Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908: Ambivalent Triumph 9783030363376, 9783030363383

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Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908 Ambivalent Triumph

Elena Andreeva

Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908

Elena Andreeva

Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908 Ambivalent Triumph

Elena Andreeva Department of History Virginia Military Institute Charlottesville, VA, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-36337-6    ISBN 978-3-030-36338-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Image courtesy of the Karazin family Cover design by eStudio Calamar This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

To my family, both living and departed

Acknowledgement

This book took more than ten years to complete, and although I was working on other projects during those years, it was this project that consumed most of my creative energy and time. I am grateful for the support I received from Virginia Military Institute, where I have been teaching almost twenty years, for granting me two faculty leaves and multiple grants that enabled me to complete the book. Dr. Mark Wilkinson, the chairman of the department of history, was ever understanding and supportive. A colleague and friend Anne Wells helped me tremendously with editing the manuscript. Several Karazin family members encouraged me to keep working. First, Larisa Deshko, who wrote a book about the Karazin family, shared my admiration for the artist. Larisa and I exchanged multiple e-mails on topics ranging from Nikolai Karazin to the current world political situation. And Natalia, Nadezhda and Vladimir Karazin kindly granted permission to use the beautiful painting from their family archive for the cover of this book. Finally, every kind of moral and logistical support – from my husband, John Hossack, son Vanya, and family friend Mark Woodcock  – helped sustain my determination to finish the book. I would like to warmly thank them for their kindness and patience!

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Contents

One Introduction  1 Two Nikolai Karazin’s “discovery” of Central Asia as Russia’s internal Orient 15 Three Nikolai Karazin’s military project: the discourse of power 59 Four Nikolai Karazin’s civilian project: Russians in Turkestan125 Five Nikolai Karazin’s civilian project: local people in Turkestan205 Six Karazin’s ethnographic project and travelogues: topography and typography271

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Seven Conclusion347 Bibliography351 Index361

List of Images

Image 2.1

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Image 3.3 Image 3.4 Image 3.5 Image 4.1

“The end of the 19th and the early 20th centuries: Western Turkestan under Russian Rule.” Yuri Bregel, An Historical Atlas of Central Asia (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 91. Reproduced with permission from Nataliya Bregel. 26 Boi pod Zarabulakom 2 iiunia 1868 goda reshivshii sud’bu Buharskogo khanata (Battle at Zarbulak on 2 June 1868 that decided the fate of the Bukhara Khanate), 1889. Oil on canvas. 177 × 319.5 sm. Art Museum of Estonia. Reproduced with permission from Art Museum of Estonia, Tallinn.112 Khivinskii pokhod 1873 goda. Perekhod Turkestanskogo otriada cherez mervye peski k kolodtsam Adam-Krylgan (Khiva expedition of 1873. Turkestan troops crossing the dead sands to the wells of Adam-Krylgan), 1888. 179 × 321 sm. The State Russian Museum. Reproduced with the permission from the State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg. 114 Nakhodka (A discovery). Albom Nivy za 1893 god (St. Petersburg: Izdanie Artisticheskogo zavedeniia A. F. Marksa). 119 Zadremal. Stsena iz khivinskogo pokhoda (Dozed off. Scene from the Khiva campaign). Niva 1 (1875): 4. 120 Prosnulsia. Stsena iz khivinskogo pokhoda (Woke up. Scene from the Khiva campaign). Niva 1 (1875): 5. 121 Karavan plotnich’ei arteli napravliaiushchiisia v Tashkent (Caravan of a carpenter artel heading for Tashkent). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 159 (1872): 45. 138

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List of Images

Image 4.2 Image 4.3

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Image 5.2 Image 5.3 Image 5.4 Image 5.5 Image 5.6 Image 6.1

Image 6.2 Image 6.3 Image 6.4 Image 6.5

Plennitsy. Epizod iz nedavnego proshlogo Turkestanskoi zhizni (Captive women. An episode from the recent past of Turkestan). Niva 37 (1895): 876. The cover of the album Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga (The Transcaspian railroad), 1888. Cardboard, watercolor, white. 33 × 48.5 sm. State Museum of Oriental Art. Reproduced with permission from State Museum of Oriental Art, Moscow. Konkurenty (Rivals). Niva 29 (1890): 740. Pochta v Kizyl-Kume (Mail [carrier] in the Kysylkum). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885), after page 120. Staryi Kashkara (Old Kashkara). N. N. Karazin, “Staryi Kashkara,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. A. Tushina, 1874), after page 64. Sredi turkmen-teke. Turkmenka na storozhevom postu (Among the Teke Turkmen. A Turkmen woman on guard duty). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 18. Sredi turkmen-teke. Mulla-propovednik (Among the Teke Turkmen. Mulla-preacher). Niva 47 (1879): 929. Pogib kon’ – pogibnet i vsadnik (The horse has perished – [now] the rider will die [as well]). Starshii bek kerkinskii i ego bacha (Senior beg of Kerki and his bacha). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 480. Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu. – Prodavets kovrov i adrasov v Besh-ire (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia. Seller of carpets and adrases [silk-collon fabrics] in Beshir). Gorod i krepost’ Kerki na levom beregu Amu (Town and citadel of Kerki, on the left shore of the Amu-Darya). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 605 (1880): 116–17. Tashkentskii pochtovyi trakt (Tashkent post road). Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Putevoi ocherk (From Orenburg to Tashkent. Travelogue).  Kizyl-Kum. Puteshestvie v kachalkakh (Kyzylkum. Traveling in rocking baskets). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 353. Amu-dar’inskie burlaki (bechevniki) (Amu-Darya barge haulers). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniaia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885), after page 82.

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213 214 244 256 260 262

290 299 303 305

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Image 6.6 Image 6.7

Image 6.8

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Image 6.10

Kirgizskii bii (Kirghiz chief). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 188. Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia). – Srednee techenie Amu (Middle reaches of the Amu-Darya). Top left to right: Turkmenskii argamak (Turkmen argamak); Beregovoi turkmenskii kishlak (A shore Turkmen village); Turkmenskie odnogorbye nary (Turkmen one-humped camels). Center left to right: Turkmeny rybaki (Turkmen fishermen); Pereprava (barka buksiruemaia loshad’mi) (Crossing [a boat pulled by horses]); Turkmenka idushchaia za vodoiu (A Turkmen woman walking to fetch water). Bottom left to right: Zhuravlinaia otmel’ vo vremia pereleta (Crane shallow during a migration); Zasada (Ambush); Nochnoi kontsert (Night concert). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412–13. Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia). – Zheleznye vorota (Temir-dervar), gornyi prokhod na puti is Karshi v Derbent (Zheleznye vorota [Iron gate], the mountain pass on the way from Karshi to Derbent). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 276. Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia). – Ispolinskoe derevo ak-archa (Giant mountain juniper). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 284. Kara-Dzhigit (Kara-Dzhigit). Niva 40 (1880): 797.

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CHAPTER ONE

Introduction

“Happiness depends on ourselves, because all you need for happiness is to know how to make other people around you happy [underlined by N. Karazin] – and those who can do it – will be strong enough to parry all the accidental blows of fate, and therefore, will be happy. Your father has professed this his whole life and in the half a century of his life has become firmly convinced of this truth, holy as God himself. Good luck! 1893,” wrote Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin to his daughter Maria on the back of the painting of a pine tree and a palm tree which also contains his photographic portrait.1 While this testament is the best summary of his life credo, the painting on the back of which it was inscribed is an equally stunning expression of his life’s passion. The painting reproduced on this book’s cover shows a lonely pine tree covered in snow perched on a rock, also covered in snow and ice. Out of the dark coldness of the northern night appears a fantastic vision – an elegant palm tree glittering with warm light and reflected, as if in an invisible mirror, in light grey color. The painting was inspired by the famous free translation by Mikhail Lermontov of a poem by Heinrich Heine about a lonely pine tree dreaming of a lovely palm tree.2 “Morgenland – the Orient of Heine, ‘the 1  Larisa Deshko, “Kartina,” in Osnova. Karaziny (Kiev: Vidavetz Androshchuk P.  S., 2014), 142, http://dspace.univer.kharkov.ua/handle/123456789/12892 (accessed 14 June 2018). All translations from Russian in this book are made by the author, unless stated otherwise. 2  http://wikilivres.ru/The_Pine_Tree_(Lermontov) (accessed 14 June 2018).

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_1

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southern land’ of Lermontov, for Karazin is the embodiment of the East,3 not the geographical latitude, but an allegory of the inaccessibility in time and space,” wrote modern art critics.4 The photographic portrait of the artist added to the painting in 1895 reinforces the poetic and ethical message of the painting and the inscription, thus turning this work into a powerful symbol of Karazin’s professional and personal life. This book is dedicated to Nikolai Karazin’s art about Central Asia, to its place in the culture of the Russian Empire in the second half of the nineteenth century, and by implication, to the cultural facets of imperial history. The author of this book has to admit that what had started as a purely academic project has gradually turned into a labor of love since the author found it impossible to remain detached from the artist’s captivating passion for Central Asia, his overarching humanism, and his masterful and detailed artistic images. The author was fortunate to communicate with the Karazin family members Larisa Deshko, Natalia Karazina, and Nadezhda Karazina, and their kind support for this project opened a personal channel between the author of this book and Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin. This book is a humble tribute to the man who, in her opinion, so much deserves it. A fascinating and complex character, Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin (1842–1908) was a talented and popular painter, writer, journalist, book illustrator, war correspondent, traveler, and ethnographer. At the same time, he was a soldier who participated in the Russian military campaigns in Central Asia – and later in its exploration – during the second half of the nineteenth century. His extensive experience of Central Asia and his lifelong passion for the area and its peoples illuminated his visual and literary works. Karazin spent more than ten years in Turkestan,5 far more time 3  In the context of the dilemma of Russia’s position between “East” and “West,” “just as ‘East’ included lands and peoples in Russia and Asia but also an elaborate imaginaire, so the ‘West’ meant not only the countries of Europe… but also shifting ideas about the Western world as a construct.” “Russia’s Orient, Russia’s West,” introduction to Michael David-Fox et al., eds., Orientalism and Empire in Russia, Kritika Historical Studies 3 (Bloomington: Slavica, 2006), 3. 4  Natal’ia Usenko and Tat’iana Bakhmet, “ ‘Na severe dikom…’: pis’mo schast’ia,” in Deshko, Osnova, 145. They also point out that Nikolai Karazin was influenced by the painting Na severe dikom… (In the wild north) by Ivan Shishkin. See Usenko and Bakhmet, “ ‘Na severe dikom...,’” 145. 5  Turkestan was a unit formed in 1867, which included two oblasts, Semirechie and SyrDarya, with the Transcaspian area added in 1897. According to the current Encyclopedia Britannica, Turkestan is the area in Central Asia between Siberia in the north; Iran,

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than his famous contemporaries, painter Vasilii Vereshchagin (1842–1904) and writer Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin (1826–89), whose works on Turkestan are relatively well known in Russia and in the West. The winner of multiple credits and awards during his lifetime, he was also an immensely popular artist. Karazin’s life was full of adventure and hard work, his energy and enthusiasm seemingly inexhaustible: “With his rich creative imagination and enormous artistic taste, Karazin was marked with an unusual quickness and easiness in work. His capacity for work and productivity were amazing.”6 During his lifetime, Karazin published extensively in various Russian periodicals, such as Niva, Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia, Delo, Slovo, Sever, Zhivopisnoe оbozrenie, Moskovskie vedomosti, S. Peterburgskie vedomosti, Novoe vremia, and Pchela, as well as in foreign ones, such as Illustrated London News, Illustration, and Uber Land und Meer.7 He created around 4,000 drawings and watercolors, and around 100 paintings, and illustrated dozens of books.8 For example, in 1901, Niva claimed that in a period of thirty years, it had published more than 450 drawings and sixty novels, stories, and essays by Karazin in its pages.9 Karazin’s visual works are kept in more than twenty galleries of the former Soviet Union, including the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow and the State Russian Museum in St. Petersburg, and museums of Tallinn, Samara, Yaroslavl, Kazan, Ekaterinburg, Ashkhabad, and Tashkent. The famed collection of published materials related to Central Asia and consisting of almost six hundred volumes, Turkestanskii Albom (Turkestan Collection), contains multiple works by Karazin. A complete collection of his literary works consists of twenty-five volumes. He is credited with being the first (or among the very first) in several areas: one of the first war correspondent–illustrators, a serious book illustrator who introduced several innovations into the illustration of books in Russia,10 the first illustrator of Afghanistan, and Tibet in the south; the Caspian Sea in the west; and the Gobi Desert in the east. https://www.britannica.com/place/Turkistan (accessed 22 February 2019). 6  P.  A. Korovichenko, “Karazin, Nikolai Nikolaevich,” in K.  E. Velichko, ed., Voennaia entsiklopediia, vol. 12 (St. Petersburg: T-vo I. D. Sytina, 1913), 376. 7  Biobibliograficheskii slovar’. Khudozhniki narodov SSSR, vol. 4, book 2 (St. Petersburg: Gumanitarnoe agenstvo Akademicheskii proekt, 1995), 208. 8  E.  V. Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin, 1842–1908,” in A.  I. Leonov, ed., Russkoe iskusstvo. Ocherki o zhizni i tvorchestve khudozhnikov. Vtoraia polovina deviatnadtsatogo veka II (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1971), 358. 9  Niva 49 (1901): 742. 10  A. A. Sidorov, Istoriia oformleniia russkoi knigi, 2nd ed. (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo “Kniga,” 1964), 328–29, 348; Idem., Risunok russkikh masterov (vtoraia polovina XIX v.) (Moscow:

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Dostoevsky, and the creator of the first illustrated postcards in Russia11 and of the first artistic projects of the Moscow metro,12 as well as one of the founding members of the new society of Russian watercolor painters in St. Petersburg. His literary works range from novels to short stories, essays, and travelogues. His most famous novels about Central Asia include Dvunogii volk (Two-legged wolf), V kamyshakh (In the reeds), Pogonia za nazhivoi (Chasing profit), and Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts). Among his best-known stories are “Ak-Tomak,” “T’ma neprogliadnaia” (Pitch darkness), and “Tigritsa” (Tigress). His visual works are represented by large oil paintings, watercolor paintings, and sketches, with the oil painting series about the conquest of Turkestan probably being the most famed one. Yet in spite of the outstanding role he played in the cultural history of Russia in the second half of the nineteenth century, Nikolai Karazin remains mainly unknown to the Western public, while receiving limited attention from scholars. This book is the first comprehensive attempt in Western scholarship to introduce Karazin’s images of Central Asia to the Western audience, to supplement the Western scholars’ knowledge of his works with specific details, and to relate his works to the cultural aspects of Russian imperial history.13 It analyzes the ways his multimedia discourse

Izdatel’stvo Akademii nauk SSSR, 1960), 364; V. Shumkov, “Master illiustratsii,” Knizhnoe obozrenie, 9 July 1976. Karazin was the first Russian book illustrator who followed the famous French illustrator Gustav Doré in drawings with his brush directly on the wooden boards and by doing so he created new methods of toned wood engravings. He also was praised for his artistic design of both open pages as an art work. Sidorov, 328–29. According to an article in Niva, “they call N. N. Karazin ‘Russian Doré,’ thinking that this is an honor for him. But Doré has nothing to do with it. N. N. has his own ‘self’ and his own artistic face…”; Niva 50 (1906): 803. Shestimirov claims that in the 1870s, Karazin traveled to Paris to study with Doré. Alexander Shestimirov, Zabytye imena. Russkaia zhivopis’ (Moscow: Belyi gorod, 2001), 220. Karazin’s adventure novels were also compared to those by Mayne Reid: K. Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia (vtoraia polovina XIX – pervoe desiatiletie XX v.) 2nd ed. (Alma-Ata: “Kazakhstan,” 1980), 138. The goal was similar – to praise the Russian artist by comparing him to the famous European artists. 11  Shestimirov, Zabytye imena, 220; Idem., “Otkrytki khudozhnika Karazina,” Antikvariat, nos. 1–2 (January–February 2004). 12  Shestimirov, Zabytye imena, 220–21. 13  See also Elena Andreeva, “Discourse of Empathy: Images from Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin (1842–1908),” in Orientality: Cultural Orientalism and Mentality (Milano: Silvana Editoriale S. p. A., 2015).

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inflected, and was inflected by, the expansion of the Russian Empire into Central Asia. This book is based on materials obtained through research in the archives and reserves of Russia’s museums and libraries, including the State Tretyakov Gallery – the National Museum of Russian Fine Arts, the Museum of the Peoples of the Orient, the Russian State Archive of Literature and Arts, and the National Library in Moscow; the Russian Museum of Fine Arts, the Institute of Oriental Studies, the Russian State Historical Archive, and the Archive of the Russian Geographical Society in St. Petersburg. Additionally, the author was able to use the Karazin family archive. The book incorporates multiple reviews, encyclopedia entries, commemorative addresses, and articles dedicated to Karazin during his lifetime. It is important to understand the artist’s views from the nineteenth-­century perspective, and from the perspective of his audience, since using late twentieth-century perceptions “poisons the deep wells of sympathy and respect which artists of all sorts felt for the East in the nineteenth century, which they expressed in distinctively nineteenth-century ways, not necessarily amenable to the critical values of the twentieth century.”14 In the second half of the nineteenth century, when Russia was finally prepared to experience the Orient15 directly, as opposed to borrowing its perceptions of the Orient from Western Europe, Central Asian motifs were being incorporated into mainstream Russian culture. During this 14  John M. MacKenzie, Orientalism: History, theory and the arts (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), xviii. 15  The term “Orient” in relation to Russia in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries is even more ideologically loaded than “East” and more often than not is seen in connotation to the concept of Orientalism formulated by Edward Said in his 1979 book of the same name. The Russian Orient is defined at least as vaguely as the Orient in the West European context. Russian intellectuals usually positioned the Orient/the East (vostok) in the east, south, southeast, and even in the north (Siberia) of the Empire, in the territories inhabited predominantly by Muslims. The case of Crimea and the Caucasus was especially complicated: their assignment to Asia or the Orient was highly controversial already in the nineteenth century: “Like the allegedly civilized West, the Russian Orient included territories that, if we follow Said, were parts of the ‘good old Orient.’ This was the Orient that had flourished once, but degenerated over the centuries. This holds not only for China, Japan, or the Holy Land, but also for the present-day regions of Armenia and Georgia in the South Caucasus, once a stronghold of early Christianity.” Kerstin S.  Jobst, “Where the Orient Ends? Orientalism and Its Function for Imperial Rule in the Russian Empire,” in James Hodkinson and John Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism in Culture and History: From Germany to Central and Eastern Europe (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2013), 193.

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period of time, the routine use of photography for purposes other than portraits was still in its infancy.16 Hence Karazin’s keen eye for observation, passion for details, and extraordinarily skilled and vivid images – and the combination of different media he employs – constitute a gift to historians and ethnographers. Based on his personal experience, his Central Asian pieces add primary ethnographic and social-historical materials to those already in scholarly circulation. Such works as Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta (From Orenburg to Tashkent), a combination of a travelogue and an early travel guide, and “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia” (Samara scholarly expedition), a combination of a travelogue and a scholarly report, provide rich ethnographic, geographic, and topographic details in an easily digestible form. Karazin possessed a natural gift for descriptions – slow-­ paced and detailed, they maintain readers’ concentration and fascination. His reviewers justly pointed out that he created visual images and sketches with his words: “The essence of his talent consisted of being able to capture and remember the external features of his objects and create a [verbal] painting out of them. All his essays and short stories are nothing other than verbal presentation of paintings existing in his mind.”17 At the same time, many of his drawings tell a story by capturing an episode which allows for the audience to guess what preceded or followed it. Several generations of the Russian literary public discovered Central Asia and its peoples through his works – so that his notions shaped their views. He played a mediating role between Central Asia and its public perception – providing a prism through which the reading Russian public looked at its new frontier society. His works enchanted several generations of devoted audiences for whom his descriptions or detailed sketches never felt tedious: in his very best works, he was “simultaneously realistic, fantastic, and picturesque.”18 It is also important to note that Karazin viewed educating his audiences as his mission, rather than simply entertaining them – and he purposefully structured his works towards that end, providing what he considered to be valuable materials. He masterfully integrates informative passages dedicated to history and nature into most of his works of fiction. His enthusiasm for ethnography is manifested through 16  Margaret Dikovitskaya, “Central Asia in Early Photographs: Russian Colonial Attitudes and Visual Culture,” in Uyama Tomohiko, ed., Empire, Islam and Politics in Central Asia. Slavic Eurasian Studies 14 (2007): 104–5. 17  Delo 11 (1874): 5. 18  A.  A. Sidorov, Russkaia grafika nachala XX veka. Ocherki istorii i teorii (Moscow: “Iskusstvo,” 1969), 53.

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detailed descriptions and images of the local people, their customs, and their habits, as well as folktales, all generously spread though his works. At the same time, his perceptions were interconnected with the development of colonial culture among Russian settlers in Central Asia, in particular with those of the Russian inhabitants of Karazin’s beloved city of Tashkent. Analysis of Karazin’s Turkestan is directly related to the discussion about the correlation between culture and empire. What comes first; what follows? “Empire follows Art, and not vice versa as Englishmen suppose,” according to a provocative remark by William Blake in which he seems to suggest “that culture is central to the creation and preservation of the imperial regimes.”19 Though this statement sounds too extreme, culture certainly played a significant role in the construction of empire, as empire conditioned the development of culture. Since Russia proper was closely connected to its non-Russian territories, Russians were strongly affected by the territories they ruled: “Empire shaped the literature of Alexander Pushkin and Leo Tolstoy, inspired the music of Mikhail Glinka and Alexander Borodin, added its hues and forms to Russian architecture, and insinuated itself into everything from Muscovite menus to Volga folktales.”20 Moreover, it was mainly the relationship to the southern and eastern margins of the empire that formed the “Russian national identity as expressed in literature.”21 Edward Said proposed a useful theory of “dynamic exchange” between individual writers or texts and the complex processes of empire-building with which they interact.22 In his Culture and Imperialism, he strongly emphasized the role culture plays in political and ideological battles related to imperialism: “culture is a sort of theatre where various political and ideological causes engage one another. …culture can even be a battleground on which causes expose themselves to the light of day and contend

19  Alison Smith, David Blayney Brown, and Carol Jacobi, eds., Artist and Empire: Facing Britain’s Imperial Past (London: Tate Publishing, 2016), 10. 20  Willard Sunderland, “Shop Signs, Monuments, Souvenirs: Views of the Empire in Everyday Life,” in Valerie A.  Kivelson and Joan Neuberger, eds., Picturing Russia: Explorations in Visual Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008), 104. 21  Katya Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), 13. 22  Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 14–15, 23–24, quoted in Susan Layton, Russian Literature and Empire: Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 9.

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with one another.”23 When culture is granted a certain degree of autonomy, it is capable of resisting the state’s political agenda, so that writers “utter real, meaningful protests against the given system of power and even effect changes in it.” At the same time young Pushkin, Bestuzhev-­ Marlinsky, and Lermontov, all of whom were exiled to the Caucasus, “endorsed imperialism in certain ways, while taking issues with others.”24 What seems to be a contradiction to a modern observer was a reflection of the maze of Russian national identity – itself a product of Russia’s peculiar (but not unique) position between East and West, its geographic position and historical development culminating by the late nineteenth century in the creation of its huge Eurasian empire. Nikolai Karazin’s works about Central Asia are marked by a similar consistent inconsistency. Analyzing Karazin’s “colonial prose,” modern Russian scholar of literature Eleonora Shafranskaia insightfully points out that though Karazin’s goal was objective presentation, “not necessarily pleasing the official propaganda discourse,” he at the same time “was one of the first ones … to create a canon of the future for the newly conquered lands and peoples; this canon would later be circulated in fiction, official propaganda, mythology of the daily life.” Such a model of the future “privatized” by the Russian colonial prose of the last third of the nineteenth century was directly related to the “civilizing project of the Russian empire in Turkestan.”25 While expressing patriotic enthusiasm for the Russian conquest and a paternalistic approach to the peoples and cultures of Central Asia, Karazin presents multiple attractive and noble images of the “Orientals,” alongside numerous and graphic depictions of Russian “civilizers” behaving in a deplorably uncivilized way. There are clear parallels between his depiction of those whom he sarcastically calls Tashkentskie rytsari (Tashkent knights) and the poisonous images of Gospoda Tashkentsy (The Tashkentians) by M.  E. Saltykov-Shchedrin, known for his biting satire of Russian officials. In effect, showing “good” and “bad” Russians alongside “good” and “bad” local people makes the relationship of power relatively balanced. Karazin consistently expresses warm sympathy for  Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), xiii.  Jonathan Arac, “Introduction,” in Jonathan Arac and Harriet Ritvo, eds., Macropolitics of Nineteenth-Century Literature: Nationalism, Exoticism, Imperialism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1991), 1, quoted in Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 9. 25  Eleonora Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnograficheskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016), 21. 23 24

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native people and their suffering. Gradually and within boundaries, a “discourse of power” in Karazin’s works combines with a “discourse of empathy.” The organization of this book is greatly helped by the notion of “imperial networks” connecting metropole and colonial places. Such an approach includes examination of “multiple meanings, projects, material practices, performances and experiences of colonial relations.” Analysis of colonial projects pursued through the imperial networks demonstrates the great variety of colonial interests and practices and the lack of a single colonial discourse. Furthermore, if places are understood as “rather specific juxtapositions or constellations of multiple trajectories” which could be “those of people, objects, texts and ideas,” imperial space will be a complex result of multiple trajectories, directed by “individuals collaborating in pursuit of specific colonial or anti-colonial projects, such as proselytization, humanitarianism, settler capitalism, commercial enterprise, scientific inquiry, governmentality…”26 “‘Strong ties’ of friendship and obligation,” personal bonds between individuals constitute an aspect of those networks.27 Karazin’s connections with Konstantin Petrovich von Kaufman, his military commander at first, and later Turkestan governor-general sponsoring scientific and ethnographic study of Turkestan, very likely contributed to the artist’s enthusiasm for Russian domination over Turkestan. Applying such a conceptual approach to the phenomenon of Karazin’s art exposes the significant role art and culture played in those webs, but without the compulsion to gloss over its complexity. Karazin personally participated in the military conquest of Central Asia, and in the natural scientific and ethnographic enquiry in Turkestan, and he was a guest at the opening of the Transcaspian railroad in 1888. During those and other visits to Turkestan, Karazin purposefully and passionately collected abundant materials about the conquest, exploration, governance, and commercial activity in the region; interacted with military and civilian Russian individuals, and with many local people from various walks of life; processed the collected information and emotions; and finally transformed them into literary and visual art. These works, in their turn, 26  David Lambert and Alan Lester, eds., Colonial Lives Across the British Empire: Imperial Careering in the Long Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 6–14. 27  Zoe Laidlaw, Colonial connections 1815–45: Patronage, the information revolution and colonial government (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 15.

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circulated by multiple means including various media, shaped the views of his audience, impacted Russian officials in the metropole and the colonies, and interacted with the official discourses. As a result, all his colonial (as well as anticolonial) art projects constituted trajectories which, meeting with multiple other trajectories, constructed imperial space. While artistic trajectories in imperial networks in the Caucasus have been relatively well examined by modern Western and Russian scholars, similar work needs to be done in relation to Central Asia. This book is conceived as a contribution to such scholarship. While looking at Central Asia as a part of Russia’s “internal Orient” (which also includes the Crimea and the Caucasus), this book also points out some differences between perceptions of “internal” and “external” Orients. Russia’s “external” Orient includes those Eastern countries which were never formally a part of the empire: the Ottoman empire, India, and Iran.28 Iran occupied a special position among the other “external” Oriental countries because of the active interference of Russia there, starting with the time of Peter the Great to the Great Game and culminating in 1907 when the Anglo-­ Russian Convention divided Iran into spheres of influence. The massive presence of Russian officials, many of whom were military, in northern and northeastern Iran during that period of time is reflected in more than two hundred travel accounts and allows for an analysis of Russian Orientalism directed at an “external Orient.”29 In Central Asia, Karazin felt that Russians were in control after the successful conquest and therefore there was no threat from the local people. Thus military advantage led to a significant degree of self-confidence. Karazin did not seem to doubt Russia’s belonging to the civilized and civilizing West and therefore did not feel any need to prove Russia’s westernness to himself or the local people. In comparison, Russians in Iran (as an example of an external Orient) felt threatened by the local Muslim population. Pursuing their military or diplomatic goals, they had to travel alone or as a part of a small group in the formally independent country, where Russian military presence and administrative power were limited. Unsure 28  Vera Tolz’s definition of “Russia’s own Orient” includes the Caucasus, Turkestan, and the non-European communities of western and eastern Siberia and the lower Volga region, as well as the “Oriental” societies bordering the Russian Empire. Russia’s Own Orient: The Politics of Identity and Oriental Studies in the Late Imperial and Early Soviet Periods (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 9. 29  For such analysis, see Elena Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game: Travelogues and Orientalism (London: Routledge, 2007).

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of their position there, multiple Russians in their travelogues repeatedly insist on their thorough Europeanness and close affinity with Western Europe in every aspect including Christianity, in spite of the distinctiveness of Russian Orthodoxy. They also obsessively disparage every aspect of Iran and its people, emphasizing their perceived inferiority. All those modes were to conceal their lack of self-confidence vis-à-vis the Oriental “Other.” The book is organized thematically, while maintaining chronological order as much as possible. While this chapter serves as an introduction, the second chapter surveys existing literature on Nikolai Karazin’s life and artistic production, followed by his biography with emphasis on his family values of advanced education and service to the motherland. It analyzes his double career  – military and artistic, as well as the emergence and development of his lifelong passion for Central Asia. The chapter explains his role in introducing Central Asia to the Russian general public based on his broad popularity and briefly evaluates the artistic merits of his visual and literary works. This chapter also includes the background necessary for the comprehensive understanding of Nikolai Karazin’s art: the conquest of Central Asia and its incorporation into the empire throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, as well as analysis of the evolution of Russia’s self-identification and its placement by Western European and Eastern neighbors. Utilizing a rich body of scholarly literature, the chapter examines the seeming contradiction marking Russian art of the nineteenth century: the combination of anti-autocratic views and enthusiastic support for the “civilizing” mission of the Tsarist government in Russia’s “internal” Orient. Chapter three examines Nikolai Karazin’s “military project” in the context of this double-angled perspective on Russia’s role in the Orient. In his prose and visual works dedicated to the military conquest, he at once applauds the Russian expansion and laments the “excessive” violence accompanying it on both sides. As a dedicated Russian military officer, the artist vividly presents Russian heroic “white shirts” (soldiers) and their selfless commanders fighting against a predominantly cowardly and treacherous enemy. This stereotypical picture is made more balanced by several exceptions among his countrymen and the local people, but even more so by the author’s sincere empathy for those suffering on both sides. The “military project” is presented in the context of the “imperial networks,” highlighting the personal connections between privileged officers closely

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linked to the metropole and the tensions between those adjutants and aides-de-camp and regular officers of common background. Chapters four and five are dedicated to Karazin’s “civilian project,” parallel to the military one on several accounts. Chapter four explains how Karazin, openly proud of the benevolent influence of the Russian domination over the newly acquired territories, praises “Russian” Tashkent and other “Russian cities,” the dramatic improvement in the means of transportation, the construction of new post stations in the desert and the Transcaspian railroad, and the “civilizing” impact of the sedentary agricultural lifestyle. Devoted, honest, and humane Russian men and women, both nobility and commoners, are at work to make sure the people of Turkestan are kindly assisted on their way towards what they see as progress. At the same time, the artist presents a gallery of shockingly incompetent, corrupt, greedy, and cruel Russian newcomers, ranging from officials to merchants, peasants, and even priests. Their malignant activities generate serious drawbacks of that advancement, set bad examples for the local people, and often corrupt them. They are the true “savages,” Karazin’s readers were to conclude, since they are being held to the highest ethical standards as representatives of the Russian Empire. Their behavior therefore undermines the moral justification of the “civilizing mission” of Russia since often it is unclear who is supposed to “civilize” whom. Chapter five reinforces this message by presenting a similar dichotomy among the local people. They also vary from saintly to wildly cruel and treacherous, with their loyalty to the Russians being an important denominator of their overall worthiness. Men and women, sedentary and nomad, local aristocracy and commoners, they interact with the Russians in the newly created “contact zone” in a variety of modes which imply a certain balance of power. In spite of the author’s noticeable patronizing tone and occasional Saidian Orientalist stereotyping, the prevailing tone of presentation is one of empathy and humanity. The concluding chapter offers analysis of the ethnographic aspect in Karazin’s literary and visual works, including his fiction, travelogues, and reports of two scientific expeditions to the Amu-Darya. Having overcome the view of the Orient as exotic which they had borrowed from Western Europe, by this time Russian artists were directly interacting with the Orient. There was also a great interest among the Russian public, from peasants to the nobility, in the artifacts and images reflecting Russia’s new territories. The chapter analyses Karazin’s ethnographic endeavors in their connection to the imperial “scientific networks” which linked Turkestan

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to the metropole as well as government, military, and scientific players in both the center and the periphery. Karazin presents a virtual reality panorama of Turkestan, being ever attentive to every detail of people’s life, including costume, customs, folklore, dwellings, and means of transportation; and of the natural environment, mountains and rivers, and domestic and wild animals. As the ethnography of the time was expected to complement Russian domination, the artist did not avoid the occasional presentation of local people as ethnic types. However, similar to the rest of his art, Karazin’s ethnography is marked with the spirit of shared humanity. The conclusion summarizes the main features of Karazin’s works in the context of “internal” and “external” Orientalisms and suggests projects for further investigation of his art.

CHAPTER TWO

Nikolai Karazin’s “discovery” of Central Asia as Russia’s internal Orient

This book aspires to examine Nikolai Karazin’s artistic biography as a convenient case study for analysis of the imperial networks: when different trajectories interact, “[i]ndividuals become meeting points for influences, no longer static, but mobile, effusive, decentered, a process not a thing.”1 Karazin’s biography offers a lens to look at the broad picture of the Russian colonial endeavor in the late nineteenth century in all its complexity, “addressing some of the historiographical fractures and neglect of imperial diversity.”2 In his classical book on Orientalism in arts, John MacKenzie outlines several possibilities: “While all forms of representation are of course filtered through the lens of the beholder, some purport to offer a realistic facsimile; others thrive on stereotypical depiction…; while yet others seek to absorb and adapt in a conscious effort to find a syncretic art. The realistic approach may offer positive or negative sentiment, sometimes

1  M.  Shortland and R.  Yeo, eds., Telling lives in science: essays on scientific biography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 14, quoted in David Lambert and Alan Lester, eds., Colonial Lives Across the British Empire: Imperial Careering in the Long Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 20. See an overview of the “new biography” in Lambert and Lester, eds., Colonial Lives Across the British Empire, 19–21. 2  J. MacKenzie, “Foreword” to A. Mackillop and S. Murdoch, eds., Military governors and imperial frontiers, c. 1600–1800: a study of Scotland and empire (Leiden: Brill, 2003), xxvii, quoted in Lambert and Lester, eds., Colonial Lives Across the British Empire, 20.

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_2

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in almost equal measure.”3 As we are about to see, Nikolai Karazin’s art, filtered through the lens of a benevolent participant in the imperial conquest and colonization, aspired to offer a realistic reflection but was simultaneously very much a part of several colonial projects of his time. Applying the network concept of empire (briefly outlined in the previous chapter) to the relationship between Russia and Turkestan, this book examines several Russian “colonial projects” through Karazin’s art: the military conquest of Central Asia, the Russian administration of Central Asia including connections between the newcomers and the local people there, relations between various groups of Russian people in Central Asia and sometimes relations between different groups of locals, and the collection of scientific and ethnographical materials about Central Asia. This chapter also includes a bibliographical survey of the works dedicated to the artist in English and Russian languages, and provides an overview of Russian apprehension and comprehension of Central Asia in the second half of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

Bibliographical survey With the exception of two books and an essay, none of Karazin’s works have been translated into English so far.4 Sources published in Russian on his life and activities, including those related to Central Asia, are also limited. They include several articles and encyclopedia entries, with the most credible ones concentrating primarily on his battle paintings.5 A number 3  John M. MacKenzie, Orientalism: History, theory and the arts (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), xvii. 4  Dvunogii volk, trans. by Boris Lanin as The Two-legged wolf. A romance (University of California Libraries, 1894); Na dalekikh okrainakh, trans. by Anthony W.  Sariti as In the Distant Confines (Authorhouse, 2007); “N. Karazin. Camp on the Amu Daria,” trans. by Elena Andreeva and Mark Woodcock, Metamorphosis, Spring 2010. 5  P.  A. Korovichenko, “Karazin, Nikolai Nikolaevich,” in K.  I. Velichko et  al., eds., Voennaia entsiklopediia, vol. 12 (St. Petersburg: T-vo I. D. Sytina, 1913); Biobibliograficheskii slovar’. Khudozhniki narodov SSSR, vol. 4, book 2 (St. Petersburg: Gumanitarnoe agenstvo Akademicheskii proekt, 1995); S. A. Vengerov, ed., Istochniki slovaria russkikh pisatelei, vol. II (St. Petersburg: Tip. Akademii nauk, 1910); F. I. Bulgakov, Nashi khudozhniki (zhivopistsy, skul’ptory, mozaichisty, gravery i medal’ery) na akademicheskikh vystavkakh poslednego 25-letiia, vol. I (St. Petersburg: Tipograpfiia A. S. Suvorina, 1889); chapter on Karazin in V. V. Sadoven’, Russkie khudozhniki batalisty XVIII-XIX vekov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1955); E. V. Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin, 1842–1908,” in A. I. Leonov, ed., Russkoe iskusstvo. Ocherki o zhizni i tvorchestve khudozhnikov. Vtoraia polovina deviatnadtsatogo veka

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of articles unfortunately lack clear references, in addition to being predominantly descriptive. One article about Karazin, published in the Military Encyclopedia, should be mentioned separately: though brief, it is well written and contains accurate information – it was authored by a distant relative of Nikolai Karazin, Pavel Aleksandrovich Korovichenko (1876–1919).6 In addition to several articles written about Nikolai Karazin during the Soviet years, there is a book dedicated to “Russo-Kazakh literary relationships” with a chapter partially describing the “Kazakh theme” in Karazin’s “Turkestan novels.”7 Sadly, similar to the other works of Soviet scholarship, it is tainted by the ideas of the “progressive activities” of Russians in Turkestan, “joint efforts,” and “mutual consecutiveness and enrichment in all spheres of life” between Russians and Kazakhs, which allegedly culminated in the emergence of the “great historic brotherhood of people – the Soviet nation.”8 A story by the prominent Soviet writer Vsevolod Ivanov (1895–1963) entitled “Bukhgalter G.  O. Surkov, chestno pogibshii za svoi idei” (Accountant Surkov who honestly perished for his ideas), and written in 1930, grotesquely illustrates the perception of the works by Nikolai Karazin during the Soviet years. One should keep in mind that Ivanov was born in what today is Kazakhstan, did not even graduate from middle school, fought in the Red Army, and later occupied positions of leadership in the Union of Soviet Writers; his writings were favored by Joseph Stalin. In that story, the title character, accountant Surkov, is described as being drawn to Turkestan by Karazin’s novels, and this in turn triggers a discussion of literary taste and the value of Karazin’s novels and short stories:

II (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1971); a chapter on Karazin in Alexander Shestimirov, Zabytye imena. Russkaia zhivopis’ (Moscow: Belyi gorod, 2001); Vladimir Shumkov, “Zhizn’, trudy i stranstvovaniia Nikolaia Karazina, pisatelia, khudozhnika, puteshestvennika,” Zvezda vostoka (Tashkent) 6 (1975), lacking a system of reference. Unfortunately, a book about Karazin, Preodoleem stenu zabveniia (o Karazine Nikolae Nikolaeviche) by L.  P. Aripova (Moscow: Narodnaiia pamiat’, 2005), is utterly erratic: its organization is chaotic with the life of the author of the book receiving more attention than that of Karazin, most of the information is inaccurate and confusing, and any system of reference is lacking. 6  Korovichenko, “Karazin,” 375–76. 7  K.  Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia (vtoraia polovina XIX-pervoe desiatiletie XX v.) (Alma-Ata: “Kazakhstan,” 1980). 8  Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia, see for example pages 139, 5.

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“Why did you read such apparent imperialist garbage, accountant?” He answered quietly and modestly: “I feel that it is garbage” and looked downwards. From that downward glance I understood that he doubted the value and attraction of books produced by our Soviet literature, and even their meaning. “Yes,” answered accountant G. O. Surkov, “I doubt. I have tried, following the advice of many and in order to enrich my [Soviet] consciousness to add my own [ideas] in the unclear passages, but in those cases such terrible dirt and dandruff creeps into my brain, that it is better to read N. Karazin. If he is a skunk, what can be asked from him?” I did not approve of such a train of thought and admitted that he had not forged his worldview yet, which he agreed to.9

Karazin’s posthumous reputation in Russia started to change after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. Two years later, a collection of Karazin’s works was published. It included Pogonia za nazhivoi (Chasing profit), one of his best-known Turkestan novels, and some short stories and novellas, all dedicated to Central Asia.10 In his introduction to that book, Georgii Tsvetov, an expert on Russian literature, puts Karazin’s works in the category of the literature “returned” from the “depth of the nineteenth century.”11 This is how he explains the deliberate neglect of Karazin’s work in the Soviet time: the “ideologically keen eye of the Soviet publishers noticed dangerous political mistakes even in Nikolai Karazin’s works.” It was Karazin who recorded the trip of Nicholas II to the East while he was the crown prince. Also, the Communist-supervised Encyclopedia of Literature accused Karazin of ignoring the “exploited and deprived of civil rights ‘aborigines.’” The same encyclopedia blamed Karazin for producing “colonial novels” prone to “flashy effects and melodramatic plots,” hence labeling him as an author of salacious novels with malignant ideological propositions.12 Tsvetov pointed out that the goal of that edition was not the “political rehabilitation” of Karazin – he did not need one. Instead, he justly emphasized the historical and ethnographical value of Karazin’s works, and, most importantly, his humanism  – his 9  Vsevolod Ivanov, “Bukhgalter G. O. Surkov, chestno pogibshii za svoi idei,” Krasnaia Nov’. Literaturno-khudozhestvennyi nauchno-publitsisticheskii zhurnal, book 7, July 1930, 23. Disclaimer: the poor language is not the fault of the author of this book, whose translation follows the Russian original closely. I am grateful to Dr. Katharine Holt of the University of St. Andrews for pointing out this story to me. 10  Nikolai Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi (St. Petersburg: Lenizdat, 1993). 11  Georgii Tsvetov, introduction to Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 1993, 5. 12  Tsvetov, introduction, 5.

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i­nterest in and attention to a human being, including the native people of Turkestan: “Nikolai Karazin is always concerned with the ethical underpinning of the events, so that good, conscience, compassion, glory and motherland constitute for him permanent notions, not subjected to reevaluation in either exotic environment, or in the heat of pursuits, battles or hostility.”13 In the last several years, a few additional Russian articles and a book have appeared dedicated to the theme of “Russian Turkestan” in Karazin’s prose.14 The quality of those articles is uneven, with those by the Vasil’evs lacking any analytical framework. According to one of these recent articles, Karazin, arguably, so talented in many different ways, was not inferior to such prominent writers as Nemirovich-Danchenko, Mel’nikov-­ Pecherskii, Mamin-Sibiriak, Grigorovich, Omulevskii, Korolenko, and other authors who used to write about life in Russian provinces and colonies. Even “in the pre-war period [prior to the Second World War], when Soviet literary criticism still sometimes used to define things by their proper names, Karazin was considered to be the most talented writer of the colonial genre.”15 The author of this brief article, A. D. Kazimirchuk, relates Karazin’s works to the modern Western scholarship on Orientalism by Vera Tolz, Edward Said, and Alexander Etkind. In 2016, a book dedicated to Karazin’s “colonial prose” about Turkestan was published by Eleonora Shafranskaia.16 She also addresses the reasons for erasing Karazin’s works from the “literary mainstream,” the “deliberate ­forgetting”  Tsvetov, introduction, 5–7.  A.  D. Kazimirchuk, “Dikhtomiia ‘Vostok-Zapad’ v proizvedeniiakh N.  N. Karazina,” Politicheskaia lingvistika 4 (46): 2013; Irina Vladimirovna Vasil’eva and Dmitrii Valentinovich Vasil’ev, “Russkii Turkestan v literaturnykh proizvedeniiakh N.  N. Karazina,” Internetzhurnal Naukovedenie, issue 4 (23), July–August 2014, http://cyberleninka.ru/article/n/ russkiy-turkestan-v-literaturnyh-proizvedeniyah-n-n-karazina (accessed 25 May 2017); Irina Vladimirovna Vasil’eva and Dmitrii Valentinovich Vasil’ev, “Obrazy zhitelei Turkestana i ego zavoevatelei v literaturnykh proizvedeniiakh N. N. Karazina,” Internet-zhurnal Naukovedenie, issue 6 (25): November–December 2014, http://naukovedenie.ru/PDF/56PVN614.pdf (accessed 25 May 2017); E. F. Shafranskaia, “Nikolai Karazin – fol’klorist,” Vestnik TvGU, Seriia “Filologiia,” no. 1 (2015). 15  Kazimirchuk, “Dikhtomiia ‘Vostok-Zapad,’” 204–5. The author quotes S. Iu. Dudakov, Paradoksy i prichudy filosemitizma i antisemitizma v Rossii (Moscow: Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi gumanitarnyi univesitet, 2000), no page number. 16  Eleonora Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnografichskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016). 13 14

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of him – the main one being his works’ lack of compliance with the Soviet propaganda machine.17 In her book, Shafranskaia makes several references to the same Western scholars as did Kazimirchuk. Her book focuses on Karazin’s works of fiction from the perspective of ethnography and folklore, and places his works in the broader context of Russian and Soviet literature. Shafranskaia puts Nikolai Karazin on a par with such famous Russian writers as Tolstoy, Leskov, Saltykov-Shchedrin, and Chekhov by drawing parallels between their respective works. In addition to dedicating a separate chapter to a comparison of Nikolai Karazin with each one of those writers, she published a separate article on Karazin and Leskov.18 Larisa Deshko has recently made available an electronic version of her book Osnova. Karaziny, published in Ukranian with several articles in Russian. The book is dedicated to the history of the Karazin family, “Karazins’ Atalantida,” and includes a chapter on Nikolai Karazin. It uses family archives and contains multiple family photographs and beautiful albums illustrated by the artist. While illustrated family albums were fashionable during Karazin’s time,19 those illustrated by Nikolai Karazin can count among his best trademark works. In them, his skillful and detailed sketches and watercolors are enlightened by his tender love for his nearest family: wife Maria, daughter Maria (Marusia), and granddaughters Tamara and Magdalina (Magda). In those family albums, Karazin brilliantly did what he was so good at: he “froze the moments” in his cherished family life, turning a trivial album of family photographs into an artistic masterpiece.

Central Asian context On the one hand, Karazin’s personal involvement in the apprehension of Central Asia was part of a long intertwined history of Russia and Asia; on the other, his images were a part of Russia’s comprehension of Central Asia. The complex relationship between Russia and Asia goes back to the early history of Russia and includes the Mongol domination of the  Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 23, 29–34.  E.  F. Shafranskaia, “Karazin i Leskov,” in Vestnik Nizhegorodskogo universiteta im. N. I. Lobachevskogo, 2014, no. 2 (2). 19  Natal’ia Usenko and Tat’iana Bakhmet, “Neizvestnyi Karazin: dnevniki pamiati,” in Larisa Deshko, “Kartina,” in Osnova. Karaziny (Kiev: Vidavetz Androshchuk P. S., 2014), 158, http://dspace.univer.kharkov.ua/handle/123456789/12892 (accessed 14 June 2018). 17 18

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thirteenth–sixteenth centuries; its outcome was the interpenetration of Russian and Asian cultures. By the second half of the nineteenth century, Asia had turned into an arena of acute imperialist competition – by the late nineteenth century, Russia’s Asian domain was three times the size of its European realm.20 The motives for Russia’s expansion into Central Asia were multifaceted and included political, strategic, and economic components, often differentiated between the center and the Asian periphery. Alex Marshall briefly surveys the most popular geostrategic explanations and concludes with rejecting them. According to him, Aleksei Nikolaevich Kuropatkin (1848–1925), the Russian war minister between 1898 and 1904, was the only true geopolitical thinker who presented grand strategic plans facing Russia. However, there was a “difficult gulf between geopolitical theory and messy everyday reality in the Russian Empire.”21 As summarized by Marshall in his book on the role of the Russian General Staff in Asia, such scholars as Mark Bassin, Andreas Kappeler, Michael Khodarkovsky, David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, and Austin Lee Jersild have presented a “more graduated and localized picture of Russian imperial expansion, in which imperial ideologies of absorption and control and even the very ideology of expansion itself varied dramatically over discrete periods of time.”22 At the same time, defining the conquest of Central Asia as “an almost purely military undertaking, and very much a state enterprise,” A. S. Morrison warns against overestimating the influence of Russia’s weak commercial class on the apparatus of the state, which “as a rule was wholly unresponsive to its concerns.”23 Justifying Russia’s conquests in Central Asia, Russian Foreign Minister Alexander Gorchakov claimed in the famous and often quoted dispatch in 1864 that Russia’s expansion was involuntary. According to that document, Russia had to secure its borders from a “semi-savage” nomadic population as “all civilized states” were destined to do, and there was no definite limit to the expansion in sight: “The United States in America, 20  Alexis Krauss, Russia in Asia: A Record and a Study (London: Curzon Press, 1900), 2–12, quoted in Alex Marshall, The Russian General Staff and Asia, 1800–1917 (London: Routledge, 2006), 1. 21  Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 1–2. 22  Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 3. Marshall also points out that it would be incorrect to present the above mentioned scholars as a part of a historical “school” whose views do not vary. See endnote 8, page 194. 23  A.  S. Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 1868–1910: A Comparison with British India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 30.

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France in Africa, Holland in its colonies, Britain in eastern India – all were drawn less by ambition and more by necessity along this path forwards on which it is very difficult to stop once one has started.”24 As Morrison points out, Gorchakov’s statement was not far from the truth: “The Russians were anxious to obtain a secure frontier on the steppe, which would maintain imperial prestige and prevent the disruption of trade routes by the Kazakhs.”25 Similarly, in his recently published book on the rise and fall of Kokand, Scott Levi suggests that the main motivation for the military expansion was an attempt to find a “stable and ‘natural frontier’ where the Russians could garrison their troops and safely defend their soldiers and their subjects.”26 Russian policies in Asia were directly connected with those in Western Europe. The international position of Russia started to shift by the middle of the nineteenth century: Russia was falling more and more behind Western Europe in technological and military developments. Even after the emancipation of slaves and other reforms implemented by Alexander II (r. 1855–81), “agrarian Russia remained economically backward right up to the First World War.”27 On the one hand, in the second half of the nineteenth century and up to 1914, Russia persisted as a great power and a great empire. At the same time, “it shared too many of the problems of political instability of the peripheral, backward but rapidly modernizing Second World.”28 This internal weakness inevitably altered the international position of the empire. Diplomatic failures in Europe were followed by a humiliating defeat in the Crimean War (1853–56) against Britain, France, the Ottoman Empire, and Sardinia. Russia’s international prestige in Europe (which had been significant after the defeat of Napoleonic France) plummeted and its role in European politics was dramatically reduced. As a result, Russia’s policies towards Central Asia and the Far East, as well as its aggressive policy in Iran, gained in significance. To 24  Andreas Kappeler, The Russian Empire: A Multiethnic History, trans. Alfred Clayton (Harlow, England: Longman, 2001), 194. 25  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 30. 26  Scott C. Levi, The Rise and Fall of Khoqand, 1709–1876 (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2017), 216. 27  Dietrich Geyer, Russian Imperialism: The Interaction of Domestic and Foreign Policy 1860–1914, trans. Bruce Little (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987), 4. 28  Dominic Lieven, “Empire on Europe’s Periphery: Russian and Western Comparisons,” in Alexei Miller and Alfred J.  Rieber, eds., Imperial Rule (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2004), 137–38.

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compensate for the blow to the prestige of the ruling elite, including the military leaders, Russia tried to catch up with its European rivals by imperialist expansion into Central and East Asia. “Only in Asia can we take up the struggle with Britain with some chance of success,” stated Russian diplomat N. P. Ignat’ev in 1857.29 The conquest of Central Asia started in the Kazakh steppe: by the middle of the nineteenth century, most of the Kazakh steppes had been annexed, secured by newly constructed military forts, and divided into several administrative units. The Russian expansion into the steppes led to a confrontation with the Central Asian khanates. Russian military operations began in 1864: in September, Russian forces under Colonel M. G. Cherniaev captured Chimkent (on the second attempt) belonging to the Kokand khanate. Then Cherniaev mounted an attack upon Tashkent in October 1864 but failed to take it. He returned the following year, and on 27 June 1865, the Russian troops stormed Tashkent. Alexander II called it a “glorious affair” and bestowed honors on Cherniaev and his leading officers. The relative ease of the conquest and the lack of protest from the British quieted any opposition in the Russian administration. In the following year, the emperor signed a decree annexing Tashkent to Russia.30 After a blunder at Dzhizak, however, General Cherniaev was replaced with General D. I. Romanovskii. Under his command, Russian troops successfully fought the Bukharan army and took the fort of Nau and the city of Khodzhent in May 1866. Under General N. A. Kryzhanovskii, the Russians won further victories over the khanate of Bukhara and captured the fortress of Ura-Tiube and the city of Dzhizak in the autumn of the same year. In July 1867, General Konstantin Petrovich von Kaufman was appointed the governor-general of Turkestan, a newly formed unit. It included two oblasts, Semirechie and Syr-Darya. Kaufman had previously, between 1843 and 1856, served in another part of Russia’s internal Orient, the Caucasus, where he participated in numerous suppressions of tribal and village uprisings.31 It is this type of connection that demonstrates how “the discourse of governmentality was … profoundly a product of the mobility of governors themselves.”32 It was under Kaufman’s command  Quoted in Kappeler, The Russian Empire, 193.  Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010), 20–21. 31  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 33. 32  Lambert and Lester, eds., Colonial Lives Across the British Empire, 11. 29 30

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that Nikolai Karazin would participate in the military campaigns against the forces of Bukhara, including the battles for Samarkand in early May of 1868 and Zarbulak in early June of 1868. Following defeats at Samarkand and Zarbulak, emir Mozaffar-al-Din of Bukhara capitulated. In 1873, after an exhausting advance from Tashkent across the desert, Russian troops led by Kaufman captured Khiva, whose resistance was surprisingly weak. Mohammad-Rahim Khan surrendered, losing huge territories to Russia’s annexation.33 Bukhara and Khiva remained as truncated protectorates of the empire, controlled by Russia in military, political, and economic terms, somewhat similar to the indirect rule of the British over India.34 The fate of Kokand was different: when a rebellion against the khan of Kokand turned into a holy war against the Russians in 1875, Russian troops under Kaufman and General M.  D. Skobelev captured the khanate of Kokand after several campaigns. In February 1876, Kokand was annexed to Russia.35 Transcaspia, populated mainly by Turkmen, was next to fall to the Russians. The city of Krasnovodsk, which had been established on the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea in 1869, became the main base for the operations. Russian advances led to resentment among the Turkmen performing raids followed by Russian punitive expeditions and the establishment of advance bases. After an embarrassing defeat at the hands of Tekke-Turkmen, a Russian army stormed the fortress of Geok-Tepe in January 1881. The storming was followed by a mass massacre ordered by General Skobelev. This brutality broke the Turkmen’s resistance and led to the capture of the rest of Transcaspia. A few days after the fall of GeokTepe, a force under Colonel A. N. Kuropatkin captured Ashkhabad. In May 1881, Transcaspia was declared an oblast of the empire. The capture of Merv in 1884 and the annexation of Kushka taken from Afghanistan in 1885 almost erupted into open warfare with Great Britain, but the Pamir treaty of 1885 between the two empires stopped further Russian advances in this direction and settled the Afghan boundaries.36 The Transcaspian 33  Yuri Bregel, “The Russian conquest of Central Asia and the first decades of Russian rule,” Encyclopedia Iranica, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/central-asia-vii (accessed 4 July 2019). 34  Kappeler, The Russian Empire, 197. 35  Richard A. Pierce, Russian Central Asia 1867–1917: A Study in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960), 34–37. 36  Pierce, Russian Central Asia, 37–42; David MacKenzie, “The Conquest and Administration of Turkestan, 1860–85,” in Michael Rywkin, ed., Russian Colonial Expansion to 1917 (London: Mansell Publishing Limited, 1988), 226.

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area was initially under the rule of the Caucasian administration but in 1897 it was added to Turkestan.37 The conquest of Central Asia, unlike the conquest of the Caucasus, did not present Russia with any particularly serious military problems. It has been estimated that a total of one thousand Russian soldiers died, while the casualties of their opponents were immeasurably higher.38 Sparsely settled, poorly armed, and politically divided peoples in Central Asia had no chance in their resistance to the invasion of the superior Russian army, with its modern firearms and artillery, advanced military doctrine, and significant results of the military reform.39 The local rulers dramatically underestimated Russian’s military superiority and made no serious attempt to join forces for resistance.40 The conquest enhanced the imperial prestige of Russia and confirmed its position as a major colonial power. It also attracted, inspired, and repulsed a number of Russian intellectuals and artists, including Nikolai Karazin.

Nikolai Karazin’s biography Nikolai Karazin and his work were shaped by the society he was a part of, because “authors are… very much in the history of their societies, shaping and shaped by that history and their social experience in different measures.”41 Karazin’s family background significantly affected his future education, interests, and values. He was born into a prominent gentry family, whose Greek founders named Karaji had moved to Russia from Bulgaria during the time of Peter the Great (r. 1682–1725).42 His grandfather Vasilii Nazarovich Karazin (1773–1842) was a famous intellectual of his time, the founder of the Khar’kov university still named after him. A proponent of the role of enlightened public opinion in political life and of public education, he also initiated the founding of the Ministry for Public

 Kappeler, The Russian Empire, 197.  Kappeler, The Russian Empire, 196. 39  Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 4, 61. 40  Bregel, “The Russian conquest.” 41  Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), xxii. 42  “Zhizn’ zamechatel’nykh liudei. V. N. Karazin (Osnovatel’ Khar’kovskogo Universiteta). Ego zhizn’ i obshchestvennaia deiatel’nost’,” biographical essay by Ia. V.  Abramova, St. Petersburg, 1891, Russian State Archive of Literature and Arts [Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Literatury i Iskusstva (RGALI)]. 37 38

Image 2.1  “The end of the 19th and the early 20th centuries: Western Turkestan under Russian Rule.” Yuri Bregel, An Historical Atlas of Central Asia (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 91. Reproduced with permission from Nataliya Bregel.

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Education.43 Born the year of his famous grandfather’s death, Nikolai inherited from him a “vivid intellect, inquisitiveness and love for literature and arts.”44 His father was a retired field-captain and a district judge; Karazin spent his childhood years in his father’s estate in the vicinity of Moscow, where he developed a taste for reading and drawing. His mother, “a simple and kind woman,” encouraged her son’s early artistic talents in every way.45 He was brought up in the spirit of service to his motherland, following the example of his father and his famous grandfather – he would maintain that spirit for the rest of his life. According to the account by Larisa Deshko, the pursuit of education, intellectual curiosity, altruism, patriotism, and deep faith were cultivated among the members of the family. She also characterizes him as a “military man, courageous and strong-­ willed… whose life was full of difficulties and dangerous adventures.” At the same time, similar to many other members of his family, Nikolai Nikolaevich was not devoid of a “romantic worldview” and sentimentality.46 Karazin’s patriotism and devotion to the Russian cause in Central Asia and elsewhere, combined with occasional romantic ideas, would be characteristic features of his artistic works. Nikolai Karazin graduated from the 2nd Moscow Military School in 1862; while he was a cadet, he dedicated a lot of time to drawing.47 Upon his graduation, he served in Kazan dragoon regiment.48 Together with his military unit, he participated in putting down the Polish uprising of 1863–64 and received the order of St. Anna of the 4th degree with the engraving “For courage.” In 1865, he took early retirement in order to pursue his passion for painting and entered the Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg,49 where he studied under the famous battle painter B. Villeval’de (1818–1903),50 one of the principal artists of Russian battle paintings of the second half of the nineteenth century.51

 Shestimirov, Zabytye imena, 216. About Vasilii Karazin, see Deshko, Osnova, 87–93.  “Karazin,” Niva 52 (1908): 928. 45  Shumkov, “Zhizn’, trudy i stranstvovaniia Nikolaia Karazina,” 209. 46  Deshko, “Kartina,” in Osnova, 143. 47  Korovichenko, “Karazin,” 375. 48  Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin,” 358. 49   Russian State Historical Archive [Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Istoricheskii Arkhiv (RGIA)], f. 789, op. 5, d. 138, p. 2. 50  Korovichenko, “Karazin,” 375. 51  “Zhivopis’ batal’naia,” in Voennaia entsiklopediia, vol. 10, 394. 43 44

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Two years after he started his art studies, Karazin had to leave the Academy abruptly. This is how Karazin himself used to tell the story, “not without a certain enjoyment”: “We were given the theme ‘Three angels visiting Avraam [sic]’. I painted the angels as wanderers sitting at a table and talking to Avraam. The jury wrote on my painting: ‘Why did you deprive the angels of the proper adornment?’ … [I] wrote on the painting at once: ‘Because I consider Avraam shrewder than the academics: if he saw the angels with wings, he would have guessed who they were’ – so they expelled me from the Academy in twenty four hours.”52 Karazin then joined the army again and participated in the Bukhara campaign (1868) at the rank of lieutenant of the 5th Turkestan Battalion. Leading a company, Karazin distinguished himself in the battles at Ukhit and Khaian, at the storming of Samarkand, at Urgut, and at Kara-Tiube. Decorated with the order of St. Vladimir of the 4th degree, he received the rank of junior captain and a monetary award. He demonstrated exceptional courage at the battle of Zarbulak near Katta-Kurgan, where he led his half-battalion in hand-to-hand combat and held off the main forces of Bukhara. After the battle ended, General K.  P. von Kaufman, the first governor-general of Turkestan, noticed that Karazin had only the handle of his saber left in his hand and told him: “You have broken your weapon. Very well, I’ll send you a new one.” The following day, Karazin received a golden saber with the engraving “For courage.”53 Kaufman would become Karazin’s personal hero for his role in the conquest and subsequent administration of Central Asia. Karazin would refer to the battle of Zarbulak more than once in his writings, paintings, and drawings, including the large oil painting Boi pod Zarabulakom (Battle at Zarbulak)54 and the short story “Zara-Bulakskie Vysoty” (Zarbulak Heights). It was Karazin’s experience of Turkestan during this campaign that gave birth to his lifelong passion: “the hot sun of Central Asia, the novelty of life of the people of Turkestan, the bright blue sky turned the creative spark in the artist’s soul into a bright flame.”55 While in Turkestan, he started to attentively and inquisitively study the nature and peoples of 52  E.  Kiseleva, “Sredy” moskovskikh khudozhnikov (Leningrad: Khudozhnik RSFSR, 1967), 132. 53  Korovichenko, “Karazin,” 375. 54  See Niva 25 (1887): 627 for the painting and Karazin’s description of the battle. 55  D.  N. Logofet, Turkestanskii sbornik, vol. 495, 1907, 170–71, quoted in KereevaKanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia, 138.

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Central Asia, to make sketches, and to take notes.56 In 1870, Karazin once more retired from the military to become a full-time artist. His first drawings appeared in the magazines Niva and Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia in 1871.57 The following year, his first novel, Dvunogii volk (Two-legged wolf), appeared in Delo.58 Partially autobiographical, it portrays the hardship of crossing the desert of Adam-Krylgan and the endurance and courage of Russian soldiers. Karazin reflected his first travel to Central Asia in his Khivinskii pokhod (Khiva campaign) (1873),59 which contains twelve lithographed watercolor paintings of the episodes of the Khiva campaign in three different sizes; and in Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta (From Orenburg to Tashkent), which combined detailed descriptions with illustrations of landscapes, caravans, nomad dwellings, individual Kazakhs and Kirgiz, bazaars, Turkestan city streets, and scenes from everyday life. Fragments of this work were published in Niva in 1871, while the complete book would come out in 1886.60 These first publications brought him significant attention from the Russian audience. At the first stage of his artistic career he was known more as a writer than as a painter. Though Central Asia remained Karazin’s main artistic interest throughout his life, he was also an enthusiastic painter of Russian nature, everyday life, and history, as well as of many other places he visited, including Siberia, Moldavia, Ukraine, the Caucasus, the Pamir Mountains, Egypt, India, Japan, and Finland.61 Karazin would return to Turkestan several more times. In 1874 and 1879 he was invited to join Russian Geographical Society scientific expeditions to the Amu-Darya with the purpose of studying possibilities for navigation and railroad construction there.62 Karazin was in charge of collecting geographical and ethnographical materials. He displayed collected materials at exhibits in Russia and abroad and received several awards (as explained in more detail in chapter six of this book). In 1879, Karazin was

56  “Dvoe iz nashikh voennykh korrespondentov: N.  N. Karazin and V.  I. NemirovichDanchenko,” in Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 511 (1878): 319. 57  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 511 (1878): 319. 58  N. N. Karazin, Dvunogii volk. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 14 (St. Petersburg: Izdaniie P. P. Soikina, 1905). 59  Khivinskii pokhod. Khromolitografii s akvarelei Karazina (Berlin: Pechati zav. Shteinboka, 1897). 60  Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin,” 359–60. 61  Shumkov, “Zhizn’, trudy i stranstvovaniia,” 224. 62  Korovichenko, “Karazin,” 375.

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elected a member of the Russian Geographical Society.63 He also described his experience in his report “Samarskaia ekspeditsiia” (The Samara expedition). During the Serbo-Turkish war of 1876 and the Russo-Turkish war of 1877–78, Karazin became one of the very first war correspondent– illustrators,64 an “artist-journalist” sending his sketches and reports directly from the front lines.65 Those reports and sketches made by pen, by pencil, or in watercolors were published in the best Russian and West European periodicals and brought him broad fame as a talented artist.66 In 1885, Karazin applied to the emperor through Grand Prince Vladimir Aleksandrovich, the president of the Imperial Academy of Arts, with the suggestion that he produce a series of paintings about the history of the Russian conquest of Central Asia.67 He refers to himself as a soldier-­ painter and points out that his goal was to glorify Russian arms.68 Karazin was commissioned to create such paintings with the condition that he present his sketches to the emperor prior to painting. He then petitioned for funding for a trip to Central Asia in order to collect materials for his future paintings: In order to fulfil the commission of His Majesty the Emperor, it is necessary for me to embark on a lengthy travel to Central Asia, specifically to the Syr-­ Darya, Fergana and Zarafshan regions, in order to make accurate images of the battle fields, to gather a collection of sketches and types, and also to acquire garments, utensils and such as models, which would serve as reliable accessories for my paintings. Therefore, I respectfully petition to Your Imperial Highness to allocate the sum of four thousand rubles for this journey. It would be beneficial to leave St. Petersburg as soon as possible in order to take advantage of the spring which is by far the best time to travel to those hot regions.69

63  Archive of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society [Arkhiv Imperatorskogo Russkogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva (АIRGO)], fond 1-1879, op. 1, d. 5, pp. 104–6. 64  Bulgakov, Nashi khudozhniki, 167. Some sources credit him with being the first correspondent-illustrator: see for example Novosti i birzhevaia gazeta 328 (27 November 1896): 2. 65  A. A. Sidorov, Risunok russkikh masterov (vtoraia polovina XIX v.) (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1960), 31, 343. 66  Sadoven’, Russkie khudozhniki batalisty, 301. 67  RGIA, f. 789, op. 11 (1885), d. 29, p. 1. 68  Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin,” 363. 69  RGIA, f. 789, op. 11 (1885), d. 29, p. 2.

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The requested sum was granted. A request was also sent to the governor-­ general of Turkestan, Nikolai Ottonovich von Rozenbakh, to assist the artist “on his travel on the post roads of the Orenburg and Turkestan regions.”70 Nikolai Karazin successfully completed his journey – as a result, starting in the following year and within five years, he created eight large-­ sized paintings, measuring approximately 1 meter 80 centimeters by 3 meters 20 centimeters.71 They included Khivinskii pokhod 1873 goda. Perekhod Turkestanskogo otriada cherez mervye peski k kolodtsam Adam-­ Krylgan (Khiva expedition of 1873. Turkestan troops crossing the dead sands to the wells of Adam-Krylgan), Pervoe poiavlenie russkikh voisk na Amu-Darie pod nachal’stvom K. P. Kaufmana (The first appearance of the Russian troops on the Amu-Darya under the command of K. P. Kaufman), Shturm Geok-Tepe (Storming of Geok-Tepe), Vziatie Samarkanda 2 maia 1868 goda (Conquest of Samarkand on 2 May 1868), Boi pod Zarabulakom (Battle at Zarbulak), Vziatie Tashkenta v 1865 gody (Conquest of Tashkent in 1865), Boi pod Makhramom (Battle at Mahram), and Nochnoi boi pod Chandyrem (Night battle at Chandyr). With the exception of the last one, the paintings were accepted and displayed in the Winter Palace. Karazin was supposed to receive a total of 35,000 rubles for this monumental work, but according to the back-and-forth letters about payments, he eventually received a sum short by several thousand.72 In 1887, Karazin became one of the founding members of the new society of Russian watercolor painters in St. Petersburg.73 The society organized annual exhibitions in St. Petersburg, with four exhibitions (1894, 1897, 1898, and 1899) also held in Moscow. Russian artists participating in those exhibitions included such celebrities as N.  Benua, M. A. Zichi, K. E. Makovskii, and I. E. Repin. Karazin faithfully participated in all the exhibitions for twenty-five years. The exhibitions attracted a lot of attention from public. Most watercolors exhibited by the society presented scenes from Russian life and landscapes.74 The aesthetical credo of the society was expressed by Karazin in an article from 1898: “I am a representative of the old [school of] painting and am proud of it. Now  RGIA, f. 789, op. 11 (1885), d. 29, pp. 4–10.  Korovichenko, “Karazin,” 376; Sadoven’, Russkie khudozhniki batalisty, 302. 72  RGIA, f. 789, op. 11 (1885), d. 29, pp. 18–69. 73  See letters of acceptance of the membership from F. L’vov and K. Trutovskoi to Karazin, RGALI, f. 270, op. 1, ed. kh. 15, 10 November 1887, and ed. kh.18, 28 January 1888. 74  G.  Iu. Sternin, Khudozhestvennaia zhizn’ Rossii na rubezhe XIX-XX vekov (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo “Iskusstvo,” 1970), 275. 70 71

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even in the Academia [some] promote painting based on impressions, even impressionism.” He reiterates: “I put the [accuracy of] drawing in the forefront. Colors are a matter of taste. But the drawing has to be accurate. And imagine  – some argue against this holy truth.” He also saw drawing as a “foundation of the general education and sowing for the future artists.”75 In 1888, he was a guest at the opening of the Transcaspian railroad and traveled along it.76 His watercolor album Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga (The Transcaspian railroad) chronicled its construction and pictured what he saw as a contrast between the traditional life and the new life symbolized by the railroad. This was Nikolai Karazin’s last trip to Central Asia. In 1890–91 Karazin traveled to India.77 Along with his trips to Egypt, Italy, and other “exotic” destinations, that trip provided material for his illustrations for the sumptuous three-volume edition of Puteshestviia po Vostoku naslednika tsesarevicha (Travels in the East of the Heir Prince [future Nicholas II]), published in 1893–97 and counted among his very best drawings.78 He created over two hundred illustrations for that work, which was also published in English, French, and German. In 1896 an exhibit of his visual works was held in Moscow.79 Karazin’s visual and literary works enjoyed broad popularity during his lifetime, with the scope of his artistic interests seemingly unlimited. He was favored by Alexander III (r. 1881–94),80 who commissioned some of his works. Karazin, for example, created drawings for china produced by the Imperial factory. Displayed at a number of international exhibits, they were well known even in the United States and shipped to New York on

 Sidorov, Risunok russkikh masterov, 452, 341.  Shumkov, “Zhizn’, trudy i stranstvovaniia,” 224. 77  K.  Erinova, ed., Indiia v proizvedeniiakh khudozhnikov (Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo izobrazitel’nogo iskusstva, 1955), v. 78  E. A. Vorotyntseva, “Tvorcheskaia intelligentsia iz okruzheniia pianistki V. U. SipiaginoiLilienfel’d,” Iz istorii kul’turnoi zhizni, Ustiuzhna, Kraevedcheskii Al’manakh, issue 5, http://www.booksite.ru/fulltext/5us/tyu/zhna/5.htm (accessed 23 May 2016). See also E. E. Ukhtomskii, Puteshestvie na Vostok Ego Imperatorskogo Vysochestva gosudaria naslednika tsesarevicha, 1890–1891, 3 vols. (Leipsic, 1893–1897). 79  V. A. Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii po narodam Tsentral’noi Azii vtoroi poloviny XIX-nachala XX veka v sobraniiakh Kunstkamery (St. Petersburg: “Nauka,” 2011), 379. 80   “Russie bogatyri. Izbrannye byliny v pereskaze dlia detei O.  Rogovoi (ShmidtMoskvitinovoi). S 11 khromolitografiiami N. Karazina. SPb. Izdanie A. F. Devriena, 1902,” http://www.ozon.ru/context/detail/id/2232124/ (accessed 24 May 2016). 75 76

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the order of the Tiffany trading company.81 He was also a sought-after artist and decorator who produced numerous designs. Karazin is credited with creating the first Russian postcards presenting scenes from Russian and sometimes “Oriental” life. He illustrated and decorated with elaborate vignettes books that he authored, as well as books by such Russian writers as Dostoevsky, Pushkin, and Gogol. He also decorated menus for celebratory meals, including those celebrating royal coronation, and china for both commoners and the upper classes.82 He even created friezes for the Stock Exchange building in Odessa (currently Philharmonic) and a set of “historic” cards for card games with spade figures dressed in “Oriental” costumes.83 Karazin’s anniversaries were broadly marked by the Russian media of the time and became a significant event in the national cultural life. For example, this is how one of the articles dedicated to the twenty-­ fifth anniversary of his artistic activities describes his broad popularity and talents: You can see examples of his boiling, tireless and amazingly productive creativity everywhere around you. They look at you from the pages of any illustrated publication, not only a Russian one, but often a foreign one as well, look at you from the covers of books, from greeting cards, from designs on plates, spoons, from cardboards and canvases at exhibits, theatre and show announcements, calendars etc. His vivid and daring pencil and active brush are everywhere, don’t slow down, are afraid of nothing, dare to do anything, draw, sketch, paint – and perform all that vividly, brightly, cheerfully, quickly, suddenly. Karazin is here and there  – in forty places at once. …His stocky figure with flying beard and regalia on his lapel belongs to the sights of artistic, philanthropic, literary and painting Petersburg. This person still leads the tireless life of a mobile, energetic, creative creature, equipped with a loud voice, vivid imagination, taste, inventiveness, courage, unique technique and a special style he created, “karazin style,” which even a blind person can distinguish from all the other “styles.” …He has been working not for museums, but for the public.84

81  Otchet General’nogo Komissara Russkogo otdela Vsemirnoi Kolumbovoi Vystavki v Chicago Kamergera Vysochaishego Dvora P. I. Glukhovskogo (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. Kirshbauma, 1895), 30. 82  Usenko and Bakhmet, “Neizvestnyi Karazin,” in Deshko, Osnova, 161–66. 83  Deshko, Osnova, 118–24, 130–31. 84  Novosti i birzhevaia gazeta 319 (18 November 1896): 2.

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This praise is reiterated by other contemporary articles: for example, an article in Niva stated in 1901 on the occasion of the thirtieth anniversary of his artistic activities: “Literally, there isn’t a corner in Russia where Karazin’s drawings are unknown, never have been seen, typical Karazin drawings, standing out among thousands of other drawings with their brightness, richness of colors, broadness of themes and unique familiarity with the Russian life, character of our people, sensitive understanding of our poor northern or luxurious southern nature.”85 Those doubtlessly flattering articles capture Karazin’s presence in the everyday life of his literate countrymen throughout Russia, in addition to the artistic and intellectual life of the cultural centers. Nikolai Karazin was active and highly visible in the nationally minded artistic circles of his time: his creative works reflected the “humanistic and democratic ideas” of the 1870s–80s, in the words of his Soviet biographer and art historian.86 The emancipation of slaves in 1861 and the introduction of elective bodies of local self-government and of Western-style judicial institutions in 1864 gave rise to an increasingly vocal corps of nationally minded intellectuals, including journalists, writers, and popular historians.87 As we know, Karazin hosted fellow artists, poets, and sailors, among whom he had many friends, on his “Sundays.”88 He belonged to an informal literary club which existed in the late 1880s–early 1890s in St. Petersburg and whose members gathered at Maria Muretova’s house. Its members included such prominent (but not necessarily “liberal”) Russian intellectuals as the poet and political figure Vasilii Velichko, philosopher Vladimir Solov’ev, writers Nikolai Leskov and Daniil Mordovtsev, painter Nikolai Repin, and university professors Alexander Veselovskii and Alexander Ladyzhenskii.89 The atmosphere of reform excitement and the high expectations of the second half of the nineteenth century came to an end in the early 1900s with Russia’s defeat in the war against Japan (1904–05) and the repressions during the Russian revolution of 1905, including revolutionary  Niva 49 (1901).  Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin,” 358. 87  Olga Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire: Defining the Russian Nation through Cultural Mythology, 1885–1870 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2010), 8. 88  Kiseleva, “Sredy” moskovskikh khudozhnikov, 131. 89  Anatolii Stepanov, “Vasilii L’vovich Velichko, iz knigi ‘Chernaia sotnia,’” Russkaia narodnaia liniia, http://ruskline.ru/monitoring_smi/2001/01/15/vasilij_l_vovich_ velichko/ (accessed 23 May 2016). 85 86

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events in the capital of Turkestan, Tashkent.90 According to Marusia Karazina, the only daughter of Nikolai Karazin, the tragic events of the revolution and its aftermath, especially the brutal suppression of the mutinies in Kronstadt and Sveaborg in 1905 and 1906, undermined her father’s physical and moral strength: “Poor papa is taking close to heart these sad days, the collapse of everything he has been used to value since his cradle, the collapse of the old dying regime, which is desperately clinging to anything…” She lamented: “And it is so painful [to see what is happening] to humans, to their dignity, when the desire to survive turns them into such base, cruel and merciless animals that we are also destined to perish not at the hand of some Japanese but at the hand of our own brother in blood, language and spirit. It is terrifying and horrible to live in such a time, when not repeating of the sad days of Kronstadt cannot be guaranteed even for one hour.”91 Karazin was spared by his death in 1908 from witnessing the collapse of Russia in 1917. His daughter would die in 1920 in starving St. Petersburg. In 1907, one year before his death, Nikolai Karazin was elected a member of the Russian Academy of Arts.92 When he died, his former comrades in military campaigns participated in his funerals; he was buried with military honors at the Alexander Nevskii Lavra in St. Petersburg.93 Sadly, in spite of Karazin’s hard labor throughout his life, broad popularity, and numerous national and foreign publications, it appears that he did not accumulate any substantial financial means. The Russian State Historical Archive contains requests made by his widow, Maria Karazina, for financial assistance – a lifelong retirement benefit from the funds of the Academy of Arts. She explains: “In December of last year, my husband, a member of the Academy of Arts, Nikolai Karazin, passed away. His prolonged and grave illness which eventually led to his death, exhausted those modest resources which he had collected during his life of constant and hard labor for the sake of national art. I, his widow, seriously ill, am left without any means.” The Academy office claimed that at that moment, there were no funds available. According to another document, a policeman visited Maria Karazina in order to “clarify her financial and family situation.” He  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 130–46.  From a letter to V. U. Sipiagina-Lilienfel’d, in Vorotyntseva, “Tvorcheskaia intelligentsia iz okruzheniia pianistki V. U. Sipiaginoi-Lilienfel’d.” 92  RGIA, f. 789, op. 5, d. 137, pp. 8–16. 93  Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin,” 367. 90 91

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reported that she was sixty-five years old, lived alone, and possessed no movable property. She “was assigned” a four-room apartment which cost her 45 rubles a month and was renting out two rooms for 25 rubles a month. She had no occupation due to her poor health.94 It was only in 1912 that Maria Karazina received an allowance of 180 rubles (15 rubles a month).95 The financial plight of Maria Karazina in her widowhood makes clear that her high-minded husband had not looked for nazhiva (profit) himself, unlike his antagonists in the novel Pogonia za nazhivoi.

Brief evaluation of Karazin’s works In the era when Central Asia was experienced by Russians firsthand and incorporated into mainstream Russian culture as its internal Orient, Karazin was among the very first artists who introduced Central Asia to the general Russian public. “You were the first to present the then absolutely unknown Central Asia, which you had studied so well during your earlier military service and following your other fruitful trips there,” remarks a celebratory address from 1896, when Karazin celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of his artistic career.96 Several generations of educated Russians discovered Central Asia and its peoples through his novels, short stories, essays, travelogues, graphics, and paintings – so that his perceptions and attitudes shaped their views. He became the “Columbus of Central Asia,” according to a modern Russian scholar.97 All Karazin’s works dedicated to Central Asia derive from his personal experience. Some of his personages are based on real characters: for example, the actual Tashkent prostitute Ak-Tomak98 and the prominent Russian merchant Khludov,99 who became Khmurov, appeared in several works. It is not accidental that the artist uses the first-person narrative for most of  RGIA, f. 789, op. 5, d. 137, pp. 17–21.  RGIA, f. 789, op. 13 (1912), d. 28, p. 244, “Records of the Academy of Arts regarding permanent and extraordinary grants to artists, artists’ widows and children in need.” Grants range from 120 to 600 rubles a month, and seem to depend (probably among other criteria) on having children who needed to be supported. 96  Adresa raznym litsam (St. Petersburg, 1896), no publisher, no page number. Most likely, from the Russian Geographical Society, a part of a collection of anniversary addresses. For example, see another address in Novosti i birzhevaia gazeta 330 (29 November 1896): 2. 97  Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 34. 98  S. Peterburgskie vegomosti 141 (25 May 1874). 99  M. A. Terent’ev, Istoriia zavoevaniia Srednei Azii, vol. 1 (St. Petersburg: Tipo-litografiia V. V. Komarova, 1906), 16. Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 247–56. 94 95

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his short stories and some novels. He aspired to educate his audience before he entertained them: long and detailed passages describing and explaining various aspects of life in Central Asia characterize his fiction, while his travelogues and essays are entirely dedicated to those topics. He possessed a natural gift for description  – slow-paced and detailed, they maintain the reader’s concentration and fascination. Karazin created multiple drawings and wrote several articles for two impressive educational volumes – on the Caucasus and Central Asia – from the series Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii (Pictorial Russia. Our motherland in its land, historic, tribal, economic and domestic significance). The unique combination of literary and visual works created by the same artist allows for an analysis of a multimedia discourse. According to his own words, Nikolai Karazin did not give preference to either painting or writing– both were equally attractive for him,100 constituting two sides of the same process of creative reflection of his experience, and therefore they share some features, including both advantages and faults. The merit of Nikolai Karazin’s artistic works is uneven – he is at his best in sketches, both literary and visual, which produce masterly snapshots. His novels overall were arguably not of the highest literary merit, though they too include masterful detailed descriptions and a humane perspective on the conquest and colonization. Their main shortcoming is that many of his characters are one-dimensional and represent one feature in an exaggerated, sometimes grotesque, way, including courage, greed, violence, devotion, or kindness. Moreover, these characters are often artificially static and go through any turmoil without developing. Karazin also sometimes weaves his superb descriptions into rather mediocre tales of melodramatic passions. He fascinated his readers with dramatic murder stories (Golos krovi, Pogonia za nazhivoi) or stormy passions (Pogonia za nazhivoi, “Ak-Tomak,” “Tigritsa”). The artist’s impetuousness, his lack of patience, and his constant desire to move on to the next character and next event are palpable in many of his novels, and especially in their abrupt endings. Quite understandably, Karazin’s literary works have been criticized by both contemporary and modern reviewers for their superficiality, and for their lack of character development and of psychological analysis.101 In his  Shestimirov, Zabytye imena, 219.  See, for example, P. Nikitin, “Tashkentskie rytsari,” Delo 11 (1874): 5–6, 9–12; Slovo 6 (1878): 59; Shumkov, “Zhizn’, trudy i stranstvovaniia,” 215. 100 101

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online project, “Writing the Russian Conquest of Central Asia,” Alexander Morrison arguably overstates Karazin’s shortcomings when he labels his works as “Middlebrow ‘Turkestaniana’” and mentions only a few of his Central Asian works.102 Two contemporary Soviet/Russian literary critics admit Karazin’s second-rate literary status. According to K. Sh. Kereeva-­ Kanafieva, “While not possessing the outstanding talent of a big writer, he nevertheless was much the center of attention of both the reading public and critical literature.”103 According to Shafranskaia, Karazin belonged to the “ordinary talents” based on Vissarion Belinsky’s hierarchy: genius, brilliant talent, and ordinary talent.104 Most of his admirers, however, were not looking for psychological depth in Karazin’s novels and stories: they were looking for adventures set in the remote and attractive world: “[His novels] are the novels of the militant generation, with a simple military morale, with veneration of strength, intellect and energy.”105 This book seeks to concentrate on the strength of Karazin’s artistic projects though it is not blind to the shortcomings either. The lens used in this book is that of the connection between imperialism and culture, and the way culture contributed to the intricacy of the imperial networks.

Russian perceptions of the Orient At the same time, Nikolai Karazin’s works are analyzed in the context of the intricate trajectory of the relationship between Russia on the one hand and its Oriental neighbors and subjects on the other, and the resulting ambiguity in Russian art of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The concept of Western European Orientalism famously formulated by Edward Said provides a useful point of departure for the analysis of Russians’ views towards the Orient: both power and knowledge are necessary for one people to establish and maintain domination over another, with imperial art and ethnographic materials playing empowering roles in the process. The dominant power also develops an attitude of superiority towards the subjugated peoples, which ranges from subtle paternalism to 102  https://www.academia.edu/1710833/Writing_the_Russian_Conquest_of_Central_ Asia (accessed 4 July 2017). 103  Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia, 114. 104  Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 30. Vissarion Belinsky (1811–1848) was a prominent literary critic. 105  Novoe vremia 7452 (24 November 1896): 2.

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blatant disparagement of their intellectual, moral, and physical qualities; their history; and their culture. As one scholar shrewdly put it, in modern times “every nation creates its own Orient”106  – and Russia is no exception. Russia’s peculiar place between the East and the West, or Asia and Europe, or the Orient and Occident, was formed by its historical evolution and geographical position. As a result, for Russia the Orient turned out to be both the Self and the Other. A process of soul-searching developed in Russian cultural life starting at least during the time of Peter the Great, culminated in the nineteenth century, and has never been conclusively resolved. Russia’s relationship with Asia/East/Orient has been defined by numerous men of letters in Russia and in the West as ambiguous, tortuous, convoluted, complex, and broadly ranging, among many other terms. One of the most recent scholarly works related to this topic, entitled Between Europe and Asia: The Origins, Theories and Legacies of Russian Eurasianism, opens with the following symptomatic statement: “Historians have long noted the tortured path of Russia’s self-identification vis-à-vis Europe, the West, or modernity on the one hand, and the organization of the domestic political community on the other. At times, the Russian Empire appeared as a European imperium with a civilizing mission in Asia and elsewhere, and at other times it was imagined as an anti-Western force, a bulwark of Romantic visions of spirituality opposed to Western individualism and mechanistic relations.”107 Europe itself can be seen as an ambiguous concept: “If we use the civilization criterion, the question ‘where does Europe end?’ would bring about even more Kafkian answers: it ends thousands miles away from Europe (somewhere in the southern hemisphere, in Australia) and at the same time within Europe itself (in some remote villages in the middle of Kosovo or Transylvania).”108 In that regard, Russia is a part of Europe’s fluidity, which goes in parallel with Russia’s intellectual fluidity. Disputes 106  Ussama Makdisi, “Ottoman Orientalism,” American Historical Review 107, no. 1 (2002): 768, quoted in Sarah Lemmen, “Noncolonial Orientalism? Czech Travel Writing on Africa and Asia around 1918,” in James Hodkinson and John Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism in Culture and History: From Central and Eastern Europe (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2013), 211. 107  Mark Bassin et al., eds., Between Europe and Asia: The Origins, Theories, and Legacies of Russian Eurasianism (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2015), 1. 108  Vladimir Baranovsky, “Russia: a Part of Europe or Apart from Europe?,” International Affairs (Royal Institute of International Affairs 1944–) 76, no. 3 (July 2000): 443.

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about Russia’s position in relation to Europe have been part of Russia’s history throughout the last thousand years and have become an essential dilemma of Russia’s search for self-identity. The three main groups of arguments are as follows: that Russia is Europe, or as variations is imperfect Europe or the best Europe; that Russia is not Europe because of its closeness to Asia; and that Russia is neither Europe nor Asia but a special “world in itself.” Each way may evolve into a milder formula: “Russia is a specific part of Europe  – or it is the most European-oriented part of Europe’s ‘near abroad.’”109 Place of Asia in the Russian mind is another facet of the same persistent dilemma transcending time, so that there is a striking similarity between the views of Fedor Dostoevsky and Mikhail Gorbachev, who respectively claim that “Russia is not only in Europe, but also in Asia” and that “the Soviet Union is an Asian, as well as European country.”110 On the one hand, there has been a peculiar Russian claim of a special relationship with Asia and its peoples and a self-confident belief that Russians understood Asia better than any other European people. On the other hand, the Russian elite predominantly viewed the Orient as barbaric. Interestingly, these controversies are reflected in the notion of a variant of Aziatchina, a complex and rather vague Russian term “meaning the almost unlimited capacity among Russians to identify themselves with Asia while showing their contempt for the Asian peoples and civilizations as utterly barbaric.”111 It was during the time of Catherine the Great that the word “Asia” (Aziia in Russian) began to acquire negative connotations, similar to those of “Asiatic” in English. The classical dictionary of the Russian language authored by Vladimir Dal’ defined an Asian (Aziat in Russian) as a “rude, uneducated person,” and Asian (aziatskii) – as “savage, crude.”112  Baranovsky, “Russia,” 444–45.  Milan Hauner, What is Asia to Us? Russia’s Asian Heartland Yesterday and Today (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990), 1. The very title of Hauner’s book is a referral to the famous question posed by Dostoevsky after the storming of Geok-Tepe by General Skobelev: “What is Asia to us?” 111  Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, 2. See also 15, 21–24. In the play by Anton Chekhov The Cherry Orchard, the haughty student Trofimov dismisses Russia as “nothing but filth, vulgarity, aziatchina,” quoted in David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism: Asia in the Russian Mind from Peter the Great to the Emigration (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), 226. 112  Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism, 226. For the nineteenth-century Russian intellectual, the term “Asiatic” implies “backward, immobile and stagnant,” notices Kalpana Sahni in her powerfully opinionated book entitled Crucifying the Orient: Russian 109 110

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Russia’s ambiguous position in relation to the East-West system and anxiety about the Self versus the Other was by no means unique.113 For example, the Austro-Hungarian and the Ottoman empires faced similar challenges in their relationship with the Orient or Orients. Russia strongly resembled those two empires since all three of them ruled over multiethnic, multireligious, and radically diverse populations. Both the Russian and the Ottoman empires were located on the periphery of Europe but were deeply influenced by Europe.114 Similar to Austro-Hungary, another landlocked empire, it was difficult for the Russians to clearly define where the nation state ended and the empire began.115 Though not a landlocked empire, the Ottoman Empire would have had a difficult time clearly marking the border separating the nation state from the territories the state ruled over. Some other European identities and perceptions of the Orient do not comfortably fit into a dichotomous model of the colonizer and colonized. Attempts by modern historians and ethnographers to include Eastern Europe in the all-European context have resulted in introducing such categories as “microcolonialism,” “frontier orientalism,”116 “noncolonial Orientalism” of the Czechs,117 and “defensive Orientalism” of the Hungarians.118 The Czechs, who had no colonial history, felt, somewhat similar to the Russians, that they did not quite belong to the “true” European community and tried to position themselves as different from their fellow Europeans. Claiming essentially Oriental origin, Hungary was Orientalism and the Colonization of the Caucasus and Central Asia (Bangkok: White Orchid Press, The Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture, 1997), 72. 113  During the forty years since Edward Said published his Orientalism, additional research has been done on Spanish, Russian, Polish, Japanese, and Arab Orientalisms. For a survey, see Sarah Lemmen, “Noncolonial Orientalism? Czech Travel Writing on Africa and Asia around 1918,” in Hodkinson and Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism, 221–23. 114  Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge, 2003), ix–x. 115  Kerstin S. Jobst, “Where the Orient Ends? Orientalism and Its Function for Imperial Rule in the Russian Empire,” in Hodkinson and Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism, 199. She also mentions the Ottomans in the context of similarities between Russia and other transcontinental empires, 197. 116  Jobst, “Where the Orient Ends?,” 192. 117  See Lemmen, “Noncolonial Orientalism?” 118  See Margit Köves, “Modes of Orientalism in Hungarian Letters and Learning of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,” in Hodkinson and Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism.

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seen as being a special link between Europe and the Orient, also somewhat parallel to the position of Russia. It is possible to draw an additional parallel between the relationship of Russia and the East, on the one hand, and Hungary and the East, on the other. Hungarian Orientalism has been defined as “defensive Orientalism” as a result of the defeat by the Turks and their presence in Hungarian territory, as opposed to the British and French conquest and victory: it is “a concept that expresses defeat, repression, and failure of occidental culture, rather than its conquest of and victory over the Orient.” 119 One can speculate that Russia’s obsession with the Orient has something to do with its defeat by the Mongols and their rule over Russia in the thirteenth–sixteenth centuries. Perhaps Russia’s embarrassment with the Mongol yoke, conscious or subconscious as it might be, contributed to the recurrent attempts by modern historians to point out the perceived benefits of the Mongol domination. Combined with Russia’s backwardness compared to the Western European empires in the nineteenth century, it resulted in “defensive Orientalism” Russian style, at least in regard to the “external” Orient. In their turn, the Poles, like the Russians, made sure to assert their Europeanness, “usually in a self-conscious manner stemming from their own marginalization within Europe.” In the nineteenth century, for some Polish and Russian writers, travels to the East provided a way to assert their own westernness and hence Europeanness.120 In yet another significant parallel to Russia’s Orients, two modes of Austro-Hungarian Orient have been discussed – the “distant Orient” constituted by the Ottoman Empire and the Turks, and the Orient “close to home” consisting of Bosnia-Herzegovina and the Southern Slavic peoples. Applying Edward Said’s notions of “imperial divide” and “shared experiences” in the border zone between colonizers and colonized, Johann Heiss and Johannes Feichtinger concluded that a dichotomy developed between “good and bad orientals”: “the Southern Slavs of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Christians as well as Muslims, were perceived as the good orientals residing in the Orient ‘close to home,’ whereas the Turks living in the newly acquired provinces and beyond, also perceived as Muslims, were seen as the less desirable occupants of an ostensibly ‘distant’ Orient.” 119  Köves, “Modes of Orientalism in Hungarian Letters,” 173, endnote 26, page 187. The term “defensive Orientalism” was offered by Antal Bókay. 120  Izabela Kalinowska, Between East and West: Polish and Russian Nineteenth-Century Travel to the Orient (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2004), 185, 3.

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In the context of this binary Orientalist discourse, Austria and Vienna could be seen as mediating between Orient and Occident.121 This dichotomy between two Orients has parallels with Russia’s perception of its internal and external Orients. Central Asia, easily conquered and put under Russian control, was overall not perceived as dangerous or threatening. In his works, Karazin demonstrates his confidence and apparent lack of fear when confronted by the Central Asian “Other.” Such attitude represents a contrast to the Russians’ perception of the “external” Orient and its people. In Iran, a formally independent country under overwhelming Russian (and strong British) domination, with strong Shi’i Muslim views and prejudice against non-Muslims, Russians felt threatened and outnumbered. While trying hard to hide their insecurity and lack of self-­confidence, they obsessively emphasize their affinity with Christian Europe and the perceived inferiority of their Iranian hosts.122 Тhe positioning of Russia in relation to Asia/East/Orient and in relation to Europe/West/Occident constitutes two sides of the same phenomenon, since “Russian Orientalism has always been intimately related to Russian Occidentalism,” just like the proverbial two-headed eagle or Janus.123 Sara Dickinson, in her analysis of Russia’s involvement with Crimea as “Russia’s first Orient,” uses the concept of “triangulation,” in which “an absent third party conditions the interaction between two others” – namely, the West as the third party deeply affected Russia’s conduct towards Crimea.124 The famous Russian historian Vasilii Kliuchevskii explained that before Peter the Great, the technical achievements of the Western Europeans did not cause any inferiority complex in Russians, since they considered themselves in possession of the “true” faith, and everything else not connected with religion and the church was viewed as “the idle curiosity of a

121  Johann Heiss and Johannes Feichtinger, “Distant Neighbors: Uses of Orientalism in the Late Nineteenth-Century Austro-Hungarian Empire,” in Hodkinson and Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism, 148–49, 150, 160. 122  See Elena Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game: Travelogues and Orientalism (London: Routledge, 2007). 123  “Russia’s Orient, Russia’s West,” introduction to Michael David-Fox et  al., eds., Orientalism and Empire in Russia, Kritika Historical Studies 3 (Bloomington: Slavica, 2006), 3. 124  Sara Dickinson, “Russia’s First ‘Orient’: Characterizing the Crimea in 1787,” in DavidFox et al., eds., Orientalism and Empire in Russia, 87 and the rest of the article.

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superficial mind or as unnecessary, frivolous amusements.”125 The changes started in the eighteenth century when the presence of Western Europeans in the Russian political and cultural institutions and the Western cultural influence in Russia grew steadily: French became the spoken language of the upper classes; many Russian noblemen knew German as well. By the end of the nineteenth century, there were over two million Germans in Russia, which led to a certain German predominance in the administrative, political, and educational areas.126 Peter’s reforms split Russian society since the new cultural influences and social changes were attractive to the upper classes alone, and they alone became involved in them. As the famous Russian historian Nikolai Karamzin explained, “starting from the time of Peter the Great, the highest levels got separated from the lowest, and a Russian peasant, a petty bourgeois, and a merchant saw nemets [a person who speaks unclearly, later meaning a German] in the Russian gentry.”127 Consequently, while in old, pre-Petrine Russia, the “unity of the overwhelming experience of the struggle against the steppe and a certain unity of culture suggested that the attitude towards Asiatic nomads was shared by the people as a whole… for most uneducated Russians the problem probably lost all importance.” The educated classes meanwhile developed a remarkably “narrow… and consistently ‘European’” view of Asia.128 “Russia is a European power [derzhava],” claimed Catherine’s “Nakaz,” in which she deployed Montesquieu’s definition of Oriental despotism to assert Russia’s place as a European nation.129 It has become a scholarly cliché to state that by the eighteenth century, Russia learned to look at the East through European eyes, so that “Russian philosophers, poets, and painters borrowed Western stereotypes of the East, embracing both ends of their evaluative spectrum  – a fascination 125  Quoted in Leonid Luks, Rossiia mezhdu zapadom i vostokom (Moscow: Moskovskii Filosofskii Fond, 1993), 5. 126  Sahni, Crucifying the Orient, 12. 127  Nikolai Karamzin, “Zapiska o drevnei i novoi istorii Rossii v ee politicheskom i grazhdanskom otnosheniiakh,” in V poiskakh svoego puti. Rossiia mezhdu Evropoi i Aziei. Khrestomatiia po istorii rossiiskoi obshchestvennoi mysli XIX i XX vekov, 2nd ed., rev. (Moscow: Izdatel’skaia korporatsiia “Logos,” 1997), 29. 128  Nicholas V. Riasanovsky, “Asia through Russian Eyes,” in Wayne S. Vucinich, Russia and Asia: Essays on the Influence of Russia on the Asian Peoples (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, Stanford University, 1972), 8, endnote 6, page 370. 129  Harsha Ram, “Russian Poetry and Imperial Sublime,” in Monica Greenleaf and Stephen Moeller-Sally, eds., Russian Subjects: Empire, Nation, and the Culture of the Golden Age (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1998), 41.

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with the exotic Orient and a condemnation of what was conventionally labeled as Asiatic despotism, stagnation, and backwardness.”130 One avenue of imitating the Western Europeans in their outlook on the East was Russia’s participation in the “Oriental Renaissance”131 – a period of the fascination of Western European artists and scholars with everything Oriental, from China to the Mediterranean. That “virtual epidemic of Orientalia” affected major European poets, philosophers, and essayists by the early eighteenth century: “Oriental” became synonymous with “the exotic, the mysterious, the profound, the seminal.”132 In the second half of the eighteenth century, Asia, and especially China, became fashionable among the Russian elite for the first time. During this time the Russian elite also started to identify with Europe most strongly, considering themselves clearly distinct from Asia, and viewing the Orient “as an object of wonder, amusement, and beauty.”133 As the famous Soviet/Russian art historian Dmitrii Sarab’ianov explains, “in spite of the fact that Russia’s realm reached the borders of Japan and China, orientalist tendencies entered our art via the West – by an indirect route.”134 “Oriental” themes emerged in the first half of the nineteenth century in Russian poetry, paintings, and music.135 Interestingly, Raymond Schwab, in his classical work on the Oriental Renaissance, while discussing Russian Orientalism, reflects on the duality of Russian national identity. He refers to the “proximity to the Asian temperament that was more evident in the Slavic than

130  Olga Maiorova, “A Revolutionary and the Empire: Alexander Herzen and Russian Discourse on Asia,” in Bassin et al., eds., Between Europe and Asia, 13. 131  The term “Oriental Renaissance” comes from the title that Edgar Quinet, a scholar of languages, cultures, and religions, gave to a chapter in his Genie des religions (1841). See in Raymond Schwab, The Oriental Renaissance: Europe’s Rediscovery of India and the East, 1680–1880, trans. Gene Patterson-Black and Victor Reinking (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 11. 132  Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), 51. 133  Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism, 49, 59. 134  D. B. Sarab’ianov, “Russkoe iskusstvo v poiskakh svoei sushchnosti,” in D. B. Sarab’ianov, ed., Russkoe iskusstvo mezhdu zapadom i vostoklom. Materialy konferentsii, Moscow, September 1994 (Moscow: Gosudarstvennyi institut iskusstvoznaniia, 1997), 15. 135  On the first Russian composer to introduce the Orient into Russian music, see Elena Andreeva, “‘Singer of the Caucasus’ Aliab’ev and the Beginning of Russian Orientalism in Music,” in Anna Vanzan, ed., Muraqqa’e Sharqi: Studies in Honor of Peter Chelkowski (Repubblica San Marino: AIEP, 2007).

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in [the] German nature” and “a peculiar affinity between the Russian soul and the Hindu.”136 Further contributing to the Russians’ perception of the Self between Asia and Europe was scholarly study of the East, now often referred to as Orientology. It was initiated as an academic discipline under Peter the Great and achieved great success in the nineteenth century, “maybe even more significant than in Western Europe.”137 From the beginning, however, the majority of the experts came from the West, turning it into “the same kind of ‘Western’ discipline as other academic fields.”138 This new academic study of the steppe nomads resulted in the acknowledgement of Russia’s ancestral connection to them.139 Russian scholars incorporated Asia as an element of Russia’s own identity and often argued that “Russia ‘as a neighbor of the East always knew and understood it well’ and therefore had an advantage over Western Europeans in studying it.”140 Therefore, Russian Orientology was often critical of “othering” and maintained fruitful and productive intellectual contacts with the representatives of the very people it studied.141 Thus the sense of certain intimacy, kinship, affinity, or, at the very least, familiarity with the Orient became one of the markers of the Russian national discourse. Therefore, though dominated by Western European views of Asia, Russians did not feel completely comfortable strictly following their discourse of superiority over the Orient: “When imperial explorers, bureaucrats, and educators came into direct contact with Bashkirs, Kazakhs, and Turkmen, the standard European notion of the ‘civilizing mission’ began to strike them as problematic: whereas Russian state institutions, high culture, and modern technologies were undoubtedly seen as superior to those of Asia, the ordinary Russian people, as many observed, displayed deep affinities with their eastern neighbors and were themselves not ‘civilized’ enough. As a result, many writers  – scholars in  Schwab, The Oriental Renaissance, 449.  V.  Bartol’d, Istoriia izucheniia vostoka v Evrope i Rossii, 2nd ed. (Leningrad: Leningradskii institut izucheniia zhivykh vostochnykh iazykov, 1925), 232. 138  V.  V. Bartol’d, Sochineniia, vol. 9 (Moscow: Nauka, 1977), 537, quoted in Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism, 43. 139  Willard Sunderland, Taming the Wild Field: Colonization and Empire on the Russian Steppe (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2004), 38. 140  Vera Tolz, Russia’s Own Orient: The Politics of Identity and Oriental Studies in the Late Imperial and Early Soviet Periods (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 30. 141  Introduction, Bassin et al., eds., Between Europe and Asia, 11. 136 137

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particular – had serious reservations about framing the indigenous peoples of the empire’s Asian periphery as a colonial ‘other.’”142 At the same time, Russian intimacy with Asia “did not inevitably translate into respect for its civilizations.”143 This intimacy, accepted or denied, paraded or concealed, conscious or subconscious, led to a range of consequences. In the “external” Orient, it tended to result in persistent claims to closeness with the Western Europeans, mainly the British, on the grounds of shared values and religion. In the “internal” Orient of the Caucasus or Central Asia, it often led to a certain affinity with the “locals,” images of “noble savages” sharing their “noble” characteristics with the Russians, and empathy to their plight, not in the least in their struggle against Russian colonial advances.144 At the same time, the gradual westernization of Russia in the eighteenth century, and the adoption of Eurocentric views by the state officials and the elite, led to the increased cultural and psychological distance between Moscow and its Turkic Muslim neighbors and subjects. Throughout the nineteenth century, Russia’s self-identification in the context of West/East or Europe/Asia was becoming more and more convoluted and obsessive, acquiring the proportions of a painful crisis and leaving a noticeable imprint on Russian cultural and political life. Russia’s geographical location, trade connections, Christian religion, dynastic kinship, and educational system, and the culture of the elite, the politics of colonizing the Orient, and the “civilizing mission” there all supported Russia’s affinity with Western Europe. At the same time, Russia’s  Maiorova, “A Revolutionary and the Empire,” 13–14.  Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism, 121. 144  Jeff Sahadeo, however, expresses his support for Adeeb Khalid’s views and warns against the “[e]lite Russian argument of a special understanding, tolerance and compassion towards Eastern peoples” as “intellectual devices designed to convince the British and other Europeans of Russia’s superior potential as civilizers,” in Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 5. Interestingly, modern Russian art historian Eleonora Shafranskaia echoes the same sentiment, referring to Bartol’d, who “sometimes argued against the common view about a special closeness between Russia and Asia and an exceptional ability of the Russians to understand the population of the Eastern frontier regions of the empire.” Statements about the imperial politics of Russia as the most humane have a goal to demonstrate Russia as morally superior to the other empires, she explains. See Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture, 223. The author of this book does not see a real contradiction here. Her comparison between Russians’ perception of Russia’s “internal” and “external” Orients seems to demonstrate that while Russia did have a peculiar relationship with the East, in comparison with the British and the French empires, this relationship was sometimes employed to prove its imperial worthiness, if not superiority, vis-à-vis its main Western European rivals. 142 143

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unlimited monarchial power, the closed system of estates, the lack of civil rights and basic freedoms, the underdevelopment of capitalism, particularly in agriculture, and the Eastern form of Christianity made Russia appear rather like one of the Eastern countries: “[s]andwiched between Europe and Asia but undefinable in the civilizational terms of either continent, Russia sought to assert her uniqueness in the specificity of tsarist autocracy with respect to the evolving constitutional monarchies in Europe on the one hand and the supposed despotism of the East on the other.”145 In Western Europe, the concept of a civilizing mission, the “white man’s burden,” served as the main justification for colonial expansion and exploitation starting in the beginning of the nineteenth century. The Western Europeans believed that their civilization was superior to those possessed by their colonial subjects and presented their colonial projects as benevolent towards the colonized. In their turn, the Russian elite developed a sense of a national mission in Asia, which was expressed in altruistic and even philanthropic terms. “In Central Asia we alone must be the masters so that with time through us civilization can penetrate there and improve the lives of those unfortunate offspring of the human race,” claimed N. A. Kryzhanovskii, governor-general of Orenburg.146 Russia’s divine mission of the salvation of Asia was to enable Russia to achieve parity with the West and even to surpass it – this appeal was virtually universal among the educated public. Russians were as ever conscious of Western Europe – “when confronting Europe directly, Russian nationalists loudly insisted upon their separate identity, but when these same individuals turned to Asia… they universally saw themselves acting as European agents.”147 In spite of debates about Russia’s national identity, notably between the so-called “Westernizers” and “Slavophiles” which started in the 1840s, Russian intellectuals on both sides of the debate maintained a “European” attitude towards Asia. Even Slavophiles and proponents of Official Nationality or of Dostoevsky, who rose against the West, against Europe, in defense of a distinct and different Russian identity, remained thoroughly Western in their attitude towards Asia:  Harsha Ram, “Russian Poetry and the Imperial Sublime,” 39.  David MacKenzie, “Expansion in Central Asia: St. Petersburg vs. the Turkestan Generals (1863–1866),” Canadian Slavic Studies 3 (1969): 303. 147  Mark Bassin, Imperial Visions: Nationalist Imagination and Geographical Expansion in the Russian Far East, 1840–1865 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 53–56. 145 146

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The conflict with the West… was essentially a fraternal conflict, perhaps all the more bitter for that reason, but nevertheless fraternal. Self-identification in terms of Orthodoxy, the Byzantine heritage, the Russian people, or Slavdom almost inevitably implied a close relationship to other Christians, other heirs of the classical world, and other European peoples and groups of peoples. Given those conditions, it is not surprising that the same Russians who vehemently denounced Europe and postulated a fundamental contrast and opposition between Russia and Western principles, nevertheless, as soon as they turned to consider Asia, identified themselves with Europe, with the West.148

The outcome of such a “European” attitude towards Asia led to the promotion of Russia’s “civilizing mission” in Asia. Fedor Dostoevsky’s often quoted article “Geok-Tepe. What is Asia for us?,” written after the storming of Geok-Tepe in 1881, clearly demonstrates this connection: They [the Europeans] will never believe that we are capable of participating with them in further destinies of their civilization. They have seen in us enemies and upstarts… In Europe we are but parasites and slaves, but to Asia we shall come as masters. In Europe we are only Tatars, but in Asia we shall appear as Europeans. Russia is not only Europe but Asia. Perhaps even more of our hopes lie in Asia than in Europe.149

These statements express the typical imperialistic enthusiasm for conquest  – the great writer’s advocacy for expansion into Asia was only a means in the big power rivalry.150 In the above quoted article and its sequel, Dostoevsky self-identifies with the West and promotes the “acquisition and colonization of Asiatic lands [which] would stimulate the Russians to display their talents in far-ranging, creative activity, eliminating passivity and stagnation characteristic of their countrymen and country. Checked and humiliated in Europe, Russia would do well to concentrate for a time on her mission civilisatrice in the East.”151 Such imperialistic 148  Riasanovsky, “Asia through Russian Eyes,” 17. See also E. Sarkisyanz, “Russian Attitude towards Asia,” Russian Review 13, no. 4 (October 1954): 245–54; Sarkisyanz, “Russian Conquest in Central Asia: Transformation and Acculturation,” in Vucinich, ed., Russia and Asia, 248–88; Riasanovsky, “Asia through Russian Eyes,” 3–29. 149  F. M. Dostoevsky, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. xi (St. Petersburg, 1891), 515, quoted in Sarkisyanz, “Russian Attitude towards Asia,” 248. 150  Sarkizyanz, “Russian Attitude towards Asia,” 248. 151  Riasanovsky, “Asia through Russian Eyes,” 17–18.

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views were popular in Russia especially after the defeat in the Crimean War (1853–56). Recurrent Russo-Ottoman wars and the conquest of the Eastern territories, including the Caucasus and Central Asia, all contributed to the intellectual and political engagement with the nagging dilemma of Russian cultural identity. Russian imperialism, therefore, was “too self-conscious, too nervous about itself,” notices Ewa M. Thompson in her Imperial Knowledge, while reiterating the perception of “Russian civilizational inferiority.”152 Russia’s own lack of self-confidence was somewhat symmetrical to its perception in Western Europe where the view of Russia developed over time and reflected Russia’s evolution. Prior to the time of Peter the Great, Russia was seen as mostly barbarian. Due to the changes after Peter, Russia was upgraded to “a bit of a barbarian but a barbarian who redeemed himself by showing what was constructed as a willingness to shed his ways and learn from Europe,” “hovering between Asia and Europe” with “crucial ambiguity” and an uneven distribution of civilization, altogether “at the fringe of the white race.”153 During the nineteenth century, Russia emerged as an expanding empire with an increasing Asian Muslim population within its borders. At the same time, after the peak of its political influence in the victory over Napoleon in 1812, its economic, technological, and military weakness in comparison to its Western European rivals once again resulted in the condescending views. Therefore, during “what has been called the long nineteenth century – from the French Revolution to the First World War” – Russia was seen as “a barbarian at the gate,” “as an ambiguous presence on Europe’s border, a presence that could be associated with Europe but also with China.”154 Other scholars take it even further and point out that Western Europeans looked down on the Russians as clearly inferior, “utterly imitative of European culture, having no history of their own, being at the bottom mere nomads or descendants of Mongols.”155 Kalpana Sahni convincingly quotes multiple French, English, and German diplomats, politicians, and men of letters in order to demonstrate that “the stereotypes of the ‘Oriental’ applied just as much to 152  Ewa M.  Thompson, Imperial Knowledge: Russian Literature and Imperialism (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2000), 19, 18. 153  Iver B.  Neumann, Uses of the Other: “The East” in European Identity Formation (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998), 74–75, 81, 84, 85. 154  Neumann, Uses of the Other, 90, 92. 155  Katya Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), 3–4.

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the Russians as it did to the other non-Europeans. The Russians were supposedly suffering from all the maladies of the already subjugated races, namely, laziness, crudity and savagery, oriental despotism and oriental cruelty.”156 For example, George Curzon, the British viceroy of India, described Russia’s conquest of Central Asia as “a conquest of Orientals by Orientals, of cognate character by cognate character.”157 In the Orient, Russia was also seen with reservation and even suspicion, as an imposter trying to pass for a civilized member of the European family. For example, in Iran, already during the Safavid time (1501–1722), Russia was mentioned separately from the other European peoples: “Just as Russia was not included in the contemporaneous Western European idea of the community of civilized nations, so it had never fallen under the generic rubric Farang [Europe] in the Islamic world, including Iran,” according to Jean de Thevenot, a famous French traveler of the seventeenth century. He pointed out that Iranians thought of Russians as “the most base and the most infamous of all Christians” and the “Uzbeks of Europe.”158 Russians were seen as barbarian and primitive people who presented a danger to Iran and its territorial integrity. Starting in the eighteenth century, this attitude became combined with a certain respect due to Russia’s westernization and growing economic and military strength.159 Russia of course was not the only country stigmatized as an inferior “Other” by Western Europe. As Larry Wolff explains in his Inventing Eastern Europe, Western European intellectuals of the Enlightenment “invented” Eastern Europe as its complementary other, while applying the new notion of “civilization” to themselves. They pictured Eastern Europe as a mediator between Europe and the Orient, a mediator which was simultaneously included in Europe and excluded from it: “Eastern Europe was located not at the antipode of civilization, not down in the depth of

 Sahni, Crucifying the Orient, 14.  George N.  Curzon, Russia in Central Asia in 1889 and the Anglo-Russian Question (London: Frank Cass & Co. Ltd., 1967), 392, quoted in Sahni, Crucifying the Orient, 15. 158  Rudi Matthee, “Between Aloofness and Fascination: Safavid Views of the West,” Iranian Studies 31 (1998): 233–34. 159  Rudi Matthee, “Between Sympathy and Enmity: Nineteenth-Century Iranian Views of the British and the Russians,” in Beate Eschment and Hans Harder, eds., Looking at the Coloniser: Cross-Cultural Perceptions in Central Asia and the Caucasus, Bengal, and Related Areas (Berlin: Ergon Verlag, 2004): 320–21, 325–26, 336–37. 156 157

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barbarism, but rather on the developmental scale that measured the distance between civilization and barbarism.”160 Therefore, by the mid-nineteenth century, Russian intellectual and ruling elites either consciously or subconsciously were making attempts to prove their own worthiness  – to themselves and to their rivals and role models in Western Europe. Russia’s discourse of the Orient was an attempt to gain intellectual domination over its internal Orient, to reassure the Russians themselves that Russia was a “civilized” European power, capable of running its empire, and to “overcome the stigma of being understood as an empty, peripheral region.”161 The Russian-educated elite therefore was behaving in a seemingly inconsistent way: while they cursed Russia’s “Asiatic backwardness,” they nevertheless “craved to be accepted as equals by the West, to enter and become part of the mainstream of European life. But when they were rejected or they felt that Russia’s values had been underestimated by the West, even the most Westernized of Russia’s intellectuals were inclined to be resentful and to lurch towards a chauvinistic pride in their country’s threatening Asiatic size.”162 Hence Russians developed their own “defensive Orientalism”: nationalism in Russia arose out of the confrontation with the West, as Russians sought to rationalize and master the overwhelming sense of inadequacy with which this confrontation left them. Within the ideological framework of Russian nationalism, the prospect of political-territorial expansion was intended not so much to satisfy an appetite for control of foreign lands and peoples as to secure evidence of positive or even superior national qualities which could then serve to raise Russia’s stature vis-à-vis the West. The imperialist project thus assumed a significance for the national psychology as what Adam Ulam has called a “mechanism of compensation for backwardness,” and its real concern was accordingly not with the object of conquest and incorporation but rather with Russia itself.163

Thus, “to become fully Russian, Russia had to be imperial, had to encounter those less ‘civilized’”; it needed to continue expansion to 160  Larry Wolff, Inventing Eastern Europe: The Map of Civilization on the Mind of the Enlightenment (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1994), 4, 7, 13. 161  Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border, 3. 162  Orlando Figes, Natasha’s Dance: A Cultural History of Russia (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2002), 380. See also Sahni, Crucifying the Orient, 15. 163  Bassin, Imperial Visions, 13.

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incorporate new populations “against which Russians could style themselves European.”164 Such an aspiration led to multiple consequences. In the first half of the nineteenth century, a rediscovery of the Russian national historical narrative and language occurred, leading to what became known as the golden age of Russian culture. Nikolai Karamzin’s History of the Russian State “brought to Russians a sense of themselves as a people with history and therefore a rooted identity.” He also pictured ancient Russia’s connections with both European and non-European peoples, including those in the Caucasus.165 Katya Hokanson further points out that Russian national identity as expressed in literature was formed in great part by Russia’s relationship to its margins, primarily its southern/ eastern ones, forming substantial “literature created at the periphery.” While Russia’s relationship with the people to the West was often marred with Russia’s sense of military and cultural backwardness, in the south and east, it felt different: “It was when Russians first wrote about their military exploits in the Caucasus, bringing together discourses of empire, the civilizing mission, liberty from oppression, and an appeal to Russian history set down in great part by Karamzin, that Russians recognized this literature as being truly national, independent of European modes and themes.”166 If in the first half of the century the Caucasus became the borderland “Other” needed to prove Russia’s European “self,” in the second half of the century, Central Asia played a similar role, a role of a “locus both of increased contact with other cultures and a shakier sense of Russian identity.”167 In its turn, Central Asia inspired artists, including Karazin, to write, paint, and draw from the periphery to the center, to glorify and criticize the conquest at the same time. This imperialistic ideology “could readily combine with reactionary, conservative, or liberal beliefs, with pro-Western or anti-Western views.”168 Patriotic support for the imperial expansion became typical for the liberal Russian intellectual and political elite who often declared that their country possessed a unique nature, making it peculiarly well suited for its imperialistic role. That includes Karazin, who did not just personally support  Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border, 9.  Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border, 12, 10. 166  Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border, 17, 13. 167  Monika Greenleaf, Pushkin and Romantic Fashion: Fragment, Elegy, Orient, Irony (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1994), 108. 168  Riasanovsky, “Asia through Russian Eyes,” 18. 164 165

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the Russian conquest of Turkestan, but also enthusiastically promoted it in his artistic works. It comes as no surprise then that the new Russian national literature heralded by Pushkin became “the poetry of imperial expansion” to such a significant degree.169 Pioneering the discussion of Orientalism in Russian literature, Susan Layton researched the theme of the Caucasus in Russian literature and came to a conclusion about a complex range of attitudes towards Russian imperial expansion: “Total complicity in imperialism was the mode of ephemeral orientalia, especially prominent in the 1830s. At the polar opposite, Hadji Murat denounced the subjugation of the Muslim tribes as vile aggression.” Layton puts Pushkin, Bestuzhev-­ Marlinskii, and Lermontov, who all encountered the Caucasus in exile, in the “particular intriguing middle ground”: “These three romantic outcasts endorsed imperialism in certain ways, while taking issue with it in others.”170 This apparent inconsistency between critiquing autocratic power in Europe, including European Russia, and supporting Russia’s imperial mission in Asia, including Asian Russia, by many star artists has been noticed by several other scholars of Russian literature and history.171 For example, Hokanson talks about Pushkin’s “Captive of the Caucasus” as a “self-canonizing example of Russian literary imperialism” since the war in the Caucasus created a forum for praising Russia’s military might  Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border, 16.  Susan Layton, Russian Literature and Empire: Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 9. 171  An interesting aspect of this complex relationship between an artist and Russian imperialism was the realization of the similarities between empire’s oppression of both Russian heartlands and the foreign territories Russia was acquiring and incorporating. As argued by Harsha Ram, “the Russian artist, while seldom denouncing the empire explicitly, provided an alienated prism through which to contemplate the ‘prison of all nations’ in which both the Russian and the highlander were – however differently – trapped.” (Harsha Ram, “Prisoners of the Caucasus,” 14, quoted in Kalinowska, Between East and West, 10.) Alexander Etkind, in his book Internal Colonization, explains that Russia has been simultaneously the subject and the object of colonization and its corollaries, including Orientalism: “The state engaged in the colonization of foreign territories and it was also concerned with colonizing the heartlands” while “the concept of internal colonization connotes the culture-specific domination inside the national borders, actual or imagined.” (Alexander Etkind, Internal Colonization: Russia’s Imperial Experience [Cambridge: Polity, 2011], 2, 7.) Consequently, there were parallels between the perception of Asian minorities and Russian peasants in the imperial Russian intellectual tradition. Etkind’s contribution to a debate “Rossiiskii ‘osobyi put’ i mnogoobrazie imperskogo i national’nogo opyta,” Ab Imperio, 1 (2002), quoted in Tolz, Russia’s Own Orient, 29. 169 170

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and status as a colonial empire.172 She points out that themes of freedom coexisted very comfortably with the Russian elite’s support for imperial expansion: many participants of the liberal Decembrist uprising of 1825 were exiled to the Caucasus and Siberia and upheld Russia’s expansion there.173 Harsha Ram confirms: “The Decembrists’ platform highlighted a pervasive if implicit inconsistency found in many Russian writers…: their critique of Russian autocracy was mitigated by their enthusiastic support for tsarist imperial policy – in this case the conquest of Transcaucasia and the Greek struggle against the Ottoman rule.” While examining the rise of the Russian Empire as a literary theme in his Imperial Sublime, he explains that a Russian artist “had only the limited choice of either identifying ‘metonymically’ with the imperial state or seeing in the fate of the mountain dwellers an alienated metaphor for his own struggles and eventual disempowerment. The Russian romantics, and most Russian writers after them, finally chose both options: hence the difficulty of ascribing a single political meaning to their works.”174 Even Vasilii Vereshchagin, known to the world as an antiwar artist, “never questioned tsarist ambition in Turkestan” though his paintings delivered a severe critique of war’s cruel reality: When it came to central Asia, these [Vereshchagin’s opinions] included a strong faith in Russia’s mission civilisatrice, the duty of all modern nations to bring the benefits of more enlightened ways to their less advanced brethren. In this way, General Kaufman’s campaign in Turkestan happened to coincide with the artist’s progressive political leaning. At the same time, his commitment to Chernyshevskii’s credo of critical realism obligated him to present war’s brutal cost to Russian conscripts in searing honesty.175

It was during the second half of the nineteenth century, as Russia was moving into Central Asia, that Russians were finally ready for a direct and authentic encounter with the Asian “other,” instead of filtering it through

172   Hokanson, “Literary Imperialism, Narodnost’ and Pushkin’s Invention of the Caucasus,” Russian Review 53, no. 3 (July 1994): 336, 337. 173  Hokanson, Writing at Russia’s Border, 18. 174  Harsha Ram, The Imperial Sublime: A Russian Poetics of Empire (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), 8, 10. 175  Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism, 89–91.

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the prism of Western Orientalism.176 This became a period of a serious incorporation of Central Asian motifs into mainstream Russian culture, including Karazin’s works. As we are about to see, for the same reasons as his fellow artists, Karazin also “chose both options” in his presentation of the conquest and its consequences.

176  Ronals Vroon, “A Russian Futurist in Central Asia,” in Nile Green, ed., Writing Travel in Central Asian History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014), 172.

CHAPTER THREE

Nikolai Karazin’s military project: the discourse of power

Fate put Nikolai Karazin in the midst of the Russian conquest of Central Asia, which kindled his life-long passion for the area. Although he contributed to so many other areas of Russian culture of his time, Central Asia always remained at the heart of his artistic life. Just like the proverbial and vivid “Turkestan generals” of Nikolai Gumilev, he would never forget the “fragrant legend” of Turkestan, its “days of anguish, night calls ‘to arms,’ cheerless salt-marshes, and measured steps of camels,” and “the death of an unfortunate company, and Uch-Kuduk, and Kinderli, and the Russian flag over white Khiva.” For the rest of his life his heart would ache for “the sun of Turkestan” and become excited “by the memoirs about the hardship” endured there.1 This chapter explores Karazin’s “military project” in the context of Russia’s imperial networks and relates it to the dilemma of Russia’s self-­ identification in the East-West system. Sharing his intellectual contemporaries’ views, Karazin hailed the Russian conquest of Central Asia and the advance of Russian “benevolent” imperialism, but was highly critical of “unnecessary” violence during the conquest.

1

 http://slova.org.ru/gumilev/turkestanskie_generaly/ (accessed 5 July 2017).

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_3

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Glorification of the conquest No art can be expected to “leap totally out of its period,” and therefore, to avoid “the burden of the present” and to “historicize adequately,”2 students of Karazin’s narrative have to be aware of the main features of his period. The conquest of Central Asia took place during the era of social, institutional, and legal reforms in the 1860s and the 1870s. Following Russia’s defeat in the Crimean War (1853–56), the Great Reforms “produced a broad range of cultural expression of the nation meant to salve its wounded pride and reconstitute the national community,” explains Olga Maiorova. After the reforms, “both national cohesion and wider participation in political life seemed for the first time in Russian history to have a chance of becoming reality.”3 Since the reforms were to be implemented in stages, with delays in the “backward” areas, defining the areas of inclusion and exclusion intensified the issue of the borders of the Russian nation. Meanwhile, the final “pacification” of the Caucasus by 1864 and the new borders of Russia in Central Asia “gave fresh impetus to the demand to shore up the Russian people’s position as the ‘reigning nationality,’ destined to shape the character of the expanding empire.” This process was further stimulated by the rise of nationalism in Western Europe. Hence more and more nationally minded intellectuals, including artists, journalists, and writers, applied themselves to creating a “spectrum of competing constructs of the nation.” Anticipation of rapid modernization following the reforms served as a common ground for intellectuals pursuing various ideologies and generated loyalty to the regime. An impressive relaxation of censorship and increase in the new periodicals during this period led to the broadening of the discussion of the Russian national identity which “escaped the bounds of elite salons to spread through meeting halls and onto the pages of novels, poems, ‘thick journals,’ and the daily press.”4 Nikolai Karazin’s support of Russia’s imperial mission reflected his hope and pride in the anticipated changes. His artistic input was a part of 2  John M. MacKenzie, Orientalism: History, theory and the arts (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), 14, 54, xvii; Dennis Porter, “Orientalism and its problems,” in Francis Baker et al., eds., The Politics of Theory (Colchester, 1983), 192, quoted in MacKenzie, Orientalism, 22. 3  Olga Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire: Defining the Russian Nation through Cultural Mythology, 1855–1870 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2010), 3. 4  Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire, 8–9, 10–11.

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this new nationalistic narrative playing a significant role in shaping public opinion. The reforms of course were to be stalled and hopes to be dashed by the beginning of the twentieth century, which became painfully clear with Russia’s defeat in the war against Japan (1904–5) and the brutal suppression of the revolution of 1905, but that would come later, by the end of Nikolai Karazin’s life. In Russian national discourse, past wars “seem to be crucial, regardless of whether they were won or lost.”5 Military victories acquired a special elevated status: “If war provides the only arena for mass participation in political life, then demands for popular empowerment inevitably lead to bellicose propaganda and even to violence itself.”6 After the defeat in the Crimean War, stories about military victories served to assert Russia’s much-desired position of a “true” European empire. The significance of war in forging national identity was not of course unique to Russia, and a number of scholars have pointed it out in relation to the British empire in the nineteenth century. For example, Patrick Brantlinger in his book on British literature and imperialism explains: “The glorification of the military and of war frequently crops up as a subtheme of imperial chauvinism.”7 In the second half of the nineteenth century in Britain the language of war entered into “hymns, tracts, and sermons,” schools, and literature, and “the locus of hero-worship moved from Europe to the Empire; colonial exploits were enthusiastically followed by the public; war became a remote adventure in which heroism was enhanced by both distance and exotic locales… The popular press exploited this spectatorial fascination with colonial warfare…”8 The “heroic” wars for Turkestan played a prominent role in Karazin’s works. According to an article from his time, his novels “are the novels of the militant generation, with a simple military morale, with veneration of strength, intellect and energy.”9 Karazin’s experience of Central Asia was a personal one – his participation in the Bukhara campaign, his courage, and the military honors bestowed upon him charged him with enthusiasm about the Russian 5  Ewa M.  Thompson, Imperial Knowledge: Russian Literature and Colonialism, Contri­ butions to the Study of World Literature (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2000), 9. 6  Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire, 129, 20. 7  Patrick Brantlinger, Rule of Darkness: British Literature and Imperialism, 1830–1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), 8. 8  John M.  MacKenzie, Propaganda and Empire: The Manipulation of British Public Opinion, 1880-1960 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984), 5-6. 9  Novoe vremia 7452 (24 November 1896): 2.

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conquest, “his” conquest, and with insatiable curiosity about Russian Turkestan. In his works dedicated to Turkestan, his goal is to tell the story of the conquest, to educate his audience, and to make them as proud as he was of the Russian arms. At the same time, his works draw the attention of his audience to the high price of the conquest as measured in human suffering. A modern Russian scholar of his works puts this idea in a very simple way: “N. N. Karazin, being a Russian officer who had sworn allegiance to the Emperor, shared the ideology of the Turkestan project, which is reflected in many aspects of his literary and visual works – on the one hand. On the other hand, being a realist writer and an ethnographer-­ writer, he could not ignore the bloody and oppressive nature of that project.”10 Karazin’s story named “Atlar” reads as a manifesto of his glorification of the Russian conquest. In this story-legend the conquest is presented in an exaggerated, almost grotesque, way. The story is told through the eyes of Mat-Niaz, a Persian slave, who became the first adviser to the emir of Khiva through his outstanding intellectual abilities and high moral qualities. The background of the story is the Russian conquest of Khiva in 1873. Through magic visions presented by the long dead Atlar-mullah, a “great hero and keeper of the steppes’ freedom,” the ten-year-old boy can foresee the futility of fighting against the Russians and the great benefits of their future conquests. Inevitable as fate itself, among a glow of silver light, arrives from the north a great hero riding a white horse: “in one hand he holds thunder, in another – a green branch covered in early dew. In front of him, armed men fall down, behind him unarmed men get up… Blood flows in front of him, behind him this blood turns into flowers and golden bread.” As an old man, Mat-Niaz recognized this vision in the approaching Russian troops and immediately suggested to his master that they surrender and send a peaceful delegation headed by Mat-Niaz himself to the intruders, since the “sword is useless here… The will of Allah is done.”11 He is strongly opposed by the military commander Mat-Murad, his old and treacherous rival, who tries in vain to organize resistance and 10  Eleonora Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnograficheskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016), 23. 11  N. N. Karazin, “Atlar,” in Nedavnee byloe. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 15 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 109, 117, 141. When the story was first published in 1891, it was accompanied by Karazin’s drawing entitled Tomb of hero Ileshes, near the Temir River, Russkii vestnik, no. 6 (1891).

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even to personally kill his fleeing compatriots. When the prediction of Atlar becomes real and the defenders of Khiva are running “like a flock of sheep,” Mat-Niaz brings the legend to the conclusion: “God willing, he says, blood irrigated dead sands and will be regenerated as blossoming gardens.”12 Bringing in religious terminology is an additional means here to reinforce the inevitability of the Russian conquest. Here Islam is not mocked or ridiculed, as occasionally happens in some other works by Karazin, but is viewed seriously, as an indirect ally of the intruding Russians. It is also significant that the visions come from such a highly respected source and therefore are impossible to doubt or deny. According to Januarius MacGahan, both Mat-Niaz and Mat-Murad were ministers of state to the khan of Khiva. While Mat-Niaz belonged to the “peace party” and was friendly towards the Russians, Mat-Murad “had a strong hatred of the Russians.”13 The same two competing personages, benevolent “divan-beg” Mat-Niaz and malicious Mat-Murad appear in Karazin’s novel S severa na iug (From the north to the south) in a similar context of Khiva on the eve of Russian conquest. In the novel, Mat-Niaz also cooperates with the advancing Russians.14 This story with its elevated style reads as an example of unsubtle imperial propaganda, rather unique for Karazin’s Central Asian works. If we accept the definition of propaganda as “the transmission of ideas and values… with the specific intention of influencing the recipients’ attitude in such a way that the interests of its authors will be enhanced,” we have to admit that the story about Atlar might be seen as representing “conscious manipulation on the part of those who controlled powerful religious, commercial, military and official agencies.”15 The story presents the inevitability of the conquest and states its benevolent character – if the conquered accept the conqueror, they will benefit greatly since the conqueror is bringing prosperity with him. In other words, the Russian conquest is brutal to those who resist it and merciful to those who accept it.

 Karazin, “Atlar,” 142, 143.  Januarius Aloysius MacGahan, Campaigning on the Oxus, and the Fall of Khiva, 2nd ed. (London: Sampson Low, Marston, Low, and Searle, 1874), 289. See also Alexander Pavlovich Khoroshkhin, Sbornik statei, kasaiushchikhsia do Turkestanskogo kraia (St. Petersburg: Tip. i khromolit. A. Transhelia, 1876), 488. 14  N. N. Karazin, S severa na iug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 7 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 446–58, 479. 15  MacKenzie, Propaganda and Empire, 3. 12 13

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In another story yet, his patriotic pride even made Karazin express personal loyalty to Emperor Alexander II. In his report on the Samara expedition to the Amu-Darya, Karazin describes a festive celebration of his name day, a day “dear to every Russian – a day on the banks of the Amu-Darya, whose waters will in the near future hear more numerous voices of the [new] Russian Tsar’s subjects, the inhabitants of this second Central Asian Russian Volga.”16 It is hard to believe the author’s claims that their local hosts joined the Russians after learning what the occasion was  – unless they were looking for favors from the Russian intruders or for a free meal. His somewhat “intoxicated” high language of symbols applied to the Russian conquest in the legend about Atlar makes one wonder if Karazin used “disguised irony” as a form of “powerful critique of home culture.”17 Such a gross and laughable exaggeration would likely cause a negative reaction among at least some of his readers, though we can only guess how many of them saw “Atlar” as a “tongue in cheek” imperialist discourse. Karazin’s support for the Russian conquest of Central Asia is related to another phenomenon in Russian culture – a certain obsession with boundless space. The absence of natural barriers has served as a catalyst both for invasions by intruders and for Russia’s own expansion, as noted by many scholars of the Russian Empire. The overwhelming and sometimes almost mystical significance of the “ocean” of steppe lands was interpreted by the famous Russian philosopher Nikolai Berdiaev (1874–1948) as a driving force for Russian expansion. Self-preservation, he explained, made Russians repel the invaders and entrench themselves firmly in their habitat, but since it offered little natural protection, they constantly had to expand their borders to keep their enemies at bay.18 According to the eminent Russian historian V.  O. Kliuchevskii (1841–1911), Russia’s predilection for boundless space resulted in the passion for conquering space; therefore, the history of the Russian state is seen as a history of an endless space

16  N. N. Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia dlia issledovaniia napravlenii sredneaziatskoi zheleznoi dorogi i izucheniia basseina reki Amu-Dar’i,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 597 (1880): 495. 17  MacKenzie, Orientalism, 21–22. Also, MacKenzie cites Lisa Lowe, in Critical Terrains: French and British Orientalisms, about Flaubert’s use of irony, page 25. 18  Henry R. Huttenbach, “The Origins of Russian Imperialism,” in Taras Hunczak, ed., Russian Imperialism from Ivan the Great to the Revolution (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1974), 20.

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expansion.19 In Russia, therefore, “extensive territory was a source of state pride and self-definition.”20 The works of Karazin, a part of the Russian intellectual establishment of his time, reflect this spirit of a “natural” Russian expansion whose legitimacy is not to be questioned. Immense space in Turkestan with its plains and deserts did not leave Nikolai Karazin indifferent: he painted and described endless yellow sand dunes under blue or grey skies, its unpredictability and irresistible attraction. In his novel Dvunogii volk (Two-legged wolf), given the choice between moving towards “the endless quicksand… realm of death” or back to the “blossoming populated areas… full of life,” not a single person in the military camp would prefer to go back.21 According to John MacKenzie, “desert iconography” symbolized moral and physical purity, and represented “a great purifying force”: “It had the power to cover over past civilizations…  It lacked the putrefying stench of industrial civilization: its vultures picked carcasses clean, and its sands… covered over in a constant act of renewal, creating new and fantastic shapes. Its personal relations were similarly speedily renewable. They reflected old values… Its people were quick to offence and swift in revenge, rapidly averting wider conflict.”22 Karazin expresses his fascination with endless Asian steppes and deserts in his travelogue about his trip from Orenburg to Tashkent published in 1886. When one crosses the Ural River, he finds himself in Asia, in awe of the endless steppes in front of his eyes: “You are now in front of the colossal plains, populated by the nomads, the plains with the pastures where the great hordes of Mongols had gathered, who had flooded Russia and even penetrated, under their leaders-conquerors, [all the way] to the banks of the Marne River.”23 It is tempting to point out that the reference to the Mongol “hordes” presents the modern Russian conquest as a justified one.

19   G.  Rezvin, “Vostok i Zapad v russkom natsional’nom chuvstve formy,” in D.  B. Sarab’ianov, ed., Russkoe iskusstvo mezhdu zapadom i vostokom (Moscow: Gosudarstvennyi institut iskusstvovedeniia, 1997), 32. 20  Jane Burbank and Mark von Hagen, “Coming into the Territory: Uncertainty and Empire,” in Jane Burbank et  al., eds., Russian Empire: Space, People, Power, 1700–1930 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007), 16. 21  N. N. Karazin, Dvunogii volk. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 14 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 24. 22  MacKenzie, Orientalism, 59. 23  N. N. Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta: Putevoi ocherk (St. Petersburg: Izdatel’stvo German Goppe, 1886), 6.

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The artist saw the Ural Mountains as a symbolic divide between Europe and Asia to which he would refer on more than one occasion in his travelogues and fiction. The border between Europe and Asia has been a subject of polemic which included the ancient Greek geographers’ division into the three continents of Europe, Asia, and Africa, and Mikhail Gorbachev’s vision of a “common European home.” In the 1730s the Europe-Asia boundary was asserted along the Ural Mountains, the Ural River, to the Caspian, whereupon it cut southwest and followed across the Caucasus to the Sea of Azov and the Black Sea. Mark Bassin explains that the choice of the Ural Mountains was entirely logical since they served as a more significant natural landmark than any of the rivers suggested as an alternative border (such as Don, Volga, Kama, Pechora, and Dvina). As a result, “the basic geographical proposition that Russia divided cleanly and naturally into Asian and European sectors entered into the very foundation of the imperial ideology that was refined in the course of the eighteenth century.”24 In the first half of the nineteenth century, it was the conquest of the Caucasus which “created a forum for praising Russia’s military might and status as colonizing empire in the wake of Russia’s great success in defeating Napoleon” and led to the “literary imperialism.”25 In the second half of the nineteenth century, it was the conquest of Central Asia in the wake of Russia’s defeat in the Crimean War. Karazin’s liberal views did not prevent him from supporting the Russian imperial and “civilizing” mission in the East, since “in the case of tsarist Russia the liberal-conservative dichotomy can be misleading,” especially in the opening decade of the reform era.26 Karazin’s art shares what today seems to be a contradiction with such giants of Russian culture as Pushkin, Lermontov, Dostoevsky, and his brother-in-arms Vereshchagin. After the capture of Geok-Tepe in 1881, Fedor Dostoevsky, who had been arrested and exiled for his socialist ideas in the 1840s, exclaimed: “Let millions of people all the way to India, even in India itself, grow more and more certain of the invincibility of the white tsar, of his ever victorious sword… the name of the white tsar should stand

24  Mark Bassin, “Russia between Europe and Asia: The Ideological Construction of Geographical Space,” Slavic Review 50, no. 1 (Spring 1991): 6–7. 25  Katya Hokanson, “Literary Imperialism, Narodnost’ and Pushkin’s Invention of the Caucasus,” Russian Review 53, no. 3 (July 1994): 336–37. 26  Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire, 9.

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above [their] khans and emirs, above the Indian empress, even above the name of the caliph himself.”27 Karazin had other influential examples to follow: after the successful campaign in 1868 at Samarkand, in which Karazin participated, his military commander, hero, and patron General Konstantin Petrovich von Kaufman was told by the Foreign Ministry to return Samarkand to Bukhara. He, however, refused to do so, stating: “I could not commit such a sacrilege against the prestige, honor and rights of Russia.” Kaufman traveled to St. Petersburg and was able to persuade Alexander II that Russia must retain Samarkand.28 Even if these are not the actual words of Kaufman, this story highlights the mindset of Karazin’s environment. Within colonial networks, intersecting individual lives, and in particular patronage, played significant roles in shaping imperial careers and views.29 The relationship between Nikolai Karazin and General Kaufman, who had also awarded him the golden saber after the battle of Zarbulak, was an “asymmetrical one.”30 The artist held the subordinate position, first on the battlefield and later contributing to the scientific and ethnographic projects in Turkestan sponsored by General Kaufman, then governor-general of Turkestan. Kaufman was an extremely powerful person, with “almost unlimited authority, including the right to wage wars, conduct diplomatic negotiations, and conclude conventions and treaties with the neighboring states at his own discretion. This extraordinary power and the pomp with which he surrounded himself in Tashkent gained him the nickname ‘Half-­ Emperor’ (Yarim Padesah) among the population of Central Asia.”31 Karazin’s support for colonial projects led by his patron were at least

27  Fedor Dostoevsky, “Geok-Tepe, chto takoe dlia nas Aziia?,” in Dnevnik pisatelia, 1881, January, http://rus-turk.livejournal.com/6185.htm (accessed 17 July 2017). 28  E.  Tolbukhov, “Ustroitel’ Turkestanskogo kraia,” Istoricheskii Vestnik, CXXXII (June 1913): 904–7, quoted in David MacKenzie, “The Conquest and Administration of Turkestan, 1860-85,” in Michael Rywkin, ed., Russian Colonial Expansion to 1917 (London: Mansell Publishing Limited, 1988), 220. 29  David Lambert and Alan Lester, eds., Colonial Lives Across the British Empire: Imperial Careering in the Long Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 27. 30  Zoe Laidlaw, Colonial connections 1815–45: Patronage, the information revolution and colonial government (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 15. 31  Yuri Bregel, “The Russian conquest of Central Asia and the first decades of Russian rule,” Encyclopedia Iranica, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/central-asia-vii (accessed 4 July 2019).

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partially due to that bond of “friendship and obligation”32 cherished by the artist. Nikolai Karazin’s devotion to his hero reminds us of Pushkin’s devotion to General Aleksei Petrovich Ermolov, commander in chief of the Georgian armies and the viceroy to the Caucasus half a century earlier. Ermolov was also a sympathizer to the Decembrists and was known for his liberal views. To Pushkin, Ermolov was a hero, “a kind person who devoted his retirement years to the village in which he had lived,” who kept an open house for everyone except city officials, “the implication being that ordinary peasants had access to him while the chinovniki [officials] (who have had a bad reputation in Russian letters) did not.” Ewa Thompson explains that this stereotype of the “refined elderly general (or other military officer) is one of the most common manifestations” of the “myth of Russia’s peaceful expansion” persisting in Russian literature.33 But it was also General Ermolov who justified the use of terror against the native people of the Caucasus in the following terms: “Gentleness, in the eyes of Asiatics, is a sign of weakness, and out of pure humanity I am inexorably severe. One execution saves hundreds of Russians from destruction and thousands of Muslims from treason.”34 Thompson also makes a connection between Pushkin’s image of Ermolov and the poem by Gumilev romanticizing the Turkestan generals quoted at the beginning of this chapter as noble saintly figures.35 And the fact that Kaufman had served in the Caucasus prior to his appointment in Central Asia further reinforces this connection.

Short story “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty” – case study Nikolai Karazin documented the military conquest of Turkestan in a number of his works, both literary and visual. Among his writings, two short stories, or documentary essays, “Urgut” and “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty” (Zarbulak Heights), are based on his participation in military campaigns and clearly demonstrate his approach to the Russian military conquest. The latter one can arguably be seen as Karazin’s most representative and  Laidlaw, Colonial connections, 15.  Thompson, Imperial Knowledge, 113. 34  Dominic Lieven, Empire: The Russian Empire and Its Rivals (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000), 217. 35  Thompson, Imperial Knowledge, 112. 32 33

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impressive battle story. While A.  S. Morrison refers to “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty” as “a decent short story about the battle,”36 careful analysis of this story offers multiple scholarly and literary benefits. Like most of his stories, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty” is narrated in the first person. It opens with the night before the battle when “very few [people] were able to sleep” because of the work they had to complete: some Russian soldiers were posted as guards; the wounded, the sick, and the excessive luggage were being moved into safe locations; cooks were preparing an abundant before-the-dawn meal for the soldiers so carcasses of slaughtered animals could be seen between carriages; a group of soldiers was digging a road for moving heavy cannons. We also hear short fragments of dialogues in the night camp: a soldier stepped on a scorpion and got bitten through a hole in his boot; a doctor demanded help for the battle tomorrow at the makeshift hospital, “unlike the last time,” when he was left alone with his assistant to attend to the wounded; an officer was calling for his orderly to finally bring the teapot; all aides-de-camp were called to the general’s tent; an officer was complaining about his bad luck in a card game; a company commander was fuming that half of the soldiers in his company were drunk and he ordered them to be soaked in an irrigation ditch; two soldiers were talking about their killed or wounded comrades, including a certain Savel’ev, whose head was cut “to the brain” but who was still making “mooing sounds”; somebody was singing a romance song about two gypsy women “ready to shed blood for unfaithfulness.”37 While it was still dark, a signal rocket was launched, drums started to beat, and Cossack horns started to ring; everyone was to rise: “there was no indefiniteness or chaos left, it was clear that every person knew exactly where to rush and what to do.” Horses helped by soldiers were dragging cannons up the hill; silhouettes of the mounted commander with his entourage were seen against the light sky on the top of a cliff; behind the troops leaving their night camp, fires started to burn as all “the abandoned garbage and the leftover fuel stored by an overgenerous, wasteful hand” were being disposed of, “according to the local, Turkestan rules.” Shadows

36  A.  S. Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand 1868–1910: A Comparison with British India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 21. 37  N.  N. Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki (St. Petersburg, Tiporgafiia V. A. Tushnova, 1874), 167–69.

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of starving dogs and humans were wandering in the abandoned camp picking up anything suitable for consumption.38 As the sleepy Russian army is moving up to Zarbulak, the author provides a brief overview of the “historic events preceding the current day” and explains that all the troops Russians had at their disposal in 1868 for a campaign against Bukhara had been divided into two groups: one was located near Katta-Kurgan, in order to keep an eye on Bukhara; another main one had been holding Samarkand since the day it surrendered, 1 May. It was from here that they undertook several campaigns into the mountains, towards Urgut (the story “Urgut” is discussed below) and the Kara-Tiube ravine: “these campaigns did not bring any significant results. All mountain people rebelled against us and moved towards Samarkand.” When they received news from Katta-Kurgan that the emir of Bukhara with his main army was only twelve versts39 away from the town, the commander (Kaufman) left a small unit in Samarkand and moved the rest of his army to assist the group at Katta-Kurgan. After a day’s rest, he intended to defeat the emir’s army, leaving standing only one enemy, the Beg (governor or, in this case, semi-independent ruler) of Shahr-i Sabz: “So we were marching in order to beat the emir, but we had no clue where exactly he was and how much force he had.” Nevertheless, the narrator expresses profound confidence in success: “However, for some reason, we did not doubt our success. Never before, in all our Central Asian campaigns, had Russian troops gathered in such high numbers: we had up to three thousand people – various troops, and this number, by the local military standards, is considered to be a significant one.”40 Karazin’s account of the events is quite accurate: Samarkand fell to the Russians on 2 May; Kaufman led thirty-five hundred men out of Samarkand, along the way taking the towns of Urgut and Katta-Kurgan. On 2 June, in the decisive battle at Zarbulak near Katta-Kurgan the outnumbered Russian army defeated the Bukharans.41 Karazin pictures the battle for the village of Zarbulak through detailed descriptions of separate scenes, including a comic episode when a camel  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 169–72.  One verst equals 1.067 kilometers or 0.6629 miles. 40  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 172–73. 41  For detailed accounts see M.  V. Lyko, Ocherk voennykh deistvii 1868 goda v doline Zaravshana (St. Petersburg: Tip. Dep-ta Udelov, 1871), http://militera.lib.ru/h/lyko_ mv/index.html (accessed 21 July 2017); M. A. Terent’ev, Istoriia zavoevaniia Srednei Azii (St. Petersburg: Tipo-Litografiia V. V. Komarova, 1906), 440–49. 38 39

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carrying biscuits became scared by bullets, broke loose, and galloped away to be immediately captured by the enemy: –This is the end of our biscuits, – one infantry man was saying to another one as they watched the [enemy] riders surrounding their booty. – Well, they will not do them any good, his comrade replied, – for it is impossible to guzzle our biscuits without being accustomed to them.42

The clash with the Bukharans begins as follows: A wild multi-toned scream spread in the air – the handsome horseman [officer] raised his hand, and like released hunting dogs, rushed ahead the white shirts [Russian soldiers], having waved up their rifle butts. Unison shouts of Hurray! which we hear at military parades and during military exercises do not even get close to the hellish chaos of sounds in the minute of desperate fight. Those who at this moment ceased being humans are incapable of producing human sounds: roar, whistle, piercing squeal, something akin to wild laughter, or pitiful, almost dog-like howl, [all] mixed with the characteristic [sound of the] knocking of brass-covered rifle butts against naked human skulls.43

He follows up with a “tragic-comic” scene of a “fat horseman on a roan horse who was fidgeting around the [hospital] wagon, threatening [Turkmen] horsemen with his revolver.” This was the “hero-doctor who always was on time in the hottest battle with his wagon and assistance.” Meanwhile, those Turkmen horsemen who had just failed to overtake the hospital wagon noticed several wounded Russian soldiers spread on the ground; they dismounted, did something to the bodies, and hurried away: “What an ugly, repugnant shape is acquired by a human body which had its head severed, – comments the narrator, – it is impossible to even figure out what it is at first. A purple cut is open, red blood is streaming and hisses as it mixes with the dust, and cooking into black flakes, with the black hole of the cut throat in view.”44 The examples above demonstrate Karazin’s way of presenting the courage of the Russians and the vileness of their adversaries  – by brief but detailed snapshots, graphic at times. He also explains that the “poor”  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 175.  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 178. 44  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 178–79. 42 43

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Bukharans saw in front of them, instead of actual Russian soldiers, “monsters from hell with thousand hands and red open mouths, roaring and screaming,” since they all had been treated to opium at the order of the emir to stimulate their courage. Now their initial “surge of unusual courage” which prevented them from running away, as always, at the first approach of the Russians, had worn out. Now they were running away and their clouded brains made them numb to their own pain or to the suffering of their wounded comrades; they could only “mechanically mumble some nonsense from the Koran.”45 Dropping phrases such as the one just mentioned about the native defenders “always running away at the very beginning of our attack” gradually convinces his readers of their cowardice – that is not to suggest that Karazin deliberately misrepresented what he observed on the battlefield since the disparity of the arms, supplies, and military discipline disadvantaged the local fighters. The battle for Zarbulak ends with an overwhelming Russian victory. However, Karazin strikes a tragic note picturing the retreat of the defeated enemy: They [retreating Bukharans] were leaving a broad and scary trace behind them. All those were human corpses; but they barely looked like human bodies. Instead it looked as if the steppe was covered with dirty red and white rags, if only these rags were not moving sometimes in the death-­ agony, if they were not making sounds shaking one to the depth of his soul…46

Compassion for the suffering of the enemy – who were cowardly and deranged by opium; who had cut off the heads of wounded Russian soldiers, but were still seen as humans – permeates Karazin’s narrative and perhaps makes some of his readers wonder at the wisdom of the whole military endeavor. What follows after the victory, does not enhance pride in the conquest either. After the Russian army entered the captured town of Zarbulak, officers tried to prevent looting and discipline the abusers and marauders, though often too late. A group of officers was sent to the town, including the narrator. As he enters the town, he witnesses tragic scenes, including murders, aimless destruction, and rape:  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 178–81.  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 182.

45 46

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This something [the narrator had noticed in the vineyard] was a woman, not a woman even – a girl of fourteen or so, based on the shape of her almost child-like body. She was lying on her back, with her arms and legs widely spread; her purple robe and red, long shirt were torn into pieces; her black hair plaited into many braids was spread around her head, her eyes were opened in an frightening way, her teeth, convulsively clenched, had bit through the tip of her tongue, under her body stood a pool of blood.47

This scene is followed by the description of a body of a Russian soldier pulled out of a small mud-hut: only his feet wearing Russian boots were seen sticking out, but when Cossacks grabbed the body by the feet and pulled it out, “they could not make anything out: the only part of the body that still had its human shape was the feet, the rest was maimed by a heavy weapon.”48 This suffering and cruelty committed by both sides is amplified by the immediate reaction the narrator shares with his readers: The sun was setting when I finished my inspection. In spite of my superbly trained nerves, in spite of my being used to seeing blood and human sufferings, I was completely exhausted morally, and what bitter, most dreary thoughts were creeping into my mind and chasing away sleep, picturing savage disgusting scenes in front of my eyes.49

The description of the night after the battle is somewhat symmetrical to the picture of the night before the battle. We again hear snippets of conversations, including a wail of a petty merchant whose barrel containing alcohol had been secretly drilled and drained; somebody is singing; somebody is outraged by a high price of a bottle of wine; somebody else is asking to dispatch soldiers with shovels. Four people died of their wounds in the hospital tent but their burial requires special arrangements. As the narrator explains, it had happened in the past that after Russian troops moved on, the locals dug up the graves they had left behind and mutilated the bodies: they would often cut off their heads as trophies, since the emir of Bukhara bestowed gifts and honors on those who presented them. Even more attractive than rich gifts was the “shine of the military glory,” comments the narrator. Here the readers again are receiving a message about the cowardice of the local people who aspire to “military glory” from their  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 192.  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 192. 49  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 192. 47 48

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ruler for cutting off corpses’ heads. Similar episodes of the natives cutting off the heads of Russian dead, wounded, or captives in order to receive an award or to display them are included in a number of other works by Karazin, including the short story “Iunuska-golovorez” (Little Iunus the Cut-throat. Also, in Russian “golovorez” literally means “one who cuts off heads”).50 That story is accompanied by a sketch of the main character, Iunuska, at the Russian graveyard. He has dug up his “loot”: “This loot was round, this loot had eyes, nose and ears, and the ‘brave dzhigit’51 was carrying this loot by its short-cut hair.” As he is getting out of the desecrated grave, he is shot from behind by a Russian soldier. Still holding his “prize,” he is hit between his shoulder blades, with his mouth open, and is about to collapse forever: “Without a moan, without any cry, fell face down ‘the brave dzhigit Iunuska-golovorez.’”52 The cruelty of the Turkmen to their prisoners is mentioned and illustrated in several works by Nikolai Karazin: “All half barbarous peoples share the common passion for torturing their captives, without any gain for themselves.”53 In another drawing Karazin showed a display of Russian captives’ heads in Bukhara: “According to the local custom, heads of the killed enemy were considered honorary trophies. Such a way to celebrate victory leaves an unforgettable impression on many witnesses.”54 To prevent grave desecration, “this habit of soiling the dead [pakostit’ pokoinikov] (as our soldiers call it), a special way of burial has been invented to fool the attentive Asians.” In some discreet place, soldiers cut off a piece of sod, dig out a narrow and deep grave, trying not to spread the soil around, and after lowering the body, replace the soil and sod as carefully as possible, so that it is hard to spot the grave. As the soldiers perform this somber rite after the battle at Zarbulak, they exchange some phrases, remembering the deceased: one of them was desperately missing his home and even considered desertion; another wanted to ask his officer to let his wife and small children come. They also make sure no enemy is watching them: when one soldier comments that none of them is still alive around  N. N. Karazin, “Iunuska-golovorez,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki, 23–35.  “Dzhigit” means a skillful horseman and a native male servant. 52  Karazin, “Iunuska-golovorez,” 33–35. 53  N. N. Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 1 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 92. See also page 95 and other examples compiled and commented upon in Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 224–28. 54  V. A. Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii po narodam Tsentral’noi Azii vtoroi poloviny XIX-nachala XX veka v sobraniiakh Kunstkamery (St. Petersburg: “Nauka,” 2011), 359. 50 51

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there, “not even for reproduction,” the officer in charge, with an order ribbon on his chest, immediately cuts him short: “There is nothing to grin about here.” As one of them recites the prayer “Our Father” since nobody remembers the words of the funeral prayer, a young solder breaks into tears.55 This scene masterfully combines several emotions accompanying the conquest as seen from the Russian side: the acknowledgement of the enemy’s cruelty and yet the refusal, at least on the part of the officer, to dehumanize that enemy, and of course grief for the comrades fallen at the hand of the same enemy. The tiny detail, mentioning the order ribbon on the officer’s chest, is a typical feature of Karazin’s prose. Instead of explaining that the officer is an experienced and courageous veteran who can stop the mocking of the enemy slaughter without looking soft or ridiculous, Karazin just uses two words – s lentochkoi (with the order ribbon) – and an attentive and tuned-in reader will have a vivid picture in front of his eyes. Soon after their victory, the Russian army had to rush back to Samarkand since horrible news from there had reached their camp. Gossip was spreading “that the whole Russian garrison had been slaughtered and that all the [local] peoples were rising in a holy war against the newcomers.” The narrator comments on the reaction to such gossip in the most interesting way: “Many in our camp lost their heart, and they had a good reason to do it: in spite of the advantage of our weapons, in spite of some features similar to the European troops [added italics], we would not be able to stand our ground if such a catastrophe were to take place, and we would pay a high price.”56 Therefore the narrator reminds his readers of the fact that they probably know but are likely to overlook in light of the victories in Central Asia – it would be an illusion to think that the Russian army is on parity with their Western European rivals. Here again Karazin’s account is accurate. As soon as the battle of Zarbulak was won, General Kaufman received news about the attack on Samarkand. Initially Samarkand had fallen to the Russians with very little resistance, but when Kaufman moved on to the Zarbulak Heights, he left only five hundred men in Samarkand. Upon receiving such disturbing news, the Russian army had to march back as quickly as possible, and they arrived in time to relieve their besieged comrades. When the garrison in Samarkand was attacked and besieged, the young painter Vasilii Vereshchagin (1842–1904), then an ensign in one of the Orenburg line  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 193–95.  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 196.

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regiments and a protégé of Kaufman, was among the defenders  – they survived “by the skin of their teeth.” Thirty years later Vereshchagin would write his own account about the siege of Samarkand, “replete with incidents of heroism.”57 Interestingly, the lives and creative endeavors of Karazin and the world-famous painter Vereshchagin, who were even born in the same year, were to parallel each other on many accounts, especially in relation to the conquest of Central Asia. As the Russian force marches through Zarbulak on their way back to Samarkand, the narrator again reminds his readers about the price of that victory: As we were passing through Zara-Bulak, we had to hold our noses and hurry our horses in a rush to escape the poisonous stream of air. This village presented a scary view: its street was crowded with all kinds of garbage, and unburied bodies, swollen in the July heat, were rotting. It was better not to even look inside the yards, especially now, when passions have calmed down and many had to look at what they had done with more sober, objective eyes.58

But the finale of this story is even more heartbreaking: the retreating Bukharans were facing painful death in the dead steppe from thirst and heat. After their defeat, they tried to reach several wells located around thirty versts away, which were usually used by sheep shepherds. But there was not enough water to save the devastated remnants of the Bukharan army, so fighting broke out between people dying of thirst. Some tried to swallow the dirt from the bottom of the empty wells and collapsed in convulsions; another cursed Allah and emir Mozaffar of Bukhara from the edge of the dry well but was shot by a mullah and fell in head first. Two months after the battle of Zarbulak, the narrator happened to pass by those very wells where he was again reminded of the disastrous consequences of the Russian victory for the local people: “as far as we could see, white human bones and scraps of colorful clothes were spread. Local shepherds told me… that on the way between Zara-Bulak Heights and the wells there were many more corpses than on the place of the battle itself. It was not said for nothing that out of seven thousand of emir Mozaffar’s infantrymen, barely one thousand gathered in Bukhara [again], and only  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 23, 24.  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 197.

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one month after the battle.”59 This seems to be an accurate number: out of 6,000 Bukharan infantry, only 1,100 gathered at the emir’s court, with at least 3,500 people having died in the steppes in the aftermath of the battle, of thirst and exhaustion.60 “It is scary when even the merciless nature rises against the poor defeated people,” laments the narrator, who concludes his story with the following symbol of universal grief: “These wells are known as ‘kara-kuduk’ which means black wells.”61 The tragic scene at the “kara-kuduk” wells is contrasted with a similar scene in Karazin’s novel Dvunogii volk, based on the same events as “Zara-­ Bulakskie vysoty” and “Urgut.” A short chapter entitled “Adam-Krylgan” is dedicated to the predicament of a Russian army by the wells in the desert. After a two-day march through the desert, exhausted soldiers and officers are receiving their meager ration of this water, “muddy yellow, thick, with appalling rotten taste.” This water is treated “as something sacred” and is carefully guarded, and once established, the order of receiving water would not be changed: “A general and a soldier were equal in this line.” Even when a decomposing corpse of a dog is found in one of the wells, “thirst defeated their disgust,” and people were ready to give everything they had for a glass of this stinky water.62 This graphic scene strikes Karazin’s readers with the order and dignity of the soldiers suffering from thirst. The scene is made even more dramatic when an additional one thousand strong cavalry unit shows up at the same exhausted and nearly empty wells: Panic started to spread through the troops. This panic could have ended in a complete demoralization… Out of the self-preservation instinct, each person could have fought for water with his weapons… The strong one would have suppressed the weak, the subordinate would not have recognized his superior in this fighting, and discipline would have dispersed like smoke… All that would have happened if these were different people. But these were battalions of the “white shirts,” who knew how to die without losing their dignity.63

 Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 198–201.  Terent’ev, Istoriia zavoevaniia Srednei Azii, 449. 61  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 201. 62  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 98–99. 63  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 99–100. 59 60

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Karazin emphasizes the fact that the general, “a grey haired old man whose name now can be found on the most glorious pages of Russian military history,” behaves with the same dignity and self-restraint: he explains to a local guide, Dosshchak, who is asking for water for the local men accompanying the Russian units, that he himself has not taken any water yet, but “will give them his water when … [his] turn comes.”64 The Russians were saved by Dosshchak, who recalled that there were other wells one hour away on horseback. This scene demonstrates a behavior clearly opposite to the one in “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty.” In addition to people, the story “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty” is, typically for Karazin, populated with animals described in great detail and with great fondness. We come across hard-working army horses, camels, and donkeys; dogs accompanying the army and “other” dogs, timid and hungry, appearing “god knows from where” and picking up any scraps; carrion-­ eagles and wolves feasting on the dead human and animal flesh; and even roosters announcing the approaching morning of the battle. Karazin’s animals suffer from human cruelty and from the war, just as humans do. They also have emotions to be respected: after the battle, a stable-man chases away dogs from the “sacred place” where the dead soldiers were lying on the ground, but an exception was made for “one shaggy black pooch.” That dog “curled by the feet of one dead soldier and would yelp so pitifully when the stable-man approached that he did not have the heart to chase away the grieving animal.” “Ok, ok, stay where you are, I shall not touch you,  – muttered the soldier. Just a beast, but look, has a human [like] soul, he noticed to his comrade.”65 Making animals noticeable participants of the narrative creates masterful accents similar to small but highly visible strokes of brush on a painting – it makes the story more vivid and easier to relate to. It also attests to the great reserves of empathy the author shares with his audience.

Short story “Urgut” – case study Another story of a battle in which Nikolai Karazin personally participated is “Urgut,” about capturing the town with the title name on 12 May 1868, a couple of weeks before the battle of Zarbulak. On 11 May, Colonel Alexander Konstantinovich Abramov led six infantry companies, two  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 100–101.  Karazin, “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” 188.

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hundred Cossacks, a rocket battalion, and a horse-driven artillery battalion from Samarkand to Urgut, a town located thirty-two versts southeast from Samarkand. Abramov demanded that the semi-independent ruler of Urgut, Husayn Bek, come to Samarkand to bid his submission to the Russians. As Husayn Bek refused to personally negotiate with the Russians, his emissaries kept asking for delays. They even sent a delegation led by a man pretending to be Husayn Bek. Meanwhile, they were fortifying their town and barricading streets in the hope of repelling the Russian army. After a number of repeated attempts to arrange for direct negotiations with Husayn Bek, Abramov ordered an attack. After half a day of persistent battle including hand-to-hand fighting on the barricades, the town was captured. The enemy retreated, leaving at least three hundred dead. Having demolished the citadel and military barracks, Abramov returned to Samarkand in the evening of 13 May. Urgut had submitted to the Russians: Husayn Bek had fled to Shahr-i Sabz, and the town’s elders came to Samarkand to express their submission.66 Soon afterwards, Jura-Bek and Baba-Bek, rulers of Shahr-i Sabz, supported the attack against the Russian garrison in Samarkand in June of the same year. In retaliation, Colonel Abramov led a military force against them the next year, defeated their army, and on Kaufman’s instructions, handed over the Shahr-i Sabz region to emir Mozaffar of Bukhara.67 Bukhara would remain a Russian protectorate until 1920. Nikolai Karazin’s report is accurate again. The narrator mentions that the events took place approximately one week after the capture of Samarkand, “whose inhabitants treated us in an extremely friendly way. We did not then suspect how hypocritical that friendliness was,” he states, referring to the forthcoming siege of Samarkand by the rebellious local people.68 Similar to the way he composed the story about Zarbulak, Karazin provides historical context and explains that there was one town in proximity to Samarkand, Urgut, whose rulers would not submit: “We required that Husayn Bek, their ruler, come to Samarkand to introduce himself and receive orders from his new rulers, otherwise, he might cause wrath of the Russian governor, with the most unpleasant consequences for him. Husayn Bek either answered in a very evasive and indefinite way, or

 Lyko, Ocherk voennykh deistvii, 76–79.  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 24. 68  N. N. Karazin, “Urgut,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki, 291. 66 67

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did not answer at all.” This situation could not be tolerated for the following reasons: Meanwhile, this strange stubbornness could have negative influence on the local population. Various groups unhappy about the current situation started to gravitate towards Urgut. We have received reliable information that Husayn Bek was in contact with Jura-Bei, beg of Shegri-Sabz [Shahr-i Sabz], over the mountains, and Shegri-Sabz has clearly positioned itself as an enemy of the Russians and an ally of the Emir of Bukhara.69

Therefore, the narrator explains, such a situation had to be stopped as quickly and decisively as possible, and therefore, a formidable force was to be dispatched to Urgut. At the same time, the commander was to do his best to “solve the problem peacefully, avoiding a military confrontation.”70 Therefore, a Russian force under “colonel A-v” (Abramov) left Samarkand on 10 May at night and by the late afternoon of the following day, they had set up their camp approximately six kilometers away from Urgut, by a stream also called the Urgut. Their six infantry companies and the Cossacks surrounded the officers’ tents and the transport. The goal of this expedition, the narrator reminds his readers again, was not “unconditionally hostile” since Husayn Bek was “only” required to personally show up in Samarkand, “negotiate” with Kaufman, and accept the conditions of submission, which were “far from being hard,” as deemed by the Russian narrator.71 The Russians needed to find a messenger able to deliver their letter to the beg, which was not an easy task since “it had happened more than once in the past that similar messengers returned with their ears and nose cut off or did not return at all,” notes the narrator, matter-of-factly reminding the reader that the very people with whom the Russian newcomers are trying to deal peacefully are brutal and not trustworthy. Finally, a certain Nurmed is selected: he is an “original” personage, whose life had been full of adventures of all sorts and who had “escaped” from Siberia thirty years ago, wandered for years, served the previous emir of Bukhara, served as a physician for the current emir of Bukhara, and finally returned to the Russians “assuming that his past has been forgotten by now, and no persecutor will be able to dig it out.” Apparently, this adventurer, this dark  Karazin, “Urgut,” 292.  Karazin, “Urgut,” 292. 71  Karazin, “Urgut,” 297. 69 70

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horse of a person, possesses the experience and skills necessary for such an uneasy task, and also a lot of wit. He departed to return three hours later accompanied by several people including a person claiming to be Husayn Bek himself. The story which follows comes from a “personal account by Nurmed.” On his way, he observed men of Urgut preparing for fighting and women and children packing in order to leave. Inside the citadel, he was initially treated with “terrible fanatical fury” and the peaceful message he delivered was not trusted. He described Husayn Bek as a young man with a pale and perplexed face. He seemed to be extremely agitated, and “his eyes, red as if from recent tears, were anxiously shifting from one face to another.” Husayn is pictured as a weak, almost pathetic, person dominated by older ones: “When Nurmed entered, he [Husayn] appeared even more disturbed and his colorless lips moved in a strange way; he even made an attempt to rise but a bony hand of an old man with a patriarchal face and bushy grey beard who was seated next to him landed on his shoulder so that poor Husayn seemed to shrink. Lowering his gaze, he tried to avoid looking at the composed messenger who was looking at him intently.” As Nurmed is led to the yard where he is guarded, he can hear the discussion that followed: “the voice of Husayn could be heard only occasionally and sounded indecisive; instead, a shrill voice of an old man belonging to some fanatic drowned all the other voices.” The outcome of this council supposedly overheard by Nurmed was not the one he had hoped for: his hosts were not inclined to trust the Russians or their offers of peace. Meanwhile, Nurmed could hear what was happening in the city: “Mullahs in the mosques were calling all possible misfortunes for the infidels and predicting that Allah will cover the Russian army with shame while the brave Muslims would triumph in their town, favored by Allah and all prophets.” But when Nurmed heard demands of immediate death for the Russian messenger, he realized that his time to act was limited. This is when he devised a trick that was to save his life: he asked to be taken back to Husayn Bek and delivered a well-weighted speech. In it, he explained that he himself was a devoted Muslim and only due to his misfortunes found himself in the service of Russians whom he sincerely hated. He proceeded to advise his “courageous” hosts not to take the unnecessary risks of fighting alone against the Russians. “I know, he claimed, that Jura-Bek of Shegri-Sabz is on his way to assist you, but he will not be here before tomorrow night, or even the following morning. Therefore, you should win time, fortify your streets and pray to Allah.” He added for good

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measure that he personally would love nothing more than to join his hosts but if he did not return promptly, the Russians would attack the city that very night and bring fire and destruction to the peaceful homes. That had the desirable effect on his audience: “All faces were grim but they looked at him with less hatred than before, and he felt that the sash tying his hands became loose and then fell down.” Nurmed continued then that instead of risking Husayn Bek’s life, someone could impersonate him and win the necessary time. His hosts liked his suggestion: “it was not hard to find a fanatic willing to perform such a heroic deed.” The narrator also notices that the mullahs did not neglect to make Nurmed swear on the Koran, “but in that case he turned out to be a true son of the nineteenth century.” “Nurmed himself, however, did not tell me anything about his oath, but I learned about it from one of the surviving inhabitants of Urgut,” he further explains.72 This statement sounds somewhat doubtful and intended to demonstrate the narrator’s intimate and direct access to the most sensitive information. If he can “spy” even on the shrewd Nurmed, who is most likely a native of Turkestan, then the Russians are in total control of the situation – this is the message Karazin’s readers would have probably received from such details. When the pseudo-Husayn and the three people accompanying him arrive in the Russian camp, they are allowed to calm down for at least a quarter hour before it is announced that their deceptions have been exposed. They are placed under guard until the morning, when the fate of those who “preferred forgery to honest negotiations” would be decided. Such a formula leaves no doubt about the grim thoughts of the emissaries, who spend “an agonizing night expecting an adequate payback.” When in the morning, in “the last attempt to settle the matter peacefully,” the colonel returns their horses and orders them to return to Urgut, “they could not believe in it and thought that he was mocking them.” Husayn Bek was given two more hours to show up for negotiations – after that time, the Russians would storm the town.73 This generosity and peaceful nature of the Russians is reinforced by the occurrence of the preceding night, which the emissaries from Urgut undoubtedly thought was their last night. The narrator, who was on guard, discovered a woman wandering around the camp. She was half-­ naked and very thin; “her large round eyes looked at the fire  Karazin, “Urgut,” 297–305.  Karazin, “Urgut,” 305–6, 309.

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meaninglessly, her red mouth with white even teeth was twisted in a smile but an ugly smile without any expression; a smile of idiots.” She was shivering, and “intermittently humming something monotonous, crying and laughing.” There was no doubt about her insanity, the narrator admits. Then she stared at one of the soldiers and “like a cat, stretching out her hands, jumped at him.” The startled soldier dropped a piece of bread which she immediately seized and started to gnaw “with an unnatural greed,” barely chewing. The narrator gave her more food and tried to interrogate her through an interpreter, but the woman did not understand anything. While one soldier calls her a witch and a spy and suggests she be disposed of, another takes pity: “Disposed, listen to you! She is also a human being.” The narrator leaves the poor woman in the camp till the morning; she is given more food and released.74 The compassionate treatment of the mentally sick woman attests to the benevolence of the Russian presence, or to put it differently, to the fact that for the most part, Russian soldiers are compassionate. “The Russian soldier is very far indeed from being a savage. He is neither cruel nor bloodthirsty, as far as I have seen, but, on the contrary, rather kind and gentle, when not enraged; and I saw many soldiers doing little acts of kindness to the Turcoman children, during the campaign against the Yomuds, which greatly struck me,” confirms Januarius MacGahan, famous American journalist and war correspondent, in his classical Campaigns on the Oxus, and the Fall of Khiva.75 Meanwhile, as additional enemy horsemen were joining the defenders of Urgut, the Russian army started its move towards the town. The same emissaries from Urgut returned with their final message: under no circumstances would Husayn meet with the Russians. They made it very clear that they did not trust the words of the Russians: “We see that you want a battle; so be it and let God decide who is right. Anyway, we have seen worse than you in front of our walls. Our books tell that Timur Lang himself had come to our mountains with sword and fire but God did not allow his favorite town to succumb and covered Timur’s army with shame.” The emissaries were ordered to return to Urgut and deliver the following message: they had another hour to think, at the end of which the Russians would storm the town.76

 Karazin, “Urgut,” 307–9.  MacGahan, Campaigning on the Oxus, 180. 76  Karazin, “Urgut,” 311–12. 74 75

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The inevitable happened  – the Russians, who had fewer than seven hundred men, moved on the town. The “Asians” are not pictured in a particularly attractive way: “It is hard to imagine anything more appalling and mournful than war cries of the Asians; nobody is screaming in his own normal voice but tries to scream at the highest possible pitch, so that their combined yell sounds more like moaning and weeping, with some piercing screeching.” The “Asians” also excel in pursuing the retreating enemy: “that is when they truly show themselves. Riding tireless horses, with their untamed bestiality and intoxicating passion for slaughter, they constitute an excellent army for chasing a defeated enemy.” And the narrator shares his recurrent thought: “We would have found ourselves in a desperate situation if we ever were to fail seriously.” Then he immediately balances this statement with a reference to the cruelty of the Russian army: as the Russian army advances, they come across dead and wounded people and animals. Those who were wounded tried to hide or play dead, so that the advancing Russians would not finish them off. And they had good reason to be afraid since it had happened many times in the past that “after some particularly bloody episode there were no prisoners captured or wounded, but only dead.”77 A severe battle in the town followed, with the local fighters defending their town. Similar to the story about Zarbulak, cruelty is displayed by both sides. The “Sarts”78 used mostly hand-held heavy tools and weapons, including sticks, and severely pommeled the invaders, as the Russians were shooting and using their bayonets. One particularly dangerous though ancient local weapon was used in Urgut and later in the battle of Zarbulak: called batik, it was a type of a mace – a cast-iron ball with sharp thorns attached to a long flexible wood handle. In one place, the local fighters surrounded a small group of eight Russian soldiers and were beating them severely as the Russians could not load their rifles and had to use their rifle butts and bayonets. The Urgut defenders dragged away one wounded Russian soldier and were finishing him off with their batiks. Other Russians were already rushing to their rescue: a young athletic officer “was much ahead of his soldiers and immediately ran into the thick crowd of Sarts; he scattered those nearest to him and had almost made his way to the [surrounded] soldiers when a heavy batik landed on his head.” This is when “a  Karazin, “Urgut,” 314–15.  Term of obscure origin, usually understood as a local urban person speaking a Turkic language. See more on this term in chapter six of this book. 77 78

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slaughterhouse began” with Russian soldiers going “absolutely beyond themselves; seeing our severely wounded comrades made them mad.”79 Here their brutality is conditioned, if not completely justified, by the brutality of their enemy. In addition to the above-mentioned officer who so selflessly rushed to the rescue of several trapped soldiers, another Russian officer demonstrates inspiring courage and heroism: Major G-g (Major Gripenberg80) is dangerously wounded in the head but continues to lead.81 The Russians kept advancing: instead of removing the barricades in the main street, they got in the stream running along the street, and walking waist-deep in water and bending down under the bridges, they reached the citadel, as “wild moans and desperate screams were floating above the town.” “Everyone was running, clearing the narrow street,” as the Russians entered the citadel. The gates were open since “the inhabitants of Urgut filled with panic and fear did not want to defend themselves.” The citadel fell but not before the final brutal scene: as the Russians entered the deserted citadel and were posting guards, a sudden gunshot from a small door in a wall hit a Russian guard in the back. As the Russian soldiers rushed to the treacherous door, more shots were fired from behind it. Russian soldiers shot back: at first screams were heard from behind the door but finally all became quiet. Many bodies in red and blue robes torn to pieces were then dragged from a small dark room: If the Sarts kept quiet in their shelter, nobody would have noticed them. But such is the Asian nature, so great is their fanatic hatred that they could not control themselves, could not resist the temptation to send a bullet in the back of an unsuspecting soldier.82

Needless to say, such brutal behavior defying even common sense and the instinct of self-preservation resulted in a “horrible picture: a whole pile of corpses, on the top of each other… some were still alive and were twisting in death agony.”83 In retribution for resisting, Russian soldiers were ordered to destroy the bazaars of the town to the ground and they “earnestly attended to this entertaining assignment.” In the local language it is called baranta, explains the author, “it is more than just a simple  Karazin, “Urgut,” 317.  Lyko, Ocherk voennykh deistvii, 76–79. 81  Karazin, “Urgut,” 316. 82  Karazin, “Urgut,” 320. 83  Karazin, “Urgut,” 319. 79 80

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­ lunder.” In this wild rampage, profit does not play any significant role; p instead, everything that cannot be carried away is smashed and spilled. To make the point about lack of greed on behalf of most soldiers, the narrator refers to one young soldier who was particularly active in the destruction but when later, back in the camp, the narrator asked him if he had brought back anything particularly interesting, the soldier “with a smile showed his pockets filled with kishmish [raisins] and dried apricots.”84 At the end of the story, the Russians bury their dead in same way described in the story “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty.” According to the information received from Urgut, about seven hundred dead bodies of the local people were collected, “a horrible number, [especially] in comparison with the number of our soldiers participating in the battle.” Husayn Bek had been among the first ones to flee to the mountains as soon as the storm started, we learn, in contrast with the courageous behavior of the Russian officers. The narrator proudly concludes: “The goal of the expedition was partially achieved: the invincible Urgut was taken and destroyed by a small group of Russians. It had an enormous significance in the moral sense.”85 Compared to the story “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty,” “Urgut” seems to be somewhat more slow-paced, mostly due to multiple detailed descriptions, including those of purely “civilian” scenes. For example, this is how the narrator pictures the vicinities of Samarkand which the Russian units pass on their way from Samarkand: The road widened; on its both sides stretched high clay fences, behind which curly tops of fruit trees could be seen. Huge mulberry trees, covered with white berries, were casting deep, impenetrable shadows on the road. Often we could see separate gardens with square ponds in the middle, surrounded by tall elm trees with wavy leaves; through dark masses of leaves, one could see yards surrounded with a tall cogged wall, often decorated with elaborate patterns cut into the wet clay. Everywhere around, among the bright green color of the fields sowed with clover, were shining like silver narrow irrigation ditches, in which muddy water was running with a subdued murmur. Similar irrigation ditches, only broader ones, were cutting across the road all the time with ancient half fallen down bridges across them. The air smelled of the honey sweet scent of mulberry trees. A hail of berries came down on the road every time a bayonet brushed against a low  Karazin, “Urgut,” 321–22.  Karazin, “Urgut,” 324–25.

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hanging branch. The reddish ball of the moon descended close to the horizon and remote mountain peaks were clearly seen against it. The whole eastern part of the sky was veiled by a light golden glow, and one hour later bright, fiery rays started to shine and chased away in front of them the light mist of the morning fog above a whole sea of emerald green.86

Nothing in this scene implies the context of the Russian presence here, and the tone would be a perfect setup for a night picnic adventure. This tranquil, idyllic atmosphere of the Samarkand vicinity implies that the local life has not been interrupted in any apparent way, in spite of the fact that Samarkand had fallen to the Russians only ten days earlier. A similar beautiful and profoundly peaceful scene of the town of Urgut is presented to the readers as soon as the Russian army arrives and sets up the camp: Right in front of us, mountains were rising, and it felt as if it was possible to touch those slopes covered in fresh green vegetation with one’s hand, but almost eight versts separated us from the foot of the mountain ridge. The nearest to us, gradually blending with the plain, luxuriant bright green hills towered; further, formidable rocks, fancifully shaped, were piled up on the top of one another, intermittently separating to form dark ravines and coming together in solid walls to block the dark blue sky. Ragged, torn clouds were sliding along the rocks, throwing running shadows on them; at times, they swam together into big masses, descending to the very foot, and slowly crawled down there, until a swift gust of wind escaping from a gorge would tear them and chase upwards again, towards the bright white snowy peaks sparkling in the sun.87

Here, again, nothing foreshadows the upcoming military events. These descriptions seem to balance the scenes of brutality and carnage which, as we know, would follow, just like the brutality on both sides is more or less symmetrical. Animals also play their part here: they range from myriads of annoying flies getting into the tents, falling into cooking pots, bowl, and glasses, and preventing people from sleeping; to the draft animals, cattle, and dogs. They also display their emotions: “tied, faded camels laying in lines were mournfully sighing as they were chewing cut hay (saman),” while bulls

 Karazin, “Urgut,” 294.  Karazin, “Urgut,” 296.

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which were to be slaughtered were “mooing sorrowfully.”88 Dogs play a special role  – they serve as objects of soldiers’ affection and entertainment: Overall, our soldiers are great fans of various pets, especially dogs, and each company usually has a pack of dogs whom they feed. Their training mainly consists of attacking Sarts, and one has to see how furiously those company dogs attack any person showing up in a long robe. Currently [before the attack against Urgut], more than a hundred various Volchoks, Belkas, Arapchiks and Kutsoks [typical Russian names for dogs] were running in front of the [soldier] line, courageously attacking the nearest dzhigits and, jumping fiercely, snapped at horse tails and robe flaps, skillfully avoiding saber blows. Our battle dogs – I give them the epithet of battle dogs without any hesitation – successfully played the role of flankers, and entertained the soldiers, providing an inexhaustible source for jokes and merry, vivid chatter. – Now, brothers, they would say after a fight, – we need to reward Kutsii and Valetka. And soldiers would affectionately stroke wet, shaggy snouts of the dogs running around with their tails wagging.89

Humorous descriptions similar to the one quoted above make the narrative particularly personal, since no author of a battle story based on secondary sources would be likely to present such a colorful scene.

War in Karazin’s novels Nikolai Karazin’s short essays dedicated to the conquest are complemented by novels which include the same or directly related events. The best example is the novel entitled Dvunogii volk mentioned above. Many heroes in this novel seem to illustrate a particular feature or trend: for example, while Dosshchak represents the honor and decency of the local people assisting the Russian newcomers, Atamkul and Sadyk are his opposites: they stand for cruelty and all base qualities as they betray and abuse both the Russians and their compatriots. A similar dichotomy applies to the Russian personages: for example, nurse Natalia Martynovna Chizhikova (Natasha) stands as a symbol of self-sacrifice, kindness, and honor, almost  Karazin, “Urgut,” 289–91.  Karazin, “Urgut,” 312–13.

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a saint. Karazin describes Natasha’s smile when she looks at her son Petia, as full of love and calm, but strangely devoid of either joy or sorrow: “This was a strange, incorporeal smile. Only angels can smile like that. And this woman was really an angel for all those surrounding her.” She knew that in the sorrowful moments of the death agony, in the minutes of hopelessness, her care, her tenderness and love, and her calming words of holy love and hope will still be necessary to the “modest nameless heroes,” with rough appearance but with delicate simple hearts. “It was her maternal love for all humans, primarily for the suffering humans, that made her come [to war]. It was her maternal love for her son that prevented her from parting from him”; that is why both mother and son find themselves in the military camp.90 Natasha in Karazin’s novel does more than help her compatriots. When their military unit is caught in the desert without water, she shares the last drops of water in her own bottle with the dzhigits fainting from exhaustion and thirst. They then “cried and kissed the footprints left on the sand by the woman’s feet… [Russian] soldiers crossed themselves as she passed by.”91 Those are powerful statements and scenes created by the artist, who was a strong believer in God and a man deeply in love with his own family – it also reminds us about the message he left for his daughter about making other people around us happy (as discussed in the first chapter to this book). As Natasha is possibly one of his favorite personages, she is among those who deliver a paramount message to his readers: compassion towards other people should include both the Russians and their local allies. At the same time, the “brilliant” officer Sergei Nikolaevich Rovich is selfish and dishonest. In an earlier novel entitled V kamyshakh (In the reeds), he had seduced and abandoned Natasha, who would bear his child and would happily marry the modest and decent officer Golovin by the end of Dvunogii volk. Soviet scholar K. Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva points out that both positive and negative personages have only their appearance characterized, and the author’s attempts at “inner psychological motives” do not achieve their goal. She also points out correctly that the novel was received positively by Russian reviewers because “the theme turned out to be of current interest and attractive for the broad audience.”92  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 30–31.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 101–2. 92  K.  Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia (vtoraia polovina XIX –pervoe desiatiletie XX v.), 2nd ed. (Alma-Ata: “Kazakhstan,” 1980), 129. 90 91

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The novel, however, has significant value in addition to the one pointed out by Kereeva-Kanafieva – its direct relevance to the historic events outlined in the novel is complemented by masterful descriptions of landscapes, people, and animals; compassion towards humans and other living creatures; humor; and subtle but telling details. Karazin develops his narrative about Russian and native Central Asian heroes against the broad picture of the Russians’ struggle against Khiva. He presents an overview of that struggle in two separate chapters entitled “Before the storm,” covering the period of four years following the fall of Bukhara in 1868, and “Disagreements,” dealing with two main parties in Khiva – those supporting peace with the Russians at any price, and those promoting gazavat, or holy war, against them. His heroes then participate in this struggle which would end in the fall of Khiva. To illustrate his narrative’s dynamics, the following example from the chapter entitled “V ofitserskom kruzhke” [in the officers’ circle] and picturing the officers’ part of the military camp at night would be helpful: a discussion of Atamkul, Russians’ enemy, is followed by the following remarks: “… – Those slant-eyed are all the same. – You are right! Confirmed major Burnaps. – I can only tell the difference between my dzhigits, or at least three of them, by their robes.”93 After this classical Orientalist exchange, snippets of various dialogues are overheard: they include an insulting and humorous exchange between several officers followed by fragments of conversation between batmen about a village man back at home beaten for apparently having been caught with his own daughter-in-law, immediately followed by a hunt for a huge spider which had crawled into a tent.94 The next scene is that of Natalia Martynovna and her son as seen by her future husband, officer Golovin. He observes a certain shadow theatre: “The tent was lit from the inside. Against the square reddish grey background of the tent, as if on the screen of а projector, dark silhouettes were moving. There were two silhouettes and though they were not seen clearly, but every observer… could decide that one of them was a woman, another – a child. The woman was holding the child. From time to time, she would lift him, holding [him] under [his] arms. This is how people toss up a child while playing with him. During this movement, tiny feet were energetically dangling in the air, seen against the canvas of the tent in

 Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 35.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 35–36.

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the most hilarious way.”95 The author talks more about the funny shapes the two figures acquired, and follows this peaceful scene with a rather unexpected statement: “I remember observing a similar scene after one battle which covered with blood nearly ten versts. It was one of those colossal… massacres, in which, thanks to the weapons perfected by civilization, very few of ours were killed, and too many of theirs.”96 Sentiment about unnecessary slaughter is echoed in several works by Karazin; for example, this is how the beginning of an attack is described in “Tigritsa” (Tigress): “the signal ‘[prepare] for attack’ sounded – for what?! Excessive blood, excessive murder, excessive passions.” And after a detailed description of a battle scene, where humans and horses are killed, the narrator comments again: “It is sad and embarrassing for humans, when one remembers such moments.”97 In Dvunogii volk, the expression of empathy towards the local warriors is immediately followed by a scene in another tent and another theatre of shadows – that of a dying officer: – I shall die… yes!... – the wounded was whispering in anguish. – I have a daughter out there. Oh! She is alone, with strangers… Good gracious! Oh! Oh! I am burning! Save me, doctor! Please! I don’t want to die… I cannot… don’t dare… – It is ok, it will be all right, you will recover… nothing serious… It is nothing… – the doctor was mumbling some comforting nonsense. – And after this short life, dark, full of suffering and yearning, there is another one, eternal! – a priest’s voice was reciting solemnly. – I care not for that life!... I want to live now… here… my daughter… Nadia…  – a voice was hoarse and breathless, already with all the signs of death agony. Meanwhile, on the canvas, back and forth, left and right, up and down, ugly and funny silhouettes were rushing about and raving. Intoxicated dance on half-bent knees for the tune of “Eternal memory” [prayer for the deceased]…98

Such a roller coaster of emotions, all within several pages – from funny to trivial to moving to heartbreaking, from a disparaging statement about  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 37–38.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 38. 97  N.  N. Karazin, “Tigritsa,” in T’ma neprogliadnaia. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 6 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 202–3. 98  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 38. 95 96

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the “Orientals” to the expression of sympathy to their meaningless suffering, to the suffering of a Russian “conqueror” – presents a complex picture of the conquest and must have contributed to the success of Karazin’s writings. Two shadow theatres, one sweet, with a child at its center, another one tragic, with a man dying with the name of his daughter on his lips, create a dramatic and memorable picture of the war treadmill. One additional part of the scene in the night camp described above deserves special attention. It includes an exchange between an adjutant officer “with the epaulets of the General Staff” and a regular military officer “with red side whiskers.” The privileged officer makes a “thoughtful” pretentious suggestion about something he hardly knows, which is answered by a sarcastic comment under his breath from the officer “with the red whiskers.” The adjutant whispers “Swine,” as if to himself. A comic scene follows when the officer with the side whiskers reaches for an empty bottle, but is stopped by another officer who suggests that they sing the famous song “Gornye vershiny” (Mountain peaks) (translated from Goethe by Lermontov). The dispute results in singing: “– I’ll show you ‘swine’! [The officer with] the red side whiskers still could not calm down, and catching up to the song, thundered in a bass: ‘Leaves do not make a noise.’”99

Social divisions within the Russian military Certain tension or even open hostility developed between two groups of officers, those coming from prominent families of means in the capital city and educated in privileged institutions, and those of modest background, means, and education. The privileged officers were often in search of quick promotions and decorations before returning to the metropole. As explained by Morrison, “whilst nobles were given quicker promotion as civil servants, nobles serving in the army were assured of commissioned rank, whilst the battlefield gave them far more of an opportunity to distinguish themselves and thus leapfrog several places up the all-important table of ranks.”100 On other occasions, they were exiled to Turkestan for such transgressions as unpaid debts. The regular military officers often stayed and endured the dangers and boredom of remote Turkestan for the rest of their lives. As the administration was being set up in Turkestan,  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 35–36.  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 133.

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distinction and animosity developed between the officers serving in the military administration and those still with the regular military forces: “Discipline and morale suffered from the intrigue and wirepulling used to obtain transfers to the administrative posts.”101 Additionally, civil functionaries were often appointed to military posts as aides-de-camp, as ordnance officers, as chiefs of control, and as staff officers, which enabled them to interfere with the orders of the regular military officers. Their salaries were also significantly higher than those of the regular military officers, including officers of merit who had endured great hardship.102 This division is pictured by Karazin in several works. Sometimes, the author drops hints about such a division, and, as a rule, those hints are not in favor of the privileged officers, often referred to as adjutants. For example, in Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts), a nameless “dandyish adjutant” asks the commander of a Cossack hundred to give him four Cossacks as an escort to accompany him back to Tashkent from a road in the outskirts of the city where a fatal barantachi (local bandits) raid has just taken place. He is making this request as a rescue party is getting under way to pursue the bandits: “– Who would eat you? What are you afraid of? – noticed Khmurov. – I have no desire to risk my life for nothing, sorry… And I cannot go further [with the rescue party]… I am unwell… and I also have so many things to do…  – Go to hell!  – Mr. Khmurov!  – Just get lost! The adjutant rode away, muttering through clenched teeth – I shall talk to you later, just you wait and see!”103 In other works, this conflict plays a more central role. For example, in the novel Golos krovi (Call of blood), it is at the heart of the plot. Paul Krinitsyn, a youth from the nobility, smart and handsome, “arrived at the feast of life … but… stumbled,” fell into debt, and was sent to the small fort Glukhoi (meaning “godforsaken”) to “improve his situation.” On this “uninhabited island” there would be an opportunity to distinguish himself, since his “military career did not get interrupted, but went on, and he would be given a chance to win a wreath of a hero, while the scandal roused by his creditors calmed down.” He, however, bitterly complains that in that “godforsaken” place he cannot advance his situation

101  Richard A. Pierce, Russian Central Asia 1867–1917: A Study in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960), 69. 102  Pierce, Russian Central Asia, 69. 103  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 165–66.

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since he does not have even a company under his command.104 He did not make any effort to get along with the other officers there, those of modest means and education, since he viewed his posting as temporary. Such details as a salutation which was not common among the local officers, an inappropriate joke told to a niece of the local priest, all led to his isolation. He mocked their drinking habits, but became an opium addict himself. He despised them, in his own words, as “idiots and half-barbarians,” “and would kill and rob anybody just to escape this prison, this torture chamber.”105 In return, they sensed his arrogance and considered him “a fop and a St. Petersburg pheasant,” as bluntly expressed by a young and quick-tempered lieutenant, Pavel Glukharev.106 The local officers also suspect him of the murder and robbery of Fedor Gorkin, a local merchant and retired officer – quite correctly so, as we find out by the end of the novel. Krinitsyn killed the older man by hitting him on the back of his head with a knuckle-duster, robbed him of 82,000 rubles he was carrying, belonging to his trading company, and later tried to seduce his daughter Nadia. Pavel Glukharev and Paul Krinitsyn become adversaries, representing two hostile groups; they even share the name, since Paul is the French form of the Russian name “Pavel.” Paul Krinitsyn, as do the other members of the Russian nobility, speaks fluent French, for example, with his St. Petersburg friend Anatol’ (for the French “Anatole”) Grunin. Additionally, both Krinitsyn and Glukharev are attracted to Nadia, a young daughter of Gorkin. Nadia arrived in the fort upon her graduation from a privileged boarding school in St. Petersburg, not knowing that her father had been murdered. The orphaned young girl becomes an adopted daughter to all the local officers, who care about her needs with moving kindness and patience: they talk about her father with “love and respect” and “her happiness – is their happiness, her sorrow – is their sorrow… There everybody is her ‘fathers’…”107 After the tension between Pavel and Paul comes to a head, Paul challenges Pavel to a duel. In response, the older officers gather at the commandant’s, “like one family,” and call in Krinitsyn. They explain to him that they did not allow Pavel Glukharev to accept the challenge, though he is not a coward: “We have been witnessing his courage for a 104  N. N. Karazin, Golos krovi. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 17 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 10, 31–33, 56–57. 105  Karazin, Golos krovi, 48. 106  Karazin, Golos krovi, 37–39. 107  Karazin, Golos krovi, 89.

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rather long time, while have not had a chance to see yours so far” and conclude: “You don’t like it here, with us… We have not gotten along, simply, whatever the reasons are, – officer service is not compulsory: you can choose where to serve… We don’t intend to detain you here…” They clearly point out that they understand his “special status”: “You have not gotten along with the officers, not a problem!... You are a person with connection, with patronage… You will always find a comfortable position… If not for your debts…” The scene of the officer honor court ends dramatically: Krinitsyn was insulted by their attempt to expel him, and insisted on blaming the local officers for the lack of a notion of honor. At that moment, the oldest veteran present steps in unexpectedly. “Father Maksim” is a tragicomic personage highly regarded for his long devoted service, who suffers from drinking bouts but has been sober for the whole previous month. He accepts Krinitsyn’s challenge for a duel, “but without jokes and circus, … immediately.” As Krinitsyn signals his readiness, the old veteran presents him with his condition: “I have served the Emperor and the Country the best I could, and as long as I could!... Now they feel pity for me, a drunk dog… Thank you! However, nobody ever has been able to reproach me for anything dishonest.” He demands that Krinitsyn swear in front of all the officers, in front of the banner, the icons, and the image of St. Nicholas, that his hands have never taken part in any dishonest or shameful deeds.108 Krinitsyn, put on the spot, collapses, and the matter of the duel is never revisited. At the close of the novel Krinitsyn meets a sad but well-deserved end: tormented by nightmares, he confesses his crime to Nadia but is overheard by the doctor, runs away in a frenzy to his accomplice Mirobai, and demands his money. Mirobai, a local merchant, owned an illegal opium-smoking den, where Krinitsyn has become one of the clients; he participated in Krinitsyn’s plot to hide the money stolen from Gorkin and helped him to accuse imaginary local bandits of having murdered Gorkin. When Mirobai pretends to know nothing about the money, Krinitsyn attacks him with a knife, and while his pursuers close in on him, he stabs himself to death.109 Connections between the privileged officers constituted an important aspect of the colonial picture: a certain well-placed official was networking on Krinitsyn’s behalf in order to get him transferred to the Orenburg army – so that he could receive a hundred to command and get advanced.  Karazin, Golos krovi, 58–66.  Karazin, Golos krovi, 156–59.

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Another important link is discovered when an officer is sent from the staff of the governor-general to investigate Gorkin’s murder. That officer, an old friend from the same circles in St. Petersburg, reports that it was “rather tolerable” to serve under the governor-general: “I did not even expect – many of ours are there, and life is fairly good… And the career ahead!”110 This “ours” makes the divide between the two groups clear. Grunin is very lenient towards his old friend, and overlooks the signs of his possible involvement in the murder he is investigating. At the instigation of Krinitsyn, Grunin even reported to the “higher officials” that the fort commandant, Colonel Ogurchikov, did not provide adequate security in the region under his command, since the merchant’s murder was first officially blamed on the local bandits. The commandant was reprimanded as a result of this intrigue.111 Krinitsyn made use of his connections to Gorkin to get a highly desired medal for Mirobai. Such connections exercised by Karazin’s privileged personages are a good example of “manipulating a network to their advantage” as defined by Zoe Laidlaw in her book on personal colonial connections.112 Being stationed in the small towns and forts of Turkestan was not easy for the officers of common background. Having participated in the military conquest, they were included in the military bureaucracy of the new colony and usually stayed there for life. An absence of education and culture, low morals, alcoholism, and card games for high stakes were not uncommon in Turkestan, though not unique for it either. Their lack of knowledge of local languages and their total lack of interest in the country in which they were stationed left them with very few options for pastime.113 Alcohol especially became a widespread diversion for many Russians in Turkestan, both military and civilian, soldiers and officers, poor and wealthy: “Russians’ love of alcohol was defeating the building of a civilized society.” As also pointed out by Jeff Sahadeo, alcohol emerged as a “marker that symbolized the troubled place of Russianness in imperial Turkestan. Alcohol became an important symbol of distance between Russians and Central Asians on the one hand, and Russians, and, ostensibly, Europeans, on the other, but hardly a flattering one.”114  Karazin, Golos krovi, 10.  Karazin, Golos krovi, 67. 112  Laidlaw, Colonial connections, 15. 113  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 129–30. 114  Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010), 73. 110 111

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In the novel V kamyshakh, the action takes place in Fort Chinaz, located about sixty kilometers southwest from Tashkent, on the bank of the Syr-­ Darya. The local “society” includes the commandant, a major, his assistant, and the “old cannot man,” Second Lieutenant of Artillery Chizhikov, who had served in artillery for forty years. He had brought his family, a wife and daughter, Natasha, to Chinaz.115 He is a kind and tolerant man who favors another local petty officer, Petia (nickname for Petr) Kasatkin, as a suitor for his daughter. Kasatkin served in the local battalion, and all we know is that he had come here a long time ago, when he was about sixteen, and now he was over thirty: Remoteness, boredom, absence of everything which could be somehow called food for thought, – this numbing, pressing monotony of the local life could have completely killed his nature, covered all the life in him with the slime of drunkenness, but it did not happen. Meanwhile, it did happen to many, almost to everybody whom their fate threw into this forgotten barbarian wilderness. Card games and alcoholism, alcoholism and card games, those are the two main elements of the local life. Sober minutes were considered abnormal…116

A person needed to find a strong counterbalancing force to save him from such a destiny, and for Petia such a force was his love for nature: “During the long tiring and monotonous marches across the endless steppes, when his sleepy comrades dragged their feet hanging their heads, young Kasatkin was fascinated by everything he saw around. And he saw a lot of new things that could interest – and saw it in the places where the others did not expect to see anything other than the monotonous dead steppe.” He was intensely interested in animals, and turned into a hunter “in the broad sense of the word.” Karazin laments: “If he were taught something in addition to literacy only, he could have become an outstanding naturalist – but since he had no opportunity to get acquainted with sciences, he became only a hunter.” Petia turned into a healthy young man with “kind grey eyes, with reddish beard, long muscular arms and legs which did not know what being tired was, with a heart which did not know what fear was, with a head which did not know what that strange 115  N. N. Karazin, V kamyshakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 13 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 22. 116  Karazin, V kamyshakh, 15.

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feeling was – to lose one’s head in a moment of danger.” Petia was highly regarded by the local population who took their concerns to him, when wild boars trampled down their rice crops, when a tiger stole their horses, when wolves were decimating their sheep.117 Petia reminds attentive Karazin’s readers of Pavel Glukharev from Golos krovi, by his simple honesty, kindness, and decency; they both look and feel awkward in uniform, and lack the grace and refinement of their rivals from the metropole. He was in love with Natasha, the daughter of Chizhikov, and favored by her until the moment she laid her eye on a newcomer, Sergei Rovich. Similar to Krinitsyn from Golos krovi, Rovich is a representative of the privileged “sect,” coming from St. Petersburg, labeled “liberal,” and “arrogant,” by the local “society” before they even meet him in person.118 Both Krinitsyn and Rovich are good-looking, elegant, and well educated. Petia, observing Natasha’s fascination with the newcomer, the despised “St. Petersburg fop,”119 in a fit of jealousy shot and wounded Rovich in the reeds and consequently ended his life in insanity, lost in the reeds attended only by his devoted dog Alfa. Rovich won Natasha’s love, seduced her and abandoned her with a child. Both Natasha (Natalia Martynovna), accompanied by her illegitimate son, Petia (apparently named after Petia Kasatkin), and Rovich appear in the sequel novel, Dvunogii volk, mentioned above. Natasha, who blames herself for Petia Kasatkin’s death, became a nurse in a military unit. Rovich is hated by the battle officers who support Natasha and the modest Cossack officer Golovin. Golovin is quietly and devotedly in love with her and does not hesitate to risk his life to save her and her little son. Rovich is attracted to her again; in a letter he begs her forgiveness and asks her to marry him, promising her luxury and a respectable place in his “splendid society” back in St. Petersburg.120 Sharing his letter and her reply with her friends, the local officers, she rejects her glamorous suitor in a note “not devoid of grammatical mistakes”: “Luxury which you are offering to me, is unfamiliar to me, and therefore does not attract me, similarly to your splendid society, in which I shall be a complete stranger…”121 Rovich then challenges to a duel Golovin, who was gravely sick then and being cared for  Karazin, V kamyshakh, 17.  Karazin, V kamyshakh, 31. 119  Karazin, V kamyshakh, 37. 120  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 236. 121  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 238–39. 117 118

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lovingly by Natasha. The answer to the challenge from the “fop and blockhead” was composed by the local officers, who did not even bother to show it to their ailing comrade-in-arms. Their resolution was not dissimilar to that in regard to Paul Krinitsyn in Golos krovi. The reply read as follows: “You, dear sir, must be either a complete idiot, or a vulgar impudent person. In the first case, God grant you forgiveness for your infirmity. In the second case, you deserve to just be flogged, to avoid which we advise that you immediately go back to wherever you came from.” Upon receipt of such an insulting letter, and after night-long considerations, Rovich came to the conclusion that “to deal with all of them might be inconvenient on many accounts… Here, in this barbaric place, with such barbaric, uncivilized habits, they could really flog me… It really would be better to leave while the going is good.” His “passion” for Natasha was also quickly diminishing.122 He then received an additional note from the same sender, promising full confidentiality in this matter, provided he behaved himself from now on. So Rovich came to the conclusion that “even though those steppe knights were a bit wild, but [they were] overall kind fellows and did not bite without a reason.”123 He received a leave and left promptly; Natasha happily married Golovin, who recovered, moved back to Chinaz to her parents’ house (her parents were dead by then), and was expecting another child when the narrator visited them. Karazin, however, adds a comic stroke at the very end of this happy ending novel. As the narrator visits St. Petersburg and is dining in a fancy restaurant, he observes a group of officers and overhears their conversation. One of them, unnamed but implicitly Rovich, is bragging about his experience in Turkestan: first about an “exalted love… full of selflessness.” When asked why he did not bring his beloved to St. Petersburg, he answers with striking contempt: I am not a fool! In the steppes, better a small fish than an empty dish… but here?!” This tirade is followed by an outlandish description of his duel with “them”: “There were six of them and one of me… I allowed them to shoot first… Six revolvers were targeting me… Though I don‘t consider myself a coward, but facing those six empty black holes was extremely unpleasant… The first shot – the bullet flew by my temple, the second – the same, the third one missed, I did not even hear it, the fourth one hit the sand and covered me with dust, the fifth flew over my head, and the sixth shattered  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 247.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 248.

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my revolver. Gentlemen!  – I said, this is fate itself guarding you,  – and showed them my spoiled revolver. Hope that now all the misunderstandings between us are over.” Then, Rovich continued, his adversaries yelled “hooray,” picked him up, and threw him in the air, to honor him. After that, “they all got drunk like pigs, and I left for St. Petersburg since I was tired of all that nonsense.” Such a bluff was too much, so that one of the officers asks with curiosity: “And you are not lying?”

But then the food arrives, and the novel ends.124 Karazin, however, makes clear that not all well-educated and wealthy officers are necessarily dishonest and arrogant. Second Lieutenant Sergei Nikolaevich Ruban-Opal’nyi was educated in one of the most privileged institutions of St. Petersburg, his adoptive father was very wealthy, he knew several foreign languages, and he brought many books with him to Turkestan. In spite of his patent-leather boots, his perfumed handkerchiefs and snow white gloves, and his whole manicured appearance, he turned out to be a superb soldier and a comrade-in-arms: We thought first, when saw such a doll, that this spoiled brat, this wealthy momma’s boy, a softie, will get tired and bored here, will not be able to endure our trying, full of hardship and deprivation, military life. … He turned out to be such a fine fellow, such a wonderful brave comrade, that in less than a month won everybody’s love, even everybody’s respect…125

The newcomer, who became known as Nal’ to his new friends, was a tactful, kind, and exceptionally brave officer. When the news spread that his family had lost all their money, one of his young colleagues, a nonprivileged officer, said that they all were very happy about it. He explained to his amazed friend that they all expected him to receive his decorations, perhaps a golden saber in addition to his St. George’s order, and leave for St. Petersburg, to become an aide-de-camp, or join the privileged Guards. Now, however, he would stay with them: “What would you do in St. Petersburg without money?”126 In the works of Karazin, there are very few native officers serving in the Russian military. One of them is ensign Babadzhan in Nal’, “a young  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 251–52.  N.  N. Karazin, Nal’. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 5 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 23. 126  Karazin, Nal’, 156–57. 124 125

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officer of the Kirghiz type,” who is pictured as an honest and kind man, insightful and loyal to his friends. He is routinely referred to by his comrades in a half-mocking, half-patronizing way as “Babadzhanka.” Babadzhan also is the one who has an early insight into the treasonous activities of Kostetskii, an officer who indeed would later turn out to be the traitor: “Why does he befriend this dog Devletka? Devlet [is working] for both sides.”127 Kurbashi Devlet, the local official in charge of order, would turn out to be an ally of the enemy and the accomplice of Kostetskii. When Kostetskii opened the fort gates, thus benefiting the enemy, and then pretended to be captured by the enemy, it was Babadzhan who insisted that he did it deliberately: “You will see!… I am a Kirghiz… Kirghiz is dumb, you think so? The dumb Kirghiz can see ahead better than you all!”128 When a deceitful letter is received from Kostetskii, enticing the besieged garrison of the fort to surrender, another young officer, Stolbushin, states that “it would not be enough to hang for writing such letters, instead of listening to this scoundrel.” Babadzhan agrees wholeheartedly: “Correct!… So was I not right?”129 Devoted to Nal’ and convinced of his innocence when Nal’ is unjustly accused of being the traitor, Babadzhan tries to defend him during the officer court. He does it naively, however, and his note to the prosecutor saying “Why do you want so strongly that Serezha [Nal’] be shot… How can you, really!” only makes the chairman smile sadly. Babadzhan, who initially seems to be rather simple-­ minded, possesses the courage and moral strength to “remain faithful to his inner conviction.” He is the only officer out of twenty-eight who writes “no” when votes are taken in order to decide the fate of Nal’. Karazin adds a small detail here possibly implying that the lack of a Russian education does not affect a person’s merit and integrity. As the anonymous vote results are collected, the only vote that said “no” was misspelled: net instead of niet.130 Meanwhile, Babadzhan was correct that most of his better-educated Russian comrades-in-arms failed to discover the truth about the personality of the traitor. Even after his friend Nal’ is unjustly executed, Babadzhan does not give up and confesses to a friend that he is planning to desert the Russians and go to the enemy camp: “‘Don’t think I shall do it for real. I shall pretend. They will believe me  Karazin, Nal’, 99.  Karazin, Nal’, 180. 129  Karazin, Nal’, 183. 130  Karazin, Nal’, 210–12. 127 128

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there. I am Kirghiz, not one of yours, so they will believe. I shall find out everything there, all the truth. If Serezha [Nal’] is truly at fault, well, what can be done. I shall come back and let you know – it will be a relief for everybody… but if…’ And the Kirghiz’s eyes sparkle with sinister light.”131 Babadzhanov, however, would not have to do it since another letter from Kostetskii arrived revealing all the truth. Nikolai Karazin, as can be seen from the examples cited above, clearly favored kindness, honesty, and decency over refinement and a bookish education. And that is true in spite of his own advanced education and his status as an elite in the metropole.

Using humor As we have seen above, Karazin often uses humor to ease the tension of the wartime scenes. Another good illustration is the scene when the American journalist Henry Black, correspondent of the New York Herald, appears in a Russian fort in the middle of the night, accompanied by two dzhigits. Trying to catch up with the Russian army, he “had covered more than a thousand versts in the steppe, only using a map and a compass.” He is described as an appealing person, with a body strong and capable of great endurance, with a smart, tranquil, and merry expression in his eyes. Fluent in French and German in addition to English, Mr. Black only knew several phrases in Russian necessary for communication with his local servants, including “how many versts, to eat, and wake me up early.” Recently, adds the narrator, he learned one more expression: “Oh, [it is] so hot!” As the fort commander decides to keep the foreigner in the fort until he gets further instructions from the commander in chief, since “who knows what kind of bird you really are,” the American is perplexed but soon recovers and goes to bed on his usual blanket. He of course is missing in the morning, having left before sunrise on the way to catch up with the main Russian force. He left a polite note for the commander thanking him for his hospitality and expressing hope to see his hosts again in the nearest future: “‘This is a devil,’ concluded the Colonel, having read the note.” The following exchange followed: – Well done! – noticed one officer… – Free as a bird – lucky man! – sighed another one.  Karazin, Nal’, 222.

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– What if he gets caught on his way, and impaled, or something even worse than that happens to him! – a third man noticed gloomily. The Colonel objected that nothing could be worse than being impaled. Everybody agreed on that…132

Most likely, in this humorous scene, Karazin portrays the famous historical figure mentioned above  – the American journalist Januarius MacGahan. War correspondent for the New York Herald, he was assigned to St. Petersburg. Upon learning in 1873 that Russian troops were moving on Khiva, he crossed the Kyzylkum desert on horseback and witnessed the capture of the city. MacGahan, however, reportedly knew Russian, and was married to a Russian woman.

War as empowerment The authority and expertise projected by Karazin through the voice of his narrator are based on his personal experience of combat. The hardship and danger endured in Turkestan empower the survivor and initiate him into “a world apart” which “can only be entered through a particular knowledge and faith: through sacrifice in short.” Although this was said about Kipling’s White Man, it seems to be applicable to the colonizers of Turkestan as well. The war “makes a man up” and empire “provides one of the conditions under which men and women could be expected to use their mental and physical resources to the full.” Such a trial is inseparable from its reward since the colonial experience is “a process of self-­ endangering and self-renewal.” Therefore, it is through such sacrifice that the colonizer obtains strength and identity.133 Perhaps this is why the Turkestan generals would “always get excited at the memories of the hardship [which they had endured in Turkestan].”134 Though Nikolai Karazin does not directly complain about hardship in his military prose since it would be undignified for a Russian officer, the bloody occurrences he takes part in speak for themselves in his stories and, as his readers can deduce themselves, lead to physical and moral exhaustion. The author, however, drops hints sometimes; for example, he admits to moral exhaustion after the storm of Zarbulak, in spite of his “superbly trained nerves.”135  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 90–94.  David Trotter, “Colonial Subjects,” Critical Quarterly 32, no. 3 (1990): 4–5, 8. 134  http://slova.org.ru/gumilev/turkestanskie_generaly/ (accessed 5 July 2017). 135  See footnote 49. 132 133

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Empathy for the enemy Karazin’s military prose, as we have observed, contains a humane perspective on the enemy. In his time and milieu, such compassion towards the enemy was not necessarily a part of the discourse of the Russian conquest. While such a humane trend was more common among artists and poets, it was less common among the military men fighting on the ground who believed in Russia’s special mission. Apparently, the concern to maintain prestige and the cult of fear in the “Asiatics” who supposedly reacted only to military force was sometimes taken to extremes by individual commanders, including Generals M. D. Skobelev and Kaufman.136 Even Lord Curzon, who would later become the viceroy of India and “himself no stranger to methods of colonial rule,” commented that “the terrifying effect of such a massacre as Geok Tepe [by Skobelev in 1881] survives for generations.”137 Not only was Karazin capable of compassion, or of pity towards the suffering enemy, but he also occasionally displayed empathy,138 or the ability to look at the Russian conquest from the local people’s perspective. “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin also took interest in the position of the enemy, who had personal interest to defend their territory, freedom and religion,” explains a modern Russian scholar. As an example, she discusses the drawing Beks hostile to Russia, in which “native commanders are observing a battle and hurry their commander in chief with making another difficult decision.”139 While describing the storming of a native village by the Russian troops, Karazin makes the following comment: 136  Alex Marshall, The Russian General Staff and Central Asia, 1860–1917 (London: Routledge, 2006), 62; Bregel, “The Russian conquest of Central Asia”; Charles Marvin, The Russian Advance towards India: Conversations with Skobeleff, Ignatieff, and other Distinguished Russian Generals and Statesmen, on the Central Asian Question (London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle, & Rivington, 1882), 98–99, quoted in Uyama Tomohiko, “Introduction,” in Uyama Tomohiko, ed., Asiatic Russia: Imperial power in regional and international contexts (London: Routledge, 2012), 1. 137  Lieven, Empire, 217. 138  On the difference between empathy and pity/compassion see Alan Alda, If I Understood You, Would I Have This Look on My Face? My Adventures in the Art and Science of Relating and Communicating (New York: Random House, 2017), 125. 139  V. A. Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 359.

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“Mountaineers are bravely defending their nest, already smoking in some places. Since ancient times it has been warmed by their great-grandfathers, and they so much don’t want to give it to the hated white shirts.”140 In the short story “Tigritsa” (Tigress), the author explains that after the fall of Khiva to the Russians, the Turkmen tribes categorically refused to negotiate with the Russians and to allow any interference into their affairs. “Maybe the free semi-nomads were right from their point of view,” he then comments.141 Eleonora Shafranskaia, in her book on Nikolai Karazin’s prose, draws convincing parallels between Karazin’s military prose and that of Leo Tolstoy, in particular his famous “Sevastopol’skie rasskazy” (Sebastopol stories) dedicated to the devastating defeat of Russia in Crimea in 1855–56. Karazin was likely influenced by Tolstoy, who had also participated in the military actions and knew the war “from the inside.” However, while following Tolstoy’s tradition of presenting war as brutal and senseless, with participants committing atrocities on “autopilot,” Karazin also displays the significance of Russia’s expansion.142

The “white shirts” Russian soldiers, or “white shirts,” play a central role in the military prose of Nikolai Karazin. He often celebrates them en masse, without introducing individual persons. As seen in the above examples, we hear their voices, sometimes contradicting each other, and see their actions in time of peaceful repose, in the midst of fierce battles, and in the aftermath of battles, when passions still run high. Those are usually actions of groups of people, or unnamed individuals. In spite of being honest about episodes of their inhumane or unseemly behavior, Karazin overall favors and even idealizes his comrades-in-arms. Their cruel behavior, though reprehensible, can be explained, if not justified, by the savagery of their enemy. They are often shown as selfless, patriotic, unpretentious, and compassionate, ready to cross waterless deserts and fight to the last drop of blood. Karazin tries to explains to his audience the hardship endured by the Russian soldier, “by the circumstances torn away from his motherland, from everything close  Karazin, V kamyshakh, 167.  Karazin, “Tigritsa,” 192. 142  Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 219–23. 140 141

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to his simple heart, and thrown into a country strange and unwelcoming, which had greeted him not with a bow, but with an insidious knife, with a treacherous noose, with various misfortunes and troubles – with all that our soldier knows how to fight, and if he does not know at first, he learns quickly  – thanks to his quick wit and resourcefulness, or to a bitter experience.”143 In a short chapter of Dvunogii volk entitled “White shirts,” the author explains proudly: “If he [the Russian soldier] does not get enough sleep – it is not a problem, if he hardly has anything to eat – it is not a problem, if there is nothing to drink – it is bad but they get by… If a soldier exhausts himself, he will die without complaints, others will bury him and keep going… And no rebuke, no regret, no complaint will escape any chest…”144 They are also courageous, unlike their adversaries, and fatalistic, ready to accept whatever fate God prepared for them. Their commanders are shown as deserving such soldiers and appreciative of them. In Dvunogii volk, as an elderly general walks along a line of soldiers, he affectionately greets them, his “sore soul” rests, and he thinks: “How lucky is the general who had an occasion to command such troops!”145 The highest recognition is probably that by the defeated enemy – the khan of Khiva. Upon his defeat, he asks to see “those scary soldiers who had crossed the dead steppe. The ruler of Khiva did not believe that those were usual mortals. His imagination was picturing some… fantastic unbelievable monsters.”146 The author refers here to the Tashkent column that crossed the desert on their route to the Amu-Darya in the spring of 1873 under the most severe conditions. The soldiers are also capable of elevated affection for chaste women, and would do anything to protect Natalia Martynovna and her little son, Petia. In spite of the fact that those men “have not seen anything similar to a woman” in the “hot arousing climate,” with an abundant supply of meat in their meals, and the “constant excitement of the whole nerve system due to the sight of blood and variety of events,” this young and attractive woman “was not a woman in the eyes of the people surrounding her.” They rather worshipped her.147 As soldiers were passing by her tent, “a grim, frowning glance would become softer, friendlier, and even  Niva 1 (1875): 7.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 94–95. 145  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 108. 146  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 182. 147  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 39–40. 143 144

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something akin to a smile, would appear on their dry lips.” And if the entrance to the tent opened, “as if in front of something pure, holy, as if in front of the altar, would be uncovered… simple soldier heads with short haircuts.”148 When her son was kidnaped and she herself escaped to the enemy camp to be with him, all soldiers and officers spared no effort to release them, and their joy was overwhelming and pure as they saved the mother and the child. The “white shirts,” according to Nikolai Karazin, also share a strong esprit de corps and remain loyal to their comrades in every dangerous situation Turkestan service presents them with. They always exhort themselves in indisputable efforts to save those who have been wounded or captured, and fight to the last to protect each other. “Never has it happened so far that a Turkestan soldier abandoned his comrade in an unknown danger,” states Captain Sholobov in Nal’, and acts according to his statement, refusing to escape without his missing comrade-­in-arms Sergei Nal’.149 Karazin’s open fondness for Russian soldiers is akin to unconditional love, and could only stem from his own experience of fighting next to them.

Realism in visual works If Nikolai Karazin’s descriptions are so detailed and masterful that they seem to produce a sketch or a picture in front of his readers’ eyes, his paintings and especially drawings and sketches often tell a story to his viewers. Therefore, one can talk about the phenomenon of Karazin in which the verbal and visual merge. This process is helped by the fact that the subjects of his writings and visual images are the same or very similar and include battles, marches, the hardship in the desert, military and civilian scenes, people, and animals. Visual art offers several distinctive features: it arguably is more open to interpretation than texts are, and reflects the “integral connection between history and the visual… inscribed in the artifacts,” creating a “particular kind of dialogue with the past.” Visual images present a unique view due to their “ability to fix a single moment [which] can make viewers aware of the invisible, unknowable instances before and after the one depicted, evoking a poignant sense of the distance of the past.”150 Such perspective  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 29.  Karazin, Nal’, 57. 150  Valerie A.  Kivelson and Joan Neuberger, “Seeing into Being: An Introduction,” in Valerie A.  Kivelson and Joan Neuberger, eds., Picturing Russia: Explorations in Visual Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008), 8–10. 148 149

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has the potential to enhance and deepen understanding of the war history for the viewers of Karazin’s day and especially for his later audience in the media where “the ephemeral instant and the unending duration are forced very close together.”151 Karazin created numerous paintings and drawings directly related to the military conquest of Central Asia. As the art historian Inessa Kouteinikova explains in the recently published album Russia’s Unknown Orient: Orientalist Paintings 1850–1920, “Russia’s victories and defeats in the nineteenth century – Napoleon’s invasion, the Balkan and Caucasian Wars, the Great Game, the revival of interest in the Holy Land, and especially the conquest of Turkestan – provided ample inspiration for Romantic and batalist painting.”152 Karazin’s large-scale battle paintings are among his most famous visual works and overall have received most attention from historians and art historians. His art marked a significant turning point in battle painting. A.  K. Lebedev, a prominent Soviet expert on Russian paintings, pointed out that the earlier generation of battle painters, including B. Villevalde, Karazin’s mentor at the Academy of Arts, usually did not personally participate in the war actions. Instead, they studied the history of the military actions and sometimes traveled to the places where those actions had taken place. They tended to beautify the past events and pictured mainly tsars and generals as war heroes, using masses of soldiers as the background. The paintings by Vasilii Vereshchagin became the turning point in that regard, since he presented a truthful picture of war as people’s tragedy, with solders being his heroes. Unlike the battle painters of the older generation, he also studied war firsthand, on the battlefield.153 Unmentioned by the Soviet scholar, Karazin accomplished the same; he also believed that the only way to learn about the everyday life of Russian soldiers was to fight next to them.154

151  James Elkins, Pictures and Tears: A History of People Who Have Cried in Front of Paintings (London: Routledge, 2004), 140, quoted in Kivelson and Neuberger, “Seeing into Being,” 10. 152  Inessa Kouteinikova, “Vasily Vereshchagin’s War and Peace,” in Patty Wageman and Inessa Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient: Orientalist Painting 1850–1920 (Groningen: Groninger Museum, 2010), 87. 153  A. K. Lebedev, “Introduction,” in A. K. Lebedev, ed., Russkaia istoricheskaia zhivopis’ do oktiabria 1917 goda (Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe izdatel’stvo izobrazitel’nogo iskusstva, 1962), 5, 9–10. 154  Vereshchagin pointed out that “it is impossible to present the real, genuine war to the public if one observes it through a binocular from a beautiful faraway. One has to experience

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Karazin’s visual works belong to the school of Russian Realism, according to several leading Soviet/Russian art historians. V. V. Sadoven’s monograph on battle paintings claims that Karazin “belongs to the Russian Realism school of the second half of the nineteenth century, though it is true that the high vivacity, verve and dynamism of his large paintings, with all their sketchiness and illustrative character, give them a certain peculiar ‘fascination’ which makes them so special.”155 A. K. Lebedev also stresses the rise of “realistic, democratic historic paintings” in the second half of the nineteenth century which aspired to reach the broad public and address dilemmas of the modern life.156 In a “post-Soviet” work on Russian paintings of the nineteenth century, the art historian Tatiana Karpova of the Tretykov Gallery elaborates on the concept of “pair styles”: It looks like Realism and Academism constituted such a pair in the second half of the nineteenth century. Many features characterizing those two trends seem to be parallel and contrasting: psychological depth versus lack of psychological insight into the object; concern with social, moral problems versus social indifference; emphasis of the themes of labor, poverty, illness, death – everyday human existence – versus preference for themes of festivities, relaxation and romantic adventures; everyday reality versus exoticism; reality versus myth; modernity versus playing in the field of various historic epochs; asceticism versus sensuality; monochrome reserved colors, deliberate minimalism of artistic means versus multi-color and bright paints, love for pink, red and turquoise.157

Based on this classification, Karazin’s visual art clearly falls into the category of Realism, with its modern themes: concern and empathy for every individual human being as he or she goes about everyday business, including enduring the hardship of warfare.

everything firsthand, to participate in attacks, storms and victories.” See Batal’naia zhivopis’. Vystavka proizvedenii batal’noi zhivopisi russkikh khudozhnikov XIX veka (Moscow: 1955), 5. 155  V.  V. Sadoven’, Russkie khudozhniki batalisty XVIII-XIX vekov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1955), 305. 156  Lebedev, Russkaia istoricheskaia zhivopis’, 6. 157  T.  L. Karpova, “Salonnyi akademism. Vozvrashchenie k teme,” in Plenniki krasoty. Russkoe akademicheskoe i salonnoe iskusstvo 1830–1910 godov (Moscow: Skanrus, 2004), 8.

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Large-scale oil paintings In his battle paintings, Karazin created a large-scale heroic epic of the war, characterized by accurate details and populated by multiple participants. According to Ekaterina Shilova, a present-day art historian at the Russian Museum, the tendency to create an epic narrative, bursting with colorful descriptions and various details, was characteristic of Russian art of the second half of the nineteenth century and was shared by literature, painting, and music. Large format paintings based on the historic genre were produced by a number of famous Russian artists: they often depicted numerous persons, relying on careful study of the related historic and literary sources, and also on long voyages to faraway lands, during which the artists were in search of typical landscapes, original costumes, and objects. Authenticity and ethnographic accuracy were seen as essential for the interpretation of the painting subject. In this context, Karazin’s “honest and professional painted chronicles of the Turkestan campaign” were “chronicle-dry, but complete and important due to the accurate reflection of the landscape, warriors, carriages, and horses under the burning Central Asian sun.” The large format of his oil paintings in this case appears “unpretentious and logical, emphasizing the significance of the plot.”158 Even “hard core” Marxist art historians writing in the mid-twentieth century gave his battle paintings credit for “truthful and multifaceted depiction of the nature and life in Central Asia.”159 Nikolai Karazin’s large oil paintings from the Turkestan series have been among his best known – the history of their creation is discussed in detail in the second chapter of this book. Most of those paintings were lithographed and published in such periodicals as Niva and Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia. Consisting of eight works, the series chronicled what Karazin considered the highlights of the conquest of Turkestan, from the conquest of Samarkand in 1868 to the capture of Geok-Tepe in 1881. Vziatie Samarkanda 2 maia 1868 goda (Conquest of Samarkand on 2 May

158   Ekaterina Shilova, “‘Bol’shaia kartina’ iz sobraniia Gosudarstvennogo Russkogo muzeia,” in Bol’shaia kartina (St. Petersburg: Gosudarstvennyi Russkii muzei, Palace Editions, 2006), 35–37, 20–21. 159  See for example N. V. Cherkasova, Zarozhdenie i razvitie tematicheskoi kartiny v zhivopisi respublik Srednei Azii i Kazakhstana. Avtoreferat (Moscow: Akademiia Khudozhestv, 1953), 12.

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1868)160 shows the moment when Russian troops enter Samarkand, the city of imperial, Timurid heritage, “the Moscow of Central Asia,”161 immediately after its fall. The predominant colors are the dark grey of the sky with the smoke rising from the ruins in the background and the sandy color of the walls, partially destroyed, the enclosure with captives, and the dry ground upon which the victorious “white shirts” are marching in. They are led by a group of mounted officers, in front of them – an officer riding a black horse. His face cannot be seen but his uniform is dark and different from the white uniforms of the other officers. This seems to be the army general uniform and most likely, Karazin pictured General Kaufman here: he sometimes would paint real personages into his paintings known for their “documentary precision.”162 The sense is that of a somber moment following the actual battle: native prisoners are guarded by a soldier in the front right corner, while at least five bodies of dead Russian soldiers are spread in the center on the ground, somehow right in front of the advancing commanding officer. Groups of Russian soldiers and the local inhabitants are seen in the foreground, but the only faces that can be detected, though not clearly either, are those of the Russian soldier guarding the prisoners, a skinny tanned face with grey or greying moustache, that of a Turkestan veteran; and those of several prisoners, mostly hidden by their beards and turbans. At least three mosques are seen in the painting: one in the very front, and two in the background. Another large oil painting Boi pod Zarabulakom (Battle at Zarbulak) illustrates the battle against the army of Bukhara described by the artist in his essay “Zara-Bulakskie vysoty” described earlier in this chapter (see Image 3.1). There are three main contrasting colors in this painting: the bright blue sky dominating the upper half of the painting, the red and brown-red of the Bukharan warriors’ robes and banners in the center, and the light yellow sand in the foreground. The painting captures the Bukharan troops as they are charging ahead, mostly on foot, with some riders in the front. They are clashing with the Russians in the vaguely visible far left. All the figures are very small. It is the mass of the native 160  A fragment of this painting appears on the cover of the recently published book: Jeff Eden, Slavery and Empire in Central Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018); https://www.google.com/search?q=nikolai+karazin&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa= X&ved=2ahUKEwiP3c-GkufeAhXrqlkKHQviClcQsAR6BAgEEAE&biw=970&bih=566#i mgrc=YZL2Q_UNqVrKhM (accessed 4 July 2019). 161  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 21. 162  Bol’shaia kartina, 123.

Image 3.1  Boi pod Zarabulakom 2 iiunia 1868 goda reshivshii sud’bu Buharskogo khanata (Battle at Zarbulak on 2 June 1868 that decided the fate of the Bukhara Khanate), 1889. Oil on canvas. 177 × 319.5 sm. Art Museum of Estonia. Reproduced with permission from Art Museum of Estonia, Tallinn.

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warriors who are at the center of the painting, with some larger mounted figures in the front, but still with indistinguishable faces and blending into the crowd. The painting does not generate the sense of Russian victory (yet) but seems to capture an early stage of the battle. The epic Khiva expedition of 1873, mentioned above as the background to Nikolai Karazin’s early novel Dvunogii volk, also inspired two large oil paintings from his Turkestan series and the watercolor album Khivinskii pokhod (Khiva campaign).163 One of the oil paintings, Khivinskii pokhod 1873 goda. Perekhod Turkestanskogo otriada cherez mervye peski k kolodtsam Adam-Krylgan (Khiva expedition of 1873. Turkestan troops crossing the dead sands to the wells of Adam-Krylgan, “Adam-Krylgan” meaning “human death”164), pictures the march of the Russian Tashkent column under Kaufman on their advance towards Khiva in March–May 1873 (see Image 3.2). The conditions of the crossing were notoriously harsh: “At the outset the column was hampered by unseasonable snowstorms; the camels requisitioned from the Kazakhs proved to be poor and weak; and a large quantity of provisions were found to have spoiled in storage. Finally, at the last minute von Kaufman replaced a feasible route to the Amu-Darya originally planned for the column with a shorter but little-known one. Following the new route, the column ran short of water, lost all but twelve hundred of its camels, and narrowly escaped total disaster before it reached the Amu-Darya on May 12, 1873.”165 In the center of the painting lies the body of a fallen camel, dark against the brown yellow sand, and another one is pictured in the front right corner. More dead camels can be seen further, along the army’s route. Next to the dead camels, local guides are putting luggage on other camels, which now will have to carry this extra weight. The rest of the landscape is occupied by multiple figures of people, both “white shirts” and locals, and of animals: camels, horses, and a dog. All figures are small and indistinct, serving as part of groups. Each person seems to know exactly what his task is and performs it patiently. Two white canvas-covered carriages imply the presence of the sick. Half of the painting is taken up by dark grey cloudy sky, low and threatening, and together with the bare sand and the persistent figures, it suggests hardship in this gloomy and dusty heat. People and animals seem 163  Khivinskii pokhod. Khromolitografii s akvarelei Karazina (Berlin: Pechati zav. Shteinboka, 1897). 164  Niva 10 (1875): 156. 165  Pierce, Russian Central Asia, 31.

Image 3.2  Khivinskii pokhod 1873 goda. Perekhod Turkestanskogo otriada cherez mervye peski k kolodtsam Adam-Krylgan (Khiva expedition of 1873. Turkestan troops crossing the dead sands to the wells of Adam-Krylgan), 1888. 179 × 321 sm. The State Russian Museum. Reproduced with the permission from the State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg.

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to be moving slowly and in a forced way, with their heads drooping. As usual, animals play an important role – they suffer and die next to their human masters (Image 3.2). The lithographed watercolor album Khivinskii pokhod includes a painting very similar to the oil one dedicated to the desert crossing. In this version, a commanding officer with his staff positioned on a hill looks on sadly. “Terrible tension of the last remaining strength is felt everywhere – in these drooping horse muzzles and stretched traces, in the help of the soldiers who are pushing a cannon simultaneously,” commented a contemporary article in Niva dedicated to the newly published album.166 The album includes an image of the night battle of Chandyr on 13 June 1873 with advancing Russian cavalry in the forefront pictured from the back, with their sabers raised – the picture is so vivid that a viewer can almost hear their war cry. In the center their silhouettes look dramatic against a bright flash of light from rockets; another flash in the background illuminates a huge tree. Red-robed enemy cavalry fighters are visible on the other side of the explosion as they are rushing towards the advancing Russian troops and are starting to clash with them. All the figures are small-sized, and no leading figures can be distinguished in this work. Another oil painting is dedicated to the successful completion of the march across the desert and is entitled Pervoe poiavlenie russkikh voisk na Amu-Darie pod nachal’stvom K. P. Kaufmana (The first appearance of the Russian troops on the Amu-Darya under the command of K. P. Kaufman).167 This painting contrasts with the painting of the desert crossing on several accounts, starting with its mood of cheerfulness. In addition to the light grey sky and sand dunes, the grey-blue waters of the Amu-Darya and some green vegetation on its bank play a soothing role. People in the painting seem to be moving in a vivid, animated way, and though we cannot see their faces, energy is emanated by their very movements as they are unloading, launching boats, and getting into them to cross the river. In front of them, standing on the bank of the Amu and looking across the river through binoculars, is a grey-coated officer mounted on a horse, most likely General Kaufman. A modern Russian scholar points out the  Niva 10 (1875): 158.  https://www.google.com/search?channel=tus&q=nikolai+karazin+images&tbm=isch &source=univ&client=firefox-b-1-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiRs7zst5vjAhV-TxUIHXh2DW YQsAR6BAgJEAE&biw=1008&bih=579#imgdii=-I89rcd2LcwumM:&imgrc=BJhRqBMS 8Vm2eM (accessed 4 July 2019). Also black and white version in Niva 15 (1890): 396. 166

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­ ifficulties that accompanied crossing the Amu-Darya: “Amu-Darya was d known as a crazy river, it could move its bed by a couple of kilometers; navigation on it was difficult because of its rapid current and constantly emerging sandbars.”168 In addition to his fascination with battles, Karazin was interested in parades and nonviolent displays of might which were meant to maintain imperial prestige. They were also intended to reinforce Russian military men’s pride in their own strength and order and therefore inspire them to persevere. As Alex Marshall explains, “The Russians were quite conscious of the effect of … the importance of display, of banners and flags, in keeping Asiatics in awe of the ‘White Tsar.’”169 He quotes State Councilor Veinberg, a civilian specialist who served in Kaufman’s administration: “It is difficult to overestimate the importance of the parade in the history of the domination of Russian arms and intelligentsia in Central Asia.”170 A good example of such а parade is another lithographed painting from Khivinskii pokhod  – V Khive. Parad pered vorotami dvortsa Khivinskogo khana (In Khiva. Parade in front of the gates of the palace of the khan of Khiva). Such spectacles would also inspire the contemporary viewers and make them proud of Russia’s peaceful might. Nikolai Karazin, as usually, presents a photographic image of the palace gates, the square in front of it, and the view of the town from that square.171 “The originality of architecture, sculptured decorations on the huge tower, the elaborate style of the buildings – all are captured by the artist with an almost photographic accuracy in details,” praised a Niva article.172 A cavalry unit is parading in the center of the square with an infantry unit positioned on the right side. The proceeding is observed by some local people sitting by the walls of the palace, up on the wall, and on the flat roofs. All figures are small and neatly dressed in white uniforms or red-brown robes. The impression left by this work is that of orderly and peaceful authority. As pointed out by Jeff Sahadeo, public ceremonies and parades were also favored by the colonial society in Turkestan following the conquest as a means to celebrate m ­ ilitary  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 351.  Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 62. 170  Podpolkovnik S. M. Nebrenchin, “Musul’manskii Vostok i Russkaia Armiia,” quoted in Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 62. 171  See contemporary images, for example, https://www.alamy.com/stock-photo-therussian-expedition-to-khiva-views-in-the-city-the-khans-palace-60161095.html (accessed 7 June 2018). 172  Niva 10 (1875): 158. 168 169

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prowess and instill fear of rising up against imperial power, to bind together the colonial society, and to present it as well-organized and peaceful.173 Another example of a “might without violence” image is the painting of the Blagoveshchenskoe Russian fort entitled Ukreplenie Blagoveshchenskoe fort “Irkibai” (Fort Blagoveshchenskoe, Irkibai), also from Khivinskii pokhod. Irkibai was a village on the way of the Russian column moving from the town of Kazalinsk towards Khiva. One infantry company and a Cossack squadron were left in the Irkibai fort after the column marched on towards Khiva.174 In the center of the painting, St. Andrew’s flag, the military flag of the Russian Empire, with its distinctive blue cross against a white background, has just been hoisted on the top of a hill, and a salute fired – so that a white cloud of smoke is seen clearly against the grey sky. “It is impossible to describe the beauty of this lonely cloud – you seem to hear the sound of the salute,” commented the author of a contemporary album review.175 In front of the hill, even rows of infantry are shown, with tents and local observers on the edges. Other scenes from the album are equally masterful – among them are images of Russian troops getting ready for the march, a camp at night, and a slow-moving military column of people and loaded camels, miniature figures surrounded by endless sand and sky.

Small-scale scenes In addition to battle scenes and parades, Nikolai Karazin created numerous watercolor paintings, drawings, and sketches capturing scenes from the military campaigns. Some of them can be found in the same album, Khivinskii pokhod. For example, Sorvannaia vikhrem palatka (Tent torn by storm) pictures a scene not devoid of humor with a camp caught in a sand storm. A tent and soldiers’ modest possessions are being blown away, with their disheveled owners caught most likely in the middle of the night trying to withstand the wind and hold on to their tent. In his drawings, Karazin showed the war by capturing small-scale scenes and concentrating on the fate of one or several participants. According to the artist himself, “the war in Central Asia was rich with various bloody episodes, large and small, asking to be captured by the artist’s pen and pencil.” His drawings, he explains, are “episodes from that military drama,  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 30–31, 56.  Niva 19 (1873): 303. 175  Niva 10 (1875): 156. 173 174

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captured directly from that disturbing, full of dangers and hardship, life of the Russian soldier.”176 “N. N. Karazin decided to show not mass scenes of an unequal battle, but its individual participants, to reflect a heroic deed, horror, hopelessness and tragedy of death of one soldier,” explains V. A. Prishchepova. She then describes Karazin’s drawing entitled Plennik (Captive), which exhibits a Russian soldier on a horse, with his clothes torn and his hands and feet tied up. He is surrounded by riders in robes and turbans; one of them is beating the captive with a whip.177 Karazin’s drawings and sketches would often implicitly tell a story. For example, his watercolor Nakhodka (A discovery)178 pictures a local man mounted on a camel in a sandy steppe  – he is attentively looking at an overturned Russian soldier’s white cap in front of him (see Image 3.3). The man’s head is tilted towards the viewer so that we cannot see his face  – only his white felt hat. His pause, however, suggests that he is emerged in deep thought, probably over the fate of the cap’s owner. It is apparent that its owner would not have voluntarily left it behind. Therefore, he was either killed, or wounded, or captured. Since no body is seen nearby, the owner must have been carried away, dead or alive. Of course a Russian viewer can hope that the cap had been blown away by a sand storm and lost to its owner, though the mood of the painting seems to suggest something more sinister. Another example of how Karazin created visual scenes is the pair of sketches entitled Zadremal. Stsena iz Khivinskogo pokhoda (Dozed off. Scene from the Khiva campaign) and Prosnulsia. Stsena iz Khivinskogo pokhoda (Woke up. Scene from the Khiva campaign) (see Images 3.4 and 3.5).179 In an accompanying short essay, the artist explains that danger does not always threaten on a battlefield, but often “hides somewhere nearby, during a seeming calm, a minute of quiet and rest.”180 In the first drawing, a scene is set up for a disaster as a Russian soldier dozes off leaning on his rifle, while on guard: “Of course he should not be napping while on guard, but what can one do against the nature... After a march of forty versts, he has paved the way for himself and the transport.” As he is dozing off, he is dreaming about scenes dear to his heart: “he dreams of  Niva 1 (1875): 7.  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 359. 178  Albom Nivy za 1893 god (St. Petersburg: Izdanie Artisticheskogo zavedeniia A. F. Marksa). 179  Niva 1 (1875): 4, 5. 180  Niva 1 (1875): 7. 176 177

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Image 3.3  Nakhodka (A discovery). Albom Nivy za 1893 god (St. Petersburg: Izdanie Artisticheskogo zavedeniia A. F. Marksa).

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Image 3.4  Zadremal. Stsena iz khivinskogo pokhoda (Dozed off. Scene from the Khiva campaign). Niva 1 (1875): 4.

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Image 3.5  Prosnulsia. Stsena iz khivinskogo pokhoda (Woke up. Scene from the Khiva campaign). Niva 1 (1875): 5.

the wide street of his native village, he dreams of the brightly burning stove, he dreams of the field full of ears, a meadow full of flowers, the whistle of a scythe in the strong hands of a mower… He might be dreaming of the dear features of his young wife’s face, or his young bride’s…”

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Behind his back, hidden by a rock, a native man with an evil grin on his exaggeratedly ugly face is creeping upon him. A dagger in his right hand leaves little doubts about his intentions: “Like a snake, he is hiding in the bushes, between the rocks, he cannot be seen, he knows how to hide…”181 In the foreground, unseen to the attacker but exposed to the viewers, a snake is looking on, a symbol of the wicked deed in the making. The second scene shows the same soldier pointing the tip of his bayonet at his enemy who has been thrown on the ground by a dog now holding him by the throat: the faithful Kudlashka (Shaggy), who had been napping by the soldier’s feet, woke up. The loyal canine prevented the disaster in the very last moment, possibly at the price of his own life: “In the very critical moment, almost at the stroke of the curved dagger, jumped up the dog… and buried his teeth in the red rags, not noticing, ignoring stabs at him, and both, the man and the dog, rolled down, raising dust, pushing rocks, coloring bushes and thorns with fresh blood.”182 Another vivid sketch entitled Na puti v Khivu. Lazaretnyi verbliud (On the way to Khiva. A hospital camel) pictures a wounded soldier comfortably seated in a shaded basket hanging on a camel’s side.183 Another solder is traveling the same way on the other side of the camel, so that the viewer can see only his feet: “they [the soldiers] are dozing off or might be in the state of sick unconsciousness.” The author explains that the camel is also carrying dressings, medications, and containers with water and alcohol: “In such way, an excellent pack animal hospital transport is formed, which you will certainly not see in other European armies.”184 Nikolai Karazin earned his broad fame not as much for his oil paintings as for his watercolors, sketches, and illustrations available in periodicals. Il’ia Repin, one of the most famous Russian artists of the nineteenth century, held a high opinion of Karazin’s drawings: “He was especially good at battle scenes – in the vivaciousness of his drawing as much as in the correctness and liveliness of his figures. … Karazin was an excellent graphic artist.”185 Karazin’s oil paintings were sometimes criticized for  Niva 1 (1875): 7.  Niva 1 (1875): 8. 183  Niva 21 (1873): 325. 184  Niva 21 (1873): 326–27. 185  E. V. Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin, 1842-1908,” in A. I. Leonov, ed., Russkoe iskusstvo. Ocherki o zhizni i tvorchestve khudozhnikov. Vtoraia polovina deviatnadtsatogo veka II (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1971), 358. 181 182

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amateurishness, certain sketchiness, superficiality, and lack of psychological analysis.186 At least some of his shortcomings can be explained by his lack of completed academic education, his personal qualities, and the nature of his gift: “Excitable by his nature, lively, active and always energetic, he did not like to paint large oil paintings which required long and assiduous labor.”187 Karazin’s “military” art seems to masterfully balance on several contrasting pairs: beauty and peacefulness of nature versus ugliness of fighting; brutality versus humanity and empathy; tragedy and suffering versus humor; and slow-paced descriptions of peaceful scenes versus hectic pace of the battle scenes. At the same time, there are symmetrical pairs as well: brutality on both sides; suffering on both sides; and suffering of people and animals. Such composition and change of pace prevent his readers’ attention from wandering and, most significantly, leave them with the impression of the multifaceted reality of the Russian conquest in Turkestan. Putting the book or magazine aside, a thoughtful reader would have to ponder upon what he or she has just read since Karazin tends to leave many dilemmas open-ended. His images of war clearly demonstrate that he supports Russian expansion and believes in the moral superiority of the conquerors, but he is also aware of the suffering the war inflicts on both sides. While showing the enemy as mainly cowardly, treacherous, and cruel, he also presents them as capable of bravery, faithfulness, and kindness – sometimes, or in case of some individuals. What is most significant here is that the artist refuses to dehumanize the Central Asian people in general.

186  See for example Chuiko, Khudozhesvennye novosti 8 (1887): 225–29, quoted in Sadoven’, Russkie khudozhniki batalisty, 304; N. Cherkasova, manuscript “Otrazhenie zhizni narodov Srednei Azii i Kazakhstana v proizvedeniiakh russkikh khudozhnikov XIX i nachala XX veka,” Arkhiv Tret’iakovskoi Galerei (Archive of the Tretyakov Gallery), f. 4, d. 1131, 37–38; Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin,” 364; Pchela. Russkaia illiustratsiia, vol. 1, no. 1 (5 January 1875): 16. 187  P. A. Korovichenko, “Karazin, Nikolai Nikolaevich,” in K. E. Velichko, ed., Voennaia entsiklopediia, vol. 12 (St. Petersburg: T-vo I. D. Sytina, 1913), 376.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nikolai Karazin’s civilian project: Russians in Turkestan

This chapter analyzes Nikolai Karazin’s “civilian” project as a part of the imperial networks. As a participant in the conquest, and an involved witness to the governing that followed, he speaks of the Russian administration, and he speaks for them. His “civilian” project shares the main feature with his “military” project: he is in awe of the Russian achievements in Turkestan, but is appalled by Russians’ abuses against the local people, as well as against their own countrymen. His essays, short stories, and novels, his sketches and drawings create a virtual reality of Russian Turkestan for a broad contemporary audience. He tries to bring all of Turkestan to them: they meet the military officers in charge of governing affairs at various levels, in the capital city of Tashkent and in the faraway provinces; they see Russian merchants and engineers, local people cooperating with the Russians and opposing their presence. They observe men and women, Russian and local, noble and base, in the complexity of their interactions, with the landscape and animal characters in unison with or in juxtaposition to human emotions. This chapter focuses on the Russian newcomers in Turkestan, as they interact among themselves and with the locals, while the following chapter primarily addresses the local people and their reaction to the presence of the Russians While talking about Karazin’s “civilian” project, it is essential to keep in mind that the distinction between his “civilian” and “military” projects is at times conditional due to the fact that military and civilian undertakings in Turkestan were closely intertwined. As the military administration was © The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_4

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being set up, conquest or clashes were still going on elsewhere in Turkestan; many civilians who stayed in Turkestan, or returned there for administrative or commercial duties, had earlier been in the military service there, and, most importantly, the administration was military in character. In his book dedicated to Turkestan as a Russian failed colonial endeavor, Daniel Brower defines Turkestan as Russia’s “real” or “only” colony due to its geographic isolation by desert (until the construction of the railroad), its Islamic integrity, and the intensity of Islam in the main settled areas. Turkestan was therefore perceived as having a special status, similar to the Western overseas empires, by Russian officials and publicists in both Turkestan and the metropole.1 A. S. Morrison in his book on Russian rule in Samarkand in comparison with British India points out that Turkestan rather resembled French Algeria, “a homogeneously Muslim territory which was administratively part of the metropolis, and which had large numbers of settlers.”2

Russian Tashkent and other colonial cities Nikolai Karazin possesses keen “imperial eyes,” the expression used by Mary Louise Pratt in her well-known book entitled Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation.3 Karazin celebrates what he sees as the benefits of Russian domination in Asia since Russian culture “constitutes a guarantee of the bright future of our conquests, strengthens our mutual connection and makes those conquests absolutely peaceful, strong forever, though the three-faceted bayonet of the Russian soldier had made way for them.”4 For him, like for so many Russians in Central Asia and in the metropole, the city of Tashkent became a symbol of Russian power and its achievements as a Western colonial empire. “Kaufman and leading tsarist administrators planned Russian Tashkent as a symbol of Russia’s status as a powerful and advanced Western Empire. The capital, it was hoped, would impress Central Asians as well as observers from Europe and central 1  Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge, 2003), xi. 2  A. S. Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand 1868–1910: A Comparison with British India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 2. 3   Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992). 4  N. Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Putevoi ocherk (St. Petersburg: German Goppe, 1886), 13.

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Russia. Officials graduating from institutions of higher education envisioned the city as a centerpiece for their own civilizing and modernizing missions in Asia,” explains Jeff Sahadeo in his book about colonial Tashkent.5 Governor-general Konstantin Petrovich von Kaufman, who arrived in Tashkent in 1867, two years after the conquest of the city, directed the construction of Russian Tashkent as a modern imperial city, with wide radial-concentric boulevards, parks, and gardens; buildings in the Russian “national style”; a public library; and an official weekly newspaper.6 Tashkent would become “the European colonists’ intellectual center”7 for decades to come. In her book dedicated to Tashkent in Russian literature, Eleonora Shafranskaia points out that very soon after 1865, “Tashkent was perceived by contemporaries as a part of Russia (which is surprising).”8 Nikolai Karazin dedicated an essay to the history and development of “Russian” Tashkent published in the encyclopedic volume on Central Asia in 1885. An epithet from Heinrich Heine suggests eternal glory to all the heroes, including those who fell in their “struggle with the fate as true heroes.” Such an opening sets the stage for the celebration of all the Russians, to the least famous soldier, whose labor resulted in turning old Tashkent into a modern prosperous city. Karazin opens his chapter with the night of 14 June 1865 when “nine hundred Russian bayonets under command of M. G. Cherniaev captured Tashkent.” He then explains that this huge city ruled from Kokand had a population of seventy thousand, and an additional garrison of almost ten thousand, and was surrounded by a tall wall and a moat  – and yet it fell to a handful of “white shirts.”9 5  Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010), 1. 6  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 22–46. 7  Yuri Bregel, “The Russian conquest of Central Asia and the first decades of Russian rule,” Encyclopedia Iranica, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/central-asia-vii (accessed 4 July 2019). 8  E. F. Shafranskaia, Tashkentskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture (Moscow: Art House media, 2010), 25. She discusses Tashkent in the works of Dostoevsky, Leskov, and Saltykov-Shchedrin, but fails to mention Karazin. 9  N.  N. Karazin, “Tashkent,” in Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniaia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885), 167. According to Richard A. Pierce, Cherniaev had 1,950 men and twelve guns against 30,000 locals with sixty-three guns, Russian Central Asia, 1867–1917: A Study in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960), 23.

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Karazin then proceeds to describe the captured city with its “crowded native quarters, cut by narrow irregular streets and lanes,” gloomy and boring streets without windows facing them, and streams of dirty water flowing in every direction, but also with a vivid, colorful, and loud market. The city had a significant role in the regional trade: “Tashkent until we captured it played a huge role as an important transit point, where the essential trade routes linked connecting Kokand, Kashgar, and Bukhara to Russia. …The city had a semi-independent character, somewhat reminiscent of many free cities in Germany,  – in relation to the Kokand and Bukhara khanates, though officially it was ruled by Kokand.” Having mentioned the “peaceful, able and hard-working” people of Tashkent, the author points out that the inhabitants were inclined to submit to “any regime if it guaranteed their property and personal rights” – and therefore they quickly became accustomed to the Russian rule.10 Karazin’s next theme is how the “Russian Tashkent” was built. It started with clay huts and barracks, and the house of Cherniaev, the first “palace of the Russian governor”: “This little house is still standing today and serves as a monument to founding Russian Tashkent, which has grown with an incredible magic speed in ten years.” The house has not been preserved, and thus its description by the artist is especially valuable: “This house is built out of clay, and its size is truly modest: ten steps long, eight steps wide and only one sazhen’ [2,134 meters] high; its roof is made out of reeds; it has two rooms: an entrance hall – just a passage, and a room serving [at once] as a reception room, study and bedroom; one entrance; two tiny windows glued with paper. Around the house several … trees were planted forming a small garden. In this house the Russian governor lived until his departure [in 1866]. This house has been preserved in its original state and will be preserved in the future. Every year seventeen rubles are allocated for its maintenance. Above its entrance, a marble plate is placed with the following inscription: ‘The first house of the military governor, Major-General Mikhail Grigorievich Cherniaev, upon capturing Tashkent on 17 June 1865.’”11 Meanwhile, tells the author, more and more Russians were arriving, including merchants. When the new governor, General Dmitrii Il’ich  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 168.  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 169. The image of the house can be found at https://mytashkent. uz/2015/03/12/tashkentskaya-krepost-i-domik-chernyaeva/ (accessed 29 September 2018). 10 11

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Romanovskii, arrived, construction of the “Russian Tashkent” proceeded at an increasing pace. A new brick factory was founded, so that new buildings were made out of brick. They had only one floor because of the recurrent earthquakes: “Roofs were for the most part flat, covered with clay and asphalt; around the houses, covered porches were added which gave the houses an original eastern character. Each person building a house was also charged with a duty to plant two lines of poplars in front of it, and additionally had to plant a garden next to it.”12 The most important trading companies with caravanserais in the native Tashkent and buildings in the best parts of the Russian Tashkent belonged to entrepreneurs familiar from other works of Karazin: Khludov, Pervushin, Zakho, and also Shanin and Rozenfel’d. Good roads were built, but initially the only carriage in the city belonged to the governor, while everybody else rode horses. A market opened in Russian Tashkent. In 1867, “a new epoch in the Russian Central Asia in general and Tashkent in particular” opened with the arrival of the new governor – Kaufman. In the three years between 1867 and 1870, “the city spread far and beautifully” with shady alleys and gardens, restaurants, a military club with a theatre company, and a hotel. The population of Russian Tashkent reached four thousand by then, not including the military units.13 In the summer of 1879, while on his way to Samarkand, Karazin visited Tashkent again. He could hardly recognize it – the detailed description that follows is full of awe for the broad squares and streets, over one thousand European-type buildings, official houses and palaces, schools, and hospitals. The author mentions several private elementary Russian schools, a school for boys and a school for girls; two military hospitals with separate rooms for officers, a city hospital with rooms for women and an outpatient room, and several private hospitals.14 The author was very fond and proud of the diverse and lively spirit of the city: “Here you would meet white military jackets, summer plantation costumes of independent citizens, hundreds of haemorrhoidal faces of clerks, Russian men’s long coats, solders’ shirts, Russian common women in headscarves, and fashionable figures of elegant ladies, who seem to have come directly from the pages of Paris fashion magazines. Among all that, sway importantly enormous gold-embroidered turbans of the local aces,  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 170.  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 171–72. 14  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 172–73. 12 13

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velvet skullcaps, and colorful robes. In the air, breaking through sounds of music, a buzz sounds of mostly Russian speech, sometimes interspersed with smart French phrases.”15 This trademark detailed description, with a touch of humor, is marked by a curious detail: though local people are seen, they are not heard from, or at least their voices are overcome with the dominant Russian ones. One possible explanation is that since Karazin is describing the Russian part of the city, the majority of people in the streets are Russian. Another explanation, in accordance with the spirit of triumphant paternalism occasionally exhibited by the artist, is that the local people are expected to be seen but not heard from. Karazin then dedicates almost one page to the Tashkent public library. Founded in 1868, under Kaufman, it contained books in Russian, German, English, Arabic, and Persian: 5,381 book titles, 9,734 volumes total, not including books on theology and military science. “But unfortunately,” laments Karazin, “this wonderful institution, so much needed in the region, was closed on 13 December 1882 at the order of Turkestan governor-­general Cherniaev.” Based on the report by Lieutenant Colonel Vsevolod Vladimirivich Krestovskii, а writer and literary critic, the library “was not fulfilling the serious and useful goals” it was meant to achieve, while a significant sum of money was being spent on maintaining it. The chapter quotes Cherniaev’s order to close the library starting on 1 January 1883.16 As explained by Jeff Sahadeo, General Cherniaev was determined to reverse trends associated with his predecessor, General Kaufman, and the Great Reform era. Closing the public library became one of his most notorious acts. Public pressure, including that from city Duma members and local intellectuals, however, forced Cherniaev to reopen the library. This episode contributed to the alienation of Cherniaev from key intellectuals in the administration, resulting in his removal from the position of governor-general in 1884.17 Karazin follows the description of the library ordeal with the overview of the benefits of the Russian takeover for the local population. A Russian ABC book is “considered a profitable commodity” and sells quickly. Local inhabitants learn Russian voluntarily, since workers are paid twice as much if they have a command of the language. Knowing Russian also opens direct access to the Russian administration, bypassing interpreters’  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 173.  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 173–74. 17  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 66–67. 15 16

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influence. “Tajiks and Sarts have understood their advantages very well, have adapted to the Russian domination very well, and have learned to appreciate the beneficial sides of that domination very well. Having summed up their profits, they have come to the conclusion that their life under the Russians offers much more freedom,” the author explains. Thus Russian Tashkent offered “a new life to the city,” opened new markets for agricultural and manufactured goods, and overall advanced the local life.18 Karazin presents his readers with an impressive picture of the city self-­ governing. The earlier military rule is replaced with the city Duma, consisting of forty-four Russian and twenty-four local elected members under a mayor appointed by the governor-general. While visiting the city, the artist attended a meeting of the Duma: with almost every member in attendance, it lasted under two hours; all issues were resolved directly and efficiently, with all the attendees leaving “in the most peaceful mood.” The author also explains to his readers that during the meeting it was brought up that all the decisions made at the previous meeting had been implemented and verified by the Duma chairman.19 The final section of the article is dedicated to a detailed and vivid description of a summer day in Russian Tashkent. The day opens with hundreds of “Sart cleaners and sweepers,” who use the water from the irrigation ditches (aryks) to wash the streets. They are followed by carriages delivering greens and fresh produce to the market. By six, the rest of the population is waking up: “felt shutters open, the air has a faint smell of samovar smoke.” By seven, civilians and military officers proceed to their offices; by nine it is extremely hot. Cool drinks are offered in the streets; so-called tashchishki (from tashchit’, to carry), “half naked dark skinned boys,” offer their services in front of hotels and stores. For several kopeks, they hold horses while the owners go inside hotels and stores, carry parcels, and deliver messages. Between one and five, streets are mostly empty; felt shutters close. Karazin warns his readers not to visit during this time for two reasons: the mistress of the house would be caught by surprise and not properly dressed, and her husband would be away so that visiting might generate undesirable gossip. At five, everybody hurries home and it gets quiet again until eight in the evening. After eight, the most pleasant time of the day starts, when the air is cool and fragrant, when the inhabitants of Russian Tashkent are out enjoying themselves,  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 174.  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 174.

18 19

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walking, riding, visiting, and listening to music. There are also entertainments in the Mik-Uriuk garden. They include dancing and attending shows, such as Russian folk scenes and a chanson singer.20 The story ends without a proper conclusion, but the reader is left with an impression of excitement and perhaps a desire to see such an attractive city with his or her own eyes. It also leaves readers with a sense of satisfaction from Russia’s benevolent impact on such a faraway land, the peaceful nature of Russia’s domination, and pride in such accomplishments. Karazin’s sketch concluding the chapter pictures an empty carriage on big wheels seen from the side.21 The profile of the stooped horse driver wearing a robe and a skullcap is somewhat similar to the hanging head of his horse, adding a gently humorous and warm touch to the sketch. Nikolai Karazin dedicated a number of passages in his other works to Tashkent, where an attentive reader would notice some repetitions and close variations, reinforcing the most important details. In 1872, he captured the impressive development of the city and its promise for an even greater future in the popular St. Petersburg journal Vsemirnaia iIlliustratsiia: “[F]or six years, a large, completely Russian city has been developing, comparable to many of our governing cities. Long, wide and straight streets, adorned along their sides by thick poplars, growing not by the day, but by the hour… [A] large, beautiful city is growing literally out of the ground, to the surprise of our new citizens.”22 Sahadeo points out that the phrase “a city growing out of the ground” most likely refers to building out of local clay.23 Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts), first published in the same year and credited for being “the first novel about Russian Turkestan,”24 reiterates: The new city has spread out vastly, as if grown out of the ground, but everything in it attracting your attention was strikingly unfinished. It seemed as if each person you met, each subject, each tree recently planted, a patterned fence, stones newly trimmed – in short, everything was telling you: “don’t judge us too strictly, we are still bivouacking. Just give us some time, and you will see.”  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 175–76.  Karazin, “Tashkent,” 176. 22  N. N. Karazin, “Iz Turkestanskoi boevoi zhizni,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia [1]59 (1872): 46, quoted in Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 37–38. 23  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 247, note 74. 24  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 29. 20 21

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This is a city-camp...25

Since the artist was known for his attentiveness to details, the mention of “newly trimmed stones” is likely to reflect the fact that building out of local clay, the most common “native” construction pattern, was discouraged by the Russian Tashkent’s municipal committee.26 He offers descriptions of the old town as well, for example, in his novel Pogonia za nazhivoi (Chasing profit). The prosperous part of the old town is attractive enough, with its secluded yards, gardens, mosques, bazaars, and caravanserais.27 Karazin’s personal connection with Kaufman apparently played an important role in the artist’s admiration of the new Russian center. Twenty years after Kaufman’s arrival in Tashkent and five years after Kaufman’s death (1882), Nikolai Karazin would pay even more tribute to Kaufman’s endeavor in the following emotional words: … the main, fantastic growth of the city started with the arrival of General Kaufman, this genius administrator, who from conquered barbarian material created a new, well organized whole, full of order and harmony, nowadays constituting one of the best parts of our empire. And if one shows to a newcomer, unfamiliar with the history of the conquest, Russian Tashkent, the way it is now... and if one tells [to this newcomer] that all he has in front of his eyes had been born, strengthened, and grown in only twenty years, the newly arrived stranger will of course look straight into your face in disbelief, and might also take offense at what he sees as a rude hoax. Meanwhile, all this is true, and this Herculean [bogatyrskii] growth, not by the day, but by the hour only sung in fairy tales, has been accomplished in deep Asia by the force of the Russian energy.28

This hymn to the “Russian energy” concludes his travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta (From Orenburg to Tashkent). Tashkent is not the only city whose development by Russians symbolizes the onslaught of “civilization.” In 1879, while visiting Samarkand with a scholarly expedition, Karazin describes the impact of the Russian presence there as follows: “In less than a quarter of an hour we left behind 25  N.N. Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 1 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 18. 26  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 34. 27  N. N. Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi (St. Petersburg: Lenizdat, 1993), 205–8. 28  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 14.

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the regular, straight streets of Russian Samarkand  – streets beautifully paved, lined with alleys of poplars, carefully watered from the canals running along the street (aryks); however, after those civilized streets stretched out an endless confusion of narrow twisted dusty lanes of the Asian outskirts.”29 During the same expedition, Karazin proudly reported an impressive growth of another “Russian” town  – Petro-Aleksandrovsk, located on the right bank of the Amu-Darya and approximately eighty kilometers away from Khiva on the opposite bank. It served as the seat of the commander of the Amu-Darya detachment of the Turkestan military district. When Karazin had visited it with the earlier expedition of 1874, it was a fort which included fortifications, a garden with some pavilions earlier belonging to the khan of Khiva, a palace for the commander, an administration building, barracks, and a market. Five years later, the town had gone through an impressive transformation: “The limits of the fort soon became too tight for its inhabitants. Beyond the walls of the fort, brick houses, markets, lines of shops and factories have been built. Permanent military barracks have also been built beyond the walls, with gardens, paths and even some flowerbeds, a military hospital and a school. Once a gloomy and tedious military camp, it is now animated by children’s voices and women’s figures. The whole surrounding area has become more lively, acquired a peaceful appearance and now looks like a very decent town, even better than many towns of central Russia.” The same, claims the author, applies to Nukus, another town close to the Amu-­ Darya delta, but on a smaller scale.30 The town of Kazalinsk also goes back to a Russian military fort – “Fort Raim,” named after the mountain it was located on, three versts away from the Syr-Darya. In a year or two, more Russians arrived, entrepreneurs and merchants, followed by settlers. They engaged in agriculture and commercial fishing. On the river a town gradually appeared and grew, known first as “Kazala,” later Kazalinsk.31 Though not as glamorous as Karazin’s Tashkent, Kazalinsk is presented in a similar mode of pride for Russians’ achievements in a short time period in a remote and unfamiliar area, so different from the homeland. 29  N. N. Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia dlia issledovaniia napravlenii sredneaziatskoi zheleznoi dorogi i izucheniia basseina reki Amu-Dar’i,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 78. 30  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 606 (1880): 139. 31  N. N. Karazin, S severa na iug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 7 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 104–9.

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Agriculture and Russian settlers Nikolai Karazin also brings to the attention of his audience the economic development resulting from the Russian control. In 1890, he created the watercolor Golodnaia step’ do orosheniia (Hungry Steppe before irrigation)32 in which he shows a steppe burnt by the sun, barren and deserted. Ten years later, he painted Orositel’nye raboty v Golodnoi stepi (Irrigational works in the Hungry Steppe) in which the same steppe has been turned into a productive agricultural area. As A. S. Morrison points out, however, the results of building canals in order to irrigate the “Hungry Steppe” were overall unimpressive, “not a great deal to show for fifty years of Russian rule with all the ‘technological’ and ‘scientific’ improvements.” Its main goal turned out to be not the commercial production of cotton, as hoped by Moscow textile manufacturers, but instead the creation of irrigated lands for the resettlement of Russian peasants by the state Resettlement Department (see main areas of Russian peasant colonization on the map 2.1).33 Overall, the spread of agriculture, in a typical Western mode, was seen as superior since it promoted a sedentary way of life, more advanced and secure. Political stability and improved transportation brought by the Russian conquest opened Turkestan to Russian settlers. Driven by land hunger, uncertain harvests in the north, and the hope of finding fertile, welcoming lands, settlers took the land route south from Orenburg, even though in the 1890s, the Transcaspian railroad opened a safer, but more costly, route.34 Karazin expresses warm affinity with the Russian settlers near the town of Orsk, and proudly talks about their “hardworking plow” “which cuts deep into the recently liberated steppes, bringing with it sedentary and permanent character.”35 As he passes Orsk on his way from Orenburg to Tashkent, he assures his readers that now they are in “real, even if Russinized, Asia,” and explains the immediate benefits of the recent Russian conquest: successful agricultural settlement of the steppe became possible after establishment of our power in deep Asia, that is by the beginning of the [eighteen] seventies, when the independence of Bukhara, Kokand and Khiva sang its swan song, so that the unbridled will of the Asian despots seized to  Plain on the left bank of the Syr-Darya.  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 233–34. 34  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 131. 35  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 7, 6. 32 33

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i­nfluence our eastern frontier in a hostile way. As our fore posts moved almost two thousand versts forward, the fear of recurrent raids and robbery (baranta) has been replaced with full confidence in security, as this confidence was everywhere followed by peace and quiet.36

In an essay entitled “Zemledelie Zarafshanskoi doliny” (Agriculture of the Zarafshan Plain), accompanied by drawings, Nikolai Karazin explains the significance of water there and offers a detailed expert description of the agricultural techniques and main crops, including rice, sorgo, alfalfa, tobacco, cotton, sesame, melons, watermelons, and grapes.37 The artist dedicated a lengthy novel entitled S severa na iug (From the north to the south) to Russian settlers. While personages of his other novels and stories are predominantly officers, merchants, and officials, at the center of this novel are commoners – Russians peasants – who leave the Volga region and migrate to the Syr-Darya region. Attracted to what they picture as vast and rich lands there, they load their belongings on carts, take along their cattle, and start on a long journey. In a long footnote at the beginning of his novel, in a chapter entitled “Overcome by forests,” Nikolai Karazin provides background of the migration for his readers. He explains that peasants were required to obtain permission for the migration: in order to do that, they were expected to have a valid reason. The group of peasants he follows in this novel comes from the left bank of the Volga River. There, the “shortage of arable land in exceptionally forested provinces” was considered a serious reason for migration and receiving a grant for that purpose. Since previously those peasants had been reduced to “illegal exploitation of the forest,” he enthusiastically praises the migration as a welcome solution: “Therefore, this government measure led to the healthy hands of farmers being applied to the useful labor, better familiar to them, instead of harming our forestry. The new region was also to benefit from this migration, where luxurious lands were to be finally subjected to development, instead of just being dead stock.”38 The novel follows a caravan from a village called Malye Kandaly as it proceeds over the Ural Mountains, through the city of Irgiz, and then crosses the Karakum desert where people and animals suffer from the heat and lack of water. They finally arrive at their destination  – the town of  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 6.  N. Karazin, “Zemledelie Zarafshanskoi doliny,” Niva 30 (1874): 465–67. 38  Karazin, S severa na iug, 9. 36 37

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Kazalinsk. The newly arrived peasants went through a trying period at first. They were allocated land plots of adequate size, nine versts away from the town, four versts away from the river, with land being “dry and hard, impossible to dig with a metal shovel.”39 When the settlers built houses imitating the local way, using saman (clay mixed with hey), since wood was unavailable or extremely expensive, many houses collapsed under rain, including a Russian-style stove collapsing on a girl sleeping next to it and killing her.40 As winter approached, the settlers were suffering from shortages of fuel, food, and forage. The winter brought with it cold and starvation, with children and animals succumbing to diseases and death, with women often reduced to begging in town.41 Another problem was the lack of seeds for sowing when the spring finally arrived. It was only under the leadership of the wise and honest peasant Nikon and with the assistance of the local well-established “kind man” Ivan Aleksandrovich Gabin that the settlers were able to unite in an artel and succeed. They borrowed seeds, sowed, employed the help of the local people to clean the old aryks, defended themselves from a bandit attack and an invasion of locusts, and collected an impressive harvest. The novel, however, does not end on an optimistic note of rich harvest celebration: in a way somewhat typical of Karazin’s novels, his main protagonists, Marina, Stepan, and Nikon, become victims of the fatal passions of evil men towards beautiful and independent Marina. In the drawing entitled Karavan plotnich’ei arteli napravliaiushchiisia v Tashkent (Caravan of a carpenter artel heading for Tashkent), the artist shows a group of men, women, and children carrying their very limited possessions on camels and carriages (see Image 4.1). Russian garments and hats seem to present a deliberate contrast with the camels, sand, and Muslim tombs in the background. The settlers are walking almost cheerfully, with a rooster sitting on the saddle of the front camel. “Humpbacked children of the steppe are pulling Russian carriages across quicksand; far away, a grandiose nomad cemetery can be seen. Hard is the way of the laborers – would they even be able to reach their destination, and would

 Karazin, S severa na iug, 116.  Karazin, S severa na iug, 119–20, 126. 41  Karazin, S severa na iug, 130–31. 39 40

Image 4.1  Karavan plotnich’ei arteli napravliaiushchiisia v Tashkent (Caravan of a carpenter artel heading for Tashkent). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 159 (1872): 45.

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they be able to find that piece of bread for which they have left their homeland behind?” asks Karazin in his description of the drawing.42

Transportation Colonizing and developing Turkestan required a safe and comfortable route of communication and transportation between the metropole and the new colony. The development of that route is described by Nikolai Karazin as a great Russian achievement, especially impressive in comparison with the past. He opens his novel Na dalekikh okrainakh with a striking description of the perilous journey from Orenburg to Tashkent, which included crossing the dreaded Karakum desert. The first scenes of the novel are frightening and include dreadful sands, wild animals, the remnants of a carriage, and the headless corpse of an earlier traveler who, along with his wife, had become a victim of the barantachis, the local bandits.43 As we learn later, that merchant’s wife had been captured and sold into slavery, and would die there in misery and despair. Two travelers are seized with fear that a similar destiny is awaiting them. The first part of the novel, published in the magazine Delo in 1872, opens with a sketch of a broken abandoned carriage on three wheels with the fourth wheel lying in front of it, exactly the way it is described on the first pages of the novel. In front of the carriage, a dead body is spread on its back, with its head missing. Four wolves hidden behind low bushes in the foreground are watching the scene, again exactly as described in the novel, while the two men are seen moving towards the viewers, one riding a camel, another one walking next to the camel.44 Images of this “path of sorrow” (skorbnyi put’) as the first trial for the brave travelers appear in other works, including an article entitled “Skorbnyi put’” 45 and the travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, in which the author explains: “In the old times, it used to be painful to cross the Karakum: stages [between the stations] used to be very long; some of them, on the poor unmaintained road, would take the whole day, from the sunrise to the dawn. Horses and even camels would become so exhausted 42   N.  Karazin, “Iz Turkestanskoi boevoi zhizni,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 159 (1872): 45–46. 43  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 3–7. 44  Delo 9 (1872), https://rus-turk.livejournal.com/147108.html (accessed 25 June 2018). 45  N. Karazin, “Skorbnyi put’,” Russkaia starina 129 (March 1907).

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that they stopped in the middle of the road.”46 Stations on the road between Orsk and Kazalinsk consisted of “wretched dug-outs or tiny mud-huts, even more commonly – smoky felt tents absolutely unsuitable for living. No carriages were to be found at those stations, but only sometimes parts of broken ones, abandoned by passengers in the past.” No harness and barely any horses were available, sometimes only a couple of worn-out horses unable to work: “Kirghiz coachmen, scared of the cruelty of the angry official travelers, were hiding in the neighboring villages scattered along the route, twenty or more versts away.” Such hardship was to be endured by the new Russian officials as they were traveling: “And so thousands of officials with their families, household members, were to endure this pathetic, uncomfortable path in the autumn of 1867 as they were proceeding towards their new postings.” The hostility and distrust of the local population, cold nights, sicknesses, especially among children, even several deaths, led to fear and despair among those travelers. Since there was yet no telegraph, the news of their suffering was spreading slowly. Finally, when that news reached Tashkent, rescue groups were dispatched with food and other supplies: “The path of sorrow became more cheerful.”47 Similar episodes involving Russians who travel on dangerous roads and become victims of sand or snow storms, heat or cold, exhaustion or starvation, appear in many other works by Karazin. For example, his short story “Tiurkmen Siarkei” (Turkmen Siarkei) refers to the ill-fated family of a colonel, caught in a snow storm: one of the women in his household and all children perished. Another woman, the wife of a captain “who… had received a comfortable permanent position… in a fort on the Amu,” traveling with two small children from Kazalinsk, was caught in a severe snow storm, was abandoned by her guide, and would have also perished if not for the miraculous help provided by the saintly protagonist of the story, Turkmen Siarkei.48 Baranta (attacks involving robbery, murder, and enslavement) were feared by Russians moving into their new colony as they traveled through untamed steppes and deserts since barantachis “saw plunder and robbery as the only outlet for their savage bravado, the only goal for their  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 9.  Karazin, “Skorbnyi put’,” 534–38. 48  N.  N. Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” in V peskakh. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 16 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 154, 160–63. 46 47

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existence.”49 For example, the Black Turkmen from the vicinity of Merv had a bad reputation: They were real killers but they were at the same time very discriminating thieves! The plundered caravan was spread on the steppe. The caravan leader convulsively twisted in the sand with his neck slashed. Those caravaners who had surrendered with no resistance squatted in a single line, their hands tied behind their backs with the cloth from their own turbans. The riders, shining in their chainmail and weapons, herded together into groups the frightened camels that had run off among the sand dunes. The Black Turkmen roamed among the camel packs that had been thrown to the ground. Everything was ripped apart, thrown down, and scattered in disorderly piles. They chose only the most valuable items. Everything else was left to the tyranny of fate. In addition, the horses and camels were indiscriminately driven off.50

Apparently barantachis did not limit their merciless attacks to the Russian newcomers: they also attacked local merchant caravans,51 and individual travelers, such as Mumyn, who carried Russian mail and parcels (discussed in detail in the following chapter of this book).52 Baranta and a snow storm combine to kill or nearly kill the travelers in a short story entitled “Tri dnia v mazarke” (Three days in a tomb). One group of travelers, including a family with a small child, found shelter in a nomad tomb. There they were besieged by bandits who did not dare to enter because of the Russians’ firearms. Another group of travelers, including several military officers and shopkeepers, was attacked in a station, and either killed or captured. “If there are few of them, they are not dangerous, but if there are many of them, they would also come here… makes no difference,” fatalistically notices the wife of an official when the travelers try to decide if they should stay at the current station or travel on.53 Another Russian woman, who was captured on her way from Kazalinsk to Petro-­ Alexandrovsk and escaped miraculously, recalls her sufferings: “They 49  Nikolai N. Karazin, In the Distant Confines, translated with an Introduction by Anthoni W. Sariti (Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse, 2007), 217. 50  Karazin, In the Distant Confines, 220. 51  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 131–34. 52  N. N. Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu kazennuiu pochtu,” in V peskakh, 180–84. 53  N.  N. Karazin, “Tri dnia v mazarke,” in V ogne. Ocherki i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 9 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 201.

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dragged me out of the wagon by force… pushed and pulled me… then loaded me on a horse, tied up like a sack, and drove into the steppe, away from the road. Only God knows how I suffered during that drive, how I survived… I lost my memory, my body was all crippled… I could not tell the difference between day and night any longer.”54 As Sahadeo explains, the experience of such hardship “unified Russians from different social and regional backgrounds” and offered them a sense of “uniqueness and self-importance, as pioneers working to foster new civilization in distant Asian lands,” so that their journey became a certain rite of passage.55 The resulting sense of entitlement is present in the works of Karazin: he has overcome multiple obstacles, endured dangerous adventures, and developed a certain “discourse of discovery,” when discovery becomes a “discursive phenomenon that glamorizes the traveler’s observation into heroic action.”56 “I am all right – I am a veteran, it has been a while since I got used to all the conveniences and inconveniences of travels, in ten years got accustomed to the whims of the Asian climate – but my comrades cannot claim the same,” points out the artist not without certain pride in his report about the expedition to the Amu-Darya in 1879.57 During their crossing of the Kyzylkum desert, he mentions what they needed to endure: “Punishing heat at daytime, terrible cold at night, with less than modest nutrition and extreme physical labor were starting to take their toll on our nature, otherwise accustomed to hardship, while we still had more than half of the way ahead of us, with further difficulties.” Additionally, Karazin mentions that tiny grains of sand carried by wind cut skin on the face and cause swellings, which later crack, leading to extremely painful superficial wounds. Inhaling this cold wind with dust, he continues, causes pneumonia, shortness of breath, and acute cough.58 The phenomenon of entitlement through suffering does not just mark Karazin’s travelogues and essays but also characterizes his novels and short stories. By sharing the themes of trial and hardship with his audience, Karazin also was able to make them feel empowered and superior as new masters of the old lands. At the same time, the inconveniences and dangers 54  N. N. Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash i ego syn Mamet,” in U kostra. Ocherki i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 12 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 168. 55  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 28–30. 56  Ali Behdad, Belated Travelers: Orientalism in the Age of Colonial Dissolution (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994), 104. 57  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 577 (1880): 99. 58  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 607 (1880): 151.

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were real. For example, in his report about the same expedition, Karazin matter-of-factly mentions an exchange of fire with a band of Tekin Turkmen who attacked the Russians and attempted to board their boats, the brief capture by Afghans of a group of Russians, and a trying passage through the Kyzylkum desert.59 A very similar “discourse of discovery” provides travelers to the external Orient with a sense of power: Russian travelers to Iran complain about the innumerable obstacles and inconveniences of which they become victims. They allegedly suffer from poor accommodations, dangerous roads, unhealthy climate, diseases, inedible food, dirt found everywhere, dishonest and fanatical Orientals, and so on. Even the landscape in Iran does not live up to the expectations of some Russians.60 The connection between the lack of safe roads and enslavement of the unfortunate victims of bandits is made clear in a number of Karazin’s literary and visual works. As pointed out by Moritz Deutschmann, a concern about freeing slaves and captives had a long tradition in the history of imperial Russia, for example, in Russian contacts with the Crimean Tatars and the Ottoman Еmpire. Frequent mentioning of the Turkmen slave trade and its alleged end by the Russians after the conquest of Khiva allowed Russian observers to formulate a sense of cultural superiority.61 Abolition of slavery was seen as a part of Russia’s “civilizing mission.” However, according to Jeff Eden’s book on slavery and empire in Central Asia, Russian abolitionism in Central Asia primarily focused on liberation of Russian slaves, not the extermination of slavery in general. Meanwhile, the total number of Russian slaves in Central Asia was “miniscule compared to the total number of Iranian slaves.”62 The fate of many former Iranian slaves ended in a tragedy documented by Karazin in the drawing entitled Osvobozhdennye raby-persiiane, vyrezannye turkmenami (Liberated Persian slaves slain by Turkmen).63 The Khivans had released all the Russian slaves before the city fell to the 59  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 602 (1880): 67; 594 (1880): 435; 607 (1880): 151. 60  Elena Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game: Travelogues and Orientalism (London: Routledge, 2007), 84–85. 61  Moritz Deutschmann, Iran and Russian Imperialism: The Ideal Anarchists, 1800–1914 (London: Routledge, 2016), 67–68. 62  Jeff Eden, Slavery and Empire in Central Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 5, 204, 7. 63  https://rus-turk.livejournal.com/405215.html (accessed 21 November 2018).

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Russians in 1873  – twenty-one, according to Eden  – but anywhere between thirty thousand and sixty thousand mainly Iranian nationals were still enslaved there. It took a major slave uprising to force Kaufman to abolish slavery. The decree, however, was either not followed through vigorously enough by the Russians or simply ignored – enforcing it was especially difficult because slave trade was decentralized and widely dispersed.64 Several groups of freed Iranian slaves, several hundred people each, who attempted to return to their original homeland, were slaughtered without exception by Turkmen.65 Karazin’s drawing shows dead bodies spread in the steppe, some in especially painful positions, with wolves and birds gathering around them. The work seems to emanate pain with the still bodies marking their tragic route. Karazin incorporates this tragic event into his novel S severa na iug. One of the main characters, Stepan, after having endured every imaginable and unimaginable hardship in pursuit of his beloved Marina, failed to bring her back and joined a caravan of emancipated Persian slaves. He was “the only non-Persian” in that huge caravan – from Iran, he planned to walk on to Jerusalem for holy pilgrimage. The freed Persians who chose to walk back home directly through the territories controlled by the Turkmen were not destined to reach their homeland safely. Tekin and other Turkmen gathered together, “frustrated and angry with the new [Russian] order: ‘Since we cannot own them [any longer], let them belong to no one then; look at them, dogs, free people [now]; they are even laughing at us, their masters, threaten us with the strange, Russian force. Just wait and see!’” They slaughtered the whole caravan then, sparing nobody, with Stepan also becoming their victim.66 A drawing entitled Plennitsy. Epizod iz nedavnego proshlogo Turkestanskoi zhizni (Captive women. An episode from the recent past of Turkestan) demonstrates the tragic fate of those overcome by local bandits (see Image 4.2).67 Two women are lying on bare ground in the center. One is dressed in dark clothes and seems to be older and quietly sad, as if she has given up all hope. She is resting in a half-reclined position, leaning on her arm. Another figure most likely belongs to a younger woman wearing a light outfit, with her head of light hair uncovered, who has thrown herself on  Eden, Slavery and Empire, 5-6, 205–7.  Eden, Slavery and Empire, 189–92. 66  Karazin, S severa na iug, 514–16. 67  Niva 37 (1895): 876. 64 65

Image 4.2  Plennitsy. Epizod iz nedavnego proshlogo Turkestanskoi zhizni (Captive women. An episode from the recent past of Turkestan). Niva 37 (1895): 876.

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the ground. Her face is turned towards the ground as her hands are squeezing her head in a gesture of unspeakable despair. Their four Turkmen captors are resting close to them: unlike the women, they are relaxing on a carpet, smoking and smiling, while looking at the chests which they have probably just looted. This vivid scene, published in Niva in 1895, is accompanied by a short explanation, according to which travel through “our vast Central Asian territories is completely safe and comfortable currently. It is even hard to imagine that no more than twenty years ago, such a trip was very dangerous: whole caravans used to perish of heat, lack of water and robbers’ attacks. This drawing refers to such a tragic episode from the past: bandits attacked a carriage, killed the men and captured two women.”68 On the one hand, this scene is created by a talented and compassionate artist – on the other, the note points out the important improvement brought about by the Russian conquest. Nomads played a paramount role in the slave trade – as raiders, merchants, and slave owners.69 For example, the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea was unsafe before the Russian conquest and the construction of the Transcaspian railroad. Parties of Turkmen both traded with the Russians arriving from Astrakhan on boats and captured them when possible. A story and a drawing entitled Dobycha s berega (Loot from the shore) narrates about such a catastrophic episode, when a fishing boat crew was captured, and their boat looted and burnt.70 The essay incorporates a tale told by a Russian man, whose father had been a well-off owner of a fisherman company and a merchant. The storyteller was a young man then, under thirty. He came to the eastern shore of the Caspian as a member of a boat crew of thirteen men, including his father, and accompanied by his wife Maria, for fishing and trading with the Turkmen. They, however, were betrayed by a Khivan man whom they had taken into the boat out of pity, and were captured by Turkmen.71 The drawing shows a woman in a torn shirt and with her hair loose – she is screaming and struggling with her kidnapper who is holding her behind him on the horseback. The looted goods are carried away by the bandits and are loaded on animals, as the Russian boat is burning in the

 Niva 37 (1895): 889.  Eden, Slavery and Empire, 6. 70  Niva 16 (1876): 273–77. 71  Niva 16 (1876): 276–77. 68 69

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background.72 According to the man telling his story, he and his comrades suffered terribly on their march through the sands; out of thirteen men, seven died on the way, the rest were sold separately in Chimbai. They were never to meet again; his father died in slavery; Maria “got herself employed as a wife of a mullah near Khiva and produced a number of dark kids.” The man himself grew old in slavery, endured beatings and other hardship, and was finally freed when the Russians conquered Khiva. The concluding paragraph of the essay proclaims: “only now, when the Russian troops have occupied this region, when in Mangyshlak and Krasnovodsk permanent fortifications have been built, in order to guard the peace in dead Ust’-Iurt, we can hope that such episodes will happen less and less often, and possibly will stop altogether; that the steppe wind and the green sea wave will cover with sand and wash away the last traces of the bloody deeds of the desert knights.”73 When Nikolai Karazin travels from Orenburg to Tashkent two decades later, the picture is dramatically different and the journey is not just comfortable by then, it is also safe and pleasant. In the past, the travel from Orenburg to Tashkent used to take at least one month; it was the traveler’s responsibility to carry everything necessary with him and to be ready to defend himself. By this time, he claims, it “only” takes two weeks, and he suggests that travelers make sure to have a reliable carriage and pack only tea, sugar, wine, and some snacks.74 The road in the Karakum has become excellent and well-traveled, with sand dunes barely presenting an obstacle any longer. New wells have been dug out between the old stations, and new stations have been built. Now there is an “abundance“ of wells, with water a bit salty sometimes, but often water is excellent, “cold as ice and clear as crystal.” All the new stations have been built on such wells. While the old stations have “aboriginal” names, such as Kara-Kuduk, Kul’Kuduk, Alty-Kuduk, the new ones are named after Russian builders and important figures of the region: Konstantinovskii, Nikolaevskii-Iuniiskii, Golovskoi.75 In his story “Skorbnyi put’,” the artist includes two sketches of an old “primitive” station, only a year earlier, in 1873, and the same station in 1874.76 The contrast is impressive: where a small mud-hut and  Niva 16 (1876): 275.  Niva 16 (1876): 277. 74  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 4. 75  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 9. 76  https://rus-turk.livejournal.com/383456.html (accessed 26 June 2018). 72 73

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a tent were standing with a wheel hopelessly abandoned in the middle of an empty road, now three log buildings have been erected, with a little water reservoir in front of them, several horses, and a carriage. In his travelogues, Karazin offers a detailed description of very similar new stations: In the center, with its façade facing the road, [there is] a large wooden one-­ story house, divided into two halves by a through corridor: the porch under a shed is on the façade side, with the inevitable striped pole with the signs, versts numbers and a lantern; to the left from the door is the half for the travelers, consisting of one large room, with the standard furniture; to the right – the postmaster’s half. On the sides of the main building, separated from it by gates, is a hut for coachmen, on the other – a barn for oats and harness. Behind is an adjacent huge yard with covered stables for horses; not far away from each station there is a blacksmith shop, further away – storage for hay and fuel.77

Closer to Turkestan, the author further points out, since wood becomes expensive, those stations are made out of clay. They, however, look exactly as if they were built out of stone, and follow the same model.78 A log station covered in deep snow is the subject of another sketch entitled Pochtovaia stantsiia v Kara-Kume, zanesennaia snegom (A post station in Karakum desert, covered by snow) presenting a rather peaceful picture. The door and path to it are mostly clear, smoke is rising from the chimney, a camel is seen standing next to it, and another similar building also half under snow is seen behind the main one.79 A new era of communication between the metropole and the new colony of Turkestan doubtlessly opened with the construction of the railroads. Kaufman, trained as a military engineer, had recognized the significance of a railway connection between the metropole and Tashkent from the earliest days of his rule, for both military security and economic integration. To Russians and Western Europeans, railroad in the nineteenth century was a powerful symbol of technological progress, colonial power, and the superiority of the West.80 Contemporary Russian authors glorified the new railroad as a project spreading “the light of civilization”  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 7.  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 9. 79  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 114. 80  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 79–81; Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 120. 77 78

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in Central Asia.81 As A. S. Morrison points out, the military and strategic priorities defined the construction in the first place: instead of building a direct connection across an easy steppe from Orenburg to Tashkent, the first line started from Krasnovodsk on the Caspian across extremely hostile desert. The goal of this construction was to subdue the Turkmen and threaten the Afghan border. The initial line was built quickly reaching Kyzyl-Arvat, Ashkhabad, and Merv, with a branch connecting a barren oasis of Kushka on the Afghan border; none of those places had any commercial significance. Only in 1888 the Transcaspian railroad reached Samarkand, and Tashkent  – by the end of the century. The Orenburg-­ Tashkent railroad opened in 1906 (see Image 2.1).82 Called initially “Transcaspian military railroad,” it was also built incredibly fast – its first section, twenty-six kilometers long, was built in ten days.83 Even Lord Curzon, the future British viceroy of India and no friend to the Russians, who traveled on the new railroad in 1888, recognized its significance: “no one here grudges Russia the advantages, political, military, or commercial… provided she uses them fairly, and in interest of peace; on the contrary, we may join in congratulating her and General Annenkoff upon the successful execution of what ought, in sagacious hands, to become a powerful instrument of civilization, and an agent for the public good.”84 Nikolai Karazin was invited as a guest to the opening of the railroad in 1888 – he traveled along it and reflected its history in drawings and the beautiful watercolor album Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga (The Transcaspian railroad) (see Image 4.3).85 The cover of the album summarizes the message of the album: it is an “organic” and highly decorative combination of easily recognizable symbols. In the center, we see a steam 81  I.  Ia. Vatslik, Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga i ee znachenie i budushchnost’ (St. Petersburg: Parovaia Skoropechatnia Iablonskii i Perott, 1888), 1. See also A. I. Rodzevich, Ocherk postroiki zakaspiiskoi voennoi zhel. dorogi i eia znachenie dlia russko-sredneaziatskoi promyshlennosti i torgovli (St. Petersburg: Parovaia tipografiia Muller i Bogel’man, 1891), 3. 82  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 34–35. 83  V. A. Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii po narodam Tsentral’noi Azii vtoroi poloviny XIX-nachala XX veka v sobraniiakh Kunstkamery (St. Petersburg: “Nauka,” 2011), 363–64. 84  G. Curzon, “The Transcaspian Railway. By the Hon. G. Curzon, M. P.,” Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society and Monthly Record of Geography, new monthly series, 11, no. 5 (May 1889): 293. 85  This album is kept at the State Museum of Oriental Art in Moscow, but its cover and most of its paintings have been published in Patty Wageman and Inessa Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient: Orientalist Paintings 1850–1920 (Groningen: Groninger Museum, 2010), 56–59.

Image 4.3  The cover of the album Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga (The Transcaspian railroad), 1888. Cardboard, watercolor, white. 33 × 48.5 sm. State Museum of Oriental Art. Reproduced with permission from State Museum of Oriental Art, Moscow.

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engine with the name of the new railroad and the date of its opening inscribed on it. On the engine rests a two-headed eagle, alert and looking around, with the Imperial crown suspended in the blue sky above both his crowned heads. The engine is also decorated with Russian military flags and banners, and is guarded by two “white shirts,” who are assisted by a local man with a rifle. In front of the steam engine, three local men are deeply engaged in studying a large book and are surrounded by “Oriental” paraphernalia: a water pipe, a traditional tea set, and a water jug. In the very front, rich “Oriental” fruits are displayed, including melons and grapes. A tiger with bare teeth but with a somewhat scared expression on his severe snout is looking on such an innovation from the reeds in the foreground. In the back, a ship is battling waves in the Caspian. It is hard to miss the message of the impressive Russian achievements in this old land which however has its own merits to contribute: the scholarly wisdom of its people and the richness of its nature. Each page of the album is a combination of several paintings, of various shapes and sizes, presenting complementing and contrasting images. A steaming train makes its way surrounded by the exquisite combination of sand yellow and sky blue colors, human dwellings, and figures of men and animals. Some buildings look European, including newly built train stations, while many others look local, including mosques, mud huts, and ruins. On one page, several camels scatter away fearfully from the unfamiliar sight of the train, while others watch incomprehensively. On another page, a crowd of excited horsemen in colorful robes is surrounding a steam engine decorated with brightly colored banners. The collusion of the old and the new does not necessarily imply the exclusion of the old, but rather points towards the old yielding to the new. The same juxtaposition appears in a number of drawings, including Konkurenty (Rivals) with the following explanation: A half-unloaded caravan of camels is resting on both sides of the tracks; the camels and their guide are looking blankly at the approaching steam engine, whistling and puffing menacingly, as it pulls such a huge load behind it, that it puts even the biggest caravans out of competition. Two eagles soar in the transparent air of the desert, as if foreshadowing the approaching disappearance of the primitive trade relationship.86 86  Niva 29 (1890): 740, 746. Another image of a camel with a resting traveler and an approaching train can be found in N. N. Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 40 (1888): 988.

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According to a modern scholar, this popular drawing was likened to a propaganda poster glorifying the victory of technology over nature (see Image 4.4).87 Nikolai Karazin described the new railroad in much detail in four letters published in Niva in 1888 and entitled “Na puti v Indiiu” (On the way to India). His travelogue’s title refers to India because the artist proceeded to travel to India after his trip along the Transcaspian railroad, and also, as he explains, “because the new railroad constitutes one of the most important and difficult links of this way, by history itself meant for closeness and spiritual renewal of two worlds – European culture and the main culture of the ancient Orient.” 88 The letters are accompanied by drawings of the railroad and surrounding areas; many of them or very similar ones would appear in the watercolor album. Both the album and the travelogue incorporate several paintings or drawings of different shape into larger panoramas – the style popular during Karazin’s time which also seems to portend later eclectic forms, such as newsreels, television, or social media. Though the black and white prints in the travelogue do not have the benefit of subtle watercolors, the masterful contrast of black, white, and grey produces pictures impressive in their own way. They also benefit from the accompanying detailed descriptions by the artist. He proudly reports on his trip by boat from Astrakhan on the Volga to Baku, then across the Caspian to Krasnovodsk, and from there – by the railroad to Samarkand. The artist follows the progression of the train, supplying information about the area, its flora and fauna, its people, and its history, especially the history of the Russian conquest. The railroad is pictured as transforming the life of the area: the plain “gloomy, swarming with robberies” in the past now looks “comfortable and cultured,” with “the smoke of well-­ being and peace” rising from Turkmen felt tents. “Turkmen transition from their free predatory life to the peaceful agriculture,” the wheel “replacing the primitive way of transportation on pack animals”; all lead to cheerful prosperity.89 Karazin describes several stations, among them Kyzyl-Arvat, the main administrative station of the new road, with first-class workshops and the railroad manager residence: “the streets of the town are mostly paved, lighted at night with lanterns, and next to the station  – even with  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 365.  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 37 (1888): 916. 89  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 38 (1888): 943. 87 88

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Image 4.4  Konkurenty (Rivals). Niva 29 (1890): 740.

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electricity. Houses are very beautiful, carefully surrounded with gardens, [there are] superb Russian and native markets, where you can purchase everything necessary for life, a military club, infirmaries and primary schools; and all that in some five–six years was generated by the cultured energy [kul’turnaia energiia], as if by a magic wand.”90 The accompanying drawing, similar to those in the railroad album, shows modern buildings next to the tracks, smoking tall pipes, and next – a Turkmen with his sheep.91 The traveler then proceeds to the Geok-Tepe station, where “the old Turkmen fort, the center of the Tekin tribe, is standing – huge, square, surrounded by mud walls, half-washed away by rain, witness to the heroic defense of the Turkmen, who eventually were unable to resist the courage of the attackers.” Here the author, while referring to the storm of Geok-­ Tepe by Skobelev in 1881, once more demonstrates his ability to empathize with the defeated enemy, though he immediately notices “the gravemounds of our fallen heroes” next to the walls still carrying marks of the horrendous explosion and holes from artillery shells.92 The message to the readers is that suffering on both sides is clearly lamentable – but the outcome is the benevolent transformation of the region from which the local people are benefiting as well. Several stations later, the train arrives in Ashkhabad, the capital of the Transcaspian area and the main base of the Transcaspian army. Karazin’s drawing presents the part of the city adjacent to the train station.93 The author praises Ashkhabad’s new buildings, workshops, fountains, pools, a church, and gardens as they all attest to the prosperity and safety, but a monument of the fallen artillerists reminds the readers about the price of that prosperity.94 The next thriving city where the train stops is Merv (captured by the Russians in 1884), famed for its fertile soil, its abundance of water, and its position as an essential caravan trade center. Now all those treasures have been put to a proper use, according to the author: When you look at these clean buildings, attractively hiding in the gardens, these markets bustling with life, trains going back and forth, cabmen, signs of shops and stores, you completely forget that very recently only half wild

 Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 38 (1888): 943.  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 38 (1888): 941. 92  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 39 (1888): 967. 93  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 39 (1888): 965. 94  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 39 (1888): 967. 90 91

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tents of barbarians were to be found here, and the lawlessness of knife and gallows was the only ruler.95

The last town Karazin describes with admiration is the oasis of Charzhui, the “Central Asian” Chicago, with the temporary residence of the construction head. One of the accompanying drawings entitled Most cherez Amu na Chardzhue (Bridge over the Amu-Darya at Charzhui) shows docked boats against the background of a train crossing a wooden bridge.96 This bridge, 2.5 kilometers long, had been constructed in 124 days.97 Nikolai Karazin concludes the last article about his railroad trip with a hymn to the Russian rule and Kaufman’s role in it: “in Katta-Kurgan, the train enters our domain again, ours since the Bukhara campaign of 1868 and the conquest of Samarkand by Konstantin Petrovich Kaufman, who has not survived till this time, for whom God did not mean to enjoy the results of his benevolent administrative activities.”98

Past glory While his description of Ashkhabad is accompanied by the image of the ancient ruins of Anau, an old mosque “with exquisite majolica arabesques on its façade,”99 the description of Merv includes a referral to the ruins of ancient Merv – Bairam-Ali, with the signs of rich and elaborate irrigation. On a drawing, immediately behind the dark ruin of Bairam-Ali, in the background, a cheerfully running train with a light cloud of steam can be seen.100 “A train, speeding past these silent ruins, witnessing pages of the remote history of the Orient, presents a fantastic picture, especially at night,” points out Karazin.101 The “most amazing ruin” for him is the Sultan Sanjar mosque – its image is included in the travelogue102 and the album.103 Its silhouetted ruin looks picturesque against a dramatically lit evening sky – and next to it, on a contrasting painting in light blue, yellow,  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 39 (1888): 967.  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 40 (1888): 988. 97  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 365. 98  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 40 (1888): 990. 99  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 39 (1888): 965, 967. 100  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 40 (1888): 988. 101  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 40 (1888): 990. 102  Karazin, “Na puti v Indiiu,” Niva 39 (1888): 965. 103  Wageman and Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient, 58. 95 96

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and green colors, a train is steaming its way towards the viewer. A painting of another ruin, most likely of a citadel, is also placed next to a painting of a modern train station with smoke rising from a tall pipe.104 Similar to most Westerners experiencing the Orient, Karazin pictured Russian domination as the only remedy for the contemporary state of decay and backwardness of Central Asia as a place of bygone glory. Picturesque ruins appear in many of Karazin’s works, for example, Gora Chalpyk i medrese (Mountain Chalpyk and madrasah) and Shah Abbas Vali. Drevnie razvaliny kreposti (Shah-Abbas-Wali. Ruins of an ancient fort) illustrating a brief article about the 1874 expedition to the Amu-Darya delta.105 In the first drawing, ruins of an ancient fort are seen on the top of the mountain, in the second – a ruin of a tall minaret. In the article, the author explains that though modern Karakalpak live mostly in tents, around their dwellings “you often come across half-ruined buildings and constructions which, among the modern dwellings, look like an elephant among sheep. There you see ruins of huge walls, enclosing significant territory, long covered with sand, wild and overgrown.”106 In his report about the expedition of 1879, he narrates about Old Termez, several kilometers west from modern Termez, on the Amu-Darya River and very close to the border with Afghanistan. The ruins fascinated him with their beauty even in the contemporary pitiful state: “These remnants of the ancient, one time prosperous, city ‘Mia’ (meaning skull), indicate that this gloomy desert used to live a thriving life. Ingenious ruins of mosques, caravanserais, markets etc. present a charming picture in the spirit of remote antiquity.” The artist follows this statement with a detailed description of the beauty of a half-destroyed minaret and laments the “contrast of the pitiful modern with the glorious past.” He mentions tiny nomad tents pitched among the ruins, small black goats climbing the ruins, and their “half-naked shepherds,” looking at the passing expedition in a “wild and distrustful” way. When the travelers reach the town of Termez, they see more ancient ruins: “What a grandiose, fantastic picture these ruins present in the moonlight! Long walls of arches and walls with lancet arches stretch across the road, spooking the horses, hoof strikes on the hard  Wageman and Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient, 58.  N. Karazin, “Amu-Dar’inskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Niva 27 (1875): 417, 420. The drawing Shah-Abbas-Wali also appeared in Hermann Roskoschny, Das Asiatische Russland (Leipzig: Grebner and Schramm, 1884), 348. 106  Karazin, “Amu-Dar’inskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Niva 27 (1875): 418. 104 105

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­ aematite are carried away by a resounding echo, resonating under the h dark vaults of the ancient buildings. In the front, blocking the Amu [view], rises the silhouette of the black bulk of an old citadel, which has seen within its walls Alexander of Macedonia and armies of Timur. Around a hundred steps from its north-east corner, a mosque is still standing, somehow maintained by the government of Bukhara; it contains something sacred of great importance for every Muslim  – the grave and tomb of Termez himself, the founder and patron of the city.”107 This dramatic moonlit view is presented by the artist in a corresponding drawing: the picture is dominated by the dark huge ruin of a citadel. Behind it stands a lighter, better preserved arched building, in front of it – tents dwarfed by its size.108 Remnants of the “ancient irrigation systems, on each step reminding of the past, long gone, prosperity of this area, then populated not by pitiful nomads, but by cultured sedentary tribes” are referred to as a traveler approaches Kazalinsk, starting eighty versts away from the town.109 The idea about old sedentary agriculture is illustrated in the novel S severa na iug: it was only after Russian settlers in Kazalinsk discovered and utilized the old irrigational ditches, that they became successful.110 Other ruins captured by Karazin111 further reinforce the idea of Central Asia as a land in need of an enlightened patron who would bring it out of the state of deep decay – similar to Russians’ views about “external” Orient.112

Worthy Russians However, not everything in the new Russian order is worthy of admiration, points out Karazin. Though he supports the concept of the Russian rule in Central Asia, the same does not apply to each person implementing it. The reality of colonial Turkestan is not homogeneous: Russian

107  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 589 (1880): 339. The city had a rich history which goes back to at least the sixth century BCE. It was indeed conquered by Alexander the Great in the fourth century BCE, was destroyed by the Mongols in the thirteenth century, and was a part of the Timurid empire in the fourteenth century. 108  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 607 (1880): 153. 109  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 10. 110  Karazin, S severa na iug, 210. 111  See for example Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 594 (1880): 432, 433. 112  Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 126–30.

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personages range from noble and heroic to numb and indifferent to flagrantly evil, with some of them serving as symbols of a particular trend or feature. Just like Karazin’s readership was offered examples of many noble military officers, they also meet equally decent civilians. For example, the narrator, and his fellow travelers the middle-range official Antip Mikhailovich and his wife Nadezhda Vasil’evna in “Tri dnia v mazarke,” all demonstrate matter-of-fact courage and decency when they are caught in the tomb (as mentioned above in this chapter). In spite of cold, the shortage of food, the wound suffered by Antip Mikhailovich, and the woman’s concern about her small son, they bravely resist the attack of the barantachis, and later do not lose their heads in attempts to survive. The narrator is able to bring some provisions and covers from the carriage, mainly for the wounded man and his little son, to check if their coachman was just wounded and could be helped (he turned out to be dead), and to even release one of their horses who had broken its leg.113 Since the bandits had left, chased away by the snow storm, and the supplies of those trapped in the tomb ran out, the narrator walks in the weak hope of reaching the station in order to bring help. Nadezhda Vasil’evna encouraged him to leave, and even “tried to smile,” assuring him that she could protect her family in case of need, and holding her unconscious husband’s rifle.114 This woman and the narrator are not presented as glorious heroes, but their quiet self-control and consideration for their companions in a situation which was almost hopeless generate respect and admiration for them. In the end, the narrator was able to reach the station they had left  – and found a group of Russian Cossacks there. The station had been attacked and destroyed by the barantachis, but the Cossacks were able to save the courageous woman and her family. Her husband would recover from his wound: “[A]ll four of us, including little Kolia [nickname for Nikolai], became close friends, and many a time … would recall our travel ordeal, those three days and nights spent in the mazar.”115 It is worth mentioning that not many of Karazin’s stories end happily, or at least partially happily, so the story about mazar is not typical in that regard. Equally modest but also deeply decent and kind are several older men, servants, who appear in Karazin’s literary works. They are devoted to the  Karazin, “Tri dnia v mazarke,” 219.  Karazin, “Tri dnia v mazarke,” 224. 115  Karazin, “Tri dnia v mazarke,” 226. 113 114

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younger people they are looking after, and often treat them as their children rather than employers. An old servant, Silantii Ivanovich, watches over Nadia Gorkina in Golos krovi (Call of blood) as he accompanies her to the fort at the request of her father. Silantii Ivanovich later also takes care of her in the fort, after she learns that her father had been brutally murdered. In Nal’, a similar old loyal servant, Grigorii Ivanovich, has been looking after Sergei Nal’ since he was a small child, and is ready to serve his master even without pay, when the news reaches them that the family lost their money.116 In Dvunogii volk (Two-legged wolf), an old loyal servant of Natasha’s father, deceased by the time described in the novel, accompanies Natasha and her little son to the military camp and guards her like his own child. Two mining engineers, Ledokolov and Burchenko, in Pogonia za nazhivoi (Chasing profit), also belong to the camp of decent colonizers. Burchenko, a retired lieutenant, had spent more than a year looking for coal, risking his life, and at least three times had been almost captured by bandits from Kokand. He is an experienced and reasonable person, who believes in the richness of Turkestan’s natural resources, and in addition to coal, predicts the discovery of such minerals as lead, copper, and silver.117 He is interested in profits, but hopes to make money by honest work, and is sincerely enthusiastic about his search. His tale about a chance discovery of rich mineral veins as a result of a dramatic landslide in the mountains has a strong appeal for his prospective sponsor Lopatin, a rich merchant: “I saw broad ways to enrichment in those dark-grey, reddish, greenish, with a metal gleam, veins!”118 What makes his image especially attractive is his knowledge of local languages, his ability to find contacts with the local people, his concern for their fair treatment, and his disgust at their abuse. In a deserted station, Burchenko and his fellow traveler Ledokolov discovered a local man, Urumbai, cruelly beaten by another Russian traveler who had passed by and demanded horses. The graphic descriptions of the mutilated man and his recollection of the whole episode leave Karazin’s readers with little doubt about the sympathy of the author: “A naked pitiful figure of a still not old Kirghiz, with bluish-red stripes crossing his shoulders, back and 116  N.  N. Karazin, Nal’. Polnoe sobranie sochineniii, vol. 5 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 139–40. 117  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 143, 164–65. 118  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 165–66.

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skinny, protruding ribs, with a swollen knee, wrapped in dirty rags, was half seated and looking at the Russians with constantly blinking teary eyes. However, in addition to the instinctive fear, something threatening was in this wild glance. A wolf caught in a trap would look like that when a hunter-industrialist approaches him and… squeezes the handle of the axe, the butt of which he intends to use in order to finish off the robber, caught and unable to defend himself.” Karazin often uses comparisons with animals to exemplify or contrast them to human emotions. When Burchenko kindly consoled the poor man and gave him tea, bread, and meat, he was told the sad story. The cruel traveler tied him to a wheel and was whipping him mercilessly, repeating that he would continue until he got horses: “he would take a break, smoke, and then beat me again… I stopped feeling anything, no pain… I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember how they brought him horses [from the nearby village], how the damn bear left.”119 Burchenko offers Urumbai some arak (vodka) as a remedy for his ailments, and the man gratefully accepts it. Consequently, the humanely treated man develops a devotion to the kind travelers: at night, he crawls under their carriage and volunteers to guard them from bad people. Burchenko instructs his unexperienced colleague, Ledokolov, in the following manner, when Ledokolov is terrified at the prospect of the sick man lying in the dust almost naked under their carriage: “You cannot change them… You gave him food and drink, and, mostly important, did not beat him; for that, he sees it as his duty to thank you the best he can. If you chase him away from under your carriage, he will crawl two steps away and lie on the road. So this is the best you can do.” With those words, Burchenko took a carpet from under his feet and threw it on the ground: “Here, cover yourself, at least you will be warmer.” Being a pragmatic man, he also warns Ledokolov, demoralized by witnessing such unprecedented cruelty, to “hide [his]… sentimentality into a pocket: we are going into a country where it is completely out of place.” Being kind to the local man and also protective of his Russian companion, Burchenko clearly expresses a patronizing attitude to both, but especially to the local man. 120 On other occasions, Burchenko demonstrates a similar ability to help the locals and to come to an understanding with them. A dishonest interpreter completely distorts the complaints about brutal mistreatment by 119 120

 Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 72–75.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 76–77.

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the district commandant and other local administrators, hopefully expressed by a local leader to a general on an inspecting trip. Burchenko, witnessing such lies, does not hesitate to interrupt the liar: he explains that he knows the local language as well as his native one, and explains the essence of the complaints. The district commandant and his interpreter are exposed, the locals celebrate, and naïve Ledokolov is hopeful “for a better future” for them. Burchenko remains skeptical, however – he apparently has observed many abuses and injustices done in Turkestan by the Russian administrators.121 Burchenko even understands that the only way to achieve success among the predominantly native population “is to convince the aborigines in the profitability of being our allies, to force them to get accustomed to the idea that their financial interests… depend on us; and then they, in addition to … offering their working hands, will guard our heads so diligently, that we will need no military protection.”122 Burchenko, known as the “Russian mole” among his local friends due to his digging for minerals, even tried to implement his ideas after the engineers ran out of money – he made an attempt to convince the locals to work for him for food only in order to share the future profits. His success was limited, but mainly because the local bandits were accusing the villagers of “selling themselves to the Russians,” and demanding exuberant tribute from them. Burchenko, however, was assisted by his local friends to escape from the same bandits, which saved his life and freedom.123 While his colleague Ledokolov (whose name is based on the Russian word meaning “ice breaker”) is consumed first with grief because of his beloved wife’s infidelity, and later with his newly found passion for Adel’, he is also compassionate towards other people, including the local ones, and is appalled by their cruel treatment.124 His lack of experience and reasonable judgement, however, lead to one foolish act after another.125 At the end of the novel, Ledokolov is killed by barantachis who had captured Adel’ when he impulsively jumps out of his shelter – instead of hiding and trying to devise a plan of assistance.126  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 142–45.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 235. 123  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 309–19. 124  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 73. 125  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 296–98. 126  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 380–82. 121 122

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Another positive personage is Ivan Aleksandrovich Gabin (mentioned above) from S severa na iug. A successful and well-established merchant, he is honest and kind. When the new settlers desperately need seeds for sowing, he lends them; when some of them are caught by the local people while stealing their sheep, he interferes on their behalf; when Nikon wants to employ local men to clear the old irrigation canals, it is only when Gabin’s name is mentioned, that the locals agree to perform the task. He is respected by the local people and treats them with respect. Two other men from the same novel, Nikon and Stepan, both peasant settlers, are also presented as exemplary newcomers – ready to help their countrymen, fair and humane in their treatment of Russians and locals. They work hard in the new unfamiliar conditions, do not lose their spirit in trying circumstances, and are not driven by blind greed like some other newcomers. Gabin offers Nikon the following advice based on his own experience: “I also arrived here with nothing, and now you can see for yourself how much I own. I alone had to scramble with these people, sometimes to fight tooth for tooth, I endured a lot of grief, overcame a lot of misfortune, and yet prevailed because I followed the direct and true path. You are standing on the same path, and you are a strong, persistent man, so keep it that way! If a disaster, trouble occurs, don’t lose your spirit, and you will prevail. There is so much strength in this region, untapped strength, you just have to know where to find that strength!”127 There are fewer female personages in Karazin’s novels and works, and most of them are rather unattractive. Natalia Martynovna, described in the previous chapter of this book, however, is an admirable woman, honest, brave, and a devoted mother. Doctor Ol’ga Nikolaevna is also an example of a kind and caring Russian woman. Daniel Brower points out the role women doctors played in Russian Turkestan. Starting in 1883, “outpatient clinics for native women” opened first in Tashkent, and in the following decade – in six more towns. They were run by the “new generation of women doctors trained in the new Russian medical centers.” Some of those volunteers came specifically to fight diseases among the local people, while others accompanied their husbands exiled for political “unreliability.” Their success was remarkable: “Medicine, like education, won the support of Russians of all persuasions for its progressive contribution to the colony’s population.” Demonstrating the benevolence of the empire towards the local population, the work of medical personnel also had the  Karazin, S severa na iug, 216.

127

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advantage of bringing Russians into direct contact with Turkestan’s women. Local women were normally completely isolated from the Russian administrators, but the women’s clinics were altogether a different matter. Usually located in the old (native) town districts, outside of the Russian areas, they ministered to women of all walks of life and were highly praised by the Russian administration for “opening a direct path into native family life for the beneficent moral influence of Russian education and culture.”128 Demonstrating Russia’s benevolent influence on the native population of Turkestan, Karazin contrasts Russian doctor Ol’ga Nikolaevna and her moral values to “T’ma neprogliadnaia” (Pitch darkness), standing for the womenfolk of one family, full of evil, superstition, ignorance, and jealousy. Suffi Kazimetov, the head of the family, introduces her to his wives as he tries to persuade them to allow the Russian woman to treat his only son: “She is kind, smart, the most reasonable and knowledgeable woman,” “Ak-Padishakh [Russian emperor] himself sent her here in order to treat [us]… While male doctors are not allowed to come to our women… she is a woman herself, she is allowed, this is not a sin.” Ol’ga Nikolaevna herself is pictured as compassionate and knowledgeable. She speaks and understands the local language, defined as “Tatar” in this story, and tries to convince the women in the harem to let her treat the sick boy: “Please, khanym, don’t be angry with me. I did not break into your house, I was invited. I am a mother myself, and love children – my own and all other children, and I also love you, though I barely know you. I might have brought good to you, in any case, I don’t wish evil to anybody.”129 She wins the heart of Ester, the mother of the sick boy, calling her tenderly “my poor sister” and telling her how her son will recover and grow up to be a brave and handsome man.130 Another Russian woman belonging to the same kind, motherly type is the midwife Elena Ivanovna in the story “Noch’ pod snegom” (Night under snow). This is how the narrator describes her: a lady not particularly beautiful, but not old yet, a little bit over thirty, rather plump, with rosy cheeks, kind grey eyes and with a sweet smile on her lush lips, a person used to long travels due to the nature of her occupation, not uncomfortable around men, neither making them uncomfortable around  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 71–72.  N. N. Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” in T’ma neprogliadnaia. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 6 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 20–21. 130  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 27–28. 128 129

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herself, а good homemaker even while traveling, provident and friendly, with a kind word on her tongue, with warm sympathy for every person’s misfortune… She has seen a lot during her life, has endured a lot, both black and red, a sturdy nature, but a one who has managed to preserve all the beauty and charm of her femininity, even a bit of coquetry. I used to know her since earlier times, when she was still married to a military doctor; then she was widowed, buried her husband, and though had some income accumulated as a result of her own and her husband’s long service, kept serving her cause honestly and actively, so that she was the favorite and honorable guest of all the steppe population.131

Marina, a peasant woman from S severa na iug, also possesses common sense, honesty, and kindness. She and Stepan, another settler, are deeply in love with each other, but she is kidnapped by a corrupt Russian acting on behalf of a local wealthy man, Saltyk. Saltyk had fallen in love with her at the first sight and had repeatedly sent expensive gifts and proposed marriage to her, but was rejected. After she falls into his hands, he marries her. She became a devoted mother to her three children, so that when Stepan finally finds her after unspeakable hardship during his journey from Kazalinsk to Khiva, and is in the position to take her back, she refuses: “I do know everything, you don’t need to tell me. Go home and God help you, and don’t think about me, try to forget me. I cannot leave my children, and I cannot take them with me either – how would I take them away from their father? Go away and God help you, now you and others don’t matter for me, as if you did not exist at all. Your Marina does not exist anymore, and the one who is standing now in front of you, she is totally different, a stranger to you!”132 She sacrificed the love of her life for her little children and though she is unhappy in the Turkmen settlement, refused to return to the Russians with Stepan. The story of Marina might be based on a true story of a Russian woman who was kidnapped and chose to stay with her children  – both women were also accomplished singers.133

 N. N. Karazin, “Noch’ pod snegom,” in V peskakh, 126.  Karazin, S severa na iug, 513. 133  In Materialy dlia statistiki Turkestanskogo kraia, vyp. 2 (St. Petersburg, 1873), 374, quoted in K.  Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia (vtoraia polovina XIX-pervoe desiatiletie XX v.) (Alma-Ata: “Kazakhstan,” 1980), 123, footnote 7 on page 271. Karazin, S severa na iug, 488–89. 131 132

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Grunia, Father Pavel’s niece from Golos krovi, is akin to Ol’ga Nikolaevna, Elena Ivanovna, and Marina in her kindness, quiet strength, and readiness for self-sacrifice. When those women are described, the respective narrators use a tone of pride in their female compatriots. Young, attractive, and friendly, Grunia is loved and spoiled by all the officers in the Glulkhoi fort. Apparently, she was at the same time respected by everybody and it was only the outcast Krinitsyn who dared to make an inappropriate joke. Her rebuff of his advance was loudly cheered by the other officers.134 From episodic and humorous, her role becomes more and more dramatic when she warmly and sincerely welcomes Nadia, the daughter of murdered Fedor Gorkin (described in the previous chapter of this book). Nadia immediately took to Grunia, and the girls became friends as close as if they had grown up together. Meanwhile, Pavel Glukharev, whom Grunia loves, becomes infatuated with the newly arrived Nadia – and it falls to Grunia to console Pavel when he fails to attracts Nadia’s romantic attention. Though Grunia’s heart is also broken, her empathy supports him: “Have some patience, my dear friend… It does happen that today you are hated and tomorrow – loved… I understand your heart so well, I do! You don’t hang down your tail, stick it out, pretend that you don’t care… That would be much better, God knows… You have lost weight, you will get sick before you know it, nothing is fun about it… You my dear, poor wounded friend…”135 She goes further than this: she sincerely tries to convince Nadia to “take my Pavlusha,” to “love my Pavlusha.” “He has been a man of gold, you will never find anybody like him. He is honest, hardworking, serious, and gentle like a child.… It is impossible not to love him! Any girl would love him… Just look into his eyes, and your heart would sing with joy…” – she explains to her unintended rival. Prompted by Nadia, the girl admits to loving him. This even makes her plea more moving since her love is so selfless that she wants Pavel to be happy. When Nadia confesses her love for Krinitsyn, who had killed her father (she is not aware of it yet), Grunia warns her sincerely: “He is an evil, cold man, and perhaps that is why God has turned away from him… and now the Satan is tormenting him…”136 Even if the plot

134  N. N. Karazin, Golos krovi. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 17 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 33. 135  Karazin, Golos krovi, 133. 136  Karazin, Golos krovi, 140–42.

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would seem unduly melodramatic to some readers, most readers of the past and present would probably appreciate the selflessness of this girl. The drama ends up in a happy but a profoundly domestic way, most likely deliberately contrasted to the preceding stormy passions. Grunia’s devotion and kindness are rewarded and she marries her beloved Pavel. The narrator who visits the same fort nine years later reports that Pavel Glukharev has become the commandant of the fort, a decorated major, while his spouse is deeply respected even in the headquarters – and they already have six children. Nadia married the officer Shelobov, much older than she, and a deeply honest and decent man who had been taking care of her after her father was killed. She “was not sure if she loved him,” but when he was around, she felt warm, comfortable, and not afraid of the present or the future. They moved to the vicinity of the Russian town of Omsk where Shelobov’s mother lived in a small estate. By the time of the narrator’s visit, they had three children, and “for some reason,” the eldest was named Pavel. The two happy couples loved each other and maintained their friendship.137 Perhaps this ending, along with similar episodes in other works, reflects the fact that Karazin was a person genuinely devoted to his family and considered happy family life and especially children to be the best possible paradigm for every decent person. There are several controversial Russian personages in Karazin’s books – those who might commit some dubious acts but who end up on the right side of the game when a decisive moment comes. “Adventurer” Batogov, who appears in the novel Na dalekikh okrainakh and whose death is mentioned in the sequel novel Pogonia za nazhivoi, is perhaps one of the most colorful and complex Russian characters in Karazin’s prose about Turkestan. His name is based on the Russian word batog/batogi meaning “cane,” or “stick/rod,” for severe punishment. A gambler, careless, cheerful, and cynical, he is also capable of being honest, brave, and devoted. At the beginning of the novel Na dalekikh okrainakh, he and his companion Perlovich accidentally came across an abandoned carriage in the steppe, which apparently had been attacked by bandits who had killed the owner and captured his wife (as mentioned above in this chapter). Batogov and Perlovich found a large sum of money in the carriage and divided it between two of them. Though they recognized the carriage, they made no attempts to find the woman who had become a slave.138 As Perlovich goes  Karazin, Golos krovi, 166–68.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 6.

137 138

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on enriching himself by all thinkable and unthinkable means, Batogov goes on playing cards and coming back to Perlovich when he runs out of money. Since the secret of the money taken from the carriage bound them together, Perlovich is afraid to reject his former companion’s demands – and Batogov cynically takes advantage of his fear. He, however, always returns the money if he wins, even with the outrageous interest of 20 percent which Perlovich charges his debtors.139 For the most part, he avoids the local Russian “society” with their pretensions, intrigues, and greed, and prefers the company of the locals: “When he came to Tashkent, Batogov did not like to stay in the Russian part of the town but preferred the native town, where for some reason he felt more at ease. He did the same this time: having come from the front lines, he took residence at Sart Said-Azim’s, one of the most influential and wealthy natives of the town and his old friend.” His host prepared for him huts “spacious, clean and luxurious according to the local tastes.”140 He also knows the local language and though he mentions having smacked his servant Iusup on the ear for not properly preparing his glintwein, that sounds more like a joke or a game between two of them: “– …cook for us that drink that I smacked you for on the ear yesterday. – oh oh! Smirked the dzhigit and, baring his teeth in a grin, he rubbed his left cheek with his hand, as if remembering the yesterday sensation.”141 Iusup, however, would undertake a risky journey to release his master from slavery, as discussed in the following chapter. At the same time, Batogov did not hesitate to let another local man, Karim or “Karimka,” find his death in a quaggy swamp: Karim had guessed about his plot to escape from captivity, had been teasing Batogov about it, and finally had promised to report him to his master. As Batogov tried to drag him off his horse and choke him, Karim’s horse slipped and stuck in the deadly swamp.142 Neither did he hesitate to strike Nar-Bebi, the wife of his master: she became infatuated with Batogov and guessed about his plot to escape and about Karim’s death in the swamp. As he was trying to quietly slip away at night, the woman clung to him screaming, preventing him from running away. He hit her on the temple and most likely, killed her.143  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 30–31.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 62. 141  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 95, 66. 142  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 211–12. 143  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 222–23. 139 140

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Batogov also has his own notions of honor: he helped a man whose wife, Marfa Vasil’evna, discussed below, was being unseemly teased by a rejected admirer and his two accomplices in a ridiculous night serenade. However, when he is challenged to a duel by the officer whom he hit with his whip, he humors the whole episode in such a way that it becomes clear that he is not afraid of his opponent. He considers duels to be nonsense, and the whole episode to be an unpleasant accident; he reminds the messenger who is enjoying his excellent glintwein, that those three men were all fighting against one man. His message to his challenger was that if necessary, he would give him another beating, since he was stronger. The messenger, a doctor who had been one of the accomplices, rather tipsy by that point, cannot help thinking that those were all fair statements.144 At the same time, Batogov, who does not care what the local “society” would think about his unwillingness to accept the challenge to a duel, is invariably brave when the situation calls for it. He puts the safety of the woman he is having a rendezvous with ahead of his own – when he is shot at by his rival, and, most importantly, when they are attacked by a band of barantachis (a trap set up for him by Perlovich who was desperately trying to get rid of him). He manages to save the woman but is captured and endures a long period of slavery.145 While taking his suffering in captivity rather stoically, and with dignity, he encounters another slave – Rakhil, the wife of the man whose abandoned carriage Batogov and Perlovich had stolen money from. The rough, cynical man is so moved by her suffering, and is probably reproached by his own conscience, that he kisses her dirty foot covered in pussy scabs and promises that she will be saved “in two moons.”146 As Batogov finally breaks free, he makes a fatal mistake: he goes directly to Perlovich and tells him the story of Rakhil. He is even grateful for his suffering in captivity, he claims, since only there he met the woman: “Pale, very thin, just skin and bones, exhausted to the last degree, she looked like a moving corpse… If only you could see her…” Batogov has already devised a plan for Rakhil’s rescue: a local man would go and arrange for her ransom, so at first they would need five thousand rubles, and then “we of course have to support her.” Batogov reminds Perlovich: “You have to agree that all that [the money they had stolen] belongs to her,” but adds immediately: “ Well, let’s  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 50, 67–69.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 86–88. 146  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 213–14. 144 145

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say she does not need it all, she does not need to know about that money.” Batlgov is so excited about the rescue that he naively fails to properly evaluate Perlovich’s reaction to the news. Unwilling to part with any of his money, he kills Batogov by offering him a cigar laced with a fatal dose of opium.147 The end of the novel is profoundly sad: Rakhil kept looking north since she unconditionally had believed the man who had promised her a rescue. Even when she died, she was facing north.148

Russian merchants Russian merchants and entrepreneurs play a significant role in Nikolai Karazin’s works. As has been pointed out by Western scholars, commercial interests were not a significant driving force in the conquest of Central Asia. Oftentimes, it was the military generals who aspired to stimulate commercial interest in the aftermath of the military conquest, to improve agricultural methods, and to construct the Transcaspian railroad.149 Lacking organized government support, individual merchants and entrepreneurs had to act mostly at their own risk. They also took it upon themselves to establish mutually beneficial rapport with the local administrators. Some of the merchants in Karazin’s works are based on historic figures: the best example is the Khludov family of traders from Moscow. In her book on Karazin’s “colonial prose,” Eleonora Shafranskaia dedicates several pages to that family and the way its members were pictured by the artist. The family members were famous as talented, smart, and generous, but also extravagant and dangerously unruly. Mikhail Alekseevich Khludov  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 263–66.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 270. 149  Dietrich Geyer, Russian Imperialism: The Interaction of Domestic and Foreign Policy 1860-1914, trans. Bruce Little (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987), 90–93; Helene Carrere d’Encausse, “Systematic Conquest, 1865 to 1884,” in Edward Allworth, ed., Central Asia: 130 Years of Russian Dominance, A Historical Overview, 3rd ed. (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994), 131; David MacKenzie, “The Conquest and Administration of Turkestan, 1860-85,” in Michael Rywkin, ed., Russian Colonial Expansion to 1917 (London: Mansell Publishing Limited, 1988), 211; Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 30–34. Geyer, MacKenzie, and Morrison also point out that it was Soviet historians who tended to explain the colonial policies in Central Asia by mainly the economic interests of the Russian capitalists: Geyer, 90; MacKenzie, 211; Morrison, 30. See a detailed overview of Soviet and Western scholarly accounts of the conquest in MacKenzie, “Expansion in Central Asia: St. Petersburg vs. the Turkestan Generals (1863–1866),” Canadian Slavic Studies 3 (1969): 286–87. 147 148

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became broadly known through Central Asia where he accompanied the Russian troops during the conquest. He played an important role in supplying the army with provisions which was made possible due to his bravery, and was apparently appreciated by the military commanders. He became almost a legendary figure: stories about his adventures were still being told years after the conquest, and the house where he used to live became somewhat of a tourist attraction. He was also known for his incredible physical strength, wild drinking bouts, and debauchery. He claimed to have a “magic” influence on wild animals and reportedly kept “tamed” tigers, a wolf, and a bear on the loose in his house, and even let tigers sleep in his bed. He undoubtedly had great charisma which attracted people to him as they tried to make sense out of his colorful personality.150 True to historic details, Nikolai Karazin mentions Khludov by his real name on several occasions. In the short story “Dzhigitskaia chest’” (Honor of a dzhigit) a young dzhigit’s ammunition includes a fancy Circassian saber, decorated with silver and turquoise. It was given to him by a Moscow merchant Khludov, “with whom Khafiz had twice gone hunting into the mountains, and with whom they once were fighting off ten barantachis, and did fight them off.”151 His name is also invoked in “Tri dnia v mazarke”152 and S severa na iug, where one of the Russian slaves in Khiva is a former trade agent to Mikhail Alekseevich Khludov. The man expresses his faith in Khludov, who, as he “has heard,” wanted to ransom him: “He is such a [great] employer, he would not hesitate to give the shirt off his own back [to save his employee].”153 A merchant named Mikhail Ivanovich/Alekseevich/Vasil’evich Khmurov (whose name is related to the Russian word meaning “to frown”) also appears in two of Karazin’s novels: Golos krovi and Na dalekikh okrainakh. In Golos krovi, he is the head of the trading company “Khmurov and company” and is pictured as an honest and fair person 150  Eleonora Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnograficheskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016), 247–48. Shafranskaia explains that the family collective image was used by other well-known Russian writers A. N. Ostrovskii and N. S. Leskov. In Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 248. 151  N. Karazin, “Dzhigitskaia chest’,” in V ogne. Ocherki i rasskazy. Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 9, 182–83, quoted in Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 255. 152  N. Karazin, “Tri dnia v mazarke,” 198, quoted in Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 255. 153  Karazin, S severa na iug, 460–61.

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capable of empathy and generosity towards the orphaned daughter of his agent Gorkin. Fedor Gorkin was traveling on the company’s business when he was brutally murdered and robbed of the huge sum of 82,000 rubles belonging to the company (as described in the previous chapter). Nadia Gorkina’s guardians clearly understand that the company might hold her liable for the financial loss. Meanwhile, even if Gorkin’s house in the fort is sold, and all his possessions and money are gathered, it would not amount to more than 15,000 rubles, while “the girl would be left a homeless beggar.” The kind men mourning the death of their friend Gorkin, and sincerely concerned about his daughter’s future, are deeply impressed by Khmurov’s generosity. Khmurov readily signs a paper stating: “While deeply appreciating devotion and long service to our company of the late retired Major Fedor Petrovich Gorkin and sincerely condoling his painful death during his service to the company, … we consider all accounts with the deceased settled…” They consider him “a good person of kind heart and soul,” who also realized that Gorkin’s devoted service to the company had probably “saved them several hundred thousand [rubles] and doubled it all.”154 The image of Khmurov in Na dalekihh okrainakh is much more substantial. He takes charge of the rescue party pursuing the barantachis after their capture of Batogov, fearlessly getting in the midst of the fighting, shooting his revolver, and getting a blow with a rifle butt on his head.155 At the same time, he is vain and likes to be at the center of attention even at the cost of telling tall tales. In a chapter entitled “Orgiia u Khmurova” (Orgy at Khmurov’s), while reclining on an ottoman, he tells incredible stories about his past heroic deeds, how he together with another trade agent successfully resisted a forty-thousand strong army of the Bukhara emir, shooting from a revolver with 365 bullets (of a special American system).156 Like his prototype Khludov, Khmurov has a soft spot for wild animals. At his party, however, when the tigress “Mashka” is brought in to shock and fascinate the guests, things go wrong. A drunken officer pulled the animal’s tail and as the animal was preparing to attack, it was attacked by Khmurov’s Great Dane. At Khmurov’s order, his servant stabbed the

 Karazin, Golos krovi, 69–71.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 166–68. 156  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 34. 154 155

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tigress in order to save the dog. “Just killed the animal for nothing,” scornfully drops on his way out Batogov.157 The novel Pogonia za nazhivoi narrates events taking place chronologically after those described in Na dalekikh okrainakh. Khmurov does not personally appear in it, but he and his company are mentioned several times. His company apparently is falling apart,158 and it is left up to the readers to understand the reasons. The novel shows how business deals and trade have been taken over by the newcomers, such as Perlovich and Lopatin. Unlike Khmurov, most of those entrepreneurs had not participated in the conquest (though Perlovich mentioned once that he had left service and retired159), but came in the aftermath in search of profit (that is what the title of the novel means). Their methods are brutally dishonest and often even criminal, with entrepreneurs creating and breaking alliances, even managing to corrupt their local trading partners: “Lie is on your tongue, lie is in your eyes, stated the third one [local merchant], looking reproachfully at Said-Azim. – Meanwhile, in the past, it was possible to have business with you.” Three local traders refused to deal with Said-Azim, who became too close with the Russian nouveau rich, and even walked away “without any parting greeting,” a serious violation of the usual local etiquette.160 Khmurov is mentioned in a somewhat nostalgic mode since his time has run out: though wild at times and self-­centered, his direct and honest personality by definition would exclude him from the “new” mode of business dealing. He is, however, envied by those who are taking over. Lopatin, for one, is daydreaming about becoming a “first-­ rate star”: Take Khmurov, for example, a totally useless person, an adventurer and nothing more than that, and meanwhile, just look how far he has gone! European fame. Received foreign decorations. His portrait has been published in “Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia” [a popular illustrated artistic and literary magazine of the second half of the nineteenth century]: he is sitting dressed in a Russian caftan, a tiger lies by his feet, totally obedient.

 Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 42–45.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 148, 320. 159  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 11. 160  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 214. 157 158

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Ivan Illarionovich [Lopatin] put a finger to his forehead and scratched himself behind his ear. He was considering what animal he could acquire. A tiger as well – scary!161

This change of generation even includes the mythology of the space, points out Shafranskaia: “[They] passed through the streets and got out from under the remnants of the arch of triumph of Khmurov architecture…”162 In addition to the legendary Khludov/Khmurov, several other actual merchants are mentioned in Nikolai Karazin’s works, but rather in passing. Dmitrii Nikolaevich Zakho was the owner of a general store and significant real estate in Tashkent. Dmitrii L’vovich Filatov, who settled down in Samarkand, was a wine maker well known in Central Asia, who received Russian and foreign awards for his wines. Zakho and Filatov started their careers in business as suppliers of the Russian troops as they were moving towards Tashkent. They remained close friends for the rest of their lives. Ivan Ivanovich Pervushin came from a prominent Moscow merchant family. His company produced and traded silk, tobacco, wine, and cotton. He also traded in bread delivered from European Russia, and was so well trusted that he also performed banking and credit operations prior to the founding of banks in Turkestan.163 Since those well-known merchants are mentioned or included in Karazin’s novels Na dalekikh okrainakh and Pogonia za nazhivoi, in inconsequential roles, most likely, the artist included them as “outside of the plot” personages in order to make his narrative sound more documentary.164 Some of Karazin’s personages do not play a big part in the narrative but nevertheless deliver important messages. For example, to offset the predominantly greedy and dishonest personages in Pogonia za nazhivoi, the author includes what seems to be an incidental character of a nameless engineer officer. He is building a highway in Tashkent using a heavy road-­ roller pulled by horses: “At least fifteen multi-colored horses, connected by ropes in every direction, were pulling a monstrous, crushing road-­ roller. A young engineer officer riding a tall white horse was racing around like a devil in the clouds of road dust, appearing from the right, from the  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 156.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 248, 349, 295, 261, quoted in Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 255–56. 163  Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 256–61. 164  Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 257–58. 161 162

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left, from the behind, from the front.” When asked about his work, he proudly explains that he has invented this machine himself, which allowed him to finish the project much earlier than planned and economize 4,500 rubles from the allocated sum. When he is mockingly asked by Lopatin what he is planning to do with that sum, the young officer is surprised and explains that he will return it, and will suggest using the money to build a sidewalk. The reaction of his interlocutor, a wealthy and corrupt merchant, is symptomatic: “‘What an eccentric!’ thought Lopatin. – Would not you rather put it here… that economizing… – Ivan Illarionovich made an expressive gesture with his hand [showing how he would put the saved money in his own pocket] – Ok, ok! Don’t frown, don’t you see, I am just joking.”165

Unworthy Russians It is Karazin’s negative Russian personages, however, his “Tashkentskie rytsari” (Tashkent knights), who are described perhaps in the most memorable and vivid manner. His gallery of “civilizers” behaving in a deplorably uncivilized way is vast and shocking. In addition to the military officers presented in the previous chapter, this collection includes merchants, civilian administrators, and women. Sahadeo points out multiple ways of colonial exploitation by bureaucrats, officers, and merchants: “Russians across the social spectrum practiced extortion and robbery. Military Governor Golovachev filled prisons with Central Asians who refused to pay his frequent ‘extraordinary’ supplemental levies; officials at all levels designed new tax measures to be applied to Asian Tashkent.”166 Official investigations of Turkestan sent from the metropole discovered multiple abuses of power by colonial officers, whom they saw as unfit to govern. Kaufman himself, however, appears to have been “scrupulously honest.” His name was not involved in any scandal during his lifetime, and the investigation by Cherniaev, his political enemy and successor, found no conclusive evidence of discreditable conduct. As a matter of fact, instead of enriching himself, he accumulated no assets, so that upon his death, his widow was forced to borrow money to return to St. Petersburg.167 Interestingly, this is parallel to the way Nikolai Karazin conducted his financial affairs and left  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 157–58.  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 2, 91. 167  Pierce, Russian Central Asia, 69. 165 166

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his widow without financial means. “However, his [Kaufman’s] vanity, self-isolation, and excessive trust of subordinates frequently made him easy prey for the unscrupulous,” and while his office staff included some honest and capable officials, it also included many corrupt ones.168 One of the main causes of malfunctioning governing lay in the way it was set up: Turkestan was administered under “military-popular government,” where governors of provinces had at least the rank of major-­ general, and senior bureaucrats were army officers. They performed administrative, judicial, medical, and educational duties. Civilians could serve as clerks, surveyors, or accountants. The district commandants were responsible for education, judiciary, public health and sanitation, urban, land and irrigation administration, and many other duties. Until 1884, they also acted as local military commandants. Such numerous responsibilities constituted an unbearable burden.169 They were also separated by “the wall of linguistic incomprehension” from the local populace and had to rely on interpreters, who often served their own interests.170 The administrators of the lower units were natives elected by popular vote.171 This system often resulted in disputes between the military commanders and the officials of the civilian administration. Another important factor was the low quality of many officials posted in Turkestan: while many of them had gained knowledge about the area during the military campaigns, others had been penalized for irregularities in the metropole by transfer to Turkestan. Since the territory was so vast there, and the best officials were kept in the principal points, “the scoundrels and wastrels” could often cancel out the work of their worthy colleagues.172 Corruption in Turkestan became notorious among Russian readership due to the work Gospoda Tashkentsy (Tashkent gentlemen) by famous Russian writer Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin. This series was published in Otechestvennye zapiski, a major literary magazine, between 1869 and 1873. Its influence on Karazin’s prose is apparent, especially in his novel Pogonia za nazhivoi, first published in 1873. Well known for his liberal views and poisonous satire, Saltykov-Shchedrin himself never set foot in Turkestan, and his targeting of Tashkent was almost random. As  Pierce, Russian Central Asia, 69–70.  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 126–27. 170  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 67. 171  Bregel, “The Russian conquest of Central Asia.” 172  Pierce, Russian Central Asia, 67–68. 168 169

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explained by Sahadeo, rumors and newspaper reports about corruption among Turkestan officials and settlers caught the ear of the writer, who was working on a series of satires “simultaneously condemning the tsarist authority and the growth of capitalism, both of which he deemed cancers upon the Russian people.” He then used Tashkent to ridicule the state wasting resources on unworthy military adventures and a society defined by greed, a precursor of capitalist exploitation. Changing the setting from the “City of Idiots” to Tashkent, Saltykov-Shchedrin ridiculed Russia’s great European “civilizing mission.” Instead of bringing European science and knowledge to Central Asia, Tashkent Russians educate the local people in corruption, greed, and other vices. In spite of the writer’s insistence that Tashkent gentlemen can be found anywhere in Russia, the label lived on and permanently damaged the image of Russian Tashkent.173 In his essays, Saltykov-Shchedrin mocks the Tashkent “enlighteners” as those who do not even need the alphabet. What they want can be summarized in one word: “Gorge [zhrat’]!!! Gorge whatever you can, at whatever cost!” “As an abstract term, Tashkent is a country located any place where teeth are being knocked out,” where one finds a certain number of churches, and one jail, but no schools, no libraries, and no charitable institutions. The satirist makes lamb and sheep into symbols of attraction of Central Asia: they can be sheared and eaten. Their fleece grows back with amazing speed, they are tolerant to shearing, and don’t care who will do the shearing: “As soon as they see a person [who is getting ready] to do their shearing, they bend their knees and just wait…”174 The poor reputation of Tashkent circulated by Saltykov-Shchedrin was further reinforced by Eugene Schuyler, an American diplomat who traveled in Turkestan in the 1870s and published a well-known travelogue in 1877.175 He considered the society in Tashkent “divided into cliques and coteries, for though, with the exception of the highest officials, nearly everyone who is there has either come there to avoid his creditors or been sent away to keep out of some scrape, or has come on account of increased pay or the shorter time of service necessary before receiving a pension, or in the hope of making a rapid fortune… There being few amusements,  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 60–61.   M.  Saltykov-Shchedrin, “Chto takoe ‘Tashkentsy’?” https://www.litmir.me/ br/?b=70291&p=6 (accessed 13 July 2018). 175  Eugene Schuyler, Turkistan: Notes of a Journey in Russian Turkistan, Khokand, Bukhara, and Kuldja, 2 vols. (New York: Scribner, Armstrong, 1877). 173 174

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society being dull and broken up, and their scientific and literary pursuits discouraged or at least not encouraged, the officers have little resource but gambling and drinking.”176 Fraud and mismanagement in Turkestan, its actual cost, and the deficit it was running generated a heated debate in the metropole, with General Cherniaev mounting a vicious attack against General Kaufman and his support of corruption, which allegedly ridiculed Russia’s civilizing mission.177 Such negative images reverberated back to Turkestan, where Russians hoping to present their city as a symbol of modern European society saw themselves as framed into symbols of backwardness, corruption, and injustice. Still some intellectuals attempted to defend Russians in Turkestan and blame the Russian metropole: if more corrupt officials served in Turkestan, this was the fault of the metropole (metropoliia), which sent its “freaks” as far away as possible.178 Echoing Saltykov-Shchedrin’s exposition, Nikolai Karazin exhibits his own Tashkent “enlighteners,” gorging themselves at any cost and demonstrating any imaginable and unimaginable vice. Those “russkie tashkentsy” (Russian Tashkent residents) were also labeled sarcastically “Tashkentskie rytsari” (Tashkent knights).179 Karazin was not the only man with the military background in Turkestan critical of the Russian administration there. For example, Vladimir Nalivkin, who had participated in the military campaigns and later was associated with the Russian administration in Turkestan, was also critical of it.180 Two novels, Na dalekikh okrainakh and Pogonia za nazhivoi, provide exceptionally vivid examples of such exposure. In the former one, in a scene created with poisonous sarcasm, Captain Drianet (from Russian drian’, scum) brags how “the intellectual forces of the civilized West moved to the Far East… – Collecting double traveling allowance, – put in Derbent’ev. – And now we see a new phenomenon, a gratifying phenomenon. Europe has paid Asia back for the past evil, but how has it paid? It has sent a stream of intellectual forces  – instead of the coarse physical ones… Science, art, and trade appeared in the service of the wild people,

 Schuyler, Turkistan, 1:83, quoted in Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 61.  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 62. 178  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 62, 77. 179  “Tashkentskie rytsari,” Delo 11 (1874); 1 (1875). 180  Marianne Kamp, “Editor’s Introduction,” in Vladimir Nalivkin and Maria Nalivkina, Muslim Women of the Fergana Valley: A 19th-Century Ethnography from Central Asia, ed. Marianne Kamp (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2016), 7. 176 177

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still not out of their childhood period.”181 Already here we see two main approaches to enrichment  – one represented by the pompous orator Drianet, and another one, direct and cynical, unconcerned about putting a veil of “civilizing mission” upon the shameless pursuit of profit (pogonia za nazhivoi). Drianet also claims to be writing his memoirs in English, German, and Italian, and to have written in Arabic a treatise about the significance of sericulture “as a tool… or rather a stage in development of civilizational foundations.” Questioned by the merchant Zakho about the intended audience for Arabic, Drianet ignores it and skips to the topic of his “military-scientific expedition, which created such a sensation.”182 He apparently does not know what language is spoken by the local people around him, and, needless to say, does not hesitate to say any lie. At the same time, he feels a need to present himself as an enlightened benevolent “civilizer”  – but is distrusted even by his interlocutor. In Pogonia za nazivoi, the goals of those who want to gorge themselves are expressed without any cover-up: in this “golden area for various trade deals,” “all this is new, untouched, put your hands in up to your elbows and just grab…”183 One of the primary gorgers and grabbers in Karazin’s books is undoubtedly Stanislav Matveevich Perlovich (perl in Russian means “peаrl” while perlovka means “barley”). In the first novel, he creates the foundation of his fortune by putting the money stolen from the beheaded corpse to a “good” use: he lends money, including loans to the “society” people and military administrators, for the interest of 20 percent a month.184 Having left the military service (and that is all we know about his military past), he follows a military unit during a military operation and makes money on supplying them.185 He is intelligent and has no moral principles. As he observes the growth of Tashkent, he notes to himself: “Watch them [the inhabitants], Stanislav Matveevich, study their needs, find ways to satisfy them, foresee them in advance, if possible… That is where the strength is hidden, the whole secret of the discipline of enrichment… People come here with empty hands, and in a year you see them turning important levers, acting… Those people are made out of the same clay [as you  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 258–59.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 254–55. 183  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 35. 184  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 13. 185  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 12. 181 182

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are] – not out of gold… Fate has been generous to you, sent some means, and significant means, and has also supplied you with a formidable brain, – so put it to use now…”186 Karazin masterfully follows this episode with a contrasting one. Perlovich’s thoughts are interrupted by an encounter with a “long, bony as a skeleton figure, almost black, naked with the exception of the lower part of his body, where a dirty torn rag was hanging,” two steps away from him. The man was extending his shaking arm towards the mounted Perlovich, “his red inflamed eyes were pussy and blinking all the time; instead of the nose an appalling hole was gaping; grey wasps framed his toothless mouth.” This miserable beggar was reaching for the horse harness and pleading the “Urus” for alms. Instead of giving him money, Perlovich hits him with his whip on the head and topples over to the ground with his horse.187 Perlovich, of course, knows how to be smooth and acquiescent, especially with those whose favors can benefit his interests. Similar to the other entrepreneurs in Karazin’s books, he develops and cultivates connections with the local military administration, which are meant to benefit both sides. When a colonel visits him, he is greeted with humble hospitality, and the host inquires about the news “in your administrative circles.” Lowering his voice, the colonel mentions an upcoming military campaign. At the end of his visit, the guest admits that he was there to borrow more money, and Perlovich forces him to accept “the same conditions” (his usual 20 percent interest). As the narrative progresses, Perlovich achieves more and more financial success and social prominence. By the end of the novel, a whole chapter entitled “Pervyi caravan” (the first caravan) is dedicated to the ceremony of sending a large caravan of about eighty camels to Kokand: “the camels were his own, not hired, so that he now did not depend on the laziness and carelessness of the nomads.”188 Perlovich has invited all the prominent and important people to this ceremony, including a general, possibly, the governor-general himself. This is how the arrival of the important guest is described: The general rode in from the other courtyard, accompanied by Cossacks and his adjutant. Perlovich met him at the bottom step of the porch and

 Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 18–19.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 19. 188  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 252. 186 187

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with the feelings of deepest gratitude shook the general’s gloved hand with both hands. “I was in despair… I thought…” the host was saying, with a special tenderness in his voice. “It seems I am not late?” “I bid your welcome.” The general walked heavily from step to step, bending as if under a heavy burden (he was wearing epaulettes). Perlovich, walking sideways two steps at a time, was slightly supporting the general’s elbow…189

When the caravan gets on its way, Perlovich mumbles humble thanks to the general for the honor of attending the reception, and the general answers “with dignity”: “You deserve it.”190 The general is pictured as good natured but also full of self-importance: the tone in which his heavy epaulettes and his dignity are mentioned in the passages above are hints pointing in that direction. Perlovich’s servility is matched by a similar treatment of the general by the other guests, including Captain Drianet and the doctor. Khmurov, of course, would not display such an attitude to anybody – he appears late and spoils Perlovich’s triumph by announcing that Batogov is back from his captivity. That was too much for Perlovich, who fainted.191 In the sequel novel Pogonia za nazhivoi, Perlovich is one of the main personages: he is very wealthy now but also “on the alert, all embodiment of ‘look out!’”192 He is involved in big business deals, and is an owner of a new fancy caravanserai. When Perlovich talks to Ivan Illarionovich Lopatin, another prosperous entrepreneur, he promotes the necessity of “honest support for each other” in order to “promote our business interests.”193 Meanwhile, as Karazin’s personages and his readers already know, they undermine and stab each other in the back every time opportunity presents itself. They are not just dishonest and hypocritical but also well connected to the governor and other important administrators in Tashkent. While Perlovich lets it slip that he has read a certain document intended only for the local administration,194 Lopatin secures favors from  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 255–56.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 259. 191  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 260. 192  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 146. 193  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 147. 194  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 148. 189 190

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the governor, who refuses to see Perlovich the same day. In the chapter entitled “V priemnoi u gubernatora” (In the governor’s waiting room), military and civilian officials wait in vain to see the governor, who spends an hour talking to Lopatin. An “old official in the uniform of the civilian department” explains that Lopatin and Perlovich “are undermining each other.” He adds: “And they pretend to be close friends. I heard yesterday, [they] were walking hand in hand on the balcony, complimenting each other nonstop. Meanwhile, [they] cannot wait to play dirty tricks on each other.”195 The old official was absolutely correct but probably even he would not have guessed what crime was plotted and implemented by Perlovich to undermine his competitor’s attempts to improve the sericulture business. When Lopatin ordered a steam engine for unreeling silk thread, his caravan containing the engine accompanied by the British expert Edward Simson, and at least two hundred boxes of other goods including textiles, was attacked and robbed. Four people, including the ill-fated Simson, were killed and beheaded, the rest captured and taken to Khiva. Though Perlovich had claimed that he had stopped his own sericulture business to leave the whole business to Lopatin, in reality he plotted the attack on the caravan through his trusted henchman Brzhizitskii. Most significantly, the machines were dumped into a particularly deep and silty place of Syr-Darya. That was the part of the attack which made Lopatin’s trusted assistant Ivan Dem’ianovich Katushkin suspicious of the true motives of the attackers.196 In a revealing conversation between Katushkin and Lopatin, the line between “lawful” and “unlawful” robbery appears very thin. Lopatin admits to having plotted against Perlovich in the supplies department and undermining him significantly with a distillery. But he considers this to be a lawful struggle. Katushkin, however, does not see a big difference there: “Robbery all the same. You have choked him at the supplies department, and he caught you in the Karakum desert; and it is much more profitable for us, since if we expose him,  – which is highly probable – we shall get our losses and everything else back, and he will be sent to the penal servitude, since [his] robbery did not have a lawful form.”197 In a somewhat ironic twist, Perlovich’s crime was exposed due to another case of administrative corruption. As it turns out, Captain Sipakov,  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 153.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 36, 85, 103, 149, 183–88, 191, 217, 319. 197  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 293. 195 196

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the postmaster in a small Zabytyi fort (Forgotten fort) has been helping himself to the parcels and correspondence in his care. While his wife wears clothes and shoes from opened parcels, which later are sent to their intended recipients, he and his friends open newspapers and magazines. He recalls how last year he discovered a report denouncing his close friend  – this report never reached its destination. This time this petty crook comes across a letter from Brzhizitskii to Perlovich reporting the successful attack.198 Having realized the significance of the letter, Sipakov determines to go to Tashkent to blackmail Perlovich and Brzhizitskii, but accidentally offers it to Katushkin instead. Lopatin bought the letter for 1,000 rubles – this is the proof he needed to prove Perlovich’s crime.199 That puts an end to Perlovich’s career: as Brzhizitskii manages to escape the town before arrest, Perlovich keeps delaying his own flight, unable to leave behind all the accumulated wealth. When the officers accompanied by Lopatin and Katushkin arrive in his house in order to arrest him, he loses his mind.200 His rival Lopatin (whose name is based on the Russian word lopata for “shovel”), another representative of the “civilized predators,”201 is hardly more attractive than Perlovich. In addition to his “lawful robberies,” he is trying to take advantage of a young girl, Adel’, and turn her into his mistress. Marriage is out of the question for him since somewhere in Russia he has a wife. Adel’ and her mother are left with large debts after the death of Adel’s father. Lopatin, not even a close friend, entices them to come to Tashkent and promises to find Adel’ a very highly paid governess positon after they arrive. He sends them 2,000 rubles for initial expenses, and dispatches Katushkin to meet and accompany them to Tashkent.202 They arrived safely in Tashkent, but, needless to say, the job for Adel’ never materialized. Lopatin failed to achieve his goal with Adel’, even with the comfort his wealth could offer in Tashkent, his expensive gifts, and the complicity of Adel’s mother. The girl developed an aversion for the older man, and finally they are sent back to the metropole though Lopatin promises to keep supporting them. On their way out of Tashkent, the caravan they are traveling with is attacked by bandits, and both women are  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 177–79.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 337–39. 200  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 365–67. 201  Delo 11 (1874): 19. 202  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 22–29. 198 199

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captured – therefore, his lustful whim results in their ruin and most likely, painful death.203 Karazin’s scorching exposition of the “grabbers” includes “stars” of different calibers. If Perlovich and Lopatin play primary roles, many other smaller roles are played by equally deplorable characters. Iulii Brzhezitskii, Perlovich’s “right hand,” is one of them: “He belonged to those dark persons who follow one only principle: ubi bene – ibi patria [where] there is bread, there is (my) country.” Having studied local languages and habits, he turned out to be a reliable assistant in business deals. Since he worked for a percentage of profits, not for a salary, he was closely connected with his patron’s interests. His “skills” were well known in Tashkent, so that agents in the declining Khmurov’s company pay tribute to him: “This is a real old fox! [We] wish ours [Khmurov] got himself somebody similar!” Even “the general himself” once told Perlovich at breakfast: “So you, my dear, have gotten yourself a Talleyrand!” And it was Brzhizitskii who for the first time made it clear to Perlovich that the newcomer – Lopatin – will hurt their business interests.204 He did not just arrange for the attack on Lopatin’s caravan, but treacherously joined it before the attack and shot Edward Simson and two other people with his own hands. He is bold and unscrupulous, but is also quick-thinking. He even outsmarted his patron and disappeared before arrest. To make sure that his readers do not consider stabbing one’s own countrymen in the back by Perlovich (and Krinitsyn from Golos krovi discussed in detail in the previous chapter of this book) rather unusual, Karazin includes some other personages who commit the same evil deed. For example, in the story “Noch’ pod snegom,” a Russian companion who deliberately joined Second Lieutenant Iakov Chizhikov on his long journey to Ekaterinburg apparently poisoned him and stole 40,000 rubles of official money Chizhikov was delivering. As a result, Chizhikov was accused of stealing the money, jailed for four years, and then exiled for five and a half years. His life was destroyed; he lost his career and the girl he loved: “They killed the person… Killed his soul, not his body… All that I had had dear to me, all my past, was separated from me by the jail and the exile forever.”205

 Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 380–81.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 319–20. 205  Karazin, “Noch’ pod snegom,” 125–27. 203 204

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To Karazin, a kind and good-natured man, cruelty, especially routine matter-of-fact cruelty, as opposed to the sometimes unavoidable brutality of military fighting, is among the most abhorrent sins the “civilizers” can commit. As expressed by such attractive (or semi-attractive) personages as Burchenko and Batogov, the locals are to be treated in a fair way, if they cooperate with the Russians, or at least do not actively harm them. For example, in Pogonia za nazhivoi, two small episodes strongly express this view. In one, a nameless traveler “with huge light side-locks” explains to less experienced travelers that the best and the only efficient tool needed to quickly obtain fresh horses at stations in the Karakum is the whip. He shares his experience with his eager listeners: “I hold him tightly by the collar: he cannot escape. Kirghiz is screaming his head off, can be heard in the whole steppe, and immediately the benevolent results of this concert become apparent: from behind one hill, horses are brought, from another – the harness appears…” He also claims scornfully that the locals, “the vile horde,” are incredible cowards, so he feels safe to use his tool against ten or more of them.206 And these are not empty words since, as explained earlier in this chapter, this is exactly what the traveler would do: Burchenko and Ledokolov came across a man severely beaten by him at a station. Another episode is even more graphic since it involves a woman on her way to join the local “society.” She is another nameless representative of the “civilizers” whom Karazin exposes for their unworthy behavior: “Last year,… a woman was passing by, extremely attractive, still very young, such a delicate, fresh creature, she was traveling with her husband. …She walked out of the hut when a Kirghiz, such an animal, played a joke, whooped at her from behind a fence; well, an uneducated barbarian, what can you expect from him?… The husband was holding the Kirghiz by his elbows while the wife was beating him with an empty vodka bottle on the face, broke his teeth, broke the bottle. Disgusting.” This scene seems to be related directly, either intentionally or not, to the above mentioned definition of Tashkent as a country “where teeth are being knocked out.” When Ledokolov asks Burchenko, who tells the story, why he did not interfere, the answer is even more revealing: “What could I have done alone? Lecture them about humanity – they would not understand it anyway, would call me a fool, and might use a bottle again: they had three

 Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 46–47.

206

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people with them. They were proceeding to the place of their administrative service – so had a lot of empty bottles.”207 In addition to treating the local people inhumanely, Russians also sometimes demonstrate shocking ingratitude towards those who are devoted to them and even put the Russians’ interests ahead of their own. Kirghiz Mumin, who serves as mail carrier, gave his life in order to recover some worthless Russian mail and parcels – but was shockingly unappreciated by his nameless Russian employers. Pettiness, cowardice, and selfishness have many faces in Karazin’s works. For example, the card sharper Spelokhvatov (with the name roughly meaning “grabbing what is ripe”) who briefly appears in both Na dalekikh okrainakh and Pogonia za nazhivoi, participates in a tragicomic scene taking place at Khmurov’s party. When the tigress got loose and then was fighting with Hector the Great Dane, Spelokhvatov acted in the following way: Spelokhvatov grabbed from behind the hands of a dandyish adjutant, put him in front of himself, and held him in that position as if in iron clamps. He covered himself from the forthcoming danger with this live shield. – Spelokhvatov, what is this vulgarity, what is this stupid joke,  – was choking the adjutant, trying to free himself. – This is not a joke, – calmly, in a quiet voice Spelokhvatov was comforting him, – this is just the feeling of self-preservation… you see… Stop floundering finally; it is silly, and firstly useless since it is very hard to break away from my hands, and secondly, you will sooner attract the animal’s attention… – It is foul, let me go, – the victim was mumbling with his tongue paralyzed by fear… – No way I let you go, though it is somewhat selfish on my part, but sensible: if the tiger decides to attack us, I shall place your person at its disposal while I myself shall take the necessary precautions… Stay still!208

The scene manages to ridicule the base nature of both participants – the crook who uses a human shield and the neurotic adjutant who does not have the nerve and strength to free himself from the embrace of the shameless crook. Among those who fish in muddy waters in Turkestan are several women. Though most of them do not qualify as villains, neither do they proudly  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 76.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 45.

207 208

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uphold the name of a Russian the way Karazin would like them to. Nina Leont’evna Blium from the short story “Doktorsha” (Doctor’s wife) arrives unexpectedly in Katta-Kurgan in 1868, soon after the Russian conquest. She is still young and plump, with beautiful long fair hair, but most importantly, she is “the first Russian woman to appear in Katta-Kurgan with her face uncovered.”209 Her husband is a sickly somewhat pitiful man who knows that his wife has been unfaithful to him but is doing nothing about it. She dresses in an openly immodest, if not provocative, way, and flirts with the officers, as well as with the local man Goddai. She also has a reputation of a “lady with a temperament”: according to gossip, because of her, one cadet embezzled money and killed himself, one Cossack officer became a drunk, and there has been more than one duel.210 In Katta-­ Kurgan, officers also display lust towards her: that includes the colonel himself. According to the colonel, “she is kind in her heart, unspoiled, her soul, as I have noticed, is pure as a child’s and innocent. You know, youth, sickly husband, special qualities of the southern climate.” Even the narrator, looking back at the events of that time, wonders if Nina was really so irresistible, or if it was simply the lack of women and the local climate that allegedly had such an effect on everybody.211 As a matter of fact, establishing a connection between the moral standing of a people and its climatic environment has been a standard practice of a colonial discourse. According to this logic, “the heat of the tropics… produced races characterized by indolence and easy sexuality, while the harsher conditions of the northern climate have created a race devoted to diligence and self-control.”212 For example, Russian travelers to Iran blame many perceived faults of Iranians on the hot climate of the country.213 Nikolai Karazin, however, turns the tables, at least in this story. It is the Russian officers who demonstrate unbridled salaciousness, competing for Nina’s attention. This reverse situation is reinforced by another episode. When Goddai, a local man who also became infatuated with the Russian beauty, asks how much the doctor would want for his woman, the narrator laughs it off and claims that Russians do not sell their women. Goddai, an honest and decent man, 209  N.  N. Karazin, “Doktorsha,” in Nedavnee byloe. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 15 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 75. 210  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 87. 211  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 99, 102. 212  David Spurr, The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel Writing, and Imperial Administration (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001), 41. 213  Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 105.

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who serves as a local administrator, or sarkar, and who is a good friend of the narrator, thinks aloud: Everything is sold, if only the price is right… If he would not sell for one hundred, he will sell for one thousand, if he would not sell for one thousand, he will sell for ten thousand… Everything is for sale… One can buy anything, if one can afford it… Woman, a mere nothing! Some people sell their soul… You just ask the doctor… I shall sell all I have, turn all into money. I really like this fair haired woman of his. …You are saying they [Russians] don’t sell their wives, or do they? Then how come that I have heard that one of your generals bought a wife from one of his officials, and not even for money, but for two ranks [promotion] and an order? What would you say to that?214

Such an argument catches the narrator off guard as he struggles to defend the Russians’ integrity. Since Nina became attracted to Goddai, she flirts with him, infuriating Russian officers who become jealous. Readers at first are led to believe that she is preferring Goddai to her Russian illicit suitors because he is handsome and exotic, and also because she speaks “Tatar” with her background of a boarding school in the Urals.215 The situation comes to a head at a party given by Nina and her husband: all the Russian men present become drunk, and even Nina feels uncomfortable under their immodest glances “lashing her from every side.” As the party turns into a drunken orgy, she leaves it and locks the door of her room behind herself. The narrator feels very sorry for the woman, and if he himself had not felt too tipsy, he would have thrown himself at her feet and asked her to go away.216 By the end, we learn from her letter to the narrator how she has been viewing the situation. Admitting to not caring about her husband and having had multiple affairs, she also blames Russian men for having encouraged her “bestial inclinations,” for looking down at her and being driven by “dirty lust” alone. In contrast, Goddai respected her and cared about her soul, not just about her body, like her Russian lovers. She did not become Goddai’s mistress until the night after the “drunken orgy,” and then only because she was so embarrassed by her own position among her countrymen that she went to Goddai’s house and insisted on becoming his lover. She and Goddai intended to adequately provide for  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 78.  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 75. 216  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 103–4. 214 215

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his wives, leave them behind, go away together, and live happily.217 Such a plan was not meant to be implemented, however, since an old woman, the mother of his second wife Assal’, strangled the Russian woman with a rope. At the end, Karazin’s readers are likely to blame the immoral behavior of the Russian officers for the awkward situation which turned into a tragedy. Another Russian woman, Marfa Vasil’evna, appears in two novels, Na dalekikh okrainakh and Pogonia za nazhivoi. A good-looking woman, who together with her husband, an architect, belongs to the local “society,” apparently enjoys the company of men and flirting. She especially seems to be attracted to the most prominent and wealthy men: Khmurov, Perlovich, and Lopatin. As we learn, she most likely came from a modest background, since she used to work as a seamstress in a workshop with other girls. Her future husband and Marfa fell in love and she became his mistress. Then “in the East some new country opened. They need people there, they are looking for people [to move there], they are inviting them, and are promising various benefits.” So they decided to move to that unknown land. They even wrote a special marriage agreement, half-mockingly, consisting of almost three hundred paragraphs, with the main purpose of guaranteeing full independence of both sides, with the main and only connection between them being their mutual feeling. It so happened, however, that the feeling connecting them “was evaporating gradually” and soon became so microscopic that both of them failed to notice it sometimes. Since Marfa has not met another man capable of lighting a new heavenly spark, they continued living together, quietly and even happily. She took good care of his everyday needs while he provided an opportunity for her to have a comfortable life and satisfy her desires – within reasonable limits.218 She appears rather briefly in various scenes as the center of male attention during horseback riding outings and parties, always beautiful, laughing, and daring. She does not seem to have a lover; though she rides very fast, and likes to flirt and tease her suitors, she seems to remain in control. She is not presented as mean or harmful – just idle, vain, and self-centered, but rather attractive and amusing. When Adel’ arrives in Tashkent, and the rumor spreads that she is very beautiful, Marfa feels her own position threatened: “Marfa Vasil’evna, excited, laughing and looking jolly, but noticeably disheartened, rode by [Lopatin’s house] exactly eight times in  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 105–7.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 58–60.

217 218

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her carriage and twice on horseback. – Ours, I hear, is not fit to hold a candle to that one, – she overheard clearly from one group of those walking [by Lopatin’s house]. She knew all too well who that ‘ours’ was, and she even was thrown into a fever from that comment.”219 The procuress is altogether a different story – Nikolai Karazin presents that type with little sympathy or humor. Friderika Kazimirovna Broze is perhaps one of the least attractive female personages in his works. A “grabber” in her own way, she arrives in Tashkent with her young daughter Adel’ in the hope for a comfortable life provided by Lopatin, who would make Adel’ his mistress. At forty-eight, still attractive and desperate for male attention, she is a widow who has been left without any means, but with substantial debts. As their apartment and possessions are being sold for debts, she and Adel’ received two letters, one each from Lopatin, with whom they are acquainted but not very closely. He had moved to Tashkent half a year before and now is inviting the two women to join him there. Well aware of their financial peril, he tries to entice them to come, promising Adel’ a governess job – he recalled that Adel’ had told him that she wanted to be financially independent. Instead of the usual salary of 500–600 rubles a year he promises 5,000–6,000 a year, and even more. He, however, vaguely states that he would find her such a position when she arrives. He also states how much he misses his “young and pretty friend” and refers to her pink lips, calling her a “fairytale queen.” Suggesting that they will “initially” stay in his house, he describes their beautiful rooms, superb horses (“I know how much you love riding”), a fountain, and a pool for bathing and indulging: “And I shall be cherishing and spoiling you…” The tone of the letter, written by an older man lusting for a young and innocent girl, leaves little doubt about his intentions. Adel’, who is not just beautiful but also clever and honest, though she did not understand the true meaning of the letter, “felt instinctively that something was not quite right, that she ought not to receive such letters, that there is something offensive, even insulting, in this letter, which brought tears to her eyes.”220 She expresses her suspicions to her mother, about the fact that Lopatin is not even a close friend, and that such a huge salary for a governess sounds even more suspicious. But Friderika Kazimirovna has already made up her mind and left her daughter with no choice: she admits that their creditors have gone to the court and she  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 228.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 24–26.

219 220

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might end up in jail. Lopatin has hired a lawyer to deal with the debts, sent 2,000 rubles for the trip, and dispatched his assistant Katushkin to accompany them to Tashkent. It is at this point that Friderika Kazimirovna starts her aggressive campaign against her own daughter, which will continue to the very end of the novel. Using lies and veiled threats, she is trying to push Adel’ into the older man’s embrace. In this initial scene, she tries to convince her daughter that there is nothing suspicious about Lopatin’s proposal: “There are governesses like that, definitely there are,  – pronounced Friderika Kazimirovna in a decisive, competent tone. – Especially in a place where there are so few women… women – educators, she corrected herself. – Then there are other conditions: difficulties of the travel, some deprivations… all this is taken into consideration…” She also praises Lopatin as a “kind and honest man,” “a wonderful man, a millionaire,” who “does not forget his close friends,” and calls his offer “a find, a treasure.” She cynically admits that he loves Adel’ “so strongly, so tenderly,” “as a daughter, as…” and explains that the only trouble is that he is still married: “His wife is a dying, very sick woman, lives somewhere in the south, in a province, and Lopatin is expecting news about her death every moment… They separated at least ten years ago; this is an old, almost forgotten story.”221 Friderika Kazimirovna seems to be totally unaware of the immorality of her behavior and seems to believe that all is working out well for both of them. When they arrive and are greeted by the hopeful Lopatin, Friderika Kazimirovna keeps asking her daughter to express more warmth to their host and accuses her of being “heartless and cold.” She also pitifully pleads with her, reminding her that they have no money and no other place to go: “Adochka, my angel, please try to understand our position. This is all for your own sake…” As she tries to bring her daughter together with Lopatin, she also lies to him: “in my opinion, this coldness is only a pretense. Otherwise, why would she repeat all the time during our trip: ‘Oh mother, how soon will we arrive? How soon will I see the kind, wonderful Ivan Illarionovich [Lopatin]?’” As even Lopatin is skeptical, she assures him: “Patience and patience! How your heart is still young, however!”222 “Have you noticed, Adochka, how well Ivan Illarionovich looks, how he has become younger during this time… Who would think that he is already 42?” When Adel’ argues that he is older than fifty, her mother brushes it  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 26–28.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 226–27.

221 222

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away as “nonsense” and then lies about how he had been sitting days and nights in front of her portrait and even calling her name in his sleep as he was waiting for their arrival, all according to Lopatin’s servant. Since Lopatin is eavesdropping on them through the keyhole in the door hidden behind a mirror connecting Adel’s bedroom and his study, even he is doubtful about his ally’s tactics: “She is overdoing it!”223 As none of her tricks work, she explains directly to Adel’ that they completely depend on Lopatin and that she is wrong if she thinks that everything Lopatin is giving or promising them is free. The woman is deaf to her daughter’s desperate plea: “Mother, what if he is repulsive to me! I am appalled, even scared even when he touches my hand.” Friderika Kazimirovna dismisses her daughter’s revulsion as “behavior suitable for a girls’ boarding school [institutstvo]” and accuses her of “not even being able to put up an act.” She then decided to try to make her daughter comply by another lie – that there is a possible competition for Lopatin’s favors from Marfa. When Adel’ complains of Lopatin’s jealousy, of confining her to his house and not allowing her to see other peoples, and especially Ledokolov, whom she had met during her trip and became fond of, her mother does not hesitate to chastise her for being “such a baby.” “If you are nice to him, and endure his caresses without any silliness… then not only Ledokolov… You are smart enough, and understand well yourself what you can make out of such an impractical and trusting person,” since he is “kind and gentle.” In other words, if Adel’ becomes Lopatin’s mistress, she will be able to have her freedom and secretly favor somebody whom she really likes.224 Friderika Kazimirovna also tries to give Lopatin advice how to better win her daughter, by paying less attention to her and causing her jealousy by courting Marfa.225 Friderika Kazimirovna herself, meanwhile, develops a romantic interest – probably, “also experiencing the influence of the climate,” comments the narrator sarcastically. As Friderika Kazimirovna is attracted to Ledokolov, she hysterically tells her daughter: “You are young, you have so much ahead of you, and for me this might be the last one!... Don’t take him away from me!”226 It is the older woman who brings their Tashkent adventure to the dramatic end: she writes a letter to Ledokolov asking him  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 231.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 257–58. 225  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 260–61. 226  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 290–91. 223 224

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to come to Lopatin’s garden at night. Since she signed it “yours,” he thinks it is Adel’ who is calling him. After having climbed the garden wall at night, he comes across both women. The mother faints; Lopatin and his servants close in and fight with the intruder: Lopatin took Ledokolov for Adel’s lover.227 It takes Lopatin about a week to come to his senses. He finally writes a letter to Adel’ which is marked by some dignity: acknowledging his love for her, his hopes for her gratitude and attachment for all he has done for them. He finally came to the realization that instead Adel’ developed hatred and disgust for him: “Go back to St. Petersburg, my dear, God help you, be happy if you meet a person you like…” He provides money and an escort for their trip back and a suitable allowance. He also justly blames her mother for having misled him and does not want to see her anymore because of her “lies, her hypocrisy and all kinds of dirty tricks,” including the last one in the night garden.228 It now looks like the unruffled mother and daughter, who has become cynical and lost her moral innocence, have regained their freedom – but they were unable to enjoy it. On the way back, their caravan is attacked and both women are captured. Another procuress whose actions result in a tragic outcome is the merchant wife or widow (kupchikha) Antonida Evlamp’evna in the novel S severa na iug. After failed attempts to turn Marina into a mistress of the “black moustached” judge, she helps him to sneak into Marina’s house. In the absence of Marina’s protectors Nikon and Stepan, she came to Marina’s house one night as if for a friendly visit and secretly unlocked the door. The judge had also made a bet with two friends that he would win Marina. As he is trying to rape her, they are peeking through a window. The scene ends up dramatically: Nikon, who has just returned home with Stepan, kills the judge with an axe.229 The evil deed of Antonida leads to Nikon’s imprisonment, and also to Marina’s demise: she was kidnapped by another Russian and delivered to Saltyk. Antonida herself was at first also arrested but was soon bailed out by another dishonest and corrupt Russian, the local priest Father Ivan.230 In addition to the amateur procuress, there are some professional ones in Karazin’s works. “Mining engineers in their own right,” as ironically  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 296–98.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 343–44. 229  Karazin, S severa na iug, 302–11. 230  Karazin, S severa na iug, 312. 227 228

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defined by Burchenko, include a certain Amalat Bogdanovich and his wife Avgusta Ivanovna. They travel in a large carriage accompanying five young women, “unusually well developed, so obese that all their forms were glossy [with fat]… Between a fat back of the head covered by a cap and a corner of a chest coated with iron, cockroach moustache and a long red nose of a pure Caucasian type were sticking out.” When asked what they were planning to do in Tashkent, Amalat answers that they will open a new restaurant. When then questioned what those women would do there, Avgusta Ivanovna answers seriously that they will serve food and play the harp. “The Oriental man” then asks Burchenko if there are restaurants in Tashkent, and is happy to find out that there are no “restaurants like theirs.”231 As a matter of fact, prostitution was a recurrent problem in Tashkent, seen by the tsarist officials as “damaging to an image of European moral superiority.” Brothels were banned from the city center in 1873, and a plan to create a walled-off district of brothels was suggested and revisited.232 The gallery of Russian “civilizers” is not limited to the members of the “refined” or semirefined local “society,” and officials of various ranks. “Ivan-bai” is a bandit through whom Brzhezitskii arranged the attack on Lopatin’s caravan. He is known among other barantachis as kyzyl kaskyra (red wolf). Karazin emphasizes his predatory nature by mentioning his “wolf-like fangs.” This is not the only work where Karazin likens both local and Russian bandits to predators, to wolves especially – so that one of his novels is even called Dvunogii volk. The story of Ivan-bai is told in a chapter of Pogonia za nazhivoi entitled “Renegaty” (renegades), in which he is also referred to as a “renegade.” By the time of the attack on Lopatin’s caravan, he had been living in the steppe for twenty-five or so years, and knew it better than the locals. When he was twelve, his father was employed by one of the Astrakhan fish merchants. Once his father was on a fishing trip with his son and ten other fishermen by the eastern shore of the Caspian, near Mangyshlak. As several of them went on the shore to hunt, the father of the redhead Van’ka (nickname from Ivan) and three other men stayed aboard the ship. At night, they were brutally attacked by bandits from Khiva. Two men, including Ivan’s father, were slaughtered, two others captured; the boat was robbed and burnt. Those who had gone ashore were later captured. When the attackers’ kayaks left the burning 231 232

 Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 107–8.  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 111, 119.

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ship, on board of one of them little Van’ka asks an old Khivan man when he was going to get his promised reward. “You, damn wolf-cub, laughed the old man. You will get it, – he said, putting his hand on the short-haired head of the boy, – when you will become a big wolf and will be able to get it yourself. – All right, agreed the redhead, – you will not dupe me the next time…” This was the first “heroic deed” of Ivan-bai, who apparently learned the lesson taught by the old Khivan bandit. By the age of twenty, he became notorious for his robberies in the whole steppe, and an award was promised for his head. He was so bold that he would even show up in Russian forts and cities, including Orenburg and Nizhnii Novgorod, disguised as a poor cameleer or a merchant, and collecting information for further attacks. Even other bandits did not trust him since “truth has never pitched a tent on the end of his tongue, it has never even visited it [his tongue].” Once captured by an accident, he nevertheless was able to escape – exactly how he did it is unclear, but Karazin implies that he was able to take advantage of the owner of the boat who saved them after a shipwreck. The man was an Old Believer,233 and Ivan-bai shrewdly pretended to be one as well. Upon his return, he cut the throat of one of his wives with his own hands for having had a fling. When the award for his head was doubled, and it was promised that whoever delivered it would be forgiven for all his sins and allowed to leave, the redhead just laughed and even considered taking his own head to Astrakhan, receiving the award for it, and returning back to the steppe, but then thought better of it.234

Religions and priests An image of a somewhat similar “two-legged wolf” develops in a totally different direction and becomes a hymn to the redeeming power of the Christian faith. Nikolai Karazin does not talk much about Christian religion directly, although it is mentioned in various contexts multiple times. One short story, however, serves as an exception: it is entitled “Staryi Dzhul’dash i ego syn Mamet” (Old Dzhul’dash and his son Mamet). It is a story about another bandit of Russian background, Semen (Simon). He had grown up in a Cossack village on the Ural River, served in the army, 233  Old Believers (Starovery)  – a group of Russian Orthodox Christians who refused to accept the reforms imposed on the Russian Orthodox Church by Patriarch Nikon in the seventeenth century. 234  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 95–100.

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became a drunk and a thief, and then endured the hardship of the Khiva campaign. He deserted after that, and ended up being a bandit. “Sen’ka-­ volk” (Simon the wolf) used to be feared in the steppes around the Caspian, the Karakum desert, all the way to his motherland, the Ural River (Iaik). Crueler than his four-legged namesakes, for fifty years he was infamous for his raids, robberies, and murders: “His whole nature became reborn as that of a wolf… If anything went wrong, his teeth would chatter. He became wild and savage… Barely anything human was left in him…”235 We meet him when he is old, known as Dzhul’dash, and lives on an Amu-­ Darya island in a poor hut with his grown up son Mamet. The two men support themselves by fishing, and even Mamet is not aware of his father’s colorful past. Accidentally, they give refuge to a Russian woman who has escaped from barantachis. As Dzhul’dash converses with her in Russian, secretly from his son, his past comes back to him and starts to haunt him. Katerina, their “find,” is a guest and a captive, but she becomes more and more homesick, weakens and wastes away, even though Dzul’dash and Mamet do everything they can think of to cheer her up and take good care of her. She pleads with them to help her return to her husband and children, but Mamet is falling deeper and deeper in love with her, and refuses to let her go. He even warns his father, who tries to reason with him, that he will not live without her for even one hour.236 Dzhul’dash, however, starts having visions of the cross and saints, and those of hell and devils. In the absence of his son, he takes their “find” away, and accompanies her back to the Russians. In hopes that his son will forgive him and find a local wife, the old man is preparing to confess his sins and endure the punishment, which he is sure will be execution. As they travel, he talks to Katerina, who is happy that “God has called him [back],” wants him to confess to Father Spiridon, who “will never betray,” and promises to take her children and throw herself at the feet of the commanders, pleading forgiveness for the old man.237 As he delivers Katerina to the Russians in the Petro-Aleskandrovsk fort, he drops on his knees and confesses his horrible past deeds, desecration of the holy faith, spilling innocent blood, and deserting his service. When the colonel heard those “hair-raising horrors,” he looked thunderous, but when the familiar names of Count Perovskii and Ataman Styrov were mentioned, he started to smile. The colonel then  Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash,” 177–78.  Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash,” 172. 237  Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash,” 182–83. 235 236

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demonstrates what is presented as a fair decision and lets the bygones be bygones: “What you have sinned against the White Tsar, I forgive you in His name and with my authority, what you have sinned against people, you have to redeem with good deeds for the rest of your life. As for the holy faith, God, you need to go to Father Spiridon…”238 This story also has a dramatic ending. Simon confesses his sins to the priest, goes through аn intense seven-day penance, takes communion, is forgiven, and is restored to Christianity. This transformation is noticed with admiration by everybody present in the church tent. The narrator comments in a moving way that he would have never believed it if he had not seen it: how that “ugly, distorted by illnesses, deformed face, with grey disheveled hair, with protruding cheekbones – this face of an outcast, with a seal of damnation – seemed to everybody [present] to become majestic and even… somehow icon-like beautiful [obrazno-krasivo].” As explained by Father Spiridon later that day at the celebratory breakfast hosted by the district commandant himself, “the spirit of enlightenment of consciousness, mind and inner peace were reflected on it.”239 The story of the old man, however, does not end here. He leaves at night quietly, with an intention of getting back to his beloved son. He is planning to tell Mamet the whole truth, bring him back to the Russians, and convert him to Christianity, so that he could serve the White Tsar. Katerina would find him a young and kind wife. As he arrives on the island, however, he discovers their dwellings burnt to the ground, and his son’s body drowned with a stone tied to his neck. He buries his son with his own cross on the chest. In the concluding part of the story, old Simon turns into an almost holy man. He walks back to Russia, supporting himself only by begging. He performs public repentance and at the end of his long journey, arrives at the gate of the famous Solovetskii monastery located on an island in the White Sea. As he touches the door ring, the door opens and a shaky old voice says: “Enter in peace!”240 This story reads like a narrative by a deeply religious person, and as typical for Nikolai Karazin, his narrator merges with the author. The story combines a dramatic plot with emotional expression of faith and belief that Christianity grants salvation and happiness to everyone, including the most serious sinners and the most suffering men. Its tone is exalted, and it  Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash,” 185–86.  Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash,” 187. 240  Karazin, “Staryi Dzhul’dash,” 192. 238 239

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is easy to imagine how touching it must have been for his contemporary Orthodox readers. The story does not emphasize Orthodoxy as opposed to other types of Christianity; it mostly talks about holy faith and holy images. The artist did not need to emphasize Orthodoxy since it was the default faith for the Russians, and an important denominator of being Russian. In addition to Father Spiridon, there are several other members of the clergy who appear in Karazin’s works. One of them, Father Nikanor, an important personage in Nal’, is brave, honest, and kind. Throughout the novel, he supports and comforts those who need his help, and most of all – Sergei Nal’, who is haunted by the mystery of his birth and enigmatic visions which leave him weak and helpless. For example, when Nal’ is disturbed by the news of his family’s financial ruin, Father Nikanor offers a lengthy sermon about peace and calm, as he explains war and death as the mystery of the great God’s wrath and will. Only those are dear to God, he explains, who have been purified by the flame of suffering. He preaches: “So stand on the walls, kill the enemy, and have sacred faith that when your worldly perishable forces are exhausted, our Lord will not leave you without his eternal help, for the sake of the cross and the righteous deed. Even if you all perish and the enemy abuses the Holy Altar… this is also the will of God. From ashes and decay a new life and shining truth will rise… Only those who gave up, those who lost their faith and hope will meet eternal death… We just have to fight…”241 When defenders of the Russian fort are betrayed and the situation becomes perilous, the old priest fearlessly leads an attack: “With a cross held high above his head, Father Nikanor was walking stately, fearlessly glancing ahead, and following him, keeping pace and beating time on the stone slabs and tilting their bayonets, were walking reserve half platoons.”242 That counter attack saved the moment and temporarily repelled the overwhelming enemy forces. But as they are facing an uneasy choice between what seems to be a doomed resistance or surrender, a letter is delivered from Kostetskii, the officer who had betrayed them to the enemy and then pretended to have been captured. Describing the decent treatment of the captives, including himself, he delivers false news about the defeat of the main Russian forces, and the killing of the general. Since reinforcements will not be coming, according to him, he tempts his “comrades” to  Karazin, Nal’, 157–58.  Karazin, Nal’, 177.

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s­ urrender “on good and quite honorable conditions.” As the doctor sees it as a reasonable option, the commandant asks Father Nikanor for his opinion. “This is none of my business, – humbly lowered his grey head the priest. – My duty is to comfort a sufferer, to see off to the higher realms the dying, and to cheer up those weakening in spirit and faith. Those who suffer to the end will be saved… Our end is not in our hands, but in the great hand of our Lord…” Inspired and encouraged, the commandant writes an answer: “Our general ordered us to defend this citadel. We shall only surrender on his order. If he is truly killed – we shall wait for his order from the other world… Meanwhile, we refuse to negotiate with you any further.”243 They stayed in the besieged citadel getting ready to die. Father Nikanor was performing services, walking to all the positions with his aspergillum and cross. There were only several drops of holy water in the aspergillum since the siege had created a severe water shortage among the defenders. On the fourth day, the enemy attempted to storm the citadel again, but then major Russian forces commanded by the general appeared and the enemy dispersed in panic.244 When the main hero, Sergei Ruban-Opal’nyi, nicknamed Nal’, was falsely accused of treason, the old priest never doubted his innocence. He tried to convince the general, but the evidence seemed to point towards Nal’. He tried to see Nal’ but was denied; then he predicted: “You will see, if the Holy Providence does not open your eyes and protect the innocent soul!”245 Father Nikanor, along with the old commandant Sholobov, gravely wounded during the attack, maintained his faith in Nal’s innocence. Sholobov asks another officer devoted to Nal’ to put his own antique icon which he usually wears on his neck, most likely, his family’s precious possession, on Nal’s chest after the execution. In his turn, Father Nikanor performed the funeral service, though it was against the rules, as another priest, Father Vasilii, pointed out. “This is none of your business, – said imposingly Father Nikanor, – I am willingly taking upon myself this sin!” Father Vasilii accompanied Nal’ to the place of execution since Father Nikanor did not have the strength to do it. Father Vasilii walked next to Nal’ holding a cross and put it into the coffin, as Father Nikanor had instructed him.246 As weeks went by, Father Nikanor kept praying for  Karazin, Nal’, 184.  Karazin, Nal’, 191–93 245  Karazin, Nal’, 200. 246  Karazin, Nal’, 215–17. 243 244

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the salvation of the soul of the innocent victim, as a deep conviction of his innocence kept growing in the soul of the old priest. It looks like his insight is inspired by God, possibly combined with deep intuitive knowledge of human nature. One day, however, a letter was delivered to the general from the enemy camp. It was written by Kostetskii. In it, he confesses that it was he who had betrayed his comrades: he had not known that another had been blamed and executed. He committed suicide upon writing that letter. Upon receiving this letter, each one of the officers who had voted “yes” for execution (twenty-seven out of twenty-eight) – wished he had been dead instead of their innocent comrade. At the same time, they all felt elevated by the fact that the name of their beloved comrade had been rehabilitated. The novel ends on an exalted note with a strong Christian sentiment: Father Nikanor performs a religious procession to the tomb of the “innocent victim,” in which the whole garrison takes part. They place a large cross on the tomb and around it lies the foundation of the future garden. Each officer planted a tree. The finale of the novel is as follows: “During the funeral service, standard-bearers surrounded the grave and as Father Nikanor proclaimed: ‘Let his memory be eternal’ – the old, worn out, torn by enemy bullets, banners quietly were lowered to cover the grave mound.”247 The message of such an ending is clear: one’s honor is more important than one’s life. Also, the old priest here seems to represent dignity and loyalty, along with some military officers, his comrades-in-arms. What is particularly interesting, however, is that this novel, with its strong “Christian” message, is the only Turkestan novel written by Karazin where Hindu mysticism plays a key role. Sergei Nal’ had a mysterious origin, and has some inexplicable visions when he is visited by an elderly Indian man invisible to everybody else. As it turns out, that man is his Indian father, a Brahmin, who looks after him, and in the very end, during the scene of execution, Nal’ falls down and is lifeless before the bullets hit him: he is pronounced dead from a stroke and is buried. The following short chapter entitled “To the new life” is dedicated to the appearance of this old man and his helper, who dig out Nal’s body, leaving the icon and the cross behind. The old man reanimates Nal’ with some potions, dresses him in a long white shirt, similar to his own, and orders him to keep secret and meet him in nine days “by the source of life.” This man, his father, confesses his sin of having fallen in love with Nal’s mother, a young beautiful  Karazin, Nal’, 221–23.

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English girl, and having betrayed his “sacred pledge”: “I gave you birth, having stolen a part of the world soul from Nirvana, and subjected this holy part to sorrow, suffering, and painful death, and by doing so have redeemed my sin… Now, resurrected for the new life, you will follow me, also enlightened, and will not look back at the worldly life, its fake, passing joys, base temptations of the evil spirit, treacherous traps for the trusting…” “I am coming, father,” answers sleeping Nal’.248 Though the part involving the old man and the visions seems to be somewhat obscure and foreign to the realistic events of the war, one can assume that the combination of Christian and Hindu ideas is not coincidental. It would be reasonable to conclude, that the artist, a devoted Christian, who had also visited India and was impressed by its culture, shows the similarity of the message of two great religions: what matters is the “new life,” eternal life, granted after purification by suffering and pain. The images and moral power of Father Nikanor and the Indian Brahmin seem to parallel and even reinforce each other. Both men look lovingly after Nal’, and each, in his own way, manages to show him the path to salvation. Another fascinating dimension of this novel, directly related to Karazin’s presentation of Christianity and Russia’s uniqueness as “West for the East and East for the West,” is discussed in an article by Aleхandra Kazimirchuk. In it, she points out that the image of Nal’ symbolizes the East-West dichotomy of the Russian intellectual life in the late nineteenth century. A Russian patriot, he is also enchanted with Asian culture and dreams about India. His nickname “Nal’” is a result of his fascination with the ancient Indian epic “Mahabharata.” In the epic, Nal’ was a young king, virtuous, honest, brave, and knowledgeable of the Vedas. The name Nal’ in Persian means “horseshoe” (na’l) symbolizing good luck. King Nal’ is truly fortunate: he was able to win back his kingdom and wealth, and the most beautiful and desirable woman, Damayanti, fell in love with him. Karazin’s hero is also fortunately wealthy, and beautiful Gul’-Gul’ is in love with him. According to the article, Nal’ shares some additional similarities with another personage from the same epic, Karna. Karna’s birth was similarly a mystery: he was born through an immaculate conception to princess Kunti and the Sun God, while the mystery of Ruban-Opal’nyi was that he was born in India to an English woman whose family had perished and an Indian Brahmin “with the sign of the holy flame on his forehead.” Nal’s stepfather, a prominent Russian general, brought him up in the spirit of  Karazin, Nal’, 217–21.

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Christian high morality and honor. Interestingly, the article also points out that there are clear parallels between the story of Ruban-Opal’nyi and Jesus Christ: Ruban-Opal’nyi is betrayed by his own comrades and is put to death by them. He is resurrected by holy spirits, emissaries of his father. According to Kazimirchuk, several other characters in the novel are meant to be parallel to certain Biblical personages: traitor Kostetskii – to Judas, devoted friend Sholobov – to apostle Peter, dancer and courtesan Gul’Gul’ – to Maria Magdalena.249 Not all members of the Russian Orthodox clergy, however, are presented by Karazin in a favorable light. Priest Gromoverzhtsev (meaning “sending thunder”) is a member of the local “society” and shares many of their shortcomings. When Adel’ and her mother arrived in Tashkent and were settling down in Lopatin’s house, the local society members were desperate to meet or at least to see them. Lopatin, however, was reluctant to introduce beautiful Adel’ to others since he was trying to reserve her attention for himself, at least at the early stage of what he hoped would be a relationship. Those who tried to visit Lopatin on the pretext of a business issue were told that he was not feeling well or just that he was out. Gromoverzhtsev was the only one able to sneak into the house, and only because he used the back entrance and entered the dining room as Lopatin was having a snack. The uninvited guest all but invites himself for a drink, then makes himself comfortable in an armchair. He pushes his armchair trying to peek through an opening in a heavy curtain separating the quarters of the women. At the same time, he ignores all the unsubtle signs his host is giving in order to get rid of him. He leaves only when Lopatin finally loses his patience and excuses himself. As Gromoverzhtsev leaves the house, he is surrounded by his curious compatriots who are desperate to know what the newly arrived women look like. “ – Very good manners and blessed by nature with beauty, Father lied, as he was heavily lowering himself into his yellow carriage.”250 Another unattractive priest is Father Ivan in the novel S severa na iug. Consumed with worldly affairs, he has been able to collect money for a fancy new church – a tall brick building with a white tin dome and a large gold-plated cross is being built under his close supervision. He, however, 249  A.  D. Kazimirchuk, “Mifopoetika orientalistskogo romana N.  N. Karazina ‘Nal’,” Vestnik Severnogo Arkticheskogo federal’nogo universiteta im. A.  V. Lomonosova, no. 4 (2015): 83. 250  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 229–30.

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has no time, patience, or interest to listen to Nikon, who has come to ask the priest to perform a service for the occasion of the successful arrival of their caravan of settlers. Father Ivan, who has just gotten down from the church cupola, is now busy directing his subordinates to drag a passing-by local man into his yard since he is carrying two sturgeons to the market and the priest wants to buy them at a cheaper price before they get to the market. He keeps interrupting Nikon and does not listen to his answers. In an utterly “unpriestly” manner, he keeps rushing Nikon with his answers, repeating “Hurry up. Time is money.” The only information he is interested in is how many carriages arrived, probably calculating how much money he would charge the newcomers for his service: “Father Ivan started to quickly make some calculations, bending one finger after another.”251 He would also be making alliances with the most dishonest among the newly arrived settlers.

Humorous Russian names To reinforce his characterization of the Russian “civilizers,” Nikolai Karazin assigns telling and often humorous family names to many of them. In addition to the above mentioned personages, Glupovskii252 is based on the word “stupid,” while Trezvonov in “Tigritsa”253 bears a name implying “spreading gossips,” or “empty talking.” Two young officers interested in Adel’ are called Second Lieutenant Dushkin and Lieutenant Milashkin.254 Those names, especially combined, sound comical to a Russian ear, especially applied to men. In Russian, dushka and milashka have similar meaning and can be roughly translated as “dear, darling, pretty, sweetheart.” One more pair of personages displays matching rhymed names: merchants Tolchenyi (“pounded”) and Mochenyi (“soaked”).255 They are even dressed in a similar way, in broad fox fur coats, and their names imply that they have gone through fire and water, have seen it all. Another humorous name, Tiul’panenfel’d,256 belongs to a restaurant proprietor, with “tul’pan” meaning “tulip.” Possibly, it is a humorous take on the actual restaurant of Rosenfeld, mentioned by the  Karazin, S severa na iug, 112–13.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 253. 253  Karazin, “Tigritsa,” 224. 254  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 47. 255  Karazin, “Noch’ pod snegom,” 110–11. 256  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 243. 251 252

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artist in his essay about Tashkent as an excellent one, which “would not be the last one even in St. Petersburg.”257 Captain Shilomordin does not even make an appearance since he is “unwell.” While his presence is needed for an important issue, it falls on one of “his weeks,” which come every couple of months.258 The clear implication is that he has a drinking bout, during which he is completely unavailable for any service duties. His family name is a combination of two Russian words meaning “awl” and “snout,” in Russian – a rude way to refer to a human face. Decent personages usually carry simple Russian family names, such as “Chizhikov” in V kamyshakh, based on Russian chizhik, diminutive for siskin bird. As we have seen, many characters represent exaggerated negative features, especially greed, lust, and cruelty. Such a grotesque collection of vices is consistent with Karazin’s idealization of the Russian rule. He holds the representatives of Russia to the highest ethical standards and exposes their deviations not in order to discredit the Russian domination, especially in his beloved Tashkent, but rather to call them to order. Since he also provides an impressive collection of characters upholding honor and integrity, the situation should not have looked hopeless to the contemporary readers. The new colony was still a work in progress in the second half of the nineteenth century and Karazin’s aspiration was to contribute to the improvement of its management, administrative, financial, and ethical arrangements.

 Karazin, “Tashkent,” 172.  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 185.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Nikolai Karazin’s civilian project: local people in Turkestan

Karazin’s world of Russian colonizers exists in a connection to the colonized people. This “contact zone” has been defined by Mary Louise Pratt as “social spaces where disparate cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in highly asymmetrical relations of domination and subordination…” “Contact zones” are spaces where trajectories intersect of peoples who have been previously separated geographically and historically. Those contacts are usually marked by “coercion, radical inequality, and intractable conflict.”1 Karazin’s “contact zone” is as complex as his world of relations between different groups of Russian colonizers, or between Russians in Turkestan and in the metropole. Similar to the Russian newcomers, native people in his works range from saintly to outright evil, and include both men and women. If for the Russians in Turkestan their treatment of local people often serves as a measurement of their worthiness, for the local people their loyalty to their new Russian rulers even more so serves as the main criterion of their overall goodness. Roles local people play in Karazin’s works also range from episodic, almost part of the silent background, be it servants or bandits, to those playing key parts in saving lives and changing the course of historic events. All Turkestan works of Karazin seem to have two components: a soothing wordless presence of obedient servants preparing and serving tea among other domestic chores and a threatening presence of barantachis, 1   Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1997), 4, 6–7.

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_5

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culminating in heinous attacks. In comparison to the images of Russians, though, there are significantly fewer local people in the literary works of Karazin. Most of his novels and many of his short stories contain at least one positive and one negative local personage. As for his visual works, especially his drawings and sketches, local people play a prominent role there. It is interesting to mention the fact that the narrator can “read” the local people and their society, can deeply understand them based on his observations – in spite of the fact that he usually does not know their language. The “Orient” then can be “studied” and “tamed” by the West,2 and Karazin’s narrators are usually the ones presenting, explaining, and educating. His familiarity with the people implies that he is in control. The narrator’s ability of “surveillance” allows his gaze to penetrate “the interiors of human habitation” and to explore “the bodies and faces of people,” as explained by David Spurr in his book dedicated to the rhetorical methods used by Western Europeans when writing about non-Western people.3 Karazin’s narrators enter the inner quarters of the local people without being seen, in order to report on every detail yielding to their “power of gaze.”

Worthy and unworthy natives There are several native men in Karazin’s works who symbolize the highest moral qualities of integrity and compassion to all living beings. Turkmen Siarkei from the short story named after him is a “good angel of the desert.”4 The old man is described by the narrator in detail, with his very black eyes, like coals, which look intently and playfully, laughingly, directly into one’s soul. It is unknown how old he is – based on his appearance, the narrator would guess that he was around fifty, but many old men remember his looking exactly the same way when they were still young. Though he walks with a relaxed, old man’s step, he can walk for hours without getting exhausted, up to twenty hours a day. The narrator first meets him when Siarkei helps their caravan find their way when they seem 2  Katya Hokanson, “Literary Imperialism, Narodnost’ and Pushkin’s Invention of the Caucasus,” Russian Review 53, no. 3 (July 1994): 349–50. 3  David Spurr, The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel Writing, and Imperial Administration (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), 13, 19. 4  N. N. Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” in V peskakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 16 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 169.

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to be hopelessly lost among sand drifts. He had no home or even a carriage. Whatever he possessed, traveled with him. He was running a very simple trade operation: he bought sorghum on the shores of the Amu-­ Darya and transported it on his only camel to the banks of the Syr-Darya, where the price was three times higher. On his way, he had to cross the desert, and the round trip could take more than one month. His profit would be six or seven rubles – that money, however, did not make merchant Siarkei any richer. He has a total disregard for material possessions, and his little business operation seems to serve the only purpose of making other people happy. With the meager money he made, Siarkei would buy in Kazalinsk or another town multicolored kerchiefs, cheap cotton fabrics, and other trinkets, and distribute all that in the villages on his way either for free or for a negligent fee: “his life was warm and jolly. He simply gave away his wonderful gifts.” He was the most welcome guest in every village and everybody celebrated his arrival and mourned his departure. Knowledgeable of natural remedies, he successfully treated people, especially children, and animals. He also knew the history of his region very well, all its fairy tales and legends, and therefore was the guest of honor at any celebration. He had never been married, but “all children were his own children, and he loved them all equally and so much that any real father could not have loved them more.” His kindness is combined with an impressive educational skill. Once one of those “children,” as he grew into a “large blockhead,” stole his camel while Siarkei was asleep. As Siarkei met his “son” a year later by accident, he inquired if his “son” had told anybody about the episode with the camel. Reassured that he had not “boasted” about it, Siarkei instructed him: “Very well, because somebody might say: this Dzhiura is a bad man! He should be beaten, we cannot allow even the least attractive girl to become his bride! … So keep quiet, don’t tell anybody…” After that, Dzhiura reportedly could not sleep for a whole week; he still could not sleep even after he stole two other camels and brought them to Siarkei instead of the one stolen from him earlier.5 This kind spirit of the desert transcends not just time and space, but also the usual limitations of faith and ethnicity. He treats both the local people and the Russian newcomers with the same kindness. Though many local people initially thought about Russians with fear, mistrust, and hatred, Siarkei did not share these views, explains the narrator: “He always claimed that all people are the same, all good; among them, whoever they 5

 Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” 155–59.

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are, there are some bad and some kind people, and the kind ones are always stronger than the evil ones, they would always prevail.”6 In accordance with this view, Siarkei saved Alena Vasil’evna Skoblenaia with her two small children, who were caught in a snow storm on their way to a fort on the Amu-Darya. Abandoned by her guides, the woman prepared to die but was unexpectedly assisted by Siarkei who came across them by an accident. He threw away his own cargo, wrapped her and her children in a carpet, put them on his camel, and two days later delivered them to a small native village. Prevented from further travel to her destination by severe snow storms, she spent three months in a tent. When the winter was over, Siarkei accompanied her to the fort where her husband had abandoned any hope. He did not appear at the fort himself, however, but asked his “son” Dzhiura to bring her to the fort. Both the owner of the tent and Siarkei refused to accept any award, but instead the old man gave each one of her children a rattle and colored gingerbread.7 The story has a dramatic ending typical for Karazin: some time later, the family of Skoblenyi unexpectedly encountered Siarkei once more. As their carriage is unloaded from the ferry, it is about to slip into the water. Several local bystanders jump in to help, holding on to the carriage with all their strength, “almost with their teeth.” Alena Vasil’evna jumped into the water, carried her children to the shore, and started to clean herself up. Her husband fell into a fit of rage and started beating with his whip one of the poor volunteers, who endured the beating silently and without complaint. Suddenly Alena and her children started to scream in horror: the victim was their savior Siarkei. If the beating of an innocent man is almost expected from many Russian officials, the reaction of the rough and rude captain is quite unexpected. He breaks down in wild sobs without tears, drops into the mud by the feet of his victim, and desperately begs for forgiveness. When he is lifted up, he seems to be losing his mind: he is shaking as if with high fever, his face is distorted, he grabs his whip, and starts to tear it apart and even gnaw at it with his teeth. He curses himself, swears not to ever touch it again. When his own wife tries to bring him back to his senses since people are watching him, it only amplifies his reaction: “Let them all see my sinfulness… That is what I, old devil, a convict beast, deserve… Dear Siarkei, father… Forgive me please! Forgive me… my dear!” This startling scene reads like a symbolic transformation of a sinner 6 7

 Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” 159–60.  Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” 160–63.

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touched by the grace of a holy man, rather than like a realistic scene. Calling the old man “father” seems to be significant here since in Russian the word is normally reserved for one’s own father and a priest. The reaction of Siarkei is not surprising: as he is recovering after the beating and wiping blood from his toothless mouth, he mumbles in his broken Russian: “It is unnecessary to ask for forgiveness… God forgives… It does not hurt anymore…” And as he is consoled by Alena Vasil’evna, he mumbles some kind words about her growing children, takes a candy out of his pocket, and puts it into a child’s mouth.8 In her article “Karazin i Leskov” (Karazin and Leskov), Eleonora Shafranskaia draws a parallel between the personages of Karazin and Nikolai Leskov (1831–1895), a famous Russian writer.9 The protagonist of Leskov’s short story “Nesmertel’nyi Golovan” (Deathless Golovan) is another holy man who shares many features with Siarkei: he is well known to many people around who love and respect him, he is always ready to help everybody including Jews (uncommon among Christians during Leskov’s time), and he knows how to heal people and animals with natural remedies and herbs. He also was an accomplished storyteller. Golovan himself was “almost a myth, his story – a legend,” according to Leskov, which is also similar to Siarkei, a kind ageless spirit of the desert. Shafranskaia explains: “The image of Golovan is built upon the type of cultural hero, who teaches mortal people various crafts, brings various benefits into their lives, sometimes sacrificing himself.”10 And though Golovan dies in a fire while saving other people, he still is known as “deathless” – according to the rules of a myth.11 Another saintly local man standing out among Karazin’s personages is Mumyn from the story entitled “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu” (How messenger Mumyn took care of the mail entrusted to him). Similar to Siarkei, Mumyn is described as well adapted to long distant travels in the desert, with “bones as strong as iron” and tireless muscles. His occupation is to deliver correspondence and parcels across the distance of 600 versts. He travels between two forts with telling names: Fort Glukhoi (meaning “god-forsaken”) and Fort Zabroshennyi  Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” 167–69.   E.  F. Shafranskaia, “Karazin i Leskov,” Vestnik Nizhegorodskogo universiteta im. N. I. Lobachevskogo, 2014, no. 2 (2). 10  Shafranskaia, “Karazin i Leskov,” 343. 11  Shafranskaia, “Karazin i Leskov,” 344. 8 9

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(meaning “desolate”). He is supposed to be paid eight rubles for a round trip, with the horses, clothing, and food being his own. In addition to the grotesquely unfair deal, “Mumyn rarely bothered the commandant’s money coffers with his demands.” His cargo consists of some old useless instructions, old magazines, parcels with tea and tobacco, a hat for the commandant’s wife, and “two boxes of excellent shoe polish,” made by a scribe in Glukhoi for his friend, the scribe in Zabroshennyi, and sent as a gift. The boxes are so heavy this time, that the horses, described rather as Mumyn’s buddies, express their dismay: “Even the roan moved the remainder of his ears and jibbed when he saw the burden to be loaded on his back, while the dock-tailed grey snorted and started stamping around, looking sideways at his master with an expressive eye: ‘what do they want to do to us, our dear friend?...’”12 Mumyn is also shown as a poet-­ improvisator: as he travels, he “murmurs” endless songs-ballads describing all he sees and hears around him and addressing his horses. The trip described in the story turns out to be the last one for Mumyn and his equine friends. As he is trying to escape barantachis, at first the grey horse perishes: “by the evening, his grey horse dropped on the ground with his legs jerking… The legs of the horse were as if still running, while its shaggy head was already motionless, eyes bulging out, nostrils flaring with blood oozing from them. It expired. …” Mumyn hurried up; all he could think about was how to save the boxes with the mail and parcels: “He felt sorry to tears for the horse, but had no time to cry.” He moved all the boxes on the back of the second horse, who was also exhausted. After a while, the roan horse stopped and refused to keep moving. Mumyn “called him, beckoned him again and again, promised him an abundance of water as soon as they get to the wells, soon, just a bit ahead… But the roan did not believe, he knew all too well that there were no wells in that direction…” Having failed to move the horse, Mumyn put the boxes on his own back and walked on. As soon as he took the load off the horse’s back, it quietly lay down on the sand, as if that burden had been supporting it on its legs – lay down, put its muzzle underneath itself, and stretched its legs convulsively… its eyes, just like the eyes of the grey ‘corpse’ began to bulge out…” Mumyn, who would like to mourn the death of his two

12  N.  N. Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu,” in V peskakh, 170–73.

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friends, the horses, keeps thinking: “Even if I am to perish myself, I will preserve the mail,” and even prays to Allah to “save the official mail.”13 Mumym would only reach Fort Zabroshennyi one and a half years later. He is dressed in rags, sick, and painfully thin: “Through the rags, his naked body was seen, old bloody scars on his back, one ear was missing, another one missing a half, on his hands thumbs and pinkies were missing.” As he was yelled at for being so late, and then interrogated, he told about his ordeal: he had hidden the mail in the sand, then was captured by barantachis, spent a long time as a servant for Turkmen, then ran away, walked back to the desert, found the mail, and walked to the fort. He also complained about poor health and asked for money to buy new horses, since “being sick and handicapped, he could not carry the mail on his own back.” He received no money, but a request for money was submitted. Four days later, however, Mumyn was found dead in an empty yard behind a fence.14 Such devotion to an unworthy cause would look not just naïve, but almost fanatical and silly, if not for its symbolic meaning. Most likely, Karazin deliberately exaggerated the old simple man’s honesty and loyalty in order to contrast it to the behavior of Russian officials. While at the beginning it is implied that even his tiny salary is not being paid, it gets worse and worse as the story progresses. As Mumyn waits for hours in front of the commandant’s house in Glukhoi in order to pick up the mail, the nameless commandant slowly wakes up, getting ready “to stretch, yawn and curse.” A soldier’s wife, Anis’ia, “beautiful and plump,” sneaks out of the back door of the commandant’s house and furtively walks to the village; the scribe with a black eye asks for kvass (a non-alcoholic drink), probably having a hangover.15 But the vices of the Russian officials do not end with this pettiness. At the very end, when Mumyn “found peace at his last wells,” the narrator mentions another traveler, a Russian quartermaster colonel who was carrying 32,000 rubles of state money but failed to deliver it. He later claimed that he had been attacked by bandits, who almost killed him, and took away the whole sum. As proof, “he showed the sleeve of his coat, as if torn by a sword.” The investigating officials concluded that it was a bandit attack indeed, but “everybody else, with the exception of the officials, wondered: since when are there bandits in that  Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu,” 182–83.  Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu,” 183–84. 15  Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu,” 177–78. 13 14

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direction?” And this is how the artist concludes his story: “That was when the messenger Mumyn died. This very colonel laughed: – What a funny man, that slant-eyed, took such suffering upon himself for the sake of a good-for-nothing stupid hat and two boxes of shoe polish!”16 The senseless suffering and death of Mumyn and his horses pain the narrator and by extension – his readers. But the significance of this short story is in the fact that the pettiness, uselessness, hypocrisy, heartlessness, and outright criminal behavior of the Russian personages pain him at least as much. “Who is to civilize whom?,” Karazin’s reader might wonder upon reading this story. Though the story about Mumyn is not accompanied by a drawing, we might still have an image of Mumyn. In the volume Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Sredniaia Azia,17 there is a drawing of a local man carrying mail (see Image 5.1). He is comfortably resting by a well, sitting on a rug, and sipping from a cup. He is skinny and dressed in a striped robe, with a water pipe and a flask in front of him. Next to him, on the ground, are his bags with a rifle by his right hand. Mumyn also had a double-barrel gun made in Tula, which he tried to use against his attackers.18 The man in the drawing has a contented smile on his rather pleasant bearded face. Next to him, two horses are resting: the dark horse with what might be light spots, perhaps Mumyn’s roan one, and a lighter one loaded with two boxes, possibly the grey one. Another image, smaller and less detailed, also presents a native mailman with two horses.19 As he himself is riding the darker horse, the other, light-colored one, with sacks of mail attached to its back, is galloping next to him. There is another old local man who should be mentioned next to Siarkei and Mumyn  – Kashkara from a story under the title of “Staryi Kashkara” (Old Kashkara) (see Image 5.2). The old man, eighty years old, perhaps even older than that, lives in a small simple dugout by the road leading to Bukhara. Together with him live a six-year-old girl, Tillia, “meaning ‘gold,’” and a small, bandy-legged short-haired dog who answered to various names. Their small dwelling has very few possessions. Kashkara’s income comes from the water pipe: in front of his home, on a little rug, a water pipe is always ready for the travelers. It is tempting to  Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu,” 184.  Pochta v Kizyl-Kume, in Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniaia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885), after page 120. 18  Karazin, “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu,” 172, 181. 19  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 72. 16 17

Image 5.1  Pochta v Kizyl-Kume (Mail [carrier] in the Kysylkum). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885), after page 120.

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Image 5.2  Staryi Kashkara (Old Kashkara). N. N. Karazin, “Staryi Kashkara,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. A. Tushina, 1874), after page 64.

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those who pass by to stop briefly and inhale strong tobacco, which costs very little, about a quarter of a Russian kopek (one hundredth of a ruble). By the evening Kashkara usually has enough money for their simple life, since the road is quite busy. It is unclear what exactly the relation is between the old man and the little girl: he is very kind to her but she is only referred to as his charge, not as his granddaughter or great-­ granddaughter. It is possible that she is not related to him at all, and that he simply took her in because nobody else would. When they run out of their supplies of tobacco, rice, and other goods, and when they collect enough money, Kashkara arranges a trip with some passerby to a village twenty-five or so versts away. In his absence, Tillia is left in charge of their little business for up to two days and nights. Her trade goes very successfully, and “it never happened that somebody tried to cheat the little proprietress.”20 One day, as the old man is thinking sad thoughts about the people of the White Tsar, and all the violence war brings about, he is interrupted by several local riders who warn him about approaching Russians. “Leave quickly!” they shout. One of them suggests that the old man get on his horse together with the girl. Kashkara refuses to leave: “Where would I go? For what? What are Russians to me? I should not be afraid of them.” As he is comforting the scared girl, he is thinking: “They are also humans. And possibly, they also smoke.” Shortly afterwards, a long column of Russians goes by. Many of them pause and take a smoke, some paying, some not, some trying to joke with the old man about his business. At the end, he collected generous fees. By the evening, a lonely Russian soldier appears on the road. Somehow he got left behind. He is exhausted and sick, barely walking; he has abandoned all his possessions, with the exception of his rifle: “He was as pale as the fabric of his shirt, his blackened lips shrank with thirst, his eyes were looking cloudy and indifferently.” Kashkara brought him a big bowl of water. The man gulped down the water, muttered something, lay down on the ground and immediately fell asleep. As Kashkara cooked some rice, he tried to wake up the man, but he was delirious in fever. In the evening, Kashkara heard the sound of approaching horses. Figuring out that those are not Russians, he drags the sick man into his hut and hides him under a robe, behind sacks of tobacco. The same four local men arrive, and question the old man about the 20  N. N. Karazin, “Staryi Kashkara,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. A. Tushina, 1874), 61–64.

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Russians. Unfortunately, they noticed the Russian rifle left next to the hut, and force their way inside, pushing the old man aside. As they discover the hidden man, they behead him and throw his head out. “Bandits… bandits… you should not be called true believers… You are worse than the worst Russian,” whispers Kashkara. Ordered to keep quiet, he keeps talking: “Why should I be quiet? You are animals, mad wolves!” One of them hits him in the temple with the butt of the Russian rifle. “Why did you do this?,” asks another man, emerging from the hut. “Because he started to serve the Russians in his old age,” answers the murderer. They pick up the girl, who is screaming and biting, wrap her up, and carry her away. The dog is left alone with the dead body of his master: running up on the roof, it howls mournfully, then hides in the hut.21 This story is accompanied by a drawing: an old bearded man is sitting next to the door leading into his dugout. Next to him are a little girl and a little dog. On the other side of the door is the water pipe on the rug. They are sitting right next to the road in the desert, and on that road a man riding a camel is seen approaching their hut. The three figures look still and peaceful. If Siarkei suffers from a Russian bully but his holiness prevails, and Mumyn is defeated by the cruelty of the local people and the callousness of the Russians, Kashkara is the victim of the blind hatred of the locals towards the Russian newcomers. The three old men share several features: they are selfless and uninterested in material possessions; they are indiscriminately compassionate and humble. All three of them once again bring to mind Nikolai Karazin’s motto mentioned at the beginning of this book about making other people happy. Not all Karazin’s benevolent local personages are old men not of this world, but all of them are notable for their loyalty to Russians and readiness to suffer in order to help them. Dzhigit Iunus in Nal’ saves the fort defenders by delivering the desperate message from commandant Sholobov about the unrest of the local people and the coming siege of the fort. When the general receives the message, he immediately marches towards the fort. Iunus endured every kind of ordeal on his way: he was captured by the enemies of the fort defenders and threatened execution but escaped at night; he was severely wounded by the Russian officer who had betrayed the defenders of the fort; he was unconscious for two weeks and upon his recovery discovered that a poor family had cared for him: “His subsequent  Karazin, “Staryi Kashkara,” 71–74.

21

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tale was a long epic of suffering, deprivations and fear. But Allah helped him – and he finally found the general.”22 Another local man who demonstrates incredible loyalty to his Russian employer is Iusup from the novel Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts). Employed by Batogov (discussed in the previous chapter of this book), he finds his Russian master when he is captured, joins the bandits transporting him, and pretends to have quitted his Russian service. To demonstrate his hatred for Russians, he refers to them as “dogs” and “swine,” and conceals the fact that he had met Batogov before. Batogov is inspired by the closeness of a “friendly person ready to do anything for him.”23 As Batogov lives in servitude in a bandits’ village, Iusup puts up an impressive and risky performance: “Iusup played his role masterfully, maneuvering between attachment and a rather strange love for his master and the necessary caution, which had to be perfected in every detail, taking into consideration the observance and suspiciousness of the nomads…” Iusup even pushes Batogov in the presence of the bandits’ leader when he does not clean his horse properly. He also tells tall stories and lies about Russians and their habits, and when he notices Batogov’s amazed face among the listeners, he throws a melon skin at him. In the evening, he passes him by and whispers words of apology: “Don’t get angry: Iusupka knows how to do this deal!” Iusup joins the raids and wins respect – the reader cannot help noticing that the brave dzhigit enjoys the whole adventure. After several months, Iusup prepares a daring escape and they both flee. Interestingly, the dynamic of their relationship changes, since by saving his master, Iusup wins the right to be his friend: “Iusup now treated his ‘tiura’ [master] much more unceremoniously than before his capture… The old service, somewhat dog-like devotion and submissiveness disappeared; all that has been replaced by a new, better feeling. The barbarian instinctively knew that they both were now ‘tiura,’ both were dzhigits… Now they were just comrades… And if Batogov smacked him on the ear as before, for a poorly prepared gluhwein, Iusup most likely would have smacked him back.” Iusup is already dreaming about an order and a medal he will receive for saving Batogov.24 Interestingly, Iusup also identifies 22  N.  N. Karazin, Nal’. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 5 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 197–98. 23  N.N. Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 1 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 136–36. 24  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 225–26.

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with the Russians. As they are trying to avoid colliding forces, Iusup notices that Nazar, the local leader, is trying to outmaneuver the Russians: “There must be too few of ours. – Which ones are ours? Batogov gave his comrade a side glance. – Which ones are ours? Of course the Russians: you thought I am talking about this horde? Iusup looked contemptuously at the horseback riding crowd…”25 After a long trip back, enduring a severe storm and meeting local enemies, they finally reach the Russian lines. As they approach the Russians at night, they are accidentally shot at by a young inexperienced soldier. While Batogov is wounded, Iusup is mortally shot in the stomach. He dies the next day, as Batogov goes numb, and then mad, with grief for his friend, hugs him and begs to recover, and then hits the doctor assistant and several soldiers.26 Batogov will not survive his faithful friend by more than several days, poisoned by Perlovich. Another loyal local man in the Russian service, who stands for universal values but also employs some “native” means, is Doshchak from the novel Dvunogii volk (Two-legged wolf). Even the name of Doshchak is symbolic and means “friend” in Kazakh.27 Throughout the novel, Doshchak is juxtaposed to the Dvunogii volk (two-legged wolf) Atamkul. As old Doshchak stands for loyalty, Atamkul embodies betrayal. According to Doshchak, Atamkul was a bandit already in his early days, even spit at the old mullah, and threatened his own father with a knife. Doshchak used to be in the service of his father, devoted to him and looking after his sons. The father renounced his eldest son, who had turned into one of the “wolves” wandering around and performing raids against Russians. He managed to frame his own people, so that the Russians retaliated against the native villages. He once kidnapped a beautiful bride from a neighboring village, and when her groom went to search for him, the groom himself turned up dead: “He tormented all of us in such a way, and was considered a black disease in our villages. We did not refer to him other than ‘the cursed.’” Seven years later, he disappeared, to the great relief of his countrymen. When his father died, he left all his substantial possessions to his younger son, Iunus. Atamkul, meanwhile, turned up with the Russians and became an important man there, in charge of many local men and at least one hundred Russian Cossacks. He “speaks Russian, drinks wine and shakes  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 236.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 248–51. 27  K.  Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia (vtoraia polovina XIX-pervoe desiatiletie XX v.) (Alma-Ata: “Kazakhstan,” 1980), 127. 25 26

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hands with the general himself,” according to Doshchak. Iunus decided to join the Russians and also become an important man, and wary Doshchak accompanied him. Hypocritical Atamkul, though pretending to warmly welcome his brother, was jealous of all the wealth inherited by him. He therefore deliberately delivered him to his death. Iunus was put under his brother’s command. After the storming of a town, the general issued an order that banned looting. As Iunus was not warned by anybody, he was seen with four cows and one camel apparently looted from the defeated town. When the general ordered Iunus to be hanged, Doshchak and other native fighters pleaded with the general to forgive Atamkul’s brother. “If this is your brother, I shall forgive him,” said the general. In a dramatic scene, Doshchak and his comrades threw themselves at Atamkul’s feet, kissing his boots and begging him to acknowledge his brother. “I have many brothers like this… anyone of them will show up and claim to be my brother,” laughed “the two-legged wolf.” Because he rejected his brother, Iunus was hanged. After that, Doshchak continued to watch the evildoer’s every step, and waited “when Allah sends him his punishment.”28 Doshchak makes it his mission to deliver justice. He is loved and appreciated by the Russians, who call him “truthful soul,” and have awarded him a medal. Atamkul, who was granted officer rank and awarded an order, “became completely Russified,” according to his former Russian colleagues. He developed a wild passion for Natalia Martynovna (Natasha), the Russian nurse, asked her to marry him, and was jealous of every officer he saw in her company.29 He then betrayed his Russian patrons and deserted to the khan of Khiva, only to reappear in disguise in the Russian camp later, to strike them in the back together with several other fake deserters. Doshchak, however, recognized and exposed him. “Your brother Iunus sent me to check on you… You are not a human, but a wolf… You are even worse than a wolf,” he says to his enemy. As Atamkul is awaiting his execution, he makes a daring escape, along with his accomplices, during a night storm. He kills his guard and kidnaps Natasha’s son Petia, but fails to kidnap Natasha.30 As the Russian column marches in pursuit of the traitors and gets ready to fight against the khan of Khiva, Doshchak performs a heroic deed. Caught 28  N. N. Karazin, Dvunogii volk. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 14 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 43–48. 29  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 33–34. 30  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 48–70.

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in the desert without water, Russian troops are facing slow death from thirst. Old Doshchak, overcoming his own exhaustion and thirst, rides for hours to find other wells: “He only had one thought left: how to return [to the Russian camp] after he filled up his bottle.” He was able to return successfully and save the Russians for which he was awarded a “large golden medal on a bright-red ribbon” by the general himself.31 He is very proud – mostly because he has saved so many lives, but also because the medal is seen as a big honor, a sign of recognition of his devoted service. Old Doshchak, however, is a stranger to the Christian concept of forgiving one’s enemies and is determined to revenge Atamkul for the death of his beloved Iunus. He uses a shrewd trick to achieve his goal: bribing the local military scribe with delicious food and drink, flattering him in every possible way, he entices him to write a letter in Russian, as if the general thanks Atamkul for his secret assistance to the Russians, mentions bribes paid for that assistance, and refers to his promise of betraying his closest associates in the camp of the khan for another substantial award.32 Doshchak then goes on a risky mission – he deliberately gets captured by those very men as if on his way to Atamkul. Since they already mistrust “the renegade,” it does not take them long to execute their own justice, and the cut-off head of Atamkul is presented to the jubilant Doshchak for delivery to the general. Having performed justice in the “Oriental” way, the old man also thanked the executors in the “Oriental” way: he dropped on his knees, crawled to Sadyk, and “submissively kissed the skirt of his robe.”33 The triumph of the old man, however, does not last. As he approaches the Russian military camp at night, he is accidentally shot dead by a guard. In his bag, the head of the two-legged wolf is found.34 His end is similar to that of Iusup from Na dalekikh okrainakh: they both performed what they saw as their duty but paid with their lives. There are other local men in Karazin’s works whose devotion to the new Russian rulers is to be respected. Tauk, a humpback dwarf, assisted Russian spies by saving their captives and providing important intelligence about Kokand. In the most difficult situations, he demonstrates intelligence, strong will, and courage.35 Old Kerim in the story “Dzhigitskaia  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 104–5.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 120–22. 33  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 178. 34  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 194. 35  Nikolai Karazin, “Tauk,” in V peskakh. 31 32

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chest’” (Honor of a man) kills his son with his own hands for having betrayed and killed his Russian master and brings his severed head to the Russians.36

Native officials The role played by the local administrators, merchants, and interpreters is also addressed in Nikolai Karazin’s works. Although some local men considered dealing directly with the Russians desirable, Daniel Brower refers to the hostility and mistrust the Russian military administration expressed towards the intermediaries from the new local elite: “Secret reports expressed distrust of both their assertiveness and of their motives for adopting Western ways. Modernity in Sart garb did not appeal to Tashkent’s Russian administrator.” Only exceptional colonial officials believed that “the cultural and social distance between the Muslim and Russians worlds could be traversed.”37 Local notables mediating between two slowly converging worlds became obliged to their Russian overlords. At the same time, to administer efficiently, to be able to collect taxes and ensure peace, as well as to win local elections, they had to be tuned into the needs and concerns of the local population. Jeff Sahadeo also explains that as opposition to Russian rule persisted, “Tsarist authorities developed an elaborate system of fines for those who failed to show proper respect toward imperial authorities, with the highest penalties reserved for local elites.” Mediators had to carefully balance cooperation and independence.38 In a chapter dedicated to the “living wall,” Alexander Morrison explains that apart from the military governors and their staff, the most important positions were those of the District Commandant and the local police chiefs. The lowest Russian official, the Pristav, or regional chief of police, was often in charge of one hundred thousand or more people. In practice, the Russian administrators, lacking the local knowledge, delegated to native officials such crucial areas as land revenue, irrigation, and justice. Russian officials admittedly were unable to deal with the local population without intermediaries, a certain bureaucratic and financial 36  N. Karazin, “Dzhigitskaia chest’,” in V ogne. Ocherki i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 9 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905). 37  Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge, 2003), 74–75. 38  Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010), 83.

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“clique.” Rewarded with honorable robes and medals, and the status of “honored citizens,” urban and village elites were often able to take advantage of the Russians’ manpower, resources shortage, and lack of linguistic proficiency. Corruption was “absolutely endemic” in the native administration of Turkestan, and therefore they were not respected by the native people themselves.39 Nikolai Karazin includes some images of native administrators, both honest and corrupt. In the story “Doktorsha,” the action is set in the town of Katta-Kurgan in 1868, three months after the Russian conquest. The narrator presents a picture of a successful new administration – he befriends one of the local administrators, sarkar Goddai, responsible for tax collection. Goddai apparently knows how to balance his cooperation with the new Russian administration and maintain trust with his countrymen: “Sarkar was very happy with us – and we – with him.” When local rulers who had run away after the defeat of Bukhara realized that their own affairs had not taken a turn for the worse, they came back and received their previous positions at the petition of Goddai. The local people were free from any military draft now, their taxes decreased and were well regulated, and Russian officials did not interfere in the religious life which remained in charge of the mullahs, with the exception of the death penalty for serious crimes, subject to the jurisdiction of a Russian military court. The local people realized that they “were not doing bad at all, as had been predicted by ridiculous tales of religious fanatics.” Demonstrating the nature of the Russian conquest that did not distort the local life, but even enhanced it, the narrator tells his readers: “Soon the town resumed its normal, peaceful life, the markets were animated with many people, shops reopened, and it looked as if the number of people had even increased, in any case, it had become more animated, than before. Wealthy natives organized parties for our officers, performances with local music, feasts, magicians, and bacha40 dances. In our turn, we organized horse races with prizes for the natives, and during Ramandan, our cannons saluted the Muslim festivities from the walls.”41 This idyllic picture of the coexistence of the local people and the Russian newcomers, however, was to be upset 39  A.  S. Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand 1868–1910: A Comparison with British India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 127, 172–73, 181. 40  About the institution of bachas, see below in this chapter. 41  N. N. Karazin, “Doktorsha,” in Nedavnee byloe. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 15 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 73–75.

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by the arrival of the lustful wife of the Russian doctor, as described in the previous chapter of this book. Goddai appeared to be more than just an efficient representative of the “living wall” – he demonstrated moral qualities superior to those of the Russian military officers and was able to treat the Russian woman with respect. Native interpreters taking advantage of the linguistic handicap of both sides are also a part of the Turkestan narrative by Nikolai Karazin. Kaufman was well aware of the way interpreters abused their power. They acted, in his words, as “the ears and mouth of the commanders,” manipulating both Russian officials and local subjects, and in turn becoming “an arm in the hands of contending factions for intrigues and vengeance.”42 This vice is known to both the Russians and the locals who often do not trust them. For example, in Dvunogii volk, when Doshchak has an extremely important message for the general in regard to Atamkul, he arrives at his tent and insists on talking to the general in person: “Doshchak speaks very poor Russian, but was able to make himself rather clear about anything. Due to the importance of his business, he decided to converse with the general in Russian, in order to avoid the interpreter, whom the natives usually don’t trust much.”43 An example of why such mistrust is well justified is presented in Pogonia za nazhivoi. The narrator explains in detail how interpreters acquire significant leverage: In this region, an original administrative type of interpreter has appeared, a person, insignificant as far as his duties go, but in reality, not as unimportant as it might seem at the first glance. Where power belongs to those unfamiliar with the local language, an interpreter is everything: he is not only the transmitter of the will and orders of the superiors, he is an uncontrollable annotator of both, he is an unavoidable mediator between the complainer and the person to whom the complaint is being submitted, he is the reporter of every issue between natives. A Kirghiz ignorant of the Russian language, a Russian ignorant of the Kirghiz language  – and the interpreter between them, with vast opportunities to exploit them both. All of them without exception are Asians who have been educated in Russia. Shrewd and sneaky, they almost prostrate themselves in front of the representatives of the Russian authority with slavish submissiveness and attentiveness, while treating the natives who depend on them with the most arrogant contempt...

 Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 55.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 57.

42 43

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Naturally, every native person who has any business with a representative of the Russian authority, seeks the favor and patronage of the interpreter; success depends on that patronage, and a steppe nomad does not spare anything to please some tiura interpreter Bei-Bulatov or tiura interpreter Sultan Kuchukov and such… Accompanying everywhere his superior, who cannot make a step without him, he takes the place of his home secretary, scribe, adjutant, and the closest adviser in all intimate deals. Gradually, an interpreter collects in his hands the ends of many tangled threads, holds those ends tightly in his tenacious hands, knowing that that way he has his patron in his hands, and therefore he is becoming a person of primary significance, even though during official ceremonies he plays the most passive role.44

This overview is followed by a colorful example of Cornet45 Maslak-­ Butuzov (another humorous name with maslak meaning “the big thigh bone of a domestic animal” and butuz – “а plump baby”). He is described by the narrator in a condescending way as a “skinny darky with Asian type of face, with sleepy and swollen slant eyes, in a dirty uniform with junior officer epaulets and native trousers.” Emerging from his carriage in the early morning, coarse and swollen with a hangover, he rudely demands tea and vodka. As he meets with the representatives of the local tribes who are waiting for the arrival of an important general, possibly the governor himself, they exchange hints at his past misdeeds and extortions. As the meeting takes place, Maslak-Butuzov completely changes what is being said. The local representatives complain about endless extortions: “Everything is being taken away from us, we can never get what we ask for, and if we try to appeal, we only get ourselves and the whole family in trouble.” The district commandant who is responsible for such mismanagement is standing next to the interpreter. Maslak-Butuzov tells the general that the representatives are expressing their gratitude for their happy life. He is also whispering threats to the complainers.46 Here the local corrupt man is clearly in compliance with his superior, the Russian district commandant.

 N. N. Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi (St. Petersburg: Lenizdat, 1993), 136.  “Cornet” is the lowest officer rank. 46  Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi, 137–43. 44 45

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Mixed bags among the natives Not all of Karazin’s local personages clearly represent good or evil. Even among barantachis there are some complex personages, who display more than just wickedness. Safar, one of the bandits who captured Batogov in the novel Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts), keeps interfering on his behalf by advocating a relatively merciful treatment of the captive. For example, when the bandits make a rest stop, he insists that Batogov’s feet not be bound up again since he already cannot stand up on his numb legs. When the captors eat and Batogov is thrown a piece of meat, Safar orders that his hands be freed since “even when a dog eats it holds food with its paws.” On at least two occasions Safar saves the captive’s life, preventing other bandits from killing him.47 This old man with a grey beard is also an accomplished storyteller and tells fairy tales at night at the request of his companions.48 He is shown as a more pragmatic man, if not more merciful, than his companions, and seems to be avoiding excessive pointless cruelties. He, however, would not hesitate to warn members of his gang about Batogov and Iusup, on their way from captivity, in order to get them captured again. When they escape, his inclination to tell tales takes over, and he claims that Iusup was nobody other than Shaytan (devil) himself who disappeared underground.49 There is an example of a moral revival of two local men, whose story is reminiscent of Dzhul’dash’s story: after committing a murder, they confess their sin and spend the rest of their lives serving passersby. Desperately poor, not knowing their past, and even unsure if they are blood brothers, Naurus and Dzhiura, “brothers Kudukchi” (from kuduk, a desert or steppe well) travel in the desert repairing wells. In his report about the expedition to the Amu-Darya, Karazin explains the miserable life of kudukchis in the following words: “These pathetic, unsociable inhabitants and workers of the desert barely maintain their human shape, their range of concepts is incredible narrow: dirty and wearing rags, they walk in the sand as shadows or sit motionless for days and nights near wells waiting for a caravan or a single traveler; they die in the steppe and nobody takes notice of their death…”50 Naurus and Dzhiura trap a boy in a well in order  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 95, 97, 102, 109–10, 133.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 98–101. 49  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 243–44. 50  N. N. Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia dlia issledovaniia napravlenii sredneaziatskoi zheleznoi dorogi i izucheniia basseina reki Amu-Dar’i,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 607 (1880): 151. 47 48

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to steal his prized camel. Immediately after that, they lose their minds overwhelmed by their own cruelty, and wander the desert mounted on the ill-fated camel, who finally perishes. They end up returning to the well where they committed their crime: they pull out the half-decomposed body of the boy, bury him, and stay by the same well. Upon his grave, they built a mound, alternating layers of saxaul and sand, and “piled up so much that it could be seen from six versts away and pointed a lost, exhausted traveler to good water.” Naurus and Dzhiura dedicated their lives to maintaining fresh water in that well, and made this place their home: “Soon the news about the brothers providing good water spread in the steppe. More and more often would caravans turn from the old road.” They also confessed their sin to the travelers: “Nobody reproaches the brothers for their old sin, but everybody knows what they had done. The brothers themselves told about their sorrow, their misfortune. They are still sitting by the well, guard the water, and repent of their sin to the passersby.”51 This short story was likely to leave Karazin’s Christian readers with a hopeful feeling, since even the gravest sinners can redeem themselves. It is even more impressive because the sinners are non-Christian, so that the laws of repentance and redemption are universal. In his report about the Amu-Darya expedition, the artist claims that he and his companions met those two brothers in the Kyzylkum desert.

Drawings of evil natives In addition to the multiple sinister or semi-evil locals populating Nikolai Karazin’s literary works, there are multiple images of them in his drawings. Their titles are as telling as their contents: the artist often uses comparisons with wolves to emphasize their predatory nature, brutality, and operation in packs, or directly labels them beasts of prey. For example, in a drawing entitled Volch’ia viazka (Wolf chain), five men are slowly following each other as they make their way on a rocky path in the mountains, with one carefully riding his horse on a log thrown across a narrow rapid stream. The time is probably sunset, so only the beards, shaggy hats, and rifles – but not the faces – of the first three men in the foreground can be seen clearly. Only dark silhouettes of the other two can be seen in the background, with possibly more men following in single file. The drawing

 N. N. Karazin, “Naurus i Dzhiura, brat’ia ‘kudukchi,” in V peskakh, 148–49.

51

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leaves an impression of their quiet progress as they are preparing a sneak attack on unsuspecting victims.52 Another drawing carries the title Khishchnik (Predator). A man is riding a horse walking knee-deep in water, a stream or swamp. On the horse’s back, he is carrying a stolen black-headed sheep. He is dressed in a striped robe and shaggy hat, with his face turned towards the viewers. Keeping the title of the drawing in mind, one can interpret his facial expression as severe. His face has Asian features and a small moustache. However, if the title were to be removed or changed, it could also be interpreted as a local man carrying his own sheep somewhere.53 Similar drawings picture native thieves of sheep and horse.54

Female characters There are significantly fewer female personages among Nikolai Karazin’s locals, for the obvious reason of women’s seclusion in Muslim and Eastern cultures. Most native women in his works fall into one of two categories: either ignorant and backward women secluded in the harems, or wild free-­ spirited women who broke away from the conventional life. There are few similar descriptions of harem life in Karazin’s literary works: all of them devoid of hints of sensual pleasures but filled with petty squabbles, superstitions, envy, and sometimes evil deeds. Perhaps the most striking description of such a harem is included in the story entitled “T’ma neprogliadnaia” (Pitch darkness). The title itself is a reference to the stifling dreadful atmosphere inside the women’s quarters. The owner of the house and the master of the women’s quarters is the merchant Suffi Kazimetov. He is a man under forty years of age, a well-off owner of a caravanserai in the central market, as well as of two shops. He also trades in Russian calico fabrics, but has not yet been to Russia himself. Suffi is friendly with the Russians, understands the benefits of the developments they endorse, including those promoted by modern medicine. He welcomes the help of the Russian doctor Ol’ga Nikloaevna (described in the previous chapter of this book) for his favorite wife Ester and his only son, Sharip. For his cooperation with the Russians, he is awarded a silver medal on a long red ribbon with a white border from the district  Niva 7 (1888): 181, description on page 193.  Niva 48 (1879): 949. 54  Niva 26 (1889): 652; Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 476. 52 53

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commandant. The general congratulates the flattered recipient of the medal in a short florid speech, mentioning “casting away blind superstitions” and those who by “accepting enlightenment measures” turn into “civilization guides.”55 His harem however, is a different story. He had four wives, one of whom died recently, and her mother, Ul’kun-Kursak, a woman strict and experienced in all household affairs, is in charge of the women’s quarters. One of the wives is described as a fat “dirty slant-eyed” Khatycha; another is Sary-Koshma, who “has one leg shorter than another.” Each one of them is envious of the others and cherishes an aspiration of achieving the position of their husband’s favorite wife at any cost. They hate and fear Ul’kun-Kursak. Ul’kun-Kursak treats those two wives with indifference, while she hates his new young wife, Ester, because she has become Suffi’s favorite wife and has replaced her late daughter in his heart. Ester is pictured as a quiet and humble woman who does not complain to her husband about mistreatment from Ul’kun-Kursak. She is also very beautiful, as acknowledged even by Ul’kun-Kursak. She, however, is consumed with tuberculosis. The only “bad luck” of Suffi has been that he had only daughters before he married Ester. Five months earlier, Ester gave birth to a boy named Sharip, who immediately became the apple of the eye of his father and mother.56 The women’s quarters are shown as dark and dirty, lacking fresh air literally and metaphorically, and full of malignant and idle gossip. Superstitions play an important role, especially when Sharip becomes seriously ill. Ul’kun-Kursak prides herself on being a devout Muslim backed by the kazy (most likely Qadi, Muslim judge). On the advice of a mullah, she consults Saltyk, “the first medicine man,” and as a result, she suggests a remedy involving strangling of a white sheep with black head and wrapping its boiled head into the mother’s unwashed shirt.57 As Suffi brings the Russian doctor, Ol’ga Nikolaevna, to help Sharip, and his mother-in-law tries to ward her off as the devil, he demonstrates a realistic view about modern medicine and a cynical knowledge about the true colors of the mullah catering superstitions to others: “My son’s life to me is more precious than all of you, more precious than my own 55  N. N. Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” in T’ma neprogliadnaia. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 6 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 5, 77–78. 56  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 3–10. 57  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 12–14.

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soul. …What do I care about the mullah! He himself was treated by a Russian doctor when he almost went blind, did not turn away from his unclean hands, did he? Now he can read the Quran again. So was it Shaytan who helped him to return to the holy books? When the kazy became sick with cholera, who saved him from death, who treated him?” The Russian doctor is shocked by the dirty air and dirt inside Ester’s room. The sick boy is carried out into the fresh air, and all his dirty wrappings are burnt by his father. Ol’ga Nikolaevna washed the boy, cleaning his nostrils and mouth. The child recovered to the delight of his doting parents.58 The disappointed old woman keeps at work: she spreads poisonous gossip among ignorant women about the devil’s interference in the whole affair. According to her account, when Ester fainted, the Russian doctor put a bottle under her nose from which “yellow flame and black snakes were coming.” As Suffi was holding Ester’s hands, she reports, the Russian doctor “was gnawing at her chest by the heart, sucking her blood.” The women believe everything she says and add information about a snake tail showing from under the Russian woman’s skirt.59 Ul’kun-Kursak also puts poison into Ester, telling her about a dream clearly pointing out that Ester and her son have been polluted by witchcraft and that only fire can purify that transgression. Scared out of her mind, Ester becomes hysterical. The Russian woman calms her down, and even performs a “fortune telling” for her, burning a piece of paper on a candle and “interpreting” the shadow of the charred paper on the wall. Her predictions are of course very bright: Suffi is rich and prosperous, Ester has three more boys, she recovers and breastfeeds them, and Sharip grows to become strong and handsome. Happy Ester pleads with her Russian friend to stay with her overnight; then she will not be scared.60 Significantly, the relationship between Suffi and Ester is pictured as different from what one would expect in a harem described in such dismal terms. They love each other with tenderness and care, and their selfless love is cemented by their love for the child. Ester explains to Ol’ga Nikolaevna that initially she did not love Suffi at all: “How can hens be in love with the rooster? What are they to him, what is he to them? If hens die, there always be other ones, if the rooster is slaughtered, another one will be brought to the hen house… All the same… But now I am in love  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 22–29.  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 25. 60  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 25, 33–40, 45–50. 58 59

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with Suffi…” Ester is not free of jealousy and is adamant that she not share him with the other wives. As Ol’ga Nikoaevna visits Sharip and his parents, she and the couple share a meal and talk after the little boy falls asleep. Their conversation is pointedly shown as of a different nature from the usual gossip and superstitions of Suffi’s womenfolk. The Russian woman is interested in the local habits and traditions, in Suffi’s trade business. He also asks intelligent questions of her. Ester mainly listens to their conversation, and interferes only to ask rather silly or naïve questions, such as about the general’s wife who is reportedly white and fat since she only eats sugar. She is presented as somebody emerging from her customary ignorance under the beneficial influence of her new friend, the Russian woman, and her husband’s sincere affection. The mode of their relationship and the conversation between Suffi and Ol’ga Nikolaevna is presented as unmistakably “Western,” enlightened. Ester is an able pupil, and she herself admits that she is silly while Ol’ga Nikolaevna is wise.61 There is a dramatic struggle between Ol’ga Nikolaevna and Ul’kun-­ Kursak. The Russian woman is genuinely interested in the position of the native women, “the level of their development, all their conditions, their miserable, secluded life.” She is aspiring to “bring some light into this dark environment,” and her acquaintance with Suffi and his family presents her with such an opportunity. She can see clearly the alignment of forces, the struggle “between light and darkness.” On one hand, there are Suffi, grateful to the Russian doctor for saving his son’s life and her promise to heal his beloved wife, and Ester, superstitious, believing in the magic force of the “light woman,” and proud of being called her sister. On the other hand, there are Ul’kun-Kursak, devoted guard of the old traditions against any new influences, especially those coming from the “infidels,” and other members of the household, “those ignorant females, inspired by angry envy and animal-like jealousy.” Ol’ga Nikolaevna is not sure of her own victory, and suggests that Ester and her son move into a clean and comfortable cottage located in the garden surrounding her own house and connected with it by a covered gallery. Supported by an enlightened mullah, she is able to convince Suffi and Ester that such a move would be beneficial for all of them.62 Moreover, as it turns out, Suffi is also well aware of the intrigues of his mother-in-law. While “he can be easily bridled with tender submissiveness  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 28, 39–50.  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 72–77.

61 62

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and tears,” as she knows well, when pushed too hard, he can defend himself and those he loves. He explains to Ul’kun-Kursak that he had clearly seen her hatred for Ester and Sharip, and knew about her alliance with mullah Naurus, who himself is a bad man, and all her malignant intrigues. He issues her a final warning to keep quiet and not to get close to Ester.63 When Ester, wary of Ol’ga Nikolaevna’s beauty and instigated by Ul’kun-­ Kursak, tries to lie to him about the Russian woman’s allegedly poor health and her leg mutilated by a burn, he wisely replies to his naïve wife: “Ol’ga Nikolaevna does not need [beautiful] legs, as long as she can walk. If she cannot walk, [people] will carry her in their arms. Her greatest beauty is here and here – a whole God’s kingdom of Light.” And saying that, he points his finger at Ester’s forehead, and then puts his hand on her chest where her heart is beating.64 The “dark” side representatives passionately hate the Russians: Ul’kun-­ Kursak convinces poor Ester that the Russian woman herself has designs on Suffi. When proud Suffi returns home with his new medal, the old woman accuses him of betraying his faith and selling his best wife to the general. The Russian woman and Suffi did not win in the end, but only because they underestimated the depth of darkness of the opposing side. The situation comes to a head by the morning when Ester is packed and ready to move to the Russian quarter of the town, and the other two wives have asked for permission to come and visit her. That morning the little boy is found dead by his mother. As the readers learn, the old woman had murdered him by sticking a pin into the top of his head, on the advice of mullah Naurus. The story ends with Ester losing her mind and Suffi executing his mother-in-law.65 Several other harems and their inhabitants in Karazin’s works have parallels to the one in “T’ma neprogliadnaia.” Nina Leont’evna, the doctor’s wife described in the previous chapter of this book, insists on visiting the women’s quarters of Goddai. Upon her return, she mockingly refers to Goddai’s wives as “funny” and “monkeys,” claiming that they are faithful to their husband because they are locked up. Nina also refers to the harem as a hen house, and calls the women “speechless beasts,” with whom there

 Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 79–86.  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 84–91. 65  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 94–98. 63 64

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is nothing to talk about.66 Later, in her sincere letter to the narrator, she would add that among “those miserable little animals locked up in Goddai’s harem” there are two strikingly beautiful and young women, compared to whom she herself was worth nothing.67 Goddai, who is infatuated with Nina, at her request announced to his wives that he was going to divorce them. Unexpectedly, they attacked him, tore his robe into pieces, “so that he barely had a chance to cover his face and beard,” and cursed him badly. Moreover, they threaten that if the Russian woman shows up in their house again, they will tear her into small pieces as well. Goddai is taken aback, since usually they quarrel and fight among themselves, and quiet down as soon as he threatens them. Apparently, the old woman, similar to Ul’kun-Kursak in “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” complained to the mullah, who supported them. He is a wicked man, comments Goddai, and “follows the old faith.” But his influence is such that when Goddai complains to the kurbashi (chief of the native police) that somebody threw dirt on his back at the bazaar, the kurbashi replies: “Nobody would throw dirt at a good person.”68 As mentioned earlier, here also the old woman of the harem, supported by the mullah against the infidel intrusion, commits a murder – she strangles Nina. And one more harem is worth mentioning in this chapter  – the one belonging to Atamkul, the “two-legged wolf.” These women do not look sinister, and though they squabble often, including fistfights, for there is not much of anything else for them to do, they overall seem to be getting along. The readers follow Natasha into the women’s tent since that is where she is brought in desperate pursuit of her kidnapped son. A whole chapter in the novel Dvunogii volk is entitled “Garem mully-Atamkula” (Mullah Atamkul’s harem). The women’s tent is comfortable and decorated not without fancy. Three women dwell there – two young ones and one old. One young woman is Iranian, around seventeen years old, and the favorite wife of Atamkul. She is described as very beautiful, very protective of her special position, and thus jealous of the new arrival  – the Russian woman. She also knows how to look seductive when Atamkul comes in, being “an experienced coquette of Asian harems.” Another woman is Kirghiz, who is older and overweight. As the three women take

 Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 83, 85, 90.  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 106. 68  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 90–93, 87. 66 67

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care of the unconscious Natasha, the Kirghiz woman demonstrates compassion: “The kind woman even kissed her patient.”69 The chapter dedicated to the harem is followed by a chapter entitled “Skazka o khane-zhenshchine” (Fairy tale about khan-woman), with a footnote pointing out that this tale was presented in its interlinear translation but shortened. The scene also takes place in the women’s tent when the old woman tells her tale about the old times when everything on earth was run by women, headed by a female khan called Zanai. Meanwhile, the men in the capital city were only sitting idly and doing nothing, “just as we are sitting now,” and cared only for the few little boys left alive. In the capital, only one out of one hundred boys born was allowed to live; the rest were thrown out to be killed by wild animals. The women’s rule comes to an end as a result of Zanai’s deviation from the accepted way. At first, she bribes her guards and swaps her newborn son for a girl, and hides the boy. She later refuses to execute her son Iskander who had become the leader of rebellious men. Instead of cutting out his heart when he is caught, she confesses to her deeds and stabs herself. Her female subjects’ confusion leads to men taking over. Thus “women’s will ended, women’s realm fell apart.” As the old woman ends her tale saying “That is what it means to be a mother!,” Natasha is dramatically reunited with her son. All the women in the tent share this moment of motherhood celebration: “The old woman smiled kindly with her toothless mouth, and as she is looking at the Russian woman, her tongue repeats instinctively: ‘Yes, that is what it means to be a mother…’” As the proud Iranian turned away and was crying, the Kirghiz woman hugged and kissed Natasha’s feet in an emotional meltdown.70 One possible interpretation of this tale is that women trade their public life for motherhood and related domestic duties, and though they might dream of it being otherwise at times, at the end motherhood matters more to them than anything else. Women’s love for children and their desire to sacrifice their own life for them, be it the Russian woman Natasha, or the fairy tale khan Zanai, are presented as beautiful feelings. This would remind attentive readers of Karazin’s works about the peasant Russian woman Marina who sacrificed the love of her life for her three little children (as discussed in the previous chapter of this book).

 Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 150–55, 165.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 156–64.

69 70

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The second type of native women is fiercely independent: for such a woman her freedom is the most important asset. Those women want to escape the bondage of traditional marriage, choose their male partners themselves, and feel on par with them. They put themselves in a position of outcasts which only a few very strong women can bear, and even fewer – enjoy. However, according to Nikolai Karazin’s works, the times are changing, and with the arrival of the Russians the old ways are yielding to the new influences. One story in particular stands out as a hymn to women’s independence. The story is entitled “Ak-Tomak,” after its main hero. The narrator first meets Ak-Tomak under dramatic circumstances when he saves her from three men who had captured and abused her, and would later learn her story. That story is framed by an overview of women’s position in Muslim Turkestan and changes initiated by the Russian conquest. Blaming Islamic fanaticism for their oppressed position, the author explains that women are “shortchanged and abused by the Quran almost on every one of its decorated [with arabesques] pages.” It starts with a girl’s birth, which is not a celebrated event in the family. When she stops nursing, she is often neglected and goes hungry, growing in dirt and sharing her food with dogs, cats, and other domestic animals. When she turns five or six, they start dressing her up and piercing her ears and nose. Starting at the early age of eight, a girl is encouraged to dress up, use make-up, and learn flirting. At the same time, she is secluded and has to cover herself when she leaves her home. Her upbringing is to be blamed for a woman’s idleness, focusing on her body alone and the passion it can ignite in men, for the total lack of any spiritual motivations, or any notion of love. Only very few women are able to break out of these constrictions. They include some widows unwilled to another man, orphans whom no man claims, and slaves who have lost their owner. Those “lucky” women, the author claims, can enter “the path of independence”: they supposedly have to appear in front of a council of mullahs, show their face, and undergo scrutiny in order to define the fee, a certain tax, which they will have to pay annually in order to be allowed to step out of the traditional path. The more attractive the woman is, the author claims, the more she will have to pay. Such women go outside with their faces uncovered, but they dress in men’s clothes when they do so. Such women often gather in groups of two or three, rent a house, hire servants, buy horses, and lead a “free and merry life” envied by the harem recluses. Those local courtesans are visited in their “Asian salons” by rich young bachelors, travelers from out of town, and sometimes, the local notables, who have finally gotten

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bored by the timidity of their lawful wives. For such visitors, there exist secret paths leading directly to the inner quarters of the beauties, who keep their secrets well and are handsomely rewarded. Independence, according to the narrator, has a striking effect on those “hetaeras”: they leave their humility behind, learning to socialize with men freely and even to mock their shortcomings. They learn sarcasm, which marks their songs and anecdotes. With the arrival of the Russians, the story claims, women’s fear of the men’s power is disappearing, as the “new fresh wind” is penetrating the old stifling atmosphere of the harems.71 Capturing the mistreatment of women by many Central Asian men, the author probably is underestimating the stigma of such “free women” in any Muslim society, even in one ruled by the new Russian overlords. As Sahadeo points out, in 1876, out of one hundred prostitutes registered in Tashkent, twenty were Russian and eighty  – local, consisting of women “cast out of family networks.”72 Ak-Tomak is an example of such an independent woman, whose freedom is hard won. Famous for her outstanding beauty, she was married to Khudoiar Khan of Kokand at the age of twelve. Caught in infidelity, she was to be executed by being shot in the head, but she makes a daring escape with her lover, Omar-shah, and her executioner-to-be Abda-­ Rahman. After the three of them flee, she stabs her lover and escapes, explaining to Abda-Rahman that she does not want to go “from under one whip to under another one,” but wants to be “a free bird,” just like the one soaring in the air high above her head.73 Her dramatic acts complement her exotic appearance. By the time the narrator meets her, she is still very young, around twenty. In spite of heavy make-up, her face “is marked by painful exhaustion”: Luxurious, black as coal hair, plaited into multiple thin braids and mixed with beads, fell on both sides of her naked neck. Her sharply outlined brows angled over her thin aquiline nose, large expressive eyes looked with a playful, predatory but also ingratiating air. An old scar crossing her face from her left temple to the middle of her cheek gave her face a wild, charming expression.74 71  N.  N. Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. A. Tushnova, 1874), 268–75. 72  Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society, 111. 73  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 254–68. 74  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 277.

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Ak-Tomak disappeared the morning after the narrator saved her, but he meets “the amazon” again under completely different circumstances. While in Katta-Kurgan, he is invited to a party by his friend, sarkar Goddai. Though the year is the same as in the story “Doktorsah,” here he is an old man with a long half-grey beard. His servant takes the narrator to a certain house where a party is in progress: Ak-Tomak and two other women are entertaining a group of men from the local elite, including Goddai, and some Russian officers. They drink wine and maintain a conversation peppered with jokes and anecdotes. One woman sings a mocking ballad about hens breaking out of their henhouse, away from their rooster, as she makes jokes and teases the men present.75 Ak-Tomak therefore has attained her independence in the Muslim society but only at the expense of becoming a courtesan, and a murderess. Perhaps this is the reason why her description implies that not all is perfect with her state now, the reason for her exhausted appearance. The admiration of the narrator for the three independent women is surpassed by that of Abda-Rahman. As it turns out, he is now employed by Ak-Tomak, and has turned from her enemy seeking to revenge Omar-­ shah into her devotee. He has realized that she had her reasons to kill her lover, since he would have locked her up. He, on the other hand, was not to judge her, since he himself had taken many lives as the khan’s executor. Here again the author inserts a “Christian moment”: [Abda-Rahman:] She committed a big sin, true, but this is nobody’s business, other than Allah’s. Let there be a hand which never committed any evil, only that hand can strike her. Only is there such a hand in our world? I was astonished by this remark of the old Muslim, without knowing it, he has repeated the holy truth commanded to us, Christians.76

And yet the old man has other reasons to come to terms with his new master who turned out to be a kind woman, performing many good deeds and spending less than half of what she earns on herself. For example, she recently helped a poor family who had lost everything in the war. There were three women and eight children, whom she sheltered, clothed, and gave money. She petitioned to the commandant to assign some living 75  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 275–82. The full text of this folk song is included in chapter six of this book. 76  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 284–85.

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quarters to them, and he promised to help. She treats old Abda-Rahman kindly, pays him well, and promises to never abandon him. She is also very proud and independent, and will not tolerate any power above herself, so that also causes his respect. And, finally, the old kazy himself comes to visit her, and even drinks wine.77 Here again the author demonstrates how the Russian domination introduces changes even to arguably the most inflexible and removed from public view area – women’s status. Symbolically, the story ends with a small episode with several anonymous neighbors arguing about somebody’s donkey trespassing. One man then threatened his opponent with the kurbashi, who is the speaker’s relative, to which the other man answers that he is not afraid anymore, since “the times have changed.” The narrator reiterates this phrase thoughtfully and proudly.78 Ak-Tomak has a like-minded “sister” in Gul’-Gul’ (Gul’ meaning “flower” in Persian), a personage from the novel Nal’. She is the lover of Nal’, who is prompted by Father Nikanor (discussed in the previous chapter of this book) to marry her: “[By doing so] …[w]e shall save her soul and calm yours. In this love, God might be sending you salvation from the devil’s temptations and machinations.”79 As elated Nal’ proposes marriage to his lover, she is not flattered, but scared and upset to tears: “I would be locked up, guarded, fed from [my guards’] hands, like an animal, then I shall be beaten and cursed, and then another wife, another oppressed prisoner, will be kissed in my presence.” But when Nal’ assures her that Russians do it differently, that she will be the only wife for his whole life, totally free, she asks playfully: “So I shall be allowed to love others?” Taken aback, Nal’ delivers his cherished version of living their life for each other. Unimpressed, Gul’-Gul’ talks about her old years, when her beloved will liken her to an old witch. The difference in their views of what happy love constitutes is strikingly apparent. The independent woman wants to enjoy the present day, and is unconcerned about the future. But an even harder trial is awaiting Nal’: as his mistress is singing, playing the tambourine, and dancing for him, another guest arrives in her house. Nurmed, the leader of the rebellious enemies of the Russians, enters theatrically. He is clearly also her lover, and Nal’ observes the loving glances she casts at her “bloodthirsty tiger” whom she has “tamed.” As Nal’ challenges his rival, Gul’Gul’ becomes very animated and excited: “I love you both… I am fond of  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 282–87.  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 287. 79  Karazin, Nal’, 160. 77 78

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you both… Let’s learn the Allah’s will!” “Tigress,” thinks Nal’, and as she comfortably reclines in the shade to observe the duel, he thinks that “it would be suitable for her now to play with her tail.” As the combat proceeds, both fighters demonstrate strength and both are wounded. Gul’Gul’, similar to her “sister” Ak-Tomak, does not hesitate to shed blood if that suits her aspiration for freedom and justice. As one of Nurmed’s men wants to cut the throat of the fallen Nal’, she stabs him dead. The rivals end up making peace and even exchanging their sabers. As Nal’ leaves, Gul’-Gul’ kisses his feet in the stirrup and begs him not to forget her: “I shall follow you… I shall find you everywhere… Even if you kill me like a dog  – doesn’t matter!” The fact that he is appalled by her and tries to chase her away, saying “Go away, tigress!” does not discourage her in the least, perhaps making him even more desirable in her eyes.80 It is possible that Karazin’s heroines were based on actual persons. According to the author of an article in S.  Peterburgskie vedomosti, Ak-Tomak, meaning “white neck,” was a regular prostitute in Tashkent.81 The article claims that she had previously been a cook or a servant for Khudoiar Khan, the ruler of Kokand. She did not like her job, left the khan, arrived in Tashkent without any adventures, and became a prostitute. Since she was good-looking, she attracted both Russian and local men, but the rest of the dramatic story told by Karazin was completely untrue. For good measure, the article also insists that Asians are not capable of such “theatrical” passions, since they are “timid, cowardly, lazy and apathetic, incapable of tragic effects and conflicts.”82 In “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” two beauties, Gul’-Gul’ and Ak-Tomak, are mentioned as famous among Russian officers (unless those two names are just used by the author as generic for local women).83 In both of those images, there is a good measure of admiration for their love for independence, their free spirit, their ability not to prostrate themselves in front of men, and their artistic skills for poetry and music. At the same time, this admiration is mixed with reproach, at least implicitly, for their readiness to shed blood, and their affiliation with multiple men. The reader, however, would probably get an impression that such a combination is still preferable to the “peach darkness” of harem life. However,  Karazin, Nal’, 163–69.  S. Peterburgskie vedomosti 141 (25 May 1874). 82  S. Peterburgskie vedomosti 141 (25 May 1874). 83  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 67–68. 80 81

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there is a hope now, that under the Russian rule, women would be able to avoid “henhouses” without becoming courtesans and murderers. The narrator is simultaneously attracted and repulsed by those women, similar to Pushkin’s captive in “The Captive of the Caucasus.” The Circassians are seen as both “dreadful and wonderful, exactly as the mountains are both terrifying and glorious.”84 In Karazin’s case, the parallel can be drawn with the desert, also enchanting and fatally dangerous. Devoted motherly love turning into love’s opposite, hatred and revenge, the desperate fight for freedom against the advancing Russians, and the exotic and irresistible attraction of a Turkmen “femme fatale” – all combine in Agreal’ “the tigress” in a highly melodramatic story entitled “Tigritsa” (Tigress). Her name means “purebred riding horse.”85 The story inserts a personal drama into a narrative about the fighting with the Turkmen tribes following the Russian capture of Khiva and a narrative about a scholarly expedition to the Amu-Darya. The adventure centers on Cossack Colonel Nazemov’s story. In the midst of a battle with Turkmen, he encountered a strikingly beautiful woman standing on a cart, holding a child with one hand and a long knife in her other hand. As the cart jerked, she accidentally dropped the child, who fell to his death under the hooves of Nazemov’s horse. The woman tries to stab Nazemov, but is wounded herself by another Cossack. Her grief for her dead one-year-old son, which took place after her husband and her father had both been killed while fighting against Russians, turns her into a “tigress.” Her gaze reminds the narrator about the wild gaze, full of hatred, of a mortally wounded tigress, whose cubs had been stolen from her: “the bullet turned out to be stronger than her courage, her sharp teeth, and her iron claws,” and her last glance was an unforgettable combination of silent reproach with the desire for merciless revenge.86 Agreal’ is described as exotically beautiful, and her description is similar to that of Ak-Tomak, with her braided black hair plaited with beads; similar to Ak-Tomak, she has a scar on her cheek, a mark from the Cossack saber. The enigmatic “amazon,” one of the Turkmen women who have a reputation of being fearless and independent, deliberately charms Nazemov. She becomes his mistress. He is  Hokanson, “Literary Imperialism,” 348.  Eleonora Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnograficheskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016), 282. 86  N. N. Karazin, “Tigritsa,” in T’ma neprogliadnaia, 147–48. 84 85

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s­ killfully manipulated and is so enchanted by her that he prefers to ignore some signs of her hatred for everything and everybody Russian, including himself. She, meanwhile, refuses to marry Nazemov since she desired to be “freer than wind”: “[your wives] …think that they are free… but in my opinion, they are not a bit freer than those locked up in the harems of sedentary Uzbeks.”87 As she gives birth to a boy, she demonstrates an unexpected indifference to him, and even refuses to nurse him, claiming health issues: “for her, the child born by her but fathered by her enemy – is not a child.”88 The boy is baptized Nikolai and becomes the joy of his father’s life. Kolia was almost one when his parents decided to return to Turkestan, at the insistence of his mother. As they arrive in Chimbai, she suddenly shows tenderness to her son, and also invites two men from her home to visit. Nazemov is awakened the next morning being tied up with his mouth gagged. His son has been killed at Agreal’s request: “You killed my son, so I asked yours to be choked. This is enough for you. Others will answer me for my father and husband.”89 This, however, was not the end of the duel between Nazemov and his Turkmen Medea. Broken and aged, he stays in Turkestan and as he volunteers for an Amu-Darya expedition, the Russians find themselves locked in a struggle against Turkmen. While Nazemov is severely wounded, Agreal’ is wounded fatally and dies, to be buried by her Russian adversaries. Nazemov, who fainted by her death bed, survived after two months of nervous fever which resulted in his transformation. He was finally able to put the past behind him, when the idea that he would not meet his “tigress” again in this life sank in.90 Such exaggerated emotions add an element of Romanticism to the works of Karazin which otherwise belong to the school of Russian Realism. Shafranskaia points out the similarities between the “tigress” and the famous Leskov’s heroine Katerina Izmailova appearing in his story “Ledi Makbet Mtsenskogo uezda” (Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk district). Married to an older well-off merchant, she is driven to desperation by idleness and boredom. Falling in love with her husband’s shop assistant, she kills her father-in-law, her husband, and finally, her child by her lover. Possessed by her passion, Katerina does not see her deeds as sinful; as her strong character is combined with a lack of moral  Karazin, “Tigritsa,” 233–34.  Shafranskaia, “Karazin i Leskov,” 341. 89  Karazin, “Tigritsa,” 238–47. 90  Karazin, “Tigritsa,” 190–91. 87 88

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principles, she is “outside of moral considerations, nothing is sacred for her. Passion is the [only] moving force of her deeds.” The strength of passion displayed by Agreal’ is on par with that of Katerina’s, claims the Russian scholar, though its nature is not: “the passion of this Oriental beauty, this tigress, is of a different nature – it is not sexual, similar to that in Leskov’s story, but the passion of a mother’s revenge for her child.”91 Local women are shown sometimes as routinely cruel. A brief episode in Na dalekikh okrainakh reminds readers about Russian personages in Karazin’s works who believe that the only language the native people understand is force. When exhausted Rakhil stopped for a second her hard work of pounding grains in order to wipe sweat from her face, her mistress, one of her master’s wives, yells at her immediately: her “shrill and malicious voice screamed from the tent: – Hey, you, wretched nag, don’t you want to quit completely? All you want to do is to sleep, lazy scum. And another voice added – They only work as long as you beat them. I have almost broken my hands on mine…”92 This dialogue between women, probably several wives, who were given women captured by their husband as their slave servants, is a sign of a certain balance of injustice and dehumanizing of the opposite side. “Women here are all raging, like fierce tigers,” notices Stepan about Turkmen women after his fellow Russian slave examined his back with the marks of severe beatings.93

Visual images of native women Nikolai Karazin has relatively few visual images of women. The images that he created fall into the category of ethnic types (analyzed in the next chapter of this book) or participants in various scenes, everyday life, or special occasions. Karazin’s images notably exclude “Orientalist” paintings of exposed women with sensual or erotic undertones, just as they are absent from Vereshchagin’s “Turkestan Series.”94 Harem or slave market  Shafranskaia, “Karazin i Leskov,” 341.  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 187. 93  N. N. Karazin, S severa na iug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 7 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 487. 94  The only typically “Orientalist” work the author of this book is aware of is the oil painting Arab falconer in the Moorish interior attributed to Karazin and posted for an art auction. Though it does not picture women, it includes other familiar paraphernalia of the “Orient”: a man dressed in robes seated on a carpet against a heavy metal-decorated door. He is holding a sword in one hand and a falcon in another one. The second falcon is positioned on a 91 92

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scenes, common for Western European paintings of the mid-nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, are sometimes seen as reflecting the Orient as feminine, being taken possession of by Europeans.95 One of the most representative Orientalist paintings is Death of Sardanapalus by Eugene Delacroix, which presents “a fantastic mélange of violence, decadence, treasure, feminine flesh, and homoeroticism in a palette of striking colours.”96 Other painters of an exoticized Orient include Eugene Fromentin, Jean Lecomte du Nouy, Eugene Francois, Alexander Cabanel, Theodore Chasseriau, and Jean-Leon Gerome. Interestingly, art historian Kristian Davies points out that depicting sexism and objectification in harem and slave markets scenes is not the same as embodying it: “Because women were really treated this way in the 19th century, shouldn’t there be some pictures which depict it rather than pretend that every woman sat on verandas, sipping tea under a parasol?”97 In Russian art, “Orientalism” was mainly represented in the exotic paintings of Algiers, Morocco, and Sahara by V. I. Iakobi and Cairo by K. E. Makovskii, points out modern art historian Tatiana Karpova.98 Karazin was among those artists who, in Davies’s words, “seek authenticity (as authentic as any artistic representation can claim to be), recording the dignity and simple beauty of women in the Arab and Indian world as any artist would record the beauty of women anywhere.”99 His respectful and powerful images present women as actively involved in various activities and often exhibiting impressive moral and physical strength. At the same time, those images are complemented with ethnographic details, including costumes, decorations, and customs. For example, his drawing entitled Turkmenka na storozhevom postu (A Turkmen woman on guard duty) shows a woman whose pose and face reflect confidence and strength stand in front of him. The author is grateful to Rachel Rumberger for pointing out this work; http://www.artnet.com/artists/nikolai-nikolaevich-karazin/arab-falconer-in-a-moorishinterior-rJAn8EsF4CFoqEg2TBbGRA2 (accessed 5 July 2020). 95  See for example Kristine Peltre, “A theatre of the passions: from Sardanapalus to Scheherazade,” in her Orientalism (Paris: Editions TERRAIL/EDIGROUP, 2004), 145–54. 96  David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “The Paradox of Russian Orientalism,” in Patty Wageman and Inessa Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient: Orientalist Paintings 1850–1920 (Groningen: Groninger Museum, 2010), 20. 97  Kristian Davies, “Women,” in her The Orientalists: Western Artists in Arabia, the Sahara, Persia and India (New York: Laynfaroh, 2005), 261. 98  T. L. Karpova, in Plenniki krasoty. Russkoe akademicheskoe i salonnoe iskusstvo 1830–1910 godov (Moscow: Skanrus, 2004), 107. 99  Davies, “Women,” 248–49.

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(see Image 5.3). This woman, beautiful but not pretty (as the artist explains in an accompanying article), stands leaning against a lying camel. She holds a musket; behind her back, a little boy on the camel’s back holds on to his mother as he is looking on. All three of them, including the camel, look alert and ready to spring into action if necessary. The details of the woman’s outfit and ornaments, along with the camel’s decorated harness, are elaborate and beautiful.100 Karazin compares Turkmen women to “ancient classical amazons” who willingly and skillfully use weapons when their home is attacked.101 As pictured by Turkmenki, kupaiushchie konei (Turkmen women bathing their horses), in the evening, women brought their horses to a bank overgrown with thick giant reeds.102 Two naked women with loose hair are bathing together with their horses, with the third woman (wearing a shirt and a head scarf) sitting on the river bank and watching them. Animals and humans in the drawing are apparently enjoying themselves – there is a clear similarity between the strong and beautiful bodies of the women and those of their horses. This is the only exception known to the author of this book when the artist presented images of naked women – arguably, the emphasis in this drawing is not on the eroticism of the scene but rather on the wild strength and independence of the women and their beasts. In the description accompanying the drawing, Karazin claims that, unlike the “beaten down and deprived of all human rights women” of the sedentary peoples, the nomad Turkmen women enjoy a great degree of freedom. He explains it by several facts: their husbands are often away and women are left in charge; Islam, “reducing women to a herd female,” is not well rooted among the nomads. Nomads rarely have more than one wife, but when they do, only one of them enjoys all the rights, while another would be a slave woman from a different tribe captured during a successful raid. The artist includes the following brief description of Turkmen women: Turkmen women are among the most beautiful women in the world. Tall height, slender figures, developing under a loose garment, constitute their advantages. As they belong to the Caucasian race, they have regular features,

 Niva 48 (1879): 948, also in Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 18.  Niva 48 (1879): 955. 102  Niva 17 (1876): 299. 100 101

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Image 5.3  Sredi turkmen-teke. Turkmenka na storozhevom postu (Among the Teke Turkmen. A Turkmen woman on guard duty). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 18.

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a large beautiful nose, an attractive mouth and large expressive eyes, looking at you directly and clearly, not furtively and sullenly.

He then describes a Turkmen woman’s outfit in detail: Turkmen woman’s clothes consist of a long cotton shirt, bright red, tightened above her hips with a broad belt, with embroidered ends, hanging below her knees. On the top of this shirt, a silk beshmet [kaftan] with a waist is worn, on the top of which a wool robe is put, constituting the outdoor outfit. On their head, Turkmen women wear a small hat or a beautifully wrapped muslin turban, and on rare occasions – a special headgear looking like our old military kiver (a round hat with a flat top) all covered with heavy metal decorations and golden and silver coins. When they wear this smart headgear, they also put on a wool or velvet breast cover, similarly covered with coins and various metal decorations – Turkmen women wear long earrings in their ears, but never put rings through their noses, as Sart women do. They also decorate their arms with heavy forged bracelets – and on their tanned and strong necks they wear necklaces made out of beads, multi-­ colored pebbles, and shells.103

A similar spirit marks the drawing Kyz-Byry (Volk-Devka), konnye igry v Kirgizskoi stepi (Wolf-Maid, horseback riding games in the Kirghiz steppe). Skillful and graceful, young Kirghiz maidens compete with men in this game.104 In the drawing, the male riders are trying to catch up with the female ones and kiss them, while women protect themselves with whips. As the accompanying text explains, the games take place during the first day of the Muslim holiday Kurban Bayram (celebration of Ibrahim’s readiness to sacrifice his son): The most favorite game young people play is for several dare-devil riders to chase a dexterous female rider – and all Kirghiz women are skilled riders – in order to kiss her. She defends herself with the help of a whip which she uses on all those who are chasing her, with the exception of the one whom she favors and whom she wants to bring closer to herself by such flirtation.105

103  Niva 17 (1876): 300. Similar description in Niva 48 (1879): 955–56. See also Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 413–14. 104  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 354 (1875): 284–85. See a similar drawing in Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 196. 105  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 197.

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In Karazin’s drawing, one girl is successfully protecting herself from her pursuer, while another one in the center is almost overwhelmed by her suitor: he is hugging her and her hair is loose, so that the prized kiss is probably to follow. All human and horse figures are vivid and graceful, as if the artist were inviting his audience to admire the skill and enthusiasm of the riders. The fact that Nikolai Karazin and his fellow artists, such as Vereshchagin, did not for the most part consider Central Asia and its people, especially women, exotic and mysterious, is due to the lack of significant “historical distance” between the conquering Russians and their neighbors whom they were conquering. The long period of interaction between the Russians and their Turkic neighbors resulted in the smaller “cultural distance to alternative lifestyles and religious distance to Muslims and animists,” compared to Western Europe.106 The “general lack of wonder” marking the Russian presentation of Central Asia, clearly detectable in Karazin’s works, was a result of familiarity with Asia. The steppe and its people were “simply too well-known to appear exotic or to be imagined as a region of mystical cities.”107 The same feature marks Russian accounts about Iran which is not seen as exotic by the Russians either, since its relative proximity also prevents romance. Women are described prosaically, as ignorant slaves locked up in dirty and stuffy harems. No sensual or mysterious images, literary or visual, animate those accounts.108

Image of Islam For many Russians, the determining element of the “Otherness” of the Central Asian population was the religious one. Local people in Turkestan were seen as non-Christian, with their perceived fanaticism and backwardness being the signs and natural consequences of their being Muslim. “Fanaticism” and “backwardness” were common themes among Russian officials and travelers to both the internal (Central Asia)109 and the

106  Andreas Kappeler, trans. Alfred Clayton, The Russian Empire: A Multiethnic History (Harlow, England: Longman, 2001), 55. 107  Willard Sunderland, Taming the Wild Field: Colonization and Empire on the Russian Steppe (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2004), 18, 19. 108  Elena Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game: Travelogues and Orientalism (London: Routledge, 2007), 156–72. 109  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 54.

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external (Iran) Orient.110 Brutal Russian campaigns in the Caucasus and prolonged resistance to the Russian domination resulted in a “lasting suspicion of all Muslims.” Consequently, Russian soldiers and administrators arrived in Turkestan with a strong belief in Islam being undesirable and dangerous.111 Turkestan governor-general K.  P. von Kaufman’s religious policy became known as ignorirovanie (ignoring, disregard) of Islam. According to this policy, the Islamic state and all higher Islamic positions were abolished and Turkestan Muslims were made judicially separate from Tatar and Bashkir Muslims. On the other hand, no attempts were to be made to convert Muslims to Orthodoxy in order to prevent an uprising similar to those in the Caucasus. It was assumed that if Islam lost its state support and if the local Muslims witnessed the cultural superiority of the Russians, they would voluntarily abandon their faith. Those calculations proved to be erroneous, as Kaufman himself realized shortly before his death, and as was demonstrated by an uprising in 1898. Kaufman suggested that “the wretchedness of the Russian churches in Turkestan” was undermining the prestige of the Russians and their Orthodox faith. Nevertheless, the Russians continued to avoid aggressive promotion of Christianity in Turkestan: “The softly-softly approach inherent in Ignorirovanie also meant that other measures which might have undermined Islam in Turkestan – the suppression of religious endowments, a ban on the pilgrimage to Mecca, and the promotion of western education  – were approached extremely circumspectly.”112 Karazin’s views on Islam seem to be consistent with Kaufman’s version of toleration of Islam: due to the moral superiority of Orthodox Christianity, the Russian rule replacing the theocratic state would gradually secularize public life and attract the local population without coercion. In his literary and visual works Karazin presents two faces of Islam: one enlightened and tolerant of the Russian newcomers, another  – narrow-­ minded and hostile to the Russians. Islam by itself is not seen as an obstacle preventing people from upholding high moral and ethical standards. The best example of that is Siarkei, described earlier in this chapter: “Siarkei was a follower of the Quran and a good son of the prophet, but he somehow knew how to tease the guardians of the faith in a  Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 131–32.  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 52–54. 112  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 56–58. 110 111

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good-natured and subtle way and to always find contradictions between the words of the holy mullahs and their deeds.”113 Another image of “positive” Islam is represented by mullah Isset-­ Asfandzharov from “T’ma neprogliadnaia.” He is a Kazan Tatar, and a “wise, well-read and learned man.” To stress his openness to modernity, the author dresses him in the European outfit: “usually he wore a long black frock-coat and a velvet skull-cap on his shaved head, and only put on a turban and an adequate loose garment when he went to the mosque.” He was also a highly educated man, and his education similarly demonstrates his modern European preferences: “He was a great expert on the Quran and the Shari’a, had the title of mullah, and was even once elected the mufti of Orenburg. He, however, rejected this high spiritual title for the sake of scholarship. Isset-Asfandzharov graduated from the department of jurisprudence. The arrival of such a prominent scholar in our town had a deep and strong impression on its Muslim population.” To make it clear, the author explains that this sage “knew how to reconcile the prophet’s directions with the requirements of the civilization.” He is willingly cooperating with the Russians, helps the Russian doctor Ol’ga Nikolaevna convince Suffi to move his wife Ester with her little son to the house of Ol’ga Nikolaevna (discussed above in this chapter), and even participates in the little ceremony of awarding Suffi with a medal, along with the Russian general. While riding with the general in his carriage, he instructs him: “Tajiks, meaning the Sarts, are excellent Muslims, but not fierce fanatics. Ambition is their serious weakness, and it is always possible to achieve good administrative results playing skillfully on that string.” Therefore, this progressive mullah even stands on the Russians’ point of view in the relationship between them and the local Muslims.114 He teaches acknowledgement of the Russians’ advanced development and justifies their domination by their strength and fair treatment of Muslims. Readers know this from the words of Suffi Kazimetov: [Isset-Asfandzharov] told me that it is not sinful to let a Russian doctor treat my wife, that the Sultan in Istanbul himself lets his wives be treated by foreign doctors, and even sends them to some healing water springs – that the great holy prophet never forbade all this in the Quran or in the Shari’a, and no holy book mentions it. On the opposite, it is instructed that we [Muslims]  Karazin, “Tiurkmen Siarkei,” 158.  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 74–79.

113 114

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love each other, help each other in misfortunes, follow our faith strictly, but also learn from the unbelievers all that is good and useful. It is true that the Quran says that if it is impossible to convert infidels by word, [then one has] to establish the true law [of Islam] by force, fire and sword. But this is only when one has force, fire and sword in his hands. But when we don’t have those – we have to accept this powerlessness as Allah’s will and respect our sovereigns, piously respect their power and obey them unquestioningly, even when our king is not a Muslim. The Russian tsar has more Muslim subjects than the sultan in Istanbul, and he loves them all equally, punishes the unworthy and promotes and rewards the deserving ones.115

In his travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta (From Orenburg to Tashkent), Karazin favorably presents the Tatar Muslim village Nikol’kaia located among other Orenburg Cossack villages – his tone is good-natured with the usual hint of humor: “there, instead of the white bell tower with a golden cross, rises a thin minaret over hay or wooden roofs, and in the hours of the holy namaz, the cheerless recitation of the Quran flies through the air. These are all army Cossacks, and above the village inhabitants’ faces with prominent cheek-bones the same blue uniform hats are seen. Tatar women walk around with their faces covered and try to avoid busy streets. Life here is quieter, more reserved, but this is only an external, insignificant difference… The economic life of such a Muslim village is not different from the life of the other Cossack villages. The only difference is the absence of a pub and drunken debauch during holidays.”116 There is, however, another image of Islam: fanatical and evil. In “Ak-Tomak,” the author attacks fanatical representatives of Muslim institutions which he also blames for the position of women. Cities such as Bukhara are blamed for being the “hotbed of the most ardent Islam”: Broad spiritual power, concentrated in the hands of the most powerful secular rulers, incorporates all the khanate clergy. Those fanatical agents fiercely guard the purity of the religion. Every recreant, even if his recreancy is insignificant, immediately is subjected to severe and absolutely unavoidable punishment. The unfortunate [person] does not expect forgiveness from the religious zealots: inflamed with enormous fanaticism, they are capable of

 Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 85–86.  N. Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Putevoi ocherk (St. Petersburg: German Goppe, 1886), 5. 115 116

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various atrocities, and a number of excruciating torments attests to the inventiveness of these followers of the “prophet.” It can be said about every one of the Bukhara mullahs that he is a better Muslim than Muhammad.117

As pointed out by Sahadeo, Karazin’s images of animal and human slaughter in Bukhara “established a contrast between Muslim cruelty in Bukhara and enlightened Russian law in Tashkent.” In his article published in Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia, accompanied by his drawings, Karazin wrote: “Not one bazaar day goes by, where on the squares, in the places used for slaughtering cows, the blood of an unfortunate person, determined guilty by the sharia,…is not mixed with the blood of oxen and sheep.”118 Nomads, unlike the urban population, points out Karazin, were only formally Muslims: they “confused Muhammad with Allah himself, did not know a single verse from the Quran, have never in their life seen this Quran, did not know how their faith was different from some other one, all they knew was that they were Muslim, true believers, while he [Batogov] was just a ‘Russian dog.’ And that was enough.”119 Karazin’s belief that the townspeople of Turkestan were fanatics, in contrast to nomads, reflects similar views held by Kaufman. Kaufman was convinced that though “the nomads officially adhere to Islam, in reality [they] shun it and have no specific religious faith,” while townspeople were “fanatics.”120 The nomads would become “victims” if they were put in close proximity to Sarts (townspeople) who harbored “bigoted, hypocritical, and corrupt Muslim holy men, mullahs, judges, pilgrims, saints and dervishes” in their midst.121 Karazin also mentions that the Teke Turkmen are brave “to insanity,” excellent agriculturalists who skillfully use irrigation, and superb pastoralists whose horses, sheep, and camels are of the highest quality and well cared for.122 In the “external” Orient in Iran, Russians demonstrated a  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 268–69.  N. N. Karazin, “Iz Turkestanskoi boevoi zhizni,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 161 (1872): 83, quoted in Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 86. 119  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 178. 120  Daniel Brower, “Islam and Ethnicity: Russian Colonial Policy in Turkestan,” in Daniel R. Brower and Edward J. Lazzerini, eds., Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), 122. 121  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 53–54. 122  Niva 47 (1879): 935. 117 118

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similar preference for nomads who were seen as less fanatical. They were favorably presented as more brave, honest, and straightforward than their sedentary Iranian countrymen. Another advantage of the nomads including Turkmen was, according to many travelogues, that their womenfolk were treated with more respect and had more dignity.123 Mullah Naurus, juxtaposed to mullah Isset-Asfandzharov in “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” epitomizes evil narrow-mindedness and fanaticism – and he hates the Russian newcomers. Suffi Kazimetov characterizes him as “a bad person,” a “greedy liar and fanatic,” and threatens to beat him some time.124 Mullah Naurus-khadzha is pictured as one of the most evil native personages in Karazin’s works. He is an important mullah in the city, and is known for his strictness: in the old times, before the Russians’ arrival, “many people lost their heads because of him.” He is very old, and is dressed in a sheepskin coat and a huge dirty turban which covers most of his face, so that “only the end of his nose, sharp and dry like a hawk’s and wisps of a grey, rather yellowish, beard” can be seen. He hates Suffi, the local official, for his cooperation with the Russians. He readily spreads the lie that dervishes who were singing in the bazaar and calling for an uprising were “skinned alive and thrown to the dogs,” in spite of the fact that they were questioned and released. He instigates the wicked old woman Ul’kun-Kursak to plot against Ester (see above) and Suffi in various ways. Naurus also implies his connection to the murder of a certain mullah Daud and a certain merchant Sharip, both deaths being “Allah’s will.” Since Ester’s son had been claimed by Allah and was kept alive only by the witchcraft of the Russian doctor, the child must die. He does not hesitate to teach the old woman how to kill the innocent child: by sticking a pin into the top of his head. Leaving nothing to chance, he first demonstrates this method on a chicken, then explains which type of pin would work the best. He then instructs the old woman to pull down her robe and remove her head cover in order to show her the exact place on the top of her own head. At the same time, he does not miss the opportunity of a different sort and “caresses her fat, half naked shoulder.” His greed is shown by the way he extracts and receives gifts from the old women and other people seeking his advice.125

 Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 176.  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 84–85. 125  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 53–63. 123 124

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At the end, the Russians bring about justice: Naurus was arrested by the Russians, and as the “malicious old man” was escorted through the bazaar to the Russian fort by only two dzhigits, not a single person attempted to defend him. To the contrary, the inhabitants only turned away from his malignant eyes and plugged their ears so not to hear his cursing. And nobody was surprised when the owner of a large tea-house, “well-educated, intelligent and strong in his Muslim faith,” pronounced: “This is way overdue! Life in town will become quieter, and it will become calmer in the houses.” Nobody asked for an explanation: “all who heard him, understood and did not object.”126 It is important to notice that in spite of the fact that most of the town’s population knew about the poisonous web weaved by Naurus, especially through the superstitious and ignorant womenfolk, it took the Russian authorities to remove him. Nikolai Karazin also uses humor to ridicule the hypocrisy of the mullahs and some other aspects of Islam. In “Ak-Tomak,” kazy himself secretly visited the courtesan’s house. Her devoted servant explains: …the old kazy himself came secretly two days ago. I was on guard to make sure nobody could see him. Kazy himself! He also drank wine; I approached quietly-quietly and saw: he drank one cup and asked for another one, though at first he had refused several times, ha-ha!... Well, I thought, if kazy himself drinks wine, there is definitely no sin in it for us. Now I am not afraid to drink it myself, while before I was scared – oh, so much scared! Not that I was afraid of anybody, but of sinning.127

So Abda-Rahman now is also fond of wine and rum, since whatever is good for the kazy is not sinful for other Muslims. The artist mocks the habitual covering of women, who wrapped themselves from head to foot in black chadors with a special mesh in front of their faces. In “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” one of Suffi’s wives comments about a performance by a local actor at the bazaar: “‘Why, he asks,  – Russian women do not cover themselves, while ours, like scarecrows, are wrapped head to toe? It is, – he said, – because Russian women have what to display, while if our women uncover themselves, even donkeys would  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 98.  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 283.

126 127

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howl, horses would get scared…’ – Indeed, a snout like yours – and they’ll get scared!  – muttered Ul’kun-Kursak.”128 The artist depicts women in those covers in such drawings as Zhenshchiny, idushchie v baniu (Women walking to the bathhouse). In that drawing, seven black-clad figures are moving along a white windowless wall in single file, with the small figure of a child dressed exactly the same way walking in the front.129 Another comic twist is presented in “Doktorsha,” where “fanatics from the clergy,” “kazys and mullahs” were trying to incite Muslims against the “white shirts.” They were scaring them by tales about Russians having been sent by the devil, and about the upcoming forceful conversion of all Muslims “to their pagan faith [Christianity].” Since those efforts failed, they tried another trick: They also tried to scare them by saying that the Russians would certainly open all their harems and take away all the young and beautiful wives, leaving only the old worthless ones behind. This was easier to believe, since this was what the true believers would have done themselves to those they defeated. This attempt to prevent people from closeness with the giaours130 did not work out either, since we did not show any of those conquering inclinations.131

Karazin’s visual images directly related to Islam also reflect a dichotomy. His drawing entitled Na molitve po puti v Mekku (Praying on the way to Mecca) shows five men praying in the steppe. Two carriages are seen at a distance with a coachman staying with the horses. The men are clothed in robes and are wearing turbans; they are facing away from the viewers, towards the high sky with clouds. They have removed their shoes and are standing in front of their prayer rugs spread on the ground. The atmosphere of the drawing is serene and seems to suggest that nothing is wrong with going to Mecca for pilgrimage, or with stopping on the way and praying, as long as all remains peaceful.132 The accompanying article explains that the pilgrimage across the deserts had been a perilous journey, but now, with the establishment of the Russian domination and  Karazin, “T’ma neprogliadnaia,” 67.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 294. 130  Giaour – a non-Muslim, especially a Christian. 131  Karazin, “Doktorsha,” 74–75. 132  Niva 49 (1885): 1184–85. 128 129

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introduction of the railroad and steamboats, it has become easier and safer. Therefore, “masses of true believers streamed to this new route, through Orenburg, Nizhnii [Novgorod], Moscow and Odessa.”133 Another drawing of a praying man is called Volch’ia molitva (Wolf’s prayer). It shows a bearded man kneeling on his robe in the steppe next to his horse. Unlike the men in the above mentioned drawing, he is facing the viewers and his pleasant face expresses animation and openness. His mouth is half-open. One rifle can be seen next to his right hand on the rug; another is attached to his horse’s saddle.134 The accompanying essay tells a humorous episode from the life of Nurmed-Aga, who fell behind the rest of his raiding party because his old horse could not keep up. Both the old man and the old horse finally stopped for a break and Nurmed decided to continue the next morning since the route was familiar to him. As he hears a jackal howling his song, it occurs to him that the sound is exactly the same as that of their imam’s call for prayer: “he would climb the mosque, put his hands to his mouth, lean back with his whole body and start to wail… At first he would mumble monotonously as if talking to himself, then louder and louder, higher and higher… he would close his eyes and howl ‘alla-a-a akbyr all-la’ so pitifully… exactly the same way as that one is howling behind the sand dune now.” He then realizes that “anybody who is not an infidel dog” should pray. He takes off his old ragged robe, spreads it carefully on the sand, defines the direction of the prayer, and gets ready to pray. However, all he can remember without the mullah is the profession of faith (there is no god but God and Muhammad is his prophet) but cannot get beyond that. He then changes his tone and starts talking to Allah in an unconventional and improvised way. “Listen, Allah, what I tell you,” he starts. He promises to Allah to bring something worthy to the tomb of Chubuk Ata, a “good saint” surely known to Allah. He would bring a Russian red kerchief but in exchange asks Allah for several favors. His list of wishes consists of a fat white Russian woman, a two-­ barrel gun, protection from the bullets of Russian “infidels,” and a good horse. His “prayer” is interrupted by a sound of gun shot. Upon hearing it, he jumps up and his old eyes sparkle: “– What is going on there? Why the devil did they start so early? His wolf predatory blood was talking.”135  Niva 49 (1885): 1198.  Niva 46 (1880): 941. 135  Niva 46 (1880): 943. 133 134

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The benevolent presentation of very human behavior displayed by a man on his way to attack Russians emphasizes features and especially weaknesses shared among all people, both Russian and native. The drawing Sredi Turkmen-teke. Mulla-propovednik (Among the Teke Turkmen. Mulla-preacher) presents an old man riding a donkey towards the viewers; he is followed by native men carrying guns (see Image 5.4). In his left hand he is carrying a banner with an Arabic inscription; his right arm is raised in a call to follow him, perhaps in a holy war against the infidels. His face is distorted with a grimace of what can be interpreted as hatred; his mouth with missing lower teeth is wide open, perhaps calling out for his followers, or cursing the enemy.136 Karazin’s image of fanaticism implies the anti-Russian sentiment here, just like it is in his writings about Islam. In the text accompanying the image the author explains: “these old men position themselves in a square and start to half-sing their fanatical sermon, until they reach ecstasy, with foam on their mouth and rasp of their yellow old teeth. They sing loud glory to the heroes of the past and present, promise multiple delights to them in the afterlife in the words of the Quran, and pour hail of curses on the heads of the enemy, the infidels.”137 It is worth mentioning though that at least one other image of a preaching mullah riding a donkey does not reflect any hostility: the older man in a turban with a beard covering his chest is sitting quietly on the animal who is either standing or walking very slowly.138 The mullah’s face is serene and his glance is cast downwards: he is either praying quietly or is absorbed in deep thoughts. Karazin’s overall attitude to Islam and Muslims reflected in his works does not project fear or a strong aspiration for their conversion to Christianity. The military conquest of Central Asia was successful and the artist did not perceive serious challenge to the Russian domination based on his own experience. Hence he was able to demonstrate a measure of tolerance to humane and loyal Muslims who were open to modernity and progress introduced by the Russian newcomers. That attitude is in stark contrast to that of Russian travelers to the “external Orient,” Iran. Most of them felt threatened by the Muslim population and sided with non-­ Muslims, including Christian Armenians and Zoroastrians. Additionally,  Niva 47 (1879): 929. The same image appears in Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 15.  Niva 47 (1879): 935. 138  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 606 (1880): 137. 136 137

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Image 5.4  Sredi turkmen-teke. Mulla-propovednik (Among the Teke Turkmen. Mulla-preacher). Niva 47 (1879): 929.

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proving their alleged superiority over Iranians included emphasizing the superiority of Christian faith. Since proving that Russia belonged in Europe was of paramount significance to them, they preferred to define themselves as Christian and European, as opposed to Orthodox and Russian, and repeatedly proclaimed the inferiority of Islam and Asia.139

Stereotyping Nikolai Karazin certainly did not avoid negative stereotyping of the local people. In many of his literary works, he routinely refers to them as dikari and tuzemtsy (barbarians) and sometimes kosoglazye (slant-eyed). Though those derogatory terms certainly reflect the attitude of superiority to the conquered people of Central Asia, they also reflected the customary, or at least prevailing, way of referring to them. Alternative designations were highly uncommon during his lifetime. Karazin also often pictures the “Orientals” as ignorant, dirty, motivated by primitive instincts, cruel, cowardly, unfaithful, superstitious, and fanatical. His misrepresentation does not, however, come close to the exaggerated and obsessive debasement of Iranians by Russian travelers. By their attempts to emphasize Iranians’ inferiority, Russians in Iran try to conceal their own uncertainty about their self-identity and prove their “European” worthiness – to themselves and to the Western Europeans.140 Unlike his compatriots in the external Orient, Karazin does not repeatedly emphasize Russians’ Europeanness in order to remind them about their perceived superiority over the “Asians” or the “Orientals.” His mentioning of “European habits” in the report about the Samara expedition to the Amu-Darya in 1879 is more of an exception. Though the first night camp after they left Samarkand was comfortable enough for the participants who did not have to part with their “European habits,” he reports, later “we did not just have to give up our European habits, but even to learn some habits of steppe nomads.”141 The tone of this remark is so upbeat that it is reasonable to conclude that the conditions of the expedition to the Amu-Darya region in 1879 were perhaps truly quite different from those which at least some civilian members of the expedition had been accustomed to. This remark makes a stark contrast with the strong  Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 131–32.  Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 89. 141  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 577 (1880): 99. 139 140

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Eurocentrism of Russian travelers to Iran who judge everything they observe there from what they consider to be the European point of view. They perceive that as the sole point of reference and the only correct way of doing things.142

Discourse of empathy The certain disparagement of the people of Turkestan in Nikolai Karazin’s works is, however, offset by two factors, as demonstrated above. Many noble personages among the local people and multiple images of shockingly uncivilized “civilizers” make his picture of the new colonial society somewhat balanced. While showing positive features of local people, the artist did not imply that they were just curious exceptions, like many “Saidian Orientalists” would do, or as Russian travelogue authors did in their writings. In Russian travelogues about Iran, a positive opinion about Iranians is usually marked by a sense of natural superiority, and the favorable qualities of Iranians are presented as being on a lower level than or incomparable with those of the Europeans (including Russians of course).143 Karazin’s personages are often judged on their actual performance and their treatment of other people. Since more is expected by the author and his readers from their countrymen in the “backward” and “uncivilized” Turkestan, they tend to be held up to higher moral standards. The lower expectations towards the local people and overly enthusiastic reception of their high qualities clearly reflect the paternalistic approach of the author. The overall conclusion made by contemporary readers based on Karazin’s literary and visual works was probably the message that decency, honor, and a humane attitude to people and animals were the features that mattered the most, and were expected from men and women, Russian and Central Asian, Christian and Muslim alike. This message is reinforced by his strong empathy to everybody who is suffering: that includes Russians and the local people, humans and animals. “He loves khalatniki [“robe wearers,” native people] like his own children,” noted a contemporary newspaper half-dismissively and half-­ admiringly.144 In an anniversary speech about an artist’s role in the society,

 Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 78–80.  Andreeva, Russia and Iran in the Great Game, 107–8. 144  Novosti i birzhevaia gazeta, 18 November 1896, no. 319, page 2. 142 143

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Karazin himself emphasized the importance of having “a sensitive heart.”145 A modern scholar of Russia explains one possible reason why Russians displayed more sympathy towards the colonized: “The Russian Empire developed by imposing Russian culture on the Asian steppe, but in that very process many of the colonizers became Asian, too. One of the consequences of this encounter was a cultural sympathy towards the colonies that was rarely to be found in colonizers from the European states.”146 If this factor plays a role in Karazin’s mostly benevolent attitude towards people in Turkestan, another defining factor was his own moral character. We have seen multiple examples of suffering local people above. Additionally, Karazin’s descriptions of the local people’s poverty, such as found in his report about the expedition of 1879, cause his readers’ empathy. After leaving the town of Guzar, the members of the expedition meet a group of inhabitants of the mountain village Kushliush. They have been mobilized by the local rulers to provide draft animals for the expedition. Both people dressed in rags and painfully skinny and their pitiful exhausted horses with scarred backs are defined by the local official as “very very poor.”147 A number of Karazin’s drawings demonstrate his empathy in a particularly impressive way. One of his best-known watercolors is entitled Smert’ konia  – smert’ vsadniku (Death of the horse  – death to the rider), also entitled Pogib kon’ – pogibnet i vsadnik (The horse has perished – [now] the rider will die [as well]) (see Image 5.5 in black and white).148 The painting, currently in the Trei’iakov Gallery in Moscow, “reaches a great psychological depth and expressiveness,” according to the Soviet art historian E. V. Nogaevskaia.149 In it, the lonely figure of a nomad standing sadly over the body of his fallen horse, is full of heartbreaking despair and hopelessness. The sky is hostile, heavy, and gloomy, and a sand storm is likely to be approaching. According to the description accompanying this image, “it was only on his back that the rider could fly from one end of the desert to the other, only with him the predators of this ill-fated area were not a threat.” Now, having lost his “faithful comrade,” the man “is thinking sad  Novosti i birzhevaia gazeta, 18 November 1896, no. 330, page 2.  Orlando Figes, Natasha’s Dance: A Cultural History of Russia (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2002), 381. 147  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 582 (1880): 258. 148  See this image in black and white in Niva 41 (1890): 1020. 149  E. V. Nogaevskaia, “Nikolai Nikolaevich Karazin, 1842–1908,” in A. I. Leonov, ed., Russkoe iskusstvo. Ocherki o zhizni i tvorchestve khudozhnikov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1971), 364. 145 146

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Image 5.5  Pogib kon’ – pogibnet i vsadnik (The horse has perished – [now] the rider will die [as well]).

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thoughts about his hopeless and terrifying future.”150 This is how art historian Roy Bolton describes the same painting: “The poignancy of his loss is revealed in the stance of the man. His arms hang forward, his head is lowered and his feet are positioned shoulder wide apart for support. The vast landscape that encircles the pair further heightens the viewer’s sense of sadness by the stark loneliness and isolation of the man in mourning.”151 Another example of Karazin’s talent for showing deep human emotions in his drawings is Starshii bek kerkinskii i ego bacha (Senior beg of Kerki and his bacha), appearing in his articles dedicated to the Amu-Darya expedition of 1879 (see Image 5.6).152 While the word bacha means “a child” or “a young person,” the institution of bachas in Central Asia included male dancers dressed as females performing in tea houses or private houses. The word also applies to young boys used for sexual slavery or child prostitution. Both meanings were closely related and often overlapping. Many rulers in Central Asia had bachas as companions-servants, usually slaves. In the drawing, an old bearded man reclining on a carpet and leaning against a pillow, with his gaze cast downwards, is looking at the water pipe held by his bacha. His facial expression is sad or contemplative. As the young boy brings the pipe stem to the old man’s mouth, he is intimately putting his hand on his master’s shoulder. This gesture, along with the boy’s long hair showing from under his cap, an earring in his ear, and his expression of somber confidentiality as he looks directly into his master’s face, all imply intimacy between them. It is hard to even estimate the age of the boy, since his face, possibly wearing make-up, seems to be too old for his body, which looks disproportionally small next to the large figure of the old man in the foreground. The artist, compassionate by nature, and sensitive to the mistreatment of the most unprotected, in this drawing was able to create an air of penetrating sadness. Though not as openly revealing as the famed painting by Vereshchagin entitled Selling a Slave Boy, it nevertheless seems to convey the same tragic reality of broadly spread and accepted pedophilia among men of means in Central Asia (and the rest of the Middle East).153  Niva 41 (1890): 1032.  Roy Bolton, Russian Orientalism: Central Asia and the Caucasus (London: Sphinx Books, 2009), 20. 152  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 480. 153  This heartbreaking painting has become the cover of the book by Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, and has been included in the book Wageman and Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient: Orientalist Painting 1850–1920, 89. 150 151

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Image 5.6  Starshii bek kerkinskii i ego bacha (Senior beg of Kerki and his bacha). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 480.

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At the same time, Karazin describes the beg of Kerki in strongly approving terms as a dignified man and a just ruler to his people (more information about him is provided in the following chapter of this book). Those observations are based on several personal encounters as well as what the artist learned about the beg. There is a discrepancy between the visual image and the narrative, between the old pedophile in the drawing and the old noble ruler in the narrative. In the narrative, the brother of the Kerki beg who comes to greet the members of the Russian expedition is also accompanied by his bacha, “something similar to the page and sword-­ bearer, a handsome boy in an unusually large pink turban.”154 Karazin describes or at least mentions bacha performances in many of his Central Asian works: those descriptions leave little doubt about the nature of the erotic excitement instigated by the provocative dances of the unfortunate boys. For example, in Na dalekikh okrainakh, such a performance by a star dancer in a camp is described vividly and in detail. In the evening, a crowd gathered around carpets spread on the ground: A child is standing there… Is this really a child? Large, black eyes are looking with too much expression, in them something not childlike is seen: impudence and ingratiating, an almost royal pride and dog’s abasement glide and change each other in this intent gaze. Those are the eyes of a tiger cub, but at the same time – of a “public woman.” His beautifully outlined mouth is smiling, revealing bright white teeth. This child is wearing only a long red shirt reaching the ground; his feet and arms to the elbows are exposed. He is standing motionless, with his arms along his sides; from under a red cap embroidered with gold hung almost to his knees long black braids, decorated with gold rattles and cut glass. …This child is bacha. His name is Suffi. This name is known for several hundred versts around. In the front corner [of the carpets] four musicians were seated. …The musicians at once started to play their instruments. Suffi roused and slowly, as if gliding, started to move around the circle. …At first the dance consisted of smooth movements of his arms and head; his bare feet slightly stepped on the soft carpets; then his movements were becoming faster and faster, the circle spiraled smaller, and finally Suffi was in the center again. The music stopped. Suffi, without moving his feet, suddenly made a full turn and bent backwards, almost touching the ground with his head. His whole body was curved into an arch; his black braids

 Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 471.

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spread on the carpets, and every curve of his chest, belly and thighs were clearly visible through the thin fabric of his shirt. The whole crowd exploded in deafening screams. …Suffi slowly rose and, slightly reeling, wiping sweat, slowly walked away out of the circle. When he was walking through the crowd, the most flowery compliments were showered on him; tens of hands were grabbing him, his hands were being caught and kissed as he passed by; even the flaps of his shirt were being kissed.155

A very similar narrative is included in Nikolai Karazin’s account of the Amu-Darya expedition in 1879.156 The whole performance in which bachas took part is described in detail in the next chapter of this book. At the same time, not all bachas apparently became victims of pedophiles. In the legend “Atlar,” the main hero Mat-Niaz was sold to an owner of an acting school, himself a former bacha. “The kind and gentle old man” taught the boys to dance, sing, and play musical instruments. Mat-Niaz turned out to be a gifted student who won the heart of the emir of Khiva with his creative and meaningful performance. Not simply a talented actor-improvisator, he also possessed impressive intellectual abilities. When it was his turn to perform, he appeared on the stage with golden chains on his hands and feet: “His poses and facial expression showed deep suffering.” Everybody, including his old teacher, was surprised. Then the boy started to sing: When the wind freely walks in the steppe, it brings coolness and humidity, refreshing a tired traveler. If you block its way, the sun will burn everything with its heat… Set the steppe life-saving wind free. When a rose blossoms filling the air with its fragrance, if you block the sun, cover it [the rose] in the darkness of night… it will fade… its petals will drop … its fragrance will disappear… Give light to the beautiful rose. When a fast horse cheerfully carries you on a faraway road, if you drive it [the horse] day and night, drive it without rest, the horse will weaken, its iron legs will bend, its tired heart will stop, and like a corpse will it [the horse] fall down to the rider’s misfortune. Let the fast horse rest…

 Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 143–45.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 581 (1880): 184.

155 156

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When joy and happiness play in a person’s heart, when he finds solace in his labor, if you chain him, his happiness will disappear, his soul will suffer from the slave labor, the person will disappear, only a wordless cattle will remain. Take off his chains in the name of merciful Allah.157

As the old teacher did not know what to think and expected trouble from his guest, the old ruler ordered the boy’s chains to be removed. The boy was immediately transformed: His eyes were shining with joy and cheerfulness, his flexible, strong body trembled, a bright smile appeared on his face. He took a deep breath, stretched and happily touched the strings [of his saz]: “Eternal glory to him who has granted peace and freedom. God will give him joy and happiness, victory over his enemies, consolation in his family. Glory to him who granted peace…” Mat-Niaz threw away his instrument and started to dance… His was a dance unlike anything else the guests had seen earlier. Their eyes could not keep up with his fast graceful movements. His face was burning with sincere joy, and when he finished his dance and sat on the carpet tired and breathless, applause broke out.158

This imaginative performance, Mat-Niaz’s hymn to freedom, changed the course of his life. The emir brought him to his palace where the slave boy became a close friend to the emir’s son. A talented poet-improvisator and a wise adviser, he gained their respect. Nothing in that story implies any inappropriate intimacy between Mat-Niaz and the old emir.159 Nikolai Karazin’s works often include animals, as has been mentioned earlier in this book. They play different roles, suffering along with humans, like Mumyn’s horses, or unwillingly taking part in their master’s wild acts, like Khmurov’s dog Hector, fighting with the tigress in Khmurov’s living room. Dogs, wolves, and tigers seem to be the animals most often mentioned by the author, who even used wolves and tigers in his works’ titles. While bandits are repeatedly likened to wolves or referred to as “predators,” submissiveness and despair are frequently symbolized by dogs. For  N. N. Karazin, “Atlar,” in Nedavnee byloe: Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 15 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 133–34. 158  Karazin, “Atlar,” 134–35. 159  Karazin, “Atlar,” 125–38. 157

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example, in Dvunogii volk, exhausted by thirst, native servants crawled to the general and silently pleaded for water; “raising themselves on their elbows, they looked at the general, like a hungry, oppressed dog.”160 In the same novel, describing a wife in Atamkul’s harem, the narrator also compares her glance to that of a dog: “In this gaze, two expressions were constantly replacing one another – that of malice and some sort of a slavery fear… A dog glances like this when it is punished by a hand other than that of its master: it is ready to bite that hand and is waiting for a convenient moment – but at the same time, fear of that hand prevails, paralyzing the dog’s ability to resist.161 In Nal’, the freedom-loving “tigress” Gul’Gul’ looks at Nal’, who had just proposed to her, with some “animal fear”: “This is how a cornered dog looks at the stick raised over its head.”162 A large pregnant she-camel played an important role in the events narrated in the story about two brothers kudukchi discussed earlier in this chapter. The camel got loose and became lost, so that the boy looking for her appeared in the brothers’ camp. Overjoyed that he has found the camel after searching for her all day long, the boy makes a fateful decision to stay with the brothers until the morning. He feels sorry for the tired animal, who is “barely moving her feet”: “The boy is caressing his she-­ camel, patting her dusty muzzle with his dirty horny hands, caresses her large, beautiful, coal-black eyes, and is almost crying from joy.”163 When the brothers cut off the rope to trap the boy in the well, “O-o-oh” came from inside the well. The camel then “heavily got up. She had seen what people were doing – and was waiting for water. The humpbacked animal raised up, came up to the well, and put her head between the brothers, while her gentle black eyes looked at them with trust and tenderness.”164 This gesture of the beautiful animal immediately after the murder of her owner proved the last straw for the brothers, and pushed them into insanity. They would ride the poor animal without dismounting until she barely escaped wolves and delivered them to a caravan, at the cost of her own life. The local people, and indeed even animals, are “humanized” in Nikolai Karazin’s Turkestan works, so that his readers and viewers could relate to them relatively easily. His works lack fear of the “Orientals” but invite his  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 152.  Karazin, Dvunogii volk, 152. 162  Karazin, Nal’, 163. 163  Karazin, “Naurus i Dzhiura,” 141–42. 164  Karazin, “Naurus i Dzhiura,” 145. 160 161

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audience to learn, relate, and sympathize. By combining a sense of superiority and pride in Russia’s “civilizing mission” with a sense of certain parity towards the local people, Karazin turns a “discourse of power” into a “discourse of empathy.” The value of his tales, at least from our perspective, is not in their theatrical effects. Though it is hard to tell how many of his contemporary readers took the passions and effects at face value, we can be certain that Turkestan was put on their mental map, and they learned a lot about Central Asian people’s habits and customs in a rather tolerant, even if paternalistic, mode. This “paradox” between support for the imperial enterprise and a degree of empathy for the colonized has a long intellectual pedigree. “Idealization of the savage” evolved from Montaigne and Rousseau, to the “revenge of the Babel” reflected by Raymond Schwab in his Oriental Renaissance, through (among many others) the “rationalized” idealization of Arabs by T. E. Lawrence165 – to the “noble Caucasian savagery” in the works of Pushkin,166 paralleled by the Romantic interest in Central Asian mountain regions by the Great Game’s travelers of the 1840s and onward.167 The trend of anticolonialism clearly detectable in Karazin’s literary and visual works allows us to draw parallels between his “bearers of civilization” and such classical antiheroes as those in Conrad’s Congo or Orwell’s Burma described several decades later. This is how Edward Said explains relevant views of Joseph Conrad: “Conrad was both anti-­ imperialist and imperialist, progressive when it came to rendering fearlessly and pessimistically the self-confirming, self-deluding corruption of overseas domination, deeply reactionary when it came to conceding that Africa or South America could ever have had an independent history or culture, which the imperialists violently disturbed but by which they were ultimately defeated.” Said also explains that the British or French in the second half of the nineteenth century would never think about separate sovereignty for the people in India or North Africa.168 By the same token, never would it have occurred to Karazin that Russia would give up  Spurr, The Rhetoric of Empire, 125–32.  Susan Layton, Russian Literature and Empire: Conquest of the Caucasus from Pushkin to Tolstoy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 106. 167  Ronald Vroon, “A Russian Futurist in Asia. Velimir Khlebnikov’s Travelogue in Verse,” in Nile Green, ed., Writing Travel in Central Asian History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014), 171. 168  Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), xviii, xxi. 165 166

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Turkestan or that it would become independent. Such ideas were simply not a part of the mindset of the absolute majority of the Russian intellectual and artistic elite of his time. Nikolai Karazin’s presentation of Central Asia contributes to what John MacKenzie calls “the cultural aspects of imperial history.” The complex picture of Russian Turkestan illustrates further the “mutual complicity and the interpenetration of imperial and indigenous culture which can produce reversals in apparent power relationships.” Karazin’s Turkestan existed in a “multiplicity of voices, differentiated by gender, ideology and religious standpoint, distinctions between surface simplicities and disguised ironies, and the dysfunctions between representation and agency.” MacKenzie further points out the significance of the “powerful critique of home culture”169 – and such critique is clearly present in Karazin’s works. Therefore, Karazin was undermining Russia’s imperialist stance in Central Asia by allowing heterogeneous voices to talk about various aspects of Russian domination. Additionally, as pointed out by Susan Layton, when cultural and psychological divisions between “us” and the “Orientals” are blurred, as they are in Karazin’s works, “imperialism loses its moral justification as a civilizing mission.” Violence accompanying the imperial conquest advancing “civilization” thus becomes discredited.170 An additional aspect of the complexity of the imperial networks is the fact that there were significant overlaps between the majority of Russian colonists and “non-Russian subalterns” – they all stood far from the centers of power and lacked political influence. Then possibly the question “Did similarities in Russia between colonizer and colonized breed sympathy?”171 is also relevant to the disappearance of the clear distinction between “us” and the “Orientals,” therefore further undermining the “civilizing mission” in Turkestan. As pointed out by Harsha Ram, Russian artists provided a prism for contemplating Russia as a “prison of all nations” where Russians and non-Russians were trapped.172 169  John M. MacKenzie, Orientalism: History, theory and the arts (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), 20–21. 170  Layton, Russian Literature and Empire, 10. 171  Christopher Fly, “Personal and Imperial: Fyodor Vasiliev’s In the Crimean Mountains,” in Valerie A.  Kivelson and Joan Neuberger, eds., Picturing Russia: Exploration in Visual Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008), 102–3. 172  Harsha Ram, Prisoners of the Caucasus: Literary Myths and Media Representations of the Chechen Conflict (Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Program in Soviet and Post-Soviet Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1999), 14, quoted in Izabela Kalinowska, Between East

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Karazin’s works, therefore, were likely to create doubts about Russia’s imperial mission in Turkestan in the eyes of his audience, in spite of his explicit support for Russia’s “civilizing mission” there. As pointed out by a modern scholar, “literature can reinforce negative stereotypes, but it can also expose the arrogance of orientalist assumptions, introducing ambivalence and doubt into triumphalist rhetoric.”173

and West: Polish and Russian Nineteenth-Century Travel to the Orient (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2004), 10. See also Alexander Etkind, Internal Colonization: Russia’s Imperial Experience (Cambridge: Polity, 2011). 173  Todd Kontje, “Germany’s Local Orientalisms,” in James Hodkinson and John Walker, eds., Deploying Orientalism in Culture and History: From Germany to Central and Eastern Europe (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2013), 57.

CHAPTER SIX

Karazin’s ethnographic project and travelogues: topography and typography

Nikolai Karazin was an enthusiastic ethnographer who was actively engaged in gathering “colonial knowledge” about Turkestan. He was defined as the founder of “what could be called ethnographic fiction” and “artist-ethnographer” by authors of both his day and the modern time.1 For years he was constructing Turkestan for his audience – a world that he depicted based on a solid knowledge of ethnography, topography, and geography shaped by the ideas and requirements of his day. He was invited to take part in two Russian Geographical Society scientific expeditions to the Amu-Darya (in 1874 and 1879) with the purpose of studying possibilities for navigation and railroad construction there. He was put in charge of collecting geographical and ethnographical materials which won him several high awards at exhibitions in Russia and Western Europe. Layers of ethnographic information in his works include costumes, customs, objects of daily use, and domestic environment; interior and exterior of dwellings; local cuisine, entertainments, games, and folklore; street and bazaar scenes and markets; transportation and maintenance of desert wells; hunting and fishing; “European quarters” and “native 1  F. I. Bulgakov, Nashi khudozhniki (zhivopistsy, skul’ptory, mozaichisty, gravery i medal’ery) na akademicheskikh vystavkakh poslednego 25-letiia, vol. I (St. Petersburg: Tipograpfiia A. S. Suvorina, 1889), 167; S. A. Vengerov, ed., Istochniki slovaria russkikh pisatelei, vol. II (St. Petersburg: Tip. Akademii nauk, 1910), 584; Russkii entsiklopedicheskii slovar’, ed. I. N. Berezin, part II, vol. III (St. Petersburg: Tip. T-va “Obshchestvennaia pol’za,” 1878), 37; V. A. Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii po narodam Tsentral’noi Azii vtoroi poloviny XIX-nachala XX veka v sobraniiakh Kunstkamery (St. Petersburg: “Nauka,” 2011), 360.

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_6

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quarters” in Tashkent and other cities and towns. Karazin also created multiple images of people with emphasis on their ethnic identity. The artist always seeks to inform and educate his readers before he entertains them. Almost every article, essay, short story, and novel written by him contains passages dedicated to detailed ethnographic descriptions skillfully woven into the fabric of his narrative. His slow-paced didactic passages intermittent with dynamic action constitute his signature “adventure-ethnographic style.” His novel Pogonia za nazhivoi (Chasing profit) even has appended a two-­and-­a-half page glossary of terms, which includes such terms as “giaour  – infidel, non-Muslim,” “divonah  – God’s fool,” and “lauchi  – cameleer.”2 Since many of those descriptions have been presented in the previous chapters, this chapter will concentrate on his predominantly ethnographic works and travelogues.

Russian “discovery” of Central Asia In the second half of the nineteenth century a substantial interest towards the less known regions of the Russian Empire developed among various groups of the Russian public. As pointed out by Willard Sunderland, even the rural population living in Russia proper was exposed to visual reminders of the ethnically and religiously diverse empire on a regular basis: “By the late nineteenth century, peasants in central Russia with access to illustrated broadsheets and magazines would tear out scenes depicting the conquest of Central Asia or the building of the trans-Siberian railroad and hang them on the walls in their huts.” This interest was not limited to the lower social classes: educated Russians “developed a vivid ethnographic imagination” starting from the time of Peter the Great. Depending on their interests and financial resources, they bought rugs from the Caucasus and Central Asia, commissioned paintings, and “collected maps of the empire and volumes of ethnographic drawings to display in their libraries.” Some even went as far as “going native” and dressing as non-­Russians. Ordinary Russians traded ethnographic postcards. Motifs of the faraway parts of the empire appeared in children’s games and playing cards. Moreover, the presence of such imperial themes in Russian material culture reflected educated society’s “simultaneous preoccupation with beauty and social status.” The possession and display of colorful drawings of “savage” peoples or objects of native art, both exotic and intriguing, were 2

 N. N. Karazin, Pogonia za nazhivoi (St. Petersburg: Lenizdat, 1993), 584–85.

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perceived as a statement of prestige. Those objects also reflected their owners’ pride in the enormous expanse and cultural diversity of the empire, along with their own distinctiveness.3 Such enthusiasm towards the culture of Russia’s new subjects welcomed Karazin’s multiple ethnographic productions, from playing cards to illustrated travelogues and scientific expedition reports. Nikolai Karazin was one of the Russian travelers, ethnographers, scholars, writers, artists, and journalists who in the second half of the nineteenth century streamed into the remote parts of the Russian Empire, including Central Asia. Those representatives of the Russian intelligentsia reported to their audience in multiple periodicals and additionally in separately published collections of writings or visual images. For example, in the 1870s, P.  I. Mel’nikov-Pecherskii, D.  N. Mamin-Sibiriak, V.  G. Korolenko, and G.  A. Machtet brought images of the Urals and Siberia to their readers. V. I. Nemirovich-Danchenko and K. K. Sluchevskii wrote about the Russian North.4 Turkestan was presented by such writers as N.  Il’in, N.  Uralov, N.  Stremoukhov, P.  Infant’ev, D.  Ivanov, and Nikolai Karazin.5 Karazin became broadly known as an “artist-­ ethnographer”: “If the [purely] artistic merits of his works were sometimes criticized, their ethnographic value was acknowledged by everyone.”6 Soviet art historian A. A. Sidorov defines V. V. Vereshchagin and Karazin as “highly qualified artists-travelers.”7 Other painters of Central Asia during this period of time included A. F. Chernyshov and A. N. Goronovich.8 Nikolai Karazin’s works are among those manifesting a new direct engagement with Turkestan and its people. By the second half of the nineteenth century, Russian artists had finally overcome the view of the Orient 3  Willard Sunderland, “Shop Signs, Monuments, Souvenirs: Views of the Empire in Everyday Life,” in Valerie A.  Kivelson and Joan Neuberger, eds., Picturing Russia: Explorations in Visual Culture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008), 105–6. 4  Vladimir Shumkov, “Zhizn’, trudy i stranstviia Nikolaia Karazina, pisatelia, khudozhnika, puteshestvennika,” Zvezda vostoka, no. 6 (1975): 208. 5  K.  Sh. Kereeva-Kanafieva, Russko-kazakhskie literaturnye otnosheniia (vtoraia polovina XIX – pervoe desiatiletie XX v.) (Alma-Ata: “Kazakhstan,” 1980), 113. 6  A. Shestimirov, “Nikoai Nikolaevich Karazin,” in Zabytye imena. Russkaia zhivopis’ XIX veka. Entsiklopediia mirovogo iskusstva (Moscow: Belyi Gorod, 2001), 219. 7  A. A. Sidorov, Risunok russkikh masterov (vtoraia polovina XIX v.) (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1960), 31. 8  G.  N. Chabrov, Izobrazitel’nye istochniki po istorii Srednei Azii i Kazakhstana XVIIIpervoi pol. XIX vv. Avtoreferat dissertatsii na soiskanie uchenoi stepeni doktora istoricheskikh nauk (Tashkent: Tashkentskii Gosudarstvennyi Universitet im. V. I. Lenina, 1966), 16–17.

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as exotic and “ornamental,” which they had adopted from Western Europe (as explained in the second chapter of this book) – they were finally prepared for a direct encounter with Asia. Romantic ideas of social and spiritual liberation represented in the works by Alexander Pushkin, Mikhail Lermontov, and Alexander Bestuzhev-Marlinskii and dedicated to the Caucasus had to be integrated with the colonial reality. In the second half of the nineteenth century, the interdependent emergence of European military and intellectual interests in Central Asia was a new phenomenon. By that time, with the development of Realist art, a number of journalists and writers developed serious interest in studying Central Asian history and culture: “This more studied approach overlapped with the final conquest of Central Asia (1864–84) and gave rise to the considerable fin de siècle ethno-touristic literature.”9 In her recent book dedicated to the collection of the museum of anthropology and ethnography (Kunstkamera) in St. Petersburg, V. A. Prishchepova makes an interesting if controversial statement: “In the recent years, in the history of Russian Orientology serious works have appeared which started to fairly evaluate the colonizing service [kolonizatorskie zaslugi] of the Russian government and to pay due attention to the forgotten names of those Russian officers who made a significant contribution to the study of the new Russian territories in Asia.”10 She explains that “those were mostly military specialists who had participated in the military campaigns… who knew how to draw well, topographers in the first place.” They played an important role in the scholarly study of Central Asia: “The first to set foot on the Asian land were the Russian military. The overwhelming numbers of the men in the military uniform were not ‘war dogs’ [voiaki] or ‘conquerors,’ as they are often presented by some authors, but the elite of the Russian society of that time. Those military men were discovering unknown earlier territories, drawing geographic maps, and building roads. Many peoples of modern Central Asia owe them for their city-building. It was according to their drafts that temples and palaces were built, which today have become architectural monuments… They were building railroads, canals and water reservoirs in 9  Ronald Vroon, “A Russian Futurist in Central Asia,” in Nile Green, ed., Writing Travel in Central Asian History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014), 171–72. See also Green, “Introduction: Writing Travel, and the Global History in Central Asia,” in Writing Travel in Central Asian History, 3, 17–22. 10  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 347.

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Central Asia.”11 This one-sided approach can be seen of course as carte blanche for the Russian conquest and a perfect justification for Russian colonialism. At the same time, it is a reaction to the years of highly politicized Soviet scholarship which labeled all pre-Soviet explorers as imperialist and colonialist and denied them any credit. For the sake of the current research, it would be reasonable to acknowledge the service performed by the Russian explorers (including Nikolai Karazin) in studying Central Asia but also put it into the proper framework of the colonial expansion. It is certainly a positive development that modern post-Soviet scholars are bringing back those forgotten names which constitute a significant part of Russian colonial history.

Ethnographic networks Karazin’s ethnographic project places him firmly inside Russian imperial “scientific networks” connecting the metropole and Turkestan, as well as government, military, and scientific players in both the center and the periphery. In her book Colonial connections 1815–45, dedicated to patronage, the information revolution, and colonial government in the British empire, Zoe Laidlaw presents a picture of “scientific networks” very similar to those in Russia in the second half of the nineteenth century. She explains: “As scientific outlook and organization developed in the nineteenth century, the empire became both a focus for scientific endeavour and a ground for scientific patronage.” Connections emerging from the imperial scientific network affected colonial governance through patronage, transmission of information, and their impact on perceptions of empire and colonies.12 Russian imperial scientific inquisitiveness goes back to the time of Peter the Great, whose academic and cultural elite “extolled the virtues of ‘useful curiosity’ and ‘learned travel,’ gave new names to everything, drew new maps based on ‘geometric observation,’ contemplated the inexorable progress of ‘wisdom’ (mudrosrt’), and insisted on the new-found glory,

11  A. A. Kolesnikov and M. F. Matveeva, Osh glazami russkikh issledovatelei, vtoraia polovina XIX-nachalo XX vekov: dokumenty, materialy, fotografii, kommentarii (Bishkek: General’noe konsul’stvo Rossii v g. Osh, 2003), 8, quoted in Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 347. 12  Zoe Laidlaw, Colonial connections 1815–45: Patronage, the information revolution and colonial government (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 31.

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might and essential Europeanness of the Russian ‘nation.’”13 The new territories were to be actively appropriated through measuring and drawing, in the name of “utility” (pol’za) and “science,” conveniently coinciding with “the state’s interests.” Conquest itself was seen as unimaginable without appropriation and managing – without scientific knowledge and rational administration. As Peter’s “scholarly lieutenants” were mapping the shores of the Black and Azov Seas, or endeavoring on “military-cum-­ scientific expeditions” to chart the Caspian, they were probably unaware of the fact that they were producing not only “knowledge of the territory” but also “the territory itself.”14 At the same time, savant engineers, officials, and advisors were digging the Don-Volga canal (begun in 1697); building defensive lines in Bashkiria, Ukraine, and between the Don and Volga; erecting new forts in the northern Caucasus and around Azov; and placing milestones along steppe roads.15 The trend for such scientific appropriation only strengthened throughout the nineteenth century, with the dramatic expansion of the Russian Empire. Two trends created a backdrop for the scientific networks. On the one hand, scientists in the metropole needed data from the empire; on the other  – “government sponsorship and the professionalisation of science led to the increased importance of scientists themselves and the burgeoning scientific societies as patrons.” Many colonial administrators had an interest in science; some were members of metropolitan scientific societies. Thus was created an imperial scientific network with metropolitan members extending their patronage and influence in the colonies by appointing administrators with scientific interests and scientific professionals. The network support and finances were provided by government and scientific societies with helpful overlapping of personnel between government and scientific societies.16 In Russia of the second half of the nineteenth century, a scientific network extended from St. Petersburg to Tashkent, and included the Russian war minister, the governor-general of Turkestan, and professional and amateur scientists, including ethnographers – with Nikolai Karazin being one of them. D. A. Miliutin, who later became the minister of war and 13  Willard Sunderland, Taming the Wild Field: Colonization and Empire on the Russian Steppe (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2004), 35. 14  Sunderland, Taming the Wild Field, 45 and 37, quoting Jacques Revel, “Knowledge of the Territory,” Science in Context 1991, v. 4, 134. 15  Sunderland, Taming the Wild Field, 41. 16  Laidlaw, Colonial connections, 31–32.

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created the General Staff Academy’s Department of Military Statistics, had fought in the Caucasus, and had a “lifelong interest in Russia’s Asian possessions” and “dedication to scientific, statistical methods as a means to incorporate those realms into the Tsarist Empire.” Miliutin appointed to the position of the Turkestan governor-general K. P. von Kaufman, with whom he had served in the Caucasus and worked together in the General Staff.17 In Kaufman’s Turkestan, ethnography “had pride of place,” according to Daniel Brower.18 Ethnography and anthropology had become very popular among government officials and the educated public. The first Russian Ethnographic Exposition in Moscow in 1867 was immensely well attended – it was even visited by the emperor and received his support. While the public was ready to view their empire as a land of ethnically diverse people, the organizers used “ethnography’s visual and textual modes of representing human differences” as a discourse “that suggested the empire to be the patron and protector of peoples.” Kaufman, who departed for Turkestan the year following the exhibition, would turn to ethnographic knowledge in order to facilitate his administration and keep peace among the subjects. Scientific information was to enhance colonial power, with ethnicity turning into a “servant of his colonial rule.”19 Therefore, “the [choice of] themes of [ethnographic] images served political and military interests of the imperial administration.”20 Kaufman’s zeal to make Turkestan “a known place,” the subject of systematic study and display, resulted in recruiting a number of prominent Russian scientists, scholars, and artists, and sponsoring expeditions and exhibits. Experts hired by Kaufman included Alexander Geins, who had graduated from the General Staff Academy and was an expert on geography and statistics; Captain N. A. Maev, who became the editor and publicist in the provincial newsletter Turkestanskie gubernskie vedomosti; botanist and anthropologist Alexei Fedchenko; linguist Nikolai Ostroumov; and artist Vasilii Vereshchagin. The center of all those exploratory activities was the Tashkent branch of the Society for Amateurs of Natural Sciences,

17  Alex Marshall, The Russian General Staff and Asia, 1800–1917 (London: Routledge, 2006), 22–23. 18  Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: Routledge, 2003), 43. 19  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 43–46. 20  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 347.

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opened in Tashkent in 1870 and sponsored by Kaufman.21 Kaufman also employed two prominent geologists and mountain engineers  – I. V. Mushketov and G. D. Romanovskii. Mushketov would dedicate a lot of his work to Turkestan, would publish his famous two-volume encyclopedic book on geology of Turkestan,22 and would in his turn train a number of outstanding Russian geologists. In 1869, to “insure that the mass of information remained accessible,” Kaufman commissioned a special ongoing scrapbook of articles on Central Asia. Ten years later, it had over three hundred issues cataloguing more than four thousand publications. It was accompanied by a bibliographical index.23 Multiple works by Karazin were included in this massive collection, which became the famed Turkestanskii sbornik (Turkestan collection). Kaufman also commissioned Turkestanskii Albom (Turkestan Album)  – a collection of photographic albums, with occasional watercolors, archaeological plans, and battle maps, produced in Tashkent and St. Petersburg in 1871–72. The goal of the collection was, according to its foreword, “satisfying the public interest and… rapid familiarization of the reading public with our newly occupied lands.”24 Connections within scientific networks are further demonstrated by the fact that this collection of knowledge was intended for two main audiences: Turkestan officials and educated Russians in the metropole. The diffusion of knowledge was as important as its collection and analysis. Russian organizers of the Third International Congress of Orientalists, held in St. Petersburg in 1876, asked Kaufman, along with other administrators of the eastern regions, to send them local costumes, photographs, and live representatives. In response, Kaufman personally selected three Turkestan subjects to appear at the congress.25

21  Daniel Brower, “Islam and Ethnicity: Russian Colonial Policy in Turkestan,” in Daniel R. Brower and Edward J. Lazzerini, eds., Russia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700–1917 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997), 124; Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 46–47. 22  I.  V. Mushketov, Turkestan. Geologicheskoe i orfograficheskoe opisanie po dannym, sobrannym vo vremia puteshestvii s 1874 g. po 1880 g, in 2 vols. (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. M. Stasiulevicha, 1886). 23  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 48. 24  https://www.loc.gov/rr/print/coll/287_turkestan.html (accessed 24 December 2018). 25  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 49.

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In Russia, similar to the British Empire, “[m]ilitary connections overlapped with and fostered the scientific networks.”26 Marianne Kamp, writing about Vladimir Petrovich Nalivkin, participant in the several military campaigns in Central Asia, and later – colonial administrator and a well-­ known ethnographer-Orientologist, pointed out that his training at the military school focused on topography, mapping, and military law, and also included science and languages. Though he did not receive the philological training that would have been available at the Staff Academy, he was “the product of Russia’s military professionalization.”27 As explained by Alex Marshall, the “professionalization of the Russian army” during the nineteenth century led to a unique role in “mapping, studying, strategically analyzing and statistically categorizing the various Asian peoples” whom they were called to administer: “For a growing number of Russian General Staff officers during the nineteenth century, Asia and the understanding of Asia became their whole career, and many came to make important contributions to the scientific fields of ethnography, geography, topography, and anthropology.”28 Nikolai Karazin also received a military education and was prepared to gather information about conquered people and their culture, and to create maps and topographical surveys. It was only natural for him, with his military background and a special admiration for Kaufman, to take part in these military-dominated scientific projects. The military-sponsored scientific projects were complemented by the activities of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society, which “despite an official non-political stance often sponsored missions to investigate strategic questions as much as to expand geographical knowledge.” As also pointed out by Marshall, the influence of the military on the society was thorough from the foundation of the society in 1845. Two of its founding members “had first honed their geographical skills … in military service,” while Miliutin, the future minister of war, served on the society’s governing council from 1849 to 1852. Additionally, the society served as a tool of the Asiatic Department of the Foreign Ministry, through which it spread its influence.29  Laidlaw, Colonial connections, 33.  Marianne Kamp, “Editor’s Introduction,” in Vladimir Nalivkin and Maria Nalivkina, Muslim Women of the Fergana Valley. A 19th-Century Ethnography from Central Asia, ed. Marianne Kamp (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2016), 2–5. 28  Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 9–10. 29  Marshall, The Russian General Staff, 24. 26 27

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Expeditions to the Amu-Darya Both expeditions to the Amu-Darya in which Nikolai Karazin participated were organized by the Geographical Society. He displayed his works at the society. Nikolai Karazin’s 1879 election to the membership of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society made this affiliation formal. Belonging to learned societies, including the Geographical Society, served as a source of authority, contributing to the “discourse of discovery” (discussed in chapter four of this book). In addition to overcoming hardship, the traveler is empowered by the backing of an official organization. As Mary Louise Pratt explains, his observation becomes a “discovery” only after he “returns home, and brings it into being through texts: a name on the map, a report to the Royal Geographical Society, the Foreign Office, the London Mission Society, a diary, a lecture, a travel book.”30 Ali Behdad refers to the term “emplacement,” coined by Michel Foucault, which means the institutional site used by the speaking subject when he delivers his discourse. The Geographical Society provided such a site the same way its British counterpart, the Royal Geographical Society, did: “the Royal Geographical Society was the privileged site that provided the source, the point of application, and the instruments of verification for the orientalist savant.”31 The expedition of 1874 closely followed the Russian capture of Khiva in 1873, which received a lot of publicity in Russian and European periodicals. Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia, а popular weekly magazine, wrote: “The expedition of the Russian troops to Khiva… will also enhance science with a valuable input of new fascinating information about this little known part of Central Asia.”32 In the 1870s–1880s, scholarly expeditions to Central Asia “directly followed military campaigns or even merged with them: either officers performed scientific observations – including ethnographic ones – or scholars were assigned to the military units.”33 The goals of the expedition in 1874 were stated as follows: defining the level of 30  Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1997), 204. 31  Ali Behdad, Belated Travelers: Orientalism in the Age of Colonial Dissolution (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994), 101. 32  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 245 (1873), quoted in Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 130. 33  S.  A. Tokarev, Istoriia russkoi etnografii (Moscow: Nauka, 1966), 312, quoted in Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 347.

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water and possibilities of navigation in the Amu-Darya delta; exploration of its dry beds; study of the conditions leading to drying of steppe water reservoirs and spreading of sands; and meteorological, topographic, statistic, and natural historic observations.34 Following the fall of Khiva in 1873, Kaufman ordered the collection of information about the population, geography, statistics, ethnography, and topography of the khanate. In order to assist him in this endeavor, the Russian Geographical Society initiated an expedition to the lower reaches of the Amu-Darya. The archive of the Geographical Society contains a letter endorsing the expedition based on the emperor’s prior approval. The expedition was to concentrate its efforts on the lower reaches of the river controlled by the Russians, without crossing over to the left shore, lands controlled by the Khiva khanate, “until the time when the population of the khanate becomes so peaceful and pacified that the appearance of Russian explorers… would not cause any suspicion and unrest.” Grand Duke Nikolai Konstantinovich was put in charge of the expedition. The expedition was to be closely coordinated with the commander of the Amu-Darya detachment (Colonel N. A. Ivanov) of the Turkestan military district, reaffirming the close connection between ethnographic and military projects. Furthermore, two officer-topographers and four noncommissioned officer-topographers from the Turkestan military district were to be included in the expedition. A ship with a barge from the Aral Flotilla was to be allocated to the expedition. For military protection of the expedition “in the country not completely pacified yet” at least twenty-five riflemen and one hundred Cossacks from the Amu-Darya detachment were to be assigned. The sum of 20,000 rubles was allocated for the expedition at the disposal of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society.35 A colonel of the General Staff and a member of the Geographical Society N. G. Stoletov was appointed as an assistant and the de facto leader of the expedition. In 1869, he had been the commander of the Transcaspian military detachment and had founded the city of Krasnovodsk on the eastern shore of the Caspian. The work of the expedition was to be performed by five groups. Nikolai Karazin was a member of the ethnographic-statistical group. This group was headed by Colonel L.  N. Sobolev, who authored a number of Orientological  Niva 18 (1874): 287.  Archive of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society (Arkhiv Imperatorskogo Russkogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva [AIRGO]), fond 1-1874, op. 1, delo 9, “O snariazhenii ekspeditsii k nizov’iam Amu-Dar’i,” pp. 43–46. 34 35

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­ ublications. It also included I.  A. Aleksandrov, another Orientologist, p and a Persian prince and Guards Colonel Riza-Kuli-Mirza, aide-de-camp to the emperor, whose knowledge of the local languages was to help the members of the expedition in their endeavor.36 The same archive contains a letter by Nikolai Karazin written to the Grand Duke Nikolai Konstantinovich offering to perform the following services for the expedition: 1) to compile an atlas of the expedition and to make zoological, botanical, entomological, and ornithological drawings based on requests of the respective specialists; 2) to create geological landscapes: cross-sections of the mountains, and drawings of landslides and mountain profiles, as well as landscapes assisting topographical surveying; 3) to produce architectural drawings, including cities and villages, as well as ethnographical types; 4) to compose an episodic and military album of the entire journey. He estimated his expenses, including materials, equipment, and travel, at 950 rubles. The letter bears a resolution of approval by the Grand Duke.37 The artist was awarded 1,000 rubles based on his request.38 He would later emphasize the practical significance of the study of the Amu-Darya delta for Russian navigation: the “intricate and whimsical labyrinth of the delta” was properly examined by the expedition which allowed two Russian ships, Aral and Samarkand, to navigate it in the summer of the same year from the parallel of Khiva all the way up, “causing fear and astonishment among the half-wild inhabitants of the Amu-­ Darya shores, who had never seen anything like this.”39 A report about the expedition mentions that the ethnographic group “in addition to collecting very detailed information about the statistics of the region, has explored many interesting aspects of ethnography and historical geography.” The report explains further that the “artist Karazin has compiled a large album [consisting of more than] one hundred drawings of the Amu-Darya region.”40 Between 1 December 1874 and 6 January 1875, Karazin exhibited his watercolors and drawings in the Geographical Society library.41 The exhibition consisted of three sections: the Aral Sea  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 375.  AIRGO, fond 1-1874, op. 1, delo 9, p. 49. 38  AIRGO, fond 1-1874, op. 1, delo 9, pp. 70–71, 108. 39  N. N. Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia dlia issledovaniia napravlenii sredneaziatskoi zheleznoi dorogi i izucheniia basseina reki Amu-Dar’i,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 606 (1880): 139. 40  AIRGO, fond 1-1874, op. 1, delo 9, pp. 325, 327. 41  AIRGO, fond 1-1874, op. 1, delo 9, pp. 248, 262. 36 37

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vicinities, the Amu-Darya delta, and scenes from the Khiva campaign. According to a contemporary magazine, the exhibit was popular among the St. Petersburg public, with the following drawings receiving most attention: Bazar v Kazalinske (Bazaar in Kazalinsk), Pereprava cherez Amu-Dariu (Crossing the Amu-Darya), Kirgizskie mogily (Kirghiz tombs), and Perekhod karavana noch’iu po otmeliam (Night crossing of a caravan over sandbars). According to the same report, the “types of Karakalpak, Turkmen, Kyzylkum Kirghiz and other natives” were also popular with the viewers.42 Karazin’s drawings displayed at international geographic exhibits won him a medal and honorary mention in Paris and a medal and diploma in London. In December 1874, Nikolai Karazin’s name appears among the names of the participants of the expedition who were granted awards “for the labor and hardship endured.” Next to his name, the following entry is made: “a present from His Imperial Majesty’s cabinet.”43 In 1879, the artist returned to Central Asia as a part of another scholarly expedition, known as “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia” (Samara scholarly expedition). This was a large expedition charged with exploring the basin of the Amu-Darya and potential directions for the future railroad. Assigned the duties of the expedition secretary, Karazin was charged with studying the everyday life of the local population and writing a detailed description of the expedition’s journey. At the beginning of his description, he explains the significance of a railroad: “God willing, in the nearest future [with this railroad] we shall reliably connect our rich, vast, politically and economically important new acquisitions in Central Asia to the border of Europe, Orenburg.”44 As the expedition explored the Karakum and Kyzylkum deserts, they found out that the deserts, especially in the Aral area, were not impenetrable but were rather rich with flora and water, and therefore were suitable for railroad construction. Similar to the first expedition, the Samara expedition was also nominally headed by the Grand Duke Nikolai Konstantinovich. It included geographer I. V. Mushketov, botanist N. V. Sorokin, Captain Maev, mountain engineers D. L. Ivanov and E. O. Sokolovskii, and artist N. E. Simakov,45 who

 Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 74.  AIRGO, fond 1-1875, op. 1, delo 3, p. 4. 44  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 75. 45  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 376, 378. 42 43

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compiled an album dedicated to the arts of Central Asia.46 Karazin mentions the other members of the expedition: artillery Colonel Lunkevich, doctor Valitskii, zoologist Pel’tsam, Colonel of General Staff Count Rostovtsev, railroad engineer Liapunov, and Major Krechmer responsible for supplies. The expedition included a group of Cossacks “as an honorary guard” to satisfy the “etiquette-loving rulers of Central Asia” and mounted dzhigits assigned to each member of the group.47 Mushketov later published his findings in his Turkestan. Geologicheskoe i orograficheskoe opisanie po dannym, sobrannym vo vremia puteshestviia s 1874 g. po 1880 g. (Turkestan: geological and orographic description collected during travels between 1874 and 1880). In the introduction, he informs his readers that he has made a presentation about this expedition, illustrated with Karazin’s drawings, at the Geographical Society.48 His book includes drawings by Karazin, Ivanov, and Simakov. Nikolai Karazin wrote a detailed description of the expedition which, together with his masterful drawings, documented in detail the work of the expedition and the world around them. Along with his colleagues, the artist was working hard throughout their journey, and after a long day of traveling and observation, would summarize the experiences of the day. This is how he describes the evening duties at the end of one busy day: “We were not wasting any time; while I was sketching everything I could see around, and was describing my impressions through the day in my diary, and Mushketov was organizing his mineralogical collection – the Count [Rostovtsev] started on his statistical report…”49 The expedition started in Samarkand, where all the members gathered in late July of 1879. They spent nine days there preparing all the necessary provisions and animals, and hiring the local guides and servants. They set out on 6 August. The expedition split into two groups: one was to travel to the Kara-Tiubin valley, then to the Shorskii pass and towards Kitab-­ Derbent; the other one, which included Karazin, was to proceed towards Karshi, Guzar, and then also towards Derbent, where they were to meet. 46  Н. Е. Simakov, Iskusstvo Srednei Azii. Sbornik Sredne-Aziatskoi ornamentatsii (St. Petersburg: Kartograficheskoe zavedenie A.  Il’ina, 1883), https://elibrary.tambovlib. ru/?ebook=6178#n=3 (accessed 30 December 2018). 47  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 75. 48  Mushketov, Turkestan, xx. 49  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 587 (1880): 299.

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As they traveled, they would be met by the local rulers, begs, who would provide their temporary quarters and meals. The second group traveled from Samarkand through the villages of Dzham, Shur-Kuduk, Beklekmish, and Allaha-Bakh; towns of Karshi and Guzar; and the villages of Sardukh, Gafiz-Dzham, and Derbent. In Derbent they learned that the second group had passed one day ago, and would be waiting for them in Kum-­ Kurgan on the Surkhob River. They proceeded through Boisun towards a village of Sara-Kamysh and reached Kum-Kurgan where they were reunited with the first group. After a five-day rest, the expedition moved from Kum-Kurgan towards the ancient town of Termez on the Amu-Darya close to the Afghan border. In Termez, on 24 August, the expedition again split into two groups: one group was to go down to the Amu-Darya delta, another one – to go up to its upper reaches and explore its tributaries Vaksh and Pendzh. The artist joined the first group. The group which Karazin traveled with also divided into two subgroups, with one traveling in a boat down the stream, another one along the bank. They passed through the villages of Shuran and Chushka-Guzar on their way to the town of Kelif. They left Kelif on 29 August, traveled through the oasis of Khodzha-Sala, to the towns of Kerki and Chardzhui, and reached Petro-­ Aleksandrovsk seven days later. In Petro-Aleksandrovsk all the members of the expedition met up and spent three days preparing to cross the Kyzylkum desert. Fourteen days later, they reached Kazalinsk on the Syr-­ Darya – their journey drew to an end. In addition to the drawings and descriptions based on those two explorative expeditions, Nikolai Karazin contributed more than sixty drawings and a chapter entitled “Tashkent”50 to the impressive educational volume on Central Asia which was a part of the multivolume series entitled Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii. (Pictoral Russia. Our motherland in its land, historic, tribal, economic, and domestic significance).51 Karazin’s contribution to this volume was for the most part inspired by his participation in the expeditions of 1874 and 1879, so some drawings are similar.

 This chapter is discussed in detail in the previous chapter of this book.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniaia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885). 50 51

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Travelogues If Nikolai Karazin’s reports about the Samara expedition combine a travelogue with an ethnographic-geographic-topographic report, his travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta (From Orenburg to Tashkent) is a combination of a travelogue and a travel guide.52 In this album of a large format the narrative is complemented by elaborate drawings, both on full pages and accompanying the text. It is divided into six chapters dedicated to the stages of the trip: Orenburg; from Orenburg to Orsk, entering “real Asia”; from Orsk to the beginning of the Karakum desert, the border of Turkestan; through the desert to Kazalinsk on the Syr-Darya; along the Syr-Darya to the town of Turkestan; from the city of Turkestan to Tashkent. Throughout the travelogue, the author addresses his readers in a direct, cheerful, and at times humorous way. For example, when he arrives in Orenburg by train, he is extremely enthusiastic about transferring to a carriage: It is only from Orenburg that your true journey begins. So far you have not been traveling. What kind of travel is it in a train car, according to a route which you have no authority over! You are being transported, in the same way as your suitcase in the luggage car. Just like your suitcase, you have a ticket, a number, and it is the ticket which is the main character, not you: without the ticket, you are null. For a certain fee, you are being delivered to a certain location by the certain time, and delivered you get. You are depersonalized, locked up and are being carried away all but by force. From Orenburg – the situation is completely different! From here, you are traveling yourself, you stop where and when you wish, you move at the speed of your choice… You are not anymore inhaling the station kitchen stink, the acrid coke smoke, the damp and dust of the car upholstery. With your full breast, you inhale the aromatic steppe air. Your appetite grows, your sleep improves…53

After such an inviting opening, the artist explains: “For such a journey, however, one needs to be well prepared.” He then goes into every detail of an adequate preparation. The travelogue is intended to serve as a manual for those preparing for the trip: it addresses many practical issues in detail, including where to stay, what to pack, when to tip, and how to 52  N.  N. Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Putevoi ocherk (St. Petersburg: Knigoizdatel’stvo German Goppe, 1886). 53  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 3.

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choose the right carriage. The tone is encouraging and dynamic, and the overall message is that the trip is not only relatively easy, but also exciting and educational. For the majority of his readers, of course, such a trip would never become a reality – they, however, were given an opportunity to undertake such an exotic trip in the comfort of their own home. Travelogue seems to have been one of Karazin’s favored genres: in addition to his description of the Samara expedition and Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, in 1888, he published another detailed account of his trip, on the Transcaspian railroad (described in detail in chapter four of this book). His travelogues combine what Nile Green defines as new modes of travel writing: imperial ethnography and the rise of the natural sciences.54 There are many common and overlapping themes found in his expedition reports and drawings, his works for Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, and his travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Thematically, Nikolai Karazin’s ethnographic and topographic descriptions and drawings fall into several main categories: local people engaged in various activities, scenes from their everyday life, historic figures including the emir of Bukhara, episodes from the expeditions’ travels, types of local people, means of transport, and types of dwellings, cities, ruins, animals, and landscapes.

Scenes of everyday life Karazin’s scenes of everyday activities and special occasions are all full of animation and interest in the local people’s life. They also provide details of their dwellings, costumes, and tools. For example, Karazin’s “bird seller,” robed and barefooted, has widely spread his arms and seems to be loudly calling out to his potential buyers. His donkey, loaded with several large birds, possibly partridges, is looking up at his master with a humorous meaningful expression and his mouth open, as if saying something or even also calling out to the buyers.55 Another drawing, entitled Turkmenskie muzykanty (Turkmen musicians), presents an animated scene with two musicians playing string instruments: one of them is facing the viewers, while the other has his back turned.56 The musicians’ mouths are open as if they are singing. They are seated on a carpet next to a tent wall. Daggers and a shield hang from a pole or a stick attached to its roof behind them,  Green, “Introduction,” 18.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 291. 56  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 17. 54 55

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while tea and food on a plate are placed on the carpet in front of them. Their visible audience consists of another man seated next to them on the carpet and smoking a water pipe. His facial expression suggests that he is enjoying their performance. A woman in an attractively decorated outfit, which covers her head but leaves her face open, stands next to the tent. She smiles with obvious delight as she is looking at the musicians. The whole scene has an air of quiet pleasure, contentment, and reasonable prosperity. In the drawing Inorodtsy Semirech’ia (Those of a different kin, meaning non-Russian or non-Christian subjects of the Semirechye oblast, most of southeastern Kazakhstan and northeastern Kirghizstan), four men in robes and felt hats are enjoying each other’s company and conversation.57 One of them is sitting on the carpet with his back to the viewers with his face half turned, so we can see his profile. He is talking in an animated way, emphasizing his point with a raised hand. Two men are seated cross-legged on a bench, with their shoes left next to the bench. One of them is smoking a long pipe, most likely a water pipe, though the water container cannot be seen. Each of those three men has a long braid falling from underneath his hat to almost his waist. The fourth man is facing the viewers – he is sitting on a higher seat and is looking downwards on his companions with a light smile. He seems to be listening attentively to what the first man is saying. Market scenes appear in Karazin’s works resulting from both expeditions. A market in the town of Chimboy (approximately 56 kilometers northeast from Nukus) appears on a drawing made during the 1874 expedition – it pictures several native men and a horse. The market does not seem to be very busy: several men are talking in the shade of a large tree next to the market wall, while several others are preparing to trade. One man who has just arrived in a small boat looks like he is about to unload his cargo.58 The drawing Bazarnaia ulitsa v Guzare (Market street in Guzar) was published in the report about the 1879 expedition and shows multiple people and a broad panorama of the surroundings.59 In his description, Karazin explains that when the expedition reached the town of Guzar, located in modern Kirghizstan, it was the holiday of Uraza,60 and therefore “all inhabitants were locked up in their houses, markets  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 407.  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 73. 59  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 585 (1880): 252. 60  Uraza Bayram, end of the Ramadan fast. 57 58

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were empty, all shops closed, and the town seemed to be deserted.”61 In his drawing, however, Karazin populated his market with several horses, donkeys, and some local men, sitting and standing next to the rather dilapidated construction, with a falling-in roof and cracked walls. Farther away, up on a hill, a citadel is seen: “as soon as we emerged from this tunnel [of the covered market], we saw a spectacular grandiose view  – the town citadel on a high hill behind the ravine: its long toothed walls with semi-circle towers, with gaping gates, protected by loopholes sticking out of the wall lit by the crimson light of the setting sun, looked remarkable against the purple background of the evening sky.”62 A much more animated market scene – that of the Karshi market – is described by Karazin in detail. Karshi was a town located approximately 150 kilometers southeast of Bukhara and around 130 kilometers south of Samarkand. Karshi was the summer residence of the emir of Bukhara. Its huge covered market includes multiple shops, tea houses, and cafes. This is how the author describes the tea houses: “‘Chaikhanas’ were located on every intersection, on every turn – there, in clouds of steam, colossal Tula [center of Russian samovar production] samovars were boiling, boys in long red shirts were bustling around serving food to grey-bearded turban-wearing customers of those Asian café-restaurants. From the side lanes, so narrow that a single rider could barely squeeze in, the smoky smell of burnt sesame oil was coming; pilaf… and dumplings were being cooked there; carriers were running out [from those lanes] with trays of hot flat breads, just out of the oven.”63 Another memorable local scene is presented in the drawing Prodavets kovrov i adrasov (Seller of carpets and adrases [silk-cotton fabrics]); one local man in a tall fuzzy hat is sitting on a carpet while another one is standing leaning against a donkey (see Image 6.1).64 A camel and a horse are heavily loaded with carpets and fabrics, while some of them are displayed in front of the seller. A water pipe is also sitting on the carpet in front of the seller, unused, probably for the potential buyers. The standing man is most likely a helper since the seller does not seem to pay much attention to him. The sellers are patiently waiting for customers. A rather large chest is seen next to the merchant. The three animals have, typically  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 584 (1880): 239.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 584 (1880): 239. 63  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 581 (1880): 183. 64  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 477. 61 62

Image 6.1  Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu. – Prodavets kovrov i adrasov v Besh-ire (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia. Seller of carpets and adrases [silk-collon fabrics] in Beshir).

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for Karazin’s works, expressive snouts – the horse, the camel, and especially the donkey seem to be also waiting patiently and wondering when their customers will appear. A significant part of Karazin’s report on the Samara expedition is dedicated to their interaction with the local people. Those scenes, both in literary and visual forms, reveal multiple details about the local customs and habits. Though the author tries to be objective, his tone routinely betrays satisfaction with the conquest and belief in the benevolent nature of the Russian influence. As the Russian expedition proceeded on their way from Samarkand south towards Karshi, they stopped over in a village called Dzham, where they were treated to what is known as dostarkhan offered by representatives of the emir of Bukhara and ruler of Katta-Kurgan. The word means “tablecloth” but also implies vast amounts of festive food offered on that tablecloth, usually used to honor a special guest or a special occasion. As described in the report, after lunch, a procession of servants carrying trays of food appeared in front of their tent. As “the red and blue robes,” the representatives from Bukhara and Katta-Kurgan, took seats inside next to their guests, they gestured for them to accept the trays one by one: “Soon all the space in the middle of the tent unoccupied by our persons was taken up by trays put in two levels with kishmish [raisins], flat breads, melons, grapes and all kinds of cookies and sweets made out of flour, sugar, molasses, and sheep fat… This procession lasted for a couple of hours, so that we breathed with relief when both representatives bowed and wished us good night, and our dzhigits and Cossacks relocated all the sweets into their sacks.” Karazin mildly humors the procession since it took place during a sand storm: “Turbans were getting undone, robe flaps were flying like sails… One has to maintain his clothes in order and also guard the tray – what a disaster; but most importantly, it disrupts the order and decency of the ceremony.”65 The drawing entitled Dostarkhan presents a long procession of slowly walking local men carrying trays either in front of them or in one case – above the head.66 In the drawing, however, the trays are placed on a carpet in front of a small building, not inside a tent. The trays are accepted by two local men sitting on the carpet with several Russian men sitting next to them. No trace of a storm is detectable  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 577 (1880): 99.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 76–77.

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in the drawing, and the ceremony goes uninterrupted. There is an additional drawing of Dzham, depicting canvas-covered two-wheel carriages most likely belonging to the Russian expedition, with horses unharnessed and resting.67

Rulers and towns Description of the expedition’s audience with the emir of Bukhara Mozaffar in Karshi occupies a significant place in the narrative and drawings dedicated to the expedition of 1879. On their way from Samarkand, members of the expedition were greeted in turn by local begs though whose territory they were passing. Shortly before they reached Karshi, the eldest son of the Karshi beg arrived to escort them. Soon afterwards, the stable master of the emir appeared, bringing a small European coach pulled by two horses. Two stable-men of the emir, wearing red and gold robes, were riding those horses. “Emir Mozaffar himself, in order to honor us, sent his own coach which he had received as a gift from General Kaufman a year ago,” explains Karazin. He continues: “The emir possesses a whole collection of Russian coaches, carriages and phaetons; he, however, does not use those conveniences and prefers to travel the old-­ fashioned way – only by horseback riding.”68 The artist provides a drawing of that coach, empty, with a coachman and two mounted men.69 Karazin explains that following the arrival of the coach, Count Rostovtsev had to board the coach in order to demonstrate his appreciation for the emir’s favor. “Though it might seem that traveling in a coach instead of on horseback would be comfortable, but on that impossible road riding in a coach is not attractive,” and poor Rostovtsev was suffocating with the heat and dust for several hours.70 In Karshi, the members of the expedition stayed in the ambassadorial quarters: the author provides a detailed description of its beautiful two-­ story building, with a square yard inside, with light, decorated arches and columns, with two staircases leading to the second level, with square façade windows opening into the street and covered with handsomely  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 76.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 118. 69  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 77. 70  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 118. 67 68

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carved wooden shutters, and with a flowerbed with aromatic mint in the center of the yard.71 This description is followed with a humorous portrait of their honorary guards: In front of the gate of the ambassadorial quarters lined up a platoon of tall infantry soldiers, looking dashing in their black sheep hats and caftans tucked into wide trousers of yellow leather. In command of this platoon was an officer also wearing a Persian sheep hat, but in a blue caftan with silver laced lapels; the shoulders of this warrior were decorated with our own [medical] doctor’s epaulets, rather worn out. He was giving orders in Russian: “On the shoulder!” “On guard!” – most likely for the same reason as in the past and still in the present we have some German words in our commands. The military progress in Bukhara comes from us: Russian deserters, mostly from the Kazan Tatars, have served as their enlighteners. As I have been told (and later witnessed personally), several fugitive Poles from those exiled in Siberia are currently serving in the emir’s army.72

Karazin provided a drawing of this guard, with one soldier dressed as described above standing in front of a gate with a rifle on his shoulder and two sitting on both sides of the gate. The two sitting figures look rather relaxed, possibly even drowsy, while the figure of the standing soldier gives an impression of alertness and even warning.73 In spite of the favorable description of the Russians’ quarters, the town itself did not impress the artist, especially in comparison with such cities as Samarkand, Kokand, or Bukhara. In Karshi, “such buildings [grandiose buildings of the Timurids] are absent, only one mosque-madrasah is vaguely reminiscent of that building type; even the palace of the emir, rather a labyrinth of yards and huts surrounded by one tall wall does not offer anything remarkable, and only its size distinguishes it from the dwellings of the emir’s humble subjects.”74 On the day of the audience with emir Mozaffar, the ceremony of delivering presents from the Russians to the emir was performed. The presents consisted of telegraph apparatus for two stations, with wires and insulators, one English hunting rifle, a gold enameled cup made by Ovchinnikov (world-famous jewelry company in the second half of the nineteenth  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 119.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 119. 73  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 77. 74  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 119. 71 72

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century), several “optical toys,” and a couple of smart bronze candlesticks. The main present, of course, was the telegraph, explains Karazin: “The goal of this present was really benevolent, [since] it was expected that the emir would wish to connect with wire his own capital with our Samarkand, already linked to the general telegraph network of European Russia. In order to make this task easier for him, two telegraphists had been invited [to come] with us. They were to stay in Karshi in order to set up the apparatus, and to even go to Bukhara with the same goal, if the emir so desired.” Apparently the galvanic batteries attracted the most curiosity from the emir’s courtiers, as they were relatively heavy and two strong soldiers could barely carry them. “Stereoscopes and kaleidoscopes” caused great amusement as well, as a “present procession” was being formed. In the front, a mounted kurbashi (chief of the city police) and several foot policemen were clearing the way, followed by courtiers dressed up in their best multicolored robes, walking in pairs and displaying every little object individually. The telegraph apparatus, two telegraphists on foot, and other members of the Russian expedition riding their horses and accompanied by a couple of officials concluded the procession. They were surrounded by crowds, and even more than that – “all the flat roofs, all the wall tops, and even tree branches were covered in multi-colored robes and turbans.”75 This procession has become the subject of a drawing as well. In the front, the cup and the candlesticks are being slowly and deliberately carried through the excited crowd. The poses and faces of those men who are carrying the presents are full of importance. The thick crowd around is held back by the local officials. In the background, the members of the Russian expedition are seen riding their horses, probably the artist among them as well, but since their faces are blurred, one can only make guesses whether he is supposed to be one of the two bearded men. In the background, a building looking like the mosque-madrasah is seen.76 Upon arrival at the summer palace of the emir, the procession is greeted by an infantry battalion dressed the same way as their guards, but with their Russian caftans not tucked in. They were accompanied by a group of musicians, including a black drummer. The Russians were asked to dismount and then were led through several yards until they found themselves in the audience hall. This room with a high celling was lit through several windows and had an excellent large striped carpet on the floor. In  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 119.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 76–77.

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the center of this hall was an armchair with its sides and back upholstered in red fabric; similar armchairs were put along the walls for the visitors. Emir Mosaffar was sitting on the chair in the center: “at the first glance, [he was] not old at all, thirty five years at most, but if you looked more carefully, you noticed clear signs of the most refined restoration: his eyes were lined with black, his eyebrows were colored, and even his complexion and light blush were strikingly artificial.” The emir was dressed in a dark silk robe with a very original design and white turban. Upon the arrival of his guests, he pretended to rise from his chair and extended his hand to each one. They took their seats while their interpreter remained standing between them and their host. After the customary greetings and inquiries about everybody’s health, including the health of the Russian emperor, and generals Kaufman, Ivanov, and Kolpakovskii, Count Rostovtsev proceeded with the questions related to the work of the expedition and overall to the Russian presence in Central Asia. The emir agreed to everything he was asked – the author, however, shares his impression that their host was insincere; he was rather bored, thinking meanwhile: “Why are you bothering me with your requests, while you could simply order?” Karazin gives one example: when asked if he thought that “connecting Bukhara and Russia by a railroad and telegraph wire would serve the interests of the khanate and the further strengthening of the friendship between the two states,” emir Mozaffar answered: “Yes, of course, if this is the will of Allah and general Kaufman, his first and older friend, may God give him long years of life.”77 The audience with the emir was followed by a meal served on a table with chairs  – European style, similar to the audience itself. Courtiers accompanying the Russian guests informed them that the emir was very pleased with their presents. The emir did not join them  – they were informed that since it was a holiday, he had to go to the mosque. As they were enjoying their abundant meal, the emir’s servants brought in huge sacks and placed one next to each guest. Each one contained nine neatly folded robes. The traditional present of robes was accompanied by another traditional one – horses. Horses with saddles and covered with beautifully and richly decorated horse-cloths were presented to them in the yard before their departure. They were paraded in front of the door of the hall where the guests were having their meal. “This picture was extremely original and spectacular; it was similar to a theatrical scene, as if we were  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 579 (1880): 138.

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watching a fantastic ballet, with magic processions and transformations,” comments the author. According to the local etiquette, the guests were supposed to put on their new robes, mount their new horses, and ride the Karshi streets in order to display the presents. Here, however, again implying that now the Russians were in charge, Karazin points out: “the Russians have introduced some exceptions to the rules in the palace of the emir, including the right not to pull on presented Asian clothes while wearing the military uniform or a black frock-coat.”78 In the evening, the Russian guests were treated to a tamasha (performance) staged in the yard of their compound. It was attended by the highest courtiers of the emir, with many additional uninvited guests occupying every spot available, including the roofs. The performance included dances of bachas and theatrical performances, with choirs and musicians. Two groups of musicians arrived: one with tambourines and pots covered with leather to accompany the bachas’ dance, another  – consisting of string instruments. The second group also included singers, performing folk tunes and legends with historic background, “passed on from one generation to the next one, and sadly, barely recorded in writing anywhere.” The performance started with dances of bachas, one pair followed by another one (discussed in more detail in the previous chapter). The second pair was also accompanied by clowns who “made the most cynical movements with their bodies.” In spite of the audience’s loud enthusiasm, Karazin was appalled by the indecent nature of the performance: “One of the bachas, a significant talent of its own kind, demonstrated such an outstanding knowledge of obscene body language, that it would probably make envious any European prostitute… It was disgusting to look at all this impossibly-­ cynical clowning.” The clowns’ performance, the author acknowledges, “though extremely obscene, was not devoid of certain humor and satirical character.” The Russian audience was getting tired and bored by the endless dances and singing, but did not have the nerve to mention it to their hosts, who were so sincerely enjoying every moment of it. Therefore, they endured the performance to the very end, almost until dawn, “when the dancers could barely move their legs and singers and musicians lost their voices.”79 The whole visit to Karshi and the audience with the Bukhara ruler is presented in a slightly humorous and paternalistic tone. There are no  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 579 (1880): 138.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 581 (1880): 184.

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strong disparaging words but the description would leave no doubt in a reader’s mind about whose side had every advantage. Additionally, Karazin described and sketched a number of other towns and villages which the members of the expedition visited on their way, and their rulers. They, however, are not described in such detail as the audience with emir Mozaffar. One such town is Kerki on the left shore of the Amu-Darya. As they approached it by boats, they saw a beautiful citadel on a hill “with a dark arch of the gate between two semi-circular towers with overhanging umbrella-shaped loopholes. At the pier, the green of several old willows and elms could be seen, and many people who gathered to look at the strangers. To the right from the citadel, at the bottom [of the wall] a long market street stretched out, leading to the cupola of the town mosque; further way to the right a neat and rather stylish local madrasah, the town school, could be seen. By its entrance, respectable mullahs, elderly men in huge white turbans, were making their appearance.” As the expedition members docked, their belongings were unloaded, and a group of guards escorted them to the citadel gate, “just in case,” because “bad people from the unpacified Turkmen tribes come to the town, or a fanatic might appear who could not resist the temptation to shoot or stab a giaour.” The author then describes with a hint of irony two ancient English cannons by the citadel gate: “Their carriages and wheels were painted red, and next to them a guard in tatters was marching proudly with his saber drawn. In the tunnel of the gate stretched out a line of men, also in rags, with matchlock and flint-lock guns, who saluted the guests at a general command.” On the walls of the tunnel the visitors saw with fascination and envy various antique weapons and armor, “witnesses and participants of the heroic deeds of the ancient warriors of the shore.” Through several corridors and yards inside the citadel, the Russian guests were escorted to the beautiful saklias (small houses) where they were to stay. An abundant dostarkhan and comfortable beds were prepared for them. They admired their temporary home where walls were decorated with carvings and pattern paintings, and where ceiling was also decorated with paintings and gilded wood carvings. Three large windows covered with carved shutters opened on a magnificent view of the town and the wide river.80 A corresponding drawing shows the river in the forefront, with several boats docking. On the hill stands the citadel with the gates so meticulously described. The market, the trees, and the people crowding  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 597 (1880): 495.

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are all as described by the artist. The drawing is a broad panoramic work presenting an attractive picture of relative prosperity (see Image 6.2).81 Their host in Kerki, the local beg called Pir-Nazar-bek-datkha, is also portrayed. When the Russians had met him for the first time, on their way to Karshi, he looked old and fragile: “He is a typical old man of approximately eighty years of age, if not more, tall, skeleton-thin, dressed in a robe of a light lavender color covered in golden embroidery; from under an expensive Indian shawl wrapped around his head, grey bushy brows were seen, under them – deep hollows of his eyes, already going out, long aquiline nose and a thin grey shivering beard. He was sitting still mounted on an excellent grey argamak, was sitting stooping as old men do, and was mumbling the stereotype greetings in a low voice.”82 He, however, makes a different impression on the members of the expedition when he welcomes them on his own turf. There he is much more animated and engaged: “It was a very handsome old man… He has acquired a broad, well-deserved, popularity and respect for his peaceful and just rule and heroic military deeds in the constant struggle with the robber Turkmen tribes,” thus his title “datkha” meaning “military commander,” according to Karazin. He appeared in his guests’ quarters “without ceremony, without any pretense at the etiquette, and asked us many questions about our travels, about the rest of the group left in Termez, and also asked us to feel at home and stay for a longer time, if possible, till the end of the fast, which was preventing him from organizing a honorary tamasha and other entertainments for us.” When the travelers insisted on continuing on their way the next morning, it did not upset him in the least, points out the author, since he promised his assistance with their smooth departure with an equal courtesy.83 The beg of Kerki is pictured in a drawing with his bacha,84 discussed in detail in the previous chapter of this book. The town of Chardzhui, also located on the left shore of the Amu-­ Darya, about six versts away from the water, was the “southern stronghold” of the Bukhara khanate, deemed so important that it served as a residence of the emir’s son, Tiura-Dzhak. The town’s inhabitants trade mainly with the nomad Turkmen and with Khiva  – by water. They sell 81   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 605 (1880): 116–17. 82  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 118. 83  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 597 (1880): 495. 84  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 596 (1880): 480.

Image 6.2  Gorod i krepost’ Kerki na levom beregu Amu (Town and citadel of Kerki, on the left shore of the Amu-Darya). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 605 (1880): 116–17.

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products of agriculture and gardening to the nomads in exchange for cattle and pack animals. Additionally, the local factories produce the superb carpets and, most importantly, felts, “duly considered the best in the whole of Central Asia.” At the same time, Chardzhui serves as an extremely important transit center between Bukhara and other towns to the north, in Russian possession by then, and the large Turkmen center Merv and all the fertile valley of the Atrek River. The town’s position is also strategically significant since it could block the hostile action of the Turkmen. Karazin estimates the population of the town itself at around thirty thousand, with an additional thirty thousand residing in the immediate suburbs. Most inhabitants are “Aryan” (Indo-European), with only rare Uzbek families of conquerors-aristocrats. The camp for the Russian expedition, also pictured in a drawing, was located in luxurious tents with carpets and beds, and with a picturesque view of the river. Nearby was a flat empty space, a hippodrome, where private and official races and other competitions were held on holidays.85 As the members of the expedition were escorted to the beg’s residence, they observed an active traffic of carriages and pack animals transporting goods, with most people armed and looking rather bellicose. As the guests walked through the market, instead of the “usual openness and carelessness” they noticed a certain “seal of uneasiness and apprehension.” Locks on all the shops were very heavy; all sellers and buyers were armed. “Suspicious looking persons in rags” were “aimlessly wandering around the market,” mostly Turkmen from out of town, who were “looking with hatred at us, Russians, their old sworn enemies, who did not have official relationship with them.” As the Russians approached the citadel gate, they noticed many similarities with what they had observed in Kerki, only on a larger scale. Here they were greeted by regular soldiers wearing red caftans and black sheep hats. The beg did not impress Karazin nearly as much as his colleague in Kerki: “This is a young man, no older than twenty years of age, but already obese, and painting his brows and eyes in spite of his youth. He was wearing a lavender color silk robe and a tight white turban. His eyes, lined like those of a courtesan, naturally rather beautiful, looked in a vacant and lethargic way; all his movements were languid and lazy; next to him, was his first minister – his tutor – in reality the main person responsible for governing the area for the emir. It was an animated, slick old man, not taking his eyes off his pupil and apparently prompting him  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 601 (1880): 46, 45.

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on both questions and answers.” The young beg, however, made several noteworthy unprompted remarks. When his guests rose to leave, he noticed: “Why is it that Russians always visit for such a short time? And always seem to be in a rush, as if their time were limited?” When he himself visited Samarkand under the Russian rule, he stayed for almost a month, without any rush. It was then explained to him, that he, a son of the emir, could do as he pleased. Russians, being in the service, had to follow their orders, and had too much work to do. He was curious what kind of work it was. They explained: “We are learning about their country, measuring the Amu-Darya, marking everything on the map; correcting mistakes of the earlier travelers.” Unexpectedly, Tiura-Dzhan answered: “So far this whole river is not yours, but soon the whole river and we all will be yours, if Allah so wishes, and then the master needs to know what he owns.”86

Ground transportation Nikolai Karazin demonstrates a great interest in all means of transportation used in Turkestan by ground and water. Extended passages in his literary and visual works deal with the difficulties of the travel across deserts before the construction of reliable and safe stations by the Russians, as well as the benefits of the railroad travel (as discussed in detail in chapter four of this book). Safe passage through the vast territories was paramount for controlling the new territories. As the artist records the progression of the expedition, he often explains the potential of the road for the future Russian presence in the area, for example: “Up to Tengi-Kherom and fifteen versts afterwards, the road is tolerable and could be adjusted for wheeled vehicles; in two–three spots only mining work would be required, no bridges would be necessary; however, further the road becomes impossible; the valley narrows occasionally, turns sharply, in some places the path is carved in narrow ledges overhanging steep drops.”87 In his travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, Nikolai Karazin dedicated a page accompanied by a drawing to tarantas – a carriage paramount for a successful trip from Orenburg to Tashkent. Its description is simultaneously poetic, humorous, and practical: “Tarantas is a typical universal carriage, created by an immeasurable country, by the roads measured in thousands of versts. Not for nothing it was hailed by one of our famous  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 601 (1880): 46–47.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 582 (1880): 258.

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writers of the fortieth.88 The word tarantas is inseparably connected with the poetry of travel, with all its comforts and discomforts.” He continues explaining that such a carriage should be “strong, easily fixable in the poorest blacksmith shop and even in the middle of the road, light, stable, easy to pull and spacious – in other words, has to satisfy all the requirements of the long road.” The best carriages are considered to be those made by the Kazan master Romanov, who by then had opened a branch shop in Orenburg. Karazin then advises buying a used carriage, which had previously made several thousand versts and “had been already tried out.” They will clean and fix it up by the next day at the latest, but you can be sure of its strength. The best place to buy it, according to the author, is the hotel “Evropeiskaia” (European), the best hotel in Orenburg, as he had explained earlier, since the travelers on their way back “from the steppe (to Russia, as they say here)” leave their carriages with the hotel owner in order to sell or lease them. You will certainly be able to find a suitable carriage since usually there are several tens of various ones stored in the yard of the hotel.89 The drawing accompanying this narrative shows a fourwheel carriage with a foldable cover being carefully examined by several men in front of a coach-house, with another carriage seen next to it.90 Furthermore, instructs Karazin, an experienced yard-keeper will help you to reliably attach your luggage to the carriage, grease the axles, and provide you with all the necessary ropes, lard and so on. The hotel employees can be relied on, he explains, because you would stay here again on your way back, and leave your carriage with them. And of course they “value their reputation” and hope for a “material award which you of course will not deny them.”91 His travelogue also includes multiple drawings of carriages, including two on the album’s cover (see Image 6.3).92 The means of transportation serve either as a part of the background of a scene focusing on something else, or sometimes as the central theme. Other than horseback or camel riding, carriages are the next broadly used means to travel and carry cargos. Karazin presents several types of carriages: Karakalpak arba on two huge wheels pulled by a donkey,93 and 88  Reference to Nikolai Gogol (1809–1852), and brichka (type of light carriage) in which traveled Chichikov, the main character in Mertvye dushi. 89  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 3–4. 90  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 4. 91  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 4. 92  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, unnumbered pages. 93  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 72–73.

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Image 6.3  Tashkentskii pochtovyi trakt (Tashkent post road). Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Putevoi ocherk (From Orenburg to Tashkent. Travelogue).

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similar carriages in Khivinskaia arba (Khiva carriage) with a carriage pulled by an ox with a man walking next to the animal,94 in Rabochaia arba v Tashkente (A work carriage in Tashkent),95 and Most cherez aryk Dargom – bliz Samarkanda (Bridge over the aryk Dargom – near Samarkand) with a man riding the horse which pulls the loaded carriage.96 “Bukhara carriage” in Bukharskaia arba v peskakh (Bukhara carriage in sands) shows a similar two-wheel carriage with a cover carrying two passengers.97 It is pulled by two horses. Its huge wheels are hardly moving through the sand, so the horses are straining to the very limit, leaning forward. One guide is pulling next to one horse trying to move the carriage ahead, while another one, riding the second horse, has raised his whip above his head. Regular mail delivery was another function defining a well-run region – therefore mail carriages and mail carriers find their proper place among Karazin’s images. A mail carriage driven by two camels with a man riding one of them is depicted in Pochtovaia ezda v pustyne Kara-Kum (Transporting mail in the Karakum desert),98 and mail being carried by horses  – in Pochta v Kizyl-Kume (Mail [carrier] in the Kyzylkum) and Pochtovyi Kirgiz (Mail-­ carrying Kirghiz).99 Travel in long wicker baskets, or kachalkas (rocking baskets), one of which was attached on each side of a camel, was probably the most exotic mode for a Russian arriving in Turkestan. Though they look like coffins, “travel in them is relatively comfortable,” the artist explains, “it is only that one has to get used to this swinging regular rolling, which causes those inexperienced to suffer from fits identical to sea sickness.”100 In Kizyl-Kum. Puteshestvie v kachalkakh (Kyzylkum. Traveling in rocking baskets), an older local man in a tall sheep hat and several robes is walking on what seems to be snow but might be sand (see Image 6.4).101 He is leading two camels walking towards the viewers. There might be more camels following but they cannot be seen behind a dune. Their passengers are distinctly Russian, two on each camel. On the first camel, the baskets  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 90.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 176. 96  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 76. 97  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 357. 98  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 109. 99  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 120; and Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 72. These drawings are analyzed in detail in chapter five of this book. 100  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 607 (1880): 151. 101  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 353. 94 95

Image 6.4  Kizyl-Kum. Puteshestvie v kachalkakh (Kyzylkum. Traveling in rocking baskets). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 353.

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are covered with roofs, and we can see one man’s hat – he is either sleeping or looking behind, while his camel mate is awake and is seen reclining in his basket. The baskets on the second camel are different – they are not covered. One man in European civilian clothes is lying on his belly and smoking a pipe. Only the hat of his mate is seen to the viewers. On the top of the first camel, a wooden cage is attached with birds vaguely visible. One can speculate that the rooster vividly and fondly described by the artist is traveling in that cage. As the Russian expedition moves through the Kyzylkum, their food provisions were dwindling. They had a number of live chickens in a cage and were slaughtering one a day: “The only one left was a rooster, brightly singing every morning and sometimes also during the day, and apparently never losing his cheerfulness and high spirits. This rooster was granted life, and we resolved not to be tempted by his meat, but to deliver him alive to Kazalinsk.”102 In a similar drawing, Kachalkа v Kizyl-Kume (Rocking basket in Kyzylkum), the riders must be local men, based on the style of their hats. The passenger on the first camel, a turbaned man with a beard, even seems to have something in front of his face, a drinking cup perhaps. He looks very comfortable based on his relaxed facial expression.103 Other transportation modes include long caravans of heavily loaded camels;104 Kirghiz sledge with a load of reeds pulled by a camel in Kirgizkie sani (Kirghiz sledge);105 a four-wheel cart pulled by two oxen driven by a man sitting on a striped cushion in the cart in Kirgizskaia telega i ezda na volakh (Kirghiz cart and riding oxen);106 and a man riding a bull.107 A number of drawings document the progression of the Samara expedition. Oboz ekspeditsii (Transport of the expedition) consists of several two-­ wheel carriages, some covered and one uncovered, loaded with boxes and sacks and driven by local men.108 Dvizhenie pervogo eshelona ekspeditsii cherez peski (Movement of the first echelon of the expedition through sands) shows a labored and slow advance of carriages, camels, horses, and  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 607 (1880): 151.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 125. 104  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 25, 57; Khivinskii pokhod by N. Karazin as described in Niva 10 (1875): 156. 105  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 195. 106  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 200. 107  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 229. 108   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 76–77. 102 103

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people, with a man resting next to his horse in the foreground.109 Perekhod cherez gory (Crossing mountains) presents a truly panoramic view of a large group of people and animals climbing up a mountain.110 A group of heavily loaded animals and riders is slowly walking on a narrow path. In the center, a man in a Russian military uniform is making a drawing in a notebook which he put on a rock. We cannot clearly see his face but it is tempting to speculate that this is Karazin’s self-portrait. In the shade of a large tree, a group of travelers is resting: a mounted member of the expedition is looking at something through his binoculars and consulting with a robed man. Leaning against the tree trunk, another member of the expedition in a military uniform is smoking. Next to him, a Russian man is looking at something faraway with his back turned to the audience. Opposite the military man by the tree, a man in civilian coat and fedora is resting, leaning against rocks – based on his position and the vaguely seen bearded face, we can guess that he is not young and he is tired. The whole drawing leaves readers with the impression of everyday hard work performed by efficient people, without unnecessary rush or nervousness. Vykhod na dolinu Baisun (Approaching the valley of Baisun) shows another mountain path surrounded by dramatic mountains.111 Three horses with riders are walking – it is unclear if they are local or Russian. Two local men are leaning against the rock along the path; no animals are seen anywhere near them. A group of five Russians standing on a rock overlooking the path, the mountain peaks, and the valley is taking in the spectacular view and possibly mapping their further proceedings.

Water transportation The Amu-Darya played one of the main roles in the work of both expeditions and therefore in Nikolai Karazin’s works. In the opening paragraphs of his Samara expedition report, he combines practical and romantic notions of the great Asian river: “Across all this country [Russian Central Asia] cutting it into two parts, from southeast to northwest, flows one of the greatest rivers of Asia – Amu-Darya. A river of legends and tales, a river 109   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 601 (1880): 44–45. 110   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 610 (1880): 208–9. 111  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 277.

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of first class significance for the life of the whole vast region, and nevertheless a river barely studied by learned travelers.”112 On the one hand, the Amu-Darya and other rivers in Turkestan provided transportation in the area which was hard to navigate otherwise during the artist’s time. On the other hand, they attracted the artist with their beauty which he wanted to share with his audience. The scenes related to the river can be provisionally divided between those focusing on the local people and the river, and those on the Russian expedition members and the river. The Amu-Darya delta, with its creeks and lakes overgrown with reeds, was an area of intensive fishing by Karakalpak and Kazakhs. Flotillas of boats were catching, transporting, storing, and selling fish in the markets.113 In his novel S severa na iug, Nikolai Karazin describes the life of poor Karakalpak fishermen: “The river  – is the provider of the bank Karakalpak: in the winter and in the summer it [the river] is the only one who gives him food, who does not hurt him, no wonder he presses close to it, would not go even one step away from it, often for weeks would not step on the land, would just keep fishing. They are even known as lakeside Karakalpak, fishermen.” For the duration of the summer, they move to the lakes in the delta of the river, while in winter they live in tents on the bank of the river.114 Such drawings by Karazin as Na nizov’iakh Amu-Dar’i. Rybachii stan (At the lower reaches of the Amu-Darya. Fishermen field-­ camp) picture the specific dwelling of the Karakalpak during the fishing season: they link a bundle of reeds in a special way, make a raft out of it, and connect it to the growing reeds so that it floats well. Over this raft, they make a small canopy, also out of reeds.115 Karazin defines sal for his readers in a footnote found in his novel Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts): “A small raft made out of bunches of reeds tied together, on which nomads on the [Amu-]Darya bank transport fuel, forage, sometimes other items, including small cattle, to the nearest market.”116 “Quietly, silently, they slide on the mirror surface… These are Kirghiz sals going down [the river] with a storage of reeds or hay, or there might be juicy watermelons and melons on them… Carelessly, carried by the  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 75.  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 375. 114  N. N. Karazin, S severa na iug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 7 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 412–13. 115  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 375–76. 116  N. N. Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 1 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 94. 112 113

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c­ urrent, sails the narrow-eyed steppe dweller, sitting on his simple vessel, and sings his simple monotonous song,” Karazin describes them.117 Such rafts are also pictured in tranquil scenes entitled Rybach’i stoianki v kamyshakh ozera Sary-Kul’ (Fisherman camp in the reeds on the lake SaraKul’)118 and Rybaki na ozere Sary-Kul’ (v del’te Amu-Dar’i) (Fishermen on the lake Sara-Kul’ in the delta of the Amu-Darya). 119 In both drawings, the characters are positioned on their rafts on the water overgrown with reeds under simple flat canopies supported by four poles with fishes hanging from the roof. Their boats are moored next to their comfortable shelter. A bigger raft is pictured in the drawing Gory Dzu-Kala na beregy Amu-­ Dar’i (Mountains Dzu-Kala on the bank of the Amu-Darya). It looks like a silhouette against the lighter water with also light mountains in the background.120 There are three figures on the raft: one is sitting next to a small reed hut, one is standing in the center of the raft, the third one, with a pole in his hand – at the end. In addition to the dark raft with the figures, the only other dark spots on the drawings are several birds flying from the water towards the light and vast sky. The whole drawing seems to emanate serenity and invite admiration for the natural beauty of the view. Two more similar drawings appear in the report about the Samara expedition and the volume Zhivopisnaia Rossiia: a reclining man on a small raft on a lake or a river.121 On the drawing from Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia, the bearded face of the lonely man is very visible: looking from under his felt hat, it is contemplative and even dreamy. There is no canopy, but what looks like a small flag made out of a reed or a branch with a rag on the end, possibly to show the wind direction. On both drawings, the raft seems to be located not far away from the bank of the creek or a lake, since reeds are well seen. Fishermen are also depicted in the drawing Turkmeny rybaki (Turkmen fishermen): two men in robes, one in a cone-shaped felt hat, another in a high sheep hat, are sitting on a bank of a river or a lake (see Image 6.7).122 They are staring in front of them at the water; between them is a large net;  Karazin, Na dalekikh okrainakh, 94–95.  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 72. 119  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 77. 120  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 601 (1880): 44. 121  Amudar’inskii sal, in Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia Illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 356; Sally na Syr-Dar’e, Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 136. 122  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412. 117 118

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next to one of them is a large caught fish on the ground. Deltas of two other rivers, Ul’kun-Darya, the main branch of the Amu-Darya, and SyrDarya, appear in similar drawings with local dwellings and kayaks and smaller sailboats. Small figures of local fishermen are visible in both drawings.123 The artist includes boat descriptions in his works; for example, in the novel S severa na iug, he describes two different types of boats – used on the Amu-Darya and Syr-Darya. A Karakalpak boat on the Amu-Darya has low sides, reaching only fourteen inches above the water, but with a high bow and stern. Along the sides, bundles of reeds are attached, and three thick beams across the boat divide it into four parts. In the back quarter, a stove is located with a pot built in; in the middle – canvas covers from mosquitoes hang; they are folded during daytime and are spread out for the night. Compared to its counterpart, a Syr-Darya boat is narrower, with an obtuse bow.124 Burlaki, or rope pullers, became the subject of several drawings and are also described by Nikolai Karazin in one of his novels. In Amu-dar’inskie burlaki kaikchi (Amu-Darya barge haulers [rope pullers]), three skinny native men with muscular limbs, wearing furry hats and tattered shirts, belted and barely reaching their knees, are pulling at ropes as they walk on the shore next to the river.125 Silhouettes of two men are seen in the boat they are pulling  – one seated, another  – pushing with a pole. In a very similar drawing entitled Amu-dar’inskie burlaki (bechevniki) (Amu-Darya barge haulers), four men are pulling (see Image 6.5).126 One figure is seen in that boat, but its dark silhouette does not reveal much other than a long pole or paddle held by the figure. The figure in the boat does not appear to wear а similar furry hat and might belong to a Russian. Another detail points in the same direction – a cross is clearly seen on its stern. The viewer would wonder if the man in the boat is transporting a coffin with the body of his deceased countryman. Both drawings are centered on the figures of the burlaks – they are seen against the background of the lighter sky, with clearly visible details of their animated bodies, though their faces cannot be seen well. The figures in the boats are not simply further away from the viewers, but are also misty as if seen through a veil of fog. The cross in the  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 65, 73; Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 73.  Karazin, S severa na iug, 394, 400. 125  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 73. 126  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 82. 123 124

Image 6.5  Amu-dar’inskie burlaki (bechevniki) (Amu-Darya barge haulers). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniaia Aziia, ed. P. P. Semenov (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885), after page 82.

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second drawing is, typically for the artist, a detail which is not noticeable at first glance, but once noticed, it seems to define the meaning of the whole scene. The drawing captions bring to mind the famous painting by Il’ia Repin, Burlaki na Volge (Barge Haulers on the Volga) depicting a large group of exhausted men in rugged clothes pulling a relatively large boat on another great river. The same type of boat transportation appears in the watercolor album Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga (The Transcaspian railroad).127 Those local men who help to move boats up the river are also referred to as kaikchi (from kaik, boat in Persian). In his report about the Samara expedition, Karazin describes the kaikchis pulling their boat up the Amu-­ Darya in the following way: “Half-naked kaikchis, with the rope looped around their shoulders, were clinging to the steep crumbling bank, gripping twigs and bush branches. This [work] required a lot of strength, agility and experience in order not to fall into the water, especially since the rope attached to the boat bow would often jerk unexpectedly.” When the water becomes shallower, the kaikchis would be walking “knee deep in water.”128 Following his habit of including observations in his works of fiction, the artist incorporates a similar scene into his novel S severa na iug. There a group of local people is moving their boats up the Amu-Darya: “They [Turkmen] extended long ropes from the tops of the masts, tied four loose nooses… on each one, pushed through them their strong shoulders, padded with grass to prevent too much rubbing, and pulled – all right… With measured steps, toe-to-toe, walked the haulers along the shore, on its very edge, kayaks started to move fast, so that dirty foam boiled in front of their bows… Four people pull, others help with poles, direct the sterns, prevent the boats from hitting the shore with their bows and getting stuck… After a couple of hours they would switch: from the boats to the ropes, from the ropes to the poles and into the boats…”129 The theme of river crossing by the local men is another popular theme. For example, in Stsena perepravy mezhdu Nukusom i Khodzeili (Scene of crossing between Nukus and Khodzeyli), a boat is transporting people and animals. Three men, one woman, two cattle, and sheep are loaded in the boat approaching a shore of the Amu-Darya, with two horses swimming 127  Patty Wageman and Inessa Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient: Orientalist Paintings 1850–1920 (Groningen: Groninger Museum, 2010), 59. 128  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 597 (1880): 495. 129  Karazin, S severa na iug, 406.

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behind the boat.130 The expression on the horses’ snouts is rather strained – they do not seem to enjoy the swim. One man is pushing with a pole, and another one is rowing, while the seated woman is holding the horses’ bridles in her hands. One of the cattle is reaching down for the water. In Turkmeny perepravliaiuschiesia cherez reku (Turkmen crossing the river) in the chapter dedicated to the Amu-Darya in Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, two boats with masts but no visible sails are approaching the shore.131 The boat in the foreground is carrying ten men and three horses with at least two horses swimming behind the boat. Two men are working with oars while two more, one in the bow and one in the stern, are steering with poles. In Pereprava (barka buksiruemaia loshad’mi) (Crossing [a boat pulled by horses]), the front of a large boat is about to come ashore, with heads of two swimming horses in the front, and a man in the bow holding their bridles (see Image 6.7).132 The Russian expedition members also interact extensively with the river: they admire the views and use it for transportation. One such drawing is entitled Vkhod v del’tu Amu-Dar’i (Entrance to the delta of the Amu-Daria)133 and pictures the ship Samarkand carrying the ethnographic-­ statistical group headed by Colonel L. N. Sobolev. Part of the 1874 expedition, the group sailed from Kazalinsk and arrived at the mouth of the Ul’kun-Darya.134 The river is very broad here. Two small kayaks and local people’s tents are seen in the front, with several small figures next to them. They are watching two bigger boats entering: a steamboat and a sailboat. Steamboats also appear in Karazin’s travelogue and the watercolor album dedicated to the Transcaspian railroad. The artist pictured the town of Charjew on the Amu-Darya with several docked boats including two brand new steamboats called Tsar’ and Tsaritsa (Tsarina) meant for sailing up the river to Kerki and Kelif, and down the river to Petro-Aleksandrovsk, with a train crossing the railroad bridge in the background.135 Another steamboat is shown crossing the river in the drawing which seems to be dominated by the smoke stacks from the train and the steamboats. One can see a parallel between the images of the steamboat next to the small  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 72.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 32. 132   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412–13. 133  Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 72–73; Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, after page 64. 134  Prishchepova, Illiustrativnye kollektsii, 375. 135  Wageman and Kouteinikova, eds., Russia’s Unknown Orient, 59; Niva 40 (1888): 990. 130 131

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native boats on the one hand, and the images of steam engines running on the newly built Transcaspian railroad next to camel caravans. In an extended panoramic drawing entitled Lager’ ekspeditsii na bergu reki Surkhan (Camp of the expedition on the shore of Surkhan[-Darya]), a Russian camp is seen across a narrow strip of water.136 Light Russian canvas tents and local felt tents are set up next to each other, with several small figures talking, fishing, and attending to a fire. In the foreground of the drawing, several local riders are seen as they stopped to look at the Russian camp across the river. Their faces are not visible but their poses suggest curiosity. Karazin offers his readers a humorous description of the expedition crossing the Surkhan: “Fortunately, the depth of the water did not exceed 2.5–3 feet and convenient fords were available. Crossing by the caravan of loaded horses and camels presented an original view. Short horses, fearfully moving their ears and snorting, entered the water and navigated the fast stream with great dexterity; the most fuss was caused by the camels, those age-old enemies of water: the humpbacked giants were roaring in a nasty way, and resisting; they were being beaten with sticks and whips and pushed into the water by hand. Several animals fell down and their packs suffered from water, but overall, both crossings were successful.”137

Dwellings Types of buildings and local dwellings also received substantial attention from Nikolai Karazin. Soon after the members of the Samara expedition leave Samarkand, they come across small villages of herders from the Naiman Turkmen tribe who breed sheep. Karazin defined them as “looking pitiful and extremely poor,” where “tiny saklias were mixed with tents (kibitki i iulameiki) covered on the top with felts, blackened with smoke and from the sides – with wicker panels.”138 He refers his readers to the corresponding drawing, Chavdarskii kishlak (A village of herders) which presents three small circular tents with two larger clay-walled structures in the center.139 Only two small figures are visible: one resting next to his 136   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 356–57. 137  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 589 (1880): 338. 138  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 577(1880): 99. 139  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 77.

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horse in front of the bigger structures, another one – standing on the roof of the larger building. The village looks small and isolated, located in a barren steppe with no visible plants or animals. Another village called Beklemish and located not far away from Karshi had only one clay building, that of a mosque in the center, with tents broadly spread around, so that the village looked more like a temporary camp than a permanent settlement.140 The drawing entitled Karakalpakskaia kibitka (zhiloe pomeshchenie) (Karakalpak tent [dwelling place])141 presents a detailed image of a circular tent, rather large, with walls made out of reed latticework and a felt roof, with its entrance open. It is located very close to the Amu-Darya water and appears in the chapter entitled “Russian shore of the Amu-Darya” in the volume dedicated to Central Asia. A boat is moored in front of it, and several small rags are drying on a rope. A figure is standing next to the tent though it is hard to even tell if this is a man or a woman. The tent is the focus of the drawing – possibly the figure is there only to make the scale of the tent clear. On the next page, a Turkmen tent appears in the drawing Turkmenskaia kibitka (Turkmen tent).142 Its size is smaller; it is made of felt put above latticework. One side of the tent is pulled up to show crisscrossing reeds. It is unclear how close to the river this tent is located, though what is seen in the background to the left might be water. The tent is surrounded by a group of men and a group of women, with a group of sheep adding to the domesticity of the scene. In this drawing the tent also dominates the composition. Another drawing shows a walled enclosure: its entrance is open and a person can be seen inside.143 The wall is at least as tall as two people and is most likely made out of clay and hay. It would serve as a defense in case of an attack – humans and animals can find shelter there. Beregovoi turkmenskii kishlak (A shore Turkmen village) presents a combination of several similar structures (see Image 6.7).144 One is an enclosure with clay walls and an opened entrance; another one is a two-­ floor tower also built out of clay. With a window on the second level and the door on the first, it could serve as a defensive structure. More clay structures are seen behind it, while in front of it a round felt tent and a  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 578 (1880): 118.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 84. 142  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 85. 143  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 94. 144   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412–13. 140 141

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cone reed hut are located, with sheep and goats walking around and one small figure sitting by the entrance to the tent. As explained by the author, “Summer dwellings of the Turkmen-Dalli [a clan] consist of felt tents and huts made out of woven reeds; closer to the water, their winter dwellings are seen – saklias surrounded with clay walls; next to them – groups of fruit trees and some poplars, but very few.” Their summer dwellings were at a greater distance from the river than the winter ones because of the abundance of mosquitoes and horse-flies: “their cattle-rearing is limited to breeding goats and sheep, fewer of the latter: large cattle cannot endure the local summer abundant with mosquitoes and horse-flies. Horses are wrapped from head to feet in felts and almost all of them suffer from eye irritation, resulting from the dung smoke, their means against horse-­ flies.”145 Similar problems, “myriads of mosquitoes,” exist in the summer along the banks of the Syr-Darya. There also, horses and bulls are covered with thick blankets and hoods with ears, “which make them look unusual and somewhat comical.” Camels are driven away from the banks, closer to the sand dunes, “where they don’t complain about their fate and find superb feed, since during this time all dune crests are covered with juicy green sprouts.” People protect themselves from mosquitoes with tent covers made out of thick cotton fabric; the poorest people obtain them even if they have to deprive themselves of everything else.146 Some local dwellings shocked the artist with their desperate poverty. While traveling over the mountain passes on their way from Derbent towards the Baisun valley, the expedition members came across a village called Ak-Koi meaning “White Sheep.” It consisted of several clay dwellings: “These dwellings strike a traveler with their poverty; a tiny saklia, hardly one square sazhen’,147 without windows, with a small opening instead of a door – that is all. I looked inside the one on the edge: its interior was in complete correspondence with its exterior. Apart from a [piece of] felt, dirty, burnt, swarming with parasites, a hollowed squash for water and a cracked wooden bowl, there was nothing else there. A half-naked creature, wearing hanging rags, fearfully pressed itself into a corner upon my appearance; a black she-goat in the corner, who had just given birth to her kids, raised its horned head, jumped up and took a war-like position. An absolutely naked child, with an enormously large belly, on thin curved  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 414.  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 12. 147  One sazhen’ equals 2,134 meters. 145 146

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legs, sneaked by me, almost between my legs, screamed terribly and, skipping like a goat, ran away, skillfully (like a monkey) clutching at stones with his hands and feet.”148 This colorful passage reflecting the actual poverty and malnutrition of the inhabitants of a mountain village combines good-hearted sympathy for the suffering of fellow humans with the paternalistic tone of a superior being.

Tombs and funerals Buildings dedicated to the dead did not escape Karazin’s attention either. In his drawing Tipy nadgrobnykh sooruzhenii v Srednei Azii (Types of tomb monuments in Central Asia), he depicts several modest-sized tombstones and monuments and two lavish mausoleums, one with a façade looking like a mosque entrance, another – a domed structure.149 A group of five to six men is visiting the site: while their horses and camels are resting in the foreground, two men are walking up to the mausoleums. Another figure is vaguely seen by the entrance to one of the mausoleums, facing the approaching men. While it is possible that this is one of the group, it is more likely that this is a beggar hoping for a handout. Karazin describes nomads’ tombs and mausoleums in the Karakum in the following way: Content with light movable dwellings while they are alive, Kirghiz build for their dead strong, long-lasting buildings in the ancient Indian, heavy but interesting, style. Such buildings have a shape of a four-faceted pyramid, cut at the one third of its height; the top of such a pyramid is decorated with a dome and is surrounded with a patterned clay barrier. On the front façade, there is a door with the lower half closed to prevent cattle from entering; above the entrance is a high fronton, often decorated with a pattern cut in the wet clay. Next to such a rich tomb more modest tombs are located, tombstones and sarcophagi. …Next to the tomb entrances, poles often stick out with hanging multi-­ colored rags and horse tails; around scattered horns of sheep and skulls of animals eaten at the funeral feasts.150

He then explains how the dead bodies are carried through the desert towards their last resting place: “No matter how far the village has moved,  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 587 (1880): 299.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 80. 150  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 10. 148 149

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Kirghiz inevitably bury their dead at the same clan cemetery. It happens that a dead body, wrapped in blankets and even covered in lime, has to be transported for hundreds of miles. In the cemetery vicinity, you can always see such funeral processions: a horseman in the front, the heir of the deceased, is riding in a contemplative silence… behind him, on the top of a camel’s back, a long cigar-shaped parcel covered with carpet with the body is moving; behind rides a chain of relatives, friends and acquaintances who are driving the sacrificial sheep.”151 This description is accompanied by a drawing of a caravan. It is led by a man who is walking and leading a camel with a long parcel wrapped in a carpet put across its back. They are accompanied by two horsemen with more riders seen behind. In the background a domed structure is seen, probably the goal of their journey.152 The artist also recorded the ritual accompanying funerals as performed by nomads: From far away, we could hear some mournful hum, very similar to our [Russian] lamentations; when we approached, we could clearly distinguish women crying and sobbing, loud voices of men and monotonous reading similar to a deacon’s. We found ourselves at a funeral, which had started approximately two hours before our arrival and was briefly interrupted by us…. Having recovered and properly dressed, I also went to pay tribute to the deceased, but mainly to see what was going on…. The tent, in spite of the open top, was incredibly stuffy; women, young and old, some very beautiful, surrounded the dead and were pitifully lamenting in a way impossible for me to understand; at times, they were going quiet, and then suddenly, as if at a signal, screeched in a choir, hitting their chests and swaying their whole body… Among women, kids were squeezed, pushing and arguing among themselves, while along the walls men were ceremoniously seated, passing a water pipe made out of squash and painted with copper, and talking loudly about various, apparently unrelated [to the dead] matters. The smell of musk which Asian beauties usually use for perfume, smoke of the water pipe, and finally, a smell of the dead body – all that combined in a heavy mixture, irritating for the nerves. Out of curiosity, I suppressed disgust and took my place among the men, having decided to wait until the end of this custom. By the feet of the body, on a low stool, was a large wooden bowl full of rice and another clay one with sour milk. One by one, those present  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 10.  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 10.

151 152

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approached these dishes, took a handful of rice, returned to their places, chewing and licking their lips. It reminded me our funeral kutia – only the pancakes and candles were missing. After an hour, the dead body was carried out, put in the yard on bunches of reeds, with two guards with sticks assigned to it, so that the dogs would not pollute the memory of the deceased as everybody else was napping.153

Ethnic types Ethnic types do not occupy a significant place in Karazin’s works; however, he includes a number of portraits of individuals who are assigned an ethnic identity, instead of an individual one. Those portraits are reminiscent of the famed “Turkestan Series” by Vasilii Vereshchagin, who served as a temporary artist-in-residence for Kaufman. Vereshchagin traveled to Turkestan “on a special commission” of the governor-general between 1868 and 1870. The resulting series of more than 250 drawings and paintings “served Kaufman’s project well,” and was presented at successful exhibits in 1874  in St. Petersburg and Moscow.154 The task of ethnographic classification of various groups of the population presented a serious challenge for ethnographers and administrators and created confusion among them. From their perspective, the peoples of Turkestan did not produce a clear set of distinctive ethnic and linguistic features; they also often used multiple and contradictory names to define themselves. A.  S. Morrison divides the population of Central Asia into three main groups: settled, Tajik-speaking peoples (a dialect of Persian), prevalent in eastern Bukhara, the Pamirs, and the cities of Bukhara and Samarkand; settled Turkic-speaking groups, generally described as “Sarts” if they lived in Ferghana or regions to the north or as “Uzbeks” if they lived in or near Bukhara; the Turkic nomads, who can in turn be divided into the Kazakhs of the northern steppes, the mountain Kirghiz or Kara-Kirghiz around the Ferghana Valley, and the Turcoman tribes of the Transcaspian desert. Apart

153  N. N. Karazin, “Iz Tsentral’noi Azii: ocherk pervyi,” Delo 1 (1872): 81–83, quoted in Eleonora Shafranskaia, Tashkentskii tekst v Russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnograficheskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016), 309. 154  Daniel Brower, “Islam and Ethnicity,” 126–27.

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from the Turcoman, who had distinct tribal identities and no Mongol or Chingissid heritage, and the Tajik population which was distinguished by speaking an Indo-European rather than a Turkic language, these groups often blurred into one another. Ethnically and linguistically Sarts, Uzbeks, and Kirghiz or Kazakhs could not always be clearly distinguished, and often it was their way of life which separated them.155

As pointed out by Jeff Sahadeo, “the term ‘Sart’ worked well to describe the residents of Tashkent and neighboring cities, as its generality unified peoples of different regional, linguistic, and cultural backgrounds who mixed in those urban areas.”156 Meanwhile, “Sart” was also the most confusing of all categories, further complicated by the fact that those categories tended to change their meaning from one region to another. It also carried pejorative overtones in some contexts. The origin and meaning of the term “Sart” produced scholarly debates which lasted throughout the tsarist period until the term was abolished altogether by the Soviets after 1924. They decreed that all settled Turkic-speakers were to be defined as “Uzbeks.”157 Kaufman complained in 1867 that “the vague principles” of ethnography made dividing his subject people into “ethnic groups” problematic.158 The colonial administration was inclined to distinguish between nomads and settled peoples, and townspeople and peasants among the settled ones. Therefore, while scholars were entangled in debates, Turkestan administrators “resolved the dilemma by naming their subjects in a straightforward, generic manner”: pastoral nomads were usually called “Kirgiz,” townspeople – “Sart” (or Tajik), and peasants – either “Sart” or “Uzbek.” According to this classification, Sarts were seen as superior by Western standards since they had abandoned their tribal affiliations and were mainly merchants, craftsmen, or farmers. They were praised for industriousness and criticized for religious fanaticism. Uzbeks were perceived as those being in a transitional stage of seminomadic life with strong tribal connections. Turkmen and Kirghiz nomads were deemed to be occupying “a lower rung on the ladder of human civilization.” Other 155  A.  S. Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand 1868–1910: A Comparison with British India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 42–43. 156  Jeff Sahadeo, Russian Colonial Society in Tashkent, 1865–1923 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010), 16. 157  Morrison, Russian Rule in Samarkand, 44–46. 158  Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire, 52–53.

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categories included “Turk” for other Turkic-speaking natives and “Tatar” for Turkic-speaking migrants from other parts of the empire.159 In his writings, Nikolai Karazin mostly abides by this crude official “classification.” As the readers have observed in previous chapters, he often uses the term “Sart” to define city dwellers and “Kirghiz” and “Turkmen” to refer to nomads. He certainly follows the template of debasing Sarts for their religious fanaticism and approving the Turkmen’s relaxed vision of Islam, as has been explained in the previous chapter of this book. In his drawings for the ethnographic volume on Central Asia, the artist introduces several “ethnic types” of men and women, aristocrats and “black bone,” young and old. In a drawing entitled Karakalpak, an older man in a white shirt and pointed hat is presented. His half-closed eyes are looking downwards; his mouth with two upper teeth is half-­ opened but somehow it does not look like he is talking – the expression of his face is almost lethargic.160 The chapter dedicated to the Kirghiz “hordes” contains a drawing of a Kirgizskii bii (Kirghiz chief) (see Image 6.6). It shows a profile portrait of a middle-aged man wearing a pointed skullcap. His expression is concentrated or even tense – he is looking in front of himself.161 Interestingly, he is wearing a European-style coat with a button on top of a shirt. On the following page, Karazin shows another middle-aged Kirghiz man  – a commoner  – under the caption Chernaia kost’ (Black bone).”162 He is wearing a similar hat, but is clothed in a robe. His strongly sculptured face is turned to one side a little bit, with his mouth slightly open. The expression is not relaxed either and he is also looking away from his observer. The portrait of a Kirghiz woman “in her smart clothes” shows a young woman seated on a carpet leaning on a pillow behind her back against a wall of her tent.163 Her elaborate costume includes tall headgear decorated with fringe or frill. A scarf dropping from underneath her headgear is loosely wrapped around her shoulders. Her fancy robe is decorated with embroidery and a ruffle. Her face is also slightly turned away from the viewer and wears a pleasant expression of a half-smile. Though her face is rather attractive, the emphasis is rather on the details of the wall and her costume decorations. On the following  Brower, “Islam and Ethnicity,” 129–30.  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 82. 161  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 188. 162  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 189. 163  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 191. 159 160

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Image 6.6  Kirgizskii bii (Kirghiz chief). Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 188.

page, there is a drawing of an “elderly Kirghiz woman.”164 She is also sitting against a wall – this time, it is a clay wall with some visible cracks in it, possibly outside. Her head is wrapped in a light-colored scarf, and she is wearing a simple robe without decorations. Her face, pictured in semiprofile, is wrinkled and reserved, perhaps even sad. The woman’s glance is cast downwards, so that her eyes cannot be seen. She seems to be lost in thought. In front of her on a piece of cloth are placed a bowl, a jug, and 164

 Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 192.

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several other small objects. The subjects of all four portraits are devoid of names but classified by their “ethnicity,” age, and social status. Their clothes and the surroundings are meaningful and are supposed to enhance the viewers’ understanding of their social status. Perhaps the most noteworthy characteristic is that none of those people meets the observer’s eye; none of them is looking directly at the observer. It is tempting to conclude that this is a common Saidian Orientalist mode: the privilege of inspecting, examining belongs to the colonizer. “They [colonial subjects] are obliged to show themselves to view for the white men, but they themselves lack the privilege of the gaze; though looked at, they are forbidden from looking back,” explains David Spurr in his book dedicated to colonial discourse in journalism, travel writing, and colonial administration.165 Nikolai Karazin’s ethnic types also looked at his contemporaries from playing cards: in 1900, the card factory asked him to design a set of “historical” cards. Interestingly, in his pack the king, queen, and jack of hearts are dressed in Russian costumes; of clubs – in Ukrainian; of diamonds – in Polish; and finally of spades  – in Central Asian.166 The elderly king of spades is holding a poleaxe with a crescent on the top. His glance is cast downwards; he seems to be deeply absorbed in some sober or sad thoughts. The queen is young and cheerful, in beautifully decorated headgear and dress, and is holding a hunting bird on her bare hand. The jack is a young man with a small beard and a good-natured expression on his face. He is wearing a festive red and gold skullcap and a striped robe and is carrying a tray with a teapot and four small cups. Perhaps coincidentally, none of the three figures meets the viewer’s eye, while some other figures do (two Russian and two Ukrainian).

Animals Animals and landscape play significant roles in this collection as they do in all works by Nikolai Karazin. Very much tuned into the natural environment and fond of both wild and domestic animals, the artist created highly appealing images for his audience. A row of pelicans on a shore watching 165  David Spurr, The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel Writing, and Imperial Administration (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), 13. 166  Larisa Deshko, “Kartina,” in Osnova. Karaziny (Kiev: Vidavetz Androshchuk P.  S., 2014), 125, 130–32, http://dspace.univer.kharkov.ua/handle/123456789/12892 (accessed 26 January 2019).

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a sailboat,167 a flock of cranes during migration (see Image 6.7),168 a heron with a large black snake in its beak,169 saigas standing on a rock next to a large saksaul plant and looking at the Aral Sea,170 partridges and stilts by a spring, busily searching for food,171 a tiger hiding in the reeds getting ready to attack two men walking on a river bank pulling boat ropes (see Image 6.7)172 – all are a part of Karazin’s gallery. In the drawing entitled Nochnoi kontsert (Night concert), a pack of jackals is seating in a circle in a clearing (see Image 6.7).173 With their snouts raised towards the sky and ears upright, they are howling. Their bodies are seen as silhouettes against the lighter night sky. One more jackal is approaching from the thicket on the right side apparently intending to join the company. Karazin refers to this “concert” in his report. While camping overnight on the Amu-Darya on their way from Termez to Kelif, the group’s night rest was disturbed: “In the neighboring reed thicket, half-submerged in water, jackals were howling, and starting at midnight, treated us to the most disgusting concert.”174 In his travelogue Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, the artist presents a vivid picture of the natural world in a region along the Syr-Darya River between the towns of Kazalinsk and Turkestan. The vegetation and wild life are so rich in that area, that the author compares it to a zoological garden: “herds of wild boars wander close to the banks; above the water, heavy pelicans fly smoothly; geese and ducks of various types cover still creeks. In the clearings you see whole flocks of bustards, fearlessly allowing travelers to get almost close enough to shoot a pistol; beautiful little bustards dance among hummocks, raising pillars of dust. Sometimes you see a fast moving dust stream which is not going in the same direction as the wind; look more carefully – this is a family of antelopes making their escape as soon as they hear the sound of [our] bells.”175

 Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 44. Also in Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 316 (1875): 73.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412. 169  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 46. 170  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 63. 171  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 64. 172   Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412–13. 173  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 413. 174  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 414. 175  Karazin, Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta, 11. 167 168

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Image 6.7  Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia). – Srednee techenie Amu (Middle reaches of the AmuDarya). Top left to right: Turkmenskii argamak (Turkmen argamak); Beregovoi turkmenskii kishlak (A shore Turkmen village); Turkmenskie odnogorbye nary (Turkmen one-humped camels).

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Image 6.7  (continued) Center left to right: Turkmeny rybaki (Turkmen fishermen); Pereprava (barka buksiruemaia loshad’mi) (Crossing [a boat pulled by horses]); Turkmenka idushchaia za vodoiu (A Turkmen woman walking to fetch water). Bottom left to right: Zhuravlinaia otmel’ vo vremia pereleta (Crane shallow during a migration); Zasada (Ambush); Nochnoi kontsert (Night concert). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412–13.

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There are also multiple images of domestic animals, such as oxen, camels, and horses. Though camels and horses are present in most of Karazin’s drawings, they are also the main subject of several drawings. For example, there is the drawing of a Turkmenskii argamak (Turkmen argamak), the praised Akhal-Tekin horse, on whose saddle a large bird is perched, with two dogs resting nearby. The animals are probably resting after hunting, one of the favorite entertainments of the local men (see Image 6.7).176 In another drawing, the dark silhouette of a camel enhances the beauty of a sunset or sunrise over the Aral Sea.177 Karazin was impressed with the Turkmen camels and dedicated a drawing and description to that animal: Turkman camel, the one-humped nar, is dramatically different from his Kirghiz relative; it is a huge animal, very beautiful, with a small dry head and striking large black eyes. Turkmen are much better herders than the Kirghiz: they have bred and improved their cattle breeds and therefore increased their value. A Turkmen nar costs between 50 and 100 rubles, and even more on the spot; the Kirghiz camel is two times cheaper. Turkmen treat their animals in a more humane and reasonable way; and the animals reward their masters with gentleness and superb training. Here you don’t see torn with a hook, bloody nostrils, similar to those of the Kirghiz camels. Here a nar has a light bridle on his head, decorated with wool tassels, amulets and shells. Yet a ten-year old child can easily lead two of those giants, extremely gentle, quick and obedient.178

The drawing Turkmenskie odnogorbye verbliudy (Turkmen one-humped camels) presents two animals in the front, one standing and one resting on its belly with its legs bent underneath (see Image 6.7).179 They are decorated as described above, and their backs are covered; one of them also has a saddle attached to its back. When possible, Karazin provides fascinating details about animals. For example, while describing the expedition’s progress through the Gissar Mountains on their way from Guzar to Derbent, he comments: “Here I have to make a note in regards to the hooves of horses and donkeys, as well as the local cows found around Baisun in limited numbers – ungulates are not shod at all here since no 176  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412; Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 51. 177  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 412; Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 51. 178  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 602 (1880): 66. 179  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 593 (1880): 413.

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shoe would last  – you would not believe these excellent and shiny, like steel, hooves, which are also strong like steel, so that you would not find a single crack, a single broken off piece.”180 One drawing offers a dramatic image of a herd of horses caught in a snow storm: with their heads down to break the wind, and their manes flying, they are struggling against the wild wind. Their snouts have expressions from endurance to exhaustion and desperation. They are accompanied by a man in a furry hat riding a struggling horse but though pictured in the front of the drawing, he seems to play a rather insignificant role where the attention is drawn to the powerful bodies of the animals.181

Landscape Landscape plays a special role in Nikolai Karazin’s works. Deserts, steppes, rivers, and mountains often serve as a meaningful background for many of Karazin’s drawings, but in some of his works they serve as the main object. His literary and visual landscapes can be presented from two perspectives. On the one hand, there were practical matters to be considered: topography to be studied; maps to be drawn; types of rocks and minerals to be explored; roads, railroads, and bridges to be built. In his descriptions of mountains, for example, the artist mentions “Paleozoic limestone,” “Triassic red sandstone,” “crests of the Jurassic period,” “Paleozoic dolomitic limestone,” “axis of the rock group,” alabaster, and gravel.182 I. V. Mushketov, a famed Russian geographer and Karazin’s colleague in the Samara expedition, made broad use of his topographical landscapes: deserts, mountains, rivers, loess blocks and columns, ravines and valleys, tent-shaped and table-shaped rocks, and dunes of various types.183 On the other hand, there is the landscape’s beauty to be captured and shared with his audience. One example is the striking glamour and inaccessibility of the Tian-Shan Mountains reflected in the drawing Pereval na Tian’-Shane (Pass through the Tian-Shan).184 A small figure of a camel rider looks

 Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 587 (1880): 299.  Niva 7 (1882): 159. 182  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 279; Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 587 (1880): 299. 183  Mushketov, Turkestan, 323, 329, 335, 337, 343, 348, 485, 523, 548, 611, 614, 615, 616, 620, 621. 184  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 333. 180 181

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vulnerable and miniscule surrounded by tall mountain ridges with snow-­ covered peaks. One of Karazin’s most memorable landscape drawings is entitled Zheleznye vorota (Temir-dervar), gornyi prokhod na puti is Karshi v Derbent (Zheleznye vorota [Iron gate], the mountain pass on the way from Karshi to Derbent) (see Image 6.8).185 It pictures a narrow and deep ravine located in the Gissar Mountain range. Its spectacular size is dramatized by the miniature human and horse figures at the entrance, a few trees on the top of the mountains, and several birds gliding inside the ravine and above in a distance. Two tiny barely noticeable figures are positioned further against a rock wall which they are exploring. A huge piece of rock, which apparently had split off from the rock above and fallen down, is seen in the foreground. Nikolai Karazin explained that he drew the ravine as he saw it when they were half way through it. He provided a detailed description of the pass: This ravine received its name because of a legend, according to which Timur built a real iron gate here, with a key under a special guard and protected by “the Prophet’s spell.” However, this legend which we heard in Bukhara and Karshi, has not been supported by any evidence here; no matter how many inquiries we made among the local inhabitants and old mullahs, none of them has even heard about this legend. The ravine itself represents an extremely rare view of nature’s whims; it stretches in a zigzag – for almost two and a half versts – between sheer rocks of dark grey limestone cut with deep vertical cracks; in some places spherical hollows, caverns, are visible, mainly near the foundation of the rocks, most likely formed by water. The height of the walls of this ravine reaches 500–700 feet, its width – from five sazhen’ and even less – to no more than ten sazhen’, so that with a height like this, it makes an impression of a narrow crack, which one enters with an unexpected reverential fear, as if daring to penetrate into the very bowels of these enormous mountains, breathing grave cold and damp on the traveler. A stroke of a horse shoe on a rock, a word said quietly – all sounds spread and resonate in the ravine, carried off by the echo, and drone in the air for a while, merging with the new sounds; rocks hang over the head in a threatening way, it seems that they will immediately fall down and crush you, an insignificant human speck, which has dared to come here, into this kingdom of darkness and stone. There are also warnings, memento mori of a sort: huge blocks of limestone, several hundred pounds each, fallen down and  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 276.

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Image 6.8  Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia). – Zheleznye vorota (Temir-dervar), gornyi prokhod na puti is Karshi v Derbent (Zheleznye vorota [Iron gate], the mountain pass on the way from Karshi to Derbent). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 276.

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blocking the way; sometimes those blocks do not reach the bottom but instead hang over your head squeezed between the ravine sides  – so that they form covered galleries and paths… If you look up, you see a narrow blue strip of the sky, on the crests of the wall groups of trees, looking like grass, are visible, and below them  – clear marks of the rock-slide, corresponding clearly to the shape of the fallen block… so that the local inhabitants can still remember those slides. The black color of the ravine walls makes the whole picture even gloomier, you feel anguish and automatically hasten your horse in order to get out as soon as possible into an open space, a safe place of course.186

As they exit the ravine, a picturesque view of the Baisun valley presents itself, with houses and vegetation seen in the distance – Karazin captured it in his drawing Vykhod na dolinu Baisun (Exit into the Baisun valley).187 Other natural phenomena which became subjects of Nikolai Karazin’s narrative and drawing are mighty trees. In the drawing Sviashchennoe derevo (Sacred tree), such a tree is pictured as providing shade for travelers; two figures are seen resting in its shade with a water pipe in front of them.188 A horse and several camels are also resting and grazing nearby. The tree is located next to a small stream. A sacred tree also appeared in Karazin’s report about the Samara expedition (see Image 6.9). This archa (type of a mountain juniper) is several hundred years old, according to the local legends. According to Karazin, “the privilege to care for it and the right to its shade belongs to one family of hadji [a person who performed the pilgrimage to Mecca, hadj], whose representative sits in its shade day and night, collecting from the passersby copper cheki [small coins] as their tribute of respect to the sacred object and payment for a sip of water from a clay cup and a draw of smoke from the kalian, smoldering attractively to tempt the dry throat of a traveling true believer.” The artist explains: “I made a drawing in my travel album of both this beautiful tree with its dark green leaves, its knotty, half-exposed and whimsically crawling roots and its owner, a bony, mummy-like man sitting importantly like an Indian faqir and silently looking at the beautiful broad panorama of the mountains in  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 279.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 277. 188  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 183. 186 187

Image 6.9  Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia v Sredniuiu Aziiu (Samara scholarly expedition to Central Asia). – Ispolinskoe derevo ak-archa (Giant mountain juniper). Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 586 (1880): 284.

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front of his eyes.”189 In front of the man is a small rug with a water pipe, a water cup, and a plate for donations. Other examples include that of the lake Jaman ak-Kul’ busy with drinking caravan camels190 and the alpine lake Iskander-Kul’, pristine and surrounded by mountains reflecting in its waters.191 A bridge over the stream Dargom near Samarkand appears in two different drawings. One of them pictures the massive stone bridge at daytime, as its silhouetted pillars are reflected in the water of the narrow stream.192 It is surrounded by a rocky landscape with two walled structures, at least one looking like a ruin, in the background. A horseback rider is crossing the bridge as a shepherd surrounded by his sheep is looking on. In another painting, the bridge is presented at night, with the moon crescent seen in the sky and two men crossing it: one on foot, another driving a two-wheel carriage.193 Karazin dedicated a short paragraph to this bridge in his report: “The huge aryk [stream] Dargom which supplies the whole Samarkand, especially its Russian quarters, murmurs and foams somewhere below… We are approaching a steep decline into a deep sharply falling gorge. In the middle of the slope, hanging in a daring arch over the aryk streaming on the stony bottom, a native ancient bridge was built, of an extremely original appearance. This bridge has no railings, and on its four corners, God knows for what purpose, tower four tall clay columns…”194

Folklore Interested in every aspect of the local life, Nikolai Karazin spread elements of folklore throughout his writings and drawings. As we have seen on many occasions, customs, habits, legends, and songs are presented as valuable elements of the local culture, and sometimes are used to emphasize the point of a story. Eleonora Shafranskaia dedicated an article and a

189  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 582 (1880): 258; 586 (1880): 284. 190  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 179. 191  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 327. 192  Zhivopisnaia Rossiia, 266. 193  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 76. 194  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 576 (1880): 78.

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chapter in her book about Karazin to the folklore elements in his works.195 Importantly, she points out that his folklore elements were not meant to serve as decoration for his prose in order to make it look “folk” (dlia pridaniia … narodnosti): “The folklore aspect of his works is definitely ethnographic: he carefully collects – in addition to the details of everyday life, appearance and etc. – oral narratives…, myths, legends, tales, anecdotes, songs, customs etc. If he was not the one who wrote down the text, he always makes a reference to the person who wrote it down and translated it into Russian. Therefore, we can see elements of the field study of a folklore scholar. Folklore texts published as parts of his literary works … constitute extremely important features of his whole picture of Turkestan.” She further points out the inclusive nature of Karazin’s folklore components, when every element of the local culture, from food to the sacred rites, is of interest to the collector.196 An example of the local custom of becoming sworn brothers is presented in the novel S severa na iug. It is mentioned in the narrative and then explained in detail in the footnote. According to this “Kirghiz custom,” those who want to become special friends, tamyrs, or sworn brothers, have to hug over their drawn sabers, pressing them to their chest. They kiss and swear to always remain friends: The first sign of this friendship is the choice of kalau, or objects belonging to the other person and especially admired. If one tamyr sees something belonging to the other one that he especially likes, he points to it and says kalau; then the other person has to immediately give it to him. Otherwise, if the request is rejected, the friendship is broken and never can be reestablished. Results of such a break  – [include] terrible, constant revenge, baranta, cattle theft, destruction of the village and even murder. Choices of kalau are usually luxury goods or entertainment objects, for example pacers or race horses, expensive furs, dogs, hunting falcons and hawks, decorations etc. One cannot get his kalau back by pointing to it; instead, one gets the right to take something in its place, and therefore, with some rare exceptions, kalau does not become a burden for either side.

195  E. F. Shafranskaia, “Nikolai Karazin – fol’klorist,” Vestnik TvGU, seriia “Filologiia,” no. 1 (2015): 277–82; “Karazin – fol’klorist,” in Shafranskaia, Tashkentskii tekst, 303–11. 196  Eleonora Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst v russkoi kul’ture: Kolonial’naia proza Nikolaia Karazina (istoriko-literaturnyi i kul’turno-etnograficheskii kommentarii) (St. Petersburg: Svoe izdatel’stvo, 2016), 303.

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At the end of this long footnote, the artist points out in brackets: “From my ethnographic notes about the Kirghiz of the large and small hordes.”197 Women play key roles in many of Karazin’s folktales. One of the most colorful folk songs is the song about a rooster and hens which appears in the short story “Ak-Tomak.” Mentioned in the previous chapter of this book in the context of discussion of women’s status, it is in the center of a telling and hilarious scene. At a party in a courtesans’ house, Goddai, a respectable elderly town official and the sponsor of the party, regrets that musicians were unavailable since they had to perform at some family event. Instead, one of the women suggests that she sing for the guests: The fat woman cleared her throat once more, looked around, wiped her fat red lips with her sleeve and started to sing. Her voice was reasonably strong and clear; on the high notes, she screeched a bit. The melody was tedious and monotonous; the whole song consisted of short, desultory couplets, in between which the singer inserted her own remarks and explanations. She sang: “In a big henhouse lived a rooster with his hens One rooster there was, but he had twenty hens…” – What do you think, Goddai, is twenty hens enough or not enough for one rooster? The singer asked the respectable sarkar. – Hmm! Only grunted Goddai instead of an answer and waved his hand. “The rooster was happy, he wished nothing else. His hens, however, thought otherwise. The rooster was merry. He was sitting in the center of the yard flapping his wings. The hens were bored and walked with their heads hanging, And were trying to get closer to the edge of the wall… They wanted to see what was going on in the street. [Once] they see a red hen running by, She runs, speeds in the center of the street…” – It was me, explained the singer, – or perhaps you, Ak-Tomak, or you, Nar-Bebi. Which one of you? Well, it does not really matter!.. “—Halt, red hen, where to and where from [are you running]? the rooster’s hens ask her. – I am running wherever I wish, and from wherever I wish. I am a free bird, unlike you, poor things; The red hen tells them and paused for a minute…” – She is a female. Likes to chat. Listen on…  Karazin, S severa na iug, 323.

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“– We would also like to run in the street… like you, but we are afraid of our rooster. – Fools, says to them the free hen, – that is why you are afraid! You, stupid ones, sit here locked up, and know nothing of what is new in the world… – Tell us, if you know, and we shall listen. – [Once] lived a large kite, relative to all the roosters, Nobody was stronger than him, and he did what he pleased. Everybody was afraid of him and obeyed him, and his orders were followed. Roosters therefore were doing well, and hens were not… But a wind blew from the north and that wind brought another kite, Much stronger and larger than the first one. He broke both of his [the first kite’s] wings and pulled out the claws on his feet, Chased him away from his perch, and sat there in his place… And he ordered that all the hens be told that nobody had power over them any longer, If they want to stay in the henhouse  – stay, if they don’t  – run in the streets. Those who heard this, became happy and ran, Those who did not, still look out from behind a wall, just like you. – Very well, thought the rooster’s hens, started talking among themselves while looking at their rooster. And he was sleeping in the shade and heard nothing.” – And if he did hear, he would have pulled out that red hen’s crest, only her feathers would have been flying. What do you think? The singer pushed her neighbor with her elbow. – Leave me alone… just keep singing… don’t bother me! He avoided direct answer. – Your power has been knocked down… Ha-ha! Would be happy to give her a licking, but try and get it! Noticed Ak-Tomak, baring her teeth.  – Finish it! “Woke up the rooster, shouted loudly, calling his hens, But they were nowhere to be found. The red hen had lured them all.” – This is all, finished the singer. – It was good, wasn’t it? Just wait and see, we shall clear out your henhouses! She looked at her audience complacently with her merry laughing eyes.198  N. N. Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” in Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki (St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. A. Tushnova, 1874), 280–82. 198

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In a footnote, the author points out that the interlinear translation was written down by doctor Avdeev.199 In a poetic and funny way, the song clearly makes the point about the change in women’s status with the arrival of the Russians. Another song worth mentioning here was performed by another free-­ spirited woman, another “red hen,” Gul’-Gul’ from the novel Nal’. As explained in the previous chapter of this book, this beauty is the mistress of the Russian officer Nal’ and at the same time – of the local rebellious leader Nurmed. Gul’-Gul’ sings a song to her Russian lover in a seductive and enchanting way: A cold, freezing snow flake is flying around in the air, Wicked wind drives her in every direction. She touched a tree branch and wanted to pause; The wind got envious, – it blew, and on flew the shelterless snow flake. Poor, cold, freezing snow flake! She fell on a stone, but the wind pursued her; She fell on a road – crashed by a soulless hoof Got up again, is chased by the wind, In a choir of sisters and friends, shelterless wanderers, like her. Poor, cold, freezing snow flake! She stuck to a horse mane – The horse shook her off mercilessly; Touched a traveler’s clothes – His evil hand threw her off. Poor, cold, freezing snow flake! Here a dark smoky house is seen, Red light is burning through a hole in the roof; There, there flew the snow flake chased by the wind, And, spinning, flew inside the house. Poor, cold, freezing snow flake! There burns like a bright star a little coal. Where are you going, poor thing? You will melt!... Maybe I shall put out that fire With my icy kiss! Poor, cold, freezing snow flake! And the snow flake bravely flew down, Stuck to the little coal and died…  Karazin, “Ak-Tomak,” 280.

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Her death kiss was sweet. The evil hissed, wrapped himself up in steam for a moment And is burning again and luring Another poor, cold, freezing snow flake!...200

This romantic song is also referenced as “close interlinear translation” in a footnote.201 At the same time, the song serves as a poetic background to the immediately following dialogue between Gul’-Gul’ and Nal’. Enchanted by his mistress and her skillful performance, he proposes marriage, only to be rejected and called an “evil little coal.”202 “Kara-Dzhigit. Bylina Sredne-Aziatskikh kochevnikov” (Kara-Dzhigit. Bylina of Central Asian nomads) is dedicated to the struggle between good and evil, dark and light. Published as a separate story, it is illustrated with three drawings; its tone is the tone of Russian bylina, a Russian folk epic poem. It talks about happy life a long time ago, with abundant food, warmth, space, and freedom, when all girls were “beautiful and fat,” and hundred-year-old men were still considered to be dzhigits.203 This paradise on earth comes to an end with the appearance of Kara-Dzhigit (black dzhigit). Nobody knows where he came from; he is scary, all dressed in black, riding a black horse, with a dead white face, never smiling, with eyes sparkling at night as those of a wolf. Carrying no weapons, he moves soundlessly with fantastic speed through the steppes, and when he praises a beautiful girl, or a child, or a horse, that praise becomes fatal for them. He brings destruction, misery, and death. Many attempts to chase him away or to kill him result in the death of those brave souls who try it – even their horses perish. The fearless and rich man Hakim swore to put an end to his evil deeds: as he is chasing his enemy, his sheep and horses die, and fire consumes his tents and his family. One drawing shows how Kara-­ Dzhigit lures Hakim’s sheep who throw themselves into the sea.204 As Hakim chases Kara-Dzhigit, he leaves all his warriors behind  – another drawing shows the confrontation between the evil spirit and Hakim.205 As 200  N.  N. Karazin, Nal’. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 5 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 162–63. 201  Karazin, Nal’, 162. 202  Karazin, Nal’, 163. 203   N.  N. Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit. Bylina Sredne-Aziatskikh kochevnikov,” Niva 40 (1880): 794. 204  Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit,” 796. 205  Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit,” 796.

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the black figures of the horse and the rider stand still, Hakim approaches him on his exhausted horse. The horse’s head droops, its knees are bent, it is about to expire. As Hakim tries to use his weapons against his enemy, nothing works: his spear is shattered, he loses his arrows, his sword is stuck in its sheath. His invincible enemy escapes unharmed. Tragic days of starvation and deprivation befell the people: “Free and merry days have ended, different times have arrived…” “The sky was not as bright as it had been, the sun was shining dimly in the smoke, waters in the rivers were streaming lazily, the grass was not covered in colorful flowers any longer, and game animals became more careful and fearful.”206 One day a wedding is being celebrated between the most beautiful, strong, and sought-after girl, Uzun-Chash, and the poor shepherd Allaiar, known for his sweet songs: “His songs talked about the human soul, the struggle between Shaytan and kind spirit,” in the past, the present, and the future. The bride’s close friend was Ak-Dzhan (kind soul), whose Russian mother had been captured and died in sorrow. Ablai, the wealthy grandfather of Uzun-Chash, had adopted the motherless baby girl who turned into a small and weak child-like girl with silver hair and sky blue eyes. Since all the girls had to choose horses to ride, Ak-Dzhan also chose a horse. Her horse was all white, small, and slow  – it looked weak like a foal. Everybody loved the girl, with her kind eyes and silver-like laugh, so that even the most cruel and severe warriors calmed down when she looked at them.207 When the black dzhigit showed up at the wedding and kidnapped the bride, it was Ak-Dzhan who pursued the offender on her horse: “Wings, white swan wings grew behind her shoulders…” The third drawing accompanying the story shows the struggle between the devil and Ak-Dzan: the girl with loose hair, dressed in white with white wings and riding a white horse, raises her arm and is about to overwhelm the black figure of the evil rider (see Image 6.10).208 Forces of good prevail and this is how the story ends: Stench and smoke rise, the red tongue of flame was seen through that smoke, the earth cracked in every direction, and disappeared, died in the fire the damn Kara-Dzhigit, defeated by the pure soul… Afterwards, nobody  Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit,” 798.  Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit,” 799. 208  Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit,” 797. 206 207

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Image 6.10  Kara-Dzhigit (Kara-Dzhigit). Niva 40 (1880): 797.

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saw the black dzhigit in the steppe, he did not disturb people any longer, did not show up… Nobody saw Ak-Dzhan either, the kind girl… for one moment only she flashed as a white seagull and disappeared in the blue sky as a dove…209

In this beautifully written story, the kind soul defeats the evil: it is not physical strength and bravery that triumph. Many fearless men had perished or had been defeated where Ak-Dzhan succeeded. It is spiritual strength that prevails. Also, it is of course a Russian girl, or at least a girl whose mother was Russian, who saves the natives. A number of saints appear in Nikolai Karazin’s works, including Tokmak in the novel S severa na iug, as a part of a chapter entitled “Tokmak-Ata.” In a footnote, Karazin explains that he wrote down this legend during an Amu-Darya expedition. The legend is woven into the narrative as a group of Karakalpak sails two boats from the Ulkun-Darya into the Aral Sea. They are on their way to the Tokmak-Ata island where they are taking fish as their tribute to the saint buried there. To explain their mission, the narrator tells the following legend. Once hardship befell the Karakalpak people who lived off the river, hiding on its banks from the evil steppe Turkmen. They lived without trouble, fish were abundant, but they forgot God, stopped praying to him: “They only thought about stuffing their bellies and sleeping. Arrogance, in other words.” For that, Allah sent them a terrible ordeal – fish disappeared from the river and lakes, and people were starving after having eaten their food reserves: “Hunger, a vicious merciless old man, took his psiak, sharp knife, and went through their villages killing people. He killed three people out of each ten.” They realized their mistake then: “People recalled the forgotten Allah. They started to pray from morning until night, performing one namaz after another, without getting up from their knees, rubbed their knees to festering wounds, tore their faces and chests with their nails. They stoned one mullah to death because he… demanded a fish head for each prayer, while they could not pay him.” Allah finally had mercy on them: “Let me test them, he thinks, if they have completely repented.” Two Karakalpak clans blocked the river with reeds: after the first night, seven yellow snakes got caught there and bit those fishermen who approached them; the second night – seven large toads were caught; the third night – seven hairy worms. After that, people realized that Hunger would kill them. They endured it 209

 Karazin, “Kara-Dzhigit,” 800.

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through the day, but by night, they tied stones to their necks, and in their boats went to a place where the water was deep. At that moment, they saw an old man walking towards them on the water: he had a long grey beard, his cane was hitting the water without making any splashes, and three rays of bright white light emanated from him – one all the way to the sky, one – to the right, and one – to the left. People in the boats froze, as the old man laughed and told them to throw the stones into the water and check their nets which were bursting with fish. They started to pull out their rich catch, while the old man disappeared. In his place, a rock appeared out of the water. The next night, the same old man reappeared, and wrote something on the rock. He told the people to find a knowledgeable mullah to read his inscription: “If you do it, you will be happy, if not – you will cause Allah’s wrath again.” The inscription was producing bright light at night and in daytime. The fishermen brought a learned mullah from the town of Chimbai, who read the inscription for them: “My name is Tokmak. To the west from here, towards the sea, on the sand of a barren island lay my bones unburied. They would not leave the island and have to be buried under this stone.” After the words were read, the light went out. They thought for a while, then gathered all the people: it took them thirty-three days and nights to lift the rock from the water. They loaded it on thirty-­ three kayaks tied together and went to search for the island. They finally found what they were looking for: “They dug a deep hole, covered its walls with clay, put the sacred bones inside, covered it and put the stone they brought on the top. They built a clay hut over it with a dome on the top, and directed that their future descendants come here three times a year and bring three fishes from each family. Since then, the island has been called ‘Tokmak-Ata’ [father Tokmak].”210 As the fishermen in the novel reach the island, the narrator describes layers of dry fish bones around the hut, leftover tribute which had been delivered to the saint’s tomb for generations. Though the hut had been initially built far away from the water, it is now close to the shore of the island since water had been washing away the shore. The entrance is half blocked by a waist-high threshold. Through this entrance, part of the stone can be seen, “dark grey with greenish veins.” The group of Karakalpak brings a mullah with them; they perform a prayer, leave the fish as their offering to the saint, stay overnight, and head back the next morning. It was this group of Karakalpak fishermen who discovered the shipwrecked Stepan, one of the 210

 Karazin, S severa na iug, 396–99.

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main characters of the novel. The mullah suggests they “finish off” the “Urus,” who is barely alive from thirst and exhaustion: “The death of the infidel giaour will be a sweet sacrifice to the saint!” The rest of the group, however, decides to keep him alive.211 In this example, it is hard to tell if Nikolai Karazin uses the Turkmen legend as a foundation for his fictional development, or creates his story in order to present the properly framed legend. This beautifully told folklore story organically links the present to the past; it also is told in the spirit of respect to the past of the Karakalpak and their loyalty to the old traditions. Other folklore inserts include a legend about the founder and patron of the town of Termez, Khodzha-Amal’-Hakim, a famed mullah-teacher,212 and a description of a festival celebrating a popular saint, Ishan-Daud.213 Poets-improvisers are pictured by Karazin on several occasions. One of them is old Gasan (Hassan), “Homer of the steppe”: The old man was blind, from underneath his thick grey brows only deep dark hollows with closed eyelids were seen, his long aquiline nose hung over his toothless mouth, his high forehead was cut by numerous wrinkles. The old man slowly lowered himself on a sheepskin underneath him, took a long balalaika and started to touch the strings with his bony fingers. All those present treated the old man with respect; everybody was silent, only the quiet rattle of the strings and the hollow rustle of the crowd moving closer were heard. This was poet-improviser Gasan famous in the whole nomad world, about whom I had heard a lot earlier, whom I was finally able to see and whose improvisation I was about to hear. I was listening eagerly to this Homer of the steppe and was trying to understand the contents and meaning of his song; and I regretted very much that I did not know this language well enough to write everything I heard line by line. He was singing about the famous agitator of the thirties – Kenisara,214 about his wars against the Russians, his escape, his ill-fated love, the betrayal of his friends and finally, about his heroic death…

 Karazin, S severa na iug, 401–4.  Karazin, “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia,” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 590 (1880): 358. 213  Karazin, Nal’, in 20-tomnoe sobranie sochinenii, 1905, vol. 5, page 18, quoted in Shafranskaia, Turkestanskii tekst, 308. 214  Kenesary Kasymov  – leader of the Kazakh rebellion against Russian colonization in 1837–47. 211 212

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Ablai-bey whispered to me: “He was with Kenisara all the time, and he was a grey haired old man already then.” Listeners were standing or sitting around in silence, shaking their heads in time with the song, and more than one heavy sigh escaped from a breast, merging with the melody of the old man. … There is no literacy [among them], and therefore, if there is somebody who can barely read the title of the first page of the Quran, he is considered the learned among the learned ones in the world. However, the ability to preserve legends is developed to an unusual degree; legends and facts going back almost to the time of Timur, are passed with amazing accuracy, as if they were events that took place ten years ago. Live guardians and disseminators of those legends are wandering poets-improvisers, such as Gasan, who was drinking koumiss in the tent of Ablai-bey after his inspired improvisations.215

In addition to reflecting on the popularity of wandering bards among nomads, this passage also attests to the genuine interest and respect Karazin felt for them. Old Gasan is shown as a romantic and attractive figure, an artist whose performance deserves the appreciation of Karazin’s audience. In “Atlar,” another poet-improviser sings a beautiful song about a rose from Khorasan (province in Iran) to the boy Mat-Niaz, a Persian slave in Turkestan. The song takes up one and a half pages in the story, but its source is not cited by Nikolai Karazin. Even if the artist composed it, its style and language fit well into the narrative. The song opens as follows: A warm, aromatic wind of Khorasan brought a small seed into the barren wild desert. A cold wind from the faraway north brought a drop of water [to the desert] and sprayed the dry seed. Life woke up in it, and a young green little eye looked at the light out of the sand. The sprout turned into a slender branchy bush, magnificent roses blossomed on it… Glory to you, the wind of Khorasan! How long will you be blossoming here, bush, here, in the gloomy country, where the sun will burn you… How long will your bright flowers be pouring fragrance into the air… A burning yellow sand dune will move and cover you. 215  N. N. Karazin, “Iz Tsentral’noi Azii: ocherk pervyi,” Delo, no. 1 (1872): 94–97, quoted in Shafranskaia, Tashkentskii tekst, 310–11.

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You are not strong enough to fight against the sun and a sand storm. Your weak roots will not find water – you will not be able to drink; the roses will fade, the seeds will not have time to ripen… A stranger, a traveler, you will perish here without a trace. And nobody will remember you… So were saying to the [rose]bush the local rough children of the desert: the grey dzhizgan [a local desert plant], saxaul, and thorns…

The rosebush then sings beautiful songs about a nightingale and his hymns to the creator, about two doves and their love duet, about a falcon and his war tune. The beauty of this song enchanted the enemies: A burning ray of sun swung as if with a sword over the daring stranger but listened with delight and paused; a heavy sand dune moved – and stopped, charmed by the song… A ferocious storm came, but the magic song sounded louder than its howling… so the merciless destroyer submitted… Glory to you, child of Khorasan, favored by God!216

This poem includes all the staples of Persian poetry: a rose, a nightingale, and a dove. Its message about beauty prevailing over all threats has a great appeal to the reader of the nineteenth, twentieth, and twenty-first centuries. Other personages known for their storytelling gift include the older woman in Dvunogii volk who narrates the story about Zanai (described in the previous chapter of this book) and Safar, the elderly barantachi in Na dalekikh okrainakh, who tells a story about a very rich khan whose wives gave birth only to daughters and who was ready to pay any price for a son.217 Nikolai Karazin’s contribution to the study of Central Asian people in every aspect of their natural environment and life is rich and impressively detailed. His portrait of the local society after the Russian conquest, not impartial but sincere, reveals a lot about both the observer and the observed. His good-natured even if paternalistic mode of literary and visual reflection resulted in enduring images of local men and women from various walks of life. Every little detail is presented by the artist as desiring attention from the ethnographic or simply the human point of view. He was able to convincingly invite his readers to share his own deep  Karazin, “Atlar,” 118–120.  N. N. Karazin, Dvunogii volk. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 14 (St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905), 156–64; Na dalekikh okrainakh, 98–101. 216 217

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respect for every living being and every feature of the surrounding natural world. When talking about Vladimir Nalivkin and Maria Nalivkina, Marianne Kamp concludes that they never suggested anything other than the absolute difference between themselves and the locals: they were Russians observing Sarts, with the two belonging to completely different categories. And yet in spite of the fact that the Nalivkins “did not posit shared Asian heritage, they did believe in shared humanity.”218 The same could be safely concluded about Nikolai Karazin – he believed in shared humanity and that made his approach to ethnographic study empathetic.

 Kamp, “Editor’s Introduction,” 21–22.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Conclusion

This book could only sample the rich and dense materials about Central Asia offered by the generous creativity of Nikolai Karazin. It is intended as an introduction to the world of Central Asia as seen by Russian artists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. On the one hand, to preserve and circulate the materials of scholarly and aesthetic value, it would be beneficial to publish (in translation) more of Karazin’s selected writings and drawings, especially his illustrated travelogues. On the other hand, placing Karazin’s artistic works in the broader context of Russian art dedicated to Central Asia would enhance our understanding of the connection between Russian culture and imperialism. Nikolai Karazin’s perception of the overall triumph of the Russian conquest and subsequent domination of Central Asia was clearly marked by the enthusiasm of a military man and his belief in the “civilizing” power of the Russian empire. His personal investment of energy, time, and creativity, and his earnest passion for everything Central Asian, doubtlessly played a significant role in his views. Optimistic by nature, and in accordance with the prevailing ideology of his day, he exposed the multiple flaws of the Russian rule but remained a firm believer in its imminent success. The fall of the Russian empire in 1917, however, was to a degree an outcome of its failure as a colonial empire, especially in its only “real” colony – Turkestan.1

1  Daniel Brower, Turkestan and the Fate of the Russian Empire (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), ix–xi.

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3_7

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In other words, Karazin’s idea of domination turned out to be much better than the domination itself. Karazin’s multimedia hymn to Russian imperialism at work in Central Asia is clearly counterbalanced by his distaste for violence of any sort, performed by either of the fighting sides against anybody. In spite of the default of the Russian benevolent presence, the picture of conquered Turkestan is highly complex. Routine and dramatic actions, moving emotions and stormy passions of various people – noble and dishonest, Russian and native, military and civilian, men and women  – weave an intricate carpet of a new life in the old land. Himself a part of the military, scientific, and colonial networks, the artist puts his characters inside those networks as well. Connections and conflicts between the military and civilians, between various groups within the military, between merchants and administrators, between the Turkestan settlers and the officials in the metropole, among many others, contribute to readers’ fascination and scholars’ delight. This book analyzes Karazin’s images of Central Asia in the context of Russia’s two Orients, internal and external. Karazin’s perspective on Central Asia as “internal Orient” shares major “Saidian” features with his compatriots’ reporting from “external Orient” (Iran): a paternalistic view (customary at that time) of his local hosts and their domain, paired with a sense of Russians’ “Western” superiority. Karazin and Russian travelers to Iran also shared their enthusiastic support for Russia’s colonial policies, both inside and outside the empire. At the same time, their view of the Orient and its people differed in significant ways. Central Asia, easily conquered and put under Russian control as a part of its internal Orient, was not perceived as dangerous or threatening. Karazin clearly expresses his confidence and apparent lack of fear confronted by the Central Asian “other.” Russia’s semi-Asianness was arguably allowed to manifest itself in the low-stress environment of the internal Orient, leading to a more accepting view of the Asian peoples newly incorporated into the empire. Such a view represents a contrast to the perception of the Iranian “other” by the multiple Russian travelers to Iran in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In Iran, an independent country, with strong Shi’i Muslim views and prejudice against non-Muslims, Russians felt threatened and outnumbered. While trying hard to hide their insecurity and lack of self-­ confidence, they obsessively emphasized their affinity with Christian Europe and the perceived inferiority of their Iranian hosts.

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Additionally, the fact that Karazin was a sincere, genuine, reasonable, and humane person contributed to his relatively more tolerant version of the Orient. To avoid overgeneralization, the book maintains throughout that imperial discourse is a heterogeneous phenomenon, shaped by multiple factors in each individual case. Karazin’s character, circumstances, and experience as a traveler had at least as much impact on his perspective as did the geographical and cultural location of his “Orient.” The duality of Nikolai Karazin’s works, both anti-imperialist and imperialist at once, has curious implications for the current imperial policy making. He was critical of the corruption of the colonial administration, but at the same time oblivious to the possibility of the Central Asian peoples’ independent history and culture. In his 1993 book Culture and Imperialism, famed Edward Said warned against patronizing Joseph Conrad, another writer whose views were ambiguously imperialist and anti-imperialist, as “the creature of his own time”: we had better note that recent attitudes in Washington and among most Western policymakers and intellectuals show little advance over his views. What Conrad discerned as the futility latent in imperialist philanthropy  – whose intentions include such ideas as “making the world safer for democracy” – the United States government is still unable to perceive, as it tries to implement its wishes all over the globe, especially in the Middle East. At least Conrad had the courage to see that no such schemes even succeed – because they trap the planners in more illusions of omnipotence and misleading self-satisfaction (as in Vietnam), and because by their very nature they falsify the evidence.2

To that illuminating statement we can add a lot today: the US “policy” in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and Israel/Palestine is marked with reckless disregard for the Middle Eastern people’s history, culture and desires, for their well-being and their very lives. Nostalgic for the mighty empire, modern Russia behaves in an equally destructive way in Crimea, Syria, and Ukraine (just to name a few). The war cult in Russian nationalism goes back to at least the nineteenth century and is a result of a lack of political freedoms: as long as war memoirs serve as a substitute for popular participation in political life – a substitution that has become a trademark of Putin’s Russia, 2

 Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage Books, 1993), xviii–xix.

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where civil society is underdeveloped and the cult of war grows steadily – nationalistic sentiments will continue to find their primary outlet in military action, just as they did in the nineteenth century.3

While American politicians like to play their “democracy” card as they attempt to impose their control, one of Russians’ tricks to achieve the same end is to capitalize on their special “affinity” with the East. Rejecting the intrusive, materialist West, some political forces in Russia invoke Russia’s Oriental heritage: The “Asian values” of autocracy, order, and paternalism seem much more appealing to those nostalgic for a mighty Russia. Rightist opposition parties  – old-line Communists, new-line fascists, and extremist nationalists  – often claim a racial affinity to the East. Even senior Kremlin officials occasionally invoke an Asian identity. One of Boris Yeltsin’s foreign ministers, Igor Ivanov, reminded his compatriots: “Russia has been, is, and will be an Asian power.” Under Vladimir Putin and Dmitrii Medvedev, the Kremlin is occasionally given to such posturing while ostentatiously trying to build anti-Western coalition with Asian powers [such as Iran and Syria].4

As a matter of fact, Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov made the following claim for a special position in global politics: “Russia is prepared to play the role of a bridge; our country has been just such a cultural-­ civilizational bridge throughout its entire existence.”5 The hypocrisy and greed for money and power displayed by the administration of the modern empires would leave far behind Karazin’s antiheroic “Tashkent knights” with their rather simple minds and tools. The modern “civilizers” could learn a lot from such writers as Karazin: tolerance and humanism in the first place, followed by appreciation for the other peoples’ history and culture.

3  Olga Maiorova, From the Shadow of Empire: Defining the Russian Nation through Cultural Mythology, 1855–1870 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2010), 20. 4  David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Russian Orientalism: Asia in the Russian Mind from Peter the Great to the Emigration (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), 239–40. 5  Sergei Lavrov, “Russia in Global Politics,” Moskovskie novosti, 3 March 2006.

Bibliography

Archives Archive of the Imperial Russian Geographical Society [Arkhiv Imperatorskogo Russkogo Geograficheskogo Obshchestva (AIRGO)], St. Petersburg. Archive of the Museum of the Peoples of the Orient, Moscow. Archive of the Russian Museum of Fine Arts, St. Petersburg. Archive of the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow. Russian State Archive of Literature and Arts [Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Literatury i Iskusstva (RGALI)], Moscow Russian State Historical Archive [Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Istoricheskii Arkhiv (RGIA)], St. Petersburg.

Works by N. N. Karazin Dvunogii volk. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 14. St. Petersburg: Izdaniie P. P. Soikina, 1905. Golos krovi. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 17. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. “Iz Turkestanskoi boevoi zhizni.” Vsemirnaia illiustratsiia 159 (1872). “Kara-Dzhigit. Bylina Sredne-Aziatskikh kochevnikov.” Niva 40 (1880). Khivinskii pokhod. Khromolitografii s akvarelei Karazina. Berlin: Pechati zav. Shteinboka, 1897. Na dalekikh okrainakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 1. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. “Na puti v Indiiu.” Niva 37–40 (1888). Nal’. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 5. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. © The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3

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Nedavnee byloe. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 15. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta. Putevoi ocherk. St. Petersburg: Izdatel’stvo German Goppe, 1886. Pogonia za nazhivoi. St. Petersburg: Lenizdat, 1993. Povesti, rasskazy i ocherki. St. Petersburg: Tipografiia V. A. Tushnova, 1874. “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia dlia issledovaniia napravlenii sredne-aziatskoi zheleznoi dorogi i izucheniia basseina reki Amu-Dar’i.” Vsemirnaiia illiustratsiia (1880). “Skorbnyi put’.” Russkaia starina 129 (March 1907). S severa na iug. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 7. St. Petersburg: Izdaniie P. P. Soikina, 1905. “Tashkent.” In Zhivopisnaia Rossiia: Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom, ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii, vol. 10, Sredniia Aziia. Edited by P. P. Semenov. St. Petersburg: Tipografiia M. O. Vol’f, 1885. T’ma neprogliadnaia. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 6. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. U kostra. Ocherki i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 12. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. V kamyshakh. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 13. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. V peskakh. Povesti i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 16. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. V ogne. Ocherki i rasskazy. Polnoe sobranie sochinenii, vol. 9. St. Petersburg: Izdanie P. P. Soikina, 1905. “Zemledelie Zarafshanskoi doliny.” Niva 30 (1874).

Translations Andreeva, Elena and Mark Woodcock, translators. “Lager’ na Amu Dar’e” as “N. Karazin. Camp on the Amu Daria.” Metamorphosis, Spring 2010. Lanin, Boris, translator. Dvunogii volk as The Two-legged wolf. A romance. University of California Libraries, 1894. Sariti, Anthony W., translator. Na dalekikh okrainakh as In the Distant Confines. Authorhouse, 2007.

Secondary sources Allworth, Edward, editor. Central Asia: 130 Years of Russian Dominance, A Historical Overview. 3rd ed. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994.

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Index1

A Abramov, Alexander Konstantinovich, 78–80 Academy of Arts, 31, 36 “Ak-Tomak,” 4, 37, 38, 234–239, 249, 252, 335, 336 Alexander II, 22, 23, 64, 67 Alexander III, 33 Amu-dar’inskie burlaki (bechevniki) (Amu-Darya barge haulers), 310, 311 Amu-dar’inskie burlaki kaikchi (Amu-Darya barge haulers [rope pullers]), 310 Amu-Darya, 12, 30, 32, 64, 106, 113, 115, 116, 134, 142, 155, 156, 195, 207, 208, 225, 226, 239, 240, 257, 261, 264, 271, 280–285, 297–299, 301, 307–313, 315, 324, 341 Animals, 13, 36, 69, 78, 84, 87, 90, 97, 107, 113, 115, 122, 123, 125, 136, 137, 139, 146, 151,

152, 160, 170–173, 184, 185, 207, 209, 216, 224, 232–234, 237, 243, 250, 255, 258, 259, 265, 266, 284, 287, 289, 300, 304, 307, 312, 314, 315, 317, 323–328, 339 Aryk, 131, 134, 137, 304, 333 Ashkhabad, 24, 149, 154, 155 “Atlar,” 62–64, 264, 344 Atrek, 300 B Bacha, 222, 261–264, 296, 298 Baranta/barantachis, 85, 136, 139–141, 158, 161, 168, 170, 171, 193, 195, 205, 210, 211, 225, 334 Bazar v Kazalinske (Bazaar in Kazalinsk), 283 Bazarnaia ulitsa v Guzare (Market street in Guzar), 288

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s) 2021 E. Andreeva, Russian Central Asia in the Works of Nikolai Karazin, 1842–1908, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36338-3

361

362 

INDEX

Beregovoi turkmenskii kishlak (A shore Turkmen village), 315, 325 Bestuzhev-Marlinskii, Alexander Alexandrovich, 55, 274 Boi pod Makhramom (Battle at Mahram), 32 Boi pod Zarabulakom (Battle at Zarbulak), 29, 32, 111 Bukhara, 23, 24, 29, 61, 67, 70, 73, 74, 76, 79, 80, 90, 111, 128, 135, 155, 157, 171, 212, 222, 249, 250, 287, 289, 291, 293–296, 298, 300, 304, 319, 329 Bukharskaia arba v peskakh (Bukhara carriage in sands), 304 Burlaki/bechevniki/kaikchis, 310, 312 C Caspian Sea, 3n5, 24, 146 Caucasus, 10, 10n28, 23, 239, 247, 25, 272, 274, 276, 277, 30, 38, 48, 51, 54–56, 5n15, 60, 66, 68, 8 Chandyr, battle of, 32, 115 Chardzhui, 285, 298, 300 Chavdarskii kishlak (A village of herders), 314 Chernaia kost’ (Black bone), 321 Cherniaev, Mikhail Grigor’evich, 23, 127, 128, 130, 174, 177 Cherniaev’s house in Tashkent, 128 Chimboy, 288 Chinaz, 97, 99 Christianity, 5n15, 11, 49, 196, 197, 200, 247, 253, 255 See also Orthodoxy, Russian “Civilizing” mission, 11, 12, 40, 47–50, 54, 66, 127, 143, 176–178, 267–269 Cossacks, 69, 73, 79, 80, 93, 98, 117, 158, 179, 186, 194, 239, 249, 281, 284, 291

Crimean War, 22, 51, 60, 61, 66 D Decembrists, 56, 68 Dobycha s berega (Loot from the shore), 146 Dogs, 70, 71, 77, 78, 87, 88, 95, 98, 101, 113, 122, 144, 172, 212, 216, 217, 225, 234, 238, 251, 254, 263, 265, 266, 319, 327, 334 “Doktorsha” (Doctor’s wife), 186, 222, 253 Dostarkhan, 291, 297 Dostoevsky, Fedor Mikhailovich, 127n8, 34, 4, 41, 41n110, 50, 66 Dvizhenie pervogo eshelona ekspeditsii cherez peski (Movement of the first echelon of the expedition through sands), 306 Dvunogii volk (Two-legged wolf), 4, 30, 65, 77, 88, 89, 91, 98, 106, 113, 159, 193, 218, 223, 232, 266, 345 “Dzhigitskaia chest’” (Honor of a dzhigit), 170 E Ermolov, Aleksei Petrovich, 68 “External” Orient, 10, 13, 143, 157, 247, 250, 255, 257, 348, 43, 44, 48, 48n144 G Geok-Tepe, 24, 32, 41n110, 50, 66, 104, 110, 154 Golodnaia step’ do orosheniia (Hungry Steppe before irrigation), 135 See also Orositel’nye raboty v Golodnoi stepi (Irrigational works in the Hungry Steppe)

 INDEX 

Golodnaia step’ (Hungry Steppe), 135 Golos krovi (Call of blood), 93, 98, 99, 159, 165, 170, 183 Gora Chalpyk i medrese (Mountain Chalpyk and madrasah), 156 Gory Dzu-Kala na beregy Amu-Dar’i (Mountains DzuKala on the bank of the AmuDarya), 309 Gumilev, Nikolai Stepanovich, 59, 68 See also “Turkestanskie generaly” (Turkestan generals) by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev Guzar, 259, 284, 285, 288, 327 H Hindu mysticism/Hinduism, 199 “Mahabharata,” 200 Husayn Bek, 79–82, 86 I Imperial networks, 9–11, 15, 39, 59, 125, 268 “Internal” Orient, 10, 11, 13, 15–57, 246, 348 Iran, 2n5, 10, 11, 22, 44, 52, 143, 144, 186, 246, 247, 250, 255, 257, 258, 344, 348–350 See also Slavery, Iranian/ Persian slaves Ispolinskoe derevo ak-archa (Giant mountain juniper), 332 See also Sviashchennoe derevo (Sacred tree) “Iunuska-golovorez” (Little Iunus the Cut-throat), 74

363

K Kachalkа v Kizyl-Kume (Rocking basket in Kyzylkum), 306 See also Kizyl-Kum. Puteshestvie v kachalkakh (Kyzylkum. Traveling in rocking baskets) “Kak chabar Mumyn bereg vverennuiu emu pochtu” (How messenger Mumyn took care of the mail entrusted to him), 209 “Kara-Dzhigit. Bylina Sredne-­ Aziatskikh kochevnikov” (Kara-­ Dzhigit. Bylina of Central Asian nomads), 338 Karakalpak, 156, 283, 302, 308, 310, 315, 321, 341–343 Karakalpakskaia kibitka (zhiloe pomeshchenie) (Karakalpak tent [dwelling place]), 315 Karakum desert, 136, 139, 148, 181, 195, 286, 304 Karamzin, Nikolai Mikhailovich, 45, 54 Karavan plotnich’ei arteli napravliaiushchiisia v Tashkent (Caravan of a carpenter artel heading for Tashkent), 137, 138 Karazin, Vasilii Nazarovich, 25 Karazina, Maria (daughter of Nikolai Karazin), 1, 20, 36 Karazina, Maria (wife of Nikolai Karazin), 20, 146 Karshi, 284, 285, 289, 291–294, 296, 298, 315, 329, 330 Katta-Kurgan, 29, 70, 155, 186, 222, 236, 291 Kaufman, Konstantin Petrovich von, 9, 23, 24, 29, 32, 56, 67, 68, 70, 75, 76, 79, 80, 104, 111, 113, 115, 116, 126, 127, 129, 130, 133, 144, 148, 155, 174, 175, 177, 223, 247, 250, 277–279, 281, 292, 295, 319, 320

364 

INDEX

Kazakh, 17, 22, 23, 30, 47, 113, 218, 308, 319, 320, 343n214 Kazalinsk, 117, 134, 137, 140, 141, 157, 164, 207, 283, 285, 286, 306, 313, 324 Kazan, 3, 28, 302 Kerki, 261–263, 285, 297–300, 313 Khishchnik (Predator), 227 Khiva, 24, 30, 32, 59, 62, 63, 90, 103, 105, 106, 113, 114, 116–118, 122, 134, 135, 143, 147, 164, 170, 181, 193, 195, 219, 239, 264, 280–283, 298, 304 Khivinskaia arba (Khiva carriage), 304 Khivinskii pokhod 1873 goda. Perekhod Turkestanskogo otriada cherez mervye peski k kolodtsam Adam-­ Krylgan (Khiva expedition of 1873. Turkestan troops crossing the dead sands to the wells of Adam-Krylgan), 32, 113, 114 Khivinskii pokhod (Khiva campaign), 30, 113, 115, 117 Khludov, Mikhail Alekseevich, 37, 129, 169–171, 173 See also Khmurov Khmurov, 37, 93, 170–173, 180, 183, 185, 188, 265 Kirghiz, 101, 102, 140, 159, 184, 223, 232, 233, 245, 283, 304, 306, 308, 317–322, 327, 335 Kirgizkie sani (Kirghiz sledge), 306 Kirgizskaia telega i ezda na volakh (Kirghiz cart and riding oxen), 306 Kirgizskie mogily (Kirghiz tombs), 283 Kirgizskii bii (Kirghiz chief), 321, 322 Kizyl-Kum. Puteshestvie v kachalkakh (Kyzylkum. Traveling in rocking baskets), 304, 305 See also Kachalkа v Kizyl-Kume (Rocking basket in Kyzylkum) Kokand, 22–24, 127, 128, 135, 159, 179, 220, 235, 238, 293

Konkurenty (Rivals), 151, 153 Koran, 72, 82, 255 Krasnovodsk, 24, 147, 149, 152, 281 Kryzhanovskii, Nikolai Andreevich, 23, 49 Kuropatkin, Aleksei Nikolaevich, 21, 24 Kyz-Byry (Volk-Devka), konnye igry v Kirgizskoi stepi (Wolf-Maid, horseback riding games in the Kirghiz steppe), 245 Kyzyl-Arvat, 149, 152 Kyzylkum desert, 103, 142, 143, 226, 283, 285 L Lager’ ekspeditsii na bergu reki Surkhan (Camp of the expedition on the shore of Surkhan[Darya]), 314 Lermontov, Mikhail Iur’evich, 1, 2, 8, 55, 66, 92, 274 Leskov, Nikolai Semenovich, 20, 35, 127n8, 209, 240, 241 M MacGahan, Januarius, 63, 83, 103 Merv, 24, 141, 149, 154, 155, 300 Miliutin, Dmitrii Alekseevich, 276, 277, 279 Most cherez Amu na Chardzhue (Bridge over the Amu-Darya at Charzhui), 155 Most cherez aryk Dargom– bliz Samarkanda (Bridge over the aryk Dargom – near Samarkand), 304 Mozaffar-al-Din/Mozaffar, 24, 76, 79, 293, 295, 297 Mushketov, Ivan Vasil’evich, 278, 283, 284, 328

 INDEX 

N Na dalekikh okrainakh (In the outlying districts), 4, 93, 132, 139, 166, 170, 172, 173, 177, 185, 188, 217, 220, 225, 241, 263, 308, 345 Nakhodka (A discovery), 118, 119 Nal, 100, 107, 159, 197, 216, 237, 266, 337 Nalivkin, Vladimir Petrovich, 177, 279, 346 Na molitve po puti v Mekku (Praying on the way to Mecca), 253 Na nizov’iakh Amu-Dar’i. Rybachii stan (At the lower reaches of the Amu-Darya. Fishermen field-­ camp), 308 “Na puti v Indiiu” (On the way to India), 152 Na puti v Khivu. Lazaretnyi verbliud (On the way to Khiva. A hospital camel), 122 “Naurus i Dzhiura, brat’ia ‘kudukchi’” (Naurus and Dzhiura, brothers kadukchi), 225, 226 Nochnoi boi pod Chandyrem (Night battle at Chandyr), 32 Nochnoi kontsert (Night concert), 324, 325 “Noch’ pod snegom” (Night under snow), 163, 183 O Oboz ekspeditsii (Transport of the expedition), 306 Orenburg, 6, 30, 32, 49, 65, 75, 95, 133, 135, 139, 147, 149, 194, 248, 249, 254, 283, 286, 301, 302 Orientalism, 10, 13, 15, 19, 242, 39, 42n113, 43, 46, 55, 55n171, 5n15

365

Orientology, 47, 274 Orositel’nye raboty v Golodnoi stepi (Irrigational works in the Hungry Steppe), 135 See also Golodnaia step’ do orosheniia (Hungry Steppe before irrigation) Orsk, 135, 140, 286 Orthodoxy, Russian, 11, 197 See also Christianity Ot Orenburga do Tashkenta (From Orenburg to Tashkent), 6, 30, 133, 139, 249, 286, 287, 301, 324 P Perekhod cherez gory (Crossing mountains), 307 Perekhod karavana noch’iu po otmeliam (Night crossing of a caravan over sandbars), 283 Pereprava (barka buksiruemaia loshad’mi) (Crossing [a boat pulled by horses]), 313, 325 Pereprava cherez Amu-Dariu (Crossing the Amu-Darya), 283 Pereval na Tian’-Shane (Pass through the Tian-Shan), 328 Pervoe poiavlenie russkikh voisk na Amu-Darie pod nachal’stvom K. P. Kaufmana (The first appearance of the Russian troops on the Amu-Darya under the command of K. P. Kaufman), 32, 115 Peter the Great, 10, 25, 40, 44, 45, 47, 51, 272, 275 Petro-Aleksandrovsk, 134, 285 Plennik (Captive), 118 Plennitsy. Epizod iz nedavnego proshlogo Turkestanskoi zhizni (Captive women. An episode from the recent past of Turkestan), 144, 145

366 

INDEX

Pochta v Kizyl-Kume (Mail [carrier] in the Kyzylkum), 213, 304 Pochtovaia ezda v pustyne Kara-Kum (Transporting mail in the Karakum desert), 304 Pochtovaia stantsiia v Kara-Kume, zanesennaia snegom (A post station in Karakum desert, covered by snow), 148 Pogib kon’ – pogibnet i vsadnik (The horse has perished – [now] the rider will die [as well]). Same as Smert’ konia – smert’ vsadniku (Death to the horse – death to the rider) Pochtovyi Kirgiz (Mail-carrying Kirghiz), 304 Pogonia za nazhivoi (Chasing profit), 4, 18, 37, 133, 159, 166, 172, 173, 175, 177, 178, 180, 184, 185, 188, 193, 223, 272 Prodavets kovrov i adrasov (Seller of carpets and adrases [silk-cotton fabrics]), 289, 290 Prosnulsia. Stsena iz Khivinskogo pokhoda (Woke up. Scene from the Khiva campaign), 118 See also Zadremal. Stsena iz Khivinskogo pokhoda (Dozed off. Scene from the Khiva campaign) Pushkin, Alexander Sergeevich, 7, 8, 34, 55, 66, 68, 239, 267, 274 Puteshestviia po Vostoku naslednika tsesarevicha (Travels in the East of the Heir Prince [future Nicholas II]), 33 R Rabochaia arba v Tashkente (A work carriage in Tashkent), 304 Romanovskii, Dmitrii Il’ich, 23, 128–129

Russian General Staff, 21, 279 Russian Geographical Society, 279–281 Rybach’i stoianki v kamyshakh ozera Sary-Kul’ (Fisherman camp in the reeds on the lake SaraKul’), 309 Rybaki na ozere Sary-Kul’ (v del’te Amu-Dar’i) (Fishermen on the lake Sara-Kul’ in the delta of the Amu-Darya), 309 S Said, Edward, 5n15, 7, 19, 39, 42n113, 43, 267, 349 Sal, 308 Saltykov-Shchedrin, Mikhail Evgrafovich, 3, 8, 20, 127n8, 175–177 Samarkand, 24, 29, 32, 67, 70, 75, 76, 79, 80, 86, 87, 110, 111, 126, 129, 133, 134, 149, 152, 155, 173, 257, 282, 284, 285, 289, 291–294, 301, 304, 313, 314, 319, 333 “Samarskaia uchenaia ekspeditsiia” (Samara scholarly expedition), 6, 157n107, 283 Sart, 84, 85, 88, 131, 167, 221, 245, 248, 250, 319–321, 346 Schuyler, Eugene, 176 Shah Abbas Vali. Drevnie razvaliny kreposti (Shah-Abbas-Wali. Ruins of an ancient fort), 156 Shahr-i Sabz, 70, 79, 80 Shturm Geok-Tepe (Storming of Geok-Tepe), 32 Skobelev, Mikhail Dmitrievich, 24, 41n110, 104, 154 “Skorbnyi put’” (Path of sorrow), 139, 147

 INDEX 

Slavery, 139, 143, 144, 147, 167, 168, 261, 266 Iranian/Persian slaves, 62, 143, 144, 344 Smert’ konia – smert’ vsadniku (Death of the horse – death to the rider), 259, 260 same as Pogib kon’ -- pogibnet i vsadnik (The horse has perished – [now] the rider will die [as well]). Sobolev, Leonid Nikolaevich, 281, 313 Sorvannaia vikhrem palatka (Tent torn by storm), 117 Srede turkmen-teke. Mulla-propovednik (Among Teke Turkmen. Mulla-­ preacher), 255, 256 Sredi turkmen-teke. Turkmenka na storozhevom postu (Among Teke Turkmen. A Turkmen woman on guard duty) S severa na iug (From the north to the south), 63, 136, 144, 157, 162, 164, 170, 192, 201, 308, 310, 312, 334, 341 Starshii bek kerkinskii i ego bacha (Senior beg of Kerki and his bacha), 261, 262 “Staryi Dzhul’dash i ego syn Mamet” (Old Dzhul’dash and his son Mamet), 194 Staryi Kashkara (Old Kashkara), 212, 214 Stsena perepravy mezhdu Nukusom i Khodzeili (Scene of crossing between Nukus and Khodzeyli), 312 Sviashchennoe derevo (Sacred tree), 331 See also Ispolinskoe derevo ak-archa (Giant mountain juniper) Syr-Darya, 2n5, 23, 31, 97, 134, 135n32, 136, 181, 207, 285, 286, 310, 316

367

T Tajik, 131, 248, 320 Tamasha, 296, 298 Tashkent, 3 Cherniaev’s house, 128 Duma, 130, 131 public library, 127, 130 Society for Amateurs of Natural Sciences, 277 “Tauk,” 220 Termez, 156, 157, 285, 298, 324, 343 “Tigritsa” (Tigress), 4, 38, 91, 105, 202, 239 Timur, 83, 157, 329, 344 Tipy nadgrobnykh sooruzhenii v Srednei Azii (Types of tomb monuments in Central Asia), 317 “Tiurkmen Siarkei” (Turkmen Siarkei), 140 “T”ma neprogliadnaia” (Pitch darkness), 4, 163, 227, 231, 232, 238, 248, 251, 252 Tolstoy, Leo Nikolaevich, 7, 20, 105 Transcaspian railroad, 9, 12, 33, 135, 146, 149, 150, 152, 169, 287, 312–314 “Tri dnia v mazarke” (Three days in a tomb), 141, 158, 170 “Turkestanskie generaly” (Turkestan generals) by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev, 59 See also Gumilev, Nikolai Stepanovich Turkestanskii sbornik (Turkestan collection), 278 Turkmen Black Turkmen, 141 Tekin Turkmen, 143 Turkmenki, kupaiushchie konei (Turkmen women bathing their horses), 243 Turkmenskaia kibitka (Turkmen tent), 315

368 

INDEX

Turkmenskie muzykanty (Turkmen musicians), 287 Turkmenskie odnogorbye nary (Turkmen one-humped camels), 327 Turkmenskii argamak (Turkmen argamak), 325, 327 Turkmeny perepravliaiuschiesia cherez reku (Turkmen crossing the river), 313 Turkmeny rybaki (Turkmen fishermen), 309, 325 U Ukreplenie Blagoveshchenskoe fort “Irkibai” (Fort Blagoveshchenskoe, Irkibai), 117 Urals/Ural Mountains, 66, 136, 187, 273 Urgut, 20, 68, 70, 77–88 “Urgut”, 68, 70, 77–88 Uzbek, 52, 240, 300, 319, 320 V Vereshchagin, Vasilii Vasil’evich, 108, 108n154, 241, 246, 261, 273, 277, 3, 319, 56, 66, 75, 76 Villevalde, Bogdan Pavlovich, 108 V kamyshakh (In the reeds), 4, 89, 97, 203 V Khive. Parad pered vorotami dvortsa Khivinskogo khana (In Khiva. Parade in front of the gates of the palace of the khan of Khiva), 116 Vkhod v del’tu Amu-Dar’i (Entrance to the delta of the Amu-­Daria), 313 Volch’ia molitva (Wolf’s prayer), 254 Volch’ia viazka (Wolf chain), 226

Vykhod na dolinu Baisun (Approaching the valley of Baisun), 307 Vziatie Samarkanda 2 maia 1868 goda (Conquest of Samarkand on 2 May 1868), 32, 110 Vziatie Tashkenta v 1865 gody (Conquest of Tashkent in 1865), 32 W “White shirts” (Russian soldiers), 11, 71, 77, 105–107, 111, 113, 127, 151, 253 Z Zadremal. Stsena iz Khivinskogo pokhoda (Dozed off. Scene from the Khiva campaign), 118 See also Prosnulsia. Stsena iz Khivinskogo pokhoda (Woke up. Scene from the Khiva campaign) Zakaspiiskaia zheleznaia doroga (The Transcaspian railroad), 33, 149, 150, 312 “Zara-Bulakskie Vysoty” (Zarbulak Heights), 29, 68–78, 86, 111 Zarbulak/Zarbulak Heights/ Zara-­Bulak/Zara-Bulak Heights, 24, 29, 32, 67, 68, 70, 72, 74–76, 78, 79, 84, 103, 111, 112 Zasada (Ambush), 326 “Zemledelie Zarafshanskoi doliny” (Agriculture of the Zarafshan Plain), 136

 INDEX 

Zheleznye vorota (Temir-dervar), gornyi prokhod na puti is Karshi v Derbent (Zheleznye vorota [Iron gate], the mountain pass on the way from Karshi to Derbent), 329, 330 Zhivopisnaia Rossiia. Otechestvo nashe v ego zemel’nom, istoricheskom, plemennom,

369

ekonomicheskom i bytovom znachenii (Pictorial Russia. Our motherland in its land, historic, tribal, economic and domestic significance), 38, 213, 285, 311 Zhuravlinaia otmel’ vo vremia pereleta (Crane shallow during a migration), 326