A New Time

Russia on the Eve of War

During imperial Russia’s final decades, the newspaper Novoye Vremya (New Time) was one of the country’s most widely read. Its popularity grew with every year, and, after 1876, when it was taken over by the renowned journalist Alexei Sergeyevich Suvorin, Novoye Vremya became absolutely essential reading for a large proportion of literate Russian society. Before long, the newspaper was being produced daily, and under Suvorin’s stewardship it even added an evening edition. Producing a newspaper twice daily naturally demanded not only editorial talent but outstanding organizational abilities, of which Suvorin had no lack. The fact that the paper did not shy away from scandal or hold back when there was a new work of fiction to be lambasted certainly contributed to the excitement it generated.

In 1891 Novoye Vremya added a weekly illustrated supplement. Around the turn of the century, illustrated supplements were very much in vogue. Since there was no television or internet, readers turned to such publications to see images of the famous, the latest fashions, and reproductions of works by contemporary artists. The newspaper was called “New Time” for a reason, and its readers expected to be kept up to date. By the time 1914 was dawning, Suvorin was no longer alive, but his mission was being carried on by the Novoye Vremya Company, with Suvorin’s son in charge of producing the newspaper and supplement.

Editions of the illustrated supplement from January and February of 1914 take you back to a bygone and carefree world. Their pages offered a safe haven from the turmoil of contemporary politics and an escape from news of deteriorating relations between the great powers or distant rumblings hinting at the approach of war. Tranquility and refinement reigned.

Novoye Vremya offered Russia culture, at least culture as understood by the ordinary literate Russian, if not by the intellectual elite. Average readers had no interest in decadence, and they would not find a hint of it in the pages of the Novoye Vremya supplement. What they would find was an epistolary exchange between two highly respected poets of the past generation, Polonsky and Fet; a wealth of photographs of famous actresses; an article about the renowned early nineteenth-century playwright and diplomat Alexander Griboyedov; and reproductions of paintings presented at the latest exhibitions – not avant-garde art, of course, but realist paintings by artists now long forgotten, depicting cheerful scenes of ordinary life and happy peasants.

The supplement’s pages were also filled with various depictions of (well-to-do) people at leisure. The winter of 1913-1914 was a snowy one, and across Europe skiing and sledding were all the rage. Photographs adorning the pages of the supplement featured the following captions: “The Duderhof Bobsledding Club” (the Duderhof Hills being an area outside St. Petersburg); “Sledding down mountains (Switzerland). Most sleigh riders are English tourists”; “Russian Winter in Paris. A rare Parisian scene: the Luxembourg Gardens covered in snow”; “A severe winter gave Parisians an opportunity to go skating on the lakes of the Bois de Boulogne.” Novoye Vremya of course tried to promote healthy living, instructively reporting: “In Petersburg of late, sports and new ways of spending time in the open air have been in fashion. Every Sunday the Finland Road throngs with skiers, excursionists, and simply people who are sick and tired of playing whist.”

Science and technology were making great strides in 1914. As the year dawned, these advances filled people with optimism and hope for a better future. One Novoye Vremya supplement published a picture of a new bridge crossing Warsaw’s Vistula River, along with a detailed commentary. The bridge was designed by a Russian engineer named Lyubitsky. This was a time when Russia could take pride in its engineers, who were at the forefront of the scientific intelligentsia. Every new bridge removed impediments to travel and commerce. In early 1914, the readers of Novoye Vremya could not have suspected that this new bridge would soon be crossed by German troops coming to occupy Warsaw.

Airplanes were a novelty sure to interest Novoye Vremya’s readers. Since planes were small and aviation perilous, pilots were admired as heroes, worthy of generous space within the supplement. One photograph featured “Aviator Marc Pourpe, having completed an 1800 kilometer flight from Cairo to Khartoum.” Another French aviator, Agénor Parmelin, who managed to attain an altitude allowing him to fly over Mont Blanc, is shown in a photograph captioned “Over the clouds.” With the approaching outbreak of the first war to use fighter planes, the happy days of flying for adventure and record setting would give way to aviation of a very different sort.

Another technological advance was the automobile. Although decades had passed since the German inventor Nikolaus Otto had fallen out with his former engineer, the automotive pioneer Daimler, gas engines were rolling off the assembly lines of Otto’s Deutz company, which had even branched out into Russia, something frequently written about on the pages of Novoye Vremya: “The activities of the Otto-Deutz factory in St. Petersburg is arousing great interest. The factory employs 4,000 people and has produced more than 121,100 engines with an overall horsepower of 1,280,000.” It seemed that soon all Russia would be using German cars and tractors, a specialty of the Deutz company. Happy peasants looking out from the pages of the supplement would soon be plowing their fields with these machines, to the betterment of all Russia.

However, not all the news from the technology front was good. Novoye Vremya reported on a British submarine that had sunk off Plymouth, taking the entire crew with it. Submarines would be an unexpected and terrifying addition to arsenals in the impending world war. The sinking of the Lusitania and many other ships lay in the future. For now the loss of a submarine was just a puzzling and somewhat unnerving piece of news that was not a focus of attention.

Other innovations were of more immediate concern for the readers of Novoye Vremya, who were informed that “only Alma cream (1 ruble 75 kopeks per bottle) and Nelya powder from Paris (1 ruble 60 kopeks per box) will rid your face of all blemishes.” A product sold under the name “Eau de Santé” promised rosy, absolutely natural looking cheeks. Furthermore: “Since the color of hair these days is expected to match the color of one’s dress and you can hardly dye your hair every minute, colored wigs are naturally making an appearance. Ladies who have trouble deciding what to wear until the last second cover their hair with a golden net or sparkling cap with feathers. However sumptuous these feathers might be, this headgear is considered a hairdo rather than a hat, so they will never be required to remove it in public.” Beauty advances with the times!

Another symbol of progress: “Soon signs will no longer need to be illustrated. An order has already been issued to destroy such signs. Inhabitants of cities are now literate and have no need of graphic depictions on signs.”

In general, calm and order seemed to be taking the country forward. Members of local zemstvos, the form of limited self-government introduced by Alexander II in 1864, were gathering at a congress to celebrate the institution’s fiftieth anniversary, and the national legislature, the Duma, was gaining in influence. In a sign of expanded education, the supplement showed scenes from a rural schoolroom, as well as reports on the publication of highly practical books by the engineer Tilinsky: The Art of Rural Construction, Dachas and Suburban Houses, Agricultural Architecture, and Concrete. In Crimea, a “climatic colony for weak and sickly children” was successfully fulfilling its mission, while in St. Petersburg the outpatient Nicholas II People’s Home was using hypnosis to treat people for alcoholism, apparently with some success.

Novoye Vremya’s readers were treated to pictures of the royal family, including a shot of a fine young Tsarevich Alexei in his favorite sailor’s cap, riding an oversized tricycle. Perhaps the extra wheel was intended to minimize the risk that the hemophiliac heir to the throne might fall and skin his knee. The photograph was paired with another of Alexei and sister Anastasia in a rowboat.

It is heartrending to think what Fate had in store for the subjects of these charming photographs. Just four years later, Alexei and Anastasia, along with their parents and sisters, would end their days in a remote Siberian basement, and later an odd assortment of impostors would try to pass themselves off as the girl who seemed to so enjoy rowing with her little brother.

Another item on the pages of Novoye Vremya that now has a sinister ring to it is the following wedding announcement: “Her Highness Duchess Irina Alexandrovna – daughter of Their Imperial Highnesses Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich and Grand Duchess Kseniya Alexandrovna – born May 5, 1895, was on December 22, 1913, with imperial consent, betrothed to Count Felix Felixovich Sumarokov-Elston.” Felix Sumarokov-Elston, better known as Felix Yusupov, did little to hide his homosexuality and penchant for cross-dressing, but this did not stand in the way of a grand wedding. Two and a half years later, Irina Yusupova would serve as bait in a scheme by her husband and his co-conspirators to lure the despised Rasputin to the Yusupov home, where he breathed his last.

The supplement also reported on the unveiling of a monument to Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolayevich, Russia’s commander-in-chief during the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-1878. The base of the monument featured “a group of the grand duke’s comrades-in-arms” on horseback on one side and on the other “five standard-bearers symbolizing the formation of four independent Orthodox kingdoms under the protection of the Russian standard.” The caption went on to explain: “In front is a Russian standard-bearer, then a Serb, Montenegrin, Bulgarian, and Romanian.” Since the conclusion of the Turkish War, Russia had managed to quarrel with Bulgaria, which in the summer of 1914 would enter the First World War on the German side. Serbia and Montenegro, on the other hand, remained Russia’s stalwart allies in the Balkans. In just half a year this alliance would lead Russia to take Serbia’s side against Austria and enter a war that would kill millions and doom Nicholas II and his children, along with countless Novoye Vremya readers. The son of the man being honored by this monument, also Nikolai Nikolayevich, served as commander-in-chief of Russia’s armies during the war, a task at which he demonstrated catastrophic ineptitude. In 1915, after a series of defeats, he was removed from this post and sent to command the less consequential Caucasus Front. By giving him this new assignment, the tsar wound up saving his cousin’s life, since Nikolai Nikolayevich was able to escape abroad after the revolution.

And then we find this interesting (and by now highly anachronistic) discussion of the role of the “stride” in measuring the relative merits of Europe’s armies:

Given the current state of armaments, the soldier is assigned little weight in measuring relative military success. One English newspaper has conducted a survey of the length of the “stride” in various armies. The French infantryman steps 75 centimeters and the German takes the world record, since his stride is 80 centimeters. Italians and Austrians stride following the French model, while Russians step a mere 71 centimeters, or exactly one arshin. But Cosmos says that the size of the stride is not everything and pace must also be considered. The Russian infantryman takes 112-116 strides per minute, while the German takes 114, the French and Italian 120, and the Austrian 115, so the distance covered by soldiers of different armies can be expressed in terms of the following per minute speeds: Russians, approximately 81 meters; Austrians, 86; French and Italians, 96; and Germans, 91.

Reading these pages makes you want to cry out: “Beware of what lies ahead!” In just a few months, Russians, Germans, French, and Austrians would begin striding across the length and breadth of Europe, the air would fill with newfangled flying machines, and engines would be put into tanks rather than tractors.

“Stop writing about feathers in ladies’ headgear and Eau de Santé! Soon nobody will be worrying about agricultural architecture, ‘People’s Homes’ will disappear, monuments to tsars and grand dukes will be torn down, and the little boy enjoying his tricycle will be shot!”

Alas, such words come too late.