famous,” and which was “wrongly idealized at times, as in Gorky’s early
works.”
379
While in the late 1890s Gorky may have aspired to restore the image the brodiagi by
pointing out that they do perform honest labor, in time Gorky seems to have become more
critical of them. In a letter to Soviet youths, in which Gorky salutes Konovalov’s hard-working
nature, he simultaneously diminishes Konovalov’s social worth:
Был он человек по характеру своему пассивный, был одним из множества людей
того времени, которые, не находя себе места в своей среде, становились бродягами,
странниками по “святым местам” или по кабакам. Если б он дожил до 905 года, он
одинаково легко мог бы стать и “черносотенцем” и революционером, но в обоих
случаях — ненадолго.
380
His character was that of a passive man, he was one of many people of that time who,
unable to fit in, became vagrants, pilgrims to “sacred sites” or taverns. If he had lived to
see 1905, he would’ve become with equal easy a member of the Black Hundred or a
revolutionary, but in both cases not for too long.
Gorky’s later reading of “Konovalov” falls in line with the socialist ideology under Joseph Stalin
(Gorky’s response was written in 1930) but does not necessarily lessen the initial impact that his
vagrants made on the reading public, nor can it rewrite the analyses that censors made at the time
of works publication. Even through official decrees and editorial responses, the work laid bare
378
Alexander Kaun, “Introduction.” Leonid Andreyev. A Critical Study, (B. W. Huebsch,
INC: New York, 1924), 9.
379
Victor Chernov, The Great Russian Revolution, (New Haven: Yale UP, 1936), 414.
380
T. 3. P. 543.
227
the state’s anxiety associated with vagrants — real ones, literary, and even dead — that it kept on
oppressing.
Luka
Luka, the man who feeds the dwellers of Kostylev’s night lodging with white lies about a
better future, is perhaps the most controversial figure in Gorky’s play Na dne (The Lower
Depths) (1902).
381
After the play was put on stage by the Moscow Art Theater for the first time
in December of 1902,
382
critics deemed Luka “the center of the play” (tsentr p’esy),
383
an
optimist, and even a saint-like hero.
384
Yet, while the reviews form the critics were glowing,
there have been many disputes about Luka’s character and the astuteness and accuracy of critics’
interpretations. Most importantly, the overall positive understanding of Luka did not coincide
with Gorky’s intentions. In March 1902, for example, he wrote to actor Ioasaf Tikhomirov and
asked him to play the role of Actor, who, Gorky explained, “listens merrily to the song of one
siren, — she sings falsehood out of pity to people, as she knows that the truth is a hammer, the
blows of which people will not endure, and so she wants to show them some kindness” (“весело
слушает пение одной сирены, — она поёт ложь из жалости к людям, она знает, что правда
— молот, удары её эти люди не выдержат, и она хочет все-таки обласкать их”).
385
Evidently, the function that Gorky assigned to Luka originally was that of a persuasive deceiver.
There are reasons to suggest, however, that Gorky himself had mixed feelings about his
381
Published in 1902 as “Na dne zhizni,” in Verlag Dr. F. Marchlewski & Co in
Mü nchen. Von Manuskript gedruckt. SS T7, 598.
382
PSS T.7. Commentary to Na dne, 613.
383
Ibid, 611.
384
Ibid, 615.
385
Ibid, 603.
228
hero. Those who had a chance to hear him read his play, recalled that he had read Luka’s part
with particular care. “Gorky read remarkably, especially good was the part of Luka. When he
approached the scene of Anna’s death, he could not bear it anymore and burst into tears”
(“Горький читал великолепно, особенно хорошо Луку. Когда он дошёл до сцены смерти
Анны, он не выдержал, расплакался”), as his wife Maria Andreeva, who was an actress at the
Moscow Art Theatre at the time, remembered.
386
After the first several performances of the play,
Gorky was quite ecstatic. In his letter to his friend and colleague Konstantin Piatnitskii, for
example, he wrote:
Успех пьесы — исключительный, я ничего подобного не ожидал. <…> Вл[адимир]
Иван[ович] Немирович[-Данченко] — так хорошо растолковал пьесу, так
разработал её — что не пропадает ни одного слова. Игра — поразительна!
Москвин, Лужский, Качалов, Станиславский, Книппер, Грибунин — совершили
что-то удивительное <…> Публика — ревёт, хохочет. Представьте — несмотря на
множество покойников в пьесе — все четыре акта в театре — хохот.
387
Success of the play is exceptional! I have not expected anything like that! <…> Vladimir
Nemirovich-Danchenko interpreted the play so well, he developed it, so no word is lost.
The acting is astonishing! Moskvin, Luzhskii, Kachalov, Stanislavskii, Knipper, Gribunin
— have done something incredible! <…> The audience roars, laughs. Imagine — in spite
of the numerous dead in the play — during all four acts there is laugher in the theater.
A few days later, most likely after he had read reviews in the press, Gorky began to lament that
the public misunderstood the play and the figure of Luka in particular.
388
In part, Gorky blamed
386
Ibid, 611.
387
Maksim Gor’kii. “K. P. Piatnitskomu. 20 ili 21 dekabria 1902, Moskva.” Sobranie
sochinenii v 30 tomakh, T. 28. (Moskva: Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo khudozhestvennoi
literatury, 1954), 277.
388
Notably, Leo Tolstoy told Gorky that he did not like the way Gorky wrote Luka:
“Старик у вас — несимпатичный, в доброту его — не веришь” (“Your old man is unlikable,
one cannot believe in his kindness.”
PSS, T.7. “Commentary to Na dne,” 618.
229
Ivan Moskvin for that, since the actor was the first one to play and, hence, interpret the role of
this character. In his next letter to Piatnitskii, he remarked:
Тем не менее — ни публика, ни рецензята — пьесу не раскусили. Хвалить —
хвалят, а понимать не хотят. Я теперь соображаю — кто виноват? Талант Москвина
— Луки или же неуменье автора? И мне — не очень весело.
389
Nevertheless, neither the audience nor the little critics cracked the play. They do praise it,
but they don’t want to understand it. I am trying to comprehend: who is to blame? Is it
the talent of Moskvin — Luka or is it the author’s inaptitude? And I am not very happy.
It is ironic, therefore, that one of his critics, S. Iablonskii, for example, linked Gorky and his
character when he said: “The world lives on lies. Only the lie cheers it up. Thanks to Luka-
Gorky for his lyrical poem” (“Ложью живет мир. Она одна ободряет его. Спасибо Луке-
Горькому за его лирическую поэму.”)
390
Remarkably, the connection that Iablonskii makes between Gorky, Luka, and deceit goes
in line with Vladislav Khodasevich’s perspicacious observations about Gorky’s character and his
complicated attitude towards the truth. In his memoirs, Khodasevich evaluates Gorky’s
relationship with the Soviet regime and the reasons for Gorky’s return to the Soviet Union.
391
He
stresses that Gorky was definitively disillusioned with the revolution, yet he insisted on keeping
his status as a great writer of the proletariat. Khodasevich says:
389
Maksim Gor’kii. “K. P. Piatnitskomu. 25 dekabria 1902, Moskva.” Sobranie
sochinenii v 30 tomakh, T. 28, (Moskva: Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo khudozhestvennoi
literatury, 1954), 277.
390
Ibid, 616.
391
Kornei Chukovskii in his diary entry (April 2, 1919) also mentions Gorky’s dislike of
the Bolsheviks: “About the Bolsheviks he always says: they! Not once did he say ‘we’. Always
speaks of them as enemies”
(“О большевиках он всегда говорит: они! Ни разу не сказал мы.
Всегда говорит о них как о врагах”). Kornei Chukovskii, Sobranie Sochinenii v 15 tomakh. T.
11. Dnevnik. 1901-1921, (Moskva: Agenstvo FTM, Ltd., 2013), 247.
230
Горький был одним из самых упрямых людей, которых я знал, но и одним из
наименее стойких. Великий поклонник мечты и возвышающего обмана, которых,
по примитивности своего мышления, он никогда не умел отличить от самой
обыкновенной, часто вульгарной лжи, он некогда усвоил себе свой собственный
“идеальный,” отчасти подлинный, отчасти воображаемый, образ певца революции
и пролетариата. <…> Он в конце концов продался — но не за деньги, а за то, чтобы
для себя и для других сохранить главную иллюзию своей жизни <…> славу
великого пролетарского писателя <…> В обмен на все это революция потребовала
от него, как требует от всех, не честной службы, а рабства и лести. Он стал рабом и
льстецом. <…> Коротко сказать — он превратился в полную противоположность
того возвышенного образа, ради сохранения которого помирился с советской
властью. Сознавал ли он весь трагизм этого — не решаюсь сказать. Вероятно — и
да, и нет, и вероятно — поскольку сознавал, старался скрыть это от себя и от
других при помощи новых иллюзий, новых возвышающих обманов, которые он так
любил и которые в конце концов его погубили.
392
Gorky was one of the most stubborn people I knew, but also one of the least enduring. A
great admirer of dreams and uplifting deception, which due to the simplicity of his
thinking he could never distinguish from the most ordinary but often vulgar lie, at some
point he assimilated his own “ideal,” partly genuine, partly imaginary, image of the
singer of the revolution and of the proletariat. <…> Eventually, he sold out, yet not for
the money, but in order to preserve for himself and for others the main illusion of his life
<…> the glory of the great proletarian writer <…> In exchange, the revolution demanded
of him, just as it requires from everyone else, not honest service but slavery and flattery.
He became a slave and a flatterer. <…> In short, he turned into the complete opposite of
that sublime image, for the sake of which he made peace with the Soviet regime. Whether
he was aware of all the tragedy of this — I dare not say. Probably yes and no, and
probably — because he was aware, he tried to hide it from himself and from others via
new illusions, new uplifting deceptions that he loved so much and which in the end
ruined him.
While Khodasevich’s comments may seem harsh, the portrait of Gorky that he provides shed
light on the writer’s complicated relationship with the truth and further unite Gorky with the
ambivalent figure of his vagrant character Luka. Gorky’s fervent insistence on the decisive
392
Vladislav Khodosevich, Sobranie Sochinenii v 4 tomakh. T. 4. Nekropol’.
Vospominaniia. Pis’ma, (Moskva: Soglasie, 1997). Accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/h/hodasewich_w_f/text_1010.shtml.
231
superiority of the truth likely stemmed from it being his fundamental yet unattainable ideal,
especially since he was a writer of fiction. In fact, it is the same philosophical conundrum that
can be perceived in his earlier vagrant stories such as “Konovalov” or “Moi sputnik,” in which
verisimilitude and invention are so profoundly intertwined.
That is why, over the course of time Gorky’s disagreement with the reverberation of the
same doting views on the deceitful character Luka, which much of the public seemed to share,
grew only stronger.
393
There was a good reason for that. An incorrect interpretation of Luka’s
character has potential bearings on a much larger question raised in the play, since it is precisely
Luka’s likability and the authenticity of his Christian values what sways a pendulum on matters
of the validity of religious sentiments, the truth, and whether lies are consoling or noxious. It is
interesting, therefore, that Gorky, who was frequently chided for delineating good from evil too
plainly, overcomplicated Luka to such an extent that he became a central figure of the play in
spite of having only a fleeting appearance in it. As such, he can be viewed as an evolution of
many of Gorky’s earlier vagrant characters.
Luka is an ambivalent figure. Even his name vacillates between its association with Saint
Luke the Evangelist and an allusion to the Russian word “lukavyi,” which means sly or even
demonic. His social designation is also problematic. Typically, scholars and critics consider him
a religious wanderer (strannik), though it is occasionally suggested that he may be a member of
393
Victor Erlich and Cynthia Marsh both provide a comprehensive discussion of Gorky’s
view of Luka and the public’s response to the figure as well as the problematics of the truth and
lying with which the play engages. Victor Erlich “Truth and Illusion in Gorky: The Lower
Depths and After” in Elizabeth Cheresh Allen and Gary Saul Morson (eds.) Freedom and
Responsibility in Russian Literature, (Evanston (IL): Northwestern UP, 1995); Cynthia Marsh.
“Truth, Lies, and Story-telling in The Lower Depth.” Canadian Slavonic Papers, 42:4, 2000.
Accessed online: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00085006.2000.11092261.
232
the beguny (runners) sect.
394
Although he is also referred to as brodiaga or bosiak especially
when he is read in a negative light, as a rule, these labels provide no additional depth to our
understanding of the figure. Conversely, brodiaga is an appropriate word to describe his status.
In the earlier drafts of the play, Luka’s name appeared as “Brodiaga Luka” in the “dramatis
personae” section.
395
The connotation of the word brodiaga hint at secularity and even illegality
of the man. Thus, by removing the word brodiaga, Gorky eliminates the restrictions that the term
carries. It is still possible, however, to evaluate him as a vagrant from the point of view of
illegality and as a vagrant type, which was beginning to congeal in literature by the 1900s.
Remarkably, Luka’s appearance and disappearance from the play are very fitting with his
actual status. Luka appears on the steps of the Kostylev’s night lodging quite unexpectedly, in
the middle of the first act. His departure, which occurs in the middle of the third act, is also
abrupt and unanticipated. In the middle of this hiatus, after Vasilisa maims Natasha but before
Kostylev dies, Satin asks Luka to serve as a witness of the incident:
Сатин. Идём, старик... свидетелями будем!
Лука (идёт вслед за Сатиным): Какой я свидетель! Куда уж... Василья-то бы
скорее... Э-эхма!..
396
Satin: Come, old man… We will be witnesses!
Luka (follows Satin): What kind of witness can I be? I can’t… Oh, Vasilii should be
called at once…
394
Cynthia Marsh, for example, notes this in her article “Truth, Lies, and Story-telling in
The Lower Depth,” 509.
395
Maksim Gor’kii, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii. Varianty k khudozhestvennym
proizvedeniiam v 10 tomakh. T. 2. (1975), 262. Accessed online:
https://imwerden.de/pdf/gorky_pss_varianty_khud_proiz_tom02_1975__ocr.pdf,
396
PSS, T. 7. P. 165.
233
Immediately after their exchange, Luka disappears from both the night lodging and the play. It
may seem that Luka speaks once more right after his exchange with Satin: “Слышен крик
старика: ‘Стой!’ Громко хлопает дверь, и этот звук, как топором, обрубает весь шум. На
сцене — тихо” (“A cry of the old man is heard: “Stop!” The door slams loudly, and the sound,
as if an ax, cuts off all noise. It is quiet on the stage”).
397
In this case, however, the “old man”
refers not to Luka, but to Kostylev, who is also referred to as an “old man” on several other
occasions in the play. It is likely, however, that Kostylev addresses Luka in that moment, and
that the door slams behind the fleeing vagrant. Luka’s departure can be explained by his illegal
status as a vagrant who would avoid an encounter with the police at all costs, so to escape
imprisonment. Being one of the central figures of the play, Luka’s unremarkable appearance and
disappearance are not arbitrary. His fleeting presence is imbedded in the structure of the text and
serves as a textual enactment of Luka’s vagrancy.
Luka does not commit to any particular designation of his social status and specifically
avoids showing his papers upon his arriving at Kostylev’s night lodging. When Baron asks him
about being a strannik, Luka answers with an evasive “we are all wanderers on this earth” (“Все
мы на земле странники...”).
398
After Vasilisa reiterates Baron’s question, Luka produces several
adjectives, but never fully defines them: “[I am] a passing… a travelling…” (“Проходящий...
странствующий...”).
399
The fact that he does not show his passport to Vasilisa suggests that he
has none. Vasilisa quickly realizes that, so she berates him by saying: (“Passerby… sure! You
should have said that you were a rogue. That’s closer to the truth”) “Прохожий... тоже!
397
PSS. T.7. P. 165.
398
PSS. T.7. 123.
399
Ibid, 125.
234
Говорил бы — проходимец... всё ближе к правде-то...”).
400
In a conversation with Kostylev,
however, Luka indirectly refers to himself as a fugitive (beglyi), thereby acknowledging the lack
of papers and his problematic status. All in all, Luka’s evasive behavior and the elusiveness of
his social status fit well within the archetypal representations of vagrants that were promulgated
in literature at the time even by Gorky himself.
Luka’s religious affiliations are also unclear and uncorroborated in the text. When Pepel
asks him whether God exists, Luka hesitates to answer. Moreover, as opposed to religious
wanderers whose objectives lie in visiting holy sites, Luka notes that he will join people who are
looking for a new religion:
Уйду скоро от вас... <…> В хохлы... Слыхал я — открыли там новую веру...
поглядеть надо... да!.. Всё ищут люди, всё хотят — как лучше... дай им, господи,
терпенья!
401
I will go away from you soon… <…> to Ukraine. I’ve heard — they discovered a new
faith there. I have to see… yes!... People are searching, they always want something
better… God, grant them patience.
In other words, Luka appeals to Christian doctrines, but he does not seem to be an unwavering
worshiper of any specific congregation. Such ambiguity of views harkens back to the idea that
dishonest vagrants exploit religious sentiments in order to gain people’s trust.
What is more, Luka’s own words serve as a testament to a public concern that seasoned
brodiagi rope unsuspecting and gullible persons into vagrancy. In many of his exchanges with
the dwellers of the night lodging, Luka urges them to go away. The implication is that they must
400
Ibid, 157.
401
Ibid, 157.
235
turn into the same peripatetic characters that he is. Thus, for example, he advices Anna to
succumb to death. According to him, death is a form of release and solution for physical pain:
Лука: <…> Ничего не будет! Ты — верь! Ты — с радостью помирай, без тревоги...
Смерть, я те говорю, она нам — как мать малым детям...
Анна: А... может... может, выздоровлю я?
Лука (усмехаясь): На что? На муку опять?
402
Luka: <…> There will be nothing! Have faith! You should die with joy and without
trepidation… Death to us, I am telling you, is like a mother to young children…
Anna: But… maybe… maybe I will get better?
Luka (grinning): What for? So, you can suffer again?
Luka also advises Actor to save himself from alcoholism by going to a rehabilitation center in a
town, the name of which Luka cannot recall. He repeatedly suggests to Pepel to leave Kostylev’s
night lodging and go to Siberia. Even in a brief exchange with Satin and even though indirectly,
Luka manages to tell Satin to join the beguny sect: “With speeches like that you should join the
beguny” (“Тебе бы с такими речами к бегунам идти”).
403
A connection can be made here
between Luka and his author. Even though their social spheres may differ, much like Gorky
Luka mobilizes the masses and unsettles them. Luka’s character can also be compared to
Maksim, who longs for community. That is why in his wandering Maksim tries to attach himself
to various strangers like Promtov, Shakro, Konovalov, Stepok, and many others, since they offer
402
Ibid, 137.
403
Ibid, 165.
236
him a sense of belonging. According to Khodasevich, Gorky also surrounded himself with many
people, many of whom depended on him financially.
404
What transpires after Luka’s solicitations is as unfortunate as the perils of vagrancy, at
least the ones imagined by the public. Anna dies; Vasilisa maims Natasha by spilling boiling
water on Natasha’s legs; Actor commits suicide; Pepel accidentally kills Kostylev. Even though
Luka is not directly responsible for any of these misfortunes, the verbal solace and hope that he
offers can be read as counterproductive. For giving false hopes to Actor and even Nastia, he is
later criticized by Satin, who calls Luka “old yeast” (staraia drozhzha) who “turned our
roommates sour” (“prokvasil nam sozhitelei”).
405
Thus, it is not just that Luka’s words and
encouragements provide no tangible help, they are also treated as malignant and incendiary.
Innokentii Annenskii, who finds Luka’s actions to be sincere and to some extent even necessary,
also sees him as the culprit when he says: “Vasilii’s love for Natasha have almost nothing to with
the murder of Kostylev. The reason for this event lies in Luka, who stirred up the swamp’s
stagnant water” (“любовь Василия к Наташе почти ни при чем даже в убийстве Костылева.
Причина этого события лежит в Луке, который взбаламутил болотную стоячую воду.”)
406
Therefore, Luka’s presence at the night lodge can be understood as the diabolus ex machina, in
which he becomes responsible for the catastrophe.
404
Khodasevich writes: “the circle of people, who permanently depended on him
financially, was very large. I think no less that 15 people in Russian and abroad” (“круг людей,
бывших у него на постоянном иждивении, был очень велик, я думаю — не меньше
человек пятнадцати — в России и за границей”). Vladislav Khodasevich, “Vospominaniia o
Gor’kom,” (Moskva: Pravda, 1989). Accessed online:
http://az.lib.ru/h/hodasewich_w_f/text_0340.shtml.
405
Ibid, 172.
406
I. Annenskii, “Drama na dne” (1906), Literaturnye pamiatniki, (Moskva: Nauka,
1979). Accessed online: http://az.lib.ru/g/gorxkij_m/text_0320.shtml.
237
Luka equates escaping with peace and salvation, and even a solution for all problems.
That is why he advises everyone to leave the night lodging. His own salvation is in that as well,
so he leaves the scene abruptly amid the hiatus. He does that to avoid the police, when the story
reaches its climax. This brief presence of the vagrant character and the ambiguous role that he
plays in it are what distinguishes Luka from Gorky’s previous vagrant characters. For example,
he can be contrasted with Gorky’s narrator Maksim, who rescues Prince Shakro in “Moi
sputnik.” Unlike Luka, Maksim offers concrete help and actively leads Shakro away from the
dangers of vagrancy, while supporting him on the way. At the same time, it is Luka’s concern for
the inhabitants of the night lodge and his compassion that make this character so multifaceted
and help him defy his author’s alleged intentions.
238
Conclusion
Деклассированных злементов в первый ряд
Им по первомy по классy надо выдать всё
Первым классом школы жизни бyдет им тюрьма
А к восьмомy их посмертно примyт в комсомол.
407
Yanka Diagileva (1988)
Even though vagrants were amply represented in Russian literature of the nineteenth
century, Russian culture did not come to a consensus on what to make of them. That is why, in
their portrayal of vagrants, authors wavered between creating either largely harmless individuals
or unpredictable, ruthless criminals. At times vagrants were represented not even as minor
characters, but only as part of a background. In most cases, however, fictional vagrants evoked
feelings of curiosity and earned respect for their perseverance in the cold and unforgiving
Russian nature. Notably, even though in the nineteenth century thousands of people were
arrested on vagrancy charges each year, collectively they left no more than a handful of vagrant
songs and poems, recorded by nineteenth-century ethnographers and writers.
408
In part, therefore,
in my analyses of Leskov’s The Enchanted Wanderer I argue that these persons were subaltern
and did not have much agency. A vagrant with agency, in my view, is nothing but a cultural
407
Yanka Diagileva. “Deklassirovannym elementam” (“To the Declassed Elements”).
Accessed online: https://grob-hroniki.org/texts/yanka/deklassirovannym_elementam.html.
Translation: “All declassed elements go to the first row / accordingly, everything of the first
grade must be given to them / in the first grade of the school of life they will be imprisoned / and
by the eighth grade, they will be accepted to Komsomol posthumously.”)
408
The archives of Vladimir Korolenko at the Russian State Archives of Literature and
Art (RGALI), contains a collection of poetry belonging to unknown vagrants and prisoners. (F.
234 Korolenko V. G. op. 2. Ed. khr. 48. Zagolovok: “Тетрадь стихотворений
неустановленных лиц [записанных Сотониным А.] в Киренской и Минусинской тюрьмах,
в Якутской области, Туруханском крае и др. местах ссылок. Стихотворения "Капитал",
"Друзьям", "Арестантские мотивы", "Исповедь бродяги", и др. приписаны Короленко
Владимиру Галактионовичу”). Consider also one of not many songs about vagrants that was
popular at the turn of the century, “Po dikim stepiam zabaikal’ia.”
239
construct and a consequence of many literary representations, in which vagrants were hardly ever
rendered as truly marginal or subaltern figures. Typically, in works by Korolenko, Dostoevskii,
Grigorovich, Danilevskii, Nemirovich-Danchenko, Teleshov, Amfiteatrov, Gorky, Pod’iachev,
and others, brodiagi are portrayed not as victims of the Imperial system, but as people who,
albeit indirectly, take advantage of this system (like Verstan in Grigorovich’s Pereselentsy or
Promtov in Gorky’s “Prokhodimets”), stand in opposition to the official power (as in Teleshov’s
“Protiv obychaia”), or breach civil order by stealing, raping, and murdering.
By the end of the nineteenth century, however, this cultural construct began to evolve,
and this evolution stemmed from several different developments. As I argue in Chapter 2, many
authors who wrote about vagrancy were political dissenters, who spoke tirelessly and
convincingly about poverty and the need for revolutionary changes. Some of them, for example
Gorky and Giliarovskii, even claimed to be vagrants themselves. Because of that, brodiagi began
to emerge in culture as a covert revolutionary force. The arrival of Modernism further buoyed
this transformation. From the largely worn-out realistic representations of vagrants as
individuals, some authors began to give preference to faceless, yet menacing masses instead. As
a result, vagrancy became even more politicized, and it acquired a strong metaphysical slant.
A connection between the political and the metaphysical was brought forth by some
Symbolist authors who did not discount the involvement of mystical forces in the initiation of the
revolution. Aleksandr Blok, for example, imagined the revolution as a vagrant force in his
“Bezvremen’e” (“Timelessness”), which was published in Zolotoe runo in 1906.
409
Dwelling on
409
It is perhaps worth pointing out that Andrei Belyi linked the idea of “timelessness”
and “vagrancy” already in 1902 in his Symphonies (more specifically, his symphonies 1 and 2).
Andrei Belyi. Simfonii. (Leningrad: Khud. Lit., 1991). Accessed online:
https://rvb.ru/20vek/belyi/symph_toc.htm.
240
the horrors of modernization, Blok observes an influx of vagrants in the streets of Russian cities.
The manifestation of brodiagi in the city he describes is foreboding:
Это — священное шествие, стройная пляска праздной тысячеокой России, которой
уже нечего терять; всю плоть свою она подарила миру и вот, свободно бросив руки
на ветер, пустилась в пляс по всему своему бесцельному, непридуманному
раздолью . . . Думается, все, чему в этой дали суждено было сбыться, — уже
сбылось. Не к чему стремиться, потому что все уже достигнуто; на всем лежит
печать свершений. Крест поставлен и на душе, которая, вечно стремясь, каждый
миг знает пределы свои.
410
This is a sacred procession, an orderly dance (pliaska) of an idle thousand-eyed Russia
that has nothing to lose; she gave away all her flesh to the world and now, freely
throwing her hands in the wind, she has begun to dance all over her aimless, un-invented
expanse. . . It seems that everything that was destined to come true there has already
come true. There is nothing to strive for, because everything is already accomplished;
everything bears a seal of fulfillment. The soul, which ceaselessly strives, yet constantly
realizes its limits, is now abandoned.
By connecting vagrants and the revolution, Blok successfully devises an image in which the
revolt does not stem from the state’s failure to satisfy several immediate demands of its citizens
but arises as a frenzied and menacing event that is brewing on its own and even summons
supernatural powers to its epicenter.
Blok’s pliaska (dance) of the destitute, as a liberating dance of those who have nothing to
lose, is likely steeped in the medieval Western European concept of dance macabre (the dance of
death), which served to remind people of their mortality and reemerged at the turn of the
century.
411
Even though in the early twentieth century this menacing crowd of the destitute did
410
Aleksandr Blok, “Bezvremen’e.” (Zolotoe runo, 1906)
http://dlib.rsl.ru/viewer/01004432474#?page=109.
411
Consider, for example, Aleksandr Blok’s five poems united under the title “Pliaski
smerti” (Accessed online: https://ilibrary.ru/text/4228/p.1/index.html), or Boris Kustodiev’s two
versions of caricature “Vstuplenie. 1905 god.” (1905).
241
not necessarily consist of corpses, their physicality was often emphasized through lack. It is very
striking, for example, in Leonid Andreev’s Anatema (1909), where a crowd of the blind almost
crushes David Leizer in hope to gain sight, or in Vladimir Mayakovsky’s Vladimir Mayakovsky.
Tragedia (1913), in which the crowd is made up of “cripples.” And although these crowds are
merciless and cruel, they still long for leaders and Christian miracles.
It is very important to point out that there was an alternative, romanticized use of the
word brodiaga that developed in the early decades of the twentieth century. Valerii Briusov
wrote “Mramornaia golovka: rasskaz brodiagi” (“Marble head: the story of a vagrant”) in 1903.
In 1907, Nina Petrovskaia, who was once romantically involved in Briusov, wrote her own story
entitled “Brodiaga,” which seems to be in conversation with Briusov’s earlier work. In 1919,
David Burliuk evoked the image of a vagrant artist in his “Morskaia povest’” (Marine Novella).
Marina Tsvetaeva wrote but did not finish a poem “O brodiaga, rodstva ne pomniashchii…” (Oh
vagrant, who does not remember his family…”) in November of the same year. Likewise, Sergei
Esenin in the 1910s and early 1920s, wrote poems in which he considers becoming a vagrant.
412
The word “brodiaga” in these works is similar to the Romantic notion of a wanderer (strannik),
yet in many instances — in Briusov or Esenin in particular — the itinerant aspect is closely
amalgamated with a lowly social status, poverty, and actual, rather than perceived, homelessness.
Perhaps the reason for which brodiaga replaced strannik can be found in the fact that the term
implies a much more marginal status, yet does not set a trap of implied associations with
religious or Romantic wandering.
412
See, for example his poems “Poidu v skuf’e smirennym inokom” and “Ne rugaites’.
Takoe delo!”.
242
1917 Onward
The October Revolution brought these long-awaited social and political changes and,
inadvertently, also a new wave of extreme poverty.
413
Walter Benjamin, who travelled to
Moscow almost a decade after the revolution (in 1926), described Russia as a place devoid of
both homeliness and cafés, and yet pointed out the overall sense of contentment that the Soviets
exhibited:
Russia was the possession of the tsar <. . .> The people, however, have become overnight
his immeasurably wealthy heirs. They now set about drawing up a grand inventory of
their human and territorial wealth <. . .> In admiration for this national achievement all
Russians are united. It is this reversal of the power structure that makes life here so heavy
with content.
414
Benjamin also noted, however, that the alliance of the Soviet people for the greater good did not
affect the marginalized population positively. He observed that hardly anyone gave to the poor
and explained this by the fact that “begging has lost its strongest foundation, the bad social
conscience, which opens purses so much wider than does pity.”
415
The reason Benjamin brought the theme of charity to light was not incidental. During his
trip, he noticed an enormous number of beggars on the streets of the city and even labeled them
the “corporation of the dying.” In particular, he zeroed in on “the derelict, unspeakably
413
The lyrics of “Internatsional” (“L'Internationale”), a hymn which was translated from
French into Russian and used in the Soviet Union until 1944, also denounces vagrancy and
idleness. Unarguably, “The Internationale”
413
primarily targets the rich; yet it also applies to
vagrants and vagabonds, who are considered social parasites due to the popular idea that they are
unwilling to work. Speaking for the whole socialist class, the hymn denies all social parasites the
ability to own land.
414
Walter Benjamin, “Moscow Diary,” Reflections, (Schocken Books: New York, 2007),
116.
415
Ibid, 106.
243
melancholy besprizornye, war orphans” who during the day were “usually seen alone,” but by
night formed gangs “before the lurid façades of movie houses.”
416
Benjamin’s trip to Moscow coincided with the time during which the writer Andrei
Platonov moved back to the city with his family and slightly before the time when he started
working on his novel Chevengur. Platonov, who was a major Soviet writer, often wrote about
vagrancy and contiguous themes. In fact, he could easily be named the rightful successor of
Korolenko and Gorky, since homelessness, fatherlessness, poverty, and unbelonging are
recurrent themes in his works. These topics are developed in his play Hurdy-Gurdy, in his novel
The Foundation Pit and the shorter novel Dzhan, and in many short stories. One of the most
striking examples of this depiction is Chevengur — a novel about a town that could be compared
to a homeless shelter, whereas its inhabitants could just as well be defined by the Benjaminian
coinage the “corporation of the dying.” All peripatetic characters of the novel, such as Sasha
Dvanov, Kopenkin, Lui, countless prochie (“others”) and vagrant women, sense that
communism should release them from the hardships of vagrancy and impose on them an
organized future; yet most of them perish by the end of the novel. In my view, the novel can be
read as an unequivocal development of the vagrant theme in the Russian literature. Platonov’s
prochie, for example, are comparable to the menacingly marching crowds imagined by Blok,
Andreev, and Mayakovsky before the revolution. The difference, of course, is that Platonov’s
vagrants are no longer shown as a frenzied mass, but rather as people that obediently accept their
unfortunate fate. As a result, Platonov further orients the representations of vagrancy in the
twentieth century towards the metaphysical, rather than merely a physical or social aspect of the
issue.
416
Ibid, 103.
244
Platonov, however, was not the only writer to engage with this theme at the time.
Besprizorniki (children who are homeless, orphaned, or simply those who have no adult
supervision), for example, occupied a central place in the minds of Soviet society, first of all
because Soviet ideologists believed children to be the perfect future members of socialist society
— the ideal “new people” of the future, and secondly, because large numbers of hungry
homeless children threatened the civil order.
417
To curb this dire situation, Soviet pedagogues
formed child labor communes that focused on reeducation.
418
One such educator, Anton
Makarenko, even wrote a popular novel Pedagogicheskaia poema (Pedagogical Poem) (penned
between 1925-35), that was based on his experience working with besprizorniki. Other writers
and filmmakers also helped advance these efforts. Thus, besprizornost’ echoes in Viacheslav
Shishkov’s novella “Stranniki” (The Wanderers) (1930), Nikolai Ekk’s film Road to Life (1931),
and in an adventure novel (povest’) for children “Respublika SHKID” (The Republic of ShKID)
(1927) by Grigorii Belykh and L. Panteleev. Vagrant children were also caught on tape in Dziga
Vertov’s film Man with a Movie Camera (1929).
Directly or indirectly, the theme of vagrancy was also raised in short stories by Mikhail
Zoschenko (e.g. “Liudi,” “Strashnaia Noch’”) and in Teffi’s short essay “Volia” (1936). Vagrant
figures and even vagrant communities appear in Il’ia Erenburg’s Neobychainye prikliucheniia
417
See, for instance, Anatolii Lunacharskii’s “Vospitanie novogo cheloveka” (1928).
Accessed online: http://lunacharsky.newgod.su/lib/o-vospitanii-i-obrazovanii/vospitanie-novogo-
cheloveka/.
418
The issue of vagrant children of the 1920s was widely publicized. In his book
Besprizornye (1929), for example, a revolutionary Vladimir Zenzinov speaks about the problem
and notes that Soviet writers and journalists (he names Vera Inber, Il’ia Erenburg, and Lidiia
Seifullina) constantly return to it. According to Zenzinov, the proliferation of children gangs was
in part because the state did not take comprehensive measures, and the reason for which various
efforts to support children by public entities were short-lived was due to the fact that Bolshevik
government refused to support it.
245
Khulio Khurenito (Incredible Adventures of Julio Jurenito) (p. 1922), Il’f and Petrov’s
Dvenadtsat’ stul’ev (The Twelve Chairs) (p. 1928) and Zolotoi telenok (The Golden Calf) (1931).
Il’f and Petrov’s protagonist, Ostap Bender, who can be understood as a homeless man, a
vagrant, a picaro, and a trickster, is generally viewed as a likeable character. Interestingly, in the
Zolotoi telenok, even he begins to consider family and domesticity. The novel ends with Bender
even considering a position that supports domestic comfort; he famously says: “Не надо
оваций! Графа Монте-Кристо из меня не вышло. Придётся переквалифицироваться в
управдомы!”
419
(“You don’t need to applaud! I didn’t make a Monte Cristo. I’ll have to change
my profession to apartment-block superintendent.”)
420
Only a year later, in 1932, Nikolai
Chukovskii writes a short story “Brodiaga,”
421
in which a protagonist Misha is comparable to
Ostap in that both men have analogous financial goals. Moreover, both are imaginative thinkers
undeterred by failure. Unlike likable Ostap, however, Misha is portrayed as a negative character
who does not deserve compassion even when he gets violently killed at the end of the story.
Chukovskii’s text was written in the same year that Socialist Realism was officially accepted at
the only appropriate literary and artistic style. From then on, in fact, vagrancy, roguery, and
rootlessness could no longer be rendered as overly likable and amusing.
Apart from literature that passed strict Soviet censorship, there was literature that had to
wait several decades to be published.
422
Thus, for example, several noteworthy characters are in
various ways linked to vagrancy in Bulgakov’s Master i Margarita (written between 1928-40).
419
Il’ia Il’f, Evgenii Petrov. Zolotoi telenok. (Moskva: Olma Press, 2006), 406.
420
Ilya Ilf, Evgenii Petrov. The Golden Calf. (Pyramid books, 1973), 396.
421
Nikolai Chukovskii. “Brodiaga.” RGALI. F2541. Opis’ 1. ed. khr. 67. “Brodiaga” =
“Zolotozubyi” = “Strannik.” Can also be accessed online: https://litlife.club/br/?b=192123&p=3.
422
Émigré writers could also be considered. In 1923, Vladimir Nabokov wrote a short
play Dedushka, about a vagrant who wants to murder a wanderer, but gets killed instead:
http://nabokov.niv.ru/nabokov/piesa/dedushka.htm.
246
First of all, Voland and his crew are constantly on the move; they all seem homeless and
opportunistic. Ieshua Ganotsri is perhaps the only one who is really deemed a vagrant. Moreover,
in the novel a motif of vagrancy and religion is indirectly raised again, proving that this
particular link is still important and valid. In fact, even the name of the poet who tries to disprove
the existence of God, Ivan Bezdomnyi, points towards the tension between vagrancy and religion
that evidently was unresolved by the writers of the nineteenth and early twentieth century.
Another recurring motif of the nineteenth century — that of vagrancy being counterposed
with domesticity, — begins to resurface in the mid 1920s. In Bulgakov’s “Sobach’e serdtse”
(1925), for example, a stray dog Sharik can be viewed as a vagrant. After being transformed into
a man, he gets a job at an animal control center and begins to eradicate stray cats. Likewise, in
Iurii Olesha’s Envy, a homeless inventor Ivan Babichev denounces his brother Andrei Babichev
for assaulting domesticity by working towards creating communal kitchens. Ivan says: “Он учит
вас забывать что? Что хочет вытолкнуть он из сердца вашего? Родной дом — дом, милый
дом! Бродягами по диким полям истории он хочет вас сделать” (“What does he teach you to
forget? What does he want to force out of your heart? You family home —home, sweet home!
He wants to make you into vagrants that roam on the wild fields of history.”)
423
These two
instances create an interesting paradox, since marginal figures fight against the expansion of
vagabondism. Sharikov eradicates stray cats, a class of animals to which he once belonged, and
Babichev fights against a figurative vagabondism, which stems from the early Soviet rejection of
domesticity. To make his point even stronger, Ivan carries with him a pillow that once belonged
423
Iurii Olesha, Zavist’, (Moskva: Khudozhestvennaia literaturа, 1989). “He wants to
turn you into vagrants on the wild fields of history.”
247
to his now-estranged daughter Valia, as a symbol of belonging, of having a home, a family, and a
continuation of his line.
As I showed in my analysis of works by Grigorovich, in arguments for the superiority of
domesticity, vagrancy played an important role. This idea played out again in various ways in
Danilevskii’s novel Beglye v Novorosii, Chekhov’s short story “Mechty,” Korolenko’s
“Marusina zaimka,” or in Svirskii’s “Ryzhik.” As many works argued, rootless vagrants long for
domesticity. In the first half of the twentieth century, however, this idea seems to be considerably
reevaluated. If the fear of the nineteenth century was ingrained in the idea that vagrants actively
propagated rootlessness, in the twentieth century — inspired perhaps in part by Gorky’s “Moi
sputnik” — vagrants were the ones who actively fought against vagrancy and rooted for
domesticity instead. One thing that remains the same, however, is that vagrants who for some
reason cannot achieve domesticity, as is the case with cats in “Sobach’e serdtse” or many
Platonov’s characters, usually die, just as they did in Grigorovich’s texts.
To understand this paradox, I suggest reading some of these works through the paradigm
offered by Vladimir Paperny in his seminal study Kul’tura Dva (Architecture in the Age of
Stalin: Culture Two). Paperny proposes looking at the 1920s and the 1930s as two opposing
cultures, which he terms Culture One (K-1) and Culture Two (K-2), respectively. K-1 is the
culture of movement, of spreading out, and of speed. It looks forward and destroys everything
old and outmoded. K-2, in contrast, is the culture of stasis, solidification, and engagements with
past forms, values, and ideas. Time in K-2 slows down, and the future becomes far removed as
something ideal, yet unattainable. If in K-1 everyone willingly moves in all directions, K-2
“selects special persons who take upon themselves the burden of movement and, as a result,
248
liberate everyone else from it.”
424
Likewise, while K-2 prioritizes familial bonds and a settled
lifestyle, “public upbringing of children, public preparation of meals, that is a total destruction of
the family, has long been an axiom of K-1” (“общественное воспитание детей, общественное
приготовление пищи, то есть фактическое разрушение семьи, — давно уже стало
аксиомой культуры 1.”)
425
Ivan Babichev, therefore, may be understood as a liminal figure, a
character at the juncture of the two cultures. On the one hand, he walks with a pillow around like
a homeless man; on the other, his rhetoric shows him as a proponent of K-2, which was yet to
come. In fact, Babichev anticipates the onset of K-2 by actively resisting K-1, which is instead
embodied in his brother Andrei. Another anticipatory representative of K-2 is Bulgakov’s
Sharikov, who defends domesticity by eradicating stray animals. Conversely, Platonov’s Sasha
Dvanov and other Chevengurians live in K-1 and therefore must die precisely because they do
not have a place in the future, from which Platonov writes his heroes. The only character that can
survive is the adaptable Prokofii. Despite having a problematic understanding of socialism, he
values domesticity, family, and patriarchy.
I see yet another venue of inquiry in the 1950s and 1960s, at the time when the Soviet
government began to adopt laws against social parasitism. Americans, in contrast, began to rebel
against the existing US catch-all vagrancy laws at the very same time.
426
Considering that these
two countries were engaged in the Cold War, an examination and comparison of literary and
cinematic representations of vagrancy in Soviet Russia and the USA could potentially illuminate
424
Vladimir Papernyi, Kul’tura Dva, (4 izdanie) (Moskva: Novoe Literaturnoe
Obozrenie, 2016), 64. (Translation is mine).
425
Ibid, 6.
426
Risa L. Goluboff, Vagrant Nation: Police Power, Constitutional Change, and the
Making of the 1960s (New York: Oxford UP, 2016).
249
both similarities and tensions between the two countries, as well as explain how punitive laws
evolve under different circumstances.
In the twentieth century vagrancy as an artistic and literary theme and a serious social
issue did not lose its relevance. In fact, to some extent it became even more popular, even if an
understanding of vagrancy and the treatment of it were significantly transformed and to an extent
diverged after the revolution. Soviet writers grappled with the same questions pertinent to ideas
of rootlessness, homelessness, precarity, and freedom that were raised in the nineteenth century.
Such connections as vagrancy and religion, vagrancy and domesticity, vagrancy and politics,
vagrancy and labor precarity were still being evaluated. In the twentieth century, however, there
seems to be a stronger emphasis on metaphysics; hence, vagrancy is often contemplated as an
ontological state. In other words, there are many venues of scholarly exploration that the theme
of vagrancy opens up that go well beyond the nineteenth century. Perhaps future enquiries into
this literary theme will reveal that vagrant types surpassed their position and became a separate
genre, or in fact that in the twentieth century they still managed to resist stability. With this
dissertation, however, I tried to show that vagrancy is a rich topic that has not yet been fully
explored, and yet it has a lot of potential for future literary and cultural inquiries.
250
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Seliazniova, Volha (Olga)
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Vagrancy, law, and the limits of verisimilitude in Russian literature
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Slavic Languages and Literatures
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19th century,brodiagi,Dmitrii Grigorovich,Enchanted Wanderer,marginalization,Maxim Gorky,Nikolai Leskov,OAI-PMH Harvest,penal literature,Russian laws,Russian literature,subaltern,vagabonds,vagrancy,vagrants,wanderers
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Tags
19th century
brodiagi
Dmitrii Grigorovich
Enchanted Wanderer
marginalization
Maxim Gorky
Nikolai Leskov
penal literature
Russian laws
Russian literature
subaltern
vagabonds
vagrancy
vagrants
wanderers