Among the events that stand out in Russian history is the sadly memorable battle against the Turks that took place on July 9-10, 1711, near Ryabaya Mogila on the Pruth River. The famous archbishop, poet, and orator Feofan Prokopovich memorialized this event in grandiloquent trochees:
Над Могилою Рябою,
Над рекою Прутовою
Было войско в страшном бою.
В день недельный ополудны
Стался час наш велми трудный.
Пришел турчин многолюдный.
By Mogila Ryabaya
By the course of River Pruth,
Fought a force in mortal combat.
With the sun high in the sky
Came a time of mortal peril
Hordes of Turks came set for battle.
Finding themselves without food or water, and surrounded on all sides by the 200,000 strong infidel army of the Ottoman Porte and hordes of bellicose Crimeans, the Russians, it seemed, were doomed. Even Tsar Peter the Great lost his composure and confidence, penning an emotional letter to St. Petersburg:
Gentlemen of the Senate! I hereby inform you that my army and I, through no fault or error of our own… are so surrounded by Turkish forces four-times greater than our own that all channels by which we might obtain provisions have been cut off, and that, without divine intervention, I foresee nothing but complete destruction, or that I will fall into Turkish captivity. If this should happen, then you must no longer consider me your sovereign and must not do anything that I, though I order it myself, demand of you until I myself appear among you in person. But if I perish and you receive reliable news of my death, then you will choose a worthy successor among yourselves.
In his book The Jew of Peter the Great Or a Chronicle from the Life of Passersby (St. Petersburg, 2001), the Israeli writer David Markish has the despairing tsar exclaim, “Scabrous hope!” Indeed, the situation was perilous, but Peter’s despair proved unjustified. He placed his faith in a remarkable man to conduct negotiations with the Turks, negotiations on which hung the fate of all of Orthodox Russia.
One of the most remarkable things about this man, under the circumstances, was that he was a Jew, vice chancellor Baron Pyotr Pavlovich Shafirov (1669-1739), and he had the tsar’s complete confidence. Peter was prepared for the most ignominious armistice, even the prospect of giving Livonia and Pskov to the Turks’ allies, the Swedes. In his instructions to Shafirov, Peter was categorical: “Arrange everything as best you can, as God counsels you, and if they are genuine in their talk of peace, then agree to everything they want except bondage.”
If diplomacy is the art of the possible, then the cunning vice chancellor seems to have taken things a step further and achieved the impossible. All the Turks got was the Azov Fortress and Taganrog. The Russian army, led by Peter, was allowed to leave their encirclement unscathed and with honor. “On a broader political level,” wrote historian Svetlana Oreshkova, “the peace with Turkey did what Peter set out to do before the war—it gave Russia tranquility along its southern borders so that it could concentrate its forces against Sweden.” But, as part of the deal, the party responsible for this triumph, Shafirov, was forced to languish in Turkish captivity as a hostage. “They are holding us in such a fortress,” wrote Shafirov from Turkey, “that we will perish from the stench and odor in a few days.” As it turned out, he endured both for two and a half years.
This episode alone places Shafirov among Russia’s preeminent diplomats. Even the most anti-semitic historians recognized this. For example, the famous literary scholar and historian Vadim Kozhinov wrote of Shafirov’s indisputable achievements, that having “concluded a peace treaty with Turkey that was indispensible for Russia under very difficult circumstances… the Jew… Shafirov became one of the most distinguished personages in Russia.”
But there were also historians like Nikolai Molchanov, who concluded (in his book Pyotr I; Moscow, 2003) that Shafirov’s role as a diplomat was greatly exaggerated and, more importantly, that Pyotr Pavlovich Shafirov “served Peter not so much for the glory of Russia as for his own advancement and wealth.” This is bewildering indeed, for virtually every one of Peter’s fledglings was well known for cupidity. As the writer Yakov Gordin aptly put it, “both the old aristocracy and the ‘new people’ stole… During the last ten to fifteen years of Peter’s reign, there was an endless stream of investigations, torture, executions… Only a handful were left untarnished.” The prosecutor general, Pavel Yaguzhinsky, freely admitted to the tsar, “We all steal, everyone, it’s just that some steal more flagrantly than others!” Yet today none would accuse Alexander Menshikov, for example, the most flagrant looter of Peter’s treasury and the most talented of his associates, of feathering his nest with no thought for the good of the Fatherland. So why point such a finger at Shafirov, whose service to Russia was just as impressive and whose sacrifices were great? Could the tendency to diminish Shafirov’s role in Russian history spring from the fact that he was a Jew?
The question of Shafirov’s Jewishness is a subject worthy of attention in its own right. It was written of him that, “Shafirov was not a foreigner, but of Jewish stock, a boyar kholop, the son of someone by the name of Shayushka, and Shayshka’s father was in Orsha, where he managed the melamed’s household, and his relative, the Jew Zelman, still lives there.”* One of his Russian biographers described his appearance as follows: “Although he was short, exceptionally fat, and could barely move his legs, he combined dexterity of action with a great pleasantness of face.”
It should also be mentioned that some Jewish historians and writers, forgetting what life was like back then, have tried to present their fellow tribesmen as a secret or even open practitioner of Judaism. They depict Pyotr Pavlovich holding forth in Hebrew and sitting at a Seder feast wearing a yarmulke. Such depictions are the fruit of their authors’ imagination and are unsupported by the historical record. We do know that the father of our hero, a native of Smolensk by the name of Shaya Sapsayev, adopted Orthodox Christianity (he served for some time as the kholop of the boyar B. M. Khitrovo). He was christened Pavel Filipovich Shafirov and given the rank of nobleman. Pyotr Pavlovich himself displayed an avid interest in Christianity, building an impressive collection of editions of the Bible in various languages.
Shafirov’s Judaism manifested itself in other ways. It is clear that the voice of his heritage held a powerful sway over him. And it is surely significant that he married a Jew (an unusual thing for a Christian to do in the Russia of his day)—Anna Stepanovna (Samuilovna) Kopyeva, who was also from Smolensk. Furthermore, loyalty to his Jewish relatives was deeply ingrained in Shafirov, to the point that his detractors accused him of breaking the law to gain advantage for his relatives. In any event, Pyotr Pavlovich took care—sometimes quite selflessly—of his non-Jewish relatives as well. For example, during the bleak years of Anna Ioannovna’s reign, he was not afraid to petition on behalf of his son-in-law, Sergei Grigoyevich, a member of the disgraced Dolgoruky family.
What is important is that the statesman Shafirov also used his Jewish connections for the good of Russia. Israeli historian Savely Dudakov pointed out that, during his time in Turkish captivity, Pyotr Pavlovich got to know the influential Jewish physician, the marrano Daniel de Fonseca, who assisted him in his difficult diplomatic mission. We also know that Pyotr Pavlovich borrowed a great deal of money from Jewish bankers for the emperor. And, for their part, Western European Jews used Shafirov as an intermediary in requesting permission from Peter to open commercial offices in Russia. Peter listened to Shafirov and valued his opinion highly.
How did the tsar first get to know this Christianized Jew, whom he essentially put in charge of the empire’s diplomacy? The 18th century historiographer Ivan Golikov offers the following story:
[Peter the Great], not long before his first trip to foreign lands, was wandering among Moscow’s commercial stalls… Noticing the efficiency of one of the young salesclerks, he stopped at his shop and struck up a conversation with him, and from the answers he received he learned how intelligent he was, and as their conversation continued he found out that he knew German, French, and Polish, and he asked where he had learned them. From his father, was the response. “Who is your father?” the sovereign then asked. “A translator in the Foreign Department.” “And who is your employer?” “The Moscow gost Yevreinov.”* Finally, the monarch ordered him to tell his employer in his [Peter’s] name that he should settle accounts [with the salesclerk], and, that he should take his employer’s reference and come with his father to him, since, as he said, “I need you.” This salesclerk went on to become the renowned gentlemen Pyotr Pavlovich Shafirov. Three days later, the father and son appeared before the monarch… The great sovereign appointed him to the Foreign Department.
Golikov’s account has engraved itself in history and appears in a wide range of literary and historical works. Its fundamental authenticity, however, is highly doubtful. In fact, Shafirov was hired into the diplomatic corps not by order of the tsar, but by that of the Secretary of the Duma, A. A. Vinius. He came to the tsar’s attention in 1695-1696—four or five years after coming to work in the Foreign Department. And for some reason the list of diplomatic translators does not include his father.
The historian Dmitry Serov has expressed doubts as to the breadth of Pyotr Pavlovich’s linguistic knowledge, asserting that the only foreign language he knew was German. Indeed, Shafirov was hired as a translator of German, and he translated several calendars from this language. In those days, calendars were a special sort of literature containing the most universal information in all branches of knowledge. They were popular reading in Moscow and promoted Western culture.
The title pages of the books Shafirov translated speak for themselves: The Calendar of Rarely Found Things by Johann Heinrich Focht, Swedish Royal Mathematician, for the Year of 1695; A Calendar of Cunning Mathematical Subtleties, for the Year of 1697 A.D., Containing Extensive Descriptions and with Annunciations of the Movement of the Sun and of Its Height, As Well As a Definitive Listing of Solar and Lunar Eclipses, Composed for the First Time by Pavel Harken…
However, German was not the only language that Shafirov knew. The contents of his personal library are clear evidence that he was a polyglot—his collection was made up entirely of foreign books. There was an evident preference for French literature (it is interesting to note that the collection includes Voltaire’s tragedies), but there were also German, Latin, and Italian editions.
Sergei Luppov, a scholar who has researched the history of books and culture, writes, “Shafirov had many books on history and geography, lexicons, grammars, publications associated with diplomacy and international law, a few books about mathematics and military science, high-brow and low-brow literature, and books on religious topics…The lexicons and grammars that Shafirov kept in his library were evidently the references he used in reading foreign literature.”
Although the library of the tsar’s diplomat did not contain any Dutch publications, Pyotr Pavlovich did indeed know Dutch, and translated diplomatic documents from this language. Evidently it was Shafirov’s energetic efficiency, keen mind, and knowledge of foreign languages that prompted Peter the Great to include him in the entourage of the Great Embassy, which traveled the European capitals during the years 1697 and 1698. Peter had been hearing about our hero’s talents from several prominent diplomats, including Secretary of the Duma Yemeliyan Ukraintsev and the Embassy’s head, “first among ministers,” Fyodor Golovin (it is noteworthy that Shafirov’s daughter later married Golovin’s son). Soon enough, the monarch himself became convinced of their protégé’s merits. A well-informed foreigner reported that the tsar spent all his time with a “Christianized Jew,” from whom he never parted. It is illustrative that, when Peter needed to cut short his voyage to subdue the strelets mutiny (see page 22), Shafirov was among the small number of close confidants he took with him.
Shafirov was gradually given greater responsibility and assigned missions critical to the fate of the empire. It took some time, however, before he was able to speak with his own voice in negotiations. At first Shafirov, enterprising as he was, was not a fully independent assistant to the great reformer. It was in the role of assiduous executor of the will of the tsar, who followed every nuance in affairs of state, that Pyotr Pavlovich laid the groundwork for the 1699 Russo-Dutch-Polish alliance and the Russo-Polish alliance of 1701, both directed against Sweden.
That he performed his duties well is attested to by the fact that, in 1703, Shafirov was appointed privy secretary to chancellor Fyodor Golovin, who, after his death in 1706, was succeeded by Gavrilo Golovkin, a man of rather mediocre abilities. Shafirov was appointed vice chancellor, a position specially created for him. Golovkin played a purely decorative, ceremonial role. In fact, all negotiations with foreign ambassadors and the details of diplomatic projects fell to vice chancellor Shafirov. Here is how one historian characterizes his role: “Shafirov wound up at the pinnacle of his profession. He had the ability to inspire trust, was able to temper the tsar’s harshness, and could keep track of details.” The pro-Russian neutrality of England, Holland, and Germany can be attributed to his efforts. He also supported Transylvanian prince Ferenc Rákóczi’s pretensions to the Polish throne over those of Stanislav Leshchinsky, who was supported by Sweden.
And on the fields of war Shafirov was always by his tsar’s side. We know that he served as the truce envoy who accepted the capitulation of Sweden at Ivangorod and Narva in 1704. After the glorious Battle of Poltava, the indefatigable vice chancellor was given the rank of privy councilor, three hundred peasant households, and the prosperous Ukrainian villages of Verba and Ponuritsa, among other things. On May 30, 1710, Peter’s birthday, the grateful tsar promoted Pyotr Pavlovich to Baron, a title that would become a traditional sign of distinction among Jews of the European diaspora. Shafirov’s services were also rewarded by other crowned heads of Europe: Frederick of Prussia bestowed the Order of Generosity on him, and August II, King of Poland and Elector of Saxony, gave him the Order of the White Eagle.
In 1709, the entire Russian postal system was placed under the vice chancellor, with the main post office located on his estate (it burned down in 1737). The speed with which dispatches were delivered under Postmaster General Shafirov might be envied even by some modern-day postal services. The famous bird-troika (which made light work of Russia’s terrible roads) managed the route from Moscow to Voronezh in 48 hours, reaching Tula in 36 and Novgorod in 52. Pyotr Pavlovich also built a model postal tract between St. Petersburg and Moscow.1
Shafirov played a pivotal role in the first marriages between the dynasties of Russia and Central Europe, an endeavor he subordinated fully to the interests of the Russian state. It was he who, in 1710, reached agreement with the Duke of Courland, Frederick Wilhelm, that he would marry Peter the Great’s niece, the Grand Duchess Anna Ioannovna (who later became empress of Russia). The agreement provided for the return of lands that had been taken from Courland, but at the same time Courland was made a protectorate of Russia, which paved the way for its incorporation into the empire. An analogous agreement was reached in 1716 with the Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Charles Leopold, who married another of Peter’s nieces, Yekaterina Ioannovna, for which Pyotr Pavlovich went so far as to arrange the divorce between this royal personage and his first wife.
Shafirov even tried his talents at private enterprise, becoming one of the first manufacturers in Russia. He advanced the fishing industry in the White Sea: the harvesting of walrus, whale, and cod oil, and the export of baleen to Europe. In 1717 he attempted to establish a silk factory, an endeavor that received approval and support from Peter (it was granted 50 years of duty-free sales). However the complexity and advanced technology involved in the enterprise proved more than Shafirov could handle, and in 1721 the factory was shut down. Apparently this in no way diminished the esteem in which Peter held Shafirov. The tsar continued to use the vice chancellor to conduct his diplomacy.
Diplomacy is where Shafirov’s talents truly lay. The vice chancellor’s diplomatic career began its most impressive ascent after the 1711 treaty with Turkey, which was finalized in 1713 in Hadrianopolis (Edirne). Shafirov took part in the signing of alliances with Poland and Denmark (1715) and later with Prussia and France (1717). Pyotr Pavlovich now became the vice president of the Department of Foreign Affairs (1717), a knight of the highest Russian order, St. Andrew the First-Called (1719), and a senator and Actual Privy Councillor (1722).
He also played an inestimable role in the 1721 Treaty of Nystad, which put an end to the bloodshed of the Great Northern War (1700-1721). It should be noted that Shafirov brought victory over the Swedes closer not only through his work at the negotiating table, but with his pen. His diplomatic talents were fortuitously combined with an extraordinary gift for polemics. The unprecedented tract he wrote in 1716 by order of the tsar—A Discourse Concerning the Just Causes of His Royal Majesty Peter I, Tsar and Sovereign of All Russia, Etc., Etc., In Undertaking the War against King Charles XII in 1700…2 – was the first Russian treatise on international law. The importance the monarch assigned to the Discourse is attested to by the fact that it was published in three editions, with the third printing (1722) totaling 20,000 copies (an unprecedented quantity). It was ordered distributed throughout every province of the vast empire and sold at a discounted price. Furthermore, this work reached international readers: it was translated into German and English (in fact, it was the first Russian book to be translated in England).
The Discourse was an extremely topical political tract, presenting the war with the Swedish king as a necessity dictated by the vital needs of the state. The author drew on a broad range of historical sources, scrupulously researching Russian-Swedish relations back to the time of Ivan the Terrible. Shafirov argued the necessity of bringing the conflict to its conclusion, but not making peace with Sweden until Russia had complete control over the Baltic Sea. Historian Sergei Peshtich was correct when he said that this well-documented work had great historical, diplomatic and legal significance.
The Discourse has also been noted for its lexical innovations, as it contains a wealth of words and terms that had not theretofore entered Russian usage. Shafirov borrowed words and terms from foreign languages, which was unavoidable for a diplomat in the Petrine era, since, as the linguist Alexander Gorshkov noted, “the main sphere in which Western European borrowings took place was official diplomatic and administrative correspondence.” Some of Pyotr Pavlovich’s neologisms—in particular the words революция (revolution) and гражданин (citizen)—have been analyzed in Savely Dudakov’s brilliant book, Pyotr Shafirov (Jerusalem: 1989). It is an irony of history that Shafirov first introduced the word “patriot” into common Russian usage, defining it as “a son of the Fatherland.” He considered himself to be a “true patriot.” Little did he know that this word would, centuries later, be deployed as a weapon by anti-Semitic Russian nationalists.
The book was prefaced with a “Dedication or Offering” from the author to the tsarevich, Peter’s son. The significance of this dedication for the history of Russian letters has yet to be fully appreciated. It is important to note that Shafirov served here as the Russian progenitor of the genre of dedications, introducing into his country a tradition that had existed since antiquity and was widely practiced in Europe. Before long, the poet Vasily Trediakovsky would write, “The turn of phrase used in the panegyric epistle must be smooth, sweet, easily flowing and skillful, especially in dedications…the dedication is gentle and artful.” Indeed these are the very qualities that distinguish Shafirov’s dedication. Readers who immerse themselves in this text will be captivated by its author’s eloquent oratory. And some of its collocations and calques sound decidedly modern, such as богом дарованный талант (God-given talent), слабая комплекция (weak constitution), фамилиарное обхождение (overly-familiar manners), неискусство пера (artlessness of the pen), великий вождь (great leader, a phrase applied to Peter the Great), etc. The lexicon, rhetorical flourishes, and even composition of Shafirov’s dedication later became stock features of the genre, widely emulated in Russian dedications throughout the 18th and first half of the 19th century.
The vice chancellor often called himself a disciple of Peter the Great and tenaciously worked to put his transformative plans into practice. But perhaps the tsar’s principle that Shafirov believed in most deeply was that people should not be valued based on their rank, but on their ability “to get things done” (a principle reflected in the famous 1721 Table of Ranks). Pyotr Pavlovich not only had a high opinion of his own ability “to get things done,” but he suffered from unbounded ambition that bordered on arrogance. It was particularly hurtful to his pride that he found himself subordinate to chancellor Golovkin, the scion of an ancient line, but, as one historian put it, “a decorative nonentity.”
The vice chancellor’s feelings are all the easier to understand, given that while he, the cunning and knowledgeable Shafirov, devised an ingenious cipher to encode diplomatic correspondence in a variety of European languages, his exalted patron did not know a single foreign tongue and communicated with visiting ambassadors exclusively through the use of gestures. Discord constantly flared up between the chancellor and his reluctant subordinate. Their competition with one another even extended to the lavishness of their households in St. Petersburg, with Shafirov always striving to outdo Golovkin and rejoicing when the number of servants in his employ finally surpassed that of the detested chancellor. Contemporaries tell us that once, in the Department of Foreign Affairs, Shafirov started yelling at the staff, calling them “oafs,” “good-for-nothings,” and “chancellery creatures,” and then “becoming enraged, he stood up, walked out, and, pausing at the door, shouted at the chancellor, “You think you’re so high and mighty? Well, in my case it’s true!” It must be admitted that Pyotr Pavlovich did not always stop at words. We know of an instance when, in May of 1719, agitated by an argument with the chancellor, he mercilessly beat the department’s senior secretary, I. A. Gubin. The 19th century writer, Alexander Kornilovich, wrote of Shafirov, “With his sweeping intellect and knowledge, he would have been a true nobleman, had he been able to reign in his passions.”
Pyotr Pavlovich may have lacked an aristocratic lineage, but his outstanding abilities earned him the status of one of the tsar’s most eminent associates. Noblemen from the most estimable of boyar lines were happy to become his in-laws. His daughters were married into a number of princely families—Golitsyn, Dolgoruky, Gagarin, Golovin, and Khovansky. Nevertheless, these Christianized Jews were not allowed to forget their origins. One memoirist tells us that, at a gathering of the nobility, one of Shafirov’s daughters tried to turn down a stoup of vodka the tsar had offered her. “I’ll teach you to obey, you Jewish brat!” roared the enraged Peter, and gave the intractable young woman two heavy slaps to the face. She never turned down another offer by the tsar.
While anti-Semitism may not have predominated in the machinations of Shafirov’s enemies when, in 1722, a number of serious charges were leveled against him, its presence could be felt. At the time, there was a clash in the Senate between Shafirov’s interests and those of the all-powerful “semi-sovereign ruler” Alexander Menshikov (evidently there was a dispute concerning the profits from their joint White Sea venture). Menshikov’s accomplice, G. G. Sornyakov-Pisarev—who accused the vice chancellor of embezzlement and the illegal payment of a salary to his brother, Mikhail Shafirov (a member of the Department of Mines)—for good measure also threw in an accusation that Shafirov had concealed his Jewish ancestry. On this point, Shafirov was able to defend himself, pointing out that the tsar had been acquainted with his Christianized father, who was granted nobility during the reign of Tsar Fyodor III. But when it came to his other “faults” (embezzlement, overstating postal rates, concealing escaped serfs, to name a few), Peter sternly commanded: Shafirov “will be put to death without mercy, and let no one count on whatever services they have rendered in the past, thinking this will remove their guilt.”
This is how the marvelous Russian historian Sergei Soloviev describes the scene on the day of the execution:
Early in the morning of February 15, the Kremlin was already teeming with people… The convict was brought up in a simple sled from the Preobrazhensky Prikaz;* during the reading of the sentence they removed his wig and old fur coat and raised him onto the scaffold, where he crossed himself several times, got onto his knees and placed his head onto the chopping block. The executioner’s axe was already sailing through the air, but it hit wood: Makarov, a privy royal secretary, declared that the emperor, out of respect for Shafirov’s service, was commuting the death sentence to Siberian exile. Shafirov stood up and left the scaffold with tears in his eyes. In the Senate, where Shafirov was brought, his old comrades shook his hand and congratulated him on his pardon, but Shafirov remained gloomy; it was said that when the doctor, fearing the effect of such a strong shock, bled him, Shafirov said, “Better to open a major vein to free me of my torment once and for all.”
The tsar showed mercy (if you can call the stripping of rank, orders, titles, and all moveable and immovable property mercy): he not only granted Shafirov his life, but changed his place of exile from Siberia to Nizhny Novgorod. Shafirov lived there under “heavy guard,” and his entire family was kept on 33 kopeks a day.
Pyotr Pavlovich’s circumstances improved only after Catherine I (Peter’s widow), who clearly held him in favor, took the throne. Shafirov had not only his rank and regalia restored, but also a large portion of the property that had been confiscated. During 1725-1727, he held the prominent post of president of the Department of Commerce. Recalling his literary abilities, the empress also assigned him the task of writing a history of the reign of Peter the Great (a work that was never completed).
After being forced to retire under Peter II (1727-1730), Shafirov was again called into service by Anna Ioannovna. He was asked to assemble an anti-Turkish coalition. Shafirov was posted to Persia as a plenipotentiary ambassador (1730-1732), where he would sign the Treaty of Rasht, by which Russia and Persia agreed to jointly oppose the Ottoman Porte. In 1733, he was promoted to Senator and again appointed president of the Department of Commerce, a post that he held until his death. In 1734, his talents as a diplomat were again called upon and he participated in the signing of a trade agreement with England and, in 1737, the Treaty of Nemirov.
But perhaps he always looked back on that sultry July day in 1711 when he, the son of a former kholop, the Jew Shafirov, saved the great Russian Empire from shame and defeat. Surely it was his finest hour. RL
* In pre-Petrine Russia, a kholop was something between a slave and an indentured servant. “Melamed” is the teacher in a Jewish school.
* A gost was the highest level of merchant. This designation (literally “guest,” as early merchants were mostly foreigners) was bestowed by the tsar on the most prosperous traders.
1 Distances: Moscow to Voronezh, 489 km; to Tula, 175 km; to Novgorod 475 km.
2 This work is available in English translation as A Discourse Concerning the Just Causes of the War between Sweden and Russian: 1700-1721.
* During Peter’s reign, an office in charge of investigating and punishing political crimes, located in the Moscow suburb of Preobrazhenskoye.
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