Literary History and Popular Enlightenment in Latvian Culture [1 ed.] 9781443892551, 9781443855174

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Literary History and Popular Enlightenment in Latvian Culture

Literary History and Popular Enlightenment in Latvian Culture By

Pauls Daija

Literary History and Popular Enlightenment in Latvian Culture By Pauls Daija This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Pauls Daija All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5517-0 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5517-4

This research has been supported by the European Social Fund within the project ‘Cultures within a Culture: Politics and Poetics of Border Narratives’ (Nr. 1DP/1.1.1.2.0/13/APIA/VIAA/042)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface and Acknowledgments ................................................................. vii Chapter One ................................................................................................. 1 Peasants and Enlightenment in the Eighteenth-Century Baltic Provinces Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 33 Book Production and Dissemination of Knowledge Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 59 Establishing the Latvian Literary Culture Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 77 Idealisation of the Peasant Chapter Five ............................................................................................ 105 Peasants and Ideology Epilogue................................................................................................... 125 Bibliography ............................................................................................ 131

PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Enlightenment of peasants, an 18th-century phenomenon that originated from an interest in common people and ideas of about the emancipation of the lower classes, had a crucial impact on creating new literary cultures in Eastern Europe. The focus of this research is on cultural history of Latvia—one of the Baltic countries, belonging to tsarist Russia at the time, whose inhabitants were regarded as serfs, but who transformed themselves over the course of fifty odd years into a European nation. This book follows the process during which the Enlightenment of peasants mobilized local Baltic German elites to launch a literary culture in Latvian and to build the preconditions for Latvian emancipation in the 19th century. By exploring Latvian cultural history as a case study, the book contributes to the discussions about peasant history in the age of Enlightenment. Within the wider context of European literary history, the Latvian example adds significantly to debates about the Enlightenment, peasants and emancipation. So far, this topic has been approached mainly as an agrarian question about the abolishment of serfdom and other political reforms. Less attention has been paid to the attempts to “civilise the indigenous people”. In Latvian literary history, the texts composed by the Baltic German elite to educate and improve the socially limited Latvian serfs were always part and parcel of the “colonial upbringing” of Latvians and a stimulus for the rise of Latvian secular literature and 19th-century national culture. The question of how to consolidate a single Latvian Enlightenment project by unifying its emancipating tendencies with its more restrictive ones has mostly remained either unanswered or ignored. Scholars of the 18-century cultural history of the Baltic region typically have paid more attention to the texts published in German, while the texts in indigenous languages written by the bilingual Baltic German authors often have been left unexplored. This book offers an alternative reading and provides a closer look at books written to peasants and their content demonstrating the attempts to change the peasant society in the 18th-century Latvia. Literature composed in Latvian is interpreted in this book in comparison to the Volksaufklärung, German Popular Enlightenment. The term “Popular Enlightenment” has emerged relatively recently in German literary theory, primarily since the 1970s. Interest in the topic of

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Preface and Acknowledgments

popular culture was inspired by German literary and cultural historian Rudolf Schenda’s Volk ohne Buch (People without the Book, 1970) and by Heinz Otto Lichtenberg’s Unterhaltsame Bauernaufklärung (Entertaining Peasant Enlightenment, 1970). The dissertation by German literary historian Reinhart Siegert, namely his Aufklärung und Volkslektüre (Enlightenment and Popular Reading, 1978), marked the most notable turning point by reinforcing the term Volksaufklärung in Germany and initiating further research on the topic. From 1990 until 2016, a large-scale research project on the publication history of books about the Popular Enlightenment was carried out by Reinhart Siegert and Holger Böning and published in three volumes entitled Volksaufklärung: Biobibliographisches Handbuch zur Popularisierung aufklärerischen Denkens im deutschen Sprachraum von den Anfängen bis 1850 (Popular Enlightenment: A Biobibliographical Handbook on the Popularisation of Enlightenment Thought in the German-speaking Area from Its Beginnings until 1850). Currently, studies of the Popular Enlightenment have expanded as a broad interdisciplinary sphere of research in literature, culture and media history. They not only in analyse and interpret texts and the contexts of their creation, but also demonstrate how ideas about emancipation, tolerance and power, reinforced during the Enlightenment era, have affected the thinking paradigms of modern society. The influence of the Popular Enlightenment on the publication of East European literature is of equal importance. The connection between Popular Enlightenment ideas in Germany and the emergence of 18th-century secular books in Latvian has only recently been acknowledged. Studies published during the last ten years by MƗra Grudule and Thomas Taterka among others have demonstrated that Popular Enlightenment texts in German were the ones most often chosen for translation into Latvian, thus making it reasonable to hypothesise that Latvian secular literary culture initiated by the Baltic Germans can be viewed as a localization (or adaptation) of German Popular Enlightenment ideas. This book contributes to the mapping of the international network of Popular Enlightenment ideas as they crossed the borders between Western and Eastern Europe. The book consists of five chapters. In the first chapter I characterize the 18th-century interest in common people, peasant education and the problems associated with emancipation as well as the import of these ideas into the Baltic provinces. The second chapter outlines an overview of the literary history of the Popular Enlightenment in Latvian, focusing on the most significant books, themes and foreign influences. The characteristics of the Popular Enlightenment’s literary practice and communication are

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analysed in the third chapter. The last two chapters turn to the literary works written by Baltic German authors for Latvian peasant readers. By analysing literary works by the Baltic German Lutheran pastors Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Johann Friedrich Rosenberger, Gustav von Bergmann, Alexander Johann Stender and Karl Gotthard Elferfeld, I trace the depiction of various images of Latvian peasants and attempt to uncover both the liberating and restraining sides of the Popular Enlightenment in the Baltics. In the fourth chapter I explore the idealization of the peasant based on bourgeois virtues, sensibilitiesand Germanisation. In the fifth chapter I analyse issues related to the ideology of the Enlightenment, including such topics as serfdom, patriotism and history. I am very grateful to Reinhart Siegert, Professor of Freiburg University, for his advice and tremendous help with German sources of Popular Enlightenment during the initial stage of my research. Also, I would like to express gratitude for the support from scholars of the Baltic German culture in Tallinn and Tartu: Ulrike Plath, Liina Lukas and Jaan Undusk. Most of all, I would like to thank my colleagues at the Institute of Literature, Folklore and Art affiliated with the University of Latvia and the Faculty of Humanities as well as those at the Faculty of History and Philosophy of the University of Latvia and at the National Library of Latvia, especially MƗra Grudule, Thomas Taterka, Aiga Šemeta, Gvido Straube, Gustavs Strenga, Benedikts Kalnaþs, Eva EglƗja-Kristsone and Dace Bula for their encouragement and inspiration as well as their careful comments and critique. This book was prepared for publication with the financial support of the European Social fund project Cultures within a Culture: Politics and Poetics of Border Narratives. I am grateful to Gundega Gaile in Riga for translating the Latvian text into English and Inta Gale Carpenter in Bloomington, Indiana for editing the first draft of the English text and providing many valuable comments. I would also like to thank Laine Kristberga, John Vivian and Katerina Spathia for their help. I am grateful to Cambridge Scholars Publishing and to the Institute of Literature, Folklore and Art of the University of Latvia for permission to use my earlier study, ApgaismƯba un kultnjrpƗrnese (Enlightenment and Cultural Transfer, published in Latvian in 2013), in a revised form for this book. Parts of chapters 1 and 5 have appeared previously in the journals Interlitteraria and Nordic Theatre Studies.

CHAPTER ONE PEASANTS AND THE ENLIGHTENMENT IN THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY BALTIC PROVINCES

In the middle of the 18th century, indigenous peasants under serfdom were put under the spotlight of interest of the educated elite in the Baltic provinces. This focus on Baltic peasants arose from the interest in the “common people” throughout Europe, where they gradually came into the public eye of educated society, in some respects even becoming a “central dilemma”1 for those enlighteners who wished to expand the borders of Enlightenment thought. Peasants were simultaneously seen as “embodiments of unreason”, “producers of essential products” and “victims of neglect”.2 In the Baltic Sea provinces of the Russian Empire,3 their otherness was strengthened by their distinctive language, customs and ethnicity. The “common people” in the Baltics referred both to a social class and an ethnic group, and the concept of a “peasant” acquired ethnic connotations. Ethnic boundaries in Baltics were identical to social ones—to be an Estonian in Estonia and Northern Livonia, or a Latvian in Courland and Southern Livonia, was to be a peasant.4 1

Harry Payne, “The People,” in: Encyclopedia of the Enlightenment, ed. by Alan Charles Kors, Vol. 3 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 260. 2 Ibid., 260. 3 The Baltic Sea provinces of the Russian Empire comprised the common denomination for three governorates: Estonia, Livonia (both since 1721) and Courland (after 1796; part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth throughout most of the 18th century). Ethnic Latvians inhabited Courland and southern Livonia—which, along with Lettgallia (part of Vitebsk Governorate), constitute the territory of Latvia today—while northern Livonia and Estonia were inhabited by ethnic Estonians. In Estonia, Livonia and Courland, the minority Baltic German upper class dominated and the evolution of the peasant Enlightenment was similar to that in the Estonian and Latvian parts of these provinces. Until 1817 in Courland and 1819 in Livonia, when serfdom was abolished, the majority of the Latvian population consisted of serfs. 4 Cf.: Edgars Dunsdorfs, Latvijas vƝsture: 1710 – 1800 (Sundbyberg: Daugava, 1973), 290.

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The Discovery of the People Baltic Germans often saw themselves as colonisers—descendants of the Middle Age crusaders who settled on the shores of the Baltic Sea in the 13th century.5 In the 18th century, as during previous centuries, the political and cultural power of the Baltic provinces of Russia was more or less concentrated in the hands of the Baltic German elite. The century of Enlightenment made Baltic Germans aware of their cultural mission regarding the indigenous populations—Latvians and Estonians. Influenced by the ideas of Popular Enlightenment in German-speaking countries, the members of the Baltic German upper-class started to study peasant languages, analyse their social and intellectual problems and ultimately carried out the project of peasant education and emancipation.6 The undertakings of the Baltic German enlighteners have been characterised as the “discovery” of Latvians, highlighting the works of Baltic German pastor Gotthard Friedrich Stender (1714–1796): It can be said that Old Stender had “discovered” Latvians in the same way that Christopher Columbus had discovered America during his time. Germans had been living side by side with Latvians for centuries without noticing them, except as inferior beings.7

Similarly to peasants throughout Western Europe, the Latvians were seen simultaneously as the “true source of the wealth of nations” and as “morally incapable” or even, to use Voltaire’s wording, those who were “between man and beast”.8 Discovery of the Latvians mirrored the process in Western Europe which has been named the “discovery of people”.9 5

Cf.: Piret Peiker, “Postcolonial Change. Power, Peru and Estonian Literature,” in: Baltic Postcolonialism, ed. by Viloeta Kelertas (Amsterdam/New York: Rodopi, 2006), 111. 6 On Baltic German and Latvian historical relationship, see further: Heinrich Schaudinn, Deutsche Bildungsarbeit am lettischen Volkstum des 18. Jahrhundert (München: Reinhardt, 1937); Detlef Henning, “Letten und Deutsche. Aspekte einer schwierigen Nachbarschaft,” Nordost-Archiv (Neue Folge), 5 (1996): 249–273. 7 Vilis Plnjdons, “LaicƯgƗs rakstniecƯbas sƗkums,” in: Latviešu literƗtnjras vƝsture, sast. Ludis BƝrziƼš, 2. sƝj. (RƯga: Literatnjra, 1935), 105. Here and further my translation from Latvian, unless otherwise noted. On similar developments in Estonian-speaking areas, see: Ulrike Plath, Esten und Deutsche in den baltischen Provinzen Russlands. Fremdheitskonstruktionen, Lebenswelten, Kolonialphantasien. 1750–1850 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 163–173. 8 Payne, “The People”, 260. Cf. also: “But once philosophers decided to be useful to society, they had to face the people. [...] The people were not hard to see, but they were hard to see clearly and sympathetically.” (Harry Payne, The

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The discovery of the people can be approached in terms of its social meaning during its initial stages which were closely connected with an interest in agriculture and physiocratic ideas about the peasant as the source of wealth. In the minds of the 18th century social elites, the peasants became “the most essential and important [class], because everything and everyone living on each is fed and sustained by it and could not survive without it”.10 The economic theories of cameralists and physiocrats in Europe gradually led to a new conception of the importance and place of the peasant class in society, thus shifting its location from the periphery to the centre, and simultaneously increasing the importance of the natural sciences in the modernisation of agriculture.11 Moreover, agricultural innovations stimulated the impulse to modernise peasant society itself by proposing new social relationships and new approaches to the education of peasants. A social initiative that chronologically preceded the economic theories of Adam Smith (1723– 1790), physiocracy assembled a circle of French scholars that included François Quesnay (1694–1774), Robert Jacques Turgot (1727–1781) and the Marquis de Mirabeau (1749–1791), all of whom had tried to solve the economic problems that had overwhelmed France following the Seven Years War (1756–1763). Their studies suggested that France’s neglect of agriculture, in contrast to England, was the primary reason for its defeat. The ideas the physiocrats proposed led to the concept of agriculture as the Philosophers and the People (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1976), 3.) 9 See further: Peter Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), 23–48; Holger Böning, “Die Entdeckung des “Volkes” in der deutschen Aufklärung: Ausgewönliche Bauern und ihre Bedeutung für die Volksaufklärung,” in: Johann Ludewig. Der gelehrte Bauer. Neudruck der 1. Ausgabe (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 1992), 253–282. The discovery of the people took on a Herderian understanding that viewed “the people” as a community united by language, tradition, and culture. This conceptualization embodied the potential for creating Latvian national identity and ushering in a national awakening in the middle of the 19th century, but it had no impact on the secularization of Latvian literary culture until the first half of the 19th century, when Baltic German pastors compiled the first Latvian folk song collections. 10 Johann Georg Krünitz, Ökonomisch–technologische Encyklopädie oder allgemeines System der Staats-, Stadt, Haus- und Landwirthschaft, wie auch der Erdbeschreibung, Kunst- und Naturgeschichte: in alphabetischer Ordnung, Bd. 3 (Berlin: Joachim Pauli, 1782), 766. Here and further my translation from German, unless otherwise noted. 11 John G. Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot. The Changing Image of the German Peasant. 1770–1840 (Kentucky: The University Press of Kentucky, 1969), 32–44.

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foundation for a nation’s prosperity because, unlike trade and manufacturing, only agriculture produced crops. Thus a new understanding of farming as the most venerable of professions was developed.12 It contrasted with peasants’ actual living conditions and outlook. “So, a peasant class is a happy class because God ordained it so before The Flood?” a surprised Swiss peasant asks the pastor in the mid-18th century dialogue. The pastor answers that the Bible holds agriculture in high regard, and then eclectically quotes from ancient authors—like Ovid and Virgil—to prove the “honourable status” of the peasant. The peasant responds by casting his conclusion about what is considered to be of particular importance to the peasants in a question, “So, as I hear you say, our class is not only a laudable and happy class, but also an important and necessary one?”13 Both educated elites and peasants themselves had to be convinced of this concept. One of the most characteristic Baltic examples of the synthesis of Christian egalitarianism and the physiocratic movement appeared in the 1772 calendar article by local physician Karl Ferdinand Hummius (1724– 1788) to introduce Latvian readers to a series of articles on medicine in the Courland calendar: Dear friends! Dear brothers! That is how I imagine you, stimulated and captured by my very own heart. For both you and I have but one father and Creator. For the same reason you as well as I have been saved from the dominium of the devil with the precious blood of Jesus Christ. […] I therefore love you as my brothers for whom God places a slice of bread into our hands. But I also love you as my true friends and benefactors. Through your sweat, God gives me his blessing every year and every day. When you cultivate the fields so I have bread and beer; when you reap the hay that I feed to my horses and cattle; when you sheer the lambs and sheep and weave the wool that warms my body; when your dear wives labour to raise the chicks, ducklings, goslings and turkeys, so I can sleep soundly on feathers and down and feast on their meat; when you toil in the winter forest to cut and chop firewood so I can heat my stove and sit in a warm room: how do you suppose I could answer to God or to you if I did not love you with all my heart? And, if you believe me, you really should trust that everything I am teaching and illustrating with this [calendar] and—if God grants me more years to live—with many more secular books,

12

John Shovlin, “Physiocrats and Physiocracy,” in: Europe. 1450 to 1789. Encyclopedia of the Early Modern World, ed. by Jonathan Dewald, Vol. 4 (New York: Thomson/Gale, 2004), 473–475. 13 Johann Caspar Nägeli, Des lehrnsbegierigen und andächtigen Landmanns getreuer Wegweiser (Zürich: Heidegger, 1738), 23, 25.

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I do as a tribute to you because of my love for you. You should also thus believe in the truth of everything I am saying.14

The direct references to Christian egalitarianism, as well as the use of religious language in this text rendered its Enlightenment ideas, namely, that all men are born equal and are entitled to the pursuit of happiness. During the first half of the 18th century, such a concept was not at all selfevident in European society. Thus, the claim that the peasants were the central source of a nation’s wealth meant that their actual conditions in the mid-18th century had to be problematized, creating “a space for empathy and concern”.15 While the term “common man” conventionally denoted those without social status or wealth, the Enlightenment redefined “the people” in terms of education. The people thus embodied the part of society that was uneducated and those who therefore displayed a different mentality.16 Physiocrats were concerned themselves with “an education for the people which would teach it polity; which would place before its eyes a summary of its duties in a form that is clear and easy to practice”.17 Hence, the question of education was brought forward, initially reflecting on a “certain kind of practical Enlightenment for the masses, focused on the most elementary forms of literacy and numeracy for the better propagation of enlightened agriculture and elements of morality.”18 The introduction of education as a category for defining “people” was important because it acknowledged the capacity of the people to be educated. To share something of the wider world with the people, as Reinhart Siegert asserts, became an “honourable duty” of the educated members of society.19 “Common people” had become a fashionable word in public discussions.20 Initiating a reform program for peasants in an era dominated 14

[Karl Ferdinand Hummius,] “Mihƺi Draugi! mihƺi Brahƺi!” in: Jauna un wezza Latweeschu Laiku-Grahmata us to 1773. Gaddu (Jelgawâ: Steffenhagen, [1772]), [5–9]. 15 Payne, “The People,” 260 16 Reinhart Siegert, “Der Volksbegriff in der deutschen Spätaufklärung,” in: Pädagogische Volksaufklärung im 18. Jahrhundert im europäischen Kontext: Rochow und Pestalozzi im Vergleich, hg. von Hanno Schmitt, Rebekka Horlacher, Daniel Tröhler (Bern/Stuttgart/Wien: Haupt, 2007), 37. 17 Payne, “The People,” 261. 18 Ibid. 19 Siegert, “Der Volksbegriff in der deutschen Spätaufklärung,” 37–38. 20 Cf. the article “Etwas über das Modewort Volk” (“Something on the Fashionable Word ‘the People’”, published in the Neues Hannoverisches Magazin, 2 (1792): 1547.

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by class divisions was an innovation of the Popular Enlightenment, one grounded in the attempt to regard peasants as worthy individuals whose mental capacity was not dependent on social standing. Emerging from the sensibility and sociability of the era, Enlightenment philanthropy set goals to help “people to escape permanently from the affliction of poverty” that “went well beyond conventional poor relief”: “The poor and the disadvantaged were to be taught to help themselves, freed from the ignorance, superstition and hopelessness that drove them to crime and left them in poverty.”21 Interest in peasants also had another dimension, one arising from ethnographical and anthropologic concerns. Peasants were not only uneducated, but also exotic: Many Enlightenment reformers approached the rural population in a way, which reminds us of the way missionaries in the following century would regard indigenous peoples. They saw peasants as beings living almost in a different world, incapable of understanding the Enlightenment and buried instead in incomprehensible folk superstitions, irrational traditions and religious loyalties.22

Furthermore, the countryside came to be associated with nature, while its inhabitants were regarded as natural people, and the sentimental return to nature can thus be perceived as a parallel to peasant edification.23 Gradually, the interest in the people acquired Herderian understanding of the Volk that was the result of the nostalgic desire to return to the natural state: Whether these writers cast the people as untainted by affection and artificiality or compulsively crude and superstitious, a cultural divide separated them. The people had become exotic, a race apart, equivalent in some instances to the colonial “other”.24

The new interpretations of colonial discoveries manifested themselves in a greater ethnographic and anthropological interest in the exotic peoples in the oversea colonies, and as a result prompted a sense of responsibility 21 David Garrioch, “Making a Better World: Enlightenment and Philanthropy,” in: The Enlightenment World, ed. by Martin Fitzpatrick et al. (London/New York: Routledge, 2004), 489. 22 Dorinda Outram, The Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 26. 23 Gottfried Weissert, Das Mildheimische Liederbuch: Studien zur volkspädagogischen Literatur der Aufklärung (Tübingen: Tübingen Vereinigung für Volkskunde, 1966), 68. 24 Nicholas Rogers, “Popular Culture,” in: The Enlightenment World, ed. by Martin Fitzpatrick et al. (London/New York: Routledge, 2004), 402.

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and a missionary zeal. This interest led to one of the most controversial cultural phenomena of 18th century Europe, which expressed itself simultaneously as an idealisation of primitive cultures seen to embody specific human qualities European societies had lost (chiefly connected to ideas about a “return to nature” and the “noble savage”) and a desire to civilise and enlighten the same cultures: This view, coupled with philanthropic sympathy with a disadvantaged social stratum (later also with Rousseau-esque enthusiasm for the ‘noble savage’ in one’s own country), led to the first attempts to address Enlightenment thoughts directly at “the people” and to change their mindset, thus on the one hand giving the disadvantaged the possibility of further developing their personality and its natural human potential, while on the other contributing through changes of attitude to the solution of burning contemporary problems (especially how to cope with shortages of food and energy caused by a population explosion).25

In both cases, the ethnographic and anthropological attention sharpened the awareness of “the other”, which was understood primarily as an opposition between civilisation and nature. No less important was the fact that the debates about the serfdom were linked to those about slavery in the New World and its legitimacy.26

German Popular Enlightenment These changes in perception of the lower social classes marked the beginning of the Popular Enlightenment in the German-speaking lands. Reinhart Siegert and Holger Böning have defined the Popular Enlightenment as a movement that, rather than having political aims, was 25

Reinhart Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment at its height and the break caused by the French Revolution,” in: Volksaufklärung: Biobibliographisches Handbuch zur Popularisierung aufklärerischen Denkens im deutschen Sprachraum von den Anfängen bis 1850, Band 2, Teilband 2.1, hg. von Holger Böning und Reinhart Siegert (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2001), xlvii. Cf. also similar trend in France: “..to concentrate on the savage within instead of outside national boundaries was potentially to put into question conceptions of the supremacy of French civilization and the nation’s progress.” (Amy S. Wyngaard, From Savage to Citizen: The Invention of Peasant in the French Enlightenment (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2004), 16.) 26 Consider the rhetorical “parallels between African slaves in Virginia, East European serfs, Protestant “galley slaves” held by Catholic nations, and Christian slaves held by Muslims.” (George Boulukos, The Grateful Slave: The Emergence of Race in Eighteenth-Century British and American Culture (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 100.)

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characterised by the “attempts by sympathetic single persons, societies and authorities concerned with public welfare to pass on Enlightenment ideas to “the common man”” and directed itself at affecting change in peasants’ outlook: More important here than the supply of positive knowledge or concepts (for example, in natural law) was a change of mentality: a rejection of the untested adoption of traditions, which were regarded as a mental characteristic of the unenlightened “people”. In this sense, those texts are enlightening which attempt to motivate less-educated people to engage with new things through insight.27

In German-speaking countries, Popular Enlightenment became an influential and widespread project that demonstrated the potential for emancipating the social masses and reducing class prejudices. Over the course of several generations, and as a regionally diverse political structure, Popular Enlightenment in Germany developed as a “polyphonic discourse” (“not a monolithic phenomenon”).28 Its diverse tendencies were united by the presumption that any “Enlightenment that enlightens only the already enlightened but leaves [...] a majority of people in the dark has not earned the name of Enlightenment”.29 In its early stages, the focus of the Popular Enlightenment reformers was on the practical needs of the people; namely, on economic reforms that sought to improve conditions for peasants by acquainting them with the latest discoveries in natural science which included agriculture modernisation, medicine and would benefit their class.30 Enlightenment thus descended “from above”. If the initial aims of the German-speaking Popular Enlightenment were practical, then its horizon gradually expanded 27

Reinhart Siegert, “Enlightenment in the 19th century – “Overcoming” or Diffusion?” in: Volksaufklärung: Biobibliographisches Handbuch zur Popularisierung aufklärerischen Denkens im deutschen Sprachraum von den Anfängen bis 1850, hg. von Holger Böning und Reinhart Siegert, Band 3 (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2016), lxxx. 28 Annegret Völpel, Der Literarisierungsprozeß der Volksaufklärung des späten 18. und frühen 19. Jhs. Dargestellt anhand der Volksschriften von Schlosser, Rochow, Becker, Salzmann und Hebel (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1996), 23. 29 Bonifaz Martin Schnappinger, Ueber Erziehung, Aufklärung, und Zeitgeist, zugleich auch über Philosophie, Christenthum, und Kirche: für alle Classen gebildeter und nachdenkender Leser (Augsburg: Kranzfelder, 1818), 154. 30 See further: Holger Böning, “Entgrenzte Aufklärung – Die Entwicklung der Volksaufklärung von der ökonomischen Reform- zur Emanzipationsbewegung,” in: Volksaufklärung. Eine praktische Reformbewegung des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, hg. von Holger Böning, Hanno Schmitt, Reinhart Siegert (Bremen: Edition Lumière, 2007), 13–50.

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to include the moral education of peasants, which proved to be an important process for the secularisation of peasant reading matter, a development that German literary historian Annegret Völpel has called “the literarization of the Popular Enlightenment”.31 Therefore, the initial intent to modernise agriculture gradually evolved into a plan to modernise individuals belonging to the peasant social class. An educated lower strata was considered to be in the interest of all classes, if for no reason other than the pragmatic goal of increasing productivity.32 Popular Enlightenment differed from bourgeois Enlightenment not only with regard to the addressee but also in its didactical principles and imposed limitations related to the concepts of freedom and education.33 Popular Enlightenment signalled a significant perceptual change by strengthening the notion that intellectual ability of the common people was not determined by their belonging to a certain class.34 The idea that mental and physical activities were not mutually interrelated derived from the concept of tabula rasa, which proposed that knowledge was not innate, but was gained through experience (thus revising popular attitudes that held sway up to the 18th century about the significance of factors such as religion, moral standards, lifestyle, economic structures and social structures). The aim was to improve secular wellbeing and contentment with God and the world, which meant that Popular Enlightenment, according this program, sought to improve conditions both practically and intellectually while remaining apolitical—a stance that relegated social class reform to an “unimaginable and unspecific utopia”.35 To popular enlighteners, the progress could best be achieved in an evolutionary, not revolutionary, manner. Versuch über die Aufklärung des Landmannes (Plan for the Enlightenment of a Peasant) published in 1785 by German writer Rudolph Zacharias 31

Völpel, Der Literarisierungsprozeß der Volksaufklärung, 22–26. Christian Brockhusen, “Ein Wort über die bisherigen Schulanstalten für die Letten, und einige Vorschläge zu deren Verbesserung,” Nordisches Archiv, 8 (1803): 82. 33 Volker Wehrmann, “Volksaufklärung,” in: ‘Das pädagogische Jahrhundert’: Volksaufklärung und Erziehung zur Armut im 18. Jahrhundert in Deutschland, hg. von Ulrich Hermann (Weinheim: Beltz, 1981), 144; Wolfgang Ruppert, “Volksaufklärung im späten 18. Jahrhundert,” in: Deutsche Aufklärung bis zur Französischen Revolution: 1680–1789, hg. von Rolf Grimminger (München: Hanser, 1980), 353. 34 “The liberation of the German peasant involved much more than institutional and legal changes; it involved freedom from the tyranny and oppression of a hostile and contemptuous public opinion.” (Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot, x.) 35 Ruppert, “Volksaufklärung,” 346–347. 32

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Becker (1752–1822), “the most prominent author of the Popular Enlightenment in Germany,”36 outlined a strategy for targeting the peasant class and became one of the most authoritative works in the Germanspeaking Popular Enlightenment.37 It contained a detailed program of how the people’s book should be written including not only considerations about the content of such a book, but also plans for its distribution and accessibility. Becker’s Noth- und Hülfsbüchlein für Bauersleute (Emergency Advice Booklet for Peasants, 1788) was written according to these principles, became a bestseller, and went on to be a model for the people’s book.38 Rural pastors were usually the primary enlighteners who were seeking not only to encourage the spread of knowledge, but also to change traditional ways of thinking.39 The Popular Enlightenment did not always meet with the general approval of its audience and could became subject of suspicion on two accounts. On the one hand, the upper classes had to be convinced of the necessity of educating the people, and that doing so would be in their own best interests; on the other hand, the peasant classes, immersed as they were in traditional ways, had to be convinced of the same thing.40 Addressing the “common people” in both German-speaking lands and Baltic provinces (let alone declaring that they too deserve to be enlightened) was not just pioneering; it was also regarded as risky, especially after the French Revolution raised concerns about the usefulness of Popular Enlightenment. This situation created the basis for various discussions of the limits of the Popular Enlightenment that intensified at the turn of the 19th century. When contemporaries in German-speaking countries discussed these issues, they recognised that just as “religious or political doubt can do harm”,41 too much culture and

36

Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment”, li. Rudolf Zacharias Becker, Versuch über die Aufklärung des Landmannes (Dessau/Leipzig: Göschen, 1785). 38 See further: Reinhart Siegert, “Aufklärung und Volkslektüre. Exemplarisch dargestellt an Rudolph Zacharias Becker und seinem ‘Noth- und Hülfsbüchlein’. Mit einer Bibliographie zum Gesamtthema,” Archiv für Geschichte des Buchwesens, 19 (1978): 565–1344. 39 Cf.: Regula Wyss, Pfarrer als Vermittler ökonomischen Wissens? Die Rolle der Pfarrer in der Oekonomischen Gesellschaft Bern im 18. Jahrhundert (Nordhausen: Bautz, 2007), 134–145. 40 Völpel, Der Literarisierungsprozeß der Volksaufklärung, 24. 41 Johann Ludwig Ewald, Über Volksaufklärung, ihre Gränzen und Vortheile (Berlin: Unger, 1790), 4. 37

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refinement can lead to a “false Enlightenment”.42 This led to the idea of “dosing” of Enlightenment.43 One of the central questions concerned limits, as summed up in this question posed by Karlsruhe theologian Johan Ludwig Ewald (1748–1822): “What are the boundaries of a purposeful Popular Enlightenment?”44 Quite characteristic were comments by Adolf von Knigge (1752–1796): But to give them [peasants] access to all sorts of books, stories and fables, to accustom them to living in the world of ideas, to open their eyes to the fact that their circumstances cannot be improved quickly, to [make] them discontent because of too much Enlightenment, to turn them into philosophers is really inappropriate.45

Similarly, in Prussia, in 1779, Frederick the Great (1712–1786) wrote that: ..in the countryside it is enough if [peasants] learn to read and write a little; if they know too much, they rush to cities and aspire to become clerks and the like; therefore rural education should be organised so they learn only what is essential, what is important for their education, so they do not leave the villages, but are willing to stay put.46

The project of Popular Enlightenment always remained tied to class, though not necessarily in an unduly restraining sense. “Every [peasant] should cultivate his intellect to the extent that he is able to reflect on what is important for him in his particular circumstances,” stated Ewald.47 This calculation, however, encompassed one additional aspect: too much light could prove harmful for a peasant living in the “dark”. The conclusion that became especially popular during the French revolution was that “unlimited Enlightenment was not [intended] for everyone”.48 Discussions turned to the notion that a peasant who became “too enlightened” could prove dangerous, and thus the experience of the French Revolution dealt a serious blow to the optimism of Popular Enlightenment. It should be added that the question of limits was already central among the French physiocrats, for example, in Turgot’s claim that deism 42

Ibid., 22. Wehrmann, “Volksaufklärung,” 144. 44 Ewald, Über Volksaufklärung, 16. 45 As quoted in: Helmuth Kiesel, Paul Münch, Gesellschaft und Literatur im 18. Jahrhundert: Voraussetzungen und Entstehung des literarischen Markts in Deutschland (München: Beck, 1977), 163. 46 Ibid. 47 Ewald, Über Volksaufklärung, 28. 48 Ibid., 3. 43

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or indifference to religion could create chaos among the common people: because peasants were unable to grasp morality intellectually, it was thought, they needed religious ritual and symbolism.49 What is more, as soon as education came to be associated with “common people”, it could no longer be treated separately: around the middle of the century, deliberations about a practical kind of Enlightenment for the masses, one that focused on elementary writing and math skills that would effectively spread enlightened agriculture and morality, were put into practice. Debates about such an education invariably included discussions about the role of the church: physiocrats, for example, regarded the church as an opportunity to realise their aims of secular education. The prevailing view held that peasant education, in contrast to education for elites, should be catechetical rather than analytical.50 While the reception of French Revolution played a crucial role in strengthening the limits of the Popular Enlightenment, it did not downplay the liberating potential of the movement: [Popular Enlightenment] attempted to give to “the common man” precisely that knowledge and those mental capabilities which are the essential starting-point for a functioning modern democratic society. For the most part without democracy being named, it hoped to enable “the common man” to take his first steps towards becoming a mature citizen and a modern individual. This component is what Kant had in mind when he spoke of self-Enlightenment by the public and saw participation in the process, even by “the masses”, as a way to his “sapere aude”.51

The process of cultural transfer from the German-speaking countries to the Baltic provinces remains to be researched in greater detail. The circulation of books and the close personal and professional contacts between members of the educated middle class in the German-speaking countries and the Baltic provinces played a crucial role in the rapid development of the Baltic Popular Enlightenment, which followed the German model both in general assumptions and forms of implementation.52 In 49

Payne, “The People,” 260. Ibid., 261–262. 51 Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment,” li. 52 For example, in the 1788 article on the culture of Livonian peasants, the references to reforms in German-speaking countries were provided: “The German academies often give prize competitions that are concerned not only on the enlightenment for the learned, but also on economic improvement of the common man. And why not the latter? One is confident there that the culture of land management and factories is the safest means of the prosperity of the country.” (Wilhelm Christian Friebe, “Erster Anfang zur Cultur der liefländischen Bauern,” 50

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the Baltics, however, the enlighteners were confronted with a peasant class that spoke a different language and belonged to a different ethnicity— commonly known as “non-Germans”.

Germans and Non-Germans in the Baltic Provinces The interest in common people and ideas of German Popular Enlightenment shaped the changes in attitude towards indigenous Latvian peasants in the German provinces of Russia. The situation was significantly different here because the peasants were not of the same ethnicity as the educated elite. Latvian national and cultural identity was embodied in the status of a serf,53 with the result that what was a social and agrarian issue in Germany, absorbed ethnic and colonial connotations in the Baltic region.54 With relationships among upper and lower classes being also relationships among different ethnic groups in the Baltics, local peasants’ otherness was incorporated in the Baltic concept of “nonGermans”: The enserfment of the Latvian- and Estonian-speaking populations had taken place during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. As a result, during subsequent centuries the terms Leibeigener, erbuntertänig, Bauer, and undeutsch became interchangeable, an identity also recognised by the

Nordische Miscellaneen, 18/19 (1788): 525.) See further: Aiga Šemeta, “Die andere Aufklärung. Volksaufklärung im Baltikum im Spiegel livländischen und kurländischen Periodika der 2. Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in: Am Rande im Zentrum. Beiträge des VII. Nordischen Germanistentreffens, hg. von Thomas Taterka, Dzintra Lele-RozentƗle, Silvija PavƯdis (Berlin: Saxa Verlag, 2009), 3242. 53 Andrew James Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians and the Issue of Serfdom: The Baltic German Literary Contribution in the 1780s and 1790s (Amherst: Cambria Press, 2008), 28. Consider the widespread view from the 17thcentury according to which “Latvians and Estonians by their nature are not equal to Germans, but have lower status; Germans are created to rule Latvians and Estonians, but Latvians and Estonians—to serve them and to be their slaves.” (JƗnis BƝrziƼš, “No vƗcu un latviešu attiecƯbu vƝstures,” Burtnieks, 1 (1935): 37.) On history of Baltic serfdom, see further: Christoph Schmidt, Leibeigenschaft im Ostseeraum: Versuch einer Typologie (Köln: Böhlau, 1997). 54 On agrarian conditions in the Baltic area, see further: Heinrihs Strods, Die agrarwirtschaftliche Struktur Lettlands am Ausgang des 18. und in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts (Berlin: Deutscher Verlag der Wissenschaften, 1988); Heinrihs Strods, “Latvijas agrƗrƗ struktnjra XVIII gs. beigƗs un XIX gs. pirmajƗ pusƝ,” Latvijas PSR ZinƗtƼu AkadƝmijas VƝstis, 404 (1981): 37–57.

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Chapter One peasant oral tradition, which habitually understood Latvian speakers to make up the bottom layer of Baltic society.55

Since the mid-18th century, the “non-Germans” became the subject of public discussion and various activities in the German provinces of the Russian Empire. “Non-Germans” was a specific term coined in the 16th century, designating the indigenous populations. This divide meant that the notion of “Germans” also had social connotations, as noticed in 1774 by Livonian enlightener and pastor August Wilhelm Hupel (1737–1819): Not counting the different classes, the inhabitants of the land are divided in two main classes, Germans and non-Germans. By the latter all country folk, or in the one word the peasants are understood. Who is not a peasant, is called a German, even if he can’t speak German, e.g., the Russians, the Englishmen etc. To this class belong the nobility, scholars, burghers, officials, free-born servants, even the freed [serfs], as far as they change their clothing to the German.56

While during the 18th century Baltic provinces gradually became a part of the Russian Empire, the Baltic German minority, considering themselves descendants of the 12th century Teutonic crusaders,57 kept the local political influence and cultural elite status. “In the population of each province, the German speakers seldom exceeded about 8 percent of the total, yet they dominated high culture, political leadership, and economic life,” historian Andrejs Plakans notes.58 During the entire 18th century, Baltic German nobility’s political privileges, as well as serfdom (established in the 16th century) remained largely unchanged. The Baltic 55 Andrejs Plakans, “Peasants, Intellectuals, and Nationalism in the Russian Baltic Provinces, 1820–90,” The Journal of Modern History, 46/3 (1974): 449. 56 August Wilhelm Hupel, Topographische Nachrichten von Lief- und Ehstland, Bd. 1 (Riga: Hartknoch, 1774), 140. Cf. also: August Wilhelm Hupel, Idiotikon der deutschen Sprache in Lief- und Ehstland: nebst eingestreueten Winken für Liebhaber (Riga: Hartknoch, 1795), 244. More about the genesis of the term “nonGermans”: Wilhelm Lenz, “Undeutsch. Bemerkungen zu einem besonderen Begriff der baltischen Geschichte,” in: Aus der Geschichte Alt-Livlands. Festschrift für Heinz von zur Mühlen zum 90. Geburtstag, hg. von Bernhart Jähnig und Klaus Militzer (Münster: LIT, 2004), 169–184; Tiina Kala, “Gab es eine ‘nationale Frage’ im mittelalterlichen Reval?” Forschungen zur Baltischen Geschichte, 7 (2012): 11–34. On Hupel, see further: Erich Donnert, “Das russische Imperium im Urteil des deutch-baltischen Aufklärungsschriftstellers August Wilhelm Hupel im 18. und beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert,” Journal of Baltic Studies, 15/2–3 (1984): 91–97. 57 Cf. also: BƝrziƼš, “No vƗcu un latviešu attiecƯbu vƝstures,” 37. 58 Plakans, “Peasants, Intellectuals, and Nationalism,” 448.

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provinces were a colony without a metropolis; while politically it belonged to Russian Empire, culturally it remained a German colony.59 The ties with German-speaking countries were mostly cultural; members of the Baltic intellectual elite studied in German universities. In spreading Enlightenment ideas, studies abroad, as well as the role of newcomers to the Baltic provinces from German-speaking countries were equally important: From the end of the eighteenth century, the Baltic German literati essentially formed their own social stratum, the roots of which were in the extensive immigration of university students and graduates to the Baltic region from Germany. In turn, local youths (generally from noble and merchant families) seeking higher education studied abroad in German universities.60

Latvians were seen by the Baltic German elite as a rather homogenous peasant class with its own distinctive heathen customs. Until the turn of the 19th century, intellectuals did not always see Latvians in terms of Volk.61 Even concepts such as Nationalen, employed to describe Latvians along with Estonians, were mostly used without national or ethnic connotations, whereas the concept of “non-Germans” bore more social than ethnic connotations. Changes in attitude towards Latvians were influenced mainly by economic discussions about serfdom and privileges of local aristocracy, in which national arguments began to be used during the second half of the 18th century.62 Hence, economic concerns about the

59 See further: Kristina Jõekalda, “Baltic Identity via German Heritage? Seeking Baltic German Art in the Nineteenth Century,” Kunstiteaduslikke Uurimusi. Special Issue: Debating German Heritage: Art History and Nationalism during the Long Nineteenth Century, 23/3–4 (2014): 79–110. Jõekalda notes that the “term Kolonie had multiple parallel meanings in German, ranging from the neutral, resilient, entrepreneurial sense (‘mastery over nature’) to the imperial sense of an economically etc. exploited territory. It is therefore essential to differentiate between material (including political, economic and cultural) colonisation, and ‘discursive colonisation’.” (Ibid., 102.) 60 Ea Jansen, “Summary. Estonians in a Changing World: From Estate Society to Civil Society,” in: Ea Jansen, Eestlande muutuvas ajas: Seisusühiskonnast kodanikuühiskonda (Tartu: Kirjastus Eesti Ajalooarhiiv, 2007), 471. See further: Gvido Straube, “GarlƯba MerƷeƺa priekšgaitnieki,” Karogs, 10 (1987): 149–153. 61 See further: Horst Garve, Konfession und Nationalität: Ein Beitrag zum Verhältnis von Kirche und Gesellschaft in Livland im 19. Jahrhundert (Marburg/Lahn: Johann-Gottfried-Herder-Institut, 1978), 28. 62 Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 227–237; Irene Neander, “Die Aufklärung in den Ostseeprovinzen,” in: Baltische Kirchengeschichte, hg. von Reinhart Wittram (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1956), 133–134.

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wellbeing of a lower class merged with ethnographical interest in a distinctive, and previously unrecognised ethnic group. The difficulty in separating the concepts “Latvians” and “peasants” can be gleaned in this statement by a Baltic German pastor, where the readers of Courland calendar are addressed, and notions of ethnic and social identity are used interchangeably: It is the care for land and house, dear Latvians, a work, given to you by God; and it is known to everybody that this good and fruitful work cannot be done without understanding and wise mind. Therefore, teach your children and youngsters to do this work properly. If there is any social class needed and good in the world, it is the peasant or land workers’ class: you and your children are put by God in this class and to do this work.63

Changes during the 18th century were closely connected with a growing awareness that it might be possible to describe ethnic encounters in Courland and Livonia, at least metaphorically, in a colonial way. The colonial metaphors and the representations of colonial relationships determined by serfdom facilitated the fusion of views about Latvians as an ethnic group and simultaneously as a social class. The use of colonial metaphors was not an invention of Baltic intellectuals: colonial discoveries had provided a suitable language in which to talk about peasants in Europe, as seen, for instance, in James Boswell’s (1740–1795) accounts of his travel to the Hebrides in Scotland which was “much the same as being with a tribe of Indians [...] There was great diversity in the faces of the circle around us; some were as black and wild in their appearance as any American savages whatever”.64 In engaging in this perspective, it might be productive to analyse Popular Enlightenment project in the Baltics within the context of Baltic colonial fantasies.65 The opponents of Baltic serfdom appealed to colonial 63

[Gotthard Christoph Brandt,] “Mihƺi Draugi!” in: Jauna un Wezza LaikuGrahmata uz to 1785tu Gaddu (Jelgawâ: Steffenhagen, [1784]), [37]. 64 James Boswell, Boswell’s Life of Johnson: Including Their Tour to the Hebrides (London: John Murray, 1851), 309–310. Larry Wolff notes the stereotyping of East European serfdom in a different context which could be attributed also to the Baltic case: “The whole vocabulary in which the issues of Eastern Europe were defined was that of the eighteenth century: barbarism and civilization, wildness and the frontier, the picturesque and the instructive, and finally an ingenious note of surprise that the people were actually white.” (Larry Wolff, Inventing Eastern Europe: The Map of Civilization on the Mind of the Enlightenment (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), 366.) 65 Ulrike Plath, Esten und Deutsche in den baltischen Provinzen Russlands. Fremdheitskonstruktionen, Lebenswelten, Kolonialphantasien. 1750–1850

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metaphors, in order to demonstrate the misery of the social system, while the advocates of serfdom identified the social order of the 18th century as established along with the colonization of the Baltics in the 12th century. In 1796, Garlieb Merkel (1769–1850) wrote: “In the age, when even the proud Briton tries hard to give freedom and civic rights to his black slaves [Negersklaven], there are entire nations in Europe, which have been acknowledged as incapable to enjoy individual freedom.”66 Equating serfdom with slavery was metaphorical and was not based on the historical reality. However, these metaphors were fundamental for positioning the socio-ethnic relationships in the Baltics in a colonial framework: In the 18th and 19th centuries, German reflections about interethnic relations in the Baltic provinces of Russia were closely connected with colonial discourses or colonial fantasies. […] In colonial narratives, as in historiography, comparisons with the Native Americans prevailed in order to stress the parallels between the discovery of the New World and the discovery (“Aufsegelung”) of the Baltic Provinces in the Middle Ages […]. Only a few critics of the Enlightenment wilderness narrative emphasized the possible danger of exoticizing dichotomizing, and essentializing autochthonic cultures as “others” in colonial contexts.67

Therefore, it might be argued that “noticing” Latvians and identifying them in the age of Enlightenment (which was manifested in relation to the plead for reforms in the system of serfdom, and in relation to turning (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2011), 263–281. On the necessity to include the Baltic experience in the postcolonial debate, see further: Karl Jirgens, “Fusions of Discourse: Postcolonial/Postmodern Horizons in Baltic Culture,” in: Baltic Postcolonialism, ed. by Viloeta Kelertas (Amsterdam/New York: Rodopi, 2006), 45–47, 67–69; Maruta LietiƼa Ray, “Recovering the Voice of the Oppressed: Master, Slave, and Serf in the Baltic Provinces,” Journal of Baltic Studies, 34/1 (2003): 1–21; 66 Garlieb Merkel, Die Letten, vorzüglich in Liefland am Ende des philosophischen Jahrhunderts. Zweite, verbesserte Auflage (Leipzig: Gräff, 1800), 3. At the beginning of the 19th century, Johann Georg Kohl wrote about Latvians and Lithuanians: “Lonely and unconnected with any of the surrounding nations, they occupy their little nook of northern land, evidently unsimilar and unrelated to any European nation, and bear affinity only to the tribes that inhabit the Far East, at the foot of Dawalagiri, or on the shores of the Ganges.” (Johann Georg Kohl, Russia. St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kharkoff, Riga, Odessa, the German Provinces on the Baltic, the Steppes, the Crimea, and the Interior of the Empire (London: Chapman and Hall, 1844), 371.) 67 Ulrike Plath, “Euroopa viimased metslased: eestlased saksa koloniaaldiskursis 1770–1870,” in: Rahvuskultuur ja tema teised, ed. by Rein Undusk (Tallinn: Underi ja Tuglase Kirjanduskeskus, 2008), 65–66.

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Latvians into the objects of enlightenment and education) developed as part of the Baltic colonial discourse. Latvians were stereotyped as the ‘other’, namely, as the indigenous, and it was signalled by the colonial metaphors evident in the Baltic German agrarian debates. The ‘otherness’ of Latvians was primarily understood as ‘savageness’.68 Echoing with the ideology of German Enlightenment, savageness was interpreted as necessary origins of any nation, as well as the origins of a man in his cultural and personal development. The colonial rhetoric, on the one hand, was stereotyped; on the other, it helped to overcome prejudices towards Latvians (and Estonians) and to problematise their conditions.

Early Reform Projects in the Baltic Provinces The first efforts of Popular Enlightenment for Latvian peasants emerged in the 1750s and 1760s, the very decades when the questions about the usefulness of serfdom began to be raised. This was not a coincidence, but rather a simultaneous reaction to problems that had evolved by the mid-18th century—the time when a combination of circumstances (new wave of educated newcomers from German-speaking countries to the Baltic provinces, generational change, recovery from the social and demographic catastrophes of the first half of the 18th century (including the Great Northern War (1700–1721) and the plague epidemics), political changes in the Russian Empire) prompted a review of the prevailing attitudes toward peasants and spurred the beginning of reforms: The amazing capacity of the Baltic German population to turn away all threats to its hegemony has been documented elsewhere in great detail. The incorporation of the Baltic littoral into a larger political unit whose rulers were showing an increasing interest in such matters as the abolition of serfdom, rationalization of administration, and codification of law meant, however, that particularism would not go unchecked in the future. [...] A growing Literatenstand inevitably brought into Baltic higher culture 68

Cf.: Kohl, Russia, 363. Rather similar to the Baltic descriptions were views on the 19th-century French peasants, as outlined by Eugene Weber. Weber uses the term “rural savagery” and writes that the peasants were regarded as “uncivilized, that is, unintegrated into, unassimilated to French civilization: poor, backward, ignorant, savage, barbarous, wild, living like beasts with their beasts. They had to be taught manners, morals, literacy. [...] ..the peasants were ‘intellectually several centuries behind the enlightened part of the country’.” (Eugene Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France. 1870–1914 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1976), 4–5.)

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rationalist viewpoints and represented as a class a potential threat to noble control of local politics.69

In the 1750s, various activities in the Livonian German public sphere were initiated by Lutheran pastor Johan Georg Eisen (1717–1779), whose attention was caught by local “non-German” peasants, and whose interest about them can be explained mainly by the experience and education he gained outside the Baltic provinces. One of the earliest popular enlighteners in the region and pioneer of the debate on serfdom reform, Eisen engaged practically in farming while working at the Torma Estonian congregation and wrote a book with instructions on gardening, in Estonian, for peasants. Moreover, as early as the 1750s he actively developed a smallpox vaccination on his own initiative. Besides the practical Enlightenment work, Eisen wrote several essays on the disadvantages of the serfdom system and the abolition of serfdom, which turned out to be significant in shaping public opinion over the succeeding decades.70 The debate on the legal status of serfdom intensified when Russian Empress Catherine the Great (1729–1796) attempted to limit the political dominance of Baltic Germans.71 Not wishing to aggravate conflicts with the nobility she, however, developed moderate projects of reform; therefore, in the 1760s the topic of serfdom reforms became increasingly relevant, and initial projects for its “improvement” were submitted, without yet turning against the social system itself.72 69

Plakans, “Peasants, Intellectuals, and Nationalism,” 448. See further: Nicolai Wihksninsch, Die Aufklärung und die Agrarfrage in Livland (Riga: Valters un Rapa, 1933). 70 Cf.: MarƧers Stepermanis, J. G. Eizens un viƼa darbi par dzimtbnjšanas atcelšanu VidzemƝ (RƯga: Latvijas vƝstures skolotƗju biedrƯba), 1934. See further: Erich Donnert, Johann Georg Eisen 1717–1779: Ein Vorkämpfer der Bauernbefreiung in Rußland (Leipzig: Koehler & Amelang, 1978); Roger Bartlett, “Russia’s First Abolitionist: The Political Plilosophy of J. G. Eisen,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, 39 (1991): 161–176; Roger Bartlett, “‘Land without Freedom’. Some Notes on J. G. Eisen and the Peasant Policies of Empress Catherine II in the 1760s,” in: Gesellschaft und Kultur Mittel-, Ost und Südosteuropas im 18. und beginnenden 19. Jahrhunderts: Ferstschift für Erich Donnert zum 65. Geburtstag, Band 11, hg. von Helmut Reinalter (Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1994), 155–165. 71 See further: Hubertus Neuschäffer, “Katharina II. und die Aufklärung in den baltischen Provinzen,” in: Aufklärung in den baltischen Provinzen Rußlands, hg. von Otto-Heinrich Elias (Köln: Böhlau, 1996), 27–42. 72 Cf.: MarƧers Stepermanis, “Latviešu stƗvoklis XVII un XVIII gadsimtƗ un apgaismotƗju kustƯba LatvijƗ,” in: Latviešu literƗtnjras vƝsture, 2. sƝj., sast. Ludis

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In 1764 Eisen published his essay Eines Liefländischen Patrioten Beschreibung der Leibeigenschaft, wie solche in Liefland über die Bauern eingeführt ist (A Patriot's Description of Serfdom as It is Instituted over the Peasants in Livonia). He combined the critique of serfdom with an invitation to implement reforms gradually, and this was an opinion that went on to dominate during the 1760s. Characteristically also for further 18th century serfdom critics, Eisen framed his argument in colonial metaphors (including a comparison of Livonian serfs with African slaves) and dubious historical constructs (a direct connection of Baltic Christianisation and serfdom). In 1764 the landowner of Aizkraukle/Ascheraden, Karl Friedrich Schoultz (1720–1782), developed a peasant rights project for his estate, which foresaw the expansion of serfs’ rights by forming labour records and including rights to movable property, but it did not turn against serfdom as such, appealing mainly to the peasant mentality. “It would have been very dangerous to immediately a release crude and undeveloped nation, which by freedom understands only unlimited arbitrariness from chains, and to leave it on its own,” emphasised Schoultz, by continuing the thought with the necessity for schools and education that would improve peasants’ mentality and would eventually make radical reform more realistic; in the educational sphere Schoultz counted on pastors.73 The moderate reform project developed by Schoultz met with resistance in the Livonian provincial assembly (and a year after its publication, was withdrawn, and the copies of the project distributed to the peasants retrieved74), and the system of serfdom remained unchanged until the beginning of the 19th century. Nevertheless, attitudes were changing: the project proposed by Schoultz had injected a greater sense of liberty into the social discussion. Among other projects, a work by Livonian Chivalry Secretary Erich Johann von Meck (?–1771) from a competition announced in 1766 by the St. Petersburg Free Economic Society should be taken into consideration. When responding to the question “Is it more advantageous for the State if BƝrziƼš (RƯga: Literatnjra, 1935), 77–82; Roger Bartlett, “The Question of Serfdom: Catherine II, the Russian Debate and the View from the Baltic Periphery (J. G. Eisen and G. H. Merkel),” in: Russia in the Age of the Enlightenment: Essays for Isabel de Madariaga, ed. by Roger Bartlett and Janet M. Hartley (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1990), 142-166. 73 Stepermanis, “Latviešu stƗvoklis,” 77–78. See further: Heinrihs Strods, “Dzimtbnjšana un Ưpašums,” Latvijas VƝsture, 2 (1995): 55–60; Andrejs Johansons, Latvijas kultnjras vƝsture. 1710–1800 (Stokholma: Daugava, 1975), 40. 74 Aleksejs ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba lƯdz 19. gadsimta vidum (RƯga: Liesma, 1991), 119.

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a peasant owns land or just movable property? And of what size should the property be for it to be advantageous for the State?”75 Meck, in his work, did not stand in for serfdom abolition, though generally characterising serfdom negatively and supporting peasant rights for movable property. Meck’s argumentation was related to the peasant mentality and a necessity for improvement concerning new education resulting from it; noting that a serf “declines every chance to avoid his ignorance with disgust”, Meck concluded that “without education there is not much to do.”76 The shift of emphasis from social reforms to individual ones connecting serfdom indirectly with “ignorance” was remarkable; consequently, individual reforms were connected to education and schools. This was tied together with the main aim of education, namely, preservation of the existing social system, as peasants should be taught without naming the existing social relationships and limited social mobility, “to love their hand craft, i.e. agriculture, and find own bliss there.”77 The views expressed during the 1760s both criticised serfdom and outlined the potential risks of an immediate abolition thereof, and pointed out the need to prepare the peasants for freedom gradually. They thus signalled an important change in the Baltic intellectual and political environment, by acknowledging the difficult living conditions of peasants under serfdom. Peasants gradually came to be seen increasingly often as “uncivilised” and “savage”. This discovery, of course, was not new in itself; what changed was that the identified features were problematized in the public space of the 18th century as conditions in need of reform—and that awareness marked a turning point that proved more productive and more far-reaching than predicted: To those who preached freedom and human dignity—mainly theologians—the miserable condition of Latvian and Estonian peasants deprived of civil rights became unbearable during the century of “Enlightenment and philosophy” [...]. In Latvians and Estonians, the Enlightenment-era writers no longer saw only “non-German” peasants but two nations who had a right to their own cultural development.78

Schools and literature became the tools of Popular Enlightenment. Thus, peasant education became publically accepted, which constituted a turning point from the era before the Great Northern War, when, for 75

Stepermanis, “Latviešu stƗvoklis,” 77. Ibid. 77 Ibid. 78 Arveds Taube, Ɯriks Tomsons, VƗcbaltieši LatvijƗ un IgaunijƗ (RƯga: SvƝtdienas rƯts, 1993), 14. 76

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example, as Baltic German pastor Heinrich Adolphi (1622–1686) wrote in 1685, invitations to educate Latvian children faced opposition from the aristocracy and were considered sinful and dangerous.79 In the middle of the 18th century, the debate on peasant education transformed into a debate on its limits, rather than its necessity: “The idea of equality forced to approach the character of Latvians and Estonians in a more objective way, and those who were able and willing to observe them impartially, saw that local people were similar to Germans in their character and that only the bondage of German landowners has transformed them in beastlike creatures.”80 The idea of the serfs’ readiness for freedom gained an important place in the political discussions about serfdom. The conservative aristocracy, which was passive with regard to any economic reform, and the bourgeois writers and enlighteners, who were in closer contact with local peasants, both worried about the potential risks of rapid economic reform. The premise that “before slaves can receive freedom in full possession, they must be taught to know, relish, and use its blessings”81 was also a familiar idea within the context of the Russian serfdom. This interpretation of freedom and its connection to education also held sway in some Germanspeaking regions, where serfdom existed until the beginning of the 19th century. The moderate direction taken by the Baltic Enlightenment embodied the approach later formulated by Swiss author Heinrich Zschokke (1771–1848) in his essay Volksbildung ist Volksbefreiung! (People’s Education is People’s Liberation!, 1836), in which he asserted that the chains of tyranny are difficult to break but that the chains created by “bad customs and habits, an insensitive ego, simple-minded superstition, beastly lust and ignorance” are even harder to break, however “breaking those chains is the primary task of popular education”.82 79

Cf.: Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 29. BƝrziƼš, “No vƗcu un latviešu attiecƯbu vƝstures,” 53. Regarding the metaphor of “beasts”, consider this 18th-century statement about peasants in Germany: “The coarse peasant folk is not usually cited at the Landtag, and indeed rightly so, for the peasants stand between the unreasoning beast and man.” By quoting it, John Gagliardo notes: “Such a statement is certainly too extreme to be taken as representative of all upper-class opinion on the subject, but as late as 1774, descriptions of the material conditions of the peasant’s existence in many places indicate that his life-style might well have placed him close to the animal.” (Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot, 29.) 81 Wolff, Inventing Eastern Europe, 87. 82 Heinrich Zschokke, “Volksbildung ist Volksbefreiung!” in: Das Goldmacherdorf oder wie man reich wird. Ein historisches Lesebuch von Heinrich Zschokke, hg. von Holger Böning und Werner Ort (Bremen: Edition Lumière, 2007), 231. 80

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Latvian literary scholars have pointed out that the Baltic Enlightenment “did not form into a movement, but is best approached in terms of Enlightenment ideas and their impacts”.83 As early as the 1760s, the split between two directions in Enlightenment thought had widened; namely, the moderate and the radical.84 Due to the lack of political agenda, the Popular Enlightenment tradition in Latvian scholarship has been characterised as the moderate wing of the Baltic Enlightenment, as opposed to the radical wing represented by Baltic abolitionists. Both radical and moderate enlighteners were united in philanthropist sympathy for peasants under serfdom, and were interested in improving the people’s living conditions, they also admitted that the social and political situation of 18th century Latvians was unsatisfactory. In 1786 Heinrich Johann Jannau (1753–1821) wrote about Latvians in his Geshichte der Sklaverei (History of Slavery): Mistakes of our peasants are not hereditary, but inherited under serfdom. Our slaves have some really good traits that are waiting for a helping hand who would unleash these buds.85

However, thoughts about how to solve these problems and which strategy to choose, differed radically among enlighteners, i.e., how to offer a “helping hand”—either through the social and political reforms (the radical movement) or by gradually implementing the popular education program also containing literary activities (the moderate movement). Thus, Enlightenment ideas were expressed in contrast, when different movements set different goals. The co-existence of different ideas provides the basis for a discussion in the context of our time about “special, quite unique complex of Enlightenment ideas”.86 The basis for the radical direction was an assumption that education and Enlightenment applied only to free subjects; while peasants were serfs, it could not succeed. Therefore, the representatives of the radical Enlightenment supported the immediate abolition of serfdom or at the very least advocated for far-reaching reforms. According to their logic, peasants’ social conditions had to be improved before acquisition of knowledge, and education could be addressed. The radical direction manifested itself in public discussions both in the Baltic region and 83

ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 97. Aleksejs ApƯnis, Soƺi senƗkƗs latviešu grƗmatniecƯbas un kultnjras takƗs (RƯga: Preses nams, 2000), 20. 85 As quoted in: Stepermanis, “Latviešu stƗvoklis,” 79. 86 ZigrƯda FrƯde, “Dzeja LatvijƗ 18. gadsimta. Eiropas literƗrƗs pieredzes ietekme,” Karogs, 5 (1987): 169. 84

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beyond. Australian-Latvian historian Andrew James Blumbergs has identified three phases in the discourse.87 The first phase was characterised by Catherine’s reform projects, and treatises of Eisen and others in the 1760s. These activities were followed by the second phase in the 1770s and the 1780s, when the historical and sociological research of Latvians was carried out, focusing on whether the Latvian condition corresponded to slavery. The debates reached its peak in the 1790s when they concentrated on Latvian “nationalisation” (in the formulation of Blumbergs), as the agrarian discourse transformed into the national. Several highly polemic works published from the 1770s until the 1790s explored the oppression of indigenous peasants and highlighted the need for social reforms. Among them, the most significant publications challenging the prevailing social order and shaping public opinion were Geschichte der Sklaverey und Charakter der Bauern in Lief- und Ehstland (History of Slavery and the Character of Peasants in Livonia and Estonia, 1786) by Heinrich Johann von Jannau (1753–1821), Etwas über die Leibeigenschaft und Freiheit, sonderlich in Hinsicht auf Liefland (Something on Slavery and Freedom, Especially with Regard to Livonia, 1788) by Wilhelm Christian Friebe (1761–1811) and Beschreibung der russischen Provinzen an der Ostsee (Description of the Baltic Sea Provinces of Russia, 1794) by Carl Philip Michael Snell (1753–1806). At the peak of radical Enlightenment journalism, Garlieb Merkel wrote Die Letten, vorzüglich in Liefland, am Ende des philosophischen Jahrhunderts (The Latvians, Especially in Livonia, at the End of the Philosophical Century, 1796). With its harsh critique of serfdom and condemnation of colonisation, the book had an explosive effect in the Baltic provinces.88 Merkel depicted an apocalyptic future revolution of the oppressed serfs: The people no longer are a slavishly obedient dog that can be beaten into bondage. It is a tiger that chews at the chains in silent anger and waits for the moment when it can burst free and wash its shame in blood. [...] Horrible deeds that make one’s heart tremble would take place. Every 87

Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 204. See further: Jürgen Heeg, Garlieb Merkel als Kritiker der livländischen Ständegesellschaft: Zur politische Publizistik der napoleonischen Zeit in den Ostseeprovinzen Russlands (Frankfurt: Lang, 1996); Thomas Taterka, “Nachwort,” in: Garlieb Helwig Merkel: Die Letten (Wedemark: Hirschheydt, 1998), 292–301; Roger Bartlett, “Nation, Revolution und Religion in der Gesellschaftskonzeption von Garlieb Merkel,” in: Ostseeprovinzen, Baltische Staaten und das Nationale, hg. von Norbert Angermann, Michael Garleff und Wilhelm Lenz (Münster: LIT, 2005), 147–163. 88

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manor and city would be plundered and burned. [...] All the Germans would be killed, and the Latvians who have been reduced to bestiality in their own forests would be wiped out by hunger and the sword.89

Merkel was not the only one to use the “tiger” metaphor; earlier in 1793 Baltic German popular enlightener Karl Gotthard Elverfeld (1756– 1819) invoked it as part of the argument that the uneducated peasant can not only become irrational but can be “rather a savage tiger”. “In the end, it would lead to unhappy results should the peasant be left completely uneducated,” wrote Elverfeld.90 This statement was challenged by Merkel’s remark: For many years, a number of honourable pastors have worked hard to dispel the darkness through which the people wander, partly by translating sections of books into Latvian for them and partly by writing new books. They have lit a lamp for the blind. Their earlier efforts could produce little satisfaction since a serf usually lacked money, time and the will to read books, even if he knew how to read.91

As long as serfdom failed to be abolished, Merkel implied, any attempt to modernise peasant society through the printed media would prove controversial. This argument, pointed out early on by Johann Georg Eisen, was also the foundation for Merkel’s scepticism about the feasibility of Popular Enlightenment reform under the conditions of serfdom, and his decision to become involved only after its abolition.92 A strong counterargument emerged in the idea of the “readiness” of peasants for freedom. By insisting that peasants were not yet ready for freedom but had to be prepared through further education, the popular enlighteners in the Baltics took a different path. In Latvian scholarship, the assumptions of the Popular Enlightenment writers are considered to have been “moderate” since they did not strive to change the prevailing social order. 89

Merkel, Die Letten, 245–246. Karl Gotthard Elverfeld, Philosophische Abhandlungen (Libau: J. D. Friedrich, 1793), 180–181. 91 Merkel, Die Letten, 55. 92 In 1830, for instance, Merkel supported the publishing of the Latvian translation of Heinrich Zschokke’s Das Goldmacherdorf. See further: Thomas Taterka, “Aufgeklärte Volksaufklärung. Aufklärung und Volksaufklärung im Baltikum oder Garlieb Merkel und die Entstehung des deutsch-lettischen Lesebuchs ‘Das Goldmacherdorf / Zeems, kur seltu taisa’ nach Heinrich Zschokke,” in: Aufklärer im Baltikum: Europäischer Kontext und regionale Besonderheiten, hg. von Ulrich Kronauer (Heidelberg: Winter, 2011), 19–56. On Merkel’s supportive views on Latvian Germanisation, see: KƗrlis Lejnieks, “GarlƯbs MerƷelis kƗ beletrists,” Daugava, 11 (1935): 1136. 90

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The Moderate Wing of the Baltic Enlightenment In the face of the belief that peasants were not ready for freedom, the efforts to educate and civilise them through the printed media could also be interpreted as “preparation for freedom”, and often was. At the same time, it was also “the preservation of peasant bondage for the sake of the normal social order”,93 and the paradox of combining education, improvement and serfdom remained of vital importance. “Can we build a world different from what it is?” asked a conservative Baltic German author rhetorically; one who also contended that the abolition of serfdom would not promote equality but aggravate matters.94 As early as the 1720s, German moral literature popularised the view that the main tenet of proper behaviour was to live in harmony with one’s social class.95 This principle anticipated that the enlighteners would confine their political education project to programs based on the premise that education would not encourage the “ambition to ascend socially”,96 since such an ambition would conflict with the idea of a harmonious class society and, eventually, would risk rebellion. Many enlighteners positioned satisfaction with one’s class as a central aim of a reasonable Enlightenment.97 This position logically related to the 18th century political discussions according to which the lower social classes had no role to play in political deliberations, not even in the circulation of information about themselves. Therefore, any discussion concerning the legal status of serfdom in the Baltic was largely unimaginable beyond the Baltic German upper class discourse; discussing these matters with peasants began only after the 1820s, along with the abolition of serfdom, and subsequently the topic was no longer taboo.98 The main problem was the question of how to actuate 93

Leo Dribins, OjƗrs SpƗrƯtis, VƗcieši LatvijƗ (RƯga: Elpa, 2000), 34. Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 118. 95 Pamela Currie, “Moral Weeklies and the Reading Public in Germany, 1711– 1750,” Oxford German Studies, 3 (1968): 73. 96 Gerd Heuvel, “Bauer,” in: Lexikon der Aufklärung: Deutschland und Europa, hg. von Werner Schneiders (München: Beck, 1995), 55. 97 On moderate enlighteners’ view on serfdom, see further: MarƧers Stepermanis, “VecƗ Stendera sabiedriskie uzskati,” IzglƯtƯbas Ministrijas MƝnešraksts, 10-11 (1936): 323–331, 493–502. He notes: “Peasants were oppressed by the severe bondage of serfdom. Stender was well aware of it, and yet he generally remained a supporter and advocate of this system. Perhaps he was influenced by the sensivity of landoweners in this regard.” (Ibid., 331.) 98 See further: [August Bielenstein,] Die lettisch-nationale Bewegung und die kurländische Geistlichkeit. Eine unparteeische Stimme as den Ostseeprovinzen 94

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peasant Enlightenment while simultaneously encouraging loyalty to an economic system that conflicted not only with the goals of Enlightenment, but with its very meaning. The writers who addressed the peasants took upon themselves the duty to help change both their social situation and mentality. It marked the beginning of Latvian secular literature and culture in addition to creating preconditions for Latvian national awakening in the 19th century by promoting education and creating a Latvian reading public.99 Following the thesis of Baltic German pastor Konrad Schultz (1772–1840) that the Latvian road to freedom was not through social change but “through an enlightened mind”,100 the authors of the Popular Enlightenment turned to education and the printed media: Such social activists acted from a variety of motives—rational calculation, social engineering, philanthropic or religious altruism. There was often a strong element of duty and obligation, moral or religious, or both. The ethical model of the ‘enlightened patriot’ could offer a way of life and approach to social action which constituted effectively a secular alternative to religious vocation. Popular Enlightenment also accorded perfectly with the leading cameralist and physiocratic theories. [...] In the Protestant German and other Protestant lands, local literati worked together with the Lutheran Church and state authorities to improve the lot of the common people. Germany was a principal source for attempts at popular Enlightenment in Russia.101

As a primarily educational movement, Popular Enlightenment can be metaphorically compared to secularised missionary activity, characterised by “the sympathetic attention now being paid to the culture of Latvianspeaking peasants.”102 The idea of civilising the peasants entailed a mental transformation, one that would turn the superstitious and tradition-bound (Leipzig: Böhme, 1886), 9–17; cf. also: Karl Manteuffel, Einige Worte über die Aufhebung der Leibeigenschaft in Kurland (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1817). 99 On Latvian national movement, see further: Ieva ZaƷe, Nineteenth-Century Nationalism and Twentieth-Century Anti-Democratic Ideals. The Case of Latvia, 1840s to 1980s (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2008); Ivars Ijabs, “Another Baltic Postcolonialism: Young Latvians, Baltic Germans, and the Emergence of Latvian National Movement,” Nationalities Papers: The Journal of Nationalism and Ethnicity, 42/1 (2014), 88–107. 100 Conrad Schulz, “Behrni kas sew paschus gribb waldiht,” Latwiska GaddaGrahmata, 4 (1798): 26. 101 Roger Bartlett, “German Popular Enlightenment in the Russian Empire: Peter Ernst Wilde and Catherine II,” The Slavonic and East European Review, 84/2 (2006): 257, 259. 102 Plakans, “Peasants, Intellectuals, and Nationalism,” 453.

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peasant into a civilised individual. From the perspective of the Popular Enlightenment, the religious frame was ill-suited to this situation; secular knowledge was indispensable. To popular enlighteners, the process of transforming the Enlightenment object from a “rural savage” (Eugene Weber) to a civilised member of society could not be achieved simply through a religious upbringing or a change in status (freeing the serfs) just as the transformation of a pagan into a Christian could not be achieved through the ritual of baptism alone, and the proselytising work was required. If the reforms could not be accomplished by legal or systemic changes, nor by conversion, then the civilising mission had to be implemented. It challenged the traditional view on restrained possibilities of peasants: The task of Estonians and Latvians is certainly not the pursuit of intellectual knowledge and skills. Their cultural mission is not there, it is in the field of practical activity. Long centuries have ripened them into a honorable peasant people whose hard work, serious mind and frugality can serve as an example for all other agricultural workers of the Russian state.103

Popular Enlightenment provided an alternative view on “cultural mission” of indigenous peasants. Two significant consequences followed from this conception. First, Popular Enlightenment authors focused on changes on the individual level. According to Latvian scholar Aleksejs ApƯnis: ..the awareness of the immutability of the system merged with the attempt to personal circumstances [...], promoting conscious activity of a personality and trying to cultivate its individuality, a self-reflective insight in themselves, they performed in fact towards the direction of modern spiritual formation.104

Second, by leaving the serfdom unproblematised moderate enlighteners developed a program of intellectual development which was liberative and restraining at the same time. Attempts to synthesise the preservation of serfdom with the creation of an enlightened personality was the central contradiction of the Popular Enlightenment in the Baltic provinces.105 103

A statement by Baltic German pastor F. Luther (1880), as quoted in: Peiker, “Postcolonial Change,” 111. (Piret Peiker’s translation from German.) 104 ApƯnis, Soƺi senƗkƗs latviešu grƗmatniecƯbas un kultnjras takƗs, 20. 105 On restraining trends of the Popular Enlightenment in German-speaking countries, see further: Jonathan B. Knudsen, “On Enlightenment for the Common Man,” in: What Is Enlightenment? Eighteenth-Century Answers and TwentiethCentury Questions, edited by James Schmidt (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London:

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While advocates of social reforms and abolition of serfdom during the 18th century continued to elaborate arguments for peasants’ liberation, the Popular Enlightenment authors stuck to their attempts to reconcile the peasant with his or her restraining social status. To them, serfdom continued to be viewed as a “function relative to one’s social class, status, and position”, remaining outside the scope of the growing inclination to identify and critique German colonialization.106 Striving to enlighten the mind, not to brutalise the body,107 they chose to reconcile themselves with the prevailing social system and were confined by a goal “to make the people more able in their station, not to help them escape it.”108 Gotthard Friedrich Stender, for instance, went so far as to compose a poem entitled “The Liking of One’s Own Class” where he merged the physiocratic celebration of peasantry with imagery of the “happy serf”.109 Therefore, the liberating impact of Popular Enlightenment in the Baltic provinces has been disapproved by some Latvian scholars who have stressed its restraining status, as well as the functions of social control, rather than emancipation;110 similar debates are not unheard of in the studies of German Popular Enlightenment. The slogan of the radical enlighteners, first freedom and then education, was at odds with the understanding of the moderate enlighteners, who posited an inversion: first education, then freedom. In their view, the process of Enlightenment itself would prepare the peasants for freedom. In the words of another Latvian literary scholar, Andrejs Johansons (1922–1983), moderate enlighteners “did not perceive the revolutionary tendencies of the Enlightenment movement, but only its

University of California Press, 1996), 270–290. Knudsen analyses the impact of the Popular Enlightenment and invites to “consider the extent to which the historical Enlightenment was an emancipatory movement and whether and to what degree such emancipation was unleashed by these agents of rationalizing states.” (Ibid., 280.) He also adds that the Popular Enlightenment “was apolitical in its contours but politically instrumental in its function, since writers focused simultaneously on the improvement and control of the rural population.” (Ibid., 275.) 106 Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 68. 107 Henri Brunschwig, Enlightenment and Romanticism in Eighteenth-Century Prussia (Chicago/London: The University of Chicago Press, 1974), 97. 108 Payne, “The People,” 262. 109 Stender wrote in this poem: “Let God be praised, / That I am not a baron! / Masters have hundred worries / From which I know nothing about.” (Gothards FrƯdrihs Stenders, Dzeja (RƯga: Zvaigzne ABC, 2001), 82.) 110 Cf.: JƗnis Niedre, “Vecais Stenders,” Literatnjra un MƗksla, 22 (1946): 4.

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demand for education, virtue, and charity”,111 which shifted attention to gradual reform. Despite the contradictions, radical and moderate movements were not opposed but rather could be regarded as different sides of the same coin. The radical movement did not cross the moderate one, and both developed independently. While Johann Georg Eisen united activities of both wings (discussions on social economic problems and agricultural innovations for peasants), Gotthard Friedrich Stender established a tradition, according to which moderate enlighteners disassociated from social problems. He wrote about Latvian oppression as self-evident and not an object for discussion. He neutrally noted that “Latvians as serfs are subjected to Germans [...] since Germans won pagans in Livonia and Courland turning them to Christianity, but at the same time oppressing them”.112 At the same time, he also emphasised “our [i.e., Lutheran pastors’] duties to those who feed us all, moreover we are trusted to care for their souls.”113 With this duty he understood care for Latvian spiritual, inner world, and not social rights. Those who followed in Stender’s footsteps adopted this principle. However, even the radical enlighteners of the mid-18th century were careful to advocate the immediate abolition of serfdom. In 1784, Mitauisches Monatsschrift within discussion on the “possibility for improving our rural people’s culture and virtues”,114 made the case that preparing peasants for freedom would require many years of work, although “the moral character of Latvians is basically virtuous”.115 The Latvian Enlightenment program and its books held that there was a fundamental prerequisite for freedom: “A man should be morally upright before he can be free.”116 It echoed the idea that the “preservation of peasant servitude contributed to the social order and its security.”117 Their position was developed further by the turn of the 19th century and is illustrated in the letter written by Elisabeth von der Recke (1754– 111 Andrejs Johansons, Latviešu literatnjra: No viduslaikiem lƯdz 1940. gadam (Stokholma: TrƯs Zvaigznes, 1953), 42. 112 Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Lettische Grammatik (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1783), 13–17. 113 Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Jaukas Pasakkas in Stahsti (Jelgawa: Liedtke, 1766), unpag. 114 [Anonymous,] “Ueber die Leibeigenschaft in Kurland,” Mitauisches Monatsschrift, 10 (1784): 19. 115 Ibid., 14. 116 Antons Birkerts, Latviešu inteliƧence savƗs cƯƼƗs un gaitƗs (RƯga: RaƼƷis, 1927), 46. 117 Dribins, SpƗrƯtis, VƗcieši LatvijƗ, 34.

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1833), addressed to Garlieb Merkel following the publication of The Latvians. “No one cherishes the desire to free our peasants more warmly than do I”,118 wrote von der Recke to Merkel in 1797, citing examples from her own estate and warning that taking immediate action would cause so many negative side-effects that the defenders of serfdom would triumphantly sing that “old song” about the impossibility of freeing the peasants of Courland and Livonia.119 Von der Recke went on to say that it would be necessary to educate peasants gradually (both practically and morally) so that they grew into their new status incrementally and would be less likely to misconstrue the meaning of freedom after gaining it; according to her plan, such preparation could take 12 to 15 years (serfdom was abolished about the same time Recke had predicted). Von der Recke closed her letter formulaically: “Free—only when they are fully mature!”120 It is possible, therefore, to analyse the emergence of Popular Enlightenment activities in the Baltic provinces as an outcome of the debates about serfdom, and as a response to prepare peasants for freedom by fostering their education. On the basis of the argument that peasants were not ready for freedom, radical social reform could be delayed and action focused instead on education. The choice to focus on book publishing was intensified due to the poor condition of peasant schools. The progress of establishing school systems was slow, and home schooling continued to dominate. The problems with setting up schools were related not only to the passivity of the peasants themselves but also to the lack of teachers and the failure of landowners to support the establishment of schools. In evaluating statistical data, Latvian historian Andrejs Viþs concludes: With regard to the establishment of schools and their operation, the numbers are clear: the main source of education for Latvians of that era is not in schools but in their own homes, at darkened windows, by firelight… Approximately 80 percent of Latvian “scholars” were educated by their parents and relatives.121

In addition to the school and the church, another tool for educating peasants was the printed media. While it was, without doubt, insufficient, 118

Garlieb Merkel, “Briefe aus dem Nachlaȕ G. Merkels,” Baltische Monatschrift, 12 (1865): 394. 119 Ibid. 120 Ibid, 398. 121 Andrejs Viþs, Iz latviešu skolu vƝstures (Vidzeme no 1700. lƯdz 1800. gadam) (RƯga: RLB DerƯgu grƗmatu nodaƺa, 1923), 227.

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it was nevertheless necessary. Given the existing circumstances, it was almost the only feasible tool for helping peasants become enlightened.122 As Nicholas Rogers notes in another context, it might be assumed that the role of the printed media intensified because of the lack of other means of implementing the reforms, as “[t]he early modern state lacked the resources to effect a thorough reformation of manners even if it was able to use print culture in the battle against carnivalesque custom and superstition”.123 However, the enlighteners themselves were well aware of the fact that the effort to enlighten rural society could not confine itself to secular books alone. “Because books alone will not enlighten you,” Gotthard Friedrich Stender wrote, “schools are very much needed.”124 In the perception of Latvian Enlightenment, schools and books were inseparable. Because of difficulties in schooling, books became a kind of substitute for school, and secular literature assumed the function once assigned to education in the social debate about the abolition of serfdom. These concerns are related to discussions taking place in German-speaking countries in response to the failure of peasants to read the books intended for them, which in turn led to the conclusion that books alone were not sufficient and that daily contact with peasants might be a viable alternative.125 The “preparing” for freedom did not foresee the agency of the very people it sought to enlighten: in Livonia and Courland, just as often in the German-speaking countries, the people to be enlightened remained voiceless, with few exceptions.126

122

See further: Reinhart Siegert, “Die ‘Volkslehrer’: Zur Trägerschicht aufklärerischer Privatinitiative und ihren Medien,” Jahrbuch für Kommunikationsgeschichte, 1 (1999): 65–67. A typical example from Livonia was the active work of smallpox grafting by pastor Gustav von Bergmann, for which he received a medal from tsar Alexander I. (Ibid., 68.) 123 Rogers, “Popular Culture,” 404 124 Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Tahs Kristigas Mahzibas Grahmata (Aisputte: Hinz, 1776), 5. 125 Cf.: Jonathan Asahel, Zween Volkslehrer, ein Gespräch (Winterthur: Steiner, 1789). 126 Völpel, Der Literarisierungsprozeß der Volksaufklärung, 23.

CHAPTER TWO BOOK PRODUCTION AND THE DISSEMINATION OF KNOWLEDGE

An overview of the Latvian secular book production from the mid-18th century until the beginning of the 19th century demonstrates the rapid development of Enlightenment writing. This development was characterised by the increasing involvement of authors from different professions and by regular appearance of new themes. Along with essays and fiction composed by these authors themselves, adapted translations from German peasant literature played the dominant role. Comparing the dynamics of Latvian Popular Enlightenment literature with the one in German-speaking countries, it must be noted that both “small economic works and manuals” and the texts which provided “the communication of knowledge to specific groups by means of economic literature in the form of catechisms or dialogues” were published in Latvian along with “entertaining works of Enlightenment as a further gesture to popular reading-habits and needs and as an expression of the changing strategy within the Popular Enlightenment.”1 However, while the dynamics of German Popular Enlightenment literature began with economic literature and gradually expanded in the direction of moral fiction, in the Latvian literary culture both economic and fictional themes appeared and developed simultaneously.

The Beginnings in the Seventeenth Century The import of Popular Enlightenment texts, and the models and values embodied in them, did not happen mechanically, but in a dynamic relationship with the local “non-German” tradition of written culture. Moderate enlighteners did not start their work from scratch; a tradition of Latvian written culture already existed. It had been established during the Reformation on the grounds of a necessity to address the parish in its native language. The Reformation proved to be a decisive turning point for 1

Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment,” xlvii.

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Latvian literary culture—work on hymns, sermons, and the Bible translation cultivated the standardisation of written Latvian and established the grounds of Latvian book production. In order to help Lutheran pastors better master the Latvian language, Latvian grammars and dictionaries were first published during the 17th century. As the pastor was often the mediator between the official institutions and the people, Latvian translations of laws and regulations were published to be read from the pulpit. Some of the Baltic German authors began to compose secular poems in Latvian during the 17th century which were dedicated to certain figures or events and intended to be used among the elites. This branch of writing (known as occasional poetry) had grown out of the Baroque tradition and generally did not reach Latvian peasants.2 Thus, from the onset, the textual materials printed in Latvian were produced in a top-down hierarchical, uni-directional communication process. Up to the mid-18th century, reading for Latvians almost exclusively meant religious experience. Moreover, until the first half of the 19th century, the majority of authors did not consciously think about creating Latvian literature. The texts that came to be regarded, from the perspective of the 19th century, as foundational for Latvian national literature, had actually been created with quite different objectives: to evangelise and enlighten. As the origins of Latvian written culture were closely connected to the church, they were institutional, unlike private initiatives of the Popular Enlightenment. The first Latvian books began to appear during the 16th century in conjunction with the competition between Lutheran and Catholic churches, in which both Lutheran clergy and Jesuits played an important part. The oldest surviving book in Latvian is the Catholic catechism published in Vilnius in 1585. Although the 16th century shaped the concept of “the Latvian book”, the road to significant and influential texts was as yet long, appearing only in the 17th century when two of the most characteristic genres of that time—the Lutheran sermon and the Lutheran hymn—crossed into the development of Latvian literature. Hymns grew in popularity among Latvian parishioners while songbooks were among the first books read and re-read by Latvians, despite the fact that reading was still difficult and by no means widespread. During the 17th century, the sermons published by Georg Manzel (1593–1654) in 1654 and hymns written by Christophor Fürecker (1615–c. 1684) and published between 1671 and 1685 significantly raised 2

See further: MƗra Grudule, “17. gadsimta veltƯjuma dzeja latviešu valodƗ,” in: AktuƗlas problƝmas literatnjras zinƗtnƝ (LiepƗja: LiePA, 2008), 7–21.

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the level of Latvian literary language and established the basis for further literary development. During the 1690s, the activities of two Lutheran pastors—Ernst Glück (1652–1705) and Johan Wischmann (?–1705)—marked a defining moment in Latvian literary culture. Glück published the full translation of the Bible in 1694. Many attempts preceding Glück to translate the Bible were largely related to Sweden’s political control over Livonia in the 17th century, and hence the financial support of the Swedish king. The translation fully standardised written Latvian, and its significance for the development of national literature was much greater: Latvians joined the culture of the Christian world, taking a serious step toward an awareness of themselves as a unified whole, no longer as an ethnic group caught up in the chaos of its own cultural history but as a compact and organised part of a line of the “restored” nations that embarked on the road to civilization and education.3

The translation became a kind of test for a nascent literary practice; passing through this initiation was itself a testimony to the potential of the language and the culture. The Latvian Bible gradually reached Latvian readers, and evidence suggests that the biblical texts “performed the functions of the heretofore non-existent fiction”.4 A few years after the publication of the Bible, Wischmann published the first book of Latvian poetics, Der unteutsche Opitz (The Non-German Opitz, 1697). As already noted, the Bible confirmed the maturity of Latvian written culture by demonstrating that it was possible to talk about its future: neither the concept of Latvian culture or Latvian literature yet existed. Wischmann’s book, which was written in German and not addressed to an ethnic Latvian audience was the first to raise the question of Latvian literature. Wischmann’s allusion to Martin Opitz’s (1597–1639) Buch von der Teutschen Poeterey (Book of German Poetry, 1624) carried symbolic meaning in his title. The book by Opitz had made “German language ready for literature”.5 Similarly, Glück’s translation of the Bible and Wischmann’s poetics, made the Latvian language “ready for literature.” Wischmann argued for the poetic potential of the Latvian language (thus refuting the stereotype of Latvian as the peasants’ language), and 3

Vladimirs Toporovs, “Ernsts Gliks – vƗcietis, latviešu un krievu izglƯtƯbas censonis,” Ceƺš. TeoloƧisks un kultnjrvƝsturisks žurnƗls, 1 (1994): 88. 4 ZigrƯda FrƯde, “Latviešu literatnjras sƗkotne,” in: Latviešu literatnjras vƝsture. 1. sƝj., zin. vad. Viktors Hausmanis (RƯga: Zvaigzne ABC, 1998), 41. 5 Peter Norman, Reinmöglichkeiten: Deutsche Reimprosa (Norderstedt: Books on Demand, 2010), 27.

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proclaimed his view that Latvian was no longer subservient to the needs of church rituals. His volume on poetics introduced the idea of a Latvian literature free from the religious frame that characterised previous texts. Wischmann substantiated his assertion by pointing to different forms (e.g., the sonnet) and to specific genres and topics; for example, he suggested that Latvian literature could produce historical tragedies for which local history offers abundant material.6 Wischmann’s book, however, was addressed to the Baltic German elite, not to the Latvian readers themselves. The Northern War interrupted intellectual life in the Baltics, and Wischmann’s initiative was not followed up by others. Certain features of the 17th century practice of literary communication were carried on into the era of Enlightenment. The most essential of them was the socially ethnic division in the literary communication system, with Baltic Germans (mainly, but not only, Lutheran pastors) assuming the work of writing in Latvian, while ethnic Latvians were allocated the role of readers. This situation changed only during the early 19th century with the emergence of the first Latvian authors. The clear dependence of Latvian written culture on various German traditions (as well as parallel and often competing attitudes between the printed media and folklore) also continued to play a significant role. Baltic German intellectuals were those who continued to study the Latvian language, carried out linguistic and lexicographic research, composed texts in Latvian, and wrote in Latvian for the Latvians. Accordingly, the communication model set up by the Reformation was not challenged during the 18th century; what changed was the content and the perception of printed media.

The First Secular Books of the 1750s and 1760s Baltic German Lutheran pastors in the 1750s published several catechisms translated from the German, reprints appeared of early Lutheran prayer books, hymnals (including the hymns of Herrnhutians) and fragments of Gospel books for liturgical use, along with such texts as, for example, The Book of the Wisdom of Solomon and The Book of Ecclesiasticus, which were amongst some of the most reprinted Latvian books of the eighteenth century.7 Pastors translated rules for peasants, which included regulations for the issues of everyday life as well as laws

6

Ludis BƝrziƼš, NevƗcu Opics (RƯga: Vidusskolu skolotƗju kooperatƯva izdevniecƯba, 1925). 7 See in more detail: ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 71–83.

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regarding runaway serfs;8 some felicitation poems appeared as well.9 In this decade, however, some texts were published which radically pointed towards new directions in Latvian literature. In 1753, Gotthard Friedrich Stender made his literary debut by publishing the Latvian translation of Die auf ein starkes Ungewitter erfolgte Stille (The Calm after a Violent Storm),10 an ode of German poet Barthold Heinrich Brockes (1680–1747). The ode was published in Konigsberg as a separate four-page edition with the German title along with the Latvian title Rahms laiks pehz pehrkona breesmas (Peaceful Weather after the Danger of Thunder). Commenting on Stender’s motivation, Latvian scholar Vilis Plnjdons writes: But what was Stender’s purpose when he translated and published this ode? What did he want to achieve? There were but a few of those who could read among Latvians. No doubt, the young poet was aware of it. He did not address this translation to peasants—Latvians, but rather to his own fellow countrymen—Germans. He wanted to show and prove them clearly that its is possible in Latvian, exactly like in German to express higher thoughts and deeper feelings..11

Stender’s next work was Swehti Stahsti (Sacred Stories, 1756), a children’s Bible, based on Johann Hübner’s (1668–1731) Biblische Historien (The Biblical Stories, 1714),12 and Neue vollständigere Lettische Grammatik (The New and More Complete Latvian Grammar, 1761), in which, along with a dictionary and grammar, he included examples of Latvian folklore (proverbs and riddles), as well as translations of poems by Christian Fürchtegott Gellert (1715–1769).13 These works were written according to an already well-known and traditional pattern in Latvian literature, however, they paved the way towards Stender’s ground8

For instance, Paweleschana Ka Semneekeem wisseem Pills-Sähtâ schurp un turp braukdami buhs plattu Zeƺƺu eetaisiht (The Order to Peasants Who Drive to the Town To Make Wide Roads, 1752) and Likkumi no Zeƺƺu un Tiltu-Taisischanas (Laws on Building the Roads and Bridges, 1755). 9 For instance, Dseesma Latweeschâ Wallodâ sarakstita (The Song Written in Latvian, 1756) by Michael Ernst Brün. 10 Originally included in Brockes’ Irdisches Vergnügen in Gott (Earthly Delight in God, 1721–1748). 11 Plnjdons, “LaicƯgƗs rakstniecƯbas sƗkums,” 85 12 On the influences of Hübner, see: Ludvigs Adamoviþs, “G. F. Stendera ‘MazƗ BƯbele’. Studija latviešu kultnjras un reliƧijas paidagoƧijas vesturƝ,” Rakstu krƗjums, RƯgas Latviešu biedrƯbas ZinƯbu komisijas izdots, 19 (1929): 3-75. 13 See further: ZigrƯda FrƯde, “Gotthard Friedrich Stender and His Lettische Grammatik,” in: Gothards FrƯdrihs Stenders, Latviešu gramatika, 1783 (RƯga: LU LFMI, 2015), 61–72.

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breaking work—a collection of short stories and fables, Jaukas Pasakkas in Stahsti (Nice Fairy Tales and Stories), published in 1766. This first attempt to offer Latvian peasants a new type of reading was a turning point in Latvian secular literature. The book had a parallel title in German (Fabeln und Erzählungen zur Bildung des Witzes und der Sitten der Letten nach ihrer Denkungs- und Mundart abgefasset), in which Stender emphasised that the stories had been written according to the patterns of thinking and language of Latvians, with the intention of advancing their wit and morals. The similar title of Gellert’s book, Fabeln und Erzählungen (Fables and Stories, 1746–1748) was not coincidental, a considerable number of stories were adapted translations of Gellert’s fables,14 including ones that Stender had previously published in his Latvian grammar. While in the grammar the texts had been addressed to German elite readers, in Nice Fairy Tales and Stories, Stender shifted the address to Latvians themselves.15 Stender had noted in his The New and More Complete Latvian Grammar his intentions regarding this collection of prose fiction. In the grammar he wrote that the loyalty of peasants can be strengthened thorough the moral education of virtues and begged to the nobility to support his intended collection of fables and short stories. He did not mention ideas of Enlightenment in his arguments.16 In the German preface to his book, however, he wrote: The teachers of God’s wisdom are especially invited to nurture souls entrusted to them in the likeness of God. In our homeland, most of them are the poor Latvians. They are created from the same substance and for the same purpose. Shouldn’t we love them as our brothers and should not we strive to bring them out of darkness into the light of God? These objectives will guide our efforts and our reward will be a higher degree of Enlightenment.17

This was the first secular book directed towards ethnic Latvian readers—before Stender’s work, the only secular texts had been fragments within lexicographical works and occasional poetry that circulated among 14

On sources of Stender’s translations, see: Anna Behrskaln, “G. F. Stenders lettische Fabeln und Erzählungen,” Zeitschrift des Vereins für Volkskunde in Berlin, 2 (1924): 95–103. 15 See further: JƗnis MisiƼš, “Stendera pasaku pirmais izdevums,” IzglƯtƯbas Ministrijas MƝnešraksts, 9 (1923): 1019–1028. 16 Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Neue vollständigere Lettische Grammatik, Nebst einem hinlänglichen Lexico, wie auch einigen Gedichten (Braunschweig: Fürstl. großen Waisenhause, 1761), unpag. 17 Stender, Jaukas Pasakkas in Stahsti, unpag.

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the elites. Stender’s prose volume consisted of two parts, firstly fables, and then stories. In both, the locale, namely, ‘the Latvian world’, occupies a peripheral place; the space was either mythically abstract or related to historical or exotic narratives. Each story had a moral lesson at the end, summarizing the moral instruction derived from the plot, and also a commentary on topical social issues in Courland. Stender’s book enjoyed wide popularity among Latvian readers, and was published in a new, expanded edition in 1789. In 1782, it was reworked and translated into Estonian by Baltic German author Friedrich Wilhelm Willmann (1746–1819).18 Stender’s undertaking has some parallels with the development of Latvian calendars in Courland. While the earliest known Latvian calendar was published in 1757 (no copies have survived), in 1762 appeared the first calendar with a literary supplement, providing short information about history and geography that was explained in the form of questions and answers. In subsequent years the calendar also published some of Stender’s fables, as well as other stories and detailed accounts of Courland’s history (the author still remains unknown). Two years after Stender’s book of prose fiction, a secular work for Latvian readers appeared in Livonia, Latweeschu Ahrste (The Latvian Physician). It was a periodical published for two years in 1768 and 1769. Although appearing almost simultaneously with Stender’s book, this periodical differed from it in many significant ways. It was written by Peter Ernst Wilde (1732–1785), a Konigsberg physician, and it was translated into Estonian and Latvian versions.19 In the first issue, Wilde declared his philanthropic intentions: Do not be surprised! I called you my Friend, and you are one to me. My class is different from yours. I know that! But that is not bad! I will not show off, you are the same as me, created by God as my Nearest and Dearest. That does not disgust me! Therefore I respect you and keep you close to my heart by doing you good.20

Wilde was a newcomer to the Baltic provinces, and his interest in the living conditions of peasants may be explained away as a foreigner’s curiosity. After arriving in Courland from Konigsberg in 1765 he began to 18 The Estonian version was titled Juttud ja moistatussed (Fairy Tales and Riddles, 1782). Cf.: ZigrƯda FrƯde, Latvis: Gothards FrƯdrihs Stenders (RƯga: ZinƗtne, 2003), 182. 19 The Estonian version Lühhike öppetus (Brief Instruction) was translated by August Wilhelm Hupel. It was published in 1766 and 1767. See further: Bartlett, “German Popular Enlightenment,” 256–278. 20 [Peter Ernst Wilde,] “Mihƺajs Draugs!” Latweeschu Ahrste, 1 (1768), 2–3.

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publish a German-language magazine called Der Landartz (The Rural Physician), which focused on questions relating to serfdom and the harsh social conditions of the peasants.21 After he moved to Põltsamaa in the Estonian part of Livonia, he may very well have regarded the magazine for Latvian and Estonian peasants as a logical next step in his overall efforts.22 Wilde’s manuscript (titled Eine ärztlice Anweisung für den Landmann) was translated into Latvian by Jacob Lange (1711–1777), the author of German-Latvian dictionary (1777) and supporter of Latvian schools in Livonia. The journal was published weekly and contained primarily medical advice, although it hinted that it would possibly widen its topics in the future. While Stender’s book enjoyed success, as far as we can judge from the subsequent Estonian translation and its going to a second edition, Wilde’s journal was halted after two years due to lack of readers. Both works, Nice Fairy Tales and Stories and The Latvian Physician, which appeared independently of each other, constituted the beginning of the secularization of Latvian written culture: they were the first printed secular texts to address the Latvian readership. These publications answered precisely to calls voiced during the debates to postpone changes in the regional economic system until the peasants were educated and better prepared for freedom. The most significant unifying factor was the attitude of the authors toward the indigenous peasants. Peasants became the objects of attention because of their ignorance and poor condition, as well as because of the growing recognition of human equality.

Anacreontic Poetry and Popular Fiction in the 1770s The tradition of popular medicine initiated by Wilde was soon continued in Mitau/Jelgava in the 1770s by a local physician, Karl Ferdinand Hummius, who, like Wilde, was a newcomer to the Baltic provinces. Originally from Prussia, he had studied medicine at Konigsberg. Hummius published a series of articles on popular-medicine in the supplement to the calendar of Courland from 1772 until 1780; some of its practical advice and observations were reminiscent of Wilde’s work, particularly insofar as the text was addressed to local readers and similarly reflected upon the peasants’ conditions. The medical instructions resembled Hummius’ earlier writings to the German public in the Mitau/Jelgava 21

Cf.: Arnis VƯksna, “P. E. Vilde un ‘Latviešu Ɩrste’,” in: Latviešu Ɩrste: JƗkoba Langes 1768. gada tulkojuma teksts, zin. red. Aina Blinkena (RƯga: Zvaigzne, 1991), 177–178. 22 Ibid., 176–179.

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newspaper Mitauische Nachrichten von Staats- und Gelehrten Sachen from 1765 until 1775. In the 1770s several volumes of secular fiction appeared in Latvian: a collection of prose fiction in 1773 by Johann Friedrich Rosenberger (1731–1776), a pastor in Courland, entitled Salassischana, pehz gohdigas, jaukas un augligas Laika kaweschanas (A Collection for an Honest, Nice and Useful Entertainment), and in 1774 Stender’s collection of poetry, Jaunas siƼƧes (New Songs). Both of these works were followed by a collection of poetry published in 1780 by Johan Adolf Stein (1738–1804), a pastor in Livonia, called Jaunas swehtas Dseesmas, Stahstischanas un zittas SiƼƧes (New Sacral Songs, Ballads and Other Popular Songs). These books were the first anthologies of localised adaptations of German poetry and prose in Latvian, although they also contained some original compositions. Rosenberger’s A Collection for an Honest, Nice and Useful Entertainment was created in a similar manner to Stender’s prose collection, and it has often been assumed that Stender may have actually assisted Rosenberger in writing this book. Dismissing the fables, Rosenberger’s book consisted of short stories and anecdotes mostly set in different foreign settings. The book had a lengthy foreword in which one of the first model peasant’s was introduced. The stories, however, were not set in local settings, but described various historical figures in different places around the world. They included such historical personages as Socrates, Alexander the Great, the ninth-century Persian caliph Al-Ma’mun, the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I, the eleventh-century Anglo-Scandinavian King Canute the Great, the King of France Henri IV and many others. The places depicted in the book were as diverse as Sparta, Athens, Smyrna, London, Paris, Ghent, Bagdad, etc.23 No geographical or historical explanations were provided. Short stories in the book were translations adapted from various German sources. Together with Stender’s collection, Rosenberger’s book demonstrated the division of short fiction into two parts—the texts, whose thematic centre was the peasant and the everyday rural space, and those texts that focused on the exotic and the bourgeois foreign space. The “Latvian/peasant world” was thus juxtaposed against the “exotic world”. But as fiction became a tool of Enlightenment, the educative process itself grew in significance, and every setting—whether it was a familiar world or an exotic one—had its own functions. As Rosenberger’s book suggests, the choice in favour of the “exotic world” could not be based on expanding 23 In more detail: Pauls Daija, “Johans FrƯdrihs Rozenbergers (1731–1776) latviešu literatnjrƗ,” Karogs, 8 (2008): 117–129.

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knowledge, but is rather seen as an attempt to attract the reader’s attention towards the foreign and exotic, thus a secular reading became an escape from reality by offering new experiences that allowed the reader to forget the circumstances of everyday life.24 A different approach to the education of Latvian peasants was set forth in the poetry collections, where adapted translations imitated Latvian settings, used Latvian personal names, as well as elements of folk songs and folklore. Each poem was accompanied by an indication of the melody, implying that these poems were intended for singing rather than for reading in silence. The primary inspiration for these anthologies, specifically adjusted in Latvia to the aims of the Popular Enlightenment, is derived from the tradition of German Anacreontic poetry, that represented a transitional period in eighteenth century German literary history between the era of Barthold Heinrich Brockes and the Sturm und Drang. The Latvian literary historian ZigrƯda FrƯde, has noted that these adaptations “by no means offered second-class works to Latvian readers, but rather presented them with the very best authors of Latvian poetry of the time.” FrƯde also emphasises that the poetic adaptations introduced themes of romantic love that were not to be found in folk songs.25 A particularly strong influence on Stender’s adaptations came from the circle of the Gottingen poets called the Hainbund, which emerged in 1772. This group, under the influence of Friedrich Gottfried Klopstock (1724– 1803) and Gottfried August Bürger (1747–1894), identified their poetic interests with Rousseau’s concept of ‘returning to nature’, thus paving a poetic path for subsequent Sturm und Drang literature. Klopstock’s view of the poet as the leader of a nation was limited by the Hainbund poets to the bourgeois class, and they understood Volk in terms of social class, “since they were unable to think in ways other than class”.26 The Latvian poetic adaptations consisted primarily of the works of the representatives of the Gottingen circle of poets—Ludwig Christoph Hölty (1748–1776), Johann Martin Miller (1750–1814), and Johann Heinrich Voß (1751– 1826)—as well as a number of others, including Matthias Claudius (1740– 1815), Christian Adolf Overbeck (1755–1821), and Leopold Friedrich Günther von Göckingk (1748–1828). Friendship, patriotism and love of the fatherland, nature, love and family, and bourgeois values, were the 24 Holger Böning, Periodische Presse: Kommuniaktion und Aufklärung: Hamburg und Altona als Beispiel (Bremen: Edition Lumière, 2002), 239. 25 FrƯde, “Dzeja LatvijƗ 18. gadsimtƗ,” 167–168. 26 Rothraut Bäsken, Die Dichter des Göttinger Hains und die Bürgerlichkeit: Eine literarsoziologische Studie (Königsberg/Berlin: Ost-Europa-Verlag, 1937), 103.

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central topics in the poetry of the Gottingen circle, but an internal tension resulted in the representation of peasant life, whose depiction fluctuated between the Anacreontic idyll and complicated eighteenth century social and economic circumstances. The poets who gathered in Halberstadt around Johann Wilhelm Ludwig Gleim (1719–1803), offered another source of inspiration, one that expanded Anacreontic poetry by synthesizing carpe diem motifs with pastoral poetics. However, it is important to note that even though the pastoral Anacreontic motifs of both Halberstadt and Göttingen usually portrayed peasants, the poetry itself was addressed mainly to the bourgeois class. At the same time, several other works played a significant role in the development of Popular Enlightenment in Germany.27 Commenting the authors which Gotthard Friedrich Stender choose to translate, it has been noted: It is true that Stender was not interested either in Lessing’s unsparing search for truth and critique nor in the turmoil of the Sturm und Drang movement of the 1770s (i. e., the early works by Schiller and Goethe suffused with social alarm). However, in Latvian literature the seemingly moderate selection Stender published was a sign of an intellectual revolution. The German authors wrote for readers from their own social strata—that is, educated members of the middle class. Stender projected their thoughts and images to a completely different reading public—serfs.28

Stender’s songs became even more popular than his prose fiction. Latvian writer JƗnis Sarma (1884–1983) noted that “by the beginning of the nineteenth century songs (ziƼƧes) already had ousted folksongs (dainas) from general use.” He further observed: I don’t know why the efforts of Stender and his followers were so successful nor why his songs were so widely known and loved. Perhaps the content was more in keeping with the mood of those who sang then? Perhaps the songs assuredly and openly expressed the romanticism of the youth? Perhaps the songs were popular because they usually condemned evil and expressed longing for the victory of the good?29

Similarly popular was Stender’s Augstas Gudribas Grahmata (The Book of High Wisdom), published in 1774. In two years, it was republished, and the expanded edition followed in 1796. A treatise on 27 Cf.: Siobhán Donovan, Annette Lüchow, “Matthias Claudius und die Volksaufklärung,” Jahresschriften der Claudius–Gesellschaft, 9 (2000): 6–25. 28 Aleksejs ApƯnis, Oto ýakars, InƗra Klekere, “Vecais Stenders latviešu dzejas laukƗ,” in: Gothards FrƯdrihs Stenders, Dzeja (RƯga: Zvaigzne ABC, 2001), 250. 29 JƗnis Sarma, “ZiƼƧes un dainas,” ArchƯvs, 4 (1964): 140–143.

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natural sciences, based on works by Johann Christoph Gottsched (1700– 1766) and Johann Elert Bode (1747–1826), it challenged the level of Latvian literary language of the time, attempting to find Latvian words for scientific terms. It has been regarded as the first encyclopaedia for peasants, however it was criticised by conservative contemporaries who doubted the necessity of such knowledge for peasants. “Can the serf, can the worker who is always tied with agriculture have true interest in the science,” wrote Christian Wilhelm Brockhusen (1768–1842). “Will he be interested to know if he lives in Europe or America?”30 It was even asked, what should be the use of description of the earth for Latvians “whose existence is restrained to the small corner of earth” which they are not allowed to cross when they wish to remain happy.31 Stenders’s book, however, did not find rapid followers and imitators, and remained as a single attempt to expand the knowledge of Latvian peasants beyond their agricultural work, everyday life and moral education.

Works on Agriculture and Medicine in the 1780s Hummius’ duties at the Courland calendar were taken over by pastor Gotthard Christoph Brandt (1734–1790), of MƝrsrsags/Angern, who wrote pedagogical instructional works from 1780 until 1786. In 1788 the Courland calendar published a shortened translation of a practical catechism by the German Enlightenment writer, Johann Georg Schlosser (1739–1799), entitled Der praktische Catechismus christlicher Sittenlehre für das Landvolk (The Practical Catechism of Christian Teachings in Moral for Peasants, 1771).32 Stories, popular scientific essays, essays on agricultural and household guidance were also published regularly in the calendar, many of them provided by pastor Joachim Friedrich Voigt (1760–1844) from Sesava/Sessau.33 In 1782 the private printing-house of Christoph Harder (1747–1818) at Rubenes, published the Widsemmes Kalendars (Livonian Calendar). Harder included secular poems as well as essays on astronomy in the 30

Brockhusen, “Ein Wort über die bisherigen Schulanstalten,” 94. As quoted in: Friedrich Bernhard Albers, “Kultur den Letten – in Kurland,” Der Freimüthige oder Ernst und Scherz, 252 (1805): 591. 32 [Anonymous,] “Dsihwoschanas preekschraksti preeksch teem Semmes ƺaudim, kas gribb labbi un sawâ kajrtâ gohdajami zilweki buht,” in: Jauna un Wezza LaikuGrahmata us to 1788stu Gaddu. (Jelgawâ: Steffenhagen, [1787]), [33–46]. 33 [Joachim Friedrich Voigt,] “Daschadi jauki Stahsti par labbu mahzibu,” In: Jauna un Wezza Laiku-Grahmata us to 1789tu Gaddu (Jelgawâ: Steffenhagen, [1788],), [33–46]. 31

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supplement; in 1787 he started a series of articles informing peasants on laws passed that had given increased rights to peasantry under serfdom.34 Such publications of laws were not a complete innovation in Latvian book history, but Harder himself pointed out their radical meaning, emphasizing that though these laws were read from the pulpit, they were difficult to remember, and not everyone attended church on Sundays.35 These laws were published in his calendar in a shortened and selective form, beginning with those that had been passed in the seventeenth century. During the first years these laws were devoted to everyday life—themes such as misconduct, holiday celebrations, marriage, etc.—but in 1789 and 1790 he turned towards explaining laws relating to courts and the lodging of complaints. Although Harder was not inviting his readers to sue their masters, he even provided a patriarchal idealised description of the relationship between master and peasant so as to justify the publication of such laws, according to the hypothesis of Aleksejs ApƯnis, however, some of the conservative landowners considered such instruction to its readers far too dangerous, and subsequent publications of such laws in the calendar were stopped. The publishing was transferred to Riga, and Gustav von Bergmann (1749–1814), a Lutheran pastor in Rnjjiena/Ruien took over the editorship of later editions.36 Bergmann published short stories in the Livonian calendar along with some adaptations of Stender’s poems and stories. In 1791, he included in the calendar an adaptation of the Livonian history by Friedrich Bernhard Blaufuß (1697–1756) which was never printed, and only circulated among Herrnhutian peasants in manuscript form.37 Throughout the 1780s, many pastors started to translate and publish instructions on household topics: books about medicine and diet, manuals for housekeeping and cooking, texts about agriculture and land cultivation. 34

[Christoph Harder,] “Patentes un Pawehleschanas,” in: Widsemmes Kalendars us to 1787 Gaddu (Rubbenês: [n. p.], [1786]), [40–47]. 35 Within the context of German Popular Enlightenment in law, Reinhart Siegert notes that publication of laws can be explained with “the wish to protect him [the peasant] from punishments through knowledge of his duties, but above all – and as a specifically Enlightenment aim – to motivate him less through fear of punishment than rather to obey laws through understanding of their meaning. [..] The methods of publication employed by the state (reading aloud absolutely incomprehensible legal texts from the pulpit, or posting them up on the town hall) were unsuited to this purpose.” (Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment,” xlix.) 36 ApƯnis, Soƺi senƗkƗs latviešu grƗmatniecƯbas un kultnjras takƗs, 92–93. 37 See further: FrƯdrihs Bernhards Blaufnjss, Vidzemes stƗsti. StƗsti no tƗs vecas un jaunas bnjšanas to Vidzemes ƺaužu, uzrakstƯti 1753, red. JƗnis ŠiliƼš (RƯga: VƝstures izpƝtes un popularizƝšanas biedrƯba, 2015).

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These publications focused on spheres of knowledge and their understanding derived from some of the very latest scientific discoveries, and their content was relevant to everyday life. The texts were varied in format and in length (ranging from a dozen pages to hefty volumes). Two books of this kind were published in 1783—No Semmes un mahjukohpschanas (On Agriculture and Household) by the Courland court official Christoph Dietrich Georg Gerzimsky (1750–1817), and Mahzibas preeksch Behrnu-Sanehmejahm (Instructions for Midwives) by a Courland landowner and official Karl Johann Meyer (?–1835). Both books were written in an instructional form and were originally written in German by local Baltic German authors, the manuscripts were subsequently translated into Latvian by local pastors. Gerzimsky’s book was translated by pastor Maczewski, while Meyer’s book was translated by pastor Johann Christoph Ruprecht (1728–1792).38 Besides his Latvian book, Gerzimsky wrote several essays on agriculture in German and constructed a model of sowing machine, for which he was rewarded by Tsar Alexander I.39 One of the most wide-ranging agricultural works was published in 1789: Friedrich Johann Klapmeyer’s (1747–1805) instructions about growing previously unfamiliar crops—clover and alfalfa—which included both his personal gardening journal as well as translations of lectures by Sachsen agronomist Johann Christian Schubart (1734–1787) that had been originally delivered at the Berlin Academy of Sciences. It was published under the title Janna Krischjanna Schubarta Kleefelda Padohms Wisseem Arrajeem dohts (The Advice from Johann Christian Schubart Kleefeld to All Plowmen), the book was partly based also on a work by Schubart, Gutgemeinter Zuruf an alle Bauern die Futtermangel leiden (A Well Intended Call to All Peasants Who Suffer from Lack of Forage), published in Leipzig in 1783.40 Unlike most of other authors who wrote about agricultural issues, Klapmeyer had experimented with cultivating clover and alfalfa himself and included in the book the record of his experience.

38

See further: Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 1525–1855. Kopkatalogs. Die älteren Drucke in lettischer Sprache 1525–1855: Gesamtkatalog, sast. Silvija Šiško, Aleksejs ApƯnis (RƯga: Latvijas NacionƗlƗ bibliotƝka, 1999), 152–153. 39 K. Ozols, “Latviešu lauksaimniecƯbas literƗtnjra 18. gadu simtenƯ,” LauksaimniecƯbas IzmƝƧinƗjumi un PƝtƯjumi, 2 (1941): 197. 40 Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 180. See further: Pauls Daija, “Johans KristiƗns Šubarts (1734–1787) latviešu populƗrzinƗtniskƗs literatnjras vƝsturƝ,” Latvijas VeƧetƗcija, 18 (2009): 107–113.

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The Peak of Popular Enlightenment Literature in the 1790s The 1790s witnessed the first publication of a work by Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s son, Alexander Johann Stender (1744–1819), which was a localised adaptation of an early Enlightenment comedy by Ludwig Holberg, Jeppe paa Bjerget eller den forvandlede Bonde (1723). It first appeared in Latvian in 1790 as Tas semneeks, kas par muischneeku pahrwehrsts tappe (The Peasant who was Turned into a Lord). This first publication of a play was an important turning point in Latvian secular fiction, and it brought to the foreground the burning issues of serfdom and revolution. The play was followed by a translation of Rudolf Zacharias Becker’s Emergency Advice Booklet for Peasants, published in Riga under the title Labbu SiƼƼu un Padohmu Grahmata (The Book of Godd News and Advices, 1791). The idea of the translation belonged to Ludwig Mellin (1754–1835) and Liborius Bergmann (1754–1823) who invested the inheritance of the Sachsen-born Livonian private tutor Johann Schwennike (who was especially devoted to Latvian book publishing), reworking and shortening the book and then invited Liborius Bergmann’s brother Gustav von Bergmann to translate the manuscript into Latvian.41 The Riga publisher Julius Conrad Daniel Müller (1759–1830) published two instructional books in 1790—Kartoppelu Dahrs (The Garden of Potatoes) and Ihsa Mahziba Preeksch Latweescheem (Short Instruction for Latvians). Both books were originally written by Baltic German authors in German and were subsequently translated into Latvian. Both of these books were considerably shorter than other Latvian books which made them much cheaper and more accessible. The Garden of Potatoes was written by Franz Johann Zoeckell (1746– 1811), the town physician of CƝsis/Wenden, and translated from the manuscript by Lutheran pastor Friedrich Daniel Wahr (1749–1827).42 The introduction was a sentimental narration of the recent years of famine experienced in Livonia, along with poems about the sufferings of Livonian 41

See further on the publishing history of this book: Pauls Daija, “... daȕ für das Wohl der lettischen Nation noch sehr viel zu thun übrig sey: Die Umarbeitung von R. Z. Beckers ‘Noth- und Hülfsbüchlein’ als Versuch der Volksaufklärung in Lettland im 18. Jahrhundert,” in: Die Entdeckung von Volk, Erziehung und Ökonomie im europäischen Netzwerk der Aufklärung, hg. von Hanno Schmitt, Holger Böning, Werner Greiling, Reinhart Siegert (Bremen: Edition lumiere, 2011), 157–178. 42 Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 182.

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people and the advantages of potatoes. In the main body of the book were detailed instructions for the cultivation of potatoes, concluding with a multiplication table so as to help to calculate an eventual harvest and to convincingly prove that growing potatoes, compared to grain, was far more profitable. Short Instruction for Latvians was first published in German in 1789, by Nicolaus Christopher von Hagemeister (1747–1804), a landowner and military officer from Drusti/Drostenhof. It was translated into Latvian by the Drusti Lutheran pastor Karl Johann Grass (1720– 1796), and a subsequent translation into Estonian was published as well.43 The book contained various instructions of how to revive or resuscitate seemingly dead people. In 1791, Johann Friedrich Steffenhagen (1744–1812) published Friedrich August Czarnewski’s (1766–1832) book Gudra Mahzischana Wisseem Saimneekeem un Mohderehm par labbu (Clever Instructions for All Husbands and Cow Maids). It was written with the approval of Gotthard Friedrich Stender who agreed to write a preface. Stender explained here the origin of the book, describing how the author had decided five years previously to set about improving the conditions of life of Latvian peasants by writing for them such an instructional work: He has extensively read all the books that some esteemed gentlemen have written in Germany about livestock diseases and their treatment. He has explored some of the most widespread livestock diseases in Courland and has experimented himself with medicines, to attempt to alleviate these diseases. He wants to publish for your benefit his own acquired knowledge, as well as those of other learned scientific gentlemen.44

This book was followed by the Latvian translation of Bernhard Christoph Faust’s (1755–1842) Gesundheits-Katechismus (The Catechism of Health, 1794) which was published in Jelgava/Mitau, and translated by Matthias Stobbe (1742–1817), a candidate of theology who choose not to become a pastor and remained a teacher. In the 1790s Stobbe tried to establish a philanthropic school in Jelgava, similar to the celebrated philanthropist school at Dessau, but he was unsuccessful.45 After this defeat of his plans, Stobbe devoted all of his activities to Latvian literature. His next Latvian book was Latwiska Pawaru-Grahmata (Latvian Cookery 43

Ibid. Friedrich August Czarnewski, Gudra Mahzischana Wisseem Saimneekeem un Mohderehm par labbu (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1791), 5–6. 45 Matthias Stobbe, Plan zu einer Erziehungsanstalt in Mitau (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1795); Matthias Stobbe, Ausfürlicher Plan, der im Januar angekündigten Eziehungsanstalt in Mitau (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1795). Department of Rare Books and Manuscripts of the Academic Library of the University of Latvia, D 3/6. 44

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Book, 1796), addressed to all those cooks of Latvian descent who were unable to read German. The recipes had been originally collected from different German cookery books by Friedrich Casimir Urban (1765–1796), and following his death, completed by Stobbe. A year earlier a similar cookery book was published in Riga, compiled by Christoph Harder with the title Ta pirma Pawaru Grahmata (The First Cookery Book, 1795). Cookery books were one of the few examples in secular literature where two different books on the same subject were published in Courland and Livonia, rather similar to the publishing of religious hymnals.46 In 1796, the Riga publisher Müller brought out a work of Samuel von Holst’s (?–1809), the Riga municipality officer and later mayor, entitled Dahrsa-Kallenders (The Garden Calender), that was translated into Latvian by Livonian pastor Johann Precht (1734–1806) (the book was also translated into Estonian by Livonian pastor Friedrich David Lenz (1745– 1809)). 200 copies of the book were bought up by the Livonian Charitable and Economic Society, and distributed free of charge amongst Livonian peasants. In 1797, Matthias Stobbe began one of his most ambitious projects, the Latvian journal Latwiska Gadda-Grahmata (Latvian Yearbook) which was published quarterly by Steffenhagen in Jelgava/Mitau; between 1797 and 1798 eight issues appeared, covering almost every subject of previously printed secular literature: poems and short stories, a novel, instructional material in the fields of agriculture and health, and popular scientific articles. The journal also published translations of the works of two philanthropist educationalists—Friedrich Eberhard von Rochow’s (1734– 1805) Kinderfreund (The Friend of Children)47 and Christian Gotthilf Salzmann‘s (1744–1811) Conrad Kiefer48 translated by Lutheran pastors Christoph Julius Hartmann (1746–1815) and Friedrich Gustav Maczewski (1761–1813) respectively. After publication of eight issues, the journal was interrupted because of the lack of readers. It was criticised by contemporaries for too abstract and impractical content, especially in regard of popular science. It has been noted also by later-generation scholars that the level of the journal was too high.

46

Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 204, 211. [Christoph Julius Hartmann,] “Tas labs un weenteesigs behrns,” Latwiska Gadda-Grahmata, 3 (1797): 73–83. 48 [Friedrich Gustav Maczewski,] “Kà Prahtneeku Jannis sawu dehlu Kristapu irr audsinajis,” Latwiska Gadda-Grahmata, 1 (1798): 27–71; 2 (1798): 77–122; 3 (1798): 39–90; 4 (1798): 85–138. 47

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New Themes at the Beginning of the 19th Century The nineteenth century began with the introduction of two collections of secular fiction: Lihgsmibas grahmata (Book of Joy) in 1804 by Karl Gotthard Elverfeld (1756–1819), the ApriƷi/Aprikken pastor, and in 1805 Dseesmas, stahstu-dseesmas, pasakkas (Songs, Ballads and Tales) by Alexander Johann Stender, a pastor in SƝlpils/Selburg and SunƗkste/Sonnaxt.49 Apparently, by pure coincidence, both collections contained the first adaptions in Latvian of Friedrich Schiller’s (1759–1805) ode An die Freude (Ode to Joy, 1782). This translation of Schiller’s work continued the tradition of translations of high literature that had been introduced by Gotthard Friedrich Stender in his Book of High Wisdom, where he had included odes.50 This contrast between Karl Gotthard Elverfeld and Alexander Johann Stender marked the first divergence among German Baltic authors writing in Latvian. Elverfeld focused on sentimentalism, translating the plays of August Kotzebue (1761–1819)—Die barmherzigen Brüder (The Merciful Brothers) and Unser Fritz (Our Fritz); and he also included in his book an original play Ta dsimschanas deena (The Birthday), as well as an idyll in hexameter inspired by Johann Heinrich Voß Behrtulis un Maije (Behrtulis and Maije). Alexander Johann Stender, followed the model of the ‘pocket book’ (Taschenbuch) tradition, that was popular among German bourgeois readers, combining short prose texts and poetry with other genres.51 The popularity of such books greatly increased in the following decades, thus, in the short run, marginalizing Karl Gotthard Elverfeld’s attempts to refine a literary process with elitist trends. Stahsti, pasakkas, dseesmas un mihklas (Stories, Tales, Songs and Riddles), written by Christoph Reinhold Girgensohn (1752–1814), at the beginning of the century, was intended as a periodical, but was posthumously published in 1823 as a ‘pocket book’. Alexander Johann Stender also wrote two further collections of poetry —Dseesmu Calendars (The Calendar of Songs), which was published in 1810, and was explicitly directed towards women readers (although without 49

On Alexander Johann Stender, see further: MƗra Grudule, ‘“Ne visur KurzemƝ tas alus sveicams...” Versija par Jauno Stenderu,” Karogs, 6 (2001): 189-204. 50 Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Augstas Gudribas Grahmata (Jelgawa un Aisputte: Hinz, 1774), 217–320. 51 See further: Holger Böning, “Almanache, Taschenbücher und Kalender im literarischen Leben Norddeutschlands und ihre Bedeutung für die Volksaufklärung,” in: Literarische Leitmedien. Almanach und Taschenbuch im kulturwissenschaftlichen Kontext, hg. von Paul Gerhard Klussmann und YorkGothart Mix (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1998), 31–46.

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specific gender-related content), and, in 1817, SiƼƧes un dseesmiƼas (Songs and Small Songs), which was banned by the censor and remains only in manuscript form. In the 1800s, the media of the calendar remained one of the most stable and most widely read publications. The Courland calendar was compiled by Matthias Stobbe, and after his death, was taken over by the pastor of Jelgava/Mitau, Johann Christoph Köhler (1775–1853), who was also active as a translator of laws and regulations for peasants.52 The Livonian calendar continued to publish amongst new texts also the revised versions of works by Gotthard Friedrich Stender. The calendar was compiled by different authors, including pastor Johann Gottfried Ageluth (1763–1848) of MƗlpils/Lemburg and the Riga pastor Paul Tiedemann (1766–1822). Outside of his work on the calendar, Ageluth wrote mostly religious books and linguistic essays, and in Tartu/Dorpat in 1817, he published the fourth revised edition of a Latvian Emergency Advice Booklet for Peasant.53 Tiedemann published several historical essays in the calendar, and in 1820, together with Carl Gottlob Sonntag (1765–1827) he began to publish a series of essays about Livonian history.54 Instructions in household and agricultural issues formed a steady part of the calendar supplements, reflecting at the same time in book production the continuing popularity of the ‘manual’. Along with many smaller works on medical issues—predominantly smallpox vaccination, and the resuscitation of drowned or apparently dead persons—the most significant new books in these decades were translations of the Riga gardener Johann Hermann Zigra’s (1775–1857) books on orchards and vegetable gardens,55 as well as lengthy essays on various agricultural topics narrated in the form of a dialogue and entitled Sarunnaschanas starp diweem Latwiskeem Semneekem (Conversations between Two Latvian Peasants, 1800). The 52 Johann Friedrich Recke, Karl Eduard Napiersky, Allgemeines Schriftsteller- und Gelehrten-Lexikon der Provinzen Livland, Esthland und Kurland, Bd. 2 (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1829), 476–477. 53 On the comparison between different editions of this books, see further: Pauls Daija, “MƗlpils mƗcƯtƗjs Johans GotfrƯds Ageluts latviešu laicƯgƗs literatnjras vƝsturƝ,” in: KultnjrvƝstures avoti un MƗlpils novads, sast. Ieva Pauloviþa (MƗlpils: MƗlpilns novada dome, 2016), 84–100. 54 Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 306. 55 Zigra’s book Der Baum-Gärtner (The Orchard Gardener, 1803) was translated into Latvian in 1803 by Matthias Stobbe. Zigra’s Anweisung zur Kultur aller Küchen-Gewächse (Instruction to Cultivation of All Kitchen Plants, 1800) was translated into Latvian in 1806 by Karl Heinrich Precht (1771–1819). See further: Pauls Daija, “Johans Hermanis Cigra latviešu populƗrzinƗtniskƗs literatnjras vƝsturƝ,” Latvijas UniversitƗtes Raksti, 738 (2008): 170–180.

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book was a translation of essays collected by the Livonian Charitable and Economic Society.56 It was translated by Johann Justin von Loppenowe (1741–1818), the pastor of LƝdurga/Loddiger, and Otto Friedrich Paul Rühl (1764–1835), and it was distributed gratis as a supplement with the Livonian calendar.57 Amongst the translations of agricultural manuals that were originally published in Germany, Daniel Gottlieb Settegast’s (1743–1806) Bienenkatechismus (The Catechism of the Bees, 1795), and Johann Wilhelm Joseph Weisenbruch’s (1757–1813) Das Ganze der Rindviehzucht (The Whole Issue of the Cattle-Breeding, 1803), were two of the most important. Settegast’s book was translated by Christian Friedrich Launitz (1773–1832) in 1803, and in 1832, it was eventually adapted for Latvian readers in Letgallia by Jozef Akielewicz (c. 1768–1842).58 Weisenbruch’s book was translated by Karl Gotthard Elverfeld’s son, Karl Johann Elverfeld (1781–1851), and entitled No Gowju-Lohpeem (On Cows). At the beginning of the nineteenth century the translations of the works by educational philanthropists continued to appear—Alexander Johann Stender translated Christian Gotthilf Salzmann’s Ausführliche Erzählung wie Ernst Haberfeld aus einem Bauer ein Freiherr geworden ist (The Complete Story of how Ernst Haberfeld Became a Free Lord from a Peasant) in 1807, and Karl Watson undertook his own translation of Rochow’s The Friend of Children in 1816, without any reference to Hartmann’s earlier translation. Christoph Reinhold Girgensohn’s translation of Joachim Heinrich Campe’s (1746–1818) Robinson der Jüngere (Robinson Junior) was published in 1823. Karl Watson’s work, which had the title Lassama Grahmata (The Reading Book), consisted of adapted and reworked translations of stories by various authors, as well as a supplement for adult readers containing medical instructions based on works by Johann Heinrich Nicolaus Lichtenstein (1787–1848), a physician in Courland. Alexander Johann Stender’s Pilniga isstahstischana kahdâ wihsê Ausan Ehrnests no semneeka par Brihwkungu zehlees (The Complete Story of how Ausan Ehrnests Became a Free Lord from a Peasant) was a faithful translation of Salzmann’s novel, in which the translator added some of his own reflections about topical peasant issues including them in the text as footnotes.

56

Verhandlungen der livländischen gemeinnützigen und ökonomischen Sozietät in den Jahren 1797 und 1798. (Riga, 1799). 57 Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 226–227. 58 Jozef Akielewicz, Eysa mociba ap audzieyszonu biszu (Wilna: [n. p.], 1832).

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These books were accompanied by the first Latvian schoolbooks. In 1803, pastor Gottfried Georg Mylich (1735–1815) of Nereta/Nerst, published Jauna Skohlas-Grahmata (The New School Book), this was followed by a work in 1813, by pastor Friedrich Erdmann Stoll (1760– 1826) of Jaunpils/Neuenburg, called Jauna bokstereschanas un lassischanas Grahmata (The New Book of Reading and Learning to Read). Mylich’s book was based on his own German textbook Versuch eines Elementarbuchs (An Attempt of the Elementary Book, 1792), which was intended for lower class German schools in Courland.59 The Napoleonic Wars forced pastors to take up new roles in public communication and to be actively involved in spreading the latest news, as well as announcing government warnings. A wave of military texts was accompanied by patriotic and military poems, sermons and essays on army life and the events of war. For instance, Joachim Friedrich Voigt published a speech No Saldatu ammata (On the Soldiers’ Profession) in 1807, while Alexander Johann Stender translated Garlieb Merkel’s report Moskawas, schi branga, plascha Kreewu-semmes zilts-pilsata, nodedsinaschana (The Burning of Moscow, This Great and Large City of Russia) in 1813. A great amount of smaller texts were published during the wars, including laws about soldiers and deserters, as well as translations from German newspapers, that were published as separate sheets or added to the calendars. Similarly, these same pastors undertook the duty of spreading news when serfdom was abolished in Courland and Livonia (in 1817 and 1819 respectively). They translated excerpts from the laws as well as explanations of them.60 Several pastors published sermons about the abolishment of serfdom,61 while Christian Launitz, in 1819, wrote a lengthy essay No Brihwestibas un wiƼƼas eezelschanas Kursemmê (On Freedom and its Establishment in Courland), explaining about the future of a liberated peasantry and compared their previous serfdom to the situation in African colonies.62 59

Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 236. Kahdi wahrdi dehl labbakas sapraschanas to jaunu likkumu (Some Words on Better Understanding of the New Rules) (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1818); Likkumi Widsemmes Semneekeem dohti (Rules for Livonian Peasants) (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1820). 61 For instance, Spreddikis taî 12tâ Merz-mehnescha deenâ (A Sermon of the March 12) by Otto Friedrich Paul Rühl (1820), SpreddiƷis, taî 12. Merz 1820 (A Sermon of the March 12, 1820) by Otto Girgensohn (1820), Peeminami Wahrdi (Words to Remember) by Johann Christoph Wolter (1819). 62 Christian Launitz, No Brihwestibas un wiƼƼas eezelschanas Kursemmê (Jelgava: Steffenhagen, 1819), 6–8. 60

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Alexander Johann Stender’s German textbook Wahzu Wallodas un Wahrdu Grahmata (The Book of German Language and Words), that was published posthumously in 1820, was also connected to the abolishment of serfdom. It resonated with the author’s earlier attempt to promote the Germanization of Latvians. Nevertheless, Alexander Johann Stender emphasised in the book that whilst learning the German language peasants should never reject their own Latvian language. The end of serfdom had opened up a path towards increasingly lengthy debates about the future of former serfs, including their assimilation amongst Baltic Germans.63 The most significant new directions in Latvian book publishing were the publishing of ethnic Latvian authors’ works and the collecting of Latvian folk songs. Thanks to Elverfeld’s support, Ta neredsiga IndriƷa dseesmas (Songs by Blind IndriƷis), appeared, a work by the Latvian serf Elkaleju IndriƷis (1783–1828), published in 1806—the first book by an ethnic Latvian author. This collection seemed to promise a turning point, but it did not happen, and the next ethnic Latvian authors appeared only a generation later. It has been suggested that Elverfeld’s support of his serf was an expression of the influence of early German romanticism and the interest in the voices of the peoples in song, inspired by Johann Gottfried Herder’s (1744–1803) works.64 Elkaleju IndriƷis represented a remarkable case because of his poetic abilities, and was perceived precisely in this way by other Baltic German intellectuals who even labelled him a “Latvian Homer”.65 The first collections of folk songs can also be explained due to a similar romantic influence. Gustav von Bergmann published his collection in two volumes—Erste Sammlung lettischen Sinngedichte (First Collection of Latvian Epigrams, 1807) and Zweite Sammlung Lettischer Sinn- oder Stegreifs-Gedichte (Second Collection of Latvian Epigrams and Songs, 1808). Pastor Friedrich Daniel Wahr (c. 1750–1827), who had previously translated The Garden of Potatoes, published his own collection of folk songs in 1808 entitled Palzmareeschu Dseesmu 63

Cf.: Karl Watson, “Plan über die Art und Weise, wie die Gesellschaft auf die Kultivierung des lettischen Landvolks einwirken könne,” Jahresverhandlungen der Kurländischen Gesellschaft für Literatur und Kunst, 1 (1819): 45–52. 64 See further: Thomas Taterka, “Der lettische Bauer betritt das literarische Feld. Von der Begründung einer lettischen Nationalliteratur aus dem Geist der Kunstperiode,” in: Baltische Literaturen in der Goethezeit, hg. von Heinrich Bosse, Otto-Heinrich Elias, Thomas Taterka (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2011), 101–128. 65 Ulrich von Schippenbach, Wega. Poetisches Taschenbuch für den Norden (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1809), 135.

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Krahjums (Palsmane/Palzmar Song Collection), which was printed in Rnjjiena in Bergmann’s home-made typeface.66 The changes in the traditions of translation reveal elitist trends that were very pronounced in literature during the 1820s, and that initiated an earlier sporadic communication model in which Baltic German authors wrote in Latvian for Baltic German (and eventually also for Latvian) readers.67 “If only it was appreciated not only by Latvians, but also by those who love and understand the Latvian language,”68 stated pastor Karl Hugenberger (1784–1860), about his adaptations of “elite literature”, adding in another context that his, “love for Latvians and their language cannot be stopped”.69 In periodicals, and in separate publications, the adaptations of high poetry (for instance, Weimar classicism) occupied an ever greater position. In his book Derrigs laika-kaweklis (Useful Entertainment, 1827), Hugenberger was the first to translate Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) into Latvian, namely his Maylied, whose Latvian title was Seedu dseesmiƼa (The Song of Flowers). During the 1820s several Weimar classicist works were also translated into separate brochures by pastor Jacob Florentin Lundberg (1782–1858).70 In these translations, a peasant Enlightenment remained within the shadows of the emancipation of the Latvian language. The majority of Weimar adaptations appeared in Magazin, a periodical published by the Latvian Literary Society, which to some extent addressed Latvian readers, but was primarily concerned with the tastes of the educated elite, focusing chiefly on scholarly studies of the Latvian language and ethnographical research. Grounded in 1824, the Latvian Literary Society attempted to centralise and organise the activities in the field of Latvian literary culture.71 Elitist poetry became a tool of emancipation for the Latvian literary language, thus holding onto the practice of translation and turning Popular 66

Seniespiedumi latviešu valodƗ, 264. Jaan Undusk, “Adressat und Sprache im deutschbaltischen Literaturraum,” in: Balten – Slaven – Deutsche: Aspekte und Perspektiven kultureller Kontakte, hg. von Ulrich Obst und Gerhard Ressel (Münster: LIT, 1999), 350–352. 68 Karl Hugenberger, Ta Derriga laika-kawekƺa ohtra puse (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1827), i. 69 As quoted in: Ɩrons, MatƯss, Latviešu literƗriskƗ (latviešu draugu) biedrƯba savƗ simts gadu darbƗ (RƯga: Gulbis, 1929), 163. 70 See further: OjƗrs Zanders, “Jakobs Lundbergs latviešu grƗmatniecƯbƗ,” in: VaravƯksne (RƯga: Liesma, 1982), 67–76. 71 See further: Ɩrons, MatƯss, Latviešu literƗriskƗ (latviešu draugu) biedrƯba savƗ simts gadu darbƗ; Jürgen von Hehn, Die Lettisch-literärische Gesellschaft und das Lettentum (Königsberg/Berlin: Ost-Europa-Verlag, 1938). 67

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Enlightenment activities into another direction. In analysing this process, the Latvian scholar Teodors Zeiferts suggests: Classicism was grounded in cultivated everyday forms that Latvians lacked. German classicism tried to connect to nature, to be emotionally natural and expressive. Here cultivators of Latvian found some elements to transplant into Latvian poetry. Under the influence of the great German classics—Schiller and Goethe—they gave some of their minor works to Latvians and sought to inject something of their spirit into Latvian poetry.72

At the same time, he points out that, “translators tried to obtain a new station in world literature for Latvians and to set goals that Latvians would be able to reach at higher stages of culture.”73 It was Hugenberger, in particular, who rendered poetry by Goethe and Schiller, and who stood out as a new type of Baltic-German Latvian writer, in stark contrast to Gotthard Friedrich Stender. Linking Hugenberger with ars gratia artis, Vilis Plnjdons, has used allegoric parallels from Russian literature to equate Gotthard Friedrich Stender with Mikhail Lomonosov (1711–1865), whereas Hugenberger is equated with Vasily Zhukovsky (1783–1852)— both of whom were “almost without exception translators and not independent bards [...], successful promoters of their native literature who inspired the next generation of poets.”74 However, it is obvious that at this stage there was still a marked separation between the enlighteners and the audience that was to be enlightened. One can look at this process in the context of Johann Gottfried Herder’s ideas which fostered a growing notion that the emancipation of language had to take place before the emancipation of the people. Among works by Herder, the essay Fragmente zur Deutschen Literatur (Fragments on German Literature, 1767), with the thesis that “language can be observed not only as a tool of literature, but also as [its] vessel and personalization” who had expressed the view that, “every nation talks as it thinks, and thinks as it talks”.75 During the 1820s, discussions about the future possibilities for the Latvian language were invigorated. However, Jakob Florentin Lundberg, characterizing the expressive riches of Latvian language, pointed out that they are only “the riches of a poor, uneducated nation [language] and can be found only in those spheres that are close to 72

Teodors Zeiferts, Latviešu rakstniecƯbas vesture (RƯga: Zvaigzne, 1993), 232. Ibid., 233. 74 Vilis Plnjdons, Latvju literatnjras vƝsture, sakarƗ ar tautas vƝsturisko attƯstibas gaitu (Jelgava: Neimanis, 1909), 170–171. 75 Johann Gottfried Herder, Sprachphilosophie: Ausgewählte Schriften (Hamburg: Meiner, 2005), 91, 100. 73

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Latvian life and work. [...] But it has been like this with every language before it has been developed and cultivated.”76 In 1830 the Latvian Literary Society published an issue of its periodical Magazin in which it pointed to the diverse directions taken for reform. In this new understanding, Latvian would become a language appropriate not only for agriculture, but also for public institutions, schools and hospitals: it would escape from the narrow proscribed limits of a peasant language and be modernised.

76

Jakob Florentin Lundberg, “Ueber die Aufnahme fremder Wörter in die lettische Sprache,” Magazin, herausgegeben von der Lettisch-Literarischen Gesellschaft, 1 (1829): 101.

CHAPTER THREE ESTABLISHING LATVIAN LITERARY CULTURE

Although the concept of “Latvian literature” was in active use in the 18th century, it was not, as Baltic German journalist Friedrich Bernhard Albers (1773–1825) noted, so much “Latvian literature” as “literature for Latvians”.1 The foreign nature of this literature resulting from both the prevailing role of translation and involvement of Baltic German authors has been emphasised in previous studies, noting, for example, that this literature “has not come from Latvians themselves, but has been written by members of another nation”.2 The texts written by Baltic Germans for a Latvian peasant readership belong equally to the realm of Baltic German literature.3 In this chapter, the general characteristics of the expanding Latvian 18th-century secular literary culture will be outlined, by exploring the common features of translation strategies, literary communication system and aesthetics of enlightening fiction.

Pastors as Secular Writers As early as 1766, Gotthard Friedrich Stender expressed a wish for a united Popular Enlightenment project, but it failed to be implemented.4 There was never a fixed program of Popular Enlightenment in Courland or Livonia, nor did the activities of enlighteners have a stable centre; until the mid-19th century, the primary initiative remained individual and sporadic. Lutheran pastors who considered these activities part of their duty to the parish made up the largest part of the Latvian writing authors; they became the primary implementers of the Popular Enlightenment program in the Baltics. Baltic German physicians, court officials, and barons also participated rather episodically. The role of several societies, most notably 1

Friedrich Bernhard Albers, “Ueber die Literatur der Letten, oder vielmehr bei den Letten,” Der Freimüthige oder Ernst und Scherz, 201 (1804): 281. 2 Teodors Zeiferts, “Latviešu nacionƗlƗ literatnjra,” in: Latvieši: Rakstu krƗjums, red. Francis Balodis un PƝteris Šmits (RƯga: Valters un Rapa, 1936), 314. 3 Cf.: Undusk, “Adressat und Sprache,” 347–361. 4 Stender, Jaukas Pasakkas in Stahsti, unpag.

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the Livonian Charitable and Economic Society and Courland Society of Literature and Arts, was also important, especially in the dissemination of books.5 The origins and further development of Latvian secular literature was dependent on the activities of certain individuals, a contrast that set it apart from religious literary practice, and promoted greater personal freedom. This situation, however, also encouraged a greater dependency on patrons and publishers. Apart from the literary activities of Gotthard Friedrich Stender, whose broad scope (thanks largely to the patronage of the duke of Courland) made him the primary representative of Popular Enlightenment, most authors writing in Latvian were only occasionally involved and often received little financial remuneration. Rural pastors occupied numerous social roles in the life of the peasant parish, while the church itself was the centre of communication, with information concentrated mainly in the hands of the pastor.6 Literary activities resulted in a trend symptomatic of the enlightened Lutheran church in the Baltic: the expansion of the pastor’s duties to include improving the virtues of his parishioners. In spite of their awareness that printed media was insufficient; pastors increasingly relied on it as they mediated between the enlightened elite and the peasants.7 From time to time, a reminder was given that direct communication with one’s peasants or dissemination of Popular Enlightenment ideas of the pulpit was needed.8

5

See further: Hubertus Neuschäffer, “Die Anfänge der Livländischen Ökonomischen Sozietät (1792–1939),” Journal of Baltic Studies, 10/4 (1979): 337–344. 6 See further: Garve, Konfession und Nationalität, 24–25; Indrek Jürjo, “Der aufgeklärte Pastor und die livländische Kirche,” in: Aufklärung in den baltischen Provinzen Rußlands, hg. von Otto-Heinrich Elias (Köln: Böhlau, 1996), 209–228; Neander, “Die Aufklärung in den Ostseeprovinzen,” 136–137. 7 Franz Eybl, “Die Rede vom Lesen: Kirchliche Argumentationsmuster zum Problem des Lesens in Predigten des 18. Jahrhunderts,” Jahrbuch für Volkskunde, 10 (1987): 68. 8 “The pulpit is the only place, from which one must lead the medical (as well as any other) enlightenment,” wrote Baltic German physician Daniel Georg Balk (1764–1826). (Daniel Georg Balk, Einige Worte über die Krankheiten des hiesigen Bauren, für Gutsbesizzer und Prediger Kurlands bestimmt (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1793), 19.) Cf. also: Aiga Šemeta, “Die Entstehung eines lettischen bürgerlichen Lesers in der kurländischen Öffentlichkeit der Aufklärungszeit,” in: Das Baltikum als Konstrukt (18.–19. Jahrhundert): Von einer Kolonialwahrnehmung zu einem nationalen Diskurs, hg. von Anne Sommerlat-Michas (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2015), 139.

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The belief of the reformation and the Enlightenment in the power and success of the printed media, as well as the relatively new understanding of the role of the pastors as the saviours of public morality resulted in a relationship between the pastor and his parish that exceeded the usual boundaries of church communication. At the centre of early Latvian literary culture stood a philanthropically predisposed Baltic German pastor, i.e., a “cultural mediator”,9 who wrote within a religious framework and who took it upon himself “to awaken and enlighten the Latvian peasants both intellectually and spiritually, lifting their spiritual and secular nature and prosperity”.10 German Popular Enlightenment ideas became a means for clearly defining this new social role of pastors. Most of these pastors believed that “the time of the all-powerful pulpit was gone”, an attitude which German theologian and writer Johann Timotheus Hermes (1738–1821) shared but who also cautioned that “to leave them [the public] to their fate would be a sin.”11 This attitude was influenced by the growing popularity of theological rationalism, an internal reform movement of the Lutheran church. Enlightenment rationalism, when applied to religion, created a foundation for theological rationalism, in which “the mind becomes the dominant principle. It creates the most orderly system into which the truths of Christian revelation have to be integrated.”12 Revising traditional presumptions, theological rationalists formulated the notion that religion could accept only what the mind could embrace, and could not contradict common sense. The pro-reform stance stimulated the search for a “new idea of God and a new formula for religion”.13 A devout life was perceived as a reasonable one—one grounded in rational considerations. The activities of the Baltic pastors-rationalists brought new tasks to the forefront, among them, a concern about parishes not just in a religious, but in a secular sense. In this way, the development of the Baltic Lutheran church paralleled the new trends in German-speaking countries: Naturally, the parsons’ own enlightenment had already found expression in the topics and style of their sermons: emphasis on morals instead of dogma and polemics, avoidance of Biblical accounts of miracles, choice of 9

Siegert, “Die ‘Volkslehrer’,” 62. Stepermanis, “Latviešu stƗvoklis,” 74. 11 As quoted in: Albert Ward, Book Production, Fiction and the German Reading Public. 1740–1800 (London: Oxford University Press, 1974), 69. 12 Michael Embach, Das Lutherbild Johann Gottfried Herders (Frankfurt: Lang, 1987), 96. 13 Alnis Svelpis, “Luterisma attieksme pret I. Kanta filozofiju LatvijƗ 18. gadsimta beigƗs un 19. gadsimta sƗkumƗ,” LPSR ZinƗtƼu AkadƝmijas VƝstis, 10 (1981): 80. 10

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According to Latvian scholar Aleksejs ApƯnis, “rationalist epistemology regarded practical, useful truths as an important means of instruction; therefore it provided the addition of secular literature to Latvian book publishing.”15 However, Baltic German pastors were often influenced by their close relations with the upper classes as well as by the fact that, in the Baltics, many of them also owned manors with serfs, making it sometimes difficult to distinguish landowner from pastor.16 Baltic German writer (and a Lutheran pastor himself) Carl Gottlieb Sonntag wrote that “the interests of the clergy were too tightly entangled with those of the noblemen for the [pastor] as citizen to be able to carry out what he as a person should”.17 In addition, according to Latvian historian Edgars Dunsdorfs, the noblemen “appointed the pastors, and thus the latter always felt obligated to the noblemen. [...] Therefore, clergy were rarely independent thinkers who, for example, in case of any conflict between the masters and the peasants would take the side of the latter.”18 The question of what it meant for a pastor to become a fiction writer was not only a question about broadening the range of parish duties, but also a matter of the 18th century debates about aesthetics: “Isn’t the man who is both a theologian and a novelist more practical, more useful, and yes, even more substantive and therefore also more venerated than the theologian—the dry theologian—who is nothing more than a theologian?”19 If, as Albert Ward emphasised in his characterisation of the trends of German eighteenth century literature, “the novelist has now become a preacher and instructor in ethics”,20 then an almost precise inversion of this thesis can be proposed in regard to Popular Enlightenment literary 14

Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment,” l. ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 99. 16 Ɩrons, Latviešu literƗriskƗ (latviešu draugu) biedrƯba, 2. As noted by Ea Jansen, “pastors still comprised the largest group within the educated class, and in the countryside, pastors and nobles enjoyed close social ties.” (Jansen, “Summary. Estonians in a Changing World,” 471.) 17 As quoted in: Ludvigs Adamoviþs, Raksti par Latvijas baznƯcas vƝsturi, (Mineapole: Latviešu evaƼƧƝliski luteriskƗ baznƯca AmerikƗ, 1978), 47. 18 Dunsdorfs, Latvijas vƝsture, 286. 19 As quoted in: Reinhart Siegert, “Theologie und Religion als Hintergrund der “Leserevolution” des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in: Literatur und Theologie im 18. Jahrhundert: Konfrontationen – Kontroversen – Konkurrenzen, hg. von HansEdwin Friedrich, Wilhelm Haefs, Christian Soboth (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 18. 20 Ward, Book Production, Fiction and the German Reading Public, 72. 15

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culture, to say that a pastor had become a novelist whose “public are eager pupils, simply devouring these disguised sermons as they might swallow sugared pills.”21 It was hoped that by reading books peasants would not only acquire new practical knowledge, but also gradually change their mentality, “a task which promised to reward both the individual idealist’s sense of mission and the enlighetened state’s struggle for efficiency and sense of responsibility.”22 The process of enlightening the Latvian peasants was primarily practical, namely, directed to reforms that were achievable in everyday life. Education was founded on the principles of the Enlightenment: the presumption that poverty was unacceptable and that everyone had the right to pursue a happy secular life. By delaying the political liberation of peasants, their liberation from their own superstitions was proposed. The fight of superstitions, or to quote Garlieb Merkel, the fight to “disperse the darkness”23 was indeed the primary goal of secular education. Similarly to the German-speaking lands, it gradually transformed itself into a more ambitious endeavour—to cultivate and to civilise Latvian peasants. In didactic stories, fables and essays, ordinary readers were “confronted with new ways of thinking”.24 These new ways can be described in terms of a rational and enlightened worldview based on ideas of civilisation and a perfect society. With equal enthusiasm, the same authors wrote both fiction and agricultural instructions. Both had one common trait—they provided guidance for an enlightened life.

The Culture of Translation Baltic German pastors perceived themselves not as creators, but rather as intermediaries, and such views led to the transformation of religious sermons and the interest in literary forms that were appealing and entertaining. Pastors freely interpreted the content and meaning of their “secular mission”, privileging themes they considered most urgent. Since Latvian literature at this time was primarily a matter of translated fiction, the Popular Enlightenment of Latvian peasants can be regarded as a process of cultural translation in which imported ideas functioned differently than in the German-speaking countries from which they originated: the import of ideas to the Baltic region did not result in an exact translation because of the region’s complicated ethnic relationships 21

Ibid. Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment,” lii. 23 Merkel, Die Letten, 55. 24 Böning, Periodische Presse, 240. 22

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and social composition. Translation signified enlightening; to write in Latvian, to enlighten and to civilise meant to translate and adapt certain cultural forms into the Latvian living space. The 18th century was “the golden era” of adaptation, when translations lacked transparency and any concern for the “invisible” translator, but left the impression “that the translation is not in fact a translation, but the ‘original’.”25 The practice of German-Latvian translation displays a tendency for eclectic translation,26 and translatedness belongs to the essential characteristics of the Popular Enlightenment literature. As JƗnis Alberts Jansons has pointed out, until “Latvians took literature into their own hands” in the mid-19th century, the “imitation of German literature was everywhere apparent”.27 Earlier, Baltic German writer Aleksandrs VƝbers (1848–1910) characterised the era itself as one of “learning and translation”: All literature is comprised of translations. And, even if an author tries to leave the path of translation in order to create something of his own, he cannot free himself from the impressions made by a more mature foreign literature. Therefore, his writings show little evidence of independence, originality and national spirit. [...] Our literature is still at the stage of learning and translation.28

Baltic German pastors were well aware of their role as mediators; they translated not only German peasant books but also the middle-class literature, adapting and transforming the originals to make them approachable to Latvian peasant readers. Translation became a creative process in which the translator was an active participant: he was the one to adjust the text to a similar, yet entirely different audience. The audience was at the centre of the translators’ attention, not the original text. While a number of close translations were published, translators at the same time often preferred to change texts, shortening them, adding to them, commenting on the translated original, recontextualizing themes, and often modifying a text completely. Altering characters and details was undeniably the most 25

Lawrence Venuti, The Translator's Invisibility: A History of Translation (New York/Abingdon: Routledge, 2003) 1. 26 Astrid Krake, “‘Translating to the Moment’ – Marketing and Anglomania. The First German Translation of Richardsons ‘Clarissa’ (1747/1748),” in: Cultural Transfer through Translation: The Circulation of Enlightened Thought in Europe by Means of Translation, ed. by Stefanie Stockhorst (Amsterdam/New York: Rodopi, 2010), 106. 27 JƗnis Alberts Jansons, “Eiropiskais mantojums latviešu literatnjrƗ,” NƗkotne, 2 (1944): 89. 28 As quoted in: JƗnis Alberts Jansons, “DispozƯcijas jautƗjums latviešu literatnjrvƝsturƝ,” IzglƯtƯbas Ministrijas MƝnešraksts, 4 (1937): 399.

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important part of the translation process because the barriers between the original text and its new audience had to be eliminated. Texts were often rendered comprehensible by simplification, by excluding the foreign and the unknown, by omitting complicated ideas, by changing everyday details, by replacing classical allusions with Biblical quotations, etc. Baltic German pastor Karl Watson compared translation strategies to the work of a gardener by noting that “after reading a nice song or story in a German book,” the author writing in Latvian “translated it into his beloved Latvian language; much like a good gardener and flower lover who finds nice flowers somewhere and transplants them in his own garden.”29 Karl Hugenberger later used a similar allegory: “I have sown many foreign seeds in our land, hoping that they will be suitable and fruitful”. He pointed out that “famous planters first sowed them in Germany”,30 but still “I have thought and sung in a language I have learned from you. Like Old Stender addressed you, may God be merciful to his soul, whom you love and understand, so I also tried to be loving and understandable”.31 While this allegoric expression continued to appear in later Latvian literary scholarship, it began to take on a sceptical tone. Vilis Plnjdons described several books written in Latvian by Baltic German authors “as equal to plants that are unsuitable for our land and climate.”32 Watson’s idea about transplanting “nice flowers” into one’s “own garden” is a metaphor that fits the principles of Popular Enlightenment fiction precisely; but Plnjdons’ cautionary words about the nature of the land and climate were no less important. Because of the asymmetry between the source and the target culture, texts projected new meanings even when translated literally. At the same time, it clearly demonstrates the productivity of inauthentic translation or domestication. Adaptation techniques could include the transformation of literary genres, for example, poems could be turned into stories; alternatively, texts intended for children could be rewritten for adults. The 18th-century Latvian literature testifies to the flexibility of adaptation, which could add materials not found in the original, omit or change parts of the original, add explanations or create a familiar context. .

29

[Karl Watson,] “No jaunahm grahmatahm,” Latweeschu Awises, 25 (1824): unpag. 30 Karl Hugenberger, Derrigs laika-kaweklis, Latweescheem par labbu sarakstihts (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1826), iii–iv. 31 Hugenberger, Ta Derriga laika-kawekƺa ohtra puse, i–ii. 32 Plnjdons, “LaicƯgƗs rakstniecƯbas sƗkums,” 102.

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The translator’s attempt to come nearer to the reader arose from a focus on the targeted readers and on making the text more accessible. In this way, the German texts of Popular Enlightenment literature were ‘Latvianised’ in the literal sense, following the principle of sensum de sensu (or sense-for-sense translation), from the characters to the depiction of time and space. The salient question in translation studies is based on the desirability (or lack) of the translator’s presence, which was consciously resolved in favour of domestication.33 The “foreign nature” of the Latvian literary culture during the Enlightenment period was conceptualised no earlier than the second part of the 19th century as a Latvian literary language developed and original literary works began to dominate.34 Translations came to be regarded as inferior.

Literary Communication Patronage defined the communication system and created a situation in Latvian literary history, in which the economically, socially and intellectually privileged elite wrote for the common people—the Latvian peasants—in their own language, in order to civilise them. In many ways, their activities were based on abstract principles (similar to those that guided religious literature during the 16th and 17th centuries) which did not take audience demand (or the lack thereof) into account. The addressee—the Latvian peasant—was in many ways a construction of the enlighteners themselves, in keeping with their philanthropic intent. In the eyes of enlighteners, literary texts were of no value if they did not influence the target audience and if their instructions were not put to use. Literature that did not educate had no intrinsic value, regardless of its other qualities. Thus, literature was not sufficient unto itself, but was a tool for reforming society, and reform efforts began with each individual, every reader and his circumstances. There was a presupposition: ..reading, writing and conversing are of use to people of all ranks; the mighty of this world find a clear mirror in these works, the statesmen find a magnetic compass showing which course to steer and where to drop anchor, the middle class and townsfolk see that a virtuous way of life is more profitable and more honourable than the way of vice, and […] even the peasant is gladdened when stories are read to him. […] Reading, 33

Cf.: Venuti, The Translator’s Invisibility, 20. Cf.: Ludvigs Adamoviþs, “Latviešu tautƯbas veidošanƗs un tautas izglƯtƯba latviešu un vƗcu apgaismojumƗ,” Latvijas VƝstures Institnjta ŽurnƗls, 2 (1938): 211–224; 3 (1938): 337–362.

34

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writing and talking about something sensible is of benefit to all classes and, in time, the middle class may thereby elevate themselves to become almost the peers of the higher ranks.35

Yet the reality of the matter was different. Preparing “folk books” became one of the most important challenges for writers whose social standing differed radically from their targeted reading public, an audience, furthermore, who possibly did not want to be addressed. To succeed, the reformers needed to familiarise themselves with the audience because “the art of dealing with the peasant is possibly the most difficult task”.36 The system of communication of the Popular Enlightenment literary culture should probably be referred to more precisely as pseudo-communication, especially during its early stages. This situation was part and parcel of the Popular Enlightenment in its broader sense, since it could not exist without patronage. In the mid-18th century, when Latvian popular fiction began to develop, the Latvian secular reading public did not yet exist, so it had to be created along with new reading matter. This situation did not cause any problems until the turn of the 19th century when authors began to focus on the nature of the audience. Popular enlighteners often pointed out the passivity of peasants with regard to reading.37 Baltic German author Johann Christoph Berens (1729–1792) pointed to the complexity of the situation in 1792 by referring to “textbooks for a population that does not know how to read and do not want to learn”.38 Gustav Bergmann lamented the fact that the “Latvian peasant does not listen to well-intentioned advice. [...] There has to be a reason that, despite the natural qualities of their mind and their abilities, prevents them from being enlightened.”39 Although voiceless in the literary process itself, the Latvian reader can be glimpsed indirectly in the texts of this era: in the rhetorical strategies of the authors or in the portrayal of peasant characters. A typical tendency 35

Preface to Johann Georg Schnabel’s Lustige Gesellschaft (1745), as quoted in: Ward, Book Production, Fiction and the German Reading Public, 172. (Translated from German by Albert Ward.) 36 Christian Garve, Ueber den Charakter der Bauern und ihr Verhältniß gegen die Gutsherrn und gegen die Regierung (Frankfurt/Leipzig: [n. p.], 1790), 6. 37 Cf.: Böning, Periodische Presse, 238; Siegert, “Die ‘Volkslehrer’,” 67.; Garrioch, “Making a Better World,” 495. 38 Johann Christoph Berens, Bonhomien. Geschrieben bei Eröffnung der neuerbauten Rigischen Stadtbibliothek (Mitau: J. F. Steffenhagen, 1792), 25. 39 As quoted in: Arveds ŠvƗbe, KƗda mƗcƯtƗja dzƯve (Stokholma: Daugava, 1958), 132.

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was to homogenise the readership by following the established pattern of the popular enlighteners in Germany, namely, by addressing Latvian readers as peasants. Such an attitude had its origins in the dominant “nonGerman” discourse of the 18th century. Secular literature stereotyped readers, ignoring hierarchical differences in Latvian society (master versus servant; city dwellers versus provincial people; manor servants versus peasants; fully or partly Germanised Latvians versus non-Germanised Latvians; free Latvians versus serfs). Thus, the object and addressee of secular literature was the Latvian peasant as serf. While in the literary representations the paternalistic relational model of Latvians and Baltic Germans as obedient children and benevolent parents respectively was depicted, Latvian-writing Baltic German authors assumed a similar role of parents and teachers themselves. The Enlightenment process needed to continue until the “pupil” came of age. Thus, a patriarchal relationship between the author and his readers was created; for a long time, there was no discussion about whether or not readers perceived themselves as pupils or were willing to participate in the communication model offered to them. On the one hand, the relationship was qualitatively new, with peasants being addressed as if they were potentially equal interlocutors by authors who referred to themselves as “friends”. On the other hand, the relationship was pedagogical and asymmetrical. The “silent Latvian majority”40 remained silent: its participation in the literary process began and ended with the role of consumer, and its only available choice was whether or not to read. Therefore, the thesis offered by Latvian historian MarƧers Stepermanis to characterise the debates about the abolition of serfdom, also applies to the literary process: ..the peasants, who constituted the largest segment of the population, although much talked and written about, stood at the margins. At that time peasants were restrained from talking about their fate, and they silently 41 watched unfolding events with admirable patience and endurance.

Problems in literary communication resulted from several obstacles. Pastors did not write in own their native language: the decision to write in Latvian was practical, since the majority of Latvian peasants did not know German (although there were exceptions, especially in towns and cities) and were actually deterred from learning it, in order to preserve social stability. The issue of language competence created one of the most challenging hurdles: not all authors writing in Latvian had fully mastered 40 41

Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 196. Stepermanis, J. G. Eizens un viƼa darbi, 4.

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the language, a problem that began as early as the Reformation, and, of course, affected the quality of communication. At the beginning of the 19th century, some of the Baltic German authors began a discussion about their poor communication with the public. Alexander Johann Stender wrote: “What is the use of the best books if there is no desire to read them and to reflect upon them! It is a great disaster—and, indeed, the only reason why the Latvian people are discredited and enslaved.”42 Other authors were more detailed in their observation that Latvians read only hymns and calendars and demonstrate no interest in secular fiction.43 The research by the Latvian scholar Aleksejs ApƯnis points to the high rate of literacy among the Latvian peasants and shows that the number of avid readers among them had begun to grow by the second part of the 18th century.44 The rapid Leserevolution, however, did not occur before the 1840s. The transition from intensive to extensive reading furthermore was a phenomenon of the 18th-century bourgeois class, not the peasants. The Popular Enlightenment created significant preconditions for the emergence of a peasant reading public, even though its growth turned out to be slower than the authors anticipated.45

Principles of Popular Fiction The aesthetic program was first articulated by Gotthard Friedrich Stender in 1766. By juxtaposing his texts to folklore, Stender used the term ‘parable’ to describe the purpose of the fables in the book: “These are just parables to help you keep this wise advice and entertainment in your head.” He used three metaphors to illustrate literature’s didactic potential. First, he compared the tale to a painting (“an early sketch”); if the painting contains beautiful colours but no one understands what is being painted, then such a painting is like a tale without an edifying message. Second, he compared the tale to a horse: just as one cannot ride a horse that is blind, one cannot benefit from a tale without a lesson (“as a beautiful but blind 42

Alexander Johann Stender, Dseesmas, stahstu-dseesmas, pasakkas (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1805), 124–125. 43 Watson, “Plan über die Art und Weise,” 45. See further: Schaudinn, Deutsche Bildungsarbeit, 105. 44 ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 123–136. Cf. also: Heinz Ischreyt, “Buchhandel und Buchhändler im nordosteuropäischen Kommunikationssystem,” in: Buch und Buchhandel in Europa im achtzehnten Jahrhundert, hg. von Giles Barber und Bernhard Fabian (Hamburg: Hauswedell, 1981), 249–269. 45 ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 123–136.

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horse”). Third, he compared a living person to a wooden sculpture: only the first is alive and “stories without good advice are like sculptures without a soul created by a skilled carpenter”. Stender’s use of a laconic phrase in the conclusion actually made the teaching more important than the tale: “Let the tale be a tale, honour it instead for its teachings as a path to worthwhile knowledge.”46 Stender’s concept of the useful literature was developed further by other authors (some of them even compared their secular stories to the parables in the New Testament47) and remained unchallenged until the early 19th century. In the 1770s, for instance, publisher Johann Friedrich Steffenhagen described the proper way of reading fiction: In each story, the lesson is printed in bold letters. And where there are no lessons, which is rarely the case, every quick-witted and prudent reader will invent it for himself. Young, upright people in particular will buy this book for themselves and will read it with good humour.48

The privileging of moral teachings “wrapped in nice tales”49 can be considered a central characteristic of Latvian secular fiction. Reading material had a strategic purpose: the stories, songs, and tales written by Popular Enlightenment authors were not only for entertainment, but additionally and indeed, primarily, for moral instruction. Writing meant teaching, and consequently reading became a process of learning. Since blatant instruction could be ineffective, it was best to represent it convincingly: When I used only words to say that laziness was the school of all wickedness, it did not do as much good as when I told a story about the lazy person who succumbed to evil thinking and doing, and thus brought misfortune upon himself.50

Therefore, a story became a “sugared pill”.51 This principle was termed “popular didactics” by Rudolf Zacharias Becker, who referred to “the Enlightenment tradition of using examples”, an approach upon which 46 Here and before: Gotthard Friedrich Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1789), unpag. 47 Alexander Johann Stender, Lustesspehle no semneeka, kas par muischneeku tappe pahrwehrsts un weena pasakka no drauga Lizzepura (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1790), 84. 48 Johann Friedrich Steffenhagen, “SiƼƼa,” in: Jauna un wezza Latweeschu LaikuGrahmata us to 1774. Gaddu (Jelgawâ: Steffenhagen, [1773]), [24–25] 49 Stender, Lustesspehle no semneeka, 84. 50 Ibid., 84–85. 51 Ward, Book Production, Fiction and the German Reading Public, 72.

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Johann Christoph Gottsched also laid emphasis.52 Similar indications were often found in the poetic designs of Popular Enlightenment and youth literature, for example: “Moral has to be more appropriate than in words; otherwise, as thrilling as it may be, it is boring and creates hypocrites.”53 German enlightener Felix Waser (1722–1799) gave a characteristic example, in 1783, pointing out that he wishes to be useful to all readers, especially to the so called “common readers”; he emphasised that admonitions should be expressed not “only in dry presumptions on duties”, but in such a way that “is very pleasant”.54 Such examples described by Waser corresponded to the popular maxim offered by Johann Karl August Musseus (1735–1787): “An example works more / Than lessons and teaching. / Morals always make / the bad head even worse.”55 The aesthetics of example were rooted also in the considerations of German philanthropist pedagogues: If I had read a story in a book meant for children and understandable, I kept it in mind, or sometimes invented one myself, [...] I saw clearly that such educating through stories is good for children, and that my son […] became wiser and better through it.56

Instead of the reader attending to an instruction, he attended to a story which in turn stimulated creative activity, as conclusions had to be drawn of one’s own accord. These principles originated in the 18th century aesthetic ideas, especially Johann Christoph Gottsched’s works which significantly influenced Gotthard Friedrich Stender. In the history of German poetic thought, the genesis of didactic literature was related to attempts to legitimise literature, to justify its existence in the eyes of members of the new Enlightenment century. To a great extent, the Baroque era had created the conception of fiction as falsehood, as harmful to the salvation of the soul (in traditional Lutheranism) or as a waste of time (in the eyes of the utilitarian bourgeois 52

Ruppert, “Volksaufklärung,” 346. Hubert Göbels, Das “Leipziger Wochenblatt für Kinder” (1772–1774): eine Studie über die älteste deutschsprachige Kinderzeitschrift (Ratingen: Henn, 1973), 86–87. 54 Holger Böning, “‘Und alle Menschen – Jud’ und Türk, Und Christ – sind unsre Brüder’. Erziehung zu Toleranz und Menschenliebe in Volksaufklärung und Publizistik,” in: Zwischen Selbstbehauptung und Verfolgung. Zwischen Selbstbehauptung und Verfolgung: deutsch-jüdische Zeitungen und Zeitschriften von der Aufklärung, hg. von Michael Nagel (Hildesheim: Olms, 2002), 14–15. 55 Ibid., 16. 56 Maczewski, “Kà Prahtneeku Jannis sawu dehlu Kristapu irr audsinajis,” 3 (1798): 49. 53

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readers). Gottsched’s attempt to present counterarguments simultaneously became an attempt to create a new basis for understanding literature as a form that does not contradict religious tenets and can be useful.57 The poetics of Gottsched corresponded to the value system espoused by the Enlightenment, by religion, and by the emerging bourgeois class: he rejected subjectivity, and everything that obstructed rational knowledge or was not accessible through reason. By objectifying the understanding of literature, he offered a conceptualisation of literature as something useful and usable. The only way literature could become functional was as a tool of moral education. Imitation of nature played an important role in Gottsched’s poetics: just as nature was structured according to the laws of reason, so its literary replica should be accordingly rational. Gottsched’s thinking significantly influenced the range of aesthetic expression in Latvian secular literature. In this respect, the usefulness of literature became a strong argument against the hermeneutics and elitism of the Baroque. In this new understanding, fiction no longer targeted a closed circle of educated readers but, at least theoretically, could embrace all readers who were open to its teachings, regardless of their educational level. The main point of reference became the qualities that lay outside of literature, such as moral education. This approach made it possible to speak back to critics who reproached literary practice as useless- perhaps even harmful. Thus, by offering a utilitarian concept of literature, as potentially enlightening, Gottsched affirmed both the existence of such literature and its usefulness.58 In the 1750s, Gottsched’s ideas gradually began to lose their influence on the German cultural space, even though the literary practice he stimulated continued to evolve until the second part of the century, when the Sturm und Drang movement and early romanticism struck a crucial blow. Meanwhile, for the development of Latvian fiction, Gottsched’s literary concepts remained authoritative and virtually unchallenged until the middle of the 19th century.

57

Michael Hofmann, Aufklärung: Tendenzen – Autoren – Texte (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1999), 66–76. 58 Cf. here and before: Klaus L. Berghahn, “German Literary Theory from Gottsched to Goethe,” in: The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism. Volume 4: The Eighteenth Century, ed. by H. B. Nisbet and Claude Rawson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 530–531; Hofmann, Aufklärung, 75–76; PeterAndré Alt, Aufklärung (Stuttgart/Weimar: Metzler, 2007), 68–71; see also: C. W. Schoneveld, “Prose Fiction: Germany and the Netherlands,” in: The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, 264–281.

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As a result, three characteristic trends were established in Latvian fiction: claims of authenticity; claims to uncover the causal relationship of the world; and the essential persistence of entertaining and trivial elements. Firstly, authenticity ensured credibility and the plausibility of the story. The reader had to believe that what he read represented a possible reality; only then could the account be trusted. It was a style that could be defined as a “marriage of realism to didacticism”.59 While invoking everyday reality was characteristic of this literature, this “realism” was specific to 18th century meanings. Thus, 18th century short prose was situated between two poles: first, it consisted of narrative essays with moral endings, and second, it was written as if recounting true events. It was based on the presupposition that the readers would imitate what they had read only if they believed that the depicted events had really taken place and that the proffered principles worked in real life.60 The fusion of authenticity and moral lesson was typical: The story, dear readers, which I am about to tell you now has happened here in Courland, not far from here, during the last midsummer time, and I have put it to be printed in this your yearbook not only for constant remembering of an honest man from your people, but to encourage others. [...] But I have not told it to you just for enjoyment and pleasure; but most of all in order that you were encouraged through it to become such [as the protagonist] and to act the same way.61

Secondly, in order to demonstrate “the optimised ideal of the society”,62 popular fiction tried to reveal interconnections between events in order to acquire its didactic potential. The model of the world in edification literature (Erbauungsliteratur) was thus preserved in the secular context, and provided an opportunity with which to emphasise the morally didactic. For example, unacceptable behaviour was not depicted as punishment from God (as, for instance, in medieval examples) but rather as a consequence of the individual’s own poor behaviour.63 The didactic motif justified the characteristic structure of the Enlightenment, namely, rational intelligence based on the principle of cause and effect: the 59

Charles E. May, The Short Story: The Reality of Artifice (New York/London: Routledge, 2002), 4. 60 Heidrun Alzheimer-Haller, Handbuch zur narrativen Volksaufklärung. Moralische Geschichten 1780–1848 (Berlin/New York: De Gruyter, 2004), 127. 61 Jahnis Silwester Müller, “Tas gohdigs Wiƺƺums,” Latwiska Gadda-Grahmata, 4 (1797): 97, 102. 62 Alzheimer-Haller, Handbuch zur narrativen Volksaufklärung, 359. 63 Ibid., 122.

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whole world was portrayed in terms of causal relationships,64 and the world of moral fiction was organised accordingly. Thirdly, moral prose used different means of arousing readers’ interest and motivating them to read. The entertaining dimension was important: the “popular book” was successful only if someone bought it and read it, therefore, it would be rash to consider references to “weird and odd things recounted in [moral fiction]”65 as accidental; listening to the stories, it was important to keep the moral in mind. “For readers unaccustomed to art, viewing life through the prism of aesthetic ideals was unfamiliar, and they chiefly sought hedonistic moments in literature,” Latvian scholar Lilija Limane has noted.66 The attempt to approximate the real or imagined intellectual level of the readership was expressed in the trivial dimension of fiction that can be defined as “entertaining didactics”.67 Moral prose and poetry only bordered on being trivial, and rarely crossed over entirely. Moral fiction reflected the struggle of the narrator himself with prodesse et delectare, and these components were not always in balance; sometimes witty twists and turns of the plot compensated for the didactics, or sometimes the moral was added rather mechanically.68 The same can be said about the popularity of exotic narratives, depicting foreign places and people. Often the choice in favour of the ‘exotic world’ was not based on expanding knowledge, even though individual works included wide-ranging geographical information, but on the attempt to attract the reader’s attention with the foreign and the unknown. Thus secular reading became an escape from reality through its offer of new experiences that allowed the reader to forget the circumstances of everyday life.69 Reinhart Siegert notes that in German-speaking countries “exemplary stories, fictitious and real biographies, works written in 64

Michael Maurer, “Alltagsleben,” in: Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte: 18. Jahrhundert vom späten 17. Jahrhundert bis zur Neuordnung Deutschlands um 1800, hg. von Notker Hammerstein und Ulrich Herrmann (München: Beck, 2005), 56. 65 Stender, Lustesspehle no semneeka, 84. 66 Lilija Limane, “RobinsoniƗde un stƗsts par Genovevu latviešu grƗmatniecƯbƗ,” in: GrƗmatas un grƗmatnieki, red. Eduards ArƗjs (RƯga: ZinƗtne, 1985), 138. 67 Holger Böning, “Volkserzählungen und Dorfgeschichten,” in: Hansers Sozialgeschichte der deutschen Literatur vom 18. Jh. bis zur Gegenwart. Band 5: Zwischen Restauration und Revolution 1815–1848 (München: Hanser, 1998), 281. 68 It was characteristic for stories of murders or robberies, as well as gothic stories, featuring, for instance, abandoded castles with ghosts etc. Rational explanation was always provided. Cf: Pauls Daija, “Johans FrƯdrihs Rozenbergers (1731–1776) latviešu literatnjrƗ,” 117–129 69 Böning, Periodische Presse, 239.

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epistolary, dialogue or catechism form, songs, moral tales, travel writings, all are intended to encourage reading and be easily understood, where pure non-fiction, instructions, and simple exhortation to change behaviour would not have sufficed.”70 These genres and aims were characteristic also for the Latvian secular literature. Also in Latvian literary context, the term proposed by Siegert, ‘persuasive literature’ sums up all the typical features of Popular Enlightenment fiction: Persuasive literature does not attempt to change behaviour (which would also be possible through commandments), but to change basic attitudes: individual approaches, or often whole mentalities; the motivation of the addressees always being part of it. It is not the voice of authority, nor is it merely informative literature.71

Influenced by the style of sermons and utilitarian conceptions of literature of the era, moral fiction belonged to didactic realism both as prose and as poetry. Just as “poetry served the aims of the Enlightenment, so the techniques of prose fiction took on distinctive forms: its didactic foundation was combined with specific characters and actions meant to prove the truth of its ideas”.72 Such logic was possible if the story was told to educate, rather than to entertain in the first place. Like a child, the reader (and peasant readers were perceived as children, at least in terms of their mental capacity73) had to be told a story framed as reward or punishment: those components were never absent and had a definite narrative aim—to stimulate imitation, or to serve as a warning. The fiction, understood as a tool of education, did not attempt to reach high artistic level; at the same time, it introduced various images of Latvian peasant. Analysis of these images, explored in following chapters, uncovers the ways in which Popular Enlightenment authors envisaged the changes in their public.

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Siegert, “The Popular Enlightenment,” lii. Siegert, “Enlightenment in the 19th century,” lxxxii. On aesthetics of moral prose fiction, see in more detail: Alzheimer-Haller, Handbuch, 112–132. 72 Jansons, “Eiropiskais mantojums,” 89. 73 Heinz-Otto Lichtenberg, Unterhaltsame Bauernaufklärung: Ein Kapitel Volksbildungsgeschichte (Tübingen: Tübinger Vereinigung für Volkskunde, 1970), 37; cf. also: “[Latvian] peasant is a small, uneducated, unruly child.” (Gustav von Bergmann, Nachricht an das lesende Publikum (Ruien: [n. p.], 1792): [2], Department of Rare Books and Manuscripts of the Academic Library of the University of Latvia, No. D1/11, 146.) 71

CHAPTER FOUR IDEALISATION OF THE PEASANT

The central image of Latvian 18th-century literature was an idealised peasant. This literary image was closely related to bourgeois virtues. The significant point of reference for the construction of this model peasant was the concept of civilisation. “The peasant lacks nothing more than culture,”1 wrote Heinrich Johann von Jannau during a time when the “possibility of improving our rural people’s culture and virtues”2 was much discussed in the Baltics. Similarly to wider processes in Europe, the idea that “all that is not civilization, all that resists or threatens civilization, is monstrous, absolute evil” gave rise to a new viewpoint: “But a new task appeared on the scene: to educate, to emancipate, to civilize. The sacred value of civilization supplanted that of religion.”3 The civilising path entailed a transition from the ‘old’ to the ‘new’, but peasant attitudes towards traditional ways, referred to as peasant mentality,4 stood in the way. Civilisation meant new values and new ways of thinking for Latvian peasants. Latvian pagan traditions and folk customs were romanticised in the works of radical Baltic enlighteners, while the authors of Popular Enlightenment either ridiculed or demonised them, and developed in their works a construction of the future Latvian peasant that embodied enlightening aims of the Popular Enlightenment. The features of the image of the model peasant will be closer analysed in this chapter.

1

Heinrich Johann Jannau, Geschichte der Sklaverey, und Charakter der Bauern in Lief- und Ehstland (Riga: Hartknoch, 1786), 119. 2 [Anonymous,] “Ueber die Leibeigenschaft in Kurland,” 19. 3 Jean Starobinski, “The Word ‘Civilization’,” in: The Enlightenment: Critical Concepts in Historical Studies. Volume III: Civilization, ed. by Ryan Patrick Hanley and Darrin McMahon (London/New York: Routledge, 2010), 19. 4 Cf.: Siegert, “Enlightenment in the 19th century,” lxxx.

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The Model Peasant The construct of the enlightened peasant gradually became a central theme in Latvian secular literature. This figure was already portrayed in Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s first works along with his own reflections on future changes in peasant mentality: If only Latvians would wake up from their dreams, use their minds and reject all nonsense and mischief. [...] If only Latvians would hold their heads up high and stand tall, then they would no longer be such an object of ridicule among the educated people.5

In this subjunctive ‘if only’, it is apparent that the protagonist in the Latvian fiction of this era was a construction which depicted the future. In this context, Latvian literary scholar Ernests Blese notes the quasi-mimetic features of the character: More than likely there were such intelligent Latvians among the rural people of G. F. Stender’s era, individuals who rose above everyday cares and who yearned for a higher spiritual education. Of course, in the beginning, everybody mocked them. But even at that time, the more thoughtful and educated people understood such ambition and supported it.6

In Latvian literature, the genesis of the model peasant is found in Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s 1766 fable Gailis (Rooster) and story Gans (The Shepherd). In the fable, domestic birds living by the “old order” are depicted—they are thinking only about food, and not the mind. The rooster alone is reading books and learning new things; the other birds mock him. When guests arrive at the manor, all the birds flee in fear. Only the rooster is invited into the house and seated at the master’s table: “Though the others saw that learning might be of use, they stuck to their old ways and therefore were confined to their old shitty fate.”7 Someone with a “rooster’s mind”, as Stender explains, is an individual who has accumulated pertinent knowledge, and is thereby adept at ridiculing and ostracising others. He is rewarded for such behaviour. The fable’s unexpected turn, with the arrival of the guests at the manor house and the triumph of the mocked rooster, suggests that other domestic birds have only themselves to blame for their humiliation, for the explicitly generalised lesson, and the desire expressed through the utopian 5

Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti, 117, 380. Ernests Blese, Latviešu literatnjras vƝsture: VecƗkais un vidƝjais posms no XVI gadsimta vidus lƯdz XIX gadsimta vidum (Hanava: Gaismas pils, 1947), 195. 7 Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti, 109. 6

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nature of the situation: “Latvians who do not care to learn from books resemble these mansion birds. Oh, if only there were many more with the mind of the rooster!”8 In the second part of his book (which contained the stories) Stender converted the events of the fable into a depiction of the everyday conditions of the Latvian peasant. The fable is metaphorical while the story is told in the form of a report; it foregrounds the supposed authenticity of events. The shepherd Jahnis is bored by Latvian folksongs, which he considers naive and crude, and he therefore begins to compose his own songs in the style of Stender himself. Other shepherds ridicule him, but Jahnis holds his ground. The shepherds begin to argue, and Jahnis calls them barbaric and ignorant. Their dispute is disrupted when a pastor drives by and everybody except Jahnis runs off to hide.9 The story focuses on superstition and folksongs, thus the negative contrast between two types of text—oral folksongs and written popular songs—becomes the central axis. The opposition lies in the contrast between the outsider Jahnis and the homogenously depicted “other” peasants. The potential for the shepherd Jahnis to be a convincing literary character derives from the fact that he embodies the fable’s moral lesson. He behaves like an early Christian addressing a pagan society, though his arguments are secular: he does not contrast folksongs and superstition to church teachings, but to the pastorals he has composed in the fashion of the books he has read. For the other peasants, he is an outsider, a renegade who has rejected his familiar world of folksongs and pagan beliefs. He speaks in the voice of the pastor, condemns folksongs, chastises the other shepherds for their superstitions, even attacks them. Thus the spirit of the pastor speaks through the peasant who becomes enlightened and who repudiates his past; the shepherd Jahnis speaks in a voice which is not an original one, but is borrowed from that of the enlightener. He is foreign to other shepherds, and this situation makes him feel superior. The most prominent trait of the model peasant was his or her loyalty to the landowner.10 Gotthard Friedrich Stender first introduced the motif of a patriarchal relationship between Latvian peasants and German landowners 8

Ibid., 110. Ibid., 188–192. 10 Cf.: “The specific nature of the peasant lifestyle was difficult to understand for the educated outside observer, who saw humankind made up of civilized Europeans and savage children of nature. […] Although estate owners were generally viewed with suspicion, “good masters” were thought of highly. Landlords who were humanely disposed both saw themselves, and behaved, less as lords as masters, than as patriarchal fathers of their peasants.” (Jansen, “Summary. Estonians in a Changing World,” 475.) 9

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in Latvian secular literature by emphasizing that the landowner shall provide for his peasants as would a father. In his model, the landowner occupied the place of the father. Typically, he was described as “a wise and good master who loved his folks as a father, providing not only for their health and their bodily needs but also for their Enlightenment and their hearts’ purity”11 by treating them “with tender care” and by doing them no harm but instead striving to “guide and pity them as a father”12 and to approach them “with a father’s mind”,13 etc. Johann Friedrich Rosenberger continued Stender’s model in his book where he portrayed the quasi-authentic Latvian peasant Kurmis, who was of Swedish descent, depicting not only the peasant himself but also the “ideal home”.14 In Rosenberger’s story, the narrator (the pastor) gets lost on the road to Libau/LiepƗja, a town in Courland, and is looking for a night’s lodging, when he meets the protagonist, a grey-haired old man who greets him and kindly invites him to stay at his house. Surprised by the old man’s well-cultivated farm and gracious behaviour, which apparently distinguishes him from other Latvian peasants, the narrator asks Kurmis to reveal the secret of his success: I could not hide my wonder and glee about such nimble and intelligent language coming from a peasant, and I said that the other things I also noticed, like how the children were being raised, how they were allocating their time, demonstrated to me that they differed from others of their class and I wanted to know how they learned to lead such a splendid life.15

In the dialogue between the pastor and the peasant, the narrator “richly describes the devout, harmonious and diligent life of a wealthy peasant”.16 Analogous to the German Popular Enlightenment’s notion of “a utopian village”,17 the depiction here could be considered a “utopian farmstead”. Following the model introduced by Stender, the father of Kurmis “became a pupil and mastered reading and writing”, and “after he proved himself to be attentive and reliable in all things, the master made him his house 11

Müller, “Tas gohdigs Wiƺƺums,” 99. Ibid., 61. 13 Christian Launitz, No Brihwestibas, iii. 14 ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 98. 15 [Johann Friedrich Rosenberger,] Salassischana, pehz gohdigas, jaukas un augligas Laika kaweschanas pee teem gaDŽDŽeem Seemas WakkaDŽDŽeem (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1773), 27. 16 Pavasaru JƗnis, Latviešu rakstniecƯbas vƝsture (Jelgava: DraviƼ-Dravnieks, 1893), 38. 17 Cf.: Olga Hippel, Die pädagogische Dorf–Utopie der Aufklärung (Berlin/Leipzig: Julius Beltz, 1939). 12

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servant”.18 When Kurmis marries, his master leases him a plot of land for six years, free of charge. They diligently cultivate the land and in six years they manage to implement the latest agricultural innovations and to turn an “old wasteland” into a flourishing farm with “three good fields, all surrounded by drainage ditches, and three large gardens, one for vegetables, another for fruit trees, and the last one for hops and bees”.19 The sources of material wellbeing are depicted as stemming from a bourgeois value system and a virtuous way of life: the causal relationship between virtue and wealth defines the model peasant and describes the mechanisms for its literary construction. Wealth is also related to a changing work ethic. Kurmis derives his surname (meaning “a mole” in Latvian) from his work ethic. His farm is unusually modern, as indicated by the orchards and hops whose value was touted in the agricultural manuals of the time. Similarly to Jahnis in Stender’s story, Kurmis is confronted with the other peasants’ lack of understanding. His hard work and success earn him only envy and antagonism. Some look upon him as sorcerer; some attribute his wealth to the spell of a witch, according to a characteristic Latvian folk superstition. The ascetic lifestyle Kurmis leads earns him the contempt of his neighbours: he spends his days in quiet seclusion and never goes to the local tavern, thus prompting his master to hold him up as an example to others. Ostracism (intensified for Kurmis by his non-ethnic Latvian origins) does not prevent the ideal peasant type from spreading into the surrounding community and becoming a ready source for advice. At the same time, it is associated with a more advanced level of civilisation, which results not only from the modernisation of farming, but also from the projection of bourgeois values onto the ideal peasant type.20 The lifestyle attributed to Kurmis is based on a model of the bourgeois mentality; Kurmis’ contemplative walks with his family, austerity and self-discipline, and emotional control are significant features. Besides these features, the model peasant is a reading peasant. Kurmis is depicted as taking an even bigger step, one that was risky for the era: he is also a writing peasant. He spends most of his time reading books, mainly those by Stender; his children do the same and are rewarded with the opportunity to learn how to write: “Thus they each strive to outdo the

18

[Rosenberger,] Salassischana, 29. Ibid, 30. 20 Cf.: Michael Maurer, Die Biographie des Bürgers: Lebensformen und Denkweisen in der formativen Phase des deutschen Bürgertums (1680–1815) (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996), 232–235. 19

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other and are always passionate about reading.”21 Kurmis not only reads, but also writes, and the narrator is introduced to the four-volume chronicle that recounts 40 years of family life, describing “its blessings and misfortunes, its joy and sorrows, that he himself experienced or observed happening to others; and the diverse fates and the transformations in our Fatherland, as well as all about the farm, its belongings, its income and expenses.”22 Writing associated with self-reflection was not far removed from the motif of going on long walks, which, along with learning and reflection, became one of the most important practices of the bourgeois mentality during the 18th century.23 Kurmis is also characterised as pious, a depiction that contrasts with the practice of popular folk tradition. Kurmis’ family is described as one that prays, attends church, but disassociates completely from pagan rites, and prohibits such practices by members of their household.24 The representation of the model peasant suggests a correlation between a modern world view and economic well-being. The modern world view was associated with the internalisation of bourgeois values and the voice of the enlightened peasant, as seen in the story The Shepherd, which echoed the voice of the popular enlightener amongst others similar to him. Therefore one can agree with the analysis of Roberts KlaustiƼš, who suggests that model peasant bears no resemblance to a “Latvian” but is a “total transformation of a Latvian into an imaginary German with all the concomitant foreign traits”.25 For KlaustiƼš, this was a concept that felt “unnatural and wrong”.26 The model peasant introduced by Stender and others, became an embodiment of the Popular Enlightenment’s goals. As Aleksejs ApƯnis puts it: ..an ideal peasant is prosperous, active, obedient to his master, god-fearing, someone who actively transforms his circumstances to the extent permitted, lives a meaningful, happy life, rationally upholds relationships with others, responsibly manages his economic activities.27 21

[Rosenberger,] Salassischana, 38. Ibid, 46–48. 23 Gudrun M. König, Eine Kulturgeschichte des Spazierganges: Spuren einer bürgerlichen Praktik 1780–1850 (Wien/Köln: Böhlau, 1996). 24 [Rosenberger,] Salassischana, 40–42 25 Roberts KlaustiƼš, “Latviešu pastorƗlƗ lirika,” MƗjas Viesa MƝnešraksts, 3 (1900): 174. 26 Ibid., 1 (1900): 74. 27 ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 99. 22

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The main significance of the image of an idealised peasant can be described in terms of recognizing intellectual potential of peasants, as emphasised by John Gagliardo in the context of the changing image of the peasant in German-speaking countries: Restricted though it was to the social limitations of absolutist and hierarchical regimes, it supported and itself advanced arguments which pointed towards an acceptance of the peasant as a full fledged member of society, whose conscious and intelligent co operation was necessary for the achievement of the goals of collective life. Furthermore, the insistence upon the educability of the peasant, which was an essential assumption of all educational writings, produced a picture of the peasant as a man equal to all other men with respect to innate intellectual capacity; and the repetition of this insight throughout the educational literature of this period undoubtedly contributed to erase from some minds an image of the peasant as a creature nearly as close to the animals as he was to man.28

At the same time, it is worth noting the repudiation of earlier traditions as part of the civilising process: “The reception of the Enlightenment entailed [...] not only the adoption of certain rational life models and management principles, but also foresaw breaking ties with one’s own culture.”29 Therefore, the model peasant was also characterised by his receptiveness to new knowledge, to learning new ways, in other words, to being actively engaged. Openness to the new and foreign was a key characteristic in the representation of model peasant. In a typical dialogue of the era, some peasant says that his late father, who died thirty years ago, has worked well enough and therefore no innovations are necessary in lording. Another peasant replies: “Is grain the only thing to inherit from our fields? Look at potatoes that are sown there and grow, they do provide tasty food. [...] Nevertheless, your father did not recognise them.”30 This thought relates to the wider explanation: “All grain sown in our fatherland, have not always grown here, but brought to us from foreign lands. Your ancestors, dear Latvians, started to sow rye, wheat, barley, oat, buckwheat and flax that has been brought here from foreign lands and now they grow here as well as elsewhere in the world.”31 Such statements were intended

28

Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot, 290. Klaus Jarchow, Bauern und Bürger: die traditionale Inszenierung einer bäuerlichen Moderne im literarischen Werk Jeremias Gotthelfs (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1989), 36. 30 Johann Justin Loppenowe, Sarunnaschanas. starp diweem Latwiskeem Semneekem, Behrse un KalniƼ (Riga: Müller, 1800), 40. 31 Ibid., 41. 29

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to fight the peasant traditionalism, one of the most widespread obstacles for the Popular Enlightenment.32 The clash between two worlds set up the central axis of the Popular Enlightenment program and was often manifested in the dialogues of enlightened and unenlightened peasants. The pedagogical intent merged with the narrative strategy, a fusion illustrated in Latvian literature by the model peasant taking on the role of teacher—a role that in fact belonged to the enlightener—to the Baltic German pastor. Images of the model peasant paralleled the elite writings about peasants in German-speaking countries where “the peasant became the symbol of simplicity, hard work, honesty, sincerity, and a host of other virtues”.33 In the Popular Enlightenment literature this utopian view on peasantry was offered to peasants themselves.

The Sentimental Peasants While the construction of the model peasant was invented primarily to fight superstition and traditionalism, the emergence of sensibility was connected with assumptions about the ‘crudeness’ of Latvian peasants.34 Anthropological observations tended to connect the uncivilised nature of 18th century peasants in Livonia and Courland with the moral degradation expressed in relations between the sexes, which often shocked outsiders.35 The ‘crudeness’ and uncultured behaviour of Latvian peasants was documented not only in observations pointing to their ignorance and lack of education, or their superstitions, but also to the contrasting models for interpersonal relations and the stark contrast of their primordial nature to

32

Cf.: Annegret Völpel, Der Literarisierungsprozeß, 24. Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot, 288. Gagliardo notes: “However various the reasons, the brutish avariciousness and general lack of civilized qualities with which the peasant had been taxed in earlier years began rapidly to disappear from the literature of the 1770s and 1780s, to be replaced by the most praiseworthy moral features.” (Ibid.) 34 Cf.: “Every crude [rohe] nation acts childish.” (Friebe, “Erster Anfang zur Cultur,” 525.) 35 “In relation to what, by German Christian standards, was considered rather lax sexual morality, sleeping and living together and bearing children out of wedlock was apparently not a cause for social stigma among the Latvians and Estonians. Imposing and policing moral standards to prevent inappropriate liaisons could not be achieved among the Latvian and Estonian nations who had no notion of the virtues of Jungfrauschaft.” (Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 108.) 33

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the pastoral aesthetics of these models.36 Such a perspective explains Stender’s decision to add a preface to the 1783 publication of Latvian poetry: I am trying to instil tender feelings into the hearts of peasants. And also the hope that they would treat their parents lovingly, trust their masters and, and ultimately also trust in God and religion. Nature itself brought forth the first shoot of innocent love toward the other sex. It is this that I am trying to cultivate, being far from the forbidden inclinations. Without this original path to tenderness, the callous heart of the peasant remains insensitive. And yet, trying to make him tender-hearted would entail a leap into nature.37

Stender’s preface reveals his awareness of its contrast to present circumstances: “tender feelings” and “innocent love toward the opposite sex” were sensitivities Stender apparently was not able to identify in his own observations about Latvian peasants. Stender’s reference to attaining his goal as “a leap into nature” (an allusion to the sentence Natura non facit saltus) confirms that the aim of his poetry project was not to entertain, but to transform the emotional world of the reader, and he was aware of the fact that reaching such an objective would be equivalent to an impossibility in natural sciences. The path that Stender outlined in his preface was no longer about the kind of Enlightenment offered in his prose fiction: it no longer foregrounded moral education but one that focused on refining emotions. Such a goal required pre-existing notions about the lack of tender-heartedness in the audience to be enlightened, about their being ‘uncultured’. Baltic German authors repeatedly returned to this question, for example, Friedrich Wilhelm Kade (1762–1843), who wrote that the peasant would have to reach a stage of feeling ashamed of his vulgar manners; that would be a prerogative for becoming an enlightened individual.38 Stender’s adaptations, which drew primarily from German Anacreontic poetry, testify to a well-considered articulation of his secular worldview. Furthermore, by offering his songs, he announced his intent to compete 36

Further on this issue, see: Ulrike Plath, “Libertine Literatur und die “Erotik der Aufklärung” im Baltikum,” Forschungen zur Baltischen Geschichte, 7 (2012): 76– 105. 37 Stenders, Dzeja, 32. 38 Friedrich Wilhelm Kade, Die lettische Industrieschule, in Absicht ihrer Möglichkeit, Nüzlichkeit und wesentlichen innern Einrichtung (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1805), 33; see also: Friedrich Wilhelm Kade, Freymüthige Gedanken über den Nutzen, die Grenzen und Einrichtung des Unterrichts für Letten (Königsberg: Kanter, 1794).

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with Latvian folksongs that he had heard during the many wedding rituals he had observed, and which he most closely associated with mockery and trespassing sexual taboos. Sentimentalism, furthermore, belongs to categories with which the bourgeois class identified during the formative stage of its development. In the process of balancing between the ‘ailment of the era’ and certain codes of social behaviour, sentimentalism became an important component of bourgeois class self-identification, and thus Latvian literature offered sentimentalised forms of bourgeois relations to the peasants to be read about and imitated in real life. Using Latvian names and the details of Latvian everyday life, the translated poetry portrayed Latvian peasants speaking romantically to each other just like burghers, thus producing a hybridised model of the peasant. The rapid popularity of Stender’s songs proved that precisely such a hybrid construction was met with approval among Latvian readers. It was not just about writers “wanting to bestow the joys of elite culture on the people”.39 Clearly Stender drew upon the concept of ‘tenderness’ (Zärtlichkeit) dominant in German literature and closely associated with sentimentalism. Thus, sentimental poetry, with its rococo and Anacreontic motifs, became an instrument with which to ‘sentimentalise’ readers, to free peasants from their ‘crudeness’ and to encourage new interpersonal relations. In the poetry addressed to Latvians, the aesthetics of sentimentalism were subjected to rational calculation: emotional experience and “tender feelings” were another key to forming an enlightened personality. In Wolfgang Ruppert’s words, peasants were thus brought nearer to the “the bourgeois cultural strata”.40 In the history of Latvian literature, thanks both to the initiative of Stender and the fact that this initiative quickly attracted followers, Anacreontic poetry took on a new meaning and a new readership. It implicitly embodied instructional potential: namely, it set the example of how to love in a ‘cultured’ way, switching the focus from primitive sexual lust to sensual, emotional appeal. It shifted from a focus from sexual license to an individualised sensual experience and personal emotions. Sentimental poetry, including its Anacreontic themes, became a tool by which bourgeois values were popularised among peasants. This process manifested itself in the construction of femininity in both moral prose fiction and sentimental poetry. 39

Ludis BƝrziƼš, “Latviešu rakstniecƯba svešu tautu aizbildniecƯbƗ,” in: Latvieši: Rakstu krƗjums, red. Francis Balodis un PƝteris Šmits (RƯga: Valters un Rapa, 1936), 311. 40 Ruppert, “Volksaufklärung,” 361.

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The bourgeois gender roles were largely unknown to Latvian peasant society during the 18th century. Stressing that “pagan elements were interspersed with Catholicism and Lutheranism in Latvian religious life during this period of time”, MƗra Grudule points out: While Western European civilization has not yet brought a deeply cultivated Christianity to [the Latvian] farmstead, Latvian women are less weighed down by the notions of humility and obedience propagated during the long centuries of the Middle Ages and expected from women throughout most of the European countries.41

On the basis of folklore materials, Grudule also refers to “the special status of Latvian women in the family: their equality with their husband, even during the 17th and 18th centuries”.42 However, the character of a peasant woman in Latvian literature was based not so much on empirical assessment as on the attempt to reproduce German bourgeois morality in an externally Latvianised form. As early as in the second half of the 18th century, signs of the modern family model developed. This model presupposed that “a wife was no longer her husband’s partner in managing and providing for their livelihood, but that a woman’s personality, her appearance and character played a more important role”.43 Here the paradox of cultural transfer emerged: the model of the emerging 18th century German bourgeois morality of gender identity was offered to Latvian peasant society as an example for Latvians, male and female. In it, the man ruled over the external/active world, while the woman ruled over the inner/passive world, in keeping with the concept that the passive life—in contrast to the active—was the determinant that socially constructed the women’s role in society.44 Following the classification of Helga Brandes,45 the female character introduced by popular enlighteners can be identified as the idealisation of a ‘sentimental female’. With the appearance of this character, literature became a means

41

MƗra Grudule, “‘šƗs pasaules tuksnesƯ es esmu kƗ kƗda niedra, ko vƝjš šurp un turp šauba...’ Par pirmo latviešu sievietƝm veltƯto grƗmatu 1711. gadƗ,” in: Feministica Lettica, 2 (2001): 62. 42 Ibid. 43 Vita Zelþe, NezinƗmƗ. Latvijas sievietes 19. gadsimta otrajƗ pusƝ (RƯga: Latvijas ArhƯvistu biedrƯba, 2002), 54. 44 Deniss Hanovs, “Woman in the National Movement Ideology in Latvia in the 19th Century,” in: Women in Baltic Societies: Past and Present, ed. by Maria Golubeva and Deniss Hanovs (Riga: N.I.M.S., 2002), 26. 45 Helga Brandes, “The Depiction of Women in the German Moral Weeklies,” Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, 264 (1989): 686.

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for accepting and affirming stereotypical gender roles, using methods that gradually became instruments of power. Even though the gender discourse of the Enlightenment offered women ideas about emancipation, created suitable conditions for the emergence of women in all spheres of social life and established the early movement of proto-feminism, it basically adhered to patriarchal stereotypes: the reproduction of traditional binary oppositions of the woman as weak, passive and emotional, in contrast to the strong, active and rational man, and thus “explicitly exhorted women to seek their personal fulfilment as chaste and virtuous wives and mothers”.46 The innovation introduced in the German countries by Enlightenment discussions was related to the interpretation of these stereotypes: for example, they were no longer explained in terms of the will of God, but in terms of scientifically proven natural differences between the genders; moreover these stereotypes became a prism through which to codify women’s rights for a valuable and happy life.47 In Latvian literature, a male construction of the social identity of women can be detected in the representation of female characters. In keeping with the thesis of German writer Theodor Gottlieb von Hippel that “womankind has just one profession: to marry”,48 love, marriage and married life became the central aspects of the literary representation of the female. Paying attention to the poetics used in the representation of women in such writings as, for example, a poem by Gotthard Friedrich Stender Kreetna meita (The Decent Maid) (who possesses such features as “cheeks of milk and blood”, “youth”, “brightly adorned hair, / hand so white, / every attire neat, / and she’s so stately”, “jolly, / fair and cheerful, / nice tone of voice”49), one immediately notices that descriptions of a woman’s outward appearance were at the centre of attention; their artistic rendering consists of expressions typical of the aesthetics of sentimentalism, and the emotional world is situated in opposition to the rational world, e.g., in equating the idealised woman with an “angelic

46

Gita May, “Rousseau’s ‘Antifeminism’ Reconsidered,” in: French Women and the Age of Enlightenment, ed. by Samia Spencer (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 310. 47 Pia Schmid, “Weib oder Mensch, Wesen oder Wissen? Bürgerliche Theorien zur weiblichen Bildung um 1800,” in: Geschichte der Mädchen- und Frauenbildung, Band 1, hg. von Elke Kleinau und Claudia Opitz (Frankfurt/NewYork: Campus, 1996), 332–334. 48 Theodor Gottlieb Hippel, Ueber die Ehe (Berlin: Voß, 1774), 71. 49 Stenders, Dzeja, 56.

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sensibility”.50 These tendencies corresponded not only to sentimentalism but also, as Latvian scholar Vita Zelþe has pointed out, with later instrumental understandings to the effect that “the social role of a woman was embodied in her looks—to be a perfect wife and a housewife”.51 The moral qualities—particularly virtue—indicated the different strategies for portraying masculine and feminine characteristics. Both men and women might well have been ‘virtuous’, ‘wise’ or ‘hardworking’, but the meaning of such attributes depended on gender. For example, in Stender’s Kahsu siƼƧes (Wedding Songs), the bride’s song and groom’s song displayed almost identically constructed texts, but the roles of a husband and a wife in a family were coded differently and revealed many symptomatic nuances.52 In the congratulatory wishes expressed during the wedding, fidelity was emphasised for the bride but not for the groom; diligence was frequently mentioned in the bride’s songs, while in the groom’s song, it appeared only in the last line. The issue here was not about the nature of patriarchal ideas, but about how they were formulaically reproduced in literature. Notions of a good wife / a good husband did not mean the same thing: they pointed to two completely different morals, as Heidrun Alzheimer-Haller suggests when she writes about an “identical label with a different content”.53 It was clearly formulated by Matthias Stobbe, who offered this advice to female Latvian readers: “Men have many things to look after and to care about and therefore they are sometimes dejected; look to your loving heart for ways to arouse him and cheer him up.”54 In the aesthetic canon of sentimentalism, the woman became a tool in the construction of the new, enlightened identity of the man, a process that is analysed in studies by Carolin Heyder and Arja Rosenholm in terms of the functionalisation of the feminine.55 When modelling the ideal female, writers were less concerned with the woman than with how this ideal 50

John Mullan, Sentiment and Sociability: The Language of Feeling in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 68. 51 Zelþe, NezinƗmƗ, 102. 52 Stenders, Dzeja, 138–139. 53 Heidrun Alzheimer-Haller, “‘Moralische Geschichten’ als Vermittlungsinstanz von Geschlechtenrollen,” in: Männlich. Weiblich. Zur Bedeutung der Kategorie Geschlecht in der Kultur, hg. von Christel Köhle-Hezinger, Martin Scharfe, Rolf Wilhelm Brednich (Münster: Waxmann, 1999), 238. 54 [Stobbe Matthias.] “Weena mahte rakstija sawai ne senn isprezzetai meitai scho grahmatu.” Latwiska Gadda-Grahmata, 1 (1797): 95. 55 Carolin Heyder, Arja Rosenholm, “Feminisation as Functionalisation: The Presentation of Femininity by the Sentimentalist Man,” in: Women and Gender in 18th-century Russia, ed. by Wendy Rosslyn (Hampshire: Ashgate, 2003), 52–54.

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woman would or would not be useful to a man. This mechanism of subjugation turned the ideal type of female into a person without an ‘I’,56 and created a stereotypical character far removed from social reality and grounded in two key traits: virtue and sacrifice. In conjunction with the process in which “prejudices were being intensified by an idealisation of feminine virtues and sensibilities which set them [women] on a pedestal,”57 femininity was turned against equality; in other words, the idealisation of womanhood and the infringement of women’s rights occurred simultaneously, one emerging from the other. The character of the woman-as-mother was not only sentimentalised, as in the poem by Stender Mahte pee guloscheem behrneem (A Mother by Her Sleeping Children),58 but was also used as one of the distinguishing codes for women, even though, at the same time—from a pedagogical standpoint—the social importance of a middle-class mother was derived primarily from her role in educating the children.59 “The love of a mother is stronger than that of a father!” wrote one of the popular enlighteners later in the early 19th century. “Thousands of things can fill the emptiness for a man; but there is nothing that can do that for a woman who loses her child.”60 Women’s social identity as encoded in the triad housewife-wifemother was clearly revealed in statements such as “a woman’s fate is nothing more than continuing to bless her husband and children and take care of their household, [...] when a woman knows how to work and take care of a house, she is satisfied”.61 The development of the image of the sentimental female ideal was a part of attempts to spread bourgeois values and mentality among the peasants and thereby civilise peasant society. By appropriating the female image from German bourgeois literature, the Baltic German authors put this image in a conflicting position with traditional gender roles in the Latvian peasant society. 56

Barbara Duden, “Das schöne Eigentum. Zur Herausbildung des bürgerlichen Frauenbildes an der Wende vom 18. zum 19. Jahrhundert,” Kursbuch, 47 (1977): 125. 57 Roy Porter, Enlightenment: Britain and the Creation of the Modern World (London/New York: Allen Lane/Penguin Press, 2000), 323. 58 Stenders, Dzeja, 126–127. 59 Sabine Toppe, “Mutterschaft und Erziehung zur Mütterlichkeit in der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in: Geschichte der Mädchen- und Frauenbildung, 348. 60 Karl Gotthard Elverfeld, Lihgsmibas grahmata (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1804), 133–134. 61 Alexander Johann Stender, Wahzu wallodas un wahrdu grahmata (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1820), 93–94.

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Bourgeois Peasants One of the aspects that most convincingly exemplifies this change of mentality through literature (and again actualises the intersection of social and ethnic identities) was the attempt to reproduce the morals of the emerging German bourgeois class in the representation of the Latvian peasant.62 Directing oneself to the German prototype for constructing an individual identity meant aligning oneself with those German Popular Enlightenment goals that could be formulated as a ‘transformed mentality’ that was implemented ‘from above’. In the German Popular Enlightenment, the representation of the peasant as similar to a bourgeois was characteristic and was based on an assumption that “the moral of bourgeois life belongs also to this [peasant] class.”63 The Baltic social structure permitted formulation of the dichotomy of peasants and burghers as the opposition of the “Latvian” and the “German”. It explains the concept according to which the Latvians must be “cultivated through the Germans”.64 For this reason, an important aspect for the analysis of the model peasant is the rise, development and self-identification of the bourgeois class in Germany; furthermore, its self-identification, in contrast to the aristocracy, encompassed a return to the pastoral and bucolic motifs. Bourgeois values included diligence, work ethic, discipline, obedience, emotional control (along with sentimental manifestations of refined emotions),65 reflexivity and accuracy, and such tendencies can be treated also as a shift from “internalised moral values” to “economic values”.66 It is important to note an inclination that related also to Latvian literature, namely, that authors “developed the concept of virtue not from the moral-

62

See further: Dieter Hein, “Arbeit, Fleiß und Ordnung,” in: Bürgerliche Werte um 1800: Entwurf – Vermittlung – Rezeption, hg. von Hans-Werner Hahn und Dieter Hein (Köln/Weimar/Wien: Böchlau, 2005), 239–252. On the “reflection of bourgeois ideals in sentimental representations of the peasantry and lower classes”, see: Wyngaard, From Savage to Citizen, 73. 63 Bäsken, Die Dichter des Göttinger Hains, 114. 64 Lejnieks, “GarlƯbs MerƷelis,” 1137. 65 Cf.: Heikki Lempa, “Bildung der Affekte, Der pädagogische Philanthropismus und die Enstehung des Bildungsbürgers,” in: Europa in der Frühen Neuzeit: Festschrift für Günter Mülpfordt. Band 4. Deutsche Aufklärung, hg. von Erich Donnert (Weimar/Köln/Wien: Böhlau, 1997), 215–228. 66 Rebekka Horlacher, “Volksbildung als Berufsbildung bei Pestalozzi,” in: Pädagogische Volksaufklärung im 18. Jahrhundert im europäischen Kontext: Rochow und Pestalozzi im Vergleich, hg. von Hanno Schmitt, Rebekka Horlacher, Daniel Tröhler (Bern/Stuttgart/Wien: Haupt, 2007), 115.

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philosophy but from life experience. Virtues materialised not in an abstract understanding of good [as a category], but in a specific action”.67 The literary representation of a model peasant was similar to “a Latvian sack with German grain”, to borrow the metaphor used by the Baltic German publicist IndriƷis Laube (1841–1889) in another context.68 It is important to emphasise that a peasant had to resemble a member of the bourgeois class (‘a German’) but could not be made into a representative of the bourgeois class (‘Germans’). Among members of the emerging German bourgeois class of the 18th century, sentiment became an important tool for self-identification, a means of creating self-understanding.69 The bourgeois class, which lacked its own stable set of traditions during the Enlightenment era, formulated social life by starting with relationships in the family and ending with the relationships in social structures, taking sentimentalism as the fundamental identifying tendency in the German cultural space.70 In regard of Latvian literature, it was typical to associate sentimental aesthetics with the “German way of love”.71 Karl Gotthard Elverfeld introduced these problems by depicting sentimental burghers disguised as Latvian peasants in his Book of Joy. The lifestyle, values, and body language (kneeling, unsteadiness, tears, and fainting) of Elverfeld’s literary peasants signalled sentimentalism as a form of bourgeois self-identification. In his idyll Behrtulis and Maije, Elverfeld depicted two young neighbours, Behrtlis and Maije, whose friendship gradually develops into love. They are separated, the baron chooses Behrtulis as his son’s butler, trains him for the position, and sends him along with his son to Germany. Meanwhile, a baron (from whom Maije’s father, a Latvian serf, has once escaped) considering Maije his property, chooses a more suitable groom for her, forbids her to write to Behrtulis, and Maije runs away. The baron dies in a riding accident, and his son, a liberal baron, treats Maije respectfully. With a financial gift from him, Maije establishes a Latvian school. Behrtulis returns, and the story ends happily with their wedding. 67

Alzheimer-Haller, “‘Moralische Geschichten’ als Vermittlungsinstanz”, 236. KƗrlis Lejnieks, “VecƗ Stendera dzƯve un darbi,” in: Gothards FrƯdrihs Stenders, DzƯve un darbi (RƯga: Kaija, 1939), 62. 69 Cf.: Barbara Becker-Cantarino, “Introduction: German Literature in the Era of Enlightenment and Sensibility,” in: German Literature of the Eighteenth Century: The Enlightenment and Sensibility, ed. by Barbara Becker-Cantarino (Rochester: Camden House, 2005), 1–32. 70 Jochen Barkhausen, Die Vernunft des Sentimentalismus (Tübingen: Narr, 1983), 86. 71 Johansons, Latvijas kultnjras vƝsture, 135. 68

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Interpretations in Latvian literary history have often emphasised the ‘inauthenticity’ of the text, as well as the synthesis of the sentimental and the pastoral. Vilis Plnjdons has pointed out that in Latvian literature there is no other example of the kind of excessive sentimentality that turns mawkish.72 Behrtulis and Maije, writes Plnjdons, “more closely resemble sentimental shepherds from a happy Arcadia than oppressed Latvian serfs”.73 The reference to serfdom is appropriate since the prohibition against escape is the complication at the centre of the idyll. Oto ýakars, in his analysis of the idyll, has noted that the depicted “attitudes are too passionate”.74 It can be argued that the pastoral idyll strived to create sentimental language with which to portray the world of Latvian peasants. The paradox of the Latvian pastoral was that it modelled an ideal of nature unaffected by a civilisation, while at the same time striving to civilise Latvian peasants. Elverfeld’s sentimentalism was present also in his one-act play The Birthday, the first original Latvian play (included in The Book of Joy). The play features two neighbouring Latvian peasant families. One chooses to vaccinate their children against smallpox, while the other one refuses. The advocate for the vaccine is the local pastor. In the first family, the superstitious grandmother summarises her attitude toward the pastor: “Go, go to your revered pastor! Surely, a good, honest and wise man, may God protect him; but he doesn’t understand anything, believing as he does only in trivial books!”75 Meanwhile, the second family is open to pastor’s advice: “My sweet sister, I sincerely beg you: better listen to the honourable pastor, whom you haven’t scared away by talking nonsense and who is good and wise.”76 At the end of the play, as the children of both families celebrate their birthdays, one of them dies because he has not been vaccinated against smallpox. At about the same time, Elverfeld published a sermon that invoked religious arguments to propagate information about the vaccine.77 This text became part of the wide range of texts endorsing the smallpox vaccination. The Birthday might be read as a fictional version of the sermon, the adaptation of a religious text into a 72

Plnjdons, Latvju literatnjras vƝsture, 147. Ibid, 148. 74 Oto ýakars, “Latviešu pirmsnacionƗlƗ literatnjra,” in: Oto ýakars, ArvƯds Grigulis, Milda Losberga, Latviešu literatnjras vƝsture: No pirmssƗkumiem lƯdz 19. gadsimta 80. gadiem (RƯga: Zvaigzne, 1987), 92. 75 Elverfeld, Lihgsmibas grahmata, 155. 76 Ibid, 147. 77 Karl Gotthard Elverfeld, SpreddiƷis, kuDŽDŽâ wezzaki tohp skubbinati (Jelgawa: Steffenhagen, 1805). 73

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secular one. However, its subtext of sentimental aesthetics was more significant than the explicit topic of the Popular Enlightenment in healthcare. Commentaries by scholars on this play point out that although the text claims to represent the “Latvian farmstead, there is no factual delineation in the whole play. Everything is unreal, made up and more characteristic of German elites than of Latvian peasants”.78 As Vilis Plnjdons has stressed: What is most artificial is the extreme sentimentality of these peasants, who expressed their extravagant parental love by heaping ‘rich kids’ presents on their children: wooden horses, red whips, little drums, etc. Such sentimentalised indulgence along with the celebration of ‘birthdays’ could be practiced only by free German burghers, not by Latvian serfs. Such things were foreign to the latter, since they seemed ‘too refined’.79

Roberts KlaustiƼš connected Elverfeld’s play most directly to the bourgeois drama, contending that the peasant characters “are not taken from among our people, nor re-written from reality, but have been transplanted from the German bourgeois drama.”80 The gravity of the illness depicted in the text was also important: the primary aim of the play was to popularise the use of the smallpox vaccine, a goal that explains the tragic finale. In this regard, the play was a typical didactic literary text of the Popular Enlightenment which met the aesthetic criteria required to foreground education through vivid examples. But, in creating peasant prototypes who vaccinate their children, Elverfeld depicted them as bourgeois Germans in Latvian peasant attire, relying primarily on the aesthetics of sensibility. Therefore, the image of the peasant seems to be best approached in terms of a “cultural projection”, as it has been noted in the context of peasant representations in 18th-century French literature: Much like the noble savage, who was idealized in literary treatises but ultimately served to justify slavery and the colonialist project, the fictional peasant effectively glossed over the harsh realities of the contemporary countryside. Also like the noble savage, although the figure of the peasant was based in certain realities, it was above all a cultural projection.81

78

Austra KƗrkliƼa, Latviešu literaturas vƝsture (RƯga: Gulbis, 1939), 133. Plnjdons, Latvju literatnjras vƝsture, 146. 80 Roberts KlaustiƼš, Latviešu rakstniecƯbas vƝsture skolƗm (RƯga: Zihmanis, 1907), 91. 81 Wyngaard, From Savage to Citizen, 13. 79

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As suggested by the comments by Latvian scholars quoted above, references to the German social class point to the portrayal of the Latvian model peasant as representative of the bourgeois class, thus representing the model to be emulated, and at the same time relying on sentimentalism aesthetics to do so. If, as Aleksejs ApƯnis contends, sensibility for Elverfeld (in contrast to Gotthard Friedrich Stender) was “no longer only a literary means, but the objective of representation,”82 then this point can be expanded by returning to the topic of the model peasant. In Elverfeld’s vision, sensibility incorporated the future transformation of Latvian peasant society. Such a transformation was linked to the growing adoption of bourgeois values, which materialised in attempts to balance matters of the heart and mind, in order to form ideas about a sensible, empathic and virtuous individual, about moral values, sociability and friendship.83 During the Enlightenment era, these qualities were inseparable from the complex of bourgeois values, and the peasants portrayed by Elverfeld (if judged only by their behaviour) were indistinguishable from representatives of the German bourgeois class. Elverfeld created a fictional world with a new value system, into which ‘translated’ Latvians relocated. The reader no longer encountered an exotic foreign world or upper class setting; one read about his own world, but one was reading almost exactly the same as one would have read in the exotic tale. This shift was one of the most important innovations in the literary representation of the Latvian utopian world. Elverfeld’s attempt to depict Latvian peasants as disguised German burghers was associated with the broader perception of German culture. ‘Germanness’ was often understood outside ethnic connotations: the term ‘German’ functioned as a synonym for anything that might be associated with civilisation or culture. Imitation of Germans became an invitation to internalise the cultural perspectives, visions and assumptions of the hegemonic group. In an era when the concept of ‘German’ denoted more than ethnicity, being a ‘German’ in the Baltic provinces meant to be a member of the highest class. To ‘become a German’ thus meant to rise above the lowranking class through education and etiquette.84 As Andrew James 82

Aleksejs ApƯnis. Latviešu grƗmatniecƯba: No pirmsƗkumiem lƯdz 19. gadsimta beigƗm (RƯga: Liesma, 1977), 107. 83 Becker-Cantarino, “Introduction: German Literature,” 14. 84 It is worth noting that this understanding of Germanness was the Baltic phenomenon and contrasted with definitions of it in German-speaking countries where it was described in opposite terms: “But this of course raised the problem of just what pure Germanness was, and what it meant, in moral terms. The search for an original Germanness led straight to the peasant, whose total lack of contact with

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Blumbergs states, freedom of “social mobility and status within society was largely determined by language,” with German becoming “a marker of social position and political power for the dominant German ruling minority.”85 After the abolition of serfdom, Baltic German pastor Christian Launitz recalled: “Some [Latvians] have tried to be German outwardly because the Germans were free and you were serfs.”86 This tendency was quite popular. As ‘Germanness’ was perceived primarily as a social concept, in texts addressed to Latvians the desire of Latvian peasants to mimic Germans (in terms of language and clothe) was often criticised as yet another threat to the asymmetrical, and therefore brittle, social order. Instead, the imitation of the German mentality was proposed by the enlighteners. The literary model peasant was a hybrid construction: on the one hand, a Latvian peasant; on the other hand, a German bourgeois due to his views and mentality, in so far as it was permitted by his class. He was the kind of enlightened peasant envisioned by the Popular Enlightenment program of the Baltics—a ‘German’ without becoming ‘Germanised’. The main features of the hybrid subject are derived from the fact that both the ethnic origin and colonisers’ culture created a situation in which an individual could no longer refer to a singular identity. No longer a Latvian only, but not yet a German, the ambivalent literary model peasant embodied a transitional form—to quote Homi Bhabha, he was “almost the same, but not quite.”87 In future studies, this trend could be productively analysed in terms of postcolonial studies, as suggested by Karl Jirgens when he wrote that the “poetry [in Latvian] by the colonizers served to colonize the minds of the impoverished Balts” and that such poetry should be studied in postcolonial perspective.88 Similarly, by quoting Ania Loomba’s opinion that the colonial aspirations “are diluted and hybridised, so that the fixed identities that colonialism seeks to impose on both the masters and the slaves are in

foreign tastes and habits made him more than anyone else the pristine vehicle of a true and traditional German spirit, whose ancestry could be traced in a more or less direct line back to the ancient Germanic tribesman. And his morality, the essential features of which were already emerging in discussions in other contexts, thus became the ideal German national morality.” (Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot, 292) 85 Blumbergs, The Nationalization of Latvians, 46. 86 Launitz, No Brihwestibas, 58. 87 Homi Bhabha, The Location of Culture (New York: Routledge, 1994), 123. 88 Jirgens, “Fusions of Discourse”, 68–69.

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fact rendered unstable”,89 Benedikts Kalnaþs has highlighted the features of colonial mission in the literary works of Popular Enightenment: The period of Enlightenment and Volksaufklärung, on the one hand, provided theories which constructed the superiority of the European nations on a global scale, but on the other, kept expectations addressed towards peripheral European territories and especially internal colonial subjects at a much more modest level. The processes of Volksaufklärung were echoed in early literary texts published in Estonian and Latvian mostly in order to provide the possibility of mimicking the lifestyles of the upper classes of the colonial masters, attempting in this process to construct the identity of an ideal peasant aspiring toward economic prosperity, but never challenging the societal order and colonial nature of the relationships between the Western European settlers and the local population.90

Hybridity, a process in which a colonial subject takes over the attitudes, values and traditions of the colonisers as his own, is closely related to mimicry—a desire to imitate the behavioural models of the coloniser—and can become the official policy of the colonial power in the emancipation of the suppressed social groups. In future studies, therefore, it would be productive to analyse the model peasant, which fluctuated between Latvian and German, as a second-hand copy of the German bourgeois.91

Germanised Peasants When taking the popularisation of bourgeois values into account, it would seem inevitable that the assimilation of Latvian peasants among Germans would have been the next step in their cultural development. However, assimilation was not regarded as an option by anyone other than Alexander Johann Stender, who openly advocated learning German and embracing linguistic assimilation. In 1805, he argued that assimilation

89

Ania Loomba, Colonialism/Postcolonialism (London/New York: Routledge, 2005), 232. 90 Benedikts Kalnaþs, 20th Century Baltic Drama: Postcolonial Narratives, Decolonial Options (Bielefeld: Aesthesis, 2016), 24–25. See also: Benedikts Kalnaþs, “Comparing Colonial Differences: Baltic Literary Cultures as Agencies of Europe’s Internal Others,” Journal of Baltic Studies, 47/1 (2016): 15–30. 91 Cf.: Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin, Key Concepts in PostColonial Studies (London/New York: Routledge, 1999), 139; Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 122.

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would lead to exploring a wider range of books and would foster social harmony: Here, dear Latvians, is another book in your language, [which I offer you] until you or your children learn the German language, through which you can get a better understanding of how the mind works. Oh, may the dear Lord allow us to experience a time when in all of Courland and Livonia there is just one people, one German language and one way to inspire virtuousness!92

Stender’s statements paralleled two important historical events: the relatively small-scale reforms of serfdom proclaimed by Tsar Alexander I, and the emergence of German concepts of nationalism. For an invitation to Latvians to assimilate among Baltic Germans Stender was condemned by other Baltic German popular enlighteners; 15 years later he defensively argued that learning German did not necessarily mean forgetting one’s native tongue. However, his statement could also be interpreted as an indirect suggestion to destroy the socially defined borders between Latvians and Germans, thus proposing a broader understanding of equality than any other popular enlightener would have dared to. In writing about the “meaning of Enlightenment cosmopolitanism and humanitarian efforts”, Latvian scholar JƗnis Alberts Jansons suggests: “For Latvians assimilation opened doors to education, culture and thus also to prosperity and happiness”.93 The Popular Enlightenment in the Baltics, however, bypassed linguistic assimilation and thus expressed yet another of the internal contradictions of Popular Enlightenment. One of the reasons was that until the abolition of serfdom, knowledge of the German language did not apply to peasants.94 Latvian cultural historian Antons Birkerts linked peasants’ wish to Germanise themselves with the “contempt German nobility and clergy showed toward Latvians”, emphasising that the concept of “German Latvians” had emerged already by the first half of the 18th century.95 Another reason was that the 92

Stender, Dseesmas, stahstu-dseesmas, pasakkas, 5. Jansons, “Eiropiskais mantojums,” 90. 94 Ea Jansen, “Die nicht-deutsche Komponente,” in: Sozialgeschichte der baltischen Deutschen, hg. von Wilfried Schlau (Köln: Mare Balticum, 2000), 234. Cf.: “The German nobles have always endeavoured to prevent these enslaved nations from occupying themselves in any way not connected with agriculture; but many among them have gradually crept into other classes of society, and procured themselves freedom, refinement, and a German surname.” (Kohl, Russia, 366.) 95 Birkerts, Latviešu inteliƧence, 23. This concept was related to the tendency among Latvians to mimick Germans, especially when they reached higher status in society. “It is extraordinary, indeed, with what ease and rapidity the pliable 93

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Germanisation of Latvians threatened class society. It has been noted that “German dislike of Latvian Germanization also was connected to competition and acted as a break on voluntary assimilation”.96 Linguistic assimilation was not the only object of critique; social and ethnic connotations also spilled over to choice of clothing and everyday practices. In 1798 Baltic German pastor Joachim Friedrich Voigt emphasised that imitating the Germans was foolish when ..some don’t even know what expensive clothes to wear, or they waste their last penny on coffee and other trifles, when they are ashamed of being Latvians, and forget their language and their relatives and are ridiculed by all those who honour a virtuous peasant.97

A similar approach which focuses on clothing appears in a poem by Karl Hugenberger titled Tee wahzu swahrki (That German Skirt), which describes the suicide of a Latvian peasant girl after she is mocked for arriving for a wedding dressed in the style of a German. Instead of admiring her, everyone makes fun of her: “[she was] proudly dressed as a German; / But everyone scoffed and laughed / At such a brand-new German.”98 Writing about abolishing serfdom, Christian Friedrich Launitz expressed similar views, noting that the Latvian propensity to imitate Germans was derived from their low social status: Continue as the children of Courland; do not force yourselves into the German crowd or try to be Germans by language, or clothes or way of life. What is wrong with the Latvian language? Isn’t it good? Or clear? Haven’t God’s words, good books and pleasing songs been written in it? What is wrong with our clothing? Isn’t it good and warm? A good sheepskin coat is 99 much warmer than fashionable broadcloth.

Alexander Johann Stender did not continue his efforts to promote assimilation, but rather indulged in the idealisation of Germany, a raising Esthonians and Lettes Germanise themselves. In a very short time they become, in language, manner, and appearance, such thorough Germans, that it would be very difficult to know them. Riga, Mitau, Reval, and Dorpat, contain many such halfGermans. Very often they appropriate a German surname,” wrote traveller Johann Georg Kohl (1808–1878) in 1841. (Kohl, Russia, 366.) 96 SkaidrƯte Lasmane, “Ideju vƝsture,” in: Latvija 19. gadsimtƗ: vƝstures apceres, red. JƗnis BƝrziƼš (RƯga: LVI, 2000), 406. 97 Joachim Friedrich Voigt, “Tas dahrsneeks. Weena sarunnaschana,” Latwiska Gadda-Grahmata, 1 (1798): 159. 98 Hugenberger, Derrigs laika-kaweklis, 25. 99 Launitz, No Brihwestibas, 57–58.

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issue in the Latvian literature during the early 19th century. The idealisation of Germany (both articulated, and as a subtext) evolved in the context of the critique of linguistic Germanisation, and it was Popular Enlightenment fiction that launched a call for Latvians “not to disfigure”100 themselves as Germans. Alexander Johann Stender developed a wider comparison of Latvians and Germans, setting German peasants as a model to Latvians: “After finishing the translation of this book, I wonder, is a German peasant happier than a Courlandian?”101 Alexander Johann Stender concluded that “being a German does not differ that much from being a Courlandian” and, if the peasant is virtuous, diligent and loyal to the social system, “he is prosperous, free and happy in Germany as in Courland or at the end of the world”.102 Thus, portraying the German peasant as a model to the Latvian peasant, Stender wrote: “Also you, dear Courlandian, can be such.”103 He also explained how the German peasant could be a model to the Latvian peasant. He described matters as reflective of eight points whose main focus was based on different aspects of economic life: 1) virtue in work, 2) loyalty to the social system (though German peasants are not serfs, they “have the money and are obedient”), 3) the fact that German peasants are not superstitious, 4) the practice of several crafts alongside land cultivation (for example, spinning), 5) organisation of work, 6) nourishing and abstinent lifestyle, 7) duly repaying debts, 8) children’s upbringing and school attendance.104 In his German textbook, published in 1820, Stender included a dialogue between a German and a Latvian that had a strong ideological subtext. The portrayal of the German had distinct similarities with the model peasant in previous literary tradition, while the Latvian was represented as superstitious and unenlightened. Like the model peasant, the German declares: “I do not care for brandy, tobacco makes me vomit, I have nothing to do with cards and cannot even identify them—and I consider the blabbering in the tavern as blasphemous and boorish.”105 When the Latvian notes that such a life must be “very sad”, he replies: “Oh, I do not begrudge joy—I am not without delights. Books to read, walks, God’s and Nature’s wonders, conversations 100

Ɩrons, Latviešu literƗriskƗ (latviešu draugu) biedrƯba, 63. Alexander Johann Stender, Pilniga isstahstischana kahdâ wihsê Ausan Ehrnests no semneeka par Brihwkungu zehlees (Jelgava: Steffenhagen, 1807), 329. 102 Ibid., 329–330 103 Ibid., 330. 104 Ibid., 331–334. 105 Stender, Wahzu wallodas un wahrdu grahmata, 82. 101

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with dear friends, songs and dances.”106 In this dialogue, the German assumed the position typical of an outsider, projecting generalisations about Latvians by suggesting that “Latvians seem to have an innate inertia” and by declaring that field hands “in Prussia and Germany work harder and more diligently” than do Latvians who “move about but accomplish little”. Such behaviours were be blamed, in part, on outdated, irrational methods of management; “your scythe is good-for- nothing”, “your flail is no more than a plaything to be laughed at”,107 etc. The dialogue revealed that wellbeing was thwarted because to Latvians, rest consisted only of ..eating, drinking, singing, whirling about, gabbing, dozing, [...] wallowing, that is what we consider well-being. [...] But how many celebrations do we observe? Latvians celebrate old, new and many other holidays—and in addition to market days, there are weddings, baptisms, funerals and other festivities. [...] That is how our fathers lived, and so too shall our children.108

After listening to this, the German concluded: “Then it is no wonder that you are frail.”109 The dialogue ends with the Latvian saying: “But do we lack sense? We Latvians read all the books, we know the songs, we recite prayers that make the church thunder, we are not inept at cultivating the soil [...] Is all wisdom hidden only writing and arithmetic, or all knowledge attainable only in German?”110 In this dialogue, the model peasant had clearly become a German; the enlightened way of life was to be achieved by mimicking Germans in all spheres. The tiny border between mimicking Germans and assimilating among them outlined by Baltic German pastor Hermann Ehrenfest Katterfeld: You are more likely to succeed if you take [the] German life style as a model and turn Courland into a new Germany. I do not mean to say that you speak only German, wear German clothes and practice only German traditions, or turn into Germans. No!—That’s completely contrary to my thinking; it would cause a lot of confusion and nothing good would come of it. I am only suggesting that you find all good you can from the German people, get a feel for it but remain Latvians; in other words, cultivate your 111 own traditions taking the German example into account.

106

Ibid, 83. Ibid, 94–95 108 Ibid, 97–98. 109 Ibid. 110 Ibid, 100. 111 Hermann Ehrenfest Katterfeld, “Jelgawâ,” Latweeschu Awises, 8 (1823): unpag. 107

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The proposed ‘Germanness’ was cultural, not linguistic, and this was also depicted in the books addressed to peasants. Along with works by Alexander Johann Stender, Gustav von Bergmann’s translation of Emergency Advice Booklet for Peasants was important in the promoting the imitation of Germans. It was one of the first Latvian literary works to introduce the motif of an idealised Germany, although this idealisation in fact incorporated all the features considered characteristic of a civilised way of life. Within his agricultural advice, Bergmann included a dialogue between an enlightened and an unenlightened peasant: “As a good man and skilled farmer, please share some of your skills for cultivating the land with me,”112 the unenlightened one, Ahrgalw Matschis, asks the other, Prahwes Krisch, who in response recounts his success story. The life story of Prahwes Krisch provided the portrait of a model peasant in which Bergmann developed certain traits in the model peasant’s portrayal introduced already by Gotthard Friedrich Stender and Johann Friedrich Rosenberger. It turns out that, initially, Prahwes Krisch had owned poor land, but soon enough turned it into fertile soil by following the latest methods for cultivation. Prahwes Krisch had also benefited from his master’s patronage, spending many years with him in Germany, where he learned new cultivation methods. After returning to Livonia, he tends a small plot of land, marries a peasant girl and puts new cultivation methods into practice: correct fertilisation, potatoes and clover etc. His neighbour proclaims his suspicion that the 20 years of wealth enjoyed by Prahwes Krisch has come from “idolatry” or from a “witch” because other peasants with larger fields do not prosper. But the explanation given contends that success is derived from an austere work ethic and proper land management, neither of which would be imaginable without a rational and Christian way of life. Prahwes Krisch is also an outsider who lives as a recluse, never visits a tavern, and represents a bourgeois work ethic. Prahwes Krisch goes for long walks both alone and with his family, during which he observes and contemplates various natural phenomena, trying to understand their causes theologically. The outlook of the enlightened peasant was no longer limited to the knowledge required by his social class: his familiarity with astronomy, for example, pointed to the gradually changing attitudes, as learning lost its class connotations. This portrayal of the model peasant might be considered rather typical but for one exception—the suggestion of a long apprenticeship for model peasants in Germany, an idea that was novel when the book was 112

47.

[Gustav Bergmann,] Labbu siƼƼu un padohmu Grahmata (Riga: Müller, 1791),

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published. It corresponded to Bergmann’s personal thoughts about the emancipation of Latvian peasants. In 1797, he had outlined a project that would invite landowners to send 200 Latvian male peasants to Germany, 100 peasants to Sweden, and another 100 to England. Bergmann proposed that after a four-year apprenticeship in these countries, the peasants should return to their fatherland and be set free from serfdom. Bergmann’s vision of a proper Latvian emancipation opposed the calls by radical enlighteners to abolish serfdom.113 For Prahwes Krisch, Germany was the model of proper management, but it is idealised not only with regard to economics. Germany became an ethical model worth emulating and striving towards—like a heaven on Earth: People in German land are an odd tribe. They are as hard-working as ants and Russians—from morning till evening. [...] You will never find a thief among them, as theft is a great embarrassment in that land, and a thief who has stolen enough to pay for a rope gets hung. I also haven’t heard any swearing like I unfortunately hear in this land. There one finds more Godly and human love and more generous hearts. No one there envies others nor harms others, but everyone helps those closest to him to increase his prosperity and to keep it safe.114

The place described was nothing less than utopian. Discarding the frame of the ‘utopian village’ in Becker’s original, Bergmann proposed Germany as the Utopia. It became a consistent theme in subsequent decades, including even attempts to explain the genesis of Germany’s special status: Wise and learned people now most often come from among the Germans. But, it is well-known that no man is born wise, but gains wisdom only through learning. Neither would Germans themselves have become so knowledgeable nor been able to teach other nations, if they had not had ancient rulers who turned their citizens toward learning. [...] In our times the German people are honoured above all other nations for their learning. And so we Latvians, too, are getting smarter and more respected with each day, and some of our children are being appointed to higher office, thus bringing honour to our Fatherland.—So, my dear Latvian, teach your young fellow the right path so that when he grows old, he will not abandon it; but he will weave a crown for you from your grey hair.115

113

ŠvƗbe, KƗda mƗcƯtƗja dzƯve, 46. [Bergmann,] Labbu siƼƼu un padohmu grahmata, 46. 115 [Johann Schweder,] “Stahsti,” in: Widsemmes Kalenderis us to 1818tu gaddu (Rihga: Häcker, [1817]), [30–31]. 114

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Bergmann established the tradition of focusing on Germany and on the German as an economic and ethical model—from the management system, all the way to notions about values and way of life. Both as a subtext and in direct modelling, one of the components essential to the spiritual growth of the Latvian peasant was the determination “to go to German land with the help of God”,116 using this phrase figuratively to canonise stereotypes about the Germans’ ways as ideals for which to strive. Using middle-class values—which increasingly were depicted as German values—as a model for peasant readers, the hybrid image of the ideal Latvian peasant was constructed and reproduced numerous times in both fiction and manuals. Along with the depiction of the ideal peasant in fiction, his or her opposite was also depicted and was related most often to issues of revolt and loyalty. The dynamics of these issues will be explored in the next chapter.

116

Stender, Wahzu wallodas un wahrdu grahmata, 76.

CHAPTER FIVE PEASANTS AND IDEOLOGY

With regard to social matters, prose and poetry often took the same stance: the anti-hero who attempts to defy the morals of class society is confronted with negative consequences that motivate him to return—if possible—to his former status and to discover its advantages. The paradoxes of serfdom and freedom were evident in the literary narratives written for peasants. Serfdom was incorporated into the Popular Enlightenment ideal of a ‘harmonious class society’, while freedom became dangerous when contextualised in peasant revolts and the problems of runaway peasants. In this chapter, the questions of revolts, loyalty and citizenship will be explored from three perspectives—first, in the representations of rebellious peasants and revolutionaries, second, in the accounts of Baltic history, and third, in patriotic themes in literature. These themes illustrate the problems that popular enlighteners encountered by attempting to both reconcile the peasants with their social status and broaden their historical and political awareness.

Rebellious Peasants The fables by Gotthard Friedrich Stender, with almost neurotic regularity, provided the portrayal of animals that wanted to transform themselves—these were fables about dangerous metamorphoses. For example, a crow that wants to be white suffers. A deer that wants different legs in order to become king of the animal kingdom also fails. A toad that wants to be as big as a bull becomes distended and bursts. A mouse wants to marry a lion and is accidentally trampled by her groom. A fox that wants to become human begins smoking a pipe and burns herself.1 In the moral lessons Stender appended to these fables, he explained that he is writing about Latvian peasants and their class attitudes, and thus the language of Aesop and La Fontaine became the idealised language of a harmonious class society. “A piece of clay does not stick to shiny and 1

Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti, 20–21, 30–31, 36–38, 56.

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precious stone,” wrote Stender unequivocally. “It is better for everyone to stick to their own class.”2 It was common to regard remarks advocating equality and abolishment of serfdom as risky and as “chimeras”.3 For Stender, class society functioned allegorically like a human body. In his fable The Belly and the Other Limbs (Wehders un ziti lohcekƺi), the arms and legs decide to rebel against the belly and the head, claiming that they have no purpose. They decide that the arms will not give bread to mouth, the mouth will refuse the bread, the teeth won’t chew the bread, and so on. When the body grows weaker and weaker, Stender concludes: The rebels destroy themselves. Rulers, pastors and masters are not lazy like some ignorant peasants think and who they proclaim to be asses. If there were no masters and rulers, oh dear God, what would happen to the world, how could there be peace and honour and safety? The strongest would steal from the others, and they would be robbed by still others, until everyone would perish in misery, and the world would become hell.4

Identifying with one’s class was not only advisable as a model for social behaviour, but was also the path to a happy life, in which one would be useful to others. “Of all things, children, learn to obey the ruler and those who are above you, if you want to live happily. Do not give in to those who always complain about the ruler and about laws,”5 wrote German popular enlightener Johan Georg Schlosser (1739–1799) in his 1771 book Sittenbuechlein für Kinder des Landvolks (The Book of Virtue for Peasant Children). Duties and obedience constituted the concept of class loyalty and were a significant aspect of the Popular Enlightenment program, whose proponents therefore always adhered to the idealised model of class stratification offered to them by philosopher Christian Wolff (1679–1754), and articulated in the canon of the Popular Enlightenment in the German countries. According this canon, as evident in the words of a moderate Prussian reformist in 1778, “a peasant should remain a peasant; he needs only to become a sensible, Christian peasant. [...] All of the education he receives should be directed to the goal of making him ready and able to be a member of his class and to do his work and to be content.”6 The story Jehkabs un Edde (Jehkabs and Edde) by Gotthard Friedrich Stender touched upon several crucial social problems of the era— 2

Ibid., 38. [Anonymous,] “Ueber die Leibeigenschaft in Kurland,” 3. 4 Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti, 81. 5 Hans-Heino Ewers, Kinder- und Jugendliteratur der Aufklärung. Eine Textsammlung (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1980), 96. 6 Heuvel, “Bauer,” 56. 3

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including forbidden love affairs and runaway serfs. The story describes a Latvian serf who runs away from Livonia and crosses the border along with his son, Jehkabs, and settles down in Courland; Jehkabs attends the manor’s school where he establishes a close relationship with his teacher, and becomes well-educated and devout. Gradually Jehkabs falls in love with the manor maid, and, though “the distinguished master had no wish to give away his servant, when the esteemed lady of the house approved it, the master allowed it as well”.7 After the engagement, a serf-owner from Livonia arrives and obtains the court ruling that Jehkabs and his father are to return to Livonia; a year passes, and while Jehkabs is hunting, he saves his master’s life by killing a bear and as a reward is set free; he returns to his beloved in Courland and the story ends happily. Stender added a moral to the story about the forbidden love between members of different classes, and their separation and reunion, but although Stender’s sympathy towards the runaway serf is evident, he was more cautious in his generalisations about the class system. The moderate attitude toward Baltic serfdom is illustrated by the statements of Johann Heinrich Neiendahl, a Baltic German writer in Riga. He stated that “slavery is an unnatural state”, but at the same time he doubted that it would be preferable to free peasants immediately. Their freedom should be postponed because peasants had been brutalised by this “unnatural” state and “for them freedom would be the same as a razor in the hands of a child”.8 In the 1798 Baltic German pastor Konrad Schultz used a similar metaphor in his story Behrni, kas sew paschus grib waldit (Children Who Want to Rule Themselves), which was an adapted translation of Joachim Heinrich Campe’s Zwei Kinder, die sich selbst leiten und führen wollen (Two Children Who Want to Rule and Lead Themselves).9 The story depicts a bourgeois family’s “carnival” when the father grants his children the right to be the parents. After binging food and drinking alcohol, and after taking a boat trip that would have ended tragically if the father had not saved the children from drowning (but not from pneumonia), the children realise that their father’s discipline and their obedience to him are vital. Konrad Schultz wrote about children’s own “revolution” and concluded with an illuminating generalisation: It is better that they become sick for a moment, than if I would lose this suitable moment to show them how useless it is when children and people who have not been sufficiently taught and who do not have an educated mind seek to be free subjects and to govern themselves. [...] The freedom 7

Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti, 292. As quoted in: Johansons, Latvijas kultnjras vƝsture, 30. 9 Schulz, “Behrni kas sew paschus gribb waldiht,” 12–27. 8

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Shultz concisely turned “children” and “fools” into synonyms. In his interpretation, fools were those who sought to rise above their class, wanted freedom but were not ready for it. Applied to Latvian secular literature and the Popular Enlightenment program, such logic expressed the mandate of focusing on the idea of ‘liking one’s own class’, to borrow the title of an earlier Stender’s poem.11 In this context, a ‘class’ meant not only belonging to the peasant class but also being a serf. Reflecting on disastrous consequences of freedom and benefits of serfdom, ‘liking one’s own class’ became one of the most topical literary themes. The theme encompassed a complex set of problems: it included the ever-present problems of peasant revolts, complaints at courts, and runaway serfs. The position taken up by Popular Enlightenment authors was connected with their own fears of peasant revolts which intensified during the years of French Revolution. In Gustav Bergmann’s view, the abolition of serfdom and the anticipated freedom could have taken a turn toward the apocalyptic. In a letter from 1791 he wrote: Nothing but utter nonsense is taking place in the world now [...]. I have read about all the horrors [in France], which were unforeseen in such a well-educated nation. Where are all the philosophers with their Enlightenment—Rousseau, Voltaire and others? These are the consequences of lifting the shackles of religion from the people.12

He developed his considerations in the translation of the Emergency Advice Booklet for Peasants, where the model peasant answers unequivocally when asked about freedom and serfdom: he would chose serfdom. The model peasant holds firm to this choice, even when the master offers him freedom, because the peasant living in serfdom “lives better than the free peasants, who wander around looking for bread, for a place to sleep and who starve until they find shelter”.13 In Bergmann’s 10

Ibid., 20–21, 26. Stenders, Dzeja, 81–83. 12 As quoted in: ŠvƗbe, KƗda mƗcƯtƗja dzƯve, 51. 13 [Bergmann,] Labbu siƼƼu un padohmu Grahmata, 46. It might be described in terms of a ‘rationalised’ attitude towards serfdom. Consider the changes in attitudes towards submissiveness in the German-speaking countries: “It was not to be the submissiveness of the slave, or much less of the dumb and bewildered beast, but that of a man who willed submission to his duty because he understood the nature and importance of his social function and the mutual interdependence of all 11

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dialogue, it was not so much the voice of the Latvian peasant that was heard, but the voice of moderate Baltic enlighteners: I now understand that if we had this freedom, there would be famine, poverty, theft, murder and our life would be precarious. The children wouldn’t be educated, and there would be no means of livelihood. In some parts, the fields would not be sown because there would be no seeds, and the people and the land would be miserable. [...] As long as our people do not adopt a more faithful and reasonable way of life, as long as they do not refuse alcohol, drunkenness and laziness, we will not see freedom in this land.14

‘The happy serf’ embodied in Bergmann’s peasant (a character that parallels the ‘grateful slave’ of European colonial imagination15) or Alexander Johann Stender’s intimations about the advantages of serfdom relative to the liberated serf, obviously attempted “to reconcile the peasant to his circumstances.”16 While the anti-emancipatory character of idealised serfdom is indisputable, it should be noted that the reasoning of the popular enlighteners was complex. The image of a ‘happy serf’ as represented in writings for Latvians often contradicted the views expressed in German and intended for fellow Germans, as exemplified by Gustav von Bergmann’s views on Latvian emancipation in his unpublished manuscript On the Way of Life and Serfdom of Contemporary Latvians (Von der Lebensart und Leibeigenschaft der heutigen Lätten, 1776). In this work, Bergmann criticised the disadvantages of serfdom and praised the anti-abolitionist initiative of Johann Georg Eisen. During the French Revolution, Bergmann moderated his views but did not give up his ideas about the potential emancipation of Latvians at some future time.17

Peasants and Revolution Alexander Johann Stender’s play The Peasant who was Turned into a Lord became one of the best known works about the issue of abolishing serfdom. Furthermore, it was no coincidence that the motif of ‘liking one’s own class’ was so easily transformed into the motif of revolt and rebellion. the various groups which went to make up the society in which he lived. In its own way, therefore, pedagogical theory tended towards an emphasis upon the necessity for an increase in individual initiative among peasants in a way quite reminiscent of the imperatives of Adam Smith.” (Gagliardo, From Pariah to Patriot, 289) 14 [Bergmann,] Labbu siƼƼu un padohmu Grahmata, 47. 15 Cf.: Boulukos, The Grateful Slave, 1–38. 16 Siegert, “Aufklärung und Volkslektüre,” 964. 17 ŠvƗbe, KƗda mƗcƯtƗja dzƯve, 40–45.

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The protagonist of the play, Drunkard Behrtulis, has become one of the best-known symbolic characters in 18th-century Latvian literature. Therefore, this play will be analysed in greater detail. The play tells a story about Behrtulis, a peasant whom alcohol has reduced to poverty. Along the way to the market, Behrtulis stops in a tavern, spends all his money on alcohol and then falls asleep. A landowner rides by with his retinue, finds him and, deciding to play a joke on him, he takes him to the manor house and dresses him up in his own clothes. When Behrtulis wakes up, he thinks he has become a lord and people are amused by his behaviour, by his clumsiness, and his threats of bloody reprisals against those who once abused him. Again drunk, Behrtulis falls asleep and is returned to the place where he was found. After waking up, he thinks he was in Paradise, but then he is summoned to trial for “breaking into” the manor. The trial is another joke: though Behrtulis is sentenced to death by hanging, the executors only sedate him. In the conclusion, the lord reflects on the moral the play teaches. Latvian scholars have highlighted the socially restraining message of the play: “The main idea of the play: a peasant cannot become a master, everyone has to live within their own class.”18 Roberts Kroders similarly notes that according to the moral of the play, “a peasant shall remain a peasant. This is Holberg’s conclusion: those who turn away from God’s world order deserve ridicule.”19 The Latvian translation, following the conventional practice of translation, adapted the settings to Courland, reconfiguring the peasant-master relationship in an unanticipated way: by switching places, the peasant and master also became a Latvian and a German switching places, which unavoidably embodies colonial relations. Changing clothes was not only a social, but also an ethnically loaded act, for clothes were a “social minefield”20 with ethnic connotations. When read and translated from the vantage point of class society, the play calls attention, in the words of Rupert Glasgow, to its “opposition to the spread of liberal individualism”, that is, it reveals its conservative layer,21 an aspect already emphasised by Latvian critic Roberts Kroders, 18

Valija Labrence, “FeodƗlisma iršanas un kapitƗlisma tapšanas periods,” in: Latviešu literatnjras vƝsture. 1. sƝj., red. Ɯvalds Sokols (RƯga: LPSR ZA izdevniecƯba, 1959), 566. 19 Roberts Kroders, “Ludvigs Holbergs: Žnjpu BƝrtulis,” Latvijas VƝstnesis, 283 (1924): 3. 20 Aileen Ribeiro, The Art of Dress: Fashion in England and France 1750 to 1820 (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1997), 38. 21 Rupert Glasgow, Madness, Masks, and Laughter: An Essay on Comedy (Fairleigh: Dickinson University Press, 1995), 227.

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who surmises: “Holberg is not an independent spirit of his era, he is part and parcel of the feudal century.”22 Support of “enlightened feudalism”23 was probably the primary reason behind Alexander Johann Stender’s choice to translate Holberg’s work. As the offspring of patriarchal absolutism, Holberg rejected one of the plots in One Thousand and One Nights with a similar motif (i.e., after gaining power, a beggar rules the country judiciously). The carnival structure served as a framework in which to base the argument that a strong and patriarchal despotic state makes its inhabitants—the common people—happy, and that in the turmoil of anarchy they would perish and take others along with them. This reasoning was also fundamental to Holberg’s direct source of inspiration, the story by German Jesuit Jacob Bindermann in the volume Utopia (1640),24 as well as other variants of the story in European literature. One of Bindermann’s stories inspired Gotthard Friedrich Stender to write an almost identical story to the fable depicted in the play Peedsehris semneeks (The Drunken Peasant), which was published some years earlier than the play in the expanded reprint of Stender’s prose collection.25 Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s story retold the events depicted later in the first part of Alexander Johann Stender’s play, that is, the change of clothes, but not the faked hanging afterwards. Dressed as the lord, the peasant in the story “begins to think that he is in Heaven, and that God has made him a nobleman”; at the table, as “he snatches, eats and drinks and stuffs his pockets, everyone laughs”.26 After waking up, the peasant decides that “it was just a dream, one in which God showed him the joys of heaven”.27 The most intriguing feature was that the moral which Stender added at the end of the story did not remark upon any of the social aspects of the story, but limited itself to theorising about how “our life is just a dream” and we “no longer feel either the good or the bad days that have passed”.28 Since Stender’s story includes details about how the inhabitants of the manor honour the peasant, bow down to him, allow him to win at cards, 22

Kroders, “Ludvigs Holbergs,” 3. Lichtenberg, Unterhaltsame Bauernaufklärung, 127. 24 Bent Holm, “Ludvig Holberg and His Double: L. Holberg in Scandinavia,” in: Ludvig Holberg: A European Writer: A Study in Influence and Reception, ed. by Sven Hakon Rossel (Amsterdam/Atlanta: Rodopi, 1994), 193. 25 Stender, Pasakkas un stahsti, 161–162. 26 Ibid., 161. 27 Ibid., 162. 28 Ibid., 162–163. 23

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and how the ladies invite him to dance, The Drunken Peasant can be paired with another of Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s stories, Apzeenits semneeks (The Revered Peasant). This story contains a scene in which a Courland pastor loses his wallet containing 200 ducats. Later, as the pastor is sharing a meal with visiting students, the peasant goes to him and tells him that he has found a wallet and is looking for the owner. When the wallet turns out to be the pastor’s, the pastor is deeply moved and is prepared to offer ten ducats to the peasant, but the peasant refuses. The subsequent dialogue reveals the pastor’s surprise at the honesty and devotion displayed by this peasant: “Really, we would find no wrong with such a faith if we found it among educated men. If one of us had found the money, who knows if we would have been returned it.”29 In the end, the peasant receives at least a meal as his reward. Thus he—as in the case of The Peasant who was Turned into a Lord, in another context and without the burlesque—is depicted as ‘equal’ to the lords: ..this peasant was held in high regard by the lords, he was invited to the table, fed and served like a lord, and everyone talked to him respectfully [...], raising glasses to toast his health. When it was time to sleep, he was taken to a beautiful bed like the other guests. In the morning [...] everyone hugged this peasant goodbye, wished him good luck and the pastor blessed him.30

In the moral, Gotthard Friedrich Stender emphasised the social significance of this story in his attempt to separate the ethical characteristics as an abstract category from the concrete social identity: A man’s true honour does not reside in a large clan but in a large and honest heart displayed through honourable works. How can one honour a lord who befouls his honour with horrible deeds? And who can find fault with a man of the peasant class who displays his great value through honourable deeds?31

Both of these narratives contained a central scene, namely, the acceptance of the peasant and the feast in his honour held at the manor. The first was written as a farce, but the other was serious; here virtue and vice, conscience and alcoholism, were two opposite poles that merged in the structure of the messages in each story, whose formal differences were not so significant: this scene reproduced something more important—the disappearance of class boundaries.

29

Ibid., 314. Ibid., 314–315. 31 Ibid., 315. 30

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The stories might have inspired Alexander Johann Stender to translate Holberg’s comedy. The Latvian translation of the play was published during the French revolution, when the idea of a peasant and a lord switching places became popular. Commenting on the factors that encouraged Alexander Johann Stender to translate the play, Latvian scholar Oto ýakars has stated: “A hypothetical answer might be: the escalation of class conflicts during the last decades of the eighteenth century.”32 Although the play did not deal with current events, the latter constituted the frame within which the text could be read and perceived. When commenting on the extensive coverage of revolutionary events in Baltic-German periodicals, it has been pointed out that in rural Courland these periodicals “influenced, even if only slowly and indirectly, [also] Latvian national consciousness”.33 Analysing the translated play from the perspective of the French Revolution points to the possibility of a broader interpretation. The fear caused by revolutionary events34 led to the upper classes’ desire to view the revolution as ‘a one day event’, but to regard the political chaos as a carnival that had to be eradicated to restore order; revolutionary era journalism tended to compare current events to a world-turned-upsidedown.35 It was only logical that the hysteria inspired by the revolution would aggravate the social atmosphere in Courland during the 1790s, within which discussions about the abolition of slavery were taking place. Agrarian problems, as noted by German historian Georg Rauch, gained the scope of Friedrich Schiller’s The Robbers and Don Carlos.36 This perspective shows that the play presented “freedom according to the French example”37—as a miniature revolution. For counterrevolutionary sentiment, comedy seemed the appropriate genre for reproducing revolutionary events: “The interpretation of revolution as comedy, farce or grotesque should effectively oppose the dominant views that lent tragic importance and the nobility of natural 32

ýakars, “Latviešu pirmsnacionƗlƗ literatnjra,” 90. Cf. also: Viktors Hausmanis, Latviešu drƗmas sƗkotne (RƯga: ZinƗtne, 2009), 17. 33 Johansons, Latvijas kultnjras vƝsture, 73–74. 34 Cf.: Georg Rauch, “Die französische Revolution von 1789 und die Baltischen Provinzen,” in: Baltic History, ed. by Arvids Ziedonis, William L. Winter, and Mardi Valgemae (Ohio: AABS, 1974), 99–104; see also: Alexander Krünes, “Volksaufklärung in Thüringen in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts,” Zeitschrift des Vereins für Thüringische Geschichte, 61 (2007): 225–226. 35 [Anonymous,] “Vorbericht des Herausgebers,” in: Revolutions-Almanach (Göttingen: Dieterich, 1794), vi. 36 Rauch, “Die französische Revolution,” 102. 37 ApƯnis, GrƗmata un latviešu sabiedrƯba, 101.

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disaster to the events, despite all the horrors.”38 Therefore, it was no accident that an amusing drunk, cuckold and fiddler destroyed the old order in Stender’s play. For instance, the popular 18th century motif of the runaway serfs—the “delirium of freedom”39—was perceived as a threat to the social order and was also a significant motif in the play. Later, Alexander Johann Stender would write: “All people wish to be free, and it is right that they do, but they do not always know what to do with their freedom. They want to be free from work and taxes. But that is foolish.”40 Referring to peasant revolts, he added: We saw this in some of the parishes in Estonia and Livonia over the past years, when those who held onto thoughts about freedom and the promise of mercy and who refused to obey the lords and their good counsel, came to a horrible end. This book clearly shows that a serf can also be free and be happy.41

Stender’s play also interpreted the switching places between the peasant and the lord as switching places between a Latvian and a German. Thus, Stender added a new dimension to Holberg’s comedy by shifting the focus to the issue of Germanisation. The problem of freedom thus merged with the issue of becoming a German. It proposed a new topic in Latvian literature in the 1790s and at the turn of the 19th century—that of Germanisation. In his later works, Alexander Johann Stender contrasted political freedom to the inner moral freedom formulated by German Enlightenment political philosopher Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi (1743–1819) in his 1782 essay Etwas das Lessing gesagt hat (Something That Lessing Said). By distinguishing inner moral freedom from external political freedom, Jacobi in effect separated moral slavery from political slavery, declaring that the latter was impossible without the former. Jacobi’s definition of slavery— in its non-political connotations—was fully applicable to Behrtulis: “Everyone is a slave insofar as he is prevented in any way from furthering his own true advantage.”42 Disaster was inevitable if a person who had no 38

Christiane Leiterlitz, “Die französische Revolution im Spiegel der Literatur,” in: Wende von der Aufklärung zur Romantik 1760–1820, hg. von Horst Albert Glaser und György M. Vajda (Amsterdam/Philadelphia: Benjamins, 2001), 62. 39 Merkel, Die Letten, 140. 40 Stender, Pilniga isstahstischana, 15–16. 41 Ibid. 42 Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi, “Something Lessing Said: A Commentary on Journeys of the Popes, [transl. by D. E. Snow],” in: What is Enlightenment? Eighteenth-Century Answers and Twentieth-Century Questions, ed. by James

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self-control tried to control others. The moral slavery of Behrtulis, his inability to curb his passions, was represented by the alcoholism that not only brought grief to him, but also to those on his farmstead. The fool chosen for the carnival was not just a degenerate peasant, but also a slave—a moral slave; a point made by Holberg as well. Only when he was no longer a moral slave would he be able to claim freedom, not before. Alexander Johann Stender developed the concept of inner freedom by translating Christian Gotthilf Salzmann’s novel Ernst Haberfeld in 1807. The model of inner freedom was outlined in the novel and detailed instructions were provided for how to become a free subject in a moral sense. In his translation, Stender added comments of his own in footnotes that connected the concept of inner freedom with local peasant revolts.

Peasants and Memory Rebellious peasants were in the centre of history accounts expanding chronologically the scope of this topic. The Popular Enlightenment in history began for Latvian readers almost simultaneously with the first secular writings—in the Courland calendar during the 1760s, accounts of the history of the region were published in a catechetical form. However, they did not focus on problems of the historical relationship among Latvians and Germans.43 In the supplement of Livonian calendar in 1790, a shortened version of Livonian pastor Friedrich Bernhard Blaufuß’ manuscript Stahsti no tahs wezzas un jaunas buhschanas to Widsemmes ƺauschu (Stories on the Old and New Ways of the Livonian People, 1753) was published. It has been suggested that the author of the adaptation was Gustav Bergmann who was bequeathed the calendar by Christoph Harder in 1790.44 The text that had circulated in the handwritten duplicates among the readers of the Unity of Schmidt (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1996), 201. 43 See further: Pauls Daija, “VƝsture un atmiƼa tautas apgaismƯbas literatnjrƗ: Kurzemes un Vidzemes kalendƗri (1762–1822),” in: AtmiƼu kopienas: atceres un aizmiršanas kultnjra LatvijƗ, sast. MƗrtiƼš KaprƗns, Gustavs Strenga, Norberts Bekmans-DƯrkess (RƯga: Zelta grauds, 2016), 83–105. 44 The authorship of Bergmann has been suggested by Aleksejs ApƯnis. The publisher of the calendar has noted that the account of history had been prepared by “some local scholar”. ([Gustav Bergmann,] “Stahsti no tahs wezzas un jaunas Buhschanas to Widsemmes ƹaužu,” in: Widsemmes Kallendars us to 1791 Gaddu (Rihgà: Müller, [1790]), [41].) See further: Aleksejs ApƯnis, “Tautas senvƝstures tƝlojums latviešu pirmo literƗtu rakstos,” Latvijas VƝstures Institnjta ŽurnƗls, 1 (1994): 31–48.

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the Brethren for nearly 40 years is one of the rare points of intersection between the Herrnhutian handwritten literature and Popular Enlightenment literature.45 Blaufuß indicated that his work was not created accidentally, but was part of the circulation of conflicting memories, a clash between the peasant memory and institutional memory. He referred directly to the memories of the tragedy of Christianisation, as well as to his duty to bring order to these memories: Those Livonians, who currently live, have heard from their fathers about these [Crusade] issues, but these stories have presented a lot of untrue facts, so, upon remembering those old times, some are complaining, grieving and crying about these issues.46

These references by Blaufuß can be related to the peasant revolts in Livonia, which also bring to the fore another reason for the necessity of explaining the past. Bergmann introduced his historical narrative with an explanation that this is the best material at his disposal: “I do not know anything better for my Livonian friends as to write here those stories from their history in their homeland, when Germans found them; because I know that everyone treasures his fatherland.”47 The radically shortened and laconic story about Christianisation is introduced with the accidental finding of Livonia, when German trade ships went to the Baltic Sea. Next it tells of the establishment of friendly connections between the German visitors and Livonian inhabitants, and the Christianisation inspired by this friendship, which was met with opposition from the local inhabitants and resulted in military conflicts. The narrative ends with the description of bloodshed during which Bishop Berthold, one of the most prominent crusaders, dies. Comparing Blaufuß’ manuscript with the shortened version, it may become clearer why, particularly in 1790, a historical text was published in the calendar: its functions cannot be described only from the perspective of broadening the horizon. It also turned the interpretation of historical events in a certain direction. While in Blaufuß’ history the author sought the reasons why the pagan Christianisation was met with resistance and

45

On Blaufuß, see further: Gvido Straube, “HistoriogrƗfisks ievads,” in: FrƯdrihs Bernhards Blaufnjss, Vidzemes stƗsti. StƗsti no tƗs vecas un jaunas bnjšanas to Vidzemes ƺaužu, uzrakstƯti 1753, red. JƗnis ŠiliƼš (RƯga: VƝstures izpƝtes un popularizƝšanas biedrƯba, 2015), 11–18. 46 Blaufnjss, Vidzemes stƗsti, 87. 47 [Bergmann,] “Stahsti no tahs wezzas un jaunas Buhschanas,” 41.

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consequently violence, in the new variant the pagan attitude towards Christianisation was irrational and lacked justifiable grounds. Blaufuß’ history revealed an ambiguous and problematic interpretation of the processes of Christianisation, where the critique of the Catholic Church played a significant role. The critique of Christianisation, where Blaufuß distinguished between noble aims and faulty implementation, was connected with the activities of the Pietism followers in the 18th century— the example of the Unity of the Brethren with non-violent dissemination of Christianity gave Blaufuß permission to to criticise the crusaders. Blaufuß’ approach, at least theoretically, related to the explanation of Christianisation aimed at the neutralisation of the conflicting memories, and to facilitate the loyalty of Livonians. However, his approach became too problematic, since it entailed different voices and opinions. These objections were smoothed over in the shortened version of the Livonian calendar, where the conflict was made black-and-white and the problematic aspects, for example, the abuse on behalf of the Catholic church, were omitted. In the new version it allowed to turn the 18th century Baltic German elite into the direct and logical descendants of Christianisation and to metaphorically pair the work of Christianisation with the enlightening, education-aimed mission of the Baltic Germans in the 18th century, consequently positioning the ethnic relationship and the socio-ethnic structure of society of this century within a colonial framework. Thus, it appeared that serfdom had been established together with Christianisation, assuming that the mission of Christianisation legitimised it. Any explanations that would cast a shadow upon, or subject the process of Christianisation to ambiguous interpretations would endanger the legitimate status of serfdom. Therefore, in the 1790 version, a symmetrical structure can be discerned, where Christianisation is represented as the conflict between aggressors (Livonian pagans) and victims (bishops). It was at odds with Garlieb Merkel’s representation of Livonian history where crusaders were the aggressors while peaceful pagans were the victims.48 At the turn of the 19th century, it was impossible to ignore the discourse of the critique of Christianisation, which gained an increasingly important role in the debates on serfdom and social hierarchy. Memory took a central position in the radical enlightener’s rhetoric of serfdom abolition, where the most significant arguments were often related to the criticism of Christianisation. 48

See further: Kaspars KƺaviƼš, “The Baltic Enlightenment and Perceptions of Medieval Latvian History,” Journal of Baltic Studies, 29/3 (1998): 213–224. For an alternative view on Baltic history expressed by Ludwig August Mellin, see also: BƝrziƼš, “No vƗcu un latviešu attiecƯbu vƝstures,” 124.

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In the 18th century, the Christianisation of the region turned from a historical fact into an argument, and its various interpretations in turn laid the foundations for essentially different opinions regarding the social relationship between Latvians and Baltic Germans and the social hierarchy in Livonia and Courland.49 The historical encounter of Latvians and Germans was featured in other texts as well. In a 1792 poem, Gotthard Friedrich Stender mentioned arrival of crusaders in the Baltics: “Oh you God, who dares to invent you! / Six hundreds of years ago accidentally / Germans navigated the sea / Driven near Riga. / Came on the land, / They forced pagans / To unknown Christianity.”50 By editing the third edition of The Book of High Wisdom, Alexander Johann Stender returned to this topic, going further than his father and not hiding from his readers that the process of Christianization had not been peaceful: “Now German priests started to preach Christian faith and forced upon those pagans with force and some wars, and the bloodshed.”51 Gradually, upon the development of the socially agrarian reform discourse, the interpretations of Christianisation allowed for establishing the idea of Latvians as a national, not a social group, in the public rhetoric. Besides, in the Livonian Herrnhutian districts at the beginning of the 19th century, shortened versions of Garlieb Merkel’s The Latvians started to circulate in the handwritten Herrnhutian texts; the history of Christiantisation continued to play a significant role in peasants’ awareness of social injustice. The Livonian calendar starting from 1820, in several sequels under the aegis of Paul Tiedemann and Karl Sontag published the history of Livonia, including both the description of Christianisation and the laconic overview of the following centuries. Similarly to the Blaufuß manuscript, attention was drawn to the translation of the Bible as part of the history of Protestantism in the region and the civilisation of the local inhabitants, as well as to other religious and secular texts. The Livonian calendar, when providing its interpretation of Christianisation, repeated the facts known already since 1791. Wavering between the faults of the crusaders, on the one hand and the introduction of civilisation, on the other, the interpretation

49

See further: Daija, “VƝsture un atmiƼa,” 83–105; Liina Lukas, “The BalticGerman Settlement Myths and Their Literary Devolpments,” in: We Have Something in Common: The Baltic Memory, ed. by Anneli Mihkelev with Benedikts Kalnaþs (Tallin: The Under and Tuglas Literature Centre, 2007), 75–84. 50 Stenders, Dzeja, 175. 51 Stenders, Augstas gudrƯbas grƗmata, 145.

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provided in the calendar gave rise to discrepancies in the clarification of Christianisation.52 Similarly to Bergmann’s narrative, the Livonians in Tiedemann and Sonntag’s historical account featured as addressees or silent objects, not as active participants. It became clear that the “colonial” period following Christianisation had not brought utopia: it had been repeatedly postponed, up to Tsar Alexander I, whose rule over the entire account of history featured an optimistic view of the near future characteristic of the pathos of the Enlightenment.53 Only the correlation between Christianisation and serfdom was indicated, however in other accounts of history during this time and even later, an impression was created that both events had taken place simultaneously. Such dating worked as an instrument of cultural legitimisation. The interpretation of Christianisation viewed here could be analysed as the inversion of the historical narratives provided by Merkel and other radical Baltic enlighteners. Christianisation in these narratives became the beginning of Latvian history. According to these narratives, Christianisation gave rise to serfdom, among many other problematic social changes, and the social relationship merged into one entity with the religious and ethnic relationship. The mutual bloodshed and the price which the pagans had paid for it, became a reminder of the connection between traditionalism, protests, and rebellion in the 18th century, and in this manner the story of Christianisation obtained a didactic framework and brought about even the alleged “contradiction between the dissemination of faith and violence”.54 Further history of Livonians was told in the manner of the colonial period—it was “effaced” history, with no subjects, only events that had affected them from outside. Christianisation (the first time Livonians took up an active role in history) was also the last time they did so. In this manner, history in the Livonian calendar obtained the outline of the colonial period. Christian Launitz explicitly referred to a colonial situation, when he, narrating about the genealogy of serfdom, referred to the violent protests 52

[Karl Gottlob Sonntag, Paul Tiedemann,] “Ihsi Stahsti par Widsemmes Notikkumeem,” in: Widsemmes Kalenderis us to 1821mu Gaddu (Rihga: Häcker, [1820]), [22–29.] 53 [Karl Gottlob Sonntag, Paul Tiedemann,] “Widsemmes Notikkumi, kamehr peederram pee Kreewu Walsts,” in: Widsemmes Kalenderis us to 1822tru Gaddu (Rihga: Häcker, [1821]), [35–39.] 54 Eva Eihmane, “Livonijas pamatiedzƯvotƗju kristƯšana: Dieva vƯna dƗrza iekopšana vai brutƗla pakƺaušana reliƧijas piesegƗ?” Latvijas UniversitƗtes Raksti, 725 (2009): 10.

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of the pagans during Christianisation, to the slavery in the third world and slaves “from the black nation in Africa”.55 Konrad Schulz in his Kursemmes Stahstu-Grahmata (The Book of Courland Stories, 1832) explained Christianization as German “fault”. “Yet another thing and fault is known—once Germans got to know this land, they came here again and with each year more and more either by water with ships or by land via Prussians,” he wrote. “Namely, due to faith. As at that time the whole Christian world thought about it and it can be said Christian faith was oddly spread willingly or forced among foreign lands and nations.” As a result, in Schultz’s interpretation, Latvians „became furious German enemies”, “unrest and wars, oh, difficult, long and bloody wars with dreadful violence” started. In the end, Schultz concluded that a direct consequence of the wars was serfdom: “Bitter serfdom developed from wars.”56

Patriotic Peasants Topics related to patriotism emerged already in the earliest accounts of history written for Latvians, and authors returned to them in numerous writings about Russia. Accordingly, the image of the patriotic peasant emerged. In the Baltic provinces which were culturally German-oriented while politically belonging to Russia, the questions of identity were always complicated, and became even more complex in the case of Latvian serfs who were invited to keep their Latvian identity along with German cultural identity and Russian political identity.57 Raising the political consciousness of the Latvian reading public was also connected to bourgeois values, patriotism being one of them. Of crucial significance, as Holger Böning has argued in connection with the German Popular Enlightenment, was the idea of promoting the national consciousness of peasants,58 a strategy that played out differently in the Baltic provinces. The Enlightenment patriotism established the “postulate 55

Launitz, No Brihwestibas, 6. Konrad Schultz, Kursemmes Stahstu-Grahmata (Jelgava: Steffenhagen, 1832), 10–13. 57 See further: Pauls Daija, “Valstiskuma ideju ƧenƝze un patriotisma izpratne apgaismƯbas laika latviešu literatnjrƗ,” in: Latvija un latviskais: NƗcija un valsts idejƗs, tƝlos un simbolos, sast. Ausma CimdiƼa un Deniss Hanovs (RƯga: ZinƗtne, 2010), 11–30. 58 Holger Böning, “Das “Volk” im Patriotismus der deutschen Aufklärung,” in: Patriotismus und Nationsbildung am Ende des Heiligen Römischen Reiches, hg. von Otto Dann, Miroslav Hroch, Johannes Koll (Köln: SH-Verlag, 2003), 63–98. 56

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of active love for the fatherland”, whose main principle was “to be useful to one’s native land”.59 One could also draw upon the pietistic ideal of Christian brotherly love, which in Latvian literature was derived from the influence of Halle University. Although patriotic poetry as an expression of statehood it illustrated the process by which Latvian peasants gradually gained civic awareness, it is important to emphasise that this process took place only in the realm of the literary imagination. During the 18th century, patriotism was projected on peasants as a bourgeois virtue, and since Latvians lacked their own educated middle-class, the practice served to expand the borders of bourgeois patriotism. Because Enlightenment patriotism ideas did not extend to national pride but were grounded in social utility, they were only loosely connected to the subsequent Latvian national awakening. But the concept of a “nation” was nevertheless as complicated for the Latvians as it was for the Baltic-Germans. The Baltic was a colony without a metropolis; politically it became a Russian province during the 18th century, but culturally remained a German province. The Latvian model peasant in Enlightenment literature fully represented this “dualism of Baltic social life”.60 His or her culture and education were related to Germany, while their regional identity was linked to Russia; what is more, during the periods of Russification and Germanisation, and before the abolition of serfdom, neither one was attributed to the Latvians nor considered as applying to them: Latvians were and remained Latvians, but in a social, rather than national, sense of the word. Both the understanding of what constitutes ‘Latvian’ and the issue of national awareness were defined without the participation of Latvians themselves. These topics were articulated in Baltic German public debates as well as in texts addressed to Latvian readers. With regard to history, a central research topic of Enlightenment patriotism should also be kept in mind, namely, the question of “how other forms of national awareness were developed, propagated and politically realised side-by-side with modern presumptions”.61 59

Miroslav Hroch, “Die tschechische nationale Mobilisierung als Antwort auf die Identitätskrise um 1800,” in: Patriotismus und Nationsbildung am Ende des Heiligen Römischen Reiches, 199. 60 Hans Rothfels, Bismarck, der Osten und das Reich (Darmstadt: Wiss. Buchges, 1960), 185. 61 Johannes Koll, ‘Die belgische Nation’: Patriotismus und Nationalbewusstsein in den Südlichen Niederlanden im späten 18. Jahrhundert (New York: Waxmann, 2003), 20.

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In Latvian literature, the theme of patriotism was mainly associated with Russia. Similarly to German identity issues, this theme was not related to Russification, which did not affect Latvian peasants at the time, but rather to regional awareness and patriotism. Early forms of patriotism did not touch upon the state but tended to idealise the native region instead, as in Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s poem Kursemme (Courland).62 Gradually, during the 18th century, patriotic poetry took the direction from a regional to a dynastic form of patriotism. It was first demonstrated in Johann Adolf Stein’s poem, dedicated to the newborn prince Russian Tsar Alexander I. Stein structured his verses in keeping with the conventions of the genre, making the collective anticipation of the birth of the Crown Prince, which would usher in a brighter future, the central theme; he also linked patriotism to an awareness of the need for reforms. Stein provided a general insight into 18th century Russian history with a list of previous tsars, but he ends the poem by linking Riga to St. Petersburg.63 Alexander Johann Stender’s 1805 volume of prose and poetry opened with a patriotic song dedicated to Alexander I, who had ascended to the throne a few years earlier. The song Ta ƶeisera Aleksandera slawa (The Glory of Kaiser Alexander) was adapted to the melody of God Save the King,64 thus symbolically signalling a transformation that gradually led to an understanding of Russian statehood as the foundation for Latvian national consciousness, and by the 1820s made it possible to talk about Courland and Livonia as two sisters nurtured by Russia.65 Praise for Alexander I was more fully developed in Alexander Johann Stender’s volume Dseesmu kalenders (The Song Calendar, 1811), in which the song Usmudinaschana us karra drohschibu (Encouragement to War) was published.66 This text was the first to explicitly formulate the assertion that Russian identity had become a national identity. No longer understood as subordination to a ruler, national identity became the unifying factor for hierarchically separated ethnic groups: when Alexander I became the ‘father’ of the Latvian people, Latvians and Russians (though, not Germans) naturally became ‘brothers’: “Latvians, Russians— brothers, / We’re all children of Alexander!” The military pathos of Usmudinaschana us karra drohschibu, a song dedicated to the Russian– 62

In more detail: Daija, “Valstiskuma ideju ƧenƝze,” 13–15. Johann Adolf Stein, Jaunas swehtas Dseesmas, Stahstischanas un zittas SiƼƧes (Jelgawâ: Steffenhagen, [1780]), 82–85. 64 Stender, Dseesmas, stahstu-dseesmas, pasakkas, 7. 65 J. M., “Is Widsemmes,” Latweeschu Awises, 25 (1822): unpag. 66 Alexander Johann Stender, Dseesmu kalendars us 1811tu gaddu (Jelgava: Steffenhagen, 1811), [6]. 63

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Turkish war of 1806–1812, allowed the final lines to proclaim, “Long live / Alexander, the merciful father of Latvians!”67 In Latvian patriotic poetry, Russia was never identified as the ‘fatherland’ as it was in Gotthard Friedrich Stender’s early writings about Courland, so in effect it opposed province and empire: while loyalty could be shifted from the local duke (in the case of Gotthard Friedrich Stender) to the emperor (in the case of Johann Adolf Stein and Alexander Johann Stender), it was impossible to ‘re-route’ an understanding of the fatherland in that way. In his Milizes karra dseesma (The Militia’s Battle Song), Alexander Johann Stender extended the invitation to go to war to “save the dear fatherland”, to heed the call of the tsar—the call of “our dear father himself”. The song described, sometimes quite bitterly, the courageous soldiers and concluded with the prediction that the experience of war will become the “story of a nation” and will live in the collective memory: “And all these events / Will be woven into the stories of the nation, / And will be in the hands of the children. / How the strong fathers stood their ground, / How they avoided brutality, / What a tribute it will be.”68 The patriotic songs expanded and strengthened civil propaganda, but left the question of the ‘fatherland’ unanswered. The songs also constructed national hatred as an abstraction much like that of war itself—and directed it, in this case, to the Turks.69 The theme of the Russo–Turkish war sublimated the attack of Napoleon on Russia in 1812 and the tension intensified an orientation toward Russia in patriotic poetry. At the same time, the Turks, it appears, were irrelevant; any other ethnic group could have been substituted; while the structure of the patriotic song required an abstract enemy, that enemy did constitute the basis for creating national pride.70 This evolving patriotism revealed that the tolerant and cosmopolitan aspect of the Enlightenment was gradually losing its relevance, a trend Holger Bऺning has linked to the French Revolution.71 67

Ibid. Ibid., [7]. 69 “Turks and all those united with you, / Your mischief has been disgusting to the Russians for a long time. [..] / We’ll shoot you with rifles, with cannons, / We’ll wound you with sharpened spears!” Ibid., [6]. 70 Cf.: Herbert Schneider, “Zur Publikation französischer Revolutionslieder in Deutschland und zum politischen Lied in Beckers ‘Mildheimischem Liederbuch’,” in: Volk – Nation – Vaterland. Studien zum 18. Jahrhundert, hg. von Ulrich Herrmann (Hamburg: Meiner, 1996), 291–324. 71 Böning, “Das “Volk” im Patriotismus,” 78. 68

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The most characteristic feature of Enlightenment patriotism was that it was not associated with national pride but was in contrast to it. Only the synthesis of patriotism and national pride, as more fully analysed by Heinrich Bosse, could create national pride.72 Looking at Latvian 18thcentury patriotism from such a vantage point, it is clearly revealed as never having been ethnically oriented; it did not foreground Germany and it identified Russia with the emperor. As in Germany, so in the Baltic, patriotism was primarily understood in terms of moral education.73 But the understanding of patriotism and how to express “love for the fatherland”—to what extent it was or was not political—and finally, how was the fatherland to be described, shifted throughout the century, depending on political and military developments, as demonstrated toȠ by the elasticity of the national loyalty that allowed Alexander Johann Stender to continue the patriotic tradition of Gotthard Friedrich Stender. The difference between the patriotism of Courland and of Russia—except for the understanding of the concept of the fatherland itself—was not as great as one might expect. Even if orchestrated from above, the inclusion of Latvian peasants in the patriotic discourse reflected similar developments in Western Europe, where the evolution of patriotism rejected the notion of class boundaries. Even though the centre of attention pointed to the borders related to the bourgeois class (thus in opposition to the aristocracy74), the question of the role of the ‘common people’ in the nation was no less important. The most important legacy of the patriotic propaganda therefore pertains to those aspects that coincided with the process described by Otto Dann as the changing understanding of patriotism during the 18th century: the educated bourgeois class formulated a new conception of patriotism, foreseeing the integration of unprivileged social classes into the nation.75

72 Heinrich Bosse, “Patriotismus und Öffentlichkeit,” in: Volk – Nation – Vaterland. Studien zum 18. Jahrhundert, 68. 73 Bernhard Giesen, Kay Junge, “Vom Patriotismus zum Nationalismus. Zur Evolution der ‘Deutschen Kulturnation’,” in: Nationale und kulturelle Identität: Studien zur Entwicklung des kollektiven Bewußtseins in der Neuzeit, hg. von Bernhard Giesen (Berlin: Suhrkamp, 1991), 273. 74 Cf.: Joep Leerssen, “Nation, Volk und Vaterland zwischen Aufklärung und Romantik,” in: Volk-Nation-Europa. Zur Romantisierung und Entromantisierung politischer Begriffe, hg. von Alexander Bormann. (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 1998), 174. 75 Otto Dann, “The Nation: Different Meanings of an Old Term,” in: Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, 1639–1640.

EPILOGUE

One of the central aspects of the Popular Enlightenment in Livonia and Courland in the period from the mid-18th century to the early 19th century was the fact that the public that was to be enlightened was not only social, but that it was also an ethnic group. Thus, the activities that were intended to facilitate social change resulted in important national consequences. This is a key difference compared to the Popular Enlightenment in German-speaking countries. The overall significance for literature in Livonia and Courland can be looked at under three aspects. Firstly, the history of the Popular Enlightenment reveals a change in the perception of the local peasantry by the Baltic German élites. Influenced by the ideas of physiocracy and cameralism they turned from being previously disregarded and ignored representatives of the lowest social classes into one of the most significant social classes, and henceforth the élites were morally obliged to take care of their well-being and intellectual progress. Accompanying this closer attentiveness towards the peasantry, they thus turned from being anonymous “non-Germans” into Latvians (and Estonians), whose languages and traditions had to be studied not only for religious purposes but also as part of ethnographical and anthropological activities. Studies of the Latvian language and literature became the basic foundation for the idea about Latvians not only as a social class, but also as a nation. Secondly, the Popular Enlightenment established an independent Latvian literary culture. In comparison to the mid-18th century, when Latvian literature was merely a religious term, often referred to in liturgical texts and spiritual songs, in the early 19th century “Latvian literature” became the subject of increasing discussion, such that Ulrich Ernst Zimmermann (1772–1820) could write the history of Latvian literature in 1812.1 In his historical overview, which was carried out as mapping without a broader analysis or interpretation, one can trace the rapid development of Latvian literary culture from the mid-18th century. In this period Latvian secular stories, poetry, and drama were written; popular scientific literature was published; as well as works issued on the 1 Ulrich Ernst Zimmermann, Versuch einer Geschichte der lettischen Literatur (Mitau: Steffenhagen, 1812).

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subjects of agriculture and medicine and an increasing number of school textbooks. Contrary to Herrnhutian handwritten literature, these works were created without Latvians actually taking part; however, they made it possible to speak about an alternative literary culture in the Baltic provinces alongside German literary culture. The most essential and far-reaching outcome of literary culture was the engagement of Latvians in literary activities. The fact that there was already an existence of Latvian literary culture and that pastors supported the peasants’ literary activities in the Latvian language, was one of the most important counterarguments for Latvian Germanisation and the creation of an independent Latvian culture in the 19th century. Thirdly, the history of Popular Enlightenment in Livonia and Courland plays a crucial role when seen as a regional variant of the Germanspeaking Popular Enlightenment. It was not literally copied, but it was a creative transformation of some of the original texts and ideas. The Popular Enlightenment of Livonia and Courland is a good example of the international impact of the German-speaking Popular Enlightenment that extended beyond the territories that were inhabited by German peasantry. The success of works by Rudolf Zacharias Becker, Christoph Bernhard Faust, Friedrich Eberhard Rochow and Christian Fürchtegott Salzmann, translated in Latvian, demonstrates the broad range of the Germanspeaking Popular Enlightenment. The Popular Enlightenment changed the habits of Latvian readership. If in the first half of the 18th century reading among Latvian peasantry mostly embraced a religious activity, with the gradual increase of secular books, this reading activity changed its character and increasingly became a mode of entertainment and a vital source of knowledge. The diverse assortment of books with its different subjects provided an opportunity for the activity of reading to become a regular habit of daily life. Although literature changed and developed faster than reading habits, and authors were disappointed in the early 19th century that the peasantry were not reading literature that had been specifically addressed to them, however, in subsequent generations one can observe a perceptible transition from ‘loud’ to ‘quiet’ reading, and from ‘intensive’ to ‘extensive’ reading. Alongside practical everyday information or technical knowledge, the didactic literature of the Popular Enlightenment was primarily directed towards changing the peasants’ mentality. The subjects that were dealt with in literature, reveal a process, which marks a change in the perception of the peasantry and their place in society. Among the most important literary subjects that one can mention are patriotic feeling, national awareness, cultivation of sentimental feelings and work ethics. All of these

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subjects were represented in the image of the ideal peasant, which served as a model for Latvian readers and at the same time revealed the ideas of the élites towards the peasantry as one of the primary foundations of the nation. The ideal Latvian peasant was not a realistic character borrowed from real life. Instead, it was a literary construct which combined the circumstances of Livonia and Courland with the most characteristic aims of the German-speaking Popular Enlightenment. In general, the ideal peasant embodied the dissemination of bourgeois values into the peasants’ world and had as its goal the imitation of the bourgeois classes as the true basis of the peasant’s spiritual growth. Although bourgeois values in the Baltic provinces were often made identical to German values, these changes never anticipated assimilation amongst the Germans, rather they led to the establishment of a separate Latvian peasants’ culture. As stated above, one of the most far-reaching outcomes of the Popular Enlightenment was the merging of the terms “Latvian” and “peasant”. When Latvian writers, who were graduates of the universities, continued to enlighten the peasants in the mid-19th century without the participation of German pastors, this Enlightenment quickly turned into a Latvian enlightening and Latvian national movement. The peasant as the “foundation of a nation” was a complicated term in the Baltics, where society was not ethnically united. In the period before nationalism, it did not present any problems; however, in the 19th century, when the peasants had become the very ideological basis of nationalism, the echoes of this process in Livonia and Courland led to the segregation of Latvians and Germans. The German élites turned against the assimilation of the peasantry, and for the purposes of maintaining the social class system, strengthened and fortified the image of the Latvian peasant in literature. Thus, the further development of literature led to an alternative Latvian culture which developed in parallel to Baltic German culture. The mutual confrontation among Latvians and Germans was intensified by the fact that a social struggle about the rights of the lower social classes in the 19th century essentially became a national struggle. In 1817 and 1819 serfdom was abolished in Courland and Livonia, and it marked the beginning of a new stage in the history of relationships between Latvians and Baltic Germans, and this was reflected in Latvian literary culture as well. In 1822, under the guidance of the editor Karl Watson, the first Latvian periodical Latweeschu Awises (Latvian Newspaper) was published. In 1824 the Latvian Literary Society was founded, gathering together those pastors who were interested in the research of Latvian language and literature. In 1832 the Latvian periodical Tas Latweeschu ƹauschu Draugs (The Friend of Latvian People) was

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published for the first time with the priest Hermann Trey (1794–1849) as its editor. Latvian texts, including translations of works by Schiller and Goethe, were published in the magazine Magazin of the Latvian Literary Society. Overall, after the abolishment of serfdom, the literary development continued without any crucial changes. Although the topic about Latvian assimilation among Germans was widely debated as a path to emancipation, up until the mid-19th century the idea was still prevalent of arguing that Latvians did not really have to assimilate. However, the periodicals intensified literary activities and provided greater publishing opportunities for some of the first authors of peasant origins. In the 1830s, authors such as Ansis LeitƗns (1815–1874), Ansis LƯventƗls (1803–1878), JƗnis RuƧƝns (1817–1876) and Ernests Dinsbergs (1816–1902) arrived on the literary scene, and they had all been born into the families of serfs. They imitated the literary traditions of pastors, and took upon themselves the role of a teacher and entertainer of the common people, as well as writing and translating literature. If this generation of authors worked alongside the pastors, and often enjoyed their patronage, by the 1850s the next generation of Latvian intellectuals appeared who were all graduates of the universities, and they gradually took over the educational activities and, importantly, were unrestricted by the pastors. Traditionally, these authors (including the most famous: Juris AlunƗns (1832–1864), KrišjƗnis ValdemƗrs (1825–1891) and KrišjƗnis Barons (1835–1923)), are connected with the beginnings of the Latvian national awakening, or the Young Latvian movement. The year 1856, when the translated poetry collection DseesmiƼas (The Little Songs) by Juris AlunƗns was published, is looked upon as the birthdate of Latvian national literature. This year is crucial, since it marked the abandonment of priestly patronage and heralded an active engagement of Latvians in creating their own élitiste culture. In the second half of the 19th century there was a certain belief that “foreigners” had created the earlier literary tradition and that it had not originated from Latvians. It was considered not so valuable, since it mostly consisted of translations and adaptations. Despite the confrontation with contemporary pastors, and further conflicts on several occasions, Young Latvians in the early stage of their activities were strongly influenced by the Popular Enlightenment tradition. In the second half of the 19th century, when Merkel’s and Herder’s ideas started to dominate within the national awakening, the heritage of Popular Enlightenment remained in the background. It lost its significance at the moment when popular opinion asserted that Latvians were not simply peasantry, and when the Latvian nation started to evolve. Moreover, the dissemination of

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Latvian Marxist ideas at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries played a crucial role in terms of allocating a place in the collective memory for the Popular Enlightenment. Latvian Marxists saw only the concealed aims of economic exploitation in German literary activities and this contributed towards adopting a negative position towards the Popular Enlightenment. The attitude to the Popular Enlightenment in the history of Latvian literary culture has always been ambiguous. The Latvian language was not fully developed in the 18th century; therefore, the readership in the second half of the 19th century saw these Enlightenment texts as somewhat clumsy and comical. The dismissive attitude towards translations of the 19th century resulted in the literary tradition of Enlightenment being judged as insignificant, since it did not consist of original texts. Prejudices against the Baltic German community and its close association with Latvian slaveholders throughout several centuries gave rise to serious doubts about their philanthropic and enlightening activities. The fact that the popular enlighteners did not turn against serfdom, but some even supported it, has put a greater emphasis on the restraining and antiemancipatory tendencies, especially in the Marxist critiques. An awareness of Latvian peasant literature has been restricted in German studies of the Popular Enlightenment, mostly due to the language barrier, and it is only in the early 21st century that this situation began to change. Concluding this overview on the significance of Popular Enlightenment ideas in the making of Latvian literary culture, it is necessary to note down perspectives for future research. Regarding Latvian culture, it would be necessary to carry out further studies on the history of translation practices. So far, only a small section of translations from the German have been examined. In addition, the sources of the translated texts must be investigated more fully, as should the selections of the translated texts themselves. More attention needs to be paid to those aspects which contextualize how the Popular Enlightenment facilitated the creation of readerships and the rise of nationalism, as well as the impact of the discourse for the abolishment of serfdom and the activities of the Herrnhutian Church. A task for future researchers which will hopefully provide a broader picture of the period, is to carry out a comparative study examining the rather similar trends in both the Latvian and Estonian Popular Enlightenments. Such a study would ensure a more holistic perspective on the Baltic Enlightenment together with ideas on the abolishment of serfdom and the actual import of German ideas in these regions. Because some of the key actors of the Popular Enlightenment were Baltic German pastors, a broader view concerning the processes in the territories

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inhabited by Latvian and Estonian peasants is very pertinent, as this would help to obtain a far more comprehensive view of the Enlightenment on the peasantry in the Baltics. Following this direction of studies, useful research would be a comparative analysis of the activities of Jesuits in the catholic regions of the Baltics, which occasionally took over the Lutheran ideas of the Popular Enlightenment. The impact of the Popular Enlightenment was not only restricted to literature; it also entailed social and economic transformations. Therefore, it would be advisable that teams of co-working interdisciplinary researchers carry out a comprehensive study on the Popular Enlightenment in the Baltic provinces of Russia, examining not only literary culture, but also other fields, where the activities of Popular Enlightenment was apparent.

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