The Poet Turns Historian

1803

By 1803, Nikolai Mikhailovich Karamzin seemed to be at the pinnacle of his career.

All educated Russia was reading his poetry, and for several years already his 1792 novel Poor Liza had enjoyed cult status. Not only was it universally known, but the pond near Moscow’s Simonov Monastery – where the unfortunate Liza tragically ends her life after being loved and forsaken by the dastardly nobleman Erast – had become a place of pilgrimage. Touching tributes were carved into nearby trees. (The less sentimentally-minded left satirical epigrams, such as: “Here Erast’s lover dove to her doom/Drown yourselves, ladies, there’s plenty of room!”)

Karamzin, however, did not live exclusively in the removed world of literature and sentiment. He had talents and concerns beyond rending the hearts of readers (especially those belonging to the “fair sex”).

His Letters of a Russian Traveler, which described the author’s journeys across Europe and explored questions about Russia’s relation to the West, is one of the most fascinating works of the time and displayed a firm grasp of practical questions. Karamzin was also the founder of one of nineteenth-century Russia’s most popular journals, Herald of Europe («Вестник Европы»). What was left for him to do?

Suddenly, in 1803, at 37 (the fateful age at which many of Russia’s future poets would meet a tragic end), Karamzin took a completely new turn. He stopped writing poetry and fiction, stopped publishing journals. Tsar Alexander I, with whom Karamzin enjoyed friendly relations, appointed him court historian. The author, however, hardly appeared at court and almost completely withdrew from society. He spent most of his time at Ostafyevo, an estate outside Moscow owned by friends. Here, an amazing transformation took place: the renowned sentimentalist became a historian.

Karamzin spent many years laboring over his 12-volume History of the Russian State, which was destined to become one of nineteenth-century Russia’s most widely read historical works. By today’s standards, the style in which the History was written might seem plodding and weighed down by superfluous details, but at the time it was considered pleasurable reading. Karamzin was already credited with modernizing Russian literary language, peppering his writing with Gallicisms and bringing it closer to colloquial speech. Now, he brought these innovations to historical prose. He worked extensively with original sources, but, probably trusting his experience as a journalist, made a simple but groundbreaking change: rather than bogging down the text proper with citations, all references were moved to the back of the volume, where anyone interested could find them. The main text was thereby rendered an entertaining tale of bygone days written in a language that was easy for Karamzin’s contemporaries to understand.

The appeal of the History was also enhanced by the “hype” surrounding its release. The book was widely discussed for years, but its publication was repeatedly delayed, even after the first few volumes were ready. Only in 1816, when eight volumes were completed (taking the story of Russian history up to the youth of Ivan the Terrible), did the books go to press – 13 years after Karamzin started writing them. In the words of Alexander Pushkin: “The appearance of the History of the Russian State was a great sensation and made a strong impression. Three thousand copies were sold in one month, something Karamzin himself did not expect. Members of high-society rushed to read the history of their fatherland. For them, it was a revelation. It was as if Karamzin had discovered Russia of yore the way Columbus discovered America.”

From the start, Karamzin’s History sparked controversy. The great historian clearly and consistently wove a cardinal thought through his text, a thought laconically expressed in his dedication to his friend Alexander I: “History belongs to the Tsar.” For Karamzin, this was the primary lesson to be drawn from Russia’s past. In summoning the Varangians from across the sea, the ancient Novgorodians made a conscious decision to trade freedom for order. This act served to illustrate how natural and beneficial autocracy was for Russia. Every page of this entertaining and marvelously written work was designed to bolster this idea.

But the History came out at a time when the merits of autocracy were being questioned within Russia’s elite and revolutionary organizations were making an appearance. The tsar himself was dreaming of reforms but was afraid to implement them, while young conspirators blamed him for inaction and plotted his overthrow. “History belongs to the people!” was how Nikita Muravyov, a young officer who belonged to an underground society, responded in a critique of the History. (Years later, Muravyov wrote the constitution that he and his fellow conspirators planned to introduce after they came to power. Instead, they wound up spending many years in hard labor and exile in Siberia after taking part the Decembrist Revolt.) Someone, maybe even Pushkin, who had great respect and fondness for Karamzin, composed a bitter and insulting epigram playing on the incongruity of the poet’s revolutionary linguistic reforms and his conservative political views:

His History, with exquisite simplicity

Makes unbiased statements about

The necessity of autocracy

And the loveliness of the knout.

This reproach was undeserved, since Karamzin never extolled “the loveliness of the knout.” He believed that an autocratic monarch was obligated to be just, enlightened, and reasonable. This became clear several years later with the release of Volume 9, which was devoted to the second half of Ivan the Terrible’s reign. Karamzin, a proponent of the idea that a monarch should have unlimited power, did not leave out aspects of Ivan’s rule that would seem to argue against autocracy – and that more liberal historians might have been hesitant to publish. All of the atrocities and brutality perpetrated under the Terrible, all of the torture, and executions that characterized his reign, were brought together in one horrifying volume. Karamzin did not believe in arbitrary rule, but he did believe that autocracy was compatible with reason. The final volumes of the series, which were no less brilliant, were devoted to the reign of Boris Godunov and the Time of Troubles. Karamzin’s account inspired Pushkin to write a play about the period. His Boris Godunov was dedicated to Karamzin’s memory.

Russian history came largely to define Karamzin’s life, and it also played a part in his death. On December 14, 1825, as the Decembrist Revolt was unfolding, he hastened to St. Petersburg’s Senate Square to witness history in the making and, perhaps, to try to reason with the rebels. He wound up contracting a cold that led to a lung infection. Soon he was no more.

History of the Russian State continued to be read – by revolutionaries, by conservatives, and by educated people with no particular political agenda. Throughout the nineteenth century, this book was mandatory family reading within the intelligentsia. It was how children first learned their Russian history.

In retrospect, do we have any way of judging whether it was good or bad that generations of Russian children learned the history of their country through a book written by an adherent of autocracy? Probably Karamzin’s readers paid little attention to his ideology. They read his History for the stories.